#but I just LOVE terrifier. and my taxes are DONE.]

[godblooded]

my dudes they’re filming terrifier 3 in the si mall and the tax place i went to had a bunch of mannequins they’re using for it. what i’m saying is: if you’ve never seen terrifier watch it, fucking great franchise made right here where i live.

[cappurrccino]

i was gonna make a list of things i need to get done today as a like. "hah! maybe if i put it where other people can see what i need to finish i'll be able to hold myself accountable to completing tasks" but um. there's. there's too many things, i think... :(

[thaleleah]

𝓖𝓸𝓭𝓵𝓮𝓼𝓼 (𝓟𝓪𝓻𝓽 𝓞𝓷𝓮)

Pairing: Billy The Kid x Fem!Nun!Reader

Warnings: ***NON-CON***, Dub-Con, Dark!Billy, Virgin!Reader, Oral (female receiving), Fingering, P in V, Corruption Kink, Creampie, Possessive Behavior, Masturbation, Wet Dreams/Sex Dreams, Seduction, Emotional Manipulation, Religion and Religious Beliefs, Explicit talk of gunshot wounds, blood, and the bullet's removal (kinda? Idk if it's explicit explicit, but its a little more than just mentioned), Mention of physical abuse/child abuse (not from Billy), Childhood Trauma, Mention of alcoholism, Moral/Religious conflict within one's self, My bad Spanish, Nun breaking her vows, Probably too quick of a healing process to be fucking someone but I'm not a doctor so 🤷🏻‍♀️, Using the word "drawers" instead of "panties" which is kinda cringe to me but I wanted to be somewhat accurate

Word Count: 9.6K

A/N: Billy's passed out for most of this but I hope y'all like it anyway. Please know I'm posting this and then running away. Okay, byeeeeeeeeee

Summary: When Billy stumbles into your clinic, hurt and in desperate need of care and refuge, you don't hesitate to help him. Perhaps this is God's will. Perhaps He has brought him into your life to help heal the parts of him that the cruelness of the world has soiled and broken. You are a healer by trade, both of the physical body and of faith. If this is to be God's mission for you, then it shall be done. How could you have possibly known that the young man who begged for help that fateful night would turn out to be the devil himself?

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Translations:

Por Dios - Oh my God

Que Dios te bendiga - May God bless you

Qué sorpresa! - What a surprise!

Y él no quería que su mamá lo supiera. Así enterró la carne en el jardín - And he didn't want his mom to know. So he buried the meat in the garden

Pero el perro la desenterró y ella se descubrió de todos modos. Tuvo que lavar platos él solo por dos meses - But the dog dug it up and she found out anyway. He had to wash the dishes by himself for two months

Ese niño - That kid/child

Parece que era un buen amigo - Seems like he was a good friend

Sí, él era - Yes, he was

De nada - You're welcome

Gracias, Hermana - Thanks, Sister

They say the devil can take on many forms.

He is a demon figure - with the face of a goat, horns, hooves, and a blade pointed tail.

He is a great dragon - large and terrifying, destructive and formidable in the power he holds.

He is a roaring lion - hungry and fierce as he stalks God’s children, waiting for them to fall into his trap before he attacks them like prey.

But the devil was once God’s favorite angel, amazingly beautiful and wise. The angel of light, God’s morning star - a traitor now, a trickster . . . evil.

The Lord teaches love for all, compassion and understanding despite another’s upbringing or current situation. All humans are God’s children, all made in His perfect image, brothers and sisters in unity under His loving and eternal care. You are thankful to know this, grateful that you can feel His presence coursing through your veins despite the horror that you’ve come to face daily while working at the clinic. His gift to you is your endless drive to help those in need, sitting by the bedsides of the sick and dying, applying a cool rag to their sweaty foreheads, or spoon feeding them soup to give them strength when they are too weak to do it themselves. 

It is a taxing life, and the sorrow you feel when you cannot nurse someone back to health is ever present in your heart, but the Lord is clear in your life’s mission and you will be forever thankful for the lessons you learn in this lifetime. 

He has made you a healer, using you as a vessel for His healing touch for all you come across - regardless of wealth, status, religious affiliation, or criminal record. 

Which is why when he stumbles into the clinic during the late hours of the night, face pale and hand pressing hard to his side where blood is streaming through his fingers despite the pressure, you don’t hesitate to help him. 

You think you should have - should have let him bleed to death on the clinic floor. Would God have abandoned you if you had?

“Sister Maria!” You cry instead, running to the injured man and looping his arm around your shoulders to help him lean against you. “We need fresh towels and water! And sutures! Hurry!”

Sister Maria runs in the room, bedsheets still cradled in her arms from where she had been turning over a recently discharged patient’s room. She gasps at the scene, dropping the linens on the floor as she rushes to the main utility closet. You guide the man to a bed, helping him drop onto the thin mattress with a tortured groan. One of your hands splays over his, helping to maintain pressure on the wound until Sister Maria can bring in the needed supplies. Your other hand lays gently on his sweaty forehead, thumb caressing the straight line of his nose trying to soothe him. 

His baby blue eyes stare up at you through their pained haze. 

“P-please, help,”

The devil can take on many forms and carry many names.

And yet, despite all you’ve heard about who he is and what he’s done, you never once considered Billy the Kid to be one of them. 

Misguided and uncared for - sure, but never evil. 

He’s so young. You can’t even imagine what horrors he must have had to go through to lead him to the path that he’s on now.

Perhaps it’s fate that you’ve been brought together, an opportunity for you to spread the healing power of your Lord’s love and mend not only his body but his bruised heart as well. You’ve seen too many times where hardships have hardened the minds and spirits of others, caging them off from God as they struggle with their wavering faith. 

“Don’t you worry,” You say. “The Lord is here with us. He will see you through.”

Whether he groans from your words or the pain, you’re not sure.

Sister Maria is quick to grab the supplies, dumping them on the side table. She dunks a clean cloth in the water, wringing out the excess, but pauses when she sees his face. 

“Is that— ” 

“Nevermind that!” You hiss, pulling the cloth from her hand. 

You lift his shirt, exposing the injury and the dirt dusted skin framing it. It looks horrible, blood seeping from the laceration in a steady flow and a part of you is thankful that the sight of blood doesn’t make you immediately drop to the floor like your cousin, Paul. He gasps when you touch the cloth to the wound, blood immediately seeping into the white of the cloth and marring the pure color. 

His fingers dig into the fabric of his trousers, gripping it tight as he clenches his teeth against the pain. Your free hand rubs lightly against his forehead, trying to soothe him as best you can while you clean the wound. 

You think it must be God’s mercy that he passes out before you can pull the bullet out. The pain of the forceps digging into his body as you pulled out the thick ball of lead and the shock that would have come with it would have surely dragged him under had blood loss not gotten to him first. It’s better this way - he’s safer cradled in sleep’s loving hold rather than crying and jerking about as you try to save his life. 

Sister Maria holds a small bowl out in front of you with one hand while the other delicately holds his wrist, feeling his pulse between her dainty fingers.

The bullet comes out easy, your forceps finding the lead and guiding it out of the wound’s entrance with ease. It clanks as you drop it into the tiny bowl, and you send up prayers of thanks for allowing such a quick and simple removal. The grace of your Lord has certainly just saved this man’s life.

With quick fingers, you stitch him up, practiced movements securing the wound shut before covering it with a generous dressing of cloth to keep it clean from any dirt and debris. 

His sleep isn’t restful, the pinch in his brow and the way his cheeks twitch in the flickering candlelight of the small room make that clear. Your own brows pinch as you reach a hand out to trace the furrowed skin, smoothing it out with a gentle thumb. You don’t like seeing people suffer, but it’s more often than not that the people you come into contact with while working in the clinic are in pain, or suffering, or at Heaven’s doorstep. You help who you can and pray for the souls of the ones you can’t so they may be guided to God’s kingdom where they can live in an eternal paradise by His side. It always hurts when you can’t heal someone, the feeling of failure is a stark reminder that ultimately it is the Lord who chooses to give us life, and he can choose to take it away just as quickly. 

It feels different this time though, somehow more personal in a way you can’t understand. The young man before you still has his whole life ahead of him, still so much to do and so many lives to touch. The sins that he’s committed thus far can be forgiven, if only he lifts them up to Him and asks for forgiveness. You can feel it, deep in your bones, that you need to save this man. You can’t fail. 

He’s alive, for now. And you can only do your best to make sure he stays that way. 

“He cannot stay here,” Sister Maria says quietly, gathering the red stained water and rags. “They will find him.”

You nod, gathering the small bowl with the bullet remnant and the sutures kit. “We’ll keep him here tonight and move him to the back room in the morning after he’s rested a while,”

“No,” Sister Maria says. “He cannot stay here. Helping an outlaw is punishable by death. They will hang us,”

“God will not abandon us,” You say, firmly. “We are all His children, servants and outlaw alike. He wouldn’t want us to toss him out on the street to die.”

You look over your shoulder towards the sleeping man again. His brow is furrowed again, the sweat on his face glistening in the light. You sigh before turning back to Sister Maria. “Don’t worry, Sister. I’ll think of something,”

The pacifying words seem to offer Sister Maria no comfort, and her worried eyes snap upwards as she looks towards the ceiling, voice cracking as she breathes a pleading, “Por Dios,” up towards the roof. 

The room is silent to her plea.

You don’t leave Billy’s side the entire night, sitting in the chair directly next to the bed, dabbing at his heated face and neck with a damp washcloth and changing his bandage when the first one had soiled through. He wakes a few times during the night, icy blue eyes fluttering open and locking on yours for the briefest second before slipping closed once again, a quiet sigh escaping through his slightly parted lips. 

This is the hardest part - the waiting. Waiting to see if your hard work to heal someone was enough. You keep a close eye on him, looking for signs of pain or illness, keeping an eye on the injury site to try and prevent infection. You flushed it with alcohol during the dressing change, having found an extra bottle hiding in the supply closet while grabbing some fresh cloths. Supplies like alcohol for disinfecting, while needlessly abundant in saloons and brothels, are difficult to acquire for the clinic. You think it's foolish, wasting something that can be used for healing purposes on something as pointless as getting drunk. Your father had been a drunk, drinking away his cares and woes, his only goal was to make it to the bottom of a bottle. 

You wish you would have found it sooner so you could have actually disinfected the entire wound instead of just the outside and stitches, but this is better than nothing, you suppose. The smell as you pour it over his wound makes your stomach turn, reminding you of all the times your father came home reeking of the stuff, belly full of poison and his mind, hazed with drink, still evil enough to find your mother and make her suffer as if she were the reason he deemed himself a failure in life. Billy lets out a pained moan in his sleep, body subconsciously tensing in pain as the alcohol flushes the stitched up skin, but thankfully he doesn’t wake. You don’t want him to be in pain, but there’s a part of you that selfishly thinks he’s sharing your own pain, the memory of your childhood trauma somehow seeping into his brain as you recover his wound. 

You know it’s not true, but you’re thankful he’s there with you anyway. 

When morning arrives, you’re beyond exhausted. 

The night shift always takes more out of you than the day shift and your eyes have been threatening to close since the first rays of the sun started spreading across the dust covered floor of the clinic. 

Sister Ann and Sister Catherine arrive before the sun does, the first rays of it only starting to spill over the New Mexico horizon line when their footsteps echo through the entryway. You lean forward in your seat at the sound of them, glancing over at Billy’s still sleeping frame as Sister Ann’s gentle humming of a nursery song her mother used to sing to her spreads throughout the clinic. Quick footsteps cut through the song, the humming stopping entirely as frantic whispers sound from the entryway. And then three sets of running feet are getting closer to the corner room. 

“Oh, good heavens,” Sister Catherine breathes, eyes locked on the special patient taking up the small bed. 

Sister Ann has a dainty hand clasped against her mouth in shock and Sister Maria nervously wrings her own together from behind them. 

“He was hurt,” You say, immediately defensive of the injured man. “We couldn’t leave him to die. The Lord says–”

“You don’t need to preach to us, Sister y/n,” Sister Catherine interrupts. “It’s the right thing to do. The Lord is on our side.” She’s confident in her words, and it gives you comfort you didn’t know you needed to have your beliefs validated. But she pauses, eyes flickering once again to Billy before they meet yours - the fear in her brown orbs clear as day. “The law, on the other hand, will not be.” 

“We need to move him,” You say.

“To where?” Sister Ann whispers frantically. “The sheriff and his deputies are sure to show up here. They know he’s been shot, it’s only a matter of time.”

“It is a blessing they have not come already,” Sister Maria adds.

They’re right. With Billy injured, they have to know he couldn’t have gotten far. Their only saving grace is that the Sheriff more than likely would have never believed Billy would have come to the clinic for medical attention if on the run from the law. Perhaps holed up in some abandoned alley, bleeding out while propped up against a wall. Or maybe they think he tried riding out of town, desperate to get as far away from the people hunting him as possible before inevitably succumbing to his injuries and falling off his horse in a nearby field. 

You rise from the chair, leaning over the bed slightly to rest a gentle hand on Billy’s forehead. It’s still clammy against your palm and he shivers slightly in his sleep, subconsciously pressing his head a little harder against your hand looking for comfort in his pained state. He needs to get away from here, away from any prying eyes because if he’s found, his life on this Earth is over. He is in no position to run or fight for his life. The road to recovery for him is a long one if he hopes to heal well enough to regain his strength and usual mobility. The only thing he will have to look forward to if discovered before he can is a necklace of rope and a quick fall. 

“Help me get him to the back room,” You say, sternly. In moments of uncertainty and panic, someone needs to be the guiding light. Your fellow Sisters are still as stones in their spots, all in various states of distress as they look at the man who, if discovered under their care, could very well be the catalyst that marks the end of their missions here on Earth. The Lord brought Billy to you - you need to protect him. “He can stay in the alcove until we can figure out where to take him.”

“He cannot stay in the clinic!” Sister Maria exclaims. “They will surely check every room searching for him!”

“Trust me,” You soothe. “Please, Sister. We need to move him before they come or we will all surely pay the price.”

There is a short pause, but to your frantic brain it feels like an eternity before Sister Catherine nods and gently nudges Sister Ann to the opposite side of the bed. 

“Let’s hurry,” She says, reaching to pull away the thin blanket you threw over Billy’s shaking frame at some point during the night. “I fear we don’t have much time left.”

Together, the four of you lift Billy from the bed. It’s a struggle. Even for multiple women to carry a fully grown man, it's a task and a half just to get him from the small patient room to the back area of the clinic. He whines in his sleep, his wound jostling and stitches pulling from the regretfully poor stability you have on his body as you carry him. But, somehow, he doesn’t wake. 

The back room is small, but comparatively large compared to the patient’s rooms. The entire width is the size of two patient rooms combined, but that’s not giving it much grace. It makes you sick sometimes, to see people with money spending it on lavish items, large houses and grand parties just to show off their wealth when there are people in need all around whose lives would change if they only had a fraction of the wealth the ones in good standing do. As it is, the back room of the clinic is despairingly bare - limited backstock of supplies, linens, and food are scattered among the wooden shelves lining the room. If only those wealthy men who think to only fill their pockets would hear the Lord’s call to give to the needy instead. It would make your heart happy to see these shelves filled just once. 

There’s a small alcove in the back of the room that you and the other Sisters use when times prove most trying. On the days when things are difficult, emotions are too much for you to handle alone or a patient isn’t doing well and there’s nothing you can do other than wait and pray for their recovery, you visit the alcove. It's been adorned with simple yet revenant items, a small yet beautiful cross nailed to the center of the wall, a small ceramic dish holding a wooden beaded rosary placed on the floor below it, resting on a pleasantly fluffed up pillow - ready to help guide their prayer. 

Resting against the side wall of the alcove is a folded up cot. It’s not uncommon that one of the Sisters might have to sleep at the clinic during their off shift. More often than not, they are able to return to their lodgings to sleep and reenergize for their next shift. But there are times when too many people are injured, too many of the townspeople have fallen ill to whatever flu or illness that’s crossing through the town and all hands are needed here. The foldable cot is their home away from home, and while it might not be the most comfortable, you are thankful the Lord was able to provide it lest you be made to sleep on the floor behind the extra blankets neatly folded on the shelves. 

You all adjust your grips on the young man allowing for Sister Maria to release her hold and pull back the thick blanket shielding the entrance to the alcove. You grunt under the presence of the additional weight, the awkward grip you all have on him unhelpful in the way his limp body bears down on you all. Sister Maria is quick in tying back the privacy blanket so that it stays to one side, and works to wrangle open the finicky cot. Once it’s unrolled, you help in depositing Billy down onto the makeshift bed, quickly checking his wound to make sure no stitches accidentally ripped in the journey back here before turning to accept the fresh blanket Sister Ann hands you from the shelf. 

Billy’s brow is furrowed again, breathing a little harsher probably from the pain of being jostled. You lay out the blanket over top of him and pull it up to his chin, your hand reaching out to smooth the wrinkled skin between his eyes again. 

“What do we do now?” Sister Ann asks, and Sister Catherine pulls her hand away from where it was plucking nervously at the skin at the sides of her fingers.

“We wait,” She responds, cradling Sister Ann’s damaged hand delicately between her own. “We won’t be able to move him out of the clinic before the Sheriff arrives. We’ll have to keep him hidden here until then and pray they don’t find him.”

The thought of the Sheriff and his men finding Billy here makes your stomach churn. The undeniable fate that waits for you if he’s discovered is one that you’re willing to sacrifice. He’s come here for help, God has brought him here to you for your healing and protection and you can’t fail Him just because your humanity makes you fearful of your end. It’s supposed to be a beautiful thing - death. The moment when your soul on this Earth fulfills its mission here and your granted eternal life at the side of God in the Kingdom of Heaven. It’s what you’ve wanted your whole life, a life of peace and serenity that seems so out of reach here on the soil. Fear will not keep you from looking forward to it. But you’re not done here yet, you have many years left of helping others and spreading His love to those in need. This is not your end. But if it is, it’s worth the sacrifice to try to save Billy. 

You’ll hang with him, if need be. 

Your fellow Sisters though . . . the thought of them hanging for your own choice, regardless of if you think it was the right thing to do, makes you sick. Your decisions are your own, and they shouldn’t suffer for your choices. 

Billy’s forehead unwrinkles under your gentle fingers, and you can feel your heart break as you look down at him. He’s so young still, a young man just at the beginning of his life. He has so many fine years ahead of him. He’s handsome, fit and strong - he would make a fine husband for some lucky lady, a dutiful father for his children. He’s not as evil as they say. You’ve learned to trust your instincts when it comes to people. Sometimes the most misunderstood people are the kindest, and you can’t help but think Billy is the most misunderstood of all. You can’t sense a single whisper of badness in him. 

You stand up and pull the privacy blanket back in front of the alcove, hiding Billy from sight in the safety of God’s makeshift altar. Together, you and the other Sisters make your way out of the back room. A few rooms down a sickly man is coughing up a storm, and from how hard and continuous his coughs are, you know his throat is raw. Sister Ann shoots the rest of you a worried look, but turns to grab a water carafe off of a side table before rushing down the hall towards the coughing man and away from the current situation. 

“You can head back, Sister Maria,” You say, placing a calming hand on her shoulder. “Get some rest. It’s going to be a long day and we’re going to need you for the night shift.”

You can tell she’s torn, both wanting to stay and help in any way she can but seeming to know that there’s nothing she can do. All there is to do is wait. After a few moments, she nods, her own hand coming up to rest on top of yours. “Que Dios te bendiga,”

You watch as she makes her way towards the front, pushing open the wooden door before jerking to a halt. “Sheriff Garrett! Qué sorpresa!”

Her words sent a spark of panic through you. It’s so soon! You knew it was coming, but it’s still so incredibly soon. You had hoped for at least a while longer to try to gather your thoughts and think of a plan of where you can take Billy, but it feels like time moves slowly as the Sheriff and two of his deputies step into the clinic.

“Sister,” Garrett responds, respectfully tipping his hat. 

Even through your panic, you still feel a twinge of irritation. A gentleman would take off his hat, but you suppose it’s better than the two men standing behind him who do nothing but trail their eyes around the clinic's entrance suspiciously (and with a clear bout of judgment).

You know for a fact these men with gold lined pockets have never given so much as a dime to the clinic. 

Sister Maria turns back to look at you and Sister Catherine, desperation clear in her eyes and you're glad that none of the men are looking at her anymore or you think her obvious distress might have given you all away.

“Have a good rest, Sister,” You say, urging Sister Maria away. Thankfully, she listens, nodding to you and then Garrett before scurrying out the door. 

“How can we help you, Sheriff?” Sister Catherine asks. 

Garrett takes a few leisurely steps along the entryway, observing the interior of the clinic with the aura of a man who thinks he can see everything. You suspect he sees nothing at all. 

“I apologize for the interruption, Sisters. I know you’re hard at work," He says. “But we’re looking for an outlaw on the run.” He pauses, looking over at the two of you with pointed eyes. At your silence, he continues. “William H. Bonney, otherwise known as Billy the Kid,”

“Oh, dear,” Sister Catherine gasps. 

You feign concern also, bringing your fingers to your mouth as a sign of shock. Garrett nods in agreement at your supposed horror. 

“As you no doubt know he is a very dangerous, very unlawful, man,”

“So we’ve heard,” Sister Catherine says, nodding solemnly. “Is that what brings you in today?”

“Yes,” He says. “There was an altercation last night between him and I. I was able to shoot him so he is very hurt, but he got away before I could arrest him or finish the job.”

“Kinda stupid to come to a clinic when you’re a wanted outlaw, Pat,” One of the men behind Garrett grumbles. “We’re wasting our time here.”

You can’t help but agree, despite that being exactly what Billy did. But maybe that’s what makes it smart. You're hopeful that Garrett will listen to his friend, will assume that Billy couldn’t possibly be here and leave the clinic without investigating it. 

The small spark of hope dies as Garrett laughs without mirth. “The Kid’s not stupid. But we’re covering all our bases,” 

“Helloooooo,” A voice calls from another room opposite the patient still occasionally coughing up a lung. “Can someone please pay attention to the sick people around here? Hellooooooooooo?”

Sister Catherine smiles tightly. “Mr. Taylor,” She says by way of explanation. “A rather problematic patient here. He’s a good man, just impatient.”

Sister Ann’s voice can still be heard attempting to soothe her own charge, so Sister Catherine has no choice but to tend to Mr. Taylor. When she disappears from sight, you turn back to Garrett, trying your best to deter suspicion. 

“I can assure you, Sheriff, that we haven’t seen any sign of Mr. Bonney around here,” The lie leaves your lips far too easily for it to feel like the sin that it is.

Garrett nods, and you can tell he believes you, but puts his hands on his hips all the same, one hand pushing aside his coat to rest freely on the hilt of his gun. “Mind if we have a look around?”  

You force a smile on your face. “Not at all. As long as you don’t bother any of the patients. They need their rest,”

“Certainly,”

You lead him around the clinic allowing him and the deputies to search the rooms for their missing outlaw. When they get to Billy’s old room, the room they just vacated not minutes before the Sheriff arrived, you tell them that a patient was recently discharged and that you hadn’t had the time to turn over the room yet. 

“Why is there blood on ‘em?” One of the deputies asks, nodding to the blood stains still covering the stark white of the sheets. 

“A cooking accident,” You reply. “An incorrect knife hold can sometimes do that,”

Another lie. You feel this one a little more than the first. 

Eventually their search comes to the back room. You can’t keep them out, that would be too suspicious, so you allow them to walk through the half filled shelves. It's more than clear that there’s no place to hide anyone here other than the alcove and you're naively hoping they won’t even realize it’s there. 

It’s a large blanket hanging on the wall. Of course, they’re going to notice it. 

And, sure enough, one of the deputy’s eyes cut to the blanket. He heads towards it with a gruff “What’s behind here?” but you intercept him, rushing over to stand between him and the alcove.

The Sheriff and his deputies have their eyes on you now, each one closing in closer to you and the alcove, much too close for comfort.

“Sister,” Garrett says, voice stern with authority. “What’s behind the blanket?”

“It’s our place of prayer here,” You say, voice calm despite your nervousness. “Our altar.” You can’t mess up now. If you show any sign that you’re being untruthful, both you and Billy as well as your fellow Sisters out front will be on a one way trip to the courthouse. You’ll all die hanging from its top banister. “When healing doesn’t seem to be enough, it helps to have a place dedicated to God to call upon his everlasting power to perform miracles.”

Garrett nods. “Mind if we take a look?”

“Yes, actually. I do,” Your quick denial clearly catches him off guard, his eyebrows raising towards his hat. “Just as God bids us to modesty with our clothing, we must also show privacy and modesty in our places of worship. They’re sacred spaces. Surely you understand that, Sheriff,” 

The words feel like poison on your tongue. Using worship and prayer to cover up a lie is the catalyst that makes bile feel like it's rising in your throat. It’s not a lie, you have to remind yourself. It is a makeshift altar, you do use it as a place of worship and prayer. Just . . . not right at this moment. 

The reality of the situation is catching up with you, and you hide your slightly shaking hands by folding them together in front of you. You haven’t lied in years. You lied a lot as a child, a necessity of living with a father who’s anger could strike at a moment’s notice. You resented having to do it back then, forced to sin for the sake of trying to keep peace in the home. It’s much like the situation you find yourself in now, having to lie to try and protect another person. To protect yourself. 

When you found refuge at the convent all those years ago, you were told you would never have to be untruthful ever again.

“God is granting you freedom from your woes,” You were told, and you remember how light those words had made you feel. “Thank him for His good graces with your undying loyalty and strive to always be who He guides you to be.”

You hadn’t lied since, no matter how tough things seemed. Sickly patients lying on their deathbed, scared and begging you for any kind of reassurance that it wasn’t the end for them. You wouldn’t give them false hope. Instead, you would tell them to turn their worries to the Lord, clasping their hands in yours and praying with them.

“Your soul is strong, bright and ever-present,” You would tell them. Sometimes you would let them hold your rosary so they can find comfort in it. “The body is a temple, and we do our best in our life to care for it. You’ve done that. If it weakens now, it is because God is calling your soul back to Him.”

The guilt is clawing at your chest, but you force it back as best as you can as you meet Garrett’s eyes. “I ask that you don’t force us to desecrate that,” 

Garrett just stares at you, an unreadable expression on his face. One deputy just looks between you and Garrett, uncertain with how to proceed in the face of defying authority, and the other deputy that sneered at the thought of Billy even coming to the clinic scoffs at your words. 

“Listen, lady, the law–”

“John, enough,” Garrett interrupts, voice shockingly hard as his eyes cut to his deputy. “She’s a Sister and you’ll show her respect.”

You feel a quick spark of satisfaction at the way the deputy’s confident, power hungry facade dies under the Sheriff's ridicule. He mumbles a quick apology to which you accept with a nod despite how insincere it sounds. 

Garrett nods his head towards the door, silently gesturing for the other two to head towards the exit before he tips his hat at you directly, thanking you for your time and apologizing for any inconvenience their visit may have caused. 

You want to tell him it was no inconvenience at all, but you’ve already sinned enough today and you can’t bear the thought of intentionally adding to the tally without justified need. Instead you settle on curving your lips into a convincing smile, thanking the men in return for their brevity and understanding and wishing them a good rest of their day as you usher them out of the back room and towards the front entrance.

Every single muscle in your body relaxes once they are completely out of the clinic, relief washing over you as you whisper out a quick prayer of thanks to God for allowing everyone to get out of the overwhelmingly dangerous situation unscathed - at least for now. 

Sister Ann and Sister Catherine peek out of their respective rooms when they hear the front door swing shut, their wide eyes mimicking the relief you know is shown in your own. 

“I can’t believe they didn’t find him,” Sister Ann admits, and it pains your heart to see tears begin to well up in her eyes. “I thought this was truly the end for all of us.” 

You have her in your arms in an instant, cradling her small frame against your chest as she begins to cry in earnest. For as scary as it’s been for you so far, you can’t imagine what she’s been going through. Sister Ann and Sister Catherine have only known about Billy for less than no time at all. And yet, despite the short period of time between finding out about Billy, getting him into the alcove, and the entrance and departure of the Sheriff - you’re sure it probably felt like an eternity to her. 

“Hush now, Sister,” You whisper, running a soothing hand along her back. “You’re safe, I promise.”

Sister Catherine places one of her hands on Sister Ann’s back as well, but she’s looking at you when she speaks. “He still can’t stay here,”

You know that. You know. You got lucky that the Sheriff didn’t find Billy this time, but who's to say that he won’t come back when he’s unable to find his missing outlaw anywhere else? Covering all his bases, that’s what he said. He’ll come back again when he sees that his other ‘bases’ have turned up nothing but dead ends. 

Your older brother, Joe, has a cabin just outside of town. It’s a hidden place, specifically built for peace. No visitors. He lives alone, no wife or children to keep him company and he prefers it that way. 

“If I’m alone, I can’t turn into him,” 

You're positive he wouldn’t. Your brother is far from being anything like your father, but the task of trying to prove that to him seems to be out of your skillset. He tells you he’s happy with his life, that he’s chosen the path he feels he needs to be on just as you have. Who are you to pass judgment?

Joe likes the solitude, that much is certain. But he also has an adventurous spirit which guides him on lengthy trips from town to town, exploring all the world has to offer while never having to be tied to one place. He’s away now according to the last letter he sent you, planning to stay in Chihuahua, Mexico for a while and that he’s not sure yet when he’s going to be back. 

“It’s dangerous,” Sister Catherine pushes, taking your silence as reluctance.

“I know,” You say. “I know. I think . . . I think I have an idea.”

The cabin will be empty. Joe isn’t due back for the immediate future, and even if he does return earlier than you suspect he will, you and Billy won’t be in danger. Joe can be trusted. He’ll help you, if need be. You can’t imagine that the Sheriff would ever know about it. It’s secluded - far off of any of the usual paths. It’s safe there. The perfect place to hide the wanted outlaw for a while. He can rest there, heal up uninterrupted for a few weeks until he can safely move around on his own two feet again. 

Sister Catherine listens openly to the idea, but her face is pinched in displeasure. 

“We don’t have much of a choice,” She says, reluctantly. “It seems like the best place for him to disappear to until he’s healed.”

You can hear the underlying pause in her agreement loud and clear. “But?”

“The clinic cannot spare two of us. We would lose half of our staff and it is too much for one person to handle alone per shift,”

“I wouldn’t ask any of you to come with us,” You say. No, for as much as you believe God sent Billy into your life for a reason, this was your mission to bear. You’ve already put your fellow Sisters through enough.

“You want to go alone?” Sister Ann sniffles, raising her head up from your chest.

“You need to think about this,” Sister Catherine says, sternly. “You shouldn’t be alone with him. He is a child of God, yes. But he is also an outlaw and a man. Sometimes, one of those is worse than the other.”

They’re being protective. The more rational part of you is grateful for their concern, and you think that if the positions were switched and one of them were in your position instead, you would react the same way. But a part of you is bitter. They’ve heard the stories. You know exactly how cruel men can be and you know exactly what they’re capable of. It’s a risk you’re taking, but you feel called to take it anyway. Billy needs your help, and God would never put anything in your path that you can’t handle.

“The Lord will protect me,” Despite the truthfulness of your words, you can see how they do little to reassure them. Your next words are better. “The Lord will help me protect myself.”

Sister Ann looks at Sister Catherine, once again bringing her hands together to pick at the reddened skin at the edge of her nail. Sister Catherine sighs, and the back of her hand reaches up to tap her forehead as if feeling the temperature or wiping away sweat. 

“Alright,” She relents. “How do we get him to your brother’s cabin?”

“I don’t know,” You admit. “We need a wagon. Or a large wheelbarrow that we can put him in and attach it to a horse. I haven’t ridden a horse in a long time, but I’m sure I can manage.”

“Where are we supposed to get that?” Sister Ann’s tone borders on exasperated. 

As if answering your unspoken prayer, the door to the clinic opens once more, this time revealing a bright faced Samuel Anderson, carrying a crate full of fresh supplies. And behind him, lit up by the sunlight like a bright blessing, is his wagon.

Sam Anderson is the son of local store owner, Edward Anderson, the clinic's top provider for basic supplies that are not strictly medical. While medicine shipments and more specialty items are donated from suppliers farther away, and frankly much less frequent than necessary, Mr. Anderson and Sam never fail to come through with plenty of food for you to make soups and nutritious meals for your patients. On occasion, you even have enough to give away to the families who are stacked together in a small two bedroom on the edge of town. With eight children total between two families, you're honestly not sure how they manage - but you do your best to help when you can. 

Seeing Sam walk through the front door is like a beacon of light from Heaven is shining down on him. He’s smiling already, the crate of food handled carefully between his hands as he lets out a cheery, “Good morning, Sisters”. But as soon as he sees your faces, more specifically when he sees the tear tracks still visible on Sister Ann’s cheeks, he’s placing down the crate and across the clinic’s entrance in a second. 

“What’s going on?” He asks. His hands automatically reach out towards Sister Ann’s face as if to cup it, but he stops himself. Instead he just looks at her worriedly, his concerned gaze leaving her face for only a moment to glance at you and Sister Catherine before they’re back on her, voice low and gentle. “What’s wrong?” 

It’s no secret that Sam harbors some romantic feelings towards Sister Ann. There are days when you feel sorry for him - a young man, good and kind and generous, who you have no doubt would make a fine husband to any lucky woman is in love with one of the four women in the entire county who are incapable of returning his affection. But it’s moments like this when it’s easy to see God’s presence in other people. Sam is as respectful and kind as they come. He accepts his feelings can never be reciprocated and in turn uses his undying love and loyalty to Sister Ann by helping you all at the clinic with anything he can. 

Somehow, he doesn’t expect anything in return, never stares at Sister Ann with an ounce of lust in his eyes, and it warms your heart to see the godly quality that’s usually so absent in men so prevalent in him. 

“Something’s happened,” Sister Ann tells him, her voice still wobbly with emotion. 

“What?”

“Sam,” You say, calling his attention back to you. “I know I have no place to ask this and I won’t fault you if you decline, but– I’m asking.”

“Tell me,” He insists, pulling his hat from his head and holding it to his chest, and God bless how the sincerity in his voice bleeds into his words. “Whatever it is, I’ll do it,” 

So you tell him everything. Sam listens with wide eyes, shooting panicked glances at Sister Catherine and Sister Ann when you tell him about the Sheriff’s visit, and he’s genuinely sorrowful when your voice gets caught in your throat as you tell him that you had to tell some lies to get him to leave without discovering Billy. He’s nodding already when you mention your brother’s cabin.

“I’ll take you there,” He offers before you can even ask the question. “My wagon is always at your disposal.”

“It’s dangerous. If we’re caught, you would hang with us,” 

Sam lets out a breath, unconsciously glancing over at Sister Ann again. “If the four most wonderful and religiously minded people in town hang for trying to do the right thing, then this isn’t a town or even a world that I want to live in anymore. Please let me take you. It would be my honor,”

A small smile graces your lips as you reach out and gently cup his cheek in thanks. For as many men pull and grind on your nerves with their endless greed and manipulation tactics, Sam is a breath of fresh air - a truly God-fearing man with a good heart.

He’s another person that you’re putting at risk, another life in danger because of the choice you’ve made. You try not to think yourself too selfish. Surely the fact that Billy has turned up in your life is God’s plan, and He does not put obstacles in your way that you cannot overcome. 

He tells you that he’ll come back tomorrow. He has a delivery that’s expected in a town over and if he’s going to make it there and back before nightfall, he needs to leave before the sun comes up. 

“I’ll stop here first,” He says. “We can load him into the back of the wagon while most people are sleeping and make the trip to your brother’s before I head on my way.”

“Thank you, Sam. Honestly,”

“My pleasure,” He nods his head at you, replacing his hat and tipping it kindly towards Sister Catherine and Sister Ann. “Until tomorrow, Sisters,”

The door swings shut behind him as he leaves and you let out a deep breath, hands smoothing over the dark veil covering your head just to feel a bit more grounded before you pick up the crate of food Sam brought. Billy needs to eat something. You're not quite sure how long it's been since his last meal, but even if he ate a minute before bursting through the clinic’s doors in the early morning, he would surely still be hungry and in need of sustenance by now. His body is weak and it needs nourishment to heal. 

Billy’s still sleeping when you peek around the privacy blanket. His head is turned to the side and buried in his pillow as much as he can get it, mouth hanging open as he breathes. Your hand itches to reach out and touch him again, to smooth against his forehead or cup his cheek, maybe place your fingers under his chin to help close his mouth in hopes of him breathing through his nose instead so his mouth doesn’t dry out. 

You’re not sure where this desire is coming from. You’re as affectionate with your patients as any nurse should be - kind and supportive, offering comfort when needed, but not overly so that it can be considered inappropriate. You’re all brothers and sisters, children of God - yes. But there are still social norms that must be considered. 

It feels different with Billy for some reason. 

“I’m going to get you to safety,” You whisper. You’re unsure about if he can hear you in his sleep or not, but you feel the need to tell him anyway. “I promise.”

You fall asleep at some point during the night, slumped against the wall next to the alcove’s entrance. 

You don’t remember falling asleep. You remember feeling tired, exhausted by the stress of the day’s events, and how your eyelids were threatening to close permanently more and more with each blink. The soup you had made still sat out in the small kitchen, and you had wanted to stay close to Billy so that whenever he awoke, you would be there ready to help feed him.

Instead, you wake to the sound of Sister Maria giggling to your left and a low, unfamiliar but still soft voice speaking in Spanish to her.

“Y él no quería que su mamá lo supiera. Así enterró la carne en el jardín,” The voice lets out a small chuckle, the smile on his face evident in his tone despite you not being able to understand most of his words. “Pero el perro la desenterró y ella se descubrió de todos modos. Tuvo que lavar platos él solo por dos meses.”

“Ese niño,” Sister Maria laughs. “Parece que era un buen amigo.”

You can’t see his face, but you can hear how he loses the smile in his voice. “Sí, él era,”

Pushing yourself to your feet, you step over to where Sister Maria is kneeling in front of Billy’s cot. It’s only now you see the mostly finished bowl of soup in her hands. Billy’s sitting up slightly, back propped up against his pillows enough to allow him to sit up a bit straighter but not enough to pull too much on his stitches.

At seeing your movement, his eyes snap to your approaching frame, big blue orbs staring up at you and you can’t help the relief you feel at seeing them.

“You’re awake,” You breathe, a small smile pulling at your lips. “Thank the Lord,”

His lips twitch a bit in what looks like a suppressed smile. “Kinda sounds like I should be thankin' you,” He says, and you notice how prominent the shift in his accent is as he seamlessly switches from Spanish to English. “Sister Maria says that you’re the only reason I’m alive right now.”

You shake your head, humbly. “Oh, no. Sister Maria and I work together as a team. I couldn’t have done it without her aid,”

“You show no fear,” Sister Maria insists. “Where I hesitate, you show mercy and strength. It is because of you that we are all alive now.”

“See?” Billy says with a blinding grin, and you can’t help but notice how handsome he is while no longer at death’s door. “My angel,”

You feel your face heat up at the endearment. An angel. Surely the comparison shouldn’t fluster you like it does. You’ve thought of your fellow nuns as the embodiment of angels before, angelic beings put into human bodies by the grace of God to spread His word. You know that’s not exactly true, that you’re just using your belief of what God’s angels would be like and seeing those beings in your fellow Sisters just like Billy is doing with you now, but you’ve never once thought yourself to be comparable to such a holy being and the compliment makes you flush.

You run a hand across your face, feeling the warmth under your palm, and clear your throat. “Oh, well, thank you,”

Sister Maria stands, taking the nearly finished bowl of soup with her. “He has eaten plenty and I changed his covering as soon as he woke up. You will want to change it again when you get to the cabin.”

“That’s great. Thank you,”

“De nada. I’ll go check on the patients and keep an eye out for Sam,”

She nods to you and Billy before she turns to leave, a small smile pulling at her lips when Billy rasps out a soft, “Gracias, Hermana,”

When she’s gone, you take her place in front of Billy, kneeling at his side and placing a gentle hand on his shoulder. “How are you feeling?”

“Much better thanks to you,” He responds, wide eyes trained on yours, a smirk playing at his lips as he continues. “Don’t feel much like I’m dyin’ anymore,”

A small laugh escapes you at his morbid joke. “Well, I’d say that’s a very good thing then,”

“Sister Maria said the Sheriff came lookin’ for me,” 

“He did,” You confirm. “The Lord kept us all safe though and has given us an opportunity to get you to safety.”

Billy’s eyebrow raises skeptically. “Sounds like it was more your doin' than the Lord’s,”

You try to not let the slight against God rattle you. You had sensed this was coming anyway. William H. Bonney a.k.a Billy the Kid is an outlaw afterall, and no outlaw becomes an outlaw while still maintaining a positive relationship with the Heavenly Father. He’s gone through many hardships no doubt, and has more than likely deemed his bad luck in life as God’s personal vendetta against him.

“The Lord speaks through all of us, if only we have an open heart to hear him.” You tell him.  “Fear can make His words harder to hear, and I’m thankful that He was able to guide my mind and heart enough through the fear for us to get to safety.”

“Hm,” Billy hums, and you can tell how much he doesn’t believe your words. He doesn’t argue though. “And where exactly is this safe place you’re gonna take me?”

“My brother has a cabin just outside of town. It’s well secluded and unknown to most. We’ll be safe there until you’re healed enough to go on your own.”

Billy’s eyes drop to your hand still resting on his shoulder, thick dark lashes casting shadows on his cheeks before his bright blue eyes are locked on yours again. “You gonna be takin’ care of me, Sister?”

“Of course, I will,” You reply. “We shall see you well again, Billy. I promise.”

His own arm crosses his chest so his hand can rest on your own, his eyes wide and so earnest as he whispers a quiet, “Thank you,”

It’s only about an hour longer before Sam arrives. It’s still early morning, the sun still a ways away from coming up behind the horizon line, and town is silent. Sam pulls his wagon up to the back door of the backroom before coming around the front to help push it open from the inside. It’s been so long since it’s been opened. The door was once used for the scheduled delivery of goods for easy access to the storage area, but as years went on and the county and surrounding counties became overrun with greed and poverty, the shipments became less frequent. Now, anything needed just comes through the front door. It’s never too much anyway, so what’s a trip or two to the backroom while carrying a crate. 

Sam slams his body against the door a few times, the wood groaning in protest under his weight before it finally swings open. Billy watches from his place on the cot, his eyes threatening to close but forcing himself to stay awake. You want to tell him to sleep, he needs his rest to help him heal and recover, but you’re too busy checking your bag to make sure you haven't forgotten anything before tossing it in the back of the wagon. You need to leave before the townspeople start to wake up. If someone sees you, if just one person witnesses you smuggling away a wanted outlaw, then all of this would have been for nothing. 

“Sister y/n,” Sam calls, squatting at the head of the cot. He’s got his arms wrapped around Billy’s torso. “Come grab his legs. We’ll do our best not to jostle his wound,”

You come to a kneel at Billy’s legs, placing a comforting hand on his knee. “Do your best to relax, okay? If you tense, you might tear your stitches,”

Billy lets out a harsh breath through his nose, clearly nervous, but he nods anyway, brows furrowed in determination. 

Together you and Sam hoist him up. He gasps, groaning as his wound pulls but you can see how he’s trying to keep his stomach untensed. Getting him into the back of the wagon is not graceful, and you find yourself spewing endless apologies the whole time despite the relatively short journey. 

Sam’s laid out a bed of hay covered by two thick blankets throughout the entire bed of the wagon. Crates of food and other supplies take up half of the bed, but he’s managed to make it so Billy will have enough room to lay comfortably on his designated side. Billy sighs as he’s laid down on it, one of his legs bent at the knee and his palms pressing into the makeshift mattress as he cranes his neck up to look at you. You ball up a spare blanket, tucking it under his head before you push him back down with a gentle hand on his forehead.

“Rest now, Billy,” You tell him, crawling out backwards and helping Sam slide on the rectangular backing on the wagon to secure it shut. “We’ll be there when you wake up,”

His eyes stay locked on you as you circle the wagon towards the front. Sam helps you up onto the spring seat before jogging around the rear and hauling himself into the driver's seat. You smooth out your tunic, looking around the dark street for any suspicious or wandering eyes that might be peeking out from around buildings or through windows. You don’t see any, even as one of the horses whinnies when Sam urges them forward. The clinic is located towards the edge of town, so it only takes a few minutes of nervous eyes and your head on a swivel before the wagon is passing the final few buildings that mark the town’s end of population and you can relax.

You blow out a deep breath, meeting Sam’s equally relieved gaze as he snaps the reins and nudges the horses a little faster. You look over your shoulder to check on Billy and you’re expecting to see him sleeping, no doubt still exhausted from the trauma of taking a bullet. Instead, he’s looking at you, head twisting so he can see your elevated frame from his laid out position. His eyes seem to pierce into yours, so blue and intense as he watches you that it makes your breathing hitch in your throat. 

You’ve never seen eyes so beautiful before. Like endless pools of glistening water. Surely God must have taken much care when crafting them for him. 

You feel your skin prickle under his stare, body straightening in your seat. He doesn’t stop watching you.

“Sleep,” You tell him. “You’re safe, I promise.” And thankfully he listens, eyes trained on your face for just a moment more before closing his eyes. The tingling feeling in your body dissipates with the removed gaze. 

Your gaze turns around the front again, looking out to the vast stretch of land before you as you leave the civilization of town behind.

“Sam,” You start, looking for anything to pass the time and distract from whatever unusualness just happened between you and your charge. “How’s your mother?”

[xxgoblin-dumplingxx]

More erik?? Love a man who'll kill

You were on your knees listening to the monologue that was happening. Fighting for consciousness. Pain radiated from so many places you weren't even sure what was injured anymore.

Or why you felt cold. Was the room cold? Your head had been shaved. And the only reason you were upright was that your arms were bound above your head- you couldn't even light your head on your own anymore. It felt like lead.

It wasn't until you were staring down the barrel of the gun, to numb and too cold to feel fear. Repeating what you'd said before "No child should suffer." Through your voice cracked and trembled. From screaming in pain and for want of water- that you hoped if there really was a God he'd let you scream at him for a while.

Except the gun never went off. Not at you, anyway. And then there was nothing.

________

A human woman lay in the bed in front of him. Battered and tortured. And Erik felt a pang of kinship. And respect. She had stared her death in the face and never wavered. Never recanted.

Utterly degraded and physically broken, they couldn't take the heart- her conviction from her. And the defiance was still there. Her spirit remained- dented, perhaps, but unbroken.

He stroked the bare skin of your scalp gently and bent to kiss your forehead, "Rest," he said. "You're safe here."

This was a human who deserved to be protected. An example of humanity's best. Of that he was certain. Somethings, you would never understand- but you would try. And a human who would try was a human who was a worthy ally.

That was not something to be taken lightly in a world where there was so much hate- and apathy.

When you stir in your sleep, troubled if the crease on your brow is any indication, Erik strokes your head again gently, "Rest," he repeats. "No one here is going to harm you, little one."

And he took a seat, waiting. You'd slept for hours. But the pain medication you'd been given would only work so long. And soon you would need more. And food. And water. You were human. Fragile. It would be a poor way to repay your bravery having you wake up alone and leaving you frightened in this room too scared to call out for help- uncertain what would come through the door.

He listens to your breathing carefully. And when it becomes whimpers and when you wake, panting and terrified, he's there. "Easy," he soothed. "You're safe."

"I can't- oh god-" You cry out in pain and look up at the man in front of you. Your vision is blurry and everything is a jumble of events in your mind as you reach out. Nothing makes any sense. But- His voice is deep and soothing and the touch of the calloused hands on your face wiping away tears is gentle.

"Shhh," He administered the pain medication into your IV and glanced at your heart monitor concerned. Had they driven you mad?

"Fuck-"

"Be still, little one," he said as you started to relax. "You have broken ribs. And a broken clavicle- and countless other injuries."

"Where-"

"With friends," Erik said. He can see you struggling to make sense of that. Trying to grab your next question but you can't. The medicine is strong and your body is just too injured. Too over-taxed. "Drink," he said, smiling a little. "You need water. And I have something to eat coming. Soup."

And when he holds a cup to your lips and you drink like it's the first water you've had in years he nods, This is good. He let you drink until you were done and stroked your head, "Better?"

"Yes, thank you."

"You're safe," he said, "on my honor. You'll not be harmed and you'll be taken care of."

[abowlofsourcream]

I wonder how the act 3 ending affected the party. or how it even happened since bonnie loops. love the au so much btw i rotate it in my mind at least twice a day

I am going to assume you mean the king quest! It is a very fair question, yes it is a very emotionally taxing ending!

In Switch a Loop, this quest is super long. So long, it gets two memories for it! And admittedly, it makes me sad to think about it! This is the part of the game where it gets real, the only time that different put Bonnie in danger...

But, it's basically something like this...

v King Quest spoilers / child death v

You see, it is actually Bonnie's Idea to try and talk the king! This would take right after "Memory of Sailing", so the other three aren't really that jazzed to continue. However, Bonnie thought differently...

You may have notice, Bonnie has gotten pretty protective of Siffrin as these Loops gotten by. Be anounced to everyone, they have taken it as their personal responsibility to "Look out" for Sif. There is little voice in their head telling Bonnie that this is something that needs be done. Afterall, the king won't shut up about it! That this has to lead somewhere! Bonnie is not stupid. They just want this to stop, they don't want to see their family get hurt anymore. It's just all too familiar. It hurts too much.

So, without the party knowing, they convince Siffrin to talk to the king. And it goes as well as it did in the original game.

And Bonnie still isn't fast enough...

Mirabelle would be a mess as it happens, unable to say any words.

Isabeau would try his best to pleaded with the king, in his chest knowing that it won't change his mind.

Odile would command the king to stop. Possibly still try to use her craft in her weakened state.

Bonnie would be terrified. Of course they would be! They are just a child, a kid! They would think about a lot of things, they would think about Nellie too... They would cry and cry and cry.

And... Well...

It ends with a powerful, terrified, near-deafening scream...

Right.

Out.

Of.

Siffrin's.

Mouth.

...

And a Crunch.

...

The party gets "Memory of Loss".

The party is sick of these loops, all of them.

They are exhausted.

They are scared.

They want to stop.

...

Well.

At least, they have a new lead.

[lynn-tged-posting]

tged webtoon ep 156 spoilers and thoughts below the cut yeah yeah yeah

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I DONT KNOW WHY BUT I THINK THE WAY HE SITS BACK HERE IS REALLY SILLY HEEHEE

also if the panels are slightly blurry uuuuuh no they're not dont worry abt it

ok back to the top bc holy shit this chapter made me crazy again

OF ALL THE CHARACTERS I COULD HAVE EXPECTED A RETURN OF. IT WAS NOT LUPELLAN

HOLY FUCKING SHIT I REALLY THOUGHT WE WERE DONE WITH THAT GUY CAUSE YKNOW. DEAD. BUT HERE WE ARE AHHHH ITS ALL COMING TOGETHER

and ohhh god the restoration of fate kicking in alongside all of this is insane ,, , god it might even happen sooner depending on how quickly they kick their plans into gear ,,, also this guy (forgot his name LMFAO) looks downright terrifying

i wonder how they'll go about it actually,,, especially since alicia has already had a dose of that like, dark magic paranoia poison back when she raided targa's castle. will she be able to combat what their planning,,, do they know she had been poisoned before? probably not, right? ooohhh im so curious to know,,,,,,,

ANYWAY AHH LLOYD AND JAVIER AHHHHHH AAAHHHH

LLOYD GETTING. EMOTIONAL OVER FINALLY BEING CLOSE TO GETTING THE ANSWERS HE NEEDS BUT THEN IMMEDIATELY PUSHING PAST IT GGGHHHRRRRR GGGG IM BITING MY HAND IM BITING MY HAND

he's finally so close . he's so close to being able to permanently protect this place that he loves so dearly . ooohhhghhh hhhhh . he's gotta pursue and continue to the end god im shaking him

AND THEN JAVIER BEING FOND OF HIM

im so sorry i dont have a lot of brilliant things to say im just. KICKING MY FEET ROLLING ON THE FLOOR IM. AAAHHHH my singular Analysis braincell hasn't kicked in yet sorry

sorry okay if i just post panels and scream i wont actually get anywhere but i REALLY liked the oneliners/jokes in this episode specifically got me giggling my ass off

AND LLOYD BEING A FUCKING SCHEMER TOO YOU ASSHOLE /AFF

TOP TIER ACTOR WHAT THE HELLL HAHAHAHA HIS SMUG ASS FACE

i remember seeing a post on twt about the episode preview and it was this left frame of lloyd crying and i was like "WTF FULLY EMOTIONAL MOMENT WITH LLOYD??" BUT NO ITS JUST HIM BEING CONNIVING AS USUAL LMAO

and javier's reaction HAHAHAHAHAHAA

OH ANDNDD AND AND MY FAV PART OF THIS EP

shaking crying at the way they look at each other oh my god . javier fully understanding lloyd . that the outcome lloyd wants isnt just one that benefits himself or the estate, but one that satisfies everyone,,, theyre on the same page they want the same thing a good ending for everyone they love im gonna lose my fucking MARBLES!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! THE PROTAGONISTS EVERRRRRRRRRRRRRR

AND AND ANDD THE CALLUSES ON LLOYDS HANDS. IM. SHAKING CRYING AND JAVIER'S EXPRESSION AT HIS HANDS AAHHH AAA

lloyd saying this n that about being pragmatic and yet there's this blatant fucking evidence that he's been working so hard and so long for the most idealistic, best results for the people he cares about and the people he comes across no matter what . "pragmatic" and he's going about things in a long, constructive and taxing process all so that he can fight fate while also saving people instead of realistically accepting the permanence of it . this is so poorly worded but i hope u understand HOW INSANE THIS MAKES MEEE and javier catches this for sure the fucker im shaking him

AND THEIR GOD DAMN HIGH FIVE. AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

"business relationship" I THINK NOT! Y'ALL HIGH FIVE'D!!! AAHHAFDLKJSDFHAHHAHAHAHAHA IM GONNA THROW UP /POS

THIS MADE ME SO FUCKING EMOTIONAL FOR SOME REASON I. GHGHGHHGHGHGHGHH the first high five they share im gonna fall apart into ten billion pieces

i said this on twt but like. if anyone suggests a high five irl i think i'm actually gonna just bawl in front of them i'm so serious llovier is a fucking plague

and their second one about the hellgate was really cute/funny LMFAOOO

this ep had me giggling and wiggling around like a fucking millipede i loved this so much HEHEHEHE

i think this is just abt the beginning of the end of the truth jewel arcs,,, god i wonder what the jewel will say!!! PRAYING that it says fate can be fought bc if it says "lol nah u cant" the devastation and anguish that would follow would be INSANE i wouldnt be able to take it. id stop reading right then and there /j

AND LUPELLAN AND THAT OTHER GUY WHAT ARE THEY GONNA DO TO ALICIA OH GODDDD

anyway that's all for now ,,,, i will see u next week, ,,,, or whenever i make my next shitpost,,,,!!!! end post!!!!!!!!!!

[darrysfav]

HCS of Darry Curtis dating a greaser because i love the idea of him dating one

WARNINGS : mentions of addiction - drinking and smoking, and mentions of hurting people but it’s kinda there

• They met in high school because they had to do a project together.

• Darry knew she was rude but didn’t care one bit and she appreciated that.

• She definitely gave him her number because she thought he was cute and actually treated her right.

• Darry introduced her to his parents before they passed and they were really happy about it.

• After they passed though, she did everything to help Darry, Pony, and Soda.

• She LOVES pony and soda.

• She actually has a soft spot for those three.

• I am so convinced though that she has scolded Ponyboy so many times because of how he treats Darry.

• Also for smoking so much but he brings up the fact that she smokes 2x worse than he does so she doesn’t argue as much.

• But Soda had made it his life’s mission to make her love him and she does.

• She barely gets on his ass for doing anything and Pony HATES IT.

• He has definitely told Darry about it but he scolded him about it so.

• They both call her ma’ 🫶🏼.

Ok now time for the gang.

• I have an hc that the gang doesn’t know about her at ALL.

• and it’s not because Darry is afraid to show her off to them, it’s mostly because he’s scared that it’s going to scare them off.

• also because he knows that she knows Dally in some way.

• I like to believe that Dally met her through the Shepherds and tried to flirt with her but she threatened to kill him if he didn’t quit.

• and honestly he didn’t until she actually almost attacked him.

• he became scared of her fully whenever he found out what she had done to a group of socs that tried to jump her so.

• And the rest of the gang had saw what had happened to those socs so they stood FAR AWAY.

• They found out that her and Darry were dating whenever they were both auguring about taxes ( they both just wanted them done honestly and they just walked in ) .

• Johnny wasn’t as shocked because he kinda figured Darry had an gf but didn’t say anything.

• But Two-Bit, Steve, and Dally OH MY LORD.

• Two was hysterical about it because he couldn’t believe that Darry had an girl but stopped completely after they both stared him down.

• Steve was in honest shock because he couldn’t believe that Darry was dating an greaser but hey, he wasn’t complaining.

• Dally was in disbelief when he saw them both and was slightly terrified because he thought she probably had told Darry about him.

• But after all that they warmed up to her

• She basically became the person of advice when it came to fighting.

• and she grew an soft spot all of them especially Johnny :(.

• Also had tried to stop Two from drinking so much but always found herself drinking with him.

• Darry had even fell more in love with her after seeing how she treated the gang.

Now time for the sad parts

• after pony had ran away she got in a fight with Darry because he hit but she also assured him that he was coming home.

• When Johnny had gotten hurt she had visited him so many times just to talk to him.

• and sometimes had saw Dally and basically just sat there in silence with him just to let him know that she would be there with him.

• When Dally and Johnny died she had felt like shit.

• She was so upset that she started to smoke and drink herself away basically.

• But had stopped after Darry cried to her that he couldn’t her too.

[she-posts-nerdy-stuff]

Hi! I love everything you write about SOC and CK! Why do you think in SOC chapter 2 Inej says Kaz had done his best to teach her how to pick locks, but then in CK, Kaz says he'd done a "shoddy job" teaching her how to pick locks (this is when Inej is casing Van Eck's house and discovers they installed Skylar locks).

Also, it baffles me that Kaz has the presence of mind to call Inej an investment after she's been stabbed and is bleeding to death in his arms ("I protect my investments"). Would you consider creating a post analyzing just the stabbing scene? (For example: was it Kaz that caught Inej's ankle or one of the Black Tips? What do you think Kaz was thinking when he saw Inej face-down on the crate with a knife poised against her heart? And Rotty saying there was "enough blood to paint a barn red").

Thanks so much!

Thanks, I’m so glad you like the posts!! Those are both really interesting ideas so I’d absolutely love to let you know my thoughts on them!

With the way Inej sees Kaz as having done “his best to teach her” about picking locks whilst Kaz describes himself as having done “a shoddy job” of it, I think this is actually quite indicative of their relationship dynamic in a lot of ways. Both put the other on a pedestal in a lot of ways, but Kaz more often glorifies Inej and almost finds it difficult to accept that she, like anyone else, has flaws. I think that in this way, Inej sees Kaz as having done “his best” because she sees her inability to pick the Skylar locks as her failing rather than his, whereas Kaz is incapable of admitting that she could possible fail at anything so it must be his fault for failing to teach her well enough instead.

The “protect my investments” like is always interesting, and I think it’s absolutely because it’s a defence mechanism. Kaz uses sarcasm as a defence mechanism when he says “Darling Inej, treasure of my heart, won’t you do me the honour of acquiring me a new hat” to hide his genuine feelings towards her, and I think the investments line can be considered an extension of this. As well as Inej being vulnerable in this scene for obvious reasons, Kaz is also incredibly vulnerable; he’s carrying Inej, having to touch her to do so which we know he can find difficult even with his gloves on particularly when he’s touching someone for a long period of time, he’s running whilst carrying her and presumably holding his cane as well which is of course incredibly taxing from a physical standpoint, and he is absolutely terrified for her life in a way he never has been before. This is arguably the first time Kaz is forced to directly face his feelings for Inej, and when that comes in such a stressful moment when he is already so vulnerable, I wouldn’t consider it at all surprising that he finds support in these defence mechanisms to separate himself from her. I could talk about the stabbing scene for DAYS, and I absolutely think that Inej’s “kind steel” blade is something that we should talk about far more often because I think it’s something we really skim over as a fandom, but without going into too much detail on Inej herself in this scene I would argue that the “kind steel” is one of the things Kaz finds most frightening in this moment. Inej’s lifting the blade to her own chest is suddenly not just about watching someone else be responsible for her death, but actually facing the possibility that she would be willing to die for Kaz. Kaz is not only in this moment forced to consider the idea of losing her, he is also forced to consider what her willingness here means in terms of her feelings towards him - he arguably feels just as she does,m when she questions whether he’s concerned for her well-being or the success of the job: is she trying to protect me, or is she trying to protect herself and the Dregs? Inej would be protecting Kaz by stopping herself from revealing his secrets, but she’d also be protecting herself from torture at the hands of Oomen and the Black Tips. Of course there is a massive other dimension to this moment about Inej’s mental well-being and her willingness to raise the blade - Kaz literally had to wrestle it out of her hands - but I don’t think I could do that justice without delving deep into Inej’s trauma and the rest of this scene, so I won’t do it here because this is already pretty long and I have more to say yet, but if anyone is interested let me know.

“There was enough blood to paint a barn red” -ohhhhhhh how I love this moment and everything it says about Inej’s relationship with the Dregs!! I’m actually so glad you mentioned this one. So this phrase is about Kaz attacking the Black Tips after they injured Inej, and I think that Rotty’s colloquial characterisation of this shows the way the Barrel desensitises its citizens to violence, particularly emphasised by the only people struggling with violence at this stage are Wylan, who has never known large scale conflict, and Matthias, who only knows military not this crazed melee. It particularly emphasises that the Dregs are desensitised to Kaz’s mad rages and violence; I think we can assume he killed a minimum of three people here, but none of them are particularly surprised or phased by it. But this casual, rough colloquialism could also imply that Rotty isn’t particularly concerned for Inej, everyone else is terrified and on edge but he seems to be no different to usual. I think this, in part, is a result of the way Inej and the rest of the Dregs are marginally separate from each other and she feels that she doesn’t fit in with them. They don’t seem to show the same familial dynamic that have with Jesper or want to have with Kaz around her, and she questions whether they’d really have any respect for a girl “just two years out the Menagerie” and comments on the way she hides the scars where she cut her tattoo off even though “they all knew it was there”. Once she reawakens on the boat she noticed how many people say hi to her and seem happy to see her back, and Jesper points out that nearly sacrificing yourself for everyone is a great way to make friends, showing that this idea of them seeing her as not being the same as them - probably only enhanced by her lack of tattoo - has been rescinded.

[throwaway-yandere]

I want to be honest (no this has nothing to do with fics lmao youll get it as scheduled)

This post is an explanation as to why I consider myself as "retired". I know I've said it's because of studies, but that'll be 1/3 of the truth. I want to talk about the true three real reasons why, and I'll do my best to be straight to the point. This isn't a cry for help (I swear to the heavens it is NOT). This is just to clear out assumptions.

Here's the other two reasons:

Grief & Mental Health

Writing itself & interactions

Grief & Mental Health:

I'll pour my heart out, so I'm sorry if it's long. As I said, I'll be straight to the point, so: my grandfather around the first week of June. I remember how I received the news so vividly. I was listening to Two Birds while washing the dishes at 12 AM. My mom went down the stairs with my father, crying as they tell me the news that he's gone. We drove half an hour to the hospital where I get to pat his head one last time. I remember mindlessly wandering the hospital halls— I remember mindlessly using the free alcohol attached to a wall. I remember breaking down as I realized I just cleansed away the hand that last had contact with him. I remember every detail, from the ride home where I messaged my good college friend to tell her that she needs to be a good nurse because the public healthcare system in the country is awful. I remember silently hating everyone and everything. I remember thinking about how cruel it was that life took away the one relative who genuinely cared about me and I was sure was related to me by blood. I remember thinking how much I'm distant to everyone else on my mother's side except him. I remember feeling so empty. I remember not sleeping for two days straight.

But let's back track for a bit. Before his death, I did have one final conversation with him. He was sedated and tubed miserably. Deep down, I knew his time was coming. So, I just made jokes about how grandma was growing senile and mistook me for a nurse for ten whole minutes. Then, I thanked him for everything he's done, and told him I'll become an engineer. Just like him.

And now here I am, dorming 3 hours away from home. I dormed because I had nearly decided my life meant nothing after lack of sleep through daily commutes and workloads. But I am lonely and unwell. I don't know what I want in life. I don't know what I actually want to be, but I already shifted courses as a chemical engineering student. I was so stressed to the point I've accidentally cried to my chem professor in a phone call. I don't know what I'm doing with my scholarship and education if it's for no one. And I am scared that I'm draining my parents' already limited resource for nothing. That I'm wasting the scholarship my country had given me nothing. That I am wasting my people's taxes for nothing.

It was only when another friend told me that I seem to live my life based on other's decisions and opinions did I notice just why I'm incredibly miserable.

I know I don't have dreams for myself. And even if I did, how the hell will writing and drawing feed me in the future when the industry in this 3rd world country is absolute garbage?

I guess Asians really do the things they hate so they can get what they love. Okay, I'll stop making jokes.

I miss my long-time friends, Phitre and Frost. I also miss my old blockmates when I was a BSEd-Math student. I am too used to eating alone, studying alone, walking alone. I am too used to being an outsider. But I'm not used to silence. I'm not too used to hearing actual silence.

All I have is Discord and Messenger.

And even then, it's quiet.

Writing itself & Interactions

I love writing and drawing. I just hate posting it at this point, which is why I made another account that's purely interaction-based.

I love writing a lot— my happiness is turning shtposts into something terrifying. I don't like writing romances, I like the thrill instead. I like laughing like I'm Hubert from FE:TH after thinking of an evil plot twist.

But I hate posting it. Because I know, no matter how much effort I put it, it's not enough. No matter how long it is— no matter if you learned basic coding for it— drew art— made interactive google forms— it's just not enough. I literally made two long separate fics with different endings depending on your choices and it just performs less on something I didn't actually put anything on.

Lord.

Lord I hate Creative Differences for that. I finally understood why bands hate their hit songs because of that lol.

Don't comment something like "oh, you content creators are just whining—" I am whining. Why? Because we don't treat artists and writers like they're human enough. Like we're just uploading content and that we don't want to hear what the others have to say. I remember there was one ask telling me how they're gonna miss traumatizing their friend— and I'm just sitting there wondering "why didn't YOU tell me their reactions? Why are you making me feel like I'm talking to a brick wall for 2k words and more?" It's not their fault. I am not mad at this anon. They've done nothing wrong, but lord do I hate feeling like this.

I could follow "part 2???" requests, finish all my drafts for the events. But I know. I know the chances of the person who requested them won't actually answer after all the effort.

[insert Berkut's "all that effort, what is it all for?!" voice line from FE:Echoes here to lighten the mood]

But that aside.

It's just silence. Just notes, when I feel like comments are what matters more. I'm used to being alone, but I really hate silence. I hate it so much. That's why I'm always so grateful to the people who do interact often, and don't say that's not true because I can prove it. You can see me make content just for them, dedicate fics, art, everything. I love them, I love the "noise".

I know we all have lives, I know we're all busy, I know. I respect your time, I respect you.

And I think it's just time I respect myself as well.

So that's why I'm retired. No pressure on events (idol and letters), no pressure on anything. I'm actually taking my time in End Of Year Blues. It's nice.

Edit: I forgot to mention

My father hates that I write. He constantly tells me to stop it, to prioritize my academics, when writing is my only way of coping.

So.

Haha, what the hell do I even do anymore, right?

[mybeautifulchristianjourney]

The Transfiguration

1 After six days Jesus took with him Peter, James and John the brother of James, and led them up a high mountain by themselves. 2 There he was transfigured before them. His face shone like the sun, and his clothes became as white as the light. 3 Just then there appeared before them Moses and Elijah, talking with Jesus.

4 Peter said to Jesus, “Lord, it is good for us to be here. If you wish, I will put up three shelters—one for you, one for Moses and one for Elijah.”

5 While he was still speaking, a bright cloud covered them, and a voice from the cloud said, “This is my Son, whom I love; with him I am well pleased. Listen to him!”

6 When the disciples heard this, they fell facedown to the ground, terrified. 7 But Jesus came and touched them. “Get up,” he said. “Don’t be afraid.” 8 When they looked up, they saw no one except Jesus.

9 As they were coming down the mountain, Jesus instructed them, “Don’t tell anyone what you have seen, until the Son of Man has been raised from the dead.”

10 The disciples asked him, “Why then do the teachers of the law say that Elijah must come first?”

11 Jesus replied, “To be sure, Elijah comes and will restore all things. 12 But I tell you, Elijah has already come, and they did not recognize him, but have done to him everything they wished. In the same way the Son of Man is going to suffer at their hands.” 13 Then the disciples understood that he was talking to them about John the Baptist.

Jesus Heals a Demon-Possessed Boy

14 When they came to the crowd, a man approached Jesus and knelt before him. 15 “Lord, have mercy on my son,” he said. “He has seizures and is suffering greatly. He often falls into the fire or into the water. 16 I brought him to your disciples, but they could not heal him.”

17 “You unbelieving and perverse generation,” Jesus replied, “how long shall I stay with you? How long shall I put up with you? Bring the boy here to me.” 18 Jesus rebuked the demon, and it came out of the boy, and he was healed at that moment.

19 Then the disciples came to Jesus in private and asked, “Why couldn’t we drive it out?”

20-21 He replied, “Because you have so little faith. Truly I tell you, if you have faith as small as a mustard seed, you can say to this mountain, ‘Move from here to there,’ and it will move. Nothing will be impossible for you.”

Jesus Predicts His Death a Second Time

22 When they came together in Galilee, he said to them, “The Son of Man is going to be delivered into the hands of men. 23 They will kill him, and on the third day he will be raised to life.” And the disciples were filled with grief.

The Temple Tax

24 After Jesus and his disciples arrived in Capernaum, the collectors of the two-drachma temple tax came to Peter and asked, “Doesn’t your teacher pay the temple tax?”

25 “Yes, he does,” he replied.

When Peter came into the house, Jesus was the first to speak. “What do you think, Simon?” he asked. “From whom do the kings of the earth collect duty and taxes—from their own children or from others?”

26 “From others,” Peter answered.

“Then the children are exempt,” Jesus said to him. 27 “But so that we may not cause offense, go to the lake and throw out your line. Take the first fish you catch; open its mouth and you will find a four-drachma coin. Take it and give it to them for my tax and yours.” — Matthew 17 | J.B. Phillips New Testament (PHILLIPS) The New Testament in Modern English by J.B Phillips copyright © 1960, 1972 J. B. Phillips. Cross References: Exodus 30:13; Exodus 34:29; Exodus 38:26; Deuteronomy 32:5; Judges 13:20; Isaiah 19:14; Isaiah 42:1; Song of Solomon 6:10; Malachi 4:5; Matthew 3:1; Matthew 3:17; Matthew 4:24; Matthew 5:29-30; Matthew 8:4; Matthew 8:20; Matthew 8:26; Matthew 11:14; Matthew 13:31; Matthew 14:27; Matthew 16:21; Matthew 20:19; Matthew 22:19; Matthew 26:37; Mark 5:37; Mark 9:5; Mark 9:14; Mark 9:22; Mark 9:29; Mark 9:42-43; Luke 9:33; Luke 20:22; Acts 1:6; Acts 3:21; Revelation 1:17

[xticklemeemox]

The Love You Want, III: Part Nine

if some of this feels rushed i'm very sorry i struggled with the end smut and also the sex convo towards the beginning <3 and this ended up way longer than i thought, which seems to happen a lot

okay fine i struggled with pretty much this entire thing i kind of hate some of it for not being detailed enough but my mind has failed me

Word count: 15,426

ao3

Masterlist

Previous Part

Next Part

Vessel was exhausted. All he wanted was to rest. As much as Vessel enjoyed the sex, enjoyed the pleasure and the affection III gave him, he's so fucking tired. It wore him out, the most taxing thing he's done physically in a while. There will be no rest to recover from it either, no death to reset his body at the end of the day. He promised.

Vessel feels worthless. All he had to offer was his body. Now III won't even want to have sex with him, Vessel is sure, and II hasn't come to Vessel yet. Vessel is sure he won't want to have sex with him, either. He'd heard, and well, felt, II and III have sex. Maybe III has decided that Vessel isn't good enough. He knows II must have been good, made III feel what they'd made Vessel feel, if III was that loud, if their pleasure was that great even if he was confused as to why neither of them seemed to actually cum. Vessel doesn't know how to take control like that, never, ever would have dared Before. He could never make III feel that good. It's no wonder they went to II if Vessel wasn't enough.

Vessel... didn't know how to make them feel as good as he did. He wants to, though. To show them how much he loves them in a way they won't get tired of. Maybe they'll stay with him if he's good.

I was trying so hard though, Vessel thinks, pacing back and forth in his room as he holds his arms around himself so tightly it hurts, nails digging into his sides. A silent sob squeezes his lungs, trying to keep up the image of concentration over the bond to make it seem like he was working on something. Its more difficult than trying to fake calm, and it feels wrong to do after III had asked him not to, but Vessel can't help it. They can't know that Vessel is being pathetic over something like this.

He was quiet, and obedient, and Vessel actually ended up enjoying sex for the first time in, well, ever. Vessel knows he slipped up a little bit, but III was kind enough not to hit him over his mistake. They even lied and said they liked it when Vessel bit them. That was so nice of III to do... Vessel didn't deserve that kindness. Didn't deserve III's kindness when Vessel demanded they stay inside, or keep fucking him, that first time. Vessel really shouldn't have done that. Maybe Vessel's actions drove III away and it only took a little while for the infatuation to go away.

Vessel was desperate to punish himself. He needed to. He'd been bad, he knew one wrong move and III would leave him, wouldn't love him anymore. He knew II, fuck- Vessel's beloved II, was far more worthy of III's love and affection. They deserved each other, deserved to be happy. Vessel fears he might get in the way of that.

His claws finally break the skin below his ribs, but the pain does not bring much relief. It brings guilt, and shame. The only thing he can see in his minds eye is the terrified expression on III's face when Vessel had cut into his arm what feels like so long ago. The way II's eyes had seemed to dim, usually such a bright blue, as he forced a smile on his face for Vessel's sake, still giving Vessel kindness he didn't deserve.

Vessel drags his nails, just a little, as he pulls his hands away from his sides. He clasps them tightly around a bicep, holding himself in a hug. The house is silent when he leaves his room, II and III's bonds still fuzzy with sleep. Silent footsteps tread the floor until he reaches II's room, and Vessel is glad the door doesn't creak when he opens it. Minimal light from II's window shines in on the bed, golden rays illuminating the two cuddled together. III, the warmest of the two of them, has kicked off the sheets exposing long legs and some insanely short shorts that make Vessel blush up to his ears. II is curled into his side, face hidden in the space between III's side and arm, only his top half covered by the sheets. His sweatpant-covered legs are entangled with III's, his hair peeking out from under the blanket. Elvira opens her shining eyes to leer at Vessel from her spot curled up at II's feet, tilting her head. Vessel tilts his in return, and for just a moment, cat and vessel to a God stare at each other. Vessel looks away first and accepts defeat with a small huff of a laugh.

Vessel takes his phone out and snaps a picture, or three. The smile that had twitched onto his face falls at the glimpse of something that fills Vessel with more shame. Visible on III's neck is a purple bite mark, teeth indents a darker color than the rest of the bruise. Vessel knows he is the cause of the damaged skin and hates himself all the more for it.

He turns from the doorway, closing the door behind him as quietly as possible. He thought it would be alright to go in, to join them, but Vessel doesn't feel as though he deserves it, doesn't deserve the safety and the reassurance it would bring to lay with them. Not after he left a bruise on III. If III won't punish him for it, Vessel will do it by denying himself the comfort of their presence.

Vessel finds himself outside, wandering Sleep's realm aimlessly. No shoes adorn his feet as he follows a small stream deeper into the forest. A hand trails along the bark of the trees as he passes, enjoying the harsh scraping against his fingertips. It feels less like he's intentionally hurting himself, and it makes him feel less guilty about pressing his fingers further into the bark so that the pain becomes greater.

Bracket mushrooms follow his fingertips, sprouting where he touches. Vessel loves this forest, every habitual breath he takes that he does not need is echoed here. He feels it in the trees, with every step he takes. The forest thrives with his presence, and Vessel feels at peace. The objects of Vessel's desire lay in that big house that contains his heart, but it is not his home. He has no home, has never had one.

A snap of a twig to his right causes Vessel's mind to be brought back to the present, to his body. He notices the silence in the forest first, no rustle of leaves in the wind nor birdsong. No animal life skittering over the floor or the telltale humming of a bug's wings. His head turns with the force of some instinct he can't resist, and he meets the empty-socketed gaze of a deer, a stag easily taller than Vessel. Its large off-white horns branch out from its bare skull, a skeleton with mottled remnants of muscle and tendons hanging off its bones. The stags ribs on one side are completely visible, showing empty space where organs should be, and where there is less bone, ghoul fungus protrudes and red moss is in the place of fur. It stands out against the greens and browns of the forest, the red leaves and vines like splashes of blood over the antlers, dripping down from the bones. It steps forward on legs that should not move, missing all of its nerves and tendons on its limbs, just a single step, and no further, then seems to wait for something, empty gaze seeming to bore into Vessel's intensely.

Vessel had seen this creature before, he realizes with a start. In Sleep's realm, the one time he had been allowed to rest. It had been there, nearby, staring at him when Sleep had returned Vessel's mind to this realm. It was such a brief encounter Vessel hadn't recalled it when he woke up, desperate to get out the lyrics his God had given him. He recalls it now, though, with the stag in the earthly realm.

A bird caws. All six of Vessel's eyes move towards the sound at its nearness, ending the stare down he had been having with the stag, both of them still as statues. On a low hanging branch, a crow sits, head tilted at Vessel curiously with a necklace clutched in one foot. Vessel tilts his head in return, following the crow's lead as it tilts its head the other direction.

"Pretty birdy." Vessel murmurs, and the crow stills.

It does not blink, nor even seem to breathe. Then, so suddenly it startles Vessel, it caws loudly, so loudly it hurts Vessel's ears. He flinches back from the sound, ducking his head as the bird takes flight. The necklace is dropped at his feet, and he reaches down to pick it up. Antique gold and littered with coins all along the lengthy chain, Vessel turns one over in his fingers, taking in the etchings.

When Vessel turns back to the stag, he finds it gone, nowhere to be seen. There are no footprints left where it stood, nor a trail leading off anywhere into the forest. It is as though the deer had never been there at all, and Vessel wonders if he hallucinated the whole thing. The necklace clutched tightly between his fingers says otherwise.

He fiddles with its coins for the rest of the walk, running his thumb over each coin, then the other side before moving along the chain. He repeats the cycle, taking in the forest and readying himself for when the others wake up. He's not ready to talk about anything sexual. Wonders what he should or should not say. There is no attachment to the act, for Vessel. At least... at least there wasn't. He can't shake the image of III falling apart above him, rough but never hurting him as they fucked Vessel... listened to Vessel's selfish requests and did not hurt him. III should have, Vessel would have deserved it.

It should be easy enough, in theory, to let II and III talk about whatever they want... but Vessel is confused, already, about what they're to talk about in the first place. He knows if he asks, they'll answer. They've always answered him. They have never ignored him, never made him feel as though his voice is not welcome. He feels guilty when he cannot give it to them, even.

It could have been minutes or hours since Vessel had seen the crow and the stag, lost in his thoughts, before he feels III waking. He starts back as soon as the fuzziness of sleep begins to clear from their bond, realizing quite suddenly that he did not leave them a note or a text to let them know where he was going. He brings out his phone as he walks, attempting to type as he goes but trips almost immediately over a stray root he had not seen. Vessel manages to save his phone from a terrible fate, but not his knees. They ache faintly when he stands, birds tweeting mockingly, and he makes sure to stand still while he texts this time.

(Eepies)

Vessel: Good morning :::) Went out on a walk, heading back now.

?¿?: good morning pretty! i love you see you when yuo get back!! be careful!!!

Vessel: I love you, too! :::D

III spams Vessel's phone with heart emoji's and blushing, smiling faces and Vessel feels warm with affection. He loves III so, so much. Wants III to love him enough to stay, for II to stay.

"You'll grow flowers without even being asked, and yet you let me trip and fall without a care. I suppose you really are attuned to my hearts desire for pain." Vessel mutters to the forest as he continues walking.

Another root sticks up and almost trips him again before he even finishes his sentence. Vessel huffs out an irritated laugh, "Do as you will with me, but try any of this with Two or Three and I'll set you on fire."

A raven croaks out something that resembles a mocking laugh and Vessel finds himself amused. He can't believe he's talking to a forest and the life within it is responding to him. The walk back is quicker, Vessel eager to see the others again, no matter how the conversation later is going to go. III is humming from the kitchen when Vessel enters the house and stops at the open doorway, hopping down from the counter after setting their drink down.

They taste like coffee when they ask Vessel for a kiss, sweet caramel flavoring on Vessel's split tongue as their curls tickle Vessel's cheeks. "I made your usual." III smiles, a pretty thing that lights up their face.

Vessel flushes under the affection, something warm bubbling up in his chest, taking the offered mug with both hands. He lets it warm his cold fingers as II stumbles into the kitchen, shirt askew, hair a mess, and sweatpants very low on his hips. Vessel finds himself staring over the lip of his mug as he takes a generous sip of his coffee, watching as III kisses II just the same as they'd kissed Vessel, handing II his own mug filled with steaming tea.

"Thank you, love." II says, holding the mug with one hand as he takes a sip, leaning into III's side.

"Anytime, Doll. We should have that conversation when you wake up fully. Vessel just got back from a walk."

"Yes, yes, of course." II agrees, walking over to Vessel's side and asking for a kiss.

Vessel leans down so his face is nearer to II's, smiling when II places a kiss to his chin instead of his lips. Vessel leans down just a little further at II's pout, letting the other plant a soft kiss to the bitten skin of Vessel's lips.

"Good morning, Vessel." II murmurs as he pulls away, breath ghosting over Vessel's mouth.

"Good morning, Two." Vessel breathes out, feeling a little dazed from just a single kiss. "I'm... I'm gonna put something in my room. I'll be right back."

Vessel sets his mug down, face warm as he fingers the necklace in his pocket. He wants to put it somewhere safe before he forgets about it.

"Miss you already, love." III says, taking a sip of II's tea.

II grumbles incoherently as he leans into III's side. Vessel walks away with a blush and a fond smile. Vessel's mug has been brought from the kitchen to the living room by the time he returns, and it makes Vessel feel warm, for a moment, that they had thought of him. Even so, Vessel shoves himself into the far corner of the couch, away from where the other two have pressed close, still sipping at their drinks. II looks far more awake now, tired eyes watching Vessel over his mug, just as III is.

Taking a deep breath, Vessel asks what has been on his mind since they first got together, diving right into the conversation even as he feels he may throw up from the nerves.

"Your main intent was to bed me, was it not? That is what all of the kissing is for, right?" Vessel blurts nervously, and almost stops talking entirely at the thunderous expressions that strike over II and III's faces, "It took longer than I thought it would. You waited longer than my other partners did."

III is practically vibrating with his fury, spindly fingers clawing at their jeans until he forces them away when they stand. II lets out a measured breath as he sets his mug down.

"No, Vessel. That is not at all why I have kissed you so profusely since we got together." III's voice is filled with barely contained rage, and Vessel shrinks back at the sound, arms coming to wrap around himself.

"Oh." Vessel's voice is small, shaky, as he keeps his gaze focused resolutely on the floor.

Despite what III has said, Vessel expects a hit for his gall. He knows he will expect a hit... for a long time, but he wants to believe that III won't hit him. He wants the other vessels to be different than the others of his past. He wants, and wants, and wants. Even so, he tenses, and resolutely does not meet III's eyes. That had only served to make his first partner angry, and Vessel learned better. There was only one scenario he had wanted Vessel to look at him, and this isn't it.

III keeps his hands loose at their sides and in full view of Vessel as they move closer.

"I'm going to take your hands now." III states as they kneel in front of Vessel.

Vessel does not verbally respond, does not nod or shake his head, he doesn't do anything. Only sits there, frozen like a statue. His hands are cold in III's when they take them, shaking visibly.

"I kiss you, because outside of holding your hand, Vessel, it is the only way I can show my love for you physically. I do not want to upset you, so I heed your wishes to leave your chest alone when all I want is to trace the markings there, to- To be able to hold you. I heed your wishes to not touch your neck when all I want is to lavish it in attention when I fuck you so you know you're mine. So you do not doubt my affections."

"I..." Vessel starts, voice hoarse as his throat starts to close up from the tears he is trying desperately to hold back.

They slip down his cheeks anyway, overcome with the desperate echoes of believe me, believe me, believe me, being sent from III's bond.

"I had sex with you because I love you, and I've been blessed with another way to physically show you."

Vessel feels stricken, and it shows clearly on his face. His fingers twitch, aching to reach for his mask to hide behind. His bond is a mess of so many emotions that he couldn't begin to properly pick them apart.

"I did not know. I am sorry. I am..."

Vessel swallows thickly. He wants them to know him. He wants them to love him despite how broken he is.

Vessel has always been quick to bend and break under his basic need to be loved and close to someone.

"I am not used to my partners wanting to show me affection without sex being the end goal." Vessel bites his lip, slowly moving his top pair of eyes to meet III's, "They did not kiss me for any other reason than to use my body. They did not show me affection unless they wanted something. Sex was not an act of love."

"...Any of them? Not a one of them fucking-" II mutters, shoving his hands under his thighs to keep them still.

"My first partner had already broken me out of refusing sex. I loved him, so I didn't mind. It just meant a few minutes of- Of his weight smothering me. Of pain when we fucked cause he was... so rough. But he was kind afterwards, would hold me if I asked, would kiss me as much as I wanted. He... stopped being that nice eventually. The others, neither of them ever asked to- and- and I wanted them to be pleased with me so-. I loved them. I loved them and- and they loved me too so it was okay if it hurt- I deserved it. I loved them."

"You deserve far more than whatever pitiful excuse for love they gave you. They did not love you in return, sweetheart." II cannot hide his ire, but he tries his damn hardest to not raise his voice.

"Is that why you were so confused when I prepped you, Vessel?" III struggles to keep the enraged bite out of their voice as they reach up very slowly to wipe at Vessel's tears, hating how Vessel still flinches back.

It just makes III angrier. Vessel had been working so hard to stop flinching, he'd been doing so well. Even as those thoughts flood III's mind, they can't stop going back to what Vessel had said, at what that means has happened-

And Vessel doesn't even understand it himself. Doesn't understand what has been done to him. III isn't sure he ever wants Vessel to know- to realize...

III glances up to II, foot tapping with the fiercest grimace III has seen since he's known him.

"I did not know it was something you did for whoever was on the bottom. Not with another male, at least. My other two partners after him were female. They did most of the work, didn't like when I- existed. So- I kept quiet, and did as told. I have always been easy to push around. My parents made sure of it." Vessel continues blandly, even as his face has crumpled into a nervous expression that screams of despair and shame.

So much shame.

"It felt better with the girls, almost good, even. It didn't hurt to have sex with them like it did my boyfriend. They- Liked to hurt in other ways." Vessel knows he should stop talking, knows that the other vessels don't want to hear any of this, surely don't want to know how useless he was at sex, but he can't, not now that he's started.

Talking about the sex is the easiest part of talking about his past. He had so little care for the act until III pleasured him like he'd never felt before.

"I didn't know sex was supposed to feel that good for whoever was on the bottom."

"It is." II says, distraught but striving to be gentle with his tone, "Sex is supposed to be feel good for everyone involved. Your past partners did you a disservice, Vessel. Every one of them."

"Sex is not a blood sport Vessel. It is not something where you fight for control and only one person comes out on top and gets to feel pleasure. We're going to show you that, if you'll let us. You deserve to know what sex is supposed to be like." III follows up with, looking just as miserable as II.

"I don't- I'm sorry. I didn't know." Vessel murmurs, feeling as though his shame is going to replace the blood in his veins.

"It is not your fault. You had no one to teach you. We will." II states, desperate for Vessel to understand.

"Did you really enjoy it when we had sex or did you lie with the bond again?" III asks, head falling down to rest their forehead on Vessel's hands still held in their grasp.

III feels nauseous at just the thought of Vessel not telling them if he was hurting him, if- If Vessel didn't want to have sex at all and III has just become like everyone else that has hurt Vessel. More tears prick their eyes, and III fears he may throw up.

No, no, Vessel didn't want III to think- This isn't what he intended.

"I enjoyed it. Believe me." Vessel insists, practically begging, "You were the first person I've ever wanted to fuck me. Before you, I had never- I always wanted it to be over quick. I knew they would leave when they were done. You- You stayed. You- Were so kind to me. You made me feel good."

"You, um, cleaned me up after, too. I didn't even bleed and you still-." Vessel mumbles, flustered, still feeling surprised at how nothing had hurt with III.

The relief III feels is immediate, flooding their system and loosening their tense muscles. His tears spill over at the relief, a harsh breath being released even as III knows it should be a sob, but they refrain with tremendous effort. Alongside that relief is the ever present hot coil of anger. Vessel had looked pleasantly surprised when he had said there was no bloodshed when they'd had sex. III knows that kinks can be painful, bloody, if that is what is desired. III knows that was not what Vessel meant, can see it on his face, can feel it in the bond.

"That's what you're supposed to do, sweetheart." II says gently, and Vessel can only nod because he didn't know that either.

"Can we, uh, get on with the conversation we had originally intended, about the sex?" Vessel tries to move on, needs the attention to move on from him even if only momentarily.

II and III share a loaded glance as III wipes their tears. It takes effort to stifle their shared rage, their shared despair, but Vessel is still keeping his bond open to them, is still willing to share parts of himself. They're not going to waste the chance to know more about him, no matter how it grates so deeply under their skin, against bone it feels like. It hurts to love Vessel, and yet it is so easy. They want him, they love him, no matter how it hurts because the pain that has been dealt to him is not his fault. The pain that has been dealt to him has not turned him towards cruelty. He has kept his kindness, kept his softness. He has not let it harden his heart. Vessel is a man filled with love for everything around him unless it threatens those who have his heart. Love for everything except himself.

"Okay, sweetheart. I know you don't have much to go off of, so I'll start, then Three can go. If you have questions about what either of us are into, I want you to ask." II starts off, and Vessel nods, even if he's still unsure about this whole thing.

"As Three found out last night, I'm into edging."

"Is that what you were doing last night?" Vessel asks, and II nods.

"Yeah, I like when I'm brought to the edge of cumming and then not allowing myself to. I find the orgasms feel, ah, more fulfilling I suppose?"

"Why were you doing it to Three, then?"

III snorts, cheek leant on Vessel's knee. He looks so pretty below Vessel, watery blue eyes filled with mirth. "I was being a brat. That's the role I like playing in the bedroom. I disagree or disobey and get manhandled or ordered into obedience. It doesn't hurt unless I ask it to. It's something to be talked over with your partner beforehand, though. I did something Two told me I shouldn't and he didn't let me cum yesterday. That is what's considered a punishment, but one I didn't mind receiving. Its not supposed to be anything detrimental to your health or peace of mind."

Vessel isn't really sure if that is something he would consider a punishment. Before III had finished speaking, the idea of II punishing them was concerning. Vessel could only think of II hurting III, but he didn't feel any pain from III yesterday when the two had sex.

"It would be better to show you, sweetheart." II says when he feels Vessel's concerned confusion down the bond.

III nods along, agreeing, "You and I have a different bedroom dynamic than me and Two, which is completely normal. Your dynamic with Two will likely be different too, if you have sex."

"I'm also technically considered a dom, or dominant. I like having control during sex, and usually don't like it being taken from me. I do like when Three fights for it, though. I know they have no intention of keeping any control they gain." II explains, finally scooting closer to press their thighs together on the couch.

"Well, maybe I do like having control for a little while." III smiles mischievously, winking up at Vessel playfully.

It makes him smile even if he's still confused. "It does sound different than when you topped me." Vessel adds, reaching slowly to play with a strand of III's hair.

III's leans into the touch with a smile, and Vessel carefully threads his fingers down to the scalp, holding his fingers there. III's eyes flutter closed for a moment, but Vessel does not yet move his fingers. He watches, waits for any sign III is going to pull away, any sign they will grow angry with Vessel, and then begins to run his fingers through III's hair.

"My third would pull my hair." Vessel blurts, and guilt immediately floods the bond like a dam has broken.

"I wish you would have told me, Vessel. I wouldn't have done that." III says, wiping a stray tear away hurriedly as he blinks his eyes open.

Vessel wishes he hadn't said anything. He expects III to pull away, but the other doesn't move away from Vessel's gentle hand that has stilled in their hair.

"Its alright, though. It didn't hurt when you did it. I did not even lose any strands of my hair. She would pull back so far that it made it hard to breathe, but she liked that. You were so careful that the memory slipped away before I could, ah, panic."

"I wouldn't mind if you wanted to do it again, since it's you, but it didn't make me feel good. It was just something you had done- Does that make sense?" Vessel stumbles, trying to explain but not sure he's managing.

"That just means its not one of your kinks, sweetheart. It's normal to not be into everything your other partner is." II reassures, pressing his arm into Vessel's so their bodies are flush against each other.

"I... liked being told I was good." Vessel offers, with a tilt of his head.

II and III don't even mind that the conversation has detailed from its original intent. Any information from Vessel is a blessing, no matter how saddening or enraging.

"I noticed. I like being called a good boy in bed, too." III affirms with a smile.

Vessel is a little confused though. It wasn't being called a good boy that made Vessel feel good, it was- It was being praised, he thinks.

"I think I just like being told I'm being good. In general. I like- I like feeling like I'm contributing to your pleasure. I just- I-" Vessel can't seem to articulate it properly, and he doesn't know if there's even a term for it.

"You've got a praise kink, probably." II offers up, almost certain he's right.

"You like biting, too. When you bit me, I could tell it was an instinctual reaction. You... stopped and pulled away very quickly." III brings up exactly what Vessel was hoping they wouldn't.

"I'm not allowed to bite. It's- It's weird. And just another of my freakish mutilation habits."

"Things are different here Vessel. If you want to bite, then you can. When you bit me, we both enjoyed it. I love the teeth marks you've given me, loved the sting when I received it. It's like- Like you've marked me as yours."

Vessel ducks his head to hide the embarrassed flush over his cheeks.

"I was surprised you didn't hit me when I did it. I expected you to. My previous partners would have... I bruised you. I left a mark." Vessel starts trying to braid strands of III's hair just to have something to do with his hands, trying to will away the new tears gathered in his eyes.

"Hitting you has never crossed my mind. It will never be something I even consider." III should feel offended that Vessel thinks so little of them, but knows that other, less kind hands, have hurt him.

"I deserved it, Three. I know I hurt you when I did it. I deserved to be hit for it."

"Would it make you feel better if every mark you left on me, I return? I'm entirely willing to bite you back." III offers, trying to compromise in a way Vessel will agree to.

III hates that they know Vessel will likely agree to this, if it means Vessel gets hurt back. They're going to get him out of this thought process that sex is going to hurt. If III is right, then Vessel is going to enjoy being bit in return. He's going to teach Vessel that III wants to be bitten whenever the need strikes Vessel because III likes the thought of being owned by him. Whether its during sex or not.

"I do not expect either of you to pander to my tastes." Vessel states, trying desperately to grasp on to some familiarity.

Fuck, Vessel shouldn't have said anything. He should have kept his mouth shut about anything sexual, for his own sake. They're going to leave him now for sure. He wants them to love him, he wants them to stay. He wants them to stay so badly.

III eyes the expanse of Vessel's thighs near his face, wondering where would be best, before they lean down and sink their teeth right above Vessel's knee.

Vessel's hand slips out of III's hair as he lets out something akin to a surprised squeak. III's teeth do not break skin through the fabric of Vessel's clothes, but that wasn't their intention anyway.

III catches Vessel's confused gaze, feeling triumphant at the thread of arousal now thrumming through the bond that certainly wasn't there a moment ago.

II watches in a mix of wonder and amusement as III moves to a different spot to bite down, sinking their teeth into a different part of Vessel's thigh. Vessel's arousal only grows, along with his bafflement and the blush staining his cheeks pink. Not once does Vessel's bond show any pain, a testament to III's control as they move to Vessel's other leg, biting on the inside of the thigh as Vessel releases a breath of held air.

"I am not pandering to anything. You're mine, ours, and I'm showing you. Claiming you. I've left my mark, now. I'll happily leave more if you'll let me." III says, finally pulling away.

His head lays on Vessel's knee again, a hand coming to trace the line of spit in the shape of his mouth soaked into Vessel's jeans.

Arousal surges through Vessel like a tidal wave at the words, and he wants nothing more than for III to fuck him right then. A smirk slides onto III's face, knowing exactly what Vessel wants and completely willing to give it to him.

III goes to stand, blue eyes stormy with lascivious intent, but II stops them, "Ah, ah, we've not finished our conversation. You can go at it in a little while, once we're done."

"But Two, he really wants it-"

"I said no, Three, or did you not want to cum today either?" II smiles knowingly, a hand coming to rest on Vessel's unoccupied knee.

A pout makes its way onto III's face, but they nod in agreement anyway.

"Words, pretty."

A groan is muffled into Vessel's thigh as III turns to hide, "Yes, sir. I understand."

"Good boy."

Vessel tilts his head, wondering if this is the dynamic the others had spoken of coming into play. It is... interesting to watch, to see how II handles III whining and pouting playfully. Its endearing to see, even, to see III this way. Vessel knows he would never have the courage to do something like this, nor be allowed to.

"Explain the safe word and color system, like I asked yesterday, Pretty." II says, and III nods, cheek smushed against Vessel's knee.

"I'm sorry, Vessel, I should've explained this to you when we had sex. Do you know what a safe word is? Or the color system?"

Vessel's head tilts involuntarily in confusion, and while II and III love how cat-like it makes him seem, it clearly shows he has no idea of what III's just asked.

"It's where you have a word used during sex if someone needs to stop. Its usually used for more hard-core sexual scenarios, but can be used whenever. The color system is basically like a stop light. Green for go, yellow for slow, and red for stop. Red means you stop whatever you're doing entirely, no matter what it is."

"I've never heard the terms before." Vessel admits quietly as his mind races.

II and III nod, having already expected this.

Vessel doesn't understand why they're explaining this to him. Doesn't understand what this has to do with him. He thinks, heavily confused, that they could just stop. They could pull away, stop kissing him, stop fucking him. They don't need to tell him anything, or use some weird color system.

"It's pretty easy to utilize once you're actually having sex, even if the concept seems a little simple, silly even." III goes on, both he and II watching Vessel closely for any ounce of comprehension.

"Why are you telling me all of this?" Vessel blurts, brows furrowed.

II and III share a glance that Vessel does not miss. "So you can tell us how you're doing during sex, Sugar."

Vessel hunches into himself further, very slowly inching his hand back to wrap a finger around one of III's curls.

"Why would I say anything if it ruins your pleasure?" Vessel asks, meekly.

"Getting off means little if you're suffering mentally or physically, Vessel. You matter more to us than either of us cumming." II tries, but Vessel still doesn't seem to understand.

"We want you to enjoy the sex too, Sugar, and we want you to tell us with the color system if we do something you don't like."

"We went over this earlier, sweetheart. We want to have sex with you because it will feel good for all us, but mainly because we love you. We want to make you feel pleasure, just as much as we want to feel it too."

"I don't- I do not understand why it matters though. I will be content if only you two found your release. Mine does not matter."

"It matters to us." III asserts, "We want you to tell us if you're not sure about what we're doing, or if you want to stop entirely. We want you to tell us if you don't want to have sex at all. I will always listen to you. Always."

"Okay." Vessel agrees quietly, and III kisses Vessel's knee affectionately, an arm hugging his leg.

II leans his head on Vessel's shoulder, taking Vessel's hand and bringing it to his lips to kiss his knuckles. The conversation continues after a moment, as II and III go back to going over their preferred kinks. Neither have anything they don't particularly care for, but III admits that there hadn't been much want to explore anything. They keep trying to encourage Vessel to add on his own preferences, if he had any, but they all find that Vessel never got the chance to figure out what he likes outside of his biting kink.

"That's okay, sweetheart, we'll figure it out together." Is what II reassures Vessel with, but Vessel isn't sure how well that is going to play out.

Vessel does not intend to use the color system, does not intend to share his likes and dislikes. Just because the sex is suddenly amazing, it doesn't erase what everyone who has ever fucked him has said, what they've done.

III stays wrapped around Vessel's leg, only shifting positions a little once the conversation is over. II curls up at Vessel's side, leaning into him as far as Vessel allows. Vessel knows III's knees must ache as he continues kneeling, but III seems perfectly content to stay there as they reach for the game controller on the coffee table, starting up NieR: Automata again on their shared save file.

Vessel lets III play first since he's gotten through this part off the game on his own, content to run his fingers slowly through III's hair again, loose enough to pull away quickly in case III does not like him doing so anymore. The other vessels bonds were a mess of emotions, even as they all tried to distract themselves with the game. Vessel was sure that II and III were angry with him. Why else would their bonds be filled with such rage? He must have said something wrong, been too curious about what was being said. He must have made some sort of mistake. Vessel wishes he had the courage to ask what could be done to rectify it.

II frowns, eyeing Vessel as he glances back at the game. "Penny for your thoughts, Ves?" II's voice is quiet, barely above a whisper, trying not to disturb III who is hyper focused on the fight they're in.

Vessel takes some time to think of what he should say. If he should say anything at all. He wants them to know him, wants them to love him, to stay with him.

"I- Are you angry with me?" He murmurs, leaning over just far enough that his cold breath ghosts against II's ear.

It sends a shiver down his spine even as one side of his mouth tilts just so into a frown. "No, I'm not mad at you. I can guarantee that Three isn't either. We are upset, yes, but its at the people who hurt you."

"Why? There is no need for it."

II's brow furrows, first in confusion, then in thought. "I love you. I do not want you hurt. To imagine what you must have gone through, the pain... It makes me sad. It makes me angry at those who did it to you. It is the same as when that bastard hurt our Three. You were angry for him, as was I. It's- Vessel, honey, it's the same thing."

Oh... Vessel supposes he understands, and yet...

"I am not worthy of it then, your anger on my behalf."

"You are worthy of it though. You became worthy of it that first moment you smiled at me, the first time our eyes met. The first kind word you gave."

Vessel averts his gaze, gnawing at his lip in thought. II is glad to see him not refuting his words immediately, turning his head to place a featherlight kiss to Vessel's shoulder. "... It- feels nice to have someone be angry for me, instead of at me. I just- I do not feel as though I am worth the effort. I don't think I ever will."

"It took me a long time to realize that I was good at drumming, that I was skilled, not just talented. That I deserved the praise given to me by my teacher, by my mother's. I never thought I was going to go anywhere with my drumming, it was just a hobby, but... We're going to start a band. You, Three, and I. I know you two acknowledge what I've done to gain that skill. If we never make it anywhere with our music, you two, your acknowledgement of my time and effort, will be enough. What I'm trying to get at is that... accepting yourself, accepting your flaws, it is not easy. It took time and effort on my part, and my mothers belief in me, to want to love myself. To appreciate what I've done and the effort I've put into the things that are important to me. Am I- Am I making any sense?"

III pauses the game, leaning back between Vessel's thighs and looking up at him and II through wet lashes. "You are to me. I did not accept myself, when I was younger. I tried very hard to be someone I wasn't-"

III sucks in a sharp breath, turning in between Vessel's legs to kneel between them properly, reaching out for comfort through Vessel and II's hands, freely given. III's grip is tight in Vessel's own, and Vessel wants to show his support, to transfer all the comfort they've ever given him back to III. Their head comes to rest on Vessel's thigh, eyes falling closed as they think over what to say.

"I saw all of these people, kids like I was. Adults, elders, no matter their age... So many of them in that town went along with what was expected of them and they were not happy because of it. That old woman from that thrift shop we went to... the first time I'd ever bought a skirt for myself was there. I was terrified going up the register, trying to think up an excuse. She didn't care about what I was buying... She only asked if it was for myself or a friend. I told her the truth, and she smiled without many teeth left, and was so kind. She told me it was fine to wear whatever I wanted, no matter what anyone else said. It- It was a very short interaction but it meant the world to me. I never got to thank her for it. I'm surprised I remember that, actually. I thought Sleep had taken almost everything but our painful memories."

"He left some of my good ones, too. The important ones." II murmurs, lifting III's hand to kiss the palm.

III continues, "What I'm trying to say is that, if it weren't for that old woman showing kindness, accepting me, I'm not sure if my road to accepting myself would have been possible at all. Just one person believing in you, believing in your potential to change, to grow, can be enough."

"To love oneself is not the easy task we are sometimes told it is. We are all limited by something. We are all guilty of something. The first step is wanting to try."

Vessel does not say anything for some time. He turns their words over and over and over in his mind. He did not realize that II had struggled with his own self-confidence before. You would not guess it, seeing him now. Knowing what his wish to Sleep was. Seeing how much skill he contains in his short body. It was hard won skill, Vessel realizes now.

III had asked to be accepted by those around him. Vessel did not realize with them, either, that their want for acceptance from others had to first be attained for himself, by themself. They had both worked to be the people they are today.

Vessel, he does not want to stay the same. He does not want to be the same person he was before he became the Vessel of a God. Already, he knows he has changed. It was more than the physical changes gifted to him.

There was not a chance in hell Vessel would have ever tried to lessen his own pain, Before. Every slice into his skin was done with the intention to hurt. Every slice was meant to sting for as long as possible. He never would have cleaned them, bandaged them, Before. Not even when he first arrived to the manor.

II had helped him, encouraged him to take a little better care of himself. He always seems so proud of Vessel when he comes to him, having hurt himself and yet still had tried to take care of the self-inflicted wounds. Vessel never wants to see that look on III's face ever again, when Vessel had taken a knife to his skin right in front of them.

Vessel wants to be better for them, even if they do not stay with him. He... isn't sure if he wants to be better for himself which he is sure is what II and III would say is most important, knowing them.

He wants to be worth their love and care, if what they say is true. He wants to be worth the time and effort they've put in with him.

Vessel doesn't say anything, but he nods shortly, and II smiles, kissing Vessel's shoulder again, once, twice, before lifting Vessel's hand to kiss his palm. III unpauses the game after pressing a short kiss to Vessel's stomach, an action that causes him to let out a small laugh as III turns back around. A quiet thing that couldn't even be considered whisper-level, and yet the sound sent II and III's hearts soaring in adoration. III leans back between Vessel's legs again, and Vessel's threads his fingers through their hair, other held clasped in II's.

II and III stand to go make lunch around midday, dragging Vessel along with them despite his light protests. They stay close to him, giving him simple tasks that absolutely do not require the use of any sort of blade.

Vessel remains thoughtful, truly thinking over what II has said. II isn't sure he completely got through to Vessel about being worthy of their love and care, but this is progress. He never would have believed him when they first met. He declines when they ask him if he wants to join them in worship, and they let him go off to his room without a fight. Each had the same request of their God, and it was better for Vessel to not be near in case he refused them.

II and III kneel together at the altar, thighs pressed close. In front of them are bunches of daffodils and bellflowers tied together with string on either side of the table. Individual flowers without their stems lay strewn about, and a bouquet of the prettiest ones, touched by Vessel's hand, glow gently from their place on the offering plate.

They have been trying to keep their seething rage under wraps since their talk with Vessel. It was not rocket science to puzzle out what Vessel had said happened to him. What atrocity had been done to him, repeatedly, by people who claimed to love him.

The candles are lit, all except the largest in the middle of the table, set towards the back. Their skin darkens, going fuzzy around the edges while bits of black seem to flake off into the air before dissipating. The sight is familiar as Sleep's powers wash over them, as their worship commences. III's eyes glow brighter than II's, striking blue in the midst of the black of their sclera, of their skin.

"Would you allow us to kill those who hurt Vessel?" II starts off, voice a sharp blade of anger.

He tries keeping his voice low, so Vessel doesn't hear in the room over. The red candle lights, golden glow flickering against the sigil on the wall above and behind it. Their God has arrived, and in turn their eyes glow brighter, bodies humming with the presence of their God. It is a pleasant feeling, familiar. Their worship is stronger together.

'Those who hurt him? It is a long list including himself... Ah, I see. My First's past partners. If you wish it, the people of his past still live... Alas,' Sleep explains, voices heard only in their minds, 'It is not time for their lives to end.'

"What? But why?! Do you understand what they've done to him?" II struggles not to shout, hands fisted over his thighs.

In Vessel's room, they can hear a thud against the floor and a brief flash of pain. They both send their alarm down the bond and Vessel sends back his own reassurances, the blurred image of a knocked over stack of books following.

III's hand reaches out to take one of II's once they're sure Vessel is okay, forcing II to clasp their fingers together. The touch helps ground II, to calm himself some.

'You have not heard of all that has been done to him. All that he has done. You are ignorant of many things. When the Fourth is chosen, when you find out everything of import, you must all decide if you are to stay with my First. I will not keep fickle vessels who will not adhere to their purpose.'

"We're not going to leave him no matter what happens." II snaps, angry at the mere thought that he would ever abandon Vessel.

"He killed people for me. I would do the same for him, for Two. Nothing that has been done to him or that he has done is going to make us leave him." III tries, firm in tone and gaze.

'You are still ignorant of many things. Your continued devotion to him, to me, is not certain.' Sleep reiterates, distaste clear in His tone.

"What about the person, or people, who killed Vessel? Can we at least kill them so Vessel never suffers what I have?" III tries to bargain, grasping at any way to release their anger on those who hurt who they loved.

'There is no need. That will never happen to my First. Their killer is no longer of the human realm.'

"So they've died already?"

'Yes.'

"That's a relief, then." II says, turning to smile hesitantly at III, bond still a mess of anger and frustration.

"Yeah, Vessel doesn't need to suffer over something else from his past." III says, just as relieved.

If III could take back those words, knowing what is to come, then he would have in a heartbeat, would cut out their own tongue if it meant Vessel could be spared the pain soon to follow.

Sleep does not say anything further, does not spill the truths that his First has asked him to keep. Despite intending to keep the First's secrets, Sleep does not understand why the secrets need kept at all. Does not understand why Vessel refuses to tell the others what he does so that he can rest. The death is only temporary. With every blood offering Vessel gives Him, the easier it is to bring the First back from his death.

His First seems so sure they will leave him. That they will not choose to stay. Sleep is sure they will... but cannot be certain. His vessel has no heart in his chest, and human love, no matter how strong, can be torn away in the face of one's lack of understanding or compassion or a strong sense of morality. Sleep supposes he does understand, then, His First's worries. But Sleep chose these vessels for him, these vessels chose to live for as long as Sleep himself for Vessel.

"Two and I are offering our best selection of flowers, touched by Vessel's hand for longevity." III goes right into the worship they had also intended. "Oh, and this stone I found outside. It looks like a bit of meteorite, and reminded me of my devotion dream. The stars that were around me."

'I appreciate your offerings, my vessels. Truly. They are heartfelt, and so strengthen me. How are thingscomingalong with the musical aspects of your worship?'

II takes over the conversation, "Well, I think. The record label you influenced has given us a manager. We still need to come up with a name, though."

'I see. Decide quickly, Second. You may leave, if you wish. You'vedone well today.'

"Thank you, my God." II murmurs, bowing his head in reverence.

Despite their differences in opinion on how Sleep handles Vessel, II does love their God. Worships him the same as the other vessels. He will never agree with the God's indifference to the pains Vessel inflicts upon himself.

"Yes, thank you, Sleep." III adds as they, too, bow their head.

Sleep's presence brushes against their back, their marks tingling, and then He is gone.

"You didn't tell us about already having a manager! Sleep's right, we don't even have a name." III blurts, turning to II immediately.

II shrugs, sending down apologies, "Vessel will only freak out. He's nervous enough as it is with our new relationship. I planned on mentioning it when we picked a name."

"If you think that is what's best..." III says, "What about a guitarist?"

"I'm not sure. I was going to leave it to our manager, or put out an application or something. Its difficult because of what we are. I had been hoping for the Fourth to be with us by now, but that is not the case."

"Now that I think about it, how are we to work with anyone? We look... different."

"Masks on at all times, I'd assume. I don't think that's going to work well with anyone closely involved in the band though. Do you think we should call Sleep back?"

"Probably, but it can wait until tomorrow. We'll pick a name first, then worry about our image. Are we done here? I want to see Ves." III agrees, already moving to stand before they have even finished speaking.

II laughs, a sad, weak little thing, at the reminder of Vessel and their intentions with worship today after finding out how he had suffered. It is quick work putting out the remaining candles, III leaving the flowers on the offering plate.

II and III corner Vessel in his room, intending to cuddle him, as close as he allows anyway, for their own benefit. III crawls onto the bed and asks for kisses, eyes a little wet and bond a muddled mess as Vessel sets his book down at his bedside. II follows, slower, shutting the door softly behind him, watching the two as he makes his way to the bed. There are more books in here than before, definitely going over the limit II had set, stacks of them at the foot of the bed. There is one nearer to the door that is still askew, teetering dangerously as though it had been restacked with little care. Little flowers that II knows III had gifted Vessel sit in small glasses and vases, glowing gently, on every available surface of the room.

As III curls up at Vessel's side, his plushie acting as a barrier between them, III notices that the plague doctor has gained a new necklace. II sits at Vessel's other side gingerly, smiling when Vessel tries to scoot over so they all have room on the bed.

"That necklace is neat Ves, where'd you get it? I don't remember seeing it around."

Vessel is silent, hesitant to respond. III waits patiently for an answer, running a finger over one of the coins gently. "There was a stag in the forest today, a skeleton more like. It looked otherworldly, which I know it must have been since I've only ever seen it once, in Sleep's realm. Crimson moss in place of fur, mushrooms growing out between the ribs. It was larger than I was, with red vines and leaves twining through its antlers. It- Had no eyes. Just empty sockets in its bare skull. It was beautiful. A crow had startled me so I turned to look, then it dropped this necklace at my feet. The stag was gone when I turned back."

"If you saw it in Sleep's realm, how did it get here?" II asks, curious.

"I'm not sure... You believe me?" He asks, quiet and avoiding the gentle gazes resting on his form.

II leans forward and places a tender kiss to Vessel's brow, "Of course we believe you, Vessel. If you went out into town, came back, and told me the sky had turned neon green, I'd believe you. I'll always believe you."

"Besides Sugar, we're vessels to a God." III muses, "I can probably turn my whole body into something very much not human. You have six, beautiful eyes. Two is unusually strong for such a short man."

Without a thought, II reaches over and flicks III right between the eyes. III grabs ahold of II before the other can pull away, wrapping a long arm around his shoulder and pressing all their weight into him so they both go tumbling onto the bed. Vessel watches with wide eyes as III steals a kiss from II whose brows furrow. "You're never going to stop making jokes about my height, are you?" II huffs, and III laughs, whole body shaking.

"Never. Unless they actually hurt you, then I'll stop. Promise."

II eyes III with serious eyes for a moment, gaze falling to their lips briefly, "No, its fine. I don't actually mind all that much. I get my revenge eventually."

"Is it really revenge if I like it?" III jokes, eyes bright.

The tension in II and III's shoulders seemed to have slipped away, and Vessel was glad for it. He didn't mean to, but he made them worry. Their arguments never turn cruel or painful, and Vessel is continually surprised by it. By the playfulness that they are able to so easily fall into. Vessel wants that. Wants to be comfortable enough around them- Wants to trust them enough-

Vessel doesn't know how to let loose that way. His jokes always fall short, he's sure the others only laugh out of pity. When II and III danced in the kitchen, Vessel had wanted to join, even if he knows he would surely not be able to dance so freely as III did. He'd end up as stiff as II, Vessel thinks. He can't remember the last time he had danced or had fun with his body like that, simply moved our of enjoyment or because he felt a beat in his bones and had to move with it. The closest he had ever gotten was listening to II drum away at his kit to a song Vessel had written. The beat had reverberated through his bone marrow and Vessel had the strangest need to move with it. He did not.

Vessel is torn from his thoughts, eyes growing wider, as II reaches up and grabs III's hair, slowly tilting their head back. Just once, II tugs on III's hair with as much force as they'd already agreed on, "We're both supposed to like it, honey."

Using his strength to pull his body up, II kisses III then, claims III's mouth as his own at the same time he pulls just that little bit harder on III's hair. III moans, eyes fluttering as they struggle to watch II, feeling II's tongue slip into their mouth to tangle with their own.

Vessel can't tear his eyes away, feeling himself growing hard as he watches them. He doesn't know what to do with himself, and nervously picks dirt out from the underside of his nails to have some sort of release for the restless energy he can feel slowly building inside of him.

II pulls away, body dropping back down to the bed, cheeks and neck flushed red, lips swelled slightly from the ferocity of the kiss he'd just shared with III.

III moves to follow II down, to take II's lips again but II stops them with a simple command to wait. II turns his head to look at Vessel, taking in the light blush on his cheeks and the growing bulge in his pajama pants.

"To clarify before we start anything serious, are you okay with me watching?" II asks, searching Vessel's gaze and bond for any uncertainty.

He finds none as Vessel nods.

II's voice is so terribly gentle as he asks, "Use your words, pretty."

Vessel's blush gets more pink, gaze flitting away nervously before forcing himself to meet II's gaze. "Yes. That is fine."

"Sir." He adds, a little panicked.

"You don't need to use that name with me unless you want to. And I mean it, Vessel, only if you want to. Three is a little brat, and likes to taunt me with it. That is likely not going to be your intention, is it?"

Vessel would never dare taunt II- Could not even imagine-

Vessel shakes his head profusely, and II smiles reassuringly. He turns towards III, who has sat back on their heels to watch Vessel and II, head turning to stare at whoever is speaking almost comically. "You've been quiet, Three. Not plotting anything, are you?"

"No, sir. This is important. I'm being patient." III smirks, proud of themself.

"Good boy." II praises, smirking in return before turning once more to Vessel with a kinder look, "Have you ever had a blow job, my love? Or given one?"

Vessel shakes his head to the first, nodding to the second, adding on quietly with a grimace he tries to hide, "My girlfriends would use their hands to get me ready for them. Was that for the same purpose?"

"Probably, yes. Different parts need different prepping. By the look on your face, I take it they weren't very good at giving hand jobs." II frowns, but forced a smile on his face for Vessel's sake, "How would you feel about Three giving you a blow job?"

"Giving me...? Why?"

Its so damn endearing how Vessel tilts his head to the side, something he does so often, but the confusion that seems ever present when they talk about anything sexual is saddening.

"I want to make you feel good. Will you let me?" III practically begs when Vessel's bond does not dip toward negativity at II's question.

"Think it over, sweetheart. Is it something you want to experience?" II urges Vessel to think it over, and he just grows more confused.

Vessel can only think of how it felt to take a cock in his mouth, the way his jaw had ached painfully for days, his throat bruised from the inside, how he couldn't breathe. The first time Vessel had taken a cock in his mouth, he shoved away, even with the hand still gripping his hair, no matter how it hurt and tore strands free, just to get away in time to puke at his side. He had not been given time to wipe away the vomit from his mouth before his boyfriend had pulled him back by his hair.

'Fucking look at me. God, you can't even do this right? Seriously, ___? You'd better learn fucking fast, fucking crybaby. If you don't want me to fuck you every time, the least you can do is learn to do this properly.'

Vessel couldn't have seen him through his tears as he shoved him to the ground, finally letting go of his hair. Vessel was ordered to go brush his teeth and be back at his boyfriends side quickly, or he would get angry. Vessel hated when his boyfriend was angry. Wanted to please him so he'd be kinder, gentle like he used to be. Vessel had choked on the toothpaste, too, scalp and knees aching as he retched into the sink, sobbing as quietly as he could manage at the time.

Why would III willingly want to experience something like that?

"I promise I'll make you feel good. Whatever experience you had with it before, I'm going to replace it with something better, I promise."

Vessel wants to believe III. He really, really does. III had made him feel things Vessel did not even know were possible, made him feel pleasure. So he nods, slow and hesitant.

"Your agreement in words, Ves, if you can." II requests, and Vessel does as asked only marginally less hesitant.

"Vessel will want to keep his shirt on, sir. Can I- Undress him?" III asserts, crawling closer to where Vessel leans against the headboard.

Vessel cannot stop his eyebrows from lifting in surprise as III makes a request for Vessel's own continued comfort, finding himself touched. Strangely, being considered makes him grow harder, to his own embarrassment.

"I am fine with it if Vessel is."

III turns to Vessel eagerly, trying their hardest to stay quiet and still, to let Vessel decide on his own, but the bond is rife with their anticipation. III has already seen him before, so Vessel nods easily, despite his worry over what is to come.

III closes the small distance between them, very gently pulling Vessel's legs so they're laid straight down the bed. There is indecision through the bond as III tries to figure out how he wants to go about getting Vessel undressed. They want to straddle Vessel, to see him under them as they take off his clothes, yet knows it is not likely to be easy that way. III finds he doesn't care when he glances up from inspecting Vessel's body to find Vessel watching him, all six crimson eyes attuned to every move III makes. III finally just reaches forward, kneeling on the bed at Vessel's feet.

His hands come to rest on Vessel's hips, barely brushing the fabric there as III comes to rest their knees on either side of Vessel's own. "Is this okay?" III asks, watching Vessel for any signs of distress.

Vessel nods, murmuring a yes. The action causes III to glance down at Vessel's lips, finding himself staring without a care for what he was just doing.

"Kiss?" III whispers, leaning in close as they finally press their hands to Vessel's waist, thumbs slipping into the waistband.

Vessel nods again, anticipation making his eyes bright. III leans over Vessel, pressing their lips together and slipping their tongue in to tangle with Vessel's own. III starts slowly sliding Vessel's pajamas down his waist, purposefully not dragging his underwear down as well. Vessel's split tongue slides against III's, and for a moment, III wonders what it would feel like for his tongue to be on III's cock and he moans into the kiss at the image. Surprise flits down the bond at the sound, and somewhere beside them II lets out a short laugh.

Vessel has grown increasingly harder with every gentle touch, with every second III's mouth remains on his. His underwear is growing increasingly tighter as his bulge grows, the friction it causes only making Vessel feel worse. Or better, to be more precise.

III only breaks away from the kiss to slowly slip Vessel's pajama pants down and off his legs, leaving him in only a shirt and boxers. He does not do so quickly, they take their time. They sit and watch as more and more of Vessel's skin is revealed, cannot stop themselves from tracing one of the tendrils of ink crawling their way up Vessel's thigh, as though reaching for the bandages still wrapped there. The gentle touch causes Vessel to shudder as tingles spread through him.

Vessel's underwear comes off next as II slowly slides one hand down his sweatpants, starting to slowly stroke himself with the limited movement his hand is allowed. Vessel's cock is leaking pre-cum when III manages to get his boxers off, stopping at the sight of it before he can get his underwear even halfway down Vessel's thighs.

The sight makes their mouth water, just imagining taking that large cock in their mouth or ass. Fuck, the stretch would be delicious.

"Finish getting him undressed, Three. You don't want to keep him waiting, do you?" II orders, leaning on his side with his head propped up on a hand so he can watch III when they inevitably start.

III refrains from taking Vessel's dick in their mouth right then, letting out a whine of impatience as Vessel watches with wide eyes, a deep blush overtaking his face and traveling up to his ears. They're quicker about getting Vessel's underwear off, then, dropping them off to the side of the bed with his pajamas.

It is quick work getting Vessel's legs bent and spread before him. III stops to take Vessel in with his hands on the others hips, the blush over his cheeks and cock hard, leaking pre cum from the tip. His shirt is slightly askew, lips swollen from all the kissing the other two had subjected him to, and he is staring at III with half-lidded eyes. III wants nothing more than to take a photo to capture Vessel's divine beauty.

A hand slides up from Vessel's hip to his stomach, taking his shirt with him. III's hand deliberately does not go even close to his sternum, keeping to Vessel's only rule. III lets their hand rest there, splayed over Vessel's stomach and feeling the barest hint of abs beginning to form.

"Such a pretty thing." III croons, "My pretty boy."

Vessel's blush gets deeper, one hand coming up to try and hide his face in bashfulness.

III moves up enough to stare in one pair of Vessel's eyes, taking the hand from his face gently, before planting a kiss over each of his six eyelid's. III peppers kisses all over Vessel's face, every one as worshipping as the last. They move to Vessel's jaw, placing a kiss on the right side before moving down to the exposed skin of Vessel's stomach.

Vessel's breaths get shorter, harsher, as III kisses down to his bellybutton and then lower, nuzzling into the pubic hair there before a long stripe is licked up Vessel's shaft. He lets out a whine, hips just barely bucking up as though he couldn't stop himself.

"Want it really bad, don't you, my love? Don't worry, I'm going to make you feel good."

III gives no other warning except for a small lick at Vessel's tip before opening their mouth wide, flattening their tongue, and taking Vessel's cock in their mouth as far as it will go. It is not an easy fit, III taking short, measured breaths in as he slowly swallows more and more of Vessel's dick.

Vessel can do nothing but watch, utterly entranced, at the sight of III taking him in with tears beading at the corners of their soft, mischievous eyes. It bumps against the back of III's throat, but III doesn't gag or show any signs of discomfort except for the involuntary tears. Their bond remains painless, happy even, as III sinks their mouth down further.

Vessel can't quite think of much outside of the warm, wet heat of III's mouth around him. This is what it feels like to be given a blow job? Fuck, it felt divine.

III does not allow Vessel a moment to breath, hollowing their cheeks and sucking while their tongue presses flat to the underside of Vessel's dick. Swirling their tongue around the shaft shoots more pleasure down the bond and Vessel's cock twitches in III's mouth.

Then III lets out an intentional moan, a low thing that grows in sound and the vibrations bring Vessel very close to the edge.

"Can you take him deeper, Three?" II asks, smirking as he runs a thumb over his tip, enjoying the show.

III hums out an attempt at an agreement that makes Vessel's head tilt back into the pillows involuntarily with a breathy little keen. He is quick to move his gaze back down to III, selfishly enjoying the sight of their pretty lips around Vessel's cock, taking him in so well. III looks beautiful like this, Vessel thinks, reaching down hesitantly to brush a stray strand of wavy hair behind III's ear as they take more of him down his throat.

Two pairs of Vessel's eyes remain on III, capturing every movement with ease, while the top pair watches II slowly jerk himself off, off to the side.

A swirl of III's tongue spurs a small whimper out of Vessel, eyes clenching shut at the pleasure coursing through him. He feels close to cumming, body alight with the ecstasy III's mouth is giving him.

Vessel's eyes shoot open when he feels movement on the bed, II crawling towards him with intense eyes. He stops directly at Vessel's side, kneeling on both knees before reaching out and cupping Vessel's face. Vessel leans into the touch,  "Cum for Three, love."

Vessel does, hips bucking up into III's face as the other gently holds them to keep Vessel still as they swallow the cum spilling down their throat. III ruts into the bed, cock craving friction as Vessel's release spills over their bonds, too. His eyes glow brightly, like bloody moons in a night sky, and II's voice is firmer than intended when he asks Vessel to look at him, taken with the beauty of finally being able to watch Vessel cum with his own eyes. That, perhaps, was his mistake.

III is already pulling away when the first tremor of terror rocks down the bond between the three of them, eyes wide as Vessel completely stops moving.

"Red." II blurts before falling into a mutter, "Shit, shit, shit. "

He pulls his hands away from Vessel, afraid the touch will make him panic more. II isn't sure if it was something he did, or said, or if it was something III did.

Vessel can't breathe. Can't hear anything. Not past the voice in his ears, demanding he look at them and to stop fucking crying. Can't feel anything but the hand pressing painfully into his jaw, unkempt nails digging into his face and the smell of minty breathe in his nostrils.

Somewhere inside Vessel knows what II has said, has done, is not the same. Vessel feels terrible for ruining everything, trying to keep from crying as III pulls away and II stops touching him. He wants their hands back on him, the only kinds hands that have ever graced his skin.

"Ves, sweetheart, are you okay?" II asks, and the pure concern in his voice causes Vessel to let out a sob as silent as any other he's ever released.

The lack of touch only makes him feel worse, and he wants to beg, plead for them to hold his hand, or go ahead and hit him for being so pathetic just to feel the touch of their skin on his. He just wants to feel them again, when he needs it. Instead all he can do is lay over on his side, struggling to breathe with aching lungs, choking on the words he wants to say but is too afraid to let out.

His breaths come out in shorter and shorter pants, arms wrapping around himself as he brings his knees up to his chest. He looks small, II thinks, curling in on himself on the bed as if he could become one with the sheets and disappear completely if he tried hard enough.

Gold leaks from his eyes, clenched shut tightly. Vessel feels alone, even if the other two are right there beside him. They feel too far away, not close enough. He wants them near. He wants them to hold him. Vessel wants their gentle hands to brush his skin again just so he can force his mind away from the feeling of other hands on him, other, rougher hands pulling his face up with a bruising grip, straining his neck, demanding he look at them-

Please, please, touch me, hurt me, anything, please-

Vessel thinks that if words could be sent down the bond, his thoughts would have been shouted down the tether connecting their souls.

II must take pity on him and his pathetic form, staining the sheets with gold as he sobs silently.

"Is it alright if I touch you, Vessel? Just my hand, if that's alright, sweetheart."

Vessel nods so fast he gets dizzy, trying his damndest not to reach forward and crawl into II's lap, desperate as he is for them to show him the kindness he craves but does not deserve.

"Please." Vessel begs with every bit of desperation in his blood, fingers twitching with want.

III shakes, still half-hard and struggling to shove away the tingles of pleasure still coursing through them, longing to hold Vessel so badly it hurts. Not being able to hold Vessel, at the mans own request, has to be the worst torture III has ever faced and he was beaten and murdered for fucks sake. They want to reach for Vessel, too, to take his hand and run a soothing thumb over his knuckles just as II is doing, but Vessel's bond is just so overwhelmed with emotion, III fears he'll make it worse.

Anxiety and terror and the thick tar of being lost in one's mind that is filled with bad memories are all swarming Vessel's bond, fighting over which will cover the tether thickest.

"Don't leave, don't leave, please, please don't leave." Vessel mutters repeatedly, so quiet the other two vessels can barely make out what he is saying.

When they do manage to decipher it, it breaks their hearts. "Not going anywhere, my love." III says, watching helplessly.

They take Vessel's hand in their own when they notice him reaching out, only to pull back, then reach forward again. He can tell what Vessel wants but will not ask for.

II and III feel a little helpless as they watch Vessel's chest hitch with sobs that make no noise, face turned away into the pillow to hide. His trembling does not cease for what seems like eternity, squeezing II and III's hands tightly. It surely must be uncomfortable, to still hold their hands and yet be curled up, arms needing to stretch to reach. III uses his available hand to pick up Vessel's plushie, placing it under his chin. Vessel immediately tries to hide his face in it instead of the pillows. It takes time for his sobs to lessen then peter out entirely, breathing becoming less erratic, but still heavy. His mutters begins them not to leave have continued, but the vacancy in his eyes has cleared with the end of his sobbing.

"What happened, Ves? Was it something we said, or did?" II asks, so gentle, always so, so gentle.

"He used to grab my jaw when I couldn't meet his eyes. Jerked me around by my chin with a bruising grip." Vessel mutters, "Wasn't good enough. Have never been good enough. Not for anyone."

"Fuck, I'm sorry Vessel, I didn't know. I won't do it again." II looks so defeated as he says it, leaning into III as they continue holding one of Vessel's hands each.

Vessel scrambles to fix what he's done, needs II to know it wasn't his fault. "No, no, please, Two... you've asked me to look at you before and it didn't bother me! I promise. I think..." Vessel starts, stumbling over his words as more tears slip down the side of his face, "You've cupped my face before, too. It may have been the situation. I- This scenario was familiar enough. I was just never on the receiving end."

It feels strange for Vessel to be the one rationalizing what happened, when usually its the other two trying to reassure him, but his heart is so disconnected from anything sexual that his mind can see what has happened far easier.

"I liked it when you held my face, carefully like I was worth something. I liked what Three was doing, liked you watching. I've never- I didn't know that's what a blow job was supposed to feel like for the person on the receiving end. Suppose I was shit at giving them, Before." Vessel huffs out a humorless laugh, sitting up and wiping away tears.

Vessel hates the looks on their faces, not quite pitying but so distraught, and Vessel did that to them. He's the reason they look like that, all because he couldn't keep in control of the bond well enough to cover up what had happened. And then they'd shown him concern, and he'd crumbled.

Vessel forces his body to relax completely. Forces his muscles to finish untensing, shoves more calm down the bond, forces himself to meet II's eyes, to look at him like he had asked for. They'll be pleased with him when they finish here, Vessel is sure. Maybe they won't look so upset if Vessel offers up his body once more.

"I'm ready to continue with whatever else you wish. I feel better now." Vessel murmurs as he sits up, steeling himself for how he's going to have to fake his interest in the sex.

No matter how good it had felt, Vessel is exhausted. He wants to lay down and beg for sleep that will not come.

"No, it's alright. We'll continue this another time." II says, and III nods along easily, concerned.

"I- I do not mind." Vessel tries, desperate, gripping the sheets tightly to stop himself from reaching out to III, who gets off the bed to collect the damp rag they'd set aside.

He doesn't want them to be disappointed, knowing he is the cause.

"Sweetheart, you just had a panic attack. Neither I nor Three mind continuing whenever you're ready, but I don't think that time is now." II refuses gently, reaching out and adjusting Vessel's shirt so that it sits properly on his body, no longer crumpled haphazardly.

"It's happened before. It- It doesn't matter. I can continue. I know I can." Vessel insists, but II's expression remains firm.

"No, Vessel. You're still shaking."

"I'm- No, I'm not." Vessel holds tighter to the sheets, fabric beginning to tear under the force of his claws, trying in vain to still his body.

"I don't want to continue anyway. I kinda want to go watch a show, why don't we do that instead?" III offers, climbing back into bed with the rag in hand.

Vessel levels suspicious, guilty eyes on III but their bond remains truthful, calm. II sends III a grateful look that Vessel misses while trying to probe III's bond for any sort of lie.

"I'm down for that, honey. How about you Vessel?" II agrees, gently wiping Vessel's cock off.

Vessel sits there, trembling, still fighting valiantly to keep any more tears from falling, and nods imperceptibly.

"You're not in trouble, Vessel. No one is upset with you. We're concerned, and so we're going to take care of you." II explains, helping Vessel slip his underwear back on, then his pajama pants.

Vessel feels a little like he is being coddled. Still, he thinks back to what II and III had said to him before. They say they love him. They... get angry on his behalf. They do not yell at him, they do not hit him. They kiss Vessel like he is something to be adored... Vessel's mind is a muddled mess of thoughts as his present fights with his past over the truth of their words.

Vessel lets them coddle him. Breathes out a shaky, but truthful 'yes' when II asks to kiss him. Leans into II's lips on his, does not expect anything further when II slowly slides his hand onto Vessel's thigh, where it sits, merely laying there.

III hops out of bed first, picking up all of their phones and holding them in one large hand, fingers bent in what is surely awkward positioning. They watch as II and Vessel kiss, a slow, languid movement of lips as II sends down every ounce of love his body possesses towards Vessel's bond. There's a spark of recognition on Vessel's end, a small thing, and III hopes it is Vessel beginning to realize that it is their love for him.

Vessel knows they do not love him, not the way he loves them. If they love him at all, it is the version of himself he has allowed them to see. It is the version of himself that hides his lack of heart, hides his desire for death. A version of himself close enough to his core that they think they know him, truly.

If they think him pitiable now, they know nothing of what is to come should they ever find out all of Vessel's hidden truths.

The spark dies, and whatever realization Vessel had been having slips away to be replaced by his crushing self-doubt and anxiety and aching, bone-deep pain.

II pulls away slowly, ever so gently resting his forehead on Vessel's. "I love you." He murmurs, pressing a chaste but tender kiss to Vessel's lips again.

The smile Vessel shows them is twinged with uncertainty, but he repeats the phrase back with every ounce of love in his soul, because he means it. He loves II. He loves III.

"Here, Ves." III calls, holding out Vessel's plushie as he and II climb out of Vessel's bed.

Vessel reaches out and grabs it without hesitation, holding it close to his chest with both arms. "Here, for if you get cold. Your hands and feet are always freezing." III says again as he wraps a large blanket around Vessel's shoulders, pulling a large bit of the fabric over Vessel's head as though he were wearing a hooded robe. Vessel lets II lead him out of his room and down the stairs while III goes to brush his teeth quickly.

Their hands shake as they do so, taking a deep, deep breath in and releasing it before stepping back into the hallway. Elvira waits for him, tail flicking back and forth as she sits regally.

"Hey, pretty kitty, going to come hang with us? Vessel could use the support right now." III says quietly, crouching down to pet her.

She rubs into his hand as he scratches her head, petting a line down her spine and up her tail that she leans up into. Elvira follows him back to the living room, hopping up on the couch beside II.

"Lay your head in my lap, sweetheart." II offers, patting his thigh invitingly as Vessel flounders on what to do with his body, more anxious than usual.

III starts up the TV as Vessel very carefully lays down on the couch, scrunched up as small as possible, placing his head on II's warm thigh. It's familiar, and comforting. Vessel realizes it has been a while since either he or II laid their head on the others thigh. III picks up Vessel's feet, placing them back down on III's own thighs after they sit. One hand remains on Vessel's sock-clad ankle as III settles back into the cushions, scrolling through an anime app.

Vessel listens as II and III debate over what to watch. When they ask his opinion, Vessel is honest, more forthcoming than he should be. He wants them to know him, as much of himself as he can bare. "Wasn't allowed to watch anything that wasn't a documentary. Or read anything other than educational books."

"Well, you can read and watch whatever you want here, Sugar. Let's watch Fairy Tail then, it's a good starter anime, despite its length." III says, knowing he and II will need to talk with each other, and Vessel, about it eventually.

It must have been his parents, III notes. They're not sure who is higher on his shit list, Vessel's parents or his past partners. Right now, Vessel's parents are at the top of the list, III decides, watching Vessel with an adoring smile. Vessel's book and movie choices so far have been explained. To think they wouldn't let him watch or read anything fun. It explains why Vessel never knew anything about video games, or any of the movies they had watched previously. They'll have to compile a list of their and II's favorites to show him.

Observing Vessel as he watches the show with rapt attention, body slowly losing the tremble, one hand coming to grasp II's by the shorter man's knee, III considers Sleep's words from when they had last spoken with the God, slowly trailing their fingers over Vessel's calf and back down to his ankle rhythmically.

Sleep had said that Vessel's killer had already passed on. III can't help but wonder how.

It's of no matter now though. As long as Vessel remains safe from that threat, III is content. He supposes getting a hang of his transformation power would be useful for the future. They'll have to speak with II about it, since they already intended to work on their gifts together. Maybe they can rope Vessel into it as well, though it doesn't seem as though the other needs it.

III turns his gaze back to the show, one hand slowly crossing the space between them to rest at II's side, just barely touching him as III's arm lays gently over Vessel's form. Vessel huffs out a laugh, pretty ruby eyes sparkling as he finds enjoyment in one of the characters penchant for taking off his clothes subconsciously. III adores him, they think, as their gaze slides over to II who is also watching the show with tired, but interested eyes. III adores both of them.

[bumblebeerror]

It’s been on my mind today but I need you to know.

Hitting 25 has been one of the best things to ever happen to me.

I don’t say this lightly - I lost my father who I loved dearly at age 18, I grew up a bit above the poverty line and now only *just* live above it. I’ve been treated for severe mental illness and learning disabilities since I was a child, starting at 6 years old. I have a physical disability and chronic pain. I have had some bad fuckin times, I’ve been through my share, and I’ll go through more I’m sure.

But I can tell you I feel so much better mentally at age 25, unable to stand for more than an hour or so without severe pain, on a consistent schedule of prescribed pain pills, discovering just how hard I was masking some pretty serious autism, struggling with my ADHD meds being less effective, and only leaving the house three total times a week because I’m immunocompromised than I was at age 13 when “all my problems were school”.

Because at age 10, nobody close to me had ever died before. At age 11, I had never lived in a new place before. At age 12, I had never felt so cold and empty and tired. I’d never endured my peers teasing me for crying about a death in my family. At age 13 I had never felt like I wanted to die before then, like the world was on fire, like it was ending. At age 14 I hadn’t known what it felt like to have period cramps so bad my mother sent me to school with a muscle relaxer and still had to pick me up by lunch, to have this weird feeling in the pit of my stomach that being a girl was a lie and I was a liar. At age 15 I’d never had people remind me so viciously that I wasn’t like them, I’d never felt so throughly upset by the idea of one more person calling me she. At age 16 I’d never had my heart broken before, I’d never dealt with a friend turning on me completely. At age 17, I’d never had my family feel so broken. At age 18, I’d been petrified of the idea of my father dying, and he did. At age 19, I’d never actually thought about how I would kill myself before. At 20, I’d never gotten drunk before. At 21, I’d never gone inside a bar.

You get the picture.

Your teen years suck because you’ve never done so much shit, and on top of the terrifying experience of doing it all for the first time, you also have all your peers picking at you for doing it wrong the first time. Your teen years suck because they are chaotic and new and stressful and you don’t know how to handle them yet. You’re not supposed to know yet.

Hitting 25 was the realization that I wasn’t going to just up and die, that now I have to actually plan. I have to do taxes, and that I actually know how to. That I have to care for my pets and I know how to. That I have to drive to work and do my job and I know how to.

25 was what made me realize that I had things I was supposed to be around for. People and pets who relied on me, who loved me and needed me and wanted me.

That I can have a panic attack and know that I’m having one. That something can piss me off and I know I can take a moment before I respond. The awareness that I do not have to do everything for the first time all the time anymore, that I know stuff, that I’ve been around the block and can use those tools is INVALUABLE. The fact that I can look at my intrusive thoughts and, if I truly wanted to, CHOOSE to indulge them? That I can sit here and be the cat that doesn’t wish to go to the vet and the concerned cat owner?

It changes everything.

It was the realization that I am the one punishing myself. That I can and should respect myself as a person because it means I can respect more deeply the care that other people have for me. It sounds so stupid when I explain it but it’s absolutely a whole different ball game.

The fact that I think the only thing that could severely tank my mental health is if I were to become homeless in winter or actively abused or something similar should speak volumes to you what I mean when I say that not having to do everything for the first time all the time is a huge mental weight off you.

I promise. It will feel better when you are 25. I promise that even if it isn’t fixed, it will be easier. And if I’m wrong when you hit 25, you can come yell at me about it. Probably I’ll still be here.

[accidentally-in-fictional-love]

Things I Noticed While Writing Light The Fuse: Part 12, Episode 5

The battles I fought to get this extended episode, so this one is going to be special, I'm actually going to compare scenes and alternate takes this time~ As such, all my gifs will be in full widescreen to get all the details and love in there 🥰

Now, I've never in my life been a car person, but goddamn if that ain't a beautiful car, let's just appreciate it a moment 😌 also laughing at the film car in the reflection lol

I love how my initial train of thought was 'wait, I don't know those necks... Johnson!' like even so recognizable this close, also they really should've put this in a less kissable area I mean really, how do they expect everyone to not wanna go in for a bite, I can only be that lucky cause I'm getting this tattoo, like there is no doubt about it at this point

Young Joel jumpscare! I love how you can tell this is a flashback just from the sheer lack of gray ;w;

Cut on the left (Hulu), extended on the right (Amazon). I can't believe they cut out that not only was Johnson still a Phoenix when Joel was, but he was there for longer.

This shot is actually a tad longer in the cut version ironically enough

I spy chipped nail polish hehe

Switchblade branded beer, delicious

I actually think Rita was pregnant with Lyla here, which is why he asked, obviously not very far along, and she doesn't seem concerned, so I set this about ten years ago as I wrote. Checking now, Lyla's actress was around 8 during filming, so my guess is that this takes place in 2010-11 or so. In my fic both Joel and Bru were done their turns by the time the war was over, so once Joel was done here, Bru came in, and then after him was Matty, who then proceeded to never leave ;w;

Joel's kinda adorable 😊

Not Phoenix or LtF related, but guys, when I was trying to come up with a rival gang for my s/i Addy to be a part of, I was gunna do something with roses obviously since that her last name/whole brand, and then this gang just is in the show. They're right there, and the rustiness makes me think of another great love of mine, Silent Hill, and when I got to this ep I started choking and screaming like it's so perfect I might as well already be in there

Okay I wanna talk about Joel here for a sec since he's a Phoenix at the moment and it counts. We know that Katherine disappeared roughly ten years ago, cause that's another vague date that was mentioned a couple times in her scenes, both 10 and 8 come up, and that's why I set this scene specifically back ten, ignoring Lyla's actual irl age.

If Joel had already done his business with Burt by now, he doesn't seem too bothered by it, plus he's still a Phoenix, so in my head it hasn't happened yet. At the same time, they're already going around trying to get the other gangs to join their tax deal, which is what Burt did after the betrayal, right? So again, in my head, here's how this all went down seeing as I skipped this part in the fic entirely in place of Avron's flashback, so this part will come as the fic progresses and Johnson talks to them. Everything's already been mentioned loosely, so here's my full timeline that I've been working around just based on this scene and those others.

Ten years ago, Joel was a Phoenix, brought on and found by Burt. While there, he met Rita, and they fell in love and had Lyla. Burt asks Joel for his help with the fake betrayal when he can't get as many other gangs to join, cause this courtesy call doesn't seem very terrifying and what Joel says they should be afraid of, and having his trust is what makes him a Brawler. Rita eventually then leaves while Lyla is still young, as she wanted to get out, and they officially split. Around this time war is now being threatened/going on, and this is when Alice also gets out (not a spoiler cause I've had a few characters mention it already, although she is still a mystery).

Bru comes in before she leaves, and when she's gone a bunch of other quick Phoenixes cycle through to bring up the numbers for war, along with my character Dusty, who then had something with Johnson. After the war ends, Johnson rides the river alone for a while because all the other Phoenixes are now Brawlers, and he's a little safer to continue business alone; it's three years after this scene when he picks up Matty on the side of the road while heading back, and it's all history from there.

Alternate take here, instead of the full follow we get a very lovely shot of Johnson, I love having both versions 🥰

I thought this hard cut was hilarious until I learned I was missing out on more Johnson ;w;

I would wear the fuck outta this, I'm gunna be slowly collecting gang jackets by the end of this fic

This rink looks so damn awesome, this place is so me 🤩 Damn, these guys are doing pretty good for themselves, 7 territories plus this badass rink

I can't decide if I like the idea of the Phoenixes being created just for the Brawlers, or if their gang was so small that they were hired entirely, forever stuck under them or else they'd be obliterated. I already have the starts in my mind, I know for sure how most of it goes, I just need to decide on this final bit 🤔 and this is super fast but watch Johnson, he steals a drink from that girl fuckin lmao

The way he says all this makes me think that either they're 100 miles up the river back at the 707, or they're actually going around telling everyone to pay up and bringing the war to them (which weirds up Joel and my timeline), and this really is a courtesy call before they head to wherever they're parked for the night. Might not've been great for them to drive up to either after the beating they're about to get oop

Oh to have Johnson toss me a lighter with a lil tongue click to get my attention 🥰 Joel's also so banged up, this makes me think they've been doing this all day maybe and this is just another/the last stop for the night, with little success

Short king not even afraid Weird Al lookin' ass staring Joel down he's going right for the jugular

This one's just for me. I adore how this is just how he adjusts his sleeves. Johnson please look down on me like that while you're getting ready to fight pleasepleaseplease

I will never get over the height on those pants, also her already getting ready to beat his ass lol there is no intimidation going on here at all and I love it

I love hard cuts so much. What happened to Joel the Mover here, he kicked so much ass it got him that name and he couldn't even fight a man as part of his job. It's funny how incredibly different these scenes are played, with her instantly accepting it and then driving him to safety, to them having steamy makeouts while he's got a knife in his side and Johnson's just thirdwheeling in the backseat lmao also his arm! It's naked!

I'm in love with you. I'm also in the backseat confessing my love right now. He got hit right in the forehead with that skate and he can't even smoke and he's beautiful.

I also really love how incredibly talkative he was this entire scene! I wonder if he talked more back then, and then just got used to Matty saying everything, or if he just talks more around the other Phoenixes, cause he only talks to the Monster Ring first to get Ethan back and that's it, the rest is all to Matty and Ethan outside of being alone with Burt and speaking up Doris because the others wouldn't.

No other times with Joel, no Bru outside of the finale lie because Matty was nervous, or Queenie, no Meredith even, no Percy, no Bash, not even to Avron outside of that whistle. This man does not speak unless he has to, unless he's talking to Phoenixes, then he's got sparse comments galore.

Phew that was a big one, I wanted to get all of the changed stuff in here this time and I actually hit my limit right at the end and had to delete a screenshot to make room, can't end this one on anyone else other than Johnson ❤️

[marcescet]

all i see every time i open my social media accounts is pictures and videos of murdered, wounded, terrified innocent children of Palestine.

but i can log out and forget about it, i have the luxury to do so, but they can’t. this is the reality they live in. kids in Gaza are writing their names on their arms in case something happens to them so that they can be identified. do you realize how bad it has to be for kids to do this?

50,000 pregnant women in Gaza cannot access health services what with the hospitals being bombed & evacuated because they’re going to get bombed, 5,500 of them are due to give birth, are they not worth fighting for, marching for, because they’re arab?

Palestinian men are heroes, pulling dead bodies from under the rubble, helping the wounded, treating them, documenting everything so we can see the truth with our own eyes, and still they’re being dehumanised at every turn. imagine if it were you, pulling your cousin, your niece, your nephew, your kid, your sibling, your parents from under the rubble of your own home, or masjid (mosque), or church, or hospital, a place you turned to because you thought it was safe, only to wake up to the smell of death and chaos? and although this man’s feet are bare, he’s giving his shirt for a woman to use as hijab (something most muslim women use, we are not forced to wear it but it is the teachings of our beautiful religion) https://x.com/yamarhaba_/status/1716031379174203737?s=46

i speak arabic, i live in an arabic country, i urge you if you see any video that’s in arabic to go and ask anyone who’s arab to translate it to you, there are many accents in arabic, some are hard for non-arabs to understand, i’ve seen a virla video of Hamas taking hostages, and although i am against doing this, but they’re turning a girl back and the translation is literally “she’s a young girl, do not take her” but of course the israelis have translated it as “this is not a prisoner, this is for rape.” which is a lie, a complete lie. so if you see any videos that’s in arabic, although i have not stumbled upon many, as they’re trying to use english as much as possible so their struggle can be understood by majority of people, go on and ask any arab person you know, they’ll tell you the truth, do not trust any israel claim. this is the video i am talking about. https://x.com/davidpgoldman/status/1716068086649139340?s=46

also, asking for the freedom of Palestine from the terrorist occupation of Israel is in no way against Jewish people, it does not mean we wish death upon Jewish people at all. we are simply asking for the freedom of Palestine and Palestinians whose land got stolen, who are being bombed essentially for as long as i could remember. and you’ll find that some Jewish people are actually pro-Palestine.

i urge you to watch this, even though it’s vile and i had to physically force myself to keep watching until the end, and by the end of it maybe you’ll understand why israel is terrorist, why your tax money should not be given for them to keep bombing the innocent, see how he is smiling throughout the video while he’s describing what they’re doing to innocent people, i don’t even want you to imagine if it was you, i just need you to realize that this has been done to an actual human being, with hopes and dreams, with so much love to give out to the world. https://x.com/one_dawah/status/1710765784765485446?s=46

i can shut up about this and go on about my day, but i will not. because i’ll have failed them, and i can’t live with myself if my words could help even if it’s so little, i’ll keep writing about them, and spreading what’s happening to them, i’ll keep help expose the lies of israel and its’ propaganda. what more proof do you need to realize that what’s happening in Gaza is genocide, they’re wiping them out, ethnic cleansing. https://x.com/timesofgaza/status/1715783997358293378?s=46

[revoleotion]

Now that the 24 hours reading challenge is completed, here's what I read (+ a quick rating now that it's still fresh)

Bruderschaft (Brotherhood) - 7/10

THE GOOD POINTS

Great Star Wars book to establish Anakin's and Obi-Wan's relationship at the start of the clone wars and where it will go

Obi-Wan gets to meet cute one of his many future side bitches (and they are immediately NOT normal about each other)

intriguing enough side characters, very on the nose with the parallels to existing characters but that's not a bad thing here

good world building, points made about sci-fi/fantasy racism and disrespect towards "ugly" alien culture, especially art

MINUS POINTS

just needless Mace Windu slander nobody needed or wanted? He seemingly only existed to show how much poor little meow meow Anakin being bullied by the bad evil jedi master who doesn't want him here

adding to this after some great takes from milena: it's not THAT bad and only ever coming from Anakin's pov (who is irrational) and Palpatine (using it to manipulate Anakin), so it's fine. But. People are already extremely unfair towards Mace and this book doesn't help.

the book couldn't have sucked up any harder to Qui-Gon if it crawled up his ass, slipped back out in the front and offered to do his taxes for him. In my personal opinion problematic (but more so just... wrong?) portrayal of conflicts between him and Obi-Wan, and he's overall just. presented as this perfect, idolized fanon version people want him to be, neglecting anything we see him do in the Episodes (or the very CANON Master & Apprentice novel)

Middlesex - 10/10

Just overall a story I really enjoyed and is beautifully crafted, both the story/pacing, and the flow of the German translation

It will always have a special place in my heart because my dad recommended and then gifted it to me, and while it clearly doesn't describe my exact experience, it is the reason he has a more nuanced and understanding view on intersex and non-binary identity

Maybe I have just read a lot of bad/sanitized fiction lately but what really got me was how believable Cal's pov was. The narration never breaks away from the protagonist's beliefs and doesn't shy away from letting anyone in the novel have problematic world views (some of which they are aware of, some of which they aren't, and some of which they never challenge). Everybody in it is a person. And sometimes people cause harm for other people. Some people shovel their own grave. Some are just killed. It's so well done.

It also included several quotes that had the audacity to come into my house, punch me in the face and steal my lunch money. For example the moment of describing undressing in the bedroom during two very traumatized people's first time as unwrapping the bandages of a wound. Really made me pause for a moment. Fuck.

This is how you lose the time war - 13/10

I wouldn't even know where to start. I don't think I have read a book this good in years. It will haunt me. It made me want to write countless essays about it. It made me want to savor the words one after the other like a meal that's so good you're terrified of finishing it. I predicted the ending a few pages in. It still caught me off-guard. I expected my heart to be broken but it didn't.

A lot of media nowadays just makes you feel like shit. This novel managed to make me cry multiple times and still didn't leave me feeling destroyed. (So that is possible. Not everything needs to be dark and depressing for the sake of being dark and depressing. What a concept.)

A dowry of blood - 10/10

Vampires. Many, many complicated feelings. Sex. Beautiful language. I loved it.

What I really, REALLY want to praise it for is that the character narrating the events wants to find humanity in someone repeatedly choosing cruelty over it, and even when she has to admit that he is dangerous, her (and any other characters') hope in him is never presented as naive or wrong. It's simply presented as a specific single case of a single person choosing cruelty, and we are left to wonder if her realization could've come earlier but never get an answer.

Also just really hit a lot of my tastes from a smut perspective. That's all I'm saying for now.

[matt-erialgirl]

A lot’s changed

I’m about to talk about cancer, so if this is something you can’t handle reading about, steer clear.

It’s just strange and terrifying when it happens in your own home. You know it’s as common as ever now; almost every family has experienced one form or the other of the disease, but you never expect it to enter your life. My mother was diagnosed with stage 2 breast cancer in January 2023, it had already spread to her lymph nodes and a mastectomy was the immediate solution the doctors proposed. Albeit these news were the worst I had ever had to take in a doctor’s office, we were reassured constantly that her prognosis shows promise. That the biopsy results show that her body will respond to treatment. That she can have a full recovery.

While I’m thankful that she had a fighting chance, I’m inexplicably angry. They don’t tell you just how bad things can get with and after chemo. They touch on it, but it’s nowhere near as bad as the way my mother had to experience it. They don’t tell you she’ll cry because she can’t take the aches in her body, they don’t tell you how you can take away from her pain when her hair starts to fall out, they don’t tell you she might not be able to stand on her own anymore, they don’t tell you about the loosening of the nails, the numbness that runs all the way up to her ankles and wrists, the stiffness. And then she’ll show symptoms of rare side effects that no one would take seriously and we end up in the ICU for three nights. She’s the strongest woman I know - to give up her caregiving status as a mother so we can take care of her instead is, by itself, one of the most difficult things she had to do. She fought and is still fighting like no one else I know. But no one prepares you for how taxing it is to see a loved one like this. It’s painful to see them go from powerful and constantly on their feet and busy, to weak and needing help to get up, to not being able to walk into the doctor’s office and need a wheelchair, to not being able to sleep. They keep telling me that the hardest part is over, the Chemo and the surgery are done. No one really understands how hard it is, when she looked at me after the dressing was off with tears in her eyes and her lips quivering to ask me “how bad is it?”. No one really gets how furious it makes me that I can’t take her pain away. That I don’t know if she’ll ever accept herself the way she is now. That I don’t know if she’ll ever be the same. It changed her. It changed me. It changed all of us as a family. When cancer enters a home, it changes everyone around it. It tests you, it pushes you, it takes away from you, it exhausts you, drains you. Even while we’re trying to kill it, it’s still taking. Constantly fucking taking. And even when it’s gone, it’s still in the back of your head. Biannual screening. Tablets for years to come. Having to get screened yourself consistently. Some people will also have the audacity to tell you “Oh breast cancer isn’t difficult. It’s like getting the flu.” The fuck it is. Yes it’s easy to remove and yes it doesn’t affect bodily functions like other types of cancers, but it’s still a shit show. It’s still cancer. It’s still 16 chemotherapy cycles. It’s still a surgery with major physical impact. It’s still 25 radiotherapy sessions. It’s still fucking cancer. It’s still a life altering experience. It’s still one of the most difficult life lessons anyone has to learn.

All I want now is to get my mother back. The way she used to be. I miss her. I want to hug her and not hear “careful careful careful!”, I want to take her out and not think twice about where I’m going to park to make sure she doesn’t have to walk any more than she needs to. I want her to check up on me in the night rather than the other way round. I want her back.

At this point, you start to accept that all you can do is be there for them and hold their hand through it. Reassure them when it gets tough, love them when they can’t love themselves, take care of them when they can’t do it themselves, and hope they come out of it stronger than they ever were.