#like a ball of twine in the maze

[slverblood]

I think what makes the most sense is if Aylin has extremely short hair for a long time post-canon, almost shaved if not shaved at times, and then eventually grows it out again. Short hair is just easier to manage when she's already struggling and overwhelmed and adjusting to life after a century of torment. She's also trying to reclaim some power over the trauma of it being cut against her will by essentially revisiting what happened except now she's in control, she's holding the shears. As well as ensuring no one can ever take her hair from her again. She's cutting it off and burning it; there's nothing for them to take. It's an imperfect way of coping, but honestly show me a perfect one.

It's a long time — I'm talking years — before she decides to grow it out again. It's part of an attempt to move beyond what's been done to her, to rediscover how she wants to look not how she thinks it's safe to look. It's another way of reclaiming autonomy and power over herself, wearing her crown of hair in spite of those who would take it from her. It's also done in memory of the people, especially the women, she loved in her past. Erlona, the Four Moons, the priestesses in the temple — hair care was a shared ritual. Even Meadowlin brushed and braided her hair. She struggles a lot with physical touch after being freed, and she's hard on herself about that; she used to be so free with it. She used to fear nothing. But, it starts with trusting Isobel to help with her hair and slowly grows to trusting other people. She has a community again; she has family and friends again; she can trust and be safe and be loved.

Maybe there will be periods where she cuts it again and grows it out and shaves half and styles it a different way and dyes it. Ultimately, it's not about the hair. It's not about beauty or even femininity. It's about what the hair means to her. Having control over her own body and how she presents it. Having a connection to the community, to the people, that were her home. Carrying those rituals of intimacy forward into new relationships, feeling safe and loved again.

[finalgirlsamwinchester]

like, ultimately, spn could never actually break the cycle of abuse and familial violence, bc to truly break the cycle would've required its writers to have the radical imaginary to look beyond the status quo. the show just reifies the idea of a paternal authority over the world. god dies but he has to be replaced you see, but it's okay, it's someone better now. family is hell but now family is also heaven.

[kneelingshadowsalome]

I know we're all focused on Satyr/Faun König but that bull comment... I'm quite partial to minotaur's and whats better than a darling who isn't from the area. Oh yes she's innocent of the crimes against König because she was not raised there.

Some foreign little creature just running blind in a maze trying to see where there might be a way out. It's been days after all and the screaming has gotten quieter and she wonders if she's the last one left alive. He takes his time eating his meals... this can be stretched out for such a long time as she hides herself in a dead end just a short rest... the darling is so tired unaware of the horrifyingly silent steps moving closer to her little haven. It's just her left now.

@kit-williams I've wanted to write for Minotaur!König for ages!

Minotaur!König x Ariadne!Reader Word count: 5 k oneshot Tags/warnings: Sexual tension, threats of violence and rape, implied cannibalism, power imbalance, moral ambiguity. Predator/prey dynamic, Beauty and the Beast elements, Ancient Greek religion & lore. 18+ MDNI A/N: The Minotaur in this story is not an actual hybrid. Reader is Hecate’s initiate. Merry Christmas y'all! <3

EDIT: PART 2 HERE

The screams are the worst part.

They echo through the Labyrinth while you wait and wait and wait.

Even the very stones seem to cry and wail as you place your hope on Theseus who descended to this hell along with you and the human cattle. Seven young men and seven unwed women, meant to satisfy a beast...

And judging by the screams alone, it sounds like the monster is satisfied. It sounds like it's having a ball.

Fourteen lives have been lost, their blood swallowed by the earth as if Hades himself is drinking the crimson of Athenian youth in His feast. The flesh is the beast’s to devour: an underworld demon born of tainted lust.

Half bull, half man, you always thought the stories were only tales told by the fire to scare children. Turns out that the stories, for once, are true. There's something even worse in this maze, something cursed and foul... Hecate herself would shiver if She were here, in the womb of the earth, witnessing what you’re witnessing now.

You don’t actually see the Bull of Crete cut or hack or slash anyone, and you can only imagine what the monster does to the bloody, gutted corpses of the young. The only thing you see are the hollow, dark walls carved out of soil, sand, and clay, the intestine-like route dug deep into the earth. And you don't have to see the massacre: the screams tell you enough. The silence that follows betrays even more.

Your only light is flickering, waning: the candle will hardly last an hour. If the hero from Athens won’t arrive soon, you will have to leave this place. 

And oh, how you want to leave… You were a fool to follow him here. Blinded by love and hope, you thought Theseus of Athens would be your way out of Crete, but it’s clear that the only thing the young hero is capable of loving is fame. The only time his eyes turned to yours was when you said you might be able to help him with a small bundle of yarn.

Red as the setting sun or spilling blood, the thin woollen string is your only way out now. It’s ironic how a heap of twine is the only thing that can help you out of this hellhole, but the Fates always did possess a cruel sense of humour. Your silly daydreams might’ve cost your life, and even if you’re sworn to the dark goddess, you would rather die anywhere but here. In the darkness, all alone, with nothing but eyeless worms to keep company to your decaying bones.

The sudden draft from the outside world is warm but threatens to blow out your candle. It’s a sign from Apollo: if you don’t leave now, you’re dead. Theseus has to manage without you because you’re not dying in this underworld prison because of some man’s stupid lust for fame.

There's only deafening silence in the maze as you scurry up, taking support from the wall as your sight darkens for a moment. You rose too soon: you can’t even remember the last time you ate. And it appears that even the sun god has abandoned you because there's a faint echo of steps in the tunnel, and they don’t belong to a man. They’re too thick, unduly heavy, and it’s not a pair of sandals that are thumping against the soil.

So, Theseus is dead...

So much for the legend, the myth, the demigod.

Heart thumping in your chest and in the hollow of your throat, it threatens to drown the sound of approaching footsteps. They’re all dead, the people who descended here with you. The only thing you are right now is prey. You're being hunted; whether the Minotaur knows you're here or not, you know you're being hunted. You can feel it in your gut.

You cover the candle with one hand, hoping that the flickering light doesn’t reach around the bend. The falling thump of the footsteps stops, and you still your breath, hoping that the beast would turn around and search the other way.

You hear it sniffing behind the wall. It's trying to catch your scent in the air, the smell of dread and terror, sweat so thick it must reach his nostrils and make them flare with lust. Your heart is thundering in your chest, and the tunnel is so quiet that that you’re certain the creature will hear that, too. (Your heart always betrays you.)

And your luck is cursed.

The beast shifts. 

You can’t see him yet, but you can hear it: the scraping sound underneath his feet as he aligns himself anew, choosing the path that leads straight down to you.

“Hecate save me,” you whisper into the air that seems to grow denser as he approaches, loud thumps of feet now accompanied by metal grating against clay. 

“Hear me, flame-bearing guide... Darkness, protect me…”

He’s dragging bronze against the wall, announcing that he’s carrying a weapon with him, the strength of a bull apparently not satisfying enough if he wants to break your bones with metal.

Don’t blow out the candle... 

If you blow it out, you’ll die.

It’s a clear message, a knowing voice in your head that says it. It’s not young, it’s not old: just knowing. Alert. Wise beyond ages. 

So you still your breath and wait.

Shadows fill the curve of the tunnel just before he emerges: thick like thunder, a darkness so deep that even the name of the twilight goddess escapes your tongue. 

And he’s big. Bigger than the bulls you used to dance with, bigger than kings, or heroes, bigger than even Theseus, the man you thought was a myth walking. His head is enormous, bigger than the rest of him, awkward and rough like it’s not quite part of him even though he’s supposed to be half ox. 

The gigantic, horned figure stops when it sees you. Vast shoulders tense; the fat, double-edged sword falls to his side when he settles to loom between you and your only way to escape this place. You’re oddly thankful that the horrible screeching stopped, but then you notice that his blade is drenched in blood: actually, his torso, thighs, even the buckskin loincloth – the only garment this monster has chosen to wear – is spattered with red dots. 

The bronze tip drips with crimson, and the earth drinks it all. Hades is never satisfied: this beast is never full. Everyone who was sent down here is dead: everyone else has met their doom except you. You wonder if your mother would cry if she heard her only daughter died because she fell in love with a fool.

“I killed your hero,” the walls of hell boom. 

His voice is thick like tar, dark and foul like it’s the God of Earth himself speaking.

The flame in your hand quivers from fear, and you slowly remove your palm, the tiny candle illuminating the beast with warm homely yellow, making the prominent muscles of his chest even bigger. 

He’s carved like the statues in Athens, only, this giant is far hairier than the painted marble heroes of the city. The hair on his chest is thick and wild; it shoots down his abdomen and disappears underneath the loincloth, spreads over his inner thighs, even covers his shins in dark mats. He looks like a wild man, a beast indeed: sweaty, filthy and thick. But you never knew a beast like him could talk…

“A coward, that one,” he snarls, the voice reverberating oddly like it’s a human man speaking from under a wooden mask or inside a clay jug.

And you believe every word he says.

Theseus was strong and able-bodied, but he had built his strength just to show it off. This man’s body speaks of pure, ripe survival.

A hulking shadow with shoulders that barely fit the tunnels of the Labyrinth, with palms nearly twice the size of yours, he’s the myth walking instead of the hero whose blood now adorns that dull bronze blade. The Minotaur who survived his father’s wrath, his mother’s absence, these bleak surroundings, and all the heroes sent down to get his head… His weapon isn’t even sharp anymore, and still, he managed to cut through the sacrificial humans like butter. And what a horrific death it must’ve been to be hacked to pieces by a dull blade.

Is it evil of you to hope that the death of your “hero” wasn’t a quick one…?

Theseus was a fool and a coward, rotten to the core, but you saw all of that too late. He never cared about the human sacrifices or the king’s wrath; he never cared about digging into Pasiphae’s sorrow. He only cared about getting his face depicted on a pot or having his deeds played out in amphitheatres, his name uttered in song, accompanied by harp and flute.

“I know.”  

Your voice gets sucked into the earth: it doesn’t echo from the walls like his. It’s thin, damp, and frail, just like everything else meant to walk under the sun instead of stand buried under the earth.

But the beast before you tilts its head a little. It’s curious. 

Why would you say that? 

Why don’t you cry from hearing the news...? Why don’t you howl out your hero’s name and beg the gods to heed your grief? Why don’t you run away from a monster?

The candlelight is puny and weak, but it’s bright enough to bring out the eyes of an animal. You draw breath in the dampness of the earth when you finally see it: the bull’s head is devoid of eyes, and yet, the beast still has them. Blue as the summer sky, stern as the death grip of winter just before spring.

There’s nothing but ripped shreds of skin where the eyes should be, and instead of looking at you from the sides, they’re greeting you from the front. The horns are sturdy, but otherwise, the colossal head is a bit skewed... Thick patches of fur sticking out as if it was years and years old, and then – you realize it’s not his head; it’s only an illusion. 

There’s a man under there. A full, grown man who’s made himself a terrible helmet out of a bull’s carcass. 

“You’re a man,” you say out loud, earning yourself another shift of the colossal head.

“...What?”

The muffled echo confirms it: he’s speaking from inside the bull, moving only slightly to get a better look at you. 

“You’re not a monster. You’re just a man.”

His eyes are wild but intelligent; they pierce you from inside the inanimate shield. The large chest heaves, his ribs flare like sails as he draws air through what must be the foul stench of a long-dead animal.

He takes a step, and you shrink, almost dropping your candle and the roll of red yarn.

“You think talking will save you, female?”

He speaks like a man, walks like a man, but his moves are an animal’s. Shoulders slightly hunched like he’s a bull about to attack, you recognize the way his muscles quiver from the times when you used to do bull leaping. You don’t dance with Rhea’s oxen anymore: your tasks at Hecate’s temple are more suitable and less wild for a maiden your age. Back when you were younger and more agile, you used to jump from the back of one bull to the next, clouds of dust swirling around you as you showed your prowess to the priests.

But you can’t charm this ox by dancing. This one can’t be tricked or fooled: he will pierce you with those horns or his brazen sword if you take even a step.

“I can get you out of here,” you wet your lips, noticing that the blue eyes shoot straight to your mouth when you do that. “I know the way out.”

“What makes you think I want out,” he says, so tight and tense that you fear he’s either about to leap at your throat or plunge his sword into your chest.

And you should be concerned about your own safety, not about his sensibilities – if he even has such things – but hearing this beast man’s reply is like drinking bile. 

Why would anyone want to stay here?

You don’t know if he eats human flesh; you don’t know if he had to in order to survive. Everyone knows why his father threw him down here, but no one knows he’s not half the things the people above say he is. And if half of it isn’t true, what other lies have been told about the Minotaur? 

Even most prisoners see the sun, yet this man has been deprived of that, too. He’s been robbed of mother’s love, of father’s mercy, of friends and foes, of mentors and guides. He’s been robbed of life, of stars, of fires and summer skies, of women’s giggles, of fistfights with fellow men. Of songs and plays, of festivals and games, of bull dances, and maidens that leap…

“Have you ever been up there…? On the surface?”

You turn your voice into soft water on pebbles, a soothing pour of persuasion and goodwill. His pecs contract, strong abs under thin hair and body fat bunch like you’re about to hit him there. You take a step, and now it’s his turn to shun away. It’s only half an inch, but he actually moves away from you. 

“I can take you there,” you offer gently. “Have you ever seen the sun…?”

It’s like talking to a starved predator, trying to entice them to follow you with a fresh steak in hand, hoping that the fanged mouth won’t take more than was promised if it decides to accept the offering.

And the beast accepts. 

“As a boy,” he grunts, a tad more softly. 

Those eyes are fixed on you, reminding you of horses when they’re slightly afraid. The glint of white and blue behind the carcass is fiercely alive, quite unlike the hollow, disinterested stare of the Athenian hero who was only interested in himself.

But this beast is interested. Oh, the Bull Man of Crete is wildly, fiercely curious about you. 

“You’ll take me to the sun,” he repeats, an affirmation rather than a question.

“Yes. To the surface. I promise.”

He moves. Like an animal who learned long ago to drive others into the corner so that he wouldn’t get forced there himself, he’s primal, sensual in the way that oracles in a trance are sensual.

Approaching you in silence that’s almost eerie, the hairs at the nape of your neck stand on end by the time he’s only an arm’s length away. Why announce his coming earlier if he can move so quietly?

“You’ll lead me to my father.” 

His gaze bores into you, and not even the warm draft from the tunnels can prevent you from shivering. He’s distrustful, and it’s no wonder. It must be odd that some girl with a candle and a bundle of yarn is suddenly waiting for him around the bend, and doesn’t even flee. He’s a behemoth, but he’s not stupid. A stupid man would not have been able to survive, let alone thrive in this place.

And why should he trust you? Who is he supposed to trust in this maze when every person he has seen has either run away from him or tried to kill him? His father will slaughter him if he ever escapes the Labyrinth, so what else is a priestess in his kingdom but a squealing mouse, trying to feed him lies and then guide him to the surface and into a forest of spears? 

“No,” you shake your head slowly. “No, I promise I know the way. There will be no soldiers–”

You shut your mouth just before a huge palm closes around your throat. 

Gods, but he moves fast when he wants to… 

The candle and the yarn drop the instant his hand seizes your neck, strong fingers nearly meeting at the back as he squeezes your windpipe ever so slowly.

And he’s so close now. The carcass reeks of death, but the man underneath stinks of plain human sweat. His musk is a peculiar mix of blood, earth and soil, something both stale and invigorating, the thin sheen of sweat and dirt covering his muscles making him look like a common builder. It’s strange that the bull’s head hasn’t yet decayed in this place, that the man doesn’t reek of bodies and bones that must be scattered around like debris further down the tunnels. 

Another thing that’s strange is that he doesn’t seem to want to simply silence you.

He also wants to touch you.

A wide thumb strokes the underside of your jaw as he studies you. It slides down the column of your throat, the blue eyes gleaming with fascination when you swallow against him.

He drinks in the sight of you: the lips that part with fear, the frail collarbones that breathe against the side of his palm. The promising crevice between your breasts, the enticing softness of your teats. 

You can hear his breath grow heavy under ox skin and bone, the rugged, vicious helmet he has chosen to wear. What lies under, you can only imagine, wherein he has little left to the imagination when taking in the curve of your breasts, your nipples rising to peaks under the thin white linen only temple virgins use. 

Seeing your reaction to his touch makes him growl -- he actually growls like an animal, a deep, low rumble of approval rising up his throat when he sees how different your body is from his. How supple and cushy it is, soft and plump like a peach, covered only barely as if to tease a best like him. You wonder if he ever took pleasure in the maidens sent here by the king… If he ever thrust the sword between his legs into their weak bodies before giving them the mercy of his actual blade. Would he even know what to do with a woman, having lived here for so long?

“Please,” you whisper, bringing his eyes back to yours, the ice in them now liquid sapphire of pure want. 

Gods… You need to bring his attention back to your offer of help before he sees it more compelling to just stay here and play with his new, plump little mouse. Virgin or not, you wouldn’t survive a mating with this man. 

“I swear on Hecate’s torch that it’s not a trap. You have my word: I’m a priestess soon to be.”

He’s entranced. Hypnotized by your lips. You lick them to confirm your fears true: the man grunts with pleasure, out of instinct, absentmindedly like an animal who reacts to the sight of a fat, meaty bone. 

Oh, he might not know what to do with a woman… But he would try his best to find out. 

“Priestess…?” He rasps.

“It’s a holy woman,” you explain. “I serve the Goddess of the Crossroads.”

He snorts, either because he’s not impressed or because he’s downright amused by your vocation. The eyes, warmer, more demanding now, are far from the eyes of a bewildered beast.

“Little female of the crossroads... You will take me to the king. And then, I will kill him.”

He puts weight into his words, tries to make you understand. 

He wants you to guide him to his father. 

To the King who claims his son is half bull, to the husband who claims his wife was adulterous with an ox. To the King who demands tribute as virgins so that he can send them down to hell. The dark goddess screams justice, but you're at a horrible stalemate.

The gods will curse you for this… They will smite you with a bolt of lightning or drown you next time you cross the great sea if they see you’ve helped this half-beast escape. If you guide him to Minos, you’re a participant in kingslaying, and the gods never forget things like that.

“He’s your father and the king of Crete,” you whisper in fear. “The gods will strike you down–”

“Gods?” He spits. “I piss on the gods. I fuck their corpses and leave them to rot.”

You almost choke on the blasphemy levelled at you. The shadows creep closer, the stare behind the black fur is dark and amused, burning with the crooked wrath of a thousand years. 

“Perhaps I’ll fuck you too.”

It’s unnerving that you don’t find the threat wholly unappealing.

If anything, your eyes drift down to the hairs of his chest, to the two big muscles that resemble the work of the best sculptors in Athens. 

“Are you a virgin, female of the crossroads?”

His eyes search for your response: they want to see your fear and disgust. You swallow again, arduously against his hand, both caressing and testing you. 

The beast leans forward, as if weighing if he could somehow insult the gods by pillaging you. The rough hair of his chest meets the white cloth, it brushes against your nipples as he bends down to have a good sniff of you.

“You smell like a virgin,” he growls.

The hand leaves your throat, only to travel down your sternum. He grabs your breast nonchalantly, a little too roughly, the hot palm closing around the teat and squeezing it like it’s a toy. When you don’t react, he squeezes it again, this time hard enough to coax a whimper out of you.

“Sound like a virgin…”

Without warning, the hand dives straight between your legs next, palm forcing its way through your thighs and curving to cup your sex, moulding around it with barbaric thirst.

“Feel like a virgin, too.”

It’s thick, hot, and heavy, how he simply tries you through your dress. Fingers testing your folds, he’s clearly enjoying the subtle wetness he finds down there. You can hear another hitched grunt pushing up his throat, rugged and whiny this time, a broken groan that dissipates because of how dry his throat is. 

No man has ever dared to lay his hands on you... Many have wanted, but none have tried. Even drunkards and fools respect women who belong to the dark goddess.

But he doesn’t care about the wrath of Hecate. He doesn’t give a shit about the gods. He simply takes what he wants, what falls into his lap. The fifteenth offering, but he doesn’t seem to be interested in devouring your flesh. 

How easily he could simply yank that loincloth aside and drag your dress up. Force his cock into your tight, wet heat without uttering a word. You doubt that he would even take the trouble of laying you down on the ground for taking... Beasts rut when they want to: this man could fuck you against this wall if his loins demanded so, guttural groans being the last thing you hear before the candle goes out. 

You don’t know if you have to spread your legs for him before this is over, but you reckon you will do even that if it means you’ll see the sun again. You’ll endure every thick thrust, and gods be cursed, you wouldn’t even be solely disgusted if this half-animal chose to breed you... As shameful as it is, you would somewhat enjoy having him rut you like an animal in heat.

And you’ve gone mad, surely. 

You want to touch him too, just to test another theory. 

Deciding that it's a good idea to stick your hand into the maw of hell, your fingers lift. They meet his bicep, and the lewd panting stops.

He’s not even breathing… He’s just drowsy and drunk, looking at you with a mixture of soft sleepiness and awe in his stare. Like a dog who has never been petted, even his eyes drift half closed when he forgets to threaten you, now focusing solely on your hand. 

And you start to caress him, slowly, so slowly… Tracing the muscle all the way up where it meets the shoulder, you stroke even the thick cord that leads to his neck. The rest of him disappears under the bull, but the man behind it already shivers under your touch. He even bends his head a little in hopes that you would go under the mask and touch him there, and the gesture reminds you of an animal exposing its vulnerable areas, baring its very throat in submission. 

Braving a quick peek down, you notice that the buckskin cloth is stretched high and wide. His whole body is tense and immobile: you could cup him through the soft animal skin and he would probably shoot his seed from a single stroke of your palm. 

If this is not a virgin, you don’t know what is...

In a way, it would perhaps be wise to shove your hand down and disarm this man. That way, you would be safe for a few more minutes. Instead, you lay your palm over his chest, right over where his heart should be. 

“So do you, Bull of Crete...”

His gaze flickers.

The darkness hesitates, widens, nearly swallows the azure pools whole. But he doesn’t look irate or wild... Only shocked.

It’s an impasse. A thicket. His hand on you, your hand on him.

He surrenders first: the underworld budges before the utterly pure. You bless him with grace the instant he withdraws his hand from between your legs – slowly, reluctantly, like leaving a place that belongs to him. Or to which he belongs…

“I promise I’ll help you, Minos Tauros. But I need you to give me something in return.”

You remove your hand too. Softly, slowly, like a horse master who trains and tames wild things. All words seem to have escaped his tongue: he only grunts, unsure of what a beast like him could give you in return for your help.

“You must promise to be kind to me.”

“Kind...?”

“I need you to behave,” you explain. “No bad things on the way up... No fucking.”

Everything else, he seems to accept, but during the last sentence the Minotaur blinks at you, utterly confused.

“But... You smell like you want to fuck.” 

Your jaw drops open a tiny bit. Then you remember that a priestess of Hecate doesn’t gawk.

“I don’t–How would you know that…?”

The beast only shrugs. Then he leans forward and takes another sniff as if to prove it’s true that you want his cock inside you.

“You smell good,” he grunts. “Different... Female, not afraid.”

“That doesn’t mean I want to…”

He even raises his hand to inspect the slight wetness there. Fascinated by the thin film on his fingers, he rubs his thumb in it, probably thinking about bringing it under his mask to get a good sniff of your juices too.

You grab his wrist without thinking, mortified to your core by the prospect of him getting high on your slick. 

“Look. We need to leave before the candle burns out.”

The obsessive stare threatens to swallow you once more, so you let go of his wrist and steel your resolve. Scooting down to grab your things, you try to ignore the violent erection still pointing straight at you.

Hecate keep you from offering yourself to this man out of your own free will...

And you don’t have a torch, only a candle and a skein of blood-red yarn, but you know the way out, so there’s hope. There’s always hope.

“I need you to promise me,” you turn at the mouth of the tunnel, seeing that he’s still standing there, in the place where he almost took you like his first whore. As if waking up from a thrall, he straightens to his full height, picks up his sword and looks like a half-human, half-bull once more.

“I promise,” comes a booming voice from under the animal skull. “No fucking… I’ll behave.” 

You nod. There's a sense of trust in the air. A promise of hope... It's mutual, invigorating -- life-giving, like the sun and blood in your hands.

You don't know if the son of Minos has ever smiled in here, but from the quick glint in his eyes, you suspect that he's smiling right now, the man under that animal mask. Somehow, it reminds you of the stars in the sky.

“Lead the way, maiden.”

[xbunnybunz]

if not love [Alastor X Reader]

Summary:

Love.

A coin he could not barter with. A coin he was born to never spend or earn, never desired to, until he had seen your foolish dedication to him. 

Genres: Romance, Angst, Horror

The world outside is pale and slow. Snow drifts gently from the skies above, the expanse painted in a gentle lavender hue bleeding into a rusted orange dusk– a sign you’ve learned meant an oncoming snowstorm. This softness, this mellow mood in the belly of hell, this is how you know he’s caught you again between layers of reality.

Your footsteps echo in the maze of hallways of an abandoned Hazbin Hotel. 

You’re running because of course you are, no matter how many times he does this, he never tires of finding new means to torture you.

And you’re tired because of course you are, but no matter how many times he does this, you will never ask him to stop.

When you run past framed photos on the wall and shadows snake onto the portraits and paint the faces with a new layer of malice, upturned lips shrouded with darkness, shaking with laughter that you do your damndest to ignore. You know he’s watching you, waiting for you to walk into the next set scene, for your mind to unravel like a ball of unending twine, spinning and spinning and never stopping.

He calls it entertainment, but he just likes the hunt and you know this. 

In his true form, he is terrifying. Twisted and gnarled at the spine, bent and wickedly stretched at the neck like a hung man, ribs protruding and gaunt with hunger, Alastor terrifies you. 

In his more presentable form (he refers to it as his “showtime suit”) he acts as a proper gentleman. He carries a microphone and uses it delicately as a cane, pinky lifted. He wears gloves. Wears a sharp pinstripe set, tailored perfectly to his waist, hiding his emaciation. He smiles with all of his tapered yellow canines, licks his lips, says please and thank you. Never raises his voice except to call to you, and oh, does he call to you.

In your time with him, he’s found a myriad of things to name you: doll, darling, sweetheart, dove– all terms of endearment, all terms that send shivers up and down your spine, spur the butterflies in your stomach. But his sugared words hide a dark underbelly, drilling black holes into your teeth, deep into your molars and past that, into your mandible, into your head, into your mind.

Alastor plays with you. You suppose the hotelier could only go so long without being entertained while Charlie struggled against Heaven’s will. And you supposed this is why no one but him noticed when you stumbled on your words only when speaking to him, blushed when he brushed a hand against yours, smiled at him shyly when he offered a feline grin in response to the pinkish hue of your cheeks.

If not love, then what?

From the beginning, he had regarded you with a predatory gleam in his eye– this, and one of keen interest. 

Affection.

This is not a currency that Alastor can barter with and you know this, knew this, because he had told you: “Ah, French, perhaps, my dear. But love?” He spat it and punctuated it with a radio static laugh, “‘Love’ is a tongue I do not speak.”

But despite his words, he eyed you with an almost cruel curiosity. 

He began to linger more in the doorways of rooms you were in. He took it upon himself to help you complete your menial, mundane tasks, took it upon himself to brush his gloved fingers against your hands with more and more frequency, took it upon himself to listen to your woes, offer a shoulder to cry on, push your hair behind your ear, look into your eyes, speak in that voice:

“Whatever could be the matter, my dear? Come now, Alastor is here. I’m here.”

If not love, then what?

You wrap your clammy hands around a golden doorknob, feeling the ornate carvings pressing deep into your palms as you grip it with whitened knuckles, trembling, breathing labored from running in his infernal trap.

When you throw open the door, you give a muffled scream and throw your hands over your mouth to keep the bile down. 

In the center of the room there you are, hunched over and dragging the shiny red intestines from the wet gut of a doe, still weakly kicking one of its hind legs. Your body is twisted into a sickly and ghoulish state, unrecognizable other than by the bloodied clothes and ragged length of clumped hair on its scalp. 

Your form in his likeness, a wendigo.

The doe whines and whines then picks up its head and stares at you with those glassy, milky eyes, chilling you bone-deep.

“Help…Me… Help… Me… Help–”

You slam the door closed. You want to sink down against the wall and curl up in a ball on the carpet, but you don’t because you know he’ll send the wendigo after you if you stop for too long. Almost immediately you’re sent reeling back by a pounding and scratching on the closed door, the same doe voice screeching in warped tones.

“HELP ME! HELP ME! HELP ME!”

He does this because he can’t stand to be bored. You know this, so you keep running.

Alastor can be sweet, sometimes. 

Alastor can knock on your door sometimes, in the dead of night, when he’s feeling kind and when he’s feeling particularly generous.

And Alastor can be gentle sometimes, when he holds you in his arms, lying in the plushness of your bed with his body curled softly around yours. When he asks you about love, about sex, you answer him with a hammering heart, fluttering eyelashes, his face inches away from his but the distance ever unclosable.

“How does falling in love feel, sweetheart?” He asks, eyes half-lidded. His red sclera glows, crimson irises boring into yours. In moments like these, you wonder if his voodoo practices gave him talents in hypnosis, and you wonder if he’s ever hypnotized you before. 

But even you know the truth: he doesn’t need to lift a finger to control you.

“It feels like…” You paused to exhale shakily and you swear his grin pulled upwards even further. “It feels like your heart will beat right out of your chest.”

He traced a clawed finger– ungloved, because he learned you were more jittery without– from the corner of your jaw to the pulse on your neck. Carefully. Delicately. He pressed down and you whimpered at the feeling of his nails digging almost painfully into your sensitive skin.

“Just like this, then?” He asked, his breath a whisper, warm, cascading over your face. 

Yes, you reply, softly. You watch a flash of emotions pass through his face. 

Pride. Sadism. 

Jealousy.

You turn the corner sharply and throw another door open, eyes searching frantically amidst the room for any signs of him, any signs that this would be over soon.

Instead, there’s a hanging woman in the middle of the room, dangling heavily from the ceiling. She looks familiar and you’re unsure why, you’re almost certain you knew her once before but you just can’t recall how. Your head hurts from trying to remember and you clutch it in agony, nearly collapsing to the ground.

On her rope she spins in a slow circle, you watch in horror as she rotates to face you, hair matted to her face with vomit, eyes bulging and bloodshot, face purple and veiny. Her mouth opens and drool leaks from her parted lips, tongue swollen and fat.

“Get out, get out, get out of my head!” She screams hoarsely and begins flailing on the noose, cutting the rope deeper into her skin. “Get out, get out, get out!”

You choke on a sob and slam the door closed, hearing her cries through the walls even still. 

“I wonder how you taste.” He asked you once with the air of being cordial. He asked it slowly, mulling each word over before he spoke it over a cup of steaming tea, as if he had been asking about the weather. Almost nonchalantly. Almost flippantly. Almost.

You had seen how his crimson tongue darted out to pass over his lips, seen how his Adam’s apple bobbed with a gulp, seen how his jaw tightened with anticipation for your response, pupils constricting, waiting for you to respond, waiting, waiting. This is how you knew that his imagination had been whetting an insatiable appetite for you. 

Alastor had been a cannibal killer in his past life, Vaggie had divulged as much to you, warily, when she noticed you both spending more time with each other, you with hearts in your eyes, him with much less. Still, the question sends a shockwave up your spine. He wanted to taste you. To lathe your flesh, savor the sinewy muscles, chew through your skin. You, you, you.

That day you made a decision you’d grow to loathe, to love. Your vision tunneled and sweat began to press at the skin of your temples. 

You turned to him shakily. He’d watched you carefully, in that sly way he always did, in the manner that stated he had nothing to lose, measuring for your panic, your apprehension, your devotion. 

But that day, he seemed a little tenser. Smile a bit tighter. You wondered why, and with euphoria, you understood: today, he had you to lose. 

You wanted to reassure him, comfort him in the ways he had comforted you many times before on moonless nights, ignore how you’d hear him swallow his salivation as he dragged his hand up and down your back, muttering a gentle, hungry, “there, there.” 

And so with everything to lose and nothing to gain, you looked him in the eye with the most courage you could muster, you asked: 

“Would you like to know?”

His grin twisted wickedly.

There’s another door up ahead, the energy crackling through the gaps undeniably Alastor’s. The foreseeable end to your terror, for the time being.

You lift your hand up to the doorknob and pause, watching the green-red light seep past the door’s cracks and keyhole. It was hard to forget that Alastor was as powerful as he was, he made sure no one ever forgot, especially not you, when you came crawling to him in these fabricated realities. Here, he could hurt you as much as he could undo the pain, undo the damage. 

But it was never that you had forgotten, moreso that you had– despite endless suffering– forgiven him.

When you step in, he’s sitting next to a fireplace on a red armchair, sipping at a cup of tea. You note the lack of steam, a stale brew. You wonder with a foolishly aching heart how long he’s been waiting for you.

“Alastor.” You say, and cringe. You had wanted it to come out steadily, collected, but your voice had broken in relief, betraying your honest emotions.

“Ah, there my dove is.” He sighs, and you nearly melt with the tone of his voice. His eyes still trained on his cup. He swirls his tea and you can see the leaf grain kissing the edges of the cup from where you stand. “I’m so glad you could make it, my dear.”

He looks up at you and drinks in your panting figure, your pale face. His face is a mask with that smile plastered on his lips.

“Oh? Not having a good time today?”

It’s a challenge. You know he wants you to deny you’re miserable, show him a false face. Show him you don’t trust him enough to show weakness. 

But you do.

Because with him, you’ve learned to wear your heart on your sleeve, speak honestly, cry openly.

“No...” And somehow, you know you should feel ashamed of your earnestness. “...I’m sorry.”

His grin stiffens. 

With a wave of his finger, a chair identical to his is manifested under you, dropping you into the seat. He quirks the finger and tilts his head. The chair screeches over until it is in front of him, the speed at which it moves slams your head into the headrest and you groan in pain.

“Better?” He asks, sweet as honey, daring you to complain. 

You don’t. Instead, you hold your head and shudder. 

“Yes, thank you, Alastor.”

He relaxes into his seat and puts down his cup on the table beside him. All his attention is on you now.

“Good, good. I do want my dove to be as comfortable as possible. We don’t want you passing out like last time, now, do we?” 

You shiver under his unblinking gaze, your voice coming out as a squeak. “N-No…” You instinctively bring a hand up to the crook of your neck, a shake beginning to form in your fingers, then your hands, traveling to the rest of your body.

He watches with a deepening smile, brows lowering, then he stands. 

You always forget how tall he is until he’s looming over you, all seven feet of him bent over you, eyelids shuttered halfway and smile nearly sultry in nature.

“Ah ah ah!” He tuts, then peels off his gloves one at a time, left, then right, revealing the pale grey skin underneath. You swallow thickly at the sight of them.

He reaches forward and with one finger, taps the hand covering your neck. 

“Can’t have this now, can we?”

You drop your hand away, a fierce blush tearing through your face at his gall and at your unwavering obedience.

“Excellent, my dove. Now…”

He places his hands on your shoulders, leaning in close. One hand drifts from your shoulder to your cheek, a single clawed finger tracing soft patterns into the skin, testing the tautness of the meat. He cups your face and coos at you, his breath scented perfectly with his favorite oolong and oleander tea leaves.

“You’re so feverish, my deerest. Are you sure you’re still up for this?”

“Yes!” You intervene too soon, pressing yourself against the cushions of the chair and looking away when Alastor grins at you. “I mean, yes, please. I’ll be okay. I promise.” You give him a nervous smile and he stares at you with a certain placidness that makes you squirm in your seat. With what? Fear? Anticipation?

“Close your eyes for me, darling.”

His use of darling is an accessory to his sentences, you tell yourself, always hanging off the beginning or the end of a statement like a silver-tongued embellishment, but it still makes you shake in your shoes, helpless as ever.

You obey. You always do.

Alastor takes note of this, this action souring the taste of you on his tongue yet sweetening the pot, enticing him twice, threefold, and exponentially. 

You never had to tell him you loved him. You didn’t need to, every day you said it with your eyes. With the way you offered your smile, your flesh, your blood. It was painfully obvious and so very hard to ignore, despite his best efforts.

Love. 

A coin he could not barter with. A coin he was born to never spend or earn, never desired to, until he had seen your foolish dedication to him. 

You close your eyes. You feel him lower his lips to your neck and you tremble when he exhales heavily onto you, sounding nearly whiney with how he breathed, hot and sweet, onto your skin. You can hear the bones of his body cracking as he morphs into his true form, hear his antlers, thick with velvet, scrape the fifteen-foot high ceilings.

“Darling,” He murmurs against you, voice warped with static, he ghosts his lips across your neck, finding it ravishing how petrified you are of him. “Darling. Always so willing for me, aren’t you?” He sounds mean, beyond the usual teasing. “Always.” He spits harshly, and you flinch.

He draws back, takes you in with a look of disdain, of awe.

You adored him so, and for the first time in decades, he wondered how that blasphemous, dooming emotion worked- love- wondered how it felt to have that burden weighing so heavily in his heart he would lend himself to stupidity, time and time again. He wondered and he wondered, and oh, how he loathed that he couldn't know, and oh how he loathed you for making him desire it so endlessly.

He presses a close-lipped kiss onto your skin, sampling the flavor, and you shiver under his touch, biting back a low whine in the back of your throat.

“...You're quivering, my dear.”

You grip the armrests with so much strength your knuckles creak, heart pounding, skin running cold, then hot, cold, then hot.

He rests his hands on top of them, the guise of comforting you with the underlying threat of pinning you if you begin to struggle too hard against him. You hear him take a deep inhale through his nose, burying his face in your hair, just at your nape.

“Goodness, you smell delectable. And I’m feeling absolutely starved for you.”

You shudder and pull your head back, angling your body so that you are offering a prime cut to him on a silver platter, garnished and ready to consume, readily, willingly, dumbly.

Alastor pauses at this, something foreign tearing a hole in the blackest pits of his stomach. He's been feeling this a lot as of late and chalked it up to hunger, it was only his appetite he reasoned. But hunger was familiar to him, wasn’t it?

No, this was something much more dangerous, whet his appetite for more than just consuming flesh. 

He stares at you dispassionately. 

You’re shaking. You’re terrified, you know what will happen next. He’s done this dozens of times now, consumed you, restored you, pursued you again and again. Yet you serve yourself to him, plate yourself, meal and maître d'.

“...Oh, my dove.” 

He speaks in a near whisper, eyes narrowed, grin stretched tight, he laves a tongue out and licks you from your shoulder to your jaw. He’s salivating now, you can feel the drool, hot and pungent with the scent of carrion, leaking down your neck.

 “I will never understand you...”

You hear the squeak of his teeth as he passes his tongue over them, feel the heat of his breath on your neck, the hot splash of saliva hitting your skin then cooling almost just as quickly. His grip on your hands tightens painfully, cracking your knuckles against the upholstery and you hiss in pain but don’t dare do more.

“...That about you, I detest most.”

You feel hot tears pressing against your eyelids, from fear, from your heart breaking yet again, you do not know. 

But you do, don’t you? You know. You know. You know.

Because love feels like slow cooking over an herbal fire. Love feels like being hungry for roadkill. Love feels like being eaten alive.

If this is not love, then what is it?

Alastor sinks his teeth into you again and you know, you know, you know.

[sapphim]

All variations of that scene where Hawke's companions try to rescue them from the dungeon in Mark of the Assassin (someone please help them they're trying so hard). There is, of course, a danaduchy video compilation, but! I wanted something searchable so here it is.

also, while I'm here: look at my mod boy

Anders + Aveline

Anders: How many blighted rooms does this place have? Aveline: We've passed that sconce three times already. Anders: This is ridiculous! How could you get us lost inside the castle? Aveline: Right, it's my fault. Shall I go ask one of the guards for directions?

Anders + Bethany (Act 1)

Anders: Don't panic, but I think we've been through here before. Bethany: How can you tell? Every part of this dungeon looks exactly the same! Anders: You too? I thought it was just me. Bethany: Some rescue this is! My brother is probably being tortured right now, and we're lost in the middle of the hallway! Bethany: Some rescuers we are! The duke could be torturing my sister right now, and we're lost in the blighted hallway!

Anders + Bethany (Act 2-3)

Anders: Don't panic, but I think we've been through here before. Bethany: You're the one tearing your hair out. Anders: Typical Warden disregard. Do you even care anymore? Bethany: Yes, you should talk about what caring looks like. Keep moving. Anders: Does the Kirkwall Circle teach you to be smug? In addition to obedient, I mean. Bethany: When appropriate. Come on, let's just find them.

Anders + Carver

Anders: I told you we shouldn't have turned left back there! Carver: Excuse me if I don't share my dear brother's sense of direction! Carver: Maker forgive me for not having my sister's sense of direction! Anders: Oh, for Andraste's sake! Leave Hawke out of this! Carver: Perhaps we'll find our way by considering the plight of mages in modern—shut your bloody face!

Anders + Fenris

Anders: That's it. I'm taking the lead. Fenris: You think I'm going trust you to find Hawke? Anders: Could you stop with the, "All mages are evil," diatribe for one minute? Fenris: They may not all be evil, but one of them in particular is extremely annoying.

Anders + Isabela

Anders: All right, we should have tried your suggestion. Isabela: Which? Challenging the guards to a game of riddles and making, "Where is Hawke?" one of the questions? Anders: I meant the, "Follow one wall, and you'll navigate the maze," idea. Isabela: Well, we can try it next time. Either that, or, "Let's get a sledgehammer and break down the walls." I thought that had merit.

Anders + Merrill

Anders: What is wrong with Orlesians? Why build a prison with this many identical cells? Merrill: Maybe we should ask for directions. Anders: Of course, we'll say, "We're staging a daring prison break. Could you tell us where our friend is and then tie yourself up? Thanks!" Merrill: It's not possible to tie yourself up, is it? You'd never get the knots right.

Anders + Sebastian

Sebastian: Andraste, Lady of Sorrows, lead us from the darkness into the Maker's Light… Anders: Would you stop that? Andraste is not going to find Hawke for us! Sebastian: Have some faith, Anders. Anders: I have complete faith in your ability to make a bad situation worse!

Anders + Varric

Varric: Blondie, I hate to say this, but I'm pretty sure we've been here before. Anders: Blast it! But we went left this time! We shouldn't have come full-circle again! Varric: I wish I hadn't given that ball of twine to Daisy. Anders: You can't tell anyone about this! I mean it, Varric! Not a word!

Aveline + Bethany (Act 1)

Aveline: This can't be right. Bethany: We could sneak back to the kitchens and ask the servants where they are! If… we knew how to get there. Aveline: I'm not getting turned around again. Straight ahead. Bethany: Right. Because that's been working so well thus far.

Aveline + Bethany (Acts 2-3)

Aveline: This can't be right. Bethany: We could double back, I suppose. I expect we've got time. Aveline: Knowing your [sister/brother]? Probably. Bethany: Still, better make it look good. Wouldn't want her to feel neglected. Bethany: Still, we'd better hurry. Poor Brother might think we don't miss him.

Aveline + Carver (Act 1)

Carver: You never listen to me! Aveline: Say something worthwhile and I'll start! Carver: Right, shut up and follow orders. Left, right, that's what makes a good guardling. Aveline: Ugh. You're still such a tit.

Aveline + Carver (Acts 2-3)

Carver: The place is a maze. Another pass and then double back? Aveline: Sounds good. we'll do that. Carver: Really? Aveline: There a reason I should doubt you, [Warden/templar]?

Aveline + Fenris

Aveline: Did we turn left last time, or right? Fenris: What does it matter? Lost is lost. Aveline: I'm trying to change that, you sour…. Aveline: How does Hawke put up with this?

Aveline + Isabela

Isabela: If you'd let me handle that last guard, we'd have found Hawke by now! Aveline: Right. You'd be bent over a desk, and we'd be no closer than we are now. Isabela: Well, I'd be closer to something. Aveline: Shut up, whore.

Aveline + Merrill

Merrill: Aveline? Remember how you told me to tell you if I noticed anything peculiar? Merrill: Well, we've passed the same cracked floor tile nine times now. Aveline: We've been walking in circles and you only tell me now? Merrill: I wasn't sure. Maybe there are a lot of tiles broken in exactly the same way!

Aveline + Sebastian

Aveline: Ugh! We're back where we started! Sebastian: Blessed Andraste, guide us. Protect our friends in this dark hour. Aveline: While you're at it, ask the sky for reinforcements. And pie. Sebastian: You know, that kind of prayer has never worked for me.

Aveline + Varric

Aveline: We've been going in circles for over an hour. Varric: I'm so used to Hawke leading the way, I think my sense of direction has withered. Varric: So… wait here for [him/her] to rescue us? Aveline: When you tell this part? Leave it out.

Bethany + Fenris (Act 1)

Bethany: What am I going to tell Mother? "Sorry, I got lost and left your heir in an Orlesian's dungeon?" Bethany: She will never forgive me. My [brother/sister] will never forgive me! Carver and Father will come back from the grave just to haunt me! Fenris: What she'll say should be the least of your worries. We may die in here, and she'll never get the news. Bethany: You are not helping.

Bethany + Fenris (Acts 2-3)

Bethany: Bloody runaround twisted shite of a maze. Fenris: You've learned a few new words. Bethany: Wardens get called a few. Fenris: Undeservedly, I'm sure. Bethany: Not every book in the Circle is high literature. Fenris: Obviously.

Bethany + Isabela (Act 1)

Bethany: What are we going to do? Isabela: All right, just stay calm! What do we usually do when we're lost? Bethany: We ask my brother. Bethany: We'd ask my sister where to go. Isabela: Oh. Right. Well, we're screwed.

Bethany + Isabela (Acts 2-3)

Bethany: So, know where we're going? Isabela: Not a damned clue. Bethany: (Laughs.) Me neither! Isabela: Right. We pass the kitchen, I'm grabbing a bottle.

Bethany + Merrill (Act 1)

Bethany: Are we out of twine? Merrill: Yes. I was going to drop breadcrumbs, but we don't have any bread. Bethany: I can't believe we're this lost! Merrill: Don't worry! If we keep going, eventually we'll get somewhere! Probably an airing cupboard. I seem to wind up in those a lot.

Bethany + Merrill (Acts 2-3)

Bethany: Lost your spool of twine? Merrill: Yes. I was going to drop breadcrumbs, but we don't have any bread. Bethany: We'll find them, if they're still here to be found. Merrill: Don't worry! If we keep going, eventually we'll get somewhere! Probably an airing cupboard. I seem to wind up in those a lot.

Bethany + Sebastian

Bethany: No, the layout is wrong. We're back where we started. Bethany: [Warden] I swear, what I wouldn't give for a straightforward Deep Road and— Bethany: [Circle] It's backwards from every book on Orlais I've seen. It's just not— Sebastian: [the stupid little smirk and the head tilt and then running off full tilt without saying a word why did he do so much lmaoo] Bethany: [Sebmance active] Sister, you lucky bitch. Bethany: [else] Oh, Maker.

Bethany + Varric (Act 1)

Bethany: Aren't dwarves supposed to have some sort of "stone sense?" Varric: What good is that? Most of the chateau is stone. Knowing where the floor's at isn't going to help us. Bethany: Can't you… I don't know… always find your way around in… caves or something? Varric: Sunshine, all the caves we go to look exactly the same to me.

Bethany + Varric (Acts 2-3)

Bethany: Keep up, Varric. I'm sure we're almost there. Varric: You've certainly quickened your stride in the last few years. Bethany: [Warden] I found out there's a lot more to run from. Varric: And towards, I hope. Speaking of which, to the rescue! Bethany: [Circle] Too much to learn, or, you know, rescue. Varric: There's my Sunshine. Let's go!

Carver + Fenris (Act 1)

Carver: Shitting… piss-eared Orlesians and their… blighted dungeons! Fenris: "Piss-eared?" Did you get that from Meeran? Carver: We're lost and all you can do is criticize me? Fenris: It passes the time.

Carver + Fenris (Acts 2-3)

Carver: Orlesians. Can't build a hallway without turning it into a maze. Fenris: Keep going. I'm sure your training will kick in any moment. Carver: Still don't like me? I've tried to change. Fenris: You have. Now you're dangerous. Let's move.

Carver + Isabela (Act 1)

Carver: You just leave this to me. I can handle everything. Isabela: How could I possibly interfere? Carver, the magnificent hero to the rescue! Carver: Do you have to do that? Really? Isabela: No, this is strictly optional.

Carver + Isabela (Acts 2-3)

Carver: You just leave this to me. I can handle everything. Isabela: I'm starting to think you could. Carver: What was that? A compliment? I'm a little frightened. Isabela: I know! Let's get these people rescued before it happens again.

Carver + Merrill (Act 1)

Carver: I don't understand it! This should be the right way. Merrill: If we have to be lost somewhere, at least it's a nice hallway! Very well built, not at all likely to collapse. Carver: Don't worry. It's got to be… left. Is it left? I mean, of course it's left. Merrill: Also, I'm pretty sure spiders won't attack us! Not even the little ones.

Carver + Merrill (Acts 2-3, no Merrillmance)

Carver: Okay, we're lost together. Both of us, not that we're "together" together. Merrill: If we have to be lost somewhere, at least it's a nice hallway! Very well built, not at all likely to collapse. Carver: Right, well, back to rescuing… wait. You're doing that on purpose! Merrill: (Giggles.)

Carver + Merrill (Acts 2-3, Merrillmance active)

Carver: A shame we didn't have time like this back in Kirkwall. Back then. Merrill: If we have to be lost somewhere, at least it's a nice hallway! Very well built, not at all likely to collapse. Carver: Right, well, let's get to it. My [sister/brother] will be missing you. Merrill: I'm glad you think so.

Carver + Sebastian

Carver: And we are back to front yet again. Sebastian: Blessed Andraste, guide us. Protect our friends in this dark hour. Carver: Right. Prayer. Useful, useful. Or we could do something. Sebastian: Guide us by the wisdom of your light… in silence.

Carver + Varric (Act 1)

Carver: Go ahead. I know you're thinking it, dwarf. Varric: What? What did I do now? Carver: "Your brother wouldn't have gotten lost. He'd have rescued everyone by now." Carver: "Your sister wouldn't have gotten lost! She'd have us all back at the tavern by now!" Varric: Actually, I was thinking, "All these hallways look alike." But sure, knock yourself out, Junior.

Carver + Varric (Acts 2-3)

Carver: So, we're lost. Varric: Just like old times. Carver: Maker, I hope not. I was an ass. Varric: (Laughs.) Fair comment, Junior. All right, let's get this done.

Fenris + Isabela

Fenris: So… we're lost? Isabela: Definitely. Fenris: Now what do we do? Isabela: I could try to guess the color of your underclothes again.

Fenris + Merrill

Fenris: I don't want to hear another word out of you. Merrill: But I was just— Fenris: Not. One. Word. Merrill: Is it all right if I hum? Or maybe whistle?

Fenris + Sebastian

Fenris: Maybe you should start praying that we'll find them. Sebastian: I have been for the last half an hour. I could do so out loud, if you'd prefer. Sebastian: Blessed Andraste, Bride of the Maker, deliver us from this warren of evil. Fenris: In that case, maybe you should stop.

Fenris + Varric

Fenris: And… here we are again. For the fourth time. Varric: Fifth, I think. Fenris: What do we do now? Varric: Play Diamondback and wait for Hawke to find us?

Isabela + Merrill

Merrill: Isabela? Um… I think we've been here before. We've passed that same cracked tile six times now. Isabela: Andraste's granny-panties! I knew things were going too smoothly! Merrill: Does Andraste really wear granny-panties? How do you know all these things? Isabela: (Sighs.) Come on, Kitten. Let's see if we can find the entrance and start again.

Isabela + Sebastian

Isabela: Eenie, meenie, miney, moe… Sebastian: I'm not sure that's the best way to find them. Isabela: We already tried "pray for Andraste to guide us" and "wander like drunken vagrants." We're running out of options. Isabela: Unless you want to find a chicken for an augury, we're going with counting games.

Isabela + Varric

Isabela: I give up! We've been through every inch of this place twice, and there's no sign of them! Varric: Or we've been through the same twenty feet of this place about a dozen times. It's hard to tell, Rivaini. Isabela: We should have gone treasure-hunting in Wildervale instead. Varric: You're still upset that you couldn't swipe a drink from the party, aren't you?

Merrill + Sebastian

Merrill: I… think we've been through here before. Sebastian: Now that you mention it, we have seen that chipped cornice a few times, haven't we? Merrill: All right, don't panic! Every other time I've gotten very lost, Hawke has found me. Sebastian: Merrill? I don't think he can rescue us until we rescue him first. Sebastian: Uh, Merrill? I don't think she can rescue us before we rescue her.

Merrill + Varric

Varric: Daisy? You don't happen to have that ball of twine, do you? Merrill: I knew I forgot something when we left Kirkwall! Varric: Don't beat yourself up over it. We'll just… wait here until I think of something. Merrill: I'm sure that won't take very long. You're always thinking of things!

Sebastian + Varric

Sebastian: When you tell people about this part of our adventure, what are you going to say? Varric: That depends entirely on the audience, Choir Boy. Sebastian: You change the story to suit the listener? Varric: Of course. All the bullshit in the world won't convince Hawke we rescued him if he finds us first. Varric: No bullshit—however well-told—will persuade Hawke that we rescued her if she finds us first. That's common sense.

[juricore]

mabel pod and utena are like holding hands and skipping at all times anna and mabel could do the cantarella scene and utenanthy could do "she is saint anna with the mouth of god/i am the bull in the maze." girls who are the ball of twine <3

[jellybeanium124]

ready bois and gorls and enbies? lets do some theorizing:

Meet the Family: easiest one (even Blackman said so). It’s a reference to the introduction of the Sparrows

World’s Biggest Ball of Twine: ??? Are they going on a road trip? I doubt this is a literal ball of twine, it’ll probably be a metaphor (maybe even a mangled metaphor from Klaus) (EDIT: may also be a reference to the story of the minotaur, Ariadne, and the maze, so may be about a giant maze. technically unrelated, but would also be a little funny because Elliot Page played a character called Ariadne that was a reference to this myth in Inception a decade ago)

Pocket Full of Lightning: This has to be about powers, right? maybe Chris’s powers, maybe another sparrow’s powers. OR maybe one of the umbrellas will have a big level-up moment.

Kugelblitz: def. “a black hole formed from radiation as opposed to matter.” I think this is also a reference to Chris’s powers, (maybe Viktor’s???)

Kindest Cut: For some reason my immediate thought is the butcher’s. Again I doubt this is about something literal, like a cut of meat or someone getting cut. I think this is going to be about character A doing something mean to character B but in the “kindest” way possible. For some reason I think A will be Reggie and B will be one of/some of/all of the Umbrellas.

Marigold: Blackman said this was a reference to something in the comics, I think?? But I can’t remember any references to marigolds or a person named marigold. Someone help me out with this. (EDIT: https://my-special-place-in-hell.tumblr.com/post/653445541901008896/the-sparkly-sperms-explained @my-special-place-in-hell​ figured out what marigold is!)

Auf Wiedersehen: This must be the episode taking place around the Berlin Wall.

Wedding at the end of the world: I really, really want this to be Klaus and Dave’s wedding, but I sincerely doubt that. I dunno who else could be getting married. I don’t think getting married is Diego and Lila’s style, but we’ll see. It could also be about one of the Sparrows, or maybe Reggie’s backstory before he came to Earth?

Six Bells: Blackman said this would make sense once we’ve watched the episode, so I think “six bells” will be code for something.

Oblivion: hotel

[sincerelyella]

I already requested this from someone else but I love your writing so much and I wanted to request this from you too! After Olivia’s kiss in book 1 in Lythikos, Liam just breezed over it and it wasn’t brought up again. But what if he kissed Ella to prove to her he doesn’t have moment with anyone else?

Book: The Royal Romance AU

Pairings: Liam x MC (Ella); Drake x MC

Summary: Olivia kisses Liam and Ella sees and gets very insecure.

A/N: Thank you for this Anon! I love getting requests. Ya'll really make my day with these. Hope you like it!

A/N2: Participating in @wackydrabbles prompt will be in bold (the correct prompt - I’m a mess!)

@ofpixelsandscribbles and @alyssalauren thank you for prereading, and Lis, for coming up with this title. To @ao719 thank you for reassuring me about the pinky promise. Love you guys!

Warnings: maybe some angst

Words: 1672

Ella and Liam switched partners during the Cordonian waltz in Lythikos.

“Little Blossom, you’re doing gr-”

The crowd around her gasped, Maxwell stopped mid-sentence and gawked. Ella turned and saw Liam and Olivia in the middle of a kiss. Ella’s chest ached, her stomach churned and her eyes welled with tears. She quickly blinked it away, she was not going to cry in front of the entire court.

“El, you okay?”

She vaguely heard Max speaking to her. “I … yes, I’m fine. But I’m a little tired, so I'm going to go to my room.”

“Okay!” He leaned down and kissed her on her head. “I’ll see you later Blossom!”

Max had no idea how that kiss affected her and that’s how she wanted it. She squeezed her friend’s arm and slipped through the crowd to her room.

A little while later, Ella answered her door and there stood Drake with a vase of red rose blossoms in his arms. There was a note hidden in the bouquet from Liam asking to meet him in his suite.

Drake was munching on some candy as he stepped into her room. “Brooks? Did you hear me? Are you going?”

“No,” Ella buried her face in the roses, taking in their scent. “I’m not in the mood right now.”

“What’s going on?” Drake crossed his arms over his chest and stared at Ella until she looked up at him. “You left the banquet early, you’re avoiding Liam … which is odd because you’re all the time locking lips.”

Ella didn’t answer. She just stared back at Drake as she chewed on her bottom lip.

“It’s because Liv kissed him isn’t it?”

Two can play that game.

She stood on her tip-toes and pressed her lips to Drake's. Ella felt his body tense, but after a moment he relaxed and wrapped his arm around her waist.

"Brooks," he whispered after he pulled back.

"Yeah?"

"What are you doing?"

"Kissing you," Ella opened her eyes and met his gaze.

"Why?"

She let out a sigh. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have done that. I know how you feel for me and-"

"You're trying to get back at Liam," he arched his brow and let go of her.

“I know it’s really stupid,” she blurted out. “I already know, and I don’t need you to tell me that I’m acting irrationally.”

“Hey,” he placed a hand on her shoulder. “Brooks, it’s not irrational. Well, you kissing me was. But … you know he’s not with anyone else like that but you right?”

“How am I supposed to know that, Drake? You Cordonians are not monogamous.” Ella began to pace the room. “I know that’s why I’m here. For him to … get to know other women but … I forgot the part where I’m in love with him and my chest hurts when I see him with someone else.” With her last words she felt it, her voice wavered and her tears began to fall. She clamped her hand over her mouth in surprise and Drake’s eyes widened.

“Oh shit,” he pulled her to his chest. “Fuck, Brooks, don’t cry.”

“I-I’m … sorry,” she gasped out as she sobbed against him.

“Don’t apologize.” He was stroking her hair and telling her it would be okay. Finally, when she was a bit calmer he pulled away. “Better?”

"Yeah, thank you."

“Alright. Get some rest and I’ll see you tomorrow,” he moved towards the door, opened it, and then turned back. “No more of this crying business okay? That was your only ticket for me to console you."

Ella let out a watery laugh.

"Also,” his eyes softened. "Even though I enjoyed that kiss, I know you love Liam. No more of that alright?"

She nodded. Drake smiled and shut the door behind him.

The next couple of weeks, Ella did her best to avoid Liam. It wasn’t all that difficult, he was busy tending to social season balls and gatherings. Every time Max or Bertrand would tell her Liam was somewhere she would go the opposite way. It wasn’t that she didn’t love him, God, she did. With everything in her. But it wasn’t her place to be jealous and insecure, she knew she was here for this. She just wanted to be left alone in her feelings.

The Regatta was rescheduled by the royal family which was unheard of, but it turns out King Constantine’s health wasn't great and he was in the hospital. The court continued to the next stop which was Applewood. Ella, Max, and Bertrand arrived ahead of everyone else and were quickly shown to their rooms.

“I’ll meet you in a bit, Blossom, I gotta unpack and find something to wear.”

Ella nodded and watched him skip off after shutting her door. As she rummaged through her luggage a knock sounded and it startled her. “Max, how did you forget something already?”

She reached for the door, opened and saw a smiling Liam. “Oh!”

“Hello Lady Ella,” he quickly glanced down the hallway. “May I come in please?”

She stepped back, allowed him inside, and shut the door. Ella turned to face him, her heart was beating a thousand times a minute. “Your Highness,” she curtsied. “This is a surprise.”

“Ella,” Liam stepped towards her, concern in his eyes. “Why are you so formal with me? We aren’t outside.”

“I just-”

“Are you avoiding me?” His baby blue eyes gazed into hers and all her resolve dissipated.

“Truthfully, yes,” her voice trembled.

“Why? I’ve missed you, and I apologize for not coming to see you sooner. Now that I think about it, I haven’t seen you since Lythikos and” - Liam’s eyes widened - “Lythikos. This is about that kiss.” It wasn’t a question; he had figured it out without her explanation.

“I know I have no right,” Ella turned away and walked towards the bed to sit before her knees gave way. “You’re not mine,” her voice hitched. “I just needed time alone, that's all.”

Liam’s heart turned over in his chest. He followed her to the bed and kneeled in front of her. “Ella, you have every right to feel how you’re feeling,” she arched her brow and he chuckled. “You heard me. I have been meaning to tell you this but” - he wrapped her small hand in his - “I love you. I have been in love with you for a while now.”

“You …” Ella whispered, her eyes filling with tears. “I love you too, Liam.”

He grinned. “Really?”

“Really really.”

“Promise?” He looked up at her, a vulnerability in his eyes that she never saw before.

“Promise,” she held up her fist, her pinky finger out.

“What is happening?” He asked as he did the same.

“It’s a pinky swear,” Ella’s laughter filled the room as she wrapped her pinky around his.

“Why are we swearing on our pinky’s?”

“You've never done a pinky swear?” The look on his face said it all. “Nevermind,” she shook her head. “So, did you talk to Olivia?”

“I spoke with her outside after she kissed me. I told her she shouldn’t have done that and I don’t return her feelings. I wish you would have talked to me about it.”

“I should have …”

“This is why you didn’t meet me that night.”

Ella nodded.

Liam lifted her hand that was already in his and kissed her knuckles softly. “I’m yours, Ella. I don’t meet anyone outside of these events but you, I don’t kiss anybody else …” his lips traveled up her arm, slowly, ever so slowly. “… and you are mine.”

After hours of Liam proving to Ella that he meant what he said, he slipped out of the room later in the early hours of the morning. The events in Applewood the next day were kind of fun, baking, being crowned Apple Queen, throwing apples at Drake, and then having Liam come to see her that night in her room. Passionate lovemaking was an understatement, especially when a stoic prince that’s supposed to be proper and polite, dirty talks until she explodes.

The next day, the Apple Festival was winding down as Ella sat on the small swing in the garden maze, Liam gently pushing her.

“You seem happy here,” Ella mused as she pushed a strand of hair out of her face.

Liam smiled. “I’m always happy when I’m with you. I love you, Ella,” he leaned down to kiss the top of her head and let out a small sigh. “But it was less … stringent here. My brother and I never wanted to leave.”

“It has a bit more of a relaxed vibe here,” Ella nodded. “I like seeing this happy, carefree side of you.”

“You bring it out of me, you know,” he wrapped his arms around her shoulders and pulled her against his chest. “You bring a lot out of me.”

Ella turned and craned her neck up to make eye contact with him. “Like the dirty talking?”

Liam smiled and his cheeks and neck turned red. “I’m not sure what you mean,” he waited a beat. “But yes.”

A loud whistle blew and that signaled the end of the festival.

Ella sighed. “I think that means-”

“It means, we head over to dinner,” Liam pulled her up to her feet and twined his fingers with hers.

“Yeah, but you always go first,” Ella tried pulling her hand away from his but he held on. “Liam, what are you doing?”

“We’re going to dinner together,” he said simply.

“Wh-what?” She stammered. “You can’t … I mean-”

Liam stopped and turned to face her. His facial expression filled with determination and … resolve. “You don’t want to go to dinner with me, my love?”

His nickname for her went straight to her core and it took her a moment to answer. “I-I mean, yes but-”

Her words were cut off by his lips against hers. When he pulled back, her eyes were still closed. “I’m … I don’t remember what I was going to say.”

Liam chuckled and pushed Ella’s hair away from her face. “I don’t care what happens or what they say. My choice is you. I’m telling everyone about us. If this isn’t what you want, say so now.”

“Why are you doing this? You know they’re not going to let that happen before the coronation,” she whispered.

“You felt insecure in how I feel for you; it made me realize that I need to show you that I love you. Sneaking around and hiding my feelings doesn’t help matters. I can’t lose you, Ella. It’s just not a risk I’m willing to take. Will you have me?”

Ella didn’t even have to think about it. “Always,” she smiled and squeezed his hand. “Let’s go.”

[ladyofc]

Just funny ideas about DA4

The questline for finding Solas in arlathan is based on the wizard of oz but instead of a brick road, Varric gives the protagonist a ball of twine so they don't get lost in the maze. Call it the Wizard of Elvenahan. Arlathan; The Golden City

If Dorian's mom is still alive, I want to met her so bad. She sounds like a delight when Dorian rarely talks about her.

Brothels or pubs, I just want to get back in taverns!

The whole Solavellan questline could be possibly based around Little Red Riding Hood, meaning the first time Lavellan meets Solas again he's going to be in disguise, which won't fool her.

I want Felassan to come back, I just want another person to bully Solas with, I'm sure Felassan has more blackmail on Solas then anything in this world.

[comfyswitcherblanketfort]

Geralt and the Minotaur p5

Y’all can thank @bounce-a-coin-off-your-witcher for how fast this came out. Brain Cell Bae, feast on the serotonin my dear 💖

Pairing: Geraskier

Warnings: canon consistent violence, blood, gore, fight scene, talk of human sacrifice, talk of child sacrifice, talk of animal sacrifice, reference to bestiality, talk of dismembering monsters, beheading monsters 

some background for y’all that don’t know: King Minos had a deal with Poseidon that he would sacrifice his prize bull to the god every year but one year Minos couldn’t do it. He was way obsessed with this fine ass bull and sacrificed the second best and Poseidon got PISSED. So, like the little shit he is, he made Minos’ wife get hot for the bull and hence we have the Minotaur. This is an extra big no no in ancient Greece bc bulls were practically worshiped and seen as holy. There’s some other fucked up shit to do with bull sex but like I’ll let you live on in blissful ignorance like I wish I could. 

also just in case y’all didn’t know the Greeks used to collect and sell gladiators sweat as perfume. Idk how that smelled good but like, as a thirsty hoe, I kinda get it. 

heres part 4!

__________

Geralt woke to screams. 

It took him a moment to realize what was happening, let alone where he was. Jaskier was curled in his arms, still sound asleep as the screams made way to sobs and the singing of a sword being pulled from its scabbard. It was time, but Geralt felt nothing.

He shook Jaskier awake and snatched the ball of twine and sword, tucking the blade into his belt and praying to Athena, Poseidon, any god that would listen that the guards wouldn’t shove it loose. Jaskier snatched the twine from his hand and stowed it in his own clothes just in time for the soldiers to reach their cell. 

They were ushered at sword point up a path to the back of the palace where dingy stone steps lead down to a massive stone door, underground by a dozen feet at least. Jaskier clung to Geralt’s hand, clenching his jaw tight and looking forward as they were lead to the doors. It took three men to open them and Geralt heard someone in their party mumble about how well and truly fucked they were. He couldn’t blame them. 

They were shoved through the arch, surprisingly without ceremony, and the doors were heaved closed behind them.

When the rumble of stone on stone finally ceased and they were left with near darkness Geralt finally felt the panic. Everyone was looking at him, he could barely make out their features, but he knew, and all he could do was stare at the door. 

Jaskier gave his hand a gentle squeeze, offering him the now glowing gold ball of twine, “Geralt?”

Something snapped into place deep in Geralt’s gut and the panic vanished. He took the twine and tied it to the door before removing the sword from his clothes and handing the dagger to Jaskier.

“Do not stray from the twine. Stay with the group.” He growled, now better able to see from the light of the yarn. Everyone was terrified, but they were his responsibility now, and if he had to scare them further to keep them safe he would. 

“What if it sneaks up on us?!” A young girl squeaked, she couldn’t have been more than fifteen.

“We’ll hear it. Now, follow me.”

“Do you know where you’re going?” 

Geralt frowned, ready to admit like before that he hadn’t a clue, but then he heard it. It was faint, and he could only hear inhales, but there was snarling breathing that couldn’t be mistaken for anything other than a monster.

“I do.” He turned to go before anyone asked any more questions. 

Jaskier was at his heels, one hand gripping the dagger and the other clutching at Geralt’s belt to stay close, “Geralt, do you really know where we’re going?” he whispered.

“I can hear him.” Geralt muttered. Every muscle in his body was tensed and ready to strike as he lead the way down the arched corridor, unraveling the twine as they went. 

They walked on for what felt like forever, the hall twisted and turned, even went up a flight of stairs, but nothing about it seemed very maze-like. Jaskier kept quiet, but Geralt could feel his hand at his back trembling. Others in the group were whispering, They say it has a battle ax and Maybe it'll kill us quickly. 

Geralt held a hand up upon coming to their first T, “Everyone hush.” He closed his eyes, doing his best to listen past the panicked panting of the group. It was there, just barely, but the deep breathing of something much bigger than him was coming from the left. 

This continued for hours, or maybe it was only minutes, Geralt couldn’t tell,  until everyone could hear the beast’s steady breath and see a faint orange glow around a corner. 

Geralt stopped, turning to face the terrified group of teenagers, “Stay here and stay quiet.” he instructed. Then, handing off the glowing twine and whispering to Jaskier, “If I die you have to run. Sprint back to the doors, all of you should be able to open them. I’d tell you to go now if I weren’t afraid of waking it.” 

Jaskier had the gal to look offended, “If you think for one second I’m letting you go in there alone-”

“You will. The ship we came in on will be leaving in the morning with or without us. Be on it.” Geralt was getting jumpy, being a little more aggressive than he needed to, but the thought of Jaskier being left to die in this labyrinth without him was overwhelming and he’d never had more adrenaline coursing through him before. 

Jaskier held Geralt’s face between his hands and drew him in for a lip bruising kiss. Geralt’s unoccupied arm looped around his waist and pulled him close as his whole body screamed at him to run away with him. Nothing sounded better right then than sneaking out of the labyrinth and sailing off to some other island where they could live their lives in peace. No responsibility, no destiny, no monsters. 

Someone cleared their throat and Geralt pulled back, blushing furiously as he switched his sword back and forth between his hands, “That was one hell of a goodbye kiss.” 

Jaskier rolled his eyes, “Good luck, not goodbye. You’ll be fine.”

Geralt nodded and peeked around the corner, catching a glimpse of a large open hall with a fire burning at its center and what one might have mistaken for a pile of furs and pillows laying in front of it. He ducked back into the corridor, pressing his back against the wall and doing his best to take a deep breath that wasn’t a panicked gasp. His limbs felt like goatskins full of water and his palms were already starting to sweat. He barely kept his face under control as he tried to work up the nerve to move. 

Jaskier held his free hand, gently massaging at the tendons, “You’ve done this before, you can do it again.”

“It’s huge, Jask,” Geralt whispered, mortified that he’d made it all this way, and now when it mattered he couldn’t stifle the panic. 

“You threw a man twice my size halfway across the deck on our way here. You are strong and brave and deceptively intelligent.” Geralt raised an eyebrow at his words but let him continue, needed him to continue, “The blood of the gods runs through your veins and you’ve been blessed by the goddess of strategy and wit herself. You can do this.”

“Athena sending my mother to the sea is hardly a blessing.” Geralt argued, pushing off the wall and squeezing Jaskier’s hand before letting go. 

Jaskier pursed his lips, eyes somber despite his annoyed expression, “I’ll be waiting for you.” 

Geralt nodded and, though his limbs were still shaking, he stepped out into the hall of the Minotaur. 

He ran over all the advice he could remember from every soldier he’d spoken with as he crept toward the sleeping beast. As he got closer to the fire he saw the bones of previous sacrifices, some no bigger than a child’s, and the remnants of animal carcasses that were far fresher. The stench was getting progressively worse as he approached, so much so that he wondered if he might vomit before he could attack. He wanted to look back, he wanted to run back, but he kept his eyes trained on the beast before him. It was at least twice his size, covered in a strange coat of hair with a tail to match. Horns protruded from it’s forehead, long and sweeping forward in dramatic curves. He couldn’t see it’s face and prayed he wouldn’t have to while it was still alive.

When he was within feet of the Minotaur he raised his sword, gripping it in both hands and set his feet, readying to stab it in the neck. It was laying on its side, half curled into a fetal position as it slept. He felt a pang of sympathy for the creature. It wasn’t given a chance, wasn't guilty of the sin its mother committed or the offence her husband had committed against Poseidon. With it sleeping so still and so vulnerable he almost forgot the horror stories he’d heard from before they caged it here. He paused a moment too long.

As he brought down the blade the creature shifted and his sword cut deep across its back rather than a fatal blow at the neck. 

The roaring scream it let loose was disorienting, it rattled Geralt’s bones and had him shuffling backwards. It rolled to its hands and knees, or what functioned as knees, and Geralt slashed at it’s arm, slicing through thick ropy muscle as if it weren’t there. He thanked the gods the sword Triss had given him was sharp as he jumped out of the way of the Minotaur’s other arm swinging at him. He brought his sword down where he had just been standing, barely missing the monster’s forearm, but exposing his side, just like Eskel had warned not to. The Minotaur, now standing upright and towering over Geralt, kicked him in the ribs, sending him tumbling across the floor. He barely kept hold of his sword as he rolled to a stop, gasping for breath. 

It snarled at him, stomping closer on cloven hooves but holding one arm close to its middle. Geralt waited, kept gasping for breath long after he’d regained the ability to breathe properly and let the thing get closer. When it was within reach, raising it’s good arm in preparation to pummel Geralt into the stone, he lashed out again with his sword. This time the metal swiped clean through the canon of its left leg, severing the hoof from the leg completely. The Minotaur fell forward, nearly pinning Geralt to the ground as he scrambled out of the way. It struggled to push itself up on its one good arm but Geralt kneeled on its back, knee digging into the wound across it’s shoulders. He barely registered the screams of pain and outrage over the thrumming of his own pulse as he grabbed one of its horns with one hand and dragged his sword across its throat with the other. 

The screaming stopped, replaced by a stomach churning gurgle and trickle of blood. A deep, nearly black red liquid oozed out in every direction from the beast’s wounds as it struggled and twitched. Geralt didn’t want to take any chances. Cursed beasts had magical properties and he’d be damned if he left the thing alive enough to heal. Before the corpse began to cool he hacked and slashed until the head was completely severed from the body. 

Only then did he feel the pain radiating from his side all the way down his leg and into his toes. He threw the Minotaur’s head toward the corridor he’d entered from and collapsed on this good side, barely missing the rapidly expanding pool of blood. He grunted out a labored “Fuck.” before he heard shuffling feet and felt hands under his arms.  

Jaskier and the girl with all the questions were hauling him toward the fire. 

When they set him down Jaskier’s hands were flitting over his body searching for injuries, “I told you you’d be fine.” he teased, an undercurrent of fear cutting through his tone.

“Not fine,” Geralt huffed as Jaskier prodded his side and he tried to sit up, “Alive.”

“You probably broke a rib, go slowly.” Jaskier warned, helping Geralt up.

“You’re a doctor now?” Geralt teased, wincing as he straightened to full height.

Jaskier patted Geralt’s chest, “I’ve been kicked by a cow or two.”

He pulled Geralt close and kissed him softly, sighing like the world had been lifted from his shoulders. 

When he released the prince he rearranged the soft grey fabric and whispered so only Geralt could hear, “I could sell your sweat for a fortune right now.”

Geralt laughed and rolled his eyes, beginning to limp back to the other Athenians and scooping up the Minotaur’s head by the horns, “Lets go, I need a bath.” 

____________________

Next part here!

[littlegrrl7]

A Dance for Three

Ikemen Vampire Big Bang 2021

Pairing: Comte/Leonardo/MC

Smut with plot 18+ NSFW

Masterlist for 7 chapters 17k words

read on Ao3

Chapter 7- Consummation

 Niamh waited in the shadows, wrapped in Leonardo’s embrace, as Comte spoke to a man at the entrance to the labyrinth. She caught snippets of the conversation,

 The maze was closed, the man apologized, the garden was undergoing renovations.

 Niamh strained to hear, distracted as she was by Leonardo’s fingers stroking along her ribs, his thumbs brushing the undercurve of her breast before he pulled her back against his chest. His lips were hot on her neck, eagerly sucking at her flesh. She bit her lip to hold in a moan and saw the liveried servant glance at her before accepting a small pouch from Comte. He then stepped aside with a bow, lowering his eyes.

 “It would seem Comte has procured us a private place to view tonight’s fireworks, cara mia,” Leonardo whispered into her ear with a low chuckle. He took her hand, leading her forward. Comte gestured them into the hedge maze with a sly grin as he fell into step behind them.

 Niamh was quickly lost in the darkness just a few steps in. She stumbled slightly on the uneven path.

 “Comte, I can’t see.”

 He glanced up at the nearly full moon. To his eyes, everything was awash in silvery light. He could easily pick out each leaf of the high twisting bushes that flanked the stone path. He glanced at Leonardo, and the large man nodded, then swept Niamh up into his arms in a bridal carry.

 Leonardo kissed her, his lips lingering on hers until he felt her body melt against his; Comte moved to face them, nuzzling into her neck, his hand sliding under her skirts to trace her silk stockings up to her thigh.

 “Is that better, mon cœur?” Comte questioned as Leonardo released her from his kiss. Niamh nodded, and he brushed a light kiss onto her warmed lips then leaned closer, his mouth on Leonardo’s. The larger man gasped in surprise then moaned, his arms tightening around Niamh. She watched them, lips meeting as if they had been starved, the passion in that small touch spoke volumes. Niamh didn’t know how Leonardo could have possibly denied his feelings for Comte for so long. It was obvious it was deeper than a casual desire for intimacy. They parted with a soft sigh, Comte glanced at her, a slight flush on his pale cheeks. She winked.

 “It seems I have a good seat for the show,” her saucy tone made Leo laugh. He lifted her higher, adjusting his grip.

 “Hold tight, cara mia, while we find the center of the labyrinth.”

 The warmth radiating off him made Niamh feel languid and tight all at the same time. Her arm was up over his shoulder, fingers playing with the hair at the nape of his neck. Comte walked before them. Every time he paused, Leonardo would nuzzle her neck; and then move lower, placing soft kisses on the swell of her breasts. Niamh heard a faint rattle as Comte pushed open an iron gate, and the three of them entered a partially landscaped clearing.

 “Ah, here we are.” He held his hand out to her as Leo set her feet on the ground.

 Niamh stepped forward into the moonlit courtyard in the center of the labyrinth. Buckets of plants and piles of stone lay to one side. A sizable open stonework gazebo was in the center. Comte took her hand, smoothly bringing her against him. His fingers trailed along her jaw, tipping her head up. His lips covered hers long and slow, his tongue swept along her lower lip then teased lightly at hers. He led her forward, seating her astride the stone bench at the center of the structure. Wordlessly he sat behind her, his lips going to the seductively pale curve of her neck. Niamh's eyes caught Leonardo’s as he hesitated at the entrance, she beckoned him forward, then drew him into a sweet kiss. Leaning forward, she whispered into his ear:

 “Unlace my dress.”

 Burnished gold eyes studied her a moment, then his fingers moved to the front laces, slowly untying them. His gaze moved from her to Comte questioningly as the dress loosened around her slim form, dropping from her shoulders. Comte growled his approval, his lips moving to cover the now bared flesh. Niamh’s fingers caressed the lapels of Leo’s jacket, and then she pulled him into her embrace, slanting her lips over his. Leo moaned low against her lips, his hands coming up to cup her cheeks. Comte tugged the dress down to her waist, his deft fingers already working at the lacings of her underpinnings.

 Her hands dragged down Leonardo’s chest, hooking into his pants. He drew back as he felt Niamh unfasten them, his cock falling heavily into her soft hands.

 “Let me taste you?” she whispered against his cheek. His eyes flew open, catching Comte’s knowing gaze. The blond gave him a small nod as he finished loosening the stays of her corset and slid the garment off. A slight tug, and her chemise pooled around her waist, leaving her glorious breasts bare. Leo stood, a strangled gasp parted his throat as he felt Niamh’s hot mouth glide over the hard length of him. Her fingers tugged his pants down further, thumbs stroking along the sharp, sculpted line of his hips. Leo watched her cheeks hollow as she drew him in.

 Comte’s hands slid forward, both concealing and revealing her breasts in a teasing way. Leo caught a glimpse of her bright red nipples flushed and tight with her pleasure like ripe little cherries. God, how he desired to suck on them. His hips moved, thrusting shallowly into her sweet mouth. Comte stood and watched them a moment while he undressed. Then, naked, he moved closer, his hand stroking down Leonardo's back, squeezing a handful of his tight ass. Their lips met. Fangs dragged over Leo’s plush lower lip, and his soft pleading whimper entwined with the night. Comte pulled the larger man’s jacket off, tossing it onto the bench, then untied the carefully knotted cravat with a wicked grin.

 “I always loved the look of you half-clothed,” his voice was husky as he undid the pearl buttons on his dress shirt, leaving it to hang open. Comte ran a hand down his chest, traced Niamh’s cheek, then cupped his balls, tugging pleasurably. The sensation of his hands and Niamh’s questing mouth were overwhelming. Leo tipped his head back, his lashes fluttering closed on his cheeks. Comte sat again behind Niamh, his fingers stroking her thighs, then moving higher to dip into her silky folds.

 “Ahh, Leonardo, you’ve made her so wet, so welcoming for me.” A few more strokes with his fingers and Comte gently lifted her up onto his lap, sinking his cock into her heat. Niamh moaned against Leo, taking him as deep as she could. She started moving on Comte’s lap, his hands sliding forward again, one stroking her clit teasingly the other cupping her left breast.

 Leo watched him teasing her, even as her nimble tongue slid over him, coaxing waves of pleasure through his body. Her hands moved lower, cupping his ass, bringing him into her. He growled softly, his hands moving to her shoulders. Comte grinned and nipped his fingers then took one into his mouth, sucking it in rhythm with his thrusting hips. It was all too much on his senses, and it had been so long. He felt himself tighten at the sensation. His breaths more ragged, He cupped Niamh’s cheek.

 “Niamh, I won’t last much longer,” he gritted out, doing his best to hold back. She stroked the flat of her tongue along the sensitive underside, and everything in him roared to completion. He thrust hard, her fingers dug into his ass, pulling him tight to her as her throat flexed on his cock. She swallowed, then gasped against him. Leo immediately straddled the bench before her, his hands stroking her face, holding her close. Comte slowed his strokes, drawing them out into something akin to sensual torture.

 Niamh looked into Leo’s burnished gold eyes, a smile curling her passion swollen lips.

 “I like the way you taste.”

 His lips covered hers again, then moved lower, finally tasting and teasing her pouty nipples. She pressed her forehead to his shoulder, her breathless moans caressed his skin. Comte’s hands slid to her hips, rocking her back into him. The sensation of his smooth hands on her hips and Leo’s rough ones on her breasts was more exquisite than she had ever imagined. She leaned back against Comte, eyes closed as her body trembled, clenching down on the hard length of him. Her hands twined through Leonardo's hair as he suckled her nipples, nipping them lightly, playing just to hear her soft cries, and then she was coming. He covered her lips with his swallowing down her loud squeals of pleasure. A few more thrusts and Comte grunted, spending himself within her. His head pressed to her shoulder blades, soft blond hair tickling along her skin.

 They panted together in the moonlight. Soft touches and softer words echoed between the three lovers. Leonardo embraced Niamh to him, then let his hands drift to Comte, grazing down the bare flesh of his ribs in a tender caress. Amber eyes opened, and the man raised his head to gaze at his oldest friend.

 A sparkle of golden light in the sky followed by a crackle startled the three of them, and then Leonardo let out a soft chuckle.

 “Ah, see, we are on time for the show.”

 “Thank goodness you have impeccable timing,” Niamh teased back as she slid off Comte to rest nestled between his thighs. His arms went around her, his lips nuzzling affectionately against her neck.

 Murmured ‘I love yous’ suddenly had Leonardo feeling as if he was intruding on their moment. He stood, red light glowing over him from a flower bloom of fireworks.

 “Leo?” Niamh looked up, confused. Her skirts were in disarray, her pinned hair falling down in loose coppery coils, his eyes moved to her chest, then back up to her face. She was stunning disheveled like this. He wanted to hold her, to let this night continue. To be included. But perhaps it was time to go; it was nice that they allowed him to share in their affections for this one moment.

 Comte watched him silently, not wanting to sway his decision. It would hurt terribly if the man threw up his walls again now. He clenched a fist in Niamh’s skirts and waited.

 Niamh rose, “Leo, can you help me get these skirts off? It’s so hot, I’m sure it will be more comfortable for you to lay against my skin.”

 And there it was, Comte tilted his head with a smile.

 Leo stepped forward into her arms, his hands going to the fastenings on her skirts, ghosting along the silk of her skin as he slid them off. He let her lead him back. Niamh reclined against Comte, shadowed in a glitter of blue and gold as the sky lit up behind her. She pulled Leo down to lie between her thighs. He nestled his head in her lap with a soft sigh, his fingers tracing the red silk of her stockings.

 A burst of crimson and gold went off. Niamh trailed her fingers through his hair, then caressed his broad shoulders.

 “Isn’t that better?” She murmured to him.

 “Almost…” Leonardo turned his head, nuzzling into her passion soaked skin. The scent of her and Comte surrounded him, and it drove him to drag one long slow lick up her slit. To have both of them at once was divine, a dream, certainly something he’d never thought to suggest. He nuzzled into her deeper, she gasped writhing, and he felt Comte pin Niamh down, holding her still.

 “Now, now, ma chérie, you invited the man between your thighs, hold still while he feasts on you.” Comte’s hands went back to her breasts. She felt his fangs drag slowly over her shoulder then tease the sensitive skin at the join of her throat. Leo’s tongue plunged inside her, and she bucked only to have Comte hold her down firmer with a low chuckle. Leonardo hummed in pleasure against her soaked pussy.

 “Ahh, Comte, she gushes and clenches every time you pin her. I never thought sweet Niamh would like such things.” He blew a breath of cool air over her heated flesh, and she groaned. Comte tweaked her bright cherry nipples, and the squeal was barely covered by the next boom of fireworks.

 “She is a treasure, mon ami, one we are both happy to share with you.”

 Leonardo nestled back in, lapping her like sweet cream. At her moans, his fangs dropped, sliding over her swollen skin. He reached up, grasping Comte’s hand at her hip.

 Comte lathed her neck, sucking it gently until she cried out under him. He gave Leonardo a wink, his fangs extending, then slipped them painlessly into her ivory flesh.

 Niamh trembled, her thighs shaking with the waves of pleasure and heat radiated outward from his bite. Leonardo lapped and teased, his fangs lightly tracing her most delicate flesh.

 “Leo, please?” she was mindless with pleasure. The pleading tone sent him over the edge. He sunk his fangs into the softness of her inner thigh, drinking down her sweet life essence mixed with the juices of her pleasure. The climax of booming fireworks drowned out her cries. Niamh went limp, a pleasant, sated smile on her lips.

 Leo raised himself up, wiping his chin with a smile. His burnished golden eyes met with Comte’s, and he leaned forward for a slow, passionate kiss. Leonardo leaned back, gazing over the blissed-out smiling Niamh. She had slid down now, so her head rested in Comte’s lap. The double bite sent her into an erotic dream state.

 “You know this isn’t just for tonight.” Comte reached out tracing Leonardo’s cheek, then tenderly cupped the back of his head, bringing him in for another kiss. Leonardo leaned into it, relishing the taste of him. “When I asked you to join us, I intended for you to share our lives, not just an evening’s entertainment.”

 “Are you certain? I’ve seen you be possessive with Niamh. You won’t let other men dance with her at social functions. How can you-“

 “Because it’s you, Leo. I don’t feel the jealousy when it’s you. It just feels…” Comte paused a moment, he took Leo’s hand in his, resting it tenderly on Niamh’s shoulder.

 “Right,” Leonardo gave Comte’s hand a gentle squeeze.

 “We should get her home and tucked into our bed.” Comte gazed down at Niamh resting content in his arms, naked in the hot summer air except for those silky red stockings. “I’d like it if you’d join us to sleep.”

 “I’d love that.” Leonardo leaned in for another kiss, one of many to come.

[cecilspeaks]

176 - The Autumn Specter

Lips are the toes of the face. Welcome to Night Vale.

[spooky theme song]

It’s Halloween again, Night Vale, my favorite day of the year. As a kid, my mother used to dress my sister Abby and I in homemade costumes and take us door to door, vaguely threatening our neighbors until they gave us candy. When I was a teenager, I got a little old for trick-or-treating, so I started going to haunted houses with my friends. A lot of those haunted houses were kind of predictable with all their chain saw killers and Victorian ghost children singing nursery rhymes, who would follow you home and sing by your bed for months afterwards, but they always got to me. I loved the emotional rush of being scared. I still do. Of course, I don’t go out much to haunted houses, but I still love good old fashioned scary stories. I thought today would be a great day to share some of my favorites with you. I had my new intern, James, put together a few spooky tales that are perfect for putting you into Halloween mood.

But first, let’s have a look at the Community Calendar. This Saturday night at the New Old Night Vale Opera House, is the annual costume gala. This event is the Opera House’s largest fundraiser and one of the most prestigious costume contests in the region. A panel of judges will be on hand to determine the best costume at the ball. Last year’s winners were Joel Eisenberg and his partner Danny Jimenez, who dressed in a tandem outfit of a stegosaurus. I was there, listeners, and it was impressive! The creature was so realistic-looking. The craftsmanship of the costume was top notch, but listen, I have to confess I’m always more into high concept creativity rather than realistic details when it comes to costumes. Like I remember the 2015 gala, when Amal Shamun came dressed up as the concept of ennui. She made herself 12 feet tall, dressed in a taupe long coat, and created a constant drizzling rain inside the ball room. Anyone who looked at her got super sad and wanted a hug. But Joel and Danny’s stegosaurus was fine.

Sunday afternoon is the fall craft sale in Old Town Night Vale. An inscrutable maze of stalls showcasing the finest products from our town’s artisans. There will be cultural events for children, like finger painting classes, puppet shows, and a visit from the Autumn Specter. The Autumn Specter returns. It comes to collect its crops, with its great and sharp sickle. [creepily] It will harvest every ripe soul in Night Vale, the Autumn Specter is hungryyyy! It is Octoberr and it is timme to feeeeeee-duh.

Hey James, this Community Calendar doesn’t seem right, it’s just a bunch of stuff about the Autumn Specter. Also this font size, what-what is this 32 point? That’s just much too large. And it’s printed in red ink and that is a waste of our color toner, James. Eww, eww! This red ink is still really damp. OK, plus there’s nothing about start and end times of the craft fair, or anything about the food trucks, like if the Autumn Specter is hungry, surely it wants some falafel or Korean barbeque or tacos. James, could you just redo this story? James? James? [clears throat] Well, listeners, I don’t know where James went. Um, I can hear him breathing, but I don’t see him anywhere. Yeah, it’s fine, let’s just get onto our first spooky story.

[static, old-fashioned music] One quiet moonless night, not long ago and not so far away, a teenage girl sat in a house that was not her own. It was the home of Tony and Sheila McDowell. The girl was their babysitter, and she had just put the two young McDowell children down to sleep. The girl watched TV alone in the dark living room, only the bluish flicker of a scary movie illuminating her face. The phone rang abrupt and loud, startling her. She raised the receiver to her ear. “Hello?” she said with a slight quiver. “Have you checked on the children?” came a raspy voice. The babysitter ran quickly upstairs, opening the door of the kids’ bedroom. She flicked on the light, and there they were, fast asleep. She went back to her movie, but the phone rang again. “Haave youuu checked on the childrennn?” came the same voice, only more sinister. The babysitter again hurried upstairs, opened the door, turned on the light, and saw the children still asleep. The caller called again and again and again. “Have you checked on the children?” The babysitter, so scared, barely able to move, hung up the phone before the voice could finish its repeated query. When the phone rang once again, she answered and shouted: “Stop calling me!” But this time, it was a different voice. The person on this occasion said: “Ma’am, this is the police. We’ve traced the call. The call is coming from inside the house. Get out, get out!” The babysitter panicked and started to run, but then she remembered: she never called the police! How would they know to even trace the call? So she crept fearfully upstairs to the children’s room, and the phone was ringing again, the clamoring bell igniting her fright. And she cracked open the door and she saw- She saw the young McDowell boy and his little brother hunched over a phone and giggling! They were pranking her, and she felt relieved but embarrassed. And she told them to stop fooling around and go to sleep. And they all shared a good laugh.

Let’s have a look now at traffic. [papers rustling] Um.. OK, well I don’t seem to have a traffic report from intern James. Also James isn’t here right now, because I sent him out to go pick up lunch a few m- Oh, hey James, James, James, James – wait, why are you standing in the control booth? You were supposed to go get lunch and also I’ve asked you a couple of times not to wear that burlap bag over your head. I mean yes it looks great, with the Jack o’ Lantern face drawn onto it, I mean the mouth is a bit lopsided and the eyes are a tad uneven,  you know kinda flat and emotionless, but all in all it’s a cool look, but it’s decidedly not allowed in Station Management’s dress code. Oh, you’re holing a knife, too! So did you get- did you already get that lunch then? Well if that- if that’s the case, you don’t need to cut my sandwich in half, I’ll-I’ll take it whole. And also I need that traffic report, thanks. James? What are you waiting for, the Autumn Specter to do it for you? [chuckles] Hop to it! James?

[clears throat] Well, while James is working on that, let’s get back to my favorite spooky Halloween stories. This one isn’t a story so much as a fun Halloween game. The legend of Bloody Mary.

According to the lore, if you turn off all the lights, and stare into a mirror, repeating “Bloody Mary” three times in a row, she will appear and tear your face off! I’ve never tried this because I don’t own any mirrors, but my husband Carlos conducted this very experiment in his science lab. He said he darkened the room and repeated the name and nothing happened for a long time. But then a figure of a woman appeared, silvery gray and shimmering, and she approached Carlos slowly, her hollow white eyes never blinking. She brought her face only inches from Carlos and said: “Are you for real?” And Carlos said yes, he was indeed – real. And Bloody Mary said: “OK because this time of year, I just get a bunch of giggling, screaming teenagers, and I’m really tired of ripping off their faces for no pay whatsoever!” And Carlos gave her some resources for starting a union and she thanked him and she offered to tear his face off in exchange for the consulting, but Carlos said no, he liked his face, and wisher her luck. Night Vale, pay your malevolent spirits! They’re overworked especially around Halloween. And a 20 per cent gratuity for poltergeists, phantasms, revenants, and ghosts is standard.

And now for t- what the, oh you- [papers rustling] Wait, OK. You know, I thought intern James had handed the traffic report to me, but this is just a piece of parchment with a 9-pointed star seemingly drawn by a finger dripped in blood. And then there are a series of ancient runes scrawled around the outer edges. Now I took runic in college. I mean, most of my friends took Spanish as their language, but I thought living here in the American Southwest, it would be more useful to study ancient Scandinavian and Germanic alphabets. And from what I can make out, these are a message about the return of the Autumn Specter. Ugh, alright. OK. I love that intern James loooves Halloween and whatever this the Autumn Specter is. In fact, James is still in the break room right now construction a sacred totem out of ash tree branches and twine. He’s been muttering to himself all day in a language that I don’t recognize, and the only words I can understand are “Autumn Specter”. But I still have neither my traffic report nor my lunch! Wait, do you think James is… Naah, put it out or you mind, Cecil.

Let’s tell another spooky Halloween story. There once was a beautiful young woman who wore a green ribbon around her neck. She won the affection of a handsome young man. They fell in love and one day the boy asked the girl why she always wore a green ribbon around her neck. She would not tell him. One day the man and the woman were to become husband and wife. In her white bridal dress, the woman still wore her green ribbon. The man asked her on their wedding night if he could untie the green ribbon, but even on the  most intimate of evenings, she said no, and he respected her answer. But he longed to know what she was hiding behind the ribbon. Through the years, the man asked the wife again about the ribbon, but she never removed it, nor answered his questions about it. She only warned him that he would not like what he saw if she were to remove it. He asked less and less, but his curiosity grew and grew. And they became old, very old, and they knew their time left was short. The man asked one more time: “My dearest wife, love of my life, tell me that I may remove the green ribbon from around your neck.” And the old woman said: “My adoring groom, here in our room after all these many years, yes you may. But I caution you, as I have many times before, that you shall not like what your eyes behold.” The man hesitated, but finally reached his weakened, wrinkled fingers to the green bow along her nape. And he tentatively pulled the ribbon, and suddenly it unfurled, falling from her neck, and the man gasped. Upon her neck was a series of ornate letters spelling out “GOTH LIFE”. The woman said: “I got this tattoo in high school but kind of outgrew it and it’s super embarrassing.” And the man replied: “It is for sure weird, but also pretty cool. I like it.” And she never wore the green ribbon again.

You know, listeners, I’d love to bring you that traffic report, but right now, um, I’m facing something much more urgent and more dire. My studio door has opened on its own, and as I turned around, I could see down the long faintly lit corridor of our offices. And at the end of the hallway stands a figure, and he wears a Jack o’ Lantern mask, his head crooked to one side like a dog asking a question or like a hanged man, or both. And it is intern James, and he holds a long knife and he walks, he walks slowly toward me. And he is speaking at first in a mutter, but now louder, a strange shout in an obscure tongue like a magician casting a wicked spell, and he is moving much faster toward me, like a limping run, and his blade is raised high, and James is not an intern, Night Vale, bu the Autumn Specter itself come to reap my soul!

But before he does that, Let me take you to the weather.

[“Welterweight” by Nels Andrews. https://nelsandrews.bandcamp.com/]

So. During the weather, I went to human resources and requested a file on intern James. Oh I’m fine, by the way, and James is not the Autumn Specter, but I’ll get to that. So I found a copy of James’ résumé and cover letter for the position of radio station intern. His application was originally submitted in 1845. “That’s almost two centuries ago!” I exclaimed, but according to HR, they’re pretty backlogged on the intern apps. “What are you gonna do, we get to them when we get to them,” they said from the bottom of their abandoned well. Paperclipped to James’ application was a wrinkled and yellowed news clipping from the Night Vale °Daily Journal, and the article says that James died on Halloween night in 1849 when he was hit by a train. I then went to the hall of public records and found that our radio station was built in 1950, atop the very train tracks where James met hi send. James’ soul has been wandering the halls and offices of our radio station ever since. For all James ever wanted was to be a radio intern. To serve the listening community, to lift high the voice of journalistic truth. And it was his death that led to the shutdown of those train tracks and the eventual construction of a new station home, and the building we still use now. So I was wrong about James. He was an intern, after all, and not a malevolent Halloween spirit.

But I was right that the Autumn Specter had come for me. For when I turned to see James running down the hill, I did not notice the Autumn Specter behind me, with its bony hands and scarecrow mouth, and I did not notice its soul reaping sickle, which it had raised high above its oversized head and stick thin body. And James had given his life for the building of our radio station, and in death, gave his soul for the very same cause. And James threw himself upon the Autumn Specter, and he tried to stab the Specter’s neck and chest, but it-it- it did nothing. And the Spectre pushed James aside and then turned its black coal eyes upon me. And it raised its curved blade once again and swung! I tried to duck, but was too slow. And just as the sickle’s edge reached my face, James dove in front of it and vanished in a burst of white flame, as he was struck. And the room was empty and the Autumn Specter was gone too.

To the family and friends of intern James, he was… an OK intern. Not always on  top of his writing deadlines, but he literally sacrificed his soul for our radio station. I can’t bring you a traffic report today, but I will live to bring you one tomorrow.  If we find a new intern. And HR tells me that we have hundreds of candidates, although  most of them are not yet aware that they are candidates.

Stay tuned next for our new cooking competition show, “Flay Bobby Flay”.

And as always, Good night, Night Vale, Good night.

Today’s proverb: The road to hell is paved with cobblestone. It’s super bumpy, not at all comfortable, and really bad for your car’s suspension.

[sketchy-saram]

Winter Refrain

At long last! A promised story I somehow forgot to post, LOL.

 It’s been two long years since Felix left Vesuvia, but Advieh is about to get a surprise on the night of the Winter Ball. Will it be everything that they hoped for?

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

“Felix? Yes, I saw him heading towards the gardens. He looked...healthy. Normal. Good luck, darling. I hope...I hope it works out for you both.” 

Hope. Such a small, fragile word, and yet it beat so strongly in Advieh’s chest, warring against doubt and fear with a strength that belied its size. What had started that morning as a vague, listless duty to attend the Winter Ball had become an anxiety that almost overwhelmed them when they heard that Felix was going to attend. And yet, within all the clouds of uncertainty, the tiniest fluttering of hope still lived, unwilling to surrender.

Maybe...maybe he remembers. Maybe things can go back to the way they were. Maybe… It was the ‘maybe’ that pushed them forward when their legs wanted to freeze up, having nothing to do with the chilly winter air. They pulled the skirt of their dress higher, resenting the weight of it that dragged them down and yet grateful for any spare second. By the time they had passed the gardens to the maze, their breath was already coming in soft puffs of white. There was no sign of him, and no one else to ask. Where would he go? It was disorienting. Before, Felix was never more than a stone’s throw from them. How could those days feel like a million years ago, and just yesterday at the same time? 

They tried to swallow; their mouth was as dry as the Nopal desert. Their blood pounded loudly in their ears, especially audible in the silence of the wintery wonderland around them. Large quantities of fake snow had been magicked up for the occasion; twinkling strands of fairy lights twined around the manicured bushes and trees, and floating lanterns of soft violets and blues lit the path for anyone who might wander this far. The effects were fanciful, romantic...and only vaguely noticed by Ad, their attention stolen. 

Any sign of that familiar smiling face, the rainbow hair,  the broad shoulders...

And then, everything seemed to stop in time as they rounded a corner, greeted by the large marble fountain with its ornamental owl...and a figure that was unmistakable even from afar, sitting on the edge of the pool. Ad sucked in a breath, not moving, drinking in every detail like it was water for their parched tongue. All feeling had been sapped from their body, except the heart thumping painfully in their chest--that continuous thud reminded them that this was real.

This was happening.

He looked a bit different, although the essence of him was exactly as they remembered. His hair had grown out; still shaved at the sides, but the deep blue locks were pulled back now into a ponytail that was curling at the ends. The color was muted for Felix, but it still wasn’t a natural hue, which relieved them for some reason. The childhood scar on his lip was there, and his eyes, cinnamon-brown, were still gentle as they stared up at the twinkling snowfall. His clothes were finely-tailored and exquisite--Wren must have been working hard in her absence, Ad thought, their mind wandering. So many things. So much to take in after such a long time.

The nostalgia was like a punch to the stomach, and all the emotions that they had fought so hard to repress threatened to destroy the dam that held them. The hands holding their skirt bunched the fabric, gripping it desperately, as if to find some semblance of balance. Errant tears blurred their eyes, and stung in the cold night air. 

Maybe...maybe this had been a bad idea after all. If he remembered, if he truly remembered, he would have found them first. There was no doubt in Ad’s mind of that, and the flutter of hope dimmed. Why did it hurt so badly, that knowledge, after so long? Maybe hope was more of a burden than a help, and yet it stubbornly stayed rooted. A flower that didn’t know when to die.

Is having Felix around, even if he can’t remember, better than not having him at all?

They knew the answer to that, as well as they knew their own name. So, after what was only a few seconds but felt like an eternity, Advieh began to pick their way through the snow, their face calm, their heart hammering unfettered. 

At long last, Felix turned to look in their direction, catching their intent gaze with his own. 

And he smiled.

“I’m sorry. I kept you waiting.”

His voice sounded deeper, more...introspective, somehow. Maybe they just hadn’t heard it in such a long time? It was a little teasing, which was reassuring, and yet there was definitely a wall they weren’t used to. They remembered the wall when they went to see him, after the...after everything happened. Advieh was used to walls. Why did this one sting so much more? They fought a frantic urge to tear it down, to beg for that easy familiarity that had once irked them so much.

“I didn’t know you would be here,” they said, trying not to sound accusatory. They could feel their lips trembling. Firmed them. “When did you get back to Vesuvia?”

They were still so far apart, and yet Ad couldn’t bring themself to take another step, or to cross through that gulf--not until they knew for sure, one way or another. Knew he wasn’t here to say goodbye again. Even after all this, I’m a coward, they thought angrily. But still, they stayed put. Maybe a person only had one heartbreak in them to endure.

“Just a few days ago. I stayed with Asra in his magic shop. I wasn’t sure I would come here, I guess.” His words were even, measured, and light on the surface. But the smile he gave Advieh was sorrowful. The pit in their stomach opened up further. “I’m so sorry. I haven’t...I don’t remember much more than before. I don’t remember you. I’ve tried and tried, but I can’t. I can remember days, times, events, but there are just...holes.” 

Holes shaped like me, Ad thought, the tears welling up again. They swallowed. Hard.

He sounded tired, but also frustrated. At least they knew now. Some of the weight of uncertainty lifted, only to be replaced by the desire to soothe, but continued fear of rejection. It was a combination only Felix had ever brought out of them.

“I can’t remember any of those old memories...but I still couldn’t forget about you. About meeting you. I couldn’t stay away any more.” Those words, said more forcefully, shook Ad out of their emotional stupor. Finally Felix stood, the crunch of snow under his boots a soft sound compared to his voice. He took a step closer to them. “Every time I try to remember being really, truly happy...I can’t. All those memories seem to have been with you. So maybe I can’t remember those times, but...I know that they were the happiest of my life. I would do anything to get them back. For you. For us.” Another hesitant step.

“Maybe it will never happen. But I know that I can’t run away from you any more. I tried. I tried to forget. And I thought...maybe if you had forgotten me too, you wouldn’t come here. That was a bit selfish of me.” Finally he gave another small smile, just a quirk of his lips. “But you did.”

By now he wasn’t so far away; maybe only a couple of feet. The boots gave him a little more height on them. The feathers of his cloak looked downy and soft. The swell of his chest under his doublet as he breathed the icy air was visible. How could he be the same person Advieh wanted so desperately, and yet not quite? 

But they also had an answer, after all this time. 

“I did.” They reached out, chilly hands finding Felix’s gloved ones. The white leather was soft, and although he started at the touch, he did not shy away from it. 

Maybe there could still be hope, even if it was a different kind of hope.

“Felix, I have to...I need to say some things. This...is all my fault. No, it is,” they hurriedly continued, when he automatically opened his mouth to deny it. It was hard, what they wanted to say, and yet once they started, it was easier than they thought. It felt like a confession of the worst kind of sin, but letting go felt so much better. 

“I was a coward, and I was blind. Worse, I was ignorant, and I stayed that way on purpose. I thought that there was a role I had to play, and so I forced myself to play it. I told myself I was trapped in a cage. But the truth is...the truth is that I locked myself in that cage. I held the key. I fooled myself into thinking I had no other options, because options and choices were frightening. And yet. You were the only one to force yourself inside. To hold open the door. To ask me to leave with you.” They had to stop, to compose themself, because their voice had ground to a whisper under the weight of the emotions. Everything they wished they had said. All the truths they held back before.

But not this time. Not again.

“And I...I didn’t take your hand. When the time came, I was too afraid to leave. I didn’t want to think of a way out, so I told myself we could both be locked in that cage together. That we could be happy enough that way, without words. Without commitment. And it...it almost cost you everything. I’m so sorry, Felix. I’m so, so sorry.” 

A few defiant tears escaped then, and Ad let out a noise of frustration, not wanting the indulgence. This was too important. And yet, there wasn’t much more that could be said. All there could be was a response.

Felix’s hands tightened on theirs, like he was fighting an intense urge to do...something. A million small changes raced across his face. Then, at last, he raised one hand and placed it ever-so-hesitantly on their cheek to brush away the tears. It was the most feather-light touch Ad had ever felt. They let out a trembling breath; let their eyes flutter closed.

“I feel like...I already forgave you. I don’t think there was ever anything to forgive. Not to me, anyway. I felt...insane, for having these feelings for someone I couldn’t remember. But you were always there. I know that memories make us who we are. They shape us into different people...and I know I can’t be the same man you remember, when I don’t have those memories inside me. But looking at you, I...want. I want you. I want to know you. I want to be even better than the person I was before, whoever he was. And he was an idiot if he didn’t tell you how much you meant to him. I won’t--”

“I love you,” Ad said, their mouth moving and saying the words before Felix could even finish his sentence. The sound of that declaration, said aloud, was a surprise even to them. Once their brain caught up, their hands flew to their mouth, an ‘O’ of shock, and clapped over it tightly. “Ah,” they said, in a high and reedy squeak that they were sure they had never made in their whole life, “I didn’t mean...that was so sudden, I….ah...” But their own embarrassment was temporarily forgotten as they looked up to see the absolutely radiant look of elation, surprise, and pleasure on Felix’s face. He took another step, closing most of the little distance left between them, and brought his other hand up to frame their face. 

“This is wild, and crazy, and I can honestly say I’ve lost my mind. But...I think I love you, too.” He laughed, a breathless sound that was an exhale of relief and a celebration, and then Ad’s feet lost contact with the ground as he lifted them up, the feel of his arms around them just the way they remembered. 

Maybe this wasn’t the same as before. But there was no reason they couldn’t start again. And this time, Ad thought, they would do it properly. No more hiding. No more secrets. No more shutting themself off for fear of the world, even as they stared out at it wistfully from inside a palace or a carriage. They remembered the last words the two of them had spoken to one another, in the Hanged Man’s realm that day while Felix’s life hung in the balance. Maybe the assertions he made then had been true all along. Maybe they would remember each other, and love each other, even if they had to start from zero again. Ad was never a big believer of fate...and yet, just this once, it didn’t feel like such a terrible thing, being fated to be with this man.

Felix had already saved them twice; once from a literal sword, and then from a miserable life in the cage they built themself. Yet here he was again, with no memory of them, his hand held out with no hesitation. 

This time they would grab it, they thought, and they would never let go of it again. After all, Advieh didn’t make the same mistake twice, and there were so many new ones waiting to be made...for the both of them. 

Together.

[dyke-remy]

Live And Let Die, part 1

Part 2    Part 3    Part 4   Part 5   Part 6 

Description: Agent 008 and Agent 009, professional spies for the MI6 with liscense to kill. Partners in both work and love. After an agent goes missing the partners have to once more go out into the field. (It’s a James Bond AU)

You don’t need to know anything about James Bond to be able to read this fic, trust me

Words: 3516

It was 7 am when the alarm clock went off. It's loud blaring filled the room that had been peaceful a few seconds ago. Remus let out a grunt. Without opening his eyes he took out a knife from under his pillow and threw it at the clock. The noise disappeared.

"You can't keep doing that" Remy muttered, half yawning it out "Q is like running out of clocks"

"If he could make that morning star that also worked as a disco ball for my birthday he can make some new clocks" He replied.

The room (and the entire apartement) was of average size with just enough space for everything necessary. Which made sense, they didn't spend much time in there anyway. Soft morning light was shimmering in through the window.

The blanket had been wrinkled since Remy was laying over it with their head on the pillow. Remus had his arms wrapped around their waist. They were so close their hair twined together on the pillows. He leaned closer and gave his spouse a good morning kiss.

Their slow awakening was interrupted by someone knocking on the door. They glanced at one another as their expressions turned serious. Remus quietly got up and grabbed the gun laying on the nearest drawer. Butt naked as he was he sneaked over to the door and slowly opened it and at the same time held the gun out.

"Good morn- AAAHHHH!" Patton Moneypenny screamed when he saw the gun peeking out at him. He had on a dark blue knitted suit jacket with stylish bows instead of buttons. With it he had on wide blue matching suit pants.

Remus' posture relaxed when he saw who it was. He fully opened the door "Hiya Moneypenny. You should yell it's you next time or else your brain might paint the walls.....That would look kinda nice tho"

"You should take something on" Patton suggested with a cheerful smile while his cheeks went bright red.

"He should" Remy who had come up behind their husband agreed "One day someone will shoot your dick off"

"Naaaahhhh. They will be too surprised by seeing my massive cock to think about attacking me and then it'll be too late. Boom bang dead! It's a genius tactic!!"

Remy rolled their eyes. They sent Patton a warm smile before pulling him into a hug "Hiya PatPat! Wanna come in?"

"Yeah" As he looked around the room which he'd been in many times he continued with "M wants to meet you in 15 min"

M was the leader of the MI6, the organisation they all worked for. Patton had been his secretary for as long as anyone could remember. It would be weird to imagine M's office without Pat working tiredlesly on his desk right outside.

"15? Girl a lady needs time to get ready, what the fuck" Remy opened a drawer and pulled out the black suit pants, white shirt, black tie and black blazer that acted as their dress code.

"15? Oh! Too little time to spend with my Favorite person in the whole MI6!" Remus exclaimed. He still didn't have anything on.

He took Patton's hand and moved the other to lay on his waist. He spun him around in some sort of dance which made the shorter man giggle and blush harder. He tried not to look down at Remus'....

"Oh Mr. Moneypenny! Rotten apple of my eye! Every mission is spent missing you!" he continued to dramatically lament. He dipped Patton and playfully moved in for a kiss.

Patton let out a chuckle while leaning his head away. "I'm married"

"Ah yes! The greatest tragedy of my life!" Remus held his hand over his heart and all.

"Tragedy indeed" Remy commented before flicking their finger to the back of their husband's head. They dumped his clothes onto his head too "C'mon gal the sooner you get done the sooner you can go out and play fisticuffs with someone"

"Fantastic point dear!"

After gettin dressed Remus jumped up on the bed and pressed a specific spot on the painting on the wall. It turned around to reveal a collection of guns, knives and various other weapons hidden behind it. He patted his morning star and throwing stars goodmorning, fully knowing that M nor Q would allow him to bring them on a mission. Instead he took a gun and carefully cleaned it as if he was cleaning a marble vase.

"I hate these fucking suits. They're so boring. No style. No style at all!!" Remy groaned out while tying their husband's tie because he'd been a spy for 7 years now and he still couldn't tie a tie.

Patton nodded along in sympathy "Very gay of you to think that" The duke chuckled.

They fixed his shirt which had been buttoned wrong "I don't think about fashion because I am gay as fuck! I think about it 'cause I've tots been the most fantastic disguiser here for years and fashion is like integral to a good disguise!! Besides my mothers are fashion legends and I gotta represent y'know"

"I know"

He handed over a gun (Handler ppk) and a few different knives to his spouse who swiftly hid it in different places on their suit. He himself preffered a bit more heavy handed attilery even when it came to handguns.

The couple followed Moneypenny out of their apartement. They lived in a normal looking apartement complex, a little bit fancier than a normal one. They went into a cleaning scrub.

Patton grabbed a mop standing in the corner. He pulled off the top of the handle revealing a scanner underneath. He pressed his thumb against it. A panel of numbers appeared on the wall. He quickly pressed in a code which finally made the inner wall open up, revealing an elevator.

They stepped inside and chit chatted about the weather and what they'd done on the weekend as the elevator went down.

The elevator opened with a satisfying ding. They were many many levels underground now. Long grey hallways stretched forward. It could be a maze for someone new to the place. Patton walked in front of the other two, he knew it like his backpocket.

After 5 or so minutes of walking he stopped by his secretary desk and sat down. There were stacks of paper work on his desk and cute animal posters hanging on the wall beside him.

Remus leaned over the desk and moved a piece of Patton's hair behind his ear "One day I'll get you on a date my dear Moneypenny"

"Sure you will mr. Octopussy. For now I think you will have to stay satisfied with taking whatever mission M gives you"

Remy took Remus' hand and dragged him with them into M's office. He was able to blow a kiss to Patton on his way in. Pat simple chuckled and rolled his eyes. They both knew neither of them were serious.

The office was an old fashioned one with walls and furniture of dark wood. Purple satin clad the windows. Plants and terrariums littered the room and all kinds of snakes slittered about.

Though the biggest snake of them all sat in the chair behind the desk. M. Most people called him Deceit. He had a menacing smile, ebony skin and dark hair pulled back into a braid that reached his shoulder. On his shoulder laid one of his most dearest and most deadliest pets.

"Look who finally decided to join us" M greeted as they came in.

"Aww you missed us so much didn't you??" Remus replied while sitting down on one of the chairs in a way no normal person should "It's okay Deecy. We can invite you to our next movie night"

"Yeah" Remy sat down on the desk and leaned close to Deceit "We're gonna watch Saw 4 and legally blond"

"I can think of much better ways to waste my time thank you. So onto ghe case. It's about-"

M stopped talking because the agents were obviously too busy flirting with each other to listen. It was nothing compared to how they used to spend entire briefings making out right when they'd started dating.

"Please if I wanted to get ignored I would go home to my children which honestly I wish I could" M muttered.

He gave one of his snakes a pat on the head before sending it to twist around Remus' neck which made them both shut up very quickly.

"So about the case. Agent 0012-"

"Like Emile Picani 0012?" Remy interrupted.

"No agent 0012 the giant whale. Yes Picani"

"Oh he's a great kisser! Babe y'know how I like worked in the Q department a bit before becoming a full fletched agent. Yeah I was Pic's quartermaster. We would stay together during missions sometimes. We made out lots and he showed me a bunch of like cartoons"

Deceit put on a more serious expression "He's gone off the radar. He was sent on a mission to Latvia together with 005. Agent 005 has been confirmed dead. Right now we're suspecting that Picani is the killer"

"He wouldn't!" Remy objected.

"We can never be sure. He could have gone rough or been paid to turn sides. Or he's being tortured right at this moment. Anything could have happened"

"I wish I was being tortured right at this moment" Remus who had completely zoned out until now added.

"Well you can gladly take his place if you found him then. He and 005 were supposed to attend a poker night. I suggest you two attend it in case he is there. Disguised of course. If he's gone rough we can't have him be hostile towards you if he recognises you.

"Non suspicious straight couple?" Remus asked while looking over at Remy.

"Non suspicious straight couple!" They replied while high fiveing him.

--

A bit over a day later later Remus was driving a silver aston martin. They were on their way to the casino which was placed away from any nearby town. Among the snowy hills the ice casino stood tall.

"Girl these shoes hurt worse than the time I got shot" Remy groaned while fixing their high heels.

"You can just change shoes y'know" Remus replied.

They looked at him as if he'd just spit in their food "No??? It's part of the character girl!! Like you can't do a great disguise if you don't dress like the character would"

"Which characters are we tonight?"

Remy shone up into a smile "Glad you asked! You are Louis Roy. French guy who inheritated his dad's company. Total asshole. Straight cis you know the type. You're 36-"

"Is that why you put all that make up on me? To make me look old?"

"Yep. And your mustache tots helped. I'm Chelsea Roy. 24. Model. Married you for the money. Housewife. I'm cheating on you with your dad"

Remus let out a fake audible gasp "In return I only married you because I liked your feet model work"

"Touche"

The car stopped in the parking lot of the casino. Remus leaned back in his seat and checked his gun. He glanced over at his spouse who was strapping a blade to their thigh.

"What?" They asked when they caught him looking.

"Nothing" There was a soft smile on his lips "I just love you. Like a giant elephants heart ripped out and bleeding on the ground love y'know"

"I know"

Remy unbuttoned the top button on Remus' tuxedo shirt. They pressed a kiss right below his shoulder, leaving a red lipstick mark, before buttoning it again so it was hidden.

"Just as a reminder" They explained with a cheeky smile.

Remy leanded against Remus' shoulder to fully look like arm candy as they entered the casino. A worker took their coats by the door. Uphead was a luxurious bar made of ice and a large area with tables here and there to mingle. To the left was the casino area. It was the only place where nothing was made out of ice. Instead glistening lights shone on red slot machines and people in expensive clothing were gathered around large poker tables. To the right was the entrance to the casino's hotel and the desk to get keys.

The couple casully went around the mingle area while looking for Picani in the crowd of hundreds of people.

"People are looking at you" Remus mumbled to them after at least 2 guys has been too busy looking at his spouse to not walk into walls.

"Who can blame them" Remy shrugged.

They had on a dark blue satin dress with an open back and a slit on the front so they could move easier. Their wavy light brown hair was pressed down under a blond wig and they had a fake sapphire necklace around their neck. Their dark eyeliner stood out against their pale skin. Remus had on a black tuxedo with a matching bowtie. His dark brown, nearly black hair had been slicked back. His olive toned bordering on brown skin honestly looked amazing in the lighting of the casino.

"Q said Picani was supposed to stay in room 235 so I'll like go and get the key while you like mingle or something I dunno. Kay?" Remy more commanded then asked.

"Yes dear! " He did a mini salute while sticking his tounge out before walking away.

All the keys to the rooms were hanging on the wall behind the desk. Remy took off their necklace while walking up to it. They fixed their posture and took a deep breathe to get ready to make their voice as high as possible.

"Exscuse me sir!" They put on a panicked tone as they walked behind the desk.

The man who presumebly worked at the hotel glanced at them before doing a double take and full on looking at them with heart eyes. "Something wrong?"

They put on a bright smile and twirled the end of their hair between their fingers "Yeah I uh just kinda dropped my necklace and it's like suuuper hard to put on by my own so could you like put it on for me? Pleease?"

"Of course!"

Remy handee him the necklace and turned towards the wall. While he was busy putting it on they took the keys to room 235 without making a single sound. In one smooth motion they stuck it to where the blade was already strapped to their thigh.

"Done!" He said.

They sent him another smile "Do I look good?"

"You look amazing!!"

"Aww thanks sweetie"

They sauntered of without another word. They took a glass of champange from a server they passed to look more casual. They inspected the key while looking for Remus. When they stuck their nails down into it a mark was left if only for a moment. It was a fake.

Remus was sitting by the poker table, loudly boosting about a made up story while betting way more money than he should. He shone up into a grin when he saw Remy. They leaned on his chair and moved one hand to comb through his hair. He moved an arm around their waist to pull them closer knowing fully well that his spouse was distracting everyone else in the poker game.

"Got the key?" He whispered.

"Got the key. It's a replica. I can see it"

"Okay so Picani has the other one. Makes sense. Now we know he's alright"

"Nah girl" Remy glanced around at the other players "Trick them into shoving their keys. Trust me"

"I always do" Remus put on a cocky smirk and leaned his elbows onto the table "Isn't this game becoming a bit boring? How about this: we all bet the amount of money our hotel rooms cost. Including the ones just for the ladies if you get me hurr hurr" He took out the key to his room he'd gotten from Q and laid it on the table "Just as a showing"

Most of the people had been drinking so they all threw up their keys without much thought. Remy subtly moved around the table and glanced at the keys while Remus continued with the game.

Remy stopped midstepped and quickly walked back to him. They made it look like they were kissing his cheek when they were actually whispering

"The mistah on the other side of the table was the one who threw the second 235 key. You know his name or do I have to like pretend flirt the ugly bastard?"

"Ron Stewart. Was real quick to introduce himself just to brag about his money"

"Good. Q can deal with like finding info about him. We gotta find Picani"

They grabbed him by his arm and dragged him up from the table. Remus made some comment about women always hurrying to the other people around the table while quickly throwing his cards away.

He took their hand in his and intertwined their fingers as they entered the hotel part. Ice chandelierd hung in the hallways and deep crimson mattresses where laid over the icy floor. He held his other hand close to where his gun holster was hidden under his jacket.

The door up to the second floor was locked. The two of them glanced at each other. Now they relly knew something was off. Remy took out 2 hairpins from their wig and unlocked the door in under 3 minutes.

The hallways were eerie and quiet. The lights were low and the sounds from the casino were now only dull faraway whispers.

Sudden footsteps were heard. Remy pressed their back against the wall and pulled Remus by his collar into a deep kiss. Out of the corner of their eye they saw a guard walk into the hallway. It was clear there was a gun hidden in a holster connected to his belt. The enby hoped he would just leave them alone if they made out hard enough. It usually worked.

When he saw them his already grumpy expression turned into a grimace. He grabbed onto Remus' shoulder and forced him out of the kiss.

"Visitors aren't allowed on the second floof" He said in a gruff voice.

"Oh come on. Whats a guy gotta do to get some privacy" Remus replied while keeping his arm around Remy's shoulder. They nodded along while blinking innocently and swaying back and forth.

The guard seemed to think for a moment. He took a step back before in a split second pulling out his gun and pointing it at them.

Remus went on instinct as he moved forward and forced the gun out of his hand. He stood like a shield in front of Remy in case it shot. The guard stumbled back as the gun was dragged out of his hands.

Remy shot forward. They dug their nails down into the guard's wrist and kicked his knee to get him off his balance. With a huff they turned around and with the motion swung him over their shoulder and down on the ground. Before he even had time to regain his breathe they kicked their foot onto his neck, knocking him out instantly.

"Should keep him out for long enough" They commented while leaning down to feel his pulse.

"I love it when you do that sudden kissy thing. I wish murderous people would walk in on us more so you'd do it more often" Remus replied.

"Babe you can literally ask me to kiss you whenever"

"It's not the same if the threat of death isn't looming over us!!" Remus did an overexagarated pout.

Remy stood up and moved the blade on their thigh to their hand "Leave that to when we've found Picani" They said while continuing into the next hallway.

Remus quickly followed them, even walking a bit before them so if another guard showed up they would shoot at him first. "So eager to see him huh?"

"Duh. He was like the closest thing I had to a boyfriend before I met you. Like sure we were never official but we kissed and did all that sorta couplesy stuff. I haven't seen him like years! I wanna catch up y'know"

"Do I have to be afraid of being replaced" Remus joked.

They bumped against his shoulder "Babe neva!"

He was about to reply with something lovey dovey but the conversation immediatly stopped as they both saw it. Room 235. The door stood slightly open.

They moved silently, weapons in hand. Remy was the first in. They looked around with urgency in their eyes. They searched through the entrance before going into the bedroom. Remus checked the bathroom but there wasn't a trace of him. No traces of other people either.

A sudden choked back sob came from the bedroom. Remus ran to it while holding back the urge to yell out his lover's name.

Remy stood with shaking shoulders by the door. On the floor with his back leaned against the bed sat Emile Picani. Dead.

[equalseleventhirds]

hello!! I see u going a bit wild over mabelpod and I always rlly love seeing that so I thought maybe some questions r in order... I would like 2 ask u firstly about tressa davies, secondly abt Brandon-as-theseus-as-the-villain, and third about what ud like 2 see in s7, if that's ok!!!

fjsdklf i am just havin a bit of a relisten while at work... hm. i would need to finish my relisten to rly have these fresh in my brain, but just off the top of my head:

tressa davies: i LOVE tressa!! she is a cult survivor who got away and blocked it out but could not rly strike back at the ppl who used her, UNTIL she could!! the complexity of her, the way sometimes all u can do with ur trauma is try to forget it but she’s finally offered a way to do something about it... yeah.

brandon-theseus-etc: ok listen!! mabel is the bull in the maze! brandon does not necessarily set out to kill her, but he is sent to cause her harm (whether physical or mental/emotional) while thinking he is part of something great... i’m not even sure if he fully is theseus, bcos theseus was a dick while knowing what he was doing (and yes ok theseus was following the orders of the gods but i, like anna, do not LIKE him). to a certain extent, brandon is also a tool... not the ball of twine, like anna, but perhaps the sword. sharp and bright and actually all wrong for the situation.

what i would like to see in s7: thomas? thomas!! and janet pulled into the world under the hill would be v interesting, i wanna see her React. also veratrine come back, i miss her so dearly..... my girl........ (also put mabel and anna BACK TOGETHER do not separate them!!) and i wanna know what was Up with the god ekaterina saw, i am hungry for lore at all times.

[quirkfics]

hold my hand

a commission for a lovely anonymous commissioner <33

wordcount: 5k

warnings: smut, oral, biting, fluff, and a very small hint of vulnerability (on Toga’s part), aged up

pairing: Himiko Toga x F!Reader

You suppose this is what you get for not paying better attention to the directions you’d been given. No, I’ll be fine, you’d reasoned earlier. There’s GPS and a million apps! And then you’d left, not even bothering to give it another thought.

“I would have been fine,” you complain under your breath, glaring down at the phone in your hand, fingertips drumming impatiently along the back. “If only I had service out here.” It’s like you’ve stumbled into a maze in some kind of manufacturing district. There are too many tall, identical buildings towering over the streets- and the sun is starting to go down. There are still working streetlights, and plenty of people bustling about, but- your heart speeds as your eyes comb through the passersby. Most of them have a tired, factory-worker look about them, but a few of them look more like they should be smoking and drinking in run down bars than out walking on the streets. None of them look particularly friendly, especially with the sky rapidly darkening overhead. 

An argument breaks out across the street, followed quickly by a small tussle, and echoing jeers. You feel a little ridiculous, picking up the pace - they're not even looking your way - but you’d rather be safe than sorry in an unknown place. You’re so distracted by the fighting, and the thought of getting free of this situation, that you nearly walk into a pair of petite, outstretched legs. You catch yourself at the last possible moment, hand hovering over a pale calf, before you clutch at your chest instead as you take a step back. You glance at the low wall, heart thundering-

“Pretty lady looks lost,” the young woman sitting there teases, letting the heels of her shoes fall back against the cement block with a tap. She smiles, teeth sharp, her eyes glinting with gold- and words seem to fail you. As absolutely lovely as she is, and she is, you can’t help tracing your eyes over her calves again, or the vivid pink of her cheeks, or the way her hair frames her face- she feels more dangerous than any of the people you’ve passed on the street so far. You’re not sure whether it’s in the way she holds herself, shoulders relaxed, or maybe in the way she looks at you from underneath darkened eyelashes. Something about her gaze is sharp though, tangible enough to remind you of prickling needles. You feel like a sucker, liking it as much as you do.

“You can tell?” You ask, a rasp of a laugh escaping you. Part of you thinks that you probably shouldn’t have said that - what if she hangs out here to lure in unsuspecting women? And you- well, you may as well be a fish on a hook already. You’d come to her without any prompting, after all. 

“Ooh, for sure! You have that look about you - your eyes,” she says, her grin widening as she hops down from the wall. She lands lightly on the balls of her feet, skirt swishing around her thighs, and reaches out to lift up your unresisting hand for inspection. “The way you’re clenching your hands?” Her touch is gentle, but firm, coaxing you into uncurling your fingers. “All dead giveaways for a woman looking for a shortcut to the... nicer part of town.” She traces the lines of your palm, soft enough to tickle, and hums as she taps up your wrist. Her smile turns a little manic as your pulse speeds under her fingertips.

Her presence is a wonderfully heady one- she smells like sweetness and something metallic, almost coppery. You swallow, and take a step back, just to try and get a little bit more air. You let her keep the loose grip she has on your hand though, because you don’t actually want to walk away, no matter what your common sense is telling you. 

“Yeah, I- I lost service,” you offer, brandishing the phone in your other hand.

She hums, but doesn’t give more than a cursory glance to the lit screen before you tuck it back in your pocket, mildly self conscious. “Lucky for you, pretty lady, I just so happen to know one,” she says, and bats her eyelashes. She giggles in delight when an awkward smile blooms on your lips. “Oooh, look at that! Good thing you found me - they would all want a taste of that smile.”

She’s flirting. Isn’t she? Even though it comes off a little frightening. If you’d been walking, you would have tripped. As it is, you have to look away from her face, and hope she didn’t see the ridiculous expression that had come over you. 

“Looks like it is my lucky day then!” You get out, trying to even the look on your face. You nearly jump, biting your bottom lip when she carefully hooks her arm around yours, as familiar as a friend whose known you for years. She’s so- “Are you from around here?” You can’t help asking, hoping your voice doesn’t sound as choked as you feel. “Or do you just know the area? Work here, maybe?” You doubt she’ll want to answer, but you keep rambling anyway, until her wide grin grabs your attention.

“You want to know more about me?” She asks, that glint of fang catching your eye as she laughs again. It’s infectious, her laugh, though you’re not sure if it’s because it’s funny, or if it’s because this situation is a little bit scary. “Mmm, trading stories sounds fun, and if I didn’t have any other places to be…” She sighs though. She doesn’t seem to be in any rush to keep up the conversation, instead she picks up humming. It’s a soft, eerie tune under her breath that seeps into your subconscious. You just know it’s going to be stuck in your head later, but you let her tug you along anyway. The first two men you pass, you’re almost certain one of them is going to make some kind of snide remark - but she gives off such an air of otherness, of try me, please, that no one dares bother the two of you, despite full darkness falling. One man walking by opens his mouth a few minutes later - but his eyes widen and he looks away. You’re fairly sure he’s seen the flash of her sharp teeth, but she turns to watch him as you continue on. Maybe he’s just actually scared of her.

You can’t help wondering what her quirk is, and if she’s actually well known around the area. It would be more than rude to ask after something like a quirk though and you have to forcibly push away the thought. If she works for a crime syndicate, you’re not sure you want to know. Isn’t it better to be in the dark when it comes to something like that anyway? 

She cuts through a short alley, which has you tensing for a few seconds, but you’re fairly sure you’re going to get out of this with your person intact. If she’d wanted to accost you, you don’t think she’d bring you so close to bigger crowds. Less than two minutes pass before you’re seeing a few brighter streetlights - and up ahead the variety of people seems to double. There are families mulling about, and even a pair of cops. 

“Headed someplace special?” She asks, glancing at you when you startle and scuff your shoe on the pavement. After so long with only her humming for company, her speaking voice surprises you all over again.

“Not really? Shopping. Browsing- kind of both?” You say, and then laugh again, shrugging the shoulder she isn’t pressed against. “At least, that was the plan before I got lost. I might browse for a few minutes, but I’m probably running out of free time.” You fish your phone out of your pocket and nearly drop it when she picks up her pace, skipping over a crack in the pavement. You… You have service. And the shop will be closing in the next 30 minutes. She laughs when you mutter an expletive over closing time, but waits until you replace your phone before she skips over another crack.

“Better hurry then,” she says in a sing-song voice. “Shouldn’t we? What’s the store name, anyway?” She asks, waving brightly at a man leaning against a building, a nearly finished cigarette hanging from his lips. He raises an eyebrow, but otherwise says nothing. He doesn’t move from his spot either. You don’t know whether it’s because he doesn’t know her, or if- Well, that strange sense of danger she seems to give off never quite eases. Oh, she’s been friendly enough with you, but you get the feeling that she doesn’t usually run in polite circles, and that the guy might have been wisely keeping his distance. You wonder what it is about you in particular that made her decide to give you a hand, instead of- oh, robbing you or something. Maybe the tension and attraction you’ve been feeling isn’t just on your part.  

It’s hard not to feel like she’s somehow led you astray, like a cute blonde version of the Pied Piper of Hamelin. You’re still all too willing to listen to her humming as you tell her the shop name and let her lead you there, even though you now have these thoughts running through your mind. And you most definitely have service. It’s likely that she’s realized that too, but her arm is still twined firmly through yours, leaving your breath a little short.  

You might think this was all caused by her quirk, if you hadn’t been able to recognize infatuation heating your face and the back of your neck.

She’s pretty, and you’re ridiculous, you can’t help thinking, but she has a smile on her lips whenever she looks your way, and you still can’t shake the thought that she’s been flirting with you. 

“Such cute clothes,” she mutters when the shop comes into view. Her eyes widen, and the near-constant flush to her cheeks seems to darken. You’re tempted to tell her you want to buy her something, just for the hell of it, maybe to thank her. Really, you’d just like to keep that look on her face- but you keep quiet, distracted by the sight of her enjoyment in the displays “Better hurry!” She urges you, suddenly tugging you along a little faster. “Didn’t you want to make it before closing?”

She pushes you ahead of her as soon as you reach the doors, hands blazingly warm in the middle of your back. It leaves you a little breathless, and causes you to laugh. It is lovely here, you find, but when you turn to say something about it, she’s gone. Even with as handsy as she’s been this whole time, as bubbly and bright, flirting with you slyly - she’s vanished. You dart back outside, hoping to catch her, but it’s like she simply wasn’t here in the first place. You’d think you could catch sight of the cute little blonde buns in her hair, even in a crowd, but she’s gone. You can admit to yourself, even if it’s just a little, that you regret not asking for her number. You should have offered to get her something, if only to thank her.  

You sigh and turn back to the store. You still have a few minutes before it’s closed, and she’d gone out of her way to lead you here - you should at least take the chance to glance around before you head home. You pick up a cutesy keychain and but it on impulse. If nothing else, it’ll be a memento of the strange meeting.

You still can’t help but glance over your shoulder for the rest of the night, hoping to catch sight of her smiling face - and you end up being right. The song she’d been humming is stuck in your head. 

The days passing leave you feeling much the same. She’s constantly on your mind. Golden hair out of the corner of your eyes has you pausing in the street, nearly bowled over by passersby. A smile with a flash of sharper than normal teeth has you taking a second, and then a third glance, convinced with all your being that you must have seen her. You can’t stop thinking about her. About her laugh, and the way she’d been pressed against your arm. About the sly slide of her eyes towards you whenever she’d said something flirtatious. It felt like more than a casual hint, like there’d been something... Chemical between the two of you.  

You know the chances of running into her again in this city are… slim to none. You still hope though, you can’t stop yourself from hoping. It’s why, when you think you catch sight of her in the crowd one evening, you don’t even stop to consider what it is that you’re actually doing. You run, attempting to be as polite as possible, even while you’re gaining speed and bumping into people left and right. You hadn’t even thought to ask her name, and shouting anything along the lines of Fang Girl or Dangerous Lady doesn’t exactly inspire images of a happy, or even passingly fond second meeting. You lose sight of her as you’re rounding a corner, and then you have to come to a stumbling, breathless stop. You don’t see her. Just like that night she’d left you at the shop, she’s seemingly vanished into thin air, and you don’t have a chance in hell of finding her. Disappointment weighs down your shoulders, and the temptation to curse or slump against the wall of a building starts to rise. You turn on your heel, ready to resume the direction in which you’d been traveling and- you gasp. 

She’s right in front of you, close enough to touch, and she’s smiling almost shyly. She’s kind of swaying her hips too, just the slightest bit, like she’s having trouble keeping still.

“Looking for me, maybe?” She asks, and her golden eyed gaze darts over your face and the too-quick rise and fall of your chest. “You seemed awfully eager to catch me.” You have enough brainpower to bob your head in agreement, . “Awww, you care!” She looks delighted, but then she’s pulling you into a clinging hug that makes you overly conscious about being out in public. She’s not actually doing anything wrong, but you catch sight of more than a few people raising their eyebrows as she giggles and presses her cheek to yours.

You pull away as far as she’ll let you, before you do something ridiculous like breathe in, because you can just barely catch the scent of something sweet and tempting. If you let yourself linger at all, you feel like you’re going to make a fool of yourself. “Uh- I was hoping that I could get your name, and, I don’t know, your number? Seeing as-”

“You wanna be friends?” She’s smiling as she says it, leaning back into you. The soft tap of her fingertip against your lips has your mouth parting, thoughts running wild. 

“Yeah,” you say, and you must sound like you’re under some kind of spell, with how soft you’re speaking, with how reverent you sound, but then she’s slipping her hand into yours and pulling you along with her. This is only the second time you’ve met her, but you get the feeling that it's going to become a habit. Her toting you around like she’s got your heart on a string. 

“Call me Himiko,” she urges, and ‘Ooo’s over your name when you share it, mouthing it quietly and proceeding to test out different nicknames. “I like it,” she decides, and then checks you gently with her hip.”But I’ve been thinking of you as Pretty Lady in my head, and I’ve gotta say: I’m kind of attached.”

“...well who am I to fight such a flattering nickname?” You ask, both charmed and embarrassed, hurrying to match her stride when she skips. It’s utterly adorable, but at some point you have the feeling you’re going to trip if she keeps this up. “Uh, where are you headed, Himiko? I don’t want to interrupt you or anything, not if you’re busy.”

“Not too busy for you,” she teases, winking when she realizes your eyes are on her again. “I just needed to get out, you know? Too much work does not equal a cute complexion. What about you? Busy? Out shopping for cute clothes again? Oh!” She turns to you, clutching a bit tighter to your bicep, surprisingly strong for someone so petite. “Are you out meeting a lover?”

You can’t quite decide whether she looks comical or forlorn, turning that pouting face your way, but it startles a laugh out of you. “I didn’t have any prior plans,” you say, and part of you thinks that you should flirt somehow, say something sly about having plans now, or maybe you are meeting a lover - depends on if they’re up for it, wink, wink. You think she might appreciate it, but then satisfaction sweeps over her face, and she’s tapping at her chin, tilting her head so stray locks of blonde hair brush against you.

“So you’re up for making some with me?” She asks, biting at her bottom lip as she waits for your answer. It’s hard not to stare at the prominent canine tooth, pressed a little too intensely into her pink flesh, and you can’t help cursing yourself. You should have said something. 

“I- yeah. Yes. Did you want to get-”

“Some kind of treat!” Himiko insists, throwing both her arms up into the air and spinning. The flare of her skirt draws your eyes, and you have to hurriedly glance away. “I adore sweet things,” she declares, slinging her arm back around you, fingernails dragging pointedly over your shoulder. There’s an upturn to her mouth and a tone to her words that makes you think of things other than cakes or candy. Regardless of whether it’s true or not, you rush to agree - and are taken on a whirlwind tour through too many of the near-by bakeries and sweet shops. 

You insist on paying for the first thing she wants, at the very least it’s recompense for getting you where you were going, but Himiko takes over payment at the second place, and then doesn’t seem keen on parting ways. She keeps making up excuses about places you need to take a quick look at, keeps finding new topics to bring up, and before you realize it, the sun is starting to set. Your only goal had been grabbing her name and her number, at the very least, but it’s kind of turned into a date and- You still don’t really want to leave. And judging from the way she’s still holding your hand? Neither does she. Reflexively you squeeze, forcing yourself to breathe out evenly when she squeezes your hand back. Himiko doesn’t seem to care about social boundaries in the slightest. She’s been both sweet and teasing between one breath and the next, edging closer whenever you seem pleased with her attention, hanging onto your every word when you speak.

It isn’t hard to realize that you like her, that you have a crush, at the very least. Himiko has made you laugh more in the past few hours than you have in ages- not to mention how absolutely lovely you find her, how every touch is thrilling. Despite how much you’ve talked though, she hasn’t given you much information on herself, which has only reinforced your initial thoughts: Himiko doesn’t exactly move in heroic or even civilian circles. 

It’s a bit strange to find that you don’t particularly care. You don’t actually know anyway, and there are plenty of reasons as to why she could have turned to it in the first place. You have no reason to judge. 

“It’s getting a little late,” you blurt, and then cringe when she turns to you with a frown on her face. You hadn’t meant it to sound that way, almost like you’re eager to leave - you’re most definitely not, and you don’t want her to think that. 

“Really?” She complains, though you’re pleased to find that she doesn’t sound accusatory, only disappointed. “I guess the whole time flying fast thing is true,” she says with a sigh. She almost wilts with the force of her emotions - her shoulders slump, and her expression turns pouty.

“You’ve had fun then?” You ask, smiling for a moment before you glance down at the ground. You’re not sure why it’s so hard to look her in the eye. She’s never been anything but kind to you, hasn’t been cruel in any of her teasing… Maybe it’s just that you don’t really want to stop looking. If you don’t force yourself, you’re going to walk into a streetlamp or something.

“I’ve just loved getting to know you better, pretty lady,” Himiko says, her pout quickly curling back into a grin. “This is the best time I’ve had in forever.” She purposely pulls you off balance, right into a kiss, and throws her arms around your shoulders to keep you close. You already know you like her, that you’ve been enamored with her since she hopped off of that wall, but you feel like you’re lost when she nips at your bottom lip. She deepens the kiss as soon as you gasp, making a soft huff of a noise that leaves you a little dizzy- and then her sharpened canine grazes your lip. 

You pull back, though not away, flicking your tongue over the tender spot, and nearly fall when Himiko yanks you back into another kiss. It’s messy and warm, and- you stand up as straight as possible, clutching awkwardly at her back. Himiko’s gaze looks a little hazy, like she’s drunk on the kisses.

“Why’d we stop?” She asks, blinking slowly, her grip on your neck loosening. 

“Uh, did you maybe want to head someplace? My place?” You offer, glancing pointedly at a group of teenagers, staring and snickering behind their hands.

Her confusion turns back to glee. “Don’t want to show off?” She teases, lifting her chin for a good kissing angle. “Bet we could.”

You can’t help but laugh - though you do sneak a very quick kiss on her lips, ignoring the way she pouts when you pull back again. “Two lovely looking ladies out here? Yeah, I’m sure we could. I don’t really feel.. Comfortable showing off that much though.” It occurs to you that she might be trying to respectfully decline, but as soon as you open your mouth to try and smooth over any potential discomfort, Himiko is wrapping her arms around you again. 

“Take me home then, pretty lady, and show off just for me.”  

Getting Himiko back to your place after that is… A bit of a challenge. She seems to like the fact that you’re mildly embarrassed about voyeurism, and though she toes the line of propriety, she takes every chance she can to tease you about it. You get distracted in an alleyway for a few minutes - and by then it’s reached true dark. 

“Himiko,” you grump, trying to hold back the smile that wants to grow whenever she laughs. “Wait until we’re inside, ok? Oh!” You halt, recalling the keychain you’d bought the first night you met her. 

“But it’s so far,” she whines, going limp in your arms. You have to struggle for a moment to keep her from falling to the ground. “Right here seems perfectly shadowed. ..But maybe not clean,” she decides, eyes straying to a bit of trash. “I guess I can keep going for a little bit.” 

“We’re almost there!” You say, for the third time, shivering when she brushes the tip of her cold nose over your pulse. “Besides, I have a gift for you. I picked it up-” Himiko doesn’t break skin, but her teeth pressing daintily into your throat has your eyelids growing heavy. Part of you wonders how often she gets her way, doing things like this. “Himiko,” you say, a little roughly, blinking when she pulls away. 

“Distracted?” She wheedles, and breaks out into uncontrollable laughter when you usher her out of the alley. “So easy to tease,” she adds, and tries to urge you into skipping the rest of the way - until she recalls what exactly you’ve said. “You got me a present? You were out looking for me,” she breathes, and you can tell she’ll halt things again if you let her. The promise of a gift does speed things up everything to do with walking though. Himiko doesn’t try and pull you into anymore alleyways, and she stays in the direction you’ve pointed her. 

You still arrive back at your place out of breath and chilled by the night air. Himiko kicks her shoes off at the door and throws herself down in the front room, humming again as you close the door and lock up. She rolls onto her back as soon as you’re finished, stretching one leg into the air and making a pillow out of her arms behind her head. 

“Present?” She reminds you, watching out of the corner of her eye as you hold up a hand in a wait a moment gesture, and leave the room to get it.

You don’t know why you think she’ll stay where you left her. You’ve seen it a handful of times already - Himiko moves like a shadow and vanishes on a dime! As soon as your hand closes around the keychain sitting on your nightstand, you realize she’s sitting on the end of your bed. 

“Himi- you scared me!” You say with a laugh, interrupted by her snagging your wrist and pulling you in close. 

“Would holding my hand make you feel better?” She asks, voice pitched a little lower, almost rough as her eyes drift from your mouth, down to your throat. One too many scenarios drift through your head. 

“That might,” you murmur, letting her pull you onto the bed, arranging you until you’re lying beneath her. 

“Might,” she whispers, lips just barely brushing yours. “Then I suppose I have a few things to try.” The tension between you finally breaks like a dam, sweeping you into the rush of messy kissing and wandering hands. Himiko kisses and nips at your lips until they’re nearly buzzing, and only then does she pepper a few stray kisses along your jawline before her sharp teeth graze over your pulse. You must make a noise, because she pauses, blinking a little fast, before that manic grin curls her mouth. “Pretty lady likes teeth,” she whispers, and those words are so full of pleasure that you shiver. 

“Y-yes,” you say, unable to hide the gasp that escapes you when she bites. It’s not hard, not yet, at least, but the sharpness of her teeth is electrifying. You feel it down to your toes, and it’s almost like she can hear the thought as she drags a hand down your chest, digging nails cut short into whatever exposed skin she can find. You’re not sure when you let go of the keychain, but you hear a soft clink as it hits the ground, sliding smoothly off of your comforter as your slide your hands up her back. 

Himiko slips a knee between your legs, bracing herself, and then curls her other hand around the back of your neck. She starts making noises, little moaning sounds like she’s not close enough, and her hand on your abdomen starts fumbling with your clothes, slipping beneath layers until her hand is between your thighs, fingers warm and arching.   She pulls away, lips absolutely red from all the friction and draws in a desperate gulp of air. “So sweet,” she whispers, panting, and pulls her hand away, after having just barely gotten started. “Can I see how sweet you are in other places, pleease?”

All it takes is a quick nod of your head before she’s working on divesting you of clothing. You can’t help touching your neck - but there isn’t any blood there, though not for lack of trying. Her fingers on your bare knees distract you from further thought, and then her teeth in your thigh has you whimpering. 

“Himiko,” you whisper harshly, curling your hands around the tops of your thighs. “You-”

She sucks a kiss into your inner thigh, glancing up at you from under her lashes as her hand goes back to work. She’s ridiculously good at this, with nimble fingers, just barely calloused, and the careful nips and bites you’re going to be liberally coated with come daylight. She barely lifts her mouth from your skin- just enough to tell you how good you taste, and how she wants you to keep smiling at her the way you do, like you-

“Like you like me,” she breathes, pupils dark enough to drown in. Your hips arch as you orgasm, though you try and keep still, shaking to pieces under her touch. 

“Do like you,” you say, thighs still quivering as she slows. “I do like you. ‘S why-” You pat awkwardly around the bed, searching for the keychain until Himiko gets the picture. She pulls away from you long enough to pick it up- and then makes a shrill noise when she sees the little fanged creature.

“My present?” She asks, smile so wide it hurts.

“Of course,” you have enough time to say, before she’s launching herself back into your arms.  

You forget about worrying then. It might be ill advised, having a virtual stranger in your bed, but- you don’t regret her. You’re looking forward to spending a lot more time with Himiko- especially when you wake up and she’s still beside you.