#Chat I'm going to go to eep

[ask-steven-stevenson]

“I.. I mean..maybe. I can’t leave the restaurant but. Sure. We can try.. If it makes you happy? Sure. We can go..”

uncle, i radioactivitied all over the bathroom floor

-🪱(wow i wonder who this could be im really pondering here im sitting on a stone thinking with one hand on my chin)

“One, I do not believe I am your uncle. So, please refer to me by name. Secondly. What do you MEAN.”

“Euh.. I’ll just get a worker to clean it up.”

[w33d-k4tz]

EVERYTHING HURTS . I CANT WALK OR SIT OR LAY DOWN. I AM SO . SORE . ALSO I HAVENT EATEN ANYTHING EXCEPT A COUPLE OF GUMMIES IN THE PAST 36 HOURS AND I HAD TO WAKE UP AT FOUR AM FOR THIS GODDAMN FLIGHT AGHH I HATE BEING ALIVE . CHAT WE ARE NOT MAKING IT .

[appalachiancowboy99]

After Dark

Arthur Morgan x CurvyFem!Reader Established relationship, high honor, grumpy Arthur in desperate need of release, 18+, MDNI (Minors DO NOT ENTER)

Arthur comes back to camp later than usual, with nothing but a bad disposition and a desperate need to release his pent-up frustrations.

Warnings: longer read, sexual content (oral, unprotected p in v, rough sex), mentions of violence, mentions of anger, and dabbles in sensual fluff.

Gif by: @sunwingsunset

A/N: Thank you so much to @photo1030 for not only being my sounding board in the never-ending chaos that is my writing process but also for being such a wonderful friend through it all. So grateful for you, don't know what I'd do without ya, C! <3 Thank you so much to @rivetingrosie4 for being an inspiration for my little works and being so supportive of my creative endeavors, not to mention the kind generosity of your friendship! Forever grateful for to have met you! @tortureddpoett I'm so excited to explore this budding friendship with you! Thank you so much for showing so much excitement for my work, IT MAKES ME EXCITED (EEP!). It means an absolute ton to me <3 @mr-inkslinger your friendship has been an absolute delight to explore! Thank you for posting that toe-curling smut that always has me giggling and kicking my feet! So happy to have met ya! And thank each and every single one of you for liking my first drabble and expressing interest in this next one. I'm so sorry it's taken me forever to publish this post, but hopefully, the next ones won't take me as long. I'll forever be grateful for your patience and kindness <3 But now, enough of my babbling, y'all enjoy yourselves with this one- I know I did ;)

Fuck. From the second he opened his eyes, he knew that the day was going to be fucking awful; his neck had a crick in it, his head was pounding from what little sleep he’s received over the last few nights, and now he had to trudge back out into the goddamn muggy heat to work. One disaster after another had piled up; everything that could have gone wrong, went so terribly awry that he wound up farther away from camp than he originally intended and managed to add a solid fifteen-dollar bounty to the mounting collection resting atop his head. Dutch had sent him out on a wild goose chase, following a lead from Micah that, of course, ended up being a complete waste of time. And that meant he was coming back to camp empty-handed, which almost certainly meant he'd be on the receiving end of another one of Dutch's lectures on the endless responsibilities placed upon his shoulders. He dreaded it, wanted to avoid spiraling down another conversation that would end in Dutch questioning his faith in the ever-evolving plan he’s found himself working on these days.

As if he needed any of that horseshit tonight. All he wanted was a moment of peace and quiet, a chance to catch his breath after the disaster of a day he'd just had, but instead, he was headed back to camp with nothing but bruises, a bloody lip, and a bad disposition to show for his efforts. Trees and other bits of scenery whipped by in a blur as Arthur spurred his horse onward, his surroundings melting together into a muddy mess of shapes cast by moonlight. He passed through New Hanover, his furious pace leading him down the familiar roads of Lemoyne, reaching the clearing outside of camp. Lenny and John are the first to spot Arthur approaching the thicket of trees disguising Clemens Point's main entrance. “Hey, who goes there?” Lenny’s voice echoes through the forest, bouncing off the thicket until it reaches Arthur’s ears.

“‘S me.” Arthur grunts out through gritted teeth, clearly not in the mood for any chit-chat. Even underneath the shadow of leaves and limbs, the scowl etched upon his face is easily distinguishable, a clear sign for anyone with any common sense to give him a wide berth for the rest of the night. Lenny and John, both, had a pretty good idea of what might happen when Arthur steps foot into camp and they don't want any part of it. As a result, they give each other a little knowing glance and stay in the treeline, preferring to avoid the impending shitstorm and let Dutch or Hosea deal with it instead. He strides past them in a fit of frustration, dismounting his mare with a jerky movement before she's even come to a complete stop. Kieran spots him and hesitantly approaches. That poor fool. "H-Hey, Mr. Morgan. Would ya like me to unsaddle the 'ol gal here?" Kieran's question was nothing more than an innocent query, but his expression turned the young man into a nervous wreck. If looks could kill, Arthur’s certainly could; his steely eyes are set ablaze with annoyance and irritation as he casts a hateful glance in Kieran's direction. Even Kieran knew better than to talk to Arthur when he was in this state, knowing that it would only lead to suffering at the hands of his unbridled wrath. Kieran’s eyes immediately darted to his feet, desperate to avoid Arthur’s icy gaze as his fingers trembled with the frayed ends of rope in his hands. Quickly as to not start any trouble for himself, Kieran took hold of the mare's reigns and led her away to the field of horses, putting as much distance between himself and Arthur as he could. A slight pang of guilt runs through him when he sees the way that Kieran high-tailed it out of his line of sight. He doesn't want to be harsh to the boy, he's been a useful asset to the gang, but his temper is just too far gone for him to muster up an apology. As fast as the angering thoughts snapping through his mind, Arthur turns on his heels and storms into camp in search of Dutch. His boots furiously hit the grass and reddened Lemoyne dirt as he passes by a few of the wandering eyes from those still awake at this late hour. Charles casts him a wary glance, and so does Sadie, but neither of them cares to look long enough to entertain what's about to happen. He passes by his own wagon and heads straight to Dutch's tent. Dutch is nowhere to be seen, yet the lamp light inside casts its soft golden glow upon the closed canvas flaps of the tent, indicating that he might be inside. Not wasting any more time than he has to, Arthur approaches the tent, not bothering to stop and think until it's too late. His hand raises, readying to peel back the canvas flap, when all of a sudden he hears the sweet amorous sounds of lovemaking echo through the night air.  Molly’s sweet voice gasps out between each movement of their squeaking cot, calling out for Dutch as the unmistakable sound of skin slapping skin penetrates through the thin canvas walls, revealing exactly what’s occupying Dutch’s time tonight.

“Oh, Dutch. Don’t stop,” she encourages through strained, unabashed moans of pleasure. Dutch’s deep, husky voice murmurs back something unintelligible, but the increased squeaking of their bed and the filthy little noises coming from Molly are a clear indicator that Arthur should be stepping away to give them some privacy. Embarrassment washes over him, causing a faint rosy flush to heat his face and bloom across his cheeks. For once, he's grateful for the distraction from his current frustration. On most nights, he'd find comfort in your presence, seeking you out to vent his grievances as a distraction from the ever-present aggravation that seemingly follows him around these days. But tonight, he just wants to retreat to his tent, away from everything and everyone, to try to calm down before he says or does something he regrets.

He strides past the dying campfires and tables that are askew from daily camp activities, and his mind tirelessly races from thought to thought, stealing his attention away from his surroundings. If Arthur had even bothered to look, he would have spotted your sleeping form laid out upon his bed the moment he stepped inside. You had been waiting for him all evening. After working yourself to the bone doing laundry, dinner prep, and other camp chores for Ms. Grimshaw all day long, you wandered your way over to Arthur’s tent in search of a quiet place to sit. Part of you wished to find him seated right there on his cot, wanting to simply have a conversation with the man who has stolen your heart, but to your disappointment, he wasn’t anywhere to be found. So, you waited for him.. And waited until the very idea of waiting became too tiresome and you unknowingly fell asleep.

Sneaking away from the gang for private talks with him has been one of your favorite things to do since you joined the gang so long ago. Y'all have always had a knack for avoiding the company of others. But somehow in the midst of squirreling yourselves away, both of you have come to find that you'd prefer being alone together. Eventually, this led to many nights where Arthur would seek you out just to speak his mind, allowing you to see the world through his eyes for a short while. You have not only embraced Arthur's thoughts, but in doing so, you have captured his heart all the same. If it weren't for you, he's certain he'd have lost his damn sanity long ago.

Arthur takes that dusty old gambler's hat off his head and runs his fingers through his hair, taking a moment to calm himself down. His eyes glance over the things laid out upon his bedside table before catching a glimpse of your figure awash by the pale moonlight in his periphery. Your hair is sprawled out over the small blanket you've rolled up into a makeshift pillow; curls flowing like a roaring waterfall, laying a mess, and finally free from the bun that was atop your head earlier in the day. His eyes rake over your voluptuous figure, noting every dip and curve from your plump waist and hips to the ample swell of your breast hidden by a layer of clothing. The moment his mind registers that your presence isn't a dream, his eyes soften and his mind no longer races with anger. You are his peace, the only thing in this world that he cherishes above all else. 

Sighing softly, he finally discards his hat from his hand and places it onto his nightstand before working off his worn leather jacket and satchel, resting them on the back of the chair nearest his shaving mirror. And while he's on his feet, he takes the time to carefully roll down the canvas walls of his tent, unraveling them with the quiet precision of a mouse, and securing them in a few simple knots to hide you two away from the world.

It's quite dark by the time he wanders over to the cot, dark enough not to notice himself brush against your legs as he takes a seat on the edge of the old creaking bed. The familiar, welcomed-warmth of his body pressing against your shins rouses you from your restful slumber. Your eyes flutter open to find his figure perched next to you, shrouded in a darkness so thick that you are sure you're still dreaming. His head and broad shoulders are slumped over as he begins working off his dusty boots, caked with remnants of mud and manure.

"Hmm... Arthur?" Your voice floats through the quiet darkness, laden with fatigue and clearly carrying the lassitude of someone who could fall back asleep at the drop of a hat.

He quickly glances over his shoulder at the sound of your voice, his eyes already adjusted enough to the shadows to see your tired face staring back at him with confusion. He silently curses himself for waking you. "Shhh, Darlin'. Don't wake up on my account. I'll be done in just a minute," Arthur lightly grunts out the last word as he struggles to remove his right boot.

Even in your own weary state, the exhaustion in his tone isn't lost on you. Thinking it best to rouse yourself as quickly as possible to free up his bed for him, you sit yourself up and will yourself awake with a slight stretch. "'S okay. You need rest more 'n me."

"No. You was restin' 'fore I got here. Go 'head and lay back down." He isn't having any of your courtesy tonight. He's worn out, far too tired to argue with you about whether or not it's appropriate for you to share his bed for the night.

The rest of the gang, aside from John, Abigail, Susan, and Hosea know nothing about the true nature of y'all's relationship. Although, the rest of the girls have picked up on the changes you've brought about in Arthur since your arrival so long ago now. Seeing him get all soft and doey-eyed at you over these last few weeks has most definitely tipped them off about what y'all really get up to when you're out running errands together. But they catch wind of you sleeping in his tent tonight, it will all but confirm their suspicions. And yet, you just can't bring yourself to move from the comfort of Arthur's cot with him sitting so close to you.

"What time is it?" The question falls from your lips, carried on the soft currents of a gentle breeze pushing through the tent flaps. Fine sinewy muscles flex beneath his shirt as he leans over to work off his other boot and you are powerless to admire the shape of his body beneath.

A muffled grunt escapes his mouth the moment he finally frees his aching feet from the confines of his boots, "Late," he simply replies.

You take a deep, cleansing breath, allowing the tranquility of the night to settle around you like a soft, comforting blanket. Outside these walls, no sounds of chatter or lively activity can be heard, aside from the gentle hum of crickets by the riverbank and the faint sounds of a squeaking cot stopping abruptly. The gang is unusually quiet, the air filled with repose now that Arthur's returned safely to you. Only a few stragglers tend to the campfires, their focus solely on themselves, interested in anything beyond the flickering flames; not even the sounds of Dutch and Molly or Arthur's irritation can disrupt the peaceful bubble encompassing Clemen's Point tonight.

The plush heel of your palm rubs over one of your eyes as you flit them toward the tent entrance, watching how the wind slightly ruffles the bottom of the canvas. It's only then that you realize that Arthur has tied down the walls for privacy on your account. Normally, he wouldn't bother setting up the walls before collapsing on the cot for a few restless hours of sleep. But tonight, he's gone out of his way to ensure your comfort. Your heart couldn't feel any more full of love for this man by your side, a man who puts your well-being above all else, even above his own. Never did you think that love would have been like this for you: sitting in the comfortable silence of privacy for lovers when that luxury is rarely afforded for women like you. But despite your gratitude for his thoughtfulness, a pang of guilt gnaws at you knowing he made the extra effort while you took up residence in his bed, a cot that's barely big enough for the two of you given your plump frame.

In an attempt to make up for taking up so much space, you roll yourself forward along the thin mattress and quickly slide past him, crawling toward the foot of his bed where his trunk of clothing is kept. You've decided to give him his space for the night, even though in your heart, you'd prefer to stay. Before your foot even slides off the trunk to touch the soft grass below, you're reminded of John stopping by Arthur's tent earlier in the day.

Through a half yawn, you speak, not giving Arthur the chance to catch-on to where you're headed, "'Fore I forget: John stopped by while you was out."

Arthur slightly leans back as his fingertips mindlessly fumble with the buckle of his gun belt. The slight clicking of the metal rings out as he works to remove the clunky accessory from his body. His strong back brushes against you as he moves with the comfortable ease he's come to enjoy over these last few weeks of secretly being yours.

"What about it?" His concentration is split half between himself and the presence of your body behind him.

Your words don't register in his mind until he's completely removed the belt from his body. He figures it was that stagecoach job he reluctantly handed off to John; it had completely slipped from his mind until this very moment, much like yourself. The cool metal filigree atop his trunk moves under your feet as you rest them just shy of slipping off its edge, causing the hazy memory to play out behind your tired eyes.

-

You were just settling yourself in, resting your weary body on the edge of Arthur's cot, just as you're doing now. Little beads of sweat accumulated on your forehead from working out in the intensity of Lemoyne's miserably humid heat. Grimshaw had you and the rest of the women working on camp chores, which you hadn't complained of, since it usually occupies the time until Arthur's usual return. However, the day was far too hot for you to not complain about the harsh conditions she had y'all in. Eventually, evening came and you were finally finished with the laundry, allowing you a moment's rest to seek out the comfort of Arthur's cot.

In the midst of wiping your brow down with one of his neckerchiefs you'd secretly swiped, the hard thump of boots hitting grass caught your attention. You'd anticipated Arthur's arrival, but something didn't feel quite right. The boots didn't move with Arthur's measured stride; they scuffed the grass and dirt, signaling a different, but familiar presence. The moment you look up, you spot John standing at the entrance of the tent, not at all surprised to see you sitting upon his cot as if it were your own.

For a brief moment, his brow furrowed in a mix of frustration and exhaustion. It was as if he was caught between the two warring emotions, each pulling him equally. Clearly, he expected Arthur to be back already.

"He not back yet?" The gruffness of his voice has you believe the former, rather than the latter.

"Not yet," you say in kind, hoping to ease some of his burden. "Was you needin' him for somethin'?"

John did and the news certainly wasn't going to sit well with Arthur at all.

-

When the thoughts finally coalesce within your fatigued mind, you internally grimace knowing that Arthur isn't going to like the reality of the situation. Gentleness has always been your strong suit, especially when it came to dealing with half of the bull-headed men in camp. So, you lace your words with the softest tone you can manage, "Said it weren't as much as y'all had planned on: about fifty-dollars tied up in what little him 'n Charles found."

And you were right. The news doesn't sit well with him at all. All of the compiled frustration of working a nothing-lead and now knowing that the other job didn't pay well either boils beneath the surface of his skin until he explodes like a whistling kettle. Preventing himself from lashing out at you, Arthur kicks his boot toward the other side of the tent, knocking it into the chair. The loud thunk of its sole hitting wood claps harshly and causes you to flinch, startling you fully awake from the suddenness of noise and his movement.

"Every goddamn day it's some shit," he spits through his teeth.

Although you know he'd never intentionally hurt you, the anger in his voice sends a cold shiver down your spine and your stomach flips and churns in knots. Usually, you'd blame yourself, reprimanding your big mouth for even opening up to mention something that you knew wouldn't bode well for his weary mind. But you're in too much of a shock to even consider self-deprecation as an option. Your wide eyes search through the darkness, watching the shadowed outline of the man you love heave in a deep breath to steal his nerves. His shoulders slump forward and head hangs low as he rests his elbows on his knees, utterly defeated from the compiled anger and exhaustion coursing through him.

It's at this moment that you remember the job Dutch sent him on earlier in the day; Arthur didn't want to go and had very little sleep after working on yet another lead that barely got them anywhere. If it had been left up to you, you would've made Arthur stay right here in this bed to get some rest like he deserves. You would've taken care of him so tenderly, but, as usual, what Dutch wanted would have far outweighed any of your concerns. You've learned to recognize the pattern of these situations by now, and given Arthur's aggression, assuming that today's job didn't go quite as planned would be hitting the nail right on its head. You test the waters with a quiet question, "Lead didn't pan out today, did it?"

The soft shake of Arthur's head, coupled with the shadow of his palm running over his face tells you all that you need to know: no, it hadn't gotten him any farther than where he had started. Another useless effort. Your heart aches watching him struggle with so much weight on his shoulders. No matter how strong Arthur might be, he's just a man struggling to carry his own burdens, let alone everyone else's. Ever since settling down here, Dutch has placed so much responsibility on him that you've wanted to scold the man for even mentioning Arthur's name in passing. He's worked himself thin and thread-bare, barely having any time for himself outside of the time he spends on the road traveling from place to place at Dutch's convenience.

Empathy for the man that you've fallen in love with so long ago breaks your heart, aching in desperation to relieve some of his pain. Instead of walking away, keeping to yourself, and silently shouldering any of the blame for setting him off, you choose to stay the night. Despite knowing full well that the girls will have their gossip circulating by morning, Arthur's needs are far more important than any snickering comment or playful jest that'll inevitably come your way.

You scoot back where you were and lean toward him with less apprehension than what your words had suggested. Resting your delicate palm between the broad expanse of his shoulders, you feel him tense at the soft slip of your tender touch over his shirt. The tips of your fingers glide over his shoulder and silently take purchase on the taut muscle there. With a gentle, yet firm pull, you coax Arthur back toward you.

"C'mere. Lean back 'n talk to me..." Your dulcet tone pierces through his irritation, encouraging him to rest in your awaiting arms.

Arthur slowly reclines back, allowing himself to unwind in your embrace as his much larger body sits snugly against your plump bosom. Relaxing doesn't come easy for him. Hell, you'd be surprised if it had, given the high tensions between him and Micah these days or the tiresome back and forth between the two rival families in Rhodes. He has every right to be terse and tensed up like a snake ready to strike, but you aim to comfort him even if that means you risk getting bit. Silence hangs in the air between you, aside from the gentle breaths and the occasional strained grunt catching in the back of his throat while he struggles to get comfortable against you, due to the remaining stress insisting on clinging to his tired body. Your loving hands splay out over the firm expanse of his chest, feeling the steady and reassuring thrum of his heartbeat beneath your palms as you try your best to soothe your brooding lover. It's as if your mere presence cracks away at the anger lingering in the stiff tendons and taut plains of muscle along his torso until he relents and finally lets go. His body relaxes back into you as if he were sinking into the plush, luxurious drapery and bedding found in the finest hotels of Saint Denis; much like the bedding of the room he'd paid for the very same night he had whisked you away to bed you properly for your very first time.

He's silent for a long while, almost reluctant to burden you with his troubles. So, you take it up on yourself to start the conversation by spilling what had happened to you earlier in the day, thinking it might earn a laugh or two, "Well, I'm sure my day weren't as rough as your'n," you hum. "But I did fall off the dock, landing my hind-end right in that water."

The image would usually cause a humorous snort to escape him, but the irritation still bristling at his nerves prevents him from reacting with anything else other than a huff of annoyance, "I told ya to watch your footin' out there. Ain't no use to nobody if you get yourself drowned."

Fortunately, as he chides you his words begin to lack much of the anger from moments ago. But you sigh softly anyways, relenting to his incessant need to protect you from life's dangers, despite being able to handle your own, "I know, I know..."

With a few buttons of that old blue work shirt popped open by your deft fingers, the smallest opening there is just big enough to slip your hand inside and rest it up on the soft but wiry hairs at the very center of his chest. "You shoulda seen me, though," you murmur as you lean down toward his ear, lowering your tone as you press your cheek to the side of his head. "Was drenched head to toe, clothes clingin' to me like feathers on a wet chicken."

He sulks, trying to stay mad at anything and everything he can to give into the bristling anger at the back of his mind, but he can't. No, not when he can clearly envision you all soaked and surprised from falling into that cold lake. A faint smile curls up the corners of his lips and then, just as he almost chuckles, he clears his throat, holding his laugh back. However, you catch on far too quickly for him to play it off so easily.

You gasp softly in mock surprise as if offended by the idea of him laughing at you, "Arthur Morgan. Are you laughin' at me?"

That's when his temperament breaks, giving way to the huff of laughter rumbling through his chest. "I ain't laughin' atchu, per say..." he counters. "Just maybe at the thought of what ya mighta looked like comin' up outta that water: madder 'n hell, hair clingin' to your head," and as if to illustrate his point, Arthur reaches his hand backward and turns his head to try and catch a glimpse of you in the thick shadows, barely making your face distinguishable to his eyes, as he brushes his fingertips over the bits of hair clinging to your forehead from the muggy heat.

Though you narrow your eyes in mock annoyance, you lean into his calloused fingertips, accepting the gentleness of his touch while a giggle of your own creeps up into your throat, "Oh? Is 'at so? Maybe next time I find you out on that dock, I'll think 'bout pushin' ya in 'n lettin' you see how it feels."

He huffs out a skeptical breath and raises an eyebrow at the very thought of you even trying something like that with him. It'd be a futile effort and one that you truly wouldn't consider without the clear consequence of him pulling you right down with him.

And just as soon as the laughter came, it was gone again, replaced instead with a comfortable silence that settles between you two once more, giving him some space to think about what's happened to himself today. Long before the days of your arrival, Arthur would keep to himself and dwell on the ever-present burdens troubling his mind, brooding for hours. But with you, he feels a safety that men like him are rarely afforded.

"Well, if ya think fallin' in Flat Iron's bad..." he continues, "Try goin' halfway 'cross the state lookin' for a man that don't exist. Then when ya find someplace to get a drink, ya end up catchin' a few stray hits from some drunken bastard."

A soft gasp enters your lungs at the revelation. Another fight? You lean over his shoulder, reaching to take his scarred chin into your hand. It's hard to see through the inky-black darkness of the night, but even in the haziness, your eyes can make out the bruising along his jaw, the harsh scrapes of knuckles cutting over his cheek, and the jagged cut on his upper lip. It isn't a rare sight to have him come back battered and bruised by some job from time to time, but that still doesn't quell the uneasiness in your heart at him going through such pain and aggravation.

Your eyebrows furrow in sympathy for your rugged cowboy, eyes softening to match as you breathe out, "Oh, Arthur."

He's quick to dismiss your concern with a soft sigh, pulling away from you to lean forward and distract himself from your sympathetic gaze, "Ah, don'tchu go 'n worry yourself over me none, Darlin'."

Being fussed over or thought of so tenderly still isn't something he's used to; he's shown you that time and time again. But it never deters you from trying to make things better, to make things easier on him however you can. Whatever turmoil Arthur's got rolling about in his mind is far from the usual and it takes patience to understand; a patience that he finds only you can give.

You reach your hand out toward him. The delicate ends of your fingertips reach up to brush over the nape of his sun-kissed neck, grazing over the ends of his slightly overgrown hair, silently making a note to yourself that you'll trim it for him tomorrow. His body shuffles slightly backward, leaning in to accept your touch while he slips off his suspenders: pulling them down his shoulders heavy with burden, before taking his time to unbutton that tattered old work shirt you're so used to seeing around his muscular frame.

"'Sides..." he starts. "I did have some good that came from today."

"What's 'at?" you hum softly with a lilt of dryness. "Hittin' that feller back?"

He can't help the chuckle rising in his throat at the dry sarcasm touching your words. Arthur shakes his head softly, "Nah, Darlin', " the last word strains from his lips as he rises to his feet with a groan, leaving the safe comfort of your touch as he stands to undo his pants.

He glances over his shoulder, peering down at you through the darkness with a smirk curling up at the right corner of his mouth. Watching as your sweet eyes follow his every movement, Arthur turns to face you, allowing you to gaze at him as he slowly pushes the brass button through the eyelet at the top of his riding pants. The fabric opens effortlessly, revealing the red cloth of his union suit underneath. The sight of him before you, suspenders hanging loosely on either side of his long legs and his pants aching to be peeled from his strong form has your lips parted in awe at the man standing mere inches away from you.

He continues from just seconds before, "Seein' you laid out on my bed, purdy as a dream."

After stepping out of his pants now crumpled around his ankles, Arthur lowers one knee upon the cot nearest your thighs. He leans over you, using his thick fingers to tilt your chin upward, meeting his crystalline eyes. "Was one helluva sight I could get used to seein'."

The low timbre of his voice sends a shockwave of desire straight through your heart and into the aching pit of your stomach. Your lips draw up into a shy smile, and a faint dusting of pink envelops your cheeks just like the moment you'd first professed your feelings for him under that canopy of trees he led you through so blindly. Although it hasn't been long since that fateful night, the closeness of your relationship has escalated so quickly that your head and heart dizzy at the mere mention of his name.

Arthur's calloused thumb brushes over the supple swell of your bottom lip, enticing you to part them just for him. You comply, of course, unable to resist how a ghost of his touch makes you so pliant beneath him. And when he leans down to meet your lips with his own, your heart swells with tender affection. Those warm, slightly chapped, but pleasantly plush lips are heady as they connect with a passion that stokes the burning coals of desire in the very base of your core.

"Been waitin' to use that one for a while, hmm?" You hum contently while blindly guiding your hands toward the flare of muscle encasing his ribs. God, how you could worship this man and never tire of feeling how warm, how strong he is beneath your palms.

"Depends. It workin'?" He murmurs, smirking cockily against your lips.

Your mind begins to spin as the calloused pad of his thumb dips from your chin and swipes over your jawline. His fingers splay out over the side of your neck, fingertips gripping you with tender passion to hold you in place. He could easily break you, bend you with his finger and thumb as if you were nothing more than a twig beneath his rough and weathered hands. Never have you felt so small and fragile, always knowing in your heart that you took up much more room than other women. But, when you're with Arthur, he makes you feel as delicate as the petals on a beautiful flower, something so precious and worth loving; it's so much more than you'd ever experienced in your whole life. He touches you so tenderly as if you were made from nothing more than ash, a veritable pile of matter waiting to slip through his fingers at any moment.

You want to hum your praises to your lover, to let him know exactly how much you've wanted this, how much you've missed him, how well he's kissing you, touching you... But you can't. There are no words. He's stolen them from you, drawing all the air out of your lungs with his lips, leaving you gasping for the air coated in his divine masculine scent: sweet tobacco, wood ash, and mossy earth. He encompasses you, wrapping one arm around your waist as he pulls you close to his body, all the while shuffling himself forward to join you on the small cot. Your back presses against the hard wooden frame of the wagon making up the other half of his tent. He presses against you, holding you close to his strong body as he slides his right hand from your jaw, trailing it down over the soft skin of your neck, and down to your chest, where he heatedly palms your breast hidden just beneath your blouse. To have him touch you like this, like a man frenzied and dying for a taste of intimacy, has your head spinning and your heart on the verge of exploding if it hadn't already; for all you know, you could've died the moment his lips crashed into yours, and all that's left is a heaven you'd only dreamt of.

A low growl of appreciation rumbles through his chest for the plumpness of your body. Most men do not know the fine pleasures that extra curves on a woman can bring. But Arthur sure does. And oh how he worships your full figure, despite your opinions about yourself. His large, calloused palm shifts his attention to your other breast, kneading you tenderly while his lips work from your mouth, and instead, leaving a trail of hot, open-mouthed kisses over your jawline and supple neck.

His name is a breathless sigh across your trembling lips as you allow your hands to explore his body in return. Touching over the large expanse of his torso and gliding your fingertips over the worn fabric of his union suit, you desperately search for the button that would bare him wholly to you. In the time it takes you to undo one of his buttons, his skilled fingers undo two of yours. Button after button unthreads upon both of your bodies, though his hands are much quicker at ridding you of your layers, leaving them strewn about on the ground until he's stripped you down and laid you beneath him in nothing more than your chemise and bloomers to conceal your decency. Arthur then crawls over you, his movements deliberate and enticingly slow as he cages you in with his hands pressed into the thin mattress on either side of your head. Shadows danced and shifted restlessly, playing tricks on your perception as you try to focus on what little of Arthur you could see through the haziness, making the absence of light feel alive. To feel him above you like this has your stomach in knots, tightening with a firey passion that's ready to snap at any given moment. Hearts are pounding, thrumming wildly against your ribcages like birds desperate to escape the confines of your chests. You hear it, hear how his breath shutters with each wild thump of his heart, and you feel it in his breath as it puffs over your cheek. He's losing himself to you and you him, slipping so quickly that rational thinking is no longer of use. You need him and he needs you.

The flaps of his union suit hang loosely from his body, allowing your hands to reach in and press flat over his heated skin. He shivers slightly at the contact, his muscles tensing and flexing beneath the tender meeting of your palms placed upon his scarred, goose-pimpled flesh. Your fingertips ghost over a scar on the right side of his ribcage, causing your face to crinkle with sorrow for what hardship your lover, this great outlaw, has had to endure in his lifetime. The damaged tissue is the result of a nasty fight he had as a young man: when someone stabbed him with the broken end of a beer bottle; they had aimed to kill him, but he had survived. The spot still aches with the memory of Hosea digging out the shards of broken glass from the angry, bloodied wound. But somehow, the way your delicate touch brushes over that old scar with such love and care causes the outlaw's skin to tingle, and his cock to ache with the pride of knowing that you love him so.

He takes his time with you here, laid out beneath him like a perfect little thing he's captured and kept safe by hiding you away in the privacy of his tent. After the day he's had, he wants to savor every bit of loveliness he's blessed with in your presence, so he can't rush this with you, not now. Arthur takes his time admiring you, letting his eyes rake over what he's able to see, and feeling what he cannot. Leaning down close enough to your face to capture that seductive glint in your glittering, lust-blown eyes, Arthur searches for any change within them as he maneuvers his right hand away from the mattress to trail along your sensitive flesh. The rough pads of his fingers ghost over your thigh, caressing the plump deposit of flesh along your middle, snaking up over your collarbones, and over your neck in search of your delicate face before sealing your mouth with his own in a kiss so tender you whimper from the initial contact.

Shivers of anticipation roll through him as your body responds to his touch: back arching off the bed, hands pulling on the nape of his neck to hold him down and assure that his lips won't leave yours, and the way your bloomer-clad hips roll upward in search of some much-needed friction. God how he could spend hours with you like this, letting his hands roam over your body to make you shiver and plead for any ounce of affection that he can give you. Your needy state is only exacerbated by the slight tremble in your thighs as he snakes his hands down over the pillowy flesh, seeking out the waistband of your bloomers. Ridding you of the cloth separating your pussy from his line of sight is an easy feat: the clad, slightly damp undergarment peels away from your plump hips with ease at the help of his precision; the Lemoyne heat causes the clothing to stick to your slightly dampened skin, but dammit if the temperature pales in comparison to how heated Arthur makes you feel. He tosses them down onto the ground, and places his hands upon your knees, spreading them apart as he sits above you to admire the feeling of your plump body beneath him.

His hand is unhurried and exacting, gently brushing his calloused knuckles down over your inner thigh, then lightly petting them over your soaked need covered by a soft thatch of hair. He can't see you fully, but that does nothing to stop his mind from envisioning how your cunt glistens with slick, all for him. The moment he presses his fingertips to your seam, parting you with the practiced precision of a lover, he lets a low, ragged breath escape his nose in appreciation for how wet you are. You shiver and instinctively try to close your knees from the pleasant surprise of his touch, and fuck does it feel good to have him brush over your folds like that.

"Always so ready, ain'tchya?" He murmurs, a teasing lilt to his voice as he takes his time in savoring the feeling of your slick upon his fingertips.

Your hips involuntarily twitch, bucking upward into his hand, seeking out his fingertips to make him swirl them over your aching little clit. You want him to touch you right where you need him, feel him right on that little spot upon that nub of nerves that makes your mind swirl and your body careen into a blissful orgasm. But he doesn't give that to you, not yet. He wants to work you over slowly, savoring every little sound he can draw out of those pretty lips. You're far too shy to answer him directly, instead favoring to cover your face with your forearms as he takes pleasure in taunting you like this. But the moment his fingertips threaten to part your folds, you let out a delicate little noise, someplace between a whine and a prayer to let him know that you're in no mood to endure his teasing tonight, "Arthur... Please."

Oh, how he loves to hear the sound of you begging; he's already half-hard at the idea of you wanting his touch, let alone hearing how desperate you are for it. He answers your prayer with a long, smooth stroke of his thumb parting your puffy, wet folds. You keen at how just a simple touch causes your stomach to flutter and your slit to clench around nothing at all. Your thighs, thick with strength, covered by a layer of squishy softness, part for him, relaxing lazily as he guides his thumb over each of your labia.

It was nearly impossible to get you to lay like this for him a few weeks ago; you'd been concerned about the unsightly appearance of your inner thighs: scarred over with dimples and imperfections, as well as the slight discoloration of having them rub together after so many years of being a larger woman. Most women that you've seen naked, don't have the same ailments upon their bodies as you have on yours. Just the other day when bathing with some of the girls in the lake, you'd noticed that even on Karen's body, a woman closer to your size, still didn't have the scars or discoloration across her skin in the same way that you have. And that night that Arthur had you laid out for him for the very first time, he'd noticed that apprehension in you, taking it as having second thoughts. But once you had explained how you felt about your own body, he hadn't even given the idea a single thought; his own body is mauled up, covered in old and ugly scars, and carrying more than three colors from all his time spent out in the sun. So, he couldn't have cared less about some scars, a little extra hair, weight, or even the discoloration over your thighs. What he did care about, however, was making sure that you felt loved in spite of it all. And now, it feels no different. To have you spread your legs for him like this, without a single worry holding you back, is a goddamn treat.

Fuck how good it feels to have the soft press of his thumb tease over your cunt, tracing the delicate path between your weeping entrance, to your swelling bud with a pressure so teasing and light that you squirm to feel more. Your plush lips tuck between your teeth to hold back any sounds that give away what you two are doing in here after dark, but it's useless; the lewd sounds of his thumb circling over your clit echo throughout the tent: a dead giveaway to anyone that dare walk by. Holding your breath like this isn't easy, not when the pounding of your heart echoes in your ears and your chest feels as if it's being seared from the inside out. A ragged gasp finally inhales through your nostrils, desperately trying to fulfill your body's need for air when you can no longer restrain your breaths.

He huffs out a low chuckle in amusement at the state he has you in: clearly desperate and in need to have your clit rubbed just the way you like it.

"Hmm.. Hear that?" He rasps out before going silent, letting you hear the sounds of your own slick being spread over your soaked cunt. He only continues when he finally reaches your clit, circling over the throbbing little nerve-ending to make you sigh out in pleasure for him. "So goddamn wet. All for me."

In a blur of movements, Arthur's chapped lips and teeth skim over your knee, slowly working their way down over your inner thighs. He nips at you, earning a few little squeaks and giggles until he kisses over your plump mound. His thumbs take hold of either side of your cunt, spreading you open to let the night air hit your wet skin. It's pleasant like this, to feel yourself spread out beneath him like a meal ready to be devoured and dammit if he ain't starved for a taste. Being eaten out has quickly become one of your favorite acts of intimacy in recent weeks; his tongue is so skilled at finding spots on you, making you come so deliciously, that most days it's all you've been able to think about. Hell, it's all you're thinking about now as his head sinks down to your core and his hot breath fans out over your aching need. His tongue slips out of that perfect mouth and flattens out over your seam, lapping at you once to earn him that little sigh of pleasure escaping your throat.

Your hands immediately seek out his head, combing through his slightly sweat-dampened hair as he swirls the blunt tip of his tongue over your clit.

"A-Agh, Arthur.. N-Not so fast," you whine out in protest, yet your hips bucking up into his mouth says otherwise. But he relents, nonetheless, giving you a moment of reprieve before he delves back in at the same pace.

He's aiming to make you cum quick and hard: slithering his tongue over your clit with the precision of knowing exactly what side and spot makes you writhe beneath him. Just left and then a little upward beneath that little hood of skin and he has you singing for him. Explicitves roll off your tongue one after another in between sweet little sounds that praise him for what effort he's putting in just for you. To hear you, feel you crumble beneath him like this is better than any robbery or score he gets out on the road. But just before he lets you come, he pulls his head back slightly and puffs cool air over your clit, making you whine.

"Shh.. Shh.. 'M gonna let ya cum, Darlin'. Don'tchu worry 'bout that none. 'M gonna take real good care of ya," he hums lowly as his lips and bristly scruff brush over your quivering inner thighs.

His promise isn't far off from fulfillment, not when he sinks his tongue into your heat and presses his opened mouth over the entirety of your cunt. He sucks hard, feeling your walls constrict around the wriggling muscle of his tongue as he laps inside your spongey center. Your thighs tremble with need as he fucks you with his mouth and slurps up your slick, drinking in as much of you as he can and relishing the tangy sweetness of your delectable taste. You throw your head back against the rolled-up blanket you had been using as a pillow earlier in the night, all while he eats you out like a man who's desperate to consume you.

But the aching throb of his cock, constricted by the thin fabric of his union suit, is far too angry for him to ignore. He's got to have you, now.

As he shuffles back up to his knees, leaving your cunt longing to cum on his tongue, you flutter your eyes open and snap your head up to try and catch a glimpse of what he's doing. Clearly, you ain't pleased with him teasing you like this, but when you feel his fervent movements, you realize that he's trying to work off his union suit. He wastes no time it peeling it away from his torso, but the moment he starts to tug it down his thighs, allowing his weeping cock to spring free, he nearly topples over and just about slams head-first into your body. Thankfully, he catches himself in the knick of time, grunting out a few curses as he grows impatient with his incapability to slide that damn fabric off his legs.

Amid his struggle to bare himself, you can't hide the giggle creeping up your throat as he curses under his breath, frustrated with how the fabric insists on clinging to his muscular legs. You help him slide the old red union suit off his body by digging your heels against the back of his thighs and pushing it down the long length of his legs until it reaches his ankles. The undergarment hangs loosely off his feet, causing him to kick it haphazardly off the side of the bed, letting it fall onto his trunk to skirt down on the grass below.

The instant his turgid length brushes over your inner thigh it twitches with the anticipation of feeling your tight, wet walls clamped around him, milking every drop of spend nestled away in his balls; spend that he so desperately wishes he could drain right inside of you. For now, however, just a single brush of your fingertips against him is enough. He has to hold his breath as he guides your delicate palm over his velvety shaft to stroke the needy ache away; if he isn't careful, he'd cum just like this. He hisses, sucking in a sharp breath through his teeth as your fingers wrap around him and your thumb seeks out the weeping slit of his blunt tip. Arthur is, by no means, a small man: his legs are long, torso strong and wide, feet and hands are like bear paws, and his cock.. God, his cock is big. You could use both of your hands to stroke him and still, there'd be enough room for his tip to be entirely untouched. But you make sure as you stroke him with one hand, you pay extra attention to his tip, smearing his drooling precum over as much of him as you can, even down to the dark and wiry curls along his base and balls.

He's trying so hard to hold himself back, but with each tender pass of your thumb over that sweet spot along the underside of his tip, the last remnants of his patience crack away. You feel him crumbling like this, crumbling into a frenzied mess of low-hummed breaths and grunts through gritted teeth, and you fucking love it. Before you can even think about the desire roaring in the cavernous pit of your stomach, aching to be quelled, he smashes his lips into yours so hard that you're sure one of you is bleeding. The pain of his busted lip splitting back open is an angry reminder of the frustration still lingering at the back of his mind; he's as tensed up, pent-up, as a taut rope ready to snap.

With a quick movement, he swats your hand away, preventing you from jacking him into a fast climax. Then, in one swift motion, he grabs hold of your thighs and forcefully yanks you toward him, making the round swell of your plump ass plant firmly against the hard front of his strong body. Your thighs spread out, squishing over and conforming to the contour of his hips, the intimate contact leaving you both ragged and breathless. Your heart drums a frantic rhythm in your ears, drowning out all other thoughts and sensations that belong to you alone. It's as if your mind has descended into a tangled web of strangled noises and glorious sensations that only Arthur seems able to untangle or soothe. The faint outline of his body nestled between your thighs is a constant reminder that nothing beyond this moment, beyond him hidden away with you inside of this tent, matters.

The hard length of his turgid pride parts your folds, gliding over the slick thatch of curls usually concealing your cunt from his eyes, but with his sight hindered, he can explore every single nook, roll, and crevice without you shying away. His weight bares down on you as he holds your legs into the crook of his arms, nearly bending you in half as he drags his cock over your seam. It feels so good like this, even though you can hardly breathe with the thickness of your thighs pressing against your already plump stomach, but when the tip of his cock knocks into your clit, it makes the strained pain well worth it. The back of your hand flies over your mouth as he continues on like this, pleasuring himself and you with each agonizingly slow thrust. Hearing your ragged, strangled half-breaths, he releases your thighs, leaving them to splay out lazily on either side of his hips as he leans down to steal a tender kiss.

Upon breaking his lips away from yours, the low hum of his voice finds its way through the haziness of your lust-broken mind as he murmurs against the shell of your ear, "Gonna take ya just like this..."

Chapped lips skim over your jawline and trail to your lips, where he gives you another tender kiss filled with gentle affection: polar opposite to the rough sex-driven outlaw you've gotten a taste of tonight, but aligning perfectly with the man you fell in love with all those years ago. Scraped knuckles skim against your slick heat as he slips his hand in between you both and presses flat over the thick, dark curls at the base of his throbbing length. His fingers spread wide over his pubic bone, holding his cock between his middle and ring finger, stiffening himself outward to seek out your clenched entrance. With a slight pullback of his hips, he guides himself to your slit, catching right on the taut muscle before pressing forward and splitting you open.

A soft cry hums in the back of your throat and he shushes you so tenderly, sliding his hands over your knees and down your shins to soothe the ache he knows you're feeling. You're so fucking tight, hardly different from the first night he took you and bedded you properly back at the Saint's Hotel. It nearly shatters him when your walls flutter around him, squeezing and pulling him in inch by inch as if you were carved out just for him to sink into. He stills only for a short moment, letting you feel him nestled up against your cervix before he slides himself out and enters you again with a sharp snap of his hips. Lingering anger and frustration from the shit day he's had still pulsates at the back of his mind, desperate to be released as the tension in his body rises.

The tight walls of your cunt clench onto him for dear life as jolts of pleasure and pain rack through your body.

Behind the shield of your palm, you cry out, "A-Agh, Arthur!"

You're trying your best to be quiet, to still your ragged breaths and hide your whimpers, but he's making it incredibly difficult. Each slow drag of his cock coming out of you with a satisfying pop, only to pierce you with a hard roll of his hips, sends you reeling. You're seeing stars, shaking from the pleasurable burn of the passionate fire he's stirring within you. Strong hands grip your hips, keeping you still as his thrusts guide you into a steady rhythm that makes the old wooden frame creak and groan with every subtle and sharp movement that your bodies make. Being discreet has left his mind entirely, no longer concerned with what sounds are coming out of his tent as he fucks you good and proper. No, he couldn't care less when the sounds of your slick pussy squelches as he presses himself flush against you and groans against the pulse point of your neck.

"Don't want ya hidin' them purdy sounds, Darlin'. Let 'em out for me," he grunts out between slow but hard thrusts.

Usually, intimacy like this is savored in the shaking breaths and whispered little sounds only audible to your ears, but tonight... Tonight Arthur is something else entirely. Primal. A damn, dirty outlaw. You love this new view of him, but you can't allow yourself to let the others hear. What if someone were walking by? Or Hosea or Dutch hear you two going at it? You wouldn't be able to look at them for a week! But he doesn't give you much choice in the matter: snaking his hand down between your bodies, his muscular forearm presses against your plush belly while his thumb immediately finds your clit.

"O-Oh, God," you whine as the pad of his thumb circles over you, followed by his name dripping off your tongue like the sweetest honey. "At's it... Such a good girl takin' me so deep. Mmm.. Gonna cum 'round me ain'tchu? Gonna give me a real good one, baby?"

God damn him if his mouth ain't filthy. The way he croons out those little praises and words of encouragement has your climax building faster than you ever could have anticipated. And the swirling of his thumb? It has you shaking, whining, pleading, practically begging for your release as he talks you through it, "C'mon, Darlin'... I feel ya squeezin' me real tight," he praises, "'At's it. Focus on me."

With one more swipe of his thumb over your sensitive clit and his cock hitting that sweet spot right against your cervix, you're tensing, digging your heels into the thin mattress, and cumming around him so hard that you see white. It takes everything in you not to scream, but the strangled sound coming out of you is loud enough to warrant some head-turning if anyone were awake. The moment your walls flutter and start milking him, he falls forward and drops down onto his elbows to cage you in. His thrusts are relentless as he takes his anger out on you in this way, using every movement of his body to release the bristling anger clutching onto his mind like a damn vice grip. No matter how fervent and frenzied, he's still careful not to hurt you, always thinking about how good he's making you feel while chasing his own release.

Arthur isn't a man of many words, but when you're gripped around him like this, clutching him with your arms, legs, and your fluttering pussy, he is downright mouthy. "Oh, such a good girl for listenin' to me. Shh.. Shh. I gotchu, baby. I gotchu."

His mouth hovers over yours, claiming your lips as he kisses you hard and possessively. Moans spill out of you, traveling through the expanse of his throat until it hums within his chest and he echoes one back. To talk like this with him, in a language only two lovers could understand, is far more intimate and pleasurable than anyone could ever know. Arthur is yours and you are his, no ownership or proprietary claim, but just the pleasant knowledge that both of you choose to love each other is enough.

With a few more rolls of his hips, he's nearing his own orgasm: length twitching and engorging as his balls tighten. In desperation, he quickly climbs off of you and pulls his cock out from your core. His right hand tightens into a fist around himself, and although you can't see it, you hear the lewd, effortless slide of his hand vigorously pumping over his tip like his life depends on cumming for you.

Finally, his orgasm hits him, working its way out of his tightened balls and spurting over your plump mound and belly. If he could see his spend on you like this, it'd be enough to make him cum all over again. But both of you are far too exhausted to even consider that so soon. You're still shaking, panting heavily as he lowers himself down onto you, not caring that his sticky spend is now covering the front of his body as well, as your sweaty bodies come down from such an enormous height.

His touch traces a slow, deliberate path down your leg until his fingertips reach the softness of your hip, where he gives your flesh a gentle but firm grasp. Reveling in the smoothness of your skin and the feel of your curvy form beneath his palm, he lets out a slow exhale through his nose. The heat of his breath spills over your neck and shoulder, doubled by the heavy breaths leaving his lips as he lazily peppers your clammy skin with kisses.

After a long stretch of quiet spent nestled into his hair, breathing in the comforting remnants of campfire intermingled with his musky scent, your breathing finally begins to steady. Slowly, your senses return to you one by one, like pieces of a puzzle falling back into place. Shock and disbelief jolt through your entire being as it finally hits you how easily he manipulated your body with his own strength and skill as a lover. You'd heard of men being rough with women, but never did you think it could be this pleasurable.

Your voice finally cuts through the relative silence, carrying a deep sense of satisfaction and astonishment with it, "Wh-here in the hell did that come from?"

An amused chuckle rumbles inside his chest, slightly huffing out of his nose as he slightly pushes himself off of you to gauge your reaction, "Reckon I were a little pent up. Why? You like it?"

To say you liked it was an understatement, but you'd like anything as long as Arthur were right there with you to experience it just the same. While his right hand slides up over the plump contours of your body, appreciatively grabbing at the plushness of your stomach and breasts, he lovingly brushes a few stray strands of hair off your forehead stuck there by the sweat covering your body. You hum softly in agreement to his question, deciding that you did enjoy this different side of him you hadn't expected, despite his rough exterior.

"Mhmm.. 'S always good with you," the loving words you murmur cling to his heart and earn you a pleasant kiss that tastes like the remnants of his busted lip.

As his lips trail back down over your jawline, his beard delightfully scratches over your sensitive skin, causing you to hum in appreciation for him loving you like a man who worships the very ground you walk upon. Your own body follows his lead, fingertips glide down the entire length of his back, tracing the contour of muscle that hint at the immense strength lurking beneath. You can't help but marvel at his shape, this man you love so dearly, and how his body was molded for love and carved from such a hard life. While your fingertips glide across his muscled frame, you can feel the subtle shift of his body as he adjusts himself on top of you, notricebly more relaxed than before: a clear testamanet to the calming eddect your touch has on him.

Curiosity peaked, you murmur, "You relaxed now?" as your fingertips idly trace the two little dimples that grace the base of his spine, just above the firm and muscular curve of his ass.

An amused smirk tugs at the corner of his lips, obviously enjoying the path your fingertips are carving out over his back. He'd never admit it, but he loves it when you grab him unabashedly, palming his ass like he so often does to you. The warmth of his cock brushing over your leg, hardening much faster than he expected for a man his age, tells you all you need to know.

He agrees with you, humming softly against your chest as he inches himself down to where his mouth hovers over the plump swell of your breasts, "Thinkin' that we just might need a little more time for relaxin', don'tchu?"

A/N: Big thanks for the divider from @saradika-graphics and the beautiful gif from @sunwingsunset, please go send them some love for their work! <3

Other creators that expressed interest and drew inspiration from: @subpopizzy , @cassietrn , @coltermorning , @redwritr, @zae-heeyyy, @twola , @amorgansgal

Please do go check all the blogs I tagged! You surely won't be disappointed!

As always, sending my love - M. <3

[realuity]

Okay so technically not Inspekta depending on your view point, definitely a spoiler, but have you considered voicing our beloved blue jerkface's dialogue when you go to talk to him after the rift closes? You know the one where he apologizes for ruining your vacation? You've got serious acting chops, I think you could pull it off

im so fucking flattered that u beleive in me enough to do this.. oh my goodness... i hope i did it justice for you boss!! was a tricky one to do, but i think it's at least presentable.

transcript under the cut! (here's another spoiler warning!)

EEP! Hi, Godpoke. Sowwy, i was just.. uh, thinkin'.

That.. good ol' worldy-endin' guilt! Ehh..heh. Um. So. Does anyone else know? About yew? That yew didn't come ta the grove to become tha Godpoke? Ahahh.. sowwy ta drop in and spoil yer vacation. But truth be told, I'm glad yew were here. Just the right place at the right time..

sayin' tha right thing.

Sometimes dat's all it takes! N-NOT ALWAYS!.. but.. sometimes. Anyway.. I promise I'll make it up ta yew. Take a week awf!

But.. when yer back, I hope you'll teach me how to do what yew do. I'm gonna do some.. thinkin', Godpoke. Go chat with my boys, if ya like, then take a looong rest. Yew've oined it.

[pastel-peach-writes]

Hey can I request Korra x gn!reader where Asami doesn’t know that reader is in relationship with Korra and starts flirting with reader and Korra gets jealous and it ends up in cuddles?

Can be headcannons or one-shot. However you want it!

EEP. I've been in a korra mood lately so I'm sooo down for this.

Jealous Thing | Korra x Reader

╰┈➤ PLOT: It's her own fault. Due to Avatar duties, Korra failed to tell Asami you and her were together. Now, she has to suffer the consequences of her actions.

╰┈➤ WARNINGS: A Curse Word, Jealous Korra, Mako Cameo, Playful Banter, Not Proofread

⍣ ೋ Enjoy!⍣ ೋ

Okay, it wasn't supposed to be this way. Today was supposed to be a calm, chill, relaxing day in the Air Temple. You finally got a day off of work, Korra had some relief from her Avatar duties, and Asami got some time off as well. But now, Korra has to watch Asami flirt with her partner from across the room.

You were laughing, playfully pushing Asami. You were completely oblivious to her acts.

Asami's flirting isn't subtle. It's very in your face in the best way possible. She deepens her tone, uses touch and body language, and she never ever breaks eye contact. Her attempts toward you fell flat though.

You were with Korra. Hopelessly devoted to her, if you will. Since Korra and Asami are best friends, you assumed the raven knew of your relationship. However, with work and avatar duties, neither of them had the time to chat or sit down to write a letter. You thought Asami's touchiness and flirts were a part of her nature.

You were only acquaintances after all.

"No, you have to come over sometime!" Asami laughed. "I brought the Krew before, it's only fair you come to. Think of it as a new friendship tradition," she shimmed her shoulder against yours. A laugh broke out of you.

"Mm, sure. I mean, spending some time in a pool sounds fun. You said it was at your house?"

"Yeah! Indoors, you can use floaties or you can stay on the pool chairs."

Korra watched as Asami's green eyes sparkled as she looked into yours. She watched as the raven made subtle flirtatious expressions as she listened to you speak.

The scene made Korra want to barf.

"You gonna say something or are you going to stand here, hiding behind a pillar, like a creep?" Mako spoke from behind Korra. The Avatar didn't jump. She simply waved him off.

"Go away, Mako. I'm listening to an important conversation here."

Mako quirked a brow. He peeked from the pillar, his eyes landing on you and Asami. He hummed. Unlike most people, Mako was observant. It was obvious Korra had some sort of crush on you.

Her body langauge was closed off, her jaw was tense, and if looks could kill, Asami would be obliterated. The sight of Korra made Mako chuckle.

"Why are you laughing?" Korra spat. Her eyes remained on the two of you.

"Because this is reminding me of when you first met Asami. You were jealous of her then and you're jealous of her now."

Korra snapped towards him. "I'm not jealous. I don't get jealous. I'm the Avatar. What do I have to be jealous of?"

Mako shrugged "I don't know. Someone else getting close to someone you want to get close to? Someone else getting the opportunity to be romantically involved with someone you want to be romantically involved with? Someone who--"

"--Okay, I get it. You think I'm jealous," scoffed Korra. The Avatar finally peeled her eyes away from the pair. With her arms crossed over her chest, she turned around and rested her back on the pillar.

"No," Mako mimicked her arms. "I know you're jealous." He gained another scoff. He only continued. "Look, just sort through your feelings and confess before it's too late, okay? You don't want to break up another couple."

Korra dropped her jaw with a gasp. She looked up at Mako who only laughed in response. "Kidding, kidding," Mako said through laughter. Korra's face morphed into a scowl. "I'm kidding!" the boy defended with his arms up.

With a roll of her eyes, Korra turned back around to watch you and Asami again. "Whatever, Mako."

A quiet laugh blew past Mako's lips as he walked away.

"I don't need to confess anything," Korra muttered to herself. "They're my partner. I've already done the hard part. If only Miss.Asami could see that."

-

Dinner was anything but peaceful. Asami decided to take you and Korra out for noodles in the city. Mako and Bolin were invited as well, but they had prior plans.

You sat in a booth next to Korra. You slurped your noodles and wiped the broth off your face. Asami would like to do the same, slurping her noodles, but Korra sent daggers from across the table.

Her blue eyes pierced into Asami's green. Korra was so tense that her shoulders were to her ears, her lips were pursed to the side, and her jaw was tensed.

"Is something wrong?" Asami asked. The girl neatly placed her chopsticks on the chopstick rest.

"No." Korra iced.

Slurping up an awry noodle, you peeked out of the corner of your eye. "Doesn't seem like it."

Korra snapped a glare towards you, but once she realized who she was sitting next to, she eased. "Oh, sorry." Korra grabbed her soup spoon and scooped up some broth.

You and Asami shared a puzzled glance.

That was weird, right?

Extremely.

-

Back at the Air Temple, you three walked in a horizontal line. You were in the middle, Asami was on your left, Korra was on your right. The crickets chirped as the cool breeze brushed past your skin.

If twinkling stars made a sound, they would chime and ping. The water from the fountain in the middle of the courtyard completed the night's ambiance.

You stopped walking, letting the moonlight bask on you. You closed your eyes and took a deep inhale.

"Everything okay?" Asami asked. She and Korra stood in front of you.

You nodded. You continued to let the moon soak into your skin and the breeze settle you. It was times like this where you remember how pivotal nature is to the human body. You needed to meditate with Tenzin more often. Is this what grounding feels like?

"Never better," you exhaled. Your feet dug into the ground and you opened your palms to further enjoy the night.

Both Korra and Asami couldn't believe the sight there were seeing. This ethereal human was standing right in front of them looking like a deity. Your complexion glowed in the moonlight and your eyelashes looked especially long and kissable.

Korra took a gander towards Asami. It had to be hard being lighter-skinned. Even in the nighttime, a blush still showed. Asami's lovestruck eyes and tilt of her head made Korra sick. She felt the urge to grab your face and kiss you until your lips turned purple.

Yes, right in front of Asami.

She wished she didn't care about Asami's feelings, but she does. If Asami truly had a crush on you, kissing you like that would break her heart. Plus, Korra couldn't blame her. You were the most beautiful being she's ever seen and Korra owns a mirror.

"I think," Korra's voice croaked. "I'm gonna hit the hay. Dinner was so filling and who knew a day of nothing could be so tiring?" she gave the two of you a forced chuckle.

"But you barely ate your dinner." you finally opened your eyes to see Korra. You should've opened your eyes earlier. She looked like a moon spirit in the moonlight. Her eyes were wide and sparkling and damn, her arms never looked better.

"Ah, well. What can you do? The body is crazy, haha." Without another spoken word, Korra turned on her heels and walked away.

You and Asami exchanged another glance.

-

"Hey, Korra?" you murmured. You let your knuckles knock on her wooden door. "Can I come in?"

Korra was dressed in her pjs with her hair down and her bed prepared for sleeping, but she shuffled over to the door. She gave you a tired smile when she opened her door. "Of course you can. You don't have to ask.”

"Oh, well, I thought I should since... since you've been mad at me all day," you kept your gaze on the ground as you stepped into her room. You picked at your nails and met her eyes when she closed her door.

"Mad at you? I'm not mad at you. I could never be mad at you," Korra frowned. She shuffled over to you. She put her hands on your shoulders and looked into your eyes. "What makes you think I was mad at you?"

"You haven't spoken to me all day. I thought we were supposed to be spending time together. You know, you and me. Maybe even you, me, and Asami," you pouted as you spoke. "Do you hate me?"

"No, babe. No. I don't hate you and I never could." her hands found their way to your face. She cupped her cheeks. "I-I'm sorry, I've been in my head all day."

"Why? Did I do something?" Your eyes shifted between hers, trying to find some animosity or insincerity. You couldn't find any.

"No, here, come sit." Korra took ahold of your hand. She led you to the bed and sat you down. With her next to you, she pulled your legs over her lap. Korra took a deep breath.

She hates when Mako is right. She was jealous. Jealous as hell. She was so jealous she didn't want to admit it and ended up hurting you in the process. She couldn't even imagine how Asami felt. She'll have to deal with that in the morning. Right now, Korra's priority is you.

"The reason why I haven't been sociable today is because," she took another deep breath. "Iwasjealous."

"What?" You leaned closer into her.

"I was jealous," admitted Korra. "I didn't like how Asami was flirting with you, putting her hands on you, making you laugh. That's my job. Mine. Not anyone else's and especially not hers."

You debated on scolding Korra for the way she was talking about her best friend, but it would be inappropriate. Korra was expressing an insecurity of hers. Now was not the time to scold her for talking ill about her best friend.

"Korra," you cupped her cheek. "Asami wasn't flirting with me. She was just being nice."

"No, babe," Korra chuckled. She placed a hand on your hip. "She was flirting with you. Trust me, I've seen it myself."

"But, why would she flirt with her best friend's partner?" Your face scruched in disgust. Maybe Korra talking ill about Asami was justified. You never struck Asami as a girl who would steal her best friend's partner. Icky.

"Because," Korra chewed on her lower lip. Her heartbeat rose and she bit down on her inner cheek. "She doesn't know you're my partner."

"What?" You peeled yourself off of Korra. You went to take your legs off her lap, but Korra pinned them down.

"Hey now, wait. It's not like that."

You went to rebuttal, but Korra put her hand over your mouth.

"Shh, listen." Korra was tempted to smirk and tease you about how cute you looked with her hand over your mouth, but she decided against it. At least for now. "She doesn't know we're together because we haven't had time to chat. I've been so busy with my avatar duties and any free time I have, I want to spend with you. Not to mention Asami's killer and brutal schedule. That girl cannot get a break."

You brought your hand to push Korra's off of you. She didn't budge. You continued to push and nudge at her hand.

"Are you gonna be upset? I'm not going to take my hand off if you're still upset."

Your eyes nearly bulge out of your head. You exclaimed her name behind her hand.

"As much as I like hearing you scream my name, that's not the answer I'm looking for," the Avatar smirked at you.

Warmth glowed behind your cheeks. You playfully slammed your hands down on the bed and kicked your legs which were still under her grip. "Korra!" you exclaimed once more, laughter ripping from your belly.

Since your laughter is music to her ears, and the fact that she didn't hear you laugh this way with Asami, Korra removed her hand from your mouth. "Hey, stop kicking me." Korra gave a love tap to the side of your thigh.

You laughed, kicking a few moments longer before stopping. "Why didn't you tell her about us when she first arrived?"

Korra whined. "I don't know! I just saw you two talking and the way she was moving and knew she was flirting with you. I was stunned with jealousy. I couldn't move," she whined again.

"Oh, poor baby." You brought Korra's head down to your shoulders. You laid yourselves back on her mattress, your heads resting on her plush pillows. "You should tell her. And you should know I'm yours and only yours."

"But she's my best friend who has a crush on you! If I tell her you're taken by me, she's going to be heartbroken. Who can blame her? You're a catch," Korra pouted up at you.

You smoothed your hand over her hair. "Or she'll be understanding and the best best friend ever. She'll congratulate you and tell you how lucky we are to have each other," you hummed. "If you can't tell your best friend about the hard stuff, are you really best friends?"

Korra pondered over your sentence for a second. Korra loved talking about anything and everything with Asami. Not being able to fawn over you with her and ramble about how awesome you are was killing her.

"I guess you're right," Korra snuggled her head into the crook of your neck. "Can we pick this up in the morning? I'm sleepy and I haven't had time with you all day."

"Oh, I wonder who's fault that is."

Korra playfully smacked your butt.

"Hey!" you laughed. You rubbed the area she hit. "Kor, you're heavy-handed! That hurt!"

The Avatar shrugged, humming as if she wasn't the cause of your stinging ass. "I just want cuddles. I don't see what the problem is."

With a playful eye-roll, you pinched Korra's side. "Yeah, right, Avatar. Go to bed."

"Only in your arms."

WC: 2,331

[todarknessitfalls]

"Do you really really really want to? I'm a psycho-psychopath!!"

Hiya!! I'm… well I go by a lot of names!!

Most commonly used ones are: - Antagonist/Antag (Mostly used online/amongst my general mutuals + followers!!) - Kris - N - Jack - Michael - Atsushi - Vic - Xavier - Any of my kin names!!

I also go by Mercutio and nicknames derived from that, but please ask me before using that name for me, since I'd prefer if only people who are close to me call me Mercutio or Tio

My pronouns are it/void/gut/gore/rot/pop/he!! No They/Them or She/Her pretty please!!

I am taken x3!!! My Queerplatonic partner (and my everything) is @the-fallen-collective ( #meri jaan <3 on this blog!!) My partner is @theonlyrealdazaiosamusblog ( #my dear <3 on this blog!!)

My interests: - BSD - FNAF + Afton Family Lore - Creepypasta - Laceygames - The Amazing Digital Circus - My OCs + Lore - Bendy and The Dark Revival + Bendy and The Ink Machine - The Disasterous Life of Saiki K - Assassination Classroom - Art - Writing - Classic Literature - Palaye Royale - Green Day - My Chemical Romance - Psychology - OC Angst (/jk… or am I?)

18+ users can interact and DM as long as you aren’t icky and comfy with the fact that i am a minor :3

DNIs: - Bad people in general - General DNIs (homophobes, transphobes, misogyonists, etc etc) - Radqueers - Pro-contact - Zoophiles, Pedophiles, etc etc - [Pro] Endogenic systems - Anti-recovery blogs (for EDs, S/H, anything) - NSFW + smut blogs - MDNI blogs - Anti-alterhumanity

MY FRENDOS!!!!!! (tell me if you weren't cool with being @/ed ^^) @star-seeking-stray - big sister, who is INSANE /pos

@lemon-reef - baby sibling, pat pat pat pat pat pat

@valentinos-corner - baby sibling, all the hugs and squishes

@evvwenthome - baby sibling, picking you up and putting you in a bag

@offsetthedeath - parental figure

@icreatethingz - MY SON. BE NICE TO HIM OR ELSE.

@aesthetic-writer18 - HIHI LITERALLY ONE OF MY BEST FRIENDS HIII

@paintedgrilledcheese - i ramble to them so… so much… frendo!!

@casinoownersigma - KIJI MY BIG BROTHER GRRR /pos

@trashlike - friend!! i am the evil feral gremlin child on faer shoulder telling them to make more blogs

@deeply-moonstruck - frendo!!! we yap about lore a lot

@arsonist-lullabye - this one is not normal about ango

@duckduckgoose-exe - goose

@smallpieceofcheese - unhinged mentor /pos

@sayuutoria - (ex?) wife. we keep getting married and divorced and married again

@agoodbookisalwaysgood - my bestie fr fr, matching pfps!!!!

@nottherealapollo - MY BIG BROTHER!!!!

(if you arent here do msg me and i'll add you!!! i have very bad memory so i forget a lot of things ;-;)

I fall under a bunch of alterhuman identities, ask me about them!!

MICHAEL AFTON FICTIONKIN, THIS IS MY HIGHEST ID, I AM NOT OKAY WITH DOUBLES UNDER ANY CIRCUMSTANCES.

common tags used on this blog:

#antagonist reblogs - i reblog random shit!! won’t always remember to tag though T^T

#antagonist rambles - my incessant yapping!!

#antagonist shitposts - i shitpost

#antagonist stims - self explanatory lmao

#antagonist doodles - my drawings!!

#antagonist wrote something - my fics!!

#antagonist yaps with friends - my chats with my friends!!

#antagonist yaps with anons - anon chats!!

#antagonist used a braincell - my thoughts. could be anything from shitposts to philosophy to maths!!

#antagonist vents - my vents, always check and block the tags pls!!

#antagonist is tired. - i am so so tired.

#antagonist laceyposts - what it says on the tin. i laceypost!

#antagonist is william afton - william afton posting

#man i love michael afton - michael afton posting

#antagonist raises the sun - i say good morning!

#antagonist travels to eep land - i say good night!

My sideblog for roleplaying can be found at: @antag--roleplays

[novankenn]

Digital Dalliance?

Pyrrha was frustrated and bored. The life of a Combat Tournament Champion was nothing like the movies and reality shows made it out to be. She felt like a prisoner in her own life. Having earned two major titles back to back meant she was now more that just a pretty face. She was now becoming a hero, and to some an idol worthy of worpship.

Gone now were the late night trips, to dance clubs. Gone were the peaceful walks in the park. Everywhere she went she was mobbed by adoring fans if she happened to be not surrounded by private security.

So she retreated from public life. Threw herself into training for future matches and in her downtime retreated to the expansive worlds of VR. In the digital domain she was a nobody. Her face was different, as was her body. Gone was the athletic amazon, replaced with a girl-next-door vibe. In these artificial realms she was free.

Late one night she had donned her VR suit. She had a free weekend, and to burn off the frustration of a bad week or poor training results she entered the clubs worlds... and became bored. She knew when she created her avatar that being so plain would cause her to be overlooked. But tonight she wanted to interact. To have fun and escape the real world.

She found herself in a rather low-key dance club. Nothing special. Just booming music and an at capacity dance floor. Hugging the fringes she watched the writhing forms while trying to screw up the nerve to wade into the sea of bodies. It was during that time she saw him. He was average, but had a mystery about him. She followed his vibrant, sun-kissed blond hair as he moved through the crowd.

He had an air of complete peace as he danced and prowled. Pyrrha gasped when his head turned in her direction and their eyes met. His vibrant blues peering deep into her deep emeralds. He smiled, and then vanished. Her eyes darted about trying to catch sight of him.

????: Hi

Pyrrha: EEP!

She snapped her head about noticing that he was now leaning against the wall beside her.

????: Noticed you looking lonely. Did you want some friendly company? Maybe a dance partner?

Pyrrha: Umm, I... ah...

He moved to stand before her his disarming smile making her heart flutter VR suit. He cocked his head, and still smiling.

????: Maybe I'm not what you're looking for?

Pyrrha: What?

The young man closed his eyes, and shook his head. Suddenly his short messy mop of blond hair, became a shoulder length waterfall. His rather boyish features softening and become enticingly feminine.

????: Is this better?

Pyrrha was shocked. She had heard the rumors of individuals that had the ability to instantly change, or modify their virtual avatars. It wasn't allowed. It wasn't supposedly possible. Yet she just witnessed it first hand.

Pyrrha: Um... no... yes?

????: Where are my manners. I'm Jaune or in this case... Joan. And you are?

Pyrrha: I go by Pyr.

Joan(Jaune): Well Pyr why are you hugging the wall? You should be out there having some fun.

Pyrrha: Well... um... I had a rough week, and I wanted... to let loose but... I...

Joan(Jaune): Not feeling it? Were hoping to find some friendly company to share a VR session with?

Pyrrha: Yeah. I guess you could say that. Could you?

Joan(Jaune) nodded and with the same motion as before, her/his body morphed. Once again male, he moved to lean against the wall next to Pyrrha.

Jaune(Joan): So is this the type of place you wanted to let loose in?

Pyrrha: I wanted too... but...

Jaune(Joan): It is a little crowded, here. I know of another place. Bit different of a vibe, but I think you would really have some fun there.

Pyrrha: Um...

Jaune(Joan): It's okay to turn me down. I won't be insulted or upset.

Pyrrha: Could we just stay here and talk for a bit? I mean thank you but... I don't think...

Jaune(Joan): Totally understand. And I'm more than happy to have a chat.

Jaune(Joan) shot Pyrrha that disarming smile, that made her heart flutter in the real world.

[only-knives]

tomorrow's the day i sign for my apartment :') here's the plan:

tonight, after my dad goes to bed, bring my duffle bag + backpack downstairs.

also ideally find my DS lite and set up the nintendo switch.

pack some kinda art supplies in my backpack. dont forget a pen

go eep as early as i physically can (challenge)

wake up between 7:00-7:45am. eat, change, etc.

take uncrustables out of freezer and put in backpack!!! also put my "book" in my backpack

as soon as i know the uber's here, sneak out with my bags (so my dad doesn't ask where i'm going w/all that)

sign the papers!!! 8am !

unpack food and comfort objects <3

chill. put on some music, read, draw, write.

around noon, head to the library. chat with the clerks. gather pamphlets and such. get a new library card. figure out the computers.

head back home for lunch. omg. cant believe this apartment is gonna be HOME tomorrow!!

take photos and send to my besties!! ask to call them!!

spoons-willing, head down to the preserve. sit in the gazebo and admire the water. take pretty pictures of nature.

wait for mama to pick me up. i can wait outside or inside doesn't matter.

go home and do laundry. pack for vacation. figure out w/mom how we're gonna get my shit moved out after vacation.

only tell my dad i'm moving out AFTER all the things i can't bare to lose are out of my room. this is in case he gets angry and starts throwing my shit away

move out. call my aunt & tell her the good news. live my life. get sober again probably. hopefully. maybe.

i'm gonna miss my momo but as long as he's happy... i will be ok. and my aunt is taking in a stray that her cat has taken a liking to so.. maybeee she'll let me have moocow. obvi not betting on it or anything it would just be. very cool lol

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

Idia, Silver: Somehow I’ll be Strong

Silver casually doing his usual knightly duties and Idia being shocked at such Chad behavior will never not be funny 🤡 but seeing Idia passionately share his hobbies in the vignettes was wholesome! (The story about Idia singing with Ortho as they went to the bathroom together at night was also adorable 🥺)

Idia’s legs are so damn long, everyone’s been memeing them to the Underworld and back 😂 … Okay, but wtf is up with THAT face he’s making in the groovy?? That’s on a whole new level of sinister 💀 Is this really your mans, Eliza—

asiulbdg8yoadasbqerqo I'M HYPERFIXATED ON ONE OF HIS VOICE LINES where Idia threatens to flick your forehead if you get in his way but then he also confesses that his finger will hurt from doing that so you'd feel bad for him... bro, how weak ARE you...

A Tale as Old as Time.

Gazing upon the good and righteous was nothing new for Idia. He had pored over countless manga and light novels, binged shounen anime after shounen anime.

Here was another hero, bathed in bronze sunlight, posing triumphantly, a sword to pave the way forward and a battered training dummy to protect. His trusty winged steed beside him, a stout, wizened satyr, his mentor, hanging off of one bulging bicep. True, the arena they stood in was empty, save for the training equipment scattered about—but there was no doubt that the world would soon know his name, and his face written in the stars.

A platinum frame divided Idia from that legendary man.

Clutching onto one limp, flabby arm, he quietly scoffed. Haaah, it looks like a scene straight out of some musclehead's training montage...

"You're admiring this painting too, Idia-senpai?"

Idia's thoughts came to a screeching halt. Goosebumps prickled his skin, hair standing on end. A young man with a build similar to the hero in the artwork had appeared, handsome-face framed by moonlight locks.

"E-Eep! S-Silver-shi?!" His voice was pinched, a reverberating squeak.

The knight bowed his head. "Hello. It sounds like you're in good spirits."

Idia took a step back, as if he were the night making way for the encroaching day. The shadows were where he felt the safest, wrapped up in a cloak that granted him near invisibility from the average onlooker. Not with Silver. He who cast a revealing light wherever he drifted.

"Y-Yeah, what a n-nice painting..." Idia mumbled, not bothering to summon the effort to lie. He attempted to skitter away, cutting the conversation short, but—to his dismay—Silver continued.

"I look up to him too. There's many historical heroes we can look back on and learn from," Silver said with a nod. "I refer to them when I consider my own training regiment. They're inspirations to us all."

What's this?! Idia paled. Obviously I was trying to signal to him that I was gonna go AFK but this guy just starts spamming the chat!! H-Have I accidentally tripped an event flag...!? Or does he lack even more social awareness than an introverted otaku like me!?

Silver regarded him seriously—innocently, even. "Can I ask if this is the one you aspire to?"

Idia grimaced at the suggestion. "You're joking, right? Th-There's no way I could be a fraction as buff as he is!!"

The second year blinked, seeming undisturbed by the flustered response. “I don't think that's a concern."

“How’s it not? A hero can’t do crazy godlike stunts if he doesn’t have the right stuff…”

Silver shook his head. “My father has told me stories of warriors who were able to overcome their lack of strength with other provisions. A woman once pretended to be a man to infiltrate the military. Her wit saved their entire country from collapse."

"This man too…” Silver indicated the placard below the platinum frame. “… He gave up his strength to protect someone he loved. It was his noble heart that made the heavens recognize his godhood."

“W-Well…” Idia but his lower lip. He knew the tales as well as Silver did, but still he hesitated. “That’s true, but… isn’t it too unrealistic to think ordinary people could rise to those kinds of feats?”

His grip on his sleeve tightened.

The main character in Star Rogue... He started off as a zero and became a hero. But that's just a video game. Can something like that really happen in real life...? When true heroes are one in a billion?

Silver-shi makes it sound so easy.

His stomach lurched, wrenching into distorted shapes.

“If you have the drive, you can go the distance and somehow become strong,” Silver told him. His tone, reassuring yet firm.

“Somehow? H-How vague can you possibly get? That’s no way to achieve results…”

“It’s not brawn alone that determines your worth as a hero. Please have more faith in yourself, Idia-senpai."

As if just saying that will make my faith meter shoot through the roof! Anxiety-induced sweat beaded on Idia’s forehead.

M-Maybe if I tell him what he wants to hear, he’ll leave me alone… He warily eyed Silver. “O-Okay… I get it already. I’ll try, so…”

Please stop talking to me!! I-I don’t know how much longer of this pure-hearted anime protag speech I can stomach!

“You will? That’s great.” Silver smiled softly. His expression, Idia realized, reminded him of that of the hero in the photo frame.

A sparkling face, full of hope for the future.

A hero in the making.

That could be you, a tiny voice in his mind whispered.

A weight in his chest steadily lifted, then dropped again. Like a lost soul bobbing between life and death. Unsure of which way to go.

No, don’t be deceived. Life isn’t a game route that plays out with an easy ending. One misstep, and I’ll be floating in the River Styx.

Idia cut away from his underclassman. The hero’s big grin snagged in the corner of his eye.

Perfect, pearly, perky. Not a visible crack in a man seemingly chiseled out of marble.

But nobody’s perfect, not even the immortals. Everyone has a weakness or two in their systems, a security flaw, bug to exploit—and the bigger they are, the harder they fall.

Trust in excess turned into gullibility. Willingness to help could become one’s hubris. Goodness twisting into other shapes.

Suddenly, the hero was no longer infallible. His courage, painted foolishly.

If a hero could crumble, then so, too, could those at their lowest points rise up and rebuild a city. Make something of themselves. True one way, and true the other.

Someday, somehow, he’d be strong enough to face the odds—turning the impossible into the possible.

A slow, sinister smile crept onto his lips. Eerie, gleeful laughter filled the air. His shoulders, shuddering.

“Hihihihihihi…”

Silver’s ears perked. He inclined his head toward his upperclassman. It looks like Idia-senpai is reinvigorated. I’m glad I could encourage him.

[bereft-of-frogs]

I'm so glad I have actually stuff to analyze now to defend Indara and I don't have to just keep being like 'um that's not really how narrative storytelling works' and 'I suspect you guys just don't know what to do with reserved female characters who aren't evil' and 'not everyone who isn't a ray of sunshine is a secret Sith lord babes' this is even MORE fun than my reddit crusade over the last few weeks now that I have substance.

anyway, hopping back on the Indara defense train as I have been for a full month, but also talking about her 3 big missteps first:

Mistake #1: not putting her foot down and insisting on going in to talk to the coven alone the first time. Yeah, this was the last moment things could have gone well. I think she was right and going in alone would have looked less intimidating. Also given what she does at the end, she's a pretty strong telepath and wouldn't have had the weak point of Torbin to be exploited. I think if her level head had met Aniseya's level head they could have talked some things out, and the crisis wouldn't have escalated that quickly. There are definitely still some issues - what did Aniseya do to create the twins? why was Koril so afraid of the Jedi finding out? - and things might have come to blows anyway, but I don't think they'd have been as explosive if Indara had had the chance to initially diffuse some of the tension.

Counterpoint: they might have killed her or at least not let her leave actually. If it had JUST been Indara and Aniseya we're talking about, yeah, the fastest solution is a friendly chat between the two of them, I actually think the Jedi would appreciate some of Aniseya's philosophy, they have a nice little cultural exchange and part ways maybe agreeing to disagree on some of the specifics of the Dark vs Light side of the Force, but at least everyone lives. But there's the rest of the coven to consider. Koril particularly. She is DOWN to murder pretty much immediately, as we know from the advisor scene from episode 3, when she's like 'who would miss them?'

Aside: **Book spoilers, I wish tumblr had spoiler tags like Reddit or Discord, don't read this point if you don't want Path of Deceit spoilers** And eep, yeah who WOULD miss them? I sort of jokingly said this after episode 3 like 'lol well it did work for the Path of the Open Hand, that's not that crazy an idea', but now we have the context and oof, they're even MORE off grid than Zallah and Kevmo were. At this point they haven't even contacted Coruscant about finding the coven, right? So while the Council knows the planet they're on, they still think it's uninhabited and evidently the witches are pretty well hidden, they'd just vanish. Jeez, the Council knew the town and precise location of the Path compound and it still took an absurdly long time to figure out what happened after Zallah and Kevmo started missing check-ins, long enough for the Path to escape. I bet they don't check in as much on a peaceful survey mission vs an active investigation too, the four Jedi really could be missing for a long time before anyone realized something was wrong.

But yeah, Koril seems pretty down for murder, so while one Jedi going in alone doesn't look like that much of a threat and might set Aniseya at ease, Koril might have seen it as a weak point available to exploit. Fearing what Indara would report back to the Council about their presence and the twins, Koril might goad the coven into making an attempt on her life, and while Indara is clearly a formidable fighter, she is drastically outnumbered, fighting all the witches alone might have been too much for her. And of course, that makes things so much worse immediately. The leader and the most level head is gone, the Jedi are now grieving and rightfully fear for their lives, tensions explode even earlier. But that's really not much more than an interesting AU idea lol a slight counterpoint though.

Mistake #2: not being the one to go after Torbin when he ran off. This one is just going to come down to clunky writing, I'm sorry. Because there is zero logical reason for her to trust Sol to bring him back. She should have gone herself. Torbin was her responsibility, she's been reticent about how Sol's imbalance was feeding his the whole time, she should have known Sol was never going to deescalate and was only going to drag him further into trouble. But we can sit here arguing over her thought process and blame her but at the end of the day, it was just that the writers needed it to be Sol for the plot and...I don't know, didn't workshop other reasons to divide them like this. But yeah, in universe, there is no reason for it to have been Sol. Things still might have been escalated due to the events inside the fortress and Sol likely sensing Osha's fear when Mae starts the fire, but Indara could (and should) have stopped Torbin's part in it, that was her direct responsibility.

Mistake #3: suggesting the cover up. Yeah this one's not great. I think most of the 'wow Indara did nothing wrong' people are like '.....ok until the cover up'. And like this maybe also is going to get filed under 'clunky writing' but I'm willing to be argued around on that, I just can't quite figure out why they had to lie about the fire to protect Osha's dream of becoming a Jedi? That's the sticking point for me. They're going to have the same arguments with the Council to let her join, I'm not sure what the difference is whether they tell the truth or not.

On the characterization side though, I can also see where it's like....maybe Indara shouldn't have been making decisions at that point because she did just kill at least a couple dozen people with her mind and is probably kind of freaked out. It was an accident, yeah, but I could see being pretty unnerved by what she'd just done and not wanting to reveal that to the Order. I think a big point has been the way each of these characters (on both the Jedi and the coven's side) act out of fear and that being what dooms them, and this is the moment Indara acts out of fear. She's afraid of revealing this frankly kind of frightening telepathic power, she's afraid the Order will blame her as the leader and call into question her ability to lead, or maybe even to have a padawan. I could see in this moment her being like 'well this is technically true and upsets the status quo the least, let's just go with it.' And then gets locked in once Sol tells Osha, so she can't change her mind after she calms down a bit.

ok back to defending her against two things: 1) breaking the spell and killing the coven, 2) her teaching style.

The issue with the conversation around her breaking the spell and killing the coven that I'm having is I think one of 'authorial intent vs what comes through on screen'. Because in the Nerdist interview that confirmed Indara did not intentionally kill the witches, Headland also said that her mistake her was acting out of 'selfish attachment to save her friend' and not worrying about the consequences. And I just...my brain does not make that logical leap. You could maybe argue that if like...a bunch of other things weren't going on. Like the alternative to Indara not breaking the spell is: Kelnacca continues on his puppet rampage and she has to fight him essentially alone (Torbin is knocked out and Sol's tiring) and probably kill him, which could have also killed the witches, she doesn't know that.

I guess if she 100% knew that breaking the spell telepathically would kill the witches and killing Kelnacca physically would not, you could argue she was stuck in a trolley problem and maybe should have just killed Kelnacca, but even then it's like. Eh. So she kills Kelnacca. She's still vastly outnumbered by hostile witches who could just turn their attention to someone else. Maybe they go for Sol next and she has to do the same thing, then Torbin, until she's alone and Koril can re-form from the mist and kill her. (Nerdist interview all but confirmed Koril is not dead.) I think this is where writers get mired in the weeds of attachment, pacifism, and the greater good. Yes, the philosophy of the Jedi asks them to sacrifice possessive attachment to others so they are not fueled by those emotions and they try to find a nonviolent way to resolve conflict first, but this doesn't equal 'you should just lay down and die immediately rather than fight back against someone who's hurting you'.

TWO the teaching style thing. I've seen so many people over the last couple days be like 'wow she's such a shitty teacher' and call her style 'sink or swim' and imply she's letting Torbin drown. And I agree it's not perfect. Seven weeks is a long time to be stuck in a stalemate with your homesick student over whether he understands the grander purpose of your mission. But also I think it makes perfect sense if you consider that she's trying to teach him patience and also not influence his own line of inquiry (...unlike someone else which I'll get to). But first off, this seems like the perfect mission to teach this sort of patience. I'm even hesitant to call it 'sink or swim' which I'd apply more to like, if she brought him into a high-stakes, dangerous environment and was just like 'good luck.' Up until the last 36 hours or so (or less lol we don't know how long the day-night cycle is on this planet, but from when Sol sees the twins to the fire starting is about a day and a half), this was a safe, low-stakes mission. They're essentially doing a mystical ecological survey, on a planet that seems mostly uninhabited and without significant predators or other dangers. Finding the vergence doesn't seem to have any sense of urgency to it. Part of being a Jedi is listening to the Council, even when you have to do something boring or that you don't want to do. You don't really get to choose your assignments, especially when you're an apprentice and are expected to go wherever your master's work takes you. I think it was a fine situation for her to wait out. Yeah, she maybe underestimated how badly Torbin wanted to go home and should have interrogated those emotions earlier but still this is a pretty low stakes mission, I think without the sudden acute pressure of the situation with the coven and Aniseya exploiting that homesickness, they may have found a healthier resolution to those issues.

And, given what she tells Sol about not wanting to give Torbin answers but teach him to seek them for himself, that she might not want to influence his ideas. The masters clearly know what they're looking for is probably a vergence, but Indara might not have wanted to tell Torbin because he's young and inexperienced and then he might start seeing a vergence everywhere, rather than listening to what the Force is really telling them. (This is another thing where like, yeah if they were on Earth in our time with no psychic powers I think it's fair to criticize her for withholding answers that long...but they're psychic space wizards who are supposed to be able to sense things normal people can't, I think some of the pedagogy for that is a little different than what we're used to.) I think Sol was wrong to step in like that, especially considering the outcome, that Torbin does get so fixated on finding the vergence and going home he loses perspective. And I think Indara was right: this wasn't about what Torbin was feeling or needed, this was about what Sol was feeling. It seems like he was done with their stalemate (that exchange around the fire sounded like a conversation that's been had before, and like, not really faulting Sol for that, I would also probably get fed up with a moody teenager) and he thought he knew what Torbin needed better than Indara, so decided to override her and just spill the answer.

I think it's interesting that before Osha even comes into the picture, Indara has already accused Sol of projecting his feelings onto someone else. It does seem like he's feeding into Torbin's anxiety just as much as Torbin's feeding his, I kind of wish they had used that more in the scene where they head off for the fortress, honestly just a couple sequence changes would probably have fixed a bunch of that. (Indara comes and tells them the Council said no, they go over the results of the blood test, Sol says he thinks something is wrong and the girls are in danger, they decide to head off together, would eliminate the nonsensical 'Indara suddenly trusts Sol and Torbin to be alone together and not cause shenanigans' issue.) But yeah, that feels like foreshadowing of how he's projecting his own feelings onto Osha, like his was projecting his own feelings of being imbalanced and restless onto Torbin.

Anyway. Indara was a fine teacher probably, not perfect, but I wouldn't go as far as to say 'she sucks' or even that they were poorly matched. This was just...a long and tiring mission that ended with a literal explosion. Can't wait for the finale! Especially because ack, the 'Indara is the secret Sith' people have not quit on Reddit and there's still like the absolute remotest chance they pull something stupid like a double reverse twist - because for SURE in those early episodes she was being set up to be the 'mean one' vs Sol, and the twist is that she was actually levelheaded and willing to listen and sweet with the twins - and the final shot of the season is a cloaked Sith figured revealed to be Indara. Like there's NO way but...there is the tiniest way so I will not be fully comforted until the finale's out and that theory can be laid to rest. Though I don't think it will be, they could literally show her decaying corpse to definitively prove she's dead and show her spending the 16 years between the flashback and the present cuddling puppies and saving babies and being the lighty-est-side light-sider in the galaxy and I guarantee Reddit would still be like '...ok but here's how that really just proves she's the Sith...'

[eponymous-rose]

Welp, it's Tuesday. Deep breath. Here we go.

Didn't have to go in early today and definitely wasted some time doomscrolling, which takes effort considering how much social media I've removed from my phone. Ugh. Anyway, I got up and cuddled the cat and ate a nice breakfast and felt better.

E-mails! The student I agreed to meet with yesterday about his dissertation is available tomorrow and the next day. In order to keep my work-from-home-Thursday dreams blissfully alive, I managed to slot him into my last available half-hour time tomorrow. Meeeeeetings. Also got a reminder for a mandatory training I'll have to do at some point this week, a note about a technical problem with a grant submission that would have disqualified me were it not for a reopening next week (phew), and a message from a Master's student that I honestly thought had decided against finishing (he's just got to hand in a five-page document and he's done, but he started a new job and didn't answer my e-mails for, uh, three years...), so we'll see how that goes. Also? A message from the department chair requesting an emergency faculty meeting this afternoon. Eep.

Off to campus, finally! I have a great meeting with my PhD student - I've missed these (he was away at an internship at a national lab last quarter). He does really cool work and has big ideas, and I attempted to convince him that he's ready enough to consider defending his PhD in early June. We'll see! We're working on getting him lined up with his next job - I'm writing him letters for three major postdocs, and also reaching out to my networks in Canada and Europe to see if anyone has a position that'll be open around the right time. We also talk about an annoying set of reviews on one of his journal articles - two of the reviewers have contradictory opinions on major revisions needed, and the editor will not do their job and step in to break a tie, so we tried making one reviewer happy and of course the other one got pissed, so we tried a compromise and now both are angry. Ugh. We're almost ready to withdraw the paper and resubmit elsewhere. But! My student's keeping a good sense of humor about the whole thing (it helps that he's going to graduate with a half-dozen first-author papers under his belt, no matter what).

Next, day two of the faculty interview! Yes, it's the same guy, and yes, it's two 8AM-8:30PM days. Grueling. He gives a really cool chalk talk about some of his future research ideas and we all chat for a while before giving him a break and launching into our emergency faculty meeting. Looks like a hiring freeze and an attempt to keep things business as usual until we know how bad things are going to be. Not much else we can do, so we all sort of nervously reassure each other and go on our way.

As part of the search committee, I'm now up to perform the exit interview for our exhausted candidate! He asks some great questions and we're all very jovial, which is a great note to end on.

Back to the office! Before I head home, I want to finish up my grading and also submit reimbursement requests for my travel last week as well as yesterday's dinner. Manage to get both done by quarter past five! Phew. Tomorrow's a big day of meetings, so it's time to head home.

[howlingday]

Day 6 of "9 Days of Lancaster"

The Lancaster Discord ◇ Hoodie Thief

Weiss: Just saw Jaune buying flowers and I told him that tulips are the most romantic flowers you could buy. Yangers: Did you tell him to press the tulips together? Weiss: Shut up, Yang.

Yang snickered as she met her quota for the day with Weiss. For some reason, a day where she didn't annoy Weiss didn't feel right. Looking over to her sister, who was gaming freely on her bed, laying down and staring up at the screen as she tapped the buttons and moved the sticks. For some reason, though, she didn't seem as focused as she usually was.

"Doin' okay, Rubes?"

"Huh?" The screen flashed. "Aw, crap! I died!"

"Seem pretty alive to me, Little Sister." Yang snickered.

"Shut up." Ruby groaned. She shuffled her pillow a bit. And tucked it? Yang walked over.

"Everything okay, Rubes?"

"Eep! Fine! Everything's fine!" Ruby said, clearly suspicious looking. Yang was about to look into it when suddenly...

BUZZ! Pyr: Jaune just came back with a bouquet of flowers for each of us! PnckQueen: I got pink ones~! Ren: He's heading over to RWBY's dorm. Shadows: Got it.

Looking up from her scroll, Yang saw Blake already at the door. She opened it to find one Jaune Arc holding his hand up to knock, now lowering it back down. He had a sheepish grin.

"Uh, hey, Blake!" He chuckled. "I guess you heard me coming, huh?"

"In a way." Blake looked to the bouquet in his hand. Roses, tulips, lavenders, and daffodils huddled together in their own groups. "Are those for me?"

"Oh, uh, yeah! Would you like one?"

"Sure." Blake nodded. "By the way, where's your hoodie?"

Suddenly, there was a loud crash. Yang looked over to find Ruby with her scroll on the ground, having faceplanted from her supposedly relaxed position. She groaned as she sat upright, then looked away when she saw everyone was staring at her.

"You okay, Ruby?" Jaune asked.

"I'm... I'm fine..." She answered. "I just... tripped."

"From on top of your bed?" Yang asked.

"Y-Yeah..." Ruby refused to look anyone in the eye.

"So, uh, Blake, which one did you-" Jaune noticed that both Blake and the lavender were gone from sight. "Oh. Uh, alright, talk to you later, I guess." Yang chuckled as Jaune stepped in and walked towards her. "Would you like a flower?"

"Oh my~!" Yang fanned herself. "Aren't you bold, asking a girl something like that~?" Suddenly Jaune got flushed, his eyes darting around the room. Yang stood up and he flinched. "I'm just messing with ya, Vomit Boy." She took the daffodils and smiled. "I'm gonna go find some place to put these in."

Yang left the room, leaving Jaune and Ruby alone inside. She was about to whip out her scroll when she noticed everyone was in the group chat. Going inside, the chat was on mute, and the camera was on. Tonight's feature presentation was Jaune and Ruby alone in a room with a bouquet.

"H-Hey." Jaune greeted.

"Hey..." Ruby replied.

"I, uh... I got some flowers." He lifted the bouquet to her. "If you want them."

"I love flowers." She smiled, taking the roses from inside. "Mom used to have a garden of them."

"She did?" Jaune sat down, setting the flowers aside. "I don't know a whole lot about flowers. Except that tulips are the most romantic."

"What?" Ruby snickered. "How?"

"Well, I just thought... You know, like, tulips together, and..."

"That was terrible." Ruby shook her head. "I actually think roses are more romantic. Tulips do mean love in a way, but red roses mean true love."

"O-Oh..." The two looked at each other for a while when Ruby jumped with a yelp.

"Uh, before I forget!" Ruby climbed to her bed and moved her pillow away. "This got mixed up in our laundry." Climbing down, she held out Jaune's signature hoodie to him. "I, uh, I've been keeping it warm."

"Oh, uh, thanks." Jaune took his hoodie. "Uh, do you want the tulips, too? I mean, I thought you'd want them, too."

"What about Weiss?" Ruby asked.

"She said she doesn't like flowers."

"Well..." Ruby picked up the remaining tulips from the bouquet. "You can have them, Jaune."

Jaune's face flushed a bit. "Uh... Thanks..."

Again, the two stood there, staring at one another, unsure of what the next move should be. That is until someone burst in from the door.

"WILL YOU TWO KISS ALREADY?!" The discord chat laughed at the sudden reveal.

[p4rty-p01son]

I'm go na eep now sleep well y'allk

Gonna be so hu gover in the morning chat💀

[ticklish-n-stuff]

Heya!^^ How about something with ler mitsuya and lee takemitchy with the scenario we discussed in discord where he's being measured for his toman uniform? You can include your favorite boi mikey too if you like, really just go nuts with it and do whatever you like! Also, just wanted to say I really love talking to you and you're one of my favorite people to chat with! You're so freaking sweet and I'm really glad we're friends! 💖

Measurements

WAAAH IM FINALLY DONE MWAHAHAHA!

Mitsuya was very fun to write, I hope you likey :3

RAAH I LOVE TALKING TO YOU TOO, YOURE GONNA MAKE ME SOB WITH YOUR SWEETNESS💖💖💖

VIRTUALLY TACKLING AND HUGGING YOU

___________________________________________

Takemitchy x Mitsuya (interpret as you wish)

Lee: Takemitchy

Ler: Mitsuya

Warnings: Tickles!

___________________________________________

It was finally time, Takemitchy could explode from excitement. Today Mitsuya would take his meassurements for his very own Toman uniform!

“Okay, now stay still and stretch your arms out a bit” 

“Hai!!!” Okay maybe he was a bit too excited, but it’s not everyday one becomes an official member of one of the lost well known gangs.

Mitsuya rolled his eyes fondly as he got to work, taking out the tape meassurer and bringing it across Takemitchy’s waist. 

“Eep?!” a squeaked escaped the blondie, his body almost tumbling. 

“Hmm? Something wrong?” Mitsuya asked with his usual eerily calm nature, but this wasn’t the first time he’s gotten such a reaction. Still, he played it cool for now.

“No!! Not at all. Sorry, continue!” with newfound determination, Takemitchy vowed himself to stay as still as a rock. Despite how much it might tickle… maybe he didn’t think it through.

Everytime Mitsuya’s fingers would stray a wee bit too close to one of his sensitive spots, he’d squirm and giggle like a kid. Careless fingers caressing his side, poking under his arm, brushing down his spine. His defense almost faltered when he felt a sharp squeeze at his hip. 

“WAH?! M-Mitsuya!” that one was definitely on purpose, the ‘younger’ boy thought as he cried out to his senior. 

“What? Don’t tell me you're ticklish” the older boy gave a playful smirk, making Takemitchy’s face flush.

“Maybe a bit…” the blonde mumbled, avoiding eye contact.

“Just a bit? Seems pretty bad to me” Mitsuya teased as he quickly scribbled up and down Mitchy’s sides. As an older brother, and just a calm menace in general, he was practically a pro when it came to tickling.

“Huh?! Wait! Wahahait! Nohoho! Mitsuya!!” Takemitchy shrieked, arms trying to desperately protect his sides. Sometimes he’d switch to try batting Mitsuya’s hands away. Either way, it wasn’t that hard for the older teen to maneuver around him. Evil fingers latching onto the blonde’s ribs and vibrating vigorously. 

“EEK! STOAHAHAP!” Takemitchy all but screeched, his brain going haywire with how overwhelmingly flustered he felt.

“Does Mikey know about this? I’m sure he’d be pleased to learn about this weakness of yours~”

The way Takemitchy’s face dropped in pure fear was absolutely golden. It took some willpower on Mitsuya's part to not laugh at him. Oh how fun it always was to mess with the new kid. 

“PLEHEHEASE DON’T TELL HIM- GYAH! MITSUYA, NOT THEHEHERE!” poor Takemitchy’s knees gave out as Mitsuya found the soft spot at his belly. His fingers kneading at the sides, scribbling along his lower belly, even poking at his navel that would never fail to make him squeal each time. 

“Pff- Okay, fine you crybaby” Mitsuya held back a snicker as his tickly fingers stopped, watching in amusement as Takemitchy curled up on the floor like a kitten. Gasping for air as if he went through the most intense workout of his lifetime. 

Once the blonde caught his breath, he looked up at Mitsuya with pleading eyes “For the love of God, please don’t tell Mikey”

Before Mitsuya could respond, they heard the click of a phone, prompting both of them to look for the source of the sound. 

“Too late, CryMitchy~” Mikey was peeking through the door, phone in hand, having recorded the whole ordeal. He stuck his tongue out before running off, Takemitchy’s laughter echoing from his phone.

“Wait! Mikey, come back!” The blonde desperately went after his leader, not like he’d ever catch up to him but hey, one can dream. 

Mitsuya smiled fondly to himself and the silliness of the situation, that was until he realized, he never finished getting his measurements… Oh well, maybe next time. Hopefully with less distractions. Well… he wasn’t making any promises. 

___________________________________________

Been looping Mitsuya's character song while writing this, his voice is very 👌

[xticklemeemox]

The Love You Want: Part Twenty-One

Word count: 23,054

Caramel got me fucked up :::( (edit after Damocles- DAMOCLES GOT ME EVEN MORE FUCKED UP)

"Bychan" means little, I think? Or "little one" which is what I was aiming for.

Having the whispers call baby Vessel 'Speaker' is a reference to Destiny and the character 'The Speaker' who spoke for, but could not actually speak to, The Traveler. No direct correlation between that, per se, as Vessel is Sleep's mouthpiece.

I don't know how to write children-speak, very sorry.

Nick is an asshole. He's just a dick all around so him being into degrading felt fitting. nothin wrong with a degradation kink yall.

Also, yall have probably noticed the timeline isnt actually irl ST accurate. I happen to be stupid, but i'm trying to at least keep the Masks for stage stuff in order, with some creative liberties.

Chat i got covid like 11k into this and was sick for like two weeks im so sorry.  Im only just now getting over it and bro... my lungs hate me. Kicked my asthmatic ass fr. This whole chapter just feels like a pile of trash too and im sorry. i will admit that I think the scene with IV waking up in Vessel's dream is my favorite scene to date? I dunno, I just love it. I cant wait for ivy. DeterioratingHumanity knows how desperate I am for him to be with the eeps already...  it is through them alone that nick aint dead and buried :::D for angst, yknow

ao3

Masterlist

Previous chapter

____ opens his eyes to an endless sea of darkness stretching out around him. Somewhere in the distance, he can hear sobbing, as though from a child. He finds himself turning in a slow circle, trying to pinpoint where the sound is coming from. It's a haunting sound, so despaired and terrified that he longs to comfort. No one that young should be suffering like that.

There's this feeling, somewhere deep within his chest, leading off in a certain direction. He decides to follow it, driven by some holy force, something otherworldly. Each step leaves a blue phosphorescent footprint behind, the wet splash of water the only sound except for the sobbing that grows louder. He walks for what feels like minutes, time stretching endlessly, only the crying getting louder spurring him on. At some point, he comes to a door as it materializes directly in front of him with a shimmer of gold. He'd have ran right into it if he hadn't've stopped in time. The crying is the loudest it's been, now, just on the other side of this door.

____ reaches out and unlocks it, pushing it open. It creaks on rusted hinges, and just ahead is a child, light cast upon him from the open doorway though ____ isn't sure where the light is coming from. As he steps through the threshold, the water beneath his feet recedes.

"Hey, bychan, what's wrong? What are you doing here?" ____ asks, keeping his voice low and soothing as he approaches the child cautiously.

The child's head shoots up, the sobbing ceasing so quickly it's concerning, alarm bells ringing in ____'s ears. As he turns his head to face ____, the scenery changes with the motion, concrete rising up from the nothingness beneath their feet. Wooden beams dot the area around them, the foggy outline of a staircase and metal shelves making the perimeter of a room, a basement. A chill sets in, seeping through ____'s pajamas and spreading along his pale skin. He is sure he didn't actually go down any stairs so how...?

"I'm being punished. I'm not to be let out until I've learned my lesson." The boy's voice is quiet, hesitant, peeking up at ____ from between his bent knees, answering dutifully despite the tears still rolling down his cheeks.

There's a bruise forming on one side.

"What are you being punished for? You're just a wee thing and it's terribly dark in here."

He couldn't be any older than six based on his size, and that was pushing it. Who would lock up a child so young?

"Father said I was being bad again." The child whispers, soft blue eyes darting up the stairs as though expecting someone to be there.

"A sweet little thing like you being bad? I doubt it." ____ soothes, noting the watery voice.

The boy flinches when ____ reaches out to wipe crystal tears off of his plush cheeks, causing him to pause. When the boy proceeds to stay still, ____ continues, taking great care in being as gentle as possible. Even as he wipes those tears away, more keep falling, the boy letting out soft sounds of distress that he cannot control, though it is clear he tries.

"I was bad. 'M not supposed to talk to my friends. Mama says it's demons trying to tempt me. Are you my friend? You don't look like they do." Said with such an innocent voice, with such a permanently sad expression, how could ____ refuse.

"Yeah, bychan, I'm your friend. Can't be friends without knowing each other's name, though! I'm ____, what's your name?"

Thin brows furrow in confusion, leaning into the touch ____ is giving, "The whispers don't let me hear your name, mister, but my father calls me 'boy.'"

"Now that's not a very nice name. You're more than just a boy. What about your mother, what does she call you?"

"My son." The child grins, happier about the name his mother calls him, as though it was far superior to what his father used.

Grimacing, ____ tries again, hoping the child had a proper name somehow. _'s grin only grows wider, excitement dancing behind the shifting sea of his eyes, "My friends call me Speaker."

With a drawn out sigh, ____ relents, smiling softly, "Alright, Speaker, let's get out of here, okay?"

The little boy's face brightens considerably, and it appears that ____ only now notices that there is only nose and mouth features alongside his entrancing eyes, the rest lost to a strange blur. His face falls again quickly, as though realizing something, soft features crumpling.

"It'll be real dark no matter where we go. There aren't any streetlights outside, so mama likes to keep lamps on. Father will be angry if I leave, too. I should stay here."

"Your father won't find out, I promise. Aren't you scared of how dark it is?" ____ tries to convince the Speaker, crouching down to be at his level.

He offers up his hands, palms up, smiling when the little boy takes them with his own much smaller hands. There are little paper cuts all over his fingers. From playing, or reading perhaps. "The dark is scary, and I don't like being down here all alone. Mama tells me I shouldn't cry so much, so I'm trying to learn how to be quiet so I don't bother her. I'm sorry you heard me being a crybaby."

"I don't mind, bychan, you can cry as much as you need to. Come here, do you want a hug?"

"You'll hug me?" Speaker's eyes are wide, full of hope, gold gathering around his lashes as more tears form, "But I haven't done anything to deserve one."

"A hug isn't something that you have to deserve to receive." Opening his arms up wide, the child dives right into them without hesitation.

Wrapping his arms around the small, thin frame of the little boy, ____ rests his head on that messy mop of dark hair, feeling the child cuddle up close, sinking readily into the offered affection. As soon as they touch, a loud cracking sound echoes all around them. ____ looks up into the ceiling, or where one would be, only to find an endless abyss above them.

There is a white crack in the sky, as though it were made of glass and something was beginning to break it. Without a thought, ____ picks up the child, noting how tiny he is in the back of his mind, cradling that boney frame to his own. One foot twitches, widening his stance and leaning towards the door, or where it was anyways.

A sound like glass shattering causes ____ to wince, a hand coming up to cup one of the boy's ears to shield him.

An overwhelming presence bears down on them, finally shoving through the cracks in the dark abyss above. Inky tendrils force the crack wider, tearing it open enough for a crimson eye, sclera black as pitch, to peek within. An endless stretch of stars lay behind it, and ____ feels a fear like nothing else, survival instinct forcing his gaze away.

"Sleep is here." Speaker whispers, the blue of his eyes almost glowing in the darkness, wide with anticipation, staring straight up at the eye without hesitation once ____'s hand slides away to rest on his spine.

Something tickles the back of ____'s mind. That name, it's familiar. Why is it familiar?

"You again, mortal. You should not be here, not with him like this. I see I cannot keep him from you, though. It is no matter for you will never be mine, nor his. Your destiny is to die and fade away."

"Who are you talking about?" ____ asks, staring up at the eye, at Sleep, with confusion.

Even as he says it, there is this odd little feeling in the back of his mind, bringing pain with it. His mind is struggling to remember something just out of reach, something important.

His hand reaches up, pressing into the earring in one lobe. The other half is somewhere out there in the world. He is supposed to remember them, but who...?

"So, my influence on you is not completely voided by the presence of my First... He is not yet free from my control, or perhaps not quite yet a true demigod." Sleep muses, the sheer magnitude and multitude of their voices only serving to worsen ____'s headache.

If Sleep had known what granting His Vessel's wish would bring, He wouldn't have granted it at all.

____ reaches up to hold his head, the pain unignorable and in that brief moment, the Speaker wiggles out of his arms.

"You came back!" He exclaims, grinning wide and showing off small, sharp canines.

____ tries to catch him, but the child is slight footed, a slippery little thing, and evades him with ease.

"I did, child." Sleep says, voices somehow fond.

"Mama said it was good that you'd finally left. She was so happy. Father even smiled at me when she told him." The Speaker continues, "He never smiles at me."

"I could not stay away, and I tried... my apologies, child."

"Don't be sorry. You're one of the only friends I have... Oh! Sleep, have you met my new friend?" Speaker trails off before bursting out in excitement, looking the most animated ____ has seen so far.

He actually looks like a regular child now, instead of one beaten down by his environment.

"That man cannot be your friend, child. He's leaving soon and you'll never see him again." Sleep scolds, showing not an ounce of regret in His eye as it looks down upon them.

Speaker's face crumbles into indignant hurt, and ____ longs to wrap him up in his arms again to comfort, that distinct thread in his chest tugging painfully.

"He's my friend, you can't keep him from me. Why are you acting like Mama and Father?" The child's form flickers, shimmery gold sparking off his frame.

He visibly grows more distressed, holding himself in a hug, blunted human nails digging into his arms and dragging. More tears falls, shoulders shaking with held back sobs. His form blurs, shifting, flickering between two different shapes as his sobbing grows louder. Then, Speaker grows taller, his body never losing its unsure hunch, still making himself smaller than he is. As he grows, the sobbing quiets, though ____ can still see his shoulders shaking. He is quieter now, but no less distressed.

He was a child, and now he is a man, his voice reflecting that. "I will not allow you to take him from me, you will choose him."

"You know not what you are saying, child. Do not fret, I will take the memory of him from you, and you will miss him no longer. I will find the perfect Fourth."

The child does not return, the man's expression twisting up. He is smoking at the edges, arms black as charcoal, golden tears falling off his jaw as he stands in front of ____. Six eyes adorn his face, red irises aglow in what ____ can only describe as possessive fury, lips pulled back into a snarl. The chains on his antlers glint off from the glowing crack in the sky.

"I have not been a child in years, I do not understand why you call me one now." The man refutes and ____ gets the impression he doesn't realize his form has changed.

"This is our Fourth. He is mine as the others are. You will not take his memory from me, though it is clear now that you have tried."

Sleep's eye visibly backtracks, the iris shrinking and expanding in mimicry of a pupil. His next words are harsher, no longer a sweet croon.

"And why shouldn't I? He will not become a vessel. Why would you want to keep him, even knowing this?"

"I said he was mine, and I meant it. In whatever form that takes, it doesn't matter. I do not ask you to take my past from me though it has brought me nothing but pain. What is one more heartache amongst the many others?"

Sleep's eye seems to squint, an odd action considering the lack of an eyelid. "You may keep him, but do not expect anything more. It is for his own good that he does not remember you, my Vessel."

The thing in the back of ____'s head snaps into focus.

"Vessel?" Four whispers, stepping forward to grab the man by the bicep. "What's going on?"

Vessel turns, six eyes squinted in a pained smile, "Do not worry, Four, Sleep is allowing me to remember you. I will remind you of me every time we meet here in our dreams. Nothing will change."

Four frowns, "I don't... want to forget you, annwyl."

His smile falters then falls. "I am sorry, this is all we're allowed. If Sleep says it is for your own good, then it must be."

Four glances up at the eye in the sky again, unease creeping into his bone marrow, seeping down into his very soul, "You're sure?"

Though Vessel replies an affirmative, Four can tell it is a waning thing, his surety. Something has shaken Vessel's faith in his God before. How long until that faith shatters? Will it ever? Four isn't granted any further time with Vessel before he is being shoved out of the dream, in the middle of reaching for the other man's hand. Tentacles begin spilling out of the crack, reaching toward's Vessel before-

____ wakes in a cold sweat, dread curling in his stomach, moonlight shining in through the window. His boyfriend shifts, pulling him closer, and ____ let's himself sink into the comfort. It doesn't feel like enough.

When did it start to feel like not enough? Was it the first rude comment on another failed attempt at keeping a band together? Was it that first slap when what once was playful banter was seen as back-talk?

Why... is ____ even upset? It was... something to do with his dream, wasn't it? Wrongness churns in his stomach. Why can't he remember? He's supposed to remember. It was important. But... remember what, or who?

Vessel wakes to the sound of hushed whispering over his head and a splitting migraine made worse by the overhead light in the bus' back room. He whines, curling into whoever is at his side. All conversation ceases, the hand carding through his hair lifting while someone else at his other side gets up, the mattress rising with the lack of weight. The bond feels tense, though it easily alerts him to his lovers' presences at his side.

"W-wait..." He mumbles, squinting one set of his six eyes open, "Come back..."

The hand returns, and Vessel relaxes marginally, shoving his head into the gentle touch as he lets his eyes flutter closed. A second later and the overhead light is off, Vessel squinting his bottom pair back open.

III is blurry above him when Vessel turns his head, though his soft, strained smile is still noticeable.

"Hey, Sugar, you're up. Sorry, we shouldn't have had the light on. Just... We thought it might be better for you." They say as II's knees sink into the plush of the mattress beside the two of them.

II's brow is furrowed in concern, and blearily, Vessel reaches up to smooth out the crease though there is a permanent wrinkle there. He feels... warm, but his lovers always do, since Vessel is so cold. Still, the sweat on II's forehead strikes him as odd, as well as his continued shirtlessness. It is only just beginning to warm outside, and yet II is sweating bullets. Is he... sick?

Letting his hand fall, Vessel seeks out III's thigh that he is already up against, merely holding it.

"How are you feeling?" II keeps his voice low, like III's had been.

"My head hurts... Are- Are you alright?" Vessel mumbles, leaning into II's hand on his cheek when he brushes his knuckles over a cheekbone. Vessel's skin is blessedly cool against II's overheated flesh.

The bus goes over a bump in the road, jostling all of them. Moonlight shines faintly through the curtains pulled over the tiny window directly behind the bed. "I'm just fine, sweetheart. I'll get you some tylenol to take the edge off, love, though I'm sure you're well aware that's all it will do for you."

II leaves the small backroom, shutting the rickety door behind him, tender expression falling into one of pained exhaustion. He's still so hot, his blood replaced with lava. Sucking in a deep breath, his exhale comes out heated like the rest of his body, and II wishes desperately for some sort of relief from the fire in his veins. He will not find it, not until his God shows him, well, II wouldn't call it mercy.

Vessel curls tighter around the plushie in his arms, asking, "What time is it?"

"Just after midnight, you slept a good few hours." III continues running their fingers through Vessel's hair, more gentle than Vessel deserves.

"We missed out on the first ritual of the tour because of me." Vessel's voice is small, full of self-loathing, one set of eyes moving up to meet III's.

There are golden tears in them, III wiping them away before they can fall, though it's pointless. More form right away.

"Sugar, did you want to get locked in a room, have a strong bout of disassociation alongside a panic attack only to practically pass out asleep as soon as we got you back to the bus?" III questions, raising an eyebrow.

Vessel pinches his lips shut, turning his head to hide away against III's warm thigh, "No..."

"That wasn't your fault then." Huffing in overexaggerated indignation, for Vessel's sake, it has the desired effect, Vessel's lips tilting up into a small, unsure smile.

"You are too good to me." He murmurs, kissing III's thigh through their pajama pants.

"Two and I are as good as you deserve, and you deserve nothing less than the best." III simpers, making sure to add a joking, haughty tone to the end of his sentence.

Vessel giggling into Mr. Nibbles is worth it. Joking to hide his pain is clearly coming in handy, the practice he'd had was well worth it.

II quickly returns with a cold water bottle and some tylenol, III helping Vessel sit up by the shoulders. As he takes the items with a mumbled 'thank you,' Vessel's mind wanders back to his dream as it begins to slip away from him.

He does not remember much of it, only that Four had been there, and so had Sleep. They had... talked, about something he cannot quite remember. If Sleep took the memories then they could not have been that important, right? It was the one thing the God had always been forthcoming on, informing Vessel exactly why he had left his painful past in tact. He tries to hold on to it, but cannot seem to get a good grasp on the fuzzy recollections he still had. Is it Sleep or Vessel's own memory failing him?

It's a bit difficult to swallow the pills, even with just under half of the water bottle to wash them down, but Vessel manages. Drooping eyes slide up to meet II's, watching a bead of sweat trail down his temple. Squinting, Vessel tries to scrounge up some brain cells, concerned for his lover. He truly looks awful, about as awful as Vessel feels. Despite what II has said about being fine, Vessel doesn't believe him. He pinches his lips together, tentatively shoving a bit of his concern down the bond in II's direction.

"Beloved, are you certain you're fine?"

II smiles, widely with almost too much teeth. He lies right through them, his heart cracking in his chest even if it isn't all falsehoods, "I'm fine, Ves. Just stressed. Been... thinking about Hate a lot, too. It will pass eventually and I'll be back to normal."

III remains silent, knowing that if he speaks up then they'll just blurt out the truth. It feels wrong to lie to Vessel about this, but it feels just as badly to even think of going against II's wishes on the matter. Instead of opening his mouth, III starts braiding a small section of Vessel's hair, desperate to cradle him to his chest like his own personal comfort item.

Vessel smiles back, tired and small, but heartfelt as he parrots what they've told him many times before, "Remember to take care of yourself. You're... very important to me."

"I know, love, I try. You're important to me, too." II says, patting Vessel's knee before urging him to lay back down again.

The First doesn't fight the suggestion except to request something.

"Can you braid my hair for me, Three?" It's strangely hesitant where before Vessel had been growing comfortable in asking something like that, a twinge of sadness echoing down III's bond.

"'Course Sugar, let me just get a hairbrush and a hairtie- Oh, of course you have some." III stops himself with a widening grin as Vessel reaches into his pajama pant pocket to pull out some little rubber hairbands.

He still gets up to grab a brush though, settling at Vessel's side and waiting for the first to scoot into a more accessible position. III ends up loosely fishtail braiding Vessel's hair, only after he carefully brushes out all the knots, making sure not to tug at any of the worse ones too harshly. II watches fondly as Vessel nods off as soon as III starts sectioning off the braids between his slender fingers. He sways forwards before startling back awake, II and III sharing mirthful glances as III snickers. Vessel doesn't tense up, he knows their laughter is not cruel.

Once III is finished, Vessel curls up with III with his shark between them, his arm and the plushie itself laid over III's stomach while Vessel's head is laid over on their ribs. It leaves II space to lay beside them, not too close, and definitely not daring to move under the blanket III is laying over he and Vessel. The distance feels like an entire canyon is between them, II missing the little closeness he could have with Vessel, and of course, III. It doesn't take long for Vessel to go back to sleep, it having been threatening to drag him under since the moment he woke back up. It takes a bit longer for it to claim II and III, their conversation continuing.

"As I was saying, we'll have to keep a closer eye on Ves. Sam said that he thinks Nick is being an asshole to him. If it really was him that locked Vessel in that storage room, he won't make it back to his damn apartment." II hisses, laid out on his back but head turned to look at III.

"I don't understand." III says, his thumb brushing over Vessel's clothed bicep gently, making little circles, "Why would Nick do that to him? Why be a dick at all? Ves hasn't done anything to him. Not... not a damn thing."

"His parents spared him the burden of intelligence. If he knew better, he'd keep his mouth shut and leave Vessel alone. Some people are just bloody pieces of shit."

"If he slips up, tries to hurt him... We'll kill him if he tries anything again, won't we?" III asks, brushing away a shed eyelash from Vessel's cheek.

"And have Sleep erase him from existence." II promises with a smirk, "I hope he has a god to pray to for his continued safety until that contract of his is up."

III laughs, a bit too loudly as Vessel stirs. Only once they're sure he's asleep and should stay that way, III speaks again, quieter, "You're such a polite asshole to rude people, I love you."

"Love me for my mouth, do you?" II hums, tossing an arm over his eyes with that same smirk on his face, focusing on the way the bond sings with his lovers beside him and not the heat radiating off of his body.

The bed shakes with III's failing attempts to stop laughing.

II wakes up before the others once more, sweating bullets. He gets out of bed quietly, desperate for some of that cool morning air he knows follows the orange-pink sunrise peeking in through their window. He doesn't bother with a shirt, slipping out of the backroom after unsticking his necklace from his sweaty skin, shoving his mask and phone in the pocket of his basketball shorts.

Nick is already outside, leaning against the side of the bus and taking a long drag of his cigarette. II eyes him and the cig, trying and failing to shove down the longing.

That deathstick would help relieve some of his stress, II knows, while simultaneously adding on more.

"Pass me a cig, would you?" II sighs, weakly mimicking Nick's grin as he does as asked.

"How is Vessel?" Nick asks, lighting up II's cigarette for him, a note of genuine concern in his voice.

Sucking in the nicotine, it burns his lungs. It makes his head feel light even as his shoulders slump with relief.

II, of course, trusts Sam's word, and Vessel's... Nick hasn't been that bad, all things considered. Very out of line with the things he says, but still, that could just be bluntness. II'll keep an eye on him anyways.

"Better." II replies shortly, deciding to elaborate since he did seem genuinely concerned for Vessel's health, "Been asleep since he came out of his disassociation pretty much. His childhood... wasn't great."

Nick hums, taking another slow drag of his cigarette, "Explains the way he carries himself."

"What's that supposed to mean?" II bristles, immediately defensive, puffing out a cloud of smoke.

"I don't mean anything by it, but, well. Three is loud in everything he does. He can be over the top, something of an attention seeker, but really, only for you and Vessel and it's given to him freely. Probably wasn't given enough attention as a kid and now seeks it out in his boyfriends and through an audience. Vessel is... meek. So shy it's detrimental. Can barely perform, even. Used to being watched and withering under it." It's a surprisingly in depth analysis, a bit too dry and emotionless in tone for II's tastes.

"Spot on." II agrees, a bitter taste in his mouth and it's not the nicotine.

"That singer of ours... There is a constant air of sadness around him. It clings to him as tightly as his own skin, so deeply rooted. Never seen someone so... broken." Nick continues with that same blasé expression.

"He isn't broken. Why the fuck would you say that?" II snaps, snapping his head around to glare at Nick with an icy fire, the heat in his side flaring up as his spine straightens.

Nick laughs, though it is without mirth, "Come on, mate, he can barely function in society. You and Three do everything for him. He just stands around, haunting his own home, haunting everywhere he goes like a ghost, like someone who doesn't even want to be in their own skin. Not to mention that look in his eyes, like death warmed over."

"Shut your fucking mouth-" II starts, hating how there is some truth, any truth at all to what Nick is saying.

"Listen, I want the best for him, truly. He's a good man, clearly been through a lot. It's nice to see how he's found people to care for and about him. Most people would see a man that depressed and run for the hills instead of sticking around through the hard times."

That's exactly what Vessel's past partners fucking did, from what II gathered from all the things Vessel had said. Cracked his soul and didn't bother trying to help weld it back together. II will enjoy releasing his wrath upon them, if Sleep ever tells him and III who the fuck they are.

Shoulders slumping, II sucks in a long, deep breath of nicotine, blowing it out just the same way. He flexes his unoccupied hand, unclenching his fist. Reels in the fury simmering just under his skin. At the end of his cig, II stomps it underfoot, thoroughly crushing it beneath his sneaker.

Fuck, he's still pissed. If Nick hadn't said that last bit... II isn't sure he could have stopped himself from instinctually putting an axe right through his skull.

"I'll tell you again, watch what you say. Go around running your mouth too much to and about either of my partners and you'll find worse than my fist breaking your nose. As it is, you're lucky I didn't do just that." II says, reaching into his pocket to grab his phone, opening up the maps app.

"Thanks for the fucking cigarette." II mutters, turning on his heel to go back to the bus door.

He doesn't see Nick's apologetic expression drop into contempt.

Vessel is exhausted when he wakes up sometime in the morning, curled up next to III who still sleeps soundly. II isn't with them, which causes anxiety to flourish in Vessel's empty chest. II feels... angry, to put it very lightly. The bus is stopped, the engine off, so he could be anywhere.

Climbing out of bed with the intention of finding him, Vessel slips his necklace on and makes sure the door is shut good and tight behind him to protect III's unglamored form. He doesn't have to take more than a few steps before II is coming in through the bus' door, a deep, pissed off frown on his face.

"Good morning." Vessel says, quietly, voice hoarse and deeper with sleep, uneasy of II's bad mood.

II jumps about a foot in the air, having not heard Vessel at all, nor even seen him. Vessel can smell cigarette smoke on him, the foul scent clinging to his clothes. He can't help the wrinkle of his nose, but smiles down at II anyways.

"Good morning, beautiful. I was going to head out to find a nightlight for the backroom." II says, sticking his phone in his pocket, lips pulling up into a smile.

Vessel's shoulders relax, taking II's offered hand unflinchingly. II lifts his hand and presses a kiss to the back, the shorter man enjoying the blush that immediately spreads across Vessel's cheeks.

"Alone?" Vessel questions, not lessening how his anxiety twists up the tether of the bond.

'For me?' He wants to ask but can't bring himself to voice it. There's a tentative hope swelling within him, warm affection at the little ways his lovers show they care for him.

"I was going to go alone, yeah, but would you like to come with me? I was going to wake you both up before I left just so you knew I was leaving."

Vessel is exhausted. That has not changed in the few minutes its been since he woke up. Still, he would rather go with II than be left on the bus, and he's mostly sure III will feel the same way once awoken.

So, Vessel says as much, wishing he could frame the soft smile II sends his way as the shorter man brushes by him to go and wake III, a hand patting his hip over his t-shirt as he passes. Vessel reaches out and grabs II's hand, pulling it up to place a kiss on his knuckles fondly, mimicking II's earlier action. He goes to brush his teeth in the tiny bathroom sink, tensing up when Nick knocks on it harshly, his bed head sticking up and also smelling of cigarette smoke. Vessel rushes to finish up, squeezing out the little space afforded to him as Nick shoves through at the last second.

"You guys are fucking loud." He mutters, shutting the bathroom door behind him.

Vessel cringes, wrapping his arms around himself. They hadn't been that loud, had they? Their conversation had been short, too. Sam enters through the door of the bus next, sweating in his joggers and lightweight t-shirt, a pair of headphones wrapped around his neck.

He greets Vessel warmly, clearly having been up longer than even II it seems, "Mornin' Vessel, did you sleep alright?"

Vessel hums an affirmative, tacking on as an afterthought, his lagging brain finally dredging up that it had been Sam to find him the day before, "As well as I could, all things considered. Thank you for- For yesterday. And- I'm sorry."

Sam's smile softens, patting Vessel's shoulder affectionately as he passes to grab something from his bunk, "It was no problem, there's nothin' to be sorry for. It was clearly something you couldn't control. I'm glad you're feeling better today."

"Thank you." Vessel says again, ducking his head to hide the way his lips twitch into a lopsided smile.

II leaves the backroom before Nick is done, III following after him with their glamor back up, rubbing their tired eyes and arms wrapped around II's shoulders. Their nose is wrinkled up cutely, probably from the way II smells. II hands Vessel a black face mask to cover the lower part of his face. Vessel takes it, but does not put it on, needing to get dressed first.

He enters the backroom to the sound of III shoving II into the bathroom for a quick shower, complaining about the smell as Nick exits. Nick laughs, putting on a well-practiced act of amusement. Vessel is glad to be free from the other mans sights, digging around in his duffle-bag for a shirt. He grabs the first one he finds, slipping on the loose, billowing sleeves and buttoning it up to his neck where it ruffles a bit up over his throat, pulling his coin necklace out from under the material. A pair of skinny jeans follows, plain socks, and his equally as plain black boots. Contemplating the weather and how warm it is over in this part of the country, he forgoes a jacket entirely and hopes his hair isn't too much of a mess that he needs to take it out from the braid III had done for him. His facemask is the last to go on, and then he slips his phone in his pocket.

III does an appreciative once over when Vessel exits, walking forward to untuck some strands of hair from behind Vessel's ear, rearranging them how he likes to frame Vessel's face so a few dark strands curl just right over the facemask. A tender kiss is pressed onto Vessel's forehead, so gently, lovingly. Blue eyes, as deep as the sea and just as shifting as the tides, crinkle at the edges with Vessel's tired smile. Their own outfit is relatively plain in comparison, a tight baby blue cropped mesh shirt, with a pair of loose black cargo pants tucked into a pair of thick black boots.

"How about we get some coffee?" III asks just as II exits the bathroom, hair dripping cold water.

"Coffee date?" II adds on, smiling, excited by the prospect.

A bit of time away from their main stressor would be good for the three of them, surely. Maybe it'll even help distract II from the fire in his veins.

"Sound fine, Ves? Are you feeling up to it? How's your head?" II turns to look at Vessel, a question in the icy blue of his eyes.

Vessel hums with a tiny smile, disregarding his continued exhaustion and the way his head pounds, "Yes, that sounds fun."

And it does, sound fun, that is. Vessel will just be glad for their company.

II let's Sam know they're leaving after he is dressed, doing one last rub through over his wet hair with a towel while informing him they'll be away for a few hours. Droplets still find their way down onto the back of his black tank top, his double scythe necklace tucked under it. II is in a pair of loose black jeans and sneakers, the least dressed up of all of them, and in an outfit more suited for the weather than Vessel's.

Sam see's them off with a wave, casting a knowing glance in Vessel's direction that the First does not miss. Soon enough, they're on their way, going through the venue and sneaking out a backdoor, hoping to avoid the few people already beginning to line up outside of Doors.

It doesn't take long for the crowds, the people, and all of the accompanying noise of a city to begin getting to Vessel. He slips in a single earbud, thankful they're inconspicuous so at least one thing doesn't add to his anxiety. He wishes he had his mask but the fabric one he wears does help some. III wraps an arm around his shoulder, pulling him in close enough for their hips to brush occasionally as they walk. II is at his other side, swinging their hands together lightly.

"Are we doing GPS or wandering around until we find a coffee shop we like the look of?" III inquires, looking into a store window curiously as they pass.

"Wandering around is fine. What do you think, Ves?"

Said man tilts his head, a little caught off guard by the others wanting his opinion on something like this. It does feel nice though, to have something as simple as his opinion, on what he considers inconsequential, considered.

"I do not mind wandering. We just need to be back in time to set up our equipment for soundcheck and changing our attire. We're on first today, right?"

II hums his agreement, making sure the venue's address is saved on his phone before tucking it back into his pocket. They spend some time just wandering around the small city the venue sits within, looking in windows at whatever is on display. It's difficult to keep Vessel's anxiety from turning into a panic attack as they enter the heart of the city, the time of day making it busy. III's voice at his side helps, as well as turning his music up just a little bit. II's thumb keeps a steady rhythm across Vessel's knuckles.

The bonds are radiating comfort, Vessel focusing mostly on keeping his breathing even. He feels like an outsider in this unknown place, a not uncommon feeling whenever he enters a new public space. It makes him feel silly and childish, but he can't help it. He doesn't know this city and it feels like every passerby knows intimately that he is not one of them.

"How about this one?" II comments, pulling the others to a stop near the front of a tiny coffee shop on the corner of a long line of stores.

Vessel looks up at the hanging storefront sign over the door, an oval shape, deep burgundy in color, with red roses etched along the rim. It reads, 'The Withered Rose,' with 'Coffee & Pastries' right below, all in elegant cursive. The coffee shop's exterior is plain white to match the rest of the building, but the inside is visibly darker in color scheme. Vessel must admit he is a little intrigued. II and III must feel the same because they all agree they'd like to at least see the inside.

The interior walls, three including the front with a window that takes up most of the wall and the door they entered through as well as the wall on the outer corner of the shop, are the same burgundy shade as the sign. Dark oak wainscoting comes up to about II's waist, fake ivy hanging haphazardly from the ceiling near the corners. Soft lighting from small black flowery chandeliers, not too dim, spares Vessel's headache from growing any worse. There's a person at the counter with pitch black hair that greets them when they enter, III leading them forward so they can get a closer look at the menu. Vessel fidgets, feeling watched either by the employees or the other customers waiting in line, wishing he could focus on the menu and not let his anxiety get the better of him.

An iced hazelnut and caramel macchiato catches his attention amongst the list of the other hot and cold coffees while III decides what they want to get. They are, of course, looking at all of the sweetest options available. Once he finally decides, they get in line, and II orders first once it's their turn, III following.

Vessel turns his music down right as a Nightwish song he was unfamiliar with turns into Vcr by Creeper. He tries to get his order out, stumbling over his words badly enough that III takes pity on him and lists off his order with ease. An embarrassed flush crawls over his cheeks but he manages a small 'thank you' through the tightness in his throat.

It doesn't help that the barista is looking at him strangely, nervous eyes flitting over his form warily, as though Vessel was going to reach across the counter and wrap his hands around her throat. He would never. He already goes out so little, this is making him never want to leave home or the bus at all.

"Come on, love, let's go find a seat while Three pays and waits for our order." II urges quietly, tugging Vessel along with him after handing III their credit card.

"Will he be fine on his own?" Vessel tries not to appear outwardly nervous, which is useless because he practically radiates his anxiety.

"We won't go far, I just want to find us a spot in the shade if we can. They'll be right out after us."

Vessel keeps his eyes on the ground as II tugs him out and to the side of the shop, where there's a fenced off section for a few small tables. II finds one close to the wall, shaded by a maroon umbrella, gently shoving Vessel into a seat and taking the one right next to him. His chair scrapes against the concrete as he scoots it right up to Vessel's, and despite the sound and his fear of being noticed heightening, he leans his head against II's shoulder, the decorative arm of the metal chair digging into his ribs.

He must have dozed off again, blinking heavy eyes open as a bell on the shop door jingles.

"I got us a pastry each to try!" III exclaims, bounding around the corner with a drink holder in hand and a paper bag clutched under one arm.

"I should've known." II says fondly, waving him over, muttering a soft apology when Vessel's head is jostled.

He doesn't lift his head from II's shoulder, disregarding the way his neck begins to hurt from the angle, pulling his face mask down under his chin once III sets down the recyclable container that holds the three of their beverages.

His coffee is delicious, Vessel taking short, savory sips as II laughs amusedly at the sour expression on III's face. Vessel glances up at the pretty sound and the way his head is jostled again, realizing he is still a bit out of it today, finding himself a bit lost as to what happened.

"That is absolutely disgusting. However do you drink that sludge?" III sticks his tongue out in jest, washing the taste of II's iced, unsweetened black tea down with their own much, much sweeter matcha latte.

"You say that every time. Why even ask to try it if you're utterly disgusted every time?" II smiles, sliding his drink back over in front of himself.

"You like it, so I'm trying to at least tolerate it." Grumbling, III does nothing to hide the pinkened tint to his cheeks that makes his beauty marks stand out.

"You're such a sweetheart, brat. Perhaps you should've been given the Sugar nickname." II quips, humorous but also entirely serious.

Vessel fails to hide the way his lips twitch up into a grin momentarily. That song was coming along nicely, though he was struggling to finish it.

"No way!" III exclaims in feigned indignation, setting their drink down carefully, "He is sweet as sugar! It fits him perfectly and you know it! Ves, you agree, don't you?"

II and III turn their attention at once to Vessel, finding a blush of his own coloring his cheeks, lips pulled into a shy smile.

"It's nice." He mumbles, avoiding III's beautiful, bright blue eyes bashfully by tucking his face into II's shoulder.

"They're right, love. You're so sweet, it definitely fits you best." II says, patting Vessel's thigh.

Vessel only blushes harder, turning a pretty scarlet. Noting the time, II thinks it best they eat their pastries on the way to find a general store.

"Um," Vessel starts, moving his chair back into place after they all stand, "Can we come back and get some pastries for the crew? I feel terrible about causing such a fuss yesterday, especially after all the work everyone put in."

"No one was upset with you, sweetheart. I pay them well enough there hasn't been a reason to be, anyways." Frowning, II refutes Vessel's words, turning to go throw away his empty cup.

Neither III nor Vessel are surprised at just how quickly he sucked down his tea.

"Sam told them it was a health issue, and no one had any complaints." III adds, taking Vessel's hand.

"Well," II goes back to Vessel's question, bringing out his phone once he returns from his short trip to the trash bin, "I think they'd appreciate the gesture nonetheless. Let me save this places' address. We'll come back later, get a few different kinds so everyone can have their pick. Good idea though, beautiful."

Vessel brightens, nodding along easily, squeezing III's hand. He takes the offered Danish pastry, a strawberry and cream cheese one, beginning to eat it with one hand while III swings their hands between them. II is at his side, their arms brushing occasionally as they walk, his GPS giving directions to a general store nearby every once in a while on a low volume. By the time he's finished, the GPS alerts them that the store is just ahead. Vessel pulls his mask back up after wiping his mouth on a napkin III pulls out of the paper bag they hold, entering the store only once all three of them are mostly sure their hands are rid of the worst of the stickiness from the sweets. It is just as bright as Vessel thought it would be, his sensitive eyes squinting to try and adjust to the fluorescent hell he's just stepped into. He wishes quite suddenly that he hadn't forgone his hoodie, just so he could tug it over his head to mitigate some of the light.

"I'm going to go pick out a nightlight as a surprise, stay close boys but no peeking!" II's command is playful, raising an eyebrow up at III when the other snorts.

III waits until II walks off and turns down an aisle before following at a slower pace, still swinging their hands between them, before muttering in the First's direction, "Not much of a surprise since he told us what he was getting. He's cute."

Vessel hums his agreement, leaning his head over onto III's shoulder, feet beginning to drag, "You're both cute."

He doesn't see the way III's grin lights up his whole face, bringing out the sunshine quality that Vessel adores. He can feel the influx of affection III shoves down the bond with purpose, though, and it makes his own cheeks heat up.

They don't have to wait long for II to make his choice. He visibly lights up, calling Vessel and III over from their perusal of the phone chords on hand, Vessel having been kindly asked to hold III's drink, too. Vessel finds himself at II's side first, taking in II's pick with pleased eyes, crinkled at the corners with his smile.

In II's hand he holds a rather simple nightlight, merely a small bulb beneath a large yellow, plastic star casing. "This good enough, love? I'm not sure how bright it will be but-"

Vessel stops II in his tracks by leaning over, tucking the drinks between his arm and chest, pulling his mask down, and planting a kiss on II's cheek all in one swift move. His boldness is well worth the blush that crawls down II's neck from his red, flushed cheeks. "It's perfect, beloved."

At the nickname, II's ears go red at the tips, still unused to the term of endearment, and secretly, he hopes to never tire of it. He doesn't imagine he ever could.

Clearly flustered, II flounders for his wallet, waving it around for emphasis as he says, "We should, ah, probably head out. Still have to go back to the coffee shop- Put me down! Three!"

III comes up to II's side and swiftly lifts him up by arms under his, like picking up a particularly huffy cat. The pissy expression certainly matches with the image of Elvira in III's mind. Like father, like daughter, III supposes.

"Turn any redder and you'll be mistaken for a tomato." III states bluntly, grin wide and teethy, not even flinching when II flails a leg out to kick them in the shin.

"You're mating all of our socks by yourself on wash day." II grouches, still waiting to be set back down.

"Damn. You and Ves mostly wear black socks... Come on, Doll, you were simply being too endearing. I got cuteness aggression." III says with all the somberness of someone standing before a funeral pyre, though his serious expression doesn't last long in the face of II's sudden incredulity.

"Weather is nice up here, isn't it?" Vessel jokes, offering a tiny smile to II who is finally at his height.

II's incredulity only grows, III busting out into laughter that shakes his whole body and II's subsequently. An elderly woman about to turn into their aisle takes one look at them and passes by, clearly avoiding them, her cart squealing as she goes.

"Oh, so I get a punishment, and Ves gets off scot-free." III scoffs, finally setting II back down.

They let out an involuntary laugh when II jabs them lightly in the ribs, digging his fingers in to tickle him. "No, no, I'm sorry! No tickling, no-!"

"I'll help with the laundry." Vessel offers nicely when II grants III mercy.

"Denied. It's my punishment." III pokes Vessel in the cheek, still huffing in short, panting breaths.

Their grin is wide and happy, Vessel mirroring it as he lifts his mask back up. II quickly urges them towards the front of the store, letting Vessel carry the bag with his new nightlight and phone charger. It leaves Vessel with one less hand to share, to his immense disappointment. II thinks his pout must be cute under his facemask. Back at the coffee shop, Vessel points out the pastries he wants to get for everyone while III orders for him, and II pays. It's anxiety inducing, as everything is for Vessel, fearing he is making the barista wait too long for him to decide and worried he's taking up too much of the other customers time. Her smile remains kind though, if not as tired as Vessel feels, with an unsettled edge that clearly lingered from their first visit earlier that day.

Vessel had hoped that everyone would simply accept the pastries and go on about their business, but III very loudly informs them that it was Vessel's idea, as an apology. He had tried to hide his tall frame behind III, embarrassed and wilting under all of the kind eyes on him and equally as kind words being thrust upon him.

Their thanks felt nice to receive, even if Vessel thought he was undeserving.

"You did something kind for them, Sugar. It's only right they thank you." III whispers, letting the other hide behind them.

Instead of responding, Vessel just presses his face into III's back, hunched over a bit so the angle wouldn't strain his neck too much. After a second, he nods, accepting III's words. Sam, already halfway through a blueberry and cream cheese pastry, places a hand on Vessel's shoulder. His given thanks do not make Vessel quite so shy.

Their first official ritual of the tour, though it's actually the second day, passes by far easier than the first had once everyone has eaten their fill of sweets. Vessel watches in mild confusion as II and III share a kiss through their masks, rubbing their cheeks together like two cats, only without the purring. He is even more confused when they take turns doing the same to him, reciprocating the attention happily. They say they're trying it out as a pre-ritual, ah, ritual. Vessel has absolutely no complaints, relishing in the affection given.

Well, things had been easier until Vessel's exhausted, distracted body had stepped out onto the stage. Every molecule ached as Sleep took control, Vessel's frayed mind floating right away before the first song had even finished. He feels his ribs shifting in place, moving to accommodate His god within his chest. It hurts, but still, Vessel's mouth opens, and on cue, he begins to sing.

Is he not even allowed to have his music now? He thought he would be able to have some semblance of control as more rituals passed but it seems more like his body was buckling under the influx of worship. There was still some glimmer of hope within; this was only his second ritual to date.

Heart pounding a frantic rhythm, Vessel grits his teeth through a lull in the song, pain reaching out and infecting every nerve. Today had been too good, it seems, for it to end like this.

As the crowd slowly gets into their music, as the pace kicks up and II's drumming grows bolder, Vessel grows weaker. The magic swirling within is too much, Sleep taking up so much space within him and leaving so little room for the heart Vessel had offered. It jackhammers against his ribcage, bringing pain with every beat. Wrenching control from Sleep's tight grip, Vessel wobbles over towards III, desperate for a gentle touch to escape the agony burning within. Sleep stops Vessel's reaching hand, pulling it back as his skin crawls with discomfort. Vessel knows it is not his own, but can do nothing as Sleep navigates him around the stage like a puppet on too-tight strings.

He hurts. He hurts so much. It's unbearable, this agony.

This is not even a crowd of genuine fans. Vessel can see it, see how they do not care for the music they play, can just make out laughter from conversations being had while II beats at the drums like his life depends on it.

It doesn't matter; one day, they will all worship. Sleep impresses the thought upon him, not even speaking the words into his mind, but Vessel can feel the Gods surety.

Vessel just isn't sure he'll survive it.

What would it be like to play to a crowd of worshippers, there for Vessel and II's songs? What would it be like to play with four vessels of Sleep, each of them chosen as god vessels? Vessel can almost picture it, their Four in Nick's place, the blue of his eyes shining happily as III is on Vessel's other side, spinning and kicking. Vessel wants that, wants Four on stage with them. He feels a pinch of anger, and Sleep is bearing down on his mind with purpose.

Black spots cloud his vision, a blink, and then Vessel is stepping off stage, the heartbeat pounding in his ears suddenly ceasing. His knees buckle as Sleep leaves him, only II's strong grip wrapping around his waist keeping him standing.

"Ves, sweetheart, are you back with us?" He whispers, panicked, pulling Vessel along on leaden legs.

"What?" Vessel blurts, confused, vision swimming as he leans heavily on II.

"You lost consciousness, love. Felt it through the bond." II says, before directing his attention to III briefly, "Can you go ahead and make sure the couch is cleared? He's crashing."

III, eyes wide and as distressed as II clearly is, pulls his white mask down a bit more nervously as he nods, turning to make their way back to the dressing room ahead of them. Nick has disappeared already, off to light a smoke, no doubt.

Thankfully, there isn't much to move off of the couch, III making quick work shoving the water bottles off and setting the body paint tinctures aside. Vessel practically collapses into the cushions, eyelids fluttering as he fights to stay awake.

"I'm going to clean your paint off, hun, alright?" II asks, though it is less a question and more informing Vessel what he'll be doing.

Eyes crinkled in concern, II cannot help but be overcome by aching sadness.

In this mask, with it's misshapen, sad eyes and only half covering Vessel's face, II thinks Vessel looks small. He thinks of the man when they first met, trying to make himself as unassuming as possible, always looking one step away from a cliff's edge.

This mask will always remind II of Vessel before he started to get better. His heart aches in his chest at the memories, the few good and the many terrible, bloody.

"I'll shower..." Vessel starts, slurring, trying to force himself to sit up.

"Are you sure? I- Ves, I don't think that's a good idea." III asks, only just remembering that this venue had a shower for the performers.

"I can do it. Please, I'll be fine, beloved." Vessel assures, hefting himself up with great difficulty.

His limbs feel heavy, and there is so much ritual magic within him, overflowing from his body so badly he can visibly see black beginning to darken his fingertips, and it isn't paint. A hand comes up to his chest in a panic, checking to see if his necklace is still on. It is, which only helps ease his anxiety a little bit.

"At least let me help you to the shower?" III practically begs, glancing between a visibly feverish II and Vessel's seated, swaying form.

Vessel finds himself nodding in agreement, not fighting it when III takes him by the hand and bicep to help him keep steady as he stands, murmuring gentle encouragements. His vision swims momentarily, swaying over towards III but he doesn't allow himself to fall over. That would be a bit embarrassing after causing such a fuss for his lovers already.

Strangely, at the touch, the magic swimming along in his veins trying to settle, calms ever so slightly.

The shower isn't too far from the green room they're in, thankfully, though III has to try and shield Vessel's body from view as they go while simultaneously helping him keep balance. Vessel's fingers up to his knuckles are the color of tightly packed soot, his cloak pulled closed to try and cover the markings beginning to turn visible on his chest. Sam is a blessing, heard ordering crew members around with the help of their tour manager, doing his utmost best to keep prying eyes away from the vessels.

Neither of them notice Nick watching from afar, lugging around the case of their guitars. His gaze is sharp, analyzing.

He does not miss the brief glimpse of a sigil hidden in the hollow of Vessel's throat nor claws that clutch tightly onto III's cloak that is so different from Vessel's own.

Once they're in the bathroom and the door locked securely behind them, Vessel veers off, stumbling away from III. The Third does their best not to feel hurt by it.

"Do you need help, Sugar?" III inquires, watching Vessel begin to strip slowly, taking off his own mask and setting in on the sink.

Vessel shakes his head in refusal, starting with his jeans and then socks, his boxers, and finally, his cloak. It's a slow process, each movement sluggish, like his body was weighed down. III makes an aborted movement forward when Vessel sways, teetering to one side but managing to right himself at the last moment.

His mask is the last to come off, following his necklace, Vessel turning to twist the knob on the shower, cold spray jetting down harshly. It's only a brief glimpse, III making sure not to comment on it, but the raised stretch of a grey scar resting between Vessel's shoulder blades catches their eye, striking directly through the bough crawling up his spine right as it juts out into the creeping branches that go over his shoulders.

It strikes III that that must be the scar from Vessel's death. But... why would Sleep have left it when He did no such things for he and II?

They move on quickly, fighting their own wandering gaze in favor of braiding a section of their hair nervously, though still keeping their hands ready to reach out and grab Vessel should he start to fall. He can't keep staring, or he'll quickly lose focus. Even if all he wants to do is stare, to take in Vessel's completely bare form and memorize every little detail that they never get to see hidden under his shirts.

Shit, are those back dimples? No, focus. Focus on the unstable sway to every movement Vessel makes and not on how badly III wants to trace the outline of those dimples. They didn't even know Vessel had them.

Only once steam begins pouring out as heavily as the water does Vessel step in, a hiss leaving his mouth at the sting of the heat.

"Maybe you should turn that down a bit, Ves?" III suggests softly, taking a step closer as Vessel leans himself heavily against the wall of the shower, black paint coming off in thick stripes and washing down the drain.

Vessel shakes his head in refusal even as the action causes his head to swim with dizziness. He just wants to be warm, even if it hurts, even if the heat will likely make him feel worse. He can't ask for a hug so this will have to do.

He works quickly to scrub off as much of the paint as he can, focusing more on his face and neck than anywhere else. There are still stubborn splotches on his arms and stomach where paint clings to the skin below body hair. Vessel works a towel down his form hastily after shutting the water off, wrapping it around his waist briefly. This time, when he stumbles out, he lets III catch him, aching to sink into his arms and be held for just a moment. Just one blissful moment before everything crashes down around him.

Blessedly, III does not give in to the same desire, pulling away after making sure Vessel is steady and helping him dress, careful not to bend limbs too far, each action reverent.

A bit more of the magic settles, and when Vessel slips his necklace back on, there is no shadow wafting off his skin. Redressing in his stage clothes and placing his mask back on, III, now masked, helps Vessel out of the bathroom. III impresses an image of the bus down the bond, receiving a slight tug of acknowledgement from II's end of the bond.

III doesn't want to imagine the state Vessel would be in if he still wasn't allowed sleep. They can barely manage to get him back to the bus before he's falling asleep again, visibly nodding off against III's shoulder as they guide him with a hand wrapped around to hold a hip, pressing Vessel closer than he would normally allow. III hates how much he enjoys the contact, how he relishes in every brush of their hips, how he can hear the faint, faint sound of Vessel breathing due to their closeness. Feel water drip off of his perpetually messy hair right into the crevice of III's collarbone.

III stays with Vessel while the other sleeps wrapped up in most of their blankets and cuddling his plushie, a hand running through his hair. Occasionally, he'll receive a text from II asking how Vessel is doing, though they both know they can feel the sleep fuzzing up Vessel's bond.

Sam comes to check in on Vessel, too, once he gets back from within the venue. Whispering as best as he's able, he asks if it has something to do with the ritual, to which III confirms quietly. Easily recalling what Vessel had said that first day he'd visited their manor, Sam nods along in understanding.

"Two will be back soon, the headliner band was asking after Ves."

"That's nice of them." III murmurs, touched by the kind thought, attention shifting back to Vessel when the other whines softly in his sleep.

Sam leaves them to their own devices quickly enough, eyeing Nick and his oddly pensive expression where he lays on the buses couch-turned-bed.

"You alright, mate?" Aiming for civility, Sam asks.

Nick looks over at him slowly, blinking owlishly, and then a smile is spreading across his face. It's unsettling. "Oh, yeah, I'm perfectly fine. Doing a bit of thinking is all."

Perhaps Sam doesn't want to know what is going on in Nick's head. Hopping up into his bunk, Sam tosses out an offhanded, "Alright. Have at it then."

II is pushing the time given for band's to get all of their gear out of the venue and themselves, too, when he finally enters the bus. Heaving a heavy sigh, he runs a hand through his hair as he slips off his white mask. He passes by Nick without sparing him a second glance, pats Sam's foot that sticks out of his bunk, and continues into the backroom after swiping the last pastry out of its box on the counter. He shuts it behind him and locks it, tossing his mask on the tiny side table where III's and Vessel's already sit. Climbing into the bed causes Vessel to stir, sitting up with a tired yawn as III greets him, flicking the overhead light off and Vessel's nightlight blinks on. It casts a golden glow across the small backroom, and for a brief moment, neither II nor Vessel can see much of anything. Not until II slips his necklace off and Vessel follows the action.

"Eat this, get some of your strength back, pretty." II says first, handing over the sweet.

Only once Vessel takes a small bite out of it, all six eyes lighting up at the taste, does II get to changing into pajamas. III watches II closely, noting how sweaty he is. Eyes narrowed, III tilts their head in question when II catches their eye.

Smiling weakly with a shake of his head, II nonverbally asks III to drop it, he's fine. III's answering frown is expected, but II offers no other response. He is fine, regardless of the heat under his skin. He brushes a loving, thankful hand along the tether of the bond, needing III to know how much his worry is appreciated.

Vessel curls into his plushie, staring down at the sweet in his hand like it had the answer to all of his problems. He opens his mouth to try and speak, but find no sound comes out. Frowning, he tries again, only managing a small breathy noise of disgruntlement. Dejectedly, his hand comes away from his plushie to tap against his throat, signaling the loss of his voice.

"Don't force yourself, love. This ritual was rough on you. There was... so little of you, and so much of Sleep. We could feel just how much it hurt you, too, but it was terribly muted, like you were underwater and then you just... lost consciousness and all we felt was Sleep. Your body moved like nothing was wrong but you... you weren't there." II explains, watching Vessel nibble unsurely at the pastry.

It makes II furious, to know that Sleep did exactly as II thought He would; puppet Vessel around like he was nothing more than a doll to play with. Like he has been doing in previous rituals, clearly. They didn't realize what Vessel had meant when he said Sleep filled his chest with his magic. Sharing magic is one thing, sharing your body with a God is another.

There is so much Vessel keeps from them. When he can, II will demand the specifics of the rituals. Everything Vessel can tell them. It's important. Maybe Terzo can shed some light on things too, he'd clearly known more than any of them had at the festival.

Vessel reaches out once he's eaten the entirety of the pastry, pulling II in close by his bicep. II nearly crumbles right into his arms, letting Vessel manuever him however he pleases. Clingy and craving affection, Vessel pulls II down to lay with him, scooting back to shove up against III and tucking his head under II's chin. It is with little clarity that Vessel notes how warm II is, trying to shove himself a little closer to feel it. He makes a small sound, almost like a cat's noise of contentment before settling, his messy hair tickling II's nose. III slings an arm over the both of them, and despite knowing he'll get far too hot in this position, II would rather cut off both of his legs than move away. He breathes in Vessel's scent, salty seawater, and III's own floral smell, and feels very much at home.

The First is barely present with them for the next week, and it takes time for his voice to return. He drifts in and out of his disassociation, unable to remember minor things that happened throughout the day and completely blanking on any of the rituals they perform. II and III sleep on either side of him, now, making sure he is wrapped up in his softest blanket and squished between them as close as he'll allow. On the bus, his shark plushie never leaves his arms. He doesn't even react to the judgmental looks Nick tosses his way, barely even seeming to notice them at all.

II and III rarely let him out of their sights, and when they do, Sam keeps an eye on him. In his brief moments of clarity, he feels an awful lot like the child he used to be, stifled under the watchful eyes of his parents. The thought makes him terribly guilty, knowing how concerned his lovers and his friend have been. It is not their fault that Vessel is uncomfortable with being watched so closely, not their fault that his own fears get in the way of so much. Donning his mask helps, even off stage, as it always has and the others do not fault him for seeking that small comfort.

Even when the magic begins to settle in his bones from all the sleeping he does and becomes his own, as Sleep's presence in his body begins to slowly hurt less and less as tour goes on, though it is still agonizing, things do not seem to truly get better.

Nick gets... touchy. Vessel can't quite recall most of it, and he's unsure if that's a blessing or a curse. It leaves him itchy and paranoid, the ghosts of his ex's equally as invading touches seeming to haunt him.

It started off as small, simple touches. A hand brushing along his back, pressing their thighs close together as Nick sits too close for comfort. Then, the touches started getting bold. II and III try, Sleep, do they try to stay with him. But they cannot prevent what Vessel does not tell them about, so Nick keeps touching him and Vessel keeps enduring it. It's fine. The touches are bold, yes, but they are not wandering where they shouldn't. At least, at first. A hand squeezing at his hip, fingers splayed over his stomach as he is cornered in their dressing room. It's always when II and III aren't around, the chaos of touring leaving them separated far more often than they would like. Due to Sam's job, juggling being a drum tech and helping out with lighting or the more technical aspects as a crew member, he is not always available to watch Vessel either. This leaves Vessel vulnerable, even in the dressing room they're given at each venue with the hopes of him being granted privacy and protection within. After the rituals is the worst, no matter how much time passes. His lovers and his friend are bustling around so they can leave, Vessel usually sleeping off the pain and the ensuing adrenaline crash of housing his God in his fragile human form. Vessel's mind wanders more often, his chest distractedly empty, and it is easy for Nick to take advantage of that.

Most days, Vessel doesn't remember any of it. Doesn't remember wandering hands and a sly grin and the way his skin crawls. Some days, Vessel's mind snaps back into focus, anxiety keeping him alert as whispers scream in his ears of danger. Those days, Vessel catches Nick retreating from the First's weary form, his clothes unusually rumpled and and itch over his skin telling of an unwanted touch.

Nick has no qualms enacting his plans to ruin Vessel when the others are not around.

Ever watchful eyes would rake over Vessel's body, lingering in places that made Vessel uncomfortable, like his crotch or waist. Sometimes just boldly staring at his chest.

Vessel finds solace in dreams, or in the darkness of night, laid with his lovers as they talk of that nights ritual or of what they'd like to do when they get home, though he is more likely to fall asleep in the middle of a conversation than not.

One day, he wakes to Nick's hand on his thigh. Vessel frowns, shifting away as he blinks sleep away, the soothing lull of Four humming some song Vessel has never heard before fading away.

"Better wipe that frown off your face, Vessy. Don't want the others to know how much you dislike their friend, do you?" Nick smiles, leaning in close as his hand travels up to hip.

It sears into his skin, impossibly warm. He can smell Nick's breath, cinnamon and nutmeg from whatever sweet he had for breakfast, or toothpaste, maybe.

He's too close.

He can say no. II and III have assured him that he can say something if someone is touching him and he doesn't want them to. Will... will Nick listen?

Vessel opens his mouth, words just on the tip of his heavy tongue. His mouth closes, opens again, his throat closing up.

He can't. It doesn't matter. Nick wouldn't let him go anyways. No one ever listened, why would this human man who already disregards everything Vessel says?

Vessel curls into the blanket tighter, struggling to catch his oddly short breath. There's panic just under his skin, threatening to overwhelm him.

"What are you doing?" II asks, entering their green room, having sensed Vessel's veiled discomfort over the bond.

"Checking our singers' temperature, he's looking a bit flushed." Nick replies, uncrouching with a smile.

An eyebrow raises in disbelief, though II pays no further mind to Nick's presence.

"You alright, sweetheart?" II directs his question at Vessel next, a concerned furrow to his brow beneath his mask.

Vessel pushes himself up, biting at his lip. He chews at the soft, chapped skin, avoiding meeting either II or Nick's eyes. He can feel them both watching him, hunching his shoulders to try and hide. II is in front of him quickly, a hand entering his vision slowly before raising to touch his forehead, broadcasting his movements.

"You do feel a bit warm, love." II concludes, leaving to shuffle around in his duffle bag.

He doesn't voice that everything feels warm. II would prefer to be safe rather than sorry, in this case.

He comes back with some Tylenol and a cold water bottle, Nick finally moving away from the couch where Vessel sits. Vessel can still feel his hand on his thigh. "You feel far warmer than I do." Vessel claims, confused by the notion as he keeps II's hand in his after he passes over the pills.

It has been plenty of time since their set ended, so why was II's hand as hot as a lit furnace, as though his grip on his drumsticks were still strong and sure. II's worried smile turns strained, and it is his turn to be unable to meet Vessel's eyes.

"Two, are you sure you're alright? You've been acting strangely ever since tour started."

"Just tired, sweetheart. Promise. Everything's fine."

"You are lying to me." Vessel concludes, eyes full of hurt, "Did I do something wrong? Is it for a reason that will upset me?"

II glances over in Nick's direction, "Nick, why don't you go help the others pack up our things? I'll be out in a moment."

Nick snorts derisively, "Vessel hasn't helped a bit since tour started and you're going to get onto me? He just sleeps all of the time."

Vessel shifts minutely, gaze falling to rest on his hands, another drop of hurt dripping into the deep pit in his stomach. He tries to stay awake, but he can't, no matter how hard he tries. The worship magic drags him under time and time again.

"Stay your tongue. Go on, there's plenty to be done. You've barely pulled your own weight, always wandering off before and after our sets. Where do you even go? Out for a smoke?"

"Don't give me that, you smoke, too." Nick grumbles, but turns around and leaves without any further fuss.

"He's right." Vessel speaks only once Nick has well and truly left, "It's difficult to stay awake, and the one time I tried to help I ended up getting locked up in a storage room."

"You know we don't mind doing the heavy lifting, Ves. The rituals are hard on you, it's more important for you to rest and get used to the worship magic than it is for you to help us set up and take down our equipment."

"It makes me feel useless, to not do anything of import. All I'm good for is my voice."

II squeezes Vessel's hands gently, intending to gain Vessel's attention. "None of that, sweetheart. Give it time, rituals will become easier on you, I'm sure."

Biting at his lip, Vessel tries to take II's words to heart. It is only their first tour, after all. He just needs to acclimate to sharing his body with Sleep, and figure out how to settle the worship magic and take it as his own, or Sleep's. Whichever way it works is fine with him.

"Do you mind if we go back to the previous topic?" Whispering, Vessel looks up to meet II's soft blue eyes, already watching him lovingly.

"Of course not, love. I'm not upset with you or anything like that. I don't want to add any more stress on your shoulders. Please, don't worry, I'm perfectly fine."

"All I do is worry." Vessel laughs without humor, "Is... are you stressed because of me? I am not why you are like this?"

"Of course not, sweetheart." II impresses again, almost desperate to convince him.

Careful hands come up to cup II's face through his mask, caressing the fabric beneath Vessel's thumb with reverence, "Alright, I trust you. Just... please, rely on me sometimes, too."

"I love you, sweetheart." II murmurs instead of agreeing outright, taking in the tired droop of Vessel's eyes and knowing he couldn't possibly make things worse on him right now.

The smile he receives is exhausted, but no less bright for it, Vessel leaning forward to press their foreheads together, "I love you too, beloved."

Tour continues, time marching on though Vessel finds some of it still evades him. He finds himself still sleeping the days away, longing for home, for the comfort of the manor and the steady routine they'd all eased into.

One such sleep brings him a peace like no other, a subconscious making of his own mind. A memory not for him, but for the missing piece of their souls, for Vessel doesn't wake up, in reality nor his dream, when the Fourth's soul finds his.

____ wakes up, or rather, opens his eyes, to the light of the moon shining brightly above him, peeking between a thin canopy of trees above his head. Something tickles his face, and when ____ turns his head, he finds himself in a bed of flowers, a foot hanging over red brick to rest against forest floor.

With care, ____ moves to climb out of the flowerbed without causing any more damage, finding himself standing in front of a small garden that rests right beside a large manor, covered in ivy vines. Steps lead off towards what appears to be the front, and ____ follows it as though he's done so many times before, surety in each step. The vines on the outer wall reach out for him, brushing against his arms gently, his fingers trailing along wrought iron fencing that follows the path he walks, nearly at his hip. Flowery scents follow him, daffodils and bellflowers, mixing pleasantly with the fresh scent of the woods around the manor. The little porch has vines that reach out to ____ as well, so gentle as they caress his face, and the door opens for him before his hand can even reach out for the knob.

____ feels as though he's just come home.

A new scent hits his nose upon entering the foyer, a strong floral tea mixed with sweet coffees. ____ finds the smell coming from the kitchen as he passes, mouth watering at the added smell of vanilla scented pancakes. A piano is playing a soft, slow tune all by itself, keys clicking under invisible hands. For some strange reason, ____ swears he can hear a soft humming, a soothing string of lyrics following. The voice is familiar, angelic, ____ finding himself pausing to listen until a new tune starts, something that sounds suspiciously like a piano rendition of Whitney Houston's I Wanna Dance With Somebody. Ascending the staircase, the vines are almost more active here, writhing along the walls happily and nipping at his heels playfully. The house feels alive, a faint heartbeat meeting ____'s fingertips as they trail along the handrail. Once he is at the top, he pauses, heart caught in his throat. Down the hall to his left is three rooms, two on one side and one on the opposite between them. One is devoid of life, while the other two radiate some sort of energy. The first room is somehow resilient, radiating resilience and strength, a steadfast presence resides within. It smells faintly of lemon polish and the same tea from downstairs. The second room is all sunshine and warmth, sunlight spilling out from beneath the door alongside the scent of flowers.

____ turns away, heading through the small upstairs sitting room towards the other hall and its set of rooms. A tug within his chest leads him on through the darkness of the house, though even though it is dark, there is still life and warmth to be felt. There are two doors on this side, one shut, and the other wide open. The closed door emanates sheer cold, pitch black darkness creeping out from underneath, with shimmering stars blinking in and out of existence. From within, the sound of a heart beats strong.

____ finds himself standing at the threshold of the open door, peering within. His heart is in his throat, his breath caught by the sight that greets him. This room is misery incarnate. It claws at the corners where shadows sit, it's own glimmering silvery stars making tiny supernovas of color from within the shadows that breathe. A wave projector casts blue light over the ceiling and the wall where the bed rests against. To his side, right beside the light switch, are a multitude of receipts and sticky notes pinned to the wall. Each one casts a faint yellow glow, like the sun has been caught within the paper. There's one in a golden picture frame, a piece of parchment sharing two different drawings. Both are flowers, though one is clearly done by someone with much more practice. Love radiates from it, and so does a touch of the aura's from the rooms ____ had seen before.

There is serenity to be found at it's core, despite the misery that tries to seep in from the shadows.

Blue eyes move to the bed at last, and to the man curled up in a mountain of soft blankets. A plague doctor plushie is clutched in his arms, soft fur exuding calm and protection. Six eyes are delicately shut, fluttering every now and then. He is beautiful, and oddly familiar. ____'s breath catches in his throat, feet carrying him forward. A hand reaches out to brush along a cheek with featherlight care, though it passes right through. Frowning, ____ lets his hand fall to his side and instead looks at the faint outlines beside the man, somehow not noticing the three red strinfs tied to his fingers, glowing a gentle scarlet. They look like two other human forms, one made of golden sunshine and the other a steady coolness, even if ____ couldn't quite explain how that translates visually.

____ finds himself sitting at their feet, just on the edge of the bed, startling when a meow reaches his ears. He looks behind him to see a black cat staring at him from the darkness, fluffy black tail flicking back and forth as it watches him. She only observes him for a few long seconds before turning her head away, resting it back against the leg of the golden apparition and ____ figures that's as much of an acceptance as he'll receive. From a cat in a dream, that is.

No longer distracted by anything but the men beside him, ____ allows himself to just sit and take it all in.

Has the apartment he shares with his boyfriend ever felt like this? This... feels more like home than his ever had, and he had a beautiful childhood with parents that adored him. That should feel like an insult to their love, but it only makes ____ feel more like he has found his place, his people, just like his parents had found each other. He does not even know this man, nor the ghosts at his side.

Sucking a deep breath in and breathing in the mingled scents of the man and the apparitions beside him, ____ lets it all wash over him. He lets that feeling of peace settle in to his bone marrow — no, deeper than that —, into his very soul. He doesn't know how long he sits there, but it must be hours, or maybe only minutes, for when he opens his eyes it is to the sun rising just beyond the curtains. He lays in bed, feeling cold and alone. A hand comes up to hold his cheek gently, brushing along the yellowed bruise and wondering if the men from his dream would ever hit him like his boyfriend does. Would they lie and say they loved him after promising never to do it again, only to break that same promise?

"Do you want to head to the gym with me?" Sam asks without preamble one early afternoon, decked out in a loose t-shirt and shorts.

Glancing around himself, Vessel finds no one else Sam could have been talking to, head tilting in confusion. "You don't have to, Vessel. I just thought it might be good for you to try it out. Working out is healthy, and can be a really good outlet for stress, and I hate to be so blunt, but you're stressing me out with all the sleeping you're doing and just how much of a train wreck you look like when you're awake."

Perhaps Vessel should have felt offended, or upset by Sam's blunt rambling, but he was mostly glad to have it told to him straight up, and still have the words be said with clear care behind them.

Sam has only ever been kind to him, and so Vessel smiles, nervous as it may be. "I'll have to talk to one of the others first." He says, hoping it doesn't sound like he's deflecting.

Sam frowns, concern in the blue of his eyes, "Do they not let you go out and about on your own or something?"

Startled by the question, Vessel flounders for a response, "No, I- I can, it's just... Something happened a while back and we don't like being apart. My anxiety just exacerbates my worry so..."

Trailing off, Vessel hopes to ease Sam's concern but isn't sure of his success. So, he tacks on softly, "Bad things happen when we're apart, it isn't safe to not at least tell them where I'm going."

"Fair enough, mate." Sam replies smoothly, "Go on then, I won't keep you. Just shoot me a text if you're up for it. I'll be heading out in around, ten minutes maybe? I was going to see how far away a gym was."

With a nod, Vessel and Sam part ways. It's easy for Vessel to find III with the help of the bond, leisurely lounging on the couch in their green room and messing around on their phone. He looks up with a ready grin when Vessel breezes into the room like a wraith, clearly having felt him coming with the lack of cloudiness in the bond. Vessel will admit he's felt rather good today, all things considered. More present than usual, at least. He can do nothing but consider that a good thing.

"Hello, Sugar, what's up?" III greets, patting the couch beside them.

Tilting his head, Vessel opens his mouth to ask how III knew he had something to ask. Before he can, III waves him off happily, "You've got that look on your face where you want to ask something but either don't know how to word it or you think Two or I will be upset with you for asking."

"Ah. I see." Vessel murmurs with a tight, embarrassed smile, refraining from sitting down.

"It's just- Sam asked me to go the gym with him." Vessel says, eyeing III unsurely.

"Oh, sure, have fun and don't strain yourself. Keep your bond open, too, please, so we know you're safe. I'll make sure to tell Two."

Vessel's brain short circuits. "That's- That's it?"

"Yeah, we trust Sam and he's a good friend of ours. He'll take care of you. Go have fun with your friend, Sugar."

"You're sure?" Vessel questions, tilting his head.

They trust him to go off with a friend by himself? Previous partners never would have- They are not like previous partners, Vessel reminds himself. They... trust him as he trusts them.

III makes grabby hands, and without a second thought, Vessel leans down into his space. III kisses him then, biting at his lip playfully, a hand wrapped around Vessel's nape to pull him just that little bit closer. He sighs into it, melting into the kiss despite the strain on his back.

"Stay safe, have fun." III orders when they part, panting into each others mouths, trying to emulate II's stern voice, but his teasing smile sort of ruins the image.

"I will. I-" Vessel stops himself, lips tilting up into a hesitant grin that he hopes conveys what he cannot bring himself to voice.

"I love you, Ves, now go on." III says for him, Vessel nodding shortly in thanks and farewell, pulling away from III reluctantly.

This is the first time he will be going off without one of the others since... well, since II arrived, if his memory serves him well. Neither of them voice their respective anxieties over parting, choosing instead to trust one another. It is one of the most difficult things Vessel has done, he thinks, to step out of the green room and leave III behind. It isn't forever, just for a few hours, he knows, but his separation anxiety nearly drags him right back to III's side. So much could go wrong, but it is wrong of him to have some hope that things could go well, just this once? Vessel just wants to spend time with his friend.

Sam slings an arm around his shoulder when Vessel appears next to him, only startling slightly at his silent arrival. His grin is wide, pleased, as he directs them back towards the bus briefly to change into clothes more suited for physical activity.

Vessel comes out in a tank top and a pair of loose pants, Sam does not gawk at his bared arms as he thought he would, glancing at them briefly and then moving along the conversation to something else. Vessel is terribly grateful. II and III had been right, anyone worth anything wouldn't care.

He cannot help but notice the faint presence following him around as he and Sam make their way towards the closest gym has a universal membership with. It is nothing more than a darker section of shadow as he passes, but Vessel takes note of it anyway. He wonders if he should inform Sam, or maybe just call one of his lovers to let them know he thinks he's being watched by something not quite worldly. The shadows merely trail after him, lingering just on the outside of his peripherals. They scatter when he looks their way, whispers growing louder. Vessel swears he can almost make out a single word.

It sounds almost like, "Speaker."

Upon arriving at the gym, Vessel resolves himself to following Sam around like a baby duckling, content to let Sam lead the way and decide their activities. It's nice, since Sam is so easygoing and willing to explain what the different equipment is for and that there's no shame in not being able to do the difficult reps from the get-go. Vessel tries not to feel like an intruder in this unknown space, glad for Sam's reminder that he can listen to music to try and drown out some of his more anxious thoughts. All the while, Vessel is watched by the shadows. Whatever it is does not bother him, whether to harm or something else. It's at once suspicious and relieving.

When Vessel returns from the gym with Sam, his limbs pleasantly aching, he goes first to the bus to grab his phone charger. It appears empty at first glance to Vessel's relief, taking off his mask and scrubbing a hand over his face tiredly. He could have showered at the gym like Sam, but he preferred the faux privacy of their bus' tiny shower. Not even their driver seems to be around, likely having gone off to stretch his legs.

Vessel freezes when the door to their backroom opens, Nick stepping out. Frowning, Vessel thinks he must have been snooping through their things again. Nick smiles when he sees Vessel, stalking forward with this peculiar expression on his face. He grabs Vessel's arm just when he turns to escape back out of the bus, bared in his tank top and lifts it up between them as if to display something Vessel had never seen before.

"What are you-?" Vessel starts, bewildered by this sudden turn of events.

He had been sure he was alone in here, he thought he was safe. He tries to tug his arm out of Nick's grip but it only grows tighter, nearly bruising.

"Please let me go." Vessel requests, staring hard down at the bus floor.

"Now, why would I do that when I've finally got you completely alone, Vessy?" Nick mutters, Vessel not sure he even meant to be heard.

Of course Nick wouldn't listen to him.

"I've been doing a lot of thinking." Nick starts when Vessel says nothing else, pulling him back into his chest.

Vessel immediately tries wiggling away, trying to escape the hardness he can feel poking his thigh through Nick's jeans. He feels sick.. What has elicited that sort of reaction from Nick's body? He's scared-

"Tried to kill yourself didn't you? I always thought you were pathetic with the self-harming, and now I've figured out you're just the lowest of the low. Hurting yourself and attempting suicide. That's really the whole pitiful package, isn't it?"

Vessel stills.

There is ice in his veins, freezing him from the inside out and cutting into his insides. He twitches, his whole body, and quite suddenly Vessel wishes he was dead. Truly.

"You're just the textbook definition of a waste of space." Nick continues, pressing into Vessel further.

His breath is hot and heavy in Vessel's ear, his erection insistent, obvious, Vessel's mind trying desperately to focus on anything else, like what Nick had figured out-

He gets off on this, doesn't he? Gets off on spitting cruel words and watching as Vessel fractures beneath their weight.

"Do your boys know how much of a mess you are? How you're stringing them along as you wait to actually get the job done right?"

"How did you even figure it out?" Vessel asks, feeling hot tears well up. "What about me made you come to that conclusion?"

Nick's laughter rattles Vessel's whole body, "Have you seen yourself? It wasn't too far fetched of a conclusion, Vessy. A little guessing and you've just confirmed my suspicions. I'll be honest, I was hoping you weren't quite so broken, someone clearly got to you before I did. Two and Three don't seem the sort to know how to train a bed partner properly, so you must have been broken by someone before them. How I wish I could have seen it, gotten to you first. We could've had so much fun together."

No matter how Vessel wants to move, to get Nick to release him, a familiar fear stays his hand, keeps him still as the dead. He feels caught between the present with Nick and those who came Before Sleep. Why can't he move?

"I wonder what all they did to you. The way you cried must have been beautiful. You are so beautiful when you cry." Nick mouths wetly at Vessel's ear, and the First shudders, his whole body cringing away from the sensation.

"It wasn't like that-" Vessel tries to say, but Nick only cuts him off without a care.

"Tell me, Ves, did they bruise you up real good when you fucked? I've seen the marks you and your boys have left on each other, and have been so curious as to the expressions you make. Such an expressive man, aren't you? You probably enjoyed it, didn't you? All the pain, the way they broke you. With those cuts on your arms, there's no way you didn't enjoy it."

No. Vessel does not... he never enjoyed what his past partners did to him. He took what he was given, sure, but it hurt. He wanted gentleness - no, not gentleness but love, he wanted to be loved - but knew he would never receive it. His current lovers are so gentle, so kind, they love him. They love him and they do not hurt him.

Is Vessel's secret want of roughness what Nick means? He has said it before, he wouldn't mind them being rougher with him. He wouldn't mind a bit more biting, and bit less care. Is he... exactly what Nick says he is?

"Was you trying to kill yourself an accident? Did you go too far, get a little too into the pain?" Nick continues cheekily, running his mouth just as II warned him not to.

Vessel wishes it would just go in one ear and out the other, trying again to squirm away. Nick's voice just lingers, lingers like his touch, burning into Vessel's skin. There's static buzzing around in Vessel's head, entire body going nearly limp in Nick's hold. He wishes he didn't have to feel Nick grind his clothed dick into Vessel's ass, wishes he was dead so he didn't have to be experiencing this hell. He wants to go home. He wants his home to come to him, they'd save him from this.

For the briefest of seconds, Vessel considers tugging right on that tether in his chest. If he opens up the bond, broadcasts all of the terror and the anguish like a hurricane in his mind, then they'd- They'd come running. They'd find out. They'd leave.

All he can feel is his boyfriend, his ex, shoving his full weight onto him and knowing well that Vessel would never think to truly fight back.

"Don't tell them. Don't- They'll leave- Please-" Vessel gasps out, ready to beg, ready to do whatever he has to.

If they know how broken he is, if they know what led him to Sleep, they won't stay. He's already so much work, they'll really think he's too much, then.

Everyone always left after an attempt, without fail. You'd think it would make Vessel more likely to never try again, but it made it worse. He wanted to disappear. He tried. Over and over and over again, he tried to disappear.

"What will you do for me in return, Vessy? That's a big secret to keep from your boyfriends. Can you imagine what their faces will look like? All sad and teary, but once that emotion has run it's course, they'll see just how worthless you are. How you're just a masochist who gets off on his own pain in such a sick way." Nick grins into Vessel's hair, breathing him in.

He smells of the sea, the salt of it mixing with sweat, pale skin drawing Nick's hungry gaze in the tank top the singer wears. Truly a vision, a feast for Nick's eyes despite those garish scars.

"Anything, anything, I swear. I don't want to lose them." His voice has gone watery, the strength in his limbs seeping out the longer this goes on.

He wants to lay down, curl around his plushie and turn to stone. He wants to never wake up, hopes he dies in his sleep and Sleep can't bring him back. He wants Nick to stop touching him, he wants so many impossible things.

"What could you possibly do for me? You couldn't even kill yourself properly, evidently."

Vessel sobs at the cruel words, at their truth, eyes scrunching shut. He really couldn't kill himself properly, so, so many attempts ended in failure and not even that last one truly stuck, not since he chose Sleep. He can feel as his vocal chords shrivel up, his ability to speak dying out with his heightening stress. He has to be able to sing, he can't lose his voice now. Not on tour, please.

"I'm feeling merciful today, Ves." Nick croons, his lips brushing against Vessel's ear, a hand coming up to grip his jaw.

Familiar fog creeps up on him and Vessel is almost grateful. Take him away from this. He wants to be anywhere but here. He wants to escape the hand sliding down his front.

There is nothing in him that even thinks of actually trying to escape. Only endure, endure as he always has. It was always endure the whispers, endure the darkness, endure the harsh words and the beatings and the way his own mind wanted him dead.

"I'll cash in on a favor at some point, and I expect you to deliver, alright?" His voice is sweet, nose brushing up into Vessel's hair as though they were lovers, Nick's grip on Vessel's jaw gentle.

Tears slip down and over those calloused fingers, a thumb carefully brushing them away.

Why is he so gentle? Vessel wants him to hurt him. If there is pain then Vessel won't associate this gentle touch with those of his lovers. He's tainting their kindness with this- Whatever this is.

"Do you hear me? Give me an answer." Nick spits, jerking Vessel's jaw around to try and force him to meet the honey brown of Nick's eyes.

Vessel struggles to nod, but it isn't good enough. Nothing he does will be good enough. It never is. That's why everyone he loved hurt him, he needed to be punished, needed to be taught to be good. It's why his father locked him in their basement whenever he was bad. It's why his father encouraged his cutting and why his mother never cared to try and stop any of it. There was something wrong with him, body and soul.

"Verbal responses or have they really taught you nothing?" Nails dig into his jaw, jerking his face around once more for good measure.

Gasping in a choking breath, Vessel opens his mouth, trying to speak through his thick tongue and tight throat. "Y-yes."

"Yes, what, Vessy?" Nick grips Vessel through his loose pants and the First let's out a sound between a whine and a sob, but does not try to shove away.

He wants to go home. Is the home he seeks his lovers or the sea?

"Yes, sir."

The moan Nick breathes right into Vessel's ear has Vessel surging forward, finally managing to break free. He stumbles, crashing into the bathroom door in his haste to move away, looking up to find Nick watching him with an utterly depraved expression on his face. He looks... euphoric at the sight of Vessel's distress.

"That's a good boy. Not entirely worthless after all, are you?" With a grin, Nick wipes a bit of drool from the side of his mouth, toeing at Vessel's curled up form.

"No, sir. 'M not..." Vessel responds, not quite all there anymore.

"We'll fix that. I don't think I have to tell you to keep quiet about all of this, do I? Imagine how upset your boys would be if they found out you've let me get my hands all over you and never tried to stop me."

Sliding deadened eyes up to meet Nick's, Vessel nods along in agreement, his tongue swiping out to wet chapped, bitten lips. Vessel could have stopped him, he is the First vessel of a God. Vessel could have stopped him. It doesn't matter how afraid Vessel is every time Nick so much as looks his way, it doesn't matter that everything about the other man reminds him of his past partners who broke him. He could have stopped him.

Nick laughs at the distant expression on Vessel's face, happy to have put it there. It's a shame, though, that the man can't keep himself present enough to really let Nick's words sink in. It's made it easier to cop a feel though, between the - what did II call it? - disassociation and the constant sleeping. He supposes he has some higher power to thank for that. He lets out an undignified snort at the thought, leaving Vessel to his own pathetic devices, trapped in his own mind with the all that Nick has said.

At some point after Nick left, Vessel stands, his knees almost buckling. Somehow, he ends up in the bus' bathroom.

He doesn't remember stripping and climbing into the tiny shower or slipping off his necklace. His body barely registers the pain of his claws digging into his arms, drawing blood in thick rivulets. Vessel has floated well away from his body, right up through the stratosphere.

The splash of cold water to send black and red blood down the drain brings his mind into focus enough to clean himself of what he'd done, though the wounds remain. In the back of his mind, even through the fog his mind has succumbed to, Vessel longs to kill himself and be rid of everything for at least a little while. He can't, though, he has a promise to keep, and he already broke one. He clings to that promise like a lifeline. It's all he has. He feels as though his world is crashing down around him.

Nick wants to ruin him, he says. Do you think he would believe Vessel if he say's there is very little he would have to do to finish the job?

He doesn't remember changing his clothes, tugging on something of II and III's each, a pair of III's sleep pants and one of II's overlarge shirts. The sound of his necklace landing on the tiny bedside table seems deafening in the silence, water dripping off the corner onto the carpet. He doesn't remember how he got under the covers, shivering perhaps from the cold. He lays there for a long while, feeling floaty but not. Vessel wants to sleep, maybe see Four, and ignore the events of the night, forget they ever happened.

Vessel chances a glance down at his arms, buried under the covers head to toe as he is, and doesn't have anything left in him to feel guilty at what's he's done. Not even the thought of his lovers' crestfallen expression will save him from the knowledge that he deserved this. He feels... nothing. Nothing at all. His chest is as it always is, an empty abyss where his heart used to sit, and right now that feels most like a metaphor for his current emotional state than the truth it really is.

He must have fallen asleep at some point, though he doesn't remember when.

His form is prone on the beach, half in the water as deep blue waves wash over his legs gently. The light of the unnaturally bright moon above him shines down on him, reflecting off the water. It is here he is at peace.

Arms wet, Vessel isn't sure if its from his own doing or simply the waves. He doesn't care enough to try and look. A shadow cuts through the moonlight above, Vessel barely scrounging up the energy to look over. Four stands there, bare feet sinking into the sand. There's a sad smile on what of his face Vessel can make out. Clearing his throat, Vessel greets him the same as always, watching the veil of magic clear from Four's eyes.

"Hello, Four. My name is Vessel, it's a pleasure to see you."

"Oh annywl, are those from a nightmare, or your reality?" Four breathes out sadly, pretty blue eyes caught on the cuts on Vessel's arms.

Vessel takes a moment to respond, his mind scattered even here.

"Reality. I- I needed the punishment. Someone... found out a secret of mine. If he tells, then I lose everything." He admits, his tired, lidded gaze finally sliding up to meet the sky of Four's eyes.

"Everything, huh? What will you lose?" Keeping his voice light and kind, Four sits next to Vessel in the sand, keeping at least a foot of space between them.

"My partners. They're my everything. If they find out what I did... They'll leave. Everyone leaves once they find out."

"Is it... your arms? The- The wounds you make?" Four swallows harshly, feeling guilty for bringing it up.

Surprisingly, Vessel's lips quirk up into a small smile. "No, they know about this. They are trying to help me stop, even though I only try for them."

"You know, my ma has scars from this." Four starts, keeping his voice soft, level.

"We don't talk about it often. It's a touchy subject for her. I probably shouldn't be sharing this anyways, but- My da says she ended up in hospital a couple of times, bad relapses when her mental health took a steep decline just when everyone thought she had been doing well. This was before I was born, so this is just what my da shared. My point is, she got better, you know? It wasn't easy. She had to work at it, struggle with herself and... well, how badly she didn't want to be alive some days, but she had a strong support system, and she got better." Four continues, accent thickening with emotion.

"You do not need to suffer alone. You'll find things worth living for, reasons to keep yourself healthy, alive. Reasons to keep living. If your partners are really worth it, they'll stick with you through mental hardships, no matter how difficult. You just need to trust them." He adds on, downturned eyes impossibly kind.

"Would you stay? If you were with me, would you stay?" Vessel asks, golden tears slipping over his temples.

"I would, Vessel."

Slowly, his hand breaches the distance between Vessel's, leaving phosphorescent lines in the sand. Their pinkies touch, and then their hands intertwine. He focuses on the feel of Four's hand in his, the callouses on his fingers as a gentle thumb rubs circles into Vessel's knuckles.

Vessel sucks in a steadying breath, listening to the waves crashing around them. The water is ice cold as it splashes over his legs, such a strong force that Vessel is sure it will drag him into the depths. Four's hand in his is anchoring him to the beach,

Four doesn't say anything else, nor does he expect a response or any further conversation. He lets the silence wash over them, just like the waves. If Vessel just needs someone to hold his hand, to be there for him, then Four can do that with ease. Being around the other man is easy, easy as breathing. Something within Four calls to him, something more than just skin deep.

"I wish... that we could meet." Vessel whispers at the same time Four does.

Neither hear each other, voices lost to the waves. That's alright, maybe they didn't need to be heard. It's enough to simply be, exist in that single moment, sharing dreams.

Vessel wakes slowly, his mind lagging behind his body. There's a hand in his hair, working out the knots from the still wet strands gently, a warmth settled beside him on the bed. Bleary eyes open, squinting out of sync, to find II.

"Hello, love, everything alright? You don't usually sleep with your hair wet." II has barely finished speaking by the time Vessel has sat up, latching his arms around II's middle to press his face into the shorter man's stomach.

II notices right away the multitude of new lines dug into Vessel's skin, uneven and harsh.

"Sweetheart, was today a bad day and we didn't realize?" II inquires delicately, pained at Vessel's relapse.

Vessel manages to answer in a whisper, thinking back to what Four had said, "Wasn't all bad."

He licks his dry lips, teeth aching to latch on to something. It isn't exactly a lie. This day has been bad, not so bad as others, of which there were many during the chaos of touring and performing songs from your very soul as offerings for your God.

"I'm sorry, love, is there anything I can get you to make things a little easier?"

"I wish I could let you hold me." Whispering still, Vessel admits something close to his heart, "Properly. Like real lovers do. But I'm broken. I can't let you."

It is his own fault he can't let that wish be granted. "You are not broken, my love. I want you to be comfortable, and if that means I can't- Can't hug you, then that's just the way it'll be. We've found ways around it, so what do you say we get you all wrapped up like a blanket burrito and we can cuddle until it's time for us to head in to the venue?"

Calling it a blanket burrito like III does makes Vessel laugh, though it's a small, stilted thing that withers before long. II takes what relief he can in the sound. They can spare thirty minutes of time for this, even if that would be pushing it a bit.

"Alright, up you go, pretty. Let me grab one of III's blankets to add on to yours. Did you want me to have him come here? We can make a pile out of it." II urges, already tugging on the bond and sending an image of the bus to III.

The reply is immediate, a fuzzy picture of a thumbs up emoji. II snorts, unsurprised, rolling his eyes fondly as Vessel sits up as directed. His arms wrap around himself in a self-soothing hug, II breathing through the agony that simple actions stirs up. He'll need to get bandages for Vessel's arms, make sure they're cared for, and hidden if they go out on stage tonight. II will wait a bit before asking.

"I don't want to bother them." Whispering faintly, II strains to hear him properly where he's now digging in the bedside table's drawer.

A pile of miscellaneous things from all three of them is quickly sifted through, II finding a small first aid kit at the bottom of the drawer. "Are you kidding, sweetheart? He'd stay wrapped around the both of us twenty-four seven if he could."

Gently, as all things with II are, the Second begins dressing the self-inflicted wounds; cleaning them with an antiseptic wipe that leaves Vessel flinching away, slathering a thin layer of antibiotic ointment, and finally winding fresh bandages around Vessel's arms.

"There we go, sweetheart. Burrito time." II says, just as the door to the bus opens and closes audibly.

Vessel perks up, tired eyes alight with anticipation. He sits up a little straighter as III squeezes himself through the small crack they make in the door, unsure if either of his lovers had their glamor on. Reaching a hand out, III takes Vessel's offer with a wide grin, greeting them each in turn, "Hey, Sugar, Doll."

"You made it just in time." II muses, holding up Vessel's blanket for emphasis, "It's burrito time."

III tilts his head curiously, taking in the scene before them; the bandages on Vessel's arms, the tight, worried edge to II's playful smile, clearly being played up, though, for whose sake, III isn't sure. "Burrito time! You're going to be so cuddleable in about two minutes, Sugar." III agrees, careful not to make his own influx of concern obvious.

"Can I have a kiss first?" It's almost meek, the quiet way in which Vessel asks, avoiding looking at either of his lovers but nearly shaking with his want.

He wants their love so badly while he can still have it, a sword bearing Nick's threat ,etched deeply into the blade, hanging over his head.

III is already voicing their agreement as they move forward, finally climbing into bed on their knees and walking on them towards Vessel. At the same time, their hands come up to cup his cheeks, lifting Vessel's face enough so that their lips can meet. Their lips slide together, III keep it soft and sweet and filled with all the overwhelming love he has in his body. Vessel's angel bites send a cool thrill through III every time his lips brush against them, a rarity due to their placement. When they part, III noses at Vessel's cheek fondly, going along with the next kiss the First seeks out, the singer's hand finding its way to III's thigh to grip it gently. It feels strangely desperate, but not for anything sexual, just a raw need for this sort of affection. III will gladly give it. II watches, fingers ghosting over III's thigh in a small show of his own affection, his lack of distraction making it so he can feel the way Vessel's strained, anxious bond eases some.

Vessel is visibly shaking, and since II isn't sure if its due to being cold or something more distressing, he wraps the soft blue blanket in his hands around Vessel's shoulders. The shaking doesn't stop right away, nor does II expect it to, but Vessel's hand seeks out II's, curling their fingers together as he and III finally part again. He turns to II next, six eyes wide, and if he had pupils in this form, II is sure Vessel's would be blown out.

"My turn?" II asks, lips quirking up into a smile.

"Please. Please, I want- Yes, if you'll have me."

III fixes the blanket that had slipped off Vessel's shoulder as he reaches out for II next, watching with that same fondness II had as they kiss sweetly. He glances down at the bandages on both of Vessel's arms, brow furrowing. What had happened? Nothing in the bond indicated Vessel relapsing, nor the faint fuzzy bits of disassociation III can barely glean from the tether's outer edges. It's not long before II is breaking the kiss to begin wrapping Vessel in his blanket as promised, pulling him close to kiss him again. An idea strikes, III's wrapping his arms around Vessel and freefalling back onto the bed with the First curled up on his chest. Vessel laughs as they go, letting out a soft oof! alongside III as they bounce against the bed. Shaking his head, II flops over beside them, slinging a leg over Vessel's to lay on III's. For a few minutes, no one says anything, simply breathing each other in, though Vessel can feel the build up of a question over II's bond, knowing it's only a matter of time before his well-meaning interrogation begins.

"Did things go well with Sam? Did he- Did he say or do anything?" II finally breaks the silence, unsure as to whether it really was just a bad day or if something happened to push Vessel into hurting himself.

III feels Vessel's sigh against his neck, feels the way he tries to cuddle closer with the blanket still separating most of their bodies. "No. No, I had fun with Sam. Working out felt... nice. My limbs protested, but it felt rewarding. As though the pain had a purpose beyond just... hurting myself to hurt."

Nibbling at his lower lip before catching himself, II releases the skin, working out how he wants to ask this next question, sharing a nervous glance with III. "How did it end up this way? Did you get overwhelmed or too lost in your own head? I want to understand, love, so we can try to avoid this happening again."

Vessel practically shuts down, lips pinching shut as he goes stiff as a board. "I'm sorry. I wasn't... I wasn't all here when I did it." Is the only explanation Vessel offers.

"Okay. Okay," II breathes out, not quite satisfied with the answer but it's clear through the bond that Vessel doesn't want to tell them.

"Was it Nick?" III blurts, hiding his face in Vessel's hair immediately after speaking.

Squeezing shut all six of his eyes, Vessel curls a fist into III's shirt, the lie like ash on his tongue, "No. It wasn't Nick. It's just turned into a bad day. I'm sorry."

II brushes a hand over Vessel's hair, caressing his cool cheek, "Don't apologize, sweetheart. I'm sorry your day wasn't all good. Let's just- We'll lay here for a bit until it's time for us to get ready, alright?"

Nodding against III's chest but not verbally responding, not even opening his eyes, II accepts the answer. III and II end up filling the silence with idle chatter, Vessel dozing off again to the soothing tone of III's voice rumbling under his ear. He can nearly delude himself into thinking that the heart pounding in III's chest is his own.

Just a few more days, and we'll be heading home, II thinks to himself, running a hand through his sweaty hair. Just a few more days, and maybe Sleep will spare him this heat and he can finally go back to being the pillar of support they need. It's been easier to handle the heat as he grows used to it, but II cannot wait to be rid of it entirely should Sleep grant him that mercy. For now, he'll focus on his lovers and their music, and the fans they steadily build up over the rituals.

Vessel completely avoids Nick to the best of his ability. He does not speak to him, does not even dare to look in his direction, though he knows Nick watches and his lovers notice the change. He can still feel his hands groping him, his cock pressed against him. It makes him ill to even think of the other man, his anxiety the worst it has been all tour. He fears he is on a knife's edge, one wrong step away from killing himself. It turns out that, that is not what happens at the culmination of his stress. He keeps his promise.

The last day of tour, just when II thinks things are going to be just fine and Vessel won't find out what Sleep has done, the heat is the worst it has ever been. He can't think past the fever, limbs aching, body overheated. His hands are so sweaty that he can barely keep ahold of his sticks during soundcheck, and he knows the tight lid he's kept over the sickness within the bond is finally beginning to slip.

They're all applying their paint when II tips over, a hand coming up to his head to try and mitigate the dizziness caused by his fever. He was shirtless again, and there was no hiding the heat under his skin from Vessel, who was close enough to catch II by the elbow. The paint tin is not so lucky, thudding onto the crack but thankfully not cracking nor shattering.

"Oh, shit, dude, are you okay?" Nick yelps, moving out of the way instead of trying to catch II.

Vessel notes it with a gritting of his teeth.

"You're sick. I knew it. Why didn't you say anything, beloved, we could have gotten you medicine or-?" Vessel frets, feeling at II's forehead through his cloth mask, concern so strong II can almost taste it.

"Medicine won't help him." III mumbles, slipping II's mask off to wipe at the sweat clinging to his forehead.

His eyes are shut tight, knowing now that Vessel knows something divine is at play here rather than a normal sickness. The bond goes stiff, coiled up tightly like a venomous serpent, and Vessel does nothing to hide it.

"I see." Vessel replies, just as stiffly as the bond has become.

Sam knocks on the green room door, slowly easing it open. "About ten minutes, guys. You'd best finish up in... What's wrong with Two?"

Vessel helps II over to the couch, picking up the tin of paint as he goes.

"He's sick. We'll still be able to play, I think." III says in the stead of either of his lovers, a concerned furrow to their brow, nervously fixing his mask.

it's not quite the truth, but it's all III can say with Nick here.

"This tour is cursed." Sam jokes with a strained grin, closing the door behind him with one final nod.

Vessel's attention is entirely on II, sitting facing each other on the couch with their legs pressed close. Gentle fingers dip into the paint, resuming where II left off trying to smooth it over his back. It clings to his skin despite the feverish sweat, settling into place and drying as intended. Vessel is careful to apply it everywhere, from II's hairline down to his waistband. Each swipe of the paint, a thumb smoothing it over, is an act of reverence. II presses closer while III finishes off with their own paint, coming to sit on II's other side. Their thighs nearly slot together, one of II's hands coming to rest on Vessel's thigh while his forehead plants itself where shoulder travels into collarbone. It's uncomfortable, the bone hard beneath his forehead, but Vessel is cool to the touch, soothing the heat on II's forehead at least. He's too out of it to think to pay attention to Vessel's vitals. Why would he, anyways? Eyes slipping shut, II releases a hot breath that ghosts over Vessel's chest.

Hesitantly, but with all the love in his short body, II's begins to rub a singular circle into Vessel's thigh, feeling the raised scars barely noticeable under the thick material of Vessel's skinny jeans.

An act of love, of worship, in it's purest form. Simple touch, simply existing, as one.

Vessel's overflowing magic which has bothered him all tour settles just that little bit more.

III's hands settle on II's waist, holding him just to hold him, where his hands will not be in the way of Vessel's painting. II's warmth is overwhelming even then, through the material of his sweatpants. The vessels do not notice nor care for the disgust blatant on Nick's face, swiping one last glob of paint over the backs of his hands.

"You're done, beloved. It's nearly time to go on." Vessel murmurs, pressing a kiss on top of II's sweaty head.

Black painted fingers come up to cup II's cheeks, pulling the feverish mans head up so their eyes can meet. II's vision swims, but he nods acceptingly, steeling his resolve. They have a show to play, the final one on this damn tour. Vessel is the most present he has been in the bond since the beginning, and II isn't going to let this childish punishment from Sleep keep him from doing what he loves with those he cherishes.

Leaning forward, careful of the hard white shell of his half-mask, Vessel kisses II sweetly, pouring every ounce of his love into it and then nuzzling into his cheek afterwards. He stands only once he guides II gently back into III's waiting arms, doing one last once over on II's paint and making sure everywhere from the waist up - not including his face - is painted with black.

"I'm going on ahead. Will you be alright with Three, beloved?" Vessel asks, as gentle and kind as II knows him to be.

II is nodding even while III verbally answers for him, voice muffled where his head is buried between II's shoulder blades, tall, lanky body bent over uncomfortably, "I've got him. We'll be after you in just a sec."

Once Vessel's on his feet, II finally see's what hiss anger has done to him. II can count on one hand how many times he's seen Vessel angry... let alone this livid. The magic of his necklace is failing him, but II cannot stop him, try to calm him down, Vessel stalking out of the green room with his face hidden behind his mask. The only visible sign of his distress is the shadows clawing at his feet and the snarl etched into his mouth.

III helps II up, and together the two of them and Nick leave the green room. It doesn't seem like Nick noticed anything amiss, which is a small mercy considering everything that has happened thus far. Vessel is already loaded up with his in-ears monitors, fiddling with one beneath his hood. His nails look a bit too long and inhuman, but hopeful the polish III has done for all of them will hide it, or at least make it not as noticeable on top of all of the paint covering Vessel's arms and chest. When II and III near, already putting in their own in ears and fiddling with their monitors that Sam handed them in a rush, they can faintly catch Vessel mumbling to himself, more of the hiss of a furious snake than anything comprehensible.

"Fix this." Vessel hisses right before he steps on to stage.

II and III share a glance, unsure who he is speaking to, but Vessel waits no longer, stumbling as that first step onto stage is made. Sleep wastes no time shoving His way inside of Vessel's body, dispassionately bending ribs to make space but never letting a single one snap. His lungs are squeezed between his ribs and the black tar of his God's form in the small space his heart used to sit.

Lingering at the front of the stage, Vessel waits for the others to take their place, knowing he came out before his cue and finding himself wishing to mess with the ritual a bit. It would serve Sleep right for what he's done. He broke his fucking promise. Where Vessel expected a bit of pain, perhaps some push back from the ritual magic, he finds that his own personal, intentional error does not hurt as it did when Nick went against Vessel's word.

After the warning Vessel gave, it hurts to see that Sleep so easily disregarded him. He is... He is Sleep's First Vessel. He has survived Devotion, the Transformation, and can successfully share his body with a God. Vessel would not dare say that he is truly worthy of respect, but he thought Sleep did respect him and his wishes to some extent. Was that a foolish hope?

He and Sleep need each other, and Vessel needs his lovers. They... mean more to him than Sleep does. He can admit that much to himself, now. All he needs is Four and Vessel will be content.

The thought sends searing pain right through his head, Vessel ducking his head at the sudden agony.

When it is his cue to sing, Vessel opens his mouth and let's his emotions spill forth. Sleep does not puppet around his body like Vessel were on a strings, it is all Vessel. Every movement. Every note. It's all him, and there is something freeing about it. There is no room for his nerves, not right now. Nick tries to touch him, tries to lay a hand on Vessel's lower back as he passes, but Vessel evades the touch, not willing to subject either himself nor Sleep to that right not, not even in his fury.

II and III have never seen Vessel perform in this way before. It is all harsh, jagged movements and barely stifled anger. His voice is raw, fury dripping off of it. Songs that usually scream of heartache and pain now bleed fury. Muted as it is through the bond, II and III can physically feel Vessel holding tightly to control over his own body. Sleep tries to shove his way to the surface, to benefit in the magic of the ritual, but Vessel does not let Him. He claws at Vessel's chest from the inside, trying to pull back as Vessel makes his way to III, wrapping a hand around the back of III's masked head and pulling him close to plant a kiss right over where their lips sit beneath the white mask. The crowd, or rather, the few in the crowd that seem to actually be paying attention to their set, goes wild. Vessel finds himself grinning past the pain as more magic surges under his skin and Sleep recoils further within, trying to escape the tingling sensation of touch.

Grabbing ahold of the bond he shares with his God, Vessel shoves down his fury, his hurt and frustration and his demands for Sleep to fix what he has done, to heed Vessel's offering. Not a lick of the ritual magic follows, all of it staying with Vessel. Sleep tries to force him into unconsciousness, but Vessel refuses to fall to it. By willpower alone, he keeps his mind present in the moment, uncaring of how Sleep voices His displeasure by bruising a lower rib.

As soon as the last note of Nazareth, a newer song to be released with their second EP soon enough, rings out, Sleep is gone. Vessel finds himself on his knees as he's thanking the crowd, gasping for breath as his heartbeat leaves him so suddenly it's like he was dying all over again. III's bass is slung over their shoulder as they help him up, uncaring of the sweat dripping down Vessel's skin and ruining what little is untouched of his paint.

"Love, what did you do?" II laments, fighting to keep his fearful tears at bay, taking on most of Vessel's dragging weight so III can remove his bass and IEM.

"Tried to make Sleep fix what He did. He promised-" Vessel starts, slurring, but he doesn't get to finish speaking before he's out like a light.

And it didn't even work, II can't bring himself to say.

II wanted tour to be over, but to end it on a note like this...

This wasn't what he wanted at all.

It's by a sheer Sleep-granted miracle alone that Ves rouses from his unconscious state long enough to bid awkward farewells to the other bands on tour, thanking them for their patience with him and their support throughout their time on the road. He lurks in the back of the commemorative photo taken, feeling out of place and dead on his feet, all three of the vessels masked. He doesn't truly know any of these people, can't quite recall most of their names even. It makes him feel guilty. So much of Sleep Token's first tour was spent with Vessel mentally unavailable or asleep. The time was certainly not wasted, Sleep's power... and Vessel's own magic, has grown. They have gained more followers of the collective, whether they realize just what it is they've fallen prey to or not.

Vessel is glad at least for the friends II and III have clearly made, the both of them far more sociable than Vessel himself. Perhaps one day, if given the chance, they can tour with these people again and Vessel can properly get to know them.

It feels like a pipe dream, considering his current state, considering his uncertain future.

Nick is nowhere to be seen, and Vessel is glad for that, too.

When III has to inform him that Sleep did not rectify the breaking of His promise, pulling Vessel aside as II speaks one last time with their tour manager, Vessel feels... just as furious as before. Furious, and a little worthless. Mostly, he feels betrayed.

[tommyssupercoolblog]

Goodnite tumbles. You are all so dear to me I love having my blog and being myself on my blog and having my own space to express myself....and making friends and seeing all the silly people on my Tumblr....u guys are the BEST

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