#But NEVER send a rip tire my way. I will MASSACRE it

[blue-jeens]

Prompt: After trying to get Eiji to go back to Japan(episodes 12-13), Ash comes back to the empty condo

The whole world seemed to have gone silent as Ash trudged back up to their apartment.

My apartment, Ash corrected himself, trying to ignore the sharp pang of betrayal his own words sent through him. Eiji didn’t belong here. He never belonged in this snooty Manhattan high rise the way birds didn’t belong in gilded cages. And when you set them free, they didn’t come back.

He had kept Eiji trapped here for far too long, without so much as doing him the courtesy of some company. No, he was too busy getting his hands dirty in back alleys and coming home late to pollute Eiji with that ugliness. Even now, exhausted, covered in blood and sweat from an afternoon of massacring misfortunate amateurs, filthy in a way that ran deeper than a simple shower could wash away, he longed for Eiji. His words, his presence, his warmth, his kindness.

The curtains were drawn, and the whole room was bathed in a calm, warm glow: a cruel contradiction to the tempest inside him. It was a beautiful sunset too. Eiji would have liked it. “Golden hour” he used to say – and run for his camera.

Ash smiled to himself. Let himself pretend he could hear the patter of Eiji’s footsteps in the other room, and any moment now he would rush in to take pictures of Ash lounging around their apartment, and Ash would act like he was annoyed – like his heart wasn’t somersaulting in his chest.

But the seconds ticked by, and Ash leaned his forehead against the window only to feel himself tremble. He closed his eyes; everywhere he looked, it felt like negative space anyway.

He didn’t pack or nuthin boss. Jus’ left for the airport like you asked.

If there was any breath left to spare in Ash’s lungs he would have laughed. He did it on purpose, he thought bitterly. Ash had half a mind to get rid of the condo and never look back. He couldn’t bear the thought of sorting through their possessions and finding reminders of the best thing that had happened to him.

They say if you love someone you should let them go, but they never talk about what you do after. What do you do to make it not hurt? Ash didn’t exactly have the luxury to pine.

But he did anyway; he thought about Eiji and everything he meant to him. He let his guard down, only registering the creak of the door after it had already shut. For a moment he stiffened; out of fear or anticipation, he didn’t know. His mind ran through the possibilities, the likeliest being that he had left someone from Arthur’s gang alive on that train, who had now followed him all the way back here to finish the job.

He could still fight. He could grab his gun and duck behind the kitchen counter and take the intruder out in seconds with the ease that came from years of practice fighting.

But he was so tired of fighting.

So, he stood there, thinking about Eiji’s face and laugh and his smile and his food – and waited for the inevitable bullet to rip through his chest.

“Ash?”

He whipped his head around, felt his stomach turn and heart leap.

Eiji was right there, looking sheepish and windswept and beautiful and – he looked like home. Ash blinked to make sure it truly was Eiji, and not a vivid afterimage of his previous thoughts.

Eiji stepped forward, and in spite of everything Ash actually wanted to do in that moment, he held up his hand, and tried to summon frustration. Eiji froze mid-step.

“Ash, I – ”

“Stop. You’re…” Ash not-so-discreetly wiped a stray tear and composed his wavering voice. “You’re supposed to be in Japan.”

“I couldn’t go. I got off the plane.”

“I don’t want you here.”

He looked hurt, but his face hardened. “Tell me you hate me, Ash. And I’ll leave. I promise.”

“I can’t – that’s unfair.”

“You keep trying to make my decisions for me. Isn’t that unfair?”

Ash clenched his fists at his side, trying not to break down. To start sobbing and make Eiji comfort him when he was hurting too. Because of Ash. It was disgusting.

“I just want you to be safe,” he whispered. “If something happened to you, I don’t know what I would…”

His vision blurred and he only heard Eiji’s shuffle across the carpet. Eiji’s hands settled on his shoulders, featherlight, like he feared breaking Ash.

For a while Eiji just ran his palms over Ash’s arms in silence. When Ash finally stopped shaking, he asked quietly, “You remember that story about the leopard you told me?”

Ash nodded.

“Did you consider you were sending me up my own mountain?”

He looked up in confusion. “Eiji, you’re not – you’re a bird. You can fly and I – I keep you trapped for myself because I’m… you should hate me,” he pleaded.

Eiji put his hand on Ash’s cheek; he must have only meant for it to be a light touch, but Ash leaned into it anyway.

“I know you think you’re being selfish for wanting me here. I know you feel like you’re taking something from me but Ash, I have nothing you could take that I wouldn’t give you anyway.”

A beat of silence.

“You’re so stubborn,” Ash said miserably.

“So are you. Must be contagious,” Eiji shrugged, trying for a smile, but his eyes glittered like the sky at twilight.  “Ash, I- I’m the selfish one. And I ask you for everything. You – you’re everything.”

You’re my purpose, Ash heard. That Eiji, who deserved everything the world had to offer had settled on him – it felt good, in a rotten sort of way. But maybe it wasn’t about what they deserved, just what they wanted.

They were leaning heavily into each other, in more ways than one, so it didn’t take much for Ash to tentatively gather Eiji in his arms. Eiji, in turn, clung to him desperately – the domino effect of this kind of bravery.

“That can’t be healthy,” Ash mumbled into his hair.

Eiji scoffed, still holding on. “You’re going to tell me what is and isn’t healthy?”

“Coaches don’t play.”

He felt Eiji’s laugh against his shoulder, then the dampness of his tears.

“Ash please let me stay. It doesn’t have to be forever. Just for now.”

Ash nodded, soft hair tickling his nose. “Okay,” he choked out and Eiji relaxed under him. “Okay, yeah. Okay.”

Ash was still afraid, terrified. If Eiji ever wanted to leave, he knew would pack his bags and buy him the tickets. But until then, he wouldn’t force him, or assume he understood Eiji better than Eiji understood himself.

Birds don’t return to their cages. But Ash supposed they always come back home.

---

Based on a prompt by @coconutlimeverbena 

[kenganparadise]

Dinner and a show

This is a fic I wrote a while back. I wrote it for a friend with a specific kink but never ended up sending it to her. It’s been sitting in my notes collecting dust. I hope someone can get some enjoyment out of it here!

Chrollo  Lucifer x reader

Warnings- public sex/ fingering in public, dirty talk, AFAB reader, female pronouns

 🔞WARNING NSFW AHEAD🔞

You glared your boyfriend’s hand. It was dangerously close to your groin. His hand has been getting closer and closer the whole time you’ve sat here. Your jaw clenches, you don’t know if you should say something. What was he thinking? You knew he was up to something. Your gaze turns to him. “Have you figured out what you want to order?” He asks sweetly. His eyes pierce into your. “No.” You say dryly. Turning back to the menu in front of you. “Well take your time. I’ve heard it’s all good.” He replies. You’re at the hottest restaurant in Yorknew City. You’ve heard there’s a waiting list months long, and yet your boyfriend managed to get you in. You’re not sure how- well you’ve got an idea how. Now here you are. You look up to gaze at all the people of high society, people are wearing luxurious clothes and jewelry. Politicians, celebrities, millionaires maybe even billionaires surround the two of you. Your table is thankfully tucked back in the corner. You look over your shoulder to the view. The restaurant was on the top floor of a skyscraper. The skyline is breathtaking, thousands of twinkling lights, the city is hustling and bustling with life and energy. You wish you can take in all the details- You gasp suddenly. Your attention is ripped away. Chrollo’s hand his cupping your clothed sex now. You look at him, your cheeks are tinted red. “So beautiful isn’t it. I don’t ever think I could get tired of looking at it.” He says there’s a smirk on his face and a twinkle in his eyes. He’s not talking about the city behind you. His fingers rub circles over your clothed sex. Luckily the table cloth gives the two of you privacy from the waist down. He presses down on your clit, you can’t help but huff. “Evening! What can I get started for the two of you.” The young waitress says with a cheery smile. You didn’t even see her come over. “I’ll just take a water.” Chrollo sighs, he’s so nonchalant. “U-Um I’ll have a glass of wine.” You stutter, you feel Chrollo’s eyes bore into you. You pick out a random brand of red wine on the menu. The waitress walks away briskly to get your drink orders. You shiver as Chollo undoes your pants. His chin is in the palm of his hand as he watches your expression. He gently begins sliding his hand inside. “Chrollo-“ “Do you want me to stop?” He cuts you off. His eyes meet yours. “Just say the word.” He says. You press your lips into a thin line. You spread your thighs a little farther for him. “That’s what I thought.” He whispers, he places a chaste kiss on your temple. His hand cups your sex through your panties. “Already so wet. We’ve barely begun.” He whispers. He begins rubbing tender circles around your clit. His pace gradually quickens. You barely notice it at first. Your mouth is dry. You bite your bottom lip, you try so hard not to make any noise. You swallow a whimper. “Don’t be shy. Just let it out.” Chrollo coos in your ear. You huff out a shaky moan. “Alright here’s that water and your wine Ma’am!” The waitress returns with your order. The drinks clink on the table. Chrollo doesn’t relent. “I think I’ll have-“ you didn’t catch the rest of what he said- you hiss as his fingers prod your entrance through your panties. He’s rubbing your wet sex roughly. “Ma’am.... Um ma’am?” Your head snaps up to the waitress. “Oh uh yes?!” You stamper and blush. “Your order?” She says, pen waiting on her notepad. Your eyes shoot down to your menu. “Um I guess I’ll have-Guh!” You choke. Chrollo has pushed your panties to the side and shoved two fingers inside you. “I’ll- uh- I’ll have this! Whatever this is!” You point to a random place on the menu. You just want her to go away. She jots whatever it is down. “Okay! I’ll go put your order in, it should be out shortly!” She says, turning on her heel. Chrollo’s fingers push deep within you. You choke out a moan. You shoot a glare towards him. “Excellent choice. I’ve heard it’s delicious.” He teases. You jam an elbow into his side and he chuckles. His thumb circles over your swollen clit. You moan under your breath. You grab your glass of wine and take a sip- though you almost choke. His fingers plunge in and out of you now. You gulp down your wine and shutter. Your hand finds its way to his thigh. You squeeze him. You want to warn him. Your legs begin shaking, your breath becomes uneven. “Just let it out, don’t worry.” He whispers sweetly. You growl at him. His pace quicken. “Won’t you cum for me?” He begs. You squeeze his thigh. You shutter when he adds a third finger. You huff. Your hand grasps his clothed erection. His gaze darkens. “Careful. I’ll bend you over this table and fuck you in front of this entire restaurant.” He threatens. You shutter at the thought alone. You know he’d do it, then he’d send the spiders on a massacre. You return your hand to your lap. “Good choice.” He purrs. His hand continues working your core and your clit at the same time. A knot tightens in your stomach. You let out a shaky whimper. You’re so close. “Chrollo!” You whine quietly. “Cum for me.” He orders. “And here your are!” The waitress says. “Oh wonderful. That was quick.” Chollo says, pulling his hand away. You’re frozen, the knot in your pelvis unravels. You grind your teeth, shooting a glare at Chrollo. He winks. He knows exactly what he’s done. The waitress places your plates in front of you. You look at whatever you’ve ordered, it looks pretty good actually. Looks like you’ve got a little luck on your side tonight. Once the waitress walks away Chrollo picks up his fork. His other hand returns to your dripping heat. He begins a brutal pace. Your toes curl. Your hands are shaking as you pick up your fork. You puff. You bite your lips and try not to whine too loudly. Your legs are shaking again. You try to take a bite of your food. But your hands can’t seem to function. “It’ll get cold.” Chrollo teases, taking a bite of his own meal. You shoot a glare at him. Finally you shove a bite in your mouth and try not to choke. His thumb quickens over your clit. Your back arches. You swallow, not even getting a taste. You try to stop your eyes from rolling into the back of your head. Dammit you hope no ones looking. The knot in your pelvis tightens. You mouth hangs open. You drop your fork. It clatters on your plate. “Sweetheart, why don’t you cum for me?” Chrollo begs in your ear. The knot explodes in your tummy. You hide your face in your hands, biting your hand to stifle your cry as you cum. Your legs shake and your toes curl. Chrollo helps you ride out your high. You come down slowly but Chrollo doesn’t stop. You whine a little louder now. “C-Chr-llo” you cry. His his pace is steady. Fingers plunging in and out making a sickly wet sound. His thumb still rubbing circles around your clit. You groan through clenched teeth. It’s too much. It’s way too much. He’s overstimulating you way too much! Your hand clenches his thigh again. You drive your nails into him. “Chrollo!” You grunt. Tears prick your eyes. He shushes you. He kisses your tears as they fall. Good god you hope someone isn’t looking. The two of you probably look hella shady. But right now you forget that you’re even in a restaurant. You exhale shakily as you curl into his chest. He places a hand on your shoulder, rubbing it comfortingly. “Cum again for me, sweetheart.” He purrs. You sob. You squeeze your eyes shut. The knot tightens in your tummy again. “Shhhhh. Don’t worry, just cum.” He whispers. The knot snaps and your whole body shakes. Your mouth hangs open and you moan out loud. Your thighs slam shut around his wrist. His fingers help you ride out your second orgasm. “Good girl.” He breathes. You shake and mewl. Finally he removes his wet fingers from your aching, sopping cunt. He puts his fingers to his lips, he tastes you. You collect yourself, catching your breath. You redo your pants hastily. Then you grab your wine glass, downing it. Just in time, the waitress returns to your table. “Just thought I’d check in on you two! Can I get the two of you anything else before I bring over your check?” She asks innocently. “No-“ “I think we’ll have dessert.” Chrollo cuts you off again. The waitress nods and runs off to fetch a menu. Chrollo looks at you with a smile and a gleam in his eyes. You gulp, unknowing of what he has planed next.

[inanotherheadspace]

The Adventures of Team Lune - Chapter Two: To Work, or Not to Work

Summary: A dragon slayer, a demon slayer, and a god slayer walk into a Guild Hall... and all goes to hell

Pairings: Natsu x Fem OC, Gajeel x Fem OC, Gray x Fem OC, Sting x Fem OC, Laxus x Fem OC, Loke x Fem OC 

Word Count: 3,078 

Previous Chapter - Masterlist - Next Chapter 

“Caly, I’m bored,” May whined to the plumette as she rolled over on the couch. Calypso offered a long eye roll in response as she continued to work on May’s new cloak.

“You’re such a whiny baby. I’m literally fixing your cape and now you want my attention?” She kept her eyes trained on the needle as she worked, gliding it effortlessly through the fabric as she has done plenty of times.

“I haven’t seen you in months and this is how you treat me?” The blonde huffed, puffing her cheeks out in a frown.

“Go play with Ria.”

“Ria’s playing with Natsu.” May groaned, flopping over the couch once more, and busying herself with the strings of her shirt. “Plus, I don’t want to see them making out.” She faked a gag as her eyes focused on the ceiling.

“I am not out playing with Natsu stupid! I’ve been home this whole time!” Ria shouted from the kitchen, as a pan fell to the floor in a screech.  

May let out a mumble, before stating; “I have a feeling you guys didn’t actually miss me and just wanted to make me look bad.” The girl’s brows were furrowed in thought, now glaring daggers into the ceiling as her eyes turned to slits.  

“You know that’s not true May!” Ria’s frown could be heard in her voice as she continued cooking lunch. “You worry us too much, hell, you worry the guild too much! We’re both so afraid that one day you just won’t come home! You’re too reckless!”

“I’m a fairy tail wizard, I’ll always come home.” May replied blandly, her eyes defocusing on the white paint of the ceiling. Her fingers still intwined with the pink fabric of her cropped shirt.  

“You promise?” Astria’s voice came out in a peep from the corner of the wall, her eyes shining with tears that were ready to pour.  

“I’ll only promise if you two do too, otherwise, nah.” She shrugged absentmindedly, feeling herself slip in between consciousness.

“Fine then, I promise the both of you that I’ll always come back home.” Calypso stated, her slim fingers working wickedly through the fabric.  

“I promise I’ll always come home,” the bluenette followed.

“I promise to always come back home.” May told, standing up from her position on the couch, turning toward the door. “I’ll be home in a bit, I got something I need 'a do.” Her voice came in a squeak as she felt the vile burning sensation begin in her throat.

Before the two could interrupt, the blonde made for the door, swinging it open and leaving the self-made home. The burning sensation continued as she made her way down the steps, stumbling in the process. She proceeded down and out of the building, using the walls for support.  

"Shit.” Her voice left her mouth in a whisper, her hand desperately clutching her side, the other gripping the wall as she maneuvered around the building’s side. She could make it on time. She had to. Her eyes were painfully dry, wishing to experience some sort of relief from the pain, May continued to stagger, letting go of the wall as she faced the forest’s edge. From there, she sprinted.  

Needing to get as far away as possible; she let the pure adrenaline carry her. She didn’t make it far past the edge, before her knees wobbled, sending her tumbling onto her shins on the ground. Her arms sprang in front of her; hoping to offer herself some stability, but it was no use. They quickly gave out in front of her, sending her chest down into the dry dirt. The burning sensation did nothing but continue its way down half her body. Her skin felt hot to the touch, the other half was pure ice.  

Her body trembled from pure temperature change and fear as her mouth opened silently. Her brain flooding with her own intrusive thoughts, now knowing it was useless to fight against it; she fell limp. Her body taking to complete gravitation toward the ground and shaking against it violently. She’d be lucky if the best case were hitting her head on a rock. Her brain continued its massacre; the thoughts continuing to fumble in like a burning rain.  

“What are you doing?”

“Who are you?”

“Who are they?”

“Why are you here?”

“Why are you doing this?”

“Why are you hiding?”

“They’re afraid of you, all of them.”

The words shot through her skull, sending her head back and into the ground as each word erupted into its own pain. Searing through her skin and blurring her vision.

The darkness was thick. Fog-like and overall terrifying. It wasn’t a part of her. She exterminated darkness. She was not it. She was neither dark nor light. She was human. She was a Fairy Tail wizard. Nothing more, nothing less. No. She was a monster. She was not human.  

Her shriek ripped through her throat, straining her vocal cords more than the burn. Her spit felt like lava and snow, coughing it out into the forest’s floor.  

Where’s the light? There is none. You are the darkness. We are one. You are terrifying. You are nothing more than a demon now. You’ve gone too far. You’ve taken the power and become it.

May’s body continued to thrash ruthlessly, her breathing becoming ragged between screams. Some silent, gasping for air; others earth-splitting and beating through her ears.

I am a demon. You search for blood. You cannot get close to those you love. Their souls are not pure enough. You need pure souls. I need pure souls. Close to those I love. Love. Do you have love? No, you don’t either. Love doesn’t exist in this world. Only death and anguish. You are the bringer of both. You. Are. Darkness. You. Are. Nothing.  

The final scream tore through her chest, her skin molten with it as her head slammed into a tree’s base; blood beginning to dribble down her forehead as her vision blurred immensely. The tears which pricked her eyes fell loosely, dark spots forming. A faint, “no,” ghosting her lips as the darkness took over and the blood continued to pool, staining the grass beneath her unmoving head. And then, the voices finally stopped.   ◊◊◊◊

When she finally shifted, her skin burned once more. Unlike the searing pain from before, her arms just felt raw. As if her skin had melted off, leaving her bare to the air’s painful daggers. A groan rumbled in her throat, her eyes struggling to open. Is it morning? The girl trembled as the breeze continued to agitate her body. When her eyelids finally lifted, she was granted the sight of a glittery sky, littered in bright stars as her mouth gaped open from her previous lack of air. Her arms weren’t the only thing that felt raw, her throat too. Again. Her lips turned into a small frown as disdain racked through her body. She was a monster. She wasn’t a monster.  

The blonde twitched, her subconscious kicking in once more. She tried finding the strength to roll over, but it didn’t exist. She raised her arm, to try and see its damage. Only to no avail. So, this is what I am now. Weak. Worthless. She cursed herself silently. Her arm trying to move once more, this time making it up to her line of vision. Her eyes grazed over the once pale skin, inspecting the redness that formed in lines going up and down against it. Scratches. Scratches created by long, sharp fingernails. Not nails. Claws. The strength she had to hold her arm up dissipated, her arm falling across her chest.  

She had no strength to move it.  No strength to get up. Not even enough strength to close her eyes once more. The grass was dyed red and the girl immobile, lying on rough (once)greenery and tarnished soil. Her head throbbed against her skull, making her wish for at least enough strength to sleep. At least some resilience. Her sage eyes remaining fixated on the blurry sky, her breathing beginning to slow. She could breathe now. She was alive. But she was weak. Far too weak. At this rate, you’ll never be able to save anyone. Another voice sounded within her. One she didn’t hear earlier but has met plenty times before. The girl struggled to speak, nothing but a small squeak coming from her parted lips. I have to, at least try. She wanted to scream, but she couldn’t. Her throat still burning, stopping only at the base of her lungs. It wasn’t long before she began to hear sticks breaking nearby.   Her breathing hitched, shallowing in hopes of not being discovered. Her eyes remained heavy, as the footsteps neared closer and closer. Her eyes scanned what could be seen from her peripheral, as her body fell completely still. The next footstep she heard was by her head, as blonde hair and a large scar rolled into her vision.   “Oi, what’re you doing out here? It’s ten 'o'clock.”

“I..” The words came out in a mutter, as her mouth dried. “I took a run and got tired.” “I’m not really someone you can lie to, May.” Laxus shrugged, slumping down on the ground behind her head. His large hands rested against her head, before placing it into his lap.  

“You’ve been coming around more often, Laxus.” Her body relaxed, leaning into his touch. “And what of it?” He chuckled, unraveling his coat and placing it over her. “Get some more sleep. I’ll stay so you don’t get murdered.” The slight sarcasm was enough to let her erupt a small chuckle, before completely relaxing into his lap, and slowly falling back to sleep. ◊◊◊◊

“Natsu! You can’t burn down the entire forest!” Lucy beckoned, standing near a tree whilst Happy sat at the base of it. “Oh brother, why do I bother?” Her tone deflated as Astria also summoned flames to rival against Natsu’s. Flames were swept toward Astria’s feet, as she dashed quickly and leaped above the incoming attack from behind. From her stance above, she managed a quick flip over the pinkette’s larger body, sending her feet into his back as she slammed him into the ground on his stomach. The man’s jaw opened wide, swallowing the dirt beneath him.   “Ria! That tastes like shit!”  

“Then eat some more, flame brain!” A small symbol on Astria’s leg, in the shape of Jupiter began to glow. Her hands moved delicately as she summoned the ground to her own accord; twisting and wrapping around the fellow dragon slayer in an attempt to encage him.  

From there, the earth swallowed him into a pit of Astria’s design. That was until the earth crumbled above Natsu, spouting fire and heat which emanated around the five.

The two continued to spar, flame combatting flame, then Astria took initiative to delve behind her own rock wall, which sprouted in front of her, right before she ducked.

In a swift movement, her fire dispersed before water was ejected straight into Natsu’s flames, turning it to steam.

“Hey, not fair!” Ria and Natsu yelled in unison at Lucy and the newly summoned Aquarius.  

“Call me again to put out the fire brats' flames and see what happens.” The celestial spirit threated Lucy before disappearing in a puff of smoke.

“I was never a fan of celestial spirits, but I do like her.” Ria huffed as she turned back to her fellow dragon slayer.  

“I like her too. It's because she smells like a fish!” Happy said with drool seeping out of his mouth. The exceeds stomach let out a rumble, loud enough to shock the birds out of the trees.  

“I guess it's time for a break then, huh little buddy?” Natsu asked to his blue friend.  

◊◊◊◊

Calypso’s hands worked quicker than her mind could as she continued to focus on the task at hand. The banging on the door was the only thing to break her train of thought.  

“Hold on,” she shouted at the being behind her front door.  

“Hurry up brat.” The man's gravelly voice shouted back, bringing a smile to the young womans face. Calypso opened the door to the taller man dressed in all black. She flashed him her smile, before leaving the door open and going back to what she was doing. This caught him off guard. Gajeel stood in the doorway for a few seconds before deciding to follow her, making sure to close the door behind him.  

“You act like you’ve never been here before.” The plumette teased as she cleaned up what she was working on. Gajeel let out a grumble as he crossed his arms and leaned on the doorway. He kept his eyes on her as she moved gracefully around the living room. “As talkative as always I see.” She continued to tease as she shot the man a glance over her shoulder.  

“I see you’re fixing the shorties cape.” Calypso let out a hum in response as she picked up the cloth in question. She took up her place back on the couch with her legs crossed in front of her. Her usual long, lose and wavy plum locks were tied up in a bun. Gajeel continued to look her over, she was dressed in her usual gear – a white halter crop top with a light grey leather bodice under the bust, a pale blue ankle length skirt with a slit up the side, and a pale-yellow chain around the top of the skirt that had a crescent moon attached at the end over the slit. What managed to catch his eyes were the slight bags under her eyes. For someone who always napped out in the open at the Guild, you’d think she wouldn’t have that issue.  

“As best as I can. I’ve fixed it time and time again. I learned to sew just to fix this for May.” A soft smile graced her lips as she thought back to the beginning of her friendship with the two girls.  

“I’m still shocked you have one friend, let alone two.” The girl in question let out a small laugh before tucking the cape away and turning back to the iron dragon slayer.

“Humm, I’d say it's up to three now.”

“Ha! Who’d you wrangle into being your friend now?”

“You.” Gajeel flinched back at her statement as her piercing green eyes meet his. Ever since he joined the guild and started talking to Calypso – who was by far, one of the very few people he found tolerable – he learned quickly that she has a knack for catching people off guard.  

“In your dreams! Like hell I'd be your friend.”

“Oh yeah?” The plumette questioned as she stood in front of the taller man, her hands behind her back and eyes still locked on his. “Then why do you keep showing up at my house?” This thew the burly man off balance, he took a step back to get some distance between the two. Calypso was mentally faster than him and instinctively took a step closer. Gajeel let out a huff and crossed his arms once more before looking down at her.

“I had a question that you probably have the answer to.”

“Oh?” Calypso sighed before turning on her heels and heading to the kitchen. “What kind of tea do you like?” The black-haired man followed behind her, before taking his perch in the doorway once more.  

“Got anything with iron?” He asked with a smirk.  

“Hmm, May does owe me for fixing her cape. I can melt some of her old earrings and call it tea.” Before he could get an answer out, she was pushing past him and going up the stairs. After a few minutes – a loud “got it” was heard from the upper floor, before the sounds of footsteps made their way towards Gajeel. She stopped in front of him and held up the earrings with a grin on her face.  

He quickly snatched them from her hands before bringing them up to his nose. The dragon slayer gave them a sniff before popping the two earrings in his mouth.  

“I-” Calypso all but stuttered as she stared at the man before her. Gajeel smirked down at the shorter woman, he was basking in the glory of being the one to catch her off guard.  

“They taste like ear.”  

“...I wanted to make you tea...” The smaller mage began to pout, with tears welling up in her eyes.  

“It would’ve tasted like ear too. Just make me a cup of whatever tea you want.” Gajeel let out his signature huff before averting his eyes from hers. The smile that lit up her face was almost blinding; it didn’t help the blush creeping up on the dragon slayers cheeks.  

“I only really have Jasmine and Oolong. But I like the Jasmine a lot more, so I’ll make us that.” Calypso spoke as she began to prep the kettle. “Oh, and I would’ve suggested cleaning them before you ate them. But you’re greedy, huh?” She kept her back to him as she continued to work around the kitchen – her keen eyes catching the minuscule messes her two roommates had left behind. “You had a question, right?” Her soft voice snapped Gajeel out of his trance.  

“Huh? Oh yeah...” Calypso let out a soft giggle before taking a seat at the kitchen table.  

“I’ve been told my hearing is impeccable. Fire away!” She kept her eyes on him as he went to join her at the table, Gajeel took up the seat across from hers. His broad body filled up the space in the relatively empty and quiet room.

“...How did Astria and Natsu get their cats?” Calypso leaned back in her chair at his question.  

“It’s kind of a long story.” The mage said with a smile as the tea kettle whistled.

[akumageist]

I would die for Hitori Uzune. RIP to Kazuaki, but I’m different.

The Hatoful fandom consists of 13 people and a paperclip. It always has. Unfortunately, it probably always will. Where this is cause for some perks, it’s also some of its faults. In example, it’s still an anime game, made by a Japanese woman, and attracts weebs. Weebs tend to like to think of characters 2-Dimensionally, breaking the character down to what they think is their core personality traits. Hitori is no stranger to this, and is beaten down into this heartless, manipulative, selfish bastard. But I believe Moa is saying “anyone, even the best of us, is capable of becoming a monster if driven to it.” Let’s roll.

2162. Hitori was born into a world of war and hate, plopped into an orphanage at just 2 years old. This can be found in Moa’s canon spin-off manga, where Hitori at about ten years old is caring for the other war orphans along with the other older birds. Luckily for him, he was a genius. He was able to go out and get jobs tutoring birds and support his rag-tag family at his young age.

With that, we know Hitori was not originally cold and heartless, despite how the world may have birthed him. Especially when Nageki arrived frail and sickly. Hitori and the other birds were happy to put in overtime in an attempt to pay for the poor dove’s medications, even in his protest.

Then, 2180 happened. Imagine what sort of toll that would take on Hitori. he was absent. He was at work, unaware of the jeopardy that befell his family. What kind of horrible, mind-rattling survivors guilt must rack this bird’s brain, knowing he wasn’t there as his family was massacred one by one?

“What did we do? We had nothing. Our parents and homes had already been stolen by the humans. All we had left were each other.”

We can gather from this same scene Hitori blames himself for not being there. For not being able to protect his family, or even Nageki. Even though had he been there, he would have died alongside everybirdie else, and left Nageki to succumb to his illness alone. Something of this magnitude would create anxieties and trauma unfathomable to those who did not deal with it.

In Hitori, this manifested as full-blown helicopter mom. He can’t help but think of every little nit-pick detail over Nageki, terrified one feather out of place will kill him. The fandom is good about this side of his character! And of course, so is Moa. This may be the Summer Vacation Drama CD: Hitori The Worrywart (which takes place in MIRROR AU), but I love it’s portrayal of the anxious quail.

Hitori continued to care and ache over Nageki’s declining health. He was desperate. Begging doctors, even though deep in his little quail brain he knew Nageki was a lost cause, and that he was dying. But he couldn’t think of a life without Nageki, and did all in his power to try and keep the bird as well as he could. We can see a great example of this love in words you might not think of.

“How about this? From now on, ‘I’m fine’ is not allowed.”

I’ve always imagined Hitori getting mildly heated at Nageki in this conversation.The quail is on his last strands of stability, and the dove he cares endlessly for is trying to hide the very thing he ails himself over. The genuinity in his words shines through- telling Nageki he’d rather hear he’s bad and hurting.

So, in this desperation, Hitori carted Nageki off to some strange doctor in some strange prestigious school. And how couldn’t he? A doctor who claimed to know of the virus eating away at Nageki’s life, and how to cure it. Hitori’s beacon of hope in a sea of darkness. The only bird in the entire universe he had left to love, the one he had arguably always favored and adored, was dying. He would do anything in his power to keep the one thing he loved alive, no matter the irrationality or cost. No matter the very dying bird’s own lips saying “I… don’t want to go.”

Whether or not you ship these birds, I firmly believe Hitori is in love with Nageki in a romantic sense.

“I can no longer love another creature // I think we meant more to each other than anybirdie else in the world... // The love I felt soured into resentment // I should remember the beautiful face I knew, not… a photo covered in scribbles”

Not to mention admitting he can’t bear to live without the dove in BBL. And, in his route, Hiyoko goes as far as to refer to this bird as a female, which means he’s speaking so fondly she’s assuming it was a lover, and therefore a woman. Hitori’s stopped any sort of love at the idea he can only love Nageki post-mortem. That is canon. And well… that’s not very brotherly, no matter how good of a relationship you may have with your sibling (I speak from experience).

Okay, okay, this persuasive essay is NOT for convincing you of this ship, that is another essay for another time. I’ve only mentioned this opinion because I need you to understand his irrationality for the one thing he has left, and the fragility of it. And why it might drive anybirdie to… Hitori-level madness. Moving on.

2183. A mere 3 years after Hitori had lost the majority of his family to human terrorists. Nageki sends a coded letter, and… we can see Hitori’s anxieties outright.

“It’s happening again. Nageki needs me, and I’m not there.”

This is… a very powerful line in the game. We’re seeing just how vulnerable Hitori truly is. This is a traumatized individual in a panic attack- realizing the love of his goddamn life is once again faced with something horrible, and Hitori is once again absent from the scene.

And just like that, he’s gone.

The only thing. The only one Hitori had left in life to love. To live for. Taken from him without so much as a second chance. This is painful to write. This part of Hatoful is, without a doubt, the most agonizing. I know how it is to lose something so dear and feel as though maybe it’s not worth going on without them.

This is the peak of Moa’s tragedy writing ability (and yes, I’m including Holiday Star). But this is my point, is it not? Though his kanji may be “sun bird”, the actual word for his name “Hitori” quite literally means one, alone, solitary. He is now all alone in the universe, no family left. How can anybirdie even remotely remain in charge of their faculties (as Sakuya would put it) by now? You wouldn’t.

Hitori is now a husk of his former self. Anything he’s ever cared for is gone, he has nothing left to live for. He goes- my favorite coined term for him- absolutely batshit. He gets what we call “trauma-induced psychosis”, and begins to hallucinate very vividly, a form that he refers to as “Nageki”. We all know him of course, as Shadow. Shadow, from the little information we’re able to gather from BBL, is tormenting Hitori ruthlessly.

Shadow is easily misunderstood, because Moa made him fathomable, so the reader was able to understand exactly what was happening. What had become of Hitori Uzune. Shadow in all his simplicity- is Hitori. It is an introjection of Nageki, manifested to validate Hitori in his self-hatred. Don’t you get it? He hates himself just as much as you hate him!

Anything Hitori thinks of himself, Shadow is there to back up. He’s taunting him day in and day out, reminding him that he killed Nageki, and every ounce of Nageki’s suffering life was the fruit of Hitori’s inability to protect him. But again, it’s his own brain, telling him exactly what he wants to hear. What he truly believes. Telling himself what he’s done, and how he deserves this. ...And to seek revenge.

Hitori lost his mind. He had nothing else to lose, after all. He became obsessed with Nageki even moreso than he was in life, because there was no level-headed dove to calm him and tell him to stop worrying so much, or keep him at least reasonably held together by simply being there.

He listened to his psychosis, and when he made a friend (Moa gives evidence Hitori and Kazuaki were friends prior to Hitori’s ill-intentions), his psychosis got in the way of that, too. As he travelled down this relationship (which Moa herself says is pretty much romantic), we can assume he realized just how unable to love he was. He had Kazuaki around because, let’s face it. He wanted someone like Nageki who was incompetent so he could nurture and care for them. And for a while, it worked. But it didn’t. Hitori didn’t love Kazuaki. He couldn’t. He was too busy looking for Nageki.

So, you’re reading this in english. You speak english. At least a little, right? So maybe you played the english (and localized) version of the game. Well then you may not know the following. Please pay attention! This gets a bit rocky, and a bit more “Hitori...!”.

In the English version, Hitori disguised as Kazuaki is “tired”. In the Japanese version, he’s “sleepy” or “dreamy”. I’d describe him as ditsy, for sure. He kind of acts like an airhead who knows absolutely nothing, and his students don’t take him seriously. In the Hatomame Sweet Blend Drama CD, there is a track that follows Kazuaki on a little adventure of his narcolepsy, and going to Shuu for help.

In and out of comatose, Hitori, as himself, is there in his dreams as a separate bird.

“This bird with a face I had never seen spoke to me in a voice I had never heard, and this is what he said.”

“Nanaki-sensei” is clearly denying his own identity.

“I’ll sleep, just a little, and then leave… good… night…”

“But sleeping is my job… You still have a little longer. Tomorrow, and the day after that, and the day after that…”

This is dream Hitori telling himself that he has to continue his alias until his revenge is fulfilled. The quail that was once Hitori must remain dormant until he is reunited with Nageki again, and can be happy again. As a metaphor for depression… don’t you feel like you’re a shell of your former self?

So, going off this information… I believe Hitori has repressed himself. This is due to my own knowledge on psychology but-- Hitori doesn’t want to be Hitori anymore. It’s too hard. Hitori the war orphan. Hitori the lone survivor. Hitori the murderer and identity thief. It’s him not wanting to deal with his trauma in a healthy way, and instead locking it up and becoming somebirdie new and undamaged.

He killed Hitori.

This falls into the other delusion- that Nageki is somehow not completely dead and gone and ash- but still trapped, somehow, somewhere, and Hitori needs to find and get him. To kill Isa and the researchers who “killed” Nageki, and bring “Nageki” home. Whatever he believes Nageki is. In BBL, we see this quite literally varies! He tried to cut Ryouta open and steal his liver!

“Sir, Nageki would have never wanted this…!”

There is no difference between a serial killer and someone in a court room screaming for the serial killer to be murdered in turn. That mourning mother is then one in the same with that killer, is she not? She sees him, and wants him to die. She wants him to die and suffer. She believes that will bring her a sense of justice. Even though she knows it will not return her son to her. Hitori, is that mourning mother. He sees Isa, and all he can see is the man who murdered his dove.

I know the biggest aspect as to why the fandom hates Hitori is the sole factor that Kazuaki is #relatable. He’s a depressed college student who thinks he’s better off dead. Then, Hitori tricks him. But you’re not reading Kazuaki right. It’s okay, he’s easy to misread from Holiday Star’s plotline. 

Holiday Star was written with Kazuaki as the villain, do you forget? A grey villain as well, but a villain nonetheless. He told his tragic sob story death in such a way, you can’t help but to cry. He’s the victim! I’m not saying he’s not. But he was written specifically to be pitied in Holiday Star, and as you continue on, you begin to see he’s actually just anti-self help. He doesn’t want to face his fears. He doesn’t want to leave his safe egg and take the risk he should have.

Kazuaki is meant to be pitied, yes,  but just on the brink of annoying with his helplessness and self-deprecation. He’s, forgive me, a “sad sack of shit” who does nothing to help himself. Don’t come after me for being “ableist” or whatever- Moa literally wrote him this way.

This is also depicted in “Kazuaki-kun’s Book”. Now, this book takes place in the MIRROR AU, but it tells of how Kazuaki met Hitori. Moa starts the manga off by explaining Kazuaki had a great chickhood, a healthy life, and an easy, happy time. But then, he flunked his college exams and didn’t even get into his safety school. He lazed around, grew depressed, and let his apartment rot. He played video games until his online friends got jobs, and wasted any money he had on them as well. The only thing that scared him out of it is when his next door neighbor was found dead, having rotted into his own futon.

So imagine Hitori, who has worked so hard and lost everything he had done so for. Tirelessly, through his horrible, fucked up existence. Nageki, who had his short and miserable life robbed from him, had to die. Had to kill himself. And this random quail has the audacity to bitch and moan, thinking he’s got it bad? He’s a waste of space that could have been filled with Nageki. This is what Hitori’s brain is thinking. Hitori’s only ~20 years old when Nageki dies, after all.

I’m not saying this is cause for murder and identity theft. Don’t you dare misread me on this. But as I’ve stated prior- Hitori’s completely lost it.  But you ship him with the chukar that literally ruined his life. Hitori’s a grey villain but holy fuck why would you want him to fuck the partridge that tortured and drove his only loved one to suicide?

It was wrong to trick Kazuaki. It was wrong to insult him as he died. It was wrong to steal his identity. That’s obvious and a given. But you all seem to look at that factoid alone, chalking it up to ‘preying on a poor mentally ill man” but not taking into consideration Hitori is mentally ill himself. ...Just not #relatable enough for you.

Hitori is suicidal as well. He’s been suicidal presumably since Nageki died. Don’t you dare say Hitori isn’t at least a little in the same boat. I don’t care if he’s not as soft and uwu and cuddly as Kazuaki. Mental illness is not rainbows and butterflies and emo hair (though Kazuaki is not portrayed this way).

Holiday star bears all the answers. I raise you important points, so pay close attention. The first key component is Hitori, found upside down in the pudding. He’s crying. Why is he crying? Because he’s lost his name? Oh, but think deeper.

“I’m Nemo”.

“Nemo” is latin for nothing, and his name translates to “nothing” in every language of HoliStar. The King has vomited him up in his kingdom, and robbed him back of what he stole from him. His identity.

But it goes even deeper than that.

“I’ve lost something, and so, I think I might cry.”

From this phrase alone, it’s painful to play this game. Nageki is right in front of his beak. But what did he do? He ate his own eyes. Hitori, in his refusal to identify with himself, has robbed himself of quite literally seeing the very bird he adores and sought after. Then, he is renamed his own identity by that bird (the only identity he accepts). How surreally real.

The second key component is when everybirdie is being rescued, but Leone warns Yuuya the quail is clearly falling more rapidly into a coma, and may not be able to awake. Why is this? Because Hitori wants to die. He’s fine with it, and Kazuaki is more than happy to keep him. When Yuuya finds him, Hitori is not at all alarmed as he should be. He seems passive, and simply wants to fall back to sleep. He’s to the point of trying to strangle Yuuya in attempt to let himself fall into eternal slumber (even if he thinks Yuuya is… Kazuaki..?).

Heed these next words carefully. When Yuuya asks if The King did something to him, Hitori replies-

“...No, all The King did was close the door.”

I am a firm believer this is Hitori indirectly saying “Kazuaki did nothing wrong, and I do not resent him for hating me.” Especially since Hitori shows signs of knowing it’s Kazuaki, and repenting.

“He said I need to be punished. Apparently I did something bad… and I think I know what it was.”

This is confirmed in my next point, so bear with me.

Hitori, in this same conversation, is admitting he wants to die. The only thing that stops him- as morbid as it may be, is remembering this takes place before the events of BBL. He hasn’t fulfilled what he believes is his “something I need to do”. Which is seek revenge, and bring Nageki home, as per Shadow’s orders.

Lastly, at the bitter end of Holiday Star when everybirdie is plummeting through the air from the false star, Hitori is still blind and confused. Suddenly, The King erupts from behind Hitori, and appears to be talking to him.

--

“Oh, is that right?”

--

“...I know, I know. ...but it’s still too soon. That’s right, I’ll be along soon. I’ll catch up with you. Someday…”

This is arguably my most prominent point in the entire essay. This is Hitori, admitting not only does he still plan to kill himself, but that he intends to keep his promise and reunite with Kazuaki in the afterlife. These are not the words of a heartless quail. These are the words of somebirdie who knows they’ve taken advantage of a friend, but is continuing to do their best to keep their promises and make amends. This is Hitori telling Kazuaki he still cares for him.

Hitori is the result of trauma and hardship beyond compare, and his inability to cope. He is not meant to be hated. He is meant to have shock value, yes. What he has done his disgusting, but you want to love him. Because he raised the sweetest bird in the entire game who would rather kill himself than hurt others.

Grey-villains are difficult, and because you can’t love them for being purely evil, you end up hating them for being a good person who’s done bad things. Hitori is a cracked window. Not quite shattered, but no longer whole, with a faulty image. Hitori is not just some heartless, manipulative, selfish bastard. He’s quite literally a bird with a broken wing (or entire ribcage more like), trying to… well, Live, and be happy.

[cyborgsquirrel]

Sanctuary: Chapter 23

Pairing: Wolfstar

Summary: The epic tale of Remus Lupin and Sirius Black, from their first meeting until their happily ever after.

Link to Prologue

Link to All Chapters

Thursday, 2nd December 1971 Remus made it through the next week by trying not to think about Sirius' potential infection, but when the day of the next full moon arrived, he became hyper-focused on him. And not just because he smelled so damn good. Also, why did he smell so damn good? Everyone's scents were stronger to him around the full moon, but no one else's held so much allure.

He watched Sirius closely through Transfiguration in the morning. He seemed to have no trouble focusing on changing his ice into water and back again. Sirius' movements were as fluid and elegant as always, and he didn't seem to be in any pain. They were all positive signs, but he was still worried.

The full moon was a long one that month, nineteen whole hours as a wolf, beginning at ten past three in the afternoon. He would need to be at the hospital wing just after two, which meant leaving Potions only half an hour into the double period. There really wasn't any point in going, but he wanted to see if Sirius had any trouble with the smells in the room. He regretted the decision immediately; Sirius seemed as oblivious as ever of the putrid odours in the dungeon classroom, but Remus was not. They were sickening. He only lasted fifteen minutes before he raised his hand and asked Slughorn if he could be excused to the Hospital wing. 'I'll take him,' Sirius volunteered. Great. That was just what he needed. Alone time with Sirius' ridiculously tempting scent. 'Thank you, Mister Black. Put your cauldron under stasis and be sure to return quickly.' 'Yes, sir.' Sirius cast the stasis charm on his cauldron and turned to face him. 'Come on, mate. Let's get you to Pomfrey. You look terrible.' Remus moved to pick his bag up from the floor, but Sirius beat him to it, saying, 'Here, let me carry that.' He wasn't too comfortable having Sirius carry his bag in case he noticed it was bulkier than it should have been with the change of clothes he'd packed in preparation. But Sirius showed no sign he'd noticed anything odd about it. As they climbed the stairs to the third floor, he kept glancing at Sirius, still looking for symptoms. He couldn't decide whether or not to warn someone of the potential danger. 'Have I got something on my face?' Sirius asked. 'You keep looking at me.' 'Oh, um. No. You just don't look too good either. Do you feel okay?' Remus said, fishing. 'I feel fine,' Sirius said, giving him a funny look. 'You're the one who's ill.' Okay, so he was probably fine. He hadn't touched him at the Quidditch match. Everything was okay. But did you even get symptoms before the first change? His memory of that time was so fuzzy, he couldn't remember. All he could recall was horrible fear. And wanting a hug. They reached the Hospital Wing, and Sirius said goodbye before returning to class, taking his comforting scent with him. Remus went inside. 'Afternoon, Mister Lupin,' Pomfrey said, bustling over to him. She already had her cloak on, ready to leave. 'How are you feeling?' 'No worse than normal,' he said. She smiled, but it didn't reach her eyes. 'Let's hope this month is a little easier on you. Are you ready?' He nodded. 'Yes, ma'am.' She cast the disillusionment charm on him and led him out to the grounds. It was much colder than the previous month, and the grass was crunchy underfoot. He loved crunchy grass, but he found it hard to enjoy the sensation with the level of anxiety he was under. The time to mention his concerns was rapidly running out. 'Professor Flitwick tells me you're competent with colloportus now. Do you feel comfortable locking yourself in, or would you still like me to do it?' Madam Pomfrey asked when they reached the Whomping Willow. 'I can do it. You don't need to come,' he said. It was now or never. She was turning around, but the words were caught in his throat. 'I'll see you in the morning then. Good luck, Remus.' She was leaving; it was too late. If Sirius was infected, there would be bloodshed tonight. Remus woke after the transformation to the sight of dusk through the hospital room window. Had he been unconscious all day? There was no one in sight outside; the grounds were eerily deserted. Was that because it was so cold, or because half the school was dead? Surely if Sirius had turned and gone on a rampage, he'd still be in the Hogsmeade house, though. Madam Pomfrey would be far too busy to worry about him. Unless they wanted to make sure he didn't escape because they were organising his execution for infecting someone and causing the deaths of hundreds of children. Oh, Gods. He was going to be sick. Remus bent over the edge of the bed and vomited all over the floor. Madam Pomfrey rushed in from the office. 'Oh, you poor dear. Let's get you cleaned up,' she said, waving her wand to scourgify the mess he'd made. 'There now. All better. Lay back down, that's it.' She certainly wasn't acting like she'd cleaned up a massacre the night before, or that she blamed him for the deaths. But that didn't mean anything. Madam Pomfrey was a professional. She'd treat even a mass-murderer with compassion. 'Did anything happen last night?' he asked. 'You tore yourself up pretty badly again,' she said with a frown. 'I wonder if it's because the moon is in the sky for longer during the winter?' She looked him up and down. 'How are you feeling now?' 'Sore. The usual,' he said. Madam Pomfrey frowned at him again. 'That doesn't help me, Mister Lupin. I don't know what "the usual" is. Please describe your symptoms and do not downplay them or I can't treat you properly.' 'Yes ma'am,' he said, ducking his head. 'I'm sorry. My bones are aching, my joints are sore when I move. My stomach hurts quite a lot, I'm guessing I ripped it open again?' She nodded in confirmation. 'And my right arm feels like a wolf gnawed it off during the night. Which is probably fairly accurate?' 'You came pretty close. I'd say you transformed back just in time,' she said, looking grim. Merlin, he'd nearly lost his hand before, but his whole arm? Would she even be able to reattach it? Would it transform back or stay a wolf? He shuddered. This month was the longest moon of the year, though. Hopefully, next month wouldn't be as bad. Most importantly, Madam Pomfrey hadn't said anything about a rampaging beast in the halls last night. He couldn't be sure everything was fine until he saw Sirius for himself, though. Maybe he'd transformed in the dorm, and James had managed to magically lock the door before he died. That would be just like James, to sacrifice himself saving everyone else. The teachers might not even know anything was wrong yet. 'Can I go soon?' he asked, not holding out much hope but having to try. 'Not until that wound on your stomach is healed. It's Friday evening, you're not missing anything.' How long ago did she leave school? Friday night was when everything interesting happened. But that's not why he wanted to leave. He needed to make sure his friends were okay. Madam Pomfrey's expression was uncompromising, though. Arguing with her would be pointless. Might as well get something else done that he'd been meaning to do while he was stuck there. 'Can I have my bag? I want to write to my mum.' She handed him the bag. 'Don't overdo it. If you feel tired, sleep. Understand?' He nodded. 'Yes. ma'am.' Madam Pomfrey left and he pulled parchment and a quill from his bag. He had no idea how he was going to word this. His mum would be upset no matter what he said. She adored Christmas, and he knew she was missing him. But his fear of spending the next full moon, eighteen and a half hours as a wolf, in the hole in the garden was stronger than his sympathy for his mum. He had to put himself first in this. He wrote several drafts of the letter before he was satisfied that it said what he wanted in the nicest possible way. He hoped she wouldn't be too upset. Dear Mum, Everything is good here. I'm doing well in all my lessons, even Potions. I think I managed to find the best friends in the whole world. They're really kind, and they do everything they can to make me feel comfortable. I wanted to ask if you would mind very much if I didn't come home for the Christmas holidays? The reason is that my health problem has been quite bad recently. Please don't worry, Madam Pomfrey is very good at her job, which is why I'd like to stay. As much as I miss you and want to see you, I anticipate that I may need her expertise during the holiday. Please let me know as soon as possible. Lots of love, Remus He rolled up the finished letter and put it in his bag. He wouldn't send it until he knew for sure that Sirius and the others were okay. It would be awful for his mum if she received that after he was executed. On that happy thought, he lay down. The sooner he went to sleep, the sooner it would be morning and he would know. One way or another. He awoke well before dawn and waited impatiently for Madam Pomfrey to arrive and assess him. She finally turned up at seven o'clock. 'I'm all better. Can I go now?' he asked the second she walked through the door. She smiled. 'Eager to start your weekend, are you? Let me check you over first.' She waved her wand, and he waited, fidgeting with his bedsheets, while she looked over the results. 'Yes, everything looks good. You may go,' she said. He swung his legs out of the bed. 'But,' she continued, 'take it easy for a day or two, I don't want you overdoing it. Your body goes through a dreadful ordeal every month. Be kind to it.' Like she needed to tell him what his body went through. He was there. 'Yes, ma'am,' he said. 'Good boy. See you next month, Mister Lupin.' With that, she swept out of the room, leaving him to get dressed in private. He hurried to put his clothes on, grabbed his bag and rushed to the main doors of the wing, giving Madam Pomfrey a wave on the way out. Now that he was finally on his way to find out for sure, he was terrified. What if he pushed the door open to find Sirius weeping over the corpses of their friends? Would Sirius attack him when he realised he was the cause, or just ignore him entirely? Which would hurt more? The questions ran through his mind on an infinite loop, and by the time he reached the door to his dorm room, he had worked himself up to breaking point. His hand was shaking as he reached for the doorknob. He turned it and pushed the door open. And blinked. Sirius was leaning on the windowsill with his back to the door, looking out the window, his hair flowing loose down his back. James was lying on his bed flicking through a book and Peter was sitting on the floor playing some game with a pack of exploding snap cards. Everything was normal. Sirius turned from the window and looked him up and down. 'Alright, mate. You're looking better.' He had dark circles under his eyes like he hadn't slept well for a couple of days, but he was smiling. 'I feel better. Thanks.' Remus put his bag down and joined Peter on the floor. 'Can I play?' 'Sure,' Peter said and gathered up the cards to start dealing. James and Sirius came over and sat down too. Remus smiled. His heart-rate was gradually returning to normal. There had been nothing to worry about. Sirius was still very much whole and human. -o-o-o-o-

Sirius didn't know how many more months he could carry on like this, knowing Remus' secret but not being able to be with him after the full moon to see if he was okay. He'd barely slept the two nights Remus was away. This month had been admittedly easier than last month, simply because James and Peter were both concerned too. But it was still hard. They didn't know how serious Remus' condition was; they just thought he was sick, not tearing himself to shreds in some unknown location. He felt utterly wretched for thinking about his own suffering when Remus had it so much worse, but he couldn't help it. It was just so fucking hard. The not knowing. The waiting for news. He considered telling James and Peter so they could at least suffer with him, but that would be a betrayal. Remus had the right to choose who to share his secrets with. He wouldn't take that away from him. He'd already lost too much. It was almost impossible to concentrate on his lessons on Friday. He'd ended up turning his ice into powdered snow instead of water in Transfiguration--he still wasn't sure how that had happened--and he'd killed all his plantain seedlings in Herbology by over-watering them, earning him his first T grade. None of that mattered though, as long as Remus came back alive. And he did. Remus returned on Saturday morning, and he was so relieved, but he thought he'd done well at playing it cool. He knew it was the longest full moon of the year. If Remus survived this one, then he should be okay for the rest. Right? Gods, he wished there was someone he could ask. He wasn't sure how he was going to cope if Remus went home for the holiday. The full moon was the night before they returned. Would he even be well enough to travel on the train? Or would he have to come back to school late, leaving him to wonder if he was coming back at all? That would be a nightmare. He did his best to keep everything calm and quiet on Saturday, knowing Remus would still be recovering. Whenever James suggested doing something that required a little more energy, like working on their Christmas feast plans, he claimed to be too tired or not in the mood so Remus wouldn't have to make excuses or be forced into doing something too strenuous. He still looked very tired, and there was a permanent crease in his forehead that deepened a little whenever he moved. Was he in pain still? If only he could ask him. By Sunday, James had had enough of the excuses and insisted on working on their plans. They spent an hour transfiguring the floor of their dorm into different materials to see which would be best for dancing on. Sirius and James performed elaborate dances to test them out. As heirs of their houses, they'd both been forced to learn ballroom dancing at an early age, and he enjoyed hearing Remus' laughter at their antics. He really needed to laugh more, in his opinion. When that task was complete, James ticked it off of the list before glancing up from the red notebook. 'Remus, have you made any progress finding a way to time the magic for the end of the feast?' Remus nodded. 'Yes. I've altered the timing charm we used before to be activated by a phrase of our choosing, but we need someone to say the words. Obviously, it can't be one of us because that would give away our identity.' Peter frowned. 'We could ask Dumbledore? He seemed to enjoy the Halloween entertainment; he might go along with it.' James grinned. 'You know? I think he might. He's a good sort, Dumbledore. We could leave a note on the table in front of his seat.' They all agreed this was the best idea. The back-up plan was to pay a random student to shout it out, but they hoped that wouldn't be necessary. They spent the rest of the day going over his ice sculpture designs and practising making their choices using delayed transfiguration. Though they weren't entirely sure how they were going to get the bowls of water into the Hall. They couldn't be set up in advance, people would notice them. 'The house-elves?' Remus suggested. James frowned. 'Can they hear what's happening in the Hall? So they know when to send them up?' Remus shrugged. 'They must be able to. Remember, on the first day, Dumbledore said "let the feast begin" and the food appeared.' James nodded. 'Yes. That's true. Unless they had it timed to the second.' Sirius stood up. 'Only one way to find out. To the kitchens!' He pointed dramatically at the door and marched out. They talked with the house-elves, and they were more than happy to help as long as everyone got to eat first. After explaining what they had planned, the elves clapped their hands, delighted with the idea, and offered to provide refreshments and rearrange the house tables at the appropriate time. The Marauders were glad of the offer because the tables were huge, and they weren't sure any of them were strong enough to move them without draining their cores and putting themselves in a coma. They left the house-elves with a diagram of the Great Hall showing how they wanted everything positioned and told them they would return the day before the feast to set-up the magic on the bowls. For the next week, they spent all their free time planning and practising. He learnt more from planning mischief than he did in any of his classes. Even Peter made a lot of progress under the calm tutelage of Remus and with the encouragement of his friends by his side. It was good to see both of them growing in confidence. Peter was beginning to believe in himself a little more, and Remus was acting more relaxed around them again. Almost back to how he was before the Quidditch match disaster. On the morning of Saturday the 11th, he received a letter from his mother that threatened to ruin his week-long good mood. If you could even call it a letter. It was barely a note. Dear Mister Sirius Black, The family has decided that your presence at our Christmas celebration is unwanted. You will remain at school for the Holidays. Walburga Black Sirius stared at the note for a moment before screwing it up in his fist. "Mister Sirius Black?" They addressed him as if he was a stranger. "The family has decided?" Was he not a part of the family? She didn't even sign it "Mother." He hadn't been planning on going home for the holidays anyway, but to be told in such a cold and unfeeling way that he was unwanted? That hurt. Remus walked over and sat down next to him on his bed. 'Are you okay?' He said nothing, just handed Remus the screwed up ball of parchment. Remus smoothed it out and read the few words on the page. 'I'm sorry, Sirius. That must have hurt,' Remus said, his voice quiet. Sirius felt a brief touch on his back and smiled sadly. Remus was making himself uncomfortable to offer him comfort. He wasn't worth it, but it was welcome. 'If it helps, I'm staying for Christmas too. My mum said it was okay.' That did help. It was the best news he could have hoped for. He looked at Remus and grinned. 'Oh, we are going to have so much fun. We should make some plans.' Remus smiled. 'What did you have in mind?' 'We could set up back to school surprises in all the common rooms,' he said with a wicked grin. Remus chuckled. 'We'll have to find Hufflepuff first. We still don't know where it is. But that sounds like an excellent idea.' Then he leaned close to Sirius and whispered, 'How about back to school surprises in James' and Pete's beds too?' 'Remus Lupin,' he said, laughing. 'I think you might be my soul mate.' Remus blushed Gryffindor red and coughed. 'Yes. Well. We could also go to the beach room so you can paint the sunset while it's quiet,' he said, rapidly changing the subject. 'Great idea,' Sirius said. 'I could paint the sunrise and the cave too. We only have the place until June. We'll want to remember it. It's our first big discovery.' 'You think we'll find more things that good?' Remus asked. 'We found that within, what? Three weeks of being here? I bet we find loads of things in the next seven years. We'll be legendary.' He flopped back on the bed and Remus lay down next to him. 'I'm so glad I found you guys. I can't imagine being here without you,' Sirius said. Remus was silent for a minute before he said in a quiet voice, 'Me too.' Sirius frowned. Was Remus still worried about them rejecting him? He grappled for something to say, but nothing came to mind that wouldn't be much too obvious. Suddenly, James burst into the room with Peter on his heels. 'Where's that itching powder my dad sent?' James asked. 'We've just seen some Slytherins attacking a group of Gryffindors for absolutely no reason.' 'What did you have in mind?' Sirius said, sitting up. 'Sneak into their dorms and put it in their clothes,' James said with a shrug. Sirius grinned. 'Count me in.' They went out on their revenge mission at two o'clock in the morning, unfortunately having to leave Remus behind. It took them quite some time to locate the dorms of all the boys James and Peter had seen, and it was almost four by the time they crawled into their own beds with a sense of satisfaction. For the first time in his life, Sirius slept past six o'clock, waking at half-past nine on Sunday with a start. Was his mother finally losing her grip on his mind? It seemed she was. As the week went on, he found he could sleep as late as he wanted, sometimes only just getting up in time for class after being prodded awake by Peter, jumped on by James, or his personal favourite, coaxed out of unconsciousness by Remus whispering his name. Of course, that might have something to do with the nightly excursions to the Great Hall, but he liked to think it was because he was finally breaking free. By Friday lunchtime, they only had two things left to do. The Marauders strolled down to the kitchens to set-up the magic in the items the house-elves would be sending up and to finalise the plans. Breen showed them the refreshments they had prepared. Lots of light finger foods, as people would already be full from the meal, and a fruit punch that was delicious. They thanked the house-elves for all of their help and presented them with a painting of the kitchen as a Christmas gift. Sirius had worked hard on it using his birthday gift from James, and it showed the kitchen in full-preparation mode, all the elves were occupied with important tasks and the image seemed to burst with life. The elves adored it. Several of them had to wipe their eyes. Teely, the elf in charge of the kitchen, took the painting and hung it above the main fireplace, before expressing her gratitude on behalf of all the elves. With that task complete, there was one thing left; they needed to leave the note for Dumbledore. They waited until classes were over for the day, and then Sirius, Remus and Peter created a distraction in the Entrance Hall while James snuck into the Great Hall and left the note at Dumbledore's seat. Sirius, Remus and Peter had points deducted for hexing several Slytherins with mucus ad nauseam, but it didn't matter, James had completed the mission, and that was the important thing. -o-o-o-o-

Extracts from The Official Marauders Notebook

Bully hit list  (Last page in the notebook)

Snape - dungbomb cauldron, stinksap shower, mucus ad nauseam x 2, Pumpkin juice in lap, itching powder

Avery - Mucus ad nauseam, Pumpkin juice in lap, itching powder

Mulciber - Mucus ad nauseam, pumpkin juice in lap, itching powder

Crouch - Mucus ad nauseam, pumpkin juice in lap, itching powder

McTavish - Stinkbombed

Notes passed in History - Wednesday 8th December

Honestly, why don't they replace this guy? - Sirius

Maybe he won't leave? - James

They could at least get a new teacher and let Binns lecture to an empty classroom. It's not like he notices we're even here - Sirius

Yeah, but if they did that, we wouldn't be able to nap through History - James

That is a good point. - Sirius

At this point, Peter waved, and Sirius passed him the notebook

I tried to talk to Remus, but he shushed me. He's writing so many notes. I don't know how he does it. Do you want to play burn the witch? - Peter

Sure - Sirius & James

This was followed by several games of burn the witch (basically the same as hangman, but with a witch.) Sirius won three games, James two and Peter one.

Notes passed between Remus and Sirius in Transfiguration, Monday 13th December. Removed before the book was returned to James.

Will you help me get James back for that frog he put in my sock drawer? - Sirius

Do you even have to ask? What did you have in mind? - Remus

Delayed Transfiguration on his drawers, so everything he puts in them for the next three days turns pink, but make it happen when he'll be in class. - Sirius

Consider it done - Remus

I adore you - Sirius

Aren't you going to say you adore me too? - Sirius

I think your head is already big enough - Remus

You wound me - Sirius

Notes passed between James and Sirius in Potions, Thursday 16th December

I don't suppose you know why my robes just turned pink? - James

Don't have a clue, mate. But you look very dashing - Sirius

I think you know exactly why, and that's why you can't stop giggling - James

Maybe you should ask Remus, he's the expert at delayed transfiguration - Sirius

Don't you blame this on Remus, he wouldn't do this to me - James

Sorry, you got sent out of class, James - Sirius

EVERYTHING I OWN IS PINK!

You forgot to sign your name - Sirius

Chapter 24

[neonlights92]

MONSTER: Chapter: V

You live in a world dominated by monsters.  Monsters who make it their life’s work to control everything around them.  When you’re forced to marry Kim Taehyung - the indecipherable son of the leader of Bangtan, Seoul’s most feared gang - you are at first afraid of him.  But as you learn what it means to be Taehyung’s wife you find yourself inexplicably drawn to him.

WARNINGS: sex, implied violence, language.

–

You were cold.

You opened your eyes to adjust to the damp, dark room you were in.  Your hands and feet were bound, and you had been placed rather unceremoniously on the floor.

Your head was aching and you were sure you could pass out from the pain.

“Boss.  She’s awake.”

You snapped your gaze over to the young man looming in the doorway.  He was dressed in black, and you were struggling to identify who he was.

The door cracked open and white light streamed through, casting the room with a dull sheen.  Another figure joined the one stood at the doorway.  He was taller than the man that had been keeping watch over you, and his shoulders were broader.

He came towards you and you felt your heart constrict in your chest.

“Mrs Kim,” He bent down when he was close enough, “What a pleasure.”

You recognised that voice.

It was the same man who had held a gun to your head at Taehyung’s father’s funeral.

“What do you want?” You asked, surprised you even had it in you to speak.

You were so tired.

“Let me begin by apologising for our rather…uncomfortable meeting,” He ignored your question, “My name is Xiumin.  I run a business very similar to your husband’s.  But I’m tired of being second best to Bangtan.”

Exo.

You didn’t know much about gangs in Seoul, but you did know that Xiumin was the leader of Bangtan’s most aggressive enemy.  Exo hadn’t been around for as long as Bangtan had, but they had made their desire to become the best incredibly clear over the years.

“Did you murder Taehyung’s father?”

Xiumin smiled viciously, “Don’t worry sweetheart.  If you play nice, I’ll make sure you don’t meet the same fate.  It would be cruel to take out V’s father and his wife all in the same week.”  He scoffed, “And I’m not a monster.”

You blinked back the tears biting at the back of your throat.  Your refused to cry in front of him.

He was ruthless and you weren’t going to give him the satisfaction of seeing you scared.  You tried to calm your racing heartbeat.

You were still alive.

If they’d wanted to kill you, surely they would have done it already.  At least that’s what you hoped.

“What are you going to do with me?”

Xiumin grabbed your chin and you winced at the strength of his fingers on your skin, “I’m going to make V an offer he can’t refuse.”  He smirked sadistically, “Your life in exchange for his land.”

You knew that was the dispute that had been raging between the two gangs for almost twenty years now.  Exo claimed that Bangtan had set up shop on their turf, and there had been more than a little blood spilled over it.

“Gangnam belongs to Exo,” Xiumin’s nostrils flared in anger, “It always has.  I’m merely taking back what is ours.��  With that he released your face and you tried not to flinch at the lingering pain.

You were sure his touch had bruised you.

“What if he doesn’t cooperate?” The question frightened you.  You didn’t know what Taehyung would do.  Were you worth giving up that land?

Were you worth anything to him at all?

Perhaps this would be the perfect opportunity for him to get rid of you without having to do it himself.  The thought brought fresh tears to your eyes.

Xiumin gave you a dark look, “You’d better pray that he does cooperate darling.  Or things will get very messy, very quickly.”

The words felt like ice as Xiumin stood up and stalked over to the doorway, “Make sure she eats something when I send some food your way.  We wouldn’t want her to starve before her husband has the chance to see her.”  He gave the order to his soldier, and disappeared outside.

You shivered against the cold floor.

Xiumin’s words had frozen you down to the tips of your toes.

If Taehyung didn’t want to negotiate, that was it.  Your life was in the hands of a heartless killer who seemed to want nothing more than to rip Bangtan to pieces from the inside out.

The soldier at the door was still covered by darkness.

“I need a drink,” You told him.  

Your mouth felt like sandpaper.

He grunted, “You’ll drink when the boss wants you to drink.” A rush of anger filled you.

“You know V isn’t the forgiving type,” You told him seriously, “He’s going to massacre every single one of you.  There won’t be any negotiations.  You’ll all be dead.”

You spat the words venomously, hoping against all hope that somewhere in the depths of his heart Taehyung would find it in him to come to your rescue, no matter the odds.

The soldier said nothing, and you closed your eyes, giving way to the tiredness that was building inside of you.

Soon, you fell asleep.

–

You woke up to someone practically force feeding you.

It was the soldier who had been keeping watch over you.

“Come on.  The boss wants you to eat,” He didn’t seem cruel, “Sit up so I can feed you.”

You shook your head, “I’m not hungry.”

“You need your strength.”

“I said I’m not hungry.” You repeated the words and turned your face away from the mush he was attempting to push into your mouth.

After a moment’s hesitation, he set the plate down to one side and offered you a glass of water, “You said you were thirsty.”

You nodded, and accepted the water readily.  How long had it been since you’d been captured? An hour? A day? A week?

You weren’t sure.

“When is Xiumin going to make arrangements with Taehyung?”

“I don’t know.  I take orders, I don’t ask questions.”

You rolled your eyes and looked away from him.  It didn’t matter anyway.

You knew how this was going to end.

And it was going to end badly.  

You were sure Taehyung would never sacrifice Gangnam to keep you safe.  Your husband was, above all, a businessman and the risk wasn’t worth the reward.

Your chest tightened, “I’m cold,” You told him almost angrily.

The soldier grunted, “I’ll ask the boss if I can bring you a blanket.”

“I hope your husband does cooperate,” His eyes roved your face carefully, “For your sake.  Xiumin is not a merciful man.”

You turned away from him without saying anything.

There was a beat of silence before the soldier stood, and made his way back to his position by the door.

Later on that night he brought you a blanket, and in return you ate the cold food he had tried to feed you.

Then, you slept.

–

You woke to the sound of a loud crash.

You sat up, struggling against your restraints.

The soldier at the door snapped to attention. He tightened his grip on his gun.

“What was that?” You asked desperately, fear gripping you.

He opened his mouth - to give you an answer or tell you to shut up you weren’t sure - When the door swung open.

He fell back from the force.

You blinked at the light streaming in, your heart pounding against your chest. Were you going to die?

A figure appeared in the doorway and instantly your body relaxed.

Taehyung.

“Y/N?” He ran towards you, his hands coming to cup your cheeks, “Are you okay? Are you hurt?”

You shook your head, giving way to the tears that had been scratching at the back of your throat.

You felt guilty.

How had you ever thought that Taehyung - the man you had fallen in love with - would ever leave you at the mercy of his enemy?  The tears dripped down your chin, and your husband wiped them away.

“It’s okay,” He whispered, “I’ve got you here.  I’m here.”

You nodded, because you were sure you couldn’t speak, and watched as two other men entered the room.  Hoseok and Jungkook had their guns cocked, and the younger spared you a terse smile.

“V, we have to get her out of here now.  I’m not sure how much longer we’ve got.”

Taehyung didn’t answer, instead bringing out a knife and using it to cut your restraints.  He pulled you up.

“Lean against me if you need to,” He told you, “We’ve got to leave.”

You followed him as he led you outside, and your eyes adjusted to the dull light.  Jungkook and Hoseok had kicked open the front door of the warehouse you’d been inside.  When you stepped outside, you realised you’d been by the sea.

“Jimin’s got the car round the back,” Hoseok said, grabbing you by the shoulders and helping to move you along, “Come on we’ve got to get out of here before they realise what’s happened.”

There was a white van waiting for you, it’s engine still running.  Jimin smiled as Jungkook pulled open the double doors at the back and helped you climb inside. Yoongi sat in the passenger seat at the front.

“Come on, Y/N,” Taehyung sat you down with your back leaning against the wall of the car, “Do you need some food or something to drink?” Hoseok slammed the back door shut and told Jimin to step on it.

You shook your head and leaned yourself against your husband’s warm body.  You didn’t care what he thought about the display of affection; you were tired and cold, and you’d missed him so much.

You closed your eyes and Taehyung brought an arm around your shoulders, tightening his grip and dropping a kiss on the top of your head.  Your heart turned at the gesture, but you were too tired to do anything.

Instead you hummed quietly, happy that you were finally safe.

“Sleep, Y/N.”

His words helped you relax even further, and soon you were drifting off, dreaming of Taehyung’s smile and the way he held you.

–

You woke up in your bedroom at home.

You were alone.

Soft sunlight was streaming in through the partly open blinds.  It must have been some time in the morning.

You tried to sit up and winced.  You might not have been directly injured, but your body was in pain from the extended hours spent on the cold, damp floor.

The door to the bedroom opened and your husband stood in front of you.

“You’re awake,” He said, walking quickly towards you and setting down the tray of food he was carrying.

You cocked your head to one side, “Is that for me?”

The question threw him off, “What?”

“The food,” You clarified, “Were you bringing that in for me?”

“Oh.”  His eyes softened, “Yes.  I thought you might be hungry.”

Your eyes widened and you blinked at him, confused.

“Why?”

He bit his bottom lip, “Why… what?”

“Why did you bring it in for me?  Why didn’t you ask Mi Na to do it for you?”

You weren’t trying to give him a hard time.  But you couldn’t understand his actions.

“Because you deserve it.” He sat at the edge of the bed, “Because I am an asshole who certainly does not deserve you.  And because… I want to be the kind of husband who does things like this.”

You were sure your mouth couldn’t open any further.  You stared at him in shock.

“What are you talking about?”

Taehyung ran a hand through his hair, “When Xiumin took you away from me, I realised what a complete moron I’ve been.  Pushing you away because somehow I thought it was easier for the both of us.  I don’t want you us to fight like that again.  I don’t want you to have to doubt my feelings for you, when you seem so sure about what you feel for me.  Y/N, love is a risk in our world, but it’s a risk I’m willing to take.”

His words felt like fresh water, washing away all your insecurities.

You watched him carefully, heart pounding against your ears.  Were you dreaming?  Was this real?

Your bottom lip trembled, “Do you mean it?”

He groaned loudly, leaning forward and taking your face in his hands, “Of course I mean it.”  He rolled his eyes almost playfully, “I think for the first time in my life, I understand what it means to want to take care of someone.  I never want to see you hurt again, Y/N.  I want to protect you for the rest of our lives.”

And then, you were crying.

Heart wrenching sobs that racked your entire body.

Taehyung pulled you towards him, and you realised that this was the first time your husband was hugging you.  He ran a hand through your hair, kissing your brow and wiping away your tears.

“Please don’t cry anymore,” He whispered, “I can’t take it when I make you cry.”

“These are happy tears,” You told him, “I promise.”

And then he kissed you.  

His lips pressed to yours softly and as always, you yielded under his power.

The kiss was charged with nothing but the need to express to each other how deep your feelings ran.  You grabbed the collar of his shirt and pulled him closer towards you, needing more.

He pulled away and smirked, “Y/N, I’m trying to be gentle.”

“I don’t want you to be gentle,” You told him earnestly, “Do you know how long I’ve been waiting for you to say that to me?  I want you to make love to me.  Now.”

You surprised yourself with your boldness, and your husband arched an eyebrow at you.

“Your wish is my command, darling.”  He smiled darkly at you, and you leaned back, allowing him to trap you with his body, “I missed you,” His words were laced with honesty, and you felt your heart wilt, “I thought I was going to go crazy without you.  I swear to God, when I saw Xiumin with hands around you at my father’s funeral, I wanted to kill him.”

“Shh,” You pressed one of your hands to his mouth, “Let’s not think about that right now.  I want to have sex with you.”

Your cheeks flushed at your words, but at that moment you didn’t care all too much.

The way Taehyung was looking down at you, like you were the only woman in the world, was driving you crazy.  

“Kiss me,” You told him softly, and he complied.

His mouth tasted as sweet as it always did, and you arched your body against his.  This was where you were meant to be.  You understood now the complexities of the man kissing you.

Taehyung wasn’t just one shade.  He was complicated and dangerous, and even a little intimidating.  But all those things didn’t matter to you, because when he kissed you, he put everything he had into it.

He kissed you like he was never going to see you again.

He kissed you like you were the most important thing in his life.

He kissed you like he loved you.

When he pulled away and trailed his lips down the column of your throat, you moaned.  He paused for a moment, smirking against your skin, “Are you getting excited, Y/N?”

You knew you should be embarrassed by your behaviour, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care.

“Please Taehyung.”  He knew what you were asking, and soon he had travelled down the length of your body, removing the thin nightgown you were wearing and settling between your thighs.

He kissed the space between your legs, “I love the taste of you,” He growled, causing shivers to run up your spine.

When he slipped a finger inside you, you gasped, pressing your back against the mattress.

Taehyung had known exactly how to please you from the moment the two of you had spent the night together, and now that he had confirmed his feelings for you, everything just felt a hundred times better.

He ran a hand along your thigh, kissing his way back up to your lips.

You hadn’t come undone from his ministrations, and you whined into his mouth.

“Patience,” He laughed gently, “I want to make this last.”

He took a nipple in his mouth and suckled on the rosy bud, pulling away from it with a pop.  When he looked up at you, your heart turned over in your chest.

He looked so beautiful.

His beamed at you, his boxy smile stealing the breath right out of your lungs.  His hair was pointing in every which way, and his eyes were roving your face carefully.

And he was all yours.

You grabbed his face and tugged him towards you, kissing him gently when his lips neared your own.

“I love you,” You breathed, when he pulled away.

His eyes, which had been closed during your kiss, opened slowly and he watched you carefully.  He didn’t seem angry at your words, or even surprised.  He just seemed to be considering what you said.

He sighed, “I know.”

You held your breath.  Was he going to say it back?

“I love you too,” He answered, pressing a hand against your cheek, “Against all odds, against all fucking reason, I love you Y/N.”

Your heart felt like it was going to explode right out of your chest.  

“Please make love to me,” You whimpered, “I’ve wanted it for so long.”

He nodded, eyes locked on yours intensely as he slid inside you.  You felt complete.

This was exactly where you were always supposed to be.

Taehyung was your home.

“You’re beautiful,” He told you as he thrust inside of you, dropping kisses along your collarbone and shoulders, “You’re beautiful and you’re all mine.  I’m sorry about what I said the other day I was stupid.  I never tried to manipulate you Y/N.  God you’re the only person I can really be myself around.”  

You felt tears rush to your eyes at his apology.

“It’s alright, Taehyung.”

“No it’s not,” He pressed his nose into the column of your throat, “I’m never going to deserve you.”

His arms wrapped around you, pulling you tighter towards you as you both reached your highs.  He slipped a hand in between your bodies, playing with your sensitive bud and causing your body to jerk in ways you never thought possible.

And then you came undone, spasming around him and holding onto his back tightly.  He kissed you roughly, whispering words of affection as his own climax came.

There was a moment of silence, where Taehyung buried his nose into your neck, and you both paused.  Then he rolled off you before pulling you towards him.

“That was amazing,” You told him honestly.

He smirked and tugged his eyebrows up, “I know.” You slapped his arm playfully, and he kissed your temple, “I know it was.”  This time his tone held a shade of warmth you’d never heard before, “Thank you.”

You didn’t know what he was thanking you for, but nonetheless you smiled, pulling his face towards yours, and kissing him softly.

“I love you,” You whispered, and he smiled back at you.

“I love you too.”

–

[reylohno]

Him

Rating: T  Pairing: Rey/Kylo Ren:Ben Solo Summary: She doesn’t know what to call him anymore, so she decides not to call him anything at all. Post-TLJ reylo.

She doesn’t know what to call him anymore, so she decides not to call him anything at all.

I

She always feels his presence. Sometimes, he’s nothing but a ghost in the back of her mind, a consciousness swiftly grazing hers before fading back into the darkness it came from. Other times, it’s like he’s standing right in front of her. His scar is slowly healing, but the circles under his eyes keep getting darker. Under his command, the First Order’s army has rampaged through the Outer Rim in search of the last remains of the Resistance, leaving dead bodies and scorched villages in its wake. He’s a merciless leader, feared by enemies and subjects alike.

He trusts no one. No one trusts him either.

Sometimes, their eyes meet. It’s been weeks, yet the feelings of betrayal written on his face haven’t faded at all. The expression she sends him back is probably fairly similar.

What they shared was a cursed bond built on naivety and false pretenses, but no matter how much she tries to deny it, she still misses the man who comforted her when she needed it the most—the man who truly understood what it was like to be lonely.

II

She sees him swing his crackling lightsaber with powerful movements, destroying anything—and anyone—that gets in his way. Months have passed, but he’s still no closer to finding the Resistance survivors. She hates watching these outbursts, but she doesn’t really have a choice. He’s difficult to ignore when he’s like this.

He notices her and sends her a glare that makes her shudder. Their connection slams shut, and then she’s all alone again.

Except she’s not. She’s not alone. Not anymore. She’s on a base full of friendly Resistance fighters, and Finn lives in the room next to hers. There’s no reason for her to feel lonely. None at all.

And yet, the feeling of emptiness still remains until she senses the faint flicker of a familiar presence in the back of her head.

III

One time, he shows up right when she’s getting dressed. At first, he looks about as shocked as she feels, but then a smug little smirk tugs at his lips. Her blood rushes to her cheeks, and she lets out an undignified shriek.

The boot she throws at him passes straight through him and breaks the mirror on the wall. The bastard is still smirking when his image disappears.

IV

He would have been easier to hate if it weren’t for the pain.

She feels it through the bond sometimes. Just a fraction of it, but more than enough. The faint glimmer of light within him refuses to fade, and the harder he tries to kill it, the more he tears himself apart. He’s become the monster he always pretended to be, a dark shadow looming over the entire galaxy, but he’s still in pain—so much pain she can’t even begin to understand how he’s been able to endure it for all these years.

There’s something terribly wrong with him, that’s for sure, but people made him this way. To Han and Master Luke, he had too much Vader in him. To Snoke, he never had enough. Together, these role models and father figures created the monster called Kylo Ren. All three of them are gone now, but the scars they left in his soul will never heal.

She watches him suffer from afar. The need to reach out to him is nearly unbearable at times, but she can’t allow herself to feel sorry for him. After everything he’s done, he doesn’t deserve her compassion.

But he would have been easier to hate if it weren’t for the pain.

V

The longing in his eyes keeps getting more prominent.

She prays it’s not as obvious in hers.

VI

The Resistance base has become her home. She makes her living as a mechanic—fixing the type of things she used to break apart back on Jakku. On her spare time, she trains. She trains until her tunic is soaked in sweat and the calluses on her hands bleeds. Everyone around her expects her to live up to Master Luke’s legacy, to become the Jedi knight they all so desperately need. So she trains. She trains, and trains, and trains, because she’s seen what he can do. She’s seen him bend the force to his will with the flick of a finger. She’s seen the way he swings his crossguarded lightsaber when he truly wants to kill. The Resistance thinks of her as their trump card—a Jedi, powerful enough to defeat the infamous Kylo Ren in a one-on-one battle. She’s not, though. Not yet. So she trains. She trains, and trains, and trains.

Sometimes, a presence joins her as she practices her techniques. With a nudge here and a tug there, it gently adjusts her stance. It’s not the ghost of Master Luke that’s guiding her, but she likes to pretend it is. It’s easier that way.

VII

The First Order keeps gaining ground in the Outer Rim. The resume of Supreme Leader Kylo Ren consists of nothing but victories. He is, without a doubt, the most powerful being in the galaxy.

It’s strange, she thinks, how a man who’s supposedly accomplishing everything he ever dreamed of can be so undeniably miserable.

VIII

The first time he tries to talk to her, she pulls out her blaster and shoots the projection of him in its face.

IX

Sometimes, he exhales her name as if it were a prayer. Other times, he spits it out as if it were a curse. She answers his calls with silence.

X

One day, he catches her off guard. She’s abruptly jerked backwards until her back slams into something solid. She yelps in surprise and reaches for the lightsaber attached to her belt, but before she can grab it, her wrists are caught by gloved hands and pinned to her chest.

“Rey.”

His voice is hoarse in her ear. She flinches, but with her back pressed against his broad chest and his arms wrapped around her she’s not moving an inch. His hands are like manacles around her wrists. She struggles for a moment, but although his grip is surprisingly gentle, it’s also completely unyielding.

“Let me go,” she finally says. “You can’t just show up and expect me to—”

“I’m tired, Rey.”

He is. She feels his exhaustion as clearly as if it had been her own. He clings to her like she’s the only thing keeping him from drowning. She should be scared, being trapped in the arms of a man who’s supposed to be her enemy, but she’s not. Being near him again after all this time is like taking a deep breath after ages of suffocation.

He releases her wrists. She spins around. He’s so close she has to tilt her head back to look at him. He stands motionless, breathless, waiting for her to make a move.

The fear of rejection in his eyes breaks her heart all over again.

“You don’t get to do this,” she says, her vision blurring. “Not now. Not after everything you’ve done.”  

“I did what I thought was right.”

She clenches her fists, barely resisting the urge to reach for her lightsaber again. “You thought wrong.”

“Yes, I did,” he murmurs, and then he’s gone.

His disappointment lingers in her room for days. Her reawakened feelings of loss linger even longer.

XI

The distance between them is shrinking. He’s there when she trains. He’s there when she cries. He’s there when the loneliness keeps her up at night, holding her until the void within her stops aching. He ripped a hole in her defense, and she doesn’t know how to fix it.

She doesn’t know if she wants to fix it.

Nothing’s quite as addictive as a true sense of belonging.

XII

During one of his more unstable days, she watches him scream his lungs out and point his lightsaber at a poor maintenance worker, whose only crime was to be in the wrong place at the wrong time.

Later that night, she finds out that their force bond does in fact allow her to pour a bucket of water over his head while he sleeps.

XIII

She watches him as he cleans his wounds from yet another battle. He rarely fights against enemies of the First Order anymore. Most of the time, when she catches him patching himself up like that, the wounds were caused by people he considered allies.

“Is this really what you wanted?” she asks. “Is this the new order you gave up everything for?”

He shoots her a quick glare. “You know it’s not.”

She knows. She knows he didn’t kill his master to become the Supreme Leader. She knows he never intended to become the sole ruler of the galaxy.

She knows he never would have done any of it if it weren’t for her.  

“The path you’re taking will never lead you to the balance you’re searching for,” she says. “It will only lead to pain and suffering.”  

His face hardens. “I made my choice. I’ve become who I was meant to be.” He turns away. “There’s no going back.”

Months ago, she would have agreed. Now, she’s not so sure.

XIV

When the First Order burns down a village of innocents, she refuses to interact with him for weeks. After that, the mindless massacres mysteriously stop.

It’s the first time she hears him utter the words, “I’m sorry.”

XV

She slowly raises her hand. Fear flashes in his eyes, but he doesn’t stop her. They both hold their breath as she reaches up and carefully cups his cheek in her hand. Warmth washes over her the moment her skin connects with his. A soft laugh escapes her lips. She sees it again, the vision of their future, but this time, she understands.

“What do you see?” he whispers.

“Us”, she says. “Just us.”

XVI

Sometimes, she wonders what Finn would say if he knew.

She wonders if he’d ever forgive her.

XVII

When she presses her lips against his for the first time, the tiny little impulse immediately turns into a massive, unstoppable tidal wave. Her kiss is soft and innocent. His is not.

Her back hits the wall. For a short moment, she wonders how this looks on his side of the connection, but then his hands are in her hair and his lips are on hers. He barely gives her room to breathe, but she decides that she doesn’t really care. He grabs her thighs and lifts her up as if she weighs nothing. His pupils are dilated, and his gaze is so possessive it’s almost predatory. He’ll never let her go after this, she realizes. To him, she’ll always be his.

It doesn’t scare her all that much. After all, he’s already hers.

XVIII

Without warning, the Supreme Leader of the First Order disappears without a trace.

The power vacuum rips the entire organization into pieces.

XIX

His name, she decides, is Ben.

[yeoldontknow]

If (M)

Author’s Note: hello friends! welcome back to chanvember! enjoy this little offering <3 Pairing: Chanyeol x Reader (oc; female) Summary: As an escort, you’re used to men telling you they love you. But with Chanyeol, it feels different. With Chanyeol, it almost feels real. Genre: angst; smut Rating: NC-17 Warning: explicit language; explicit sexual scenarios; some dirty talk Word Count: 3,016

The eighth time you fuck him, Chanyeol is certain he’s in love with you. You’re exactly the way he likes his women: bent, broken, looking for a God. Expensive, but he’s used to the high price of validation and you sell self-worth in skin tight silk. This is nothing more than a thrill for you. This should be nothing more than casual sex and self-acceptance for him.

You fit in his shirt like a drowning bird, and he likes the way the fabric makes you look a little lost. You’ve been dwarfed by white: limbs in a pressed Tom Ford, bed sheets snarled over knee caps, skin in a limbo between the pallor of death and the heat of I need you harder than this. You could be a massacre, you could be his sanctuary, but he knows you’re capable of both.

Beneath his hands, you quiver like you don’t expect his touch. His body knows every line and nuance of yours, but he still pours himself into the crevices like they’re uncharted territory, hungry and with all of his heart, all of his soul. You treat him just the same, dragging your tongue along the length of his clavicle as though you’re getting your first taste. You’re being gentle and it’s not like you.

This is when you’d bite him, this is when you’d bruise him, this is when you’d turn over and say claim my ass with the flat of your hand and wound it. Instead you’re clutching him like a cross and he knows, he knows you’re holding back. He can feel it in the way your nails dig into his biceps, the way your keening whine tumbles only a little too loudly from your mouth, but he doesn’t mind.

You’ve always been good at this; you’ve done this with men before and during your rotation through his orbit, and you will do it again after he is done with you. You’ve always been good at this and he’s exactly the way you want him, too.

He angles himself above you and settles between your parted thighs, ripping the sheet away like it’s your chastity belt. Those lips, those ears, that body, belong wrapped around you, and you laugh at how easily the fabric tears. His skin is slick, already fucked and ready to be fucked again, and so is yours. A feast has already been made of you, yet he is still ravenous, desperate for another fleeting taste.

His cock is swollen with need for you, hot and heavy, trying to pull you to him like gravity. Somehow he tells himself to hold back. It crosses his mind that to love a person means pleasing them first, he thinks that’s how it goes, and, for a moment, he is proud. He’s proud that he can count on both hands the number of times you’ve taken him into your mouth, the number of times he’s spread the folds of you cunt with his hands and tongue. There’s a kindness in him that he thought had died, but you brought it back to life, exhaled into it with a sweat soaked upper lip, watched it gradually reform. He owes you, he thinks, he owes you everything.

He praises you by thrusting into you, deep and possessive, watching your tongue slip between your teeth for just a moment as you tip your head back. Exposed, he licks at the smooth line of your neck as he pulls your chest to his. You’re arched and elegant and his, and you lift your hips to meet his thrusts like a cat against a warm palm. A moan escapes from the cavern of your lungs and he laughs, chuckles as he bites his lip the way he knows you like - with a snarl at the corner of his mouth and sharp teeth gnawing the flesh raw.

This makes you want to reach behind him and grip the cheeks of his ass, makes you want to push him into you, hard and greedy. The glimmer of these thoughts in your eyes makes him want to watch your lips stretch with the fullness of his cock until you swallow him whole, taking him like a communion. There’s a cruelty to that fantasy that makes him blush, an element of memory to the fantasy that recalls your first date, and a shame that makes him pull out of you entirely, ignoring your small whine of protest as he moves down, and down, and down, until his face rests between your thighs and your hands fist in his hair.

Months ago, you wouldn’t let him eat you out - you wouldn’t even consider it. That’s not what he is paying for, never where the money is intended to go, and some nights he agrees. Some nights he buries himself so deep in inside you, you fear your body will break. Some nights you ride him until you’re both raw. Some nights you drag your tongue along his slit so hard his eyes water. Sometimes you come so hard you regret there’s always a condom separating you.

Tonight, the money remains on the table and not in your designer handbag, and he thinks that’s as good as sign as any that tonight is equally about you as it his him. Tonight, the money remains on the table and he lets himself think this was never a transaction to begin with. Tonight, he doesn’t warn you when his mouth closes over your clit, when he takes the whole of your soul into his mouth in one go, when he grips the soft flesh of your hips so tightly you hope his nails will draw blood.

Tonight, you don't care about the other hotel patrons, and you scream.

He thrusts his tongue between your folds like a reckless Casanova, messy and rhythmless, with a fervor that borders on violent. The velvet of him slides in and out of your cunt, sometimes against your clit and always with the flat of his tongue, and he can hear you. There’s a focus in your vocals, a steadfast desire to come hard and long, that makes his blood sing. Just hearing you could be enough for him. You’re a siren, his siren, and when you come, you come only for him.

Tonight, you will come, violently and unhinged, into his waiting mouth and it will only be for him. The mutual knowledge of this makes your hips drag carelessly against the California king bed for relief. There’s no pattern to the need, no pace to be set. It’s a race to finish - to finish in a state of blackout bliss and to finish together.

The only thing you miss when his mouth is on you is the way he can sweet talk you. He’s got a smart mouth, a brilliant mouth, and the syntax of a filthy sentence sends you into a hysteria like you’re giving birth to a star. It lights you on fire, and in turn makes you hold onto him tight enough to split atoms. He gives just as good as he can take, and, when you’re this far gone, you compensate this need by writing words into the growls he pours into your core.

As he drags his tongue along your slit, he whines in pleasure and you think ‘do you come with your mind only on me? Do you stain your sheets with my memory, squirt so generously you can’t help but smell yourself as you cry my name?’

As he pushes a finger inside you beside his tongue, you moan, frustrated and hollow, and you hope he interprets ‘yes, baby, I think of you when I’m alone. I make my fingers slick with the thought of you.’

When you come, you come quietly, and this is how he likes you best. You quake around him, wet and writhing beneath the wave of your desire, without so much as a whimper. It’s a silent act, a time, and a place, and a taste that belongs only to him. This is how he likes you, when your every thought, and your every action, is brought about and given solely to him.

He drags his wrist across his mouth as he slides back up to you, pressing his back into the bed, and you hum, low and pleasant to yourself as you come down. Occasionally, you twitch with an aftershock, and he laughs, eyes closed and blissfully content with the taste of you lingering on his tongue. The first moment he saw you, he called you pretty; the first time you came, he called you perfect. Now, he sees you as someone human. Now, as the last of the sex wracks your body, he sees you as beautiful and human and flawed. This is when he decides he needs you.

‘I think I love you,’ he tries, speaking to the ceiling, forming the words and attempting to understand the way he says them. They’re cold and unfamiliar in his mouth, but he thinks he could warm them on his tongue. It seems natural to let them melt and drip from his lips onto your wet skin. Eventually, he doesn’t think he would choke on the definition or implication, he knows he’d bleed them into every thought, every willful action.

Your laugh is tired and seductive, a great ocean wave of sexual intent. ‘You’d love me more with your last name.’

‘Aurelia Park.’ It’s his turn to laugh. ‘Good name.’ It sounds easy. It could be easy.

‘It’s not my real name,’ you says quickly. ‘Aurelia, I mean,’ you appease, ‘it’s not my name.’

This catches him off guard and he feels ashamed, because he’s done this before and he knows this is the process. Worlds don’t collide, identities are protected, he is not the one in danger, he is not the commodity. He wonders when this started to feel different, and he tries think of any moment, or day, or hotel room that blurred the lined of reality, but none come to mind.

And he isn’t mad, isn’t upset, not even betrayed, only injected with a reality that feels too cold for such a warm bed.

‘I don’t know why I’m surprised. I can’t say I blame you.’ It’s true, he doesn’t. He doesn’t even blame himself. He only wishes he knew what to say the next time he wanks in front of a mirror.

You roll over and look at him, at his brown eyes and serious expression. You want to kiss it off him, and so you smile, though you are sure it appears sad. ‘You know that this can’t be real. I can never let you get too close.’

Turning over to regard you, it’s his turn to smile, though he can’t say it’s sad. It just is, a natural reaction when staring at the moon. ‘Isn’t this real? Isn’t this close?’

‘This is sex, this isn’t intimacy,’ you state plainly.

‘Many would argue they are the same thing,’ he counters.

You shake your head, and sigh. ‘There’s fucking and sex, an exchange of bodily fluids and laughter and names and fingerprints. There’s telling someone you want them, someone you could wank yourself blind for them, and then there’s knowing someone - I mean really knowing someone. You know their past and their history, the nuances of their day that make them who they are, the way they take their coffee and the way they fold their clothes. There’s knowing their darkness and their flaws, knowing their failures and their fear, and still wanting to bury yourself with, and inside, them.’

He turns over once more to stare at the ceiling, and he remembers. He swims in the memories of every encounter, every phone call and bank transfer, and he remembers.

‘We’ve already done that, though,’ he says, sternly. A younger version of himself would whisper such a thing, would fear his own sentimental connection. But he’s grown into negotiating and he sticks to his convictions even when they are empty. ‘You know about my parents and my job. I’ve told you about bad days at work and good days, about my university days and my biggest regret.’

You crawl into his vision as if reclaiming your halo, the light glowing around you, turning you into a creature of myth.

‘I know,’ you concede, ‘and that’s why it should be me saying I love you. But I can’t, so I won’t.’ You kiss him then, finally, hard, as though you are trying to protect him from himself, before you settle your head against his chest.

‘Do you see my face when you fuck them?’ he asks.

‘Who?’

‘All the rest.’ The others. The nameless many, or the nameless few. He’s envious of them, of all the days he isn’t with you.

‘I can’t answer that question.’

‘Won’t?’

‘Can’t.’

‘Why not? I won’t get angry.’ It’s true, he won’t be angry, just disappointed with circumstance.

‘If I say yes,’ you murmur softly, ‘things will get hard; and if I say no, things will get sad.’

He looks down at your head, at the mop of hair blocking all of your features from his view. ‘You mean I’ll get sad.’

‘You’ll start to wonder, yes,’ you say, nodding, and he smiles at the way your hair moves across his chest.

‘I’m wondering now.’

‘No. You’re fantasizing...idolizing,’ you shake your head in the opposite direction, and he stifles a laugh as your hair teases his nipples. ‘You aren’t plagued with obsessive uncertainty. I don’t want that for you. And I don’t want the weight that comes with separation for myself if I say yes.’

You lean up to rest your chin atop his sternum, and he thinks you look a little lost. Concerned and lost and afraid. He wraps his arms around you, hoping that this simple comfort is enough. ‘So, no, I can’t answer that question,’ you finish, voice distant and wandering.  

You settle back against him, and, for a time, his is happy just holding you. This has never been part of the price: the conversation, the affection, the...cuddling. He hates the word but there’s no other term for it and, when it comes to you, it isn’t so obtuse. It implies an element of fragility to a person, to a relationship, to a state of being, and, with you, it’s the only time the word makes sense.

‘What if,’ he says after several minutes of comfortable silence, ‘we tried it.’

‘Tried what,’ comes your tired reply.

‘Being together like normal.’

Again, you rise to look at him, but this time you pull away from the embrace, hoisting yourself onto your arms. ‘Come again?’ you ask, cocking an eyebrow.

‘Stranger things have happened,’ he offers, smiling. You’re positively appalled and he thinks you are glowing.

‘It would never work,’ you counter, flatly. ‘Trust me.’

‘Why not?’ He’s gentle, because you make him gentle.

You look away from his gaze and it’s the first time he’s ever seen you sad. To him, you appear crestfallen, staring at the silk threads of the sheets and, for a moment, he thinks your walls have crumbled. It’s almost poetic the way you wear sadness and, all at once, for just this moment, he wishes he could paint you into history, making a mural of your skin that last for eternity.

‘After a while you’ll start to wear me with regret...with a shame like sickness. I’ll be the shame you bring to every work event, every family reunion.’ As soon as you say it, you build yourself back up, stitch your seams together to become the way he knows you once more. And now he understands, now he sees the difference between intimacy and sex, between Aurelia and you.

‘How could you say that?’ He reaches out to touch your hair, but you move away from his hand, smirking. He returns the smile, knowing your thoughts.

I don’t need you. You don’t need to help me. I’m here because I want to be here, not because I crave your pity.

‘What would we say when people ask how we meet?’ you laugh, suddenly playful.

‘We met when...you sat next to me on the tube.’

‘When I drove you home in a cab.’

‘At a gig.’

‘At the park.’

‘In a bar.’

‘In a hotel.’

‘For business.’

‘For pleasure.’

Always for pleasure, he thinks. Pleasure is what you wear, pleasure is what he drapes you in. Pleasure is how you wear the midnight and, how you teach him to love his body and your sex. Pleasure is the only way you will ever meet him and this, as hard as he finds it to admit, does not make him feel scorned. This is your honesty, and it is the most visceral honesty one could touch.

When dawn breaks, he watches you stand, slowly and hesitantly, taking off his shirt. You’re naked and vulnerable, statuesque is what comes to mind,  and the sun makes you look ethereal. This is not how he is used to seeing you, but it makes his heart stutter and stop. This is not how he is meant to see you, but you aware of his eyes, aware of his gaze and you do not tell him to look away.

You trade his Tom Ford shirt in favor of your Yves Saint Laurent dress, slip your feet into the fine leather of your red soled heels, and take the money from the table. You don’t bother to count it, not in front of him at least. You pocket it, place it gently in your Prada bag, and only now he wonders if you own these items because you like them or simply because you can.

Coming to the bed, you lean over and kiss him with your tongue, with your soul, with the small fragments of you heart. Into this, he leans up, desperate for more, desperate to feel, desperate to keep you.

‘Tuesday?’ you ask, pulling away with a sigh.

‘Next Tuesday, indeed.’

[homogrimoire-archive]

The Remnant Branches

CH. 2 - Vile Toxic Intent

Part 1: Wanna Start A Massacre?

Tyrian arrives in a place known as The Aerie. He meets a like-minded individual, and begins his journey to appease his Queen across worlds.

AO3 Link

Tyrian woke up, seeing nothing but a cliff in the distance. As he got up, he noticed that he was at the edge of a cliff, which brought a chuckle out of him. One feels most alive when closest to death. Looking around, there were no noticeable features, nothing that would help him in his search. He knew that he should be near some inhabited structure, so he looked over the cliff’s edge.

“Biiiiinnnggoooooo!” he exclaimed when he saw structures built into the cliff faces. Began to run along the cliff’s edge towards the settlement. He hoped they wouldn’t cooperate with him. People who easily cooperated were never any fun to him. Once he was above a platform, he jumped off the cliff’s edge and dug his weapon into the cliffside as he fell down. He landed with a solid thump on the walkway.

The place was windy and cold, and very drab. If the place didn’t look so neat, he would think it was abandoned. Faint whispers almost masked by the wind told him this place definitely had life. He walked over to a nearby house, making sure every one of his footsteps was heard. He had a feeling the people here would be more terrified of a lack of silence. He knocked, one, two, on the door.

“Who’s there? What do you want?” the quivering voice asked.

“Oh, I am but a siiiimple traveler, looking to expand his knowledge of the magics. Would you happen to know where I would be able to do that?” Tyrian  questioned as he leaned in closer towards the door.

“Umm, I- I don’t know man. I hardly ever l-leav-ve my home.”

“Oh that’s a shame. A reeeal shame. How about,” he started as he began to tap the end of his stinger against the door, “we take a little walk. Together. I can show you all sorts of things the world has to offer. Soo many things.” Tyrian could practically feel the man trembling through the door. What he wouldn’t give to see the stranger’s face.

“No! N-no. I’m alright. Maybe ask- ask our chief. He lives in the highest building. He- he might know something.” Tyrian removed his stinger from the door, ending the tapping, and thanked the person. Looking around, he easily found the building. Getting to it would be another matter. The place was a maze of walkways, platforms, and bridges. He realized that this place is what was referred to as The Aerie. A town full of cowardly recluses. Tyrian imagined how he could tear this place to shreds, but knew he had orders to fulfill first.

Instead of trying to navigate the place, he made his way to a walkway directly beneath the chief’s house, and began to scale the cliff face by digging his weapons into the rock. It took more time than he liked, but knew the alternative would have taken more time. Besides he could imagine the man quaking as he heard something unknown climbing the cliff towards his house. With a flip, he landed onto the walkway. With loud footsteps, he walked  towards the door, and knocked, one, two, three.

“Go away! You’re not wanted here!” the voice yelled.

“Now, is that any way to treat a weary traveler?” he asked, feigning innocence.

“Yes. Now go away!”

“But I’m soo tired.” Won't you at least let me rest here? I can show you my wonderful weapons as payment. They slice through my enemies so  beautifully. Or maybe, perhaps, you can tell me about magic. Hearing about it would put my soul at such ease.”

“Go visit that monster in the mines at the entrance. You’ll get what you want there. Begone with you now!”

“Thank you! I’ll be sure to repay your kindness.” He replied with a malicious smile. Now where the fuck is the entrance at? … There! Not too far away was the entrance to What looked to be a cave. From a higher vantage, he could see the path he would have to take. Salem’s reports had no mention of a girl living there. He figured that time had passed since.  As he walked with heavy footsteps, he thought about how the place is perfect for a massacre. The dull surroundings stained with bright red blood would be a beautiful sight.

Years later, some traveler would wander in to find the place full of death, only able to wonder what transpired, and what sort of monster could do such a thing. It brought a smile to his face. Once he reached the cave, he kept on the lookout for the monster. He imagined some hulking, shadowy beast with magic emanating from it. To his left, he saw an opening. In it, sunlight entered, feeding a layer of grass. There is also a small hut with a lone woman resting in the light.

“Rise and shine, Sunshine.” Tyrian whispered in her ear in attempts to scare her awake

“Shut up Tyrann. Can’t you see I’m trying to fucking sleep.” she said groggily turning in her bed. Wasn’t me. You’ve gotta visitor Sunshine. Kaine was all too awake now, and all too aware of the all too familiar, but distinctly separate presence nearby. Quickly, she turned in her bed to bring down a slash of her sword. It was swiftly dodged with maniacal laughter.

“Is that any way to treat a guest, Sunshine? And the name’s Tyrian. Not Tyrann.” he said, balancing on his tail.

“I don’t give a shit. Now get lost or I’ll take your tail, cut it into a million pieces and shove it down your throat.”  she shouted, unleashing an intimidating wave of magic. That’s it Sunshine! There’s the hate I like to see! Show this bitch what happens when you look like the thing that killed your granny! Remember that hate!

“Perfect .” Tyrian said deviously as he unsheathed his weapons. He rushed towards her, firing as he ran. However, the bullets were all blocked by a magical barrier. When he was open, she unleashed a wave of energy that he barely dodged. Now they were in close quarters. She was quick, but Tyrian was quicker, though just barely. It was a thrill! Their weapons clashed, grinding against each other.

“Once I’m done with you, I’ll destroy that little village over there! Every single one of them will scream in agony as I rip them to shreds piece by piece!”

“They can rot in hell for all I care. And you can too shit hole!” With immense power, she sent him flying back, knocking him against a wall and causing him to fall to the ground on his stomach. Before he could even react, she rushed towards him. She stabbed one hand with her right sword and pinned the other down with a foot, causing Tyrian to curse in pain. She removed the sword and stomped on the wounded hand, inciting even more yelps of pain. Tyrian tied to attack with his tail, but it was caught with a single hand.

“I heard you like the sounds of screaming. Well I hope you like your screams too!” she brought down her left sword to cut the tail off, but was stopped just before it could connect. Change of plans Sunshine. This hate is nice and all, but. I'm gonna go have some REAL fun. “HEY! WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU THINK YOU’RE DOING YOU ROTTEN PIECE OF-”

Darkness swirled around her, and Tyrian could feel the pressure being lifted off his hands. The dark mist moved to the center of the clearing. It began to solidify, and Tyrian could make out the shape of the woman. From the ground, it rose up revealing a shade in Kaine’s form. Tyrian picked himself up as it walked to him. It held out a hand, to which Tyrian refused. It rolled its head, and pointed to the wounded hand. He didn’t have any other choice really, so he held out his hand to the thing. He felt a wave of energy pass through him, sending shivers through him. When he pulled his hand back, it was miraculously healed.

“So, you’re Tyrann?” he asked, still wary.

“Of course I am! And you must be Tyrian.” spoke a voice sharp and rough like glass scrubbed with tough sandpaper. “Tyrann and Tyrian… I think we're gonna do great things together.” Tyrann would have been smiling wickedly if he could. Tyrian recognized that tone. It was then that Tyrian knew he was in the presence of a kindred spirit.

“How about we start with a little massacre? I’ve been dying to end that village the moment I saw it.”

“Now you’re speaking my language! Hey, lets spare a few so they can live to tell the tale! Imagine how much fear will be passed down from generation to generation! Imagine how much hate will be born!” Tyrann could feel the energy within him about to burst. This was the most excited he had been in a long time.

“You’re right, my friend! We are going to do great things together!”

“That day, their maniacal laughter and the screams of family and neighbors was the last thing many people heard. The last things many of them saw are best not described. Though if  you want that description, please refer to the Gestalt timeline, branch REMNANT, sub-branch TYR. Hmm. I’ll be sure to keep a close eye on this sub-branch. The threat of The Flower is miniscule in the Gestalt-Replicant Timelines, but still present. And with a Remnant interloper like this, who knows what the chances really are. Further reports will be incoming shortly. Accord signing off.”

-

“Hmph. Another massacre. Y’know, this isn’t the first time I’ve seen people from different universes get along, but these two… These two get along too well. With their sadistic tendencies, that isn’t a good thing. They only fuel each other’s love for killing. I know our primary function is to record, but there are times when we have to intervene. This may be one of them.”

-

“Ahhhh. That was the most fun I had since yesterday.” Tyrann let out as they walked, clothes drenched in blood. He and Tyrian had just run into a group of shades hiding in an abandoned building. He learned a lot from that slaughter, and knew his queen would be pleasantly pleased at the knowledge he gained. Tyrann found shade’s screams to be delightful. He particularly loved how they pleaded to be spared. He was so grateful he could understand them, and found that killing with a like-minded friend to be such fun. He thanked his goddess that she had given him such a joyous opportunity.

“And unI alfortunately, it’ll be a while before we get to kill anymore of them. Aren’t many shades where we’re going.” Tyrann sighed sadly. “Only just some old machines.”

“Bummer.” Tyrian replied, sharing the other murderer’s lack of enthusiasm. “Where are we going anyways?”

“Some place where you can find the information your queen wants, and where I can see about making a replicant for me.”

“Replicant? Tell me more.”

“Eh.” Tyrann said with a shrug. “I guess I can give you a basic rundown of it all.”

-

“I’ve been running the schematics, and there is a high chance one of them will die at the facility. Machines, androids, betrayal, stray meteor, uhh, what else… oh, yeah, or tripping and falling down a flight of stairs. Personally, my money is on betrayal, but who knows. However, if it comes to that, intervention will be necessary in the event that Tyrann’s death is the outcome. If he dies, so does Kainé, and she is too important to these timelines to die so soon.”

[reylo-riffic]

Flickering Light

http://archiveofourown.org/works/13779945

Rating: T

Summary: Rey and Kylo meet once more after the throne room, but this isn't the first time they've run into each other. Written for the RFFA Valentine's Gift Exchange.

Kylo could feel her in this crowded market place where his men stormed, leaving destruction in their wake. He stood still in the stifling heat, his men swarming around him like ants. He reached out through their bond for her familiar signature. She was crushed beneath floorboards, having found a small crawl space. Her eyes briefly met his. Fear. She wanted to run, but in doing so she’d give herself away.

Like a predator he stalked forward.

The building was a shack on the outside of town, barely standing, yet it was searched. He’d ordered no stone left unturned. Kylo parted the sea of white easily. No one stood in his way. They hadn’t before, they certainly didn’t now.

“Get out,” he demanded when he reached the threshold. “All of you.”

He remained still as the men quickly followed orders. When he was sure they were gone, he let the thin door close behind him.

“Rey.”

The worn trapdoor was tossed open and the thin woman scrambled to her feet, saber clutched in her hand. Her breath came in short gasps, feet planted and ready for battle. She was a cornered animal, ready to rip him to shreds.

He never admired her more.

“You’ve healed?” Kylo asked, gesturing with his chin to her torso.

“No thanks to you.” She snapped, hands tightening on the saber.

“I believe I was the one who found you mauled in the dirt.”

Her rage nearly bowled him over. With a strangled cry she launched herself at him, saber roaring in the small room. He met her strokes easily. She’d been training – he could tell. Her strokes were more controlled and refined than they were the night she cut him down in the snow. Even then he found her awe-inspiring. The more successful he was at fending her off, the angrier and sloppier she became. He’d wait for her to tire out. The small shack rattled and groaned around them, their sabers slicing through the walls and destabilizing the already straining structure. He’d maneuvered her around, so her back was pressed against his chest. Before he could wrap his arms around her, a sharp elbow caught him in the stomach. An undignified wheeze left his mouth as she scrambled away.

He wasn’t sure why they always met with sabers drawn. Deep down Kylo knew he wasn’t capable of cutting her down, and he knew she felt the same. If they were to fall, it would not be beneath the other’s hand.

With a swipe of his leg he took her down hard. She fell to the floor with a sharp cry, and he was suddenly there, pinning her down. She was a ball of fire and he could hardly expect to get her to hold still without using his own form.

“Get off!” she hissed, saber forgotten beside her as she pummeled him with her fists.

Kylo caught her hands in one of his, restraining them above his head as he tore his glove off his free hand with his teeth. Rey paused for a moment as he slipped his hand beneath the hem of her tunic, his fingers warm against her stomach.

“What are you doing?” she hissed through her teeth.

“If I asked how your injury was doing you’d try to lop my head off, so I’ll take a look myself.”

Kylo leaned back still keeping her hands trapped in his grasp. Her flat stomach had two large pink scars running across her skin. His fingers traced the scars.

“No lasting damage?” he questioned, knowing some of his worry had weaved through his words.

“No.”

He’d given her enough room to draw her leg back and plant her foot firmly in the center of his chest. She was across the room before he was fully sprawled on his back.

“Why did you do it?” she demanded, hair coming undone around her face.

“Why did I do what?” he questioned, hauling himself from the floor.

“You massacred an entire herd of blurrgs on Ryloth and burned hundreds of acres of land!”

“Hux did.”

Kylo watched some of the tension leave her body.

“He follows your orders.” Rey countered.

“No. He selectively follows my orders and then makes up his own. He’s been slowly gathering troops to move against me.”

Rey’s breathing had slowed. As her anger abated, she was unsure of what to say to him. The intensity between them was vibrating in the air and it was only a matter of time before something gave way. Kylo’s thoughts drifted to the moment he’d found her Ryloth and he knew she could feel him through the bond.

When he landed on Ryloth for a recon mission, he was astounded to feel her down below, wandering through the forest – a forest notorious for being filled with dangerous predators. He’d easily slipped away from his ship to search for her. He’d only seen her from a distance since the throne room debacle. This would be the first time he’d find her alone. Just as he stepped foot into the forest, hand at the ready on his saber, her pain sent him to his knees.

In a flash he was running, drawing attention to himself and not caring.

He found her stretched out beneath a tree, tunic soaked in blood. Kylo dropped down beside her, drawing her dazed expression.

“I scared her.” Rey panted, hands slick with her own blood.

Kylo glanced a moment behind him, finding a blurrg feasting on a fresh patch of shrubbery.

“I came around the tree too fast.” Rey explained, eyes far away as she stared up at the canopy of trees.

Blurrgs were often used on farms or as modes of transportation. Those bred in captivity were more docile than those in the wild. They were mostly gentle creatures, but like any animal, they lashed out when they were scared. He could see her now, wandering through all the green that attracted her like a thief to a jewel. She’d be too lost in the moment to be aware of her surroundings.

Now she was sprawled before him, bleeding out.

He inspected her wounds – deep and ugly. Yanking her cloak from her bag, he wadded the material up and pressed it to her stomach causing her to cry out weakly.

“Hold this.” He snapped gruffly, pressing her hands to the material to help staunch the flow.

“I’ve almost died before, did you know?” she asked softly, not really caring for his response. “On Jakku…so much death. But I’ve never actually believed I’d die there. Now…I thought I’d be scared to die…but I’m not.”

Kylo was busy fiddling with her transmitter, tearing it apart his large and uncoordinated hands. He’d been taught by his barely there father how to reconnect a few wires in a transmitter to send a help signal to the receiver. There was some fancy terminology that went along with the wires and connectors, but Kylo hadn’t bothered to learn the names, but he remembered where things should go. Even now, seeing her blood smeared across his hands, he could still see his father showing him how to firmly connect the wires.

Once the signal was transmitting, he gently hauled her into his arms, cradling her against his chest. If they could find her under ten minutes, they’d be able to save her. If not…if this was how it would end, he’d keep her close. He wouldn’t miss a single second more of her. He was a sadist, wanting to hold her until the final breath left her body. He’d bask in her flickering light until it sputtered out, and with it she’d take his own light, however little that had managed to survive inside him all this time. Snoke had been right. With her death, his transformation would be complete. There would be no hope for him.

Rey stared up at him, her breath soft and too shallow. Kylo stared back while brushing her hair from her face.

“This wasn’t how I thought things would go.”

“Things hardly ever go the way we expect.” He replied softly.

“The throne room…”

“No,” he stopped her gently. “We don’t have to talk about it, not now.”

“You weren’t asking me to join the Dark Side.”

A beat passed between them.

“No,” he admitted, watching his hand’s progress across her forehead. “I wasn’t.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Me too.”

Footsteps broke through the still air around them. Kylo lifted his eyes in their direction as her name was called.

“They’ll take care of you now.”

Rey lifted her hand and pressed her fingers to his cheek. They both felt the thread of need pulse beneath the pain and dread that was consuming them. It had always been there, but they’d never talked of it, never acknowledged it. With nothing left to lose, Kylo lowered his face, pressing his lips to hers. She returned the pressure, her dry lips molding to his own. They held still for a long moment, relishing the connection. Rey sighed against his mouth as the tension that had been building in them for nearly a year now was finally released.

The moment couldn’t last, not with her army heading in their direction.

Gently he eased her away and back to the ground. He was taken aback when her hand suddenly locked on his own desperately.

“Don’t be afraid.” He murmured, echoing some of the first words he’d spoken to her.

Before standing he brushed his mouth against hers once more, memorizing every detail. By the time he stood, she was unconscious. It went against his nature to leave her, but if he didn’t move now, they’d mow him down before he could explain.

For a week he anxiously searched through the Force, looking for her. Just when he thought it was hopeless, that she must have slipped away and he’d not noticed, she flashed into his mind, tender and thankful.

He was choked with relief.

Rey shuffled awkwardly in the small hut, her face flushed.

He suddenly understood that the sudden flare of hatred she’d felt for him over the last few months was because of that moment in the forest. It was because she’d returned his kiss. It was because she enjoyed it. She didn’t want to relish his touch and hated that she felt complete when the bond connected them. Rey couldn’t come to terms with the fact that the person who understood her most in the entire galaxy was kept from her because of a war, because they were fighting for different things. She’d lost sleep trying to reconcile the man she spoke to in visions with the man whose name struck fear into an entire galaxy.  

Kylo turned with his saber, hacking away at the back wall. Rey remained silent. When there was a decent sized hole, Kylo gestured for her to go.

“Do you have your cloak?” he questioned, watching as she nodded. “Good. Keep behind the shacks until you get back to your ship. They haven’t found it yet.”

Rey stared at him for a long moment before reaching for her bag beneath the trap door. She donned her cloak, pulling the hood up. She yanked the strap of her bag over her head, keeping her saber firmly in her hand. As Rey passed him, she paused and Kylo waited expectantly, but she slipped out of the rough entryway he’d created.

Before he could ponder the fact that she was leaving him again, she scrambled back inside. In an instant her hand was tangled in his hair, her mouth demanding on his own. They were uncoordinated and bordering on violent. He wrapped his fingers around the nape of her neck, forcing the hood back before his hand was in her hair, the bands snapping beneath his fingers.

This is how the first time should have been.

Just as her voice floated through his mind, Rey tore herself away. He drank her in, parted swollen lips and glowing eyes.

With a single exhale she is gone.

This would not be the last time they saw one another. He would make sure of that.

Kylo stepped out after her, following her form until she vanished around a corner.

He knew then that he’d tear apart every atom of the galaxy for her if she asked.

Through the bond, he could feel her assuring him that she would do the same.

[turquoisedragonmaster]

((The trio gets sent to Necroworld on a job and woops here's Dying of the Light. AKA Fireflesh gets to cut loose again and Nera eats someone's hand. Also Blackjack gets found out and makes terrible choices.))

“Why are we just getting shot down instead of landing.”

Nera growled, wiggling in the harness that secured her to Turquoise. Blackjack with spinning his tires nervously, his plating up in a nervous way.

“Because whoever they want caught and dragged back might highjack the ship and escape and then we don't get money.”

That didn't seem to assure Nera, even as Turquoise shifted into her slightly larger, winged form and launched into the air, followed by Blackjack.

“If I had known then we wouldn't be here you…”

“If you say shitbucket I will go outside and drag Tarn in here so that he can kill you personally.”

Nera growled, tail lashing as Turquoise sized up Rodimus.

“Well I'm sorry, I didn't know they paid reptiles to come drag their wanted criminals back!”

The Cybertronian snarled, causing Nera’s spines to rise. Blackjack leaped down,  shoving the two apart.

“Okay, killing each other will do nothing. We need both of you if we're all going to get out of here.”

The black mech was almost ready to put Turquoise in a box and sit on it if it meant keeping her alive.

“Turquoise, you're a warrior. You can fight the DJD!”

“Not anymore. I'm retired from all that.”

“Oh, so you and Megatron have something in common.”

Rodimus sneered, making Nera puff up, hissing.

“I don't have to take this from you. If I had known it was Megatron I would have declined the job. I don't like getting mixed up in all your Autobot Decepticon nonsense. Not anymore.”

The shapeshifter turned away, talons clicking on the floor as Nera padded after her.

“You should tell them.”

Nera sat on her shoulder, using her tail to flick the collar of Turquoise's jacket down to expose the Wrecker insignia.

“They need a leader. Not a massacre causing monster. The real Wreckers are gone, Nera. You know that.”

The little dimetreodile hopped down, turning to glare up at Turquoise.

“Then make them real Wreckers. You have a chance again, to fight, do what you love.  I remember how you were at Luna 1, you loved that.”

Black scales creased as Turquoise looked down at her companion, blue eyes pale.

“And Blackjack almost got kidnapped.”

“No, he didn't. It was part of his plan. You're better than you think, so shape up! You think Springer is sitting around and moping?!”

Nera barked, tail lashing. She smiled when Turquoise stood up, cracking her knuckles.

“One bout won't hurt I suppose.”

As the final sliver of sun vanished, Turquoise crouched down, summoning up all her fire. The smoke cloud manifested itself slowly, as it had only been used once in a long period. Sharp horns, wings larger than a Seeker’s, a tail lined with razor sharp spines, and the red and tan scales that had earned her the nickname so long ago gleaned in the fading light. The turquoise edge of her ears and wings gleamed, the same color as the intelligent, firey eyes. Blackjack was gaping. Turquoise looked like a true beast, a dragon of ages long past.

“This is your true form?”

“No. Pray you never see that.”

She growled, a deep primordial sound. The dragon opened her wings, taking to the sky and letting out a bellowing roar as a rough shape appeared on the horizon. It was time.

Nera had never seen so many foes at once. And it was fun, she kept changing her shape, confusing them so that she could bite them in half or just knock them away. Eventually she settled back into her normal form, and the bot she had been fighting laughed.

“Big mistake, organic.”

He wasn't laughing when Nera latched onto his servo and ripped the entire thing clean off.

Blackjack had kept under Turquoise, it as the others had called her, Fireflesh. A jet of flame scorched its way through the enemy lines, and Blackjack ran through, looking for anything salvageable.

“If it isn't Tyrest’s treacherous heir.”

Those words made him freeze, the remaining part of his old altmode singing with electricity. The voice was creaky and almost elegant, but it couldn't fool him.

“I'm not his. I was never his. Don't call me his.”

Deathsaurus laughed, a hollow, mocking laugh.

“Once we're finished here, I suppose his little group would live to have you back. And the Queen of everything they stand against. The Autobot with no badge, the Maker Of Massacres, the one who smote Overlord himself. You've brought me Fireflesh.”

“Don't even talk about turning her in. Turquoise is twice the person you'll ever be.”

He gasped as talons curled around his neck cables, his servos going to the larger ones around his throat.

“Blackie!”

Nera.

“G..go.”

He choked out, earning another laugh from Deathsaurus.

“Yes. She's just a lab rat who got lucky. Nothing special.”

The sound of Nera snarling in anger only made him more frantic, trying to tell his friend to run, to escape.

“I'll let her go. Only because she's worthless to me. You, however, you're sire will be thrilled to have you back.”

“Dead. He's dead.”

Blackjack clawed at the servo holding him up, years selling at his optics.

“It takes more than that to kill Tyrest I'm afraid. You have quite the bounty on your helm.”

Nera was gone, and his spark lifted slightly at that. Buy there was no way…

“HEY ICE SUCKER!”

Blackjack was thrown to the ground when a round object hit Deathsaurus directly between the optics, sending him flying back and releasing Blackjack. Nera was sitting behind his helm, holding another hockey puck in her claws.

“That's a way to do it.”

“Shut up and run asshat.”

As soon as the panic bubble glowed  around them, Megatron sighed.

“This wasn't your fight.”

Turquoise laughed, her scales charred and blackened.

“I wouldn't want to die any other way, than like this. Impossible to escape and getting to kill something beforehand.”

Her eyes were brighter now, no longer holding the quiet melancholy she'd had before. The dark matter danced around them, it lurched away from Turquoise's smoking body each time it neared her. They were only waiting now.

“Were you really happy.”

The dragon said quietly, and Megatron nodded.

“I was too. I'm glad that I got to spend time with my… with my family.”

“Good, because you're gonna be stuck with us for a lot longer!”

Blackjack and Rodimus, clutching Brainstorm’s briefcase, were holding their servos out to the laur.

“Brainstorm’s pulling us back in five seconds! Come on!”

Megatron’s optics went sullen, and Rodimus’ faceplates went worried. But at the last moment, a fiery talon and a gray hand grabbed don, and suddenly Turquoise and Megatron, along with their rescuers, were back. Turquoise was smiling.

“You sure you have to go?”

Tailgate stood up to his maximum height, earning a smile from Turquoise. She had taken the form of a shuttle, large enough to get the trio offworld but not much else.

“Yeah, sorry. We're wanderers.”

“We don't stick around.”

Nera chimed in.

“Because we have so much more to do.”

Blackjack finished, his back straightening.

“They were nice. Hope everything goes okay for them.”

Nera was draped across the ship's copilot seat, tail twitching.

“I hope so too.”

Turquoise said, rubbing her hand over her friends back.

“I really do.”

[illyriantremors]

ACOMAF Part 2.1 The House of Wind: Chapters 14-27 (Rhys POV)

Chapter 14: Feyre’s First Visit to the Townhouse Chapter 15: Rhys Shows Feyre Velaris & Flies Her to Dinner Chapter 16: Feyre’s Dinner with the Inner Circle Chapter 17: Feyre’s Nightmare Chapter 18: The Bone Carver Chapter 19: After the Bone Carver Chapters 20-21: The Weaver & the Memory of Ianthe Chapters 22-24: The First Visit to the Mortal Realms & Meeting Nesta and Elain Chapters 25-27: Feyre trains with Rhys & the Attor Attacks

AN: Chapters 14-27 of ACOMAF from Rhys’s POV! Chapter 14 is pasted below while the remaining chapters linked above go to AO3. I’ve started work on the next set, but don’t have much yet. Enjoy!

Thank you, as always, to @kitashiwrites, who is my rock, my spirit animal, and my grammar instructor who makes this so much easier. Thank you for always instilling confidence in me when I feel like such utter crap about writing these. Your enthusiasm never ceases to amaze me!

Chapter 14

Summary: Rhys brings Feyre to Velaris after saving her from Tamlin's prison in the Spring Court. His inner circle crashes their brief landing in Rhys's townhouse, sending Feyre upstairs. Downstairs, Rhys chats with his family and learns about another temple raid from Azriel.

You Are Safe Here

"Welcome to my home.”

It was a damned miracle to watch Feyre survey my townhouse, the most private space I occupied. And here she was suddenly inside it.

The moment was so surreal, that I had to lean against the oak threshold separating us from the sitting room to keep myself steady. Feyre, despite what I could tell was a decent amount of surprise at where she’d landed and a considerable amount of concern for what she might find beyond these walls, didn’t miss a single detail. From the plush fabrics lining the furniture to the woven carpets and open windows, to worn bookcases and soft sounds from outside, she saw it all.

And I wondered if some part of her registered that she was really seeing a glimpse of me.

The palace she had spent two weeks in miles and miles away was easily representative of one half of me - the calculating, regal half that delighted in luxury without apology. But that portion was also who I was as a diplomat, the High Lord.

Here, I was home.

And she was still apprehensive.

“What is this place?” she asked and she sounded almost disbelieving, like any moment she might wake up.

“This is my house. Well, I have two homes in the city. One is for more... official business, but this is only for me and my family.”

Feyre kept a sharp eye as her gaze flicked immediately away from me and stared down the hallway behind her questioning. The house replied with a warm, open silence - an invitation of sorts.

“Nuala and Cerridwen are here,” I said. “But other than that, it’ll just be the two of us.”

I waited for her to say something, but her biting commentary never came. Mercifully, it wasn’t the silence I’d come to expect that cried out hatred upon my back when I left the room or slashed at my soul with cuts and sneers to keep me out. Feyre was simply frozen in time and space as she stilled to look at the walls. I only hoped it was more from shock than any actual discomfort. Being here - I needed her to be okay with it, with even just this one small part of me, the most honest and normal portion there was. And also, the most human - the most like her.

Too long a stretch of silence passed. I took a careful step towards her, ready to explain further, when a shock of sound slammed into the fogged glass of the atrium door that led outside. I didn’t have to look to know who was behind it.

“Hurry up, you lazy ass,” Cassian barked behind the glass. Feyre’s head whizzed to the sound. She looked exhausted just by the very idea she might have another guest to deal with let alone two more. I knew for Cassian to be here this early, he wouldn’t be alone.

“Two things, Feyre darling,” I said, interrupted by another pounding.

“If you’re going to pick a fight with him, do it after breakfast.”

Azriel.

Feyre’s brow peaked as if she could feel the shadows that cocooned my brother day and night even with a door between them. Knowing Azriel, he was likely experiencing something similar himself thanks to his smokey friends.

“I wasn’t the one who hauled me out of bed just now to fly down here,” Cassian said tartly before sneering at Az, “Busybody.”

The exchange was so brief, and yet, when Feyre slid her gaze to me at the end of it, it was hard not to laugh - to smile. Even if only a little bit.

The reality of the moment hit me then in full force. Feyre was little more than a handful of steps away from my brothers, my family, my city - people and places I thought she would never see except maybe on a battlefield or in a court room with sentinels from an entirely different court at her side.

And yet, here we were. Cassian complaining about being dragged out of bed at an ungodly hour like I knew he would, Azriel dutifully pushing him here to do it. And Feyre hadn’t even met them yet but she was so close to seeing them, seeing it all.

The thought made me rather... giddy inside.

But she was tired. The hollows under her eyes were a deepening purple and her shoulders sagged at her sides so that her back and neck slumped. One would have thought she’d never slept a day in her life, never mind the hours she’d spent in bed only thirty minutes ago.

“One,” I said, making sure to shirk off the smile threatening to break free so she could understand that she needn’t worry here, “no one - no one - but Mor and I are able to winnow directly inside this house. It is warded, shielded, and then warded some more. Only those I wish - and you wish - may enter. You are safe here; and safe anywhere in this city, for that matter. Velaris’s walls are well protected and have not been breached in five thousand years. No one with ill intent enters this city unless I allow it. So go where you wish, do what you wish, and see who you wish.”

Another pounding sounded at the door and again, it was an effort not to give in to Cassian’s inexhaustible ability to dig at me.

“Those two in the antechamber,” I continued, ready for the snide remark sure to follow, “might not be on that list of people you should bother knowing, if they keep banging on the door like children.”

I didn’t bother lowering my voice so they wouldn’t hear me outside, but I hadn’t raised it either, and all the same, Cassian still pounded relentlessly on the door and added, “You know we can hear you, prick.”

A little thrill went up my spine that I stood solidly firm over to hide it. They were so close - both halves of my life. So, so unbearably close that the anticipation of it was just as much a nuisance to lock down as a happiness to feel.

“Secondly,” I said casually, with just enough emphasis to piss Cass off and with any luck earn a long suffering sigh from Azriel, “in regard to the two bastards at my door, it’s up to you whether you want to meet them now, or head upstairs like a wise person, take a nap since you’re still looking a little peaky, and then change into city-appropriate clothing while I beat the hell out of one of them for talking to his High Lord like that.”

Feyre looked at me in bewilderment. Her shields were in perfect tact. I didn’t want to rifle through her head for every little emotion and thought, not at the cost of her personal space. But I would have been lying if I’d said it would not have been nice for this to have been one of those beautiful moments where she let me in on her mind’s turbulent seas to understand her better. What I would have given to know what she was thinking just then and here I was too scared out of my mind to ask while I waited for a decision, even as the adrenaline begged me to...

Her face appeared easy at first, some of those muscles in her tired body relaxed as she surveyed my face in a way I’d never seen from her before. And then it fell, miserably low and I thought she might yawn or fall over on the spot.

“Just come get me when they’re gone,” she finally said. It was an effort not to let my disappointment show. Part of me wanted everyone I loved to meet then and there and be done with it, but her peace was more important.

Then again, that peace might never be possible if Feyre found my family wasn’t one she could be a part of, if she found them too -

“You Illyrians are worse than cats yowling to be let in the back door.” Amren’s razor thin voice cut the silence between Feyre and I sharply. I heard the handle of the door jingle harshly as she tried it. “Really, Rhysand? You locked us out?”

Whatever was in Amren’s tone today was not one Feyre was ready to face apparently because she immediately dismissed herself without another word and made for the stairs where I knew Nuala and Cerridwen would be waiting to intercept her. I listened for her footsteps, waiting until she was well out of the danger zone, before I opened the door and my entryway was flooded by my hulking brothers and the short, blunt woman who somehow outsized them both.

Cassian clapped me on the back, shaking the chill off of him as he strode past me towards the warmer air. “Welcome home, bastard,” he said by way of greeting. “I sensed you were back. Mor filled me in, but I-”

Amren stepped directly into my path, cutting Cassian off with an annoyed glare. “Send your dogs out in the yard to play, Rhysand. You and I have matters to discuss.”

But while her displeasure had been directed at Cassian, it was Azriel who replied with that cold, deadly insistence, the only one who dared go toe-to-toe with Amren for my attention. When it came to political matters, at least.

“As do I,” Azriel said and there was no mistaking his meaning. Amren didn’t so much as move.

“We were here first,” Cassian said, much more casually than Az. “Wait your turn, Tiny Ancient One.”

Okay, maybe Azriel wasn’t the only one willing to play with Amren. The snarl that ripped from between her sharp teeth was low, but perfectly clear.

Mor startled me when she rounded the corner from the kitchen, a steaming cup of tea between her hands and wearing a lazy set of loose pants and a sweater that said she could have just woken up. I wondered whether she’d stayed the night here after forewarning Azriel of the last day’s events or if she’d met him this morning and winnowed in without bothering to change.

“Why is everyone here so early?” She said, still sleepy. “I thought we were meeting tonight at the House.”

Everyone stared at me waiting and for a second, seeing my house full of people with nothing but complaint while Feyre went through her own mini-hell adjusting upstairs was tiresome. “Trust me, there’s no party. Only a massacre, if Cassian doesn’t shut his mouth.”

Cass blew me off. “We’re hungry. Feed us. Someone told me there’d be breakfast.”

Az’s lips gave a tug as he chose a plush backless seat to lean over, ready as ever to get straight to business.

“Pathetic,” Amren said. Never one to be outdone, she took her own seat across from the shadowsinger. “You idiots are pathetic.”

“We know that’s true. But is there food?” Mor flashed that insatiable grin of hers that won the hearts of men and women up and down Prythian, but Cass cut across her with a derisive snort.

“You’re the one who just came from the kitchen,” he said.

“That was for tea,” she said raising her mug and shaking it faintly in his direction. “And you know I don’t cook.”

“Can’t cook, you mean,” Azriel said. Their eyes met across the room and held some kind of quiet, teasing exchange the rest of us were never privy to.

When the shadows informed him that Mor’s eyes weren’t the only attention he held, Azriel cleared his throat and spoke in that cool stoicism of his. “So what’s the plan?”

“Hold on, hold on,” Cassian said. “I’d like to know what prompted these oncoming plans before we actually get in to them. Some of us don’t have shadows and personal secretaries to inform us of every little movement Rhys makes.” He gestured between Azriel and Mor. It was Mor who replied.

“Some of us,” she said, staring pointedly at Cassian, “need to learn the value of minding their own business and a little patience. And I thought we were eating first?”

“By the Cauldron,” I said, snapping my fingers. The coffee table filled with fruit and muffins. Mor squealed, reaching for her preferred chocolate muffins, Cassian not far behind taking a fat pomegranate, their conflict temporarily forgotten. Amren eyed the food with clear disdain.

“Miserable though this is,” Amren said, “I too would like a full account of recent events and the plans to follow.” Amren gave me half a heartbeat before her eyes lifted slowly to the ceiling above us where Feyre undoubtedly stayed, hopefully fast asleep between the fresh sheets of her new bed.

Everyone followed suit and I sank in to a chair, taking a nut muffin for myself with a few bites, and then let the incident in the Spring Court unfold.

“So she stays here from now on,” Azriel asked. I nodded. “And you’re content to trust her with the knowledge of this city - with Velaris?”

“Obviously,” I said. “She’s here, isn’t she.”

“You know what I mean, Rhys.”

“Azriel isn’t wrong,” Amren said. “This is a considerable step, Rhysand.”

“One that hasn’t been weighed without a great deal of consideration, Amren,” I replied and she eyed me stonily. I didn’t appreciate the full use of my name.

Though I’d only taken a handful of seconds before acquiescing to Feyre’s request to join me here, there had never been a doubt in my mind that she could handle keeping this secret or even that she would if she chose to assume the burden of it. I trusted my mate with that secret - and so much more, really.

“Feyre is now in a period of transition,” I went on. “She has survived a great deal in her return to the Spring Court alone and it has cost her almost everything. For that and because of certain... understandings with her, she is to be afforded the rights of this court until such a time comes where she chooses to no longer be apart of it. And even then, her word is good that she will not betray us.” Azriel’s shadows tightened tensely around his body as if searching for the validity of my statement. “None of you have reason to doubt me on this.”

I didn’t need to add that that was final. “And now?” Azriel asked.

“You’ll meet her tonight and have your fun, and then tomorrow we work. So long as Feyre resides in Velaris, we know she is safe. But if she should leave this city, Tamlin is bound to have every sentinel and guard in his court trying to find her whether she wants it or not. And not just Tamlin.”

Mor shuddered and swallowed the bite of fruit she’d been chewing. “You think others will be looking for her? Our enemies?”

“And Tamlin’s.”

“Because of-”

“Amarantha? Yes. Anyone who sided with her and managed to get out of that mountain alive will almost undoubtedly be looking for her.” My mind flicked through the suspects, from the Attor to creatures of a much darker sort. “If they’ve allied with Hybern, then it’s almost a guarantee. Tamlin might be foolish enough to think no one will suspect Feyre of being more than just another High Fae noble, but I am not.”

“You think she is more than what she appears?” Cassian asked, genuinely intrigued - enough to stop chewing, at least.

“I already know she is, and will discuss it another time. For now...” I looked at Azriel. He had information, but his eyes narrowed, the shadows flickering over his face in a haze that told me to wait. “For now, eat your food and make my life a living hell like you always do.”

Cassian huffed a laugh and swiped another piece of fruit off the table, this time an orange. He threw a blueberry that stuck in Mor’s hair and I thought she might light his leathers on fire.

They stayed for most of the morning. For the most part, we chatted about strategies for keeping Feyre safe from the enemies who might try and snatch her if the time came for her to leave while at the same time scheming how to use that to our advantage if it was Hybern or one of his cronies behind any attacks. And then there was general conversation about the war itself, the Illyrian war-bands constantly harping at me from the North, the temples, Tamlin...

It was exhausting. As excited as I’d been having them arrive and share the same roof as my mate, part of me would rather have joined Feyre upstairs and taken a good, long nap away from the endless chatter about subjects hell bent on killing me.

Amren pulled me aside onto the outdoor patio midway through the discussion to give her own private report. She left as soon as it was over and Azriel took her place.

“Any news yet?” I asked. Azriel didn’t have to ask what I meant as he eyed the balcony to Feyre’s room just above us.

“Nothing,” he said. “Tamlin put the entire court on lock down almost as soon as he realized Feyre was missing. The gap was open for a short time and likely only because he wasn’t home when Mor got her out. I’m not sure he realized right away what had happened.”

“His wards are weak - even for him.” Something that was deeply unsettling. For a High Lord intent on protecting what was owed to him, he sure missed one hell of a show from Feyre for all her trouble should have alerted him to what was happening in his own home. An explosion like that... he should have met Mor and I at the gates.

“Keep an eye on the court,” I said. “Go back tomorrow yourself and see if you can’t get anything out of it. She’s only been here a day and Tamlin’s not going to let this go even if Feyre shows up and puts a knife in his heart herself.”

Azriel nodded. A cruel shadow twisted off his lips as if it spoke the order itself to whatever eyes and ears awaited him tomorrow in the Spring Court - that they should be watching. Azriel didn’t move.

“Spit it out,” I said.

“It’s happened again,” he said with that cold, unyielding blade of a voice he had.

I sighed. “Tell me.”

And I already knew what was coming.

His face cracked just the slightest, knowing the blow he was about to deal.

“There’s been another attack. Same as the rest - priestesses slain, the place ransacked, and something missing even if it’s not apparent what.”

Relentless, icy rage glittered in my veins. Had I not wanted to leave Feyre to possibly meet my little entourage for the first time alone, I would have shot straight up into the skies and flown until sundown.

“Where?” I asked instead.

But just as before, I already knew the answer. Knew the doom it spelt. Knew that another clue to the riddle I suspected I’d already solved was coming.

Azriel’s lips tightened into a hard line before he answered, his eyes cold and screaming with the same rage I felt.

“The Temple at Sangravah.”

Cesere...

Sangravah...

And countless others.

My mind flashed to the war room I’d shown Feyre, and the maps strewn with marks and figures.

War was coming.

Thanks for reading, folks! Hit the links up top to continue reading the next chapter.

[definitelydiggs-blog]

Fill Up My Cup (Part 1?)

I’m really nervous about posting, but what the hell? Why not?

Word count: 1621

Warnings: cursing, domestic violence

I hope you enjoy! 

The dripping of water echoed through the house. All you could hear was the soft drips, splashing against the marble sink. That was the only sign of noise, or movement, or anything in the empty apartment.

So this is what it feels like to be alone, you thought bitterly. You had screamed at Logan to pack up his bags last night, screaming that you hated every ounce of him. Shouting that he had ruined you, you snatched anything you could get your hands on, sending vases, lamps, and pillows alike hurling across the room.

Rolling out of bed and running a hand through the hair knotted atop your head, a product of a sleepless night and too many tears for a lifetime, you cursed as a piece of glass embedded itself in the bottom of your foot. Scowling at the small trickle of blood leaving the wound, you hobbled to the bathroom, not sure if you were more concerned about the blood or the goddamn drip-drop of the sink that didn’t seem to stop. You slammed the palm of your hand on the handle of the sink, ceasing the noise and then settled atop the toilet lid to examine the massacre that had amassed on the bottom of your foot. As you reached to your right to grab a washcloth to begin cleaning up, a shrill ringing sounded from what sounded like the living room.

You dropped your head, groaning. I thought I turned that shit off last night before he even came home. You tried to remember how your phone escaped your wrath last night as it continued to ring, stopping only for a brief second before starting again. Snatching the glass out of your foot with a pair of tweezers sitting on the counter and wiping the bottom of your bloodied foot after dampening the washcloth, the phone ceased ringing just as you got to your feet.

“Are you fucking kidding me? Stupid ass motherfucking phone. I fucking hate this-” The words trailed off after reaching the living room, seeing a note sitting next to your phone.

It was addressed to you. But just because he placed right where you could see it did not at all mean you would read it. Sure, he took the time to write it, but that in no way excused everything that happened. A letter meant jack shit when every word he spoke was laced with lies, his promises soaked in poisons. Tossing it in the trashcan did nothing but cause anger to swell in you as you saw the re-stained shirt and towels sitting on top, a reminder the night that had ended just hours ago.

Shaking your head to disperse the thoughts from the previous night, you crossed the room back to your phone. Picking it up you glanced at the screen seeing the battery had drained over night and finding all the notifications, starting at 8:13 last night and stretching to the most recent one from ten minutes ago, reading 6:02 AM. A number of people had texted you: your sister, a few coworkers, one from Lin, another few from Pippa, and then 37 texts from Daveed, followed by four phone calls. Deciding you would call them all back later, you stepped around the remaining glass on the floor and climbed back into bed, plugging in your phone before getting comfortable, wrapping yourself in blankets. Determined to stay in bed for the foreseeable future, you rolled over just as your phone began ringing again.

Grasping at the the nightstand, you closed a grip on the shrieking device, swiping to answer before bringing it to rest on your cheek.

“I swear to god this better be important, it is six a-fucking-m and I would like to go back to sle-”

“Oh thank god you’re okay! I was so worried. (Y/N), please tell me you’re at home.” Daveed’s panicked voice screamed through the phone. Confusion coated your tone as you answered.

“Yes, I am home. Why wouldn’t I be?”

“I was so stressed all night and then you didn’t answer my texts and then Logan texted me saying you needed space, which sounded like bullshit. And anything coming out of his mouth is total bullshit, so I knew something was wrong.”

“I’m fine, Daveed. I just want to sleep.” It wasn’t difficult to sound tired, but sounding fine posed more of a problem, especially once your voice cracked at the end.

“I can hear it in your voice. Why are you crying?”

“I’m not, I just don’t feel great after last night. Long night and all,” you offered weakly, hoping he wouldn’t ask for details.

“I’m guessing it didn’t go too well then, huh?” He laughed humorlessly.

“Yeah,” you answered softly. More words sat at the back of your throat, but you couldn’t force them out. Last night took all the strength you had and left you with loneliness, tossing a three year relationship down the drain, leaving you with little else.

“Do you want me to come over? I can bring you soup from the Thai place, or bagels, or whatever you want actually,” Daveed offered.

“I think I’m just going to sleep, but thank you.”

“Okay, I’ll drop it off then and it’ll be there whenever you feel like you can eat.”

You winced at his words. He needed to stay away. He couldn’t see you like this, a total wreck still in pajamas and covered in a coating of sadness you couldn’t shake.

“I swear I’m fine, Daveed. I just need to rest.” Your voice cracked again. Cursing at yourself internally, you knew you gave yourself away.

“Now I’m definitely coming. What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. I’m all good.”

“Can you just stop lying to me, (Y/N)? Please. You had me worried sick because you didn’t answer and then Logan was saying…” He trailed off.

“What did he say?” You demanded, sitting up.

“Forget it. I know you aren’t okay so can you please tell me what’s wrong before I get there. I’d like to prepare myself before I get to your apartment and I’m surprised.” He rushed out the words and you could hear the faint honking of horns, signalling he was already hailing a cab and on his way to find out what the hell you were hiding.

“You can’t not tell me. What did he say?” Exiting your bed for the second time that morning, you ripped open the dresser drawer and quickly found a new pair of sweatpants and one of Daveed’s old shirts buried at the bottom of the drawer. You knew you needed to try and fix yourself a little bit. Daveed had already gotten in the taxi, meaning you only had about ten minutes to look presentable. Well, you thought caustically, as presentable as I can get.

“Forget I said anything. I just need to check on you. Fuck, (Y/N), I know you’re upset but if I find out he said anything, or did anything… I’m gonna fucking kill him.” He whispered into the phone, trying not to alert the taxi driver.

You rolled your eyes.

“Whatever, just use your key when you get here. I’ll be in the shower.”

The next question struck you with a sense of fear you never knew Daveed could incite. His tone was nothing but calm, but you could sense the ice underlying the words.

“Did he touch you?”

You almost dropped the phone. Your blood ran cold, but your face felt hot. Anger, embarrassment, and shame bubbled in your veins.

Looking into the mirror for the first time since Logan had slammed the door last night, you felt the tears come on, hot and quick. You closed your eyes after glancing for just a second, unable to even look.

Hearing the sharp intake of breath, Daveed inhaled deeply from the other end of the call.

“Did. He. Hit. You?” He broke down the sentence, pausing after every word.

“Please don’t make me answer that,” you choked out. Finally, you looked up and studied your own features.

Bruises adorned your cheeks, a multitude of purples, reds, and pinks melding together to form a web of color. Rosy red skin circled your eyes, and you couldn’t tell if it was extension from the bruises that stretched up your temple, or if they were still red from all the crying. Dried blood rested along your lip, crusted from both the swollen skin and the cut extending on the left side of your top lip to the edge of the bottom lip. The bruised showed faint yellowing around the edges, proving they were hours old.

You set the phone on the counter as acid welled at the base of your throat. Unable to move, you simply hunched over the sink and emptied everything resting in your stomach. You could hear Daveed panicking as the phone rested beside you, but all you could focus on was the bile erupting from your stomach.

Catching your breath, you hung your head, refusing to make eye contact with the battered woman trying to catch your eye in the mirror. That’s not me, is it?

“Jesus fucking christ, (Y/N), are you okay?” Daveed continued yelling from the phone next to you.

“Can you please get me there any faster?” You could hear him pleading with the cab driver.

“Daveed,” your breath caught in your throat.

“Were you throwing up? What the hell did he do to you?” He was demanding answers, unsatisfied with your lack of response.

“Daveed,” you whispered again, so quietly you weren’t even sure if you had actually said anything at all.

“What happened, sweetheart?” His voice softened now, trying to ease you.

“He fucked me up.”

thoughts?

[celebrityvictimmoved]

💔 sending one of these was a given oK

send a heart for a specific kiss( 💔 : an interrupted kiss; currently accepting )

             To think her life would be back to some semblance of normalcy after two years of dealing with reporters and police and coming to terms with the fact that two boys she trusted were psychopaths in sheep’s clothing the whole time had been some level of wishful thinking—and the worst part was, Sidney was fully aware of it the whole time. Even on days where things seemed mostly alright, there was a nagging sensation that was ever-present, clawing its way under her skin, feeding on her doubt, practically eating her from the inside out: it isn’t over yet.

              It didn’t stop her from trying to push such intrusive thoughts about Woodsboro from her mind. So the STAB movie was coming out, so the prank calls were increasing in frequency—so what? She had a supportive roommate. Sure, Hallie could be a bit pushy when it came to social interaction (particularly within the Greek Life community), but she meant well, and Sidney appreciated it. Randy was a pillar she could lean on whenever days were especially hard and she had the pressure of the media weighing down on her—he was there for the massacres. He understood. It was an interesting turn of events that landed them both at a college in Ohio, but it was also a blessing. As much as she didn’t want to admit it, Sidney needed Randy. She needed someone there to assure her that she was still herself—that there were still parts of her untouched, untainted by Billy Loomis. Derek, charming and sweet, had ways of pulling her out of her more sullen moods and redirecting her focus on the positive—the good.

               And then there was Mickey. Comical Mickey, always good for a laugh, always looking to have fun and not take everything seriously all the time, but equally as kind. As nurturing. As comforting. Forging a friendship with him had been almost effortless; they had just clicked.

              Forging a relationship? Not intended—but when did anything ever go according to plan? She never planned on her mother being murdered. She never planned on losing her virginity to a psychopath. She never planned on going to college in Ohio (incredibly tame, in comparison). 

               And while she didn’t plan on this moment, she was still there—wrapped in the warmth of his embrace, chest pressed against chest, forehead brushing against forehead now and again with each kiss exchanged between the two. It’s reckless. After being taunted by that voice, chased through a fraternity house and questioned by police, she was tired. Beyond that, she was anxious—and there was Mickey, offering her a shoulder to cry on, soothing words of comfort, and even calm silence when she wanted it. When she needed it. And right now, against her better judgment, she needed this. 

                                                                        She needed him.

                 She’s fallen so deep into the softness of his lips against her own and the tender way his hand is caressing her lower back that she doesn’t notice he’s withdrawn her other hand until she’s feeling a sharp pinch under her ribcage; she pulls back suddenly, gasping, pain radiating on the spot—instinctively, her head drops to see the handle of a knife protruding out—and as she looks back up, gaze wide, welling with tears from the agony, it’s all ripped out of her. Blood is spilled, her palm presses against the wound, she cries out—a scream of desperation as she hopes for someone to find her before it’s too late, but the blood’s already dripping out of her mouth. Yet that’s not the worst part. 

                  “Come on, Sid.” His voice is light, and he’s smiling—like that first day of orientation, pearly whites all neatly lined in a row ( the teeth of a lion waiting to rip her flesh from her bone while she begs for a quick death ). He’s happy—no—he’s radiant. Hand raises the knife , painted with her blood, and he gestures casually with it, taking a step forward for every step she takes back. “Don’t you know history repeats itself?”

                    Mouth opens wide, Wilhelm scream rising in her throat, seconds from release—

                               BEEP. BEEP. BEEP. BEEP. BEEP.

                  A jolt—she’s sitting upright in tandem with her eyes flying open, cold sweat clinging to every inch of her as her hands claw at her sheets, pulling them off, throwing them onto the floor. She looks down, touches her stomach, her chest, every inch of her torso—nothing. No blood, no pain, no torn flesh—and as she looks around, becoming fully aware of her surroundings ( and that wide-eyed, mothering stare Hallie is giving her ), she swallows thickly, reaching over to the alarm clock and pounding the snooze button with her fist. 

                  “Nightmare,” Sidney responds simply, ignoring the chill clinging to her despite the warm morning light spilling into the room. “I’m—we’ve got the show coming up, it’s my first big role here—I don’t want to blow it.”

                   Truth be told, theater’s the furthest thing from her mind as the doubt seeps back in. Crawling. Clawing. Eating at her from the inside out. Without another word, she falls back onto her pillows, staring up at the ceiling—and though she’s too disturbed to go back to sleep, she hits the snooze another three times. Nightmares, she can deal with.

                            It’s what’s beyond the realm of sleep that unnerves her.

[ipushedthewrongbutton]

Skyrim is such a fun game??? But also surprisingly emotional

it’s been more or less since the game came out that i played it. I don’t even know how many years but long enough for me to not remember anything but the literal first scene, so i decided, since we’re in quarantine and all, this would be the perfect time to start over and finally at least finish the main quest.  back when i first played, my english wasn’t great so i didnt understand upgrading or taking random quests from random npc’s so i mostly went along where the lil white arrows told me to go.

NOW THO, i can upgrade weapons, gear, i can actually understand alchemy and enchanting, i can do as many useless quests as i want and i have the internet at my disposal in case i was too stoopid to figure out the next step myself.

Started out great, clicked the wrong button while picking a name and so instead  of pressing the backspace button, i confirmed my male breton’s name as Prisoner, for the rest of the fucking game. He looks like a sweetheart tho who’s always confused, thin and wiry, ponytail, can’t grow a beard to save his life but he has a scar under his eye. He’s amnesiac, was arrested at the border, has no fucking clue what he was doing there.

I didn’t wanna think up a backstory, hence...

I immediately decided, fuck it, i ain’t fighting this civil war, I’m a breton, y’all nords do whatever the fuck u want. And i stayed with that. I briefly thought about choosing a side depending on whose point resonated with me more. Turns out, neither point is entirely valid. One side has no respect of history and culture, the other side is racist. So Prisoner was neutral for the entirety of the game. Neither Ulfric nor Tulius got any attention from this homie.

What did receive attention tho was the main quest and boi, i know everyone hates chosen one stories. And they’re right. But man, i love chosen one stories. And my baby boi is the dragonborn and he’s like ?????? And everyone is like “you defeat dragons and you are the hero everyone waited for” and my dude is like ????? Ok??? Sure?????? And he just goes to places and helps as many people as possible on the way. 

Fuckin, the best thing was sideplots happening BY ACCIDENT. Prisoner goes on a quest to murder a shitty orphanage keeper, goes to tell the kid who commissioned him, he feels pretty okay about it. Then he gets The Letter. “we know” with a black handprint. And the shit that left my body at that moment, could’ve started a new nation. I mean, i had a 35 damage weapon at that point and i had slain my, what, fifth dragon at that point so i wasn’t worried about dying from assassins but THE INTIMIDATION WORKED. 

LITTLE DID PRISONER KNOW that this would be the biggest emotional rollercoaster in the goddamn game, no lie. Being the chosen one, sure. Defeating dragons that will cause the apocalypse, no pressure. Become thane of a city, aight. But THEN I GET KIDNAPPED IN MY BRANDNEW HOME AND I WAKE UP IN A SHACK WITH A LIL LADY TELLING ME TO KILL ONE OF THREE PEOPLE. THE FEAR I EXPERIENCED... but then they recruited me, and they’re all really cute colourful characters and we’re assassins and we’re the black brotherhood and we kill people for a living but we’re a Family. And my baby boi character had yet to experience anything like that. Sure the greybeards are mentor-ish but Prisoner never lived up on High Hrothgar amongst the old dudes. The blades did a roadtrip thing which was fun but then they kinda just squatted in their new headquarters and sent Prisoner on his merry way. But this, they had a sleeping place and a dining hall and a lil garden and the werewolf man gave me insulting nicknames and there’s a little girl who says she’s a vampire and to this day, I’m still not sure if she was telling the tRUTH OR NOT. 

AND THEN, AND THEN, the whole emperor thing happens, right, and that’s fucking hilarious. Prisoner with a chef’s head, i was cackling like a madman. And then AND THEN, THE BETRAYAL. ASTRID SAYS there’ll be a surprise up on the lil walkway bridge thing. And then there’s no one. AND THEN THERE’S SOLDIERS TELLING ME THEY’RE AMBUSHING HQ. AND I LOST. MY. SHIT. The thing wouldn’t let me fat travel either because the soldiers kept chasing me and i thought i was gonna have to ride Shadowmere all the way to the other side of skyrim, hysteric and worried about mY FAmILy. AND THEN i arrive at hq and there’s on of them PINNED TO THE TREE and like, guys. Guys. I was crying and full on immersion, i was like “nobody leaves here alive”, it was horrific, I didn’t do any of the stealthing, i just ripped them apart with my draugr greatsword, i already leveled up to the point where i cut my enemies’ heads off, it was glorious. It was so emotional, seeing werewolf man get killed, HE GAVE ME INSULTING NICKNAMES OKAY, and then finding Nazir and then hiding in a fucking coffin with a corpse who’s then like, trying to sooth me??  it was so emotional and i was crying tears of goddamn grief, i was Prisoner and Prisoner was me. The line between fantasy and reality: gone. I had spent HOURS upon DAYS on this game at this point, there was no going back.

hoo

..

So then i killed the emperor, and the reacting of the land was “...hm?” And i killed the general captain dude personal, like, optional my ass, i was gonna murder that shithead optional or not.

So i bought a house. In whiterun. It’s called breezehome (that’s not a choice) and I instantly decided if i ever get my own place, I’m calling it breezehome. I really hesitated about getting a house, since Prisoner is a nomad and constantly on the road, plus, has a “””””home””’”’” with the blades and other places in other quests. But then i decided it takes too much frigging effort to get all my loot sold cus all the pawnbrokers are pawn broke (HAH) and i can only sell them like a few gems and that’s it. And i needed a place to store all that shit, plus, i was going nuts from my collection of keys on my person aaaaaand i needed like a drawer to chuck em all in. And so that’s what i diiiiiiid. I later got the place in solitude too to finish the thane quest there but i literally only used the mannequins in the basement for my brotherhood and nightingale outfits. Which i both have worn literally once and then i just went with my guild outfit. 46 armor is good fuckin armor and the best i owned the entire game. Added some fire resistant shoes and suddenly dragons were super easy to defeat. I also found dragonbane somewhere, i literally only used it to wack dragons when they run aground. Otherwise i switched between a bow and a greatsword, both with the power of stealing health. Glorious. I was invincible. Well, with that and the power of Strategically Running Away. 

I thought it was weird my guy never got the choice of being a leader of literally anything. I mean, thane is an honorary title so you can do whatever you want and not get shit for it, like the privileged fucks we all are, but arch-mage when i only entered the school like last week? Head of the thief’s guild after going on 2 assignments, one of them being the chasing and murdering of the previous one? Never got the choice, was just like “you’re perfect for that” and me “‘I’m LITERALLY the least qualified person im this entire province!” Also i has a flute on my person at all times, bard’s college never taught me how to play it, the bastard’s, all they did was send me on errand in dusty cAVES. AT LEAST IN ASSASSIN’S CREED YOU HAVE TO CHASE THE SHANTIES IN ORDER TO PERFORM THE SHANTIES. 

Then the husband thing.

I knew there was an option to get married and adopt. I don’t want kids, in game or out. But i am disgustingly lonely (especially after the massacre of the black brotherhood) in game or out, so i looked it up and SURE ENOUGH, SAME SEX MARRIAGE IS DELISIOUSLY LEGAL IN SKYRIM, OH BLESSED DAY. Things i learned with this: i cannot handle flirting. It was cute and Prisoner and Falkar are adorable but I CRINGE, A LOT. 

Honestly, the most i personally had with this was envisioning Prisoner finally leaving for Sovngarde (after putting it off for as long as possible) and giving his final goodbye to his brand new husband like, caressing each other’s cheeks and holding each other’s shoulders, “i promise I’ll be home again soon” “and if you don’t, i will find you in sovngarde” “keep the hearth warm while I’m gone” “keep your sword sharp, you always forget to redo the enchantments” “‘don’t neglect the companions just because you wanna housewife” just sacharine as. Fuck. They were in bed togeher the night before, just talking about useless shit and holding each other t was very PG. And then after defeating Alduin, Prisoner finds himself back in Skyrim, relieved that it’s all fucking over at long fucking last, and he climbs on Shadowmere’s back, tired, and rides back home. When he arrives in Whiterun, tired and weathered, he spots Falkar just returning from a mission, he’s also travel weary and just unlocked the door to breezehome. He spots Prisoner and Shadowmere entering through the gates. They pause, they look at each other like they’ve been apart for years instead of days. Falkar drops his back, Prisoner gets off the horse and suddenly they’re running towards each other, till they smack together and they’re just holding each other, it’s the best hug ever. 

Aaaaand that’s kinda where i left it. I have more companion missions but i physically can’t get myself to do them because i feel the story is over, there’s no point. I can also still pick which side of the civil war i wanna take but it would be extremely out of character now.  it’s weird, i feel like crying again. I invested so much time in this story and these characters with so little effort. Cus usually, writing my own stories, it takes effort to develop and build them. Here, all i had to do was make choices and kill the bad guys. And I don’t want to say goodbye even though i feel like there’s nothing more to add.

[businessliveme]

Book Recommendations to Turn the Page From 2019 to 2020

(Bloomberg Opinion) –It’s natural this time of year to take a look back at the months past and forward to the days ahead, to think about what made the news and what might shape the future. In that spirit, we asked the columnists of Bloomberg Opinion about the books they read in 2019: What was their favorite? What’s a must-read before 2020 arrives? What would they buy as a gift from their local bookshop? Here’s what they said.

A Must-Read If You Hope to See 2120

Bush fires in Australia caused unprecedented pollution. Europe suffered a record-setting heat wave. Cyclones displaced more than 2 million people in Bangladesh. Venice was flooded by the highest tides since the 1960s. California’s power outages became the new normal. All of which concluded the hottest decade in history, according to the United Nations.

That’s why “The Uninhabitable Earth: Life After Warming” by David Wallace-Wells should be everyone’s must-read in 2020. Wallace-Wells provides overwhelming evidence that climate change is the existential threat to humanity. The planet is warming so much, so fast that it will increasingly reduce gross domestic product as much of the Earth becomes unlivable.

Neither despair nor denials are appropriate at this point. “We have all the tools we need, today, to stop it all,” writes Wallace-Wells. — Matthew A. Winkler

Wallace-Wells’s book is a haunting preview of what’s in store for our children and grandchildren if we don’t very rapidly wean ourselves off hydrocarbons. Severe drought, intense heatwaves and coastal flooding will force tens of millions of people to move. And there will be “much more fire, much more often, burning much of the land,” he writes.

Wallace-Wells is clear about who is chiefly to blame. More than half of fossil-fuel-related emissions have occurred in the past 30 years, meaning the planet “was brought to the brink of climate catastrophe within the lifetime of a single generation”

But he’s hopeful, not fatalistic. The task of “unplugging the entire industrial world from fossil fuels” also falls to a single generation. That generation is us. — Chris Bryant

A Must-Read for Embattled Presidents

Since 2019 has been an impeachment year, for me, that means reading about Watergate. There are actually four essential books: Fred Emery’s “Watergate” is the best telling of the story, from President Richard Nixon’s first dabbling with breaking the law all the way through his resignation. The two primary sources absolutely worth reading are the Nixon tapes collected in “Abuse of Power” and the chief of staff’s notes published as “The Haldeman Diaries.” What I’ll recommend, however, is Elizabeth Drew’s wonderful account of what it was like to live through the unraveling of a presidency, reissued as “Washington Journal: Reporting Watergate and Richard Nixon’s Downfall.” That’s the one I’m going to revisit before the Senate trial starts. And, if there’s time, the best Watergate movie, with apologies to the excellent “All the President’s Men,” is the 1999 comedy “Dick.” — Jonathan Bernstein

A Must-Read for Fugitive Financiers

“Billion Dollar Whale,” by Tom Wright and Bradley Hope, is a belter of a financial scandal takedown won’t take you long to read. It’s great fun — more Jackie Collins than forensic Michael Lewis analysis. It can be your guilty secret as you plow through the ever-more unbelievable scams of Jho Low, an ultra-aspiring Malaysian financier who sucks in the great and the (not so) good while ripping off his own country’s sovereign wealth fund 1MDB, with some big assists from Wall Street. A breathless collation of excellent investigative reporting, it shows real life really can be stranger than fiction. With the drama still unfolding in court, you can take a ringside seat as the authorities try to track down our antihero and get Goldman Sachs on the hook. Just try not to snigger at all the Hollywood flakes. — Marcus Ashworth

A Must-Read on the Protest Barricades

The words “Gilets Jaunes” never appear in “La France Qui Gronde” (The France That Grumbles, or Scolds), but the pages of this French volume are filled by the kind of ordinary people who made up the Yellow Vests movement that swept France a year ago.

Ahead of France’s presidential elections in 2017, journalists Jean-Marie Godard and Antoine Dreyfus visited a countryside grappling with suicides by farmers who couldn’t keep going, workers in one-industry backwaters whose jobs went to China, and parents and teachers who had given up on bureaucrats and were fixing their crumbling public school. Their frustration caught Prime Minister Emmanuel Macron unaware when his government tried to raise fuel taxes, sending mobs wearing roadside safety vests to occupy French traffic circles. Since then, protests against overbearing, corrupt or indifferent governments have lit up Algeria, Chile, Hong Kong, Iraq, Lebanon and more (the details differ, of course). This book helps understand the discontent in a country that knows something about inspiring revolutions. — Patrick McDowell

A Must-Read for Ruling the Boardroom

My pick: All five “A Song of Ice and Fire” novels by George R.R. Martin as well as the Dunk and Egg novellas and the Fire and Blood prequel. (Technically, they’re one body of work!)

Martin once asked in a Rolling Stone interview, “What was Aragorn’s tax policy?” It wasn’t entirely rhetorical: His point was that “Lord of the Rings” author J.R.R. Tolkien had “a very medieval philosophy: that if the king was a good man, the land would prosper.”

It’s not that simple, of course. Good leaders need more than good intentions. Charismatic heroes aren’t always (or even often) great administrators. Regardless of whether you watched the “Game of Thrones” HBO finale in 2019, if you’re a management geek like me you’ll enjoy reading about Martin’s power-hungry queens and honor-bound knights not only making decisions about love and duty, or dragons and White Walkers, but also about trade embargoes, luxury taxes and the Iron Bank’s singularly aggressive approach to recouping bad loans. The books are also enormously fun, which can’t be said of every leadership tome. And who knows? We may finally get the long-awaited sixth book in 2020. — Sarah Green Carmichael

A Must-Read for the Extremely Ambitious

“Our Man,” a biography of the late American diplomat Richard Holbrooke by George Packer, is a true page-turner, even at more than 600 pages. It is divided into three principal sections, each reflecting a chapter of Holbrooke’s eventful life and America’s geopolitical journey from the 1970s to the early 21st century.

I knew Holbrooke well in his days as a presidential envoy to Afghanistan and Pakistan. I was serving as supreme allied commander at NATO, in charge of the overall mission of some 150,000 troops, when he came often to Afghanistan. I found Holbrooke highly energetic, full of ideas (both good and bad), extremely self-confident (his abiding characteristic) and utterly ambitious. Until I read “Our Man” and was able to put his vast talent and vaster ego in perspective, I didn’t appreciate how the arc of his career tracked the peak to the essential end of what some have called the American Century. — James Stavridis

A Must-Read for Those Tired of Truthiness

Seymour M. Hersh’s memoir, “Reporter,” takes us back to the golden era of American newspapers, following Hersh’s rise from lowly copyboy to world-renowned investigative journalist. Hersh exposed hypocrisy and deceit throughout the U.S. government — from the My Lai Massacre in Vietnam to Watergate to the Iraq wars — proving that an unrelenting drive for truth can overcome even the deepest duplicity. And as remarkable as Hersh himself is, the book reveals the everyday heroism of his sources, many of them military officers or civil servants who shared information at great risk to their livelihoods and careers. They, as Hersh teaches us, knew that their true responsibility was “to uphold and defend the Constitution […] not the President, or an immediate superior.” — Scott Duke Kominers

A Must-Read for Women Making History, Part 1

It’s 1962, and a young Washington Post reporter is sent to cover the fight for integration at the University of Mississippi. But there’s a problem: She’s black, and no white hoteliers in Oxford will put her up for the night. No matter. She finds a black-owned funeral home — funeral directors make great sources, she notes — and beds down in the mortuary. The result: a page one story spotlighting black Mississippians’ response to James Meredith’s heroism.

Dorothy Butler Gilliam’s memoir “Trailblazer: A Pioneering Journalist’s Fight to Make the Media Look More Like America” is a story filled with insults and triumphs like these. And it couldn’t have come at a better time. As the U.S. heads into an election year with racial justice and women’s rights high on the agenda, our newsrooms remain disproportionately white and male (with predictable consequences for coverage). The media still doesn’t look like America. But history shows that change is possible, with trailblazers like Gilliam leading the way. — Tracy Walsh

A Must-Read for Women Making History, Part 2

Those of us who cover the Middle East — in my case, for two decades, first as a correspondent, now as a commentator — have long known that the finest journalism from the region is the handiwork of the women who work there. That this is not more widely recognized is a travesty that “Our Women on the Ground,” edited by Zahra Hankir begins, at last, to remedy.

It has been many years since I have, at the end of a book, felt compelled immediately to start again from the beginning. On second reading of this superb compendium of reporting by Arab woman, a spasm of envy led me to speculate that the gender of the writers was germane to their excellence: surely my own work could have approached these heights had I, a man, not been denied access to half the population of the region?

Spare yourself such unworthy thoughts and instead partake in the intelligence and depth of insight that radiate from these brilliant journalists. — Bobby Ghosh

A Must-Read for Orwellian Times

The defining book of 2019 focuses on 1984, or more properly, on “Nineteen Eighty-Four,” by George Orwell. Dorian Lynskey’s “The Ministry of Truth,” a biography of the novel, has the zest and momentum of a Stephen King novel, and the piercing clarity and dark sensibility of Orwell himself. It demonstrates that Orwell’s novel, published shortly before his death, is a synthesis of ideas that he had been developing for decades — about human nature, authoritarianism, rage, power, eroticism, memory and, above all, truth.

In the U.S. (and not only there), 2019 was a year in which palpable falsehoods have been stated so boldly, and by such prominent leaders, that it has been difficult to maintain one’s bearings. When tens of millions of people believe things that tens of millions of other people believe to be flatly false, truth has a tough time getting traction. Lynskey ends his book with Orwell’s explanation of why he wrote his novel: “The moral to be drawn from this dangerous nightmare situation is a simple one. Don’t let it happen. It depends on you.” — Cass Sunstein

A Must-Read Along With a History Tome

Historians never tire of insisting that policy makers need to learn more history. Yet they are not, typically, very good at explaining how an understanding of history can make for better choices. That was the great contribution of Michael Howard, the recently deceased British military historian, whose two classic volumes of essays, “The Causes of Wars and Other Essays” and “The Lessons of History,” are my must-read books as 2019 comes to an end.

Howard’s key insight is that history provides no specific answers to particular policy problems. What worked before, in one set of circumstances, may backfire catastrophically when transferred across time and space to a very different context. The value of history is broader. It can expand our knowledge beyond our personal experiences, educate us in the complexity of human affairs and the importance of understanding other cultures, and help us recognize the connections between choices and consequences, between causes and effects.

“The true use of history,” Howard wrote, is “not to make men clever for next time; it is to make them wise for ever.” At a time when the U.S. faces no shortage of disorienting global challenges, that’s a lesson worth remembering. — Hal Brands

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