#Only to finally discard it after it becomes too much and willingly take up another identity

[softichill]

Helen Distortion is so incredibly transgender

[theguyinthemathexamples]

Opportunity Awaits None

— sahsrau/sahsr fic based on my pookie aventurine for good luck (⁠＠⁠°⁠▽⁠°⁠＠⁠)⁠ᕗ ♡

— C/W : 2.1 trailblazer quest spoilers, sillies stealing the show first, ooc pookies, VERY self indulgent, new fic style?, slight aventio/raturine??, a lil angsty in some parts?? (tell me if i missed anything 💝)

Claiming oneself to be adored by an Aeon would be a bold, and otherwise egotistical way of getting attention. But with his friend even being heard mumbling to himself for being discarded as of late, not to mention the light whispers he's been hearing lately... the Doctor might not blame Aventurine for describing himself as going nuts.

While he was investigating things about that Emanator, and a few strings pulled later... he accidentally came across a lovely piece of information that she felt her own strings being pulled long before he made his grandest performance yet in Penacony.

It was taught, then loosened, and then forcefully yanked in a never ending cycle, she said. There were long periods of time that she began to wonder whether or not this feeling finally disappeared, only to be hit by another harsh pull. As of late, however, these harsh tugs haven't been felt after she finally remembered to pen a letter to the Astral Express's Conductor that both refused their offer to arrive at the Express, as well as making someone else bite the bullet.

As for who this was was insignificant to him— he'll find it out himself eventually. But the whispers? The tugging? The feeling of being watched? That letter? Aventurine knew all too well what these meant. The Aeon of Creation's manifestations in the mortal realm.

This wasn't all new news, though, as such a phenomenon had already happened to others before. But for him to hear them? That was certainly a surprise.

To be fair, he's heard them a bit before. The whispers arrived just a bit after he stepped foot in the Planet of Festivities, and he initially mistook them for crowds outside being too loud as they were more quiet back then.

Though, these whispers have been getting louder and louder the past few days. He's almost embarrassed to confess that this was worrying him. They varied from promises vowing to make him "come home" to them, to absolute hysterical laughter akin to the Aeon of Elation's ones. Who knows what that Aeon was thinking. Not him, surely.

And a few too many deep dives into rabbit holes led him to a reasonable conclusion of that Aeon taking an interest in him. ... By the Amber Lord, no, Veritas, he swears he's not succumbing to insanity.

Aventurine had asked the Doctor about this, knowing he had a good amount of experience with this sort of thing for a good while now. Unfortunately for him all of the answers he got were "You'll know in due time." and "Perhaps if you willingly offered yourself to the Aeon maybe those whispers would disappear faster than you bothering me about them."

Rarely does he get more cryptic responses like, "A reach too far shall become an embrace at a moments notice for you, gambler," Veritas mumbles beside him, getting up not too long after saying such without so much as another word. Not before giving him water when he complained about getting too overwhelmed by them and sought someone more familiar, one who bore experience and knowledge of such things firsthand.

Sometimes, Aventurine wondered if it was all some sort of joke that even the highest of the divine beings of this universe were playing on him, but some of the voices were almost quick to reassure him. Often he heard of music playing, words he seemed to partially understand ringing in his ears as he signed one document after the other.

Maybe he'll finally get the freedom he's yearned for so long if he devoted his whole being to THEM instead of the Amber Lord. ... Maybe he'll consider such an act of heresy at a later date.

Note : Try Not To Froth At The Mouth Looking At Aventurine Challenge (IMPOSSIBLE ‼️‼️) (I BROKE MY KNEE‼️‼️‼️)

On a lighter note, tho: my interpretation will unfortunately be published later in the month and im just speedrunning this for good luck on my pookie wookie patootie gookie nookie bear aventurine pulls 🫶

Am i sane for this man? Have i been delulu about him for the past few days?? Mmm,,,, who knows :3

[safination]

Partners in Death...and Life

Part 8: The Calm Before the Fall

|Part 7: Me and You In Eternity| |Part 9: The Vows That Bind Me [Finale]| |Masterlist| Ao3| Taglist| Series Summary: After a seven-year absence, you find the man you were married to in life, not only back in town, but also helping... *checks notes*... the Princess of Hell run a hotel aimed at rehabilitating sinners who were sent to the bad place for a reason. Pairings: Alastor x wife!Reader Tags: fem!Reader, AFAB, Established Relationship, Asexual! Alastor, Alastor is in hell for a reason, Reader is in hell for a reason, dishes, being a simp for your partner, Asexual! Alastor, husband! Alastor. demon!Alastor School is killing me. I have like an exam tomorrow that I should be prepping for. Somehow, this was more important

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ

Morning of The Extermination

The bustling of preparation echoes around the hotel, crowding the once empty halls. There’s a cannibal fortifying some stray windows. Every bang of her hammer rings your ears. Boxes are being dropped and discarded all around you.

The bomb thrown from Angel Dust’s friend doesn’t help soothe the pain in your ears, nor does his gunfire. They’ve been practicing some ‘special takedown moves’ since the crack of dawn. It was the same routine yesterday, and the day before that as well. It’s a small consolation that they’re practicing outside, muffled by the hotel walls.

Another booming explosion makes you wince, and it jostles some feathers right out your scalp. With a sigh, you pocket the strays.

Lys and Heme startle, bumping into each other as they follow behind. Lys glances around, taking a step closer to the group. Heme doesn’t seem too bothered by the sound. Their eyes filter around the tacky décor of the hotel.

Heme leans closer to you, whispering. “At least there isn’t much pink here.”

You snicker into your shoulder, and wave Charlie and Vaggie over when they round the corner. Charlie grabs Vaggie’s hand, dragging her closer.

“Come meet my interns,” you say and gesture to Lys and Heme. “They’ve agreed to participate in today’s extermination. There’s quite a number of cannibals fighting, so I thought I would call for some assistance.”

“That makes sense,” Vaggie nods, shaking their hands with a firm handshake. “It’s nice to meet you.”

Charlie smoothens the skirt of her dress, waving at them. “You guys all work together?”

“I was a paramedic back up top,” Heme says, waving back at Charlie. “Your cannibals will be in good hands.”

“And I was an ER nurse!” Lys gives them a thumbs up. “I never expected to become a doctor here in hell. The tuition fees are so much cheaper. I thought the fees would be ridiculously impossible to afford, but it’s practically free! A bit surprising since we are in hell—probably some kind of off-brand humor.”

“Neither did I,” you say, humming. 

Alastor insisted on paying for your education. It’s one of the very rare times when he refused to accept a ‘no’ from you. The tuition fees were being paid by him, and that was final. It’s good that the tuition fees barely dented his fortune, considering Alastor didn’t bother checking how much money exited his pocket every term.

“Shall we do names?” Charlie smiles at them. “This is Vaggie and I’m—"

“Charlie Morningstar,” Lys finishes for her. “I saw you on the TV.”

“From the commercial, hopefully.”

“From the news with Katie Killjoy,” Lys says. “You put up quite the entertaining display.”

Charlie laughs awkwardly.

You clear your throat a little. “This is Heme, and that’s Lys but we call her K sometimes.”

“You could also just go AAA as well.” Heme snorts into the air. “I certainly do when I see her in the morning. Her hair just puffs up like some kind of eldritch horror.”

“Absolutely not!” Lys elbows them. “K or Lys will do.”

“I really hope that isn’t your actual government name.”

Lys rolls her eyes, huffing. “And why would it be?”

“So…,” Heme begins, cringing a bit. “You willingly choose that name?”

“As if ‘Heme’ is any better.”

Another loud explosion jostles more feathers right off your scalp. Those go into your pocket as well. If Angel Dust and his friend survive the extermination, you will shove a bomb down their throat and smile as their blood streaks the fucking pink of your office walls.

You place a hand on Lys’ shoulders. “Yes, yes, you are both raging nerds—we get it,” you say, swatting your hand in the air. “Now be polite and say hello to Charlie and Vaggie.”

Lys and Heme both say their hellos.

Vaggie tilts her head, and some strands of her hair shift to her eyes. Charlie brushes some strands away. “K?” Vaggie echoes. “How do you get K from Lys?”

You smile at Vaggie. “If you don’t know why, then you don’t know why.”

“Well, either way, I’m so glad you’re willing to help.” Charlie’s eyes shine as she rocks on the balls of her fist. “I really appreciate how willing you are about helping out.”

Heme raises their hands in surrender. “Don’t thank us just yet.”

Lys shakes her head, rolling her eyes. “What Heme means to say is that we were offered extra points to be here.”

“It’s going to be dangerous,” Vaggie tells them, placing a hand on her hip. “Are you sure you want to be here? I mean…for extra points…?”

Lys laughs.

Heme laughs.

You laugh.

Lys grabs Vaggie by the shoulder, clutching it as she bores her eyes into Vaggie, pulling her closer. “I would do anything for extra points.”

Charlie’s smile stiffens as she peels Lys' fingers off Vaggie. She takes Vaggie’s hand pulling her closer, and turns to Lys with a smile that shows off her teeth. “I wish you luck, then.”

Somehow, you doubt if Charlie actually means that. Vaggie doesn’t seem to notice as her smile becomes a bit dopey.

Heme brings out their arm to separate Lys from Charlie, showing off their own smile. “We really appreciate that,” they say. “Thank you, your highness.”

Charlie places a hand on her chest, bringing out her hand to offer Lys a handshake. Heme takes it for her, smiling with a gentleness that would be foolish to believe. Alastor would love to witness such a sight. It seems he has trained the princess well, but your own pupil isn’t keen on losing either.

“We shouldn’t take too much of your time. I’ll let you guys go back to work,” you say, clearing your throat. “I’ll be here preparing the station inside the hotel. Lys and Heme will be smoothening the secondary site. If you need anything, we’ll be around.”

The group disperses and so does the tension. Vaggie pulls Charlie by the hand, and the filter off. She has to use the tips of her toes to steal a kiss from Charlie. Goodness! Not even you and Alastor are so unrefined to show off such cheesy displays. (Right…Right?)

You pick up a small crate of vials, hauling it off to its appropriate shelf. It’s quite heavy. Everything needs to be organized. It’s going to be chaotic once the extermination begins. Things need to be in order for quick and easy access.

The shadows below you flicker for a second. Alastor slithers out of your shadow. He doesn’t need to specifically slither out of your shadow. It could be any other shadow, but for some reason, Alastor chooses to pop out under yours anyway.

Alastor snatches the crate from you, inching ever so closer. “We wouldn’t want you breaking such a brittle back, would we?”

You roll your eyes, bumping your shoulder. The vials in the crate clink. “Thank you for bringing me here, Al,” you say. “I like this place. It’s a shame that I’ll have to leave soon.”

Alastor slots the crate when you point to the empty slot on the shelf. He summons his microphone with an annoying type of flare, using it to lean closer. “I doubt you actually think that.”

“It’s only because of the trees in your room.”

Alastor gives you a pointed look.

“Don’t look at me like that. It’s your room until the trees are present,” you say, crossing your arms as you lean on the shelf. “I feel like there are animals that watch me sleep at night.”

Another loud boom has you jostling into the shelf behind you. It ruffles the feather right off your scalp. Alastor inches closer, placing a hand on your ears to muffle yet another boom.

“If you step inside, and actually take a look, then there would be no reason to be frightened,” Alastor tells you, presenting the fallen feathers with a smile that shows off the yellow in his teeth. “It’s quite a nice place for a picnic. You would know that if you got over such ridiculousness, and allow me to take you.”

“Are you going to watch television with me?”

Alastor squints at you with annoyance but still, he places his hands on your ears to muffle another boom. “Absolutely not.”

You show Alastor the most innocent smile you can produce. “Then I’m not bringing a single feather into your forest that’s in your room. Although…I am eager to go to our home where there are no trees.”

Alastor shakes his head at you.

The halls are strangely silent. If you strain your hearing, the cluster of Sinners loitering outside catch your ears. How lovely. It seems the bomb assault on your ears have ceased as well.

Alastor leans forward until his bowtie reaches your vision. It’s crooked. You reach out for it, straightening it for him. The pads of your fingers smoothen the creases of his bowtie. Your hand trails down his chest until your fingers hook on his lapels, and adjust the fit of his coat. It’s all so solid.

He pushes his fingers on your cheek to force a smile. “What’s on your mind that’s got you frowning so deeply?”

“There’s much to frown about. I’m worried about you, deerest.” You fix his bowtie once more. It’s already straightened. “Scared, if I’m to be honest, and confused as to why you would volunteer to fight Adam alone.”

“Would you join me then?”

“I would.”

Alastor’s claws dig into the wood until a portion snaps away. “Don’t you dare.”

He pushes your cheeks once more, and doesn’t stop until you show him a smile. A reward comes in the form of a cheek kiss. His lips linger on the skin of your cheek, nudging his nose closer.

“Either way, what an absolutely silly thought. This is nothing I can’t handle.”

“Silly and stupid, maybe,” you say, turning to the shelf behind to arrange a box of vials that’s already been re-arranged. “Even if it makes me a fool, I am… unfortunately …a fool who happens to be serious. A silly, silly, foolish wife.”

“I only said it was a silly thought. There’s nothing foolish about you.” Alastor places a hand on your head, patting some feather down. “I would leave if you asked me to.”

You lean into his touch, humming as you take in the truth that’s being presented to you. “And what would you do if I did ask?”

“I would take you.” Alastor’s smile softens for a moment. It’s in the way he hides his teeth, and how his smile reaches all the way up his cheeks.

“Just me?”

Alastor glances around before placing a kiss on the very edges of your lips. It causes you to bump into the shelf. A hand shoots out to press back whatever that threatened to tumble off the ledge. “Only you.”

“What else?” you say, playing with the tips of his fingers.

“We would go to our home, and I would sit on the piano, playing while you do your stitching.” Alastor traces the ring on your finger. “Later, the news will play from the radio and we’ll hear all about how the hotel toppled and everyone died.”

“Why—because you weren’t here?”

“It’s because you would be with me, eating breakfast,” Alastor says, smiling. “Then we’d have our coffee. In the evening, I would come home to you and this cycle would repeat beyond eternity.”

The pads of your thumb go up and down as you caress his face, accepting whatever truth Alastor displays for you to see. “But something tells me you can’t.”

“Yes…but I can’t,” Alastor affirms, placing a hand over your hand to nuzzle further into your palm.

“Just like you can’t tell me about whatever mess that caused you to disappear on me for several years,” you say, trying to show him a smile. It doesn’t work. “You could have at least taken me. I would have followed you to the edges of this world.”

Alastor closes his eyes and connects his forehead with yours. His lips open and close as if there are words he wants you to hear. Whatever they are, he doesn’t say them.

Did you make a mistake? The question roars through your mind. Are you saying too much? Are you displaying too much of your soul for him to see?

“My, most precious, Al,” you call out to him, forcing a light chuckle and a smile as you swat him playfully. “I think I would have even settled for a goodbye or some assurance that you were to return to me. Look at me now. Ha! Oh, how you have absolutely ruined me.”

Alastor summons his microphone. It lands with a harsh ‘thunk’ as he it to place a glaring distance between.

Oh…oh…

There’s a proud and dismissive smile on his lip—it almost hurts to see such a sight. He uses the microphone like a cane, leaning on it as he divides the space between you and him.

You reach out to touch him, trying to shorten the gap he’s forcing.

Alastor inches backwards, ever so slightly. It’s the smallest of movements, but it hits you with the gentleness of a crashing wave.

There’s nothing you can do to hide your frown. Once more, you turn your back to him, rearranging a perfectly organized set of glassware on the shelf. The glass clinks together as you move it. What did you say? Did you say too much?

Alastor studies you for a moment. His eyes flicker to you. Somehow, you’re able to give him a small and dismissive smile before turning away to rearrange another box. The cracks are beginning to show again. Not in front of him. Anywhere, but in front of Alastor.

He inches his own hand closer, tapping your fingers with the very tips of his nails.

Tap. Tap. Tap. Three taps in quick succession.

Once more, you reach out to touch him. Alastor meets you halfway, leaning into the hand that holds him. You swipe your thumb on his cheek.

“Will you trust me?” Alastor asks you.

“Not when you smile at me like this.” Both hands go to his cheek, smoothing his face with the pads of your thumb until there’s only a tightlipped smile. It’s better than whatever dismissive smile he thought to give you. “But you tell me—should I trust the Radio Demon?”

“It would be unwise to do such a thing,” Alastor tells you. “But you can trust me, and I need you to know that.”

The cheeky part of you wants to be annoying, and ask who ‘me’ is. There’s no need to question it, not when you already know. It’s the Alastor when you are with him and when he is with you.

“Why the sudden question?” you ask. “I trust you…I always know that I can trust you, deerest.”

Alastor takes both your hands, holding it in his. He presses his lips on your ring, kissing the smooth metal. “Because there is a difference,” he says. “There’s a reason why I will not explain myself to you. Not when it’s much safer if I don’t.”

He pulls you into a hug, clutching your head to press you deeper into his chest. Questions swirl around your mind but the way Alastor cradles your head, brushing your feathers ceases all questions and heeds into Alastor’s silent request. 

You snake your arm around his back, clutching the fabric of his coat to pull him tighter. Alastor leans his head on your shoulder, bending his back to fully curl into your arms.

Alastor pulls you closer to the shadows, shifting you so his back faces whatever Sinners that could walk in. He pulls you even closer, arching his back to press even closer.

You lean your cheek on his head, and the base of his ears flicker. “While the thought is deeply appreciated, I still don’t like it.”

“I never expected you to.” Alastor pulls away to pick a feather off your scalp.

There’s a box in your pocket. It would probably be safer to leave the thing in your room, but you couldn’t part with it. No…not that. Instead, you slip the ring off your finger. “I want you to keep this for me.”

Alastor’s smile wobbles, and his ears flicker for just a moment. “Ha! Is this your way of asking for divorce, dearest?”

You reach up and plant a kiss on the edge of his mouth. “As if I can ever bear to get rid of you, my love,” you say, taking his hand in yours. “It would be hazardous to wear it later, and I can’t have it falling out of my pocket. You’re the only one I trust to hold it for me.”

The ring slips into Alastor’s fingers easily. There are two rings on his finger now.

Alastor inches closer, and your back hits the shelf. “Is that all?”

You play with the edges of his fingers before intertwining your hand togethers. “I want to keep existing with you, deerest,” you say. “I want to keep doing the dishes for as long as you keep cooking for me—”

Alastor places a finger on your lips, hushing you into silence.

The feathers on your scalp bristles as he shushes you. Part of you wants to chomp off his finger for such an audacity.

“I don’t want to hear another word from you.”

Your lips twist as you take in his words. Once more, you look away and rearrange some syringes that have already been rearranged thrice.

“You speak as if I won’t return to you, and even when I do, I won’t.” Alastor presses a kiss on your forehead. “But I shall keep the ring for now if it proves to you that it will be returned. How ridiculous you are.”

“Is that a deal, my deerest, darling, husband?”

Alastor boops your nose. “What is the worth of a deal when we have our vows?”

“Then I will hold you to it,” you say. “Afterall, it would be troubling to have to find myself a third husband.”

Alastor raises his eyebrows, trapping you between the shelf and his body. “That implies you’ve already had a second.”

“Oh darling,” you say, placing a hand on his cheek. “You are the second.”

“Am I now?” he says, inching closer. “How come I’ve never heard of this supposedly first husband of yours?”

“He was the most handsome radio start!” you tell him, flaring your hands as you smile. “But I prefer you much better. What is five years compared to decades of existing with you?”

Alastor’s smile widens to show off his teeth. “I happened to enjoy those five years with my first wife.”

You laugh, and Alastor’s eyes flicker all over your face. “Those five years were everything to me.”

“You’re doing it again—speaking as if you’re trying to convince me to stay,” Alastor says, softly. “I will return to you.”

“And I trust that you will.”

“My, most, dearest, your eyes crinkle when you smile,” he tells you. “Have I…Have I ever mentioned that to you?”

You show him your widest smile. “Does it?”

“It always has.”

Everything will be alright. The extermination will pass, and soon you’ll have that ring returned to you.

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ

The full force of the extermination shakes the building. Every boom shakes the walls. The chandelier jerks with every shoot of the canon. Angels fly above the glass ceiling, their swords raised with flared wings.

They’re ethereal.

What makes them fly? Birds have hollow bones to lighten their bodies for flight. Do angels have similar physiologies? Do their insides bleed the same way humans bleed? The things you would do to have their bodies splayed on your table, ready for your scalpel. And those wings…Alastor would love those wings.

You place a hand on your heated cheeks, sighing with delight.

What kind of smile would Alastor show if you presented angel wings to him? Would he be delighted with your gift? Part of you hopes he will. The base of their wings should cut off easily enough. They would look grand displayed out in the living-room of your home.

The shouting and clanks of steel jostle you out of your day-dream. Cannons mixing with the bombs and gunfire are downright excruciating.

The door slams open.

Someone barges in, clutching their arm. Their forearm is missing. The cannibal strides towards you, straddling what’s left of his arm. Blood drips down and pools on the carpeted floor. The bones that stick out are jagged, as if it’s been blown off rather than sliced.

You wave him over as Lys and Heme rush to your side, and ignore their own patients.

The cannibal takes a pensive sit on the cot, showing off what’s left of his arm. Strings of muscle and skin dangle from his elbow, revealing the long-jagged bone of his ulna. Holy energy corrupts the tissues of the skin and patches of his skin droop and fall off by the second.

Right then and there, you knew that there was no saving this arm.

If the holy magic isn’t removed from his body soon, then the death of his tissue would continue to creep up his arm, and corrode the healthy tissues that remains. That is if the blood loss alone isn’t going to take him first.

How absolutely lovely! This cannibal isn’t screaming.

“Oh…goodness,” you say, trying to fight off a smile. “This is the sixth one already, and it hasn’t even been an hour yet!”

Groaning and wailing echo around the hotel. Their desperate pleas for reprieve are ignored in favor of the cannibal with the corroding arm. Holy light consumes what’s left and burns his arm like acid. The cannibal’s face contorted with pain, biting the inside of his cheek to drown the scream.

“Deep breaths,” you tell him. “Once we remove the holy light, your body should heal right on his own. That’s quite lucky, right? Had you been human, I would have needed to clip some blood vessels and cut off your nerves.”

There’s a polite smile on Lys. “Do we remove the holiness?”

The blood on his arm pools on your gloves as you take it in your hold. “That would take too much time and resources, unfortunately.”

“Then…can we cut it off?” Lys asks, and her smile turns downright sinister.

You bite your lips, letting it quiver as you hold your smile. It doesn’t work. “I believe we can.”

The cannibal gulps as Lys and Heme crowd around him. Heme takes his intact arm, pinning it down to buckle the shackles around his wrist. They move on to his head. Lys makes quick work to chain his legs, and buckle his torso with the straps.

Heme takes a deep breath and sighs with bliss. “Shall I grab the morphine?”

“There’s no time,” you say, giving the cannibal a small and reassuring thumbs up. “If we wait, there will be nothing left to cut off...just a tourniquet, please.”

“Of course.”

You turn to the cannibal, pointing to your opened mouth for him to mimic. “Say, ‘Ahhhhhhh’. Can you do that for me? Ahhhh. Don’t worry, it’s just for your safety. Ahhhhh.”

The cannibal opens his mouth, obeying the request. A cloth gets shoved down his throat as Heme tightens the strap of the tourniquet.

“Hello there!” you say, smiling brightly as you lean down to meet his eyes. “Thank you for keeping silent so far. Try and keep it up! Don’t worry, I promise to be extra gentle.”

Lys hands you the bone saw. It’s surprisingly light as you take it from her. This saw is battery operated, and every bit automatic. One press of a button, and the saw revs, its sound reverberating around the busy room.

Modern technology is so useful! Back when you were alive, amputation was done using the strength of the person.

The cannibal begins to trash around to resist, but the straps hold him down too tightly. The saw goes through the tissues of his skin and muscles. He’s screaming now, his whole body taut as you press the saw deeper into him. The bone takes a second longer to cut through, but the force of the saw eventually wins over.

The cannibal passes out.

Lys inserts a morphine drop while Heme wraps his arm with bandages. They filter off right after, the thrill on the amputation obvious in their steps.

Someone barges into the room, cutting the line of Sinners waiting to be treated. It’s a female cannibal this time. She drags another cannibal in her arms, letting the legs drag limply on the floor. The weight of the body collapses her to the ground.

You walk up to her, placing a hand on her shoulders and kneel to meet her eyes. “Hello.”

“Please,” she chokes out, clutching the body tighter. The squish of blood squirts on your coat. How disgusting. “He…Help him.”

There’s a hole where his lungs should be. It’s as if someone punches a cavity straight into his chest. This Sinner is dead, and his entrails are slipping out this very moment.

“Do you know him?” You brush stray hair behind her ear. “Come on, now. Talk to me—Do you know him?”

“Y-yes,” she says, tears spilling from her eyes. “This is my husband.”

A stray tear drips down her cheek. You brush the next one away. “Are you hurt?”

“What does that have to do with him? I’m not here for me!” She clutches your coat, wrapping her fingers around the fabric.  “Please, you have to help. The princess said you were here to help. So, help him.”

The blood staining her palms transfers to the fabric of your coat. How revolting. You peel her fingers off.

“I’m going to have to ask you to leave,” you say with a bright smile. “You’re free to leave your husband in the deceased pile and pick up his body later. The next room is open if you can’t fight anymore. You could always pick up a stray weapon. Do whatever pleases you, but you can’t stay here.”

“…What?” Her teeth sharpen as cracks appear on her pearly white skin.

Interesting.

Had Rosie and Alastor not been on such friendly terms, you would have opened a cannibal’s insides a long time ago. It’s a shame the deceased pile will be used as food. Should you ask Alastor to negotiate a deal for one of their bodies?

Alastor … Alastor…Oh, how he would enjoy some angel wings.

“Toss her out.” You stand up and brush away the flakes of dried blood. “Tag the husband, then toss him on the pile. I wouldn’t want eyes to start appearing here. They’re rather creepy.”

You give the cannibal a small wave as inky shadow puppets drags her out the door, kicking and screaming.

Lys walks up to you, ignoring the growling wails around. There’s so much work to do—a break is taken when a break is found. “Wow,” she says, whistling. “That was harsh.”

Heme appears next. It seems they too tired of their patients. “It comes with the job.”

“Of course, I know it comes with the job. You don’t care for those you don’t care about.” Lys turns to you, smiling. “Hey doc, would you cry if we were here?”

“Probably from the loss of such amazing talent!” you tell them as if you would. Not a single tear would leave your eyes if they died. It would be deluded to think you would, but it’s quite a lovely fantasy. “I see you’ve been practicing—”

The glass ceiling shatters, and glass rains down.

You shield your eyes as Vaggie and some other angel crash to the ground on a dragon. It’s quite sad to see such a majestic creature go to waste. Should you preserve some of its bones after the extermination? Surely, Alastor would love some dragon bones…or perhaps its whole head.

Metal clinks as angelic steel crash against one another. Vaggie swipes her spear, but the angel dodges it easily.

This place is no longer safe.

“Evacuate the secondary site!” you exclaim. “Grab who you can, and…eh… just leave anyone who can’t stand on their own. Forget about the body pile. Just go!”

Heme nods and brushes stray glass out of Lys’ hair.

You grab your things, keeping an eye out as Vaggie and the angel exchange blows. Should you help her? Vaggie’s part of Alastor’s little pet project.... It’s not your fight and thus, not your problem. It seems you wouldn’t need to help. Vaggie’s wings burst forth, and uses her spear to dislodge some concrete to drop on the angel. 

A chain reaction of falling debris ensues.

It has you pressing backwards to narrowly dodge being crushed, and traps you into a corner.

Great! Lucky you. Love that.

Now, you have to climb your way out. Of course, this happens to you. The secondary site should already be prepared if it hasn’t already been run over by angels. The screams of Sinners grate your ears as you step on stray debris.

An angel bursts from the broken ceiling. She swoops down, plunging her sword through the neck of a stray Sinner. Ugh, what a waste of resources. If the cannibal was going to die in the end, then he should have just died the first time. How irritating.

You climb the rocks, dropping to the ground.

The angel turns towards you with her sword. You raise your hand in surrender.

“Are you a doctor?” The angel asks you, taking a step closer.

Fuck…

You take a step back. “Do you angels not have a rule against targeting medical personnel?”

The light reflects off the angel’s sword as she raises it higher. That’s a really sharp sword. A proper sharp sword. A sword with a very, very, sharp edge.

You’re running.

The muscles of your leg aches, and every breath you take burns your lungs. There’s something to live for. It’s not a waste of energy if there’s something to live for.

The building lights glitches sporadically. A buzz grows into the air, and tingles up the nerves of your spine. Your shadow spreads as if darkness itself urges it to grow. It climbs up the wall, and paints the whole space darker. 

The angel looks confused, taking a step back to assess what’s happening. A bright green hue streaks the edges of the shadow. Static builds. It starts off as a soft crackle until it’s all you can hear.

The symbols that carve itself in the air bring out your laughter. “Oh, just you wait until my husband arrives.”

An arm creeps out of the shadows below you. The bones are bent and the claws attached to the arm scratch the floor. A second arm joins the first one, pressing on the ground to haul itself upwards. Alastor climbs out of your shadows, and the air glitches with a sharp static. His antlers are growing, increasing like tree branches.

Blood drips out of his smile, and pools on the floor. Stitches appear on the edges of Alastor’s lips as his snarl widens to bare his teeth. Radio dials replace his usual red pupils.

Alastor presses a kiss on your cheek, the blood on his mouth transferring to your skin. A blissful sight escapes you. “Hi, honey,” Alastor says, a thick radio filter glazing his voice. “I hope I’m not too late.”

Green tendrils snake up the leg of the angel, wrapping around tightly. With a harsh tug, the angel crashes on the ground, trashing against her restraints.

“Not at all!” you say as Alastor’s bone snaps back into place. Gone are the proud antlers and the radio dials that strike your core. What a shame. “Dinner’s being pesky. Can I trouble you with some help?”

“Tell me you’re alright.”

Tiny voodoo dolls creep out of the shadows. They turn their heads, and their bones creak and snap as they turn towards the angels, crawling towards her.

Alastor grabs your shoulder, spinning you to face him instead of the angel. You try to turn, but he pokes your cheek then brushes the back of his fingers down.

His gaze harshen as he looks at the angel, a cold look in his eyes. “I’d appreciate an answer, my love.”

“Just went for a slight jog,” you say and take a deep breath to calm your beating heart. You’re so out of shape that it’s not even funny. “See? Not a feather out of place thanks to you. I just need a minute to calm down.”

Alastor turns to you, and it’s funny to see how fast his gaze turns from cold and harsh to warm and soft.“I thought it was a waste to run.”

“Well, it’s not a waste if you’re running because you have something to live for,” you say as screaming replaces the radio static. It’s loud and shrill, grating your ears. A woosh of the sword, but nothing seems to connect. “Aren’t you supposed to be on the roof?”

Vaguely, Adam and Lucifer exchange blows as they duel across the sky.

Alastor smiles at you, and there’s still blood dripping down his smile. You reach out for him, swiping the blood on his lips with your thumb. It leaves a streak. “I was.”

“Help me…” The angel reaches out. Its wings and part of its legs have been bitten off. “Please… Mercy … mercy.”

“Hush now, darling,” you say, placing a finger on your mouth. There’s a smile on your lips as you bare your teeth. “Mommy and Daddy are talking.”

The angel screams louder. She reaches out as the voodoo dolls chomp their teeth into her skin.

Alastor grabs your shoulders once more, forcing you to meet his eyes. “What happened to Adam?” you ask.

He inches closer. “He isn’t important.”

The angel ceases her screaming, but the sound of squelches doesn’t stop. What a truly gruesome sight.

“You could have saved the body for me,” you tell him, pouting. “I’ve never seen the insides of an angel before…and I wanted to gift you wings. I think you would have liked it.”

Alastor presses his lips on the edges of your mouth and more of his blood transfers on you. He brushes the dirt that sticks on your skin. “This one isn’t worth your time,” he tells you. “I’ll find you someone better. One with less intestines sticking out their guts.”

Somehow, your smile becomes dopey as the taste of iron fills your senses. “Oh, I love it when you flirt with me.”

“You have a very ridiculous notion of flirting.”

There’s a loud and sharp ringing that forces you to clutch your ears.

It’s like a build-up of power. The sound grows, echoing in your eardrums. The pain forces you to your knees, and you clutch your feather to muffle more of the sounds.

It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. Ḯ̶̝͝t̵͇͝h̸͚̲̐̄ũ̵̺r̵̰͎̈́̀ṱ̷͈̉̓s̸͈͕͋̅ í̷̠͎͠t̸��̥͋h̴̖͌û̷̧r̸̜̉ͅẗ̵͕̯́͐ŝ̴̨ ǐ̵͈̀ṱ̴̻̂̐h̷̻̄͜ǜ̵͈r̶͕̣̈́t̴͇̝̅̕s̷͇̖̈́ ḭ̷̡̈́ţ̵̔h̸͕̱̿ú̸͙̂r̴̯̈t̶͇̖̄s̴̹̆ ḭ̷͗t̸̨͑h̵̭͗̄û̵̞͓͝r̸̭͚̐͌t̸͓̬̃s̵̤̎̂ͅ

Vaguely, you feel Alastor’s hand on top of yours. He presses into your palm to help muffle the sound. His lips are moving. It’s too loud to hear him. Tears prickle your eyes as you clutch your head tighter. He pulls you closer to him, bringing you into his chest as he cradles your head.

With a deafening boom, the building explodes in half.

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ

The dust settles eventually.

Light bulbs shatter to the ground, and the brightness of the morning streams into the broken building, illuminating the ruined hall.

The building cut in half. One large beam, and destruction surrounds Alastor everywhere. So much destruction, and loss of Sinner life that eyes begin to carve themselves on the very foundations of the walls.

Power drums through Alastor’s veins, but it would take more than one haphazardly shot beam to destroy the entirety of the Hazbin Hotel.

His wounded pride isn’t important. Not right now. Not at this very moment.

Alastor brings his hand up and down the feathers of your head, smoothening the ones that sticks out. Your shoulders tremble as he presses you into his chest, and he feels every shake under his palm.

The way he holds you, cradling your head with a tightened grip around your body, flares the wound sliced into his chest.

Every single fiber of him hopes you don’t notice. Alastor will take care of that later, and only when you’re safe and far, far, away the crumbling building. Not a second before that.

Alastor pulls you closer to him, even if the pain burns his chest. “Tell me you’re alright,” he says. “You need to tell me nothing hurts.”

It’s more of a plea than an actual demand.

He looks down at where he holds you, tightly pressed against his chest and crumpled between his legs. You’re both crouched on the ground.

Alastor pulls away, just enough to meet your eyes and not any more or any less.

Your hands press into your ears. There’s a blank look on your dusty face. He’ll clean you later. Safety first—you’re safety first, always and forever.

He trails his fingers until they hook on your chin. Alastor tilts it to force you to meet his eyes. “Come on, now,” he says. “This is not the time to be foolish. Tell me if anything hurts.”

There’s a strange look on your face as you bring your palms out in front of you. Blood stains your palms. The light that streams illuminate the space just enough for Alastor to notice the blood on your feathers as well.

It’s weird—strange, almost—how Alastor can hear the way his heart thumps.

“Alastor… oh god …Alastor,” you call out for him, voice an octave higher than usual. “I can’t hear anything. Alastor, I can’t hear. It hurts. I can’t … Alastor … Alastor—”

“I’m right here.” He holds your face in the palm of his hands, careful not to pierce you with his claws. Always careful. Forever careful. Always and forever careful.

You shake your head, trembling between his legs. “I can’t hear, Alastor,” you say with desperation. “I don’t like this.”

Alastor brushes a feather away, reveling in the way you call out for his name. “I’ll take care of that later.”

He pulls you back into his chest, pressing you deeper into him with tight arms. Even if the pain of you propped directly above his wound forces him to bite down on his lips, Alastor still holds you until you stop shaking.

He brushes his hand along your bake. It takes about ten minutes of sharp pain, and carefully labored breaths until you ease into his hold. Alastor would endure another ten minutes because he is your husband, and this is something he can handle. Even if he couldn’t, he’d still endure it for you.

You pull away, looking straight into him with eyes that shine brighter than the sun itself, and give him a bright smile. “Much better?”

A bright smile? Your smiles are rarely bright. They’re soft or gentle or wide or innocent or annoyed, and Alastor can keep on listing. They are bright, sometimes, but this is the wrong type of bright. This one barely reaches your cheeks, and your eyes aren’t crinkling.

It’s a smile for the sake of showing him a smile. It’s controlled and meant to hold your emotions.

Alastor steals a kiss from you, pressing kiss after kiss until your eyes crinkle. That’s better.

“Tell me if anything hurts,” he says, pressing one last kiss. “Come on. Tell me.”

“I’m assuming you’re asking if I can hear,” you say, and Alastor nods like he did. “The ringing stopped, but it’s all still muffled.”

Alastor brings you to your feet, clutching your hand.  The pads of his thumb go up and down. It’s a habit he doesn’t fully notice. “We’re leaving.”

You’re patting your pockets.

The shadows spread around you and his own clutches your hand, pulling it possessively.

It’s easier to travel alone, harder when there’s another person. It takes a significant portion of his magic to bring another person with him. Alastor doesn’t care, not when it’s you he’s bringing.

The shadows snake up, ready to transpo—

You push him away, stepping out of his grasp. “It’s gone! I can’t find it,” you mumble, whipping your head around. “It was right here. It should be right here.”

There’s panic in your eyes as you dash to a pile of rocks. It’s in the way your eyes open wider and your mouth hangs slightly open. Alastor sees every little detail on your face, even in the dark. Anyone who wasn’t looking would miss it, but he’s always looking.

“It was just in my pocket.” You’re in a frenzy now, digging your nails into whatever debris you find.

There’s a loud snap that echoes, but you don’t hear it.

Things were crumbling around you, but you didn't seem to notice. Or was it that you didn't care?

Alastor grips your arm, pulling you away. He narrowly saves you from a light fixture crashing right on your head.

You push on his chest, right above his hidden wound. Pain flares just enough for Alastor to ease his grip, and you pull away.

There are debris that escapes your notice. You trip on them, landing on your ass with a wince.

Alastor should laugh at you. He can’t find it in himself to do so. Not when it hurts in a different way to witness your push him away so… so effortlessly. The base of his ear flickers downwards at the sight of such apathy. Alastor forces them up.

He offers his hand to you. Still, you shake your head.

“No, no. nononono,” you tell him, pushing back. “Later. It should be right here. It was just in my pocket. Where is it?”

Your nails scratch the ground as you push away whatever’s in your sight to keep digging. The feathers on your scalp sharpen as you allow your emotion to take over.

Alastor grabs your arm once more, and he doesn’t care that your frown deepens. “We are leaving, now.”

Just as easily as before, you push him away.

“Stop being foolish!” he snarls at you, even when he knows you hardly hear him. “Whatever it is, I’ll get you another one.”

“It’s important, and I lost it,” you say, still entrapped into a frenzied daze. “I can’t lose it as well. Don’t leave me…Alastor, don’t leave me. Where are you?”

There’s a sharp edge on the concrete you’re trying to push away. It slices your palm open when you push it away. Somehow, you don’t pay any mind to it.

Alastor takes your hand, and kneels on the ground with you. “I’m right here,” he says, and shows the two rings around his finger. “I’m not leaving until you are.”

You pull on his hand, but Alastor grips it tighter. “I have to look for it,” you say, weakly. “It’s important.”

There’s a handkerchief in his pocket that has his name on it. Alastor takes it out, studying the stitches. It’s one of hundreds that you’ve gifted him. Actual hundreds. He counted each and every one.

“Nothing is more important than you.” Alastor wraps the handkerchief around your hand, holding it tightly. “Late me take you, and I promise I will turn every stone in this pathetic building to find whatever it is you’re looking for. It’s not worth your life. Not to me.”

Alastor presses his forehead on your shoulder, curling into you. Shadows pool around, and it grows with his command.

You’re pushing on his shoulders, trying to squeeze out of his hold. “Alastor…no, no. Please!”

He doesn’t listen to a single word. The shadows grow higher. Alastor tightens his grip on your waist, even as you push him away.

“Alastor, no,” you beg him, still pushing on his shoulders. “It’s right there. I found it. It’s right there. Please, let me get it. Let me get it, and we can leave. Please!”

The shadows stop. They recede back into him. It heeds into your demand because your lips were not meant to beg.

Alastor peels himself off your shoulders, swiping your cheek with his thumb. “Tell me where it is.”

You point towards a flipped couch, near the edge of where the building cuts in half. Alastor places a hand on your shoulder when you try to stand.

“Stay here, it’s safer,” he tells you, and your eyes scrunch as he brushes more dust off your face. “If I get it for you, will you finally stop being ridiculous by pushing me away?”

Your head tilts as you lean into his palm, but you nod. It seems you still can’t fully hear him. Alastor goes to get it for you. It’s propped up right at the edge. It’s good that he went. You could have tripped and fell right over.

The box is smooth against his fingers, and the paint has long faded away. All this fuss for such a simple box? Alastor doesn’t understand why you treasure such an item.

He tosses it, and the box lands on your lap.

There’s relief in your eyes as you grab it, and a smile forms on your lips when you check what’s inside. You look around, eyes fluttering until it lands on him.

Alastor’s smile widens into a snarl before he controls himself. Not you—never you. He offers a hand. “We’re leaving, now,” he says. “I don’t appreciate having to repeat myself.”

A crack echoes across the walls.

You take a step towards him, reaching your hands to try and meet him halfway. Alastor will take you out of here. Somewhere safer. Somewhere that doesn’t threaten the life of his very reason for existing.

The Hazbin Hotel.

The war with heaven.

Freedom from his deal.

None of it will matter if you weren’t safe. Everything he’s done so far will become useless.

Another loud crack.

The tips of your fingers are so close. If he can just reach it, Alastor can take you out of here. He can bring you to solid ground where you will be safe. Just one step, and you will be safe.

One last sickening crack, and the floor crumbles beneath you. There’s a soft smile on your lips as the shadows claim what belongs to him.

Beautiful.

You are beautiful.

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ

Some of you really wanted Alastor to fuck around and find out. So this is him fucking around and finding out. I have the ability to do the funniest thing ever and just…end the series here <3. Reader fell and that’s it. The end. Gosh, I really hope at least one of you know how K and AAA are taken from Lys. T___T Id be such a nerd if at least one of you didn’t huhuhuhuhu Writing for Alastor is like, just so fun. He’s such a meticulous character so everything he says and the way he says it has a double meaning. Taglist: @mybrainsautocorrect @ray-rook @valentique @qardasngan @valentique @teavibesaf @tobyisher3 @amoraneuro @okay-babe @alastorssimp @aestheticgals-blog @reikamasama @slaggylemon @lyralibra @holymusicalmothman @amoraneuro @littledolly2345 @b-o-n-e-daddy @infinitefox @ayyyyyy-vase @kny-kween @thehiddenvase @stclen-sweethearts @obessivlyonline

[milfgyuu]

Little Freak Pairing: Yoon Jeonghan x Fem!Reader Series:  Svt x Harry’s House Tags: 1.5k, Angst, Comfort. Summary: “Stay green a little while. You bring blue lights to dreams. Starry haze, crystal ball. Somehow, you've become some paranoia. A wet dream just dangling. But your gift is wasted on me.”

Warnings: mild language, moderate alcohol usage, smoking, angsty thoughts, self depreciation (han), themes of depression/mental illness (han), one-sided angst, a tad bit suggestive, there is a lot of inner thought and minimal dialogue, gentle ending. 

He can’t understand it. 

They way you could have anyone and anything in the world that you wanted. That dreamer’s imagination of yours spilling forth compelling stories only someone like you could piece together in such a way that could captivate any audience. Your soft smile and gentle eyes makes every person who so much as looks your way fall in love. You could have your pick and yet you so poorly chose whom you shared your heart with. 

He tips back his beer and swallows the bitter liquid down as if the answer is somehow at the bottom of the bottle. It’s not of course and he cracks open another, watching you from across some stranger’s kitchen. He doesn’t even know who’s fridge he’s been digging through. 

You’re sat upon the kitchen counter, talking to a group of people he’s never met and still, you’ve captured their rapt attention, the sound of their laughter distant and fuzzy in his ears. You’re the most exquisite woman he’d ever laid eyes upon, though, he hadn’t ever truly deserved it. 

What could he have possibly done to earn the right to view such wild beauty?

To hold it in his hands?

To hear such fantastical words whispered from your lips before they’re pressed against his own?

Not a damn thing. 

Jeonghan knew he was a fuck up. He’d been told so on more than one occasion. People looked at him like scum and you were the sun. He was tattoos, cigarettes, and an old motorcycle. You were like a wild sunflower, loose hair in the wind, bare feet on the dashboard without a care in the world. You hadn’t belonged together and yet, you choose him over and over again. 

When the world is telling him to stay down, you pick him up with a smile. You kiss each bruise and cut, and fix him a cup of tea. You, of all people, tell him he’s the most beautiful on earth. You take him to bed each night and willingly give yourself over to him completely. Mind, body, soul. 

He’s tried to set you free, he has. 

He’d been so self-destructive, lashing out and everyone around him and when those waves of hurt hit too closely he thought that was it. Surely, you’d see sense. You’d leave him just like everyone else and finally move on in life. You’d flourish away from his influence. 

Instead, you stood your ground. You picked up the pieces and meticulously glued him back together. You kissed his hands and knelt on your knees before him, begging him to see himself the way you saw him and he tried. For you? He’d try anything. 

Your eyes meet him across the room and time stands still for a moment when you smile at him. After all these years, you still look at him like he’d personally crafted the universe and he falls in love with you over and over. Crashing painfully to the earth like a satellite falling out of orbit. 

His heartbeat fumbles in his chest and he clutches his bottle, draining it and discarding it carelessly in the sink before he’s shouldering his way toward the back door. 

Cold air whooshes into his lungs and he staggers a step. The very notion of you simply existing in such close proximity had the power to bring him to his knees and he drags himself across the yard, falling into an old plastic chair. He pulls a carton of cigarettes out of his jacket and pulls a smoke between his lips, flicking his lighter until the end glows red. 

He’d always preferred the solitude until you came along and filled all those empty spaces in his life. Now when he’s alone, all he wishes for is you at his side. Your smile, your laugh. He wishes he were in your tiny apartment, sitting on the floor in front of the couch while you braid his hair. In your bed with your arms and legs tangled together. 

He doesn’t deserve you but you believe more than anything that you deserve him. 

The back door cracks open and the rush of noise makes his eyes close, trying to shut it out but it washes away a moment later and he knows you’ve come to find him. Can feel your aura stretch out and touch him. Hear your soft foot steps in the grass. 

He opens his eyes and you look down at him, full of love and adoration. 

“It’s a nice night, isn’t it?”

Jeonghan exhales a cloud of smoke into the air and shrugs his brows coolly, “It’s too cold for you to be out here like that. Go back in.”

Your thin shirt and shorts with the fishnets beneath do nothing to shield you from the cold, your jacket abandoned somewhere inside but you’d live. You smile, ignoring his hard look of concern. “I have you to keep me warm,” you reason with him and he puts up no resistance when you sit in his lap, one arm wrapped around his shoulders. 

He takes another puff and then reaches down, snuffing out the cigarette before wrapping his arms around you. His gaze is steely, jaw clenched. He’s been thinking again. 

You press the tip of your finger between his eyes, rubbing slow circles to get him to release the tension he holds there and he sets his eyes on you. They’re so deep, deeper than the most remote, unexplored depths of the ocean and they hold so much pain. But they hold endless amounts of love in them as well. 

He can’t seem to see it. All the reasons why you chose him but he never understood that there was no competition. You’d never once loved anyone they way you loved him and you knew there were dark, nefarious demons that lurked within him, telling him that he’d never be good enough for you. You poured yourself into him and he did the same but the difference was that Jeonghan, held himself to impossible standards. 

He brought you love, joy, happiness, laughter, comfort, safety and sometimes despair. Not for you or your relationship but for him, the very man you wished so desperately to understand his own worth. He’d gotten better at it, accepting himself and his place in your life, but there were difficult days. Days where he doubted himself but you’d always be there to remind him. 

“Let’s take the long way home,” you say suddenly, smiling up at the sky, “Just you, me, and the stars tonight.”

Jeonghan lets out a short laugh, fingers tugging at a loose hole in your stockings. “You sure you don’t want to stay awhile? Not much of a party without you.”

You shake your head. “No one in that house could care less if I left early,” you correct him, “There isn’t a single person who knows me the way you do and even less that I’d rather be with right now.”

Jeonghan’s eyes dip to your lips but you beat him to it, closing the distance. It’s nothing inherently sexual but it’s the type of kiss that begins here and certainly ends when you’re alone with nothing but the bedsheets on. Jeonghan breaks away first but only because he can feel the words burning in his chest, begging to be verbalized. 

Again, you’re quicker than he is. “I love you, Jeonghan.”

That smile, he shuts his eyes and let’s his head fall back over his shoulders for a moment, letting the words sink it, hit home. He takes them and absorbs them into his very core, letting them work their magic on his broken spirit. They blanket his insecurities, coaxing and soothing them until they fall silent and allow his heart to rest for a just a bit to truly feel your unconditional love. 

“My angel,” he whispers back, picking his head up to lock eyes with you and you’re already patiently waiting, “Falling in love with you is the most selfish thing I’ve ever done.”

“Be selfish,” you press your forehead against his, “Because I’ll always be selfish with you. I’ll fight to keep you by my side and fill you with love every single day until we die, even if I have to convince you from the moment we wake up and right before we fall asleep each night that there is no one for me, but you. This delicate point of view, Jeonghan, it doesn’t belong to you. We’re going to cast it out together, every shadow of doubt.”

Jeonghan sighs, clutching your body closer to his own and you close the short distance between your lips, kissing him tenderly, “Thank you,” he smiles against your lips, “For not giving up on me. For loving me as I am and for trying to make me love myself.”

“You’re welcome,” you grin and peck his lips one last time before getting up and tugging his hand, “Now, I do believe you owe me a ride.”

Thanks for reading! 💗

SVT M.List | Main M.List

→ Please do NOT copy, repost, or translate, any of my works here on tumblr or on any other platforms! All stories are copyrighted, Milfguu, 2019. ©️

[tizzyizzy]

OFMD S2 Rewrite Part 1 (???)

I probably should write out a whole, finished plot outline, but I instead I'm starting with my attempts at replacements of the first two episodes.

Episode 1:

On the Revenge, we see that Ed is on a downward spiral. He is drinking to numb his emotional pain, cares little about his own safety or the crew's, and keeps taking risks in an attempt to feel anything. This includes stealing a prize from right under Ned's nose.

Throughout, we see how much this is wearing out the crew, especially Izzy. His toe is infected, but whenever he suggests a break, or going to shore to resupply, Ed is dismissive and uncaring. It isn't until Izzy collapses from infection Ed realizes what's going on.

Meanwhile, Archie has been picked up at some point to join the crew, and her relationship with Jim is developing.

Meanwhile meanwhile, Stede is learning that he has to regain the loyalty of his crew. Without money, they aren't inclined to follow him.

But with the help of the mysterious Ricky, Stede comes up with a brilliant plan to steal a ship. Turns out Ricky actually planned to capture Stede and use him as bait to capture Blackbeard.

But whoops, Stede and co. captured the lead ship of the Pirate Queen, and she's still on it! Now they've got Zheng's fleet on their tail, and a traitor in their midst!

Episode 2:

Izzy, delirious, refuses to accept an amputation, saying he'd better take his chances with the infection than become useless and be discarded by Blackbeard. Ed shoots Izzy in the leg to make amputation the only option. Overcome by guilt and despair, he locks himself in the brig to drink himself to death.

Between Izzy and Ed's delirious dreams, we get flashbacks of their relationship, where it is clarified for the audience. We see how close, productive, and joyful their relationship used to be. Then Ed becomes depressed, lose interest in piracy, and stop taking his role as captain seriously. We see how this puts an unfair burden on Izzy who tries to keep everything afloat while taking care of Ed, but also how Izzy misunderstands the situation and makes things worse by nagging Ed and trying to force him to do something he doesn't care about anymore.

Meanwhile, a storm is coming. Ed is too depressed to care. The crew on the Revenge are struggling to keep Izzy and themselves alive in the gale. Jim and Archie kiss, believing they might not survive.

Meanwhile meanwhile, Stede is having a crisis of his own. As they sail into the storm, his incompetence is becoming clearer and clearer...but he just managed to regain his confidence with his splendid plan. Zheng says she can lead them through the storm, but that would mean letting her out of the brig. Ricky tells Stede not to go through the storm, that it's better to wait it out than trust in someone as dangerous as Zheng.

In the end, Stede is man enough to give up power and trust in the crew and Zheng. Zheng takes charge and Stede, unlike Ricky, willingly submits to her orders, doing every bit of necessary manual labor with the rest of his crew. They get through the storm, and reach Revenge.

On the Revenge, Edward, finally, takes charge to get them through the storm. After his dark night of the soul, he has overcome his despair to save Izzy and the crew. He's wet and miserable with streams of dark makeup down his cheeks, but he's done it.

The storm fades. There are the slightest hints of a rainbow as Stede and Ed stare across at one another.

Authors Notes:

So I would consider this Act I. Here are some advantages of this setup.

No Evil Ed: Ed went full on bonkers in S2, complete horrific torture, murder-suicide, and PTSD inducing behaviors. In TizzyIzzy S2, Ed's atrocities are toned way down. While he's still a brutal pirate, he's more careless than intentionally cruel. This means he's more sympathetic as a character, keeping more of the audience on board. It also makes redemption much less of an issue for him, which mean we don't need to dedicate too much of later episodes to it. Speaking of which...

Ed's Redemption & Agency: In S2, Ed ends e2 being "killed" after nearly killing the entire crew, is unconscious in ep3 and spends all of e4 with Stede. He doesn't start trying to make things up to the crew until 5, and his attempts are woefully inadequate considering the impact. In TI S2, Ed is starting to work toward righting his mistakes as early as the end of ep2. By shooting Izzy's leg and forcing him to agree to the amputation, he's already acting in Izzy's best interest to make up for his previous negligence, even if it is in a fucked up way. Having him overcome his despair and guilt to save the crew in the storm shows growth, because he isn't letting his despair allow him to neglect the crew again. Development! It is also triumphant moment that gives Ed agency, conquering both a metaphorical storm and a literal one.

Stede as Captain: A big question that doesn't really get addressed in S2 is "why Stede?" Sure, he's got a pleasant attitude compared to most other pirate captain's, but he's fundamentally incompetent. Without his money, what is he? In S2, he goes from getting the crew hired by Spanish Jackie, to trying and failing to steal indigo at Ricky's suggestion, to being rescued by Zheng because luck. While Ricky still helps here, Stede still takes the lead in this unspecified brilliant plan. Sure, he messes up because he ends up taking Zheng's ship, but the fact that they actually succeeded goes to show his potential.

Stede as Crew: Another of Stede's flaws is that he can be arrogant. He wants the crew to do what he wants, even if he does genuinely care about them. He still wants to be the guy on top, and he's still naturally insecure about his pirating abilities. In TI S2 e2, he gets to overcome this flaw. He even gets to apply what he learned with Ed: just because Zheng is a fearsome Pirate Queen doesn't mean she can't be trusted. While we do get some of this in S2, I feel we could do with some more Stede bonding with the crew instead of lording over them.

Getting Stede and Ed Together: Before s2, I wanted Ed and Stede to grow a lot before finally reuniting. S2 made me lose my taste for that. Now we're getting Ed and Stede together an episode earlier. With less time needed to redeem Ed and them together an episode earlier, their relationship can be more thoroughly developed.

Clarifying the Edizzy Situation: Are they they world's most divorced couple? Mentor and mentee? Friends with benefits? Idol and worshipper? I don't know, and neither does David Jenkins! This flashback picks a relationship, clarifies it, and sticks to it. We get to be sympathetic to Izzy, by seeing how Ed has taken him for granted, and sympathetic to Ed by seeing unhappy he's been. Maybe we even see that Ed feels compelled to keep being pirate lest he disappoint Izzy.

[erwinsvow]

𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐞, 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬.

summary: your boyfriend, reiner, has always been possessive. you never minded it much, though.

warnings: college!au, rough sex, sir kink, grinding/teasing, doggy style, creampie, dacryphilia, reiner is a tease, angry reiner/upset with reader, jealousy, reiner treats you like a rag doll but who's complaining

the party’s in full swing, hoards of college kids hammered off of cheap beer and dancing to loud music. you sit on the edge of the couch, trying your best to avoid the couple going at it on the sofa seats next to you. you’d leave to give them some privacy, despite the fact that they’re in front of a hundred other people, but there’s nowhere else to sit.

and so, not ready to give up your chance to rest your sore feet, you sit there and wait patiently. your ankles are crossed as you finish off the last of your soda, looking around and realizing that you might be the only sober person here. you’re fiddling around now for no reason, with no one to speak to, adjusting the skirt of your dress and twirling a piece of your hair with your finger.

from across the room, with a red solo cup filled with the very same cheap beer in his hand, eren’s eyes land on you. a pretty girl, all alone at a party, with an empty drink. he was raised right, so knows that’s close to a crime.

at least that’s what he’s telling himself as he makes his way over to the couch in the corner, eyes burning holes through you as your eyes glance around the room, avoiding looking at the couple next to you.

eren turns to the couple first, one sharp glance making the boy alert, and pulling away from his girlfriend.

“hey, floch, go roofie your date somewhere else. i’m sitting here now,” he says firmly, causing floch and the girl to take off scrambling.

you glance up at the stranger who approached you with thankful eyes.

“you didn’t have to do that, but thank you anyways,” you say, finally sinking into the comfort of the couch.

“of course i did. that idiot would’ve given all these people here a show if someone didn’t stop him.”

you let out a laugh at his words, glancing back down at your shoes as you debate if it was a good idea to keep talking to him.

“i’m eren, by the way.”

“nice to meet you, eren,” you reply, once again gazing around the room and avoiding his eyes. eren waits another moment before speaking again.

“and you are-?” he questions, intrigued that you weren’t engaging in the conversation. he enjoys the chase, anyways.

“not interested,” you say with a gentle smile, trying not to seem rude despite the fact that you’re sure of eren’s intentions.

“oh, is that so? well, i think i can change that.”

“i’m sure you’ll try, but i don’t want you to waste your time. i’m sure there’s plenty of girls here who will talk to you willingly, so thank you for the seat but-”

“can i get you a drink?” he interjects, taking a long sip of his beer and wiping his lips with the back of his hand. “beer? shots? i can go find some of the good stuff, if you want.”

“i’m okay, eren,” you say, a little annoyed and clearly a little anxious.

“oh, come on. it’s not right for a pretty girl to have an empty cup at a party. it’s like the first commandment.”

“i think that might be blasphemy.”

“oh, whatever, the second commandment, then. i mean, would you rather sit here and be all alone?” he questions, leaning back into the seat.

“who said she was here alone?” a deep voice says from around you. you look up to see your boyfriend, reiner, with two cups in his hand. he does not look happy.

“braun,” eren addresses, looking up at the blond from his seat and not adjusting his posture at all. you’d expected eren to at least be a little intimidated at the sight of your looming boyfriend, as most guys usually were, but he looks more amused than anything else. “who would’ve thought you’d go and get yourself such a pretty date,” he says with a smirk. his eyes are still on you though, raking up and down your figure and focusing on your exposed legs.

reiner puts down the two cups in his hand a little too hard, the liquid sloshing around at the top and landing on the surface on the small table in front of you.

you glance up a little hesitant at reiner, knowing the effect eren’s words are having on him.

“she’s not my date, she’s my girlfriend, asshole,” reiner replies, bringing his arm around your shoulder and holding you closely to him. you play right into it, leaning into him and smiling back cutely at eren.

“sorry, did i not mention that?” you say sweetly, as eren’s eyes react to the sight in front of him. he lets out a low whistle, standing up and lifting a cup from the table, taking a big sip. “well then, guess i underestimated you after all, braun. call me when you get bored of him, baby,” he says, before walking away.

you feel your mouth drop open at the audacity of his words, his implication. you know reiner won’t take it well either, feeling yourself grab for his hand before he can follow eren to pummel him.

“reiner, baby, don’t get mad, he’s just an asshole-” you begin, before reiner’s head turns back to look at you.

you saw a whole host of emotions in his eyes, which were usually calm and sweet and looking at you with all the love in the world. but now, in the dim lighting of the party, they were almost glowing with anger and rage, and something else you couldn’t figure out, something akin to a primal look that raised all the hairs on your neck and sent a shiver through your body.

you feel reiner’s hand tighten on yours, as he leads you away from the party and to an empty room somewhere down the hall. you’re not exactly sure where, since it’s your first time in this stranger’s house, but as reiner puts you on the bed and locks the door, you can hardly care.

he looms over you, caging you in and making you feel completely submissive as his strong arms hover near your head.

“you think it’s funny talking to yeager? letting him think you don’t belong to me?” reiner says in a deep, low voice that makes you press your thighs together tightly. it doesn’t take much, if anything, from reiner to turn you on. his possessiveness only adds fuel to fire for you, sometimes.

“no- no, reiner, i would never-” you start, shaking your head dumbly and stumbling around your words as reiner pulls off his shirt, revealing his toned chest. your hands have a mind of their own, moving to grab his shoulders as you normally do, but reiner’s quicker than you, taking your two hands and pinning them above your head roughly.

“you’re using the wrong name, baby. you’re just begging to get punished today, aren’t you, you little slut?” reiner says, eyes looking over your body intensely and making you squirm. you’re uncomfortable with his gaze because you know what he’s thinking.

“i’m sorry, sir,” you mewl back, trying to move your hands from the harsh position they’re in, but to no avail. reiner’s grip is air-tight.

“i can’t even say you’re a good girl tonight, baby, because you’re not. now i see why you chose such a slutty little dress to wear tonight. you just wanted attention, didn’t you?”

“no, no, sir, just you- i just want you-” you say back, desperate for any contact and bucking your hips up uselessly.

“i don’t think you deserve me since you’ve been such a slutty girl.” his words are harsh, making your eyes tear up despite how unbelievably wanton you feel underneath his body. your head feels almost dizzy, overcome with so many different emotions.

tears are always reiner’s breaking point. he can never deny you once he sees those pretty eyes of yours well up and become watery just from his words and touches. and despite how badly you need to be taught a lesson, he knows he’s gonna break soon.

“i-i’m so sorry, sir, please- please touch me, i’m begging sir, i’ll be a good girl, i promise- oh!” you’re cut off as reiner’s other hand cups your pussy, palm against your clit and making you grind your hips against his hand desperately. he tears your panties off quickly, discarding them in the stranger’s room without a thought.

“tell me how that feels baby,” reiner says, releasing his hand from holding your wrists to grope at your chest, pulling down the dress just enough to free your tits.

“so good, sir, oh-!” your words fall apart as he continues his motions. you’re so desperate for his touch, to be filled up by him, you’re not aware of how loud you’re being and you certainly don’t care. reiner holds down your hips and moves his hand roughly against your clit, as you feel your body tense up with a strong heat in your core.

“cum for me, baby,” you hear reiner say next to your ear, increasing his pace as you feel the heat in your stomach expand and fill your entire body, the waves of your orgasm washing over you as you scream out reiner’s name.

you’re panting out, tongue lolling out and limbs feeling like jelly despite how reiner’s not even remotely done with you. he flips you over quickly, putting your head down and ass up as he pushes up your dress to expose your gushing cunt to him.

you’re still trying to catch your breath when he pushes into your tight hole slowly, without any warning and causing you to scream out again.

“sir-!” you moan, feeling reiner slide in and out of your wetness at a bruising pace. you feel his balls slap against your pussy, adding to the intense stimulation you feel and curling your toes as he continues. “please- please! i-i, can’t-” you cry out, unsure of what you were pleading with him for.

“what do you need, baby? don’t you want my cock? you want me to stop?” he says, not easing up on his motions. he’s enjoying every minute of having you fucked stupid from his cock.

“no, no- don’t stop, no!” you moan. you let out a squeal every time reiner thrusts.

“such a good girl, takin’ me so well, baby,” reiner says, sending the praise straight to your head and making you feel dizzy as you feel his fingers on your clit.

“i love you, reiner, i love you-” you hiccup, gripping your hand tightly on his as he increases his pace and his fingers at the same time, sending you into your second orgasm. you’re almost screaming now, clenching down tightly on his cock and squirming within reiner’s tight grip as you feel the coil in your stomach snap and heat spread all through your body again.

reiner’s increased pace only lasts a little while longer, his hips stuttering and him cumming inside you with a loud moan. as you feel the hot ropes of cum settle inside your throbbing cunt, you pant and keep a tight grip on reiner as he pulls out and lays you on his chest carefully.

the sheets on the stranger’s bed are certainly ruined, and so is your make-up and hair. you can’t even imagine what you look like, or what your dress is covered in, but you don’t really care.

all you can think about is reiner’s hands wrapped around you and his lips on yours as he pulls you into a deep kiss.

“have you learned your lesson, baby?” reiner asks. you think back quickly on how reiner hadn’t even wanted to go to the party, but you had insisted, and how you had picked out the shortest dress you could find, and how you didn’t walk away from eren when you knew reiner was coming back.

“yes, sir.”

[bruhstories]

Pet

summary: you're his perfect weapon pairing: karl heisenberg x fem!reader warning & content: master/slave dynamic if you squint, oral sex (male & female receiving), unprotected sex, daddy kink, slightly possessive heisenberg? word count: 1.7k

a/n: it just hit me that the other heisenberg fic i'm working on maaay work as a prequel to this one, so if you're interested in reading that, let me know. happy reading! and @theeerealpunkin, this is for you xD

When you wandered into that junkyard, you were nothing but a helpless little girl, orphaned, battered and bruised, weak and on the brink of death. It was honestly a miracle you made it so far, but he took pity in you, took you under his wing, taught you how to survive in such a cruel world, and turned you into a weapon. A lethal weapon. To the other lords, you were Heisenberg's rabid dog, and no one dared to lay a finger on him while you were there to guard him, but to him, you were his favourite pet. Obedient little thing, you would steal for him, kill for him and die for him, should he ask you to do it. But he never did, and never will, because in his heart, whatever was left of it, he cherished you.

The dynamic you two had was... strange, to say the least. He was your master, and you never questioned his authority, but the difference between you and his mindless minions was that you willingly gave yourself to him, mind, body and soul, no brainwashing needed. Still, Heisenberg knew that, should you ever turn against him, you could kill him without breaking a sweat, so he made sure to show how much he appreciated you, rarely ever treating you badly. In fact, he always considered you his equal, despite your personal choice to submit to him. And he didn't mind. By the gods, he didn't mind it one bit. To see such a powerful being as yourself whimper and writhe under him, begging for more, aching to please him, these things only made Heisenberg adore you. And he couldn't deny he was drunk on the fact that he had so much power over you, someone who could literally destroy him. But what could you do? You loved him. You loved to please him. "Crawl to me, pet." He orders, and you comply, kneeling in the doorway, placing your hands on the floor. You were exquisite, down on all fours, dragging your knees across the cold metal, eyes on him, always on him. You crawl under the table, resting your head on his thigh as he pats you head. "Atta girl. Daddy's had a long day, gonna help me feel good?" You eagerly nod, fingers immediately fumbling with the buckle of his belt. He chuckles, watching you struggle with the damned thing, but he won't lift a single finger to help you. Drool pools under your tongue when you feel how hard he is, and you finally undo the blasted buckle, releasing his cock from its confinements.

"Please..." You whisper, head tilted, breath tickling his glistening tip, but you don't dare to taste him unless he tells you to.

"What's that?"

"Can I have it? Please?"

He would love to humiliate you, but the fact of the matter is that he can't wait any longer.

"Have it all." Heisenberg gives you permission and you don't even thank him, tongue already swirling around the tip of his cock. This isn't the first time you do this, but he just can't get enough of you. He's been with other women before, even after he met you, but none of them were you. You hollow your cheeks, bobbing your head with a frantic pace, sloppily sucking and slurping and moaning. "Fuck, that's right, take it all." Heisenberg pushes your head down, depriving you of air. When he removes his hand, you pull away, gasping for air with teary eyes, but as you lean back, he stops you. "I'm feeling generous today. Get on the table."

You don't question his command, but you can't help but feel slightly confused. It's not unusual for him to fuck you, you just weren't expecting him to do it so soon.

"How do you want me, daddy? Bent over?" You purr, stretching your arms on the table.

"No, no, lay on your back."

Nodding, you turn around, tugging at your skirt and letting it fall to the floor as you lift yourself on the table. Heisenberg removes his leather gloves as you patiently wait, and he finally turns to you, jacket and shirt discarded, planting kisses on your inner thigh.

"I'm feeling very generous today." He sneers before dipping his head between your legs, and you want to protest, but you can't, because you never question him. You feel his tongue dragging over your slit, sending chills down your spine. This is definitely a surprise, since he's never given your pussy this kind of attention, but you can't deny how good it feels, the way he's lapping at your cunt like a famished man, his beard tickling your oversensitive skin. You throw your head back, chanting his name over and over again, thighs trembling from the stimulation.

"F-fuck, 's good! Daddy, this feels so good!" You mewl, your juices mixed with his saliva dripping down your ass. In the heat of the moment, you dare to card your fingers through his salt and pepper hair, hips bucking against his mouth. You can feel his grin against your skin, because no matter how much Heisenberg likes to use you for his own pleasure, he adores to see you break from the bliss. And as much you would love to come on his tongue, you need something to fill your aching cunt. "P-please fuck me, I need to feel you, please please please!" You cry out, propping yourself on your elbows to look at him — and, boy, he looks incredible, with your arousal and his spit dripping down his beard, so focused on making you feel good. Heisenberg pulls away giving your pussy a good slap, which makes you jolt up. He takes a step back, taking a good look at you — legs spread, eyes glossy and lidded, tits out of your half-buttoned shirt — a sight for sore eyes.

"I haven't even fingered you yet. Think ya’ earned it?" He tilts his head and you nod like a broken puppet, pushing your hips closer to the edge of the table.

"Yes, yes, please, daddy! Use me, use my cunt!" You mewl, and he digs his fingers into the plush of your hips, turning you around.

"Act like a bitch in heat, get fucked like a bitch in heat." Heisenberg doesn't hesitate to push his cock between your folds after lifting one of your legs on the table. Inch by inch, he bottoms out, and like a good girl, you throw your head back, mouth agape and tongue poking out.

"Just l-like t-that!"

"Shit, you're so tight." He can't help but be astonished that after so much time of using and abusing your cunt, it always feels like it's the first time. It could be because you're not technically a human anymore, or because he's just so fond of you. When he pinches one of your nipples, you automatically lift your ass, bucking against his hips, clenching around his cock and moaning his name. But the pleasure engulfing your entire body makes it difficult for you to prop yourself on your arms, and so you let yourself fall on the wooden table. Fingers gently brush through your locks before Heisenberg yanks you by the hair, pushing his chest against your back to feel you closer.

"Tell me, Y/N, who do you belong to?" He sneers into your ear, breath fanning over your skin.

"You, I belong t-to you!"

"Good. And there's no way in hell anyone else gets to touch you the way I do."

"N-no one, daddy! I'm yours- oh, fuck! Please, let me see you..."

"You wanna look into my eyes when you come on my cock, you little slut?"

"Mhm!" You can barely speak, his thrusts numbing your brain.

Heisenberg doesn't reply, only pulling out to grant you your wish while turning you around. His elbow pushes your leg to the side, despite not needing to, since you're already eager to take him back in. He slips his cock in with so much ease, and you just know you were made for him.

"Better?" He quirks a brow at you, green orbs burning into your soul.

"Yes, t-thank you!" You don't forget to show him just how much you appreciate his kind gesture, your trembling hand cupping his cheek.

The gesture is so tender that he can't help but sigh at the touch. Heisenberg doesn't want to give you the impression that he cares that much, because if he does — if he cares — you'll only become a weakness. And he can't afford to be weak, can't afford to lose you. The man slaps your hand away, gripping your hips so hard your skin begins to bruise, fucking you deeper, harder, pace so brutal the table begins to slide on the metal floor. The pain you're feeling is nothing compared to the pleasure, and so you wrap your legs around his waist, digging your fingernails into his shoulders, earning a hiss out of him. You can feel your orgasm building up, culminating in the sweetest release. He's close, too, you feel it in the way his cock twitches against your spongy walls, so drag your nails over his skin, pulling him closer to you. He smells of oil, liquor and cigarettes, and it's so intoxicating and addictive you come undone.

"F-fuck, I love you! I love you so much!" You melt under him, muscles relaxing. Your confession has him reach his climax, and with a few final thrusts, he spills his seed into your cunt. Not that it would matter since the parasite that turned you into a weapon made both of you infertile. Heisenberg slowly pulls out, careful not to cause you any discomfort. You're still a quivering mess on his workbench, and he hands you a towel, his way of showing that he cares.

"Does it bother you that I don't love you back?" He lies. You tilt your head, scrunching your nose as you wipe yourself clean.

"Hmmm, no, not really. You are my master, after all, and I'm your pet."

Heisenberg doesn't speak, focused on getting dressed. You're his pet, but you make him want to live another day. You make him want to destroy Miranda and break free. You make him smile, and laugh, and you make him feel human again. He turns on his heels, tucking a few strands of hair behind your ear before planting a soft kiss on your forehead.

"That's right, you're my pet."

[robininthelabyrinth]

Spilled Pearls

- Chapter 19 - ao3 -

Time passed, as it had a tendency to do.

After Cangse Sanren left, Lan Qiren remained in seclusion for the next two months, reviewing texts on the Lan sect rules regarding reciprocation, filial respect, and loyalty, and occasionally playing some new pieces – he’d started composing music as well as simply learning it, and that was a finicky business. Not only did he need to worry about the musical composition itself, like any normal musician, but there was also interweaving the spiritual energies and figuring out the way the song could be used as a spell, which was a completely different and often completely contradictory set of rules.

Moreover, the most powerful song-spells, he knew, were the ones that incorporated and drew on emotion, and he’d always had difficulty with those. Like most of his clan, Lan Qiren cleaved towards the more intellectual melodies, difficult but cold and distant, yet if he wanted to be truly innovative, he would need to find melodies in his heart.

Not long before he went to the Nightless City he had been inspired in a dream with a half-snippet of sound, which he had been painstakingly building up into a song in fits and starts, but recently he had found that whenever he played it the only image that came to mind was that of pearls scattered amidst blood-red mud.

The song was good, though, although it felt unfinished and incomplete. After he emerged from seclusion, he played it for his music teacher, first without qi and then with, demonstrating the suffocating and asphyxiating feeling of it – a heavy stone sitting in the midst of his chest, all his misery and anxieties wrapped up into musical notes – and his music teacher had been thrilled.

“You were born to write tragedies, child,” he said, examining the score proudly. “This is not only good but innovative, a new style with unexpected effects. I look forward to seeing you refine this further, and to your future works.”

Lan Qiren saluted deeply.

Music was just about the only thing that was going right for him at the moment.

The other disciples had been lured back into gossip by his presence, consumed by curiosity, and the teachers had come down on it hard, breeding resentment; even his few friends had been made tired by the whole fuss and only wanted it to die down. The rumors went by swiftly and quickly, anything to do with the Wen sect or the Nightless City almost immediately spread around everywhere, reaching his ears almost immediately upon his exit from seclusion.

One in particular caused him alarm, suggesting that Madame Wen had been discarded or even killed immediately after successfully bearing a son to her husband, but Lan Yueheng had convinced Lan Ganhui, always good at making friends, to write to the Wen sect disciples he’d become friendly with in the Nightless City to find out the truth. In the end, it turned out that Wen Ruohan had merely grown more distant from her, instructing her to go into seclusion for the birth a little early, and had perhaps sarcastically sent her a few treatises on the subject of a wife’s duty to support her husband. In the end, Wen Ruohan was an ambitious and ruthless man who encouraged his sect to take him as his model - as he himself had remarked, Madame Wen’s viciousness in fact demonstrated how she was an excellent match for him.

Lan Qiren hated that he was relieved that Wen Ruohan had not taken out his rage at what had happened on his wife, who had instigated the incident. He hated even more his suspicions that Wen Ruohan might have refrained from doing so not out of morality but out of the thought that Lan Qiren himself might disapprove - he wasn’t sure if that thought made him happy or sad.

At any rate, he soon didn’t have time to worry about things like that.

Lan Qiren’s refusal to explain in any detail what had happened at the Nightless City that had sent him fleeing and retreating into seclusion was largely not accepted by his curious peers, especially when someone had jeeringly pointed out that he’d probably told Cangse Sanren the whole thing already, and he refused to go to his teachers to complain, as he had in his youth.

His brother hadn’t accepted it, either.

He’d given Lan Qiren ten days after exiting seclusion, clearly expecting him to come and report on what had happened. When Lan Qiren had not done so, he had finally grown impatient and found him, demanding to know what it was that he had done that had caused such a fuss.

Lan Qiren had knelt and declared that he was unfilial and disobedient, that he had broken the rules, and requested that his brother punish him for his wrongdoing.

His brother had stared at him for a long time before realizing that Lan Qiren was serious – that he would rather be punished for intentionally breaking the rules against honoring and obeying his elders than tell what he had done or what had happened. Even when he was dragged to the hanshI, his collar pulled tight in his brother’s fist until he was thrown down to kneel in front of their father the sect leader, Lan Qiren did not object; he knelt without complaint, and even pressed his forehead to the ground in deference, but he did not speak.

The punishment his father decided upon for him was harsh, but Lan Qiren accepted it willingly. By the rules of his sect, an accepted punishment expiated a breach of the rules; once punished, he could no longer be persecuted for what he had done to earn the punishment. It would be over and done with.

Of course, there were always ways around that.

Technically, Lan Qiren’s breach was not in refusing to tell what had happened, but in disrespecting his elders by so refusing. A few days after he recovered from his initial punishment, his brother, still furious at having been denied, asked him the same question, with the same result. Their father looked disapprovingly at his eldest son – deliberately exploiting loopholes was not good etiquette – but again imposed a punishment.

Lan Qiren gritted his teeth and endured.

Lan Qiren’s brother did not bother him a third time, but by then it was too late; their relationship continued to deteriorate. Lan Qiren sought to avoid his brother whenever possible, and his brother’s disappointment in him grew; although he did not explicitly complain or impose punishments directly, he made his views clear. Those disciples and teachers that most admired him were, as always, more than willing to follow his lead and fill in the gaps, and for one reason or another Lan Qiren spent more time in the discipline hall than ever before. 

Eventually, noticing the division, others in the sect sought to reconcile them – their teachers, in the most part – but Lan Qiren rebuffed them, having noticed that their requests to be more considerate and free-minded were always aimed at him and never to his brother.

After poor Lan Yueheng, who never cared about anything but his alchemy and his mathematics and, possibly, the particularly indulgent outer-sect female disciple that guarded the stockroom of the ingredients he used to make things explode and regularly looked the other way when he came to get an extra helping, got roped into trying to tell Lan Qiren to be more forgiving, citing rules about fighting within families leading to nothing with a miserable and bemused expression on his face, Lan Qiren went to the teacher in question and rather acidly pointed out the discrepancy.

“He’s your elder,” the teacher said.

“Do not disrespect the younger,” Lan Qiren retorted.

“He’s your family –”

“Am I not his?”

The teacher sighed. “It’s not the same, with him. You know how he is – how he’s always been.”

Lan Qiren knew. Still, he said, “If you can identify where my conduct does not live up to the rules, please do so, and I will consider if my conduct requires modification. At the moment, I do not.”

“Qiren…”

“Why must I always be the one to yield?” Lan Qiren demanded. “I didn’t answer one question, and I took the punishment for it, as was my right. He is the one who is insisting on making a fuss, not me – why come to me? I don’t want anything from him.”

“That’s the problem. You shouldn’t fight so – why this, why now? You’ve always yielded to him before.”

Lan Qiren said nothing.

“He’s still your elder brother, Qiren. Soon, he’ll be your sect leader.”

“Do not fear the strong; do not bully the weak,” Lan Qiren said. “Being sect leader makes him more responsible, not less.”

“Qiren –”

“I have been a good brother to him for nearly twenty years, honored teacher. Perhaps not the most promising, perhaps somewhat embarrassing, but devoted in my own way. I have not changed so much. I am still loyal, still filial; I still do all that I am asked…the only thing that changed is that I expect nothing from him.”

Not even his love.

Lan Qiren knew better, now. He’d seen what a brother could be, what it should be - he’d experienced, however fleetingly, having someone genuinely care for him, listen to him and indulge him and take joy in his company; no longer would he accept his brother’s barely concealed disdain as an adequate substitute.  

“Qiren –”

“Has my father said anything?”

His teacher fell silent.

Lan Qiren bowed his head, having expected nothing better. His father was growing more and more distant from the world, less and less interested in the minutiae of everyday life; he could still stir himself to care for his precious eldest son, the child of his heart, but his oft-forgotten and overlooked second?

Unless Lan Qiren’s brother had complained about him, his father was unlikely to remember that such a person as Lan Qiren even existed.

“Does father hate me?” he asked, emboldened by his misery. It was the question he had always wanted to ask and had never dared to, and his teacher flinched as if struck. “Is that why he never saw me?”

“No,” his teacher said. “No – it wasn’t…”

“Does he blame me for my mother’s death?”

“He blames himself,” his teacher said, and sounded tired unto death. “From the very first. He thought that if he had not been sect leader, they might not have lost their children; if he was not sect leader, it wouldn’t have mattered if they’d had only one child left. But he couldn’t blame the sect, so he blamed himself – you don’t know how bad it was, Qiren; you don’t know what we all went through back then. When your mother died, he even lost his mind for a time.”

“What does that have to do with me?” Lan Qiren demanded. His hands had clenched into fists at some point, his knuckles pale and white. “If he blames himself and not me, then why did he – he never –”

He barely even saw me, he wanted to say. I am his son, just like my brother, yet it’s as if I don’t exist.

Why couldn’t he love me, too?

“You were very young,” his teacher said, his voice suddenly very distant as if he were remembering something. Lan Qiren looked at him in surprise. “I shouldn’t tell you this, but...she had just died, and he had lost his mind; none of us had realized the extent to it, thinking it merely grief. You were young, you didn’t understand. You ran to him, seeking comfort, and he nearly – he couldn’t risk having such a sin on his conscience, Qiren. You should not blame him.”

“What are you saying? That he neglected me and held me at arms’ length to console himself for nearly murdering me?” Lan Qiren asked, and thought back to all the times he had found himself afraid of his father’s glacial voice, terrified for no reason. If his father had tried to kill him in a rage, as his teacher suggested, shouldn’t he have been more scared of the heat than of cold?

Unless - his brilliant and accomplished father, who always acted as the rules said he should but who had lost his heart along with his wife - unless he had knowingly - 

Perhaps it had been the sect that had ordered their separation, not his father. Perhaps his father, who had spent years going through the motions of leadership and caring only about the son that reminded him of his wife’s joy and not the one who reminded him only of her death - his father, who led their sect and raised his eldest son and in so doing taught them all to be like him, overly partial to favorites and overly harsh to those that did not meet expectations - perhaps he had not objected to that arrangements. Perhaps it had been the elders that had set the rule of meeting only once a month, rather than not at all.

Perhaps they had thought that it had been for Lan Qiren’s own good that they had done so.

Perhaps they thought it was for his own good that they encouraged him to yield now to his brother’s temper, to humble himself despite having done nothing wrong, and all for the sake of familial peace.

That was not the conduct mandated by his family’s rules. Not the ones he followed, anyway.

It’s his fault, Lan Qiren thought suddenly. He saw the path we were walking down, my brother and I, and he did nothing to stop it; he loved my brother too much and me too little, and ruined us both through his negligence and indifference. He made my brother think he deserved the world that he then had to hold up on his own, while he made me think I deserved nothing...he could have done better by us. He should have done better by us.

Finding that his teacher had run out of things to say, Lan Qiren saluted him once again.

“I will be filial and loyal, as the rules require,” he said simply. “I will respect and honor my father and brother. Do not doubt that.”

He said no more. Instead, he returned to his quarters, wondering if they thought he was happy about how things stood between him and his brother, who he still loved.

Nothing could be further from the truth.

He thought miserably to himself that he had been happier living in denial, pretending to himself that there was brotherly affection between them, that his brother’s coldness was only because Lan Qiren had spoiled things somehow by being inferior than his brother would have preferred. When he could love his brother whole-heartedly and think to himself that his brother secretly loved him back, when he suspected but did not know that that had only ever been a lie he had concocted for himself. He had been far happier back then than the way it was now, when even the paper-thin one-sided façade of love was gone.

The saddest part of it all was that Lan Qiren still loved his brother, his stupid Lan heart as inexorable as a mountain avalanche already set in motion. He just didn’t much like him.

He did like Wen Ruohan, the brother that liked him back and might even have loved him if a man such as him could recognize such a tender emotion, but that wasn’t really relevant.

Lan Qiren knew his duty, whether to his sect, to his brothers, or to morality. He knew what he had to do.

For his part, Wen Ruohan waited over a month and a half after Lan Qiren’s exit from seclusion before trying to reach out again by mail. No doubt conscious of his dignity and ego, the powerful sect leader that no one ever really denied, his letter talked around the subject in Wen Ruohan’s usual high-handed manner and evaded either apologies or explanations; from his tone, it was likely that he expected Lan Qiren to respond in anger and denial, or even not to respond at all. Instead, Lan Qiren wrote back obediently, reporting dully on his daily life. When pressed, he even wrote a short summary of his ongoing projects, copying the words precisely from the submissions he made for his teachers to avoid excessive enthusiasm.

Wen Ruohan’s letters developed a certain level of concern after that, which Lan Qiren ignored in favor of continuing to respond politely but unenthusiastically; a filial younger brother, just as he was to his own blood brother, and nothing more. At the next discussion conference, he saluted Wen Ruohan to the exact degree required by their relationship and called him xiongzhang as a respectful younger brother ought; Wen Ruohan had an expression on his face that suggested he had bitten into a sour lemon and stepped in dog shit at the same time, and his eyes followed Lan Qiren around for the remainder of the afternoon.

Lan Qiren was concerned for a while that Wen Ruohan would try to summon him once night fell, forcing the issue, but he was saved through an unexpected twist of fate – namely, that Jiang Fengmian had, like all the others, completely misinterpreted Lan Qiren’s relationship with Cangse Sanren. The Jiang sect heir marched up to him not long after the opening ceremonies had been completed and asked him, stiffly, to swear that he had no interest in the lady and would not communicate with her in the future. Lan Qiren, thinking primarily of their friendship, refused, and then Jiang Fengmian punched him right in the face.

Lan Qiren might be cold and standoffish as a rule, but he did have a temper, and that temper did not hold with being assaulted over things that weren’t even his fault – neither of them were even involved with Cangse Sanren! – and having been so thoroughly goaded he had no choice but to hit back.

In the end, Cangse Sanren had slapped Jiang Fengmian silly and Lan Qiren’s brother had sent him to kneel in disgrace all night, reminding him no fighting without permission and with his eyes silently promised additional punishment when they returned home.

Wen Ruohan didn’t disturb him that night, and Lan Qiren was able to persevere. Indeed, Wen Ruohan troubled him much less than he’d feared, opting in his hurt pride to instead turn to Lao Nie and stay remarkably close by his side – Lao Nie was the one who looked apologetically at Lan Qiren and tried to find time for him, whether to invite him on outings or to scold his brother for the apparent breakdown in domestic tranquility. For his part, Lan Qiren ignored Lao Nie and didn’t hold it against him even when he started showing up to the discussion meetings with distinctive red marks on his throat.

All right, he held it against him a little.

How Lao Nie had such bad taste, Lan Qiren had no idea. Surely he, unlike Lan Qiren, had known enough to realize that Wen Ruohan was an evil man…?

Probably he had; it was only that he didn’t much care. Lan Qiren had promised to try to stop lying to himself about people he liked, and that meant he couldn’t pretend that Lao Nie wasn’t a remarkably callous man at times, ruthless and careless with anything that was outside his sect – even his friends. There could be no doubt that he loved them, sincerely and honestly, and yet…

Lan Qiren was a little disappointed, but not much, knowing that he, too, was irrevocably bound to such a man as Wen Ruohan. He couldn’t blame Lao Nie for the same thing he himself had done. 

Mostly he was just pleased that his suspicion regarding their relationship had been confirmed, even if somehow – unbelievably – no one else seemed to notice it.

In fact, he thought it might mark the very first time in his life that he’d figured out something interpersonal before other people had. Normally he would report it to someone at his sect as soon as he noticed that they’d overlooked it, wanting to do his best for them, but the sensation was too novel and his relations with his sect a little too cold at the moment; he hugged the knowledge to his chest instead, enjoying the brief warm feeling of knowing something other people didn’t.

He intended to tell them, of course, once they returned back to the Cloud Recesses, only they had barely brushed the dust of their journey off their shoulders when they were summoned to the gathering hall for what everyone had now expected for years: Lan Qiren’s father, eyes blank, made the announcement that he was officially setting the date for which he would be retiring as sect leader and retreating from the world, going into seclusion to try to break through the boundaries of cultivation and reach the heavens in a single bound or else die in the attempt.

Lan Qiren’s brother, naturally, would inherit.

He was as fresh from the road as the rest of them, but with his hands behind his back, standing beside their father, he looked as fresh and untouched as a new-bloomed orchid, as beautiful as a polished piece of jade. His eyes reflected the dichotomy that Lan Qiren had learned governed his brother’s life: pride, for the power that he was going to inherit and the accomplishments that everyone agreed made him worthy of that inheritance, and envy, looking at his own father with jealousy, longing also to withdraw from the weight the world had placed on him and do what he could on his own, unburdened by others.

Lan Qiren’s brother, Lan Qiren had learned, saw everything in his life through the prism of himself – did others have something he wanted, did he have something that they didn’t, how did he compare, was he being compared…when he got something into his mind, he cared for nothing else but how to achieve it, no matter the cost, and most of the time he was successful, too. He was fundamentally self-sufficient, requiring nothing and no one but himself, and so was capable of performing miracles – if he was motivated to do so.

Lan Qiren was much less capable. He was lacking in cultivation, lacking in social skills, lacking even in a similar degree of independence, longing as he did for the company and acceptance of his peers even as his introversion demanded sufficient time to himself. There was no way in which he was superior to his brother; in every respect, he was inferior.

And yet, sometimes, he thought that his brother was jealous of him, too.

(Their father retreating into seclusion meant that they would both be losing him – but it was really only Lan Qiren’s brother that lost something. For Lan Qiren, what he mourned was only the absence of what had never been there, and he had finished mourning for that already.)

In the end, the main change occasioned by the impending change in leadership was that Lan Qiren’s brother grew too busy to pay much attention to Lan Qiren, much to his relief. Relations between them grew…not warmer, no, but less fraught, and although Lan Qiren knew he ought to celebrate, he mostly mourned that the cause of it was not a real mending of fences but rather his brother simply forgetting that he existed, just as their father always had.

Lan Qiren took the first opportunity he had to get out of the Cloud Recesses, even attending a party to celebrate sworn brother’s new son with relatively little issue. During the visit, Wen Ruohan ignored him in favor of sticking ever closer to a strangely distracted Lao Nie, almost as if he were deliberately slighting Lan Qiren for having been cold in their last interaction and for not answering his letters the way he wanted. Lan Qiren briefly felt hurt at having been put aside and forgotten so quickly - assuming that he had been forgotten, which he wasn’t sure of, as Wen Ruohan ignoring him sometimes seemed almost performative - but then reminded himself that this, like his poor relationship with his blood brother, was only the results of his own actions, and those of others.

He didn’t – regret it, not really. He’d lived his life by the Lan sect rules, and he didn’t regret doing so now, no matter how lonely the results might make him feel.

Instead, he returned to the Cloud Recesses and began to plan out in earnest his plans for departing the Cloud Recesses to travel the world as a musician, the goal he had set since he was young and was finally, impossibly, on the verge of satisfying. He would need to stay for his brother’s ascension to sect leader the next year, he thought, and perhaps for a year after that – just because their relationship wasn’t good didn’t mean he was entitled to do things that would let other people talk about it – but after that…

After that, he would go.

He would make new friends, or not. He would learn new things. He would see what the world was like.

Sooner than he thought, Lan Qiren turned twenty, thereby finally becoming an adult. The event took place with little fanfare, and Lan Qiren sent back the gifts he received from both Wen Ruohan and Lao Nie unopened with a polite note indicating that he was unworthy of such attention, and Cangse Sanren’s with a much more emphatic note reminding her that he was largely uninterested in sexual matters and therefore had no need for these sorts of implements. 

His brother got him new guqin strings, the same gift he always gave – Lan Qiren had once been very happy to receive it before he realized that it was the storeroom distributing the gift in his brother’s name – and Lan Qiren returned that as well. Lan Yueheng was the only one who successfully managed to give him a gift by virtue of sneaking the fancy brush he’d bought for him into his table in such a way that Lan Qiren utilized it before realizing it was new, and then refused to take it back on the basis that it had already been used. He looked so pleased with himself over his little trick that Lan Qiren didn’t have the heart to scold him.

Time continued to pass: day by day, night by night, season by season.

And then she arrived.

[shockinglysubmissive]

Ash and Smoke

WARNINGS: Smoking, Objectification (of reader), Swearing, Cigarette burns, Spit play, Public sex, Oral sex (male recieving), Throat fucking

‘Just got back. Running the store for the day. Your place tonight or mine?’ Was all the message from your boyfriend said. You are completely unaware of how angry he is. Having gotten out of work early, you decide to stop by his store after a quick trip home.

You walk to Sakanoshita Market, blissfully unaware of the ill mood your boyfriend was in. Blinded by your excitement to see him again, after him being gone for a week with his volleyball team, you had missed him. Deciding to surprise him, you wear his favorite outfit, a short pair of black shorts, and one of his volleyball jackets. The first clue that you should have turned around and left was the cloud of smoke that billowed out of the door when you opened it. Choking on the smoke, you notice two empty packs of cigarettes laying next to the trash can.

“Dammit Keishin! You said you would cut back on smoking! What the fuck is this?” Kneeling down, you pick up one of the discarded boxes. “Two boxes in one day?! You’ve only been home for a few hours and you have already smoked through two boxes!” Your previous good mood has faded instantly, waiting for him to look at you, or even say something.

Flicking his cigarette butt onto the floor, he stamps out the last few burning embers. Your eyes follow the discarded butt, noticing a pile of them on the floor. “Really? Can’t even use an ashtray?” Your nose wrinkles in disgust, deciding you weren’t going to stick around if he was going to keep giving you the silent treatment. “I’ll be at my place if you decide you want to see me. You’d better leave those here though.” You nod toward the new cigarette between his fingers, watching him take a long drag. You roll your eyes and turn around, hand on the door.

Moving faster than you expected a chain smoker to move, he is on you. Cigarette held between his lips, one hand drags you away from the door, the other flips the sign to read that the store is closed. Standing between you and the door, he backs you to the counter, lifting you to sit on it.

His brown eyes bore into yours, having you trapped. One hand removes the cigarette from between his lips, dropping some ashes on your thigh. You gasp at the sudden burn, leaving yourself vulnerable for his free hand to grasp your jaw. He leans in close, as if he is going to kiss you. Your lips part slightly in anticipation for him.

The second before your lips connect, his mouth opens and he breathes all the smoke in his lungs directly into your face. You push him away, coughing out the smoke, feeling a slight burn from the second hand smoke. Despite the foul taste in your mouth, your core throbbed at his harsh treatment.

“Couldn’t let my new personal ashtray just walk away. Since you seemed so offended by me smoking, and tossing the butts on the floor, I am assuming it’s because you’re jealous that you don’t get to hold my smoke in your lungs, and be useful.” He grins at you, taking another long drag. You are torn between being angry, and being so turned on by him. He can see the internal struggle behind your eyes. “Strip for me. Let me see that cute lingerie I know you are hiding under that outfit.” He takes a step back, allowing you to stand.

“Really Kei? That’s all you have to say to me?” You snap, a bit annoyed, and still not sure if you even want to stay. He holds your jaw, making you look at him. You feel yourself shrink slightly under his gaze, determined not to just fold under him.

“You talk too damn much. Ashtrays don’t talk.” His tone is different from what you’re used to; full of anger. Suddenly it hits you, the reason why he has been chain smoking, and his sour mood.

“Aww. Is somebody annoyed that the team they coach lost? You gonna use me as your little stress ball?” Your head tilts as you give him a mocking voice. His eye twitches as he unzips your jacket halfway, shoving it down your arms just enough to have your chest exposed to him. You’re left standing in front of him wearing a lacy black bra. You become hyper aware of the fact there are windows everywhere and someone could see you. He takes his cigarette out of his mouth, tapping it so ashes burn the top of your chest, singeing some of your bra.

“Fucking slut. Look at you. Just a bra under that jacket. You want to be treated like this. You know you’re nothing more than a hole for me to fuck. I’m gonna make you useful though, don’t you worry about that. I’ll use you to hold my smoke in your lungs, and my cum in that tight little cunt.” He scowls down at you, wanting more than anything to wipe that small smirk off your face. You were a bit shocked by his words, since he had never said these things to you before. You had talked about it before, but he had stated that he would feel terrible being so mean, even if you liked it. Hearing him belittle you so unprovoked had you clenching your thighs together.

“Looks like I struck a nerve. But you’re all talk.” You keep that same mocking tone, seeing his face flush red with anger.

“Keep running that fucking mouth and watch how I’m gonna use you. You will wish I used you as a stress ball.” He leans in close, squeezing your cheeks to make your lips pucker. Taking a final drag of his cigarette, he stamps it out on the inside of your thigh. You yelp in pain, and he uses this moment to press his thumb on your tongue. He hovers over your mouth and spits into it.

It tastes of stale cigarettes, and makes you want to gag. You turn your head to spit it out, but his palm presses firmly over your mouth. “You’re gonna hold it until I decide to use your mouth. I am tired of hearing you talk.” He nudges your thighs open with his knee, grinning when he sees the lust behind your eyes. “You really are a slut aren’t you? You’re probably soaked right now and all I’ve done is insult you and hurt you. Maybe I should have done this sooner. Treat you like an object. You’re useless without me. Isn’t that right?” He asks, forcing you to nod your head. Despite it all, he was right. You were loving every moment of this.

The spit makes your mouth water, trying to water down the pungent taste. You realize you could swallow it, but were still holding it in your mouth willingly. He watches you, his gaze intense as he opens his box of cigarettes, sliding out a new one. “Hold this.” He presses the unlit cigarette between your lips while searching for his lighter. Finally he flicks it and lights the end. Showing a tad bit of mercy, he removes it before you have to breathe the smoke in.

“Funny. I don’t think I want this anymore. But I can’t just let it burn out. That would be wasteful.” Smirking, he presses the red tip to your chest, twisting it until the embers fade away. Expecting the burn this time, you are able to hold back any reaction. To your surprise, you were starting to love the aching burns from where the ashes and cigarettes have been stamped on your skin. Endorphins flowing, your body becomes hypersensitive.

He sets the cigarette down on the counter, lifting you up. “Open.” He instructs, curling a finger under your jaw to lift your chin. Your lips part slightly, scared to let the drool run down your face. He sees your hesitation and hooks his thumb in, pulling your bottom lip down so the drool flows freely to mix with the ashes on your chest. “No need to be shy about being a disgusting mess for me, this is almost exactly how I want you. So close to perfection.” He wipes the drool that was left on his finger across your cheek.

“Almost?” Your brows furrow, a bit disappointed at the half praise you received. His eyes meet yours, grinning down at you. “How do I become exactly what you want?” Your voice shakes slightly.

“Well yeah. I did say I wanted to use you as my ashtray and my cumdump. So far, you’ve proven to be a good ashtray. You even moaned when I put the cigarette out on those perfect tits. Now I have to make you my cumdump.” He grins. You look out the window, seeing people walk past.

“Kei… I will do anything you want… Just please… can we go behind the counter?” Your hands wrap around his lean body, untying the apron. “You’re the only one who gets to see me all messy and desperate.” You are trying your best to seduce him into agreeing with you, releasing a small sigh when he drags you behind the counter.

“Kneel. And use your mouth like that good cocksleeve I know you are.” His voice is stern, but it no longer holds that anger that had frightened you earlier. You work his pants down just enough to free him, watching the way his cock bounces up to his stomach. Your eyes scan over him, constantly in awe of him.

He wasn’t very thick, but he was long, curving slightly to the left. A few prominent veins run up the shaft toward the round head, dripping with precum. You press open mouth kisses down his shaft, only pausing to trail your tongue along his heavy balls. Working your way back up to the tip, you lick along one of the veins, feeling the pulse against your tongue. Lips start to wrap around him as the door dings, and footsteps enter.

“Coach! It’s an emergency! I spilled Kageyama’s milk! Do you have some I can have? I don’t have any money on me.” Hinata’s voice rings out in panic, walking closer to the counter. You try to pull away to avoid touching Kei so he doesn’t make any sounds.

Feeling you pull away, a hand shoves your mouth fully around his length, causing you to gag. He keeps his composure while talking to Hinata. “Just grab one and go. I am in the middle of something.” He grumbles, free hand reaching for the previously discarded cigarette, forcing him deeper down your throat.

Strangled gags and gurgles are unable to be held back. You claw desperately at his thighs, trying to get some air as tears start to flow down your face. He leans against the counter, leaving his dick shoved in your throat.

“What is that noise? It sounds like something is choking.” Hinata says softly, walking back up to the counter to try to see what is going on.

“Scram kid. I told you I am busy. Do you want to be benched? I don’t care if you’re a second year. I will bench you for your final season.” He growls in annoyance, pulling out of your throat just as your vision starts to blur. You gasp pathetically around his dick, not caring if he hears, just trying to get rid of the burn in your lungs. “Do I have to repeat myself? Scram.”

Connecting the dots, Hinata runs out of the store, the carton of milk grasped tightly in his hand. You feel a hand tangle into your hair and yank you up.

“I told you to suck. Why were you going to pull away? I should have known better than to let you do anything on your own. Strip. You can leave your panties though.” He stares at your tear and drool soaked face and tits, pushing you aside so he can cover himself with his apron, going to lock the door.

Your hands shake slightly as you do as he says, not wanting to upset him more than you already had. The click of the lock makes you jump, looking up at him as you unhook the slightly singed bra. He leans against the door frame, memorizing the way you looked.

“Are you scared of me ashtray?” He asks, his voice sounding closer to normal than any of his previous statements. You pause a moment, really having to think. You felt a lot of emotions, but fear wasn’t one that you had.

“No Kei… Not at all. I am loving every second of this.” While it wasn’t the complete truth, it was close enough. There were moments where you were angry, but even during those moments, you never wanted him to stop what he was doing. You slide your shorts off, staring at him. Your checks burn with embarrassment, standing nearly fully exposed in his store, his eyes scanning your body.

“Lay down. Hang your head behind the counter. No one will be able to see your face if they happen to look in.” He instructs, walking over to you, looking at you like a meal.

Hopping up onto the counter, you lay your body back, leaning your head over the edge. “Like this?” You ask softly, starting to feel dizzy as blood rushes to your head.

“Open wide. And try to relax your throat.” He pumps his hand on his throbbing dick, wanting nothing more than to see you dripping with his cum. Relighting his previous cigarette, he takes a drag, letting it sit in his lungs a few seconds before letting it spill from his lips. Lining himself with your mouth, he shoves down your throat with no warning.

You gag and attempt to pull away before freezing, letting your throat open before relaxing. Not wanting to waste to air in your lungs, you close your eyes and let him use your mouth. Fingertips drift to your chest, pinching and circling your nipples. Moaning around him, he looks down and sees what you are doing.

“Is my poor ashtray feeling needy? You want some attention? I bet that achy cunt would love any sort of stimulation.” His voice is mocking and condescending. You hum in affirmation, unable to nod or speak. Your position left you unable to see anything, not able to prepare yourself for what his mind has come up with.

Searing pain erupts over your cllit. His half smoked cigarette stamped out over your clothed clit leaves you practically screaming. The sound muffled by his dick deep down your throat.The vibrations have him cumming, pulling out and coating your face and chest with a large amount of his bitter seed.

“K-Keishin…” Your voice is hoarse and strained, head spinning from the lack of air and all the blood that rushed to your head. Gentle hands lift under your shoulders, helping you sit up. Your back rests against his chest, unable to hold yourself up anymore.

“Such a good girl. My perfect ashtray. My gorgeous cumdump. Mine.” He lifts your chin to look at him. He presses an open mouthed kiss to your lips, trying to let his love flow through the kiss after everything he put you through.

@vaporizemebakugo, @ultimate-astridwriting

[thisbrokenmask]

Matching Pair

pairing: female reader x Kim Namjoon

genre: fluff, very light angst

word count: 2,266

warnings: brief mentions of struggling to conceive, hella fluff

summary: you return from a day of shopping with a surprise for your husband.

a/n: so, this fic is unbeta’d and was written on my phone, but I was too excited to write it after getting some very wonderful news today - I found out I’m going to become an auntie for the very first time next summer! I’m beyond excited, and it ended up giving me inspiration for how to finally use the ‘Fuzzy Boots’ prompt on my @btsholidaybingo​ card!

“Joonie?” you call out for your husband as you close the front door of your home, already feeling the heat of the house warming you from the growing winter chill outside. Gently putting the shopping bags containing your few new purchases down to the side, you take off your shoes and your coat and put them in the closet by the front door. You don’t hear an answering call from Namjoon, but you do find his house keys still in the little cubby in the closet when you hang yours back up, so you know he’s home.  

Heart fluttering and excitement rolling in your tummy, you grab the handles of your shopping bags and head upstairs, your bare feet sinking into the carpet of the stairs with quiet relief. Even though you decided against heels today, the several hours you spent searching for the perfect items has still left them aching and you once again pat yourself on the back for choosing a thick pile when you decorated the house.

You bite your bottom lip to try and hold back your grin as you head to your bedroom to deposit all but one of your shopping bags, although you can’t help the slight skip in your walk as you once again go over what’s about to happen. Leaving your discarded purchases at the foot of the bed to sort out later, you clutch the most important one tightly as you seek out your spouse. 

Surprisingly, he’s not in his home studio, the small soundproof room normally your first port of call on the rare days Namjoon doesn’t head into the BigHit buildings to work. No, instead you find him in the little snug-come-library at the end of the hall, a slight dip in his brow from how concentrated he is on the words in front of him.

The library was a room you both insisted on having when you found this house, as you both needed somewhere to store your vast collections of books you had amassed over your lives. The custom floor-to-ceiling shelving had been fitted perfectly for the room, with a few open spaces left for artwork to break up the visual of hundreds of book spines. 

While your respective hoards of literature had combined, there were still traces of your individual hobbies nestled among them. Several small houseplants contributed pockets of green and, as Namjoon pointed out, a sort of poetic contradiction to the many books you owned; the living among the dead, as it were. He tended to them daily, whereas your offerings required much less attention. 

In your many years of travelling before and after meeting Namjoon, you’d developed the habit of collecting one small trinket from each country or city you visited. Whether they represented particular landmarks, native animals or cultural figures, you always brought home something to remember each place by, and now many of those trinkets filled the spaces left behind by oddly-shaped books or accompanied a bonsai as it grew between the shelves. 

In the centre of the room, on top of the plush mauve rug you’d fallen in love with at first sight, sat two armchairs. They didn’t match each other, but matched you and your husband instead. You’d gotten the idea from UP!, knowing when you’d first seen Carl and Ellie’s individual chairs that you wanted to do that with your future partner. And the library became the perfect place for these perfectly mismatched chairs, another way to show how the two of you had come together in this room that housed so many of your joint passions. 

Your chair, currently empty, was the plushest wingback chair you’d ever seen; a beautiful, royal blue velvet chair that made you feel like you were in a house that could be found in a Jane Austen novel. Your husband’s chair, in which he was now sat, was burnt orange in colour, square and simple in shape, with arms curled over to remove any harsh lines. You’d hated it, initially, but the more you’d seen it on the shop floor and then saw your husband lean back into its cushions, the more you decided that it suited him, and that was what mattered. Despite its simplicity, it was a bit too big for you to sit in comfortably, although you would often climb into it and burrow under several blankets when he was away.  

You’d now grown accustomed to the barrage of colours and styles in your little library, a fondness for the apparent chaos that still shocked newcomers, making you giggle every time. 

As you so often find yourself doing, you take a second to admire Namjoon in his studious reading pose: one leg resting across the knee of the other, his right elbow propped up on the armchair and his hand cradling his chin, index finger extended across his lips in contemplation. His left hand cradles his book seemingly effortlessly, his simple gold wedding band glinting in the warm orange of the afternoon winter sun that pours in through the window across the room. It’s still the only golden piece of jewellery he wears, and it still makes your heart bloom every time you catch sight of it. 

In the split second you’ve taken in his appearance, he’s become aware of your presence. Only his eyes move at first, flicking up from the page to the door to see who’s walked in. When he sees you standing in the doorway, however, he immediately slips his bookmark into place and puts the volume down on the little table between the chairs. The ease and immediacy with which he gives you his whole attention never fails to make you feel a little giddy. 

“Hey,” Namjoon’s expression melts into his warmest smile, all traces of his previous concentration vanished at the sight of his wife. His eyes briefly drop to the bag in your hand before returning to you. “Have fun shopping?”

You nod as he extends his hand towards you, slipping your palm into his and letting him gently pull you close. He sits you in his lap, one arm curled around the back of your waist and the other gently resting across your thighs, his hand melding to match the curve of your flesh. The warmth of his palm is noticeable even through your jeans, rippling throughout your body like a breeze kissing the surface of a lake. 

“Is that for me?” he nods towards the bag by his feet, pressing a gentle, lingering kiss to your temple. 

“Nope,” you smile, then pause. “Well, I guess it kinda is. Wanna see?”

If Namjoon is confused, he doesn’t show it. He loves the way you think, loves how you can see something completely different from him when you both look at the same art pieces on your gallery trips, loves how you can find even the loosest connections between two ideas in a way he’d never thought of. He doesn’t always understand you at first, but he loves that about you, so he waits patiently for you to explain. 

You lift the bag into your lap, the hand across your thighs moving to secure it in place while you open it. You turn it away from him as you pull out the contents, but he’s not even trying to peep inside; his eyes are focused on you, on the little ways your expression changes when you get thoughtful, or excited, or anxious, and right now you’re a bit of all three. 

“Ta-dah!” you singsong proudly, presenting him with a pair of fuzzy, light brown slipper boots. You try not to giggle as his expression falters slightly, although he quickly covers up his obvious confusion with bemused intrigue, gaze jumping between you and the boots as he tries to figure out what the hell is going on. 

“These… are for me?” he can tell just by looking at them that the boots are way too small for him, they’re definitely your size, and he’s struggling to figure out how they could be ‘kinda’ for him. 

“No, these ones are mine, silly!” you laugh, gently bopping the tip of his nose with your finger. The relieved sigh that falls past his lips only keeps your laughter rolling and he loves the sound, cheeks dumpling as he grins up at you. 

“Of course,” he agrees easily, smirking down at the boots as you gently run your fingers through the fluffy material, then cocks his eyebrow. “So how am I involved in this?” he pauses, then tilts his head to one side. “You’re not going to wear them to bed, are you? I know I said your feet are cold but I actually don’t mind it so much anymore-”

“These ones are mine,” you say, cutting him off, holding up your boots for emphasis before twisting in his lap to put them on the floor. His hand on your waist reflexively holds you tighter to keep you from toppling. 

When you then look at him with a smile he can only describe as mischievous, he knows he’s fucked: he’s a sucker for your playfulness, willingly walking into even your silliest pranks just to see your face light up and hear the melody of your laughter when you celebrate your victory.

His mind whirs through every option he can think of that could somehow relate those fluffy little boots to himself. Maybe you’ve bought him new slippers too, but like your mismatched chairs they’ll be different styles, perfectly suiting each of you in a way that makes them work together. Maybe you’ve actually bought him matching ones and he can’t decide what will be worse: having to wear them to please you or refuse to wear them to please himself. He feels the smallest flicker of heat in his cheeks when he considers fluffy handcuffs, but he dismisses that though when he remembers how your gaze darkens whenever you get out the pairs you already own rather than brightens, like it has done right now. 

He’s at a loss, but you don’t make him wait much longer before you grant him an explanation. 

“They didn’t have matching daddy boots, unfortunately, but-” he doesn’t have time to register the term when you pull out the remaining items in the bag with a flourish. “They did have these matching baby boots, and I just couldn’t resist!”

He stares down at the little pair of fuzzy boots, the same light brown colour as yours. They’re barely bigger than your palm as they sit side by side and he doesn’t know how something so small can knock all of the air from his body. 

He can’t speak, can’t swallow, almost can’t breathe. He can only stare. 

You watch as Namjoon’s features drop and give him a few moments to process the sight in front of him. You’re sure your lip is about to bleed with how hard you’re biting into it, desperate to cry and cheer and celebrate with him but wanting to give him his processing time. 

When he doesn’t say anything after a longer time than you were expecting, you begin to worry he’s upset rather than shocked. When he finally speaks, though, his tone is so level you genuinely think he’s angry. 

“Y/n,” he says, gaze lifting to meet your eyes and locking onto them. You feel his body grow tense beneath you, the grip on your waist tightening and releasing as he battles with the emotions building in his chest. “Who are these for?” His throat bobs with a dry swallow and you feel your stomach drop a little bit, suddenly realising how this may have come across to him. 

You and Namjoon got married nearly two years ago now, and you’ve been trying for a baby for just over a year. During that time, Namjoon has found more than one or two bags of baby clothes tucked away in your side of the closet, onesies and booties in varying designs and colours despite the fact that none of your attempts had been successful. His heart had broken for you every time, knowing how desperate you were to become a mother, but, despite his own deep-seated desire to be a father, he’d insisted you return the items each time and forbade you from bringing home anymore baby items that weren’t gifts for expecting friends or relatives. It was painful for him, too, to keep seeing the negative pregnancy tests in the bathroom trash, but he knew that it would only hurt more if you kept the clothes with no baby to fill them. 

It had been months since you’d last even looked at the baby aisles in any stores, but today was the day things changed. 

“They’re for us,” you told him gently, the words barely above a whisper yet filling the space between you. You see the tears begin to well in his eyes at the same time his grip on you tightens one last time. He stares up at you, eyes wide and watery and full of hope, and you let the widest grin loose on your lips. 

Leaning forward to touch your forehead to his, both yours and Namjoon’s eyes fall closed. Shuddering breaths push at the air between you, your hand pressing to his chest to feel the way his heartbeat gallops under your palm. Your own tears start to glide over the apples of your cheeks as you finally let the weight of your news overwhelm you, knowing that you’re both finally going to see your dreams come to life. 

“They’re for our baby.”

If you would like to read any of my other works, please follow me and head on over to my masterlist ♡

[savethelastdan]

Sesskagu

Mouths smell wine, The feast is going wild

Victorious and glorious, The men exalt their king

As in a fevered dream Kagura is entering

And she provokes him to do a special deed

"You have conquered the capital of orient

Display your power and make your enemies weep.

Destroy their pride, The jewel of the middle kingdom

As they once destroyed our temples for their king"

this ended up being a weird little AU so enjoy that I guess

-

The trees of this forest stretch high to cup the black sky within their branches. Though their crowning leaf-tops disappear into the dark night, each's base is aglow with clusters of lanterns. Around the light, demons of every breed laugh and shout in a ear-splitting din. Sesshomaru's bored sigh becomes lost in the clamor, as it has for the past three days of ancestral celebration.

A forgotten goblet rolls through the dirt to stop just at his foot; he sidesteps to avoid the blood-like wine spilling from its mouth, nearly shoulder-checking a cheerful demon from his mother's army who is attempting to start a group song in honor of Sesshomaru's great-great grandfather. With a grimace, the young warlord hurries past.

His mother, the only opportunity for a decent conversation, has disappeared into the crowd. No doubt to collect all manner of praises for raising such a son - he who has conquered the four lands with tooth and claw, who has met every challenge with nary a twinge of self-doubt. The Lady of the Sky Castle sees no purpose in modesty, nor in sharing the credit with her ex-husband; every compliment is polished and stashed in her robe for another day.

He is halfway through his slow circle around the party when he spots an anomaly. A guest he hasn't seen before.

She's slight, dark hair piled atop her head; lantern-light bounces off the green glass threaded through her ears to speckle the backs of nearby demons. From the breeze flicking at the edge of her sleeves, it's obvious she is a wind demon. But there is something else in her scent, carried to him beneath those of the crowd and the wine -bitterness, dark and sharp and wrong - that puts Sesshomaru on edge.

Him alone, apparently - no one around seems to pay her any mind, even as she turns to fix her eyes on him.

And smirks.

-

When he reaches her side, she inhales and holds something across her chest - a fan, folded tight. Sesshomaru ticks an eyebrow, and her lips stretch wide again.

"Don't worry, I didn't come to fight."

He doesn't bother to point out how stupid she'd have to be, if that had been her intention. To challenge him in the middle of a festival containing tens of his drunken allies, some of the fiercest demons in this time, including the Lady of the Sky Castle - a sure death sentence.

She twists her head to inspect a nearby tableful of goblets, and suddenly he recalls where else he has smelled the particular rot in her scent before - a demon that plagues the villages in the west, where his bastard brother has made his home. One whose name sends the older demon lords of the land in a temper, whenever his name is spoken aloud -

"Naraku." It comes out quietly, but the woman's head snaps back towards him all the same. "You are born of Naraku."

Despite the flare that she must feel in his energy, the slight movement of his claws towards the sword at his side, his father's sword that despite everything Sesshomaru refuses to discard - the woman stares back at him calmly. Her eyes burn violet; in the daylight, he thinks strangely, they must be red as blood.

"If it matters, I don't serve him willingly. In fact - " She grins, head tilting in such a way that anyone watching may assume is flirtatious in its intention - "I'm pretty much as unwilling as you can get."

He wonders what she means by that. Which, in and of itself, is not a good sign, when you consider who Sesshomaru is.

"Right now, Naraku is still weak enough to be defeated." Kagura stretches her arms out to pull back an imaginary arrow; slapping her closed fan against her forearm, she pops her tongue in a poor imitation of a bowstring's snap. A flash of anger heats Sesshomaru's neck, as the understanding comes; his brother's strange human bride.

"However." Kagura's arms fall to her sides. "Soon, he'll be too powerful to even be purified."

At first, Sesshomaru scoffs. Purification - such a mortal response. But the woman frowns, as though she is annoyed with him. Which in turn, makes him annoyed with her.

"It doesn't matter how much power he thinks he has. He is still weak, compared to any full-blooded demon here tonight." Compared to me.

The woman's fan lands flat on his shoulder. Sesshomaru is too stunned by her audacity to think to pull away, as she leans up to put her lips by his ear.

"Even with the Shikon Jewel?"

When she settles back on the flat of her feet - bare feet, which he notices for no reason like he's noticed everything about her since the moment she arrived - a strange flicker crosses her face at his expression.

"Ah, good. You should take such a thing seriously."

Unwilling, indeed. Heat pulses through the poison in his veins. "The Shikon Jewel is in - "

"Pieces." She flicks her head sharply. "He finds them too quickly. His enemies can't catch up."

Can't - he growls aloud in frustration. She grins again, a faint flush settling across her cheeks, but it seems unintentional; because just as quickly, the fan unfolds across the lower half of her face. He studies the way her eyebrows knit together and feels strangely pleased.

"Anyway, I'm tired of waiting for someone to give that bastard what's coming to him. I want him to lose it all - his power, his pride, everything he's built with our blood." Slowly, the fan lowers; both the blush and smile are gone. "You cut your teeth on victory, Lord Sesshomaru. I assume you don't care about what happens to your family in the West, but rest assured that Naraku won't stop there. He won't rest until he has everything."

She nods her head towards the festival, still roaring around them. Sesshomaru stands in the glow of lanterns, and feels his ancestor's hands pushing at his back.

"By the time I am done with him," he says, dipping his head to mirror her earlier whisper, "Naraku will have nothing."

She shudders. Sesshomaru hears a strange stutter in her pulse, and from the anger that bleeds into her gaze, it is not for romantic reasons.

Not that he has any inclination towards such things, himself.

"Tell me," he says, still leaning low into her ear, "whose name may Naraku beg for mercy in his final moments, along with my own?"

She blinks up at him, stunned. Is it so surprising, that he is not like his mother in terms of hogging credit? But then, his name is that which will be passed down for the rest of time, after his inevitable victory; in the end, he may be the only one who remembers hers.

After a long inhale of time, she smirks. A breeze curls around his shoulders, moving him the slightest bit closer - something he ordinarily would not forgive, if the anticipation of battle was not already simmering through him.

"Kagura."

[mythicamagic]

“bite your lip once more, i dare you”

AN: Woop! This long detour has finally ended! Read the complete fic - here.

Warning: Some smut

---

It was with embarrassment that she bowed and apologised to the patrons and staff outside. Soon enough though, a steady arm around her waist steered her away from their disgruntled faces, Sesshoumaru leading her around a street corner.

"I should really go back and apologise once more..."

"Hn, I sense their moods will not be better improved by it, miko," amusement coloured his tone. His eyes found her in the dark. "What exactly were you doing? Other than...flexing."

Kagome fiddled with her fingers, missing his arm around her the second he released her. "I got tired of keeping a lid on things, I guess. Did they know who you were, in there?"

"Mn, seems so."

"No one knows who I am," she muttered, hugging her arms loosely. "And I haven't been honest with any of them. Not one demon boyfriend. I never showed them my true self, so I just thought, maybe I could start tonight. And instead..." she sighed. "I just made my problem their problem. I better go apologise-"

"I know who you are, Kagome."

The glow in his eyes was unmistakable, stopping her.

Sesshoumaru inclined his head, "and there is no need to express regret over announcing it so loudly. It is something I would have done, a long time ago. Those with power can afford to stomp their feet, just a little."

Kagome looked at him, searching his face for any hint of the overworked person she'd seen at the park. Reaching up, she brushed careful fingers over his striped cheek, mindful of the slight burns.

"I hurt you…"

A large hand ensnared her wrist, thin lips meeting lithe fingers in a lingering kiss.

"They will heal quickly. I am merely out of practice with handling reiki."

Kagome swallowed, tears stinging her eyes at the unexpectedly gentle contact. She glanced away, voice hushed. She couldn't contain what she'd seen a moment longer. "I saw your children."

Sesshoumaru's grip tightened, his form becoming tense. "The kit-" he sneered, flashing sharp teeth.

"He was just trying to help. I… saw them at the park," she murmured, fingers curling to touch his hand, prompting him to release her.

Kagome stepped back, searching his guarded, watchful expression. Slowly, the confident, easy facade he wore melted away, leaving behind a weary near immortal. Sesshoumaru swept the length of his silver hair back over one shoulder, sinking down to his knees.

Blue eyes flew wide.

"W-what are you doing?"

Sesshoumaru bowed his head- forehead descending. Kagome quickly gripped at broad shoulders madly, nails biting in. "Stop! You don't have to!-"

A crescent moon pressed to the dirty street floor as Sesshoumaru remained in a deep bow, large body hunched over. No matter how much she pulled and yanked at him to rise, ugly emotions clogging her throat, he would not budge.

"This Sesshoumaru apologises."

Hot tears leaked down her cheeks as the once cripplingly regal demon lifted his head, catching her gaze. "It occurs to me now...perhaps I should have started with this," thin lips crumpled into a jaded smile. "I cannot claim to be very good at humility. Even after all this time."

Kagome smiled sadly, reaching out and brushing gentle fingers over him, wiping away the mud marring his blue moon sitting proudly upon his forehead.

"My apology comes too late," he uttered, resting clenched fists upon his knees. "There is no Western territory in Japan that I own anymore. I am not a lord."

"How'd that happen?" she mumbled.

"I became disillusioned."

Kagome shifted, seeing the lines that he'd tried to conceal before that cut beneath his eyes. He seemed tired, even more jaded and weary than she. "I was naive," he uttered. "So set in my convictions. After losing you, I tried to convince myself it was for the best. We were an ill-suited pair, that sort of thing. I even approached my Mother, seeking vindication from her. She...who had taught me from a young age, instilled in me the value of our special blood and heritage."

Sesshoumaru chuckled, golden eyes dimming in the moonlight. "It was she who looked at me after I explained everything about our breakup and said, 'why did you do a stupid thing like that? Foolish pup.'"

She bit her lip, knowing how rattling that must've been. He'd explained to her before about the necessity of his role. He'd been the perfect heir by design. The Killing Perfection.

"It had not occurred to me she could change. That I could change. That blood and suitability were just abstract concepts, and in the end did not matter. The realisation came too late. You were...gone," Sesshoumaru looked at her soberly, as though waiting for the verdict of his trial.

Kagome hated the idea of him awaiting judgement, gripping his shoulders again.

"... Let's go back to my place," she said softly. It was there in her tone, living and breathing within soft blue eyes. Forgiveness wasn't clear cut or easy. She still hurt. But...she couldn't let him pass by without at least trying to see if they could last this time.

Helping to guide him up back to his feet, a thought occurred to her. "Unless- do you need to go home?"

"No," he said sharply, eyes wide, as though fearing that the offer would never come again. He relaxed his features, "no, my eldest can watch over the young ones."

Kagome nodded. On impulse, she took his hand and began walking down the street.

Sesshoumaru kept pace with her, long fingers frozen, slack in her hold. Soon they twitched, wrapping tightly around her own.

---

Stepping into her humble apartment silently, with the shadows thick and moonlight pouring in from behind them, having guided their steps- Kagome paused in the dimly lit hallway.

Sesshoumaru stood still in his usual way, so watchful and quiet, having not donned a glamour. Long silver hair tumbled down his shoulders.

Kagome's fingers reached up and buried in it, moving herself up on tiptoe.

Lips crashed, bodies meeting- his back thudding against the wall as she shoved and pressed herself against him hungrily.

There was nothing gentle about it. Hips met and pressed demandingly against one another, clawed hands hooking under her thighs, dragging Kagome up the toned length of his body, allowing her to squeeze them around his waist.

Teeth knocked, noses bumping. Sesshoumaru's tongue forced itself past her lips. He kissed her for so long- too long, indulging in the hot cavern of her mouth. Kagome's blunt nails dragged over his scalp, swallowing his answering hiss and canting her hips.

Inside. Please. I want you inside.

Sesshoumaru pulled away to press sloppy, hungry kisses over the length of her throat, sucking at her neck with a low, possessive growl. Kagome reached for his belt, loosening it hurriedly- finding his hard length ready against her thigh. Yet still he was content to tease, nipping at the sensitive skin of her collarbone. Kagome climbed down in frustration- only to yank and pull at his clothes, discarding them in their clumsy attempt to reach the bedroom.

They made it to her small living room, collapsing to the floor. It would do.

After 506 years, give or take a few- neither had envisioned it to happen on her pastel red rug. Surely a nice fancy hotel room, or at least a huge, plush bed-

Kagome straddled his waist, lavishing attention on his pointed ear with her lips while fiddling with her dress. Pulling it up over her head, she growled as it got stuck halfway, obscuring her vision.

Sesshoumaru took advantage of this, capturing a hardened nipple in his mouth and holding her arched back as she gasped, sighing breathily.

It wasn't until their underwear was shoved down, a condom hastily grabbed and a clawed thumb over her clit, circling it- did they find each other's eyes again.

Kagome stopped, panting.

His face was flushed, hair dishevelled. A bite mark had begun bruising his thoroughly kissed lower lip.

Sesshoumaru caught his breath, staring at her, unblinking. Slowly, Kagome gripped his shoulders, guiding herself down just as he held onto her hips. The head of his twitching, achingly familiar cock nudged inside slick folds, before surging deeper with a hard jolt. Kagome cried out and buried her face in his neck.

Sesshoumaru pressed his nose into dark curling hair, wrapping her up in a tight embrace, skin to skin. He cradled the back of her head, everything stopping for a long while.

They held each other without speaking a word, rendered mute, overcome with finally being connected again. Kagome shuddered, clenching her inner walls tight, as though luring him deeper, forbidding him to never part. She'd keep him locked inside her forever if possible. His body felt so warm and nostalgic, plastered against her own. She nuzzled and breathed in his good smell, sighing against heated skin.

A horrible thought whispered in her ear; It was all so breakable. He could ruin her again. With just a few words, he could undo years of progress.

But now Kagome understood it was the same for him. She could dismiss him tomorrow morning and break him too. Hurt him. Hurt the untouchable demon lord who had broken her heart.

Kagome cupped his cheek, lifting her head to brush an ardent kiss over his jaw.

"I missed you," she said instead. Because it was the truth. Nothing could compel her to willingly hurt someone she loved.

"I have…" he whispered, kissing her closed eyelids, "dreamed of you for centuries," starving lips pressed to her neck, "'missing you' is an understatement."

Kagome gave a broken laugh, saddened. "We're so stupid. We've wasted so much time."

"I wasted so much time," he uttered grimly. "But...perhaps it was not wasted time if it brought us here, eventually. Together."

"We've both made mistakes, let's leave it at that." Resting her forehead against his for a moment and inhaling his exhale, Kagome kissed him tenderly before beginning to move.

---

Laying nestled into a sprawled out Daiyoukai's side with her face pressed snugly against his chest wasn't a terrible way to wake up. Kagome stretched slowly, making a soft noise. She planted a few kisses over his ribs, palm splaying over his abdomen and grazing along the length of his exotically striped body. It lay littered with a few scars that hadn't been there before, new to her. Kagome kissed those too, wondering about their stories.

A velvety chuckle soaked with sleep escaped him. "Minx, you are aware that our late night activities will continue if you persist?"

"Maybe that's my goal."

Sesshoumaru sighed, stroking a lazy, affectionate hand through her dark rumpled hair. "I see your appetite has not diminished."

"If anything, I think it might've gotten worse," blue eyes danced as she bit her lip. "It's your fault, you started it."

"Hn, this one takes full blame," he rumbled, touch shifting to her mouth, sharp nail gliding over her it. "Bite your lip once more, I dare you."

Kagome flushed red- and she'd forgotten she could still blush right down to her toes. She bit her lip, hard.

Sesshoumaru flipped her over and muffled her giggles in the bedding as his lips found her neck and hands wandered all over again.

After thoroughly rememorising each other's bodies, they finally located her bed.

Shifting beneath the covers together, Kagome slung a leg over his hip. Sesshoumaru rested a hand over the back of her thigh under her ass, stroking. Basking in the afterglow, she began asking him about his life.

"How come you adopted so many kids over the years? Hanyous too," the topic soon came up.

"I did not do it for any particular reason. They were abandoned, much like Rin. Whenever I happened upon them, they took to following me in a similar manner. However..." his lips thinned, gaze dimming as it stared at the ceiling. "The first Hanyou that followed me was persecuted quite badly at my Stronghold. I did not intend to feel as much as I did about it. She was deemed 'mine' and so I felt outraged on her account. I experienced protectiveness for her, even if I did not recognise it at the time."

"Change happens slowly," Kagome hummed, shifting to lay atop his chest, their stomachs meeting as she rested her chin on her arms. "Did she marry a demon to extend her lifespan?"

"No, she died of old age, much like Rin."

"I'm sorry."

"Do not be, Erika chose her own spouse and lived as she wished. There is no sadness in that," golden eyes slid shut as she stroked his bangs, combing them back briefly from his handsome face. "There is only sadness when children are taken too early," his tone became wooden, dim.

Her heart squeezed in her chest. "Shippo...said there was a reason you didn't come for me during those 6 years. What happened?"

"I thought it wise to wait since you were experiencing heartbreak. My appearance would have made matters worse," Sesshoumaru's eyes peeled open, hazed with remembrance. "On top of which, one of my children could not be moved from his facility."

"Facility?"

He did not answer.

"...Can I meet him now?"

Sesshoumaru gazed out of her brightening window unseeingly. "If I could stop myself from taking in one species again, it would be humans," the words came softly, like a secret. "You always die much too quickly," he uttered, golden eyes sliding to her heavily. "Ruka was terminally ill."

"D-did you adopt him knowing that?"

"It makes no difference to me," he said a tad bitterly. "Whether they last five years or seventy, it is always too short a time," passing a heavy hand over his eyes, Sesshoumaru let it linger there. "Tenseiga brought him back, briefly. But not long enough. Never long enough."

The depth of his grief felt staggering. Kagome could see it, hidden away in all the corners of his face that he tried to hide behind a placid mask.

"Come here."

Sesshoumaru arched a brow. She persisted, leaning back into the pillows beside him and beckoning the demon closer with arms open wide and inviting. He was not one to refuse such a thing, soon resting a striped cheek directly over her heart. It thudded loudly, quick as a rabbit beneath his ear.

"I have not changed my opinions on some things, miko," he said in a dour, soft tone. "You humans are weak. I curse your weakness- and loathe every mortal child I take in for it. They are so fleeting. Every time they came to be in my care, I promised myself no more. Never again. Surely someone as great as I can have the self-discipline not to heed their cries should I hear them, nor follow the scent of their tears. Surely I do not need a pack so badly."

She could tell his conviction to stop caring for them wasn't working out too well, considering the group she'd seen at the park. He would love human children again, and continue to love and take care of them in an endless cycle of happiness and grief. Such was the way of an immortal guardian.

Kagome bent down, kissing the crown of his head. "You've given them a home. Even if it was fleeting to you, it was a lifetime of happiness for them."

Kagome couldn't see his expression anymore but felt Sesshoumaru's grip on her elbow, tight. His thumb dragged slowly, reverently. Heavy breathing shook, beginning to calm as she soothed his rippling youki.

"I'll look after you for now," she muttered, petting silky silver hair and massaging his scalp. "I can't do it all the time. Sometimes you'll have to take care of me, but we can take it in turns. So you can tell me...if you ever need to get those thoughts out again."

Sesshoumaru made a noise of affirmation, lulled by her gentle ministrations. After a while she figured he'd fallen asleep before he asked;

"Do you think you will desire to adopt, in the future? Raising them alongside our biological children is certainly possible."

Her mouth grew dry, hands freezing. Kagome drew in a shaky breath, vision going blurry with damn tears again. She stubbornly held them back, giving a laugh as she squeezed his shoulder.

"That's a tad presumptuous, isn't it? We haven't even said we're dating yet."

"You just said you'd take care of me, duplicitous woman."

"Yeah, because you're a tired old dog who needs a break," she teased, giggling as he huffed and transformed with a burst of youki, collapsing dead weight atop her in a smaller version of his true form. Wheezing, Kagome whined and wrapped her arms around him, stroking fluffy silver fur.

As she caressed along his muzzle, tired crimson eyes slide shut in a display of utter trust and peace, causing her to smile and kiss his wet nose.

---

They did things carefully after that explosive night, gradually easing into things. It was a couple of months before Kagome was introduced to everyone, not wanting to shatter that which had become so precious to them.

"Come on, come on. We have the place to ourselves for an hour, so go wherever you like," Kagome smiled, spreading her arms wide within the museum, voice echoing.

"It is not as though you needed to arrange for a private tour, you could have just showed us around during your normal working hours," Hiroji observed as most of the other children ran around.

"Ach, but I wanted to do something special..." she put a hand to her heart, pretending to be wounded.

"Hiroji, you're so bad with women!" one of the Hanyou's piped up.

"Bad with women!" echoed the other.

The snake demon grit his teeth sourly, while Kagome giggled and picked up the leopard Hanyou and accepting a nuzzle, gazing at their spots with affection. "I'm teasing. It's just nice to let everyone wander around in the open without glamours sometimes, right?"

"Won't the security cameras see us?"

"We have a face-painting section in the stone age area. Totally explainable," she leaned against Sesshoumaru's side as he wrapped an arm around her waist, markings on full display.

Golden eyes smiled, "and if that is not a suitable excuse- we're a Yakuza family with many colourful tattoos."

Akiko giggled, "that sounds cool!"

"I think a family of demons would be easier to accept," Hiroji grumbled, glancing in Shinto's general direction, who lingered away from everyone else anxiously.

In the snake demon's minds eye, he could see the shape of a powerful reiki source approach his brother. Kagome bent down into a crouch, getting on eye-level with him.

"It's okay, Shinto," she said gently. "You know, they have an interactive computer section in here on the Edo Period."

He brightened slightly. "They...do?"

"Mhm, come on. I'll show you," Kagome gestured, catching Sesshoumaru's eye in passing.

His expression softened, morphing into something she could recognise now. Trust in. They'd probably keep making mistakes, but so long as they weren't quite so costly as before, she felt as though they could weather the storms now. Kagome gentled and returned his smile, grabbing his hand as they entered the Edo section.

His children gasped and pointed at the display case of his armour. "Papa, this was yours!"

"I am aware," Sesshoumaru rumbled with amusement, taking his lips to Kagome's ear. "Do you miss wearing the hankimono to bed?"

She shivered, "maybe a little. They were comfy pyjamas," blue eyes caught the mischievous look skittering across his face. "Oh no you don't- Sesshoumaru! Don't you dare steal them! You donated them to this museum!"

"Technically they were mine first so I would merely be taking them back," he chuckled. "Never fear, dear one," he purred, tossing his head regally. "A bit of thievery is a minor feat for a Yakuza family, and the matter is especially pressing when it concerns comfy sleepwear."

Kagome groaned, burying her face in her hands and hiding another smile. She had centuries more of this to endure.

End

[littlemisssquiggles]

What do you think of the idea of Emerald/Oscar? They have some soft moments together.

Hello Sweet o/ Well this squiggle meister is definitely on-board with the Green Team/Emerald City pair as a FRIEND-ship with Emerald being yet another proxy big sister figure to “adopt” Oscar as their close companion whereas the little prince in turn could finally provide Emerald with the strong and devoted family type of bond that Emerald truly wants and failed to garner from the villain side especially with Cinder Fall who she saw as a “mother” or close guardian figure who saved her from her former life of poverty.

Another reason why I like the Emerald City duo is because I’d like to think that part of Oscar’s willingness to believe in Emerald and desire to look out for her stems from him and Oz essentially fulfilling Hazel’s role of continuing to watch over her in his absence.

After all, it wasn’t just Oscar to be saved from Monstra. Emerald was too. Hazel Rainart gave his life to ensure that both Oscar and Emerald were finally free of Salem and since Hazel is gone, Oscar probably sees it as his right to stand by Em in his place; especially since he also owes her for his salivation.

Plus, a second reason why I think the showrunners may be pushing the Emerald City bond is because, ultimately, Emerald will become the next Fall Maiden; replacing Cinder Fall. 

Think about it. Professor Ozpin was the Headmaster of Beacon Academy. Beacon Academy is the fortress secretly housing the Vault of the Fall Maiden which contains the Crown of Choice---the only relic that Salem couldn’t acquire on her own since the true path to claiming it still rests in Ozma’s memories. Memories that will soon be passed onto Oscar Pine who is Ozma’s current incarnate officially succeeding Professor Ozpin.

Even if Oscar gains the knowledge to locate the Relic of Choice; he and the heroes would still need the hand of the Fall Maiden to open the vault. And as it stands, the Fall Maiden powers still rest with Cinder Fall who Emerald Sustrai was a former affiliate of and whom she shares a bond with; whether Cinder dares to admit it or not.

You see where I’m going with this?

 Emerald becoming the Fall Maiden after Cinder has been a headcanon for her that I’ve been rooting for since the conclusion of V5. Based on how things are shaping up and what is required to move forward, I think Cinder’s final curtain call may be drawing near and what would actually be most fitting is if Emerald is the one to deal the killing blow to Cinder.

As a matter of fact, it would almost be symbolic if Emerald is the one of all characters to be the one to put a stop to Cinder---not only saving the others from her but also ironically saving Cinder from herself. Emerald killing Cinder would be an act of mercy from someone who genuinely loved Cinder and wanted nothing but the best for her. And why I love this idea is because it would be a fantastic parallel to the end of Cinder’s backstory in the Midnight episode.

In RWBY V8CH6, Cinder’s path and descent in her megalomaniac madness was forged the instant she killed Rhodes. Say what you will about him as a character; Rhodes cared deeply for Cinder…even up until the moment she cut him down with the very same weapon he gifted her. 

So with that in mind, imagine how fitting of an ending it would be if Cinder died the very same way she was ‘born’, essentially.

You can pretty much say that the person we know Cinder Fall to be was born when she killed her former mentor and the one person in her life that actually genuinely cared about her at the time. 

 So…imagine the poetic irony that would be for Cinder Fall to now die---killed by the hands of her own former apprentice and the one person in her life who genuinely cared about her at the time---Emerald Sustrai.

Imagine if…Emerald kills Cinder and Cinder gets a strange sense of déjà vu because not only did her surprised expression at being killed by Emerald reflect the one Rhodes made to her the night he died but through Emerald, Cinder sees her former young self---the side of her she discarded when she chose her path that night. 

Cinder began her path with the bloody end of a blade through the chest of someone close to her. So for Emerald to kill Cinder the same way---even better if it’s done with her very own weapon---then that would be…downright perfect as ending to Cinder’s arc.

Apologies to all the Cinder Fall fans reading this post. The CRWBY showrunners have had Cinder dance with death one too many times. I myself have honestly been curious about how Cinder’s story was going to end in the canon. While I still like my Red Queen headcanon for her, I would be okay with Cinder dying if Emerald was the one to kill her.

NOT Ruby. NOT Jaune. But Emerald. If there is one character who would be most fitting to be the one to put an end to Cinder Fall, it would be Emerald.

Killing Cinder, especially if it was done in protection and/or aid of the heroes, would be the final nail in Emerald’s own arc of “switching sides”.

As stated back between V6 and V8, Cinder was technically the one thing still tying Em to the side of evil as she once remarked that she was only on Salem’s side out of her loyalty to Cinder. Emerald already left Salem but Cinder still lives as an anchor to possibly tempt Em back to the side of evil. But if Em were to be the one to stop Cinder, then that cord would finally be cut thus cementing Emerald as being on the side of good---officially in respect to her story.

Emerald helping to save Oscar and return him to his allies on Monstra doesn’t make her a “good guy”. Emerald helping our heroes take down Ironwood, help Penny and save the refugees of Atlas and Mantle doesn’t even make her a “good guy” either.

But stopping Cinder Fall for good---to be the one to put her down and essentially save everyone from the monster she knew Cinder would ultimately become if not stopped--- that, to me, would be the move to officiate Emerald Sustrai as a “good guy”.

Even better if Cinder were to plant the tough choice right in Em’s face. Imagine if…Cinder puts Oscar’s life in danger and orders Em to be the one to kill Oscar for her; like the devoted pawn she always treats her as. Imagine if…Em is placed in a position where she is made to choose between her old loyalty to Cinder as a villain or her newfound loyalty to Oscar as a hero.

Just as how Cinder was Emerald’s anchor to the villains on Salem’s side, Oscar is technically now Emerald’s anchor to the heroes on Ozpin’s side. So if Cinder forces Em to kill Oscar but Em ends up killing Cinder instead to save Oscar for a second time----this would be it. This would be the deed that cements Emerald as formally giving up on Cinder and fighting for the side of good; at least in my humble opinion.

And the cherry on top would be that killing Cinder causes the Fall Maiden powers to go directly to Emerald and if Emerald becomes the Fall Maiden---the maiden tied to the vault and relic housed in the school that is tied to Professor Ozpin whose very successor is her closest ally on the hero team---I’d like to think this would be a perfect conclusion to Emerald’s “arc”. I think that could work epically.

This is why I’m rooting for Em to become the next Fall Maiden. This happening would definitely further cement the Emerald City dynamic since Oscar’s new “big sister” or rather “cousin” would be the maiden tied to “his” relic needed to open “his” vault hidden in “his” school.

(I think I’d rather refer to Emerald as Oscar’s adopted cousin since I low-key like the concept of Oscar taking Emerald back home with him to Mistral only for her to be adopted immediately by his family since Emerald was an orphan who grew up on the streets and never truly had a family of her own but ultimately finds one with the Pines who willingly take her in. It FITS; dagnabbit.)

My one gripe with Emerald City duo though is that I wished it had better build-up throughout the series run. I’d be lying if the fact that Emerald and Oscar barely had any interactions prior to V8 definitely hurts the believability of them suddenly being close now with Oscar willing to vouch for the good in Emerald…even though he literally just met her like yesterday according to the timeline.

I know it helps the meme of Emerald “only knowing Oscar for 24 hours and would be willing to kill anyone who dares to hurt him” but from a storytelling perspective, I really wish the development of this dynamic had been delivered better. I mean I’m happy that we finally got the payoff of Emerald and Oscar becoming friends and seeing Em joining the heroes thanks to her friendship with Oscar…but it’s like eating a delicious cheese burger without the cheese.

You get to see the beginning of it and the joyful payoff of the end but the middle part that was needed to make it fully work is non-existent and ends up hurting it in respect to consistency. 

While I understand that Emerald helped to save Oscar’s life---that’s not really enough to sell his sudden faith in her. At least for me. Can’t speak for everyone else. Since, like I said, we barely got any scenes of Oscar and Em interacting before she showed up to help get him out of Monstra.

The ONLY thing that’s canonically helping sell Emerald City to me is the fact that Hazel was shown to care for and look out for Emerald’s wellbeing in the past and since Oscar spent more time with Hazel; by extension; custody of Em was transferred to Oscar/Oz the minute Hazel died…especially since, he was technically the one forced to kill him when he sacrificed himself to stop Salem.

I guess I just personally would’ve liked to have seen these two interact more over the seasons, particularly for V8 while Oscar was imprisoned. 

Perhaps that chance will come now that Em is on the team working with ALPN. And it would probably work even better if Em becomes the Fall Maiden. But for now that’s mostly just speculation.

All in all, bottom line---as I’ll say again, this squiggle meister really likes Emerald City as another close friendship dynamic for Oscar and Em respectively and I’m looking forward to seeing how this dynamic develops over the next season. 

I’m curious to see how much more Em and Oscar can help each other as friends especially since Oscar still has own inner demons with the Merge to deal with emotionally and I’m especially curious to see how Em would react to reuniting with Mercury in Vacuo now that she’s joined the heroes---even better if she’s now the Fall Maiden after killing Cinder. 

That should be a fun development but we’ll see how that goes. In the meantime, hope this lengthy response answers your question, Sweet XD

~ LittleMissSquiggles (2021)

[sokkastyles]

firelxdykatara

Part of what is so incredibly frustrating about Aang’s arc in book 3 (or lack thereof) is the fact that his culture--despite being ostensibly wiped from the face of the planet, and we’ll set aside for the moment how little sense that makes in general, nevermind from a narrative standpoint--has hints of depth that are never explored. @inkmyname touched on it when pointing out that Aang is very selective about which parts of his own culture he interacts with and attempts to preserve

(which he cherrypicks several times over the course of the series, by the way…)

Because while it is absolutely true that AN culture is horrifically underdeveloped, part of that is because the single solitary living Air Nomad is never allowed to actually engage with, question, learn about, and understand his own culture. This is where Guru Pathik never appearing again after Aang leaves in book 2 (to ignore his own culture’s teachings and attempt to hold on to a selfish attachment he was told he would need to willingly give up in order to achieve true enlightenment and master the Avatar State, I might add) becomes a serious issue--because here was an actual, living, breathing adult with an adult’s understanding of an extinct culture, and he just... vanished from the narrative completely, the moment Aang decided that his feelings for Katara were more important than the adhering to the teachings of his people.

Which means that, yet again, what we were left with was a child’s very basic understanding of his own people. He could parrot aphorisms and wise proverbs he was taught by the monks, but he could exhibit no true understanding of them. He could maintain a vegetarian diet (at great strain to Katara, who had to make sure to cook things Aang would be willing to eat, despite having grown up in a climate where not eating meat would mean starving to death) and profess that he cherished all living creatures, but he could not examine when pacifism may not be the right choice--he could not acknowledge that even his precious monks would take lives if they had to. If other lives were on the line. (See: the fact that he never once seems to realize that Monk Gyatso’s corpse being surrounded by a bunch of skeletons in Fire Nation armor means that Monk Gyatso killed living breathing human beings in an attempt to defend his own people. I do not think he would have hesitated if an entire city-state were directly in the line of fire, no pun intended.)

If you took any twelve-year-old and froze them in a time capsule and woke them up a century later, they may be able to remember some proverbs, a verse or two from some religious text, a few general rules governing social behavior... but they would not be able to reconstruct their entire culture based only on their fallible childhood memories and a few recovered artifacts.

And it is explicit, in the text of the show, that Aang is perfectly willing to discard the teachings of his people when they conflict with something he wants. His people’s teachings say that he should release his attachment to the girl he likes--he evidently misinterprets this to mean he must forgo all connection to her (which is never so much as implied, and if the tenets of Buddhism were to actually be adhered to, giving up his attachment to her wouldn’t even mean that he couldn’t still love her and that a relationship would be out of the question if she loved him in return--merely that his selfish attachment to her needed to go, because he was not entitled to her feelings. this was a lesson he desperately needed to learn, rather than being rewarded for his selfish behavior by having Katara realize at the literal last second that oh, yeah, she really DID have feelings for him), and refuses on the grounds that... he wanted to date this girl who had never once shown romantic interest in him. Because that’s certainly worth throwing his own people’s teachings about spirituality and enlightenment right in the trash.

So the argument that killing Ozai would have killed the last remnants of his culture, and so he needed to find a pacifistic solution in order to preserve them, already doesn’t hold water--because Aang showed very little concern for preserving his people’s beliefs, or anyone else’s (he’s actually... pretty disrespectful of other cultural practices at numerous points in the show and is never really taken to task for it, by the narrative or any of the characters), at any other point in the show. And something that this particular segment of the fandom always loves to claim is that in saying that I’m saying that I wanted a kid to murk a dude on screen in a Y7 show--but that isn’t it at all. None of this is to say that Aang should have killed Ozai (although whether he was allowed to remain alive should have been up to a tribunal of EK and WT citizens, not just the Avatar, but that’s another discussion entirely)--but it is to say that Aang being able to take a third option was not handled well, either from a story perspective or a character one.

What we should have gotten--and what Book 3 seemed to be primed for--is a season long arc of Aang finally mastering the Avatar State and completing his character arc. The foundation was there, the potential beats were lined up, the earlier hints (such as an entire episode dedicated to showing both Aang and the audience that sometimes the object of your affections doesn’t like you back, and that’s ok, because if you love them you should want them to be happy, and if we just ignore the last twenty seconds that completely undermines the entire message [particularly in light of the epilogue] then we’re golden) there to provide some structure for the remainder of his arc.

Instead, what we wound up with were a bunch of useless filler episodes leading up to the failed invasion (which had some gems, like The Puppetmaster and Sokka’s Master, but when weighed against episodes like The Headband and Nightmares and Daydreams, it’s hard to say if they were worth the cost), and then Zuko’s journey into the gaang’s good graces crammed into the last few episodes before the finale. It isn’t until the episode before the finale that Aang even admits to anyone that he can’t enter the Avatar State, and it isn’t until the finale that this is actually ‘resolved’--by a pointy rock showing up at the exact right place to, i guess, jar his chakras loose. Because that’s how it works.

The result is a season that has some of the best single episodes in the series, while having the most disjointed plot, the worst pacing, and the least satisfying finale out of all three seasons. In HP fandom vernacular with which I remain intimately familiar, AtLA may have won the game, but season three absolutely did not catch the snitch. And I haven’t even gotten into the fact that Aang’s moral dilemma over needing to kill Ozai should have come up much earlier in the narrative--prior to the eclipse invasion at least, if not even sooner than that, but I still cannot fathom what Aang planned to do to the man if he actually got to him before the eclipse ended and he was powerless--because this post is already long enough.

The upshot of it all is, though, that Aang’s arc is deeply unsatisfying for a lot of people because it relies on contrivances in order for him to even survive the battle he was supposedly training the entire series for. And he was handed every victory he actually achieved, particularly in that final battle, rather than earning them via his own choices.

He didn’t choose to seek out the lionturtle--it kidnapped him. He didn’t choose to regain the Avatar State--he was thrown against a well-placed rock and it was reactivated automatically. (I know I frequently engage in percussive maintenance myself, but come on.) He did choose to ignore Katara’s words and body language and kiss her anyway--and he was then rewarded with a relationship without so much as apologizing to her for his actions. (And, notably, Katara was given no space on screen to work through her own feelings--it was just assumed that they were there, and she had them for Aang, and it was just a matter of him being persistent enough that she realized it. Which is very much not the message we should be sending the children to whom this show was aimed and marketed.)

I really can’t find anything in Aang’s arc, as presented in the show (rather than the idealized version a lot of Aang stans seem to have constructed for themselves), that is meant to be some sort of ‘ideal’, either from an irl perspective or from a story one. And it remains a constant source of frustration, because all the tools were there, all the potential was there--it’s just that none of it was ever realized by the narrative.

@firelxdykatara I want to reply to this in a different post because I don’t want to continue arguing on OP’s post anymore. The thing is that it does seem like there was an attempt made to build this conflict up, but it was just...forgotten. Which is especially weird when we talk about the parallels between Aang and Zuko, because there are several places where Aang’s internal struggle is paralleled with Zuko’s. And this is part of what makes Aang’s arc not hold up to Zuko’s, unfortunately.

One of the things that should have been explored about the Air Nomads is the fact that they actually did Aang quite badly by telling him that he was the Avatar too early, and that seemed like it was an important plot point and part of Aang’s internal struggle...until it wasn’t. A lot of people say that Aang’s desire to avoid conflict and be a kid is an Air Nomad trait, and it kinda is, but from what we saw in the flashback, we know that not all Air Nomads were like this, and Aang’s relationship with Gyatso - which I REALLY wanted to be explored more - was actually contrasted with the rigid ways of the other monks. We saw this in Aang and Gyatso playing pranks and in how Gyatso tried to shelter Aang and let him be a kid a little longer, which he should have been able to do. Aang ran away because the Air Nomads were trying to take him away from Gyatso! This is a pretty standard coming of age plot, growing up and realizing that not every adult is good and right all the time and has your best interests in mind (Zuko also learns this in his flashback, in much more violent way). And Aang was so angry and hurt and betrayed when he recounted it in “The Storm,” and it’s a direct parallel to the way Zuko’s father betrayed him. What happened to that? What happened to that anger? What happened to “how could they do that to me?!”

But there’s no follow up to this. I think they could have done more with the Guru Pathik character possibly in order to fix this, like maybe showing Aang being resistant to learning from him because of those lingering negative feelings. But then, Pathik himself is one of the weakest parts of the story, and is little more than a racist caricature. That’s part of the problem.

Similarly Aang trying to reconcile his unhealthy attachment to Katara and his love for Katara was part of his internal struggle...until it wasn’t. And once again it’s paralleled with Zuko’s arc. Like, the episode where that conflict is introduced, “The Avatar State,” is the same episode where Zuko chooses to go with Azula back to the Fire Nation and chooses his unhealthy attachment to his father instead of Iroh. This conflict runs through that season (again paralleling Zuko’s arc) and is brought up again in the finale for book 2, and the resolution is even hinted at:

Aang: Well, I met with this guru who was supposed to help me master the Avatar State and control this great power, but to do it, I had to let go of someone I love. And I just couldn't.

Iroh: Perfection and power are overrated. I think you were very wise to choose happiness and love.

Aang: What happens if we can't save anyone and beat Azula? Without the Avatar State, what if I'm not powerful enough?

Iroh: I don't know the answer. Sometimes, life is like this dark tunnel. You can't always see the light at the end of the tunnel, but if you just keep moving, you will come to a better place.

There we have it! Aang didn’t need to give up his love for Katara, nor did he need to exchange her for power. It’s a false dichotomy. The show is really good at setting up false dichotomies only to break them down in other places, but with the Avatar state arc they just...don’t quite manage it. It seems like they were trying to set it up, too, by paralleling Aang’s fall at Ba Sing Se with Zuko making the wrong choice, but there’s no follow-through.

Instead of Aang experiencing a conflict with his cultural identity, suddenly the Air Nomads become these idealized figures who are always right in book 3, primarily so he can lecture Katara and Zuko on the evils of revenge. If this is Aang trying to hold on to the last vestiges of his culture and not wanting to acknowledge how his last interaction with the monks was a negative one, the story needs to show that! THAT would be an interesting character conflict! But instead they drop that story entirely and make it about whether Aang is going to kill Ozai, because Aang is so good and wise and everybody else suddenly wants him to kill for some reason. Which of course he isn’t going to do, because it’s a nickelodeon show. It’s not just that the lionturtle is a deus ex machina, it’s that it’s a solution to a problem that never felt like a real problem and was put in place of actual real character conflict.

And although I’m not a huge fan of Kataang, this absolutely could have been done WITHOUT sacrificing Kataang. When the narrative suggested that he needed to give up Katara to become the Avatar, when Aang went into the Avatar state and said “I’m sorry, Katara,” I actually shouted NO at my screen. Because Aang should NOT have to give up love in order to become a hero, and that’s not what the Buddhist idea of getting rid of earthly attachments means, anyway. It means getting rid of unhealthy attachments, and as you said, that was shown in Aang’s behavior towards Katara. And it seemed like the writers were working towards Aang having a realization that his behavior towards Katara was unhealthy, that if he loved her he needed to actually have a real conversation with her about her feelings and give her space to say no (even if she says yes in the end), and that never happened.

There’s also a reason Iroh has this conversation with Aang in book 2. If we want an example of someone who has achieved a spiritual balance in their life, and given up earthly attachments in favor of living simply, Iroh is that character, and he’s a much better example than a westernized Guru caricature or a twelve year old spouting pithy aphorisms about revenge, because Iroh’s wisdom comes from experience. And Iroh’s advice is that sometimes life is like a dark tunnel, and that you need to go through the dark to get to the light. Iroh also admits that he doesn’t know the answer, because like all truly wise people, he is wise enough to know that he knows nothing. That’s why Aang having spiritual knowledge handed to him so that he can avoid having to make a decision feels like a cop-out. The show didn’t even tell us until the last second that what the knowledge was was energybending, because the writers KNEW it was a cop-out.

And the choice between power and love? Is not even made. Aang still gets to have a super special power bestowed upon him and beats Ozai because he learns how to bend energy, the most powerful and special form of bending of them all, guys. It’s actually super frustrating because the writers CAN resolve this in a meaningful way. They do it with Zuko, who also has super special powers bestowed upon him in the climax of the story, but in the end it’s not power, it’s his frienship with Katara and his willingness to sacrifice for her that saves him. Wasn’t Aang supposed to be making a similar choice about Katara? Hmmmmmmmm.

[bnhabadass]

Want a Hit?

A/N: This was requested by @queensynderella and this was such a blast to write. I have very little experience with NSFW content but I am very pleased with how it turned out.

Synopsis: After being forced to share a room with Shinsou for the night, the two of you decide to share a joint and have a little fun while doing so.

Pairing: Shinsou x reader Warnings: weed, smoking, NSFW Rating: 18+

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Want a hit?”

You were spending the night in Shinsou’s dorm because of a small rat infestation on the first floor of your building. Just your luck. Only a few weeks until graduation and an outbreak like this occurs. Your classmates had decided to ask Koda from class 3-a to help you out with the problem, but he was out doing some late night training with friends. Until then, you were stuck bunking with one another.

You weren’t very close with anyone in your class other than Shinsou. You’ve seen the other classes grow bonds with one another, but yours never seemed particularly interested in team building. You were thrilled when Shinsou offered up the space on his bedroom floor to you, even though he seemed to do it out of reluctance.

“Huh?”

Shinsou had started rolling the joint about ten minutes prior. You  had noticed he was doing something at his desk but didn’t want to  pry or seem like you were butting in. You opted to look at your phone and scroll through your social media instead.

“Shit. I should have asked if you were okay with it.” Shinsou’s hand reached to scratch the back of his neck. “I usually smoke Friday nights. Helps with anxiety and stuff. But I can put it away if you aren’t comfortable with that sort of thing.”

“No no it’s okay.” You turned your phone off and set it down next to the purple sleeping bag he was letting you borrow. “I’ll, um, I’ll have a hit.”

He gave you a meek little smile. “Cool.”

You took the joint and his lighter and held the substance up to your lips. As you lit the joint, you breathed in for four seconds, held it in for three, and exhaled. The smoke came out of your mouth in a milky white stream before dissipating into the air.

You handed the lighter and the joint back to Shinsou, and he took a hit himself. It didn’t take very long to kick in.

You were baked, stoned, wasted, high as a kite. Whoever sold Shinsou his weed must be excellent at growing. You didn’t need another hit to feel anything, but you took one anyway. You kept passing it back and forth until all there was was the filter at the base.

It wasn’t long before you started laughing. Everything seemed funny to you; your feet and how your toes look like little mice when they squirm around, how cracking your knuckles left them feeling tingly even moments after, the word undulate. You were a laughing mess.

“I didn’t peg you as someone who would be this fun to get high with,” Shinsou said. The two of you were on the floor playing Smash Ultimate and he was winning.

“Then you’re missing out,” you said. “I’m fun. I can do things. I think I’m funny when on the marijuanas.”

Shinsou laughed and paused the game. And you laughed too.

There was a brief moment of silence after you stopped. It wasn’t an awkward silence, more like you were waiting desperately for the other person to do or say something.

You looked in Shinsou’s eyes and he into yours. A small pit began to form in your stomach.

“Can I kiss you?”

The pit grew as you nodded your head. It wasn’t as quick a response as you had planned, as both the drugs and your nervous mindset were affecting your reaction time.

Shinsou leaned in and pressed his lips against yours. You felt them tingle as they touched one another. Sparks shot down through your body.

You carefully jerked your hand towards him and cautiously dragged it behind his neck and up through his wild hair. It was soft albeit messy, and you could feel a couple tangles become undone as you ran your fingers through it.

Shinsou carefully tucked his hands under your ass and hoisted you onto his lap so you were straddling him. Your lips never left his.

He gently bit your lower lip and tugged it towards him, looking up at you with his deep, sultry, half lidded eyes.

He released your lip and it slapped back against your gum. He moved down to kiss your neck. His lips desperately grasped onto your skin. You leaned your head back in ecstasy as his lips, tongue and teeth made their mark.

He left another mark above the first one, and then another above that. He licked a long stripe up your tender skin to your jaw line. “Is this okay, kitten?”

You shuddered at the nickname and chills ran down your spine. You felt a pool of pleasure waving down towards your entrance. You started grinding your hips as a response. Yes. Yes that was okay.

The vibrations and friction from your clothed bodies grinding against each other caused you to let out a moan.

Shinsou leaned back in to kiss the shell of your ear. “Can you do me a favor and stay quiet for me, kitten? We can’t let anyone know what we’ve been doing.” His eyes drifted towards the butt of the joint, long forgotten at the edge of his desk.

You nodded as he dove back in to kiss a different spot on your neck. “Yeah,” you breathed out as another wave of pleasure coursed through you.

Shinsou tangled his hand in your hair and tugged, causing your breath to hitch. You wanted nothing more than for him to make his journey further down your body. You tugged at the hem of his shirt and he let out a deep chuckle.

“Someone’s a little needy. Would you like me to take off your shirt, kitten?”

You nodded and he chuckled. The feeling of Shinsou’s hands burning into your side as he scooped up the fabric and tugged it over your head stayed there for a while. Every feeling you got from Shinsou’s hands, his tongue, his lips, they all stayed there and never went away.

Once he had ripped off your shirt, he hesitated to make any movements. He just looked down at your exposed skin. Without his touch you started feeling cold. His window was cracked open slightly, and it was a little drafty in his room.

“Shinsou?”

“Huh?”

“Is everything okay?” The question came out in tired sounding breaths and you needily looped your arms back around his neck.

“Yeah it’s just,” his eyes gravitated towards your chest. “You’re so beautiful.”

Before you could even react, his mouth latched on to your chest and his hands fiddled with your bra strap. He kissed the valley between your breasts and licked a long stripe up to your neck.

With how much he was abusing the different spots on your neck and chest you know that you would be bruised tomorrow, but you didn’t care.

Your bra had slid down your shoulders and arms and was now tossed somewhere in his room, discarded from your vision. Shinsou smirked down at you, and you couldn’t help but let out a loud gasp when he pinched one of your nipples. “I’m sorry, kitten. Did I startle you?” His mouth hooked onto your breast, and his tongue swirled around the aching bud. One of his warm hands slowly reached up your stomach to knead your other breast.

It was too much, the sensation of his hands and mouth against such a tender area of your body. Part of you wanted to push him off to let yourself breathe, but you liked the sensations too much, even if they were overwhelming.

“Can you do me another favor, kitten?” he asked again. “Can you get up and take your pants off for me?”

You nodded and used his shoulders to help you up. You were a bit wobbly, but you managed to stand up and undo the ties to the pajama pants you were wearing. They slid off your legs with ease.

Shinsou had taken off his shirt, and you couldn’t help but ogle at the abs he has gained from all of his hard work in training.

“Like what you see?”

Your half lidded eyes widened before sagging back down.

He let out another low chuckle before reaching for your hand and guiding you back onto his lap. Still holding onto your hand, he kissed your knuckles. “Now be a good girl and lie on your back for me.”

You felt a tightness form in your stomach and a pool of slick gather in the thin sheer panties covering your entrance. Your body shakily made its way to the ground. Your back pressed against the cold hardwood floor and you propped your legs up. Neither of you seemed to acknowledge the bed or the sleeping bag Shinsou had laid out for you earlier.

Shinsou pressed his body back over you, pinning your figure between his hands. He leaned down to kiss you again, trailing kisses down your form. His lips touched your jaw bone, then your neck and chest, until they finally reached your stomach. He smirked up at you and tossed one of your thighs over his shoulder.

You felt yourself jolt under his touch. You squirmed slightly as he inched his finger under the waistband of your panties.

“Are you feeling alright, kitten?”

You nodded as the feeling of his lips across your body continued to leave little tingles within you left and right.

Shinsou inched another finger under the waistband and gently slid them down your hips. He smirked at the string of juices that connected you to the fabric. He felt proud of himself, that he could make you feel so wet and vulnerable. He tossed your panties to the side and you could hear them gently slap against the hardwood floor.

Your breath hitched as you felt Shinsou drag his thumb up and down your clit, taking a moment to gently pinch each side of it and roll his fingers upward.

“Does that feel good?”

You squeezed your eyes closed and bit your lip, nodding almost violently as he rolled your clit around in his fingers. You arched your back up, pressing your clit further and deeper against him.

Shinsou smiled, proud of the work he was doing. His dick twitched in his sweats, and he palmed himself to relieve a bit of tension.

You let out an audible squeak when you felt a wide tongue drag up from your opening and dart around your clit. Shinsou managed to keep you quiet by pressing his thumb against your lips. You willingly parted them for him to stick it inside. Every sensation you felt was heightened. Every movement you made, every time Shinsou toyed with any part of you, the feeling stayed ingrained in your body and in your mind. You never wanted this feeling of ecstasy to end.

With his free hand, Shinsou smoothly inserted one of his fingers and fluttered it up towards the back of your clit. It wasn’t long before he inserted another, stretching you out in all the right places.

Your legs were trembling, and Shinsou scooped your other thigh over his shoulder before it could give out. He pressed his face even closer to your womanhood, so close that you were all he could breathe in.

It wasn’t long before you felt that tethered cord within you snap, and you released onto Shinsou’s fingers, tongue, and face. You pressed your hips further onto him, riding out the waves of your orgasm through desperate grunts.

Shinsou smirked as he lapped up every drop of your juices that came out of you. He licked his lips and looked at you with hungry eyes. “Tired, kitten?”

Your body felt heavy. You laid on his floor practically unable to move aside from the occasional twitch. Your senses overwhelmed you entirely.

“Do you think you’ll be able to take my cock?” Shinsou had shed his sweats and was palming himself through his boxers.

Your tired eyes opened up and gave him a sultry glare. You bit your lip and nodded. Although you could barely move, you wanted nothing more than to feel Shinsou’s length fill you up.

He chuckled and tore off his boxers. Your eyes widened as you watched his cock spring to life. He gave it a few solid pumps before dipping back down to your level. He rubbed the tip over your entrance, and you winced when you felt it gently brush against your sensitive clit.

“I hope you’re still nice and wet for me.” Shinsou inched his cock inside you at a painfully slow pace, waiting for you to warm up to him.

You let out a small cry at the initial feeling of Shinsou penetrating you. He leaned over and kissed you to subside the sting. Not much time had passed before your body warmed up and you started grinding your hips against him once again. He took this as his cue to move his hips back and forth matching your pace.

You relaxed your body into the floor and allowed your back to rub up and down its surface as Shinsou plunged himself into you. You could feel your body burning against the rough surface, but with the way that Shinsou interlocked your fingers with his and the way his eyes bore into yours, you couldn’t help but forget any pain you might be feeling.

You arched your back as you felt your second orgasm arise. This was better than any drug imaginable. You were in pure bliss. A sense of euphoria bursts in your head as you came around his throbbing cock.

Shinsou’s dick twitched inside your walls as he reached his own high. He pulled out of you before releasing onto the floor underneath. He caught his breath before looking up at you. “Do you need anything?” he asked, panting. “Washcloth or something?”

Your body ached as you sat up, moving at a snail’s pace. The pot had worn off at this point, and you were left sleepy and with a slightly foggy head. “I think I’m okay.” You turned around and looked at the burns that the hardwood had left in your back. “Shinsou,” you said in a whining voice. “Why didn’t we use your bed?” Your back ached and you were sore all over.

His eyes widened and he looked at you with an apologetic expression, yet the small glint of a smirk he held told you that he did find some humor in the situation. “Shit. Are you okay?”

“Yeah, just hurts a little.” You touched one of the burns and winced slightly.

“You know,” he said, sliding his boxers back on. A dangerous looking smirk graced his face. “They say that marijuana is a great sedative. Would you care for another hit?”

You laughed a little. “Yeah. I think I would.”

[whitherliliesbloom]

fragrant sorrow

[ ffxivwrite2021 ] ★ [ masterlist ] ★ [ prompt #10 - heady ]

[ implied kaye/lily ] ★ [ 1,805 words ]  ★ [ wozwald au ] content warning- features use of dr*gs, alcohol and tobacco. passing mentions of sex too but it doesn’t happen on screen or involve the main characters. kaye also kills a man. be warned, this is wozwald au, after all.

heady: intoxicating; affecting the mind or senses greatly

even after all these years, the scent of flowers brought the god of death the most amount of pain. 

It fucking reeks. 

His lungs hurt to even take a breath, nose filled with the cloying stench he’s grown all too familiar with. With fists balled tight in the confines of his pockets, he takes heavy steps deeper through the sickly grey corridors, with only the weight of the scythe strapped to his back serving as a reminder... or rather motivation for moving forward. 

Flashing lights leak through the gaps of the rusted metal door that lets out a deafeningly ear-piercing shriek as he pulls it open, and the scent of complete and utter depravity floods his senses.

There’s the familiar and known - the odor of cigarette smoke and bitter alcohol intermingling in the air... so heavy and concentrated it would almost be enough alone to dull his senses. Like an old friend he hated to know - but comforting in it’s own sickening, addictive way, even if it hurt him to indulge in it.

And then there’s everything else that Kaye loathed that kept his disgust for the place increasing triple fold - distinct notes of burnt chemicals and sweet, heady musk that has him scrunching his nose up and resisting the urge to raise a hand to pinch the bridge of his nose.

It fucking reeks. Even more than me. 

The carpet beneath his leather boots feels damp - soiled and damp with a concoction of wine and bodily fluids. To even hear the very squelch with every step he took caused the man’s nerves to shrivel... though he has long since learned to hide whatever discomfort he feels. 

And the sights are no more better than the scents and sounds - used needles lay discarded upon tables and couch cushions, crumpled smallclothes neglected and equally well worn strewn about... along with the numerous bodies of both warm and cold that littered the space of the club.

Most of the stiff bodies, as far as the man could tell, were caused by overdose of some kind... poor sods whose life essence had been willingly but not full knowingly given up to fuel the debauched existence of the pathetic excuse of a god.

It was a good thing he’d convinced Lily to stay behind at the camp - though he did promise to make his way back within an hour or she’d feel compelled to come storming through the place out of worry, which she has full right to.

But he didn’t quite feel like having her bear witness to what he’s surrounded himself with now. It’s sure to take several hours worth of comforting, soothing and a patience from him that he’s running thin on. It wasn’t that he disliked her presence - or hated to reassure what was to be the closest thing he’s had to an actual... companion or friend in god knows how long. 

But the stench that was depravity has seeped too far into his own bones, tainted his own blood so much that to even think he was even in any position to separate himself from the very things that the far too innocent for her own good lesser goddess... it was a hypocrisy that made his blood begin to bubble and boil. 

It fucking reeks. But this is exactly the type of scent that suited a monster like him best.

Kaye stops, expression morbid though unchanging and sharp gaze hardened as he stares down at the lesser god of all lesser gods lounging lazily upon the throne made of discarded plush cushions. 

And like the sheer weakling he is, he is wholly unaware of the immense power disparity between himself and his visitor, so much that he’d looked up with a cocky smirk, drawing a sharp inhale of his cigar before blowing the smoke in Kaye’s face.

The further one is away from divinity, the more detached they become from the natural order... with senses so dulled by their own foils that they could not even recognize one of the original pantheon in the flesh.

But that only made Kaye’s job easier, as he silently eyes down the lesser god of carnal pleasures.

“And to what do I owe the pleasure, lad?” The bastard has the audacity to act cordial with him. It would seem he’s as much of an idiot as he was perverse. “Yours is an unfamiliar face.”

“Of course it is.” Kaye responds, voice sour and aloof by comparison. 

“Then what’re here for?” The man asks again, leaning forward to bear his rotten, blackened teeth in a wide grin as he spreads his arms out in a gesture of welcome. “The ladies? The booze? You seem the straight and narrow type. Thinkin’ about losing yourself to your carnal pleasures for the first time huh? Everyone always gives in to it eventually after they remember how worthless life is.”

Kaye grits his teeth beneath sealed lips, and with jaws tightened, he reaches behind his back with one hand.

“’Appreciate the offer... but I’m several millennia too old for this shit.”

“-Wait- What are you-”

The scythe takes another life, clean and effortless as ever. Blood spills freely, pouring over the altar of the now dismantled god.... and Kaye can hear the demented screams of what little of his worshippers assaulting his ear drums.

The smell of iron and death permeates the air, and Kaye turns to leave before he can become drunk on it.

It fucking reeks. 

---

He didn’t have much luck in convincing Lily this time - stubborn as she is whenever she wanted to or felt like she had to be... and him not having enough energy to fight her enthusiasm. She’s younger, more energetic... and he’d admit to no one that he’s envious of that at times. 

But she’s also naive and kind, traits that alone are praiseworthy... but certainly not something that belongs in the modern age - it was a miracle she even came into existence as she did on account of the state of things.

That was also part of the reason why he hadn’t wanted her to come with him on this visit - though that reason had been far more selfish on his part this time than before. 

Because whereas his earlier refusal to let her join him in disposing of the god of carnal pleasures was out of a pure protectiveness for her wellbeing that Lily could fully understand, she could not fathom why Kaye would be so unwilling in letting her visit the abandoned altars of one of the original six. 

He’d even brought a bouquet of flowers, something Lily thought she’d never in all her life get to see the ultra god of grouchiness would ever hold - even if the man did seem a tad put off by his own gift for some reason, for lack of a better term. 

And so she’d followed even in his protest... deep into a forest away from the main city as they walked further and further away from the gaudy neon lights and street lamps into the cold glow of the moonlight through a canopy of dense forest tree branches and leaves.

Lily can tell as Kaye pushed past the overgrowth with practiced ease that he has the route memorized... despite there being no real set path to their destination at all. 

And when they finally reached a clearing in the woods and reached the stone altar, surrounded by crumbled stone walls and mossy bushes, Lily finally gained an inkling of why Kaye had been so hesitant in letting her come visit the pseudo-grave of one of his old companions. 

There was next to none left of the original shrine... now left with a singular stone with a shape of an hourglass carved into its surface that Lily instantly recognized.

It was the emblem of the late goddess of creation - the last god of the original six to have died barring Kaye himself. 

Lily has read tomes about her - about the goddess who, despite her relative weakness in comparison to the other five... possessed within her the great gift that was the ability to create... to give life and change to the very essence of the world. 

In a sense, it wouldn’t be a stretch to say that this goddess was Lily’s predecessor.

And though the current goddess of change could not possibly know what type of person the goddess then had been... the fact that she had faded away due to the lack of followers and not due to the judgement passed on by the god of death’s scythe was enough for her to understand now the pain Kaye must feel even just thinking of her.

And it was apparent- even with the lack of emotion in his tense expression as he bends down on one knee to place the flowers beneath the stone before rising to his feet and forcing himself to feign a relaxed demeanor by burying his hands in his pockets and slouching... which only made it more obvious to Lily just how on edge and uncomfortable he was.

She hesitates for a moment, but she finally fights all of her natural instincts telling her to stay quiet to speak and ask him a question.

“What was she like? The goddess of creation?”

Kaye stiffens, and Lily almost mistakens him for a statue as he bows his head and gazes down at the flowers with sorrow welling in his dark eyes.

It takes a while for him to respond... but when he does, the pain in his voice shatters Lily’s heart.

“She was gentle. Kind. An idiot, all things considering... Not unlike you, I guess.” 

This world as it is had no place for the softhearted, Kaye knew that the moment he had started to note this old friend’s power growing dimmer and dimmer. And yet even on her deathbed... even counting down the days to her inevitable disappearance, she held a gentle, weak little smile upon her face.

“She liked flowers...” He thinks to add, and his nose scrunches up once more.

It reeks. The whole altar reeks. He can barely even remember what her voice sounded like or what her smile looked like. And yet the scent of flowers would ever stay fresh to haunt him. 

It’s a fragrance of floral notes and fresh wind... an intoxicating blend of gentle lavender, lilies and chrysanthemums. It was a kind, gentle, sweet and beautiful scent.....

And it ill-suits the rotten state of the modern age... It ill-suited him.

Just recollecting old memories has made the god of death wobbly on his feet, and he turns to leave before Lily can stop him. He needs a cig. 

But not here... Not here where the scent of flowers still rung fresh. Not where his greatest sorrow and regret has yet to be tainted by the odor that he now carried.