#but it sorta got away from me

[speromint]

"Your mom would be fuckin' proud, man."

And Ashe feels himself falling. His body moves on its own, now-clawed hands pushing up from the ground. He wants to turn and look back at his friends, wants to see one last glimpse of them, but his head only manages to twitch to the side for a moment.

His mouth opens and speaks in a voice that is not his own.

Ashe can feel his consciousness fading, smothered by the Trickster's will. He's kicking and thrashing, but he can't stop himself from sinking down into the depths of his mind.

His consciousness fades out, and Ashe drowns.

There's a ringing in his ears. Every inch of his body aches fiercely and his bones feel impossibly heavy, like any sort of movement would be a herculean task.

His head is against something jagged and hard, and through the pain Ashe feels something warm and wet sliding down his back. Most of the pain radiates from there.

"Ashe!"

The familiarity of that voice causes Ashe's eyes to open halfway. His vision is blurred, but he'd know that vibrant red hair anywhere.

"D'kota?" His tongue feels swollen in his mouth, like it's made of cotton.

"Ashe, holy shit!" Dakota instantly goes to hug him, but Ashe's pained groan as he's lifted off the rubble deters him.

Someone comes to kneel down next to him. He hears more than sees his father.

"Ashe, kid, jesus-" There's a metal-covered hand on his shoulder, and Ashe weakly turns his head to see him.

He's so different than Ashe remembers. His hair has gotten longer, and he's grown a short, greying beard. His vision clears for a moment, and there's an expression on his face Ashe hasn't seen in years.

"'m I... dead?" he slurs.

"No, kid, no you're alright. You'll be alright. Just- just try and stay awake, okay? Doctor'll be here any minute now."

He tries to nod, but he doesn't have the strength. He thinks he rasps out an "okay", but he's fading in and out of semi-conciousness and it's hard to tell.

"A-? -she! -on't fall asle-! As-!"

There are flashes. Someone is lifting him up. There's something over his mouth. Wheels screeching. A constant beeping.

Ashe finally comes back to consciousness sometime later. Beside him is the source of the beeping noise- a heart monitor. It picks up as the fog in Ashe's head begins to clear.

His back aches badly, but the pain isn't nearly as intense as earlier. He's in a small, standard hospital room, wearing a deeply uncomfortable medical gown. He's not wearing his binder, but something is wrapped securely around his chest and back as well.

Something in the back of his mind is distressed at the lack of mobility, and he instinctively tries to flex muscles he does not have.

Right, the wings. That's what the bandages are for, then.

He hasn't used his body in nearly a year, now, and he feels terribly weak whenever he moves. He can barely bring himself to sit up properly, much less move his legs. Most of his movement this past year was probably relegated to his arms and wings, letting his legs fall out of use.

The feeling of having little control over his own body again sends him into a bit of an instictive panic, only amplified by his very recent possession.

"Ashe- calm down, kid, you're alright, you're safe."

His father looks exhausted, like he hasn't slept since their fight with Overlord. He can see heavy bags under his one uncovered eye, and he looks so much older.

Mark Winters had been a fairly young father. Young enough to stick out in a crowd filled with the parents of his classmates. Now, though, his dark blonde hair was streaked with white, and his face wrinkled with worry lines. At least, the human side of it did. Ashe wasn't sure there would be any signs of aging in the spatterings of deep green scales across his body.

"My- my legs-" He gasped out, looking down at them through the blankets. "I- I can't-!"

"I know, kid, I know." Mark reached out to him, but stopped halfway. "You're gonna have to get used to using 'em again. Doctor said there's a lotta atrophy goin' on."

This didn't help much, but Mark kept his voice calm and even as he continued, "you'll be alright, Ashe, I'll help you through it." This time, his father's hand did rest on his shoulder, trying to reassure him.

"How long was I gone for?"

Mark sucked in a breath, hesitant. "Just over a year, now. It's January 8th."

Ashe looked down at his hands as he processed this. There's so, so much he wants to say, to ask, but instead what comes out is, "I'm eighteen, now."

"I know."

A beat of silence. Something drips onto his hand and Ashe is suddenly aware of the hot tears rolling down his face. He's missed so much. An entire year of his life, gone.

"I know, kid," Mark gently pulls him in for a hug. Ashe can't remember the last time he'd done so. "I know."

[cowardlykrow]

“Not my circus, not my monkeys”… Except those are his monkeys and they are the circus

[mrsoharaa]

"Satoru, let go of me, now." you tried prying your arm away from the vice grip of the looming white haired sorcerer cornering you against the frame of your office door. Thumb gently caressing, smoothing over the supple surface of your wrist with soften lulling strokes, a tugging smile and a low, playful hum resonating deep from his rumbling chest.

Binded cornflower eyes peer straight through the delicate cotton lacing his vision, searing down at you with such coy and taunt. Thoroughly, eating away at the uprising fluster seeping onto your adorable cheeks.

"Now why would I do that, hm? doesn't my pretty girl like it when I do this with my thumb?" he whisks ever so sultry — promiscuously, tone tainted with deep allure and amorous, as he continues to sweep the pad of his long digit across your trembling wrist, gradually tracing up into the palm of your soft hand, fingers smoothly interlacing with one another in a swift of a motion.

Chuckles lightly as he watches you scowl up at him shyly, but still scorned up at him with annoyance and blunder. The heat in your skin giving away your likeness to his subtle advances. Loathing that he was right...how much you melt to the tender graze of his lengthy fingers caressing over your skin.

"Heh, there she is~"

[pepperpixel]

“Can't remember when we walked past the O.R. sign!

(sur-ger-y!)

Can't remember passing out with her hand in mine!

(my-my-mind!!!!)

I remember waking up with my mind repaired.

(A-OK! ^^)

I remember when I realized, she wasn't there...”

Amnesia was her name….. is. so. horrifically. sadly fitting for these two in literally every single line. And I’m gonna NEED ALL OF U GUYS TO GO LISTEN TO IT NOW OK… THIS ISNT A DRILL GO GO GO GO!!!

Anyway… uhh. the fact Betty “blessed” this guy to like. An eternally long lifespan w THIS FUCKED UP OF A MENTAL STATE IS SO SCREWED UP GHGH- Like poor Simon god damn…! u kno he’d rather just keep on not sorting out his baggage and trauma forever too cuz it’d be too complicated… too much… force him to admit things about himself and about BETTY that he really really doesn’t want to… better to just leave it all unexamined.. pack it all into lil boxes so he can just try to ignore it and pretend it doesn’t exist… HE GOTTA LIVE FOREVER W IT THO… *ME BANGING ON SIMONS DOOR AT 3 IN THE MORNING*: “SIMON U GOTTA ACCEPT URSELF!!!! LOVE URSELF!!!! ACKNOWLEDGE N ACCEPT EVEN THE “BAD” PARTS OF URSELF!!!! SIMON PLEASE!!!!! SIMON EVEN PPL WHO LOVE YOU AND WHO YOU LOVE CAN HURT YOU!!!! ACKNOWLEDGE IT!!! ACKNOWLEDGE THE HURT AND ACKNOWLEDGE UR FEELINGS!!!! AND URSELF!!!!! SIMON!!!!” anyway… gGHGH YEA, SRRY. SIMON PETRIKOVS MENTAL ILLNESSES MAKE ME FEEL LIKE IM GONNA EXPLODE. ANYWAY HAVE SOME ART. W a bunch of diff versions cuz I’m indecisive!

[theerurishipper]

how would a redemption arc work for azula? because like you said, azula isn't even close to the realization that she was wrong. what kind of major event would it take for azula to realize her genocidal ideals were wrong? how would zuko react to her change? because I dont want zuko to accept it right away for obvious reasons.

I'm not exactly sure how a redemption arc would work for Azula. I much prefer her the way she is in the show, a tragedy to illustrate how being abused can sometimes turn you into an abuser yourself. If she were to have a redemption arc, it should be away from anyone' influence. Away from Ozai, because obviously, and away from Zuko as well. I think it would be good way to illustrate how a victim does not have to help their abuser, and it would give Azula the opportunity to find herself without exacerbating her inferiority complex when it comes to Zuko. I feel like if he was always around to help her, she'd learn nothing about personal responsibility. Even Iroh didn't help Zuko when it really came down to it, and Iroh wasn't even Zuko's victim in the way that Zuko is Azula's. But anyway, I'll give it a go.

Maybe I'd have Azula travel around the world, learning more perspectives kind of like Zuko did. I do think it would be harder for her to do than it was for Zuko, but I think being forced to confront the world and every perception of it that she's had would help her on the road to becoming a better person. The same way Zuko did, she should go on a journey by herself, having to struggle to find food and shelter, struggling to get by. She once thought she was so capable, so powerful, but she's struggling. She put all her value into being the best firebender, a prodigy, a raw talent that she was born with, the divine right, but she can't see any of that now. Her natural firebending isn't coming to her aid here. It doesn't bring her food, it doesn't bring her shelter, and it doesn't bring her any help. She's so hungry and tired... she can't even firebend that well at all, can't conjure up her flames as strong as they used to be.

It's almost as though her skill, her expertise in fighting with fire... isn't as important or useful as she thought. It doesn't matter as much as she thought it would. It leads to her needing to reevaluate everything she knows, because if what she believed was most important really isn't... then what is important? What makes her worthy, what makes her special?

And when she comes across people who are suffering the same way she is, instead of scoffing at them and dismissing their pain like she once would have, she sees herself in them, and she understands them. And she also begins to understand that her father, and she by extension, did this to them. It sits wrong with her, now that she knows what it feels like. She's already beginning to realize that maybe her divine right isn't all that she thought it was, but she clings onto it anyway, because it's the foundation of her worldview, and without it she has nothing.

Azula keeps on travelling, she meets more and more people. I think it should be the Earth Kingdom that she travels in most, because it's where she caused the most damage to the people, it's the place she wanted to burn to the ground, and now she's forced to travel there.

And then maybe, on her travels, she stays with a family one day, who let her in out of the goodness of their heart. She scoffs at them for being so weak, so naive, but she's tired and hungry and has nowhere else to go. While she's staying there, she happens upon a scene where one of their kids is getting hugged by their mother, getting a kiss on their forehead or something, and she can't help but remember her mother doing that to her, and she can't help but remember that her father never did. And her mother was weak, and her father was is powerful, but... the kid looks so happy. And so was she, back then, when her mother showed her she loved her. But she didn't love Azula. She didn't.

But did she? Could it be that she really did love her?

Azula runs away from them in the middle of the night.

Because sure, it's a worthless display of affection, so far removed from power and fear and everything her father taught her to be, everything she strove to emulate. And they're just Earth Kingdom peasants, after all, what would they know about who she is and what she's destined for? But she can't help but think about the joy in that child's eyes, the loving way his mother looked at him, like how her mother used to look at her, how she used to feel so special when her mother stroked her hair and gave her a kiss on her forehead. Even Azula can't mistake what the look in that mother's eyes were. And if it reminds her of her mother... was her father wrong? And if he were wrong about that... what else could he have been wrong about? Her, raw talent, her divine right which she's already questioning?

And those people... they had no power. They had no money, no glory, no superior bending ability, but... they were so happy. And as long as she can remember, her family wasn't. Of course, maybe that was Zuko's fault for being so weak, her mother's fault for being so weak, her uncle's fault for being so weak... but this family has nothing, nothing like she did, and they're still so loving, so happy. And she still can't shake her faith in her father entirely (though it already began, back during Sozin's Comet), but... maybe, just maybe, somewhere deep in her heart, she's forced to admit that maybe she would liked this a lot better. Her father never did this... but maybe he should have.

She keeps travelling. Some people help her, some turn her away. She understands both of them. She would turn away anyone who came to her for help. They never were worth her time. But now she's on the other side, the one in need of help. And the people who help her, once she would have called the naive and weak and foolish, but they are the ones who help her stay alive, who she depends on. She's starting to realize who the better person is, between these two. When it comes down to just being a person, stripped of wealth and power, who it's better to be. Her father always said these things to her, and she believed it for the longest time. She did everything she could to be on his right side, to be like him, to be better than her brother... but ultimately, in her time of greatest need, none of it matters. What's really helping her is kindness, is compassion, the things she derided and scoffed at. In the fact of the harsh reality, she has to admit that her father is wrong. She can't deny it anymore.

Maybe she happens upon a refugee camp at some point, and she sees these people suffering, with nothing. She used to believe that weakness led to your own suffering, and that it would never happen to her. Zuko brought his fate upon himself, after all. Iroh lost his son because of his weakness. Her mother was sent away because she was too weak. But Azula sees these people, there people who have nothing because everything they had was burnt away. She would have blamed them too, but she's also spent so long feeling helpless, realizing that when it comes to the world outside the confines of her majestic royal palace filled with luxury and comfort, that not everyone has that kind of power, even her. Especially not her. And she knows, just as surely as she knows that she wanted the fire that destroyed their homes to be lit, she knows in the depths of her mind and heart that this is their fault. The fault of her father, and her own. Just like what happened to Zuko was her father's fault.

And they still help her, believing her to be one of them, someone who has been hurt by the Fire Nation like they have. And for the first time, she feels that she doesn't deserve their help. She doesn't deserve their kindness. She's horrified by the true reality of her actions and their consequences, horrified by what she's done.

And then maybe someone recognizes her. And then people are drawing weapons and trying to defend themselves. They all come together in hatred for her. In fear of her. It's what she's tried to achieve for so long, to subjugate these people, to rule them, to make everyone fear her. But she sees them come together, fearing her, and she only feels sick. There are children crying, somewhere, and for a second, she sees Zuko in his place, crying, half of his face burnt off-

She runs. She can't deal with this. Some people chase her, trying to take her down, because they're so afraid of her. She's never truly been confronted with such raw hatred before. She thinks of all the children, with burns on their skin, and thinks of Zuko, his face burning, and she thinks of how she had smiled. She thinks of her father, teaching her all sorts of falsehoods about power, and worthiness, and how she knew, she did, that it would only last as long as it pleased him. She thinks of that family, happy and loving, and how much better it seemed compared to her own family. She thinks about how so many other families have been the same way. She thinks about how even the people in this camp, who are so hurt and powerless, were ready to fight her to protect their family.

She thinks about her mother, who was the one who really loved her. Realizing her father was wrong also brings about the realization that she was wrong about her mother. That her mother was trying to protect her. From her father. The man who would burn the face of his son, all because he wouldn't fight his father. Who treated Zuko like he was worth nothing because he couldn't bend as well as her. Who treated her like she was worth something only because she could bend her fire better, the same bending ability that she's realized is ultimately meaningless, which doesn't matter when it comes down to the realest parts of the world. Who fed her lies and treated her like a tool, because he saw her as a weapon, not a daughter. He never looked at her the way her mother did. With love. He just wanted to use her, and he cast her away when he was done with her. Just like he did with Zuko. She wasn't special, she wasn't born lucky, she was just more convenient, and he used her and discarded her like a cheap toy.

And she has to admit, that fear isn't the answer. She's seen people now, people who are more afraid of her than anyone has ever been before. They should be running away. But they don't. She thinks about these people, who she thought were weak, but really, they are stronger than her, because even in the face of fear, they fight. Because they have love, and that's always been more powerful. Just like Zuko. Like Mai and Ty Lee.

Her mother wouldn't have done what her father did. She would have helped Azula. She tried so hard to. Her brother tried too, as she fought him and relished in his pain. So did her uncle, while she spurned him and wished him dead. So did these people, even though she wanted to burn them to the ground not so long ago. Her father was well on his way to do it. Burn down their homes, kill these people, some of whom are her age too. And she suggested it, she wanted to be by his side, like it was some game, some glorious quest.

Her father is a monster. So is she. She's always laughed it off, believing her mother thought that about her, and trying to pretend it didn't matter. But it does. Now it does. She's always known all this, somewhere in the depths of her mind, her mother's teachings had left a mark, but she can no longer run from any of it anymore. It's the truth. She's a monster, and for the first time, she feels remorse. She can no longer hide behind her belief of superiority, of her divine right to rule. She feels guilt, the way she did on that day, before she lost everything she once thought mattered, when her mother looked at her and said I love you Azula. I do.

From then, she keeps travelling. She tries to avoid people. She doesn't dare face anyone, for fear of what rejection she might face, especially because she now knows she deserves it. She doesn't deserve their help or their support. Not these people, not Zuko or Mai or Ty Lee or her uncle or her mother. And as she's going on like this, she sees some people one day, shivering in the cold, trying to light a fire and failing. She's also cold, so she lights a fire. But the fire in her hand is blue, like ice, too hot, too much. So, for once, she stops focusing on making her flames the hottest they can be. The flame in her hand cools down, and now it's a warm yellow glow. And then she actually feels warm, not just on the outside but in her heart as well. And she looks at these people, and she knows how they feel. She knows what she'd want someone to do for her if she were in their place. So, she lights their fire with a flick of her wrist. They don't see who she is, they don't even notice her. For all they know, they managed to light it themselves. But they look so happy, so content, so warm. Because of the fire. And she didn't even use it to fight. Her fire is helping people, making them happy. Maybe it's not just good for fighting.

Just like her.

She knows in her heart that this is what her mother would have wanted. Her mother who was right all along. So, she goes on doing this, secretly helping people. Lighting their fires, their torches. It's small, but it clearly means a lot to people on cold days and nights. And they never notice her. But she's surprised to find that she doesn't need or want the attention anymore. Just the fact that she helped makes her feel the warmth she thought respect and power would get her.

And so, she doesn't just help with her fire. She tries to learn new ways to help. She tries to learn how to treat wounds, especially burns. And she finds so much more fulfillment in this simple work than she ever did in plotting against her brother and planning to burn down the Earth Kingdom. And it's not even just because of her mother's words anymore. Her mother was right. This is something she wants. She still struggles sometimes with doubts about if she's wrong now, still struggles with feelings of resentment and anger towards the people she knows don't deserve it. She still feels small when she thinks about her father, about what he'd think if he saw her like this, even though she's realizing he doesn't matter. But she's getting better. She feels better than she's ever felt.

And then she ends up in Ba Sing Se, and then Zuko is there. With Iroh. And the Avatar and his friends. Zuko spots her. She runs. Zuko chases her. She didn't mean to run into him, but he's coming after her. Zuko confesses that he was worried about her, that he's been looking for her. And she's shocked that he would, even after everything. Because even now, she can still see the wariness in his eyes, the slight nervousness in his posture, the way his friends stand tall behind him, making less of an effort to look concerned, even though they don't look completely antagonistic.

So Azula does the one thing she's always been running from, something she knows she has to do but has never been able to. Admit to her mistakes. Apologize. She still wants to run, but Zuko is here, he's been looking for her, and he's worried about her. She would have felt, and a part of her still feels, anger towards Zuko, still blames him unfairly. But she's grown to recognize it for what it is. And so, she says to him I'm sorry, the first time she's said the words and truly meant it. He looks shocked, but then smiles, and says I forgive you.

But she can see he doesn't, not really. She can see now, how much he loves her, how much wants her to get better, how much he appreciates her sincere apology. How much he wants to forgive her. But she can still see the doubt, the pain and fear in his eyes that she caused. She can see the resentment and the hurt. She's not blind to it anymore. So she says, no you don't. And when he steps forward, tells her to stay, Azula, I don't want to lose you, she tells him that it's best for the both of them if she leaves. And maybe one day, she'll come back, when she's become better, enough to truly begin to make up for what she's done to him, and he can truly forgive her. And he smiles, and says good luck.

So Azula goes off to do more good things and learn to heal herself and find her worth, and then they meet and can actually be a decently stable family again. Or not, YMMV.

Thank you for your ask!

[ninja-knox-ur-sox-off]

Ngl some days I'm like writing crackships and ships and rarepairs is so silly goofy and fun and then OTHER days I'm like wow I wish I'd never written or drawn a ship ever in my life how do I erase this and OTHER days I just go about forgetting ships exist entirely and I swing WILDLY between those three options with no chill whatsoever

[sandersontheside]

Drabble list #4

25. “Worst day ever!”

Any characters of your choosing :3

Beanie!! Thank you for the prompt! Please enjoy high school AU creativitwins being silly boys with just a sprinkling of implied prinxiety bc I can't help myself. Under a cut because it broke 1k words by accident. (prompt lists: 4,5,7)

Roman flung himself onto his bed with a huge sigh, his messenger bag still on one shoulder. 

Remus looked up from his own bed, where he was already clicking away on his laptop. He pulled off his big headphones and let them hang around his neck. “What’s up your ass?” 

Roman responded with a muffled groan. 

“Anything to do with why you’re home so late?” Remus asked. “Rehearsals ended like an hour and a half ago. Where the hell have you been?” Roman was always home later than Remus because of his commitments to the school musicals, unless Remus decided to join tech that particular semester, which he hadn't this time around because apparently Legally Blonde was too boring.

Roman pulled himself onto his knees so he could take off his bag, letting it fall to the floor. “I have had the worst day ever.” 

Remus rolled his eyes. “Okay, drama queen. Did you embarrass yourself in front of that emo kid again?” 

Roman flushed. “His name’s Virgil.”

“That’s not a no,” Remus smirked. 

‘Ugh, shut up,” Roman flopped onto his back. “That’s only one of the things that went wrong today. It started when we were late to school, which I totally blame you for—”

“Excuse me? Which one of us takes an entire hour in the bathroom to shower and do his hair?” Remus scoffed. “You always make us late.”

“Whatever, Mister ‘We have to go back because I left my homework on the table.’”

“Well, if you had been ready to leave earlier, we would have had time to—” 

“Okay, okay,” Roman groaned, rubbing his temples. “The point is, we were late, and then my math teacher yelled at me for being late, and then at lunch I realized I didn’t have my wallet. Patton gave me half his peanut butter and jelly sandwich, but I was still starving—”

“Why the hell didn’t you come find me? I could have bought you something.” It’s a rare moment of sincerity from Remus. 

“I didn’t think of that.” Roman admitted. 

“Clearly.”

“Anyways!” Roman huffed. “After that, I had English, and we’re doing Shakespeare, as you know, and we got to pick scenes to do with a partner, from any play we liked. And I wanted to pick Much Ado About Nothing because you know I was born to play Benedick. But then she assigned Virgil to be my partner.”

“Did he not want to do Much Ado?” Remus asked. 

“Worse! He wanted to play Beatrice!” Roman threw his hands in the air theatrically. “Can you imagine? Reciting Shakespearean romance lines to my crush?”

Remus blinked, confused. “That sounds like something you’d love, you nerd.” 

“If he liked me back, maybe! But he doesn’t! So it was just painful, and I got so flustered that I stumbled over some of the lines!” 

Remus winced. 

“And, then, finally, I had rehearsals for the play. But I tripped during one of the dance routines and knocked over one of the sets and broke it.” Roman lifted his hands, which were covered in paint. “I had to stay late to rebuild it."  

Remus let out a long breath. “That does sound like the worst day ever."

“Thank you!” Roman curled around a pillow. “Now, go back to looking at God knows what online and just let me sulk in peace.” 

His brother didn’t respond at first. He glanced at his screen, tapped out something short (a message to a friend, perhaps?), closed it up, and removed his headphones from around his neck. “Nope,” he said finally. 

“What?” 

“Nope. I’m not gonna let you sulk.” Remus stood up from his bed, extending a hand to Roman. “You have two options. Movie night or me kicking your ass at Mario Kart.” 

Roman looked up at his twin pathetically. “Can movie night be Disney movies?” 

“You’re going to make me watch Tangled again, aren’t you?” His words were exasperated, but he was smiling reassuringly.

“I mean, it is the best new Disney movie.” Against all odds, Roman felt his miserable mood start to let up. “But I’m kind of in the mood for Treasure Planet. Or The Emperor’s New Groove,”  he said, knowing full well that while Remus vastly preferred Pixar to Disney, that he had a soft spot for “the weird years” of Disney in the early-to-mid 2000s, just as 2D animation was fading out. If Remus was going to do this for him, the least he could do was pick movies Remus actually enjoyed as well. 

Remus’s smile grew. “Hell yeah, let’s watch Emperor’s New Groove."

Roman smiled back. “Sounds perfect.” He took Remus’s hand and stood, letting his brother drag him out to their living room. Their parents wouldn’t be home for hours—they never were. So, they basically had free reign of the house. Remus cued up the movie, while Roman continued into the kitchen to hunt for some snacks. He returned with slightly burnt microwave popcorn that he didn't even bother to put in a bowl, goldfish crackers, a plate of reheated lasagna because he was still starving, a package of Oreos (Double Stuf, of course), insect gummies that were shaped far too realistically for Roman’s taste, a bottle of Coca-Cola for himself, and Mountain Dew for his brother. He placed it all on the coffee table. “Dinner is served.” 

Remus immediately grabbed a gummy. “Delicious.” 

“I don’t know how you eat that,” Roman shook his head, joining his brother on the couch. “It looks way too real and creepy.” 

Remus shrugged. “It’s still candy.” 

Roman rolled his eyes. “Whatever, weirdo.” 

“I’m not weird, you are.” 

“I’m not weird, I’m unique.” 

“Same thing.” 

Roman gasped in mock offense. “Just play the movie.” 

His brother hit play on the remote and settled into the cushions. 

“Hey, Remus?” 

“Ro, you know I hate it when you talk over movies.”

“It’s still the opening credits,” Roman insisted. “And I just wanted to say thank you. This isn’t the worst day ever anymore.” 

“Gross, don’t be sappy.” 

“Too late.” Roman slung an arm around Remus’s shoulder and pulled him into an awkward kind of sitting side-hug. “I love you, Remus.” 

“Ugh,” Remus grunted, but didn’t try to move away. “I love you, too.” 

[voidedjuice]

Reasons you love whisperain

Her most characteristics trait people overlook from her

And favourite ships with her innit

-M

Hhmhmm,

When i first saw her it was sorta love at first sight, like, ohhh a gloomy looking cool jellyfish medic with an eyepatch!!! Then when i got to her lore it's so like, her weird form of immortality, her only barely remembered past life(?) connection to the seaborn, her past travels as a wandering medic/in her previous lives. It's really fun to think about what she could've been up to and who she could've met. Also she's so pretty and so cute and i love her reserved but extremely gentle personality.

As for her overlooked traits, i can't really blame people bc it is like, 1 (one) voiceline, but

This thing and its implications for her have been driving me insane ever since she dropped in global. What did she see????? Where has she been??? I barely see stuff exploring it from anyone else and it makes me a bit sad

My fave Whispy pairings lately have been her and Andreana's narratively neglected purple girls' club, and aside from that Weedyrain is always a classic (Weedy building an entire movietheater for Whisperain in her oprec for example is so romance)

I tend to um, whimsically pair her up with whomever I'm feeling at the time, for ex. in that church of the deep au/theory of mine i was thinking she'd go well in a tense yuri thing with Amaia :3. Also her voicelines and profile mention Warfarin a lot, so that's also a rarepair i enjoy (even if im the only one to do so waaah). Gameplay synergy wise she goes together so well with Blaze i cant help but also like them together :).

Then there's of course the pretty nice pairing with Dusk (girl who creates art to deal with the horrors vs girl who enjoys art to deal with the horrors, grumpy reserved girl vs kind reserved girl alliance, them both enjoying movies, Whisperain's past allowing her to have met whomever in a past life she doesn't remember and the implications for that with Dusk....)

Basically she never gets anything canon ever at all so in my despair I've taken to playing with her & anyone available like dolls. It's great fun, highly recommend (join me join me join me)

[rexscanonwife]

Ourgh fuck good afternoon everypony 😂😂 I slept in till noon (but I'm feeling pretty rested rn!!) But I also have an announcement to make!

Today is my anniversary with Toshinori!! 🥺💖🫶💖🫶💖🫶💖🫶💖🫶💖🫶💖🫶🥺💖 I have a very unique situation where it's technically my first anniversary with him, and like, the 8th one at the same time??? 😂 I've loved him since I was 17 years old and though he wasn't on my f/o list for a while he's not moving from there anytime soon!

I fell back in love with him even harder than before! I fell for his goofiness, he's still so young at heart and so much of him just doesn't change because it's just too well ingrained in him. His perseverance, his unwavering dedication to being a hero which is both his strength and his weakness. His heart, his fight for good, his love for his students, for Izuku, for his fellow heroes, and the people he wants to protect!

I also knew I wanted to bring balance to his life and show him that he doesn't have to carry the weight of the world on his shoulders all the time 🥺 that he can just be a PERSON and not a symbol. In the actual show/manga maybe that's not possible, but in the beautiful world of my mind palace she gives him time to do something he's never done before. To REST, and to be taken care of for once.

[monafiedbonafide]

For as long as he could remember, Akechi had hated the ocean. Shido’s yacht bobbed up and down in the waves, as if mocking his distaste for it.

In which Goro Akechi is easily seasick.

Shuake Week 2024 Day 5: Escape

—

pairing: Akechi Goro/Kurusu Akira

wc: 4.3k

rating: M (no archive warnings apply, but please do heed the tags!)

[stardustandash]

Last of the claimed febuwhump fics! This one is for @breakfastteatime who requested solitary confinement for Jedi Fallen Order. Hope you enjoy!!

Words: 2,099

Tags: whump, hurt no comfort, pre-Jedi Survivor, Claustrophobia warning

ao3 link

seven thousand, nine hundred and twenty minutes

Four thousand, three hundred and fifteen minutes. That’s how long Cal had been trapped in the little durasteel room. Four thousand, three hundred and fifteen minutes. And sixteen minutes, actually. He wasn’t sure if that was correct, he’d only started counting when he was bored enough, and he’d slept a few short stints somewhere between the counting.

The room itself was small and empty. At Cal’s best guess it was a roughly six foot cube of plain grey durasteel, with no visible door anywhere in the smooth plating and two bright, buzzing lights overhead flush with the durasteel around them. He had no memory of being put in the box. The last thing he remembered was being out in some small spaceport town picking up some supplies for Greez. He had a vague recollection of fighting someone, flashes of running through a street, sending BD-1 for help, but not much else. When he’d woken up it had been with a pounding headache and a very tender spot on the back of his head, but after three days’ worth of minutes he was starting to string his thoughts together in a more organized fashion.

Now Cal was just bored. And worried. What had happened to the others? He can’t quite remember if they were on the ship or out in the town with him. He could remember that Merrin had insisted on making breakfast and it had been something spicy with eggs and sausages and some kind of plant she’d picked up somewhere that Cere and Greez avoided, but he couldn’t picture if she was with him when whatever happened to get him locked in here. He hoped that she wasn’t. Ideally the others were mounting some daring rescue and he just had to wait for them. Too bad he’d never been good at waiting.

Cal paced the room. There was nothing better to do. The only thing he had to avoid in it was the small toilet in the corner of the room. There was no other furniture. He ran one hand along the wall as he went, searching for any kind of crack or crevice that could show signs of an exit. Four thousand, three hundred, and thirty six minutes, and he still couldn’t find anything.

It took him a long time to notice that he could’t feel the Force either. It was around him in the room. He could feel the space of it through the Force, the corners, the sad little toilet, but he couldn’t feel beyond the durasteel perimeter. Once, when he was young and small and impressionable, Master Tapal had sat him down and discussed methods of keeping a Jedi captive.

“Firstly, I must impress upon you that this is all for a worst-case scenario. As long as I, or Commander Gamut, are around we will do our utmost to protect you,” said Master Tapal.

“Then why bother teaching me about it? You hardly let me go on missions anyway,” Cal whined.

“Because knowledge will help you overcome your fear and give you the tools you need to escape.”

Cal huffed. He preferred physical training to the lectures from Master Tapal. This was boring. Besides, Master Tapal almost never let him out into the field so it wasn’t like any lectures on what to do when captured or behind enemy lines was ever going to be useful. He wanted to learn fun things, like how to wield a dual-bladed ‘saber like Master Tapal.

“To begin: when a Jedi is captured, they are likely to be known as a Jedi immediately. We wear our robes, and we have our lightsabers. Both identify us as who we are.”

“Then why don’t we dress like other people? The clones and the other soldiers all have uniforms.”

“Because, Padawan, we stand at the end of a long thread of tradition, and that is not a tradition of war. We are peacekeepers, not soldiers. We must remember that we are trying to end this war, not fight it.”

Cal thought that it felt very much like they were fighting a war. Nobody on the holonet talked about peace or an end, just what battles were going on and what the Hero With No Fear was up to.

“If you are caught, they will take away your lightsaber. This does not disarm you, as you will always have your connection to the Force. But, if they are prepared, they will have special binders on hand to dampen the Force to us, make us as any other person in the galaxy.”

A cold chill shuddered down Cal’s spine. He couldn’t imagine not being able to feel the Force. “Then what do I do?”

“Well, hopefully, I come get you. But if not, Commander Gamut and Sergeant Twitch will show you various methods you can use.” Master Tapal leaned back with a smile. “Though I imagine I will regret this lesson very soon.”

Cal had never heard of Force-dampening walls before, but perhaps either bounty hunters or the Empire had gotten creative sometime in the last six years. He can’t think of anything else it might be. He wished whoever was holding him had just gone for the binders, it would’ve made this whole situation much easier to handle as he could’ve picked them and been on his way.

As Cal paced he could almost hear the accented voices of the clones walking him through the steps to pick the lock on a set of binders. How to turn the locks, the feeling when you knew part of it had sprung. He turned the corner of his tiny prison and saw a flash of yellow and white out of the corner of his eye.

He couldn’t help it. Cal jumped backwards, tripping over his feet and falling into the wall behind him. The tender spot on the back of his head throbbed with a new ache. With a groan he picked himself up and reached back to touch the sore spot. His hand comes back bloody. Just what he needed, an upgrade from probable concussion to definite.

As Cal stared at the blood on his hands he couldn’t help but feel a little foolish. It had been years since he had seen a clone, and more since he’d seen one in 13th Battalion yellow. There was no reason to be afraid of them now, so many years later and with clones phased out of the Imperial army. No, what he should really be afraid of was what could lie beyond the durasteel walls of his prison.

-

Five thousand, seven hundred and sixty minutes. At least, by Cal’s reckoning. He had slept for a while, but unlike the last few times he’s curled up on the hard floor under the harsh lights of his cell, this time when he woke there was no water waiting for him. Maybe they forgot about him, or they were moving him, but Cal didn’t sense any vibrations through the metal that would betray being loaded on some kind of transport. The durasteel was still and unmovable. Yet he could not shake the thought that maybe he had been forgotten. Without water he was going to die in this tiny box. A rather unfitting end for his adventures so far, but maybe not so far off an ending for him, alone and scared and trapped.

“Hello?” called Cal. His voice was dry and cracked. “Hello?”

There was no response.

“Hey! I’m still in here, you know.”

With the lack of an answer it wasn’t hard to picture that his captor had simply decided he wasn’t worth the effort of selling to the highest bidder and was simply waiting for Cal to die in order to dispose of him. Probably decided it was less barbaric or something than just doing things the easy way and shooting Cal in his sleep. Cal would’ve preferred the blaster bolt, thank you very much.

He could feel himself starting to panic. Trying to squash the feeling down, Cal tried to think of what he could do that he hadn’t tried yet and the answer was simple. Trust in the Force. So he stood in front of a wall and put his hand on the cold metal. He took a deep breath in, and as he exhaled he pushed with the Force. Still the wall remained still and unmovable. There must have been something on the other side of the walls or they were thicker than anticipated. He tried again, with a little more Force. Nothing budged.

“Hey! Come on, let me out!” yelled Cal.

Not waiting for an answer he threw a punch at the wall, putting as much of the Force behind it as he could. The durasteel groaned, but didn’t give. With a wordless scream of rage he threw his whole body at the wall shoulder first. His shoulder crunched against the wall and gave an awful wet, popping noise. Biting back a scream Cal slumped down to his knee with his hand clutching his shoulder. Under his fingertips he could tell that it was dislocated, and though Cal had grown up in a scrapyard full of stupid injuries, he didn’t know how to fix his own shoulder.

Five thousand, seven hundred and eighty-four minutes, and at last Cal broke.

A sob built in his chest as hot tears stung at his eyes. He didn’t want to die here. He wanted his friends, his family really. He wanted to listen to Greez ramble about his latest recipe, he wanted to watch as Merrin discovered the secrets of a new planet, he wanted Cere to stay up with him in the middle of the night and tell him about the Jedi, and he wanted to keep on adventuring with BD-1. Yet here he was. Trapped and alone and hurt.

Beneath his fingertips Cal could feel the bone of his shoulder and the awkward angle it sat at. Already his hand was starting to tingle with oncoming numbness. His head still pounded from its meeting with the wall as well. He must look a mess. There was dried, tacky blood in his hair and his hand was purpling across the knuckles where he’d punched the wall. He couldn’t quite see what sort of strange silhouette he made with his dislocated shoulder but he was sure it wasn’t good. He choked a breath down around his sobs. Crying wasn’t going to do him any good. It wasn’t going to magically fix his arm or summon Cere with a medkit in hand. It didn’t do him much good. The deep breaths failed to work. Apparently his body needed to cry itself out, and he was going to let it.

-

Seven thousand, two hundred minutes. Cal had never actually counted this high ever. He’d never had seven thousand credits to his name to count with, and that was the only thing people regularly had that amount of anything in. He idly tapped a finger on his good hand on the ground in one second intervals. There wasn’t much else he could do. His arm was so numb he hadn’t been able to lift it for hours, and his mouth was so dry he swore Jawas were about to move in.

He was going to die here. Somewhere in the last few hundred minutes Cal had calmly accepted that fact. He shouldn’t, but there was no hope of him escaping on his own, especially now with only one good arm and having no food or water in days. He was too weak to do much more than shift a little when his legs started to fall asleep. When he did go, he hoped it wouldn’t be Cere and the others who found him, if anybody ever did. It wouldn’t be pleasant. He’d probably become some kind of misshapen, desiccated, mummy-like body. Definitely not the end Cal had ever envisioned for himself. Most of the time he pictured long uninterrupted falls or scrapping machinery. But he could feel himself getting heavy, like his body was weighed down by stones. For a moment he thought about fighting it, but really, what was the point. Nothing he did would change anything except make him suffer a little longer. He’d had a good run. Six years longer than he thought he’d have after the Purge. He’d even found a family and a home on a luxury yacht, and that wasn’t too bad for a scrapper nobody. No, it was okay. He had done enough.

-

Seven thousand, nine hundred and twenty minutes later, a small hatch in the ceiling dropped open.

[laugtherhyena]

I didnt know if i should send this ask or not but you responded to my ryudori brainrot post and im entering the epilogue rn. And i just. EVEN MINAKO KNOWS THERES SOMETHING GOING ON BETWEEN THE TWO

The fact that 2/3s of the rest of the 6.5 cast constantly ask/bother these two about them possibly dating will never not be funny to me honestly. Minako especially feels like the kind that would wanna know every detail of it

[pikkish]

idk if this is a good prompt but put doomguy in myhouse.wad I think he would find it enriching

Right, so I've been mulling on this one for a little bit now, n I'm not opposed to writing something for you, I'm just not... entirely sure what to write? Because the thing is, myhouse.wad doesn't actually really have anything to do with Doom as a story. Sure, Doom is important in that it's the vessel through which the story is told and one of the connections between the narrator and his dead companion. But as far as Doom itself goes, and the story about a man who was too angry/stupid to die, fighting demons and saving earth, none of that is at all relevant to myhouse.wad and its story. For all intents and purposes, Doomguy isn't actually a character in myhouse.wad. So I'm not really sure how exactly to fit him in there.

[dodecademons]

Bottoms was good and funny. It's unserious and had some bloopers/outtakes at the end which I love about movies. The behind the scenes stuff. Is it weird of me to say I liked the violent parts? Something about bloody noses and lips just *chefs kiss* anyway there was like 7 people in the theatre and this older lesbian couple sat sorta close to me and i wont lie it made me soft and a little emotional. It was nice.

[karoiseka]

💙

This is both for Eva and for @blackestnight who will get their other prompts answered after I recover from this straight up craziness I devolved into for this one. ^_^ <3

Have some Shadowbringers Karo with an unsuspecting Ardbert. (and a middle screenshot I'm stupidly proud of the posing on)

The bottom of the glass bottle looked back at Karo as she peered through it’s neck, a scowl upon her face.  

“You know, that isn’t going to help,”  Ardbert’s voice came from the seat next to her.  They were sitting at her table in the Pendants suite assigned to her, the wine bottle in her hand the second of two that had disappeared down her throat in the past few bells.

“I know,” Karo was trying not to slur and failing miserably.  “‘dulls i’ a bit though.”  She could hear his sigh, but no rebuttal came at that statement.  Rak’tika had been harsh on her emotions, from the Eulmorans snapping at their heels and the danger Y’shtola’s people had been put in.  That was nothing to say of what the mage herself had done using Flow again and having to mourn her again before Emet snatched her right back out of the Lifestream startling all of them with the show of kindness.  Thancred had also been within sight for most of the way, but just as emotionally out of reach as Y’shtola had been physically, which continued to eat at her.

Taking in the extra Light from the Warden had been harder, and it was starting to take the toll that her sightless yet all-seeing friend had already started to see.  It had only taken one glance in the mirror when they returned to the Crystarium to see the way her eyes were being leeched of color, now matching in hue to the shade next to her.  Yet that wasn’t the worst of it.

Because then, then, Emet-Selch, Ascian, and insufferable know-it-all had interrupted their walk back through the caves to comment on the historic paintings that adorned the cavern.  He spun a tale of ancient people facing a great calamity unlike any the Star had seen before–and their incredulous answer.  Zodiark.  Hydaelyn.  Both the first Primals.  Born of desperation and fear.  Love and protection.  Two sides of a whole, now sundered into fourteen–and three that had been left unsundered.  Three striving to bring back their home and loved ones for eons without end.

Karo went to take another swig from the bottle, placing it down with a thud and a scowl as she had forgotten it was already empty.

“Damnitall,” her head swiveled, looking around to the counters for more bottles–hopefully still full.  Determination flowed through her, hands planting on the table to stand and head to her quarry.

“Karo, I don’t think that’s a good idea–”  Ardbert was already on his feet, arms out as if to steady her, knowing that she would just pass through him, even as she stood and swayed in place.

“I–I got this!”  Her tone was not nearly as certain as her words, and sure enough as she took a first shaky step away from the table, stumbled as her support was no longer close.  Cursing, Ardbert lunged forward, hopeless as it was, and almost collapsed under the sudden shock of her weight landing solidly in his arms.

The phenomenon had only happened a handful of times since she had arrived on the First, and so far only when she had been fast asleep, waking just long enough to acknowledge his solid presence at her side before falling into sleep, leaving him to sit in quiet contemplation throughout the night, the touch of another on his skin for the first time in decades.

This however was messy, sloppy, in the surprise on both their parts as he hefted her carefully, and in the way only a drunk could, Karo flung her arms exuberantly around his neck, a smile lighting up her face in joy.

“My Hero~!” His sigh was one of affection, knowing she didn’t mean to sting with the words, even as she buried her face into his chest, ears tickling his nose.  He couldn’t stop the chuckle that followed, even as he tried not to hold her too tight.

“C’mon then, let’s get you to bed, you’ve had enough to drink for one night,”  he could almost feel the pout as she whined, tail whipping around their legs.  Looking up at him, he wondered how anyone told her no about anything with those large blue eyes.  It wasn’t his imagination then, they had lightened in color as she took on the extra Light.  

Without another word, he bent slightly to scoop her into his arms, chuckling as she whooped with delighted laughter, mood swinging as wildly as only a drunk’s could.  Carefully as he could, he took one step after another, heart filled to bursting with wonder and awe at the small woman in his arms, already curling into a ball, and nuzzling his neck.  How had she brought such life and color to his mundane hell that every day had become?

There were not enough steps to contemplate their entire balance before he made it to the bed tucked neatly in the corner of the large room.  Perhaps the gods would be kind and would allow him another peaceful night at her side, that precious touch rekindling who he was, and what he lived for–had died for.

“Ride’s over, Warrior.  I’m afraid you’ll have to tuck yourself in since this mystery only seems to extend to you,”  Leaning over, he started to place her down on the thick mattress, before she held on tighter around his neck.

“You’re so good to me, Arbert.  Ardbert,” She overly enunciated his correct name after the slip of his “alias” from the Source.  

“I love you,” and with that her lips were on his, sloppily kissing him, holding on as he dropped her the rest of the way to the bed with the shock of it, being pulled down after her, unbalanced as he was.  He knew it was the drink talking, but the words nevertheless were laced with Truth that his Echo confirmed, making his heart clench. 

Hesitantly he returned the kiss, reveling in the feel before breaking off and then kissing her nose and forehead.  A happy giggle told him that he hadn’t offended as he carefully moved to sit in his normal spot on her bed–never fully taking all contact away in case the magic disappeared.

“C’mon now, time for sleep,” and with an incoherent positive babble, Karo curled around him and was passed out in moments.  He let his fingers run through her hair, carefully tracing her ears as she hugged him closer.  It would be a good night–one he could watch over her and provide what comfort he could.  It was all worth it.

[lilac-hecox]

Okay when I saw the description snippet for the demon!Anthony fic and the belly bulge tag, where I thought it was gonna go was him just engorging himself on blood until he was distended and I mean, what you did was also very very hot but if you're taking requests I want that. Please. Or if you want you could make him a vampire instead, I'm not very attached to that part, I just have very specific kinks but hey, this account doesn't have my name on it so whatever. If you are taking requests I will request my very specific kink dammit!

Vampire!Anthony/Ian - Blood From You

--

In the many years Anthony has been alive he has drunk from so many different humans, tasted a variety of different bloods, but none were as tasty as Ian’s.

“Seriously,” Anthony says, “you’re like champaign in a world full of tap water.”

“Now I know you’re bullshitting.”

Anthony takes Ian’s wrist in his hand and presses his lips to the thin skin, feeling the pulse point thump against his lips. The feeling of Ian’s beating heart and the scent of his blood, even under the barrier of his skin, makes Anthony’s fangs ache.

“I wish I were. Life would be so much easier. I wouldn’t have to control myself so much as to not drain you dry.”

“I hate when you say that before you drink from me,” Ian says with a shiver.

Anthony tugs Ian a little closer and then brushes their lips together in a soft kiss.

“I would never hurt you.”

“I know that” Ian says plainly, though he searches Anthony’s eyes.

Ian’s been Anthony’s partner for a little over a year now. What started as a hunt for blood became so much more, more than anything Anthony could have predicted, and while he vowed to never become attached to a human – or a food source – here he was with Ian.

He really never would hurt Ian, but it is difficult. It’s like eating the most delicious meal you’ve ever tasted but only allowing yourself a handful of bites.

Ian glances behind him at the ancient grandfather clock near the back wall of the room.

“It’s nearly time,” he says casually. He tugs off his t-shirt and tosses it aside, revealing pale skin, a slightly soft belly and hips, and a warm smattering of hair across his torso and stomach. Anthony licks his lips and settles himself on the floor, stretching his legs out.

Ian shifts so he is straddling Anthony’s lap, his legs hooked loosely around Anthony’s waist. Anthony’s hands stroke up from Ian’s hips, fingers dancing across his ribs, his waist, up to his shoulders, until his fingers brush the soft and freckled skin of Ian’s neck.

“Tilt for me,” Anthony says.

Ian tilts his head to the right, allowing Anthony an expanse of pale skin on the left-hand side. For some vampires, feedings are more sterile, more business-like, for some it is more predatory, violent, some it is quick and messy, but for vampires like Anthony, feeding has taken a turn into something more erotic because it is Ian, because Ian is Anthony’s main food source, his human companion, his lover.

Ian shivers when Anthony holds his shoulders firmly.

“Now be still,” Anthony reminds.

Ian lets out a shivery breath, “I got it.”

Anthony licks the patch of skin he intends to bite, feeling Ian tremble just a little. Then he tilts his mouth and bares his fangs, sinking his sharp canines into Ian’s tender neck. Ian gasps and freezes up momentarily before he remembers to relax. The pain is quick, just a hot slice of it, as Ian has described it before.

Anthony uses the pressure of his mouth to pull at the blood, feeling it flood across his tongue. They both moan and Ian’s hands cling to Anthony’s shoulders and back. Anthony hums his pleasure at the taste. It really is like nothing else.

He’s heard some rumor, centuries ago, one that said that when you find a human that tastes better than anyone else ever has or ever will, it is a soul bond, a twin flame, the universe calling to you and asking you to answer. Anthony had never really believed that because while blood tasted good it was nothing to be called a gift from the universe.

Then, when he met Ian on a random autumn night in California, when he tasted his blood for the first time, he knew that it must be true.

He hasn’t told Ian about the legends and what it all might mean because he doesn’t know how to prove it, and he doesn’t want to scare Ian. Vampire and human relationships are designed to fall apart eventually, and Anthony often does not want to consider that.

“Anthony,” Ian moans lightly.

A heat flares inside of Anthony at Ian’s voice and as Ian’s blood fills him. He thinks, trying to count how much he’s pulled already. They’ve only just started. The clock against the far wall shows barely five minutes have gone by.

Anthony pulls back momentarily, “Are you alright?” he asks, his lips sticky from Ian’s blood.

Ian looks adorably dazed, his blue eyes a little foggy and glassy.

“I’m okay, it felt good. You can keep going.”

Anthony nods and leans in again, finds the same bite so he doesn’t have to pierce into Ian’s skin all over again. He pulls deeper than before, sucking huge mouthfuls of sweet blood into his mouth. Ian hangs on and shivers. Anthony can feel Ian’s hard crotch pressing against his stomach. That will be afterwards Ian’s reward for letting Anthony feed.

He drinks again, the richness of the blood flowing down his throat, warm in his belly.

They have a system, a set of cues they established to check in with one another.

“I’m starting to feel a little lightheaded,” Ian says.

That’s the first cue.

Anthony whines just a little frustratedly, he doesn’t want to let up so soon. The lightheadedness is normal, and Ian will be safe, it’s only the first sign that the feeding will need to end soon. Anthony drinks greedily, just a little messy, some of Ian’s blood flowing from the corner of his mouth and down Ian’s collarbones.

After a few moments Ian’s breathing starts getting rapid, his heart beating faster.

Cue number two.

“Anthony,” Ian says quietly, reminding him that the feeding will wrap up soon.

Anthony presses his face more insistently to Ian’s neck, to the bite, and pulls deep, a huge gulp flooding his mouth, sweet like nectar, the best wine, the richest dessert. Ian is a delicacy on his tongue.

Ian’s skin begins to feel cold and clammy to the touch and that is the third cue.

He needs to stop. Any more and he’ll put Ian in danger and he can’t do that. He has to tame the animalistic part of his brain begging him to keep going, demanding that he hold Ian down and drink his fill, drink until he’s drained Ian of every exquisite drop of blood in his body.

He takes a few more huge gulps of precious blood from Ian.

Ian’s fingers dig into his shoulders.

“Anthony!” he says, more panicked than before.

His voice snaps Anthony back to himself and he pulls away quickly. He touches Ian’s cheek with his hand, cupping his cool, pale skin.

“Are you okay?” Anthony asks, real concern there. He had zoned out and let himself become too fixated on the taste of Ian’s blood. He drank more than he usually does, quicker than he usually does.

Ian is shaking but he nods.

“Let me close it,” Anthony says.

He leans in and Ian flinches away. It makes a pain edge across Anthony’s heart.

“I won’t drink, I’m just going to close it, I promise.”

Ian gives a shaky nod and Anthony leans in and presses the flat of his tongue to the bite on Ian’s neck, stifling the wound and stopping the pull of blood, as if he were corking a leak.

“I’m so sorry, my love,” Anthony says, holding Ian’s face.

“It’s okay,” Ian says, though he doesn’t look well.

Anthony stands on his feet and easily picks Ian up into his arms. As soon as he stands, he can feel the warmth of Ian’s blood settling in his stomach. He feels heavy with it, weighted. Anthony sluggishly moves to settle Ian on their shared bed, smoothing away Ian’s sweaty hair.

“I’m going to grab the medicine,” Anthony says.

Ian nods and he lets his eyes flutter closed, too weak to open them at the moment.

Guilt sweeps through Anthony’s body. It is a curse to find the human whose blood tastes so sweet, so delicious. You must deny the very part of them that bonds you, the part of you that wants to devour every bit of the one you love and cherish. It’s happened. He’s heard cautionary tales, doomed romances, everything in between.

He promised never to hurt Ian and he intends to hold that promise.

Anthony goes to the bathroom and collects the medicine for Ian. Something to quickly restore his blood cells and boost his energy. They rarely have to use it and Anthony again feels bad.

As he has the bottle in hand, he can’t help but glance at himself in the long mirror in the bathroom. He still isn’t sure where the rumor that vampires can’t see their reflection comes from, but he sees himself, blood-stained lips, dark eyes, and he can even see the way his stomach is slightly distended, pulls just a little at his sweater. Anthony momentarily lifts his sweater and sees his stomach rounded just a bit from drinking Ian’s blood. He really had taken too much.

Anthony hurries to the bedroom and uncorks the medicine, taking a fill of the purple liquid with the rubber tipped dropper.

“Open,” Anthony instructs.

Ian opens his mouth and Anthony drops the medicine onto Ian’s tongue.

He stops the medicine and then sets it on the nightstand before crawling into bed with Ian, curling into his warm body. He takes Ian’s hand again and presses a kiss to the palm.

“I’m sorry,” Anthony says again.

“It’s okay, I feel better already,” Ian says, though his eyes are still closed, but the color has returned to his cheeks.

Anthony hums and kisses Ian’s palm again, pressing his warm hand to his own icy cheek, thinking of how much more careful he must be in the future with his most prized possession.

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