#him being unable to even look at raw meat let alone touch it.

[vaqro]

making myself sad by thinking of the first time cassidy realized how easy it was to cut bodies into pieces. the mind-numbing experience of gutting a pig, deboning a chicken, cutting a cow's leg by muscle group. he must have been twelve i think, when he first noticed the ease which he could simply make a huge body something so small, that he knew where to place a knife or where to break [ between the joints is always best. cartilage is soft and the blade slips easily between. but sometimes it's unavoidable that something needed to be broken first and then processed ]. he worked in major food companies, not even those clandestine slaughterhouses and factories; after the war, there were thousands like him — orphans, homeless, and lost. people just turned away from it all. so there he was, twelve years old, finger to elbow covered in blood 10, 12, 14 hours a day in exchange for a roof and some food. at some point, he had to stop caring too.

[mayullla]

Title: Snake's Lair

[ - Lake (Gn!reader) + Lily (Platonic yandere) + Sasuke (Naruto) + Blueberry tarts (Naga au) - ] - Anon's ask

Summary: Sasuke found you alone in the forest and took you in.

Additional warnings/tags: fantasy au, child!reader, death to a few minor characters (some get eaten), violence, mainly monster taking care of a child kind of vibes but with a few dark themes here and there, etc.

[ - Fairytale Picnic Event - closed - ]

You were a child he found in the middle of nowhere abandoned by your parents. In the middle of nowhere with multiple scratches on your hands and legs from tripping among the tree roots unable to see what was in front of your legs as you kept on calling for your parents.

You didn't know that you were walking deeper and deeper in the forest, you don't know when you stepped into a certain snake’s territory who took notice of you because of your calls for your parent.

“Hn… what are you doing here?”

“I am lost… I cant find my parents…”

Sasuke actually did see your parents, horrible people as he listened to them whisper of abandoning you to the beast that lurked in the forest. He didn't care to listen to their reasons finding that they would make fine meals for a while, they didn't know that they would enter their own doom first.

He was rather full by the time he stumbled into you. So instead of eating you, he thought he would just keep you for a bit... just for a while.

When he feels hungry, you would be right beside him.

Never would he imagine that he would grow attached to a little child like you. So quickly the fear and distrust in your eyes turn to curiosity towards his kind. What was he supposed to do with you?

He let you rest in his lair, yet as days passed and he became hungry he would not touch even a hair of yours preferring to seek food in the forest the wild boars and other creatures.

You were tiny, was his excuse for being unable to eat you that boars were much more bigger than you and could actually make him full, unlike your small frame.

Instead, he was the one bringing you food, the fruits and vegetation he had no interest in which you quietly ate. He tried to give you fish or meat a few times, yet you would only hesitantly look at him confused as to what you should do with a live fish. It only later did he understand that you can't eat raw at least not like that when the rabbit’s legs twitched a few times on the floor right in front of you.

You refused to give the rabbit for a while, unable to watch him eat the poor thing alive when it was a harmless creature. Sasuke had to wait till nightfall when you were sleeping to take the bunny and have his dinner.

The shock and betrayal in your eyes were amusing when you finally realized what happened to the bunny when you woke up. Watery eyes, you glared at him you weren't so naive to think that the bunny ran away Sasuke wasn't so kind as to eat his live meals away from you.

But somehow you always stuck close to him, always happy whenever you received the slightest affection from him. When you realized what the two finger poke Sasuke sometimes does on your forehead means whenever he leaves the cave and you grab him by the hand. You were scared that he would abandon you just like your parent did, it was his way of showing affection.

Not that he would ever admit it.

When he saw your feet cut from the sharp rocks of the forest he forced you to stay in one place and went out to get leather bringing it to make some shoes for you to use. It wasn't the best but they worked in protecting your feet.

Sometimes Sasuke would let you follow him, getting fruits or water, when you would again pull his hand he would just grab you by the waist and head out. Sometimes placing you on his shoulder he let you grab the fruits in the trees, holding you tightly yet not enough to break your ribs as you wanted to grab the water this time from the river. He never said it but he was a little scared that you might be taken away from the current.

He got used to it, he had grown so attached to you. So when one day when he just came back from a hunt he could not find you in the cave, yet he could smell… smell something else here… humans and blood.

He forgot about everything with only you in mind he left the cave. You have to be safe, you must.

He would be angry at you if you died.

The screams and cries that were all too familiar to him made him speed up, he was closed.

He killed many that day right in front of you, as you called out his name begging his help. He didn't care about the blood that wasn't his splattered on his body and drenched his hands as he harshly grabbed you pulling you to him. He could hear your heartbeat, your cries as your that touched his shoulder… warm.

You belonged to him, and no one is going to take you away. Tell would have to kill him first but he would never let that happen. That was the day when he started becoming more controlling, and observant of what you do. He will keep you close and safe from the world and not even you would have any say.

[mypoisonedvine]

𝖗𝖔𝖈𝖐 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖇𝖔𝖆𝖙 || pirate!Jefferson x reader

summary: Captain Jefferson is feared by every would-be sailor, every tradesman of the British isles, even his fellow pirates; yet, he's oddly gentle with you... for now.

word count: 4.2k

warnings: smut (dub con, this is a dark fic! mostly soft dark tho!), unwanted creampie, verrryy slight breeding kink, implied/threatened noncon, unwanted touching, lots of praise, mentions of the plague (but this time it's not the current one), pregnancy mention, alcohol consumption, religion mention, use of a knife (not quite knife kink but not violence either), slight yandere vibes

Perhaps if you had woken up sooner, earlier in the siege of your ship by the pirates, you would’ve had more time to flee and make it to one of the lifeboats. If you hadn’t been so exhausted from a long day beforehand, you would’ve surely roused from sleep at the first signs of trouble. If you had thought to put on boots and not tried to run from your room barefoot, you might have made it further before the invading crew had taken over.

Then again, this all could’ve been avoided if your fiancé had helped you onto the lifeboat instead of leaving you behind to die. Useless fucking bastard. Now here you were in the hands of your ‘saviors’ who pulled you from the flaming wreckage of the ship they themselves had destroyed. Their intentions were anything but altruistic, though; you weren’t a survivor, exactly, but a captive. Survivors didn’t typically have their wrists tied in front of them.

“Pretty,” one of them growled as he ran a finger down your cheek; you turned away as best you could but you couldn’t do much with them holding your arms and circling in so close around you. Another finger pushed against your lips and probed your mouth, the salt of his skin easily the worst taste you’d even experienced.

“Got all her teeth, too,” he noted. “Must be rich.”

“Who gives a fuck if she’s rich?” yet another sneered, reaching to start pulling up your skirt as you tried to kick him away. “All that matters is she’s warm.”

“You know we have to bring her to the Captain,” someone behind you noted.

“Yeah, but can’t we have a little fun first?”

“No,” the voice answered back firmly, making all the men around you visibly deflate.

“Fine then,” said the man in front of you as he dropped your skirt, and you were relieved slightly just to know they had to leave you be for now. “You’d better be a good girl for the Captain, then,” he informed you through his rotted grin, “and maybe we’ll get reacquainted when he’s done with you.”

With that, though they didn’t seem too ecstatic about it, a few of the men in the crowd guided you across the ship, bringing you to a windowed door. at the stern of the ship. It was likely the first mate that knocked; you were too busy being restrained to do it yourself, and the other men were too busy restraining you.

“Come in,” a voice answered from the other side.

The door creaked a bit as it was opened, and you felt the need to recoil further when you saw the man in his chambers, staring you down coldly.

“We found her in the wreckage,” the first mate explained, “figured you would know what to do with her.”

“Oh, I know what to do with her,” he agreed flatly, and you heard a few snickers behind you. “Bring her here.”

You figured ‘bringing’ would involve more walking, but instead they essentially threw you into the room, laughing as you stumbled to the floor since you were unable to catch yourself with bound hands.

The door slammed shut behind you unceremoniously, and you were left to look up at your new, singular captor with watery eyes. He wasn’t nearly as repulsive as the rest of his crew, he was even… not bad looking, if you tried hard enough to see him that way. It helped that he was better dressed and groomed, though he still looked plenty erratic in his own peculiar way. At least you were indoors now, protected from the cold ocean breeze of the evening, and with someone whose gaze was a bit less ravenous than the others that had been on you so far.

He offered his hand to help you up, but you defiantly made your own way back onto your feet.

“A bit of an independent type, I see,” he noted with the slightest smirk. “You must really hate this, then.”

“Would anyone enjoy being captured by pirates?” you asked, voice a little too shaky to really sound properly indignant.

“Many prefer it to drowning in the Indian ocean,” he frowned tightly. “Some might even be thankful to those that show them mercy.”

You were about to ask what he considered mercy, but then he took a knife from a leather holster at his side, stepping closer and carefully slicing the ropes off of your sore wrists. “Th-thank you, sir,” you whispered, rubbing the tender skin, raw in a few places.

“Captain Jefferson,” he corrected instantly, voice tense even though his body language was still relaxed; nonchalant, even. “You’ve yet to enlighten me to your name, darling.”

For a moment you watched him twirl his knife around in his fingers and almost forgot your own name to answer him with. When you did stammer it out, he gave you a smile that lied just between friendly and predatory, white teeth sparkling in the dim light of his lanterns as he sheathed the blade at his waist.

“Lovely,” he cooed. “It suits you. That dress on the other hand,” he frowned slightly as he looked you up and down, “is atrocious.”

“It’s only a nightgown,” you defended, “and it was much nicer before it was torn and sullied by your men outside.”

“Well, I’m afraid it just won’t do,” he decided. “You see, I have a lovely dinner prepared this evening and I couldn’t allow you to dine with me in tattered rags.”

“You’ll feed me?” you realized aloud.

“If you choose to accept my hospitality,” he clarified, and the way he said it made your skin crawl; there were no friendly dinners with pirates, you knew that much.

“Your kindness is… appreciated,” you half-lied, “but I cannot accept. I’ll go to the brig.”

“No, you won't. You’ll be spending the night in my quarters. With me,” he added, making his intentions exceptionally clear.

“I most certainly will not!” you defended, incensed. His jaw tightened as he glared at you, just for a moment, before he turned calm and polite again.

“I could leave you to my crew,” he offered casually. “Forty-eight drunken sailors who haven’t seen a woman since we left port eight months ago... I imagine they would be considerably less kind with you.”

You swallowed, but the lump in your throat didn’t go down.

“So, get changed and join me for dinner,” he instructed. “There’s something you can wear in that closet over there,” he explained as he motioned to it, “and a screen you can change behind.”

It was an odd request, but frankly, you were in no position to refuse it. He walked to the other end of the expansive quarters to examine something on his desk, and you awkwardly made your way to the closet to acquire the garment before you ducked behind the screen.

You didn’t really feel comfortable changing at this point, and you didn’t really trust that he would give you privacy; you stalled for quite some time, just waiting for him to suddenly appear and try to catch you nude, but the moment never came, and you finally relented and began to undress.

Admittedly, it was nice to peel the wet, cold nightgown from your skin and slip into something warmer. The dress he’d provided was a burgundy silk pattern, much more flamboyant and revealing at the bust than anything you would wear in your spare time, but you still indulged in running your hands over the soft fabric and toying with the lace hem of your sleeves briefly. It was slightly old-fashioned and it made you wonder how he’d come upon a dress like this in the first place, let alone what compelled him to keep it.

You tried to tie the lace up the back but couldn’t quite get them all, bending your arms awkwardly to try to reach but sighing as you realized it was useless.

“Um… Captain?” you called out sheepishly.

“Yes?” he answered immediately, voice echoing from across the room.

“Could you help me with the bodice here?”

You didn’t really see him step behind you, but you heard him come closer and felt the warmth of his presence. He delicately brushed his fingers over the back of your neck, ostensibly to make sure your hair was out of the way, before taking the strings in his hands and lacing your dress the rest of the way, tightening it slightly. “Not too tight, is it?” he asked quietly.

“It’s fine, thank you,” you nodded as he tied them. You expected him to walk away but when you turned around he was still there, staring down at you with eyes that were darkened at yet sparkling in the candlelight. “Should I put on jewelry as well?” you asked nervously.

“No, this will do nicely,” he announced, his voice a little deeper than it had been before, his fingers reaching up to brush over your exposed clavicle. “You look beautiful.”

“Um, thank you,” you answered hesitantly, glancing away from his all-consuming gaze.

A heavy silence filled the space between you before he finally broke it with a smile. “The table’s set, you can take your seat,” he explained, stepping back and giving you room to walk to the dining table; it really was a fine meal, one you recognize as stolen from the kitchens of the ship you had been on before, the one that was rubble at the bottom of the sea now. “Is it to your liking?” he prompted, making you realize you were forgetting to mind your manners. It was probably best to stay on the good side of such a dangerous and unpredictable man.

“It looks delicious, thank you,” you rushed as he pulled your chair out for you, and you flattened your skirts to take your seat.

And it wasn’t a lie; around the candelabra was an array of meats, cheeses, and fruits, even some small tarts presumably for dessert. Any other circumstance and you would feel comfortable digging right in.

He didn’t sit across from you right away, moving instead to a liquor cabinet which he knelt before. “I have red wine, aaaand some mead,” he offered as he searched through bottles, picking two to show you. “Or are you a moonshine sort of girl?” he asked with a wink.

“I’ll just take the wine, thank you,” you mumbled. He nodded and poured you a goblet, unsubtly eyeing your cleavage from his new vantage point. You motioned that he’d given you enough, leaving him to pour his own drink and cork the bottle again before taking his seat.

“I hope you don’t mind if I pray before the meal,” he interjected suddenly, “I’m a devout Catholic.”

“Oh, go ahead,” you nodded.

He chuckled slightly, making you feel foolish. “I’m joking, obviously. I’m a pirate.”

“I didn’t want to make any assumptions,” you mumbled. “I’ve heard pirates are superstitious, after all.”

“So religion is superstition?” he mused, lifting his goblet to take a drink.

“That’s… not exactly what I meant,” you compromised as you shifted in your seat.

He just looked at you, seeming to relish in your discomfort, as he began to eat from his plate, still staring at you. "You're not eating," he finally noticed.

"I suppose I've lost my appetite," you weakly explained, pushing a grape across the plate with your fork.

"Is it me? Do I… repulse you?"

You couldn't determine if the question came from insecurity or was some sort of trick. "Um… no," you answered. "But it is the circumstances you've put me in."

"I really mean no harm. It's been many years since I've had a chance to enjoy the company of a beautiful woman for dinner, that's all."

"But I'm spending the night here?" you remembered.

"Yes," he agreed.

No harm indeed, you thought to yourself as you nearly rolled your eyes. "You dishonor me," you protested. "My fiancé—"

"I think we both know he's dead," he interjected sternly.

"He made it to a lifeboat," you informed the Captain.

"Do you not hear the storm outside?" he scoffed, standing up to approach his window and throw open the curtain, revealing the heavy rainfall and lightning strikes on the water. "No lifeboat could withstand that."

Just as you hoped to find something to say to break the silence, something that would distract from his obvious and unfortunate truth, but he spoke again first.

"Say, shouldn't it have been the women and children first?" he realized with a furrowed brow, turning back from gazing out the window to examine you. "How did he make it on and you didn't?"

"There… there was only room for one more…"

"He took your spot," Jefferson realized, before suddenly bursting into laughter. You frowned and felt your eyes sting as you looked at the napkin in your lap. "And you say I dishonor you, when your betrothed left you to die so he could save himself!"

He walked closer, and you tried harder to fight your tears as he leaned in right in front of you.

"We really should thank him for his cowardice, shouldn't we? He's made you the only survivor of the wreck of the Princess Marianna," he grinned, and in a moment of weakness to your anger, you looked up and slapped him across the face.

"It wasn't a wreck, it was a siege," you corrected with shaking anger as the Captain rubbed his cheek, "and I'm not a survivor, I'm a prisoner!"

"Is this how you think prisoners are treated?" he snapped, grabbing your wrist tightly when you reached out again. "Dressed in silk, given fine wine?"

"Stolen wine," you grimaced, "and I assume the same for the dress?"

"No, the dress wasn't stolen. It belonged to the woman I loved before she died."

You straightened suddenly, stunned by his confession. You hadn't even considered that a pirate could really love. "I… I'm sorry."

"So forgive me if I can't muster much sympathy for your dead fiancé, it's just that I can't imagine claiming to love someone and choosing myself over them," he explained with ill-concealed contempt, looking away. "I'd have given my life to save her. But there are no lifeboats in a plague."

Your eyes that watered with rage before now brimmed with sympathy; the hand that reached up strike him before now delicately cradled his face, soothing where his cheek began to turn red. "My mother…" you trailed off. "The plague took her as well. It's cruel to see someone you love rot away."

He looked back at you again and you felt exposed to his stare, like he could see right through you.

It made a chill run up your spine, but it was oddly pleasant. He held out his hand for you to place yours in, guiding you to stand before him as he drank in the sight of you.

"You haven't had any wine," he realized softly. "Drink."

Hesitant but entranced by him, you grabbed the goblet from the table and took a sip. His hand gently tilted the bottom further, encouraging you to drink more, until you were gulping down the whole portion. As you finished, a drop fell down from the corner of your lips; his thumb wiped it away, and he brought the digit to his mouth as he sucked off the flavor from his own skin.

You didn't even mean to watch him dart his tongue out and lap up the liquid, but it made your thighs clench of their own volition. "Sweet," he whispered, and you forgot he was talking about the wine.

He took the goblet from your hand and set it down, turning his attention back to you as he ran his fingers over your shoulder, gentle enough to make little goosebumps prickle your skin all over. His gaze trailed over your face in the same pattern that his fingers did, his delicate touch making you shiver as he caressed your cheek, your jaw, your lips and finally your chin which he lifted slightly.

“Kiss me,” he requested softly.

More willing than you expected or were willing to admit, you leaned in closer to him and pressed your lips to his, chaste at first before he started to pull you closer and move his lips with yours. It was him that traced the shape of your mouth with his tongue before sliding it between your teeth, breathing heavier through his nose and wrapping his arms around you tighter.

You found yourself being pushed back, guided to his Captain’s desk, which he lifted you just enough to set you on. Without breaking the kiss— though it did become much hungrier and more intense— he roughly hiked the skirts of the borrowed dress up your legs, grabbing you tightly as he held you by your thighs.

Perhaps you could blame it on the alcohol, but you weren't even really feeling it yet and you were melting into his touch, moaning softly against his lips. Just when you were beginning to really like his fingers rubbing circles on your inner thighs, he removed his hands from your skirts. Instead his hands fumbled at your back to loosen the very same lacing he had helped you to tie before, releasing you from the dress just enough that he could tear the front down to expose your breasts, which he instantly reached up to grope in the palm of his hand while you both sighed a little at the feeling.

"Beautiful," he sighed as he started to kiss his way to your ear, biting gently around it. "So beautiful…"

You were devoid of words or even thoughts, operating only on primal instinct as you shuddered and fumbled with his coat and vest, hoping to see more of him in return. He smiled against your skin, apparently pitying you enough to lean back and help remove his layers of clothing. When you pulled his scarf away, you gasped at the sight of a scar that encircled his entire neck.

"How did you—?" you began to ask with a concerned whisper.

"I was sentenced and hung for piracy," he explained quickly. "It didn't take."

He kissed you again as he kept stripping with your rushed assistance; you didn't get it all off, just enough to leave him in a loose-fitting undergarment that revealed his scarred, masculine chest which moved with every deep breath he took.

Your fingers trailed down the expanse of skin, your breath a little heavier as you found the belt of his trousers. He grinned and opened it himself with one hand, while the other moved under your skirts again, drifting higher and higher until he finally swiped a finger through your sex.

The feeling made you choke on nothing, and he did it again, gathering and encouraging your arousal. You never got a look at his member, your clothes blocking you from seeing anything useful, but you could feel the shape of it pressing into your thigh.

You didn't know enough about what to expect to be sure that it was particularly large… but you were intimidated either way.

His forehead rested on your shoulder as he guided the thick, spongy head through your folds, seeking your entrance hastily. Even just that pushed your lips wide apart, your head getting dizzy as you realized he intended to put that inside of you. When he found it, just barely beginning to push forward, he straightened up to stare down into your eyes.

“Look at me,” he demanded. “Look at me when I take you.”

Blinking quickly, you did as you were told, looking up at him and feeling your gut sink and your heart twist at the idea of being stripped of your decency in such a way by this man. It was hard to believe it was really happening; it was hard to comprehend the way it titillated you.

All at once, he shot his hips forward and filled you, making you nearly scream though you managed to suppress it to a gasp. He watched you closely the whole time, giving only one moment of stillness to adjust before he began to pull back and start the cycle all over again, each movement stretching you wider than you had ever dared to imagine.

His expression was almost blank, almost unreadable, except for his eyes; they burned with enough passion to consume you in the flames, seeming not to blink as if he couldn’t miss even a moment of your pain and your pleasure.

Releasing you from his stare, he looked at your lips instead which he captured in another dominating kiss, one that trailed over your jaw as he began to really find his pace and increase the brutality of his body carving its space inside yours. More than anything, you focused on keeping your eyes shut and trying to distract yourself from it so wouldn’t audibly moan.

His tongue and lips laved your neck as he thrusted into you, the shadow of stubble on his face just enough to scratch your skin while his hands guided your legs to wrap around his hips. You would surely fall limp onto the desk if he didn’t cling onto you so tightly, strong and calloused hands clutching your back.

When he reached some very specific place inside you, a jolt of energy through your body shot your eyes wide open and your hands up to clutch at his shoulders. “Oh—!” you choked, gasping for air as he drove the head of his cock right into it again. He pulled away from your neck to smile down at you proudly, watching you moan and shiver at the overwhelming sensation.

“Didn’t know it could feel good, huh?” he taunted huskily. “Didn’t think you’d like it?”

He continued his assault on your neck, sure to leave a mark now, and it was all you could do to hang on for dear life as he slammed into you, the loud noises of his skin on yours filling the room.

Pressure built and built inside you, threatening to seize up at any moment. His speed kept increasing, kept pushing you to the edge faster and harder until you cried out, your nails digging into his shoulders as your body tightened and relaxed rhythmically.

“Oh god,” he moaned, right against your ear, “beautiful… you can’t imagine how wonderful it feels when you let go for me.”

He didn't slow down even slightly, keeping you suspended in pleasure with every desperate thrust into your pliant body.

"Do it again," he demanded darkly, but you were already spilling over the edge and sobbing at the onslaught of sensations filling you from the top of your head to the ends of your toes (which curled without you even realizing). He grunted as your walls gripped him with every wave of pleasure, his fingers digging into your supple flesh, sure to leave marks in the morning. "That's it," he purred, "give me everything."

You realized with dawning horror that his moans were getting louder and deeper but he showed no signs of stopping to finish outside. “Wait—”

“Fuck,” he hissed against your ear, holding you tighter as you started to squirm. “You’ll make me come.”

“Not inside,” you whimpered, swinging your arms to try to push him away, “you have to— please take it out—”

He growled and grabbed your wrists roughly, making you yelp a little. “You’re mine now. I’ll do with you what I please.”

“No, I can’t,” you whined.

“You can,” he promised through his teeth. “You can take all of it, beautiful… you can take every last drop of my seed inside you.”

You sobbed and struggled but ultimately as you felt his cock begin to flex against your channel and heard his panting breaths against your ear, you knew it was too late and he was spilling himself within you. He groaned and you let out one last weak whimper, going limp in his arms as you felt warmth begin to bloom from your core where he’d filled it.

The only grace he could’ve given you in that moment was just to leave you alone, toss you into the brig like you would’ve preferred in the first place, but he couldn’t even do that: he stayed inside you, holding your face and kissing you slowly while he caught his breath, mumbling praises you didn’t care to parse.

He carried you to his bed, undressing you from the gown until you were bare and had only his body to shield you from the draft in the room.

"I never told you something about my beloved," he whispered in your ear as he cradled your body under the blankets of his bed. "When she passed, she was with child. I lost both of them… and now you'll be filling their space and giving me what she couldn't, what I'm owed."

You blinked blankly through silent tears that streaked down your temples.

"Oh! And I never told you the name of this lovely vessel you'll be residing on," he realized with a breathless chuckle. "Welcome, darling, to the Devil's Fortune. I hope you enjoy it here… because I won't ever let you leave."

[undead-merman]

this is the yan monster luci and satan requester, not a poly relationship, but just like a mutual agreement that they don't want any low life demon going near their s/o

Okay I’ve got Lucifer as a Manticore and Satan as a Sphinx. I love writing these, its a shame I can’t write these faster.

🦁Manticore Lucifer🦁 🦁Sphinx Satan🦁 as Yanderes GN- Reader SFW

Lucifer

Appearance

As a manticore his appearance is fearsome and even his presence is enough to make most others turn tail and run. His mouth is full of too big teeth, some of the long canines poking past his stern frown.

He has small hands that are more paw-like, with razor sharp claws at the end of them. He has paw pads on the tips of each of his fingers, and 3 small pads on his palms. Unlike normal paws, he does have a thumb and surprising dexterity with them.

Along his forehead and temple he has small black horns, they’re perfectly symmetrical which is unusual for a chaotic creature like himself. On top of his head, past his horns are two lion ears that twitch and turn to even the softest noises.

On the back of his neck, down his spine, are small quills tipped with a viscous venom. He is able to flatten them against his body to make them flat for his clothes many of his kind have spots open in their clothing for their spines to poke out, but Lucifer does not have have that in his clothing, He only has a spot open for his large, slightly torn bat like wings.

His tail is long and ends with a red tipped scorpion stinger, quills randomly set along it. It normally hangs low and curls up to avoid knocking things over.

His true form is like that or a normal manticore but with piercing yet silky and shiny black fur and bright glowing blood red eyes.

The Undefeatable Beast

Manticores have a reputation of being mighty beasts unable to be slain by any man, but there are rumors of some being slain. Lucifer, one of the oldest and most powerful has never been bested. Every opponent he’s ever faced has perished and only the surviving onlookers have been able to tell the tale.

His viciousness is renown all over the devildom; while he acts like a gentleman whose temper is always under wraps, he’s quiet vengeful and easy to anger. He doesn’t like to show it, he lets it simmer until he can get his revenge.

His appetite is ravenous and loves to have barely cooked meat served elegantly. He doesn’t like it raw as it feels barbaric and he enjoys the finery of life, but if he needs to he doesn’t mind eating anyone until not even the blood is left.

He does have a vulnerable side however, as since he’s that of lion and Scorpion he needs to sunbathe in order to be in top condition if he doesn’t he’s sluggish, but more brutal. Since there's no sun in the devildom he uses a light to warm himself as he lays on his sides. He looks surprisingly peaceful when warming up.

Spending Time with You

The one thing he can’t defeat, is you. He has such a soft spot for you that he is willing to do anything you ask. Giving him your big doe eyed look makes his monstrous face scrunch up and flush at you. He really can’t say no to you.

His favorite thing in the world is to lay down with you in the warm light, looking up at you as the light engulfs you and all he can see is your smiling face. He loves it when you go to run your finger through his hair or pet him. His wings shiver when you do that and his spines do as well before tightly flatting against his skin allowing you to touch him without getting poked at all,

He is fiercely protective over you. He snaps at anyone who touches you and stands behind you as someone talks to you, his icy glare focused intensely on the person you're talking with.

He loves to take you to enjoy elegant food, sights and sounds. His favorite place to take you is the opera, he loves to listen to the soft gentle melodies as he takes your hand into his.

His Dark Tendencies

Lucifer does not like others interacting with you. Should you defend another person from him too much he’ll start to get insecure. He’ll think you're forgetting about him and falling in love with someone else, and he hates that. He’ll take you even if you struggle and lock you up and keep you to himself until he feels you’ve forgotten about the other. Of course his opponent would be dealt with swiftly, and painfully.

He loves seeing you locked up, it makes the dark monster instincts churr in delight. Completely at his whims, of course he’d never hurt you too much. Should you make him angry or god forbid you try to escape, he’ll punish you by applying constant pain without actually hurting you. Painfully clamping your skin more and more until you go mad and beg him to stop. But if you made him truly angry you’ll be lashed and whipped until he feels better making you count each one out loud.

After Punishments he’s overly sweet, he’ll kiss every bruise and cut, and look at it so tenderly as he whispers about how good you are for him and how much he loves you. But he’ll graze his razor sharp teeth over your sensitive bruises just to remind you to never do it again.

Misc Stuff

When he’s extremely relaxed around you, he will let out a purr though, it’s a deep inhumane noise so deep that it shakes your chest if you’re near. He gets embarrassed if you mention it to him.

He greets those he’s close to by pressing his forehead against theirs. He does this with you, cupping your cheeks and smiling as he does it; with his Brothers and Diavolo it’s a simple tap, but with others he only nods his head. If he doesn’t like someone he simply just stares at them without blinking, glaring into them with fury.

He wants you to smell like him all the time but he gets a bit flustered about doing it. He’ll scent you by rubbing his palms, wrist and cheeks on you while you sleep or aren’t paying attention while cuddling. He feels like a tomcat when he does it but he can’t help it.

Satan

Appearance

His body is more centaur like, with the lower body of a giant winged lion. His fur is a lustrous blonde and gold color and his lower abdomen is large and bulky with thick skin and muscle.

His wings spread wide and are tipped in shimmering gold that shines in any light. The wings which are just under his humanoid hip have a blonde and gold fur, thick and volumes. While most of his mane is centered on his hips, it does have a trail of it going up his spine and shoulder blades.

Two lion ears sit on his scalp of much longer hair then normal, tied loose with a lime green ribbon. His ears constantly moving back and forth betraying his hidden emotions. They flick at nearby noise, or something that interests him, and lay flat when angry or embarrassed.

A Guardian Creature

Sphinx are mostly known for their stories of guarding treasures and tombs. A protective species and loyal to a fault. Satan is just like others of his kind, He focuses his attention to his collection of books and scrolls. Very solemnly does he allow anyone to come near his collection let alone trusts them to borrow from it.

He’ll never admit to it, but he has a lot of the same habits that Lucifer does. He enjoys lazing under a bright warm light, and your gentle strokes on him. He even purrs just like Lucifer too.

He seeks out riddles he cannot solve, he’s said to befriend those who tell him a riddle he can’t solve. He craves to expand his knowledge and find truly intelligent and wise creatures.

Spending Time with You

You had thrown him through a loop when you were given the quest to find a riddle he couldn’t solve and gave him a cheesy dad joke. Never has someone even attempted anything like that. It fascinated him and he quickly became obsessed with you.

He enjoys seeing your point of view on all kinds of topics. He’ll bring you a gift and ask for a discussion on it. He loves hearing your voice talk about the gift he got you and your thoughts on the history behind it. It stimulates such a deep part of his brain that he’s become addicted to it and he nearly brings you one everyday.

He also enjoys stupid fun. Stuff that he doesn’t have to think about too much, he finds it deeply relaxing, though he dares not let anyone but you see it.

If you ask he’ll let you pet his soft feline pads, he’ll get all flustered and squirmy with you rubbing and massaging them. They’re so soft and pink, but while you're doing that he gets to feel your hands in his paws and to him they’re the softest thing he’s ever felt.

His Dark Tendencies

Satan is so deeply infatuated with you, he simply wants to be around you constantly, never letting you out of his grasp. He, of course, loves to bring you small, cute gifts so he can see your face heat up and you look so happy, but a dark sadistic side of him loves to see you scared. The tears dripping down your face and your eyes shoot open with terror behind it. He’ll always be there to comfort you right after but a sick part of him loves to see you like that.

If you ever tried to hide from him or try to run, he would quickly catch you with a dead, unloving, and dark face. He’d carry you back, tie you up and humiliate you, force you to eat out of a cat bowl, and spank you till your rear is black and blue. He always grins from ear to ear when he sees you limping after.

He loves chaining you up and listening to you read to him. He likes playing with the chain as you read and he always complements how it looks on you.

Misc Stuff

Ashamedly he is much like a cat at heart. He finds himself a lot of time chasing bugs and chattering at birds in class. He’s so embarrassed by it that he threatens anyone who brings it up, if not clawing them in half on the spot.

He sits like a cat does, his lower body having its paws tucked in on themselves as he reads. He often falls asleep like this too, his humanoid body frozen while the bottom one is all curled up in a tight ball.

Unlike Lucifer’s more refined palette Satan can eat whatever it is put in front of him, fresh or dressed, it does matter at all, but he doesn’t eat a lot for someone his size.

Dealing with Interferences Together

Dealing with each other was nearly unbearable, but having another one in on the fear competition was unacceptable to both of them. With the two of them they could control the scenarios you were in, keep you at least near them. But having an unknown contestant was dangerous. What if They tried to touch you? Kiss you? So what they’ve done to keep you around them, the carnage they’ve left behind to scare you away from them.

Whenever someone threatened that, they agreed to quickly and quietly deal with this before you even noticed They were gone. Stalking them and finding the perfect time to strike, when together it was deathly quiet, none of them talked and the tension was so thick you’d need a chainsaw to cut through it. They would get into fights fairly often due to them bragging about the time spent with you.

They hate working together, but they do work terribly well together as well. They get everything done quickly and without a trace. Their go-to is to kidnap the offender and bring them to a private room and take any frustration they got while working together and take it out on them. Those who go into that room never come back out. After everything is taken care of they’re right back to fighting with each other for you.

[shadows-and-science-gone-mad]

[CONTENT WARNING: scenes of graphic violence, gore, death, & cannibalism]

Talos 1193-7-E. October 6, 3738.

Thirdborn stalks through the jungle, making almost no sound as his clawed feet gently meet the soft ground. His piercing eyes flick from side to side as he scans the underbrush for prey. So far, his hunt has been unsuccessful, only managing to find a few meager scraps of flesh on a long-desiccated carcass. Plenty to sate his own appetite, but not enough. His clan is counting on him to return with enough food for everyone.

A sound in the brush causes him to halt. His head snaps toward the source of the noise. As he stares intently into the vegetation, waiting for another sign to strike, the sound repeats. Thirdborn raises his reptilian head skyward and inhales deeply. The scents of the forest seep into his brain, mixing with the thousands of memorized odors he has gathered from countless hunts. He filters out the ambient background scents until he identifies the specific odor associated with the noise he heard.

A blade-snout.

Dangerous and difficult to take down, but more than enough to feed him and his clan.

He resumes his hunt, now moving in the direction of the blade-snout’s foraging. Slowly, his quarry begins to come into view. Its body is about the size of a rhinoceros, with a dark-grey coloration leading into a brilliant red on its face. It is facing away from Thirdborn, but he can still see the meter-long serrated cranial crest that gives the beast its name. He’s faced this sort of prey before, but he will have to be extremely careful if he is to successfully kill it. He crouches even lower, his belly almost touching the forest floor. He silently slinks towards his quarry, inching ever nearer. His leg muscles tense, and he prepares to spring on his unwary victim. 

Suddenly, the foliage across the clearing explodes. Thirdborn’s carefully focused hunt is ruined as another reptilian leaps from the brush, snarling as it collides with the blade-snout’s great body. The intruder’s long claws sink into the rough hide, anchoring it in place as it begins to bite and slash at its quarry. The blade-snout bellows in surprise and pain, and begins shaking its body, trying to dislodge its attacker.

But, the predator was anticipating this.

As the blade-snout rears onto its hind legs, the predator reaches under its neck with one of its muscular arms. It grabs ahold of the blade-snout’s head, steering both hands clear of the deadly horn. Flexing its powerful muscles, it quickly twists the head at a sharp angle. A snap of bone, and the blade-snout’s struggling body goes limp, its neck broken. The predator drops its deceased prey to the ground, grabs ahold of its hind legs, and begins to drag it off into the brush.

As Thirdborn’s surprise at the sudden attack begins to fade, he truly notices the identity of the interloper. It looks almost exactly like him, only around 30% larger, and with a much blunter muzzle. A soft growl emits from his throat as he recognizes it: Firstborn, his older brother.

The rudimentary society these reptiles have begun to develop places an enormous value on physical strength and hunting prowess. As such, the oversized, powerful Firstborn seized control of the pecking order almost as soon as he reached breeding age. Meanwhile, Thirdborn, while still plenty strong, grew to be smaller-than-average, so occupied a slot near the bottom of the clan’s hierarchy. As one of the clan’s few males, he was still made to venture into the forest daily to gather food, but his meticulous planning and stealth skills were looked over in favor of his brother’s raw power.

This has fostered a deep-seated jealousy in the younger reptile. One that is certainly not helped by his brother’s current commandeering of his kill.

Thirdborn lets off an annoyed snort before turning back into the brush and stalking away. By the time he returns to his clan’s camp, he is not surprised to see his brother gloating over his accomplishment, as the others feast on the blade-snout’s flesh, utterly enthralled by his story. Thirdborn slinks over to the gnarled tangle of roots serving as his bed, drops to the ground and curls up. He has no desire to partake in celebrating an accomplishment that his brother stole from him. He closes his eyes, places a clawed hand over his head, and does his best to ignore the revelry around him.

.

Orbit of Talos 1193-7-E. October 6, 3738.

Floating weightless in the uppermost reaches of the planet’s atmosphere, the ancient dark matter entity known as Pulse watches the reptilian drama playing out below.

When one is nearly as old as the universe itself, one’s options for entertainment exhaust themselves fairly quickly. And this is certainly the case for Pulse. It has spent a veritable eternity wandering across the universe, doing little more than passively observing the goings-on around it. It hasn’t been totally idle — many a culture throughout the universe has depictions of angels or devils that resemble its rough outline of a form. But, it’s been millions of years since it last interfered directly with a developing civilization.

Something about these reptiles, though, has captured its interest.

Perhaps it feels some sort of connection with them. Perhaps their acts of joy and jealousy remind it of a simpler time, when it too felt such things. Perhaps these raw unfiltered emotions reached out to it across time, and drew it here to their source. Or perhaps it’s just really, really bored. Whatever the reason, Pulse feels an undeniable urge to interfere with their development.

But, rather than the grand gestures it usually performs — arriving in broad daylight in a flash of lightning and fire, trying to inspire fear and awe in its observers — today it plans to employ a much more... subtle method.

.

As the daylight sky blackens into night, Pulse descends through the atmosphere, landing gently on the outskirts of the reptiles’ camp. It surveys the sleeping creatures, most of them piled around the mutilated carcass of the blade-snout. Though it is an immensely-powerful being, trying to single out one individual among the tangle of bodies and limbs is too risky. It could accidentally wake them all, making this whole ‘stealth’ endeavor a waste of time.

Instead, it glides over to a lone reptile, curled up amongst the roots of a tree, some distance from the rest of the pack.

It crouches, and places an amorphous hand onto the sleeping animal’s head. Due to the unique nature of its physiology, its entire body is an exceptional conductor of electricity, and is able to transmit electrical impulses through mere physical contact.

In this case, it is transmitting brainwaves.

It imparts the sleeping creature with a fraction of a fraction of a fraction of its billions of years of experiences.

This sort of knowledge is not meant to occupy the mind of an organic entity, and even such a trace quantity is enough to fundamentally rewrite such a being’s identity, down to its very core.

Its work done, Pulse releases the reptile from its grasp. It then silently rises from the camp, returning to the upper reaches of the atmosphere, resuming its role as passive observer. It has set these events in motion, and now intends to simply watch them play out.

This should be interesting...

.

Talos 1193-7-E. October 7, 3738.

The morning sun illuminates the alien jungles of Talos, burning the nighttime darkness away with brilliant pink light. The nocturnal denizens of the forest retreat into their dens, as their diurnal counterparts take their place in the sun.

In the reptiles’ camp, the clan begins to stir. The females tend to the nests, distributing fresh meat to the elders and hatchlings who were unable to participate in the previous night’s feeding frenzy. The smaller males root through the dirt, searching for insects, small mammals, and tubers that can be added to the clan’s food stores. And, of course, Firstborn rises from his slumber, his shortened jaws stretching wide as he yawns away the night’s drowsiness.

He stretches his powerful limbs, and looks around his domain. As the largest male in the clan, all of the females mate with him, and him alone. All of the hatchlings, and even many of the young adults, were fathered by him. As he gazes upon his family, he can see all of his children, mates, and siblings going about their morning routines, exactly as they should.

All except for one.

With a snort, Firstborn stomps across the clearing to the huddled body of Thirdborn. While every other member of the clan has awoken and begun their work, his younger brother is still nestled up in his resting spot. Of course, this scrawny pariah would be so useless as to not even wake up when the morning comes.

Firstborn hisses at Thirdborn, trying to rouse him. It seems to have no effect; Thirdborn just continues to lie there, hands over its head, trembling softly. Firstborn responds to this lack of action by roaring, a loud scream that should be more than enough to wake him. Still nothing. Now seriously annoyed, Firstborn uses his powerful forelimb, and delivers a swift smack against the lout’s muzzle.

Thirdborn’s eyes snap open, and roll up to lock with Firstborn’s. But, something seems different about them. Instead of the cold amber gaze of the day before, his eyes are deep red, bloodshot, and are staring at his brother with an expression of blind, pure contempt.

No, not contempt.

Hunger.

Empty, meaningless, all-consuming hunger.

In a flash, Thirdborn erupts upward from his resting position. He impacts Firstborn square in the chest, fast enough to offset his reduced mass, and knock the larger reptile to the ground. Pinning his brother with his claws, he unhinges his jaw and clamps it around Firstborn’s throat.

Firstborn lets out a hellish scream, and tries to free himself from the smaller creature’s grip. In previous squabbles, he has never had problems overpowering Thirdborn. But now, his attempts to wrench his arms free only causes his attackers claws to dig in even deeper. Eventually, the claws break the skin, tear through muscle, and wedge themselves deep between the bones of his wrist.

His mind overwhelmed with confusion and agony, Firstborn attempts to cry out once again. But, his own bellows are cut off as Thirdborn tightens his grip around his neck. His breathing grows swift and sharp, and his mouth fills with the taste of his own blood, as his weaker sibling mercilessly crushes the life out of him.

When Firstborn finally stops struggling against his attack, and his body goes slack as the last flickers of life escape his brain, only then does Thirdborn release his grip on his throat. Dislodging his claws from the shredded tangle of tendons and muscles that were Firstborn’s arms, he raises his head skywards and screams. As long and as loud as he can. Blood fills his mouth, a mixture of his prey’s and his own, as his body seemingly fails from the extreme over-exertion of his violent act. As the air in his lungs finally runs out, he takes a step back from the still-warm body of his rival. He begins to rake his claws against Firstborn’s chest, carving long deep gouges into the flesh. He pries open the chest cavity, and begins to gorge himself on the entrails of his victim.

Naturally, this display of excessive savagery has attracted the attention of the rest of the clan. They have gathered around the cannibal’s brutal feast, and watch him with apprehension and fear. One of the older females, Firstborn’s favorite mate, slowly approaches Thirdborn. In an instant, before anyone has time to react, he whirls around and slashes her across the throat. She collapses in a heap, her body twitching as blood pours from the gaping hole in her neck. Thirdborn abandons his first kill, and shoves his muzzle into the open wound, beginning to consume the female’s body before she has even died.

The rest of the clan moves away from the bloodthirsty killer, but their movement draws his attention away from his feeding. He lets out a guttural hiss, unlike anything their species should be capable of producing, and charges at the creatures that were once his family.

Firstborn was only the beginning.

.

Talos 1193-7-E. June 16, 3739.

It has not even been a full year since Pulse visied this world and toyed with the mind of Thirdborn. And yet, if one had not seen the transformation occurring in real-time, one would never guess that the current Talos was the same planet it had visited.

Where once there were lush, vibrant jungles, now there is nothing but death. The great trees lie in ruin, the vegetation trampled into sludge, the rotting bodies of the planet’s myriad creatures baking and blackening in the sun, turning the once pink skies black as they slowly dissolve into nothingness. It would appear that, in the span of less than a year, the planet has completely died.

But, such an assessment wouldn’t be entirely accurate.

Talos didn’t die. It was killed.

From out of the mammoth carcass of a tusked grazer, a reptilian figure emerges. Its skin is caked with dried blood and flaking tissue, its claws drip with the putrefaction of its innumerable prey, and the decaying remains of the grazer’s entrails dangle from its rotting jaws, the lips completely deteriorated, revealing a tangled array of blackened teeth. It is almost recognizable as its former self, but twisted and broken beyond comprehension, its jagged body as fractured as its mind.

It scarfs down the fetid organs in a few swift gulps, before burying its snout once again into its victim’s broken thorax. This is all it has done in nearly a year — all it’s even capable of doing anymore. This basic act of consumption has completely overwhelmed its very being. What began as mere jealousy has evolved and warped into something far darker. Its metaphorical hunger made harshly, cruelly literal.

The creature once known as Thirdborn looks to the skies, spying a glimmer of starlight through the putrid clouds. And the spark of hunger flares once more in its shattered brain.

The murder of its sibling was nothing.

The massacre of its clan, a mere trifle.

Even the total annihilation of its homeworld is no longer enough.

It now hungers for existence itself.

It will consume it all.

And it will never, ever stop.

[silverhyenaart]

Alright, I'm fairly new to the "Reader Insert" style of writing, but I thought I'd give it a try. So, I have yet to do a little sketch of Lester (I did draw his two brothers,) However, I did have this idea for a sick-fic, where Lester finds the reader on the side of the road. Now, I wrote this with a female reader in mind but please feel free to imagine it any way you see fit.

Roadside Attraction Part #1

No one would ever argue that the tiny, reclusive town of Ambrose was a quiet place. The occasional group of tourists or stranded motorists made for some excitement, but there hadn't been any new visitors in over a month.

A crooked smile crossed Lester's face as his old truck ambled along the backroads.The morning was still plenty young. Bo was more than likely sleeping off a night of one too many beers. Vincent was surely working on The House of Wax's next great masterpiece in his basement studio lair. That left Lester to do what he loved. Gather up the roadkill! However... the youngest Sinclair was about to get more than he ever could have bargained for.

"Still plenty cool outside, huh Daisy?" Lester muttered, scratching at his flannel shirt pocket, "hopefully we git some meat befer the sun ruins it."

He was answered by a curious chiding as the tiny raccoon in his pocket peaked out.

There were so many things besides the animal carcasses on the side of the road. And while yes, half of a deer that had yet to be tainted by maggots and Louisiana heat was indeed a fine prize to return home with, Lester had also found the occasional wad of cash, various coins, jewelry, and his personal favorite, the woodland creatures that he'd take home and foster. (Always making them promise that they'd stay away from the roads before releasing them back into the wild.)

But instead of the usual gorey animal corpse splattered in the road or abandoned wrecked vehicle, Lester saw what was unmistakably a human body in the ditch near a heavily wooded stretch of road. Your body!

The brakes of the rickety old truck screeched on the pavement. Quickly, Lester put the truck in reverse, stopping as close to your prone form as possible. There was no telling how long you'd been left out there in the Louisiana backwoods, but it was obvious that you'd been severely mistreated before being dumped out here. In fact, one could have easily written you off as dead. Bruised, dried blood caking in places, old, sour vomit in the grass near your mouth, and your wrists bound behind your back tightly with course rope.

"Well Daisy, ain't sure there's nothin' more ta do then give 'er ta Vinny," Lester mused, quietly as he examined what he thought was your corpse, "Poor thing, won't do no good no how bringin' er to the pit. Sure Vinny'll fix 'er up real nice."

When his hand touched your hip to turn you over for a better look, that's when a weak moan escaped your chapped lips and your eye cracked open. Lester jumped back a little in surprise. You were still alive! Albeit in dreadful shape. But breathing nevertheless.

"Hey... hey there now. This ain't no place fer a nice young lady like ya ta be," Lester said, reaching for the Bowie knife on his belt.

Upon seeing the glint of steel in the morning light, your unfocused eyes widened in fear. With your entire body feeling like a led weight, struggling was impossible. After spending an entire day out here in your already terrible condition, just moving made you feel like your already empty stomach was going to purge once more.

Then the ropes binding your wrists snapped, giving your painfully raw skin welcome relief. Dirty yet gentle hands helped you to your feet. While it was difficult to focus, you could tell that your rather smelly but kind-hearted guardian angel was one of those backwoods redneck sorts. If anything, his accent alone gave it away.

"That's it now, com'n, sweat pea, I-I'ma take ya somewhere safe."

Lester helped you to his truck's passenger side, letting you lean heavily against him. He smiled, having been unable to recall the last time he'd had a woman of any sort willingly be this close to him. Usually it was his big brother who got the pretty ladies.

"Y-you can jus' call me Lester, now, darlin'," your rescuer continued.

As Lester guided you toward his beat up old pickup and opened up the passenger side door, you could feel your already upset stomach doing flip flops. You stumbled a little, clinging to this man as though he were your only remaining life line... and then your body betrayed you.

You trembled, eyes wide with horror, able to make out that you'd just thrown up all over your savior. Before you could squeak out an apology, you were doubled over as more bile forced itself out of your already sore throat, leaving a sour taste in your mouth.

"W-well now, sweat pea, better ta git it out now..." shrugged Lester, taking a red handkerchief out of his back pocket and handing it to you.

Even after you'd accidentally barfed all over him, this man was still taking care of you. Once you were cleaned up a little, Lester grabbed a very messy towel out of his truck and wiped himself off. Daisy peaked out of his pocket, quickly retreating back to safety when you let out a low groan.

"S-sorry m-mister..." you rasped, nearly staggering to the ground you were so weak.

"I-it's alright. You ain't hurtin' no one... jus' git it out," Lester said, "That's it, now."

He hesitated at first, then began to gently rub your back and hold your hair out of the way. You couldn't lie to yourself, it felt good. The first bit of tenderness you've been shown in a long time.

Once you were through purging your painfully empty stomach, Lester gave you some lukewarm water from a questionable looking plastic bottle and helped you into the passenger seat. It wasn't until he closed the door that your tired eyes noticed that there was no way to open it from the inside nor was there any means to roll down the window.

Was this man actually helping you or taking this opportunity to kidnap you? At this point, you were too sick and exhausted to care.

Another crooked grin crossed Lester's face as he scratched his little raccoon's head. After settling into the driver's seat, he checked on you again before the old truck's engine rumbled to life.

"Don'cha worry none, sweat pea. I'ma take ya home a-an' gitcha somethin' ta make ya feel better. "

Home... you didn't have one anymore. Slowly, you nodded your head, leaning against the dirty window before closing your eyes.

* * *

Yes, I love the idea that Lester takes care of orphaned baby woodland critters he finds on the side of the road. A lovely individual in the discord group I'm in suggested it and told me to roll with it so I did! (Daisy seemed like the perfect cute redneck name so there's that!)

I do plan to make more parts and post the whole thing to my AO3. The stinky roadkill man deserves love! He also strikes me as the friendliest of the three Sinclair brothers.

[mostlydysfunction]

From The Stars, Part 7

Summary: The time has come for the birth. 

Warnings: Definitely some descriptive, gory birth/egg laying in this one. Not really for the faint of heart. 

Authors Note: So I was going to wait to do the birth until the next part but I really wanted to get it over with cause I knew it was going to be a big turning part in this story and I could totally make this like a 50 part story but I wanted to keep this one more on the shorter side, so y’all get the birth in this one. It’s gross. My mind went there. I have no excuses. 

MASTERLIST

***********************************************************************************

“You must really like milk.” 

The statement draws Kira out of her daze. She had gone to the store to pick up some groceries. It seemed she couldn’t ever get enough to eat, and she had this awful need to constantly drink milk. So she had loaded her cart with as many gallons of milk as she could and she had been staring at the yogurt lost in thought when someone had commented on her strange pickings. 

“Oh, I’m...expecting company.” Kira mumbles, quickly heading out of that area and off towards the meat section. 

Along with a taste for milk she had also acquired a taste for meat, any kind of meat, raw or cooked. Milk and meat seemed to be the only things that tasted good to her and seemed to ease the constant ache of hunger that plagued her. She hadn’t wanted to leave the barn, but she knew she needed to stock up on something for a while. She had no idea how long the eggs would need to gestate. She had put on her biggest sweater to hide the swell of her stomach. It seemed they were getting bigger and bigger every day and she wasn’t sure how long she’d have before either they came out or they got too heavy to carry around. She couldn’t exactly ask anyone for help, nor could she send her alien out to do the shopping. Both would raise far too many questions. So she would stock up for the time being now before things took a turn. 

She felt strange. Like she should have been panicking. She was pregnant with an alien’s eggs. Walking around with alien babies in her body, shopping for groceries like it was just a normal day. Eventually she’d give birth to the eggs and have eight baby aliens running around. 

But she was calm. 

Freakishly calm. 

She grabs a few steaks, and enough ground beef to fill her freezer before heading towards the checkout. It’s early enough that there’s not many people in the store, thankfully not a lot of eyes to question her condition. It was a small town and most people knew at least who her dad was. The last thing she needed was for someone to recognize her and notice. How was she going to explain going from being not pregnant a month ago to looking like she was now five months pregnant? How would she explain the pregnancy? She couldn’t exactly tell the truth. People would think she’d lost it. 

Kira ignores the looks from the checker as she loads the gallons of milk and pounds of meat onto the counter. She pays before pushing her cart out to her car, loading it into the trunk. She’s glad to get out of the store and out of town. She felt anxious, like an itch at the back of her brain being away from her alien now. Even just being in the house while he was in the barn made her nervous. She knows part of it is the fact she could pop the eggs out at any moment, and he was her only hope for knowing what to do when that happens. But she can’t deny she had felt an intense connection with him now that she was carrying his clutch. Sometimes she thinks she can sense him communicating with her, more just feelings than actual formed words. 

Maybe she really was losing her mind. 

Kira loads up her fridge and freezer with milk and meat, popping open a gallon before sitting down on her couch. She was tired, her feet and ankles aching already from carrying around the heavy eggs. Her back constantly hurt and she couldn’t get comfortable enough to sleep very much. It had only been a week, but she couldn’t wait for the eggs to finally be birthed, just to give her body a break. 

********

Kira wakes to a cramping sensation in her lower abdomen. It had been just over a month since she’d been impregnated, and she looked like she was eight months pregnant with twins now. The eggs were heavy, making moving only necessary when it was unavoidable. Like bathroom trips or trips to the kitchen. This morning, however, Kira instantly feels the need to move. There’s a sheen of sweat on her skin, her lower abdomen cramping and spasming. 

She pulls herself up, grabbing her phone before heading to the kitchen. She had taken up residence on the couch, unable to make it up or down the stairs anymore. She grabs the half empty milk from the fridge, drinking a couple sips before her stomach turns violently, making her puke it back up into the sink. 

She’s washing the puke from her hair when her phone rings, startling her. It’s an unknown number, making her hesitant to answer it, but she does anyway. 

“Hello?” 

“Kira?” A familiar voice asks.  

“Dad?” 

“Hey, uh, I just wanted to check on you. See how you were doing.” 

“I’m uh-I’m alright.” She says, holding her breath as another cramp shoots through her. 

“Are you sure? You don’t sound well.” 

“I just...been feeling a bit sick this morning.” 

“Do you need to go to a doctor? I can come over and take you. Bring you something.” 

“No, no, I’ll be alright.” 

“Are you sure? I don’t like the idea of you being alone while you’re sick.” 

She’s not sure where this caring attitude was coming from all of a sudden, but she’s not in the mood for potentially fake concern. “No, I think it’s just a bug. I don’t want to risk getting you sick too.” 

He’s quiet for a moment. “Alright. If you’re sure.” 

“I am.” Kira takes a breath, relaxing as the cramping passes. “Maybe when I’m feeling better, we can meet up for coffee or something.” 

“Yeah. Sure. That sounds good.” 

“Okay. I’ll call you, I guess.” 

“Yeah.” 

Kira doesn’t say goodbye, hanging up the phone. She doesn’t know what prompted her father to suddenly start caring for her, or what he had even really called about. All she knows is she doesn’t want him showing up and witnessing what she knows is about to happen.

She stumbles to the door as a bigger cramp tears through her, aching up her spine and down along her legs. She feels the urge to go to the bathroom and vomit all at the same time, but her mind is driving her to get to one place. 

The barn. 

She pushes through the pain, taking twice as long to drag herself out to the barn, the door already open when she gets there. She slams it closed, locking it. She feels strangely territorial suddenly, not wanting anyone to witness what was going to happen. She hears the familiar hiss, her alien coming out of the darkness and close to her. She hisses at it in return, making it stop where it is. So many feelings and thoughts are rushing through her head, overwhelming her. But most of all, the pain throbbing deep in her pelvis is driving her mad. 

She yanks her pants off, glad she had been forced into sweatpants and leggings with the size her stomach had grown to. Something wet is dripping from her, sliding down her legs and dripping onto the floor. Something inside of her shifts, fluid gushing out onto the floor. The alien lets out a roaring hiss, pain rippling through Kira, forcing her to nearly double over. 

She starts to feel the need to push, kneeling down on the gooey floor. She’s sweaty and panting, something large starting to slide out of her body. She feels like she’s being torn open, the first egg starting to work its way out of her. She bears down on it, pushing hard with every wave of pain. More fluid gushes out of her, splattering onto the floor under her. She pushes herself up, squatting as best she can as she screams in pain, something sliding out of her canal with a force of fluid, a solid thunk sounding on the floor. 

Kira loses her balance, falling back on her bottom, the pain subsiding for a moment. Sitting on the floor, covered in bloody goo, was a black oblong-shaped egg. It had to be the size of an ostrich egg, if not bigger. Her alien steps closer, tilting its head as it stares down at the egg. It lets out a hiss, getting its face close to the egg. Kira doesn’t get to watch it, pain rippling through her again. 

She squats again, more fluid leaving her, the second egg coming out faster from her already stretched canal. Kira falls to her knees, her hand reaching out and touching the warm, gooey, blood covered egg under her. It’s strange in texture, not like a bird egg. Rougher, the outer shell thicker. It’s heavy in her hands, feeling more like a medicine ball than an egg as she moves it over to the first one. Sweat is dripping in her eyes now, her muscles cramping as the third, fourth and fifth eggs join the first two in the world. Each one looks identical, each one sapping more and more of her strength. 

Her legs are shaking, barely able to hold her up as she pushes out the sixth egg, even her cries of pain becoming more pitiful whimpers. There’s a pool under her feet on the floor, but she can’t see down far enough to see what it is. Her alien nudges her gently with its head, hissing quietly at her. She grips onto his arm, holding him tightly as she pushes the seventh egg out. 

Her legs do give out, sending her into a heap on the floor. Her muscles are contracting painfully, something leaking out of her continuously. Her vision is swimming, her breaths coming in shallow gasps. She feels weak, sick to her stomach. There was one egg left. One last one to push out. 

She rolls onto her back, pulling her legs up before pushing on her stomach, trying to guide the last egg out. She’s exhausted, tired of pushing. The smell in the barn is coppery from the blood, her blood. Her back arches, pushing her up, almost sitting as she forces the last egg from her body, just barely having time to wrap her hands around it before she falls back to the ground, unable to lift herself back up again. 

The last egg is smaller than the others had been, its color lighter. She wraps her arms around it, holding it against her chest. Blood and fluid soaks into her shirt but she doesn’t care, holding onto her last egg as her vision goes dark, her body giving out finally.

Part 8

[cockymclaughlin]

cw: oral fixation, gagging, D/s elements 

Tip of his tongue to his teeth. 

He isn’t biting down, but he’s burying the question somewhere between his ribs like it’ll help him figure himself out better if he pretends it’s not there. Except he can feel it like a warm spot, winding around his bones and echoing a sound through his veins. 

There isn’t enough drama surrounding this for him to put a real name to it, so he doesn’t, but he loves the idea anyway. He loves the thought of reaching into himself and tugging free something of value, something tangible enough to make sense of. 

Instead, he’s got this vibrating tension threading itself through him indelicately. 

Link’s in the office when he needs him to be, which is a godsend, and Rhett’s barely through his shaky monologue before Link’s shushing him gently, getting his hands on Rhett’s waist to guide him over the couch. 

And this is-- 

Yes. Okay, yes. This is exactly what Rhett needs, because he can’t seem to figure out how to fully fit himself within the confines of his own thoughts, and he’s, maybe just a little bit, panicking about something he can’t put his finger on. It’s okay, though; he doesn’t need to. He doesn’t need to figure any of this out. 

Not right now, at least. And Link’s not sitting him down on the couch, he’s patting at Rhett’s sides and saying, “Come on, big guy,” as he plops himself down, spreads his legs to, presumably, make room for Rhett on the floor in front of him. 

“What-- um,” but Link shushes him again, gestures at the floor. He’s jittery, like usual, but hypersensitive to every single one of Rhett’s moves, it seems. 

So Rhett sits, careful and easy, on the floor between Link’s spread legs. 

“You’re interrupting my alone time,” Link tells him, just barely a murmur, and Rhett’s shivering when he gets his hands in Rhett’s hair. Both of them at once, fingers dragging along his scalp. It’s supposed to feel like a scold, but it only mostly feels like a swell of pride in Rhett’s chest instead. 

This is more important, otherwise Link would have shooed him away. 

When he catches a knot with his fingers, he’s careful, easy, gentle about untangling it, and Rhett tilts his head back to rest on Link’s lap, to look up at him. From here, he looks like the molten center of the earth, magma and energy, and Rhett doesn’t touch but he wants to. 

He wants to. 

He settles for looking. 

Link tugs at his hair, just a little bit, and smiles at Rhett. Tilted down, fingers still in Rhett’s hair, holding him in place just so he can smile down at him, let him know who’s got the upper hand right now. 

Rhett’s okay. He’s okay, and he’s opening his mouth on reflex, before Link’s fingers have even made their way to his jaw. But his entire body is attuned to a singular thought right now, his brain firing half signals that all meet in the same place. 

And he wants. It’s a direct line of heat, centralized at the very tip of his tongue. 

Pressed to his teeth. 

Uncurled now, and Link’s fingers are finally at his jaw, under his chin, tilting him impossibly further so he can laugh, not cruelly, dripping with globs of heat, and what Rhett might be so bold as to think is sympathy. Rhett’s mouth closes again. 

The pad of his index finger, pressed to the meat of his lower lip. He says, “Calm down, man.” 

He lets his eyelids flutter shut. He’s floating, just a little bit, at the thinly-veiled order. He’s trying. He’s arching into the contact, paying attention to anything that isn’t his aching jaw, his aching back, his aching cock. 

Gosh, he’s hard already. 

And Link’s finger finally presses inside, just between his lips to rub at his teeth, his gums. It’s not sexy, it’s not what he wants, but he thinks that’s the point. 

“Alright,” Link murmurs, soft and sweet, and the hand under his chin slips down to his neck, feather light, so Rhett can open his mouth again. 

Instead, he just unclenches his jaw, relaxes, his teeth separating so Link can press his finger to the flat of Rhett’s tongue in his mouth. 

He doesn’t moan, but he shifts against the floor to refrain. 

It’s the pressure of it. The weight of Link’s finger on his tongue, something inescapable as he’s held in place and made to take whatever Link wants to give him. His fingers are slender and careful, tracing along the ridges of his teeth, a second one slipping between his slick lips to match the other. 

He’s full, then. His mind a little blank, his jaw a little more slack. His skin is fitting itself back in place over his bones instead of crawling. He aches a little less. 

And Link sucks in a heavy breath, asks him, “You gonna open up for me some more, pretty boy?” 

So Rhett opens his throat, waits for the inevitable. Usually, Link curls his fingers now, pushing further back, resting the tips along the curve of his tongue, as far back as he can, and Rhett-- 

Gosh, he wants. 

He wants and he wants and he wants. 

But Link slips his fingers back out of Rhett’s mouth instead, and he can’t help the way he whines, now, how he lets the first bit of real noise leave his lungs for the first time since Link had him sit on this godawful floor like this. 

He’s shushed again, a bit harsher this time, but he’s not in the mind to care about it right now. Singular thoughts, singular goal, and he’s tilting his head back and back some more, furrowing his brow, unable to fully see what Link’s thinking. 

It’s only about a second before Link’s other hand is pushing his head forward, the one with slick fingers at his chin again. He opens, hopeful, and is met with two fingers at once this time, the middle and ring, long and perfect and curling and curling and pressing back and back, his other hand on the back of Rhett’s head, guiding him forward all at the same time. 

He gags with it, but Link doesn’t pull away, just shushes him some more, or maybe that’s the just sound of Rhett’s pulse in his skull. He doesn’t know. He doesn’t know how to care right now, not when everything is just starting to shift right out of their sockets again, only this time they’re realigning themselves even better than before. 

Link’s murmuring something to him, something about being good, about being open, about how tight and hot he feels, and--

And his palm is resting open and warm and slick with Rhett’s own spit on his chin, curled around the lower part of his face as he fucks-- really, honestly fucks-- into Rhett’s mouth with fingers. Like, like he’s fingering him open. Curling them up and pressing like he’s looking for something. 

He feels-- 

Fuck. 

Fuck, he doesn’t know how he feels anymore. Weightless. Like his head is full of cotton, like his veins and cells and atoms have all stopped in tandem to watch him tremble to pieces. 

Vaguely, he’s aware of his fingers digging dents into Link’s calves from behind him, searching desperately for something to ground himself with, but he doesn’t seem concerned, so Rhett isn’t either. 

He can hear the wet sounds of Link’s fingers in his throat, has to bite back another gag. 

He hears Link tell him, “Good boy, Rhett. You’re being so good.” 

And Rhett tries to say thank you. He tries to blink through the bleariness and get a better picture of him, but realizes there are tears in the way, a steady stream of them making a mess down his face now. He’s wet all over, from his eyes to the bottom of his chin. 

It’s obscene, and he feel so used. He’s being wrung dry, Link’s fingers rough and unforgiving in his throat, pulling out for just a moment, a beat, to let Rhett drag in unsteady breaths. 

He’s floating. 

He’s being held up by Link’s middle fingers on his right hand, curled deep in the back of his throat. When he tries to swallow, it’s just a pitiful, fluttering thing that has Link chuckling softly, saying, “Oh, try one more time, yeah?” 

So Rhett does, and it’s even harder this time for some reason, and Link presses back at the same time, and Rhett’s gagging. It’s harsh and it starts in his spine. 

He feels split open, flayed, raw, the corners of his mouth sealing themselves around the bulky knuckles of Link’s fist. He isn’t weeping, but he’s crying, he knows it. He can taste the salt of his tears on his tongue. 

But god, he’s floating. 

And by the time Link is pulling his fingers out, telling him, “Touch yourself,” Rhett’s just about somewhere else entirely. 

Fumbling with his zipper is too hard, so he just settles for cupping his hands over himself, rocking his hips into the pressure there. It’s easier, like this, to focus on Link’s fingers sliding through the stringy mess of spit again, pressing back and back and back and curling up and up and up. 

He’s ruthless. 

His mouth lands on Rhett’s forehead as he tells him, “There you go. You gonna make yourself come, pretty boy?” as he thrusts his fingers into Rhett’s throat. 

There’s a plea that he can’t quite form, right on the tip of Rhett’s tongue. Pressed to the meaty part of Link’s fingers. 

And when he comes, it’s because Link flutters his fingers, wiggles them inside Rhett’s throat, has him jerking into the feeling of it, another gag harshing its way out of his body. 

And he comes and he comes, his own hands pressed to his cock through his pants like he’s still learning how to jerk off, too desperate to take off his pants, to even dip his hand inside. Too invested in the feeling of Link’s skin on his tongue, the taste of his own desperation creeping up the inside of his esophagus. 

Link’s fingers still, just resting on his tongue, and he pets through Rhett’s hair with the other hand, cradling instead of jerking him forward into the movement. 

He falls back against Link, limp and tired and fuzzy. 

Link slips his fingers free from Rhett’s wet mouth, pauses for a minute and shifts before he’s wiping at Rhett’s face with something. It’s soft and careful, cleaning him free of spit and tears and whatever else. 

He leans forward, the shadow startling for all of a second, presses warm lips to Rhett’s forehead again. 

“Better?” he asks, 

And Rhett doesn’t trust his voice. He doesn’t know how he’s going to talk without the fluttering of Link’s fingers inside of him. So he nods instead. 

He swallows, and swears he can feel indentions where Link’s fingers were, where his throat has made place for them. 

Where he’s made place for him. 

He feels better. 

[slashthedice]

Ghost Face x survivor prompt? Something NSFW? Maybe including his raging narcissistic feelings about himself and everyone else, lmao.

I’m drunk and thirsty for Jed Olsen, so frankly idc if this is out of my posting order. My bby requested some narcissistic smut and I aim to deliver. NSFW below. 

“Oh god,” you mewled, back burning as it rubbed and scraped against the concrete floor.

You were in The Gideon Meat Plant, the unfortunate location of the most recent trial you had been thrust into at the behest of the Entity. You should have known when your heartbeat hadn’t kicked into overdrive, should have known when that tell-tale chill ran down your spine, should have known when you felt eyes boring into the back of your neck. You should have known you were being stalked, and you should have realized that it was the ever infamous Ghost Face behind it all.

Should haves didn’t change the fact that he had nearly been able to rip you away from the generator you had been working on. You ran for your life when you realized he was breathing down your neck. You had actually managed to surprise him, causing him to swing that deadly knife through open air, barely missing the targeted plane of your back as you dove away from him. You had scrambled and run, feet sliding across the industrial floor as you attempted to put distance between yourself and him.

Jed was a mixed bag. You never knew in a trial whether he was going to fuck or kill you, sometimes it was both. No matter what, the wisest move was to run away. The chase hadn’t lasted long.

Jed caught up to you quickly enough, it was always hard to escape in The Game, but instead of the bite of a blade carving through your back, he caught you by a fist full of your shirt and hauled your body backwards to press against the hard lines of his chest. He chuckled lowly in your ear, causing chills to race through you and heat to curl and settle in your core. His gloved hands traversed your body, cupping and rolling your flesh. He groaned appreciatively as his leather-clad fingers took handfuls of your breasts.

You burned with a wild mixture of shame and excitement, choking down the pleased sounds that gathered at the back of your throat, threatening to overflow and spill from your lips. Moaning would feed his ego, and possibly reveal what exactly you were up to to your fellow survivors. You didn’t want him to know just how badly you wanted him, how much he made you ache. You pressed your thighs together in what you hoped was a discreet manor, willing away the desire that pearled there like dew on the petals of a flower.

Your willpower meant nothing to the killer.

He spun you around, forcing you to look at his now maskless face. There was no denying he was handsome, but you would not feed his pride by telling him so. Besides, you had little time to consider the intricacies of his well-formed facial structure before he had claimed your mouth with his own. He was intense, forceful, pushing his tongue past your lips to taste you, and you let him. He left you a flushed, panting mess.

He didn’t even have to tell you what he wanted from you next. Like a penitent sinner, you dropped to your knees before him, watching with a lust burdened gaze as he leisurely undid the buckles on his belt and clasp of his pants. He freed himself from the confines of the leather, and you reached for him eagerly. Even flaccid, he felt heavy in your grasp. The satin skin slid easily through your grip as you worked his length with your hands, never removing your eyes from his. He hardened beneath your touch, and he cupped your jaw with his hand. The leather felt odd, but not unpleasant against your face, and you leaned into his palm.

He soon grew bored of your hands alone, and took a handful of your hair, forcing your head towards his cock and prodding at your lips with the tip. You obliged his silent demand, allowing your tongue to loll out so that you could taste him. You had grown familiar with his flavor of salt, sweat, and something uniquely him. You were addicted, eager for your fix.

He felt weighty against you, you dragged your tongue up the underside of his length, tracing the vein there with a sort of reverence. He grasped your hair harder, apparently in no mood for teasing kitten licks and slow stimulation. You were happy to oblige, opening wide before closing your lips around the head. You sucked lightly, pressing your tongue to the underside once more and successfully dragging a groan from him. He forced you down further, nearly causing you to choke as he directed your movements. You grasped at the slim lines of his hips, attempting to stop him from thrusting into your mouth. It wouldn’t be the first time he fucked your throat until it was raw, painful, and near impossible to speak, but you hoped that he would take mercy on you. He seemed to be in a generous-- or at the very least benevolent-- mood, as after causing you to choke and gag while he held you down with your nose pressed to his pubic bone for a few seconds, he eased his grip on your hair and allowed you to pull back. You wheezed and sucked in greedy lungfuls of hard-won air, panting while waiting for your breathing to return to normal.

Jed wasted no time pushing you onto your back before he had pounced upon your prone form like a predator finished playing with its food and going for the kill. He grasped the hem of your shirt and dragged it up over your stomach and breasts. His knife found the center of your bra and sliced the delicate fabric, forcing the ruined garment away to expose your chest to his hungry eyes. You frantically undid your pants before shoving the material down your thighs so that he wouldn’t ruin them. He allowed you to kick the material away, before he surged forward once more and settled himself easily between your thighs. You felt him burning against your core, length dragging tantalizingly between your slickened folds. It wasn’t fair how easily he turned you on.

You bit down on your lower lip hard enough to draw blood when he thrust into you without warning. The tang of copper washed away the remnants of his taste as blood flowed across your tongue. You had just barely managed to stifle your sound of shock at the sudden intrusion, but your garbled moans around the mouthful of blood were almost as telling as the desperate roll of your hips against his as he began to pound into your ravening cunt. That same dark chuckle vibrated through the space, you couldn’t hide your desire from him. A sharp thrust of his hips caused a wet slap of skin against skin and forced a high-pitched, pleased sound from your throat.

“That’s right, baby,” he rasped against your throat, tongue tracing your pulse. “No one else makes you feel this good. I’m the only one that can fill you up like this.”

Your breaths heaved in your chest as he picked up his pace, slamming into you at a near frenzied tempo. Your moaning became your invocation, a prayer directed towards him, begging for the divine mercy of your release. He sought your litany of indecipherable devotion, getting drunk off the sounds he caused, the power he knew he had over you.

Ecstasy took hold of your body as fireworks burst in your core and danced behind your eyelids. You thrashed your head and grasped at his biceps in a desperate attempt to ground yourself, even as he continued to drill into you through your release. As wave after wave of aftershocks rippled through you, you would have sworn that heaven was close enough for you to reach out and grab.

Jed grit his teeth against the pleasure that threatened to overwhelm him. The grasping of your walls on his cock proved almost too much to handle. His hips stuttered and slowed in their rhythm as he milked your orgasm for as long as he could. Finally allowing himself his own finish when you finally went slack beneath him, body humming and trembling with pleasure and exhaustion. He grunted and came inside you, enthralled with the way you sucked in a harsh breath at the feeling of his seed spilling within your overwrought sex.

He allowed himself a moment to recover, cock still sheathed inside your now sloppy cunt. He pulled out slowly, torturously so, just to watch the way your combined cum spilled from your entrance. He was tempted momentarily to collect it with his fingers and force it back inside you. He liked the thought of you full of him, unable to forget what he had done to you. It would be easy to kill you now, slack and vulnerable as you were, but he much preferred the idea of you continuing on in the trial with his release spilling from inside you as you worked on generators and rescued teammates, all while pretending you hadn’t just had the fuck of your life from the best the Entity had to offer.

He kissed you hard one last time, tasting your blood as you moved your mouth lazily against his, before he stood and readjusted himself. The final touch was his mask sliding back down over his face. He spared you a passing glance before leaving you to clean yourself up while he stalked off to find the others. Playtime was all well and good, but now was time for the real fun to begin.

[tibbinswrites]

Suptober Day 15 - Led Zeppelin

Castiel sat in the passenger seat of the stationary impala, twisting a cassette tape in his hands. As far as he could tell, this was the only place he could actually play a cassette tape within the protective salt line that that demon… Belphegor had made. His fist closed over the little plastic rectangle when he thought of that creature using his son’s corpse as a meat suit. He almost got out of the car and hurled it as far as he could, or crushed it in his hand or yanked out the tape song by song until there was nothing of it left.

He was so angry at Dean, for not being more angry, for not looking disgusted whenever the demon spoke using Jack’s voice or walked around using Jack’s legs. Had he been lying about caring for Jack this whole time? Or was he secretly glad that the boy who had killed his mother was being defiled even in death? Did this speak of justice to the Righteous Man?

Castiel took in a shuddering breath and let it out just as painfully. Why did it hurt so much? The demon had proven useful so far. Sam had called it a ‘necessary evil’ though he hadn’t been able to look Castiel in the eyes as he’d said it. At least Sam seemed to find it as disturbing as he did, he wasn’t alone in his grief, he just… he’d feel it less if Dean showed any signs of feeling it too.

Castiel slipped the tape into the deck and pushed play. Ramble On was the first song on the tape, probably the most fitting summation of the Winchesters’ lives.

He wasn’t sure why he carried the tape around with him rather than leaving it in his car, though if he had left it in his car then he wouldn’t be able to listen to it now. Though exactly why he had the urge to listen to it now he didn’t know either, except that it made him feel closer to Dean, or at least, the version of Dean that might care that he was grieving and hurt and angry, the Dean that would place a grounding hand to his shoulder, or just sit in solemn silence with him, not the Dean who was inside the school somewhere and would only snap at him or give him a task to complete or ignore him completely.

The song faded over to In My Time of Dying and Castiel reached to press the fast forward button, he was far too raw to listen someone asking God for a spare pair of wings. As though God wasn’t the one burning them away in the first place.

Castiel sniffed and pressed play, then re-wind, then play again to get it to the beginning of the next song. When the Levee Breaks. There was a lump forming in his throat as the notes swelled inside the car. His hands were still twisting in his lap and he stared straight ahead at the brick wall of the school, letting the songs tick over into each other, the lyrics passing through him, each of them plucking at a different string of his heart. Why was he still listening? When had he become so human?

He jolted when the door to the driver’s side door creaked open.

“What are you doing in here?” Dean asked, confrontational but not angry.

Castiel turned to him, not really sure what to say. He didn’t have a purpose for being out here really, he didn’t have a practical reason for sitting in the impala listening to Stairway to Heaven when he should be helping to figure out a strategy, to come up with a plan of what they were going to do next. Dean’s face was a heavy scowl and Cas just didn’t have the energy for another fight right now.

Yes, there are two paths you can go by, But in the long run There’s still time to change the road you’re on…

Something shifted in Dean’s expression as his eyes flicked to the tape deck, a little of the hard edge flaked away and he slid into the driver’s seat, shutting the door behind him.

“I-” Castiel croaked, and he realised his face was wet, he’d been crying and Dean had seen him. Hurriedly, he wiped at his face with his sleeve, then laughed, the sound hollow and horrible. “I’m not okay,” he confessed.

Dean looked at him for a long moment and Castiel saw pain in those green eyes, as much pain as he himself felt, whether it was for Jack or for Mary or a combination of the two it suddenly didn’t matter, they were both suffering, and Castiel couldn’t stand to be isolated from Dean’s pain any more than he could shoulder his own. He knew that he needed something right now; he needed a connection with the man he loved, he needed proof that he hadn’t lost him too.

He opened his mouth, then closed it again, defeat and grief crashing over him once more and he dropped his head in shame. He didn’t know what he was trying to ask for or how on earth Dean would be able to give it. Perhaps he wasn’t that human after all.

He heard the gentle clearing of a throat and looked up, Dean had raised his arm across the top of the seats and was inviting him in with a tilt of his head.

Castiel went willingly, immediately; he practically flung himself into Dean’s chest, wrapping his arms tight around the hunter’s waist, drawing his legs up and over the gear stick so he could press himself closer. He breathed in Dean’s smell, sweat just beginning to stale, gunpowder, the leather of the impala, Castiel inhaled it and was comforted. He felt those arms close tenderly around him, one staying steady while the other stroked up and down his spine.

“Shh,” he said softly, “I know.”

“I- I missed you.” Cas sobbed, uncaring about the tears that were falling now, uncaring that he wasn’t making sense, Dean was here, and he was holding him, “I’m so angry, and I thought you h- hated me.”

“Never,” Dean assured him as soft guitar started playing through the speakers, “I’m just angry too.”

Castiel nodded into Dean’s jacket and it suddenly made perfect sense.

“It is the springtime of my loving.” Dean sung quietly, his voice scratchy and ever so slightly out of time, “The second season I am to know. You are the sunlight in my growing, so little warmth I've felt before.”

He began rocking gently, moving Castiel with him like he was a young child to be soothed. Castiel tightened his hold, fisting his hands in Dean’s shirt, overwhelmed, he felt like a child; he didn’t think he’d ever been so vulnerable as he was in this moment, in Dean’s arms, missing his son, knowing he’d failed him, knowing he’d broken his promise to Kelly, his promise to himself, and yet, allowing that pain the space to breathe, to float around them instead of trapping it inside, it felt something like healing.

“Speak to me only with your eyes, it is to you I give this tune.”

So he cried into Dean’s chest, feeling the rumble of his voice, the pressure of hands moving up and down his back, and he let himself believe that it was helping.

“I cursed the gloom that set upon us.” Then there were fingers lightly touching under his chin and his eyes came up to meet startlingly earnest green, close and soft and afraid. “But I know that I love you so.”

Castiel swallowed, unable or unwilling to look away from those eyes, the eyes that he had been so intrigued by in Hell, the eyes that had laughed with him, grieved with him, frosted him out or laid themselves bare, the eyes that showed the soul of the man Castiel had fallen in love with a long time ago.

He raised a hand to touch Dean’s cheek lightly, “This is the wonder of devotion,” he intoned, beating Dean to the words before leaning in to press their lips together.

Castiel knew that when the tape ended, so would this; he knew that the anger would return and the fighting and the full impact of missing and the rest of the world that was ending, but that was all outside of this moment, far away and not now.

The rain couldn’t touch them in here.

@winchester-reload

If you liked this, please consider buying me a coffee.

[perspective-series]

Vampire Perspective (5/17)

By: @arc852 and @hiddendreamer67

Warnings: Death threats, slight starvation, unwanted touching, fear, Virgil

First Chapter || Previous Chapter || Next Chapter

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The next evening, about an hour after sunset, Virgil finally rose from his coffin. He pushed the lid to the side, giving a wide yawn. 

 Logan’s tired gaze immediately went to the vampire’s coffin as it was opened, revealing said vampire. He had tried to take a nap during the time he was alone but he found it difficult. He, maybe, got an hour rest at the most, so he was thoroughly exhausted. 

 And also very hungry.

Virgil came over, a pleased sort of expression on his face. “Evening.” He teased, looking into the cage.

 Logan found himself scooting further back, trying to put as much distance between himself and the vampire as he could. He didn’t answer back, just looked down as he half-consciously clutched his stomach.

Virgil looked over the borrower. Something seemed… off. Was it getting sick? That would certainly be gross, almost like spoiled food. But it didn’t look particularly green. Still, Virgil sensed that this was more than just plain fear. It would be faster to just eat the borrower and be done with it, but now he found himself growing curious.

“What?” Virgil squinted. “What’s wrong with you?”

 Logan bit his lip. “I-I am quite...hungry.” He said, not meeting the vampire’s red gaze. “I know you do not plan on me surviving here long but something to fill me up will surely make your own...meal of me a bit larger.” He hated that line of reasoning but he had to assume it would be the only one the vampire would listen to. 

“...crap.” Virgil muttered to himself. He had forgotten mortals needed actual food. What did mortals eat these days, anyhow? Regardless, the borrower had a point. It would be more satisfying if the borrower was healthy (probably), and Virgil could always wait longer. He wasn’t feeling very famished tonight anyways.

“Alright, stay here.” Virgil gave a groan, puffing out into a bat and flying off into the forest. Humans were hunter/gatherers, and if borrowers still stole from humans they must eat the same things. Some meat would suffice, and likely any meat.

It was with this thought process that Virgil returned to his bedroom a few hours later, looking a bit bedraggled and holding his catch by its tail.

“Will this do?” Virgil asked, swinging the dead squirrel slightly back and forth.

 Logan looked at the dead rodent in shock and disgust, holding his arm up to his nose to block out the horrid stench coming from it. “Er, n-no, I-I don’t eat raw meat...or cooked squirrel for that matter. Either could get me sick.” Who knew what kind of diseases the animal had?

“Are you kidding me?” Virgil’s nose crinkled in annoyance. “You’re seriously that picky and delicate? Jeez, how do you even survive.”

 By not eating that. Logan thought, but didn’t say out loud. “We survive by living off the humans we live with. Taking scraps of food they leave out and things they wouldn’t miss to use as supplies.” Logan explained.

“Well, in case you haven’t noticed, I ain’t human.” Virgil snarled. “What can you eat that’s outside?”

 Logan flinched back before quickly trying to compose himself. “I...suppose berries would suffice. As long as they aren’t poisonous, of course.” Thankfully, Logan had been taught to tell as he was sure the vampire had no idea of such things.

“How the hell am I supposed to tell if they’re poisonous?” Virgil muttered, more to himself as he stomped out the door.

The vampire returned shortly, a strange assortment of berries in his hand and no dead squirrels in sight.

“Here.” He said gruffly, opening the cage and dumping them in.

 Logan moved out of the way as the berries were dumped near him. He slowly moved closer, watching the vampire warily, before inspecting the different berries. He nodded. “Yes, most of these are safe to eat as far as I can tell.” He would avoid the few he wasn’t sure about or knew to be fairly poisonous. He picked one up and took a bite, almost moaning at finally having some food in him. He then paused. “...Thank you.”

“Sure thing.” Virgil found himself watching the borrower, curious about his eating habits. He seemed to get weirdly into some of the berries, which was a bold statement for a guy who lived off blood.

 Logan continued to eat, until he noticed the vampire staring at him. He paused and coughed awkwardly. “May I...help you?”

“You’re weird.” Virgil said bluntly.

 Logan blinked, setting the berry down. “I’m...sorry?” The vampire was calling him weird?

“Borrowers are so strange.” Virgil frowned, now going off on a bit of a tangent. “If you all are so little and fragile, I don’t understand how you’ve survived this long.”

 Logan sighed. “I understand why it may be hard for you to understand but it really is quite simple.” Logan adjusted his glasses. “We hardly ever venture out outside, at least, for the most part. We stay indoors and live off whatever humans live in the building. We stick to the inside of walls and make our homes there, hidden and away from anyone who might want to do us harm.”

 Logan looked away, examining another berry. “Yes, it is very dangerous. But it’s life. I, and other borrowers, have been living this way for many, many years.”

“Believe me, I know, I was there.” Virgil gave an amused smirk.

 Logan met Virgil’s eyes after a moment. “...Oh? How old are you, exactly?” He had heard vampires lived a long time but never knew what that meant.

“Older than you’ll ever be.” Virgil said cryptically. 

 “I...well, yes, I would assume so, I have heard vampires could live to be hundreds of years old. But that doesn’t quite answer my question.” Logan said, raising an eyebrow.

“Aww, c’mon, don’t you know it’s rude to ask a vamp his age?” Virgil teased. “But go on, guess. How old do I look? Just remember I don’t take well to insults.” Virgil gave a playful snap of his teeth.

 Logan flinched back and gulped, adjusting his glasses. “Well...you look like you are only 22, maybe 24 at the most. But I know that is not the case based on how you are acting.” Logan hummed, looking the vampire over. “I’ll guess...200 years? Give or take a few years, of course.”

Virgil stared at the borrower for a long time, taking pleasure in the way he squirmed uncomfortably.

“You flatter me.” Virgil finally said, giving him a pleased- well, not exactly a smile, but not the usual condescending smirk either. “I’m older, actually. 764 years come December.”

 Logan’s eyes widened. “That...is certainly a long time to be alive.” He would be but a small blip in the vampire’s timeline. A thought that really put his own existence into thought.

“Yeah.” Virgil shrugged. The whole immortality thing lost its appeal somewhere in the century or two he spent alone. “How old are you, anyhow?”

 “I am 24.” Logan answered.

“Weird.” Virgil tried to think back to when he was 24- he thought it had something to do with the plague.

 Logan thought that was a better way to summarize the vampire, not himself. He ate another bite of a berry in careful thought. “I know...it does not really matter. But it’s getting tiresome referring to you as ‘the vampire’. What is your name?”

Virgil blinked, surprised the borrower was even curious. “Why do you care? I thought you were supposed to be quaking in your boots and cowering in my shadow.”

 “Oh, I am very much terrified of my fate.” Logan admitted, shifting his stance. “But at this point, it’s not worth it  to dwell in my own fear. I...still have a little time. I don’t want to spend it unable to do anything.” Not to mention, focusing on fear would stop him from finding a way to escape; but he wasn’t about to let the vampire know that.

...huh. “Virgil.” Virgil introduced himself, tilting his head. This borrower was certainly...strange. 

 “Logan.” He introduced back, despite not being asked. “I would say it was pleasant to meet you but...I believe that kind of courtesy does not apply here.”

Virgil snorted, that dark gleam in his eye again. “You only say that because I’m only keeping you around until I can suck you dry.”

 Logan felt a chill go down his spine and he shivered. “Well...yes. That’s why I implied it was not nice to meet you. I’d rather we had never met, in fact.”

“Lucky for me you didn’t get a say then.” Virgil glanced out the window, frowning at how it had begun to lighten. “Ugh, it’s nearly morning already? Great, I spent the whole night scouring the stupid forest for plants.”

 “Already?” Had the night passed so quickly already?

“Yeah, that’s how time works.” Virgil grumbled, getting back into his coffin. “Don’t go anywhere.”

Logan furrowed his eyebrows. “Where would I go?” He asked, looking around at the cage that had him effectively trapped.

“Oh yeah.” Virgil seemed to find this amusing, a smirk on his face before he was once again encased.

 Logan sighed and prepared for another long day alone with his thoughts. He wondered if tonight was the night he would be eaten…

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

 Logan glanced out the window where the sun was just starting to set. He let out a tense sigh, curling in on himself as he stared down at the metal floor. He knew there was no use dwelling on the past...but he couldn’t help it. His mind kept wandering to Roman and what Virgil had told him before.

Roman was...gone. Was it his fault? Logically he knew there was nothing he could have done but some deep rooted part of him was blaming himself for all of this happening. If he had just been paying more attention or-or something then maybe he wouldn’t be here, awaiting his own death.

 Maybe Roman would still be alive.

 Logan didn’t want to give up but he was finding it difficult to figure out a way out. He had already scoped out the cage he was in several times and so far, nothing had presented itself as a way to escape. He truly was trapped and at Virgil’s mercy.

 Well...at least he would be seeing Roman again soon.

There was a shuffling from the coffin a few minutes later, the vampire appearing once the window had gone dark.

Virgil gave a groan, stretching his arms above his head. The familiar scent of borrower wafted around his room, making Logan into almost an aromatherapy candle.

Virgil felt himself growing hungrier, but still the thought of just eating the borrower felt… anticlimactic. Yes, surely that was the reason for the tightening in his throat. It would be too easy.

“Evening.” Virgil greeted, crossing his arms in an intimidating fashion and creeping over to the cage.

 Logan felt his heart rate spike up in fear. He forced his facial features to remain neutral, though. He nodded. “Evening.” His hands tightened it’s hold on the fabric of his jeans, waiting for the news that this was it. His last few moments.

“You’re fairly polite for a snack.” Virgil teased, reaching out to unlock the enclosure with agonizing slowness.

 Logan’s eyes widened, forgoing the neutral expression and he jumped to his feet. “L-Like I said, I see n-no point in letting my...my fear consume me.” Although he would admit, he was having a hard time getting a handle on it right now. 

“Fear consume you, huh?” Virgil grinned, showing off his fangs as he snatched up the borrower. “Unfortunate choice of words.”

 Logan yelped, shaking in the vampire’s tight grip. “I-I, that was com-completely unintentional.” He stuttered. He stared into Virgil’s mouth and at his fangs for only a moment before he had to turn his head away.

Virgil gave an appreciative hum. “You know for someone who’s claiming to be unafraid, you’re shaking quite a bit.”

 “Well it’s...it’s a little hard when I know-when I know what’s about to h-happen.” Logan winced. He truly wished he could stop but his body wasn’t listening.

“Oh, really?” Virgil tilted his head, pretending to be confused. “And what exactly is going to happen? Tell me.”

 Logan shut his eyes tight at the demand. “You...You are going to e-eat me.” He said quietly, a few tears escaping his closed eyes.

Virgil paused, watching the borrower break down in his hand. He had hoped this would help rouse some of his predatorial instincts, but now he just felt that terrible nausea again, throwing him briefly back to horrible memories. Curse this stupid sympathetic spirit of his, it only landed him in trouble. 

“...nah.” Virgil shrugged, giving a laid back appearance.

 Logan blinked, a few more tears falling. He looked up at Virgil. “Wh-What?” He felt hope rise up in his chest but he pushed it down, knowing it couldn’t be that simple.

“Not tonight, that’s too easy.” Virgil decided. Maybe tomorrow he’d be hungry enough to go through with it.

 “I see…” Not what he was hoping but it seemed like he at least had another night to live. Part of him was thankful though the other part was simply wishing to be done with it already. “So...why am I out then?” He asked, squirming some more in the grip.

“I got bored, and it’s fun to see you struggle.” Virgil’s expression darkened maniacally, with a flick of his wrist sending the borrower into the air.

 “Ah!” Logan screamed as he was suddenly airborne. He landed with a soft thud and a groan back onto Virgil’s palm. His shaking had increased. “P-Please, don’t…”

“Don’t what?” Virgil tossed again, catching with his non-dominant hand this time. “Need I remind you of my cat-like reflexes?”

 Logan screamed again, shakily sitting up as he landed again. “A-All the same, one wrong move and I could…” He gulped, catching how far up he was from the ground.

“Fall to an early untimely death?” Virgil supplied, twisting his wrist and dangling Logan upside-down by his fingers.

 “Y-Yes!” Logan answered as he felt a rush of blood go to his head. Already he was becoming dizzy. “Put me down!” He struggled for a second before realizing how bad of an idea that was and stilled.

“Oh come now, I don’t think you’d really die from this height.” Virgil slowly began to swing the borrower back and forth. “But if you’re a betting man… hey, it’s your funeral. I’m happy to indulge you to prove it. The roof, however, that would be fatal for your brittle baby bones.”

 “No! I am certainly not, please, I thought you wanted me alive when you ate me!” Logan exclaimed, once again using logic the vampire would take to.

“Eh, blood is blood, even if freshly killed.” Virgil wondered if maybe that would make it easier to stomach. Maybe he should just off the borrower and be done with it. Once the borrower was dead there’d be no use in wasting it.

 Logan’s eyes widened but...he knew there was nothing he could do. If Virgil wanted to kill him now then...then he would be killed. At least he wouldn’t have to be eaten alive anymore. He slumped, ceasing his struggles. “Well...I cannot stop you.” He shut his eyes tight, preparing for a fall and hoping his death was quick and painless.

[devilrising]

Fallen Draco, Pt. 8

This story follows a prompt written by @mymindsmadness

Summary: AU where Draco is a fallen angel, and the way he gets his wings back is by guiding Harry in defeating Voldemort, but it all goes wrong when Draco starts falling in love with Harry.

Word Count (Part 8): 3,291

Word Count (Total): 25101

Rating: Mature

Warnings: Mentions of abuse/torture (non-graphic), this part also includes more graphic transformations so its a little bit gory.

***

15th April, 1998

“Hey Draco?” My stomach starts fluttering, a shiver racing down my spine. I’m still not used to it. Not used to Harry, Harry, addressing me like a friend. Like someone important to him. Of course, he can’t know how much it delights me.

“Yeah?” I glance up from the book in my lap.

“Do you want to help me cook dinner?” Again. I’ve been helping him for a while now, but every time he asks I get nervous. Worried I’ll fuck up terribly and explode his house. Cooking does not work for me, despite being, in my opinion, amazing at Potions. Mind you, Harry is the opposite. He sucks at Potions but is great in the kitchen.

“I guess so,” I say, mustering all the nonchalance in the world. “What is it?”

Harry smirks, his eyes glistening in the dull light of my doorway. “Chicken Balti.”

“Merlin,” I mutter, shaking my head. “Last time we tried we couldn’t tell the kitchen apart from a spice shop.”

“All the more reason to try again!” He grins. “May I?” He gestures to my room, and I nod. Walking in, he reaches his arms out and grabs my hands. I’m pulled off of my bed and dragged out of my room. Fighting the urge to pull Harry closer, I instead pull my hand away.

I don’t know when I started having urges like that. They have become a big part of my day though. Constantly wanting to touch the man near me, but not letting myself reach out. Constantly biting my tongue so I don’t let anything slip. It’s exhausting but thrilling at the exact same time. And I’m terrified. I know what it means. I’m not stupid. I like him. But why the fuck do I like him? I should hate him. Right?

“Draco?”

I’m pulled from my obsessive mind by Harry’s hand on my shoulder. We are standing in the kitchen now. “Hmmm.”

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah, fine. Why?”

“You just, I don’t know, zoned out.”

“Oh. Just thinking.”

“About what?” A smile tugs at his lips.

I don’t reply, just shake my head and move his hand off me. “It’s not important.” I know I sound dismissive, but he can’t know. “Where’s the chicken?”

Harry shakes his head, but points to the ‘fridge’. We start collecting all of the spices, herbs, liquids, and bowls. The counter is piled high with every spice under the sun. I pull the recipe closer to me and read off the first step. “Put the chicken in a medium, and mix in the lime juice, paprika, chilli powder, and a grinding of black pepper. Then leave to marinate for at least fifteen minutes.”

“I’ll do the chicken, you add the juice.” I nod at Harry’s suggestion. He learned last time how much I dislike handling raw meat. It’s slimy, and gross, and weird. I flat the bowl in front of Harry, who puts the chicken into it and then slides it towards me. The lime juice tips itself in as Harry mixes in some paprika. I drop the chilli powder in as he adds some pepper.

“Step one is complete,” I say.

“That it is. What’s next?”

We work through the remainder of the steps, and eventually it’s simmering on the ‘stove’. I don’t see why we couldn’t magically cook it, but Harry wanted to do it the muggle way. Something about preserving the taste. I pull two bowls out of the cupboard along with the cutlery, and walk the long trek over to the dining room. Realising last minute that I really should’ve charmed the glasses to follow me, I scowl. I’ll have to do two trips. The dining table is massive, with torches in a line down the middle. Despite the muggle electricity Harry claims is in place in the house, it refuses to move the candles. Harry complains about it to no end. I set the table, or rather the two seats opposite each other at the end closest to the entrance, and leave. It may be better than the entrance way, but it is still dusty, and no amount of charms or manual labour can remove it. I’ve tried.

“Draco, here,” Harry’s voice calls out as I enter the kitchen again. I race over to where he is struggling to take the pot off the ‘stove’. I rush to help, and together we get it onto the counter. “Merlin that was heavy,” he grumbles.

“Come on, then.” I open the ‘fridge’, take out the bottle of Cabernet, and charm both of them to float behind us as we walk into the dining room. My magic dishes the meal out in perfect serves as I generously splash the wine into our glasses. Harry nods his thanks and sits down opposite me, his chair squeaking on the wooden floor.

“Let’s make a toast,” I announce, raising my wine glass.

“What for?” Harry asks, lifting his glass too.

“To… defeating the Dark Lord.”

Harry falters for a second, taken by surprise at my suggestion. He nods all the same, clinking his glass against mine. I allow myself to smile as I take a sip, savouring the liquid slipping down my throat. Placing it down again, I scoop some of the chicken balti onto my spoon. I lock eyes with Harry across the table, and we both take the first bite of our dinner. It’s delicious. The herbs complementing the spices beautifully, and the chicken pieces juicy and tender. My eyes slide closed and I hum happily. When I open them again to take another bite, Harry is watching me. My cheeks heat, and probably tinge shade of pink. We stare at each other for a while, my throat working heavily, before I look away.

Absentmindedly, I rub at a spot on my back that’s sore. It’s a spot that I just can’t reach, but the area around it hurts more when I press on it. Leaving it alone, I return to my meal. Harry and I start talking. It’s little, inconsequential things at first. How we feel about the upcoming Quidditch game and who we think will win. How Harry’s friends are going. What’s happening in my book, and my plans for trying to solve the dust problem. But the conversation takes a turn as we finish eating. It drifts into dangerous territory. My father is the first thing to come up.

“Where do you think he is? Right now, I mean.”

“I don’t know,” I sigh. “I haven’t put much thought into it.” Harry nods, understanding perfectly. “I guess he could still be in the Manor, though that would be stupid even for him.”

“Why would it be stupid?” His face creases up in confusion, a wrinkle appearing between his brows.

“Well, surely he would’ve found out that you have me by now.” A tinge of pink stains Harry’s cheeks, although I don’t know why. It’s probably just a trick of the light. There is nothing to blush over with that sentence. Unless… no. Don’t go there.

“And if he knows I have you,” he lowers his voice, “he might guess that I would invade the Manor.”

“That is my thought, yes.”

“Ok. So where would he be if not for the Manor?”

I sigh again. “I really don’t know. I don’t think he would go to any of the other properties, for much the same reasons.”

It’s Harry’s turn to sigh. “I guess I could pull some strings at the Ministry…”

“When would you have time to?” He hasn’t been spending as much time as I’d like here lately.

“I don’t know, but I’d find some. We can’t have him out there.” His eyes shine in earnestly, like he honestly cares about my well-being.

“Thank you, Harry.” It comes out in a whisper, and his hand finds mine on the table.

“You’re welcome. Always.” My body feels alight for a second, on fire. But then it fades to tiredness.

Stifling a yawn, I push my chair out silently. Harry follows suit — except not so quietly — and together we float the dishes back to the kitchen. I place a network of charms over them to slowly clean them properly as we sleep. It’s a trick my mother taught me, and my heart clenches. She’s still upstairs in the room next to mine. Her health is rapidly declining and I don’t know what to do. Apparently, neither does Granger. Harry is lost, but we can’t risk taking her to a hospital. It’s far too risky. I groan under my breath as I start walking through the entrance way and up the flight of stairs. Harry is trailing behind me, and stops me just outside my door.

“It’s okay, Draco. We will fix this. We’ll fix everything.” He reaches an arm out to my shoulder, and I swallow hard. When I don’t push him away, he steps closer and wraps me into a hug. My breathing halts, startled by the embrace. We’ve only done this once before, and we were both drunk. But right now, we are sober except for the wine with dinner. It’s different. Eventually I come out of my stupor, and I close my arms around his back hesitantly. Harry exhales, seemingly in relief, when I do so, and I move to rest my head on his shoulder. My bone-wings twitch, and I feel the compelling urge to wrap them around him too. So I do. We fit perfectly together, standing in a tight embrace. Harry pulls away first, leaving me cold and dizzy. When our eyes meet the green is slightly dull and hazy, tiredness evident despite him trying to hide it.

“Goodnight, Draco.”

“Goodnight, Harry.” I echo the sentiment before turning into my room and closing the door.

**

16th April, 1998

I jolt awake. Sweat is forming on my forehead, and my hands are clenched into fists. I don’t know what happened, just that I’m very much not asleep. It must have only been a couple of hours since I fell asleep, my mind busy thinking about Harry and what everything means. But those things are far from my mind. The only thing I can think of is the pain. The searing pain leaving a trail across my back, between my shoulder blades. It has to be related to my bone-wings. What else could it be?

Forcing myself to stay calm, I roll onto my side and look at where I was just positioned. There’s blood. A lot of it. Unable to do anything else, I scream. To hell with being silent. Shouting seems to make it worse. More excruciating. Somehow, I’ve fallen off the bed. The ground is hard under me, and gravity is pushing more pressure onto my sore body. My eyes blink out of focus, the darkness swimming around me. I let out another scream. Footsteps thunder in the corridor, and my door slams open.

“Draco!” It’s Harry. He sprints over to where I’m lying on the floor and bends down next to me. He’s silent for a second, watching me in absolute agony.

His hand touches my shoulder, both to calm me down and to roll me onto my stomach. “Jesus Christ,” he breathes. I don’t know what that means, but I groan in acknowledgement all the same. There’s a rustle of fabric and cold air hits my skin. He tries to pull my shirt off, but gives up and lets it rip when the fabric catches on the bones.

“Hurts,” I manage to moan out. Harry chuckles a bit, but then clearly thinks better as he stops instantly.

“Hang on, I’ll be back.” His hand leaves my shoulder and he runs out of the room and — to what sounds like — downstairs. My back is pulsing now. I can feel my blood pumping under my skin. But there’s blood all over the bed, meaning that it’s probably pumping out of me.

On my stomach where Harry left me, I allow myself to cry. Even if he came back now he wouldn’t be able to see the tears in the dark or from the angle. I know there’s nothing to be ashamed about for crying, but I don’t want to seem weak. I’ve kept up the illusion of strength for so long. First for my father and his lord, and now Harry. The boy I think I’m falling for. I can’t deny it to myself much longer, not when all the signs are there. “Fuck, fuck, ahh!” My scream splits my own ears, piercing in the night. I don’t know how I dealt with this the first time it happened. But then, it has to be different this time. I already have a skeleton. I have no idea what this could be for.

“Fuck, Draco,” Harry exclaims as he sprints back to me. There is something clinking—glass?—next to me, and then the sound of a cap unscrewing. “So much blood,” he utters, panicked. Something soft and warm presses against my skin, right where it burns the most. The fabric is wet, covered in something that stings. Whimpers fall from my mouth, tears streaming down my face. Harry’s hand rubs my shoulder, helping me through silently. The fabric is removed, cold air rushing to replace it. Magic washes over me, quelling the pain slightly. My entire body tingles with it. Harry says something under his breath, and suddenly my skin feels dry. The blood has been Vanished.

I reach one of my hands behind me to feel what’s happening, only to be slapped away forcefully.

“No Draco. Not this time.” Harry’s voice is rough but certain. He knows the nightmares I’ve had since this month started. Visions of what it must’ve looked like, based solely on what I felt. He’s heard the shouts as I start awake in the night. This time, he isn’t letting me know. “I don’t know what’s happening, so I can’t really help it much…” Harry sounds guilty. “The best I can do is numb it slightly and remove the blood.”

“That’s plenty, Harry…” I croak. It’s more than enough. “Fucking Merlin!!”

My throat is dry and blistering with pain, Harry’s magic not numbing the pain that I’m causing myself. I feel movement in my back, and I know instantly that it’s the bone-wings retreating back under my skin. Why are they returning?

“What’s- fuck- happening?” I manage to get out between cries.

“Shhh,” Harry says carefully. I can feel his eyes staring, burning holes into my bare back. “It seems,” he murmurs into my ear, “that they are retreating into your skin.” I was right.

“Why?”

“I don’t know, Draco.” There it is again. Every time he says my name a shock runs through me. And he’s saying it quite a lot right now.

Another scream rips itself from me, and I can feel the bones rapidly withdraw into my back. Harry’s hand instantly latches on, rubbing circles into the skin most destroyed. It leaves just as quickly as he placed it there, however. I’m about to say something, when searing pain races through me. I shout a string of curses, my back contorting into odd shapes. I’m terrified. Why is my body doing this? I feel like I’m going to be sick as the bones push out again. It’s swift, torturous, and excruciating. They rush into the air, but they feel different. They’re heavier.

Harry is silent next to me, but then his hand is back on me. Slow and steady. The pain dulls down, no longer gut-wrenching, and tears stop running at the extent they were. My lungs rush to fill themselves with air, and I have to forcibly slow them down to avoid hyperventilating. Harry moves, lying down next to me on the ground. His hand is still on my back, and it moves slightly to accommodate the changing angle. His own breathing is erratic, and he starts humming a tuneless melody to slow it. I pry my eyes open, seeing the dark wood beneath me. Turning my head, I jump a bit when I see how close we are to each other. His body heat is radiating off him, and all I want to do is move closer. But I don’t. Our eyes meet, the emerald green dull with concern and terror.

“Are you okay?” He asks, hand roaming my bare skin and trying to chase away the goosebumps.

“I think so,” I whisper in the space between us.

“That’s good,” he murmurs, suddenly awkward. His eyes stay staring into mine, but his hand keeps moving up my back. It arrives at the spot between my shoulder blades, although it doesn’t stop. It slowly moves up to the base of the bones, and then touches them. I can feel it still. It feels weird. And slightly ticklish. But it doesn’t stop there. Harry brings it up quite a bit, all the while it becomes more ticklish. Almost as if he was dragging a feather over them. Wait…

“Feathers…?” I utter in question. Harry nods slowly, eyes boring into mine. “What colour?” I’d love them to be white again, but that’s not going to be the case.

“Light brown,” he confirms my suspicion. “They’re beautiful Draco.”

“I doubt it,” I scoff. “When I lost them they were dark brown. They looked sickly and lewd.”

“Well they don’t now. Besides, I said light brown.” He sounds adamant, as if he honestly believes so. “Look.” He reaches behind him with his other hand, pulling his wand out of his pocket. Moving it through the air, he conjures a small mirror and holds it in front of me. I can barely see anything except the ceiling, and I guide his hand with my own. My face come Shinto view, pale and blotchy, and I hurriedly move it further.

Feathers. It has been nearly two months since I had any, and I don’t even know if the dark ones floating in the air count. I’m stunned for a moment, before forcing myself to actually think about them. The bones are mostly covered, only peeking through in a couple of spots. There aren’t as many feathers as there should be — they are far from full — but the ones I have look healthy and beautiful. The light brown complements my normal skin tone in an odd way that I don’t quite understand, and my eyes look alive for the first time in days. And then of course there’s the blood. I slam the mirror away, a look of disgust flitting across my face. Harry seems to understand what it means, as his wand is back out and pointing at me in an instant. He casts a cleaning charm and Vanishes the remaining blood and skin.

“See? Beautiful.”

I nod absentmindedly, but Harry’s smile draws all my attention back to him. “You really think so?” My question is quiet, unsure and afraid. If he says it it has to be sincere.

“Absolutely.” His smile broadens even more, and he flicks his wand to the room around us. It lights up slowly, giving our eyes time to adjust. “But we need to consult the books I bought on Sunday.”

“You can say that,” I try to joke. It comes out as more of a splutter.

Harry pats me sympathetically before laughing to himself and standing up. He reaches his hand out for me to take, and he hauls me to my feet. My head spins and I fall, but Harry catches me before I hit the ground. “I’ll carry you,” he offers. I don’t have it in me to decline as he charms the blood on the ground away and walks us into the drawing room to firecall Granger.

***

A/N: I hope you enjoy this upload, and we are back on schedule! Thank you for all the support. Xx

P.S. This is the recipe I used for the chicken balti.

Masterlist — Previous Part — Next Part

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[talpup]

Light In the Darkness: Chapter 13

Please remember this fic is rated mature and has warnings of violence, abuse, sexual tension, eventual sexual behavior, and other possible triggers.

***If you prefer reading off AO3 here’s the link for that: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20887595/chapters/49650020

13.1

It was the afternoon of the Star Awards Festival and the sun was high as Yami carried a bucket of raw meat out to Pilfer.  Seeing Teris near the Saber Wolf’s pen he was about to call a word of warning when he focused on the Wolf’s Ki and sensed no hostility.  Pausing, Yami watched as Teris reached through the bars and stroked the beasts muzzle.

Giving a huff of amused wonderment, Yami continued down the path and when was close enough commented.  “Blasted creature won’t even let me pet it that close to it’s neck.”

“Maybe cause you call it a blasted creature.”  Teris said, pulling her hand back and stepped aside.

“Doubt that’s why.”  Yami said, setting down the bucket.

“He resembles a hound-like creature I fought after that tentacle thing grabbed me and took me down the well.”

Yami looked at her remembering the feeling of hopeless despair and rage he had felt at seeing her taken.  The shame and anger he had felt that he had been unable to stop it.

“Do you think given the time those beasts could be trained like Pilfer?”

Yami gave Pilfer a hand signal, the beast sitting.  He knew what Teris was thinking, he could sense the guilt of her Ki.  Even if he hadn’t, his answer still would have been the same.  “Doubtful.  Some things like the way they are and are beyond training.”

As Yami reached into the bucket Pilfer licked his chops, front paws dancing but stayed seated.

“Down,” Yami commanded giving the Saber Wolf the signal for the order as he spoke.

Pilfer laid down.

Yami pull a flank out of the bucket.

Pilfer sat, a stream of drool running from his mouth.

“Down.” Yami ordered again, giving the signal.

The beast obeyed whining.

“He’s rather cute.”  Teris commented, as she watched.

“If by cute you mean can tear you to shreds and eat you in one sitting. Than yeah.”

She watched them go through a few more commands before Yami finally gave the beast it’s treat, patting the creatures side as the it ate.

“I suppose anything can kill you if given the chance and desire.” Yami said, turning out the rest of the buckets contents.

“Even humans.”  Teris darkened, thinking about Nozel.

“You talk to him yet?”  Yami questioned.

“Why would I? Even if I hadn’t wanted nothing more to do with him before.  After his attack on you—he could have killed you.  He almost killed you.”  Teris finished softly.

“A fact I’m well aware of,” Yami replied.  “Look.”  He said, unable to believe that he was actually going to tell her to talk to the royal ball of pride that was Nozel Silva.  “I’m not saying forgive him.  But at least speak to him.  It’ll only get that much harder to do so as time goes on.”

“And what does that matter?  I don’t plan of ever speaking to him again.”  Teris said.

“Like it or not you’ll have to eventually.  We’re Magic Knights. Something will happened and we’ll have to work together to save some townsfolk or some other thing.”

Or suffer polite conversation at the next dinner with between their two families, she thought eyes narrowing.  Like it our not she’d have to say at least a word or two to Nozel then.  Otherwise Fyntch would ask questions and go poking his nose in things, making her life and efforts to make something of herself within the Magic Knights that much more difficult than he was already doing.

“I’ll do it with you,” Yami said.

She looked at him wide-eyed.

“How about tonight?  If we see him at the festival.”

“You’re going to forgive--”

“I didn’t say forgive.”  Yami cut in.  “I said talk.  Something simple and trivial, like commenting on the weather.”

Teris stared.

“Think you can do it, Princess?”  He asked.  When she didn’t respond he stepped closer to her.  “Think you can do it for me?”

She looked up at him.  This was the nearest he had gotten to her since the morning he and Bronn had returned from the healers.  Granted they had spent a lot of time together over the course of the past five days so he hadn’t exactly tried to shut her out like she had him in the past.  But he had kept his distance, not taking every chance to be near her, touch her, or brush up against her the way he usually did.

“You’re not mad at me?”  She asked, feeling stupid for saying such a thing, let alone thinking it.

“Why would I be mad at you?”  He asked, grasping her arm.

Teris shivered.  After nearly a week without contact, his touch felt like sweet, cool water splashing her skin after in a hot, aired, gritty desert.

Yami watched her close her eyes believing he knew what she had meant, but wanting her to say it.  After Bronn’s words echoing in his head for the past five days he needed to hear her say it.

“You—you’re usually--”

His hand trailing down her arm her flesh prickling at his touch.

“--doing that.”  She said, blinking her eyes open.

“Rubbing your arms?”

“Touching me,” she blushed.  She took in a hitching breath, unconsciously rubbing her arm where he had touched.  “Near me.  Brushing me as you walk pass.”

Yami’s heart thundered in his chest.  “And my not doing those things made you think I was mad at you?”

She nodded avoiding his gaze.

He stepped closer still cupping the hand that had caressed her arm on her hip and capturing her chin with the other.  Gently, he turned her head to face him and waited till her eyes followed and met his.

“Would you rather that or this?”  Yami asked her softly.

“I don’t like it when you’re upset with me.”  Teris swallowed, her voice barely audible.

“But I was never upset with you.  Don’t think I could be if I tried.”

“That’s good.”  She whispered staring into his eyes as if hypnotized.

“You still haven’t answered my question.”

“What’s that?”  Teris questioned.

Yami wondered if she had truly forgotten or was trying to avoid answering the question.  In any case, he wasn’t letting her off so easily. He asked her once more.  “Do you prefer the past few days or this?”

Teris took in a shuddering breath feeling Yami’s hand tighten ever so slightly on her hip.  She looked up into his light brown, almost tan eyes, resisting the urge to caress his face the way he was hers. Yami couldn’t stop himself from leaning ever closer to her.  As much as his ears needed to hear her tell him, his lips needed to touch hers more.  Damn his impatience for her.

The sound of someone whistling as they made their way down the path halted Yami’s thirst.  He had to resist the urge to hold on to Teris as she stepped back and away from him.

“Hello.” Olsen’s voice called from around the bends shelter of shrubs.  “Is the beast put away?”

“Hardly.” Yami said in a muttering growl.  “What do you want?”  He yelled at Olsen.

“Bronn’s got a date with some healing mage and is itching to go.  Unless you want to be riding brooms to Castle City you’d best be coming in.”

“Fine.” Yami called his eyes on Teris.  “Soon as I finish up here I’ll head on in.”

“Have you seen Teris?”  Olsen called.  “Gendry said he saw her head out but didn’t know where to.  Hate for her to be left behind cause no one was able to find and tell her.”

“I’ll tell her and bring her back with me.”  Yami hollered smirking at her.

“Thanks!”

They listened to Olsen resume whistling as he headed back up the path.

“Teris.” Yami said turning serious.

Yami’s expression made her tense.  “Yes?”

“Bronn has a hot date with Gilly and wants to leave.  Unless you want to ride a broom to Castle City--”

She pushed him gently laughing.

“--you best be heading in.”  Yami finished smiling.  He joined her laughter with a chuckle of his own.  “I love hearing you laugh.” He inadvertently said aloud.

Teris’ laughter died at his words.  “You’d best finish up with Pilfer. I’ll head on back.”

Yami cursed how his mouth often ran off without thought.  “You’re not waiting for me?”  He asked.

Cheeks tinting as she looked about nervously, Teris asked.  “Should we arrive together?”

“Why not?”  Yami shrugged eyes studying her.  “It’s not like we were doing anything.”

But we almost did, Teris thought.

“Look at me.”  Yami said, his voice almost commanding.

Teris’ eyes snapped to his.

“The day I kiss you there will be no shame or sneaking around.  I don’t even care if the whole Clover Kingdom sees.”

Forcing the butterflies down, Teris spoke with a playful confidence she barely felt.  “That’s if I ever let you kiss me.”

That’s my girl, Yami thought giving a wolfish smile.

13.2

Night had fallen on Castle City but one would be hard pressed to find a darkened street.  The Star Awards Festival was one of the biggest events of the year, and not just for the Magic Knights but for the citizens of the Clover Kingdom as well.  It fell on the last day of March which saw the first harvest since winter being brought in filling the stalls and eateries of the city.

There was still a few hours before the Announcement Ceremony where the new Magic Knights squad rankings were announced and the squad with the highest number of stars was awarded with metals of honor as well as acclaim and applause from the crowd below.

Julius and Mereoleona having bumped into one another on streets of the city walked in amiable silence to the stall that had been reported to have the best fried dumplings and sticky buns at the festival.

Julius smacked his lips in anticipation of the sweet doughy goodness.

“Stop it,” Mereoleona scolded.  “You sound like a horse chewing a bit.”

“But my mouth is watering.”  Julius said excitedly.  “I purposefully didn’t eat anything the entire day so I could try all the offerings.”

“See all the magic.  Eat all the food.  Is there anything you’re not fanatical about.”

“Plenty,” Julius told.  After a few steps he urged.  “Come on Mereoleona. It’s the Star Awards.  Enjoy yourself.”

I might be if I hadn’t seen Bronn sharing a cup of sweet ice with some girl, Mereoleona thought.  Who was she and why did she have to be so pretty.  It wasn’t like Bronn had been blessed with good looks or was much of a catch in any other respect.  Maybe she was family from an outlying town visiting for the festival.

“Well, what do we have here.”  Pyter said coming across them in one of the intersections.  “The top and second ranked Captains having a stroll together, alone.  Discussing who’s going to be first this year. Your fall from grace has given the lion snapping at your heels hope Julius.  Careful, she might devour you completely.

“I wonder,” Jamie said rubbing his chin, “what did you do to fall from Sir Jorah’s esteem so quickly and thoroughly.

“I couldn’t care less.”  Pyter said giving Julius a knowing glance. “All that matters is that fall he did and now there might be a new top squad announced tonight.  Mereoleona!  How does it feel to think you might be trading places with Julius as top Captain?”

“It doesn’t matter,” Mereoleona said.  “Your Silver Eagles will still be third.  That is unless Jamie’s Golden Dawn didn’t bump you down to fourth.”

Pyter glared at her.  “There’s always next year Lioness.”

“Keep telling yourself that,” Mereoleona said.  “It’s not fun beating you year after year unless you have a bit of hope.”

“But the mighty do fall.”  Pyter said giving her a sharp smile.  “Just look at Lord Nova here.”

Julius turned away, his earlier joy filled excitement gone.

“Leave him alone,” Mereoleona growled.

“What is this?”  Jamie asked.  “Royal solidarity?”

“No. I’ve just been itching for an excuse to rip someone to shreds for the better part of the night and wanted to give you fair warning,” Mereoleona told.

The smiles of the Silver Eagles and Golden Dawns Captains tightened and fell.

“We have places to be any case.”  Pyter said walking off.

“See you two for the announcement ceremony.”  Jamie said before following.

“Thanks for that.”  Julius sighed watching the two men go.

“You’ve got to snap out of it, Julius.”  Mereoleona barked giving him a shove with her forearm.  Her nose wrinkled as he swayed from her push.  This was so unlike him.  Sure Julius rarely rose when Pyter and Jamie were looking for a fight, nor was he what short tempered, by anyone's standards, but to get down at their words…

Julius heaved a sigh lost in his own thoughts.  Granted it had only been five days since his disobedience so chances were that his squad wouldn’t suffer cause of his wrong doing this Star Awards.  As for the next, he wasn’t so sure.

Mereoleona watched her cousin a moment before breaking down.  “As much as I hate to say it, there’s no way the Crimson Lions could have caught your Azure Deer.  You’re gonna be first again.”  When he still did nothing she went on.  “So Sir Jorah’s man at you.  Big deal. No one can stay mad at you for long.”

Julius looked at her.  “You don’t know what I did.”

“No. I don’t.  But it doesn’t matter.  You’re so likable that you could screw up as bad and often as Jax and Bronn and--”  She stopped, the image of the grinning Black Bulls Vice Captain coming to mind.  She wanted to kick his stupid, ugly teeth in.  Shaking her head Mereoleona began again.  “The point is, it doesn’t matter what you did.  You’re obviously sorry and still beating yourself up over it to the point that you’re bringing everyone else down.  And by down, I mean depressed.  And by everyone, I mean me.  One bad word or deed, or whatever it was, isn’t going to undo your countless exceptional actions of honor and bravery.  Nor will it overshadow your future ones.”

“I suppose.”  Julius said begrudgingly, feeling somewhat better.

“Now cheer up or I’m leaving you here.  I’m mad enough as it is.  I don’t need you making me depressed.”

13.3

Teris and Venice chatted joyfully as they walked just ahead of Yami and Tobin through the crowd streets of Castle City.  As Venice slipped her hand into Jon’s turning to the Azure Deers Vice Captain to tell him something, Yami noticed Tobin’s piercing stare before the man turned away.

“You should just tell her how you feel,” Yami said.

Tobin’s head spun around.  “Shut it!”  He hushed hoarsely eyeing Venice to see if she had heard.

“With this noise I could call Venice a stupid cow and she wouldn’t hear.” Yami said loudly to prove his point.

Tobin watched as Venice laughed at something Teris had said.  Satisfied, he told Yami.  “It’s not that easy.”

“Yes it is.”  Yami rebutted.

“Her boyfriend’s a Vice Captain,” Tobin reminded.

“So you’re afraid of Jon kicking your ass, not of telling her,” Yami said.

“I’m not afraid of either,” Tobin snapped.

Venice turned, looking over her shoulder and startling Tobin.

“Nothing.” Tobin said shaking his head.

“What?” Venice yelled.

Yami jerked a chin at her asking what she wanted.

“Want to try a game or two or find something to eat?”  Venice asked stopping and turning fully around.

The rest of the group stopped and gathered.

“I want to try all the games,” Gendry voted.

“Food,” Yami said.

“You two really are of the same mind.”  Venice said smiling at Teris. “She voted eat too.”  She told Yami tilting a head toward Teris.

“I’ll go wherever Gendry does,” Abril said.

“You follow your boyfriend around.  Isn’t that cute.”  Venice teased.

Abril glared at the older girl.  “I told you.  He’s not my boyfriend!”

“More like an annoying bur.”  Gendry said agreeing with her.

“Yes, you are.”  Abril said snidely.

“Then stop following me everywhere.”  Gendry shouted and stormed away.

Abril chased after him calling his name.

“I don’t get those two.”  Jon said watching them go.

“You don’t have to.  You’re not a Black Bull.”  Tobin told him coolly.

“As if that’s something to be proud about,” Venice huffed.  “We’re going to be last again.  I know it.”

“I wonder if the Azure Deer will still be first after all that’s happened.”  Jon said morosely.

“Boo woo.”  Tobin cried rolling his eyes.  He looked back at the Vice Captain glaring hateful as he muttered under his breath.

“Tobin,” Venice scolded.  “If you can’t be nice, go away.”  She smiled at Yami and Teris.  “Then we could call it a double date.”

“I’m sticking with my friend, Yami.”  Tobin said throwing an arm over Yami’s shoulder.

“Then be nice before she makes us both leave.”  Yami grumbled barely tolerating the contact.

They made their way to a new eatery which had opened a few weeks ago that Jon said he had heard good things about.

“I have never before wished for a meal to be horrible till this right moment.”  Tobin said mostly to himself but loud enough for Yami to hear.

“If you’re not going to tell her, you can’t be an angry pouting child about it.”  Yami told heartlessly.  “Suck it up.”  He hurried his pace to step beside Teris as they reached the door.

“Hold up!”  Jon called to the man who had been holding the door open thinking he was some greeter employed by the restaurant.

Fuegoleon turned wondering who had dared presume upon him to preform such a task.  Seeing Teris his temper vanished.  “I wondered if we would cross paths this evening.”  The Crimson Lion greeted acknowledging his cousin with an inclined head.  Fuegoleon held the door open allowing them in.

“Were you coming or going?”  Teris asked as she passed.

“Just arriving.”  Fuegoleon called meeting Yami’s eyes as he followed Teris in.  “Nozel’s already got us a table.”

Teris stopped Yami bumping into her and Tobin into him.

“We’re already here.”  Yami encouraged Teris softly.  “It’ll only get harder the longer you wait.”

“I never agreed--”  Teris began but was cut off Yami speaking into her ear, his breath tickling her neck.

“You can’t speak one meaningless sentence to him?  Not even for me?”

Yami’s eyes traveled to her lips as she turned to look at him.  How much longer was he going to have to wait to feel and taste her?  He would have pulled her into his arms and kissed her then and there if he thought she would have let him get away with it.  Sure he could steal the kiss but was pretty sure she’d slap him afterwards.  He didn’t feel like joining Nozel in the kennels for one little kiss.  Not when he could wait for another day and be kissed in returned.

“What’s the hold up?”  Tobin griped trying to keep an eye on Venice and Jon who had entered first.  Had he glimpsed him kiss her cheek.

“Wait.” Yami growled.  He placed his hands on Teris shoulders.  “If it’s really that bothersome we can turn around and walk out.  Find another place.”

“No.” Teris shook her head taking a breath.  “You’re right.  It’s not like I can avoid him forever.  Just got to rip the dressing off. Besides,” she shrugged, “how petty would I be if you can manage this and I can’t.”

He looked over at the table seeing that Nozel had noticed them and was watching.  “Go show him how much better you are than he is, Princess.”  Yami urged wondering again what possessed him to encourage this.  I guess I really am a good, confident guy, he thought smiling to himself.  Or a complete idiot, he added watching Teris head to the table.

“Will you go.”  Tobin urged impatiently.

“Just for that.  No.”  Yami said looking over his shoulder at him.

“How hard is it to take a damned seat.”  Tobin grumbled as he pushed past Yami and made for Venice.

“What was that about?”  Fuegoleon wondered watching the ginger giant.

“Pent up stuff,” Yami said.

“Congratulations, by the way.”

“For what?”

“Your promotion,” Fuegoleon said.  “Barely earned it before the Star Awards reset but you earned it nonetheless.”

Yami waited for the snide or biting remark but none came.

Fuegoleon held out a guiding arm.  “Shall we sit?”

“Why not,” Yami said.

Tobin hadn’t been quick enough to sit next to Venice, who was sandwiched between Jon and Teris.  In relation, he had taken the place to Teris’ left knowing that Yami would have wanted the stop.  As Yami and Fuegoleon joined them Tobin turned and gave Yami a look.

Fuegoleon stopped behind Tobin’s chair.  “Move.”

Tobin put an arm over the back of the chair and looked up at the Crimson Lion.

“Fuego! Manners,” Teris chided.

“Move over.  Please.”  Fuegoleon said his tone still hard and commanding.

“Get stuff--”  Tobin fell silent as Teris put a hand on his shoulder.

“Please, Tobin.  He’s a distant cousin and friend that I haven’t seen in months.”  Teris gave the bearded man one of the looks that usually got her, her way though it wasn’t necessary as Tobin was already beginning to move from the seat.

“Why didn’t you say so?”  Tobin was in the process of sliding one chair over over but Yami was too quick and took the seat  Tobin glared at him.

“What do you know.  It wasn’t that hard to take a damned seat after all.” Yami said grinning at his friend.

Tobin stood, knocking the chair over as he did so.  “I’m gonna go hit something.”  He muttered storming off.

“Aw, come on Tobin!”  Venice called after him.

“Why’d you go and make him mad?”  Teris asked Yami looking over at him as Fuegoleon righted the chair and tucked in between them.

“He was already mad and would’ve caused problems.”  Yami told her.

“Ki?” Teris questioned.  At her request, Yami had tried teaching her with minimal success.  Well, at least as far as reading Ki went; according to Yami she had picked up how to shield her own Ki rather quickly and had gotten good at it.  While she liked being able to keep Yami from knowing just how excited or nervous she was around him, that wasn’t the reason she had asked him to teach her.  The thought of sensing the Ki of people and things enticed her.  She could see how such a thing would be of use in a battle or even negotiations, which would likely come in handy if she ever became Knights Commander.

Yami shook his head.  He didn’t think Tobin would appreciate him telling Teris, especially when others were around and Venice could easily hear.  He might be an ass at times but Tobin was a friend.

“No offense, but I welcome the extra room we have around the table with your friend vacated.” Fuegoleon admitted.

“Agreed,” Yami said.

“I don’t mind being squished together a bit.”  Venice comment nuzzling into Jon who blushed.

“Venice,” Jon chided softly.

“Where’s the rest of your squad.”  Teris asked Fuegoleon glanced at Nozel wondering the same of his Silver Eagles.

“We agreed to meet at the Burning Cauldron a couple hours before the Announcement Ceremony,” Fuegoleon answered.  In truth Nozel had wrote him asking to meet or else he would be with his squad mates now.  He didn’t know why his friendly rival had made such a request but knew that Nozel wouldn’t appreciate him saying as much.

“So the four of us first years were all promoted to Fourth Class Junior Magic Knights within the first six months of joining.”  Fuegoleon said looking pridefully at Nozel, Teris, and Yami.

Teris turned to Nozel her tone almost accusing.  “You were promoted too?”

“I was.” Nozel answered lifting his eyes to Teris.  He cleared his throat.  As relieved as he was that she hadn’t kept her threat, he didn’t care for the way she had sounded.  It felt as if she found his promotion difficult to believe because of his actions, or more correctly in actions, at the labyrinth.

“Surprising considering your abandonment issues.”  Venice put in giving voice to what Teris and, even, Yami wouldn’t.

“Venice.” Both Jon and Teris scolded.

Nozel’s lips twitched slight upward as he glanced at Teris.  Teris scowled at the Silver Eagle wanting to tell him that she hadn’t chastised her friend for his sake but for Venice’s.

Jon leaned over his lips brushing her ear.  “Remember Commander Greywright’s words.”

“I haven’t forgotten.”  Venice shot back glaring at Nozel.

He gave her cheek a kiss just below the temple.  “Probably best not to speak or even refer to that day.  Just to be safe.”  Jon suggested quietly before pulling away.

Venice turned her heated gazed on her boyfriend.  Jon was always telling her what she should and shouldn’t do.  At first she had found it sweet, a sign he cared.  But as time went on if felt more and more like he was trying to change her into someone he wanted her to be not happy with who she already was.  She found herself wishing Tobin hadn’t left.  Her fellow ginger would have had some no so subtle stinging words for the Prideful Bird as well.

“Well.” Fuegoleon looking around the table.  “This suddenly became awkward.”  He looked to Teris.  “Leona said something about the Crimson Lions having a chance at moving up in the ranks this or next year.  Not that I don’t believe in our capabilities, but I don’t see Julius giving up easily.  And given how many more stars the Azure Deer have gotten over the other squads since Julius became Captain I had to wonder at her comment.”

Teris shook her head.  “I couldn’t say.”

Jon eyed her appreciating how his Captains sister had managed to appear un-knowledgeable while also telling the truth.

Fuegoleon looked over at Jon.

The Azure Deers Vice Captain told the royal honestly.  “I’m not one to get between the rivalries of the Magic Knights Captains.  That’s served me well this far.  What I will say is I wish the Crimson Lions and the rest of the squads the best.  Having fierce competition will only serve to make the Azure Deer stronger as we strive to remain the top ranked squad.”

A waiter came and took their order.  Returning, the man apologized profusely, asking if they would be willing to move to another table. The table beside theirs had opened up and the staff were wanting to push the two tables together to fit a bigger waiting party.

They rose and filed over the other table.  Fuegoleon preferring how this one somewhat tucked away from most of the surrounding noise giving a bit more privacy.  It wasn’t till they were standing before the six seats that everyone but Fuegoleon and Yami became uncomfortable realizing that Yami and Nozel would be seated next to each other.

“Will this do?”  The waiter asked when no one sat.

“Yes.” Fuegoleon said pulling out a chair for Teris.

Teris didn’t move, her eyes on Yami.  Yami gave her a nod and before she could contest he took his seat.

Nozel looked at Yami out of the corner of his eye.  Discomfort and anger ebbing and flowing within.  Despite having seen him do it before Nozel wondered how a man could be so barbarous as to take his seat before a lady did.  He could feel Teris’ eyes on him and told himself that he would do nothing to make things worse between them.

As Teris and Venice slowly sat Nozel gestured to Jon’s seat. “Please.”  He said encouraging the Vice Captain to sit before he did.  A sign of honor that Teris and Fuegoleon were likely the only ones to notice.  Unless Jon, despite being a bastard, had had a finishing instructor; which was entirely possible considering his noble father’s unusual actions in claiming Jon after Jon’s mother had died.  This act of mercy may have given Jon a roof over his head and food in his stomach instead of being at the mercy of the streets but since Lord Denwulf hadn’t given Jon his name the kindness had resulted in a different kind of hardship.

Fuegoleon raised a brow at Nozel’s show of respect wondering what the cause of it was.  It certainly wasn’t because the man was a Vice Captain. Nozel had shown no deferment to either Bronn or Jon, both of which were Vice Captains, the night after the Magic Knights Exams at the Black Bulls base.

Jon inclined his head is recognition of the honor and sat.  Nozel and Fuegoleon following suit.

The waiter brought their beverages assuring that their communal meal would be out shortly.

“I’ve heard good things about this place,” Fuegoleon said.

“So have I.”  Jon said from between Venice and Nozel.

“In truth I’m glad we found each other,” Fuegoleon admitted.  “Order the family platter will afford use the chance to try a bit of everything.”

“I hope the pork is as good as they say,” Jon said.  “I haven’t had good mooshou pork in ages.”

“You should go with Julius next time he visit home,” Teris said.  “Our cook is said to make some of the best mooshou pork in the kingdom.”

“Really! How would you say it is?” Jon asked.

Teris shrugged.  “Couldn’t say.”

“She hates mooshou,” Nozel said.

“I don’t hate mooshou,” Teris countered.  “I simply don’t like it.  In fact there’s very little I actually hate.  Though I can think of one with ease at present.”

Their eyes locked.  Nozel wondering if she truly hated him.  Teris hoping that he understood her not so cryptic message.

“We had mooshou, or something like it, back in my homeland,” Yami said. He smiled remembering.  “My aunt would make the flat cakes as fat as she could to try to hide that there wasn’t much stuffed in them.”

“So you were a peasant where you came from.”  Nozel said his assumptions confirmed.

“I was the seventh son of a fisherman,” Yami said.  “We made do.”

“I love fish.”  Venice sighed trying to break the mounting tension.

“Only if it’s cook well,” Yami said.

“I wouldn’t have thought it that hard to mess up fish,” Jon said.

“You be surprised,” Yami told.

The food arrived and they dug in.  Yami’s easy manner encouraged Teris to relax which lead to Venice and Jon quickly following suit.  Last to loosen up was Nozel, though even compared to his regular ridged nature was still stiff.

Though the mood and banter lightened, Fuegoleon had no doubt that something had happened between his friends.  And by the way they were acting the foreign boy had been involved too.  He thought back to Nozel’s letter.  It hadn’t said much, as was Nozel’s way, just a simple request to meet alone the night of the Star Awards if he had an available moment.  It had been Fuegoleon who had suggested the restaurant.  Nozel had never been one to instigate friendly meetings, Fuegoleon often calling for their meet ups or inviting the him along for one of Teris’ adventures.  She had never seemed to remember to invite Nozel herself but the few times Fuegoleon had shown without him she had wondered where the Silva heir was, asking if he couldn’t make it.

Throughout the meal Fuegoleon watched the two of them becoming more and more certain that this was what Nozel had wanted to speak with him about. Teris had often been changeable with Nozel.  Going from friendly playfulness to harsh, angry criticism in a moments flash.  But this was different.  Teris had barely said half a dozen sentences to Nozel, and only if Nozel himself had spoken to her and his words required a response.

The meal ended and the waiter returned asking how everything was and if they would like dessert.

“Yes.” Fuegoleon said at the same time as Teris’ no.

The waiter smiled looking from the two.

“No, thank you.”  Teris said again giving the man a polite smile.  “Just bring us the check.”

As the waiter bowed and walked away Fuegoleon turned to her saying.  “I wanted to try the rice pudding.”

“And you can,” Teris said.  “Just let us pay our part for the meal and you can open a new check after.”

“You’re not going to stay?”  Fuegoleon asked silencing his sarcastic remarks at how pleasant the dinner had been.

“I believe I have had all I could tolerate for a good while.” Teris said touching her stomach for Fuegoleon’s benefit but looking at Nozel out of the corner of her eye.

The waiter returned with the check.  Nozel signaling for him to bring it to him.

“What are you doing?”  Teris demanded as Nozel opened up his money purse.

“We fully expected to pay our part.”  Jon agreed having put extra coin in his purse so he could treat Venice to wherever she wanted this evening.

Nozel pulled out a large gold coin that would pay for their meal two times over.  “For your service.”  He told the waiter making clear that he didn’t expect change as he placed the coin on the tray the man carried.

“Nozel!” Teris tried again holding a staying hand out to the waiter.

But Nozel waved the man away and with one last bow the man complied. “It’s the least I could do.”  Nozel told her.

“The very least.”  Teris growled as she rose from her seat.  Jon, Nozel, and Fuegoleon jumping up in gentlemanly respect.  But she had already begun walking away.  Venice spun out of her chair to follow but Fuegoleon held a up a staying hand.

“If you do not mind I’d like to have a word with my cousin.  Alone,” Fuegoleon said.  He didn’t give Venice a chance to agree or challenge before turning and exiting after Teris.

Still seated Yami leaned back and sighed.  “So much for trying that sweet ice stall.  I’m stuffed.  Don’t think I could have another bite if I tried.”

Nozel glared down at him.

“You should thank me by the way.”  Yami told the Silver Eagle rolling back his head to look up at him.

“Thank you?  For wha--”

“Your welcome,” Yami said.

“I see no reason to thank you for anything,” Nozel told.

“So you think Teris just decided to talk to you on her own after she told you she wouldn’t?”  Yami questioned looking at his fingers as they rapped the table.  “Thought you knew her better than that.”

Nozel was taken aback.  “Why would you--”

“When you loose her to me I want you to know it was completely her choice and not some heat of the moment declaration that she was too prideful to back down on.”  Yami said realizing himself that that was a small part of it.

Nozel clenched his fists.

“If you lost your cool again I don’t think even I would be able to help you,” Yami said.

“I don’t require your assistance and doubt Teris holds you in such esteem,” Nozel growled.

“Whatever.” Yami sighed as he got to his feet and turned to leave.

“Watch yourself foreigner.  I’ll be the one to execute you one day.” Nozel foretold.

Yami smiled looking back over his shoulder.  “That I’d like to see.”

13.3.2

“Teris,” Fuegoleon called.  “Wait.”

Teris stopped at the edge of the sidewalk taking a deep breath of the fresh, cool night air.  She had always found Nozel cold and aggravating but had never noticed just how cruel and spiteful he could be.

Fuegoleon caught up with her waiting a moment before asking.  “What was that about?”

Teris shook her head.  “Nothing.”

“Don’t lie to me.”

“Leon. Don’t.”

He blinked at his preferred nickname that she seldom used choosing to go against his wishes and use her childhood name for him simply to annoy.

“I can’t,” she said.

“Can’t or won’t?”  He asked.

“Both.”

“What happened with you two?  Does it have to do with that foreigner?” Fuegoleon pressed unable to stop himself.  From that second night of their being Magic Knights he could tell that the foreigner was going to cause problems.  During that dinner at the Black Bulls base he had seen Yami’s obvious attraction to Teris and how she tolerated, if not welcomed, his attentions.

“It has to do with his continued judgment, and desire to control me assuming that I’m already his when he knows full well that I’ll never marry a man I don’t love or loves me in return no matter what Fyntch says or does.”  Teris said the words spilling from her.

“I doubt Nozel wishes to control you or believes you are his.” Fuegoleon said thinking the Silva likely would be happy if he could steer or reign Teris in and had practically laid claim to her.  But considering she was his Intended all that was to be expected.  To Teris, he went on.  “As for his judgment.  He judges everyone. It’s who he is.”

“I hate who he is.”

“You don’t mean that.”

“You don’t know what he did,” Teris countered.

“Then tell me,” Fuegoleon urged.

As much as she wanted to it would only lead to further questions, questions she wasn’t allowed to answer and didn’t want to have to skirt around.  “No.”

“If you don’t talk to him it’s only going to get worse.”

“Yami said the same.”  Teris sighed.

“So this is about the foreigner.”

“No. A bit.  He was there.  And--”

“And what?”  Fuegoleon pressed.

Yami exited followed by Venice and Jon.

“Your friend’s waiting inside for you.”  Yami told Fuegoleon throwing a thumb over his shoulder.

Fuegoleon gave a growling sigh at the interruption.  Standing to his full height he told Teris.  “We’ll talk later.”

She nodded.  “See you around.”

Yami and Fuegoleon watched each other as the Crimson Lion passed and reentered the restaurant.

Venice squealed throwing her arms around Yami and Teris.  “We can now officially call this a double date.”

13.4

Bronn felt like a right gentleman walking down the middle of the street with Gilly on his arm.  She had originally tried to stay on the sidewalks but Bronn had managed to convince her that since the city streets were closed to traffic that it would be the least crowded place to get where they were going.  In truth Bronn had wanted everyone to see his fine date and thought the middle of the bustle was the best place for that to happen.

“It’s almost time for the Announcement Ceremony,” Gilly said.

“Yep, it is.”

“Shouldn’t you be there?”

“Nah, love.  As Captain, Jax should join them on the balcony but me or the other Bulls.”  Bronn shook his head.  “Anyone below third squad will only take up space and be an eyesore.”

“And you don’t think your squad will be one of the top three?”  Gilly asked.

“The Black Bulls are the worst Magic Knights squad there is.”  Bronn reminded.

“But that could change.”

“We had nearly a hundred black stars last I looked.  Nothings gonna change.”

“Bronn!”

Bronn turned at the stern call of his name.  “Advisor Ellara.  Shouldn’t you be up there?”  He questioned pointing to the castle.

“That’s where I’m headed.”  The Wizard Kings Advisor told.  “Why aren’t you?”

“Why aren’t I what?”  Bronn asked.

“Headed there yourself,” Ellara responded

“You do know I’m with the Black Bulls, right.”

“That doesn’t matter.”  Ellara told him.  “You’re a Vice Captain.

“A Vice Captain who’s had a bit too much to drink to be around that lot up there and keep my manners.”  Bronn told swallowing a burp

Ellara nose wrinkled wondering if the girl on his arm had been paid to be there.  “You better sober up quick.”

“Damn,” Bronn cursed.  Noticing Olsen standing next to Ellara he asked. “Don’t tell me she came across you and roped you into this torture.”

Olsen shook his head.  “My presence isn’t required up there.”

Bronn’s eyes narrowed.  “Then why are you here?”

Olsen looked at Ellara for direction before shrugging.

“That doesn’t concern you.”  Ellara said quickly.  “Let’s go.”

“But I can’t just leave my date.”  Bronn called as Ellara started off without him.

Olsen extracted Gilly’s hand from Bronn’s arm and lifted it to kiss the Healers knuckle.  “I’ll attend to your pretty lady friend while you’re away.”  Olsen said giving Gilly a wink and a smile.

Gilly blushed.

Bronn pulled her hand out of Olsen’s.  “Girl would be better off in a bar full of drunks then left alone with you.”

“No she wouldn’t and you know it.”  Olsen said.

Gilly pulled free of Bronn’s hold.  “I can manage by myself.”

“Naw, lass.  What kind of gentleman would I be if I left you to fend for yourself in town full of men filled up on liquid courage?”  Bronn asked.

“Gentleman?” Olsen echoed skeptically.

“That’s right,” Bronn gritted.  “Gentleman.”

Olsen held up his hands.  “Whatever you say.”

“Just watch after her and meet me at the east archway of the forum,” Bronn ordered.  He held up a finger before Olsen’s face.  “And none of your fancy words.”

“I will endeavor to channel you,” Olsen promised.

Bronn’s eyes narrowed not sure he liked that much better but said nothing.

13.5

Bronn arrived at the base of the stairs that led up to the balcony sweaty, out of breath, and cursing the capitol city's rules against unauthorized magical transport.

“What took you so long?”  Ellara asked looking over her shoulder.

Bronn gave the Advisor a piercing glare.

“Well if that didn’t sober you up the trek up the stairs will.  Six flights.  Double time.”  Ellara took off.

Blowing out a breath Bronn shook his head and followed determined to beat the woman at her own game.

Ellara and Bronn reached the final stair at the same time panting.

“What’s this?”  Greywright asked looking down amused as the two bent over sucking in lungfuls of air.

“There you are Ellara.”  Sir Jorah said signaling an attendant.

A horn sounded as more fireworks lit up the clear night sky.  “Look sharp everyone.”  Sir Jorah said tugging on his cloak only to have another attendant quickly pull it back centered on the Wizard Kings shoulders right before he stepped out onto the balcony.

Ellara brushed her hair back righting herself and smoothed her dress before accepting her cloak of office that she had left with her Aid. Swinging it around in one smooth motion she clasped its neck and followed the Wizard King out with the Magic Knights Commander at her side.

Bronn stepped to his Captain.

“What are you doing here?”  Jax questioned his Vice Captain.  “Is that ale I smell on you?  What am I saying.  Of course it is.  Are you drunk?”

All Bronn could do was shake his head and mentally curse the Wizard Kings Advisor.

“You’re a disgrace.”  Mereoleona told Bronn running a stiff shoulder into him as she passed.

Bronn had to take a couple steps before he caught himself.  Straightening he looked at the Crimson Lions Captain and demanded.  “What was that for?”

Jon gave the Black Bulls Vice Captain a look before following his Captain out.

“As if the Black Bulls weren’t an embarrassment enough.”  Pyter smirked passing by.

“Have some sort of pride.”  Jamie put in straightening his Golden Dawn cloak before filing out.

“Or a sense of shame.”  Breigha, Captain of the Blue Rose, rumbled staring down her nose at them.

“My degradation is complete.”  Jax said more to himself then Bronn as the other three Captains made their way out.

“Come on, Captain,” Bronn whined.  “You don’t care what they think.”

“Stay here.”  Jax ordered before turning and exiting to the balcony.

Bronn watched his Captain disappear as the guards released the curtains they had been holding open and hung his head.

13.6

Teris had been grateful when they had bumped into Jack of the Green Mantis. They had met him a few weeks ago when the Black Bulls and Green Mantis’ had worked together to save a village from being washed out by torrential rain and a broken dam.  Jack had taken the Magic Knights Entrance Exam with Yami and her.  Though neither had remembered him; Jack had said he remembered them.  Then again after the way her and Yami’s combat portion of the exam had gone everyone who had been there likely would have remembered them.

For some reason Teris had instantly taken a disliking to Jack.  She found him creepy.  The way his tongue lolled out.  The hungry, murderous look in his beady eyes, as if he was deciding how best to slice you up with his Slash Magic.  The annoying cawing, cackling laugh that set her teeth on edge.  But Yami got on well with him and without Jon they needed someone around so Venice would cease her teasing.  Before Jack joining them, her friend been merciless in commenting how cute Yami and she looked together, saying that they should quit denying themselves and become a couple already.  While Yami hadn’t encouraged Venice, he hadn’t discourage her either leaving Teris the sole person telling the red head to stop.  Thankfully with Jack here Venice had done just that.  And for relief from Venice’s teasing, Teris would suffer Jack’s company.

“Saved any villages lately?”  Jack asked Yami as the fireworks ceased and horns silenced.

“A few,” Yami told.

“Only a few.”  Jack cackled.  He looked over eyeing Teris wondering what Yami saw in the royal girl.  Sure, Jack had had his share of interests in finer, high class ladies but once wooed his interest had ended.  It was a game for him, how many of kingdoms well bred ladies could he leave blushing and quivering wanting more of his attentions. But that was obviously not what Yami was up to here.  Smart considering that the two were on the same squad, but still curious. It wasn’t as if anything could come of it.  Teris was a royal.  And already spoken for at that.  He looked over at Yami wondering if his friend was unaware of the Silva’s and Nova’s intent to see Nozel and Teris wed.  That would be something he smiled.

“You should try to become friends with Jack.”  Venice whispered to Teris despite need not to in such a crowd.  “It’s good for a girlfriend to be friends with her boyfriends friends.”

“I’ll remember that if I ever have a boyfriend.”  Teris said dryly.

“You should--”

Teris took Venice’s drink from her.  “You should stop.  You’ve had enough.”

Venice reached for the drink Teris holding it out of her reach and passing it to Yami.  Yami took the tankard brows furrowing.  With a shrug he tossed the container over his shoulder.

“Hey!” Someone behind yelled.  Others crying out as they were splashed with the contents.

Jack cackled again.

“Oui!” Venice complained.

Teris pointed up to the balcony.  “It that Jon?”

Venice turned.  “Where?  Oh!  He looks so proud and handsome.”

On the balcony the Wizard King held out his hands encouraging the crowd to quite down.  “I thank you all for coming to the Star Awards Festival.”  Sir Jorah said his voiced magically magnified for all to here.  “We, your Magic Knights, appreciate your recognition and support of our efforts to keep the Clover Kingdom and you, it’s citizens, safe and secure.”

“He says the same thing every year.”  Jack complained as the Wizard King went on.  “You’d think that he’d have someone on staff to write him something new.”

“Who’s that beside him?”  Yami asked.

“Who?” Jack questioned.

“The guy beside Jorah that Ellara’s standing behind.”  Yami directed.

“You mean the King?”  Venice asked brows raised.

“Not the Wizard King.”  Yami snapped getting impatient.  “The other guy.”

“Yeah. The King.”  Venice said slowly.

“She means the actual King,” Jack said.

“Of the Clover Kingdom,” Teris added.

“Don’t tell me you didn’t know we had a King.  Just how foreign are you?” Jack wondered.

“I knew about the King,” Yami glowered.  “Just never seen him before.”

“Why would you have?  No one but the Castle Knights, his personal attendants, royalty, and possibly a noble or two are allowed in his presence.”

“It’s not that bad.”  Teris said thinking it almost was.

Yami looked over at her.  “Have you met him?”

“Directly? Once.  After the Grimoire Acceptance Ceremony.  All the royal, and a few esteemed noble, kids who had received a grimoire were introduced to His Majesty.”

“What’s he like?”  Yami asked looking up at him, thinking him too small to be a King.

Teris shrugged not wanting to speak ill of the kingdoms ruler.  “He’s the King.”

Yami looked at her understanding what she had left unsaid.  Figures, he thought.  One would have to be an out of touch, selfish, pampered prince to rule over a society with such disproportionate not and plenty and do nothing to right it.

“And now we have come to the moment we have all been wait for,” Sir Jorah said.

The four of them turned their attention back to the balcony.

“I don’t know why I’m excited.”  Venice said.  “It’s not like we’ll be anything but last again.  I hope he doesn’t say how many black stars we have.  It can be embarrassing with the people around noting you’re a Black Bull.”

“In first place, topping their record last year, with a total of ninety-three stars is the Azure Deer.”  Sir Jorah announced.

Teris beamed proudly up at her brother, sorry for all the trouble she had caused him since joining the Magic Knights.

Yami grinned at his mentor.  Bad as he had felt for Julius getting into so much trouble on his and Teris’ behalf Yami had known that Julius had nothing to worry about.

“As if there was any doubt.”  Jack muttered.

They watched Julius step forward giving the crowd a wave before turning to the Wizard King who pinned a medal to his cloak, and said a few words as he shook Julius’ hand.  Julius saluted his superior then stepped before the Magic Knights Commander.

Greywright gave the Captain a gold rectangles plate that had the squads name, number of stars, and year etched into it.  Julius saluted again before turning back to the ruckus crowd, giving them another wave.

“The people all love Captain Julius.”  Jack said jerking as a piercing scream for the Azure Deers Captain sounded behind him.

Teris had to agree, mildly surprised at the deafening noise.  She knew her brother was a likable person but to this level, it bordered on fanaticism.

“Ranked seconded, also topping their previous years record, is the Crimson Lions with eighty-one stars.”  The Wizard King proudly reported.

“Way to go Leona!”  Teris cheered her cousin wondering what roll Fuegoleon had played in his squads success.

After Mereoleona had joined Julius.  The Wizard King declared.  “Ranked third with seventy-eight stars are the Silver Eagles.”

“It’s that what they got last year?”  Someone in the crowd asked.

A drunken fan of the Silver Eagles pushed the questioner saying. “They’re still better than the other six squads.”

“We love you, Pyter.”  A young woman called as her giggling friends echoed the sentiment.

“The Silver Eagles will be top squad next year.”  Another yelled though there was no hope of the Magic Knights Captain hearing the encouragement.

The Captain of the Silver Eagles, having received his medal and squads bronze plate, gave the crowd a wave before joining Julius and Mereoleona to the left of the Wizard King.

“The rest of the rankings are as follows.”  Sir Jorah went on.  “The Golden Dawn with sixty-seven.”

“Two less stars than last year.”  Venice commented.

“The Blue Rose with fifty-five.”

“They bettered themselves by a star.”  Teris nodded.  “Good for Lady Breigha.”

“The Green Mantis with forty-nine.

Yami slammed Jack heartily on the back laughing.  “And you were mocking the Eagles for earning the same amount of stars as last year when your squad lost three.”

Jack looked dumbstruck unable to believe how the Green Mantis’ went from fifty-two stars to forty-nine.  Then he thought of his Captains inevitable displeasure felt clammy with fear.

“The Purple Orcas have rose to seventh rank with forty-seven stars.” Sir Jorah announced.  “The Coral Peacocks have ended the year with thirty-nine.”

The crowd muttered at the two squads trading ranks.

“And the Black Bulls came out of the negative with one star.”  The Wizard King intoned completing the rankings.

“What!” Venice shouted.  She squealed throwing her arms around Teris and jumping up and down.

“You act as if your squad earned top rank.”  Jack criticized.

“Shut up!  You’re not ruining this for me.”  Venice hugged Teris again then threw an arm around Yami and pulled him closer for a group hug. “This is because of you guys.  I know it.”  She said giving each of them a peck on the cheek.  She pulled them together as tightly as she could before quickly releasing them and stepping away.  “You two look so cute together.  Don’t you think they look good together?”  Venice asked elbowing Jack.  “Perfect couple, I’d say.”

Taking a step toward her friend, Teris grabbed Venice by the elbow.  “What did I tell you?  Stop it.”

“Ow!” Venice cried pulling her arm free.  “Alright, alright.  I’ll stop.”  She smiled villainously  “For today.”

“We have a star.”  Olsen exclaimed having finally reached them after seeing them a couple yards a head in the crowd.

Venice turned and shouted back.  “We have a star!”  She wrapped her arms around Olsen squealing with delight when he lifted her off her feet.

Olsen set her down and clasped Yami’s shoulder.  “It’s got to be due to these two.”  He said looking at him and Teris.

“I said the same.”  Venice agreed.  “They’re the only thing’s that changed.  I know I didn’t put in any more effort then last year.”

“Neither did I.”  Olsen loudly declared holding his arms out.

“How is that something to boast of?”  Teris questioned.

“Oh get over here you beautiful woman.”  Olsen said pulling her into a hug.

“Congratulations.” Gilly smiled uncertainly from behind Olsen.

“Thank you, lovely.”  Olsen said releasing Teris and giving Gilly a nod.

Venice gave a huge grin as she took in Gilly.  “Olsen,” she said drawing out his name, “who’s your lady friend?”

“You have the wrong idea, my pretty.”  Olsen said holding up a finger to Venice and pulling Gilly forward.  “This is Gilly.  The Grand Healing Mage who over saw Yami’s mending.  She is Bronn’s date.”

“Bronn’s date?”  Venice said in disbelief.  “But she’s pretty.”

Gilly’s words sounded more like a question.  “Thank.  You.”

“No.” Teris said stepping in front of her.  “Thank you for what you did for Yami.”

The Black Bulls girl seemed overly serious for Gilly doing what had been her job.  Unsure she looked at Olsen who nodded his encouragement. “You’re welcome.  But truly, it was no big deal.  I didn’t even tend to him myself.  My--”

Overcome with gratitude, Teris hugged her.

Gilly stopped not knowing what to do.

Surprised as he was by Teris’ response toward Gilly, Yami smiled gratified knowing that it was the concern she had felt for him that moved her to hug the Healer.

Teris pulled away embarrassed that she had let her overwhelming emotions has lead her to do such a thing.  “Sorry.”  She apologized.  “I don’t normally behave in such a manner.”

“It’s alright.”  Gilly smiled beginning to understand.  “Some people just mean that much to us.”  She turned and greeted.  “Hello Yami.  It’s good to see you outside of my infirmary.”

“It’s great to be out of there,” Yami said.

“Taking take of yourself?”  Gilly questioned.  “No further injuries I hope.”

“Not as yet,” Yami answered.

“And how are you feeling?”

“Like I’m back in your infirmary,” Yami told.

“Sorry.” Gilly laughed self consciously.  “It’s hard not to put on the Healers Hat when I’m around former patients.”

“Try.” Yami urged.

“The lovely lady’s team of healers saved your life.”  Olsen said. “It’s you who should try.  Be nicer.”

“Saved his life.”  Teris echoed looking from Olsen to Gilly and then to Yami, himself.  “What does he mean by that?  You told me that though plentiful the injuries themselves were moderate to minor.  She looked at Venice and Olsen.  “Everyone, even Bronn and Captain Jax said as much.”

“And exaggeration on my part.”  Olsen said forcing a laugh.  “Forgive me.”

“No.” Teris said not forgiving or letting the matter go.  “I want to know exactly what happened.”

“You were there.”  Olsen said.  “You saw what happened.  Yami went to the healers and came back.  He’s fine.”

“Isn’t that all that matters,” Yami said.

“After you convinced me to speak to Nozel.”  Teris said turning to Yami. “Not to mention the fact that you lied.”

“For your benefit.”  Olsen stressed.

Venice made a face.  Olsen realizing too late he had said the wrong thing, again.

“How is it you say all the right words to make a woman feel beautiful but all the wrong ones any other time?”  Venice questioned her friend.

“It’s a limited skill set.”  Olsen admitted.  “Every woman wants to feel beautiful.  Beyond that, you’re all different.”

Teris stared at Yami feeling an anger rise.  An emotion she had yet to feel toward him till now.  “Never.  Never lie to me again.  I don’t care if you think it’s for my benefit, or anyone else's  If you value our friendship and want to keep it.  Don’t even think of lying to me ever again.”

“Understood.” Yami all but saluted.

Teris spun on a heel and disappeared into the crowd.

Olsen whistled.  “Boy.  She’s mad.”

“She’s hurt.”  Venice corrected.  Turning to Yami she told him.  “She thought you were the one person in her life who wouldn’t try to control her.”

“I didn’t try to control her.”  Yami snapped.

“Didn’t you?”  Venice questioned.

“If she had known how bad off I was she never would have agreed to speak to that royal ball of pride and it would’ve torn her up inside with bitter regret.”  Yami explained.

“You tried to control her.”  Venice summed up.

“I--” Yami looked away.  “I messed up.”

I write for my own enjoyment, but edit and post for yours.  If you enjoyed reading this at all please comment and let me know.  It’s the only thing that encourages me to keep editing and posting.

Thank you to those who have left hearts.  And a special thank you to those who have left comments or re-blogged.  They really mean a lot.

Tag list: @captncappuccino

[honestsycrets]

Like Me VI: Giving In

❛ pairing | ivar x oi!reader

❛ word count | 3k+

❛ type | multi

❛ summary | ivar misses his dear friend. he seeks to give her all she wants. even if it includes him.

❛  warnings | rivalry, jealousy, arguing, one of them will kill the other.

The worst part of being a walking cripple was to have to endure the need to be in the goodwill of the only other cripple you knew that could walk as well.

“Ow!” Your fingers deepen in strokes upon the bird whose claws hollow the glove you wear. The blacksmith recoils from your nasty cry in the back of the royal quarters. Your earrings jingle as you shake your head to rid yourself of the sting that came from the blacksmith’s clanging. Your friend rears his head from his goblet of ale to your seat, grinding tooth together.

“What are you doing to her?” Ivar seethes. “She is screaming.”

“It is too tight on her legs, King Ivar. It is restricting movement.” He rumbles. “I was only adjusting them for improvement.”

Ivar droves off of his chair, dragging himself along the floor toward you. He sits himself up, dragging the leather strap of his bound legs directly in front.

“If her legs come out of that injured, you’ll answer to me, hm?” Ivar resounds with his war pick, flipping the blade at the blacksmith to reassure the man without question what will become of him.

“Uh-- of course, of course, my king. I will take these for repairs” He slips the braces off of your legs again, pulling the heavy straps of metal onto his arms as he stands. It doesn’t escape Ivar’s notice that you quickly chuck your dress over your notched legs to shield them from your view. Mangled legs, he reminds himself.

“Goodman,” Ivar replies with sycophantic smoothness as the man makes himself scarce from the room. You sit with your hands in your lap, one on top of another. Your lips have gone flat, calming your strokes across the bird. “Goodman… (Y/N)?”

“Yes?” You look toward the silken straps that bind your legs down. You need to bind them to be able to return home, this time on your forearms. The spirit of relaxation that you previously had with Ivar seems to have eviscerated in exchange for a tense and wary background.

“I did not mean what I said of your legs. And the prince. I was led by anger.” He reaches out to set his hand upon your knee.

“Rorik?” You say, leading him on to say the prince’s name. Ivar much rather eat his words than say the ruddy-haired prince that came with strange Persian, Swede and dark-skinned thralls. Yet if he had to in order to repair this relationship, he would.

“Rorik of Novgorod.” His thumb strokes your kneecap through your warm dress. Then, bouncing off your knee, he looks to you. “Sigrunn told me you saw him in the waters the other day. You enjoy his company, don’t you?”

“More than anything.” You answer too quickly. Enough that his face drops completely at your assertion. They are too soon, too raw. He clenches his jaw to avoid a raw reaction, tightening his grip upon your knee. He’s about to blow again, you know. In order to curb his brash reaction, your hands drop down to his gloved fingers. His Viking skin is calloused-- reflecting the days of his childhood and those of being truly Viking. The first touch that you had given him since the wedding and so he’ll take it.

“In another way, Ivar.” You say. “You are my friend, I understand our relationship. Freydis is a fair queen and you are a k--”

“A god.” Ivar cuts you off, dry in nature. “And you are a goddess. My equal.”

You’ve heard such things before from Freydis who worshiped Ivar’s feet in her own way. Still, you do not know what to say nor how to respond. Ivar brings the back of your palm to his lips, planting a gentle kiss upon the knuckle in tender care. Your love of the king always went like this. At times, tender and loving. At others, harsh and unforgiving.

“I have decided. As a goddess, you should be free to spend your time with who you wish without fear.”

Should you bend down on the floor and thank him for being such a fair and pious ruler? Your lips quirk into a smile, unable to contain it. Fighting Ivar in this state-- where his mind was degenerating… it would get you nowhere.

“So you approve of him becoming my lover?” You ask.

“I never said that.” Ivar sibilates when a white-hot prick of anger sears through his bones. “Only that I’m giving you an opportunity to choose.”

Your jaw relaxes, bending with your great beast on your arm. You lean to the shaved side of his head, planting a small kiss upon the scar that follows his cheekbone down. His cheeks almost could have reddened.

“Thank you, Ivar.”

He hates to admit it, but a gale of glee fills his stomach when you speak to him like that. Your voice is sweeter than his cups of mead. He feels as if he’s done something right when he notices the sharp eyes of the falcon on your other arm, his wings lifting as if he’s gotten too close.

“Where did you get that beast anyway?” He grumbles.

“Oh, the falcon?” You ask. “Rorik brought it to me from somewhere past Jorvik. Isn’t he cute?”

“He is anything but cute.” Ivar looks up and down the beast on your arm. “Babies are cute.”

“I heard Freydis is with child,” You gleam and know full heartedly that well, any child from their union was likely not Ivar’s in blood. You realize moments later, that it did not matter. The child was his in the soul. Freydis was right… this, this was good for him.

“I’m going to be a father.” His lips prick up, shifting the short hair of his mustache up along with it. “Do you want to be a mother, (Y/N)?”

Your heart drops, weak as you consider his suggestion. You shake your head at the absurdity of the statement and then look down to your skirts. Your face is practiced in emotion, eyes almost empty when Ivar shifts to look at you. No one expected a family of a cripple, of someone that could barely walk. How were you to chase a child? To care for a child? The thralls you would need!

“I don’t think so. I am a cripple.” You say after a moment in which your heart beats painful and deep. You relax your shoulders when Ivar leans up, coursing his hand along your thigh to your hips.

“So am I.” He leans in. His hand shifts up to the sky. “And Frigg has given me a child.”  

“It is easy for you, Ivar. You are a man.” You then groan, a tremulous sound from your lips. “I can’t imagine the strain in carrying a child. I have heard of bleeding, malformations and small children in women like me as little as they may be. Even sex makes me...”

“Whitehair hasn’t fucked you?” Ivar asks.

“Of course not!” You shout. Dyr, or so you decided to name him, flared his wings. You hush him back down. “I’m sorry. I-- Can I tell you something, Ivar?”

“Yes.” Ivar hands you a chunk of meat for your beast. He pecks determinedly at his dinner. You take a wary breath as you decide to put it out there and far more than that, trust Ivar again. Your bird takes the meat with keen interest.

“I want to be a grown woman. Not just because I am married. But everyone will see me for only my legs. Like you.”  

“I don’t see you as--”

“If I had been born like a normal woman.” You say sharp, but diaphanous in tone. Ivar feels the words before you actually finish them. “Would I have been your queen?”

There is no witty comeback from his lips this time. He turns to stare at you as if you’ve slapped him across the face instead of the other way around. You could have been, you think, and for a moment, you take in a long breath.

“No that-- that is…” Ivar stumbles.

“Ridiculous.” You say. The words scrape off your tongue, disdainful in an answer. Ivar has no other desire but to stop his slip up. Dyr swallows his dinner much like Ivar swallows his words. The gulf of emptiness in his stomach spreading. “Sigrunn!”

“Yes?” She turns the corner, clutching dark leather veils that are curtains. Her hands in front of her lap.

“Take Dyr. I am going home.”

As much as Ivar wants to ask you why you are like this… why you push him out, well, he can’t. He knows your affliction all too well. It’s his own.

It was late at night when Rorik heard the knock upon the door. His men shared the living space of the longhouse they took up in. His men were about the fire, roaring in laughter. He settles them down, roaring shut up! Shut up! As his booze sloshes over his pasty knuckles. As he works the latches, each harder than they should have been-- he hears the banter on the other side of the door.

“Why am I doing this?”

“To show her how deeply you care.”

“Yes and when she shows with child, what then?”

He pops the door open. Therein flesh and blood is Ivar standing arm and arm with his wife. Rorik stands in trousers alone, legs wrapped and stuffed in lazy boots. His tattoos blotch over his shoulder and chest.

“If it isn’t the god Ivar!” He roars, giving a lazy bow at the waist. Ivar’s hand flexes about his crutch, clearly debating if he should kill him now or later. “And Queen Freydis-- she’s far too pretty for you, you know.”

“Rorik.” One of his warriors intervene and cause a banter between the prince and his warband in words that Ivar truthfully cannot follow. They argue shortly in a quick swap of tongues before Rorik huffs forcefully out of his nose and steps aside to let them in.

“What can I help you with?” Rorik asks, forcefully closing the door with a lock. If Ivar was here to burn them too, as he learned Ivar was fond of, he probably wouldn’t do it if he was in here too.

“With her,” Ivar says.

“Her? Who her?” Rorik leads. Given the other day, he’s not sure if the moment in the bar or the wedding is the question. The men about him consider their prince as if they were entitled to know whatever was going on in his life.

“(Y/N).” Ivar starts. His headache was welling up in the front of his head. A furrow of newfound concern creases Rorik’s brow. He comes to sling his arm around Ivar’s shoulder to pull him from Freydis.

“Let us talk in private.” Ivar looks away from Freydis who sits confidently among the men. She motions him forward with a face as flat and hard as she ever wore among foreigners. His patience is visibly unwinding.

“What about (Y/N)?” He shows Ivar to his backroom, gripping the waistline of his pants once they got in. Ivar shifts around, head bobbing as he looks to the dark wooden walls, a spiraling shield up on the walls. A half wobbly smile takes his face. “Have you done something to her?”

“Have I done something to her?” Ivar’s gaze goes hard, voice grating at Rorik’s assertion. “If I were to do anything it would be to you.”

“Then get on with it.” Rorik flicks his hands into the air. He could have-- Ivar thinks. The man is drunk and incredulous. With his queen in the other room though, he would do nothing. To Rorik’s obvious amazement, Ivar holds up his gloved fingers.

“Shut up.” Ivar orders, soothing over any bite to his voice. “As little as I like you, I like seeing her upset less.”

Rorik snorts as he takes a few lazy paces around the room. The longer he stayed, the itchier his skin became. He scratches the long runic marks of his arms when finally Ivar finally admits why he is here.

“Have sex with her.” He says.It aches him to say, but he knows Rorik is the only one to see you than more than your disability. Perhaps, more than him. “She wants to be made a woman.”

Rorik’s brow lifts. He wants to laugh, but he can’t, he can only run his hand up through his loosened braids.

“Ahhh. King Ivar.” He says, acrid amusement festering in his gut. “I know you think you control her. I know you do! But you are late. She has asked me herself.”

“What?” No answers come to him though-- Rorik’s cocky smile simpers the waters of his tolerance into a full-blown boil. The foreigner comes up, patting Ivar’s shoulder.

“She wants me to deflower her,” Rorik says in a would-be-good-natured tone. “But I appreciate your approval, keeper of the keys. Truly. I’ve never heard anything better. I’ll keep it in my heart. Now is that all?”

Ivar’s hand flexes at his belt. His patience blown-- and the last semblance of a relationship torn.

“Yes.” He sneers, incredulously. “That is all.”

Perhaps Freydis was right. You needed someone. But there is no way that this man deserved you.

Rorik had sex with many women. But… not a cripple. He tried not to think of you in that way; crippled. His men consider it a fetish because why, in their eyes, would he want a cripple if he could want an able-bodied woman? Even Ivar did, making that heated request in the deep of night.

They didn’t understand.

“You won’t like them.”

“I’m certain I will.” He almost fights your hands upon your skirts, wet kisses moistening your neck as he ground himself against your shy body. Your knees knock together, too shy to let him see your pretty pussy behind your skirts. His other hand grabs all that you offer, squeezing your nipples between his thumb and index finger to tug gently.

“But what if you don’t?” You breathe out in a hushed gasp. “What if they are so disgusting that you run from them? Women are supposed to have gorgeous legs.”

“Shhhh…”

He knows why you’re so anxious. King Ivar, as he was told, told you that you had ‘mangled legs’ as you later recounted to him. It took work to dispel those fears and still you fought him. Even with Ivar’s so-called approval, men watched him wherever he went. They look for a foul up. A reason to kill him in justification so that you would not hate the king. His pride must be wounded because now, more eyes than ever, he feels the hate.

“You will,” Rorik says, growing hard in his heated desire against your side. The prince shifts over your body. “Just let me see them.”

You tug your blue skirts over your legs, squeezing your eyes and shifting your face away. It lets him take your body in. His piercing eyes glance over your twisted legs up to your hips. Rorik slides down between your legs, shifting one over each shoulder.

“Oh!” You squeak adorably.

“See! Look at you and that glorious--” Rorik spreads your lips apart, gazing at your well-kept pussy.

“Rorik, stop.” You say. He leans in, swirling his tongue against your inner lips. He pulls his head back once again, sweeping his tongue against your puffy wet pussy in smooth licks. Your head drops back, adjusting to this strange new feeling. Slowly you roll your hips down upon his tongue, gasping when Rorik gave a playful suckle against your outer folds.

“Why?” His laugh almost vibrates hot breath against your pussy. “I can’t wait to get my dick in that pretty pussy.”

Rorik moves on when you don’t respond, suckling playfully. The pads of his fingers playfully slap your wet pussy, delighting in the knowledge that you’re moist and wet for him. His tongue shifts down, flicking his tongue in the tight little hole.

“Mm, do you touch yourself, hm?” Rorik hums, nudging his nose against your folds. His beard tickles against your wetness, a soft but prickling feeling against your body. He goes to work, lapping and licking at your sweet pussy with loud slurping noises.

“No-- No.”

“You should. I can see it in my mind already.”

“Do you have to talk so much?” You weave his hair between your fingers, shoving him forward into your cunt when there’s a long, loud thwack, thwack, thwack at the door. You shift with your forearms, legs slipping off Rorik’s shoulders.

“Ignore it.” He says, turning his head to huff against your thighs.

“I have to get it. It could be Ivar.” You say and push past him. Rorik lets loose a long draw of annoyance. You slide down onto the ground, using your forearms and palms carry you over to the door, ignoring the hot pulse of your pussy engorged with the need for your orgasm that you denied yourself.

“It’s always fucking Ivar,” Rorik growls, low under his breath. You throw a look back at him that leaves the prince exasperated upon the bed.

“Be patient.”

“Patient!? Děva… I was that close!” Rorik drops back, flopping on the bed while you reach-- unfortunately with difficulty toward the door. The locks of the door are too high up when you’re out of your braces. Unfortunately, the blacksmith yet still had them.

“Rorik, please. Sigrunn needs her rest.” You call out to him, pointing toward the door. He flips his hand midway in the air, dramatically dropping on his chest.

“I’m coming.” He pushes himself off the bed, jamming his hand into his pants to adjust his cock comfortably. He grasps his uncle’s sword from the wall and sways over to the door, jerking it open. You drag yourself out of the way to avoid getting smacked.

The first thing he says, of course, is said with a sigh.

“Queen Freydis.”

Checkmate.

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[setaripendragon]

Never Simple - Chapter 2

[Chapter 1] Given that I got distracted by another fandom half way through writing this, I wasn’t actually sure whether I was going to manage to finish it or not, but I came back to it just yesterday and tah-dah~ So, have some more ridiculousness. (Warning for references to... pseudo-cannibalism? Human-possessing monsters that eat humans, anyway, although there is no actual cannibalism going on, just discussions on the subject.)

Ed sat, silent and tense, as Granny checked Al over once again. This time, instead of just frowning deeper, she had a grim smile on her face. “Well, that one seems to be doing the trick.” She announced, and Ed slumped, hanging his head and pressing his eyes shut against yet more tears. He was tired of crying.

We really do need food. Truth insisted, in time with the pang of bottomless hunger that echoed through his stomach.

“Granny?” Ed asked, wiping his nose on the back of his hand and looking up. “Can I have something to eat?” He asked, unable to quite keep the touch of resentment out of his tone. He didn’t like being told what to do at the best of times. Granny snorted at him, giving him a look that was probably for the tone rather than the question, because she was also nodding.

“I’ll bring you boys some stew.” She said, patting Al’s knee before heading for the door.

That’s dead meat. It won’t help. Truth sighed, just as resentful as Ed felt. Ed tried to give a voice in his head the side-eye. It didn’t really work, but it did, at least, manage to get the message across. In case it escaped your notice, oh so clever one, we are not human, we do not need the same things human bodies need to function. We need living meat, preferably grey matter, if we can get it.

“Grey-” Ed choked out, horrified. He was even more horrified by the fact that the thought didn’t actually cause his stomach to turn over like it would have only hours ago. No, instead, his traitorous stomach let out a hopeful little gurgle. “You eat brains?!” He hissed under his breath.

Ideally, yes. The more complex the better. Truth explained, and Ed froze, because he didn’t need to be a genius to understand what that meant.

“No.” He said, a little too loud, and dropped his voice to a vicious whisper as he continued. “I am not killing people just so you can eat them, and I don’t care what you do to me!”

A grumpy silence followed that pronouncement, until Ed was all but vibrating in his seat in a combination of righteous indignation and creeping dread. I will not force you. Truth said, and it felt almost… resentfully apologetic. I am not your master, nor will I punish you if you defy me.

“You literally vivisected me once.” Ed hissed.

I shared with you the knowledge you sought! If you did not like what you learned, then maybe you should have thought twice before asking. Truth retorted coolly, and Ed flinched. You are an aggravating little bastard, and I do not like you. That does not mean that I wish you ill.

Ed… didn’t really believe that, and he knew Truth could tell, but he could at least accept the tentative truce for now. “So… okay. Okay, if- if brains are off the table-” Ed shuddered, dismayed at the fact that that sentence had just come out of his mouth. “-which they are, what… what’re the alternatives?” He asked warily.

After a momentary pause, he could feel Truth relent, uncoiling through Ed. It was weird and invasive, and yet strangely not unpleasant. We can subsist on lesser foods. Truth acknowledged. Eggs, nuts, meat, and fish. But only raw. Cooking it destroys the chemicals we need. Chocolate, as well. Chocolate is good. If Ed didn’t know better, he’d say Truth was purring at the thought of chocolate. That much, Ed could get behind.

He did know, though, that cooking food did alter it at a chemical level. And he supposed, whatever type of being Truth was, it probably didn’t have humanity’s long history of cooking food, so even if it could adapt to it, it hadn’t had the chance. “Raw meat?” Ed asked, despairing.

Grey matter would be best, but yes, raw meat will do in a pinch.

“Raw meat can make humans sick.” Ed pointed out, although he had a feeling it wasn’t going to do him any good.

Sure enough, Truth seemed to find that funny. It will not make me sick, and since I will be the one doing all the digesting, you have nothing to worry about, little alchemist.

“Fuck, fine.” Ed sighed. “But you better not make me throw up the stew either way.”

That was not me. Truth explained, feeling weary and frustrated. Ed couldn’t be bothered to question that out loud, but he focused very intently on his scepticism and incredulity. Just as he seemed to be able to feel Truth’s emotional state, it clearly picked up on his, too, and responded with an explanation that wasn’t so much words as it was concepts and dynamics. The way that the human immune system responded to Truth like a threat, and sought to purge it, and yet it could not, because Truth was everywhere, in every part of Al. This had resulted in a feedback loop, sending the immune system into over-drive, attacking Al as much as Truth, and that was why Al had thrown up the food.

“Is my immune system going to do that?” Ed asked with a grimace.

I do not think so. We are more compatible than I had expected. Truth mused. Ed wanted to ask what the hell that even meant, but before he could, Granny came back, with Winry on her heels, each of them carrying two bowls of stew each. Ed took his gratefully, and watched with relief as Winry poked Al awake, and Al managed to actually keep the food down this time. He had no idea how he was going to convince Granny to feed him raw meat, but any trouble it gave him would be more than worth it for his brother’s life.

Al only got half way through his stew before he was yawning, and Winry gently took the bowl off him. Ed put aside his own bowl to hop up and tuck Al in. “You rest and get better soon, okay, Al?” Ed prompted, and Al nodded, frowning at him slightly.

“You… Don’t do anything stupid, Brother, okay?” He checked, voice gone soupy with encroaching sleep. Ed wanted to scoff and make some grand pronouncement about how he never did anything stupid, but… but just the thought choked him, because it had been his stupid idea that had got Al into this state in the first place, that had- No. Not thinking about it.

“I’ll try.” Ed managed, a little hoarse.

Al gave him a look, a tired smile, and then drifted off.

“Let’s finish our meal in the living room, so we don’t bother him.” Winry suggested, stepping up and grabbing hold of Ed’s elbow, tugging lightly. Ed let her tow him out of the infirmary, Granny following on their heels. “Ed, I-” Winry began once they were in the living room, depositing their dinner on the table and then turning to face him, looking at him all earnestly. It made Ed shift uncomfortably. Winry didn’t finish the thought though, just looked at him for a long moment, brows furrowed, and then threw her arms around him without another word.

Ed tensed up at first, not wanting to give in and allow himself to accept the comfort. He didn’t deserve it. Truth took the matter out of his hands. Literally. His arms came up without his intent or permission, and wrapped around Winry in turn. It’s not about whether we deserve it or not. No one deserves what they’re given. But kindness is rare, and acceptance doubly so. We should take it with gratitude when it’s offered to us.

“Yeah.” Ed agreed, reluctant, but… understanding the wisdom in it, sort of. “Thanks, Winry.” He added, squeezing her, and feeling relieved when he found he could do it without issue. Winry just squeezed him back.

“You’re not alone. You know that, right, Ed?” Winry checked, finally drawing back.

Ed almost managed to muster up a smile for her, but it wobbled and fell away before it could quite make it. “Yeah, I-… Yeah.” He agreed, swallowing back the pain her words provoked. He felt very alone right now, even though he was less alone than even Winry knew. He wanted his mum, and her absence – and his own guilt – made everyone else feel miles away, even the voice inside his head.

Sitting down to finish his dinner, Ed wished that Granny and Winry would talk about something, anything, so that he could distract himself from his thoughts. From the memories all clamouring for his attention. But they weren’t, they were maintaining sombre silence, as if they thought Ed wanted them following his lead or some shit. He felt Truth prod at his memories, not quite taking control like it had before, but clearly calling his attention to its desire to… What? See what he remembered?

Yes.

Ed almost wanted to laugh, bitter and hysterical, but instead, he just let go, let the memory play out, and tried not to loose his dinner at the remembered sounds of bones snapping one after the other. Oh, now that was just cruel. Truth muttered with scorn, but, Ed realised after a moment, not scorn directed at him. Instead, it was aimed at… Sloth. It told him, quietly, offering up a memory of it’s own, of a small amorphous puddle of what looked almost like the clearest, purest water, if water had the consistency of liquid flesh; crystalline blue mottled with glints of white and pale, pastel yellow like light reflecting off the strange ripples of its movement. That one is called Sloth. It is the one you freed when you tried to pull apart things that were never meant to be divided.

Ed put aside the rest of his stew and curled his knees up to hide behind them. Guilt surged up his throat, threatening to bring his half-digested dinner with it, but he swallowed it down. He was also remembering that awful stone doorway and the horror sealed within. It was… one of… one of those? He wondered, struggling to structure the thought into something coherent, and not just an incomprehensible mess of emotion. Truth returned a feeling of assent. How… How many are there? In there?

Uncounted thousands. Perhaps a million or more.

Ed shuddered. That was a horrifying thought – that there were that many of the things – but it was easier to think about that than about Mum and what had happened – what he’d done – to her. What… are they? He wondered.

The insane remnants of my people. Truth told him, and Ed flinched from the undercurrent of age-old grief and guilt that rang through the thing, mirroring the feelings swamping Ed and creating a painfully acute feedback loop. They are ours to watch over, ours to guard, ours to keep contained, lest they break free and ravage your world. I did it to preserve your world, your people, and yet you all persist in tearing at the prison I built. In your ignorance, in your arrogance. Too many are already-

A sudden banging on the door interrupted Truth’s rant, which Ed was both resentful of and a little grateful for, because Truth still scared him a whole hell of a lot, and the thing’s temper was almost as bad as his. On the other hand, Truth had been sharing information, and like any good alchemist, Ed craved knowledge. Especially forbidden or obscure knowledge.

“Who the bloody hell could that be at this hour?” Granny groused as she went to get the door. Ed peeked up over his knees, curious despite himself, as she opened it and revealed two military officers standing outside. “Yes?” Granny snapped. “What do you want?”

The man opened his mouth, spotted Ed over Granny’s head, and closed his mouth in favour of pushing past her and walking right in. His gaze was fixed on Ed, fierce and almost angry, ignoring Granny’s yelled protests. “What have you done?!” The man demanded, one hand coming up as if to grab Ed.

Ed’s body moved without his permission again, flinging him backwards so violently the arm chair actually started to topple even as Ed rolled right over the arm, staggered back, and hit the wall, hands raised defensively. But the man wasn’t coming after him. In fact, he’d frozen where he stood, looking- conflicted. That was the best Ed could describe it. And when it became clear that he wasn’t actually going to attack, Truth relaxed, which meant Ed’s body relaxed, which meant he could control it again.

Are you… scared of him? Ed asked as he straightened warily. The notion of Truth being scared of anything felt wrong to him. It could take people apart at the molecular level, what the hell did it have to be scared of? Which meant that anything that could scare it scared the hell out of Ed just on principle. Or it would, if this guy didn’t just look like a normal guy. Military, sure, but nothing that ought to scare Truth, he didn’t think. Nothing that scared Ed, which meant he kind of wanted the guy to stick around. If he had to put up with Truth inside his mind, then it would just be karma if Truth ended up having to put up with this guy in the same room as them.

“Hey! Leave him alone!” Winry shouted, getting to her feet as well. The military guy barely spared a glance for her, but he did back off a little, his posture changing from something bristling and looming to a straight-backed military type of stance.

“I saw the array at your house.” He said crisply into the silence. “I saw what was left in it.” Ed flinched, throat locking up, and then shot a half-hearted glare over at him. “I’ll ask again. What did you do?” He enunciated every word very clearly, like he was tossing them out like knives, aiming to wound.

Ed closed his eyes, words sticking in his throat. Answer the man. Truth murmured, snide enough that Ed was pretty sure it had detected his earlier thoughts about wanting it to know what it felt like to be stuck with someone who scared the shit out of you.

“Oh, fuck you.” Ed snapped half-heartedly. He said it out loud for the military man’s benefit, but it was equally pointed in Truth’s direction. The guy’s eyebrows rose at the insolence, but he didn’t lose his temper again, so at least there was that. “I-” He choked, gritted his teeth, and tried again, shoving down the awful churning emotions that were threatening to steal his voice. “I fucked up, alright? I fucked up, and-” Ed’s throat closed up despite his best efforts, and his legs gave out on him. He sank down the wall to sit on the floor and buried his face in his knees, so at least no one would see him crying, even if they all had to know that he was doing.

“If you wouldn’t mind not harassing my patient?” Granny snapped into the silence.

“My apologies.” The military guy offered smoothly. “There appeared to be… biological matter inside that circle, and that, you understand, is… concerning.” He pointed out, and Granny grunted in a way that was probably acknowledgement and agreement. There was a long pause. “Who was it?” The man asked, which meant he clearly understood enough of what the array was for that Ed was in deep shit anyway.

“Our mum.” Ed rasped out.

The military lady, who’d so far been a silent shadow to – Ed guessed – her superior, sucked in a sharp, horrified little breath. “I see. And, forgive me, but what happened to your brother?” The memory of Al’s face wearing Truth’s grin flashed through his mind and he flinched violently and curled in on himself, guilt making any explanation feel impossible.

Granny picked up his slack. “He’s not well, but he’s recovering.”

“What happened?” The military guy asked.

Granny made a dubious noise, but answered the question as best she could. “I’m not entirely sure, to be honest, but-” Ed tuned the rest of the explanation out, because he didn’t want to hear his failures spelled out in Granny’s brisk, practical way.

We are getting very hungry, little alchemist. Truth warned him.

Fuck’s sake, I can’t just- Granny is right there! Ed retorted, peeking up over his knees to where Granny was gesturing for the military goons to join her at the dining table as she talked.

Yes. She is, isn’t she? Truth responded ominously.

What’s that supposed to mean?!

It means that we must eat something, something nutritional for me, or our hunger will consume us. I could start eating bits of you, but then you will start to fail, and I will fail with you. Better to eat somebody else. Truth explained, still with that edge of dark impatience.

You piece of shit, fine! Ed hauled himself to his feet, resentful and reluctant, but not actually willing to keep pushing Truth, in case it did follow through on it’s threat. Granny cut off mid-sentence to look over at him, but he waved her off.

It was a warning, not a threat. Truth groused.

Sounded like a fucking threat to me! Ed snapped back, lacing the thought with all the impotent fury he felt. He yanked the freezer open and crouched down to see that Granny actually had a huge bag of already chopped- something. Probably lamb. He grabbed the whole thing, slammed the freezer shut, and emptied it out into one of the big mixing bowls.

We do not want to harm people! Truth exploded, just as furious as Ed. It was loud enough, even inside Ed’s head, to make him startle. Truth’s next thoughts were far less aggressive, quieter, almost soft. We don’t want to simply consume everything in our path like some kind of plague, but I am a living creature, just as you, and we must eat to survive. One cannot help one’s nature, and no creature should ever have to apologise for existing.

…That’s fair. Ed acknowledged gracelessly, and apologised by way of shoving a handful of frozen lamb chunks into his mouth. Before he could do more than register that this was going to be gross, something changed. Truth surged up, and the next thing Ed knew, his teeth had grown into points designed for rending flesh, and his tongue felt… weird. Different. But at least the difference meant that instead of tasting gross, the frozen meat actually tasted like sunshine felt. You gave me fucking synaesthesia. He complained half-heartedly.

Your human senses are so limited. Truth mocked. You can’t even tell when someone is approaching you from behind. It added, and Ed turned to see Winry standing in the doorway, watching him with wide, worried eyes.

“…Ed?” Winry asked tentatively, eyes flicking from his face to the bowl he was cradling in his arm.

Ed decided there was literally no way he could explain this without worrying her even more, and if he did that, she might start crying, and that would be unacceptable. So belligerence it was. “What?” He demanded, mustering up a scowl.

“Are you… um…” Winry trailed off, not even bothering to try and stay focused on his face anymore. “What are you…?”

“M’hungry.” Ed snapped defensively, and then pushed past her back into the front room, trying to escape. Of course, he’d forgotten that there were even more people to explain himself to in there, but he was here now, so he set his jaw and went to join the grown-ups at the dining table. They all accepted his presence without comment for the first three seconds, and then Granny did a dramatic double-take.

“What he hell are you eating, pipsqueak?” She demanded, leaning forwards to try and get a look at the contents of the bowl.

“Food.” Ed retorted, entirely truthful and entirely unhelpful.

“Is that- Edward Elric, what do you think you’re doing, eating raw meat straight from the freezer?! You’re going to make yourself sick! As if one of you coming down with something isn’t bad enough!” Granny exclaimed, trying to grab the bowl off Ed. He jerked it out of her reach and curled around it defensively.

“It’s fine!” Ed protested, and proved his point by shoving another handful into his mouth, chewing the bare minimum, and then swallowing. “See?” Granny made a noise like a boiling kettle, and then threw her hands in the air. In the back of Ed’s head, Truth was laughing. You’re an asshole. Ed informed it resentfully, and popped another chunk of raw sunshine-flavoured meat into his mouth.

The problem was, Ed could already tell that Truth hadn’t been fucking him around. Not even a quarter of the way through the bowl, and he could already feel the difference. Truth had been starving, maybe even to the point of dying of it, if Ed hadn’t gone along with it’s demands.

It is very, very difficult for one of us to die of starvation. If we become too diminished, we simply… hibernate. We can maintain that state for a very long time before even that takes too much from us, and we perish. But I have gone a long, long time without sustenance.

How long? Ed wondered, as the adults hesitantly picked up their conversation. Military guy was saying something about human transmutation being illegal, and Granny was snapping back defensively. Ed thought he probably ought to care about that, but it was hard to muster up the energy.

We can’t actually remember. Truth admitted.

That… had to be a long time. Ed shook the thought off, and listened to the military guy giving Granny soothing platitudes with half an ear. He caught more of Ed’s attention when he looked over, and Ed forced himself to actually pay attention when the guy switched to talking directly to him. Ed was a little impressed that, despite one, faintly pained glance, the guy didn’t show a hint of being disconcerted by Ed’s choice of snack. “I first came out to Risembool with the intention of offering to sponsor your application for the State Alchemist program. I reconsidered once I learned how young you were, but in light of everything, I think perhaps you might benefit from applying, regardless.” Ed blinked, too stunned to react.

We should do it. Truth decided.

“Wait, what?” Ed blurted out before he could stop himself.

“You – and your brother – are clearly alchemical prodigies, and-” The guy began, but Ed lost track of what he was saying in favour of listening to Truth.

We must find Sloth, and the others, and return them to the Gate. The military is as good a place to start as any. They have resources we could use, and given that the others will be as hungry as we are, your military is bloody enough to be prime hunting grounds. Truth explained.

Ed went very, very still. I thought that thing- that- Sloth. I thought it had- died, or- or gone back to the Gate already. He thought in horror. It had dissolved, hadn’t it? Turned into a puddle of biological ooze, and slipped back into that place.

No. Your mother’s body ‘dissolved’, as I showed you yours could be. But that is our natural form. It is not anathema to us as it is for you. It would not have harmed Sloth to return to that state. To remain so without a host would eventually kill it, so Sloth would not have remained in your house for long.

Shit, okay. Ed thought, closing his eyes for a beat. He didn’t even need to think about it, really. If the thing that killed Mum was out there, he wanted to find it and put it back behind the Gate where it couldn’t hurt anyone else ever again.

And this man will be very useful. Truth added.

Ed closed his mouth without letting the affirmative answer that had been on his tongue spill out into the air. The military guy gave him a curious look, but then kept talking, a little more keenly, pushing a little harder to convince him. I thought you were scared of him? Ed questioned.

He is very dangerous to my kind. But we are hunting my kind. Truth pointed out, a little amused at Ed’s expense.

Ed wanted to pull a face at it, but didn’t dare, with the military guy’s attention fixed so thoroughly on him. Dangerous how? He wondered, to which Truth responded with a feeling of suspicion and mistrust. Ed actually did roll his eyes before he could stop himself. I already agreed that I want to find Sloth as much as you do. He pointed out, and Truth relaxed.

“Something the matter, Mr Elric?” The military guy drawled, unimpressed.

Ed blinked, and then realised he’d gone and rolled his eyes, and this guy had no way of knowing it was at the voice in Ed’s head, not him. “Uh…”

Ask him who he is. Truth suggested.

Right. “I just realised I don’t even know who the fuck you are.” Ed pointed out.

The guy huffed faintly, amused. “Fair point. I’m Lieutenant Colonel Roy Mustang, The Flame Alchemist, and this is my adjutant, Major Riza Hawkeye. It’s a pleasure to meet you.” He offered dryly, holding out a hand for Ed to shake like they were both respectable grown ups. Ed almost wanted to laugh, but before he could, Truth moved his body again, reaching out to shake the man’s hand, and then, with a faint sense of amused trepidation, used the grip to turn Mustang’s hand over so Ed could see the array stitched on the back of his glove.

It was an impressive piece of alchemy, that was for sure. Simple and streamlined to the point that Ed was certain there was a lot more to it that Mustang was doing in his head, on the fly, for every different transmutation. Fire was notoriously tricky to do anything with, with alchemy, after all. Ed wished he was better studied in that arena, because even though he could pick out a few details from the circle, it was simple enough that he couldn’t even begin to put the pieces together and figure out how the thing even worked-

And then Truth was unspooling the knowledge inside his head. Fire at the heart, of course, integral but small because all that was needed was a spark, because the key ingredient, the main function of the array wasn’t to create fire, but to create fuel. Air and earth, interwoven and interlinked, because- Oh, fuck, of course, Ed thought, eyebrows rising in incredulous awe. Fire needed to breathe, and with enough flammable gasses concentrated in one place, the air could be the fuel.

There was so much more to it than that, so much excruciating detail was necessary to make it work, but with enough experience and knowledge, that could be done on the fly, and adjusted as needed to the circumstances. The basics, though, were there, so fucking simple Ed felt stupid for needing help to figure it out. Not stupid. Reverse engineering something like this would be the work of a lifetime for any normal alchemist.

“Okay, now that’s amazing.” Ed breathed. I didn’t know you knew alchemy. Other than… biological alchemy, anyway.

Truth laughed at him again. Arrogant little alchemist, it said, and it sounded almost fond, I invented alchemy.

Ed had no idea what to even do with that statement, so it was a bit of a relief when Mustang spoke up and distracted him from the increasing laughter inside his head. “Ah, thank you.” He said, sounding a little bewildered. “You, ah… can decipher it?”

“Enough.” Ed acknowledged with a grin. “It’s pretty sneaky, though.” He added.

Show off. Truth huffed, no longer laughing. Ed projected an imagining of him sticking his tongue out at it, to the tune of gloating laughter of his own.

Mustang pinched the bridge of his nose like Ed’s admission physically pained him, which was also pretty funny. “That is actually terrifying.” The man muttered. Hawkeye, too, looked entirely stunned, her mouth was actually a little agape as she stared. Ed looked at her a little curiously.

“Are you an alchemist, too?” He asked.

She blinked once, and then offered him a faint smile. “No, but my father was.”

Ed nodded, and tried not to pull a face. That just made him think of his own deadbeat dad, and he didn’t want Hawkeye thinking it was directed at her. To his surprise, he felt the same rolling disgust and scorn that he was feeling coming from Truth at the thought of his father. Why do you hate him? He wondered, baffled, but only for a moment, because, well, it was obvious. Hadn’t Ed gotten the idea to- to do what he did from one of his dad’s old books, from a handwritten note in one of his dad’s old  books? Oh, right, did he, uh… free one of those things, too?

Yes. Truth projected the affirmation forcefully. More than one.

Ed wasn’t sure whether to feel horrified or vindicated by that, and settled for just letting Truth share his anger. Funnily enough, it did seem to help them both. “Well, Mr Elric?” Mustang asked, breaking Ed out of his thoughts – his conversation with Truth – and drawing him back to the present. Ed raised his brows at him, and fished around in the bottom of his bowl for the last few bits of meat. “Have I persuaded you to apply for a State Alchemist licence?” Mustang asked with a hopeful, encouraging smile.

“Yeah, sure, whatever. I’ll do it.” Ed agreed.

“You what?!” Winry yelped.

“Edward…!” Granny added, entirely thrown and vaguely appalled. Even Hawkeye looked unhappy, lips pressed into a thin line.

Only Mustang didn’t seem shocked, instead hiding a smug bastard little smirk behind his interlaced fingers. “Excellent. The next Exam is in eight months. I suggest you come to Central a little earlier, to give yourself time to adjust and perhaps get a little studying time in the libraries there.” Ed shrugged, because he really didn’t care about the logistics. Mustang eyed him for a moment, then without comment turned to Granny to discuss the details. That was fine by Ed, really, and he let their voices drift out of focus as he contemplated the empty mixing bowl. Still hungry? He asked tentatively.

Yes. Truth admitted. But we will survive a few more days without proper sustenance.

Ed didn’t really want to think about the logistics of that, either, so he didn’t. “I’m going to go check on Al.” He said out loud, and slunk away with the feel of Mustang’s assessing gaze prickling on the back of his neck.

[sgnjongin]

we live and lie by the skin of our teeth

                                     -the past-

the first time kim jongin ever sees song yoori, she is in the library and she has no idea he even exists at all.

he’s here against his will, the aisles of books and towers of silence spreading away from him in wave after wave, like ocean currents rippling steadily outward, unable to be grasped by him or his uninterested gaze. he doesn’t understand the allure of the library, the meaning of it, the swallowing quiet of it, as though all sound gets caught by proofed walls, the forest of decapitated trees a hallowed graveyard that demands stillness and hushed concentration; two things which have never been jongin’s strong suit.

even at fifteen, jongin is a creature of noise and fury, his teeth clicking together as though he’s biting at the air, his fingers fidgeting and itching across the spines of books, his feet threading him through one shelf, then another and another aimlessly. he’s making his way towards the construction section, the small, cornered space dedicated to the perfected lines of buildings and roofing and wood products over ceramics. he’s in no hurry to reach it though, only barely paying attention, not because he likes the library but because when he leaves here, he’s been commanded to return straight home.

home, where the pillars of his father’s voice echo inside his head like a death knell, home where the walls are bloodied aorta valves, pumping the disease of his life through every crevice and foundational brick, only to regurgitate it back up at him later.

he takes his time, seeing none of the books, meandering all the way to the back and then frowning at how small the section is once he finds it, how ill-kept. the high school library is prestigious enough he supposes, but apparently not flawless. he sighs and crouches to reach some of the titles, blinking a little stupidly at a few of the korean words– it’s been so long since he’s had to read korean instead of french.

french is a superior language and he misses hearing it daily, but that’s a bridge that’s already been burned. very literally to the ground.

he starts yanking books from the shelf one at a time after he reads the titles, no intention of putting them back, letting them clomp the three centimeters to the ground, the mess growing satisfyingly, but stops suddenly as he hears a giggle. he twists to look over his shoulder and then peers through the backless racks, spotting the crumpled form of another human on the far end of the aisle, a blue hoodie and a high updo on the head of a young girl.

his frown deepens as he struggles with opposing sides of his brain– one end telling him it’s not worth it to pick a fight with some nobody right now, don’t want to drop out of another school again this early in the semester; the other end suspicious and paranoid that she’s laughing at him. he can’t stand the idea of someone mocking him, he can’t let that slide– he still has a reputation to form for himself in this country, like he did in the last one.

he abandons the chaotic stacks he’s made of the books, their pages crumpled and forgotten against each other, to slide over closer to where the girl sits, finally able to see that she’s curled up on the floor, surrounded by her own towers of books, symmetrical and far more categorical than his. she has one open on her lap, her knees bent up to support it, one hand on the page, the other absentmindedly toying with her earring.

she bites her lower lip in an effort not to laugh again at whatever she’s reading and he feels a little silly for his previous self-consciousness. of course she has nothing to do with him, the school barely knows his name yet, he’s never met this girl in his life.

at this point, he knows he should leave her alone, and to hear him tell it years later, he will admit to only the first part of this story: that he sees her in the library, reading in the back like a nerd, and then goes about his own business, dismissing her in the same breath he’s found her in. unremarkable and bland, it would be a trivial, blank interaction, one-sided and dull, and not the point of this story at large.

he will never tell of the length of time he kneels here, watching her as she ignores him, watching her as she pours herself into her own little world, into her own closed off space, all the pieces of herself fully attached and unbroken, completed and unscarred. she sits there like she is her own person, not a shade or a crack to mark her, to tear at her edges, to poison her blood. he watches her for longer than he’ll ever admit in his life, knowing that she has good dreams at night when she sleeps, knowing that she has never had to harm anything living that loved her; no guilt, no horror, no spilled blood.

she looks like peace incarnate, and it punches a hole through jongin’s chest like a yawning pit of quicksand, the differences between them despairingly evident, and for one single prolonged moment, he doesn’t want to scratch the surface of her life with his taloned fingers, he doesn’t want to destroy. she sits and reads and he thinks she is a dweeb, but he also thinks he would set the whole world on fire to have just a second, a tiny, minuscule moment, of that same sort of peace.

**

tw: animal death

the second time kim jongin sees song yoori, she is standing on the other side of his dining room, a distinct contrast of solid colored clothing against the garish decorations of his mother’s household. this room in particular is a lavish green and bronze and wood trimming ensemble, overly ornate with intricate carvings along the walls, a fireplace, lush chairs, and a massive, beautiful oak table at its center, pulling all the elements together. it swallows up even the liveliest of guests, and the song family are no match for its heavy, overbearing tones.

yoori stands with her mother and her father off to one end, jongin with his parents on the other, the dining set untouched between them, and before any of them have even gotten past the amicable introductions, jongin knows what this is. his mother is all grace and softly spoken words, welcoming them with a dove-like presence, like a spider to a fly, while his father bows and stays stiff yet polite off to the side, but neither of them have to explain fully what deal is about to go down here, and how little a choice jongin will have in the matter.

he should have known sooner. he should have refused when they’d told him to dress well tonight, to expect visitors tonight, to be on his best behavior tonight. he should have picked up on the small, subtle hints his mother has been dripping on him lately, about girls and stability and plans for the future; about how he ought to look further ahead to see the greater picture, despite still only being a child by most of the world’s standards.

then again, he hasn’t been allowed to be a child in many, many years.

by seven, he’d watched all his toys go into the same fireplace that crackles and sparks now off to his left, their plastic figures melting and charring away, the pretty colors fusing into something brown and black and hideously disfigured. by ten, he’d come to understand that having no nanny at all was better than having the ones who screamed and ran from the house, ran from their money, ran from his father.

he glances down at the massive table in the heart of the room, the grains spiraling down towards the middle from the outer edges and remembers sobbing as he’d scrubbed it clean of the blood, suds and salt water mixing, his hands red and raw. his father had given him a dog for his birthday and let him keep it for a whole year, before making him kill it in the same place the cooks delivered and set down trays of food for dinner that evening.

“if you don’t do it, i will,” his father had threatened, his hiss tickling jongin’s ear, “and i’ll make it a lot more painful to watch.”

a few months afterward, they’d brought another dog home, fluffier, happier, innocent. that had ended badly too, but what stays with jongin the most is the way his father had looked at him, smiled at him encouragingly, each time he’d brought a new pet into the house, each time he’d introduced it to jongin, knowing full well where these roads would lead to. what he would make jongin do. over and over; a dog, a bird, a rabbit, until they’d given him a cat and he’d secretly released it into the wild, before presenting a knife to his father covered in his own blood instead. after that, he’d spent months convincing his mother to send him off to france for middle school.

when he looks up from the table, into his father’s eyes, that look is still there, that kindly, distant smile, almost a sneer, a darkness around his irises that mirrors jongin’s own potential for evil. go on, those eyes tell him, as they had too many times before, take your gift.

jongin looks at yoori, and sees not the girl in the library with pretty pink lips and an atmosphere of calm tranquility, her soft, long fingers, her fluttering eyelashes. he doesn’t see her determination or fortitude, doesn’t see her resentment or frustrations, doesn’t see her struggle or her resignation. he stops seeing her as anything that had belonged to him for a single, brief instant in a quiet nook of the school library only weeks prior, something no one would ever need to know about, something that would never touch her the way it touched him, never scar her.

instead, he sees her the way his father sees her, the way his mother sees her, and hates her for it. charming little song yoori, bookish and feeble, presented before him like meat on a platter ready to be carved into, cut from limb to limb, stabbed and butchered and strangled and drained. this is an offering to be slaughtered, an opportunity to prove what he’s learned in his fifteen years of life in the kim family household. his father’s eyes say go on, say take it, say if you don’t do it, i will.

and i’ll make it a lot more painful to watch.

jongin has a set of rules for survival in his life. rule four is to not flinch in front of his father. rule eight is to never love what can be killed.

jongin’s stare hardens into a seething glare, his atmosphere darkening like a thunderstorm. the hole she’d opened up inside him widens and deepens ever more. he hates her, he hates her, he hates her.

“nice to meet you, kim jongin,” she says to him, her voice crystalline and clear, unafraid and untimid.

“a pleasure,” he responds back, and it sounds like a threat.