#i need stimulation and newness or i will fade away into dust

[pawphin]

i admire everyone that has been mentally ill over a source for over a year because my brain is absolutely incapable of staying on a source for more than 7 months

[taobee]

I COULD BE A BETTER BOYFRIEND THAN HIM !!

Synopsis. In which you get rejected by your childhood crush, Childe, only to end up fucking his two best friends.

Wc: 4k

Warnings: underage drinking, Childe doesn't really outright reject you he kinda runs away like a pussy, clit stimulation, fingering, love bites, cervical stimulation, penetrative sex, threesome, loss of virginity, double penetration, anal sex, pet names, praise, face fucking, oral, spit roasting, dacryphilia, creampie

Tao's 1k followers event

To say you had a crush on Childe, was well, a big understatement. You both met when you were both so little, both of you around seven years old. It was him who came up to you, you who was sitting in the meadow of grass, playing with your dolls. At the time, he had just been a new neighbor who didn’t have many friends, but it was obvious he didn't need the courage to make them easily because he got you interested enough to be able to initiate a conversation with you.

It was really fun, hanging out with him. Your parents started getting along quite well, and so you both saw each other during many families and close friend parties. It was around the seventh grade you started having a crush on him. He had grown up to be attractive although he was only twelve. He was cute, the girls in all grades had a crush on him. He never left you, he was a good guy. Even when people oo’ed you guys when you were walking to the bus together, or when girls bullied you for being with him, he didn’t let them talk bad about you. He never let anybody talk bad about you, and maybe that influenced the fact that you kept growing feelings for him.

In your freshman year of high school, Childe made two other very close friends during that period. Of course, being an attractive man meant that you also had many friends, of course, of whom were also attractive. These two friends were Thoma and Kaeya. Thoma was a sweet boy, very much like Childe. He was friendly, and so of course, naturally people were drawn to him and his sweet smile. He was popular for being so reliable and of course, for being cute. 

Kaeya was, not exactly the opposite of Thoma but he wasn’t really like him either. Kaeya was well, popular for being hot. His charismatic smile. those charming eyes and that sexy, voice, his words flowing out like a melody. These three were a troublesome duo indeed. Childe loved to take risks and be rebellious, and at his age it made sense. Kaeya only encouraged this behavior and Thoma was the one having to pull them both out of trouble. You were glad that Childe had other friends, but it made you sad, seeing as he didn’t hang out with you as often anymore. He had a lot of big parties he was invited to, he had to make time for all his other friends. You didn’t expect this not to happen, but you did wish he wouldn’t leave you in the dust. 

All your worries seemed to fade when he decided to introduce you to his best friends! You were so ecstatic, although you were also very nervous. You knew nothing about them except for what other people have told you about them. You all were just going to hang around Childe’s house, so you kept it pretty casual and wore sweats and a t-shirt. 

Your heart was beating as you knocked on his door three times. Your hands were fumbling with your shirt and you couldn’t keep your feet still. The door was swung open and Childe embraced you in a hug. 

“It's so good to see you, [name]!” His grip on you was firm and tight and loving, you tried to stop your own mouth from grinning so wide. It's been a while since you last saw him, and seeing him again made you so happy. He gestured for you to come in, holding the door open for you and showing you to the living room, although you've already been to his apartment many times before. Two other men were sitting on each side of the couch. One with messy, blonde hair that was tied back, and the other with dark blue hair that was also tied in a low ponytail.

You suddenly felt that wave of nervousness again to actually meet them. You weren't popular yourself, and you didn't stand out much, which is why you wouldn't be surprised if they didn't even know you attended the same school as them. But they weren't mean to you. Kaeya got up from his seat on the couch to introduce himself.

"Kaeya. It's a pleasure to meet you" he cooed.

"Oh no, the pleasure's all mine.." you shook his hand awkwardly.

"My name's Thoma! It's nice to finally meet you, [name]. You know, Childe talks about you a lot." Thoma waved from his seat and your face got hot. Oh.. was it that obvious that you were head over heels for him?

"Stop teasing her, guys." Childe interrupted both of them, creating space between you and Kaeya. Kaeya laughed but shrugged it off, giving Childe a pat on the shoulder before returning to his reserved seat on the couch, “You should join us, [name]. We’re about to watch a movie. You graciously took him up for the offer, and sat on an empty part of the couch, Childe plopping right next to you on the plush cushion of the couch.

"Cool, what movie are you guys going to watch?" You asked curiously. You don't get to see many movies often anymore, so it was nice to watch one and bond with new people. "Let's watch a horror movie!" Childe chimed in, but Thoma kept whining. "Horror movies are a bit much- eh? How about a romance movie?" "Oh you hopeless romantic, Thoma. Quit being a baby." Kaeya teased. In the end, Childe and Kaeya were able to rope him into watching the movie, whether he liked it or not.

Childe prepared a bin of popcorn beforehand and placed it on your lap since you were in the middle. It felt like any other day. The sun, setting low on the horizon, leaving a dim atmosphere in the air. You felt a tiny bit squished, but it added to the comfort of everything, and it wasn't like you minded anyways. You, fortunately, really clicked with Thoma and Kaeya despite you only meeting them today. You shared a bunch of laughs and hugs and you left that day feeling so accomplished at making a good impression.

It’s always been the four of you from that day on. You guys did everything together. You went to theme parks, parties, dinners, and even just hung out at each other's homes together all the time! It was a bit frustrating at times being best friends with popular men because people always came up to you asking you questions about them. Whenever someone tried to talk to you, it was never to get to know you, it was only to use you to get closer to your best friends. Because of this, you didn’t have many friends throughout most of high school.

Even then, they never let you sit alone. They encouraged you to come to sit at their table with the popular kids, and if you were uncomfortable, they didn’t have a problem sneaking somewhere quieter and more private. Your crush on Childe never went away, in fact, it only grew larger after you started spending even more time with him. Dressing up in a tight dress and flaunting your hair and not letting your makeup be anything but perfect for him. It only shattered your heart more when he never noticed, never cared, and would complement other girls right in front of you. 

It was your 18th birthday. Your hair was done professionally for this day, and your dress was so sparkly and tight that it complimented your features most charmingly. Your heels were a little difficult to walk in, but you thought it wouldn’t be too hard to endure for a while. The lights were sparkling and the disco room looked thrilling and exciting as you were ready to step onto the dance floor. Of course, Childe was one of the first ones to come, bringing you a big present that was inside a golden bag with your name on the tag. 

“Happy birthday, I know you’ll like my gift.” He smiled at you childishly and handed the gift to you so you could set it down somewhere. “Thank you, really, Childe.” Your grin was so wide it was embarrassing. As Childe was chatting with your family members, a few of your friends from school came and greeted you warmly. “Hope I’m not too late!” Hu tao grinned sheepishly, handing you the presents your other friends brought, although you assured her she was not late at all. Your mom came and tapped you on the shoulder.

“I’m so sorry [name], there is an emergency that came up so your father and I are not able to attend, we will throw another party with just the family, so please try to have fun, okay?” You were a little bummed out hearing that they wouldn’t be here, but at least that would be another party. You nodded your head and allowed them to take their leave. Coming through the door was Thoma and Kaeya. 

“Hey, how are you?” Kaeya tilted his head slightly, one of his hands in his pocket and the other holding your present, which was wrapped in royal blue wrapping paper and tied together with a golden ribbon. “I’m good, thank you so much Kaeya,” you smiled and took the present as you greeted Thoma. 

“It’s great to see you! We haven’t seen each other in a while~ here’s my present. Don’t open it till your alone!” He smiled and it would’ve looked devilish if his face wasn’t so sweet and cute. You grabbed the present and thanked him, putting it on the table with the other presents you had. 

As more people were coming in, the room started getting more crowded and loud. “Hey, wanna play some beer pong?” Before you even answered, Childe had grabbed your waist and was already guiding you to the table full of cups. “Hey- wait, I’ve never played beer pong! Plus we aren’t allowed to drink! We are only 18..” You whispered lowly but he dragged you there anyways. “Lighten up a little! You only live once, who wants to actually wait till they’re 21? It’s your birthday!” You finally gave in after he kept persisting. “You can be my partner, we’re playing against Thoma and Kaeya,” You nodded as he explained the rules. Even though you didn’t quite get it fully, you just tried to follow what everyone else is doing. 

“Haha, got it in! Drink up, Kaeya,” Childe smirked as he got his ball in the cup he called. “Fuck you,” Even at his cold words, Kaeya was flashing a smirk right back at him as he drank the entire cup. At the end of the game, you and Child ended up winning, to which you both loudly high-fived in front of Thoma and Kaeya as Thoma was pinching the bridge of his nose at his loss. You got to relax and eat after that, even though you felt a bit faint, the dopamine from the alcohol balanced it all out, and you were pumped. 

You went to go find Childe to hopefully play more, to only see a large crowd of people entering your party. “Childe? Childe, who are these people? I never invited them?” You asked him completely confused as they pushed past you into the party. You felt disrespected by these unknown people at your house who were invited without you even knowing. “They’re just some friends, calm down. It’s not like their doing anything,” Childe said, hitting up one of his friends as they called for him inside. 

This already put you on edge and made you extremely upset. Did he know that it wasn't his birthday, but yours? You reluctantly went back in, but you wish you hadn't. Childe's arm was wrapped around some blonde chick with bold red lipstick. You went up to him to talk.

"Hey, baeee.. whose this girl?" The girl that Childe had around his arm was talking boldly for someone who looked like her ass was botched by her surgeon. "She's a friend of mine," Childe replied, as he got up to ask you what was wrong. You pulled him aside to your room and looked at him with this stern expression on your face. "Childe, what the hell was that?" You looked at him, clearly pissed. "What? They're just friends I'm telling you, I just wanted to add some extra fun into the party," this is when you got really mad. "Childe, I never even asked for this! I never asked for your friends to come and drink and pass out on my floor. Why are you bringing people you don't know? Don't be fucking making out with some girl in my house."

"what's gotten into you, geez? You really care that much about some girl?" You clenched your fists. "Yes! I care that you're wrapping your arms around her and that she's holding onto your waist, Childe, I fucking loved you! I've had a crush on you since we were kids!" Childe stood there, almost dumbfounded, his eyes widening.

"Oh, she's done it now," Kaeya leaned on the wall. "You're pretty cruel Kaeya, y'know that?" Thoma crossed his arms.

"What... hah, are you serious right now?" Childe stood there, his eyes widening but it almost looked like he didn't believe you. "How.. how could you not know. You've been hurting me this entire time. Every time you do something insensitive like this.. how could you do something this fucking shitty, bringing your fuck buddy to my birthday party?" Tears were rolling down your face now. Childe just.. stood there. "I.. gotta get going..." He ran off, not even rejecting you. You fell to your knees. When Childe was running, he didn't even process Thoma or Kaeya, trying to get as far away from you as possible.

Thoma opened the door to hear your pained sobs. "Oh, honey.." Thoma crouched down to wipe your tears while Kaeya locked the door behind them to prevent anyone from intruding. "I hate him. He didn't even... respond to me.. he left me.." it was hard for you to talk when your nose was so stuffy and your eyes were reddening. "C'mon, let's get you on the bed okay?" Thoma spoke softly, carrying you onto the bed and sitting you on the mattress.

"We heard what he said," Kaeya explained, being truthful. "Are you alright..?" Thoma asked, you shook your head. "I just want to be loved and he just.. he didn't even care about my feelings. If he doesn't like me that's fine but don't go running off when I finally said what I've been waiting to say for five fucking years," this time you wiped your own tears. "Do you want us to make you feel better?" Kaeya put one of his hands on your shoulder, whispering in your ear, making you shudder.

"Wh...what do you mean by that?" You ask, a bit cautiously but also curiously. Kaeya pushes you farther into the middle of the bed, your back pressing against Thoma. You feel Thoma gently licking and nipping at your neck, while Kaeya was going in for a kiss. First, it was just a little peck, and then it turned into sloppy, open-mouthed kisses.

"Wait... I have never done this before... I'm nervous.." you already knew where this was going, better to let them know than not. "It's alright, we'll take it slow ok?" Thoma's hand found the back zipper of your dress, zipping it all the way down and sliding it off you completely, leaving you bare and exposed to them in just your underwear and bra. Kaeya reaches behind your back to unclasp your bra, slipping it off you and throwing it on the floor. Thoma's hands cup your breasts, softly rubbing over your nipples to make them hard. You squirm in pleasure and jerk your body around at the foreign stimulation.

"shhh.. it's okay, we got you, stay still so Kae can make you feel good, mkay?" Kaeya cooed at you so sweetly, so you tried to be good and stay still. Kaeya lowered himself down to your crotch, pushing your white panties aside to reveal your drooling cunt. Kaeya licked a strip up your cunt as you jerked uncontrollably at the pleasure. Thoma thumbed your nipples and kissed your neck, trying to reassure you.

"This... Feels weird..." You spoke, your words almost slurred. Kaeya pushed a finger in you and your eyes screwed shut, your cunt squeezing against his finger. "Relax, baby, if you squeeze that hard I won't be able to move," you could hear Thoma chuckling behind you at Kaeya's comment, and your cheeks burned. You weren't sure if it was from the pleasure or the embarrassment or both.

Kaeya sucked on your clit, pushing in another finger and curling them up to find your g-spot. "Mm-mhmm!!! Kaeya.. that feels good.. more please.. please..!" Your body jerked and shook from the pleasure while Thoma was rubbing your waist, trying to soothe you. Both of the men could feel their cocks straining against their pants and the air getting hot.

Thoma took off his shirt, fumbling with the buttons until they came undone. You could feel his hard chest against your back as he used his hand to press down on your stomach, making you clench hard around Kaeya's fingers. " Kae.. Kaeya!! I'm.. wait.. don't... I'm gonna.. c..cum!!!" You threw your head back as your walls spasmed around Kaeya's fingers. You felt dizzy, you just felt so good and you wanted more. Thoma unzipped his pants, discarding them on the floor. He grabbed your shoulders and gently turned you around to straddle his lying body.

"Gonna make you feel good, okay? Relax sweetie.." Thoma took off his boxers and guided your hips into his hard cock, slowly sinking you down on it, watching his cock disappear in your cunt. You tightened unbelievably around him while Kaeya was stroking your back. "Ow..ow.. Thoma.. it hurts.." your eyes were squeezed shut as his cock explored your cunt. "Relax.. it's okay.. you're doing great okay?" Thoma smiled so sweetly even though you were doing such lewd things.

You felt a wave of relief once he was all the way in, and Thoma let you wait so that you could adjust. Kaeya let his cock free from his boxers and saw you eyeing it lewdly. "Say ahh.." you opened your mouth obediently and started suckling the tip. "That's it, good girl.." you moaned around his cock as Thoma began thrusting his hips upwards and tears started prickling in your eyes. "Aww.. don't cry," Kaeya used his thumb to wipe your tears as you gagged on his cock. "Mm!!.. Thwoma.." your voice came out muffled as Kaeya fucked your face roughly. "Saying other guy's names when you're sucking me off? Naughty girl.." Kaeya pulled his cock out of your mouth to let you breathe and Thoma stopped thrusting into you.

Kaeya pushed your back so that you were pressed up closer to Thoma on your elbows. He spread your asshole before spitting in it roughly. He gave his cock a few strokes, while his cock was still slippery from your saliva, he pushed it into your asshole. You let out a wanton moan as his cock went deeper and deeper inside you. "Oooh she likes that," Thoma cooed, feeling your walls hug his cock hard. You bury your face in Thoma's shoulder, trying to relieve yourself of the embarrassment you were feeling.

"'s too.. much.. too deep!! Mm--nhghh!!" You couldn't help yourself anymore as they both thrust into you at a fast pace. When one was thrusting out, the other was thrusting in. It made your mind go mushy and made you drip with even more arousal. "Th..Thoma!! Kaeya.. so good.. 's so good.. love you.. love you so much.." the tears wouldn't stop coming out of your eyes and you didn't know why you were even crying. "Aww.. we love you.. our slutty little girl," Kaeya chuckled lightly.

Thoma and Kaeya were both thrusting much harder and faster now, trying to reach climax as fast as possible. "Fucckkk.." Thoma slurred out. "Thoma!! Kaeya.. 'm gonna cum.. please.. I'm...!! 'm cumming I'm cumming!!" Your body shook as your holes squeezed their dicks, as if trying to milk their cum out. "Fuck.. I'm cumming, where do you want me to cum?" Thoma breathed heavily. "In me!! I want it in me... Please.. 'm on the pill it's okay.." You felt Thoma thrust once more before he spilled his cum into your cunt, pulling out to watch it spill out before pushing it back in.

Kaeya gripped your hips hard, your skin slapping against his thighs. Your eyes rolled to the back of your head as he pounded into you deep. "Want me to cum inside?  Want me to cum inside your ass?" Kaeya grinned coyly, although your expression showed that you wanted it just as much as he did. "Y-yes!! Please!! Please cum in meee..!!!" Your words slurred and you felt warmth shooting into you again, both of your holes now drenched in cum. You were so exhausted you collapsed right on the bed.

When you woke up, the music was dead and it was quiet, but there were arms wrapped protectively around you to keep you from moving. You turned to look at Thoma who blinked his eyes open slowly. "Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to disturb your sleep," you apologize, feeling a little embarrassed that you were staring. "No no, it's really not a big deal," he laughed lightly, playing with your hair and combing through it.

"Hey, don't forget about me," Kaeya's voice tickled your neck as he groaned. "Ah, uhm, do you guys know what happened to Childe? You know... After uh.. last night?" You weren't sure if that night was intentional or not. "Haha, he probably ran home all salty and bitter cause he didn't get laid, you know, you're pretty loud," embarrassment washed over you as he said that and you buried your face into Thoma's chest to hide your face. "You're so mean, Kaeya," Despite saying that, Thoma laughed, stroking your head.

The next day at school, none of you were with Childe. He was hanging out with the same people from last night and you didn't feel comfortable going up to them, and you wouldn't make yourself uncomfortable just to talk to him. So it was just the three of you for now, but you still had fun. Kaeya always found a way to slither his hand around your waist, and Thoma always found an excuse to come and see you and hug you tightly. This didn't go unnoticed by any of the students either. They always told you that you were "lucky" for being around attractive men. Meanwhile, Childe has been sulking. He pulls the blonde girl closer to him and kisses her on the lips, but he doesn't imagine her. He imagines you.

"I want you back."

[sad-baddie001]

Don’t say that

ADULTS ONLY! MINORS DNI!

Warning: yandere nsfw

   Yn POV

   Seconds turn to minutes. Minutes turn to hours. Hours turn to days. Days turn to months and it all becomes one big long blur of years. Stuck in a relationship all because I love this man. He pushes and pushes and I still stay because I love him. Tonight he pushed too far and he knows it.

Tonight was my best friends engagement party but I just told him it was just a party. Everything was fine and going so well. Tomura wasn't in a bad mood and everything was moving along nicely until her now fiancé got down on his knee and proposed to her. I saw him begin to bubble over.

   Everyone cheered and applauded but he began scratching. It started out slow but then was the laughter. Everyone got quiet as Tomura's laughter filled the room. All eyes fell on the two of us— something I despise— before the 'groom' spoke up.

   "Is there something wrong." Tomura's laughter died down a little as he spoke.

   "I just find it really funny. Yn, why would you even bring me to this shit?" The groom to be immediately frowned and got upset.

   "You got a problem there buddy?" He asked cause if Tomura to peer up through his hair with one of his hands flying toward the groom to his face. Tomura's hand latched to his face leaving only his pinkie up.

   "Do you? One small movement without a thought and I could dust majority of the people at this shit show." A sinister cackle left his lips as I grabbed onto his arm.

   "No!" He directed his red fiery glare toward me. "Let's just go home baby." I caressed his arm slowly slipping my hand into his as I began turning and walking out. I dragged him with me not stopping for a second. He snatched his hand out of mine and slid it back into his pocket, chuckling as I continued to storm off.

   The car ride home was long and silent. The elevator ride to the top however was the opposite. As soon as the doors shut I couldn't contain it anymore.

   "You had no right to behave like that and you know it."

   "Me? Did you see the way they all acted?" I scoffed at his ignorant response. "Oh yeah Tomura, it's so bad for people to be happy for someone else!"

"Those cheesy fuckers were acting so phony! You expected me to—." I turned to him pointing my finger in his face as I spoke.

   "No! No Tomura! You know what it is? You can't be happy for someone else! Everything is Tomura need this and Shigi want that but did you ever fucking stop to think 'hmm, maybe I should at least pretend to be happy so I don't embarrass yn?' No! You fucking didn't because you're fucking selfish!"

   The elevator doors opened to our penthouse suite and I turned storming out.

   "Don't say that." His voice followed behind me. I removed my earrings as I walked. "Oh no Tomura I mean it, I really do mean it."

"Don't say that." This time his voice was deeper and gruffier. "You're too selfish to be happy for others. You're just jealo—."

   I turned around coming face to face with Tomura. My throat came into contact with one of his hands as he towered over me. "Jealous? We're you about to say jealous? I've let you nag me for far too long. Maybe I am a little jealous. You want to know why? It's always been a dream of mine to put a ring on this beautiful, supple hand of yours." He slowly caresses my hand as I was slightly lifted onto my tippy toes by the hand around my throat. "So what if I am fucking jealous? I want that; I want that with you. I want it all and I'm going to have it. So what do you say, huh sweetheart?" His grip tightened around my throat as he got down on one knee. He slithered his coarse, dry hand across mine slipping my hand into his as he went into his pocket. He pulled out the most beautiful ring I could have ever dreamed of as my face became flush. He cleared his throat as he stared into my eyes.

   "Will you be mine?"

Beginning to lose breath I nodded frantically as a rush of emotions ran through me. "Yes. Y-yes." I choked out. He cackled loudly in an almost menacing way as my vision began to fade. My throat was released as I felt myself falling over only to be caught by Tomura. I was allowed one breath before his lips captured mine in a kiss. The lipgloss coating my lips now smeared onto our mouths as he slipped his tongue into my mouth. The smell and taste of alcohol from the party heavy on his breath as he slipped the ring onto my finger.

   He pulled away as he stood us both up. His hands started at the bottom of my dress easing its way up, grabbing handfuls of the fabric. He began trailing heavy kisses around my neck.

  "Well now that that's established, how about you show me what my beautiful new toy can do?" All of his hands ripped my dress to shreds. Multiple hands gripped onto various parts of my body: my throat, ass, thighs, wrist, tummy.  He pushed me slowly toward the bed as his kisses reached my shoulders and his hands caressed my tits. He sat on the bed and ceased his kissing as he pushed me down to my knees.

   "I'm here to serve you. What would you like master?" Completely playing into his power kink I earned a gruff, sexy chuckle from him. He leaned forward putting his elbow on his knee as he grabbed my face.

   "Don't think I'm going to call you a good girl so easily. You need to earn it. Got it?"

   "Yes master, I understand." He leaned back as I placed my hand on his thigh. I gathered all the saliva I could in my mouth and opened wide, letting it coat his thick cock as I stared up at him. His semi chapped lips turned up into a smirk as I wrapped my hand around his cock. I slowly moved my hand up and down in a twisting motion. His eyes were now focused on my hand stroking his girth. Low grunts left his lips.

   "I wanna see you play with those nipples." I pinched my nipples as moans escaped my lips. Precum mixed with the saliva coated his length as I continued to stroke. I scooted closer on my knees as the hands spread my legs apart. I sped up as he began fucking my hand. I opened my mouth as his tip kissed my tongue. I pushed my head down further sucking him into my mouth completely. He stopped as the hand around my neck pushed me back.

   "Did I say you could suck me off yet you little slut? Since you're so impatient how about I pick up the pace?" He stood up and shoved his cock between my lips. He pushed as far as he could, bottoming out in my throat as I stuck out my tongue to lick his balls. He gathered my hair away from my face and began fucking my mouth ruthlessly. Every time he thrusted his cock into my mouth it eased down my throat earning small gags from me. He fucked my face faster than before as I drolled all over the place. My hands were being held behind my back as he towered over me.

He laughed at me as he spoke. "You love it right? Don't you just love when I fuck that pretty little face of yours? And don't you love when I squeeze that slutty little throat of yours." One of his hands came into contact with my throat again squeezing as he slid deeper. "Because I know I do" he groaned out as I choked down the thick length in my throat.

   His thrust became rapid as one of his hands traveled down to my clit rubbing it in circles. I began to lose breath without a moment to gasp even a little. Moans escaped my stuffed mouth as I got closer and closer to cumming. He pulled his erection out of my mouth allowing me to breath for a moment. The hand binding mine released me as a devious smile played on Tomura's lips.

   "I wanna see you put those hands to work. If you want what comes next you've gotta earn it. You better hurry it up because I'm getting really fucking inpatient and you wouldn't want that." He grabbed my hair tugging it to look up at him completely. "And don't let those eyes wander."

I slid one hand down to my clit beginning to rub small circles as I grabbed his hardness with the other. "Yes master, as you wish." I used my hand to message his fluid covered cock. He thrust into my hand a few times glaring at me as if to speed up. I picked up the pace as I moaned rubbing my clit faster. He began to fuck my hand as I moved it in a twisting motion staring him in his fiery eyes.

   "Sh-shigi-." He tightened his grip on my roots intensifying the arousal I already felt. "What the fuck did you just call me? Hahahahh! Allow me to remind you of our dynamic." Pulling me by my hair he swung me around and rested the back of my head on the side of the bed. He grabbed my hands holding them above my head on the mattress. He roughly pushed his thickness into my mouth as I gagged from the sudden feeling. He leaned over me supporting himself on the bed as he fucked my face with no mercy. Feeling him begin to twitch in my mouth I glanced up at him. He grabbed my hands and caressed them across his face as his hips stuttered.

   "You want it? Huh? You want to swallow my cum don't you? Of corse a filthy cum dumpster wants it however she can get it. You're the selfish one." He grunted out as his pace sped up. "Well tonight you get to be selfish. You can have all the cum you want baby, you don't even have to ask." As soon as he finished his sentence my mouth filled with his semen.  I immediately swallowed as he pulled out. "We'll look at you not making a mess or wasting any time. Don't worry my selfish lover there's more where that came from."

   He leaned down helping me onto the bed halfway only to push my legs up into the air. He rubbed his swollen head over my second set of lips as I bit my lip. "This is the only time I'll allow you to be this selfish. I'm going to give you everything you've ever wanted starting here and now." His bulging head slid into my wetness stretching my hungry cunt. Loud swears and moans left my lips as I tried to cope with the little time I had to adjust before all his hands grabbed hold of me. There was a hand around my throat, two smacking my ass, one for each breast and Tomura took care of my clit himself.

   Pinching, squeezing, slapping. The stimulation I was receiving was far too much. My body heat rose as I felt the knot in my stomach tighten. I released all over Tomura spraying him with my juices, but that didn't stop him. He fucked me through my orgasm ignoring my whimpers for mercy.

"Aaaagh! I'm tired of your fucking whimpering. I'm not finished yet. Don't you enjoy being selfish? Isn't it a rush? Hahahahaha." Another hand shoved two fingers into my mouth. "Suck" he demanded. I did as told as I began to see spots. The knot in my stomach began to tighten again as his hips stuttered. Feeling my walls squeeze him tighter than the first time I stiffened as I came for the second time.

   Lathering my sensitive bud with more of our fluids he rubbed my clit with slight pressure as I felt his dick twitch inside of me. I began fucking myself against his cock as I I chased my third orgasm of the night. Tomura cackled pushing his stringy, sweaty, wet hair away from his face.

   "Finally showing your true colors huh? You're a selfish little slut and you know it." His hips sped up as he pressed harder on my g spot. Pressing down on my stomach I creamed all over his thick cock. My body shook frantically as I was barely able to form words. Tomura followed behind me filling me up with his seed prolonging both our orgasms. He collapsed on top of me removing all his hands before pulling out. Through struggled breaths I spoke.

   "I'm not selfish, and you just proved my point several times over." He let out a breathy chuckle. "Whatever, we're both selfish and we're going to have it all."

  

End

[essays-for-breakfast]

A Song to Forget All Trouble

Kiane Week Day Four: Reign/Daily Life

With each sunrise, another problem awaited Diane. Or, for the sake of accuracy, a mountain of problems. Ruling an entire clan was one thing, but the management of two clans who had spent to majority of three millennia with scornful looks and cold shoulders had more in common with a wrestling match against a Tyrant Dragon. With arms tied behind the back. Giants and Fairies alike always found one little annoyance to blow out of proportion and add to the list of matters Diane needed to discuss and solve with the parties involved.

The quarrel for a resting spot on one of the Fairy King’s Forest’s countless clearings took her half a day to settle because both the Giant and the opposing group of Fairies claimed to have arrived there first. Around noon, Diane ordered the squabblers to find other places to sleep and opened the clearing to a horde of Giant children. At the end of their play session, a rugged crater disfigured the landscape, and smashed golem heads roasted in the sun. No one wanted to rest there anymore.

Every trampled flowerbed and every earth-made pillar became a file on Diane’s metaphorical desk. Fairies liked to boast about their inability to understand concepts like possession and greed, but when someone asked them to share their precious forest with outsiders, they crossed their arms and jutted their chins faster than one could turn over a leaf.

Even if their king asked them.

But the Giants didn’t cover themselves in glory with their behavior either. Their daily fighting tournaments, these days held for sport rather than war training, flattened entire areas on a regular basis. And while the Giants toasted to their displays of power, the present Fairies had little to laugh about. To them, a tree was a lifeform in the same way as a deer or a chaffinch. To a Giant, a tree was a resource for weapons and sometimes a javelin in their ego games.

Drole had assured that Diane would make for the ideal queen to their people. If only he had mentioned the massif of hurdles on the road of leadership.

Daylight was fading, and Diane more stumbled than walked towards the Great Tree. She hawked, but the lump in her throat sat on her voice like a fat, ugly toad. The avalanche of irritated ‘what?’ the near-deaf Giant had spat in her direction continued to ring in her ears. He had built a stone damn to turn the southern river into his private bathing lake. The shrubs and flowers he had put underwater by proxy had concerned him no more than a change in the clouds above. Diane had repeated and rerepeated herself in explaining the problem he had created, but more than another ‘what?’ hadn’t come out of him. A wonder the old man still lived – with the philosophy of the Giants in mind, a useless member of the pack went to bed each night in expectation of a slit throat.

Diane rolled her shoulders to shake away these gloomy thoughts. The merger had its upsides too. She just needed to remind herself of them once in a while.

The stench of fire, mingled with the alluring but precarious aromas of roasted boar hit her before the massive shape of the Great Tree came into view. Not again. Diane darted into the bushes, a string of curses she had picked up from Ban on her lips.

In most cases, even the most traditionalist of Fairies looked past the campfires the Giants gathered around to exchange war stories. But when these parties involved hunted wildlife – deer, boars, or the sinfully delicious cranes found in the western lake district of the forest –, a war declaration already waved between the trees by the time King or Diane could intervene.

Along with the cackling of the fire, the sound of laughter and, strangest of all, music reached Diane’s ear as she zigzagged through the pine trunks. The out of place sound almost made her stumble. Had the wind solely carried the beat of drums, she would have continued her race without a second thought. But a small orchestra of pipes and flutes gave the rhythmic pounding a melody unlike anything she had ever heard in Megadoza. If any Giant knew how to craft and play a flute, Matrona had to have hid them in the catacombs underneath the rock city during Diane’s two hundred years of training there.

A final sprint brought Diane to the clearing from where the smell of meat and the sound of music originated. But instead of a pack of drunk and bellowing Giants, the last sunrays reflected from the faces of Fairies and Giants alike. And instead of accusations hurled at the other clan, laughter tied both sides together.

Above the open fire, spits laden with meat turned while a soup happily bubbled in an oversized iron cauldron. A handful of lanterns in the shape of tulips adorned the trees around. While not as golden or luxurious as the festivities Diane had visited in Liones, the clearing showed all the makings of a celebration, complete with a colorful assembly of guests.

King hovered in the middle of the illusive scenery and conversed with Matrona and Ritho, an older Giant whose passion lay with war before any other activity. All three of them were smiling.

Diane maltreated her temple with her knuckles, but the illusion refused to collapse and return to the dust of her imagination. What had happened in her absence that all conflicts between Giants and Fairies had smoothened into a pretty party with a pretty ribbon to complete the present? Had Bartra Liones foreseen the end of the world for tomorrow? Another explanation failed to arise out of the muddle of her thoughts.

She stared, and she stood, unable to move or comprehend what was playing out before her eyes.

King noticed Diane, nodded to Matrona and Ritho, and floated towards her with two minimalistic flaps of his wings.

He lifted the paralyzed fingers of her right hand with visible effort, and beamed at her. “I’m glad you made it. Gerheade was almost on her way to catch you at the Great Tree. I wasn’t sure when you would return, but I guess everything worked out better than expected.”

“I don’t understand. Did I miss something?”

A shade of pink darkened his cheeks. The orange hues of the fire emphasized the effect. “Didn’t I tell you? We want to celebrate the merger between the Fairy and Giant Clan. We got lucky with the weather tonight, otherwise the open fire might have given us some headaches. Oh, and Happy Anniversary!”

Diane blinked. “It’s… been a year already?! I thought… two weeks, a month at most…”

“If Gerheade hadn’t reminded me, I would have said the same, but here we are. A year later. I’m so proud of what we’ve built here. What you started when you told me about your idea with the merger – no one other than you could have even considered to bridge the cleft between our two clans. All because no one sees the good in others like you do.” King inhaled, and his tiny hands increased their grip around Diane’s fingers. “I love you so much. None of this would have been possible without you.”

His touch and the warmth of his smile melted all troubles and anxiousness of the day away. Nothing else mattered, and if Diane had to put up with a thousand near-deaf Giants to earn this one moment with the one she loved, she would jump into the fray without hesitation.

She dragged him closer, intoxicated by the flowery scent of his skin, lost in his amber eyes, and cradled by all the compliments he showered her with, too generous to be true, but oh, so earnest. The cleft disappeared, and Diane covered King’s face with a kiss.

Before he could pass out from a lack of oxygen, Diane pulled back. She smiled at his expression, a perfect replica of the dazzled Fairy boy before he had grown his wings.

“I love you too, King. And thank you for the party. It’s perfect. When did you have time to organize all this anyway?”

“Oh, that? I really didn’t do much in terms of setting up the location or preparing the meat. The others deserve all your thanks for the hard work. I just flew around a little to find some special ingredients for the stew.”

Diane laughed. “Still a delivery boy at heart, I see. The Captain must have drilled this chore especially deep into your head.”

“I guess he discovered this hidden talent of mine before even I could see it.”

More and more Giants and Fairies followed the sound of the flutes, and soon the clearing disappeared in a crowd of feet and wings. Bowls of two different sizes wandered through the guests, a stew of turnips and roots and chanterelle. While nothing between Purgatory and the Sky Temple could match Ban’s carrot soup, Diane gulped down three helpings in record time, mesmerized by the earthy taste. And she would have asked for an additional portion, if King hadn’t handed her a spit with her favorite type of roasted pork.

The smell of fat made her mouth watery. “Can I marry you a second time?”

“I would marry you every single day, every single year ahead of us, if I could,” King said.

Diane grinned and for the next few minutes, she was too occupied with chewing to talk. The chatter of the people around her blurred into a pleasant carpet of sound. This was what she had always envisioned: Giants and Fairies united in spite of their stupid differences and their arguments, an exchange of words and food to the soft crackle of a campfire. And her and King in the middle of it all, finally side by side after all this time.

The stars stood high up in the sky, a million more than humans could ever spot in Liones or Camelot. From time to time, they winked as if to congratulate King and Diane on what they had accomplished. He leaned against her knee while she stroked the filigree ornamentations of his wings. A shudder rocked him whenever Diane found a new nerve to stimulate.

Neither of them felt the need to disturb the moment with words.

Then a single flute raised its voice above the conversations, a new tune, almost melancholic at first. A panpipe picked up where its companion had left of and gave the melody a merry spin. The flautist enticed a few more notes out of his instrument, and for a moment it and the panpipe seemed to fight a musical battle for the tone of their sonata. But then they fell into harmony, drums and chimes and a fiddle joined in, and soon the entire orchestra played a tarantella to invite the crowd to a dance.

King jerked up. After he had risen into the air, he bowed and extended a hand towards Diane. Sparks from the campfire reflected in his eyes.  “May I have this dance?”

Diane took his hand with a smile. “You may.”

One with the music and the rhythm of nature, King and Diane spun around the fire. Her feet bopped and arched, and he mimicked her moves midair. One moment she pulled him so close their noses almost touched, the next he guided her into another twirl and their fingers parted to finish a sequence with two claps. Other pairs skipped onto the dance floor; Matrona and Zalpa, Ende and Gerheade, and ever so rarely a Giant and Fairy together.

Although her steps lead her astray sometimes, Diane always found King’s eyes in the crowd. Never more than a pirouette away, still in sync with her. The music chased them in circles, two claps of the hands, and another sequence of hops and taps and spins. The odors of cooking fat and sweat from a multitude of dancers got to Diane’s head. Dizziness hijacked her senses until nothing but the next step filled her mind.

With two final claps, the dance ended. King hovered mere inches away from her, guided there by his own doing or a by a smile of fortune. His chest heaved up and down and the many turns had tousled his hair. But his grin was the incarnation of pure joy, brighter than the fire and the firmament.

Their kiss held more force this time, driven by the passion of the dance and heated by the blood rushing into both their heads. The touch of his skin and the flowery taste of his lips replaced the world around Diane, and they were one.

Yes, the merger caused them trouble every day, and Giants and Fairies alike strained their patience with a hellish desire to convince them to give up.

But King and Diane proved time and time again that beauty lay in the union between their clans. They fought for what they believed in, and they continued to push the boundaries of what Chaos’ creations were meant to achieve.

For moments like this.

[motleymoose]

Homecoming Pt.3: Bits & Pieces Ch. 3

Chapter 3

This Isn't A Peace Talk

Fandom: The Mandalorian, Star Wars Characters: The Mandalorian (Din Djarin), Gender Neutral Reader, The Child Words: 2.3k+ Warnings: SO MUCH ANGER AND SQUABBLING

Summary:

I get to use my mech skills, but also I have a fight with the bounty hunter.

Notes:

I don't know why it took so long to get this chapter out, but it's here now!!!

Thanks for reading!

Homecoming Masterlist

***GIF NOT MINE***

The hours bled into one another as we flew ever closer to the Mandalorian’s destination, and I was becoming nightmarishly restless. After checking the patched wiring in the hold’s crawlspace and tinkering with a few spare parts in need of cleaning, I snooped around the hold some more. Most of the hold was empty, except for a couple of crates marked FOOD AND MEDICAL and half-dozen still-frozen bounties in the carbonite lockers. With nothing to do and a whole lotta time to do it in, I prowled about the lower decks in tight figure-eights, much like a wild creature stuck in an observation tank. The boredom was driving me bonkers.

Unable to take the utter lack of stimulation anymore, I grabbed a portable equipment chest in one hand, shouldered the diagnostics kit on the opposite, and made my way precariously up the ladder to the top deck.

It didn’t take long for the bounty hunter to find me, borrowed tools scattered around me and a diagnostics pad in hand, pottering around the engineering room with grease smudged across my forehead.

“I told you to stay put,” the Mandalorian gruffed, nearly tripping over me. I sat cross-legged on the floor, running a simple program to check on the aural sensors. I glanced up at him dubiously. His fingers brushed his blaster in a convulsive if threatening manner.

“You told me to stay out of your way. Engineering isn’t anywhere near in your way, unless you deviate from your way on purpose.” I stopped, trying to sort out what exactly I meant by that. But I batted it away with a hmph. I didn’t have time to figure out my own nonsense. “Besides, can’t a person ogle another person’s band limiter cuffs without the third degree?” Still seated in front of the sensor panel, I craned my neck over my shoulder and up, agitated at the interruption.

The visor tilted upwards, contemplating. Gloved fingertips drummed on the pistol’s grip until he sighed deliberately and relaxed his arm. “Fine,” he said gruffly. “Just - don’t break anything important.”

“I’m a blackthumb. If I break it, I’ll fix it better,” I said, forcefully bright and smiling. The little diagnostics computer dinged. I unplugged it and stood up, stretching the kinks from my spine. Sidestepping the Mandalorian, I slapped his pauldron good-naturedly as I slithered past him and into the bay.

“I do want to take a look at your pressors, though. This ol’ girl ‘bout rattled the teeth out of my head when she came out of hyperspace. May also need to tweak the conversion module to keep up with all that new tech you’ve got back there,” I said, easily falling back into Professional Mechanic Mode. Making my way to the cockpit, I crawled underneath the control deck, holding a pen light between my teeth as I lay on my back and surveyed the wiring system.

A tiny, warm body flopped onto my legs, and I was delighted to see that the child had come to join me. He scrambled up my thighs, across my belly and came to rest on my chest. Big ears wiggling happily, the kid propped his chin in his hands and stared at me intently. I removed the flashlight from my mouth and wedged it between my neck and shoulder, making it easier to talk to him.

I happened to be in the middle of explaining the intricacies of navcomp programming to my rapt pupil when the toe of the hunter’s boot nudged my hip.

“What?” I asked curtly as the long mental list of small improvements faded from my mind. By then my hands were caked in carbon dust, and the child made no move to slide off of me. Resigning to my fate, I signaled for the Mandalorian to continue with whatever it was he had to say; I wasn’t going to be moving out from under the control deck any time soon.

A flutter of cloth on steel, and the bounty hunter was in my space, crouching beside the pilot’s chair, his helmet parallel to the lip of the deck.

“What are you doing to my ship.” His tone was smooth yet menacing.

Rolling my eyes, I shooed the child off of me and clambered out from under the panel. The Mandalorian had retreated to the door while I’d wriggled out. Brushing dirty fingers across the chest of my jumpsuit, I sunk heavily into the co-pilot’s seat, scratching my forehead with my opened multitool. The little one trundled to me from out of the console’s shadows and tugged at my pantleg until I was obliged to pick him up. He held a small silver object tightly in his grubby little hands, and he ferreted it away underneath his tunic as soon as he settled onto my lap.

“Just a few minor adjustments and reroutes. Nothing too fancy or critical. Did you know this ship was stripped by Jawas?” I gestured animatedly with my custom multi-purpose tool. “I wouldn’t have noticed with how amazing the rebuild was, but I could tell by the wiring harness modifications. Distinctly Jawa scavenged mods.” Grinning stupidly, I shook my head in amazement. “Whoever rebuilt the Crest sure knew what they were doing!”

“Yes,” the bounty hunter replied, a little more brusquely than I thought the conversation warranted. He leaned against the cockpit’s door frame, arms crossed and exuding false indifference. He was strangely emotive for how much beskar covered his body.

“No doshing way?” I exclaimed. The prospect of Jawas intrigued me to no end; they were a scavenging people, mainly dealing in mech and droids. Their methods of acquiring said mech and droids could be considered loosely in the vicinity of ethical, if you squinted really hard, but they always did have the best stuff.

The Mandalorian stared out into the inky dark of space, starlight blurring over the silvery dome of his helmet. He cleared his throat, started to say something and then stopped. I waited patiently, the prickly curiosity holding my jittery nerves in place. The kid whined and made grabby hands at my multitool, so I folded it back into itself and gave it to him. It looked absurdly gigantic in his tiny fingers, but he gnawed on it with gusto.

A sigh crackled over the bounty hunter’s vocoder. “An Ugna- my friend. His name was Kuiil. He negotiated to get all the parts back from the Jawas, and then he-he helped me repair the Razor Crest.” The tension he had been holding suddenly dissipated, and his shoulders sagged in something akin to relief. His breastplate rose and fell in a juttering, painful beat, and the strangled sigh of modulated air buzzing from his helmet told me everything I needed to know. Whoever Kuiil had happened to be, I knew that he must have been a very good friend to the Mandalorian, and his loss was still felt across hyperspace.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered.

The bounty hunter huffed. “Nu kyr’adyc, shi taab’echaaj’la.”

“Not gone, merely marching far away,” I murmured in turn.

The Mandalorian stilled. For a beat, neither of us moved. The silence widened the already substantial gap between us, sweeping away what little bit of common ground we had found purchase on. Having that tiny foothold crumble beneath me in a matter of seconds set me on edge. I didn’t like him any more than he liked me; our mutual dislike for one another had turned into something more, something almost companion-like. But since I had to go and open my big dumb mouth, we were back to Square One.

The kid let out a loud, wet snerkt!, pulling us both out of our respective thoughts.

Arms uncrossing and leather gloves tightening into fists at his sides, the bounty hunter took the two steps from the doorway to the co-pilot’s chair. Without a sound, he took the slumbering child from my arms and stomped off to his quarters.

“I -” A tiny kernel of guilt blared in warning. “Wait, I didn’t mean to- ah, blast it,” I muttered, crossing my arms over my chest. I hadn’t meant any disrespect to his friend, or his Creed. I only knew enough Mando’a to get me into trouble, and I hoped I hadn’t overstepped any boundaries by saying the tribute in Basic. Fiddling with my multitool for a long moment, I tried to come up with some sort of apology that would convey my cultural misstep.

Wracking my brain for Mando’a phrases to express my regrets at my choice of words, I didn’t hear him return to the cockpit.

Huffing once more, the bounty hunter startled me from my guilt trip. I averted my eyes, swallowed my pride and braced myself to deliver an apology. “Look, bud. I’m not good with-”

“Where did you get this?” he asked, cutting me off from my apology.

“What are you -”

“Where did you get this necklace??” he repeated, hissing through his teeth.

Silver flashed into my field of vision. I blinked a few times, my eyes refusing to believe what the bounty hunter dangled in front of my face. “Wha-” My voice cracked dangerously. I couldn’t believe it. It was my pendant. My eyes followed the Mythosaur skull as it swung back and forth, mouth gaping in astonishment. A small spark of Hope rekindled somewhere deep down inside my chest, clearing a slim but bright path through the anger and the guilt that had been dogging me for the past several days.

“My - my..” I said weakly, tears pricking at my eyes. “Where did -”

The hunter lunged suddenly, slamming both fists down on the armrests on either side of me. I yelped in surprise, shrinking back in the co-pilot’s chair. Pinned in, I could do nothing more than stare at him, confused.

“This shouldn’t exist. It shouldn’t be yours.”

The small, flickering flame of Hope guttered out, and once more I was cold and empty and full of rage.

“What gives you the right?” I spat. I leaned as far forward as the hunter’s presence would allow, my nose almost pressed against the beskar helmet. “You don’t know me. You don’t know where I came from, or what I’ve done to get here. All I am to you is a bounty that went wrong. It’s not up to you to decide what I can or can’t have.” Chest heaving and fists clenched together in my lap, I stared down the Mandalorian. I was too confused to be scared of what he could do to me, too pissed off to care about his reasons.

That pendant was mine. And I wanted it back.

The Mandalorian’s blank, glassy facade didn’t move. No words, no sounds escaped his modulator. Hot waves of anger rolled off of him, anger that I didn’t understand, didn’t want to understand. The co-pilot’s seat trembled underneath me, but I wasn’t sure if the movement was his or my own.

“Give it back,” I growled, finally breaking the silence. “It’s mine.”

“No.” The rumbling baritone was tense, straining against his control. His whole body held unspeakable amounts of emotion, and he was unwilling, or unable, to let it go.

“Bastard.” I swung up from my hips, clipping the lip of his helmet smartly with my clasped fists.

He stumbled back, dropping the necklace as both hands came up to straighten his helmet. Seeing an opening, I rushed the bounty hunter, driving my left shoulder into his side and pushing him into the opposite wall. With a roar, he ducked out of my grasp, using his momentum to kick out at my knees. I dodged sideways, his boot only grazing my shins. Now off-balanced, I staggered back and tripped over my own feet. I took a nosedive, landing heavily on the pilot’s seat. The air was knocked from my lungs, and for a moment too long I was dazed. At that opportunity, the Mandalorian grabbed the back of my collar and hauled me out of the chair.

“Hrrkt!” I choked, scrabbling to loosen the stranglehold my jumpsuit currently had on my neck.

“Last time. Where. Did. You. Get. This.” With each word, the hunter shook me like a ragdoll. The calm he exuded was frightening in comparison to the violence he was promising.

“Uunrkt,” I replied.

The Mandalorian released the back of my jumpsuit, and I crumpled, catching myself on the pilot’s seat. Pressing my forehead into the roughly-woven seat cushion, I panted laboriously. Tears were streaming down my face. I sniffled loudly and wiped my nose on my sleeve before I spoke.

“That is mine. It was given to me by my caretaker.” The anger I had been feeling melted into sadness. I was tired of fighting the emotion, so I embraced it, allowing myself to finally feel. “It’s the only thing I have left.” I broke off with a sob, burying my face in my hands.

“What was his name.”

I went rigid. Names held power, even I knew that growing up where I did. But he was dead, so surely the issue was moot? At least, I hoped he was dead. The alternatives to why he never returned hurt my heart too much to bear.

“You wouldn’t’ve known him,” I said thickly.

“Try me,” the hunter said gruffly.

I couldn’t get around it now. Even if he wasn’t dead, sharing his name with one of his brethren probably wasn’t the worst thing I could do.

But, then again, if he wasn’t dead, that meant I didn’t owe him anything for leaving me behind.

“Reyn. His name was Drys Reyn.”

[chelsfic]

Inherited - Chapter 4 - Dracula/OFC - Dracula (2020) fanfic

Summary: The Count’s innocent housekeeper falls further under his spell.

A/N: Hooooo boy! This started out with a lot of imagery and some boring stuff about chores and then it just turned buck wild. Major NSFW warning. Smut! There is also more bloodletting. If you’re at all questioning the way blood drinking/sharing works in the context of this fic I did a post about it last night.

As always if you’d like to be tagged in future updates just send a carrier pigeon or comment or reblog or whatever. And endless thanks for reading!

Part One | Part Two | Part Three Emilie woke the next morning with the taste of Dracula’s blood on her lips and the lingering memory of his touch ghosting over her skin. The misery caused by his callous and cruel behavior at dinner was forgotten. A smile curled the edges of her lips as she opened her eyes to a new day. She mentally reviewed her task list. She would start by clearing the dining room and washing the soiled china in the scullery annex. Then her morning chores: dusting the downstairs rooms, sweeping the corridors. She’d been meaning to polish the silver candlesticks for sometime, perhaps she’d have time for that before nightfall. The Count tended to keep nocturnal hours, so she always waited until just before sunset to creep into his room and build up the fire in the hearth, refresh the water in his wash basin and put out fresh towels. In any other household these chores would be performed before dawn. 

She braced herself for the chill morning air and threw off her blankets in one swift movement. Just because her master kept late hours did not excuse her lying in bed late into the morning. It was difficult to adjust to the long hours when she first came to Carfax. Emilie woke at seven and frequently stayed up past midnight depending on the master’s plans. But she was accustomed to the schedule now and found it a bit of a comfort after the chaos and emotional confusion of the last couple days. 

She stood and grabbed a heavy knit shawl off the back of her rocking chair, pulling it tight around her narrow shoulders and moving to stand at her tiny window to enjoy the sight of the rising sun lighting the kitchen garden. The colors were somehow more vibrant this morning. The grass, trees and plants seemed to positively glow with verdant, pulsing green life. The sunlight crept over the earth and she could see its progress, inch by inch, with more clarity than she’d ever before experienced. Emilie had always been slightly near-sighted, but this morning she saw ever leaf and blade of grass with crisp definition. Not only that, she could smell the sweet scent of the morning dew dissipating into the warming air. Her senses were enchanted and she found herself lingering at the window for several minutes before finally shaking off the feeling and turning away. It was simply an extraordinarily beautiful morning, she reasoned with herself. Nothing more unusual than that. 

When she entered the dining room a little later she expected to find the dirty china from last night’s meal still set out on the table. But the table had been cleared and a fresh cloth laid out. There was nary a crumb or crumpled napkin left for her to tidy. She quirked her head and frowned in confusion for a second before her thoughts were interrupted by a haughty voice from the hallway behind her.

“Finally!” Miss Lucy strode into the dining room wearing the same gown she’d had on the night before. She’d tidied herself as best she could and looked well. She was a little pale, the flush of wine and seduction having faded from her cheeks, but otherwise she looked merely annoyed. “I’ve been waiting here for half an hour, don’t you serve breakfast for guests in this house? I’ll be informing the Count of this abysmal treatment you can be sure.”

Emilie cringed and rushed to the china cupboard to begin making a place setting for the Count’s guest, apologizing profusely as she worked.

“I-I’m sorry, Miss Lucy! Of course I’ll get you your breakfast directly. I didn’t...I didn’t realize you’d be staying overnight or else I would have had something prepared for you,” her words were sincere. Emilie took pride in her work and hated to be seen as lazy or inadequate. Her obvious fretting seemed to assuage the young aristocrat slightly.

“Very well,” she sniffed and took a seat at the table. “I’ll have fresh fruit and porridge. I prefer a light breakfast.”

Thank goodness for that, thought Emilie. She wouldn’t need to call for Cook at his little cottage on the outskirts of the Abbey’s park. She curtsied and apologized again before rushing down the discreet servant’s staircase to the kitchen.

Miss Lucy’s surly attitude persisted after breakfast and she kept Emilie on her toes all day with petty requests. Her morning chores went neglected as she made up Miss Lucy’s guest room, just next door to Dracula’s chamber she noted with a pang. Fresh linens, hair combs, water, dainty snacks and an order sent out to the village for spare dresses and shifts. Emilie did it all and was grateful, at least, that she was too busy to examine the jealous feelings that rose up within her at the thought of Miss Lucy spending another evening with Dracula.

Finally, as the sun lowered on the horizon, Emilie excused herself to tend to her master’s needs before he rose for the evening. Miss Lucy at least seemed to understand that Count Dracula would come first in this household despite her guest status.

Emilie left the guest in her room and stepped out into the corridor, heaving a great breath and leaning her weight into the wall for she feared she might simply collapse with fatigue both physical and mental. It wasn’t just that Miss Lucy was demanding and rude. She also insisted on making little pointed comments about the Count’s obvious admiration of her. Emilie worried that Miss Lucy was aware of her...feelings toward her master and delighted in hurting her. Perhaps she was reading too much into things. Perhaps Miss Lucy was simply jealous of anyone else who might have a claim on Count Dracula’s attention. A satisfied little smirk appeared on her lips before she quickly squashed it. Miss Lucy had no idea how much attention the Count paid to his housekeeper.

She entered the Count’s room silently and tiptoed across the plush oriental carpet balancing a pitcher of steaming water and a basket of kindling, fresh towels draped over her shoulders. She looked quite foolish but she managed. She got to work right away, bustling about the room while Dracula slept on. Once she’d finished all her tasks she stole a moment to look over at him, cold and still as the grave in his slumber. The lines of his face were smooth in repose and his sharp nailed hands rested over his stomach. Her mind flashed back to last night and the sight of him slicing into his own skin with one wickedly sharp claw, the feeling of his hot blood dripping onto her lips, sliding down her throat. 

Emilie’s feet moved of their volition carrying her to the master’s bedside. She looked down on him with adoration written plainly on her face. Her hand hovered over his and she bit her lip fearful of being discovered but unable to resist settling her palm over his clasped hands. They were cool to the touch and she willed her own warmth to flow into him and feed his spirit. 

“Really, Emilie, I’m quite shocked,” the Count’s sardonic voice whipped her out of her reverie and she took a step back from the bed, cheeks flaming with embarrassment.

“I-I’m sorry, Count--milord,” she stammered, voice trembling with nerves. He had wrapped his body around hers only last night, ravishing her with kisses. But she still felt impertinent and untoward, a servant daring to aspire to her master’s affections.

Dracula sat up against the headboard and she realized with a shiver that he wasn’t wearing a nightshirt. His broad, muscular shoulders and dark-haired chest were bare to her. Emilie lowered her gaze and clasped her hands before her, the perfect image of a prim housekeeper awaiting orders.

The Count smirked and patted the bed beside him, “No need to be sorry, little one. Come here, won’t you?”

Emilie stood frozen for a long moment, her warring thoughts apparent on her face. She should not let this continue. Miss Lucy was getting dressed at this very moment for another evening of debauched seduction with the Count. It was entirely inappropriate. What would her grandmother say?

Dracula’s voice turned cold and he commanded, “Come here. Now.”

She snapped into action and scurried up onto the bed beside him. Despite her nerves and qualms she had the presence of mind to enjoy the ultra plush feel of his feather mattress so much more luxurious than her simple bed. She sat primly beside him, hanging her feet over the side so as not to dirty the blankets with her shoes. 

Dracula watched her with eyes lit in amusement. He snaked an arm behind her and hugged her against his bare chest. Emilie gasped as she felt a flame of heat light up her core. Being so close to him had an undeniable effect on her. 

“Don’t tell me you’re still shy with me, little one?” he teased, walking his fingers up her leg and settling his hand flat against her thigh. “Not after last night?”

“Milord,” she whispered, trembling under his gaze, “it’s not proper. I am a servant…”

The Count shushed her and he tugged at the fabric of her skirt, raising the hem and dipping his hand underneath to skim along the smooth skin of her thighs. Emilie couldn’t help a muted moan of pleasure at the sudden contact. 

“Emilie, I want you to call me Vlad. When we are alone together. Can you do that?” his voice was cool and matter-of-fact even as his fingers danced over her inner thighs and crept upward.

“Yes,” she breathed in response to his question or perhaps merely to encourage his hand between her legs. “Vlad.”

Dracula smiled and plunged his hand upward, pressing the heel of his palm against her and stimulating her sensitive clitoris through the thin fabric of her drawers. Emilie gave a rather undignified shout and he leaned down, touching his cheek to hers and whispering into her ear, “Good girl.”

He loomed over her, naked and humming with masculine energy. His hand cupped her sex and he pistoned his wrist to grind his palm against her over and over again eliciting little hiccups of pleasure from his inexperienced young housekeeper. She squirmed against him, arching her back and bucking her hips against his hand. Dracula brought his forearm down across her chest to keep her pinned in place. 

He watched her face, the pretty blush of blood rushing beneath her pale skin, the artery in her neck dancing with the pump of her racing heartbeat. He felt his fangs elongate and saliva pool in his mouth. He descended on her then, biting into her lower lip and growling in pleasure at the small stream of intoxicating blood that flowed into the kiss. He tore the waistband of her drawers away and dove his hand inside to brush over her bare skin. He inserted one elegant, long finger inside her, delighting in her startled squeak. He pumped into her as he sucked the blood from her lips, all the while barely containing the animalistic blood lust raging to be unleashed. When he thought he could resist no more he felt Emilie’s thighs clamp down on his wrist and the pulse of her muscles as she reached her climax. 

He pulled away from the kiss and watched her face in fascination. Gone were her charming little worries about impropriety. The girl was lost to wanton pleasure. She locked her arms around his neck in a fierce hug as she rode the waves of her orgasm. Dracula slowly removed his hand from between her legs and patted down her skirt in deference to her feminine modesty. He lay beside her on the pillow and watched her heaving breast and half closed eyes. She is perfect, he thought to himself, idly drawing his wrist up to his lips and grazing a razor sharp fang across the skin. Or...she will be perfect, once I’m finished with her.

“Come now, darling,” he cooed, cradling her head and bringing her lips up to kiss against his wrist. “It’s time for a little drink.”

Tags:

@charlesdances​ @mr-kisskiss-bangbang @just-mimii @irrelevantwriter​

[aliferous-ly]

The Setting Sun

yall. Yall. i wrote a fic im so proud of myself. This is Possibly a series, if y’all want it !! otherwise standalone /peace sign/ also, if you like a certain pairing then mention it bcos idk which pairing yet, if any, so :3c

Summary: “He... Logan wasn’t angry, at the events. He just came to a realization, like dust, sitting heavy in his lungs. If he coughed his entire life would go black and gray, and he wouldn’t be able to stop.”

AKA Logan realizes he’s not the best person to be Thomas’s Logic. So he makes a new one. 

Words: 3196

Genre: angst, some fluff. Logangst, of course

Warnings: implied character death for a moment (I promise, he does not die). deprecation, not showing all the sides in the most flattering light (like humans), disappearance.. if there’s anything else, please let me know!

writing tag: @sassy-in-glasses​, @rose-gold-roman​, @justanotherpurplebutterfly​, @echomist13​

Logan came to the realization like Roman might describe love: slowly, and then all at once.

He was increasingly perceptive of the other sides’ actions, though he wasn’t sure if this was a side effect of being Logic or if it were more... paying astute attention to their every move.

But he started noticing the little things, like when Virgil mentioned how certain long silences made him nervous and attentive to every single move.

And the word games of sarcasm that sometimes, used to, fly over his head.

But he’d gotten better.

And he’d gotten so much worse for it.

He noticed Roman’s roll of the eyes when Logan turned away, or sometimes in full view, turning to look at Thomas, get a load of this guy. He noticed the disdainful flick of his fingers, the push of his shoulders, the sneer on his lips that might disappear in moments time.

Of course he saw Patton’s strained smile, his frown at Logan’s exposition, just hold back a bit next time, bud, we don’t want any wounded feelings around here! The concerned jolt of his gaze, flipping between Virgil and Roman and Logan, uncertainty, forced delight, the simmer of it’ll all be okay, let’s just take a step back and talk about it! even though Logan knew “it” would always be feelings and not the actual issue at hand.

And Virgil’s candid nature hid such secrecy that Logan couldn’t miss the darkened expression, the gentle lean away, how Virgil would talk about how Logan disrespected him, or used to, and in the next heartbeat force Logan to shift for his means. The listen, dude, you might want to lay off a bit. Of course, Logan could do that, of course.

He couldn’t miss, then, Thomas wincing, the muscles in his face contracting into something (something) and he’d make eye contact with Roman or Virgil and they’d have that look. He couldn’t miss Thomas’s awkward stance, the way he’d shift when Logan stepped up to speak, the defense alighting in everyone’s eyes the moment Logan opened his mouth.

He... Logan wasn’t angry, at the events. He just came to a realization, like dust, sitting heavy in his lungs. If he coughed his entire life would go black and gray, and he wouldn’t be able to stop.

He couldn’t cough. He couldn’t mess up.

Logan massaged the center of his chest, staring into a shard of broken glass glittering rainbow in the light of the mindscape. Every side had one; they’re own personal escape into Thomas’s core, the centerpiece of his existence.

Too long spent in there, and they would dissolve into Thomas. And I wouldn’t want to lose you, Patton told Virgil. Please don’t go back.

Logan wouldn’t leave without a second thought. He couldn’t do that to them; Logic was a particularly important piece to discussion, and Logan knew that he... that Logic would be needed, for the pieces to fit together. For the code to run properly.

Viscous despair surged through his veins, slogging and clogging his throat and heart, and Logan knew he was no longer needed. Not as Logan. As a facet of Thomas’s personality, he’d failed, and grown too far from the center.

Logan exhaled, closing his eyes and ignoring the trails down his cheeks. Touching the cold surface, he slowly drew his fingers away, trails of electric blue and steel grey extracting from the glass. Logan pulled the essence of Logic from Thomas’s core, the very thought that had been used to make him – only, different, because Logan... Logan could not be a repeat, he could not be another stumble in the process of Thomas’s life.

He gathered synopsis, collected and connecting every (important) aspect of Logic into one humanoid figure. They were comprised of long strings like nerves, dark blue and gleaming.

One more thing. Logan took a moment, or two, to think. He couldn’t mess this part up; done incorrectly, Logan would cause the very problem he was seeking to repair.

One breath, two, and Logan tapped his index finger against his heart, wincing as he drew out a long strand of glowing silver, waving ribbon-like through the air. The world dulled a little at the edges, his connection to Thomas waning and dissolving like morning dew. He suddenly couldn’t remember what year Thomas graduated, or how long he’d studied to be an engineer.

(He remembered twenty Disney facts that Virgil and Roman had tag teamed in teaching him, he remembered Patton’s favorite tea and how much sugar he liked in his coffee, he remembered–)

Logan wove the silver through the blue, interlocking the two until he’d created a fully new being, complete with all of Logan’s capabilities and (Logan slid his fingers away from the silver) his connection to Thomas.

“You’re going to fix everything I’ve destroyed,” Logan said softly. He leaned forward, suddenly tired, rubbing at his temples. “I’m sorry for pinning you with the responsibility. But with luck, you’ll be just the right Logic for them.”

Logan cradled the blue strands shaped like a jaw, and pressed a single kiss to their forehead. “You’ll succeed where I’ve failed,” he said, as life and autonomy filled the shape of a human Logan had created. Skin stitched over blue wiring, eyes glowing the silver of Logan’s connection as they blinked open.

“You are Logic,” Logan said, exhausted and fading fast. “You know your purpose. There are others like you, but they do not know you yet.”

The new Logic stared at him, unblinking. They opened their mouth and said, “What are you?”

Logan smiled, brown eyes crinkling at the edges. “I’m nothing.”

“But you are here,” they said. “You cannot be nothing. Nothing does not exist.”

“Truly, I am,” Logan said. He reached out a hand, the skin and veins and bones disappearing, fading like a mirage. “You see? I am vanishing.”

They blinked once, then. “You are Logic.”

“No,” Logan said. He shook his head. “I was.”

His body finally got the cue, and Logan faded just like Roman had once explained love:

Slowly, and then all at once.

I was.

I am no longer.

—

Roman heard a whisper through the mindscape and looked up from his book, narrowing his eyes.

“Roman?” Patton asked, doing a jigsaw puzzle with Virgil. “What’s up?”

“I heard something,” Roman said.

Virgil snorted. “Like, a ghost? Are we haunted? Can we be haunted?” he sounded excited about the concept.

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” Roman said. They made faces at each other, a common “you’re irritating” that they exchanged.

“Maybe I’m the ghost, and you’re just now noticing my ghostly attributes,” Virgil said, wiggling his fingers.

“If any of us were a ghost, it’d be Logan,” Roman said, laughing. “From how often he holes himself up in his room nowadays.” He winced, then, because yikes, he forgot to watch his mouth again. He waited for Patton’s chiding be nice to Logan, Roman, that he’d always gotten with Virgil, and frowned when it didn’t come.

Virgil snorted before refocusing on the puzzle, evidently done with the conversation. Patton made a small noise of victory, slotting a piece into place. Virgil’s face softened with a smile.

Roman turned back around, leaning against the couch, brows furrowed. Something was wrong with the mindscape, something off. But if Virgil wasn’t noting anything, then it had to be solely in Roman’s realm.

Because... well, Roman couldn’t explain it, really, just a couple feelings thrown together with erratic stitching into a mismatched blanket that barely worked. But if he had to hazard a guess, something had been created, and shifted, and something – he longed to know what – added, to him, to his job.

The last part made him a little indignant because honestly, wasn’t his job hard enough? Which side decided well, this is a little much for me, Roman can take it!

Probably... well, probably Logan, but it didn’t seem logical for Logan to dump something else on Roman, not when Logan knew how stressed Roman could get, not when Logan was uncomfortably familiar with Roman’s breakdowns.

“Hey Virgil,” Roman said, throwing an arm on the back of the couch and turning to look at the table.

Virgil sighed. “What, couldn’t stand silence for more than five minutes?”

“It was three minutes and forty five seconds and I cannot, in fact, stand upon silence so no, I cannot,” Roman said, the words tumbling from his mouth before he could think. “Nerd,” he tacked on at the end, lamely and without heat.

Patton stopped moving, his and Virgil’s gaze stopping on Roman’s face, expressions twisted with confusion.

Virgil laughed uncomfortably, shifting in his chair. “You might be spending a little too much time with Logan, man.”

“I think it’s a good thing!” Patton said. “Logan can be a tough nut to crack.”

Roman frowned, because he wasn’t really, although he... he hadn’t really tried, as of late, to focus on him.

“I’m... I’m gonna go to imagination,” Roman said.

“Alright, kiddo!” Patton said. “You okay?”

“Yeah, I’m just...” Roman searched for an excuse, half-standing, when an idea struck him. He trained his face into a cocky, pompous expression, drawing on Thomas’s ability as an actor, falling into his role easily. “I’m bored. Reading this novel has not been as stimulating as promised, and I need to fight something.”

Virgil rolled his eyes and Roman internally grinned. Ace in the hole. Patton laughed and said, “Go ahead, bud! We’re not holding you back!”

Roman stood fully, stretching and setting the book on the side table, careful not to bend any of the pages. His books were littered with dogears and highlights, but Logan’s were meticulously cared for, only the best of the best with perfect folds (favorite parts) and notes.

Roman sank out to the hallway they collectively called home, each of their rooms branching out. Patton’s, of course, was adorned with various positive imagery with the overarching pale blue theme. Virgil’s was pitch black, delicate engravings of purple, covered in Logan’s notes and Patton’s pictures and Roman’s odd stickynote varying from return my earbuds you heathen to a realistic drawing of a chicken.

He stood in front of Logan’s door, eyeing the straight white and blue lines. They really needed to paint over this, it didn’t encompass Logan at all. Roman had a few ideas... maybe he would tell Logan, while he was here.

Roman knocked. “Logan?” he called out, puffing his chest to make his voice sound bigger. “It’s time to emerge from hibernation!”

Nothing.

Roman blinked a few times. Was Logan not in his room? But then, where else would he be? “Logan? Look, I’m sorry I was going back and forth with you on the blue and pink colors, it was so much like the sleeping beauty dress that I couldn’t resist.”

A few more seconds, and Roman frowned. “Are you not in there? Hello?” He knocked a few more times, just to be sure. Maybe he had earbuds in, or something.

The door swung open, Roman’s fist poised, and everything tilted on its axis for three horrible seconds.

“Who...” Roman choked on his words, confusion-fear-bewilderment filling his veins. “Who are you?”

They didn’t move, eyes open and unblinking, a striking silver color. “I am not a who. I am a what. I am Logic.”

Something small and dark twinged in Roman’s chest and he shook his head. “No. No, you’re not. Where’s Logan?”

“At the present moment, I am uncertain.” A channel of silver lit up their cheekbones, like wires in a circuit board. “Logan did not tell me where he was going, only that he was.”

“Logan is Logic, you’re... you’re not Logic,” Roman said again, shivering. This was wrong, this was wrong. “Why are you here?”

“I am the manifestation of Thomas Foley Sanders’s Logic, intended to add reasoning to certain discussions.”

“No, Logan is,” Roman tried. They didn’t blink, which was really starting to unnerve him on a whole different level. “I don’t understand.”

They regarded him for a moment. “Very well. I will expound. Logan created me ten minutes and thirteen point three seconds ago. He used the mindscape to do so.”

Roman flinched. Logan created something. Logan created... he swallowed, throat thick.

They – Logic? – continued. “The former Logic said, ”You are Logic. You know your purpose. There are others like you, but they do not know you yet.“ When I inquired of his being, he stated, ”I am nothing.“ This is paradoxical situation, so I sought to remedy his flawed thinking. He said, ”You see? I am vanishing.“ His fingers disappeared into the air, of a way I am thus uncertain. I called him this ”Logic“, as you did, but he corrected my flawed verbiage and stated, ”No. I was.“ Soon after his statement, the rest of his body vanished. I have been standing in the room, collecting data for my success here. Evidently, the former Logic knew his job was being fulfilled incorrectly, and decided to find a solution. I was created as the solution.”

Roman couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe. “What?”

“Would you like me to repeat?”

“No, no,” Roman stuttered, out. “No. No, Logan wouldn’t... how did he make you? How?”

“From the data I have obtained,” they said, still not blinking or moving, as if they were a picture on a background, “the former Logic gathered the essence of Logic into a singular being from the data of the mindscape. He inserted that being with a silver strand – of which I am uncertain of the reason – and gave the being life.”

“The silver,” Roman whispered, realization dawning in his eyes. “The silver is the connection to Thomas, you need it to be one of his sides, I’ve never heard of... transferring, or whatever he did...”

Roman fell quiet, the silence deafening to his ears. Logic hadn’t invited him into Logan’s room, though Roman wondered if Logic knew common societal practices, or if he was merely... a computer. A vessel.

A thought struck him and Roman’s spine shot ramrod straight. He stared at Logic intently, just barely stopping himself from grabbing their shoulders and shaking (just to get some movement, some life). “The golden string. What did he do with it?”

A few seconds passed as they processed this. “I am in no possession of a golden strand.”

“But where – where–” Roman stopped, took a breath, and reworded his sentence. “What did he look like before he disappeared? Did he glow, or were his eyes a different color? His veins?”

Roman counted one, two, three, four, five before Logic spoke. “The former Logic had skin much lighter than a healthy human being, being transparent and pale. His veins were not red or blue but a copper, gold color. His eyes were brown, but the irises had lines of gold within them, which steadily took over the entire iris.”

Roman lost his breath and almost fell, holding himself against the wall with one hand. “He’s... he...” Oh my god.

“Is the golden strand important to my functions?” Logic stated more than asked.

“Not... not your functions, but it’s... it’s his entire personality, his memories, his feelings,” Roman said, the words thick and heavy in his mouth.

“Very well,” they said, and asked no further questions, a silence that gave Roman a whiplash he never thought he’d feel. His curiosity, his wit...

And then it struck him.

“Oh, no, Logan,” Roman murmured, eyes wide and unblinking. Logan hadn’t left any untied odds and ends, had he? The “essence” of logic in a different being, and his extra jobs, the ones that required a personality, that required feeling, he pushed... pushed onto Roman. And, undoubtedly, part of Virgil, part of Patton... they all carried a little bit of Logan in them, now.

Roman had Logan’s scathing wit, his quick comebacks.

He didn’t want them.

“The gold,” Roman said. “When he vanished, did he have a mirror on him? A shard of glass?”

“I am uncertain.”

“And you don’t have any desire to learn? To figure it out? Wrack your brain?”

“I do not have desire,” they said so plainly that Roman wanted to cry.

“Okay, I need to... I need,” Roman gestured a bit with his hand, thoughts running a mile a minute. “Mirror mirror on the wall...” his mirror appeared in his hand moments later, gilded with gold and an intricate handle. Roman clutched it like a parched man to water. “Show me Logan.”

The mirror swirled, disney-esque to his name, before revealing a vague fog with a shimmer of gold. One moment there, gone the next, leaving just... gray.

But it was there.

Roman was certain of it.

“He’s still alive,” Roman murmured. The mirror, if it had not been made of impenetrable thought, would have cracked under the pressure of his hands. “He’s still alive.”

“The former Logic did not erase himself?” the other Logic asked.

“No, he’s still there, just his personality and thoughts and memories,” Roman said. “He didn’t erase himself. He moved himself into the mindscape. He did the sides version of moving far, far away.”

“He should have. He cannot take up space in the mindscape,” Logic said.

“His personality isn’t much space at all,” Roman said. “The mindscape is neigh endless. You know this.”

“You make a valid point. I concede,” Logic said. Roman frowned. Agreement so fast?

“But that means he’s still there,” Roman said. “He’s alive. And that means we can find him.”

“Are you certain he wishes to be found?” Logic said.

“No,” Roman said. “But I... I can’t let him just leave. I can’t. The longer he spends in the mindscape, the more he disappears... almost like growing old. I need to... He shouldn’t have left. He’s logic, he’s our logic, and I... I miss him.”

“Very well.” No fighting whatsoever.

Roman took a shuddering breath. An actual mission, with real dangers. An adventure, the romantic side of his brain whispered. Save the damsel in distress. Only, Logan had chosen to disappear into the mindscape.

But Roman couldn’t do nothing. He’d... he’d have to, at least, find him, and talk to him. It wasn’t right for Logan to up and leave without telling the others.

Then it’s decided, then?

“Okay,” Roman said. “Okay. I’m certain.” He squared his shoulders, breathing slowly. “I’m going to get him.”

Logic said nothing, stare blank and emotionless.

Goosebumps rose on Roman’s skin. “But first...” he flicked the mirror, vanishing it into the mindscape. “First, I have to tell the others.”

Logic didn’t move as Roman sunk out. Roman wondered if he’d still be standing there, hours later.

He didn’t know why Logan had left. Why Logan had committed an act so much more thorough, so much more permanent, than Virgil ducking out.

I don’t know why you left.

Roman rose in the living room, drawing Virgil and Patton’s curious gazes.

But I know one thing.

Virgil shot to his feet, entire being buzzing with energy and fear-anxiety-nervousness.

You’re not alone. You’re never alone.

Patton stood slowly, a shaky sort of realization filling his face before Roman had even said a word.

Your family is behind you.

And we’re not leaving you behind.

[writingarchangels]

Wrath of the Nephilim (Jack Kline & Nickifer)

Pairing: Nick/Lucifer

Characters: Jack Kline, Lucifer, Nick, Castiel, Sam & Dean

Word count: 3.9K

Triggers: major character death, description of corpses, torture, S14 spoilers, hammers, murder family, child abuse, hints at claustrophobia 

Written for the ‘major character death’ square of my Heaven & Hell Bingo card and the ‘Jack in the Box’ challenge by keepersofthehunt.

Mod tags: @heavenandhellbingo @keepersofthehunt

SPOILER WARNING: CONTAINS SPOILERS OF S14E19 ‘JACK IN THE BOX’

This is pretty much how I want it to go from there lol

Locked up in the Ma'lak Box, Jack makes a decision and has a revelation which will change his life forever.

They abandoned me! Mind racing, the young Nephilim slammed his fists against the roof of the metal box he had been trapped in as he screamed his throat raw.

"SAM! DEAN! Let me out!" He tried in vain as he let out a sob. He continued to bang against the metal roof. "I don't like it in here. I'm scared," he whimpered.

The tiny space was confining and Jack felt like the walls would close in any second now and crush him alive. He never felt so small and helpless and abandoned before.

"Not gonna happen, kiddo," Lucifer's voice spoke from next to him. Jack clenched his teeth and tried to ignore the Archangel to the best of his abilities. It took him a while to figure out the truth, but he did. The spell Nick had done had bound Jack to Lucifer, a telepathic link of some sorts, which allowed the Archangel to communicate with him from The Empty. "You trusted the Winchester's, and look what happened to you," Lucifer sighed, sounding almost sad.

"True. They might have trusted you once... but all that is gone now since you killed their dearest mother," Lucifer continued in their one-way conversation. "Trust is a two-way deal, you know? If they trusted you, why would they trap you in this box in the first place?"

"Shut up!" Jack yelled, curling his hands into fists. "They love me. They will let me out soon, they promised. It was only an accident," he said, unsure if he was trying to convince himself or Lucifer.

Judging from the look Lucifer gave him, he clearly didn't buy it. "I'm sorry to be the bringer of bad news, but they don't. And how long have you been here now? Six hours, maybe?" Lucifer spoke. Jack closed his eyes and let out a sob as Lucifer talked. "You've always been nothing but a powerful weapon to their cause. They might talk about this 'family don't end in blood' crap, but when it gets down to it, family is blood to them. Only blood. Nothing else." Slowly, Jack lifted up his hands and covered his eyes with them, as if he could shield his falling tears from the Devil. "The moment you proved to be any trouble to them, any more than they were willing to invest in you... they dropped you and tossed you away."

"They love me," Jack cried.

"I'm sorry," Lucifer said. Judging from his voice, Jack knew he meant it.

Eyes wet from the tears, he turned to face his father. "Where am I?" He whimpered.

A deep sigh came from the angel. "It's called a Ma'lak Box. It's specifically designed to keep any being, especially an Archangel, sealed away forever," he replied, voice sounding rather flat. "I knew they were low... but how dare they give this kind of fate to a two-year-old?"

Jack curled in on himself. Or the best he could in his small prison. "Forever?" He repeated, feeling utterly horrified. He half-expected to feel sad, but he didn't. Yet he didn't feel nothing either.

Rage. A white-hot, all consuming rage boiled up from the core of his very being. The nails of his bailed hands dug into his skin but Jack ignored it. They just tossed him away! They never even gave him a change to redeem or explain himself... they never loved him.

He locked eyes with Lucifer's now red gaze. Jack saw a matching anger and rage reflect back at him though those burning eyes. "How do I get out of here?" He asked his father.

"I do not know," Lucifer replied. "This box is even capable of sealing me up for good. And if there is a way out, I do not know about it." He added and Jack felt his hope die down. A smirk formed on Lucifer's face. "But you are not me. You are better and stronger than I could ever hope to become."

Jack looked straight into his father's fiery eyes. "You are a Nephilim and my son. You have the power to bring the universe down on its knees if you so desire, and no one would be able to stop you. So show them. Hold up a mirror and show them who you are! Create your own freedom, kiddo."

Looking up at the metal roof above his head, which he almost couldn't see in the darkness, Jack closed his eyes and focused. For so long, he had been running from his powers - being taught to fear them and hide behind walls and fake masks. He had been afraid for so long. But not anymore, now he embraced his wilder and more feral side. Reaching down to the depths of his being, he grasped his powers and let them flow through him like a rampaging thunderstorm set loose and destroying all in its path. His eyes snapped open, now a radiant gold and glowing brighter and fiercer than ever before. Then he unleashed his powers and the box he was trapped in started shaking rapidly as Jack's breathing became heavy, not used to controlling his abilities to such a degree.

"Come on, Jack!" Lucifer encouraged him, a feral smile on his face. "If you want to be free, you have to do better than this!"

Clenching his jaw and accidentally biting his tongue, Jack took an ever deeper leap into himself and bought more of his powers closer. It was like he was trying to reach out to the entire universe and take it in his hold. There is so much. There is no end to them, he couldn't help but think, finally starting to understand why everyone wanted him on their side since he had been born. And even before then. Angels, demons, the Winchester's... they were all the same.

The only one who loved him for him was his father, Lucifer. And Jack broke his heart.

His eyes narrowed as his irises burned even brighter, illuminating the entire box in a golden light. He could fix his relationship with his father later. For now, he had to focus on freeing himself.

"I have fate in you, Jack. I always had," Lucifer whispered just as the sigils on the box started to burn off, unable to contain the furious Nephilim inside as the Bunker itself shook and threatened to collapse into itself. "If you ever need me by your side, for whatever reason, you know where to find me." He added. Jack knew what he meant.

If you want to give me a second chance as your father, get me out of the Empty and we can be together.

"And please," Lucifer added, "if you do. Don't forget Nick. I kind of love him."

"Thanks for helping me, Dad," Jack whispered back just as Lucifer faded from view.

And then Jack was free. The box exploding as its parts flew around the room and Jack slowly rose up from the dust flying around him. His powers had turned the air static and the feathers on his wings shook from the raw power. Alarms blared around him and the red emergency lights of the Bunker gave the room an eerie feel.

Footsteps sounded as Sam, Dean, and even Castiel ran into the room. All of them looked horrified - and scared - at seeing the furious Nephilim freed and the box destroyed.

They should be scared, Jack fumed. Stimulated by his anger, his powers came off him in powerful waves. Wings uncurling from his back in the form of terrifying shadows, Jack allowed them to feel it. Feel his power... and understand just what they made as their enemy. To understand that they had a chance with him, that he used to see them as a family, but that was all gone now.

With the display of his wings, he made the Bunker collapse around them as debris and dust rained down. Seeing them stumble over their own feet at how the ground shook underneath them, Jack smiled.

"Jack! Stop this!" Castiel called out to him, less bothered by it thanks to him being an angel.

Jack looked at the Seraphim. "You all had your change," he replied, "I am done with dealing with all of your shit and playing the perfect pet. This is me, and you should damn well fear me. They shouldn't have locked me up in that box!"

"Yes, they shouldn't have!" Castiel said, taking a step closer. "But please, stop this! We are a family. We can get over this."

"No, we're not. My father, my real father, who you turned me against, is in the Empty," with those words, the roof of the Bunker fell down and Jack carried himself away on his wings. The Winchester's would undoubtedly survive this, they were headstrong, but he would deal with them later.

There was something he had to take care of first.

~~

With a flutter of wings, the young Nephilim landed in the abandoned house where Nick had tried to resurrect Lucifer. Stumbling over his feet, he fell flat on his face with a yelp. He wasn't fully used to flying yet and needed some more practice. Face red and glad that no one could see his tumble to the floor, he scrambled up to his feet and looked around. The house looked the same as it did last time he had been there. The main difference was the smell.

The stench of rotting flesh and burned skin met his nostrils and Jack coughed, pulling a face as he covered his nose. They had never disposed of Nick's body and simply left it behind, so Jack knew that the smell would be bad, but that didn't make it any easier. Nick never got any funeral; there was no one left to care enough about him to give him one. At least it wouldn't make it very hard to find Nick's body. He just had to follow the smell.

Scrunching up his nose, his golden-pink wings awkwardly folded around himself to try and block out the smell. It didn't take long to find the decaying corpse.

An old blanket had been hastily thrown over his body and Jack reached down, planning to take it off before he thought twice about it and instead removed the blanket with his telekinetic abilities. The blanket flew off Nick and Jack frowned at the state his body was in. The bones of his hands were awkwardly pointing at odd angles from when Jack had broken and twisted the bones, and his skin was half decayed and burned at most parts. Squaring his shoulders, Jack kneeled before Nick's corpse and reached towards his vast powers once again. Holding his palms above him, being careful not to touch the decaying skin, Jack rained his light down on the body as he healed him physically, reaching down towards Hell at the same time to pull up Nick's burning soul. He ripped through reality itself and resurrected him.

Perhaps Jack could have done the same for Mary, but deep down he knew how empty he was. He didn't want to resurrect Mary out of his own free will, he only really tried for the Winchester's, and that perhaps was why it didn't work. Necromancy is a delicate art, Rowena had told him. To bring someone back, one has to feel and mean it. That was why he only bought back an empty shell in Mary's case. But this time, it was different.

In a way, he still did it for Lucifer, but there was more to it. There was some kind of kinship between Jack and Nick. Jack grew up as a child without a father - a real father - and Nick was a father who lost his son and never got to experience parenthood. And both of them saw the real Lucifer instead of the Devil the world portrayed him as.

Nick gasped when his soul was pulled back in his healed body and he rolled over on his side, body heaving as he looked around feverishly. Then his eyes fell on the Nephilim before him and realization hit. "Why?" The man asked, narrowing his eyes suspiciously. Jack understood the unsaid question. Why did you kill me just to bring me back?

"Because I was wrong and I am sorry," Jack said with an aching heart, realizing that perhaps, not his entire soul might have burned off. He still had some left. "But I am going to fix everything now. I will bring him back, Nick."

Nick's icy blue eyes looked straight at him and Jack could tell he was weighing his opinions. "What made you change your mind?" He finally asked, sitting up slowly, his gaze not leaving the Nephilim. Jack knew that everything depended on his answer.

"Sam and Dean, they," Jack forced back a sob, "they locked me up. Tried to seal me away for eternity in a small and dark coffin. They think I'm a monster."

"Jack?" Nick asked, surprisingly gentle. "You are not a monster," he added, giving him a weak smile. "But alright, I believe you," he nodded, "anything I can help with to bring him back?"

Jack shook his head and stood up. "No, I got this," he said. "He will only need a vessel, so be ready," he added, at which Nick nodded. The mortal man sat kneeled before the young Nephilim, like a Knight before a King.

Unveiling his powers and reaching into the Empty with his presence, Jack looked for Lucifer as he had once - unknowingly - searched for Castiel. It wasn't that hard to find the Archangel. Even after millions of years, he still shone the brightest out of all angels. Jack's jaw tensed up as the building shook and the sky exploded in a thunderstorm mixed with a bright golden light which rained down upon the world. It was like the universe shook. He opened a portal before his father, which he jumped through. Jack would need to keep it open until Lucifer has claimed Nick, otherwise the Empty might suck him in again. The Archangel's light illuminated Nick, who smiled and proceeded to exchange some words with his lover.

"I suggest you two hurry," Jack spoke between clenched teeth, "I'm not sure how long I can keep this up." The Empty had started to fight back, enraged that one of its charges was trying to escape and it took nearly all of Jack's powers to keep it at bay and prevent it from taking Lucifer. His arms, which were reached up towards the sky started to shake as his shirt became clammy and breathing heavy. He was fighting to even keep standing.

Nick shot him a quick look before facing Lucifer's radiance again. Lucifer proceeded to ask him something, of which Jack did not catch the words, but he did hear Nick's reply. "For you, it's always yes," the man said and then there was a burst of light as Lucifer entered his vessel again. When the last of his being had entered Nick, Jack slammed the gate to the Empty shut and fired a burst of power at the entity residing within and slamming it so deep within the Empty that it got pulled back to sleep once again.

With the portal closed and plenty of his powers drained, Jack collapsed to the floor, fighting to keep his eyes open.

A hand touched his head and gently combed through his hair. Some of Jack's powers returned when the grace touched him and he pulled up his face, looking into Lucifer's red eyes. "Thank you, my son," the Devil said as he helped Jack up to his feet.

Without thinking about it, Jack leaped forward, into his father's arms and wrapped his arms around him in a tight hug as he buried his face against his chest. Startled for a moment, Lucifer composed himself and hugged his son back as he tried to hold back the tears at his child actually showing him any affection for once. Carefully, Lucifer wrapped his pink wings around his child and held him close. They stood there for a while, embracing each other as Lucifer rubbed Jack's back in a soothing way.

The tranquility of their moment was disturbed when Lucifer tensed up. "And here they come," he muttered with a sigh. "Couldn't they even give us a moment alone?" The door kicked open and Jack jumped up, out of his father's arms and whirling around to face the door.

Sam, Dean, and Castiel entered the room. Jack was the first one they saw, but Sam was the first who noticed Lucifer standing behind the Nephilim. "Nick?" He tried.

"Try again, Sammy," Lucifer mocked him, letting his eyes flash red for a second to show them who he was. "Even though, I must say that my dearest Nick is still with me."

"No," was the single horrified sound leaving Sam's lips as he stumbled back. His eyes didn't leave Lucifer and Jack noted that all color had drained from his face.

"Surprise!" Lucifer said, flailing his arms around.

"What did you do!" Dean screamed at Jack, all of his emotions clear to see on his face. Betrayal, anger, hurt, and shock being the most prominent.

"I got my father back," Jack said, returning Dean's glare. "My real father," he added, watching Dean flinch at those words.

"Jack, that is not your father. Lucifer is evil and a liar, he's manipulating you! Please, listen to me!" Castiel desperately tried to reason with him.

"Ouch, you know I'm standing right here, don't you?" Lucifer muttered, yet Castiel seemed to ignore him.

"Jack, we're your family!" Sam told him, taking a step closer yet he stopped dead in his tracks at Jack's heavy glare.

"You tried to seal me away in a box! For all of eternity!" Jack yelled. Some of his powers flared out and made the wind howl stronger and beat against the windows and roof outside. "You have no right to call yourself my family! Family doesn't do that to each other!"

"We're sorry, okay?" Sam tried again.

Lucifer scoffed from behind him and Jack stood there fuming. As if a simple 'sorry' could fix everything. He understood that they were upset about their mother, but they shouldn't have treated him like that, especially if they 'trusted' him like they said they did. Lucifer was right, Jack knew. They didn't trust him. Not anymore. They were just scared of him so they tried to cozy up to him again.

"Sorry?!" Jack hissed out. He glared the three of them down. "You should be," he added. Holding up his hand, he clenched his hands into fists as he cut off their airway. Sam and Dean gasped for air as they sunk down on their knees. "You shouldn't have locked me up in that box."

"Jack!" Castiel yelled. Angel blade in hand, the Seraphim went at him but quickly found his way blocked by Lucifer. Without thinking about it, Castiel stabbed the Archangel which obviously didn't work.

Lucifer looked almost disappointed. "You are an idiot, Asstiel," he said. Swiftly taking the blade out of his chest, he turned it around and plunged it through Castiel's throat instead. The angel died in a burst of light and fell down to the floor where he laid motionless, surrounded by his burned wings.

A noise came from Dean at witnessing Castiel's death. Jack's eyes narrowed and his powers took a tighter hold on both hunters. Snapping one of his fingers, he burned Sam from the inside out as he had once done with Nick. The hunter's skin started burning and blackening and falling off as he screamed. Jack's lips curled up as he made sure to do it slowly so that Sam could feel every second of it. Dean started screaming and cursing as well when Jack went and snapped Sam's bones in half. Sam cried Dean's name, but it was in vain. He made sure to keep Dean sustained in such a way that he would be able to see it all. Hurt him where it hurt most.

Getting sick of Sam's screams and twisting after a while, Jack simply snapped his neck with a flick of his wrist. Sam's huge body fell to the floor with a thud, dull eyes staring ironically at a frozen Dean.

Dean screamed for his brother and Jack turned towards him. He was aware of Lucifer's eyes on him. "Lucifer," he asked, "do you have one of Nick's hammers?" He asked.

Silently, the Devil gave him one. For a second, Jack looked down at the hammer in his hand, at its shape and the dried blood which Nick never bothered to wash off.

He walked over towards Dean, stopping in front of him as he held the hammer loosely in his hold. He looked down at the man who he had once viewed as family, in times which felt like centuries ago, and who now looked up at him with nothing but hatred in those forest-green eyes. "You are a monster," Dean told him.

Jack closed his eyes for a second, pushing down all his doubt before he opened them again and gave the man a hard and icy stare. His mind was set. "You made me one," he replied, swinging back the hammer and connecting it to Dean's head, smashing in his skull with a powerful swing and taking his life.

Warm blood splattered all over him and Jack stood over the bodies of Sam and Dean Winchester, breathing heavily and covered in their blood as he held Nick's hammer. "You know," Lucifer said, suddenly reminding Jack of the fact that he wasn't alone, "Nick feels kinda like a proud mom now. That was a nice swing you did there."

Jack took a second to look at the fallen bodies of his ex-family, taking a moment to realize he had killed all of the remaining Winchester's. Mary, Sam, and even Dean. How many had tried to do what he did and failed? "What now?" He asked his father, feeling rather helpless.

"Whatever you want," Lucifer told him, spreading out his arms as he stepped closer towards his son. "But if you want, my offer from all those months ago still stands."

"Your offer?" Jack repeated, feeling somewhat stupid.

"We can leave this world behind and go to the stars," Lucifer said, "I can show you all that there is out there and there won't be anywhere we can't go. Leave Earth to humanity, monsters, demons, and whatnot. The three of us?" He mentioned between them. "We will make our own world and create a destiny that suits us. What do you think?"

Jack smiled. "I'd like that," he said. Lucifer smiled back at him. Jack noted that he looked happy; as if a weight had been lifted off his shoulders. He decided he liked to see Lucifer that way.

"What about Nick?" Jack asked.

Lucifer's clear eyes twirled in amusement. "Nick loves Star Wars," he said, "he's about as excited as it can get at the possibility to discover the universe and everything out there."

At that, they exchanged a secret smile and both spread out their radiant wings. Lucifer's a sparkling pink, and Jack's golden with a pastel pink around the edges. And then they flew off as they departed the world and left for the stars. Lucifer's feathers lightly caressed Jack's during flight and the Nephilim allowed himself to form a broad smile on his face as the wind howled through his hair and sensitive plumage, excited at his new life with his two fathers and the possibilities now laid out before him.

Tags: @luciferstempest @gabrielsbackbitches @jgvfhl @staycejo1 @blakechaos08 @qslucid @i-miss-balthazar

Requested tags for this story: @mrsimoshen @franthehorsegir @ajcza @ejisthekingoftheocean @aliengoth3 (if any of you want to be permanently added to my tag list just tell me and I’ll do so, otherwise the tags will stop now)

IF YOU WANT TO BE TAGGED AS WELL, JUST ASK!!

[kalle-and-lita]

Homecoming Pt. 2

Forewarning, this piece of work contains my own interpretations of characters and no one else. Therefore Konrad Curze, Horus, or any other canon character is under my interpretation with OCS like Atina from @goddessatina​ were used with permission. Thank you and enjoy~~

Drip. Drip. Drip. Drip.

Lita couldn't tell where it was coming from, and because it was hard to tell the passage of time in her cell, she couldn't even begin to tell when it had started.

Drip. Drip. Drip. Drip.

The cell was pitch black, which unnerved her a bit. She had grown up on Nostramo, it was literally a planet of eternal night. But even then, even in the lowest darkest wards, there was still some sort of light. But here, she couldn't see her hand in front of her face.

Drip. Drip. Drip. Drip.

Maybe she was going crazy....

It wasn't that far outside the realm of possibility. She'd been locked in here for who knew how long without any sort of stimulation, her brain was probably starving for something.

Drip. Drip. Drip. Drip.

Lita tried to keep retrospect, of all the deaths that could have happened to her...

Drip. Drip. Drip.

She supposed going bat shit insane wasn't that terrible.

Drip. Drip.

She just wished...

Drip.

Drip.

Drip.

Lita felt her blood surge and her hand struck the wall, leaving her palm tingling with pain. She stilled as the metal hummed with the impact, listening for the infernal dripping sound.

Drip. Drip. Drip. Drip.

Lita groaned in frustration, laying her head against the wall she leaned up against. A small part of her wished he'd just killed her outright; fuck she'd even go for some old fashioned painful torture than this.

Then, the something on the other side of the door. Lita stilled, trying to pin point a location in complete darkness. Heavy, footsteps if she was correct.

Was she hallucinating?

They paused in the hallway, shifting from one edge of the door to the other. As if they were unsure if they should enter or not.

Who was it?

And seriously, was she still hallucinating?

Then, the door creaked open. She stiffened on the cot, waiting with bated breath for something to happen.

Hard metal on metal slid across the floor with the door slamming shut soon after. The footsteps faded away into the distance, leaving Lita to crawl about the darkness to see what had been left in her cell.

If it was anything at all, she still wasn't sure if she was hallucinating or not.

Her hand brushed upon the foreign object upon the floor, a smell permeating her senses that was dull but very welcome.

Food.

Definitely not a hallucination. It was meager, but it was something.

Yet...

It gave her pause for thought.

He was having her fed now, why? Was he trying to draw out her inevitable end, make sure she went completely nuts before killing her. That would be a new level of cruelty, even for him.

Defiance surged in her chest, she didn't want to give him the satisfaction. So she pushed away the plate, despite the gnawing pains in her stomach. If she was going to die she was going to do so her terms, not his.

And so she fumbled her way back to the cot, hoping that by falling asleep she could ignore her hunger.

~~

Three more times the footsteps came to bring her food, and three more times she turned upon the cot to ignore it. She felt weak, unimaginably so, and the temptation to break and eat what she'd been given was great.

But the need to die on her terms was greater; he was not going to break her. He absolutely was not.

But something happened.

The fourth time the footsteps came to pause hesitantly outside the cell door, something changed. The door opened, she turned to her side to pointedly ignore whoever it was as the plate scrapped across the floor back through the door.

Then, a noise. A grunt of frustration. One that she knew very well. You don't spend over twenty something years with a person without learning a thing or two about them.

It had been him, this whole time. Coming everyday to pause outside the cell door before sliding her food.

And now she could hear him open the door wider to step into the cell with her. The atmosphere in the room changed dramatically. There was a tension in the air that stilled her and everything around her, with her heart pounding so loud she was sure he could hear it.

Slowly, his footsteps approached. Methodical, as if he was allowing her to hear him. She knew as well as anyone he could be deathly quiet. She didn't bother to try and close her eyes to feign sleep, he'd see right through that in an instant. So she kept her eyes staring pointedly ahead of her, do her best to remain unblinking.

She felt him move to the cot side, his boring into her as if he was trying to reduce her to dust on his gaze alone. He said nothing, and Lita dared not move until something hit the cot right in front of her.

She jumped a mile out of her skin, realizing he'd thrown the plate of food right in front of her face.

"Eat." His order was cold, his tone like gravel. Lita did not want to be cowed and so ignored him to settle back on to her side.

"The silent treatment? I never took you to be so childish."

Her upper lip twitched without her meaning to.

Childish? He had the audacity to call her childish when he threw a temper tantrum and took her away from the only real happiness she'd ever known?

Don't give him the satisfaction.

She tensed her jaw in response, curling in on herself in a silent hope that he would just give up and go away. In all honesty, she preferred the insane monotony of the water dripping to this.

He moved closer still, the fabric of his clothes rustling as he knelt down next to the cot. His breathing was slow, rhythmic, if the situation wasn't so tense it could've put her to sleep.

"Lita..." This was the first time he'd actually said her name since she'd gotten here. His tone had become softer, but didn't quite lose his usual bite and gravel, "Did you honestly believe you meant so little to me?"

The question came from out of no where and floored her like she'd been run over.

And the worst part?

She didn't know how to answer him....

What was she supposed to think? Of course, she thought that! The Imperium had come and he had left without a second thought to fight in his father's Great Crusade across a nearly infinite galaxy, leaving her in charge of a failing monarchy that only worked because he was there to enforce his rules. Once he was gone, the barons of Nostramo reverted back into old habits, completely running her over.

And why wouldn't they? She wasn't the Night Haunter, she didn't have his charisma or his brute strength, or the intimate knowledge of his targets fears to cow the barons into obedience. She was just some broken little human, nothing more.

But being with Atina? It had changed everything about how Lita saw herself. She was more than just some loyal servant, a pathetic little girl striving for the attention of someone who would never look her way. She was a woman deserving of happiness and respect and who was more than capable of finding these things on her own, as long as she put the effort into achieving these things herself.

Being with Atina allowed her to realize that she didn't have to spend her life wallowing in self pity, wondering why she wasn't good enough when in fact she was. She just needed to figure that out for herself.

But how to tell that to him? How to tell him that the woman who spilled every single unrequited feeling for him wasn't the same person he was looking at?

Her uncertainty paralyzed her, fighting to say something, because the second worst part was she couldn't pin down what he was even thinking about right now. In some aspects he was predictable, like how he hunted criminals or dealt with the Barons.

But heart to heart conversations that required him to actually be vulnerable.

Yeah... That was new territory.

He grumbled irritably under his breath, moving and shifting the cot. But with how dark it was she couldn't quite tell what he was doing or where he was. There were no footsteps, so he hadn't left and she could still hear his deep breathing somewhere nearby. The pair of them sat in the darkened cell together, neither making a move to speak or break the silence.

"Is this what we've been reduced to? Childish mind games?"

That irked her, and she spoke before she could even stop herself, "Says the man who threw a galaxy sized temper tantrum over a human."

"Ha. She actually does speak."

"What do you want from me?"

"An answer, Lita!" He snapped, "Did you honestly believe you meant so little to me?"

"You never did anything to make believe otherwise," She snapped back, a coldness in her voice she thought she wasn't capable of, "Decades of service, bending over backwards in every attempt to please you, to help, and you threw me aside like I was nothing! And when I was attacked by rebels, in the company of a High Ranking Official of the Imperium? You couldn't even spare the time to check in until hours later!"

The fury she felt made her heart beat wildly in her chest while the adrenaline spurred her to sit up. She squinted in the dark, attempting to find him, but everything was so disorienting she couldn't tell which way was what.

"I am a Primarch, Lita!" His shout was nearby, she heard him move from the cot, irritated footsteps in the dark paired with heavy breathing that gave away his aggravation, "I have far more important things to worry about than some nobody upstarts."

"Is that why you left me in charge of a planet that had no actual peacekeeping force!?"

"Because I wasn't going to just leave you there!!" His words left her stunned for a long moment, but he was far too irritated now to let her get a word in edgewise, "They took me for formal combat training under one of my brothers while they built my legion, and yes it took much of my attention, but I had no intention of just leaving you on Nostramo."

"You have a funny way of telling me these things." she said softly, her voice thick with emotion.

"Because it was---" He hesitated only a second before heaving a heavy sigh, "It was supposed to be a gift, a way to thank you for everything you've done for your planet. For me. You were one of the few who ever had any sense, any drive to do what was right. But then, you just quit. After saying... those things... After I tried to get a hold of you for hours only to find out that my brother's little whore smuggled you off planet."

"It hurt, didn't it?" Her question was spoken softly, but seemed like it echoed loudly between them than anything ever said before, "Thinking 'how could she? Didn't all of it mean something?'."

She hear him sigh irritably again, the sound of something heavy hitting the metal wall and the slide of cloth against a surface. If she had to guess, he was probably sitting somewhere nearby. More maddening silence stretched between the pair until she found the courage to speak what was probably on his mind too,

"So what now?"

"I suppose I'm not sure."

"Well, we're in the same boat then."

"Then why don't you tell me what you want."

"Respect."

He moved, fast judging by the quick rustle of his clothes that had him nearly in her face, "Don't you dare," he hissed, teeth grinding, "I respected you more than I should have, the fact that you're still alive after all the bullshit you've put me through should be proof enough of that."

Lita pushed back, her hands flailing out in the darkness and finding his face to strike him, "You did that to yourself!" she hissed back, "You could have just left me alone, that would have been showing me respect. Instead, you took me away from the only real happiness I've ever known!"

His hands grasped her wrists and squeezed, not tight enough to break bone but enough to keep her from striking him again but it certainly take the fight out of her.

"Why couldn't you just leave me alone?!" When she was met with silence it only served to anger her further, "Why?!"

"I don't know! You irritating little human, I don't know!"

It took her a moment to realize she'd started crying, hot tears streaking down her face as he clasped her wrists. She was tired, hungry, and so confused and hurt. And once she started she found she was having the damnedest time trying to stop.

"I haven't seen you cry in a long time..." he whispered above her strangled sobs, and it earned him a scoff,

"No, you idiot, you didn't like it when I cried so I just stopped crying in front of you."

"Certainly more mouthy than I remembered too..."

His muttering made her laugh, to the surprise of them both, "It's funny," she said, pulling her arms back in attempt to get him to let go of her, which he allowed, "It only took a year with Atina to teach me something I hadn't learned in the fifty something years I've been alive."

"And what's that?"

"Self-respect." It was his turn to scoff, but he said nothing more. She curled back up onto the cot, pulling her knees close in an attempt to ground herself, "You asked me what I wanted, what do you want?"

Lita could sense his unease from here, getting him to open up was always like pulling teeth, but a part of her knew she needed to hear his words. But as always he had habit of surprising her; she heard him moving in the darkness and she figured he was just going to leave her now. But instead of hearing the cell door opening and closing shut she felt a pair of strong arms heave her from the cot. He held her firmly against his body as he left the cell, the darkness of the hall just as disorienting as the cell until they stepped into the lift that had brought her into the depths before.

The lights were dimmed, and she found herself looking up at him, and though his gaze was pointed deliberately at the wall she could see a rush of thoughts moving behind the well placed mask. What they were, however, she could only begin to guess.

Up and up they traveled until they came to a jolting stop and the doors opened with a ping. The hallway they stepped into was empty, stretching both left and right into what seemed like an eternity. He took the immediate right, his tunic billowing with the fast pace he set until he stopped at fifth door on the left.

With his free hand he entered a quick series of numbers into the control pad and entered the room when the doors hissed open, and what lay beyond rendered Lita speechless. The garden was fast, towering trees creating a darkened canopy in the already dim space, ferns and other flora in soft beds. And as they walked deeper she noticed pulsating bluish bulbs starting their climb up the vast trees.

Nostramo Night Blooms...

They reached the center of the garden, and he set her down upon one of the benches that were found there, staying knelt by her side as she tried to take everything in.

"Do you know how many architects I had to go through to get this room installed," he said idly, his own gaze wandering before it settled back on her and his tone turned mocking, " 'But your Greatness, this is a Gloriana Class Battleship you can't just make adjustments to where you see fit'."

It made her laugh, "You didn't kill them did you?"

"I don't like the word 'no'." She laughed again, louder this time, and she could even see a hint of mirth in his facade. "Lita, I want you here. I always have, I mean I built this for you, but I need you to understand that what you said before, about... everything you felt. I don't know if I can be what you want me to be, and I just need to know that you're going to be okay with that."

Lita found herself lost in thought at that, she had changed in this past year. The people pleaser she'd been no longer existed, and she felt no desire to win his approval. Yet all of these things did not mean she didn't care about him any less than before, it was that she cared about her own well being just as much now.

"I never wanted you to be anything more than who you were," she said after some time, "and I grew to care for you because of that. Can you be okay with the idea that it won't change how I feel about you?"

He mulled it over for the longest time before he rolled his eyes in mock irritation, "I suppose it isn't so terrible to know that there's someone out there who gives a damn about my well being."

She smiled at him, his mask slowly chipping away the more at ease the pair of them became, and for the first time since coming aboard the Nightfall she felt like things were going to be okay after all.

Author’s Notes Below

//This turned out way longer than I thought it would! Hope you enjoyed, and if you did give it a re-blog, cause I'm super proud of this work! Thanks for reading!

I hereby thank and blame Elvis Presley's "I can't help falling in love", and subsequently Pink's "Hurts 2B Human" and "Walk Me Home." songs.

[grumpyhedgehogs]

Artificial Harmonics

Summary: The aftermath of destructive heroics.

Notes: Follow up to ‘Draw String.’ Warnings for discussion of suicide and abuse.

Part 1 Here.

~

In another life, Vanya makes it out of the concert hall alive. She is barely breathing, numb to the world, and in serious need of a blood transfusion, but she is alive.

This is not that life. In this life, her siblings watch as death slowly leaks into Vanya’s eyes like so much blood flowing from her throat. She closes them in her final moments and it is the last kindness she bestows upon her family.

Luther gathers her to his chest as gently as a newborn kitten and carries her out passed dead bodies and broken furniture and wailing sirens, the flickering lights from the police cruisers flashing red-blue-red against the stained white of her suit.

~

In another life, Vanya is given a tiny room in the general hospital which once treated Leonard Peabody. She is hooked up to a machine which breathes for her, a machine which pumps a stranger’s blood through her veins, a machine which registers brain activity. Her room stays full of family after visiting hours are over.

In this life, she has not destroyed most of the academy; only the west wing has crumbled to dust- the foundation of which contained her cage. Her siblings clear the rubble enough for a grave.

There is no portrait of Vanya Hargreeves on the wall. There is no imposing statue to watch over her grave. She is buried on a sunny Tuesday morning, a reflection of her brother’s grave across the yard. The funeral is silent and still. No argument breaks out, no punches are thrown. It is quiet and understated and no one knows exactly what to say for a eulogy- it is, all in all, an exemplary representation of Vanya’s life.

“She was our sister,” Luther starts when no one steps up. “She was- extraordinary.”

Klaus makes a choked noise and is the first to tear away. Allison follows quickly after him, her protective instinct needing a new sibling to latch onto. Luther looks torn for a moment, but stays behind and starts shoveling.

Diego turns his back, clenching his fists furiously as he storms away from one fight he can’t win with a well-placed punch. Twenty minutes later, Luther tries to place a hand on Five’s shoulder only to receive a glare so sharp he nearly joins his sister in the afterlife. He leaves it.

Five spends a long time out there with her. The sun fades. He doesn’t mind the chill in the wind as it ruffles his hair; he sticks frozen digits in his pockets and crouches beside her. They- none of them- had washed the blood from their skin until late on Monday evening. He didn’t know exactly why none of the others could stomach it, but for himself-

That dried, flaking red was the last he had left of his sister. He could still feel it coagulating in the creases of his palms, so much more damning than any of the blood he’d ever spilled before. He is sure Diego has scrubbed the skin of his hands raw by now. Five thinks he noticed still more of it caked, unnoticed as of yet, under Allison’s fingernails. He doesn’t believe he’ll say anything just now; Allison has been very fragile lately. He doesn't want to set off another sobbing fit.

“You’re a hero now, Vanya,” he tells her grave. His smirk is sardonic at best, tragic at worst. “Tell me- is it all you could ever imagine?”

The vitriol in his own voice burns as it makes its way up his throat, startling even himself. Blue crackles in the air for a moment before a violin (a deep burgundy, the backup Vanya kept in the left-hand side cupboard in her room in that dingy little apartment, right across from her bedroom window which she still didn’t lock, the fool ) is placed gently against the gravestone Allison paid way too much money for. The white of the marble doesn’t do his sister justice. But onyx wouldn’t have been much better.

Five stands at his sister’s side for one last time. “I apologize, that was uncalled for. I- you spent your whole life being sorry for living. You should know you didn't have to be. And-”

The wind in the branches rattles something which could be loosely defined as a heart in his chest. “And I’m sorry too. For not telling you that I missed you- that I still miss you.”

His laugh resonates in the cavity where his innards should be, ricochets against his ribs, tears at his esophagus. “We’re always missing someone, aren’t we? Some things never change.”

~

In another life, Allison stays at her sister’s bedside until she wakes. She works tirelessly to research methods of dealing with emotional and physical trauma, how to move on from abusive relationships, how to mend familial bonds. She hires the best doctors and swears them to secrecy. She sleeps curled around her sister, slipping as close as she dares between all the medical equipment.

In this life Allison writes a book. It seems fitting.

Allison writes it all out on a typewriter she finds in Vanya’s apartment. (She’s paying for rent now, can’t bear to give up the one place which was Vanya’s and Vanya’s alone.) The keys don’t jam up with the salt from her tears, which Allison is thankful for. (She wonders once how many times Vanya cried over this contraption, heart twisting with the rejection her family didn’t realize they were heaping upon her from the get-go, and has to stop for three days.)

The worst part about it isn’t writing about the wrongs Vanya has committed- writing the book, turning her back on them (even if she wasn’t to blame for all of it), beginning the end of the world to name a few. It’s the good parts which hurt the most, mostly because they are so few and far between. (Waking up to the smell of pancakes on her birthday only to hear from Mom weeks later that her sister was the one to go behind their father’s back to make them for her. Settling in the library, too tired to study after training, and letting the faint strains of her sister’s music wash away the doubt and fear and shame her father piled at each of their feet. Clinking glasses with Vanya in a bar, giddy with the hope of sisterhood and second chances. The way her sister had smiled at her moments before making the terrible decision to rip herself from Allison forever. The way her sister’s sacrifice saved an uncaring world.)

Too few memories for thirty years, but Allison writes them anyway. When she finishes, eight months after the near apocalypse, she sends the first draft in with a nom de plume. She will not sully the memory of Vanya’s hard work by getting her story published simply with the name ‘Allison Hargreeves.’

The first draft comes right back- she’s not as good a writer as her sister. The second and third drafts come back too. One publisher tells her no one wants to read such depressing fiction about such a boring character and Allison nearly asks Five to have him shot. He’d do it, too.

The fourth draft, Allison lets loose. She falls apart. She stitches herself back together while listening to records the orchestra’s head assures her have her sister as third string chair. She plasters her name on the cover but makes sure it’s in smaller print than her sister’s. She refuses an author portrait.

The book is published in record time. It sells out in an hour.

It’s not enough.

~

In another life, the doctors say that noise stimulates the human brain while in a coma. In another life, Luther visits Vanya’s room with new records every Friday morning. He works his way through his old collection and those that his father occasionally remembered to send to the moon. He buys new ones and feels a strange excitement to be sharing his first experience of them with his sister, unconscious though she may be.

In this life Luther builds a greenhouse across from the graves of his siblings. It’s slow going and painstaking to build, especially because his sheer mass and height get so many looks and muttered comments that more often than not Luther is sent scurrying home with his tail between his legs. The man who runs the local nursery nearly faints from fright when Luther’s shadow darkens his door.

The tomatoes insist on dying, too persnickety about the amount of water Luther’s clumsy, oversized hands should feed them. He thinks for a long time that the basil and bay have bit the dust too, but they rebound once the rainy weather clears and they can drink in the sunlight. The potatoes need no help at all, and soon Luther is leaving Diego hashbrowns for his morning eggs. He knows it’s not enough of a peace offering.

Luther gathers new seeds every other week from what is fast becoming his favorite nursery. The flowers which he grows are bright and fragrant and soft, so, so soft. They remind him, as they were meant to, of the fragile young woman whom they had to lose to save the world. He thinks often of the moment before he tightened his arms around her, when her face was pressing wet, hot tears into his sweater, when her hands clung to him, desperate and trusting. She’d felt as small as a child in his arms and he’d thought better of his actions for just a single moment-

But Luther can’t take it back now. So he grows flowers instead.

There is a fresh bouquet on her grave every Friday morning. He’s working his way through the nursery’s supplies of seeds, but he thinks his sister likes yellow roses and daisies the most. They are the brightest, most delicate, and the ones that last the longest.

She’d have outlasted them all, he thinks, if she’d ever been given the chance to grow.

~

In another life, Klaus braids Vanya’s hair in her sleep. He stays as long as he can by her side, but in the end he has to turn away from the painkillers and the pills and all the temptation. But he can’t force himself away too far; he ends up becoming a regular in the group of smokers outside the hospital. The registered nurse on Vanya’s floor loves his dry wit.

In this life, Klaus reaches for the dead.

“Come back,” Klaus mutters over blue fists, sweat dripping from his brow. “Come back. Where are you?”

His brother, ever watchful, places an incorporeal hand on his shoulder. Klaus shakes it off.

“Klaus,” Ben tries. “Klaus. Stop it. You’ve been trying for days, you’re exhausted. Just stop it.”

“No!” He whirls on Ben, eyes too wide and mouth too dry. “God damn you, no I won’t stop! How can you ask me to stop? This is our sister!”

“I know-”

The blue around his fists grows, creeping up Klaus’s forearms, but he’s too busy toppling the desk in his childhood bedroom to care. Clothes are thrown in the air, the window ends up cracked from the force with which he launches his lamp.

“She was right there!” He screams at Ben, gesturing to the space in his room which used to house another wall, another room, another child. “ She was right there and we didn’t even see her! Why didn’t we see her?”

Ben has no answer and Klaus isn’t done yet.

Under his bed, Klaus kept a hammer- he doesn’t remember when he got it exactly, but he does remember vague plans to threaten to whack his father upside the head with it if he didn’t agree to stop taking Klaus to the mausoleum at night when he was sixteen. He ended up running away instead. Both he and Sir Reginald knew he’d never go through with it.

The hammer takes out a good chunk of the brick when Klaus swings it at the wall, even though he’s far from fit enough to do any kind of home renovation.

Ben holds up placating hands. “Klaus, what are you-”

“She was right here! Right on the other side of the wall, for years! I used to hear her cry, did you know that?” Ben is pale even for a ghost and Klaus can’t stop the terrible laugh which rips its way from within his voice box. His throat is left raw. “Yeah, all the time, man. It was a regular concert, just for me! Sometimes I didn’t even open my eyes at night when I heard it. Hell, I think it helped me sleep. Some kind of sick, huh?”

His lungs are burning now and Ben is a watery blur. “I told myself I didn't know what to say, that I had it worse than she did, that she wouldn’t want pathetic old me to take care of her anyway. I told myself anything I could to make myself feel better, and you know what?”

Ben doesn't reply. Klaus can’t stop laughing but somewhere along the way it may have turned into sobbing. He can’t be bothered to tell the difference these days. “You know what the fucked up thing is? It worked! I forgot about her crying every damn morning because I just didn’t care enough! I mean, shit! She looked fine, didn’t she? She wasn’t sick, was she? She was still playing that damn violin, wasn’t she? Good enough for poor old Klaus! No need to get involved.”

“It’s not your fault,” Ben tells him quietly. Klaus stares, wordless, and then just- lets go. The resulting yell is loud enough to shake the glass in their panes.

“It is!” He tightens blue fingers around the hammer and brings it slamming back down onto the brick. “You know that it is! Because I knew she was hurting and I did nothing, and if it were you in the same position with me, Ben, you’d never forgive yourself for letting me go. Would you?”

“Klaus-”

“ Would you? ”

“No,” Ben answers after a beat. Klaus cocks the hammer back over his shoulder again. “I wouldn’t.”

“Yeah, baby!” Klaus cries, flinging the hammer down again. It clips the wall and is torn from his palms. He watches with a strange detachment as it rebounds into the plaster of the next wall and sticks there, trembling from the force of its travel.

“Yeah, baby,” he repeats, tired suddenly. “So I can't stop. I’m gonna get her back. I- I have to. I have to.”

He looks around himself, unsure of his surroundings. Ben perches on the edge of his bed and pats the space next to him. Klaus sinks down, boneless.

“I took her room, man,” he says, and his brother snorts.

“Yeah, that was a pretty dick move.”

“I’ll give it back,” Klaus reassures desperately. “I’ll give it all back, I’ll rebuild the wall myself, I’ll decorate and make it nice and I’ll save up money for a good bed and- and-”

“Klaus.”

“I’ll do it. I’ll do it, or I’ll finish what she started and tear this place to the ground myself, I swear to God.”

“If she doesn’t want to see us, she’s not going to respond to your summons, Klaus. You know she won’t.”

“Yes she will.” For once, Klaus is certain. “She has to- she’s our sister. She has to. She has to.”

~

In another life, Diego stands guard in her doorway. The doctors and nurses hate him with a passion, but he can’t help it. He stays there most nights, fiddling with a blade and pricking his ears at every footstep. Sometimes, when they try to kick him out, he scales the side of the building and they find him leaning against the door jam in the morning, tired, bruised eyes on the vulnerably prone form of his little sister. Eventually Allison pulls a chair over to the door and he sits there night after night.

In this life, Diego polishes her violin.

He was the only one to hang back and watch their backs as they left the concert hall that night. His memories of that night are fuzzy at best (flooded with the blood of a little sister he always meant to protect better than he did and all the anger and fear and guilt twisted knots into his vocal cords so much he couldn’t even get out one- only one, the only one he’d ever have said to her- quick I love you before her eyes closed; God, would someone stop letting his loved ones die in his arms?). But he remembers reaching down and curling numb fingers around the neck of a pure white violin. He left the bloodstained bow behind.

He had to research how to treat violins with varnish and alcohol and all the polish in the world. He didn’t even dare touch it for a few weeks after- after. He’d left a bloody handprint around the neck.

The first thing Diego did was strip the white from the thing. He could recollect a thousand memories of a younger Vanya standing framed in her doorway, long brown locks blending with the wood of her instrument so well it was hard to tell where she began and the violin ended. He wants that shade of brown back.

He repaints it, polishes it. He learns how to string and unstring it, how to make sure the wood doesn’t rot or knot or warp. On Wednesdays he takes it out to her gravestone and sits under the sunshine and the trees and the birds and polishes for hours. It’s strangely soothing; almost as if he were sharpening one of his knives. He trades his violin for Five’s on those afternoons, makes sure they’re both fit as a fiddle (terrible pun intended- Vanya loved them when they were kids).

Diego wonders if he could have had this with her, once upon a time. The answer brings a lump to his throat.

~

In another life, Klaus is able to call forth his brother whenever he wants, relative to how much he has eaten and rested beforehand. In another life, Ben is afforded his own seat by his sister’s bedside, and he stays in it even when invisible. Allison even remembers not to throw her coat through him. In another life, Ben wishes he could be corporeal enough to hold Vanya’s hand in his all the time, but he settles for playing with her fingers when Klaus can manage to concentrate enough.

In this life, Ben goes back to the concert hall.

“Klaus is going to figure out where you are eventually, you know,” he calls out to the figure onstage. “He and Allison are looking for you. They’ll find you at some point.”

“They may figure it out,” Vanya concedes, kicking her feet lightly where she sits at the edge of the raised platform, “but they won’t come back.”

Ben draws near, raises a brow. “What makes you so sure?”

His sister glances behind her pointedly; her own blood still darkens the hardwood. Ben winces. “Point taken.”

Vanya smiles a little and tilts her head back. The moon is waning above them, but it still throws off enough light to catch in her hair. If it weren’t for her bloodstained suit and the gash at her throat, Ben would not hesitate to call her beautiful. Even if her smiles are always so sad.

“But it won’t matter in the end, Van.” He’s been testing out nicknames on her. She’s yet to not be startled any time he uses a term of affection. It makes him crumple inside more often than not, but it also makes him sure to come back with more the next time over. “They’ll come to you someday. They love you too much not to.”

Vanya looks skeptical. “I don’t know about that.”

“ I do,” Ben reassures her, and takes a seat beside her. The moon really is quite something through the glass ceiling. The curve of the dome catches the light differently, throwing diamonds of it through the two of them. “I know they’re tearing themselves apart because of you.”

Vanya shrinks from him. Phantom blood pours from her wound, and Ben throws his hands up, palms out.

“That came out wrong. I didn’t mean it like that- listen! ”

She had started to fade away. At his commanding tone, Vanya snaps back into existence (relatively).

“I just- I mean that they love you, Vanya. And they’re so- so sorry.”

“What?” Vanya looks confused, wrapping her arms around herself tightly. Ben often finds himself with the overwhelming urge to hug her. “Why would they- I did this.”

“They think it’s their fault. They think they pushed you to it. Klaus, he’s begging you to come back every night, Van. Allison pretty much lives in your apartment now, and Luther won’t stop trying to will away your death with flowers. It’s really weird. Diego is suddenly obsessed with violins. And- and nobody can really pin Five down most days.”

Vanya bites her lip, shakes her head. A wind that doesn’t howl through the concert hall lifts tendrils of her hair around her pale face. “What do you want me to say, Ben?”

He hops up, stands in front of her and tries not to be offended when she flinches back just a little. “Say you’ll come back. Say you’ll be part of the family again.”

She scoffs. “Don’t know if you noticed, but me not being part of the family in the first place is kinda what started this mess.”

“Then let us try to fix it.”

“I already fixed it!” She pushes right through him, spins on her heels and marches over to her own death bed. “I made everyone safe, don’t you see?”

Ben stares.

“The apocalypse, it was me, right? And I fixed it. No one else but me. I did that. I saved everyone. You can’t take that away from me.”

“I wasn’t going to, Vanya.” He keeps his voice soft. It does little to help tame her ire.

“This- this is all ridiculous,” she scoffs again, muttering more to herself than her brother. “This is not how it was supposed to go. They weren’t supposed to-”

“To what?” She pauses, and something cold drops to the pit of his stomach. “We weren’t supposed to, what? Care?”

“It’ll be okay,” Vanya tells him. The earnestness in her expression makes him sick. “You’ll move on. It’s all alright now. The world is safe. You’re all safe.”

“Nothing is going to be okay without you Vanya.” He tries to reach out but his sister backs away, feet slipping over her bloodstains.  “That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you for weeks- no one is okay without you. Everyone wants you back, they want to apologize, they want to be better. And now, Klaus could make you corporeal! It’s not the same, but I could help you and we could be a fami-”

“No.” Her voice is firm, but she’s smiling so softly at Ben. It’s the worst thing he’s ever felt. “It’s okay, Ben. It’s all okay now. Tell Klaus- don't tell Klaus anything. Just let me rest now.”

Her eyes are too vacant, her smile too soft, too far away. His heart lurches. Ben reaches forward, but his sister is already fading out.

“You’ll get over me,” Vanya reassures him. “Just let me rest, and let them live without the apocalypse hanging around every corner. They earned that, at least.”

“Vanya, no!”

But he is too late, and she is already gone. “Vanya! Vanya! ”

The concert hall doesn’t echo a ghost’s yells back at him. Ben spins, trying catch sight of her but there is no one. He is alone.

“They won’t give up, Vanya! And I won’t either!”

The silence would be suffocating if he weren’t already dead.

Ben slumps, defeated, but raises his eyes to the moon just one more time. “However long it takes, Vanya. We’re gonna wait for you to come back home. That’s a promise.”

[rougepetale]

Play with me (Kota) (NSFW)

Fandom: Scandal in the Spotlight (Love 365)

Pairing: Kota  Igarashi x Reader

Warning: Master play here, Foreplay, cat ears

Note: Halloween totally did this to me, you can thank Voltage for that!

You had just come home, the boys had just finished doing a radio interview with their new song ‘Puppy love’ you were still so blown away by the fact that people liked your lyrics and didn’t know that it wasn’t Ryo writing the lyrics. You were part of the band whether you liked it or not, you just wished you had their energy… I mean, Nagito was the damn Energizer bunny. It was no surprise that Kota always kept his distance, being more aloof than the others.

Collapsing upon your bed, you fell asleep almost instantly, after taking a soothing warm shower you were ready to sleep the night away, you needed this like a fish needed water. Your eyes fluttered close and your body relaxed into the plush bed. No doubt the boys would still be up and doing something, but you had neither the energy nor the motivation to move. Dreamland was calling your name and your body felt like lead now.

You got into your favorite sleeping position and drifted off to sleep. It was roughly four hours later when you were woken up by something wet. A tongue on your nose jolted you awake, “W-what?!” you gasped out. You could barely make an outline of somebody in your room. Your mouth opened to scream but a gentle hand was placed over your mouth, effectively cutting off your scream.

“Shhhh, master” came the all so gentle voice of Kota…. Why was he calling you master?! Your eyes had finally adjusted to the darkness and you noticed the Halloween costume that he had worn a week before. The kitty ears of your fantasy, and the adorable bell…. What was he up to? You remembered when he teased you at his old school, truly taking on the kitty persona. You could feel a flood of heat go to both your core and your face.

Kota slowly removed his hand from your mouth, “Kota, what are you doing?” you whispered. He lowered his head and licked at your collarbone, your head fell back for a second, loving the feeling of his mouth on your body.

“Master, pet me.” He whispered into your ear, “Play with me master.” He ran his fingers over your midriff, his nails scraping gently upon your skin, tickling it.

You held back a moan when he began to nibble at your collarbone again, your eyes so happen to fall upon the clock, it was 2 A.M. you mentally groaned, damn Kota was just like a cat, active at night.

“Kota, it’s 2 A.M” you whined, you had only slept for four hours.

“Master play with me” Kota insisted. This is when you knew for sure that Kota was in the mood, because was he rarely ever in the mood, he was more into watching movies, playing games and out working. The few times you both were alone together was very rare. Your hand reached up to caress his face and he nipped at it playfully.

You sat up, “Is that any way to treat your master? Haven’t you heard, don’t bite the hand that feeds you?” you asked. You could see Kota smirk, knowing the game was afoot. You pushed Kota away from your collarbone and face, “Lay down, pet” you mumbled, though your voice was still hoarse from sleep. Kota ignored you. ‘Damn cats’ you though, they never listened to commands. You squared away, your gaze piercing into his, “Lay down Kota” your voice a little firmer this time. Kota leaned forward and head-butted your shoulder and bit it gently.

Now you weren’t sure if he was in the mood to play or to make love. He rubbed his soft hair against your arm, “Make me master” he mumbled.  Oh, that’s what he meant. Even in this foreplay Kota had a handle on what he wanted.

Taking this as your cue, you pushed him down on the bed and straddled him, not letting him escape. You pinned his arms over his head and returned the favor, nibbling on his neck. Eliciting a gasp from his lips. “Kota, I want to hear you purr” you said, and you saw Kota’s eyes go wide, and you smirked again. You ground your pantie clad core against his body.

“Oh Kota!” you whined out, it was amazing how quickly you both got into the mood. You blazed a trail of wet open mouthed kisses down his bare chest, and your mouth made it to his nipple. You suckled it gently into your mouth, teasing it forward. You heard Kota moan, his voice shrill, this meant he was highly enjoying it.

“M-Master!” he gasped out, his hands broke free and one grabbed your shoulders, his nails digging into your skin. The other hand pulled your hips down, creating friction between both of you. His member was already hard.

His nails biting into your skin had you seeing stars, but true to the nature of a cat, Kota’s belly was not exposed for very long before be rolled both you over where he was on top. Surprised, you gasped out, “K-Kota?”

“Master, you’re playing too gentle” he replied, he licked the tip of your nose “Let me show you how I like to play.” He thrusted his hips up, hitting your protected core, his gasps and sighed made your toes curl. He tugged at your top, pulling it over your head, giving him full access to your breasts. He took one long lick over your throat to your chin, “Master, you taste soo good” he then went back down to your breasts and mimicked your movements but he bit down. His other hand kneaded its twin. Alternative between biting and kneading was driving you wild.

Your head threw back and his name was ripped from your lips, the perfect mixture of pleasure had your walls clenching in anticipation. “Damn it Kota!” Your hand reached up to grab his head and you felt the cat ears still somehow perched on his head, right. You were supposed to take control of this situation, you were the master. You reached behind and ran your nails over his back. Your actions had an immediate effect, Kota’s back arched so deliciously.

His eyes closed as he savored the stimulation, “P-Please, again, Master” he whined, his voice came out between pants, it was music to your ears and to your core. You smirked, finding just how to turn this around. Your fingers ran over his back again but you didn’t stop at the base of his back. Your hand drifted to his manhood, his boxers were preventing him from finding the pleasure he so wanted.

You were rewarded by a shuddering gasp, “M-Master!” you pushed him back to the side, letting you straddle him again, you had a firm grasp on his member, and you loved it. Having this power. You pumped him a few times, just enough to have him become putty beneath you. His cheeks were stained red as his eyes were twisted shut in pleasure, his hurried gasps told you that he was coming closer to completion.

“Purr for me my pet” you commanded. Kota’s head was thrown back as he cried out.

“Master!” he chanted, “Fuck!”

You knew this was as close to purring as you would get. Your fingers quickly rid him of his boxers, his cock sprang forward, throbbing and dripping with pre cum. You licked your lips, wanting to taste him but you withheld your desires. “Kota, take off my panties” you whispered urgently. You wanted him to buried within your folds.

Kota at first didn’t comply, though you know he wasn’t ignoring you, he simply didn’t hear as you were expertly manipulating his cock, “Kota, did you not hear me? Remove. My. Fucking. Panties.” You enunciated your words. Kota’s eyes shot open, your command cut though his clouded mind.

His hands found the elastic of your panties and yanked them down, he moved so that you were below him, “Let me pleasure you tonight, Master”

He loved how your cheeks dusted pink, he wanted this just as much as you did. But this foreplay was killing his sanity quickly…. He was quickly losing coherent thoughts. He loved how quickly you nodded, he was happy you both were into this. He gently parted your legs and reveled in the sweet musky scent that was all your own. He licked and nipped his way down the center of your body to your core. He nuzzled his nose into your core. Coating his face in your juices. His tongue tentatively licked your core.

“Kota!” you squeaked out, your hands fisting into the sheets. With the positive reception he continued his ministration, his tongue darting out again and tasted you again, your hand landed on his hair, gripping the soft cinnamon-brown hair. The pain stimulation goaded him on. “Kota! Don’t stop!”

His tongue delved deep as he licked without abandon. His nose buried in your folds. His tongue skillfully brought you completion, and he eagerly lapped at your juices. You tasted so damn good. When he had his fill be came back up to you, kissing you deeply and you could taste yourself on his lips and you moaned into the kiss.

He teased your entrance, poking and pushing in just enough to frustrate you. ‘Damn cats’ they were adorable jerks, and Kota was playing it perfectly. In your haste you jerked your hips up, sheathing him inside you. “Hnng!” you gasped out, you loved how he filled you completely to the point that his cock was poking at your womb.

Your legs immediately wrapped around his waist as you set the bruising pace. You were so close to your second orgasm you needed another. For the briefest time all that could be heard was the bell collar the slapping of skin and whimpers of pleasure. Kota’s nails bit into your backside as he held you to him, you were sure that you both were going to leave marks that would be slow to fade.

He successfully hit your G-Spot many times, having stars swim in your vision, you didn’t know how much long you could take of this sweet torture. He nipped at your collarbone again. You clenched your muscles around him, his head was thrown back in pleasure, “Master! You are such a tease!” he chided.

You smirked, “It takes a cat to know a cat” you clenched your muscles again. His pace faltered as your muscles gripped his dick, driving him wild. His gasps of breath sped up as he chased his high.

“D-Don’t stop” he cried out. He was so damn close to finishing. Your lips claimed his as you changed the tempo, there was no rhythm now, just a desperate attempt to completion. He came quickly, his gasps and cries were loud and beautiful. His seed spilling into your waiting womb, his orgasm set of yours as your muscles spasmed around his throbbing cock, you cried out his name. He filled you to the brim and then some.

He collapsed upon your sweaty body. He could feel your heart hammering in your chest, it was just as fast as his own. The foreplay had made this all possible, and he knew that his cat persona was securely fastened to his own personality.

He rolled off of you, and surveyed his handiwork, your mixed juices was leaking out, and he longed to clean you up. The desire clouded his other thoughts as he visited your sex again. His hands parted your legs again, that one desire controlled him, and he had to clean up. It was, after all, what cats did.

Your eyes shot up, when you felt Kota down there again, you were just coming from your high when he was at it again, you didn’t know if you could survive another orgasm. But you weren’t going to deny him, his skilled tongue kept your lips glued shut and your tongue cemented to the roof of your mouth.

Your eyes fell to the clock again. It was now 3 A.M. you would have to be up in three hours, damn you were gonna be tired for the rest of the day…. Did you care? Hell no.

[svtsweet]

Not So Casual

A/N: Did I ghost write this? I swear there isn’t enough dom Vernon smuts out there so this is just afhajksvojfs Excuse me while I try and not die from writing this--

Vernon X (Fem) Reader

Summary: A casual night alone with your boyfriend begins just like any other but as things begin to get steamy between you, the usual becomes a thing of the past.

Genre: SMUT/ NSFW

Warnings: Daddy Kink, Oral Sex + Fingering (female receiving), Dirty Talk, Penetrative Sex

Word Count: 2400+

Candy wrappers litter your nightstand and add to the scattered to go boxes laid at the floor by your bed completing the neat mess. The movie playing on your laptop was slowly being sucked into the back of your mind, the silhouette of Vernon’s face highlighting the arches and plains of his figure. Your fingers give a slight tremble as they move towards his own little by little. It isn’t your first time holding hands but there’s just something about physical contact with him that causes your eyes to look anywhere but at him and hide within yourself like a turtle. Heck it took you a whole month to start hugging him casually. The thought alone sends chills down your spine as the memory of your first kiss crawls out of its cavern. You shake it off, forcing yourself to focus on the movie instead. It doesn’t come easy though. The contact of his shoulder against yours heats your cheeks in record time, fast than last Saturday when you did the same thing. And the Saturday before that, and the Saturday before that.

Vernon sits up straighter, his back shifting against your headboard. His right hand hovers over your laptop, adjusting it with feather-like touches as it sits on his lap. When he’s done, he settles it on the edge of the keyboard, eyes never straying from the screen. However, you’re still focused on his hand, his fingers curling and pushing slowly, the action driving it further to the bottom corner until his palm is floating over your jean-clad thigh. You bite your lip and glance at him. There is the smallest indication of a gulp, blush dusting his cheeks as you feel a warmth land at the side of your thigh. Although you tense a little, your stomach flutters at his touch and you release the breath you were holding when his fingers stretch along the expanse of your upper leg.

His voice breaks the thick silence between you, hesitant and careful. “Is-Is this okay?”

Simply nodding as an answer, you watch at the corner of your eye as his chest sinks down. He was tense. You also decide to move around a little since you felt your leg falling asleep, propping yourself on your hands to slide up only for your hand to slip and push down against Vernon’s hand. His fingers brush against your clothed core perking you up immediately. Yet just as quickly as it happened, Vernon pulls his hand back and apologizes softly. You nod again, the tingling sensation causing your thighs to press together. It felt good. You lick your lips and begin to fiddle with your thumbs. “You can put your hand back.” There’s a moment’s pause before you add, “If you want though.” Your voice trails after that.

Vernon doesn’t say anything, only gingerly places his hand back to where it was. The movie drags on, Vernon slowly gaining confidence to carefully trace the length up and down. Your thighs squeeze every time they near your crotch but other than that, you try your best to maintain your blank facade. It’s Vernon’s curiosity that draws him closer and closer, noticing your reaction the higher his hand goes. Then it stops, resting the farthest it can go without touching you where you want him to. You notice him bite his lip before quickly tightening his grip on your thigh. The action is so sudden you don’t have enough time to consider your own.

“Daddy,” you moan out. The flush that paints your face red is comes instantly, the word repeating itself like an echo that never fades.

“Daddy?”

There it is again. You hide your face in your hands, digging the heels of your palms into your eyes hoping it would take you away from the whole scenario. “I’m sorry.” It’s more a plead than request. Here you were, pulling kinks on your boyfriend when the most you’ve done was kiss, an action that already drained you.

Vernon can’t handle seeing you like this. “No no. It’s okay,” he reassures, voice soft like a lullaby. “Do you want me to keep going?”

His words shock you into a different dimension. Was he seriously okay with this? Were you? “Would that be alright?” You peek through your fingers to see him scratch the back of his head shyly.

“Yeah. I mean only if you want to.”

Your hands drop to your lap and you tilt your head towards his. Without meaning to, your gaze falls to his parted lips, pink and inviting. He takes your hint and closes the space between you. His lips graze yours for a short time before picking up the pace. They mold against yours, his tongue cautiously asking for entrance into your mouth. When you grant it, he leans into you, his body eventually leading you to lay down with your head on your pillows. For a moment, you start to forget what got you there in the first place, his deep kisses clearing all your thoughts. Your thoughts are tethered however when you feel him begin to unbutton your jeans. His movements are languid, your jeans only being pulled down with your underwear to your knees so he can have more time to focus on how much he likes dancing his tongue with yours. He breaks the kiss however to remove them, his eyes lighting up as they scan your exposed skin. You turn your head to look away and close your legs out of embarrassment.

“Let Daddy see you.”

His words do nothing to soothe you, in fact it’s the opposite. If your cheeks could overheat, they would definitely be steaming. Still, you allow him to gently pry your legs open. He lets out a sound of wonderment, taking too much time for your liking. Little did you know he could feel your tension. Gliding his hands up your calves, he hooks his thumbs underneath your knees to open you up so he could kneel and take a closer look. Him smoothly moving your top up to reveal your covered breasts does nothing to help. You could die of embarrassment right then and there.

You jolt when you feel the tips of his fingers spread your lower lips. “Can Daddy play with your pretty pussie?” With your stomach lurching itself into your throat, you bob your head up and down sending Vernon’s lips to curve into a small smile. Tentatively, his index finger prods at your entrance, circling around it until he eases it in. You let out a long breath when he pushes up to the second knuckle, rotating it back and forth. The slick sounds that come from your arousal surprises you and Vernon. Content with how it’s going, Vernon inches the rest of his finger inside of you, ears perking when you begin to whine. It stings, but not uncomfortably. He repeats his motions from before, a second finger joining when your back arches. The stretch causes you to frown. You need more stimulation.

“Can...you curl your fingers...please?”

At your request, he bends them up. “Like this?” You don’t even need to answer, the loud moan that rips your throat when he pokes at your sensitive spot being answer enough.

“Does it feel good babygirl?” His voice is darker, nothing like the sweet, pure Vernon you thought you knew. Then again, nothing like tonight is like usual. “I want to hear you babygirl,” he warns.

“Yes Daddy,” you finally reply. “It feels good.”

“Faster?”

You shake your head, your core shaking at the words that leave your mouth. “No, just deeper.”

Vernon chuckles almost innocently. “My fingers aren’t that long.”

You have to take several deep breaths to continue, your high inching closer. Forcing yourself to look into his eyes, you give him a response that has his eyes widening but his fingers not stopping their hitherto motions. “Are you sure?”

“Please Daddy. I want your cock.” You barely have the energy to give him a reply with how fast your high is approaching.

It’s mortifying how easy it is for his fingers to slide back out, the squelching just about driving you to bury yourself underneath the covers while Vernon fishes out a condom. Actually seeing how hard he became, you sit up and ask, “Do you want me to...?” pointing down to his erection, the glint in your eyes suggesting to offer some relief for him.

He follows your eyes to his lap, blinking rapidly at the unexpectedness of your question. “Uhm, yeah.” He smirks at you causing your knees to buckle. He could get used to this new you. “Show Daddy how much you want it.”

With that, you bite your lip and kneel in front of him, your legs wobbling with the how his fingers prepped you. He watches as you slip out his hard cock out of his pants and briefs eager to see just what he looks like. You have to close your mouth to keep yourself from salivating all over him. Giving him a small lick, your chest swells with pride at the low groan that sends vibrations down his body. Your tongue laps at the precum already forming at the tip, the hand at the base dragging up in a dry jerk. Vernon hisses, his hand tracing up your neck and to your cheek, delivering a small pinch.

“If you want Daddy’s cock you have to be a good girl.”

Mumbling an apology around his length, you go back to licking it. Base to tip, scooping out the precum that leaks and spreading it all over until he’s glimmering, Vernon enjoys your submissiveness and the satisfaction it gives him. While he does like seeing you lather him up, he gently pushes you off and lays you back down so he can fish for a condom. It doesn’t take long for him to rejoin you, his chest now bare and the only clothing between you being your bra and shirt. He takes notice of this and starts peeling your shirt off. He reaches for your straps but stops in his tracks seeing how you clutch the pillow by your head tightly opting to press light kisses on your collarbone, drawing up to your neck and sucking softly.

The tip of his cock pokes at your entrance, his mouth a decent distraction from your stress. How badly will it hurt? He’s more on the slim side but his length is what causes your breath to hitch. Your hands travel to his hair, your fingers wrapping around his locks casually and when you feel him starting to enter you, your eyes close shut. The pain isn’t instant, more uncomfortable, but as more of him gradually fills you up, his groan muffled by your skin, the slight stinging shifts to sharp pain. You wince, tugging at his hair without meaning to. Vernon lifts his head from the bruise he was creating on your neck to check on you. Alarm is encased in his eyes as he tries to form the right words to say but you beat him to it.

“Please ru-rub my clit Dad-Daddy,” you whine, hoping it would be enough to elicit more pleasure.

Vernon has to wrack his brain in order to follow your request, and fast. He needed you to loosen up, literally and metaphorically. With how tight you were wrapped around him, it was very hard to think straight, and stay hard. That’s why he sighs in relief when you lead his hand to your bundle of nerves. Thankfully, Vernon catches on and settles his thumb there, slowly rolling it in circles to soothe you. Soon, your breath returns to you and you motion for Vernon to continue. Your heart is pounding when his hips meet yours, his cock twitching in anticipation. His lips lock with yours once more, his hands straying to your waist as he pulls out halfway and sinks back in. His pace is sluggish, every once in a while pushes as far as he can and staying there.

“Does babygirl like being fucked by Daddy?” His lips brush against yours as he asks the teasing question, dropping back down to swallow your moans.

You break from his kiss, craving for more. “Daddy, more please.” You pull at his hair again as his cock grazes against your g spot.

He smiles. “Sorry babygirl but you feel so good, Daddy can’t get enough.” At your pout, he concedes, his leisurely thrusts speeding up to a steady rhythm, his thumb picking up as well. You moan as that familiar sweet sensation begins to consume you. Vernon groans, his hot breath fanning your cheek and you realize that his hand wandered to your rib cage, his fingers playing with the side of your bra. He lays his head in the crook of your neck, grunting occasionally, the sounds adding to your pleasure.

“Daddy I think I’m close,” you moan.

Vernon’s face is rough, rushing to get his words out before they’re lost. “Yeah babygirl? Want me to go harder now? Want me to really fuck you?”

“Yes Daddy, please.” One of your hands falls to his back, his solid muscles only driving you closer to the edge.

He groans as he feels your nails dig into his shoulder blades. “Good girl.”

His thrusts quicken, thumb going in faster circles on your clit urging on your climax. Vernon’s moaning becomes louder, higher, and you follow, your cunt clenching tighter than your hold on Vernon. He cums into the condom with a deep groan but still thrusts to push through his high and make sure you finish too. Your release crashes over you like a wave, your moan being muffled as you bite his shoulder harshly. Yet you don’t have time to react as Vernon smiles down at you after grimacing at the initial pain causing you to do the same. You lean to kiss him, entangling your fingers in his hair endearingly. At the end of your kiss, he pulls out and gets off the bed to dispose of the condom.

“You’re a lot kinkier than I thought,” he calls from the bathroom.

Shoving your face into the pillow, you groan, “Don’t start Hansol.”

The bed creaks with his return along with your shirt and panties which he helps put on. After he slips back into his own clothes, he laughs seeing your laptop at the corner of your bed. You had forgotten to pause the movie.

[ibelieveinahappilyeverafter]

A State Of Being - A Danny Phantom Drabble

Well, hello there! It has been quite a while since I’ve written some good Randy/Danny/Andrew content, but here we are! You can all lovingly thank @midori378 for this new content as they commissioned the following request of a drabble revolving around the three within the State of Mind universe.

For those who don’t know about State of Mind, it’s an expansive Danny Phantom story I co-wrote with @cheshire-kas that you can find over here at Archive Of Our Own.

If you’re curious about how you can commission me for drabbles like this one, you can check out my Fiverr! 

If you just like my writing and want to see more of it, you can check out my Patreon and see all the cool rewards I have up for my Patrons! 

And if you just liked this drabble and want to give me a few dollars for my next coffee or candy bar, then check out my Ko-Fi!

With all that out of the way, enjoy - and thank you again for the commission, Midori! 

                                              A State Of Being

“It’s considered rude to sneak up on people,” Randy said, tone calm and soft with a laugh embedded in the words that Danny could just barely hear. He heard it all the same, however, and it had him trying to hide a smile as he wrapped himself around Randy’s shoulders.

“I just wanted to see what you were doing.” The possibility of scaring him had only been a bonus, but, as usual, Danny couldn’t scare Randy unless he was on the verge of dying - or wearing clashing colors. “Speaking of, what are you doing?”

Randy was sitting at a stone table and surrounded by an array of glowing flowers, colorful vials and flasks, and an old-fashioned pestle and mortar that was filled with a softly glowing green paste. The room itself was in Vidya, but it was deep in the lower reaches and made of darkly colored stone - it often reminded Danny of what a witch’s workshop might look like.

“I’m restocking our healing supplies. Considering how our sparring sessions have been going, we could definitely use it,” Randy laughed, Danny hearing the unspoken, ‘considering what’s coming.’ Summer, and what that would bring, was only a couple months away, at this point. “What are you doing down here, though?”

“Andy’s been ignoring me,” Danny whined, drawing the words out into something dramatic as he tightened his arms around Randy’s shoulders, floating in the air to relieve some of his weight. Although, he was sure Randy could pick him up with one hand and not even look winded. “I tried to get his attention for half an hour and all he did was ignore me. He didn’t even look up from the screen once!”

“And you’re surprised by this?” Randy was grinning as he pulled on a set of latex gloves before picking up a bottle of blue flower petals that had the faintest trace of an aura. “You know how he is when he’s in the middle of one of his writing binges.”

“That’s no excuse,” Danny whined, rubbing his face against Randy’s shoulder and watching as deft, clever fingers picked the leaves apart into small pieces that were dropped into the green paste. “What are you doing?”

“I could be wrong, but I thought I answered this,” Randy smirked, laughing when Danny tugged on the choker around his neck. “I’m working on a healing tonic. It’s meant to numb the body’s pain receptors, or at least the ghost version of it, while replenishing the energy that’s attributed to speed healing.”

“So, basically it’s a health pot.” There was a second of silence where Danny thought the other was confused before he realized Randy’s shoulders were shaking with suppressed laughter.

“I- I suppose that’s one way to describe it.” There was no need to laugh at him. Still, Danny couldn’t be too upset. Randy had a nice laugh, after all. “It’s really just making medicine for ghosts.”

“You know how to make medicine? Like- Like actual medicine and pills and stuff? Could you make some Advil if I asked, then?”

“Sure, if I had the right ingredients.” Randy shrugged, as if knowing how to make medicine wasn’t a big deal. “How do you not already know this? I’ve told you I used to make poisons for the Sect.”

“Yeah, you didn’t mention you made medicine, though!” Poisons were one thing, but this was something completely different! “That must be pretty useful.” It took a moment, but Danny finally noticed the odd look Randy was giving him. “What?”

“You… How can you be the son of scientists and not know?” Randy shook his head, looking more amused than anything else. “Making poison and making medicine is the same thing.”

“What- No? I’m pretty sure they do the exact opposite of the other, Randy.” Letting go of his hold on Randy, Danny flew over to sit on the edge of the table that wasn’t covered in oddly glowing items. “One kills and one heals.”

“They accomplish different tasks, but the way they’re constructed is the same.” With that, Randy was launching himself into a lecture on the similarities between crafting poison and making medicine. Danny might have gotten a bit distracted, but it was hardly his fault. Seeing and hearing Randy slip into his ‘nerd’ mode was always… distracting.

The man even had his pair of reading glasses on and he must have been working with boiling water because not only was there steam in the air, but brilliant white locks of hair had fallen out of his gelled hairstyle and were slipping into curls that draped around his ears. It was a sight that Danny could easily get lost in - which he did, he supposed, seeing as Randy was giving him an expectant look before his lips twitched, “Where did I lose you, then?”

“Uh…” Right. Danny could lie easily. Lying was easy. “‘They accomplish different tasks?’” Except when it came to his mates and fiancés, he supposed. “Sorry. I got distracted.”

“I could tell,” Randy grinned, tone nothing but smug as he leaned in, capturing Danny in a kiss before he could figure out what was happening. It was over as quick as it had begun, however, Danny pouting as Randy went back to working on his potion. Medicine? Glancing to where it was all still glowing, Danny felt safe enough in calling it a potion.

“Why did you come find me, anyways? You usually just stay by Andrew and take a nap when he’s in one of his writing binges.” Randy was pouring the paste solution onto what looked like a baking sheet, kneading it together and rolling it around with gloved hands.

“I dunno. Guess I was just feeling restless, today.” It wasn’t a lie, but Danny knew that Randy could tell it wasn’t exactly the truth. Thankfully the other didn’t press, only continuing to work. “How’d you learn to do this, anyways?”

“Experimentation, mostly,” Randy admitted, pulling over a couple of round, plastic containers that looked to have once held hand cream. “This is a poultice, by the way.”

“Oh, sorry, I didn’t know Andrew put us in a Harry Potter book.” Dodging the swat, Danny circled the table to watch as Randy sectioned out the glowing paste into three containers before pulling his gloves off, tossing them towards a trash bin, and then screwing the lids on. “So, you just rub that on a cut or something and it heals it?”

“It works great on bruises, too,” Randy nodded, pausing for a moment. “I think I’ve used this one on you before, actually. It stimulates the healing factor, like I said, but I designed it so it relaxes the ghost as soon as it touches their ‘bloodstream’ or soaks into their skin.That’s why it’s so great for open wounds, too.”

“That’s… pretty amazing,” Danny said quietly, looking back to Randy and giving a slow smile. He would never understand why people underestimated Randy - including the man himself. “You’re amazing.”

“I’ll take your word for it,” Randy laughed, stacking the poultices into a small crate and dusting his hands off. “Alright, that’s about all I can do for right now.” Before Danny could feel too much disappointment, Randy was giving him a sharp grin. “Ready for a spar?”

“Wait, what?” Racking his memories, Danny didn’t remember bringing up the possibility of them sparring, but before he could ask, he felt Randy’s energy wrapping around him. A surge of power and what felt like static across his skin - only without the jolts of pain - and Danny glanced around quickly to see they were in one of Vidya’s ‘training rooms.’

“I know what it looks like when you have energy you need to work off,” Randy said softly, tugging Danny forward by his shirt to draw him into a kiss that was just as soft. “And I know what it looks like when you’re trapped in the same thoughts and fears. So. Let’s break the cycle, shall we?”

“You’re so dramatic,” Danny complained, trying his hardest to hide a grin. “What kind of sparring? Because I’m getting sick of falling on my ass when you insist on hand-to-hand.”

“That just shows you need practice,” Randy teased, letting him go with a laugh. “No, though. I thought we’d work on weapons, today. Still have that sword Frostbite gave you?” Giving a slow nod, Danny focused on his own power, carefully teleporting his sword to him from where he had last placed it. He was still stupidly proud of when it appeared in his arms just like he wanted. “Good.”

With that, Danny watched as Randy held out his own hand, smile wild and sharp as crystalized white energy gathered in a long, thin shape before it sharpened into a sword. It took a moment of watching Randy examine it and give a few practice swings before he was finally blurting out what was on his mind, “You know how to fight with a sword? Since when!”

“Since I was about eleven or twelve.” Oh, well… Danny hadn’t actually expected that answer. “Guns are a useless weapon when the bullets run out, you know.”

“I… guess. I mean, I know you can use knives like Andrew, I just didn’t think of you ever using a sword. It seems…”

“Archaic?”

“I was just going to say old.”

“The Sect trained children in all types of weapons for all types of reasons,” Randy said quietly, smile fading before he was twirling the sword and falling into a stance that looked like something the man had come up with himself. “You have three seconds.”

If this was even a few months ago, Danny would have wasted time asking what Randy was talking about and fumbling with his sword. As it was now, however, Danny brought up his unsheathed sword just as Randy’s came down on it with his, a high-pitched chiming noise echoing across the room.

“Powers allowed?” Danny asked hopefully, pouting when Randy smirked and disengaged with a sharp twist of his wrist, Danny just barely keeping hold of his sword in time to block the next blow. “A no would have worked, too.”

“Where’s the fun in that?” Randy knew how to use a sword. Danny had known this after the first hit, of course, but the next ten minutes really showed Danny just how well Randy knew how to use a sword.

It was the longest ten minutes of Danny’s life, it felt like, his chest burning with the need to catch his breath as he tried to keep up with Randy’s brutal pace. Randy was deadly enough with his speed, but he also had the brute force to back it up.

It was at the eleven minute mark that Danny found himself on his back, arms limp and completely numb beside him as he gasped for breath, staring up at where Randy had the tip of his sword pressed against his throat. It was a sight that Danny was not prepared for in the least.

“What the absolute hell I have never seen you use a sword before how the fuck are you that good?”

“It’s called Mimic.” Startling at the new voice, it was only thanks to Randy pulling back that Danny didn’t end up cutting his neck on the sword. “I didn’t know you were that bored, mon cher.”

“Hey, I didn’t choose this!” Danny grunted as Randy helped him to his feet, body long since passed the ‘pleasant’ part of burning muscles. “Weren’t you writing?”

“I was, but then I worried when I realized how long I had gone without being interrupted.” Andrew shot them both a cheeky smile, leaning against the wall. It looked like he had been watching them for a while, which, as annoying as it was, wasn’t something Danny could fault him for, seeing as he had done the same before. “Sparring?”

“He needs the practice,” Randy shrugged, sword disappearing back into energy that Randy tossed at Andrew, the man throwing up a purple shield within a heartbeat. “Your reactions are back to what they used to be, I see.”

“That tends to happen when I’m attacked in the middle of the night,” Andrew drawled, tone as dry as a desert as he lowered the shield and looked back to Danny. “You remember what I told you about human traits becoming strengthened when crossing over?”

“Oh, uh, yeah. You were good at influencing things and Randy could always kind of tell what people were feeling, right?” It still sounded like something out of a young adult novel when Danny thought about it for too long, but he supposed that was the story of his life, at this point. “Why?”

“I have an ability as a ghost that we’ve figured out is pretty rare,” Randy said, rolling his eyes and crossing his arms. “Which seems to be par for the course around time keepers and space crafters.”

“Space what now?” Danny, as usual, was completely ignored as Andrew launched into his ‘teacher mode.’ Danny did his best to actually pay attention.

“Some ghosts are mimics - a simple word, but it serves its purpose in conveying the information needed. Certain ghosts and spirits have the ability to mimic powers and fighting styles from others once they’ve seen them used.”

“So, Randy is basically a pokémon is what you’re telling me.” Danny had to dodge Randy’s swat, but it was worth it for Andrew’s burst of startled laughter. “So, wait, you can basically use every ghost power ever?”

“Fuck, that’d be awful,” Randy shook his head even as Danny gave a snort of laughter. “Yes and no, though. I can mimic their power, but it’s never going to be as strong as when they’re using it, and, depending on the amount of power it uses, it can take up more of my energy than if I were to just fight in my own style. Some things are unique, too, like Johnny’s shadow.”

“Huh… Makes sense, I guess,” Danny admitted, thinking about all the other ghost powers that were out there. “You can mimic fighting styles, though?”

“He’s always had a knack for it,” Andrew laughed, crafting one of his throwing knives out of his energy much like Randy had done with his sword. A second later and he was throwing it straight at them, Randy catching it by the hilt. Danny watched as, in one quick motion, Randy kept with the momentum of the knife, twisted it around, spun on his heel, and tossed it right back towards Andrew.

His back was straight, his arm was extended perfectly, and his entire stance was shifted as if ready to move at the next possible moment. It was an exact replica of how Andrew fought with his knives.

“Whoa.” Danny stared up at Randy, slowly grinning. “Is that why the Observants hate you so much, then?”

“That’s part of it,” Randy purred, capturing Danny’s chin and staring at him for a moment before drawing him in for a kiss, only parting when Danny felt the tease of a tongue press against his lower lip. “They also don’t like the fact that they can’t control me.”

“You know, you should really finish something once you start it,” Danny mumbled, grasping at Randy’s shirt and trying to pull him back in. “It’s polite, after all.”

“Mm, I suppose you’re right,” Randy mused, voice soft and lilting as Danny felt the brush of lips against his own. “Alright… I’ll give you what you want. Right after another match.” Danny gave himself a moment to feel dazed confusion before realization clicked into place and he was throwing up a shield to reflect a bullet.

“You’re an awful fiancé,” Danny accused, using Randy’s surprise at the title to throw his own blast back. Randy caught it with his bare hands, the energy turning to a pure white like his own. Danny took a moment to just stare, finally making a noise that was closer to a whine than a groan. “How is that fair!”

“There’s a reason half the Ghost Zone is afraid of him,” Andrew called out cheerfully, Danny grabbing his sword and blocking an attack from Randy’s own.

“Who the hell in this place uses a sword besides the Fright Knight?! I’m pretty sure you’ve never even met the Fight Knight!”

“One of our agemates used a sword,” Randy explained, tone annoyingly even as he began a flurry of quick attacks and sharp strikes that Danny struggled to keep up with. “I learned how all of their weapons worked for two reasons.”

“Reason one was because he was paranoid and wanted to know the best way to defeat them if they turned,” Andrew explained as they passed him. He was amused more than anything else, it looked like.

“Reason two, though, was that I wanted to help them be better.” The strike of Randy’s sword was hard enough that Danny felt his arms vibrating from the attack. “I wanted to see them survive.” Randy’s pace picked up and Danny found himself scrambling to keep up. He knew Randy wouldn’t actually hurt him, but it was still terrifying to see a sword flying for his face. “I did my best.”

“Randy-” Andrew didn’t get to finish as Danny darted in close the second he saw an opening, hand glowing with energy of his own that he pressed against Randy’s chest. The blast hit nothing but air as Randy managed to twist to his side. Danny was braced for a hit before he heard a sharp hiss of pain and the clattering of a sword hitting the ground. It wasn’t from him, though. “Randy!”

Danny caught Randy before he could hit the ground, wincing at the sharply hissed swear as Randy almost thrashed in his grasp, shoulders curled in and shaking as he twisted and moved as if trying to escape something, “Whoa, hey, I’m trying not to drop you.”

“Dammit, Randy, what did you do to yourself this time?” Andrew was at their sides in a moment, Danny frowning as he saw how tense and pinched Randy’s expression was. “Randy?”

“‘M fine. I just twisted the wrong way and hurt my back.” That made it sound very simple when instead Randy had been jerking around like he was going through a seizure.

“Right. Executive decision,” Danny finally said, gathering Randy closer to him. Focusing on the mental image of their bedroom, Danny reached out and grabbed Andrew’s shirt before teleporting the three of them himself. They all fell onto the bed with yelps and grunts, Danny groaning as he felt the sharp pain in his chest like he had just had the worst case of heartburn. “How do you always make teleporting look so easy?”

“Practice,” Randy grunted, curled up on his stomach and still wincing. Andrew was the one to move first, sitting up on his knees and pushing and prodding Randy until he was stretched out on his stomach with his arms down at this sides.

“You’ve been pushing yourself too far again with your own training, haven’t you?” Andrew accused - not that Danny would argue. Randy seemed to have the problem of pushing himself even more than Danny pushed his own self.

“Not that much,” Randy mumbled, not bothering to fight as Andrew phased Randy’s shirt off and tossed it to the side before he was straddling Randy’s hips. Danny was about to make a comment before he winced at Randy’s sharp yelp as Andrew pressed down on his back.

“‘Not that much,’ my keyboard,” Andrew shot back, pressing down again. “These knots are ridiculous, Randy.”

“And I thought I had back problems,” Danny joked, moving to lay down next to Randy and kiss at his cheek, grinning when Randy gave him a small smile in response. “That bad?”

“Not good,” Randy admitted, wincing again as Andrew did something. “‘S been a while since I’ve had it this bad, though.”

“You should have told me sooner,” Andrew lectured, looking to be concentrating fiercely before his lips twitched. “This might hurt, by the way.”

“It’s already- Fuck.” Oh, yeah, that very much sounded like it hurt. Sitting up, Danny moved to where he could easily play with Randy’s hair, scratching at the scalp and lightly rubbing right behind his ear. He saw Randy slump at the touch, tension draining out of him.

“Ah, here we go.” Andrew’s little mumble was followed by a long, low groan from Randy, the man’s expression going from tense and pained to one of absolute bliss.

“I think that worked,” Danny snorted, watching as Andrew paused and glanced at Randy’s face before rolling his eyes. “He’s worse than me, you know.”

“I know,” Andrew sighed, smile coming to his face as his palms rested against Randy’s shoulder blades. “Luckily, I’ve become very good at making self-sacrificing idiots take a break.”

“There’s no need to talk about Vidya like that, as well,” Danny frowned, trying to hold the expression as Andrew gave a low, quiet laugh. Danny’s expression quickly changed to interest, however, when he saw Andrew press down before Randy let out a soft moan, a white flush starting to spread over the bridge of his nose. “Oh.”

“You know, I originally came to get you two for lunch, but I’m sure that could wait for a while longer.” Andrew leaned his weight into his palms, Randy shuddering and giving another quiet noise as the flush spread.

“It’s not like we haven’t had a late lunch before,” Danny pointed out, hand trailing down to tug at the back of Randy’s choker. The man’s eyes flew open, the blue in his eyes fading in favor of a glowing white as he stared up at him with utter focus. “Besides, I think Randy could use the chance to relax more. Don’t you?”

“I couldn’t agree with you more, mon cher,” Andrew chuckle, the sound low and dark and promising as he leaned his weight into his palms and bent down to brush a kiss against the back of Randy’s neck, right under the choker.

Settling back a bit, Danny decided that they could use more lazy days like this one. He knew they were running out of days like this, but… that just meant he’d enjoy this one as much as he could. After all…

Summer wasn’t here yet.

[evolutionsvoid]

Healing magic is a type of magic that gets a lot of talk from common folk, but is actually something that is rarely used. You will see it more in works of fiction than you will in the real world, which some may find confusing. Why would healing magic be something that no one uses? Why don't we just use magic to eliminate mortal injuries and grow back lost limbs? Well, there are reasons for that. The first main reason why healing magic is so rare is because it doesn't work at all like how people think it does. Common folk imagine that it lets you just grow flesh back in instant, and that it sews up injuries perfectly each time. This is false. In truth, healing magic does not actually do the "healing" part. Instead, it stimulates the body in a way that it encourages faster growth and quicker wound healing. Injuries that would take weeks to seal themselves will instead take mere days. Nowhere in this field of magic will you find a spell that lets you regrow flesh in seconds, or allows you to pop severed limbs back on. Know why that is? It's because the human body is really complex. There are tons of tiny parts and pieces that work in tandem to make it all function, and the slightest error or miscalculation can cause horrid results. Say you did find a spell that allowed you to warp flesh and make it patch up gaping holes, would it account for everything? Will this new meat act and grow like the surrounding flesh, or will it remain stagnant while the rest of your body cycles and changes? Did you reconnect the nerves and muscle strands right? Can it exist perfectly without the influence of mana? These questions are important, and there are about a dozen more! Human bodies are just too complicated for us to jump in and mess with, so instead it is best to let these systems do what they were designed for. By encouraging them to work faster, then we can be sure that the healed flesh will be functional and that no horrible symptoms are going to arise. With this, though, the art of healing magic is quite pointless, as there are potions that do the exact same thing. Easily brewed concoctions that require no mana or complicated spells, and that can be carried around to be used on a whim. So there is one reason why healing magic is rarely seen, because most of the time it is inferior to all other options. Another reason why healing magic is not commonly used is because it is a dangerous thing. Yes, some would find it hard to believe that healing wounds and curing diseases would be a bad thing, but they have not seen what can come from this art. Those who wish to further the research and abilities of this field dare to delve into a dark place. Magic that controls flesh, blood and bone is quite formidable, and if it is used by the wrong hands or mind, it can create horrid atrocities. In some cases, this type of magic dances perilously close to the art of necromancy, which should be a big warning sign to anyone. One example I will use is the attempt to regrow severed limbs. Surely such a spell would be a godsend to soldiers and unfortunate souls, so that is why many have tried to unlock its secrets. People have witnessed such miracles happen to other species, so surely it is an obtainable thing. It is even more tempting when one realizes that the dryads are capable of regrowing their limbs, and they can use their magic to speed up this process to an astounding degree. If they can do that with magic, then why not us? Well, the answer to that is a rather unfortunate one. The reality is that humans cannot do this because we cannot do this. Yes, the dryads are capable of regrowing limbs, but their bodies are able to do this on their own. Like a plant making a new branch, or sprouting a new bud, they can naturally remake their limbs over the course of weeks without the aid of magic. Much like our own healing magic, the dryads use their own type of magic to speed up the process and make it go more smoothly. Us humans, though, cannot naturally regrow limbs. Our bodies do not have the systems in place to allow such a thing, so if you want to make the human body form a new appendage, you are going to have to force it through your own hand. Remember how I mentioned that human bodies are complicated? It turns out trying to recreate a lost arm is a lot harder than one would believe. Muscle, bone, nerve and skin are all factors in the recreation, and you still need to insure it is living flesh you are making! In the end, all these attempts have ended in failure, some more horrible than others. One mage long ago managed to grow a perfectly functional arm from the stump of a wounded soldier. It worked and moved just like a natural one, but there was one problem. He had figured out how to make the body form a new one, but he couldn't find a way to make it stop. The growth continued at an alarming rate, adding more bone, muscle and mass to the false appendage, eventually creating a swollen, malformed limb that had to be amputated. Other attempts at perfecting this process resulted in arms that kept growing from the initial injury, transforming the poor soul into a seething ball of hands and fingers. Another caused the body to respond to any injury with the growth of a new appendage. Any cut, scratch or bruise resulted in a human arm forming from the surrounding flesh, and this included internal injuries as well. In the end, healing magic is just not worth it. It is a dangerous and frivolous thing that should not be trifled with. Thankfully, many have abandoned this field of magic, but sadly, not before we became witness to what could be born from it. Like how other forms of magic give rise to Mancers, healing magic is not exception. What comes from their foul ways is what we called a Biomancer.

Thankfully, it seems these Mancers are just as rare as the type of magic that spawns them. According to written history, only two Biomancers have ever been encountered (and I got the "honor" of seeing one of them). True, more could have existed that we didn't know about, but due to their horrible abilities, I feel that it is safe to say that we would have noticed them if they did occur. As one should know by now, Mancer Syndrome occurs when the human body casts too much of a certain type of magic without taking the proper precautions. The internal mana that comes from the Splenius magus will become tainted, eventually corrupting the body and mind. Though it is quite difficult to do this with healing magic, it is still possible, and what comes out of it is an absolute abomination. When a healer succumbs to Mancer Syndrome, their mana will turn on them and healing spells they used will ascend to an impossible level. In simple terms, their polluted magic will begin to "heal" everything in their bodies. And I mean everything. Old wounds will vanish, ailments and sickness will fade away, foul memories will turn to dust and the human body will begin to "fix" itself in a way we were never meant to see. The out of control magic will create a better form, one that it sees as "pure" and "perfect." Between the two Biomancers that were ever encountered, there were many differences in their appearance, but a few similarities. It seems that the skin becomes deathly pale, and their hair will fall out. Limbs elongated and eyes are enlarged. These unnatural beings seem to be what the corrupted mana believes to be our true forms, but they are repulsive things to behold. The moment I laid eyes on that Biomancer, I wished to burn it from this plane of existence. Oh, if it were only that easy.... In this new twisted form, the Biomancer will have achieved absolute control over the flesh and body. It's healing abilities will know no bounds, and it applies this to its own body. While they may appear to be weaponless and harmless, Biomancers are almost impossible to destroy. They possess regenerative properties that could rival that of the Gods. Any wound or injury, no matter how bloody or grievous, will heal up in an instant. If one tried to slice these abominations in half with a great sword, they would see the flesh zip itself back up right behind the cutting blade. Waves of fire and acid do nothing, as the skin and meat bubbles back as soon as it is burned. Popped eyes re-inflate and broken bones will snap back into place. The one entity I encountered was once attacked with a hail of poisoned arrows. The sharp missiles hit their target true, but then were spit out of the body as the flesh healed up. It didn't even break its stride during this assault. With this ability, Biomancers are pretty much immune to all attacks, both physical and magical. It's healing is just too powerful to beat, but that is not the worst part. The real issue is that it wishes to share this horrid "gift." While the Biomancer can heal any part of its body rapidly, it can also heal the injuries of others with a simple touch. One prod of its gross finger will cause a snapped arm to miraculously put itself back together. Cuts will seal shut and broken bones will mend, all it takes is the Biomancer's touch. It even seems to radiate an aura of healing, causing the bodies of everyone near it to step up their healing game and fix wounds at a slightly faster rate. Already I imagine there are people wondering how that is a bad thing. To have such a creature that can cure any ailment or fix an injury within mere moments. It does indeed sound like a blessing, except for the fact that such type of healing is extremely unnatural. Their bodies may be able to adapt to it, but ours are not. With each touch, the injuries that are healed will cause their magic to leak further into one's body, slowly causing changes. The nerves will gradually lose the sense of pain, and the flesh will morph with each exposure. The skin will lose its wrinkles and scars, as the damages of time slowly revert. The longer one is exposed to their power, the more they will become controlled by it. The body's clock will gradually turn back, healing the ravages of age and wear. This may still seem good, until one realizes that their magic doesn't just heal physical wounds. With a touch to the head and skull, the Biomancer may reach into one's brain and heal whatever ailments may afflict the mind. Depression, anxiety, past trauma and all the foul things that plague our minds can be evaporated with the Biomancer's blessing. All the woes and fears can be taken away, but that is where the problem lies. If our minds were to be freed of all our despair, anxiety and mistakes, would we still be us? Would you still be the same person? For better and for worse, our trauma and fear are a part of us, it makes us who we are. The person that exists at this moment would not be here if not for what happened in the past. Take that all away, and you may not recognize who comes out, and neither does your own body. Turns out that the brain and mind does not like such level of tampering, and it can quickly cause further damage if one becomes too saturated by the Biomancer's magic. The memories and mind of the old and new you will clash inside your skull, which can either drive one insane, or turn them into a mindless husk. No matter which happens, eventually the old you will simply cease to be. Even if you were to be mentally healed and you escaped the aura of the Biomancer, your mind would still be in trouble. It will desperately try to revert back to the person it was before, which can make the issue even worse when all your terrible memories come flooding back in one horrible moment. Thankfully, those who escape can eventually be nursed back to their old selves (though it may take some extra therapy), and those who limit their exposure to the Biomancer's energy can be purged of its alien influence. Sadly, those who succumb to its physical and mental rewriting will not be so lucky.... As their exposure to Biomancer's healing energy increases, the victims will slowly become younger and younger. If it goes too far, they shall reach a stage that exists before birth. A part of the cycle that was never meant to truly be. What they become is something primordial and pathetic. Their bones will shrink and their cartilage will consume what's left. Their skin shall become thin and stretched with bodily fluids. All orifices will seal shut, creating a seamless sheet of skin. The eyes will swell to engorged, unblinking orbs and they shall patter about webbed hands and feet. These hunched, quivering things are disgusting to behold, as they amble after the Biomancer like ducklings to their mother. As the creature heals and warps the people around it, they shall join this pathetic congregation and blindly follow the beast. Though dozens of these poor things may march alongside the Biomancer, they pose no threat or harm to anyone around them. In fact, they are in more danger than anyone else near them! Their skin is thin as paper and their body is mostly fluid and loose flesh. A dull blade could easily split their skin and cause them to collapse into a wet puddle of organs. Fortunately, the healing energy of the Biomancer keeps them alive, so they will pull themselves back together and then patter back to its leader. They are so dependent on the Biomancer for life, that if they stray too far from its aura for too long, they will literally fall apart from their own weight. These things are truly pathetic, which is horrifying when you realize who they used to be. Once proud men and women, now a mindless sac of water and organs that does nothing but desperately cling to the one thing keeping them alive. As one should see now, the touch of the Biomancer is something to be avoided at all cost, no matter the temptation. It would be simple to say that you should keep your distance from these abominations, but alas, nothing is ever easy. Biomancers are healers by nature, and they strive to cure the suffering around them. They are not things of violence or malice, but of peace and care. Normally that would be a good thing, but in this case, it just makes it worse. So kind and compassionate is the Biomancer, that it will seek out any who are sick or injured and will give them its blessing. It cares not if its treatment is wanted, it will find the feeble and make them whole. As long as the Biomancer exists, it will target those that are wounded (be it physically or mentally) and pursue them. It does not give chase, though, as it does not believe in anger or aggression. Instead it will simply walk to its target in the straightest line possible, not caring if the patient is fleeing in fear. It will just walk, knowing that eventually it will find its patient and give them its healing touch. Obstacles mean little to them, as they will go right through anything that is thrown at them. Even if you were to string up a field of razor wire between it and its target, the Biomancer would stroll right through it, its regenerative powers patching up the shredded skin moments after it is torn. Once it catches its patient, it will grasp them and give its blessing. When the victim has been healed, the Biomancer will move on to the next person, looking for those who are wounded the most. It is advised that if a victim has not received a mutative dose of the Biomancer's magic, that they be rushed to the nearest mage and purged of the energy before it causes any more changes. This will prevent them from becoming enthralled by its power, but it will also reopen certain injuries. This will put them back onto the Biomancer's hit list, but it will at least keep them from becoming one of those things in the mean time. The only hope you truly have is to put an end to this twisted creature. Difficult it may seem, but it has been done before. Thankfully, the two encounters humanity has had with Biomancers have ended in victory (I don't even want to imagine what failure would look like). Neither of these came without difficulties and sacrifice, but such efforts were not in vain. The first instance came many years ago, decades before my time. The creature came to be through ignorance, as many back then did not believe such a "holy" magic could lead to Mancer Syndrome. Unfortunately, corruption rarely cares about humanity's distinctions of good and evil, and an abomination was born. Many attacks came upon the Biomancer, but its regenerative powers kept it alive and well. In time, they found that physically killing it would be impossible, so they went for a different route. A team of highly skilled frost mages were called in, and they were able to trap it in a massive chunk of ice. Its powers prevented it from succumbing to frostbite and hypothermia, but they could do little to help it escape from the frozen prison. The creature did not perish, and instead went into hibernation, waiting for the icy tomb to melt. Thankfully, it would never get that chance. The scrolls say that the ice block was transported to the far north, to a place where fire and warmth would never find it. Where they dumped it appears to be a secret, and that is probably for the best. The second encounter with the Biomancer occurred just a few years back, at the time when the Akristikos were coming into power. While the previous one had been born of ignorance, this one came to be through fear. With the new restrictions and regulations on magic, and the Akristikos enforcing these laws without hesitation, magic users were growing fearful. They were afraid that the Akristikos would eventually lead to a complete ban on magic, and that they would come busting their doors down at any moment. From interviews with folk that were at the epicenter, the Biomancer supposedly came from a healer that worked in their town as a priest. He used his magic to help the poor and unfortunate, healing the sick and giving comfort to those in pain. With this reputation, he was well respected by the community and was seen as a valuable member of the town. When the restrictions came down, nobody really batted an eye. They figured that people like him were exempt from these rules, because why would someone punish those who were only there to help? A few weeks later, though, they heard stories of the Akristikos enforcing these laws with ruthless efficiency, so they became a bit more worried. They warned the priest to stop his healings, as they feared that the enforcers would come to their town and punish him. At first he appeared to agree, but it was only later that they found out that he kept up his work in secret. Desperate to do all he could before the law came down on him, he pushed himself past the limit and went too far. In his effort to heal as many as he could, he became poisoned and wound up transforming into a Biomancer. Sadly, this abomination had his same mindset, as it too sought to heal as many as it could. By the time I showed up at the scene, the unsettling creature had amassed a congregation of dozens. So many people reverted to these wobbling, useless things. It was horrifying to see. Thankfully, the Akristikos were not far behind, and a whole team arrived to end its quest. Their blades and bells did well in disrupting its magic, and for a time I thought they would be able to kill it through physical means. Unfortunately, they could not stop its energy enough to fully negate the regeneration. Instead it only stunted and mutated it, causing the being's flesh to swell and burst into dozens of different appendages, orifices and faces with each blow. It became a malformed and vile thing, but one that was still immune to physical weaponry. To finally put an end to the threat, the team distracted the monstrosity enough to allow one of their members to leap onto its back. As he wrestled atop the writhing mass, he plunged a mana auger into its Splenius magus. With the right manipulations, he overloaded the muscle and caused it to form a mana sink. In a flash, a vortex formed within the neck of the creature, pulling in everything around it. The devastating force threatened to swallow the entire village, but the Akristikos used their song and swords to block its reach. The Biomancer was sucked into oblivion, as did the Akristikos who dealt the blow. The sink sealed itself up behind them, leaving no trace of the two. Despite the destruction caused, this was a victory for both man and the Akristikos. When people witnessed such a sacrifice, they began to form a respect for these enforcers. It certainly did for me. Seeing the lengths they are willing to go to protect the people makes me proud of my decisions and actions. May we pray that they shall continue to guard us with such determination and devotion.           Cavarious Shaid --------------------------------------------------------------------------------- My goodness this took a whole lot longer to write than I expected. It is also way longer than i figured too! Congrats to those who chose to slog through it! Sadly this just reminds me that I still have yet to write the description for the Akristikos. Time to work on another essay!

[the-god-of-nihon]

Semblance of Self: An Analysis of Characters’ semblances in RWBY

Semblances are a more tangible projection of a person's aura, which is the physical manifestation of their soul. As far as semblances go, we've been told that semblances are commonly thought to: develop from a person's character, influence a person's growth as they develop, or have no real correlation. What I'd like to do is analyze some of characters personalities, and origins to determine the reasoning behind their semblances. Obviously these will just be pieced from information I find, and research myself, and how I interpret the characters, which are by no means canon.

Ruby: The subject of Ruby actual semblance is a point of discussion. On two occasions we've been told differing definitions for Ruby's semblance: first by Pyrrha saying speed, and then by Qrow claiming it is the ability to, "burst into rose petals." Back in vol 1 Pyrrha, was someone who likely didn't know Ruby super well at the time, and was working on limited information, while Qrow is not only a more experienced, and knowledgeable huntsman, but has known Ruby for a considerably longer time. I’ll be doing analysis on speed, because I’m not really sure on the mechanics or logic of how or why Rose Burst would be her semblance. Maybe she wants to emulate the words on her mother’s tombstone. Maybe the grief of growing up without a mother tore her to pieces inside, or she wants to blow away in the wind like rose petals to escape.

Speed – I think a speed semblance is a manifestation of both Ruby’s desire to run away from her problems, but also towards the problems of others. When Ruby is running and the world blurs into colors and shapes, and the wind whistles past her, the world’s problems seem like an afterthought. The pain and bad things seems smaller and less important. The hurt of the past is left far behind her, and all that awaits her is what lies ahead. If she doesn’t slow down, she doesn’t have to think about all that she’s lost, and all the people who are gone. Looking towards the future is good. Unyielding determination towards a better future has its own merits. A hero rushing forwards towards danger sounds about right doesn’t it.

Weiss

Schnee Glyphs – We’ve been told that the Schnee family is one of the rare instances in which a semblance is hereditary. And given the family’s history, that couldn’t be more clear as to why. Just by Vol 1 Weiss we can see that she was so twisted up into her family’s reputation, growing up as an heiress her family was her identity, and as a Schnee she will always be a representative of their values; and all she is and will ever be is both because and for the Schnee family name. The control of her surroundings, and self is also a representation of desire for agency, and even when controlling things with her semblance, the shadow of her family never disappears. The fact she is so reliant on dust,the product her family’s fortune is built on, is just another indication of her much her family is a part of her identity. However, she is so much more than just a Schnee.

Blake

Shadow Clone - Leaving a shadow to take a hit, and running away. Blake claims her semblance is indicative of her desire and urge to run away. She ran away from home, when she felt her parents had given up on the cause. She ran away when the White Fang/Adam turned down the wrong path. When things don’t go the way she thinks/wants, she runs. She’s confrontational, and stubborn; but runs away when things turn bad. Some may consider retreating cowardly, but you can run away and recollect yourself and come back stronger than before. We’ve also seen Blake’s semblance evolve the most aside from Weiss. In vol 1 Blake’s clones had no definite shape, and looked more like black smudges, and disappeared just as quickly as they appeared. In v2 they had more definite shape, and she used her elemental clones, and in v3 Blake’s clones are practically identical to her, and remain for several seconds. By the time of V4 Blake’s clones can appear to move autonomously. Growing alongside her own journey, Blake’s semblance has evolved far beyond what it used to be.

Yang

Damage Empowerment "Guts" - Yang can take damage, and turn it into raw power. The more hits she takes, and harder she hits back. It’s powerful, but dangerous, even stupid. High risk, high reward but she can take it, can’t she? Yang didn’t give up like her dad when Summer died, she stepped up and became the mother Ruby needed. She doesn’t need a mother, she can handle things on her own. She can fight harder, and harder, she can take all of it on herself, it just makes her stronger. Until it’s too much, maybe she takes one hit too many, maybe someone so overwhelmingly strong comes along, that she can’t fight back. Now she’s spent, hurt and out of options. Yang’s semblance I believe is a reflection of Yang herself, she’s strong and she’s used to taking care of other. Used to taking things on alone, and turning her pain into strength. But like her semblance when she falls, she falls hard. And she’s not used to being weak, not used to relying on others. She’s so strong, not just in terms of combat. She takes on so much to spare those around her, but hardly spares a thought to what might happen to her. Recklessly fighting through everything until she’s burnt out like a fading flame.  

Jaune

Aura Amplification "Rally"- Getting down into the nitty gritty Jaune’s semblance is using his own aura to enhance the natural properties and abilities of others’ auras (and presumingly semblances). When you think about it he is using his own soul to empower those around him. I believe this sentiment, as many things about Jaune’s personality originates from his lack of self-worth. His very essence, his soul, and he gives it to others, to make them stronger. It’s indicative of his new mindset, he’s willing to give everything for his friends. Born from his desire to protect the things he cares about even at the cost of his own life.

Pyrrha

Polarity – I once read a theory that Pyrrha’s semblance comes from her desire to draw people to her, to attract becomes her ability to bend, and control metal to her will. Despite her desires all she can draw to herself is cold, unfeeling metal. And for the most part I’d agree. There isn't much parallel to her origins, but the invincible body of Achilles could translate to the ability to manipulate metal in a world of metal weapons, creating a façade of being untouchable.

Nora

Supercharge – Nora’s semblance allows her to enhance her strength by generating and stimulating her muscles with electricity. Obviously a direct reference to her inspiration the god of thunder, Thor. Nora’s semblance is an exercise in her uniqueness, taking an element that would be harmful to most people and turning it into power. Harnessing a force of nature and bending it to your will, to make you stronger; but being as the mercy of the weather’s fickleness. Nora has taken what most others would fear and tamed it, to survive. It’s a testament to her difficult past, growing up homeless, without family other than Ren. Despite her hardships, or perhaps because of them, that she faces life with near unwavering optimism, and fervor.

Ren

Emotion Masking "Cloak” - Ren’s semblance first activated during the destruction of his home, and the death of his parents. The overwhelming emotional pain, and grief he felt was suppressed, rendering him effectively invisible to creatures of Grimm, it’s what he needed at the time. But ignoring, burying feelings is not confronting them, or growing past them. Until vol 4 it seems Ren’s losses were largely untouched, preventing his progression forward. Ignoring hurt, and emotional strain isn't good. But sometimes it can be too much, and allowing yourself time before tackling your traumas is fine. Very few people cope well with their traumas, and even fewer immediately after they develop. There’s also a possibility his inspiration as Hua Mulan hidden under the guise of a man, influenced this ability.

Velvet

Mimic – Given fanon characterization of Velvet as a shy little cinnamon bun, it’s a bit hard to separate fan perception to the little be of canon we’ve gotten. In the maybe two interactions Velvet’s had with other characters that have been actual conversations, she doesn’t seem particularly shy or reserved. But I’ll roll with it, because otherwise I won’t have much to go off of. Velvet’s copy ability could be a play on people watching, which would tie into her camera “weapon,” and photography. If Velvet were a shy, wallflower, observing those around her would be a common thing. Mimicking other’s moves could also tie into her inspiration from the Velveteen Rabbit, the toy rabbit’s desire to be, “real,” could be twisted into Velvet wanting to copy those around her.

Sun

Light Clone "Via Sun" – Similar to Blake’s shadow clones, Sun has the ability to create and remotely control clones made of light/aura. This has a clear draw from his inspiration the Monkey King, who had the ability to create clones from his hair. And due to the lack of information on Sun’s back-story, one can only guess why he needed to have more hands. Possibly Sun grew up an orphan and initially the clones were his only source of companionship, or he used to steal growing up to survive. What can be noted is that his semblance seems to work better during the day in direct sunlight. On two occasions we see Sun create two clones during the night/indoors, when using more would have been advantageous. And the one instance of him using more than two at night, he employs four and visibly strains against a physically weaker opponent, and then depletes his aura and appears exhausted. Despite the fact we see him using three clones at once in the Fei Long fight, and he seems completely fine both during and after. Having grown up in Vacuo, perhaps Sun developed a semblance to take advantage of the most abundant resource (aside from sand) the sun.

Adam

Moon Slice – Adam’s semblance is similar to Yang’s minus the getting hurt part, he receives energy from attacks, stores it and releases it through his weapon all at once. Due to the more concentrated nature of his semblance, and not needing to get the shit kicked out of him, his semblance could be considered a superior version of Yang’s. It’s unknown if Adam needs his weapon to use his semblance, or if he can use is unarmed like Yang. He seems to be able to charge it on his own, but absorbing energy from attacks is much more effective. Against someone who fights smarter, or can get past his defenses, it’s considerably less effective. I believe Adam’s semblance is a representation of his perceived persecution, and his nature of overt violence. His power is most effective when under attack, and allows him to turn his opponents power back onto them. And his ability is channeled through a weapon, and without it we might infer he’d be less dangerous. Much like how without the fear and control he had over Blake, and the White Fang, he’s little more than just a violent man who’s too big for his britches. The theory that Adam is Gaston rather than the beast, lends itself to Gaston being full of pomp, and full of himself; but when things don’t go his way he becomes unhinged and savage. The facade of power, and righteousness hides an ugliness that is as much bestial as it is man.  

Hazel

Pain Nullification – Hazel’s ability to ignore pain is tied into his inability to let go of his grief over his sister. By not allowing himself to acknowledge and feel his pain, he doesn’t have to address it or move past it. In a sense Hazel has halted his own progress, because he refuses to look past his own anger.

Glynda

Telekinesis(?) - This semblance could be a manifestation of a desire or need for control, as we've seen Glynda is easily the strictest, and more rule oriented of the Beacon staff. This could have been a common trait even as far back as her childhood, which could have her to develop a semblance that allows her a wide range of fine tuned control over any situation. In some versions of The Emerald City of Oz Glinda the Good Witch is claimed to have, "command over the spirits of air." Possibly her semblance is an allusion to such abilities.

Emerald

Illusions: As a “street rat,” who we can assume grew up without parents or a home, Emerald can use the perceptions of those around her as a way to a weapon. Twisting her own image, and the images of others for her own survival. There are some that believe that Emerald’s inspiration is Aladdin, and one could draw parallel to Emerald’s illusions, and the djinn’s magic or perhaps the magic of the sorcerer that attempted to trick Aladdin.

Cinder

Glass Creation – Unconfirmed, but I think Cinder’s semblance is turning dust (regular dust, not elemental dust) into glass, and manipulating that glass. Compressing particulate matter into a glass like substance, such as the dirt from the road against Amber, or the molten rock from the fight against Ozpin. Tying into her inspiration as Cinderella, in a sort of rags-to-riches ability to turn literal dirt and dust into glass.

Neo

Illusive Appearance "Mirror" - The specifics Neo's semblance are unknown, but what it appears to be is the ability to create mirror like illusions of herself and her surroundings. Unlike Emerald's semblances this ability seems to be limited to her own appearance, and her immediate surroundings; but can be seen by everyone. Granted how little we know about Neo and her past it's difficult to say why exactly she developed such a semblance, but a past similar to Emerald wouldn't be too farfetched. Given her appearance, the power of deception is all too fitting.

[hieranarchy]

Spotlight

Whisk away the veils to the stage

And hover the beaming lights above

Another fascinating new tale from a page

Paraded with attention and love

What happens to the past props that rot?

Stashed away in the backstage, full of gloom

Traces of faded memories begot

Pending their demise and doom

The old puppet dismantled for planks

And above his unsympathetic tomb

His remains used with not a single thanks

Laid as a stage for the new star to bloom

A new puppet inaugurated for the girl to enjoy

She pushes aside the old and dusty

For the new captivating shiny toy

And she plays with it all so merrily

What interest does she need for the aged piece?

There is nothing more to discover

Every screw, grain, nook and crease

Has been looked through over and over

No one ought to be put to blame

People crave change and stimulation

That is simply the name of the game

Bores need not anyone’s attention

Sand and dust pile above me, so stygian

Like how the old puppet and its planks vanish

Bit by bit I shred into oblivion

To path a new way for the lavish.

- Rulhaq, im your fan