#Millennium Residence

[millenniumbangkok]

At Millennium Residence, luxury knows no bounds, and every moment is an opportunity to indulge in the extraordinary. From opulent living spaces to world-class amenities, our 3-bedroom condos offer a lifestyle that is second to none. Come, experience the pinnacle of urban living and elevate your lifestyle amidst the iconic skyline of Bangkok.

If you want to read more information about it, just visit → https://millennium-bangkok.com/sale/

[intimidating-fettuccine]

Can I request tea about things that have happened in the mansion?

Click here for part 5 which has links to the other parts

Toby is emotionally attached to one specific spoon. It's the perfect weight, size, and length in his opinion, and he will always insist on using that spoon, sometimes even going so far as to wash it by hand just to use it if it's dirty. Everyone knows this, however, one day Tim was up pretty late and wanted some ice cream, and he used the spoon to scoop some out, bending the spoon. He didn't realize it was Toby's spoon until it was too late, and he tried to bend it back exactly as it was, however, Toby knew. Toby knew something was wrong with the spoon and actually ended up bending it a specific way himself to make it feel right again. Tim is too scared to tell Toby it was him because he was genuinely distraught when his spoon was different.

Smile, the lovely dog, is on a specific diet. Jeff takes good care of him and tries to keep him on a diet made specifically for hellhounds so that he's getting all the proper nutrients he needs. Smile, however, wants people's food, even though he knows he shouldn't have it. Some of the residents are weak. Natalie began sneaking Smile people food whenever they were alone together, and now that Smile has finally eaten it, he will not stop begging for food, much to Jeff's chagrin. Natalie will not admit to it, but she also struggled to stop feeding him since it made Smile so happy. Now Jeff has to deal with his large, talking hellhound yelling for people's food at dinner, and Natalie has to avoid Smile like the plague lest she deal with the same.

BEN is a big fan of Legos. He has completed a bunch of sets and treasures them all, including his precious Millennium Falcon, one of the largest sets he's completed, that took him so long to complete. He always asks people not to touch them, but as you can guess, that didn't happen. Toby has also developed a fascination with Legos, and one day when BEN was out, he decided to look at all of the ones BEN had built. He had picked up the Falcon and was moving it through the air as though it was flying, before tripping and dropping it, slamming it into the ground and breaking it apart. Of course, he felt so bad he told BEN immediately when he got home, sobbing and apologizing, and despite how upset he was BEN forgave him, but he did make Toby rebuild the whole thing himself so that he could understand why BEN was so protective over them and wanted them to be safe.

Slender rarely loses his cool over things, but there was one time the creeps will probably never forget. Slender is a collector of finer things, and one of those things is a very expensive set of plates passed down to him from his mother, which are very beautiful, and also very fragile. Slender does not like when things like this are messed with, so they try their best to avoid them, but accidents of course always happen. The boys were roughhousing one day, and Jeff accidentally slammed into Liu's side a little too hard, causing both of them to slip and slam into the case the plates are kept in, causing several of them to fall into the case and break. Upon discovering this Slender was incredibly angry, all but screaming at them as he lectured them on safety and respect in the mansion, although he did later apologize for how harsh he was. Jeff and Liu especially haven't roughhoused downstairs since, and neither has anyone else unless they're in a wide space away from anything special. Slender was able to get a couple of the plates pretty perfectly restored, but a few were lost, and he's still very bummed about it.

[starweaversguidetothehazbinhotel]

Okay I am taking the NSFW out of this prompt.

https://www.tumblr.com/worm-writes-hicfics/757388510855593984/hey-its-the-same-person-who-asked-about-a-luci

It may or may not be a hot take- but..

-~-~-

Lucifer can’t get hiccups.

A shame really-Because he finds them absolutely ADORABLE. They are the mortal version of a rubber duck squeak.

So tiny. So precious. So human.

Oh- He has tried to trigger his own hiccup-fit; but after a millennium or two, Lucifer has begrudgingly accepted that it’s never going to happen. It’s disappointing, but He is not mortal and his angelic body doesn’t need to randomly spasm in such a way. (After all this time, He’s still not even sure why humans bodies did it. Seriously- besides being cute- it served no purpose whatsoever)

The hotels resident radio demon however? For all his sense of propriety and self-control; is NOT immune to the condition.

A fact Lucifer gleefully discovered after a night of drunkenly swapping puns and terrible dad jokes with his daughter’s creepy hotelier.

Alastor’s laughter dissolving into a fit of unrefined snorts and hiccups and -“Apple of Eden, was that a bleat?”

Oh; that had no right being as adorable -interesting-as it was. And it was definitely not something Lucifer would exploit for his own amusement in the future.

Now he just needs to figure out how to make the sinner laugh like that again.

[phantomnecromancer]

⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪Female Geto Suguru⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪

2.2k words Content warning 18+, nsfw, smut, masturbation (f + f), oral (f! receiving), fingering (f! receiving) geto in this fic is a woman btw! pt2 soon Synopsis

you. In reality, Geto Suguru saw you as nothing more than a convenient tool, a pawn in her intricate plans to manipulate curses and bend them to her will. While you showered her with gratitude and adoration, she plotted and schemed behind that facade of benevolence, using your devotion to further her own dark ambitions.

Note from the author Oh my god, I'm so sorry for the delay, I completely forgot about this account. I've been really eager to write a fic inspired by a female version of Geto. It seems like there are lots of fanarts but no fics about her female version, so I decided to create my own. Like I said, English isn't my first language, so I apologize if there are any mistakes! I really plan to keep writing for Fem Geto in the future, and I even got inspired to write more about Cult Geto because there don't seem to be many out there. Anyway, enjoy, and see you in part 2!"

―Geto suguru who was banished from jujutsu high

She is the worst curse user ever existed in the ultimate millennium

―The warm lights of the temple flickered to life. It seemed that it hadn't been in place for long; rumors circulated that the owner of the old temple frequently moved their residence. No one knew why they did it or if there was any malice behind his actions. The people didn't seem to care, as long as the burdens on their shoulders, forces they couldn't comprehend, were lifted from them. Those who visited said the owner appeared to be a very sweet person, asking for nothing in return for taking away the heavy sorrows and pain they carried.

The reason for your visit was a last grasp at hope. After consulting doctor after doctor, nothing seemed to alleviate your suffering. Gradually, you began to lose your sanity, reaching a point of no return. You felt watched, attacked, and even saw things that you knew were impossible in the earthly realm. Your pain was so intense that the thought of ending your life started to seem not so terrible.

Then, amidst the small talk of the village elders  you heard about someone who, according to their words, was a god reincarnated on earth. She could lift all burdens, and her noble soul sought nothing in return. You never considered yourself a religious person; you believed it was a complete scam, a mockery of human beings to strip them of their money while maintaining a pure image in the name of a higher power. However, what did you have to lose? Your last will, crying out for a reason to live, a reason to continue existing in this earthly realm. It seemed that the location was uncertain and constantly changing, but it appeared to be on the outskirts of the village, along a road whose name you did not know.

The soles of your shoes echoed with each step as you drew closer. There was no longer any doubt; this was not the idle chatter of the old ones you had overheard a few nights ago. The temple stood before you, immaculate and serene, its presence undeniable. The fragrance of incense and sacred wood wafted through the air, enveloping you in a scent that stirred a nostalgic echo within the depths of your memory.

It was spring, the season of blossoms, and flowers adorned every corner of the sacred place, their vibrant hues adding a touch of grace to the temple's tranquility. Despite your skepticism and lack of faith in such matters, you could now understand the profound solace this sanctuary offered to its believers. The peace it bestowed upon them was almost palpable, a gentle whisper of calm in a world filled with chaos.

Now, standing before the grand wooden door, your nerves began to fray. Even in a place where the energy was supposed to be gentle and benevolent, you couldn't shake the tightness in your chest. You couldn't tell if it was due to your past calamities, that darkness that seemed to follow you everywhere, or if this place simply gave you an uneasy feeling.

As you pushed the door, the creak of the wood flooded your ears, though it was no louder than the pounding of your heart or the white noise ringing in your ears. Stepping inside, your eyes were immediately drawn to the temple's interior splendor. The walls were a rich saffron hue, and the corners were painted a beautiful chocolate color, so polished you were certain they were cleaned daily. Some walls were a deep olive, adorned with protective amulets. Before you stood a small staircase leading up to a dais with a sliding door. Your eyes wandered for a moment, your gaze fixed on the curling smoke of the incense placed on one of the shelves. It seemed there was someone there, yet your sight did not reveal them.

“Hello..?”

”―You spoke almost in a whisper, feeling like a frightened puppy with its tail between its legs. Your hands were trembling and sweaty as you tried to dry them on the fabric of your skirt.―

Moments passed in a silence so profound that the only sound was the creaking of the wood beneath your shoes. Then, the sliding door opened, revealing a female figure. She was dressed in traditional Japanese attire, a "Gojo-Kesa." The woman was quite tall, especially compared to you, the difference in height stark and almost intimidating.

Her long hair was tied in a mid-bun, so black it could easily blend with the darkness of night. Her ears were adorned with black plug expanders, adding a distinctive touch to her appearance.

Her hands were clasped together, hidden within the sleeves of her traditional attire. She walked with such elegance that it was astonishing how she made almost no sound at all. As she reached the dais, she gracefully lowered herself to the floor, one arm resting on a red bench. A smile without showing her teeth spread across her face, radiating kindness and appearing entirely devoid of any ulterior motive.

"It seems I do not recognize your face, miss. You have never been here before, have you?"

 ―said the woman. Her eyes fixed intently on you, and you could feel her gaze as if she were trying to read you completely, peering into your very soul. All the while, she maintained that smile. Despite her persistent smile, which initially seemed kind, you couldn't help but feel it was turning into something more sinister. You couldn't shake the nervousness that gripped you; you wanted to speak, but your vocal cords seemed to be playing a cruel joke on you.―

Your voice came out almost in a whisper, your head spinning and feeling how your legs gradually weakened. 

"N-no, I've never been here before," 

you felt the urge to escape, the air was thinning, and a pressure on your chest assured you it wasn't just your minor issue weighing you down.

"Headaches, dizziness, feeling watched, hallucinations, and paranoia isn’t it?" 

she said, the smile creeping never leaving her face, almost as if she were mocking you. Her purple eyes stared at you as if finding amusement in your distress.

"H-how do you know that?"  ―you stutter, your hands now clasped tightly in front of your body. ―

"Come closer to me, darling." her voice flowed like honey, contrasting with the mocking tone of her voice. Her hand gestured for you to approach her, her body still laying lazily towards the bench.

The sound of your shoes echoing on the polished wood was the only thing audible in the room. Her eyes never left yours, making her intimidating, yet her physical allure was undeniable. You had never felt physical attraction toward a woman before, especially someone who, with just a gaze, could make your stomach tighten and your head spin.

Her arm lazily lifted, as if she were swallowing something with her hand. Gradually, the heaviness that had been tormenting your shoulders began to dissipate. Your eyes widened in shock, a look of utter disbelief spreading across your face. Meanwhile, the woman's expression turned to one of satisfaction as she held what appeared to be a yellowish orange crystal ball.

"Better?" she says with a satisfied smile on her face, as if she knew and took pride in her powers. It was as if she saw you as an inferior being to her, as if you didn't matter, an empty shell.

You felt completely liberated, the weight on your shoulders finally gone, and that feeling was enough to overshadow your doubts and fear of the intimidating woman before you. 

"How..?"

――――――――――――――――――――――――――――――――――――――

―Weeks passed, and it seemed you couldn't stop wandering around the same place whenever you could. You were so grateful to that woman that you felt you owed her your life. Her kind smile always thanked you for the small gestures, or that’s what you thought. Whether bringing incense or flowers to decorate the temple. You even stayed to clean and polish those chocolate-colored wood floors you adored so much.

Geto detested you, hiding that with her usual kind smile, applying sanitizer whenever she could, when you weren't looking or after you'd left. Yet, in her own words, you were the best-behaved monkey she'd ever seen. It seemed you genuinely believed she had made that gesture to help you, to help others, and to lift that weight from their shoulders. The reality was different: absorbing curses to store them and use them to her advantage for her new world.

"Miss Geto, I brought flowers! Where should I put them?"―

You say happily.  almost adorably, holding a bouquet of lavender, Geto's favorite. Her gaze returns to you, briefly eyeing your petite figure, that fake smile without using her teeth that she usually gave you. She shifts her usual posture, spreading her arms to point with her finger at a white vase adorned with blue decorations.

Happily, you place the lavender bouquet in the vase, your smile never leaving your face. You even came often to pray, spreading gratitude to the strange woman you believed enjoyed your presence. You are so foolish, thinking she enjoyed those little conversations you had with her or thought well of you. She saw you as nothing more than a mere toy to be used, just a simple monkey and nothing more.

As you sat down to pray as usual, your knees on the floor, you cursed yourself for wearing such a short skirt. It rolled up to your thighs each time you bow your head to the ground, showing those white panties that you carefully chose every day you went to the temple, like she was going to see them. The thin fabric barely covering your puffy folds that were already soaking wet— poor baby It wasn't your fault— she just looked so pretty every time and you couldn’t resist yourself. You just wanted to catch her attention. You wanted her to see you, to know you existed. You lived for her praise and that small smile that tugged every time you remembered her favorite flower or her favorite scent.

You didn't know why you felt this way; you had never felt any physical or emotional attraction towards a woman before, but with her, it was different. You wanted her to see you, your heart pounded every time you saw her arrive or whenever her eyes lingered on you for just a moment longer. 

And for mere seconds, you felt her gaze. Your head was on the ground, hands placed in front of you, and you deliberately shifted your hips forward, causing your skirt to lift, revealing the view of soaked panties, showing the thin fabric almost completely transparent with how wet your core was. You could feel how everytime you shifted yourself to sit down the friction in between bows, leaving a wet strip of juices all over the floor. 

This action did not go unnoticed by the dark-haired woman, and for the first time, a slight smile crossed her lips. Her purple eyes carefully examined the girl's figure. Of course, she noticed your advances, every time you blushed when she looked at you for more than a few seconds, or when she gave you empty compliments but your eyes seemed to sparkle every time she said them.

I wouldn't lie to you; she didn't deny finding the power difference over you fascinating. You might even seem adorable to her in her own way. She might even consider you deserving in her new world—the only monkey she wouldn't mind having by her side.

When she saw you innocently stand up after pretending not to notice that you had done that just to get her attention, a small smile graced her lips. You innocently adjusted your skirt, and it seemed you didn't even bother to wipe that spot in the floor where your wet pussy grazed. 

As usual, you bid her farewell with an innocent smile, lifting your head to meet her gaze, hands clasped together as you bowed slightly. Your eyes eager to take in every detail of the girl, hoping for her usual smile in return.

——————————————————————————————————―――――――

—She didn't deny it; she had spent a long time doing absolutely nothing since leaving the academy. Her world was her only priority; she needed nothing else, and nothing would give her more pleasure than the outcome of a world without monkeys. However, in the darkness of her room, it seemed to be the opposite.

Hand pressed into her sensitive bud, her index finger doing circular motions as she cupped one of her breasts pinching her nipple. Her forehead glistened with sweat, her mouth slightly open, and her back slightly arched. She felt ashamed to stoop so low—how could she, a monkey, wield such power over her? Days had passed, yet she couldn't stop thinking about her. She couldn't understand if it was her lack of intimacy in these past 10 years or simply falling for her charms. It was pathetic and it made her entire worldview shift—everything she believed was right, that mental state and opinion she had taken so long to accept, reduced to a mess of moans as she put two digits into her pussy pumping in and out. She could feel her walls clench more with the thought of her tongue inside your pussy, drinking your sweet juices. Her fingers finding that sweet spot that could make you see the stars in mere seconds. Her mind raced as she remembered you bending, showing that pretty cunt of yours, only serving to feed her thoughts further.

Note author : This fanfic almost made my head explode! I'm the biggest hater when it comes to multi-part fics, but I swear I even fell asleep with the laptop on my legs. I hope to finish it soon, hopefully within this week, and not take a whole month just to complete one part.

©phantomnecromancer on tumblr. all rights reserved. do not copy, repost, modify or translate my works.

[loserboyfriendrjl]

modern au age gap jily headcanons <3

james is a football (soccer) player and junior league coach, and lily is a med school physician. having an accident, he ends up in the care of lily and her attending, who lets lily do a lot of the work on the case considering she’s in her residency programme

james fell in love with her eyes first of all; emerald green, she’s got him under her spell from the moment he took in her eyes (the fact that she was incredibly intelligent and curious didn’t help his case)

he starts telling her about his incident and how it happened and when he mentions his junior football league, they find out that james is coaching lily’s nephew (he probably shouldn’t have, but he laughed with her about how horribly competitive dudley is)

he asks for her number and he also happens to find her instagram (it takes every ounce of self control not to like every single post and highlight she’s ever posted)

when they first started dating, james takes her to his favourite italian restaurant, and he goes to pick lily up from her block of flats. she’s wearing a sleek, black dress, her hair is done in a slickback and she’s wearing gold jewellery. james falls in love all over again

they talk about her residency program and about how she can’t wait to be out of it and be an actual physician and about his junior football league and about their childhoods

they barely make it into lily’s apartment and make love on her couch

when they first stated dating, they travelled a lot together; tunisia, egypt, spain, anywhere they wanted to go, they did

james absolutely spoils her. he buys her anything she so much glances at longingly, they go on dates at expensive restaurants and every anniversary is a celebration for them

lily finds it so amusing that he’s born in the eighties while she’s so much nearer the new millennium (she always sends him millennial tiktoks and finds it the peak of humour)

after a few months of dating, james told lily about his son. if they were going to be serious, she needed to know; he was the most important thing to him, and if she couldn’t accept the fact that he was a father, it would have all been pointless, but he’d rather have that than dishonesty

needless to say, lily and him got along beautifully, and that was the moment when james was absolutely sure that lily was the woman for him

[monstersonscreen]

The various masks sculpted by John Friedlander, resident sculptor for the BBC Visual Effects Department before going freelance.

Both as a BBC employee and freelancer, Friedlander contributed several prosthetic masks for the original run of Doctor Who, inspiring later British prosthetic makeup artists such as Neill Gorton of Millennium FX who would recreate many of Friedlander's designs with modern prosthetic makeup techniques on the 2005 rebooted series.

Examples of Freidlander's work; Ice Warriors in 'The Seeds of Doom', Ogrons in 'Day of the Daleks', Sea Devils in, uh, 'The Sea Devils', Draconians in 'Frontier in Space', Sontarans in 'The Time Warrior' and 'The Sontaran Experiment', Davros in 'Genesis of the Daleks', , Vogans in 'Revenge of the Cybermen', Sutekh in 'Pyramids of Mars', Kraal in 'The Android Invasion', and Scaroth in 'City of Death'

[phantoms-world-and-more]

Clockwork being powerful

Clockwork was more powerful then the newer ghosts liked to think

Years ago when he wasent bound by a deal to the observants, he could do anything he desired,

Use his powers to gain territory, power, he could steer the timeline in the way he wanted and did so often

He was powerful, and he didnt care about any of the other ghosts, he wouldn't hesitate to put ghosts in a time loop for however long he wanted, he destroyed the forms of ghosts that it could take months to reform as much ectoplasm

So they went to their king, having a ghost that powerful being a rough was a disaster waiting to happen.

So the king and clockwork fought, and no one really knowes how long they fought, all that mattered was the victor

And everyone sighed in releif that it was their king.

The king bound clockwork to a deal, a deal that only the king of the ghost zone could change, that left clockwork to only have so much control.

They decided it was a good decision to make him watch the timeling and make sure it runs smoothly

Though clockwork made the observents be a bit more cautious when he not only didn't warn the king of his upcoming defeat but the didn't warn the zone as to what a tyrent pharia dark will be.

Clockwork laughs to himself as he waches what will come of the ghost zone under pharia darks rule

.

.

.

Being forced to wach the timeline for infinity gets boring really fast, as clockwork noticed so he decised to go a little further into the timeline

That was how he discovered that their would be a little revolution of pharia dark in a few decades, when he passed that point in time clockwork saw...

Saw the chaos that would befall the ghost zone, you can't just elect someone to be king, they must be chosen by the ghost zone herself otherwise you wont be king

Clockwork watched as the ghost zone became divided between the rulers, saw that their wouldn't truly be at peace for a long time

And that was enough for him, they decided their fear was a worthy reason to take his freedom, and restrain him simply because he had more control over himself.

Clockwork was glad the residents would get their karma in the centuries of chaos and tormenting they had ahead oh themselves

.

.

.

Then clockwork saw him

He couldn't be older than 15 and 13 at the youngest at the point in time

He had white hair and toxic ectoplasm eyes, eyes that showed power to those that knew, toxic green eyes, well this one will be interesting

He called himself phantom, and made it his responsibility to protect a nowhere town in Illinois called amity park

Clockwork would discover over watching phantom that he would indeed be interesting

When clockwork watched his past he was captured by the sapphire sky eyes he saw, he watched as Daniel grew up, and became a halfa.

That took some research to discover, a halfa was a once in a thousand millennium occurrence.

What clockwork was shocked to discover was that Daniels obssession wasent protection built on the helplessness he felt during life but space built on the wonder and adoration he has of them

A ghost that could control their obsession was almost as rare as the halfa himself

So he watched, watch him learn how to fight how he became enemies of the other halfa bacause of his obssession and possesive nature

Watched him defeat pharia dark...

He watched as Daniel, still a child, have the crown and ring forced apon him by the observents...

And watched as one of his decrees was to give him more control...

He couldn't break the deal no one can but he watched as Daniel gave him a piece of control back to his life

Saw how daniel became the best king the ghost zone has ever had, saw how he fought the government for their existence, saw how he even after years of torment, abuse, neglect and so much more

And he never stopped being pure

even with that much power he hever stopped being the pure and kind child he wanted to be

As clockwork rewatched what he could of Daniels life he came to a decision, that he'll become what Daniel needs

But for now, clockwork has a lot of time before his birth, might as well see whitch timeline is best for him

Only the best for his future ward

[self-loving-vampire]

In just a few weeks, Nintendo 3DS and Wii U owners will finally completely lose the ability to purchase new digital games on those aging platforms. The move will cut off consumer access to hundreds of titles that can't legally be accessed any other way.

But while that's a significant annoyance for consumers holding onto their old hardware, current rules mean it could cause much more of a crisis for the historians and archivists trying to preserve access to those game libraries for future generations.

"While it's unfortunate that people won't be able to purchase digital 3DS or Wii U games anymore, we understand the business reality that went into this decision," the Video Game History Foundation (VGHF) tweeted when the eShop shutdowns were announced a year ago. "What we don't understand is what path Nintendo expects its fans to take, should they wish to play these games in the future."

Libraries and organizations like the VGHF say their game preservation efforts are currently being hampered by the Digital Millennium Copyright Act (DMCA), which generally prevents people from making copies of any DRM-protected digital work.

The US Copyright Office has issued exemptions to those rules to allow libraries and research institutions to make digital copies for archival purposes. Those organizations can even distribute archived digital copies of items like ebooks, DVDs, and even generic computer software to researchers through online access systems.

But those remote-access exemptions explicitly leave out video games. That means researchers who want to access archived game collections have to travel to the physical location where that archive resides—even if the archived games themselves were never distributed on physical media.

[numinousmysteries]

Handfesta

He wants to marry her in a primeval fashion that transcends man and law and God.

MSR/S7ish/Explicit

@today-in-fic [on Ao3]

Although they’d been involved, entwined, inseparable, cosmically linked (take your pick, really) for years, he feared actually being with her would mean making promises he couldn’t keep. He’d want to give her the world: A husband who didn’t feel the urge to drive across the country at the mere suggestion of strange lights in the sky. A home to fill with as many blue-eyed babies as she wanted. Or, at the very least, a dog.

But he can’t marry her. They can’t live together. The babies are a moot point—an especially painful one after their failed IVF attempt. And look what happened to poor Queequeg.

In the end, though, pretending he didn’t love her proved more painful than admitting that he did.

***

1.

If the world didn’t end in the early hours of the new millennium, it certainly shifted on its axis. The sun had yet to rise on the first day of the year and Dana Scully had already let him kiss her, insisted on staying the night at his apartment on the flimsiest of pretenses (to look over his barely fractured radius), and is now—assuming he isn’t hallucinating—naked, astride him, and riding his cock.

He isn’t ready to rule out a drug-fueled hallucination quite yet, although this feels pretty fucking real. Underneath the fingers of his one useful hand, the delicate skin on her hip feels soft and warm. Her scent envelopes him like a halo. Moving his thumb to the wet bud of her clit elicits more of the breathy moans that he could listen to for the rest of his life.

She throws her head back, exposing her pearlescent neck. Earlier on his couch, he lavished the skin there with hungry kisses as he fumbled with the buttons on her blouse. She pulled away briefly to put him out of his misery by freeing herself from her clothing. Then she dragged him by his good arm into the bedroom. She helped him out of his jeans but they didn’t bother getting his t-shirt off with his sling in the way so he kept it on as she got on top of him. The thin gray fabric covering his chest makes him feel oddly chaste like an actress who kept her bra on during sex scenes.

There’s nothing chaste about the way Scully is writhing above him, though. She’s so wet that he’d be nervous she'd slip off of him on each upstroke if she wasn’t also clinging to him so tightly. They shouldn’t fit together this well—fuck, they shouldn’t even get along—but they’ve seen phenomena far more difficult to explain than this, so why not?

She folds forward to kiss him and he sucks greedily at her mouth. Her lips are plump, swollen from the barrage of kisses he assailed her with the moment the apartment door shut behind them. Their New Year’s kiss at the hospital had been restrained, but it was enough to crack open the floodgates between them. They barely spoke on the drive back to his place, both sharply attuned to the new dimension of their partnership. He’d become an expert at reading her moods from across a car’s center console. He knew when she was angry or tired or hungry. Now he knew how it felt to sit beside her and feel raw need emanating off of her. And he knew she sensed it from him as well.

He wants this to last forever, to live in an endless time loop of watching her perfect breasts bounce in sync with the rhythm of her hips and her face contorting in pleasure. He wants to take up permanent residence here and have all his mail forwarded in care of Dana Scully’s glistening, velvety vise of a vagina (although she’d certainly shoot him again if she heard him say anything of the sort out loud). But they’re both so close now and when she arches her pale belly toward him and reaches back to stroke the seam between his rigid balls, he lets go. Seven years of pent up desire rush out of him in desperate hot spurts. She comes in stride, squeezing him dry as her inner walls frantically contract in pleasure.

Once he feels all of her muscles surrounding him relax, he half-expects she’ll disappear like a phantom in the night, the delirium of a love-starved man. She lifts up her hips and rolls over next to him. With her chest flush against his side he can feel the hammering of her heart. Alive, alive, alive is all he hears with each beat. He’s come too close to losing her too many times. The simple mechanism of blood pumping through her body is a holy sound to him. A prayer, an incantation, a vow.

“Let’s get married,” he says, testing his luck.

He suspects she’ll blame it on the painkillers, the orgasm-induced euphoria, the sudden rush of blood away from his brain, but instead she says, “Okay.” Her voice is quiet yet resolute and he questions if he’s been propelled into an alternate reality.

“Okay?” he asks, turning to her and squinting in disbelief.

“That surprises you?”

“Scully, I’ve seen you take more time deciding what you want from a vending machine.”

She shrugs. “You’re my best friend. The only person I’d want to spend every day of my life with. We’ve already made it through the sickness and health part more times than I’d like to count. And we love each other.”

She ticks off the reasons with the same confidence she’d use to explain why a pair of tracks in the woods couldn’t possibly belong to a sasquatch. She loves him. In the first two hours of the new millennium Dana Scully has kissed him, fucked him, and said she loved him. Now he’s even less sure he isn’t hallucinating.

“You know we can’t…really…” he trails off, feeling the heft of reality settle back over him like a dark cloud heavy with rain.

“I know,” she says. She bites her lips and glances down. “But we can be married in all the ways that count.”

“You don’t want a big church wedding? A cake with fondant flowers? A taffeta gown?”

“Taffeta, Mulder? Really?” she smirks.

“You’ll have to excuse me,” he says. “I haven’t been to a wedding in at least a decade. I suppose bridal fashion has evolved.”

“Clearly.” She smiles. “But I’m serious. Marriage is a union based on love, companionship, and trust. We have all of that. I don’t care about the window dressings.”

“We’ve even consummated that union,” he says, trailing his fingertips along her upper arm.

“Yes, we have,” she responds. She rests her palm on the flat of his abdomen just below his t-shirt hem. “For what, I hope, will be the first of many, many times.”

“Wait ‘til you see what I can do with two hands.”

2.

“You were married before,” she says, somewhere on an empty stretch of highway. Of course she brings it up when he’s stuck behind the wheel and can’t escape.

“How did you—”

“The Gunmen told me.” She’s staring shyly at her hands. It’s the first time they’re speaking about Diana since her death.

“Shit, I’m sorry, Scully. I should’ve told you. But it only lasted a few months. I was young and stupid. I convinced her to go down to the courthouse mostly because I was terrified she would leave me. Not that it made a difference. I only told my parents after she fled to Berlin and I needed help from their lawyers to get an annulment. They were scared she’d try to get a big settlement, but I just wanted to forget about it.”

“It’s okay,” she says, still examining her lap and not looking at him. “We met as adults. We’ve been in serious relationships before. There’s no reason to be ashamed.”

“Does it bother you?”

“Honestly,” she turns to face him now. “Not as much as I thought it would.”

“Scully, what we have is so much more—” he pauses to find the words but comes up short.

“I know,” she says, bringing her hand to rest on his thigh. “I know.”

After a few miles of silence she asks slyly, the corners of her mouth arcing into a smile, “Did she wear taffeta?”

“I don’t remember,” he says, and it’s true. An eidetic memory and you’d think he’d remember what his bride wore on what was supposed to be the most important day of his life, but he draws a blank. All he can picture is staring at the gold band she slipped on his finger and trying to convince himself it meant he’d never be alone again.

3.

She has to know he’s up to something when he starts applying his Socratic style to global wedding traditions instead of astral projection or lizard-eyed cryptids.

“Did you know the bouquet toss originated in medieval times and was meant to serve as a distraction so the bride and groom could slip off to their private chambers unnoticed after the ceremony?” He asks her on an airplane on the way back from Chicago.

“I know my cousin Nora once elbowed Missy in the gut to push her out of the way so she could catch one.”

“Ouch,” he winces. “How’d that work out for Nora?”

“She actually did get married the following year to some guy she met on a singles’ cruise. Last I heard, though, he ran away with his secretary and left her with reams of credit card debt,” she says. “And he went bald.”

“You win some, you lose some,” he says. “Did you know wedding rings are traditionally worn on the fourth finger because of the belief that a vein in that finger ran directly to the heart?”

“Well, that’s just inaccurate,” she asserts with a smug smile.

“Did you know that Congolese newlyweds aren’t allowed to smile for the entirety of their wedding day? Or that brides in ancient Rome used to paint their faces red?”

“I did not,” she says, scooting closer to him.

“In the Chinese Yugur culture, the groom shoots his bride with three headless arrows before the ceremony then breaks the arrows in half to symbolize unbroken love.”

“I already shot you once, I don’t think you need to return the favor.”

He playfully reaches for his shoulder and winks at her. “Jews, of course, break a glass for the same reason, while the Greeks smash plates. Did your parents do the whole full Catholic mass hoopla?”

She shakes her head. “My father’s commanding officer married them on base in Norfolk. We pretend not to do the math, but it was only six months before Bill was born.”

Mulder whistles. “Oh, Maggie. Remind me to thank her again the next time I see her.”

“For what?”

“For everything. For you.”

“What about your parents?” She asks.

“Oh, the Kuipers-Mulder wedding was the social event of the summer of ‘59. I think some distant Kennedy cousin even showed up. My mother’s parents didn’t like that he was nearly two decades older than her, and my father’s parents didn’t like that she was Jewish but they had enough money to throw a nice party so it all evened out. Not that any of that pomp and circumstance did them any good when the shit hit the fan.”

“And yet you still believe in marriage,” she ponders.

“I believe in marrying you.”

Even though they have a row to themselves on the plane and everyone around them seems to be asleep or absorbed in a book, he’s still surprised when she leans over to kiss him on the lips. It’s a quick, close-mouthed peck but still more than she’d typically allow in public. They interlock their fingers under the arm rest and he wonders what he ever did to deserve her.

4.

They’re curled toward each other on the motel bed like a pair of parentheses, too wired to sleep. He tells her about seeing the spirit of his sister in a field of dead children. She kisses his brow and pulls his head into her chest. She thankfully doesn’t suggest his vision is the result of a mind warped by grief and stress. The silk collar of her pajama top darkens with his tears and she holds him closer. He’s been cold for so long and her touch is thawing him.

He first told her about his sister in a motel room not unlike this one. Even then, Samantha had already been dead. She’d already been dead when Scully embraced his quest as her own. She’d already been dead when Scully was abducted, when Scully lost her chance at motherhood, when Scully nearly died in a hospital bed from a cancer that had been given to her. He finds it’s this that stings the most—that he made her suffer for nothing.

“She’s been gone this whole time,” he whispers into the hollow of her throat.

“I’m so sorry, Mulder.” She presses her warm lips to the crown of his head, her words muffled in his hair.

It’s been a long day and he can smell her skin and sweat through faded layers of powdery deodorant and woodsy perfume. He likes that she chooses to smell like a forest and not a flower. He likes her natural scent even more.

He’s an orphan now. The last of his kind. And yet, cradled in her arms, this moment feels like a beginning and not an ending. The ties that held him to this earth have been severed and it’s only her firm grasp that’s keeping him from floating away.

“Be my family, Scully,” he says, raising his head up to the pillow so he can meet her gaze.

“Always,” she swears. Her lower lip is quivering and her eyelids are heavy. New tendrils extend, stretching between them, twisting around and around each other, serpentine. They’re interwoven and he never wants to break away. He can stand to lose anything except her.

He kisses her lips softly and feels her starting to cry. Tears stream down their cheeks and it’s impossible to tell which are hers and which are his. She is his home and everything about her feels right. Deepening the kiss, he rolls on top of her.

She brings one small hand to his chest to stop him. “Are you sure, Mulder?”

She asked him the same question in his apartment after autopsying his mother. That night he was seeking numbness and she, rightfully so, wouldn’t give it to him. She bore witness to his pain, holding him as he wept and slipped into a fitful sleep. Tonight, though, he is sure. He’s coming to her purely out of love, to rededicate himself to her.

He nods solemnly and she brings her hands to either side of his face, pulling him in so she can probe his mouth with her tongue. The taste of diner coffee lingers under the artificial mint of her toothpaste.

He takes his time unbuttoning her pajama shirt, revealing the milky skin of her chest. Tracing a trail down the valley between her breasts with his tongue, he pauses at the scar on her abdomen. It’s a reminder of her fragility and her strength. He kisses it to pay tribute to the duality of her nature.

She gasps when he reaches the hem of her pajama bottoms. Lifting her hips up, she lets him ease the silk down her legs and slim ankles. Her presence feels so powerful and all-encompassing that he sometimes forgets how small her actual physical form is. Her feet are so delicate he can’t believe they have the endurance to carry her to crime scenes and autopsy bays and wherever he asks her to follow him. He kisses the arch of each one in gratitude and then lets her pajama pants drop to the floor.

As he works his way back up, she starts spreading her thighs apart in anticipation. He can feel the heat of her sex radiating on his face like the sun before he even reaches the space between her legs. He inhales deeply and takes in her intoxicating essence before dragging his tongue up from the folds of her labia to the nub of her clit. Her thighs tighten around him and she rakes her nails through his hair.

“Mulder,” she begs of him quietly, his name an invitation on her lips.

He answers by latching onto her sex with his mouth, sucking and releasing her clit with increasing speed and intensity. Breathing feels unnecessary when he’s devouring her like this. He can’t be sure if the swirl of dizziness in his head stems from a lack of oxygen or a surge of adrenaline. Either way, he doesn’t come up for air until he sees her clenching the sheets between her fists in his peripheral vision and hears the high-pitched whimper from the back of her throat that lets him know she’s close. He loves making her come this way, knowing he’s able to give her this much-needed release, but now she’s tugging on the sleeves of his t-shirt, pulling him up to meet her.

Rising to his knees, he sheds his shirt and peels off his boxers, freeing the erection that’s been throbbing to the beat of her moans. He pulls a pillow from the other side of the bed and slides it under her hips.

She reaches down between them, taking his length in her hand and confidently guiding him inside her. They’ve done this 12 times in his bed, nine times in hers, thrice on his couch, and now in their sixth motel room (the eidetic memory works when it counts) and yet each time feels like a new discovery.

Tonight feels endowed with a singular significance. He has finally laid his sister, and therefore his quest for her, to rest, and can give himself to Scully fully. The rules feel like loose suggestions now. Why not quit the bureau and run away with her? Why not stake his claim to her in the light of day and marry her in front of everyone they know?

But he’s getting ahead of himself. Right now, there is only this moment—only their bodies gliding together in this timeless dance. They are prehistoric cave dwellers mating on a pelt of wolf fur. They are medieval peasants copulating under the thatched roof of their cottage. They are federal agents making love on the polyester duvet of a budget motel room in Sacramento, California. Plunging into her, he knows he has loved her in every lifetime.

Their bodies find a rhythm that feels as natural as their age-old verbal tête-à-tête. Perhaps after all this time it shouldn’t be such a surprise that they’re so good at this.

“What?” she asks, breathily, and it tears him from his stream of consciousness.

“Hmm?”

“What are you smiling about?”

He must’ve had a shit-eating grin on his face by the way she’s staring at him. It makes him laugh and he collapses on top of her and chuckles into the side of her neck.

“I just can’t believe how lucky I am,” he whispers into her ear.

“We finally found something you don’t believe in,” she says.

He doesn’t know if he wants to smile or cry or keep thrusting into her. Somehow, he manages to do all three and soon they’re both coming hard and likely earning a noise complaint in the process. Fuck it, he thinks, let everyone hear.

After he slides out of her, they’re too mentally and physically exhausted to move so they stay lying atop the covers side by side. The window air conditioning unit kicks on, cooling the damp sweat that coats their skin. Feeling the goose pimples rise on her skin, he maneuvers them onto their sides so he can hold her from behind.

“I officiated a wedding for two of Sam’s Barbie dolls once,” he tells her. The scene surfaces from the hazy sea of his memory. It was months before her disappearance. They’d heard their parents fighting nearly every night that summer and he imagined Sam’s precocious mind grappling with the knowledge that marital bonds could be so brittle.

“Yeah?” she asks hesitantly.

He wants her to know that it’s alright, that talking about his sister feels lighter now.

“Well, I started anyway but I wasn’t taking it seriously so she made me stop and kicked me out of her room.”

“She couldn’t have asked for a better big brother,” she says. He wraps his arms around her and chooses to believe.

5.

His lungs are mostly healed, although he isn’t cleared for active duty yet, when he insists they head back to North Carolina for a “personal mission” over the weekend. She doesn’t want him to risk flying so she agrees to let him pick her up early on Saturday morning for the long drive. They’re on the road before the sun rises.

“I know you’re feeling better, Mulder, but you’re really not up for anything too vigorous,” she says as he steers the car south.

“Well, it’s up to you how vigorous you plan on being on our wedding night.”

He looks over to find her eyebrows predictably raised.

“Open the glove compartment, Scully.”

He takes his eyes off the road just long enough to watch her remove the pamphlet for the Irish-themed bed and breakfast in the foothills of the Blue Ridge Mountains and the braided ivory rope he’d sent away for.

“What is this, Mulder?” Her skeptical tone is replaced by a light, hopeful voice as she examines the rope.

“It’s for our handfasting ceremony.”

Looking over at her again, he sees even more questions in her eyes.

He doesn’t tell her he’s chosen this because their bond is so pure and elemental that he wants to marry her in a primeval fashion that transcends man and law and God; that he wants to tie his soul to hers like the stars are tethered to the sky; that he needs to know that even when their bodies have long decayed and reverted back to base matter, even when the sun has burned out and the universe has collapsed back within itself, that their essences will still be bound together.

He only shrugs and says, “It’s Celtic. Like your ancestors.”

Her smile breaks his heart wide open and he knows she understands.

“We missed May Day—you know, the feast of Beltane, the lusty month, and all of that—but Ewan says the old Neolithic hunter gatherers weren’t too picky about auspicious dates.”

“Ewan?”

“Byers’ cousin. He owns the B&B and does these things from time to time” he says. “But don’t worry, the other two Stooges don’t know anything. I didn’t want to hear Langly’s spiel about the evil capitalist roots of marriage—nor did I have the heart to let Frohike know you’re officially off the market.”

“I appreciate that,” she says with a toothy grin.

“I hope you’re not upset I sprung it on you like this,” he says.

“Oh, Mulder,” she sighs. “A pagan ceremony preceded by a mysterious seven-hour road trip with a 5 a.m. wakeup call is the only way I would ever expect to marry you. Truly, if you got down on one knee with a diamond ring after a candlelit dinner I’d probably immediately order a CT scan to check you for a cerebral hemorrhage.”

The old stone home that houses the B&B looks straight out of a fairy tale. It’s drizzling when they pull up and he starts humming a few bars of Alanis Morisette. She catches his eye and he winks at her.

“Rain is considered good luck in Italy and India,” he says.

He fetches their luggage from the trunk of the car and follows her inside. There’s no check-in desk, just a cozy living room with overstuffed floral furniture, a wood-burning fireplace, and Ewan waiting for them.

He’s only a little disappointed when Byers’ cousin turns out to be a gentle-looking older man dressed in a flannel shirt and hiking boots and not a bearded druid priest clad in white robes and a crown of antlers.

“Agents Mulder and Scully,” he says, shaking their hands. “It’s such a pleasure to meet you. John has told me so much about you. I’m honored to be a part of your sacred day. Why don’t I show you to your room and give you some time to freshen up before the ceremony?”

He leads them up a creaky flight of stairs to their room. It isn’t much larger than their standard roadside motel room but has far more character. A linen bedspread with Celtic knots woven in emerald thread covers the four-poster bed and there’s a wooden rocking chair in the corner that looks like it’d made the journey from the old country.

“Take your time,” Ewan says as he heads out. “You can meet me downstairs whenever you’re ready.”

After he closes the door behind him, Scully crosses the room to envelope Mulder in an embrace, resting her head under his chin.

“This is perfect,” she mumbles against the fabric of his sweater. “Thank you.”

They take turns using the bathroom and then head back downstairs. Ewan leads them through the B&B’s tidy eat-in kitchen and out the back door.

“Did any ancient mystics speak of the significance of a bride wearing jeans?” Scully whispers to Mulder as they follow Ewan to a clearing in the woods.

“I’m sure if any of them ever got a chance to see what your ass looked like in that pair, white dresses never would’ve made the cut.”

They’re walking hand-in-hand and she gently nudges his upper arm with her shoulder. After months of playing platonic in public, getting to touch her out in the open like this—even with the woods and John Byers’ cousin as their only witnesses—feels like taking a deep breath after being submerged underwater for too long.

“We’ve made it,” Ewan says, leading them to the center of a circle made from small stones. He guides them to stand face to face and take each other’s right hand.

Mulder recalls the first time they touched—shaking her hand on the morning she entered his office. He remembers her fresh-faced energy and how she met all his theories and hunches with fully formed counterarguments; how they improvised the steps of a dance that would become second nature over the years. Locking eyes over their hands, she smiles at him and he knows she’s reliving the same moment.

Despite whatever attempts she made to tame her hair into submission back in DC, the humidity and light drizzle in the woods bring out the soft frizz he loves to run his fingers through. He thinks of a downpour in an Oregon graveyard, the first time the peal of her laugh struck a chord in his soul.

He hands the rope over to Ewan who starts wrapping it around their linked hands and explaining the meaning of the ceremony. The words—commitment, love, intention—wash over him. He knows he could spend years studying the OED, the works of Byron or Neruda, and still never find a combination of letters that describe how much he loves the woman standing in front of him. For two people who rely on words to explain, argue, dispute, and affirm, they’re shockingly bad at expressing what they mean to one another using language. Or perhaps they’d reached as far as words could take them and only stumbled when they had to take the next step without any.

Ewan has looped the cord around their wrists and tied it in a string of nautical-looking knots that make Mulder wonder if Scully is reminded of her father. Ewan has them repeat a series of vows to each other. The words echo through their lips but Mulder knows they can only begin to encapsulate the commitment they’ve already made to each other. There’s no point in the ceremony where they’re instructed to kiss, but he does it anyway when Ewan stops speaking, leaning in to open her lips with his and feel the slick warmth of her mouth. Does it feel different now that they’re married (at least in some spiritual sense)? He isn’t sure, but he plans on conducting more experiments once they’re back in their room alone.

They break apart and Ewan looks up from the ground where he’d been staring in respectful silence.

“A first handfasting represents an engagement or a trial marriage. The ceremony is repeated in a year and a day to formalize the union,” Ewan says. “It’s tradition, I promise. Not just a way to stir up repeat business.”

“Well, same time next year, I suppose. Put us in the books,” Mulder says, looking down at their bound hands and then up at Scully’s wet eyes. She gives him the softest smile and a gentle laugh. A year, a day, and a millennium from now and, he knows, they will still be tied together.

They wear no rings. They sign no papers. Their union isn’t documented in any official records. By the time they get back inside and warm up with cups of coffee, the faint lines left on their wrists by the cord have faded. The interstitial fluid under the skin has redistributed itself, restoring equilibrium, but their internal balance has been forever recalibrated.

***

A year and a day passes. He dies and she brings him back to life. She gives birth to their son and then begs him to leave.

Their anniversary does not find him reunited with her in the foothills of the Blue Ridge Mountains but alone in the desert of New Mexico. Of the few personal belongings he took when he fled, the one he holds most dear is the braided ivory rope she pressed into his hands on their last day together. I’ll bring it back, he vowed.

The cord is yellowed from the oils of his fingertips constantly worrying over it and the dust of the desert, but he holds it tighter on this day. He doesn’t know when he’ll be able to safely return to her and to William, but he intends to keep this promise.

[jollmaster]

asile!Hazbin Hotel, pt. 4: where (and who) it all began

• timeline of main events is five to six years before the end of the second millennium after the birth of Christ (8420s AWC)

• the events develop gradually and take noticeably more time

• Charlie isn't the only daughter of Lucifer and Lilith, but the youngest

• perhaps the most compassionate among younger generation

• Charlie doesn't have much power compared to father, but she uses it wisely; when she's angry and says «my name is Charnett bat Samael, daughter of Lilith and the Morning Star, shield of the penitent, by the power given to me by blood right I command», it means it's best to obey

• Charlie isn't founding a hotel, but an asile/sanctuary (ἄσυλον, sanctuarium, holy place), using the right of sanctuary

• asile is a place where sinners not only can take refuge from Adam during the Harvest, but is also untouchable by exorcists, hellborns and those who have authority over them

• Charlie came to the idea of protecting mortals when she was old enough and spent decades watching human suffering (first with indifference, then with curiosity, finally with sympathy)

• the turning point was a hunt in Wood of the Self-Murderers near Dis, where she heard crying of a sinner who was turned into a walnut bush

• main gang isn't just the residents (there are many residents in asile, both temporary and permanent), they're the close circle of trusted ones, all of whom help in one way or another

• Charlie isn't in a relationship with anyone and at least at this point in her life isn't interested in romance: she's married solely to her mission

• Seviathan von Eldritch, her non-husband, helped in foundation

• barely every local hellborn twists a finger at a temple about such weird initiatives

• sinners, initially suspicious of Charlie, eventually come to see her as their savior

asile!Hazbin Hotel, pt. 1: about creation and chronology

asile!Hazbin Hotel, pt. 2: about powerful creatures

asile!Hazbin Hotel, pt. 3: first people

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[talonabraxas]

The Epic of Narasimha: Triumph of Devotion and the Fierce Avatar of Lord Vishnu

In Indian Mythology, specifically the Bhagavata Purana, the narrative revolves around the divine incarnations and the clash with the demon king Hiranyakashipu. The story begins with the visit of the Kumaras, sons of Lord Brahma, to Vaikunth Loka to meet Lord Vishnu.

However, their meeting was obstructed by Jaya and Vijaya, the gatekeepers of Vaikuntha, who conveyed that Lord Vishnu was in a state of rest, believing that they were protecting their Lord from disturbance.

This incident infuriated the four Kumaras, leading them to curse the gatekeepers to be reborn as mortals on Earth and experience the suffering of ignorance. As a consequence, Jaya and Vijaya took birth as the sons of Diti and Sage Kashyap during the Satya Yuga.

The two brothers, Hiranyakashipu and Hiranyaksha, jointly referred to as the Hiranyas, grew up and embarked on distinct paths. Hiranyaksha engaged in relentless penance, ultimately seeking a boon that rendered him invulnerable. His specific conditions included being impervious to harm from any man, beast, deity, or demon, at all times of day or night, and in all locations, whether indoors, outdoors, on the earth, or in the sky.

Brahma, initially hesitant, granted this wish with the word “Tathastu” before vanishing.

Simultaneously, Hiranyaksha, the younger sibling, initiated a reign of terror and chaos, tormenting humans, deities, and innocent beings. In response, the 33 Koti gods sought the aid of Lord Vishnu, who incarnated as Lord Varaha to eradicate the adharma caused by Hiranyaksha and restore balance to the Earth. An intense battle ensued between Varaha and Hiranyaksha, lasting a millennium, with Varaha emerging victorious and restoring the Earth’s stability.

Amidst these events, while Hiranyakashipu was engaged in severe penance to secure a boon from Lord Brahma, Indra seized the opportunity to attack his kingdom and destroy his residence, even attempting to abduct Queen Kayadhu, who was pregnant with a child.

Sage Narada intervened at this juncture, offering protection and guidance to Kayadhu and her unborn child, Prahlad. Prahlad, nurtured on stories of Lord Vishnu narrated by Narada, developed transcendent love for the Lord from a tender age.

Upon returning to his kingdom, Hiranyakashipu, keen to spend time with his son, discovered that Prahlad was fervently praising Lord Vishnu. Enraged, Hiranyakashipu subjected Prahlad’s teacher to punishment, unable to tolerate his son’s devotion to Lord Vishnu, whom he regarded as an adversary.

Hiranyakashipu’s subsequent attempts to influence Prahlad and turn him against Lord Vishnu proved fruitless. Frustrated, he ordered demons to crush his son beneath an elephant, but Prahlad emerged unscathed. They attempted various means, including poison, starvation, and enchantments, but Prahlad remained unharmed, protected by his unwavering devotion.

In a final bid to eliminate the devotee of his adversary, Hiranyakashipu sought the assistance of his sister, Holika, who possessed the ability to remain unharmed in fire. Holika was instructed to sit in the fire with Prahlad on her lap to incinerate him into ashes.

Unperturbed by the imminent danger, Prahlad chanted the name of Lord Vishnu, and as the flames intensified, he remained untouched, while Holika perished in the fire.

This episode gave rise to the tradition of Holika Dahan, observed the day before Holi.

Following these events, Prahlad refused to recognize Hiranyakashipu as his father and affirmed that Lord Vishnu was omnipresent. In a fit of rage, Hiranyakashipu pointed to a pillar in his palace and asked Prahlad if his Lord Vishnu was present there. To this, Prahlad confidently responded that the Lord was indeed present.

Incensed, Hiranyakashipu approached the pillar with his mace and struck it. The pillar shattered with a burst of light and a deafening roar, revealing the fearsome form of Lord Narasimha, a half-man, half-lion incarnation of Lord Vishnu. Narasimha appeared with disheveled hair, a formidable mustache, and menacing teeth, his claws resembling sharp blades poised to rend the demon into two.

Ferocious and unrestrained, Narasimha roared in anger, while the gods from heaven bore witness to the spectacle. Hiranyakashipu attempted to flee the palace to escape Narasimha’s wrath but was apprehended by the divine incarnation. Narasimha placed him on his thighs, neither on the earth nor in the sky, and eviscerated him with his razor-sharp claws.

Even after the demon’s demise, Narasimha remained uncalmed, impervious to the efforts of Lord Brahma, Lord Shiva, and Goddess Lakshmi to soothe his fury. It was only when Prahlad approached Narasimha, touched his feet, and requested a boon that the avatar’s anger subsided.

Prahlad, acknowledging Narasimha as his Lord, was granted the title of king and instructed to rule with devotion and righteousness. Humbly, Prahlad requested to be free from worldly desires, a wish Narasimha kindly granted.

[acupofqueercoffee]

“Offer me the deathless death”

Andromache the Scythian x Female Reader

request ( found here ) by @nightly-polaris

|･ω･) go wild, you said and go wild, i did. i included as much of the provided details as i could. hopefully, you’ll find it agreeable

cw : 18+ 18+ 18+ 18+ 18+ // dubcon-ish // ✂️ ✂️😼 // overstimulation

casually quoting hozier for all my andromache fics. that fight scene on the plane and the way she grabbed nile by the jaw tho 😩 wanted to incorporate it in a fic ever since i saw it, and fucking finally did

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Hallucinations. A fever dream.

Anything but reality is what you tell yourself, and what a job you have been doing thus far! Fantastically foolish if nothing else. Cocooned in a bubble of lies that spill forth none other than your lips, and illusions that are carved by your very mind itself, you harbour not a droplet of doubt that the reality in front of your eyes is nothing but bona fide.

People after all are the most masterful at fooling themselves.

Ensnared in a web of deceit weaved by your fingers lie no hapless preys, but you, yourself, who revel in the sweet taste of false security as you do in the richness of the creamy warm chocolate drink that coats your tongue.

Even though business in your shop today is notably satisfactory if not the most profitable, it is not the digits that matter to you the most. Your little shop is borne purely out of your profound passion and desire; obligation is out of the picture. It is where you feel the most at home, doing what you love while bathed in the aroma of freshly ground coffee and cocoa.

Amidst brewing a cup of americano as per the order of a customer with stylish sun-glasses and a striking jawline, your dress is accidentally soiled. Little do you know, the scatter of black and bitter constellations along the pristine white of your sleeve is merely the dawn of a darker, more bitter happening.

──────── ༻✿༺ ────────

Finding you has been relatively easy.

When the familiar dreams begin plaguing her usually dreamless nights, a telltale sign of a new immortal on the horizon, Andromache has half a mind to ignore them altogether. Had she not seen the places that stoke recognition amongst the wild tapestry of images, she certainly would have. But alas, her target, as it so happens, is no stranger to her. By no means does the Scythian know you. Nor you, the Scythian. New immortals bring together with them an assortment of risks, one of them being the exposure of their secret. It is with such knowledge in mind that Andromache feels obliged to set out for you despite her reluctance. You living in the neighbourhood of her temporary place of residence only makes the search all the more convenient.

Being a warrior for many a millennium has developed a vast array of tactical traits into personal trademarks. Those that once upon a time had had to be mindfully exercised, now occur as easily and effortlessly as breathing, involuntary more often than not. Beneath the dark shades of a spectacle perched on a well-defined slope of a nose lies a pair of sage green eyes, scanning the vicinity of wherever she goes like an eagle on a hunt. They have landed on it then, during her visit to a store, standing adjacent to it is a cafe in the name of “Trouvaille”. The Scythian is not one to be easily intrigued, but what a lie it would be to say that the charming building with its vintage air and curious name had not tickled her fancy. Or its owner whom she has noticed is all sweet smiles and dulcet eyes.

Eyes which she has only seen from afar then, now she stares directly into them. Protected by the shades, the intense greens study you with brazen openness, roaming all over your frame, from the tiny clips that decorate your cascading hair like colourful Christmas lights to the butterfly pendant that dangles from a simple silver chain, hovering directly above the dip of your throat, from the little flower prints on your dress, the skirt of which softly caresses your thighs, to occasional glimpse of seemingly soft flesh that teases the Scythian, left uncovered by a pair of white thigh-highs.

It is retrieving you that is the hard part.

Immediately upon arrival, Andromache has read your features for perhaps a trace of recognition. You paying the Scythian a visit in her dreams can only mean one thing after all: that she, too, must have appeared in yours. Yet, no widening of your eyes greet her, only a smile that does not waver.

“Hi, welcome to cafe Trouvaille. What can I get you?”

“Americano will do. Hot.”

Beside the fact that it is broad day light, a few people roam the place. As capable as Andromache is of manhandling you, it is not in her best interest to attract attention. The situation calls for patience. Rushing will spell only more trouble at best. Wait she must, and so, wait she does.

Leisurely, the Scythian sips her coffee, studying you periodically as she does so. It is after some minutes have ticked by, the cup of coffee sitting on the table, empty and cold, that she decides to fish a book, leather-bound and well-worn, out of her backpack. Thumbing through old pages, Andromache spends the better part of the wait indulging in literature, until one by one, people start trickling out of the shop.

In due time, it leaves only the Scythian and you.

The sky has taken on a deep orange hue by the time she stands to approach you. She eyes you surreptitiously, and upon confirming that she is not at the receiving end of your attention, the Scythian moves to lock the door. Ever the diligent wielder of caution, she does not forget to flip the little dangling plate. The letter “We’re closed.” that is carved into the wood will help ward off potential visitors.

Even as she walks towards the counter, you do not seem to notice her for you are kept occupied by the book in your lap, fingers busy scribbling onto paper. It is the tinkle of porcelain on marble as she drops the cup and saucer atop the counter that finally has your eyes zeroing in on her. She watches you watch her. Backdropped by the sunset with her shades finally tucked away into the pocket of her jacket, the sight of the Scythian brings about a subtle shift in your mien. Although fleeting, the furrow of your brows that must have been imperceptible to others, does not go unnoticed.

“Hello, again. I hope you’ve had a good time.”

The smile that you give her is sweet, if not the most genuine.

“Why don’t we save the pleasantries, hm?” The smile that touches her lips, in contrast, has a hint of sourness. “You’ve seen me before.”

“I’m sorry. I don’t believe I have.”

Your answer only brings about a twofold increase in the Scythian’s irritation. Judging by the slightest delay in your response, she knows that you are well aware that she has not meant it as a query, and so, she says as much.

“It wasn’t a question.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. You must have mistaken me for someone else.”

The adamant denial from you has strong, slender digits tightening around the strap that is slung over one shoulder.

“Do I really have to spell it out for you? You died, and then you woke up, saw a bunch of people you had never seen before in your dream, including me.”

“But, that was- No. Surely it was-.”

“Look, kid-” Forming into a thin line are Andromache’s lips as she takes a moment to compose herself, slowly huffing out an exhale through flared nostrils. “-I know you’ve got questions but I need you to come with me first.”

“No. No, I don’t think so. This isn’t real. None of this is real. Leave, please. I need you to leave.”

Lips that slowly curl into a smirk and a chuckle that comes out dark and dangerous. “It’s cute that you think you have a choice.”

Battered boots that come to rest just shy of polished loafers.

“You know…your folly is, dare i say, commendable. Reality is not just something you can rewrite, and yet, you managed an impeccable job of tricking yourself into thinking what you believe to be the truth is the truth.”

One foreboding frame that looms like a predator and the one that cowers like a cornered prey.

“Alas, I almost feel bad for shattering your little illusion. But then again, I’ve done a great many questionable things in my life having lived as long as I have. What significance would it make to add another?”

“What I saw in my dream. They really happened.” It is a question albeit not being voiced like one. The Scythian does not find the need to answer. Why bother when the answer already lies in your hand?

At her silence, a look of horror dawns on your features. “You’re a murderer. You and your friends. I’ve seen them. I- I’m not- I can’t.”

“Oh darling, a rose without thorns is but a weed, easy to be plucked, to be trampled on. You’re one of us now. You will come with me whether you like it or not, and you will do so this instant.”

Every single step you hesitantly take back is met with an immediate footfall of boots as they fall right onto the place that your loafers have just vacated. It goes like this for a while, you actively ruining the close proximity, and Andromache rectifying it, until there is nowhere for you to flee, and your hips collide with the counter edge.

“Why me?” She parries your plea with a nonchalant shrug, face impassive. “Beats me.”

“Please, I-” Tears glisten in your eyes, murmuring beseechingly. “Let me go. I can’t kill. I know nothing about fighting.”

While her hands grip the counter on either side of your waist to cage you in strong arms, her lips lower to the shell of your ear, breath warm as she speaks. “Don’t worry your pretty little head about it. You can kill. In fact, anyone can. You just have to listen to me.”

“No! Let me go! I don’t want-” Yells dissolve into a yelp by way of digits seizing your jaw.

“I’ve gone out of my way to exercise great forbearance, but it is running terribly thin. It would do you well not to try it any further.” She husks threateningly, feeling the softness of your cheeks giving under the roughness of her battle-hardened fingers. Salty droplets drench her digits as tears start spilling in rivulets down your cheeks.

“Go on, bite me with those baby teeth. Scratch me with your little paws.” She taunts. “Why, would you look at that! All bark and no bite. How pathetic.”

It is as she says this that your teeth sink into the palm that is pressed tightly against your mouth. The unexpected retaliation has her stance faltering, and although you manage to break free from her bodily confines, the Scythian, being far more nimble and dexterous, hardly has to break sweat in recapturing you.

“You're a stubborn little thing, aren’t you? Two can play that game, although don’t say I didn’t warn you. Breaking men, after all, is considered one of my fortes.”

Wrists locked behind your back in her iron grip, and body bent over the marble counter, Andromache revels in the quavering of your body beneath her own as one wicked hand, like a sneaky serpent, slowly slithers up your thigh.

“Are you-” A whimper flies past your lips when your arms are pulled taunt, shoulders craning uncomfortably. And then, she yanks, hard and unforgiving, until you are forced onto your feet, back colliding with her front. “Are you going to kill me?”

Andromache cannot help but laugh at your question, a rich throaty sound that brings about the erection of soft little hair on the nape of your neck.

Your wrists are released at the cost of your cheeks bearing the brunt of her ire as rough fingers dig into your flesh. They flee from their cage between the two of your bodies to take sanctuary on her forearm, soft fingers grasping the sleeve of her jacket. “Where’s the fun in killing you when I can just have my way with you, hm?” Her hold around one of your thighs remains unrelenting while the hand on your jaw coerces you into craning your neck. Your head rests on her chest with a grunt, and you drown, held spellbound by the intense green of her eyes. “I’d rather enjoy the view of you crumbling beneath me than watch you bleed out only to come alive again.”

Although it douses you in shame, you have to admit that you are not entirely immune to the woman. How can you when she oozes charisma, frighteningly beautiful even as she looms over you with all the grandeur of a great menacing panther.

And then, too many things happen all at once; fingers that crawl into a forest of hair to grab a fistful, with a yank to the side, a throat that is bared for the predator above to conveniently sink her teeth into, the frenzied little flutter of a pulse beneath the flat of a warm tongue, chocked sobs that dissolve into a strangled gasp as a cold hand journeys into the waistband of an underwear.

Previously, your hands have found home on her thighs, fingers grappling fabric, but upon feeling wandering digits inside your underwear, one of them flies towards the offending hand, locking around a wrist.

“N-no. You can’t.”

“You would do well to remember that I am in control here.”

The Scythian’s growl is not only heard, but also felt on your skin as teeth nibble, mouth suck, and lips soothe the stings that afterwards will linger on your body in the form of dark blues and bright reds.

Horror and humiliation dance a wild tango whereas fingers waltz delicately along your folds, a condescending tsk echoing off your nape when they come away wet. Betrayed and backstabbed by your own body, mortification colours your face as not one but two of her sizeable digits sink into your heat with little to no effort. Although sudden, it does not hurt, though it stings, leaves you breathless still. Dewdrops bloom on your lashes and they drop down your cheeks when fingers in your core bury knuckles deep, abuse your tightness. You feel them in the very depths of your body, filling you so deliciously that when they wiggle so much as a little, it is more than enough to sucker-punch a breath out of your lungs.

Between her hot mouth kissing your neck all rosy and sore, her fingers cleverly caressing your insides, and her hand toying with your breasts beneath your dress, it is no surprise that your undoing greets you with a tidal wave of pleasure.

It is, however, a surprise to find yourself being shoved back-first onto the table, legs being pulled wide by fingers twining round your thighs. You are still suffering through a series of aftershocks from your first orgasm when her mouth attaches itself to your quavering folds, that wicked tongue immediately slithering into your hole. It does a cruel little nudge and your fingers wind up entwined in her hair. Instead of a reproach, it is a hum of satisfaction that you earn as the Scythian grabs a handful of your buttocks and devour you like a starved man.

By the seventh one, you are well beyond exhausted, brain foggy courtesy of being fucked into oblivion, and body agonisingly sore, littered with deep hues and teeth marks. Somewhere between third and fourth, if you recall correctly, she has stripped you bare, bar your thigh-highs, and completely rid herself off clothes, magnificent muscles coming into display. You have ogled them with barely restrained awe until your attention is swayed elsewhere by her mouth leaving traces of herself all across the expanse of your body.

Now, once again, you marvel at them, entranced by the impressiveness of her muscles that ripple with every roll of her powerful hips.

You barely recognise the face that is staring right back at you, reflected in the surface of sea green eyes, or the sounds that are oozing out of your lips. Sweat clings to the forehead of the woman towering over you as it does to yours. One of your legs is slung over her shoulder, and the other lies limp and useless between her thighs, as she rubs herself into your core with wild abandon.

“I- I can’t. Too much. It’s too muc- ah!”

“Yes, you can.”

She has taken the hand that goes to rest on one of her hipbones only to weave her fingers with yours. Now, they hover in the air, tightly intertwined, suddenly made much tighter by the white knuckled grip of your hand.

“Slow- nghh please! Be gentle.”

“You do as I say. Not the other way round. Is that understood?”

The desperate nods of your head is met with a bite to the succulent inside of your thigh just above the brim of your sock.

“Answer me.”

“Yes!”

“My word shall be your command, and you will dance to my every desire, won’t you darling?”

“Yes! Yes, I will.”

“You are mine after all, aren’t you? Mine to do with what I please. Mine to use how I see fit. Don’t you agree?”

“I’m yours- ngh- all yours.”

“Good girl.” She moans, movements escalating from lazy strokes to untamed gyrations.

“Andy.” She rasps breathlessly. “I want to hear my name dripping down those pretty little lips when you fall apart.”

And hear she does. Andy. Andy. Andy. Andy. Her name is all you can cry out as your juices mingle with one another’s, the combined essence soiling your thigh-highs as well as the couch beneath you.

Back curving, toes curling, you soar high, high into heaven, swimming amongst clouds, drowning in euphoria. And then, you plummet, down into the pit of hell, down into another one of those little deathless deaths. An intense blinding white replaced by an absolute dark.

When you awake, it is to the heart-melting sensation of lips softly caressing your forehead. You find yourself on the same couch that you have passed out, cocooned in toned arms, face tucked snugly into a warm, musky throat. Reflexively, you begin nosing the soft underside of her jaw before you are startled by fingers wandering down your very naked thigh.

“Look at me.” Obediently, you oblige, reluctantly leaving the pleasant warmth of her neck to do what she desires.

“What have I told you?” All too delicately, or as delicately as the callouses on her hand will allow, the pad of a thumb grazes the apple of your cheek.

Fighting against the urge to slip your eyes shut, you sigh dreamily instead. “That as long as I remain a good obedient girl, no harm will befall me.”

“That’s right. And are you?”

A nod as an answer prompts a pat of a forefinger on your cheek, and then, another. You know what she wants, so you give her just that.

“I’m a good girl.”

Not only do you see the smirk on her face, but you also feel it on your skin as she leans down to drag her lips across yours. “You forgot to mention whose, darling.”

“I’m a good girl, Andy. Your good girl.”

“And will my good girl obey my every command like she had promised?”

“Mmhm.”

A breath catches in your throat as her lips journey down down down, admiring the traces of none other than herself until that ravenous mouth adjourn to your hip, sucking the tender spot on your hipbone to make it all the more vibrant.

Although it has not been the main purpose of her doing what she has done, it is without doubt that Andromache gets a sick sort of pleasure out of seeing you covered in her marks. Every inch of your body and soul, all irrevocably hers.

You have said it so yourself, willingly given yourself up to her. That being said, it is purely her own greed that has her craving more and more and more of you. The scent of you that is sinfully sweet, heady and uniquely yours, makes her ache. The sight of you, like the dewy petals of an exquisite flower, pretty and pulsating, makes her mouth water.

It is with this insatiable hunger swelling inside of her that the Scythian sinks to her knees between your luxuriously smooth thighs.

“One more, darling. Give me one more before we leave.”

And you do, oh how you do even as one bleeds into two and two into three, because a good girl does what she is taught, does she not? And you are a good girl, Andy’s sweet little good girl to do with what she will.

▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃

[ragingbookdragon]

A Memory Lives On

Simon "Ghost" Riley x Reader One-Shot

Word Count: 1.7K Warnings: Sad...?

Author's Note: I kinda forgot Simon's entire family was murked on Christmas Eve so...here's sad and kind of happy -Thorne

**********************************************************************

Spades always has a ridiculous amount of money. Everyone is at an understanding that it’s from her job as an international assassin, but they still can’t help but wonder how there just seems to be a never-ending flow of funds. That being said, they’ve never exactly questioned the extra supplies and protype weapons that mysteriously appear in the base for their whims. And the gifts she gives are stellar too.

Last year on Gaz’s birthday she bought two thousand dollars’ worth of Lego sets of the Death Star and the Millennium Falcon from Star Wars. Gaz cried. He literally opened the wrapping paper and cried for a solid five minutes because he had been so happy.

Another year she gave Soap a week’s vacation for his birthday, a full week rented at Blair Castle in Highland Perthshire. The entire castle to himself, full service from the best cooks and servants’ money could buy. Soap came back more Scot than he’d ever been.

One birthday, she’d given Price six boxes of rare cigars, three boxes for each brand of Royal Danish Cigars and Arturo Fuentes Opus X. Everyone had to admit that they’d never seen the Old Man so damned relaxed while smoking a cigar whilst reclining in a velvet chair with a bourbon in his hand.

And yet, for Ghost, she never gave him gifts. But then again, he never celebrated his birthdays to begin with, so there wasn’t ever a need. Ghost didn’t do parties like the others did. Didn’t want cake and beer and junk food and to relax. Ghost worked on his birthdays. It wasn’t a special day to him. It was just another Tuesday or Friday. Still though, he respected Spades for not spending lavish amounts of money on him like she did the others. It wasn’t worth it; he wasn’t worth it.

It does surprise him however, to see her at his door when he opens it at six, already awake before then, but he’d finished paperwork in the meantime.

She smiles calmly, eyes a telling tale she has something planned. “Good morning, Simon,” she greets. “I do believe a Happy Birthday is in order for our resident phantom.”

He grunts in response and waits for her to move—she doesn’t.

“Price has already cleared us for leave today and I’ve something for you. Would you mind accompanying me?”

Now he’s curious, suspicious, but more so curious. “I don’t have a choice, do I?”

“You always do, Simon,” she replies with a tut. “But I would enjoy your presence if you came along. It is a gift for you.”

Ghost lets out a sigh, but motions for her to lead and she does, to the garage where he climbs in the SUV with her and allows her to take him. “Where are we going?” he asks, but the signs on the road are familiar enough that he already knows.

“Manchester. There’s something waiting for us.”

It’s all she says, and the rest of the ride is filled with silence until they pull into the parking lot of The University of Manchester and begin walking across campus.

“Please don’t tell me I’m attending a college class,” he mutters, and she lets out a laugh.

“Oh, indeed we are. A course on morals and how ambiguous they can be during war.” She gives him a look and gestures for him to follow.

There’s a woman standing there outside the doors, and she smiles as the two approach. “Miss Christensen it’s so wonderful to see you.”

Christensen, Spades fake surname she uses, he recognizes.

“It’s wonderful to see you, Mary.” She introduces Ghost. “This is a friend of mine, he’s accompanying me today. His name is Michael.”

Ghost’s lip curls in disgust at the name but he shakes her hand and allows them to lead, wondering what on earth is at the university for him.

Mary leads them into an office, and they sit across from one another; he feels awkward in the confined room, but relaxes as Spades’ hand rests on his forearm. “So,” she starts, “To what do I owe the pleasure of this visit, Miss Christensen?”

Spades smiles. “Michael and I were both intrigued on perhaps obtaining more degrees. We came to check out the potential majors and more importantly, the scholarships we could apply for.”

“Oh yes!” Mary chirps and pulls out a folder that Ghost wonders if she has pre-made for visits like these. “We have quite a few. Old ones that have been around for years, and our newest ones that have been in circulation for the last few years.”

“I heard you had a particular new one that showed up. Would you explain that one?”

“Ah, yes, our newer scholarship started by a rather mysterious sponsor.” She pulls out a packet. “The Joseph Riley Foundation.”

Ghost all but freezes at the mention of a name he hasn’t heard in years.

“Our sponsor created the foundation in memory of a young boy who was sadly killed many years ago. His name was Joseph Riley. Grew up right here in Manchester. From what our sponsor told us, he loved jets and wanted to fly one in the army.” She smiles, but it’s full of sadness. “It’s unfortunate he never got to experience it. Still though, his memory lives on here.” She hands the packet to them, and Spades simply gives it to Ghost to look over. “This scholarship works hand in hand with the British Special Air Services, or SAS, and gives students the opportunity to have a job in the SAS when they graduate. As long as they meet the required terms, they join as an officer with a bonus if they graduate above a three grade point average.”

“Specifically, what does the scholarship provide? Is it entitled to specific degree?”

“Indeed. Aviation degrees, specifically those in aviation engineering and maintenance, aeronautical science, and physics.” She seems rather pleased with herself that she knows so much. “Our sponsor supplies endless funds and expertise along with it for this scholarship, it’s perhaps become one of our most coveted scholarships simply because it’s extremely beneficial to the education. Most of our students in those majors have this.”

Spades is content to listen as she rattles on about it, but Ghost is still stuck on the pages of the history of the scholarship, and a photo of a small boy with a face that looks too familiar.

***

By the time the entire tour is done, Ghost is as mentally drained as Spades looks and she bids farewell to Mary as she escorts the two to their vehicle and waves them goodbye as they pull out of the parking lot.

Spades says nothing, content to stay in silence, but Ghost feels like he has to say something, even if he isn’t even sure what to say.

“Why.”

A snort escapes her. “Because typical birthday gifts aren’t your cup of tea.”

“I haven’t thought about Joey in years,” he murmurs, staring out the window. “I can’t bear to.”

“Yes, I imagine it’s not a pleasant memory…the end, at least. He was just a babe, wasn’t he?”

“Five,” Ghost says quietly. “He…had just turned five.”

She sighs deeply but doesn’t offer Ghost the pitied, “Such a horrid shame,” he’s heard before.

“You come here every year on my birthday?”

“Mhm,” she responds. “I visit the science building and interview the students who’ve obtained the scholarship. Make sure it’s being put to good use. And then I cash a very generous multi-million-dollar check to the school for the foundation. Keeps it thriving and sought after.”

Ghost has never kept the memory of his family alive. It died with him that Christmas Eve as the only surviving Riley. But something aches deep in his chest as he imagines his nephew fresh out of basic, ready to travel and be a pilot for the jets he so loved playing with as a babe. He swallows thickly and looks out the window as Manchester fades away. “Thank you, Spades.”

“Happy Birthday, Simon,” she replies instead and turns on the radio, a catchy pop song drowning out the ache in his chest. “I do have one more gift, if you’ll let me spoil you a little.”

Ghost lets out a groan, already drained far too emotionally to do this again. “You know I don’t do gifts.”

“Hush,” she tuts with a disapproving click of her tongue and commands, “Reach behind your seat.”

He does as she says and reaches back and down, grasping what feels like a box; Ghost pulls it to his lap and stares at it. “What is it?”

“Well, perhaps if you open it?”

He ignores the sarcastic jab and carefully removes the tape around the box and opens it. Inside is a smaller box, about twelve inches and he pulls it out, tosses the first box into the backseat, and opens the second. His eyes widen as he stares at the blade resting in the velvet.

“…Wow…” he manages to mutter, and she smirks at the wheel.

“Pretty, isn’t it?”

“Indeed, she’s lovely,” he says, taking the knife out to admire it.

“She’s one of a kind too. Made by an old Blackfeet man in the mountains of Montana. One of the best blades men for diamond knives there is.” She reaches over and touches the hilt. “It’s made from a buffalo and carved with protection symbols.”

Ghost twists the knife in his grip, handling it like any other. “It’s just for show, isn’t it?”

“Oh no, sweetheart,” she says. “That knife is one hundred percent battle ready.” Her expression changes. “I had thought about an obsidian blade. Wanted to make a joke about having a knife as black as your heart, but then I figured why waste it when I can get you a knife I know you’ll use. Hence, the diamond knife.”

“It’s really made of diamonds?”

“Indeed. One of the strongest knives you’ll ever find on the face of this earth. It’ll make for quick work of jugulars and aortas.”

Ghost is seemingly satisfied as he stows the knife in the hide sheath and tucks it into his jacket; and she can feel the smirk he has on his face, knowing he’s itching to use it.

“Happy Birthday, Ghost.”

[drawnfamiliarfaces]

Sorry if this is a dumb question but is there a specific leader in the heroes of Millennium or the leader depends on what mission/situation it is? Or is it like no leader and it’s just a group that works together

Not a dumb question at all dude! An interesting one, actually.

I mean, it kind of never occured in my mind to 'assign' a leader tbh, because in my mind the group is not really officially a 'team' (in other words they do not present/call themselves as 'official team', but they are more of a friends who work in different fields/interests but often help each other out and team up on occassion. Heroes of Millennium is just a pretentious name for the AU and not for their 'team', thank god lol.) So if situation requires a group effort then they are more of a 'work together' type with occasional 'specialized person taking point'. I mean, obviously if a situation has to do with ghosts for example, Danny would be the one guiding and others being more of a support role or if it's magic Jun & Jake would kinda share leadership since they have the most knowledge and experience.

All of them had enough life experience to know when to lead or back off and trust others, though it is inevitable that occasionally there can be arguments on how to handle situations (considering that all of them are very much 'leader' type of personalities and those can clash between each other), in that case others try to mediate between opposing parties. If it comes to a swaying decision, more often than not Kim plays the role of a final caller. It is partially because Kim is the resident 'rounded' level-headed specialist and partially because others respect her so much, so her voice is always heard and her opinion is taken into serious consideration.

[ashensgrotto]

Protective (Part 2 of 'Am I Feeling Love')

Characters: Azul Ashengrotto x F!Reader

Word Count: 5,328

Part 1 Part 2 (You Are Here) Part 3a Part 3b

I had someone ask if I was going to do a continuation of ‘Am I Feeling Love?’ that was orinally written on my main blog @kiy-anna after I rewrote the story to fit the tags better. I was mulling over the idea and my poor sea-rotted brain decided “Screw it, Mari! Just write the damn thing!”

It took a bit to figure out how I wanted to execute the process, but I’m honestly more curious to see what you guys think as well. Also, don’t forget, I have a poll that ends in a few days that will help me decide what sort of fanfiction I will be posting going forward, so please vote! It ends on Wednesday!

Warnings: yandere behavior, beatings, manipulative behavior, and foul language

***

The world is cruel, the world is wicked

It’s I alone whom you can trust in this whole city, I am your only friend

How can I protect you, girl, unless you always stay in here

Away in here…

***

Azul tapped the desk he sat behind impatiently. 

For the past hour, he had been cooped up in the VIP Room of the Mostro Lounge dealing with those poor unfortunate souls that sought him out - the pathetic fools making deals with the octomer as his patience thinned by the minute. All he wanted at this point was to get out of his office and watch you.

You, the magicless guest of Octavinelle, had been living in the guest rooms of the dorm for a little over two months and were working within the Mostro Lounge to pay for said room - not that you needed to, it was merely a lie so Azul could keep tabs on you. The other students of the Octavinelle dorm did not completely understand his reasoning; some thought that he was merely being a nice housewarden to a poor soul with no one else to turn to, others that knew the housewarden too well thought that he was using you as a way to lure in unsuspecting victims for his contracts. 

Whatever their thinking was, only Azul and his vice-warden, Jade, along with the problem twin, Floyd, knew the real reason as to why you were kept close by. 

Soulmates were rare and finding that ‘other half’ is like the story of the mermaid princess and her longing to be with a human. It’s a rare occurrence that only happens once in a millennium if not longer. Many times, people - humans, fae, and merfolk alike - often settle for someone they are content and happy with, someone that isn’t their other half. Azul, at the time he first learned about soulmates, wanted nothing more in the world than to find them - to have that one person who would see him for himself and not the pathetic octo-twerp he had been called during his youth; thus, he began working on himself, his powers increasing as he lured his victims in and stole away their most treasured gifts - a beautiful singing voice, powerful magic… all of it. 

But even with the changes and his new found strength, Azul had no luck in finding the other part of his soul - that was until about two months ago when you first appeared in Twisted Wonderland.

Azul had been ecstatic the first few weeks after you had taken up residence in his dorm; consistently coming to check on you, making sure you weren’t too tired, asked if you had eaten… and sometimes just watching you from the darkness of the lounge as you shifted from table to table, taking orders and bringing food and drinks to the guests. Nearly two weeks into working at the lounge, the clientele number increased slightly - making Azul at first wonder what had happened. 

Turns out, some of the students who had frequented the lounge had made mention of you in passing and how you were nicer compared to the other staff members - hence the students came to the lounge to, not just get a glimpse of you, but to also shoot a chance at getting you as their waitress. Jade and Floyd, who were consistently in the lounge and operated as Azul’s eyes and ears - especially when it came to you - informed Azul of what was going on. Hence, Azul decided to restrict your hours to only working when he, Jade, or Floyd was. When you asked if you had done something wrong, Azul merely rested a hand on your shoulder, eyes shining with a possessive kindness, as he explained there were certain students who had been watching you - and he was only doing this for your protection. After all, it wasn’t like he could monitor you twenty-four-seven - he still had his grades to keep up and you weren’t a student, technically.

It worked momentarily, but then Azul was back to the drawing board again when Jade had mentioned Riddle Roseheart’s overblot in passing.

Turns out, you had asked Azul for a day off the same day Riddle went berserk. Azul had asked what for, but you merely said you wanted to explore the school grounds, specifically the rose gardens that surrounded Heartslabyul. He knew that you had ‘made friends’ with two freshmen from the dorm - Deuce Spade and Ace Trappola, both who had been collared by Riddle because of their bad behavior. If Azul could work his will, he would have locked you up in his own room and thrown away the key to prevent anyone from looking at you or speaking to you - but he couldn’t find the strength to do so. Even so, he had agreed, allowing you to go to the unbirthday party that was randomly held on different days during the year, with the promise that you would come back as soon as it was over and not a minute later.

Turns out, the ‘unbirthday party’ had been a lie since Deuce and Ace both had challenged Riddle for his position as headwarden and you wanted to go to support them in their fight. However, Ace made a valid point about the rules that had been pressed upon the students of Heartslabyul and practically turned the whole dorm against Riddle - which caused his temper to flare up and the overblot to happen. Luckily, you didn’t get hurt during the fight between Riddle, Deuce, Ace, Trey, Cater, Crowley, and the pyromaniac demon cat-weasel, Grim - but you had been the one to smack sense back into Riddle with a slap to the face when he had gone after you next. 

And it was because of that slap and knocking some sense back into the headwarden of Heartslabyul that those who heard about what happened began to flock to the Mostro Lounge in search of you once more.

Azul pressed his face to hands and rubbed at his skin hard enough to turn it red as he thought and thought. What was he going to do? He couldn’t let anyone else get close to you! You were his! His soulmate! You should be putting your entire focus on him and him alone! Was that too much to ask?!

“What’s with the face?” the unwelcomed voice of Leona reached Azul’s ears as the octomer sat up and righted himself.

“What’s it to you? Nevermind, I’m busy at the moment, Leona. If you wish to speak with me, you have to make an appointment…”

“I already did, did you forget?” The beastman prince strolled into the room and plopped on the couch, arms dangling behind the rest and feet landing on the table before him, “I need to make a contract with you for a potion.”

Azul shifted his glasses into place before reaching into his desk and pulling out the familiar golden paper he used for his contracts, his pen twirling in his fingers as it shifted into a fishbone and began to write, “What sort of potion?”

“An enhancement potion,” Leona answered, side eyeing the Octavinelle headwarden before explaining, “With the Spelldrive Tournament coming up in a few weeks, and with all of these little mishaps that have been going around the campus lately, it would be a shame if something were to befall a particular headwarden we know too well.”

Azul did not need Leona to explain any further nor to question who he was referring to.

It was no secret that the Diasomia dorm had taken first place in the Spelldrive Tournament for the past two years straight - practically overrunning Savanaclaw who usually held that spot. The dorm’s success had been due to the new headwarden - Malleus Draconia - who had taken up the position the year before Azul arrived at Night Raven. Malleus was a dragon fae and one of the top ranking mages in Twisted Wonderland - so powerful that he alone was the reason for Diasomia’s success, making ninety percent of the scores by the dorm’s team. He probably would be the only player if Crowley had allowed it. 

Many of the other headwardens were disgusted by the losses and damage that had been dealt to their teams over the course of the past two years - even Azul had been winded by Draconia once and had no desire to be the dragon’s dinner again; due to this, the headmage had made the offer to place Draconia in the hall of fame, which would prevent him from participating in any more of the Spelldrive matches this year and next year. At first, all of the headwardens were in agreement - but Leona argued that it wasn’t a fair fight, claiming that they were acting like a bunch of cubs. Azul had twitched at that remark, but agreed that the fight wasn’t fair - as much as he hated it, he agreed that Leona did have a point about allowing Draconia to continue; he wanted to prove that Draconia wasn’t invincible nor was he immune, he wanted to prove that anyone could beat the Diasomia headwarden - even if it was just another individual.

Azul adjusted himself in his chair, thoroughly invested in the deal now, “If we’re thinking the same thing, Leona, you must be willing to offer something in agreement of equal price. How about that speciality spell you’re so fond of? You barely use it.”

“‘King’s Roar’?” Leona arched a brow in his direction, “I may not use it, but it does come in handy from time to time. How about my nephew instead?”

Azul twisted his features in disgust, “No thank you. I’m not Rumplestiltskin, nor a babysitter.”

Leona laughed, his voice shaking the settee for a moment, “I was only joking, Faleena would never allow me to hear the end of it. Well, then… perhaps a little advice on that soulmate of yours?”

Azul nearly dropped his pen, surprise appearing on his normally calm face before his pale blue eyes narrowed at Leona menacingly, “What do you know about that?”

“It’s not a surprise given your behavior as of late,” Leona curled his fingers inward as his gaze shifted toward them as if to inspect his nails, “Besides, I heard from a few of my dorm members that frequent here that you’ve been keeping a pretty close eye on our magicless guest.”

‘The sneaky lionfish,’ Azul sneered at Leona, feeling his temperature rising as his gloved hands curled inward.

“Personally, I have nothing against wanting to keep (Y/N) close,” Savanaclaw’s headwarden continued, “She’s cute and pretty, nevermind that fact that she’s a hard worker and kind - sucks big time that she’s a female. She probably would’ve done well in Night Raven if she was a boy.”

“What’s the point you’re getting at?” Azul seethed.

“Merely that everywhere she goes, she is welcomed. (Y/N) has made a few friends without your knowledge by working the floors of the Mostro Lounge. Every time she shares a smile, a laugh, or anything - someone undoubtedly falls for her charm.”

Azul leaned back in his chair, rubbing at his chin in thought. Leona had a point - (Y/N) may have been his precious pearl, his soulmate, but she was also well liked by any and all who encountered her. Deuce, Ace, and Grim were just the stepping stones, Cater, Trey, and Riddle also fell in line with her presence and kind words - and even many of the Octavinelle dorm that worked alongside her in the lounge had gotten close with the magicless guest. However, the students of the Octavinelle dorm knew that Azul had marked (Y/N) as his - those that did not understand the process, such as the humans of Heartslabyul, would always be a threat to the octomer’s happiness; they might even go as far as to ask the headmage to allow (Y/N) to stay in their dorm!

Azul clenched his hand tighter at the thought, ‘No! She’s mine! I will not allow anyone to touch nor taint her perfection or soul.’

The headwarden of Octavinelle leaned forward, fingers crossing together as his elbows rested on the desk and his chin on his folded hands, “I’m willing to make a deal with you, Kingscholar.”

Leona arched a brow as Azul continued in a dark voice, “(Y/N) is very important to me, the other half of my soul - as you know. Her recent encounter with Riddle Rosehearts’ overblot has left me worried that she might attempt to leave Octavinelle. I know that I promised I would help her return home, but I need to keep her close by in order to do so. Soulmates are rare - whether they are humans, beastmen, faes, or mers - and they need to be kept close to each other. I do not want to put (Y/N) on a leash nor lock her up, but she is far too free for my liking. I will create the spell enhancement potion for you in exchange for your help with (Y/N)’s freedom.”

“What is it you have in mind?”

“... Merely a little scare that will show her how cruel and twisted this world can be.”

***

It was a few days later when the plan was set in motion.

You had been helping with the set up for the vendors surrounding the colosseum where the Spelldrive tournament was set to take place in a few days; setting up tents and tables, covering areas with cloths and helping move heavy objects. You wiped at your brow as a bit of sweat dribbled down before a cloth was pressed to your face.

“You’re working too hard,” the familiar voice of your employer pulled your attention to him, a smile appearing on your face as Azul’s lips quirked into a grin.

He was dressed in the headwarden’s dorm uniform - a black tuxedo with a white dress shirt and purple tie and the dorm’s scarf hanging loosely around his neck, a pale gray overcoat that hung on his shoulders, and a black fedora perched on his head. He was leaning against the silver tipped cane with the large octopus on the handle - the mage stone held securely between its silver tentacles. It was strange to see for someone who was working on setting things up, but Azul was in charge of overseeing everything and making sure everything was where it needed to be and making changes as needed, using maps and planograms as reference points. 

“Well, I always believed in the phrase ‘working hard or hardly working,’” you answer, taking the offered handkerchief and wiping away the sweat and grime from your features.

“Quite an interesting phrase,” Azul nodded, resting his hands on his hips, “Care to enlighten me on the meaning?”

You shrug, “I’m not really sure, honestly. People in my world use it for small talk or to point out a person’s laziness. For example, if someone wasn’t doing anything, someone might ask ‘working hard or hardly working?’”

Azul hummed in thought, “I suppose it is a good phrase to use - maybe it might actually get Floyd to do something for a change… however, as I’m sure you know, that eel will whatever whenever he wants to, regardless of what I tell him.”

I giggle, nodding in agreement, “Yes, and half the time he dumps his work on his twin - poor Jade.”

“Jade’s used to it,” Azul waved his hand dismissively, “but speaking of ‘dumping things onto others,’ I hate to ask this of you, but I do need you to do something for me.”

“Hmm? What is it, Azul?”

“I have an order waiting to be picked up at the school store. You’re familiar with Mr. S’s mystery shop, yes?”

You nod with a smile, “Yep, I’ve been there a few times.”

“Good, I need to go there and get the parcel. It has a few items that we’ll need for the Lounge and for the tournament. I would get it myself, but I have to keep things going here and Jade and Floyd are working on their own projects for the tournament. Would you be willing to go pick it up for me?”

“Why not have it delivered to the dorm?”

“It’s easier to travel to the store instead of going to the dorm and back. I had intended on getting it earlier, but it completely slipped my mind until now.”

You frowned a bit as something crawled up your back and tingled behind your head, a feeling that something didn’t sit right with the whole situation. However, Azul had slipped to your side as his arm came around your shoulders and pulled you close enough for you to smell the expensive cologne he always wore.

“Please, (Y/N), it’s very important that you do this for me. I’ll reward you, too, for your efforts - a drink of your choice from Mr. S’s shop or from the Mostro Lounge, on the house. Besides, you’ve been working so hard as of late that you need a little bit of a break. Take this as an opportunity to stretch your legs and cool down a bit.”

A refreshing beverage was starting to sound good. You had been working in the sun for a while like everyone else that was part of the setting up, never mind that your bottle of water had been drained a while ago and you had yet the opportunity to refill it. Perhaps just going to get the parcel for Azul as well as a small drink wouldn’t be so bad.

“Ok, do you mind if I finish up here?”

“Of course,” Azul pulled away before resting a hand on your head and messing your hair, “but as soon as you finish, please go and get the package. I need it as soon as possible.”

You nodded in understanding before turning back to your tasks as Azul walked away.

***

The parcel wasn’t big, thankfully, but it was awkward - an odd shape that looked spherical, but was flat with pointed edges. 

‘I wonder what’s on here?’ you shake the package gently as you walk away from Sam’s shop, heading back toward the colosseum. You discard the thought, tucking it under your arm and taking your time, enjoying the shade the trees provided and the gentle cool breeze of autumn ruffling the changing leaves of the school campus and pulling some off and away from their homes. The colors reminded you of home - how the trees in the parks would shift from greens to yellows, reds, and oranges before fading into dark browns. It was strange to see all the trees do the same thing here - it made you wonder if Twisted Wonderland celebrated holidays like your world did.

You were so busy admiring the colors and deep in thought that you didn’t see where you were going and ran into the back of a very large student.

“Oh, I’m so sorry!” you smile apologetically, “I guess I wasn’t watching where I was going.”

“Well, then, watch it,” the student growled.

“Hey man, look what she did to your jacket,” another student pointed at the sleeve of his uniform’s coat.

The charcoal gray coat that all of the students were required to wear was typically a heavy cotton and ridiculously hard to damage - however, low and behold, one of the pointed ends of Azul’s mystery order had put a decently sized tear in the student’s coat. The tear revealed the golden yellow of the student’s vest, traveling from his mid back to just the top of his waist. You covered your mouth in shock as the student took his jacket off and examined the tear, rage budding on his features.

“You stupid - look what you did!”

“I’m sorry! It was an accident -” you try to explain.

“Do you know how much this cost?” the student shook the coat at you, “Now I have to buy a whole new one!”

“Just make her pay for it,” another student spoke up, crossing his arms over his chest.

“P-Pay?”

“You damaged it, didn’t you? So, you’re the one who's going to buy me a new replacement.”

“I’m sorry, but I don’t have any money…” you bit your lip as you felt your heart rate jump up, clutching Azul’s package close to you, “I-If you give me a moment, I’ll go talk to my employer and see-”

“Oh, no way,” the student grabbed the front of your borrowed button down shirt, “You’re going to pay for the jacket one way or another.”

Something within you snapped, you had tried to be reasonable with these three and had apologized for the trouble; however, it seemed now that you could only run and hope that you got to Azul before these guys did something to you. Your face hardened as you gave the student holding you a kick to the groin with your knee, the student releasing you as he groaned in pain at the sudden attack. Once you were out of his clutches, you took off in the opposite direction as the three students shouted at you and chased after.

You clutched the package close to your chest as you bolted into the school and down a corridor, staying close to the windows, hoping for someone to see you as you shouted out for help. Your cries echoed off the high ceiling, alerting a few students and staff members - but it seemed everyone elected to ignore your screams for help as the three pursuers gradually came closer and closer. 

You threw yourself around a corner which led out into the courtyard to throw them off.

Unfortunately, an uneven stone caught on your shoe, causing you to stumble forward and land on the ground, Azul’s package flying from your hands and landing with a sickening crack against the side of the wishing well. You tried to stand to move, but something heavy came down on your ankle, a loud snapping sound and a cry of agony echoing across the lawn. 

“You stupid bitch! All you had to do was pay up,” the student’s voice from earlier came in your ear as a large fist grabbed a handful of your (h/c) hair, pulling your head up to look into his rage filled eyes, “but nooo, you just had to kick me then run and tried getting help.”

“I think punishment is in order - after all, what can someone without magic and a broken ankle do now?”

Something heavy collided with your face as tears welled up from the punch, the pain coming again from the opposite side. Your hair was released before you felt a heavy boot collide with your stomach as you were kicked across the lawn like a football, landing a few feet away from the wishing well. You tried to sit up with a groan, your arm coming around to clutch your side as you spat out blood. Your entire body was shaking and was sore - you were beginning to wonder if they had hit any vital organs. A large hand came forward and grabbed at your hair again, pulling you up as you cried out.

“Piece of fuckin’ shit, you don’t know when to give up, do you?”

You bit your lip, fighting to hold onto consciousness and the tears that were slowly slipping from your eyes. You were scared and were still wishing beyond a doubt that someone would find you and stop these three from beating you up more. However, the wish was short lived when you were dropped to the ground, causing you to wince as more pain came from your side. 

“Time to say good-bye,” your eyes widened as you pulled your arms up toward your face, the student rearing his foot back with his aim clear in his dangerous eyes.

“Care to explain yourselves?” a familiar voice asked, stopping the students as their eyes widened in fear.

You peered out between your fingertips as the familiar figure of Azul came forward, his dorm overcoat fluttering behind him in the breeze as his walking cane tapped against the dirt. His face looked difficult to read as he came forward, eyes sharp and filled with rage.

“H-Headwarden Azul,” the student put his foot down and backed away from you, “W-We thought you were over by the colosseum.”

“I was - I was looking for my errand runner,” Azul’s gaze shifted between you and the three students before repeating, “Care to explain yourselves?”

“I-It’s nothing, honestly,” one of the students visibly shuddered.

“Y-yeah, just a m-misunderstanding is all!” the third student smiled wobbly.

“A misunderstanding, hm?” Azul cocked a brow, eyeing the students, before lifting his walking stick and tapping the head against his gloved palm like a baseball player would, “I will only ask one last time. What. Did. You. Do.”

“S-she destroyed my jacket!” the first student tried to explain, “She wouldn’t pay up for a replacement so-”

“So you decided to attack a defenseless angelfish who is under my protection?” Azul snickered, “How very foolish and pathetic…”

He snapped his fingers as Jade and Floyd appeared before the students. Azul came over and lifted you into his arms, “I’m taking her to the infirmary to get patched up - Jade, Floyd, have some fun.”

You ducked your head close to Azul’s chest, a headache slowly forming as he carried you away. You swallowed and began to open your mouth to speak, but Azul hushed you.

“Rest, (Y/N). You’re safe - there is nothing to be said nor to say. Just relax - I won’t let anything harm you.”

***

You must have fallen asleep because when you opened your eyes, you were in your room back in Octavinelle’s dorms. Azul was there, resting in a chair beside your bed with his arms folded over his chest and eyes closed. You shifted slightly, which caused the octomer to open his eyes - blinking rapidly before they fell on you as a smile crossed his face.

“How are you feeling?” he asked, standing and coming to sit beside you.

“Sore, tired,” you answered.

“That is typical after a fight,” Azul nodded, handing you a glass of water that had been perched on your bedside table, helping you to drink the cool liquid.

You smiled as he returned the glass to its spot before your face fell, “I’m so so sorry, Azul.”

“Whatever for, (Y/N)? You did nothing wrong.”

“Your package - you entrusted me to get it, but it probably got broken after that fight…”

“Don’t worry about it,” Azul’s fingertips curled under your chin, lifting it up to force you to look at him, “I’m not going to be concerned about a package that was damaged when you - someone I’ve been tasked to keep an eye on - was hurt severely. You’re very lucky. But, I do need to ask, what in the world happened? What did you do?”

“Honestly, I don’t know. I… I accidentally ran into him because I was taking my time and admiring the changing colors of autumn, not paying attention to where I was going. When I ran into him, one of the parcel’s sharp points must’ve caught onto his coat and when I pulled away, it tore it.”

“NRC’s required suits are relatively expensive, so I can see why he was upset,” Azul nodded thoughtfully, “However, why did he attack you? You could’ve come to me and explained you needed money for a replacement jacket - ”

“I tried telling him that, but he wouldn’t listen and grabbed me. I kicked him so I could get away and was intending on going straight to you, but he…” you didn’t want to say anymore, the memory of what happened only a few hours ago was still painful in your mind.

Sensing your distress, Azul cooed to you, pulling you into his arms as his head landed on top of your head, hands running up and down your spine gently. You sniffled into his suit coat, hand coming up and gripping the back of his jacket, feeling the familiar warmth and comfort that was  Azul Ashengrotto.

“Shh… it’s alright, (Y/N)... you’re safe now,” Azul murmured, his voice soft and soothing in your ear, “I know, I know… I can only imagine how afraid you were…”

You nod as you sniffle more.

“It’s alright, though… I’m right here beside you. Those monsters can never touch you again… but you have to promise me something.”

You look up at him as his eyes shine with pain and… something else.

“This world is cruel and wicked, (Y/N),” Azul reached up, resting a gloved hand against your cheek and wiping away the tears that gathered in your eyes, “It’s only I you can trust in this place - Jade and Floyd as well - your only friends. We can’t protect you if you are away from our sight, so you must stay here in Octavinelle - where we can always be within an arm’s reach.”

“B-But, what about the others? Deuce? Ace? Grim? Surely they…”

“(Y/N)... did they come to help you during your darkest hour? Who was there when you were getting beaten by those mongrels?” Azul asked, eyes narrowing slightly, “I did not see Deuce or Ace. Nor did I see Grim or Trey… the twins did not see any of them nor Riddle or Cater either. Who came for you?”

“...You did.”

“Exactly,” Azul nodded, “I will always be there for you. Jade will always be there. Floyd, as strange as it may seem, will also always be there.”

You nod slowly, tucking yourself against his chest as you realize the dark truth. They had abandoned you, left you to fend for yourself while you were getting hurt - it was Azul that came and found you and it was Jade and Floyd that put the trio in their place. The three of them were the only ones who cared about it - showing you love and support through these last two months in this strange, dark, twisted world. Tears fell faster as you sniffled under the calming strokes of Azul’s fingertips.

If you had happened to look up at that point, you would have seen the octomer grinning devilishly down at you, his eyes of pale blue filled with possessive love and adoration. 

***

Azul ventured out later after you had fallen asleep with the twins in tow. The trio met with Leona in the lounge of Savanaclaw’s dorm, the octomer pulling out a vial of strange green liquid.

“As promised,” the headwarden of Octavinelle presented the vial to Leona, “for services well rendered.”

“This is it?” Leona snatched the vial, inspecting it closely, “I thought there’d be more.”

“Too much and the power will cause the user to overblot,” Jade explained, “We don’t want a repeat incident.”

Leona hummed in agreement, looking back toward the trio, “Speaking of which, what do you intend on doing since you hurt three of my best players with that little incident?”

“If anything, it’s compensation for us after what you did to three of our best players,” Azul let out a shrug, “but remember, Leona - there’s a much bigger fish to fry in the ocean that has nothing to do with me or the twins nor anyone in Octavinelle.”

Leona grumbled, turning his head, “Ruggie!”

The hyena appeared out of nowhere, landing next to Leona with a soft thump, “You called?”

“Take this,” Leona handed the vial to him, “On the day of the Tournament, you know what to do.”

Ruggie snickered with a nod.

“Well, we’ll be going,” Azul smiled, turning away, “pleasure doing business with you, Kingscholar.”

“And I hope that you live a long life with that soulmate of yours.”

“Oh, after that little incident - I doubt she’ll be going anywhere… at least for a while.” 

***

You do not comprehend (You are my one defender)

Why invite their calumny and consternation, stay in here

Be faithful to me, grateful to me

Do as I say, obey

And stay in here…