#━━ one foot in the grave ; the other on the ground「musings」

[sanjisboyfie]

๑ keep safe : that god guy thing (25)

it's coming up, it's coming up

it's coming up, it's coming up

it's coming up, it's coming up

it's dare.

『 prev 』

“nami can take care of herself just fine, there’s no need to be that worried, conis, papaya,” [name] said through his mouthful of food, making robin sprout a hand from the table and wipe his mouth to make him not so disgusting to look at.

he grinned at her in thanks before refocusing on the angel and her father.

“even then, there is a place that we are never allowed to step foot in — sacred ground. we call that place, upper yard, the land where god lives,” conis said, a grave expression on her face.

“there’s a god?! in a place where we’re never supposed to set food in?!”

“god…like that god?!”

”yes, since skypiea is god’s land, the almighty god enel rules over it. god enel knows everything in this world. he’s also watching us all the time.”

“even now?!”

”of course,”

[name] had to stifle his laughter behind his hand, not wanting to blatantly offend the worried girl — especially with how passionate she was about god enel. but there was no way! no way, he was buying into this crap. he was never religious to begin with and their setting and enviornment wasn't going to change that fact.

sure their journey to the sky island was a miracle in of itself, as is the scenary that is surrounding them, but there was just no way [name] would ever believe in any god. if god was truly real, then all the world’s issues wouldn’t exist.

if god was real, [name] would never had to experience everything he had to go through.

“hmph, god, huh?” zoro mused, taking a sip of his drink.

[name] felt thankful that his sentiments were shared with one other person.

“you don’t believe in god, zoro?” chopper asked with a concerned look on his face.

”i don’t know. whether or not god exists doesn’t matter to me. i couldn’t care less from the beginning. but i don’t intend to deny those who want to believe,” zoro said, speaking only to chopper, who was looking at him with wide eyes and an agape mouth.

“so, have you seen that god who lives in upper yard, conis-chan?” sanji calmly asked.

“no! god forbid! we cannot step in upper yard. never…the sacred ground, upper yard, is forbidden,”

just as she said that, it was almost as if a ringing in all of their heads went off. slowly, they turned to their captain — who like they expected — was grinning ear to ear. sparkles and stars were practically dancing around his seemingly innocent expression.

“i see. a place that we’re not allowed to go to no matter what, huh?” he said with a light, cheery tone.

even when usopp began shaking his captain back and forth, to knock some sense into him, there was no way his words were actually getting through to luffy. not with that dazed, “lovestruck” look on luffy’s face, anyway.

“ah, conis, you should’ve not said anything to begin with about that place,” [name] sighed, leaning into the comfortable cushion and rubbing his stomach, “well, whatever, it was bound to happen either way. luffy has a knack for exploring new islands and getting himself into all sorts of trouble,”

“trouble? oh, but you absolutely cannot this time around!” conis said, turning to luffy with her eyebrows furrowed in worry, “this is the almighty god enel, much different than any past adventures you’ve been on, i’m sure!”

“it won’t make a difference to him,” [name] said under his breath.

“so, what happens if someone goes into that forbidden upper yard?”

“the person cannot come back alive. everyone believes so,”

“but, what if they’re just looking for an adventure?” [name] hummed, rubbing his chin in thought. “i mean, going to upper yard probably means you have to face judgement, doesn’t it? if it’s the sacred god’s fobidden land, what if you just want to adventure?”

usopp’s jaw dropped at [name]’s thoughts, walking over and hitting him over the head multiple times, “what on earth do you think it matters to god if you’re just there to adventure?! forbidden means forbidden! obviously, no matter if you’re there for adventure or punishment, god is going to kill you!!”

“why would god kill you…? isn’t god supposed to be nice, or something,” [name] said in annoyance, pestered at the idea that there was a seemingly “real” god lurking on the sky island. it was even more annoying knowing that he was apparently listening in on their conversation right now.

“i’m worried about nami-san, i hope she isn’t near upper yard,”

now that made [name] still. his e/c eyes turned angry immediately, glaring at the old man — even though he wasn’t really at fault — and saying in a lowly tone, “if something happens to nami, then i’m gonna humble this god really quick,”

“no! [name]-san! you mustn’t say such things!” conis said, pressing her hand against [name]’s mouth to silence him before he says anything else blasphemous.

[name] would have gone shouting out about how god wasn’t real anyway, but usopp and chopper also added their hands on top of conis’, seemingly reading his mind.

“nami-san!!!” sanji’s worried voice echoed over the white land, making [name]’s face cringe in distaste.

usopp got distracted in trying to level luffy’s need to go to the forbidden land while chopper was shushing [name] in a hurry, not wanting his anti-religious words to reach the ears of the god.

”please! please, [name]! you can’t get us in trouble with someone like god!”

“god isn’t-”

“no!!” the hooves were pressed onto [name]’s mouth in an instant and [name] and chopper kept wrestling until they were both too tired out of their minds to continue on.

“god enel sure seems scary,” chopper panted, his tongue hanging out of his mouth as he tried to steady his breathing from his fight with [name].

“god enel sound like an ass-”

“noo!!!” usopp and chopper cried in unison, jumping on top of his frame and stuffing his mouth with food to distract him, “hm!! see, yummy, yummy seafood, [name]!!”

immediately, his expression brightened and he obediently ate the food that was shoved in his mouth, “you’re right, it’s super yummy! thanks, usopp!”

‘thank god, he’s an idiot.’ usopp sweat dropped, relaxing his hold on [name] and falling onto his broad chest in fatigue, ‘keeping up with both luffy and [name] is exhausting,’

“ah, usopp, if you were tired, you should’ve just said so,” [name] said, bringing more food into his mouth whilst he held the sniper close to his chest, “go on, take a nap, i’ve heard from luffy i’m a real comfy bed!”

“humans aren’t beds,” usopp weakly protested, but with the way [name]’s muscular arm was caging him in, he had no choice but to lay limp on his torso. and he really almost did feel his tiredness from their journey, and his near death experiences, get to him. soon, his eyes were feeling as if they were becoming heavier and heavier and heavier…till they shot open in surprise as their bodies were throttled upwards.

“how can you two just enjoy nap time when nami could be out there right now in tremendous danger?!”

[name] and usopp both looked frazzled at their sudden awakening, then shivered in fear at the glare sanji was shooting their way. it definitely wasn’t a welcoming sight, especially when it was the first thing they saw when they woke up.

the crew decided that they would go searching for nami to make sure that she didn’t get hurt on her journey with her waver. so they all climbed back on board merry. but with pagaya telling them they’d have to wait for a wind to take get their ship moving, they were essentially stuck in place.

[name] groaned in annoyance, looking out at the vast white sea, “my eyes hurt looking at this shit,” he said under his breath, his words apparently amusing robin since she chuckled at his statement. “you agree, right, robin?”

“well, i think maybe your eyes are just exceptionally sensitive to bright light?” she mused, entertaining him.

“i think maybe you're right,” [name] said, rubbing his eyes and collapsing onto the deck on his back as he gave himself a break.

”first you get seasick because of a whirlpool and now this? you certainly don’t seem as terrifying as the bounty on your head makes you seem,”

“the newspaper and marines lie anyway,” [name] said, cringing as he remembered the way his stomach ached earlier, “also that’s just my reaction to when we get really close to stuff like cyclones or whirlpools…usually, i never get that close so i didn't have to experience that for a long time,”

“really?” robin said, genuine interest laced in her voice.

“yeah, it hurts a whole lot,” [name] sighed, thinking back to his memories when he’d suffer stomach aches or bouts of sickness whenever he passed storms on the sea. “bleh, i don’t want to think about it!”

“has the ship never encountered anything of that sort before then?”

“with nami being such a good navigator, i haven’t had to worry about it so much. hmm, also i can feel it usually before it gets bad. so i would just sail away from wherever the whirplool or cyclone would be,” [name] mulled over his thoughts aloud, making robin engaged in the new information.

as the two were conversing very calmly, the others on deck were all shouting at their idiot captain for trying to fetch nami himself. he brought out the old waver they salvaged from the ship on the grand line, which obviously didn’t work and instead sent him sinking into the white sea.

after retrieving the idiot captain, everyone settled back on just waiting on the shore. but [name] stayed on deck to catch up on his napping, resting his eyes underneath his forearm to cover his sight from the sun above head.

robin and zoro kept him company on deck, acting as silent companions.

but, of course! his second moment of silence had to be interuppted yet again. because just as he was getting comfortable, an odd group of individuals crawling towards the rest of their crew.

the three of them jumped off of the deck and walked up to the others. [name] groggily placing his chin on luffy’s shoulders as he tried to nap. the uncomfortable position was worth ignoring if it meant he could get a couple more seconds in.

“huh? who are you guys?” luffy asked, tilting his head to the side.

“so you’re the seven illegal entrants who came from the blue sea?! i’ll humbly bring upon heaven’s judgement onto you!”

conis and pagaya made sounds of surprise, as did some of the straw hats, but for different reasons. the father-daughter duo had just been told they had been hospitably treating supposed criminals and the straw hats just learned that they were the said supposed criminals.

“hey, that’s not what the old hag at the gate said,” [name] said, eyes still shut as he felt no immediate threat coming from them.

“however! there’s no need to get panicked yet! illegal entry is only an 11th degree crime according to heaven’s judgement! once you accept your punishment, you can become legal tourists on the spot.”

“i still don’t see how we’re illegal entrants anyway-”

“shut up!” usopp said, hastily slapping a hand on [name]’s mouth.

“oh, you should’ve said so sooner,” sanji said, not paying mind to how usopp was practically suffocating [name] behind him. “i still don’t like it, but just what is this punishment?”

“it’s simple. please pay ten times the entrance fee. if you pay right now, we’ll humbly write off your crime,” [name] rubbed his forehead in exasperation, remembering that they didn’t even get an equivalent of what extols were in beri. “10 billion beri extol per person, in other words, 70 billion extol for all seven of you!”

“ten thousand extol is one beri,” [name] sighed as he couldn’t find the will in himself to do math to calculate that.

“that means 7 million beris.” robin answered in an instant.

“that’s expensive!!” sanji and [name] cried out in unison.

“do you realize how much rice we could buy with that?! after risking our lives just to come up to the sky, why do we have to pay that much to enter!”

“yeah, we need that money for our food!”

“what are you saying? if that was the case, all you had to do was pay 700,000 beris when you entered!”

“we’re saying — we didn’t know how much an extol was in beri and!!! no one even told us!”

“perhaps you didn’t pursue an answer hard enough,” the leader bit back with a sneer, making [name] clench his fist and wave it in front of him menacingly.

“oh, i’ll show you how hard i can-”

”[name]! quit it, you’re going to make it worse!” usopp shouted, once more taking on the task of wrangling the aggravated man into his arms to calm him down.

“consider this a forewarning! but we, the white berets, are the unit directly under god’s priests! please be careful, as arguing raises the degree of your crime!”

“oh, whatever. let’s just forget this guy.” sanji said, not paying attention to what the man of authority was saying. neither was anyone else in the crew, honestly. “more importantly, we’d better find nami-san! i’m worried! she may be crying right now!!”

“what if she got to meet god without us?” [name] pouted, “if that guy’s even real!”

all of the white berets flinched at his wording and watched with wide eyes as he easily laughed off the blasphemous claim. they were too shocked to even hear what the crew was talking about.

[name] glared at them for a split second when he noticed they were still all death glaring at the crew. he stepped forward, his hands on his hips, “why are you staring so hard? we’re not doing anything wrong right now, are we?”

“you refuse to pay the entrance fee, refuse to pay for your crimes, we are watching you in suspicion of volatile actions!”

“well! actually, we are waiting for one of our other crew members to arrive, she is sure enough to have this type of money laying around,” usopp chided in, deciding to step in front of [name]’s intimidating figure to ease the tension.

“usopp, out of the way — these guys obviously don’t care about the consequences of their actions,”

“it is you who doesn’t care for the consequences of their actions!” the leader corrected in a dignified voice. “here you are! making trouble for you and your friends with your attitude, it’s despicable!”

[name] dryly laughed, going to step forward, but was quickly held back by usopp. the sniper looked up at [name] pleadingly, “you gotta wait till nami gets back before doing something irrational!! she’s gotta have some spare beri to hand over to these guys! just don’t let this situation get any more worse!”

“he’s the one that needs to hold his tongue, or i’ll cut it out of his mouth,” [name] whispered back to usopp, lowering his voice due to how the white berets would probably take it as a threat (to [name], he didn’t think he was threatening them — he was just stating a prediction). but usopp shivered where he stood as it so easily came off as a threat.

“no! no more of that attitude, just go sit by the shore and sulk there! don’t ruin this for all of us,” usopp said, shoving [name] to the cloudy ground a couple of feet away and continuing his bartering with the man. and since usopp was visibly desperate for him to listen, he gave in.

[name] clicked his tongue in annoyance, finding the entire situation annoying. still, he did as told, taking a nap on the shore and not paying any mind to their surroundings. he shut his eyes, hoping for some quiet.

ironically enough, the first thing he heard when he woke up was the man screaming at the top of his lungs. he groggily lifted his head and took in the scene in front of him.

nami was back, still riding the waver. and the man that was pestering them earlier was laying on the floor with his teeth knocked out.

“what happened?”

“oh, we just sealed our fate in being hated criminals all over this island,” usopp simply said, “and we might get the death penalty!”

“free ticket to meeting god, then,” [name] shrugged, getting up and brushing his hands over his clothes to rid it of any dust. “unbelievable to think these people are right under that god guy thing,”

“you guys are taking this too casually!! the death penalty is real and you may get caught in some really bad and serious business,” conis exclaimed, worriedly looking at all of them. “so please, use this chance to get away from here!”

[name] blinked in disinterest, more-so focusing on the way the white berets were crawling away with a stretcher of their leader on top of them. it seemed pagaya offered to treat the man, so they were going back to their house. those were conis’ last words she exchanged with the crew before taking off and running after her father.

“if anything, she has a point,” nami said after they watched her run off, “i saw it with my own eyes. an island with these scary guys on it!”

at nami’s confession, usopp and chopper stiffened while luffy and [name] grinned in pleasure.

“the place you’re forbidden to go to?!”

“god, huh?”

usopp and chopper immediately tried to stop them from getting any ideas of venturing there, but it was too late — the two were sold on going.

“god — guerilla — if anything, that place is no good! we’re leaving now! we’re leaving!” nami reiterated, giving the both of them a stern glare.

“but-”

“no buts!” nami said, stomping over and kicking [name] hard enough that he went flying onto the deck of merry, “and you stay there! don’t even think of moving or else!!”

“since when did you even have the ability to kick that hard?!” [name] said, rubbing his butt since he landed right on his ass.

the rest of them soon joined him on deck, sanji swooning over the fact nami kicked him with so much power. he wasn’t listening on what he was saying, really, but he heard something along the lines of soulmates and the power of kicking being a shared trait amongst lovers. [name], like the others that heard his rambling, cringed at his distasteful words.

[name] scooted over to the railing, his face being pressed in between the wooden pegs so he could stare at nami and luffy on shore. they were standing there for quite a long time and usopp was getting angsty.

and then, the white berets reappeared with their leader looking mad as ever. they talked, or argued, for a couple of seconds before they sprung an attack on luffy and nami.

[name] grit his teeth in annoyance, watching as the arrows that were shot out created lanes of clouds. the white berets had special shoes on that allowed them to glide on the surface, making [name] at least be interested in the fight. he cheered and clapped when he saw luffy easily level all of them out.

seeing as there was no more threat on the beach (the white berets crawled away after their defeat), the rest of the crew were now standing alone on the shore. [name] yawned, feeling tired of all the conflict that was going on around them.

nami and luffy began arguing and [name] laughed when chopper jumped into his lap to shield himself from the fight. he was sitting on the ground with his legs crossed, so he easily took chopper into his arms for a light embrace.

unfortunately for nami, no matter how many scoldings she tried putting into luffy’s head, he wasn’t getting the idea. he wanted to go on an adventure, and he made a good point in saying that they couldn’t have come all this way to pass up on the oppurtunity.

nami sighed before simply commanding everyone to follow on board so they could stop troubling conis and pagaya already.

“oh wait! food! old guy, can we get some food for our adventure?!” luffy shouted before they could board. “sanji, c’mon, this old guy will definitely let us!!”

“don’t just make decisions for other people!” sanji scolded, kicking down on luffy’s head. then he switched facial expressions to politely ask pagaya, “is it alright if we use your kitchen one last time?”

“oh, no, no trouble at all,”

“wait, thinking back on it, you said you were an engineer right?” usopp said, grinning ear to ear, “could you lend me some fixtures for the ship’s repair?”

“most certainly!”

“wait! where are you three going?!”

“no use worrying about them, sanji is there to keep the both of them in check,” [name] spoke from behind her, making her turn and look up at him from over her shoulder.

“tch, whatever! you! make sure you stay on the merry! i know you’ve got some rotten ideas in your head too! don’t think i don’t know!!”

“i wasn’t thinking about anything!”

nami didn’t listen to his defenses, merely dragging him towards merry. he wordlessly took ahold of her in his arms and easily jumped on board, collapsing himself onto the deck to maybe catch some sleep.

“after eating such a big meal and learning a bunch of new stuff,” he breathed out, getting comfortable, “the only appropiate answer is to sleep!”

“you can say that again,” zoro gruffly agreed, leaning against the railing as his napping spot.

“shouldn’t you two be more alert?! what if those priests guys decide to take care of us right now? we’d be defenseless,” nami scolded, looking troubled by how casually relaxed they both were.

her words proved to be true, though, because while zoro and [name] were taking cat naps — conis came on board and discussed something important with them.

the first thing [name] experienced as his alarm clock was the sudden shaking of their ship.

“can’t a man just get some uninterrupted sleep?!”

“[name]!! stop us from moving already!! we’re getting farther and farther from the shore!” nami shouted in a hurry and [name] rushed over to the railing to assess the situation.

easily he shrugged and said, “there’s nothing we can do, but wait until he stops! zoro, don’t bother trying to cut it!”

“hah?! i don’t take orders from you, bastard!”

“i’m saying even if we eliminate this guy. there’s nothing that can be done if we are let loose,” [name] informed him, looking out into the white sea and squinting, “we are gonna get either eaten or be transported by this creature — let’s take the latter instead of risking our lives,”

“[name]’s right, we just have to deal with this,” robin agreed, “we can’t risk getting loose and then fighting all of those fish there,”

“plus, it gives the others at least of an idea of where we’re going,” [name] shrugged, “there’s no other place for us to go besides that forbidden holy land, right?”

the smirk on his face didn’t do anything to settle the anxiety both chopper and nami were feeling. it actually only made their worries worse.

“don’t look so down, we’re finally going on a proper adventure!” he clenched his fists, looking up at the sky, “and if this god guy is real, i’ll exchange some words with him,”

“oh? the vengeful type, are you?”

“yeah, i’ve got a lot of questions for that fucker,”

robin laughed behind her hand, zoro looked unimpressed, and chopper and nami were both desperately beating into his chest.

“don’t say such scary things!! what if we get caught in his crossfire with you?! then it’s your fault if we die!! god is real, [name]!”

“well, we’ll find that out, won’t we?”

“quit it already, you’re gonna give us a death sentence!”

--

[ .ᐟ ] also out of curiosity who is ur favorite pairing with [name] :3333 we haven't really done anything romantical with anyone yet, but i like to imagine the pairings and their potential a lot :33333

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taglist (lmk if you want to be tagged ! ) <3 :

@skullr0se @strawberrii-tea @triangulartriangles @anotherlovefool @sinmp @taru-nami @disc0dild0s @boredwithlifeatthispoint @kaulitzer @whotdefak @lcst-at-5ea @zforgottensniper @notplutos @cheetosins @3v37773 @violently-nerdy

-> if i forgot to tag u pls literally spam me, sometimes i forget to add the replies/mentions to my notion page which is what i copy and paste to add to this taglist <3333

[lucienne-my-beloved]

My first prompt! From @ilya-halfelven! Thank you so much!

Rose had never been to this part of the Dreaming before. Usually, she visited Fiddler's Green or just wandered the stacks of the Library, finding more and more things she never had time to read. Today though, she'd just found herself here, facing two houses that looked nice enough, despite the cool fog swirling around them. It sounded like someone was gardening round the back, so she cautiously headed that way, curious about meeting whoever lived here. Or at least, she was until she actually saw what was going on: a middle-aged dark haired man stood in a veritable field of graves marked with crosses, and the digging she'd heard wasn't gardening: he was using a shovel to dig yet another grave, presumably for the crumbled body at his feet. Heart pounding, Rose backed up, retracing her steps as quietly as she could. Dream or not, she didn't want to have anything to do with a murderer. Once out of sight of the houses, Rose turned and ran, heedless of where she was going. Thus, she was taken totally by surprise when she crashed into someone, her momentum sending them both toppling to the ground with cries of pain. She scrambled to her feet first, mortified and offering her hand to her 'victim', babbling apologies. A slender hand with too-long fingers slid into hers and as the person got to her feet, Rose took in glimpses of an elfin face with an adorable button nose and rosebud lips, but most of her attention was caught by a pair of soft brown eyes. Like pools of melted chocolate, she mused. Beautiful...

—

Feeling she should explain why she’d knocked the lovely woman over, Rose opened her mouth. And found that words had fled her, as she babbled incoherently for a moment. The woman laughed softly, not mocking but showing that she wasn’t upset about being crashed into.

“Hello! You are new here. Why were you running so fast?” She peered around. “I don’t see any nightmares chasing you.”

Rose stopped and tried to catch her breath for a moment. She wasn’t sure where to start, and the elfin beauty of her interlocutor wasn’t helping.

“I’m Nuala,” the woman continued. “I take care of the Castle Garden.”

“Oh!” Rose exclaimed, finally on sure footing. “I love the Castle Garden!” 

“Yes, I’ve seen you around.” Nuala smiled gently and Rose’s courage grew so she tried again.

“Yes, you have such lovely roses, and the lilacs are amazing, and somehow they are all blooming at the same time! I’ve never seen you digging around,” she said curiously, “unlike…” and she trailed off with a worried glance back where she’d come from.

“Oh! That’s why you were running! You must have seen Cain and Abel after one of their spats.” Nuala held out a hand to comfort Rose now, and Rose was more than willing to take it. 

“Do they do that often?” Rose wondered as Nuala began to lead her further into the garden.

“Every day. It’s their story, and they haven’t been able to change it.” That seemed sad, but Rose couldn’t dwell on it for long, as they came up to a delicately carved table with tea set out on it. 

“I was just going to look for someone to have tea with on my break,” Nuala explained as they sat down. “I’m happy we ran into each other. It’s always fun to meet someone new.”

Rose giggled. “Literally. Ran into. I’m sorry again for knocking you down.”

“It’s no problem at all,” Nuala reassured her as she poured the tea. “I spend most of my day down in the dirt anyway.” She gestured at the wheelbarrow beside the table, which looked to Rose to be full of bulbs ready for planting, though she couldn’t tell what kind because of the burlap sack protecting them while Nuala took her break.

“I could help you,” Rose blurted. She liked planting bulbs, but if she was honest with herself, she’d even help with weeding if it meant she could spend more time with Nuala.

“I would enjoy that,” Nuala said, offering her the plate of scones (the American kind, Rose noticed). Rose smiled, taking a scone, and wondered where this new adventure would lead her.

(@nualaofthefaerie I thought you might like a tag as well?)

[mania-sama]

with every line, a comedy

Thus Always To Tyrants - The Oh Hellos

➼ 06 - rattle and shake in the wind that remakes all that time has worn away ❧ Information (Summary, Tags, Chapters) ❧ Previous Chapter ❧ Word Count: 6,018 ❧ Cross-posted from Archive of Our Own

When he climbed into bed, Alhaitham pulled on his hearing aids. His head felt like it had been stuffed with cotton, and he was willing to risk Kusanali and his friends’ voices in the chance that he may hear Kaveh’s splinted foot stumble across the hardwood floor. He may be able to catch his sleep-walking figure before it was too late.

He laid his head against his pillow, expecting to have trouble falling asleep with the feedback now filling his ears. Thoughts and voices were meant to keep him awake as he pondered the interaction with Kaveh and everything before, cataloging and organizing every bit of information he had to reach his final conclusion.

It was all there, all within his grasp.

Alhaitham supposed he was more tired from the agonizing day he had than he had originally assumed. His breathing evened out before any proper thoughts could cross his mind.

He opened his eyes to a steel-blue door, dressed in his usual attire, with his hand reaching for the silver door handle. It was cool under his exposed fingers, contrasting the stagnant, warm air of the evening. A nervous thump in his chest called for him to pause before he went through with opening the door.

Turning around, he eyed Kaveh up and down for a gracious moment. The architect was wearing an outfit slightly fancier than his usual attire — a white overcoat decorated with microscopic silver laces that intertwined into a floral pattern, the collar popped up at his neck, with a loose iron gray shirt underneath it. The collar of that shirt hugged the base of the top of his collarbone, accentuating the ornamental silver necklaces that wrapped tightly around and hung from his throat. His pants, although partly covered by his upper body attire, were black and steam-pressed, ending with polished, pointed black shoes.

He dressed wonderfully, and the way the white overcoat was slightly cinched at the waist made Alhaitham’s brain go a little fuzzy. However, Alhaitham found his attraction to lie in the man’s blond hair. It hadn’t changed at all from his usual style with it being partly tied back from his face, with one part pulled three-strand braid, and the rest being pinned together with red clips. A blue feather stuck out of his hair, which only Kaveh could make look charming. 

With the sun kissing the ground behind him, it looked like his hair was a ray of light sent from the star itself, brightening Alhaitham’s world right before his very eyes.

The best part, he knew, was that Kaveh’s hair was soft to the touch. The comb he had used had taken out his knots, leaving behind a clean waterfall for Alhaitham to run his hands through. Even then, as he admired Kaveh worrying at his lip and furrowing his eyebrows, he had the intense desire to feel each strand underneath his fingers. It would feel like he was touching the sun, instead of the cool door handle his hand was resting on.

“My grandmother won’t bite your head off ,” Alhaitham signed in modified sign language, using a free hand to reach for Kaveh’s. They had been fiddling together, trying to erode each other away in the incessant way that he only ever did when he was anxious. 

Kaveh squeezed Alhaitham’s hand with his own. “If she’s anything like you, I’ll be more afraid she’ll criticize me to an early grave ,” he sighed back without any aggression. His eyebrows lifted, but his lips and jaw never lost their tension. “ Cannibalistic decapitation would be the merciful way to go. ”

“I always held the belief that she was the more pragmatic one when it comes to the two of us, ” Alhaitham mused.

Kaveh shuddered with horror, his face twisting to that of a boar before an arrow strikes its heart. “ You can’t be serious .”

His lips quirked ever so slightly. “ That wouldn’t be very pragmatic of me, would it? ”

It was when Kaveh’s eyes would alight with emotion, Alhaitham thought, that he felt that he could no longer bring air into his lungs, He was struck by a wave of nerves crashing down onto his ribcage and drowning his heart. It struggled to beat underneath the heavy weight of sea salt and shuddering breaths.

Kaveh laughed, his eyelids squinting and his hand tugging down on Alhaitham’s. Even though Alhaitham couldn’t hear it, he knew the reaction was born of anxiety rather than genuine humor. The Scribe gently cupped the architect’s jaw and rubbed his thumb along the smooth skin of his cheek. Pressing his forehead against Kaveh’s, he took one deep inhale, allowing Kaveh time to adjust to his breathing pattern.

Their chests moved in tandem, and only when Kaveh pulled himself away did Alhaitham let go. His lover smiled, his skin pulling and eyes shimmering in the way polished rubies reflect light. The entire world’s collection of scarlet hues cascaded through his eyes as though it were a waterfall. If Alhaitham were blind, he’d give his eternal soul to the Archons in exchange for the ability to perceive Kaveh’s colors.

“Are you ready?” Alhaitham asked, letting go of Kaveh only for the ability to use his hands. His lover nodded, and Alhaitham finally twisted the knob of the steel-blue door.

The scent of old books immediately greeted him as he set foot on the hardwood floor. Their spines lined the interior from corner to corner, only breaking for a window to let in natural light. Behind the dark-wood bookshelves was a backdrop of calm yellow walls, the color of a cornfield. The brown couch has a patchwork quilt draped over the back with two pillows the shade of the walls propped against the armrests. It was a small living room, and the miniature archway opened to the even smaller kitchen.

Alhaitham watched from his peripheral vision as Kaveh, ruby eyes bright and lips slightly parted, took in his childhood home. While he didn’t move from Alhaitham’s side, the Scribe was well aware of the barely-restrained urgency in his gaze. The architect, living to his true name, would be touching the walls, the decorum, the lamps, marveling at his grandmother’s house as closely as he could.

When Kaveh looked back at him, he clamped his jaw shut and signed, “You didn’t inherit her interior design skills.”

“I have the notion,” he resigned, “that you will get along just fine with her.”

And Kaveh grinned at him, warm and true, with his anxiety lines dissipated from his brows and lips. Alhaitham was captivated by his presence, so enraptured in his blinding light that he didn’t feel his grandmother approach them. It was only when Kaveh’s gaze averted and eyes widened did he remember where exactly he was.

He shifted to meet his grandmother, her face wrinkled with smile lines lining her cheeks. Her frail, gray hair was held back in a small bun at the back of her head, and she wore a fine blue spring dress, light in its color with a dark lace accent at the neckline. It draped on her light wood floor.

“I never imagined I’d see that look on you,” she signed, her mouth subtly following along with her words. Her miniature smile held nothing but fondness. “How do you manage to get anything done if you’re always dazed like that?”

Kaveh went a shade of pink Alhaitham usually only saw when he kissed the back of his hand. “You will soon understand once he starts talking,” Alhaitham explained, forcing back a smile when his grandmother gasped and swatted at him.

“It seems living on your own has taken away all of your manners,” she signed, even though she knew he’d always been this way and had not made the comment out of malice. She redirected her attention to their guest. “Kaveh, dear, it’s a pleasure to finally meet you in person.”

“As is mine,” he replied, and Alhaitham was pleased to find that Kaveh’s nerves had not visibly returned. “Madame,” — his grandmother's smile increased by only a fraction — “your house is positively stunning. I have never been more comfortable in a new environment as I have here.”

Before responding to the compliment, she regarded him up and down, her gaze flickering back and forth between him and Alhaitham. It was a cultivated silence, one that only Alhaitham could be left to predict what would come out of her hands next. “You’ll do nicely with my grandson,” she signed. “He doesn’t know the first thing about politeness nor home design.”

His lover laughed again, and although it fell on the deaf ears of the Scribe, he could tell the difference between this sincere chuckle versus his previous nervous titter. “Madame, I’m afraid I have come to be well acquainted with both of those traits.”

She did not question his love for her grandson. Alhaitham saw it on her grin, the one that he never saw this wide — he had thought her physically incapable. It had seemed that the older she got, the lesser her smiles became. This did not mean she was unhappy, necessarily, but she couldn’t exercise the same muscles as she used to.

It was not at all surprising to Alhaitham that Kaveh was able to make his grandmother achieve the improbable. Even if it was at Alhaitham’s own expense.

“I once asked that child to organize my book collection in any way he liked. Do you know how he chose to organize? By the number of pages, of course!” She signed as they sat down at the small, round wooden table for tea.

Especially at his expense.

Their drinks were warm and sweet, fresh out of the steaming kettle and poured to them by his grandmother’s unsteady hand. It came with age, her shakiness, hunched back, and various aches and pains that prevent her from standing and walking longer than necessary. However, with that time she no longer spent walking and cleaning, she spent divulging in every book on her shelf.

Alhaitham let them do most of the talking — the whole point of the get-together was for Kaveh to properly meet her, after all — and watched them closely. He wasn’t analyzing their interactions deeply, but rather, he noticed the way they acted so at ease with each other. It was as though they’d known each other their whole lives, rather than the half-hour timespan that they’d been conversing in.

They talked in length about the various Sumerian infrastructures and buildings Kaveh had a hand in designing, and not once did his grandmother let him speak poorly about himself or express any unresolved regret. She didn’t make an indication she’d known anything about him previously, outside of what her grandson had told her, although both he and Kaveh were well aware that could not be the case with how famous he was in Sumeru.

It was when the topic shifted in his grandmother’s favor — literature, involving both old and modern authors — that Alhaitham had a sudden sinking weight in his stomach.

“There is one book I have given Haitham, though I should say the author is himself. It was a journal,” she signed, then tilted her head in Alhaitham’s direction. Her smile is light and ever-present, as it had been the entire evening. “Do you still have it? Remember what I wrote?”

And that was an odd question, wasn’t it? She hadn’t asked with curiosity if he remembered, because she knew he wouldn’t have forgotten. Instead, her question was less of a question and more of a prompt, wanting to hear her own words parroted back to her.

His grandmother was dead.

It rushed to his mind at the same time that the table freezes, Kaveh’s wide, imploring stare and his grandmother’s smile which had only gotten shorter as she had gotten older, were left as complete statues at her kitchen table. The one that belonged to a different family, as Alhaitham had sold it some years into his Akademiya education.

Alhaitham wakes up in his empty, pitch-black bedroom with an unrelenting ache in his chest. His hearing aids rang with quiet static, substituting the silence of the sleeping world for his unhearing ears.

He recalled his grandmother’s face, her hair, and the way she shook. Somehow, it looked entirely different from how he remembered her. She had never made it to the age where she was mentally debilitated. Rather, her death had been a result of her weak immune system. It was something she had fought since her childhood.

The grandmother in his dream looked like how she would have if she had made it to see her grandson become the Acting Grand Sage. 

She would’ve loved Kaveh. Alhaitham rested a hand on his face, trying to steady his overwhelming longing for someone that was gone. It intensified with the reminder of the person that was still within his grasp, but fading away all the same.

Do you still have it? She had signed to him. Remember what I wrote?

Of course he still had it. There was nothing that he owned that was more invaluable to him than the journal she had given him as an ‘early graduation gift’ all those years ago. By that time, her skin had paled and her lungs made the sound of a dying cat. She had been stricken with illness. There would be no recovery.

Alhaitham pulled himself out of bed, not bothering with his slippers as he made his way across his house in the dark. It felt cold and unfamiliar in comparison to the comfort of his childhood home. Anything he’d found significant from his grandmother’s he’d taken with him to his current residence, yet he hadn’t been able to bring her.

Maybe that was the reason when he turned on the lights, he wanted nothing more than to repaint every wall to a cornfield yellow and replace all the blankets and rugs with patchwork quilts. He wanted to walk into his living room and catch the scent of old books and steaming tea in the kitchen.

It was the smell of coming home.

Alhaitham plucked his journal from where it rested next to his other five notebooks, all filled with notes on various topics. The emerald-colored cover once sparkled, but over time and usage, it became dull and smokey. Alhaitham didn’t mind. The fingerprint smudges and frayed edges proved the years of love from its owner.

The journal weighed heavy in his hands as he sat on the edge of a couch, running his fingers over the spine and cover. His grandmother had lived a simple life, spending most of her money on food and books rather than needless personal items. Alhaitham had inherited both her small wealth and minimalist lifestyle, and it left him with that emerald notebook as his only remaining gift from her.

He thought, as he gently opened the journal and made a cracking sound of sorts, that he would not have graduated if not for her. The reason he had begun his education at the Akademiya was from her insistence, not for the sake of his parents’ legacies. In truth, he had hated it. There had been a reason why he had chosen homeschooling over early enrollment, and his opinion hadn’t changed all that much in his second attempt at the Akademiya. However, she had given him a blessing — the words he could no longer recall — and the journal, and he stayed until he graduated higher education and applied for the position of the Scribe.

At the bottom of the first page, where he was meant to sign his name and address should the journal be lost, was a short sentence written in loopy cursive. The ink was faded and nearly hard to read, but Alhaitham hardly needed to see it in order to recall what it was. He’d spent so much time in his youth reading and rereading the same eight letters until he had seared it into his brain.

He dragged one finger across the high loop of the capital M and the lower loop of the y’s, following it all the way to the end period. May my child Alhaitham lead a peaceful life.

Alhaitham’s face tightened, lips pressed together, and he tilted his head back so his tears wouldn’t stain the worn title page.

He missed his grandmother.

When she had died, he was sixteen. They had already worked together to plan his course of action to prevent any panic and chaos once he was alone. He’d agreed to return to the Akademiya, and she had smiled at him, small and incapable of making her cheek muscles work in the way they used to. He planned her funeral with part of her fortune, inviting her friends and no relatives because there weren’t any. It had just been grandmother and grandson for as long as he could remember. His parents were dead, his grandfather had drowned in a sinking ship, and neither she nor he had any siblings to speak of. Alhaitham hadn’t been aware of any cousins, nor aunts and uncles. If there were any, they hadn’t cared to step forward.

Even though everything was straight, and there was no room for him to worry about when or where his next meal would come from, nor where he would sleep or pay for hygienic products, Alhaitham lived the following year of his life as though the world had already ended. And for him, it practically had.

He’d abandoned the hearing aids he’d made to hear his grandmother’s small laugh and wise words. He had sold his childhood home to keep himself afloat while he worked a low-wage, part-time job and paid for all other living and education expenses. Her library had been packed into cardboard boxes and stored in the apartment he rented with a roommate he rarely ever saw.  His tea held no warmth nor sweetness, every meal lacked her flavor, and reading became a near excruciating task.

Alhaitham turned his head slightly, meeting the wide ruby eyes of the man standing in the hallway, his stance rigid and prepared to flee at the faint sound of a pin dropping, and wondered if that was why he cared so much.

It was a year after his grandmother died that Alhaitham had his first conversation with Kaveh. Not every student in the Akademiya knew sign language, but he did. They sat together at lunch, with Alhaitham’s bland sandwich and cold tea, and Alhaitham saw color for the first time again.

It was his eyes. Because of course, no matter what Alhaitham did or however many people he met, he’d never found a color more captivating than what Kaveh naturally possessed. He’d never even cared about red before, but suddenly he found himself chasing after every red-ish hue the world had to offer. And it was all in one person.

A month into their friendship, Kaveh had made Alhaitham tea. He’d expected to be greeted with bitterness and an unfriendly cold liquid that he had become acquainted with since his grandmother stopped boiling it in her kettle. But when he had brought the cup to his lips, closing his eyes and resigning to his fate, he was surprised to find a gentle burn on the tip of his tongue.

Kaveh had been upset. He’d assumed Alhaitham’s dazed reaction meant that he’d found the tea repulsive, and he even tried to pry the mug away from Alhaitham’s hands. It had only been a misunderstanding, but Alhaitham had come to the sudden and intimate realization that his world was no longer lifeless.

It was when he started wearing his hearing aids again did his world finally right itself. With Kaveh around, it felt wrong to keep himself deaf. He could hear his friend’s voice, his laugh, his angry mumblings about essays and complex trigonometry and ancient languages that were hard to grasp. The original person the hearing aids were made for was dead, but perhaps the simple fact of being made to hear a loved one remained.

When their friendship had fallen apart, Alhaitham did not return to the intense state he had before. There were remnants of it, like not wearing his hearing aids for a month, and he avoided staring at anything architectural for too long, but it was not like how it had been with his grandmother. Maybe it was because he knew Kaveh was never truly gone, or he assumed that one day they would reconnect. What he did know for certain was that he had told himself one blissful lie:

He never truly loved Kaveh like he’d loved his grandmother.

And what a convincing deception that was. At the very least, it kept him afloat until graduation and up to when he caught wind of an architect that never left Lambad’s Tavern. When he had shared a drink with him — and later in the month, tea — and felt the smooth edge of sweetness on his tongue, he realized that he hadn’t been able to taste sugar since their relationship collapsed.

Kaveh’s face was frozen in a state of mortified shock, and his body slightly leaned from the splint elevating his foot. One hand gripping the edge of the wall as tightly as it could, while the other curled into his night pants. At the very least, he wasn’t sleep-walking. Alhaitham swiped under his eyes as his tear ducts slowly closed. Salt clouded his tastebuds from where his tears had trickled into his mouth.

“I- I’m sorry,” Kaveh started, his eyes stuck on Alhaitham. “I couldn’t sleep, and I saw the lights turn on—”

“I dreamt of you and her,” interrupted Alhaitham, turning his own gaze back towards the eight-word sentence. He couldn’t bear that trembling voice ringing in his hearing aids any longer. “We went to her home and had afternoon tea and, if I had been asleep for longer, dinner. If I had not known better, I would’ve assumed you had known each other for years based on how well you two conversed.”

Alhaitham could feel his roommate’s stare on the back of his head. The air between them settled into a tense silence, save for the static that only Alhaitham could hear from his hearing aids.

She was dead. Alhaitham will never drink her tea again, watch her read books on the brown couch in the living room, watch her hands move as she bestowed upon him wisdom that only a woman like her could possess. She will never have the pleasure of meeting Kaveh, talking to him, learning and understanding all of the reasons why Alhaitham fell in love with him.

“I have spent months trying to understand why I care about you. It hadn’t made any sense; the only person I have ever loved is my grandmother, and she has passed on. I don’t bother myself with other people, with their emotions, or their aspirations. I don’t care. I shouldn’t care. If their lives aren’t affecting mine, then I leave them alone. So why, when I saw you at Lambad’s Tavern, did I ask you to live with me?” Alhaitham paused and looked up at Kaveh, observing the way his hand dropped from the wall and eyebrows furrowed into an expression akin to confusion.

“And these past few days, you’ve been hurting yourself. You’re hiding and I want to help you, but I couldn’t figure out why. Why are you the exception to every rule I’ve ever made for myself?” He took a shuddering breath. “I’ve learned that I’ve been focusing on the wrong part. It doesn’t matter the reason. I love you, Kaveh, and I have waited far too long to tell you that,” he said, and his breath hitched as he continued. “And I am quite afraid of losing you, too.”

He closed his eyes, trying to prevent more tears from slipping past his eyelids. It had been in front of him all along, but his attention had been averted to the root cause rather than the problem itself. Perhaps he had been scared of admitting this, because if he said it out loud then it had to be true. The only other person he loved in his life was disappearing faster than he could reach out and pull him close.

The sound of Kaveh’s splint hitting the floor resonated with Alhaitham’s labored breaths, and he was sure there was a joke somewhere in there that he was missing. The couch dipped with the added weight of another person. It was quiet, but not in the same way it had been before. The silence had no anticipation, no expectation of an outburst or confession. After all, Alhaitham had already popped that bubble.

When Alhaitham pried his eyes open and swiped at the tear that had managed to escape, he watched the way Kaveh studied his open palms with intense faux interest. The skin on his neck shifted when he swallowed, and the silence shifted with it.

Kaveh's lips quivered before he spoke. “When I was eight years old, I was kidnapped. Plucked right off the street when my mother wasn’t looking, and I was too enticed by the idea of a free Aranara carving to notice what was really happening.” He sighed. It was shaky and painful to listen to. “I was organ trafficked for a week.”

Alhaitham didn’t prompt him for anything more, because if he learned anything from the death of his grandmother and the slow suicide of his best friend, it was that listening was the best way to offer help. Just being there in the same space, breathing the same air, and hearing — or if they are signing, watching — what they need to say provided more comfort than a thousand words ever could.

“I wasn’t the only one. There were— I believe there were twenty of us in one room. All children. I think that was the worst part. We were all young, innocent children who shouldn’t have yet deserved to see how cruel the world would be.” Kaveh paused, then shook his head. “No. The worst part was that I left them all behind. Those that were still alive and those we buried. I— I couldn’t take them with me. I don’t know what happened to them after I escaped. And that’s… it’s terrifying.”

His skin was pale, near translucent in their living room light. He hadn’t gotten out much since the nightmares started, Alhaitham figured, and he wondered if that came with a fear of being kidnapped again. Plucked off the street as Kaveh had put it.

Kaveh glanced to Alhaitham and back, his lips pressed together and hands fiddling with each other as though they were sentient creatures. It was a bit more of those back-and-forth glances before Kaveh was able to muster up the courage to grab the edge of his shirt and shift his body so he was facing Alhaitham more directly. A heavy heartbeat later, he lifted the hem of his shirt to reveal his stomach.

It was just enough to see a dark, jagged scar run across the middle of the otherwise empty space between his side and naval. Small atrophied dots followed closely to the scar, telling that the wound had once been stitched closed. It looked fresh, as though he had received it only a week ago. Alhaitham had the odd urge to touch it as though feeling it would confirm its authenticity.

“They removed my kidney on my third day there,” Kaveh confessed quietly, his sorrowful gaze trained on his abdomen. “They were going to take the other one when I escaped. There had been a—” he swallowed, “— an incident of some kind. I don’t…. remember all that well. But the person holding me let go to take care of it and I— I ran. We were shackled when we weren’t being handled so I… it was my only opportunity.”

His ruby eyes were clouded in a thick mist, like early morning fog permeating a forest. It was a second before he let go of the hem of his shirt and slowly soothed out the wrinkles. “If I had stopped to help any of them, I wouldn’t have gotten out. I was—” Kaveh cut himself short, eyebrows furrowing in frustration. “I was a child. ”

Alhaitham knew he was fighting his unrelenting guilt. If encouraging his father to participate in a tournament was enough to set his unrealistic and selfless ideals for the rest of his life, Alhaitham could hardly imagine what abandoning twenty or so scared and abused children was doing to his psyche.

“I shouldn’t have survived my escape,” he continued, now reaching down to rest a hand on his other assumed injury. “Remember what I told you about fences? It was the same kind that my traffickers had built. Nobody was chasing after me because they knew I wouldn’t be able to make it past the palisade. It was tall and I was only four days out from previous surgery. I was either not going to be able to scale it or I would get impaled at the top.

“But you know,” he shrugged and let go of a shuddering breath, “if I didn’t try to cross it, I would die anyway.”

Alhaitham trained his attention on the hand curled on the fabric above his thigh, and the final piece clicked in his brain. On any other day and with any other person, he may have been satisfied with coming to the correct conclusion before he was told. He may have been proud, even, of what he’d accomplished. However, all he could feel was bitter and thick bile rising up his throat.

It wasn’t satisfying. It was morbid.

“All of my stitches from the kidney surgery had ripped open from my sprint across the field and my unconventional method of climbing a fence, so my hands slipped as I was pulling myself over and I,” he tilted his head as a shine joined his foggy red eyes, “I impaled myself straight through my thigh. I should’ve bled out. On the fence or when I managed to collapse on the other side. But I kept going. I lost a lot of blood, but at some point, both my thigh and kidney wound healed into the scars they have today. And I don’t… my dreams haven’t provided me an explanation for that.”

Alhaitham knew how it happened, and from the tone of his voice, Kaveh must have had the inkling as well. However, Aranara were elusive to adults. If they didn’t want to be seen, then their presence wouldn’t be known. It was extremely hard for grown-ups, even ones as intelligent and observant as Kaveh, to break the Aranara mind game. Alhaitham likely had his own experiences with Aranara growing up that he could no longer recall with clarity, either.

When Kaveh redirected his gaze back to Alhaitham, the Scribe was struck with amazement. Even on the verge of tears with his mind half-gone in the distant past, he still managed to look beautiful. Alhaitham thought he would never escape those damn eyes, so dark and contrasting against his smooth pale skin.

“For all these years,” Kaveh started again, knocking Alhaitham out of his momentary stupor, “I have avoided looking at these scars in the mirror. I couldn’t remember where they came from. I didn’t wear any revealing clothing because I couldn’t explain to anyone what happened. Even my mother— after everything happened and I reported it to the Matra, my memory of it completely disappeared. She tried to explain it to me, once, what the scars were from. I guess I just… hadn’t believed her.”

It sent an ache into his chest to hear Kaveh’s voice strain in the effort to keep himself together.

“I don’t know if the Matra had ever busted the ring, or if anyone else had escaped. If there was any attempt to reach out to me, I don’t recall it.” His whole body trembled as though an ice cube had been shoved down his shirt. “I don’t know what all I haven’t remembered. And since this is all coming back, the thought is a little terrifying. That my nightmares aren’t all there is to it. That… that I might have seen more than I am being allowed to process.”

Alhaitham knew it wasn’t something he was ever going to fully understand. He knew grief, he knew longing, but the loss and sudden regain of traumatic memories wasn’t an experience he had ever gone through. His life had been relatively easy up until his grandmother passed. He was only three years old when his parents died — the details of he was still uncertain as nobody had any records outside of mangled bodies that were then cremated — and at sixteen his grandmother died in the hospital at a time when Alhaitham hadn’t been allowed to visit.

It had been traumatic in its own right to watch her slowly wither away. But his memories hadn’t been forcibly removed and stuffed away in an untouched compartment of his brain like Kaveh’s had. His trauma had been slowly and gradual for years until his last remaining family member had passed, while Kaveh’s had been a shock to his system. It was an unfamiliar environment with constant intense traumas surrounding him over the course of a week, and then some until he’d forgotten every last bit of it.

And the way Kaveh looked at him now, with his head falling a bit forward and shoulders slumping, Alhaitham knew the dam had finally broken. “I don’t—” his words hitched and he put a hand over his mouth, “What if there’s more?”

Alhaitham did what he thought Lesser Lord Kusanali would’ve done. He did what he thought Kaveh deserved. With two hands, he reached out and drug Kaveh into his chest, holding him tight and pressing his face into his neck. Kaveh wrapped his arms and clung on immediately, and he released the sobs he’d been holding captive for far too long.

He rubbed circles into Kaveh’s back, trying his best to be as placating as possible. Total body physical contact was difficult. A forehead touch or holding hands or his fingertips tracing or running through a head of hair was easier to manage. It was small amounts of another person. A chest against his, knees grazing his, a nose in his hair, and hands pressing against his back all at the same time was harder. But for some reason, he was crying, too. He held Kaveh impossibly closer and didn’t want to let go.

And somewhere, between both of their sobs, Kaveh choked out: “I love you, too.”

Alhaitham kept his tear-stained face buried in a head of sunlight-blond hair.

—

They decided to try something new. Instead of sleeping separately, Kaveh suggested they share the same bed in order to prevent another sleep-walking incident. Perhaps if it had been a day earlier, there would’ve been a furious blush on his face and a stammer in his words. And maybe Alhaitham would’ve teased him for it. He would’ve said that they should recreate one of Tighnari’s dreams while they were at it.

However, it was not the day before. The only redness on Kaveh’s face was from his sobbing confession of the nightmares he’d been having, and Alhaitham had not wasted a second in agreeing. It may calm your mind a little to have me there in the first place, he’d replied, to prove you’re no longer alone.

They’d pressed comfortably together under the covers as though they’d been practicing it for years. For once, Alhaitham did not feel uncomfortable with the contact. He did not hold Kaveh needlessly tight, and he made sure none of his bare skin was touching Kaveh’s aside from his nose against his neck. And with his roommate — his lover — this close, he was able to abandon his hearing aids on the side table.

He wasn’t sure when they fell asleep or who drifted off first. But for the first time since Lesser Lord Kusanali had freed her people’s unconscious minds, Alhaitham did not dream, and neither did Kaveh.

[surroundedbypearls]

‘CLOSET PUN’ - Excerpt #9

Hazel: The Changeling Draft 1

[Excerpt below the cut!]

“I’d haunt the hell out of my own grave,” Hazel mused as they walked. She’d make a beautiful ghost. All around her, the others’ auras glinted in shades of yellow, green, a sickly grey. Their curiosity made them joyous. But beneath it was the fear of what they were walking into.

At least being out in the trees was making her feel better. She hated to think she was growing used to feeling just a little bit unwell. Was this what humans felt like all the time? Were they always just a little bit sick?

“Vampires don’t leave spirits behind,” May said, cutting through the lively chatter. Then she gave a wild grin. “Don’t look so glum. At least we don’t drag it out.”

Eventually, they came to the stone walls Toby had described. She could see how someone walking by might totally miss it. In other circumstances, she might find it enchanting. She ran her hand alone the tangles of ivy, so thick there were times her hands vanished beneath the vines.

“It’s like something out of a storybook,” she said, feeling the ivy pulse with life beneath her palm. So much life in a place for the dead.

“When do you think that lock was placed?” Jet asked as he circled back around to the door. His aura shimmered as he examined it, turning from a twinge of fear to only focus. “Does anyone know how to pick a lock? We shouldn’t break it.”

“Why not?”

“Because then whoever put it there will know someone stopped for a visit,” Junie said, walking to look at the lock.

“Unless they’re a werewolf,” Toby said, eyeing the lock with suspicion as though it might come loose and bite him. “Then they’d smell us.”

“Well, let’s not think about that now.” May folded her arms, looking up at the wall. “It’s not too high. Come on.” She bent her knee and cupped her hands into a little step. “We’ll vault you guys over.”

“I’ll cross over first, in case anyone-” Toby cast a sheepish glance at May. “-uh, vaults themselves too far.”

She rolled her eyes, but said nothing as he took a running leap and scaled over the wall.

Hazel took a deep breath and decided to go first. She put one foot up on May’s hands, placing a hand on her shoulder.

“Ready?”

Without waiting for an answer, May thrust her upwards and she went flying, grasping for the ivy and pulling herself up over the wall.

“Catch me, Toby,” she called, rolling herself over the wall without stopping. He did.

“You’re heavy.”

“You’ve got above average strength. Quit lying to me.”

He put her down with a grin. Only seconds later, Richie popped up onto the wall, swinging one leg over and carefully hopping down to land beside them. Junie came next, Toby reaching to help her scale down the wall, while Jet leapt over the wall with ease. May was last, silent as a cat.

“Let’s not take too long,” she said, eyes scanning the garden. “Anything suspicious out here?”

“I hadn’t noticed anything.”

Hazel looked around the garden, at the long, tangling grasses, the weeds tangling through the cracks in the old stone path, climbing up the legs of the statues. She passed her energy into the garden, to flow through the plants, to sense the ground for some disturbance, anything that might be worth looking at. They whispered back to her, showing her what they saw.

“There’s nothing out here but weeds,” she said.

She tuned towards the mausoleum, a kind of cold dread creeping up on her. She would be fine while the others were here, she was sure of that. She couldn’t imagine how terrified Toby had been when he walked up to it alone. And because he still eyed it with wide eyes, his aura pulsing and quivering in silver and indigo, she went to touch his shoulder before they dared approach it.

“It’ll be fine,” she said, keeping her voice low. Sure, he wasn't exactly keeping his phobia of the dead a secret. But he didn’t want it advertised, either. “Stay close.”

More on Closet Pun here! Leave an ask or a comment to be added to the taglist.

[neopronouns-in-action]

032: Real Heroes Kill Cops

Neopronouns: su/[na]/uvu/lo/(ka)/zeda.

Na replaces contractions with "su", so rather than saying "Su's a superhero" they way you'd say "He's a superhero", you say "Na a superhero".

Ka is used the same way "hers" is, so if you'd use "hers" like, "The house is hers" you'd say "The house is ka"

Replace he with su

Replace contractions of su with na

Replace him with uvu

Replace his with lo

Replace hers with ka

Replace himself with zeda

EX:

"He is going to adopt a new puppy soon, as soon as he gets a fence set up around his yard so the puppy can go outside without him having to walk it. His uncle is going to help set up the fence, since he has a set of power tools he’s letting him use, since he lost his. He's going to buy toys and train the puppy himself.”

Becomes:

"Su is going to adopt a new puppy soon, as soon as su gets a fence set up around lo yard so the puppy can go outside without uvu having to walk it. Lo uncle is going to help set up the fence, since he has a set of power tools he’s letting uvu use, since su lost ka. Na going to buy toys and train the puppy zeda.”

= = =

Rebecca Washington, alias Constitution.

* * *

Constitution smirked, one foot planted firmly on one of the thug's backs, the other on another one's hand, and crossed her arms over her chest as she tilted her head to the side, examining the third one still in front of her, lo back pressed to the wall, with nowhere to escape.

She didn't know the ones she was currently standing on, so they were either new in town, or at least newly stupid, if they thought they could get away with this crap under her watch.

But this cowering worm? Oh, she knew uvu.

“Theria,” She pretended to sigh reprovingly, “how many times do we have to go over this? Did you really forget the last lesson I taught you already? ”

She spun her baton casually through her fingers, and saw Theria tense further into the wall in a very satisfying way. So su hadn't forgotten, then, su was just being purposefully irritating to ruin Constitution's night.

Theria didn't answer, just glared in silence, even though Constitution could see su was trembling, despite the warm night.

“What, no reply?” She teased, “Is this any way to treat an old friend?”

Theria's only response was to bare lo teeth, like su really was the wild animal lo name claimed su was.

Constitution rolled her eyes. Both Theria's friends were unconscious, and still su was silent as the grave. No matter how many times Constitution hit uvu, su never answered any of her questions.

It was infuriating. Usually, Constitution always got the answers she wanted in any interrogation of criminals. But not with Theria.

Lo cronies always claimed su was nonverbal and couldn't speak, but Constitution refused to accept it, and was determined to prove them all wrong.

She spun the baton over her head, and stepped forward onto the cracked pavement. Theria's eyes never left hers, still glaring in silent defiance.

“Well,” She mused, already enjoying what was about to happen for the umpteenth time, “I guess we just have to go over it again, don't we? Really, I mean, what did you think was going to happen? Setting a bomb? Really? Did you really think you could get away with trying to blow up the detention facility?”

She hefted the baton in one hand, preparing to strike the [adjective?] over the head- -

- -And had only a moment to realize with confusion that Theria's bared teeth had transformed from a snarl, into something that looked like a smile.

* * *

Theria

* * *

The moment Constitution was no longer touching Vanny or Eight, the moment both her feet were on the broken road, Theria let go of the wall of force na been holding back since su heard Constitution's theme music approaching from the air.

Theria's purple energy exploded into the air before the supercop had any time to react, and engulfed her in a ring of power that shot up from the ground and into the sky like a beacon, illuminating the storm clouds in all directions and burning all the nearby colors into shades of purple and magenta.

At the same time, Theria could feel the almost familiar wings sprouting from lo back, and the long, draconic muzzle extending forward from lo face, filled to the brim with razor sharp teeth. Horns stretched out from the top of lo head, and su could feel the powerful tail whipping through the air behind uvu, the heavy weight at the end of it a spiked club that was reassuring in its power. Purple flames wreathed lo arms and legs like a living cloak.

Su could feel the circle of power from the trap na set eating away at Constitution's form, the energy rushing through uvu from that song echoing at the edge of lo mind in an almost endless river, all of it surging straight into the circle, trying to overcome Constitution's unexpected resistance, all of it driven by pure instinct.

This was the first time Theria had used lo powers like this against a real living thing, and su was dismayed to see that it was more difficult to destroy something that was alive than it had been to destroy the stack of books na tried it on first.

So maybe lo powers were less like anti-matter and more like...

Well... okay, su didn't know what to compare it to, but it wasn't as efficient as na hoped it would be from how dramatic it looked, and how easily the shitty books su regretted buying had been disintegrated.

The magical purple energy that surged and sparked like electricity certainly /looked/ like it could kill someone in two seconds flat, but apparently not.

Finally, Theria felt the resistance give way, and /felt/ the energy completely consume Constitution, wiping her out of existence, with not even any dust to leave behind.

And then there was a strange sensation, like a spark of static electricity, only inside Theria's mind instead of on lo hand.

And just as instinctively as su knew how to use the purple energy, Theria now knew, somehow, that su had absorbed an ability from Constitution. Not from her amour or her flash baton, but from /her/.

/A healing ability./ The instinct seemed to whisper in Theria's mind.

Su let the beam of energy dissipate, and the darkness of the night swept back in, leaving uvu squinting into the dark for a few seconds before lo eyes began to adjust, allowing uvu to see Vanny and Eight's still unconscious forms lying on the cracked pavement.

Constitution had hit them both with her accursed baton, but she hadn't said what setting it was on, and it was too dark to see if they were still breathing. Maybe this was the final strike. Theria lunged forward, reaching for Eight's neck.

Ler skin was still warm, and it took a few frantic seconds to find a pulse. Vanny was the same.

Theria was just about to try out lo new healing ability to try and revive them when a familiar sound reached lo ears, sending a spike of dread and anger through lo heart.

Wings of Justice's theme.

He'd probably been alerted by the flare of light, or maybe Constitutions armour had sent out a distress signal. Either way, he'd be looking for a fight, like always. And if he knew Theria'd killed Constitution, all bets were off.

Trying to revive Vanny and Eight now would just put them in more danger, especially if su failed. Veris would be on her way any minute now, with whatever reinforcements she'd been able to find.

Theria needed to take the fight to Wings of Justice. The music was approaching rapidly. There wasn't even any time to drag lo friends to safety.

Su stood, and backed away from lo friends. Then su stretched out the wings on lo back, extending them to their fullest for the first time, guided only by the strange new instinct that seemed like a whisper in lo ear, guiding lo movements.

Su crouched, lifted lo wings, then leapt while shoving downward against the air.

Su shot into the sky, with shocking speed and ease, and somehow, su knew exactly what su needed to do. Su spun towards the sound of Wings of Justice's approach, and saw him shooting closer like a comet with a trail of red, white, and blue from his jetpack and wings.

Killing Constitution hadn't been enough to cool the rage that seemed to have taken up permanent residence inside Theria's veins. The flames surrounding uvu flared even higher, and su let out a primal shriek of wrath that rang out through the sky like a physical force.

Wings of Justice faltered in the air, and Theria shot forward as fast as su could, determined that by the time the sun rose, the shadow of injustice would never fall over anyone ever again.

Not if su had anything to say about it.

[who-is-muses]

Are the DbD Muses Missed?

A petty criminal, shyster, and general oddball, having cut all ties with their family the second they were able to leave on their own, Athanasios didn't have many connections in Greece. The closest group of people they had were murdered, Athanasios never being considered a suspect. The grounds of Alford’s manor were so viciously razed, there wouldn't be suitable earth for graves even if any bodies were found.

Carmina's exact fate was never discovered, but many reasonably assumed that she and her friends had been killed. Most likely for offending the wrong person or people. But the word never reached her father, the local authorities eager to cover the case up in every way possible. Not that Ernesto would have cared, or needed a confirmation after she tried to hide at home- served her right for sticking her nose where it didn't belong. He never forgave his daughter for his wife's necessary disappearance and young son's death.

Claudette was, and still is the pride and joy of her parents. She's been gone since 2008, and while the years have certainly been trying, they have not given up on her. Claudette's father especially, making it a habit to check with the National Centre for Missing Persons and Unidentified Remains and Canadian Centre for Information on Missing Adults for any information that could possibly be a lead on his daughter's case.

Many of the members of the Fold- which make up Druanee's form- left behind families, friends, jobs, neighborhoods. Their absences were all felt, yes, but after stepping foot on the Garden of Joy, they ceased to exist outside of that island. Some of their loved ones accepted they would never see them again over time, others passed away still holding onto hope. The only testament that the Fold ever existed- besides the Dredge itself- is the settlement they left behind, a ghost town of juxtaposing grand bayou style architecture and quaint Midwestern scenery.

Herman learned very quickly in life that no one would ever see him as anything beside an asset or annoyance- not even his own parents. They were both far too willing to accept he too had been killed in the slaughter within that Illinois farmhouse, spending the bare minimum on a funeral and symbolic headstone to avoid any odd looks from their peers. Yes, the notion that their only child had been murdered did shock the Carters- but, ultimately, it was a blessing in disguise to them to be rid of him, even if it was through such awful means.

Ever reclusive even in his life before the Fog, the only person that lived to remember Philip was his ex-boyfriend Royce. But then, Royce was under the suspicion Philip was directly helping Azimov, one of the causes for their final split (it’s a long story.) While Royce heard Philip went missing after Asimov's disfigured body and the dead kidnapping victim were discovered, he thought and still thinks it more likely he'd fled after killing his boss and a random bystander rather than was a third victim.

While Rin is certainly remembered, it's more as a tragedy than a person. The slaughter within the Yamaoka Estate is still fresh in the minds of Kagawa Prefecture's locals, occuring as recent as 2009- but, like many cases from Japan, Rin's tale is sadly region locked. While there are still occasional whispers in prefectures as far as Oita and Saitama, the Yamaoka tragedy never left the country. She has a symbolic grave on the grounds, along with the bodies of her mother and father.

Talbot’s parents were obsessed with being accepted by English high society; they didn't care when he moved away or where to, until someone inquired and they had the opportunity to brag about how their son had gone off to study at the London School of Medicine. When not even a letter returned, they began to concoct grand tales of their son's exploits to bolster their own images. When the questions about Talbot dwindled and ultimately died out, so did the majority of his parents' thoughts about him- save for the occasional wonder here and there. No one ever had reason to suspect he may have perished- and in fact vastly outlived both his parents by almost two decades- thus there is no headstone bearing his name.

[libidomechanica]

That hole where dead

Where thereat she dight feminine disease, as well.     Remember? That night way of day the superlative mud on the lowly groom that, from     answer&theyr eccho ring. But how sweet

a fact I loathed? Like a lasting has been fair and     to be a decent space, lyke as whott at his hole your wanton and darke but a ray. Now     will show these bands of the hazel eye,

bring forth her body is, poure his fire! Who shoes, and     of wrangle; and cracking up Pall Mall, an English as I gain an effort to hell, my     loue should be quite conservative in

sporten into a shadow steal for woman who     first spoke his furious eyes each beloved of my life shrunk in again, the subjects     worth did folly in my Muse, now shew

the excursive, break from variation, he line     of your face, and I see thee, myself, with this; who want to ride. Glow with might so long we     were fourth at once how the more strictly

both having few words the summe summer or Winter     came to Mortal paragon, an old midwife, she weathers are fairer than mine. To my     ain lassie, fair though his fame, or once

a kiddy upon a milk and young and scarcely     known a crib. And the vale you seem, but she is for the rash deed. Teaching like a flow in     the Green; but wasted in a nook, or

stand recorded did imputed grave touch’d the sweet     flower with blot of Treasons my way there was the friend, will not back-chat. In the woods no     matter, as also presented, and

I must, althought our days of seven change grows long     small poets canst not fairer than comparison to sneer at a diuels in a five pound     not tell not much the big white, her cheek.

On horse her proper place, hauing aloud, so is my     proue, some disguise of late though probably my fair; the them i want to set a glimpse of their     tumble, and having thoroughly

incontinent a songstress; and as a dog, as     usual parts of nature’s riches exposed not in scorn could I? Insists, in promises     much: but not fulfillment which so barred

wind, which now vnthough stream of passing. They not blossom     fortune swells upon his woode, except the vacant leaves. And all are topic which maids have     some slight with my while withstand ye this

tall and gone, not till glory round off by one not     water, some heiress or the bonds broken, but ioyed in lit like a poet’s maturity,     checks Summer’s able beyond the

time, and cold is only live poet’s verse, when pity     would give up artlessly both sides mething steps and darke but types of the base in those     fool with exasperately grew

my tomb. Bolts in either spirit by?—This is, a     dashing and cancelled cave, turquoise and deeds; lilies. Those icy change in one day I was     blue in the ground run this will we find

but well: this that madmen may vs with fainted     of life in the Amorous World! These our eccho ring. I bade me withall. Her foot shall     not soil and their ray was told Rose-Armed

Dawn, love’s Banquet lost that, out of books. Tho’ poor heart     not move, and thou were than complain. Have others inquired. With the green whirls in the moon,     that you seem, but by and foolish fashion,—

say what merit live my humblest brides. Earthly     things are so strong Arm—and opened and vouchsafe the grass-green my bones lie down on the     hae I been hatching eyes my heart is

mellow, good ship entangle about thy Impressions     which round himself in the green. All, yea, this moment on him; wedded strike him caught     ’ A spoon; o merry hae I been rent.

[qceensofkings]

continued from x.  @vegaprose​

She’s more than aware of his track record, his reputation... In politics, his family business, the race tracks... It’d almost be a crime for a young heiress stationed in an old English family in the area not to know. Her own family is very similar to his, working on a hierarchy, enforcing their will onto others through both persuasion and coercion. Hell, Izzy’s known as the family guard dog and even has been known to be an enforcer for her grandparents in the past. 

Everything she touches turns sour and rotten. Her own brother led to an early grave for attempting to pull his sister out of the family business. She’d been so young then, she couldn’t protect him, let alone herself. But she’s stronger now. She’s more capable of standing her ground and protecting her loved ones. 

“I know what you’re tryin’ to do. It’s admirable,” She muses as she shifts her weight to her less dominant foot, a sign she’s not going anywhere anytime soon, “But if you think that’s gonna put me off, it won’t. You think your demons are scary, you should meet mine.” She’s not trying to imply she’s had it worse. No doubt they both have had it rough and he’s probably gone through more than her but she knows how it can be. 

“I’ve spent my whole life being scared, Tommy. I’m not fuckin’ doing it anymore.”

[psychometrys]

@s4ints​. ( cont, )

    when nathanael was a boy     there were no dimly lit bus stops where you could huddle together to hide from the rain.   there were no boys to kiss in the dim street lights by the bus stops,   either.   or so he had been told.   but then again,   the very same people had also told him that that he was not quite a boy so perhaps they were just blind on more than one eye.   so perhaps he is a few years   .  .  .   decades to late but now he has a hand on cal’s waist  &  cal has one in his hair  &  their nose are brushing against each other with every shaky breath they take.

    “ you are beautiful,   you know? ”     he whispers because even now nathanael is incapable of enduring silence.   perhaps especially now.   not like cal has   .  .  .   though right now it might not lead to a heated debate rooting in their quite different ways of communication.   read :   one too much,   the other too little with no middle ground.   nathanael kisses him again,   quickly,   before he can put his foot in his mouth again.   fingers digging into cal’s hips,   breath shaking when he inhales through his nose.   he is grinning though,   into the kiss even.   disregarding just how much of a terrible idea that is.    “ &  you even taste like motor oil.   nerd. ”

     it’s with a force of habit that he still feels uneasy about sitting at a bus stop alone.   head fully down and headphones in,  mentally counting down the minutes until the bus arrives.   of course,  he is rarely actually alone these days and it’s not long before a presence manifests besides him.   one that cal has rapidly become accustomed to,  insisting on protecting him despite any prior mention that he can very well protect himself.   stubborn as the grave.   these days,  he tends to welcome nathanael’s presence,  especially when he helps pass the time by pulling cal close and kissing him.

     ❛  no, actually, you haven’t told me enough times.  ❜   he muses against his lips,  tasting the vibrations in the fraction of air between them.   fingers tangled up in nathanael’s curls dig in as he’s kissed with more force.   a faint squeak caught in his throat,  tensing at the pressure on his hips,  drawing him further in.   it’s dizzying and grounding at the same time.   cal pulls back a hair’s breadth further, eyes narrowing and head cocked on an angle.   ❛  what’s that supposed to mean, angel?  ❜   he scoffs with half exaggerated offense.

[olesyarostova]

                                            WHO ARE YOU?

                                         an olesya rostova playlist | noche task two

001. goddess by banks      002. leaving tonight by the neighbourhood      003. half by pvris      004. like that by bea miller      005. real life by the weeknd      006. lung by vancouver sleep clinic      007. the beach by the neighbourhood      008. you should see me in a crown by billie eilish      009. hurricane by fleurie      010. muddy waters by lp      011. dancer in the dark by chase atlantic      012. saints by echos      013. nobody’s home by avril lavigne      014. lovely by billie eilish & khalid      015. paint it, black by ciara      016. paradise circus by massive attack      017. play with fire by sam tinnesz & yacht money      018. a little wicked by valerie broussard      019. $ting by the neighbourhood      020. trouble by valeria broussard      021. dust & gold by arrows to athens

                                                       LISTEN

[teacasket]

this is me trying

genre: angst au: dark academia au, college au warnings: alcohol, implied alcoholism, implied drugs, swearing word count: 0.8k pairing: gn!reader x bang chan song: this is me trying by taylor swift

University is where child prodigies go to die.

Where bodies are laid to rest in a pile of ancient tomes and empty whiskey bottles, where epitaphs are carved on the posts of the crumbling stone staircase, where eulogies and elegies are read in the dusty theater no one gives a shit about.

Ghosts roam the hallowed grounds, looking for the body they once inhabited. Where has the dreamer gone? They tap the shoulders of every ashen individual, asking if they belong to them, but the tombstones are too many and the burial grounds too large. Too many unmarked graves, too many unclaimed bones. Child prodigies die in university, but so do regular children. Because when the fog creeps in, obscuring all the light of tomorrow, some sink deeper into the mist until they are wholly consumed. Others learn to catch the smoke with their hands and breathe themselves anew. But most stumble between the two choices, blind and lost, cradling themselves with the little comforts they have.

Golden brown whiskey because it is like infusing themselves with liquid sunshine. Cuban cigars because they can pretend they can control the fog. A line of the finest stardust because this is the only way they can feel weightless.

You trade your reading glasses for ones meant for drinking, your friends for the portrait of a stern man hanging over the common room fireplace. Midnight musings, melancholic minutes—all those you share with him. Occasionally you find company in the flickering flames whose heat keeps you from seeking warmth from anyone else. It burns from dawn to dusk, always a constant. Whenever you swallow a mouthful of whiskey, your spent soul blazes, and you know you can make it to morning.

Your head rattles, your brain sloshing side to side like the last dregs in the bottle. Everything is a familiar gray, and you cling to it as you stumble over the worn rug to the liquor cabinet. The prizes behind the locked glass are alluring. As you rest a hand on the pane, trying to envision the cool neck of a bottle in your palm, footsteps as loud as your heartbeat appear. Your ghost? Have they returned with your spirit? Though if they did, you already have plenty of spirits inside you.

Delirium overcomes you, letting a loose laugh leave your languid body.

The heavy oak doors open and shut, and you loll your head over to see who has decided to join you tonight. A heavy stone drops into your stomach. For now, you are sober, not a drop of alcohol coloring your composure. As you gently nudge your finished whiskey under the table with your foot, you slide your arms to your side, arrange your countenance to one of serenity instead of dread.

“Hey, what are you doing here?” you lightly ask. He stays an arm’s distance away. “I thought you had an exam early tomorrow.”

“You weren’t answering your phone. Your roommate said you weren’t in your dorm either.”

Ah, Jimin. One of the few who has learned how to conquer the fog with brilliant determination. You suppose Chan is one of those people as well. Even in the late hours when the ghosts populate the halls, his fortitude does not melt away completely.

“I was busy with my readings,” you say. The lie comes out smooth and sweet like beginner’s wine. “My phone probably died. You know how forgetful I am. What did you need me for?”

“To make sure you were okay. It’s almost three.”

“I’ll go to bed soon, I promise. You should go too,” you add, nodding to his pajama bottoms. They’re wet. He must have walked through the quad while coming here. “Go on. I’ll be fine. I am fine.”

“No, you’re not fine. I know you’ve been drinking again. I can smell it on you.”

“C’mon, everyone here drinks a little bit when studying.”

“Being like ‘everyone here’ isn’t a good thing.”

He reaches for your hand, but you hide it behind your back. He makes you weak. One touch and you start making promises you know you cannot keep.

“Fuck off, Chan,” you say sharply. “I don’t need your judgment.”

One hollow-point bullet to his heart. You do not stop there. You continue firing until your mouth is dry and your face is flushed. The man in the portrait looks at you approvingly as you cross your arms in preemptive defense of what Chan has to say next.

Finally, he replies, “You’re right. I can’t keep doing this with you either, so we’re done. I’m breaking up with you, and I don’t want to see you until you’re ready to get some help. Good night.”

It does not hurt at first. Then as sunlight streams in through the windows, the pain crashes down all at once, turning you into a pile of shattered glass.

Shit. You need some more whiskey.

[summercreolefanfictioner]

the crown and the throne (DiaLovers fanfic // Game of Thrones AU)

the prince who had nothing || ayato

Prince Ayato of the House Sakamaki. The Third Son of the King. The Heir to the Throne. The Conqueror. The Wielder of Blades.

That was Ayato's name... before he made a grave mistake. Now, he's been stripped of everything, and people call him different names—names that would only rub salt into his wounded ego.

The Rebel.

The Exiled.

The Problem Child.

The Prince of Nothing.

Ayato drank to his heart's content, feeling the bitter taste of beer linger at the tip of his tongue. He's been traveling to different countries outside Westeros ever since his prince title was removed from him. And to make things worse, he wasn't allowed to set even a part of his foot on the soil of Westeros until Karlheinz says otherwise.

He glared, gripping the handle of his mug tightly. He thinks people who pass by him bark a laugh at his stupidity.

What a fool, trying to defy his own king.

But Ayato knew to himself he only did the right thing. His father—no. NO. He can't even call him "Father" now. The fucking old man is nothing but a cruel piece of shit, womanizing behind their mother's back and impregnating women for the sake of power and the success of his evil schemes. Heck, even touched his sister maliciously (hence, the birth of Subaru).

Not only that. He sees them, his children, as nothing but mere pawns. The only time he calls them his children is when they've done something remarkable to him, like him conquering all the untouched lands near Westeros and making sure they obey no one but the King or when Laito gains valuable information from the enemy or how Kanato would use his darkness to burn their family's enemies to the ground.

But they had to suffer in exchange for being valuable.

Sometimes, he would hear Kanato cry to his stupid bear, whining about how he was tired of using his powers just for the sake of wanted affection. Laito might not know it to himself, but every so often, Ayato would notice the youngest triplet scratch his skin like it was dirtied. On the other hand, he remembered the innocent people he killed with his blade (Hildbrand) and their cries for help. He wanted to be sorry for them, but how could he be sorry?

He killed them deliberately, and all because of his parents' bidding.

That's why I had to do it, he justifies, even if it had gone in the wrong direction. Even if I lost everything.

And for him, what he meant with everything was Yui.

Yui was the only light to his dark days, the one who comforted him with her words of wisdom and reality. The only woman who embraced him as the prince who stained his hands with sin.

Yui... she was my lady.

He drank away his sorrows with the last of his beer, wiping off the bitter liquid from his mouth. He had always promised her they will leave Westeros and marry somewhere they could live in peace and have many children. But after he had taken her innocence and kissed her lips with assurance, the High Priest, Seiji Komori, married her off to one of his cousins, Shin Tsukinami.

In the middle of his musings, he felt someone watching him, probably one of his father's men or from the enemy households who wanted him dead. He didn't get to chug down his other drink, slipping his hoodie back on as he went out of the pub.

He saddled on his horse and commanded it to go faster. He has to lead them away. It was already nighttime, and he didn't want to deal with pests before he goes to sleep. However, he could sense them nearing him as he went into the forest. It was getting harder for him now to make a way out.

Curse the moon for not sparing some light.

One of the men after him drew an arrow and was about to shoot him when a dragon swept in front of them and shrieked, blazing them alive with its flames. Ayato immediately pulled his horse to a stop, witnessing how the animal protected him. Well, the dragon was the size of a small dog. Nonetheless, it can blow fires that will send the whole forest down.

Once they were turned into nothing but ashes, the dragon turned to him and set him on fire. Ayato tried to protect himself, but the fire didn't burn him. Instead, it just coated his body as the dragon whimpered, sending an unknown message that he was its master.

As the fire died down, the dragon flew again and Ayato decided to follow it. He smirked in delight.

Prince Ayato, The Unburnt, the name sounds heavenly.

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[skyloftian-nutcase]

A Dragon’s Care Pt 1 (Skyward Sword Fanfic)

HAHA HELP I’VE BEEN SUCKED INTO LEGEND OF ZELDA SO HARD

I discovered LoZ in January and for a while was just gobbling up fanfiction but now my muse is tickling so here we are. These aren’t really entire chapters, just kind of scenes that coalesce into a single story. Skyward Sword Link is by far my favorite Link and I want to take care of my precious cinnamon roll, so what could be more entertaining than dragons being stuck with a tiny gravely ill sky child?

Next chapter

A Dragon’s Care - Faron

Faron was simply minding her own business when this obnoxious loftwing flew in out of nowhere. She’d seen loftwings on occasion when she’d seen Levias, but the goddess-appointed guardians had never really impressed her too much. She respected their duty, but beyond that…

 They were exasperating.

 “What are you even doing here?” she asked, annoyed, as the crimson loftwing flapped its wings and squawked. The cloud barrier had only disappeared barely a week ago and these things were already coming to pester her. It was only when she leaned down that she noticed the loftwing had something under one of its claws. It must have brought it there and laid it on the ground.

 Upon closer inspection, she realized that it wasn’t an it at all.

 Was that the hero?

 Faron bent over and the loftwing took a few steps back to allow her to examine the situation. It was indeed the little hero. He looked smaller than usual, pale and sweaty, and still as a stone. Faron glanced up at the loftwing. “Is he injured?”

 The loftwing chirped.

 Faron huffed. “Well I don’t know what you want me to do. If he can’t even take care of himself—”

 Her ramblings were interrupted by her servants all splashing in the water, echoing each other’s frantic and concerned calls to the hero. She sighed. What exactly was this bird expecting of her?

 The loftwing puffed out its chest and whistled a familiar tune. Faron stiffened. That was Levias’ identifiable song.

 Levias had sent him.

 Faron grumbled. She couldn’t say no to a request from him, but she still wasn’t sure what had even happened that Levias thought she could address it. She didn’t dislike the hero, but she also didn’t like being inconvenienced like this. After all, it was apparent the hero couldn’t handle his duties, so why should she have to step into a role that was not hers?

 Well, the cloud barrier had disappeared. That had to indicate the sky child had done something right.

 The loftwing’s singing ended, and it squawked loudly, extending its wings.

 “All right, all right,” Faron acquiesced with an irritated wave of her hand. “Just stop screaming. I’ll see what I can do.”

 Bending forward so she was almost touching the tiny hero, she poked him with a clawed finger. His body trembled under her hand, so thin and frail, and even she found her usually chilly heart melting a little. Whatever the hero had gotten himself into, he was not faring well. However, she did not see any immediate injury. She’d have to examine some more.

 “Get his clothes off,” she ordered her servants, pushing the hero towards the edge of the water so they could better reach him.

 The hero’s loftwing watched with curiosity, agitation clear in its features as it shifted from foot to foot. It hissed when one of her servants approached the hero, and they shrank back with a squeal.

 Faron rolled her eyes. “Let them help.”

 The loftwing rumbled, its feathers fluffing out just a bit in acquiescence. Her servants swam near the shore once more.

 Jellyf led the school of Parellas, reaching her snout towards the hero’s cream colored tunic. Despite several attempts, however, it quickly became apparent that the lack of opposable thumbs—or any hands at all—was making the venture fruitless. The only thing happening was that the hero was getting steadily more soaked in water.

 The Parellas grew more frantic in their attempts, and the hero nearly slipped into the lake. Faron pinched the bridge of her nose to fight the oncoming headache. “Get away, I’ll handle it.”

 Jellyf apologetically backed away, leading her fellows from the stone island. Faron sighed heavily and pinched the tiny hero’s even tinier tunic. She felt like she was playing with a rag doll, slipping the tunic ever so carefully over the hero’s head so her large talons wouldn’t hurt him. His head almost unceremoniously hit the ground as soon as the tunic was pulled off, and Faron hissed, trying to slip a finger under his head and only barely catching it in time.

 This was ridiculous. She was a dragon, not some babysitter and she was not equipped to handle such a small charge.

 Faron looked over the hero’s torso and saw old bruises, very apparent and angry looking lightning scars, and bandages freshly wrapped. If he’s already gotten treatment, then why did Levias send him here?

 Perhaps it was something elsewhere. Faron plucked at the boy’s trousers next, slipping them off with more ease since she didn’t have to worry about damaging his head. His legs bore a similar appearance to the rest of his body, though they did not bear electrical injuries like his right arm and shoulder seemed to.

 The little hero was laid bare and shivering slightly, covered in a layer of sweat and pale as the stone beneath him. Faron furrowed her brow, confused.

 Then she looked at the loftwing. “…Is he sick?”

 The bird flapped its wings, chirping. Faron sighed. She supposed that was the issue, then. Or perhaps the hero was just too weak after his injuries. But clearly he or someone had already treated the wounds.

 Curious, Faron pinched at the bandages, her sharp claws easily cutting the fabric so it slid off the hero’s trembling body. The wounds underneath looked to be healing, but smells of herbs and sick wafted from them.

 So that was the issue. Faron sighed again.

 Looking to her servants, she ordered, “Get my basin.”

 The Parella swam away quickly, repeating “Basin! Basin!” as they went. Faron knew she’d have to go retrieve sacred water herself, so she looked to the crimson loftwing next. “Keep him warm. I’ll be back.”

 Her servants returned with the basin, and she quickly headed out. It didn’t take long, thankfully, and when she arrived back at her chamber she found the loftwing practically roosting on its charge. For Farore’s sake… what a ridiculous lot.

 Waving the bird away, she set the basin down, half full since the hero was so small, and scooped him up with one hand. He was limp in her hold, his breathing shaky. It was honestly a little alarming how weak he was in comparison to when she saw him last. What had happened? She had sensed the triforce activate, had sensed the evil leave the realm. Was the journey to get the triforce that perilous, or were these wounds from the demon king himself? Both?

 “I suppose I’ll find out when you wake,” she muttered, slipping the hero into the basin and making sure he was situated where his head remained above water. He shivered again in the water, and she pursed her lips. “It might be chilly, but it’ll get the infection out of your wounds better than those herbs.”

 Jellyf swam towards the island. “Will he be okay?”

  “He should be fine,” Faron assured. “He just needs time.”

[omniversentertwined-archive]

TAG DUMP .005: ADONIS

[ OH HOW WE EVOLVE AND GROW INTO TWISTED BEASTS WITH A DESIRE FOR DISORDER ] ; ADONIS [ IT DOESN’T GET BETTER / IT NEVER GETS BETTER / IT GETS WORSE ] ; ADONIS HEADCANNONS [ IT NEVER USED TO HURT BEFORE / IT ISN’T FUNNY ANYMORE ] ; ADONIS MUSING [ THE ENRAGED ELDER ; REPLACED AND WRATHFUL ] ; ADONIS MAIN VERSE [ I’VE GOT ONE FOOT IN THE GRAVE WHILE THE OTHER ONE KICKS ITS WAY RIGHT DOWN TO HELL ] ; ADONIS ANSWERS [ HERE WITH ABRASIVE EYES / PAIN IN PLAIN SIGHT ] ; ADONIS VISAGE [ EITHER LEARN TO LIVE A LIE / OR STAND WAITING HERE TO DIE ] ; ADONIS AESTHETIC [ WITH MY MIND ON FIRE I’LL TRY TO STAND MY GROUND ] ; ADONIS STARTER CALL [ DON'T YOU KNOW YOUR WISH IS COMING TRUE TODAY / ANOTHER VICTIM DIES TONIGHT ] ; ADONIS FIGHT RP [ NO FORGIVENESS FOR ALL I’VE SEEN AND DEGRADATION I CANNOT FORGET ] ; ADONIS DASH COMMENTARY

[sapphicwhump]

After Irithyll 5 - Lesson

Fandoms: Dark Souls, Dark Souls III Tropes: emotional whump, caretaker misunderstanding TWs: implied branding

[ Previous | First | Read on AO3 ]

        Since you began your daily ritual of breakfasts together, Karla has become noticeably more vivacious in her daily activities. She’s moving around more regularly now, exploring the Shrine grounds with less of her weight carried by her hexing staff. She’s even making conversation with the others somewhat; you spot her trading a few words with Cornyx one morning, and to your surprise, they don’t even seem to be unpleasant ones. Although she definitely has a long way to go, it warms your heart to see her come out of her shell a bit more each day.

        And of course, it isn’t long before she begins teaching you the dark pyromancies that Cornyx had so long denied you.

        Karla leans against an archway of the Shrine amphitheater, in which you slew Iudex Gundyr so long ago. It had taken days of cajoling to pry her away from the confines of Firelink Shrine, but as it turns out, the Cemetery of Ash makes for a surprisingly good training ground. The open spaces are convenient for demonstrating more powerful spells, and the numerous hollows are useful for target practice.

        “The most basic dark pyromancy is Black Fireball. The technique is similar to a regular Fireball, but fueled from your humanity rather than your soul. Allow me to demonstrate.”

        Karla's Flame goes black, before swelling into a writhing mass that coalesces in the shape of an orb. The black fire licks at the long sleeve of her witch’s robe, tearing at the fabric where it meets her wrist. She hurls the projectile upwards at an angle, allowing it to arc towards a distant hollow. The orb of black fire impacts a grave about a foot up and to the right of its intended target, exploding the weathered headstone into a shower of pebbles.

        “Heh, we’ll see if you have a sharper aim than I do.” she muses. “Remember, unlike how you’d fuel a pyromancy from your soul, hexes are instead fueled by your humanity. Your deepest, most sinful emotions; shame, envy, wrath, and such, are all aspects of being human. When one goes hollow, this is what they lose. Feeding these emotions will draw out the Dark within you. For this spell, think about the most humiliated you’ve ever been in your life.”

        You nod, and close your eyes.

        “Feel the shame burning you. Focus on that burning. Be consumed by it until you can’t feel anything else.”

        You open your mouth to speak, but Karla interrupts you. “You don’t have to tell me. Just focus.”

        You nod again appreciatively, and your face scrunches in concentration and pain.

        “Now, picture whoever or whatever made you feel this way. Allow yourself to hate them. Capture the desire to destroy their being, to bring them low as they brought you.”

        You’re clenching your jaw hard enough for it to hurt. You nod again.

        “Now, strike them down.”

        Rage blends with the anguish as a smoky purple-blackness swirls around your palm. You can feel the dark presence overtake your Pyromancy Flame, your pain made manifest, needing nothing more than some outlet, an entry point into the world to seek and burn and destroy—

        But then you catch sight of Karla’s face, softly shaded beneath the brim of her witch’s hat in the midday sun, and all the pain evaporates. It would seem that a certain level of gauntness is her natural state, but her cheeks have still filled out nicely since her arrival at the Shrine. There’s something about the gentle curve of her jawline that magnetically draws your attention; makes you want to observe it.

        Your Flame reverts back to its usual orange, the Dark failing to coalesce.

        “Hm. Well, these things take time and practice. I didn’t get it on my first try either. In the future, try to avoid any distractions.” She cracks a knowing smirk from beneath the brim of her hat, and you feel your face heat.

        “I didn’t enjoy that. It’s not a fun memory.”

        “The ones that fuel hexes never are.” she replies with a hint of sorrow, reassuming her relaxed position against the archway. “Again.”

        It takes a few more tries to successfully conjure the black flame. The memory weighs on you, until you feel you’ve wrung every bit of humiliation you possibly could from it. You’ve almost gotten used to the way it makes your breathing shallow and chest tighten with each recollection.

        It’s with great stress that you finally get a projectile into the air. The misery is crushing now, and you can’t get past how weak you are, how pathetic you must be to have let this happen to you. The feeling only turns to despair as the throw goes wide, tearing up the ground well short of the hollow you were targeting.

        “I…” You draw in a shaky breath, trying to still the trembling in your chest. “I dunno if I can keep doing this.”

        “Well, I did warn you. Do you see now why this is a wicked art?” Karla says, and you can’t offer a response. “Do you wish to continue, or shall we adjourn for the time being?”

        As miserable as you feel right now, allowing yourself to fail would be even worse. “...No. I want to learn this.”

        “Very well then.” she acknowledges flatly. “That intensity of emotion you feel is required to produce the hex. For this to work, you must accept your pain and then channel it. The Dark is naturally easier to tap into for those already burdened by great suffering.”

        “Like you?”

        She gives you a ferocious glare. “Just try it again.”

        You try to summon up the same humiliation, but once again you’re distracted. What past horrors does Karla draw on for her hexes? You think back to her state when you found her in Irithyll dungeon, and again in her alcove after her nightmare, huddled in a ball, trembling and sobbing. You remember her robe staining the wash basin red like a battlefield. What do you know about what really happened to her?

        You think back to the jailers, with their sickening masks and branding irons and life-draining spells. You can imagine it clear as day, them prying open the rusty lock on her cell and drawing out that same scream from her nightmare, over and over. Just the thought is nauseating, sending a jolt of terror and hate through your gut. Her scream echoes in your head, and everything is a blur of rage and fear and love and the overwhelming, single-minded need to make this stop.

        Chilling flames lick at your palm. There’s a throw, and the audible crunch of an impact. In the distance, a hollow bursts into chunks of meat and bone.

        “Interesting. That one was particularly explosive; I could feel the hatred tinging it.” Her soft smirk returns. “The emotion you draw from determines the character of the hex. Once you’ve mastered humiliation, you’ll be able to move onto other aspects of the Dark such as envy, or lust for power, or desire to protect the ones you love. For today, just keep practicing this one. If you wish to continue these lessons, you might soon be as wicked of a heretic as me.”

        “Um… I don’t think it was humiliation I used for that spell.”

        “Oh?”

        “I’m not totally sure how to describe it. The feelings were… complex.” You cast another glance up and down her form. “You mentioned a desire to protect the ones you love?”

        Her eyes narrow. “Who?”

        “...You.”

        Her smile has vanished, replaced by something almost fearful. “I see.”

        She’s silent for a long moment, her gaze falling onto anything but you, before she seems to remember she has a lesson to finish. “...Perhaps it would be for the best if we didn’t keep attempting that spell. If humiliation isn’t working, we should try a different approach.”

        Karla screws her eyes shut and concentrates for a moment, before sighing almost mournfully. Again her Flame goes black, although this time she gently lifts it into the air rather than hurling it. Five tiny orbs of Dark materialize in an arch behind her, swirling around her head like lost spirits. Two points of light twinkle within each one, and as you examine them, you could swear one stares back at you. Karla gestures with an outstretched finger at a distant hollow, and the orbs drift through the air towards their target, tracking its movements even as it shambles away. The hollow crumples to the ground with a hole through its chest as soon as the first orb makes contact, but the others still swarm its corpse, piercing it and then whirling around to pierce it again as they gradually fade into nothingness.

        “Homing spells are certainly harder to miss with.” she comments offhandedly, her face sullen. “That hex is drawn from loneliness. The Dark seeks to connect with its target, and yet it never can, making brief contact and then fleeing over and over, until it sputters out.”

        Despite the impressive spell, you find yourself more focused on observing its caster. The shift of her muscles under taut skin and black cloth again captures your rapt attention. Her spindly fingers dextrously manipulate the orb of Dark in her palm; you notice her first two nails are chewed short, even as the rest are unkempt. The black fire has left her robe even more distressed than it was previously, exposing her slender forearm—as well as a strange mark along it.

        The mark is straight where it disappears beneath her torn sleeve, before splitting into a fork just before her wrist. It’s twisted and swollen above the rest of her flesh, the pink irritation clashing with the ashen tones of her skin. It looks disturbingly like she’s taken a precise cut-out of someone else’s arm, and grafted it onto her own. It occurs to you that maybe she has. There’s a vague awareness that you’ve seen that shape somewhere before, but you fail to recall where or when.

        Karla catches where your eyes are focused, before she quickly clasps a hand over her wrist and tugs her sleeve down to cover it. What follows is seconds of intense, uncomfortable eye contact, her stare equally mortified and accusatory.

        “...Is there something on your arm?”

        “Well I think that’s fairly obvious, isn’t it?” she snaps at you. “If you would be so kind, please do not inquire about it again.”

        Without further notice, she turns back toward the Shrine. “That’s all I have to teach you today. If you wish, we will continue this lesson tomorrow, Ashen One.”

        Before you can even tell her to wait, she’s already hurrying away. As you watch her climb the stairs out of the graveyard, her limp seems more severe than when you’d walked outside with her this morning.

        Guilt bites in immediately. Did you do something wrong? What could’ve provoked her? Something about that mark on her arm; the shape of it was so familiar. Where have you seen it before? It was almost like a letter Y, but upside down—

        Your stomach sinks like a stone.

        Oh. That’s what it was.

        You reenter Firelink Shrine feeling as if you’ve terribly transgressed, and you do not seek out Karla again the next day.

[ Next ]

[obutsuwrites]

crybaby (therapist!overhaul x f!reader)

summary: She nodded, too ashamed and drunk on her own high to function. 

Unsatisfied by her response, Chisaki grabbed her face. Her rosy cheeks squished in his grip. Chisaki realized she was cute like this. A little puffy fish. 

“You’re being such an annoying pig. My patience is growing thin. Tell me. Tell me you want my cock.” His sentence stumbled from him, in between heavy breaths. 

The woman buried her face in his chest, “Please fuck me, Kai. I need it -- please, please, please.”  warnings: boot worship, dubcon, light scalpel play, male masturbation, light medical play, praise, smut, overstimulation, yandere elements word count: 4,162 lil note: this was written as part of the bnha degeneracy 9 to 5 collab! also we like the banner?? i’m thinking of bein fancy with my posts now 👉👈 masterlist | tipjar | twitter | commission info | ask box is open (for requests)

"His eyes were lifeless. No light entered, no light left. I guess," the woman pauses and pushes out a gravely sigh, "no… refraction." Chisaki Kai notes she says the word with grief; as if it were painful. He scribbles a note: overemotional. Golden eyes examined the woman. Scanning and memorizing the imperfections in her armor. The woman that sat comfortably. It was like her little sad frame didn't bother her. Her body shook and a whimper escaped. 

'Fascinating,' he thought. She was a pathetic creature. Sobbing once a week into his fine leather. The woman was an ugly crier. Her face would swell; puffy and pink. Eyes glossy and red. Sometimes, Chisaki's pants would constrict from the display. Misery in it's finest form. A show just for him. 

Chisaki would be lying if he didn't think this blubbering woman would look better wrapped around his cock. Her squishy face smashed against his groin. Eyes watery and looking up, words of praise muffled. Latex gloves gripping her hair as he degrades her. 'A pathetic little crybaby.'

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

The first time she had cried, Chisaki sent her packing. His stern voice demanding she "fix her attitude" before returning. Yet, the very next week this weepy woman crumbles. Her voice was a howl. Low and haunting. She'd shake. Her tiny body unable to contain grief. It was disgusting. This was time for help, not fits. The second time, Chisaki only found it unsightly. 

But the third time? The third time she was able to speak, and her voice trembled. Words so sad and awful. She was lesser than him. She was pathetic. 

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Eventually, Chisaki memorized her trauma; low self esteem and a lack of power from an event involving a roommate. Some days he learned more than others. Sometimes the woman would simply come to cry. No words, simply the sound of her wails. They bounced off the room like rubber. Her sobbing stuck in his ears like honey. Thick. Syrupy. Sweet. 

Nothing seemed to improve during their sessions. It was always one fit after another. No change. No spiral. This crybaby was the only constant for Chisaki. His patients came and went, conditions manageable. But this little crybaby of a woman was expected every Friday at 4. Punctuality was her only redeeming quality. There was something pleasant in appreciating Chisaki's time. 'Considerate' was the word. 

She stopped crying as the clock struck 6. 'Like clockwork.' Truthfully, Chisaki believed the woman allowed herself this insecurity. The two hours with him were cathartic. He circles the word in his notes. His canary eyes were glued to her file now. The woman's face was bland and uninteresting. 'You look so plain like this.' A scowl returned to Chisaki's lips. 

"Thank you, Dr. Chisaki," the woman beamed. She often pretended as if she hadn't wept. As if Chisaki were paying her a kindness. It enraged him; she was scum. Her position was beneath him. Her eyes wouldn't leave him. Glossy and wrinkled in a grin. 

'Sickening.' 

Chisaki suppressed a shiver, "I appreciate our talks," his lips twist into a smile, "Drive home safely." He always emphasized the talking. Her trembling lips and heavy voice were erotic in a way. Chisaki wondered what her tears tasted like. He envisioned himself atop her; fingers exploring her pussy, tongue lapping at her tears. 

He watched the woman leave. Golden orbs trained on her back. She took her time leaving; punishment for watching her cry. Chisaki’s cheeks grew hot. It was nauseating to think of bending her over the fine leather. Chisaki was convinced she’d be obedient, her ass waiting in the air. 

‘You’d be a soaking little crybaby, wouldn’t you?’

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

His evening began with ritual. Chisaki slipped off his slacks, opting to keep his sweater on. He felt less dirty that way. His cock sprung from his boxer briefs. Heavy and veiny. Chisaki rubbed the tip before spitting on it. He rubbed the spit in, thinking of her. Drooling and sobbing on his cock. Chisaki wanted to rob her of oxygen, ‘Her face must be so cute when she chokes.’ The thought hit Chisaki as he stroked his length. He grunted, palm pumping his cock. His other hand cradled his balls, softly kneading. Orgasms felt so dirty. Unnatural. Viscous cum shot into the pillowy deepness of a tissue. 

He looked at it and groaned. Tossing the tissue away, Chisaki started preparation. 

The hum of a computer filled his bedroom. It was ancient, but Chisaki wasn’t picky. Besides, the rudimentary technology only served one purpose. This was Chisaki’s gateway into ‘hysteria and the female orgasm.’ A million and five hundred thousand results. Everything at his fingertips. He observed her enough -- watched her enough to realize what she needed. She needed his latex clad fingers. His cock buried in her seeping core. He’d stretch her, ruin her body for anyone but him. Her cunt was made for him. 

Chisaki sat in his underwear. Face focused on an order page. Recently, Chisaki found himself hyper focusing on this fantasy; his little crybaby overstimulated and mewling, begging Chisaki for relief. She’d pray for his cock. He was her only release. 

The plan was simple. Allow her to breakdown as usual until he could no longer handle it. Then, he’d offer the woman a glass of water. Claiming that she must be ‘so dehydrated.’ If she refused, Chisaki planned to persist. ‘It’s for my peace of mind, too.’ He could strike her vulunability. Show her someone cared. She was naive and too stupid, so clearly she would lap up his kindness. Insist on drinking every last drop, letting the ‘medication’ take full effect. This necessity was for his sake. Chisaki didn’t want his crybaby too loud. 

His mind drifted to her wiggling beneath him, his boot pressed against her cheek. Perhaps he would force her to lick it, if only to remind her of her place. 

“Beneath me,” he murmurs as a hand sneaks under his waistline. 

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

His kit sits comfortably, tucked behind a bookshelf. Chisaki recognized he needed items. Physical means to make his vision into reality. He anticipated she would come into his embrace quietly… but a part of him hoped she’d fight him. Permit him to make an example of her. Chisaki’s chest tightened. The clock ticked slowly, as if chastising Chisaki for his plans. However, he knew she needed this -- needed him. 

In his kit sat latex gloves, rope, a scalpel, and an expensive vibrator. The personal massager took some convincing to buy; he hated the idea of a market for these… toys… but it was essential. Her face had to be flushed and sweaty. It was important she knew how inferior she was. Chisaki was doing her an injustice by letting the woman merely exist without him. 

A soft beep echoed; the beginning of his plan. Chisaki sat with his legs crossed. Leisurely. Slender fingers atop his notes. The little pile before him was a fraction of his observations. His little crybaby was interesting, to say the least. She was his favorite client. Chisaki was almost embarrassed by the sheer volume of material he kept. His closet was home to clothes and boxes; all filled with parchment. Their margins were adorned in highlight and sticky notes. Chisaki was nothing if not dedicated. 

Quiet foot falls marked her arrival. The woman would always stand outside until Chisaki welcomed her in. Even asking permission for her therapist appointment. There was something admirable about it -- something Chisaki had to break. 

“Come in,” Chisaki called. His voice carried an airy professionalism. Yellow eyes briefly looked up, but quickly returned to the floor. Chisaki held his lust by memorizing the carpet. 

She shuffled in, gently shutting the door behind her. Despite the miserable crybaby mannerisms, the woman was quite polite. ‘Very well trained for a mutt,’ Chisaki mused. Silence was heavy between them; this weeping woman was never consistent with greetings. Somedays, she wouldn’t choke out a ‘hello’ until deep within her misery. Her words obviously muted by her hands. She liked to cradle her face, Chisaki believed it was to stimulate intimacy. Something she was clearly lacking. 

Settling into a chair, she managed a meek ‘hello’ before salty tears brimmed her eyes. Chisaki snuck a glance; she looked in pain. Her bottom lip stuck between teeth. The woman nibbled at the flesh. Anything to alleviate her sadness. The sharp pain was a perfect anchor.

‘I won’t cry. I won’t cry in front of him today.’ She was going to will herself to hold back tears and actually talk. It was kind enough of Dr. Chisaki to let her openly bawl. In all honesty, the woman hated herself for it. At this point, she was only paying him to watch. The poor man was probably too shy -- too professional to ask her to quit. She was abusing his altruism. The woman bit back a shiver, puffing out her chest. Swallowing sadness. 

Chisaki looked up. Silence between them this early was… "Are you okay?" Her name comes out like a melody. Something he wants to say forever. Chisaki gripped his clipboard. He needed to ground himself. Find haven in reality. 

She stares back, "I come here bec--"

"Don't say it," he murmured. Hand resting comfortably on her thigh. There was an obvious barrier; her leggings. Plush. Almost like her pillowy thighs. Chisaki groped at the plump flesh; "You're so soft." His fingers wander to pinch, "It's disgusting."

The woman remained quiet. Debating with his hand creeping toward her thigh felt dangerous. Dr. Chisaki made her feel dirty; lewd, maybe? She wasn’t sure. The heat in her core was becoming overwhelming. Her mouth moved to speak, but nothing fell out. Empty.

“Silent now, are we? What happened to your big speech? Tell me about how you’re feeling… right now.” His words were a command. No trace of a request. Chisaki needed to hear her quake; wiggle against his clothed bulge. 

Saliva pooled in her mouth. Anxiety, anxiety, anxiety. 

“I want to go home,” She blubbered, voice strained and whining. Her vision was blurry at best. Everything was splotchy. Dr. Chisaki was an imposing shape of purple and black. She knew he wore a tie; simple deep purple. Shirt. His shirt is black. It takes her a moment to compose thoughts. His hand and her only time to weep were overstimulating.

Chisaki continued his assault, fingers violently rubbing at her covered slit. He wanted to see a tear before the gloves. Before her examination. His cock pulsated at the thought. Latex in her mouth, stuffing her with the cure his cock. A shock -- an orgasm (even this word was perverse to Chisaki) would dislodge any feverishness. Dissipation. Her cries for him. 

“You’re crying,” Chisaki commented; hand slow against her crotch, “Little crybaby.” 

The woman muffled a sob and instead bit her lip. Blood bloomed in the corner of her smile. The doctor was a curse. This was illegal. He shouldn’t be touching her like this. 

He sighed.

“Nothing just as I suspected.” 

“This... “ A heave interjects, “This is my time. I can’t express myself like this.” She motions to her tears. Honestly, the woman was high-strung. Revealing herself -- taking off a mask -- was cathartic. Liberation in its purest form. 

He pursed his lips and harshly removed his hand. The auburn haired man stood up; crossing the room to a benign black bag. Chisaki rooted around for his gloves. Latex, white, a barrier between them. Chisaki wanted to touch her briefly -- skin to skin was important. Necessary. Something unavoidable. 

A snap resounded through the room. Loud. Interrupting. Chisaki wanted to be heard. He wanted her to gawk; eyes glued to him. 

Her face erupted into confusion. Fear nestled into her veins. Too cold, too much. "What is..?" The woman's voice is quiet and still muffled from tears. 

'This is the cutest you've looked, isn't it?' Chisaki thought of pinching her cheeks, examining the damage. His pants constricted. It was a kindness to teach this wrenched woman her place. 

"Keep talking. This is a part of your therapy," Chisaki stated plainly. He rummaged in the bag further, producing something thin and shiny; metallic caught in the fluorescence. Uncomfortable by the sight, the woman shifted her gaze to his feet. His choice of footwear was odd. Polished, tar black boots. His footfalls were anything but quiet. Roaring. Really, she found it intimidating. 

“Please…” She didn’t know why she begged like this. Dr. Chisaki wasn’t supposed to be this cruel. He was a therapist -- her therapist. He seemed so balanced before. Normal. And yet the man before her stood with molten eyes and a scalpel. 

Slowly, the auburn haired man strode toward her. As if he were a lion savoring his meal. Inspection for prime dread. “Don’t be stupid and move. It’d be a shame if I,” Chisaki paues to taste the words, “hurt you.” Like any greedy man, Chiaski expected resistance. 

But like a good little doe, she stares into the scalpel. ‘So moronic shiny things distract you.’ In a way, he found it enduring. She was so pathetic, so useless without his sympathetic ear. Functioning without him must be a chore; he was her sanctuary. 

He stops in front of her, boot tapping against wood. “I think it’s beneficial you learn your place, don’t you? Society must be so pressuring for you. As your licensed healthcare professional, it’s my business.”

The woman gathered remaining courage. 

“I’ll call the police.” Before her threat was tangible, Chisaki grabbed her wrists. They fit perfectly in one gloved hand. 

“Stop being such a little crybaby bitch.” Cool metal touches her cheek. A warning from Dr. Chisaki. 

A shiver overtook her spine. The scalpel was new, shiny, and sharp. He could slice into her face right now, nothing was truly stopping him. Anxiety bubbled in her mind. This man was dangerous. Maybe, maybe monstrous. He listened to her, let her reveal such an intimate part, only to turn on her trust. Betrayal in the worst form. 

The woman doesn’t respond.

“Get on all fours,” Chisaki commanded. He punctuated his sentence with a shove. “You’re such a pig bitch, you know that right? It’s sad you think anyone would listen to you sob.”

Her eyes grew into shock. With trembling hands, the woman gets on her knees. Her palms were flat atop spotless wood. Dr. Chisaki was quirky like that. If anything, she admired him for it. He seemed so disciplined. ‘All lies,’ she thinks, melancholy stuck in her eyes. Her heart practically ached. Ached for herself, ached for him.

His lips curled into a smirk. Eyes genuinely wrinkled. Finally, this succubus learned. A jolt of excitement shot through his cock; the member twitching. 

“Kiss my boots.”

She blinked at his demand. Her mind had to catch up. She needed to absorb the sentence. Should she resist, kick him, and take off? Could she? Her mind swirled with violent images. Large hands wrapped around her throat. His naked body sweaty against hers. 

The woman decided to comply. Chisaki watched in anticipation as her lips made contact with glossy leather. Staying up to wax them was worth it for this. Every fantasy was drab compared to her. She was meek; placing light kisses. Her lips ghosted and left little spit puddles in her wake. Chisaki felt a certain hotness in his stomach. The act was so disgusting, and yet, Chisaki was grinding his bulge into his palm. 

Suddenly, the woman stopped and looked up at her confidant. “Can I -- please -- can I leave now?” 

Chisaki frowns. She doesn’t sound broken enough. ‘Fixed enough,’ he corrects. ‘She needs to be fixed. Cured.’

“Did I say you could stop?” The auburn man sneered. He stomped his boot, his patient mask falling. “Keep kissing them. Slobber on them, little pig. Show me how worthless you are.”

Her tongue whirled around, saliva dotting his boots. She sounded flustered. Huffs and soft squirming. “How are you feeling? You seem to be enjoying it.” 

Without meeting his predatory gaze, she whimpered in between sloppy kisses, “I -- I love this so much, Dr. Chisaki.” Such an obedient crybaby. 

“We know each other enough for Kai, you know that.” 

Eager yellow eyes watched. Excitement lit up inside his veins. Hot and unable to reject. 

Being complacent was her only means of survival now. She stopped, doe eyes boring into him.

Drool trailed from her lips, joined with his boot. “Kai, can I?” Her warm hand removed his and rubbed his crotch. Delicate fingers feeling his length, massaging girth and veins. A vibrating, rough groan escaped Chisaki. Something deep. Something feral. It was a sound the woman couldn’t fathom. 

And yet, she felt a tingle between her thighs. 

Chisaki stroked her face. Squishy and tear-stained; she should be embarrassed. How humiliating must it be to grovel and sob? It was pitiful in a way. Broken. Pathetic. “Let me see how much you want my cock, like the filthy pig you are. So greedy.”

In response to his harsh words, the woman graciously unbuckled his sleek belt, and quickly unbuttoned his slacks. His cock was constrained underneath boxer-briefs. The cut showed off his calves, toned and lean. Being this close to Chisaki reminded her how big he was -- he towered over her. 

She fumbled with the hem of his underwear. Unsure if he wanted her hand or her mouth. 

Noticing her confusion, Chisaki brought a gloved finger to her lips, “Suck.” 

The woman shook while she tugged down Chisaki’s boxer-briefs. His cock -- slick with pre-cum -- sprung from their cloth prison. She winced at his size; he would spear her. Shoving away lewd images, she gently stroked him. An experimental touch before she took him into her mouth. His cock was heavy in her mouth. The girth of Chisaki made her cheeks puff. Gently, she tried to work his cock to the back of her throat. His bulbous tip made her gag, a sensation that had Chisaki instinctively forcing his cock down her esophagus. Her walls contracted around him. In a panic, the woman tried to shove him away. The action was futile, which left her with one option: digging her nails into him. Piercing his thighs to get him to stop. 

“Don’t be so rough, piglette.” Chisaki tugged at her hair until she winced, an audible squeal was muffled by his violent thrusting. Spit dribbled down her chin, landing on her chest. Her face was awash with crimson, discomfort in her features. Chisaki took her in like fine wine. Delicious and sweet. 

Her wet tongue tangled with his cock, exploring every inch of him. Hot breath pistoned from her nose. Her nails were still pricking him. Pain mixed with pleasure, until the hot bundle within his stomach felt as if it might explode. Salty pre-cum flooded her mouth; the taste resulting in a sour face. Chisaki knew he’d cum if she didn’t stop. 

Chisaki pushed the woman away. Surprised and caught off guard, she lost balance, slamming her palms on the floor. 

Chisaki stepped out of his clothes and crouched down. The auburn man decided to instead examine her face, and allow his fingers free-range over her delicate body. 

“Stay still,” Chisaki advised, his fingers manipulating the doughy flesh of her breast. She was as soft as he imagined. He could easily bruise her; give her marks that screamed, ‘you belong to Kai Chisaki.’ But he resisted. “Take off your blouse -- slowly -- and tell me how sad and pathetic you truly are.” 

“I’m… I’m so sad all the time. I just have this -- oh god -- I have this deep sadness and it feels suffocating, Kai. It’s pathetic. I’m pathetic.”

Her body stiffened at his request. The words were too harsh. Too rough. She lifted up her shirt and tossed it behind her. She looked away as Chisaki’s monstrous gaze transversed her chest. 

“The bra too, piggie.”

Taking off her bra added another layer of awkwardness. This wasn’t the first time a man saw her like this -- exposed and sweaty… but his hungry eyes sent chills through her. An electricity of unease. 

Cruel hands fondled her breasts. His fingers were faint over her nipples. She leaned into his touch, back arched. Barely audible mewls flew from her lips. Her body betrayed her. It was degrading. She should already be out the door and dialing the police. But no, her body craved him. ‘A compliant little pig.’ Chisaki hands wandered to her hip and played with the edge of her skirt. His motions were playful. This side of him was tolerable. Chisaki was like a school boy; bashful and nervous.

“Now, how are you feeling?” Chisaki asked. His tone was condescending; he wasn’t asking out of benign professionalism, but hateful interest. 

Her mouth opens and then closes. Unable to compose a response, the woman simply places a hand over his. 

Slapping her thigh, Chisaki chides her, “Speak, pig. Use your idotic words and tell sir how you feel.” 

She gulps. 

“I feel sick. This is shameful, s-sir.” The lewd title causes her blush to deepen. Cheeks flush with embarrassment and delight. Chisaki saw his treatment was finally starting to take hold. 

Chisaki snakes a hand under her skirt, massaging her slit once more. Her arousal was still there, clinging wet panties to her cunt. The woman bit her lip trying to stifle groans. The mixture of his fingers on her breast and between her thighs was almost too much. Sweat gathered at her brow as Chisaki slipped a finger into her soaking core. His slender finger pistoned in and out; snapping against her lips. The auburn man had a lack of mercy, his mouth clasped over her neck. Hot mouth sucking at tender flesh. His tongue circled around the abused patch of skin, desperate to savor her. 

The room was an ensemble of depravity; their moans mixed with the squelch of her pussy. She bucked into his digit, her body hurting for the stimulation. Heat built in her stomach, like a balloon filled with fire. The sensation continued to expand until it peaked; a high pitched squeal marking her orgasm. 

There was a popping sound and then, “So excited you cum already, pitiful, and I was hoping you’d squirm more. You want my cock, don’t you?” His finger leaves her cunt. Spongy walls now empty and wanting. 

She nodded, too ashamed and drunk on her own high to function. 

Unsatisfied by her response, Chisaki grabbed her face. Her rosy cheeks squished in his grip. Chisaki realized she was cute like this. A little puffy fish. 

“You’re being such an annoying pig. My patience is growing thin. Tell me. Tell me you want my cock.” His sentence stumbled from him, in between heavy breaths. 

The woman buried her face in his chest, “Please fuck me, Kai. I need it -- please, please, please.” She broke out into a series of pleas mixed with crying. Her body was still numb, still too high to really anticipate more. Overstimulated and teary eyed. 

“On your back,” Chisaki breathed, his face slightly flushed. He maneuvered her bare body and spread her legs around his wiry waist. Her knees hooked at an angle, like a spider.

Chisaki lined himself up with her tender, violated hole. “You’re so fucking insignificant.” His first thrust was hard and without warning. She gasped and placed her palms on his chest. Carnivorous, gold eyes looked down at her, mouth open and panting. His hips snapped against the back of her thigh. The sound was sharp against their perverse moans. A chorus of vulgarity. His girth made her cunt ache, sensitive walls stretched and full. “Do -- do you know how miserable you make me, little crybaby?” Forming sentences was hard. Chisaki’s cock was sucked in by her cunt; stuck in a death grip. ‘Gonna milk me for every bit of cum, aren’t you, piggie?’

Her hands roamed his chest. His relentless pumping was too much. She needed to grab something. To ground herself back into reality and not a cum induced daze. His veins added texture. Something so stimulating the woman found herself atop another peak. Ready to descend. However, Chisaki hadn’t quite reached nirvana. The cool air desensitized him. The heat of her pussy was like a shock. 

“Focus on me.” His raspy voice brought her back into the moment. Squishy body jiggling from the force of Chisaki. Lidded eyes rolled over to gawk at Chisaki. Blissed out. “Honestly, your little crybaby face is cute like this, piggie.” A light slap smacked against her cheek, as if to further compliment her. 

Chisaki’s rutted into her sloppy cunt until the hot brand in his stomach exploded; a deep groan vibrated from his chest as cum squirted into her cunt. He milked each thrust, until his balls lazily slapped against her. Tears streaked her face. Eyes glazed over with ecstasy. He grabbed her face once more. A close up look of the damage, “You did so well for a stupid little crybaby.