#i might even finally get the painting that’s been rotting in my brain out onto canvas this afternoon

[notjanine]

it’s ten am and i’ve already worked out gone grocery shopping petted a stray cat and met an acquaintance* for a ~3 mile hike there is no mental illness in this body

[irisintheafterglow]

...said you like my eyes (and you like to make 'em roll)

summary: you marry hoshina soshiro. it's just a business deal...right?

wc: 1.2k

cw/tags: implied fem!reader, explicit language, marriage of convenience, childhood friends to rivals to lovers, pining but he's SO mad about it, tension breaking and a lil steamy towards the end (but nothing explicit), intentional lowercase (i didn't mean for it to be this long but here we are)

note: hello iris nation today i offer you hoshina brain rot because this bowl cut bastard has been nothing but the forefront of my mind for the past week. hope you enjoy LOL

likes, reblogs, and replies are appreciated <3

"oi." a small bubble mailer is unceremoniously tossed onto your desk and you don't bother looking up at who threw it. "wear that."

"hello to you too, vice-captain. what a lovely day it is!" you remark without pulling your pen from the document you were signing, your voice mockingly sweet. he can't stand you. "oh, i'm doing well," you continue with the imagined conversation, "just doing paperwork and wondering what my wonderful fake husband is up to."

"careful how loud you say that," he warns through gritted teeth, "or you put both of our jobs in jeopardy."

"i'm aware, hoshina." you sigh, finally looking up from your paperwork at the package in front of you. "trust me, i'm not trying to mess this thing up just as much as you are," you reassure him before dropping your voice to a nearly imperceptible volume. "as difficult as you make it, sometimes." you catch the muscle in his jaw clench and smile inwardly at your victory in making him tick.

"just open that and put it on. i have work to do." you frown, gesturing at the stack of papers that appeared on your desk that morning and were nowhere close to being finished.

"and you don't think i don't?"

"open the damn package."

"what do you say first?" you smile at him condescendingly and watch his frown become deeper. rolling his eyes, he pushes the mailer closer to you before muttering a quiet, "please." you reluctantly open the package, dropping the small gold circle inside into your palm. it's a testament to your working and romantic relationship with hoshina that your first reaction is to snort. "what the hell is this?"

"we're married, aren't we?" he scowls, annoyance overtaking his typically-amused face. "might as well look the part."

"how thoughtful of you," you say with no inkling of gratitude, slipping the ring into its proper spot on your left hand. "huh. perfect fit."

"that's a surprise," he mutters and you narrow your eyes, suspicious of what he meant by that. "i mean that i bought it off a discount site, not that i thought the ring wouldn't fit on your finger or something," he quickly corrects, his unhappiness and irritation clear.

"you got me a wedding ring off a discount site?" you bark out a laugh and admire the shining band in the light. "is this even real gold or is it painted plastic?"

"don't know. didn't bother looking," he mumbles and you gape at him and his pure level of indifference. "just wear that so no one gets suspicious about us."

"what about you?" he fishes under the collar of his suit to reveal a similar ring dangling at the end of a small chain. "aw, maybe you can give that one to your real wife one day. maybe she'll be stupid enough to believe it's real." he scoffs, turning to leave.

"i don't need another wife; i already have my hands full with you."

---

"they won't think twice if it's us marrying each other. not when they look at both of our histories," he explained to you on an off-base excursion, away from prying eyes and recording cameras.

"what's in it for you?" you take another sip from your drink, something you forced hoshina to buy for you for making you travel so far off base. it was like you were kids again, sparring with tree branches in the afternoon and spending all your money on sugary drinks. "isn't it bad to be making attachments, especially ones in the defense force itself?" he shrugs, calmer than you'd ever seen him since you were transferred to the third division. you remember the first time he saw you on base, immediately ordering you to run laps for some made-up reason. so much for childhood best friends turning into kaiju-fighting partners, you thought to yourself.

"people will stop asking me to use my benefits on them, for one," he says. "it'll also stop the brass from bothering me about next-of-kin type stuff."

"oh, so you want me to deal with the repercussions if you die? how thoughtful," you deadpan. "and in exchange, i get more benefits too?" he nods, refusing to look at you. come to think of it, you'd only faced him head on when you first arrived on base. shaking your head, you ask hoshina a question that'd been lingering your mind since you first saw him after he left to join the defense force. "why is this the most you've spoken to me since i transferred? what happened to growing up together and joining and-"

"questions like that have no place in this arrangement," he cuts in, a shadow casting over his eyes that you couldn't read. "so don't ask them." you huff through your nose before deciding not to press the subject further.

"strictly transactional, right?" you murmur, the barest hint of sadness detectable in your voice.

"strictly transactional," he affirms.

---

"mmm, now what happened to 'this is strictly transactional,' husband?" you smirk against his lips, his hands desperately roaming anywhere he can reach on your body.

"shut the hell up." after months of avoiding you and willing the ache in his lungs to subside, something in him had begun to bend when he saw what you were wearing to the defense force banquet. whatever it was completely snapped when you brushed your hand against the bicep of some nobody from another division. the interaction made his vision bleed scarlet and it took all his energy to remain cordial as he all but dragged you out of the ballroom.

"ask nicely and maybe i'll think about it," you murmur.

"shut the hell up, please," he rasps, breathless from kissing you in a dark, quiet back hallway of the banquet hall.

"kiss me harder and i will," you counter and he just laughs, pinning you back against the wall. one of his hands runs up and down the side of your thigh, the other holding you close by the back of your neck. "what's gotten into you? not that i'm complaining, but-"

"do you have any idea what you're doing to me?" hoshina can barely breathe, every single one of his senses overtaken by you. your perfume, your skin, your eyes, your lips. he was sinking into an indulgence that he'd never allowed himself to have, and it was intoxicating.

"i think i can make several educated guesses." he rolls his eyes but is barely able to stay away from you and your smart mouth. "but really," you say, gently pushing him away and you swear you hear him groan in frustration. "what's going on, soshiro?" soshiro. he liked it when you said his name.

"i'm done pretending that i don't care about you anymore," he admits, his face burning from adrenaline and embarrassment. "i'm fucking sick of acting like you don't matter to me." you blink at him as his eyes burn molten-red.

"why did you act like i was a burden?" your voice cracks and something in hoshina's chest wrings. "why were you so mean for so long?"

"i was hoping i could scare you away," he replies guiltily after a tense moment. "i was hoping that, if i was mean to you...you would leave the force and you wouldn't get hurt. i just wanted you to be safe. all i ever wanted was for you to be safe."

"and you thought marrying me to get your benefits would keep me safe?"

"i've had better ideas," he concedes and you crack a smile. he mirrors your grin, kissing you sweetly. "can i make it up to you?" his hands travel more dangerously over your exposed skin, sending shudders down your body. "i promise i can...make amends to your liking." you hum, tugging him out of the nearest exit.

"i think that can be arranged."

if you enjoy my writing and would like to support me, you can buy me a coffee on my ko-fi! you can also check out my full masterlist here :)

[sorceresssundries]

Every Shade of Sunlight

This is a BG3 anniversary gift for my friend @mercymaker <3

Pairing: Astarion/Maleane (m/f) - SFW

Word Count: 2k

Summary: It is the last night before the group go to face the elder brain, and Maleane takes Astarion to watch the sunset for possibly the final time.

"Darling, as much as I appreciate a little rough and tumble down a dirty alley, you’ve been dragging me through the city for quite a while now. Is there a specific dirty alley you had in mind? Or, did you just get sick of camp? Not that I blame you, my sweet. Gale has been particularly irritating this evening.” 

“Perhaps he's just trying to squeeze out as many words as possible in our last few hours together?” Maleane replied, her eyes scanning the shadows diligently.

Astarion sighed. “Sometimes, I’m glad he hasn’t decided to blow himself up. Other times, I regret not persuading him to do it sooner. He is frightfully repetitive.”

Maleane rolled her eyes, and could feel her lover’s greedy gaze on her as she strolled through the hidden alley which ran through the bowels of Grey Harbour. She was trying very hard not to be distracted; she had a careful, precise, time-sensitive plan. If Astarion didn’t stop brushing his hand over hers or making suggestive comments, she would definitely end up fucking him in a dirty alley. That wasn’t what she had planned... at least not right now.

“Aha!” She turned to him with a grin and pointed to a dank, well-hidden ladder that looked so rotted one step might turn it to mulch.

He looked highly unimpressed. “Unless that ladder leads to a cultist to kill and a heavy treasure chest to break into, I think I’ll stay down here.” he sneered.

“It leads somewhere much better than that. Trust me.”

He raised an eyebrow, sceptical. “Better than murder and treasure? This sounds like a trap.”

She grabbed the ladder with confidence despite its decrepit appearance. “You’ll just have to see for yourself.”

With a wary glance, Astarion followed her up the ladder, his usual swagger slightly tempered with caution. 

At the top, Maleane clambered onto a ledge and over a small railing to a tucked-away rooftop. The last light of the day bathed the space in a warm, golden glow, and the scent of blooming flowers filled the air. The rooftop was modest, nowhere near as spacious as Alfira and Lakrissa’s haven atop the Elfsong. This one was dingy, with weathered stone tiles underfoot and the faint remnants of old paint on the wall of the larger building that towered next to them. However, Maleane had done her best to breathe a little life into it.

A variety of plants, from hardy ferns to flowering vines, were strategically placed around the space, creating pockets of greenery and bursts of colour. Comfortable cushions, covered in bright but slightly faded fabrics, were scattered about, arranged on a couple of old wooden crates repurposed as makeshift seating. In one corner, a small wrought-iron table, a bit rusty but still sturdy, held a collection of candles in different shapes and sizes and a bottle of expensive wine

“This… this is unexpected.” Astarion turned to her, surprised.

“Don’t get too moony-eyed,” she teased. “I stole it all.”

“Well, then I'm even more impressed.”

“Come on. Sit.” Maleane gestured towards the makeshift bench while she poured out a glass of wine for them. 

Together they sat, and spoke, and sipped their wine. Maleane resting her head on her lover’s shoulder as they watched the sun set on their final day with parasites in their heads. Tomorrow, one way or another, Astarion would no longer be able to bask in the light he had become accustomed to. It pained her. 

The view from the rooftop was nothing short of spectacular. The Chionthar stretched out below, glowing with shades of gold and crimson. The sounds of the bustling city were muted, a low background hum—ambient sounds for the two lovers on a rooftop in the city they were trying to save. 

“As delightful as your company is, it feels like you’ve brought me here for a reason, my love. Or are you just feeling sentimental?”

“Show a little patience, you’ll see.”

“Darling, I was a slave for almost two hundred years. Patience is the only thing I've ever had.”

She nudged him with her elbow, and nodded her head back towards the sunset. “Watch.”

He sighed dramatically, then quieted, watching as the sun he loved almost as much as her began to sink below the horizon. The shimmer of yellow, soft and tired after a long day, was slowly being dragged away. Astarion stared at it with barely concealed longing, all his usual bluster and facade dropped. He observed the sunset the way one would watch their lover walk out the door for the final time.

Maleane, however, only watched him as light muted and the shadow of dusk fell over his face, turning his eyes from shining scarlet to a deeper maroon—so much deeper they could almost be mistaken for brown. His skin looked less pale, his fangs hidden beneath the straight line of his lips. He looked the way she imagined he did when he was alive.

She often wondered what he was like in those days, when he was young and human and fragile. Did he ever steal bottles of wine and sneak away to hidden rooftops in the city he lived and loved in? What did he look like, smell like, sound like? Maybe his words used to sound different slipping off a tongue that wasn’t silken and practiced. Perhaps his vowels were rounder, his accent softer, uncut by the sharp points of his teeth. 

Maybe he was an entirely different person, or perhaps he was exactly the same. Maleane would never know, and Astarion would never remember.

She grieved for the person he was before, loved him for who he was in this moment, and steeled herself to protect the person he would become. No one stayed the same; everyone was as changing as the seasons, and contained as many colours and streaks as the sunburst sky. Her heart ached as he mourned the death of the day, the final one he would possibly ever see. Then, his expression shifted. He looked confused.

Maleane smiled and tore her gaze from him to follow where his eyes were fixed.

Right there, in the day’s final moments, when only the very top of the sun was visible - it turned green. Just for a few magical, unexplainable moments, a vibrant, clear flash of the brightest emerald. And then, it was gone.

“Did you see that?” His disbelief reminded her of a child watching snow fall for the first time.

Maleane hummed in contentment and put her hand over his. “Sometimes, when the sky is clear and the weather is right, just in the final moments before the sun disappears - it turns green.”

“Why?”

She shrugs, “I don’t know, I'm sure there’s some long, boring explanation that Gale could tell us about. It’s supposed to be a sign of luck, a good omen.”

“How did you know it would happen?”

“I didn’t. I hoped.” She sighed as his cool thumb brushed over her knuckles. “I used to watch out for it when I was a child. Most people don’t even see it. They sit under the sun every day and never know all its colours. Lives are lived and days are long and no one stops to see the sun turn green.” His eyes are fixed upon her now, the sun long forgotten. “I wanted to show you every shade of sunlight. Gods knows how long it will be before you see it again.”

“If I ever do.” His voice was weaker than she had ever heard it. 

“You will.” Hers was made of iron.

They sat there for a while, the two of them, as the orange and purples and reds of the sunset stained sky melted away into inky blue. The light followed the sun below the line of the horizon, where it sat and patiently waited for tomorrow. Who knows what it would cast itself over the next time it appeared. 

Dawn could clutch at the burnt-out corpse of Baldur’s Gate in the morning like a grief-wrecked parent, and wake the birds to sing songs of sorrow. Or… it could raise its arms in celebration, light up the homes of the saved and slip through the stained glass of still-standing temples and cast colour across stone floors. Shimmering through the tears of grateful worshippers which would stain the feet of the Gods, making their worship look like diamonds.

The Gods didn’t deserve their tears. It would not be the Gods that saved them, Maleane thought bitterly. It would be up to her small group of misfits and outcasts. The chosen and the cast-aside. The faithless and the faithful. The tortured vampire and the lost girl from the woods.

No-one would thank Astarion. The gratitude of the morning sun would not reach him. He would slink, shadowed and unrewarded, once again back into the darkness. He would not be alone though, Maleane would make sure of that. 

“Have you ever been up here before?” Maleane asked, It was strange to imagine Astarion as a young man. Just one of the people she had seen settled and happy in the routine of their day in the city. It was a heartbreak to think about how she was so grateful to have found him, and yet the only reason he was in her life was because he had been killed, dragged back from death, and mistreated so poorly.

“Who knows darling.” He sighed. “I don’t remember much, only blurred faces and whispered names. I distanced myself too much to remember particular details. I don’t even know who I was, let alone where I've been.”

He took a long sip of his wine and became lost in clouded thoughts. 

“I’ve been a victim, and I've been a monster, and, ridiculously, some kind of hero. I don’t know who I really am, or which one I'll be when all this is over and I have to deal with normality” He pulled a face as though he'd just bitten something sour. 

“All of them.” She said, simply.  “You’re a person.” She touched his face, cool and perfect. Brushes her fingers down and along the chest that has no rise and fall to it. “Full of burnt orange, and flashes of scarlet, and a yellow so blinding it could be pure white. And also, in rare little moments right before darkness - flashes of green.”

“You’re very sweet.” He lifted her hand to kiss it  “Nothing at all like the angry little forest sprite I first pressed my blade to.” He teased, and flashed his pointy teeth in a genuine smile. 

“What can I say, turns out the threat of ceremorphosis, being thrown into a group of strangers, lifting curses, slaying dragons and becoming the partner of a vampire will change a girl.”

He gifted her with some of his sparkling laughter, a sound so sweet and imperfect a monster would never be able to make it. “Partner,” he said, clinking her wine glass with his own. “I like that.”

Their last peaceful moment was abruptly shattered by another shuddering quake from the elder brain, barely contained and thrumming with anxious, threatened energy, awaiting their arrival. 

“This was wonderful while it lasted, darling,” he sighed, rising and extending his hand to her. “But I guess nothing lasts forever.”

She gazed at him, pale and ethereal, bathed in fresh moonlight.

“Oh, I don’t know,” Maleane replied, as her fingers entwined with his. “Let’s wait and see.”

He kissed her then, beneath the warm blanket of dusk, with the fervour of a man gasping for air, for life, for her. She knew that no matter what came next, even if it meant centuries in the shadows, she would stay by his side.

She would be his light, his mirror, and the home he could always return to.

“Please don’t kiss me like it’s our last night,” she murmured softly, a trace of anxiety creeping in for the uncertain hours ahead.

He smiled against her lips. “My love, I’m kissing you like it’s our first.”

[angellayercake]

the perks of working for papa

papa emeritus iii x female reader | NSFW | part one

the terzo brain rot continues. technically this comes before part one but you can enjoy it either way!

You watched as the second hand ticked closer and closer to ten o’clock, the time of his scheduled meeting with Sister Imperator. He was going to be late, again, and you were starting to run out of reasonable excuses to cover for him. You watch the blinking cursor, the beginnings of your email of apology for his absence waiting in your drafts, when the door finally crashes open. 

‘Sorella, buongiorno!’ He cries as he deposits a coffee for you onto your desk before crashing into his own office. ‘And what a busy morning I have had so far…’ he continues as he starts to bang around his office, seemingly oblivious to the time and the fact he should be on the other side of the Abbey in Imperator’s office. 

‘Papa?’ You attempt to interrupt but he pays you no mind carrying on with his story as if he couldn’t hear you. 

‘And then I said to Copia…’ He comes back into the room heading over to the full length mirror next to the door, completely unphased by anything around him. He admires his reflection, straightening an errant lock of hair, checking his freshly applied paint before smoothing down the barely visible creases in his jacket. Taking this as a sign he might be about to leave for his appointment, you try to interject again.  

‘Papa, you have a meeting scheduled,’ he barely even stops to catch his breath but does turn his attention to the pile of letters in his post box by the door. He flicks through them quickly, pulling faces as he skims the subjects before dropping the whole lot onto your desk without skipping a beat of his story.  

‘So it turned out that I didn’t even have time for breakfast Sorella! Can you imagine?’ He looks at you finally, clearly expecting some reaction from you and when you can only look at him in confusion he shrugs before continuing on. ‘So I said to Omega…’ The clock hits five past ten already and you can’t let this go on any longer. 

‘Papa!’ You finally shout loud enough to pause his diatribe. You have his full attention now and if the smirk pulling at his lips was any indication he had been deliberately ignoring your increasingly urgent interruptions. ‘Papa,’ you continue, tone more even and polite and he inclines his head towards you while perching on the edge of your desk. 

‘You have a meeting with Sister imperator that started five minutes ago,’ you inform him, reaching for your coffee and taking a sip. It’s exactly how you like it and it warms you that he has paid attention to such a small detail. Glancing up at him you realise he hasn’t reacted to your statement at all, and is simply watching you enjoy your coffee.

‘Well Sorella if you had listened to me instead of worrying, you would have an explanation for my tardiness.’ He raises his eyebrows and jokingly wags his gloved finger at you before standing and starting to pace up and down in the space before your desk. ‘You see my morning was so hectic, as I explained, that I had to skip breakfast!’ You try not to giggle at his exaggerated pout of disappointment but it is almost impossible. ‘And as you know Sorella, I can’t possibly go to a meeting without having breakfast.’ 

‘They do say it's the most important meal of the day.’ You concede wondering where he is going with this. He gestures towards you to emphasise his agreement with you, before holding his hands behind his back and making his way towards your side of the desk. 

‘Si, I agree, so could you help me with this Sorella?’ He leans back against the desk so close you could almost touch him and you wonder what exactly he is angling for. ‘Make sure I am well fed before I start my work for the day?’ The request has you rolling your eyes slightly, he had time to fetch you both coffee but not to get his own breakfast. You push back your chair but before you can get up he grabs hold of the arm of your chair keeping you from moving any further away. ‘And where do you think you are going?’ Confusion washes over you, his actions and the way he is looking at you making you feel as though you are missing something. His mismatched eyes sparkle and the corner of his lips pull up into a lopsided smirk. ‘What do you think I usually have for breakfast Sorella?’ 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

He was finally where he had been dreaming of all morning, between someone's legs and he was going to make the most of it. He took a deep breath, catching the scent of her arousal and his mouth started watering. He loved when his partners enjoyed his teasing, when they got as riled up as he did. Her thighs were shaking slightly in anticipation and he hadn’t even touched her yet, he was barely close enough for her to feel his over excited breathing. He couldn’t wait to find out how she will react when his mouth was on her. 

He slides off his gloves wanting her to feel his fingers rather than the soft gloves he favoured day to day. He started at her knees, sliding up the hem of her habit as he went, tracing abstract patterns into her skin, following her veins and criss-crossing to touch all the moles and marks that made her an individual. As he reached her sensitive inner thighs she tried to jump her thighs closed, the too soft pressure of his finger tips tickling and on the verge of unpleasant. He firms his grip spreading her legs even further so he is finally face to face with her pussy. 

This close he can see where the damp spot is already forming but he wants he sodden before he removes her panties. It’s the best way to keep her scent in them for as long as possible after he confiscates them. He gives into his temptation though and presses his nose to her through the damp fabric and inhales deeply. He groans, already feeling his will power for teasing slipping away as she subtly moves her hips against him, grinding her clit against the bridge of his nose. He follows her lead pressing the tip of his nose to her and pointedly circling just around where she really wants him.  

He can feel her getting wetter through the fabric, smearing the paint on his nose but he couldn’t care less. He pulls back, blowing gently against her until she shivers, taking in the way the material has begun to mould to the shape of her pussy. He wanted, no, he needed to taste her so he slowly peeled off her underwear so she was perfectly bare for him. He slips them from her ankles admiring the shape of her legs for a moment before slipping the now perfectly soiled panties into his pocket, for later. 

‘Please Papa,’ she whimpered above him half muffled by the desktop between them but he had to have a moment. Now her panties were removed he could take her in with no obstructions. A trail of slick beads from her entrance and he gives in for the both of them following it with the tip of his tongue until he can dip into her entrance. She gasps her whole body tensing as one of her hands weaves itself into his hair. She tries to guide him, encourage him onwards but now he hasher he wants to linger. As this is to be his first and favourite meal of the day he is going to savour it, nothing, no meeting was more important than this. 

He opens his mouth wide, losing himself in the taste of her, flattening his tongue so he can lick her from her entrance to her clit slow enough that they can both feel every inch of contact. Pulling back for a moment to breath he presses sloppy kisses to the creases of her thighs, sucking marks into her delicate skin. He follows her outline on his way to her clit where he starts working in earnest circling and licking and sucking, his moans vibrating through her. Her grip in his hair pulls and her thighs tighten around his shoulders, all working together to keep him close and bring her to her climax. She comes on his tongue and he fervently laps at her not wanting to waste a drop of her pleasure and already pushing her through her post orgasmic sensitivity.

Time is meaningless when he is here, seconds or hours could pass and all that he would know is the pleasure. He is hard, he always is when gets to pleasure someone this way but his pleasure is always secondary. The more lost he gets in her the less he notices going on around him. Her pleasured sounds filter through the furniture and his mental fog, encouraging him on. So consumed is he, he doesn’t register the angry footsteps in the hallway or the aggressive knock on the door.

[ohmful]

been having the craziest sugawara brain rot. wrote a new year scenario too…

didn’t really proofread this!! mainly wrote it for my enjoyment some parts might be a bit goofy but have fun reading

————————- (pure fluff :)

non gender specific

New years with Suga

to think you’ve spent an entire year again

it was definitely worth the investment

the night sky ever so clearly in your vision, not a single cloud in sight. you can feel the chilly breeze, breath of the air, hugging your body, emitting chills up your arms. gosh how you’d wish you brought a jacket with you. with all your might, you continued walking down the street hoping to find a great spot to watch the fireworks. trailing the scent of fresh yet smokey aurora that these colourful explosion leave behind, you found yourself at a half empty bench, the other occupied by a fairly tall, yet familiar figure. though you weren’t made to socialise, at least not at this time, the seat looked like it was missing its other half so you politely asked the person sitting alone.

regardless of how dark it was or how you were unable to see the face of that person, you soon realise by the soft spoken nature, teasing tone voice that it was suga.

“of course you may! you don’t have to ask when it’s with me” he replied, beaming the warmest smile ever.

as you two caught up, and reflected on the years you’ve spent together as friends and more.

“it’s pretty cold right now, isn’t it?”

“yeah…” you mumbled, hoping that he wouldn’t take notice of your sniffling nose and bare arms.

but koushi sugawara is a man that does not get fool easily. you underestimated him because god what he did next gave you a sanctuary of butterflies, roaming free in your stomach.

before you realised it, he inches closer toward you and threw his jacket onto your shoulders. the warmth from his jacket gave you a sense of physical relief, but thay didn’t matter in that moment, because him being there made you feel so at ease. the cold didn’t seem so bad, you let all else, even your thoughts dropped and enjoyed the present with suga . he has always been the type of person you’d like to talk to, someone to listen to you and someone of comfort.

as all your energy dispensed rapidly, you felt heaviness in your eyelids as they begin to droop, suga took notice of this and let you rest on his shoulder. you can smell the life all around you, the sound of sugas heartbeat, palpating so strongly. it felt very safe and you let a few of your thoughts slip out….

“you know suga, i liked you for a really long time, you’re a great friend to me and I’m glad we were able to have this friendship, whether you may like me or not doesn’t matter, thank you for being here”

you let it all out, all of those years, an abundant of stress, heavy weight lifted off your shoulders.

suddenly you felt a strange, speeding pace of heartbeats. then followed by nervous sweating and then finally sugas stuttering voice.

you looked up to realise that, oh my god- he’s RED. and it’s bad, he tried covering his face with his hands but his ear sticks out like fresh cherries ready to be picked. even you felt the nervousness suga was experiencing and then you finally realised what you just said, you basically confessed?

now you both have two, quite bright tomatoes unsure of what to do next as you got up to create some distance for yourselves.

“oh god oh god, I’m so sorry I didn’t mean to say it now- Youndont have to response it’s okay, okay? I’ll give you some time, get back to me when you can-“

your legs coiled right up, your cheeks dusted with pink as you tried to get back home.

“WAIT -“

His hand interlocked into yours as he tried to get you to stay. Instead of forcing you to sit down, he got up for you.

Sugawara’s mouth ajar as you wait for the words to come spilling out of his mouth. But nothing came out.

His gaze, his eyes focused on you. A silent acceptance, or perhaps rejection, you thought.

As fireworks erupt in the background, the light painted your face within the darkness as a sparkle in his eye formed.

He pulled you in closer before whispering if he could have permission to do whatever he was going to do next, unsure of what it was but trusting your guts, you allowed him to.

his hands, cupped your cold face as he stared lovingly at you. he moved closer and exchanged his lips with yours. it was cozy, snug, or whatever adjective that can describe how beautiful it was, how comforting it felt.

he made sure to pull you in gently, making sure you can stand and let you enjoy this exact moment as much as he is, you placed your hands on his chest and the feeling of his heart, beating intensely was surely a new felt. your two body hugged, as you opened your eyes to immerse yourself in his perfectly sculpted face, relaxed eyebrows, slightly longer lashes, the beauty mark on his left eye.

remembering the tale that where your moles or beauty marks are placed, was where your past lover kissed you, you wanted to do one more thing before leaving his soft lips.

you pulled away, grabbed his face and planted a kiss on his beauty mark, hoping that your love will continue to exist, hoping that his new life he will still have that amazing face, that one exact beauty mark.

even in the far distance, your ears can pick up on the fireworks, igniting ever so strongly in manu places. and the bench, the bench with two people, were lucky enough to be able to witness their own fireworks, their hearts igniting too.

here’s a drawing as well, have a happy new year!

[yakultii]

I ain't scared, I just thought I might get the most best answer this way..I'm wondering what poet or poem you read (or were read in your childhood) that had you looking for more and aspiring to write your own? If it was a traumatic event, I feel you there. .it can really help to read a complete stranger's words of pain, when they harmonize with our own. I admit, I have only read a couple of your poems but I love your voice, keep on keepin on ☮️ 🕉 💛

HAHA DW I LOVE ANONS <33333 I encourage it.

HONESTLY no poetry inspired me to write poetry (IRONIC) I thought I hated poetry!!!! I’ve written many things since I was a kid but always been more of an essay kinda dude..I attempted to read poetry a few times over my lifetime and mostly it made no sense to me..I thought it was just a bunch of pretentious ppl flexing their advanced vocab (which honestly I lack bc of a whole other story I won’t get into and maybe I was just jealous) - the only time I wrote a poem was back in final yr of highschool lit class when my brain was malnourished af and writing it made me want to kms plus I had major imposter syndrome (and then my lovely grandma went and sent it in to a poetry magazine without me knowing and it got published and still I didn’t think poetry was for me) only in more recent times I no longer have access to a psych who I can send weekly 3000 word emails to and I needed to do something so that I would stop driving myself completely insane bc I also live alone 4hrs from family and no friends so have noone to save me but myself so I started writing every day on wattpad like a digital diary entry(today was day 118 in a row) then I started to see others who had written poetry and combined w the fact that I’ve come very far over the yrs in terms with perfectionism (as in not needing to be) I found myself in a place realising that poetry didn’t have to be “good” and that I could just make it work for me. I could just write for myself. To get things out (even tho it’s only like 5% of my mind). It didn’t need to look impressive for others etc like what I used to think poetry did… so yeah basically poetry is just my budget therapy now and a tool to prevent me from ending things :))))) everything I write about (so far, at time of writing) is from real life experience and I love using it as an outlet to say the things that wouldn’t be taken so well if they were said out loud.. cause everyone has some sort of darker side whether they are exposed to it or not and whilst I do hold onto a lot of hope I love being able to have an outlet to get the rot out of me or at least create something with it so it’s not completely useless and all consuming. ALSO I think it’s cool that poetry allows you to turn your words into art. I’ve always loved art and ppl consider me arty or whatevs but I can’t draw or paint (well - not that it matters) so this is kinda something that comes more naturally to me! (I’ve only been writing poetry for 4 months now so hopefully I can only get better)… AND THANK THE LORD in the meantime as I have come to write my own poetry I am now able to appreciate other people’s poetry, I can understand it more, I can be inspired by it, I can admire it. I get it now. Or at least I think I’m starting to get it…. But to answer ur question l wouldn’t say it was a singular traumatic event which inspired it but rather a combined experience of like 20 genuinely traumatic events combined with being neurodiverse & a lifetime of various mental illnesses which I wouldn’t say are all treated etc. and quite honestly having read NOTHING in the past which resonated with the depth of my own experience so I thought you know what I know I can’t be the only one feeling this, I’m gonna try write my own! If I can’t read it I’ll write it and hope I can be that for someone else I guessss

SOZ FOR RANT IDK HOW TO STFU AND THANK YOU FOR READING A FEW OF MY POEMS AND THANK YOU FOR THIS QUESTION ILY HAVE A LOVELY DAY <33

[cc-writesfor2dcharacters]

Tokyo Revengers boys holding your hand on your first date

(Mikey, Chifuyu, Baji, Mitsuya)

A/N: It gets longer for every character, so enjoy! This is just to satisfy my TokRev brain rot so far. I'll be writing for Bonten soon!!! <33

Manjiro Sano

This boy was so oblivious that you wanted to hold his hand on you two's first date. He just wanted to eat his Taiyaki instead of holding your hand. It was childish of you, but you wanted his attention. But, you let your emotions get to you and got mad at him without any explanations. He followed you like a stray kid and you weren't talking to him.

"Y/N, are you mad at me?" He asked but you were stubborn enough not to acknowledge him. You walked waster than before. In all honesty, Mikey has never paid attention to you even if he said he likes you. So, you wanted to go home immediately. But, you were shocked when he suddenly grabbed your hand. You looked at him all flustered and he started to laugh. "You just wanted me to hold your hand, do you? I'm sorry, Y/N. I've been busy with Toman lately." He intertwined his hand with yours and you were caught off guard when he kissed your hand. "Is that enough compensation for the lack of attention I gave you?" You pouted and looked away from him, as your face was turning aggressively red, you slowly nodded your head. With his free hand, he softly pinched your cheek. He scrunched his nose, making his eyes go missing, and said, "You are so cute, you know that?"

Up until now, Mikey still teases you about what happened. But, you grew accustomed to him holding your hand, that it feels weird whenever he doesn't.

Matsuno Chifuyu

If it wasn't for Takemichi who gave him a lot of advice, he wouldn't know what to do. The two of them prepared like it was also Takemichi's date. And, you were sure that Takemichi was on the lookout for Chifuyu's date with you. Right now, you and Chifuyu were watching a movie in a cinema. And again, Takemichi probably suggested that you and Chifuyu should watch a horror movie. It was your weakness, and you were easy to scare.

You noticed that his hand was twitching, trying to hold yours. Your attention turned to the screen because the ticket would be wasted if you didn't watch it properly. But, when a scary scene came on the screen, you almost jumped out of your seat and that made Chifuyu worried. He regretted that he took you to see a horror movie. He cleared his throat and asked, "D-do you want to hold my hand so you won't feel scared?" Of course, you wanted it to happen, so you took his hand that was fairly cold. You held onto his hand tightly as scary scenes didn't seem to end. And, almost at the end of the movie, you didn't realize that you were already leaning your body on his. The hand you were holding a while ago was now wrapped around your shoulder, while the other still holds your hand.

But, he was happy he still listened to Takemichi. You did more than just holding hands since the two of you were practically cuddling in the cinema. The two of you just noticed when the lights went on in the theater.

Keisuke Baji

To be honest, dating never really came to his mind. But, for a man who wanted to fight every single person he meets, you were an exception. That's why he didn't have a clue on where to take you, he just blurted out the question and asked you out on a date. As you prepared, he suddenly texted you that he was caught in a fight and he might be late, but told you to go to your meet-up place. So, you waited on the spot he told you he was going to pick you up at. An hour has passed and he still hasn't shown up. You hugged your legs together and cried. It was rare for you to agree to go on a date, and on the first one, you got ditched. You decided you should go home and just leave him.

But, you were stopped when a motorcycle appeared in front of you. And there he was. Baji had blood and bruises on his face. He got out of his motorcycle and kneeled in front of you. "What are you doing, Baji? Get up." You were irritated at him. To think that you waited an hour just to see him after a fight. "No. This is my way of apologizing and telling you how genuinely sorry I am. Y/N, I like you, and I don't wanna mess this up." You already had a soft spot for him, so you forgave him in an instant. He just took you out for some street foods and you two had ice cream. It was a fun night, but you knew something was missing.

As you hopped onto his bike, you were careful not to touch him anywhere because a part of his body might be aching from his fight. But, before he drove off, he pulled both of your hands and held it with his. You stayed like that for a moment as you nuzzled your face in his back, feeling comfortable around him. He slowly rested his back on your chest. "I should get used to this." He bluntly said and turned to you. "And, that will be the first and last time I'm late. I want to make sure there's going to be more dates for us." You gave him a smile as an answer, and he smiled back even wider. And, you're lying if you said that it was a disastrous night when really, you wouldn't have it any other way.

Mitsuya Takashi

It seems that he studied everything about you. Down to your favorite local restaurant, to your favorite flowers, and to your ideal date spot. Even the type of clothing you wanted a guy to wear, he had that. He was just too perfect for you. And on your first date, the two of you went to a museum. You were enamored with every artwork there is in the vicinity, and you seem to forget about the man you were on a date with. But, he was patient. He listened to you talk about all the art pieces, sculptures, down to the literature written hundreds of years ago. This part of you was so adorable for him, as he realized that you were a lowkey nerd. But, he was determined to make a move and man up to hold your hand.

And, he caught you off guard when you were staring at an artwork you can't seem to grasp. He suddenly appeared beside you and took your hand. You forgot about the artwork and looked at your date who was more breathtaking than the painting in front of you. "Thank goodness, you're looking at me now." He chuckled as he noticed that you were staring at him now. "Well, no art can compare to you." You cheekily remarked as you rested your chin on his shoulder. He shyly looked down and said, "I should be the one giving you some cheesy pickup lines." He pulled you closer and let you talk about all the art you know. Your night was compromised with the two of you not letting each other hand's go as you briefly explained everything in the museum.

You two were about to end the night to go to a rooftop. On the steps, he stopped you. You were ahead with one step, so your heights were equal. He didn't say anything, and your heart was racing faster. He cupped your face and that made you gasp. You closed your eyes in anticipation, and when 5 seconds have passed you opened your other eye. He smiled at you and asked, "Can I kiss you?" You gulped at his question but nodded your head in agreement. He slowly leaned towards you as your lips touch one another. It was a quick yet deep kiss. And, his lips tasted like all the best flavors in this world combined. When you two pulled away, both of you were a flustered mess and looked away from each other. Because you thought it was just going to be your first date with him, but he also became your first kiss. But, you two finally went to your last spot. With your head resting on his shoulder while stargazing. You thought you were dreaming to have the most perfect man beside you in the most perfect view.

[cathrrrine]

RUN | Pietro x Reader

Originally from my Wattpad

CHAPTER 17 - SPEED DIAL

———

"I'm about to do something really stupid." Steve put his hands on his hips and stared at the entrance before him, as if he was still contemplating whether or not it was worth it.

"What is it?" Pietro followed the Captain's gaze, both of them eyeing the doorway. It took him a while to figure it out, but once he connected Steve's nervous stance to his reason to standing in front of the room where Y/N was being held, he felt stupid for not knowing immediately. "Oh. That's very stupid."

"I know."

"You're really going in there?"

"Seems like it."

Pietro wondered if he should explain his own situation with Y/N to Steve, but decided against it. There was enough drama going on for the man, especially when the possible key to unlocking his best friend's whereabouts were just a few feet away. Steve could live without knowing Pietro's dilemma.

"Good luck then." He gave the Captain a brief nod, smirking a little when Steve did nothing in response. Pietro watched as he entered the passcode for the door to open, backing away as Steve began to enter.

———

Just as I thought I would be alone again — and this time more willingly — someone else stepped inside. The familiar muscular figure strode across the room, his boots clacking on the floor as if to announce his arrival.

I sighed and stayed laying down on the bed, not bothering to sit up and give him any sort of greeting. First the speedster, now him? What was he going to do, tell me the values of a great American?

"Jokes on you, I'm not even American." I mumbled to myself in response to my mental rambling.

"Huh?"

I groaned, putting an arm over my eyes to block the light. "What are you doing here, Captain?"

He cleared his throat. I could hear him shifting from one foot to the other in discomfort. Was he...nervous? That was definitely intriguing. What the hell is wrong with these Avengers? They were more complicated than I thought they would be.

"I came here to ask you for something."

I put down the arm I had over my eyes and shifted my weight onto my elbows, propping myself up so I could get a better look at my uninvited visitor. "Another deal?"

"Something like that." His lips stretched out into a thin line, his arms raising from his sides so he could cross them in front of his chest. "It's an offer. If you want it, take it. If you don't-"

"You'll kill me."

The Captain's eyebrows met together furiously, "That wasn't what I was going to say. If you don't want to take my offer, then it's up to Fury to decide what to do with you."

"So...no difference, then. He'll kill me."

"I didn't say that."

"You didn't have to." I shrugged. I swung my legs over the bed and stood up so I was exactly across him. "So, what's this life-changing opportunity you've got in store?"

His shoulders immediately sagged, telling me how much he dreaded what he was going to say. I stood in anticipation, slowly taking small steps forward.

"You knew him." Steve blinked. "You knew Bucky."

"Who?"

"James." He sighed again, like the weight of the world was sitting on his windpipe. "Or...the Winter Sold-"

"Stop right there." I put a hand up, my palm facing the son of a bitch. "If I hear that name one more time, I'll rip your organs out through your mouth and shove them back in through your ass."

I hated how he said his name, his actual name, with such fondness and nonchalance like he was anything more than a torture machine who made my life a living hell. Steve tilted his head, stretching his neck. I could see the muscles of his jaw flexing even from where I was standing. It was almost impossible how his teeth were still intact to this day, with all that tension in his jaw and the stress-grinding.

"I just need you to help me track him down."

I couldn't help but chuckle. Hell, laugh even. That finally broke the dam that I tried to hold up and all hell was breaking loose right this moment. Steve Rogers, everybody! The world's greatest comedian! Round of applause!

"Track him down? You think I have his phone number on speed dial? What do you want me to do? Call him up and say, 'Hey, bestie! What's up? Wanna go shopping for knives? Maybe kill some people on the way? Oh, how about we get some ice cream and reminisce the time when you tried to kill me but I ran away and I've been running ever since? Good times!' HA!"

"I'm not asking you to make friendship bracelets, I'm just asking for information that only you could possibly know."

"Are you crazy, Rogers?" I yelled so loudly that my breath fogged up the glass I was basically pressed up upon. "You'll never track him down. He's under Hydra's thumb 24/7. Even if we do manage to get to him, what do you think will happen? You're the face of the enemy. He'll kill you on the spot. He's not your best friend anymore, Rogers. He's a weapon bound to blow up in your face."

"Wait, what?" He uncrossed his arms and replaced them on his hips. He pointed to me, "Why do you think Hydra's still watching him?"

"I said don't make me say his name again-"

"No, no- you think he's-" he cut off abruptly. "You don't know, do you?"

The hand he had been using to point at me moved towards his face to stroke his chin. "The Winter Soldier escaped Hydra not too long ago, when S.H.I.E.L.D was compromised."

What? I felt my body go numb. It was like the world was caving in on me, trying to crush my body with it's cruel, cruel walls. How did I not know that? "What? No. You're lying."

He shook his head, "That's why I want you to help me track him down. I can't leave him alone out there."

My heart dropped to the pit of my stomach. Hearing Steve talk about him like he was referring to a friend, humanising him...felt so wrong and disgusting that it left a bad taste in my mouth. I wanted to throw up.

"No."

I walked away from the front of the cell and turned my back to him, wanting nothing more to do with the conversation. Everything I thought was true turned out to be a rotting corpse of a lie. There was nothing else to revive, not even the remains of hell that I blew away a lifetime ago. There was no phoenix that would suddenly rise. Just cold, painful and numbing reality, hitting me in the face.

I should be glad, right? The knowledge that he was no longer who he used to be should be enough to send me dancing for joy and painting the town or whatever it is that happy, liberated people do. But instead I was scared. He was out there, blending in with civilians as if he wasn't a total monster. I was confused too—the sole reason I'd handed myself over to S.H.I.E.L.D was because I was running from him.

Then, the gears of my brain suddenly hit the brakes.

"You're lying." I said, with my back still turned to the glass. "He's not out there. He's still with them. I heard him, the day Hydra raided this place!"

"I thought you might bring that up. I'm not lying, Y/N."

Something told me I should turn around, and so I did. He was taking something out of his pocket. A small, metallic black, oval device that resembled an earpiece, with a wire attached to it. At the end of the wire was a tiny cube. "We found this on one of the Hydra agents' bodies, it was attached to his ear and his neck. We examined it immediately."

He held the thing up for me to see, the cube dangling from the wire. "Advanced technology."

He didn't need to say the words. I already knew what was coming.

"A voice modifier."

I chewed the inside of my cheek to keep myself from doing something stupid–the range was vast–and took a deep breath. Today was a day of revelations, it seemed. This cell is a feelings brothel.

"They knew, didn't they?" I scoffed, smirking despite my own conscience. "They wanted me to be scared."

Steve shoved the horror device back into his pocket, nodding once and staying silent, a gesture for me to continue. I dared myself to meet his eyes.

"This doesn't change anything." I heard myself saying. "I'm not helping you find him either way."

He sighed, shaking his head as if in disbelief. "I thought you might say that."

I didn't know what to say. But then suddenly, I heard the sound of a click and felt a sudden rush of air behind me. I whipped my head around to see the door hanging slightly ajar.

"Advanced technology."

Life was getting stranger by the second for me. I was just starting to figure out all the ways I could escape seamlessly, but then he stopped me.

"I'm not done yet." What now? "You can get out of here, on one condition. You help me find him. Then you're free to go wherever you want to go after."

Deals after deals after deals. My life was a joke. Everything I do involves a gamble.

"That's it?"

"Listen here, Y/N." The Captain's voice dropped an octave, a threat waiting to ignite. "I'm doing this on my own accord. If you help me, I'll be more than glad to return the favour, but only if you swear not to show up on anyone's radar for at least a year or they'll find you. Do this and you can forget about everything. I'm offering you a clean slate."

It was the negotiation of the century. But I sensed there was more. "And?"

"And, if you so much as step a foot out of line, I won't be the law abiding Captain you know me to be, kid."

I smirked. "Huh. I like you more like this, Cap. Suits you."

"So, what's it gonna be?"

I let the thought of it marinate for a while, weighing all the pros and cons. Pros? I get to get out of here and forget about ever 'pledging my loyalty' to this freak show. Cons? I had to actively and consciously search for the man whom I'd been running from forever.

"Deal. But I have one condition."

He raised an eyebrow lazily, as if surprised but also not at the same time. I was becoming way too predictable for these people. "What would that be?"

I couldn't go alone, not with just the walking flag, and I still had some unanswered questions to deal with. Plus, truth be told, I had a feeling he was the only person I could truly trust, especially on a rogue mission.

"Pietro has to come along."

[littlefreya]

The Way to Hell - Part 6

*No permission is given for reposting my work, copying it or parts of the source material and claiming it as your own*

Summary: Post Mi6 - August manages to escape with his face intact and just won himself the title of being the most dangerous man on earth. With every agent in the world on the hunt for him, life became a living hell, but that’s okay because hell is where he reigns.

Too bad for the woman who’ll stand in his way.

Chapters: Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10| Part 11 | Part 12 | Part 13 |

Pairing: August Walker x OFC (Ingvild) | August Walker x ofc Suzy

Word count: 5K

Warnings: Dark themes, rough oral sex, gagging, hinted anal, mentions of rough sex, and August twisted thoughts.  

A/N: The adventures of August and Ingvild continue 💖 thanks again for reading and giving me your feedback, it keeps me fueled so keep it up :D! Of course thanks @agniavateira​ for editing my work and being my muse.

Title: Stargazer

The love boat sets sail through the icy water of the North Sea. The apostle, Knight_of_Cockn3ss, or whatever that kid’s name is, wasn’t joking when he mentioned a romantic cruise.

The traitorous sun hangs mid-sky as August trails across the deck. A beige fedora covers his dark curls and a matching cream-coloured suit over his sturdy body. In his right hand rests his laptop, he is not daring to leave it out of sight even for a minute. His eyes observe the surroundings; he must be the only single person on this trip, surrounded by timid couples on the verge of divorce and sugar daddies with their sugar babies.

‘At least the young girls are pretty.’ August greets a tall blonde, holding one hand behind his back and giving her a small bow before continuing on his way.

He’ll have to endure this trip for a couple more days, which isn’t ideal by any means, but he can’t risk getting caught or killed. Airports all over the world are swarming with security guards, agents, and assassins on really fucking high alert by now, all of them waiting for him.

The irony of the situation is that a long time ago used to be one of them. A wanted target on a scale of world catastrophe would spin a web of agents worldwide and Agent Walker would always get there first. That’s why they called him “The Hammer” - he nailed each target on the head, among other things.

No one cared about torture and extreme violence. He once brought back a target in such a dire condition that Erica was forced to send him to psych evaluation. He bluntly told the psychiatrist he enjoys the violence for no particular reason why, and then fucked her over the desk.

He scoffs at the memory, breaking into a wolfish grin.

Standing on the rail, his gaze is glued to the blue horizon, following the trail of sea-foam left by the boat as it slices through the water, disturbing the peaceful life beneath the sea. Slowly, his chaotic mind begins to drift, reveries of the CIA reminding him of her.

Golden locks of hair glow like hot sand on a summer day. Sweetly, she jokes about buying a yacht, telling Erica to fuck off so they can leave everything behind, and sail into freedom.

Memories are perfidious. Why has she been on his mind so much as of late? She’s been dead for years, flesh eaten by worms and the insects.

She is no more but a sack of rotting bones.

To condemn her memory is more than she deserves.

August’s nostrils flare. For whatever reason, his mind wanders to the girl who lived. Gently snorting, he shakes his head, remembering the condition of how he left ‘poor little’ Ingvild; half-naked, wrists tied up to the bed, probably crying to whatever father figure she has.

After what he did to her, she’ll probably retire from Icarus.

“I’m coming after you,” he mimics her voice in his head, and laughs while making his way toward the stack of beach lounge chairs. The section is nearly empty as most of the lovebirds are dinning in the main hall and unlike the degenerated visitors of this cruise, he is here solely on business.

Much work is left to be done. “Knight” has promised to meet him in London’s sky tower, suggesting he may or may not have a source of plutonium. Whether he’s a broker, a source, or a possible troll matters very little to a man on the run. Desperate times are ahead; he may be sticking his neck out, might be stepping into an obvious trap, but choice is scarce at the moment.

‘This is not the type of anarchy I dreamed of.’

That little girl, Ingvild, was the first to come. There will be others, endless more until the world will fall apart.  

“I’ll keep coming after you.” Her voice hinges on his troubled mind.

He opens his laptop with a groan, trying to ignore the truth that lies on his mind like a pile of heavy brick.

‘You should have left her pretty face to die in the bottom of the lake.’

“Oh, but to miss out on all the fun that followed in that bedroom?” he speaks to himself quietly, unlocking his laptop with a retinal scan.

Luckily, his old drive is still accessible on the cloud he encrypted. Years of work and dirt collected on the CIA and the government nestles on a single server. The ugly truth, the lies, the corruptness. Thick and black like a pit filled of tar.

Erica Sloane has her own dedicated special folder. Personal vendetta was never on his agenda, it was never about revenge, it was about a cause but sweet Erica deserves whatever damnation he could think of. He hopes that when he detonates his nuclear bombs, that once this world falls apart, she’ll sit on a front-row seat to see her failures raining down like fire from the sky.

A vicious smirk paints his face as his fingertips slide onto the touchpad. August scans through his many folders, seeking a specific one regarding illegal weapon deals. It would be a lovely afternoon at the CIA had one of these recordings or documents would find their way to the public eye.

August slides the cursor around, entering one of the CIA’s subfolders when his smile fades away.

He thought he deleted her folder a long time ago, but it seems like mistakenly, he placed it in another section instead.

And now here it is. A name he thought he’d never see again: Lacey.

Strange, he hardly remembers what she looked like. How long has it been? Six? Seven years ago? In his dreams, she’s nothing but a rotting corpse, but the mind has a tendency to alter one’s memory, doesn’t it?

Was she even sweet at all?

‘Manipulation was her strongest trait anyway.’

Without mustering a mother breath, he deletes the folder, and proceeds to search for the files he means to leak. He muses if they caught up with the notion that it was him who poisoned the well this entire time. Years of stirring chaos while sitting with his laptop of his bed while Sloane and her high-ranking management freaked out and did all that’s in their power to cover shit up.

It was so hard to keep a poker face and pretend he is trying to help. One particular time, he got so ecstatic he had to go and jack off in the men’s room.  

‘That was a good one.’

Something abruptly disturbs his attention, making his heart nearly drop.

‘It can’t be, is that...?’

A petite brunette passes through the lounge, joyfully trodding along the deck. Her hair is tucked back into a ponytail. No, it can’t be her, not in the situation he left her at. By what sort of dark magic would she exactly appear here out of nowhere?

‘I wouldn’t be surprised if the little Valkyrie turns out to be some sort of a witch.’

The brunette feels his gaze upon her figure and turns. He is met with a brown, warm gaze, rather than the sharp icy lustre that is Ingvild’s trademark. Less pretty as well, but looks about the same age, perhaps a year or two younger.

Another sugar baby, weary and discontent.

August realises he must have been staring with a dumbfounded look as she decides to smile back and make her way to him.

“Good afternoon,” she greets in a Midwestern accent. August’s eyes focus on her painted lips and in his mind, he imagines wiping that cotton candy pink lipstick by his thumb.

“Afternoon,” he smiles kindly, tipping his fedora with a welcoming bow.

Always the gentleman.

The young woman moves to sit on the seat in front of him, crossing her legs together as she takes in his sight. She observes and assesses how old he is and how much money he must own.

Probably looking for a new target.

‘Not old enough to be your daddy, but you can still call me that if it floats your boat.’

“Are you a secret agent?” She jokes, peering at his laptop before he smooths his hand on the lid to shuts it. He pretends to be intrigued by her senseless, obvious seduction when his mind once again forced him to go back and compare her to living-dead girl.

It seems like he can’t get away from her. Perhaps her threats were a curse? Even halfway across the sea, this total stranger reignites his curiosity.

‘Does Ingvild has any values? Any empathy toward others?’

She did experience fear in those little moments when his knife penetrated her soft little gut - that look in her eyes; like a virgin, fucked extremely rough for the very first time.

Thinking of those big, terrified eyes light up a snarl on his bewhiskered lip.

There was an inch of vulnerability in that sweet farewell kiss, a sense lost look on her face as if she couldn’t fit that emotion into any drawer inside her brain. It made her look so much more beautiful.

He wonders what she would have looked like if he went ahead with his besser urges and fucked her.

‘Maybe she’d finally break into tears. Fuck, I’d love to see her cry.’

“Sorry, I didn’t catch your name?” He interrupts the sassy brunette as she speaks of Lord-knows-what. It seems that she doesn’t even realise he wasn't listening to her for the last 5 minutes she been babbling . The girl smiles sweetly, tucking a brown lock of hair behind her ear. The diamond bracelet that decorated her wrist dangles as she does.

“Suzy.”

“Suzy,” August repeats and smiles charmingly before giving his lips a quick flick of a tongue. “Would you like to join me in my room?”

The brunette pretends to blush beneath the layers of foundation on her face and fakes an argument inside her mind as if she actually considers refusing his bold suggestion.

~*~

Back in his room, he pushes the petite brunette to her knees. He wipes away her makeup, smearing the pink paint with the crudeness of thumb. Suzy giggles, thinking she probably had men do worse than that by now.

‘Oh, darling, we haven’t even started yet.’

August’s large hand traces her rounded face, knuckles brushing against her cheek tenderly while running down to meet her lips again.

“Open up sweetheart,” he commands in a relaxed voice, his index finger demanding entrance to her velvety mouth. She spreads her lips open slowly, allowing him to slip in his long digit to explore the wet cavern while his thumb caresses her chin. Much to his delight, she sucks on his finger obediently, moaning as he slowly pumps in and out of her hot mouth.

“Good girl,” he praises, his free hand reaching to unbuckle his belt urgently and free his aching cock from his trousers. He tugs at himself for a second, staring how she suckles on his finger with fake devotion. She probably do want his cock, but it’s his money that she’d care for more later.

‘Oh, how disappointed you are going to be once I’m off this boat, baby.’

“How about I’ll fuck that pretty little throat, hmm?” August asks and without waiting for an answer, pulls his soaked finger away and clasps his hand around the hollows of her cheeks instead, forcing her to keep her mouth open.

She voices no protest, only her eyes staring at him wide and helpless. He pays no attention, preferring the sight of his cock sliding in between those puffy lips and pushing into the warm depths instead. A prolong groan slips out of his mouth, emphasising the relief of finally getting his dick wet.

Usually, he loves to watch, yet he lets his eyes roll back and shuts them tightly this time while she in the background. It only makes him fuck her throat more vigorously, his hands cradling and saddling her head, forcing her to meet the violent thrust of his hips.

“Don’t touch me,” he rasps breathlessly, as her her dirty paws snake for his waist. Terrified, she pulls away, intimidated by his voice. August’s eyes remain shut yet he can feel the wetness on her cheeks as his thumbs dig into them. Those tears are enough to send him over the edge, and he comes into her throat without any warning, grunting a couple of times and lingering inside her mouth to make sure she’ll swallow him clean.

‘That’s right little Valkyrie angel, you’ll take what I’ll give you.’

The mists of fantasy fade as August blinks his eyes open. Debunked by the plastic-type of woman. Slowly, he pulls his cock out, impressed by the mascara that’s smeared beneath Suzy’s now glassy red eyes. He wipes her lower lip clean and then gives her chin a gentle pinch with a soft grin.

Suzy gives out a weak smile in return, trying to look satisfied while remaining on her knees. He can tell that her little brain is pretty much half-through into realising she made a mistake by following the devil into his room.

Tall and menacing, he looks at her drenched by vile mischief. August moves to sit on the queen sized bed, petting the empty spot next to him. She follows, fighting her instinct to put a hand on his knee as she is used to, afraid that he will bark at her again.

“Tell me, Suzy,” he coaxes, reaching for the wallet in his pocket and drawing out a Trojan condom.

“Have you ever tried anal sex?”

****

“Ingvild,” the old man calls her name once he brings her to her new home. It’s a simple, minimalist apartment with naked walls and generic black IKEA furniture.

Silent, she peers at him, holding her small luggage between sinewy fingers. Everything that she possesses in the world is in that suitcase; a bunch of plaid skirts, white buttoned shirts, and a few books about fairies and monsters.

This man called Liam, is he to be her new father? He never even offered her a smile and hardly bothers looking into her eyes. Instead he grunts and sighs while making his way around the house and gesturing for her to follow.

At least he is kinder than Mother Superior. At least in here, no girl is going to pick any fights with her and get her into trouble.

“This is your room,” Liam gestures. The pubescent girl sneaks closer, peeking inside with curiosity. It’s not what someone would call a girl’s room by any means, very much like the rooms they had at the orphanage. It contains a single bed with a thin mattress and white metal bars and on the bed rest some casual clothes for her to wear.

At least she won’t have to wear skirts anymore.

As little Ingvild continues to scan the room, she picks on a small library housing some books and a learning desk with a computer. Probably for her to gain some knowledge of the world. She never had any of that at the orphanage, just the bible and the “forbidden” books of fairytales she stole from one of the nuns.

“Today you can rest,” Liam speaks, watching the little girl as she moves to place her luggage inside and sits on the bed.

“Tomorrow, you will start your first day of training.”

‘Training?’

Ingvild says nothing, only glares at him back quietly. It’s quite clear no woman is present in the house which makes her wonder; the orphanage doesn’t allow single parents to adopt, especially not men. Was Mother Superior this desperate to get rid of her that she decided to throw her at the first person who asked?

“Just so we’re clear, girl,” Liam grumbles, “I am not your father. You call me Liam and that’s that.”

She nods silently and watches him leave the room, shutting the door behind. Sighing, she falls back to the mattress, her silver eyes fixing at the ceiling in wonders of what sort of new life has she been sold ito.

“Ingvild...”

A low, velvety voice calls for her again, the mattress dipping, shifting with the weight of the one who joins her. As she turns her face aside, she is met with hungry eyes and a smile so cold it makes her heart shrivel.

August.

*~*

A loud thud wakes her with a sharp inhale. Though her face remain stoic, quickly readjusting to the sight of moving ground as the plane’s wheels make their landing. ‘Arrogant August Walker, invading my dreams’, she curses but pays no more thought to why he was there. Analysing dreams was never her thing. They were just memories of random things that happened to her in her childhood and August is no different as he had been on her mind for the last 72 hours.

He was a job.

One that she needed to get over with.

Liam was at her throat with this one specifically, nagging her like an old shrew. He wasn’t used for her taking her time with it, not his special girl.

Massaging her strained neck, she waits for the last person to leave the plane, observing the empty cabin and noticing how used it appears with all the crumpled, empty snack bags lying on the floor.

‘Ungrateful’, she thinks before exiting her seat and tip-toeing to get her luggage.

The arrivals terminal is infested with agents. Having been trained for years, she sees right through their casual attire, so fake they almost look like B-movie actors. It’s those badly selected outfits and their observant gazes - eyes obsessively fixed on every gate. Every airport in the world must be the same right now, desperate to catch this nightmare of a terrorist.

‘As if he would be stupid enough to travel by plane.’

With a high profile target like August on the loose, it almost feels like the world is on the brink of war.

‘Is that what he wants? To be an anarchistic god that plows chaos everywhere?’

Maybe that’s why he gave her back her life, to humiliate her, to show her how easily he can twist everyone’s life and disrupt the world people know.

‘Mephisto, Lucifer, Hades, Hel.’

“Remember that you’re only alive because I have allowed it.”

A sudden shard of pain sears through her torso, the wound reacting to the phantasm of his low timbre which plays in her mind. It makes her slow on her steps and chews on her inner cheek to suppress a moan that has been begging to escape her lips since yesterday afternoon.

“August Walker”, the name rolls on the tip of her tongue.

Her very first failure, the very first man who killed her.

It almost feels like a bond now, intimate and twisted. August went deeper than any other man ever did - he fucked her internal organs.

‘Is that is why you “performed” for him in the shower? Why you thought about him, slipping inside you with his cock rather than his knife?’

Ingvild huffs tenderly and passes in-between a couple reuniting with passion, her shoulder sharply bumping against the woman, who yells at her while she remains indifferent, never bothering to look back.

Putting on her shades, she continues to head for the exit. The wound in her gut throbs even further, all of a sudden and just when she is tempted to give into the pain and acknowledge it, the new mobile device in her jacket’s pocket begins to vibrate.

Liam, who else?

“Papa?” She answers, the big exit sign finally flickering in front of her eyes.

She can see Liam rolling his eyes without having to see his grumpy old face.

“What progress do you hope to make with this lead? Someone says they saw him in Singapore yesterday, you should be following these threads instead.”

Ingvild holds her breath, knowing very well the lead is false. August was with her a night ago, so close she tasted him, so near his fingers dug deep into her flesh, leaving an imprint on her bones and even though there is something quite demonic about him, she doubts he can be at two different places at once.

“I need access to his world, I need to pick up the clues,” she explains, yet the sad truth is that she has no idea what to look for. August is not a rookie idiot, he did a fine job leaving zero clues back at the bed&breakfast room they “shared”. Not even the receptionist who ogled her oddly when she left could tell her where he was heading.  

“Just get it done, Ingvild. You’re acting like a child, this isn’t like you,” Liam mutters before hanging up.

‘He is right, this isn’t like you.’

Ingvild feels hooks clutching her guts, not just the pain August inflicted upon her, but something deeper, something desperate, leaving a void in that same spot. The fact that he slipped between her fingers seems to torments, just as much as the fact that she lied to Liam for the first time. It makes her feel like a rebellious teenager. She never keeps secrets from him and there she is, lying through every word.

Absentmindedly, her fingers press against her lips as she exits the airport.

~*~

The address led her to a small suburban house in southern London. It’s the type of house that has large glass windows where anyone standing outside can ogle freely. Rich people houses, as she likes to call it. She had a few missions in the past with people living in homes like this one - always an easy kill.

A blond woman meanders about inside the house, wearing a grey silk nightgown, preparing for bedtime probably. According to Walker’s file, she’s the most recent ex - Sydney. They broke up a couple of months before he decided to go on what he thought would be his final mission, his deathstrike.

‘If only.’

Glancing from the gravel path that leads to large metal doors, she learns the woman’s delicate manoeuvres, her mind reciting every graceful gestures as she crouches down to place food for a large Maine coon cat.

‘Is that the type of woman he likes?’

August would strikes her as a man who would fuck anything with a heartbeat but he did have more than a few relationships. She can’t help but wonder if he has a type, noticing how Sydney is more of a woman than a girl; solid income, big name lawyer, a woman who can take care of herself, a woman to start a family with.

Not that she imagines Walker starting a family anytime soon.

She is pretty too, with her mid-length straight golden hair, bright eyes and a shapely body. Ingvild looks at her own outfit: jeans, sneakers and a black sleeved shirt, nowhere as classy as beautiful Sydney.

The hour is late, still she walks toward the door and rings the bell.

“Can I help you?”

Ingvild is greeted by green eyes and a subtle Welsh accent. She gives her one of her fake smiles, trying to look as charming and pleasant as a sweet doll.

“Sydney Bedford?” She asks, while briefly scanning her body. She tries to imagine what August liked about her the most; her figure? Her angelic face? Her emerald stare?

“I have some questions about August Walker, he used to…”

Sydney shakes her head vehemently, waving her hands in the air. Something in her eyes drastically changes the moment the name “August” slaps her across the face.

“Are you MI6!? Please, I don’t want to speak about that psychotic loser anymore.”

Ingvild smiles calmly, a soft chuckle leaving her throat.

“Oh you see, he disappeared…”

“Good riddance!” Sydney replies, her eyes filling with anger, her face turning red within seconds. “Listen. I already told them everything I know.”

“Please,” Ingvild begs, batting her long lashes and tilting her head like a cute little kitten. “I’m new in this and my superior will be mad if I don’t at least speak to you. May I please come in? It’s important for my investigation.”

The same childlike charm that works on men might as well work on women, for different reasons in this occasion. Sydney is a single 36-38-year old woman who lives alone with her cat.

She must have wanted a family, perhaps with Walker, no wonder she’s furious.

Leaning against the door frame, Sydney scrutinises the young girl, believing she is younger than she really is with that pale smooth face and big innocent greyish eyes.  

“Come on in, dear.” She opens the door wide, letting Ingvild step inside before closing it behind her.

The main entrance leads into a large living room, furnished with a black leather sofas and a glass coffee table. She owns a TV that is larger than Ingvild's entire living room and the walls are moulded with grey bricks, shiny from some cut stone.

Ingvild imagines how lovely it would feel to crack the shimmering stone with August’s skull.

“Would you like some tea?” Sydney offers while heading toward her luxurious kitchen.

“Please,” Ingvild answers, walking around the house and examining every corner to learn of the woman who invited her in. She nearly stumbles as the large cat rubs against her foot. “Oh,” she exclaims, lowering herself to pick the chubby feline to her arms.

She never owned a pet. Liam said it’s unnecessary.

“So like I said,” Sydney calls from the kitchen, putting the kettle on the stove. “I don’t know anything about August and where he is. All I can tell you is that he was weird.”

“Weird? How?” Ingvild asks, stroking the cat behind his ears and while it purr against her chest.

Sydney places two mugs on the black marble counter in the kitchen and opens a cabinet, looking for some tea bags. “He would disappear and then return after weeks, telling me not to ask any questions. Then, he would go away and come back in crazy hours. He was a gentleman of course but arrogant and demanding, never taking no for an answer.”

Ingvild turns to look at Sydney, arching her eyebrow as if she is surprised to learn this about the man who stabbed and drowned her in an icy lake. “Is that so?”

“Yes!” Sydney shouts back, her chest heaving as she throws the bags into the mugs and turns toward Ingvild.

“Everything had to go his way, and I won’t be surprised if he had a mistress or another family, or god! Maybe an illegal drug practice.”

The cat jumps down from Ingvild’s embrace, and she brushes the grey hairs off her black shirt. “What makes you think this way?”

“Like I said; disappearing in the middle of the night, coming back... I knew something was off so I went and... wait I… I shouldn’t tell you this, you’re an agent!” Sydney looks around her, as if she’s afraid someone might be listening to their conversation.

Ingvild takes a step forward into the kitchen, her grey eyes seeking Sydney’s, giving her a warm, kind smile. “You can tell me anything Sydney, you are not in danger, I promise. We just want to locate Walker, he hasn't reported to HQ in a while.”

Sydney observes her gaze, trying to determine her personality. She thinks the young woman seem gentle with those unique eyes and the hair that’s tucked back to a strict ponytail.

“I had him traced,” she whispers. “I know I wasn’t supposed to because he is CIA, and trust me I was scared but I had to know.”

“How did you do that?” Ingvild asks, tilting her head with curiosity and slight disbelief. It seems odd that a man like Walker was bugged by some dumb lawyer woman.

“I did his laundry, it wasn’t hard to hide something inside the pocket of his jacket. I mean, inside the fabric, where he can’t find it.”

Ingvild can’t help but let out a small snort, amused by the fact that the infamous CIA agent got made so easily. She covers her mouth with her fist, shyly smiling into it, but it’s noticed by Sydney who stands in front of her, staring oddly.

“Where would he go?”

“Some place in South Kensington, almost every day for the last month of our relationship. He would vanish there for hours and then come back. I have the address, hold on.” Sydney leaves the kitchen and walks through a long corridor.

Not bothering with politeness, Ingvild follows her, easy off her feet like the big grey cat, carefully exploring this new territory. She imagines the fights August would have with this woman and then the passionate sex afterwards while her hand runs against the texture of the garnet.

“Oh!” Sydney exclaims, confused to see Ingvild in the doorway of her bedroom. The young woman looks around curiously, trying to find any memorabilia from August; a photo, a clothing article, man cologne. It seems like he was never even been here, though there is a certain coldness in this room that feels strangely familiar.

‘No, not August, his touch is warm.’

“He did trading or something,” Sydney says as she hands her over a small yellow note that was hidden in her purse. It has the address to August’s “secret lover”.

Ingvild takes the notes, memorizing the address before placing it in her jeans pocket. “Trading? Can you elaborate?”

She shrugs. “He asked me to not disturb him while he was doing some dealing, I don’t know what it was… it looked fishy but it might just be CIA stuff.”

Ingvild nods silently, scanning the room again and again and eventually taking in the sight of the empty bed. Her mind fills in the gaps, painting an image of August fucking Sydney into oblivion, his muscular body ramming into hers, one leg held over his shoulder while the blond little bitch screams in ecstasy.

“How was he in bed? Would you say he performed well?” Ingvild asks, her eyes gesturing toward the mattress.

Sydney frowns, giving her a slight repulsed face as she finds her question remarkably rude.

“How is this relevant to the investigation?”

She means to berate her when she witnesses Ingvild’s kind smile growing remarkably cold.

The young woman remains silent, taking a step closer and making Sydney almost stumble back as sudden fear creeps in. Grey frigid eyes, like icy shards, her nostrils slightly flares as she catches up the scent of her expensive perfume.

“How is this relevant to the MI6?!” Sydney asks again, trying to dismiss the tension yet continues to draw distance from the young agent.

“I never said I am MI6.”

Sydney’s back hits the wall with a soft thud, she attempts to flee but Ingvild’s hands lock around her shoulders, forcing her against the wall with a thud. As small as this woman is, she is way stronger than she appears.

“How was he in bed?” she repeats, her voice becoming more demanding while her glare threatening to spear into Sydney’s skull. “Would you say he satisfies you?”

Puny gasps peal from Sydney’s mouth, her green eyes becoming moist with pure fear.

“Please, don’t... He was... Rough.”

“Bondage?”

“He... he..he choked me,” she answers in a trembling voice, her lower lip quivering, much to Ingvild’s delight.

“He was too rough, he was big and he didn’t care, it was as if he enjoyed my pain...”

Ingvild licks her bottom lip, imagining Sydney thrown on the bed with August treating her like a rag doll, wrecking her completely. Bruises left everywhere, tattoos on her skin for the world to see this fine artist’s work. A cold flame licks at her spine, crawling down to the small of her back.

She’s uncertain why.

“Would you say he loved you?”

Sydney’s peers at her quietly, thinking of her answer for a few seconds while Ingvild’s fingers bury into her collarbone, voicelessly demanding a response.

“August Walker is incapable of love. He is dead inside.”

________________________________________________________

Disclaimer: I don’t own August Walker or the Mission Impossible Frenchise

[washymylifeaway]

SunaOsa fanfic recs,,, well writer recs LOL

HI! Can you tell I’m excited? Well I’m very excited! I have been stuck in SunaOsa hell for the longest time and I enjoy it very much down here :D Come join me, you won’t regret it LOL. But seriously, I love SunaOsa and I meant to do fics, but then the sheer number of writers I had compelled me to make a post for them ahahah.... I’m here to finally prove to everyone that I am actually in love with SunaOsa and that I have not been lying to you all LOL (ik no one actually cares, but it’s an important matter to me). LEGGO!

As always, pls check WARNINGS, TAGS, and SUMMARIES for fics before reading and make sure you’re taking care of yourselves (since mental health is key!) Stay healthy loves <3

Each author is DIRECTLY linked to their SunaOsa works LOL. I actually didn’t think about this until now, and I didn’t know it’d work but here we are LOL. Whooooh internet :D Also, ignore that some of these writers have like less than 3 fics for SunaOsa,,,,,, I like their writing, okay? :’))))

I’m gonna preface this with I love all of these writers (if I didn’t, they wouldn’t be here) but I can only come up with so many ways to say I WOULD DIE FOR THIS WRITER and THEY WRITE BEAUTIFULLY so to save you from recursion, preface.

LINK TO MY SUNAOSA ML :D

DeathBelle // one I haven’t recommended and this one also got finished semi-recently, An Inconvenient Espionage by DeathBelle (E) 26.6k // a SPY AU! Where Osamu and Atsumu are separated due to necessity over anything else really, and both absolutely hate their partners :) I love their interactions as the fic progresses and how do you accidentally fck somebody? READ TAGS AND WARNINGS, SMUT!

tookumade // because I really can’t rerecommend the same mf fic for the 2384230 time (and cause this one deserves some love), colours in the dark by tookumade (G) 1.3k // an injury recovery fic :D The focus on the fic is on the recovery and the relationship more than anything, but I just love it so much! This is such a comfort fic, and I love their back and forth banter (but it’ll make you feel really single LOL).

rosegoldwriting // sjdkhjdslhf I CAN’T BELIEVE I HAVEN’T RECOMMENDED THIS ONE ANYWHERE WHAT come on with the rain by rosegoldwriting (T) 6.5k // SOULMATE AUUUU! I love my soulmate AUs and this was no exception :D Also I love singing in the rain (it’s been a while since I’ve seen it, but ik it’s a great movie), and ngl I agreed with Suna,,,, kissing in the rain just feels like it’ll be wet... Regardless, I love the ending and I love this fic too so :) (also ryan gosling cameo LOL)

bastigod // A COLLECTION OF FICS cause I love them and I haven’t recommended this yet :0, i've got you in the end i wish i had you from the start by bastigod (T) 8.2k // this is a collection of 7 one shots for sunaosa week! I loved the prompts for that week, and I loved each and every single fic on this list :D They’re all so freaking good and my favorite chapter was ch 3 hands down ljdfadjsf it’s GREAT :D

pancake_surprise // CAUSE CHOCOLATE and honestly the dove wrappers are say some stupid things sometimes like who’s writing these LMFAO, Melt with You by pancake_surprise (G) 2.8k // Osamu is doing what any sane person does with dove chocolate advice, he follows it. Not that it has any good advice, but I mean ig it worked? Trust the process? Anyway, I agreed with Atsumu in this (LOL) but hey it ended cute and I think that’s all that matters :’)

badreputation // OKAY THERE’S ONLY TWO BUT I LOVE BOTH WHAT YOU GONNA DO? FIGHT ME?????? (pls don’t, I’ll lose) Take a hint by badreputation (T) 5.4k // UGH I LOVE THIS ONE! One of the first SunaOsa fics I read and one I keep rereading! I absolutely agree with the fact that Osamu is a Neanderthal and I love food as a love language (feeding me would make me swoon over you, however, if you WERE flirting with me, I would not know LMFAO).

minie_ai // again, only two but like I said what you gonna do about it >:( And I'll Feed You Again by minie_ai (G) 7.3k // MYTHOLOGY cause Suna is a cute fox who causes problems LOL. Also, I love the setting it’s in (ik random, but I wanted to put it out there :D). And SPAM NUMBER made me laugh (maybe my humor is a little too broken) but idk I just thought it was really funny akjshflkjasd.

miyarinnnn // PLEASE not everyone clowning them,,,, someone smack off the stupid grin I have on from reading it :)))) Call it passive or aggressive by miyarinnnn (T) 10.4k // OMG this fic was so much fun to read!!!! I loved how there was the Osamu + Omi bonding moment and the BONUS AT THE END AOSFJOIAS,,,,, There’s like a slight smut scene, but other than that, Osamu is the sappiest man ever. Yeah, it was really funny and cute and I had a great time reading it :D

sketchedsmiles // honestly, I have no words because I was like no way this would happen, but then the a/n and yea anyway double vision by sketchedsmiles (T) 18.3k // I do wanna know how this worked irl, but that’s beside the point LOL. This is why communication is key, but I mean ig I can’t really blame Suna LMFAO. The situations are just tailored so well to misunderstandings and every time is a near miss :’))))). But also shout out to beer pong king Osamu LOL.

sieges // parallax if you want some hanahaki, the art of keeping up by sieges (T) 12.3k // I actually did watch this movie (though you don’t need to in order to read this LOL) and I was really surprised cause I didn’t think anyone would’ve made a fic based on it! Honestly, I don’t think I would ever be able to agree to help my crush write a love letter to their crush, so props to Suna (lol maybe I’m just lame like that okay?) :’D

sifuhotman // even if you don’t wanna read it, go look at the photo at the very end, Paint by Numbers by sifuhotman (T) 5.3k // jealous Osamu because Suna stares at Atsumu LOL. BUT the discount combee comment make me cackle because I CAN SEE IT AJFKAFFJSA (esp with the picture provided, it’s been burned onto my brain). I like this fic because it has some cute twin moments and I love their relationship! (BUT THE COMBEE AFIOJOD.)

SilverMoonT // I love his cat, atypical confession by SilverMoonT (G) 15.5k // I’ve said this before, but I’m not a big fan of body switching fics. HOWEVER, I am a big fan of this,,, say what you want idc idc it’s a good fic. I love the Suna Akaashi best friend agenda in this, and I fully support it :D

spiritscript // I almost sent you all to angst town ahahah,,, maybe I should LOL,,,, two drinks by spiritscript (T) 4k // I saw the instagram post and then OF COURSE I had to come read the fic itself! And like the panic ordering is hilarious as well as the misunderstandings LOL. It’s a wild ride with a lotta coffee Suna doesn’t like LOL. BUT THE ENDING IS CUTE and no kiss kiss cause consent is important :)

lunarins // YES I LOVE THIS ONE JKASJD you taste like strawberries on a summer evening by lunarins (T) 4.4k // I LOVE THIS ONE! I adore all the character cameos that happen (POOR SHIRABU) and THE ENDING AJHFKSJA. I love the ending. Also the food explanation by the writer was really cute and creative!!! (and I love how Osamu tells us what love taste like JADSJK!)

unrequitedangst // 3 fics but I love them all, working backwards till it rhymes by unrequitedangst (T) 4.2k // I love this fic, like loveeee. The plot is funny (I love pushing in the right direction to figure things out) and the way they plot against Atsumu is hilarious. Like gotta make sure that this makes him angry, yes.

sunablinks // there’s also only 3 fics so you should read all three :D, Cherry Bomb by sunablinks (T) 5.4k // CHECK TAGS AND WARNINGS cause they drink a lotta alcohol! But this fic is just Osamu being a mess and everyone makes some very bad decisions. Also, poor Meian san having to dead with their poor decision making skills LOL.

Surprisingly enough this didn’t take that long...... Like I think this is the fastest I’ve ever made a list,,,, Anyways, revelations aside, I had a lotta fun making this list cause like I’ve been saying, I’m in love with SunaOsa. They also definitely have some of the MOST tooth rotting fics I’ve ever read before (physical pain because of the fluff), so if you’re into that, you don’t have to look too far :)

Also sorry for not being super active in terms of new content, but this might continue through next week cause I’m getting busier :( Hopefully not though!

[monchikyun]

XVIII. bury a friend

It has been awfully quiet for about an hour now. As Connor ended his story with horrible dejection written all over his face, he turned around and initiated his stasis, refusing any and all comfort Gavin has been more than willing to provide. He did expect it to be something twisted and tragic like that, even imagined the worst possible scenario before being told how it really went down, just to be safe. If he’s honest with himself, the reality isn't very far from the most fucked up course of events his mind has been able to cook up. Still, it has been able to freeze the blood in his veins, which has paralysed his brain for the amount of time it took Connor to withdraw to his simulated sleep. 

Gavin has already cursed himself for being so goddamn incompetent when it comes to emotional issues, blamed himself for the cold shoulder he didn't even have the chance to receive. He still does, as he lies glued to the bed, counting the cracks in the ceiling. His nicotine addiction is begging him to go into the cold and give it what it needs to survive, but the warmth of his current company is impossible to leave. His hand aches for the smallest touch, for some confirmation that Connor is still here with him. So he directs his sight to the body next to him, letting himself be mesmerised by the constellations of freckles decorating the android's bare arm. It's a painful view, knowing that he still doesn't have the right to connect those dots with his own defects, to interpose himself with this amazing, flawed being who has carved a hole in his chest and invaded his heart.

He remembers how the android was back when he found him on the roof, finally realising the enormous difference created by the months they’ve spent together. Last spring he dreaded going to work, feared that Connor just wouldn’t show up one day and he wouldn’t be able to see him ever again. Or worse, all that would remain of him would be the empty vessel that used to house his colourful soul, something that would kill his last hopes. He was tempted to become a well-meaning stalker then, to always be near for when a potential threat arrives, but that idea was too exhausting for him in the end, and so he left his worries to a silent prayer which guided him all through to summer. 

With the warmth came the first smile and a myriad of gratitudes for his uncharacteristic kindness. That’s when they started having casual conversations, a big leap from the uncomfortable silences that filled their shared hours in the previous season. It was somewhere in July when he first regarded Connor as his friend, without his vigilant denial disagreeing that fact. Gavin has always found the android very attractive, like an eye candy specifically developed for his torment, but knowing there was a whole, unpolished person behind that plastic perfection has made his partner so much more appealing. He simply couldn’t stop himself getting drawn to him, despite all the countless attempts to emotionally distance himself from the one who lived inside his dreams. It was either letting himself be eaten by the monsters living in his past, or inviting in the one person who has the power to push them away from his corrupted mind.

For the longest time, he did neither. Though his inability to act on his feelings was due to more than just the inherent fragility of their source, he was simply afraid like he has always been when it comes to things that have the potential to hurt him. He'd rather be thrown in a paper shredder than to have his soul bruised again. Physical pain is easy to understand, straightforward in its healing. Time usually takes care of what needs to be done, but when it comes to the mind, sometimes even passing years will have little to no effect on the waste that has accumulated in someone’s innermost core. And Gavin didn't want to add onto the rotting pile of mess that has already been too much to bear as it is. But that was months ago, and as the earth was becoming colder, the warmth that had started budding inside of him turned into sweltering heat.

When autumn was nearing its end, he understood that he would soon burn up if he didn’t begin dealing with his problem. Maybe that’s how they got here, to a place where he doesn’t have to call his feelings inconvenience anymore, having breached the border that has kept them apart all these months. He wants to stop fighting it for good. This truth is sent to him from above as he puts his fingers on Connor's bare temple, tracing the ghost of the LED that used to signify his nature. 

He'd like to say that the fact that one of them isn't human is what prevented them from giving into their hearts' desires, but that is far from the truth. Life is much more complicated than that, not as black and white as he wants it to be. 

Gavin wishes their relationship was defined, so he could casually take the android in his arms and hold him away from the evil of the world, just for a short while, just so he can expand his collection of irreplaceable moments that he doesn't ever want to forget. 

He considers getting just a bit closer, weighing all the pros and cons that ultimately mean nothing because deep down he recognises that their sentiments are shared. So he lowers his steadying hand down from Connor’s temple, ready to enfold everything his partner represents. But fortune isn’t on his side tonight, because as soon as he begins his movement, Connor wakes up with a jerk that betrays confusion lined up with its best friend, unease. 

"Did you have a nightmare?" Gavin is more than familiar with the concept of being tortured by his own psyche as he lays it to rest, so he's aware of just how disorienting such illusions can be, how unrelentingly cruel and merciless they often are. 

"No, no... I-... androids can't normally dream. I wasn't really sleeping, just… thinking. More than I should." 

Gavin scoots over so their shoulders are just about touching, a decision his conscious mind has had no say in. 

"Do you wanna talk 'bout it?" A quiet, tentative question just barely escapes his lips for fear he gets denied entrance into Connor's trove of dark secrets. 

There is a short, excruciating period of silence before he gets his answer.

"You know how I can preconstruct any future scenario based on the information available to me?" 

"Yeah? I mean… sorta. Can't really wrap my mind around your technical stuff most of the time." That's only partially a lie. He ought to tell him that he doesn't want to picture his inner workings because they kind of scare him, but maybe that would be too inappropriate given the frailty of this moment. 

"Well… I saw you get buried…,” the android breathes out for reasons Gavin can only guess, “after you died, naturally." 

"Naturally." 

Why doesn't this even surprise him anymore. Of course Connor would paint himself the grimmest image possible, these are just his default settings. Give him the brightest colours and he'd draw you the darkest sky without a single star in sight. 

"That's not… I'm sorry I,... I didn't mean to… I just couldn't stop it since it went that way and…" 

"Hey, it's okay.” It hurts seeing Connor get like that, losing most of his coherency and feeling like he should apologise for it.  

“How…," Gavin takes a deep breath, trying to calm his racing thoughts down. Connor was the one who saw his funeral, not him, yet he feels like he’s been there already, among the dirt, not far from other decaying corpses. It’s an uncanny sensation. Not one he’ll be chasing any time soon. 

"How did it make you feel?" A stupid question, really, and yet the best his brain has to offer. 

"How do you think?" Gavin never knew that tears could fit an incredulous look, but the welling in Connor's eyes combined with the exasperation written all over his face is proof enough. Laughable, frankly, but he wouldn't dare. Not now, anyway. 

"Guess it sucked then." 

"That's putting it mildly." The android shakes his head and rubs his eyes before they have the chance to leak his sorrow. 

"I… I don't ever want to go through that again,” he says, desperation piercing his voice through and through. It would be easy to dismiss these ungrounded worries if it wasn’t for the two flaming brown lights probing his own mossy pools like they intend to hypnotise them and seize control over his soul.  

"You know that no one can force you to… be there... when it happens." 

"You don’t get it! That's not the point. I don't want to live in a world where two of my best friends are nothing but a memory. I realise that’s selfish, but… "

Gavin does, by all means, get it, he just tried to help, somehow. 

Connor’s eyes are turning into glass, threatening to melt again, so he closes his because God knows he does not possess the strength to witness it, not tonight at least. 

"Maybe you should just relax Con, the future will come no matter what, but we still have the might to shape it as we like. To some extent. Anyway,... I promise…," he cuts the sentence midway to inhale a big gulp of oxygen, an action which results in a minor coughing fit. 

"I promise to try my best to stay by your side as long as physically possible. " A statement which makes him want to cry instead. 

"Does it mean you’ll stop smoking then?" 

Oh, that devious android, of course this conversation would lead here, why wouldn't it. He glances at his nightstand, checking if the half-full box of cigarettes is still there, waiting for him to take its lethal fruit. Come to think about it, ever since their little trip his taste for cigarettes has somewhat diminished. Could be the fresher air just outside these thin walls, or the fact that Connor’s presence stimulates him enough already, so the need for nicotine is not as great as it is when he has to spend his time alone or surrounded by people who hold little to no significance to him, pretending like he doesn't crave something beyond the drug his body could very well function without. 

"Yeah..., yeah, okay." Gavin buries his face in his hands, disbelieving his consent. 

As he puts them away and folds them in his lap, he scroungers up a lazy smile meant to lighten up the heavy mood, to maybe clear Connor’s stormy sky a little. 

"But only if you promise to try to be more optimistic…  just a smidge.., " he makes a gesture with his two fingers to show how small of an effort would suffice. 

Then he gives Connor a friendly pat on his thigh, after which he realises that he doesn't have to limit his displays of affection anymore, not after all the intimacy they have been willing to submit themselves to already. 

So he lets his palm linger, allowing himself to rub gentle circles into the clothed skin. He doesn't have to be cautious with Connor, for the android isn't burdened with any biological organs that would make this situation uncomfortable for both parties. 

"Life isn't all bad, I’m sure you came across that particular information at least once during your time on this Earth. Experienced it, even. No?" 

"You're right." 

A trace of a hesitant smile on Connor’s lips is all that it takes for Gavin to heave a sigh of relief. He’s too tired to think beyond that feeling. Everything inside of him, all the emotions and memories blend into a blurry mixture as he starts losing the ground under his feet. 

But he must fight it, his friend still needs him awake...

"Let's go to sleep," Connor whispers, tugging him into a tender embrace. It’s warm and safe and he can't concentrate on anything but the wave of love pulling him under to the sweet slumber he’s always yearned for. 

Indeed, life can be ever so wonderful sometimes.

@a-convin-new-year

[katsukikitten]

Hi! I was wondering if you could could do bakugo with a depressed and self-harming s/o? Shes trying so hard not to do but it was one of those days that the urge was almost impossible to ignore? Sorry if its too dark, i just feel this very mood rn. Sorry to bother you and i love your work ❤️💕

This would never bother me love. Please feel free to message me should you need me. You have my full support and I will always help you to my best abilities.

MAJOR TRIGGER WARNING FOR SELF HARM PLEASE DO NOT READ ANY FURTHER IF YOU FEEL LIKE YOU'LL LOSE THE BATTLE. I KNOW YOU ARE STRONG YOU CAN DO THIS.

It sat on your shoulder, weighing down on your mind, body and soul. Wispy fingers digging into flesh as it peers over you too curious for it's own good.

It smiles a jagged tooth smile as it sees what has your heart and mind racing so erratically. It morphs all on it's own as you stare at the 34% written in blotchy red ink and it seems to whisper with a gravely voice.

*"Worthless."*

You twist at your skin on your forearms agitating old scars that burn to be reopened and picked over for the next few weeks. Your forearm reddens from the Indian burn you're giving yourself all the while your mind stays on a dark loop. Repeating things over and over as you try to understand this failing grade.

As you try to wrap your mind around how in the hell could this be your fifth one in a row.

You were going to fucking flunk, you were going to have to say good bye to your dreams, to all of your aspirations as a hero. You thought you might as well go back to the dorms and start packing now as you proved to yourself exactly what you've always known and exactly what it's always breathed down the nape of your neck.

*"Not good enough."*

The skin begins to bloom in blues and purples, much like a moody flower as you're absorbed in thought trying to break the cycle of it.

Trying to ignore the call of old burns on your ribs from your friends curling iron, trying so damn hard to not hear that the school is teaming with sharp objects to slice yourself with.

So absorbed really that you do not hear the bell dismissing school, only the rushing blood in your ears.

Oblivious to the burning eyes that watch your hand work, that have seen the scars in training but would never be shameless enough to ask.

He figured it out quickly, noticing with deft eyes the neatly set rows of dated scars, of their organization and as far as he knew you had never been captured.

A strong hand wraps around the wrist that has been twisting the past hour.

"Enough. It's just a grade. I'll help you study." All biting voice as his vice grip dies down. He has your backpack on what is normally his free shoulder. You blush furiously, feeling shame heat your cheeks as you hadn't realized you were being so obvious.

"Let's go Y/LN!" He shouts now from the door trying to keep the bite out of his voice.

He fails as the chair scrapes against the cold linoleum. He bites his lip waiting for you to fall into step.

The walk home is silent and awkward at best. Embarrassment creeps in reddish hues onto your cheeks as you think of who else may have seen you.

Who else noticed your unstable mind and insecure actions?

The thought has you subconsciously twisting again as thoughts swirl faster and faster as they think of what will relieve the tension.

Did you have any more razors? Surely one of the girls did, if not the corner store.

But did you have the extra cash?

As you rack your brain for either a hidden stash of instruments or cash it hits you. You had that lighter your stole ages ago. It only took 70 seconds for a burn to form. 70 agonizingly lovely seconds for your skin to warp and bubble until the pain was so numbing you felt your body go slack. Your brain finally giving you endorphins you so thoroughly craved.

And the best part about a burn is that it would hurt for weeks after, and especially so any time you introduced it to hear. Skin jaded from its previous encounter with unpleasantly warm.

Just as your nails begin to break skin a calloused hand has gripped your wrist once more. Hand slipping into yours while intertwining fingers in a bone crushing grip.

"Whatever it is you're thinking. You better not." Its a threat that actually scares you.

How had he read your mind? You swallow thickly while trying not to look any more suspicious under his exceptionaly watchful eye.

Once the two of you reach the dorm he squeezes your hand tightly, slipping your back onto your shoulder before growling in your ear.

"Whenever you feel...down you come to me." His voice is darker than you've ever heard before he lets go of your hand waltzing into the dorms.

Days pass with the single thought of painful released flooding your system.

Anytime you reached for your lighter you thought of burning red eyes.

Of the wraith that would be looming in them.

Of the disappointment.

You gulp down air as you try to fight it especially now that the inanimate object seems to have gained a voice.

A voice that echos what the wispy black beast that hangs onto your back screams in your ear.

*"Do it. Do it. DO IT!"*

It said it every time you were in the shower and around razor heads lying around, screeched when it saw the sharp edge of a broken tile in the bathroom. It yelled it during practice as you watched Todoroki's flame lick greedily at the ground, at the walls of the fake city.

Dancing in the sunlight as if it were a savior, calling out to be caressed as the paint beneath bubbled and warped.

Your fingers had reached out. Had begun to feel the heat.

Until you were so selfishly ripped away by strong hands and heated scarlet eyes.

Shoving you to continue the mission.

It took on new words now as you reached for your box in your closet. Taking down the black shoe box of sad poems and long forgotten notes from long forgotten friends.

And as you stare down at the scratched chrome rectangle, flopping open the top.

You still hear that magical sound of sloshing butane. Now you just have to hope the flint is still good. Hesitation seizes your muscles as your thumb rests on the steel wheel, is this really such a good idea?

Think of all of the people who abandoned you when they found out.

Think of the hurt shining in your parents eyes when they saw the scars littering your body, wondering what they did to make you so unhappy.

Think of how you only feel smaller when you do it.

You're about put it away, seal it back in its black converse labeled coffin when that wispy small thought you'd tried so hard to talk over is finally heard.

*"But think of how good it feels in the moment."*

With that your thumb comes fully down, the flint sparks igniting the soaked wick that now dances in the comfort of your room.

Singing its praises, asking you to come closer for a reward.

You listen, bringing your hand down slowly over the lit lighter, as the heat turns from pleasantly warm to Redding burn.

Closer still you push your palm until your skin is in the flame. Silently ticking by the seconds.

35 have passed as you're halfway there, the smell of skin is staring to waft onto the air as your skin has already become distorted, discolored as the flames lovingly leave your with a heated numbness.

At least for now.

A knock comes at the door, earning you a small yelp. Suddenly the fire has become hot, burning as you flick closed the top and drop the lighter.

"J..just a minute." You call out starring at your palm gripping at your wrist.

"Hurry up. We don't have much time to study before bed. Your retake is in two days." His voice comes out gruff starling you even more.

You hadn't asked for Bakugou's help, so why was the hot head barking on the other side of your door.

Shit.

This was getting worse by the second. With nothing to wrap your hand it you tell yourself you'll be able to hide it as you reach for the doorknob. Causing a pain to shoot from your hand all the way up to your shoulder as you force the fried nerves onto a cool surface. Twisting as you go.

Maybe it wasn't your best idea to use it on your dominate hand.

But what's done is done.

"We c...can go to the common room and study." You suggest but barges himself in anyway standing just inside your door as he thinks of the best way to avoid the landmine of clothes and books scatter across the hardwood.

"Too loud." He dismisses finding the perfect path to your desk.

The perfect path that has his boot toeing the lighter. Causing it to skid into his sight. He leans over to pick it up, feeling the warmth coming from it and finally placing the odd smell that lingers in your room.

He glares over his shoulder as your heart pounds in your throat, causing a lump to form as you see what you told yourself was going to be there.

Anger.

Disappointment.

Especially so with how neatly he sets down the test materials, stepping with precise foot steps before he stands in front of you.

Heated sugar begins to flood the room before a few uncontrolled pops ring our over his shoulders and forearms.

"What's this?" He asks calmly which scares you more than anything and when you cannot answer he notices you hiding your dominate hand.

"N..n..nothing Bakugou. I...I found it on campus and thought it looked cool. I wanted to..to keep it." You stumble with frayed nerves as you avoid his eyes, telling a half truth. You do collect odd things that you find. Thinking they bring you fortune and you did find the zippo on campus, just not this one.

He looks you over debating before he grits his teeth. Hand causing the lighter to explode.

"And then you lie to me." He comes out dark, rubbing you the wrong way as you think of all the other faces his match right now.

As you remember that they gave you their backs becoming nothing more than memories and empty promises immortalized on line paper that rots in a coffin made of a black converse box.

You cannot stop the tears as you fall to the floor. Crying loudly and openly, large droplets raining down onto your shirt and the hard wood floor.

Bakugou's own heart lodges in his throat as he stares down at you.

Per the usual fucking up how you're supposed to react.

This wasn't supportive like the internet had said. Nor was it loving.

Hell, if anything this was the exact opposite of what was advised to do. And here he stood losing his temper over something you clearly struggled with.

The worst part to him was that there was nothing he could do to change this, to alter how you feel. To stop you all together and force you into a different, more healthy coping mechanism.

No all he could was watch from the sidelines.

And Bakugou Katsuki was a starter.

He sighs sinking to his knees pulling you into him as you stain his pressed shirt. Dampen it until nothing else comes out and the numbness begins to set in.

All the while he smooths down your hair and let's his hand travel down your back in a loving warm touch. When he thinks you are done he pushes you away so he can stare into your gorgeous eyes and admits what he never thought he would.

"I can't fix this for you. I can't take it away. I cant fight it off. Kiss it away. Fuck it away. Or rip the urge from your body." He squeezes your shoulders tightly, "Only you can do that."

The two of you stay quiet as you realize the weight of his words.

"You're the only one strong enough to fight this. I can support you, I can be a shoulder to cry on, a punching bag whatever. But I can't fucking fix this for you." Another pop from his shoulders before he let's out a shaking sigh, "But I sure as fuck believe in you. You stopped once. You can stop again. As long as you keep getting back up Y/N it doesn't matter that you *ever* fell. So please....please let me help you. Let me be that shoulder, that punching back. That void you vent to."

More tears glisten in your eyes as he kisses your forehead, he pulls you back into another death grip hug, voice threatening to crack as he adds.

"Please let me help you kick this things ass."

[bcdrawsandwrites]

Fandom: The Dark Crystal: Age of Resistance

Rating: T

Genre: Friendship, Angst

Characters: urGoh, skekGra, skekSil, skekSo, skekTek, skekVar, and more to come...

Warnings: A LOT OF VIOLENCE

Description: One was as vile and repulsive as his brethren. He murdered, and maimed, and reveled in it.

The other was as slow and indirect as the rest of his brethren. He hated his dark half as much as the others did theirs.

But who they were did not matter, for Thra saw its moment, and seized its opportunity.

Notes: HERE IT IS! This is the fic that’s co-authored by @jaywings​ and I! I’m really excited to finally start posting this. Hope you guys like it!

---

Chapter 1: That Ancient and Most Sacred of Arts Summary: In which the Conqueror shows off his painting and puppetry skills.

---

The sky had been a dark crimson that early morning as the triple suns rose, a deeply foreboding sign for many.

For skekGra the Conqueror, one of the sixteen Lords of the Crystal and a regent of Thra, known far and wide for his prowess in battle, it was as if the very elements had already known the outcome of the approaching battle and were lamenting it.

He took it as an indication of great fortune.

SkekGra ran his tongue over his fangs, seeing it all again: the flashes of sunlight on the line of his army’s swords and armor as they crested the last hill and gazed down at the red-tinged Silver Sea lapping the shoreline, where their quarry had set up a last, desperate defense. He had arrived with two other Skeksis and a convoy of Gelfling castle guards and volunteers—a small battalion to be sure, but more than was needed for such a task as this.

"Can I get anything for you, my lord?"

The sudden voice made him give a start, blinking, the thick paintbrush clasped in his talons pausing in its careful application of pigment to canvas. He peered over his shoulder; a Gelfling had entered the room, looking up at him earnestly.

"Oh! Hm. Yes,” skekGra said, with a glance down at the dish holding his—for lack of a better word—paint. “Fetch me more water."

"Of course, my lord. It's good to have you back, by the way."

He nodded. Out of the corner of his eye he watched the Gelfling scurry away, before he turned his focus back to his canvas and dipped his brush in the bowl, swirling it around.

Some artists enjoyed charcoal. Others used clay, and still others delighted in pigments made from berries and flowers.

SkekGra certainly had his preferred medium.

On the canvas was an image of his own likeness—the first thing he always painted when beginning his personal works. Eventually there may be a few of his other Skeksis brethren behind him, just to stop their whining. For now, though, he would keep himself standing alone. Below himself, he was beginning to paint another race—this one short, stout, and hunchbacked. Their arms were strong, their fingers deft, but their strength and wit were no match for his. And in this painting, they would be depicted bowing to the Skeksis. To him.

"Your water, my lord."

Nodding briskly without looking up, skekGra set the pitcher next to the bowl that contained his congealing paint, ready to thin it out when necessary. His spines bristled briefly at the realization that he was being observed—but, noting it was merely the servant, he smiled and went back to his work. "Come on, you can watch if you want."

"Thank you, my lord." The Gelfling stepped closer, looking on in silence for a moment. "Those are…?"

"Gruenaks," he answered. "We hoped to... ah... ally with them. But they proved to be enemies of the Skeksis, and thus of the Crystal." He regarded the Gelfling seriously. "They have been dealt with, Vapra."

"O-of course! I would expect no less of the Conqueror."

His tongue poking out from the side of his beak, he retrieved a smaller brush—this one fitting neatly onto the end of one talon—and started in on depicting the Gruenak’s faces. He had to get the expression just right, exactly the way he remembered it. He could see in his mind’s eye the twenty or so remaining survivors of the Gruenak tribe in a loose formation down on the glittering sand of the beach, staring up at them with their eyes wide and terrified, lips pulled back over blunt, harmless teeth as they took in the might of the army that had come to meet them, framed by the blazing suns and the blood-red sky.

He pondered his easel. Should there be rain in the painting? The real battle had started off on as clear a morning as he had ever seen, before dark clouds rolled in from over the sea and obscured the three suns, and the heavens of Thra had opened up in a deluge. His skin felt clammy even now at the recollection of his robes plastered to his frame and giving him the appearance of a drowned fizzgig, his feet skidding in the mud and blood while his tail dragged through the muck behind him. Everyone struggled to fight through the storm; yet he managed better than all of them, cutting down any enemies that stood before him with his newly-sharpened blade, which had been whet with stones from the very mountains under which these vermin had attempted to seek shelter.

Oh, how he had missed this. After what seemed like endless trine of pursuing Arathim, here finally was an enemy whose face he could see. The Gruenaks proved far better foes than the Arathim had ever been. It was not, after all, so satisfying to squash a bug.

The rain had even given his army an advantage in the end, despite his commanders skekVar and skekUng taking it in turn to whine about it to him (oddly, the Gelfling had never complained, while his fellow Skeksis seemed to consider it a proper pastime). The Gruenaks, technologically-advanced as they were, had brought fierce machines to do their fighting for them. But many of the machines failed to operate in the rain, and the weaponless Gruenaks had been forced to make a stand on foot with whatever they could find to defend themselves.

The corner of his mouth quirked. The weaklings had no fight in them. It could hardly even be called a battle, really.

It was a slaughter.

The thought had come from nowhere, and the force of it shocked him to his core, making him catch his breath and pause in his work for a moment with his hand trembling. The Vapran Gelfling was alert at once.

“My lord Conqueror?” it asked, its airy voice tinged with concern.

“It’s nothing, Gelfling, I’m fine,” skekGra said, giving a quick shudder to rid himself of the unpleasant sensation. The Gelfling took a step back, still looking uncertain. It didn’t seem at all intent on leaving—maybe he should send it off somewhere. SkekGra wracked his brain for what the Vapra’s name was but came up with nothing. Well, he could hardly tell the Gelflings apart anyway.

He tried to focus back on the painting, which swam before his eyes. What in Thra had just happened? For just the barest instant he had felt it again—a strange hollow feeling in his chest, like someone had dug their claws in and ripped something out while he still breathed. He coughed, his throat rasping, and in a burst of frustration grabbed his thicker paintbrush and jabbed at the painting, leaving a dark streak where he hadn’t really intended to put one.

SkekGra glared poison at it as though the harmless mark were to blame for all his recent troubles.

“Are you… quite sure you’re all right, my lord? Is something bothering you?” the Gelfling asked tentatively. “Should I call for someone?”

“No need!” skekGra said sharply, forcing himself to take measured breaths and regain his composure. Whatever this was, he would deal with it later. “It’s only from a lack of sleep and a good meal, which I will soon have at the feast tonight.”

He took care not to look the Gelfling in the eye. For if he did, it might see that his mind was not, in fact, on the feast they would surely be having in his honor, that it wasn’t something that bothered him, but someone…

Hatred boiled in his gut. This must be from his influence. His compassion—a vile word that made him bare his teeth and let out a soft snarl of contempt—his weakness. The unexpected encounter must have affected him more than he’d thought. He needed to be rid of it.

Well, tomorrow morning he would rejoin the Ceremony of the Sun with the others and be purged of this sickness for good by the Crystal. Until then, he must betray nothing, must only give the outward appearance that the battle had been a conclusive victory, that all had worked out, that everything had gone according to the needs and wants of the Skeksis.

And that memory—the tail end of the battle, the brief period where skekUng and skekVar had been looting the bodies for spoils, and the Gelfling had regrouped to talk amongst themselves and clean their weapons, and he had been alone, or so he thought—that memory would be shoved to the back of his mind, where it would rot and be forgotten. It was over and done with, and would become entirely unimportant by the time the first sun rose tomorrow, and there was nothing he could do about it now anyway.

He needn’t concern the Emperor or the General with trivial matters. SkekSil especially should hear nothing about it, as he was likely to look far too deeply into it and end up causing more problems for skekGra than he had started with. The shifty Chamberlain had seemed eager to get in his good graces the last time he had been at the castle, as well, perhaps hoping for favors or spywork. At least this time he hadn’t seen a sign of skekSil since he’d arrived back at the—

"Conqueror!"

SkekGra bristled and the Gelfling turned in surprise to see another Skeksis in the doorway, his brilliant red robes standing against the shadows of the castle.

"SkekSil," skekGra acknowledged. By the Greater Sun, it was like he’d been summoned.

“You have returned!” the Chamberlain exclaimed as he crossed into the room. His eyes darted over the clutter of dusty canvases and scattered art supplies, his brow wrinkling slightly, but the tone of his voice remained sickly jubilant. “Apologies I was not there to greet good friend Conqueror. I was under impression you were not due back until rise of first moon tonight.”

“The battle was shorter than we expected,” skekGra said. Almost imperceptibly, he stood a bit straighter as he resumed painting, allowing him to turn and look down his beak at the newcomer. He was slightly taller than the Chamberlain.

“Ah yes, yes, should have guessed. Yet, no one told me you were back already. In fact—” the other Skeksis took in a whistling breath through his nostrils, squinting up into skekGra’s face. "I have even heard that friend skekGra has reported to Emperor without friend skekSil, hmmmm?" he said.

SkekGra’s talons clenched on his paintbrush.

SkekSil’s jaw parted in a simpering smile, which he aimed toward the Gelfling. “Your attendant need not stay, surely? You—Conall, isn’t it?—” The Vapra servant nodded, “—Go, please. Conqueror and I, we have much things to discuss.”

Conall the Vapra made a small bow to each of them, uttered a quick thank you to skekGra for showing his newest work, and hurried from the room under the Skeksis’ close watch. The Chamberlain, in turn, sauntered further across the floor, his eyes glinting in the light from the window. He craned his neck to peer at the canvas over skekGra’s shoulder and let out a satisfied hiss.

“Another successful conquest, hmmm?” he said. “How excellent! Is best if have all been eradicated, yes, lest Gruenaks’ dangerous machines be used against Skeksis. Though, it is almost a shame, if none were brought back as slaves. Would have made valuable servants, with such knowledge metal and machinery. And they are not talkative!”

SkekGra clicked his beak, forcing out a snicker. “Ah, they could have given you lessons.”

“Yes, of course,” the Chamberlain continued, taking a step backward; if he was annoyed by the comment, he didn’t show it. “But oh, Conqueror, why must I find out about Skeksis victory by lovely painting and not hearing for myself? Why was Chamberlain not present during report to Emperor?”

Turning away from the canvas again, skekGra flashed him a grin, letting the light catch his jagged teeth. “I don’t know, skekSil. Why was Chamberlain not present during battle with Gruenak? Hmmmmmmmm?”

The other Skeksis ducked his head and blinked owlishly. “Battle?” he crooned. “Oh no, no. Perhaps in light of own achievements, Conqueror has forgotten? Emperor strictly forbade me from going into battle, yes! Many trine ago! I am not fit for war! Am not strong like Conqueror or General, or especially Hunter. I would be viciously dismembered by Gruenak machines, or worse!”

SkekGra let out a light chuckle and eyed his painting again, scrutinizing the dark, drying marks for any areas of detail he’d left out. “Do not worry, skekSil, I jest, I jest! There are few Skeksis I would take with me into battle, and you—” he turned quickly and prodded the Chamberlain, who had ventured much too close again, in the chest with his paintbrush handle, “—were never among them!”

The Chamberlain let out a horrified, undignified squawk and checked over his outer garments for paint drips, though any spots would be difficult to see on his red robes.

"But really, I would have told you all about it if you had been there," skekGra went on. "I went to the Emperor as soon as I returned, and he didn't want to wait. I suppose we forgot to send for you." And you might have suspected I was hiding something in my report, Chamberlain. That sounds like you.

"Hmmmm. I was with Gourmand, making sure plenty food would be prepared for friend Conqueror's arrival. If only I had known had returned already..."

SkekGra’s eyes brightened. “The celebratory feast?”

"Yes. With roast nebrie, fresh from Podling village, special for Conqueror. I was hard at work with much preparations for skekGra!"

"Well..." SkekGra smiled. "I guess you'll just have to hear all about the battle at the feast tonight. I have a show prepared."

"...Yes," skekSil said, tipping his head. "Friend Conqueror is most kind and creative. Will see you at feast."

With that, skekSil finally stepped back out of the room, and skekGra turned back to his painting at last. He caught sight of the inside of his paint bowl and huffed, prodding the hardened pigment with a claw. SkekSil had kept him talking for too long—he didn’t understand the care that needed to be taken with this particular medium. Grumbling, he poured water into the bowl to thin it out again.

Blood had the annoying tendency to clot.

—~~~---

This was almost his favorite part of any conquest: the triumphant return to the Castle of the Crystal, the welcoming feasts held in his honor, and the artistic treat he would be sure to give his fellow Skeksis every time.

Tonight his audience consisted of nine other Skeksis, mostly talking amongst themselves but a few watching him with expectant, beady eyes over hooked beaks. They all sat along the curved table at the front of the hall, waited on by bustling Podling servants while a small group of other Podlings hovered over the music machine in an alcove at the top of a set of stairs, waiting for skekGra’s cue.

He stood in the center of the room, facing the table with a covered object next to him, and cleared his throat loudly; the idle chatter died away and every eye focused on him.

“Fellow Skeksis!” he cried, brandishing his arms. “Podlings! Gelflings! ...Gelflings? Are there any Gelflings here?” He glanced around but spotted none, and felt oddly disappointed. “Have we stopped allowing Gelfling in the Banquet Hall since I was last here?”

“Gelfling made one too many derisive comments about our eating habits,” skekOk called out from one end of the table, in a clipped voice. “They were rude. Now they are forbidden!”

“It’s just as well,” skekSo said. He sat in the place of highest honor at the table’s center. “I did not get any joy from watching them scarf down their food, either.”

A few along the table let out creaky laughs. Seated at skekSo’s right side, the Chamberlain slowly stirred his bowl of boiled crustaceans and swamp weeds with the utensils on the ends of his claws. Though he wore his usual smirk, he did not laugh with the others, and his narrowed eyes were fixed on skekGra.

“Come onnn,” skekLach complained from the other side of the table, in the midst of hacking into an old handkerchief that had probably once been white. “Are we watching a show or what? Give us some entertainment!”

“Yes, of course! But first…” SkekGra made a grand, sweeping gesture with all four arms and a ripple of crimson robes. “Fellow Skeksis! Podling slaves, one and all! I present to you my latest work… the Conquest of the Gruenaks!”

With a single smooth motion he grasped the tattered cloth covering the object next to him and ripped it away, revealing his newest painting. A collective “Ooh!” issued from a few of his audience members’ beaks.

The finished painting—monochrome, of course—depicted himself standing triumphant over the vanquished Gruenaks, who bowed to his glory. Behind him he had squeezed in some of those who had joined him in battle: skekVar and skekUng, who were as similar as they were different and had squabbled constantly as bitter rivals, yet both fought like warriors against the enemy. He had even included a number of the Gelflings who had fought by his side (none of which could speak a word of Gruenak, of course—he had handpicked them all with that very requirement). The whole thing was likely his greatest composition yet.

“Why, that’s wonderful!” skekEkt exclaimed in delight. “Do one of me next, I want a portrait!”

There was a chorus of agreement as everyone clamored for a picture of themselves, to which skekGra bowed deeply.

“My lords! You must know these things take time! The arts are simply my hobby, not my greater role to benefit all Skeksis,” he said. “But if my Emperor wishes me to paint portraits for you, I will.”

All eyes turned to skekSo, who stroked the side of his beak thoughtfully. "Perhaps," he said, and the Ornamentalist clapped his talons in delight. “Once there are no more important matters to attend to."

"But of course, sire!" SkekGra gave a short bow. "Nothing is more important than bringing every inch of Thra beneath our Emperor's rule. And speaking of..."

A brief glance was all it took for the Podling slaves in the balcony above to begin beating against the instruments, producing a crude tune that slowly rose in tempo and grandeur (or as close as simple Podlings could get to such a thing). In turn, two other Podlings quickly wheeled out a well-sized, mobile puppet stage, which they then ducked behind.

With a flourish, SkekGra pulled away the curtains on the stage to reveal a landscape painting (disappointingly made with common pigments). Next, he swiftly produced two objects out of his pockets, keeping them hidden behind his back. “Behold the spectacle of my greatest show yet: The Conquest of the Gruenak, in puppetry form!”

The music swelled, and he showed the first object: an intricately detailed wooden puppet of himself, which he made to march onto the stage. With another musical flourish, he brought the second object forward—this one a marionette, the appearance of which made the majority of his brethren lean forward in interest, skekOk adjusting a couple pairs of his glasses.

Unlike the first puppet, this one was made of more... interesting materials: fabric torn off the garments of a Gruenak, and a body made of segments of carved bone, taken from the same creature (with a great deal of satisfaction on his part). Even if the others couldn't see these details for themselves at this distance, they were familiar enough with his artistry to know the materials he enjoyed working with.

“Pay close attention!” skekGra continued in a cry, really warming up now. “I’ll be requiring audience participation!”

Everyone slumped backward with audible groans.

What followed was a mostly unscripted, blow-by-blow account of the battle, illustrated with the standard, intricate puppets he used for every show (the one of himself, and two Gelfling puppets), along with the couple that he had put together during the carriage ride back home. He had his Podling assistants act out a few of the simpler, background roles, and also put them in charge of effects—which turned out to have been a bad idea, as half the time they forgot their cues and he had to work around their frustrating clumsiness. He left a few choice details out of his performance while ramping up others, keeping one eye trained on the Skeksis to gauge their approval.

A few seemed to grow bored as he carried on, apparently more interested in the nearest tureen of soup or other delicacies than in skekGra’s hard work. However, he glimpsed the shadows in the wide doorway behind him shift slightly and noticed skekTek slip into the light—late to the feast, as he often was, but drawn from his lab below by the smell of food and now watching the performance with rapt attention.

His production gradually expanded from the stage to making the puppets run along the banquet table, forcing a few Skeksis—namely skekAyuk—to yank their plates away from him with noises of protest. As his manikin self fiercely battled Gruenak machinery he attempted to have several Skeksis pretend to be Gruenaks and set up obstacles along the table, though the response to this was lackluster at best and downright contentious at worst, so he dropped that tactic.

“Ugh. Isn’t it over yet?” skekLach griped to skekShod next to her in a rather carrying whisper, while reaching out to grab something from the Treasurer’s plate. SkekShod growled and swatted her hand away.

“He’s giving himself too much credit with all this,” skekVar, sitting on skekLach’s other side, grunted. “I haven’t even been mentioned.”

It looked like now was as good a time as any for the finale. SkekGra spun around, twirling the train of his magnificent red robes impressively, and brandished his puppet self at his audience.

“The fight had lasted for hours,” he said, slowly making his puppet stumble over the table, a sword hanging limply from its claws. “Neither side could hold out much longer, and we knew we must end it. It was when the final brother had set over the horizon and the last vestiges of light faded from the sky, that we found ourselves facing the Gruenaks’ last, secret weapon.”

He had reached the puppet stage again, where behind his back one of his secondary arms slipped under the stage and retrieved a rough sculpture of wood and metal.

“An unnameable, unknowable creation!” he went on, his voice hushed. “A mechanical device the likes of which I had never before seen!”

There were startled gasps; skekGra had secretly flipped a lever that made the stage’s curtain apparatus collapse in on itself, in the same motion raising the metal sculpture onto the stage and whipping away from it in a flurry of robes. The overall effect was that the machine seemed to have appeared from nothing. A flick of his tail signaled the Podling operators behind the stage to crank the machine with their fingers, causing the thing to grind together, sharp metal jaws snapping open and closed.

Quietly making his way over to his seat next to skekZok, skekTek gave him a tiny nod of satisfaction. The Scientist had obliged to build the prop in exchange for blood and bone samples procured from the battlefield.

“Granting protection to the last of the Gruenaks riding its hull, it bore down on us!” skekGra announced to the audience. “One… hm… unlucky Gelfling fell victim to its horror…”

The machine gave a particularly savage snap; in the light, the mechanical parts seemed to gleam with splashes of pink and red.

He ducked down, raising up puppets with three of his arms—himself, a rough model of skekUng, and the rattling Gruenak marionette; the Gruenak stood atop the machine, its body language taut with savage triumph as it looked down at the two Skeksis beneath, who gazed up at it and then at each other.

“There was only one thing to be done,” skekGra said. “I must burn it to the ground.”

At the table, skekVar jerked his head up. “I was the one who burned it!”

“Ah, but, you see, the torch is in my hand!” skekGra said, holding up one talon.

A Podling lit the match for him, which he took unseen and transferred it to the hand of his puppet proxy with a quick movement. The puppet now held a blazing, miniature torch.

“For Thra!” he cried, his voice ringing in the cavernous room. “For the Skeksis!” And he made to toss the tiny flame onto the metal sculpture.

But his hands were empty, and were not his own.

He was standing in a dark, narrow tunnel; he could hear murmuring voices and saw three figures shuffling near him, looking tense and nervous, glancing over their shoulders repeatedly as though worried about being followed. They were Gruenaks, all of them, from the same tribe he had just purported to have wiped out. The ones he had been forced to let escape…

Words issued from his own throat, though he did not speak them. They were uttered in a deep voice, achingly familiar, repulsively familiar: “Go, hurry. You will be safe here. They are not following… yet.”

It was his own voice. But it was also not.

The Gruenaks pressed past him and headed on down the familiar-looking passageway ahead. One turned back to give him a last look—part grateful, part terrified; and its eyes widened slightly, mouth agape, as though it had noticed something odd about his face, a shadow of something lurking in his eyes—

Panicked yells brought him back to himself, snapping him back to his senses like he had been yanked out of deep water. His Podling assistants had abandoned the puppet stage and encircled him, crying out. Along the table, most of the other Skeksis had jumped to their feet, shouting or screeching with laughter, and skekTek was rushing back toward him with a soup tureen in hand, a hiss issuing from his beak.

Out of the corner of his eye, skekGra saw something flickering brightly. He turned his head, and his breath caught in his throat.

His stage was currently on fire, as were the hem of his robes.

“Fool! Curse your negligence!” the Scientist growled in a low voice as he reached skekGra’s side and doused the burning stage in soup. “You didn’t tell me you were going to light it on fire! I labor on that confounded mechanism of yours since before the first sunrise today and you incinerate it?” The fire had died down a great deal and he beat at the remaining flames with his robes, snapping to everyone in the general vicinity, “Well, help me extinguish it! Do we want to be consumed in a great conflagration?”

If the others had been laughing before, they were howling now, skekEkt going so far as to hammer the table with his fist and skekOk very nearly toppling off his chair.

SkekGra paid them no mind, stamping out his smoking robes and assisting skekTek in beating out the fire on the stage, biting back a hiss when the fire burned and blistered his hands.

Part of him relished the pain. The thought of that creature whose mind he had shared for a brief instant, his… other half… feeling this too was comforting, in a way. He felt sullied at the shared contact, corrupted, unwhole—

But that’s the point, a small voice in the back of his head whispered. You are unwhole.

He crashed his hands over the last of the flames, snuffing them out, and hoped urGoh felt every blister.

Why was this happening? And why now?

Next to him skekTek, panting, shook his head vigorously and stepped back from the smoking wreckage. No one else had rushed to help put out the fire—the Podlings still cowered away, and while every Skeksis was now standing, none had left their spot at the table. Most seemed to still be struggling to breathe.

“Er—the end!” skekGra called, and gave another low bow. He nudged skekTek, who, rather than bowing, just grunted and gave a stiff nod to the audience; then he marched back to the table to finally claim his seat, muttering darkly to himself.

“Another performance getting out of hand, I see,” the Emperor said, sitting back down and prompting everyone else to do the same. His eyes flashed with dark amusement. “One can only imagine what you’ll have in store for us next time.”

“It was a momentary distraction!” skekGra called back, idly fiddling with a piece of charred wood from the stage. “Humblest apologies, Emperor. It will not happen again!”

Only after he had spoken did he wonder if he could have gotten away with blaming skekTek for building a faulty, overly-flammable prop. Then again, the Scientist had been the only other one to do anything about the fire.

On skekTek’s left, skekVar snorted. “Wonderful time to be distracted. Handling fire.”

He seemed disgruntled. Perhaps he was upset that there had been time to build a puppet of skekUng, but not of him.

“Well I thought it was excellent,” skekOk said, leaning back in his chair with the light reflecting off every pair of his glasses, turning the lenses white. “A brilliant finale. I do so love when these shows of yours end in fiery disaster, Conqueror.”

“Which is every time!” skekAyuk laughed heartily, then choked and had to cough up a leg bone from his entree.

With the show definitively over, they all fell back into aimless chatter and feasting. SkekGra directed the Podlings to help him clean up the ruined stage, taking care to examine his puppets for damage. None of them had escaped unscathed. He didn’t notice skekSil slip away from the table until he heard the Chamberlain’s characteristic whimper emanate from right behind him, making his hackles rise.

“Are you very well today, Conqueror?” skekSil asked. He shifted his sleeve over his hand and gingerly swatted at a bit of the stage that was still smoldering. “Is not usual for skekGra, always so focused on task at hand, to be so… distracted. So… forgetful.”

“Yes, well, it has been a very long day—and night—for me,” skekGra said nonchalantly. “I suspect I’m merely tired. In fact, I may just take some food to my chamber and retire early tonight.”

SkekSil nodded. “Of course, of course! Tired from sleepless night on long carriage ride back to castle, yes? And from days spent fighting Gruenak war machines, with no rejuvenation from Crystal, yes, yes. SkekGra must have rest. Would not want to make further careless mistakes, especially in upcoming battle… against Arathim.”

SkekGra nearly dropped a broken piece of machinery and scrambled to catch it with one of his secondary arms. "What?" he cried, whipping his head in skekSil's direction.

With an obnoxious hum and a tilt of his head, the Chamberlain picked up the singed Gruenak puppet from the floor and turned it in his hands. "Yes, while friend Conqueror was busy preparing for puppet show, I talked with Emperor and General. Gelfling scouts from Stone-in-Wood came to us, told us of Arathim invasion at Caves of Grot. Poor Grottans have managed to fight back some, but will need Skeksis help, hmmmm?"

"You volunteered me?" His lips twitched, fangs gleaming. He would have said yes to the proposition regardless, but the fact that the Chamberlain had done this without his consent…

"Yes, yes. After all, I know friend skekGra well. Emperor knows this. And I know skekGra would be willing to aid Skeksis in whatever needs vanquishing, even if it is short time after recent battle!" With a stroke of his claws, he brushed the soot off of the Gruenak puppet's outfit. "If Conqueror can talk to Emperor about important matters without friend Chamberlain, surely he trusts me to do same."

"...Of course, of course." He snatched the puppet out of skekSil's hands, swiftly pocketing it. "I will gather the details and plot our course of action when the first brother rises."

With that, he took the handles of his mobile stage and wheeled it out of the room, leaving the Podlings to mop up the ashes on the floor. He hadn’t eaten anything at his own feast, but he’d quite lost his appetite.

"Good night, Conqueror," skekSil called after him. "I eagerly await your report in morning!"

SkekGra merely flicked his tail behind him as he retreated to his quarters.

—~~~---

Everything the Skeksis owned—their castle, their outfits, their banquets—was quite ornate, and their bedchambers were no exception. Small diamond-shaped windows, a plush carpet on the floor, an enormous wardrobe (hand-carved by Gelflings—which tribe, he couldn't recall) with enough room to store a single outfit, and a massive bed with a dense quilt and several layers of blankets.

What separated skekGra's room from the rest were the paintings that hung on his walls (all monochrome, each a different shade of red, brown, or black), several canvases stacked up in one corner, a mess of art supplies (papers, charcoal, brushes, carving knives) scattered across the floor, and the shelves that featured his puppets—each depicting a different race he'd conquered. It was on this shelf he placed the Gruenak puppet, and by a blank space of wall he set his recent painting, to be hung up later when he had the time.

Which certainly wouldn't be anytime soon.

Sighing, skekGra began the arduous task of removing his layers of clothing: his armor, his collar, his outer robes, and so on, carefully placing each in the wardrobe. He examined the singed hems of his robes, thinking of repairs, but decided it wasn’t too noticeable.

As he changed, he kept his mind focused on the challenge he would face tomorrow: of fighting the Arathim, again, and of protecting the Gelfling tribes that served the Skeksis. He thought of the defenses of the Arathim, how he'd fought them before to drive them out of the Caves of Grot, of whether or not he'd be able to track down skekUng again on such short notice, and the strange and exploitable connection that the Arathim shared—harm one, and the rest cry out in pain with him…

So intent was he on focusing on these matters that he didn't notice he'd forgotten to pull one arm out of its sleeve before starting on the layer beneath it, and the two sleeves caught on his wrist, and pulled—

The grasp was as unexpected as it was strong when the hand flew out and caught his arm to block his strike, and the look in the Mystic’s eyes was unusually piercing; but urGoh’s sudden arrival at the battle wasn't what nearly made him drop his weapon in shock. It was the feeling, even through the layers of clothing, that bolted through him, like a sudden blow to his chest—

With a snarl he ripped all but one of the layers off, shoving them roughly into the wardrobe and slamming the doors shut. He grit his teeth, his breath hissing between his fangs, as he kept his talons pressed against the cool wood, focusing everything on keeping his mind away from that scene.

From that memory.

And yet he could still feel it, in whatever passed for a heart in his twisted body. One hand pressed into his chest, and it took a surprising amount of willpower to not claw at it, if only to give himself something different to feel.

After a moment he clicked his beak, shaking his head; he wasn't going to stand here all night, not when he had a battle tomorrow. But as he slipped into bed and began to drift off to sleep, the memories trickled back into his mind.

The low voice of the urRu, uncharacteristically harsh as he stood in front of the three cowering Gruenaks: “You... have done enough here today, skekGra. Leave these few... and go slink back to the rest of your kind."

The unfamiliar, vague sense of completion at the contact, when his light half appeared in the downpour and seized his wrist to stop his sword.

And for the first time since he'd taken this form, for the first time in hundreds of trine...

The feeling of guilt that pierced through his heart.

You have done enough.

[hermannsthumb]

Would you be able to do #45 about taking you home for the holidays but now family thinks we're dating?

45. your family ditches you for the holiday so i take you home with me, except my family thinks we’re dating now, and i don’t know how to tell them that we’re not

from winter writing prompts here

YES I WOULD B HAPPY TO

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

“I can’t promise it’ll be very fun,” Hermann says. “You’ve met my family.”

“Like, barely,” Newt says. He’s met Hermann’s dickish older brother, and Hermann’s terrifying dad, both at the same PPDC banquet ages ago, back before they lost funding, and he doesn’t think he made a very good impression on either. (The shouting he did probably didn’t help his favor much. Nor the threatening.) The rest of them--the other two siblings, and a mom who must have at least a little bit of a cold streak in her to reproduce with Dr. Gottlieb senior four fucking times--are nothing but dark-haired and pointy-cheeked enigmas to him. 

“Enough to know their sort,” Hermann says, a touch wryly. “It’ll be quite professional. Dinner. Cocktails. You’ll need to wear an, er, nicer tie. Perhaps a suit. Father will likely ask us about our work.”

“Sounds riveting,” Newt says.

Hermann sniffs. “You don’t have to come, you know. No one is forcing your hand.”

Which is true. What’s also true, though, is that when Newt phoned up his dad to excitedly inform him he’d be able to come home for the holidays for the first time in over five years, he was met with a short pause, and then an annoyingly knowing “But wouldn’t you rather spend it with your Hermann? Alone?”

“He’s not my anything,” Newt protested. “He’s just my--lab partner. And roommate.”

It fell on deaf ears, though: somehow Newt’s dad got it into his head that Newt had a thing for Hermann (which is totally ridiculous), and that Hermann had a thing for him too, and a holiday, alone, together, was all they needed to work out their feelings, and he was sure he’d have a brand new genius son-in-law and even grandkids in no time. This was when Newt choked on air and almost dropped the phone.

“Grandkids?”

“I just want to see my son happy,” his dad finished.

So, no Geiszler-style Chrismukkah for Newt this year. Not even something lowkey with Hermann, like they used to do back in the Shatterdome. Newt’s dad’s plan backfired spectacularly: when Newt informed Hermann he was fresh out of things to do this year, Hermann immediately invited him to Gottlieb-style mostly-secular Hanukkah back in Germany with him, and the guy looked so relieved to not have to face it alone that Newt couldn't help but say yes.

He’s starting to regret it now. “I don’t think I have any nice ties,” he admits. “Or, uh, any suits, either.”

Hermann hmphs. “I suppose we’ll have to make a stop at the shops, then, before we head to the airport. Do finish packing. I don’t want to be late.”

“Sounds great,” Newt sighs.

The plane ride over is long and boring, broken only by a short layover in London; Hermann is zonked out on Ambien for most of it (“You gave me a raging headache last time we flew together,” he explained, “I need some quiet.”), so Newt has no choice but to poke through the uninteresting movie selection until he finally settles on some old rom-com. Then his earbuds are busted on one side, so he has to buzz a flight attendant for another pair, and by the time they manage to get them back to him the movie has automatically shut itself off and Newt has to restart. Fucking annoying. Whatever. 

Hermann’s youngest brother (Bastien, he thinks) meets them at the airport with his car. He’s smooth-faced and good-looking, with--as Newt expected--those same high cheekbones, that same dark hair. His, though, is curly in the way Newt’s only ever seen the ends of Hermann’s get when it’s damp. “Dr. Geiszler,” he says, giving Newt a firm handshake, then, in Hermann’s funny dialect of German, “It’s good to meet you. We’ve heard much about you.”

Good things, Newt hopes. But probably not. Whatever horror stories Hermann relayed over the years--messy laboratories, chunks of rotting aliens everywhere, a tendency to play electric guitar at four in the morning--would only have fed the fire that Newt stoked to life when he tried to throw a mimosa in Lars Gottlieb’s face all those years ago. This was a bad idea. “Uh,” Newt says. “Howdy.”

Hermann receives a small clap on the shoulder. He’s shorter than Bastien, Newt notices. How...cute. “Hermann,” Bastien says.

“Hello,” Hermann says.

They drive over in silence, Hermann and his brother in the front, Newt crammed in with the luggage in the back. It’s very scenic. Like some old-timey sort of painting. Snow and rolling hills everywhere. “What’s your house like, Hermann?” he says, as they pass what looks like a old barn.

“Old,” Hermann says, disinterestedly. He’s playing some sort of puzzle game on his phone. “Large. Bloody drafty, too--I’ll need my heating pad, or I’ll wake up stiff every morning.”

Newt hides his snicker behind his hand.

“My leg,” Hermann says, and turns in his seat just to roll his eyes at Newt.

“Mother made sure to put extra blankets on your bed,” Bastien says, conversation apparently flying right over his head.

“Oh,” Hermann says. He blinks. “That’s...good of her. Will Newton be in the guest room, then?”

Bastien gives him a strange look. “The guest room?” he says. Then, with a sort of bewilderingly knowing tone of voice, “We’re not children anymore, Hermann.”

“...Right?” Hermann says.

They have a small moment to themselves as Bastien--kindly--carries their luggage inside, and Newt tucks Hermann’s arm under his to help him navigate the iced-over old walking path. Newt means to ask about whether or not Bastien is always that weird, or if Newt’s German is rusty and things were just getting lost in translation, but Hermann surprises him by squeezing his hand in that way that means he’s nervous. He’s gotten better at reading Hermann’s tics and body language since the drift. “You look nice,” Hermann murmurs. (Hermann Gottlieb, complimenting him?) “I’m glad you chose the blue suit. It--”

“Suits me?” Newt jokes.

Hermann doesn’t laugh. “I won’t bother telling you to be on your best behavior,” he says, “because, quite frankly, I don’t care, and I know you won’t be anyway.”

“That’s true.”

“Just--please do try to stay by my side,” Hermann says. “You’ll make it remarkably easier for me.” He squeezes Newt’s hand again. Newt gives him a small smile.

“Of course,” he says.

Easier said than done, really. The second they step inside, Hermann is whisked off to the kitchen by Bastien to--evidently--be presented to his mother, and Newt is left alone in a small sitting room with the oldest brother he also shouted at all those years ago and a woman who can only be the sole Gottlieb sister.

They both stare at him. The oldest one narrows his eyes.

“Hey, guys,” Newt says, in his piss-poor German. “Nice to...be here.”

“Dr. Geiszler,” Karla says. She’s holding a glass of something amber. Probably some sort of whiskey. She takes a long sip of it without looking away from Newt once. “You’re shorter than I expected. Though I suppose Hermann’s always liked them short.”

“Uh,” Newt says. He hasn’t been roasted in his mother tongue in some time, not since one time when Hermann was really mad at him and English just wouldn’t suffice. He can’t say he missed it. If that’s what this is, anyway. “Thanks?”

“Geiszler,” Hermann’s older brother--Newt thinks his name is Dietrich--echoes thoughtfully. Recognition flits across his face; he stands from his armchair. “Geiszler. You’re the little prick Hermann betrayed our--”

“Newton is the little prick who helped save the world while our father was busy funneling millions into a pile of bricks,” Hermann says, suddenly materializing at Newt’s side from nowhere with a hand at his shoulder. “He is also he is here as my guest, I might add, so I would appreciate it if you treated him with the respect he deserves.”

Hermann’s brother sits back down.

“He’s still short,” Karla says.

Bastien is enlisted to show them up to Hermann’s childhood bedroom, hidden in the back of a very long hallway, and Hermann settles his suitcase down on the tiny twin bed with a small, mournful sigh. “Cold as ever,” he says. Newt happens to agree. “It’s like the bloody Arctic. I can’t understand it.” He plucks at the stack of blankets resting at the foot. “I suppose these’ll have to do.”

Newt’s suitcase is hefted onto the bed, too. Bastien wouldn’t let Newt carry it himself. (Hermann refused assistance.) “You should be able to fit comfortably. Hermann is nothing but skin and bones--he won’t take up too much space.”

“Uh,” Newt says. “Fit?”

“On the bed,” Bastien says.

Newt and Hermann stare at him. “Ah,” Hermann says. “No.” Then, as if he’s explaining something to a small child, “Newton is sleeping in the guest bedroom.”

“I told you,” Bastien says, “we’re not children. Nobody expects him to.”

Expects him to? “I mean, I kinda expected to,” Newt says. 

Bastien touches both of their shoulders and gives them something that might be a smile, if you tilted your head and squinted a little. Guess it runs in the family. “We already know,” he says

Then he leaves. 

“Huh,” Newt says. “Hey, Hermann, I’m like, eighty percent sure they think we’re bang--”

“I know,” Hermann snaps. He groans, collapses onto the bed, buries his face in his hands. Newt shoves his own hands in his pockets awkwardly; he’s a little hurt Hermann’s this upset over the concept, to be honest. “But why?”

“Well, what did you tell them about me?” Newt says. There were plenty of rumors flying around about them after the end of the war, plenty of weird Buzzfeed articles ranking Newt’s haircuts and speculating on how platonic their living situation was, so he wouldn’t be surprised if (like Newt’s dad) Hermann’s siblings saw some of those and put two and two together and made five. Because it is platonic. Obviously. 

“That you’re a brilliant scientist,” Hermann says. “An--er--friend. Partner. That we live together. That we--with the kaiju’s brain--I know it’s classified, but it seemed important.” He groans again. “Oh, they’ll never believe me.”

Knowing Hermann, he probably did refer to Newt as his partner and not see how that could be misconstrued in anyway. “Then just don’t say anything,” Newt says. “I don’t mind it if you don’t.”

Hermann looks up sharply. “You don’t?”

Newt shrugs, going a little pink. He doesn’t think Hermann will notice. “There are worse things to be than your date. Can we eat dinner now? All I had all day was some pretzels on the flight.”

He holds out his hand to Hermann. Hermann takes it, staring strangely at him. “Alright,” he says.

[shoenvyx]

Death of You

Slowly waking from a terrible sleep, her head felt heavy and the room faded in and out of her blurry vision. She did her best to stand, stumbling slightly at each step. Her bed was a blanket and a floor. This is not how it was supposed to be . She continued to walk, with no destination; trying to find the reason for her current situation. How did she even get here? Her leg bumped into the edge of a chair, simple and brown with a floral design carved into the headrest of it; immediately she sat, trying to regain her sight to full capacity. Her head pounding, the pressure was building behind her ears, feeling like her head would explode. Sitting on the chair didnt seem to help much, but it seemed like the normal thing to do for the current situation. Slowly her vision became clearer, the girl was able to get a better look across the room. It didn't seem familiar, somewhat dark with no color or art on the walls. It was bleak to say the least, simple furniture, a couch that took up half of the room that looked like it was taken from the trash. The windows were boarded up, all but one. A small window above the entrance-way door. And, a second door across the opposite side of the room. Possibly the bedroom. A horrible stench of body odor and decay. Trash in the corner of the room festering bugs and flies. A gut wrenching feeling hit her instantly as she takes in all of her senses at once in this moment. It crept inside of her, begging for release. Without hesitation or reaction, she had no other choice. She quickly leaned over the side of the chair and released her pain. Vomit, a new smell to add into the already decaying room. The girl raised her hand to her mouth and wiped the excess away from her lips and wiped the back of her hand onto her tattered shorts. “I need to get out of here.” Regaining her strength, she looked around the room once more. The room had a small kitchen, Chinese food containers from who knows when littered the counter top. Dishes in the sink, clearly never to be washed. They've begun to mold. When was the last time a human was even in this room? It looks as though no one has taken care of this place in months. There's no way someone is living like this. There were some empty beer cans on the floor, bottles of liquor nearly finished, but not many. There was no evidence of drugs, besides some marijuana paraphernalia on the table by the couch. “It didn't seem like the owner of this room was a Drug addict. But, this doesn't explain how I ended up here.” Slowly, The girl lifted herself from her seat, groggily walking through the room towards the door on the opposite side of her, curiosity always got the best of her. “Might as well find out what I can. Maybe there's someone in there, they can tell me how I got here.” The doorknob was sticky and hard to turn, but eventually the door creaked open. Standing in the doorway the girl looked into the dark room. The windows were boarded up in here as well, this place was clearly abandoned a long time ago. Searching her brain for answers from the night before, there are none. Her mind blank. It feels as though all thought of herself didn't even exist completely. No feeling but numbness in her head and heart. At this point, who cares? It doesn't matter how she got here, what matters is how to get out. The bed was nothing but a mattress on the floor, torn and stained. No sheets, just a pillow, and another girl, looking at herself and back at the sleeping girl they have similar builds and frames, curiosity of this stranger makes her need to find out more. Slowly, she approaches the sleeping girl. The floor creaks with every step, dust unsettling and stirring with each movement. The air in the room was musky, stale and disgusting. How could this girl possibly sleep in this mess? We both need to leave. Approaching the bed, and kneeling onto the floor beside the other woman, its hard to tell her age. Young. Her hair, long, a chestnut color and mostly unkempt. It looks as though she hasn't used a comb in

a long while, either. “Her clothing, similar to what I am wearing.” A feeling of calmness was suddenly felt throughout her body. Like a chill of a cool breeze on a beautiful autumn day. A feeling of seasons changing and warmth. Why now? A drop of water was felt upon her hand. And then another. Quickly she realized it was tears falling from her eyes. No warning of their arrival, they just continued to flow. Slowly, and steadily the tears fell. “This is not the time, I don't even understand why I'm crying.” Shaking the thought of tears from her head and choking them back. Taking a deep breath and pressing forward. She placed her hand on the girl infront of her. “Hey....You need to get up, its not good to be in here.” She said, gently rocking the girl by her shoulder to awaken her. No movement. Try again. She attempts to wake her once more, this time the body stirs. She turns to face the person shaking her awake, and slowly begins to open her eyes. “Why?” The only words to leave this girls dry chapped lip. Taking a better look upon her, her eyes were puffy and tired, even though she was sleeping it seems she hasn't had a good nights rest in a long time. Her skin, pale as paper. She didn't look sickly, just tired. “We need to leave here, do you know the way out? Do you live here?” Slowly the girl on the bed began to rise. Sitting up she looks right through the first woman, sending fear and sadness down her spine. Her eyes were cold. Lifeless, even. She used her lifeless eyes to look at the first woman head to toe, then straight back into her eyes. “I'm not looking to leave, I'm done with what this world has to offer. Like this room, I plan to rot away in here. If you're so determined, find your own way out. Why take me with you?” ....No answer. Why? It's true, They don't know eachother. Owe nothing to each other. What compels you to help this person, who has been here for so long. Living as though they've already died? There is no obligation to help others. Especially when they seem to show no effort in helping themselves. A moment passed before the staring contest began again. “....If it were me, in a room like this, hoping for the end to come, I would want someone to show me why I shouldn't think that way.” “Well, Do you think that way?” The other woman replied, sternly. “I can't remember anything of myself past waking up this morning.... I don't know my name, I don't know where I'm from.... How I ended up here. But, I feel like this is not a place I want to be.... It's also not a place I'd want to die... Lost and forgotten, with no one. What about those who would miss you?” “Impossible for someone to miss me, I haven't had company in a very long time.... I've suffered in silence for years, everyone has problems. Mine aren't greater than anyones. We all have choices to make, mine is to give up. I've lived for myself for years, and anytime i've tried to get to know anyone it's always disappointment or pain... No one is who they say they are, humanity is nothing but hungry liars, starving for the attention of anyone they could get. To drain them, and use them. To take everything from that person until.... .” She lays herself down onto the bed again, and looks up to the ceiling. A Huge painting overtook the entire ceiling, it was of space. Planets, stars and the colors were beautiful. It looked so real, like you could forget for a second you were in a decrepit room and lose yourself into the art. Slowly overlooking the room again, the first woman notices the paint brushes in the corner, crusted over now. Untouched, it seems the last and only thing painted was this mural on the ceiling. This must be the only thing the sleeping woman dedicated her life to; and no one will ever see what she is capable of if she doesn't get out of here. Her talent needs to be seen... “Until, you decide it's easier to stop fighting back... let them take it. Give up. It doesn't matter.” The first woman slams her hands onto the floor where she kneeled..

“That can't be true!” She exclaimed, the tears began behind her eyes once more. This time, the answer was clearer. The tears are the pain she never could release. The pain was felt so deeply in her body and left ignored for so long, there is no other way to express her pain any longer. With each tear her heart felt less heavy, her mind began to clear. It was as if she was finally awakening. She wiped the tears from her eyes once more. “It's easy to give up. It's easy to let people take from you. But, you're allowing yourself to continue to live in pain if you let them do that to you.... Treat yourself like you're all you have, because in the end that's all that matters.... There is no pain greater than letting yourself down. You do not live for others... So, get up, let's get out of here. That's the first step... After that, all steps will be up to you...” ....The girl on the bed closed her eyes and gave a small smile. “The front door is unlocked.... You can leave at any time... Just, sit here with me for a while before you go..” Together both women sat in silence for a bit, woman kneeling desperately thinking of a way to convince the other woman to follow her through the door. Finally, she gathers her courage to try and convince her once more and tries to wake her again.... She doesn't move. The woman looks upon her face as she sleeps. “...She's not breathing.” Frantically she tries to revive her. It's no use. She's not waking up. Another tear fell. At least she wasn't alone. The woman stood from the edge of the bed where she knelt. She looked to the painting on the ceiling once more, the only thing in the entire apartment with color and life, this is the only thing that meant anything to the girl who passed. It's inspiring, the way the colors played together to create something otherworldly. She then began to the front door. Passing all the darkness and decay on her way out. Although, still sad a feeling of calmness has washed over her. Peace is beginning to fill the spots that were once empty and hollow. A new feeling of warmth has found its way into the woman as she continues her walk to the exit. The door was easier to open than the last one. Stepping out from the darkness of that room and entering an almost empty hallway. There was a mirror across the hall, passing by the girl got a glimpse of herself. She stood there, starting at herself for a while only to notice her face, hair and eyes were oh so similar to the girl from the room. Confusion filled her head once more as she stared and saw her reflection staring back at her. She lifted her hand and touched the mirror and gave a soft smile to herself upon realizing the darkness has left her. Her skin, still pale, her eyes still dull, but not as lifeless. She has walked through death and darkness, to find herself. Her past, her pain and her guilt. The girl in the room was never meant to walk with her, for that was her past. She moves forward, down the hallway and with every step she takes gains a new memory of her past. Her pain, there to guide her to her next journey. To remind her to not take the same steps that lead her to that room. To keep herself warm and be kind to herself, for no one will do that better than she. Her passion begins to build inside her as she continues to walk to the end of the hall; a small flame that is in need of nurturing. With a deep breath she looks back only to see the door she has left behind is now gone. Vanished, as if it was never there to begin with. That was the last time she looked back.

[atlas-of-a-human-soul]

Αιώνια αγάπη (DT AU), pt. 9*

09: Double trouble

Summary: Y/N finally learns the truth.

Warnings: angst, death, violence, SMUT (unprotected sex, always use condoms kids!!), swearing??

Word count: 7100

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Αιώνια αγάπη (DT Modern Greek god/frat! AU) MASTERLIST    

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Y/N wasted no time, running forward and into the open arms of her mother as the twins tried to pick up their jaws of the floor. They watched their love embrace her dead mother, both women crying, inconsolable.

"What just happened?" Apollo's voice cracked, his shock evidently on display as he too fought to remain sane with the image before him playing games with his head. It felt like his brain stuttered, unable to contemplate the sight.

"Hecate." Hermes' jaw clenched, his eyes narrowing and his eyebrows furrowing. His forehead wrinkled, a single line foiling his smooth skin across the middle, another forming between his eyebrows - anger, frustration, and the slightest bit of fear taking over him.

"This is a cruel trick. One I have no doubt she created to break Y/N. Once broken, she'll have free reign." His lips set in a thin line, feeling his brother's hand brush his own.

"She feeds off her emotions. Whenever the emotion is too great, Hecate takes over." Apollo realizes, eyes widening when his girl detaches from her mother and turns to face them.

She's completely flushed in the face, her eyes brimming with overflowing tears, red as well. She crinkles her nose, brushing the back of her hand under it to gather the tears that stained her face, her lips parted enough for her front teeth to be seen.

"Guys, this is my mum." She giggles, still attached to her mother's hip and ecstatic like a child. Almost like she doesn't realize the insanity of the situation.

"As in your late mother?" Apollo says carefully, trying to be considerate, but he can't let her be oblivious to what is happening. A part of him is screaming to take her in his arms and whisk her away because the dead never return as they were - there is always a catch. And considering Hecate is the one who made it happen, he's sure the catch is much more dangerous than it usually is. The other part of him wants to tell her all of that, admit to his heritage, his love, the entire truth and just hope she'll still have him.

But how can he?

How can he dim the light in her eyes, despite the tears that cloud them? How can he take away what may very well be her last chance to say goodbye? How can he be the one to break her heart?

"I, uh..." The smile on her face falls, her eyes flickering to her mother who looks at her in confusion, like she had no clue what they're talking about.

"Can I talk to you?" Hermes pipes in, hoping she'll want to speak to him, even if it's just to scream at him.

"Alone, please?" He adds, looking at the way her mother's lips twitched between a smile and a sneer once he asked, feeling something is wrong in the pit of his stomach.

"I'll be right back." She excuses herself, kindly smiling up at her mother and back at Grayson before following Ethan out of the room. The very moment those doors close behind them is the moment his mouth moves.

"Babe, I want this to be all that you think it is, but I can't let you believe this is real." Ethan spoke in rushed, slightly hushed voices, his eyes flickering to the closed door as she dropped her gaze to the floor.

"You see her too, right? I'm not entirely mad, am I?" She whispers, her chest trembling with a heavy, shaky sigh.

Unable to watch her crumble, Ethan quickly pushed her into his chest, his arms wrapping around her frame, overlapping in the middle of her back. He pushed her into him so suddenly that her breath left her, so strongly that she swore her ribs cracked, so lovingly her heart skipped a beat. His chin atop her head as he stared up at the ceiling, thinking how lost he's felt his entire life, and how he finally found himself in her embrace. He always thought he was past saving, long lost in the eternal damnation his life became, but she gave him a chance...she saw him as Ethan, a good guy who she safely tucked herself in and refused to let go. He had to reassure her.

"I do. I see her. But we both know she isn't really here. Not to stay. Not for the right reasons. It's Hecate." Ethan takes a whiff of her hair, slowly unwrapping himself from her.

"You believe Hecate is real too?" She breathes out, happy she's no longer alone in this mess. She has Ethan and possibly even Grayson, both of whom she finds have taken root in her heart.

"I always did." He smiles slightly, watching her press her lips together.

"I'm still pissed about the fire, but I forgive you for it." She taps her hand on his chest lightly, but their moment is cut short once Grayson screams for help.

"GUYS?!"

Y/N was the first one inside, opening the door wide with her eyes darting toward a struggling Grayson and...

"MUM?" Y/N screamed, horrified at the sight. She laid atop of Grayson who was pinned to the floor, inhuman sounds filling the room, mixing with Grayson's grunts. However, the simple call of her daughter reeled the woman back in, her aggressiveness and jaw snapping stopping for a moment, long enough for her to turn to Y/N with her cold, dirty yellow eyes staring at her, so empty and void of life. Her mother's skin was like old crinkled paper and her lips the color of rusted iron. Her jaw, which was open too wide, displayed a set of rotting yellow teeth. The veins were about to burst from her forehead and blood was splattered like red paint all over her face and hands. And her hands, once so soft and loving, were like sticks with their flesh almost falling off.

"Oh, God." Y/N stumbled backwards as Ethan stepped before her, his arms open wide, pushing her behind his body as he glanced at his brother who kept the zombified woman at arms length.

"Grayson, I suggest you go for the head." Ethan said calmly, but his heart felt like it would burst with the speed it took on. While he wasn't frightened of the sight, he was sure as hell afraid his brother and Y/N would never recover from it. He's seen far worse in the Underworld, but they haven't. And this... this was personal.

In moments, Grayson grabbed onto her head and rolled over her, slamming her skull into the floor until her brain splattered on the boards and the body mystically disappeared.

Y/N could hear the cracks, the grunts and the sound of blood and tissue splashing around, crying openly and without reserve. Brick by brick, her walls came tumbling down. The screaming had stopped so very suddenly. One minute her mother was right in her embrace, more alive than Y/N ever thought she could ever be, and the next she was meat on the floor.

Ethan wrapped his arms around her instantly, pulling her up into his chest and into the bed where she could rest. Stealing a glance, she found there was no body on the floor after all. She didn't see any blood, any indication of what happened in the room nor on Grayson, only messing with her head further.

Thanks to Ethan and Grayson...and the magical disappearance of evidence.

Hecate at least granted them that courtesy.

Grayson appeared by her side out of thin air, pushing back her hair to see her face properly. She's got red patches of skin, tears running in every direction, her nose joining in. Her mouth is open and her wails echo the room and his heart, breaking him to pieces.

They held her until she could no longer weep, tucked in between them like a precious pearl within a clam, protected and loved...loved beyond belief.

And she fell asleep, the warm bodies around her serving as comfort for her to get through it all.

However, the moment she slipped away into dreamland, she woke with her mother before her. And it wasn't the zombie version of her mother that Grayson had to kill, but the woman who wore a gentle smile and always had something wise to say.

"I am sorry you had to see that." Her mother said, tilting her head ever so slightly, her lips curling into a small smile.

"What is dead cannot remain undead for long. Your friend did the right thing." The woman's smile spread, her hand reaching out for Y/N's. "Thank him for me."

"I don't understand." Y/N shakes her head lightly, eyebrows furrowing as she clasps her mothers hand tighter.

"I have been given a rare chance to let my daughter know how much I love her. But to let her know she has to move on from this pain. Stop holding onto it and let love in." Placing her palm on Y/N's cheek, she continues.

"You have two men falling at your feet. And they might not be what you think, but they have good intentions in mind." And that's when Y/N understood. Her mother wanted her to let them in. But how could she? How could she ever choose one and not hurt the other?

"I can't. If I let one in, the other will suffer and I can't do that. I can't bear it."

"Why choose? Just feel. If they care for you, they will learn to respect that."

While Y/N said goodbye to her mother, the brother's had other things on mind.

"We have to tell her." Grayson whispers, his eyes falling to his brother who seemed to be lost in thought. He knew it would be a hard sell, but he needed to try and convince Ethan to cooperate. Whether he agrees or not, he had every intention on telling her everything. Keeping the truth from her only put her in danger.

"I know. Just as much as I have to deal with Hecate." Ethan sighs, running his knuckle down her cheek gently, so softly she could barely feel it. But he felt it, needed it - the touch, the softness, all of it.

"When?" Grayson bit his lower lip, taking in a shuddered breath as she shuffled in her sleep and moved closer to him. Her fingers wrapped around his shirt, pulling it slightly toward her.

"Now. You tell her and I'll go tell Hecate to fuck off already." Ethan stood, the bed instantly colder for Y/N, but while she does frown in her sleep, she doesn't wake.

"We always told them together in the past." Grayson hissed, trying not to move too much in order to not wake her. It didn't feel right to leave him out of such an important conversation.

"And when did that ever work in our favor? Time to change things up, brother." And Apollo knew that before him stood Hermes, not Ethan. He wasn't just a man, but a god in love...and a god in love will do whatever he has to in order to secure safety for the one he cares for. His love knows no bounds, and Apollo knows that. Because he feels the same way.

Nodding, he bites his lip once more as Hermes leaves, leaning down so the tip of his nose brushed her cheek.

"Y/N, love." Grayson swallows, realizing he can no longer hold off on being honest with her. He has to let her know the truth before she goes mad. He has to give her all the information and let her choose what to do with it.

But instead of speaking, the moment her eyes open, her lips close in on his. It felt like she had been made anew.

His arms locked around her; unyielding, they tightened, impressing   her soft flesh with the male hardness of his. A pleasant sensation streaked through  her; her skin tingled. Still she held him firmly, so closely to her - almost desperate for his touch.

He tilted his head, his lips moved on hers, a powerful, elemental call to her senses. It woke her up, enough to pause their kiss for a single moment, her labored breathing matching his. She pressed herself into him, until she could feel his hardness pressing back.

"What are you doing?" Grayson asks, pained and needy, frustrated and completely confused.

"A girl is offering herself to you and you're blind to it? I don't buy it." She smiled against his lips, her tone unusually cheerful, far too calm for a girl who just lost her mother for the second time. Pulling back, Grayson cups her face, observing her carefully for signs of Hecate. He could tell who it is just by looking into her eyes, however, he is surprised when he finds it's Y/N who is gazing back at him.

"You should know who I am before giving yourself to me." Grayson leans in, his forehead resting atop hers, his lips brushing hers just for a moment before he utters the truth finally.

"Ethan and I aren't human." He closed his eyes, unable to look at her at all. He didn't want to see her when she rejects him, enjoying the last moments he can have her all to himself. He felt her body stiffen, her lips quiver as they brushed his once more, her forehead wrinkling despite the weight of his head on it.

"Okay." She whispers, swallowing thickly as his eyes snap open, confused and a little happy she's not running for the hills. But she wanted to honor what her mother told her. Be open and listen...feel, don't think.

"I'm sure there's more to the story." She continues, her right hand hovering above his right cheek before she sets her palm on it, her thumb tracing half circles on his skin.

"My name is Apollo and he is Hermes. We've been cursed to walk the Earth to atone for our sins against mankind. Doomed to do so until a descendant of the old gods falls in love with one of us, allowing the chosen one to return home while dooming the other one." Apollo tried to pull back, the silence and the stare too intimate, too heavy for him to take, but she doesn't let him. Instead, she hooks her leg around his waist, her other hand joining the task of cupping his face.

"And Hecate is my bloodline?" She asks, but it's obvious she knows the truth. Taking in a shaky breath, she tracks her right hand to his jaw and further back until it settles on his neck, slowly sliding to his shoulder.

"What happens when the descendant loves you both equally? So much so she feels her heart is comprised of two pieces and each piece has your names written on them." Y/N lifts her head up, chin first until their foreheads part and she tastes his lips languidly. Only to break the kiss a moment after.

"But do you love me?" She adds, kissing the left corner of his lips as her entire body trembles in need. In pure need of his body on hers.

"With all my heart." And that is all the confirmation she needs.

His lips parted, she slid her tongue between to tangle challengingly with his. He tasted powerful, so wonderfully, a  mind-whirling sensation gripping her. He hadn't moved, instinctively she  deepens the caress, angling her lips against his.

Passion. It burst upon her mind, heart, upon her senses like a hurricane. It rose from within him, from between them, pouring through her, deep, swirling emotion, a soul-stealing compulsion.

On one heartbeat, she was the leader, on the next, he resumed command; his lips hard, his body a steel cage surrounding her. A cage she never wished to escape. She surrendered, gladly yielding; ravenous, he stole her very breath. Breasts aching, heart thundering, Y/N stole it back.

A part of her wondered about Ethan, no, Hermes, and where he may be for she remembered him being on her other side, but she couldn't stop. Another part of her, one she never knew existed, wished for him to be there, right by her and his arms on her. She was never a dirty mind kind of a girl, nor would she ever think she'd be one to wish for a threesome with twins...brothers, gods, inhuman beings...but she did. It was more than physical, her need stemming from deep within.

She does love them both, choosing in this moment is impossible. But only one of them told her he loves her back. Only one of them remained by her side. Only one of them pressed himself against her when she felt she would die if she remains untouched.  His lids slowly rose; she met his gaze unflinchingly.

"Are you sure, love?"

"With all my heart." She mimicked his words from earlier, her fingers sliding into his thick hair.

Apollo nodded, smiling as he pulled back much to her dismay. He slid further down, freeing her of her shoes, socks and then pants - slowly, almost painfully. Like he didn't care if Hermes came back and stumbled upon them. Like he had all of eternity to make love to her. To make love with a mortal, no reason but the way she makes him feel as if he is someone worthy of her heart. Not just for the fun, nor hope of ruin...just love he feels.

He let his hands fall,  tracing her sleek thighs before closing one hand above each knee.  Slowly, he slid his fingers upward, his thumbs drawing lazy circles along her inner thighs. Higher and  higher, inch by inch, he raised his hands - the muscles of her  thighs tensed, then locked, then quivered.

He stopped with his thumbs just below her panties, placing his fingers on the soft cotton. While he let his hands roam her body, his lips savored the taste of hers. Drawing back from their kiss, he watched her and waited for her lids to rise. When they did, he trapped her gaze with his and drew two more circles. She shivered.

One hand slid around to spread across her bottom; her skin turned   feverish at his touch. He caressed her in slow circles, her  senses followed, distracted by the cotton shifting between hand and naked   skin.

Then his fingers fanned, cupping her bottom and in the same instant, she felt his other hand slide between her parted thighs. His head angled over hers; his kiss became more demanding. He stroked her through the cotton panties, stroked and caressed and teased until the cotton clung, a second skin, muting his touch, tantalizing her senses. Y/N tensed, fingertips sinking into the muscles of his back, pulling his shirt up and breaking the kiss just to pull it over his head. She felt his hand shift; one long finger sliding into her, probing gently, then more deliberately. Suddenly, she couldn't breathe. She pulled back with a gasp and he let her go, his hands leaving her. He tore his clothes off, watching her through hooded lids while she did the same, revealing her beautifully curvaceous body.  She was far from perfect, a million reasons why she could never be a model obvious to anyone, but Apollo didn't care. Grasping her waist, he toppled over her entirely and they sank into the bed.

With a valiantly smothered shriek, she rolled into him, into his arms,  unable to gain any ground on the slippery sheets. He lifted her over  him, her legs tangling with his, her hair fanning over his naked chest.

He expected her to be shocked, expected her to hesitate, believing she had never touched a naked man. The shock was certainly there, he saw it in her stunned expression; hesitation followed but it lasted a split second. In the next, their lips met and there was no longer any distinction between him kissing her and her kissing him. He felt her hands on his chest, greedily exploring; he ravaged her mouth and felt her fingers sink deep. He spread his hands over her back and held her against him, easing the throbbing ache of his erection against her soft belly. She writhed, heated and eager. Some women were catlike, elusively seductive but she was demanding, aggressive, intent on not just fraying his reins, but shredding them. Deliberately invoking his desire, all the possessiveness in his soul. Which, given she was a virgin from what he could tell, qualified as abject madness. Breathing raggedly, he pulled back from their kiss.

"For Zeus' sake, slow down!"

Engrossed in caressing his chest, Y/N didn't even look up.

"I'm nineteen. I've wasted enough time." She wriggled while Apollo gritted his teeth. Out of all the things he expected when he finally came clean, for her to throw herself at him was the last one. He even felt guilty for stealing this moment from Hermes, because touching her felt better than anything Mount Olympus had to offer. But another part of his was struggling to keep himself in check, realizing he didn't want to destroy her the first time she gets a taste of what sex feels like. And she's made that job incredibly difficult.

"You're nineteen and you should  know better. You should at least have some measure of  self-preservation." Intent on rushing toward her fate, she seemed  to have no concept of how much he could hurt her, of how much his  strength overshadowed hers, of how much harder than her he was.  She was intent on learning, her hands reached lower, exploring the ridges  of his lower chest.

Apollo felt his desire rise, full-blown, ravenous, too  strong for her to handle. Releasing her buttocks, he grasped her upper  arms. Just as she grasped him. The shock that rushed through him nearly shattered his control.

He froze. So did Y/N.

She looked into his face, his eyes were shut, his expression graven.  Carefully, she curled her fingers again, utterly fascinated by her  discovery.

How could something so hard, so rigid, so ridged, so  blatantly male, be so silky smooth, so soft?

Again, she  touched the smoothly rounded head, akin to stroking hot steel   through the finest silk. Apollo groaned; he reached down and  closed his hand over hers, not to pull it away but to curl her fingers  more tightly. Eagerly, she followed his unspoken instructions, obviously   much more to her taste than slowing down. He let her caress him  until he thought his jaw would break - he had to pull her hand away.

She  fought him, squirming all over him, soft, hot flesh  writhing over his by-now-painful erection. With a curse under his breath, he   caught her hands, one in each of his, and rolled, trapping her beneath   him. He anchored her hands to the bed and kissed her, deeply and more deeply, letting his weight sink fully onto her until she had no  breath left to fight him, no strength to defy him.

They both  stilled; in that instant, she was open to him, heated, her thighs  spread, soft and welcoming, her hips baiting him to move.  All he needed to do was reach down then sink his throbbing erection into her softness and claim her.

Simple.

Gritting his teeth, Apollo let go of her hands and lifted away. He moved  back. Knees spread, he sat back on his ankles in the middle of the bed.  Locking his eyes on hers, he beckoned with both hands.

"Come here."

Her eyes widened; they searched his, then fell - jaw locked, he suffered her scrutiny, saw the age-old question form in her eyes. Giddy, not only from breathlessness, Y/N slowly blinked, then  raised her eyes to his face. He looked exactly like a god, seated in                                                         the remains of sunlight coming through his window, his maleness so flagrantly displayed. The  soft light gilded the muscles of his arms, his chest—and the rest of  him. She drew in a deep breath; her heartbeat thundered in her ears.  Slowly, she rose on one elbow and came up on her knees, facing him. He took her  hands in his and drew her closer, then closed his hands about her waist  and lifted her. As he set her down astride his thighs, Y/N frowned  into his eyes.

"If you tell me we have to wait, I'll scream." The planes of his face looked harder than granite.

"You'll scream anyway." She frowned harder and saw his lips twitch. "With pleasure."

The idea was new to her. She was still thinking as Apollo...well, Grayson still in her mind, drew her  closer. High on her knees as she was, her hips grazed his lower chest.

"Kiss me." He didn't need to ask twice; willingly, she twined her arms about his neck and set her lips to his. One hand at her back holding her upright, he deepened the kiss,  skimming his other hand upward, over her abdomen, before closing it  about her breast. The already heated flesh swelled and firmed, hearing her moan as he tweaked her nipple. He drew back from the kiss; she let her head  fall back, the exposed curve of her throat an offering he didn't  refuse. He trailed hot kisses down the pulsing vein; she inched closer,  pressing her breast to his palm. Bending her back, he lowered his  head. She stilled, her breathing quickened. One long lick dampened one nipple. She gasped as his lips touched the peak, sucking lightly as he felt her melt in his arms.

He couldn't even  remember the last time he'd bedded a virgin, even then, whoever she was,  she hadn't been someone he loved. He harboured no illusions over how difficult the  next half hour would be; for the first time in his lengthy career, he  prayed he'd be strong enough to manage her and the passion she  unleashed in him.

Head bent, he tortured one tightly budded nipple, then  turned his attention to its mate. Sinking her fingers into his  upper arms, Y/N gasped and swayed. With her bones transmuted to warm chocolate, her weak grip, his hand at her back and the tantalizing tug of  his lips were all that was keeping her upright. Hot and wet, his lips,  his mouth, moved over her breasts, teasing first one aching bud, then  the other until both were swollen tight. She ached to touch him, to send  her hands searching, but didn't dare let go. His lips left her; a  second later, his teeth grazed one crinkled nipple. She gave a muted cry.

His lips returned, soothing her flesh, then he  suckled hard. With a long-drawn moan, she swayed forward, into his kiss. It caught her, anchored her, as his hands roved her body, heated palms burning. Every curve she possessed, he traced; every square inch of her skin tingled, then ached for more. Her back, her sides, the curve of her stomach, the long muscles of her thighs, her arms, her bottom - none escaped his attention. The shiver that racked her came from deep within, a final farewell to the virgin she was but would be no more.

His hands rose and he released her lips. Splaying her fingers, she sank the tips into his chest and felt his muscles lock. She kissed him with a fervour to match his own, revelling in the urgency building between them. Excitement whirled as their lips melded, each breath the other's, tongues entwined. His hands roamed, as urgently demanding as his lips, hard palms sculpting, fingers flexing, possessing.

Still on her knees, her thighs locked on either side of his, her hips pressed to his abdomen, she felt his hands curve and cup her bottom. One remained, holding her high, the other slid lower, long fingers questing. They found her heat and slid further, pressing between her thighs, probing the hot, slick folds, caressing, then pressing deeper and deeper as she ached and burned. His only response was to deepen their kiss, holding her captive and to his mercy.

His fingers stroked slowly, deliberately. Abruptly, Apollo drew back from their kiss. His fingers left her; he cupped her bottom with both hands.

"Slide down." Y/N couldn't believe the strength of the compulsion that gripped her, but she knew she needed him inside her more than she needed to breathe. Even so, just looking at his hardened length, she shook her head.

"You're never going to fit."

His hands firmed about her hips. "Just slide."

She did, sinking lower, his hands guiding her. She felt the first touch of his cock, hot and hard, and stopped. He slipped his fingers between her thighs and opened her; she felt the first intimate intrusion of his body into hers. Catching her breath on a strangled gasp, she sank lower, and felt his head slip inside.

He felt large, much larger than she'd expected. She sucked in a breath; under the weight of his hands, she sank still lower. Hard as forged iron, hot as unquenched steel, he pressed into her.

She shook her head again. "This is not going to work."

"It will." She felt his words within her; he was, if anything, even tenser than she, rock-hard muscles flickering.

"You'll stretch to take me. Every inch. It's the way your body is built." He was the expert. Through the storm of emotions inside her; uncertainty, desire, and giddy need, laced with distant remnants of shyness, all gave into the most desperate longing she'd ever known.

Stubborn as always and determined to be brave, she sank down. And stopped. Immediately, Grayson lifted her, not quite losing her clinging heat.

"Sink down again." She did, until her hymen again impeded their progress. Under his hands, she repeated the maneuver again and again. She was hot, slick and very tight; once she was moving freely, he brushed his lips against her temple.

"Kiss me." She lifted her head immediately, swollen lips parted, eager for more. He took her mouth vigorously, struggling to harness the wild passion that drove him, battling to remain in control long enough to avoid unnecessarily hurting her. He was going to hurt her enough as it was.            

One, powerful upward thrust, timed to meet  her downward slide, enforced by the pressure of his hands on her hips,  and it was done. He breached her in that single movement, forging deep  into her body, filling her, stretching her.

She screamed, the sound smothered by their kiss. Her body tensed; so did his. Focusing completely on her, waiting for her softening, the first sign of acceptance that he knew would come, Grayson grimly denied the primal urge to lose himself in her heat, to pound into her mindlessly like he would if it was any other girl.

Their lips had parted; they were both breathing raggedly. From under his lashes, he watched as she moistened her lips with her tongue.

"Was that the scream you were talking about?"

"No." He touched his lips to the corner of hers.

"There'll be no more pain from now on, you'll only scream with pleasure." Y/N could only hope. The memory of the sharp agony that had seared into her was so intense she could still feel it. Yet with every breath, with every heartbeat, the heat of him eased the ache. She tried to shift; his hands firmed, holding her still.

"Wait." She had to obey. Until that moment, she hadn't appreciated how completely in his control she was. The hard, throbbing reality that had invaded her, intimately filling her, impinged fully on her mind. Vulnerability swept her, rippling through her.

She heard Grayson groan. Blinking, she looked up; his eyes were shut, his features like stone. Under her hands, the muscles of his shoulders were locked in some phantom battle. Inside her, the steady throb of him radiated heat and a sense of barely reined urgency. Her pain had gone. On the thought, the last of her tension ebbed; the last vestiges of resistance fell away. Tentatively, her gaze on his face, she eased from his hold, and rose slowly on her knees.

"Please." The single word was heavy with encouragement. He stopped her at the precise point beyond which their contact would break. She sensed his eagerness, the same compelling urgency that welled within her; she needed no direction to sink slowly down, enthralled by the feel of his steely hardness sliding, slick and hot, deep into her. She did it again, and again, head falling back as she slid down, opening her senses completely, savoring every drawn-out second. Their guidance no longer required, his hands roved, reclaiming her breasts, the full curves of her bottom, the sensitive backs of her thighs.

Lifting her head, Y/N draped her arms around his neck and sought his lips with hers. The glide of their bodies, uniting in a rhythm as old as the moon, felt exquisitely right. She gave him her mouth; as he claimed it, she tightened her arms, pressing herself to him, drawn to the promise contained within his powerful body, demanding more.

He drew back from the kiss; under his lashes, she saw his eyes gleam.

"Are you all right?" His hands traced mesmerizing circles on her lower back. At the peak of her rise, she held his gaze and slowly, concentrating on the rigid hardness invading her, sank down. She felt his rippling shudder and saw his jaw firm. His eyes flashed. Greatly daring, she licked the vein pulsing at the base of his throat.

"Actually, I find this quite..." She was so far past breathless her words shook.

"Surprising?" His voice was a rumble almost too low to be heard. Catching a desperate breath, Y/N closed her eyes and offered a different word.

"Unearthly." His laugh was so deep she felt it in her marrow.

"Trust me." His lips traced the curve of her ear. "There's a great deal more pleasure to come."

"Ah, yes," Y/N murmured, trying desperately to cling to sanity. "I believe you to be a past master at this exercise." Dragging in a tight breath, she rose upon him.

"Does that make me your maiden, worshiper?"

"No." Apollo held his breath as she sank, excruciatingly slowly, down.

"That makes you the love of my life. My pupil. My world." It would make her his consort had he any power over her, but he wasn't about to tell her that.

On her next downward slide, she pressed lower; he nudged deeper. Her breath hitched; instinctively, she tightened about him. Grayson set his teeth against a groan. Eyes wide, she looked up at him, her breathing shallow and fast.

Breasts rising and falling, brushing his chest, she moistened her lips. "I really didn't think you'd fit."            

Apollo clenched his jaw along with every other muscle he possessed. After a  moment of fraught silence, he managed to say: "I'll fit—eventually."

"Eventually?" Her eyes grew round, but he didn't wait for more. He caught her lips in a ravishing kiss and, anchoring her hips against him, tumbled her back onto the pillows. He'd chosen their earlier position to break her hymen, placing a limit on how deep he could go, helpful given the force of his instincts. But the time for limits had passed; his swift rearrangement landed her on her back among the pillows, his hips between her thighs, his cock still buried deep within her.

She tensed as his weight trapped her; instantly, he lifted his chest and shoulders from her, straightening his arms, his hands sinking into the mattress on either side. Their kiss broken, her eyes flew open. He trapped her gaze in his. Slowly, deliberately, he withdrew from her, then, fluidly flexing his spine, he entered her.

Inch by inch, he claimed her; heated and slick, her body welcomed him, stretching to take him in. He watched her eyes widen, his hazel eyes with golden specks now a deep brow, almost black as he surged deeper. He sheathed himself in her softness, sinking into her to the hilt, coming to a rest as his forehead leaned on hers. Gazes locked, they both held still.

Y/N couldn't breathe, he filled her so completely; she could feel the steady beat of him at the base of her throat. Staring up at his face, she saw the hard planes shift, sharp-edged with reined passion. A conqueror looked down on her, eyes dark, ringed with green, a god she'd given herself to. A sense of possession swamped her; her heart swelled, then soared.

He was waiting, but for what? Some sign of surrender?

She smiled—slowly, fully. Her hands had come to rest on his forearms; lifting them, she reached up and drew his lips to hers. She heard him groan in the instant their lips met. He came down on his elbows, his hands flicking her hair aside, then framing her face. He deepened their kiss and her senses went spinning; his body moved on her, within her, and pleasure grew.

She caught the rhythm and matched him, letting her body welcome him, holding him tight for a heartbeat before reluctantly releasing him. Again and again they formed that intimate embrace; each time, each devastatingly thorough thrust pushed her higher, further, toward something she couldn't even imagine. Her mind and senses merged, then soared, driving her to the brink of madness.

Fed by their striving bodies, by each panting breath, by each soft moan, each guttural groan, the pleasure intensified, growing larger until it exploded between them and Y/N lost herself in the glorious, heart-stopping sensation. Blind, she couldn't see; deaf, she couldn't hear. All she could do was feel him under her hands and know he was with her, feel the warmth that filled her and know she was his, feel the emotion that held them, forged strong in the fire and know nothing on earth could ever change it.

Neither of them gave a second though to the god who ventured into the basement and drew a pentagram in the concrete.

Setting a candle at each peak of the star, he set them aflame and swallowed thickly. A golden chalice in his hand, Hermes brought a knife to his palm and drew blood, filling the chalice.

Adding saffron, he closed his eyes and took a deep breath. It was time to finish this.

''Hecate, ισχυρή θεά της διασταύρωσης, το σκοτάδι, ο θάνατος, η σοφία, και το φεγγάρι, παρακαλώ έρχονται σε μένα. Παρακαλώ εκδιώξτε, προστατέψτε με και βοηθήστε μου όταν είμαι σε κίνδυνο. Φροντίστε με το δικό σας και δώστε μου όλα όσα χρειάζεστε. Εκατέ, περιπλανηθείτε στο σκοτάδι σας για να μπορώ να φέρω το φως μου " (''Hecate, mighty Goddess of crossroads, darkness, death, wisdom, and the moon, please come to me. Please Hecate, protect me and help me when I am in danger. Treat me as one of your own and give me all that is needed. Hecate, surround me in your darkness so that I can bring forth my light.") The moment he opens his eyes, he find his consort before him in the pentagram. "Isn't this a surprise? My husband coming to me after all these centuries passed." Hecate stepped forward, looking down on the tightly drawn-on pentagram meant to keep her in. "I need you to leave Y/N alone. Whatever you want in return..."Hermes pauses, knowing he is making a deal with someone much worse than the devil. "Whatever you want in return is yours." He repeats, finishing his original statement as she tilted her head, studying him with her unforgiving gaze. "Had you come to me all those centuries ago, I'd have turned every reality there is to bring you and your brother home. But you failed me - as a friend, as a lover, as a consort. I will never help you for I live to destroy your happiness. And she is a part of that, is she not?" A viciously poisonous smile crept up her lips as she giggled to herself, only for her smile to disappear in moments like it never happened and her face takes on an innocent look. Hermes knew she wanted to hurt him. "But does she want you? That is the question only I can answer for you...because I am her. Inside her mind, inside her heart." She spoke languidly, baiting him to come closer and make her stop talking for his clenched jaw nearly shattered his teeth and his eyes turned into fire as he glared at her.

"Maybe you can ask your brother? After all, he is currently buried inside her to the hilt. Tasting her warmth, every inch of her skin as she unravels in his arms, moaning his name." She chuckled, enjoying the hurt flashing on his face and in his eyes more even she expected.

"So how does it feel when the one you love decides to fuck someone else?" She raises her right eyebrow, her voice displaying just how happy she is, enthusiastic even.

"Do you really hate me that much?" Hermes sighed, watching Hecate tilt her head ever so slightly, enough to glare at him with those emerald daggers she calls eyes.

"More than you'll ever know." She responds, her voice oddly calm but filled with emotion. He can tell she is still very much hurt, but her anger toward him outweighs her love.

"Even so, I am not lying about your brother fucking her senseless as we speak. I'm sure you could hear them if you just walked up a couple of stairs." She pointed to the stairs, looking above her at the ceiling with her amused madness returning.

Enraged, Hermes stumbled forward, the knife he used to bleed now pointed at Hecate, the tip pressing just under her ribs, enough to kill her if he likes.

"Should I be scared?" She smirked. "Oh, if only the blade wasn't human." She licked her lips, leaning in for a kiss. But before she can connect their lips, Hermes drives the knife into her rib cage and through her heart, sneering at her with amusement taking over his eyes now. She gasped, holding onto his shoulders for dear life as her eyes widened in shock of the pain he caused. Digging her nails into his skin, she drew blood but to no avail, her croaks now coming out with ragged breaths.

"It isn't." He smirks.

And with that, Hermes pulled the blade out to make sure she bleeds out, tossing her onto the ground before walking out. He believed her to disappear as mombie dearest did, seeing her fade as he glanced at her while he cleaned the knife.

Despite wanting to watch the life fade out her eyes and her body return to Underworld, Hermes' rage simmered and grew.

Satisfied with a job well done, Hermes set his sights on a different task now.

Trying not to kill his brother.

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