#yielding for once in his life and surprised how much he enjoys it and eager to see where they'll go with it

[devotion-between-the-wheat]

thinking about the idea of m◇rpheus including my si in his creating in the dreaming, especially when it's pre relationship days. and just thinking about the trust and intimacy it entails.

[writingtoforgetreality]

Guarding Your Heart (Helmut Zemo x Reader)

Request: THE ENDING WAS PURRRRRFECT i'm gonna miss tfatws sm. I don't know if on the raft they allow inmates to be visited but let's imagine it: you visiting zemo for the first time since he was sent there, a little angst cuz you can't have skin-to-skin contact anymore but you two talk about some things and how life is going, if everything is okay 🥺🥺🥺 (by anonymous), [Marvel-Masterlist]

Summary: Inmate: Helmut Zemo. Accommodation: The Raft. Visitors: Generally prohibited. Exceptions: Maintaining a friendly relationship with an Avenger.

Words: 3,547

Warnings: angst, jail (is that a warning?), fluff, feels, my emotions, I didn’t use any pronouns!, TFATWS spoilers, REQUESTS ARE OPEN!

If you like my work & wanna support me: a coffee would be highly appreciated ❤

Countless attempts from your side had been ignored. You were an average citizen. No superpower, no higher-up. Ordinary. It appeared that the Raft did not think highly of such people. Not when they proposed to visit an inmate. And definitely not when said inmate was the same Baron who broke out of a high security jail in Germany. But he was yours. His imprisonment in Europe had not been as restricted. For his sake, you had moved to the other end of the world. Simply so you could spend a bit of time together every day. Your old life had been completely abandoned. And for almost ten years, Germany had been your home. Until Sam & Bucky entered your lives once again. Though you started off on the wrong foot, this time around, you were more than grateful for their presence. Without them, especially without the former Winter Soldier, Helmut would still rot away in that tiny prison cell. Your time together had been adventurous. Often hazardous. Life threatening. In the end, you made it out alive. Coming back stronger than ever before.

It could have been a fairy tale. A long awaited fulfillment of a seemingly impossible dream. Were it not for the Wakandans crushing your reverie at the worst place imaginable. The Sokovian memorial. Where you held one of his clothed hands in both of yours. Shedding tears, remembering his old life. His wife. His son. You would never replace them. At the same time, you did not even intend to. His past was part of him & made him to the man you loved endlessly. Bucky did not receive your blame. Were you mad at him for handing Helmut over to the Wakandans? Absolutely. Then again, the super soldier was the reason why he was out of jail in the first place. It was a fine line between resentment & gratitude.

Luckily, throughout the various missions you had been a part of, you gained Sam’s trust. He took a liking in you & when he saw you struggling, he was eager to help. Obviously, the Raft yielded when the Captain America himself transmitted an inquiry. Only a few hours passed & you were on your way to Helmut’s current accommodation. A small jet that had been arranged just for you. In this instant, you did not feel average anymore. For a second, you experienced what it would feel like to live this kind of lifestyle. The one of a Baron. Why you were still unfamiliar with that even though your boyfriend was rich? Truthfully, you did not touch his money at all. It was his & when he did not have access to it while imprisoned, you did not dare using it either. Loyalty. Of course Zemo suggested utilization for you but you declined politely. After reasoning enough, he swore he fell even harder for you. The staunchness of you was remarkable.

It was bizarre. Entering the Raft with multiple workers circling you. You were told that these were the security measures that had to be met if someone wanted to visit an inmate. To you, it sounded like a poor excuse but you would not speak that thought out loud. Prisoners needed social contact. Physical contact could not be provided, that much you understood. But one would go insane without having the opportunity to see another human being that was not a guard working here.

Your body was a mess. Heart hammering at your chest with such a force, you believed it would burst any second. Irregular breaths left your lips. Trembling hands fiddled with each other in order to prevent others from noticing. Weak knees that threatened to no longer stabilize your body weight with each step you took forward. To bystanders, you probably appeared as a put-together person. On the inside, there was chaos. Nothing but chaos. How would you react? How would he react? Would you have privacy? An audience? Observers? Innumerable questions flooded your mind. Seemingly, having only one purpose. To drown you. To drown every bit of you. But you would not succumb that easily. You were so close to where you wanted to be. The fight could not end now. Disappointment would cloud you. More importantly, it would cloud him.

Four guards. It took four guards to guide you through the facility. To your surprise, the insides radiated a calm, almost content atmosphere. The walk lasted an eternity. At least, that was what it felt like. Your Helmut occupied a cell at the very end of the building. No explanation had been given to you as to why they decided to accommodate him there. Maybe, with Sam’s assistance, you could change his quarters & move it further up to the entrance. That way, if you visited again, you would not have to waltz through every narrow hallway. Listening to the whimpers of some inmates. The screams. The bashing. The…pain. There was only one person here who you were familiar with. Helmut. The others? You had no idea what crimes they implemented to end up at a place as dark as this.

“He’s at the end of that corridor.” one of the guards motioned for the others to leave you alone. His hand gestured to a tall white door that had a small built-in window. Your sight was obstructed by the frosted glass of it.

“Will you join me?” you questioned, wanting to prepare for it if he had to accompany you.

“Generally, yes.” he breathed out, putting his hands in the pockets of his uniform. Then, he sighed quietly & eyed you once more. “But since it was requested you speak to him alone, I’ll leave you be.”

“Whose request was that?” your eyebrows furrowed. The Raft was not an institution for exceptions. At first, the mere thought of getting to see Helmut again was an impossibility.

“Captain America’s.” he stated monotonously. The way his face scrunched up made it obvious that he was less than pleased about this decision. As soon as you were out of here, you had to call Sam & thank him for making this feasible.

“Oh.” it was all you could muster at the moment. There was an overwhelming feeling you had to handle. And it was not exactly one of your specialties.

“The door is unlocked. Walk down the hallway & the cell will come into view. If something happens, there’s an emergency button that should be operated whe-“ you stopped him during his speech.

“Thanks for your concern but I’ll be just fine.” a genuine smile formed on your face. The guard nodded at you, still slightly uncertain, & turned around without another word. Letting the uncomfortable silence envelop you. Your legs were frozen in place, preventing you from running to him. Maybe it was the thought of having to say goodbye again. As wonderful as it was that you were allowed to visit him, the concept of abandoning him broke your heart. The difference between the jail in Germany & this one was that you could not linger close by. The trip lasted for a while. Daily visitations were out of the question.

Slow but steady steps moved you over to the door. A hand raised to the doorknob. The coldness of it grounded you the slightest bit. You had to take a few deep breaths, just like he had instructed you multiple times before, in order to reduce the fast, almost unhealthy pace of your beating heart. Your hand twisted the doorknob to one side & when you heard the lock click, you pushed the door open with your entire body weight. Otherwise, you would have been too weak to do so. Bright lights had you squint your eyes. A hand was used as a shield to block most of the luminosity. When your eyes adjusted to the different setting, you straightened your back & brushed non-existent dust from your clothes. This motion gave you something to do with your hands. It was a much needed distraction. You held your head high, looking straight forward to the very end of the corridor. At the sides, the walls were painted bright white. Almost too bright for your liking. It resembled a hospital & you had never enjoyed them. The consistency of it was broken with the glass wall you were staring at. The one which was straight ahead. His cell, you figured. But there was no silhouette you could make out. Considering the size, you should have noticed him already. But he was not there. So you no longer moved in slow motion but jogged over to the pane.

Fast footsteps echoed in Helmut’s ears. Time was fluid in a jail like that. But it had not been long since a guard brought him breakfast. Whoever visited him now, it seemed to be urgent on the basis of the fast pace they approached. He scooted closer to the frigid wall behind his bed. Something he did to mess with the employees here. At least it gave him something to do. Besides reading tons of books & listening to the radio that had been prepared for him. That was luxurious enough for an inmate. All of a sudden, it was silent. Too quiet for his liking. The next thing he heard was music to his ears.

“Helmut?” your broken voice whispered & filled the room. Was he turning hallucinational? Nobody would blame him in a place like this. But not even his imagination could recall your softness so perfectly. He stood up, carefully, & widened his eyes at the sight of you. There you were, on the other side of the transparent wall. Separating the outside world from the box he found himself in.

“(Y/N)? You’re here.” no time was wasted. Helmut dragged his body as close to yours as his cell allowed him to. One of his hands touched the smooth surface & you mimicked his actions. There were tears threatening to escape but you tried everything to keep them locked inside. “Don’t cry.” the volume of his voice had lowered. Nobody could listen to you in here but it almost felt illicit to talk at a normal volume.

“I’m sorry.” you chuckled shortly, your free hand coming to your face to wipe at your cheeks. How he wanted to be the one to touch your tender skin. To have you lean into his palm.

“What are you sorry for?” the proximity was given yet unattainable. Your gaze averted, staring at the pavement floor.

“I don’t know…For everything?” you shrugged your shoulders, laughing at how incomprehensible you sounded. Helmut shook his head. That was how he knew you. Always being the one to carry everyone’s burden on your own. Though you did not need to.

“Stop that.” it was an order but not a forceful one. One that eased the tension immediately.

“Okay.” you mouthed.

The floor was everything but comfortable but you made do. Sitting cross legged opposite of Helmut was dreamlike. In your dreams, you had skin-to-skin contact but that delight had been denied. Simply having him next to you was enough for now. Helmut had his elbows on his knees, watching your every move. Reminiscing every small detail he could get a glimpse of. But there was nothing new he came across. He remembered you like the back of his hand. Sometimes even more precisely than you did yourself. And yet, his observation resembled the first time when his warm, chocolate brown eyes fell onto your frame. Usually, you handled his stares well but something inside of you told you to inquire.

“What?” you asked with a playful, teasing tone. His eyes locked onto yours. You giggled at his confused state.

“Is there a problem?” Helmut turned insecure for a second. And people who knew him were aware that he was barely ever uncertain.

“No, not at all.” you shook your head to emphasize your words. “Just…you’re staring.” you called him out. It made him laugh, his head falling back briefly.

“Is it forbidden to stare?” one of his eyebrows perked up. “I believe most people are flattered by the attention.” though he played the serious act quite well, you could tell that he was joking.

“You’re awful.” you laughed at his antics.

“I am aware.” he saw you opening your mouth to disagree with him but Helmut was faster. “(Y/N)?”

“What is it?” you rested your intertwined hands in your lap. But he had noticed the trembles. He had noticed you struggling. And he realized that it was because of the position you were currently in.

“How is it like? Outside, I mean.” he skillfully changed the topic before the atmosphere between you two could shift in a negative way.

“You have a radio.” your finger pointed to the one sitting on a small table inside the cell right next to a stack of read-through books. “I’m sure you have an idea of what it’s like.”

“But I would love to hear it from you.” there was an encouraging smile on his lips that you could not resist, no matter what.

“Well, Karli’s dead. Sharon took care of her.” you began & watched him nodding approvingly. “Bucky finished his amends & it really looks like he’s doing much better. He’s taking baby steps but he’s doing well.” you could not suppress the small smile when you spoke about the super soldier. Helmut was not jealous. Bucky & you had become fast friends over time.

“Could you deliver a message from me?” he continued after a hum from you. “Tell James that I am happy for him. And thank him from me.” that warmed your heart. All of the previous disputes aside, they had started tolerating each other. You would not go as far as calling them friends but what was not could still be.

“I will.” you promised with certainty. “Right, um…Sam is Captain America. This job is made for him. I truly believe, with him, we’ll achieve great things.” you quieted down, not exactly knowing how to continue.

“So you established Sam’s & James’ success. But what about you?” he read you too easily. No other person saw through you like he did. That affirmed the close bond you two shared even further.

“What about me?” a phony dumfounded expression was plastered on your face.

“How have you been doing?” it was a question with so much emotion & care hidden beneath, it brought tears to the corners of your eyes instantly. Your attempts to blink them away were gratuitous. They started rolling down over your cheeks. So fast, in fact, you could not even wipe them away with your sleeves in time. Helmut’s heart broke at this sight of you. It was clear as day that you experienced a rough patch. The cause of it was him being imprisoned, that much he knew. “Talk to me.” he whispered & cursed the guards for not granting his partner access inside his cell. But they thought he would plan another escape. At the same time, they were unaware that he would not take the risk to jeopardize your safety with a second try.

“It’s…” you took a deep breath to steady your voice & avoid the wavering & cracking. “It’s been hard.” you admitted quietly. “Without you.” you finished. Your eyes flickered up to his face. His look brought you the tiniest bit of contentment. The way his body language could comfort you in such a way was prodigious.

“Love.” the nickname gained your entire attention. It was like all of your worries melted away by the simple sound of it rolling from his lips. The tears did not stop but they were mixed with happiness now. Gratitude that you shared this moment with him. You were here. Helmut was here. Similar to how it used to be. Yet, entirely different. “Please look at me when I tell you this.” & you obeyed without a second thought. “You are my world. If I could change this situation, trust me that I would instantly. I understand your struggles. And I abominate that I cannot dispose of your demons. Or make them part of my own. Your pain causes me aching ten times worse. It is painful seeing you like this. My love, you must promise me one thing.” it was hard for him to get through this speech without his voice fading at the emotions he was experiencing. But he had to stay strong for you. It would only cause you more distress if you noticed him showing how affected he truly was.

“Anything, Helmut.” your reply followed straight after. If he asked you for something, you would do your very best to make him proud of you.

“Promise me to take care of yourself. I would hate to watch you disappear because of me.” the sincerity assured you how important it was to him.

“Helmut, I don’t think I coul-“ he shushed you when he spotted what you were intending to do.

“Promise me, my love.” he repeated & you closed your eyes briefly, releasing another wave of tears.

“I promise.” your eyelids slowly opened & you could detect the relief in his at your words.

“How did you persuade them into visiting an inmate?” the atmosphere had shifted to a relaxing feel once again. And his attempt to start another conversation was welcomed.

“I didn’t do anything. Though I’ve tried multiple times…Sam came to my aid.” you chuckled at the memory & the excitement you emitted after his call. The news had been the best in a very long time.

“Ah, of course, if Captain America requests a visitation…” Helmut started.

“The chiefs are on board in an instant.” you finished his sentence & the both of you laughed at the tomfoolery.

“Means that Sam is the reason for your stay.” you confirmed his thought process quietly. “Please express my gratitude for him as well.”

“Will do.” you wanted to maintain the dialogue with him but a loud noise from behind you caught you by surprise. The same guard who had instructed your appropriate behavior inside these hallways was back. There was a look on his face you could not quite identify but it left you uneasy.

“Time’s over.” the statement felt like someone stabbed you with a knife. Not once, not twice. Multiple times to cause as much damage as possible. Helmut then stood up from the floor, gesturing for you to do the same. The moment you were on your feet again, your knees were close to giving out. Digging deep inside, you mustered all the strength you had left & fixed your posture. You did that to avoid radiating a fragile appearance. “Bid your goodbyes, I’ll wait by the door.” the guard took his place in the doorway, waiting for you to approach him. Your body faced Helmut’s & you rested both of your hands on the glass in front of you. He mimicked you & if it were not for the transparent border, you would have touched.

“I’ll miss you.” you whispered as you pressed your forehead against the boundary.

“I will miss you more.” he followed right after. “But you are always here with me.” one hand rested above his heart. Goodbyes were difficult. Especially with the ulterior motive of not returning the following day. It would most likely take a while until you would face him again. Secretly, so nobody could discern what you were doing, you pulled a small paper out of your pocket & pushed it through one of the many, tiny holes in the glass wall. It dropped to the floor on the other side. Helmut sent you a questioning glance which you retuned with a soft, gentle smile. Coughing behind you brought you back to reality. You had to leave. As much as it hurt, you turned your back to Helmut & distanced yourself from his cell. Arriving at the exit, you looked over shoulder one last time. One last time, your eyes locked. One last time, you let your tender features speak. One last time. While you walked away from him, he picked the small paper up from the ground. Unfolding it with much care, his eyes got stuck on three little words that were neatly curved in your handwriting. So when your eyes met, he returned that favor without anyone realizing it. His lips moved & you saw him mouthing that same phrase back. Your smile grew wider, as did his. And then you were gone. Of course, you would come back. And with Sam’s help, it would probably be sooner rather than later. He stared at the door where you just walked through. His gaze then turned to the paper in his hands. Never would he let go of it again. He would treat it like it was made out of gold. To him, it was. And it was worth so much more. The feeling it triggered inside of him could not be purchased. It could only be provided by a special someone. That special someone was you. Reading through the note one more time, he sat down on the uncomfortable mattress. The displeasure was ignored for now. For a minute, he bathed in the loving emotions you brought to him.

“I love you. -xo(Y/N)”

Published (05/09/2021) by Cathy

✨MY Ko-fi PAGE✨

Tags: @there-will-be-p-e-a-c-e, @simply-skeletons, @weareironmanbitches, @yallgotkik, @noavengers, @lieutenantn, @birdieofloxley, @aisling1985, @trelaney, @bibliophilewednesday, @msmarvelsmain, @takacsgram, @ya-boi-is-dead, @deamus-liv, @therenlover (thanks for your support <3)

[physicalturian]

[18+] Words of pleasure - Law x F!Reader - Part 4

[No spoilers] [Modern AU - College AU] [She/her pronouns used for the reader, no physical description; Everyone +18] Words : 6138 Archive of our own

Warning : Exhibitionism / Power play / Dom/sub Dynamics / Control/ Stranger / Flirting / Edging / Orgasm delay / Masturbation / Voyeurism / Spanking / Discipline / Aftercare … If you feel like I should add more warnings, send me a dm or and ask

– Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 -

Fifteen minutes ago, he had sent his messages.

 HandSurgeon: I’m done for the evening. I’ll be available in about 40 minutes.

HandSurgeon: Send me a message when you’re ready. And be sure to not touch yourself while you wait.

HandSurgeon: If you’re still busy, I’ll wait. I’m sure I can find something to busy myself while you’re being toyed with in front of your friends.

HandSurgeon: I can imagine how desperately you’re trying to stay discrete. Probably thinking everyone around you knows, and that’s how you like it. I think you like the idea of them finding out you’re actually a pretty needy girl. I’d call you a slut, but you’re only doing this for me. You’re only obeying because I asked you to. You’re only keeping that sweet pleasurable egg inside you because you want to show me how good you are. And that’s what a good girl does.

HandSurgeon: So, keep it until we talk again. I’ll send you another message when I’m home.

I stared at his words a few seconds, taking them in the best I could. I did the math in my head and realized I still had to wait 25 more minutes until he’d probably be home. Maybe he’d be home and still need to shower, or get changed- A groan escaped my lips as I let myself fall on my back. I don’t want to wait anymore…

 I placed my hand on my stomach, and drummed my fingers on it, pondering. Then very slowly, I slid my hand over my lower stomach, closing my eyes in the process as I let it go further down, under my underwear, parting my lips apart and sliding a finger between them. I started rubbing myself very slowly when my brain decided to remind me HandSurgeon’s words, you want to show me how good you are. Whining, I force myself to put my hand away and groaned, running a hand through my hair. He better be here soon, this is so fucking bad. Sitting back, I looked at screen a moment before typing,

 Edelweiss: It’s awful, I really want to touch myself.

Edelweiss: I…

Edelweiss: I touched myself a few seconds, then stopped right away because I know you wouldn’t have liked it.

Edelweiss: I didn’t get off, I just… caved in just a bit, but I’m still very much… eager…

 God. I looked over my messages a few times, groaning at how desperate I looked. It was weird, how I felt compelled to obey him. I had the power to not do it, I could just get my high and tell him I didn’t do anything. I could lie, and get on with my life. But I didn’t. I liked giving him that power, it was thrilling, it was exhilarating, it was something I wanted.

 I was surprised when I saw a HandSurgeon was writing, I thought he wasn’t home yet? Then it clicked,

 HandSurgeon: Driving.

HandSurgeon: Hands off yourself.

HandSurgeon: Punishment when home.

HandSurgeon: 10 minutes

 I gulped and wrote back quickly, noticing the number of mistakes I made when I typed. I made sure to read it over a few times before sending it.

 Edelweiss: I stopped, I promise I’m not doing anything right now! I’m kneeling in front of my screen, waiting for you.

Edelweiss: But… I don’t think I deserve a punishment. It’s not like I got any sort of pleasure from barely touching myself… I remembered your orders

 Spreading my legs, a little bit, I rolled my hips over my towel, trying to get some sort of friction. It was unbearably slow, and I did not get anything from it, all it did was moving the egg inside me and it felt nice. I was feeling a bit sore, but the need to get relief was stronger.

 Moving the laptop to the side a bit, I leaned forward and rested on my elbows, focusing on not doing anything. It was hard to do so. I was playing a bit of music in the background, to keep myself in the mood, not that it was needed. The built-up tension inside me was a constant reminder of how I felt.

 I don’t know how long I stayed like that, bucking my hips from time to time against my mattress, gasping at the sensation of the fabric of my underwear rubbing the towel. Soft, barely audible, whines would leave my lips when I did so, I hated how that man got me without even touching me. I was ready to do whatever he asked just to get rid of this pressure in my lower stomach.

 I almost had a heart attack when I heard my phone and my laptop make sound at the same time, looking at my phone first, I realized it was a Discord call from HandSurgeon. I looked back at my screen which displayed the same thing. Quickly moving the laptop in front of me, I picked up with just the voice, not turning the camera on, then muted myself. HandSurgeon was also muted and was writing.

 HandSurgeon: You picked up fast.

HandSurgeon: Did you move your hand from your needy cunt as fast?

 I started writing back, but he sent another message.

 HandSurgeon: You disobeyed. But I’ll give you some credit for being honest… which I’d expect from my sub, but you’re more than that, aren’t you? You want to please me, you want to be a good girl.

HandSurgeon: Did you feel guilty when you started touching yourself? Maybe afraid, to disappoint me?

HandSurgeon: I was indeed disappointed to read your message, but it balanced with your honesty… Still, I would have rather be pleased to read you were waiting needily for my return than simply… this

HandSurgeon: Well, I’m here, let’s discuss that misstep, dear.

 My stomach flipped, a shiver ran all over my body as I let my fingers hover over the keys of my keyboard. I did feel guilty, but mostly I felt wanting.

 Edelweiss: I do feel bad… sir

Edelweiss: Is it any consolation that I was thinking about what you’d do to me when I touched myself?

HandSurgeon: Trying to coo me into being nicer?

Edelweiss: No! no! I’ll take what you give me, then we’ll start fresh and we can have fun, right?

Edelweiss: sir.

HandSurgeon: Oh, but I’m having fun. I have few ideas on what your punishment could be.

 Giggling nervously, I made sure to angle the laptop right and turned the camera on. We couldn’t see my head, it even cut off a bit of my shoulders, but the important part could be seen: my chest and my legs. I sat with my hands on my lap a moment, seeing if HandSurgeon would notice, and he was quick to write back.

 HandSurgeon: Look at yourself… you look so good on your knees, ready for whatever I’m going to give you.

HandSurgeon: Beautiful…

HandSurgeon: And here, I thought I’d have you begging in my ears, but you’re also giving me a show.

 Leaning over to write, I was constantly careful to keep my head off screen.

 Edelweiss: That way you can see I’m not doing anything… even though I can still feel it vibrating inside me…

HandSurgeon: My, my… How interesting.

HandSurgeon: But you still need to be disciplined, don’t you think?

 I always leaned over to type back, then rested back on my heels, my hands resting on my lap once more.

 Edelweiss: …

Edelweiss: yes sir.

 I could feel my breathing quickening ever so lightly, the excitement starting to be more present. I did not realize I was smiling, but there was something so appealing to being in front of a stranger, half-naked. He had said I was beautiful, and it brought warmth all over my body. I did not want to hide, I wanted to show off.

 HandSurgeon: Good girl. Look at yourself, you’re not moving at all, how hard is it?

Edelweiss: very, sir.

HandSurgeon: Is that why you touched yourself when I was not here? After I told you not to? Was it already that hard then? Tell me, Edelweiss, how hard was it?

 My chest was rising with each short intake I was taking, I took a moment to think of an answer before typing back.

 Edelweiss: it was painfully hard, sir.

HandSurgeon: And how long did it take you to realize you were not being good by yielding to that temptation of yours, dear?

Edelweiss: I don’t know, 10? 15 seconds? it was very quick, I promise I stopped very fast!

HandSurgeon: I’ll take the difference, it’s true you have been honest.

HandSurgeon: I want you to slap your thighs, painfully hard, five times.

HandSurgeon: Your thighs look perfect for it, look at them. I want to run my hands over them before grabbing them hard enough to have you wince as I spread them apart to get a good look between your legs.

 Digging my nails into my skin, I stared at his words a moment before running my hands over my thighs very slowly then doing exactly as he wanted. I do not know if he could see how wet I was, but the little tip that allowed me to pull the egg out, could be seen and I saw him type.

 HandSurgeon: Good. You must be pretty sensitive with how long you’ve had it inside. Mmm? If it were up to me, I’d have you tied to that very bed and leave it inside you a few hours more.

HandSurgeon: I’d watch you writhe as I’d graze my fingers all over your body, painfully slow. Letting my nails dig your skin just slightly…

HandSurgeon: It’d leave a mark for sure, the colour would suit you well, I’m sure. To see you with marks all over your body, to know you belong to me. You’d enjoy it too, I’m sure. Begging for more, maybe fight against the restraints.

 My breathing was getting heavier just from imagining it. I brought a hand to my stomach before scratching it across, wincing as I did so, it left a colorful mark from under my breast to my lower hip. It was burning slightly at the tip of my fingers and on my skin, but it felt so good too. That pleasure was cut short very soon.

 HandSurgeon: Did I tell you to do that?

HandSurgeon: Hands on your thighs, now. Hard.

 Bringing my hands back to my lap, I quickly answered, feeling bad.

 Edelweiss: I’m sorry. I thought… you’d enjoy it. I won’t do it again, sir.

HandSurgeon: I don’t recall giving you the reins, now you do as I tell you.

 And I did. I stopped doing anything and placed both of my hands on my thighs, hoping he had forgotten about the punishment.

 HandSurgeon: Let’s start the count now. You know what to do.

 Without thinking, I unmuted myself so he could hear it. Maybe like that he’ll be able to gauge the strength and agree I hit hard. After my first hit, he sent a message, not missing to count.

 HandSurgeon: One.

HandSurgeon: That’s it, good girl. Fuck you’re going in hard, exactly as I told you.

HandSurgeon: It sounds beautiful, even more when hearing those soft little gasps from your pretty mouth.

 I chuckled but did not speak. Desperate and filthy noises will be all he’d hear from me. I would not speak.

 HandSurgeon: Keep going now, and spread your legs wider. But don’t move.

 As I did, I made sure to lower the camera just enough so that the height I lose from resting on my heel, did not made me lose my anonymity. Once that was done, I resumed my punishment and hit my thighs, waiting for the man on the screen to count along.

 Two. It’s already a nice colour. Maybe you should strike the other one next time. Make it even. Three. That’s it, it’s a nice sound. You’re pouring your heart into it, good girl. Four. Was that a whimper? No, you moaned. It such a pretty sound. You’re enjoying it a lot more than you’re supposed to. Maybe I should add more, that ought to calm that enthusiasm of yours. Go ahead, last one. Five. Did you hold back? I’m sure you wanted to whimper. You went pretty hard on that last one.

 Looking down at my skin, if was definitely ‘colorful’ as he put it. The stinging pain felt good, but as I brushed my hand over the skin, there was a painful reminder of how sensitive it had become from the sheer force I had used. Add to that how my entire body was a lot more sensitive from being stimulated the entire night… I let out a shaky sigh as the sensation.

 Looking up, I saw that HandSurgeon was writing and waited for his message, my hands rubbing absent-mindedly my thighs while I waited. Trying to ease the burning skin.

 HandSurgeon: You took it very well, I’m proud.

HandSurgeon: Now that this is done, the fun can begin.

HandSurgeon: Although, I think you’ve been having a lot of fun tonight already.

HandSurgeon: You handled it pretty well, if we ignore the slip up right at the end.

HandSurgeon: So how about you remove those clothes, I want to have a good look at you.

 Well, if I was going to remove those remaining clothes, might as well do it with a bit of charm. First, I freed my breasts, and dropped the item of clothing behind myself. I made sure, to squeeze them a bit, not knowing if he’d appreciate it but I continued and raised myself on my knees before slipping my underwear off. I sat back on my ass and extended my legs in front of myself to slip it off entirely and dropping it by the other item of clothing.

 Once I was fully naked, I faced the camera once more, the same position as earlier. I made sure to spread my legs to show HangSurgeon how wet I was, even if it was a subtle sight.

 HandSurgeon: You leave me speechless.

HandSurgeon: You’re gorgeous. I’m glad you feel comfortable enough to show yourself to me.

HandSurgeon: I can see you’re moving your hips, you really can’t stay still.

HandSurgeon: First, stop rolling your hips.

 And I did. I clenched my wall around the still vibrating egg inside me, and slid my hands between my thighs and my calves to keep myself from fidgeting.

 HandSurgeon: Good. I want to see, sit back and show me how it looks, dear.

 Resting my hands behind myself, I leaned back and spread my legs more to give him a better view. I followed his instructions and spread my lower lips too, making sure to not touch myself more than what he asked me to.

 HandSurgeon: I think it’s time to take it out, wouldn’t you say?

 I gave a thumbs up on the screen and was going to pull it out when he sent another message.

 HandSurgeon: Type back, or tell me ‘yes sir.’ I’m sure you can use words.

 Gulping, I considered for a moment. I mumbled to myself, the microphone not picking up on my tone. Then I looked to the side, it was different to say it out loud than to write it. In a lower tone, I said, “Yes sir.” It was short, it was embarrassing enough, and yet, my pulse was only getting faster.

 HandSurgeon: Go ahead, pull it out, slowly.

 Grabbing the rubber end, I pulled very slowly, just as instructed and turned it off as I did so. I felt my walls try to clench around it to keep it in, my hole stretching more when the toy finally came out.  A silent moan left my lips, then I sighed in relief of not feeling the vibrations inside me. There was a white string connecting the toy and my pussy, it broke when I put it down on the towel.

 HandSurgeon: That was very interesting…

HandSurgeon: I see it was not for nothing, with how wet you are I’m sure you toy could slide in effortlessly.

Edelweiss: it feels empty now, sir.

HandSurgeon: We’ll fill you up then. Grab your vibrator.

 I did, and showed it on camera, twirling it around a bit before going to slide it inside me. But the man on the other side of the screen had something else in mind.

 HandSurgeon: Dear, slow down.

HandSurgeon: I want you to suck your toy good.

 I was surprised by his request but did as he asked and brought it to my lips, I stuck my tongue out and tried to show just that to the camera before putting it my mouth and giving it a few licks with my tongue. It was weird, but I imagined it was the real deal and twirled my tongue around it a few times before showing him once again.

 HandSurgeon: Look at you.

HandSurgeon: Sucking off your toy, thinking it’s my cock. That’s what you did, right?

HandSurgeon: It’s strange to do it, but you did it because I asked you to.

HandSurgeon: And you want to please me that bad. You do, you are pleasing me greatly.

HandSurgeon: I think it’s time to please you, wouldn’t you say?

 “Yes, please… sir…” I whispered, hoping he had heard it.

 I like the sound of that. So polite and already pleading. Go ahead and shove it inside. Give me a show as you do so. Look at you, teasing yourself for me. That’s it, keep rubbing it on your slit. I can hear you, breathing so loudly already, dear. I can’t imagine how much you want it. No, need it, is that right? Need it so much you’d beg for it.

 I don’t know why I chuckled, but I did. I slowly slid the toy inside me and groaned, “Maybe…” before moaning a bit louder than before when it was fully in.

 Did you laugh? ‘Maybe’ is not an answer. You’re giving me a bit of an attitude there. Careful. I can see you’re enjoying yourself, thrusting that toy in and out. Does it feel good? Let’s make it better. Run your hands over your body, delicately. I want you to feel yourself. There is no fun in just using that needy pussy of yours. Let’s have a bit of fun. I want you to give me a show. That’s right, let go of your toy. It’s annoying, I’m sure, but I want to get you a bit more on edge. Color?

 Edelweiss: green, green

Edelweiss: can I lay down? My knees are starting to hurt

Edelweiss: I’ll give you a show, but please not too long

Edelweiss: I really want to fuck myself

Edelweiss: for you

Edelweiss: hopefully you’ll have some fun too

Edelweiss: please?

Edelweiss: sir

HandSurgeon: I think you are very needy tonight.

HandSurgeon: And to get what you want, you’ll have to beg more than that. Go ahead and lay down.

HandSurgeon: I barely did anything, and you’re already fidgeting on the spot. My pretty toy likes to show off, just for me.

 Oh, the hands on your breasts. Are you trying to coo me again? Pinch your nipples and pull them. That’s it, again, a few more times. Feel the stinging pain? It’s nothing, you want more. I can hear your shallow breath. You seem to be handling well. Maybe I should have left the egg longer inside you. Have you begging for release. Ruin that little pride of yours. You’d be moaning my name, asking for permission. To touch yourself. No, no, no, don’t touch your clit just yet.

 I let go and move on the towel, sitting on the side, he could only see my side so I laid down and turn on my side to face him. I was laying with my head resting on my hand, supported by my elbow.

We’re talking, I have all the time in the world. “Please sir. Let me touch myself…” I whispered. I could barely recognize my voice, I was shy, I was ready to disappear. Try again, make it more desperate. That’s what you are. Desperate for a good fuck. And I’ll give you that, if you beg properly dear. Come on, try again. You were desperate enough earlier to touch yourself without my permission. Get it back, and ask. I’m not hearing anything, dear. Cat got your tongue?

 His last text sent electricity coursing through my body, it reminded of Law earlier when he was suggesting I had a medical kink. Which only right now could I admit I had… perhaps. In my head I now replaced that stranger’s face with Law’s and it made everything a lot more intense.

 “Can I please fuck myself for you, sir.” It was supposed to be a question, I was supposed to be asking for permission, but it sounded more like a fact and HandSurgeon took notice of it.

 That won’t do. Try again. I’m starting to think you don’t want it that bad. Maybe we should delay that little pleasure of yours a bit more. Have you hump your bed. I’d enjoy the sight. You wouldn’t be enjoying it as much. But I would. I’ll have you giving me a show, my cock in hand. You’d be aware that I’m stroking my cock from your pretty show.

 “No, please. Please, let me fuck myself for you sir, I’ll be good. Please. I-“ My breath hitched and I intertwined my hands on my lap and continued, this time in what I hope was a sultry tone. “I want you to watch me ride it.” My face burst aflame the moment the words left my mouth and I waited expectantly for my partner’s reply. I saw him type and added a better incentive, feeling the throbbing between my legs increasing. “Please sir,” I felt embarrassment crawled up my skin when I said the last part, “I’m your good girl.” But it was also so exciting.

 HandSurgeon: That you are.

HandSurgeon: Very well, start slow. And don’t rush it.

HandSurgeon: And let me hear your pretty sounds, I’ve taken a liking to them.

 Humming, I followed his instructions and started doing exactly that. I laid on my back for a better access and use the arm that was not in the way of the camera to thrust the toy inside me. I would whine at how slow it was, but at how good it felt to finally get any sort of friction. Breathing heavily with my mouth open, I tried to calm it down the best I could but abandoned quickly when I saw the messages.

 Don’t hold back. I want to hear how good it makes you feel. You’re gripping your sheets so tight. Maybe we’ll put that hand to good use. Yes? Rub your clit. Keep moving slowly. That’s it, good girl. I can get used to hearing you whimper when I call you a good girl. What a show, you’re taking it so good. Maybe we should turn it on, see how you fair. What would you say? I’ll need a better answer than that whine. You can do better.

 “Yes, I want to turn it on, please.” I breathed, still riding the toy. I slid my finger to the button, ready to press it.

 Cute. But I’ll let you ride it more before that. Seeing you like that. Legs spread wide. Your hips bucking against it. It’s a sight. So sinful, so lewd. You’re so depraved. I could make you do anything like this. And I know you enjoy that idea. You want me to order you around. Tell you to stop. Oh no, dear, don’t stop. It was an example. God you’re so obedient. I’d have you in front of me. On your knees. I’d press my thumb on your lips. Parting them. Your hands would desperately try to get my cock out.

 Don’t fasten the pace. I see I am getting to you. You want to suck me off that bad? With my cock in your mouth, you surely won’t give me the attitude you gave me earlier. Because you’re a good girl. You’d suck me so good. Moaning around my cock. Trying to take it as deep as you can. With how greedy you are, I’m sure I’d have to grip your hair to stop you from going too far. Pretty tears running down my pretty girl’s face.

 I arched my back at each thrust, trying to meet them with more speed than I was allowed to use. With my eyes closed, I focused on the feeling of it stretching me before leaving, and coming back, over and over again. At some point, I was so focused, I probably forgot to read the messages and just heard, “Stop.” from my computer and moaned as I stopped. Turning my head to face the screen, I mumbled an apology, my face burning in embarrassment.

 HandSurgeon: Seeing how far you were, I had to talk. Because you were not paying attention.

HandSurgeon: I was about to apologize for breaking that little… unspoken agreement of not talking…

HandSurgeon: But I have a feeling you enjoyed it.

HandSurgeon: Tell me, Edelweiss. Did you enjoy the sound of my voice?

 Huffing, I shrugged but he could not see it so I spoke, making sure to lower my tone a bit. “What if I did?” I asked, smiling. I couldn’t stop my brain from imagining it was Law behind that screen, I wanted to hear more of that stranger’s voice. I wanted to imagine Luffy’s friend ordering me around, I wanted him to look at me as I fucked myself for him.

 “Yes or no. Answer me.” I heard him talk once more, his voice low and stern. I whimpered as I bucked my hips against my toy, I wanted to get something, anything, but I was not going to get it until I replied. “Yes, yes I did sir. Please can I keep going- please keep talking,” I pleaded, trying hard not to move, my eyes riveted on the screen.

 HandSurgeon: I think I’ll keep writing. It’ll force you to pay attention.

HandSurgeon: How about this, I’ll let you go wild.

HandSurgeon: No, not yet.

HandSurgeon: You’re so eager tonight. I wish I could tie you up to stop you from moving so much.

HandSurgeon: I have yet to make you writhe in pleasure.

 Let’s have you on your stomach. That’s it, you’re showing off your ass right now. Slap your ass for me. I didn’t even have to ask twice, my good girl is that happy to please me. Right, now… You’re already ready to move that pretty toy of yours. How about you just, turn it at speed 1 for now. That required a lot of effort from you, I saw. A lot of restraint. But look at you. Bucking those hips into the mattress. I don’t believe I told you to do that. You stopped, good.

 Holding myself in place was painful. It felt more satisfying than the small vibrations from earlier, but if I was not rolling my hips, or moving it myself, it was not reaching the right spot. I was now left panting, gripping the pillow tightly, lifting my ass instead of bucking my hips against the bed. It was the only way I made sure to follow his instructions. My pussy was starting to feel sore, all I wanted was to cum but I also desperately wanted to please him.

 Such a needy little thing, aren’t you? You’d need to be pinned down right now. Showing your ass like that, unable to stay put. I can hear your heavy breathing. I can hear each and every moan of yours. Hear your dry throat, trying to keep up with those needy, needy whines of yours. You must be so used up. So sore. So sensitive. But my pretty girl still has some energy left. I can see it. You’re ready to pour all that energy to fuck yourself for me. God, look at you. Grinding against nothing, like a bitch in heat. You’re desperate, aren’t you? You’re ready to beg, yet?

 “Yes, yes, please, please.” When I breathed those words, I heard a delicate whisper that, yet, carried such authority I could have melt on the spot. “Go wild.”

 A throaty groan escaped my lips, I turned around and laid on my back then started fucking myself upon receiving his permission. I was lot louder than seconds ago, I was not holding back, I wanted to give him a show, but also find that perfect spot to finally reach my peak.

 If you keep making those sounds, I’m not going to be able to stop myself. You truly are a distracting view. Feel how sensitive you are. Brush your hands over your breasts. Never stop those thrusts. That’s it. Look at you. Touching yourself for me. Giving me the most delicious show. Having you at my mercy like that. I would have given in earlier, if you hadn’t disobeyed one simple order. But you don’t mind. You wanted to be disciplined. You wanted me to give you special care. The attention you’ve been badly craving all night.

 Expectant. Needy. Longing, craving, and yet insatiable. Because you know, you’ll only be able to touch yourself when I told you do. You knew, there was nothing you could do. You were at my mercy. Without me ever being there, you were obeying me. You liked it. You thrived from it. That’s what made it so much more exciting. I’m the reason you’re in that position. Squirming on your bed, sighing and mewling in pleasure. A pleasure that I brought you. That I have control of. With one word, I can make it go away and stop you from getting any sort of gratification.

 “No, please, let me- please I’m so close, fuck,” I rasped. My throat dry from breathing with my mouth open, I swore under my breath when I lost the angle and had to keep thrusting. Arching my back, I scrambled to move the pillow under my hips then crossed my legs to feel the vibrations better.

 Now, did I say you could do that? If you want to close those legs, you ask for permission. Open, now. That’s right. You’re getting the hang of it. You starting to understand what you have to do, right? So, be a good girl and do as I tell you.

 And I did, I begged, moaning his title, telling him I’ll be good. Telling him I really needed it, I was so close. My arm was starting to get tired, but I did not want to stop. I felt the need to prove him I could keep going, I could listen and obey.

 HandSurgeon: Dear, what’s your color? Stop moving, answer me.

 “Wanna say green but… orange, arm tired.” I breathed, letting my head fall further into the mattress while I took a short break and rested.

 HandSurgeon: Good girl, you’re honest. Do you think you can finish? Or do you want to stop? I won’t be mad with whichever you chose.

 “I can finish, sir.” I murmured, hoping the microphone would catch my voice. Clearly it did, since the man on the other side of the screen replied in the most erotic way, his voice unwavering, “Good girl. Resume your show now.” His voice had an effect on me, I did not know possible. When I grabbed the vibrator once more, I was still remembering the tone of his voice and how good it sounded when he called me like that.

 There we go. That’s it, keep going like that. Don’t grab the sheets, dear. Move those pretty fingers to your clit. Ah there it is. It feels better like that, I’m sure. You arche your back so much. That pillow is becoming pretty useless. One more reason to have you tied down. Don’t you think? Don’t answer. Focus on what you’re feeling. Each thrust. Slow down, dear. Just a bit, take your time to feel it just right. That’s good. There, right there. Look at you, closing your legs when you’re close. As if you’re turning shy.

 As if you haven’t been fucking yourself. For so long. In front of me. Letting me hear all your sinful noises. Opening those legs to show how needy you are. Riding that silly toy like it’s my cock. Enjoying being watched. Enjoying the attention. I’ll give you my attention. I am definitely looking. You’d like it even more if I was stroking my cock right now. Wouldn’t you? Knowing the effect you have on me. Knowing you’re not just a desperate little thing. That gets aroused from being ordered around by a stranger. You want to help. You want to be good. You want to know you’re doing a good job at being a little slut.

 “Yeah- please, stop writing please can you-“ I let out another moan but never stopped fucking myself. “Stroke yourself and-“ I took another sharp intake of breath, feeling myself close. “I want to hear you, please, let me hear you, sir.”

 Since you asked so nicely… “With the sight you’re giving me. I can’t keep my hands to myself.”

 The rest was a mix of both our breaths. Hearing him groan and try to keep his breathing steady was what brought me to the edge. He was dropping short praises as he stroked himself, grunting them close to the microphone. I could hear it was getting harder and harder for him to keep talking as the sounds behind the screen became more and more obscene.

 I lost it when I angled the toy right and let out a loud moan that made the man swear under his breath, “Fuck, that’s my girl. Look at you, listen to yourself, whimpering-“ he cut himself off, groaning again, his breath hitching. His gruffy voice echoed once more, “Splayed on your bed, vulnerable, so fuckable and so fucking good to me.”

 “’m close, please-“ I managed to say between the panting and moans that were the thing my brain could muster with how good I was feeling. The man then kept groaning filth and praises in my ears, feeling himself getting close, and after a few minutes I felt my whole body spasmed before the knot in my stomach finally snapped and I felt the tension in my body leave. Soon after, it was HandSurgeon’s turn who whispered, once he was done, “I love the sounds you make when you come undone.”

 I laid there, too tired to move or do anything. I did turn around to face to camera, at least laying on my side as I waited to see if he was sending any messages. I muted myself while waiting and reached behind my back, for my bottle of water.

 HandSurgeon: [sent an attachment]

 Looking back, I choked on my water when I saw the picture he had sent. There, on his chest were a few things. Not only a gorgeous tattoo decorating his chest, taking most of the space but also the vulgar yet appealing display on his stomach. The cum being a very slight contrast on his darker skin, but I’d be lying if I did not feel some sort of pride seeing it. I couldn’t ignore how his dick was resting on his lower stomach either.

 Edelweiss: not gonna lie, it’s very hot

Edelweiss: and that tattoo is, surprising…. But damn it looks good

Edelweiss: you look good, that looks very good on you, yep…

HandSurgeon: It’s on you, you should be proud.

Edelweiss: trust me, I am enjoying it a lot, very proud yeah definitely

HandSurgeon: Go get clean, I’ll wait and get cleaned too.

Edelweiss: We could hang up, I should probably sleep

HandSurgeon: I’d prefer stay a bit more to make sure you’re fine, check up on you after you’ve cleaned up and talk about the session.

Edelweiss: right, right. That sounds good, brb!

  Lowering the screen, almost having it closed, I moved off my bed and made sure to grab my phone as I took clean clothes and cleared up my bed. It did not take me long to get freshened up, but I did sit on the side of the bath a moment and considered sending a text to the man from this evening. He did give me his phone number, and I was in a good mood. I was finally relaxed after being tensed the entire evening,

Maybe I should apologize for how forward I’ve been.

Nah, he enjoyed it or else he wouldn’t have given me his number, right?

And so, I did. I sent him a text in my post-orgasmic haze. Maybe I shouldn’t have…

[Part 5]

[fancytrinkets]

Hi! For the OC ask :)

In what situation was your OC the most afraid they’ve ever been?

In what situation was your OC the most calm they’ve ever been?

What demon would your OC be most susceptible to and how would the demon best tempt/manipulate them?

Thanks for this, this is really fun!

I'm delighted to realize I've written about all these things, at least a little, so I'm answering with snippets of fic for my Trevelyan inquisitor, Galen, from Dragon Age Inquisition.

Most afraid

Galen had a pretty bad time being caught off guard by undead rising up underfoot in Crestwood. That was probably the first time he'd ever been literally incapacitated by his own fear reaction. And it surprised him, because he's usually pretty calm in a crisis:

A slender figure rises from the water and staggers towards them. But between the rain and the darkness of the late morning storm, it's not easy to make out its features. "That's one of them?" Galen asks. "It is undead, yes," Cassandra says from somewhere close behind him and off to his right. He doesn't want to believe her at first, but as the creature stalks closer he can hear it moan and snarl. And then suddenly it picks up speed and charges him, its skeletal head pitching forward — with only darkness where its eyes once were. "Oh, fuck, no," Galen says and swiftly backs away. But his retreat is useless, because suddenly there are corpses rising up all around them. Some emerge from the lake, while others claw their way up from shallow graves beneath the sand. Galen follows Dorian's lead and blasts one of them backwards with a steady stream of fire. But two more are on him now and he can smell the putrefaction up close as the bones of their fingers catch hold of his robes. He panics, shoves one of them back, and then gets tangled up with the other one. Its hair is long and filthy and it's much too close to his face. He trips forward, dragged down by the writhing dead thing, and his mind goes utterly blank for one terrifying instant. But then Cassandra swoops in, pulls him back up, and pries the corpse off him. She bashes it down to the earth with her sword and shield. It doesn't move after that.

Most calm

Galen's generally very calm and at ease — he fully acknowledges that he's not a very exciting person, despite the adventurous nature of his current job. But he felt particularly soothed by the Hissing Wastes, especially during the moments when he got to rest and let his thoughts wander as he enjoyed the atmosphere (and the company of his romantic partner).

He feels so small out here, and the sky and sand so infinite. It's heartbreaking, beautiful, and he doesn't know what to do about it except to write a few words in hopes of remembering later how it feels to be an insignificant piece of that greater vastness. The look on his face must change as he takes up his graphite and begins to write, because Dorian notices and remarks on it. "You're terribly handsome when you're lost in thought." "I think I'm handsome all the time," Galen says. "I hope you're reflecting on how much you adore me." "Oh, yes. Always," Galen says. Teasing each other back and forth is such an easy rhythm to fall into. And a joyful one. "Perfect," Dorian says. "Then make sure you put that in your little diary. I don't want the history books to get it wrong. Not about us, at any rate." "Oh, don't worry," Galen says, reassuring him. "One adoring little diary entry, coming right up."

Demon he's most susceptible to

The Nightmare at Adamant is exactly the sort of demon he's susceptible to. Galen's optimistic, good-natured, open-minded, and friendly. He's had a lot of good fortune in his life and he knows that other people have suffered deeply in ways that he hasn't personally experienced. He doesn't always want to see the reality of that suffering. And so there is a moment in the Fade when the Nightmare catches hold of him and he gives in. He starts handing over the worst of his recent memories, allowing them to be siphoned away. Hawke pulls him free, fortunately, and then he returns the favor by insisting that she can't be the one who stays behind in the Fade.

But then it becomes a moment that pushes him down a path of growth and change. He sees himself more clearly when he acknowledges his weakness to this demon — and in the long run he becomes a better leader because of it — one who is better able to think about and respond to systemic injustices.

The walk back to camp is slow and somber. It must be nearly midday and yet the dark clouds overhead make it feel as though night has fallen. The route is made even bleaker by the many corpses that litter the ruined fortress. They look eerie in the torchlight, a ghastly reminder that there are many horrible ways to die during battle. Galen shuts his eyes as he steps around the charred husk of a Grey Warden mage. The body was devoured by a blast of fire that he himself remembers casting. It's one of the memories he was so eager to yield to the demon. This is me. I'm the sort of man who turns away from the truth when it's vile enough. It's a hard thing to see in himself. He'll need some quiet time alone to sort through it — mulling it over in hopes of turning observation into insight.

[stuffthatbard]

Can't help but send this to everyone with the egglaying/oviposition/eggpreg kink listed in their kink list... Easter themed stories for everyone!! Maybe it's a creature, Easter Hare/Sprigon/Springtime goddess maybe it's easter eggs, maybe it's a fertility ritual gone wrong/right!! So much fun springtime/fertility/creature lore out there, go wild and feel inspired!

Hope you don’t mind that I combined these two--they were both so good! Although sadly I didn’t manage to work in CBT. Next time! (Also, to the 3 months-old prompts still sitting in my inbox, very sorry for the delay! Those will definitely be my next priority.)

read on ao3, or below:

--

Geralt woke with the first breaths of spring, shaking the cold out of his bones and shedding the winter that had settled over his forest for the long months. He had much to do in preparation for the months to come—an entire world to bring back to life.

It was easy enough to coax the lands back into blooming, and it was a task he always enjoyed, convincing the flowers to blossom and the trees to bud. He wove among the trees, feet treading lightly on the soft grass springing up.

And then he heard it—someone singing, the spring breeze carrying the melody to him from afar. The singer’s voice was beautiful—clear, joyful, reaching soaring highs. And an idea came to Geralt.

He knew he would soon need to bring new life to the world, the beginnings of cramps in his abdomen already making themselves known. His eggs wouldn’t be ready for another few weeks, which was perfect—it gave him time to prepare, time to plan how he would snag the singer to be his mate, to bear his young and to renew the forest.

Geralt laid his trap in advance—a trail of treats leading from the village to just outside his warren, sure to pique the curiosity of the young bard, if not the appetite. And then, hiding in the bushes, belly heavy with eggs, he waited for his soon-to-be-victim to appear.

It didn’t take long. Jaskier—as Geralt had learned his name was—had taken to walking the forest paths in the evenings, sighing over the beauty of the forest or the beauty of a lover or any other thing that caught his poet’s attention. And sure enough, when he saw the first treat Geralt had laid out, he picked it up, and the next, and the next, until he found himself in front of Geralt’s warren.

“That’s odd. Who would--?”

He was cut off as Geralt leapt, bursting from the bushes to snag Jaskier around the waist. The bard yelped, too surprised to even fight back—in a short moment Geralt had navigated the twisting hallways of his warren (an impossible maze to anyone but him) and deposited Jaskier solidly on the pile of furs that made up his nest.

Jaskier stammered for a moment, lost for words as his brain processed the quick turn of events, until he finally gathered his wits. “Now see here!” he started, and then he finally took in the creature before him.

Geralt stood, bare as Mother Nature had birthed him, stomach gravid with new life. His rabbit ears swiveled under Jaskier’s inspection, his nose twitching as he waited for Jaskier to speak.

“What—who are you?”

“Geralt.”

Jaskier paled at the name—he had only just realized he was in the presence of a god, apparently. “What—what will you do with me?” he whispered, fingering nervously at the hem of his shirt. Geralt kneeled down next to him, pulling away his hands and pinning them to his side, just as he pinned him with a stare.

“You’ll bring new life to the forest.”

Jaskier’s eyes flickered downwards and back up again just as quickly. “I think there’s been a mistake, I can’t—I’m not a woman,” he said bluntly, trying to tug his hands out of Geralt’s grasp. Geralt held firm.

“You’ll bear my eggs just fine.” Saying that, he released Jaskier’s wrists so that he could begin to divest the bard of his clothing, but he wasn’t expecting the sudden resistance he was met with.

“What—no,” Jaskier protested, batting his hands away and drawing his knees up to his chest. Geralt admired how it rounded his arse—which he would soon be sinking into. “I—I mean, please, o God of Spring, I urge you to reconsider,” he begged.

“I’ve considered it enough,” Geralt answered, “and decided. You’re perfect for me. Young, full of life and song. You’ll make a wonderful mate.” Then, hoping to calm the bard’s racing heart, he leaned forward and kissed him, gentle lips trying to put him at ease.

It didn’t work—Jaskier went even stiffer, turning his face away and squeezing his eyes shut. “Please,” he whispered. “Please, let me go. Don’t do this.”

Geralt grew angry. It was an honor to be chosen by a god—who did this young upstart think he was, turning down such a generous offer? But he knew of a way to ensure Jaskier’s compliance. “What do you think happens if the God of Fertility is unable to complete his ritual?” he bit out.

Jaskier didn’t answer.

“I’ll tell you. The forest will stagnate, devoid of new life, and your village will starve,” Geralt said bluntly. “If that’s what you want…”

Jaskier bit his lip, reddening it. “No,” he finally sniffed, all the fight fleeing him at once.

“Then let me breed you,” Geralt rumbled, and leaned in for another kiss, testing Jaskier’s resistance. He was met with none, although he wasn’t met with enthusiasm either. That was fine—Geralt didn’t need a willing host.

He pushed Jaskier backwards until he was lying on his back, and made quick work of his clothes. Jaskier stared resolutely at the ceiling the entire time, face creased in distress, but he didn’t struggle. Soon he too was bare, and Geralt wasted no time in hiking up his legs, exposing his tight hole.

“Wait,” Jaskier interrupted, a new fear in his eyes. “Aren’t you going to—please don’t fuck me dry.”

Geralt growled. He didn’t want to waste any more time—the eggs were growing heavier by the minute, his body anticipating his coming laying. But he supposed lubricant would make it more pleasurable at least, and the boy wouldn’t run the risk of tearing.

He dropped Jaskier’s legs and went to fetch a vial of oil, confident inn the knowledge that Jaskier wouldn’t—and couldn’t—flee. He returned shortly, and Jaskier was still where he’d left him, shivering a bit in the cool springtime air.

Geralt would soon warm him up. He poured out some oil and hiked Jaskier’s legs up again, oiled fingers coming to prod at his hole. He was tight, but under Geralt’s constant pressure, soon yielded to the press of two fingers stretching him wide. And Geralt knew he would only stretch further as the night went on.

Jaskier’s lips parted at the first intrusion, brow creasing in not-quite-pain. “Relax,” Geralt murmured. “It’ll feel good, if you let it.”

Geralt worked him with two fingers until he was panting, subtly shifting his hips in search of more. Geralt obliged, slipping in another finger, rewarded with a moan as Jaskier threw his head back. Geralt reached for his cock, intending to bring him to orgasm so that he would relax further, but was surprised when Jaskier gripped his wrist.

“What are you doing?” he growled, and Jaskier released his wrist instantly, eyes widening.

“Please don’t—just get this over with?” he pleaded.

“You need to relax, or else my eggs won’t fit.” Jaskier turned watery eyes to him, but Geralt couldn’t be budged. “I know what you need. Just relax and let me.”

Jaskier shut his eyes, but made no move to further hinder Geralt as he once again reached to stroke Jaskier’s cock to full hardness. It only took a few strokes before he was moaning louder, bucking up into Geralt’s fist, driving himself back down on Geralt’s fingers.

Geralt twisted his wrist just as he prodded at that sensitive spot inside of Jaskier, and Jaskier spilled with a cry. Geralt pumped him through it, only stopping when Jaskier began to shudder from overstimulation and twist away. Geralt’s fingers remained deep inside Jaskier’s hole, keeping him stretched and ready for his cock—which was proudly standing at attention, eager to sink into that warm slickness.

Jaskier’s eyes rolled back in his head as Geralt breached him for the first time, Geralt himself only barely holding back from sinking all the way in. Fuck, Geralt hadn’t felt something this good in a long time. Even parted around Geralt’s thick cock, and even after orgasm, he was still so tight, hot and contracting sinfully around him.

Geralt sank in slowly, until he was buried to the hilt, Jaskier gurgling underneath him. Geralt could oh-so-faintly see the outline of his cock in the bard’s abdomen, piercing him all the way up past his navel. Geralt pulled out and sank back in again just to watch it bulge, feel the way Jaskier clenched.

“Fuck, gonna breed you so good,” Geralt grunted, his composure leaving him as he began to thrust faster. Jaskier moaned, writhing a little beneath him, his hot, sucking hole fluttering as if trying to draw Geralt deeper. Geralt’s pleasure grew higher and higher, until, with a grunt, he emptied himself into Jaskier, hot cum splashing deep, filling his stomach in preparation for the eggs that were coming.

They weren’t very big, but there were many of them, all clamoring to get out, to be laid inside a warm host. Geralt gripped tighter around Jaskier’s waist, pulling him further down onto his cock as the first few eggs spilled out of him. One, two, ten, bump after bump traveling the length of his cock and being deposited inside Jaskier.

“Fuck,” Jaskier gasped, muscles twitching. “Feels so weird—so much—”

“There’s plenty more to come,” Geralt replied, groaning as another batch made its way out of him. Jaskier made a guttural noise and tried to pull away instinctively, his body screaming at him too much too much too much.

Geralt yanked him ruthlessly back down, and Jaskier screamed, voice cracking as he sobbed. “Please, enough,” he wheezed, and Geralt knew he had to be struggling for air, his lungs unable to fully inflate with how full his stomach was becoming.

He didn’t listen, pinning Jaskier in place despite how he struggled, animal instincts trying to flee, until he gave up all at once, sobbing beginning anew. His lithe body quaked underneath Geralt, each jolt sending a shock of pleasure to his cock, still trapped in that wet heat.

The last egg, one of perhaps a hundred, popped into Jaskier. He lay there shuddering, covered in sweat and his own come, gasping for breath. His eyes were closed, but they flew open as soon as Geralt took his cock in hand again, stroking just to feel how wonderfully tight he clenched around Geralt with every touch.

“Nonono stop,” Jaskier gasped, pushing ineffectually at Geralt’s chest. “Stop, it’s too much—”

Geralt didn’t stop—Jaskier felt too good around him. He grunted, speeding his hand and thrusting into Jaskier, chasing a second orgasm as he forced Jaskier towards his second.

Jaskier came with a cry, fresh tears rolling down his cheeks as he spasmed around Geralt, and Geralt followed him, spurting his seed into Jaskier once more. His body couldn’t take it, full as he was, and it spilled out around Geralt’s cock, leaking out onto Jaskier’s thighs and onto the furs.

Geralt pulled out, watching hungrily as more come leaked out, though his eggs stayed firmly inside, where they would remain until the time came to birth them.

“You’ll carry my eggs so well,” Geralt praised, picking Jaskier up—careful not to compress his overfull belly—and laying him down on a cleaner pile of furs.

Jaskier didn’t reply, too wrung out to even muster a word. His eyes slipped closed, his body falling into a much-needed rest, so that he didn’t hear Geralt’s next words.

“And next year, you’ll do it all again.”

[eggytranslations]

Volume 1, Chapter 11-Fate

Content warnings: n/a, maybe prequel to some nsfw?

The night was deathly still; even the candlelight barely flickered.

In this meager space, Shen Qingxuan’s voice was soft, yet it shrouded every corner, his expression serious, even solemn.

With such an expression he had asked, “Shall our separate paths converge into one?”

Yi Mo was somewhat surprised.

How could he not be surprised?

He was originally just a snake, and only because of his cold and unfeeling personality, was he chosen and enlightened by someone who had already ascended to the heavens as an immortal.

He had cultivated for thousands of years, and after one more heavenly trial, he, too, could shed his mortal body and be born anew. Joining the immortal ranks was just a matter of another two or three hundred years. But now there was this mortal, Shen Qingxuan, saying clearly and resolutely: Shall our separate paths converge into one?

Where could that possibly be, Heaven or Earth?

He could tell that Shen Qingxuan did not have the constitution needed for cultivation, which had something to do with his fate. Because of this fate, Shen Qingxuan was destined for prosperity and abundance beyond compare, yet he could only drift about in the mortal realm, endlessly reincarnating. Although he was in dire straits at this moment, it was just a fleeting period of misfortune.

From the first time they met, Yi Mo understood that this was his and Shen Qingxuan’s fate.

They were destined to meet, otherwise why would he, who had always hid himself in the mountains, enter the Shen family’s courtyard on a whim, go so far as to coil himself around the railing in his true snake form to bask in the sun, and let Shen Qingxuan drench him with a cup of hot tea?

Helping him was just a matter of yielding to fate.

As the mortals would say, he was Shen Qingxuan's , fated helper, and assisting him through adversity would allow him to obtain merits as well.

This was inherently a good thing for both parties, and after Shen Qingxuan overcame this calamity, he would naturally follow the currents of fate. In the future when he became some high official, he would no longer have anything to do with him. Yi Mo could care less about the wealth and status of the mortal realm, but Shen Qingxuan’s fate was predestined. With a body weighed down by oppressive, mortal bones, he would never be able to transcend this world.

Moreover, a mortal's life lasted less than a hundred years, and to him a hundred years was just a drop in the ocean. In the future, when Shen Qingxuan died of old age, and his bones returned to dust, he would still look like this, wandering throughout the world. How could their paths converge into one?

Mortals, they were always so greedy. They wanted to live long and healthy, enjoy fame and fortune, and even dared to meet with a yao at the end of the road.

Yi Mo slowly walked over until he stood with his head bowed over Shen Qingxuan, and after intensely scrutinizing him for a long while, he remarked, "I really underestimated you.”

Shen Qingxuan knew that his words were rash, even offensive, but even he did not know why Yi Mo would say something so out of the blue. At this moment, Yi Mo’s expression was as indifferent as usual. Unable to find any clues from his face, Shen Qingxuan decided to take this sentence as a compliment.

He did not expect Yi Mo to drily continue after a pause, “Although you are so thin and weak that even the wind can blow you away, your lust is awfully strong.”

Shen Qingxuan, who did not hear clearly at first, stared at him blankly with his face still turned up. When it dawned on him, a brilliant cloud abruptly blazed across his face. Suddenly unable to speak coherently, he berated hoarsely, "W-what nonsense are you talking about!”

Yi Mo, still standing with his hands clasped behind his back without a single ripple on his face, merely uttered each word slowly, "I saved your life, and promised to restore you to full health, so it is only natural that you want to repay me with your body. But I have not shown any indecent desire, and yet you are already this eager. You have truly surprised me.”

His words were spoken clearly and distinctly, yet they churned Shen Qingxuan’s mind into a muddied bog. He knew perfectly well something was not right, yet his tongue twisted into a knot, rendering him unable to utter a sound.

As he watched Shen Qingxuan’s control rupture into a blush across his face, Yi Mo raised his hand after deliberating for a moment, fingers delicately curled, and touched that shamefully hot face with his fingertips. It seemed as if he were inspecting something and toying with it at the same time. His actions were impetuous, yet Shen Qingxuan was in a complete daze. He did not even think to dodge, and allowed those ice-cold fingers to touch his burning cheeks.

They were so cold. Cold and icy, like lifeless porcelain. Yet soft and nimble, a living being devoid of warmth.

A snake yao—not even a human. Shen Qingxuan truly could not make sense of his deep infatuation. He could not help but gaze at his face through half-lidded eyes, taking in those picturesque and indescribably beautiful features. Then his heart began to flutter in his chest, beating so quickly that it did not make sense. But since when did this world ever make sense?

While in a world of his own, Yi Mo continued to graze his cheeks with his fingertips, taking in their warmth, the delicate skin suffused with a radiant blush. With such thin skin, how could he be this shameless? He opened his palm, turned his wrist, and let his ice-cold palm thoroughly cover that heat source. Extremely warm. A foreign yet familiar warmth flowed through his palm, and he could even feel the faint pulsing of tiny vessels beneath the delicate skin. A moment later, his palm slowly traced Shen Qingxuan’s face, moving from his forehead to his cheekbones, then to his cheeks, before finally resting on his sharp jaw. After enduring those ice-cold caresses for a short while, Shen Qingxuan's face not only did not cool down, but instead grew even hotter until it was scalding to the touch.

Yi Mo was a yao who had lived for over two thousand years; what strange stories had he not heard? Yet he did not understand how this half-crippled mortal of merely twenty or so years could have such ambitions. Nevermind that they were both men, he dared to entertain such delusions between a human and a yao.

Aiya—this truly made him open his eyes.

Absorbed in his own world, Yi Mo caressed him for a while before leisurely retracting his hand and remarking, "Thinner, but still smooth.”

Shen Qingxuan finally reacted with a low "Ah" and instinctively shrank back, coming to his senses and scolding at once, "You think this is a business transaction that you need to inspect before buying?”

Yi Mo raised his eyes and looked straight at him. "So you want to repay me with your body, yet not allow me to appraise the quality?”

Although Shen Qingxuan was still blushing, he had regained his wits for the most part. Seeing Yi Mo speak so directly and shamelessly, with just the two of them alone in this room and almost no distance in between them, Shen Qingxuan decided that he might as well lay down his shame. He murmured, “According to your words, I am only repaying your kindness. But have you ever seen a man offer up his body in the name of gratitude? There are no such records in all those books.”

However as he spoke, Yi Mo stretched out his hand again and untied his belt.

As soon as his belt loosened, Shen Qingxuan pursed his lips and swallowed back what he had wanted to say. All at once his heart realized—It was not that Yi Mo had misunderstood.

He had not misunderstood. Rather, Yi Mo had understood him so well, that he deliberately credited his feelings as mere gratitude. In this way of borrowing and returning, coming and going, repaying a debt was much easier to resolve, without too much entanglement.

––Yi Mo did not want to be entangled with him at all.

Once Shen Qingxuan understood this point, his heart felt like it had been drenched with ice water, the chill permeating his core. Even he could not describe his emotions. But he was somewhat calculating after all, and he recovered without betraying his feelings. He could not compete with that shrewd and experienced old yao. Whatever he says, goes, and Shen Qingxuan could do nothing about it. So he remained motionless, allowing Yi Mo to undress him.

The atmosphere in the room abruptly returned to silence, only the faint rustling of clothes audible.

Shen Qingxuan looked down to see the collar of his robes wide-open, exposing his snow-white inner robe. He watched as those slender yet forceful fingers worked nimbly, loosening the ties on the side of his waist, before untying the next one. When those frigid fingers touched his skin, Shen Qingxuan would shiver, goosebumps rising from his skin.

Sensing his reaction, Yi Mo halted, and after a moment of silence, asked, “Are you still willing to give yourself to me like this?”

Shen Qingxuan was also quiet for a moment, before giving a low chuckle and removing his own crown from his hair. A head of long hair flowed down, the silky strands covering half of his face.

"Since I am repaying your kindness, I should show some sincerity.” The corner of Shen Qingxuan’s lips quirked as he put his hair crown aside and turned back with an easy smile on his face. "Not to mention, you are a snake and cannot freeze me to death. Even if you were a glacier, I would still be willing.”

Hearing his attempt at courage, Yi Mo simply pressed his ice-cold palm firmly against Shen Qingxuan, deliberately making him shudder.

"Then show me your sincerity.”

~~~~~

This chapter is translated by Renee (wooo her first!)

Edited by Eggy and Tao 

Happy 520 (an informal valentines day because it sounds like “I love you” in Chinese) so posting one day earlier :~)

Next chapter in two weeks

[varric-tethras-editor]

Silvhen Mahariel OC Answers

I found this template by @justafewocprompts and decided to tell everyone about my Warden Silvhen Mahariel. It quickly got away from me and became.... quite long.

Please enjoy.

Character’s full name:

Silvhen Linise Mahariel

Reason or meaning of name:

Silvhen: sal’melin, given name, mean. Someone who thinks of others before herself, lit. “thought people, thought of people”

Linise: lenal’melin, Mother’s name, mean. Child of fire

Mahariel: lethal’melin, clan name

Character’s nickname:

“Silvhenan”

Reason for nickname:

Alistair Theirin thinks he is immensely cute and funny with his girlfriend. He learned that the Elvhen word for “heart” was vhenan and decided to get clever.

Birth date:

29 Kingsmere, 9:11 Dragon

Physical appearance:

Reference photos (will be eventually) provided

Age:

18 at the start of Fifth Blight

How old does he/she appear:

Representative of actual age, but is short and small.

Weight:

105

Height:

5’0

Body build:

Very small frame with surprising dense muscle in arms, abs, and thighs.

Shape of face:

Oval with petite chin

Eye color:

Forest green

Glasses or contacts:

N/a

Skin tone:

Porcelain with rosy, windswept cheeks

Distinguishing marks:

Mauve, brown twisting, vine-like vallaslin

Predominant features:

Petite, pointed ears

Hair color:

Light Wheat-Toned Blonde

Type of hair:

Fine but thick with silky texture

Hairstyle:

Short pixie cut

Voice:

Higher-pitched and chime-like.

Overall attractiveness: Decently attractive, but often overlooked. Figuratively, and literally. She’s small.

Physical disabilities:

Only has 7 toes. Lost three when she was 13 and on her (first) mission to move from apprentice to hunter. She claims this is the reason for her clumsiness but her companions have seen her slice through darkspawn too effectively to believe that excuse any longer.

Usual fashion of dress:

When exploring or wandering around she wears typical fennec leather or wolf leather leggings and cloth tunics cinched at the waist with belts; both for combat enhancement and because most clothes are too big. Foot wraps because she is a Good Dalish Girl.

Favorite outfit:

She wore a skirt for the first time this year when Leliana leant one to her for a tavern outing one night in Denerim. Despite knowing the vast impracticalities of skirts, Silvhen could not stop admiring how it twirled around her and she felt very pretty that night. (Especially when Alistair couldn’t keep his eyes off her legs and the blush off his cheeks.)

Jewelry or accessories:

Usually wearing various enhancing pendants and rings. Always wears a special silver ring that Morrigan found in a Denerim market and bought for her. Silvhen knows the importance of the gesture and never takes it off.

Personality

Very kind and selfless. Slow to anger and quick to compromise. Effervescent and clumsy. Loves to laugh and smile. She has a strong sense of community and prioritizes others, always.

Good personality traits:

Magnanimous, always sharing and giving to others. Very diplomatic even though it intimidates her to be a Grey Warden sometimes. Patient and quick to come up with solutions. Immensely friendly and welcoming to all people regardless of race, class, or background. Remembers absolutely everything about her friends (birthdays, preferences, favorite things, etc.) and loves being able to finally give gifts freely.

Bad personality traits:

Over-trusting, impulsive, bad at math and payment due to growing up with trading in her clan. She often gets taken advantage of by merchants if she is shopping alone. (Wynne has noticed this and usually tries to follow Silvhen around the markets to glare at any merchants who try any shady business.) She also likes to start a lot of projects/missions/quests and abandon them when she gets distracted. Oftentimes she is already looting the bodies before the fighting is over and her companions do not appreciate it. They usually overlook it, however, when Silvhen shares all the gold and goods that she finds.

Mood character is most often in:

Casual and agreeable.

Sense of humor:

Light sparkling laughs when others make jokes. Not loud or overly joking herself, but loves being entertained by her friends. (She thinks Zevran is the funniest of all her companions but would never admit that out loud to Alistair.)

Character’s greatest joy in life:

Meeting new people, from all walks of life. Especially all her new, interesting, and diverse companions!

Character’s greatest fear: Losing all her friends. And the Archdemon.

Why?

Her friends are the reason she perseveres and fights for a safe Fereldan and without them everything would be for nothing.

Have you seen that creature? It is huge and scary and Silvhen is very small.

What single event would most throw this character’s life into complete turmoil?

Well, she’s already lost her childhood best friend, had to forcibly become a Grey Warden, and learned that she is to be the saviour of all of Ferelden during the Fifth Blight so nothing else could probably really phase Silvhen at this point. Maybe if she woke up with nug arms it would be pretty difficult to use her daggers though…

Character is most at ease when:

Sitting around the campfire with her companions, drinking Oghren’s ale, listening to Leliana’s music and trying to hide her laughter when Morrigan and Zevran tease Alistair.

Most ill at ease when:

Having to deal with political leaders or nobles. She always remains kind but gets nervous about the consequences of her making a political or social gaffe.

Enraged when:

People belittle her and her race/culture or when people imply she cannot do something because she is an elf or a woman. This is the only time when her kindness slips, usually. All of her companions relish the moment that someone says a slur or offensive comment because they find it very entertaining to watch her tell off bigots.

Depressed or sad when:

She is alone. Being lonely makes her sad, but also she will usually only express her sadness when alone. She doesn’t want to risk making other people sad alongside her.

Priorities:

Beat up the Archdemon

Save Ferelden and her friends

Spend the rest of her life making Alistair Theirin know how loved he is

Life philosophy:

Be kind to everyone and everything. The world will repay what you provide, always.

If granted one wish, it would be: That she could travel with more than 3 of her companions at any given time.

Why?

She feels bad when her friends have to be left behind. She feels fortunate to see as many amazing places as she does and wishes she could always share that with ALL her companions!

Character’s soft spot:

Her companions.

Is this soft spot obvious to others?

Yes. She literally never shuts up about how much she adores her companions. She gets drunk in taverns after one mug of Ale and starts gushing to strangers about her love for her companions. Sometimes she doesn’t even need the mug of ale.

Greatest strength:

Her empathy and compassion.

Greatest vulnerability or weakness:

Her empathy and compassion.

Biggest regret:

Not being able to save Tamlen, and feeling like she gave up on him.

Minor regret:

Stealing her dad’s staff to “practice magic” in the forest when she was 6. She had never seen him scared before, and that was the night she learned about Templars.

Biggest accomplishment:

Becoming a Grey Warden and helping to save the people of Ferelden.

Minor accomplishment:

Winning the rock skipping contest at the last Arlathvhen. Of almost 200 Dalish contestants she bested everyone and won an ironbark dagger.

Past failures he/she would be embarrassed to have people know about:

It took her two tries to eventually move from apprentice to hunter. She attempted the first time right after turning 13. She finally succeeded when she was 15 and had worked on developing her patience further.

Why?

She was very gifted, but impulsive when she was young. She felt she had much to prove since her father was a mage (the clan’s First under Marethari Talas) and she was not. She was eager to prove herself and instead was very hurt. She ended up losing three toes in the end, instead of her whole foot, but was very embarrassed and felt she let down her Father. She tells everyone that she lost her toe in the second hunting excursion and doesn’t tell anyone about her first attempt.

Character’s darkest secret:

Silvhen desperately wishes that she would have been born a mage, like her late father.

Does anyone else know?

Not anymore, but she thinks that she might eventually confide this in Alistair. Tamlen was the only person she had ever told.

Goals

Drives and motivations:

Making the world a better and kinder place. Keeping people safe and making them feel loved.

Immediate goals:

Gather allies. Slay the Archdemon. Save Ferelden from the Blight. Find a place that serves authentic Dalish Hot Pot Stew.

Long term goals:

One day, once Fereldan is safe, she would like to settle down with Alistair and spend her entire future loving him and being loved in return. She also wants to be a mother, but keeps this dream a lot closer to her chest.

How the character plans to accomplish these goals:

With the help and support of her companions!

How other characters will be affected:

There will be lots of bruises and scrapes. Some broken bones and many gauges. Scars will form, but so will friendships.

Past

Hometown:

Nomadic Dalish

Type of childhood:

Raised by members of the community as well as her single father. Her mother passed at child birth, due to poor maternal mortality rates among the Dalish.

Pets:

Silvhen was given a Halla by her father after she lost her toes to help aid in her recovery. She named her Atisha, meaning peace or calm as a reminder that impulsivity would not yield positive results. Atisha has become positively enamored with Morrigan, much to her displeasure. Silvhen likes to say it’s because Morrigan wears so many shiny baubles, and that attracts Atisha to her. Morrigan scoffs at this, but Silvhen has caught Morrigan shape shifting and calmly wandering the forests with Atisha when no one at camp was paying attention.

First memory:

Her father performing magic tricks for her as a child in their aravel.

Most important childhood memory:

Becoming friends with Tamlen. He had fallen down on the outskirts of camp and scraped his knee and was afraid to tell his mother that he had snuck out of camp. Silvhen brought him home to her father who healed his knee with magic.

Why:

Tamlen was her best friend for her entire childhood. They grew up alongside one another because Tamlen’s mother was neglectful and abusive. Silvhen realized later that her father, by healing Tamlen’s knee, had saved him from a rough punishment. Tamlen was the person she confided everything in. They spent all of their time together, shared jokes and tears. When Tamlen’s mother passed away when they were 12 he was essentially raised by Dianisamhal, Silvhen’s father for the years until Dianisamhal died.

Childhood hero:

Her father

Dream job:

Keeper (impossible and secret due to her not being a mage)

Education:

Homeschooled in a sense. Given the traditional Dalish education which consisted of more lessons in culture and lore, hunting, survival skills, and clan trades. Was mostly illiterate until becoming a Grey Warden. Alistair helps her learn words that are more difficult by reading posters around markets.

Religion:

Taught extensively about Dalish and Elvhen lore and gods. The Creators were prayed to and honored while growing up in her clan.

Finances:

Living in the clan they didn’t have much of a class system or difference in wealth versus their neighbors.

Present

Current location:

Wherever her travels have taken her today. Anywhere in Ferelden at any given moment.

Currently living with:

Her companions! They all share tents while travelling but she usually tries to share with Alistair most nights because she gets very cold and she likes how big and warm and safe his body feels.

Pets:

Her halla, Atisha, and her Mabari, Doghren.

Religion:

Believes in the Dalish gods casually and culturally. Not exceedingly devout but does believe.

Occupation:

Grey Warden

Finances:

She is not to be trusted with any of the parties finances. She does not understand how the Thedosian currency operates and is consistently overcharged and overpays. She is also too kind for her own good so she is constantly giving coin to strangers and beggars. (The only time she did not give coin to a person asking was when dealing with Goldana, Alistair’s horrid sister. Silvhen wanted to give that lady nothing more than a swift slap to the face.) The others no longer trust her judgement or knowledge in money and make sure she never has more than 2 gold on her at any given moment, for emergencies.

Family

Mother:

Linise Aralla Mahariel (mean. Child of fire. [Linise was born in the Denerim Alienage during a fire that encompassed many of the buildings.]) (mean.

Relationship with her:

Passed during childbirth. Her father does not talk about her mother incredibly often but she cherishes the stories and information she does have from both him and from old journals of her mothers who was a writer and poet.

Father:

Dianisamahl Eolaselan Mahariel (mean. Filled with laughter.) (mean. Knower, an agent of knowledge.)

Relationship with him:

Silvhen loves her father very much and had a wonderful relationship with him. Unfortunately he was killed by bandits attacking the clan. Silvhen was 16 when this happened and was devastated.

Siblings:

None, only child.

Relationship with them:

N/A

Spouse:

None

Relationship with him/her:

N/A

Children:

None

Relationship with them:

N/A

Other important family members:

Tamlen was always considered a sort of family member for Silvhen. He spent most nights with Silvhen and her father eating dinner together and playing.

Favorites

Color:

Green

Least favorite color:

Red

Music:

Anything Leliana plays is immediately Silvhen’s new favorite song. You can find her gently humming them for a few days afterwards, without fail.

Food:

Growing up Dalish she never had a terribly diverse cuisine. Now that she travels all over Ferelden she tries new things, but still typically prefers to eat stews, jerky, and vegetables. However, she has grown to appreciate hot, sweet rolls that some bakeries make.

Literature:

She was mostly illiterate in common until joining the Grey Wardens. She used to read her father’s Elvhen magic manuals though, and found them very interesting. She also loved listening to the clan’s hah’ren tell stories to the children and often joined in the tellings.

Form of entertainment:

Her friends are where she derives much of her entertainment. They are all so diverse, humorous, and interesting! She really enjoys observing and people watching, and asking questions about others.

Expressions:

She doesn’t have many common phrases that she uses. Mostly lots of laughter.

Mode of transportation:

Walking, mostly.

Most prized possession:

The rose that Alistair gave her, and the journal/sketchbooks of her parents.

Habits

Hobbies:

Now that she is learning to read common better she has been enjoying reading various books. She still struggles with adult novels but she found few advanced children’s tales in a Denerim bookshop and reads them in the morning when her companions are still asleep. She also enjoys taking walks around nature and finding various flowers and leaves to pick and press. She keeps a journal of all her favorite flowers she has come across while exploring.

Plays a musical instrument?

No. And she cannot sing well either.

Plays a sport?

No. But she does hunt.

How he/she would spend a rainy day:

The same as any other day? There are still things that need to get done and water doesn’t stop that!

Spending habits:

We know how Silvhen is about this and we love her anyway.

Smokes:

Silvhen and Tamlen definitely would sneak away in their adolescent years to smoke various versions of elfroot and deep mushroom once in a while. Occasionally while walking through the forests in Southern Ferelden she spots the best kinds and brings them back to camp where she and Zevran stay up late and giggle with one another around the campfire.

Drinks:

Occasionally she will have a drink or two socially with her friends but cannot consume much due to her being so small and such an infrequent drinker. She does enjoy making out with Alistair while drunk though, so he often has to watch her while they go out to taverns together to make sure she behaves herself.

Other drugs:

She has concocted a mixture of various root powders to help with either energy or calmness. She uses thee as needed and gives servings to her companions as well. Wynne and Morrigan keep asking her for the recipe but she won’t share it with them.

What does he/she do too much of?

Overthink her decisions.

What does he/she do too little of?

Indulge in things for herself.

Extremely skilled at:

Hunting and using every part of an animal. She is quick and efficient with her kills. Then she creates wonderful stews and jerkys from the meats, she uses the bones for glue and crafts and to make beads. She uses the hides for leathers and clothing or armors. All of her companions seem thoroughly impressed by this trait but Sten especially so. After watching her do this ritual from start to finish one afternoon he called her “kadan” for the first time. She has never forgotten that moment.

Extremely unskilled at:

Cooking, except for her smoked jerky she makes from her hunts, which her companions adore. The rest of the meat she must give to Sten and Wynne who prepare most of the meals at camp.

Nervous tics:

When she is uncertain or anxious, and her hair has gotten too long she twirls the tiny pieces around the edges of her neck. She usually cuts it short for this reason, as well as practicality.

Usual body posture:

She almost always stands very straight because she is short, and slouching wouldn’t do any favors.

Mannerisms:

Very casual and breezy among her friends or common folk. More timid around leaders or nobles.

Peculiarities:

Her accent is quite prominent and it sounds odd but endearing with her higher pitched voice.

Traits

Optimist or pessimist?

Optimist

Introvert or extrovert?

She gets her energy from being around people but isn’t always outwardly exuberant. She laughs along and joins in the conversation but isn’t the center of attention or the loudest in a room.

Daredevil or cautious?

As a child she was impulsive, but learned patience with age and practice.

Logical or emotional?

Logical

Disorderly and messy or methodical and neat?

Methodical and neat.

Prefers working or relaxing?

Working.

Confident or unsure of himself/herself?

Quietly confident. She is a little worried about how she will face the archdemon, but knows that she has friends and allies to help her.

Animal lover?

Yes

Self-perception

How he/she feels about himself/herself:

She is generally pleased with the person that she is, however she doesn’t feel as though she’s done anything truly “great” in her life so far to make her mark on the world. She’s eternally grateful to Duncan for not only saving her life but also for giving her the opportunity to achieve that greatness.

One word the character would use to describe self:

Considerate

One paragraph description of how the character would describe self:

A Dalish elf who travels with those she loves and tries to do the best for others. Loves the nature that surrounds us and the people that inhabit it. Wants to make the world a better place through kindness, compromise, and laughter.

What does the character consider his/her best personality trait?

Her patience

What does the character consider his/her worst personality trait?

Naivety

What does the character consider his/her best physical characteristic?

Her smile and lips.

What does the character consider his/her worst physical characteristic?

Her ears, but simply because she thinks they are too small. Other elvhen children used to tease her and call her a “shem” because her ears were smaller and less pointed, so to compensate when she turned of age she chose a very deliberate and bold Vallaslin to ensure that everyone she met would immediately know she was an elf.

How do the people in the character's life view him/her:

The literal most kind person they’re ever met. Alistair sometimes secretly believes she might be divinely blessed because he has never in his whole life met someone so kind and considerate and patient and Maker’s breath how did he get so lucky to be cared about by someone like her he’s no one special-- *Silvhen kisses him to shut him up*

What would the character most like to change about himself/herself:

She would like to have a better understanding of the world outside of life lived in a Dalish clan. She loved her upbringing but sometimes she feels overwhelmed and insecure as a result of things like money, politics, and street smarts.

Relationships with others

Opinion of other people in general:

She thinks people are the most beautiful things about the world. Growing up Dalish she loved the land but she’s always had a fascination with people. She finds other races and cultures interesting and enlightening and enjoys hearing tales from all over Thedas.

Does the character hide his/her true opinions and emotions from others?

Not usually. She prefers to be sad while alone, however.

Person character most hates:

Goldana, Loghain, and (secretly) Isolde and Eamon. Basically, any human who has ever wronged Alistair.

Best friend(s):

Tamlen (childhood through start of blight)

Alistair, and Leliana now.

Love interest(s):

Alistair Theirin <3

Person character goes to for advice:

When she wants validation she goes to Leliana. When she wants tough love she goes to Wynne. When she wants to get the truth fast and dirty she goes to Zevran. (Or when it’s about sex she goes to Zevran.)

Person character feels responsible for or takes care of:

Herself. Her pets. Alistair, in an emotional sense.

Person character feels shy or awkward around:

Politicians and Nobles.

Person character openly admires:

Alistair, Alistair, and Alistair. Also, Leliana.

Person character secretly admires:

Wynne and Morrigan. Silvhen sees Wynne as a sort of Mother figure that she never quite had. Silvhen thinks Morrigan is the most fascinating human she has ever met but usually doesn’t bring this up because she knows Alistair doesn’t care for her and that her fascination would make Morrigan uncomfortable.

Most important person in character’s life before story starts:

Her Father and Tamlen.

After story starts:

Alistair, and all of her companions.

[cherishedkids]

fight || tokito muichiro x reader

anime: kimetsu no yaiba  warning/s: sad, spoilers from the manga, mentions of injuries and character deaths words: 1,686 pairing/s: tokito muichiro x reader request: “Manga spoilers to the ppl who didnt read the manga!!! au where Tokito Muichiro lives and gets a happy ending with a gender neutral reader?” -anon

A/N: thank you to the anon who requested this!! gosh ive been writing so much muichiro lately 😳 i hope you enjoyed this!

The sun streams in, touching everything in its path. You were no stranger to its harsh nature, as you saw countless demons die by its hand. But as its rays touch your own face, you are reminded of a new day. A fresh path was open to you.

Muichiro lay on his back, bandages wrapped around his body. It had been a few months after the brush of death with Kokushibo. Thankfully, the gods saw fit to let him survive. The most that happened was the loss of his right leg and a coma right after. You knew his body needed time to heal, but you had no idea as to how long.

The first time you saw him in that state, you almost cried. Forget the noble cause of fighting for others, forget eradicating demons; he was ready to give himself up for the corps. Those who witnessed him fight the demon praised him for his bravery and abilities—those who were still alive, at least. Hundreds of thousands of his comrades had fallen before him, cursed to die in their work. You were scared for him, yes, but the passion in his eyes burned, and you knew that he’d do everything in his power to kick into gear the death of demons. It was especially present in the fight with the Upper Moon One. He was fine when he left you that night, but the next day, he came back to you, unconscious and battered.

But he survived. And he conquered death. So many times, he was close to dying. So many times, tears fell from eyes, worried sick. So many times, you prayed for him to be alright.

Everyday, for the past months, you waited for him to awaken. You needed a distraction—something to hold on to while Muichiro was not available. So after the first week, you decided to build your own house. It was difficult at first; finding free lands, contacting workers, and getting an architect to make plans for it, but it would be worth it in the end. You expected a lot going in. Money wasn’t a problem, as Ubuyashiki’s family was eager to help its demon slayers, but the stress of the project was big. You devoted yourself to it, as the fantasy of living a normal life with Muichiro gave you motivation. Even the finest of details—what polish to use, the type of wood, and even the lacquers, you paid attention to.

It was all for Muichiro. You had no idea the pain he felt as he laid there, thinking it might be his last moments. You wanted to alleviate that, if only a little, with a promise of a home after he wakes up. If he even wakes up.

The project was long done, the house sitting pristine atop a hill. It wasn’t grand—just enough for a couple to live in. But even so, Muichiro showed no signs of stirring.

Exhausted, you sat back down on your chair and waited patiently for him to open his eyes. The staff at the Butterfly Estate had looks of pity on you whenever you visited them everyday, but you were used to it. If you had no hope for him, then who else would? His flickering light needed someone to shield it, and if it took years, you were perfectly fine with that.

Again, his face lay in a peaceful state. The airy-ness that it exuded was nowhere to be seen. He was fine this way, he seemed happy. But you needed him awake.

For the umpteenth time, you reached across to hold his hand. If you could take away all the pain he had ever felt in his life, you would. He did not deserve this.

“Muichiro… please, get through this,”

Like all the other times, he didn’t reply. There were no tears to escape your eyes. They had already long dried out. You let out a sigh, but you never let go of his hand.

Maybe it was how the sun rose to the sky, carrying light with it. Maybe it was how the moon sank down below, yielding to the superior being. Maybe it was just the result of faith and months of prayers.

Muichiro’s hand intertwined with yours. The force of this wasn't lost on you. When you looked up, his blue eyes stared back at you, full of life and confusion.

“Muichiro!” You almost hugged him, but you weren’t sure if he was well enough for big commotions. You stood up, shaking from excitement. “Hold on, I’ll call Kanzaki—“

His hand doesn’t let go of you. “Please, stay with me for a while,”

You sit back down, ready to answer any of his questions.

“How long have I been… asleep?” This question, you’ve been anticipating.

“About five months,”

“And the others, what happened?”

You swallow the stone stuck in your throat. “Kokushibo died after you lost consciousness, and, well…”

It was clear from your demeanor, and Muichiro understood and nodded. “So they all died…?”

“Muzan was defeated,” At these words, he turned to you, eyes widened. “Tanjiro and his friends and the water hashira are the only ones left,”

“While I was asleep, huh,” You didn’t know what he meant by that.

“At least you’re here now!” He returned the smile you shot him and pressed your hand to his lips.

“Yes. With you.”

After calling Kanzaki Aoi to have a look at him, she deemed him fully recovered from his wounds. Muichiro expressed sadness when he saw his right leg… or lack thereof, but shrugged it off.

“It was the sacrifice I took to see you again,” He said, and your heart rejoiced at those words.

Tengen Uzui, Kamado Tanjiro and Nezuko, Shinazugawa Sanemi, and Tomioka Giyuu were there to greet him. He was one of the people who risked his lives, so naturally, they rejoiced at his awakening. Tengen Uzui welcomed him into his retired life, and pointed at his missing left hand.

“We’re kind of the same, aren’t we?” He laughs, and Muichiro can only smile at his joke.

Shinazugawa and Tomioka regard him, but only Tomioka brought a gift. It was a sword, as he recounts that his was lost in battle.

“Just for protection,” He reassures Muichiro. He accepts the gifts and thanks him. You secretly hope that he never has to draw that sword in any sort of battle.

Kamado Tanjiro and Nezuko approach him. They were both older than the two of you, and their presence was full of warmth.

“Nezuko, the last I saw you…” Of course, he is dumbfounded. He missed out on a lot while he was asleep, after all.

“I know! It’s nice to talk to you as a human again,”

They don’t see it, but the look of contentment crosses his face.

He is eventually cleared off, and was given a wheelchair to sit in. While crutches were given to him, his other leg had atrophied, so he had to train himself to walk. Almost everyone in the Demon Slayer Corps retired after Muzan was defeated. Although some stayed, to protect the Ubuyashiki family. But that was out of your hands now.

You took him to the house you spent so much time working on. Of course, he was blind-folded, so he would not see the surprise. It was already afternoon, and you were sure that he was hungry, so you had to make this fast.

When you finally take off the blindfold, he stares at the house before him. He is silent, taking in sight.

“You…” He says, after a while. “Built this for us?”

You nod, but he doesn’t say anything. Instead he gestures for you to come closer, and you do, waiting for him to say his thoughts. But instead, he grabs on to your kimono and kisses you. When you both pull away, he has a blush on his cheeks.

“Thank you, for everything,”

The both of you go inside, and his stomach rumbles. He doesn’t even try to hide it, as he whispers that he is hungry.

“Just sit tight, okay?” You rush to make lunch. Thankfully, you hadn’t thrown the head of lettuce that you ate the night before, and it was still relatively fresh. You get a pan and make his favorite food. It was chicken stew, complete with side dishes. After an hour, you pop out of the kitchen and set the table. He tries to help, but you disagree.

“You’ve been fighting for your life all this time, it’s the least that I can do.”

He smiles and sits back. He can’t deny the fact that he wants nothing more but to assist you, but he knows how long you’ve been waiting for this moment.

The lunch you prepared for him puts him at ease. It’s a reminder of the things that could be, and things to come. If anything, it reminds him of hope—of home. Of what was once his, but lost to unfortunate events.

As he sips the broth, tears start pouring down his face. He can’t contain himself, he just feels so sentimental that moment. When you see this, a look of worry crosses your face. Was your cooking that bad? But he waves it off, and wipes his cheeks.

“I’m just so happy that you stayed for me,” He admits, and you wonder just how long he was holding that one in.

“Of course I would!” It would not make much sense if you just left him just because he was unwell! But he looks at you with uncertainty. So you hold his hands in yours again. “I love you very much, Muichiro. No matter how long, or whatever happens to you, I’ll always be there for you,”

Something had changed inside him. It was tiny, and no one really noticed it. But you did.

“I love you too, ___,”

You were just so happy to have him back, and even if the future was uncertain, you had him with you. And that was enough.

The sun may have gone down, but you had your own sun in your home.

[captain-yeet]

Oh No, He's Hot - Ending

Subtitle: Till The End of Time

Summary; The trial is over now, but a new challenge arises. Immortality is a fate Y/N cannot escape from, tensions rise between covens as she has to make a choice, and will a new vampire join the Olympic coven?

Warnings: Swearing, so much angst, tension between some vamps and reader

Word Count: 2.7k words

Author notes: Thank you all so much for the support on this series!  It did take me a while to finish this one but I’m glad I’ve finally written an ending I’m happy with! I have enjoyed writing it, I hope to you readers I did it justice and here’s to more Felix x Reader stories down the line.

A year.

You had one year of mortality left, so it had been decreed. There wasn't any fighting it - after all, your choices were slim. It was that or death, potentially by the hand of your own boyfriend if Caius had his way no doubt.

The movement against your back brought you out of your shell shocked state. You only just remembered that Felix was still standing by your side, and lifting your gaze up to his face you saw that he was speaking.

"... Don't know if I can do it," you caught the last string of his sentence as your senses slowly returned to you.

Who was he speaking to? you wondered. You couldn't be bothered to turn your head toward the other speaker, instead opting to bury your face into Felix's side. The arm around you tightened just a little bit more, his hand massaging your side in what you knew was an attempt to soothe you.

"Y/N?" Felix's concerned voice roused you.

Slowly lifting your head to meet him in the eye, you noted that he wore a rueful smile. A sadness has crept onto his perfect face and you wanted so badly to make that sadness disappear, to bring out that honest-to-all-hell ridiculously handsome smile of his.

"I'm afraid I have to go now," he informed you. As your eyes grew wide he cupped your face with his free hand. "This doesn't have to be goodbye, you hear me? It doesn't have to be at all."

Frowning, your slow human brain processes the urgent words that came from his mouth. "Are you... asking me to come with you?" You stood a little straighter, leaning back a bit but not enough that your embrace breaks. "To Volterra?"

He nodded, affirming the conclusion you were coming to.

 “Like hell she is,” Rosalie glided over to join your side, glaring daggers at Felix. “She wouldn’t be safe.”

 “Are you doubting my capabilities of keeping my mate safe?” he growled back with equal ferocity.

 Rosalie stepped towards Felix, now inches away from his face. Emmett joined immediately and placed a hand of her shoulder. “They’ll use her! You may be part of that coven but you surely aren’t blind to Aro’s eagerness to collect people like her for his own gain.”

Jaw clenched, Felix didn’t give her a response, fueling Rosalie’s fire.

 “Of course you know,” she spat, baring her teeth at him. Emmett pulled her back just a little, rubbing her shoulders. “Look at you, you’re not even denying it because you know.”

 “I... I don’t know if Volterra is a good place for me,” you whispered, barely audible. Shaking your head vigorously, you reached up to cover your eyes. “This is so sudden, so soon.”

A year left to make the most of your mortal life, your humanity. It left you with so many questions running through your brain all at once and with no satisfying answers.

It only made you feel conflicted further when Felix’s face contorted in what you could only describe as pain. “Then... I have to leave.”

 “Can’t you stay?”

 “I wish I could, I wish-”

 “Then what’s stopping you?” you cried, grabbing fistfuls of his clothing.

 “Felix,” another voice interrupted, smooth and low.

You both turned towards the source. The tracker, Demetri, was there looking on with a sad expression.

 “We have to leave now. Aro and Caius are demanding your presence immediately.” He told your mate, sparing you a quick, apologetic glance. “I’m sorry.”

Another separation. Your heart ached and you clung onto your lover’s clothing tighter, unwilling to yield on your hold. Trembling, you steeled yourself as best as you could and fixed a fierce gaze on Felix. “I am willing to become a vampire. I am, I’ve known this would come for some time now. But what I am not willing to do is become dear kindred with your masters.”

Felix took you by surprise by cupping your face with both his hands, stroking your cheeks gently. “Is there nothing I can do to convince you?” he whispered, low enough that the words were on for your ears. “I’ve waited so long for you, I can’t lose you.” He moved one of his hands to the back of your hair, pulling you closer so that there was no space between you two. “I can’t lose us.”

 “Then please, there has to be a way we can go about our lives together.” The tears were beginning to fall freely, the wetness cool against your cheek in the cold winter air. “There’s always a way.”

Felix closed his eyes. Pressing a kiss gingerly to your forehead, he back away, releasing you. As your heart began to break, his parting words mended the forming cracks. “This is not goodbye. I refuse to let it be. I’ll figure something out. I beg you to keep faith in me Y/N.”

Once he and Demetri had vanished, you were frozen in place.

He better not break his word. 

You traveled back to the Cullen’s home with a heavy heart. It was though a black fog had shrouded your mind, your heart, your very being. Of all the ways you expected to be reunited with Felix again, this wasn’t how you pictured it. You pictured happiness, elation, not the angst and dramatics of how you to parted ways.

You stood on the porch of the second floor, watching as everyone below you celebrated. Lost in your thoughts, you almost didn’t even register someone saying your name and touching your shoulder lightly.

Turning your head slightly, out the corner of your eye you saw someone who you didn’t expect to see; Edward Cullen.

 “How’re you holding up?” he asked, a look of genuine concern etched onto his face as he studied you. “Things uh, looked like they got tense for you back there.”

You snorted, unable to help yourself. “You could say that.”

 “I know we may not know each other very well,” Edward began, coming to stand beside you to lean over the railing, “but I just... wanted to say something.”

 “Shouldn’t you be down there with Ren?” you pointed to the little girl who was currently dancing with her mother, giggling away happily.

Edward’s expression softened. “She’s okay, I know she’s safe.” He paused a moment. “I know what you’re thinking.”

 “Of course you do, reading minds is your whole schtick, Ed.”

 “I know you’re afraid, and doubting everything. Your decisions, Felix, yourself even.”

He’s in my head! “Edward,” you warned him, eyes squeezing shut as if that would block him out of your thoughts.

He ignored your warnings, however. “Look Y/N, all I’ll say is this. If that... man, loves you as much as he says he does, he’d do anything for you. I don’t approve of course -”

You interrupted him with a snort. “Oh I’m aware,” you replied, your voice sardonic. “That didn’t stop me from loving him though.”

Edward sighed. Pushing himself off the railing, he opened his mouth to speak when his eyes changed from a look of exasperation to a cold distant stare. 

 “Edward? What’s wrong?” you watched as his nostrils flared and his lips pressed into a tight thin line. 

 “Speak of the devil and the devil shall appear,” he quoted grimly, storming away from you and leaping over the balcony.

You spun on your heel and bolted through the Cullen’s home, sprinting down the stairs and almost skidding on the ice as you hurried to see what ticked Edward off so badly. You saw him with his back to you, standing defensively in front of his wife and child as he faced the forest line that surrounded the house. Night had begun to fall so you could barely make out anything within the trees other than darkness.

Until a figure came forward.

A familiar tall figure, who no longer donned the medieval robes and stepped forward wearing a thick jacket and trousers.

Your body moved before your brain could even respond. Running past the Cullens, you practically threw yourself into the tall vampire’s embrace. “What are you doing here?” your voice came out in a sob, both elated and fearful that he was going to leave again.

 “Taking what’s mine,” came Felix’s reply, arms instantly wrapping themselves around you, holding you tight.

 “Felix,” you heard Edward call out.

Turning around in Felix’s hold so you could look at the golden-eyed vamp, you silently begged him not to make a fuss. To let you go with him without kicking up a storm. I’ve barely been able to even see his face outside of imminent danger situations, Ed. Let me have this.

 “Perhaps I need to remind you that his coven is the reason those imminent danger situations arise,” he snapped, teeth bared, causing Felix to let out a low warning growl that you felt vibrate through your whole body.

 “Oh for fuck's sake Cullen, if I remember correctly that red-headed woman that came for your coven and could have taken her out was not one of ours.”

Felix swearing so crudely took you by surprise. He was always very composed whenever you spoke that hearing him swear like that shocked you... and ever so slightly - just a teensy bit - turned you on.

Okay, focus. Angry vampires. Now’s not the time.

 “What is he doing here?” a third voice hissed.

You turned to see Tanya, Kate and Garrett approach - and boy did the two blondes look pissed.

 “You killed our sister,” Tanya snarled, glaring at the two of you with unyielding hatred. 

 “Your sister got herself killed,” Felix snapped back, “perhaps if she had checked the situation with the half-child herself before coming to the Volturi, she’d be alive.”

 “Tanya,” Edward warned, flitting to the angry blonde’s side and placing a hand on her shoulder, which she shook off. “Bella take Renesmee home,”

Not wasting any time, Bella took her child away from the situation. Ren looked back at you with an unreadable face as she and her mother disappeared into the forest.

 “I’m not here for a fight,” Felix tried to diffuse the situation, “I’m just here for this one.”

 “So you can turn her into a monster like you?” Kate hissed, letting out a bark of a laugh. “How romantic.”

Wiggling out of Felix’s grip, you felt the electricity in your veins rise as you screamed out of frustration. “Enough!”

Thunder clapped out of nowhere above you, making everyone jump. Edward and Garrett frowned as they studied you, watching you closely, one concerned and the latter fascinated. As you stared the opposing vampires down, your body twitched uncomfortably; you felt like a human live wire.

Your powers were growing stronger.

 “I think I can speak for both myself and my mate when I say we do not want to fight, or argue or have any hostility between us - we just want to fucking exist together, damn it!” you snarled the last part of the sentence, your eyesight becoming sharper, clearer than before as the blue hue appeared.

 “Edward! Tanya!”

Carlisle and Esme approached, Carlisle with his hands raised as if he were telling a couple of naughty dogs to sit down. “Let them go.”

 “You can’t separate mates, you know this Sweetie,” Esme said with a sad smile, taking a few steps toward you.

Nostrils flaring as he tried to calm himself, Edward’s face became blank as he stared at you and Felix. Everyone held their breath as he slowly walked towards you; but he ignored you, instead opting to stand right in front of Felix, glaring up at him. “Hurt her, and we’ll know.”

Felix met the glare with his own. “I would never.”

A humorless snort came from Edward. “So it appears. But the warning still stands.”

While their confrontation went on, Esme very gingerly placed her hand on your back and rubbed it. It did soothe you, making your powers ease off, the glow in your eyes fading away. 

With a nod to you, Edward turned his back and left the scene, taking off in the same direction his wife and child did.

Well, that could have been worse. You let out a sigh, running a hand through your hair. At that moment, Rosalie and Emmett came over as the Denalis left.

 “So you’re taking off with this one finally?” she said with a haughty expression on her face, lips twitching to hide a smirk.

You nodded and looked back to Felix, who watched you with a small smile on his face. His posture was still tense but less so now that Edward and the Denalis were gone. “Looks like it.”

 “Hey now, before you scram you better not leave without a hug you little shit.” Before you could respond, Rosalie had embraced you in a tight hug, which you returned.

As she let you go, you felt your feet leave the ground as Emmett scooped you up. “You better be careful out there Thor,” he teased as he spun you around, making you laugh.

Good old Emmett, you thought to yourself, the king of being able to make a tense situation light.

He set you down and you went to Felix’s side. At long last, you were going to get some peace with the one you loved.

 “Felix?” Rosalie called out, gaining the attention of the large vampire. He raised an eyebrow, waiting to hear what she had to say. “Y/N is a dear friend of mine. Hurt her and Edward won’t be who you need to worry about. It’ll be me. Is that clear?”

To your surprise, he chuckled. “Yes ma’am, I’ll remember that.”

The two of you turned to each other. A small smile crept onto your face as you stared into his vermillion eyes. As the two of you shared this moment, the Cullens quietly left you; you barely noticed. 

 “So we’re doing this, huh?” you breathed.

 “By ‘this’ you mean me whiskin you away to begin our lives together, then yes I’d say that’s accurate,” he replied smoothly, winking at you.

You playfully pushed him. Before you could even comprehend it happening Felix swept you up into his arms, holding you bridal style. Your brain felt like it was short-circuiting in response. With a fit of giggles and happy laughter from Felix, he did exactly as he said he would and whisked you away into the forest.

 “You called me your mate.”

Sprawled out in a comfy hotel room bed, you let out a small hum as you curled up against said mate’s chest. You blushed, but you were unashamed. “I did, didn’t I?” 

Turning his body so the two of you were no facing each other, he cupped your face and kissed you, slow and sweetly. He pulled away after a few moments and sat back with an incredulous look. “This feels like a dream to me. A very good dream that I never want to wake from.”

Shaking your head, you snuggled your way back into his side again. “And you won’t ever have to wake from it. Hate to break it to you, but you’re stuck with my ass.”

 “Now that I can’t complain about.” You didn’t fail to miss the flirtatious implications of his tone. 

During this night in the hotel room, you’ve learned two things. One, that whatever was happening with your powers today made you incredibly tired and you just wanted to fall asleep next to your mate.

Secondly, that Felix was the biggest god damn flirt in a bedroom setting ever, holy shit. Not that you minded, but boy he was fantastic at driving a certain part of you crazy despite you being exhausted. You couldn’t wait to be intimate with him - but for now, baby steps.

Big baby steps, as Felix admitted after a rather heavy make-out session that he was afraid of crushing you like a watermelon.

 “You’re a flirt.”

 “You love it.”

Sighing contently, you drifted off to sleep in his arms. Who would have thought a battle against newly-made vampires would gift you with such a blessing as this love you had blossoming between the two of you? Certainly not you. Certainly not Felix either. But here you both are, and now all you can do is ride the waves of life together and simply exist with one another, with full hearts and content souls.

[fedrabbler]

Dimidue Drabble

Gardening was something Dedue very much enjoyed, so whenever he was scheduled for tending to the greenhouse, it was less a chore than a pleasant reprieve from his typical routine. It could almost be said that for him, it was more of a religious experience--unlike choir practice. It perhaps ought to have been the opposite, but he had little interest in the Goddess of Fódlan. No, the direct participation in the life cycle provided by the natural world was something far more powerful for him, both because it resembled more closely his Duscur spiritual roots, but also because it was simply closer, more present and real, and tangible; it wasn’t so unreachable and abstract as some far away Goddess sitting in her heavenly theatre as the story of life played out before her. 

Today, however, he would not be able to devote his full attention to such esoteric niceties, although he couldn’t say he was entirely displeased, either. The Professor had seemed to finally comprehend the most important of his duties, a task that exceeded any significance of lessons, training, and class chores: serving his Highness, Dimitri, crown prince and heir to the throne of the Kingdom of Faerghus. Truly, if he trained, it was in order to be Dimitri’s weapon and shield; if he studied, it was only to aid his soon-to-be King; and if he gardened, it was solely for the purpose of producing the highest-quality ingredients for the sake of his Highness’s health. So for the Professor to pair the two in their chores, be it in the kitchen, stables, or the greenhouse, the Duscur man was grateful, as it allowed him both to work and keep an ever-watchful eye on the only person who mattered to him in all the world. 

And yet it did not come without challenges all its own…

“Dedue,” his lord called him, drawing his attention away from a small patch of root vegetables and out of his thoughts. “Shall I weed this section over here today? Or perhaps I could assist you in…” Dimitri paused a moment, fair brows furrowing as he concentrated for a moment, “...in whatever it is you’re presently doing?”

A slow blink was the most Dedue would permit himself in reaction to the blond’s eagerness to help in spite of his own naïvite toward all things proletarian. 

“You needn’t trouble yourself at all, Your Highness.” he answered in his typical stern tone. “This sort of work does not befit one with such status as yourself. Please permit me to perform this lowly task in your stead. Should you wish to return the favour, then you may credit me half the work when we report to the Professor.” Of course, Dedue knew his benevolent prince would never allow such a thing. But he’d curse himself for a solid year (at least!) if he didn’t at least put in some effort to preserve Dimitri’s elevated purpose in life..

“That’s your idea of equal compensation, is it?” Dimitri chuckled. Even though it was sourced in objection, Dedue couldn’t prevent the corners of his own lips from quirking upward at the sound of his amusement. “You do all of the work, and receive half the credit? That’s hardly fair!”

“I do not recall mention of equality or fairness, Your Highness. But if we were to discuss it, then I would argue that it is indeed unfair for anyone, Professor, institution, or otherwise, to demand such menial tasks from a man who will soon be King.”

The disappointed sigh he received in answer crumbled any resolve Dedue might have otherwise possessed to argue further. But of course, Dimitri, the man who truly was far too generous to be king--too willing to lower himself for a bearer of such high status--ensured that the Duscur’s protests were as buried as they were dead.

“My friend,” he pleaded in his devastatingly charming baritone voice. “Do not make me order you to let me to assist you. I couldn’t bear it.”

“Nor could I, Your Highness.” Dedue conceded, his tone softer and gentler now, a deep melodic timbre only Dimitri’s ears were privileged enough to hear. As apology, yet not an apology in the sense that it was meant as a statement that their positions hadn’t changed despite concession--and only because the two were isolated behind closed greenhouse doors--the taller man, only lower for his kneeling over the root vegetable patch, reached out his hand toward the prince. And that tender-hearted prince, knowing full well what was and was not meant by the gesture, neared and extended his own so that his self-proclaimed vassal could slip his fingers beneath the bend of his fingers, guide his hand to his lips, and kiss the spot where there would one day rest a ring. “Forgive me, Your Highness.” A kiss of apology; it was as much a kiss of servitude.

“Only when you forgive me, Dedue.” 

“But there is nothing to forgive...?” 

“Then at last, we are in agreement.” The crown prince smiled, and it was the Duscur’s turn to let out a chuckle. They broke contact so that Dimitri could motion a hand over Dedue’s current project. “Now, what is it that you’re doing, and how can I be of assistance?” 

“I’m merely planting root vegetable seeds, here. And then there is another clear path set aside for planting herbs. A monk reported to have done the weeding earlier today, so all that remains after planting the seeds is fertilising the new plants, and watering the others.” 

“Seems simple enough.” Dimitri knelt down next to his friend. “ Alright. Show me how to plant the seeds, and perhaps I shall plant the herbs? And we could split the watering between us?” 

“Indeed, but please allow me the sole task of fertilising the garden.”

There was a moment’s pause before it was Dimitri’s turn to concede, no doubt concluding it simply wasn’t worth the hassle of another argument. “...Very well.”

“Thank you. Now let us begin.”

~*~

The speed at which Dimitri could transform a simple task into absolute disaster shouldn’t have surprised him anymore, yet only a few moments had passed and to say the finely cultivated topsoil had become a mess would be an understatement to say the least. And all he could do was kneel beside his deafeningly silent friend in ungovernable shock and embarrassment. The once-neat and carefully-prepared patch of soil meant for the onion, carrot, and turnip seeds now bore a rough and cragged appearance far more suitable for stable grounds than a greenhouse--let alone one of the most well-known and most botanically diverse greenhouses in all of Fódlan! Really! How could he have possibly expected any other outcome? How was it that after all his years of accidentally snapping weapons and shattering fine glassware--and that one time he’d accidentally splintered the chestplate of his father’s ceremonial armour, costing who-knew-how-much to replace--and yet not learned his lesson? If his hands were involved, there was no small chance that, if not immediately, he would, at some point, break or ruin whatever it was he was holding or trying to do.

Dedue, having spent so much time near the young prince over the past four years, nearer than anyone had and quite possibly ever would be to him, was intimately aware of what was going on in Dimitri’s mind. The blond was no doubt burying himself in self-ridicule. He felt utterly inept--completely and undeniably worthless--for failing to perform a simple task. Perhaps he would even misinterpret the Duscur’s silence as a sign of his disappointment. This could not be further from the truth, of course; there was never a moment when Dedue lacked pride in his future king, and this would be made clear quickly enough once Dimitri recovered himself, or offered Dedue some indicator of exactly where he was in the spiral of his own mind. He’d long since discovered that anything said prior to meeting one of these conditions would yield little to no benefit. 

In less than a moment, which seemed much longer to the both of them, the blond’s features faded from shock to calm resignation. After another few seconds passed, he sighed deeply. 

“I… I’m sorry, Dedue. I’ve created more work for you.” He said, finally. Dedue remained still, knowing these were not words to be addressed. A few seconds later, Dimitri continued: “I did my best, truly. But I suppose you were right to suggest that I do nothing.”

“You overcorrected.” Dedue stated simply. “That is all.” He hadn’t allowed himself even to move while the young lord came back to himself, but now that there was conversation, he bent forward to gather and sweep the soil back into its assigned plot of space, carefully evening it out. He didn’t bother to search for or recover the seeds that his highness had attempted to sow; there were plenty enough in the pouch they’d been given to cover for any mishaps. He’d simply have to monitor the growth of the vegetables to make sure nothing sprouted where it shouldn’t, a task he’d have to do regardless of a few lost seeds.

“You said I was pressing too hard.” the blond said, full of regret as he began walking them through what had happened.

“You were.”

“And then you said I was pressing too softly.” Dimitri sounded even sadder now.

“You were.” 

“And then…” A pregnant pause.

“You overcorrected.” Dedue repeated, not allowing his delicate lord to leap into the void of his mind a second time. “You pressed too hard into the soil again. And because it’s loosely packed when planting, you slid forward and had to catch yourself. If anything, the fault is my own for not having caught you quickly enough. How are your clothes?” “My clothes are just fine.” the blond answered with a frown as he glanced down at his sleeves. Only the cuffs of them were dusted over. “And I cannot allow--”

“Good as new.” the taller man concluded as he finished re-setting the soil.He’d only needed those last few seconds to properly begin redirecting his friend. “Do you disagree, your highness?” His mouth was still open from his attempt to protest Dedue taking any blame. He closed it as his focus shifted to the now perfectly neat patch of soil. And before he could comment at all, Dedue placed a hand over one of the young prince’s, which had up to now been resting palm-down on the tiled floor of the greenhouse. The unexpected touch seemed to startle the blond, and he glanced up at his supposed vassal with a questioning look. “Shall I clear the dust from your hands, or do you wish to continue?”

After a few blinks, Dimitri’s brilliantly blue eyes widened as he realised what was being asked. His answer was slow to come out. 

“You… You would consider continuing with me after…” His gaze slid over to the restored plot before returning to meet Dedue’s own. Secretly, Dedue delighted in watching his expression shift in the smallest ways from pure confusion to cautious hope as he struggled to comprehend the fact that he’d even been offered a second chance. 

“Of course I would, Your Highness.” came the answer to that unfinished question. “You said you wished to help, did you not?”

The prince swallowed. His nod was so slight that had Dedue blinked, he might have missed it. He was grateful he hadn’t.

“Then we shall try once more.” 

Success.

~*~

The second attempt to plant the root vegetable seeds yielded a far better result than the first. Dedue had come up with what he’d hoped, and what proved to be,a better method of understanding the proper manner of seed-planting than simple verbal instructions. He carried several spare hair ties on his person at all time, ever prepared in case anything should happen to the one he wore. It was generally unlikely, but after the first few times it happened, he figured it was better to be prepared than risk looking less than properly presentable next to His Highness. And this preparedness was all the more beneficial today, as they found second purpose: by loosely tying Dimitri’s fingers to his own--placing his larger fingers behind his lord’s more slender ones--he was able to simultaneously instruct him more practically and get the seeds planted. This method proved so successful that by the third row of seeds (five in all were to be planted in the patch), his adorable young lord had become emboldened enough to attempt planting a few seeds using his own strength while Duscur fingers rested against his, just in case. The third row of seeds required only minimal intervention, none for the fourth row, and the final row was planted solely by Dimitri, their hands separated.  

This process was repeated when planting the herbs in the second garden patch and was even more successful than the root vegetables due to the crown prince’s gained experience. The initial blunder preceding this had long been forgotten, replaced by the joy of achievement. To say which of the two was more pleased would have been impossible. And both of their delight was sourced from and directed toward the other: Dimitri was proud of Dedue for being such a patient and excellent teacher; Dedue was proud of Dimitri for persevering and succeeding in the end. 

At the planting of the final seed, the crown prince turned his head toward his friend. When the Duscur simply nodded his approval at his work, he beamed, then caught himself and laughed quietly as he shifted away from the edge of the soil so that he could stretch his legs out straight. Dedue couldn’t help but smile seeing his lord so happy, and reached for his hands so that he could clean the dirt from them. He raised a curious brow at the sound of the blond’s laughter.

“It must seem silly,” he explained, “to be so excited by planting seeds.”

“Not at all, Your Highness.” Dedue answered as he dipped a cleaning cloth into a small bowl of soapy water. He scrubbed each hand gently and thoroughly. “You did well. It would be concerning if you were not pleased by your success.”

“I suppose that’s true, but…” Dimitri paused, considering his next comment as Dedue began working to clear the dirt beneath his nails. “Well, frankly, I don’t just feel excited. I’m also, ah, a bit worn out from concentrating so hard.” He laughed again. “Otherwise I’d be fighting you over washing my own hands.” Dedue didn’t laugh, but the corners of his lips quirked upward a little more, and stayed like that until Dimitri’s hands were rinsed and pristine. 

It was more or less mutually agreed that the young prince would rest while Dedue completed the remainder of the work. Dedue offered to escort him to his room for comfort, but Dimitri preferred to remain in the greenhouse so that they could leave and report to the Professor together. All in all, both left the greenhouse quite satisfied, though neither could be certain they’d want to repeat the day’s adventure. 

That would be a decision (and adventure) for another day.

[lotrificationer]

Wayhaven Week, Day 4 - Thrill/Tranquil

Summary: After saving the Maa-alused, the detective and a certain agent find themselves enjoying the carnival even more than the first time.

Pairing: Nate Sewell/F!Detective (Anya Ivanova)

Warnings: None other than really fluff-filled 

Word Count: 947

@otomefandomevents

This one was a big struggle for me, but I guess it came out alright in the end lol it sort of became both thrill and tranquil oopsies

~~~~~

The gentle breeze ruffled his dark brown hair.  The faint glow of the carnival lights danced across his tanned skin.  The gleaming stars reflected in his eyes.  Eyes that were currently trained on hers.  His hand skimmed up her arm and she shivered.  Whether it was because of the chill in the air or the effect he had on her, she was not sure.  His hand moved further up to cradle her face, turning her shiver into a warmth that she rather enjoyed.  She smiled at him, a slow, heartfelt smile that seemed to melt him on the spot.  He leaned in.  His hand shifted to the back of her head, finding no resistance in drawing her closer.  Closer. As their lips met, she could feel how his reverence for her fought against his sheer hunger for her.  She felt the same way.  Like a well-rehearsed dance, their lips moved in tandem.  She found her own hands sliding up his torso to settle on the back of his neck.  She slid a hand through the back of his short hair, eliciting a nearly imperceptible moan that rumbled in his chest.  

Without warning, the Ferris wheel jolted to life again as they began to descend from their lofty position amongst the stars.  The surprise split the kiss and they began to laugh as they both took in each other’s disheveled appearances.  

“All I can say is,” Anya started, her grin still ever-present. “I’m glad it wasn’t one of the other teammates interrupting us for once.”

Nate huffed out a laugh as the ride returned to the ground.  He got off and turned to offer Anya a hand that she gladly took.  Now hand in hand, they meandered through the rest of the carnival, enjoying the sights and the games.  Although, she could admittedly confess that his close, unabashed company was far more thrilling than any spectacle the carnival had to offer.  Her heart felt so full.  

They made their way over to the carousel, eager to give it a try as they had missed out on it the last time.  They stood in line and like most other attractions, it brimmed with energy.  As Nate sat on the bench-like seat, Anya threw him a quizzical look.  

“What’s that face for?” Nate inquired, completely baffled.

“You’re telling me that you will get on a carousel and instead of picking one of these super cool little funky creatures,” she gestured to the metal beasts around her.  “You would rather sit on something that you could literally find anywhere else?”

A toothy grin spread across his face.  “Hey, I was just trying to find one where we could sit together!”

“Don’t try to limit me, Agent Sewell,” she narrowed her eyes at him, hands defiantly placed on her hips.  

He rose from his seat and closed the gap between them, their chests nearly touching with every breath.  His grin gave way to a smirk as he looked down at her.

“Alright then, Detective Ivanova,” Nate smiled, mischief lacing his voice.  “Where would you like to sit?”

She tried to return his teasing smirk, but it quickly turned into a blushing smile.  Turning from his gaze, she scanned the carousel and selected a new ride.  Before she could take a seat, Nate slipped onto the beast and scooted back slightly.  Quirking his head towards Anya, she could see how the playfulness danced in his eyes.  He motioned to the small space in front of him.

“Your ride, madame,” he purred, eyes never leaving her own.  She laughed as her smile and blush grew.  

“I assure you, it is the best seat in the house,” he added.

“If you insist, agent,” she happily yielded, slipping a leg over to settle in front of him.  Well, barely in front of him.  As it was, she was practically in his lap, immediately enveloped in his warmth.  She wasn’t even certain that this was allowed, but no one tried to stop them.  She decided not to worry about it and simply enjoy the moment.

As the carousel came to life, she wrapped her hands around the decorative pole as he wrapped his arms around her waist.  Leaning forward, he rested his chin on her shoulder and tilted his head to look at her. As he sighed, his warm breath tickled her cheek.

“Having fun back there?” She teased, glancing at him.

“As much fun as you’re having, I suspect,” the smile evident in his tone.  “If your heartbeat is anything to go by, that is.”

She laughed and relaxed further in his embrace.  They enjoyed the rest of the carousel in a pleasant silence, watching as the rest of the carnival bustled about with energy. Every so often, they would catch each other’s gaze and her heart would stand still.  As the ride slowed to a stop, Nate kept his arms around her.  She was reluctant to leave as well.  Eventually he released her and helped her out of his lap.

“Well, agent, should I ever be in ah- need of another… ride,” she bit her lip to stave off the smile that crept up.  “I’ll certainly let you know.”

He raised an eyebrow as the corner of his mouth slid upwards.  “I would be more than happy to fulfill any need you might have, detective.”

Her smile broke free at his counter remark and he returned it in full as they left the carousel.  He slipped his arm over her shoulders and she wrapped her arm around his waist, contentedly leaning into his affection.  They perused the rest of the carnival wrapped in each other’s arms as the tranquility of the night guided their steps.

[we-are-only-halfway-home93]

Come and Lay the Roses 19- The Taste That Your Lips Allow- [Ivar x OC]

Summary: Ivar and Aaline each contemplate how to forgive. A tender reunion resolves conflict. 

Characters: Ivar x OC, Bjorn x Torvi, Ubbe x Margrethe, Hvitserk x Thora, Sigurd x OC, Ragnar, Lagertha

Warnings: Arranged marriage, violence, sex, torture, language, mentions of sexual assault.

Ch. 18

Word Count: 3161

Author’s Note: Hello! I’ve been diligently working on this chapter for the last few days and I think it turned out pretty well. A few people that asked to be tagged couldn’t be so if you see your name in bold at the end, I’m having trouble tagging you. I hope you enjoy!  

"Bitterness imprisons life; love releases it." 

~ Henry Emerson Fosdick

Ivar scowled across at his brother. Hvitserk had his hands up, guarding his face as he bounced on the balls of his feet, waiting. Ivar narrowed his eyes and feinted right before attacking from the left. Hvitserk cursed and ducked, barely dodging the blow. Ivar continued his attack, bombarding Hvitserk with blows from every angle. 

Hvitserk swung out and uppercut Ivar from below. Ivar staggered back and huffed, wiping his forearm across his face, a streak of red staining his skin. He glared at it before turning back to his brother. He snarled before abandoning the boxing stance entirely and lunging at Hvitserk, wrapping his arms around his waist and bringing him to the ground. 

Hvitserk grunted and took Ivar’s weight, easily gaining the upper hand.

He settled Ivar in a headlock and wrapped his legs around his brother’s waist. Ivar groaned and strained against Hvitserk’s hold, clawing at the arm around his neck.

Hvitserk was only willing to endure so much abuse and he’d had enough.

Ivar had been walking around like a black cloud had descended over his world for the last week. He scowled at everyone, refused to attend family dinners, yelled at the house staff, and sulked through meetings. 

Ragnar had tried more than once to talk to Ivar and figure out what was wrong. In all honesty, they knew what was wrong. Aaline and Ivar had gotten into some kind of argument and she had relocated back to her room. 

In fairness, she never really moved out of her room but she’d taken to sleeping in Ivar’s room the last few weeks. Björn had filled the brothers in the night they’d killed Aethelwulf. He’d seen Aaline in Ivar’s room and she looked flushed. Ivar had been pissed when Björn had knocked and he looked slightly disheveled.

Björn said that Ivar’s hair had been messy and his clothes wrinkled. His mouth was suspiciously shiny and Björn said he tried to ignore the noticeable bulge in Ivar’s pants. 

The brothers had been all too thrilled for him but things didn’t seem to be able to last.

No sooner had they started celebrating Ivar’s progress with his wife, he was walking around like someone had pissed in his cheerios. Aaline refused to look at him when he entered a room and Ivar spent all his free time in the gym, bloodying his knuckles and aggravating his hips. 

The brothers had taken turns sparring with him. They were all careful to keep his temper in check, hesitant to aggravate him beyond control. Sigurd had even been tentative and he was always eager to irritate Ivar. His rage was unparalleled and he had a hair-trigger temper that, recently, was one step from exploding. 

Today was Hvitserk’s turn and he was tired of humoring his brother. 

Ivar snarled and scratched at Hvitserk’s arm. “Fucking let me go.” He growled.

Hvitserk grunted against the punch that Ivar landed to his hip. He didn’t have as much power in this position and Hvitserk was expecting the hit.

Ivar grunted and pulled tight against Hvitserk’s hold, trying to break it. 

“Yield.” Hvitserk gritted out between clenched teeth.     

Ivar growled low in his throat and stretched his neck, pulling hard against Hvitserk’s hold. 

Björn rounded the corner and sighed, the picture a familiar one. He adjusted his jacket and stalked forward. “Hvitserk, enough.” He barked. 

Hvitserk glanced over at Björn and huffed, releasing Ivar. As soon as he was free, Ivar sat back and cocked his arm, landing a solid hit to the center of Hvitserk’s face. Björn shouted and raced forward, launching himself over the ropes. 

Ubbe and Sigurd were right around the corner and, hearing Björn yell, careened around the corner and following him into the ring. Björn and Ubbe hauled Ivar off Hvitserk with Sigurd tugged him to his feet. Ivar was spitting and cursing, his blood boiling. 

“Enough, Ivar!” Björn shouted his arms around him in a bearhug. Ivar continued to struggle against his oldest brother, watching with fire in his eyes and Hvitserk staggered to his feet, blood dripping from his nose. 

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Hvitserk sighed. He swiped his forearm beneath his nose, blood streaking his arm. He glanced up at Ivar and shook his head. Ivar looked crazed, his eyes wild and unfocused, his chest heaving against Björn’s hold. 

“Huh, Ivar? What’s wrong with you?” Ivar stared at Hvitserk, his anger slowly ebbing away.

“Let go of me.” He said, his voice soft and barely carrying in the space between the brothers. Björn hesitated but Ivar wasn’t patient and shrugged out of his brother's hold. Björn took half a step back, glancing at the other three men in the ring. They all eyed Ivar with trepidation, balanced on the balls of their feet, waiting. 

Ivar sighed and rolled his neck, ripping at the ties of his gloves. He slipped his left hand beneath his arm, tugging the glove from his hand. He flexed his fingers wide, stretching. 

Hvitserk hesitated before he took a step forward. “You’ve been off for over a week. Your head’s been somewhere else. You’re angry.”

Sigurd snorted and Ubbe cut a sharp look his way. He cleared his throat and settled his hands on his hips, watching Ivar. Hvitserk glanced at Sigurd before amending his statement. “Angrier than usual, I mean. What’s going on?”

Ivar dropped both of his gloves to the ground, suddenly exhausted. He pinched the bridge of his nose and clenched his eyes shut, feeling a headache pounding at the back of his head.

He’d only been angry with Aaline for the first couple of days. She had been so unreasonable, yelling at him and storming off. He had just been so frustrated with the Aelle situation and lack of progress. If she had just left him alone he wouldn’t have yelled and she would still be sleeping in his bed. Maybe they would’ve moved past gentle fondling and oral sex to full-blown fucking. God knows she’d tried to move towards it enough times before their disagreement. 

He hated to admit it but maybe he shouldn’t have yelled at her. She’d only asked a simple question and what had he done? He blew up at her. Screaming and yelling about her being ridiculous and calling him a child. He felt bad as soon as she’d walked out but his pride wouldn’t let him go after her. 

That was just over a week ago and his self-doubt and anger had been boiling just beneath his skin for days. He felt bad and knew he was in the wrong but, no matter what he told himself, he couldn't bring himself to find her and apologize. It wasn’t in his nature. He was chafing under the pressure beneath his skin and he didn’t know what to do. 

He’d been taking it out on his brother’s and they were clearly very done with him.

“Ivar.” He turned to look over his shoulder. His brothers were standing in staggered order, watching him, waiting. He sighed and shook his head, unwrapping his hands.

Hvitserk glanced at Björn before taking a deep breath, bracing. “Is it about Aaline?” Ivar froze and glanced up, over at his brothers. They were tense, ready for him to react but he surprised them.           

He heaved a deep sigh and shook his head, resuming his work. Hvitserk drew his eyebrows together and took a few steps forward. “Ivar, we know that you two got into an argument. I’m assuming you haven’t resolved said argument.”

“You would assume correctly, brother.” Ivar drawled, his voice low and deadly. He didn’t look up from his hands but Hvitserk could see the tension in his frame.

“Ivar, I know…” He stopped and took a deep breath. “I know that you...that you miss her.” Ivar turned his head to his brother, his eyes hard as ice and narrowed. Hvitserk took another deep breath and licked his lips. 

“It’s alright to admit it. She’s your wife. Frankly, we were glad that you two seemed to be getting on. We noticed when it went sour.” Hvitserk tried to smile but the tightness in Ivar’s jaw drew him up short and he glanced back at his brothers. Björn nodded once and Hvitserk continued. 

“Look, I know it’s not exactly your strong suit but, maybe, you should try and apologize?” Hvitserk took a half step back when Ivar turned to face him, his face set in stone. 

“Apologize? I haven’t done anything wrong.” Ivar insisted. Björn clicked his tongue against the back of his teeth and shook his head.

“I’m sure that’s not true, Ivar. Did you yell at her, maybe? Call her some name?” Ivar narrowed his eyes at his oldest brother but couldn’t bring himself to respond. Björn was, after all, correct. He knew it, too. A smile crept over Björn’s face and he nodded once. 

“Fix whatever it is you’ve done. You don’t have to say the words ‘I’m sorry’ but you need to make it clear that you are.” He said.

Ivar settled his hands on his hips, staring at his brothers. They all had wives. Björn had been married for as long as he could remember. Ubbe wasn’t necessarily happy with Margrethe but he seemed content. Hvitserk and Thora were disgustingly in love and Sigurd seemed to be happy with Sibylle. He concluded that he should probably take their advice. As much as it pained him to do so, they probably weren’t that far off.

He met Hvitserk’s eyes. “Her favorite flowers are roses.” Hvitserk grinned and slapped his shoulder. 

“We should get her some roses then.”

.

Aaline gazed at the bouquet of mixed roses. White, yellow, and pink roses looked out at her from the large bouquet placed dead center in the middle of her desk. She hummed and gently thumbed the silky petals. 

She tilted her head to the side and studied the arrangement. It came with a card but there was no message. Just a simple uppercase “I” had been scribbled on the card stock in the little envelope. Wherever he had gone was expensive. The card was stiff and durable, designed to be handled with some sense of roughness. The envelope was the same kind of material, beautifully folded and clearly handcrafted. 

The arrangement was placed in a large blue crystal vase with gold accents on the rim and the base. Another handcrafted item. She could tell by the slight dips and curves around the rim. 

He had clearly done his research. Each rose told her what he couldn’t say with words. He had picked yellow roses because they symbolized a wish to say sorry. They worked for all occasions but they were typically the go-to rose for apologies. 

The white roses represented his hope for the future. White roses worked well at weddings and christenings but it also served to tell the receiver that they were respected and the giver wished for a bright future with or for the recipient. They promised new beginnings and loyalty. 

The pink roses were interesting. They weren’t a deep pink which typically acted as a “thank you” or an appreciation. They were pale pink, baby pink. A representation of a new romantic occasion. 

She tapped the edge of the card against her bottom lip, studying the flowers. 

It was a beautiful arrangement. He had put time and effort into the flowers. Speaking directly with the florist and making sure they used the right color and that the bouquet wasn’t too crowded. He’d done well. It wasn’t too big to be gaudy but it wasn’t too small to be understated. 

Aaline had to appreciate his attempt at an apology. Ivar wasn’t one to make a verbal apology but his attempt at physical one wasn’t anything to laugh at. He sought outside help to make it possible and Aaline knew that probably wasn’t easy. 

She didn’t turn when her door was pushed open. She was expecting Torvi. The blonde had called earlier to go out to lunch and Aaline had told her to just come up. She wanted her opinion on the roses. 

She felt the older woman stop beside her and they both examined the roses in silence.

“It’s very pretty.” Torvi finally said. Aaline hummed and tapped the card against her lip. 

“I think he went to the florist on 12th Street. They import their flowers from Latin America fresh every week. A bouquet like this, with the handcrafted vase and paper, was probably a few thousand dollars.” 

Torvi kept her voice even and soft like she was trying not to disturb the quiet contemplation that Aaline had created. 

Aaline hummed again and dropped the card from her face, setting it carefully back on the desk, before turning to Torvi. 

“Lunch? I’m starving.” Torvi hesitated before she smiled, nodding once. 

The two women left the office but Aaline’s mind was far from calm. Hundreds of thoughts seemed to filter through her mind and she walked towards the elevators. She pushed them all from her mind knowing that there was nothing she could do now. She had made a decision though. 

She decided to finally speak to her husband. 

.

Ivar had a towel to his head, rubbing the water from the strands as he left his bathroom. Another towel was strung low around his waist and his chest was damp. He froze as soon as his wife appeared in his line of vision. 

Her eyes trailed over his form and he swelled with male satisfaction at the blush that crept across her cheeks.

She stood stock-still in the middle of the room with her hands clasped in front of her. Her face was hard but not in anger. She had a purpose. She was there to accomplish something. 

Ivar tossed his towel towards the hamper by the bathroom and looked back to her, giving her his full attention. 

She cleared her throat and crossed her arms over her chest. Ivar watched her struggle to speak, amused. She cleared her throat again and opened her mouth.

“I got your flowers. Thank you. They were beautiful.” Her eyes darted throughout the room, looking at everything but him. Her cheeks were still rosy and it was beginning to spread down her neck and chest, appearing in splotchy patches across her chest. 

Ivar watched the color spread across her skin and wondered if it showed up everywhere. Would it paint the skin of her belly and thighs or just her chest and neck? How long did it last? He glanced up when she called his name. Her eyes darted across his chest and her blush deepened. 

“Could you, maybe, put some clothes on?” She asked. Ivar smirked and acquiesced. He tugged the t-shirt from his dresser over his head. He nodded once and she smiled. 

“Thank you.” Her voice was soft and Ivar couldn’t recall a time when he’d heard it so quiet. She’d only ever spoken to him with a firm tone. She wasn’t often in a vulnerable position but she was now and he could tell that she wasn’t used to it. She hadn’t looked at him when she spoke but she was looking at him now.  

“I know what you were trying to do.” It was his turn to look away now. He turned to the dresser and muddled around with the objects on his dresser, moving the cologne bottles around, pushing his jewelry across the surface, anything to keep his eyes off of her. 

“I’m not very good at this.” She whispered. The sound carried between them only because there was no other noise. Ivar may not have heard her if something else was going on. But hear her he did and he glanced up at her. 

Her face was still a soft pink but the color was starting to fade. Her arms were relaxed at her sides but her hands were still clenched into fists. Her eyes were rapt on his face and she rocked slightly from side to side. 

“Apologizing?” He asked. Her eyes narrowed and she shook her head once. 

“Confrontation. I don’t like it. I prefer to deal with my problems behind the scenes where people won’t see me however, I felt that this topic needed to be addressed in person.” Her throat bobbed and she hummed. She opened her mouth to continue but Ivar cut her off.

“That was my intention.” He leaned back against the dresser, his fingers curled around the edge. A crease appeared between her eyebrows in her confusion. He heaved a sigh and gestured towards her with one hand. “The flowers. Björn told me I needed to fix it so...You told me you liked roses and the woman at the flower shop said that—”

Before he could finish she was in front of him and her hands hovered over his chest. His mouth closed with an audible click and he looked down into her eyes. Her lips parted and she took a deep breath to speak but before she could Ivar dipped his head and pressed his lips to hers. 

It was quick. A gentle press of lips together that was over before it started. Ivar pulled back and gazed down at her, his lips tingling where they’d met hers. Her eyes were closed and her lips parted just a little. 

She opened her eyes and looked up at him, dazed. He smiled down at her. A real smile, not a cocky grin or self-assured smirk. A smile. She pulled her bottom lip between her teeth and he very nearly groaned. Before he could get the sound out, she was up on her toes pressing into him. 

Her lips settled against his again, this time with firmer pressure. He parted his lips and dipped his tongue into her mouth, moaning at the taste of her. She slid her hands up his chest and around his neck, tangling her fingers in the hair at the base. He pulled a hand from the dresser and smoothed it up her back, curling his fingers around her nape and tilting her head to the side. He angled his head and curled himself around her, settling her frame against his, pulling her close.

Aaline moaned and Ivar dipped his tongue deeper into her mouth. She pressed harder against him, molding her body to his, eliminating any space between them. Ivar groaned and pulled back, a familiar stirring beginning in his cock. 

He looked down at Aaline and smoothed her hair back away from her face. She blinked up at him in tender contentment. Ivar hummed and bumped his nose against hers. 

“Would you like to have dinner with me?” His voice was soft but she heard him. A slow smile spread across her face and she nodded. Ivar grinned and pressed her close again, burying his face in her neck.

@dreamlesswonder @youbloodymadgenius @inforapound @bcarolinablr @funmadnessandbadassvikings @jay-bel @feyrearcheron44 @londongal12810 @khiraeth @didiintheblog

[cant-blink]

Brother, My Brother (PART 2)

Summary: The second half of my two-part story about Ghidorah’s early days of brotherhood. This time, introducing San! 

PART 2

Ichi thought that things would get smoother as time went on. A thousand years ago, his first and only brother was born. A brother that has since been given the name of Ni. It was a terrible day, driven by violent instinct and bloodlust to dominate each other, and Ichi had thought their conflict would be over when Ni finally yielded to him.

He was wrong.

It was as if that angry burning instinct to fight for dominance never left his younger brother. The resentment he held towards the eldest brother was very obvious, constantly defiant to his orders and always challenging him on an almost daily basis to another fight for the alpha position. So far, Ichi has been able to come off victorious each time, but it wasn't a pleasant victory. Each battle was just as horrific as their first, and it was hard to enjoy a win when he knew Ni would stubbornly challenge him again some time next week. It was taking a heavy toll on the alpha head and at times, he wondered what would happen if he were to make a mistake during these fights.

Ni was a keen and observant fighter, he found, and would take any advantage available to him. He would only need for Ichi to slip up just once and he would pounce on it. Sometimes, Ichi was so tired of it that he would just ignore Ni's challenge to him. But his younger brother would take this as an insult and attack him anyway. There was no getting away from this. Why can't this stubborn... brat accept his place? Did he really want control that badly that he was going to fight him on this for their eternal lives? Was it not enough that he could have the body whenever Ichi fell asleep in their travels between planets? Hell, whenever Ichi woke up from these slumbers, it took effort just to wretch his own body back from his greedy brother.

Was it not enough that Ni, like Ichi, can indulge in dominance over the lesser life forms they would come across in their conquests?

Apparently not, because whenever they landed upon a life-bearing planet and Ichi tried to force dominance over the alpha species by challenging their leader, Ni would ruin it! More often than not, these alphas were substantially weaker than themselves and could easily be killed in an instant. But Ichi liked forcing their submission out of them before he killed them, really make a show of it so everyone would know who the superior one was. HE was their king. But Ni would view this activity as a waste of time; he saw no value in claiming dominance over weak insects and thought their time can be better spent destroying the planet and moving on to another that had actual worthy opponents to engage. Without any approval from his alpha, Ni would Gravity Beam the alien leader to oblivion before turning on the rest of the populace. Pissed that his game has been cut short, Ichi would reprimand him with a power-groom but this only led to them getting into another dominance fight.

Those dominance fights were especially dangerous, when they were on an inhabited planet. So far, their victims have been too weak to take advantage of their in-fighting, but Ichi can't help but wonder how long it'll be before that changed.

Shaking his head of the troubling thoughts that was a constant plague to his mind, Ichi focused on their current goal of reaching the next star system. Instinct told them that they really needed an energy boost before their next big growth-spurt. And for their next unavoidable conflict.

-

Two suns graced the landscape of a burning city, amidst of which was the large two-headed dragon.

The heads were in the middle of a very heated argument with each other, a common sight to behold. Their sharp words and venomous insults had yet to come to blows, but it was no doubt beginning to escalate in that direction when it was brought to an unexpected halt by an unexpected source. Before they had arrived on this planet, they had just finished the growth-spurt their instinct had prepared them for with the help of the twin suns. It was an exciting one, as it had brought them close to their full mature size. They thought it was all over and that they were free to test their new strength on the nearest populated planet, but now a sudden pain gripped hold of their body. A pain so intense that it had both Ni and Ichi cry out at the same time, their feud completely forgotten as they stumbled back through the wreckage. While Ni was confused at this and was glaring around for some unknown enemy, Gravity Beam at the ready to fire, Ichi realized he recognized this. This was not the work of an attacking enemy. He felt it before, a thousand years ago when Ni was born. This time, though, the pain was coming from his left side and he looked over.

There it was, confirming his thoughts. The growth that signified the coming of a new brother.

Ichi didn't want another one, Ni was horrible enough, and the thought to try to rip it off came to his mind. But he was aware of his own abilities, and he knew the move would be a useless one. This was happening, and despite his alpha status, he had no say in it whatsoever.

So they endured, Ni soon understanding through Ichi's reassurance that this was normal and just ride it out. The right head did not like this; although he took the pain in better stride than his alpha, he was not eager at first at the idea of having another sibling. But as the pain fades as the process completed itself and his mind began to clear, he realized something. It was clear to him that the alpha position wasn't going to be his in the near future, but maybe he didn't have to suffer the indignity of being the bottom of the pecking order anymore? As he watched the new head inch towards incoming Awareness, he didn't see this thing as a brother. He saw it as a golden opportunity.

Ichi watched patiently as his new brother's limp neck began to twitch, muscles testing themselves. This head too looked like him, as Ni had, but with smaller, straighter horns. And just as had been the case with Ni's birth, the alpha head began to feel the angry instinct rise within him. Ni too felt it, already snarling at the head but knowing to hold back. His Alpha had to make the move first, and even if that wasn't the case, Ni didn't want to attack his new brother while he was unconscious. He preferred to earn his place fair and square. So, like Ichi, he was forced to wait patiently. The new head only now took its first breath, testing its lung, and it slowly opened its eyes. New Head didn't seem to feel the angry instinct as strongly as his siblings, or at least didn't acknowledge it, looking around to catching his bearings instead. When Ichi began growling alongside Ni, the New Head finally turned towards them. His eyes weren't feral, like Ni's had been, and if anything, carried a kind of curiosity towards them.

Assert dominance, was the primary instinct ruling Ichi at this moment. He didn't want confrontation with his new brother so soon after ending one with Ni, but it was an impulse he could not ignore, regardless of the lack of aggression from this New Head.

Ichi began pushing against this new left head, snarling at him. He was prepared for resistance as had been the case before, but to his surprise, the New Head lowered himself, averting his eyes. The middle head almost blinked, but he continued asserting himself regardless, taking his snout in his jaws and pushing the New Head to the ground. His new sibling lets out a soft whine but gave no resistance as he pinned him with their wings and began power-grooming. New Head didn't even wriggle and held still. The message was clear: New Head instinctively recognized him as the alpha and didn't want to challenge him. He was submitting fully.

The eldest brother ceased the grooming, staring at his new youngest sibling, still pinning him. It felt odd that he was giving up so easily, but at the same time, such a relief. Finally, a brother that acknowledged his superiority without him having to beat it into their skull repeatedly. Why couldn't Ni had been like this when he was first born? Would've saved both of them so much pain and rage the past millennia.

He let out a soft snort before removing his wings from his sibling and giving a light nibble on the top of his head between the horns, acknowledging his submission and starting their new bond with a gentle groom. Unlike Ni, this New Head gave no objection to this gesture and let out a soft purr. It was a short moment to indulge, however, as Ichi pulled away. Further business had to be settled. This New Head still had to secure his place in their hierarchy and as this newcomer lifted himself from the ground, his eyes met with Ni's.

Whatever passiveness he held towards Ichi seemed to have gone, for New Head reacted to Ni's snarls with his own growl. It didn't sound or look as intense as his older brother's, but it was a challenge nonetheless. Ni shoved against him firmly, already attempting to power-groom only for New Head to nip at him in protest. It was a soft nip but firm enough to show that New Head wasn't keen on being the bottom of the pecking order either.

Very well, then. Ni was always up for a fight.

He gave no warning as he lunged at this New Head, eager for blood. The New Head pulled back to avoid his jaws from grabbing his snout, making a lunge of his own with the aim of grabbing Ni by the back of his neck. Ni saw this move coming, dodged by arching downward, and clamping his jaws into the underside of New Head's neck, right by the throat. He bit hard with no inhibition, earning a high-pitched squeal from his opponent. That scream only encouraged him to bite down harder, tasting blood. He can feel New Head's pulse against his mouth, felt his opponent's heart racing. Ni's heart was racing as well, living for the thrill of battle even against his own sibling. This was his chance to advance his rank and finally get out from being the lowest! Get out of being miserable with his place in life! He was going to win this or lose his head trying!

Like he had done with Ichi before, he began to shake viciously, tearing the scales. His victim was writhing and trying to pull away, continuing to scream as if that'll help him.

The alpha did nothing to intervene, instead watching silently with a blank face void of compassion as his siblings settled this between themselves. His only movement was that of the body accommodating their battle, shifting a bit among the ruins. He can see the New Head was horrified by the unnecessary blood being drawn, just as he had been a millennia ago, but it didn't cross his mind to do anything about how overly-aggressive Ni was being. If he can endure it, than so too can this New Head.

The brutality doesn't end as Ni slammed the New Head into the ground, snarling loudly as he gave another shake of his jaws. New Head continued to struggle, desperation clear on his face as he's slammed into the ground again. He wasn't even given a second to recover before his head had to endure another impact, this time by his older brother smashing his face into one of the alien's larger metallic structures. The sturdy material barely caved with the impact and blood smeared along the smooth surface, coming from New Head's nose and from the fangs that have broken from his mouth.

He made one more attempt to pull himself free, only for Ni to shift his grip and give another vicious shake. Skin tore off here, dangling limply from his jaws as New Head screamed again. Wide scared eyes met his narrowed glare, as New Head's instinct shifted from 'dominance fight' to 'he is going to kill you'-levels of panic. Irrational, perhaps, but he didn't care! Especially when Ni dropped the ripped off patch of scales and moved closer to him. New Head cowered, his head giving a small wriggle as he shrieked with horns flared. This was a defensive display made from the pure terror of a cornered animal, but Ni didn't back off. It wasn't submission so as far as he's concerned, this fight wasn't over. He struck again, ignoring the teeth sinking into his own scales as his jaws bite into flesh again. He can feel the New Head try to shake like he has done to him, but the move lacked the raw viciousness behind it.

No, there was only desperation.

Ni showed him how it was done and thrashed him around in his jaws, ripping another piece off of him. The resulting scream was cut off as Ni immediately clamped down again on his throat. His eyes catch sight of an alien structure by them, a spire, and there was no hesitation. He slammed New Head down onto it, impaling it through his opponent's neck. At this point, New Head's writhes become sporadic, choking out blood that splattered on his brother's scales. Ni still doesn't release his throat, feeling the heart pump erratically through his grip. After a moment, New Head's writhing died down before going limp and he choked out a pathetic warble, a pleading sound begging for his attacker's mercy. The sound was lost in the gurgling of blood and Ni's snarled as he clamped down tighter. New Head tried again, this time to be as loud as he can but no sound came out and another rush of blood choked him. With no choice, he spoke inwardly through their neurons. Desperately.

Stop. Please. No more.

Ni silenced his snarls and for a moment, all was still. But he doesn't loosen his grip as he growled out his words. "Then yield." A strangled squeak escaped from New Head as he managed a weak nod.

I yield. Please... I yield...

New Head has given up. He won.

Ni let out a huff through his nose, and he shifted his grip a bit to slowly pull his brother from the spire. The horrific damage was already beginning to heal, their body making it the priority over the more minor injuries. New Head wanted to just yank himself free in one go, as the pain was torturous, but his brothers did not allow it. Ichi finally involved himself, ensuring the neck got to heal around the spire before pulling New Head off a bit more. They continued this gradual extraction until they felt confident enough to allow New Head off the impaling structure completely. Ni, still gripping his younger sibling's throat, lowered New Head to the ground before he released his jaws to glare down at him. New Head stayed down, whimpering and crying like a pathetic scared creature. Ni growled at him, before proceeding with a power-groom. His younger brother held still in submission, making true on his forfeit, marking the first time Ni got to display dominance like this without retaliation.

Ni felt a rare smirk grow on his bloodied snout. It felt good, this victory. Sure, he still wasn't an alpha, but now that he had someone beneath him, that didn't seem so bad anymore. His days of misery was finally over.

With the battle now settled, Ichi began cleaning the blood from their scales, lowering their body where it was to rest. New Head laid limp on the ground, waiting for his injuries to fully heal. Even through his pain, and even though he still coughed up the occasional splatter of blood, he was glad. Glad this whole thing was over. Not even born for a full hour yet and already has taken such a massive beating. Winning wasn't worth it. Ichi and Ni may have kept fighting for days if they had to, but for him, those few moments was more than enough.

At least from this experience he learned that this whole 'fighting' thing wasn't for him after all.

-

If you were to meet Ichi just a week ago and asked him about whether he would want another brother or not, he would've answered with an immediate 'no'. Then he would've incinerated you for daring to ask such a question in the first place. But now...

Flying through the cold expanse of space that they called their home, their path taking them towards the distant point of light that marked the next planet, Ichi glanced towards his right side. Ni was keeping to himself, lost in his own thoughts as he tended to do during these long journeys. Ichi was certain that in the past, Ni would be thinking of new ways to dethrone him from his alpha position. Ni was not one to share his thoughts and feelings through their neurons, but his face wasn't exactly subtle, and its angry snarl and seething glare was all Ichi needed to safely make the assumption. That said, what he was thinking about now, Ichi wasn't so sure anymore. His face seemed... content. Almost peaceful even, if that was possible.

Ichi wasn't usually one to push his dominance on his brother unprovoked, as keeping the risk of fights with Ni to a minimum was always ideal. But now, he wished to test his brother's response. He had a feeling that something's changed in their dynamic since their newest sibling was born. So he moved over swiftly, tearing his brother from his thoughts as he began pushing his neck against him. Ni gave an internal growl, but it lacked the snarl that would usually grace his face. No teeth was being bared at him, no feral eyes glaring in his direction. No snapping, no biting. For once, he didn't seem interested in starting conflict with him at all and yielded easily to the show of dominance. A snout-bite or power-groom wasn't even needed for his submission.

It took a moment for Ichi's brain to be convinced he wasn't dreaming.

Deciding to test the waters even further, Ichi began softly nibbling the top of his brother's head. He felt Ni stiffen. This wasn't a power-groom as he no doubt expected, just a normal groom, to bond. Ichi was half-expecting Ni to lunge for him or at the very least, push him off in a show of rejection, but no. Ni was clearly uncomfortable and didn't like this, but he tolerated the gesture for the very first time. Now he had to be dreaming, right? Finally pulling away from the experimental groom, he left his brother in peace as he turned to look at the youngest.

San, as he has been deemed, was looking around with eyes full of wonder. This was his first flight through space and Ichi could feel the childish excitement his new brother was sharing to him. San was such a vast contrast to the rest of them, that Ichi wondered if their body specifically created this brother with the sole intent of ending the rivalry between him and Ni. Was it even possible that their body got so fed up by the amount of damage they were doing to themselves that it gave San life so as to keep the peace? Sure, San didn't want to be the lowest of the pecking order, but it was clearly something he wasn't troubled by either. Unlike Ni, San didn't let his low rank consume him until he had nothing but seething hatred for those higher than himself. Ichi could feel it in San's neurons: he had no intention of ever fighting Ni again and thus had no intention of bringing disorder to their now-stable hierarchy.

That was exactly what this broken family needed, and for the first time in a thousand years, Ichi can finally relax and enjoy himself once more. Things can go back to the way they were before this whole mess started, except this time, he had the size and the extra fire-power he needed to take on even the toughest adversaries this universe had to offer. No longer did he need to retreat from opponents too strong for him to beat, because with Ni and San at his side, such opponents would no longer exist.

So now, if you asked the question of whether he would want more brothers, he would take a moment to consider it, glancing at San as he did, before giving his response. The answer would still be 'no', but for a vastly different reason. There was no need for another brother because now, they finally found stability in their relationship with each other. The thought that he would have to endure an eternity of constant battle with his own blood no longer plagued him. Ni seemed content in his position and their newest brother was all they needed to make this happen. No need to fix what is no longer broken by throwing another head into the mix.

And then, after all that is said and done, all three of them would still incinerate you. Because you were foolish enough to stop and ask Ghidorah a question.

THE END

[aliceslantern]

Beyond this Existence: Atonement, chapter 2

Ansem always had a penchant for strays, so it's not at all surprising when he takes in the orphaned child Ienzo. The boy's presence changes everything, far more than Even is willing to admit. Ienzo's brilliance seems promising, but the arrival of a young Xehanort pushes the apprentices onto a dark, cruel, inhumane path which will affect the future of the World. And even once it's all over with--once Xehanort is dead--they still must pick up the pieces, forgive one another, find a way to atone for their atrocities, and struggle to accept the humanity which has been thrust upon them.

Read it on FF.net/on AO3

---

Ienzo has just turned six. He’s been at the castle for most of a year.

Aeleus is icing the simple white cake when Even goes to get his morning coffee. “You’re spoiling the boy,” he says in lieu of greeting. “Ansem gives him more than enough sugar with all the ice cream.”

Aeleus shrugs. “It’s not a birthday without cake.”

“Indeed, when presented with such things when I was younger, I nearly went feral,” Dilan says. “Though sugar does not seem to affect his countenance.”

“Not much does.”

“It’s worth celebrating, that he’s speaking,” Aeleus says. He puts the frosting knife in the sink. “Maybe we can encourage him to talk more.”

He still does not speak much, even now. His sentences are short, plain, often monosyllabic. At least they no longer need to rely on the whiteboard.

But now that he speaks, his nightmares have heft, sound. Even can hear him cry for them. It never hurts any less.

“Ah, speak of the devil,” Dilan says. Ienzo appears, still in pajamas, rubbing his eyes. “Happy birthday.”

He blinks. “That’s today?”

Even chuckles. “I figure today we can do something you like. Play, or perhaps go outside?”

Ienzo opens the fridge door and takes out a juice box. “No thank you,” he says politely. “I want to finish my book.”

“Anything for the prince, eh,” Dilan says. He’s taken to calling Ienzo that; despite the fact that he and Ansem have no blood ties and that “king” is an elected title. “If you go outside you can get more books, you know. Not just this dusty old tosh.”

This grabs his attention.

“I’ll even buy you one as a present.”

Ienzo turns pink. “Thank you.”

Dilan smiles. “Why it is my pleasure. Go get dressed. We can leave after breakfast.”

He retreats to his room quickly. Even puts up oatmeal. “That’s kind of you,” he says.

“He needs exercise. It’s not normal to be cooped up all day.”

“Dilan spoils the boy, but I can’t?” Aeleus asks dryly. “The double standards.”

Even laughs a little. “Such is the way of life.”

He returns to his lab. He had success with another fertilization; this one actually divided twice before dying. What was the difference? He doesn’t think he did anything differently. During all of his medical school studies, he did not recall IVF to be so finicky.

This isn’t the same thing. It’s a vehicle.

He studies the corpses of the cells under blacklight, trying to find anything that might illuminate the truth.

---

Ansem approaches him now, not the other way around. Even would be lying if he said he doesn’t enjoy the power. “Sorry to intrude,” he says.

Even looks up from the chaise and decides to be nice. “Nothing to intrude. I was mending Ienzo’s coat. He’s growing so quickly, I had to let down the hem.” They can buy clothes at the shops, but not many vendors sell lab coats in children’s sizes. They’re teaching Ienzo general chemistry; he needs to have protection.

“You’re sure? He’s awfully small.”

He hums idly. “He’s on the bottom end of average,” he admits. “I have a feeling Ienzo will always be relatively petite. But he eats plenty, and Dilan introduced him to the library in town, which is an incentive to walk.”

“...He goes on his own now?” Ansem asks. He sits without being invited.

Even pauses slightly in his stitching. “How old were you when you ran your first errand?” he asks instead. “He has to be back in half an hour, otherwise we take away the books. Funny. For most children reading is punishment.” He holds up the jacket, checking for evenness. “Can I help you with something?”

He picks up the book he’s carried in. It’s an odd size, old, the cut of the paper uneven. “I… admit I still do not know anything about which you’re working. But I know you have a body problem. I wonder if this might help.”

He eyes it derisively. “Not exactly cutting edge science, is it?”

Ansem chuckles. “No, but… I’ve spoken with a new… friend, and I wonder if this is food for thought.”

Even takes the book from him. The font is ancient, hard to read. “ Mysticism of the Heart? Sounds a bit… Romantic.”

Ansem shakes his head. “It’s nothing to do with feelings. Well, not quite. The author was a sorcerer… oh, many years ago. She studied the heart.”

“...As have I. As have we all.”

“The metaphysical heart, Even.” He seems exasperated. “I find myself… intrigued, as well. I was up all night reading it.”

“...That so?” He strokes the cover, the soft, crumbling leather.

“If you… want to make something living, you have to understand the forces behind it. At least, that’s how I see it.”

“None of this is proven,” Even says, but despite himself he can feel his mind stirring, the block loosening.

“Maybe not with science. Maybe not with black and white.”

“Consider my interest… piqued.”

---

Like Ansem, he finds himself engrossed in every page; he takes copious notes. The text is hard to read, from the font to the fact that it is an older dialect of their language. But the ideas behind it are fascinating, and not just from a scientific standpoint.

Everyone knows a person is made of a body, heart, and will; but nobody understands the latter two, how they function. Nobody can test something so abstract. But if he can figure it out… or at least start to get there… maybe it will mean something for the dying cells smeared on his slides.

He can feel an excitement rising in him, an eagerness, a passion, that he hasn’t experienced in some time. He’s finally getting somewhere. He photocopies the book to have as reference, and without a word, gives it to Aeleus.

Within two weeks none of them can shut up about it. Ienzo watches them discuss it, warily, another fantasy story in his hands. Even finds himself digging through the libraries all throughout the castle for more--there has to be more. But everything else he finds about the heart is vague, at best. Limited. A single line in a dictionary. He bites the bullet and begins looking towards texts of religion and philosophy as well, but unlike Mysticism of the Heart , it is all waffling.

The sorcerer who crafted the book spent her whole life studying the heart. After apprenticing under a master magician, she spent years crafting spells to look within--to feel the heart, what it might mean. She asked as many people as she dared (it was a time and place where magic was viewed as heresy, so Even can’t help but admire her nerve) if she, too, could look within their hearts. She wrote out each as a case study, but her major conclusions were as follows:

Hearts are not mere physical matter. They are made of two forms of metamatter, heretoafter deemed “light” and “darkness.” Like yin and yang, they were not necessarily good and evil, but rather seemed to have certain qualities: light was associated with feeling, healing, and nurturing, while darkness was associated with power, knowledge, and a desire to better oneself rather than the collective.

Hearts are about “feeling”, about aqueous aspects of identity.

The presence of bonds seem to make a heart stronger or weaker, depending on their health.

Stronger individuals could always produce more and fulfill themselves more.

Even had, of course, studied darkness and light; but they had been viewed mostly as pejoratives, things that were intangible. If this is right--this dusty old tome from who knows how long ago--it’s so much more literal than they ever could have guessed.

---

He is trying to draft ways to explore this more clearly when Ienzo finds him. Without a single word, he places a book on Even’s lap. “...What’s this?” Even asks him.

“It talks about hearts.”

Even examines it. It’s a fairy story; one from Ansem’s study. He feels a swell of something like pride when he realizes that Ienzo likely took it without permission. “A fantasy story?” he asks.

Ienzo shrugs. “They talk about dark and light.”

There’s no point on waiting for him to elaborate. “I will… examine it in more detail,” he says, shunting it to the bottom of his list.

Ienzo begins to leave, but then turns. “And magic,” he says.

Even furrows his brows. Acting on impulse, he opens the storybook Ienzo left behind.

Well, hell.

---

It all causes a massive dissonance; how much lore, nebulous and malleable, actually has more truth in it than they all think?

As a man of science, and yes, he thinks, reason, how can he possibly believe it, when this whole time he only believed what could be proven with numbers?

Even’s mind slivers into pieces: the part of him invested in his experiment; the part of him beginning to play into this heart nonsense; and the part of him that looks after Ienzo. Because the boy really does need looking after.

He’s still not well--with the absence of proper treatment, he can never be well. No longer trusting only Ansem’s word, Even takes a look at his predecessor’s reports--Ansem’s office is so disorganized, he will never notice if these things go missing for a few hours--and discovers to his horror that Ansem wasn’t embellishing at all.

The shift in Radiant Garden’s economy from manufacturing to STEM brought unprecedented progress. It increased their food yields, meaning nobody went hungry; it gave them technology and medicine to save lives, to make life in general easier. But with that shift meant a loss in other ways of other studies; they became neglected. Namely, the humanities. And under these older referendums, psychology was not deemed a hard science.

The people are feeling the strain. This, on top of the cultural stigma that comes with seeking help. Not so many students are studying the subject--none that will pursue the accreditation, anyway. Meaning with a dying and retiring population of therapists, there’s increasingly nowhere to turn to.

It isn’t just psychology, either. Even doesn’t have the time to crunch the numbers, but with the arts and humanities slowly being neglected, Radiant Garden is going through a slow cultural death. It upsets him more than he thought possible.

Perhaps this is why, after one of Ienzo’s nightmares, he does more than leave him be.

It’s almost a routine at this point. It’s clear that Ienzo has no control of himself during these spells; as soon as he wakes up, he tries his utmost to quiet the cries, so as not to disturb the rest of them. More upsetting yet.

Even brings him a cup of weak tea with honey, a cool cloth for his face. “...Are you alright?” he asks the boy. He has no idea where to begin. “How do you… feel?”

Ienzo looks at him as though he couldn’t have asked a stranger question.

He tries again, feeling rapidly out of his depth. “Are you afraid?”

He sniffles. “No. I… see them.”

“In your dreams?”

“All the time.” His small hands tremble when he takes the teacup. “I know they’re… dead.”

“Yes,” Even says. “I’m sorry.”

“I don’t… remember. Except for…” He touches his shoulder. “Did I make it up? Those monsters.”

“...No.”

He considers this. “They ate them?”

Even flinches without meaning to.

Ienzo interprets this as a confirmation. “They ate them.”

“It is never… easy, to lose someone.” The ever-present ache around his heart tightens. “We’ve… tried measures, to get rid of them.” It doesn’t help that the Unversed population is almost impossible to track; but this isn’t Even’s purview. “We won’t let anyone hurt you.”

“I know,” he says.

“It’s okay to miss them,” Even says. “You know this, yes?”

Slowly, Ienzo nods. “Where are they?”

“We… had them cremated shortly afterwards. While you were recovering.”

He shakes his head, and repeats the question.

“Oh… well… there’s no clear answer.” He clears his throat. “Some people believe that they go to a heaven, or an afterworld. Others believe that their souls are reincarnated into other people, or animals. Some think that they… merely go to sleep.”

He thinks about this. “Is it peaceful?”

Even’s heart about breaks. “Yes,” he says softly. “It’s very peaceful.”

“...Okay,” he says, and shrugs. “As long as they’re okay.”

“If you would like, I can… make a space for you to mourn. With the… mortuary tablets.”

“No thank you,” he says. “I’m tired now. Good night.”

---

Even does not know how else to broach the subject, but the conversation reveals him to be something of a hypocrite. How can he possibly teach Ienzo how to grieve when he refuses to grieve his own losses?

But he can’t begin the process and not end it; it would be continual, it would take work. It would distract him for his research and possibly incapacitate him for some time. He couldn’t give in to that urge now, not when he is so close to a solution. This is what’s been missing, he’s sure. Something… that can’t be created literally. But to move forward first he needs to understand more about hearts, and how they relate to their people.

“Master? Forgive me for intruding.”

Ansem looks up at him wearily. “Oh… hello.”

“Are you alright?” he asks, without meaning to.

“I’m merely tired. I’ve got… more arguments on my hands. It’s hard to find the budget to jumpstart a mental health program without taking away other things--and none of my colleagues can stand any of my suggestions.”

“I’ve no idea why you decided to go into politics.”

“Consider me a fool for trying to enact change.” Ansem sighs. “What is it you need?”

Even folds his hands together. “I don’t need more resources, but I was hoping to… reallocate some things,” he says. “We--Aeleus and Dilan too--would like to investigate the matters of the heart more scientifically. It would mean certain projects would have to wait, but… we all feel a passion for it, and I can’t pretend that’s meaningless.”

“...Yes,” Ansem says. “I… feel the same way about it. Finding truths about life itself… would make my work feel a lot less frivolous.”

“I can draw up a budget--”

“No need.” Ansem smiles. “Do what you must.”

---

So that’s it, then.

They need a workspace, one where they could all gather. There’s space in one of the lower levels, near the castle’s CPU; the maintenance techs will not be happy to deal with their comings and goings, but Even could care less. It is a bit isolated, but that also means it will be quiet.

It has been a long time since the four of them worked together on something, since shortly after graduate placement. And truly they had never done it like this.

Dilan surveys their office space with distaste. “...Quite sterile, isn’t it? No natural light.” Aside from two offices, the space is completely open; Ienzo spends quite some time running to and fro, and as he scarcely does this, they indulge him.

“...Is it? I could rather care less about decor.” Even opens one of the boxes and gently begins unpacking his gear into a cabinet.

“I’ll bring some plants,” Aeleus says.

“Well, we have what we need; where do we begin?” Dilan asks.

“Ansem started this. Maybe he has some clue.” There’s a loud crash; Ienzo ran clean into the sharp end of one of the metal tables and clutches his knee. He does not cry, but grits his teeth in silence. “Oh, goodness. What have you done to yourself?” At least he had the good sense to place his first aid kit towards the top of the pile. He tends to the small cut. “Be careful, alright? There are more dangerous things in this room than just a table.”

He shrugs, and drops his eyes. “I got excited,” he says.

---

It is all terribly exciting. It shouldn’t feel this strange to have Ansem back in the room with them. They sit clustered around the worktables, brainstorming or trying to; Ienzo studies, supposedly working out some math problems Dilan set him.

“There must be a way to unify these two methods,” Ansem says. “The science, the magic. Why shouldn’t it be some combination of both of them?”

Dilan all but rolls his eyes. “That’s all fine and dandy, if it were not for the fact that none of us have any training.”

“Couldn’t we learn?” Aeleus asks. “The… manuscript details how these things were done.”

Dilan twists the ends of one of his braids. “...Teach a machine how to do magic,” he says slowly. “It’s so insane that it might actually work.”

“A machine?” Ansem asks.

“Well, the manuscript also mentions how exhausting such spellwork is--not to mention, how advanced. We can’t afford to wear ourselves down. Nor do we have the time to study such things for so long.”

Even thinks about it. “You may be onto something.”

---

It takes time, and it takes all of them; fall wears into winter. The castle has always been drafty and damp, but here in the basement it’s basically unbearable. They huddle around space heaters, wander around in too  many layers. Dilan spends hours--weeks--poring over page after page of blueprints, trying to figure out how to make it work.

It isn’t as if Even can sneak away to try to work on his own projects, so he focuses on Ienzo. The boy isn’t perfect; he does trip up and make mistakes and occasionally can’t wrap his head around things. He has more aptitude for some subjects than others, favoring biology over chemistry and psychology over math. Even can’t help it; maybe he can’t give Ienzo the help he needs, but maybe he can give the boy the tools to eventually help himself.

Intellectually, he’s more advanced than many. But he’s still a child, with all the trappings of one. When he sees the snow on the ground, he’s tempted. So Aeleus takes him out to play. He returns delighted, pink-faced and soaked, and for the first time Even can recall he doesn’t have a nightmare.

Then he gets sick.

The castle’s something of a germ vacuum. Of course the moment Ienzo’s vulnerable something sneaks in. At first it seems merely like a cold; he sneezes over his studies, needs to be reminded to cover his mouth. Even gives him cold medicine, keeps an eye on him; all he knows is that he can feel this is something more, and his reliance on that instinct embarrasses him. When the boy begins audibly shivering Even takes him upstairs to bed. Ienzo’s fever rises dramatically--he’d forgotten how bad, how terrifying it can be in small children. Even plies him with fluids, with an antiviral. He just has to wait, to mop the poor child’s sweaty brow and hope it gets no worse.

“...How’s our patient?” Dilan asks. He carries a tray with soup for the both of them. “Don’t protest. This is for you. You’ve been up all night.”

“It’s the flu, I’m afraid.” He’s just dipped this cloth in cool water, it’s warm already. “Thank goodness he’s sleeping. He’d be miserable otherwise.”

Dilan stares down at the lump that was Ienzo, barely visible below all the blankets. “...How bad is it?”

Even checks his log; he’s been taking his temperature every two hours, in the vain hope that it’ll break sooner rather than later. “Hovering around 40.5.”

“...Goodness, that’s…”

“If it gets higher we can chance an ice bath. But I’d rather not do that if I can avoid it. He’s already so sensitive--odds are his mind would interpret the cold as pain.”

“Couldn’t you simply… put the boy to sleep?”

“As if the ice water wouldn’t wake him up?”

Dilan puts a hand to his forehead. “Forgive me… my head is rather foggy.”

“You must be exhausted.” Even rewets the rag and places it back on Ienzo’s warm little face. “Get some rest. The last thing we need is for you to get it as well.”

He nods. “Should I… call someone?”

“Like who? Dilan.” He chuckles. “I’ve seen many sick children in my day. I promise I’m qualified.”

“I know you’re close to the boy. That can cloud things.”

“...We’ll be just fine. Your concern touches me.”

He stays with Ienzo that night; Ansem comes in and out, bringing them food, blankets, tea. He makes Even go sleep for a few hours. Even hopes his own exhaustion is just that. The last thing he needs…

Ienzo’s fever drops from 40.5 to 39. An improvement, but not much of one; now instead of being asleep, he’s conscious and miserable and the cold medicine only makes him irritated. He still can barely keep anything down. Even tries not to worry--it takes much longer than two days for the flu to pass--but inside a web of anxiety is spinning, gently, what if he doesn’t get better, what if the fever suddenly worsens in the night and he seizes, isn’t there something else I can do? He almost has to force the boy to drink, considers starting an IV line. After a few hours Ienzo sleeps, fitfully, shivering hard. Despite himself, Even drifts too, jolting back into consciousness every time his head nods. He knows he should ask for someone to relieve him, at least temporarily. But who?

During one of these sleepy waves, he hears it. “Daddy?”

Even blinks hard. “It’s Even, little one. Go back to sleep.”

He takes a shaky breath, one full of phlegm. “Where is he?”

He cracks a little. “I’m sorry. He’ll be back soon.”

“He’s supposed to--” Ienzo’s reeling a little, his eyes rolling.

“What, love?”

“The song to make it go away--” He shudders, propping himself up.

“Lay back down. It’s alright.” His family must have had rituals, Even realizes, just like any other. “I can read to you, would that help?”

“Why did they leave?” His voice breaks.

“Oh, love. They didn’t want to.”

Ienzo bursts into tears. It’s not the same as the nightmare-induced panic attacks; there’s a cold sentience to this. Almost instinctively, and against his better judgement, Even draws him into his arms. He’s unsure of how Ienzo will react to the touch, but to his surprise he feels the boy clinging to him.  It feels so familiar. The weight of him is almost exactly like--

Anything but that.

He tries to focus on comforting the boy, but all he can say are some variations of “it’s alright.” It seems to take a very long time for Ienzo to calm down, settling down against Even’s chest in an exhausted heap. He dares not move, lest he disturb him more.

The next thing he knows he’s waking up, the boy still asleep in his arms. As gently as Even can, he lays him back down and tucks the blanket more securely around his shoulders. He checks the boy’s fever. 38, only a touch higher than normal. They’re out of the woods. Or, he notes with a groan as he feels a sudden ache in his back, Ienzo is. He makes his way slowly out of the room and sees Dilan. “Don’t come any closer,” he warns. “I believe I’ve caught it too.”

Dilan sighs. “I’ll bring you some soup. Best get to bed.”

“...Right. Never a dull day around here, is there?”

“If only.”

He is beginning to feel the brunt of it in earnest; he shivers as he bathes no matter how warm the water, and the blankets do not seem to be enough. Dilan, in a mask, brings him medicine. Even tries to read for a while, but nothing has straight lines anymore, so he succumbs to a restless sleep.

Of course he’s aware delirium can twist the mind, can weaken it, can lower one’s defenses. That doesn’t make him prepared for the onslaught that follows. He can see their faces clear as day as desperately as he tried to forget them--he can hear their voices--

Dad, look! Look, I got it! The boy, hanging determinedly from a set of monkey bars.

Please be careful--oh, love--

Even, kids get hurt. Let him have his fun.

He ran out of time. He should’ve been with him. If he’d’ve been there maybe none of this would’ve happened. They’d still be--

Officers in deep blue uniforms--

An electrical failure--

Transformer blew--the place likely went up in minutes.

They probably didn’t feel much of anything.

He wasn’t there, making his imagination work all the harder--did they cry? Were they together when it happened, holding one another? Did they think of him? It has to have been awful--to feel oneself be torn apart--no matter how quickly it happens--

Something cool pats his face, bringing him almost, but not quite, to consciousness. He feels horrifically nauseous. “Go back to sleep,” says the voice.

“I have to… check on him,” he mumbles.

“Ienzo’s doing much better. His fever broke. You, on the other hand--” A wry chuckle. A sound like woodsmoke.

Smoke? “I should’ve--”

“Nonsense. You took excellent care of him. Now you must look after yourself.”

“He could’ve fallen.”

“Ienzo’s going nowhere.”

Even’s feeling increasingly woozy. “He feels like him. Why did you do this to me?” And then it’s happening, he’s crying again, a sensation that physically hurts. He feels a hand on his back above the blankets.

“Why do you feel you must suffer alone?”

Darkness, for a long time. When he wakes he still feels horrid, but at least things are beginning to sharpen again. His head’s pounding, and his muscles feel like lead. He groans a little when he tries to prop himself up.

“Even?”

His head snaps up; the sudden movement worsens the pain. “You should go, you needn’t see this.”

Ansem looks exhausted. His hair is unkempt, his beard needs trimming, and the circles under his eyes are nearly comical. “You’re too unwell to take care of yourself. I was near Ienzo, so if I’m already infected, no point exposing the others.” He pours Even a glass of water and hands him a few pills. “Your fever’s not so terrifyingly high, but you were quite delirious for a while.”

“I am… aware.” He scowls. He’s so thirsty. The moment he sets down his empty glass, Ansem gets more. He’s dragged a chair to Even’s bedside; it’s here Ansem sits.

“I wish to have… a word,” he says, with difficulty.

“While I’m essentially a captive audience? Not very sportsmanlike, is it?”

“Well quite bluntly otherwise you’d flee. Because you’ve been avoiding it like the plague.”

Even lays back down with a huff.

Ansem scratches his beard. “Kick and scream, I don’t care. We’ll chalk it up to your illness. You’re clearly suffering. Pushing it away isn’t going to  make it any easier. You’re living in a state of quasi-denial where everything’s fine. Everything needn’t be fine, Even.”

“You think this is denial?”

Ansem looks him in the eye. “Yes. I do. The longer you put it off, the more you don’t have to face the fact that your life is forever changed, that your residence in the castle is no longer a temporary one. You have to grieve them, Even. It’s been almost two years.”

He looks up at the ceiling. The dome light, a moth flickering around it agitatedly. “...Has it been that long already?” he asks. “I… hadn’t realized.” He’s again exhausted but can’t find the energy to be angry.

Mostly  because Ansem’s right.

He feels Ansem’s warm, dry hand slide over his. “I do not expect you to be the same. But I would like you to let me help you.”

“What could you possibly do for me?”

“Listen.”

“With all your free time?”

“Even.”

He exhales shakily.

“Bonds can make a heart stronger,” Ansem says. “That’s what you need right now.”

How very like him, to frame it in context with Even’s work. “Where would I even begin?”

“You mentioned that Ienzo feels the same.”

It’s hard to breathe. “...Yes,” he says. “They’re about the same size. He was, rather. My son.” Saying it feels like getting stabbed. It’s easier not to look at Ansem, so he doesn’t.

“I… remember. But he never had an aptitude for the sciences. A gentle soul, that one.”

“Incredibly. Dare I say it, too fragile to last very long. Almost like we were tempting…” He trails off.

“...Fate? Even, I thought you didn’t believe in such things.”

“Ansem, I’m not certain of anything anymore.”

“...That’s quite alright.”

“I had wanted to make things better.”

“It’s not too late.”

“It always will be, for them.” He closes his eyes. “As for me…” He doesn’t know what else to say. “Other than my work, truly…”

“What is there to live for?”

“...I’m frightfully pathetic.”

“No. You’re in pain.” He adjusts his grip on Even’s hand. “Closing yourself off to the world won’t heal your heart.”

“I suppose it won’t.” It’s an emotion he’s unsure of, fragile and pale. “Why is it you care?”

“Even, I’ve known you since university. I’ve seen your brightness, your hope. I know you can find it again.”

“I’m afraid your certainty must be enough for the both of us.”

“I will try my best.”

---

He feels a bit different after the sickness, like he’s shifted a bit to the left. It takes a while to regather his strength, physically and otherwise. He spends this intellectually useless time with Ienzo, in the large library; the boy can’t seem to believe there are so many books. The excitement of it soothes Even. He wishes he could feel the same, that he could go back to the point where he, too, saw so much wonder.

Truthfully, other than his size, Ienzo bears no resemblance to his son. That child was an artful soul, constantly drawing; Ienzo never picks up a marker unless it is to write. That child loved to play; Ienzo would much rather read and seek stimulation more quietly. Were he older, Even thinks, Ienzo might have been a peer to himself. He surely must eventually go to university, to meet more people his age like him. Scientists are poor excuses for friends.

“So that’s him? Cute kid.”

The voice startles him; his heart jolts unpleasantly. He turns and sees a man he can only vaguely recognize, in the castle’s deep blue guard uniform; his short dark hair is slicked back, and a red kerchief covers his collar, breaking protocol for sure. “I’m sorry, can I help you?”

The man puts a hand on his hip. “Heard you guys are cooking up a project, and could use the extra help around here.” He sticks out his white-gloved hand. “Name’s Braig. We’ve met.”

Even glances briefly back at Ienzo, who has barely moved. Braig’s glove is a little dirty, and after he shakes his hand he makes a note to wash his own as soon as possible. “Then surely I needn’t introduce myself. That boy over there’s Master Ansem’s ward, Ienzo.”

“Figured. Everyone’s been talking about him.” Braig observes him for a moment. “You’re Ansem’s right hand man, aren’t you?”

“Master Ansem,” Even corrects. “And I’m one of his science officers, if that’s what you’re referring to.”

The man shrugs. “So then why are you on babysitting duty?”

Even takes a breath to compose himself. Braig’s manner is most unbecoming to a supposedly-stoic castle guard. “I assist with the boy’s education,” he says instead.

Braig chuckles. “If you want to call it that.”

He tries to bite down on his temper. “Don’t you need to return to your rounds?” he asks, politely.

He shrugs. “I’m off the clock. Just taking a look at my new digs. Only saw it briefly during orientation, which was a lot longer ago that I want to admit.”

So he doesn’t even have newness as an excuse for this behavior. “I see,” he says distastefully.

“Can I introduce myself to the kid? Don’t want to freak him out if I’m going to be around.”

Even blanches. He hates to admit Braig has a point; Ienzo needs to be familiar with those around him. “...He is rather shy. Don’t be surprised if he simply ignores you.”

Braig shrugs. “Eh, I’ve had worse.” He approaches him slowly. There’s something lazy, almost cat-like, about the way he moves. Even watches him warily. “Hey, kiddo. Whatcha reading? Doesn’t look like a whole lot of fun.”

Ienzo looks up at his assailant with an expression of dull disappointment.

“Name’s Braig. One of the castle guards. ‘Fraid you’re going to be seeing this ugly mug a lot.”

“Okay,” is all Ienzo says. He goes  back to his reading. Braig crosses back over to the door.

“Not a people person, I guess,” he says. “Be seeing you, Even.”

Even bristles when Braig doesn’t use his title. “With all due politeness, if we’re to work together you must be respectful.”

Braig smirks a little. “Sure thing, Doctor. ” When he leaves, his tread is nearly soundless. Even sighs a little out of frustration.

“Ienzo? We must go get some lunch.”

“I’m not hungry,” he says, turning the page.

“You lost weight when you were ill. The last thing we need is for you to get sick again.”

---

“...I admit he’s… a character,” Dilan says, his lip curling.

“Is there no one else?” Even asks. “If this is to be the constant,  I wish for it to be someone who’s… more in line with decorum.”

“Ansem does not seem to mind,” Dilan remarks. He looks pale, the skin under his eyes the color of a bruise. Even’s not sure which cup of coffee he’s on, but he’s also sure he doesn’t want to know.

“I understand the… trepidation,” Aeleus says slowly. He searches through the tome he’s holding slowly. “I worked in tandem with him for some time. Braig is very experienced, and the people like him. That’s not for nothing. Have you truly never met?”

Even feels his face reddening. “Not that I can recall.”

Dilan chuckles. “Perhaps he’ll respect you if you respect him.”

“Of course his labor is valuable.”

“...Not what I said.”

“How are things going?” Even asks instead.

He takes off his reading glasses and rubs at the bridge of his nose. “Feels I’m running a fool’s errand,” Dilan admits. “I consulted with the wizard Merlin, as Master advised, yet…” He digs something out of his pocket and sets it on the table between the three of them; it’s a blistered, patinated bit of scrap metal, its edges splintered. “This is all that’s left of my prototype.”

Ienzo hops down from his chair to investigate. He reaches up to the table to take the piece of metal, his arm too short to reach the center of the table.

“No, child, that’s quite sharp,” Dilan says.

“I just want to look at it,” Ienzo says, with a hint of a whine. Aeleus hefts the boy onto his knee. He peers through the curtain of hair at the metal. “Not aluminum.” He pronounces it like “lumininum.” Even corrects him gently.

“No. It’s… it was an alloy,” Dilan says.

He shakes his head. “Needs to be something flexible.”

They are all silent for several moments; Ienzo cocks his head slightly.

Dilan scoffs a little to himself. “The boy’s right. Good on you, Ienzo.”

Ienzo beams at the praise, revealing his missing front teeth--the milk teeth fell out some two weeks prior.

Dilan drums his fingers on the table. “But if not metal, then what?”

Ienzo shrugs. “Master says gummy.”

Even raises an eyebrow. “What, rubber?”

“Gummy,” he repeats, slowly, as if that makes it any clearer.

“Ienzo, we’ve no idea what you’re talking abou--”

He turns red. “That’s what his friend says!” He’s almost yelling. Ienzo’s temper is a new development.

Aeleus rubs his shoulders gently. “Calm down and think about what you need to say,” he suggests.

He’s tearing up, sniffling in frustration. It’s clear Ienzo occasionally has difficulty stringing together his thoughts, especially as he becomes more verbal. “His friend, his friend speaked about it--”

“Spoke,” Dilan corrects.

Aeleus tucks a strand of gray hair behind the boy’s ear. “What about this friend?”

Even’s almost sure the conversation’s meaningless until Ienzo says, “His friend has a star. He’s little, not like me. And he has a…” He shapes something with his hands, something long and thin.

Aeleus offers him a pencil and some graphing paper. “Why don’t you try drawing it?”

The boy begins sketching dutifully, the lines messy. It looks almost like a sword, or a bat, but he adds something to the tip of it, something like--

Even’s heart all but stops, and from the looks on Aeleus’s and Dilan’s faces, theirs do too. “Are you… quite sure of what you saw?” Even asks gently. Ienzo is not a particularly imaginative child, but this seems more plausible than the truth on the paper in front of them.

He nods. “I see… I saw it.”

There, in the horrible fluorescent lighting, is a drawing of a Keyblade.

---

There are so many thoughts going through Even’s mind, he doesn’t know how to keep track of them. He honestly isn’t sure if he feels sick or exhilarated.

They always thought that Keyblades were legend. But considering Ansem’s fascination with other worlds… Has he, privately, tried to contact them?

Is Ienzo merely lying?

The boy is not a liar, but it makes so much more sense if Even believes he is. Well, there’s one simple solution to all this. He may make a fool of himself, but he has to pursue this feeling.

During a break in Ansem’s schedule, he goes to see him. He considers bringing Ienzo too, as a sort of collateral, but Aeleus is in the middle of a biology quiz, and Even knows how busy Ansem gets.

He feels breathless, and sweaty. “I must have a word.”

Ansem’s head snaps up. “My friend! Are you alright? Please, sit.”

He does, sinking first down onto a pile of files before he remembers to remove them. Ansem pours some water from a decanter and hands it to him. Even watches the light refract off of the crystal glass, trying to gather his nerve. “You had Ienzo in on a meeting,” Even says.

Ansem looks more confused than anything. “I never involve him in city work.”

“A visitor, then? Some friend of yours?” He sounds a bit wheezy. “The boy is either… telling tales, or you’ve been up to something.”

Ansem hesitates, and this hesitation tells Even everything he needs to know. “I did not intend for Ienzo to be there, but he just so happened to arrive when--”

 “Who?”

Ansem sighs heavily. It’s a sound of getting caught.

---

Forty-five minutes later, Even has a splitting headache. He may, he reckons, be going completely insane.

Apparently out of the blue one day a mouse king arrived from another world, teleported willy-nilly via something he called a “star shard.” Even does not know how to begin unpacking this. Mouse? Child-sized, sentient, speaking their language? And of course Ansem immediately started asking him about this--the two spent some hours talking about their worlds, the commonalities, the differences. Which of course Ansem kept to himself. Only then the mouse (mouse!) king returned, during one of Ansem’s tutoring sessions with Ienzo. This time he brought books, books from this other world, and some aqueous cubes of material he calls “gummi blocks.” And he was very pleased to tell Ansem he’d become a Keyblade master.

What in the world is going on? Nobody has ever believed Keyblades were real , and here the proof is in the pudding, so to speak. It’s all true, which makes Even feel even more mad; it seems like everything he’s learned is a lie.

In it all, a glint of hope.

Ansem lends him the books. Here there’s more information about light and darkness--well-reasoned studies proving, more than anything, that it’s a whole lot more literal than any of them have ever thought, and provides them with building blocks on how to seek it out in the environment.

The gummi material is exactly as alien as Even thought; immensely mutable, easily replicable. He spends hours subjecting the stuff to tests--extreme heat, liquid nitrogen, stress, impact, gravity. It can hold shape with ease, hardening to become like glass, its texture scrambling to become whatever they urge it to conform to. And it seems to be extremely durable.

“Something flexible,” Dilan says with awe. “This must be what Ienzo meant.”

It seems to be exactly what they need to move forward with their research. Now that he knows he’s not suffering a mental breakdown, the possibilities excite Even, actually make it difficult to sleep at night.

They create something like a pod, with the hope of being able to isolate the light from the darkness. They need something living, to study; they examine mice, reptiles, insects. While these things do seem to carry light and darkness in their own way, they also lack hearts--the real, intangible, metaphysical hearts. The proper thing to do would be to study people. The machine seems to do no harm to the lesser animals, but the moment humanity comes into it, it gets intensely more complicated.

“It will take… quite some doing,” Ansem admits. “You have to create a risk impact statement, and that statement has to pass the board of ethics. And I need it to. I will not have anyone getting hurt. We know so little about these forces.”

“Of course we will obtain informed consent,” Even says. “We merely wish to examine them, and to ask them questions about the more… mythical things. Like bonds, or memories. How do we measure these things? We can only figure it out by gathering data.”

“I warn you, this may take some time,” Ansem says. He crosses his legs, looking towards the machines--Dilan has made two more. “The typical amount of time it takes things to pass the board is six months--something like this? Perhaps longer.”

Even curses his own lack of foresight. He should have drafted something earlier, before they got swept in this nonsense, to avoid these roadblocks. But who, says a small voice inside of him, would really stop them? Who would inspect them? After all, this would all be so harmless. “...Of course.”

“I will try my best to force it past them--but they must carry out their own studies, and observations. The people have a right to know what happens at this castle. Especially if it may-- however nebulously--impact them.” He closes his eyes for a moment. “I’m sure you have other things to pursue in the meantime.”

“I suppose I could… spend some more time on Ienzo’s education. I fear in all this excitement it’s been rather neglected.”

He smiles, but it’s tired. “I’m sure the boy learns much more than you think merely being around you.”

“It was his idea to use the gummi blocks,” Even admits. “I think he intuited their use before we even experimented on them.”

Ansem stares at him. “Is that true?”

“Children often have fresh, blunt perspectives,” he says. He goes to adjust the band in his hair, but again, the elastic breaks against his fingers. “...Blast.”

Ansem chuckles. “If it bothers you so much, cut it.”

“It is rapidly getting to that point.” He takes the band and tries to tie it around the mass. It holds, barely. “As I was saying. Ienzo’s intellect here pairs well with that freshness. He can see things we’re too stubborn to see, in a way far less complex.”

Ansem twirls a pen. “Would it do him good to continue to observe your work? Does he enjoy it?”

Even thinks. “I believe so. It started this way out of necessity--if he’s not with you, he’s with one of us, and this is where we’ve all been.”

“If it’s as harmless as you say… I see no reason why it shouldn’t continue. So long as he still gets sunlight, and the like.”

---

For a while they all slip into a sort of lull. Even takes Ienzo to town with him, hoping to enroll him into some sort of activity that would encourage him to make friends; but the stimuli of the city actually reduces Ienzo to tears, and Even ends up carrying the boy home. It’s strange; Ienzo’s always been able to make it to the library, but the library isn’t in the dead center of town. He puts him to bed, lays a cool cloth over his eyes. “We can try again when you’re ready,” he says softly.

Soon, though, Ienzo disappears again, for more than his usual trip to the town library. Even tries to be more rational about it this time--the boy probably lost track of the hours--and he finds he doesn’t have to go very far. He’s merely in the square, near a blonde teenage boy wearing odd clothing (the fashions these days). He must’ve been bringing Ienzo home. “Ah, there you are. Didn’t I warn you not to wander off, child?” Ienzo gives a small shrug. He turns to the blond boy. “I see we owe you our thanks. We have done our best to raise the boy, since his poor parents are not here to do it.”

The teenager stares down at Ienzo. “Oh, you’re on your own, huh?” Then, to Even--”Sir, I’m looking for a friend of mine. He’s a tall guy dressed kinda like me. Have you seen him?”

Even would not have expected such politeness from someone dressed so. But he knows a gaggle of teenagers gathers on the outskirts of town. “Perhaps I did see him in the outer gardens. Just follow this road.”

“Thank you.” Something about this boy’s face is familiar. Who knows--such kindness and eagerness to protect might make a good guard out of him.

Even smiles a little. “No, thank you, for keeping Ienzo out of harm’s way.” He pauses. “And… well, let’s just say I have a feeling we are destined to cross paths again.”

The boy seems unsure of how to respond. They part on that note. Even notices a sudden vacantness in Ienzo’s eyes.

“How kind of that young man to bring you home,” he says. “Then again, I suppose everyone knows who you are.”

“No,” Ienzo says.

“No, what?”

He looks up. He squeezes his shoulder once. “Nothing. It was by chance. Do you think you’ll meet him again?”

He blinks. “I think anything’s possible. Don’t you?”

---

He’s finally fallen deeply, blessedly asleep one night several weeks later when he’s being woken. Aeleus, urgent and flushed. “We need you,” he says.

“What? This late? Why?”

“It’s Ienzo.”

He doesn’t bother putting on his formal clothes and follows Aeleus in his dressing gown. The air’s cool, dry; it smells like ozone. Even notes that outside it’s storming. They go down to the new lab. Even can taste his heartbeat, knowing all too well that nothing good has happened here. Braig, of all people, is cradling the boy; he’s in an odd state of quasi-consciousness. Even notices for the first time that the man’s wearing an eye patch, one he most certainly did not have several weeks ago. What did that miscreant do? Well, it’s not important now.

“I was doing my rounds down here when I saw him,” Braig begins. “I asked the kid what he was doing but he just stared at me. He was standing over there--” Braig points to one of the machines. Aeleus darts over to investigate. “I dunno. He started breathing all funny and then dropped like a sack of potatoes.” He lays Ienzo down so Even can examine him. His pulse is elevated, and he’s nearly hyperventilating. A finger of panic threatens to overtake Even, but he swallows it down.

“What is it, Aeleus?” Even hedges.

“Come here,” Aeleus says in an odd voice.

“I’m tending to Ienzo, Aeleus, he needs--”

“You really have to see this.”

Braig shakes his head. “I’ll keep an eye on the kid,” he says.

Shakily, Even joins Aeleus. Instantly he can tell what overtook Ienzo; the strong scent of chlorine gas makes his eyes water before he can turn away. The ventilation is good enough that it shouldn’t affect the rest of them now; but for a small child, one good lungful is enough. A hole has been burned clean through the ersatz gummi glass; something’s a molten lump inside, pinkish and still smoldering. More alarming than this, though, are the thin purplish tendrils rising from it.

“Chemical smoke?” Aeleus asks.

Even knows this is not the case. He isn’t sure how he knows--it’s just a certainty deep inside.

The gummi block drips darkness.

---

He tells Aeleus to put on protective gear and seal the block somewhere safe so they can observe it. Meanwhile, he has more important things to deal with. He brings Ienzo to the med bay, decontaminates him in case the chlorine got on any other parts of his body, and starts him on oxygen. He does not need to be intubated, thank the stars, but it takes much too long for his breathing to sound less labored. In all this, the poor boy falls asleep.

He sees Ansem’s face peeking in through the glass panel on the door, but he doesn’t dare intrude until Even gives his approval. He rushes over to Ienzo, pulls him close; Even’s shocked to see a tear run down his face. Once he seems to assure himself the boy’s stable, he turns to Even, danger in his rust-colored eyes.

“A word,” is all he says. A command, not a question.

Even stands and glances over towards the bed.

“Aeleus will keep an eye on him. Come.”

Even follows several paces behind, his heart pounding dread. Once they’re well out of earshot, in the breezeway, Ansem speaks, his back turned to Even, his hands held behind. None of the affable friendliness of their normal interactions--no longer just Ansem, but Ansem the Wise, King of Radiant Garden.

Very well.

“This must not continue,” Ansem says. His voice is soft, and low, barely audible above the rain pattering loudly on the crystal ceiling.

“Do not blame this on me. The boy went down there on his own.”

“Of course he did! He’s a child, a curious one. We’ve done nothing but enable him, and now we’ve put him in danger.” Ansem looks over his shoulder. “I forbid him from observing this research any longer, at least until he’s old enough to understand consequence. I figured that you of all people would know better.”

It feels like a barb, rendering Even’s retort useless. He doesn’t catch his breath for a full moment. His heart is full of ice. “What are we to do, then? Have him under lock and key? Am I to keep twenty-four hour surveillance on him?”

“I mean you need to be careful.”

“I am nothing but careful.” He should feel enraged, but all he feels is a strange, cool distance. “We are all careful with him. Moreover…” A breath. “He’s your son. We did not collectively agree to raise him. If you’re so concerned about his wellbeing, perhaps you should have a more active role in his life. I can’t do everything, Ansem.”

He turns. Even holds firm.

“You prattle on about my recovery, and yet, you’ve no idea of the weight of the responsibility you’ve placed on me.”

“You think I do not know responsibility? ” There’s a sharpness to his tone Even’s never heard before.

“Abstractly, yes, of course. But when faced with it in the flesh, you--”

There’s a splitting crack outside, a crack of thunder; a shockwave cracks the crystal window closest to Ansem, and they both jump. “What on earth?” Ansem spits. “Even--dear god, look out the window.”

The sky is swarming with darkness--luminous pink and violet and black tendrils. “We must get inside.”

“Get Ienzo. Go somewhere safe, all of you. Go. ”

“Don’t tell me you’re going to go out in this?”

“Even, I must see what’s to be done. The people may be in danger.”

He takes a breath. Be careful, he nearly says. “...Alright.”

Ienzo’s conscious when he gets back to the room.

“What’s happening?” Aeleus asks.

“I’ve no idea. The three of us are going down to my lab. There’s--” He feels Ienzo’s eyes on him. “Something’s going on outside. A bad storm. Best keep away from windows. No need to worry.”

Aeleus knows he’s lying for Ienzo’s benefit. “Can you walk?” he asks the boy. “You know what? Here.” He hefts him into his arms. “You’ll soon be too old to be carried around, yes? Might as well enjoy this small luxury.”

They go together, Even carrying the oxygen tank. Ienzo still seems limp, tired, though his eyes betray something else happened down there. What on earth had the boy done? Melted down a gummi block? But how? Nothing Even did to them had that reaction. Something that resulted in a production of chlorine… unless the gas the melting block emitted simply seemed like chlorine? They do not truly know what the blocks are made of, just that they can make themselves into any substance.

And how did it produce darkness in its rawest form?

Ienzo’s staring at him, so he tries to smile. “You, little one, are in a lot of trouble,” he says jovially. “What were you doing in the lab on your own? You know it’s not safe! It’s a good thing Braig found you. You could’ve gotten sick.”

Ienzo says nothing. Again, he’s limp against Aeleus, but his breathing’s not audible and his pulse feels more or less normal, all things considering.

“We will talk about this,” Even says to him sternly. “Once you’ve rested.”

In the lab, they rest the boy on Even’s cot, the one he uses when he’s simply too exhausted to walk all the way back. He tucks the blanket around the boy’s shoulders. “Try to get some sleep.” He sits with Ienzo until the boy’s drifted off. The thunder’s much quieter here, but still, to the listening ear, audible--even through all the stone.

Aeleus wordlessly hands him a cup of coffee and nods his head towards the supply pantry. Even follows him inside and shuts the door most of the way. "Have you any idea what this is?" Aeleus whispers.

"I… almost feel as if I imagined it," Even says in an equally soft voice. "The sky was full of color--of darkness. But I don't know--where would it have come from? We've no idea what so much of it can do--the myths all point to destruction. I was told to come here with you and protect the boy." He feels his lips curl into a sneer. "And of course I must follow orders."

Aeleus sighs. "He blames you?"

"Of course he does. I'm afraid I lost my temper."

"I'd be surprised if you didn't."

"We have to figure out whatever Ienzo was doing," Even says. He fusses with the dry ends of his hair. "Not just for his safety… for our research. And why he decided to do this on his own."

"He likes independence," Aeleus says simply.

"Well. There's plenty of time for him to be independent when he's older--"

"Even?" They hear him call from the other room.

He crosses over to Ienzo; he's fiddling with the oxygen mask, unable to get it off of his face.

"Little one, you should leave that on. You breathed in some nasty business."

He blushes, then admits, embarrassed, "I need the washroom."

"Oh--of course." Even takes it off, points to the door where it could be found. "But it goes on the moment you're through."

They wait for him. Aeleus pulls a puzzle charm out of his pocket and begins working on it. "Can't solve this one. I've been on it for weeks."

"You and your games."

"It keeps the mind limber. You should keep neuroplasticity in mind. We're at the age where we begin to lose such things."

Even looks into his half-drained coffee cup. "I'll ignore what you're implying," he says.

Aeleus chuckles.

It seems like Ienzo's been gone a long time; is his stomach upset? Even debates for a moment or so on checking in. Or--more insidiously--was he overtaken again by faintness? He can't help himself; he knocks on the closed door. "Ienzo? Are you alright?" He hears what sounds like muffled breaths. "You sound like you can't breathe, child." It's the silence that worries him. "I'm sorry, I'm coming in."

He finds Ienzo curled opposite the toilet, rocking a little. If Even hasn't seen this before, he'd figure it does have to do with his breathing. He kneels down next to him. "That was scary, yes?" He says gently. "You're safe now." He flinches away from Even's touch for the first time in a long while. "Ienzo?"

He's sobbing a little, a sound that hurts to hear.

"It's safe here," he reasserts, only to immediately be contradicted by the loudest peal of thunder yet; they both jump, and Ienzo continues to shudder. "It's merely a storm."

It takes a long time for the boy to calm. He's shivering; Even drapes his robe over him, but it doesn't seem to do much good. He wants to go get a blanket, or better, get the boy back to the cot, but he's also unsure of leaving him alone. He's on the verge of asking for Aeleus to get it for him when he hears a small "I'm sorry."

"Oh, child, it's alright."

He shakes his head. He uncurls a little, revealing that he's wet himself.

"No matter. Happens to the best of us. I'll get something clean for you to change into, yes?" Privately, he's concerned; how deeply shaken was Ienzo, in order for this to happen? He goes to prop himself up, only to feel a small hand grab at his. "I promise I'll be right back. Aeleus is nearby. You're safe."

Aeleus does give him an odd look; all Even does is shake his head and press a finger to his lips to tell him not to speak of it.

“I need to go get a few things,” he says instead. “Wouldn’t hurt to check on the situation, either. Perhaps we can go back upstairs, to bed. I’m exhausted. I’m sure you are too.”

Aeleus shrugs. “We’ll be here.”

It seems like a very long walk back upstairs to their residences, but it isn’t. Even’s endlessly troubled; first and foremost to what is obviously a trauma response in the boy, and also to the unearthly cataclysm going on outside. Never, as long as he’s been alive, can he recall ever experiencing something like this. Radiant Garden is prone to violent outbreaks of wind, but only in the winter. Climate change is the only thing he can think of, but they moved away from harsh fuels long ago--before he was even born. And truly carbon dioxide cannot cause this.

And why is this happening only after they’ve had contact with an outside world?

Even gathers some dry pajamas and a blanket from Ienzo’s bedroom, and one for himself and Aeleus while he’s at it. He hopes that, wherever Dilan is, he’s safe. Dilan may be occasionally foolhardy, but at least he’s practical. He chances a glance out the windows in his quarters. To his immense relief, the sky is no longer dark in that abnormal way--the rain now seems normal. But is it only temporary?

Where is Ansem in all this?

He returns back to the others. “Things seemed to have calmed,” he says to Aeleus. Ienzo still appears to be hiding in the bathroom, door cracked slightly. “I’m sure you’d rather be in your own bed,” he adds, for Ienzo. He hands him the dry clothes through the crack and gives him privacy. Aeleus bobs his head towards this, and Even just shakes his head. After a moment Ienzo emerges, his face flushed with embarrassment. “Shall we go?” he asks the child. He nods.

Even is finally able to put the child to bed, and insists he wears the oxygen, at least until morning.

“I know it’s not very comfortable, but humor me,” he says. “You’ll feel better for it.”

Ienzo clings tightly to his small stuffed cat, a relic from his parents’ home. “It hurts,” he says, his voice muffled through the mask.

“What does?”

“The… the noise,” he says. “I can--” He glances towards the window.

“The thunder?” It becomes a little clearer; he’s sensitive enough as it is, all of the noise must have been internalized as pain. “It’s rain now, little one. Hear how it’s letting up?”

“I… I heard …”

“What did you hear?”

“Someone was angry. Screaming.”

“In the lab?”

He shakes his head. “In the sky?”

The darkness? Has the boy sensed it? Is it possible? More likely, this is part of that same trauma.“Is it still happening?” Even asks.

“No,” the boy admits.

“Perhaps you had a nightmare. You know how those bleed into reality sometimes.”

“It wasn’t ,” he insists, with more anger. Then, “Darkness.”

Even exhales. “Let me look into this for you. It’s possible you’re sensitive to it. In the meantime, you have to rest. Things will be clearer in the morning.”

“Believe me?” Ienzo asks.

“Of course I do, little one.” He squeezes his hand. “And should you need to get out of bed, you can take the mask off by pulling this tab.” He stands.

“Can you leave the lamp on?” he asks.

He tries to smile. “...Certainly.”

He knows he needs to sleep as well. It’s getting light out at this point, and the covers of his bed feel heavy, nearly alien. Even drifts for a while, fighting the worry that’s swelling in his chest, only to be fully roused by the soft creak of the door opening. He huffs. “Can’t a man have an hour’s worth of peace?” he asks.

Ansem is standing there, soaked to the skin, his red stole hanging limply against his jacket. “I apologize,” he says. “I wouldn’t ask for your assistance if it weren’t warranted.”

Even could do without his tone. “What is it now?”

“Dilan and Braig found a boy--a young man--in the square. Seems to be injured and reeling.”

“And? Can’t he go to the hospital like everyone else?”

Ansem frowns. “We believe he arrived with the storm.”

Despite himself, it all makes sense--he read however nebulous about darkness’s ability to transmute, to transport. “I will dress and be there shortly.”

The young man’s about eighteen, and unconscious. They found him facedown in a pool of rainwater in the square. One of them has changed him into dry clothing. Braig and Dilan hover nearby; Dilan exhausted, Braig vaguely pained. Even examines him and notes that aside from some a few nasty scratches that require stitches, he seems to be alright. His hair isn’t gray like Ienzo’s, but a much more violent shade of silver; his eyes, when Even opens them, are a glistening gold. But the young man won’t wake. “Well he has no brain injury,” Even says. “No fever. I’m not sure why he won’t rouse. Was he conscious at all?”

Ansem sighs. “But for a moment.”

“Did he say anything? Did he give a name?”

He looks towards the young man. “Xehanort.”

[shinneth]

What Myers-Briggs types do you think the main Trifecta characters would be?

Hmm. Well, I had a hard time settling one a single type for most of them, so I tried to find at least two for the six Trifecta “mains” - Paul, Reggie, Brandon, Conway, Barry, and Maylene.

(REALLY stretching it calling Maylene a “main”, especially since Chapter 13 is where she peaked; once Arc II happens, she’ll be in Out Of Focus territory for sure… buuuut she’s made her mark and a lot of readers take notice to her, so I threw her in)

Interestingly, I had no one pegged as INFP (Mediator/Idealist), which is where I fall in. Some characters fit half of it but I couldn’t justify the other half not befitting them (Paul and Conway were the partial contenders - and Brandon to a lesser degree… but Conway’s too charismatic and sociable, while Paul and Brandon aren’t deep thinkers to the point where they’re completely delusional like I am :P).

Paul - INTJ (The Mastermind) or ISTJ (The Inspector)

Safe to say if I had to pick one only, it would be INTJ. Definitely would sooner work alone than a group any day (and if Conway hadn’t been there for him like he’d been so much in Trifecta, this would likely still be the case for him - and Barry is more a result of Trifecta Paul’s character development). Much more comfortable doing things his own way and proving to the world he can handle himself. Even with Trifecta development, Paul still finds social activity a huge chore. Trifecta 21 has Paul go out of his way to be receptive to Conway’s friendliness, and it does take a toll on him physically and mentally. Also a master strategist, as per canon, and questions everything. And god help him if Paul is unsure of anything. It’s why he hates being indecisive in Trifecta; he believes even a wrong choice or a bad idea is better than none at all. And knowing his legendary levels of “patience”, he’s definitely not going to wait all day to find the right path.

With ISTJ… well, this was a Brandon contender, surprise surprise. Intimidating? Comes off that way. Serious? All the damn time. Formal, proper…? Well, he DOES respect his elders, for the most part. If he thinks you’re shit, he’ll treat you like shit, but Paul’s not nearly as eager to start shit as he was in his Trifecta youth. You can definitely say, either in canon or Trifecta, Paul’s a strong worker who follows his own moral code. For all his controversial shit, Paul has never once cheated or tried to take the easy way out. Now, he sure as hell isn’t PATIENT, and he doesn’t really put much stock in going out of his way to upholding social or cultural responsibility (especially the former). But Paul is typically quiet and reserved; while he’s prone to anger, he’s fully capable of keeping calm when he needs to. Even Trifecta Paul can pull this off unless he’s just physically about to break down. Often misunderstood? Ohhhhhh, yeah.

Reggie - ESFJ (The Provider) or ESTJ (The Supervisor)

ESFJ might actually be the lesser of the two here. Mostly because Reggie isn’t really an attention-seeker outside of his own family members. He doesn’t desire the spotlight; he just wants his daddy and lil bro to love and accept him! But Reggie IS an active young man, very social, way more thoughtful than he makes himself out to be, and totally IS the organizer for any family event that happens in the present-day and has been since his mother’s death. He’s the guy that everybody loves. It’s been a common theme in some AUs of his Trifecta persona where he ends up being one of the most popular kids in school with legions of girls who’d drop everything to date him and he just never notices. 

ESTJ covers him more uniformly. Reggie doesn’t want to be the star of the show, but he does want to help and offer advice to absolutely anyone who needs it. And he checks out on the listed traits: honest, dedicated, dignified, and traditional. You could definitely see him as a role model (even if Paul doesn’t) and he’s a good fit for a leader role. 

Brandon - ENFP (The Champion) or ENTJ (The Commander)

One of Brandon’s defining traits (that might’ve not been showcased in Trifecta yet since we’re not yet at the point where it’s mega-relevant) is that he will decide his own destiny and what path to take, damn what anyone else says. So there’s what wins him the ENFP brand. His intuition is pretty top-notch; terminal disease aside, Brandon can totally read Paul like a book even though he’s spent the better part of Paul’s life operating from a great distance and not really being around for his kid. He’s way more perceptive than most give him credit for, and though he’ll never admit it, Brandon does act on his feelings a lot. Even taking an overseas job shortly after his wife died while leaving his kids behind - he can say that’s solely because it was the best way to make up for the income difference, but really, it doubled as his desire to just remove himself from everything of Andrea’s influence. He had a harder time coping with her death than he’ll ever care to admit. Plus, Brandon’s unprofessional abandoning of his post that resulted in his return to Sinnoh? Totally impulsive. He also wasted no time making a detour to Reggie when Brandon learned he was in the hospital, so there you go. 

With ENTJ, this correlates with Brandon’s leadership skills as head of the Kanto Battle Frontier, as well as being the head of his own travelling trifecta with Byron and Palmer. Ambitious is putting it mildly for Brandon, honestly. And while he can be a slave to his feelings at times, Brandon is more known for acting with cold, hard logic. He’s likened to Paul in Trifecta for a reason. Brandon’s all for challenging himself, not afraid to make the hard calls(as his sacrifice for Regigas proves), and hell no he cannot sit still. 

Conway - INTP (The Thinker) or ENTP (The Visionary)

Well, Conway’s pretty damn easy to peg even if you didn’t take his Trifecta traits into account. INTP is Conway’s most well-known traits in a nutshell: absorbs info like a sponge, heavy on the logical, objective side of perspective… he plans, he hypothesizes, he observes, he analyzes, he theorizes, and he can pick up on details most others will overlook. Like, literally everything INTP applies to Conway. He’s the consummate INTP. 

ENTP has many of these traits, as well. Only major point of contention is not enjoying small-talk, as Trifecta Conway especially is very much all for that… at least for the people he deems worthy of it. Barry, he might not be much up for the small-talk as he would Paul or Dawn. I wanted to make sure to at least add one E-type here since I think it should be emphasized that despite his many typical nerd qualities, Conway is very much extroverted even in canon. He’s one of the most extroverted intellectual characters I’ve ever seen, honestly. Canon and Trifecta Conway love going in-depth with their thought processes, and he is a lover of learning. Loyal and energetic are also listed traits here, which are definitely more prominent Trifecta Conway traits, but notable ones nonetheless.

Barry - ENFJ (The Giver) or ESFP (The Performer)

While I think we can agree Barry is more of a “live in the now” type than any other character listed here, contrary to the ENFJ type, the other traits fit Barry like a glove. Especially the “living in their imagination opposed to the real world” aspect. Holy shit that is very Barry. But he is idealistic, highly charismatic, outspoken… and in Trifecta, he’s proved to grow like a weed on characters who’d otherwise never associate with him, such as Conway and eventually Paul. Barry’s also much more of an optimistic individual compared to his future travel-mates and much less prone to letting bad shit get him down for any length of time. 

ESFP speaks for itself. Barry’s the biggest spotlight whore of the Trifecta cast. Fun and livelihood are Barry’s core essences, and while he’s not the most considerate character to ever be around and thinking is secondary to everything, Barry isn’t a complete dick and will feel bad if he realizes he’s inadvertently hurt someone’s feelings. It may take him a while to understand that, but once he does, he’ll go out of his way to make you feel better. Barry doesn’t want to travel around with a couple of sad-sacks, after all. And while Barry’s an acquired taste who can and will rub people the wrong way… you know, compared to Paul and Conway, he’ll come off as the one most “normal” when it comes to people-persons. Barry’s aggressively extroverted, so even if it yields mixed results more often than he’d like, Barry will always go out of his way to connect with people.

Maylene - ISFJ (The Nurturer) or ESTP (The Doer)

Despite being one of the most developed characters among the gym leader category in the Pokemon anime, she is harder to peg down than the others. But IFSJ feels pretty accurate for her. Sensitive to the feelings of others could link to her identity as an aura-user… plus she was insecure enough to let Paul’s worlds wreck her shit. But she is extremely considerate of others, warm and kind-hearted, and bringing out the best in others is what she aims to do as gym leader. Considerate, loyal, unselfish? All fit Maylene perfectly. For a Fighting-type specialist and martial artist, she’s definitely a modest and gentle soul.

ESTP… I think Trifecta 13 proves how incompatible Maylene is with elaborate planning and handling shitloads of detailed instructions. If left to her own devices, Maylene definitely would have handled the issue in chapter 13 by directly confronting Saturn rather than trying her hardest to feign ignorance of his identity. She’s not hot-headed, but Maylene does far better winging it than adhering to something set out for her. Maylene does always strive to better herself, so she’s open to trying new things. While a little on the shy side, she enjoys being around people and she IS the head of her own damn dojo, so… there you go. While it’s a stretch to say she’s pragmatic or logical, she definitely comes off that way when you line her up with other characters of her type specialty and line of work. She is level-headed and down-to-earth, at least; I’ll say that much.

When you break it down, there are common carry-over traits between the two for everyone: 

Paul solidly has Introverted, Thinking, and Judging in his set. Checks out.

Reggie always carries Extroverted, Sensing, and Judging. 

Brandon is a sure bet for Extroverted and Intuitive. 

Conway is a consummate Intuitive, Thinking and Perceiving man. 

Barry is a lock for Extroverted and Feeling. Unsurprising.

Maylene only has Sensing as a consistent trait.

Well, that was more fun than I thought. Hope everyone else enjoys that!

[lunchtops]

Pairing: klance (Keith/Lance, Voltron: Legendary Defender) Rating: M Warnings: they sure talk about banging, but nothing explicit  Summary:  Thirty seconds ago, he thought he’d had it pinned down (incredible, fantastic, best choice he’s ever made, why didn’t they do this sooner), but now, post-orgasm, after the heat of the moment had died down to an ember, Keith feels unsure about the whole thing.

Click above to read on Ao3, click below to read on tumblr!

Keith feels an unfamiliar twinge of regret, the second he collapses against the mattress underneath him. He’s always been one to rush into things, to gamble and take impossible chances. So far, he’s beaten the odds every single time. Well, at least every time that it’s actually mattered. It’s a strategy - if you could even call it a strategy - that’s worked for him his entire life, and Keith didn’t see any reason to approach romance and sex any differently.

Now, hearing his partner rustling around - disposing of the condom, if he had to guess, though he’s still facing the ceiling with his eyes shut tight - he’s wondering if, maybe, this was a mistake. If this was something that he should have put more thought into. Something they should have talked about more, rather than simply checking for consent before tearing their clothes off. Something that he should have taken his time with, for his own sake, as well as for the sake of the man he can sense next to him, shifting closer, closer...

But the consequences, whatever they might be, are his to face, and Keith is far too spent to run from them this time. Slowly, he turns his head to the side, not quite sure what to expect-

“Hey baby,” Somehow, despite his impossibly messy hair, and the dark bags under his eyes from who knows how long without a full night’s sleep, Lance still manages to look smug as hell, when he smirks at him. Smug and handsome - fuck. “You cum here often?”

Keith groans, pulling the blanket up over his chest. His face feels impossibly hot. He’s never felt so… exposed before. He’s never been so exposed before, at least in the literal sense, and he still isn’t quite sure sure how he feels about that. Thirty seconds ago, he thought he’d had it pinned down ( incredible, fantastic, best choice he’s ever made, why didn’t they do this sooner ), but now, post-orgasm, after the heat of the moment had died down to an ember, Keith feels unsure about the whole thing.

“Oh, come on, what’s that about?” Lance snickers, tugging at the blankets. “We just fucked , dude, I saw everything . You don’t need to hide your bosom from me.”

Keith clutches the sheet even tighter. “Never say the word bosom again.”

“Okay,” Lance shrugs, and Keith is pretty sure Lance had never yielded to him so easily before. For a brief moment, he considers that maybe tumbling into bed with him was worth it for that alone. But, of course, Lance isn’t one to give up. Instead of fighting for the sheet, his hands roam under the blanket, quickly finding Keith’s torso. “As long as I can touch it, I’ll call it whatever you want.”

Keith shivers, as those fingertips send fresh shivers up and down his spine. “Why do you want to?”

“Want to touch you?” Lance asks, his expression softening. His movements slow, too, into barely-there touches, tracing slow circles across Keith’s chest. “I could come up with a few good reasons. Why? Do you not want me to?”

Keith hesitates, not because he doesn’t know the answer, but because he does, and for the first time in a long time, he surprises himself . “... I didn’t say that.”

Lance lets out a loud, relieved sigh, as he finally rests his head on the pillow next to Keith’s. The hand currently on his abdomen keeps going, exploring more and more, though the pressure of Lance’s fingertips on his skin is still feather-light. “Dude, don’t scare me like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like you’re going to kick me out of bed.” Lance laughs into the pillow, but Keith knows better; after all they’ve been through, he can tell Lance’s real laugh from the nervous, unsure one. It's a matter of seconds before Lance proves him right. “... You’re not, are you?”

Another brief moment of hesitation. “No, I’m not.”

Another sigh, and Lance is shifting closer to him. “Good. I don’t want to leave.”

Keith blushes, much to his own embarrassment. They’ve officially been as close as two people can possibly get, and Lance moving closer to him - not even close enough that they’re touching! - was enough to make his face grow warmer and his chest feel heavy. That small shift was nothing compared to what they’ve already done, but Keith still hears the alarm bells going off in his head; too close, too much, but also not enough - It’s a lot to take in all at once, as the reality of their situation catches up with him, and Keith’s fuzzy, sex-addled brain is reeling trying to figure it all out.

The easiest way to fix that, Keith decides in his usually impulsive manner, is to close that distance completely. In one swift movement, he tucks his head under Lance’s chin, one arm wrapped securely around his waist, while one of his legs drapes over his lower torso, completely locking himself into place.

Lance didn’t seem to mind; his own arm arms hold onto Keith tighter than he’s ever been held, and the laugh he lets out sounds so affectionate that it makes Keith’s heart ache. “I never had you pegged as a cuddle bug.”

“Well…” Keith begins to protest, before realizing he doesn’t have any ammunition to fire back with. “Me either.”

There’s a happy hum, and then Lance is pressing his lips to Keith’s forehead, right up against his hairline. Once, twice, three times… “Are you always like this, or am I just lucky?”

“I don’t know,” is Keith’s honest response. Inadequate isn’t quite the word he needs, to describe how he feels. Lance had assured him multiple times that being a virgin wasn’t a big deal, that he didn’t think any less of him for it, that they’d go slow and work through it and find a good pace together. Keith had believed him then, ten minutes into making out in that dusty supply closet, and he still believes him now; Lance had been nothing but kind to him, no playful mocking or teasing or any of the things Keith had come to expect out of their friendship.

And it had been good , Keith is sure of that. He knows Lance well enough that he’s confident he would be able to tell if he was faking. As he was with everything, Lance was vocal and expressive while they made love; there was no way he could fake that face he made when the climaxed.

Lost , maybe, was a better word for it, as much as he hates to admit it. This is completely uncharted territory for Keith. Even if he was enjoying himself, there's a certain level of anxiety that always came along with not knowing exactly what to do or say. Sex was no different.

Keith pulls back from the embrace, just enough for them to be able to talk face to face, their legs still tangled together under the blankets. “I told you before, I’m not… I’ve never really done this before. I don’t know what I’m like, or what I’m into,  or whatever. I’m still trying to figure it all out-”

Keith doesn’t realize that he’s talking with his hands, until Lance grabs onto one of them. He’s smiling, as he brings that hand to his lips and gently kisses the knuckles. “Hey, it’s okay. We can figure it out together.”

We . That word is enough to make Keith’s heart swell, with affection and hope. “ We can…?”

Lance’s smile falters a bit. “I mean, if you want-”

“I do.” Keith realizes after he’s blurted out his response that he’s done so a bit too quickly. Too fast, too eager, maybe a little desperate-

But Lance doesn’t seem to mind. If anything, he’s elated; Keith finds himself being pulled closer all over again, into a firm, tight hug, with Lance reversing their positions, so he can nuzzle at Keith’s neck and shoulders. Affectionate and so sweet that Keith swears he feels a toothache coming on.

“Me too,” his voice sounds shaky, and his grip on Keith’s torso tightens, as if he’s trying to anchor himself. “Me too, Keith. I- I don’t want this to just be a one time thing, y’know? I’d kinda like this to be a regular thing. Maybe a thing where we do other things, too! Like… kissing, or going out for dinner-”

“Yeah,” Keith exhales, feeling some tension that he didn’t realize he had been carrying in his shoulders melt away. Now that he’s all but been given permission, his fingers tangle their way through that short brown hair, so impossibly soft. Keith ends up nuzzling his face against it, as well. Lance smells like flowery shampoo and sweat and sex; which Keith didn’t realize had a smell of its own, but now he can revel in the fact that the scent is all over Lance, and it’s all because of him. “I, uh, thought it was kind of obvious, but I don’t want this to be a one time thing, either.”

“So… I can stay the night?” Keith’s pretty sure Lance’s voice has gone up an entire octave, by the time he finishes that question. He sounds so hopeful, and that swelling feeling in his chest starts all over again.

“Sure. Or… you could stay forever.” It’s a tall order, but Keith likes to think he’s a man who knows what he wants. And he’s wanted this for a long, long time; if they’re on the same page, what’s the point of holding back?

Lance starts shaking in his arms, and it takes Keith a few seconds to realize that he’s laughing. “Was that supposed to be a Mulan reference?”

“A what now?”

Lance sighs, a sound full of disappointment, but the kiss pressed into Keith’s neck that follows shortly after is more than enough reassurance that whatever blunder he had committed unknowingly wasn’t enough to make Lance change his mind. “We’ll work on it.”

It's Keith’s turn to laugh. “Don’t make me regret not kicking you out when I had the chance.”

“You won’t.” Keith can practically see the smirk Lance is hiding from him, with his face still hidden against Keith’s chest. “Believe me, you won’t. I’m going to rock your world, baby, you’ll see-”

Baby , huh? Keith’s cheeks turn what he’s sure is an embarrassing shade of pink, unsure of how he feels about pet names. He meant it, on all accounts, when he said he didn’t know what he was into. “Lance?”

“Yeah?”

“Can we just go to sleep for now?”

“Oh,” Lance chuckles nervously, as if that thought hadn’t crossed his mind. As if they hadn’t just finished their hardest battle yet, and going to sleep wasn’t the logical thing to do hours ago. “Yeah, sure babe, whatever you want.”

Keith smiles again, his eyes closing; maybe pet names will grow on him, if he gives them a chance. It wouldn’t be the first time something like that happened to him.