#also that thing in his mouth isn’t his tongue it’s his intestine

[oddtripps]

“ He’s got the whole world in his hands “

“ It was nice to know ya “

“ We’ve all been damned ! “

. . .

“ WERE ALL GONNA DIE ! ! ! “

“For Ŗ̴͎̬̠̳̹̳̘͆̉̓̈́̊̑̐͑̈́̀̄̄̑̌̌̈̾̀͒͗́͌̋͐̄͊͆̀͂̚̕̕͝͝͝O̷̡̧̢̧̨̞͓̼̳͉͍̬͚͔͈͓̬̻͇͈͖̣̥͕̻̹͑̀͗̈̈́̈́̈́͂̓̏͑̈́̀̆͊̏͌̇̈͒̓̊̈́̔͌͐͘̚͝͠͝Ÿ̵̨̧̨̢̯͇̬̖̖͇̥̳̘̰̳͙̭͖̤͖͓̖̦͎̼̖̳̝̮͓̙̺͕̺͎̙̲̌̅ͅͅ so loved the world, he gave his only son”

[danikamariewrites]

Could I request part 2 for Inventor, where reader gets kidnapped by Baron so that they can make things exclusively for him. And the motiv behind this is that the reader refused to share one of there inventions with him because they knew he would use it for himself and not share it with his people 🙄

Hope this isn't too big of an ask, happy writing!!

Myth

Azriel x reader

A/n: you can read Inventor here! Also this is a long one lol

Warnings: kidnapping, mentions of torture, injuries, some violence, and some typos bc I don’t think I got them all sorry

A guard ripped off your blindfold violently, almost taking a fistful of your hair with it. You blinked rapidly adjusting to your surroundings.

You sat tied to an old wooden chair in an ornate office decorated in the colors of autumn.

Well shit. If you knew mouthing off in the last High Lords meeting would land you here you would’ve kept your mouth shut.

No you wouldn’t have.

Beron clearly wanted something from you. And you had a feeling you knew what it was. Azriel’s spies had gathered intel that Beron had been keeping what was found in the mines a secret. The guesses had been anything from rare metals to ancient fae weapons.

Footsteps from the hall grew closer until the door creaked open. You counted eight people, seven guards and Beron. Two guards approach you, lifting your chair to bring you face to face with Autumn’s High Lord.

He was casually leaning against his desk, flipping through a file on his desk you were sure had your name on it. “If it isn’t little miss know-it-all. I’m so glad you could join us.” His tone was sickly sweet and each word dripped with a sick sarcasm. It made your stomach do flips before tying your intestines in a knot.

You didn’t know how long you’d be able to hold out. You’re not trained like Azriel. You can’t fight and you definitely won’t do well under torture. But you’d do your best for him, for your court.

“Let’s see here,” he drawls, flipping open the file. “Multiple awards since the start of your university days, graduated the top of your class, and come highly suggested from three out of seven High Lords. You’ve been around the world and co-discovered countless new technologies.” You knew where this was going.

You had been backed into this corner before by powerful men. They were less powerful than Beron and you had never been tired up before, but that’s beside the point. You wanted to snip back at him but now seemed like a good time to hold your tongue.

When Beron looked at you he had a raised brow and a confused scowl on his lips. You didn’t realize you were holding your breath, pulled your lips super tight, and were holding your eyes open really wide. You’re not the greatest in social situations. Letting out a huff you try to relax into the rickety wood chair. “What do you want from me?”

An evil smirk slowly pulled at his lips. “I need you to…reinvent an old weapon for me.” His spies were right in their guesses. Cauldron, you didn’t even want to think about what this weapon could do. “And if I refuse?” You couldn’t help the tremble in your voice or the slight wobble of your lip. “You have two hours to decide. If you don’t we’ll make sure the shadowsinger gets your body back.” His tone told you it would be in pieces.

Beron adjusted his jacket rousing his desk to sit. Two more guards appeared in front of you as they untied you, switching out the ropes for metal shackles. As the ushered you out into the hall you saw Eris waiting for you. The tall male looked calm and composed. You knew on the inside he was panicking due to the rash decision his father made. Eris roughly grabbed your upper arm dragging you to his side. “I will escort her.”

“We were commanded by the High Lord to take her.” The guard that shackled you said. Eris raised a brow, wearing a similar expression to his father’s. “Then you can accompany us.” You began the long trek down to the dungeons of the Forest House. You kept your head down the whole way knowing that if you looked up at Eris you’d give everything away. All the secrets you’ve kept all the meticulous planning your mate and brother-in-laws have accomplished would be for nothing with a single pleading look.

A guard opened the bared cell door as Eris kept your arm in his firm grip. Shoving you onto the cold stone to keep up the facade Eris slammed the door shut behind you.

You held your hands out to break your fall. As your knees hit the floor your hands skid across the stone floor. You suck in a breath, pushing yourself to sit against a wall to inspect your hands. Your palms are red and fresh cuts litter your skin. You press them against your pants to stop the stinging pain.

Eris scoffs at you. “Pathetic. I’ll be back in an hour to see if you’ve made your decision. Think fast little tinkerer.” He teases, turning away on his heel without giving you a second look he and the guards leave you.

You are not going to cry, you say to yourself. I am going to be smarter than Beron. I’m going to get out of this and Az and the rest of the group will come for me.

——

Rhys, Azriel, Cassian land on the balcony of the House of Wind entry way, returning home from Illyria. All three were hoping to find their mates waiting to embrace them. Instead they were greeted with silence. The brothers look to each other in confusion as Azriel sends out his shadows to search the house.

Taking a few more steps into the house they tensed at the sound of little footsteps rushing toward them. Nyx appeared, launching himself at his father, a little frown on his face. “Daddy!” Rhys scoops the little boy to his chest kissing the top of his head. Rhys could sense his little boy’s distress. “What’s wrong buddy?”

“They’ve been looking all day, but no one can find Auntie y/n.” Azriel’s eyes went wide. His heart stopped for a moment as he pulled on the bond, but nothing. Your side was dark. How could he not have felt that you were gone.

Gwyn and Elain came rushing in next followed by Lucien and two of Azriel’s shadows. “I found something!” The priestess exclaimed, waving a piece of paper in the air. Lucien immediately recognized it as stationary from Eris’s desk. He snatched it from Gwyn’s hand, his eyes moving quickly over the note as he took in each word. His face grew grim.

Finishing the note he looked to Azriel. A frown pulling at the males lips. “What!” The word came out loud and agitated. Lucien hesitantly handed the note to Azriel as he began to explain. “It’s from Eris. Y/n has been taken to Autumn. He’s not sure what Beron wants with her.”

Azriel’s hands were shaking with rage. Gwyn noticed, quickly taking Nyx from his father’s arms and rushing out before something drastic happened. With a look from Lucien Elain nodded her head, turning to follow Gwyn.

Azriel’s shadows began to swarm in a violent pattern. In and out, whispering in his ears as they pass by, threatening to plunge the foyer into darkness. Cassian gripped his shoulders tight. Forcing his brother to look at him. “We will get her Az. But you need a level head.” Azriel’s face was stuck in an angry scowl. His brows pinched and his hazel eyes darkened with rage. Azriel turned his head to look at Rhys. Giving the High Lord a look that said he would go to Autumn without permission if he had to.

Rhys pushed the males apart. “We can’t go in alone. We need more than us.” He looked to Lucien who shook his head. “I’m sorry. But I can’t go back there, not until he’s gone.” Rhys nodded in understanding. “We need the Valkyries with us then.”

“I won’t be subtle.” Azriel gritted out through clenched teeth. “I don’t expect you to be brother. Beron will answer for his crime of taking your mate, I swear it.” Some of the tension let up in Azriel’s body at the promise of Beron suffering. “Let’s get everyone together and head out.”

——

You had been staring at the wall willing yourself to feel nothing for the Mother knows how long. The stinging in your hands had subsided but your knees ached. They were definitely bruised but you couldn’t bring yourself to check. A door at the end of the hall opened, footsteps echoed down the narrow hall as they got closer to your cell. You prayed it was Eris returning alone.

Out of the corner of your eye you saw the lordling staring at you. Eris leaned casually against the bars, like this was a casual meeting between friends. “So, what is it? He won’t tell anyone but the guards.” You blink rapidly to keep your tears away as you spoke. “It’s a weapon. I don’t what kind. He just wants me to rebuild it or fix it or whatever.” Your voice came out monotone. Truthfully you couldn’t be bothered with this conversation. You just want to be out of your cell. Eris let out a huff leaning back from the bars. He paced in a small circle before facing you again.

“I sent word to Lucien who has no doubt told your mate and the other two.” Your heart rate picked up at the mention of Azriel. You had tried to pull on the bond but no luck. When you were taken you were hit with a heavy dose of fae bane. It must still be in your system. Azriel and the others would be on their way soon.

“Tell him yes.” Eris froze, staring at you with wide eyes. “What?” He whisper yelled. You stood, slowly making your way to the cell door. “I’ll work on it. Take me to Beron.” Eris looked like he was torn. If he took you to Beron Azriel would make sure his death was slow and painful. “If you don’t take me I’ll just start yelling for the guards.” An uncomfortable pause fell between the two of you.

Opening your mouth as if to yell for a guard Eris shushed you. “Fine, fine I’ll take you.” The punishment his father would bestow upon him would be worse than Azriel if Beron found out Eris was with you when you made up your mind. Snapping on his mask of cruel heir Eris called for a guard. You were surrounded by the same group of guards as Eris brought you back up to the main house.

Beron met you at the entrance to the house looking smug. Like he’d already won this little game. “I’m glad you’ve made the right decision.” He leads you past his office to a room with two more guards posted at the door. They stand aside to let you, Beron, and the others through but not Eris. You don’t look at him in case your emotions betray you.

Beron gestured for you to sit at the work bench. He left the cuffs on you as a reminder that you are still a prisoner. Beron carefully removes the cloth hiding the weapon from you. You sucked in a harsh breath at the broken sword in front of you. This thing was supposed to be a myth. But here was the sword of the first High Lord of the Day court sitting in front of you. “The last known name for it was Claíomh Solais.”

You nodded along at Beron’s words. “The myth is that the first High Lord of Day received it as a gift from the Mother herself. He had kept the sun rising and as a thank you the Mother gave him Claíomh Solais so he could protect the day from his enemies who wanted eternal darkness.”

“Correct. My miners found it like this. Cut clean in two. Fix it, but add something more.” What else could Beron possibly want this thing to do? Even if you could fix it, the sword was powerful enough. You nod in agreement and he leaves without a word, keeping two guards inside and the two outside.

——

Azriel was vibrating with anticipation. They were right outside the house. You were in there and Beron was doing Cauldron knows what to you. Rhys laid a reassuring hand on Azriel’s shoulder. He felt Rhys tapping on his mental shields and opened them enough for Rhys to say, “Soon, we are just waiting on Eris.”

The doors to the Forest House swung open and Eris stepped out onto the landing. He strode back and forth until his eyes landed on where Azriel was keeping the six of them hidden with his shadows. Eris whistled as if he were calling his hounds telling Rhys to make his move. He reached out to the minds of the guards at the front of the house. Making sure none of them would be bothered by the presence of the Night Court.

Clearing the front garden and massive stone steps Eris lead them into the house. Azriel let his shadows loose to look for you. They had been restless since Azriel found out you were missing and they were eager to bring you back to their master.

Rhys kept his hold on the guards they passed while making sure the ones ahead stayed where they were as well. “This is over kill you know. I got him go back out to the mines for another look.” Nesta scoffed at him. “You think we’d risk y/n’s life on your word?” Eris rolled his eyes and kept walking fast. Coming up on the room where you were being kept Azriel threw out his arm, hitting Eris square in the chest and bringing the group to a halt. Shadows come flying back down the hall whispering their findings to Azriel about the guards and your wellbeing.

“Two in, two out. I’ll go, the rest of you guard Rhys.” Eris tried to get him to wait but Azriel stared running down the hall, a dagger in each hand. Azriel threw the daggers. Each finding their mark flawlessly in the throat a of the guards. Shadows caught the bodies from thudding to the floor, keeping them pressed against the wall as they continued to struggle for air. Azriel quickly rapped his knuckles on the door and stood to the side.

The door opened a crack for the guard to see. He squinted, cautiously opening the door he looked to one side. Before he was able to find Azriel he grabbed the guard by the back of his neck and twisted until he was lifeless in his arms. Azriel threw the male down on the floor entering the room. When his eyes landed on you the bond hummed to life in his chest. His protective instincts to get you to safety practically blinding him with rage. The last guard would be the one to unfortunately take the brunt of that anger.

Azriel punched, and punched, and punched until the sound of you crying out his name brought him back to his conscious self. Unable to hold your tears back you broke down. Azriel made his way over to you, picking you up bridal style. “It’s ok. It’s ok baby, I got you. We’re gunna get these off you when we get home, ok.” You nod vigorously against his chest as you were unable to get a word out thanks to your hysterical tears.

Before he could leave you pulled on his leathers for him to wait. With renewed adrenaline rushing through your body you fumbled your way around the work table. Your hands messily picking up a leather strap, the cloth, and stacked the two pieces of the sword on the cloth. You wrapped them up tight and clutched it to your chest. You turn to Azriel waiting for him to pick you up again.

Grabbing you he hurries back down the hall. You toss the wrapped up sword to Cassian for safe keeping as you all fled from the Forest House. Eris was no where in sight. You assumed he went to stall his father before he noticed you were missing.

Sunlight blinded you. Before your eyes could adjust darkness surrounded you and the world fell away. The salty air blowing off the Sidra pierced your nostrils, the sound of wings flapping calmed you as they slowly brought you to the house of wind.

Azriel fell to his knees on the marble floor. His warm scarred hands cradling your face as he rested his forehead against yours. He apologized over and over for not knowing you were gone. For leaving you as Beron’s prisoner for so long.

Rhys gently removed the cuffs from your wrist. You flung your arms around Azriel, telling him it was ok. That you’re safe with him now. Pulling away from him slightly you looked into his tear filled eyes. “I’m ok Az. You got me.” Your mate gives you a tight lipped smile, closing his eyes to force the last of his tears out. “I got you.” He whispered back.

[mylevisdontfitanymore]

Tell me why I can’t stop thinking about little Steve with an Iron Stomach™️ who doesn’t really love food but is very fond of non-food objects?

Basically, object vore… I’ve been so, so obsessed with object vore recently. 🥴🥴 I can’t help it. There’s just something about it 🤌

Little Steve with object vore:

Unbeta’d Steve Rogers belly kink. Warning for object vore, stuffing, slight oviposition, etc. DO NOT EAT NON-FOOD ITEMS. IT WILL MAKE YOU SICK. IT IS NOT SAFE. THIS IS PURELY FANTASY.

Sand

Steve would love being full of sand because it’s just… so heavy. There’s no way he can be filled up with sand and walk normally. He’s forced to waddle, swaying unsteadily, and not making it too far before he has to take a rest. Constantly out of breath under the dome of sand in his pot belly. He’s also forced to arch his back to compensate for so much weight tacked onto the front of his body. It’s like he’s overdue with too many babies.

When he’s swallowed as much sand as he can, his belly is totally, perfectly round, filled from the top of his stomach, taut, to the bottom of his stomach where his intestines bulge out too. However, his belly is also drooping. It wants to center the weight on his hips. It wants to hang low between his legs. Sand is heavy. It’s a lot of work to carry it around, but it’s so worth it. It feels so good. It fills him up so good.

Sand fills Steve so easily, too. The sand particles are so small that they fit into every little nook and cranny of his throat, belly, and intestines. The more and more full he gets, the more the sand weighs, and the more it stretches him. Bigger and bigger. He feels like his very own play sandbox. His own beach.

Another great, great thing about sand is that no matter how full he gets of sand, it still shifts around inside him. Steve can be completely solid when totally full and yet if he rolls from one side to his other, lying down, struggling under the small beach’s worth of sand in him, he can feel it move. He feels like a stress ball. Or maybe like a snow globe, if snow globes were full of sand rather than liquid.

Also, there really isn’t anything as satisfying as pressing his fingers into his belly when it’s packed full of sand. He can be so full he’s about to pop, but there’s still just a little bit of give. A little bit of squish. It’s the perfect feeling.

Coins

Steve craves the feeling of coins once they’re in his belly, they aren’t the best to swallow, especially the larger, heavier ones, but once he has them down… oh, God, they’re so clinky and heavy and cold. Which, all of those attributes are good things to Steve. He loves it.

Also, he doesn’t mind the taste - metallic and smooth on his tongue, in his mouth. Then, less smooth down his throat, but he’ll deal with that one downside because it’s really all about the belly feel here. Past the throat.

Filling him.

Rounding him out with a lumpy, uneven belly. Leaving his tummy to have visible impressions of the hard edges of the coins, especially as he swallows more and more. It’s so obvious, what he’s done. What he swallowed. What he’s full of.

When Steve is full of coins, jumping or running is a no-go, obviously, that’s too much. But shifting around a little, walking slowly, and/or squeezing and massaging his own belly is the best. All those little clinks… coins hit together and thump against the tender inside of his belly. All the heavy weight behind his every shift, every step, and every squeeze. It reminds Steve of how much he’s swallowed.

Squeezing his tummy when it’s full of coins is so nice. It’s lumpy and hard and weighs heavily on his lungs when he sits down or lays on his back, but there’s something about the feeling that feels good, too. The coins pressing against each other and against him… yes. He knows he’s freaky, and it probably wouldn’t feel nice to anyone else, but to him it’s everything. So full.

And the cold temperature of the metal coins feels good too - for as long as it lasts until the coins heat to his temperature - it leaves him with a solid, chilly core. There’s nothing he would rather do on a hot day than first have a freezing belly, like he’s filled with ice cream but so much better. So much more solid and heavy and yes. Then, when his coins heat up, he can pant and struggle around their weight. At that point, he feels like a hot water bottle, sweating and turning red, but… with cargo much more precious than water…

He’s like a fucking coin purse.

Something to be used and treasured and ideally kept full. Always, always full.

Marbles.

Not just regular marbles though, the big ones.

Jumbo marbles.

Steve likes these marbles for similar reasons to coins - they’re clinky, heavy, and cold. But, different from coins, these feel heavier and are nicer on his throat. When he swallows them down one after another after another after another, they practically roll down into his stomach. Hitting the growing pile with a satisfying little chink. And there’s almost nothing better than that.

A belly full of marbles? Jesus. It gets him so heavy and so noisy. He can’t even breathe without them making noise. Shifting inside his gut. Resting heavily in his lap. Pressing harshly into Steve - hurting just enough to feel good. He’s so painfully full. Steve couldn’t fit another marble into him, right?

Then why does his mouth water at the thought of popping just one more into his mouth and letting it roll down his esophagus, bulging his throat, until it finally makes its home in his huge tummy?

When Steve gets really full of marbles, it makes his belly look like he’s stuffed full of little eggs or golf balls. Maybe he should try golf balls… but, aren’t golf balls lighter than marbles? Maybe not. He likes his belly, his cargo in his belly, heavy.

Steve loves the idea of all those marbles rolling around inside of him. Massassing him, almost, from the inside. If they were eggs, they’d grow and expand inside him. They’d get heavier and heavier and he would want them out so badly, whining and moaning about how he’s about to pop - about to burst. Too heavy. Too full. Too much. And, yet… always wanting more. Always wanting his collection of eggs to grow and get larger and larger.

Rubber bands

Steve started swallowing rubber bands by accident. The first time he ate one, it was because he had been chewing on it like it was a piece of gum. It’s not too dissimilar, really. And it’s especially not too dissimilar if you’re Steve and you tend to enjoy non-food items texture and taste more than real food items… Anyway, when Steve swallows a rubber band, it hardly feels like anything. It hardly feels like anything when he swallows one at a time.

But he can stuff in quite a few at once.

Also, they build up.

The more rubber bands he swallows, the fuller he gets. They’re relatively light and small, so it takes a long time to get there, but… it’s well worth it to Steve because when he gets enough in his belly, it makes him all rubbery and squishy and almost perfectly round. His muscle and skin cover the gaps between rubber bands and any uneven ways they might poke out. So he just turns into a dome. Round. Smooth.

When he’s full up of rubber bands, Steve likes to imagine he’s swallowed a single rubber band ball, solid, just one huge mass of stuff.

Heavenly.

Squishable while still being firm. Heavy enough that he can feel all of what he’s shoved down his throat but still light enough that he can walk and do anything he likes.

He can lie on his belly when it’s full of rubber bands, they presses into him a little bit but… it also feels so nice. Again, it’s squishy. And there’s something so nice about feeling all those rubber bands squish inside him, making his belly bulge out from his sides and making him look wider and fatter than he is when he presses his belly into the ground. Maybe he’s lying on his bed, but maybe he’s just stopped what he’s doing to press himself to the floor of his apartment. He can be mobile and do things while full of rubber bands, but he can’t not get distracted. He likes feeling full too much. It drives him crazy. All he wants to do is swallow more and more and more and get bigger and larger until he’s enormous and everyone can’t believe their eyes, seeing such a little guy carry such a massive gut.

In conclusion: I have no regrets.

I'm so obsessed with little Steve who has a huge belly because he's so desperate to be full that he will stuff anything into himself 🥵🥵

[cyberrat]

56th Batch Of Fics: 13th Fill

Reaper/Soldier/McCree – Farm AU – Part 9 – cont B55F13 – Jack getting fucked by werewolves but thinking they're actual animals :)

---

Jack has no survival instinct, it seems. He’s too horny for it. Too damn focused on getting his hole spread and his guts stuffed with cock to be concerned about the fact that he’s lying face down and ass up in front of a huge predatory creature.

If the wolf wanted to kill him, he’d have a damn easy time of it. Maybe he’d leave his damn dick and balls for the cops to find and shake their heads over what a horny idiot bastard Jack had been in the end…

It doesn’t do anything of the sorts, though.

Jack has no idea where its black companion has gone to, the more dominant of the two – but the wolf seems damn determined to make any second count that it isn’t under the watchful eye of the black wolf.

It slinks closer with somewhat of a sneaky gait, head low and nose twitching. It rounds Jack exactly once before it has seen what it needs to see and hastily mounts up. No foreplay this time; no snout between his legs bumping against his overly full sac and no long, warm tongue dragging over his hole. Instead what he gets is a heavy creature on his back, strong legs clamping around his hips, and a mind numbingly hot cock starting to hectically poke the backs of his thighs as the wolf humps fast to try and find his slutty hole.

Jack doesn’t mind… not really. He’s a little disappointed because he’s been fantasizing about those long, silky tongues for a week or so, but he also can’t be mad about it when he is getting mounted in record time. The big wolf doesn’t seem to want to risk its time, instead poking desperately about until the backs of Jack’s thighs are sticky with pre-cum and the heat in his belly has turned molten.

He is just wondering whether he should try and reach down to help the brown wolf along when it finally hits its target after all: the tapered tip catches against his swollen rim and manages to slip inside just enough to make the beast pause, rearrange its legs and then ram it into him in one harsh, deep thrust that has his eyes open wide and his mouth watering.

There’s a sound above him. Almost… chuckling. As if the beast is proud over what it has accomplished before it begins to fuck Jack.

He can feel the heat of its dick spearing through him like a hot iron poker. The sensation is… insane. He’s never been so aware of his own intestines. The wolf is heavy on his back. He’s sure that if he hadn’t had his shoulders braced against the ground already, he’d be toppling down onto them just about now.

He’s a big, strong guy himself but this beast is just… it is so big. Bigger than he would have thought wolves to be. Massive, even.

It makes him think that what he has dreamed up from his weird little concussion-thing might not have been so unrealistic after all… especially when the wolf starts to fuck him and his body settles into it as if it had gone through it a million times already.

Jack opens his mouth but all that comes out is saliva slipping from the corner down his chin, his tongue uselessly pressing against his bottom lip.

If not for the front paws clamped around his hips like a vice, he’d easily be just fucked across the dusty yard of the abandoned farm as if he were nothing but a toy. He must feel good on the wolf’s cock, though… he can hear it starting to pant, its thrusts becoming, if possible, even harder. Single mindedly dicking him with a fervor that comes from someone knowing they’re doing something illegal and just wanting to get away with it anyway…

It’s just as good, if not better than what he remembers happening last time. He can barely wrap his head around how deep and hot the wolf cock is spearing into him… or how right it feels to have his cunt wrenched open on it, getting ready to take a knot. It’s perfect. It’s better than anything he could have ever done to himself.

Not that he doesn’t have a few toys that are of the… special kind – but this utter thoughtlessness with which the wolf is grunt fucking into him is something he would never have been able to replicate on his own.

He’s being pushed just as fast and hard toward his orgasm as the wolf is chasing it – which is why when they get interrupted by a low, annoyed sounding growl, they both whine with desperate disappointment.

There’s something of a growling bark and the huge, hot body on his back jumps sharply to one side, causing Jack to cry out in surprise and turn his head to watch.

There is the second wolf: the huge black one with the scar cutting through the fur on his face, looking damn pissed off.

Why are these wolves so expressive? It’s so easy to see what they’re thinking, even as they just stare at each other and make him afraid that he won’t get the fucking and the orgasm that has made him come here in the first place.

He needn’t have worried, though.

In the end, the brown wolf has to unmount in deference to the other’s dominance and make place for him to instead jump up on Jack’s ass to continue his breeding.

Jack feels vaguely sorry for the dude… but he’s getting cock so he isn’t too concerned if he is being honest. It at least gives him a nice show of the beast trudging around him, exuding an aura of petulance, brick red cock swinging beneath it belly… wet and goddamn tasty looking-

Jack grunts and is pushed forward as the black wolf finds his mark a lot quicker than the younger pup.

Pushing in on one long thrust that spears into him and makes him feel like he is skewered on cock. Going out here to get fucked by a pair of wild wolves has been the best decision he’s made in a long time, it feels like. Right after getting the two hunks as his farmhands, that is…

He bets they could fuck just as well as these wolves. Hold him down and mash his face into the pillow so he nearly suffocates while getting rammed by them over and over-

It would be a nice way to compensate them, wouldn’t it? Food on the table and an always-ready cunt for the taking…

God, fuck, he wishes that could be his life.

[uniquevocashark]

A Good Servant Part 5

Content Warnings for:

graphic descriptions of gore, blood, murder, threats of murder, lady dimitrescu and her daughters eating people, threats of violence, assault, bodily harm, grievous bodily harm, blood baths, implications of murder, mentions of experimentation (very brief), mentions of manipulation, mentions of excessive eating, mental fuckery done by the protagonist

THis monster is 11 PAGES ON WORD DOCS, AHHHHHHHHHHHH

You cast a look at Daniela, who sneers at Vanessa with more venom than a viper. Vanessa’s hands raise up and she backs away from you, the cut on her neck shallower than you expected. Daniela pushed her sickled down harder until Vanessa was forced backwards, several meters away, then dashed back in front of you. She left her sickle loose in her hand, then flashed an imitation of Cassandra’s smile.

“Why did you touch our things?” She repeated, the joy leaking back into her voice. She turned her wrist slightly and her sickle caught the light brilliantly, a clear demonstration of an agonising amount of time and effort spent polishing it.

“Your ‘things’?” Vanessa said and you would have intervened if a bug hadn’t flown into your mouth.

Another crawled along your collarbone and down your hands and when you looked found that they had red eyes rather than green. Miss Bela bit down on your tongue gently when your mouth twitched into a frown and you smoothed your expression before Daniela noticed.

She grabbed your choker and yanked you forward along with it, displaying the Dimitrescu crest that usually sat proudly cradled against your throat, “This isn’t just decoration, you stupid man-thing. They belong to House Dimitrescu.”

“They don’t.”

“She does!”

“We,” Vanessa said, winking at you over Daniela’s shoulder, “Work for Mother Miranda.”

“But she doesn’t love Mother Miranda,” Daniela pouted, so caught up in stamping her foot that she yanked you even closer, “She loves us. And you aren’t allowed to touch what I love!”

Vanessa raised her brow, and you shot her a glare. Gently, you placed a hand on Daniela’s, and she looked at you moon-eyed after Bela had flown out of your bleeding mouth. “It’s alright, Daniela.” You said softly, rubbing her taut knuckles.

“It is not alright,” She insisted, then released your choker to grab your arm tightly. “Only House Dimitrescu can touch you.”

“I’m aware,” You said, and pushed her hand away, “Now, I must settle Vanessa in, Miss.”

“Fine.” She pouted, much like her mother, and disappeared in a haze of bugs. Another bug, with a bulkier wing set and yellow eyes bit your finger before fleeing as well. You brushed off the blood on your apron and shot a glare at Vanessa. The cut, you noted, had already disappeared. Mother Miranda must of improved how quickly she could regenerate.

“What?”

“’What’.” You mocked, averting your eyes.

“I am right,” Vanessa said, clutching her chest like a Victorian lady in need of a fainting couch, “We, technically, belong to Miranda. Not her adopted anger issues.”

You rolled your eyes and wiped the smears of blood of the walls that Daniela had made in her haste to get between the two of you. “Whether or not you are factually correct is irrelevant.”

“You’re not serious.”

“I am,” You said tiredly, “Part of my very serious job is keeping the girls happy because it’s more important than the semantics of my situation.”

“It’s more than just semantics,” Vanessa insisted, “You’re lying to them.”

You sighed, “It would hurt them too much.”

“You’ve gone soft.” Vanessa bumped your shoulders together and smiled that smug grin you could never forget.

You crossed your arms and bumped her back. “Shut up.”

…

“Stop complaining for two seconds, would you?” You said, holding the door open for her.

Vanessa shrugged, leaning over you instead, “Who said I was complaining?”

“Go in the room.”

“I’m supposed to observe you.”

“And I need to attend to Lady Dimitrescu, now in.” You nudged her towards the room, and she stumbled more than she should have.

The room was small but warm. It was set next to your own and had been empty for as long as you had been there, so you had hijacked it for personal use until then. Lady Dimitrescu had given the room to Vanessa for the duration of her stay and, while you were attached to it, you cleared your extra things and remade it for her.

Vanessa, on the other hand, didn’t appreciate the spartan room all that much. She didn’t seem to like the lack of windows, or how dry everything was. You frowned at her for that.

“You should be used to this kind of living.” You said.

Vanessa sat down at the desk and propped her legs on the desk. “Maybe I got used to luxury.”

“Yes, Mother Miranda’s operating table is so clearly the height of ostentatious luxury.”

She laughed, then covered her mouth a moment later.

“Get comfortable,” You said after a moment, “I’ll be back later.”

“Do you have to help her?” Vanessa asked.

“I work for her.”

“You also kiss her ass when she isn’t around.”

You frowned, “I do not.”

“You do,” Vanessa cooed, “Every conversation you manage to sneak her in. Lady Dimitrescu this and Lady Dimitrescu that.”

“Not this again.”

You rubbed one of your temples. Vanessa shrugged from her seated position, her eyes barely moving from you. “She isn’t even here.”

“I’m not entertaining this,” You said flatly, “Stay in here, I’ll be back by the end of the day.”

“Define ‘end of the day’.” She said, picking up the axe you kept under the bed.

“Before dinner.”

“Okay.” You heard her say before you shut the door.

You walked halfway down the hallway then turned to look back at her door. It was closed, the corridor was well lit and warm and the noise of the kitchen from further down was the only thing you could hear. The only difference from yesterday was a thick black line that marked one side of the walls.

…

Lady Dimitrescu’s rooms were emptier without her pet, something that you always noted when she lost one. The extra bedding was gone, the extra candles, the smaller set of care products that she usually kept and the trunk for clothing. It almost looked too stark, and you could almost understand her obsession with always keeping a pet.

“Madame.” You greeted and she blew a stream of smoke at her own reflection.

“Wesker,” Lady Dimitrescu murmured, removing her gloves, “Is the bath ready?”

“Yes, Madame.”

“Good.”

She didn’t move from her spot, slowly removing one glove at a time.

Her vanity mirror was covered in a viscous substance that drooled down onto the mahogany

“Come here.” She said softly, extending one hand towards you without turning to look at you. Her hand gleamed grey in the darkness and you were halfway to her before you realised you had moved. She planted the hand on your shoulder and untied the choker around your neck.

Her mouth was dark with blood, spilling into a cascade down her dress. What you assumed was the remains of Mihaela, a few bones, a dark patch of blood and intestines strewn neatly on the floor, sat at her feet. She caressed your cheek and brought you closer to her. You flinched and she smiled, her eyes burning gold, leaning over to capture your other cheek.

“What’s the matter?” She murmured, pulling you tight against her, smearing blood over your face and chest, “Are you afraid of me?”

You sucked in a breath that reeked like open bowels, “What is going on?”

She tilted her head slightly, and her mouth split too widely when she smiled, through her cheek and near her ear. She opened her mouth and her cheeks split open, her long black tongue pouring out of the side to lick blood off her jawline.

You moved your head away gently and she moved, licking your face from chin to forehead to clean away the blood she had left. She cradled you in her lap, dragging her lips over your forehead then her teeth and you stared at her blood covered neck quietly.

“Who did you use for the bathtub?”

You cleared your throat, “The chambermaids, Madame.”

She licked one of her fangs, “How many?”

“Fifty-four.”

She growled, moving to hold your waist and hug you to her chest. Lady Dimitrescu licked the blood from your cheek, her tongue as rough as a tiger, then rested her chin on the top of your head. You weren’t sure how to move; when you moved even slowly, she tensed, and she would periodically hum before she licked your face. It did not help much that her tongue scraped the flesh from your face and that she took obvious pleasure with each scrap she took from you.

Her face slowly sewed itself back together, but it was not a painless or soundless process. You watched her face, the cheek slowly come together, veins re-establishing before being filled over with flesh that reddened as soon as it grew. Her tongue grew softer, and she was no longer slurping down your flesh to fill her stomach.

“Bring up a few of the serving staff, I’m in desperate need of a good bath.” She said but didn’t let you go. You cautiously push her face away, and she nibbled at your fingertips softly. She was staring at you, her pupils wide and eyes hungry.

“Would you prefer the pastry chefs or the line cooks, Madame?”

She smiled, and it was normal, though her lipstick was smeared down her chin, “The line cooks should suffice.” She said and licked your bloodied cheeks clean.

…

You prided yourself on many things, because you were good at many things, but avoiding the suddenly clingy Dimitrescu family was nearly beyond your capabilities. The girls you could at least avoid for most of the morning, as they were always busy with one thing or another, but Lady Dimitrescu took every opportunity to have you with her as long as possible. It seemed not a minute could go by, even if you were cleaning her room, that she didn’t have a hand on you. By thirty past ten that morning, she had already called you five more times than she usually did.

When you could get away from her, and the endless workload she had decided to gift you after eating Mihaela, her daughters were there instead. Even dragging yourself through the dungeons and moving past the ghouls, one of them would find and attach themselves to you. And the first to find you as she always was, Daniela would appear and grip your sleeve or hold your hand in greeting.

She always bounced between anxious and forward when she wanted to start a conversation, not that you minded. She was, you thought, a reflection of what you were like when you were younger but made of flies. She was also hyper conscious of how she acted when the staff were around you, which you appreciated even if the extra effort was unnecessary.

“Are you thinking of leaving us?” She asked, sitting three steps down from you on the ladder you stood on.

“Thinking?” You paused, “Something like that.”

She wrapped her arm around your shins and looked up to you, her insects buzzing reminiscent of a cat’s purr, “Yes, or no?”

You stopped wiping at the thick black stain for a moment, “A bit of both.”

“That isn’t really an answer.”

“It’s more complex than yes or no,” You continued, rubbing at the stubborn spot with more force, “And try not to sound so unsure, it lessens the stern attitude you’re aiming for.”

“Okay,” She said, resting her cheek against your calf, “Can you explain the complex reasons?”

You rung out your rag, dipped it in water and tried to wipe the stain away again. You did so again, and Daniela watched you with a growing pout. “Please?” Daniela continued, kicking her feet into the air, “Don’t you love me enough to tell me?”

“There is no need to resort to emotional manipulation,” You countered, and pointed at the brush you needed, “Practice your sternness again.”

She cleared her throat while she handed you the brush, and her tone went serious, “You manipulate people too.”

“For complex reasons, and never about love,” You said lightly, patting her hair carefully and watching her smile bloom across her face, “I don’t really have a say in whether I leave or not, Daniela. If I must go, I go.”

Daniela dug her nails into your skin, but you didn’t mind it much. She held you a little tighter against her and frowned down at the floor. “I don’t understand, she gave you to us. So, you’re ours.”

“It doesn’t always work that way, Daniela,” She nodded but looked unconvinced, “Don’t frown so severely, it makes you look upset rather than stern but that was perfect vocal control.”

“Thank you.” She said but you could see that she was still lost in thought. She touched her necklace gently and toyed with one of swords, staring at you more severely than she usually did.

You looked out of the window you had just cleaned, to the sun shining down on the village and smoothed her hair down the side of her face again. “The day is rather fair, Daniela. You should ask your mother for a horse-riding lesson.”

She perked up, looking outside the window herself. “That sounds like fun.”

She hopped off the ladder and you followed her. The stain on the window had left your water black as ink and you still needed to finish the rest of the windows in the corridor before lunch, so you said your goodbyes to her. Daniela kissed your cheek and transformed into a swarm of bugs before you could react, already gone by the time you had registered the kiss.

She had always been more affectionate than her sisters, so you could almost excuse the sudden change in farewell. Out of all of the Dimitrescu, she was the one who liked you enough to want to be physically affectionate. You knew she had started doing it out of jealousy, though, ever since Vanessa had gotten too close to you than she liked.

After Daniela had disappeared and after a late lunch, around two thirty in the evening, Bela would find you as you left the kitchen.

Bela spoke the most and had mastered that stern tone that Daniela only practiced around you when they were too busy to find her. Her bugs had brilliant red eyes and settled along your collarbone with growing numbers each time she saw you. Now she kept a few bugs on you regardless of the time and you had woken to them buzzing above your head for the past three days.

“Thank you for recommending that exhilarating horse ride.” Bela greeted sarcastically.

“Miss Daniela wanted something to do.” You replied simply.

“Daniela has her books if she’s bored.”

“Miss Daniela has had trouble with riding for the past three years, it was an opportune time for her to ask.”

Bela walked closer to you than she usually would, and though she looked at your arm she didn’t take it. “Are you leaving?”

“What gave you that idea?” You replied flippantly.

“Are you planning to leave?”

“I can’t say.”

“Were you ever going to tell us?”

You didn’t meet her eyes.

Bela grabbed your elbow and made you face her, “Were you going to tell Daniela, at least?”

You pulled your elbow free from her grasp.

“I see,” She said severely, in perfect imitation of her mother, “Does Mother know?”

“She does.”

Bela frowned then let you go and then, softly. “She does?”

“I told her the day before last.”

Bela continued walking with you for a few minutes then turned to you as you were polishing a bust. “I need to talk with Mother about these secrets,” She spat the word out, “Don’t say anything to my sisters.”

Then she was disappeared in a swarm, and you were left with a group of flies clambering along the crest nestled along your throat.

…

Cassandra was never much of a conversationalist, focused more on her latest project that was undoubtedly a present for her mother than you. She had most strongly inherited her mother’s disposition towards people. She didn’t consider you a person, for example, more like a walking meal with the potential to be a person. Any opinions you expressed weren’t headed very much; it seemed to be a particular trait of the Dimitrescu family. It didn’t stop her from hooking an arm around yours after breakfast and not leaving you alone for the rest of the day.

Unlike her sisters, she kept a silent vigil over you, only speaking to shoo Vanessa away when she tried to get close to you. It wasn’t until just before dinner, when you were trying in vain to get your staff organised while Cassandra loomed over them with her sickle bared, that she started talking to you.

“You upset Bela yesterday.” She said.

You sent three maids back into the kitchen for messing up the placement of the cutlery, “Yes, I am aware.”

“What did you say?”

You paused, and the remaining maids looked at you and each other uneasily. They slowed down and you snapped at them to adhere to proper form.

“Well?”

You bit the inside of your cheek to stop from pursing your lips when you turned back to face her, “You’ll have to ask Miss Bela.”

Cassandra forced her sickle against your throat, where your neck met your head and cornered you against the unfinished table. “If you hurt my sister on purpose, I am going to gut you no matter what Bela or Mother says.”

You pushed her sickle away from your neck. “Then you should aim your sickle at my gut and not my neck, Miss Cassandra.”

Cassandra chuckled throatily and moved away from you. She smiled and thumbed the point of her sickle with a smile, wiping the edge you had touched almost wistfully. She gave a flourished goodbye, waving her sickle happily and walking into the main hall.

…

Vanessa took up the rest of your time before dinner, still seating pleasantly at the desk in the same position you had left her. She grinned at you and sat up properly.

“Hey there, stranger.”

You gave her a look.

“You’re not looking so good,” Vanessa said, coming over and gently rubbing the scrapes along your cheeks, “Are you doing okay?”

“You know what’s strange?” You said instead.

“What?”

“I don’t feel anything. I’m not even sore and I’ve been talking all day.”

You moved into her room and sat down on her bed, gripping the mattress and letting out a long sigh. The black stains that had been plaguing you all day were also here, you noticed. Vanessa came over to you, sitting down and wiping your cheeks with a wet cloth. You hissed at the cold and she stopped, uneasy.

“It’s fine.” You said and pushed her hand away. The cloth was black with blood.

“It isn’t.” She insisted.

“It’s just a little blood.” You murmured and collapsed onto her pillows.

She lay next to you, dabbing against the scrapes on your face. She looked worried so you let her clean away the blood while your face knitted itself back together. She sat you up gently and poured you a glass of water, not leaving you alone until you had three glasses. When the bell rang you wobbled upright, and she looked almost ready to dive to catch you.

“Dinner will be ready in twenty minutes.”

“Will you make it that far?”

You waved her off, “Follow me if you must.”

“That would be for the best.”

You frowned, unnerved by her complete lack of blinking, “I suppose.”

…

Lady Dimitrescu was fully dressed by dinner, with her makeup freshly reapplied and her dress clean of any stains. It was one of her newer dresses, red as the wine she drank with buttons that were white around her wrists and down her back. Her hair was still wet and was kept in a bun instead her usual bob, tightly held at the side of her neck.

You dabbed at the loose droplets of blood that trailed down her neck after she sat down, and she bent her head away from you to give you ample room. It exposed the entirety of her neck to the light, and it glowed warmly in the candlelight. Vanessa slurped on her wine a little louder than usual and you frowned at her.

Lady Dimitrescu ignored the flagrant misuse of manners and turned to the cooked liver and sliced heart she was served that evening. If you were not mistaken, three bodies went into her meal, from the sauce made of blood wine, the thick liver from Rachel’s husband and Rachel’s heart. Vanessa looked comparatively smaller, nibbling on her veal and carrots drowning in gravy. It was comical to see such a normal dinner served at the Dimitrescu table and you smiled.

Daniela noticed immediately and dropped her knife on the ground.

“Whoops,” She said when you walked over and picked it up and pulled a new one from your pockets. “Thank you.” She smiled.

Lady Dimitrescu sipped her wine, “Be careful, my dear.”

“Yes, Mother.”

Bela was much quieter than she usually was, not jibing Cassandra for eating without a fork or rolling her eyes at Daniela for being so obvious. Her eyes were fixed intently on Vanessa and barely strayed while her hands dissolved into bugs and ate her meal for her.

“Tell me, Vanessa,” Lady Dimitrescu began, drawing all eyes towards her, “How are you enjoying my castle?”

Vanessa swallowed the half-eaten potato she had in her mouth, “I haven’t seen much of it.”

“Oh? Not one to explore, are we?”

She looked at you, “I was advised against exploring.”

Lady Dimitrescu put a hand to her chest, the other planting itself on your shoulder and smiled magnificently, “I assure you, me and my daughters don’t bite. You are free to explore to your hearts content.”

Vanessa leaned back into her chair, “Thank you, I think.”

Lady Dimitrescu laughed and turned her smile on you, well pleased with herself. Her eyelids drooped for a moment and her smile went softer, “My dear Wesker will always be busy, of course, but my daughters do so love entertaining foreigners like yourself.”

You cleared your throat and she hummed then turned to Vanessa and returned to their last conversation. It was a clunky transition, one that she wouldn’t have made without reason, and you moved back to where your staff were. Their numbers were halved, the others the dinner on the girls plates, and you were left with only the best of the bunch. The perfect additives, the Lady called them, fit for her most expensive of wines.

You were glad to see that two more were worthy than the last round of cattle.

But that was out of your hands now. Lady Dimitrescu had ensnared Vanessa with a menagerie of questions that had clearly been building since their last conversation and you found many of your secrets were gouged with extensive glee.

Within the hour Daniela had eaten through an entire cake and was on to her second, while Cassandra had disappeared once again, kissing her mothers’ cheek as she left. Lady Dimitrescu’s menagerie had expanded to a national park of questions, and she spoke on and on without seeming to pause. Vanessa would finish answer one and have a dozen more posed within the next minute and she was ruddy faced and out of breath from talking so much.

Bela nibbled at her own slice of cake, strawberry and lemon tonight, looking so intensely at Vanessa you thought her eyes would merge. She listened too, more seriously than her sister did, and you could practically see her drinking in every detail of the conversation with interest. She looked at you a few times, for wine or in surprise, and at one point leaned over to murmur yikes after one particularly child unfriendly story.

You remained out of the interrogation, refusing to answer any question outright. That was how the Lady got in, she asked one innocuous question and then bombarded you with a million more until she was satisfied. Vanessa, it seems, hadn’t learned her lesson after the first time and fell for it faster than a plane landing on an airstrip.

Lady Dimitrescu laughed at one point, eyeing you, “Did you really?”

“I have no recollection of what she’s saying, Madame.”

“Surely you must, it sounds so outlandish,” She licked the wine from her lips, and you dabbed away the spit. “Unless you two are playing games with me.”

“No, Madame,” You said innocently, “We aren’t.”

She smiled, “Is that so?”

“It is, Madame.” You said and began clearing the table.

…

The morning after, you and Vanessa were in the kitchen, the windows open to the cold breeze. You were cutting vegetables, Vanessa’s dexterity with knives as good as a wad of putty left in the sun, and she instead kneaded dough poorly. Daniela had inadvertently whipped her sisters into an emotional frenzy after dinner last night and caused a series of unceremonious gorging on whomever was unluckiest and unwanted by their mothers’ palette.

With the chambermaids gone, it was the cooks who took the brunt of their hunger. Your sibling remained with his most trusted sous chef and the pastry chefs.

You had taken the last line cook down to the cellar last night, while she was still alive and kicking, dragging her feet along the floor in a vain effort to stop you. She had made excellent bread and glazed wonderfully; she smiled while she kneaded and had the best work ethic of all of them. it was for that reason you had recommended her for cadou experimentation and that reason alone why she had been spared from being eaten alive.

You had cleaned her hair up after you had restrained her and tucked a bit of hair behind her ear.

“You shouldn’t glare so ferociously,” You said, setting down a plate of mouldy bread, “You’ve been given a great opportunity.”

She looked mortified.

“You aren’t going to remember,” You continued, pouring a glass of water, “You don’t understand it and you won’t remember what I’m saying now, but you should be honoured by being brought here. It’s much better than being made into a bath.”

“What?”

“What precisely did you think happened to your paramour Jessica?” You smiled at her expression and set down the candle while she strained against the shackles. “The rest of the chambermaids were put into the Lady’s bath as well. They were sorely needed.”

This was perhaps your favourite part when you cycled through staff. There was something greatly satisfying about watching the pieces fall into place, faith wavering as they learned the truth and then visiting them afterwards and seeing the light in their eyes dead but for hunger.

Playing games, as Lady Dimitrescu said once, after she had caught you unravelling one of her subject’s entire life thread by thread. She had seemed pleased by your tendencies and even instructed you on how best to reveal certain information bit by bit. But you weren’t here for the joy of it, not right now at least.

“You’ve always been good with people, Bronwyn.” You said conversationally and she looked at you oddly.

“Clearly not, since I trusted you.”

“I’ve been manipulating people into liking me for years,” You waved your hand flippantly, “What would you have done if you had known I was like this halfway through your stay?”

The chains rattled, the ghouls scuffled past you and the cell and deeper into the dungeon. You heard the girls giggling down in the darkness, the scream of a man ringing so loudly as to hurt your ears and the cackling after. You stared at Bronwyn and watched her morph from horror to disgust and everything in between.

“Escape?” She said.

“But to me, personally. What would you have done? Would you stop talking to me? Forget things? Pretend you’re fine when you’re obviously so stressed pretending as to be breaking apart at the seams?”

She swallowed and you backed away from the bars. You had ruined your mood already, and you had only been here for five minutes. The bars were grimy and rusted and you rattled them absently.

“Nevermind,” You said instead, picking up the candle, “You’ll want to rest before Lady Dimitrescu gets down here.”

As you left you heard her sharp intake of breath as she spotted her sister in the cell opposite her.

…

“You know, you really had me convinced.” You said to Vanessa when you walked into her room. She was, as ever, sitting blank faced on the bed where you had left her, her chest cavity open to reveal nothing but black mold beneath it.

“Did I?” She said, looking at you and smiling, “I don’t really remember much.”

“The last time I saw you, you were opened exactly like this on a bench in a cell. Do you remember that?”

“No,” She confessed, “I don’t remember how we got to this shit village either.”

“We were still recovering from waking up, they shoved us in a potato sack together and hauled us here.”

“I don’t remember that.” She said and moved her hand to watch it as it crumbled.

You removed the pins holding her skin open, folding them back against her ribs carefully. You lay beside her as she morphed into a blob of black fungus, nestling into the crook of her neck and hugging her chest to you carefully. She still retained a semblance of her former shape, but you could see the details of her face smudging away.

“Vanessa?”

“Yes?” She gargled; the words distorted away from her usually cheerful voice.

“What is it like? Is it painful?”

Her head was growing a large mouth, so you grabbed the knife you kept strapped to your thigh and straddled her chest after you had drawn it. Her chest was a mess of black and it had cooled drastically, like steam as it rose and changed to rainwater. A tongue lolled out of it and long black claws sharpened from her fingernails.

“I see.” You said and started cutting through her neck.

[honestgrins]

Can you write a Klaroline drabble where Caroline shows up in NOLA and shocks everyone but maybe Kol or Katherine when she says she's Klaus's wife? Cannon Caroline not original.

I Heard a Rumor

The club was filled with people and the chaos of a Friday night. Klaus preferred to avoid the rush of tourists, but Marcel kept the VIP lounge to a more tolerable set even during peak hours - usually.

“Don’t you just love this place?” Janet was hanging over the balcony to watch the crowds below, none too subtly pushing her ass back toward him. As one of the humans on staff to provide a live blood source, she was perfectly amiable to Klaus. He’d even become something of a regular customer for her given his penchant for the tinge of bourbon in her taste. However, it seemed she took the friendly flirtation of their transactions to heart, and she was testing his patience for more. 

Unfortunately for her, his patience was wearing thin. With a barely polite grimace, he downed the rest of his drink and made to stand. “It’s a bit rowdier than I like, love, so—”

She gave a rapturous giggle, only to fall into his lap and sprawl across him. “I like that you call me ‘love,’” she murmured, her mouth clumsy against his ear. “Let’s get out of here, and I’ll show you how much I like it.”

Rolling his eyes, Klaus was ready to speed out of there without bothering to set her back on her feet. The only thing that kept him in his crowded seat was the biting and all too familiar voice coming from behind him.

“Sorry, love, he won’t be available to accept whatever appreciation you have in mind.”

Both surprised — though for very different reasons — they turned to see Caroline Forbes facing them with a pageant-ready smile and murder in her eyes. She was stunning. Klaus couldn’t help a grin despite his earlier annoyance, and his brow arched in challenge. “Hello, sweetheart. Fancy meeting you here.”

Her jaw shifted almost imperceptibly to the left, but his companion didn’t seem to sense the rising tension as a threat. “Who the hell are you?”

Just like that, Caroline’s smile turned sharp with her fangs on full display. “I’m his wife, and you’re in my seat.”

The club was home to any number of vampires who heard her perfectly over the music, and more than a few froze at the sudden silence coming from him. The Klaus Mikaelson they knew would have reacted instantly, either with murder or some other violence, and they all seemed to wait for the ensuing mayhem. Even Janet finally grasped the discomfort of the moment, and she extricated herself from his lap with all the delicacy a human could manage. “I’ll just— Yeah, bye.”

Whatever show the club was waiting for, Klaus had more pressing concerns. “Shall we continue this interesting discussion at home?” he asked, though they both knew it wasn’t a question. Gently gripping Caroline’s arm, he flashed them back to the manor. He heard Kol and Rebekah meandering somewhere, and Elijah was likely on the premises as well. With that in mind, he brought her to the privacy of his studio and its soundproofing spell. Wisely, she waited until the door was shut to yank her arm free with a disgruntled huff. He merely smiled as he went to pour them some blooded wine. “That was quite the display you gave, sweetheart,” he said lightly, handing her a glass. “I have to admit: I didn’t see it coming.”

“Bullshit,” she snapped, setting aside the drink without indulging. His lips pursed; it was an excellent vintage, yet he was more perturbed at her outright refusal of his hospitality. Perhaps this wasn’t their usual spat to be easily resolved. Proving just that, she seemed truly distraught. “You promised to leave Mystic Falls, that my life was my own.”

“It is. I haven’t stepped foot in Virginia since that day.” Brow furrowed, Klaus felt an urgent need to reassure her. “I understand you need time to accept what I’m offering, and I am prepared to wait however long it takes. What on earth made you believe I’m encroaching on that promise?”

Last he heard, she wasn’t even in the States. They did chat by phone every so often, and when she’d mentioned a tour abroad, he had offered a list of his various estates that would be available to her should she wish. It was the caretaker of his dacha outside of Moscow who alerted him to her softening boundaries. He certainly had no intention of making her regret the change, let alone whatever caused this latest upset.

Watching him with suspicion, Caroline apparently wasn’t sure of his intentions at all. “Seriously? It wasn’t bad enough I ran into the stalkers you have ‘looking out for me’ in every city, but the one time I take you up on borrowing a place, you have the staff literally bowing to me. I wrote it off as a cultural thing at first, then I heard the whispers.”

“Though I refute your accusations of stalking, I will admit to warning some friends and enemies you are not to be trifled with in your travels. As for Dmitri, I merely asked him to welcome you as an honored guest, which you are.” 

She scoffed and crossed her arms in defiance. “Yeah, well, he wasn’t welcoming me as an honored guest. I overheard him chatting with his wife about meeting ‘the new mistress of the house.’”

Klaus shrugged, unconcerned. Satisfied the situation wasn’t more dire, he allowed himself to relax on his sofa, daring to pat the spot next to him. Caroline remained unmoved, and he rolled his eyes. “Perhaps the nature of your significance was lost in translation. You’re the one who came to my town and introduced yourself as my wife.”

“Because half of Russia thinks I am your wife!” With an indignant stamp of her foot, she seemed ready to tear her hair out — but she frowned more sedately at the blankness on his face. “You didn’t know?” 

Shaking his head, he honestly had no idea. “What happened, Caroline?”

Finally taking her drink, she dropped to the couch beside him with an embarrassed groan. “I stepped into exactly one vampire club, and people practically threw themselves out of my path. I assumed it was more of the same from you, until the guy I was flirting with was suddenly yanked away by a friend. He went white when he was told my husband would tear out his intestines and shove them down his throat.”

“A bit uncreative, that.”

“Klaus!”

“I don’t know,” he insisted, his frustration growing to match hers. Rubbing a hand across his mouth, he genuinely had no idea why anyone would think him married. Though he had many hopes and plans involving Caroline in his future, matrimony was a human tradition he’d never once considered. “Truly, this didn’t come from me.”

Sighing, she leaned back into the couch and nursed her wine, defeated. “Oh. Then, sorry for cockblocking, I guess.”

Klaus smirked at that, and he turned to face her more fully. “Are you really?” The lightest blush stained her cheeks, and he knew she was biting her tongue at the faint scent of her blood. Unable to resist, he reached his hand to rest on the back of her neck, his thumb rubbing into her hair. “New Orleans is a small town at heart, love, and you effectively announced yourself as my wife in the middle of town square.”

“To be fair, I thought you had told the whole world, and I wasn’t going to be the only one not getting laid because of it.”

“Ah.” He was torn between a wince and a laugh, so he settled for another sip of his drink instead. His other hand continued to massage her scalp, and he felt the tension slowly loosening within her. “I never meant to restrict your choices,” he promised. “Tempt you into choosing me, absolutely, but not like this.”

Finally, she relaxed into him, slouching until he could tuck her against his side. Some doubt lingered, though, he could tell. Perhaps it was a sign of growth on both their parts that he didn’t take offense and that she trusted him enough be honest. “But who else would want to spread a rumor like that about us? It’s not like anyone benefits if we really did do the Vegas wedding thing.”

His mouth twitched, and he flashed to the door, barely sparing a brief kiss to the top of her head. He tore it open, only for her to slam it shut again. Pressing her back to the wood, she kept a heavy glare on him. “Put those away, we both know you’re not going to bite me.”

With a reluctant growl, he forced his fangs to recede. “It’s not your blood I want at the moment, and it’s certainly not pleasure I seek.”

“Yeah, ‘cause revenge isn’t a pleasure for you,” she answered snidely. “Tell me what’s going on before you kill the blabbermouth.”

“This is something I have to do myself, sweetheart.”

“Hi, I might want to help! They screwed with both of us here, not just you.”

A half-smile formed without permission, the fondness he felt for her softer than he was comfortable acknowledging at the moment — especially when someone had proven all too willing to use their connection against him. “Few in New Orleans know about you, let alone your...effect on me. Only two would maliciously speak out of turn about that. And just one of those would dare to bind you to me forever, lest I be challenged to follow through.”

Her face was an open book to him, and he hoped she never lost that human nature to share every feeling she had as it happened. Confusion, calculation, consternation, they all boiled down to an annoyed scrunch of her nose. “Your family knows I exist, at least, I think so. I never actually met Elijah, but you two seem to have gotten over whatever grudge match was going on at home.” He gave a brief nod, fascinated at the determined way she thought it through. “I also doubt you told him about your fling with a baby vampire. Kol and Rebekah, on the other hand, probably didn’t need to be told.”

“Bekah still likes to complain that we defiled the entire wood within earshot,” he muttered, not that he could be particularly aggrieved at the memory of a sunny afternoon. “And you are no mere fling, Caroline.”

That lovely blush rose again, and she looked anywhere but at him as he crowded her against the door. Gently brushing the curtain of her hair back from her face, Klaus waited for her to gather herself. After a deep breath, she finally met him with a half-hearted glare. “Which Rebekah loathes, so she’s definitely not daring you to marry me by telling everyone else you already have.”

Silently agreeing, he hadn’t lowered his hand from where it settled on her cheek, and a thrill came when she leaned into it. “Kol, however, enjoys sowing chaos wherever he goes.”

“Yeah,” she groaned. “That sounds on brand, and I played right into it with this stupid payback stunt.”

“We always did share a flair for the dramatic.”

The laugh built in her throat before it burst out, filling the air between them until they were both smiling like fools. Her hands had curled into his shirt, one at his hip and the other over his heart. The slight tug of fabric was tempting, but he still kept his tentative distance. “I promised you time, and I meant it.”

Biting her lip, Caroline nodded. She didn’t let go of his shirt, either. “Does it have be all or nothing right now?” It was half a whisper, the barest hint of whine in her voice endearing. “Because you smell really good and it’s been a long time thanks to your stupid brother, and I might have missed you more than I realized, so can you just kiss me alrea—”

There would be consequences from the rumors of their marriage, and more than just those Kol would face. Caroline would be a target, either for those seeking Klaus’s favor or those out to destroy him. Her presence or absence from his daily life would be a noted occurrence, and more rumors would arise should they be seen with others instead. New pressures would exert force on the evolution of their relationship, something he had measured in decades and centuries without such attention. But they could deal with those consequences in time, together.

Later.

[tintentrinkerin]

adelphopoiesis

Author: tintentrinkerin

Title: adelphopoiesis

Requested by: @schaefchenherde

Header by: @wincestismyheart​

Divider by: @firefly-graphics​

Rating: Explicit

Pairing: Demon!Dean x Sam

Warnings: Blood and Gore, Sam Drinks Dean’s Demon Blood, Anal Sex, Not Canon Compliant

Content: Chasing your baby brother around the bunker with a hammer is fun, right? But what if you tickle his thing for blood?

Read here or on AO3

Dean’s most effective weapon is not the hammer he destroyed the door with. The hammer that’s stuck in the wall now beside Sam’s head. It’s not his physical strength, radiating like utter heat from his body, showing in the tension of his neck, the firm grimace of his mouth, his pretty mouth. It’s not the First Blade. A blade powerful enough to kill anything and anyone, but Dean himself. 

Sam’s only weapon is a lousy knife. A demon knife, that will barely leave a scratch on a Knight of Hell. 

“It’s all you”, Dean says, leaning in the knife, leaning into Sam’s half hearted attack. 

The way Dean looks at his brother, it’s tearing Sam apart in so many ways. Ways he thought he’d buried under guilt and hunts and lore and his shame. Sam gives in and takes the knife away, he will regret it so bitterly, he knows. Of course he knows. He can’t even lay a single finger on Dean. The demon in front of him wears the face of his brother but there is nothing left of his soft side for Sam. His voice, how he calls Sam, how he says Sammy, the hair, the determined look, the tongue against his teeth. Like he’s a predator and Sam’s the prey. 

Dean’s eyes turn black.

It’s a whooshing sound and it darts Sam’s ears the moment he thought he’d surrender and then, the First Blade, fast as an arrow lands in Dean’s hand. There is not a blink for Sam to react before Dean looks at him with a triumphant smirk. The knife glides through Dean’s smooth skin of his throat like it’s warm butter. Blood spills. 

Blood

Spills

Blood is Dean's most effective weapon.

Its smell is so familiar, so luring. So intimate and so…powerful. Sam turns and runs. He needs to go. He needs to get away. 

“Oh Sammy, baby brother, don’t run away!”, Dean mocks. 

Shit, he’s right behind Sam and Sam’s judgement clouds already. He isn’t even fast. It feels like running through molasses. The air feels thick and strong, pressing Sam down, and the smell of iron and lust and Dean, oh my God, it’s Dean’s blood! - He needs to get away! Sam manages to worm through the destroyed door to the electrical room, but he catches several splinters. Some even bite his face and he gets stuck with the cast of his elbow. Spraining the right elbow, why, Sam, why did that happen? Everything’s against him. 

Memories of Ruby appear in his head. Of the smell, the taste, her body, the sex. The grunting and the mind blowing orgasm, the banging against walls everywhere they went. The power, the trip. His increasing power, a stimulant better than any human known drug. It resonates all within him with the odor of Dean’s musk and his blood. He can smell its potential, its strong taste. Sam even imagines how it would make him feel. Running away never felt so hard like right now. He remembers the withdrawal and the pain behind his eyes blinds him as he trips in the hallway and tumbles against a wall. Stinging pain in his arm, in his head and his legs feel heavy. It’s like he has Dean’s breath in his neck all this time. Even though he can’t hear him come close at all. It sounds like Dean is far away, in another world. 

“Come on, Sammy, I know you want a sip of it. Makes you all giddy, doesn't it? I can smell you. All of you.”

Sam yells something, but he can’t even make out what he says. 

“Keep runnin’ if you must, but you know I gotta find you sooner or later. It’s my home, too!”

The alarm is blaring again and Sam has no idea how far he can run. There won’t be any walls that might hold Dean back. He’s regaining strength, the human blood wears off. Even that Sam can smell. How much stronger Dean gets with every minute. 

“I taste delicious, Sammy. Just fuckin’ delicious.”

Oh, yes, Sam bets he does, that’s exactly why he needs to keep running. The smell gets even more intense now and Sam wonders how much Dean can cut himself up with the First Blade. He should’ve given the damn thing to Crowley when he had the chance to do so. 

“Stay away”, he croaks. 

There’s another hallway, one leading deep into the intestines of the Forbidden Bunker, how Dean and him called it jokingly, when they discovered it. An area full of locked doors made of the weirdest materials. Only one chance is left for Sam, when he finds that one door he unlocked in these months without Dean. He had learned a lot about witchcraft since Dean left this note on his bed, when he left Sam for Crowley and a life as a demon. When the only way to save himself from Dean was to hide himself in a panic room again, hallucinate again, he would have to do it. He rather sees Lucifer again, Mary, Bobby, all the victims they couldn’t save than to fall for Dean’s lure. Drink his own brother’s blood. This was perverted, disgusting, twisted. Even for them. The monster hunters, the monster fuckers, the monsters themselves. 

“The longer you run, the harder I bleed, brother!”

Sam tries every door on the way, but none opens. Sam’s eyes sting from the smell. What the hell is Dean doing? Covering the walls in blood? That would be insane. Even Dean would faint at one point. It must be impossible to drain a body so much before it dies. Dean isn’t possessing a body, he still has his own, whatever that means for him and his physis then. Sam trips again, he falls, on his right arm of course. He tears up from the pain that fills his chest, his arm, his shoulder. He can’t survive that long if doesn’t find a hide-out. 

It seems to be near, because Sam still can read the signs on the doors and when he finds room 616, he pushes the door open with a long and agonizing cry and slams it shut. It’s the door he unlocked already, a room, bleak as an empty tomb. Cold and pitchblack, there’s no electrical light, just candles, but Sam won’t be able to find them. He can just hide in here, pressed against a wall, praying to Castiel, to Hannah. He even cries for Crowley inside, someone needs to help him. 

Footsteps.

The smell of blood. The First Blade scraping on the tiles, Sam knows it’s that. 

“Gotcha! I really thought you’d be a bit cleverer than that. Where’s the fun when you cage yourself like a mouse?”

The door bursts open, way too easily. None of the sigils and runes seem to be an obstacle for Dean. And when light shines in the room and Sam can see not only Dean’s silhouette but also his face, he knows. Dean is covered in his own blood. His face, his slit throat, still pumping blood in long and rhythmic spurts from the wound. His arms are drenched in blood and now, with a biting smile, Dean looks at Sam and the Blade carves an S in Dean’s arm. 

“Come here, Sammy. Come to your big bro and lemme get you something real good

The stench is so intense now that Sam first vomits in violent jerks and then faints. The last thing he sees before the world turns completely black is Dean’s triumphant, sweet smile and his eyes. His normal green eyes. 

When Sam awakes again, he is tied up. Bound to a chair. They’re in the dungeon again, how did Sam come here? His head aches like it’s been run over by a stampede of bulls and his mouth tastes like vomit and blood. He tenses immediately as he’s present enough to realize his situation. Dean has tied him up here, and now he’s sitting on the desk in one corner, right beside the blood donor box that Sam got from the hospital. His legs swing and he hums a strange melody. 

“Oh, look who’s up.”

Dean jumps on his feet. Sam can see the First Blade, the damn Blade, resting on the table. Then Dean takes the syringes of human blood and starts spilling them. 

“You won’t need them anymore, Sammy. I think I won our little chase.”

“Dean, don’t do that… please. I can still…”

Dean hisses. His eyes turn black.

“You can still what, brother dearest? I already told you. I am what I am now, I am free. I’m finally free. Of humanity. I’m strong now. Efficient. Deadly.”

Sam winces when he moves in the ties. The ropes cut in his flesh and Dean removed the sling on his arm. His elbow hurts so much, it’s taking his words away. 

“You were deadly before already. The Mark made you powerful.” 

“But guess what, I’m even better now. Dean Winchester 2.0 - I’m all in for my upgrade. You see it as a bad thing, but what I see is … potential. Chances. Oh Sammy, I can conquer the world. Hell. Heaven. You really want the boring Dean back, huh?”

Sam shakes his head but that makes him feel dizzy, he stops.

“I want my brother back. The brother I loved.”

Dean’s black eyes target Sam like he’s prey again and he hates being looked at like this. It makes him feel less human, less Dean’s brother.

“I am your brother. Nothing ever changed that. But I told you to stay away from me, I told you not to look for me. But you did. You plotted against me, with Crowley, with Cas. You tied me up in this chair, you tortured me with human blood. Against my will. For someone who’s all over the place with autonomy and respecting boundaries you violated mine just perfectly.”

Sam squirms. The problem is that Dean is right. But Sam did it for the greater cause, didn’t he? Dean becoming human again was the best for everyone!

“You make me sound like the bad guy here, that’s not fair”, Sam mutters.

Dean laughs and it’s a deep, rough laugh that makes Sam’s skin crawl. This is so much Dean, even darker than usual. And it shakes Sam to the core. 

“Good, bad… Who cares. Human categories, bullshit. Nothing’s fair, Sam.”

“I need something to drink”, Sam says faintly now. 

He won’t make Dean untie him, that’s for sure, but maybe Cas will come to the rescue soon, he can maybe delay things. Also he needs to get rid of the taste of old blood in his mouth. Dean doesn’t reek of his blood that bad anymore, Sam is very much aware of the pink line across Dean’s throat. A scar. The blade will cause scars. Or at least the weapon delays even Dean’s healing. 

Dean smiles. 

“Sure. But why waste water on you when I kill you anyway?”

Sam’s heart sinks.

“Will you?”

Dean shrugs as if he doesn’t give a shit at all.

“Thinking about it. But you’re my brother, as you keep on reminding me. Maybe I should give you a chance to redeem yourself in my eyes and let you live?”

“And how would you do that?”, Sam asks, winding in his ties. 

Dean goes away. Doesn’t say another word. Sam is stunned and damn, holy shit, he’s afraid. Dean will kill him. But what is it with the possibility of letting him live?

The smell of iron. Like a perfume, soft and silky. No. No no no.

“Dean? Dean!”, Sam cries and fights the restraints harder.

He did it again. He slit his fucking throat, Sam knows it. And this time, he won’t be able to run, he won’t be able to fight back. He’s tied up, he’s in pain, he’s weak. It’s not like with the other hunters who wanted to force him to drink demon blood. He could fight them off, but now?

Emaciated. Sick. Depressed. A broken arm. Hungry. Tied up. The addiction is pulsating through his veins, giving him the chills. It’s hot and cold at the same time. Like crackling in the air, the heavy scent of blood and Dean, he can only say no.

Dean won’t take a no, why should he? He’s a Knight of Hell. Sam is human. His brother is back, his throat cut deep enough to see the structures of muscles, veins, nerves, his trachea, the pulsing blood. Sam vomits all over his shirt, but there’s not much left except bitter, yellow gall. 

“You’re sick, huh?”, Dean coos in a voice like he did when Sam was younger. It’s meant for comfort but now it just feels like mockery and Sam wonders how he deserves to see his brother slit his throat, twice, just to seduce Sam to drink it. It's so fucked up. It’s low, even for lean, mean Dean. Human Dean would’ve never provoked Sam’s demon blood addiction. 

Sam nuzzles against the hand that’s stroking his face, his eyes squeezed shut. His lips tremble. 

“Let me make you feel better, don’t pull away, Sammy…”

Sam cries out and some ugly big tears fall down his face. Is it so easy to break? He’s gone through so much pain already, through torture, rape, withdrawal. He was betrayed by everyone he loved, especially Dean. Dean’s hand is warm, but his skin feels like marble when Sam leans in, rubs his face in the palm of Dean’s hand. Is this still his brother? Is there any humanity left? 

But what would that change? They’re here now. In a bunker soaked with demon blood, Sam is tied up, Dean reigns. 

“Hush, hush”, Dean purrs, both of his hands holding Sam’s bobbing head. “It’s gonna be alright… Sammy, just give in. There will be no more pain, just us. You and me, against the world. Like it used to be.”

Sam opens his eyes but all he sees is blurry and red, it stinks of iron and vomit and Dean’s black eyes…

“I wanna see your normal eyes”, is all Sam can say right now.

A smirk.

“Anything for you, Sammy.”

And Dean’s eyes flash back to green and Sam can have the illusion of his brother just for a moment longer. Thick dark blood is pulsing out of Dean’s cut on his throat. 

“It looks disgusting, Dee.”

Dean only laughs.

“It’s not supposed to be beautiful.”

Dean cups his hand before the dripping wound, collects a tiny lake of blood in his hand and then, gently presses his blood covered hand against Sam’s lips. 

The world turns upside down. Sam feels the spinning, the spinning, the spinning!

The taste makes him want to barf, violently, but the old creature, the blood sucking monster was waiting patiently beneath the surface. Patient but greedy. Now it’s unleashed it bursts out and the first drops, he swallows. His lips limp and curled in utter disgust, but now, oh now, there’s a jolt running through his body, he sits straight up, first ties grinding, the ropes won’t last. The shackles won’t last. 

“Come on, sweet baby boy, you want more…” Dean sings, eyes black as the night. 

And slowly, very slowly and enjoying, Sam’s lips brush Dean’s hand, collect the blood, a tongue, pink, hot sneaks out, licks the offered hand. 

The ropes break. The pain in Sam’s arm fades. It’s a movement even Dean didn’t see coming when Sam bursts out of all restraints he put on him and grips Dean’s hand tight, as tight as possible and sucks three of Dean’s fingers dry. 

The Knight of Hell rejoices, pulls Sam close, closer than they’ve been for a very long time.

“That’s it, Sammy, yes, that’s it, let me take care of you… such a greedy boy…” 

Dean’s voice is distant to Sam, distorted and hollow, he remembers their youth, the motel rooms, the flickering lights, the old tv, how Dean smelled of whiskey and beer. John’s passed out in an armchair, stained in blood, piss and vomit. 

He remembers Dean’s care. The kisses at night, the stealthy handjobs in the shower, how Dean ‘taught’ him how people do it. 

Make love. 

Sam was twelve. Dean was sixteen. And he was a grower. 

A slut. 

All of this drenched in velvety red tint.

The ritual.

“Let me take care of you, Sammy…”

“I love you, Dee.”

“Never tell anyone.”

And Sam never had told anyone (but Lucifer knew - he knew everything) and deep down, buried in his mind, these feelings were in peaceful slumber, violently dragged across the floor now, kicking and crying, 

A W A K E

Sam is awake. 

He remembers the awkward, painful, dry fuck in the back of the Impala after they killed the Wendigo, so long ago, and how they never ever said a word. 

Spit is shitty lube.

So is blood.

It roars. The monster roars in Sam’s chest. It’s in agony, it’s in joy, it’s free! 

And Sam is just a puppet, always been nothing more than a puppet. He watches himself suck Dean’s fingers, then sticking his own fingers in the wound, stir it, stir Dean’s insides. The gurgling, the retching. Dean’s satisfied moans, his hands all over Sam’s now healed body. 

“Yes, Sammy, let it all out, come on… Let it all out.”

Sam only hisses. This blood, Dean’s blood, the blood of a demon, of a Knight. It’s so much more potent than Ruby’s or any other demon’s he’s ever drank and tasted. Dean is delicious. Demon tend to taste like rotting meat, titan arum aroma.

But Dean tastes of all the good things. Dahlia, petrichor, amber. His musk makes Sam’s blood boil and his pants bulge. 

“Sammy.”

“Dean”, is the first thing New Sam says. 

What Monster Sam says. His voice sounds low, rough, barely in control. His body is shaking, too much force is withhold now. 

“Brother.”

The wound on Dean’s throat is closing up again already, the healing ability is really incredible. Sam will bite it open very, very soon, but first… 

Dean doesn’t protest, he doesn’t fight back at all when Sam slams him down to the ground like he weighs nothing. There’s the crunchy sound of maybe, bones breaking, or just getting sprained, but even that, Dean will heal in no time. Dean lies on his stomach, attempts to get up. 

“Sammy-”

“Sammy is not here right now.”

There’s no surprise, no scare in Dean’s voice. Sam stomps his bare foot in Dean’s back and Dean stays, doesn’t even breathe. The adrenaline rush in Sam’s ears makes him deaf for most other things and seeing demon Dean down on his stomach, defeated so easily, it’s almost an insult. Sam crouches down, one foot still on Dean’s back, pressing him down. 

“You surrender?”, Sam asks, eyebrows raise.

“I didn’t mean to fight you at all.”

Dean chuckles, his voice raspy

Sam drags Dean on all fours, rips apart his shirt (the pretty red shirt, ruined with blood anyway) and Jeans and when he holds Dean’s hips, bends over and bites Dean’s neck, Dean hisses “Come on, Sammy, that’s it.”

That’s it.

Sam tears apart skin, Dean’s blood gushes in Sam’s mouth, warm and silky, smooth and delicious. 

“Is that what you wanted?”, Sam says in a breathless moment, before he starts sucking the wound dry, the bleeding will stop soon, way too soon for Sam to be satisfied. 

Dean growls deeply, pushes against Sam. Pleading. Sam pushes two fingers inside Dean, but feels very quickly, Dean doesn’t need it. He doesn’t want it. He needs Sam. He rips off his jeans, down to his knees and when that’s not giving him enough space, he just tears it to shreds completely. Dean’s ass is perfect. Round, juicy, firm. When he gives it a slap - a hard one - he enjoys the noise Dean makes. And then he thrusts completely inside, without hesitation. No foreplay. No gentle feeling ahead and preparing Dean’s wonderfully tight and delicious ass. He feels amazing, hot, tight, smooth. Dean hands grip Sam’s wrists tight while he fucks into him, raw, without anything to soothe the pain, make it easier, make Dean nice, slick and wet. But he doesn’t complain at all. 

“That’s it”, Dean chants, in his low, low “Let’s finish this game” voice. That’s it, over and over. 

This is no sex Sam would ever have if he was in his right mind. Covered in his own vomit, Dean’s blood, on the cold floor. Not that he has fucked any guy after he fled off to Stanford anyway. Dean is all he knows. He only knows what Dean taught him about fucking ass. 

Dean starts getting slippery with his own blood, Sam’s blood infused spit and finally, cum. Sam loses the feeling of time and space, all he can do is fuck Dean until one of them passes out, and if Dean passed out, Sam would continue anyway. 

The adrenaline rush plummets too early for Sam’s taste, the haze clears up and he’s getting aware of his ripped off clothes, the shreds of Dean’s. The fluids, the smell, the feeling. Crust everywhere. Dean is still on his knees, head sunken on the floor, his arms stretched out, breathing heavily. There’s no sign that he’s in pain. But Dean’s a demon, right? He will be fine. 

Sam drags him up, and the cocky smile, the perfect hair, it’s all gone. Dean looks like he’s had the same otherworldly experience. It’s a sight that makes Sam chuckle. 

“What are you laughing at?”, Dean asks, coming on his feet, gently swaying, but finally his wounds are closing up. 

“You threatened to rip my throat out. With your teeth.”

“Not there yet, Sammy. Not yet.”

The situation is unreal, Sam feels unreal. He knows he will never be the same. Something’s broken inside him, crumbled - yet ready to expand again, into unknown territory. 

He doesn’t remember the coercion, Dean’s betrayal - or was it Dean’s way of deliberating Sam?

Sam, leaning on the table, watches Dean come close and he leans in, a hand in Sam’s hair, gently pulling. Their kiss isn’t gentle, nothing will be gentle for a while. Teeth clash, the table scrapes along the floor and the throbbing of Dean’s pulse makes Sam rise up again. Dean bites Sam’s neck, sharp pain - and Dean drinks. The feeling is satisfying and roughening Sam up at the same time. He pulls his Knight close, closer, grabs him and bends him over the table, both still bleeding, Dean high from Sam’s blood. 

“For a Knight of Hell, you’re very pliant”, Sam growls in Dean’s ear.

Dean chuckles.

“I just bend the knee to my King.”

Sam frowns. 

“What do you mean?”

Dean hikes up and drags Sam to the mirror in the Dungeon.

“Take a look”, Dean hums, rich and satisfied in tone, “acknowledge who you are.”

Breathe in. Breathe out. First, Sam’s mossy eyes just look glassy, clear, beaming with desire for Dean. 

Then he draws in his breath with a sharp hiss. 

“You got your daddy’s eyes, Sammy.”

Sam’s eyes turned yellow.

[myth-lord]

Why don’t you just DIE! (already)

Sometimes when you kill an enemy it isn’t exactly the end of the fight, sometimes it is just the beginning!

These are all the monsters from my list/project that can metamorphic into a new form after you seem to have beaten them.

KHALKOTAUROI

First Form:

Much like a mechanical/golem-like bull made from metal, strange red fiery spiritual fire leaks from its cracks, eyes and nostrils.

Reborn Form:

After you destroy the mechanical body an full HP Aatxe spawns, this red bull spirit was trapped inside the metal shell and is more angry than before.

ALP-LUACHRA

First Form:

Like a very pulsing big human, almost bursting and very disgusting, intelligence isn’t in its eyes, it just wants to eat, instead of a tongue however an Olm/Amphibian-like creature bursts from its mouth, seemingly controlling the human host.

Reborn Form:

After killing the human host, the small Alp-Luachra bursts from the corpse and is forced to fight for itself, it tries to enter the bodies of your playable characters, so you better kill it fast.

MANANANGGAL

First Form:

Much like a female version of the Aswang, which are demon-possessed humans in my project, much like the creatures from the movie Evil Dead.

Reborn Form:

After you do enough damage to the Manananggal it will turn into a different form, it sprouts bat-like wings from its back and its torso rips itself free from the lower body, its intestines dangle beneath it and it can use these organs to attack enemies with.

Third Form:

Doing even more damage to this flying form will morph it into the final form, which is just a head with bat-like wings instead of ears, much like a more crazy and scary looking Chon-Chon (my other flying head which is unrelated to the Manananggal), in this final head-form the Manananggal is extremely desperate and it attacks with tentacles which dangle from its neck.

AWD GOGGIE

First Form:

Like a horrifying giant green caterpillar.

Reborn Form:

After you seemingly kill it, it will turn into a cocoon, and while you may think this will turn into a butterfly monster you are wrong, the Awd Goggie is loyal to its giant Caterpillar form and will become an bigger, more colorful red spiky caterpillar, it gains very different attacks and abilities in this new form. You can destroy the cocoon before it hatches, so the second form can be stopped, if not, it is a pretty tough enemy to fight!  

EINHERJAR

First Form:

Much like a bigger Berserker (wild humans bred for combat and war) with stronger armor and instead of two small axes like their Berserker brothers use, the Einherjar uses a giant axe.

Reborn Form:

Even after the death the Einherjar won’t stop fighting, it turns into a Draugr first, which is a zombie-fied version of the Einherjar, it behaves much like the Draugr-enemy, but it can’t re-spawn as a Draugr after being killed, as it has a third form as well.

Third Form:

Killing the zombie form of the Einherjar also doesn’t stop it from fighting, now it will turn into a powerful spirit and picks up his axe again to fight once more, instead of striking flesh and bones the Spiritual Einherjar targets and destroys the soul/spirit of its victims.

BINAYE AHANI

First Form:

These twin aberrations are also found as a duo, you can target each of the two twins separately.

Reborn Form:

The best way to deal with these monsters is trying to kill them both at the same time, as when you kill one of the twins first the second will go berserk and transforms into an even more abominable and powerful form, raging with anger and emotions after losing its other half, it gains some new lightning-based abilities in this new form.

BUBAK / TATTY BOGLE

First Form:

The first half of this monsters fight is mostly magical as it seems to be just a scarecrow hanging from the famous wooden crosses they are mostly found on in real life, in this form it just summons fear-magical attacks, illusions of your worst fears and supports the other enemies on the battlefield with its evil magical buffs.

Reborn Form:

After doing enough damage to a Bubak it will turn into a physical attacking enemy, it will jump from the wooden cross and now replaces the magical attacks for physical attacks, it’s attacks can still cause the fear-effects on your playable characters.

DJIEIEN / DEATH WEAVER

First Form:

While still alive, these macabre Lich-like spiders look pretty much like giant monstrous spiders, while they have undead features, they aren’t really undead, YET.

Reborn Form:

After being killed the Djieien’s own necromantic poison automatically reanimates its corpse into an undead, much like a lich, but instead of a human it is a giant spider. While alive the Djieien are already terrible horrors with abilities to create undead minions with their necromantic poison, but in their undead forms the creatures becomes even more powerful and harder to defeat, it can create mummy-like minions with its magical webs and only critical hits can fully destroy them.

FAFNIR / GREED DRAGON

First Form

: Vile but beautiful, that is the best way to describe these golden dragons of extreme greed. A Fafnir looks like wingless golden dragon surrounded by its own treasure and covered in precious jewels and legendary items of value.

Reborn Form:

Even after the death these dragons can’t part with their own treasures, their avarice-cursed spirits will possess their treasures and animate them into a living treasure heap. While not as powerful as the dragon itself, this form gives the Fafnir a second chance to defeat their foes and still being in control of their treasure.

GOBLIN / ELOKO

First Form:

At the start of the battle these green, envious, small humanoids start in a trio, standing on each other’s shoulders, the highest Goblin on top uses a ranged weapon to attack.

Reborn Form:

After some damage is done, one of the three goblins dies and they are now a duo, this changes their entire tactics and they use a new weapon together, they use a very long saw (used to saw through trees) together, they run through enemies both holding the saw on one side.

Third Form:

After receiving more damage the second Goblin also breaths out his last breath and joins the dead, leaving a single Goblin behind to fend for its pathetic existence, in this form the Goblin mostly tries to escape, leaving the players characters without the deserved exp, so you have to kill the Goblin before it escapes.

SPRIGGAN

First Form:

Spriggans are Goblins infected with fey-energy, this mostly happens to goblins that live in the fey forests or which have friendships with fey. They have blue skin instead of a green skin, but they are still pathetic like their goblin cousins, however when they become scared or angry they turn into their reborn form.

Reborn Form:

When angry or scared (in other words when their HP is almost depleted) these blue fey goblins increase in size and strength and become a giant version of their former self, pulsing with fey magic. Why the Spriggans gained this ability is unknown, though wizards think it has something to do with the goblins/and/spriggans envy for the size of bigger creatures, fey magic helped them in achieving this goal, though the progress of turning so large isn’t without pain and stress for the otherwise pathetic creatures. After their anger or stress has gone away the Spriggan will shrink in size again.

HEIKEGANI

First Form:

I’m still experimenting with this creature, but I think I have a start now: The first form of the Heikegani in my project is of a human-corpse which head is replaced with the body of these demonic crabs, the crabs replaced the victims head and ride the corpse like a rider would ride a horse. The reason the Heikegani are so obsessed with “wearing” human bodies is because the fact that humanoid hands can hold weapons, and Heikegani are addicted to fighting and weapons, mostly swords and katanas.

Reborn Form:

After you reduce all the Heikegani’s HP its mounted body will perish and the small crab-creature will have to fend for its own, it has some nasty painful attacks even in this form though, so it isn’t defenseless to say the least.

KERIT / CHEMOSIT

First Form:

While Kerits appear to be just Black Bears, the real creature is actually an alien parasite made up from only pink and purple tentacles, they thrive inside the bodies of bigger predators, in general most are found in bears, but big cats or wolves are also possible, some were even found in predatory fishes like sharks. Anyway, in my projects game-sprite the Kerit is always a Black Bear, just to make things less complicated. While they appear to be just black bears, three tentacles sprout from their maws, hungry for the brains of other creatures, as Kerit (the parasite) needs brains to stay intelligent and alive.

Reborn Form:

After enough damage is done to their bear-host the pink/purple tentacles burst from their fleshy-shell, the creature now appears like a messy undead bear with a LOT of tentacles coming out of its torn-off lower-maw and from its belly, the largest tentacles replaced the bears sluggish locomotion. In this new form the Kerit gains more psychic attacks, and it can hit multiple enemies at the same time.

LOU CARCOLH

First Form:

This giant horrifying snail still has its shell on its back during its first stage.

Reborn Form:

After doing enough damage, the shell will break and the entire slimy snail creature is visible, while it loses a lot of defense in this shell-less form, it gains speed, and its slime-like abilities become more powerful in this stage as well.

MOROI / VAMPIRE

First Form

: Much like a vampire from twilight (just kiddn), more like a vampire from Interview with the Vampire, a beautiful man/woman (my project has both these) holding some (blood) wine in a royal-looking glass, it is dressed in fine clothes and both the male and female Moroi look like noble and rich humans.

Reborn Form:

Doing enough damage to these undead however, will release their real forms, which are far less noble and pretty, more monstrous and hungry for the blood that was denied from them, you see, the Moroi needs blood on its skin regularly to stay this pretty and civilized, without blood it turns into the monstrous, bestial undead it was intended to be.

STRIGOI / NOSFERATU

First Form:

The parents of the Moroi, these look more like the Nosferatu (cool and actual-scary vampires for newbies) and they embrace their monstrous nature, they have the power to control the blood of themselves and others, this gives them their ability to control animals, mind-control and such as well.

Reborn Form:

While already monstrous and ugly in their first form, their true form is even more bestial, they sprout giant fleshy bat wings from their backs and their fangs grow even more out of proportion, their power over blood becomes also stronger in this form, as anger turns the Strigoi more powerful.

OTSO

First Form:

In this form they are just bears with a row of green hairs running along their backs, just a cool looking bear, while they don’t have any magical abilities in this form, nature seems to protect them and after every physical bear-attack the Otso makes, nature makes a move for it as well, this can be healing the Otso randomly, giving it more strength, or summoning plant-based creatures to aid it, the Otso has the intellect of a real bear, so it doesn’t even realizes it is being helped by higher spirits.

Reborn Form:

After you kill this beautiful bear creature however, nature will embrace the bear and merges its spirit and corpse with the plant matter around it, turning the Otso into a bear made from wood, plants and other natural material, now the bear doesn’t need nature anymore to fend for itself, as it became a force of nature, natures protector, natures soul warrior, it gains intellect of its own and many magical abilities involving plants and nature, while its first form is a BEAST, its new form is a PLANT.

POLONG / CARNAGE

First Form:

What seems to be just a bloody zombie is actually a horrible blood-parasite in a corpse shell. In this form the Polong is actually very weak, and its true form is far more dangerous.  

Reborn Form:

After you destroy its corpse-home, the Polong bursts out as an water elemental-like creature made from blood, the blood of murderers, thieves and other criminals to be exact. A creation of the vile Strigoi, these blood parasites gather more blood to grow larger and split into multiple Polongs after they absorbed too much of it. In this form its far more dangerous, it can harden its own bloody mass into red obsidian-like spikes to do some serious damage to its victims and enemies. The worst thing is that after another enemy or playable character dies the Polong can enter the corpse again and regenerate all its lost hitpoints, be sure to first kill the Polong and then any other creature on the battlefield.

POLTERGEIST

First Form:

These psychic spirits (also called Psychic Elementals) can enter and animate almost any tiny, small and medium object they encounter, I’m not so sure what object the Poltergeist in my project is found in, but it is probably some furniture like a chair or maybe cutlery.

Reborn Form:

After you destroy their inanimate shells the psychic spirit of a child burst out, it is a very vague humanoid spirit though, more like an insane mind of a child coming to life, it loses any physical attack it had in its object form, but gains powerful psychic abilities in return, if you keep it alive for multiple battle-rounds, it sometimes finds another object and becomes a physical attacker again.

DYBBUK

First Form:

While the Poltergeist is the psychic energy and soul of a paranormal child, the Dybbuk is the psychic energy of a demon, unlike the Poltergeist which can only possess inanimate objects, the more powerful Dybbuk can possess almost any living creature weaker than itself, it is hidden in random other enemies, and gives these monsters/creatures not only more HP but also powerful psychic abilities.

Reborn Form:

After you kill this other monsters the real Dybbuk bursts free, now losing any psychical attack it had and focusing entirely on its extremely powerful psychic abilities, it can also posses other monsters now, and if not protected by spells, your own heroes/characters can also be possessed if they are unlucky.  The Dybbuk’s real form is even more insane and disturbing than the Poltergeists form, much like a demonic mind gone wild.  

POLUDNICA / LADY MIDDAY

First Form:

In their first form these Nymphs of Light, sunrays and heat are still pretty, hiding their burned faces underneath their golden waving hair, almost appearing like Hesperids, the gentle nymphs of the sun or even muses.

Reborn Form:

After these ladies become angry and almost perish however, their real nature becomes apparent, their hair turns into solar-like fire, and now their burned faces become visible. Their already deadly scythes become even more deadly and become double-sided and they glow like the sun, an aura of heat becomes visible and everything around them catches flames, you really shouldn’t anger these ladies!  

RAIJU

First Form:

Being playful shapeshifters, the Raiju is mostly encountered as a tanuki/badger/small predator in the wilds, in their true form they aren’t as cuddly though.  

Reborn Form:

After being attacked a lot the Raiju sheds its fake form and turns into the lightning elemental it was born to be, just a wild mess of lightning and electricity without any form of its own. This Raiju isn’t as playful anymore as it is now angry that you hurt it, all it wanted to do is play with you, it didn’t know nor cared for its lightning hurting its playmates in the progress… These lightning elementals are very hard to hit and magic or magic enchanted weapons are needed to dispatch them once and for all, earth magic does great against them.

RAT KING

First Form:

Rat Kings are bizarre creatures, they appear to be just larger-than-usual rats with bright red eyes that collect swarms of non-intelligent rats around them to become a living swarm of rats (not bound by the tails though, like in the real folklore, I left that bit out of my version). All the rats in the swarm are controlled by the Rat King and they are more than willing to fight and die for their “King”.

Reborn Form:

After defeat is in range, the desperate little creature rapidly starts to devour all the death rats that made up its swarm, increasing the Rat Kings own size until it rivals the size of a bear, in this form I like to compare it to the Ugjuknarpak, a giant rat from Inuit myths. The rats that were still alive swarm all over the now giant Rat King like a living coat, functioning as a living armor of suicidal rodents.

RAUDKEMBINGUR / TROLUAL

First Form:

These red-painted monstrous whales make Moby Dick seem like a wussy, their biggest hobby is destroying ships which they use their entire mass upon, one of the biggest enemies in my project, the Raudkembingur in Mythica is like all the Evil Whales (they are all found in ABookOfCreatures) into one in my project, spare for the sharp-finned Sverdhvalur which most important feature (its sharp dorsal fin) I gave to the Japanese monster shark Isonade.

Reborn Form:

Sometimes when you defeat/kill a Raudkembingur it will turn into a Bakekujira/Ghost Whale, born from vengeance these ghostly skeletal whales never stop attacking and tracking their killers. Bakekujira are also found in the seas on their own in my project, but they can also spawn from killed Raudkembingur on the spot.

GASHADOKURO / BONE LORD

First Form:

A gigantic skeleton, nothing more, nothing less. They are created from the merged combined bones from the victims of starvation, a vile creation of the Horseman of Famine (Limos in my project)

Reborn Form:

After you defeat these giant skeletons, they will fall apart into a small army (5) of lesser skeletons (called Spartoi in my project).

STELLA

First Form:

These small Crown Of Thorns starfish monsters are burning with heat, in their first form they are red with almost red-hot spikes covering their bodies, Stella can control their own temperature and turn the water around them very hot.

Reborn Form:

After they are defeated however, their temperature and abilities changes to colder climates, they now can freeze the water around them and also the blood in their enemies bodies, their color changes to a beautiful blue with almost frozen spikes covering their entire starfish bodies.

SUCCARATH / SU

First Form:

See the artwork for what it looks like.

Reborn Form:

The Succarath doesn’t really change into a different form, it just spawns its children on the battlefield, and when you kill the Succarath while there is still a child alive, the soul of the Succarath will be transformed into its psychic child, morphing it instantly into the Succarath itself, you have to kill all the children first to really defeat this creature.

BOLOTNIK

First Form:

These fat, lazy and spoiled toad-humanoids sit on a mobile-throne which is carried at all times by four lesser Vodyanoi (frog-humanoids), the Bolotnik do all their magical attacks, which involve water, mud and quicksand, from their throne, using their magical muddy staff.

Reborn Form:

After you do enough damage, the poor four Vodyanoi slaves of the Bolotnik will perish and the mobile-throne will fall apart, so now the Bolotnik has to fight without it. It can still use magical attacks but also adds physical attacks to its list.

WENDIGO / WINDIGO

First Form:

The first form of the Wendigo has it hovering in the air, wearing the skull of a stag and mostly bestowing terrible magical curses of hunger and cannibalism on its victims/enemies and allies as well, which become more dangerous during the battle as they become more hungry for your flesh, it doesn’t attack physically at all during this stage.

Reborn Form:

After you do enough damage to the Wendigo its skull-mask breaks off and its true form becomes visible, the Wendigo falls from the sky and turns into a raging, hungry ghoul-like horror, instead of influencing others to become hungry it becomes gluttony incarnate itself, attacking with powerful claws and horrid overgrown teeth. You see, you can please both fans of the Wendigo at the same time! In my version it still wears the skull of a deer, but turns into a more accurate-to-the-real-myth version in its second form.

SLUAGH / WRAITH STORM

First Form:

Like a living swarm of spirits/wraiths, hovering together in an enormous tornado of souls and evil.

Reborn Form:

After you defeat the Sluagh, it turns into three ordinary Wraiths, the last three wraiths that survive, much like a spirit-version of the Gashadokuro turning into Spartoi Skeletons.

DRAUGR

First Form:

Draugr, in my project, look like veteran zombie warriors, arrows sticking from their bodies and into their eyes, daggers and swords are stuck in their undead flesh and it doesn’t seem to bother them at all, they only make great use of all these weapons and arrows inside them in their attacks and abilities.

Reborn Form:

The Draugr doesn’t change form at all, it just has the annoying ability to not stay dead for long, it has a 50% chance of resurrecting itself during the battle, and this can go on FOREVER if luck is on the Draugrs side, of course there is the option to just escape from battles.

@rtwork of Succarath and Heikegani = Paizo/Pathfinder

[limerental]

geraskier fic recs

aka everything i remembered to bookmark on ao3 just vomited into a tumblr post because i want to yell about them (and there are more than this that I enjoyed dearly i am just very silly and forget to save them)

under a cut to spare your dashboard

b-sides and rarities by fathomfive, 6.4k

note: i am weak for pining, long meandering but inevitable feeling journeys toward one another, deeply felt landscape description and melancholy ballads and this fic is all of those

excerpt:

He plays a few idle notes, and then slides smoothly into a tune that’s at once familiar and new. It’s a walking song, a good steady-paced melody without flourishes. He plucks a note, holds it in his throat and hums, and sings. Morning came over the mountains, there I was, there we were.

Noon burned above the broken path, you left but I return.

A season’s span to where I find you, call and I return.

O the light fades in the valley, I’ll return, return.

here, where the world is quiet by @drawlight, 5.4k, explicit

note: the jaskier pov in this is very, very lovely and it was hard to pick an excerpt because all the prose is lovely and jaskier’s descriptions of geralt are particularly lovely

excerpt:

“But if you ever wanted,” Jaskier spreads his hands, his long fingers, spreading out the wrinkles of the bedsheets. The weight of Geralt next to him is constant. A promise. They constantly circle, dance to unsung songs. Geralt never dances, except here, around Jaskier. (You can run so far away, Witcher, but space is not that forgiving. There is so much nothingness, nothing to block, nothing to get in the way. On a good night, from a clear plain with little light pollution, one can see twenty-quadrillion miles into the sky. Jaskier thinks this number sounds absurd but he trusts the arithmancers and knows in his heart, in his blood, his bones that it is the truth. Jaskier knows there is nowhere to hide; he has tried.)

The Ballad of Pots and Pans by 6th_magnitude, 8.1k

note: this one’s got oblivious geralt realizing all of jaskier’s songs, even the less obvious ones, are actually about him and excellent banter and some poignant and painful bits about jaskier’s mortality and also just a bunch of really great ballads.

excerpt:

Jaskier startles, and looks at Geralt a little dazedly. “Nothing. It’s – oh, I just wanted to write something good and true to capture everything I feel in this moment, and I cannot for the life of me write it at all! What good is being a poet if you cannot translate the most important feelings of your life to pen and paper? What good is it if I cannot write you a song, so that one day you might remember this morning?”

“I’ll remember it,” Geralt replies quietly. “I don’t need a song to remember it.”

Jaskier smiles at him, his eyes shining a little with unshed tears of frustration. “Even so, I would like to memorialise this feeling, record every detail, so I might recall it later. The human memory is so fallible, you know. It’s why we make songs and stories – to remember feelings, even when facts have faded from all memory.”

“I’ll remember it,” Geralt says again, sleepily. “I’ll remember this feeling. No matter what.”

swallow my breath and take what is mine by @anacaoris, 6.5k, explicit

note: this has got jaskier giving all sorts of nice things to geralt that he doesn’t feel he deserves and misunderstandings and geralt not knowing how to use his words or brain cell and oh also there’s smut

excerpt: 

Fingers flex in his hair, running a shudder down his spine at the spark of it. Part of him wishes he knew better what to say, that this could be simpler. That he was born with the same poetry spilling from him enough to say all that he tucks in his lungs but he’s not, he’s better with action, better with showing just what he needs to mean so Geralt brings a hand up, curls it around Jaskier’s and keeps it in messy locks, still damp from the bath as he sinks to his knees.  “Sweet merciful blessings, I will, ah, I’ll take this as a ye-ehs.” 

Companionship by ArliaDevi, 4.1k

note: really fun take on their relationship in ciri pov and i love found family domesticity so much and geralt teaching ciri things and glimpses of tender moments

excerpt:

When Geralt gets back, covered in what Ciri is quite sure is intestines, they eat quietly in the corner of the inn. Jaskier plays his music, his hat out for coins. He sings well, Ciri has to admit, and there’s an entrancing quality about the way he performs, luring all eyes to him. Even Geralt’s eyes seem to wander back to Jaskier, lingering on him just long enough that Ciri manages to steal a few mouthfuls of ale.

‘Don’t think I didn’t notice that,’ Geralt mutters as Ciri slides the large stein back in place.

‘Girls in Cintra drink at ten,’ Ciri replies matter-of-factly.

‘No, they don’t.’ Geralt takes another mouthful of ale before sliding it towards Ciri. ‘Don’t let Jaskier see.’

‘Stealth training?’

Geralt rolls his eyes. ‘Sure.’

look what you made me do by @cicaklah, 6.5k, explicit

note: is just another in the “jaskier’s songs are all about geralt and geralt is a dumbass” genre and also there’s deeply immersive scenery details and also also there’s a truly filthy sequel that is not on this list only because i still have some level of shame but it’s here in spirit

excerpt(s):

They ride half a day, Geralt chatting to Roach about all the injustices in the world, most of which are food related, with Roach hrumphing every now and then in response. Around them the fallow fields are untouched, resembling plush, perfect eiderdowns, with gnarled trees like the posts of a fine bed, fit for a giant. The sky is clear after the storm, bluer than at the height of summer and vast, their clouds stolen for the ground.

and

Geralt understands how long sex can last, always feels sorry and guilty for the women he beds who don’t understand that stamina was one of the most successful mutations he gained. He hates how easy it is to push that little bit too far into pain unless he’s careful (and he’s always careful, he loves women, loves their pleasure, never lets himself get carried away) but now there’s a man behind him and he realises that he can take it, that they made him perfectly for this by accident, so he can take all that male stamina and strength into himself and enjoy it like a glutton, enjoy it in the way he only has been able to a handful of times in his life, match every stroke with his own power.

Dawn by Sylvalum, 3.5k

note: this one is a bit different to the others on this list but it’s got delightful yen & jaskier developing friendship and a touch o the ole melancholy that i so very much crave

excerpt:

Yennefer doesn’t say anything, so eventually Jasker turns back to the grave and lowers the body, then starts to shovel the earth back in, rich soil and sandy dirt and tufts of dead grass. He tries to cover the dead sorceress carefully, to send her off into the eternal night gently, but he fumbles too much and works too fast. Impatience and fear have burnt away his flesh so now there’s only nerve endings left to hide his ragged bones. It’s… it’s been a long day. He’s been digging for most of it.

Yennefer simply watches, standing behind Jaskier like a disapproving mother. Until suddenly she says in an oddly quiet voice,   “Her name was Sabrina.”

And Jaskier stills. Haltingly, Yennefer steps forward to stand and look at the grave for a moment.

And after that, she starts to help Jaskier dig the graves.

To Sleep Perchance To by sospes, 16.9k, canon-typical violence & gore

note: it isn’t a fic rec list by me unless it’s got angst on the list so warning for torture and unreliable reality and general gnarly descriptions of violence and psychological damage. this broke my heart a wee bit and it may just break yours.

excerpt:

In those quiet, maybe-false moments, Jaskier knows that if this goes on much longer, he’s going to lose his mind. It’s not a panicked thought, not a terrified thought, it’s a cool, calm, logical realisation that he doesn’t think he can get away from. He’s losing the ability to know what’s real and what isn’t. He’s spending every waking second in a nightmare of blood and betrayal. And there’s nothing he can do to escape.

Geralt comes and presses him up against the cold stone wall of the cold stone cell, pinning his wrists above his head with one impossibly strong hand. He kisses him, slow and languid, and then he sucks a bruise into the side of his neck, using too much teeth and too much tongue. “I’ve missed you,” he murmurs into Jaskier’s throat, and Jaskier takes the opportunity to knee him in the balls.

let us shake the abacus by @et-in-arkadia, 3k, explicit

note: this is simple, shameless smut and i am only allowing myself to slap it at the bottom of this list because i’m fond of the author’s work in general and also the dynamic, man, this dynamic is what it’s all about

Resigned to his poor decision-making for the evening, Geralt breaks away from where he's sucked a bruise into the soft skin of Jaskier's neck. Jaskier is moving against him like a ship on an unruly sea, increasingly impatient and unmoored.

"Tell me," Jaskier insists. He scratches lines down Geralt's back, then grabs Geralt's ass to haul him closer. "Geralt. Tell me."

This is also different: Jaskier likes to hear him talk, prefers to hear, above all else, Geralt's intent. Jaskier's need for words is limitless, unquenchable—Geralt has made him come all but untouched by whispering into Jaskier's ear the things that he'd do, given the time. It's really quite extraordinary. Which is perhaps why Geralt entertains the request, despite not being exactly given over to loquaciousness himself.

[minmotl]

Chapter 26: Sui Zhou Asks Tang Fan To Move In With Him

Context: Tang Fan has arrested his landlord Li Man for killing his lawful wife Lady Zhang, while Wang Zhi has given Pan Bin an impossible task to solve, so Tang Fan heads to the Northern Administrative Court hoping that he can find either Xue Bing or Sui Zhou to help him.

Happens after The Marquis Wu An Case and marks the start of Tang Fan’s domestic life with Sui Zhou and Ah Dong.

Introduction Post | Masterpost

—

Highlights under the cut

Unfortunately, Xue Bing was not at the Northern Administrative Court, and the men currently on shift are unfamiliar faces to Tang Fan, so Tang Fan asked a few questions and seeing that they were reluctant to reveal any information to him, he did not force the issue, turning around to leave.

However, a familiar, cold voice sounds from behind him, “Why are you looking for Lao Xue?”

Tang Fan turns around and grins, “Guang Chuan-xiong, you have returned?”

Sui Zhou still has that stoic, icy face on, but the moment he sees the genuine delight on Tang Fan’s face, his eyes reveal that little bit of happiness, and he nods, “Hnn, you were looking for Lao Xue?”

Tang Fan smiles in return, “I was intending to look for you and made a trip here a few days ago. Lao Xue told me that you left on a trip, so I didn’t expect you to return so quickly. If it is convenient for you, I do have some things I would like to discuss with you.”

Sui Zhou replies, “I did hear about the request you made of him.”

Pausing for a moment, Sui Zhou looks to the side slightly to indicate at the person standing behind him, “In the future, if both Lao Xue and I are not around, you can look for Pang Qi.”

Pang Qi is similarly dressed as an Embroidered Uniform Guard, but at a glance, his position seems to be slightly lower than that of Lao Xue’s. He is also younger with a child-like face, the kind of person who smiles constantly and gives off a gentle and harmless feeling.

Yet, Tang Fan would not underestimate him just because of this. Any person who works at the Northern Administrative Court and does not bat an eyelid even at the sight of various kinds of prisons cannot be judged with the standards of a normal person. Out in the world, one should not read a book by it’s cover, and it is often that the more harmless a person looks, the more capable he is.

Tang Fan nods at the man in acknowledgement and introduces himself, “I’m Tang Fan, Tang Run Qing, a prefectural judge at Shun Tian Prefecture. We met the day you accompanied Guang Chuan-xiong to Hui Chun Tang for the investigation.”

This person before Pang Qi calls Sui Zhou by his birth name, and after hearing Sui Zhou himself tell the man that he can look for Pang Qi next time if he needs to, even if Pang Qi was dumb, he knows that this man has a very good relationship with his superior. This is a man that Pang Qi cannot afford to offend, and so he puts his hands together and greets, “Tang-daren is too polite, if there is anything you need in the future, just let me know!”

Sui Zhou turns impatient, listening to the both of them exchange unnecessary pleasantries, and so he interrupts them, “Jian Xian, you can get back to work first.”

“The location of that White Jade Horse that you asked Lao Xue to search for, we’ve found it,” Sui Zhou continues.

“Where is it?” Tang Fan asks quickly.

“In the house of the Eastern Depot’s Head, Shang Ming.”

Tang Fan’s expression turns strange at that.

Sui Zhou adds, “Shang Ming was the one who paid a high price to buy the White Jade Horse from Ying Guo Gong, and Wang Zhi wanted one at the same time but was unable to snatch it out of Shang Ming’s hands, so he’s not involved with that object.”

Tang Fan laughs wistfully, “Pan-daren is in a difficult position if that’s the case. Why did Wang Zhi prank him like this without any reason?”

It was futile, because even if he knew the location of the White Jade Horse, how could Shun Tian Prefecture go to Shang Ming and ask for the object? The fact that the White Jade Horse was originally Shang Ming’s aside, even if it was not, with Pan Bin’s position, if he really went to ask for it, would Shang Ming have simply given it to him?

Considering this from another perspective, wouldn’t Wang Zhi have known that the object was at Shang Ming’s? And yet, he still asked Shun Tian Prefecture to look for it, is it not clear that Wang Zhi is putting Pan Bin in a spot?

Is Wang Zhi really as the rumours say, an arrogant and selfish who marches only to the sound of his own heartbeat?

Sui Zhou thinks about it and says, “Wang Zhi has always been enemies with Shang Ming, his motive could be simply to disgust Shang Ming.”

Tang Fan puts out both his hands, “Pan-daren who has nothing to do with this was dragged into this when he he was never involved in the first place.”

“Then how are the both of you going to handle this?”

Tang Fan shakes his head, “I’ll go back and let Pan-daren know about this. Oh right, there is something I wish to tell you.”

He briefly explains the situation with Lee Man murdering his wife and his mistress, surname Chen, disappearing, before mentioning the White Lotus Sect mark again.

“The White Lotus Sect has risen from the ashes again, and all they will do is create trouble from the dark, I will get my men to keep an eye on this.”

He doesn’t know why, but once Sui Zhou says this, Tang Fan knows for certain that the man will treat the matter seriously. On his part, Tang Fan is also assured, as if he has entrusted this important task to someone reliable.

Perhaps there are simply people who handles tasks well and are naturally able to set others at east, and Sui Zhou is exactly this kind of person.

Tang Fan smiles then, “Then I will leave this to you. I should be sitting down with you and having a chat with you since you have just returned from your trip, but because of the White Jade Horse matter, Pan-daren has been very concerned so I have to quickly head back and let him know. Let us reschedule for another day?”

Sui Zhou makes a sound of assent and they slip into a moment of awkward silence, before he asks abruptly, “What time will you get home today?”

“If nothing else comes up, the court will be dismissed at the usual time and I will go home then, what is it?”

“Then I will find you tonight,” Sui Zhou says.

Tang Fan unconsciously agrees, and looking back now he thinks that something is amiss, but what exactly is wrong with what Sui Zhou suggested?

The incredibly intelligent Tang-daren thinks hard about this on his way back, but is unable to come to a conclusion.

Pan Bin’s dilemma over the news of the White Horse Jade is put out of his mind for now. Without Ah Dong sending snacks over to him, Tang Fan usually settles his dinner outside after he is dismissed from work before going home, but considering that Sui Zhou said he is coming over, Tang-daren veers off to the side of the street and buys some meat stewed with soy sauce from a snack stall, and also buys a bottle of rice wine from the wine stall next to it.

He makes a huge detour and by the time he makes his leisurely way home, he realizes that someone is already standing at the door to his house, and isn’t that Sui-qianhu?

“If I’d known you were coming over so early, I would have come home first and save you the wait standing outside my door!” Tang Fan increases the speed of his footsteps as he walks towards Sui Zhou, an apologetic smile on his face.

“It is no bother,” Sui Zhou says.

Tang Fan realizes that there are also some snacks in Sui Zhou’s hands.

“My house is quite a distance away from yours, I will just stay here tonight, you don’t mind, do you?”

“Ah? I don’t mind at all, it’s a rest day tomorrow, we can take the opportunity and chat through the night!”

Tang-daren lives the legendary bachelor’s life. Other men, when they become officials, even if he is not married and has a family, he would at least have one or two companions at his side, but only Tang Fan lives alone. He faces the moon in the night, nibbling on snacks and reading his novels, and this life can be considered quite entertaining as well.

Of course, with one more person around, the place becomes more lively, so it cannot be helped that once night falls, it feels colder and emptier. Even though this person is often expressionless and doesn’t like to talk much, it is better to have company than not.

Both men put their things down. Tang Fan goes in search of cups for the wine, while Sui Zhou opens the paper bags containing snacks.

Tang Fan bought pig’s ears and tongue stewed in soy sauce, fragrant and delicious, and is the best snack to have with wine.

Sui Zhou brought peppered pig intestines, crispy-fried tofu, slated peanuts and raw cucumbers mixed with sauce.

“Since you are visiting, why did you still bring things over? You and I are so familiar with each other, you must not spend the money on this next time!”

Tang-daren says these pleasantries out of courtesy only, taking a bite out of the crispy-fried tofu. The tofu skin has been fried to a crisp, but once he bites into it, the inside is white just like beancurd, so soft that it almost drips out, the aroma of the tofu fragrant.

“Where did you buy this crispy-fried tofu from, why is it so delicious?” Tang Fan asks, bewildered.

“I had some ingredients at home,” Sui Zhou answers simply.

“You know how to cook?” Tang-daren asks, astonished.

Sui Zhou’s mouth curls upwards, the motion a rarity, and stays silent.

After a few breaths, Tang Fan is still immersed in his surprise, “Guang Chuan-xiong, you can actually cook? This is… is… this is…”

He stammers for a long while but is unable to come up with the right words for it, and that’s when hurried knocks sound on from outside.

“You’re really great!” Tang-daren exhales, finishing his thoughts on the matter before getting up to open the door.

Ah Dong is standing outside, and without waiting for Tang Fan to open his mouth, she blurts, “Tang-daren, save me!”

The girl is about to kneel down, but Tang Fan stops her, “What happened?”

With tears on her face, Ah Dong answers, “Ah Chun jiejie told me that tomorrow Master Li will get the dealer to come over, and they’re going to sell me!”

Tang Fan startles, “They’re selling only you?”

Ah Dong nods, “They sold off a batch of us a few days ago. The steward knew that I wanted to come over to your place and didn’t have anything to say about it originally, but who knew that they would suddenly change their minds today, saying that they are going to sell me off!”

She held back her tears and told her story in detail through gritted teeth, but when she got to the end of it, she could not help but choke, “Tang-daren, what do I do, can you please go tell the steward, that I don’t want to be sold off!”

Tang Fan knows that this is definitely not the steward’s intentions, and it is likely the idea of the Li family’s young master Li Lin.

Li Lin probably resents Tang Fan for what happened this morning,  but at that time he was unable to oppose Tang Fan directly, so he decided to act first to gain the upper hand and sell Ah Dong off so that Tang Fan would end up empty-handed. She is after all the Li family’s slave, and no one can say otherwise.

As his thoughts come to this, Tang Fan finds himself momentarily struck speechless.

When Lady Zhang was still alive, he met Li Lin a few times and the boy was shy and a person of few words then, but because they were both scholars, Li Lin admired Tang Fan for passing the imperial scholars examination at a young age, and Tang Fan did give him some advice in the past.

Who could have known that with the passing of time and changes in the family, Li Lin’s character would change so drastically, becoming this irrational. He wonders what Lady Zhang would think of her son under the netherworld.

It is true that it is Li Lin’s right to sell Ah Dong off and it also holds true that Tang Fan is unable to do anything about it. He was intending to think of a solution to Ah Dong’s situation, but who knew that Li Lin plans to sell her off immediately. If she’s sold into a bad family, Ah Dong will have to suffer through some tough days ahead.

Looking at this adorable young woman, Tang Fan cannot bear the thought of that happening to her.

“Let’s do it like this, don’t panic. Go back to the main house first, I’ll think of something.”

Ah Dong has a natural sense of faith and trust in Tang Fan, and so after listening to his words, she obediently nods and heads back, wiping her tears away as she goes. She snuck out earlier, so she cannot leave through Tang Fan’s main door, and when she leaves, she makes a detour and leaves by the back door as well.

As Tang Fan watches her figure disappear from his line of vision, he thinks about what can be done.

Behind him, however, someone says, “You want her?”

Tang Fan nods, then realizing that the sentence could be understood in a few ways, he explains Ah Dong’s situation briefly.

“Coincidentally, I am short of a helping hand that can help me with household chores and cooking. Ah Dong is hardworking and can do the job well.”

Sui Zhou nods, “This is not a difficult matter, you don’t have to concern yourself with this anymore, I’ll settle it for you.”

Where would he go and find such a loyal friend, and Tang-daren is touched by the gesture, hurriedly putting out both hands, “Then I’ll have to thank Guang Chuang-xiong!”

Sui Zhou adds, “Since you’ve fallen out with the Li family, then what are you going to do about your accommodation?”

Tang Fan did not tell him about how he was currently searching for a house, but for Sui Zhou to actually notice this detail, he can see just how meticulous Sui Zhou is.

“Jing City is large and there are many houses, I can still find one,” Tang Fan says.

Sui Zhou is silent for a moment, before he suggests, “If you are willing, you can move out and come and stay with me.”

Tang Fan startles, “This… it’s not appropriate, is it? Won’t sister-in-law be unhappy?”

Sui Zhou returns coldly, “I have not yet taken a wife.”

“Then you should at least have a lady of the house…”

Sui Zhou is now upset, “Since I have not yet wed, I do not dally with any servants either.”

Before Tang Fan can ask further questions, he continues, “My parents stay with my older brother, I have moved out on my own, you do not have to worry.”

Since he has said so much and with Sui Zhou’s sincere invitation, if Tang Fan continues to refuse it would not be good. He puts his hands forward and bows, and says with sincerity, “Then I’ll have to impose on Guang Chuan-xiong temporarily.”

In reality, even though Sui Zhou seems cold at times, he’s not a difficult person to be around, and the both of them have common topics to talk about. Most importantly, not only does Sui Zhou cook, his cooking is more than a hundred times better than Tang Fan’s.

Now that he thinks about it, Tang-daren is feeling quite excited about moving in with Sui Zhou.

The end of Sui Zhou’s lips finally curve upwards a little.

“You and I are so familiar, you don’t have to stand on ceremony.”

===

Notes:

*北镇抚司 bei zhen fu si - Northern Administrative Court

This is the organization that the Embroidered Uniform Guards 锦衣卫 (jing yi wei) belong to, and they are primarily in charge of the imperial prison. They are authorized to make arrests, interrogate, torture and execute suspects, and they don’t have to go through the usual process that other departments have to. They’re known for having a variety of torture methods and in cases where there is a big investigative case, it is possible for the cases to bypass the legal and law enforcement department 刑部 (xing bu) and go straight to the Northern Administrative Court. During the Cheng Hua years, the Northern Administrative Court reported directly to the emperor, and not even the Embroidered Uniform Guard’s Commander could interfere in this process.

Translated as Northern Administrative Court as per iQiyi’s English subtitles.

*千户 qian hu

There are four ranks within the Embroidered Uniform Guards - 千户 (qian hu)、百户 (bai hu)、总旗 (zong qi)、小旗 (xiao qi) arranged highest to smallest rank, aside from the Commander 统领官 (zong ling guan).

*老薛 lao xue

This is referring to Xue Bing where Xue is his first name and Bing his last name - In Chinese we usually affix terms such as lao-, xiao-, a- etc. to names and this usually indicates familiarity with the other person. In this case they used lao- to indicate someone who’s older as a nickname for Xue Bing.

*广川兄 guang chuan xiong

As mentioned in my introductory post and on courtesy names, Sui Zhou’s courtesy name is Guang Chuan, surname Sui. -xiong can be affixed to the end of someone’s first names and means ‘brother’. I’m not translating it as Brother Guang Chuan because it looks weird, so I’m settling for typing out -xiong instead.

*回春堂 hui chun tang

The name of the medicine hall involved in the first case. Hui Chun in general means to ‘return to spring or youth’ and Tang means hall.

*字 zi

Courtesy name, as in 表字 (biao zi). As I explained in the introductory post, a courtesy name is a name chosen by someone’s elders or significant person like a teacher etc once they turn of age and to be used in public from then onwards. In this novel’s case, the courtesy name is not used usually and people are addressed by their given birth names, and only those who are close to each other can call the other by their courtesy names. A little counter-intuitive, I know, but that’s how it is in this novel.

*唐大人 tang da ren

Tang is Tang Fan’s surname, followed by da ren as in Lord. It literally translates to ‘big person’ but it’s general term that most officials use regardless of their ranks i.e. for most civilians, when they see Tang Fan (who’s a sixth rank official in the beginning and then a third rank official later in the novel) or Sui Zhou (who is a qian hu and then vice-commander later) it’s alright for civilians especially to simply address them as da ren rather than their formal titles/ranks.

*见贤 jian xian

Pang Qi’s courtesy name.

*白玉骏马 bai yu jun ma

This is a white jade horse decorative piece that can come in the shape of a horse or refer to a white piece rectangular or oval plaque-like piece with a horse carved on it and they used to be very expensive and valuable. Now you can buy one for less than 40 bucks on Taobao.

*英国公 ying guo gong - The Grand Duke

The closest equivalent would be a duke. It’s a title, among many others, used to indicate royal and noble ranks. In the beginning it was used only for members of the royal family, and then shifted to be used to promote rankings of well-performing officials in court as a reward.

*黄酒 huang jiu - Rice wine

Originating from China, this rice wine can be made by fermenting various types of rice and wheat, and the alcoholic composition is usually between 14-20%.

*人牙子 ren ya zi

A slave-dealer or slave smuggler back in those days.

*管家爷爷 guan jia ye ye

Guan jia means butler/steward (someone who takes care of the house in literal translation), while Ye ye means grandpa. Ah Dong refers to the steward as a grandpa due to his age and likely grandfatherly role in her life.

*九泉之下 jiu quan zhi xia

In the netherworld or underworld. Literally means under the ninth stream/river, which is traditionally used to mean the deepest point in the ground, where a corpse is buried.

*京城 jing cheng

Cheng means city, and in this case jing cheng is actually today’s Beijing, and is noted as China’s capital city where the Emperor and most royals reside in.

*嫂夫人 sao fu ren

Sao as in sister-in-law, usually meant to refer to an older brother’s wife. Fu ren means wife.

*纳妾 na qie

To take in concubines. A usual Chinese family in those times would have one lawful wife 妻 (qi) in the main house, and then several other 妾 (qie) concubines. Who becomes the lawful wife and who becomes a concubine is dependent on status of the woman and reputation, especially in big reputable families. For example, a prostitute that a man takes home and weds may not be approved of as his lawful wife (by his family usually), which is reserved for a woman who comes from a family of ‘good upbringing’ or with money etc. It’s possible for a man to take in concubines without having an official wife in a sense, which is why Tang Fan refers to Sui Zhou possibly having a lady of the house even if it’s not a lawful wife.

*侍婢 shi bi

Also very common for men to have female servants to serve them - whether in household chores etc. or in bed.

[gaillol-13]

ITTHIGSS AU

Cartoon encounter

Part 2 of this

Its night time...

We're almost at melvin's house...just 3 more blocks to go...

Why Melvin, well, someone has to know about me (or technically, us, me and Captoon, me and Benjamin). And its getting kinda lonely in the school, it wouldn't hurt to have a old friend to talk to you, support you...help you plan more murders.... What? Those guys were gonna kill George and Harold, and I had to bring them to justice! That's kinda my job, saving people is what I did in the cartoon. And if theres people that are even worse in this world (I still cant get over the fact that people who...ahem, "harass" children actually exist), they have to brought to justice! Sure, killing them isn't exactly a good deed, but it's still heroic...in a way.

And I dont just kill everyone who do bad things, if they robbed a bank or sold fatal drugs, I just give em a good scare and tell them to stop, and it actually works (and it's kinda fun to do). I never killed any innocent people...exceeept that time when someone walked into the school with an avocado, but that was an isolated incident. All I did was throw myself at them and snatch it with my mouth...accidentally chomping their arm off...and then they had a heart attack (like I said, isolated incident).

Human flesh doesn't taste bad, it tastes like any raw meat, but I burn my tongue whenever I eat the stomach (note to self, make sure stomach acid is poured out before eating), and I have to always dispose of the intestines (for obvious reasons).

As for moving, well... in the car accident (heh, "accident" my @#$), I lost the part of my brain that tells the body to move (and I pretty much just forgot to move like a human being all together), luckily, Captoon was willing to help me move our body, of course, since rubber hose is the only way I know how to move. Not that I'm complaining, I actually find it fun to stretch and move with no bones, it's more loose, and its helps to catch the baddies.

That wasn't the only benefit to being a toon, things feel more upbeat, I could extend my limbs and body parts, and I always found myself whistling the Captoon theme song. I can also go in and out of TVs, which is helpful when your hiding (or hiding a body).

Anyways, back to Melvin (man, we REALLY got off topic there), he isn't exactly the bravest guy I know (and I highly doubt I appearance will help him sleep at night), but he's very smart, and a close friend (after George and Harold). However, theres no way he'll believe me when I say I'm his undead boss. Sure, I look like myself (except my lack of color, gloves, and the eyes), but he wasn't raised a dummy.

Well, he wasn't raised at all. George and Harold were brothers to him (even though he doesn't admit it), the studio was his home.

Speaking of home, we're here. Melvin's house, and may I say, dear dav is it overwhelming!!! I mean, I know hes a great scientist and all, but this house looks like something from a si-fi movie. I'm talking cube shaped, light blue lights, lots of windows. It was especially overwhelming considering that half of me is from a place with old fashioned technology (and I'm still getting used to these..."colors", I dont need a huge futuristic house), Holy @%#$!!!

I could see him through one of the windows, in his room, pacing with an uncertain look on his face.

"It just doesn't make any sense, this...this guy...who is he, and why does he sound...no, of course not, he isn't...he never will..."

Tsk tsk tsk, for a guy who has such dry humor, he's deep in The Nile (da dum tshhh), the place is surrounded by security that's pretty tight, security cameras, lasers, 5 steel doors, robot guards. Heh, a person who follows the laws of physics and nature would die here...

To be continued...

[hermannsthumb]

Can you do winter prompt 13 obvious setups?

13. my family invites you to join our holiday meal as an obvious setup and i’m so sorry

from winter writing prompts here

GOD i was so FUCKIN obsessed with this prompt when u sent it in, thank u so much. consider this the remix fic of 45. your family ditches you for the holiday so i take you home with me, except my family thinks we’re dating now

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

“I swear,” Newt says, “I didn’t know.”

Hermann--suitcase at his side in an iron grip, snow still melting off the shoulders of his parka, splotchy red spreading across his cheeks--scowls at Newt like Newt’s just dug up his mother’s grave or something equally unforgivable. Newt shrinks away instinctively. “You cannot be serious,” Hermann says. “You must have known.”

The situation in question is this: intimately aware of Hermann’s famously bad relationship with a good chunk of his family, and how it’s likely to have only gotten worse after the whole Breach collapse Hermann-was-right-and-your-wall-was-stupid-and-wrong thing, Newt decided to take one for the proverbial team and just invite Hermann ‘round to his place for low key holiday celebrations this year. The alternative was ditching Hermann in the mostly deserted Hong Kong Shatterdome and listen to his dad guilt him about it for two weeks. Not that Newt would need any help feeling guilty; he knew for a fact that if he did ditch Hermann, Hermann would just be up all hours of the night in LOCCENT monitoring the late location of the Breach and missing Newt.

Newt wasn’t being sentimental, either. Hermann really would miss him like Newt was a limb that’d been lobbed off. Lingering side effects of their drift (even all these months later) has made it difficult for them to be even a few miles away from each other, let alone a fucking ocean. Luckily reluctant co-dependency isn’t new for them.

So Hermann agreed. Newt’s dad was just thrilled. He seemed to take it as confirmation of his decade-long suspicions that Newt and Hermann desperately want to be more than lab partners but are too chicken to make a move (as he explained eloquently over the phone to Newt, while Newt spluttered and protested) and ran with it, to Newt’s horror. Especially to his horror now.

His dad’s only done up one bed--one full-sized, dinosaur-patterned bed--for Newt and Hermann to share.

“Look,” Newt says, even though he knows what he’s about to say is a blatant lie, “it’s gotta be a mistake. We’ve got a sorta-guest room down the hall, I bet my dad meant for you to go there.”

“I certainly hope so,” Hermann sniffs.

Newt takes Hermann’s suitcase from him and books it down the hallway, and Hermann clacks angrily behind him. The sorta-guest room is classified as such because of the lumpy cot they kept in there for when Newt’s uncle would visit, though the bulk of it contained mostly junk, overstuffed bookshelves, and a desk Newt used to grow weird plants on in a fish tank. The tank (Newt discovers when he pushes the door open) is still there. The cot is not.

God damn it. “Dad,” he calls, while Hermann continues to seethe. “Hey, Dad?”

Nothing. Then, finally: “Yes?”

“Where’s the cot?”

Footsteps up the stairs. Dad pokes his head around the doorframe. “Cot?”

Newt sighs. “The cot we used to keep in here,” he says. “Hermann needs a place to sleep. Or I do, at least,” he adds, turning to Hermann, “you can take my bed--the cot’s not super comfortable.” The room never had very good ventilation, either. Hermann will just wake up shivering from the lack of heat with a stiff knee every morning, which means, thanks to drift hangover, Newt will too, and then they’ll both be miserable. At least Newt’s got a bit more meat on his bones.

“Oh, I tossed it out years ago,” Dad says. “Too old. It was falling apart.” Newt spies the beginnings of a smile beneath his beard, even as he feigns confusion. (God, he is so not getting a Father’s Day card next year). “Is there something wrong with your bedroom, Newt?”

“Uh, yeah,” Newt says. He shoves Hermann’s suitcase back at him just to fold his arms angrily. “Whatever, I’ll just sleep on the couch.” It’s a pullout. He thinks. It’ll be better than curling up on the carpet in his room or contending with Dr. Icicle Feet Blanket Hogger of the Year--stuff he only knows also thanks to the drift, okay, he and Hermann don’t make a habit of sleeping together. In both senses.

“But where will your poor uncle sleep?” Dad says. His smile grows.

Right. Illia’s already claimed the couch. Newt takes Hermann’s suitcase back. “Fine. I’ll dig out my stupid Boy Scouts sleeping bag and take the carpet. Hermann--”

“Newton,” Hermann interrupts. He looks slightly embarrassed. “Ah. That really isn’t necessary. I suppose we can manage to make your bed work.”

“Great,” Newt says.

“Great!” Dad says. He slaps Hermann so hard on the back that Hermann squeaks and sways on his feet.

Newt clears away some space in his old dresser--which is easy, since his fashion tastes haven’t evolved from when he was seventeen, and he took most of his clothing with him to the Shatterdome in the first place--and he and Hermann unpack their suitcases with relative ease. Or at least Newt unpacks their suitcases with relative ease. Claiming fatigue from their terribly long journey, Hermann lounges on Newt’s bed with his collar undone, like the picture of Victorian debauchery, and watches him. Frankly, though, Newt prefers the bossy little orders to his previous whining about their sleeping situation, so he’s happy to do it. Mostly. “You haven’t folded that sweater correctly,” Hermann says.

“It literally doesn’t matter,” Newt says. “It fits, and that’s all I care about.” He shuts the drawer to prove his point.

“It matters to me,” Hermann says. “I’ll know it’s not folded, and it’ll bother me.”

Newt grits his teeth. He opens the drawer. He folds Hermann’s sweater.

“There, was that so terribly difficult?” Hermann says.

He stretches his arms above his head, and nestles back against Newt’s stack of pillows with a soft groan that makes Newt’s witty, sarcastic retort shrivel and die on his tongue. Hermann can be awfully, uh...sensual for a guy with a bowlcut. “You really have got quite a comfortable bed,” Hermann murmurs. “I could fall asleep right now. Mm.”

Newt kicks the drawer shut again and flops down next to him. They do both fit, at least, though they’ll be bumping elbows and legs for sure. “It’s the most average bed of all time,” he says. He grins. “It just feels like it isn’t because it’s not one of those fucking cement slabs we have back at the base.”

Hermann makes a face. “I won’t be happy to get back to those.”

“Yeah,” Newt agrees. 

He rolls onto his back and stares up at the ceiling. The little plastic glow-in-the-dark stars he pasted up there when he was twelve are still going strong, though the Lego spaceship he strung up with fishing twine is long-gone. Probably fell and broke into a million little pieces over a decade ago. “I’m sorry about this, by the way,” he says. “The, uh, sleeping situation. My dad...”

He trails off. Hermann crooks an eyebrow. “Yes?”

“He thinks that we,” Newt says, and swallows, “I mean, like--he wants us to...” To admit they dig each other? To get hitched and have, like, a half-dozen genius physicist-biologist babies? Be happy together? It’s not as if Newt doesn’t want those things with Hermann. (Well, maybe not the genius baby thing. He can wait a while for that.) “It’s just, I’m an only child, you know, and my mom’s out of the picture, and I think he thinks that I need--”

Newt’s saved by a knock at the bedroom door. “Dinner!” Dad says.

It turns out it was only temporary salvation. The moment he and Hermann take their seats at the tiny dining table--seats which are, for some reason, crammed together at one side, when there’s a whole fourth perfectly fine one just sitting there empty--and heaping mounds of everything are piled onto Hermann’s plate (too skinny, Dad says with a sigh, and Hermann only looks mildly offended), Dad and Illia start giving them the third degree. Yes, Hermann was born in Germany; no, he hasn’t spent any significant time there since university, though he supposes he wouldn’t mind going back at some point; yes, a lot of the original jaeger coding was of his own design; yes, he and Newt have shared a lab for the entirety of their time in Hong Kong, and before that in the various Shatterdomes they were shuttled between, and-- “Er, no,” Hermann says, “no, Newton is an--ah--exemplary lab partner, what makes you say...?”

“I raised him, Hermann,” Dad says.

Hermann’s mouth twitches up. “He’s the messiest man I have met in my entire life,” he says. “You ought to see the sort of rubbish he used to leave around--kaiju intestines, blood--oh, and there was one time he left a piece of dead skin louse on the coffee maker--”

“Hey, I’ve gotten better!” Newt says around a mouthful of potatoes. “Last week you didn’t even have to ask me to clean up all that venom I spilled on your desk.” He was proud of himself for doing it as fast as he did. A minute more, and it probably would’ve eaten through to the top drawer. Hermann was less enthused.

“And it only took you half a decade,” Hermann says. “Well done, Newton. If the kaijus ever return, perhaps you’ll have learned to operate a broom by then.”

He takes a smug little sip of his wine that he quickly coughs up into a cloth napkin when Illia--apropos of nothing--says “Are you married, Hermann?”

“Ah.” Hermann coughs a few more times, and wipes at his eyes. Newt suddenly becomes very interested in his plate. “No. I am not.”

“Seeing anyone?” Dad says.

“Dad,” Newt groans, shrinking down in his chair. If he’s lucky, and thinks very hard about it, maybe the Breach will reopen right beneath him and he’ll be tossed into an alternate dimension where Otachi ate him after all and he never had to sit through this conversation.

“No,” Hermann repeats. “I--no.”

Dad and Illia share a satisfied glance. “Our little Newt was always quite a handful,” Dad says, “but--”

No helpful Breach comes to swallow him whole, so Newt resorts to his back-up plan, which is smacking Hermann’s glass of wine off the table and into his lap as Hermann shouts in surprise. “Shit,” Newt says, too-loud, “looks like we gotta get that cleaned up, Hermann--c’mon, here we go--”

He shoves Hermann’s cane into his arms, and then proceeds to shove Hermann down the hallway until they reach the bathroom. Hermann’s glower has returned with a vengeance. “You utter buffoon,” he keeps saying, while Newt (crouched on the floor) dabs at his newly-burgundy pants with a wet handtowel, “you moron, you wretched little--”

“I’m sorry, okay,” Newt half-shrieks. He throws the handtowel to the ground as he stands. His ears are still burning red-hot from the table, and his sudden close proximity to Hermann--noses barely an inch from each other, so close Newt can smell wine on his breath and count every last dark eyelash that frames his soft eyes--isn’t helping matters at all. “What else was I supposed to do? I panicked!”

“These were my best slacks,” Hermann says, “and now--”

“You have a dozen just like them,” Newt says, “two dozen. Three dozen. I just fucking folded them all!”

“Stop shouting,” Hermann says.

“Make me!” Newt shouts.

“I bloody will!” Hermann shouts back, and then he grabs Newt by his tie and kisses him. 

When they emerge from the bathroom and take their seats fifteen minutes later, Hermann with his collar suspiciously askew, Newt with his own buttoned suspiciously higher than it was going in, Dad and Illia pointedly say nothing.

Hermann pours himself a new glass of wine and clears his throat. “What, ah, what were we discussing?”

[countryshitposts]

You’re Shooting Your Bullet The Wrong Way

Midnight Memories

Trigger Warnings: Drinking, violence, name-calling

AO3 Link

Chapter 1

Previous

-

Name Guide

Koku Nippon- Japan

Teikoku Nippon- Japan Empire

Ost- East Germany

Daehan Minguk- South Korea

Daehan Imsi- Korean Provisional Government

-

Japan isn’t sure if he can honestly try being honest with himself any longer.

His eyes land on his bodyguard, chatting away as they once again walk side-by-side to the Deutsche Towers; everyday, he had been so hesitant and reluctant to take a single step to the direction of the towers- fearing the Man with the Butterflies and his conscience screaming at him that dating and pretending to love a fifteen year-old was morally wrong.

But when he was joined by America to his walk to torture, her own presence was enough to submerge the fear and doubt inside of him.

“Why does Teikoku want you to marry someone younger than you by a decade?”, America asks as she lightly kicks a pebble out of her direction, her eyes wandering around for any sign of danger lurking.

His mood sours at the mention of the marriage, as he rolls his eyes at his brother’s antics, “My brother wants to take away my rights to marry someone I actually like. It’s… kinda obvious that Ost isn’t my type.”

America chuckles, “Then who’s your type?”

Koku doesn’t respond, his eyes turning to the Tower ahead of them, a green butterfly on its sign. He physically recoils at the sight of the butterfly, but he knows that damned drone had already sent its master the message that they are already here. The girl next to him stares at him, wanting him to explain what was so frightening about a butterfly ever since she’d seen him cringe at a butterfly yesterday.

Just then, the doors to the Deutsche Towers open, letting out chilly and cold air that has been trapped inside of that accursed place, being stored of corpses known to rival the course of time. As he and America enter its walls once again, its translucent windows give the whole hallways a somber mood, like it has always been, all the time, forever and ever.

He hears someone’s feet colliding with the wooden steps of the stairs, and he silently grimaces as he looks up to find Weimar on top of the stairs, grin lopsided, his butterflies fluttering around him, his insect-covered suit draping across the stairs like a cape.

Weimar’s smile wasn’t the smile that’d give people a warm time in the sun- it was the opposite; a cold winter settling in after a large famine was brought down upon the great house, his emerald green eyes bearing nothing but days of insanity trying to mask itself as sanity, his light blonde hair trying to match the sunlight but ultimately failing.

“Willkommen zurück”, Weimar says in his signature grin, eyes landing back at America once again, fuelling with hatred and desire to murder her himself.

It confused Koku; did Weimar and America have a distant past that made the man distrust her? If so, why didn’t he tell him about her. Japan turns to look at his bodyguard, who was trying to hold Weimar’s malevolent stare.

Japan elbows America lightly, breaking her staring contest with Weimar, and she meets his eyes, which were now full of irritation, and he gives her a look of warning- never dare cross the Man with Butterflies. If you do, he will unleash your secrets to the public, a torrent of whispers and wings fluttering through the crowd like it was glass and there were holes.

Koku made the mistake of daring to cross Weimar, and he vows never to let it happen again.

“Let us have our lunch, then”, Weimar says in a pleasant tone, his eyes still on America as he takes a few steps down to pat Koku on the shoulder, his hands ice cold to the touch, screaming death and dissonance deep inside of Koku, and he wishes to break free from his grasp as Weimar’s palms lace with a cold poison, enough to kill him in sight.

Weimar lifts his palm from Koku’s shoulder, and he smiles at the older man weakly, as if the touch had drained him of his energy. He nods slightly, one of his hands suddenly brushing America’s hand, warmth dominating the cold as the sudden friction of their touch resurrected him to live for her. He takes a deep breath, glancing back at America with a small smile in his face, as he silently takes her hand; she jolts in surprise, mouth agape as her eyes glint back at him with shock and surprise, but he doesn’t answer any of her hidden questions as he was already leading her to the dining table.

His smile falters a little as he finds Weimar’s children already seated at the table, talking to themselves about a ‘dreamy and charming man’ while Austria stare at them with looks of pity and concern, as if this ‘man’ Ost was talking about has nothing to do with the family at all.

Japan takes a seat at the table as well, a slight distance away from the chattering twins, and an even bigger distance from the Man with Butterflies, who was staring at him with the most unsettling smiles he could muster- perhaps on purpose.

America shifts uncomfortably, still standing, her hands behind her back as she bites her lip, looking around awkwardly for chairs to sit on.

“Um, Mister Weimar”, Japan calls out for the man himself, who was having a heated yet soft conversation with Austria, out of earshot. Weimar’s eyes shoot in Japan’s direction, who was more or less obligated to forget what he was going to request to this man but chooses not to. “Can you bring another chair for my friend?”

Weimar pauses, his conversation with Austria long forgotten, then a smile curls upon his lips, as if Japan’s request was one of the most ludicrous things he has ever heard in his entire life. His eyes turn to America again, who was biting her lip and avoiding eye contact with him, her eyes on a green-winged butterfly. As a reflex, he pulls on her hand, so that America could look anywhere else other than that damned chocho that will see her every secret set aflame and spread into the winds.

Weimar sees Japan’s firm expression, and his smile falters a bit, staring at his plate of rare, pale-skinned meat.

“Ah”, he clicks his tongue, “you’re serious.”

“America needs to eat too”, Japan insists, trying hard not to sound rude or subtle.

“Fine”, Weimar says, no malice nor hatred in his voice as he tells Austria to get a chair. “For the whore”, he adds, under his breath, but despite Japan’s long distance from him, he hears the statement and he scowls.

“Kanojo ni denwa shinaide”, he mutters underneath his breath, and America pivots to look at him, evidently hearing what he said, but he gives her a grin in return as Austria returns with a chair for America herself, who takes a seat next to Japan.

“I want to ask you, America”, Weimar begins, his eyes trailing on the woman next to Japan, a sly smile on his face, “whether you’ve caught my father’s murderer yet.”

Koku raises a brow, as he turns back to look at his bodyguard, her body frozen in place, her eyes on the stew Austria had served the both of them. Why would America, his bodyguard, go around and look for Weimar’s father’s murderer? After all, America hadn’t appeared in all his life until now, simply just walking into his life like it was nothing. On closer look on America’s stew, he sees a finger coated with soup in her bowl, and he reels backwards, knocking into a glass pitcher, which would have fallen if he did not catch it in time.

Beads of sweat start to form around his forehead, his entire world going blurry for a second, as if he was hallucinating the finger on the stew, as if reality was distorting on him, to make fun of him and himself. His grey eyes slowly make its way to his own bowl, and then he sees it;

An eyeball, looking petrified and soft underneath the stew.

The remnants of Koku’s breakfast start to trail up from inside of him, from his intestines, then to his stomach, then up his throat, threatening to vomit all over the entire table.

“Koku?”, his grey eyes meet with America’s green ones, worry and concern laced over her features, “are you alright?”

He swallows the half-digested matter down back to his stomach, as he nods, smiling a little as he stares at the stew once again, haunted by the imagery he had just witnessed with his own eyes. In the corner of his eye, he catches Weimar smirking at him, knowing what he fully saw, as he digs into his meat. Koku, with shaking hands, lifts his hand to try and handle his spoon, but he drops it on the stew, hating the way the eyeball stares back at him.

He catches Austria looking too, giving Koku a grim glance.

America reaches for her spoon, but he didn’t want her to eat fresh human meat, and he abruptly stands from his place, beads of sweat latching on to his face. Japan locks eyes with Weimar, only giving him a small smile of intent; if he says anything of what he had put in the stew, he’d be the one unknowingly fed to his own peers.

He turns back at his bodyguard, his shaking body also resonating in the shaky smile he gives to America. “I’m sorry, Mister Weimar, but me and my bodyguard aren’t hungry… thank you for your hospitality but we’ll be going now.”

His emerald eyes swirl with madness, and he laughs- no, cackles. “Alright then; you’d regret not trying out our stew.”

-

Once the Deutsche Towers were out of their sight (and so were the butterflies), America swivels to look at Japan, her face laced with curiosity.

“What happened back there?”, she asks, her voice almost motherly for someone like her. “You seem so panicked after you took one good look at my bowl.” Her face morphs into a thoughtful look, and her eyes are now wide with realisation; “did… he put something in the stew?”

Koku nods meekly, his eyes once again on the road, his legs weakly letting him trudge forward into the unknown (or: Minguk’s house), the skies mocking his entire mood, making him release more and more beads of sweat, as they drop to his shoe like raindrops or tears. “I thought I was hallucinating, and even now I was still denying it.”

“Koku”, America stops him from his track, eyes full of worry, “what did you see?”

He slowly shakes his head, wanting to forget he’d ever seen those human parts in his stew, in America’s stew, but like a hard drive being inserted to a database, he cannot remove it so easily from his mind, so he transfers it to the one person he trusts in the entire world.

“I still think I’m hallucinating, but…”, he takes a deep breath, looking back at her. “I saw a finger, in your stew, and an eyeball in mine.”

America blinks, her eyes giving way to horror, as she finally realises what she was going to eat. Her legs buckle from underneath her, almost stumbling onto the concrete sidewalk, before Koku catches her with his arms, stabilising her. Her horrified eyes meet Koku’s, both of them finally realising what they were going to chew upon and put in their stomach. America tugs at her blonde curls, nodding silently as she excuses herself from Koku’s presence, phone in hand as she dials someone.

While he was waiting for her to come back, his mind goes back to what Weimar asked America; why did he ask her if she had tracked down his father’s murderer? Well, a bodyguard would have had experienced military training at some point; and despite him not witnessing all of her skills, he knows she is a prominent and prevalent woman who has experience with combat. And she did say she has brothers, so maybe they work in the police force too…?

America returns a few minutes later, blood coming back to her face, her eyes full of spirit again, just like she had been always and forever, perhaps for eternity, even. She gives him a look of importance, and they make their way to Minguk’s home once again.

“Honestly, if you don’t like teaching Minguk then don’t teach at all!”, America exclaims, as they near the Korean family’s house, a place where his own patience and sanity was tested by Minguk and his uncle.

Japan rolls his eyes; Minguk can be horribly annoying sometimes, but this whole teaching session is a break from Teikoku, a break from the dark force looming closer towards him, a smog of evil and treachery, wanting to tear all the good left in him, wanting to morph and transform him to be as scummy and evil as him, or even worse. There was an ache in his chest once again, as he remembers his mother’s cold and lonely eyes, wishing this was not the fate she had suffered under her own brethren- but of course, she died a sudden death. He did not want to be like his brother; did not want to be a puppet for something else, for Teikoku’s own selfish reasons.

He knocks on the door, ignoring America’s question, and he hears an onslaught of Korean inside of the household. They must be preparing for his visit, then, if they’re thinking of preparing for him like it’s the end of the world and that they can stop it. He hears someone’s footsteps towards the door, and the door opens, revealing Imsi, who was staring at Japan unimpressed.

“Come in”, he says, his eyes deliberately on America, who was meeting his eyes as well, “Minguk is getting ready for the lesson; America, iyagihabsida.”

As Koku settles down with Minguk at the table, he sees America following Imsi into Shanghai’s room; they must have been talking about something important behind his back since yesterday, if America is this desperate to leave his side for something Imsi needs for her to do. For Japan, he has to teach this ungrateful boy math that he pretends not to know the answer and procedures to.

The silence was unbearable; thicker than both blood and water, a silent night inside of the graveyard, trying hard to keep their silence eerie and disturbing too many people working inside, but Koku stays strong as he watches Minguk pretending not to know, pausing item after item, number after number as he taps the tip of his pen on his paper, creating black dots of all shapes and sizes of variety, the tapping of his pen annoying and bugging Koku, who was busily writing a few recommendations of books for Imsi and his friend.

An idea lights up inside of Koku, a smile creeping on his face before he turns to Minguk, who was still waiting for him to take cover for his patience is never long. He sees the twinkle of knowing in Minguk’s eyes, knowing that he knows what to do with all these problems printed on paper but not knowing how to solve problems made in the flesh, so Japan fakes a sigh as he looks disappointedly on Minguk’s paper, which was empty.

“This is the last time I’m going to teach you”, Koku says, “alright?”

Minguk stares at him for a little while, before giving him the number of items for Koku to teach him carefully and slowly, as if he was still a child being taught the alphabet. He opens his mouth as he starts to teach Minguk, but his procedures were carefully not giving the right answer, as he sees Minguk’s eyes flaring a little as more wrong numbers are settled out, and once Koku encircles the answer Minguk stops him.

“Is there something wrong, Kankoku?”, Koku asks in fake curiosity, as Minguk uncaps his pen, looking at his answer with skeptic eyes.

“Your answer is wrong”, he states, tone clipped, “for a math tutor who’s supposed to know his shit.”

Koku blinks, raising a brow, “My answer is wrong? You were the one who asked me to teach you - again - on how to solve this equation. Now tell me, oh wise watashi no gakusei, what I did wrong?”

Minguk studies the - supposedly - wrong solution and answer again, as Koku hides a small grin once the boy starts to talk about the errors of his solution. He had been right, of course; he had done the entire math solution wrong, to bait Minguk out of his entire farce, to make him answer on his own, to see if he had been right and that he was not pathetic enough to have cheated in all of his tests to promise him the highest grades. As Minguk encircles the right answer - triumphantly and proudly, might he add - Koku couldn’t keep the small grin hidden in his face anymore.

Minguk grins at his work, “Takes a student in name to correct the errors his tutor had done”, he turns to look at his tutor, who couldn’t help but chuckle softly, still looking at the papers. He raises a brow. “And why are you laughing?”

“Nothing, I’m sorry”, Koku says between chuckles, “it seems that you don’t need to be taught the equations of quadratic formulas now.”

Minguk’s eyes widen in realisation, finally registering that he had blown his cover of being a dense and unteachable student. “Oh. Wait, then why are you laughing?”

“I’ve always known you were good at this subject- well, good at every subject in your school”, Koku grins a little, “so I was kind of puzzled why you seemed unteachable, and that there’s a growing suspicion in me that you were cheating in your classes. I guess I was wrong, since you’re really smart.”

He stares at his tutor, mouth agape, either from Koku’s words of flattery or that he is still in shock his cover was blown; then again, he must be relieved since now Koku won’t have to question his intelligence once or twice.

“Uh, thanks”, Minguk says, awkwardly fidgeting on his chair, “I’m sorry for torturing you, naneun chucheughanda.”

Koku nods, “It’s fine. I do hope we can get along now?”

Minguk scowls at him, eyes burning with a fiery hatred, making the smile on Japan’s face falter. “You think that I can be friends with someone whose family destroyed mine? No. Jeoldaejog-eulohaji.”

His tutor blinks a little, then frowns. “Alright, I respect your choice.”

Inside Japan’s brain, he was fuming; why did he waste his time and energy with a person who doesn’t seem to understand that he was trying to befriend him, not letting go of the past, this past haunting and deep, deeper than the ravines filled with thorns and bones of those who had died falling or climbing back to the mortal world, this past as painful as the thorns in each rose stem, unforgettable despite every attempt. Minguk is clearly bitter about what Koku’s family did to his (but he cannot put a finger on why), and Koku could understand that- why would he be friends with the man who killed his mother, over and under?

Just then, the door opens, and out comes Imsi and America, both of them looking determined and firm, as if they had hope the entire world was still running around and their veins.

Japan remembered feeling hope, along time ago.

It shriveled up to dust and flew to the winds.

-

Dinner was a quiet matter in the Nippon house; they can only talk if they had something important in their minds, as everyone listens to their statement while handling their spoons and forks and digging into the food that the cooks have provided for them, the only noises heard is the porcelain plates being played upon. The crickets outside play quiet music, reminding the family they are not alone, as they quietly dine and make conversations with each other.

“Are you sure you’re not hungry?”, Japan whispers to America worriedly, who shrugs as she watches Teikoku eat steak.

“I’m fine, Koku”, she reassures, “why don’t you eat? You haven’t eaten anything since the Deutsche Towers fiasco.”

“You haven’t eaten since we left Deutsche Towers too”, Koku counters, as he peers closer to his meal, still paranoid of seeing an eyeball on it just like the stew in the Deutsche Towers. “Thanks to me.”

America collectively sighs, “There was something in that fucking stew. I’d rather go hungry than eat human meat.”

“Please just eat with us”, Koku pleads.

“The only thing she’d be eating would be men’s fluids”, Teikoku intervenes, a smile on his face, his eyes on America, “like the slut she is.”

Koku chokes on his steak, his eyes pinned on America, who was biting her lip and looking down at the floors. He can feel a burning rage festering inside of him, wanting to throw his spoon on to his brother, uncaring of the consequences since he had just insulted America, who was busily doing her job of protecting him. He wanted to wipe off that smile on his brother’s face, tell him about how he'd had qualms about his joke, but all he could do was glare down at his plate as America shifts uncomfortably down the floors.

It seems that Teikoku can sense the thick and nauseous atmosphere gnawing down everyone’s throats, as Palau awkwardly refills her glass, Tokyo stares at his dinner before picking up his spoon then putting it back down, Hokkaido was helping Okinawa eat his lunch as he fusses around with utensils, making gurgling sounds like the small child that he is. Teikoku takes another big bite off his steak and he laughs, his laugh echoing in the walls of this large house, too large to see the entire exit clearly, no escape, no end.

“What I said was funny”, he says, eyes on America and Koku, his crimson red eyes swirling with the need to make everyone suffer, “why aren’t you laughing?”

Koku takes a small bite of his dinner, also not feeling like eating. You know full well why, asshole.

Palau was the first one to collapse underneath her father’s pressure, as she put her fork down on her plate, plastering on a smile that would collapse after a minute or so, “Haha, that’s so funny, Otōsan.” She shoots an apologetic look towards America, who only nods in forgiveness.

Tokyo fakes a chuckle, which was more of an exhausted huff, tired of his brother’s scummy ways. “Truly funny, Nīsan.”

Hokkaido weakly laughs, fussing with Okinawa to make him giggle. “Okinawa thinks it’s funny as well, Dad.”

All of them give America sheepish looks, but America smiles weakly, silently stating that Teikoku has no match for her wits and that his words fall flat against her defences, her walls as thick as her bones. Koku, meanwhile, sneaks his free hand to entwine with hers for comfort, but she (purposefully or not, it still hurts) inches her hand away, and he has to take a bite out of his dinner so that he could quell and still his beating heart, who only beats for one name only.

Teikoku laughs again, this time more deranged and haunting, as if singing a song to chaos and disorder to come and take his entire family away, the echoes of his laughter still resonating inside this wretched home.

His eyes stretch to Koku, who was picking at his dinner now, not in the mood to eat. “What’s wrong, Koku? Too drained to eat?”

He gives his brother a small and tired smile, trying to diffuse the burning rage inside him. “Yes, I’m going to go to my room now.” He stands up, walking away from the dining table before his route is interrupted by a small laugh.

Teikoku stands from his throne of bright and shimmering gold, his red eyes smouldering. “You do know it is rude to leave dinner without having finished what is on your plate, right?”

“America can have it”, his brother replies casually, and before Teikoku can answer he is already up and running towards his room, followed by America.

“Miss America?”, Palau’s dainty feet catch up with both Koku and America as they both drift into Koku’s room. America turns back to Koku’s niece, flitting in a white frock, her dark hair highlighted with a few auburn curls, her green eyes staring at the woman in front of her.

“What is it, Palau?”, America asks, trying not to coo at the young girl (from her tone of voice and facial expression, it was quite obvious for Koku to see it).

Palau fidgets, leg bouncing a little, “I’m sorry for saying my Dad’s joke was funny.”

America heaves a sigh, kneeling down to reach the girl’s height and wrapping her around with her arms, and Koku sees the ring once again, closely tucked in America’s shirt. “It’s okay, I forgive you. It was your father’s fault, not yours.”

“But still”, Palau looks at America guiltily, and Koku can’t help but be struck with the sense of familiarity in these eyes, “I supported my Dad’s joke.”

Koku sighs, patting Palau, “You didn’t, you were forced to laugh with him. So were the others.”

Palau smiles up at America, her green eyes gazing at her with awe and wonder. “Sometimes, in my dreams, I wonder if you were my mother.”

She runs to her room, leaving America and Koku puzzled at what she meant. Koku gives America a small look as they enter his room. His room wasn’t that clean, per se; his blankets were wrinkled and not folded, clothes strewn across the room, mingling with the crumpled papers that Koku had thrown across the floor for several reasons; an open drawer with a pistol out in the open, and the trails of a knotted rope under his bed. Once America stares at the laptop sitting uselessly on his study desk, Koku kicks the knotted rope deeper beneath his bed.

“America, whatever Teikoku said at dinner, I don’t think that’s true”, he states, as America silently and listlessly looks into the distance, her eyes becoming glassy.

“Maybe it is”, America softly says, her back still facing him, as she hangs her head low, silently untying her blonde hair- the first time he had seen her do that in front of him. “M-maybe I’m just a slut, like what Teikoku said. Like what Weimar said.” She turns to look at him with tears rolling down her cheeks, forest green eyes showing too much sadness swelling inside of her.

Koku shakes his head, as he approaches the girl in tears, looking less like a hardened bodyguard that harbours his needs and more of a hurt girl. “No. Don’t say that America. They don’t know you.”

America chokes back a sob, clearly thinking about it seriously. “No, no, Japan. It’s true.”

He stares at her, “I know I don’t know the real you. That we’ve only known each other for a few days, but still; you’re not a slut. You’re not a minx. You’re not a whore like they say.”

She lets out a startled cry, wiping away her tears. “No. Please. You’re just making this worse. They know me. You don’t.”

Her blonde hair falls down to her shoulders, tears still running down her cheeks as they softly drop down towards the floor, as Koku instinctively envelops her in his arms, feeling her shaking and sobbing body on his. He closes his eyes as he buries himself into America as comfort for his bodyguard, who believes every insult that was slammed across her body as if she was invincible to their attempts of humiliating her, degrading her, turning her into something else in their eyes.

But to Koku, he only sees someone who is… a normal human being, nothing more, nothing less.

“I don’t care if we’ve only met for a few days”, he says, looking back at America, who has seized crying but is now burying her face into Koku’s chest, her hair messy; he can feel his heart beating faster, a warmth surging inside of him but he disregards them to comfort America’s overwhelming feelings inside of her, combing through her hair using his fingers as she wipes the rest of her tears into his shirt, which didn’t bother him all that much.

America looks up at him, solemn green eyes staring right back at his firm grey ones. “I still know who you really are.”

America scoffs, looking away, a hand on Koku’s shoulder. “You’d say anything to stop me from throwing a pity party in your room.”

Koku raises a brow, “Who said you were having a pity party? I genuinely care about your health, since you are, after all, my bodyguard.”

She breaks away from his embrace, and he can feel his heart plunging. “Quit the talk about me being your bodyguard. You think you know me more than them? Prove it, since I haven’t told you shit.”

Koku opens his mouth, trying to formulate words and recalling the times America wasn’t so private about her life, his mind going back in circles, but even before he can answer her, she scoffs, looking dejected.

“See? You don’t know anything about me.” She crosses her arms, looking away, her now loose hair covering the side of her face, “so don’t you ever tell me-”

“You haven’t even let me answer, America”, Koku interrupts, and she turns to look at him, “I may not know your past or your relationships, but from what I’ve gathered from watching and observing you, it’s this; you’re smart- not that especially smart but you excel, especially from all of those observations you’ve made, and the fact that you always think one step ahead; how you’re just so calm and collected, even when Teikoku and Weimar try insulting you; then there was those times you’re all… spunky and sassy- I thought it was annoying when you first showed up, but then… I’ve grown attached to it. And then there’s your moxie and charm, how you seem to handle everything with grace and elegance; I like that about you; even your negative traits, because it shows everyone we’re all human.”

Koku holds her hand, as she stares back at his eyes, the sun and the stars colliding to become a supernova of emotions, their entire world plunging to the inky black depths, no way out through the galaxies because the entire galaxy had imploded to create the world as they know it, universes screaming out about how they are just like the sun and the moon, as heavenly bodies watch and sway to their beat.

It was America’s turn to be speechless, the crickets masking her being unable to talk back to Koku.

“Watashi wa anata ga sukidesu”, he whispers soothingly, kissing her forehead lightly for her comfort. “I think we both need to clear our minds this afternoon and evening.”

America raises a brow, “What are we gonna do?”

Koku stares at the window, which had already offered him a chance at escape. “Drink until Teikoku finds and kills us both.”

-

He had escaped through his window like a renegade numerous times before; away from bleak and grey reality, to the colourful lights around the City’s centre at night, its lights enchanting and blinding him from afar, his grey eyes flaring up with beautiful fascination at the entrancing and enthralling lights, loving the way they rival the stars in the night sky, with its overly intrusive lights, as if they are spreading out hidden stars from each and every crevice of the world, from the unknown to the known territories they have only uncovered in a matter of time.

Koku had learned how to dodge the boring and monotonous reality to make way for the great wide open, by following the lights in the alleys and corners that are willing to give him a chance of freedom, away from that damned man that sits on his throne of bones, freeing himself from the grasp of calm and seriousness, to embrace happiness and revelry like never before.

America climbs down first, of course; wanting to cushion Koku’s climb down, and also making sure the coast is clear, as if Teikoku was guarding this section of his home, as if any of his guards were to monitor the exits and entrances of this miserable and wretched house. As he scales the building down, he lands on his feet, the grass cushioning his fall. He stares at the stars, winking at him with mischievousness, as he feels a body pressed up to him.

He looks down to find America, staring at the stars, mesmerised. “I miss stargazing with my brothers.” She sighs longingly, and Koku smiles a little.

He tentatively takes her hand, which surprises her a little, as she stares back at Koku, getting lost in her green eyes, even more valuable than the jewelry that Teikoku forces him to wear to show off their fortune.

“I miss this serene surrounding too”, Koku replies, “do you want to explore it more?”

America stares at their hands, entwined like they were a star-crossed the heavens have chosen them to save the entire world from a great darkness. Then her once loose fingers tighten their hold on Koku’s hands, and he does the same, staring into each other’s eyes like they had enough time in the entire world.

“Let’s go.” Two words already made Koku feel as if he is invincible in a world where evil reigned, as they sneak out of the house, past the wired fence, and into the night, shrouded by Lady Nyx’s curtain of stars and the moon.

“When I said we were going to drink, I didn’t mean in a bar.” America sighs as she follows Koku into the sea of dancing people, all handling drinks, the booming music and neon lights blinking on and off no longer a hindrance to him, as he strides inside the bar, like he was one of them, like he had never embraced the suffocating standards that society had given him.

His ears muffle the booming music, as he leads America into the bartender’s table, who was busily chatting with his other customers, a cigarette in hand. He despises cigarettes, but he tries to tolerate them as he approaches the bartender, pale blonde hair matted, his icy blue eyes on a girl clad in revealing clothes. Koku smirks a little as he sits down on the stool, with America remaining standing, eyes narrowed as she peers into the bartender, as if he was familiar to her.

“Hey Rossiya!”, he catches the bartender’s attention, his light blonde hair swishing his way, as his icy blue eyes thaw with warmth, his face rising to a smile.

“Tovarishch!”, he exclaims, as he approaches Koku. Behind him, America’s breath hitches as she continues to stare at his icy blue eyes. Russia notices America right behind him, and his smile falters as another blizzard hits him in the face. “Ah, I didn’t think you’d bring a friend over here.”

Koku - oblivious - snorts, “She’s my bodyguard and friend: America.”

The man stares at America suspiciously, before once again giving Koku a - rather forced - smile. “So, the usual?”

Koku nods, a daring glint in his eyes. “The usual.”

Russia rolls his eyes, already sliding down a glass full of whatever Koku had ordered, as he catches it in one hand, already taking a sip of the substance, fire going down his throat like a muddy hill, the drink naturally burning his throat as he feels hands on his shoulder, aware that America was still there to help him through his horrible choices in life.

He can feel his spirit being fuelled with more fire and energy, combining his heart and soul together to create even the worst of good.

Koku turns around from his chair to look at America, who was more or less disinterested at the fact she was around a mass with people having a good time, or the fact in front of her there were all kinds of drinks, still choosing her job over the excitement of a life in Night’s blanket. She was blankly staring at the bartender, who was lighting up another cigarette while flirting with a tipsy girl.

“Are you all right?”, he asks, quelling down the thought of green masking his every move, as America turns back to him, red splotches on her cheeks. “Do you know him?”

“Oh, uh, yeah”, she says, fidgeting with her fingers a bit, fingering her phone in her pockets, staring back at Russia, “we met once.”

He narrows his eyes suspiciously, but goes back to drinking, trying to hide his envy from the bartender, because being jealous is simply ridiculous; he had never felt these emotions before and he certainly loathes how and why it’s showing up now because America spares Russia a look or two is enough to drive him up the wall.

“I’m going to call someone”, America says to his ear, the loud music now an increasing dynamite in his ears, “mind telling me which quiet place I could call ‘em in?”

“The bathroom”, he simply replies, asking Russia for another drink, “be careful since a lot of people fucking in the stalls.”

“Alright, thanks!” She gives Koku a smile, as she struts down towards the direction of the bathroom, where a dozen drunk guys and girls were littered on and about, but Koku pays attention no more as he gives himself up to the solitude of drinking.

He didn’t know how many drinks he’d had this night - he lost count at a dozen - his vision blurring as the masses of people on the dance floor mix with the now annoyingly bright and flashing neon lights, as he stumbles around, looking for America through the midst of people, already having a migraine with how loud everything looks and sounds. Then, from his drunken haze, he sees America uncomfortably standing through the midst of the people, being disturbed by drunk men prowling on her, one even having the gall to put a hand on her shoulder, and she slaps it away, glaring defiantly into their drunken eyes, glowing with desire.

Koku decides this was no time trying to understand which was real and what was fabricated by his intoxicated mind; there was an overflowing sense of emotions deep in him, a lion finally roaring deep inside him, feeling the need to protect a person he cherishes all his life. He steels himself, trying not to look and act drunk in front of those thugs- he just wanted them to back off.

As he approaches them, feeling America’s air of uneasiness, he hears a few of those scoundrels’ catcalls and statements.

“How come a pretty lil lady like ya haven’t appeared ‘round here?”, one coos, slightly drunk, but his speech was - undeniably - perfect.

“Soooo glad fresh meat showed up in heeeere”, one slurs, his eyes on America’s chest, as if expecting her to take them off, but she just glares right at her. The man just turns to another man with a sly grin. “And a spunkone atthat.”

The third man just chuckles, still looking at America hungrily. “She’d be shubmissive once she gerron teh bed though.”

All men laugh at the statement, as America tries to escape their group but one of them grabs her at the wrist; she tries to pull her wrist away, the men closing in on her, but Koku was faster.

He swiftly enters the group of men and slaps away the hand on America’s wrist, swinging an arm around her shaking body, as she stares at him with her forest green eyes, anticipating his next move. Koku glares at the men, wishing that his eyes could kill, trying to find a way to calm his beating heart and maudlin mind, thinking of words to say, hoping that him being tipsy is not that obvious.

“Who tehfuck are ya?”, one of them says, his face blurry against Koku’s vision, despite him wearing contacts.

“Sh-she’s my girlfrieeeend”, he says, clearly drunk, but still knowing what he’s doing. America from under his grasp jolts at the sudden lie, as she looks up at him once again, confusion and embarrassment in her eyes. “Meaning you can all fuck off.”

There was a tense pause within the group, the only thing trying to break their silence was the booming music and the noise of the crowd on the dance floor, as Koku tried to stand straight, glaring at them all, a storm wishing to unleash a torrent of destruction.

Then one of the men laugh, “I don’t think you are prove that you’re her ‘booooyfriend’.” The rest of the men snigger, as Koku just scowls at them, staring tentatively at America.

She was lost in thought, as if debating whether or not to actually do it with him; even his heart was beating and his mind pounding, but not from the drinks he had taken, and rather from what he was about to do, his knees going weak as his brain conjures up multiple to thousands of scenarios where this would be weighed lightly, and not in a situation where they fabricate something that doesn’t wholly exist, a lie to carve out all lies, a diversion for someone else's blessing. He could think of the most romantic ways on how he and she would do this, not in some bar that reeked of predatory men, but in a gorgeous scenery, rivalling the ones on his mind.

Koku takes a deep breath, before putting a finger to America’s chin, pushing her up, until she can see him clearly now, through his drunken haze and into his grey eyes, trying to see if there was consciousness inside of his mind. “Watashi o yurushite.”

Before America could answer or his beating heart and brain tells him this was needlessly a horrible idea, his lips collide with hers as his mind starts to scream and shout at how he shouldn’t be kissing a girl he likes in the least romantic way possible, to fend off these worthless fucks he’d have no trouble beating to the ground. He feels his entire insides burst with too much emotions to describe, that even his drunken mind could not taint with horrible and indecent thoughts, too infatuated with America to consider imagining her with disgrace.

He feels her knees buckle, and his arms snake across her back as they feel time stop around them, her arms on his waist- he opens one eye to take a curious peek at the girl he was kissing, and starts to go red once he sees how invested she was in this fabrication, as her red lips part to give him more room to kiss her, her eyes closed.

He was guiltily in love with this; in love with the way America’s body was pressed up against him, in love with how she was giving herself away to him for a short while, in love with the way her heart was beating the same beat as his. One of his hands rake through her loose blonde hair, its wavy curls hypnotising him, making him sway to the beat of the booming music, and he wishes that time would not pick up its rhythm again and break their kiss apart.

But of course, the magic is over, as America gently parts from him, her face red and eyes shining of embarrassment and fascination. Meanwhile Koku’s still intoxicated brain feels as if it was going to break itself into tiny little pieces, losing it, missing the way they dance to the tune, as their lips tingle and loved every touch they made.

They break eye contact, as they face their audience, a group of drunk, middle-aged men, whose faces were unreadable, the silence as brittle as his and America’s kiss. His first kiss.

And again, all the men laugh, their breaths mixing, as they stare back at the couple with mocking eyes.

“‘Ve seen berrer kisscenes in pornos”, says one, as he takes a swig of beer, “that was nutin’.”

“Have a harime tellin’ if these two’re really datin’”, another man replies between laughs, and Koku can feel his cheeks searing red.

“I dun feel th’love”, says one another, “the girl looks more like a whore to m-”

Before he can finish that sentence, however, someone punches him on the cheek, and he collides with the walls behind him, and Koku, fists clenched and knuckles bruised, inhale and exhale harshly, his grey eyes glowing with a murderous blaze, no longer choosing to play nice.

“Call her that again”, he snarls between gritted teeth towards the other men, as the man he had punched recovers from his assault, massaging his nose, which was bleeding out blood. “I dare you. I FUCKING DARE YOU TO!”

“H’broke m’nose!”, says the man, still holding his nose, dropping his glass of vodka somewhere. “This asshole broke m’nose!”

“Good.” Koku braces himself for a fight to come, eyes narrowing at the others, who were now marching at him with slow but formidable speed. “‘Cause you’re all going to regret calling her that.”

He had been trained to fight self-defence from a young age; and he knew all moves and had practised them in his room, whenever he thinks he’s in private or with one of his brothers (Teikoku had skill he could never match up to, but he could beat Tokyo in a fair match). He ignores the pain in his knuckles, knowing that he was more satisfied with the fact that he had dealt enough damage to that fucker’s nose.

He turns to look at America, who was staring at his knuckles, then at his determined stare, before he goes back to try and beat up the others too. The fight had gotten everyone’s attention too- soon an entire circle was surrounding them, and much to his chagrin, many started to chant, deliberately causing the pounding on his head to increase, as his vision starts to blur, intoxication getting the best of him-

Pain explodes on his left cheek, as he can feel himself toppling backwards, his eye and cheek swelling up with pain. He hears America’s cries in the background, but it was drowned out by the chantings of the crowd forming. From the corner of his eye, the bartender was not behind his bar, as if he was never there.

“What, not gon’ gerrup?”, one of the drunkards ask snidely, the others roaring with laughter, as Koku’s vision increasingly goes blurry, as he tries narrowing his eyes to see who decided to hit him, his heart throbbing, his lips tasting copper. “See, thish man’s a weakring.”

Koku bounces back like fire, and without warning he sidekicks another drunk man, who slides down the floor as if it was merely a slide and the other growls as he pulls Koku up by his shirt, spitting on his face as if he was spitting acid, but Koku spits back at him, his glare multiplying, as he hits his perpetrator with ease, sending him toppling down the floor, breaking his grip with his shirt. He stares at his last opponent, who was getting ready to try to give him a punch, but he sidesteps and sends the drunkard crashing to the crowd, the crowd oohing and aahing.

“Japan!”, America calls out, as she grabs him by the shoulders, and the neon lights are replaced by her worried face, her eyes swirling with concern and worry, and her lips shaped like an ‘o’, “we need to get out of here! You’re too drunk-”

Without thinking (his mind has now submerged to rock bottom) he closes his eyes and leans in to kiss her again, her lips coated in warmth, making him swoon with pleasure and regret that he did this drunk and without her consent, once again feeling her body pressed up on him, her hands raking through his hair, her legs dancing with his, as he himself combs through her blonde hair once again, his knees going weak, his lungs spreading fire to his heart, loving every second his heart beats for her.

America pushes him away harshly, making him lose his balance for a second, before he catches his own body, before he hits the ground. Once again, in his drunken haze (and perhaps pain), he can feel his mind and heart screaming as one, at how he did not think this through and clearly, at how America would of course not want a drunk man to kiss her as if this whole thing was real, that they weren’t in a bar that reeks of beer and drunk men and women prowling on fresh meat, that he wasn’t at the very least looking mangy-looking.

(His mouth must have tasted like blood from that hit.)

Again, without thinking of his consequences, he opens his mouth, “Anata wa watashi o sukide wanai?” He had no chance of translating his words, as in the corner of his eye one of the men tries to hit America, but she looks back just in time before completely desecrating his face.

America stares back at him, “Koku, your brother’s going to get worried when you show up in your house like that. Let’s go home.”

Koku shakes his head, disregarding the hurt he had gotten from America, “No, not until these guys are on the ground.”

Before America could speak, he goes back to the drunk men who had decided to disturb his peace and ride away from the distorting reality; one tries to catch him with his grubby little hands but Koku quickly clenches his fists and uppercuts the asshole, knocking out one of his teeth, as another tries to punch him again, ultimately succeeding as Koku staggers back but he comes back by striking him with the back of his hand, anger exploding and erupting like a thunderstorm.

Gritting his teeth, he kicks another man in the chest and as he lies on the ground, Koku steps on the man’s rib cage, making the drunk man gasp in pain but before he tries to recover he stomps on the drunkard more, harder- another man tries to sneak up at Koku once again, but America steps in and kicks him on the groin, leaving Koku about to hit him-

He feels a hand tighten its grip around his arm, and with the last of his strength he looks up to find Russia glaring at him, light blonde hair covering half of his face, his icy blue eyes crackling with fire.

“That’s enough”, his low voice booms, but instead of glaring at the one who instigated this whole mess, he turns to glare at America, “get out, the both of you, now. And Japan, go rest.”

He shakes his head, “Iie, noruntiiiirr… they ayamaru.” He takes a deep breath, his adrenaline rush now over, as he can feel his mind trying to shut down, as his legs buckle, but before he falls down the floor, he feels another set of arms holding him up.

“I’ll handle it from here”, America says breathlessly, glaring up at Russia, and Koku’s mind wonders what their past was together, his entire heart once again being poisoned with jealousy.

Russia shakes his head, “No, I’ll accompany you both out of my you both decided to desecrate.”

The drinks now seemed to finally have contaminated his brain; he can only see moving blurry objects, colourful lights dancing in his vision, despite the fact he was wearing contacts (or was one of them misplaced as he was being beaten up by those dudes?), feeling himself being lifted up, as his feet try to make absolute contact with the hard ground, but he feels as if he was in heaven, no boundaries whatsoever.

He hears muffled voices in his ears- but they were not directed at him, and rather at someone else, the voices in each ear making him shake and quake, the intensity of their voices too high for him to muster.

Then the arms holding him up cease to exist, as he drops to the ground; he groans in pain, his hands palming concrete, as he raises his grey eyes, to find two blurry bodies in front of him, both of whom he knows well. America was being pressed to the wall by Russia, whose face was getting closer, closer, closer to America’s-

Before he can muster what had happened, Koku’s consciousness fades, but he knew their lips collided.

-

Koku’s head pounding was why he woke up in the first place; he feels comfortable, yet hot and warm at the same time. He groans a little, feeling his mind pounding at his skull, begging to be let out but he refuses, now feeling the consequences of last night as the pain of earning a black eye and an irritating hangover now combines, creating an even worse torture method for himself. He silently swears, sitting up with struggle, and to his delight, he finds painkillers and a glass of water on the top of his drawers.

His unequal vision bothers him as well; as if he was standing in the coral reefs of the ocean, one eye fully submerged underwater, the saltwater fully blurring away his vision, and the other trying to peer into the horizon, but it struggles a little.

Koku sighs, as he untangles himself from his blankets, trying to ignore his hangover brain, drinking and taking the painkillers, which calms his blazing headache a little. He opens his drawers and fishes out his glasses; he takes his remaining eye contact out from his eye, feeling the entire world blur around him, before he puts his glasses on. In an instant his vision readjusts himself to fit in his perspective, and he takes a deep breath, trying to calm his heart.

The migraine was horrible, though; as if a thousand thunderstorms try penetrating his walls, as he tries to calm himself down with sheer willpower, as he goes back to lying down, trying to recall the night he had, and how and why he has a damned black eye. He only remembers Russia and America kissing, however, and something warm colliding with his lips, but that was it, as if the night did not exist and it had only skipped into the morning.

The door opens, silently interrupting his thoughts- he grimaces at the thought it was his brother coming to visit him, but it was America herself, who was sporting a large bruise on her eye as she stares at Koku, relieved.

“Thank god you’re okay”, she says, breathless, “your brother-”

“Who did that to you?”, Koku demands, interrupting what America was going to say, a familiar fire burning inside of him once again.

America closes her mouth a little, blinking, then covering her bruised eye with her hand. “Uh, Russia did.”

Koku’s eyes flare with outrage and jealousy. If they had a thing back then, then America was right to leave him as he seems to have hit her a dozen of times.

“He doesn’t sound like a nice guy.” He tries to keep his tone leveled, but he was steaming, as America shrugs, sighing a little.

“He really isn’t.”

America opens her mouth once again, but Koku was not listening, in his haze of a hangover, his jealousy being replaced with a fiery rage, hating how Russia had just done that so simply towards America, and wishing he would have also just punched that asshole’s face to get it over with.

“Koku?” America was sitting on the edge of his bed now, legs crossed.

He clears his throat, now feeling butterflies in his stomach, “Yes?”

America tilts her head, shyly looking at him, her cheeks flustered red. “To make you feel better, you look… kinda cute with your glasses on you.”

He feels his heart explode and puncture his lungs, now having trouble to breathe, his grey eyes shining with red once again.

“Thank you.”

He finally has reason to wear his glasses once again.

-

Willkommen zurück- welcome back

Chocho- butterfly

Kanojo ni denwa shinaide- don’t call her that

Iyagihabsida- let’s talk

Watashi no gakusei- student of mine

Naneun chucheuganda- i guess

Jeoldaejog-eulohaji- absolutely not

Watashi anata wa sukidesu- i like you for it

Tovarishch- comrade

Watashi o yurushite- forgive me

Anata wa watashi o sukide wanai- you don’t like me

Ayamaru- apologise

[psychovigilantewrites]

Chapter 8 - Absence

Pairing: Jason Todd/Reader

Word Count: 3,128 words

TW: Violence and Gore.

A/N:  Hi guys!! Sorry for the super long wait! I've had writers block for the longest time and also life gets in the way, as usual. This one's a short one, sort of a transition into the next chapter- which will definitely be more intense! Thanks for being so patient with me as usual. 

 Read the previous chapters of Red Who? here: Masterlist

Normal people would probably compare what you felt to some time when they were a kid, where one of their parents surprised them with some sort of wish they always had. A trip to Disneyland or that red bicycle they’ve always wanted.

Or maybe to a time where some crush said they liked them back after a confession, or even being offered a cookie by a new friend.

Whatever it was, those were everyone else’s comparison.

You didn’t have any great childhood memories to refer to the feeling you felt right now. But the closest would be the first time Bruce ever said “Good job” to you.

Your first kiss wasn’t all that you expected it to be. To be fair, you didn’t really expect much from a first kiss. To you, it was all unnecessary distraction from the things that mattered.

But Jason didn’t make you feel that way. He made you feel giddy and excited, he made you feel like you were being pulled upwards by a whole bunch of colorful helium balloons.

But then you walked inside the manor, changed into your Robin uniform, and started to approach Bruce who was at the Bat computer.

“What are you doing?” he scrutinized you.

“I’m ready to go?” you hesitated, before mentally slapping yourself. You suddenly remembered your fall out yesterday, bursting your bubble of joy before. He was still mad at you. Of course he was, you hadn’t done anything to fix it.

Yet you felt like you didn’t need to apologize.

“You’re not going anywhere,” he gave you a cold look that made you feel like shrinking, “You disobeyed a direct order last night. I can’t just ignore it.”

“I went with my instinct, Bruce,” you tried to reason with him, “You always said to-”

“No, you went because you are fixated on him,” Bruce cut you off and glared at you. A look you’ve never been on the receiving end of.

“What? What are you talking about?” you sputtered, taken aback by his remark.

“I don’t know why, but you’re fixated on the Red Hood,” he continued, “You went and disobeyed me because you wanted to see him.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Bruce,” you retorted, straightening your back into a cold stance, “You’re talking as if I have a crush on him.”

“Do you?” he demanded, “I know for a fact that you hide things from me regarding your encounters with him.”

“How dare you assume that of me, Bruce,” you coldly replied, despite the nervousness of getting caught. You needed to shift the blame to him somehow.

“Then why?” he urged, “You have never before disobeyed me. Why do you always get excited when he’s involved?”

“I get excited because it’s exciting!” you argued, “He’s a new criminal who came out of nowhere, taking over the underground in the span of a couple of weeks! Who wouldn’t be?”

“Do you know who he is?” Bruce suddenly asked.

“No. That’s what I’ve been asking you, remember? How dare you accuse me of hiding things from you when you’re the one who refuses to trust me enough to tell me who he is,” you ranted, finding a way to finally shift the blame on him to reduce your own faults.

“I don’t-”

“Don’t lie to me, Bruce. A guy who randomly appears and fucks shit up, knows everything about the both of us, our identities probably included- don’t tell me you out of all people haven’t figured it out. So why haven’t you told me?”

“Because I don’t want to believe it myself!” he yelled, making you jump slightly at the sudden change in volume.

You stared at him for a few moments, before saying, “Who is he, Bruce?”

He clenched his jaw.

“Do you want to patrol or not?”

“Yes,” you stated.

“Fine,” he sighed, turning away from you, “But you stick by me the whole time. If he happens to appear, you stay in the Bat-mobile.”

“But-”

“Do you want me to put you under house arrest?”

“Fine,” you admitted defeat.

***

You honestly thought the decapitated heads on spikes were the worst you’ve seen, and that the next bad thing would wait at least more than a week before it threw itself at you.

But there you were, mouth slack in shock at the scene before you.

It was a bright night in Robinson Park, coincidentally where you were earlier, the moon was full and there were no clouds blocking its gentle light. The additional lights that the GCPD brought also gave plenty of illumination that fell onto the three bodies hanging on tree branches.

All male, all naked, all hanged by the neck with a rope. Purple faced and tongues lolling out, you were thankful for taking Dick’s advice by expecting the worst. Yet, it still shocked you.

Because if it were just three people hanged by the neck, you wouldn’t have batted an eye. But this time, there were three people hanged by the neck, their bellies slashed open horizontally, intestines spilling out and trailed all over the well kept grass like large alien worms bursting out.

And along with the gruesome scene, of course, came the smell. It wasn’t just the metallic smell of blood this time. It was closer to the smell at the club the first time you met Red Hood. A mix of blood and feces and urine. Thankfully, it was outdoors with plenty of ventilation.

“Batman,” Gordon huffed when he saw the two of you approaching. Batman rushed to arrive to the scene when he heard the traffic on the police radio. The crime scene was already taped off, forensics were everywhere, flashing lights from their cameras as they took pictures of the bodies.

As you got closer, you could see in detail how the bodies looked like. The gashes were clean, you could see the layers of skin, fat, and muscle that made up the cross section of the gash. Hell, you could even see the bits of fascia and peritoneum that were damaged by the trauma.

“Black Mask’s men,” Batman pointed out without hesitation.

“Yeah,” Gordon sighed, “Like I said before, gang war. Red Hood himself must have done this. Looks like we’ve got another sadistic bastard running around. This was done to them while they were alive.”

You grimaced.

“What we think is rope fibres were found underneath the nails, so they were struggling and scratching at it to escape before they got strangled to death,” Gordon continued, “We still gotta wait for forensics, but I bet my money the coroner’s report is going to confirm it. He must have had them stand on the park table here, tied the noose around their necks, gutted them, and then pushed them down. The momentum from the fall must have forced the intestines to spill like this.”

You had to hand it to Red Hood, he was very theatrical. If you weren’t so disgusted by his lack of empathy, you would have perhaps thought that his works were art.

“How do you know it was him?” you voiced out.

“There isn’t anyone else that have the guts to directly attack Black Mask,” Gordon explained, “I don’t think these would be the last bodies we find.”

True enough, the week after that, another two bodies were found in a similar state, but this time, you noticed the nail of one of the men’s pinky fingers were pulled out. A piece of information that you didn’t know you stored at the back of your mind came to resurface.

When it came to torture for information by denailing, if the victim could handle getting one nail pulled out without breaking, they most probably could handle it all. The strongest ones are the ones with all their nails pulled out- which meant that they probably did not reveal anything.

Judging from the body before you, you guessed that Red Hood probably got whatever information he was looking for.

And if he did, why did he have to kill them both in such a way?

Truly, you couldn’t comprehend his love for cruelty.

You stuck with Batman on the days you patrolled, as per his orders. You weren’t allowed to go on your own anymore until you gained his trust again. Not that it mattered, because even though you were investigating a string of Red Hood’s bloody murders- he was on his twenty-third victim by then- you didn’t get to meet the culprit himself.

He was keeping to the shadows, yet making his presence still loud and clear by leaving bodies everywhere.

You didn’t want to admit your disappointment.

Red Hood wasn’t the only one leaving bodies, though. Black Mask also was under investigation for retaliating by attacking and murdering Moehler’s men, though less creatively and dramatic.

Before you realised it, Gotham City was in the midst of a gang war that Gordon had predicted those weeks ago.

After a particularly exhausting patrol on a Saturday night involving yet another one of Red Hood’s victims, you laid on your bed, and stared at the ceiling. You glanced at your phone- no notifications.

It had been approximately 3 weeks since your kiss with Jason, and it was the last time you saw him. He had been texting you less and less, despite it all. The last message you sent him a week ago read was just a GIF of a Shiba Inu’s backside while it walked. You didn’t want to seem desperate.

You probably scared him off. I told you so, Mother said.

You pushed her away like you always did.

You tried to not overthink it. Perhaps he was busy with getting into the police force, perhaps he didn’t feel like talking to anyone, because God knows even you have long periods of time where you wanted to just shut out the world.

You tried to be understanding and patient.

But you still couldn’t help but think about him. His smooth voice, how sexy he sounded when he swore. His grunts and moans of pleasure over the phone. And his lips. How they felt against yours, how they would feel in between your legs. You always noticed his smell too.

His cologne, fabric softener, the smell of leather and… fireworks. You didn’t know why. But his smell reminded you of fireworks.

But you were restless. And Jason wasn’t the only one that was on your mind.

You hadn’t seen Red Hood for about as long, too. It irritated you. For some reason Red Hood felt like an itch on your back that you just couldn’t reach far enough to scratch. As the nights went by without hearing from Jason, you strangely thought of Red Hood more.

Especially at night when you were alone in bed.

You wondered about him. Some reasonable, some completely random. Where was he from? Did he have siblings? Does he play music inside that helmet of his? He looked like the heavy metal type, but you entertained the idea of him humming along to Taylor Swift while he gutted men.

What was wrong with you? You were unintentionally humanising him, giving him more meaning and sentimentality than he deserved.

But most importantly, you had a feeling that he was preparing for something, in addition to the gang war he started. You didn’t have any evidence. It was just your gut. And you trusted your gut, no matter what Bruce said.

Shit.

You started to think that Bruce was right. You felt like you were beginning to be obsessed with him. You groaned into your pillow before trying your best to fall asleep and not think about Red Hood’s flexing biceps.

***

The familiar lurch of the batmobile going from stationary to full speed never failed to excite you to your core.

Both you and Batman were on your usual patrol in Otisburg District, before hearing a large explosion just a few blocks away. He frequented the district a lot, since The Stacked Deck was overtaken by Red Hood, it made sense to patrol in the area.

You wanted to patrol in the area. It meant the chances of meeting him was higher. Not that it mattered, because Batman was still keeping you on a tight leash.

What you didn’t expect, though, was to see the club itself engulfed in flames.

You hacked a cough the moment you exited the batmobile, the soot and smoke enveloping the area in heavy clouds. People were running in the opposite direction, away from the building. If there was anyone inside the club, it was too late to save them now. The alcohol must have contributed to the rapid burning, and somewhere along, a gas pipe must have burst, because the roof and part of the outer walls were in ruins already from the explosion you heard before.

The fire department came. You saw the familiar face from all those weeks ago. Parks, was it? The cute one. You saw him order his men around and climbed onto the lift with a hose. You overheard someone say it was going to take them more than just a couple of hours to extinguish the fire.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m already here,” you heard a voice behind you, “Yes, sir. No, sir. With all due respect Mr. Mayor, you don’t just stop a gang war- understood, sir.”

You turned around and saw a very distressed Commissioner walking towards the two of you. He was on the phone, his other hand pressing at his temples.

“Understood sir,” he huffed, ending the call, “Batman.”

“Commissioner,” Batman nodded.

“Of course you got here first,” he sighed, “I’ve already told my people to pull up the traffic cameras and every other CCTV nearby- which you probably already have access to. Whatever it is, I put my money that Black Mask did this.”

“Of course it is,” you rolled your eyes, not that Gordon could see them behind your white lenses.

“Oh, I also have another update,” Gordon suddenly remembered, “Regarding the Gotham University Public Library case. According to the two we caught, there is a third. He managed to get away. Jerome Miller, 8 cases of arson, 11 attempted arson, 2 theft- but I guess it’s below your paygrade, Batman. Hey, do you even get paid?”

“Where is he now?” you interrupted, feeling your blood boil at the mention of one of the people who burned down your safe haven.

“We put an APB on him. He’ll turn up eventually. But we have bigger things to deal with now,” Gordon explained, “Red Hood will retaliate. And soon. God have mercy on whoever he gets his hands on next.”

*** It was hard to wish for God to have mercy on whoever Red Hood gets his hand on next, especially since the victim this time was none other than Black Mask himself, who has killed and tortured hundreds.

But when you saw the state of Black Mask’s body, you found yourself taking back that thought.

His mask was a feet away from his body, which was still positioned in a sitting position on his leather armchair, facing the massive window of his office building which showed the city skyline. His face?

On his desk behind him.

Literally. His face was skinned messily, clumsily, and then placed on the glass desk behind him in a mound of bloody flesh. Red Hood did not take his time to skin Roman Sionis’ face off, that’s for sure.

Sionis had his neck slashed ear to ear, his carotids and jugular sliced through.

“Did he-” you started, “Did Red Hood do this to him alive?”

“We would need blood test results for that,” Batman said next to you, taking out a syringe to extract blood from the body. Where he kept it? You didn’t ask. You didn’t know he carried around a syringe and a vial to take blood.

“If the forensics saw you,” you giggled.

“Good thing they’re too slow,” Batman smirked.

He actually smirked.

You felt inappropriately happy, given the scene before you, but Batman had been cold to you these past few weeks. This was a step to him getting over it.

You heard people approaching.

“Jesus Christ!” you heard Gordon’s muffled voice behind the door. Probably counting the 31 dead security on his way up and outside.

“Let’s go,” Batman commanded, pushing open the door right before Gordon opened it.

“Batman-”

“I’ve got what I need,” he simply said and walked away, with you giving Gordon an apologetic smile and following behind him.

***

“Positive for suxamethonium chloride,” Bruce announced from the Cave computer as you walked towards him, freshly cleaned and changed.

“What?” you asked.

“Roman Sionis’ blood has traces of suxamethonium chloride, a neuromuscular-blocking drug,” he explained, “Induces paralysis for about ten minutes.”

“Jesus,” you whispered, “Red Hood injected him with that, and then peeled his face off while he couldn’t move?”

“Yes.”

“And does this sucks- suxo-”

“Suxamethonium chloride,” Bruce helped you.

“Yes, that,” you rolled your eyes, “Is it like, an anesthesia as well?”

“No,” Bruce replied, “Only a muscle relaxant. It’s used to perform quick medical interventions in emergency departments. When a muscle relaxant is induced, doctors would have the patient under a ventilator, since the diaphragm is also paralysed. But Red Hood did not have a ventilator, meaning Black Mask did not only feel the pain while he was being skinned, but was also suffocating.”

“Good thing he didn’t use a ventilator, though,” you shrugged, “At least since he couldn’t breathe, he would have passed out after a few minutes.”

“I see you have gotten used to his methods,” Bruce commented.

“What do you mean?” you frowned.

“You used to be more surprised after learning Red Hood’s brutal rituals,” Bruce pointed out.

Huh. He was right.

“I guess so,” you responded, “I would have had to get used to them eventually. Plus, it’s not like Black Mask was a saint, either. He deserved what he got.”

“We are not the ones who decides who deserves what,” Bruce reminded you.

“Just saying,” you shrugged again, “I’m heading to bed. Night, Bruce.”

“Hmm.”

You lied in bed that night, for the first time not thinking about how brutal Red Hood was. You just wish you could see him already. The past few weeks- for some reason you felt lonely. You felt like you were being deliberately ignored by someone you wanted attention from- while they were still flaunting their presence to you.

You missed him.

Fuck.

You finally realised that you missed the fucking asshole. Were you so bored that you were now craving the sight of a criminal?

Where was he, anyway?

You scoffed.

Right. Probably celebrating. With Black Mask gone, you just remembered- that Red Hood was now technically the ruler of the underworld.

[raging-violets]

“I know you still love him/her.” + your choice

Criminal Minds: Because of You / Prompt / JJ, Spencer, and Averey

Based on: 15x04, “Saturday”

Authored by: Rhuben

Standing side by side, JJ and Averey took in the sight of Spencer Reid. He was tall and gangly as he always was. But, he was in a sweatshirt. A sweatshirt. Ever since she had met him, she hadn’t ever seen Spencer in anything casual. Not even jeans. Except one rare occasion they tried hard not to bring up. Not even a t-shirt. Never without multiple layers. He was the physical embodiment of “dress to impress,” if his big brain wasn’t already doing so.

“Whoever this conversation was with,” JJ said with a knowing smile, “she’s put a smile on your face I haven’t seen in a long time.”

Spencer pressed his lips together, pursed them, opened his mouth to speak, and then closed it. He bowed his head. Then, his eyebrows furrowed together, and he looked JJ in the eye. “Wait, ‘she’?” he said. “I’m sorry, I didn’t say who I had this conversation with.”

Averey rest her arm on JJ’s shoulder, using her hand to cover her smile, scratching around her mouth. “It was definitely a girl, mate,” she said, her nose wrinkling as she smiled. “Clearly. JJ’s right, the only other time I’ve seen you smile like that is Halloween.”

“Because it’s the greatest holiday of the year,” Spencer said, lighting up. “It’s the strangest, most mystical day of the year. You get to dress up as whoever you want, watch scary movies, go door to door to get candy, carve pumpkins – you can take the time to remember those who’ve passed. I mean, it’s great. And…” He cleared his throat, his smile shifting to one side of his mouth, “and for one day, I wasn’t the weird kid.” His smile returned, and he shrugged. It was gone a moment later, a troubled expression suddenly appearing on his face. “Hey, so let’s go see the new baby.”

“Not so fast.” Averey stuck out her hand as Spencer moved to pass them. JJ followed her lead and the two of them pushed him back. She squinted, scrutinizing him. “What’s that look in your eyes?”

“What look?” Spencer asked.

“Spence.” JJ’s eyebrows shot upwards. She crossed her arms over her chest. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” Spencer replied. “Just, uh, anxious to go see Simmons’s new baby.”

JJ and Averey exchanged glances. “Well, you know there’s only a certain amount of people they can have in the room at one time, it’s probably already too crowded,” JJ said. Averey nodded emphatically. “In fact, I remember when I just gave birth to Henry – phew – it just about wore me out.”

Averey waved her hand in the air. “Yeah, and, really how big is a baby going to grow in a few minutes, or hours, or days?” Averey asked. “They all look like potatoes, anyway.”

“Well, with women only being dilated ten centimeters, it’s not uncommon for people to think newborns are ugly,” Spencer quickly explained. “In fact, most newborns have a point to their heads because of all the pressure and the muscles forcing it out of the birth canal for hours.” He started nodding his head, slowly stepping around them. He started walking backwards, nearing the Simmons family’s hospital room. “It would even be more defined if the baby needs to be taken out by suction because the fontanelle hasn’t all fused together yet because baby’s bones are softer, to allow for more flexibility in the birth canal. It could take as long as four months or so before the baby’s skull is fully formed.”

“JJ,” Averey said, “You mind if I talk to Spencer alone for a few minutes?” She turned towards JJ, pulling her mouth to one side. She tapped her bottom lip with her index finger before she pointed at Spencer. “I think I know what’s up.”

“Sure, of course,” JJ said with a nod. “I’ll just be at the vending machines. I practically had Will buy out all of the Hot Cheetos in the hospital after both my pregnancies.”

“Ooh, if they have any Cheese Curls, get some for me, please?” Averey asked, giving JJ a toothy, pleading smile, clasping her hands together.

“You’ve got it.”

“You know, it’s been found that the chemicals that make the spicy powder on Flaming Hot Cheetos has been linked to many hospital visits,” Spencer said. JJ lifted her eyebrows, giving him a close-lipped smile as she turned away from him, clicking her tongue as she did so. “It can lead to ulcers, intestinal erosion, and gastritis.”

“Spencer, sit down,” Averey said, putting a hand to her forehead. “I know what you’re doing.”

“Hmm?” A confused look crossed Spencer’s face. “What?” He used his thumb to point over his shoulder. He pulled is lips downwards in the corners. Widened his eyes in innocence. “I’m just going to see the baby. And saving JJ from severe abdominal pain.”

“Right. Fair go, Spencer, but you’ll have plenty of time for Matt and Kristy to pawn the baby off on you,” Averey said, swinging her arm in a circle, pointing towards the empty seats in the waiting room. “You can help accelerate her reading level, teach her the wonders of the world, and all of that. She’ll be graduating secondary in no time. And if a little pain is a result of those Hot Cheetos, I’m sure JJ will enjoy herself in the meantime.” She pointed to an empty chair. “Sit.”

Spencer darted his eyes back and forth before doing as he was told. Lowering himself into a hard, plastic seat, he placed his hands on his knees, drumming his fingertips on his kneecaps.

“Spencer, you don’t have to beat yourself up for enjoying a conversation with a woman,” Averey said.

“I-I’m not,” Spencer said. He stopped tapping and rubbed his hands on his thighs before clasping his hands together.

“Ok.” Averey let out a soft sigh before leaning forward in her seat. “Maeve wouldn’t want you to hold yourself back from being happy.”

“I’m not doing that, either.”

“Then why are you still here?” Averey asked. Spencer looked startled, his face scrunching into a look of confusion. She tilted her head to the side, holding it up with her index finger, elbow resting on the arm rest of her chair. “Mate, your face was lit up like a Jack O’Latern when you walked in here. Just because you spent the afternoon talking to someone you just met. Why aren’t you still talking with her?” She didn’t give him a chance to answer. “It wasn’t easy for me to feel like I was ready to start dating after Noel died. I felt like I was cheating on him in a way.”

Spencer blinked. He swallowed. Sat up straight in his seat. “You did?” he asked quietly.

“Yeah. It sucked,” Averey said bluntly. “How do you not feel like you’re doing something wrong? I thought Noel would be the only bloke I’d ever spend the rest of my life with. It felt weird to find out I could have the same strong feelings for someone else. Anyone else.”

Spencer bowed his head for a moment, before looking back up at Averey. “Maeve made me feel like I was normal,” Spencer replied. “Even when I worried I was having a psychotic break. She made me feel like I wasn’t weird for knowing so much, because she was intelligent, too.”

“Being an intellectual isn’t weird, Spencer,” Averey reminded him, “it’s who you are.”

“That’s what I mean,” Spencer said, his voice cracking slightly, “Maeve made me feel…like me.”

“Believe me,” Averey said, slowly blinking, “I know the feeling.” She watched as Spencer’s eyebrows pulled towards each other in the cute confused face he always made. She cleared her throat, leaning forward in her seat to rest her forearms on her knees. “Does this other girl give you that same feeling?”

“Well,” a thoughtful look came across Spencer’s face, “my therapist asked me to have a normal conversation with someone today. And we did. We—we had a nice conversation. Not about work.” Averey lifted an eyebrow. “Well, maybe a little bit. But we also talked about everything else.” He blinked. “And then she pushed me into the sprinklers.”

Averey snapped her fingers. “That explains the civvies,” she said with a smile.

“Yeah, and then I carried her through the sprinklers in retaliation,” Spencer said with a nod. A sly smile slowly spread across Averey’s face. “She was talking about decency and then turned right around and did something not decent.”

“So, you were flirting?”

“What? No, I was…”

“Flirting.” Slack jawed, Spencer’s gaze darted around the room from object to object. Averey hid her smile, and a small laugh, behind her hand as she watched him. “You know all Maeve wanted was for you to be happy,” she said as soon as she managed to get control over her laughter.

“I was happy with her,” Spencer replied.

“True,” Averey agreed. “But who said you could only have one thing, or in this case, one person in your life to make you happy?” She leaned forward and gently hit Spencer’s knee with her hand. “I know you still love her but take it from someone who’s done this; don’t ever let your happiness be determined by one person. No one’s asking you to forget Maeve. And knowing that you have an eidetic memory, I reckon you never could, anyway.”

“Thomas Merton,” Spencer whispered with a smile.

Averey’s nose wrinkled as she did a double take. “Who?”

“Maeve knows,” Spencer replied. His smile widened.

JJ slowed her footsteps as she neared them, arms filled with bags of snack foods. “Is it ok for me to come back?” she asked, making a show of extending her footsteps. “Everything ok over here?”

“I don’t know,” Averey said, slouching in her chair, albeit with a grin, “with a big brain like that, it’s hard to know if it’ll understand such simple topics.”

“We’re ok,” Spencer said to JJ.

“Good,” JJ replied. “So now you can get out of here.”

“But…” Spencer grabbed the arm rests of his chair and lifted himself to his feet. “I still haven’t seen the baby.”

“She’ll still be a baby whenever you see her,” JJ replied, handing Averey a bag of Cheese Curls (“Yay!” Averey cheered, grabbing the pack and hugging it to her chest). “Matt will understand.” She fixed Spencer with a hard stare. “Go, Spencer.”

“Run if you have to,” Averey added.

Spencer lifted himself up and stopped part way between standing and sitting; an odd squat. “But, maybe I should—”

“Go,” both girls said in unison.

With that, Spencer jumped to his feet and ran out of the hospital wing. “Oh my gosh,” JJ whispered, sitting down next to Averey. She set the bags of snack foods down into the chair next to her before pulling open a bag of Hot Cheetos.

“Jayje.”

“Hmm?”

Averey used her hands to indicate between herself and JJ. “We both know that Spencer was able to skive the physical tests at the Academy,” she said. JJ nodded, popping a Cheeto into her mouth before licking the powder off her fingers. “But that,” she pointed to the spot Spencer was just standing, “was the worst running form I’ve seen in my life.”

“Yeah, uh,” settling the bag in her lap, JJ used her free hand to push her fingers into her hair, scratching at the back of her head, pulling her hair to one side of her neck. “I can’t explain that. Stick a gun in his hand, and he follows through with the correct form; finger off trigger, down at his side.” She lifted her hands and shrugged. “I don’t know.”

“I don’t think anyone can explain that,” Averey said, settling back in her seat, laughing quietly. She was silent for a moment before saying, “Hank Spencer Morgan for Spencer, Rose Mary Simmons because ‘it’s close to Rossi’, what do you reckon I have to do around here to have a bloody baby named after me?”

-

[ Random Angst Starters | Ask Box ]

[carrotcouple]

I Want Your Life's Worth In Gold (AO3)

Day 4 (09/11) – price | debt and repayment | “take a good swing at me and everything is even”  – gun, CHVRCHES

“Are you drinking alone?” A tall skinny man to Chuuya’s right asks him. Chuuya is sitting at the bar alone, but has rejected anyone asking to drink with him. Chuuya lifts the glass to his lips, taking a sip of the fruity wine and then turns to glance at the man. He’s a pirate, Chuuya remembers him from his wanted poster. His bounty is pitifully low. Chuuya isn’t interested in him in the least. 

“No, I’m waiting for someone,” Chuuya tells him, giving him a clearly uninterested look. He turns back to his drink and the bartender fills his glass. The man next to him seethes, but Chuuya thinks he knows that he would be unmatched in a fight. If someone with a bounty as low as his managed to make it to Saboady Archipelago, he must at least have the brains to know which fights he shouldn’t pick. He’d probably end up as an Emperor’s slave as soon as he crossed into New World. 

Chuuya doesn’t have much time. Entering New World is hard, especially for someone of his occupation. He could attempt to travel via Mariejois, but he’d rather die than go near the Celestial Dragons. So he has to finish up his work here on Saboady or board some unfortunate pirate ship, head over into New World and then trade all their heads in at the Marine Headquarters. Chuuya isn’t too keen on the second option, but if he has to, he will. 

“Are you drinking alone?” Chuuya groans and turns. 

Well, this was quite the heavy hitter. He had a pretty high bounty. Chuuya knows him from his poster again. But Chuuya isn’t bothered because he’s taken down those of this guy’s size easily. The bar would get a little destroyed, but that doesn’t concern Chuuya. 

“I’m waiting for someone,” Chuuya says. 

“You’ve been saying that for the last hour. Either you’ve been stood up, or you’re lying,” The man leers in Chuuya’s face and his breath smells of alcohol. Chuuya makes a face.

“Regardless, that’s none of your business,” Chuuya tells him. 

“Well, it’s either you drink with me, or I’ll pound your head in,” the man grins widely. Chuuya rolls his eyes. Why did these pirates all discard their brains? 

“I refuse,” Chuuya says, smiling. “You’re ugly.”

Chuuya watches as realization slowly dawns across the large man’s flushed face and then his large meaty hand wraps around Chuuya’s collar and lifts Chuuya off the ground. 

“Do you want to die, pretty boy?” he growls. 

Chuuya pulls his hands into fists, ready to punch this guy so hard his intestines will come spewing out of his mouth and then there’s a thin, bony and scarred hand on the man’s arm. 

“Now, now,” says a pleasant voice in a sing song way. “Let’s not get into any fights in a lovely bar like this where the wine and food is nice.”

Everyone in the entire bar turns to look at the newcomer. He’s a relatively tall and skinny looking man. He isn’t sporting any weapons - or rather they can’t see any. His entire body is almost completely covered in bandages and there’s a wide and cheerful grin on his face. Only idiots wouldn’t realize this man is about to kill someone. Behind him is a boy with white skin and black hair and a girl with a mask and a hand on her sword.

“The Inhuman King!” The man holding Chuuya almost screams. 

“This man has been waiting to drink with me. I’m afraid I’m horribly late.” the man with the bandages keeps that pleasant smile on his face. Chuuya is tempted to spit in his direction just to see if he can change his expression. The man holding Chuuya immediately lets go of him and Chuuya alights to the ground perfectly. “And, if you want to live, you should leave.” 

The bar nearly empties after that. 

“Are you drinking alone?” The bandaged man asks him. 

“I was waiting for you, clearly,” Chuuya drawls. 

“I see,” the man slides into the seat next to him. 

“So, what’s a big shot like you doing in a small bar like this?” Chuuya asks. 

“Sightseeing,” the man says as the rest of his crew enters the bar and takes tables and orders food and drinks. There’s not many of them and most of them look like teenagers. All of them have high bounties on their heads. Chuuya could retire and live in a castle with the money he could make off of them. “Can I buy you a drink?”

“You better hold yourself to that,” Chuuya says and then orders the most expensive wine the bar has. 

------o------

The Inhuman King’s background is a mystery. He emerged on the Grandline half a year ago and became notoriously well known for being absolutely immune to Devil Fruits. No one could figure out why and as far as the marines knew, he was a normal human. He climbed in rank and bounty among pirates and became one of the most well known pirates aside from the Seven Warlords and The Four Emperors. His crew mates are also well known, ranging from a former Celestial Dragon slave to escaped World Government experiments. 

And Chuuya so happens to be sitting in an empty bar with all of them. Some of the crewmates have started dancing. A particularly pretty white haired boy is dancing with the first mate. 

The Inhuman King is leaning into Chuuya’s space, fingers wrapped around Chuuya’s hair and lips pressed to the strands. 

“Dazai san,” the girl that Chuuya noticed earlier approaches them and The Inhuman King clicks his tongue in mild annoyance and turns to look at her. “I need to talk to you about the log pose and the ship coating…” she glances at Chuuya, “in private.”

“Understood,” he turns to Chuuya and smiles charmingly. Chuuya gives him a deadpan look. “I will be back,” he says and then he follows the girl. 

The white haired boy and first mate are almost immediately next to Chuuya. 

“Will you be joining the crew?” the white haired boy asks, a large and innocent smile on his face. 

“Don’t say strange things,” the first mate says, his voice bland. 

“I will not be joining your crew, unfortunately,” Chuuya tells the boy. 

“That’s so sad! Just when Dazai san seems to have found someone that actually interests him!” the white haired boy pouts.

“If Dazai san wants him to join, then he’s probably going to join, whether he wants to or not.” The first mate throws Chuuya a look of what may be pity and Chuuya scoffs.

“Even if he wants me to join, I won’t,” Chuuya says. 

“True,” The Inhuman King is back and he’s smiling brightly at Chuuya. “After all, we can’t have the most notorious bounty hunter on the Grandline in our crew,” 

Chuuya immediately lunges at Dazai and Dazai raises his arm to block the kick that sends him crashing into the wall. The bartender yelps and hides behind the counter, the first mate grabs the white haired boy and leaps backwards. 

“Get up, shitty mackerel. I know that wasn’t enough to do you in. How long do you think I’ve known you?” Chuuya snarls. 

“Your kicks have gotten weaker, Chuuya,” Dazai sighs, leaping back to his feet. “You never do get tired of this game, do you?”

“You call this a game?” Chuuya growls. 

“Of course! It’s like a game of cat and mouse! We meet, we act like lovers, we fight and then you follow me everywhere!” Dazai grins widely and Chuuya smiles, like there’s venom dripping from his lips. 

“It’s only because you have such an enticing bounty,” Chuuya says. The entire crew is pointing their weapons at Chuuya and Dazai waves his hands.

“No worries, this is just a lovers spat,” Dazai says.

“You left,” Chuuya hisses. 

“I did,” Dazai answers.

“Explain yourself, you bandage wasting bastard!” Chuuya near screams. “Why did you leave and why am I on Mori’s hit list? What did you do?”

“I just felt like it!” Dazai laughs. 

“You fucking bastard,” Chuuya growls. Dazai laughs some more and then he tilts his head, looking at Chuuya. 

“I’m heading to New World. You’ll come with me, won’t you, Chuuya?” he asks. Chuuya glowers at him. 

“Of course I will. I haven’t taken your head yet.” Chuuya bends down and picks up his hat which is lying at his feet. 

“As expected of my Chuuya,” Dazai hops to his feet and crosses the room with spritely footsteps, one arm instantly wrapping around Chuuya’s shoulders. 

“Once we get to New World, we’re going our separate ways and I’m going to hunt you down and kill you myself,” Chuuya grumbles, putting his hat on his head. Dazai nuzzles his face into Chuuya’s hair. “Don’t fucking touch me.”

“But Chuuya smells especially good today!” Dazai says. 

“You’re a nuisance,” Chuuya says as Dazai presses a kiss to the side of his mouth. 

“Always,” Dazai sings.