#they've hooked up...

[lena-artz]

LADIES AND GENTLEMEN, I PRESENT TO YOU....

Marcy Miller.

Daniel's secretary(and bestie)

I'm in love with her help.

(REQUESTS CLOSED! COMISSIONS OPEN!)

[calamitoustide]

like okay rosestarkillerchaser starting out as bartylus and jevan is messy like when it's jeg and rosekiller they're established relationships so it's different but the other way around... it's not that at all

jevan are friends with benefits who refuse to believe there's anything else between them (there is) meanwhile bartylus are together but also they aren't like it's so much easier to put them in that little box and everyone around them does but they aren't "boyfriends" in the way everyone else views them that doesn't stop them from being possessive as shit (especially on barty's side of things)

so when they see each other in a random bar bartylus are dancing but regulus' eyes are fully on james and he doesn't look away and evan's looking over at barty and they all think the others are in relationships because well... they're all jealous as shit despite wanting to get in the others pants like james won't let barty touch evan but he wants to touch regulus and barty won't let him get anywhere near him but he pulls evan into the bathroom to stick his hand down his pants

they're all competing and it's not like they are actually cheating because none of them are exclusive but it feels like they are and everyone likes everyone but no one is saying anything and it's all just a mess.... but also that's what rosestarkillerchaser is meant to be

[turboducks]

almost definitely never going to clean this up so here is bro getting too attached (they are both bro)

[teatitty]

Starscream and Bumblebee becoming the joint rulers of Vos and Polyhex in my AU's is something I'm so unreasonably attached to. Starscream gets to have the control he's always wanted and my insectoid Bumblebee gets to have the hive they've always wanted. Win-win <3

[gayofthefae]

Will never shut up about how with every other couple that had a verbal callout of romantic feelings - Jonathan and Nancy, Lucas and Max, Joyce and Hopper - it came after we had already been shown their romantic feelings for each other.

Jonathan and Nancy held hands before Flo called them out. As did Lucas and Max before Dustin pointed them out. Hopper asked Joyce out before Murray got to them.

But Mike and El? They had one day of friendship before Lucas - acknowledged in the show to have been prompted by jealousy and stress and not pure observation - called out that he had feelings for her, then we saw signs of it: the lingering look after 'I understand', 'pretty, really pretty', almost kiss in the bathroom, all of that.

But he is the only one with a call out BEFORE any signs. Platonic quality time doesn't count and it never did. Romance or romantic tropes only. One on one time + heteronormativity doesn't count as a trope or tension. There were no lingering looks, scared hand-holds, cheek kisses, coded-compliments prior to Lucas bringing it up.

There was nothing for us to relate to Lucas on this so-called romance he'd "seen". Because the whole point was that Lucas' defensiveness was based in his stress, as noted by Dustin by the end of the season. He wasn't observing anything and we were supposed to know that, or be able to know that.

Jonathan and Nancy hold hands before their first then proceed to also have a cheek kiss before their second and a conversation about how they wished they'd dated a year ago before their third, Lucas and Max had a scared hand-hold before theirs (but notice how I didn't qualify their deep one-on-one conversations as those are not inherently romantic), Hopper asked Joyce out before their first,...and Mike and El talked and laughed.

Talking and laughing is sweet and encouraged, I like their relationship. But it isn't romantic and Lucas didn't actually observe it. In fact, that isn't even something he observed. He himself was speaking on Mike housing her out of kindness and defending her as a Will-strategy. But even had he seen the lay-z-boy scene, that does not qualify. We know because we have things that qualify. And they are all. after.

[all-pacas]

anyway asked it before asked it again: why DOES chase suggest he and cameron get changed so they can go out for drinks only after he's at her place. why does he meet her there and not at the bar. why is he unsurprised to see she isn't dressed to go out. has he been there before. how come he leads her towards the bedroom

[pearl-kite]

green bush viper (Atheris squamigera) in 'the valley' perty please 🙏🏻🖤 spiky babeys

I do love these spiky little dudes :3c

I used @hayleyolivia's scale brush in the sketch and it made my life SO much easier, I do recommend if you use procreate

[secriden]

Re-watching the scene where Kant and Style talk outside the diner makes me wonder if Style only suggested Kant's dad's car because he thought Kant wouldn't agree to that deal.

The way he says it, all gleeful and teasing, it's clear he's not expecting Kant to say yes to this.

When Kant agrees, the expression on Style's face is almost fond amusement, like "Oh damn, bro, you're really agreeing to this?? You're THIS gone on him already? After one night??"

He even checks again, to see if Kant's serious, like he's half trying to talk Kant out of the deal.

(Love how the whole time Kant is So Serious. Every frame in this scene is Kant serving Soft, Sad, and Wistful eyes as he gazes longingly at Bison through the window.)

But I love what this shows of their friendship. Style will do this crazy thing for his friend just because Kant is in love (as far as Style's knows) for the first time and asking him to help. And yes, some of it is the car and his own ego/desire to put the hot jerk who refused his attempts at seduction in his place -- but its also kind of sweet. Style is presented in ep 1 as quite selfish and self-centered (not maliciously, but in a careless kind of way), but here we see him agreeing to something quite inconvenient for the sake of a friend.

There's some hints at how sweet their friendship is earlier in this episode actually. In the bowling alley, when Style is acting like a brat:

Maybe its just cuz First is too damn pretty for his own good, but his expression reads as slightly exasperated but very fond. It feels like Kant indulges Style's quirks and brashness a lot, so I can sort of see Style agreeing to get involved with a relative stranger just because his friend asked.

This also fits more naturally into my headcannon for Style being the most naive and therefore vulnerable character in the main cast. He's doing everything for (mostly) genuine reasons and I really hope we get to see an explosive reaction when he finds out that Kant didn't tell him about the whole police pressure situation, not to mention the assassin issue.

But I could also see Style finding out that Fadel is a dangerous assassin and being like, "Wait, and the worse you did to me was prick me lightly with a pin and drag me outside your diner?? Yeah you're definitely attracted to me." Which would be. So Hilarious. Imagine Fadel's face. xD

[backpackingspace]

I am once again thinking about my swinger! con artists! Odypen and diomedes being their much younger bratty thrid au

[runawaymun]

6 Sentences WIP Game

Got tagged by @lordgrimwing to share the last six sentences I wrote on a WIP! I've been hopping around between projects recently, but the most recent thing I worked on is yet another Zhongzhu fic whoops. These two old men are giving me the world's worst brainrot.

“Zhongli,” Baizhu huffs as he balls his hand into a fist and lightly thumps it against Zhongli’s broad chest. “I was trying to flirt.”  “And you were successful,” Zhongli replies, crowding in once more to nudge his nose against Baizhu’s neck. His hands circle Baizhu’s waist, one thumb still slipped beneath the hem of Baizhu’s shirt, “I am only asking a question. Will you not answer it?”   “I did,” Baizhu complains.

No pressure tags for: @jaz-the-bard @niennawept @fishing4stars @glassrowboat @raointean & @greyjedijaneite if you guys have something you want to share :)

[whitepeachrum]

For Me? For You

Fandom: Hetalia (personified) Pairing: Ivan x Kiku (RusPan/PanRus) Content Length: Short (~800 words)

It was the middle of the night when a loud set of knocks jolted Kiku from his sleep. What time was it..? He looked around in a daze, slowly computing that he had fallen asleep in his bed while reading one of his history textbooks for a class.

Kiku quickly got up and walked over to the door. He slowly peeked around the edge of it, making sure that the sudden change in brightness didn't give him a migraine.

“Yes?” Kiku asked, curious as to which floor resident needed him at this hour.

One of the taller residents, who often kept to himself, was standing before him. Kiku adjusted his large spectacles, trying to get a better look. What was his name again? Bra- Bruh-

“Ivan! Yes, Ivan. Is everything alright?”

“I apologize for bothering you at this hour,” Ivan smiled. He just stood there and smiled.

“How… can I help you?”

Ivan gestured for Kiku to open his door a bit more. Kiku obliged in confusion, but did not open it far enough to wake up his sleeping roommate. Not that anything could wake him up, really…

“This is for you,” Ivan picked up a bag he had earlier placed by the door and handed it to Kiku. It looked like there was a box inside.

“Eh? For me?”

“Yes.”

“What is it?” Kiku gingerly accepted the gift and looked inside the bag, making sure that there was nothing illegal inside. Many people have previously offered bribes in exchange for special treatment, but it never worked out in their favor.

“I heard you are a fan of cheesecake.”

Kiku blinked. Cheesecake? He loved cheesecake! Especially the ones with-

“Blueberries. I love the ones with blueberries.” Kiku admired the contents of the box with a glimmer in his eyes and a sudden appetite for a sweet treat. It would go splendidly with some tea, which would be perfect for a chilly night like tonight.

“Good, I am glad. Then you should definitely like this one,” Ivan continued to smile, happy that his secret little birdie did not lead him astray to strawberry cheesecake. Strawberry seemed a bit too cliche for a unique man like Kiku.

“Wow,” Kiku was entranced by the special gift. In fact, he was pleasantly surprised to have received something that wasn't illicit.

“It’s all for you.”

“Thank you. I….” Kiku blinked, “I didn't expect this at all. It almost seems too good to be true.”

“Please enjoy it. It's my treat.”

“Did… you want something in return..?”

“No, no. I don't need anything. Your happiness is more than enough,” Ivan turned to leave.

“Ah, wait. Ivan?”

“Hm?” Ivan stopped and looked around the corner at Kiku.

“Where did you find this?”

“Oh. I made it myself,” Ivan smiled one last time and disappeared into the stairwell.

He made it… himself?

Kiku closed the door behind him and brought his gift over to his desk. He carefully and quietly took the box out from the paper bag and set it down. It was so neatly packaged: a simple white box with no decorations other than a golden bow that wrapped around it and a folded business card.

He slid the card from under the ribbon and read it's contents.

“Happy Birthday, Kiku. - From, Ivan”

Kiku felt his heart skip a beat as he re-read the contents again. A simple note and yet it brought out the warmest feelings from within. How thoughtful was it of Ivan to even care enough to do all this?

Especially since he and Ivan haven't spoken much except the occasional “hello”s in the hallway. In fact, this was probably the most they’d ever spoken with one another.

But Kiku found it wasn't enough. He wanted to ask Ivan more questions like “how did he know that it was Kiku’s birthday” or rather ��why he did any of this for him”. And it seemed like the further Ivan walked away, the more his desire to connect with him grew.

He noticed the phone number listed on the card and gave it a call, walking over to the window to see if he had gone far.

Ivan pulled his hand out of his pocket and answered the call.

“This is Ivan speaking. How can I help you?”

“Thank you again…”

Ivan stopped in his tracks as he recognized the voice. He turned around to look at Kiku’s window and found him staring back. Ivan's smile grew wider as he laid eyes on Kiku’s creepy-looking silhouette in the dead of the night. It looked hilariously eerie, but it was heartwarming to know he was there looking back at him.

“You’re welcome.” Ivan chuckled, his breath forming a cloud in the cold, dark night.

“Let’s enjoy the cake together when you come back. I’ll make some warm tea for us.”

“Sounds like a birthday party to me.”

[ridiasfangirlings]

Hi ridia san

So I have a funny scene in my head where, post ROK, Fushimi gets stuck taking care of another strain baby. He has to go to his room and is going through his usual ‘it will break’ thoughts before Yata unexpectedly pops in via window.

Yata takes a look at Fushimi with a baby and just starts helping him take care of it, except he also starts to go in nesting mode. Like at first it’s barely noticeable, just him baby proofing, giving Fushimi advice on how to hold it, etc. but then it progressively gets worse with him collecting/making food, keeps checking on Fushimi rubbing his feet, keeps looking at him eyes shiny and encouraging. Fushimi is so bewildered by this he is lowkey not as uncomfortable.

Say this is a situation that lasts for a week or two as well, and anytime the other squads try to take the baby to help, Yata just keeps it out of reach and will only trust Fushimi to hold it. The Homra guys are so confused because ‘it’s not your kid, it’s not even Fushimi’s kid?’ Munakata finally manages to find a home for the strain and how dare he, Yata is low key pissed but knows he has no reason to be.

I just like the idea of Yata just staying at/ making the dorm a little nest and not sure why he feels kinda giddy looking at his best friend holding a baby with red hair. And why he is so convinced it’s going to have their brains and brawn’s

Thank you 😊

Somehow it’s baby day today XD Imagine S4 gets a call about another Strain baby that was abandoned and say this one has a power that only affects women so Awashima can’t take care of it. Munakata meanwhile is away on some government business and that’s how Fushimi ends up stuck with the kid, maybe this is fairly soon post-ROK and he’s still recovering from his injury anyway so Awashima thinks this will be good for him, it will give him something to do and keep him from sneakily trying to work when he should be taking it easy. He’s sent back to his room with the kid and imagine Fushimi just sitting there with a babbling infant and dead fish eyes, wondering why he got dragged into this and anyway he isn’t good with kids (as the baby happily snuggles him), he doesn't even know what parenting someone is like and shouldn’t this be Captain’s job.

That’s when he hears a commotion by the window and in tumbles Yata, covered in branches. Fushimi is exasperated, yes they’ve made up but he’s told Yata to just come by the front gate if he wants to talk, Yata doesn’t need to keep climbing trees into his room. Yata’s like all your guys glare at me if I come in the front gate though and hey where did the baby come from. Imagine Fushimi bluntly saying ‘I had it’ and Yata spends a good minute and a half freaking out that Saruhiko had a baby before Fushimi finally takes pity on him and is like it’s a Strain you moron. Yata’s all right I knew that and then he wonders why Fushimi’s watching it, Fushimi shrugs and grumbles about it being foisted on him. As he’s complaining the kid is crawling over to his computer set up to touch some nice fun exposed power outlets and Yata immediately sweeps the kid up. He’s like did you even babyproof this place Saruhiko, Fushimi looks at him blankly and Yata’s like okay guess I gotta do this. 

Yata decides it’s time for his big brother instincts to activate and starts helping Fushimi with handling the baby, he starts babyproofing the room and asking if Fushimi has any supplies or anything. No one had time to get anything more than like a baby sling and a bottle so Fushimi has nothing, Yata decides they need to go to the store and buy some stuff then. Fushimi complains that this isn’t even his baby and he probably only has to watch it for a couple hours but Yata’s like you don’t know it might be a while (secretly thinking this is a great way to start mending his friendship more with Saruhiko, they can bond with the kid). This is how the two of them end up at the store with the baby sleeping in the basket of the cart and Yata dragging Fushimi around, Yata getting a little blushy when he hears some nearby ladies talking about what a cute couple they are (until it’s clear the ladies think Yata is the mother and what the hell, Saruhiko is obviously more of a mother than Yata). Fushimi meanwhile keeps complaining but he actually doesn’t mind this either, like he can’t entirely admit that he likes spending time with Misaki this way but suddenly watching this kid doesn’t seem so bad.

As it happens this kid actually is an orphan so S4 needs to make like arrangements for someone to adopt who can handle the child’s power, and because this takes time Fushimi ends up watching the kid for a couple weeks. Yata of course can’t just leave his once-again best friend alone to handle a baby so he just invites himself into the dorm to co-parent, imagine them going out all kinds of places and bringing the kid and Yata is probably having a moment because gee aren’t he and Fushimi great platonic friends but also seeing Fushimi holding a red-haired baby is giving him feelings he didn’t realize he had. Fushimi for his part keeps complaining but he actually likes how much attention he’s getting from Yata, imagine at one point they’re taking a break at Bar Homra and when one of the Homra guys tries to hold the baby Yata’s like hey hands off our kid (“It’s not even your kid?” “Well…Saruhiko’s kid.” “….It’s not his kid either…”). When Munakata finally lets them know that a prospective parent has been found Fushimi claims it’s a relief but can’t understand why his heart dropped a little, and even though Yata also knows he has no claim on this kid whatsoever he still finds himself annoyed because what does he mean he found our baby a home.

[true-bluesargent]

people are saying they'll stop watching 911 if buddie doesn't go canon this season... so you don't actually like the show?!? this show has way too big of an ensemble cast for you to just be watching it for buddie surely you're just really bored most of the time. if you really are only watching for buddie to go canon i do think you should stop watching the show actually... i will be watching regardless of if buddie go canon or not because, and stay with me here, i enjoy the show........ this whole 'canon or bust' fandom attitude is really weird to me because i don't really think that is the point of shipping at all. what if it's just for fun guys. what then

[pynkhues]

Wait u don’t think they r getting back together?😨 would love to know why!

I think they'll get back together eventually, but it would completely undermine Louis' s1 and s2 arc to have them back together right away. He's just left an almost-century long marriage, and him saying that he's companion enough for himself now in the finale needs to be true for that arc to contain the weight he as a character deserves. Plus Lestat's pretty clearly not in a great place from 2.08 and the s3 teaser, and in a lot of ways, it makes sense for the show to have Lestat do the work on himself that Louis' done on himself before they get back together.

Plus - book spoilers - but honestly, the timeline with TVL and Queen of the Damned works so well! Having them get back together right at the end of TVL, only for Lestat to be abducted by Akasha offers so much emotional carnage both for them as characters, and for us as viewers, haha.

[ehlnofay]

Pax should have said no.

Damn it all, they should have said no. Should have said go to hell and fucked off back – stop contacting me, sort out your own shit – but they didn’t, fuck knows why, and now they’re stuck here.

(They know why. They know exactly why; absolutely anything would be better than fucking off back to Cyrodiil. What’s for them there?)

But there’s nothing worth staying for here either, and now she’s crammed in between strangers on a long table, everyone dressed in fabrics she’s never seen with dyes so saturated they seem almost gory, eating stuff that isn’t food and talking loud enough to make her want to hurl a glass into the wall. It’s bizarre. The woman next to her, ruddy-faced and bald, wears a headpiece that shines like the sun the Isles doesn’t have; the other side is taken up by a stranger in a bone-white porcelain mask who has not moved but to swill the wine around in their glass. There’s scarcely room for Pax’s chair. It all feels like such a baffling pantomime of aristocracy (she's known the real thing well enough – feasts and toasts and luxurious gifts she had no use for, and if she doesn’t stop thinking about it she actually will throw a glass), bright colours and rich settings and a god taking offerings at the head of the table.

At least, Pax thinks, no-one tries to talk to him; they’re too busy fawning over their lord. Which is probably to be expected; but it all feels so strange, so unsettling, the way they all lean in towards it like flowers turning to face the sun, like seaweed dragged at by the inescapable pull of the tides. They grow towards it through the cracks in the air, matter moving toward the inevitable centre, as if they can imagine nothing more than this.

(Even more unsettling is the way it responds in kind, listening attentively to anyone who speaks to it, leaning in as though to kiss them, as though to swallow them whole. All hell, why did Pax agree to this? Why did they come?)

(They should have told it to fuck off. Should have said no way, I don’t want to help you, don’t want to get involved in anything you’d need my help for. I don’t owe you anything. I don’t need anything from you. I don’t want anything to do with you. I’m done.)

(Pax is done. Pax is sick to death of all this shit; doesn’t want to deal with this, the vaguely described problems of a god that picks people apart like it’s unravelling a thick yarn shawl. Doesn’t want to deal with anything like this. He’s had his fill of gods.)

(Why is he still fucking here? Why did he agree to this? This is no better than eating in that weird fucking inn in town. This is no better than –)

(That’s a lie. It’s a bit better than Cyrodiil. Just as much a shithole, but it pulls the rug out from under him often enough that he doesn’t have time to think too much.)

“Not hungry?” says a prowling voice, coiling catlike into the plaits in their hair, and Pax jumps enough to jostle the masked bastard sitting ramrod straight next to him.

He looks up.

At the empty placemat across from him sits a figure veiled in gossamer, glittering in the glow of the lit-up lichen on the distant throne; the fabric of its endless shawls pulls apart at the ends, peeling away from itself, shedding patches like iridescent insect wings every time it shifts. If Pax squints, they can see through it to the grand marbled wall behind.

She glances back at the chair at the head of the table, where something lounges, eyes dripping gold, intricately carved cane laid across its knees; its too-many fingers are laced with the hand of a man whose gown blooms floral. Flatly, she says, “What the fuck?”

“Aren’t you hungry?” Sheogorath asks, pouting; she can hear it laughing down the other end of the table. “It’s a proper feast. We pulled out all the stops.”

Pax shifts their eyes away to peer down at their plate. “You have served me worms,” she says. She flicks the dish with a fingernail. “In jelly. With flowers.”

“Larva, actually,” Sheogorath replies. It’s still at the other end of the table. It doesn’t seem eager to explain this. When it smiles, the gossamer falls away; its whole face splits in half.

It’s all so fucking stupid. Pax takes a deep breath – in through the nose, ignore all the odd spiced smells, and out – and does not yell at it, or try to hit it, because she’s gotten herself into a situation where that’s not really an option, because she’s a fucking idiot. Why didn’t she just say no?

(She knows why.)

The Mad God’s teeth flash bright as the ornate silver cutlery. Its chair scrapes back from the table. “It melts in your mouth,” it tells her, eyes glittering, “but I won’t make you try it. Walk with me?”

The figure still sits at the head of the table, snatching something from someone’s plate, always, always laughing. Its limbs sprawl like tentacles, like the silken threads of a tapestry, to encompass the whole room. The dinner guests stare as though bewitched, bedevilled, beguiled. Not one of them is looking at Pax. If he were to drop dead with his face in the food his corpse would not be discovered until sunrise.

Pax sniffs and shoves his chair back from the table. He lets Sheogorath (the second Sheogorath – but it must be, what else could it be?) lead him through a narrow door into some winding hallway, the walls lined and rimed with ornate coloured-glass windows. (It’s so much quieter. Still as garishly bright, but Pax is getting the sense that that is inescapable, here; the clothes they wear, as crumpled and covered in travelling-grime as ever and startlingly out of place against the odd jagged finery of the dinner party, seem unimaginably dull in comparison. Everything seems unimaginably dull in comparison.) Outside the windows, they can catch glimpses of the city – its winding, lamp-lit streets, the jumbled mess of its architecture, the sky arcing above it like a child’s attempt at watercolours. Pax wants to smash it, tear it down.

There’s no sun here, but still it’s night. The sky has shifted to purple and black.

“Isn’t it nice?” says their companion; when they look back, it’s nothing more than a shifting impression in the stained-glass window, a series of hairline cracks. It still manages, somehow, to smile at them.

It’s not. The sky is a shadow and the flamboyance of the palace is scraping at their spine. “Sure,” Pax says flatly. When she flexes her fingers, the bruising staining the base knuckle of her thumb aches.

Sheogorath looks at her – an ancient man leaning on a stick, a flickering painting, a bloody corpse, a little girl in velvet-red skirts, a breath. In its mercurial shifting she catches the flowery blossom of the man at the table’s collar, an unpleasant glimpse of her own braided hair, the smell of sulphur. It tips its head. She can’t focus on it anywhere but for the eyes.

“You don’t like my dinner parties,” it announces, as though it’s a revelation, a tragedy; its body crumbles like sea cliffs slowly eroded by the ways. It’s annoying – bloody obnoxious, and incomprehensible, and kind of weird that it noticed, that it would even care. (She’s never liked dinner parties. Nobody ever commented on it before.)

I’ve had well enough of them, Pax could say, or no, I don’t like you, but it’s the fucking Mad God, Daedric Prince of – Pax doesn’t even know what, he’s never known much about this shit, only that it’s well worth avoiding. Prince of the mad and the missing and the foolish, of breaking and breaking and putting yourself back together backwards. She should have said no, but she didn’t, and who knows what would happen if she went back on that now?

It's slinking closer. All that stay static enough to make out are eyes and teeth.

“Pax, yes?” it says, soft-voiced – a hand lands on his arm, small and dry and shivering, the skin as thing as a mouldering leaf. “You have no obligations here. If you want to be on your own, be on your own. We’ve plenty of space for it.”

Pax’s eyes narrow. He does not jerk away from it.

In the light of the coloured sky, the coloured windows, its face is phantasmagorical. “If you don’t want to be here,” it continues – still so skin-pricklingly gentle – “then your hand will not be forced. I’ll speed your way home if you wish.”

They can’t help but twitch at that. It’s setting their teeth on edge. (It’s lying – has to be. After its ages of coaxing them in, meting out information, not telling them where they were until they were on its doorstep, it would not give them the chance to leave.) Rough, still covered in road-grime, Pax asks, “Why should I believe you?”

(None of them have ever given them the chance to leave.)

Sheogorath, a figure of hollow skin and bone, inclines its head. “I wouldn’t lie to you, Pax,” it says. Its eyes are wide and bulging, whites on full display like a frightened horse; it grins again. “Others might. But we’re not a monolith. We’re not even especially similar.”

Pax bites down on the flat edge of their tongue. “That doesn’t mean anything to me.”

The light coming in through the windows flickers. The Mad God turns to meet it.

“I’m the youngest,” it says, its voice glittering like mist on the air. “Did you know that? I don’t remember the world without you in it.” Its form spasms, volatile, wings and limbs and eyes like a snail’s on stalks sprouting and choking and subsiding back into its mass. “I’m closer to you than any. I understand, almost.”

“That doesn’t mean anything,” Pax repeats. She’s gritting her teeth, tonguing at her gums where two are missing. Are two devil-gods not enough to deal with for a lifetime? Is there really going to be more of this now, too?

Rolling through the air like smoke, the voice says, “It will.”

Pax presses purple-green knuckles to her mouth. Her teeth dig into the soft meat of her lip.

Sheogorath turns to face her, hair moving as though blown by the wind, as though tugged by the tides. It sighs. “You don’t believe me,” it says. Its tongue pokes through its teeth. “That’s perfectly fine. Clever, even. But if you want to leave, all you need to do is tell me so.” It pauses, then; the train of its strange, gnarled crown shifts over its shoulders when it moves its head. “Or just leave. The door is still open.”

“You’d be fine with me just leaving,” Pax rasps around his knuckle, “after weeks of not leaving me alone?”

(Of begging him to come, poorly-hidden agitation giving way to blatant franticness, half-swallowing the fear that choked its face in every mirror it spoke to him through. Of begging him still, after he got here, after he met it – begging in a roundabout manner, casual as anything, its every motion reeking of fear. Its abject terror when he turned to leave. You’ve come this far. Why not hear an old man out? Pax told it that it wasn’t an old man, that he didn’t give a shit either way, and it slid through a child, a monster, a sulphur-burned body coughing blood, his own shuddering form in armour he hasn’t seen in months, and it said please.)

(Regained its composure, its gentleman’s face, immediately afterward. But it – the Mad God, unknowable, inconsolable – said please. Pax still doesn’t know what to do with that.)

The Mad God, now, shrugs. Taps at the hairline cracks in the stained glass windows. “I’d prefer you didn’t,” it says, one pair of hands braiding something intricate into its beard. The hand on the glass slips down. “I told you. I do need a champion.”

“And I told you,” Pax bites, something aching and ugly surging in their gut, “not to call me that again.”

A smile, bloody-mouthed and beaming. “But we will abide,” says Sheogorath, and digs its fingers into the cracks of the stone. One brick slides loose, mortar dug up under its nails. It offers it up.

Pax licks their teeth and takes it.

The brick shivers, momentarily – crumbles, in their hand, like sand slithering through their fingers, and left in their palm is a hardy slip of bone. Spiked and sprawling, carved with intricate patterns; it arranges itself around an oval of empty space, the perfect size for four sharp-knuckled fingers.

“You can always leave,” the Mad God tells them, and for a moment it does look so very young and strangely, staggeringly hopeful. “But give it a chance. I think you could love the Isles, if you choose to.”

[katatty]