#.*·ﾟ✧・THE BELONGING YOU SEEK IS NOT BEHIND YOU ; IT IS AHEAD. — ⟨ *&. THREADS. ⟩

[kinglazrus]

The Dying Star, Chapter One

Truce fic for @lexiepiper. It's 6:30 a.m. and I stayed up all night rewriting this chapter a dozen times because I wasn't satisfied, but here it is! Will be posted to Ao3 later when I am not sleep-deprived.

Links to be added | Next | AO3

Word count: 1875

Living in a place like Amity Park, you get used to echoes. Things like to linger here. The old movie posters that sometimes show up at the Multiplex. Children's laughter resounding from a rusted jungle gym. A whiff of smoke at an empty lot where a building burnt down five years ago.

Amity Park has always been haunted; it just wasn't always by ghosts.

No one knows why. Maybe the Fentons have a theory, but Valerie has never asked. She came close to it once after her mother passed. She spent days wandering Amity Park, going to all the places they spent time together, searching for remnants. She found plenty, yet none that belonged to her mother. But in her hours of seeking, she made a discovery.

There are voids. Places that swallow things up and, rather than a cascade of emotions, feel like nothing at all. Casper High is one of those places. Too much has happened here, Valerie thinks, for any one thing to linger. It's most apparent when you're alone and even the sound of your breathing is eaten up by the void, leaving you with silence.

Valerie knows this well. Just as she knows that she is not alone right now.

She walks at a firm pace, steady enough to keep a marching band in time, which makes it obvious when she misses a beat and the person following her does not. She pauses, holding her foot in the air a second longer than necessary, and a step echoes when it should have been quiet.

It takes considerable effort for her not to react. She keeps her attention forward, placing one foot in front of the other. An echo on its own is harmless, even one that's a real, tangible thing. As long as she doesn't provoke it, and it doesn't do anything to her, she's fine with it following her.

Focusing on the task at hand, she tells herself. If only she can remember what that is.

The lights are off, and the school is empty. She has the glow of the emergency exit signs, which stick down from the ceiling every twenty feet or so, to see by. The pools of light don't quite touch, leaving a stretch of shadow no more than a few paces long between them. As Valerie passes beneath the next sign, she glances up at it. The arrow at the bottom points straight ahead, but there is no exit in sight. Not only that, but she can't see any classroom doors, nor did she see any on her way here. On either side of her, the row of lockers continues unbroken. The same stretch of hallway repeating into eternity.

Something is deeply wrong. A part of Valerie knows this, but any time she tries to bring the thought to the front of her mind and acknowledge it, it slips away against her will, leaving her with a niggling sense of worry. She clenches her hands, needing some way to work through her tension without alerting her echo, and falters when she feels something against her palm.

Opening her hand, she finds a patch. She must have been holding it the whole time, but she didn't feel it until now. What hope discovering it might have brought is quickly dashed when she realizes the patch has no detail. A plain embroidered edge and empty middle. Some bits of thread stick out the back, along with a scrap of the fabric it was originally sewn to. When she rubs her thumb over it, she feels stray threads brushing against her finger despite not being able to see them.

Valerie looks down the hall again. It goes on and on, lockers and exit signs merging into a pinprick of red light in the distance.

She was searching for something. Is searching for something.

Only now, as she comes to that realization, does she notice the second set of footsteps hasn't stopped. They're coming from behind her, faster than she had been walking, and getting faster still. She doesn't have time to dawdle.

Valerie shoves the patch in her pocket and takes off running. The shadows stretch ahead of her. What should have been a few steps turns into miles as the red light pulls away. She passes lockers at a crawl while the approaching steps get louder and faster. The noise thunders in her ears until it's all she can hear. Closer and closer, louder and louder. They're almost upon her when she gives into temptation and whips around, looking back for the first time, but there's nothing to see.

Beneath the thunder, something whispers in her ear.

"Valerie!"

—

She wakes up to a warm hand on her forehead. She doesn't need to open her eyes to know it's her father running his hand over her hair. Valerie leans into the touch, humming with relief.

"Valerie?" Damon's hand pauses, but he starts again when she whines. "How are you feeling?"

"Tired." The temptation to go back to sleep is strong. Normally, a quick nap is all it takes for Valerie to feel re-energized. She has learned to live off stolen minutes between school and work and ghost hunting, but this time feels different. Not just because of the dream that's already fading from her mind, but because of the pounding in her head and the warmth throughout her body. If hadn't already been lying down, she would have slumped over.

As it is, she melts into her father's side. Even if she's already feverish, the comfort his presence brings outweighs any unwanted heat.

"Sweetie, you have to sit up," Damon says.

"Do I gotta?"

"Just for a couple minutes."

She grumbles as she complies, letting Damon sit her upright. The shift in elevation makes her head pound even more, and it only gets worse when she opens her eyes. She closes them again immediately.

"Hey, I need you to keep your eyes open," a new voice says.

Valerie doesn't want to, but her curiosity wins out, and she finds herself looking at a middle-aged woman in a white coat.

"Very good," the woman says. "Now look straight ahead."

A light flashes in Valerie eye, making her wince. The woman hums and does it again with the other eye, then does... other things. Valerie doesn't really know. She feels hands on her head, and hears the woman and her dad talking, but it floats over her. She is sinking down into an ocean of half-formed thoughts and doesn't mind drowning there.

"Valerie." Damon jostles her, yanking her back to the surface.

"Hm?"

"What's the last thing you remember?" the woman asks. A doctor, Valerie realizes. She's a doctor.

"Uh, Mr. Lancer let us go early..." Valerie tries to dig for more, but capturing a solid memory is like catching rain on her open hands. Each drop offers a brief sensation. The buzz of her ghost hunting suit. A flash of pristine white. The feel of a rough hand in hers. She knows she could get more if she cupped her hands and pressed them together, but her fingers are too numb to move.

"Is this the concussion?" Damon asks.

"Possibly. We'll get her scanned to make sure there's nothing wrong internally, but there could be other causes for her symptoms. The ghost we detained was particularly strong. It's known for causing trouble, and with the kinds of powers it has, we don't know what its ectoplasm could have done to her."

Funny. Valerie didn't know doctors could ghost hunt. Except the Fentons are doctors and they ghost hunt. They aren't the same kind of doctor, though, are they? She wonders if that matters.

"As soon as we're done with the preliminary samples, we'll know how to proceed. As it is, we have two options ahead of us."

"Which are?"

"If the samples come back negative, we transfer her to South Mercy, and with any luck she's back home by the weekend."

"And if it's positive?"

"In that case, we'd—" A buzz interrupts the doctor. "You'll find out right away."

"What do you—"

A door slams open. Valerie jumps, her eyes flying open, although she doesn't remember closing them in the first place. Four men in hazmat suits stride into the room. Damon leaps from Valerie's side, standing between her and the men.

"What's going on?" he demands.

"Sir, you have to come with use. We need to make sure you haven't been exposed." As the men stride forward, the doctor backs away. Two of the men grab Damon and pull him back.

"Daddy!" Valerie shouts. Her own voice pierces her brain like an icepick.

"Stay calm," one of the remaining men says. "Don't panic."

Valerie panics. She leaps off the cot she had been sitting on and charges toward her dad, or tries to. The room tilts around her and she careens into the fourth man. His arms close around her. Someone holds a mask to her face. Valerie tries to fight it off, but she can't. She gasps and sucks in a lungful of the gas. Her head grows fuzzy. Spots fill her vision. In no time at all, Valerie finds herself slipping back out of the waves, and this time her dad isn't there to pull her back up.

—

He waits until the little ghost hunter and her father are gone before pulling off his hood. He casts the hood aside. The rest of the hazmat suit follows, discarded onto the patient bed beside him. "I hate these things. They're so hard to breathe in."

"Well. That was theatrical," the doctor remarks. "You sure you didn't overdo it? She was really panicking."

"I doubt she'll remember. This was more for her father than anything."

"If you say so." The doctor looks him up and down, a smirk appearing on her lips. "Careful, you almost look rumpled."

He follows her gaze to his lapel, which had somehow folded over in the chaos. He tries to smooth it out, but a crease cuts across it, ruining the natural fold. It's tolerable, if a little annoying. He smooths out the rest of his suit, checking for any stains or smudges. White clothes are great when dealing with ectoplasm, which is a natural bleaching agent, but there are so many other things that can ruin it. It's unfortunate, especially for someone like him who always wants to look his best.

The doctor stands and stretches, popping her back. "I should be there when she wakes up."

"Agreed. I'll talk to Mr. Gray." They part outside the examination room, heading in opposite directions. The doctor will have plenty of time to examine the patient while she's unconscious. He's almost jealous. Sometimes, he wishes he stuck to the more scientific side of things rather than going for field work. Less people to deal with. More time in the lab.

Not that he doesn't enjoy his job.

He doesn't go far, knocking on the door to another examination room a little ways down the hall. Damon Gray looks up at his entrance, the perfect picture of a distraught father.

He sits down opposite the man and begins. "Mr. Gray, I'm Operative S. I'm afraid we need to talk about your daughter."

[the-silver-peahen-residence]

||Horror Book Chapter 5: A Hacker kidnapping Part 2||

*Waving* Hi dears, I'm back with another chapter to the horror book. It seems I still will continue this like I said but I was lost on what to write. So, lets see what this chapter presents. If you wish to read the others so far, chapter list is down below.

~~Book chapters~~

Horror book one: Bloody game of Hide and seek

Horror book two: Darkness of one self

Horror book three: How to Be Evil: Scared Straight Beyond Prank Part 1 and Part 2

Horror book four: Hunting grounds

Horror book five: A hacker's kidnapping part one

((Your reading horror book 5 part two right now))

||Warning||

~Will have horror in the drabble

~Blood and maybe gore will be seen in this

~Scary themes will be also seen as well

~Dark themed is present in this drabble

~~Drabble Summary~~

After being kidnapped, Fosh and Mouse wakes up to see they were in some unknown place. Wrists tied and looking like they were trapped. However, a familiar face was seen startling the hackers. BLT has been the one that kidnapped them and now he's ready to do some experimenting. Now the hackers are on the run from this man. Wanna know how it goes? Read to find out.

((Guests in this drabble))

Jellyfish belongs to my rp partner/friend @demon-blood-youths

Mouse belongs to me and a guest visit from BLT a NPC villain from a old thread will be showing up.

((Just a heads up: Grammar is not good and their will be heavy mistakes but this was written for fun so please enjoy. ))

Heavy panting was heard in the hallway of this place with Fosh and Mouse running to get away from BLT. This place was pretty dark with light dim lighting and their was many electronics around. However, that was not important! They had to get away from him before he catches them!

"We need to find a way out of this hallway! Maybe we can find a computer to contact someone!" he said running even with their wrists tied together with rope still.

"I know we should find something hopefully but we need to get rid of these ropes!" she said but as the two get to a door, she tries to open it only to see it locked.

"Damn locked!" she said struggling trying to open it but Fosh was trying to help her to hear some laughter from behind them. Both Fosh and Mouse looks seeing BLT rushing towards them.

"Come back my beautiful new toys!!! I just wanna cut into you and rip you to bits!" he laughed but the two looks around trying to find a way out till Fosh noticed another door to grab Mouse by the arm to gently push her to the right. "Here, go in here!" He said as the two run into a door but they quickly shut the door and lock it behind to move away from the door. BLT looks around in that area but he was looking seeing his normal machines to laugh.

"Ohhh new toysssssss come out, come out, where ever you are....." He sings out looking around in the hall but didn't know they ran into the right room. Fosh and Mouse was quiet hiding behind a wall but they held their breaths, feeling their hearts pounding in their chests.

"........."

"........"

Fosh and Mouse looks seeing the small window in the door but their was some lights flickering but they didn't say anything to tense seeing BLT's shadow before hiding again. Fosh was scared but he looks away to see they were in some room but it was bigger. The room had screens with static or just turned off. A table was there with something laying on top. Some surgical tools sitting in water that was bloody. Seeing all this made Fosh pale but he slowly didn't want to know before Mouse keeps looking seeing BLT's shadow slowly walking off. She lets out a shaky breath to see that but closes her eyes.

"Geez, that was too close.." she softly said nervous. "Come on Fosh, we need to keep moving to get out of here." she reaches to touch his shoulder as he grabs her wrists to look ahead.

"M..Mouse....." she looks down to him but then looks at what he was seeing. Her own eyes widen seeing the room but it looks to be some lap.

"W..what is this?" she asked disturbed to see the area even the blotches of blood as well. The two hackers looks around but this place already gave bad vibes. The two slowly shook their heads looking around to try finding a way out. They step forward into the lab passing the bloody mess of tools and items even the table with something laying on it. The thing looked human judging by the form. However, when checked closely, she sees blood blotches on the sheets and even more at the top.

"......D..do you think that's.." Fosh started to say but Mouse was too nervous to answer. "......Mouse?"

"..I..I don't know but I get this sick feeling of my answer being true..." she looks away but looks to Fosh. "C...come on, we need to keep moving." she said as the two hackers walk but they did see a knife near by so Mouse carefully reaches to pick it up and start trying to cut Fosh's ropes loose. He waited not looking around this place but he did see the ropes cut rubbing his wrists that showed some rope burn. He then takes the knife to start cutting Mouse's ropes.

He was focused on cutting the ropes but Mouse was worried, feeling his hands shaking. He was scared and she was too. They were not expecting to be in this mess and yet here they are.They couldn't even do anything thanks to the shots BLT gave them so they were powerless but for how long? When he was done freeing her, Mouse gently takes his hand to have Fosh look.

"Fosh?"

"........"

"Fosh..Look at me..." she sees him slowly look up. "Trust me, I'm scared as fuck myself because I was not expecting this to happen. But believe me, we will get out of this..." she said hoping to help calm him down but even he was worried.

"I know I just......*Sighs* I'm just shocked that crazy psycho has been trying to find us all this time and now he wants to cut us up....that's just wrong. So fucking wrong.." he shudders and yet Mouse rubs her arms thinking the same.

"Well, as I did warn back then when we did that mission, he is always like that. But we did stop him from doing damage to the cyber world Fosh but now..seems he's been busy. But right now, we have to keep away from him and find a way out. We can't let him catch us." she knew that if he did, they would be fucked. For now, they had to keep moving.

"R..right..right..." He sighed but he saw Mouse look at him but takes his hand. They keep moving through the lab together now passing more of the tables near by. More things were drenched in blood but the two passed a certain one to tense. A human hand was seen under the sheet but their fingers were missing. Mouse and Fosh said nothing but they slowly keep moving not wanting to look anymore. As they pass more tables, more body parts were seen with some mission or in jars and tubes. Just what the hell was BLT doing? Kidnapping hackers to rip them apart? Or was it for something worse. As they keep walking, the two hackers stop seeing a door!

"Oh thank god. We can get out of this lab. Come on Fosh." she said gently pulling him as they get to the door. They get to the door but sees that it was unlocked. Mouse and Fosh look at one another then looks to reach to grab the door handle and turning it. The creek of the door was heard as the two look seeing another room but two more doors.

It was dark in this room with the only light from where they are showing inside. Both the hackers walk through but Mouse begins looking for a light to turn on. Fosh looks to help as the room even smelled horrible.

"Did you find the light switch?" she asked.

"Not yet...it should be around here somewhere...wait..I think i found it." He felt something near his fingers and flips the switch. However, he wished he didn't as a bright light turns on making Mouse and Fosh shield their eyes. They wince from the light but slowly lowers their arms with their eyes wincing a little. The light was not as bad but they slowly open their eyes that slowly looks to see the room.

Right away, Fosh and Mouse's eyes slowly widen in shock and horror. This was BLT's work office but they saw a teenager sitting in a chair but their face was hidden by a cloth. Wrists and Ankles chained to the chair but their head was cut open. Wires, needles, and other things were inside of his brain while he appears to be dead. BLT was even ripping bits and pieces of brain tissue from the other but the teen was already dead.

"....." Fosh's eyes were wide but he suddenly felt sick to cover his mouth to puke on the ground coughing with tears in his eyes. What the hell was wrong with BLT!?

'O..Oh god, oh god, oh god, oh god....' he said this in his mind over and over but Mouse's eyes were wide. Horrified of what BLT did that she was crying shaking.

'S..so it was true. He does this to hackers just to find secrets in their minds? This is...this is so wrong...' she thought shaking afraid. She wished she could just change into a bird or something and get both her and Fosh out of here but she couldn't do anything yet. Neither can him.

This must have been where he's experimented on other hackers explaining different body parts, organs, blood, brain tissues in jars and tubes. This was just insane and sick!!!!

Mouse shook where she stood but she was at a loss for words. However, she reaches to rest her hand on Fosh's back. "W...w...we need to leave...Fosh, come on. We gotta move." she said trying not to cry but Fosh was too paralyzed in horror to move.

"........"

"F...Fosh? Fosh, come on. We gotta move.....please.." She slowly grips his sweater as he snaps out of it to look at her but saw something. She was crying. She wanted to leave this room before that monster finds them. Letting out a shuddered breath, he slowly stood and helps Mouse on her feet.

"Y..Yeah..l..lets g..go.." he said as the two was about to leave.

"Ahhh so this is where you both been."

"!?" Both Fosh and Mouse quickly look seeing BLT there. He found them! His sick smile was seen on his face as both Mouse and Fosh turns to run only for them to ram through the door to run again. However, he rushes to press his hand on the door to look down at the two scared teenagers.

"Heheh, I see you stumbled upon my little treasure room. Beautiful isn't it? Such a nice reward after getting the targets and scrapping through their brains finding more information to add." He smiled seeing Fosh and Mouse afraid as he smiled.

"Awww, don't be scared. I did say I wouldn't kill you yet....I rather break both of you piece by piece to see what makes you tick. I won't hurt you....." He grins but right away, Mouse and Fosh move away from him but Mouse grabs a metal pipe to point it at BLT who looks to blink.

"Just what the fuck is wrong with you!? How could you d..do this to innocent people!? To teenagers like us!?" she shouted but all he did was smile.

"Simple; for information. You young ones are fresher and ripe. It's more fun to rip someone apart when their at the right age. And with you two..your at the perfect age. I really wish to sink my knives into you both. Ripping you slowly and painfully....you should be honored.! I heard your both the best hackers in NYC so if I find out what makes you that way, I'll have even more information to become greater!"

"Y..Your insane!" Fosh said but BLT smiled.

"I know..now come on, let me have a little bit. I promise it will be not as painful." he steps towards them as the two back away from him. Mouse tightens her hold on the metal pipe but she was feeling sweat running down her face. This was bad! They had to find a way out of here and away from him!

BLT smiled seeing the fear in their eyes before he suddenly rushes towards them as Mouse swings the metal pipe to hit his face. BLT winces feeling his jaw break but he quickly cuts Mouse's side as she yelps to wince when getting punched.

Mouse slams into the wall holding her injury as she bleeds with Fosh hitting the table knocking some jars down. Glass scattering around when he heard a yelp. He looks seeing BLT holding Mouse down while laughing trying to attack her worse.

"MOUSE!"

"Get away from me you asshole!" she hissed trying to push him back but he was laughing still reaching and trying to make her lose strength. Seeing blood running down to the ground from the wound. He even hits the pipe and stabs her even deeper as she screams in pain.

"Stop fighting me my new beloved toy! Let me cut you up, slice up that delicate skin of yours. I need your brain to see what makes you tick! And when I do, I will do the same to your friend! Your both mine now!" he laughed as Mouse was struggling to push him away. Fosh looks left and right trying to find something to help her then noticed some broken shards of glass. Looking, he quickly reaches to grab it and rushes to help Mouse.

BLT laughed still trying to cut Mouse again and again while seeing her wince. "That's it! Your mine now!" He laughed about to cut her throat when something stabs into his side. He screams seeing a shard of glass in his side. He then gets kicked off by Mouse as Fosh helps her up as she was coughing.

"Mouse!! Mouse!" As he tries to help her, he felt something hit him in the back as he crashes to the table knocking it over.

"F..Fosh!" She sits up wincing in pain from the wound but she saw him gripping his arm feeling a deep cut.

As BLT tries to attack him, Mouse gets in front but she picks up a glass jar and throws it at him. It hits his face hard to knock him down before she looks to try helping him."

"I got ya Fosh, come on we gotta run!" She helps Fosh to his feet as they both ran to the door that leads to the outside! It looks to be some old abandoned building but they quickly run as BLT coughed from the injury. He growls to slowly stood up, yanking the glass out as blood drips from it. Looking at it to chuckle, he threw it to the side now following them. Both Fosh and Mouse kept on running to get away from this creep but Fosh stops seeing the edge of a small hill.

He was able to stop but Mouse accidentally crashes into him to make the two stumble and fall. They land into some boxes to wince in pain. However, they heard BLT's laughter to quickly run.

"COME BACK!!! COME BACK AND LET ME HAVE YOUR BRAINS! DON'T YOU FUCKING RUN AWAY FROM MEEEEEEE!!!!" The two kept running faster and faster, not wanting to get caught.

"Hey, come back! Don't run from me!!" he laughed only for the two to run faster. Mouse tried to use something or shapeshift into something but she still couldn't! Fosh was trying to teleport but still can't! Stupid serum was still in effect. They only could keep running! Getting away from that crazy killer as he was dead on their trail.

After a while, both Fosh and Mouse got to the end seeing a blocked off wall with bob wire as it was sparking. The two was worried but heard heavy panting seeing that BLT caught up. He looked like a bloody mess but the two were nervous not wanting him near them.

"You two really are something else...I love that! Now, lets keep playing. I wanna see just what you two can do!" He runs towards them but he saw them duck trying to run away. Seeing that, he quickly threw something to trip the two as Fosh and Mouse falls to the ground but he only laughed seeing them trying to move. He walks to stomp on their backs to keep them from running.

"Oh no no no. We can't have that! You two have played long enough..I'm growing more excited seeing you both squirm." his smile was scary but Fosh and Mouse was shaking trying to get away from him. Even with the blood they were losing, they were trying to move!

Chuckling, he reaches to grab Fosh and lift him up and he looks at him. "Maybe I should start with you. You seem pretty smart as the data tells. I wonder what your brain hides." he smiled seeing Fosh wincing trying to get him to let go.

"Let Fosh go! Let him go!" Mouse said hitting him but he back slaps her hard to see her hit the ground hard.

"M..Mouse!"

"This is so much fun! You both have such a spark in you! I love it!" He tightens his grip seeing Fosh wincing in pain. He was hurting him! Now kicking his feet, he was seeing him drag him into the ground and steps on Mouse who was twitching in pain. She was coughing but he keeps going.

"Mouse! Stop it! Stop your going to kill her!" he shouted.

"But that's the point! If I keep this going, I can knock her out and then your next! Just seeing her struggle and cry is nice! Your cries will be just as nice!" He laughed still going as Fosh was trying to make him stop. Till he tries to knee him in the face to get dropped. He quickly moves to cover Mouse while looking at BLT.

"Y..You st...stay away from Mouse! I won't let you hurt her!" he shouted but he kicks Fosh in the face to break his glasses as he walks over to stomp on his chest seeing him cough twitching.

"Heh, I'm going to enjoy breaking you too.." he smiled holding his knife to grip his braided hair. The blade was near his throat while seeing Fosh shaking with eyes closed. Some blood seen from his nose and chin.

"Though, maybe I need to see just how loud you scream too!" he laughed about to stab his throat when suddenly.......

A bomb explodes near by along with another that blinds BLT who roars to cover his eyes. He drops Fosh on the ground as he steps back rubbing them. "GUAAHHH! MY EYES! I CAN'T SEE!"

"Good, then you won't see this coming you fucking asshole!"

Wait, that voice sounds familiar...

Even if Fosh was blacking out a little, he saw a familiar red jacket but another short sleeve jacket who was holding a spear in the palm of her hands.

"Yeah, your dead you dead beat asshole!"

Fosh knew who it was. It was Navarro and Echo! But if they were here then that means...

More destruction was heard when a giant fire bursts from behind shaking the area as the sound of rushing feet was heard. A fight was happening from what Fosh could see but he was laying on the side to look ahead. He did hear muffled voices.

'Oh god Fosh! Mouse!! Opehlia! we need your help!!!'

'Mouse, wake up please! Your going to be alright please wake up!!'

'Their bleeding to death!? What the hell did this monster do!?'

'Nevermind that! We gotta get them away from here!'

So many voices..and yet he was too tired to figure out who was talking. He begins to feel his consious slip away when seeing someone near by shouting for him to stay with them.

'Fosh, stay with me!! you'll be alright! Fosh!!!!!'

"........."

~~~~~~~~~~Hours later in the mid afternoon~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The sun was up this time after a few hours but Fosh was resting in a bed bandaged up with his head turned to the side. Ophelia was watching over him worried since she was hoping he would wake up. However, he felt some of the sun shining on his face that he slowly turns his head to make Ophelia notice. Was he waking up?

"...F..Fosh?" She looks to see him hear her voice and turns his head to face her. His eyes slowly open to look seeing someone. For a moment, he saw a flash image of BLT to make him snap away and gasp sitting up but Ophelia gently held his shoulders.

"Easy! Easy Fosh!...it's alright...." she said as he was looking to see it was Ophelia. He didn't say anything but he was calming down to feel her keep him back on the pillow.

"..O..Ophelia? W..wha..."

"Fosh, thank god your awake. H..How are you feeling?" she sees him look at her then at himself seeing the bandages. He didn't say anything but he slowly turns to look at her.

"I....I guess I'm okay. Sore but....where are we?"

"Your back home. We were all so worried about you and Mouse after finding out you both were kidnapped. You were gone for two weeks..." she said but Fosh looked shocked.

"T..two weeks? W..we were gone for that long?"

"Yes. When you both didn't come back that night, we got worried and went to look for you. Thanks to Fin, his fraction was able to track your phones and saw they were smashed. It told us someone kidnapped you and Mouse. However, we were about to find you thanks to Echo and Navarro making a tracker device..."

"......." Fosh couldn't believe it but that left him wondering, if he was here then...He quickly looks worried in a panic.

"W..wait, then where's Mouse!? Is she here!?" he tries to sit up but Ophelia stops him.

"Calm down Fosh Please!"

"But...But Mouse! She was badly hurt as I was! Please..i..is she alright!? Is she.."

"Calm down.....she's alright. Mouse is sleeping over there...." She said looking to the right. Fosh looks but saw someone else in bed asleep. Also bandaged up, Mouse was asleep.

"......S...Has she woken up?"

"No. She was tired as you were so your the first to wake up. I was able to treat her and you and get rid of whatever was in your systems from what that..guy injected into you. For now, your too weak to heal yourself so I suggest some bed rest for a few days." she said but Fosh looks down at his lap but looks down gripping the blanket.

"Here, if you want, I can let you rest up. I'll come back to check on you later Fosh Okay?"

"O..Okay.." seeing that, Ophelia goes to tell the others Fosh was awake but as she leaves, he was looking quiet then at Mouse. She was sleeping quietly on the other bed but she was resting so that was good. He didn't know why but seeing her like this was painful. He didn't like seeing anyone of his friends hurt. That goes for Mouse too.

For now, he lays back while looking up at the ceiling but his upper face was hidden as he bit his bottom lip with tears running down his cheeks. That was a horrible night for both her and him.

For now, he just can rest and prays Mouse wakes up. But one thing is for sure: he hopes they never remember that night ever again.

[elegyforiphigenia]

ALEXA, PLAY 'THE CULT OF DIONYSUS' – or, an alternative way to enter the world of the burnt city via dionysian ritual.

You tap your feet uncertainly on the pavement, shielding under the thin sliver of roof jutting out from the building. Behind you, a queue is beginning to gather, mumbling their way through slapping on facemasks and shuffling for tickets. Some of them offer knowing looks to others, the air of past experience colluding between them; the scent of hidden fragrance a codeword. Others scrunch their noses, a bit of trepidation simmering as they look at the barriers erected, cordoning visitors into their respective queues. The barriers are woven with ivy, threads of green lusciousness a needed contrast to the constant concrete city intruding wherever you turn. It is the slightest breath of green, but you like it – even if you are a little confused at the imitation flames burning away at intervals between sections of the barriers. Undoubtedly, it offers up anticipation into your soul. Even so, the whole sight, slight as an offering as it may be, does creep further pressings against your heart. A squirming worms into you. To alleviate this a little, you dig into your pocket, unfurling your ticket. Checking the rules, the terms and conditions, all the bits and pieces orderly and informative, it calms you. Just like the orderly queues and cordons, there is rules. You breathe.

There’s a slight incline in the path as you enter. All seems normal enough, even if the faux flames do continue, and you swear that a woman behind you is doing some strange little gesture as she walks, flicking her head backwards every so often. Shaking your head, a chuckle slips out, bemused at the snippets of strangeness amongst otherwise normality. Small things continue: when you pass your bag across to the cloakroom, you are thanked – informed that one of the first steps is to offer up your worldly belongings, a signal of your devotion to the experience ahead. Choosing to forgo the toilets for the time being, you are directed to a man holding a box filled with…sticks. Like wands made of reed, and there seems to be a selection of boxes with similar ones – though each box contains a different flower topping the stick. Tentatively taking yours, the man whispers to you that yours is poppy, and you must hold onto it, for this will be your key to entering. In you step, into a room emblazoned with signs suggesting this brave new world to be a place named Peep. Posters dotted around indicate various guest performers; one of these is Pan, a name thrumming with recognition. Exploring before your poppy is called, you explore a little. On one of the walls is some framed photos. Peering at the writing underneath, it tells you in good calligraphy that it is of two other names you recognise – Dionysus and Ariadne. On some tables, there is paper, with small details regarding incidents such as the sacrifices of names like Iphigenia, Polyxena, and Polydorus - the murders of some men - and other snippets of information about various people.

Waiting for something you've nervous longing for as much as this is a torment surely designed for residents of Tartarus. However, music is beginning to play all around. Not the sort you expected; drums and pipes are the instruments, a warbling running its mouth off. You do not have time to get accustomed to it. One of the lucky ones, entering first, poppy is called, and you stroke your way through some half-hearted attempts at nature scattered around the bar. When it seems all those clutching poppy are past a thin cordon of vine, and into a small black room, a man begins the first spiel you will hear that evening: Mircea Eliade once spoke that through ritual, man detaches himself from profane time and magically re-enters the Great Time, the sacred time. Even now man seeks to excavate the past and step back through the hourglass till we will find ourselves in that sacred time, that time of gods. Though I must warn you – the gods have their demands, and if we are to attempt this ritual, you must follow theirs. Though we shall follow principles of Dionysus, we must ask you to obey some opposing thoughts provided by Apollo: there is an order and structure to be adhered to.’  A few of these things are outlined, and you nod attentively. They continue. ‘We will ask you to remain masked throughout your experience. If you are lucky enough to enter that which we desire, you will be thankful of these white masks. And we make one final request: Be brave. Fortune favours the bold.’  You take your mask as it is passed to you, a white one, and as florals start to swim into the room, you are reminded of plague masks. There is purpose in those. There is purpose in these. Fingering the red string – Ariadne’s string, you think, proud of yourself for your classical knowledge – you are transformed. You are brave. The man sends you forward into a new room; stamping a stave, as he names it, onto the ground, he slams the door shut once all are in.

Two people ahead of you and your fellow initiates in a long room. Both are draped in long white cloaks, and though you are not entirely confident in your guesswork, you think a sort of animal skin is layered over it. Their hair is woven with ivy. Beneath those odd garbs, the dress of each is different; one wears a jacket and sleeves, red string round their wrist whilst the second is in tight black leather. Each carries a tray, upon which is numerous little goblets. Similar music to the bar plays, growing louder and more manic as the time in the room goes on. Beginning to walk forward to you and the others, they speak. ‘We speak now for Dionysus, and you should heed him if you wish for this ritual to succeed. Though he will be absent from this evening, his spirit shall soon guide you, even in this age where many forget the worship of he and the pantheon. Take from us a goblet, and drink once we end our speech. Drink the Kykeon and liberate yourself, though remember the warnings you have been given. In drinking this, we offer you freedom, we offer you celebration. If grapes are the living, then wine is the dead; the god in the underworld and that is where the sacred time might still play out. Once you have drank – run, run up the mountain, and step through the doors. We hope the ritual works for you; that you are freed and born anew into the cattle of myth, free from the burden of yourself and the world you leave behind. Now – drink.’  As they conclude, you think your heart is aflame with the guilting rush of freedom they speak on. Sipping slowly at first, your lips slip a little as the two who spoke begin to wail out hymns; flipping their heads backwards and dancing an intriguing sort of stagger up and down the room as the first initiate begins to run up the ramp. They disappear through the doors. You are bold, and you neck your drink. Exhilaration pounds throughout your body. Stepping onto the ramp, you flick your head backwards and chant as you race forward, heart bounding, soul chanting, eyes alive through your mask with a pumping in your veins you have never known. You feel as if you are slipping backwards through time – and you step through the door into the myth of the Trojan war.

[forcewokena]

           ❝   –––   how long have you been standing there  ?  ❞

   .*·ﾟ✧・ ​​ @crimsondyad​​��� / dialogue generated starter call ・✧ﾟ·*.

[ashintheairlikesnow]

Intrinsic: Jameson in Therapy

Prompt from Anon:  If you're still taking prompts... "Have you tried NOT doing that?"

CW: Noncon survivor discussing future consensual spice, Jameson’s masochism, frank references to noncon and pet whump, brief internal victim-blaming, world-building detail about WRU

Dr. Berger tucks a bit of graying hair behind one ear, smiling slightly at Jameson from her place in the soft armchair she uses during appointments. “Well,” She says, thoughtful, “have you tried not doing that?”

He looks up at her from where he sits curled up on the long sofa, knees to his chest, picking absently at loose threads across the knee of his baggy blue jeans. As always, she is careful not to let her eyes move to the places where hair is slowly growing back in over bald spots where the straps of a leather muzzle had rubbed, careful not to look at the scars he wears on every inch of exposed skin - she’d made the mistake of being caught looking, however briefly, and had discovered that the newest of her clients was deeply insecure about the visible evidence of his captivity.

She’d apologized, but it had taken time to develop enough trust to come back from her initial mistake. She would not jeopardize that now, after they’ve made so much progress and she’s begun to see a shift in how he talks about and relates to his new life, his world.

He even told her the name he chose for himself, and that he’s been telling the others in the house, one by one. Accepting that it won’t be taken from him like his original name was - that it belongs to him, and is his to share or not. 

She would never, ever admit it, but... Jameson is one of her favorite clients to work with. He’s working so hard, every week that they meet he trusts more and more that the path he’s on is one that will move him forward. 

“What?” 

His voice is slightly rough - someone who has screamed enough to have permanent vocal chord damage, she thinks. She makes a note to speak to Jake Stanton about having a physician check on the potential for nodes or other issues that might pop up later. She’s not a medical doctor, but… well. She’s had a lot of clients with vocal chord damage in the sixteen years she’s been working in the pet lib movement, and you start to pick up on the little signs and symptoms they don’t necessarily declare out loud.

“My question is really just me being a little facetious, I won’t lie, but I do want to talk through the spirit of the question. When you mention feeling guilty that you are having a physical response to your housemate, that you are attracted to them and have been struggling with... well. I’d like to really dig in to where that guilt comes from. Now, I am aware that adjustment houses tend to discourage relationships between household members during their time in residence to cut down on the chance for conflict, but that’s not where your guilt lies, is it?”

He goes back to picking at the hole slowly wearing through his jeans. Dr. Berger waits, giving him the silence and time he needs to think his way through the question and the possible answers. After a long time, he says softly, “No. It’s not. I don’t give a fuck if Stanton wants me to hold somebody’s stupid hand or not.”

She has to force her smile not to widen, wondering if Jameson is aware of just how like Jakob Stanton he really is. No wonder they don’t always get along. “Okay. So can you talk to me about just what you sense of guilt, this worry you feel, is rooted in?” 

She watches with some small surprise as the angry, defiant recovering Box Boy who has spoken frankly and openly to her about being maimed, injured, treated as an object, referred to as an animal... blushes.

“I want-... It’s not the, um, the response. That I hate.” He won’t look at her now, and he’s one who loves to stare her down whenever he thinks she’ll be shocked or disgusted by what he has to tell her. But this… this, he’s ashamed or embarrassed to say. “They’re fucking gorgeous, that’s... anybody would like them. It’s… it’s what I want from them that... scares me.”

“You are accustomed to a certain level of unwanted physical attention, it’s not at all uncommon in Romantic rescues to continue to feel sexual attraction and desire after freedom-”

“No. It’s. It’s not that I-... I know that’s normal. It’s… I want…” He shifts, uneasily. “I want… I want Allyn to hurt me.”

The last sentence is whispered. It’s not sharing a thought, it’s confessing what he feels is some kind of sin he is committing or intending to commit. Dr. Berger sometimes feels like a priest in a confessional booth, although she’s never been one to suggest atonement - no, fear of oneself is where the core of most of her clients’ pain lies, in her experience. Instead, she works on reconstructing the impulse or fear from its foundations, breaking apart the horror of its weight and reconfiguring it so it’s easier to understand. 

To take control of, to direct.

She helps them to own themselves, not to fear the prospect but to see in it freedom they have always deserved. 

Fear is the absolute last thing any of her clients should ever have to feel again. They have been taught to devalue and debase themselves, to fear what their bodies can be made to do. If she does nothing else, Dr. Berger hopes she is able to help them be just a little less afraid of the bodies they live in.

“You want your housemate to hurt you?” She asks, gently. “Do you mean in the sense of a serious injury, or…”

“No. Um. No, I fucking… I think about them, um. Hurting-... like… like they used to do. Biting me, or... or scratching... I th-think sometimes about Allyn h-holding a... never mind. Just. Hurting me. I’m-... made to be hurt.”

“You are made only to be yourself,” Dr. Berger reminds him, her voice low and without any hint of judgement. “We’ve talked about your captors before and how you were held. You believe that you were made into a masochist as part of your training, and so you’re frightened that your mind is thinking about your housemate in ways similar to how you were once forced to think about your captors.”

His nose wrinkles - he’s more dismissive than most of the language she uses, and early on delighted in insisting on using words like owner, handler, master. Things he thought might shock her. But Dr. Berger has heard nearly everything she thinks there might be to hear, by now. She only smiles slightly at his expression, jotting quickly down on her notepad a few notations. 

Finally, he offers hesitantly, “I-I guess. Allyn is… good. They’re soft, and nice, and they’d never-... but I want them to. And it’s-... it would make-... them be like Robert, or… wouldn’t it? It’d be… treating them like… I don’t ever want to be what I was again, so why the fuck can’t I stop thinking about it?” 

He is so rarely vulnerable. Dr. Berger doesn’t take for granted the gift he gives her by letting her see past the wall of anger and derision he has built to keep himself safe. In many ways, he reminds her of when she saw Jake Stanton after his own brush with WRU’s handlers and their methods. Bristling, defensive, and with wounds that cannot be bandaged. They instead need to be exposed to the light.

“Intrusive thoughts that contain elements of your captivity are absolutely normal. You are still in the early stages of making progress, and progress is never linear, Jameson. There is no starting line, no ribbon at the end of the race. There is only moving forward, bit by bit, even if sometimes we move back.”

“You mean I move back,” He says, sullen now. “You don’t do shit. You’re already fine.”

“Mmmn, that’s not… quite accurate. I actually see someone myself, you know.” Dr. Berger smiles at his obvious, visible surprise. “My mentor once told me he never trusted a provider of therapy who did not themselves seek it out. I have my own progress to work towards, just as you have yours.”

“Problems are probably real fucking different, though.”

“Well, that’s true.” She allows herself a warm laugh - and is rewarded when he doesn’t bristle or assume mockery like he used to, but relaxes and even gives her a very small smile in return. “But I would advise you not to compare yourself to others. Your situation, while not unique in some ways, is still unique to you. You’ve been through a kind of horror that no one else has - even if others have experienced some similarities, the traumatic events they experienced will never be entirely like yours.”

He nods.

“But-” She holds up one finger “That doesn’t mean we can’t use what we know as a framework, a foundation you can build your own way on. Think of an ancient Roman road paved into a highway in modern Italy, for instance. The foundation was there, a path laid by people who came through before. But you can take what you need and use it to find your own way. I know that you’re scared of your thoughts, I know that you are frightened of wanting to find gratification or satisfaction in pain because you think it means a return to how you were treated before, or that you are inherently changed in damaging ways by your captivity, but…”

When she trails off, he leans slightly forward “But?”

She chooses her words carefully. “Jameson, would you be willing to consider something that may make you a little uncomfortable?”

He looks at her, depths of feelings in his brown eyes, and slowly nods. “Why not? I’m already fucking uncomfortable. All the time.”

His thin shoulders under the oversized band shirt he wears make angles under the fabric as he shrugs, although in the time she’s been seeing them those sharp edges have already begun to round out, the lines of his jaw and cheekbones are softening.

She’s seen it over and over again, the physical changes reflecting the rebuilding of an entire life. It never ceases to amaze her, how hard each and every one of them works. 

“Okay. This may be hard to hear at first but I think it will help you.”

Eventually he nods. “Yeah,” He half-rasps. “Yeah, okay. Just say it. Everything… everything else you’ve said has helped. Go ahead.”

“Okay. So, what I would like you to consider… perhaps what you see as an enforced flaw, a crack that was put into you, a danger you present to your housemate due to your conditioning and mistreatment… it might be in fact an intrinsic part of your sexual expression, and simply an aspect of your attraction to them, and the wish you stated to me to perhaps escalate your current relationship.”

He swallows. The color drains from his face, except for two spots of bright red high along his cheekbones. “What?” His lips barely move. 

“Jameson…” Her tone dips, reassuring and soothing. “I know what you were told. I know you were likely given a series of half-truths and whole lies designed to engender dependence and teach you to loathe yourself and therefore disconnect from your body. But… that body? It’s very real, and it’s entirely yours. I think that we need to look into the possibility that you already had certain tendencies that were exploited and twisted. Those tendencies are not inherently unhealthy or damaging if you learn to pursue them in a safe environment.”

He blinks, once, twice, his eyes glittering. 

She’s made a misstep and she knows it immediately, clear as the tears Jameson never allows to fall. She didn’t time it quite right. They should have spent more time working up to it…

“Are you saying I’m just-... like this?”

“Not the way you are suggesting,” Dr. Berger says softly. “I’m sorry, I didn’t express myself clearly enough. Please let me elaborate a little.”

“I fucking hope you d-didn’t mean that I’m-... that I’m just fucked up,” He says, looking away from her, down at the floor. She pretends she doesn’t see one hand go up to curve around the side of his neck, recreating some of the weight of the collar they are so often taught to rely on for a sense of safety.

“I absolutely did not mean that. One thing WRU excels at - one of the reasons they have been so successful - is that they utilize very effective techniques that encourage a sense of complicity and responsibility in the people they abuse and violate. I’m going to hazard a guess that you were told that you chose what happened to you.”

“I signed up for this,” Jameson whispers automatically, rote and robotic, without hesitation. At least, Dr. Berger thinks, she’s been doing this job long enough that hearing that no longer gets to her like it used to. “I wanted to be some rich asshole’s-”

“Yes. That. One way I think they are able to convince so many individuals so thoroughly isn’t only because of the standard methods of sleep and nutritional deprivation, the repetition, memorizing, the mistreatment… no, I think one thing WRU does is find in each of its victims a core truth they can exploit and cause you to fear in yourself, making you more vulnerable to the idea that this company is somehow saving or helping you by ‘making use’ of it. They find your weak point and use it to shatter you, but what WRU never realizes is that the very weakness they exploit is also often the same piece of you we can recover, that we can reclaim. In your case… Jameson, have you ever heard of consensual masochism?”

He’s hooked, she thinks, on this line of logic. On the lifeline she’s thrown him, something to grab onto. A way to begin to believe, in some small way, that he isn’t ruined. They all think they’ve been ruined, by the time she meets them.

None of them is.

“No, I-I haven’t. Does this mean… there are people like me who aren’t, you know, fucktoys-”

“Recovering Romantics,” She corrects, gently. “And yes. Masochism is a not-uncommon mode of expression that many people engage in consensually in the context of healthy sexual expression.”

He swallows, hard. She watches his throat move. Sees the look in his eyes, the minute changes in his expression. The hand pushing against the side of his neck slowly drops. She can see the gears turning within him, a shifting point of view maybe. She can see what he doesn’t want to speak out loud.

There’s another silence. This one is more comfortable, and as always she gives him all the time he needs. 

“How-” His voice cracks, and he clears his throat, blinking rapidly again. His knees slowly uncurl and his feet, clad in old hand-me-down sneakers, find their way to flat on the floor. Without his ever-present scowl, he looks years younger. Terrified.

Hopeful.

“How can I-... how do I-...” He takes a deep breath. “If it’s just… part of me… how do I make it safe?”

-

@astrobly @burtlederp @finder-of-rings @whump-tr0pes @raigash @moose-teeth @orchidscript @doveotions @pretty-face-breaker @eatyourdamnpears @boxboysandotherwhump @vickytokio @whumpfigure @outofangband @downriver914 @justabitofwhump @thehopelessopus @butwhatifyouwrite @yet-another-heathen @nonsensical-whump

[drxwsyni]

Ties That Bind

Demon!Matsukawa Issei x f!Reader

Synopsis: You move into your grandparents old home, situated in a quaint little town for a fresh start. What you don’t expect is there to be a remaining occupant in your new abode, much less when it asks you to help him out.

8.5k words

Warnings: Noncon (starts consensual but turns non-consensual), unprotected sex, fingering, mentions of blood & injury, coercion, stalking, slight hair pulling, pet names, condescension, kidnapping.

_____

You were never one to believe in the supernatural, but you wouldn’t be surprised if somewhere along the lines of your lifetime, you were cursed.

From the rundown apartment you were stuck in, unable to afford a move into a nicer complex, to your recent break up with a long term, painfully neglectful and borderline abusive partner―nothing in your life seemed to work out for you. Over the course of a year, you managed to lose all of your friends, leaving you alone while you stumbled down the path of uncertainty since losing your companion, even if they were a shitty one at that. The job you had ate away at your sanity with each shift, and the fumes of energy it left you with made anything outside of working and tending to your basic human needs impossible.

What you needed was a fresh start, and out of pure luck, that’s exactly what you got.

A certain chill swept past you as you walked up the driveway to your new home. It was a pleasantly comfortable and secluded abode―once belonging to your grandparents, and now belonging to you. They’d recently made the move south, seeking a warmer climate and leaving behind the quaint little town they’d lived in all their lives.

By chance, they thought to call you and offer up the home, and the humble flower shop they ran before leaving. It would all work out impossibly well―the house was paid off, and you already knew how to handle the work of a florist, having seen your grandparents in action many a time when you were younger.

The opportunity was impossible to pass up.

As you finished unpacking the few belongings you took with you, the sense of constant anguish that always seemed to linger lately was already diminishing. With the welcoming smell of a lit fireplace, and the warm surroundings of not just the tasteful interior decorations, but the autumnal changing of the seasons outside―settling into this new lifestyle felt like second nature.

It was a breath of fresh air. Literally―their home was situated about a ten minute drive from town, surrounded by nothing but a colourful forest of maple and oak trees, leaves beautifully bathing your vision with oranges and reds. The change from the smog ridden atmosphere of the city you once resided in was entirely welcome.

You truly felt at ease here, and soon enough days turned into weeks, this utterly perfect way of life sweeping you off your feet and carrying you into what could only be described as complete tranquility.

_____

Your grandparent’s home wasn’t exactly new...it’s how you tried to rationalize the strange occurrences.

When you were younger you remember your grandmother telling you that the thuds and creaks you heard was just the house moving. Expanding in the warmth and shrinking in the cold, things falling in and out of place―normal happenings that you could ignore. However, she never mentioned anything about the sounds of scratching.

You knew what mice and rats that lived in the walls sounded like, no thanks to your shitty old apartment. But these sounds weren’t that. They were long, drawn out and following you. Down the halls, above you as you tried to sleep. Part of you tensed whenever the indescribable scrape of god knows what met your ears, before leaving just a few seconds after it came and not returning for hours, sometimes even days on end.

You rationalized that like all the other bizarre things, this was just a result of the house being old.

That, and the cold gusts of wind, things falling over, the occasional flickering lights. It was all just byproducts of an ancient home, right?

Only, that didn’t explain everything else.

How when you opened or closed a door, it felt like some invisible force was pushing or pulling more than you. When creases on your bed appeared without you having touched it since making it before going to work. Especially not when the things falling out of place were being put back into place. Soon even the items you sent astray yourself ended up where you were too careless to tuck away to begin with.

And certainly, an old home couldn’t explain this feeling.

It came and went, almost unnoticeable but indisputably there if you focused hard enough. A sixth sense of sorts―the one you get when you just know that someone is watching you. But you’re the only person in the house, and when you look over your shoulder there’s nothing to suggest why the distant and mildly unnerving feeling is just barely making itself known.

Not a single plausible thing can make sense of all the peculiar little things happening around you. You can’t fix it, and so the only thing you can do is try to ignore it.

For a while, it actually works.

It's easy to get over it when aside from the things that go bump in the night, everything is just as ideal as the day you moved in. The townspeople who welcomed you with open arms are still just as friendly. Many of them were already your close friends by now, sharing dinner with them a couple times, falling into idle chit chat as you stumbled upon them during a trip to the grocery store or grabbing take out at the local diner. Your new job as a florist was going better than you could’ve ever imagined. The somewhat old fashioned building was picture perfect―brick walls overtaken by wildly growing vines, the setting sun hitting it just right every evening as you were closing up. At the end of the day you could relax, knowing there wasn’t really anything worth worrying over.

At least, that was until you saw it.

You caught the obscure figure in the corner of your eye, but you could’ve sworn there was a man staring at you from the corner of your room. It was morning, and you were at your vanity prepping for the shift ahead of you. For a split second it seemed like the reflection in the mirror hosted an additional figure. But when you turned to face the corner, such a thing had disappeared. As your heart stopped racing, and you forced yourself to put a halt on the spiralling “what if’s” of your mind, you decided it was just your eyes playing tricks on you.

Just shadows creating false realities, nothing more.

But those shadows came back. Not just once, but multiple times.

The next day you saw something standing in the window of your bedroom as you pulled up into the driveway. Just like last time, it vanished in an instant. The same figure ghosted your vision at the end of the hall, a blink and it was gone all the same. At one point you were just reading in your living room, enjoying the warmth of the fireplace at the end of a successful work day. Your eyes were trained on the paragraphs of the pages, when out of nowhere a thick blanket of unease enveloped your body.

Something was in the room with you, and it felt like they were standing right behind you.

You dared not look, despite part of you knowing that if you did there shouldn’t be anything there. Instead, you screwed your eyes shut, wordlessly chanting like a hymn in your mind that you were alone, there’s nothing behind you.

All at once the near suffocating weight lifted. You opened your eyes, turned around and just like you suspected, or rather hoped―it was just you and the rickety old walls of your home.

Honestly, you started to feel like you were losing your mind.

The lifestyle you’d adopted in this homely town of yours was still as enjoyable as ever, only for that serenity to dissipate slightly when you returned home.

Eyes, eyes, eyes.

Eyes here, eyes there. Not false realities, but a presence that was real just as much as yours. It felt strange to be worried about such a thing, when nothing bad was coming out of the shadowy figure occupying your space, aside from the occasional feeling of being watched. You were unsure of what to think―whether you should get the hell out of dodge, or just accept this strange being that you weren’t convinced was even there.

Because aside from the innate instinct to be on edge when that presence made itself known, things were fine. You could ignore it since without fail it always went away when you looked hard enough.

One day, out of pure frustration from the back and forth of your conflicting mindset alone, you let it slip that you wished whatever the hell was haunting you would stop being such a coward and really show itself. You laughed at yourself after, having thrown the comment out to absolutely nobody, realizing how crazy you looked.

Little did you know, that was the invitation it wanted.

_____

You mentally cursed your grandparents for owning such inconvenient appliances. The washer and dryer in the basement’s laundry room were certainly worse for wear. But they weren’t broken yet, and you weren’t willing to pay for the expensive upgrade. Which of course meant that you were stuck trying to fish out a shirt from the bottom of the washer, a loose thread getting caught on a jagged edge that was notorious for holding your clothing hostage.

After nearly falling into the opening from having to reach so far down into it, you relaxed with a deep exhale as you deposited the once stuck article into your laundry basket.

Unfortunately for you, the washing machine wouldn’t be the only faulty part you’d have to fight against while in the cold and damp basement.

The door to the laundry room was just one of the many things that would inconvenience you. Unless you propped it open, it would always shut on it’s own. Normally it wouldn’t be an issue, but now as your hand reached for the doorknob, and it feigned to twist under your influence, it was becoming very much of the sort.

“C’mon….damnit!”

Frustratingly so, you yanked on the handle, jiggling it every which way―yet it would not budge. You noted that you’d left your phone upstairs before coming to do the laundry, meaning you were left to brute force your way out if you didn’t wish to waste away in this small room.

For a moment you paused, closing your eyes to steel yourself from those thoughts that only served to cause more panic.

“I was waiting to see how long it’d take you to get locked in here.”

You nearly yelped at the sudden voice behind you, practically jumping ten feet in the air as your body whipped around to face its source.

And whoever was standing just a few steps away from you―everything in your being knew that it was practically dripping in danger.

Standing well over six foot and sporting an impressively broad frame, with short and slightly curly black hair was...a man? All signs pointed towards that, except for the glaringly contrasting black and pointed horns protruding from his hair.

They were only about two inches long at the most, but they were there nonetheless. Entirely inhuman, matching the black abyss of his eyes, which somehow looked amused at your reaction. He was clad in similarly black clothing, but nothing that seemed abnormally fashioned―at least not in human standards.

He probably seemed amused because you were standing there quite literally frozen, mouth agape and at a loss for words. There were so many things you could say, the plethora of confused and afraid thoughts racing through your mind being ripe for the picking. However you still remained silent, a building anxiety inside screaming for you to do anything.

This unit of half man, half whatever returned your gaze, eventually letting out what may have been a disappointed sounding sigh. When he was the first to move, taking languid strides towards you, something snapped in your brain, allowing you the strength to break out of the astounded trance you were in.

“D-Don’t come any closer!” Frantically, you stumbled backwards, which wasn’t very far, your back colliding harshly with the still locked door.

The horned creature continued his slow approach, taking in your much smaller form with each step. He let out a low chuckle at your words, finding them if not a bit cute, when they were trying to be intimidating. “Oh? And what are you gonna do about it, little human?”

Before you could even begin to process a response, let alone voice the retort, he was already standing right in front of you. With a towering frame, he leaned down in order to face you, making you cower impossibly further into the door behind.

“This piece of junk gets jammed all the time, just gotta mess with it―kinda like….” His hand reached down beside you, the other casually pocketed. As he spoke, the overhead luminance of a lightbulb caught the glint in what you could’ve sworn were fearsomely large canine teeth. A resounding click came from the door, “....that.”

The frame you were leant up against disappeared, and your whole body was sent falling off balance. You should’ve gone crashing down onto the concrete floor beneath you―but a pair of strong arms wrapped around your torso before that could happen.

This time a small shriek did escape your lips when you were forcefully pulled into the stranger’s firm chest, your back pressing against it. A shiver ran through you as he spoke teasingly into your ear, his breath fanning against your skin. “So, you’re a clumsy thing too?”

Adrenaline finally kicking in, you squirmed in his hold, noting with horror as the hands that gripped you had significantly clawed nails, looking like they’d rip straight through your flesh if you weren’t careful. “Get the hell off of me!”

He was deeply entertained at the way you pushed against his chest, your strength paling in comparison to his. Just because he found the sight of you flustered being amusing to no ends, he made sure to relent on letting you out of his arms for a moment. But, in truth, he wasn’t here to scare the living daylights out of you. And so regretfully, he loosened the hold that hadn’t been straining him in the slightest, letting you put some distance in between the both of you.

You were downright mortified at the events unfolding, hair tousled and clothing wrinkled from your brief struggle. A part of you was appalled at how he seemed so nonchalant with his actions, and his appearance in general, that feeling only magnifying at his words.

“Don’t act so surprised now, this isn’t exactly the first time we’ve met after all…”

At that statement you were gone right back to being speechless―because deep down, you realized that he was right. Taking a step back, you could sense that the air hanging in the room carried similarities to the times you caught that shadowy figure lurking in your peripherals. It didn’t feel suffocating now, but the energy it held was a secondary hint at his unnatural presence.

Which would mean that this man who had appeared out of thin air...was the thing that’d been watching you all this time?

Still lost in thought, you barely registered that he’d walked past you and back into the laundry room. “That’s right, little human. It’s only ever been me.” Seemingly sensing the deep confusion you felt at his words, he continued. “Your thoughts are quite loud, y’know.”

You watched with bated breath as he picked up your laundry basket that was still resting atop the dryer, mindlessly letting him hand it to you. Choosing to overlook the fact that he’d blatantly invaded your head to read your mind, only because you didn’t have the capacity to unwrap what that meant, you figured it would be best to start with the basics.

“What...What are you even―” If your eyes could’ve gotten any wider than they already were, they absolutely would’ve.

Smirking to himself, the inhuman stranger picked up a piece of clothing that had fallen out of the basket. He held up the thin, delicately laced panties, snickering as you snatched them from him in a frenzied motion.

You shoved them under the pile of clothing in the basket, “What are you even doing here? And―And how are you here?”

Now that was the reaction he was waiting for.

The sinister smile he gave you did nothing to calm your rapidly beating heart, accompanied by the whole body tense you felt. There were those literal fangs again, bearing themselves as he responded.

“Well, cutie―it’s a long story. But if you’ll have me, I’ll gladly explain it…if it means I get to spend more time with you~”

With a white knuckled grip on the laundry basket, you returned his smug expression with a stern look. Regrettably, you realized that you’d be a fool not to implore on the reasoning behind his unwelcome occupation in your home. It was invasive, and you suspected that the answer to ridding the house of him laid somewhere in whatever tale he was offering to recount.

The knowing look in his blacked out eyes told you he was just as aware of this reality as you, simply awaiting the inevitable answer you were sure to give.

Defeatedly, you agreed to hear him out, a sickening feeling settling in your stomach in seeing his pleased demeanour.

And so was the beginning lines of a contract between you and this resident creature, one that in its completion would bind you to him forever.

_____

He was summoned for quite innocent purposes, it turns out.

This demon who’d slyly instructed you to call him Issei was brought to your world to assist your grandparents. They made a deal―he helps their business, and once they made enough money to move they would repay him.

The problem was, they royally messed up their part of the deal.

Issei apparently got his repayment, but they failed to properly banish him from their home, or rather your home, which he was tethered too. It just so happens that he didn’t realize this until after they’d left. He’d be damned to the home for all eternity, “If only there was a nice little human capable of freeing me…”

Before resigning yourself to assisting the demon in getting him back to where he belonged, you questioned him. And he didn’t really have a choice but to answer, that was unless he wanted you to move out just like your grandparents and leave the next poor soul to deal with him. Naturally, he was just as willing to respond to your questions as he was in previously explaining the circumstances for his entrapment.

Since realizing that he was the entity stalking you from the shadows, you felt a tad...unnerved by him. Why should you help the thing that was unashamedly watching you without your consent after all?

“You were just as much of a stranger to me as I was to you. Had to make sure you weren’t a bad person and all.”

Now that made you laugh, coming from a literal demon.

But, you suppose you couldn’t blame him. That’s not to say the whole thing didn’t creep you out, but in hindsight he could’ve done much worse.

The fact that all he did was keep an eye on you for a while had to show for something, right?

When it came down to it you could either find a way to send Issei home, or move out. Which would mean going back to your old life―being miserable in every capacity.

You’d take a demon over that any day.

The agreement was formed after having gone through three cups of tea, and a bag of potato chips shared between the two of you (it turns out demons liked junk food). Issei would quit being such a creep and stop lurking in the shadows, and you’d use your free time to figure out how to help him.

It was how you ended up in the dusty and dark attic of the house.

Now, your grandparents weren’t always the sentimental type. When they made the move south, they wanted to transition into luxury, which wasn’t exactly what took up the space of their old home. The antique furniture had its charm, but it was nothing compared to what they were anticipating for their new abode. It was for that reason that they left nearly everything behind. Unless it went for a good selling price, or it held legal importance, they saw no need for it.

When you first stepped into the place, it honestly felt like they left in a rush. But you knew better, and so you didn’t pay it any mind.

You were grateful for everything entrusted to you now though, because after nearly an hour of rummaging through the cramped attic, Issei doing little to help, you finally found what you were looking for.

Your grandma’s old journals.

The demon who was lazily lounged on the big wooden crates snickered a little as you coughed on the dust that flew into the air when you blew at books. And then, when you were sent into a sneezing fit, he full out started laughing.

You sent the menace a nasty side glare, “The least you could―” another sneeze, “―c-could do is help me, asshole.”

It was something you suspected had to do with his unnatural makeup, but Issei quite literally towered over you. As he drew near, giving your head a few pats, you once again found yourself in awe of the sheer size of him.

“Alright, hand it over. Clearly your weak human form is no match for these all powerful dust bunnies.”

Quite smugly, as if he was doing you a lifesaving favour, Issei took the box of journals from your hands and headed for the stairs of the attic. For now, you chose to ignore his irritating comment, realizing that the sooner you got to those journals, the sooner you could get rid of him.

_____

Well, at least he wasn’t lying to you.

After what felt like hours of reading, probably because it did take that long, you finally stumbled upon the entries that detailed the origin story of the demon’s summoning. All in all, you couldn’t exactly blame your grandparents for seeking supernatural assistance. Sure, making a deal with a demon to boost the popularity of the floral shop held a lot of uncertainties, but it seemed to go fine for them.

And you really couldn’t blame them when they just so happened to end up with such an easy going demon at that. You had no clue such business could be so simple and stress-free, but the pages of your grandmother's writing told you that you really did have nothing to worry about.

With that in mind, you decided to do some backtracking.

Surely somewhere in these faded and withering pages would hold the key to sending Issei back to wherever he should be. There was enough writing for her to have mentioned it at some point―but that was the issue.

In counting, you found a total of thirteen journals, each one about an inch and a half thick. All that reading, and you had no clue where the answers to your problems lay. However, whether you should be grateful or not, Issei didn’t seem to be in a rush to get home. Which meant you had all the time in the world to scan page after page of the journals.

It was safe to say that it’d be a while to complete such a task. Enough time in fact for the two of you to grow very comfortable with each other.

While it took a little bit to get used to, you soon found the demon’s presence to be much less of a weight on your shoulders than it once did. Since Issei stopped existing as a shadow, the strange looming sensation you felt disappeared.

You figured that, even though you strictly told him not to, he may have invaded your mind to find out how his more inhuman characteristics didn’t exactly sit well with you. Now, you couldn’t deny that he was easy on the eyes, but it was hard to focus on that when something so unnatural was also staring you in the face.

One day you came home to see that those demonic qualities were gone. Horns disappeared, eyes looking human, and razor sharp claws reduced to short and blunt fingernails.

Once again, you never said anything, but the knowing smirk he held gave away that he very well knew how attractive you found him to be in that moment. Of course, you’d grown used to his teasing attitude by then, steeling yourself and moving on with the rest of your day.

While you worked to understand the ins and outs of the witchcraft your grandparents used, things around the house were generally nice. He acted like an oddly supportive and chill roommate, if anything strangely attentive to you. When there wasn’t anything to do, Issei simply preferred to watch you go about your own business. Technically it beat him doing the whole hiding in the shadows thing, but you couldn’t say his eyes that you could’ve sworn became a little darker than normal when watching you made you feel a little antsy.

He was a demon after all―an entity stronger than you could ever comprehend, one that was choosing to simply follow your movements from his laid out position on the couch as you did one thing or another. Such a contrast in strength even in that state would naturally make you want to shrink under his unrelenting gaze.

It was safe to say that it took a while to get warmed up to him. But the journals were long, and you were still searching for answers. And so eventually you developed a fondness for the demon stuck in your home until further notice.

Despite how you started reading the journals the moment you found them, there simply wasn’t enough time in the day to put a significant dent in them over the span of maybe a few hours. One week turned into two, then three. A month had passed and you were only a quarter of the way through the pile.

Finally, four months later, you had reached the end...sort of.

In that time you’d learnt how your grandparents had been meddling in the demonic arts for many years now. Small things here and there, nothing as serious as summoning a demon. It was for that reason that you were quite regrettably unable to find anything that would tell you how to send Issei home. Even more so was the painful curiosity you got from discovering some severely burnt and unreadable pages in the last journal. It couldn’t have been more than a few of them, but for all you knew, they could’ve held the solution to your problem.

The last entry was detailed pretty normally. Your grandmother wrote of how they were nearing the end of the contract. With the flower shop having thrived for a long while, they finally had enough funds to make the move. All that was left was to figure out what the demon wanted in return for his assistance. But that’s where it ended, leaving you with nothing to help you with your own challenges.

Right now, all it really meant was that Issei wasn’t going anywhere anytime soon.

That fact held a strange reality―concerning how in these four months, you developed a strange bond with him.

It almost embarrassed you to say, and you’d never openly admit it to him knowing the relentless teasing you’d get, but a part of you didn’t want him to leave. You reasoned it was due to the neglect and general mistreatment you received from your last relationship, because you couldn’t deny the strange longing you felt to be around him.

At first when you tried to push Issei away, he laughed at you. All we wanted was to be there for you, provide some casual comfort as it was one of the few things he could do for you. The comment of it being ‘what you deserved’ didn’t go unnoticed by no means. In fact, it stuck in your mind and stayed at the forefront. Replaying in your head each and every move he made to be closer with you.

Sure, he could be a little cheeky at times, a few innuendos here and there. But other than that, you never quite minded his touch. If anything, you welcomed it.

He was everything you wanted in a partner. Observant, thoughtful, attentive when he needed to be. You didn’t have many reasons to be stressed in this new life, or in need of relief so to speak. But when you were, when you did need a distraction, he was always there.

You were no stranger to Issei’s more affectionate side. Four months of living together in such close and secluded quarters allows for a lot of exploration between what the two of you meant to each other after all. Up until now, you took how he always offered a shoulder to lean on, passing embraces and absentminded physical gestures to be something more platonic in nature.

Now however, you weren’t so sure.

While the flower shop was still thriving, you were the only person running it. It left you a little more worn out than usual, a particularly busy week leading you to have some pent up anxieties.

And of course, Issei noticed right away.

You brushed off his insistence to let him help you wind down at first, but a few days of the strain on your body had you yearning for something to ease the ache.

And the book you were reading just wasn’t cutting it.

You let out a huff of frustration, your mind unable to focus on the words. Also laying on the bed beside you, Issei quirked an eyebrow at the small commotion. You failed to notice the way his eyes took in the sight of you clad in your thin nightgown, how his lips quirked into a knowing smirk from your idea of trying to read to help you fall asleep for the night doing jack shit.

“You really gotta relax a little, sweetheart.”

You sent him an unserious glare before you returned your focus to the book. “I’m trying to.”

The bed creaked a bit as he drew closer, assumedly trying to see what story could possibly be so captivating that would have you acting this serious. Really, he was stealing a glance down the front of your nightgown, exposing your supple skin.

A shiver ran through your body as he leant down, speaking low into your ear. “Why don’t you just let me help, s’not like I haven’t done it before.”

While he wasn’t wrong, the reality was he’d never done anything like what he was insinuating. You never had to ask him how he wanted to help you relax, when a warm hand rested atop your thigh, giving it a gentle squeeze.

How the hell were you supposed to focus now?

You didn’t push him away as the hand curled into your inner thigh, thumb moving back and forth against your skin. Only a little worriedly, you attempted to press your legs together.

“Issei, I―”

“What, is my little human shy?”

Your heart began to race as the deepness of his voice, being so close made you physically shudder. The grip on the book's spine tightened. “T-That’s not it, I just…”

You were forced to pause mid sentence as his hand crept further up your thigh, his lips ghosting the shell of your ear as he continued to pull you deeper into the wanton trance.

“I think if you knew what was good for you, you’d finally let me take care of you.”

He hadn’t even touched you where you were finding yourself wanting him to the most, but the pooling heat you felt was already so incredibly intense. You could feel the slight dampness in your panties, body aching with need so quickly at his actions.

“...Why don’t you let me give you what I know you want.”

Of course he was able to tell how much you were losing yourself to his words, with the way your breath’s pace picked up, lids half shutting with anticipation. As the pads of his fingers finally grazed your clothed pussy, and you let an airy sigh escape your lips, the both of you knowing how you can’t deny his offer.

Especially not when those fingers push the delicate fabric to the side, teasingly trailing up your folds.

“I think it’s time that―” he accentuates those low spoken words by applying the perfect amount of pressure against your clit, “―you really relax, yeah?”

Almost immediately, your hips buck against his hand, grinding yourself into it and earning more delicious stimulation. You didn’t even realize the way your book slipped off your lap, too caught up in how Issei’s fingers began rubbing steady circles against the little bundle of nerves.

A hand flies to your mouth in an attempt to stifle the few high pitched moans escaping you. While you are a little confused as to why you feel so goddamn needy, you don’t really care. Quite the opposite, you eagerly part your legs as his fingers dip lower to your entrance, gathering up some of your arousal. You're unable to stop the whine as he pushes a finger in, skillfully curling it against your walls.

Even harder is it to stop the way your breath hitches and your walls clamp down as he adds a second finger, hitting that spongy and sensitive part of you seemingly easily.

It’s impossible for him to miss your cute little reactions, “That’s your spot, pretty girl?”

You all but keen at the saccharine tone lacing his words, head pressing into the pillow as his digits make languid thrusts into your heat. Wrapped up in the way he’s perfectly working you over, you didn’t fight him as he leant over your body and began leaving open mouth kisses against your neck. Or, when he latched onto a particular spot that had you writhing gently underneath him, hands gripping his biceps to ground yourself.

Much quicker than usual, that warm and familiar pressure was building inside you, lewd noises of your slick meeting your ears as Issei quickened his pace. He spoke against the skin of your collarbone, small marks growing darker here and there from his ministrations. “That’s it, little one. Give it to me…”

Although it was spoken quietly, you could’ve sworn the command felt like it was playing out in your mind. Reverberating through your fleeting thoughts, coaxing you to fall apart. A near blinding sensation ripped through you as his thumb repeatedly swiped at your clit, a few more seconds enough to push you over the edge that you reached almost shamefully fast. Issei didn’t let up, helping you ride out your orgasm as you remained in that intense state longer than you ever had before.

When you eventually came down from your high, panting and a light sheen of sweat adorning your face, you did feel more relaxed. But somehow, that same heat you felt persisted.

You must have been out of it longer than you thought, unaware of just how you came to be now entirely bare, nightgown and panties nowhere to be seen.

That, and the fact that Issei was just as uncovered as you, hovering over your mildly exhausted body. With glazed over eyes, you drank up the way the bedside candle bathed his body in a warm and flickering light, highlighting his tanned skin. You would have remained that way, enjoying the view of his broad and well built frame, if he hadn’t interrupted you. And, if you weren’t already so far gone in the motions, you might haven protested as his lips captured yours in a deep kiss. It was too late for any that now. Your mouth parted in a weak sigh as his hand came up to cup your breast, pinching the already hardened nipple and experimentally rolling it in between his fingers.

Out of pure need to breath, you pawed against his toned chest, relieved when he let up. Not before nipping at your now swollen bottom lip, he chuckled a bit to himself, having a proud smirk in seeing your blissed out expression.

“...Told you I could help.”

The burning ache in between your legs refused to leave, despite you just having experienced what was likely the most intense orgasm you’d ever had.

Issei could see the desire written across your face, bringing a hand to affectionately cup your cheek.

Even that contact alone was stirring the same need in you, making you lean into the gesture as you practically pouted up at him.

“What’s wrong, baby. That not enough for you?”

If it weren’t for the teasing lilt in his voice, you would’ve felt bad for what you were about to ask.

Lashes wetted slightly with tears, you peered up at the demon who was awaiting an answer.

“I want more, please…”

For the first time in ages, your drifting gaze landed on those sharpened canine teeth of his, shining in the candle light from his lighthearted grin at your pleading.

It was taking everything in him not to lose himself in your vulnerability. Having you so openly grapple for his touch was downright intoxicating, and even for a demon as strong as him, the pull to absolutely ravage you was almost irresistible.

But he couldn’t do such a thing―not yet.

Issei was quick to oblige your request, positioning himself between your legs and lining up with your dripping entrance. Just because the sight of your frustrated pout as you waited patiently for more was sickeningly addictive, he took a moment to tease you even further.

A jolt of pleasure shot through you as he rubbed the weeping tip of his cock along your glistening folds, nudging your clit and earning a desperate mewl from you. Your whole body felt like it was melting under even the smallest of movements, limbs beginning to grow weaker. Just as the tears welling in your eyes threatened to spill, Issei leant down and planted his lips softly against yours.

You suppose it was a distraction, as you felt him begin to push past your entrance. Having been previously drowning in the way he was eying you like prey, you never quite caught a glimpse of what was in store for you. You now knew all too well though, your nails digging into his biceps as he slowly split you open on his cock.

Hearing your pained whines, Issei brought a thumb back down to circle your puffy clit. In parting, you turned your head to the side as he began planting light kisses along your cheek, continuing along your jawbone.

“Takin’ me so well, such a good little human…”

The praise he purred into your ear had you keening, wanting to earn more as he finally sunk into you.

Out of mercy for your much frailer composition, Issei paused until you gave him those pleading eyes to keep moving, your lower lip tugged between your teeth.

And god, how could he refuse that.

He reared back before snapping his hips into you, the force causing you to yelp as your whole body was jolted. Issei looked down at you, an animalistic look in his eyes as he began a steady pace.

You clawed at his shoulders, the sheer size of him making it effortless to hit that sensitive and spongy spot inside you with each thrust. His whole body was massive, engulfing your frame and showing you just how small you were in comparison now that he was so close.

“Aren’t you just a mess for me. This tight little cunt is fuckin’ drooling.”

It felt like with each word that left his lips, the burning desire grew more and more intense. Maybe it was because you hadn’t properly gotten off since Issei had made himself known four months ago, but right now you couldn’t care less. The drag of his cock against your walls had you weakly writhing underneath him, back arching and legs kicking out.

Issei took pride in the way you squirmed, each slam of his hips causing you broken moans and high-pitched whimpers. You were babbling nonsense, of how good it felt, how good he felt. He saw the way your eyes were glazed over, rolling into the back of your head, not focused in any capacity on the way he was changing right above you.

A large hand wrapped around your throat, and distantly, you could feel a sharp sting against your sweat covered skin.

“Look at you, my sweet little human―you need me, right?” Issei all but growled out the question, squeezing your neck tighter when you failed to respond.

“Y-Yes! Fuck, I need you, need you s-so bad Issei.”

While you were falling apart, panting and drool seeping from your mouth, the demon was as collected as ever. With his rhythm increasing, you felt the coil tightening and threatening to snap with each passing second, your legs wrapping around his hips and trying to pull him impossibly closer.

“That’s right, you fucking need me, you belong to me―say it.”

You were so close to reaching that peak for a second time, too absorbed in the feeling to respond.

Issei felt the way your walls fluttered, clamping down against his length. As much as he wanted to see your face contort in ecstasy only he could deliver you, he still needed one last thing.

His hips stilled right as you were about to come undone again, pulling out almost all the way and leaving just the tip.

“Say it, human. Tell me who you belong to.”

The demand was harsh, ringing inside your head and mixing with the lust filled haze clouding your mind.

“You, Issei! I’m yours, please don’t stop, I-I’m―”

Your eyes shut tight as he slams back into you, pace quicker than ever as you fail to notice how the entire room begins to change. All you can register is the blinding sensation of your building release, it crashing upon you in waves. Somehow more powerful than the last, you’re reduced to a convulsing mess as he keeps moving inside you while you cum.

There’s a certain ringing in your ears, a muffledness that slowly fades as you calm down. Your heart is beating hard against your ribcage as you tearily crack open your eyes.

You’re not in your room.

The black ceiling that hangs above you is not your own, nor are the satin sheets of similar colour you lay upon. What was once your home is now everything but the sort, a bedchamber large and grand. The hanging chandelier and mounted sconces light your vision.

They light the still looming frame of Issei.

He’s changed too.

Those once hidden and inhuman horns have made their return, his eyes darker and sinister. And the fangs you caught a glimpse of earlier, crimson.

A thin trail of blood trickles from the corner of his mouth, falling and landing on your chest.

“Such a naive little thing you are…”

Startled and still far too sensitive, you gave a silent scream as Issei thrusted back into your heat in one fluid and harsh movement. You pawed against his chest, body still exhausted and turning your protests into nothing more than feeble pawing.

“S-Stop, Issei. S’too much, p-please.”

Instead of slowing down, his movements quickened, a brutal pace being set as you frantically tried pushing him away.

You didn’t know where you were, but in the back of your mind, you knew how you came to be in this strange place had something to do with the demon ignoring your pained sobbing.

Even in seeing your face twisted in anguish and confusion, he kept that self-righteous grin on his face. “Made me work to own you, I’ll give you that.” Issei’s hand, once wrapped around your neck, gripped you by the hair.

A sharp sting shot across your scalp as he forcefully beared your neck. With a swipe of his thumb, the demon smeared the still fresh blood leaving the bite wound on your neck. You cried out in pain as all of a sudden the punctured area began to burn.

“But with this, you’ll never be able to leave me.” A deep laugh reverberated in his chest at the prospect of his words, not ceasing the movements that were somehow lighting that same fire in your belly once again.

You mentally recoiled at the whole situation, the feeling of unbridled fear swelling inside you.

“I said st―” “Stop? That’s cute, sweetheart. But…” Eyes gleaming with hunger, drank up your messy and exhausted, small form. “...Little humans like you don’t get to make choices for yourselves―not anymore, at least.”

Despite his words doing nothing to encourage you to speak, if anything only frightening you with how they weighed down on your conscience, you still forced yourself too. To your appreciation, Issei slowed his pace slightly, giving you the chance to catch up with your thoughts.

“I-I don’t understand, why are you―”

A searing kiss cut off your questioning, his length stilling and remaining buried inside of you. He wasn’t anywhere close to being gentle like before. This time, his kiss felt rough, claiming as his fangs pierced the soft skin of your lower lip, the metallic taste of your own blood flooding your mouth.

When he pulled back, you were just as stained in red as he was.

“You were the deal, sweetheart.”

Issei reclaimed that fast and bruising pace, pelvic bone grinding against you and catching your clit with each cant of his hips. He relished in the way your nails left marks in their wake against his shoulders and back, finding your attempts to both search for something to steady you and push him away at the same time greatly entertaining.

“Your fuckin’ grandparents left once they realized they weren’t what I wanted―” Large hands met the underneath of your thighs, bringing them up to press against your chest, “Gave me you to earn their freedom.”

By now the tears once fleeting had developed into a steady stream, you hiccuping as you feebly attempted to form words. “That’s...s’not true, they w-wouldn’t do that.”

As the declaration left your mouth, you thought your mind was totally lost and playing tricks on you. In the palm of Issei’s hand appeared the burnt pages to journal number thirteen.

“It’s not? Then why did the crazy witch write it all down?” Carelessly, he tossed the badly blackened pages away, scattering them across the bed.

Your gaze followed the mess as they splayed across the sheets, view landing on the familiar scribbles and catching the last few lines jotted down.

“...Doesn’t deserve this…..I didn’..rea..ze…..he’s...monster…..the poor thing….......I’m sorry….”

Issei’s clawed hand turned your head back to face him, the sharp points of his fingers digging into your cheeks. While you knew he wanted your attention on him, all you could conceive was how this was just a repeat of your unfortunate history.

What you thought would be the start of a perfect new life was really the end of your already shameful one. Lured into fresh surroundings, only to find the air heavy with an awaiting darkness.

In a contrasting act of tenderness, Issei leant down, lips finding your fallen tears and kissing them away. Perhaps it was a pitying comfort, as you found those thoughts of despair suffocating, firmly cementing your fate with him.

But when he spoke, you knew it wasn’t because he realized your internal state from the look on your face, but from peering into the open book of your mind.

“I’ll take care of you, little human. Let me prove it to you.”

You might not have had the capacity to understand him then, but he meant what he said. In all of those months, he became everything you needed. And while it was to get you to trust him, to get you to give yourself to him―it wasn’t to say that he didn’t truly want to do all of those things.

From the moment you stepped into that house, Issei knew he was right in his judgment to respond to your grandparent’s summoning. The pull to heed their demands was strong, and for good reason. You were the being he was searching for. So he tended to all of your ailments, and in doing so realized he found what he’d been craving all these years.

He found the rush of feeling needed in you.

You’d have no choice to depend on him now, trapped in his realm with no way out.

Those details weren’t something you quite needed to know at the moment, however.

Whole body quivers washed over you, limbs feeling weaker than ever as both of you drew closer to release. Unrestrained moans left you as Issei’s length glided against your tensing walls, pressure building rapidly in your lower abdomen.

You weren’t anywhere near in your right mind as he relentlessly pounded into you, but you could’ve sworn the stretch of his cock felt bigger as his thrusts grew more erratic.

Showing that he really would take care of you, his hand snaked in between your bodies, the pad of his thumb rubbing messily against your sensitive nub.

With a few more rough thrusts, him still sloppily circling your clit with wide motions, you came around Issei’s cock for the second time.

He buried his head into the crook of your neck, inhaling your scent, and that of the wound he’d inflicted upon you. Chasing his own release, he sporadically rutted against you.

Far too exhausted to do anything about it, you could only lay breathless as a warmth spread inside you, uncaring of the mess dripping down your thighs as Issei eventually pulled away.

The night's events were catching up on you, maintaining consciousness being impossible no matter how much you tried. No amount of fighting to keep your eyelids open would help, simply delaying the inevitable.

As your grasp on the waking world slipped through your fingertips, the last thing you felt was the dulled sensation from the wound on your neck, spreading to feel like a collar chaining you down.

The demon, not nearly as tired as you, returned your body to a comfortable position. He’d deal with the mess he’d made once you were fully asleep and unable to protest, now choosing to watch you drift away.

That satisfied smile remained on his expression, thankful to have finally returned home. But more than anything, he was satisfied.

Issei found what he was looking for.

And, being the perfectly naive human you were, you finalized your fate in willfully agreeing to be his.

The contract was completed, binding you to him for all eternity.

[whumperooni]

sick

Pairing: Satan x Reader, Lucifer x Reader

Tags/Warnings: jealousy, cucking, very submissive reader, fingering, violence and blood mention, kinda toxic relationship,

Word count: 3k

A/N: this popped into my head and wouldn’t let go so i had to write it u.u

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It makes him sick.

“You picked the red coat? No, no- darling, go put on the black one I bought you. You look so beautiful in it.”

It makes him sick.

“The Fall? Absolutely not- you’re going with me to Lord Diavolo’s tonight. He wants to see you, kitten, and we’re not going to disappoint him.”

It makes him sick.

“Now, now- that’s enough. You had a big lunch today; you don’t need to gorge yourself anymore.”

It makes him sick.

Teeth gritting, Satan watches as Lucifer fixes a diamond collar upon your neck. Fists clenching, Satan watches as Lucifer runs his gaze over your small form and reaches to adjust the hem of your dress.

“Perfect,” Lucifer murmurs. “You look perfect.”

You blink up at him, docile and sweet, and Satan has to look away from the way you smile at his big brother, has to look away from the way Lucifer places his hand to the back of your neck and nudges you to walk out of the room.

You’re so complacent under Lucifer’s thumb- so content. It makes him sick how easily you bend to his will, how you change your life at his whims and submit to his demands without any hesitation or words of protest.

Lucifer doesn’t deserve you. He doesn’t deserve someone so sweet and so obedient, so very good.

He doesn’t deserve you and it makes Satan sick.

A scowl crosses his face and he crosses his arms over his chest, tries to ignore the ugly throb of envy that pulses in his chest.

“Satan? What’re you doin’ out here? I thought you were goin’ to Solomon’s tonight.”

The question distracts him just for a moment and Satan takes a breath, closes his eyes and nods.

Solomon’s, yes. He’s supposed to go to Solomon’s- he should go to Solomon’s.

It would be better to do that than stay at home and stew.

He leaves the room before Mammon can pull him into a senseless conversation and he heads to Solomon’s- brow furrowed and a stormy rage brewing through his mind.

✣✣✣✣✣✣✣✣✣✣✣✣✣✣✣✣✣✣✣✣✣

Two in the morning is when Satan arrives home.

Two in the morning and he’s drunk, fumbling with his keys and shoving off his coat with more force than what’s necessary.

He shouldn’t have let Solomon talk him into drinking. He shouldn’t have accepted the wine that had been pushed his way nor the whiskey that Solomon had plied on him either.

But, he had.

He had and now he’s drunk, risking a hangover in the morning and a long day ahead of him.

Stupid. He was stupid.

A huff escapes him and Satan makes his way to the kitchen, grumbles to himself when he nearly trips over a rug.

It’s quiet in the kitchen- blissfully quiet, blissfully without any brothers scrounging around for a late night snack. Satan goes straight for the fridge and he gets himself a bottle of water, cracks it open and downs half of it in one go.

His head throbs whenever he finally stops drinking and Satan presses the bottle to his forehead, sighs as his eyes fall shut.

He’s so tired and the world is so fuzzy- he hates feeling like this.

He hates feeling likes this, but he hates more so whenever there’s a small sound behind him and he turns around to find you.

You wearing a silk nightgown and one of Lucifer’s shirts over it. You with a sleepy face and marks on your neck that your collar can’t quite hide. You who looks at him and then looks away, bites your lip and lowers your head meekly as his eyes narrow.

Of course- why shouldn’t he run into you tonight? Why shouldn’t he be tormented with the sight of you looking so lovely all wrapped up in scarlet silk, looking so thoroughly owned with his brother’s claims marking your soft body and the diamond studded leather wrapped around your throat?

Satan huffs and your eyes flit to them, flit away in a hurry.

You’re not supposed to look at him. Him, or any of his brothers. Any demon or human or angel, actually- only Lucifer, only Diavolo.

It makes him sick.

You don’t speak- you never speak unless spoken to- and that stokes the rage that had simmered down, brings it up to a dull roar that has his eyes narrowing, his lips dipping into a scowl.

So obedient, so submissive- there’s not a hint of a backbone in you and it makes him burn with anger, sear with frustration and fury.

God, he loathes- loves- how weak you are.

He watches as you squirm under his gaze and he watches as your mouth opens and shuts, as some quiet distress has your fingers curling into your nightgown. It only further serves to his eyes narrow even more and his teeth grit as your own dig deeper into your bottom lip, as it trembles.

Pathetic. You’re so very pathetic.

“Speak,” he finally snaps out, unable to stand the silence any longer.

The word is irritated, but your shoulders relax at it and Satan scoffs at the relieved sigh that sounds from you, the way your lashes flutter but your gaze stays on the floor.

“I- I wanted to get some water...I’m sorry...”

Meek, soft- your voice is so small and so apologetic and there’s no reason it should be. There’s no reason it should be so timid and there’s no reason he should enjoy it so much.

It’s disgusting. He’s disgusting.

“Then get some water,” he huffs, leaning against the counter. “No one’s stopping you.”

A tiny noise and your fingers twitch at your side, your cheeks heat as you take a few apprehensive steps forward. If he were just a bit more drunk, Satan might roll his eyes at the display but he stays silent instead, frowns as you make your way to the fridge.

You’re too close to him as you grab the water from the fridge- he can smell your perfume and he can smell Lucifer’s cologne, smell the faint scent of sex lingering on you.

Vile. It’s so vile.

You take the water and you close the door, but you don’t leave as he expects- you hesitate where you stand and you flutter nervous fingers around the bottle, bite your lip once more as Satan watches you.

“What?” he asks, exasperated by you and your meek little display and the way his eyes can’t help but to linger on your curves.

He hates his brother but, gods, does Lucifer know how to dress you.

“I,” you start- anxious, quieter than before, “I...I...can I have a snack? Please?”

You’re asking him if you can have a snack? You’re seeking permission from him for something so basic?

Satan blinks and he wets his lips as his cock stirs, as you squirm and fret before him.

“...you may.”

His approval brings a tiny smile on your face- something that could nearly be called excited. He hates it and he hates the way it makes his heart pound, hates the shy joy that crosses over your sweet features, hates how it makes his eyes grow hooded and a heady sense of satisfaction thread through him.

He hates the way it makes him want to break from his control, pull you to him and make you look at him, make you submit more to him.

Stupid, weak human- how dare you shake him the way you do. How dare you wreck his self-control when you won’t even be his.

“Thank you!”

Sweet, happy- your sincere words has his fingers digging into his arms, his frustration spiraling all the more.

Lucifer doesn’t deserve you.

You go to the cabinets and you have to stand on your tiptoes as you root around them. You’re just so small compared to him, to his brothers and it’s so very horrid how it has his cock hardening even more as his mind flashes with images of you beneath him, you sitting in his lap.

You’d fit against him so well.

A please noise sounds as you find your snack of choice, but it’s drowned out by a click of a tongue, a disappointed sigh.

“Darling, you know you’re not allowed a snack so late at night.”

Satan’s heart stops and you go perfectly still- back rigid and the snack falling from your trembling hands, a quiet whimper leaving you as Lucifer steps into the room.

“S-Sir...Sir I...”

You can’t even finish your apology, can’t form any excuses. If you were anyone else, Satan may pity you. Instead, his rage is fueled even more so and he’s left near snarling as his older brother bypasses him without so much as a glance spared his way to go to you.

“Who gave you permission to have a snack?” Lucifer asks, murmuring the question as he forces you to turn to face him. Like this, Satan can see your wide eyes and the tears in them, your wobbling lower lip and the shame all over your pretty face.

“It certainly wasn’t me,” Lucifer continues on, hand finding your cheek. “Did my kitten think she could break her rules?”

A tiny whimper, your eyes darting toward Satan, and your head hangs, your small shoulders shake.

And then all of a sudden, Lucifer’s eyes are on him- narrowed, his head cocking, displeasure showing in the way his lips press together.

The aggravation from him has Satan’s scowl shifting into something that’s almost a smirk and he only lifts his head higher as Lucifer looks him over, stares him back down as something vindictive surges through him.

Oh, he wants to rub his brother’s face in it. Oh, he wants to gloat over this small, insignificant victory and have his brother’s smooth facade breaking.

“...ah,” Lucifer says, attention turning back to you. “I see. You thought his permission would make it alright?”

Wide eyes widen even more and Satan huffs as you sniffle, as you bob your head in a tiny nod and admit to your mistake.

Disgusting. Weak. God, can you stand up to him even a little?

(No, no, of course not. Because then you wouldn’t be his and then Satan wouldn’t be aching to have you in his clutches.)

“I- I’m sorry...”

A tut from Lucifer and his hand tightens its hold on your face, brings a noise of distress from you and tears that wet your lashes.

“Darling,” Lucifer hums- softly, dangerously, “you’re so very foolish, aren’t you? Don’t you remember who you belong to?”

A gasp and you’re shuddering, Satan is gnashing his teeth as fingers dip below your collar and tug. Lucifer’s gaze moves to him and it’s so amused, so thoroughly entertained.

He could kill him, Satan thinks. He could kill him.

“Perhaps my kitten needs to be reminded of who owns her,” Lucifer muses. “Perhaps everyone needs to be reminded of it.”

Oh, he is not-

“Y-Yes, sir...”

You’re pulled in front of Lucifer before Satan can so much as blink and his shirt is ripped off of you, your nightgown is tugged above your hips. You’re bare underneath it- no underwear to be seen- and Satan’s fury gets waylaid by shock, by want and greed as your thighs are nudged apart and your hips are made to arch back against his older brother.

“Lucifer-”

“She’s gorgeous, isn’t she?” Lucifer interrupts- voice so casual as his hand dips low to run a finger through your slit. “Gorgeous, obedient, and so very eager to please. My good little girl.”

Lucifer’s good little girl.

The words have you gasping softly, the touch has your cheeks heating up. You are gorgeous and you are obedient and you are so very eager- your hips grind against Lucifer’s fingers as he dips them inside you and Satan hates seeing it, hates that his cock is harder than before, hates that his hands twitch with the need to reach out and touch you, feel your silken wetness for himself.

“Ah, sir...”

The soft mewl comes out sweetly, so darling and dear. It makes Satan’s eyes narrow and his teeth clench, but the smirk the graces his brother’s face has him growling in envy, his hands tightening into fists.

Bastard.

“She’s exquisite,” Lucifer murmurs. “Always so wet, so easy to rile up. It feels like heaven sliding into her. And she so does enjoy being filled- don’t you, darling?”

“I- oh- oh, yes! Please!”

Needy- your quiet cry is so needy.

You’re so needy and Satan is so hard. Hard, avaricious, furious at the situation unfolding before him.

How dare Lucifer pull this? How dare he dangle you like a treat never to be savored before him?

Magic crackles along Satan and he snarls, pushes himself from the counter and glares all his rage toward his older brother and the moaning beauty before him.

“Stop. It.”

Lucifer’s smirk grows and his fingers plunge deeper into you, you cry out louder than Satan has ever heard before as you thighs shake and your body tilts forward with a moan.

“What?” Lucifer asks, taunts. “Are you bothered by this? You don’t want to see her losing herself to pleasure?”

He does- god, he does. But he wants to see you losing yourself to pleasure brought on by him. He wants to break you apart and have all your mewling, whimpering pleas all to himself.

“Perhaps you want to indulge in her?” Lucifer muses, thumb moving to grind along your clit. “Perhaps you want to fuck her yourself?”

“Lucifer-”

“Kitten, do you want that? Do you want anyone but me?”

A whimper, a shake of your head- you sniffle and you shake at the question, have to be held up by Lucifer to keep from collapsing onto the kitchen floor.

And Satan- Satan’s heart cracks and his rage explodes along with the cups drying on the counter, the plates stacked in the sink.

How dare Lucifer? How dare you?

The noise of breaking dishes has you startling and the step that Satan takes toward you has you stuttering out panic, but he can’t see it- can’t acknowledge it- as his tail slams against the cabinets and makes their contents tumble onto the floor in rushing, loud heaps.

“L-Lucifer!”

“Shh, darling,” Lucifer soothes- unruffled by the threat Satan carries, uncaring at the volcanic fury threatening to be unleashed. “He knows his place. He knows your place.”

“My place? My place?!”

The words fly from Satan’s mouth before he can think to contain them and his snarl has the kitchen rumbling, has tears dripping down your cheeks and your hips squirming against Lucifer’s hand.

Lucifer only hums and he retracts his fingers from you, licks your juices from them with a sneer.

“Absolutely decadent.”

Satan moves so fast that the kitchen becomes a blur and his hands seek Lucifer’s neck, his claws reach to dig into that arrogant neck and slice it to bloody pieces.

He’s thrown across the room before he can so much as bring a drop and the impact has the fridge denting, food scattering along the floor, and a terrified cry ripping from you.

“Sir!”

Sir? Sir? Even after Lucifer throwing him across the room all you can think about is that bastard?

Disgusting. You stupid little wretch.

“Sir! Lucifer! Please- please don’t-”

A scoff sounds and ebony wings appear, wrap around your trembling form and pull you closer, hide your glittering tears from view.

“Look, now you’ve upset her,” Lucifer huffs. “My poor little darling.”

“Fuck you!”

A whimper, a tut, a snarl. You’re lifted up and you tuck your face into Lucifer’s neck, cling to him like the pathetic, weak, disgusting thing you are. Satan heaves himself out of the wreckage and you flinch as he growls, sniffle and whine as Lucifer’s arms tighten around you.

“Come, kitten, you shouldn’t have to see something so ugly.”

And just like that, you’re whisked away and Satan is left to sweep the counter free from its contents, snarl and rip chunks of marble out of it and hurl them against the wall.

They explode into dust and he heaves, rakes his claws through his hair and shakes with so much rage it has the whole house quaking.

The sounding of running footsteps are drowned by the pounding in his ears and Satan growls as he grips onto the sink, nearly falls to his knees as his fury pulses so thick and bitter it has him choking.

Vile. Disgusting. Sick.

It’s all so sick.

Satan drops into a crouch and he presses his hand to his mouth, tears at his flesh as he shakes and breaks under the weight of his horrid rage and greed and heartbreak.

Repulsive. Weak.

He’s so pathetic- just as pathetic as you are.

Satan squeezes his eyes shut and he grits his teeth as his brothers spill into his room, slams his fist against the floor as a sweet, teary cry sounds from high above.

“Satan?! Satan what happened?”

“Nothing.”

“Satan-”

He stands and he wipes the blood from his cheeks, storms past his brothers and to his room, hurls a vase at Lucifer’s door when he passes it and he hears you whimper out a loud “please!”

He doesn’t stop until he gets into his room and he slams the door behind him, collapses onto the floor and buries his fingers into his hair, snarls because his cock his still hard and he can’t get the image of your heated cheeks and stuffed, sweet crux out of his mind despite the rage and the violence and your fear.

It makes him sick.

He makes himself sick.

Satan curls into himself and his tail wraps around his body tight, his heart thuds faster and faster as his frustration spirals with the threat of him lashing out once more.

He’s so sick. This whole house is sick.

The thought that he will never have you makes him sick.

It doesn’t stop him from stroking his cock to the sound of you being ravished, though, and it doesn’t stop him from gasping and growling and coming to the thought of snatching you away from his big brother, fucking you senseless in front of that bastard and putting you in a collar of his own.

Someday.

Someday.

Someday he’ll make his brother feel as sick as he does.

And Lucifer, you, everyone will rue the day.

[anything-goes-my-friends]

A New Beginning

The ending of ROTT broke me and I was left very disappointed in the ending of the show. I loved the movie, but the last 10 minutes didn’t sit well with me. I needed a fix-it fic with the ending I think the series deserves, so don’t be mad at me if you don’t like it. This is just what I think it needs, obviously not what everyone else thinks it needs.

In this fic Jim goes back to the day he got the amulet, but instead of giving it to Toby he takes it himself, and relives his journey with the knowledge and experience to save everyone he lost.

A New Beginning When he said goodbye to Blinky, Claire, and the others, Jim knew the journey ahead would be the most difficult thing he’d ever have to do. He needed to find a good time to jump back to, but whenever he settled on a date he thought of someone else he could save, and the date was pushed forward.

So he settled on the day it all began.

When his alarm buzzed, there were no words to explain the emotions swirling through him. With the deaths he witnessed still raw, and the destruction fresh in his mind, being in his old room seemed foreign. He remembered one of the last times he was there, recently half troll and struggling to adapt. But now, none of that had happened, but it had to him. He thought of everything ahead and smiled. But first, Toby.

He hastily prepared the meals for himself, his mom, and Toby, but nothing as fancy as the meatloaf he made the first time around. His head was buzzing and he struggled to focus on the simple task of making the sandwiches. But soon enough it was time.

The garage door opened and he gripped the handlebars of his bike until his knuckles turned white. This would prove that everything he did was worth it. Just to see Toby’s smile once more. The innocence in his eyes. He would never take it for granted again.

And there he was, his best friend. Jim let out a sound that was a mixture of a laugh and a sob and rammed into his friend to engulf him in a hug. It was worth it. All the pain he’ll endure again, and the burdens he has to bear were worth it for this moment.

“Come on Tobes, let’s take the canals today, I have a good feeling about it.” Jim took off on his bike, Toby hollering nonsense to pass the time and it was music to Jim’s ears. 

And when they reached the bottom of the canal, and he heard the amulet speaking his name in Kanjigar’s voice, Jim smiled.

“Hello again, old friend.” He whispered as he ran his finger over the familiar metal of the amulet.

<><>Time Skip to the end of ROTT with the new ending Jim created<><>

Jim read the text on his phone from Claire, asking him when he was on his way to Trollmarket. He hastily typed out ‘be there in 10’ before shoving the phone back in his pocket. He could feel the amulet buzzing in his bag, and grinned to himself. He knew what today was, he had it marked on his calendar for years. Today was the day the Titans were defeated in the old timeline. The day Toby died, and Strickler, and Nomura, and countless others. He thought of how different things had become as he rummaged in his bag for his horngazel. The door opened easily under the bridge and he started to descend the stairs.

“There you are, Trollhunter, cutting it close aren’t we?” Claire teased as she met him at the bottom of the stairs. He gave her a quick kiss on the cheek and she threaded her fingers through his. They began to walk through Trollmarket, all the familiar buzz that had been lost the first time. Jim had learned from his mistakes, but also knew there were some events that had to happen. Losing Trollmarket was not one he could bring himself to do. His gaze shifted to Claire, who’s white streak in her hair, the ponytail, and purple armor was the same as the day the titans attacked. But she was smiling, and there was still a light in her eyes.

“Romeo and Juliet? I would love to try out...Your brother was taken by goblins into the Darklands, I’m sorry, but I’ll get him back I promise. For now, try to get to know NotEnrique, he might surprise you...Everything we’ve done, we’ve done together, I love you Claire, and I always will.”

He had dreaded letting Enrique get taken into the Darklands, but Claire had once remarked that she was glad NotEnrique came into her life, and thought of him as a brother. He didn’t want her to lose that relationship. And saving Enrique pushed Claire to become the sorceress and warrior she was destined to be, bringing the two of them closer together in the process.

The two of them waved to Barbara and Strickler, as Barbara showed off her new ring to a group of changelings. Strickler gave Jim a nod, and he returned it with a smile.

“Strickler, I would like you to meet my mom...The Janus Order has fallen, you’ll be safe in Trollmarket...Yes, I would be honored to be your best man.”

The fall of Gunmar had been a shock to troll kind. Jim had arrived in Trollmarket knowing where the Janus Order had hid the bridge, and used that knowledge to secure it early on. Toby, Claire, and Jim had trained for months as Trollhunters, answering calls and building strength to enter the Darklands. Jim had made the mistake of going alone once, and didn’t want to do that again. So when they were ready, they entered together. Blinky and Aaarrrgghh had rescued Gunmar’s prisoners, even though they got distracted by Blinky’s brother. Claire and Toby had gone off with NotEnrique to free all of the babies, while Draal and Jim faced Gunmar. And at the end of the day, and with a battle that lived in infamy, they emerged victorious.

Gunmar, eager to avenge his son that Jim had slain, and his ego clouding his judgement, had agreed to a fight to the death with Jim. A fight that Jim won. The Trollhunters exited the Darklands with refugees and freed Gum Gums, and babies that were taken care of by Barbara and Strickler until they could find loving homes for them all. And with the fall of Gunmar, the troll world was left without direction. The Janus Order struggled to adapt now that they couldn’t take form as human, but Jim made sure they were welcomed into Trollmarket with open arms. Gunmar’s spies and allies were hunted down by the Trollhunters if they made a mess of things, and after months of struggling, peace was nearing. When Strickler was brought into Trollmarket, he drifted closer to the Lakes, and when he got down on one knee, Barbara didn’t even hesitate to say yes. He had even given Jim the ring to Angor Rot’s soul, and Jim was able to return it to its rightful owner, and set the Trollhunter Hunter free. And Claire, reunited with the real Enrique, gained a brother in NotEnrique, and her family became a little bit bigger. 

Jim never slept better after the Darklands. He was proud of his decision to go in together once they were ready, as was the original plan the first time around. Jim knew the importance of seeking help from friends, and he was able to live without that particular trauma twice.

Gunmar was defeated, Trollmarket wasn’t lost, Angor Rot became an ally, and his friends were alive and happy. Jim smiled as he and Claire walked past the forge, where Draal and Nomura were sparing, swapping insults that bordered on flirting, although both would deny it. Jim was most proud of saving Draal, although he would never tell anyone that. After defeating him in battle in the forge and gaining the respect of Trollmarket, Draal moved into his basement and the two of them renewed the bond that had been ripped away by Gunmar. Draal never lost his arm, was never under the control of Gunmar, and never died saving Jim’s life. He fought beside Jim as equals throughout his battles, and remained one of his closest allies and friends.

Vendel entered the forge to yell something at Nomura and Draal, but it wasn’t long before the three of them erupted in laughter. Vendel looked around and noticed Jim smiling at them, and gave a curt nod with his staff to signal a hello and his continued respect. 

“Vendell, Queen Usurna is working for Gunmar, she wants to take over Trollmarket and steal the Hearthstone.”

When it had come the time of the Eternal Night, there was no Morgana to rage war, and no Gunmar to destroy Arcadia. Jim stayed human, and stayed in Arcadia where he belonged. Blinky shortly became Vendel’s right hand, and the two of them set out on a mission to organize trollkind in the wake of Gunmar’s defeat. Dictatious had wanted to go along with his brother, but knew he was needed in Trollmarket to help the Changelings and Gum Gums adjust to a life post-war. He was joined by Aaarrrgghh in his endevor, who was happy to help others the way Blinky helped him. 

After the day the Eternal Night was supposed to be, Jim found himself wandering into the cafe Douxie worked at.

“Douxie, we need to find Merlin.”

Teaming up with Archie and Claire, the four of them set off to the tomb, where Merlin was resurrected and the next steps were taken. While they prepared for the war with the Arcane Order, Toby had stayed back in Arcadia as it’s one Trollhunter. He had formed bonds with Aja and Krel, and protected Arcadia from the threats better than Jim would’ve. He came into his own as WarHammer, and had accepted the role he chose himself.

“Claire, let’s free Morgana. She isn’t a bad woman, and she can help us in the days to come.”

With Douxie and Merlin at her side, Claire had freed Morgana and managed to settle her down enough to talk. And with her help the plan was made. The Wizards and Trollhunters traveled in time to determine the identity of the Green Knight, where Douxie was named a Master Wizard and the Trollhunter amulet was made. Deya was named the first Trollhunter, and the past was secured. And when they returned, it was Morgana that saved them from the Green Knight. She gave Arthur the rest he deserved, and when the battle was over, she left with Merlin to grieve and find themselves in the new world. Nari had stayed behind with Douxie, who had accepted his role as protector.

“There’s Douxie!” Claire briefly let go of Jim’s hand to wave, and Douxie beamed and returned it. Archie was sitting on his shoulder while Nari padded along after the two of them. Archie was mentioning something about going to visit his dad, and Douxie agreed to go along for moral support. Nari looked at Jim with a knowing look in her eyes, the way she always looked at him. He could never tell if she knew what he did, and all that he had changed, but he decided he didn’t care. She was alive, and Douxie had succeeded in protecting her, and that was all that mattered.

“We need to find the seals Nari...Do you know where the rest of the Arcane Order might have gone?...It’s over now, you’re safe.”

The Genesis Seals had been found and rehidden by Douxie, who didn’t tell anyone where he hid them. Not even Jim or Nari. They had all agreed it was for the best. When Douxie died the secret would die with him. Unable to find and open the seals, Skrael and Bellroc scrambled to find Nari and finish what they started. And with the help of Krel and Aja, the Trollhunters, and the Wizards, the two had their magic stripped away by Akiridian tech, and Jim was able to deliver the finishing blows.

Now today, the day the Titans were supposed to have risen, there was nothing but blue skies. School happened like normal, and the world was at peace. Claire and Jim finished their stroll through Trollmarket as they arrived at Blinky’s study. He was ready for them, and complained that they were the last to arrive. 

Inside sat Toby and Aaarrrgghh, who were shoving their faces with the feast that Blinky had prepared. Jim and Claire sat down at the large table and Blinky looked at him expecting him to speak. Jim chuckled and rose to make a toast.

“We have overcome a lot. The defeat of Bular, Gunmar, and the Arcane Order. Merlin and Morgana are off on their own. Douxie and Archie are protecting Arcadia from mystical threats. Aja, Krel, Steve, and Eli are off on Akiridion-5 to rule together. The Darklands liberated, our families reunited, and our loved ones close. This was all I ever wanted for all of you, and I couldn’t be happier.” Jim looked around at the smiling faces surrounding him. This was his family, the ones that had been with him since the start. Blinky, his mentor and father figure, Aaarrrgghh his loyal friend, Claire the love of his life and powerful sorceress, and Toby, the friend who had been with him since the beginning. From a time before trolls and aliens and wizards. When he had wanted more excitement in life.

There were days the burden of the what-could’ve-beens plagued Jim’s mind and he struggled to carry on with the weight of his mistakes. But then days like this happened, where he knew he had changed things for the better, and the world was better off because of his sacrifice. He wouldn’t change a thing, and given the choice to have the time stone again, he would toss it aside. This was the happy ending they all deserved, the ending he worked hard to give them all. There had been changes that brought new threats to face, new calls to answer. But he faced them all with the friends and family he chose and surrounded himself with, and he used his experience to do what he could. He was a hero, the Trollhunter, the champion of Trollmarket. He was Jim the Bular Slayer, the Gunmar Slayer, but most importantly he was Jim Lake. The first Human Trollhunter. And he didn’t think, he became.

[dameronology]

northern downpour (poe x reader)

summary: poe asks you an important question. it doesn’t matter that it’s 4am, or that it’s raining, or that yavin-4 is freezing cold. 

warnings: swearing, mentions of shara’s death

for a little bit of background, there was a force tree from the jedi temple that shara bey & luke skywalker recovered; it was planted at the dameron ranch and poe grew up around it. it’s probably one of my fave things from star wars canon. 

enjoy,

- jazz

Poe never got up in the night. You knew that much. 

Once he was out, he was out - especially since the war was over. Sleep was a liberty that had become a luxury. The galaxy was loud back then, you see. There was so much going on that neither of you wanted to nap out of fear for something happening. The ol’ saying of I’ll sleep when I’m dead had a little too much meaning. But now? Now that the sounds of TIE fighters in the distance and blaring alarms had finally faded? Poe wasn’t waking up for anyone. The entire war could have restarted around him and he’d probably tell it to fuck off. 

That’s how you knew that something was up. You never woke up to an empty bed - partially because your boyfriend was near enough comatose at night and partially because Poe would never go anywhere without telling you. He would have left a note, or a sign, or something. After everything that had happened, he wouldn’t have strayed more than six feet from you without a goodbye. It was his way of keeping you close, you figured. There had been days at the Resistance where coming back to another wasn’t always a guarantee. That fear was still evident, even if the circumstances were gone. You could feel it in the way he held you at night: tightly, as though you were the only thing tethering him to reality, as though he might slip away into his nightmares otherwise. When he’d lost so much, holding onto you with everything he had was simply a state of being.

Anyways - going on a trek through a planet you barely knew wasn’t your idea of fun. Especially not at 4am, when rain was lashing down from the skies and the only thing shielding you was a jumper you’d stolen from the pilot. The sky was pitch black, navy blue tinging at the edges as morning slowly broke. It was summer, after all and Poe had insisted on coming to his dad’s on this particular weekend because the weather was going to be great, babe, I promise! You were going to give him a bollocking for that one once you got back home. 

You’d checked every room in Kes’ house, but to no avail - hence why you were now trekking down their garden path. Poe’s childhood home was worlds away from bases you’d lived on for the last few years. It was warm and welcoming; humble but filled with love. It made sense, really. Poe was the best person you knew and it was clear that he’d come from two good people. You could see little bits of Kes in him - he had his nose and his laugh, and the same crinkles by his eyes when he smiled. Everything else, apparently, was from Shara.

Shara. The tree. 

You figured that if you were going to disappear at some ungodly hour, you probably would have gone somewhere meaningful too. 

Suddenly, you didn’t care about the rain or the fact it was cold. You didn’t care that your hair was getting wet or that you were almost loopy with tiredness. The minute you saw Poe kneeling down the tree, the only thing on your mind was being with him. He needed you, even if he hadn’t woken you up. Neither of you had a whimsical Force connection, nor any other worldly thread from him to you: you just knew. 

‘Hey, baby.’ You placed a hand on his shoulder, kneeling down him. His curly hair was soaked from the rain, eyes glassy as they stared into the dark tangle of shrubbery and leaves straight ahead of you. ‘What’s going on?’

‘Just thinking.’ Poe replied. 

Dropping down onto the grass next to him, you leaned into his side and rested your head against his shoulder. He naturally responded by bringing his arm to your waist, pulling you closer to his body. It was a little counter-intuitive given that both your clothes were soaked through by the rain, but it was the gesture that counted. He liked to hold you; to be close to you. 

‘About Shara?’ You quietly asked. 

‘I miss her.’ He murmured. ‘I know it’s been years but...I miss her.’

‘Poe, she was your mum.’ You gave his shoulder a squeeze. ‘She is your mum. And from what I’ve heard, she was pretty fucking amazing.’

‘She was.’ He peered down at you, a smile playing on his lips. 

Poe knew that Shara would have adored you. He adored you. After losing her, he’d never quite felt settled. He always felt like he was looking for something, as though he were seeking out the final piece in a puzzle he didn’t even know he’d been doing. It probably goes without saying that you were the part that completed it; the person finally made him feel whole after far too many years of soul searching. 

If he were able to, he would have gone back in time and found you earlier. He would have met you earlier, made you his earlier. The fear of losing you in the way he’d lost his mother was so unbearable that the idea of not having spent every possible second with you terrified him. But, you were here with him now - in the rain, under the glow of the distant moon. 

‘She’d be proud of you, Poe.’ You said. ‘You’ve achieved so much. You made commander and then general, you led the entire freaking Resistance to success and you finished everything that she started.’

‘I always thought of her when things got tough.’ He quietly admitted. ‘Y’know those missions you were just...done? When it made you second guess if things were worth it?’

‘A little too well.’ You replied. 

‘My ma was the thing that got me through it.’ He explained. ‘She finished the fight and she got to go home. That’s what helped me pull through.’

‘It worked.’ You said. ‘We’re home.’

Poe returned your smile, gently leaning down to brush his lips against yours. Truthfully speaking, neither of you were sure where home was in a physical sense. It was wherever Poe was, really; it didn’t matter if you were here, or in your apartment on Coruscant, or in the thick jungles of Ajan Kloss. As long as he was next to you, that was all you needed. 

‘It’s funny, actually - you listed all the things I’ve achieved but you missed the most important one.’ He broke the silence between you. 

‘Yeah?’ You quirked an eyebrow. ‘What’s that?’

‘You.’ Poe replied. ‘Winning the war was important to me but none of it would have been worth it if I didn’t have you on the other side.’

‘Poe.’ You softly murmured, hand ghosting over his cheek. ‘I love you - also, that’s really fucking cheesy.’

Despite the tears in his eyes, he grinned at you. ‘I know - and I love you too.’

You stayed like that a few moments, simply holding onto each other as the rain lashed down on you. Nothing else around you mattered: it was you and it was Poe. That was all either of you needed. Come hell or high water - good times and bad times, war and peace, rain and sun - you were the thing he was going to hold onto. His parents had taught him a lot but above all, they’d shown him what love was. It was fighting together; growing together and having one another’s backs. Then, you’d taken that definition and you’d taught him a little more. 

‘You should have this.’ Poe pulled away from you for a moment, reaching around his neck. ‘I should've given you this ring a long time ago, actually.’

‘Are you sure?’ You took it in your hands, holding the silver ring for a moment. It was small, but you knew how much it meant. 

‘My mum left it behind for me to give to the right person.’ He said. ‘I think she’d kick my ass if I didn’t give it to you.’

Undoing the chain, you gently moved the ring off of it and slid it over your hands. The fact they were wet from the rain made the gesture smooth - but it fit. It fit perfectly, snug on your ring finger. It looked right too, as though it belonged there. There was so much history in the small piece of jewellery, and you and Poe were about to add more meaning to it. It was a feeling you couldn’t quite describe. You got a lot of that with him. 

‘I should probably verify that this is a proposal.’ Poe continued. ‘I just...I guess I should have led with that.’

‘It fits.’ You held your hand up to him.

‘So that’s a yes?’

‘Yes, it’s a yes!’ You lightly shoved his shoulder, pulling him into another kiss. 

‘I did have a speech planned.’ He murmured against your lips. ‘About the world, and you and me, and destiny and-’

‘- Poe.’ You cut him off. ‘You don’t need to say anything. Whatever you feel, I feel it too. I get it.’

‘So you’re feeling cold too?’ He wrapped an arm around you waist, pulling you closer. 

‘Terribly.’ 

‘The rain is romantic though-’

‘- just kiss me, Dameron.’

tags: @cherieboba​ @likeshootingstarsinthenightsky​

[beautifulterriblequeen]

I've been thinking about your Ruthari angst prompts and idk if that's even allowed 😅 but what do you think about a mixture of 3 and 11? 👀

Okay, so I wanted to play with the arranged marriage au for a bit, and these two lines landed like they might be part of negotiations. So here you go:

“What would you do if I didn’t come back?” and “How am I supposed to go on?”  

“What would you do if I didn’t come back?” Runaan paced slowly at Ethari’s side as they circled the fog-shrouded gardens of the Silvergrove Council House for the seventh time, matching the craftsman’s easy amble. The assassin had begun their negotiations with his hands clasped behind his back as they trod the well-worn path just inside the pale filigree wall that ringed the grounds. Now they hung loose at his sides, after over an hour of conversation that gradually found its rhythm. Ethari was surprisingly easy to converse with, so far. Runaan wasn’t certain he really approved of the taller elf’s playful mindset, but his easy forgiveness and acceptance had soothed away a lot of Runaan’s initial worries.

Runaan kept his face carefully forward as they walked, not wishing to indicate any weakness by glancing Ethari’s way too often, but he kept Ethari’s boots in the corner of his eye so he didn’t walk too fast and leave him behind.

I could. I could leave him behind. I’m faster, stronger. But my life has never been mine to direct. It belongs to Xadia. And so does my heart. Runaan took a slow breath as Ethari thoughtfully contemplated his reply, nibbling at his lip. My heart for Xadia. So, my heart for Ethari, as much as I can manage it.

“I suppose,” Ethari began slowly, “I would do whatever the council wished me to do.”

That was the best answer Runaan could have expected. Ethari had a deep sense of duty that overrode his personal feelings, just as Runaan did. Another thread of tension loosened in his shoulders. No one understood duty like an assassin, but the council had selected Ethari from among all the eligible craftsmen in the Silvergrove. He was the best they could find. But Runaan was the one who’d marry him, and he needed to be sure, too. And now, to his relief, he was sure. Ethari was willing to do his duty, no matter what.

Good. He’ll need that as much as I do.

“Would they make me marry the next assassin leader, too, do you suppose?” Ethari continued. He looked further ahead on their circular path, as if he could see such a dark future already looming.

Runaan blinked in surprise. He shifted himself out of the equation--an easy habit of long practice--and considered the idea. “It depends on what sort of match we have, I think.”

“How do you mean?” Ethari’s voice was carefully distant, unwilling to give any indication of interest either way.

Runaan pouted thoughtfully. “Well, if we match well in skill, if your crafting is of high quality and I perform admirably with your weapons, then the council will be inclined to match you with another assassin so you can continue to perform your valuable services.”

“Hmm.”

Runaan glanced over from beneath a single raised brow at Ethari’s noncommittal noise. “You don’t agree?”

“Does the council take feelings into consideration in situations like that?” Ethari asked.

“Feelings?” Runaan scoffed lightly. Feelings never protected anyone from anything. They were more likely to cause chaos than bring order.

Ethari shot him an uncertain glance. “Yes, feelings. What if...?” He looked away abruptly.

“You worry they would match you with a woman?” Runaan guessed.

A tiny smile flickered at the corner of Ethari’s lips and vanished. “That wouldn’t be a problem.”

“Oh. What, then?”

Ethari glanced across the gardens, to where the lacy arches of the Council House faded into the mist. “Can I ask you for a favor, Runaan?”

Runaan’s spine straightened. A personal request from his intended? This was the sort of thing he would be expected to agree to, wasn’t it? They were to be partners, allies, for the protection of Xadia and the Silvergrove. But soft subjects were merely practice for the important things. That was Runaan’s takeaway after Tiadrin sat him down and gave him a thorough talking-to, anyway. “Of course,” he responded. He had no idea what to expect, but he was intensely curious what could prompt Ethari to ask for a personal boon just then. “Anything you like.”

The craftsman’s eyes scanned the foggy garden until he spotted something that met with his approval. He held out a broad-palmed hand toward Runaan. “Will you come with me for a moment?”

Runaan stilled, studying the outstretched hand so easily offered. I suppose I should get used to this elf’s touch sooner rather than later, he reasoned. Slowly, he placed his gloved hand in Ethari’s, resting it there as lightly as a landing bird.

Ethari grinned warmly and gave Runaan’s hand a gentle squeeze. Then he towed him past a couple of short fruit trees that were just budding their spring leaves, until they were entirely hidden from sight, against the outer wall of the gardens. He pulled Runaan to face him and gave him a secretive smile. “Here, this’ll do.”

Runaan glanced around uncertainly. “For what?”

Ethari glanced down, suddenly bashful. “I, I thought we should kiss. To get used to it. They’ll expect it of us in public from time to time.”

Runaan’s brows lowered. “We don’t have to kiss.”

Ethari’s shoulders slumped a little. “Do you mean right now, or... ever...?”

Runaan’s expression tightened as he struggled with these unfamiliar notions Ethari was creating in him. “We are to be wed for the good of the SIlvergrove, Ethari. You are a craftsman of immense skill, and I am to become the leader of the assassins. Our union will stabilize the chaos of the past few years and ensure a brighter future for everyone. Kissing...” Runaan shook his head slowly, baffled. “Kissing doesn’t enter into it.”

“Kissing doesn’t--?” Ethari blurted. “Runaan...”

Perplexed at Ethari’s sudden outburst, the assassin took a moment to look him up and down, seeking some reason for his intense reaction. But he saw only a tall, frustrated craftsman before him, clearly in on some secret Runaan did not possess. It seemed he’d have to ask out loud for it. “What?”

“You fool.” Ethari’s hands were on his cheeks in a heartbeat, pulling him closer. Runaan’s sound of protest was trapped in his mouth as Ethari’s lips found his, hard and urgent, driving him back against the garden wall. Runaan backed into it with enough force to  draw a grunt from his chest.

Ethari chased him there, pressing himself flush against Runaan, pinning him with writhing eagerness. At the sound of Runaan’s grunt, he let out a low, grinding moan to match, sieving his fingers into the assassin’s hair.

Don’t stab him. Do not stab him. He wouldn’t understand. This is for Xadia. The thought flared red in Runaan’s mind, tangled and fragmented by a truly frightening amount of heated sensations that burst out of nowhere and swarmed him like a cloud of moon moths seeking escape, finding none. What is... what is he doing to me... what is this...

A stifled groan slipped through Runaan’s teeth. Instead of shoving Ethari away as he felt would be proper for such an uninvited assault, Runaan found his hands knotting in Ethari’s shirt and tugging him closer still. He wrapped a leg around Ethari’s ass and snugged their bodies together, lost in the grip of unreasoning neediness.

“Nnngh.” Ethari’s moan nibbled its way along Runaan’s jaw and nipped at the delicate skin beneath his ear. Runaan arched against his lips, tilting his chin up, bucking his hips forward with a soft cry.

Ethari steadied himself with a grip on a swirly amid the pattern in the filigree wall. His other hand teased beneath the lower edge of Runaan’s shirt, and his words rang breathlessly in Runaan’s ear.  “Runaan... I’ve always loved you... always... You make me so happy, this is a dream come true...”

“Aah!” Runaan tore himself away and stumbled a couple of steps sideways, panting heavily. His body throbbed in all the best places, his skin was flushed, his pupils blown. But he held out a hand to ward Ethari off. “You tricked the council?” he puffed. “You lied to them?”

Bereft, shocked, Ethari made an abortive reach toward Runaan and then stopped. “What? No!”

“They asked me if I had any attachments.” Runaan’s voice was cold, but why wouldn’t Runaan’s heart settle? It insisted on galloping across the Forest like a wild moonstrider. “I said no, so I was approved for consideration. And it was the truth.”

“I... Runaan, it wasn’t a lie! I’d never told you. There was no attachment to lie about.”

“There was in your heart.”

Baffled, breathless, desperate, Ethari took a step forward with his hands out pleadingly. “How is that a bad thing? I told them nothing of my feelings. I let them decide, for the good of the Silvergrove. And now that it’s decided, I’m telling you the truth! Isn’t that what couples do when they trust each other?”

Runaan’s brows drew down, and he thought searchingly through the wild storm of his feelings, seeking the hard edges of something reliable. Ah. There. He tucked his hands behind his back--the better to keep them off this deceptively charming elf before him--and straightened up into a formal assassin pose. “That’s just it, Ethari. I don’t trust you. We don’t know each other that well. And we’re not a couple. We’re a team--or trying to be--serving Xadia first and foremost. And you just admitted that you’re capable of deceiving the whole village council--and me--to get what you want. You told me you’d marry whoever the council paired you with, if I fell, but that’s not true, is it? You’ve put your needs above those of the many. And that, I cannot abide.”

Genuine fear bled across Ethari’s face as Runaan’s words sank in. “Runaan, please don’t... Are you calling this off?” His bottom lip trembled, and he pressed a shaking fist against his mouth. “Please don’t tell me I’ve ruined everything, please, please...” He closed his eyes and stood there, vulnerable, exposed. “You’re right. You’re right. It probably isn’t true. If I lose you to the humans someday, I won’t want to marry another. I just want to be with you. If...” His sunset eyes searched the mists for answers and flew back to meet Runaan’s stern gaze. “If I lose you--later, or right now--how am I supposed to go on?”

Runaan’s jaw worked as he stared at the pleading craftsman. His touch had been electric, dazzling. Runaan craved it again already. But such neediness would be an imbalance that could cost him in a critical moment--and if he fell, then his entire purpose was at risk. His head scrambled for distance even as his heart thrummed with eager heat. “I cannot trust you, Ethari. That must be the base tenet of this relationship, or we cannot serve Xadia as it requires.”

In true distress, Ethari grabbed his own horns and turned away, pacing erratically, muttering “No, no, no” through his teeth. Then he whirled back to face Runaan. “Please, I promise you, I won’t give you any further cause to doubt me. Let me prove myself. I’ll do anything. Just tell me what you need.”

Runaan stalked closer until they stood nose to nose. “I need you to give your heart to Xadia. Not to me.”

“Done,” Ethari blurted. His gaze clung to Runaan’s face, and he trembled with tension, his fate hanging in the balance.

Runaan’s gaze betrayed him, falling for a single moment from those urgent eyes to his intended’s full lips, before snapping back up. He gritted his teeth, tugged his shirt smooth of Ethari’s recent elfhandling, and added roughly, “And don’t you dare kiss me again. You’re lucky I didn’t stab you.”

Ethari looked down. “I’m sorry. It... won’t happen again.” His voice faded to a whisper like a wounded animal crawling into the shadows to die.

“How am I supposed to go on?” Ethari’s words echoed in Runaan’s mind, and he relented a little. “Wait. This is to be an alliance. I must consider your feelings, however... misguided, if we are to make this work, yes?” Ethari will make a solid ally, at least. I cannot say the same for every craftsman in the Silvergrove. I may never find an easier or stronger connection than this.

Ethari looked up from beneath his downcast brows, curious but not hopeful. “I suppose so,” he allowed uncertainly.

Runaan nodded decisively. “Then I’ll do the kissing, when it’s appropriate. You were right: they will expect it from time to time. Does this meet with your satisfaction?”

Ethari stared at him for a long moment and sighed dully. “I’ll take it.“

Runaan’s brows drew together. He’d expected Ethari to be delighted, grateful, that Runaan had considered his feelings and made allowances. Wasn’t that how these negotiations were supposed to work? Moon help me, I may just be making this worse... is it too late to take it all back and just let him kiss me again? That was... hnnngh...

Runaan opened his mouth to admit he was wrong, but Ethari spoke first.

“My heart for Xadia.” The craftsman offered his hand again, hesitantly.

Runaan studied that open palm again. Holding hands. A decent compromise in itself. He took it softly and nodded.

Together, hand in hand and worlds apart, the betrothed elves made their way through the mists to the Council House. For Xadia.

[phoenixtakaramono]

The Untold Tale - Ch4 Preview I

This was the second time they’d held hands. Fingers threaded together, palms touching. A significant amount of information could be communicated in the simple act of taking someone’s hand—the shape and texture of it, the roughness or softness of the life they’d led, and the strength or fragility of their grip. Luo Binghe would remember the feeling of that pale hand gripping his tightly for the rest of his life.

The mist billowed under Luo Binghe the moment he was allowed entry into the dream realm of the divine. Instantly, he was besieged with the feeling of falling into a frozen lake. The cold was a shock through his body, forcing his hand to convulsively clamp down.

Foolish, Luo Binghe berated himself. Instead of a composed and dignified air, he’d just shown his weak side.

To have been finally welcomed inside the dream realm of a celestial being meant this version of his shizun had thought highly of Luo Binghe and his constitution.

Shen Yuan halted midstride. Concern was written upon those white brows upon seeing his reaction.

Luo Binghe forced an amiable smile as he pretended to be oblivious, masking any sign of his discomfort. The sensation of pins-and-needles assailing him wasn’t something he couldn’t tolerate, but it was unpleasant. Except for their one point of contact, no part had been spared. His gaze lingered on the long scholarly fingers wrapped trustingly around his, before sweeping a glance over their new surroundings.

He felt like he’d stepped into a world composed of silk screens. Ahead, the fine mist passing through the painted scenery shrouded the outline of the tall mountain range and forest. Even the walls of the buildings were composed of firm brushstrokes and soft ink wash.

Droplets of water splashed quietly from their strides as Shen Yuan guided him in the direction of whatever he’d wanted Luo Binghe to see. Like black ink that had been dipped into clear water, the transparent surface was beginning to darken with every tread Luo Binghe took.

He stared down at his feet. The sight of the ink and water swirling into one another as though they were made to be together gave rise to the tide of emotions which had been circulating within his mind.

In the newly fallen darkness, he could sense his companion had fallen into another state of deep contemplation. As the two men shared a companionable silence, Luo Binghe took a long, measuring look at the landscape—at the secrets hiding within the fog, behind the translucent silks.

The atmosphere was incomparably resplendent and harmonious, yet it painted an undeniable fact about his companion who had been secreted away from him. More knowledge could be gained of how such a revered existence perceived the outside world.

“...You’ve always had an unruly habit to roam and draw unnecessary attention to yourself!” An insidious and vicious whisper brushed against Luo Binghe’s mind like a wisp of smoke. “To think you’d chase him here on impulse!”

Hearing the litany of grievances, Luo Binghe hid the blade that was his smile. Unlike himself, he had no doubt that his senior might have been exorcised had he not taken refuge in him. However convincingly the Meng Mo conveyed his displeasure, his voice was weakened.

Earlier, Luo Binghe had gambled that on this fateful evening that the celestial fortuneteller would have no choice but to attend to his growing fatigue. His guard would be lowered and that was when the opportunity would present itself.

The practice of invading and manipulating a person’s dreams was nothing new. With his secret tutelage cultivating on the demonic path, beginning from Luo Binghe’s past as a mere Cang Qiong Mountain sect disciple, he had learned to infiltrate many minds.

Several had been his lovers—the first being his shījiě, accidental as it had been pulling his martial sister along with him—although the treatment his women received was far more considerate than the cruel methods he inflicted upon all those who opposed him.

He had seen the duplicity of people’s hearts and reproduced illusions of varying natures. He’d learned how to lure others when they were at their most defenseless and be able to find their worst fears and memories to inflict the maximum psychological torment.

With his enemies who were impervious to physical torture, few could claim immunity upon being confronted with their own inner demons.

With his lovers, he could skim their memory fragments and indulge any spring dreams either of them had fantasized about.

Because unlike the waking world, the dream realm was honest.

It was a glimpse into one’s truest state. The capability to doubt was stripped away. Memories could be spied on. Falsehoods were exposed. And no secrets could be kept from him.

Meng Mo’s withered voice interrupted his thoughts.

“You should be more prudent in choosing your words around him. The ways of those of the Heavenly Realm are mysterious—but they are proud and have always held contempt for our kind. Don’t be muddled in the head just because you believe he can replace the late Qing Jing Peak Lord…. His looks aren’t bad but to eat the tofu of the one who bears the farseeing, discerning eyes of the heavens….” A mocking edge had crept into Meng Mo’s tone. “You are shameless. This elder doesn’t know whether to be impressed or scold you for holding that ambition.”

Although his lips had thinned into a white line, Luo Binghe remained silent.

Water shaped its course according to the nature of the ground over which it flowed. Tonight, many of his initial plans had been waylaid. Although he couldn’t have predicted its trajectory, he wasn’t discontent with the final outcome. He’d gained information that would be invaluable to him—and he’d finally found his shizun.

There had been a quiescent anticipation in the night as Luo Binghe waited like a spider spinning its web, searching and reaching for the only mind of this residence who was of interest to him, until he’d finally sensed the faintest reverberation of the otherworldly and ephemeral—a presence that could only belong to him.

And he’d pulled.

As someone who used to humbly occupy the Mortal Realm, never in his imagination did Luo Binghe expect he could claim success to the achievement of accessing the dream realm of an immortal celestial being.

The rush of triumph had been dampened once, upon seeking Shen Yuan, Luo Binghe encountered a Qi-condensed barrier—a mental defense meant to repel demonic influences. Impenetrable even against the combined efforts of himself and his senior who had centuries worth of infiltration experience, no matter how much he’d concentrated—redirecting the violent and rough flow of his Qi into something more finessed—he was unable to cross the boundary to meet the precious person inside. Breaching it would require a much greater display of force.

Luo Binghe had been stuck at an impasse. He’d realized, unless he wished to cause Shen Yuan psychological pain, the barrier had to stay.

In hindsight, his action had indeed been too rash.

Time was immeasurable in the world of dreams, but with every moment that had passed without Shen Yuan revealing himself, the fear mounted. Perhaps Shen Yuan had predicted such an incident would occur and had taken precaution. The opportunity would have slipped through Luo Binghe’s fingers like water.

It was inevitable that they would be going their separate ways in the coming morning. And the last deep impression he’d leave behind would cast Luo Binghe in an extremely bad light, with Shen Yuan withdrawing back into seclusion and harboring a grudge for being taken advantage of.

All would be lost. Faced with the possibility of being abandoned, Luo Binghe had been inconsolable. The tension in the air around him had been so thick, it presented a heavy atmosphere in his own dream realm.

The giant boulder which weighed down his heart vanished when, with the keen senses of a cultivator, his five senses had detected a ripple in the fog.

From faraway, he’d been spellbound. He’d seen a sight resembling that from legend, with the unattainable moon that was Shen Yuan descending down from the stars which glistened like shards in the night.

He had chosen to come to Luo Binghe out of his own volition.

Another realization had struck Luo Binghe. Seeing the regal figure out of his immaculate finery—dressed down to his inner clothing and with his moonlit hair undone, without a headpiece in sight—was a rare and intimate sight. Aside from the servants who tended to their peerless master, no one else must have been bestowed such a gift.

It’d been fascinating observing how someone of the Heavenly Realm would interact within his world. Shen Yuan had assimilated quickly. Wandering aimlessly in an unfamiliar environment, his appearance reminded Luo Binghe of the purest white snow, high above and unreachable, the likes of which could not be tainted. His manner had been aloof and vague; such bearing was similar to what Luo Binghe expected for someone of high status. The only difference was that his attitude toward Luo Binghe had not been indifferent or uncaring. Courtesy had been given, even knowing who he was.

“...Xiōng dì.” A deep and steady voice trickled into Luo Binghe’s awareness, pulling him from his deep reflection.

An invigorating energy suddenly blanketed him. All discomfort fled, replaced with the refreshing coldness of a spring brook. Shen Yuan had fallen a step back so that they were now shoulder to shoulder.

Shen Yuan’s gaze was appraising as his breaths feathered the fur. “I had not expected you being here would be strenuous on you. Please take care of your body.” A hand went up to clasp him on the shoulder. “I think, for now, it’s better to stay close to me until you can stand on your own. You’ll be safer by my side.”

Luo Binghe inhaled sharply.

“Hoh. How considerate!” Dryness filtered into his thoughts. “Such goodwill. He must really have a good heart.”

Stay out of this, Luo Binghe rebuked. Scram!

He ducked his head. The hidden meaning of Shen Yuan’s words had not been lost on him. He simply hadn’t expected how protective Shen Yuan was of him.

In this lifetime, Luo Binghe would like to think he could recognize his shizun even if he turned into ashes—or took on a different appearance. Even the slow-witted were able to see that Shen Yuan was of different temperament, reminding Luo Binghe of the other “Shen Qingqiu” of the mirror world. This fortuneteller had a sincere and utterly honest personality.

This night was the first time they’d met, but it was undeniable that there was a flow to their conversations—as though they were not strangers but instead dear friends reuniting. It was like someone had peered into his heart and crafted him a person according to his desires. Being with Shen Yuan felt like the most natural thing in the world.

There was no such thing as a string of coincidences. Since they have finally encountered, it must have meant they were fated. Since fated, one must live up to the fate that the Heavens bestowed.

When his host had yet to retrieve his infatuated eyes, Meng Mo’s tone changed into that of a fussy steward coaxing his headstrong young lord. “Have you not wondered what he’s after? What his true intentions are? This fortuneteller’s character and actions have been truly mysterious. He seems to be an intelligent person. For him to offer his assistance to change your fate, he must have plans for you. We must figure out what they are.”

What do you know? Luo Binghe’s remark had been as cutting and swift as a blade. Don’t exaggerate. You know nothing.

“...You’ve finally gone insane.” A heavy sigh was heaved. “Don’t be so quick to dismiss my words as superfluous. His kind has no qualms destroying us both if your existence is implicated as a calamity-sized threat. ...But knowing your wicked temperament, listen to me very carefully: you’d best prepare to make sure his cooperation doesn’t deviate. If he is speaking the truth, you already have one meddling benefactor in your life.”

One hand curled into a fist at his side. Xiàng Tiān Dà Fēijī…. It took everything in Luo Binghe’s willpower to keep his expression from becoming unsightly.

It was a detestable name he vowed to never forget. While he was grateful to know now the one responsible behind his every misfortune, the mere suggestion of such an existence stoked the flames of resentment.

To a higher being who crafted this world, the realms were a pond. And Xiàng Tiān Dà Fēijī had caused too many ripples. To have planned everything in Luo Binghe’s life, that wily schemer must feel quite pleased with himself. He’d treated his creations—he’d treated Luo Binghe, his supposed “original masterpiece”—as helpless pawns of his mind games, not putting the sufferings of others in mind.

And why wouldn’t he? Such conceit was ordinary among those who occupied the realm of gods, immortals, and fairies.

Had Luo Binghe been raised under different circumstances, had his benefactor been more caring and had not made his life all the more difficult, had he not had to suffer the countless humiliations and injustices, his soft heart of the past would have felt moved to discover he had the backing of such a great and magnanimous patron behind him. He might have even expressed gratitude to such a “creator” for teaching him the lessons that could only be learnt through adversity!

Luo Binghe hid the spiteful sneer in his heart. If there was an altar dedicated to Xiàng Tiān Dà Fēijī, Luo Binghe most certainly would find a way to desecrate it. He felt no filial piety for such a callous being.

What reasonable person would appreciate their life being treated as a stage play? Xiàng Tiān Dà Fēijī’s favor was a terrible burden. He had placed Luo Binghe on a path of greatness that led to a cliff to his death.

Hearing his vicious thoughts, Meng Mo murmured, “Even so...the will of the heavens has always been enigmatic and impossible to predict. For two heavenly beings who wish to stake their claim on you...an immense honor has been bestowed. Be careful of how you act with this one; he must be testing you.”

Allowing the weight of his words to sink in, Luo Binghe gazed at Shen Yuan. Even though he had tacitly implied a falling out, there were signs of obvious estrangement between himself and Xiàng Tiān Dà Fēijī.

Himself being here must have presented Shen Yuan an irresistible impulse to take initiative. Had he not intervened, Luo Binghe would have blindly followed Xiàng Tiān Dà Fēijī’s design for him like a clay doll.

A thought suddenly occurred to him. Wouldn’t Xiàng Tiān Dà Fēijī be angered if his clay doll spurned him and had instead sought another benefactor? It was an alluring prospect. The advantages of having someone like Shen Yuan on his side far exceeded anything else. He was hidden like a song heard by the river. And he knew the way of all the heroes of the world.

...What does Senior think? Shizun has foretold this lord’s fated one to be an indispensable source of wisdom. Naturally, my future prospects are limitless if this astute person becomes tied to me. You’ve said the heavens were unforgiving against those of demonic blood, so would this not grant the greatest protection if they witness how this lord cherishes and protects one of their own? If such a revered existence becomes known as this lord’s closest person? Great heroes and wise scholars live freely without guile or contrivance.

A moment of silence passed.

Eventually, disbelieving laughter ghosted along Luo Binghe’s mind, as faint as autumn leaves rustling in the wind. “This elder has done well to have chosen you as my successor. You have a one-track mind that cannot even be reined in by eight horses!”

Luo Binghe hid the cold smile in his heart. He had not outright stated it, but he knew Meng Mo could read between the lines.

Since he had two benefactors wishing to stake their claim on him, then it was only fair if he staked his own claim over one of them. But to do that, he had to reach the pinnacle. Only then would he be in a position where he could not be crossed, and his image would be elevated in the eyes of others.

Resources must be consolidated. The more meritorious his achievements were, the more he could make a name for himself and demonstrate his capability as a leader. He had to expand his prestige and quickly spread his power; connections were needed.

He refused to die a dog’s death like how Xiàng Tiān Dà Fēijī had planned for him after his use had been expended.

Like how it had been when he’d been weak and defenseless, it was either Luo Binghe moved forward—or he’d die. With a handsome and refined match by his side guiding him, the Three Realms would be his.

“Have patience,” Meng Mo chastised. “You’ve only just met him. From now onwards, until you have determined which benefactor provides you the better benefits, it is better not to provoke either.”

There was a grain of truth to his advice. There were no good prospects if a dulled knife became sharpened. Likewise, as soon as one underestimated their prey, they were done for.

Luo Binghe couldn’t help recalling his past little by little. The Cang Qiong Mountain sect had opened its doors only once every few years to recruit new disciples. It didn’t feel too long ago when he’d been handpicked from the selection of people hoping to have the potential to develop a golden core. In his youthful ignorance, bearing a poor orphan’s hope to live a better life, Luo Binghe had not known the path to enlightenment would be treacherous. Many of his martial siblings, his masters, and his own shizun had exposed themselves to be snakes and scorpions.

They were as corrupt as the very evil they opposed, their injustices hidden behind the veneer of being virtuous and just.

The side of the righteous was filled with hypocrisy. To hold steadfast to the ethics of a disciplined cultivator was not enough. He had to be ruthless.

Just like then, there were all kinds of hidden talents and geniuses in the world. To be blessed by the grace of a celestial being—the very height of immortality—was unheard of. Preposterous, even. Yet he had managed to accomplish such a feat.

Had Meng Mo not claimed, because of Luo Binghe’s inheritance as a Heavenly Demon, that cultivating on the demonic path would allow him to grow by leaps and bounds? That he would stand above thousands? That the entirety of the Three Realms, of the heavens and the earth, would be swept away by his mere existence once the seal was lifted? He had a bright future, if he just reached out his hand and grasped those opportunities with an iron fist.

To have aspirations and goals was high and admirable.

A fine owl would perch on a fine tree; a good servant would serve a good master. As a worldly man, there was nothing wrong for him to pursue ambition. In this world, power was authority.

It had been preordained for him to climb into a position of power. Even Shen Yuan had said so himself, both in his reading and just moments prior. He would obtain it all in the end.

And even if it took him his entire lifetime, in one way or another Luo Binghe would ensure to repay his “gratitude” back to Xiàng Tiān Dà Fēijī for his consideration.

“Since you value loyalty and bonds...who knows, perhaps being chummy with this one might turn him into a loyal dog…. This senior looks forward to the day an emissary from the heavens comes to pay respects to the last bloodline of the Heavenly Demons.”

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Notes: “Xiàng Tiān Dà Fēijī” is referring to Airplane Shooting Towards the Sky. Since this sneak peek is from the first draft, some details will be subject to change when the final draft is published on AO3. Since this chapter is mostly Bing gē simping for SY, to balance out the loveydovey majority, Meng Mo is, as the Chinese saying goes, “kicking up/ raising a stink” (at least in the beginning of this chapter).

Link to ch 1-3 on AO3 can be found in my profile!

[forcewokena]

            ❝   something  inside  me has always been there    ––––   but now it’s awake  ,   ❞   and i’m afraid  . 

              .*·ﾟ✧・ @theredconqueror​​​​​​​​​ / starter call ・✧ﾟ·*.

[sinsatmidnight]

A Gift from a Princess

Pairing - Lee Naeun x Male Reader

Words - 3370

Sins - Smut, oral, bath sex

So slightly late for Naeun’s birthday (May 5th), but I had a rush of inspiration and it was her birthday so I tried to hurry this out! It’s quite different from my usual stuff as I experimented with some things (particularly dialogue), but I hope you enjoy it anyway!

It is the waning hours of the day and the sun is about to set on the Alabaster Palace. There is a knock on the heavyset door of white wood to your chambers.

You pause in packing your belongings for the long journey ahead of you. “Yes, what is it?”

A young maiden’s voice emanates from behind the door. It sounds like Chaekyung, the handmaiden to the princess. She’s a few years older than the princess and serves as friend, caretaker, and servant. “Begging your pardon, my lord, but the princess is requesting your presence at her chambers. She would like to see you post-haste.”

The Princess? You wonder why she wants to see you. “I’ll be there shortly, thank you, Chaekyung.”

“I’ll be taking my leave then, my lord.”

“Yes, please do.”

The handmaiden’s footsteps echo off the polished white marble floor, fading away from your door. You stow away your travelling pack, sheath the sword you were planning to sharpen and adjust your sword belt before making your way through the palace you live and work in, to the princess.

The palace is grand and large, with white accent with gold being the predominant theme, hence the name of the Alabaster Palace. You walk for a good while through long and tall hallways, greeting some of the white-armoured guards as you pass them. The Princess lives in the Royal Wing, far removed from where your quarters are. As a knight to the king, your quarters are better than most others, but you do not compare to the Royal Family.

Princess Lee Naeun is both breathtakingly beautiful and beloved to her people and her father. Kind and sweet, her reputation precedes her everywhere. She has plenty of suitors, but none have come close to winning her heart. They certainly weren’t helped by her father being so protective of her. Noblemen of all stripes from many kingdoms near and far have tried to court her and win her hand in marriage. All have been rebuffed by Naeun’s father, or by the Princess herself.

Arriving at her chambers, you knock firmly on the gilded white door of wood three times. “My lady, it is I. You called for me?”

Her familiar voice comes from behind the door. “Please enter and lock the door behind you. I do not wish to be disturbed.”

You push the door open and enter, before gently closing it shut and locking it with the bolt behind you. In the large, high-ceilinged chamber of white and gold before you, Princess Lee Naeun sits upon her giant red four-poster bed of silky sheets and velvety cushions.

The Princess is a ravishing vision of beauty with her large doe eyes, smooth fair skin, long dark tresses, and thick lips of deep red pursed together. A small tiara of white gold, diamonds, opals, and pearls adorns the crown of her head. A silken choker with a gold clasp and pearls hanging from it sits around her sculpted neck. She is dressed in a resplendent large strapless gown of midnight black with silver threading inlaid and small opals adorning it.

That gown is also cut exceptionally low, revealing more of her chest than you’ve ever seen before. You’ve never seen the Princess wear this particular dress before in all your time guarding her person. As you stand before Princess Naeun, you try to keep your eyes stuck to her gorgeous face, and not on the exposed flesh of her chest. Despite her obvious beauty, it was hard to avoid not looking down without seeming overly stiff.

“My lady, you asked for me?” Your throat seems to be dry, but you get the words out.

Princess Naeun stands up from the bed and takes the couple of steps needed to close the distance to you. “Father says that you are to journey west across the Silvercap Peaks to the city of Snowgleam.”

“Yes, my lady. His Majesty has an urgent message to be sent to Snowgleam.”

“I’ve heard tales of travellers disappearing in the snow, ever to be seen again. The cliffs are treacherous, that journey is perilous.” Princess Naeun suddenly draws you into a tight hug, her chest pressed up against yours and her face inches away from yours.

“Which is why swords like mine are needed to protect the message.” You say carefully, unused to this sudden intimacy with the Princess. “My lady, I beg your pardon, but why did you request for my presence? I am but a humble knight and bodyguard.”

“I am just worried about you, that is all.” She whispers, her grey eyes boring into yours with their intense gaze.

“I will be gone but two weeks. A week to the city, and a week back. I’m flattered for the concern, Princess, but I will be fine and back before you know it.”

Princess Naeun releases you from the hug, taking a step back. “I would like to offer you a gift for your safe return. Something to motivate you to come back safe and alive.”

You say nothing, not completely sure of what the Princess might be referring to. Her behaviour tonight has been anything but usual and you cannot predict what she intends for you.

The Princess lifts one delicate finger to her lips and her tongue flicks out momentarily, wetting the tip of it. You follow with your eyes as Naeun traces a path from her lips, over her chin, her neck…down her chest and ending up in her cleavage, between her breasts. Her finger stays there.

“Do you like what you see?” Her voice is low and sultry.  

You swallow. There is no way to answer her that would fit proper decorum. As such you decide to answer with what you truly feel. You can already feel yourself getting hard in your pants. And how could you not have been attracted to such a beautiful woman? You merely had the sense not to act upon that attraction. Not before this.

“Yes.” Your reply is but a whispered breath, but it is loud enough in the otherwise-silent chambers for the Princess to hear. A smile of what almost looks like relief curves across her pretty face. “Good.”

Princess Naeun leans in and her red lips softly press against your own. With her lips against yours, she whispers. “Because I’m your gift.” You feel her hand caress the growing bugle in your pants. “Lay with me in my chambers tonight. Come back safe from your journey…and lay with me for many more nights thereafter.”

This is definitely plenty of motivation for you to come back safe from your journey.

Her other hand takes one of yours and places it squarely on her chest. “Touch me.” She breathes. You squeeze gently. Her large and fair breasts are soft, firm, supple and make a nice handful. They feel perfect to your touch.

“This is a most generous gift, Princess.” You finally manage to get some words out of your dry mouth. “You have rejected so many who have wanted you, and yet you give yourself so freely to me.”

“Will you not accept my gift?”

“When it is given so freely, I must humbly accept it. I do so with great honour and pleasure. Thank you for bestowing such a magnificent gift upon me. Thank you…for choosing me, Princess.”

“Please, call me Naeun when we are alone in my chambers. Your words are still that of a loyal knight…I wish for the words of a secret lover.” Naeun’s hands undo the clasps on your sword belt, which falls to the ground with a clang.

“And you shall have them, Naeun.” You whisper as your fingers slip into the top of the gown, seeking out her nipples and rubbing them. You feel them swiftly grow hard under your touch and Naeun groans softly. “Please, say my name again.”

“Naeun.” You breathe as you bury your face in her neck, nibbling, licking, and kissing, all drawing more sighs of pleasure from her. You inhale, she smells fantastic. “Again. Please.” She whimpers breathlessly.

“Naeun.” You say in a low growl as you stare at her face, your lust reflected in her. She shivers and moans as she stares at your desire for her, both of her hands sneaking inside your pants to rub and stroke your cock. And then you kiss her.

Passionately, your tongue plunders her mouth as she whines lustfully into your kiss. You keep a hand on the back of her head while the other continues to fondle her chest. You stop after a while to let both of yourselves breathe.

“Let me give you my gift.” Naeun says breathlessly as she lowers herself to her knees on the polished marble floor and her hands pull your silken pants down to your ankles. Your erection springs out in front of her and she immediately licks up your pre-cum into her mouth even as one hand wraps around your length and starts to stroke.

You run your hands through her dark hair, knocking her tiara off her head, and it clatters to the ground. Your hands rest there, although you are conscious not to put any pressure on Naeun’s head. She is, after all, both inexperienced at this and able to have you killed with a word.

“How do you know to do all this?” You ask quietly as you watch the erotic sight of Naeun jerking you off even as her head bobs along your cock. In this position, you can see down Naeun’s cleavage as she sucks and strokes you, and you make a mental note to strip her off and put your cock between her breasts later.

Naeun pulls her mouth off your cock for a few moments to answer. “Chaekyung gave me a few tips, but I’m practicing them for the first time on you.”

That makes sense. The busty and attractive handmaiden is older and more experienced with men, not to mention popular with the men in the palace. More importantly, she is the closest person to Naeun in the palace, bar her father. If there was anyone for Naeun to ask about sex, it would be Chaekyung.

And while Naeun may be inexperienced, she’s very eager. You groan as Naeun tries to deepthroat you and ends up gagging on your cock. The contractions of her throat muscles around your erection feel great and tight, but Naeun clearly can’t keep it up for long. She tries to deepthroat your length a couple more times before she has to pull off and cough after gagging again and again.

“I need your help, hold my head, move your hips, use my mouth.” Naeun can’t help but smile as you raise an eyebrow at her words. “You heard me. Use me. Use my mouth. I can’t force your length down my throat…but you can.”

Oh, if only her father could hear her now. Chaekyung must have been telling her some wild stuff. You nod and then slowly start to fuck Naeun’s face. You don’t put much speed in it, relishing in the warmth and wetness of her mouth instead. You go deep into her throat, but don’t stay long, slowly getting her used to your size.

Naeun’s hands hold onto your thighs for support as she tries to deepthroat you again, and this time you keep a bit of pressure on the back of her head, listening to her gag and choke on your cock and watching tears form in her eyes. But the moment she actively pushes against your thighs, you immediately release her head.

“Was that good?” Naeun asks even as she pants, her large eyes scanning your face for approval.

You brush her hair lovingly. “It was excellent. I’m so close to my release now.” Naeun’s face’s brightens up at this, she looks excited at the idea of seeing you climax. Both of her hands immediately start to stroke your slick, throbbing cock. “I want to see it, please, cover me with your cream.”

Naeun’s warm hands feel heavenly around your cock, and she pumps you with great speed and gusto, bringing you closer and closer to the edge. What sets you over the edge is watching Naeun’s face as she stares at you lustfully, licking her lips and watching her breasts jiggle and bounce a bit as she animatedly jerks you off and envisioning your sperm splattered all over them.

“Naeun, I’m going to-“

And you erupt, spraying cum all over the beautiful princess who continues to pump you for more. Some of it sprays on her neck, mingling with the pearls on her choker, you do your best to get most of your cum on her chest, where most of it ends up slowly sliding down her cleavage. And you get a bit on her face, her cheeks, her lips, and chin. You feel one final spurt coming and shove your cock past Naeun’s partially open lips and feed her the rest.

Naeun happily sucks on your cock and licks it clean for a while before finally pulling off you. She sticks a finger between her breasts and scoops out a little bit of your cum and licks it off.

You don’t know if it’s the sight of Naeun with your cum coating her face, neck and chest or something else, but your cock isn’t doing a particularly good job of coming down and softening. Instead, it’s still hard, throbbing, and ready for more.

“Let’s clean up…and get the rest of your cream out of you.” Naeun gets to her feet, and beckons for you to follow her. You step out of your pants and shoes and follow her past a set of side doors into her large bath area, where a heated pool of water sits. The setting sun’s rays pour into the room through open windows set into the wall, reflecting off the water. There is a golden basin set upon a stool that Naeun uses to wash her face and mouth while you wait at the side. You’ve never seen this place before.

Only one person attends to Naeun in her private chambers as well as during her baths. That person being Chaekyung. A lot of people are jealous of Chaekyung, but you’ve overheard some of the guards saying they were jealous of the princess. There was the occasional rumour that the two were lovers. You wouldn’t be surprised at this point if that were true.

Naeun then turns to you, her face clean, although her neck and chest are still adorned with white goo. She unclasps her choker, letting it fall to the marble ground. She reaches behind her gown, undoes a clasp, and it falls off her body to reveal her fully nude underneath.

Naeun’s flawless skin glimmers with a thin layer of sweat, from her long legs up to her slim stomach and heaving chest. She looks over at you as she waits to step into the pool. “Divest yourself of your clothing and join me.”

It was fortunate that she called you when you were dressed simply while off-duty. If you were in your armour, it would have taken ten minutes to remove. You pull your silken tunic off and toss it aside.

Naeun takes hold of your hand and guides it to her core, and you feel how sopping wet she is down there. “Every time you say my name, it gets me so wet. Chaekyung’s the only other person to make me feel like this.” So Chaekyung does bathe and sleep with her.

You slip a finger inside her. “So…does Chaekyung do this to you?” Naeun gasps and nods, her hands grabbing hold of your arm, as though almost wanting to stop you. You slide a second finger in and she closes her eyes while trembling. “Please…don’t stop.”

At that, you pull your fingers out and wink at Naeun before stepping into the water. She whines but follows and steps into the water after you.

The water is warm and the pool is shallow; while standing, the water reaches to just above your stomach. This place is meant for the princess to bathe in while attended to by handmaidens. You’re quite possibly the first man to step inside after the construction of the chamber.

Naeun shyly hands you a bar of soap. “Chaekyung is normally the one who cleans me up.”

“I’ll be happy to do it on her behalf today.” You rub your hands on the soap and get a lather going before running your hands all over Naeun’s neck and chest, getting it clean and slick while also enjoying the feeling of her large, warm, breasts under your fingers. You squeeze her boobs as you soap her up and then you move your hands down to her stomach, feeling her toned abdomen up.

And then you slide your hands over her body further down, between her legs. Your fingers tease her, rubbing circles around her clit. Naeun mewls and French kisses you, moaning into that kiss when you soap up the inside of her pussy with a finger.

Naeun grabs the bar of soap. “Let me clean your body now. I’ve cleaned Chaekyung’s before, but I’ve never done this for a man.”

“You’ll do fine, I’m sure.” She does more than fine, the electrifying touch of her slick hands on your chest and nipples has them hard like your cock swiftly and when her hands go past your stomach and reach your groin, you know that she could have you cumming like a fountain with just her hands if she wanted to.

Instead, Naeun strokes you up a few times to get you slick…and then kisses you. “Impale me on your shaft. Fill me. Take me.” She whispers against your lips.

You don’t need a second invitation. You wrap an arm around Naeun’s waist, brace her against the side of the pool and push yourself into her. You do it slowly and deliberately, because she’s probably only had fingers and tongues inside her before. She gets adjusted to your size quickly though.

“You’re so thick…so warm…” Naeun’s gaze is heavy-lidded and glazed over in pleasure.

You start to move around inside her and build up speed. She is tight, hot, and wet inside and you groan in pleasure. Naeun pulls you into a deep kiss as you fuck her, one hand curled up in your hair and the other holding onto your shoulder for support and you pound into her. You feel her legs wrap around your waist, locking you to her.

With one arm around her waist, you send the other to rub Naeun’s clit. Her wonderful breasts bounce with every stroke of your cock inside of her and you feel your second orgasm building up. He golden rays of the setting sun bouncing off the water give her a gorgeous glow.

Naeun seems to sense it too as you increase your pace and fuck her almost desperately at this point. “Inside me.” She pants between kisses. But she hits her climax first and her pussy muscles clench your shaft ever so tightly as she cries out in pleasure. And even though you are in a pool of heated water, you feel her hot pussy juices flow down and around your cock.

You slam into her a couple more times, fucking Naeun as she orgasms and then blow your load inside her. You keep your cock inside her as you rest your head against hers, the two of you sharing soft kisses as you both recover.

Naeun speaks first. “After we dry off, we lay together in my bed tonight, naked.” You nod your approval at that course of action. “But first, let’s just stay together like this for a while.” Naeun’s legs unwrap themselves from your waist and the two of you switch places so that you rest against the side of the pool and she rests her head on your chest…with your cock still inside her with your mixed cum, of course.

You have a long night ahead, and a long journey ahead after that. But you’re already looking forward to more long nights with Princess Naeun in the future. What a gift she’s given you.

[olliepig]

Waiting in the Wings ch 4

It's the morning after the night before....

Massive thanks are due to the wonderful @willow-salix for her invaluable help with this.

As always, the full thing can be found on AO3 here

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In the dim glow of the pre-dawn Scott came to and smiled to himself, basking in the memories of the previous few hours and the feeling of calm that had come over him. Opening his eyes, he could see Cat’s hair arrayed on the pillow next to him, framing her face and he kissed it gently, feeling the soft strands tickling his nose.

Cat rolled over in her sleep, seeking him out and unconsciously wrapped herself around him. He felt her arm thread around his waist as she snuggled herself into him for comfort, whimpering slightly and burying her face into his shoulder. Instinctively, he pulled her close and she relaxed, deep sleep claiming her again. He kissed the top of her head sleepily as he drifted off again too, tangled up in each other and content.

Hours laters, Cat awoke to the morning light creeping around the edges of the curtains, the room now bathed in a golden glow. Still not fully awake, she looked blearily around trying to work out why she wasn't in her usual bedroom at Creighton-Ward manor before suppressing a small smile as she remembered the events of the previous night. Behind her, she could feel the unmistakable warmth of Scott and she rolled over carefully and propped herself up on one elbow, doing her best not to wake him.

Deep in sleep, he possibly looked even more handsome than usual despite his striking eyes being hidden, their long, dark lashes casting shadows on his cheeks. Worry lines that she knew hadn't been there the last time she had shared a bed with him were smoothed away, leaving him looking relaxed and happy as a small smile tugged at the corners of his full lips.

Reaching out, she ran her fingers through his hair ever so gently, taking in the flashes of grey that were now visible at the temples. She couldn’t say she was surprised at their presence given what she knew he’d been through over the years.

He had kicked most of the covers off during the night and she let her eyes roam across his uncovered torso, such a familiar sight even after all the time that had passed. There was the jagged scar he’d gotten from falling out a tree trying to help John get his toy rocket back after it veered off course when they were kids; over there, the one from where he went over the handlebars of his bike and hit his shoulder on the edge of the kerb. She smiled, remembering lying like this with him before, listening to him tell her all the stories she apparently still knew so well.

But then there were the new scars, the ones she didn’t recognise that clearly had stories of their own that she wasn’t privy to. Without thinking, she reached out and traced one gently with her finger, suddenly realising just how much time had passed since the last time they had lain in bed together and how little she really knew about the man he was now.

She had always had an inkling of the toll that their job must take upon the men of International Rescue and getting closer to Scott had confirmed her suspicions. Nobody who dealt with life and death on a daily basis could come out unscathed; the new scars Scott carried were testament to that.  

Her mind wandered back to Penny, beside herself with worry after what she now knew to be Gordon’s near deadly run in with the Chaos Crew. When it happened, Cat hadn’t known exactly who or what had been involved but what she did know was that it was the only time in 15 years she’d seen her friend truly distressed. Now that the circumstances and nature of the accident had been explained to her, she could see why.

Suddenly, she found her peace shattered by the unwelcome realisation of the implications of her actions the previous night. There was an attraction between them still. That much was clear. But whether that was enough for them to form any kind of romantic relationship again when the stakes were so high was open for debate. And more importantly, she wasn’t sure she wanted another relationship, especially not with someone who had hurt her in the past.

She shuddered slightly as she remembered her last attempt at dating. Her former partner had taken offence not just at the amount of time she spent at work, but also at the close relationships she had with her fellow dancers. After months of put downs and arguments that made Cat wonder why on earth she had stayed for so long, the final straw had come when he’d seen her kissing one of them. In normal circumstances this would be a reasonable cause for argument but for the fact that it had been on stage, during a performance. Despite how clearly ridiculous it was, his paranoia was such that he was adamant this proved that she was cheating and he gave her the ultimatum of choosing her career or him. She had walked away that night but it had soured her views on relationships in general ever since and had made her much more cautious about dating anyone who didn’t completely understand the demands of her job.

Looking down at Scott, she was relieved that he hadn’t seemed fazed by any of that when they were together before or in the limited contact they’d had over the past weeks. However, her brain helpfully  reminded her of his question regarding the nature of her relationship with her best friend the previous night. She had dismissed it at the time, thinking he was just making sure that he wasn’t crossing any lines but the voice in her head wasn’t so sure. She had ignored it before to her cost but what if it were right for a second time?

Not wanting to risk waking him, she remained unmoving for a time, letting her thoughts whirl and coalesce. The truth was she had no idea what she wanted to say to him when he awoke.

Suddenly realising she needed space to think, she slipped out of bed and quietly dressed herself, following the trail of clothes scattered from the bed to the door.

“Good morning,” came Scott’s voice from behind her as she reached for the door handle, making her jump and freeze in her tracks.

“Sorry, I didn't mean to wake you,” Cat whispered, feeling like a deer caught in the headlights as she crossed the distance between them, settling herself delicately on the edge of the bed as he sat himself up to face her.

“Running away so soon? I thought you’d at least stay for breakfast,” Scott tried to joke, the doubt in his eyes as they met hers betraying his jovial tone.

“I wasn’t sneaking away, I promise. I was just going to get changed before everyone gets up and starts asking questions,” she reassured, hating herself for her partial lie but unwilling to say more until she had managed to settle her thoughts.

“Sounds like a good idea to me,” murmured Scott, scooting closer to her up the bed and nuzzling into her neck, trailing kisses up towards her jaw.

Cat couldn’t help herself. Despite her turmoil she tilted her head away to allow him easier access, closing her eyes and sighing as his hand slid round the back of her neck, his fingers tangling in her hair once more. Unbidden, her hand reached up, resting on his bicep and pulling him closer as she moved her head slightly to catch his lips with her own in a lingering kiss before pulling back and standing.

“I’ll be back soon I promise. Then I think we should probably talk about this,” she gestured to the bed, making Scott’s blood run cold.

Left alone, Scott sat for a time on the bed, not moving from his previous position and wondering where he had gone wrong.

To say he was confused would be an understatement. They had never specifically talked about where their relationship would go, but given their flirting and the events of the previous night, he had woken up fairly certain that it had moved into romantic territory. The moment they had just shared before she left would have added credence to that theory but for her other actions that morning. Sneaking out without waking your partner up after your first night together generally didn’t scream “romance of the century” and there was something in her tone when she said that they needed to talk that struck something akin to dread into him.

Deciding that he'd be better placed if he were dressed for whatever conversation was coming his way, he swung his long legs out of bed and headed for his bag. Rummaging through it, he found his clothes and threw them on before collecting his belongings from where they had fallen the previous night, smiling at the memories they awoke but his happiness tinged with worry of what was coming next.

Lacking anything else to do but wait, he settled himself down and contented himself with scrolling mindlessly through his phone, trying hard to concentrate on the screen instead of letting his brain get too far ahead of him.

Overthinking had always been a bad habit of his and was definitely the downside of his tendency to act first and think later. Most of the time his instincts were good and he got it right, but when he didn’t it could leave a world of regrets for him to sift through. Wracking his brains, he couldn’t think of anything he had done wrong the previous evening but there was a gnawing doubt that he just couldn't shake that something was amiss.

After what felt like an age, he finally heard the soft knock that he’d been waiting for and he crossed the room quickly, keen to get whatever conversation was needed started.

“Is everything OK?” he asked, stepping back to allow her entry.

“Yeah, sorry about that,” Cat said, crossing the room and sitting on the couch in the small sitting area that Penny always provided for her guests.

“So, what’s going on then?” asked Scott, weighing up his options and choosing a chair slightly off to one side. Ordinarily he would have chosen to sit next to her but something about her demeanour set alarm bells ringing and he wanted to be able to maintain a respectful distance in case the conversation soured.

“I don’t know,” Cat sighed, not knowing how to proceed. She had come in absolutely sure of how to have the conversation she knew she needed to but now she was in front of him, it seemed so much harder somehow.

“Well, can I take you for dinner sometime?” Scott asked, deciding that he was going to have to be the one to make the first move. Cat visibly tensed at his question and Scott quickly realised that she was steeling herself to do something unpleasant, sending his heart plummeting.

“Scott, listen, I don’t know if that’s such a good idea. I don’t really have time for a relationship right now with everything I’ve got coming up at work. And we both know how it ended before. I don’t know if I want a repeat of that if I’m honest,” she held up a hand to stop him from interrupting before she continued. “I know it was years ago and I have forgiven you but it doesn’t take away the fact that it still happened. You don’t just get to swan back in here with your big blue eyes and your dimples and sweep me off my feet,” she finished much more forcefully than she had expected, suddenly aware that long buried emotions were starting to make themselves known.

“I… I’m sorry. I didn't think…” Scott stammered, taken aback by the sudden anger in her voice.

“Look Scott, you really hurt me ok? I mean, we knew we were going to be long distance for a while but we worked it all out, having me in London and you in the Air Force. And then suddenly you were deployed for a few weeks and it was over? I was devastated, Scott. Do you know that? I was 3 weeks into finding my feet in a new city and a new company and suddenly the one person I thought would have my back no matter what dropped me without a backward glance.  That really fucking hurt!” Cat took a deep breath and blinked away the tears that were threatening to fall.

“I don’t know what to say,” stammered Scott, all his worst fears about the impact of his actions suddenly confirmed.

“Saying goodbye to you before you deployed was one of the hardest things I’ve ever had to do,” sniffed Cat, looking at the floor as she slumped in her seat letting the tears flow freely, her anger giving way to grief. “I spoke to so many of the other wives and girlfriends before you left so I thought I knew what to expect but nothing could prepare me for it. Moving away from you to London was bad enough without you heading into a war zone at the same time. I had no idea if I’d ever see you again. I get that it was just really shitty timing for everything and I know that part wasn’t your fault but to go through that, start getting life back to normal and then being dumped when I was back on my feet was the worst.

“You nearly destroyed me, Scott,” she continued, looking up at him again as the tears continued to fall. “I couldn’t eat, I couldn't sleep. And all the while I was trying to make new friends and impress in a new company. Thank god for Penny and Parker for looking after me all through it.”

Wiping away the tears, she held his gaze when she stopped talking, as if daring him to look away from the impact of his actions and his heart ached as the reality of the hurt he’d been responsible for was rammed home for him.

Before he was even aware he was moving, Scott found himself on the sofa next to her, his arms wrapped tightly around her, pulling her into his chest. She clung to him, burying her face in his neck as he kissed the top of her head, trying desperately to give her the comfort that she needed.

Even though it had been his decision, their breakup had hurt him too and he well remembered the pain in his chest as he had ended that call; it was the same as the pain that was there now. When it came to relationships, he’d been brought up to always consider others feelings before acting and being confronted with his failure to do so hit him hard.

“I’m so sorry. You’re right, I absolutely shouldn’t have done it like that. I just didn’t think about the timing at all,” Scott felt terrible but also defensive of his actions. Despite the hurt they had so obviously caused, they had been made for a good reason.

“Why?” she asked simply, looking up at him but not pulling away from his embrace. “Why did you do it?”

The simplicity of the question caught him off guard and Scott’s mind was suddenly pitched back into the chaos of the first few weeks of his deployment. Cat waited and watched quietly as Scott tried to sort through the memories, the silence building between them.

“I was scared,” he admitted finally. “I’d seen so much death over the few weeks that I’d been there that I thought I wouldn’t ever be the same again and I didn’t know what to do. I thought it was better for you if I left than if you had to deal with the aftermath when I got back.”

“You would have been worth it,” she replied quietly, not trusting herself to say any more without crying again.

“But it wouldn't have been fair to put that on you. You had your own life to live - look how amazingly you’ve done. You didn’t need me coming back and ruining it all for you.”

“So you’re saying the only reason you broke us up was to protect me?” Cat clarified with a hint of a sneer in her voice, her previous anger starting to return.

“Absolutely. If it wasn’t for that, there’s no way I’d have let you go.” Scott was earnest in his response but the warning in Cat’s tone had the first doubts about his actions starting to creep in.

“Bullshit,” she spat, pulling sharply away from his embrace. “You just didn’t want to risk the guilt you’d have felt if you’d come back with some kind of trauma so you decided to make life easier for yourself. It was completely selfish.”

“No! That’s absolutely not it!” Scott was horrified that his actions could have been taken in such a way. “I just wanted to protect you. I didn’t know what else would happen when I was there. We’d already had one guy seriously injured if you remember? I could have come back mentally or physically changed. And I might not have come back at all.”

“But you didn't! You were fine!”

“But I didn’t know that, did I?” exclaimed Scott, exasperated and bewildered in equal measure.

“But surely you can see that it should have been my choice to make?” Cat pointed out, taking a deep breath and trying to regain some of her composure. “I wanted to wait for you and be there for you through whatever the aftermath might throw at us. If you’d changed and I couldn’t handle it then I should have made that call.”

“You’re right. And I’m sorry. It’s all I can say now. I shouldn’t have made that decision for you. You have no idea how much I wish I could take it back” Scott found tears prickling his eyes now that the flash of frustration had passed and the conversation had calmed somewhat.

“Hey,” said Cat softly, her anger evaporating as she gently cupped his cheek with her hand, stroking the soft skin beneath his eye with her thumb. “It’s ok. I understand. I can’t imagine the stress you must have been under.”

Scott leant into her touch, closing his eyes and allowing himself a moment to savour the comfort it brought before looking back at her.

“It was the stupidest decision I’ve ever made,” he said quietly, his eyes imploring her to believe him. “As soon as I’d said it I wanted to take it back and when I got off the call I felt like I couldn't breathe for the pain in my chest.”

“I remember that feeling well,” commented Cat, with a look that went right through Scott.

He’d always known that the hurt he had felt must have been replicated in her, but to have it confirmed was like a dagger to the heart. With a shock, he realised that she had probably felt it worse than him, as at least he had known it was coming while she had been completely blindsided by it.

“I loved you, you know,” Scott said suddenly. “More than you probably realise.”

“And I didn’t just run off and find someone else,” he added, unsure of why but feeling compelled to tell her anyway. “I’ve not had a serious girlfriend since we broke up - nobody else has ever compared to how amazing you are.”

“I really loved you too Scott. If we’d stayed together then...” Cat tailed off with a sad smile and a gentle shrug, making Scott’s already fractured heart shatter with the knowledge of what could have been. “Well, I guess we’ll never know.”

Silence fell between them as they both took in the shifts in their understanding of the circumstances surrounding their break up and gathered their thoughts.

“So what now?” he ventured, trying not to hold his breath as he waited for the answer.

“Do you think we can start over again maybe? As friends?” Cat answered, feeling surprisingly shy and nervous about the answer.

“Sounds good to me,” Scott smiled, despite the pang in his heart as it mourned the loss of something it had hoped for but never truly had.

“Friends then?” Cat stood up, the relief palpable in her voice and demeanour as she held out her arms for a hug.

“Friends,” Scott confirmed, wrapping his arms around her and kissing the top of her head as he held her tightly.

[snow--blanket]

stream and deer

commissioned by @nyktoon-in-otomeland!

word count: 4028

fandom: ikemen sengoku

characters: kennyo, ishikawa reika ***

There was an old library, south of the forest in Sekihan, and the path there was cobbled and staggering. It depended on who you asked—the widows of soldiers in the past war believed the road was formed by the steps of the Gashadokuro, a skeletal giant that was made from the bones of a thousand fallen men. The ones that hung holly above their doors believed it to be the paw prints of black cats, leading you astray from the crooked road back home. 

Kennyo believed differently. 

He believed that the wayfarers that had found their way to the boundary between forest and field were looking for something new. Something troubling. They were waiting for a rise in the tide, the grey of smoke and storm that christened the air in the midst of a hail of bullets. They were not looking for something pretty. 

They were looking for a reckoning. They were looking for change, and change was what Kennyo needed. 

So he made himself steady through the forest, following the path of small stones that dug through his worn down sandals, and the road to the library was so narrow it could hardly be called one. It was more like a small alley, and the thorns pricked him red and stole threads of his sleeves as he walked. Kennyo realised that if he were ambushed in the forest, he could not get out. He was a soldier walking to his death, slowly watching his comrades being killed one by one, lined up and ripe for murder. 

He grit his teeth. Murder is what kept him walking, so he did not mind if he died. Still, it should not be here, where so many of his brothers have gone without tombstones to mark their graves. 

Kennyo reached the library by the one hundred and fifty-eighth tap, and the library itself was a fairly small thing, like a silo used to store grain. He remembered a soldier that came from the inner town saying that the libraries there were the length of more than a hundred arm spans. This one had no room for Kennyo to walk around the sides or behind, shielded by the thorny wood. He remembered the sight. He'd seen it before. 

The library of Sekihan was a heart and the forestry was its ribcage. He knew he was at the right place. 

Kennyo walked to the front door, ignoring the foggy windows and the rusty knocker, corroded by time and air and rain. There were no flowers around the library, only the browning summer grass. 

When he entered the library, he was surprised by the fact that he didn't cough. In fact, as he looked around his surroundings, the library was quite well kept—only a few books strewn on a table, but the floor was not dusty as he had expected. When he took off his sandals and walked on the wooden floorboards, it was smooth, no layer of dirt for him to wipe off his sole. The lighting in the library, however, was inconvenient. His only source of light was the evening sun filtering through the trees outside and passing through the greyed lens of glass. 

Kennyo walked to the bookshelves, looking for a title to catch his eye. His hand landed on the spine of a purple book, foiled with golden stripes. The title read, 'The Magic of Exchanges'. Surely this must be it. 

He removed the book from the shelf, but just as he was about to open it, a voice spoke: “I'd prefer it if you knocked next time.”

Kennyo's heart jumped in his chest, and he turned around to see a woman standing from her seat at a table, a book laid open. She rubbed her eyes and walked over to him. The woman stopped in front of him, then took the book from his hands. He was too surprised to react aptly, and for some reason he blushed beside himself. 

The woman went ahead and placed the book onto the shelf once more, then turned to look at him. “What is it you need?” 

He wasn't sure whether it was the filtered light passing through the foliage that made it seem like her eyes were star-scaped. He couldn't discern the colour of her eyes clearly, but her skin was the colour of the maple branches, and her kimono was a light blue. He blinked at that. “The book.”

The woman sat down in a chair, and then dipped a brush on an inkstone, writing on the pages of the open book. She hummed. “And for what reason?” 

Kennyo's brows were tight in a low snarl. “Not something you need to know.” 

She sighed. “This is my library. Every book belongs to me.”

Kennyo's legs already began to move, and in an instant, he pressed a blade to her throat. “I didn't ask.”

Her eyes met his own, and then they wandered down to his other hand that was free. She hummed. “Reika.”

“What?”

“My name is Reika. It's the name you will remember me by once you've killed me.” She stood up and walked slowly towards him, and it was then that he realised her eyes were not honey sunset or the orange from a lantern light, but dark as soil. Even though he was the one holding a weapon, the more she stepped closer, the farther he retreated, until they were both no longer doused in the evening light, dipped in darkness. 

He could do this. He had killed before. He would do it again. 

And yet, the more he pressed the cold steel to her skin, the more doubtful he felt. Kennyo could not take his eyes off of her. He did not try. He tried to say something kind—to make it quick, maybe?—but his tongue froze in his mouth and his words were robbed off him. Foolishly, he said this: “I will not apologise.”

“I don't expect you to,” Reika said, and her eyes wandered to his hand again. He only now realised that he had been drumming his palm with his fingers, a habit born out of anxiousness. “But it's not wise to lie to me.”

Kennyo opened his mouth to protest, but before he could, her hand had pushed his knife away, and his mouth was agape as he watched the small dribble of blood trail down her fingers. Without realising, he had lowered his blade, eyes widened as he saw that the skin where her cut formed chipped off and flaked to the ground like brittle splinters. “Who are you?” 

She smiled, and then bowed in a curtsy. “I'm Reika, the tsukumogami of the library, and keeper of the wisdom you seek. And you?” 

“Kennyo,” he uttered honestly, belatedly. “A…” 

Demon? 

“Traveler,” he said. It would do for now. “I'm a traveler.”

Her smile was edged, thorny like the woods. “And do all travelers carry weapons these days? I must have been asleep for quite some time.”

“It is a dangerous world.”

Reika's eyes glanced at the blade in his hand. “It certainly appears that way.” She looked back at him. “So what, pray tell, are you planning to do with the book?” 

Kennyo opened his mouth to let the lies fly out like locusts, but he found himself speaking the truth. “I will make myself a monster.”

She regarded him, a sort of understanding sinking into her eyes like stone. As if she has had this conversation a hundred times with a hundred different people. “And whose monster will you be?” 

His tongue thawed, and his words came easy and abrasive like sand. “Oda Nobunaga.”

She was quiet. There was no way she hadn't heard the name before. “I'll grant you permission on one condition,” she said. “That you speak truth.”

He considered this. “And when will I receive it, if I do?” 

“Whenever I deem you fitful.”

Kennyo gnashed his teeth. Nobunaga's march east would be in three weeks time, so he could only make sure to gain his powers as a demon within that time frame to avoid any more reckless deaths. “In two and a half weeks,” he said. “If you do not deem me fitful then, I will burn this library to the ground.”

She was a tsukumogami, and her spirit resided in the library, tying herself to the same thread. Burning the books was as good as killing her. If he could not make her bleed, he would make her disappear.

Reika smiled. “I don't think you'll need the book to be a monster, then.”

“I will need to be a stronger monster than him,” Kennyo spat out the words like poison. 

She hummed, appraising him with… something he could not recognise. Reika turned away from him, tidying up the books on the table. “Come again tomorrow,” she said. 

Kennyo nodded, and then left the library. When he arrived home, he asked a village woman about hexes to ward off impurities. The old woman was somewhere in her late forties or early fifties, her wrinkled face stretched like cloth that had gotten loose from use. She had a mother's disposition, taking care of many animals, as well as parenting a lot of the village children. Although she had her own name, everyone called her such. 

The old woman hunched over her small, damp, kitchen and tied rosemary and basil leaves together with butcher's twine, and then wrapped it in a small white cloth. She gave it to Kennyo, who uttered his thanks as he slipped it into his kimono. “Are you going somewhere far again?” 

“No.” Not now, at least. Kennyo lightly bumped her out of the way, picking up the ladle that still had the remnants of soup. He began his mindless work of tidying up her kitchen, as it often was messy after supper for the kids. “How is…” His voice caught on his throat like the briars had on his sleeves. “How is he?” 

The old woman started to stack up the dirty plates, hovering around the table so worriedly it truly gave justice to her title. “The usual. He asked you where you went, but that's about it.” 

“I see.” 

They were both silent after that, and Kennyo made himself sparse and went home after the old woman had sent him off with rice balls filled with anchovy and pickled plum. When he bathed, the nicks the thorns had made on his arms and legs stung red under the rush of water. There was magic there, he realised. His wounds looked like the sun spots behind his eyelids, a dizzying flower. It'll be worth it, he thought. The pain would be worth it. 

He woke up early the next day and ate the half of the pickled plum rice ball, giving half of it to the little boy that was drawing circles on the dirt. Kennyo simply patted his head and said "you need to grow up strong and healthy", smiling as he did so. 

“Like you?” 

His smile faltered at that. “Even stronger.” I will need to be a stronger monster than him. Kennyo hoped that the words would not echo. 

When he arrived at the library again, the narrow path seemed to have widened a bit—now it was not squeezing him like a tied coin purse, but it was as if he was in the kitchen with the village mother, working elbow to elbow. The curtains were drawn fully to let the afternoon glare enter. Even without lanterns, it seemed to be brighter than before. 

She greeted him with a smile. “Hello.”

He nodded, and then sat on a chair, all stiff shoulders like he was going to war. “Begin,” he said. 

She laughed at that. “If you say so.” She sat near him after she pulled out a green book from the shelf. She pushed it across the table in front of him. “Read.”

“Are you making fun of me?” Kennyo's voice was a low growl. 

Reika did not respond to his heat with fire. Instead, her voice was a slow stream from the mountains, ever-enduring. “Not at all.” This, she said without smiling. “Why do you wish to be a demon?” 

“So I can kill—” Her gaze silenced him. Speak truth. “So I can avenge my fallen brothers.”

She hummed, then took out a yellow book he'd seen her write on before. She dipped her brush in the inkstone once, and then drawled across the empty pages in fluid motions. “And you think killing Nobunaga will do such a thing?” 

“Not at all.” He thought even death was too easy for the devil of the sixth heaven. “But if—” he stammered, “but if it will give them some semblance of peace, then I will do it.”

She stopped her writing, tore out a page to squeeze the ink out of her brush, then put it down. “I'm going to give you something,” Reika said, and pulled out a green book. She flipped open the pages until she stopped at one page, and then a round lumpy object surfaced from the papers, like dead bodies in a lake. Kennyo's eyes widened. She took the object and put it in his hands. It was light, and smooth. Like a small rock that had been polished clean. 

He blinked at her incredulously. “What is this?” 

She walked past him and closed the yellow book, then nudged it into the bookshelf. When her eyes met his, there was something there. Pinecones and fallen leaves. Like she had seen death without stepping foot on a battlefield. “It's what you are looking for.”

“I am looking for power,” he said, and he almost felt ridiculous. As if speaking it into existence had somehow dulled the scent of gunpowder and burnt embers. 

Reika shook her head. “You're looking for hatred,” she said so kindly, “And that is what hatred is.”

Kennyo looked at the rock in his hands, eyes narrowed in puzzlement. This thing was supposed to help him kill Nobunaga? The man who had both the forces of the nine-tailed kitsune and the fierce loyalty of a man turned servant? He couldn't understand it well. 

When he tried to prod further, Reika simply smiled and then said goodbye, and he had the good sense to leave her alone after that. 

Nine days passed, and the remnants of war returned in the middle of winter. 

Kennyo did not visit Reika in that time—because of the ongoing skirmish (it was what they called it, but he digressed) near the village, the daimyo ordered for the soldiers to send any injured or dead to them. The air was thick with the scent of blood and pus. Kennyo had experience with bandaging and basic first aid treatment, so he was in charge of aiding the injured soldiers as well as teaching other young men how to do the same thing. 

They managed to set up an area to lay the treated soldiers on a flat field that the children used to play in. Because the medicine was especially ineffective in the cold, they had used up every lantern and candle from the houses to warm the wounded men. The villagers did not complain, for they had gotten used to the chill of the mountains. Like sinners that had gotten used to hell fire.

One man whimpered, tugging Kennyo by his sleeve as he lay and groaned his pain. “Will I… live…?” 

The man had part of his lower leg blown off by an explosion, and it was as if a wolf had bitten it off. A wolf would have been kinder. Kennyo was sure there was a way to save him, but he did not know how. All he knew was that if he decided to muffle his breathing with a pillow, it would end his suffering. 

And wasn't that a sort of grace in itself? 

“No,” he said. He would be a monster, but he would not lie. “But—” he gestured to the other men that lay beside him. “But they might.”

The man smiled. “That's all… I can ask for.” He exhaled, and his sigh was like smoke coming out of the wrong end of a gun. Kennyo looked away. 

Because that's all you can afford to ask, Kennyo thought, but bit his words down until he felt blood. 

When he was free, he walked to the village mother's house and went into another room with a bowl of gruel in hand. Kennyo's heart beat fast and heavy in his chest. He knocked at the wooden door, a hollow sound. “I'm coming in.”

There was no response, but he entered anyways, and nudged the door close with his leg. He put the bowl onto the small wooden table and then lifted it off the floor to be closer to the bed. Kennyo could hear his shallow breathing. “Have you eaten yet?” He sat on a nearby makeshift stool, a container for biscuits. 

No answer. Just his pale eyes that stared at the walls. He had beauty, once. People fawned over him, and his hair that was lavender was now the colour of… rotting meat. Clever eyes that were like wisteria were always closed or looked at something that wasn't there, like a cat that could see ghosts. His beautiful features became wasted and hungry, his skin being pinched by his cheekbones that became more prominent as the days went by. 

“Ranmaru,” Kennyo said gently. “You have to eat.”

Ranmaru did not answer. Kennyo hated that he'd forgotten what the sound of his voice was like. When he was happy, he was like a twittering songbird. When he was serious, his breath was steady and his voice rang with clarity. When he was sad… 

When he was sad, he was silent, and that was the worst of all. 

He only spoke to the village mother, but Kennyo did not chide him for that. People expressed grief differently. Kennyo felt his chest become heftier, like he was the crow that had drunk the rocks with the water. A foolish act. 

Kennyo dragged his seat closer, and then spooned the gruel in front of his mouth. Ever since a small girl had come wandering into the room and stared agape at Ranmaru's lack of arms, no one else was allowed to enter aside from the village mother and himself. They had made up silly stories about a ghoul of some kind to ward off the children, and that was how Ranmaru lived. Like a gust of wind that could pass as the voice of a ghost. 

When Ranmaru did not open his mouth to eat, Kennyo did not sigh. He returned the spoon to the wooden bowl and put it back on the table and stood up. 

As he turned to leave, he felt something slip out of his robes. Kennyo looked at the floor and saw the small rock had escaped him. He crouched to pick it up, dusting it off before slipping it back into his kimono. He straightened, and opened his mouth to tell Ranmaru to rest well, but he did not speak. 

For the first time in years, Ranmaru's eyes were alive and lit with disgust, his lips a pulled back snarl like a taut bowstring. “You too?” His voice was quiet and quivering, like a rabbit in a trap. “You're going to kill me too?” 

“I don't—” 

“Enough already!” When Ranmaru was happy, his voice was a twittering bird. When he was serious, his voice was a warhorn. When he was angry, his voice was a trembling string of a koto being strummed over and over and over until the fingers that played it had gone red and chafe with use. “Enough already… I know I'm already useless to you, Master Kennyo. I know I should die. I know that I can't help you with your goals anymore, and it'll probably be easier to kill me than to take care of me, but—!” 

“No. No! You're not—I wouldn't do that to you.” He remembered the man at the tent. “I wouldn't do that to you,” he said. 

“But someday you will!” Ranmaru shouted like the words had been ripped out of his mouth, from some part of him that knew the truth. That Kennyo was to be a monster, and he did not know where he stood between his fangs and his hatred. 

Ranmaru started shaking, his body convulsing as his breathing started to pick up, shallow and quick and unsteady. Kennyo started to approach him, but Ranmaru whimpered. “Go away.” His eyes looked at him in fear. “Please, go away.” He closed his eyes shut and tears streamed down his face. 

So Kennyo did. 

He hoped something would make him stay; regret, compassion, kindness. But those could not be his tools as a monster. His human tongue had nestled in slumber behind his canine teeth. So he left, knowing that he did not deserve those half-hearted attempts at deriving the gold of his heart from the poison. 

That night, Kennyo slept restlessly, and he thought about the sun spots the thorns had made on him and the look in Ranmaru's eyes. As if he feared him not for holding the gun, but as a volatile bullet in a chamber, waiting for direction and could erupt at a moment's notice. He was a monster at both ends. 

The next day, Kennyo visited the library again, and strangely, he did not feel pain when the thorns pricked him. Like a sinner that had gotten used to hellfire indeed. 

Without even a greeting, Kennyo laid down the stone on the table where Reika sat at and spoke. “What is this?” 

Reika recognised the hurt that flashed in his eyes like fire flowers that were all too willing to burn. “It's a projectile from a canon that's called Ozutsu.”

“Why would you give me such a thing?” Kennyo could not help his frown. 

“There are certain weapons that are banned from use, did you know? Because they cause unnecessary suffering.”

“What does that have to do with—” Speak truth. “I don't.”

“Well, where I come from, the leader of the country, so to speak, banned things like… poisonous gases and anything that could be used to set things on fire intentionally. They recognised that even in war, there were certain boundaries one must keep and self regulate on a constant basis, as to not misuse the power given to them to oppress the weak and harmless.”

This was truth. “Why are you telling me this?” 

“To let you know that even if violence is the answer, it should not be wielded around carelessly, driven by rage.” Her eyes glittered, like there was gold amongst dirt there. “That people are always finding ways to lessen your pain even if they have to hurt you anyway. And you will not be exempt of that judgement.”

Kennyo did not growl fire like a dragon, but he whimpered like a whipped dog who did not know what he did wrong. “Violence is effective—” 

“Violence is quick. It is not effective, nor is it efficient.” Reika exhaled, her breath fogging like the greyed lenses of the windows. “It is not as if I do not recognise what kind of monster Nobunaga is,” she said quietly. “But he is a kind of monster that can live with himself. He has gotten used to his claws and sharp teeth. You are…” She paused. “You are meant to be something else for this world.”

“I don't know how I can live as myself while other people are needlessly dying at the expense of my passivity.” He furrowed his brows, his anger spent at her rather naive way of looking at things. 

Reika smiled, and it was the hint of something new, the smell of fern and lime and her eyes that did not shy away from his. A reckoning that started from a small stream. “I think you've forgotten. I am Reika, tsukumogami of the wisdom you seek.”

She took a green book from the shelves, and he'd recognised it before. She splayed the pages open and pushed it in front of him. 

“Read.”

[notstolen]

aesthetics for the entities. bold what applies to your muse, italics what applies situationally or only in certain verses. this is based on a horror podcast;  potentially triggering and / or upsetting content ahead!

i.  the buried.   weighed blankets.  drowning. the comfort of a loved one’s weight. soil and sand piling on top of you.  hugging so hard it hurts a little.  cramped hiding spots.  letting out air underwater to sink to the bottom of the pool.  walls pressing in on you.  not moving from a position even though you’re cramping a little. dragging the last second before you have to inhale.  lonely subways.  feeling like one with the earth. a layer of dirt on you.  looking for something below.  cardboard boxes and tiny pillow forts.  hands calloused from digging.  knowing that your purpose is just below the surface.  entering your final resting place before it kills you.  a storm drowning you out.  dust and sand speaking to you.

ii.  the corruption.  insects.  a close imitation of the natural course of life.  an illness in a community. a rag that dirties more than it cleans.  an untreated wound.  containment. breaching containment.  unbreathable air.  fungi.  one with that you love.  one with what loves you.  a corpse unfit for a glass case.  hearing a song in the sound of tiny wings and legs.  honeycomb patterns.  an ecosystem within a person. a curse passed on. the hubris of a scientist.  an ugly death where a glorious one is owed.  blood on a handkerchief.  parasites. something pushing up the sewer.  a mask to keep something out.  trypophobia.  knowing you belong.  death weeks after impact.  fever.  food that’s gone off.  pandora’s box.  death behind a glass.

iii.  the dark. shadows.  lights that turn off by themselves.  the feel of cold marble.  a beaked creature in the night. the difference between seeing darkness and seeing nothing.  touch of something you can’t see.  hiding under a blanket.  white, clouded eyes.  months without going outside during sunlight.  pouring dark.  unscrewing lightbulbs.  black matter.  light sensitivity.  a starless night. time before light was created.  a shadow on the wall without a body to attach to.  withering plants.  a world without a sun.  footfalls in an empty house in the night.  a light that doesn’t reach as far as it should.  desperate reach for a flashlight.  clothes that hide your shape.  staying unperceivable.  winter months in the north. an empty church.

v.  the flesh. body horror. factories. a hunger for something more filling.  never quite happy with how you look.  the terror of an animal waiting for slaughter.  a very good meal.  the liquid of a perfect steak.  fighting your worst survival instincts.  a twisted bone. long nights working out.  more than one heart.  appearance that shapes like clay.  a bag of bones.  bone broth in a pot.  knowing to fear pigs.  the butcher’s shop.  plastic surgery. something alien inside your body. a hunger in the gaze laid upon you.  unwitting cannibalism. forgetting what you used to look like.  being admired for your appearance and appearance only.  teeth marks on skin.  scars from wounds that should’ve killed you. cooking in scarcity.  fenced in with one way to go.

iv.  the desolation.  senseless pain.  warmth of faith.  wax where skin should be.  a blazing fire. heat without a source.  the third or fourth tragedy in the family. losing everything you’ve ever held dear. so much to live for, gone so soon.  the smell of gasoline. touch that scars. coffee cup that never goes cold.  scorch marks on wood.  inescapably warm air. a child born in fire. death of a loved one.  a candle without a flame.  an altar in the middle of the woods. animals with burnt fur.  plastic explosives.  burning hot metal. sweating in an interrogation room.  never touching a loved one. disfigurement.  a kiss that ruins you.  the scent of burning fat.  a tattoo that terrifies its viewer.  the agony of hellfire displayed as art.  auburn hair. little clothing in cold weather.  a ripple in the air.  trying to cool down in vain.

vi.  the end. the last page of a book. nightmares that don’t feel like nightmares.  a skeletal hand.  the grip of the grim reaper around your throat.  existential pain. ivory dice.  flatlining in a hospital.  gambling with death. as old as the universe.  soul and spirit tied to an object. a dream where you die.  closing your eyes for the last time.  the plead of a dying one.  knowing the fate of someone you know and being unable to prevent it.  a thousand cords tugging you towards your end.  skin that’s freezing to the touch.  an act of desperation.  someone’s life for yours.  an eternity spent alive.  the cost of your selfishness.  watching your own burial. causing your own burial. the smell of death.  numbness to fear.  words from someone gone.  meaninglessness of the actions or lives of single people in the universe.  multiple near-death experiences you refuse to die from.

viii.  the hunt.   sharp canines. sore calves after a run.  the scent of blood.  an adventure for the journey’s sake.  the adrenaline right before the kill.   a whistle’s echo.  the woods.  the doe eyes of a prey animal.  your own breath in the air.  sharpened claws.  being tracked.  fear of someone knowing your every movement.  hunting down monsters. hide and seek. running away only to end up where you started.  staying alive purely because the enemy enjoys seeing you run.  a set of footsteps behind you. blood dripping from bare hands.  barks and growls. focused eyes.  a victim going limp under your hands.  a mouth full of fresh blood.  catching the scent of something monstrous.  perfecting your craft.  peering into the dark and running after it.

vii.  the eye. googling something you shouldn’t have.  eureka moments. the unforgiving lens of a camera.  witness reports.  hidden libraries.  eyes of different colours.  feeling of being watched. a death recorded in tape.  a tragedy you can’t look away from.  endangering yourself for knowledge. truth. analog records.  a symbol of an eye.  a watch tower.  compulsion to document.  turning on recording devices without thinking about it.  saving the evidence before the person.  extracting information.  truth or dare, without the dare.  a thirst for knowledge.  books that speak to you.  coordinated shelves.  cataloguing systems.  voyerism. police report you can’t put down.  reasoning your way out.  smell of old papers. books that read you back.

ix.  the lonely.   an apartment too small for a double bed. completely vacant streets.  waking up to see everyone gone. fog.  point nemo.  a house too big to hear your family members in.  alone in a faceless crowd. a mask with nothing behind it.  separated cubicles. a deafening silence where joy should be.  a blinding spotlight.  the least missed in your friend group.  streets without lights in the windows. isolation.  not truly knowing your friends.  your friends not truly knowing you.  need for silence.  fear of crowds.  staring into space knowing nothing is looking back at you.  a ship alone at sea. depression.  knowing your friends are better off without you. talking to someone only to realise they’re gone.  a family too large to notice you there. safety in being alone.

x.  the slaughter. a game of tag.   senseless violence.  a true crime hobby. improvised weapons.  blinding rage. intent to kill. a horrific day in a quiet community. a medal of bravery. holding on to what validates your anger.  history books that spare no details.  an injury you want revenge for.  war.  counting kills.  songs of soldiers. a knifeblock on the counter. a pool of blood. shellshock.  unspeakable horrors.  anger pushing you forward. unimaginable pain. not seeing who will hurt you but knowing the pain is coming.  a fully human monster. an authority sending its lessers to their deaths. kill or be killed. unedited wartime memoirs.  a weapons collection.  not knowing the names of who you kill.  too many to remember.  loss of hope.  there’s no heroes in war.

xi.  the spiral. sleep deprivation. corridors you can get lost in. maze puzzles that loop back on themselves.  losing possessions. losing people.  losing your sanity. corkscew curls.  rows of funhouse mirrors.  optical illusions.  a separate reality. walking through the wrong door.  delusions.  not knowing what your hands are doing.  blank spaces in documents.  hallucinations.  wrong proportions. a nameless thing. a place that has never existed. doubting your own mind.  blind faith.  losing track of names, labels, categories.  distorted sound.  an imperfection in a glass that twists the view. loss of time.  a garish colour.  doors that open to nowhere.  lies.  an unnatural laugh.  jokes and tricks.  illusions.  a doorway.  a sculptor with a wild imagination.  limbs in impossible angles.  doing what’s fun, not what’s sensible.  fractals you can get lost in.

xii.  the stranger. wax figures.  a close approximation of a human face.  a borrowed appearance.  a strange smell.  glass eyes.  furs and pelts.  a dance.  a song of a choir.  the uncanny valley.  stitching yourself together. the colours of a circus.  a puppet with no strings. mannequins.  glitter and sequin.  a stranger you’ve always known.  someone strange in the place of someone you knew.  stolen identities.  stolen skins. a machine imitating humanity. the anonymity of a service worker.  hiding in plain sight. uncomfortable to look at.  a faked accent.  concealing.  forgetting who you are.  forgetting who others are.  a replacement no one notices. images that look posed.  the only one seeing the false face of someone.

xiv.  the web.   undecipherable code.  a puppeteer holding the strings.  power over the weak-willed.  strings of fate. manipulation.  an arranged accident.  a hundred minions doing your bidding.  cobwebs.  spiders.  a laid trap. never voicing discomfort. outwitting a cheater.  doing things without realising it. red string across a corkboard.  finding something lost where you were sure you checked.  power over the unreliability of chance.  watching others dance for you.  an entangled death.  a thousand tiny legs and fangs.  shady forum threads.  something important gone missing. suspiciously disregarded case.  a missing witness.  connections.  the world wide web.  power of victimhood.  gullibility.  no control over your own decisions.  an invisible leash.  mass psychology.  a horror film in the making.  scapegoat.  never remembering to ask for a name.

xiii.  the vast. open spaces.  carnival rides going up and down.  fear of heights.  endless infinity around you.  your insignificance in a universe.  stomach turning at a drop.  fear of not the crash down but the moment you slip.  the sway of a cable car.  an adventure holiday.  losing track of where the surface is.  miles and miles of nothing around you. staring at the sky and feeling like you may fall into it.  loss of control. a fall that doesn’t end in death. glass floor to the view below. terminal velocity. the sound of wind in your ears.  a reach over the railing.  a jump from the top of the building. falling into nothing. feeling your feet let go of the ground. a leap of faith.  motion sickness.

+  the extinction. the end of an era. apocalypse movies.  the alarms of warning systems.  a desolate landscape.  end of the world cults.  nihilism. the last written history. a changed world.  no survivours.  old prophecies.  a thousand predicted ends.  a new chapter.  an end with no escape.  catastrophes.  a calendar counting down.  breaking point.  overindulgence.

tagged by: stole it from one of my other blogs

tagging: @xwhiterabbitx, @lonexwolfe, @desolationtrial ( for ari since i think you might’ve done this for norman already? )