#and now any time i remember anything its wrapped in pain and i hate remembering stuff because of it

[bronze-main]

Vent under the cut and in the tags

Sometimes it feels like it's never gonna be ok. And I don't know what to do.

[viridescent-din]

benevolence

you always imagined it your first kiss would be... softer, than it ends up being. but it’s joel. you probably should have known.

smut, 18+. age gap. joel is a grumpy old man who hates himself and reader is down bad.

~

The first time Joel kisses you, it isn’t romantic.

It’s angry - he’s angry. The clicker that just had its hands on you lies motionless a few feet away, mouth frozen in the open position it was in when Joel shot it. Joel is checking you over relentlessly for bites. He’s running his hands over your waist, flashing his light on your neck... fuck, he’s even tugging up the cuffs of your jeans to check your ankles.

“You don’t do that,” he pants, fuming once he knows you’re okay. You’re adrenalized, shaken up and not working off your best judgment. You meet Joel’s eyes.

“Don’t do what? Be on the wrong side of the room? Have the batteries run out of my flashlight? This wasn’t my fault, Joel.” Joel shakes his head, pissed, and he grips the nape of your neck. You didn’t even realize his hand is still there, sturdy and calloused. You bite your cheek. “I didn’t do anything wrong.”

“Shut up,” Joel growls, and it makes you even more upset.

“I didn’t - stop blaming me. Stop making me feel like a dumbass, because I’m trying and I’m tired but I’m still better than half the people in the Q -”

Joel cuts you off before you can keep egging either of you on, his lips connecting with yours in a harsh and almost painful way. Your teeth clash, and Joel kisses you with so much force you almost fall, the only thing saving you being his strong arm wrapping around your back. You open your mouth, probably from shock, and Joel’s tongue does a quick sweep around the cavern when you do. Your hands fly up to Joel’s chest instinctively for balance, and you can feel his racing heartbeat under your palm. It makes you falter. You didn’t realize he was so worried.

You’re just starting to ease into it Joel stops.

His teeth catch your bottom lip as he pulls away, and you both taste blood. Joel steps away, the both of you just staring at each other, panting.

“Do you get it?” He asks, voice gruff. “Don’t fucking do that.”

You blink, years of pining and want pouring over you. You swallow, tasting just a bit of what you think is Joel.

“Yeah,” you tell him. “I get it.”

~

The second time isn’t any more passionate. It’s done to prove a point, just like the first.

You’re leaning against the counter as you drink at the bar, still trying to wrap your head around this actual town Tommy is living in. It feels so real - like the flashes of memory you have of the world before the outbreak. You’re shivering a bit, your hair still wet from the shower you took. The shower with warm water. Joel is back at the house Tommy and Maria gave you to stay in. He insisted you shower first - he wanted to make sure that if there was hot water to use up, it was you who got it. He sent you off to the bar with the promise of meeting you there soon.

You’re drinking a whiskey neat, not because you like the drink, but because it feels warm in your chest and you know Joel will finish it. You’re sipping on it as you talk to a few men that are locals. They’re a bit older than you, but definitely younger than Joel. They seem nice, better than the lecherous creeps you keep managing to find on your journey (infected or not). One of them works in the stables, taking care of the horses. You smile as you listen to him talk about them. You think you can remember a few girls in elementary school who had farms and horses before everything broke down.

A hand slides around your waist as you’re talking, and you have to crane your neck to see Joel appearing next to you. He’s much taller without a backpack: less weighed down. His shoulders are relaxed and broad. You forget how to breathe for a moment, utterly taken by him.

“Hi,” you say softly. Joel doesn’t acknowledge it. You can feel the anger permeating off him, it’s more present than the hand he has that’s now gripping your side. You blink. “Joel.”

Joel looks down at you, his eyes flickering back and forth between you and the men. He brings his free hand up to your face, cupping your jaw. This time you know, you aren’t surprised when his lips meet yours.

You’re pissed at Joel - you’re furious that he’s doing this again, touching you without any indication for months that it’s something he wants. You know Joel feels for you, but when he only confirms it so damn scarcely, it’s easy for you to doubt. You try to steel yourself, only let him in so deep, but Joel is already with you, whether he’s touching you or not. The two of you are permanently connected, just like anyone else who’s ever survived together. Despite your best efforts, you melt into him, holding onto the lapels of the jacket Joel told you he got from trading with Bill.

By the time you pull away, your potential friends are already muttering among themselves, making up excuses to leave. They exit, giving you and Joel the entirety of the counter. You shake your head, turning so you aren’t facing Joel. You give it a few minutes, then walk out in the direction of the house. You’ve barely made it out the door of the bar when Joel pulls you into the little alley next to it.

“Joel, stop. It’s snowing. I didn’t bring a coat.” Joel pulls his off, wrapping it around you. You scoff, but don’t turn it down. “Joel -”

“Didn’t want them getting the wrong idea.” He interrupts you. You stare at Joel, incredulous.

“And what wrong idea is that, Joel?” You ask, then don’t let him answer. “They were nice. Just welcoming one of the new strangers to town.”

“They weren’t just being nice.”

“Yes, Joel, they were. Have you already forgotten about that ambush that happened when we got here? This place isn’t about to let in any assholes. Not the type you’re accusing those guys of being, at least.” Joel sets his jaw, taking a step towards you. You back up as he approaches until you hit the wall of the bar. You let out a breathe, one you can see. It’s fucking cold. You don’t know how Joel isn’t shivering, his freshly showered wet hair glistening in the light of the few street lamps.

“They needed to know,” Joel says. He’s so close to you. You smell the shampoo and soap that Maria has given him, but underneath that, he’s still Joel. Musky and experienced. Territorial. You can’t help being mad at him, but you’re terrible at committing to it.

“They need to know what?” Joel doesn’t answer. He places his hands on either side of you, caging you in. He won’t look at you. You raise your arms, placing your hands on Joel’s. You slip your thumbs under the long sleeves on his shirt, rubbing at Joel’s lifeline. His lips part as he exhales. “Joel, nobody can know about this when you won’t even say anything about it to me.”

You expect Joel to fight, maybe chastise you, but he doesn’t. He slumps against you, head buried in your chest and arms wrapping around your torso in a crushing bear hug. You blink, caught off guard, but you recover quickly, throwing one hand around Joel’s shoulders and bringing the other to massage the nape of his neck. You can feel the fight leaving Joel, just for a moment. You wonder what’s softening him: the shower, the almost normal town, finding Tommy.

You.

Joel doesn’t do this. You don’t know anything about his life before the outbreak, but you know he hasn’t loved many people. He’s approaching this in all the wrong ways, but he doesn’t know any better. He has to re learn, and you have to learn for the first time.

All Joel needs right now is a little reassurance.

“Joel. Joel. Baby,” you whisper in his ear, pressing your lips to his temple. “They didn’t want anything from me. And it wouldn’t matter if they did. They’re nothing.” Joel’s fingers dig into your ribs, and you can tell you’re going to bruise. You don’t care. “They’re nothing. I don’t care about them. I don’t care about anyone here.”

You close your eyes, burying your nose in the side of Joel’s neck and inhaling. You let Joel surround you, take up all your senses. You posture up, taking Joel with you. You take his face in your hands, your lips brushing over his forehead, cheeks, nose. You kiss the patches in his beard where the hair doesn’t grow, and his eyelids when his eyes drift shut. You’re overcome with affection, the feelings you push down every time you see Joel forcing themselves up. You almost want to cry. “Joel, you’re so handsome.” Joel tenses, praise unfamiliar to him, but you watch as he forces himself not to reject it. His fingers find the loops of your jeans, pulling you flush against him so there isn’t any part of you that isn’t touching. You let him. You ask for it.

“They’re not you,” you promise him. “Nobody here will ever be you.”

~

The night at the bar doesn’t magically fix everything. But it does make it harder for you and Joel to let go of each other - metaphorically and literally - so you start to sleep with him. Every night, Joel tucks you under his arm, letting you use his steady heartbeat to fall asleep to. Every morning, you wake up with the positions reversed, cradling Joel’s head to your chest.

The first time Joel has a nightmare, you think someone (something) has broken in.

You wake up to Joel thrashing, drenching the covers in a cold sweat. You grab his shoulders and shake, putting any worries about hurting Joel aside.

“Joel,” you say, your voice shaking but firm. “Wake up. Wake up,” Joel sits up, his eyes flying open. He blinks, gathering his bearings and realizing he’s safe. You pant, reaching out to put a hand on his arm. Joel flinches, so you draw it away. “Sorry,” you apologize. Joel turns, looking at you like he didn’t realize you were there. He says your name, sounding broken.

“You’re -” he says, then pauses, trying to figure what he’s trying to say. “You’re here.” You stare at him.

“Yeah, Joel.” You say. “I’m here. I’m with you.” Joel reaches for you, tugging you close and then pressing you against the sheets. He grunts, like he’s trying to make sense of everything.

“Can I - Will you let me -” Joel searches for the words, but can’t come up with them. You just nod.

“Yes,” you tell him. “You can do whatever you need. I trust you.” Joel freezes above you, almost glaring. His hands begin to toy with the hem of your shirt, and your heart begins to pound against your rib cage.

Joel slowly pulls your shirt up, dragging his mouth over every inch of skin he reveals. His chapped lips explore every curve and softness of your belly, and when you raise your arms so he can rid you of the article of clothing completely, he does the same to your breasts. It doesn’t even feel sexual, Joel isn’t licking or biting. He’s just feeling, touching. You feel dizzy, arousal pooling between your legs. You grip the sheets between your fingers.

“I’m only good for you in here,” Joel says against your skin. It sends vibrations throughout your body, you feel his voice everywhere. You shake, but you’re not cold. He sits back on his knees to look at you, so you prop yourself up on your elbows. You blink.

“I don’t know what you mean,” you admit. Joel shakes his head.

“I’m good for you here,” he gestures to the room. “And here,” he jabs a finger to his chest, over his heart, then mirrors the action on you. It kind of hurts, but you don’t show it. “But out there? I’m not a good man,” you open your mouth to protest, but Joel shuts you down with just one look. You stay silent. “I’ve done... I’ve done some bad things. Bad enough I don’t think Tommy really wanted to see me again.” Joel shakes his head. “And I - I would do those things for you. I even want to sometimes.” Your eyes widen, and Joel sees it. He sours. “Bein’ good for you means that I’m bad for everyone else. Do you get what I’m tellin’ you?” Joel’s drawl comes out as he gets more emotional. “You need to know that. And if we’re gonna keep doing this, you need to accept it too. It might not be fair. I don’t know if it is. But this is the way things are. You understand me?”

You stare at Joel, watching him bare himself to you in a way you don’t think he’s done for anyone else in a long, long, time. You suck in a shaky breath, and swallow.

“I understand you.” You pull Joel over you, looking up at him. “I still trust you.” You tell him.

Joel lets his head drop, not letting you see him. He works his way down your chest, from your collarbone to navel until he reaches the button of your jeans. Glancing at you to tell him to stop, he strips you of the pants when you don’t. You watch as he looks at you, staring at your most intimate area, and then presses his face to the inside of your thigh. He strokes your calf.

“You don’t what you’re gettin’ yourself into.” He murmurs, almost absentmindedly.

“Yes I do,” you protest. “I’ve been with you for years, Joel. I know you as much as you’ve let me. Let me know more. Let me decide for myself.”Joel holds your gaze. You pant, throbbing. “Let me give something to you. If you don’t think I know you, or us, that’s fine. It makes me sad, but it’s fine.” Joel presses an open mouthed kiss to the meat of your thigh, and you whimper. “I know myself, though, Joel. I know what I want. It’s you. I promise. I’m trusting you, Joel. Can’t you just trust me too?”

Joel looks at you in awe, and then gives you an affectionate frown. He doesn’t say ‘okay’ or anything like that. Instead, he just ducks his head, thrusting his tongue into your sex like a starved man, and holds you down as you keen and shake.

~

Joel used to refuse to give you any sort of heightened affection, any type of intimacy. He’s getting better at that. Joel strokes your cheek when you wake up in the morning, offers you bland but hearty oatmeal when he notices you haven’t eaten. He drops to his knees the second he sees that your shoe’s come untied.

He doesn’t like it when you try to do the same. Joel’s self-hatred is so deep seated he thinks the very act of you loving him is equivalent to any act of service. When you finally convince him to let do something for him - helping him undress, washing his hair, taking his cock down your throat - you have to promise him you want it too. Only once it’s happening will Joel let himself take. He’ll stay in the shower for hours, fuck your mouth until you can’t speak.

Joel is greedy when he lets himself be. That’s why it hurts so much that he won’t have sex with you.

“It’ll change things, baby.” He tells you, trying to ease the blow. You just don’t get it.

“We’ve already changed them.” You respond, looking away. “I don’t... I don’t want to pressure you, Joel. Just tell me if that’s not what you want.”

“Hey,” Joel grips your jaw, forcing your eyes to meet his. “That’s not it. Don’t you think that.” You swallow, but nod, accepting Joel’s words. He releases you, then begins petting your side. It’s spring now. Joel looks good under the morning light from the window. “You’re sweet. You couldn’t pressure me into anything.”

He’s right. Joel is his own man. His days of being easily influenced are long gone.

~

You learn to live with it, this tiny piece of rejection. You accept that there’s something about sex that’s too much for Joel. It’s strange, because it almost hurts more than it did before you and Joel got closer. Like you’re close enough to grab what you want, but can’t quite. It’s okay, though. You want him enough to accept whatever he’ll give you, and parts of Joel is better than none of him.

You wonder if the two of you have settled. You’ve been in Jackson for six months - but it feels like years. For the first time since you can remember, you’re living instead of surviving. It’s exhilarating. You and Joel are both showing signs of domesticity: the callouses on your hands have almost entirely disappeared, and Joel’s face has gotten a bit rounder. A couple extra pounds looks good on Joel. You like knowing he isn’t running himself to the bone.

With all this extra time, Joel has started taking you out of the town so you can perfect your shooting. He sets up targets, adjusts your grip, and watches you for what seems like hours. You’re getting better, but the process is painstaking. Everyone back in the QZ knew you were much more adept with a knife.

“Knife ain’t good for infected. You have to get too close.” Joel tells you, his lips brushing the shell of your ear. His hand snakes around your hip, pulling your knife from your front pocket. He tosses it to the side. “Now you don’t have a knife. Just the gun.” Joel points over your shoulder and at the target. “Shoot.”

You hit the target five times in the row.

You squeal in excitement, jumping up and down and dropping the gun. You turn around and practically jump into Joel’s arms. You’re grinning, and Joel is almost smiling, which for him is a huge victory. He cups your face, thumb stroking your cheekbone before he kisses you.

You’re still smiling into Joel’s mouth, and he’s swallowing your moans as one of his hands drops from your face to your chest. He finds the hardened bud of your nipple even over the material of your shirt - you never wear bras anymore, you haven’t felt the need since coming to Jackson - and he pinches. You whimper, pleasure shooting through your veins. Joel is hard, you can see the tent in your pants, feel it against your belly. When he breaks the kisses, Joel keeps himself pressed to you.

“I need this too, baby. I need it too.” You can hear the fight in Joel’s voice, the inner turmoil. You try to say okay, but can’t find the words.

~

Joel picks you up, throws you onto your shared bed. He’s being reckless - he literally tossed the gun on the couch in the living room. It’s not loaded, but still.

Joel stands back, breathing slightly erratic, and stares at you. He eyes you hungrily, like a starving man.

He’s about to indulge.

Joel pulls his shirt over his head, and you do the same, shimmying out of your jeans. You freeze when when Joel takes off the last item of his clothes, staring. You swallow.

Joel is beautiful.

You push yourself up, crawling to the edge of the bed. You place your hands on Joel’s sides, looking up to meet his eyes. He gives you an affectionate frown, stroking your cheek. He’s so broad. You press your lips to Joel’s collarbone, then cover him in your kisses. You kiss his neck, shoulders, chest, belly. Joel groans, his hand tangling in your hair. His cock is hard against his stomach, and you give the head a quick lick, cupping his balls. Joel’s eyes fly open, and before you even know what’s happening, he’s pressed you flat against the sheets, pinning your arms above your head.

“Don’t,” Joel warns you. “It’s been too long. And you’re -” Joel cuts himself, dragging his tongue over your throat to catch a bead of sweat. He presses his length against your hip, and you gasp. “You touch me like that again and I’ll cum.”

“Joel,” you whisper, but he just shakes his head. He holds his palm out in front of your face.

“Spit,” he commands. “You’re gonna want to make it easier on yourself, darlin.’” You take a breath, your chest brushing Joel’s. You squeeze your legs together, searching for any type of friction. Your face burns. “C’mon,” Joel says, softer this time. “I’ve seen you sweatin’ with blood caked in your hair. I’ve seen at your worst. Right now I’m seein’ you at your best.” A small smile manages to crinkle the edges of Joel’s eyes. “Nothing to be embarrassed about here.”

You blink up at Joel, and realize you feel exactly the way you always do around him: safe. Free, supported. You don’t have to worry about anything, not looking pretty or being good enough. It’s Joel.

You’re with Joel.

You spit in his hand, then watch as he strokes his cock with it. He spreads the beads of pre cum on his head down the shaft too, and then runs himself through your folds. You keen instantly, the feeling unlike anything (anything) you’ve ever felt. When Joel’s head brushes your clit, you feel like you’re dying.  He lines himself up, teasing your entrance, and when Joel slides in, he keeps a careful watch of your face for any signs of pain. He takes care of you.

Joel stays still to let you adjust, and you feel him everywhere. Your body, your brain, your heart. Joel is all encompassing. He’s inescapable.

When you give Joel a small nod, he starts to move. He thrusts in an out, setting a steady pace. You grip the muscle of his arms, arching your back to get him deeper.

“That’s it,” Joel tells you. “Good job,” you clench around him at the praise, and you think you hear Joel let out a chuckle. He keeps working you open, each thrust a bit deeper until he’s buried to the hilt. You and Joel stop, both feeling. He lets out a breath, drops his face in your shoulder. Joel pulls out, then enters you again, burying himself once more. “I missed you,” he says into your skin.

For a moment, you don’t know what Joel’s talking about. You’ve been traveling with him for years, and since living in Jackson, you’ve hardly left his side.

Then you realize this is Joel’s way of telling you you’re familiar, and part of him.

You wrap one of your arms around Joel’s shoulders, link your ankles behind his hips. You pull Joel impossibly close, so close he has to abandon his idea of rubbing his thumb over your clit. He does the same to your nipple instead, pinching and pulling and driving you closer and closer to the edge. You feel sensation building in your stomach, the edges of your vision blurring.

“Joel,” you gasp. “Joel, I think.. I think I’m close.” Joel shushes you, brushing baby hairs off your forehead.

“It’s alright baby, let it go. Let me make you feel good.” He tells you. All it takes is a few more sweet nothings before your shuddering against him, riding out your high. Joel’s eyes roll to the back of his head as you clench him impossibly tight. He curses. Without a word, Joel pulls out before he can climax inside you, spurting on both of your stomachs. He collapses next you, his hand finding yours and squeezing it.

“I’m sorry it took so long,” Joel murmurs, dragging  his lips across your knuckles. You can feel his cum begin to dry on your stomach. You hum.

“Worth it,” you manage to whisper back. “You’re worth it, Joel.”

Joel turns his head, meeting your eyes, taking in all of your sincerity. For know, he doesn’t know what to do with it. But he’ll learn.

He’ll re learn. All of this - these ideas of love and mutual partnership - he’ll make it familiar again. All so he can stay close.

[stararch4ngelqueen]

CUDDLES WITH JASON. HE HAD A NIGHTMARE AND READER CUDDLES HIM BACK TO THE SLEEP. SCRATCHES HIS SCALP AND SHIT. THIS MAN DESERVES SOFTNESS. Much Love💕

Thank you!!! I hope you enjoy this! ❤️

—

Time written - 5:53 p.m

—

You wouldn’t call yourself a heavy or light sleeper, but every time you heard a strange, crooked gasp in the dead of night, you knew Jason was awake.

It’s quick and brash, as if choking on air, followed by a short series of gasps and harsh, rapid panting.

Fresh, clean air fills his lungs, not the stuffy, stale oxygen of a silk lined coffin, putrid with the stench of wet dirt; fresh flowers, and slightest tinge of formaldehyde.

“Jay?” The sweet serenity of your voice alerts him of your existence, of the reality of him not buried six feet underground.

Long before they filled up fresh graves with concrete.

His head shifts, tired teal eyes blown wide open with unidentified levels of panic.

Despite the darkness, it’s not enough for him to cower and hide from the shame of your worried gaze on him.

The blankets pool over his lap once he abruptly sits up, running hand through his sleep tussled locks. His muscles tremble like he’d run a marathon, or crawled out of a grave with his own two hands. If the lights were on, he’d believe he still have patches of dirt and grass clinging underneath his broken fingernails.

Before you, he wouldn’t go back to sleep so easily. He’d go out for any sort of distraction; mainly consisting of on his gear for a rooftop ghost chase. Anything to distract him from the confines of his mental prison when his darkest fears erupted into his dreams.

That was, until soft fingers brush along his skin, your hand comfortably wrapping around his broad forearm. You lean yourself against his shoulder, bare skin plush as you comfort him with whispers of consolation.

“M’sorry. M’so sorry,” He pants out with his head hung low, voice involuntarily trembling as he struggles to comprehend your soft words.

Even in his distress, he apologized for what he believes were his mistakes. Disturbing you of your sleep, causing a scene.

He hated this vulnerability, wanting to chase it out of his mind by hundreds of distractions, but he couldn’t.

Jason didn’t want to leave you, even if you’d allow it. You’d wait for him, he didn’t want that.

Another set of fingers trail behind his neck, slipping up to cradle his head close. He has no action over his body now, trembling nerves complying with your gentle touch.

“Shh, it’s okay.” You whisper against his cheek, keeping your arms secure about him as best as you could. “You’re alright, Jason. Its just us, in our home. Our anniversary was four hours ago, remember?”

His head settles down on your shoulder, brows heavily furrowed in distress despite his faint smile at the comment. He always told you to never hold in your tears, but always felt guilty when it came to releasing his. It ached deep in his throat; molten hot and bright red, nearly as painful as being facially branded all those years ago.

It took months of patience for you to learn his story, his suffering, his trauma. Any of it could’ve been the source of his nightmares, but why seek through the aches of the past? No good could come of it, their was no need.

Gentle hands guide him back to lay down, some of his body settling over yours. His head rests along your chest after you tug the blankets back over your bare bodies, encasing you both in a warm bubble of comfort.

Your heartbeat eased his troubled thoughts into pure silence, soothing his headache in seconds. Supple skin pressed against his faintly stubbled cheek, carrying a hint of sweet fragrance from your lotion.

“You okay?” You question, keeping as calm as possible for his sake. You never minded coming to his aid, never minding being his shoulder to cry on, or his body to embrace when he felt alone.

“Mhm.” Came his weak reply.

Your fingers lightly scratch along his scalp shortly after such a limited response, leaving him in utter heaven from such intimate, soothing motions.

“You wanna talk about it?”

“No.” His sleep induce rasp permeated his tone, too comfortable to even maneuver the muscles in his mouth. Every nerve in his body melted, making him putty in your hands.

“Okay.” You didn’t pry, only resuming the Lord’s divine work of your fingers combing through Jason’s hair.

A small hum rumbles deeply from his throat, his hands shuffling under soft sheets to caress your body. Arms slipping underneath your back, he cradles you like a pillow, keeping himself secured to your smaller frame.

Soft, honeysuckle lips kiss along his forehead, solidifying the facts of his comfort, his safety. He was safe; he was alive, he was here, right where he needed to be.

If the moon shined her rays just a little brighter through the cracks of the curtains, you’d be blessed with the sight of dilated pupils swallowing up those pretty blue irises. Jason adoringly staring into the distance towards the bedroom wall, eyes slowly lulled closed behind thick lashes.

His only regret was falling asleep way too soon, wanting to experience this slice of heaven just a little bit longer.

[tangledinink]

[ swanatello ] ->

Donnie had found that now, he almost didn’t mind sunrise. He didn’t enjoy it, per se. But he wasn’t sure if he hated it anymore, either. 

At first, it had been awful. 

Every single morning, like clockwork, as soon as sunrise approached, all he could feel was fear seeping through every corner of his body. It pressed in tight until it filled him up and forced him rigid and sharp, searing the backs of his eyes and the curve of his neck. Every morning, the only thing he knew was that something bad was about to happen. He didn’t really remember those moments. All he remembered was feeling, more than anything, that he had to get back to his lake. That he had to get home. 

(He did remember coming to, after the transformation was over and the panic eased off. They never talked about it, but everyone would always be looking at him with these faces that told him plenty. Every time they’d be all teary-eyed and shaky. And he’d wake up pinned in the firm press of Raph’s big hands, careful and gentle but still so tight it was almost painful. Sometimes, some of them would be bloodied, and he knew they’d never say it but he also knew it was his fault.)

The worst part was that he already was home. He knew that. He knew he was with his family. He knew that he, Hamato Donatello, was finally back where he belonged. 

He hated how hollow the victory felt.

No matter how long he looked, he couldn’t quite find any joy in it. He wasn’t happy or relieved. He wasn’t lonely or mournful, either, wasn’t missing the lake or longing for its company. Mostly, he was just… tired.

He just wanted to sleep.

The longer he was here, the more he adjusted, and the easier the routine was. He didn’t panic like that anymore. The fear never quite went away, rising up red hot and swollen in his throat over the horizon each and every morning with the sun, but at least they didn’t have to hold him down anymore. At least he didn’t hurt them.

Either way, they always stayed with him. 

“Leo?”

There were two minutes left. Even if he wasn’t staring down the clock, he’d still know. He’d feel it. 

“Yeah?”

And that was why, really. Why he couldn’t quite find it in himself to mind the sunrise.

“It’s almost time.”

Even if it was fear. At least at sunrise, he felt something. 

“I know,” Leo soothed, shifting slightly across the bed to sit a bit closer to him, nudging Donnie ever-so-softly with his shoulder. “Don’t worry. I’m not going anywhere.”

But Donnie never worried about that. He knew Leo wouldn’t leave. He knew he’d stay. He knew that nothing bad would happen— that he wouldn’t die. That it wouldn’t even be painful. He knew that at the end of it, whoever was with him with scoop him up and hold him in their lap. He knew they’d pet his feathers and talk to him all quiet and soft, gentle and low until he fell asleep. He knew they’d still be there when he woke up again.

It never stopped the fear. It still couldn’t stop the jump in his heart rate and the hitch to his breath, running off ahead of him as if to scout for trouble. It still never kept all his muscles from coiling up tight, pulled taut across his skeleton, bracing for impact. It had yet to prevent his hands from trembling every morning— so bad that his brothers almost invariably ended up hanging onto him, wrapping his hands up with their own to keep him steady.

“It’s okay,” Leo insisted, squeezing his hands. “You’re fine, Dee. Deep breaths with me, yeah? Nothing is bad is gonna happen. I’m not gonna leave.”

And Donnie knew he wouldn’t. That was never what he was afraid of.

At first, he would panic every morning. His brothers would have to hold him down. He’d black out. He would hurt them. 

It wasn’t like that anymore. It had gotten better. The more time passed, the less horrifying it was, and the better he could bear it.

He thought maybe that was what he was actually afraid of.

That maybe, one day, enough time would pass that even when the sun rose in the mornings, he still wouldn’t be able feel anything at all.

[ @candycoloredzebra wrote a thing for me, and i liked it, so i wrote something, too. ]

[ next episode ]

[scara-meow-che]

𝗡𝗢𝗪 𝗟𝗜𝗩𝗘 ┃ phantom longing with childe

CW. NSFW (MDNI), afab! reader, ANGST!!!, brief mentions of having underaged sex, name calling (princess, good girl), vaginal fingering, unprotected sex (WRAP IT), marking, porn with bits of plot, a bit OOC childe, infidelity

AN. this fic used to be an old kuroo prompt of mine but childe fits this idea so much, i just can't let this go to waste. anyway, enjoy this word vomit of mine :D also i'm sorry for those who found the "kuroo" errors in this bcs i legit worked on this prompt around 2AM (　；∀；)

you keep on longing for the ghost of the past—from the rotten body of a relationship.

it was on the third tick of the minute, on the fifth desperate attempt to distract yourself from the man who sits in front of you.

time had no mercy in gracing him with features deprived of stress brought upon a successful man's life. his toned arms were a delightful sight as they flexed under a red button-up rolled up on its sleeves, a habit of his that you knew like the back of your hand. the boyish ginger hair you grew to love now framed his face with its curly long ends and he is, as crazy as it seems, still godly than ever.

nothing has changed about him, even your feelings.

"f/n-chan! aren't you at least excited to see older brother?" teucer had enthusiastically nudged at your distracted form, pulling at your arms, beaming brightly as if to blind you with that smile. teucer and the rest of childe's family never had a clue how much the lil' partners-in-crime grew something more behind closed doors, especially after the years that had passed.

"yeah, aren't you glad to see me?" childe jests, eyes carefully scanning a subtle hint of vulnerability to ever dance in your features. but, even after a few seconds of admiring your cherubim beauty, he failed to grasp any information to know how he should act around you.

"f/n, i always thought you and childe are closer than tonya here," his mom added, nodding at childe who seems engaged in fishing out what was swimming inside your pretty mind. "you two often eat out at night. ah, i remember your father fuming at the poor boy!"

and they all laugh but your heart continues to ache for the visible longing only childe knew you were feeling at the moment. he noticed, of course, he is as perceptive as he can be. but what he made out of is not the melancholic pain strung upon this happenstance because he knew the attraction left lurking in your hearts.

oh, how funny it would be if they knew that the boy who took your virginity is right in front of them. well, there's no point in telling how the comforts of your room that day were painted with your salacious moans and childe's deep grunts. the blazing passion offered, love that used to enrapture whatever force binds you with one another—sadly, everything was of the past.

how hilarious it would've been if they knew how dirty you felt because a part of you still misses his body snuggly attached to the warmest parts of yours. every time your eyes would accidentally stop to stare at his, your soul is pulled toward him. it's as if you were falling over and over again.

oh, how ironic it would be that you wanted childe far away from you but at the same time, you want him to ravish you in a way you'd be left satisfied.

just like before.

he was perfect, too perfect for your liking. once you've tasted this perfection, the polished palate of desire can no longer forget how it felt pleasurable on your mouth that it left you thirsting for more.

you shouldn't be too attached but here you are, helplessly smitten just to feel him touch you once more—to kiss you, to praise you for being his good girl, anything that he used to do before. pictures, posts, and messages, it was as if you'd been deprived of every need, starved of anything about his whereabouts that you shamelessly devoured what you possibly could get from him.

despite him being the one who ended everything, you never had the guts to hate each fiber of his body. broken promises of yesterday had crumbled down with the future you longed for. the innocence of love is a double-edged sword that you have used against yourself. and now, you continue to bleed your emotions for the man who left you dying.

food had already gone cold and bitter on your tongue that used to glaze on honey-smooth skin belonging to this celestial god who had wrapped his presence on your heart.

bitter, yes, bitter. the sharp yet addicting bite of the love harbored for him still lingers in you. maybe it was because he's your first love that still occupies the majority of your own silly heart? Everything involving his being was complete bliss—a plethora of happiness you can only feel from him.

a credulous admiration can only go far if not for the risk one can take but you choose to let go of all of your morals and logic, blissfully dancing through the danger of his song.

the first kiss shared on the first peak of daylight; the first night he laid his hand on yours as a freckle of winter snow fell from the heavens; the first dreadful goodbye whispered alongside the strong waves ebbing on the harbor; he is the first of all firsts there is and how wrong were you to give him everything.

time may have passed together with all these fleeting memories but your feelings fluttered still.

the dining hall felt suffocating, the bubbling chemistry of both longing and denial clashed when your eyes stared at his alluring blue orbs. you wanted to throw up. your head was spinning so badly. you never wanted to be stuck in this dilemma. your insides twist and turn as they continue to spit your name together with his.

tonya somehow noticed how quiet you'd been for the past hour and gave you a soft squeeze on the shoulder. the small gesture had helped you snap out of the flummoxing reverie because of an orange-haired man. and it's yet another battle to avoid his overwhelming presence.

it felt long eating with them and to make matters worse in your favor, they opted to spend the remaining hour catching up on everyone's plans for the future with a cup of hot cocoa.

as the hand of the clock strikes 7, you can hear their voices gleefully bickering and leaving a melodious chatter across the hall you settled in. the vigorous movements etched on each body around you felt slow while you washed the dishes.

"can i help?"

towering behind you, a fresh scent laced with a musky undertone of his cologne coiled itself on your quivering frame. the territorial instinct he had on your submissive body left you breathless when he lay a gentle hand on your shoulder slowly moving down to your waist.

if not for the logic gradually fogged by this attraction, you would've already succumbed to his hand and let him take you right then and there. but you stood firm, not giving him a chance to slip for him to devour the flickering courage you have left in you.

it would take him more than that but the heart wants what it wants.

"as the man of the night, he should be reserved to mingle around his family and shouldn't even be here to help." your ears picked up how soft your voice was. it always was, for him. you always have a soft spot for him.

"oh? then as the special man of the night, i won't allow my guest to even do the dishes, let alone someone as important as you to the family." were you, really?

childe took his sweet time in dominating your senses, his hand moved across your lower back up to the side of your hips. his other hand also went in to dip into the curve of your chest down to your stomach. you felt him close in the distance, your back firmly pressed against his built torso.

"p-please."

you didn't know whether that was a plea for him to leave you alone or not but when he took a good whiff of air, letting a guttural groan when you buckled close to him—a stutter amidst the calm shook all the grounds you stood and it was when you lay all your cards for him to see.

childe lowered his tall frame to look over your shoulder. the view was of an innocent gesture but hides the intent of making you yield to whatever his mind was thinking. it was unfair, it was cruelly unfair how he can control you to such extent.

"use your words f/n. i taught you better than that."

he traced delicate and sensual lines on your burning skin. you choked on your breath when you saw him smiling at you, seeing how roses flushed vivaciously on your cheeks to his advances.

"use your big girl words. come on."

oh, how did your body laid enervative under his mercy?

childe was selfish, you know he can never let you go. you were practically made for him and yet he was gluttonous just to have you putty in his hands again. just like when you two were just 16, right before he left to continue his work throughout different regions across teyvat, miles, and miles away apart from the icy land of the tsaritsa, away from you.

he wasn't the ajax who you fell in love with. you can see the little details of the canvas of his soul, colors you knew that weren't yours dominated each hue you have left behind. the art which you two have made as a masterpiece was left tarnished by another one. this man behind your back, savoring miles of skin his eyes can roam to, isn't the one who used to satiate the void you felt by warming you in your bed.

the man you fell in love with is a ghost settling in this body that you crave for.

you hated yourself, more than anything there is. you were hungry, deprived of this euphoric feeling of the past, touch-starved, guilty for wanting him to be there for you even if you no longer have the right to be claimed as his.

as everyone grew tired, retreating to their rooms, why? why did you hold him back from going to his room? why did you lead him back to your chamber? why did you let him in? why did you have the heart to let him in?

to whatever gods are out there must be looking down in at you in disappointment, but you don't care. childe had trapped your body between the door that was quietly shut close. the doorknob had hit your back but you didn't care, not when he finally molds his lips on yours; not when he firmly grips your jawline as he dips his tongue to your mouth, catching up on the years he wasn't able to be with you.

the passion in every motion, the discord in every emotion—it was there. the ghost of the man you loved was still there. and this is when you'll take advantage of it, this was the only chance you can hope on and maybe, the empty promises wouldn't be left in vain.

feather-like touches littered on your skin as childe's nimble hands raised the shirt that suddenly felt too suffocating for you. you were distracted, too drunk to think of anything else while he moves in a leg right between your thighs.

next to his actions was to skim right above the skirt you regretted wearing for this night. it was too short, you noted, enough to titillate the attention you wished from him. each pad of his fingers felt addicting like everything happening right now was like the way before. like nothing had happened; like nothing had ended; like nothing had ever torn you two apart.

you saw him smirking when he felt the soft material hanging on your hips and he slid them off with ease. his eyes were focused on you when he let his body slide down along with your underwear. and he left it there, pooled on your legs as he moved back up to tease you, to make everything in you want him.

as if you didn't already.

the crippling embarrassment had invaded your mind when childe slid in his fingers to the soft skin between your thighs, looking straight into the gates of your soul. rich and smooth blue orbs were glinting in lust, never in the idea of love. and that's when he dips in and searches through the sensitive bud of skin protruding in arousal.

"you always look pretty when you want me." childe devilishly grins as the visage of you, eyes closed and left amenable, was exactly as he remembers it before.

you bit down on your lower lip, eyes closing at the immense pleasure sent by his skilled digits finally going in and out of your leaking hole. the rushed movements, ragged breathing, and vehement waves of his deep voice resonating deeply to strum painful chords on your heartstrings—god knows you missed this but you knew how wrong this was.

this was wrong, he shouldn't do this.

the frilly lace that barely covered your dripping cunt laid idly on the floor, your legs trembled when he particularly hit one spot inside. you strained down the moan bound to escape your lips while he left salacious kisses on your exposed neck.

"childe, please, more." you don't want him to stop, it was too addicting. he knew where to exactly touch you, he always fucking knew everything there is to know about you.

you can feel yourself drip down on your thighs and covering his hands with your juices. you gripped down on his lean arms to stop how fast he was thrusting in and out of you but he was enraptured to see your cunt enjoying the attention, he can't help but fuck you more.

"see? you're taking me so good, princess. you're so good at taking me. you always do." you looked down and you saw him going up to the hilt, reaching places none have managed to. you love this, you hate this. you want him to stop but you also want him to continue. why were you so conflicted when it's wrong, this is clearly wrong, the ring says it's wrong.

but no, you wanted him. years, you have longed to feel this affection for years and finally, he's in your arms. how can you let go of him?

"you're drooling badly, is this all for me? did you miss me so much?" like the empyrean life who kissed the earth with color, childe blessed your skin with blue and purple clouds. the vainglorious spirit of this towering male screams on the name he had marked on your body.

that you were always his. that you always belong to him. that no matter how much you try, in the sea full of strangers, it's always him who you look for.

but no, no, no.

it wasn't soon when he perfectly scraped the side to look for the spot that makes you mewled and moaned lasciviously on his arms. the velvety texture of your walls lovingly squeezed on his fingers; you shake in delight, quivered in happiness, trembled along with the submission to love, and shuddered in the intimate warmth he has as your home.

you can never call him home. you shouldn't call this home.

unabated thrust and rut of his slender but thick fingers fill you up, the honey you produce pours out from your lips as it flows in the harmony of your whimpers. the slick and squelching sound your cunt produces was filthy, you felt filthy but anything for him.

bleary-eyed, hands grasping whatever surface it can hold unto, legs twitching when you feel the tight coil in your core about to snap in two, you are near the peak of heaven made by childe himself. this was heaven, yes, it was always like dreaming on cloud nine with him.

he's just a ghost of the past.

you didn't listen to the whispers buzzing in your mind because all you can focus on is the way he deliciously hit on that one spongy spot that was to die for. your eyes beamed in tears, making childe glow in pride.

he's not the ajax that you knew from before.

"you look beautiful when you cum, princess. you're creaming with just my finger then what more to my cock?" he was selfish, insidiously selfish.

but why didn't you stop him when he removes each article of clothing separating his skin from yours?

why didn't you stop him from kissing you with such fervor and longing?

why didn't you stop him from connecting himself to you?

"please, please, please, make me cum." you whispered, head moving up to get him back in kissing you. your hands were held above your head, his grip was so tight you never want it to let go of you.

"yes, princess. just stay still and fuck," and you tightened around him, his expression right above you showed how it always has been. how it should've been but what was your reason for letting him do this?

it was love, a disillusioned love that kept holding back for the ghost of the past.

"let me hold you, please." you begged but what exactly did you beg for? was it to hold him to be yours again or just this physical chemistry happening between you two?

but childe understood it as the latter, letting go of your wrist and encasing your hands inside his. one was on your side and the other was what he kissed adoringly. and then you saw it, a small piece of gold tying him down. a beautiful, gold ring.

where's the other half of the ring?

"fuck, f/n. i love you, i have always loved you." and you cried, seeing the painful expression to cross his features while climaxing inside of you, the tears coming from childe that fell on your cheeks.

the last kiss he gave on your hand and on your lips. the shaking body clutching tightly on your defeated form. the sobs escaping from his lips as you pulled yourself away. you felt empty.

of course, a ghost can never fill you in.

⠀⠀scara-meow-che © 2023 ┃ do not copy, modify, or repost ANY of my content

[timeagainreviews]

The Twist of a Stiletto

Back in the ‘90s there was a very famous TV show. 120 Minutes, don’t act like you don’t know. But for those of you not in the know, “120 Minutes,” was a show on MTV hosted by Matt Pinfield. There were other hosts, but Matt was my guy. Being a showcase of music videos from artists MTV wouldn’t dare play during the day, it was relegated to a late Sunday evening timeslot. Growing up, I never really had a personal relationship with music. It was the stuff in the background of movies. My dad would play CDs of his faves. Kansas, Jethro Tull, Chicago, Led Zepplin, The Beatles. Music could be fun or cool, but I could take it or leave it. That is until April 14, 1996, when 120 Minutes aired Rage Against the Machine’s “Bulls on Parade,” and my 12-year-old brain erupted. A fire was lit inside me that day and Zach de la Rocha was more than happy to pour gasoline on it. I was suddenly, without any kind of warning, in love with music.

The spontaneous combustion of music hits us all differently, but I’m sure my story made you remember yours. How could it not? Music is a part of our lives. We wrap our memories in song. As such, some songs become painful. We then lock those songs in our past where they can’t hurt us, but a passing car with its windows down can bring us back. Music is personal. “The Devil’s Chord,” is a story about our relationship with music. How we hold music inside and when we let it out. It is a celebration of song as well as a lament. While the episode often achieves harmony, it also falls a bit flat. Are you picking up on a theme? Is this striking a chord with you? Ok I’ll stop. Probably.

I’ll get the obvious out of the way first. “The Devil’s Chord,” is precariously close to “The Giggle,” plot-wise. The TARDIS lands. The Doctor finds the world behaving oddly. He discovers it’s all to do with a magical gay American who chews scenery for breakfast. The American sends the Doctor through a themed gauntlet of insanity. The Doctor banishes the American using their own tricks against them. The American disappears with a warning about the next guy. Bish bash bosh. I’m getting that all out of the way ahead of time, because that would be a really boring article to read. But I will say this- if this is the Pantheon’s only gambit, I’ll be disappointed.

Ruby’s explanation of how she discovered the Beatles through her mum’s girlfriend’s vinyl collection was charming and didn’t make me feel old at all. Not to be all “kids these days only care about Tik Tok and Roblox,” but I was fairly certain most young people hate the Beatles. That is, if my Facebook feed is anything to go by. It really shows you just how on the pulse Russell T Davies is these days. Hello fellow kids. Have some trans inclusion while I court problematic people on social media. Kids like Deftones, Russell. Do a Deftones episode. Have the Doctor fight robot pigs with Chico Moreno. (Man, nü metal is having a moment in this article.) My point being, it’s weird to choose The Beatles now.

I harp on a lot about how metatextual Doctor Who can be and how it’s the secret of its longevity. They need to replace their actor? Regeneration. They need to get the Doctor into a building? Psychic paper. But I think I’ve found the exception that proves the rule. Russell T Davies said in an interview “...The Beatles music is so expensive. Even on a Disney budget, we couldn’t afford that…And so I thought imagine you’re visiting The Beatles, and you couldn’t have The Beatles music. What would you do? And that’s the story. It kind of created itself”. In true Doctor Who fashion, Russell T Davies saw a limitation and folded it into the narrative. It’s a shame then, that it doesn’t work at all.

It started with their shots of Abbey Road and EMI Studios. The zebra crossing at Abbey Road isn’t that wide. I’ve been there. And since when did EMI Studios have a red brick entrance? Where are its classic Georgian-style box frame windows? It’s one of the most visited tourist spots in London, and you’re not going to actually go there? You can’t get the music. Ok. That’s sort of understandable. But they couldn’t film on location? What exactly is the Disney budget doing here? Remember when they flew the whole TARDIS crew to Utah? And then the next season to New York City? They managed to shoo tourists and locals away from Umpire Rock. You mean to tell me they couldn’t hold back traffic on Abbey Road for a few hours? Hell, just composite it. Shoot it on a soundstage. You don’t have to go “Angels Take Manhattan,” when you could go “Daleks Take Manhattan.”

This may seem like a weird gripe from a person who said it would be boring to complain about how two episodes are similar, but it is the crux of the matter. Why use The Beatles in an episode about The Beatles if you do nothing with them? Why highlight edifice in a story about being vulnerable? Yes, the episode is predicated on the very idea of not having the rights to The Beatles music catalog, but this also denies the audience a payoff. Let me explain. Ruby and the Doctor get dressed to the nines to go back to 1963 and watch the Beatles record their first album. Great so far. They have a cute little moment with the tea lady while they sneak into EMI studios. Still great. However, as they roll record for the Fab Four, it’s immediately apparent that something is very wrong. The Beatles' music sounds awful. Like how I imagine my friends on Facebook think they sound all the time. And still, things are going great. What this does, however, is set up expectations for the moment when The Beatles' music is finally back in its full glory. I’ve seen the shot from the trailer of Ncuti in the recording studio full of smiling perfects. It’s gonna be high energy. What a payoff. Right?

The Doctor and Ruby also pop in to listen to Cilla Black lay down a track. It’s the same crappy atonal music that only a trans woman with a collection of circuit-bent instruments could love. Something is amiss. The Doctor and Ruby do a bit of digging. It’s time to go talk to The Shitty Beatles. This time, it’s more than a clever name. With as much respect as I can muster, these have got to be some of the worst Beatle lookalikes I’ve ever seen. Except Paul who was spot on as the real Paul McCartney before he died and 1966 and was replaced with Faul. See my 9-11 Truther Anti-Vaxx Birds Aren’t Real grouphat for more information. The Doctor takes Paul and Ruby takes John. George and Ringo get zero lines, which tracks with history. They learn that both Paul and John don’t actually know why they play music. It feels silly, really. They should just pack it up. But something deep in them is still drawn to music, even if what comes out is a song about a dog that was only slightly better than “Rocky Raccoon.” But before they can slap them out of it like John with his first wife, they’re interrupted by visions of the Maestro.

Enter Jinkx Monsoon, who actually opens the episode but I’m using time travel to talk about things as they become relevant. Now, before they were cast in Doctor Who, I knew nothing about Jinkx Monsoon. I know she was on Drag Race, but I don’t watch that shit. No shade if you do. Ru Paul is totally not problematic and has never done anything weird. Everything I skimmed in Jinkx Monsoon’s Wikipedia page indicates they’re pretty cool. They relish in the role in a way that will make midwest dads shift in their chairs, and I’m here for it. They’ve got an oral fixation that’s impossible not to notice. When they eat the music from Timothy Drake’s soul, they let out a moan that sounds a lot like a climax, and not in the musical sense. Also, how sad is it for Tim Drake that he’ll never meet Batman? RIP Robin. 1925 was too early. Speaking of 1925, isn’t it interesting that the Maestro appears right around the same time as the Toymaker sold the Stooky Bill puppet to Charles Banerjee? Is there some significance with that year? Handily, no World Wars were happening at the time. The Scopes Monkey Trial occurred. Babe Ruth received surgery for an ulcer. They broke ground on defacing Mount Rushmore. But really, kind of tame considering the bookends of the era. The Lorcano treaty was doing a lot of the heavy lifting though.

The Maestro’s whole deal is a sort of crazed sense of ownership over music. To hear them describe it, music belongs to them. They are music. In this way, I was pleasantly surprised that they didn’t song and dance people to death. It’s nice to be surprised. I rather liked their motivation. Monsoon doesn’t need to do a whole lot of acting. It’s all very panto. Very drag. It’s the kind of performance you hope you get. I’m not saying it’s a bad performance, just an elevated one. Both Jinkx and Ncuti get a chance to overact a bit in this story. Once again, I don’t mean overact in a bad way. David Tennant is the biggest overactor in Doctor Who save for Soldeed in “The Horns of Nimon,” and he’s consistently voted favourite among Doctor Who fans. Add “tendency to overact,” to the pile of personality traits I’m beginning to love about the Fifteenth Doctor. I love it when the Doctor really sells the energy of a scene, even if it requires him to speak forlornly into the middle distance.

Attempting to get the world’s groove back, the Doctor has a piano hoisted to the roof of a building. This is, of course, a reference to The Beatles’ final public performance from the rooftop of Apple headquarters in Central London. Only instead of Billy Preston on the keys, it’s Ruby Sunday. As she plays a Ruby original, the inhabitants of neighbouring buildings begin to shake out of their fog as music descends on them like sunshine. It even inspires a granny played by Doctor Who legend Laura June Hudson to dust off her piano to play Debussy’s “Clair de Lune.” It’s a lovely moment which is about to get stomped on by the Maestro’s honking drag boots, but for a brief moment, music swells.

I was glad to see them taking time to slow things down a little in this episode. The Doctor even talks a bit about himself and Susan over on Totter’s Lane. Couple that with Carole Ann Ford’s presence at the Doctor Who premiere last year, and it feels like it might be more than a reference. I’ve seen Whovians of weak faith construe this to mean Susan is dead, but in my experience, when a writer says something isn’t, it is. That’s just my two cents. Who knows if any of it means anything. It could just be that it would be weird for the Doctor to visit London in 1963 and not mention him living there with his granddaughter. Or it could be that Doctor Who is finally getting a better Doctor/Susan reunion than “The FIve Doctors.” Who could forget the moment when they’re reunited? 

First Doctor: "Oh, er, this is Susan."

Fifth Doctor: "Yes I know."

How could you not get choked up? What a reunion. I can’t imagine why people would want something more. The Doctor told her all those years ago “Someday I’ll come back,” and he did. It was brief and without any of that pesky emotional connection we usually get from television.

Ruby pulls the classic “But the world didn’t end in 1963, I exist,��� so the Doctor shows Ruby what the world would look like without music and it’s grim. It was nice of them to show us a bombed-out London as many of us are still feeling the sting from Fallout: London’s delayed release. Thanks, Doccy Who. But the two are not alone as they’re interrupted by the Maestro and their Looney Tunes brand of scary sexy. As with their first interaction, the Doctor runs. I love that aspect because it’s very Davies Doctor Who. The Doctor runs from the Time Vortex. The Doctor runs from Gallifrey. The Ninth Doctor refers to himself as cowardly, but what it really is is he hasn’t anything to prove. He’ll live today to fight again tomorrow, and yesterday. Timey wimey.

While the Maestro finds the Doctor both hot and timey wimey, they are still very much a threat to him and the Doctor knows this. You can’t fight the Pantheon. You have to abide by their rules. How do you fight someone who can control the TARDIS with music? The Doctor rips the TARDIS console a new one in order to flee back to 1963, where the world has yet to end. I found it cute the way he kisses the console to say sorry for the way he treated her. It not only suits the Doctor, but this Doctor with his brand of compassion. The TARDIS gets it, but you’ve gotta kiss a boo-boo or it won’t get better, everyone knows that.

The Doctor’s only plan with his limited resources is to somehow find the opposite of the Devil’s Chord, a sort of lost chord, if you will. Of course, this draws the Maestro to the Doctor like my cats to the sound of the tin opener. The Maestro captures Ruby, wrapping her up in sheet music. The Doctor stares down the Maestro as they allow him the opportunity to prove his musical genius. Can the Doctor find the lost chord? With each new note appearing above the piano, the Maestro writhes in twisted agony. But the Doctor hits a bum note and the Maestro is back on their feet ready to suffocate the Doctor in a drum and choke the life out of Ruby. But the song within Ruby’s soul from the Christmas Eve where she was left on that church stoop is stronger than anything the Maestro can muster. The Maestro may own music, but Ruby owns this song in that moment. Like before in “Space Babies,” the snow begins to fall indoors and the Maestro recoils in horror.

This gives the Beatles enough time to discover the piano and play that final note. Alone, they may not be geniuses, but the combination of McCartney and Lennon is enough to find the lost chord and banish the Maestro. They could have also achieved this with Harrison alone. He wrote “Here Comes the Sun,” after all. With the lost chord now found, the Maestro gets sucked off back where they came. Was the note they found the same one from the end of “Day in the Life?” RTD said they used a single Beatles chord. Was that it? I don’t know enough about music to answer that. After a quick re-listen, I'm going to say yes.

London is once again filled with music. Now, we’ll finally get the chance to see the Beatles play their actual music, right? They fixed music, right? God I wish. After cryptically looking into the camera and saying “There’s always a twist in the end,” the Doctor and Ruby are suddenly thrust into what I can only describe as the worst song possible. I’ve said in the past that I am not a huge fan of Murray Gold’s music. There’s nothing wrong with it, it’s just a bit safe for my tastes. But this song… I loathe it with every fibre of my being. It’s cloying, it’s corny, and it’s a repetitive ear worm you don’t want stuck in your head. I’ve said I was interested in Doctor Who doing a musical number, but this was god awful. I try to be as fair as possible when it comes to my reviews, so I think I’ve earned enough good faith to openly say this song is terrible. I would rather listen to the crappy dog song from earlier in the episode, and I don’t even own any circuit-bent instruments, and therein lies the problem.

How can you say the Doctor saved music when the way you present it is with a song that is simply not good? We need a good song in this moment, and that was not it. If ever there was a time to reach into the coffers and pay for a song, it was this. I mean, he said “There’s always a twist in the end,” and “Twist and Shout,” was right there. It wasn’t even written by the Beatles so it might have even been cheaper. They could even re-record it in the same Glee style in which they filmed the big song and dance routine. Hell, how expensive are Cilla Black songs? Do one of those. Instead, we get another fake Beatles song, in fake EMI studios, on fake Abbey Road to imply that we saved the future from a world of fake Beatles songs. By the time this insipid tune wears out its welcome, the Doctor and Ruby skip away across Abbey Road, lighting up the zebra crossing like piano keys. But instead of it being charming, it caused both my wife and I to say “Oh God, it’s still going.” 

After the episode, I did a little bit of reading. I figured the two people dancing with the Doctor and Ruby were guest stars as they singled them out over the other background dancers. Evidently, they’re judges or competitors on Strictly. I dunno, I don’t watch that shit. So I really have no idea if that song was written to be in the style of something you would see on Strictly. But what I do know, is that it was brave of Murray Gold to show his face during that exquisite train wreck. I guess this episode really did pull a “Daleks in Manhattan,” à la “My Angel Put the Devil In Me.” In that respect, you can add contemporary music to the list of things Doctor Who should do well, but can’t seem to get right. It’s in good company with pirates and westerns. “The Gunfighters,” even fails at two out of three. Impressive!

I do admire the hell out of RTD and company for throwing their whole ass into that ending. It takes real chutzpah to fail so spectacularly. And honestly, as harsh as I’ve been, I didn’t totally hate the scene. In some ways, it's a clever pastiche to '60s music. In that light, I could maybe come around to it, over time. They’re also trying new things. But I think we found the ceiling pretty fast. I can’t say I’d like to see that sort of thing a lot more in the future, but here and there? Sure. As it is, it feels unrestrained and masturbatory. And truthfully, I would have preferred an actual musical like Buffy’s “Once More, With Feeling,” or Star Trek: Strange New Worlds’ “Subspace Rhapsody.” They somehow gave me what I wanted while simultaneously failing to deliver.

Now of course, the real question is- what was the twist at the end? Was it the appearance of the Maestro’s “son,” Henry “Harbinger,” Arbinger?  Or maybe it was a meta-reference to actress Susan Twist, the woman who once again has shown up in the background. I find it even more interesting that in every episode where she’s appeared, they give her a line to read. Or maybe it’s a Susan twist, as in the Doctor’s granddaughter. They mention Susan in the same episode with an actress named Susan Twist where they sing about twists while doing the twist. It’s like “Who’s on second?” or “The Doctor’s daughter who plays the Doctor’s daughter in ‘The Doctor’s Daughter,’ marries the Doctor.” 

Despite the ending and the rehashed story, I rather liked this episode. Jinkx Monsoon and Ncuti Gatwa had great chemistry. The mysteries continue to unfold. Along with my hope for the Rani, I can now add hope for Susan into the mix, and as with the Rani, I won’t get my hopes up. In the same vein, I'm grateful that Maestro wasn't a code name for the Master. We've seen enough of him for a while, thanks. Ncuti and Millie continue to impress as the Doctor and Ruby. I also admired Ruby's restraint in not telling John Lennon to avoid chubby guys in glasses. I loved the Maestro and the fact that their laugh was vocal warm-up. So much fantastic attention to detail. But that ending is not my bag. It felt tacked on, poorly paced, and obnoxious. It reminded me of that line from Fight Club- “We are the all-singing, all-dancing crap of the world.” Emphasis on the crap.

[spop-romanticizes-abuse]

Clarity.

Catra's mind was a whirlwind. She sat at the same spot she used to hang out with Adora for years, since they were children. Everything has changed now. Adora has left her— left the Horde, Catra corrected herself. After Adora had left, anger and pain had been steadily building up inside Catra until she couldn't recognize herself in the mirror.

She remembers opening the portal, her fingers wrapped around the smooth metal as she looked back at Adora, her heart brimming with spite and vengeance. If she can't win, no one can. Especially not Adora.

It had sent them into a time warp. Everything was perfect again. Where Adora was hers and they were both on the same side, as it was meant to be. But soon Adora had begun to see the cracks within reality and piece together what happened. And she turned on Catra again. It's as though Catra was forced to relive the same consequence, regardless of how hard she tries to change things. Adora isn't going to stay.

Catra had been so engulfed by her rage and betrayal that she had turned into the very person she swore she'd never become, the person she hated the most. Shadow Weaver. Catra believed that Adora deserved everything Catra did to her - the torture, the manipulation, the guilt tripping. Catra believed that her actions were justified, after all, how could Adora abandon her like that?

She made me into the monster that I am.

Then Adora had spoken. For the first time, Catra saw rage ignite in Adora's eyes - rage and something else. Hatred. Adora pushed her off, no longer holding back. "I didn't make you do anything!"

Catra was too stunned to process this reaction. Always, Adora had pleaded to her, apologized and tried to please her in any way possible. Catra had never seen such defiance in Adora. She was always the good girl, the people pleaser.

She growled and clenched her fists, charging at Adora. She immediately got flung aside.

"But you? You made your choice. Now live with it!"

Catra instinctively touched her cheek as she remembered the punch Adora had delivered. A tremble ran through her body as she recalled Adora's expression after she managed to close the portal and get out safely. That glare. It said everything words couldn't. Adora despised her. There was no going back.

Catra sighed, burying her face in her hands as shameful tears rolled down her cheeks. That one reaction from Adora was enough to make Catra question everything. How right was she? Did Adora ever even leave her?

"Come with me."

Catra clearly recalled at least two instances where Adora offered her a way out. But she was too stubborn to choose the right path. Too arrogant, thinking that becoming a force captain and getting revenge on Adora would fix everything. It didn't. It only caused more problems.

It caused that steady downwards spiral that Catra kept digging herself into, refusing to face the facts. I was wrong.

It takes courage to admit that you were wrong all along, Despite all the self-loathing, Catra still wanted to believe that her actions were justified, and that her pain and trauma excused everything. Well, no more. She had to admit to herself that she had been a horrible person, and it was no one else's fault. Adora had every right to hate her. She chose the paths she took and she had to pay for it.

Catra packed her stuff and headed out.

***

Adora had just fought away some more Horde soldiers and war robots. She was currently in the village while its citizens thanked her, relieved to be safe again. For the time being, at least.

It was then that she saw a familiar figure far away. Her heartbeats quickened as she steadied herself, one hand on her sword. Glimmer and Bow noticed the change in her expression and their eyes darted towards the same direction. Glimmer put a hand on her shoulder. "Let's take that cat down."

Adora gave her a quick nod and walked towards Catra, leaving the village behind, her friends right beside her. She came face to face with Catra, a frown on her lips.

It was then she noticed how defeated Catra looked. Her eyes looked like she had been crying. Her signature smirk was gone, so was her usual confident gait. She just looked like a shell of the person she used to be.

Adora's eyes narrowed. Was this a trick? A ploy to manipulate her and strike her when she's weak again? She drew out the sword.

Finally, Catra spoke. "I'm not here to fight."

"Oh yeah? What are you here for then? To kidnap her? Torture her as you always do?" Glimmer's voice was laced with fury. "Or is this another attempt to — I don't know — end the world?"

Catra shook her head. "I'm here to apologize."

Silence. The trio didn't know what to say. Adora raised her sword, her brows furrowing. There's no way Catra is actually apologizing.

"I know—" Catra's voice caught in her throat and she struggled to get her words out. "I know that what I've done is unforgivable. I've mistreated you all this time, the same way Shadow Weaver treated me. The way she treated both of us. And I've been actively participating in everything the Horde stood for. I put the whole world in danger, just because I wanted to see you lose."

"You killed my mom." Glimmer said, unable to keep a tremor out of her voice. Catra didn't reply with a snarky remark, she didn't let out her signature chuckle.

"I'm sorry about your mom." Her shoulders were slumped. Adora slowly re-sheathed her sword, still wary. "I'm sorry for everything. There's no excuse to what I've done. I'm just a horrible person."

"Yes. You are," Adora replied, her voice unfaltering. "I appreciate the apology, Catra, but I can't forgive you. I won't."

Catra flinched. She expected this but it still hurt to hear. "I understand. You have no reason to forgive me, and it's unfair of me to expect that from you. I'm doing this because it's the right thing to do. I— I left the Horde. I don't want that life anymore, I'm sick of it." Her voice became slightly eager, hopeful even. "I want to start anew, leave everything behind. I can't fix what I did in the past, though I would give anything to do that. But I want to be better from now on, at least."

She saw Adora's expression soften, just a little bit. Or maybe she was just imagining things. Why would Adora feel sorry for her?

She continued, squeezing her eyes shut so that she wouldn't see Adora's reaction. "Right now, I'm confused. I need some clarity, I need to find myself." A bitter laugh escaped her lips. "All my life has revolved around you and Shadow Weaver. I never stopped to think about who I am outside of that. And I'm going to do that. And I promise I won't disturb you anymore. I won't hurt you anymore."

She opened her eyes, half-scared of what might come next. Adora's expression was ambiguous, it looked like she was feeling a mix of emotions. Glimmer still looked unconvinced, while Bow seemed confused.

Adora let out a sigh. "Good luck on your journey. I'm glad you finally came to your senses." There was something resembling a smile on her lips. But her eyes still held the same resent and hurt.

Catra's eyes went wide. Whatever it was she expected to hear, it was not that. She nodded and mustered a small "thank you". She turned to Glimmer.

"Please take care of her. She deserves the world."

"Oh, I'll take care of her. Better than you ever did," retorted Glimmer. Catra didn't argue. She deserved that.

With a half-smile and a wave, Catra left the place. She drew in a deep breath as she headed to Beast Island. She can't ever be forgiven, but she'll be damned if she lets that hinder her growth. It's time she allowed herself to heal.

It's never too late to change.

***

[fairyyeo]

doughnut ❅ lee minho

pairing — minho x reader

genre — fluff, very very slightly suggestive ?

tw — none

wc — 0.6k

a/n — i wrote this drunk and sleep deprived. take that how you will. second fic of my xmas series.. please enjoy!!!

————

it was never ending between you and minho. somehow, you two always found your way back to each other. it was inevitable.

especially around the holiday season you would feel that tug at your heart, leading you back to minho.

he felt it too. which is how he ended up knocking on your door late into the night.

"minho, i wasn't expecting you to—"

he abruptly cut you off with a hasty kiss. "don't say that. you knew i'd be here eventually. you've been waiting."

minho was right, and damn him for it.

"get in here." you yanked him inside and dragged him to your bedroom, where the both of you spent a lot of time together.

the two of you once again got tangled in the sheets. the smell of your peppermint body wash caught in the air along with minho's forresty cologne that you were so drawn to. found comfort in because of its familiarity.

you couldn't stop. even if you tried. and believe me, you had.

the both of you, about a year ago, promised to stop this thing between you—to stop seeing each other.

you'd failed in less than a month. you showed up at his door feeling like a shell of your true self, heart aching and body longing to be in his arms, just as he'd been leaving to come to your house.

it was a never ending loop. the torment of not being with him. the thinking about him every moment of the day, and when you'd see him next. the uttering of 'i miss you' despite being wrapped in each other's arms.

you loved him so immensely that it was almost painful. it hurt more to be with him than without, knowing you'd never be fully committed to each other. you'd both agreed that it was best that way—you loved too deeply, it would consume you both, drive you insane.

in the middle of your heart there was a minho shaped hole. a space just for him. one that he could only fill for moments at a time, any longer and you'd go truly mad.

minho reluctantly began to dress himself but you pulled him back, "please don't go. it's christmas."

he crawled on top of you, "you know i don't want to." minho whispered, kissing your jaw.

"just stay this once. please." you begged, squeezing his arm. even if it derailed you, you didn't want to be alone.

"you'll drive me crazy..." minho kissed your lower lip.

"just don't look at me." you giggled, jokingly covering his eyes.

he collapsed next to you, smiling. "i'd rather die." he said carelessly, but he firmly meant it.

"don't say that." you looked at him. "i hate it when you say that." you didn't need him saying your own deepest feelings out loud. because it's true. you would rather die than never see him again.

"you know it's true though." minho turned to face you.

"then prove it." you smiled teasingly.

he hummed in thought. "okay, but this is your christmas present."

"you as my christmas present? i couldn't ask for anything better."

truthfully, there was nothing worse. you both knew it too. by tomorrow you'd be dangerously in love—obsessed—with each other. you'd been there once before, and it was difficult to separate. you left his house in tears that night, the pain of leaving simply unbearable.

but at the same time, you were comforted knowing you'd see him again, whenever that may be.

so even now, as minho's kisses trailed lower and lower, and you hurt inside, the pain eased a little when you remembered that you'd be seeing him again soon. probably new year's eve if you were lucky and he loved you as much as he claimed to.

"merry christmas, minho." you whispered. "i love you."

"i love you too. i always will."

[xticklemeemox]

The Love You Want: II, part one.

Summary:

II wanted to be acknowledged. To be seen for all the effort he puts into every part of his life. Sleep offers him that

Asks him to become a vessel, the Second.

Asks him to fulfill the wish of their First, Vessel, his wish to be loved.

There was something about Vessel that drew II in, like a moth to a flame. Finding out just how damaged Vessel is doesn't make II run, it makes him want to stay.

Part two of The Love You Want series, detailing II's acceptance of Sleep and transformation into a Vessel, and just how quickly the two came to care for each other.

They were destined for it, to love and be loved in return, and no amount of hesitation or fear on Vessel's part could stop the entwining of their souls.

Tags: hurt/comfort, self-harm, mutual pining, implied/referenced past domestic abuse, implied referenced past parental neglect, religious themes, suicide, murder, self-worth issues, Vessel Has A Bad Time™️, so does II but he's got Vessel =D, Temporary Character Death, eventual polyvessels. Eventual II/Vessel.

Ngl this fic was supposed to be more slow burn than this but II said nuh uh I will be loving and adoring Vessel and if anything happens to him I will kill everyone in this room and then myself

Word count: 10,223

Masterlist

Part one

Link to ao3:

Fic under the cut

They came to him in a dream as he was teetering on the edge of life and death.

He remembered choking, gasping for breath as his own blood bubbled past his lips as he coughed it up and back onto himself. There was a knife in his chest, his wallet nowhere to be seen. He hurt, knees bruised and palms scraped as his lungs burned with a fire he'd never felt before. A bruise blossoming along his jaw and the back of his head felt... wet. Darkness at the edge of his vision encroaching quickly. His life before this had been mundane, working a job he hated and focusing on his drumming hobby in his free time. Cutting through an alley to get home faster had cost him his life, but he was so tired, eager to get home after his boss kept him overtime promising to pay, when he knows the man just likes to see him suffer and not pay him his dues. He didn't let that stop him from fighting tooth and nail against his robber though, hopes they have to go to the hospital for the broken jaw and nose, and the teeth marks in his arm. Maybe he would've lived another day, but there's no point in dwelling on it now. He's dead, or close to it anyway.

They came to him. Asked him to be born anew as he floated in a vast expanse of stars, weightless as Their voice echoed around him, an amalgamation of every voice he had ever heard. "Will you be my vessel through which my message will be spread? I can give you everything you've ever wanted, if you accept me into your mind, your body, and your soul."

"You want me to be your vessel? To spread your message? Who are you? What about my cat Elvira? I can't leave her, she's my beloved pet." He raises an eyebrow, looking around him at the beauty of the stars as a small sense of wonder flows through him.

"I am Sleep, though that is not my true name. It cannot be spoken by any era of your race, ancient as it is. I suppose you can keep your so-called pet, though I do not understand its purpose."

"Sleep? Like, literal sleep?" Theres a pause, "Why do you want me?"

"In truth, I want you to be a companion of my first Vessel. Your musical abilities and loving soul wrapped in steel drew me in, and you would make an almost perfect fit as a vessel of mine. Alas, I did not need more than one Vessel, so I chose the most perfect one, my First vessel. But, he has experienced a great deal of pain in his life. In exchange for being my Vessel, my First, he has asked to be loved. With your help, I will give him the love of the world through his music in which he worships me and brings new followers. I will gain more worshippers from this, ultimately, with more than one of you. Admittedly, I have endeavored to grant his wish on a more personal level."

"What, so I'm going to help your first vessel with his music career and in return gain, what, exactly? What do I get out of this?"

"What is your wish?"

Thinking on it, the answer comes to him easily with a tilt of his head. "I wish to be acknowledged for my talents, I suppose."

"I can grant you that in more ways than one. Through your worship, yourself and my vessel will gain fame and prosperity. I foresee many worshippers will love you for your talents. My vessel will know your skill, adept in music as he is. His nature, his experiences, will allow him to acknowledge your talents and the effort you put into every part of your life."

"Why do you want to help this first vessel of yours so much anyway? You seem confident that he will acknowledge me. Not many in my life ever have."

"I cannot understand pain. I do not feel it, cannot even imagine it. I am hoping as his companion, you, and eventually some others, will love him in whatever capacity you all can. He has never once been loved in his short life, broken down by those who were supposed to love him, and in his despair ended his life, bringing him to me. You're a caring soul who can help him take care of himself, and he needs that most of all. There is no question of the lengths he will go to be loved."

"Show me him." He decides, warming up to the idea quickly.

He was alone in his apartment with just his cat for company. His last relationship ended amicably, but there was always something missing from every one he'd ever had. Maybe this way he won't be so alone.

"Very well."

The expanse around him shrinks down to a small galaxy in front of him, and in that swirling void of stars, a moving image forms. A masked man sits on the floor, leaned against a wall. No part of his face is visible but there is a mess of dark hair spilling out over the sides of the mask. Something hypnotizing about him, pulling him under with every passing moment. There is a pen and journal in his hands, and as the man watches Vessel, he can hear a beautiful, sad tune being hummed. Then, he begins to sing quietly, the lyrics on the paper before him forming a haunting melody.

"The daylight recedes in unison, this room buries the hours like death in motion, nobody else can pull me out, the fields of elation, quiet and loamy~"

His voice is gorgeous, bouncing off the walls with its strength and control. There is despair clawing it's way out from his throat, overcast by the bitter hope, golden tears dripping from the bottom of the mask. The first vessel lifts it enough for his lips to show and a shaky exhale falls from the onlookers lips as pale skin and bitten lips are revealed to him.

Angel bite piercings glint in the fading sunlight as the mask is put back in place. There's an aching in his soul, as though some part of him calls out to the sad man sitting all alone in a bare room, singing with the most beautiful voice he has ever heard.

Unable to look away, even as the image fades, the man speaks his answer before the God has any chance to say anything. There's something drawing him in. Something about that man. He has never felt anything like it, and wants to know him. He has to. Something in him demands it. Craves it. Aches for him. He would consider it scary if it didn't feel so right.

"I accept. I will become your second vessel. What do I have to do?"

The universe around him changes. Within a blink, he is laying on a beach. Sand surrounds him and sticks to his messy hair as he sits up quickly. The waves nearby are loud, crashing onto shore gently and receding. The sky above him is cloudy, dark masses swirling above and across the grey expanse, just barely visible in the night. Above him, a large moon hangs, its glowing rays never touching the ground he sits upon, like a barrier stops it.

He sits in a circle of candles, their yellow flame the only illumination around.

"An offering of your blood will suffice, and in return I will grant you some of my power as I did my first."

"A blood offering? That's it?" Raising an eyebrow, he can't help but think this all seems a bit underwhelming.

He's accepting a God into his mind, body, and soul, and all they require is a little blood?

"Much of my essence was given to the First, as was required. We are not being connected in quite the same way, so the requirements are different. Blood will suffice."

"Fine, what do I do?"

An ornate plate materializes next to him, and on it, a sharp knife with a simple wooden hilt.

"Do not be alarmed, and look away before too long passes."

The moon splinters at the bottom, six black eyes blinking open at once along its surface to stare down at him. From the gaping hole still slowly splintering apart, dark tendrils emerge, thick masses that taper down to a point, and they head right towards him. He only watches for a moment, looking away, down at the sand, like Sleep ordered. He wonders if his mind would have survived looking any longer.

"Offer every bit of blood you have to me. I will replace it with my essence."

"All of it? Won't that kill me?"

"You are already dead. You need to become something more than human. Do not fret, my first did the same thing."

"Did he also need to cut into his own arm and let himself bleed out?"

"No, he did not offer up his blood in the same way. If I had asked him to, he could have with ease. My first is quite used to making himself bleed."

Horror fills him at the blatant implications of what that means. He could tell the first vessel was depressed, had killed himself, but to be so in pain that he brought even more of it to himself on purpose? Steeling his resolve, he picks up the knife. This first vessel was likely going to continue following a dark path, and he wants to help steer him from it. His soul demands it.

He's shaking as he brings the knife to his wrist. This is a small price to pay for the power of a God, he tries to reason with himself. He'll be granted fame and finally be acknowledged for his talents and efforts. He'll be gaining someone who will see him for who he is, accept him. Sleep promised that.

"Will I remember any of this?" He asks, wincing as the first drag of the blade up his vein stings and burns with fire.

He continues as Sleep answers, blood spilling over his arm up to his elbow before he moves on to the next arm. The tendrils snake their way around his bleeding arm, and a strange feeling emits from the limb, a tingling like the limb has fallen asleep but the pain remains.

"You will remember only that I have asked you to help bring worshippers my message by helping my first Vessel. You will tell him the same, and your wish when you accepted. You will not remember anything else. I do not understand humans, but from what I've witnessed through their dreams and nightmares, I fear that if I tell him your purpose is to love him, he will never trust you nor accept it."

"Hm, that makes sense. He might have some issues then, but I'm perfectly willing to help him with them, if he'll let me. He's- I've never seen someone radiate such bone-deep sadness before. I want to help him."

Other arm done, he can feel himself growing dizzy. Its much like when he bled to his death before being brought to this dream by the god of Sleep. It unsettles him, to be so close to that feeling again, knowing his bloodstream was emptying on purpose this time somehow making it... worse.

"That is all I can ask for. I need him alive, as connected as we are, but I want him happy. I do not understand your human emotions well, but if his soul is singing in joy, then his chances of living rise exponentially. He- Is my First Vessel, and very dear to me."

Humming, the man sinks to his knees before the offering plate, weak knees giving out on him. Through blurring vision, an apple appears on the plate as the tendrils recede. One remains wrapped around his torso to steady him as he sways. "Eat the apple of Eden, taste the divine, and accept me into your soul. When you awaken, you will be at the edge of my domain in your human lands. My first knows of your arrival."

A nod is all he can manage as he reaches forth, picking up the apple and bringing it to his lips. The texture is as any apple should be, but the juice tastes of iron, and when he pulls it away from his mouth, blood spills over onto his hand, his own blood. He continues eating. The taste is wonderful, and no food he can remember tastes anything like it. He can't imagine anything ever will.

This is the taste of the divine, and he wishes nothing more than to bask in the flavor forever, but alas the apple is soon gone, all except for the core which has a strange texture he finds he doesn't care for. It pulses gently as he sets it down and he wonders what exactly it is.

Time is... strange here, even stranger still as blood lingers on his tongue. It flows slowly, like wading through knee-high mud and yet some moments, when his mind is particularly foggy, its like a river, fast, harsh, and unrelenting in its pace.

He finds he cannot remember his name. Cannot remember the faces of his parents. His- mothers? Did he have two mothers? He did, he knows he did. What did they look like? The image of them smiling at him slips from his grasp as he tries desperately to hold on. No, he can't remember. Can't recall any of his childhood friends, or his drumming teacher, he can't remember anything except his cat, and the pain of every failed relationship, be it platonic or romantic. The pain of no one ever acknowledging how much time and effort, blood and tears, went into perfecting his drumming, of- of how deeply he tried, with his entire being,, heart and soul, at everything he's ever done in his life.

Vision darkening, he falls back, the tendrils letting him go with no amount of gentleness. Tears spill from his eyes, but he can't tell if they're from sadness or joy, the mix of emotions swirling inside him like that galaxy he floated in before.

"Rest now, II. When you wake, you must find I and my manor."

Slipping away into sleep, his name, his title, his position, sticks out.

Two. II.

::

When II awakens, who he was before ceased to be. He couldn't remember his name. The faces of his mothers. Of his boss who used to torment him day in and day out. Couldn't remember the face of the man who killed him for his wallet and the $20 bill inside. He remembered the pain, the agony, the fear. II remembered accepting Sleep, what they offered to him. Fame, recognition for just how much of himself he puts into everything he does.

A meow reaches him, a weight on his chest becoming apparent as his mind fully wakes up. Blinking his blue eyes open, II comes face to face with his fluffy black cat Elvira. She sits on his chest, her own face up close to his. Meowing again, she rubs her head against his chin and he holds her close as he sits up. On one side of him is a vast forest, and on the other a small, beat up old car sits, behind it a road leading off into a clearer space. The sun is low in the sky, the sunset casting brilliant colors of red, orange, and pink over the canopies above him.

A mask sits in his lap, a simple black cloth material with a strange symbol, Sleep's he realizes, printed in white over the face. Slipping it on with some difficulty while still holding Elvira, something settles in his chest. The mask feels right, like he was meant to wear it.

There is a pull in the direction of the forest, leading him off into the distance. So, II begins walking after a small glance back at the desolate car. The trees are easy enough to navigate through, but roots catch his feet every few minutes or so. At some point it was simply safer to let Elvira walk beside him rather than hold her in case he falls.

Silence surrounds him as he walks, except for the quiet sound of crunching underbrush below foot. He walks for what feels like hours, mind and body both lagging from the strain of accepting his new god, just barely managing not to fall. The light from the sun fades completely at some point, but II continues on into the darkness, following that tether in his chest. He stumbles more often, sticking closer to trees to try and balance himself. A stray root catches his foot and he goes tumbling over with a cry. Elvira meows from somewhere beside him and II closes his eyes and tries to brace for impact with his arms.

There is a cold hand on his arm, keeping him steady and helping him to his feet. Despite the unexpected touch, II's body does not jerk away in fear, nor does his mind devolve into terror. It should have, given the circumstances, but his body and mind seem to be in agreement with his very soul that sings at the touch.

The hand helps him right himself, grip strong but so gentle that II automatically leans into it just slightly. "I can see in the dark, do not fret. Come, I will lead you back to the manor."

The voice belonging to the hand is soft and soothing, calming whatever nerves had been building up in the silence. "I'm Sleep's first, my name is Vessel. Do you have a name yet?"

There is a quiet uncertainty, a hesitant fear in the other man's voice and II finds he wants to comfort him. Vessel does not need to be wary of him, and II is desperate for the man to know that.

"I've decided on II, like the number in roman numerals. This is my cat Elvira. Sleep said you would know of my arrival but I thought I was supposed to find the manor myself." II gestures lightly at himself, then around him for emphasis.

"I couldn't let you traverse this forest alone in the dark. I did, when I arrived, and it isn't pleasant alone. I walked in circles for hours, fell over every root there was, I think, before I finally found my way, though the pull in my chest tried to guide me. The walk here was much shorter this time." Vessel is quiet still, like he's afraid of being too loud, of disturbing the air around him with his voice.

His steps are quiet too, silent even, II can't even hear him or his breathing. The only indicator that the man is there at all is the gentle, guiding touch on his bicep. II should be afraid, but he isn't. He cannot even see the man, doesn't even know what he looks like. Was he given a mask like II's?

"I hope my cat doesn't bother- Oh shit, is she still following us? I can't see her." II panics, jerking his head around and squinting very hard at the ground like he'll be able to see in the dark suddenly.

"Calm down, its alright. I'm holding her in my other arm right now. A sweet thing isn't she? Not tried to bite or scratch me once."

Vessel's soothing tone, when he's actually trying to soothe, works wonders alongside his words. II laughs, calmer now, the loud sound startling Vessel into jerking back but keeping his hand steady, "Lucky you. Her name is Elvira. She bit me when I first rescued her. People don't treat black cats well, you know? Especially around Halloween. She was scared, some kids were being mean to her so I brought her home. Had to get a bunch of nasty shots to make sure I didn't get rabies. She's only a few years old."

II realizes he's rambling to this man he just met, about his cat no less. "Sorry, you probably don't care."

Vessel smiles, enjoying how the worry crinkled the edges of II's pretty blue eyes as the man realizes just how much he was talking Vessel's ears off, his hands dropping from where they were moving with his words. It's cute.

"No, it's alright. I've never had a pet. She's cute." Vessel laughs, more of a huff of air than an actual laugh, but it tilts the edges of II's lips up involuntarily anyway.

II wonders if he smiled while he did so, if his shoulders shook with the action.

"She can stay then? Sleep said it was alright." II smiles fully now, unsure.

It ends a little lopsided, endearingly enough, Vessel notices.

"Oh, yes, it's perfectly fine. We'll need to get her things though. The manor is empty. Most of the furniture was rotted or broken entirely so I threw it away. I'm sorry to say there is no bed for you or her to sleep on." Vessel sounds genuinely sorry, nervous even, like II was going to reprimand him for something that wasn't his fault.

"That's alright. This way I'll get to choose my own things! Do you have money to buy anything? I-"

II cringes, the memories of his death coming back full force, one of the only things he remembers from Before. Gasping out, II holds his chest with his free hand at the phantom pain of the knife searing into his flesh. Vessel startles, the arm on II's bicep going down to hold his hand gently out of instinct.

"Are you alright?" Vessel asks, desperate to know if II was okay despite just having met him.

Something within each of them was drawn to the other, small and unnoticeable as it was.

"I- I'm fine." II gasps out, shuddering violently, eyes going half-lidded as his vision is clouded with the sky he stared up at as he died, lost in the fear he felt,, the way the blood forced its way up his throat, burning like acid-

Vessel's hand in his brings him comfort, so he holds it tighter, hoping the other man doesn't mind. It helps ground him to the moment, walking through this silent forest with the first vessel of a God he knows next to nothing about. Vessel pauses, looking at their joined hands and up to where he knows his pulse should beat. Panic flares up like a flame in his chest, and Vessel rubs soothing circles into the palm of II's hand with his thumb to ignore it, push it down and away. II won't notice, lost as he is in his own mind, so it should be fine, Vessel assures himself desperately.

"I'm sorry." II starts as they continue walking as his shaking calms down, "I just remembered how I died... I was robbed, stabbed in the chest a couple times, I think."

Vessel strains to hear the other man as his voice goes down to a whisper, sad, with a hint of bitterness. "You never need to apologize to me for something like that. Its only natural to be haunted by your death."

II couldn't see it, but Vessel has averted his gaze, guilty eyes staring forlornly down at the fluffy cat he was holding. Nodding, assuming Vessel could see him, "How did-"

"I bled out." Vessel states, a certain unfeeling numbness to his voice that shocks II into silence.

The thumb still rubbing slow, gentle circles into his palm stills, righting itself in a proper hold, "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to upset you." II hurries to apologize, realizing that he shouldn't have asked.

"It's alright. I've had time to process and come to terms with it." Vessel lies, the guilt building up with every word.

Lying to II seems wrong, and Vessel hates that the words fell from his lips so easily. Though, Vessel supposes it isn't really a lie. Vessel has come to terms with his death, come to terms with his failure at ending his own life. This admittance lightens the guilt a bit, and Vessel breathes a little easier knowing he didn't truly lie to II.

When they reach the manor, the outside vines reach for Vessel as he passes over the threshold of the porch, the small area covered with the plants. II cannot see them, but he does feel them brush over his arm, can just barely see the outline of the manor looming above him. He's so tired, so quickly trusting of Vessel, that he doesn't even bother asking if they've arrived.

Vessel turns on the lights in the entrance hall, ducking his head momentarily as it burns his eyes, disguising it as setting down Elvira, and when he looks up, they get their first good look at each other.

Vessel's mask is startling upon first glance, but his eyes, pupiless blood red surrounded by pitch black sclera are beautiful though the eye holes are differing shapes and altogether difficult to see into. He's wearing a pair of plain black jeans with a black hoodie, the band name on it unfamiliar to II. His hair, a dark mess sitting wildly upon his head, curls around the edges of the mask and the underside of his jaw.

Vessel, taking II in, finally lets go of his hand, which he realizes is black as night. Both he and II miss the touch, neither really understanding why. II's mask sits perfectly over his nose, a piercing just barely visible under the cloth in his right nostril. The blue of his eyes are even more striking in the light. He is also much shorter than Vessel, a good few inches of height between them. His clothes are simple a t-shirt that shows off the tattoos on his arms and plain dark wash jeans, his shoes are chunky black boots and he has a multitude of silver chained necklaces of differing lengths dangling from around his neck.

They both look around the entrance hall awkwardly, suddenly realizing that they both had been staring intently at each other. Vessel decides to show II around the manor, and let him pick a room, all while explaining that they only have about twenty-one hours to get everything set up for II's transformation. Vessel warns him it will hurt greatly, but neither could've truly prepared for it.

All of the rooms are pretty bare, but II doesn't mind, Vessel explaining again but in further detail how the house had been empty of anything but dust, debris, and barely standing furniture. He listens intently as the first goes on to explain that the only lucky break they had was that each room had in-tact bed frames, a blessing from Sleep most likely.

Vessel hates how much he's speaking, sure in his belief that every word is grating on II's ears. The other man must be so annoyed with him by now. Once Vessel is done getting him settled in, he'll have to be as silent as the dead so as not to bother the Second.

II ends up picking the room closest to the upstairs sitting room, after only a brief glance into it. Elvira sits perched on the small windowsill, staring at the two men standing in the doorway. She meows once before hopping down to rub against II's leg and running off somewhere else. II laughs, and Vessel hangs on to the sound, the silence of the house dispersing with another person's presence.

The altar room is a quick affair, barren as it is. II reaches out to touch the sigil on the wall, and Vessel, leaning silently against the doorframe, shudders violently as the sensation slams into his own chest like a freight train. It wasn't painful, just- greatly uncomfortable.

Turning back around to look at the first, II manages to miss Vessel pulling himself together quickly as he gestures at the mostly bare table, "We'll need to get more candles and things for offerings. Incense maybe?"

"Yes, I figured we could get some things at the store. We should probably leave soon if we want to make it before the furniture store closes. I want to give you time to settle in before your transformation starts tomorrow." Vessel explains, eager to get II's curious eyes away from the sigil his heartbeat resides in, and II nods easily enough, understanding.

"Sure. We can head out now. I'm already feeling better than before, though I do have a headache coming on, I think." II smiles, but it falls into more of a grimace towards the end of his words.

Vessel winces, understanding entirely. The migraine he suffered before and during his transformation was the worst he had ever experienced, he is sure. He can imagine very well what II must be feeling.

With Vessel leading through the darkness with utter surety in the destination and II no longer as weak limbed as before, the walk back to Vessel's car is far quicker, merely an hour instead of the two or three it took the first time. They held hands again, for II's benefit, of course. Vessel wouldn't want the other man to stumble and twist an ankle.

It's as they get to the furniture store a while later that Vessel's anxiety rises to the surface whereas it had once been simmering just under his skin, growing steadily in strength with every mile passed.

Parking the car about halfway through the parking lot, Vessel shuts the car off and lets II begin to get out. The other man pauses, realizing Vessel wasn't coming with him.

"Are you not coming?" II asks.

Shaking his head almost rabidly,

"I can't go into a store like this. I can't, I'm sorry." Vessel pleads, eyes wide, anxiety swirling in his gut, just the thought of getting out of the car nearly too much to handle.

"Is it your eyes? The mask?" II inquires, worried now as Vessel's shaking becomes clear to him, white-knuckled grip on the steering wheel not hiding the tremor in his whole body.

Nodding, Vessel agrees, though to which one II isn't sure, so he assumes it is both. "Stores- I get- I couldn't go in by myself. Before you arrived. Sleep asked me to do all of this before you got here, but I- Fuck, fuck." Vessel's voice breaks off into a whisper, guilt eating away at his mind for even admitting this much.

II must think him pathetic, useless. All of his past partners did, his parents, and they all made sure he knew quite well. But Vessel couldn't help the way social situations made him feel like the ground was about to crumble away beneath his feet, like the entire world's eyes were on him at every moment, like everyone was laughing at him just for existing. He's fucking worthless. He can't even go into a fucking store by himself, and clearly not even with another person who is dressed almost as unusual as himself.

II, who has remained silent up until this point, trying to figure out a way to comfort Vessel, to reassure him, is kept from saying anything just yet when Vessel speaks again, and his voice is so quiet, so desperate, II's heart clenches in his chest, "Please, just- just get whatever you want. I, I can help load it on the car when you're done, I promise. I'm sorry."

"But don't you need a mattress too?"

Vessel can't bring his eyes to meet II's own, focusing instead on his hands before him. "I don't need sleep, not like you do. Sleep said so."

Frowning, putting that aside for later thought, II counters, "You still need rest Vessel, whether you sleep or not. The bed doesn't have to be just for sleeping. It's not like we have anywhere to sit right now, you need a proper bed."

Vessel winces, recognizing II's point and agreeing silently but unwilling, unable to say anything, his mouth filling with cotton. "I'll be keeping my mask on, and if anyone asks or says anything, I can answer for us. We'll say we're off to a costume party or something."

"Okay." Vessel agrees quietly, slipping the keys and card into his pocket before slowly opening up the driver door and getting out.

II walks over to his side and grabs his hand, tilting his head and gesturing with it in silent question. Nodding, Vessel licks his dry lips, each step forward feeling like a death march. Vessel woukd prefer killing himself again, he thinks, instead of being around complete strangers out in public. Especially like this.

The fluorescent lights inside the store immediately burn his eyes and Vessel cringes back, ducking his head and staring resolutely at the floor. Leading them forward, II asks quietly if he's alright. Vessel murmurs his affirmative, eyes clenched shut as a headache begins to ache right behind them.

His hands have gone numb and Vessel is glad for II holding one of them, keeping some sort of feeling in the appendage. He wonders if the other man is going to say anything about the full-body tremble he can surely feel, wonders if he'll take his hand back, shake him off, or tell him to 'stop that fucking shaking or else.' It wouldn't be new to Vessel.

II let's go of his hand only once the entire time to try out a mattress, gesturing with the other as a saleswoman comes up to them asking if they need any help. When he asks what Vessel would prefer, Vessel spirals. II's letting him choose?

II, noticing the accelerated, short breaths Vessel is taking, pulls them over to one of the dimmer sections of the store, though its hardly any darker. "Breathe, Vessel, its alright. Do you want me to just get the one I picked for both of us? I'm sorry, I didn't think your anxiety was this bad. I'd never have asked you to come in if I'd known. I thought it was just from what we were wearing, but clearly its not. I'm sorry."

II, desperately trying to comfort Vessel, takes both hands now and rubs over his palms gently, trying to soothe, to help. Vessel forces himself to nod, a few too many times, but II doesn't mind. "I'll be right back so we can get out of here. How am I paying?"

Vessel begins shaking his head back and forth as II lets go of his hands. On instinct, Vessel grabs the hem of II's shirt but jerks back away just as quickly, holding his arms close to his stomach in a protective manner. "I'm sorry. I'll go with you, just don't leave."

II's heart shatters at the desperation in Vessel's voice, how small he looks even as he towers over II. The man can see that the first Vessel is trying his best to take up as little space as possible, hunched over into himself. Glancing around, II realizes some of the workers are staring though they look away quickly when II catches them. "I won't leave, I promise. Let's get this done quickly, alright? Then we can leave."

Vessel hands over the credit card Sleep gave him, and when II takes it, Vessel looks back down to the floor, hands held close, keeping a close eye on II's boots to follow him. When the second vessel doesn't move after a moment, Vessel looks up. The corners of II's eyes are crinkled with the smile hidden mostly by his cloth mask, a hand held out in offering. Hesitantly, Vessel reaches out and takes it, marveling at the gesture despite it becoming somewhat familiar at this point.

While II talks to the saleswoman again and gets everything handled, Vessel is lost in his head, focusing on righting his breathing, on the feel of II's hand in his own, on the faint presence of Sleep in the back of his mind. Slowly, the numbness in his hands that had spread up his arms fades, his trembling slowing before stopping completely.

As the workers go to bring out the mattresses to the front of the store, II looks back at Vessel in concern. The other man has been silent, but II is glad his trembling has stopped and he's seemed to calm down. "Are you okay now?" II keeps his voice low, gentle and calm,

Vessel nods, still not meeting II's eyes and he frowns, worried. There's no way II can expect Vessel to go grocery shopping with him. "I'm sorry I made a scene."

"Oh, Vessel, you didn't make a scene. Its alright, you can't help when you have a panic attack. Its not your fault." II reassures, regretfully looking away when the workers bring out the mattresses.

"There's bungee chords in the back. We can tie down the mattresses that way." Vessel offers, rubbing over his wrist scarring and newer cuts absent-mindedly, the urge to add more growing.

They get out the bungee chords and attach the mattresses to the top of the car, it weighs it down quite a bit but thankfully not enough they can't drive anywhere. Vessel feels some of his deeper cuts reopen, but doesn't let his alarm show. He's wearing his hoodie, it'll be okay.

"We need to go to the grocery store still. I'll drive since I don't think you're in a good state to do do. My headache isn't too bad." II states when they're finished.

Vessel apologizes quickly, voice weak as he hands over the keys without question. He feels like utter shit. This trip was to get things for II so he'd have all he needed when he undergoes the transformation into a true vessel tomorrow. Its turned into him just comforting useless Vessel.

"Vessel, you don't have to keep apologizing to me for things like this. Its not your fault, and really, none of this bothers me."

Vessel nods, closing his eyes against II's burning gaze, fearing the man can tell that he is only agreeing to drop the issue. They get in the car and sit in silence while II drives further into town looking for a store that sells both food and other things. He explains that they may as well get sheets and pillows and groceries all in one go, do they can get back home faster. Vessel marvels at the way II can already call the manor home. Vessel isn't sure he's ever really had a home. A house, a place to sleep, sure, but a home? Never.

Vessel expects II to have him go into the store with him again, but is surprised when he declines and II only smiles and asks him if there was anything he wanted. "Thats alright, I'll pick out some new things for us to try then. I'll be right back."

Only when Vessel is sure II is gone does he let himself cry. Silent sobs shake his shoulders, small breaths are all he can manage and Vessel really just wants to hurt, but he refrains. He can wait until they get back to the house and get II's things set up. He can, he has to. Vessel doesnt even want to think about what II would say if he saw Vessel ripping into his own skin with his nails.

'I had a fucking panic attack after going into a furniture store! A furniture store!' Vessel thinks hysterically to himself, loathing beating away at his brain as his sharp nails dig into his thighs through his jeans. His masked forehead rests against the dash while he waits for II to come out. He feels terrible, like a burden. Worthless, no, even less than that. II is going to leave, without a doubt. If he doesn't, then surely he will ask Sleep to rid themselves of his presence. Vessel isn't that important, his God could easily find other vessels.

Sniffling, Vessel lifts his mask to wipe away tears, and sits in silence until II returns, around an hour later. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to make you wait so long." II says as he opens the drivers side back door, stuffing a multitude of bags inside that he seemingly carried out by himself.

"You're fine, did you get what all you wanted and needed?" Vessel asks, and hopes II doesn't notice about the voice crack.

"Yeah! Bedsheets, a few blankets, a first aid kid, a few shirts for me and hopefully a couple that'll fit you, and some other essentials like underwear and shit. Oh, and snacks, to go with all the healthy food you just bought us." II smiles.

"The card's from Sleep actually. Didn't have any of my own money. Money is inconsequential to Gods, so they just made that card for us to use."

"Ah, well, I think we just singlehandedly fucked up the economy with illegal, undocumented money." II laughs, and Vessel smiles at the sound, though it falls when II winces and holds a hand to his temple.

"I'll drive back, II, you rest. I'm sorry you had to do all this. I should be able to do these things."

"Alright, that's probably for the best. Are you feeling better now?" II asks, and his pretty blue eyes are so hopeful Vessel finds himself nodding in affirmation despite not feeling much better at all.

The corners of II's eyes crinkle even further, causing his eyes to squint like he can't quite see. It really is endearing, and Vessel finds himself smiling back though he knows II can't see it. They switch places in the car, and II goes through his cd's before picking a Whitney Houston album. 'I Wanna Dance With Somebody' starts playing over his radio, and Vessel's lip quirks up as II starts quietly humming along, tapping along with both his feet and hands to the drums, mimicking all the hand movements with ease, as though drumsticks were in his hands at that moment.

"Do you drum?" Vessel asks once the song is over.

Nodding as he answers, II replies. "Yes, I play the drums. Its one of the reasons Sleep chose me. Do you play anything?"

A blush rises to Vessel's cheeks, but he answers truthfully. "I sing, play guitar, bass, and piano."

"I can see why Sleep chose you then, if our method of worship is to be music. You must be talented." II smiles lightheartedly.

"Just a hardworker is all."

Vessel insists on carrying some of the groceries when they get back to the forest where the manor resides. II tries to protest, saying he has everything handled, but Vessel manages to get at least four bags while II takes the rest. II pouts, the jut of his lip barely visible under the mask, but it causes Vessel to laugh again, the smalle shaking of his shoulders and the near-silent huffs of laughter exactly what II was aiming for.

The walk back to the manor is shorter, a little bit more of the ice broken between them. II talks more than Vessel, but neither mind when silence strikes. When the manor comes into view, a single light left on in the entrance hall the only indicator II can see, he sighs in relief. Over time, his headache has grown increasingly worse. He could not set down the grocery bags fast enough.

"Just a bit more II, just gotta get your mattress back here."

"Okay." II's voice is quieter now, and Vessel is quickly growing worried.

He knows his God said they had twenty four hours, but they're already down to eighteen hours left and with every passing second, II looks a little bit worse. The trip back to the car for II's mattress is easy enough, its managing to get it back to the manor while II feels worse and worse that makes it difficult. By the time they manage it, II has to sit down by the footboard of his bed, back against the wall with his head tucked between his knees. Vessel turns the lights off in the house and begins making the other man's bed with whatever sheets he finds first. They're not washed but the package was completely unopened so it'll have to do.

Fluffing up a pillow or two, Vessel finishes with the bed and crouches before II. The second vessel doesn't lift his head, doesn't even move. "Hurts." He murmurs, and Vessel barely hears it.

"I know." Vessels voice is low, aimed to soothe, "Can I pick you up?"

II shakes his head, insisting he can get up to his bed himself, but when he gets to his feet, he sways, holding his palms to his eyes as the movement causes a sharp stab of pain that continues even after he manages to still. Vessel half leads, half carries II to bed and tucks him in under the covers. II is nearly asleep by then, head aching something fierce, but still, he reaches out blindly for Vessel, grabbing his hoodie hem as the man turns to leave. "Thank you. I'll see you in the morning?"

Vessel nods before realizing II can't see him before verbally responding. II falls asleep with a small, barely visible smile and Vessel sighs as he shuts the door behind himself.

That done, Vessel goes to put groceries away and sort through whatever else II got. Going through the shirts and figuring out which is likely his, putting the first aid kit in the downstairs bathroom, groceries in the cleaned out fridge. Its nice that Sleep at least made sure there was running water and electricity. It's quick work, and Vessel finds the silence in the absence of II to feel... well, wrong. So he hums, so quiet it barely stirs the air around him, but it helps all the same. Making his way through the house in search of II's cat to feed her, Vessel eventually finds her in the large empty room on the ground floor. Though, its no longer empty.

To one side of the room sits a beautiful but old grand piano, a light wooden color with a matching bench. To the other side of the room is a drumkit complete with a pair of drumsticks.

"Thank you, my God."

'Enjoy your gift, my vessel.' His Gods voice whispers in his mind before they are gone from his head, though their presence lingers as it usually does.

Sitting down at the piano, Vessel lets a single finger press the G note key, but it was so discordant after it rang through the room, Vessel couldn't help but wince. Vessel looks around the room and finds a tuning kit pretty easily, thanking Sleep once more, and gets to work. Its hours of work, and the sun is rising by the time he's done. He sits to play for maybe an hour or so before a knock on the doorframe causes him to slam a few keys all at once.

When Vessel turns, II is leaning on the doorframe holding his head with one hand, a pained smile beneath the mask. He stands right away, making it over to the other man in record time, and begins leading him back upstairs. "I'll make you something to eat, you just lay down."

II doesn't protest about all the care Vessel is showing, visibly in pain. The hours leading down to the beginning of II's transformation are long and drawn out, feeling like a timer ticking down to a bomb setting off. Vessel had warned II that the process would hurt, but he didn't truly realize how much it would affect him leading up to it. Vessel remembered being in pain before his as well, but its worse seeing II going through the same thing and being unable to do anything about it.

Thankfully, he's in bed when the transformation begins, Elvira laying by his feet. Vessel is with him, holding his hand and rubbing soothing circles into his palm worriedly. II is grateful, so grateful. Vessel could have just left him be in wait for the process to begin, but he's been fretting silently, an aura of worry stemming off his body so potently II could almost see it. II would try to reassure him if he could manage to speak past the pain, past the fire roaring through his blood, pounding away at his brain.

II is aware of everything, every change being made to his body and soul. He can feel something crawling over his itching, burning eyes, feel the way his Gods essence slowly takes over his lifeblood, transforming it into something more. Every atom is screaming as his soul changes to the whims of his God. He has no idea how much time has passed, it feels like its stretched out infinitely and yet mere seconds at the same time. It's torture. If II thought accepting his new God was painful, this is light-years worse. Nothing he has felt, in this life or the next, will ever compare to the sheer agony this process is wreaking upon his mind, body, and soul.

The only constant aside from the pain, is Vessel's touch, the calm of his voice. Vessel is so gentle, so apologetic as he removes the mask from II's head. He hums near silently as he wipes at II's sweaty forehead after putting him back on his back so he doesn't choke on the sludge that drips from his lips, its taste foul.

The only passing of time II is aware of is the position of the sun as it passes by his room. Vessel never turns the light on, so II relies on the bright rays, thankful the too-thin curtains have been pulled shut. It must've been at least a week now, in constant agony. II wants it to end, he needs it to stop, please Sleep, make it stop.

"Sleep, I don't understand why even asleep, he looks so pained. Is something wrong with his transformation?" Vessel asks, brow furrowed beneath his mask.

II wants to ask Sleep the same. Something has to be wrong for the process to feel like this. The voice of his God is far too loud as it echoes in the room, bringing nothing but more pain as it mingles with II's migraine.

"Nothing is wrong, my vessel. This was how your body reacted as well. The second vessel rests, but he is not asleep. You handled your transformation beautifully while awake, so I did the same to the second."

Vessel breathes out a shaky sigh of disbelieving horror, unaware of how II, conscious as he is while his body is still, knows he would do the same.

"Will it take as long as mine?" Vessel asks finally, after minutes in silence, through trembling lips, and II watches, unable to move and too in pain to really process at the time, as Vessel lifts his mask to wipe golden tears.

Golden tears. Vessel has tears of liquid gold, striking against the pale skin of his jaw and the blush pink of his lips, staining the other man's hands and clothes as he wipes them off on his jeans.

This isn't right. Vessel could easily justify letting himself suffer, he was used to pain. It's been a constant his entire life. But this man before him didn't deserve this, sleep should be his sanctuary during this process. Why won't his God just let II sleep? There has to be something Vessel can do- wait. Vessel makes a decision and calms his mind as much as he is able, needing to concentrate. There's a thin thread of something niggling at the back of his mind that's been there ever since his transformation. Reaching out a hand and laying it on II's sweaty forehead, the creases from pain ease under his touch. If Vessel could just- yes, just like that. Connect with II's consciousness and force him to sleep, properly sleep, instead of whatever this is that Sleep has put him under. There's an ache in his brows that wasn't there before, but he ignores it after chalking it up to the beginnings of a headache.

II's dry eyes move, eyelids shuttering before falling shut. Pain spikes through his head and Vessel winces, but when he unscrews his eyes from being shut, II has calmed. His forehead no longer creases in pain, his breathing just that small bit calmer. Vessel is glad. So glad.

Vessel lets himself rest, curling up at II's side, careful not to touch, while the other finally, finally sleeps. His mask and II's sits between them, and Vessel lets himself sob into one hand while the other holds II's. Fuck, he finally feels worth something. Even as his brow aches and the room spins and nausea rocks in his gut, Vessel keeps himself silent, something he does well. His shoulders shake minutely, and he sobs, but no sound leaves his lips but the barest hint of harsh breathing. When he is calm, Vessel thinks he may go write a song. But right now, he is so tired, and all he wants is to sleep but he physically can't. His body aches, and a headache pounds behind his eyes, a chill sweeping through his limbs.

Within hours, II is awake again, and Vessel can feel it. In the back of his mind, its like a light switch has turned on and that fuzzy bit of something comes into focus and then there is pain. Such agony that Vessel shoots up and back, knocking over both himself and the piano bench he had been sitting on. In seconds, he is up the stairs and in II's room, at his side, knowing without a doubt that it is his presence Vessel is feeling. With no small amount of effort, Vessel forces him back to sleep and breathes a sigh of relief at the peace that settles in II's mind, even as the headache that had finally went away begins to creep up on him again.

"Sleep, what's happened? Why can I- Why can I feel II's presence and his emotions? Its strange, and feels wrong, like- like an invasion of his privacy."

"I have bonded you to the Second in mind and soul. I thought you would like to be able to navigate your human emotions better if you could feel each others. Do you not like my gift?"

"N-no, its not th-" Vessel blanches at the hurt he can hear in his Gods voice, trying to explain himself quickly to lessen it.

"Fine then. I was to explain how to give you some modicum of privacy, as you humans seem to strive for that in desperation, but you are not thankful for my gift. You will figure it out for yourself."

"No! Wait, I beg of you, please- I'm-"

Sleep's presence is gone before Vessel can finish, "... sorry. Fuck."

Running to the altar room, Vessel takes the ritual knife he keeps by the plate and draws it vertically over his wrist. Blood spills onto the plate almost immediately, and whether Sleep makes their presence known or not, Vessel needs them to understand.

"I am thankful for your gift. I- I just- II doesn't need to be privy to how fucked up I am. He doesn't deserve to and... I'm scared. Of what he will think of me. This is- This was a very sudden gift, and you've already given me more than I deserve."

Sleep lets their presence be known, voice no longer as hurt as Vessel's blood continues to drip down his arm and splash onto the plate. It is faint, but Vessel is relieved they have come back at all.

"I have told you, my dearest vessel, that you are deserving of everything. I will not take back my gift, and in time, the other vessels will be bonded with you and the second in the same way. That is all I will say on the matter, now leave me to rest. I- I have overextended my powers to give you these things. When the time is right, I will ask for an offering, one not of your blood, but perhaps of the music you have made."

Vessel crumbles to his knees, clutching his arm to his chest. Affirming his Gods wishes, Sleep leaves him. These- all of these things- II, the piano, this bond, these things are gifts from his God. His God thought well enough of him to give him things without asking for anything more than worship in return, and only when they need it. Vessel couldn't be more grateful, as apprehensive as he is about this bond he and II have been struck with. He supposes he'll just have to figure out how to limit his emotions from traveling over to II's side. It can't be that hard, can it?

II is awake for even shorter periods of time over his transformation as Vessel learns to use this new power with more and more ease. With every use, the ache in his brow grows worse, little by little. Vessel grows adept at closing the door of his mind that leads out into a hall where II's resides. Its strange, to picture a hallways with doors in his own head, so it takes work, but Vessel gets it eventually. With practice, it becomes easier to manage.

In his waking moments, Vessel was there. II felt every careful touch, gentle caress, heard every kind word and encouragement. He heard Vessel cry and sob, out of pain or despair, II isn't sure. He just knows it breaks his heart every time. When he wakes and there is less pain than usual, II is struck with an emotion that he can tell immediately isn't his.

II has never felt such strong self-loathing, even at his worst. There is also this other presence in the back of his mind, much like how Sleep's lurks. Within seconds, that negative emotion is gone and replaced with terrifying calm and Vessel appears at his side. Was- was that Vessel's emotions?

"Its okay, you don't need to be so confused. I'll explain when your transformation is over. Go back to sleep, II." Vessel's hand is cold against II's too-warm forehead and if he could, II would lean into the touch but his body still won't obey him.

Sleep is a welcome thing as the brief reprieve from the pain ends almost as quickly as it started.

Finally, two weeks into his transformation, II wakes for the final time, feeling better than he had in what felt like forever. Vessel is nowhere to be seen, but II can hear the piano, which has been a near constant thing in his moments of consciousness, stop. There is relief in II's chest, even as he sits up and takes in the new state of his body.

His hands have turned the same deep black as Vessel's, up to the middle of his forearm where little tendrils of ink reach up towards his elbows. Instead of his usual nails, longer, sharp nails like claws lay. When II glances at his window, there is no light streaming through, and yet he can see perfectly. His mask lays beside him, but II leaves it off. He needs a damn shower, desperately.

"You're awake, for good this time." Vessel's voice is as relieved as II feels, breathy and hopeful.

II looks up at his doorway where Vessel stands, still as a statue with his arms held close to his stomach, and II realizes he can feel the relief in his mind as well where Vessel's presence has grown stronger.

II smiles at Vessel, and for a moment, Vessel is struck by just how beautiful the other man is. For the first time, Vessel can see his eyes crinkle and the way a single dimple appears, and awe floods the bond for a moment before it quiets to something smaller, less all-encompassing.

"I'm sorry." Vessel starts, then begins to explain about the bond, nervous and apprehensive.

II listens, nodding along, a bit concerned at the calm over the bond when clearly Vessel is not calm at all. Sleep has bonded them, made it so their emotions are apparent to each other when they wish it, and Vessel sounds scared.

"Alright, I'm fine with this."

"Y-You are?"

"Yeah, I've always believed in communicating what I'm feeling anyways. This will just make that easier. I understand if you don't want to do the same, and I'm completely fine with that. I'll just be an open book for you, you won't need to doubt my intentions." II smiles again, and Vessel is struck with the heavy need to cry again.

So little time spent with this man and he's been nicer, more considerate of Vessel, than most anyone ever has in his entire life. It's jarring, and Vessel doesn't know how to act around him, so Vessel decides to do as he would if II weren't so kind, as the safest option.

He'll isolate himself, hide away. Hide his emotions, his pain, keep to his room.

Its better this way.

If only II thought the same. If only Vessel didn't silently ache with the want to be loved that he breaks beneath it so easily.

[valeskakingdom]

REQUEST PLEASE 👏🏻

Something soft, if possible.

Reader catches Jerome looking in the mirror, acting a little sad. The reason: his scars. When she brings it up, he reacts angrily and tells her to fuck off. Maybe they slept together before???? Then the next time he shows up at her place, he lets her touch and kiss his scars! PLEASE I NEED THIS 😭🥺❤️

SORRY THAT IT TOOK ME SO LONG😭😭😭 I hope you love what I have written

"Fuck, don't stop Jerome!" You moaned louder, digging your nails into his back deep enough to leave dark red and bloody scratch marks on his back.

You couldn't hold back your moans, even if you wanted to. Jerome did everything to keep your mouth open. With all his strength he trusted im his long hard member into you, hitting all your sweet spots that you had barely time to really breath. He was fast, when you though pulled out he hit another spot already. It was like a marathon of moans.

You knew, you were about to cum any second. Your core was aching, your legs were shaking, your lips were swelling, and the knot in your stomach was building up already. The problem was: Jerome wouldn't let you cum without his command. If you didn't obey, punishment will follow. He didn't like it when you just cum whenever you liked. He was the one who should enjoy the view of you when you came at the right time - not anything else. He formerly hated it when you decided to cum, because it wasn't your task - it was his. He was the dominant one and not you.

"Don't you dare and cum, yet, doll," Jerome kept thrusting in you, but now he wrapped his hand around your throat, tightening his grip "This beautiful view should last a little longer"

It was hard for you not to cum now. Your body told you and even signalized you l, you couldn't wait any longer with all the pain and shaking and the knot in your lower region.

"P-please, Jerome. I-..." It was too late. You came when he thrusted his member into you for another time and hit your sweet sensitive spot. You almost screamed in pleasure, your body was shaking and the knot in your stomach loosened. You knew, you'd be punished for that but you didn't care. You needed to cum.

"Oh," Jerome suddenly stopped all his movements, even pulled out his member. He just squatted in front of you, frowning. He was surprised and staggered that you just came without his command "I see, we're disregarding a certain rule now. Since when are you making the rules, doll? Can't remember we changed a thing."

He stood up, watching you like a predator its little prey. For you it was more than exciting. Pins and needles covered your body, your puls was running, your breathing fastened and your hands were shaking a little. You felt your blood rushing through your veins, as if you were running a marathon. His look at you was piercing, you couldn't stare away from it.

"So many things I wanna do to you," Jerome bit his lip, his teeth were deep in his flesh "Ugh, I don't know where to even start!"

He walked up and down in a very slow pace. He was staring at nowhere while many thoughts crashed his mind. Should he start teasing you again? Or just ram his member into you to make you scream? Should he bite you first, leaving marks on your body to show everybody you're his? Or should he include some of his weapons in your little sex act? Should he play with a knife on your skin, leaving scratches on your body? Or should he scare you with a gun? Or should he strangle you with ropes? All these ideas seemed so pleasant to him.

But when he took a look in the mirror, everything changed instantly. His motivation, his thoughts, his look, his mood - it either disappeared or because not interested enough anymore.

The thing that turned Jerome into an annoyed, fierced man was his face. He knew after his face was stolen, it left pretty bad scars...but that they looked so bad? That his face would look so disgusting? It was a shame, especially because you see him like that day by day. That you didn't say a word...did you do it expose him?, he thought, that was cruel, even for you.

"Jerome?" You asked him, frowning, since he abruptly stop the whole sex and teasing act. You wondered what's up with him. He's never been that quiet all of a sudden, especially when you were about to have sex. He usually was the most eager person for that but now he was the complete opposite.

"You're okay?" You asked again when he didn't respond. You really worried about him. What was wrong? Did you do something wrong? Did he have a bad thought about anything stupid? What was it?

"I was just," He interrupted himself, thinking "I was just thinking. You know, there's a lot I'm dealing with momentarily. Oswald, Mad Hatter, you," He chuckled kind of embarrassed "I'm up for a blowjob. Clears my head." He smirked, trying to change the subject - but it failed.

"You looked at your face, right?" You sighed, you knew this would come up sooner or later "Is it because of your scars?" Whenever he was staying over night, you heard him mumbling things like how much he hated his face after the certain incident.

"Ugh," Jerome sighed in annoyance, rolling his eyes "Don't get on my fucking nerves with that topic! I'm tired of hearing all this shit about my face and my scars. 'Your scars don't look bad Jerome' 'It's okay to have scars Jerome'. You know nothing!" Out of nowhere he grabbed all his clothes, putting them on and stormed out of the room, shutting the door close with a strength you usually knew when he was mad at someone.

You were surprised and confused by Jerome's acting. What made him so upset now? Was it really his scars on his face? Did he really think he was ugly or something? No, never. Jerome would never be that soft, would he? That's practically impossible! Jerome was a crimjnal, a cold hearted killer without real feelings, he cared about nothing besides himself. He usually saw himself as the perfection in person, like a God or something. He never complained about the way he looked like. So why now?

***

It’s been days since the incident, and you haven’t seen Jerome yet. You didn’t even heard of him, not even in the news. It was like he was gone, as if he was dead like the last time. What happened to him? What was he doing? Where was he at all? Did the cops catch him? Was he back busted in Arkham?

So many thoughts went through your head that you weren’t even able to sleep really. You cared way too much about that motherfucker than he did. You loved him more than anything, he meant everything to you. He was your world. You just could think of him. You saw a couple, you thought it was Jerome and you. You saw a car, you thought it was him driving to you. An assassin happened in town, you thought it was him. It was all about him - always.

You were watching the news in the evening, in the hope Jerome would be mentioned, but as in the other days, it was not. Just any idiots robbed a bank, someone stole a car, the Mad Hatter attempted to kill people but it failed deeply… things like that.

You sighed for yourself, you were clearly worried about your boyfriend. You were wondering what was going through his head, whether he was extremely mad at you, whether you wanted to see you at all anymore, whether he had someone else already. When it was about Jerome, you were an over-thinker. You wanted everything to be perfect, you wanted him to be with you forever, you should never argue - but this situation was the complete opposite. Everything went wrong.

After a while you suddenly heard a knock on your door. You flinched a little since you didn’t expect someone would want to visit you in the late evening. All your friends distanced themselves from you a little when they heard you and Jerome were a couple. They loved you for sure but they also knew who Jerome was. They knew he’d control you, he’d be constantly around you, he’d do anything to split them apart from you because he owned you.

You looked through the spy, you couldn’t believe your eyes. Was it a dream? It had to be a dream! It was Jerome who was standing in front of the door. You were happy about that for sure! He didn’t leave you alone!

“Open the door, doll,” Jerome stood close to the door looking at the spy from the outside, “See, I’m back. Didn’t ya miss me?” Instantly, you tore the door open and jumped in his arms. You missed him so much, these days were so horrible without him. They felt like never ending.

“Where were you the hole time? I missed you! Why didn’t you-…” you had so many questions you wanted to ask him but you interrupted by him.

“I’ll answer all your questions soon, doll,” Jerome placed a finger on your lips to shush you “But now let’s get some food. I haven’t eaten all day, work was kinda hard.” Shortly after he finished his sentence, you pulled inside your apartment to the kitchen to make him a sandwich. Now was the time where you were pulled in into the vicious circle - again you wanted everything to be perfect that he wouldn’t dare to leave you for another time. You made him his favorite sandwich, a bacon cheese sandwich, and served him some water to drink.

“Thank you, doll” Jerome took a bite in it “Mhhh, I almost forgot how good your sandwiches are.” He took another bite in it “Wow,”

“I’m glad you like it.” You just smiled while watching him eating the whole sandwich. You still couldn’t believe he was with you again. He came out of nowhere! It was like he wanted to surprise you with his appearance, he wanted you to believe he was gone again “You want some more?”

“Oh, no, I’m fine with that” he said after eating up the sandwich “Well, I assume you’re a little surprised of my sudden coming after my disappearing. You know,” Jerome tried to find the right words “I needed time. I needed time for myself to then realize I like you more than I thought. And this might be the reason why I have a problem with my face because, I want you to like me that way too. Tadaaa! HAHA. There it is!” He was clearly embarrassed, giving you that answer, he just tried to overplay it.

“But Jerome,” You actually couldn’t believe what he said. It was all because he thought you wouldn’t like him anymore because of his scars? That’s ridiculous! You didn’t care about his look, you cared about him for being him. That was all! What would change your feelings for Jerome through the scars? Nothing! Scars are natural, they’re normal, there’s nothing to be disgusted of it “You know that I love you. Why should I loose my feelings for you because of some stupid scars? They don’t change your character, they don’t change you!”

“A gentleman does everything to please the girl he likes most.” Jerome said “One thing could change anything.”

“But not for me, Jerome” You cupped his face, staring into his eyes deeply “As I said, I love you for being you. Who cares about scars?” Then you examined his face, looking at every scar detail “I kinda like them, they suit you. Give you some killer skills.”

Jerome just stared in your eyes for a while. You could see his eyes were shining bright like all the stars in space together. He seemed happy about your words. He seemed happy to her that really nothing would change your mind about him. Because, what he would never admit, he had feelings for you, very strong feelings. He couldn’t be without you. You were his life energy, you were the light to his darkness, the tower of strength. Without you he’d be helpless because you were the calm side that always pushed him back when he was about to be too chaotic.

After a while he cupped your cheeks and pressed his lips against yours. You could feel the love and passion through this kiss, you could feel that you and him were the happiest people in Gotham now, nothing could bring them apart. Nothing would ever destroy their love and affection for each other. Their bond was stronger than ever now. Maybe they loved one another even more than before.

They knew they never wanted to be separated again. No matter what happened, nothing would tear them apart.

That was clear.

[magickandmachines]

Part 3

(Disclaimer this story is rather experimental.. so if the writing style seems inconsistent it’s because I’m testing things out)

His words sank deep into her mind as she smiled softly and relaxed into his hold.

“Alright Visure, you win. I’ll be more careful, and I’ll try to take the protection with more grace. Does that sound better?”

Visure looked down at her in his arms, her small size reminding him of how he bonded to her when she was a child, and yet the years with her telling him she’s fully grown.

“Good. I could try to explain things better next time… though I’d rather there not be one.”

His reply was curt but the care he took in loosening his hold spoke volumes about his protective nature.

The two spent their day running around and doing chores, gathering herbs and ingredients outside the village walls to bring back to town. Dropping off wild honeycomb and berries at her neighbor’s home, taking some herbs to the nearby healer before finally returning to her grandfather’s house. The moment Cita opened the door her mother wrapped her arms tightly around her daughter.

“Cita there you are, are you alright, no scrapes, no cuts, nothing broken? Did you remember to eat today, you didn’t talk to any strangers did you?”

“Ma’ma I’m fine, you do this every time I forage. I’m not a child you know.”

“Your my child, I don't care if you’re two or twenty two I’m still going to worry.” Her mother spoke simply as she released Cita from her hug and rested her hands on her daughter’s shoulders. She turned her gaze slightly as she looked at Visure as he followed inside the house, her eyes narrowing at the robot for a moment before looking back at Cita.

“Just, promise me you’ll be more careful.”

“Ma’ma, how much ‘more careful’ can I be? I haven’t gotten hurt, talked to anyone I don’t know, and I’ve had Visure with me at all times. The only thing that could keep me safer, is if I didn't leave the house at all.”

“Now there’s a sensible thought.”

Cita rolled her eyes at her mother before dropping her foraging apron on the table and heading toward the back of the house. She understood her mother’s worry but was growing tired of the constant lack of understanding, but because of the overbearing nature of her mother, Cita grew too used to keeping her thoughts to herself. She climbed the ladder in the house’s back and made her way to the flatten roof top to sit and look out toward the distant walls.

“Visure, doesn't it bother you how she looks at you… I wish she would try to get to know you and understand that with you I deserve some freedoms.”

Visure looked down for a moment before sitting behind his human and holding her gently.

“She has her reasons, and I cannot blame her knowing what I do, about the past.”

“That was a syphon and a Cloaker that took apa away… that doesn't mean she can judge you like one of them. Drainers aren't the same, You aren’t the same… you’re usually the one stopping fights, not attacking people.”

“Hush the stress, its not a worry for you to hold. Her choice in despising me can’t do anything. We are bonded, and nothing short of deleting me entirely can get in the way of that.”

His words soothed her mind, she even felt some jealousy toward his ability to ignore hate aimed at him. Cita smiled and took a calming breath before leaning back into her companion’s support and turning her gaze to the open sky.

“Someday… we’re gonna get out of this village, and see what the world has to show us.”

Her voice held a hollow wish to it, a dream she says but feels already failed. Cita knew well that any travel outside these walls would be faced with war, violence and pain… but she also believed there was more out in the vastness of the world than just two hateful kingdoms and a village in the middle.

[amplifyme]

An excerpt from another BaTB fanfic I wrote back in 2012 that tells the story of twenty-three year old Vincent, and the first time he kills.

@randomfoggytiger This should be safe to read, if you'd like. No S3 spoilers, though the first section includes a conversation between Vincent and Diana.

The Sticking Place

“Did’ya ever get soda down here, when you were a kid? You know, Coca-Cola, root beer, anything like that?”

Pulled from his somber memories of a lithe, beautiful creature dancing across the vast expanse of the Great Hall and into his arms, all softness and warmth and wrapped in spicy, enticing aromas, and the moment suddenly turning nightmarish as she twisted away in alarm and pain, Vincent found himself staring dumbly at Cullen and his nonsensical question.

“You ever shake it up before you opened it? Don’t tell me you didn’t, ‘cause I won’t believe you. All kids do it. And more than a few adults, especially around holidays or weddings and the like, when you got a built-in excuse to spray beer or champagne all over somebody. Get drenched with it, eyes burning, laughing to beat all.” Cullen’s face softened and he smiled at what were clearly fond memories before turning his attention back to Vincent. “You’re that bottle of soda. The one that’s been shook up real good. All that pressure that’s building? It’s gonna pop eventually. It’s got to: it’s pure physics.”

Vincent had no response. Instead, he found himself waiting expectantly for whatever Cullen might say next.

“I’ve seen it. Selling door-to-door you start to get real good at reading people. And you learn to do it fast. Got to where I could see it in under thirty seconds, just as plain as I could read indifference or interest in their faces… the way they held themselves. All that shit building up inside, filling up all the nooks and crannies, nowhere left to go. Just about boiling over with it. It took me longer with you. And not just,” Cullen gave a sharp head-to-toe sweep of his hand down Vincent’s length, acknowledging the obvious without any sort of politeness as he continued, “because of the way you look. Most folks, they get loud with it. Yelling, threatening to call the cops, raising a fist in my face. All because I had the nerve to come knock on their door. But there’s some, and I’ve only seen a few myself, who get quiet instead. You’re one of the quiet ones, my friend. You’re real quiet. And that scares me.”

He had, while listening to Cullen, slowly retreated from his spot at the worktable, unaware he was even doing so. His back was at the edge of the doorway when Cullen’s eyes shifted and pinned him against the wall just as surely as an iron spike would have. “So tell me,” he asked, circling back to his earlier question. “Am I wrong, or am I right?”

Vincent hung his head, unwilling to challenge the look in Cullen’s eyes. He lifted his hands and saw that they were fisted. And now he could feel the sharp bite of his claws against his palms.

“It has,” he finally began haltingly, despairingly, “become… more difficult… of late.” He forced himself to raise his eyes and look steadily at the older man. “I am of no danger to you, Cullen, nor to anyone Below. You are my family, this is my home, and no harm will come to anyone here so long as I can prevent it. But I fear –”

He couldn’t finish the thought. He was ashamed and deeply perturbed at himself for almost admitting something aloud he’d hardly even found the courage to express in his journals. And he could still remember so vividly those dark nights, and the dreams, after Lisa had been sent Above. After he’d hurt her. The harness, with its hated straps and chains; the struggles to break free; the unearthly howls that’d scoured his throat and rung in merciless echoes in his head. And that mustn’t ever happen again.

[rrxnjun]

OML OKAY i like john green too <3 i love looking for alaska. i recently read turtles all the way down and oof it hit really hard. next on my tbr is papertowns and then i’ll be done with all of his books (hi i’m obsessed with his writing style hkjg) and ooh i haven’t read any from j.d. salinger. the catcher in the rye is the only book of his i’ve heard of </3 i’ll check him out soon. YUSSSUH i love dystopian books too. dkfjg this just made me realise that they made up almost 60% of my life as a bookworm. the maze runner is my favourite out of all i’ve read !! the adrenaline rush it gave was unparalleled. i’ve also read hunger games, divergent, ready player one and a few more from the dystopian genre but i don’t remember them rn. also unless my physics books count for smth, no i’m not reading anything 😭😭 i was reading war storm by victoria aveyard (the red queen series.) and it’s going good but i’m taking a break bc exams </3

AHHH you play the guitar :0 ? THAT’S SO COOL and no idk how to play any instruments. i have literally no knowledge about instruments so sheet music is just, so weird for me even after a friend tried explaining it gdfgdf i learn classical music tho so i can sing to some extent 

OMG YESSS OVERDOSE IS JUST SO HGFKGF it just activates this part in my brain and makes me go grrr. YESS the playlist was literally me putting in my fave of fave songs so i’m glad you like it and kdjfhd i love going crazy too it was in my spotify wrapped’s top 10 last year. OKAYYY since exo is kind of sort of completely dormant rn there’s literally just crumbs and older content left for the fans </3. you can check out this channel and this video. warning: exo-l territory = crackzone NOT EVEN KIDDING this place is wild lmao. expect what you will from neocity’s sunbaenims <3 also lmk your bias so that we can collectively lose it all together <3

gosh i listened to all of fandom’s songs but i felt younger when we met still stays the fave (i said i loved you to death so i must be dead 🙇🏾‍♀️) easy to hate might be a second kjfgd it’s so. good. i’ve been playing it on loop too dfjhdjh 

oml pls i really needed to see that 🤧 tysm bar !! i really can’t wait to get into uni ngl i am excited for that. but it’s also slightly weird bc the last year of high school sentiments have finally started hitting and they’re hitting hard </3 it’s funny how we spend sm time with friends we’ve known like, forever, and don’t really treat every moment as smth special till it all comes to an end. ahh i was really planning on making the most of my hs years but pandemic decided to be a pain in the ass. nvm tho. 17 is weird and it feels like time’s running fast i do plan on making sm good memories 💪🏾

NOW BACK TO TALKING AB SM VIP THINGS

THIS AGENDA IS GOING SO STRONG hfjgkdafgdja also oml i did notice that yn doesn't smoke around yangyang after that scene but thought that it was just me being delusional hhh i think ab that fic sm and yangyang just amplified that brainrot by doing this

HEAD EMPTY NO THOUGHTS JUST HE KDJFHGDKF HGD laptop's dying from all the ss i took lol

also the dreamies concert 👀 .. hyuck... renj-?? ... cue my brain giving up

p.s. hihii this took me so long 😭 it’s exam season for like the next 2 weeks so the pressure is finally catching up w me also your words really meant a lot to me tysm for them <3 have a segci day/night and stay safe ily

I MISSED YOU !!!!!!!! im glad youre back 🥺🥺 looking for alaska and turtles all the way down are my most fav from john green!! paper towns was really beautiful and its my friends favorite,, however id say that amongst john green books, id put it somewhere in the bottom tbh. hope you enjoy it tho!! i had to read the catcher in the rye for my exams last year but i surprisingly enjoyed it so much its one of my most fav books now! also the fact that i read and loved all the dystopian books you mentioned 😩😩 taste.

i do play the guitar! not very well tho, i only know the basic chords hhhh so the yy fic was kind of self indulgent in a way LMAO but you can sing?? 😯😯 thats impressive. could never be me i absolutely suck AJJAJA

i will never skip overdose or monster when they come on shuffle theyre just THAT good. i listen to exo a lot recently bc of you😭😭 i watched the videos and WHY ARE THEY SO CHAOTIC i am in love w them SJJS feel free to send more content my way!!! i think my biases are baekhyun (expected) and chanyeol (also expected) 👀👀 literally tell me everything abt them im ready to listen. baek is very funny and chaotic and theres just something abt chanyeol that pulls me to him. i also like sehun tho! idk what this tells abt me feel free to psychoanalyze AHAHHA also kyungsoo is so funny i completely get why you ult him

17 went by so fast for me as well bro and the last year of hs even faster... to think that i didnt have prom bc of corona but i had exams that were cancelled 2 years in a row the previous years 💀 i hope you make the best out of your last year!! i start uni in a week and im shitting my pants its so scARY I DONT KNOW THE CITY OR THE PPL AND THIS GUY I MET ON A PARTY THAT I LOWKEY AVOIDED LIVES THERE AND HE KEEPS REACHING OUT TO ME THROUGH MY FRIEND AND HE ASKED IF I WANNA COME OVER AND NOW IM PANICKING EVEN MORE 😭😭😭😭

yangyang and me are soulmates. its confirmed. also youre not delusional at all it was intended!!! sjsj im honored to hear that you think abt my fic a lot but also YANGYANG UGH that sc !!! instant brainrot. i dont actually think he can play that guitar but its okay 😩😩😩😩

IVE BEEN FREAKING OUT OVER THE DREAM CONCERT EVER SINCE I SAW THE CLIPS. RENJUN GOING WILD IN THAT GLASS BOX AND DONT EVEN MENTION HYUCK BC WHEN HE KISSED THAT GLASS BOX FROM THE INSIDE, I LOST MY MIND. BUT ALSO THEY ARE SUCH GOOD PERFORMERS THEY DID SO WELL AND I LOVE THEM TO DEATH OMG :(((((( LITERALLY CRIED AT RENJUNS MENT! FUN TIMES! :D ALSO DEAR DREAM LIVE. CRIED LITERAL WATERFALLS OF TEARS THAT SONG HURTS SM TO LISTEN TO BUT IS ALSO MY BIGGEST COMFORT OHGOD

have a good day stay safe!! good luck with your exams i love u xx

[vivid-but-vague]

Swallow Up My Flames With Yours | Guts & Griffith

Maybe if they had been more careful, if they had noticed their silent, seething observer, things could have been different.

Although normally so composed, Anya had finally cracked. She only wished Griffith had not been there to witness it. She cared for him and Guts both, but had treaded lightly in their time together, keeping each at arms length. It's not that she did not want them, she just knew both would be destined for more. More than an exiled princess whose right to the throne had been declared forfeit.

It was Guts who found her after she changed Griffith's bandages. The latter could still feel the warmth of her hand on his unscarred cheek. She had carefully removed the helmet that hid his shame, and instead of cringing at his marred skin and disfigured appearance, she had rested a hand on his cheek. All the while she kept her eyes fixed on his, searching for discomfort but finding none. Instead he was rather content, almost relieved that she had not reacted to his disfigured face the same way the others had. For a moment Anya thought she saw a spark of life in his eyes, but it was gone before she could confirm it.

"I'm sorry I wasn't here, that I took so long. But I'm here now."

She shuffled to sit behind him and shifted his head so that it rested in her lap, careful not to brush against his wounds while also searching his eyes for any discomfort. Blue eyes searched her slouched frame questioningly as she gently threaded her fingers through his hair the way she remembered him enjoying. It was short now, yet another thing the torturer took along with his tongue.

Rage began to flare within her, but she was sure he couldn't see it. She made sure that it was contained on the inside, not wanting the fallen commander to know of her pain when he held so much of his own.

All the while he pondered her return. Why had she come, why now? Why did she not recoil from his frail body and mutilated soul?

She had sat there with him for what felt like hours before the swelling in her chest was ready to overflow. He watched as she carefully replaced the crude helmet on his head, and he could not shake the sudden cold he felt as she left. Despite the cloak she had laid over him, her scent still tangible on the fabric, what was left of him shriveled as he watched her get further and further away.

"Sleep now, I will be here when you awake."

Those were the last words she spoke to him over her shoulder, but they were not the last he heard. He had watched from the wagon nearly an hour later as she stumbled into the wall of a man that was Guts. His friend, his commander, his former possession. Griffith could only watch as she collapsed into his arms, and unfortunately he caught every word.

"I don't know what to feel"

Guts said nothing, but wrapped his arms around her to envelop her in a warm embrace. She sighed in relief as she felt the warmth of his touch somehow quell the rage in her soul, and it only encouraged her to speak more freely.

"I was gone for a day. A day was all it took for him to bed another woman. I loved him, I still do. I hate him, as we hated him in the beginning but at the same time I can't-" she choked, tears trailing down her cheeks even as the brunette man attempted to wipe them away.

"I don't want to feel anything anymore. Please, Guts."

Although not the most experienced man, he knew what it was she was asking for. If he had been a better man, perhaps he would have denied her. But the two of them stood intertwined, the fires of their rage coming together as their lips met.

It was a miracle he could still feel after a year such as the one he had experienced. He shouldn't have felt such rage and jealousy as he watched his two former subordinates shift out of view, off to find a more private location to dispel their emotions, to distract each other from their shared pain.

Griffith could not hold back the torturous laugh that ripped its way from his lips, sounding more like a wheeze as it passed through the empty air where his tongue should have been. Of course, he would be here. Trapped in a useless shell of a body, resigned only to watch as they got further and further out of his reach.

If only they had been more careful.

[ziee]

Yb(TeddyBear) x Reader

"Before I go, I wanted to get you something special." Your dad says, turning around to rummage in his bag. You watched his back in curiosity, wondering what he would have gotten his 22-year-old daughter. He was going on a business trip for about 2 weeks, but every time spent away from you, your dad always got you something. Mostly plushies, or some childish stickers. It started as a kid, your dad would always have to leave due to business trips, so it's kind of sweet he still does it.

"Tada!" He excitedly says, turning around while holding a large plush in his hands. In his hands, he held a rather large stuffed bear. It wore a black vest with a blue shirt, housing a rather cute black and white heart. It's fur was grey, with large blue eyes.

You smiled at him, thinking that the bear was incredibly cute for just being a stuffed bear. "Aw dad, he's so adorable!" You squealed, taking the bear from your dad's hands. He puffed out his chest in pride due to your reaction.

"I bought him in the cafe next to your work, they said he was one of a kind. I'm pretty sure he has a name too, check the tag." You rolled the tag on the bear's back around and looked at the tiny words. Your boyfriend- Peter!

"So your names Peter huh?" You smile and hold the bear to your chest. "Thank you dad, this is much better than those paw patrol stickers from last time." You playfully roll your eyes as your dad clutches his chest in a playful manner.

"You hurt me Y/n, I thought that was your favorite show." He fakes his painful expression as you laugh.

"Yeah, from like when I was 5!" You shout at your dramatic dad. Once the giggling fades, you move in to hug him. "Stay safe, ok?" You mumble into his chest. Your dad wraps his arms around you, pulling you tighter in.

"I'll be back before you know it." He kisses the top of your head and lets you go, moving to enter his car. As he drives off, you wave goodbye. Returning your focus on the bear in your arms, you smile as you run your fingers through his soft fur. Entering the house, you make your way towards your bedroom.

Placing the bear on your bed, you settle him between your pillows before leaving the room. "What to do now.." You mumble just as your stomach growls. Food, of course. You hadn't even eaten breakfast. It was just 5 minutes past 9 AM. Your dad usually leaves early on business trips, so you wake up to say goodbye.

Entering the kitchen, you go to prepare some food. The day moves on as you do your usual activities on your off days. Clean the house, get some groceries, dread going to work the next day. You decided to try and relax, preparing a hot enough to melt your bones bath. Perfect.

You stripped in the bathroom, setting your clothes on the counter before realizing you forgot one thing. Wrapping a towel around your nude body, you enter your room for a candle to light. You then notice how your bear was suddenly not on your bed. Your brows furrow as you stepped closer to your bed before feeling a soft plush under your foot. You yelp and scramble backward, tripping on your own feet before falling on your ass.

You moan in pain as your rub your pained butt, looking forwards at the monster that tripped you. It was.. Peter? "Peter? How did you get on the floor?" The window wasn't open, preventing the breeze from coming in. Even though you don't think a little breeze would knock over a plush bear. Your exposed legs closed as you move to crawl towards your bear.

In doing so, your towel got caught under your knee, pulling it down from your chest. There you sat, crawling towards your bear in the nude. You didn't really care, there was no one else but you home and besides, you walked around this house naked before. You got to your bear, taking hold of its.. Hot body?

Was it in the sun or something? His fur felt warm as well a pink tint on its cheeks. Maybe you just didn't see the pink outside. You stood up, holding the bear to your chest before placing it back on your bed. "Now you stay there, alright?" You say, pointing a finger at the grey bear before grabbing the items you need, making your way back to the bathroom.

The day went on with no more predicaments. You relaxed in your bath, ate as much as you wanted without annoying comments.. And soon enough the day was coming to an end. Changing into your pj's, you stripped once more in your room and threw on a t-shirt and some shorts.

Washing your face, you hopped back into your room and jumped onto the bed. Bouncing up and down with your new teddy, you smiled before pulling out your phone. You brought the bear under your arms, looking as though you're cuddling it as you scroll through social media.

Eventually, you got tired and put away your phone on the nightstand. Turning off your light, you rolled over, away from the plush before falling asleep. As the clock reached 12, your bed suddenly bore new weight.

Your bear disappeared from view, instead, a man took its place. Beside you, the man silently watched as you slept. He wore the same as his stuffy counterpart, but with the addition of black pants. Blue eyes, almost suffocating, stared at your unconscious body.

Feeling his grin widen, so did his boxers. "Oh darling, I almost couldn't control myself after that show you pulled earlier.." He whispered as his hand ghosted your cheek, almost touching your warm skin before stopping himself. He got off the bed, making his way to the other side, towards where you've turned.

Leaning down, his face stood in front of yours. His breathing turned heavy as he stared at your face. Cheeks dusted with red blush, a large tent formed in his pants. Soon, the pounding of his cock beneath his clothes became too much for him. Growing annoyed, he figured he can just relieve himself while watching you..

The next day was busy. Having to get up early, get ready for work, and whatnot. Thankfully, the shift seemed to end quickly. Although you hate it when it gets super busy, it does make the time fly by. When you got home, you kicked off your shoes and headed straight for the shower.

Walking in your room to grab your pj's, you smile as you spot Peter on the bed. "Hi Peter, did you get lonely when I was gone." You asked the stuffed animal.

...

Why are you talking to a plushie.

After your shower, you flopped down on your bed. Grabbing the bear, you set him on your chest as you stared into your phone. Peter couldn't see your face but did feel your breasts underneath him. Rising up and down from your breathing, he watched you as scrolled endlessly.

The first week went by quickly, your routine being work, shower, lounge around. Maybe do some chores here and there, obviously you had a little more control when your dad was out, and do some snack trips.

All the while, every night when the clock hits 12, your little bear would turn into a 6'5 man. Who is awfully obsessed with you. He wishes you would take him everywhere, feeling anger every time you leave him on the bed. But it's to be expected, you still only know of his toy form. That would change this week.

Only having a week until your father gets home, he doesn't want to miss his chance to introduce himself. He doesn't know why he waited this long anyway, I guess it's just so fun to watch your sleeping face as he.. Uh, does his 'activities'.

As of right now, it was about 11:50. Just 10 more minutes. He could wait that long. You had already gone to bed, sleeping like an angel, but facing away from him. He grumbled as the clock took its time ticking.

But alas, it struck midnight. He stretched his stiff body, staying in the same position every day unless you readjusted him. He moved his weight off the bed, walking over to the side where you lay before kneeling down.

He smiled as he leaned in close, feeling your soft breaths through your nose on his. Watching you sleep was a ritual, but recording every detail of you was a way of art. The way your nostrils flared slightly as you breathed out, your lips growing dryer throughout the night, and your beautiful open eyes..

Opened eyes?

The first thing you usually woke up to was either your nightstand or the ceiling. Not a pair of large, blue eyes. Wait, blue eyes? You shot up, away from the strange man as you scooted to the other side of your bed.

"Who are you." You shakily spoke, feeling around the bed for anything you could use as a weapon. In doing so, you realize your bear is now missing. Your eyes now pierce the stranger on the other side of the bed, not daring to move as he stares at you. Wait a minute..

He looks familiar. His clothing reminds you of your bear. As well as his eyes.. And skin too?? "Peter..?" You whisper, furrowing your brows. His eyes light up, a grin spreading across his face.

"Yes! I'm your boyfriend." He comes up on the bed, sitting in front of you as confusion racks your brain.

"Wait- Are you really my stuffed bear?" He nods. "But how? You're a stuffed BEAR! Not a human? Are you a cursed bear or something?" You look at his skin, trying to find any markings of curses or what not when he grabs your hands softly.

"I'm not cursed. I turn into a human at midnight each night." He smiles, rubbing his thumb over your hand. "You're really cute when you sleep." Bringing your hand up, he rubs his cheek against your palm, all the while as he stares at you.

Your mouth opens, flabbergasted at what you've just been told. Your bear can turn into a human. Each night. And he's been staring at you while you sleep?? "How come you didn't tell me before? You could have just woken me up."

"You're always so busy in the mornings, and I want you to get your beauty rest.~" He mumbles, rubbing his face into your hand. You let it happen, a bit weirded out but I mean, it is your bear. Your bear.. That saw you naked... MULTIPLE TIMES.

OH MY GOD.

Your cheeks suddenly flush, remembering all the times you've been naked in your room the past week. The first day burns into your mind. He takes notice of your blush, grinning as he guesses what you're thinking about.

"You know, I've seen your body so many times yet you have never seen mine." Great observation dude, this is the first time I'm learning about it too.

"What are you saying?" His rubbing stopped, seeing him lick his lips before bringing his head up. My hand falls onto my lap as he grins.

"If you want.. I could show you." He's offering to show you his body? Actually, you've never seen a man's body. In-person, of course. It's not like you haven't had boyfriends, but you never got close enough for 3rd base. This- your teddy bear is now offering to show you his junk.

...

You were a little curious.

"I've listened to the videos you watched, and albeit I'm still furious that you would look at other bodies while pleasuring yourself but, I've only ever heard male voices." Your face burned in shame. Completely forgetting most of the time that your bear was right beside you as you touched yourself, he was right.

Your history consisted of mostly guys jerking off. You just found it fascinating and fucking hot, how they came. The different ways they would touch themselves too, and their small groans of pleasure.. Thinking about this is getting you a little wet..

"Oh um well.." You didn't know what to say. 'Yes, I wanna see your dick.' ?? God you were such a virgin. He watched you with a smirk, watching as your eyes zoomed everywhere but his eyes. He could tell you wanted to say yes, but you were just too embarrassed. Cute.

Slowly, he grabbed hold of your hands and placed them on his chest. You let out a quick 'eep' as you felt his hard chest. Looking up towards him, his encouraging smile allowed you to run your hands over his shirt. Your hands were a bit shaky at first, but you kept telling yourself this was alright. It was your stuffed bear anyways.

Moving one hand down, you poked his belly button, making him laugh a bit. That seemed to ease you, moving your hands more freely around his chest. You got curious, wanting to see under the vest and shirt.

You inched your hands down, looking up at him as you do so. You flick your fingers under his shirt, slowly pulling it up. He stared at you and grinned, allowing you to do so. "My, so eager.."  

"Shh!" You blushed as you lifted his shirt up. He took off his vest as you placed your hand just below his collar bone, holding up the shirt as your other hand cautiously touches his free skin.

His skin was cold, and grey. Flinching at your first touch, you watch in awe as his stomach clenches before relaxing. His belly button was small, a cute innie. Your hand moved up from his hips towards his nipples. They were a darker shade of grey than him, small as well.

You ran your fingers over his right one, instantly becoming hard from your touch. Your cheeks flushed with heat and color as he arched his back, pushing his chest out towards you. You softly pinched one, making him let out a soft moan. You immediately release his nipple and throw your hands up, shocked. His shirt fell after your hand left, as his eyes stared at you in confusion. "Did I do something wrong, darling?" His whispered voice made you want to writhe in excitement. You made a guy feel good! Even moan! Your fantasies were coming true, and oh boy were you gonna milk this.

"N-no.. I just got a little excited." You mumble, fanning yourself with your hands. His face morphed into one of pure delight, his cheeks dusted with the same pink as you. Lifting his hand up, he pulled his shirt up and grabbed one of your hands, placing your palm against his chest once more.

"Then by all means.. Continue to explore." You felt your legs twitch as you got even more aroused. Now with another free hand, you used both to play with his nipples. Twisting, flicking, pulling, all the while a large tent was forming under his pants. You wondered what it would feel like licking his nipples.. Should you- ask?

...

"Can I.. Can I lick them?" Peter almost creamed in his pants. Figuring you were too far though, he grabbed your waist and pulled you upon his lap.

"You can do whatever you want with me. I'm yours." He answered, begging in his head that you would do much more than lick his nips. You licked your lips as you stared at his swollen nipples, moving your head closer towards his chest before your mouth was almost touching one of them.

You opened your mouth, lolling out your tongue before giving a quick flick onto one of them. Peter's body flinched at the cold contact, creating a jolt of pleasure straight to his pelvis. You pulled his nipple into your mouth, twirling it around your tongue. He let out more moans, encouraging you to do more.

Softly biting into his skin, he continued to be at your mercy. You released him from your mouth, looking at the bite marks encased into his skin. You grinned, staring at his flushed face. "I didn't know you were so sensitive." You teased, trailing a finger around his abused nipple.

He smirked, deciding to say nothing but look down. Following his gaze, you suddenly realized that you were subconsciously grinding against his knee. You opened your mouth but closed it after not knowing what to say. God, how desperate were you?

"Didn't know you were so horny y/n." He let his shirt fall and grabbed your waist, moving you back and forth faster on his knee. You jolted and moaned, the feeling of someone else pleasuring you was far better than you expected.

"Mmm.. Oh god.." You clutched onto his shoulders as he swayed you, your shorts doing little to nothing in resistance, which you thanked. You jolted every time you moved, your breathing heavy as you felt nothing which you've felt before. You wanted more.

"Peter.. Do you wanna do it?" You moaned into his ear, still clutching onto his shoulders. He stopped moving you, softly pushing you off his knee and onto your back. Leaning over you, his wide blue eyes stared into yours. Rose dusted his cheeks as his tongue licked his lips.

"I've been waiting since day 1 to do this to you, darling." He leaned down, rubbing his head against your breasts. You bit your lip as your thighs trembled in anticipation. You could see his cock against his pants, trying to escape.

This would be your first time seeing a real cock. In person. Up close. And very, very, personal. He removed his head, touching his fingers against your shirt before pulling it off you. He stopped to admire, watching as your chest rises and falls, remembering the time he had sat there. God, you were so warm.

He moved down, pulling down your shorts. Easy enough, but he stopped at your underwear. Dragging his fingers over your clothed slit, you whined at the consistent pounding of your clit. "Patient love, like I have been.." He growled as he continued pushing into your clit. Due to how wet you were, your underwear soon became drenched at the constant pushing. He soon takes off your underwear, coming over you once more as he leaned down.

With the underwear in his hands, he takes a long lick up the cloth, sapping up all your juices. You watch, mouth agape. That was fucking hot. He smirked at your blinded reaction, too red to move. Throwing the panties on the ground, he pushed your legs up before spreading them apart.

Resting in front of you, it was now time for the grand show. "Are you ready to take me all dear?" He purred, reaching for his zipper.

"Yes! I want your cock inside me, please!" You cry, all the teasing from him was too much for your virgin self. He chuckled as he unzipped his pants, his cock almost protruding from his boxers. You breathed heavily as you stared at his erection. Such a pervert.

He brought down his boxers, pulling them down to his knees. There, his cock stood at full attention. "Is it- uh, always this big?" You gulped, seeing the size. He laughed, bringing a hand to your cheek, swiping his thumb against your skin.

"Only when I see you, darling."

"Will it fit?" You question.

Like an idiot.

"Of course it will. Don't worry, you'll only feel a little bit of pain. If it hurts, I'll take it out, alright?" He promised, giving you an oscar worthy smile. You relaxed a bit, trusting him enough to stick it in you. Just like your doctor.

You breathed out and nodded, confirming you still wanted to do it. He positioned himself over you, his tip touching your entrance. "Just relax, alright?" He leaned down, giving you the first kiss of the evening. Your lips mushed together, you being a bit less experienced but still, it was romantic.

Pulling away left a string of saliva, turning you on even more. He stroked himself over your slit before slowly pushing himself inside. The tip was alright, but past that it started to hurt. You grabbed onto his arms and squeezed, stopping him immediately. He nuzzled into your neck as you breathed, trying to relax.

As soon as you were ready, you nodded against his head. He kissed your shoulder before pushing himself further in. You breathed in and out, trying to relax. "I'm- in." He panted, resisting the urge to destroy you.

"Your so- b..big." You moan, clenching his arms. He chuckled, sweat growing on his forehead.

"Thank you dear, you're the perfect fit for me." He waited until you were alright, slowly pulling out as you gave him a nod. Pushing himself back in, you gasped. Continuing to do so slowly, pain turned into less pain before it turned into pleasure.

"F-faster." You moan into his ear. He complied happily, turning up the heat with his hips. The slapping of skin commenced in the room, panting and moans swirled around the 4 walls as sweat dripped.

His thrusts were hard, pushing himself in and out of your wet hole. His cock shone from your juices as he panted in your ear. Him being inside you excited you, but hearing his groans and pants? You thought you were already close to cumming.

His hands suddenly went to your hips, gripping into your skin as he pounded harder into you. Was he already close? His thrusts suddenly went wild, pounding into you harder and harder. You saw his thighs start to shake before he lets out a long, low groan.

Hot liquid shoots into you, leaving him blinded with pleasure. His hips go into auto as he pumps his seed into you, filling you up before he stops. Pulling out of you, a trail of liquids follows him out. Great, now you'll have to wash your sheets, but to be honest, that was far from your worries.

You hadn't even cum yet! You felt him all up, let him in and you don't even get to cum?? He lays next to you, panting. You watch as his breathing slows from hurried gasps. "Had fun?" You mumble, staring into his eyes.

"Yes, you felt amazing darling." He lifts himself up, before rolling to hover over you. You're trapped under his arms, smiling at what's about to happen. "Don't think I haven't felt your glares at me, I'll get you to cum too, dear~"  He smirks as he leans down, head before your entrence.

Is he gonna..? After he put it in?!

That's hot.

You grin as you felt his hands trailing your thighs before clutching onto them. You start to feel his breath on your clit, waiting in anticipation for what's to come. You squeal as you felt the first lick. His long tongue spreading along your whole slit. It's so wet and warm, mixing with his own cum. He doesn't seem to mind though, lapping it all up along with your juices.

You moan as he gets into it, taking your clit into his mouth as he sucks. Placing a hand on his head, you softly urge him into you further, making him suck harder. Biting your lip, you muffle your moans as he twirls your clit along his tongue.

You buck your hips into his mouth, your breasts bouncing along with your body. You place your other hand onto your tit, rubbing and squeezing your nipple. It seems to boost your arousal, suddenly getting more and more sensitive.

You jolt and tremble under his tongue, squealing as the pleasure overwhelms you. You squeeze your tit hard, pushing his head into you as you buck widely into his mouth. Crying out as you cum, you see white. When that fades, you're left dazed. Your hands move back beside your hips, sprawling out onto the bed as Peter holds his head up from his job well done.

Licking his lips, he smiles as he sees you passed out from pleasure. He cleans you up, putting yours and his own clothes back on before tucking you under the bedsheets. Just as the sun rose, he gets back into his usual position, beside you.

Your dad comes back after a week since the incident. Well, the 'first' one at least. "Y/n! I'm home!" You run downstairs to greet your dad, pulling him into a hug. "Welcome back dad." You smile.

"So, did you like the bear?" He asks as he sets his coat on the rack. You grin, nodding.

"He was great companionship!"

[everafterkeiji]

Hi can i request a hcs for itadori,megumi and gojo react to their s/o death?.

Please Feel free to ignore this request if its triggering or u don't feel like writing it! Thank you<3

i love angst requests so it's really okay with me! thank you so much for requesting (ngl i did cry thinking abt yuji) and i hope u have a lovely day even if this was incredibly sad

𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐓𝐎 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐃𝐄𝐀𝐓𝐇

PAIRINGS: JJK BOYS x gn!reader

CHARACTERS: Itadori Yuji, Megumi Fushiguro, & Gojo Satoru

WORD COUNT: 2.7K

WARNINGS: heavy angst, character death, mentions of blood and panic attacks, as well wounds and bruises. mentions of Shibuya arc/implied location in Shibuya during that arc.

⟡ 𝐈𝐓𝐀𝐃𝐎𝐑𝐈 eyes dared to erase the sight ahead of him, his body was frozen—every sense began to fail for its purpose and nothing else was responsive except for the shout of your name that echoes through the battle field, the level of immensity to his voice that covers his throat with pain as every pace towards you was a step leading to a waste of a second that terrifies him the more his being tugged away by his own fears.

Dropping to his knees, he was numb to the sensation of the ache overwhelming his legs while he craddles you in his arms as every part of him shook with uncertainty, his hands didn't have the courage to hold you with as much as strength as he should've.

"..Y/N?" He whispers, a croak to his voice as if it was barely alive with droplets created from his sorrow began to trail down your cheek whilst your blood paints his hand in a hue he never expected to come from you. His mind was in the midst of being empty to a havoc that wanted to deny every rage in his system so he could love you even if he could tell how your chest wasn't rising the way it was supposed to do.

"Love?" Yuji calls out one more time as your eyes flutter subtly, signalling him not even an assurance for your state. His hand falls to your cheek, not caring if he couldn't hold you weakly because what matters more is that you held onto him. He painfully leans his forehead on yours, a loud sob escaping him with a struggle to catch up with his breath.

"Don't let me go, don't ever leave me, I beg of you, God!" He shouts as the gods grow concerned of the boy whose heart was wrecked to every piece as the sky began to cry with him. "Save them— God— Please! Stop taking everyone that I love and let me come with them." He begs, as he pulls you more as if the distance could've helped him better because even when you were close to him, he knew you were already at the farthest place that he couldn't reach. All that could be heard from him were screams where he forfeited ever begging for your life when everyone around seems to follow in your path.

"I'm so sorry, my love." Itadori confesses, arms tight around your figure as every beat of his heart began to die with you when all the seconds that he seemed to waste without you by his side began to haunt him. If he had gotten there sooner, maybe then he could've reminded you one more time that you were the energy—the surviving light in his life for him to exist without being told of his faith.

"I love you—so much so please remember that even when you're away." He couldn't even explain how his words manage to fall in such a manner, he could've sworn a second ago he only wanted to let time freeze so he could deny the view of your lifeless body that he miserably failed to save from the hands of death.

"I promise you, in the end, I'll be with you soon, Y/N." Itadori places a delicate kiss to your forehead, having no courage to leave the contact of your skin to his as his eyes went with the rain that poured over the two of you. He intertwines one of his hands with yours, shivering at the temperature he faces but with the other hand, he rests it on his cheek. Maybe if you looked at him now, you'd want him to smile because if you were the source of his reason to exist, Yuji's smile was the one to let your hearts worries disappear but sadly, the source has been removed from him and nothing else in the world could ever bring the joy in his smile no more.

"All I've ever wanted to do was to love you, so I hope you're willing to wait because when I see you.. I'm gonna embrace you with everything I've got," He then kisses the hand intertwined to his before he achingly pull his hand away and the regret closing on him but he had no other choice.

"And love you again and again, Y/N. Always and.. forever—like what we promised." Yuji, as torturous it was to let you go, he sets your hand that was on his cheek to your chest just like he did with the other before he ends his goodbye with a lasting kiss to your cheek.

"Stop crying, Yuji! C'mon smile for me, will you? I didn't come here to see you all gloomy."

And with the remaining memories left for him, it began to be the weak strings for his heart to compose itself because if he knows one thing that you hated, it was the sight of him crying.

So he smiles, the everlasting wish of yours being granted even if his body was corrupting as the love of his life enters a new realm where forever was possible for the both of you.

"We'll meet again, my love."

As he stood up, he hesitates to turn his back on you but once he does, the sun never looked the same to him ever again.

⟡ 𝐌𝐄𝐆𝐔𝐌𝐈 encounters a feeling that he's been through before—a course of emotions that has his body in a tight hold but now, it seems the hold on him was deadlier than the first time. Your name had left his lips, draining him of his exhaustion to run to you before you could fall, every fiber in his body was holding on to his fear. He didn't need to feel the ache in his legs that were covered in wounds because his mission was for you to perfectly land in his arms even if he had to risk getting more injuries.

His heart began to pace in frantic pace when he catches you, there wasn't a split second of joy that entered him just because he made it in time. Instead, his eyes widen in trauma at the sight of your dull eyes that looked above to the heavens sky.

"Hey—hey!" He shouts, trembling hands feeling every bit of your skin and ends with it down to your cheek. "Talk to me—anything, please!" Megumi pleads as a drop of your blood that came from your forehead started to flow onto his skin. He gulps with his breathing unable to coordinate with him as his head frenetically looks up, any sign of help could've been the better reach but they were just in the mere corner of a building in Shibuya.

"Y/N? Please say something." He whispers, furiously wiping his tears while he despises the warmth of your blood that paints his hands. "C'mon please, let me hear your voice one last time." He sobs on your shoulder, embracing you with every corrupting piece of his heart, looking for a beat from your rather cold ones. His hands go to your hair, caressing it so lightly that he felt it resembled glass from how careful he was. Your head was buried in his neck, eyes barely awake for him to ever find that heartbeat.

"I love you, did you hear me?" Megumi says, gulping in the grief. "Say it back to me like you always did, please?" He doesn't know that begging would've been his lasting choice—maybe someone up above would take some time to listen to his pleads and eventually bring the life to his lovers body once again for you to say you love him back a thousand times more.

"Hug me one more time, will you? You told me you loved to do that." He desperately wishes your arms could just return to the place he loved, wrapped around his neck as his hands were to be on your waist or to your cheek with a smile to your lips. Unfortunately, your arms were covered in their own bruises—latched with dark purple hues and tints of red from the debris of buildings and cursed spirits.

"We have to go, Megumi!" One of the sorcerers shout, he didn't even have the time to decipher who it belonged to but he sniffles, reaching for his phone typing a quick message to the others to be able to take you out of this place with somewhere more deserving of a beauty that has passed.

"I'm not going to say goodbye because I know you'll always be with me, right Y/N?" He takes your hands, placing it on your chest on top of each other as his tear lands on your temple. He softly wipes it away before he kisses your forehead, closing his eyes shut at his misery.

"I wish I could've saved you. I really wish I did." He sobs, forehead in tact with yours but he seems to receive a sensation to his body at the wind that came his way.

"You've saved me the minute you met me, my love." You wish you could've whispered to him but he took it as the wind was the only embrace he'll ever get now.

"And you saved me too." Panda walks in to this horrid scene as he feels the sympathy rush to him. Megumi looks up at him with the liveliness dying along with you as your lover delicately holds your cheek one last time before kissing you on your temple muttering one more time,

"I love you always."

Standing up was the second hardest thing he had to do because turning his back to you came at first as his knees threatened to fall but alas, he has to do continue on because that's what you would've wanted right?

"I love you, Megumi. I'll be here waiting for you."

And the upcoming battles for him to face were laced with rage and the never ending bitterness that love seemed to haunt him with.

⟡ 𝐆𝐎𝐉𝐎's phone rang as while he stops to stare at the caller. It was odd for him to receive a phone call from Megumi at this hour but he supposed it was probably for some guidance since they were sent to a mission. Being aware of their location, he didn't hesitate to transport as fast as he could to get there but there's this calling to him how it wasn't bound to be what he expected.

Panting heavily, Megumi ran with life on the line as he carried you in his arms without the ability to pace your breathing the same as his.

"GOJO-SENSEI!" He shouts with every power in his lungs the second Gojo had appeared, who stood stunned at the boy who was approaching him with a familiar figure.

"Y/N?" Satoru says, uncertain of what he just saw but when Megumi reached him, out of his breath as Nobara and Itadori followed behind him. His student places you in your lovers arm as he kneels down with a hand to your chest, alarmed at how your heartbeat was nowhere near notice. Fushiguro could see the worry in the mans eyes as he bites his lip in sympathy before telling the two to spare a moment for the so called strongest sorcerer who was now on his knees for only one person.

"We saw them being followed by a cursed spirit but they led Y/N to a trap." Megumi briefly explains as Gojo could only spare him a nod as your eyes would flutter once a while as the three students let them be.

"I warned you, didn't I?" He says, a low whisper as your hand weakly reach for his blindfold while Gojo's own rhythm of a heartbeat began to ache. Once he felt how you raised it with a cough of blood spoiling his uniform as his expression grow more frantic with every second.

"Hey there, pretty. You mind staying with me for a little longer?" He asked as if your ears were as attentive as it were before when his eyes stared back at your dazed ones. You didn't respond which was troubling him, what more was that your hand immediately dropped to your chest when he finally looked at you. A shakey sigh leaves Gojo while he rose, ready to fly you anywhere as long as you promised to stay.

"A little more please, can you do that for me?" He begs of you but instead, your head fell unconsciously in his arms with the threat of your eyes to close before he could ever look at you again, not too mention the flow of blood that came from your stomach that didn't seem to stop. He hasn't had the confidence to look at your body before because the fear on Megumi's face made him certain of how the damage had been rough on you. Up this close, he can see two massive wounds to your lower body as well as scratches on your forearms with some bruises on your wrist, hinting how their grasp on you was too strong compared to someone who was powerless.

The hue of his eyes appear to be less saturated than before and for the first time in the life of the honored sorcerer, his heart was irreparable and no amount of technique can reverse the way love his love for you had been the fault for your end.

Unknown to his own senses, his tears fall to your cheek as he pulls you closer like an embrace that didn't bring him his usual amount of comfort.

"Satoru, stop messing around!" You said as he spun you around, tight arms around his neck as he flew in the air, not bothering to listen to your protests of putting you down.

"I won't let you go, how could I ever do that to you?" He assures you, with his own arms tied to your waist with a bright smile on his face.

"And if I fall?" You asked him, glancing at the heights below you but Gojo only tucks a piece of hair behind your ear as you looked at him with the sun in your eyes since two lovers were up in the sky to reach for the clouds.

"I'll be there to save you."

But where was he when you fell from the skyscrapers?

"You hate me, I'm sure." He says biting his lip in agony as he buries his head to your chest, silent sobs and unsteady breaths coming from the sorcerer.

"I love you so much." Satoru breathlessly said. The head that was once on your chest began to move away when he heard nothing more than the silence that came from your heart. They were out to get you, how stupid was he to let you out of his sight just for a second? Maybe then he could've danced with you one more time, up in the sky for the two of you to conquer the heights of being in love.

"I'm so sorry, darling." He then kisses the side of your lip as his feet met in contact with the floor as the rest of the Jujutsu tech as Shoko lets out a saddened sigh.

"Wait for me okay? I'm not done loving you yet." He whispers to you one last time while he hands you over to Shoko as Megumi spares him a glance to notice how wretched his mentor looked.

"I have some things to do." Gojo announces, withstanding the grief to plot revenge to the ones who took you away from him as the rest didn't bother to object knowing there was no possible way to stop a man who had lost the love of his life in revenging your death. He disappears in a split second as the rest of the students didn't notice the tears that kept flowing from the person they look up to.

How can he be the strongest when he failed to protect his only weakness?

Until then, Gojo Satoru could only look at the sky to remember you since his infinity that he swore was to be spent with you died in his arms along with his lover.