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scary-grace · 11 months

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Love Like Ghosts (Chapter 4) - a Shigaraki x f!Reader fic

You knew the empty house in a quiet neighborhood was too good to be true, but you were so desperate to get out of your tiny apartment that you didn't care, and now you find yourself sharing space with something inhuman and immensely powerful. As you struggle to coexist with a ghost whose intentions you're unsure of, you find yourself drawn unwillingly into the upside world of spirits and conjurers, and becoming part of a neighborhood whose existence depends on your house staying exactly as it is, forever. But ghosts can change, just like people can. And as your feelings and your ghost's become more complex and intertwined, everything else begins to crumble. (cross-posted to Ao3)

Chapters: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21

Chapter 4

You don’t see Tomura the next morning, but when you come home from work, Phantom is loose in the yard, and Hizashi is hanging out just beyond the fence, studying an empty jar. “I came to get this, since we’re out,” he remarks. He has sharp teeth, just like Himiko. “So, what happened last night?”

You play dumb for all you’re worth. “Something happened last night?”

“Of course it did. The vibes coming off this house are impressively horny,” Hizashi says, and you cringe so hard you’re surprised you don’t explode. “I’ve been there. Consequence of spending too much time embodied – you start feeling things a normal human body feels, and going incorporeal doesn’t make it go away. That was a nasty shock for me, too.”

You really don’t want to ask Hizashi any questions at all, but you’ve got one – and it’s a subject change, so you seize it. “Is it true that ghosts’ power levels are stagnant? Are you just stuck with what you started with?”

“That’s not what I thought you were going to ask.” Hizashi tosses the jar from one hand to the other. “I’m guessing you’re asking because of our sexually frustrated friend in there?”

“I’ll pay you to never say that again,” you say, and Hizashi laughs. “Yes. He said –”

“That he didn’t want to come here. I’d buy that, easy.” Hizashi glances over his shoulder at the house, then beckons you away down the block. You’re not sure how far you have to go to be out of Tomura’s earshot, but you stop when Hizashi does. “Here’s the thing. He and I are the oldest ghosts in this neighborhood, but we’re not the same kind of old. I chose to be here.”

“Why?” you ask. Hizashi stares at you. “Did you come here to hurt people?”

“I came here because I wanted to be people,” Hizashi says. You stare. “Ask him what it’s like in the world between and you’ll understand. But to answer your question, we don’t spend our whole existences at the same power level. There are two kinds of ghostly power. There’s what you get right at the start. Then there’s your potential. Conjurers – the worst ones, anyway – they want potential. That’s why they grab the youngest ghosts.”

His expression darkens, and your legs almost give out beneath you. Is this how Tomura makes other people feel? You’re surprised that anyone’s ever set foot in your house. Hizashi doesn’t notice what he’s doing to you, or if he notices, he doesn’t care. “Eri had low surface power but massive potential. Her conjurer bound her in the worst situation possible, figuring she’d have to tap into that potential to take control of her environment and make it her own. She found another way out, but your ghost didn’t.”

He glances back at your house. “Based on how strong your ghost is now, his potential was massive. He probably hasn’t even found his limit yet. What’s weird is that he hasn’t used it.”

“Did you use yours?”

Hizashi grins his sharp-toothed grin. “Why do you think it took them so long to burn my opera house down?”

You’ve wondered, every so often, what it would have been like to be haunted by Hizashi instead of Tomura. Now you’re pretty sure you’d have had a breakdown. Aizawa must have nerves of steel. “Anyway,” Hizashi says, “he’s not smart enough to tell a lie that big. He’s telling the truth.”

He tosses the jar at you and you barely catch it in time. “And whatever you did last night, don’t do it again. I can handle his mood, but it’s messing with the little ones.”

You cringe. The last thing you want is for Eri and Himiko to pick up on whatever Tomura’s doing – even if they do know all about sex from observing humans already. But you also don’t know how to fix this problem you apparently caused. “What am I supposed to do about it?”

“Ask Keigo,” Hizashi says, already walking away. “He’ll know.”

Keigo? You’ve talked to Keigo some, since he’s the only person in the neighborhood who’s actually in your age range, but it’s occurring to you now that you’ve never actually met Keigo’s ghost. You pull out your phone, considering texting him, but there’s no point when his house is across the street and his car’s in the driveway. You walk back to your house, retrieve Phantom’s spare leash from your car, and take her with you when you head across the street to knock on Keigo’s door.

Keigo answers it pretty fast. There’s a handprint-shaped hole burned in his shirt, still smoking faintly, and it draws your attention like a magnet. “Uh, what is that?”

“Ask Dabi,” Keigo says.

“Ask her damn ghost. It’s all his fault.”

“No, it isn’t. You can control your behavior, you just don’t want to.” Keigo rolls his eyes. “I saw you talking to Hizashi. I’m guessing he sent you?”

“Yeah. Can we talk?”

“Yeah. Just let me get my shoes. And a new shirt.” Keigo ducks back into the house, and you wait on the steps, wondering if you’ll get a glimpse of the former ghost who lives here. Keigo’s voice issues from within the house, but he’s not talking to you. “Don’t go out there if you’re just going to get into a pissing contest with the guy across the street. He could crush you with both hands tied behind his back.”

“He can’t cross that fence, and I didn’t give up my powers like an idiot. That means I can do whatever I want with his human –”

“He’d blow that house apart and come get you, and you know it.” Keigo reappears. “Sorry about him. He’s in a mood. Let’s go.”

“Hey, who said you could leave? I didn’t say you could leave! Get back here –”

“I’ll be back when I feel like it! Bye-bye!” Keigo waves and then slams the door. He hurries down the steps and you follow him. He doesn’t stop until you’re at the top of the street. “Sorry about that. I’m guessing you’ve got questions.”

You have a lot of questions. “Aizawa said Tomura was the only ghost left in the neighborhood.”

“He is,” Keigo says. “You know how ghosts have to want to be embodied more than they’ve ever wanted anything for it to work? Dabi tried to change his mind halfway.”

“Oh,” you say. “So that makes him half ghost?”

“It makes him a scar wraith. Half of him is permanently materialized, half of him isn’t, and most of the time he’s a total bitch about it.” Keigo crouches down to tie his shoes. “He lost half of his ghostly powers and picked up most of the downsides of being embodied. He’s going to be like that until he makes up his mind.”

“Oh,” you say again. “That’s, um – is that why your house is always on fire?”

“You got it.” Keigo straightens up again. “I know we got out of there in a hurry, but you’re not actually in danger from him. I just wanted to teach him a lesson. Like you do to yours when you leave.”

Is that what you’re trying to do? You don’t know if you’re trying to punish Tomura or just trying to figure out a game plan before you go back in. In this case it’s definitely the latter. “Hizashi says my ghost is, um –”

“Horny,” Keigo says. Your face heats up. He starts walking, and you follow him. “Yeah, they get like that sometimes. And they don’t like it. Usually they dematerialize to get away from feelings they don’t like, but it doesn’t work, and that pisses them off, too.”

Phantom stops to sniff a tree, and you let her for a second before tugging her along. “Why?”

“Maybe you don’t know, because you’re a girl –”

“Girls get horny too,” you say. This is maybe the dumbest conversation you’ve ever had, excepting the one you had with Tomura about why Phantom can’t have dead birds even though she really wants them. “Are you saying it’s because they have to do something about it? They don’t. They can just wait for it to go away.”

“Yeah, but waiting for it to go away is uncomfortable,” Keigo says. You’re not going to argue that one. Being horny when you don’t want to be is deeply unpleasant. “And ghosts suck at tolerating discomfort. Yours is pretty inexperienced with everything from what I’ve heard, so he probably doesn’t know what to do, and unless you want to leave a copy of The Joy of Sex lying around –”

“I don’t.” You shudder. “I don’t want him getting ideas.”

“Then you’re going to have to explain,” Keigo says patiently. You give him a pained look, and he sighs. “Tell him to materialize fully and get it out of his system. That’ll solve the initial problem.”

The thought of heading back to your house and telling Tomura he needs to masturbate makes you want to die. But you’re even unhappier about Keigo’s second sentence. “What do you mean, the initial problem?”

“Hizashi and Magne gave me the ghost sex talk when we moved here. Kind of late, but it helped, sort of.” Keigo rubs the back of his neck awkwardly. “Once ghosts figure out how it works, they go one of two ways. Either they decide it’s gross and they’re not interested – that’s what Magne did – or they decide they’re really into it, which is what Hizashi did. And they can’t generate that feeling on their own the way people do, so they go after the people who made them feel that way the first time.”

That sinks in fast, but you’ve got no idea what to think or say or do about it. What comes out is the last thing you wanted to tell anyone. “I just held his hand. That was it! I was just trying to prove that there’s a difference between physical contact that hurts and stuff that doesn’t hurt because he won’t quit scratching his neck until it bleeds – and I’m pretty sure he hated it –”

“If he hated it, then you’re fine,” Keigo says. “Honestly, most of the adult former ghosts I’ve met aren’t into it even after they embody themselves permanently. Hizashi’s only like that because he spent enough time embodied to get used to it before he made it official. If it was a common thing Aizawa would have written a guidebook on it by now.”

Aizawa does have a lot of guidebooks. It took you a while to realize that most of the literature he sent you home with was stuff he’d written himself. “Although,” Keigo muses, “I guess Aizawa never hooked up with an actual ghost. He and Hizashi didn’t bang until after Hizashi was embodied.”

“So, um –” You can’t believe you’re about to ask this. “Did you, uh –”

“Did me and Dabi hook up before he fucked up his embodiment? Yeah,” Keigo says. You thought he’d be embarrassed, or proud. Instead he looks sad. “He didn’t use to be like this, or go by Dabi. His real name is Touya, and he was a lot, sure, but he wasn’t like this. I wouldn’t have gotten into it with him if he’d been like this the whole time.”

“I get it,” you say. You’ve had bad relationships before. “Do you think he’d go back if he embodied himself all the way?”

“Probably? I don’t think he’ll do that, though.” Keigo sighs. “They almost never decide consciously that they’re going to embody themselves. It happens because of how they feel. The little ones, they embodied themselves because they wanted to be with their families. They wanted to be seen and loved more than they wanted to be powerful. Magne jumped because Spinner didn’t have anybody but her, and as far as I can tell, she’s sort of surprised she did it. Hizashi did it on purpose, but Hizashi’s different – and from what he’s said, he’d probably have done it unconsciously at some point. He loves Aizawa that much.”

Now you get why Keigo looks so sad. “I bet Touya just got nervous,” you say. “I mean, it’s kind of a big decision, right? The biggest one they’ll ever make. And it’s not like he left. Even after you left his old haunt he stayed with you. That’s got to mean something.”

“Maybe.” Keigo smiles halfway. “A guy can hope, right?”

“Of course,” you say. Personally, you’re hoping for something different from Tomura.

You spend way too long pacing up and down the street after you say goodbye to Keigo, trying to work up your nerve. But eventually the weird tension from the house becomes perceptible to you even from outside it, and you remember what Hizashi said about the kids. You order yourself to suck it up, unlatch the front gate, and make your way inside. You can tell Tomura’s watching you, marking you closely, while you give Phantom a treat and some water. Once you’ve gotten her settled, you make your way upstairs to your room and shut the door. You can’t look at him while you have this conversation. You squeeze your eyes shut and speak up. “I know how to fix your problem.”

“What problem?” Tomura’s voice sounds tight and uncomfortable. “I don’t have a problem. You have a problem. You hung out with that guy across the street –”

“Because I needed help with you,” you say. It’s quiet for a second. “I figured out a solution to your problem. So you won’t feel the way you’re feeling anymore. I know it’s uncomfortable.”

“No, you don’t. Humans don’t feel like this.”

You manage to laugh at that one. “Humans feel like this all the time, Tomura. Half the dumb decisions people make in movies are because they feel like this.”

It’s quiet again. “How do I fix it?”

You bury your face in your head. “You have to materialize all the way. Then you have to touch yourself.”

“What do you mean, touch myself? You said I wasn’t supposed to scratch.”

“Not there.” You’re pretty sure your face is melting off from sheer embarrassment. “You know where that feeling is? The one you don’t like? You have to touch yourself there to make it go away.”

“Why?”

“It –” You chicken out. “You’ll figure it out once you try it. Go in the bathroom and shut the door.”

“Why do I have to go in there?”

“Privacy,” you say. There’s no way to tell him that you don’t want to have to clean ghost cum off the hardwood floors.

You hear footsteps down the hall, followed by the bathroom door opening and closing. “This is stupid,” Tomura says. You couldn’t agree more. “I’m doing it. It still feels – weird –”

That catch in his voice is something you really could have gone without hearing. “You don’t have to narrate,” you say. “You deserve privacy. I’m giving you privacy. I can leave the house –”

“No, don’t.” Tomura sounds pretty sure about that. “This was your idea. Don’t you want to – ugh.”

You don’t want to know what that was about. At all. You think about getting your headphones, except if you don’t respond when he talks to you, he’ll come looking to see why, and you really don’t want him to come talk to you in whatever state he’s in at the moment. Maybe it’s over already. Maybe he’s one of the vast majority of ghosts who think it’s gross and this will never happen to you again. You’re sure that’s it. It’s over already. It –

A low sigh echoes through the house, and you freeze in place. There’s a few uneven breaths, and then another sigh, followed by a sharper sound, somewhere between a gasp and a whimper. “What is this?” Tomura asks, his voice strained in an entirely different way than before. When you don’t respond, he says your name, followed by another one of those sharper sounds. “I don’t understand. Why – ah –”

You clamp your hands down over your ears, but it’s like your ears are attuned specifically to him. You can hear everything. Every ragged breath, every whimper, every needy, desperate moan, and suddenly you’re sure that you got the other kind of ghost, the kind that finds sex and lust fascinating instead of gross. You’ve made a mistake. Not just in telling him to solve the problem like this, but in sticking around to listen. Because listening to this, knowing that you touched his hand and turned him on so badly that it’s been permeating the neighborhood all day, is doing something to you, too.

Your face is flushed, but it’s not just from embarrassment. When you touch your wrist to feel for your pulse, it’s fast. And worse than all of that, you’re wet. Knowing it’ll make things worse doesn’t stop you from sliding one hand down the front of your jeans, recoiling when you realize just how wet you are. This is a disaster. You can’t let him know.

There’s only one solution you can think of. No time to get to the bed, or to do anything more than sink to the floor, unzipping your jeans just far enough to give your hand room to move. You shove the heel of your other hand against your mouth, because you’re not loud but you’ve never done anything like this before and you’re not sure what will happen. You squeeze your eyes shut as you brush your fingers between your legs, the sound you make muffled by your hand and drowned out by the almost-agonized moan that issues from the bathroom down the hall. “I can’t,” Tomura pants. “I can’t – stop – how does it stop –”

“You’ll know.” You think your voice is steady enough. How is he still going? The first time you masturbated, you were so wound up that you were done almost faster than you could think. And he’s a guy. “Just keep going.”

“Keep talking.” Tomura’s voice is just as raspy and ragged as his breathing is. It shouldn’t be hot. You shouldn’t find this hot. “Is this –”

He breaks off in a whine. “How it’s supposed to feel?” you ask. You increase the pressure of your fingers against your clit in spite of the fact that he’s clearly expecting you to talk and you don’t want him to know what you’re doing. “Like you’re going to fall apart, but it feels so good you don’t care?”

“Yeah. Ah –”

“Like that,” you say. You find yourself spreading your legs wider, giving more space for your hand to move. “Exactly like that, Tomura. Don’t stop.”

You’re telling him how to touch himself, but it’s all wrong. It sounds the same as what you’d be telling him to do if he was here, if the fingers slipping inside you were his. What is wrong with you? Thoughts flash through your mind, thoughts you shouldn’t have, and your breathing turns shallow and harsh. “Say something,” Tomura whines, begs. You picture what he must look like right now, face red and hair stuck to his neck and forehead with sweat, completely at the mercy of a body and a need, and crook your fingers, shuddering. “Come on. I need you. Don’t leave me. Please –”

“I’m here.” The strain in your voice would let anyone else know exactly what you’re doing, but Tomura doesn’t know – and even if he did, the sounds you hear tell you that he’s lost in his own touch, chasing his own high. You might as well not be here. All you are is a friendly voice, a guide in uncharted territory. “You’re doing great. You’re almost done, aren’t you? You know what you like by now. Do that, and keep doing it. Don’t stop until –”

The sound he makes is inarticulate and absolutely filthy. Your muscles clench around your fingers, and you rub desperately at your clit with your free hand. Without a hand over your mouth to muffle yourself, you’re reduced to biting your lip until it bleeds as you listen to Tomura shuddering through the first orgasm of his existence. And that’s what tips you over the edge, really – the thought that it’s his first, the thought that it’s because of you. Blood spills into your mouth as your hips jerk against your hands, your vocal cords straining with the effort of holding back the sounds you want to make. You can’t remember the last time you came this hard. All you want to do is sprawl out on the floor and go to sleep.

But you can’t. You need to hide the evidence. You can’t let Tomura know what you just did. You zip and button your jeans, cringing at the slickness of your fingers, and leave your room, hurrying to the downstairs bathroom to splash water on your face. You get a glimpse of what you look like in the mirror and stare in horror. Your face is flushed and your eyes are dilated and there’s a drop of blood at the corner of your mouth that you smear away with the back of your hand. You look like a mess. The only thing that will save you is that Tomura doesn’t know what to look for.

His voice drifts through the house, still unsteady. “There’s a mess in here.”

“I’ll clean it later,” you say. “Since it’s my fault.”

The floor creaks once or twice, then stops, and you know Tomura’s dematerialized. It’s not a surprise. You can’t imagine how much energy he burned through, and sure enough, when you look out the kitchen window, you see a line of dead blackberry bushes along the back fence. Sex stuff takes more life-force than anything else. All the more reason for this to never happen again.

Tomura’s presence slips into the room, surrounding you like he does sometimes. Usually you shoo him away, or threaten to leave until he slinks off, sulking. Today you can’t. You coped okay with your first orgasm, but you were alone. You know you’d have felt weird if you hadn’t been, and if the person who talked you through it had ignored you afterward. You let him settle in, staring fixedly at the dead bushes along the fence. Only one or two are still alive.

Tomura’s voice rasps against your ear. “Do I have to do that every time?”

“There’s not going to be another time,” you say. “It’s my fault for touching you like that last night, and you told me not to do it again. So we’re good.”

“It felt good.” Tomura sounds sure about that. Your stomach twists. “It only felt bad because I didn’t know what to do. Now I know.”

“I’m still not touching you like that again. You said no. I can’t ask you to respect my boundaries when I don’t respect yours.”

“What if I take it back?” Tomura asks. The twist in your stomach is painful this time. “What if I want you to touch me?”

“Then it starts being about what I want,” you say. “And I don’t want to.”

It’s a lie. You’re lying. Another human would know you were, would know by the heat of your body and the flush in your cheeks and the heavy, painful sound of your heartbeat. “You don’t want to,” Tomura repeats. His presence slips away again, going to some place far enough that you can barely feel it. “I didn’t say I wanted it. Like I’d ever want you to touch me.”

His voice is the last thing to vanish. You want to stick your head under the faucet and drown. “Fine.”

There’s something wrong with your house, but you knew that when you bought it, and after the hand-touching incident and everything that followed, the atmosphere in your house feels worse than it ever has before. You don’t know where Tomura’s going, but there are times when his presence vanishes almost completely, and when it does, you can barely stand the emptiness he leaves behind. You never lived alone until you lived here, and you thought you loved it. Now you realize that you were never living here alone at all. Until now.

The jar of bugs start piling up on the front porch, and rather than letting them die, you let them go. You don’t tell the others to stop bringing them. Some part of you is hoping Tomura will come back, that you can go back to the way things were before, but you don’t need one of Aizawa’s guidebooks to tell you that it’s not happening. You rejected him. And if there’s anything you’ve taught Tomura about how humans work, it’s that no means no.

You start spending extra time at work. Sometimes you bring Phantom with you, with Mr. Yagi’s permission, and it makes you popular with your coworkers like you never were before. You still hate it, but it makes it easier to be at work. And it means you don’t have to go home until you’re ready.

At least, most days you don’t. But you woke up with a splitting headache today, and a sore throat, and because you weren’t coughing, you decided that you didn’t have an excuse to skip work. You leave Phantom at home and drag yourself into the office, and you get through four hours of your workday before Mr. Yagi spots you and sends you home. Your pleas not to go home fall on deaf ears, and you drive home slowly, struggling to keep your eyes fixed on the road in front of you.

When you get home, Phantom greets you anxiously. She knows you’re not feeling well, and when you sit down in the front hall to pet her, you realize that you’re going to have a hard time getting up. It doesn’t matter. You can take a break. You let your eyes fall shut.

When you wake up, it’s to grey, rainy, late-afternoon light falling over your face, the sound of Phantom whining in your ear, and a voice you haven’t heard in three weeks. “What’s wrong with you?”

“Tomura,” you mumble. You were hoping sleep would make you feel better, but it feels like your headache’s actually gotten worse. “I’m fine. Just wanted to sit down.”

“Don’t be stupid. And don’t lie.” Even the sound of Tomura’s footsteps across the floor hurts your head, not to mention Phantom’s whining. “You fell asleep on the floor. You’re making this weird face. You don’t look right. What’s wrong with you?”

He almost sounds worried. “My boss sent me home. He thinks I’m sick.”

“Are you sick?” Tomura asks. You think about lying, decide not to, and nod. The pain that splits your skull makes you want to throw up. “Can you fix it?”

You have cold medicine somewhere, and pain relievers, but you’d have to get up to get them, and you’re so dizzy. Maybe you should call somebody for help, but who would you call? Nobody in your neighborhood is going to set foot in your house, and you don’t have any friends from work. And all your old friends have started to slip away, courtesy of your new world, your new friends, your new life. Who do you have to call? Nobody. The thought makes you sad, and feeling sad makes you even more tired than before.

“Wake up,” Tomura snaps at you. Phantom whines and licks your face. “Stop it. Wake up!”

Phantom’s worried. Tomura’s mad at you. Somewhere in your clouded mind, it occurs to you that you need help. That maybe it doesn’t matter who you call as long as you call somebody. You pull your phone out of your backpack and get as far as unlocking it. Then your head starts to ache worse than before, a dull pounding that fills every crevice and corner of your skull. Everything feels hot and humid and awful. You shut your eyes again. Anything to make it stop.

You’re cold when you wake up again. Well, some of you is cold. There’s a small warm patch on your stomach, but the rest of you is cold. Not regular cold. Tomura’s cold. He’s materialized, completely or close enough, and he’s holding onto you awkwardly with one arm while Phantom rests her head on your stomach. You can hear Tomura’s voice. He sounds pissed. “If I knew what was wrong with her I’d say it,” he snaps at whoever he’s talking to. “She keeps falling asleep. She’s not supposed to be home yet. She’s too warm.”

“So she’s sick.” That’s Keigo’s voice. Is Keigo here? Why did Tomura let Keigo in the house? “And she’s sleeping a lot?”

“I said that already. Stop repeating what I already said.”

“What are her symptoms?” That’s Aizawa’s voice. It starts to dawn on you slowly what’s happening here, and you almost laugh. “Symptoms. You named some of them already. Fatigue. Fever. Is she coughing?”

“No.”

“Does her breathing sound different than it usually does?” Jin’s mom is talking. Now you know for sure. “Does she have a rash?”

“Her breathing sounds normal,” Tomura says. He’s on the phone. He somehow unlocked your phone, went into your text messages, and conference-called the entire ghost friends group chat. You’d laugh if you weren’t worried it would make your head explode. “What’s a rash?”

“It would be on her skin. Does her skin look like it usually looks?”

An ice-cold hand brushes over your cheek. “It’s too hot. Her face is red. The rest of it looks okay.”

“Check for bites. We brought over tons of bugs. If enough of them bit her –”

“Hitoshi, hang up the phone,” Aizawa orders. “You’re supposed to be at school.”

“You’re supposed to be driving,” Shinsou fires back. “You’re picking up Eri from school early because she’s sick.”

Eri’s sick. You claw your way out of semi-consciousness and grasp the phone. “Does she have what I have?”

“Oh, good. You’re alive,” Keigo says. “Your ghost was pretty panicked.”

“I wasn’t panicked. Shut up.” Tomura’s grip on you tightens. “Someone else is sick?”

“She fell asleep in class. She has a headache and a fever,” Aizawa says. He sounds unhappy. “When would she possibly have been exposed?”

“We brought over some bugs last night,” Shinsou says. “Maybe it was then.”

“It could have gone the other way, too,” Jin’s mom says. “Kids get sick a lot easier than adults.”

“Good point. Maybe Eri got it first and brought it –”

“But Shinsou isn’t sick. If Shinsou lives with her and isn’t sick, how come –”

“I don’t care,” Tomura says loudly. “I don’t care about your sick kid. I want to know how to fix my human.”

Tomura’s making a great first impression. You’ll be doing damage control with Aizawa later, once you feel less like a puddle of body aches and sweat. “If she’s got what Eri’s got, it’s probably the flu,” Jin’s mom says. “She should have cold medicine on hand. Most people do. Pain relievers for the headache and body aches, cough drops if she has a sore throat. And she’ll need to eat. Do you know how humans eat?”

“I’m not stupid. I know how food works.”

“Don’t cook,” Aizawa, Shinsou, and Keigo all say at once. Keigo keeps talking. “You’re not embodied. You don’t have tastebuds. Whatever you end up cooking is going to be –”

There’s a scuffle on Keigo’s end of the line. “It’s going to be fuck awful,” Dabi announces, and Shinsou snickers. “Go ahead and poison your human. See if I care.”

“The next time you even look at my human I’m going to disintegrate your ugly face.”

“My ugly face? Have you seen what you look like? I’m surprised your human hasn’t gone blind.”

Tomura snarls. “At least I never set my human on fire –”

“You’re both pretty,” you mumble, and Keigo cracks up laughing. “I’m not that sick. I can heat up a can of soup in the microwave.”

“You’re so stupid. You fell asleep on the floor,” Tomura snaps at you. “You can’t do anything. I’m going to have to drag you everywhere.”

“No one made you touch me,” you protest. “If you weren’t here –”

“Well, I am here. So shut up and let me –”

“If you two are going to have a domestic, hang up the phone first,” Hizashi says loudly. You didn’t realize he was there. You jump, and your head collides with Tomura’s chin. He swears and so do you. “One of us will stop by later to make sure neither of you are dead. Goodbye.”

There’s a click as he hangs up the phone. Shinsou hangs up a second later. Jin’s mother hangs up after promising to bring over some food, and Keigo stays on the phone a little longer. “I’ll drop by in an hour or two, like Hizashi says. Can you promise not to kill me if I set foot in the house?”

“The only person I’m going to kill is your idiot ghost.”

“Cool,” Keigo says. You can hear Dabi arguing in the background that it’s not cool at all. “Bye.”

He hangs up the phone, too. Now it’s just you and Tomura and Phantom, piled up on the couch in the living room. You don’t remember getting to the living room. Tomura must have dragged you, like he said. You thought he was so mad at you that he was never going to show himself again. Apparently not.

“What’s a domestic?” Tomura asks after a while.

“A fight,” you say. “Just another word for fight.”

“Then why didn’t he just say a fight?”

You really don’t want to get into this right now. “A domestic is a kind of fight. The kind couples have. He was making fun of us by pretending we’re a couple.”

“I don’t like him,” Tomura says after a moment. “I can kill him for you.”

“Don’t do that,” you say.

“He scares you.” Tomura scratches at his neck with the hand that’s not gripping your shoulder. “If I can’t not scare you, I might as well be the only thing that does.”

Maybe you’re just sick and stupid, but you don’t hate the sound of that. “That’s kind of sweet.”

“Don’t be stupid,” Tomura says. He slides out from behind you and drops you onto the couch with a thud. You see a patchy flush on his face before he turns away. “I’m getting your medicine. Stay there.”

You’re not really in a position to go anywhere. You scratch behind Phantom’s ears with a shaky hand and close your eyes again.

When you wake up, you find that Tomura’s turned your medicine cabinet inside out and brought you absolutely everything. Sorting through it is the first laugh you’ve had in a while, and once you’ve got a double dose of painkillers on board, you’re willing to risk it. “Why did you bring this?” you ask, waving a box of band-aids at him. “You’ve seen me use these. You know they’re not for this.”

“How am I supposed to know that? You use stuff that’s not for the stuff you’re using it for all the time.” Tomura snatches the band-aids away and picks up another box. “What are these?”

“You definitely didn’t need to bring those,” you say. “They’re condoms.”

“What?”

It figures. He didn’t know male from female until Hizashi told him, but he clearly has certain associations with condoms, and he doesn’t like them. Probably because of all the movies you didn’t know he was watching with you. “Relax. Does that box look open to you?”

“No,” Tomura says, inspecting it from all angles. “If it’s not open, why do you have it?”

“In case I need it,” you say. “I don’t need it right now.”

In fact, you’re having a hard time imagining that you’ll ever need condoms again. You can’t exactly bring anybody home to hook up with, not with Tomura constantly lurking around, and you like sleeping in your own bed too much to spend the night at anybody else’s house. Beyond that, if you ever wanted to get serious with anybody, you’d have to explain about your house, about Tomura. There’s no way to explain that. No way to explain him in a way that won’t end any relationship instantly. Maybe it’s just that you’re sick, but you find that you don’t mind the thought.

You choose a box of cold medicine and swallow a dose of it, then pop a cough drop into your mouth to soothe your throat. Tomura watches you the entire time, only partially materialized. “Does that taste good?”

“No. It numbs my throat so it hurts less.”

“What do you do when things hurt?”

You were going to try to fall asleep again as soon as you’re done with your cough drop, but Tomura’s in a mood to talk. And as much as you hate to admit it, you miss talking to Tomura. “There are different kinds of hurt, for people. If it hurts physically, like this does, I can take medicine. I can put ice on a bruise or use a heating pad for cramps. There are ointments that have numbing agents in them, same as the cough drops. There are lots of things to do when something physically hurts.”

“If something hurts my body, I can dematerialize,” Tomura says. You wish it was that easy for you. If you could evaporate right now, you’d do it in a heartbeat. “What about other kinds of hurting?”

“Um –” You break off, trying to wrap your head around it. “Emotions hurt sometimes. The bad ones, usually. Being sad or angry or lonely or scared – all of those can feel like they hurt. They can hurt a lot.”

“How do you make them go away?”

“You can’t,” you say. Tomura’s expression darkens. “There’s not medicine that fixes feelings, at least not all the way. You just have to live with them until they stop. Or until you get used to them.”

“That’s stupid,” Tomura says.

“You’re telling me.” You close your eyes. “I guess talking about them helps sometimes. Not for everybody, not all the time, but it can make you feel less alone.”

“I didn’t hate being alone before,” Tomura says. You open your eyes and find him scowling, his face flushed. “Now I do.”

You want to remind him that he’s the one who pulled away, that he’s the one who left, but there’s no point. You roll over instead, facing the back of the couch, and the words slip out of your mouth before you can stop them. “I missed you.”

You couldn’t have picked a dumber thing to say. Tomura’s got the emotional maturity of a frat guy – he gets mad easily and takes “no” poorly and makes you explain your boundaries five billion times before he even thinks about respecting them. Telling a guy like him that you missed him is a one-way ticket to being mocked for being needy and clingy and pathetic. You can already feel your eyes burning in anticipation of being humiliated.

But Tomura’s not a human man. He’s a ghost. The rush of air filling a previously occupied space tells you he’s dematerialized, but the cold settles around you, and his voice rasps in your ear. “I missed you too. Idiot.”

“You’re the one who left,” you answer. “You’re an idiot, too.”

You’re expecting him to slip away again. Instead the cold spot envelops you more securely than before. “Shut up.”

You fall asleep like that, and when you wake up, it’s to the sound of the fire alarm going off. Tomura’s watched you cook plenty of times and probably should know better, but apparently when you mentioned sticking a can of soup in the microwave, he took it literally. You should be pissed. You probably will be, once the cold medicine wears off. But at the moment, when you’re dizzy and sleepy and feverish, all you can think to do is be pleased that he tried at all.

#lovhalloweenhorror #shigaraki tomura x reader #tomura shigaraki x reader #shigaraki x reader #x reader #reader insert #shigaraki tomura #ghost story #loser nerd ghost boyfriend

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k-a-s-e-y-1-4 · 7 months

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Cole and Lloyd reflect on life:

So I got bored in class and decided to start writing something, this is post crystalized btw and openish ending as well:

————— “Do you ever get bored of the life we’re living now?”

Cole looks up from his notebook, straight ahead of him Lloyd sits, gaze fixed out the window. It catches Cole off guard, he’d never been asked that question before and never thought it would come out of Lloyd’s mouth of all the people he thought would ask it.

Cole looks back down, eyes fixed on a roughly drawn pose. “What do you mean ‘boring’? Pretty sure someone threatening to kill you doesn’t happen to your average plumber.”

“Not that, Cole.” Lloyd lets out a sigh. Cole sees Lloyd shift positions out of the corner of his eye so he’s sitting criss cross. “But the way that we’ve been living in a loop.”

“A loop?”

“Yeah like after every major battle we get a break before we’re thrown out to fight again.”

Cole looks up at Lloyd again. He hadn’t thought of it that way and in that sense, yes they had been living in a loop. A constant cycle of never ending fighting. After a while it does become boring and exhausting.

“I guess but when we accepted being ninjas, I think we kind of agreed to that y’know?”

Lloyd casts his glance down to Cole’s notebook. “Do you think it’ll ever stop?”

That question catches him off guard. Cole didn’t have the answer to that or most of the questions Lloyd was asking. Truth be told Cole tried not to think about it too much, it was better to not think too much about all your missing. He found if he ended up thinking too much he fell into a loop himself, the last time he’d been in one had been years ago when he became a ghost. He shivers at the thought.

Instead he gives Lloyd a light laugh and asks, “Where are these questions coming from? You don’t usually ask stuff like this.”

Lloyd is quiet for a second. “I don’t know just been thinking. We’ve had a lot of free time lately I guess I’ve spent it thinking.”

The words leave the room in uncomfortable silence. The ninja usually didn’t have free time it was either spent fighting evil or doing whatever you could before evil attacked again but now it’s been 7 months since the last attack and the biggest bad thing they’ve stopped was a bank robbery that threatened to blow the place up. The situation was handled and everyone was fine but it’s not like the police couldn’t handle it, the ninja were just bored.

“I think it’s finally stopped Cole.”

“What’s stopped?”

“The fighting.” Lloyd looks up at him with an unreadable expression. “I think the overlord was it.”

“Okay…” Cole closes his notebook, gently. “Are you upset about it?”

Lloyd shifts position and lets out a frustrated sigh. “Yes, no, maybe? It’s just…what else is left for me?”

The realization dawns on Cole, Lloyd’s been fighting crime half his life and that’s the good portion of it. He doesn’t know what life would be like without it. He doesn’t know where he’s supposed to go.

“Hey, hey, we’re still going to be here just because we stop fighting crime doesn’t mean we can’t be together.”

Lloyd looks at him, his eyes filled with tears ready to fall, his knees are pulled up to his chest. “No, you won’t. Every time we stop being ninja we have to get other jobs, we have to spilt up again.”

He’s not wrong. Every time the fighting stops long enough the ninja drift apart and as result have to get new jobs. However that was under the circumstances of a team mates death, first Zane and then Nya the team falls apart fast. Cole isn’t surprised Lloyd’s afraid those fall out weren’t pretty.

“It won’t be like that this time, Lloyd. Yes we might drift apart, we have to grow up a bit after every thing. I mean Jay and Nya are probably going to want to start a family eventually, when Kai lets them. Zane and PIXAL aren’t gonna want to stay in the monastery forever either. I mean while we’re at it Kai and I have thought about moving out when we’re older but we have time Lloyd. It’s not going to happen all at once and it’s not like we’re going to disappear off the face of Ninjago and never talk to you again. I won’t let it happen.” Cole places his hand comfortingly on Lloyd’s knee. “I promise.”

“You pinky swear it?”

Cole lets out a laugh, “Yes, I’ll even pinky swear it.”

Lloyd gives Cole a small smile in return and lets out a small giggle, shaking his head.

“I mean c’mon whenever you find that lucky girl or guy you’re not going to want us around in the monastery for that.”

“FSM, Cole!”

Cole watches as Lloyd’s face flushes red and laughs with him. It’s been awhile since they had laughed like this, Cole can’t even remember the last time Lloyd and him hung out like this.

“FSM, you’re so embarrassing.”

“Hey, I’m just thinking long term here, it is going to happen eventually.”

The laughter dies down and Cole sees Lloyd gaze drift down.

“Hey, you will find someone Lloyd, I don’t know who but I’m sure you’ll find someone to match your nerd energy.”

“Cole! What the hell stop bullying me!”

Cole lets out a laugh with Lloyd, they both know it’s all in good spirit, the teasing, the taunting, that’s what the family does because at the end of the same they all love each other as siblings would. Well it’s really odd family but don’t look too much into.

Cole opens up his arms for a hug and Lloyd flies in not missing a beat. Cole wraps his arms around him and Lloyd does the same.

“Thanks Cole, you give the best hugs.”

Cole smiles wide and hugs him tighter, “No problem Kiddo.”

The sits in happy silence like that, the only sound being distance shouting of Jay in the background.

“FSM, Lloyd when’s the last time you took a shower?!”

~end~

#ninjago #lego ninjago #lloyd montgomery garmadon #ninjago lloyd #lloyd garmadon #ninjago fanfiction #ninjago cole #ninjago headcanon #ninjago zane #ninjago kai #ninjago jay #ninjago nya #cole ninjago #This is probably ooc but oh well #Lloyd and Cole get to bond guys #not beta read

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willowisapillow · 2 months

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🐺❤️ He Ate My Heart Out ❤️🐺

*Rock eyebrow raise and Vine boom sound effect intensifies*

Sharandy my beloved,, oh how I’ve missed drawing these two together again (even though it wasn’t that long since I’ve last drawn them). Guess I just can’t quit these two.

Had the urge to draw these two again because I'm so sick and tired of seeing so much discourse and detractors about them as a couple on TikTok and YouTube. I’ve recently stumbled onto some edits of them getting a divorce, and while I respect others opinions on Sharon settling with a better man- y’all acting like Randy can’t get his act together and act like a normal husband towards her, which he’s done during the series like multiple times 💀

Though for the most part, I kinda blame the flanderization of him in recent years for this, especially with that one recent special where he bodyshames her, like, what the literal hell was that nonsense? I hate it sm, Randy would never do that 😣

My apologies if I sound like a broken record for saying this for the 200th time, Ik these two are an imperfect couple, but that’s what I like about ‘em. They don’t always act like a mushy, lovey-dovey, squeaky-clean, Disney-esque couple (not a jab at Disney couples, I live and breathe them, but you get my point). Both of them have their flaws like quarreling and bickering and that’s what makes their relationship realistic, because, newsflash, some irl couples act like that too. If their relationship were sunshine and rainbows all the time, then it would just be boring to watch. They’ve had plenty of moments to prove that they have a decent marriage. One of my DA friends said this a while back and I fully agree with them; a couple with their ups and downs is a lot better than a toxic marriage happening every single episode.

And at least Randy doesn’t treat Sharon awfully 24/7, cheats on her with other people, married her solely for her looks, or told her that he hates being with his kids. And imo they’re a healthier couple then the other parents like Staurt and Carol and Stephen and Linda don’t @ me plz-

So sorry if I went off on yet another tangent, I’m just your average online yapper who gets unnecessarily defensive over my fav fictional characters 💅🏾✨

My silly rant out of the way, when I was younger I had this habit of inserting my favorite franchises into random fairytales. I don’t know why I did it so much, I just liked the concept of it. I’ve done it with Mario, Banjo-Kazooie and Cuphead, now I’m doing it with South Park. The theme I wanted to go for was Red Riding Hood after binge watching those “Dark origins of your childhood fairytales” videos, bumping into some other fairytale AUs on here for some inspo, and listening to Monster by Lady Gaga and Won’t Bite by Doja Cat one too many times.

Wanted to go for a stylish but sultry look for Riding Hood!Sharon, and as for Werewolf!Randy I definitely went full on furry on him in this picture. I am not sorry at all. Now I just kinda picture some scenarios where he acts like an actual dog. Like, Sharon has him on a leash and takes him on walks, sprays him with a spray bottle anytime he starts actin’ up, or giving him some weed to calm him down when he enters feral mode. Randy is also very loyal and protective of his wifey, and will not hesitate to bite, scratch (and probably kill) you if you lay a finger on her. Also like the idea of him enjoying being scratched behind the ears and getting belly rubs haha

And I had a thought of having Stan playing the role of the huntsman, ‘cause I think it would be adorbs for him to help out his mama <3

🌲 🐺 ❤️ 🐺 🌲

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quibbs126 · 1 year

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Well alright, someone said yes, so I’ll post the designs

Warning, these are kind of old and not very good art. Or maybe I’m just being self critical, some of it I think still looks neat

Let’s start with the ones that I made look cool and drew both the Stand Human and Human Stand

Unfortunately I could never figure out a Stand design for Okuyasu, so he only has his half done

Why does the lettering actually look kind of cool…like it doesn’t look half assed at all like it normally does. Maybe because I was intentionally trying to make it look cool

I made Joseph a scarf because I remember his scarf being a notable part of his design. Also Hermit Purple was vines, so equal treatment

Giorno looks like that because I recall at the time some people saying how Golden Experience looked like young Haruno but GER looked more like current day Giorno, so I kind of took that idea and made him look like Haruno, though maybe I took things too literal. Also that’s why Oro looks like GER. Also Oro is supposed to have a somewhat unsettling stare, since people say GER looks kind of creepy

Also another thing I want to mention about Polnareff, specifically his name, so that’s not an 80s song, that’s from 2014, it’s the name of a song from a French artist I liked. So realistically it probably wouldn’t be used but I thought it sounded cool. And hey, the song itself samples a Michael Jackson song, so eh?

Anyways, so something I should mention about this style, so at the time I was obsessed with this other artist’s, @droolingdemon style, and I tried desperately to recreate it. I think by this point I just tried to integrate it with my current style, but that’s why the art style looks the way it does. I might make another post about the subject on its own though

Anyways, onto the Chibi style Stand humanizations

I’ll just list some things I remember from their characters

So I did eventually consider turning Purple Haze into a dog, I think specifically a greyhound, but I didn’t know how to draw dogs, so that never happened

Stone Free never takes off those sunglasses and never lets anyone see what she looks like under them. As it turns out, she’s actually blind, and this would be revealed around the snail part in the story (assuming there are still snails), as she’s unaffected, and I believe she’s told to drive a car because of it, but she can’t, and when asked why, she says it’s because she’s blind (and that this was probably a bad time to relay that info)

The three in the last pic are all different characters who end up sharing the same Stand as it gets passed around between them. Whitesnake is part of the prison staff, C-Moon is just an unfortunate young lady who just happens to get stuck with the Stand after something happens to Whitesnake, and Made in Heaven is I think a horse rider who gets the Stand from C-Moon, probably forcibly taking it from her (and she likely dies) as he knows what it is. Also, Whitesnake and Made in Heaven were dating

Oh yeah, also the first Standswap art I did, which was also Chibi style, I just singled it out because of that

Featuring Star Platinum and The World. Not sure I ever found a definitive design for The World, but maybe I did in my sketchbook

Anyways, so then we have some random headshot ones I did

Let’s see, in the first one we have GER looking ominous, Purple Haze, the blushing one is Tusk Act 1, and buns is Ball Breaker. Then for the second one we have Whitesnake, Under World, Killer Queen and Scary Monsters

I believe one thing I did for the Part 7 swap storyline was to have Tusk have a journey of slowly transitioning from a woman as Act 1 to a man as Act 4. I know I’ve drawn Act 4 Tusk but I think it was in my sketchbook, so I cannot show it. Also I believe Ball Breaker was trans too, just male to female, and where Tusk got the idea that you can just be your preferred gender if you want. Also note that at the time, I did not actually really understand how transitioning worked. Though to be honest, I think the main thing was that I didn’t know hormones existed, or that transitioning could be more than just making yourself look like your preferred gender

Anyways, on to Scary Monsters. I believe he rode horseback without a saddle. Also, he started out with one Stand (Dr Ferdinand) but then got another (Diego)

Then with Killer Queen, I believe he was a mute cop. But also secretly a serial killer. Also he might have had a cat like face

And yeah, I think that’s about it, hope you liked it

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youmakemyhearthowl · 2 years

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Punk Princess

(I'm so sorry for this)

Steve’s been sitting on his feelings for a few weeks now, and he’s more than sure that Eddie is someone he wants to be with in the long term. He’s so sure, he’s been planning the perfect way to ask him out for a few days now, and he’s almost got it exactly how it needs to be, when things kinda just go to shit.

He decided on his fishnets with a long kilt today, bright and matching the school colors because it’s an important game in the basketball season, and he pairs it with his spiked denim jacket with his battle vest pulled over it, a T-shirt that he took scissors to the sleeves cut so low it shows off the nailed baseball bat tattooed on his ribcage.

He’s excited for the game tonight, because he's going to actually have people in the stands supporting him. Robin has band so she’s always kind of there (of course she’d be there even if she didn’t), but he’d been planning on asking Hellfire to join in the stands tonight to watch. It’s the first time he’s going to be inviting anyone to see him play, and he’s beyond excited he has the club as friends now.

Steve’s never had a big group of friends before, and he’s a little overwhelmed sometimes that so many genuine people want to talk to him throughout the day. All because he ditched what he thought would make him well liked, and embraced something that not only made him happy, but helped him really truly be himself.

“Someone’s in a good mood this morning.” Robin chirps, grabbing Steve’s arm and placing it over her shoulders so she can nuzzle into Steve’s side, sighing happily at the contact. She’d replaced the purple in her hair with a forest green last night when she’d added it to the back ends of Steve’s hair, stating that she needed to match him, so people know he was her best friend. Steve’s entire body felt warm with love today.

“I’m just excited, Robs. This is a big game and I’m going to be in for the whole time probably, and I’m gonna ask the Hellfire boys to come too, so I might actually have people in the stands cheering for me that actually matter.” His happy energy seems to be contagious because Robin pulls back from him and links their hands together instead so she can swing them back and forth between them, the spiked bracelet she has on brushing the inside of Steve's wrist.

“I can’t wait for them to see you in your natural element, Steve. You glow when you play basketball.” She’s got a big cheesy grin on her face as she leads him out to the bleachers. They’ve started sitting with Hellfire during their free period now. The group accepts them in with open arms, and Robin and Gareth have formed some kind of bond over complaining about Steve and Eddie so the transition was easy.

“Hello boys!” Robin cheers loudly, her smile only seeming to widen as she plants herself on the bench next to Gareth and steals one of his baby carrots.

“What’s up Birdie?” Jeff beams, ruffling her hair. Steve’s eyes are instantly drawn to Eddie who’s been unusually quiet as they walk up and has to stifle the laugh he feels bubble up.

Eddie’s face is beat red and his mouth is slightly open, his eyes locked firmly on Steve’s exposed legs and trailing up his body. Subtly Steve adjusts his jacket just as Eddie's eyes get to his midsection so he can catch a glimpse of the ink on his skin.

“You have three tattoos?” Eddie’s voice comes out kinda strangled, fish mouthing as he meets Steve’s eyes. “Also are you wearing a skirt?” His face is steadily growing redder, the blush traveling down his cheeks to his neck.

“It’s a kilt.” Steve offers, smirking. He can hear Eddie muttering under his breath but it's too quiet for him to make out, so he throws himself onto the bench next to him, stretching his legs out and crossing them at his ankles. His heavy boot heel digging into the dirt below them.

“So I’ve got a question.” Steve tries to keep his voice nonchalant, but he feels his excitement seep in and he can’t contain the giddy smile forming on his face as he looks at all his friends, god his friends, sitting around him.

“I’ll literally do anything for you as long as you keep that kilt on.” Eddie responds, Robin and Gareth make a fake gagging noise in the background. Steve throws his head back and laughs, feeling lighter than he has in a very long time.

“So tonight’s like a super important game for basketball and I was wondering if you guys would come watch me play? I know its last minu..” Eddie holds up a hand cutting him off.

“Steve, Hellfire is tonight.”

“Well yea I know, but I figured we could do it tomorrow or something since I have the game and wouldn’t be able to make it anyways.” A small thread of dread starts to snake its way into Steve’s stomach as he watches Eddie’s face morph into displeasure.

“Cancel Hellfire for… Basketball?” Every word of that sentence is coated with a venom Steve’s never had Eddie direct at him before, and the thread of dread turns into an entire lead brick in his stomach.

“Well yea, that way we can… do both?” He says it like a question, watching Eddie spring up from the bench next to him and begin to pace in front of the group.

“We don’t cancel Hellfire Steve. We’ve never canceled Hellfire. And you want to do it for some stupid basketball game? You’re choosing that shit over us?” He gestures around to the rest of their friends, a sharp anger in his eyes as he looks at Steve.

“I just thought it would be nice to have like real fr…”

“I should have known you didn’t really care about me, us, this group. Fucking prioritizing your stupid jock game over Hellfire. Jesus Steve, your true colors really have been sitting below the surface this whole time haven’t they?”

Steve feels ice cold.

He’s fighting off the sting of tears threatening to fall as he stands up and squares his shoulders, pulling on everything in him that he can, to bite back at Eddie. But he can’t find any heat in his veins to even begin to add to the words, so his shoulders deflate as he lets out a breath shaking his head.

“Just forget it man, I’ll send Dustin or something to sub for me tonight.” It comes out in a neutral tone as he shoves his hands into his jacket pockets to try to bring some warmth back to them.

“Bullshit. Don’t bother Steve. You’ve shown where your priorities are. Consider Sir Stephen no longer a part of the campaign.”

Steve just walks off before the tears can fall, biting his knuckles to hold in a sob.

Bullshit. Steve should have known better. He really should have. He’d assumed that Eddie would be different, that Eddie would be open to all sides of Steve like he was open to all sides of him. But at the end of the day, apparently Eddie still saw him as King Steve, and nothing was probably ever going to change that.

He can distantly hear Robin shout something at Eddie before she’s running up to him and throwing her arm around his shoulder. Tucking him into her side the same way he always does to her.

Steve should just stick to Robin. Maybe he was only destined for one friendship. Maybe he wasn’t someone who should ask for more than that.

Robin was enough anyways.

She always was.

(I don't think I'll be able to post again until Sunday, but know I love you guys, and the angst doesn't last forever, the boys are just Teenagers that have things they need to learn and unlearn.)

#Punk Steve #Punk!Steve #steve harrington #eddie munson #steddie #Steddie fic #you can blame whatthemeepever for enabling the angst in this bad boy #i PROMISE it gets better #I swear on Dustins Mother #just stupid boys being stupid #Punk Princess fic

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beemynumberone · 3 months

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All The Colours (2/7)

-> In which Idol!Minghao and Actress!OC convey their heartfelt messages through colours.

-> slowwwwburn romance. friends to lovers. no smut.

-> constructive feedback is always appreciated!

All pictures are from Pinterest, I do not own them.

Writer’s note: Hi! I am writing these scenarios to placate my active imagination and hopefully make someone’s day/night. I do not intend to hurt anyone/anything through this fic.

Thank you for picking up my story and happy reading!

Masterlist

*btw, Yile is pronounced as Yi Le (in Chinese pronunciation), it is not supposed to rhyme with Kyle

Part 2: Yellow

Yellow. A colour to symbolise hope and in Chinese culture, royalty and power.

Minghao toyed with the idea as he went back home. If Yile found self expression through her makeup and outfit, could he? As corny as it was, as he gazed into her eyes, he felt drawn to the stars that sparkled in them. The hope they shone invigorated him to recall the passion and sincerity he started his journey as an idol with. Of course he never lost that desire to perform, but when you’re 9 years into the industry, the “first love” does fade slightly.

And now, that hope and will was back. Minghao felt ready to jump to high heaven- actually no. But he was really pumped to try emoting with his fashion!

Minghao opened up his personal schedule. It seemed like there was a fashion show happening next month. Perfect to showcase some fashionista individuality. Problem was, he sighed, that Jeonghan was coming along too. Knowing Jeonghan, he would choose to wear black any day as it seemed practical and efficient. However, if Minghao wore yellow and Jeonghan wore black, they would make the headlines as “The-Idiots-from-that-13+3+1-member-boy-group-who-wore-bee-cosplay-at-a-fashion-show”. Minghao had a headache just thinking of the clashing colours.

Minghao made up his mind. He would convince his hyung to wear another colour. Something that preferably matched yellow. He looked at his watch, 1am. It was late, he would have to ask him tomorrow.

Yile’s POV:

Yile fanned her flaming cheeks and tried to force cool air down her lungs. “You what? With who?” Xinhui was badgering her non-stop since the event ended. Yile rolled her eyes jokingly. Xinhui had seen the interaction between her and Minghao at the food table and had winked at Yile. From then on, Yile knew her plan of sleeping a good 7 hours was futile.

Yile shared an apartment with Xinhui. She was an absolute joy to have, but this was one of those times when Yile wished she lived alone.

“So what did you say to him?” Xinhui egged.

“So he said hi then I snapped out of my daze. Then he complimented my dress and makeup. So I complimented him back.” Yile recounted.

“And what did you tell him?” Xinhui surely could be a great journalist if she tried, Yile thought.

“So I told him he looked dashing.” Yile replied.

“What are you, an English lady in the Victorian era?” Xinhui teased, “Will you be writing a letter to this dashing young gentleman then Yile?”

“Of course not, Minghao’s just an industry acquaintance.”

“Look at you saying his name!” Xinhui ooo-ed and squealed. Yile sighed nostalgically. She felt like she was in school again.

Minghao’s POV:

The next day, Minghao had to go early to prep for the Going Seventeen episode. After the scissors paper stone game that ensued during the last session, he volunteered was forced to go first to get his makeup done. He sat in the makeup chair with heavy-lidded eyes and dozed off.

“Wang Yile”

Minghao’s heart sprung to attention. “What do you want?” He looked around, annoyed.

“So rude for a loverboy.” Junhui teased.

“What do you mean loverboy? We’re just…We just talked for 5 seconds then went on our merry way.” Minghao said disgruntled.

Junhui had a Cheshire smile on his face that spelled trouble. “Keep telling that to yourself, Minghao. I’ve never seen you so happy after going to an event before.”

“Who is happy?” Seungcheol entered the makeup room, Jeonghan following closely behind.

“Nobody. Don’t take what Jun says seriously.” Minghao sulked.

Jeonghan seeing his younger member all pouty, guessed it must have been to do with the other boy’s teasing. He motioned the two to keep silent and took Minghao to the waiting room.

“You alright?” Jeonghan’s words were a warm embrace and a gentle ointment to Minghao’s sore wounds. “Yeah, I feel better now. Thanks hyung.”

“As I always reiterate, when you’re ready please let me know what is happening so I can help you or even just support you. I know you’ll do it at your own discretion but I hope that it would not take long. Our team is bonded by trust and you know you are very important to us.” Jeonghan encouraged and Minghao nodded. He was extremely grateful to have such an astute and empathetic friend.

After the Going Seventeen filming, Minghao caught up with Jeonghan. “You know we have that fashion show next month right?” “Yeah, what about it?” Jeonghan smiled curiously.

“So like Ikindawanttowearyellow and Ihopedyoucouldlikenotwearblack.” Minghao could slap himself, why was his mouth moving faster than his brain?

“So you want to wear what?”

“Yellow”

“And you hope I could not wear black?”

Minghao nodded eagerly.

“Why though? We would look like the best bee cosplay in the whole fashion show. Such an aesthetic if you ask me. We would be unforgettable. More attention for us!” Jeonghan retorted.

Minghao sincerely hoped he was joking.

Yile’s POV:

“Yile! You’ve received an invitation to the XXX fashion show. It’s happening next month!” Yile’s manager exclaimed over the phone. Yile’s bleary eyes opened as she digested her manager’s words. “What?” Yile burst out laughing. “What a coincidence, my sister is working for that show as a makeup artist.”

“Good to know Yile, and as always, please prepare your outfit for the event and run it by us by next week. Our fashion manager has decided to hand you the reigns of curating your outfits. Says that you have a unique style she wants to explore more of.” They said their goodbyes and hung up.

As a curious cat in the age of social media, Yile scrolled through brand XXX’s Instagram page. The most recent post was of a sneak peak into the photoshoot of the brand’s ambassadors - Seventeen’s Jeonghan and Minghao. Her jaw dropped.

Minghao POV:

“Please hyung, we cannot look like bees at the fashion show. I will not condone it.” Minghao pleaded.

Jeonghan sighed, “No can do Minghao. Unless…”. He winked.

Minghao groaned, “Hyung, it’s really nothing. I just met Wang Yile, an actress at the social networking event 2 days ago and said hi. That’s all.”

“Do you want to get to know her more then?” Jeonghan questioned.

Minghao thought about it. He did want to know more about her interesting character. It was lonely being the pink-and-purple in the sea of grey overalls. (Iykyk) He could envision deep conversations with Yile about fashion and self-expression and meaning and… Wait was he imagining conversations with her?!

Minghao replied stately, “Yes, I want to.”

Jeonghan smiled at his seriousness. If his younger “brother” wanted to get to know Wang Yile more, he would make it happen.

“What colour should I wear then Minghao?”

“Navy maybe? You could try brown but we might look like a sunflower.”

“Who doesn’t want to look like a sunflower?”

“Hyung…”

“Navy it is then.”

Yellow. A colour that now represented Minghao’s hope to be fashion buddies or even friends if you will, with Yile.

Yile’s POV:

Yile sifted through the online brochure her fashion manager sent her. Humming to Our Dawn Is Hotter Than Day, she stopped and looked at a dress. Its outline was simple, which was perfect since it didn’t steal attention from the models. But it would do the trick of enhancing her gracefulness and maintaining a clean image from the “mistress rumours” that came from her prior acting role. It would also do the trick of looking more open to talking to a certain someone.

Yile called her manager. “Hi unnie, for the show, I’m thinking of wearing the pink aline dress. I know it looks on the plainer side but hear me out, what about adding gemstones for embellishment. Yep, that sounds good. Thank you for arranging this! Love ya, bye!”

#seventeen fluff #svt fluff #svt minghao #svt the8 #seventeen the8 #xu minghao #minghao #the8 #seventeen minghao

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thislovintime · 2 years

Photo

(Photo 1) Michael Nesmith, Davy Jones, and Peter Tork onstage in August 1967, photo by Tom Morton; (photos 4, 6 & 7) Peter taking photographs of Michael and Davy, published in Flip magazine, March 1968; (photo 5) Peter and Michael at the 2014 Monkees Convention, photo by Bobby Bank/WireImage.

“I have a great deal of respect for Mike as a musician and a songwriter. He’s very good. He could make it on his own easily. Also he’s one of the funniest people I’ve ever met. [...] Davy has a lot of guts. Internal fortitude if you prefer.” - Peter Tork, Flip, August 1967

“The first time I met Peter was at the Troubadour where he performed, long before the auditions. I’ve always liked his warmth and honesty. And he’s always been very kind to me. Both Davy and Peter have lived with us and Peter was always very considerate, helping with the dishes and all. [...] Christian liked all of them right from the first. He’s always so happy when any of the Monkees drops over. When Davy and Peter lived with us it was kind of a family atmosphere. They just all kind of pitched in — and even babysat for us!” - Phyllis Nesmith, Fave magazine, January 1968

“I remember staying at Mike’s house in Hollywood when we first started filming the series. It was the upper story of a two-story building on a little hillside. Mike’s wife, Phyllis, was wonderful. Mike and I laughed a lot and played music together. I remember that time very fondly.” - Peter Tork, When The Music Mattered (1984) (x)

“Looking back I have to say that Davy was the one I had the most feeling for, Micky was the one I had the most fun with, and Mike was the one I had the most respect for.” - Peter Tork, Monkeemania: The True Story of The Monkees (1997)

“The man was unique and a huge, huge talent. We’re not going to replace him. [...] [Davy] was such a little heartthrob. I don’t think people knew how bright and talented and gifted he was in all things. I’ve come to believe he was, in his own way, the smartest, most musically talented and best actor among us.” - Peter Tork, Boston Globe, May 16, 2013

“Basically with Michael we don’t ask [about touring with The Monkees]. If he says that he doesn’t want to do it, then he doesn’t want to do it. Nobody has very much influence on Michael in any case so there is hardly any point is us trying to cajole him into anything that he doesn’t want to do. We will miss Tex.” - Peter Tork, UK Music Reviews, May 28, 2015

“We dearly miss our dear departed brother; our brother in arms; the small one, now what’s his name, it will come to me in a minute (laughter). We called him the Manchester Cowboy. Davy had a love affair; a brief flirtation with country music for a little while and we called him the Manchester Cowboy from that, and it stuck. It’s all fond memories.” - Peter Tork, UK Music Reviews, May 28, 2015

“The first time I heard that [’Me and Magdalena’] I heard just Michael’s lead vocal without Micky’s harmony part, and I was really struck. Michael has tapped some new, personal emotional depth within himself that I never expected to hear on record. [...] I only now have, in the last couple of years, come to understand how smart and good-hearted Davy Jones could be. I did not have the skills to notice that, even though I was drawn to it without knowing exactly why. But I certainly did not have the first clue of how to encourage all of the good stuff from Davy that I loved. I wish I could have known how to do it — and he might still be with us, even.” - Peter Tork, Las Vegas Weekly, September 14, 2016

“Mike and I have been back and forth with the emails […] I bore him no ill-will. I have a lot of respect and admiration and some affection for Mike. And I’m glad to be back in touch with him.” - Peter Tork, interview with Iain Lee, 2012

"What I made the decision to do [in the last year or so of Peter’s life] was to stand by his side, be a friend and give him as good a send-off as I know how to give from this plane of existence.” - Michael Nesmith, The Courier Mail, April 10, 2019

"I will miss [Peter] — a brother in arms. Take flight my Brother.” - Michael Nesmith, Facebook, February 2019 (x)

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millenni-em-tauk · 2 years

Photo

Happy Birthday, Lord Beldaruit!! (1/30)

Here is "What Matters," an 8-page comic featuring Bel and teen Qifrey. (And a spell invented by @ok668! ) I've had the lineart ready for months, but..."I'll color this soon!" You know how it goes! 😅

The spell Qifrey is working on and casts on the last page was invented by OK; it’s called, "The Rain of Dancing Birds of Light."

ID under the cut:

Page 1: Beldaruit gazes out the window.

Bel: Oh--good morning. Or--good afternoon, rather.

Qifrey: ...yeah.

Beldaruit pours Qifrey some tea.

Bel: Is there any chance you wish to tell me where you were last night?

Page 2: Beldaruit hands Qifrey his teacup. Qifrey accepts it, looking away, and does not answer.

Bel (with a shrug): It was worth a try!

They sip their tea in silence.

Qifrey: ...If it's too late to start the lesson, I get it.

Bel: No, no. We're both here now, are we not?

Page 3: Beldaruit flips through Qifrey's spell sketchbook.

Bel: Let's have a look...Your sigils and signs are as accurate as ever. But your linework is not nearly as precise as usual. Where are your glasses?

Qifrey: ...

Qifrey rummages in a small pouch.

Page 4: Bel: Oh, dear.

Qifrey holds a broken pair of glasses before him.

Qifrey: I haven't had time to try and fix them. I--I know they were expensive--I didn't want you to be--

Beldaruit holds out his hand for the glasses. He holds them up to the light, inspecting them.

Bel: I'm not worried about them. Just the one who wears them.

Page 5: Beldaruit takes out his wand.

Bel: You know, in all our acquaintance...you've never once asked me what happened to my feet. Why I must navigate the world in this chair.

Qifrey: !

Bel: Whether I was born like this...or whether I did something foolish to end up this way. You've never asked.

Qifrey (flustered): B-because--

Page 6: Qifrey: Because it doesn't--matter.

Bel: No, it doesn't.

Beldaruit holds the glasses over a spell he's just drawn in Qifrey's notebook. Light flashes.

Bel: We're both here now, studying magic together, you see?

SFX: SHAAA...The glasses repair themselves and sparkle in Beldaruit's hands, good as new.

Page 7: Beldaruit: And that is enough for me.

He hands the glasses back to Qifrey, who accepts them with a nervous, emotional expression.

Qifrey: ...Thank you.

Page 8: Birds fly in a circle around Qifrey's head as he casts a spell. He looks up at them with a troubled, and perhaps a little hopeful, expression.

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canirove · 2 years

Text

The Nanny Diaries | Chapter 7

Previous chapter | Next chapter

Masterlist

“Ok everyone, gather around. It’s time for our Secret Santa!” our host says.

“They also have a Secret Santa?” I ask Mrs. McKenzie.

“Oh, yes, but it is a weird one where they exchange their gifts, and if you don’t like yours, you can change it for the one someone else has. It’s a bit confusing, I don’t quite get it.”

And after watching it for a while, I don’t get it either, but they all seem to be having lots of fun. At the end of the game, Mr. and Mrs. Kloss have a huge photography book that I must check myself when I have time, and Ben… He definitely didn’t end the night with the present he expected.

“I am so sorry, Ben” Mrs. Kloss tells him. “Luna and I had prepared everything so I would end up with that as my present, but things didn’t work out and…”

“It’s alright, don’t worry” he says with one of his charming smiles.

“You can gift it again, I won’t mind. I’m sure you can think of someone” she says, looking at me and winking. Great. Wonderful. My boss just suggested that Ben should gift me a very sexy pyjama set that probably costs more than all the pyjamas I’ve owned my whole life. “Anyway, gotta go find my husband. I heard they want to order pizza, and I’m sure he will forget to tell them that I don’t like anchovies.”

“That was…”

“Embarrassing” I say after Mrs. Kloss has left and it is just Ben and I. “Very embarrassing.”

“Do you like it?” he says, moving the bag with the pyjamas in front of me.

“I’ve never worn silk pyjamas. Or silk, to be honest.”

“I’m pretty sure you are wearing silk tonight” Ben smirks.

“Oh” I say, looking down at my dress.

“I think it is only fair that you end the night wearing silk as well. So here. For you” he says, giving me the bag. “Merry Christmas, neighbour.”

“Ben, you don’t have to.”

“Oh, we are back to Ben? That’s interesting” he says, taking a step forward.

“I spoke without thinking.”

“Yeah, sure” he says, now just a few inches away from me. “Should we go somewhere a bit more private?”

“Where?”

“Do you trust me?” he asks, offering me his hand.

“I do” I say, taking it and following him outside the house, walking down the hall and stopping in front of his door.

“Here is what is going to happen” he says. “We are gonna go inside my house, and I’m gonna throw this bag somewhere and start kissing you while I take you to my room, where I’m gonna get you out of that dress, throw you in my bed and make love to you until the sun comes out. But only if that also is what you want. Only if you truly want it.”

“I do. I want it” I say, my voice a mere whisper, my whole body already tensing in anticipation.

“I didn’t hear you."

“I want it, Ben. I do. Badly.”

“Love it when you call me Ben” he says turning to open his house’s door and making me follow him inside.

━━━━━━❃━━━━━━

I don’t know what time it is when I wake up, but judging by the sounds my stomach is making, we’ve at least skipped one meal. Though maybe I’m just hungry because the food last night wasn’t that good, I barely touched it, and then… God, I can feel the heat on my face just by thinking everything Ben and I did after the party. Things I didn’t know I was able to do. Or that someone could do to me. Or…

“Blrrrr.”

“I’ve heard you, stomach” I whisper to myself, trying to ignore what happened last night for a few minutes, and focusing on getting out of the bed without waking up Ben.

After leaving the bedroom, I walk into the living room, almost kicking the bag with the pyjamas. I don’t have any other clothes besides my dress, and since Ben said they were my Christmas gift, I guess I can wear them to make myself some breakfast, right?

Once I’ve made some coffee and eaten some cookies I found on a cupboard, I go back to the living room, and for some odd reason, I’m drawn to the piano. To Ben’s piano, the one he wouldn’t mind letting me play. Not the other girls he’s been with. Just me.

I sit down on the piano seat, inspecting it closely and checking every single detail. Like the fact that there is a little plate with a name.

“Eleanor?”

“That’s her name” I hear him say behind me, making me jump.

“Holy shit, Ben! You scared me!”

“Sorry” he says, sitting next to me. He is only wearing his boxers, his curls a complete mess. And I love it. It is a sight I would love to wake up to every morning. “And thank God you had put your mug on the floor.”

“Oh, yes, sorry” I say with an apologetic smile. “Who was Eleanor?”

“My piano teacher, the one who made me fall in love with it. She gifted me this piano just a few months before she passed away.”

“I’m sorry” I say, grabbing his hand and giving it a little squeeze.

“I named the piano after her as a tribute. She played because she loved music, not to be the best or make money out of it. And every time I sit here, that’s what I want to remember. What I want to feel.”

“Would you play something for me?” I ask him.

“Anything special?” Ben says, lifting the keys cover.

“Surprise me.”

“Do you know this movie called “Les Choristes?” he says in perfect French.

“Of course I do! Back in school they made us watch it every single year during our music lessons, and we played some of the songs with the flute.”

“Do you still remember them?”

“I remember one… But not the name. It was something like…” I say, humming the bits of the melody I can remember.

“Vois sur ton chemin” he says, again, in perfect French.

“Oh my God, Ben. I had forgotten how posh you actually are” I laugh.

“Ha ha ha. Do you remember the notes?”

“I kind of do. Where is the do?”

“Here” he says, grabbing my finger and putting in on the key.

“Let me give it a go” I say, focusing and trying to remember the rest of the notes.

“That was great! But wait a minute” he says, getting up and picking a tablet from the shelve next to us. “Do you still remember how to read a sheet music?”

“I do.”

“Then let’s try this. You are doing this bit here and I will accompany you.”

“Ok” I say.

I don’t know for how long we stay in front of the piano, playing, laughing when we make a mistake, Ben kissing my cheek, my neck or my shoulder because I apparently look too cute when I’m focused, and making giggle like an idiot. Like a very happy idiot.

#ben chilwell #ben chilwell x reader #ben chilwell fanfic #ben white fanfic #football fanfic #football imagine

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sio-writes · 1 year

Text

Sacrifice - Chapter 8

<Chapter 7

<<Chapter 1

Summary: This winter has been brutal, and Kyla is out of options. So, with teary eyes, she takes her best goat into the woods, hoping for some pity from whatever god finds her. And oh, she is found.

Tags: Casual alcohol consumption; NSFW; sexual manipulation through edging

Aurelius continues his routine and I continue mine, and we step around each other like ghosts, neither acknowledging the other's presence or ignoring completely. Dachaigh keeps me company while I mull over my conversation with Eodine.

Aurelius, as it turns out, is very good at hiding, both himself and his things. Dachaigh must be in leagues with him, because after examining every book on the lower floor I still have the exact same information as last week. No other journal or anything written in Aurelius’ handwriting exists where I can reach.

The upper floors are impossible, too. When I try to reach even the closest one, just one level up, the height makes me so dizzy I can barely grab a handful of books before I fall over the railing. I go through each with a swift hand, only stopping to squint at the handwriting before moving onto the next. The process takes up my morning energy, and I quietly pray for the goat’s forgiveness in skipping their breakfast.

But each book I pull down is a dead end. Nothing. And my patience thins with each hour that drags on.

After several days of searching and coming up empty handed, I’m too frustrated to continue. I leave Aurelius’ home and walk down the river path to the changeling cottage, and they greet me with smiles and hugs.

Gregory leads me by the hand to the back of the house, where the group is engrossed in some kind of game. There’s a square folding board on the low table surrounded by an array of drinks, and in the center is a tower of wooden blocks, stacked in alternating rows of three,and several have been removed making the tower lean dangerously to the right. In the corner of the room is a phonograph, much fancier than I've ever seen, softly playing an easy tune with instruments I've never heard before. The music fills the brief pauses, carrying the conversations like boats on a wave.

Sveta offers me her seat, but I don’t know how to play the game, so I find a free spot on the end of the couch and watch until I understand the rules.

The game starts with a person carefully removing one of the colored blocks from the tower, and written on the block is an action they must perform. If they don’t perform the action, they draw two more blocks, and then four, and then eight and so on. The most common actions involve the drinks such as adding more alcohol or finishing it off and making another, and the other actions are usually small things, like standing on one foot for the duration of the game, or only speaking in chicken squawks. I think Kimiko even threw some household chores in there, given that she smirks each time one of her blocks is drawn.

By the look of the half-empty glasses and opened bottles and tilting tower, they're nearly through with this round. They're all energetic and full of laughter, and it's hard not to laugh with them, leaning in every time someone pulls a block and the tower jolts dangerously.

Gregory's turn is the last of this round-- he's swaying on his knees as he leans over the table, tapping on the edge of a block with short nails, leaving a single block in the center to carry all the weight above it. The moment Gregory removes his block, the tower collapses and the whole group throws jeers at him.

Another round is set up, and Sveta turns to me.

“Kaitlyn, you should play!” she encourages, and I chew the inside of my cheek as I consider it.

I’ve only been out drinking once or twice, when my mother and my schedule both permitted it. But the ale at the town tavern was watered down and chalky, and our tavernkeep lacked the gold for anything of higher quality, so I only needed those few trips to steer me away from the bar for good. But the drinks here are more colorful, the glass bottles of alcohol and spirits on the table remind me of the bathroom soaps that Dachaigh lets me use.

They're all looking at me expectantly, even icy Josefina is staring a challenge, and I am truly interested in this game, the rowdiness and jeering have drawn me in. I finally concede.

“I suppose so,” I say, and Gregory jumps from the spot he’s standing in, legs fused together from the last block he chose as he hops to the kitchen.

“Whaddya like, Kate?” he shouts.

“Anything but ale,” I respond as both Sveta and Emile crunch themselves together to make room for me.

Gregory steps out of the kitchen, walking normally and sticking his nose up at the boos and hisses of the others.

"I'm not spilling this beautiful drink," he says as he sets it in front of me. The drink is bubbly, with the top a bright cranberry-red that fades to clear at the bottom, and he's taken a wedge of lime and stuck it to the rim.

"It's a good beginner cocktail, but you'll wanna stir it first," Gregory says, nudging my shoulder with his own and winking at me.

I stir the drink with my finger until the whole thing is a pale pink, and then I pop my finger into my mouth. Oh! It is cranberry! And the fizziness reminds me of ale, but with a different taste, it's not bitter or lingering. I most definitely feel the burn of alcohol behind it all, but the cranberry and this sweet fizzy drink have cut through it.

I take a long sip of my drink and Gregory rests his shoulder against mine. "You like it?"

"I do, thank you so much."

The next tower is set up while I sip on my drink, and I share pleasantries with Gregory and Sveta. They tell me to come visit more often, to stop by with more fruit, and it makes me feel warm that they enjoy my company. Kimiko asks about my dress, and when I tell her I made it her mouth opens on an 'O', and starts the others on a tirade of questions about how I made it.

The dress is one from the fabric stocks from the market, a deep purple with a triangle pattern woven in. It had been one of the nicer fabrics I'd received and wanted to use right away, and their acknowledgment of my craftsmanship makes me want to hide behind my drink. I've always loved to sew.

The game starts with Sveta and goes through each person, and eventually my turn is up. I copy Josefina's method of testing a few blocks with my fingers to see if they're loose, and pull one out with ease, squinting at the small script. “Um, I have to…” I flip the block around, but that doesn’t make the words magically appear.

“My handwriting can’t be that bad,” Gregory jokes, leaning over my shoulder to examine the block.

I puff my cheeks out, indignant. “I’m still learning,” I mutter, embarrassed, but the alcohol numbs the effect.

Gregory reaches for the block, turning it back over, and making a noise of understanding. “It says you can’t speak a word for the next hour,” Gregory says, and blows a stray piece of hair from his face. “Well that’s far too easy for you. You’re as quiet as a church mouse.”

“Draw another,” Sveta says, eyes glittering. They all turn to me with the same expression as Sveta chants, “Do it, do it!” And as the rest join in, I laugh.

Their joy is infectious. I know I need to stand my ground in this world, but this feels like an exception. I’m among friends, I realize, and friends aren’t something I’ve had in years. I want them to like me, I want to gain their approval, to be part of the group even though I don’t live with them. Even Josefina is wearing a smirk as they all lean in. I draw a second block and they all cheer, and it’s hard not to smile at their energy.

This block is much easier to read: Take a shot. “What’s a shot?”

“It’s a swig of pure alcohol,” Kimiko says.

“That…sounds horrible,” I say, and the others laugh as if I’ve made a joke.

“It is,” Kimiko says, nodding. “That’s why you gotta drink it fast.”

Emile holds up two large bottles, both nearly empty save for a few fingers of clear liquid in the bottom. “Tequila or vodka?”

My head is already pleasantly swimming from the drink Gregory made me, and my words come out before I have a chance to think, “Whichever will get me drunk faster.”

This isn't like me, I usually think before I speak. Should I be worried about what they may get me to do if I become too drunk? My gut tells me 'no' but my gut is also requesting more alcohol, so I'm not sure how trustworthy it is at the moment.

“Tequila, definitely,” Emile says, handing me the bottle in his right hand. It smells foul when I bring it to my nose, and I wonder if the other one would’ve been any better.

"Oo-- wait!" Gregory bounces up and jumps into the kitchen, and comes back with a sliver of lime and the table salt. "Do it this way, makes it easier to swallow."

Sveta snickers behind her hand and Gregory flips her off before showing me the process. Salt on the hand first, then tequila, then bite down on the lime. At first glance it seems like a lot, but I manage to do everything in the right order. The tequila tastes foul, but it warms my belly as it goes down.

The game continues for another hour, another round of drinks and even more shots. There’s laughter and gossip and chatter all around, and it’s easy to fall back and let it take me wherever it needs to go. I’m giddy, I feel lighter than air, I want to spread myself over the couch and take a nap.

Eventually, the game is abandoned in favor of conversation. They’re not confined to a single place like I am, lucky bastards. They can go to and from the market, learn magic on their own time, and even meet up with other fae without worrying about a hulking guardian in their shadow.

Their looks are deceiving as well. Sveta is nearly three times my age, and Gregory claims he was brought here nearly forty years ago.

I originally came here for a break, but maybe they have answers for me. I wait for a lull in conversation before asking, “Do you all know anything about Aure— the forest god?”

“Only that he’s terrifying,” Gregory says, laughing. “But he’s very important. Oversees the forests everywhere.”

I scoot forward. “Has he ever brought another human here?”

Gregory squints. “I dunno. Sveta you’ve been here the longest, has he ever brought a human back?”

Sveta’s head falls heavily to the side as she purses her lips. “Not that I remember.”

Kimiko mutters behind me, “He probably ate them.”

Gregory balks. “Kimi! That’s not nice.”

“What? We’re all thinking it! He’s the most powerful god this side of the world, and he picks a single human to shack up with? Of course there was one before, there’s probably hundreds he brought back! They probably realized how horrifying he is and tried to take off, and he ate them!”

The others laugh, but Emile hums in thought. “That sounds awfully sad,” he says. “To seek out companionship in another only to have them leave.”

Emile has been almost as quiet as I’ve been this evening. Not brooding, but observing. I get the feeling he’s very studious, maybe he could help me learn to read.

“That’s on him, though,” Josefina says. “That’s not the humans’ problem.”

“How do you get rid of something ingrained into your very being, though?”

Kimiko kicks her feet onto the table, brushing several blocks to the floor. “Don’t know, don’t care. Do you wanna live with him?”

“No, but I know someone who already does,” he says, nodding his head towards me.

I move to rub my arm, but overshoot and my hand winds up wrapping around the side and back. "I don't think he's all bad. Kind of pushy, but not cruel."

"Interesting," Kimiko says, leaning forward. "Tell us more.”

My face is already flushed from the alcohol, but I feel it growing steadily worse the longer the group looks at me, and that urge to please them comes back. I tell them what I can, about the house with its winding halls and nonsense layout. I tell them how Aurelius leaves me alone most of the day, of the animals I tend to and the library where I sleep. Telling them feels like unclogging a stream, the words flow forth and before I know it I’m speaking of our relationship— the woes we’ve been having recently.

I finish my tirade with a huge sigh, letting my chin fall into my hand. “How do I make him listen?”

“How have you gotten his attention in the past?”

I flush as I remember. “Sex, usually.”

“Then do that!”

“Isn’t that…not right?”

She scoffs. “You’re a woman! You have to use what the gods gave you. Besides, you’re not dealing with a regular human, or even a standard fair folk. You’re bargaining with a god.”

I mull over her words for far too long, and GRegory claps me over the shoulder. “Kimi’s right, you’ve got to use what you’re given.”

I hum, thinking it over. It doesn’t sit easy in my stomach, but it’s the only thing I haven’t tried yet, the only thing left. I don’t want to manipulate Aurelius through this, but what other choice has he given me?

Sveta’s eyes glitter as she says, “Let us know how it works out.”

***

The walk back and a skein of water clears my head enough for me to walk up the stairs and navigate the halls back to the library. It's still difficult; the sun has long since gone down and I've never navigated the path in the dark before, let alone walking it backwards and slightly inebriated. But I make it back, carefully stepping around a each book I’d tossed aside.

We haven’t spoken since he confessed his love for me. Would he be suspicious of my actions? Pick up on the deception? Even thinking of deceiving Aurelius through such a manner makes my mouth sour. I tip the remaining water into my mouth and swallow as I think.

He’s not listened to me in a way that matters, not since we came here. I want him to hear me, to see me as more than a pet or trinket to be toted around. I’m not a handbag, and he needs to see things my way. If the only way is to train his attention on something else while I get what I need, then so be it.

And I’m pretty enough to pull this off! My hair is clean and my skin unblemished, my frame isn’t too manish from chores or my nails dirty. I’m decent at sex, I suppose I could be better, more confident in my abilities. The show I’d put on for Aurelius at the altar had been a good start, but what else is there?

The world tilts as I swing my legs over the sill and stand far too fast, but I have my wits about me in a moment’s time. I can do this, I can.

The door to Aurelius’ room is heavier than I remember, but I may be weaker at the moment. Still, it slides open without a sound and I step into the warm air of his quarters.

I whisper to the room, “Aurelius?”

No response. Listening, I hear the slow, steady rhythm of his breathing. Perfect.

As I crawl into the nest and around Aurelius' huge sleeping animal body, he rouses awake.

“Kyla…?” He says, voice low, lifting his head to look at me. He stills, taking in my nudity. “Are you hurt?”

He surges forward, inky arms coming from his form to pat me down. They're warm from sleep, warmer than usual, soft and attentive in their motions.

“I’m fine, I’m fine! I just…” I trail off, shifting my weight from foot to foot. No, this won't do. Confidence. If I want something, I have to take it. I grab one of the hands that was patting me down and hold it to my breast.

Aurelius pauses, parsing my meaning, and a low, pleased growl making me and the whole nest shiver. Without another word, shadowy tendrils pick me up off the ground, holding my wrists together and my legs apart. I kick and thrash with what little movement I'm allowed as Aurelius grabs one of my feet and presses my knee to my chest. “Wait!”

He stops immediately, hovering over me in that massive, animalistic form. “Is this not part of the game?”

I shake my head, deciding to unpack that comment later, and give him my best pout. “I want to play a different game. Would you lie back for me?”

He stares at me for a long moment, before releasing me from his grasp and setting me down on the floor. “As you wish,” he says quietly. His form shrinks to the one I’m familiar with, the shadowy cloak falling away to reveal the rest of his body. Still like a man’s body, with long limbs and dark skin that blends into the shadows and shimmers out of focus the longer I look at it. His skin is rough like cloth, and the muscle underneath flexes as he moves.

“You weren’t here today,” he says, keeping his gaze on me as I throw my dress over my head. It lands in a far corner of the nest, where I can get to it later.

"I was with friends," I reply quietly.

"The humans," he growls, and I nod. "You're supposed to stay here."

"I’m not doing that," I say, surprising myself with how firm my voice is.

Aurelius doesn't ask me anything further after that. He remains reclined like I asked, but I see his hands flexing against the floor as I step forward and spread my fingers over his belly.

“Why don’t you show me this more?” I ask as I run my hand up his stomach. I’m so preoccupied with seeing him— truly seeing him since that first time— that I nearly miss how his breath hitches at my touch. My heart skips over itself in nervousness. This is going to be easy.

“What is this new game?” He asks instead, long hands wrapping around my wrist and pulling me forward. My hand glides up over his ribs, past his chest to land on his shoulder.

“It’s called, uh, bartering,” I say.

Aurelius stares at me, and says flatly, “I know what bartering is.”

I grin, showing my teeth. “Wonderful! Then you already know how to play.”

I swing my leg over his hips and smooth my hands up his chest. I can't lose myself to him this time, I need my wits about me if I want this to go the way I need it to. The notion of what I’m about to do as some sort of transaction has that sour feeling returning, but I push it back. As much as I don’t like it, this is how we fit together, there isn’t an alternative.

My heart lurches again-- even when I’m just sitting on him, I can already feel him hardening against my ass.

"I give you something," I say, reaching behind my back and blindly feeling until my hand wraps around his cock. "You give me something back."

Aurelius doesn't immediately respond, and even props himself up on his arms like he means to throw me off. Instead, he leans forward, reaching out a hand as if to cup my face. But he stops at the last moment, so close I can feel the heat of his skin, and pulls his hand back and lowers himself to the floor.

"Alright," he mumbles, almost too low for me to hear, and he sounds sad. I need to fix that.

I throw my leg back over his hips so I'm kneeling at his side, and I grasp his half-hard cock with both hands. My fingers don't meet at the widest part and even with stacked fists the head of him breaches my fingers. He's still as big as I remember him.

He hardens fully at my touch, and I'm flattered that he still feels this way, I was so sure I'd ruined myself for him. I want to meet his starry eyes, but I can't bring myself to do it. It's too much, but I have to push forward.

I shift my hand down so I can lick over the tip, tonguing the sensitive underside as I gently squeeze my hands. He tastes of iron, sharp and subtle, and smells like the forest. I take the head of him into my mouth and he gasps, the hand closest to me resting on the back of my head, brushing my hair away from my face, and I want him to leave it there, to guide me because I have no idea what I’m doing, but that’s not part of this game.

I pull off with a wet noise, spit lewdly trailing from my lips to his cock, and I frown up at him. “No, hands down.”

Immediately, his hand disentangles from my hair, and I do want the warmth back, but I can focus better like this. The branching antlers at the back of his head have his head set at an odd angle, but even with his snout pointed towards the ceiling, I can feel his gaze on me, watching.

I swallow hard. His gaze is intense, it makes me want to perform well. Like when he watched me strip, I want to please him, I want to surprise him somehow.

I squeeze my thighs together as I lean forward and take his cock into my mouth again, releasing my top hand so I can take it further down. The lowest I can go without gagging is only halfway, so I move my hands in time with my head to make up the difference.

At the contact, Aurelius chokes a noise, shifting his hips again as I bob my head at a slow, steady pace.

I learn quickly that he enjoys certain things: attention on the head, and a forceful pace over a faster one. I have no idea if this is working, or if I’m even doing this right, but I follow the sounds he makes, the noises he swallows down.

The only time I ever heard about this sort of fucking was gossip with the ladies of town. They spoke of how unpleasant it was, how their husbands always wanted it. But I don’t find this unpleasant. I only have to worry about the growing arousal between my legs which is easy to ignore, leaving me able to focus on Aurelius. His hips twitch when I squeeze my hands, his claws are pulling up that layer of down on the floor, and his breathing is almost in time with my movements.

This is a heady feeling, I realize as I twist my hands and run my tongue over his head again, tasting salt and heat. Aurelius gasps beneath me, and another bead of precome blooms over my tongue. I wait for another, when his breathing turns ragged and his legs begin to shake, to pull away with an obscene sound.

He groans to the ceiling, and his cock twitches in my hands. He turns his head down to me fully, and huffs a breath through his nose.

"Why did you stop?"

My smile is easy, and my heart is racing. "I need something from you."

"Kyla…" he warns, his voice a low growl. I frown, but I'm frowning at myself. I must not have done well enough.

I sit up and straddle his hips, lifting myself onto my knees and positioning the glistening head of his cock at my entrance. The position forces me to settle the rest of my weight on my free hand, which I place directly over his heart. "Please?" I ask, pouting.

Before he can respond, I sink my hips down. It's not without pain, but I can push it to the back of my mind for now. The moment I settle my weight on his hips, Aurelius moans outright, something I haven't heard before.

While I adjust, my hazy mind grinds away. I can't ask about the other human right out of the gate, I'll need a smaller favor so this doesn't backfire. I rest my other hand next to the first, and I feel his heartbeat like a bird underneath my fingers.

"I want more magic."

Aurelius rests his hands on my waist. "Of course."

"Hands down," I order, and he starts like he's been shocked. His hands hover over my legs for a breath, before he sets them back on the ground, palms against the floor. I shiver at the rush of power that moves through me. I grind my hips forward and back, chasing my own pleasure on that rush, disregarding why I started this and instead finding something else.

Oh, how I've missed this. The few times we've had sex since I've been here have been so…emotionally charged, like electricity beneath my fingers, here one moment and gone the next. But this, this is heat under my skin, the sun against my face, a spiraling pool of pleasure where I don't have to worry about any negative emotions. It's like the first time.

"Gods, this feels good," I moan, and Aurelius bucks beneath me.

Slowly I gain my faculties, slowing my hips and eventually stopping. “Will you teach me more magic?”

He groans, a fist thumping against the floor. “When I have the time.”

I roll my hips once and he twitches like I've hit him. “That’s not an answer.”

He exhales, and I feel the strain in his muscles as he remains still. "Whatever you want."

I grind my hips slowly. "I want more magic."

"Of course."

I reward him with an agonizingly slow pace, and I have to hold back a laugh as he shudders beneath me. His hips are moving with mine, little thrusts he can't control that shove his cock that much deeper into me. It pushes the air from my lungs, and spurs me on. "Are you going to give it to me?"

"Yes," he breathes. "Yes, I will."

This is dangerous. I feel powerful, untouchable. I could ask him for anything-- no, I could command him to do anything, and he'd be at my mercy. This all-powerful god is like wet clay in my hands.

But then, like a clap of lightning, I remember that he's lied to me, that he's toted me around like an object, treated me like an afterthought. I remember why I'm doing this, and all the heat under my skin, all the arousal and feeling of power, pops. My stomach churns as I realize I can't bring myself to finish this.

I stop all movement, slipping forward and off his cock, and he whines. "Kyla…"

"Will you—“

“Now,” Aurelius growls.

Despite the ice in my veins, the nest is getting warmer by the second, and I'm not sure how much longer he's going to last. It's now or never. “Was there another human before me?”

The very air freezes with the next thump of my heart.

“Where did you get that idea?” he says slowly, and I want to slam my hands on his chest. The fair folk won’t lie, but that doesn't mean they aren't capable.

“Tell me and I’ll let you come,” I say, pushing my hips back until I feel the hard length of him pressing against my ass. I'm losing control of the situation fast. I need answers.

Aurelius growls, and there’s a timbre to it, pitched low and dangerous. He used this on Gregory when he took me away from the market, and again when he brought me back. He’s angry. Not the fun, teasing anger that arouses me, but the hard, volatile anger of an ancient god with an ego.

“Who told you?” he asks, voice quiet and dangerous, which only sparks my anger brighter.

“You lied to me,” I press, leaning forward and bracing my hands on his chest. “So what happened?” And when Aurelius doesn’t reply, my anger comes out full force. “Did you eat them? Kill them? Tell me!"

Aurelius sits up in a flash, and I tumble to the side of the nest. As I fumble to my hands and knees, angry tears prick at my eyes. "What else are you keeping from me? What else have you lied about?!" I stand on shaking legs and wipe the tears as they fall.

Aurelius rights himself, sitting, and crosses his arms over his chest. "It was for your protection."

"It's for your protection!"

"Don't be ridicu-- Kyla!" He tries to stop me as I snatch my dress and storm out as fast as my legs will allow me. I take the barest of moments to pull the dress over my head before I'm fleeing Dachaigh and headed towards the Forest of Souls.

I can't do this anymore. I don't want to be here. And I know of a place where he'll never find me again.

I don't have any books, any extra clothes, I don't even have food or water, but I don't care. Anything is better than staying here for another minute.

I'm several dozen steps towards the forest when I pause to catch my breath. I ran all the way through Dachaigh to get out, and I ran until I was under moonlight and then some more. I'm nearly to the treeline, that soft lilting melody calling to me again, when I look back.

Dachaigh still towers up to the heavens, an obelisk in the nighttime air, as if she's swallowing the sky itself.

With space to think now, I'm hit with a pang of melancholy. I can't consider this place home, but living within those walls has been comfortable. Dachaigh is a good friend, and when Aurelius was there I enjoyed his company. It wasn't enough, but what little I did get, I treasured. The animals will miss me, I think, and I'll miss the routine. Mortimer may wonder where I've gone, and I wonder how long it will take him to realize that I'm not coming back. I won't be able to see Gregory, or Sveta, or Kimiko. I'll even miss Josefina's tilted smirks.

I turn back to the forest, and run straight into a solid shadow.

“Where are you going?” Aurelius asks, arms crossed over his chest. He's pulled himself to his full height, towering over me and blocking my line of sight to the forest. He's wearing the traveling cloak he always does, although it's askew over his shoulders as if he rushed to put it on. I stumble back, if only to allow myself space to breathe.

“I…I…”

He tilts his head like a bird, this way and that, getting a better look at me, and says again, angrily, “I ask again: Where are you going?”

I straighten, solid in my confidence. “I’m leaving.”

“You can’t,” he says simply.

I scoff. “And why not?”

“I will find you.”

“Not if I want to be lost!”

He growls, the sound reminding me of a predator. “I will not let you.”

“Like hell you will!” I push past him, making a wide arc and trying to run again.

I’m only a handful of steps past Aurelius when his large arm wraps over my waist and yanks me back. He pulls me into his body, his head above me, and he laughs. It's a chilling sound, his great jaw opening and his teeth gleaming in the moonlight. “You think you can escape me? I’ve already marked you as mine.”

I struggle against his grip the same way an insect struggles against a spider's web. “I don’t want it! I want to leave!” I push myself out of his grasp and the second I hit the ground, I start to run.

“Kyla!” He shouts, but I keep running. Almost there, almost there! “You will listen to me!”

“I’m done!” I shout back, and it hurts, oh it hurts so much to say. I’m leaving both Aurelius and my heart on the ground in front of his home. "I'm done with the whims of a single forest god!"

He catches up easily, and I'm back to struggling against his grip again. His growl shakes the trees, rumbles the very ground I'm standing on. “I am the god of every forest.”

“You do not have domain over me!” I struggle in his vice-like grip, tears streaming down my face. I was so close, so close. “Get the fuck off—I hate you!”

Aurelius pauses, and I know I hit a nerve. I didn't mean it-- it just came out. I want to correct myself, but I struggle to find the point. It's what it took for Aurelius to let me go.

The grass is wet and cold beneath my bare feet as he gently sets me down. I gather my skirts in one hand-- it'll make my trek through the underbrush quicker.

"If you wish to leave," he starts, slowly releasing me from his grasp and angling me towards the wood.

The quick change in his demeanor throws me off course. I snap my head around to look at him, and I see that he's shrinking down, skull transforming from that sharp-toothed predator I saw at the market and into his normal deer.

"Then go," he snaps, jaw clicking shut.

I take a step forward. The forest is pitch black, I can't make out anything beyond the treeline. The energy wafting from it is dangerous, yet tempting. I could truly get lost in there. Alone for eternity.

Even still, I look back at Aurelius. He's sat on the ground, legs curled up, long arms wrapped around them. His great head rests on his knees, angled towards me, watching. Not like a predator about to pounce, but a creature resigned to its own pain. When he sits on the ground like this, only his antlers are taller than me.

I look back to the forest, and I hear her whispering call, a lullaby to lure me into the depths of this ancient, consuming wood. Closing my eyes, I sway to the soft tune, a melody that rolls over itself, transforming and rearranging. It wants me to play, wants me to join them.

The spell is broken, interrupted by a low whine, like an injured animal. It's coming from behind me, and I suck in a breath as I turn just far enough to see Aurelius out of the corner of my eye. He's still sitting on the ground, watching me, and I'm hit with a realization.

I don't want to leave him, not forever. I want to get away from this harmful, sticky relationship that we're in. One where I have to get him mad to make him listen to me. Where he doesn't take me seriously until I threaten to harm myself.

Without a word, I close the distance between us. He remains still, even when I grab his great skull with both hands. His voice is barely audible, "I will miss you terribly."

And heaving a sigh, his form melts into the ground, along with it his skull, which shrinks down. He's making himself small for my benefit again.

This is the Aurelius I want to talk to. The understanding, calm one, as opposed to the volatile, angry god I've been interacting with.

I sigh through my nose, and avoid the urge to sit with him, standing my ground. I haven't fully decided to stay, not yet. "What happened to the other humans you brought here, Aurelius?"

Sensing my hesitation, Aurelius leans into my touch, but I'm not ready for that yet, so I pull away and let my hands rest at my side. I need the truth, even if it's just to know why.

"There was only one before you," he says. "It was just as I've said: he ran in fear. I lost him in the woods." Again, he tries to knock my arm with his head in his form of intimacy, but I twist away from it. He rears his head up in offense, but when I make no moves to reciprocate, he rests his chin back over his knees.

"You lied to me," I say.

"I did."

"Why?"

It’s a long, quiet moment before he answers slowly, "I did not want the cycle of time to roll over again. I asked him the same that I asked you, and he said yes. So, I brought him here. "

His head tilts the other way, resting on his folded arms. "And he hated it here, as you do. He hated our home, hated this place. Recoiled at my touch and refused to speak to me. And then one morning, he was gone." He shifts uncomfortably. "But you called me beautiful, and I thought this time would be different. I knew once I had you that I'd never find another. So I did everything with you that I didn’t with him. I gave you space, let you be. I was just happy to have our home filled with life again."

I look back to the woods as I turn his words over in my head. The temptation to leave has weakened, but I can still feel it. Eodine's words float back to me: No one would ever bother you anymore.

And that doesn't sound bad. Peaceful, even. But would I enjoy that life? Is that the way I want to live? I'd be alone, forever. I'd never see another human, or even another soul, for that matter, and I don't want to take a path like that. Could I live without companionship for eternity? I was willing to give up my entire life for this god to stay by my side.

I sigh, to myself and the world around me. No matter what path I take, a path away from Aurelius would be…lacking. I'd miss him terribly, just as he'd miss me.

I run my thumb along a line of silver in Aurelius' antlers, the shape closer to the branch of a tree than any kind of animal. He's shown me so little of himself, but I haven't shown him much of myself either. If we have the rest of eternity together, I'd like the chance to know him better, and let him know me.

"Aurelius…" I say, sighing. "I'm not afraid of you. But you treat me like an object. I'm not a pet."

“I taught you magic,” he says. “I involved you in the festival planning and brought you gifts. I wouldn’t do that for a pet.”

I sigh, pushing a lock of hair from my face. "I sleep alone, I eat alone, and I live my life in that library, alone. When we're actually together it feels like you're a ghost. You cart me around like a child and treat me like—" I stop myself, my air coming out in a rush. "You asked me to plan your festival and then discounted all of my notes."

"But it is tradition to lay the vendors a certain way," he says, tone soft and conversational.

I roll my eyes. "Is it tradition to bring a human into your home?"

He pauses, which tells me that he hadn’t considered it. "I suppose not," he says.

He did remember that I wanted to learn magic, something I mentioned nearly a month ago; he chased after me thinking I had been stolen, and put a tracking spell on me so he’d never lose me again. He thinks he loves me, and whatever that may mean truly, to him it's something important.

He sighs, mimicking me with a dramatic heave of his shoulders. "Much of the time, I am a stone in the river, pushing everything around me and unable to change my own path. I was trying to give you space so you would want to remain here, so you weren't afraid."

That makes sense, in a strange, Aurelius-esque way. It’s almost sweet, him realizing that his presence frightens others and taking steps to minimize it. I rest my hands over top one of his, and he turns his palm sideways to curl his fingers around mine.

"You left me alone," I mutter. “You know I don’t like that.”

"You weren't alone."

I try not to roll my eyes or smile. He said it so genuinely. "Dachaigh isn't you."

He speaks slowly, as if in realization, "You…prefer me."

He sounds so surprised that I can't help but laugh. “I do.”

“You want to be with me.”

I snort. "All the power you wield, and you couldn’t piece together that I enjoy your company."

"You want to eat meals with me."

"I do."

"You want to sleep with--" I cover his snout with my hands, laughing.

"Yes, yes, you big dummy! I like being around you, except when you're being rude and pushy. I like this world you've brought me to, and the home you’ve opened up to me. I like--" I stop and bite my tongue before I say something lewd.

But the stars in his eyes sparkle as he asks, "Yes?"

And I'm very bad at denying him. "I like getting you so angry that you fuck me within an inch of my life."

He chuffs. "There are other ways to get me to fuck you."

"But," I flush, looking resolutely at his bony snout and not his eyes. "I enjoy that way."

He hums, low and approving. "Because you are mine."

"Yes," I say softly, enjoying the word on my tongue. "At least, I want to be."

"Then you are," he says, leaning forward to knock my head with his, but he stop halfway, waiting for me. I reach out my arms and pull him forward, closing the gap. My temple gently taps the side of his head, and warmth curls in my chest at the contact.

"This is called a truce. I'm giving you another chance." Even saying it has me feeling lighter. I have confidence in Aurelius, I know he can do better. I've seen it.

He hums. “How am I to repay you?"

I let my head fall against his chest, and I can feel his heartbeat in my ear, quick yet strong. "Not everything is a debt to be paid."

"It is here." His voice vibrates through his chest.

"Not between us." Not anymore. I feel the very spark of my being, maybe it's my soul, release all the tension I'd been holding for the past month as I relax into Aurelius.

The pull of the forest, that steady, whispering voice that promised me a life of solitude, is gone.

Chapter 9>>

#my writing #sacrifice #nsfw.#monster writing #monsterfucker #monster boyfriend #monster lover #terato writing #skullhead #I think that's the most widely accepted moniker outside of the 'w' word which i refuse to use

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