#like the kind of weight you get from shovels and pipes

[starfallpod]

I’m catching up on Re:Dracula and listening to the sound design roundtable from back in July and I just found it funny how Tal said they wound up using a sword effect for the shovel smack effect

because

most of the time when I’m doing sword effects in Starfall, I use shovel effects

[ask-paradox-and-friends]

Welp. @splatoonfan88 here.

MAKI YAIBA VS AYANO AISHI

Schools out!

Ayano Aishi info:

Height: 5 foot 4

Weight: 95lbs

Weapons:Axe, Baseball Bat, Bokken, Box Cutter, Circular Saw, Crowbar, Fantasy Sword, Katana, Knife, Pipe, Magical Girl Wand, Old Axe, Ritual Knife, Scissors, Screwdriver, Shinai, Shovel, Sword, Syringe, Any weapon that is nearby or she can get her hands on.

Strengths: Despite being an unfinished mess Ayano has become the image of Yandere’s in gaming, Peak human strength (Despite her petite stature Ayano possesses impressive strength, Can kill any other student and faculty member with single hits, Can push large dumpsters several times her size, Can snap peoples necks with ease), Peak human durability (Can withstand hits from a Martial Arts Master), Athletic speed (Is the fastest student in her school), Gifted intellect (Can create complicated plans to remove supposed ‘threats’ to her happiness without anyone realising), Is highly skilled with stealth and deception (Killed at least ten students over ten days without being caught, Can frame other students for her crimes), Can see peoples auras even through walls with Yandere Vision, When pushed to the brink Ayano will enter SNAP mode granting her far greater strength.

Weaknesses: Despite her abilities Ayano is completely human and can be killed by normal means, If her Senpai is killed or rejects her Ayano will lose all will and reason to live, SNAP mode can only be entered if her Senpai is killed or rejects her and will end in her own suicide. Her dev is kind of a creep. Also if you want to add them the Easter egg menu is an extra and not canon and even then she can only use 3 a day and each one has a weakness. (She can only use timestop once she can't control the black hole and it dosent really work like a black hole she needs certain items for certain costumes the captain falcon and Saitama outfits have an audio Cue she's going to punch. The sans one can only use basic telekinesis the demon hands require her to kill a student in the occult clubs room on the pentagram with the ritual knife. Etc.)

Maki Yaiba info

Height: 6 foot

Weight: 167lbs

Weapons:Bare Hands.

Strengths:as a highly skilled UA student and maybe even 3-B's strongest of the next generation of MHA students she's quite the powerhouse. Extreme Strength (Out muscled Captain Saito who in a fight with okita when both were in modern times as Kiruyu and Goro punched Goro through multiple floors of a large stone hotel so hard the building shook and all the windows shattered. Saito has out muscled people who regularly break 5 ton boulders with their heads and throw around 1 ton statues. Shpuld scale to kaito and Bun kaito has accidentally derailed trains with simple kicks and Bun scaled to people who have thrown chunks of moutaind at folk) Extreme durability (she can apperntly take as much as she gives. Also once got hit by an attack comparable to a united states of smash which at its weakest was comparable to a nuke and leveled a city block.) Superhuman speed (Speed blitz almost all of Buns classmates and most of them attack faster then most can blink and her outspeeding Dark shadow means she can go faster then lightning.) High skill (she's got 6 black belts in different martial arts and she's a skilled grappler and wrestler flexible and adaptive in combat great at exploiting weaknesses.) Suprising intelligence (she's a very skilled mechanic.)

Weaknesses:her singing skills aren't going to be much help. Dosent fight with weapons. Is prone to fits of rage (but then again considering who her adoptive parents are.) Lacks ranged options. Despite her insane feats she is still human.

[lou-struck]

The Manliest Cookie

Eijirou Kirishima x reader

Day 13: Gingerbread

25 Days of Ficmas Masterlist

WC: 1,000+

-You and your boyfriend start the season of holiday baking with the Manliest cookie, the gingerbread man.

This is the season for giving back to others, which is why your boyfriend Eijirou has been dedicating so much of his time to helping those who need it. He has been going to Children's hospitals, attending charity events, and even going around to shovel the driveways in elderly residents to try and make a difference in at least one person’s life.

So when he heard through the heroic grapevine that there is to be a dessert auction among pro heroes, their agencies, and other people with hefty wallets, he signed both your names so that the proceeds can be used for helping those who are less fortunate.

There was a slight problem though, he doesn't really know all that much about baking. The first thing he could think of was “Gingerbread Men.” because in his opinion it is the manliest cookie there is so he puts it down in his horrendous penmanship before heading home to see you.

When he walks in the door he looks at you with big puppy dog eyes.

“Eiji?” you ask as he tries to pad up to you especially for how big he is. “Is there something you need?” You are trying so hard to keep a serious face but when he acts like this you can't help but have a smile crack through your false disposition.

“Pebble! How do you feel about baking cookies with me tonight?” he asks with a shark-toothed grin. Never being able to resist him you nod as he pulls you from the armchair you were lounging in interlocking your fingers with your own.

“I have never seen you bake before, what would we make?” you say letting him drag you to the kitchen.

“Gingerbread,” he says enthusiastically.

“Alright then,” you say. “Let's see what we need to do.”

With that, you pull up a recipe on your phone while Kiri makes himself busy sneaking kisses between tasks.

It shouldn't be so hard to make cookies right?

Wanting to not be the kind of person who brings store-bought cookies to the bake sale you decide to make it from scratch heading to the store to get what you already don't have in your kitchen. AS well as some new cookie cutters to make the house foundation and the little “Gingerbread dudes” as your boyfriend oh so affectionately calls them.

The two of you struggle a bit when it comes to adding the ingredients, not because you don't have the right amount or anything, but because your dear, sweet boyfriend keeps trying to deviate from the recipe.

Kirishima is on a huge health kick right now. If he had to choose between you and protein powder he would hesitate. So you keep having to move the bowl of batter off the mixer so he doesn't add a few scoops of protein powder to the dough.

“Eiji, the recipe doesn't call for protein powder,” you say once again dodging the little scooper.

“Come on babe, a little extra protein won't kill anyone.” he laughs once again lunging for the bowl.

“Not a chance,” you say, jerking the bowl safely out of his reach as powder flies up in the air and hits you rather aggressively in your face. Knowing when to stop your boyfriend puts the protein powder down with a half-hearted apology laughing about how silly you look.

But as he gently wipes down your face with a warm washcloth you know he feels a little bad.

After the frosting is whipped up and the cookies are cut and cooled on a wire rack you start to shape the house since it has already chilled for a bit.

Constructing the house is definitely not a one-person job. Eijirou is a bit too strong when it comes to using the piping bag so he is diligently holding the slabs of Gingerbread in place until the icing cools enough to support the weight of the buildings.

If you weren't so concentrated on the task at hand you would have noticed how intensely your boyfriend is looking at you, he can't help it he thinks you look absolutely adorable when you are so focussed with the piping bag, your tongue peeking out ever so lightly.

Once the house is done the two of you try to decorate the little men. Eijirrou looks concerned as you hand him a piping bag filled with different stems of icing.

“I don't think it will look good if I do it,” he says nervously looking down at the naked cookie in front of him with concern.

“Eiji, it doesn't need to be perfect, but decorating is the funniest part of making cookies,” you tell him supportively offering to help out with the tiny details like the face if he needs it.

Feeling encouraged he decides to use the different colors to make his friends. He ends up making a whole lineup of frosted pro heroes trying his best to pipe down any noticeable features as you do the same.

“I never realized how many of our friends have spiky hair,'' he says, creating a yellow hairstyle with a jagged black stripe that must be Kaminari. Before adding some touches to the others feeling much more confident in his abilities.

As you finish piping Bakugous signature scowl on his cookie persona you realize Wijirou has one more touch to add to all of the cookies.

“Eijirou… you don’t have to put a six-pack on every gingerbread man,” you say realizing that they all have frosted abs.

“ Hey, sexist much?” he says with mock offense in his voice. “I also put them on the women too…” he explains piping some abs on top of Mina’s cookie as well laughing like a little gremlin.

Stepping back to admire your handiwork. Eijirou starts to place all the cookies up in tiny stands. The frosting starts to run a bit but he doesn't care feeling so proud that the two of you make a whole gingerbread settlement for the exchange.

He steps back to snap a picture of the final project to send to his friends in order to “advertise his product”

Neither of you notice this but the next night at the event, your dessert was the first one purchased for a ridiculous price. You also don't notice Bakugou taking the dessert off to his car before rejoining the party acting unimpressed with the whole event.

[entities-of-posts]

There is a need. A constant need to do things. To keep myself going I need food. To feed myself requires a job, which in and of itself requires having an education, or at least other jobs. I need to convince others that I'm worth employing, or else I will never do anything. It is snowing.

You have a job, you. I see you. Your name is Steven. You work at a law firm, not as a lawyer. As a janitor. The clouds are gathering. It is snowing, Steven.

I didn’t start saving for college soon enough. I was scared of getting sick, and now I need to make enough money in a summer or labour under massive debt for the rest of my life. It is snowing now, the wind is blowing. I can’t stay in my parents house forever, and I can’t let myself starve. I need to work, I need to but I can’t. I can’t think, my head is heavy. The world is heavy and I may not bear it on my shoulders like Atlas, but I will hold the weight of the whole rest of my life. Every decision I make limits my options, grinding me down from the sheer infinite possibilities of every choice I could make being ripped away as I limit myself with the choices I did make. Do you feel that, Steven? Silly little man with your silly, useless little shovel.

I see you Steven, a human man there in the snow. You made your choices. You’re human, perfectly. Your debt piles up even as you shovel your driveway. How much does the electricity to warm your skin cost you every month? Your children leave the lights on when they leave the room. They are a cost, Steven . How will you feed them?

Where I'm from, the snow seems ever present. Even on the hottest summer days we all counter our own complaining with the memory of snow. You have no air conditioning, and eat chips of ice to keep cool. My blood is frozen, and yours will be too. If only the memory of heat would keep you warm. Will it help your children, your wife? when your absence leaves them with nothing?

It’s cold outside now. The kind of cold that burns your skin red and makes your lungs hurt. It makes your eyes water and freezes the tears on your lashes, like nature wants to stop you in that moment, face flushed and damp, weeping without expression. I see you as you brush off your car. You don't leave it to preheat enough. You’ll take your gloves off to drive, the skin on your fingers white and red as candy. Gas costs money. The roads are slick, Steven. You should be careful.

You walk weighed down with layers that can never do enough, your limbs growing sluggish. The cold burns your throat raw and constricts your lungs like chains, like earth. Snow piles up in every crevice of your coat like floating ash. Your hands grow dry as cracked earth. The air is dry too, so dry. The moisture seeps into your socks and stains your pant legs with churned up grey road snow, but the air is so arid it cracks your lips.

Your throat feels like a desert. You cup snow to your lips and it runs down wet and useless, never enough. You could drink it down until your heart freezes and it’s never enough to sate. Your lungs hurt. Your lungs hurt. The snow is piling up. I always had enough and I squander every opportunity. I let my time slip away as I watch and do nothing. My head screams as I do it. I am burying myself. I am burying you. I buried myself in earth and ash, dragging others down and crushing them so I could find comfort in the feeling of being held on all sides by it. I fought the Vast, the wide and the wild and the free. It was cold there. So cold.

I need to work or it will kill me. I need to kill or it will kill me. I left the Vast, but the cold remains. The snow is piling up outside. My lungs hurt.

I always had enough. How would it feel, to be trapped inside with no heat, no light? Crushed and entombed in darkness, the outside so blindingly white as it piles up and. it. Buries. You. The pipes are freezing. Your children will shiver as the snow fills the whole world and blocks off the doors. There are chips of ice in the grit of my blood.

It’s forty below. Coats do nothing. Schools don’t close here, no matter how the wind blows and the snow piles up. Your children have never had a snow day. Other people complain about it coating the roads. it’s slick, you should be careful. We go to school as the wind stings us. I need to go to school, or I won't get a job. I need to work or I won’t be able to feed myself. Not now, just someday. It’s not the present that’s crushing, it’s the future. If you don’t come home today, what will it do for your children’s future?

...There is ice in my blood. I think I’ll be very careful on the roads when I go home for the holidays this year.

Delicious. Thank you.

[nomsugayoongi]

Off My Face. Part 4!

Pairings: Jungkook X OC female (nameless)

Tags: Fluff. They get busted. Giggly!Joon. Flirty!Jk, SMUTTTTTT! Sweaty after practise Jk getting his fuck on in a bathroom. Not for littles.

•••••••••••••••••••••

She was warm. She was comfortable. She was probably the most relaxed she'd ever felt, floating in dreams. Something subtle was pulling her out. Back towards consciousness. She groaned sleepily, a warm, soft lump at her side wriggled also. Awareness hadn't quite crept in yet. The lull of sleep drawing her away. But there was a noise. Something that didn't want her to stay here. Sound started to form. Like a tapping sound. Glass maybe. More wriggling at the side of her, weight across her stomach, something tickling her neck. She lifted a heavy hand to swat at it, only to connect with something solid. Her fingers wriggled. Something soft beneith them. Tapping. More awareness. Jungkook. First formed thought. Before any real comprehension kicked in, he did. She sighed. Sleepy smile. More tapping. "Jungkookie?" She knew that voice. Awareness crashed back into place followed by panic. "Shit" she hissed, eyes snapping open. Sunlight flooded the room, Jungkook still asleep next to her. She'd fallen asleep in his bed. "Jungkookie, I'm coming in!" Namjoon called through the door.

Her eyes scanned the room furiously. There wasn't enough time for her to go anywhere. Plus her underwear was on the bedroom floor. Naked from the waist down, she frantically pulled the covers over herself. The door handle creaked. She elbowed Jungkook and braced for impact. His eyes shot open and he groaned, cradling his ribs where her elbow connected. He didn't have time to ask her what the hell was going on. He was still squinting stupidly when the door swung open and Namjoon appeared. "JK, you need to get up. We have....WOAH!!" Namjoon's hands shot to his mouth, frozen in the doorway at the sight that greeted him. His eyes wide. "What the....?" He started. Jungkook was awake now, scrambling into a sitting position. "WHAT IS THIS?" Namjoon shrieked, his shock dissolving into giggles. "Shut the door" Jungkook hissed. Namjoon booted the door closed, not taking his eyes off the pair in the bed. "What happened?" He whispered, still chuckling childishly. "We fell asleep" she replied stupidly. Jungkook had jumped out of bed, opening the bedroom door he peered either way down the hallway. "Where is everyone?" He questioned. "Showering or having breakfast. We let you sleep as long as we could but we have practise in an hour. What is going on here?" He asked again. "Good, so nobody heard you freaking out then." Jungkook mused, ignoring Namjoon's question. He turned back towards his bed, running his fingers through his hair with a heavy sigh. He flopped onto the bed next to her, resting his head against her shoulder with a sleepy grumble. That was not how he wanted to wake up. She smiled, stroking his hair. "GUYS...are you serious? What the hell?" Namjoon questioned for the fifth time. "You said nothing was going on" he added, pointing an accusing finger at her. "It wasn't...then." she replied sheepishly. Namjoon sat on the edge of the bed. "Well...when?" He asked, still reeling. "Yesterday. After dinner." She said simply. Namjoon gawped at them. "So...what? Now you're like...bed buddies?" Jungkook chuckled, finally lifting his head. "I wouldn't say it like that. Look, we like each other. We wanna see where it could go but it's....new. We didn't want anyone to know until we'd had a chance to figure it out ourselves. So please don't say anything to the others. Hyung...please." he asked sincerely. Namjoon frowned, his expression immediately becoming that of supportive big brother. "Of course I won't. But guys....this is....insane. I mean...it's GREAT. But...WOAH!" He chuckled. She grinned, nuzzling into Jungkooks side. "I told you to tell him" Namjoon smiled. Jungkook frowned looking from her to Namjoon. "Huh? Told her to tell me...." He muttered. "How she felt about you." He responded. Jungkooks frown deepened. "Why? How long have you known?" He asked. Namjoon shrugged. "Ages. Since she got back from England." Jungkook pouted, picking up the pillow and bashing her with it playfully. "Told him months ago. Told me yesterday. That's some kind of backwards." He whined. "I couldn't tell you. It was too intense. I was all...spazzy" she replied, defensively. "Uh huh?" He hummed, leaning in to kiss her. "Uh huh!" She replied, catching his lips in a soft kiss. Namjoon cleared his throat loudly. "Still here guys. Plus, I don't wanna ruin your moment but you really do need to get up. 50 minutes till dance practise." He reminded. Jungkook groaned loudly, throwing his head back. "I'll be down in 5 minutes. Need to pee and brush my teeth" he grunted. Namjoon nodded, giving them one last huge smile before departing. Once Namjoon has left, Jungkook started trying to motivate himself, rifling through his wardrobe for something comfy to wear. He usually really enjoyed dance practise but that was when he hadn't stayed up most of the night before and didn't have a half naked, beautiful girl in his bed. "Jungkook, can you pass me my underwear please?" He turned, smiling at the blush flooding her cheeks as she sat in his bed, hugging her knees. "They're right there." He said, pointing to the spot on the floor where they'd landed. "Well...can you get

them for me?" She asked. "But they're closer to you than me. Why can't you get them?" He questioned, folding his arms with a smirk. Her face burned scarlet. "Cause...I'm naked under here. You'll see." She whispered. He walked over, picking them up and leaned onto the bed, kissing her before dropping them in her lap and turning back to his wardrobe. "I've already seen." He said in a sing song tone. "Jeon Jungkook" she hissed. "What? I have. I had my whole face right up in there. Too late to get shy about it now." He teased. She scrambled under the covers to pull on her underwear, blushing furiously. "Stop it, beast" she grunted. He turned back again with a grin, grabbing her hands and pulling her out of bed. He hooked a finger under her chin as she tried to avoid his gaze, forcing her to look at him. "Don't be shy. You don't need to be. You were so beautiful last night. Watching you come undone like that..." He paused and sighed, shaking his head. "...i'd be trying to make you look that way again right now if I didn't have practise. You don't have to hide from me. I like every inch of you. Very much." He caught her lips, his kiss sweet but just a touch of his hunger leaking through. His thumb trailed softly down her face. "JUNGKOOK" a collective scream bellowed from downstairs. He lept back from her reluctantly. "ALRIGHT" he hollered back. "To be continued." He muttered, apologetically, grabbing a handful of clothes and speeding off towards the bathroom. She took a quick shower and decided to get herself ready before heading downstairs. Hair washed, blow dried and straightened. Cute outfit. Minimal make up. She didn't want to look like she was trying to look good. But she still wanted to look good. That was an issue when the person you had just started dating could look good in a sack. She bounced downstairs about half an hour after Jungkook had left her. "Morning guys" she called. Namjoon was grinning at her stupidly which made her giggle. She ruffled his hair playfully as she walked past, causing a distressed grunt from him as he tried to fix it. She walked up to the table, throwing her arms around Suga's shoulders from behind as he sat eating his breakfast. "Oh...hello" he smiled, patting her hands. Jungkook was sat opposite looking sinfully good. Baggy black cargo pants, a black long sleeved shirt that absolutely swamped the frame underneath but still managed to look great on him. She guessed black sneakers too even though she couldn't see his feet. He was shovelling cereal into his mouth, his eyes flickering over her face in a way that made her feel naked. She let go of Suga, planting a peck on the top his head then made her way round the table, leaning over it unnecessarily to grab a piece of toast right in Jungkooks eye line. He swallowed a huge mouthful of cereal, fighting a smirk. "Hungry?" He asked. She hummed her affirmative as she chewed. "Starved" she replied. "You? Didn't you do enough eating yesterday?" She raised a cocky eyebrow then bit her lip to hold in a laugh as she heard Namjoon choke on his food behind her. Jungkooks face remained neutral but she saw his ears flush. He shrugged casually. "Nope. Still hungry" Jungkook replied. His eyes were burning into her. "You know he could eat for his country" Jin piped up. She let herself laugh at that and nodded, turning and heading away from the table. "That's very true" she replied quietly. ----------------------------------------------------------- She had just about finished cleaning the house when she heard the cars pull up outside and collective sounds of the guys. The front doors banged open and they filed in, talking and laughing amongst themselves. She grinned having already prepared cold drinks and snacks for them all. Jungkook was in the middle of the bunch, an arm slung around Jimin's shoulders. He gave her a huge smile, grabbing a bottle of water and stopping beside her. He pressed the bottle against his head, the cold condensation feeling nice against his warm skin before untwisting the cap and downing about three quarters of the bottle in

huge gulps. He looked gorgeous. His skin flushed and clammy, his hair now wavy and damp with sweat but he was still buzzing with energy. He always was after practise. His adrenaline kept him going much longer than the other guys. "How was practise?" She asked, sneakily resting a hand on his back, her fingers playing under his shirt, stroking over his sweaty skin. He smiled, draining the rest of his water before grabbing another. "It was good. A few hiccups but we're getting there. Some of the new choreos are pretty intense. Should be good in front of ARMY though." He replied. He leaned into her, smelling her hair quickly. "I need to shower." He said, scratching at his sweaty hair. He made his way towards the stairs, clattering Jin over the head with his empty water bottle and giggling mischeviously as a cushion was flung at him. He paused at the bottom of the stairs, beckoning her to follow before hopping up them 3 at a time like he hadn't just spent the last few hours dancing his ass off. She paused for a minute, wondering what excuse to use so she could disappear. Namjoon walked over with a smile. "Go. I got you covered." He whispered, grabbing a bottle of water and turning back to the group. She grinned happily, heading for the stairs. She could hear the water running in one of the bathrooms and wondered if he'd already jumped into the shower. She paused at the top of the steps, looking from the bedrooms to the bathroom door. "Psst" She swung round, Jungkook was stood in the doorway of his bedroom with a smirk. "Hey. I thought you were showering" she smiled. He pulled her into his bedroom, pinning her against the wall, his fingers lacing through hers. "I will be." His lips were on hers straight away, his body pressing her against the wall so hard it made her shoulders hurt. "I missed you" he mumbled between kisses. "Couldn't stop thinking about you at practise." His lips skimmed down, sucking and nipping at her neck. Her breath caught, she wrenched one hand out of his grip to tangle in his messy hair. His smell was intoxicating, a gentle mix of his usual scent and the warm, wet kind of smell of someone who'd been active recently. The kind of pre-sweat smell. Very masculine and playing absolute havok with her hormones. "Couldn't stop thinking about last night. You. The way you moan. How you taste. The look on your face." He grunted into her neck. She felt a sharp stab as he bit a little harder at the tender skin above her collarbone. Each word he whispered collecting at her core, provoking an instant ache. "Need more." He whispered. He lifted his lips from her neck, his eyes meeting hers. She almost moaned. He looked aggressively gorgeous, his eyes darker, burning into her, lips slightly swollen and parted, the tip of his tongue running slowly across his bottom lip. He took her hand, pulling her towards the bathroom. She almost had to run to keep up with him, taking long strides, yanking at her arm like he didn't have time to waste. Once in the bathroom, he kicked the door shut, pulling her in for another mind melting kiss. She was so busy trying to keep up with his insistent tongue that she didn't even notice him unbuttoning her jeans until he was hooking his fingers in and pushing them over her hips. She moaned against his mouth in anticipation. He broke the kiss, kneeling down to yank her jeans and panties off her feet then trailing kisses up her leg, stopping to sink his teeth into her thigh. She squeeked, watching a cheeky smile pull at his lips. He stood, lifting her easily and plonking her on the bathroom counter. She gasped, the cold marble surface agaisnt her bare skin making her squirm although she really didn't have long to think about it. He was already pulling her legs apart, sinking down as his eyes stayed fixed on her. She watched, his eyes never leaving her face as he delivered a long, slow lick to her slit. He groaned, sounding almost relieved as he repeated the action, tongue sliding through her folds, the instant jolt of pleasure as he passed over her clit. "Oh my god." She breathed. There was

something inherently more sexy about actually watching him do it. She felt like she should look away but his gaze wouldn't let her. His big brown doe eyes holding her innocently while the action with his tongue was anything but. After another long lick, he stopped at her clit, circling the bundle of nerve endings with the tip of his tongue, still watching her watch him, the corners of his open mouth curling in an almost sinister smile. "Do you have any idea how fucking good you taste?" He groaned. She opened her mouth to reply but no words came out, she was rapt, watching him flatten out his tongue and lick hard, his lips closing around her clit in a way not unsimilar to the way he kissed her face. He moved one hand from her thigh, sitting back on his heels, his attention temporarily turning from her face as he lazily dragged his fingers up and down her pussy. She could see her wetness coating his index and middle finger as he stood up, presenting them to her. "Open" he whispered. Unable to do anything else through the haze of lust currently engulfing her, she obediently opened her mouth, lips closing around his fingers, tongue snaking round them as she experienced the tangy, slightly sweet taste of the arousal he provoked in her. He moaned, watching her suck his fingers deep into her mouth, her tongue soft and warm sending jolts of desire to his already aching cock. "Damn. I want to fuck you so bad." He panted. "Wanna feel your soft, hot pussy around my cock. Wanna screw you till you can't speak. Want it so bad." His voice was husky, his head dropping onto her shoulder as he battled ferociously with his need. "Please do" she croaked, her mouth dry. He whined, a small part of him thinking their first time together shouldn't be a lust fueled quicky in a bathroom with all his brothers downstairs. The rest of him couldn't have cared less if they were sat on the counter next to her. He was too far gone to notice. His stomach churned, feeling uncomfortable under the weight of his lust. "I can wait." He offered, although it was taking more restraint than he thought he possessed. "I don't wanna wait." She breathed. "I want you inside me." With that, his resolve snapped, his fingers already deftly battling with the button on his cargo pants before his brain had registered her response. He didn't even bother to take them off, he couldn't wait that long. He just undid them, and pulled his swollen, achy cock out of his boxers, hissing at the contact from his own hand. "Fuck" she gulped. He realised that she'd never actually seen him before, pausing with his long fingers curled around his shaft, he smirked, squeezing slightly, gently stroking his cock, ignoring the tingle of pleasure to focus on her reaction. In typical Jungkook fashion, he was an overachiever. His cock decently above average size without being obscene, deliciously thick, smooth, perfectly straight. Even his dick was pretty. If it wasn't for her overwhelming need for him to stop fucking about and nail her with it, she'd have been annoyed that this gorgeous, cute, devilish, cheeky contradiction of a man had literally not a single physical flaw. He was sculpted, proportioned and presented so perfectly that it stole her breath and at any other time, would have made her heart contract painfully with overwhelming affection. But she wasn't thinking with her heart. She was too wrapped up in her pussy, leaking, feeling so empty she could hardly stand it. "Gonna stand there jerking off or are you going to fuck me?" She hissed, past the point of impatience. His smirk grew. "Feeling needy are we?" He teased. She pouted pitifully and nodded at him with wide eyes. "But how can I fuck you when you look so cute?" He cooed, rubbing the head of his dick against her clit. She shivered, her fingers clenching against the edge of the marble counter top. "It's simple. You just stop being a brat and stick it in me." She huffed. He laughed, raising an eyebrow. "Oh that's it? Just slide my thick, hard cock into your cute, tight, greedy little hole hmm? Just stretch your wet little pussy

out, fuck you till you can't see straight." He whispered. She moaned and whined at the same time. "Koo...please. I'm gonna die." She cried, wiggling uncomfortably. He chuckled, making a mental note to see how far he could actually push her in the future. He already knew he was going to have a lot of fun with her neediness. "Relax baby. I've got this." He lined up, rubbing the head of his cock against her hole a couple of times, biting his lip as he felt her entrance contract, trying to suck him in. He pushed slowly, feeling her stretch to accommodate him, then the slick, soft heat engulfing him inch by inch. He groaned heavily, eyes fixed on her impossibly tight hole swallowing his length greedily. "Holy shit." He panted, pleasure exploding through him. "Fuck you feel amazing. Fuck." He wanted to savour it. He felt her fingers clench, balling his sweaty shirt in her hands. "Oh god" she whined, wriggling deperately. The stationary pressure of his cock buried deep inside her was making her crazy. The slight burning stretch, the feeling of fullness. She needed him to move. Her hands gripped at his hips, pushing back. "Don't tease me" she panted. He leaned in, running his nose along her jaw, inhailing deeply, his lips finding her ear. "What do you need Jagi? Slow?" He withdrew painfully slowly, allowing her to feel every bit of him against her sensative walls. "Or hard?" He snapped his hips forward, driving into her mercilessly. She grunted, a stab of achy pain as he hit something deeper than she expected. "Hard." She hissed. He bit his lip, swallowing his own moan, pulling out of her. "Jump down" he instructed, taking her hand and helping her to slide off the marble counter. He kissed her softly before turning her round, pushing against her mid back until she bent over the counter. He groaned, eyes glued as she presented her ass to him. He bit his lip, running his hands over her soft, perfect skin before finding a home on her hips. He positioned himself, her hips giving him the leverage he needed to pull her back sharply as he thrust into her, his cock slamming roughly into her. He groaned, head falling back, a shock of delicious pleasure bursting through him. He fucked her like he was on a timer, relentlessly drilling his dick into her, the lewd slap of his thighs hitting her bare skin permiated the room, drowning out the sound of the still running shower. Her body banging agaisnt the counter top repeatedly as though he was trying to fuck her through the damn thing. He reached up, curling her hair around his hand and pulling her head back, looking at her in the mirror. Her cheeks flushed, mouth agape, brow furroughed, eyes heavy as she bounced around helplessly with every steady thrust. Her sweaty hands slid uselessly over the marble surface, finding no purchase. "You ok? " He grunted. She nodded rapidly. "Don't stop" she hissed. He pulled on her hair sharply, forcing her upright. "Kiss me" he panted. She turned her head, his lips hungrily attacking hers, moaning lustfully into her mouth as he ground his hips agaisnt her ass, his cock still buried to the hilt inside her. "Fuck. So good" he growled, one hand snaking round her waist to play with her clit. She yelped, pushing back, grinding desperately on his cock. He grit his teeth, his expression almost angry as he rapidly rubbed at her clit. His toes were curling inside his sneakers, his orgasm threateningly close. He needed her to cum. Quickly. "Fuck. Love this pussy. So good." He babbled, incoherently. She whined deperately, her head falling back against his shoulder as she sucked in a sharp breath. He felt her walls clench around his cock, felt her muscles tighten and almost sighed with relief, letting go of his restraint, the rapid pulsating of her pussy pushing him over the edge. He came hard, still pistoning his hips deliriously as he spilled what felt like everything he had inside her. He slowed his thrusting, the obscene squelching sound coming from her sloppy cunt only heightening his pleasure. "Fuck" he repeated, stilling his movement, clinging to her weakly.

She looked dazed. Her eyes not fully shut but clearly not actually looking at anything. She panted deperately, trying to regain some oxygen. He braced himself even though his legs felt like jelly, taking the majority of her weight. He nuzzled into her neck, carefully pulling himself out of her, shuddering at the friction against his overly sensative cock. "That was..." He sighed, not actually having a word. "Delicious." She hummed, a smile tugging at her lips. He chuckled and nodded. "Very very." He held her for a few minutes, feeling his heart rate calm and his breathing return to normal, enjoying the blissful afterglow, nuzzling and kissing her affectionately as the lust died down and was replaced with an overwhelming softness for her. She was completely still, breathing shallow and he actually wondered for a second if she'd fallen asleep. "Still with me?" He whispered. She smiled immediately. "Mmm hmm. Just...floating." she sighed. He grinned, knowing the feeling well. "I should shower. We'll be ordering food soon." He murmured, kissing her neck gently. She whined in protest but the sudden growling of her stomach told her he was right. "I know." She said sullenly, peeling herself out of his warm, cosy arms. "Gimme two minutes to clean up then I'll go so you can shower." She sighed, untangling her underwear from her jeans. She washed up quickly, checking her make up in the mirror and fixing the smudges before pulling her hair up. It was too mussed to leave it down now and she couldn't be bothered straightening it again. She made her way downstairs shortly after, leaving Jungkook in the shower although every step away from him felt painful and unnecessary. Some of the guys were still in their rooms, cleaning or getting changed. She headed into the kitchen, stealing a cold Sprite before collapsing on the sofa in the lounge. She sighed, wriggling her toes, the after affects of what had just happened still not fully gone. Her legs still felt shaky. She could feel a dull ache across her thighs where they'd smashed into the marble edge of the counter top repeatedly. She smiled. Yes it was slightly strange but she liked the thought of it bruising. A tangible reminder of what had happened. She bit her lip, feeling heat rise into her cheeks as she stared into space, deep in thought. She'd just had sex with Jungkook. Giggles swelled in her chest. It was so surreal. She didn't understand how she'd gone from pining for him to this. She suddenly missed him desperately even though she'd only been away from him for minutes.

[majimemegoro]

a tour of okudera’s house

come on in, comrades ! i turned my brightness all the way up in the game settings and I’ll be giving a tour of okudera’s house in crummy photos of my screen because my playstation never connects to internet.  theres some weird stuff, come see. I’m looking for any and all observations & fact-checking, so pipe up if you notice anything !

ok we just came in the front door and turned right. here we can see his gun and a lightswitch, as well as this little countertop that has: worn cutting board, hacksaw (probably for cutting through bones), a hammer and some other stuff idk. Maybe the little cans in the corner are gun oil. (is that a thing?)

in the corner above the door theres tins, pristine ‘kamuro life’ boxes, and a Meat Hook.

lets look to the left a little.we can see fish drying (not so visible in this pic, but they’ve been gutted and are being held open by sticks so the air goes inside). a big orange blanket. rope.

moving past the orange blanket, we have a ladder on the ground, presumably the indoor ladder because i think theres one outside too. and beside the closet door theres this little shelf. It has four books on it - one on top like it was recently being read - and a little white mug with a handle. (if anyone can go in game and figure out what the books are, I will legit give you a free commission - check out my art at @otorno​)

on the other side of the closet door we have a small cabinet matching the cabinets near the front door. On it is an old-school oil lamp and two potatoes (??????). Beside it is a cardboard box with a bunch of newspapers and, some more potatos. (Please if anyone knows what could be going on here... explain. arent potatos suposed to be stored out of the light ??? are they not potatos ?) You can also see that some parts of the wall is insulated with twigs which is pretty cool.

above this we can see a little shelf with what looks like some paint/chemical/glue/wd40 stuff and perhaps a small toolbox or money box. hung on the wall beside the shelf are these white things. which I have no idea what they are. my best guess is some kind of sand weights, maybe for pullies or something, but i don’t know what they would be for.

this is the whole wall furthest from the front door. the thing in the foreground is a rope and hook over the fire, for hanging a pot on. this wall feat. a bear skin, miscellaneous boxes and baskets (and a small upholstered seat maybe?), and....

a shelf with a basket and a bunch of matching rounded-square receptacles of some kind. I don’t think theyre dishes because the bowls are somewhere else. maybe theyre for early spring planting. Theres also a grimy little towel. sorry this photo is incredibly blurry.

now we’ll stand in that corner and look out slightly in the direction of the front wall. we can see a bunch of crates, a stool, and a fine metal shovel, probably for shovelling ashes. Just past them theres this cloth handing on a stand-up frame, which is baffling to me. if anyone has guesses about what that is for, please let me know.

now the front door is on the far left. on the right we can see the top of the cloth on the standing frame. before us we can see: a fancy shelf with some drawers and a bit of firewood on top, a twig broom (looks homemade), two planks of recovered wood, some other stuff we’ll get to later, a *~*mysterious orange wall bucket*~* and a shelf over the door.

This is the fancy set of shelves. I bet mr okudera keeps his ammo in some of those little drawers. The weird orange curves in the top middle are strings binding bunches of kindling. we can see the broom again, as well as some shiny containers and some bottles.

closeup on the bottles. looks like alcohol but i guess some could be medicines or something else? weigh in please. I can’t read the labels but maybe someone else could go in-game and try. we also have the dishes he feeds saejima in.

now as promised, some details on the wall with the front door. (Recall you can see a bit of the front door on the left, so we’re now looking down at the house’s front wall.) We have a bucket with a tiny bit of water in it, a barrel, a bear trap, sack of “Ready To Eat COMPLETE MEAL Made in USA” which apparently is like.... war rations (??). another crate. And the thing on top of the barrel, which looks like a small wooden cylinder on a long thin handle. it seems to have a little spout on the side opposite the handle, unless its just the handle coming through. im very interested to hear if anyone knows what this. Note also that the items are up on a raised plank floor because the front part of the house has a bare dirt floor ! brrr!

look up ! this is still the front wall, but above the barrel and above the shelf we can see electrical wiring going from the switch (out of frame to the left) to the lightbulb (out of frame behind and above us). At the point of the roof there is a vent for the smoke to escape. And a set of OARS!!!! does okudera have a little boat that he uses in the summer ??? he must. that’s exciting news.

if we turn around to face the back of the house, and look slightly up, what a view we get! theres a little glass window at the top back,and in the middle we get a) the hanging lightbulb, and b) this huge wooden apparatus hanging right in the middle. it’s over the fire - my mom proposed that it’s maybe for smoking meat ? I wonder why he isnt using it though. it’s attached to the ceiling with ropes, and looks like it can be descended at will. If it’s for storage, why isnt he keeping anything up there? its a good spot for a boat, though I don’t know how strong those ropes are.... PS it looks like there might be an upper loft area, behind the horizontal beam and by the window, but there isnt one unfortunately.

now were standing int the front door and looking down a bit. mr okudera stores firewood under the floor, it looks like.

heres the guy himself and a generic view on the mats and cushions. the cushions are red with a paler red pattern, and look like they’ve seen better days, as do the mats. (re: mats & sleeping, the thick quilt thing saejima has when he first wakes up is nowhere visible here. kept in the closet during the day? also, it’s a bulky item. does okduera really have more than two? somebodys gonna have to go cold or pair up...)

can someone please explain whats going on with the fireplace. it looks like a cast iron bowl on a stand, with flat wood in it. how is that? are there coals in the bowl or something? note that he isnt cooking now.

Thanks for visiting Okudera’s House With Me ! please let me know anything you noticed or share any thoughts. have a good day.

[yumichanhamano]

Gift fic for Nike

Hello @maskedremnant ! I am your gifter for @mdzsgiftexchange :) Apologies for the delay! Had some issues on my end and I’m not very active on tumblr anymore.

Here is your gift :D It’s around 2.7k cause I couldn’t hit the 3k mark :( Hope that’s okay! If you provide me with your ao3 handle, I could post it there and gift it to you :) Please check on "keep reading” for the fic! :D

-

“Lan Zhan!” The man let out a sigh as he finished his sentence he was typing when the couch dipped under Wei Ying’s weight. There was a pleasant warmth pressed against his side as Wei Ying looked at his screen. “Oops, am I bothering you? You’re usually in your room if you’re doing your work.”

Lan Zhan was used to working in a quiet environment. He used to stay in his room most often, leaving only to use other facilities in the apartment. However, since meeting Wei Ying, many things in his life has started to change. He spent more time outside of his room after dinner. He used to only go outside if necessary or for exercise reasons, but now he frequented restaurants and cafés with Wei Ying.

He still stayed inside of his room, his place of solace, when he needed to focus.

However, there was still time before the deadline for the report so Lan Zhan indulged in spending more time with Wei Ying instead. Compared to working on his report, he preferred to watch Wei Ying pace around the living room instead.

He found that his roommate often mumbling to himself when he’s inspired or deep in thought. Just a second ago, Wei Ying was trying to find a source of inspiration for his art projects before he sat down beside Lan Zhan.

“No,” Lan Zhan said. Wei Ying smiled and Lan Zhan resisted the urge to smile back.

“Sooooooooo,” Wei Ying started in the way that he had a request but he’s unsure of how to ask, “we’ve been roommates for a while…”

Lan Zhan lamented that with all the time they spent together, they were still nothing more than roommates. He nodded in response.

“Well, you also know how I love to post pictures of myself and send them to my friends.” Lan Zhan too has been subjected to Wei Ying’s surprise selfies but he doesn’t tell Wei Ying that he had been saving them in a private folder on his laptop. “What I’m trying to say is that one of my friends saw you in the background and I was joking that we were dating. Now they’re convinced that I found a boyfriend, didn’t tell them, and I either get the choice of them marching into our apartment or we meet up with them.”

Lan Zhan blinked at Wei Ying, closed his laptop and placed it on the coffee table before something happened to it.

His heart was racing at the mere thought of dating Wei Ying.

The most logical thing to say was “tell them the truth”, but Lan Zhan can’t bring himself to say it when he had a chance to have what he always wanted. Even if it was not real.

“When do they want to meet?” he said instead, choosing indulge in his desires. If this was the closest, he’ll get to getting what he wants, he will take the chance. Wei Ying, completely unaware of Lan Zhan’s inner struggles, hugged him and called him the best. If Wei Ying knew the truth, Lan Zhan wasn’t sure that he would say that anymore.

 On the day they were going to meet with Wei Ying’s friends, Lan Zhan made sure to dress up nicely. He wanted to leave a good impression them, even if their relationship wasn’t real yet. Lan Zhan will simply have to work harder to make it a reality. It felt like a dream far away, but he can only hope.

Wei Ying, as always, was whining that Lan Zhan always looked effortlessly good. What he didn’t know is that Lan Zhan always put effort into his appearance for Wei Ying. He was not a slob, but he dressed cleanly normally. But since Wei Ying complimented his outfit choice once, Lan Zhan wanted to continue to impress Wei Ying. It was natural to want to impress your crush.

Wei Ying had his hands stuffed in his pockets as they walked towards the restaurant they were meeting up in. But once the sign was visible, Wei Ying suddenly clung to Lan Zhan’s arm without any warnings and Lan Zhan felt like his heart was going to stop.

“Is this okay?” Wei Ying asked with a nervous smile.

‘More than okay,’ was Lan Zhan’s first thought that he had to bat away. Lan Zhan hated Wei Ying’s zero regard for personal space at first. It was a point of contention when Wei Ying first moved in. Eventually, Lan Zhan grew from being tolerant to not minding the small touches between them.

It was not the first time Wei Ying attached himself to Lan Zhan, but it was the first time they done such a thing in a public space. However, in this moment, they were a couple and this was normal for couples.

“Mm.” Lan Zhan was too caught up in his own racing thoughts that he didn’t notice the way Wei Ying snuggled closer with the permission or the small content smile.

They walked into the restaurant together, Wei Ying comfortably leaning on Lan Wangji’s side as they gave the name of reservation to the waitress. Lan Zhan noticed the way Wei Ying started loosening and tightening his hold on Lan Zhan’s sleeve. It was cute to see him nervous, but Lan Zhan was no better.

There was little comfort he could provide so Lan Zhan patted Wei Ying’s hands with his free one. Wei Ying looked at him in surprise before smiling fondly.

Lan Zhan wanted to tell him not to worry when he heard someone shouting Wei Ying’s name.

The moment was broken and Wei Ying turned to the source of the sound. He waved at his friends with one hand while pulling Lan Zhan with him with the other hand.

There were five people at the table, all watching them as they approached, and Lan Zhan unfortunately recognized one of them.

“Wei-xiong,” Nie Huaisang smiled slyly. Lan Zhan had a poor feeling that their lie was seen through already. Their older brothers were close friends and talked often, so Nie Huaisang had to know about Lan Zhan’s roommate. The only key thing is that he didn’t know if Nie Huaisang knew that Wei Ying was the roommate. Oddly enough, he didn’t recall Wei Ying mentioning Nie Huaisang in any conversations before either. “I never knew you two were dating.”

Wei Ying stiffened at his side and forced himself to relax as he smiled at Nie Huaisang, “Lan Zhan never mentioned about you either.”

“Our brothers are friends. We’re not that close actually. Enough of that for now, come,” Nie Huaisang said as he waved his hand, “Why are you two still standing there? Sit, sit.”

“So, this is the rumoured boyfriend,” Wen Qing said as she watched Lan Zhan like a hawk. “I was imagining someone… not him.”

“What do you mean? Lan Zhan is great,” Wei Ying pouted.

“I meant that he’s too good for you.”

“Hey!”

“It’s great to finally meet you,” Jiang Yanli said, as one of the nicer people in the group and broke up Wen Qing and Wei Ying before the argument escalated. “I hope you don’t mind us being a little nosy about you. I’ve never seen him so secretive and evasive about something before.”

Lan Zhan simply nodded in acknowledgement and kept that information in the back of his mind to ask Wei Ying later.

In the meantime, Wei Ying was already chattering away with his friends to bring the attention away from Lan Zhan, which he was grateful for. Lan Zhan could see why Wei Ying was such good friends with all of them. While each of them had differing personality types, they melded well overall as a group.

When the food arrived, the group kept chatting, which Lan Zhan can see why his previous attempts to keep Wei Ying from talking while eating failed.

Wei Ying was still an active participant in the ongoing conversation, but he talked less than he did before the food arrived. Although Lan Zhan was not largely successful in getting him to completely stop talking during meals, Wei Ying does keep the chatter to a minimum when they ate together.

Things went well until Wei Ying had to use the washroom.

Before he stepped away, he gave Lan Zhan a small peck on the cheek and a wide smile before running off. Lan Zhan felt like he was floating before he realized that everyone had put down their utensils and was staring at him again. Lan Zhan followed suit and placed down his utensils and suddenly got the feeling that he was in some kind of job interview.

“I’ll cut to the chase,” Jiang Cheng said, “Hurt him and I’ll break your legs.”

“What he meant to say is that we all care a lot about Wei-xiong,” Nie Huaisang added. There was a calculating glint in his eyes that Lan Zhan did not like. “He is a very dear friend to all of us here. We would hate to see him sad.”

“As do I,” Lan Zhan said. He didn’t expect to be given the shovel talk, but it was nice to know that Wei Ying’s friends cared so much about him.

“Good, we’re on the same page then,” Wen Qing said, “but if you do find yourself in a situation where you hurt him, you better start running and pray that we never find you.”

Jiang Yanli and Wen Ning were the only two that kept quiet, but their calm smiles were threatening in itself.

“Sorry, I’m back!” Wei Ying announced a moment later as he skipped back to the table. “What did I miss?”

“Not much!” Wen Ning piped up and pulled Wei Ying into a conversation about sports. It was fascinating how fast the conversation turned back to lighter topics like they hadn’t collectively threatened murder if he broke Wei Ying’s heart. But they had nothing to worry about since he wouldn’t let that happen. If it did, Lan Zhan could not live with himself.

 “Lan Zhan, are you okay?” Wei Ying asked once they arrived back at the apartment. Nie Huaisang, Wen Ning, and Wen Qing ended up taking the same bus as them and then walked down a similar route for most of the journey home. Luckily, they all lived in different complexes so they eventually parted ways.

“Yes,” Lan Zhan said. He couldn’t tell Wei Ying he thinking about all the different ways he wanted to ask if they could start dating for real, or simply confess his feelings and wait for the other to reject him.

“I hope they weren’t too much. We’ve been told that we’re a noisy bunch,” Wei Ying said, his gaze glued to the floor as he tucked a loose strand of hair behind his ear. “Is it- Would it be rude if I asked for us to continue pretending for, I don’t know, the next few months? I’ll just tell them that we tried the dating thing but didn’t work out so we’re just roommates. Or should I move out? That would make more sense, right? I can always find–”

“Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan called out, stopping the other’s anxious rambles. He too felt like his nerves were all bundled up and ready to explode into thoughtless rambles, but Lan Zhan couldn’t bare the idea of Wei Ying he completely disappeared from his life.

“Yes?” Wei Ying squeaked and looked up. Lan Zhan’s heart squeezed at the sight of his watery eyes. There were a number of things that Lan Zhan wanted to do, but he settled with enveloping Wei Ying into a hug. “L-lan Zhan?”

Lan Zhan never initiated any kind of contact between them. He was never a big fan of physical contact, but it was always Wei Ying that reached out first. Lan Zhan didn’t mind it as much when it was Wei Ying for one reason and one reason only.

“Don’t leave.”

“Huh? I- Oh,” Wei Ying said and Lan Zhan hugged him tighter. “I won’t, I won’t! You’re such a good roommate! The best even! Where else will I find someone as amazing as you and is willing to put up with me?”

Lan Zhan huffed in amusement, “Then stay forever.”

“F-Forever?” Wei Ying asked as he tried to wiggle out of Lan Zhan’s hold. It was futile and he gave up after the second try. “W-What about when you get a girlfriend? I might be shameless but I can’t third wheel forever! She might not even like me!”

“I will not get a girlfriend then,” Lan Zhan stated as if it was the logical conclusion to the dilemma.

“I- What no! That’s not what I meant!” Wei Ying struggled again but gave up just as fast. “Lan Zhan, I like you but I don’t want to get in the way.”

“Wei Ying is never in the way.”

Wei Ying stilled in his arms. “Hey Lan Zhan… Do you like being with me too?”

“Yes.”

“Really? But I’m so clingy. And I’m always bothering you and annoying you.”

“Not annoying.”

Wei Ying laughed and snuggled further into the hug. “Even when I ask you for dumb favours?”

“Not dumb.”

“So… you don’t mind if we keep fake dating?”

Lan Zhan tensed at the question. He wanted it to be real, but–

“Why lie?”

“What do you mean…?”

“You could tell them that I am your roommate,” Lan Zhan said as he held Wei Ying in his arms, unwilling to let go. He wanted to ask this at first, when Wei Ying first proposed the whole fake dating thing. But he was being selfish when he was given an opportunity to be someone important to Wei Ying, even if it was not real.

“I could have,” Wei Ying agreed.

“Then why?”

“Don’t hate me,” Wei Ying mumbled against his shoulder. Lan Zhan thought it was a silly thought. There was nothing Wei Ying could do to make him hate him, ever.

“Mm.”

“I got a little lonely. Some of them have started dating and I’m still single. And I didn’t want to date just anyone! When they asked, I thought they would take it like a joke like other things I said. I never dated before, much less was interested in anyone so I thought they would know I was joking. But before I could tell them the truth, they got worked up over it and started asking about you. And… maybe… maybe I wanted it to be real so I’m lying to myself too.”

Lan Zhan’s mind went blank as he replied, “It can be real if Wei Ying wants.”

His mind is still repeating the last part of what Wei Ying said, trying to process the words and convince himself that he heard correctly, that Wei Ying wanted to be with him too.

This time, Wei Ying pulled away successful, but Lan Zhan’s hands rested at his waist. He stared into Lan Zhan’s eyes, looking for any hint that it was a joke, a prank, or anything to insist that he simply misheard. But all he saw was a hint of a soft smile that melted Wei Ying’s heart.

“Really?” Wei Ying asked. Lan Zhan nodded. “I… I really want to kiss you.”

Lan Zhan simply leaned down and they shared their first kiss. It was nothing mind blowing or fireworks going off like how media liked it play it off. It was a little clumsy but it was also their first kiss and Lan Zhan would never trade it away for anything.

“So, we’re dating dating now? Not pretend anymore?” Wei Ying asked when they broke apart.

Lan Zhan huffed fondly and Wei Ying pouted.

“What is that supposed to mean? That was my first kiss! I was saving that for someone special. Don’t laugh.”

“I am honoured to be Wei Ying’s first,” Lan Zhan said and smiled as Wei Ying’s face turned red.

“Don’t– don’t say it like that! Lan Zhan!” Wei Ying complained when Lan Zhan couldn’t stop smiling. “I’m supposed to be the shameless one! Why are you like this? Oh no, I’ve corrupted you. Lan Zhan, we just started dating and you’re already like this. How will I survive?”

“I will help,” Lan Zhan said seriously.

“Oh Lan Zhan, you’re the one bad for my heart with your smile so cute,” Wei Ying said dramatically. “I was already in peril just living in the space with you. Now I am subjected to a whole new side of Lan Zhan. Woe is me, death is coming soon.”

“I will protect Wei Ying.”

“How…?” Wei Ying asked dubiously.

“True love’s kiss.”

“Lan Zhan!”

[brokenmusicboxwolfe]

I feel guilty for cleaning the pool.

It’s absurd, of course. The pool brings me incredible joy and the only costs involved for cleaning it are time and a ton of pain. 

Oh, I should probably remind you that my pool is not like other and so cleaning it is a bit...tricky. Dangerous is another word for it. 

See, this is a pool my family made as a child. When I say we made it, I mean with our own hands. My family had a fibergalassing business, no employees but us (and legally only ever my father and grandfather...technically he should have made me an employee, given me a salary, etc, as an adult but Pop never got around to it. But paid or not, we worked, kinda like growing up on a farm where it’s just life.). So when we wanted a pool fiberglassing one ourselves was the thing to do. When my brother and I collapsed the simple above ground with liner version (long story...we actually collapsed it twice because we were curious how we did it the first time! LOL) something sturdier was called for. Because I always wanted water deeper (I used to swim to the bottom of the river for fun, back when I could hold my breath for five minutes) we ended up making it an above ground/bellow ground combo. We literally, kids and all, dug the below ground part with shovels and then fiberglassed directly to the ground.

So here is the pool, a fiberglass construction of five feet above ground and whatever it was below. Actually I don’t think we ever measured how deep we went. Above ground it looks like an ordinary enough rough pool with a flange around the top. It’s sort of cone shaped below, but an uneven cone, sloped steeper here, shallower there, bumpy and  lumpy everywhere with some seams to be careful of between areas of woven material. 

Cleaning the pool was always a major job every year, rushed to squeeze in to dry days because if the ground gets soaked while the pool is empty it will float up, and if it does and settles even a tiny bit out of place it won’t be supported when it’s refilled and will crack from the weight of water. 

The water in the pool each year has sat stagnant with a layer of decayed leaves and pine needles on the bottom. The surface is covered with things that make it slippery and have to be scrubbed off by hand. When the pump hoses clog they have to be cleared by hand in the icky, usually still cold, water. Once the pumps stop handling it it’s scooping out water, gunk, and critters into large pails that have to be shoved ahead of you as you crawl up the slope.

 Yes crawl. Not only is walking up the slope impossible, crawling isn’t easy. You have to crawl with care, ready for your hands or knees to slip so you don’t end up smashing your face. The uneveness of our original digging is actually helpful, giving things to not exactly grip but brace against as you work your way up. There have been years it was so slippery I worried about ever getting out again. 

What I’m saying is that cleaning the pool is intensive work, racing the hours in a day and forcing yourself to exhaustion. 

It was always hard. When it became just two of us it was reaching the limit of what we could do. And now it’s just me, figuring out ways around not having any help and certain physical limitations.  (Such as, how do you go around scrubing the flat strip around the edge when you want to save your bad knee for the work at the bottom? Go around the pool in a “touch your toes” position with one hand on the flange for stability and  one hand at your feet scrubbing!)

When I finished yesterday the sun had already set. I was shivering from being in cold water so long., and wondering how awful it would be to get hypothermia in May. My bad knee was in agony, and it’s gone from nearly well to being like it was when I first injured it. I had a nice collection of bruises and scrapes. After cleaning up and getting supper I found my body stiffened up so I could barely walk. Today I’ve been so sore I told myself to go easy for once (I didn’t, but that’s just me being “don’t be lazy”). Everything ached.

 Rationally I know I shouldn’t feel guilty.

 I live in squalor and poverty, everything dilapidated and decaying faster than I could ever fix even if I had money or help. I’m isolated and increasingly feeling despair. The things that make my life endurable have been being whittled away. 

And yet the pool still stands. Despite the repairs over the years, including one I just did, it’s little changed from the days when the pool would be full of family and friends. 

 The pool is happiness and stability in a life that feels increasingly short on both. There is nothing wrong in holding onto that. 

And yet I feel guilty.

All that hard work for something fun, when I’m surrounded by hundreds if things that NEED doing? I still haven’t fixed the shower pipe or the floors, so when I got done with the pool I was still cleaning up by stepping off a plank over a hole in the floor into the shower and then showering out of a bucket with a battery powered camping gizmo. How stupid is it to waste time on a pool when you are living like that?? Why can’t you just finish taking care of important things without wasting so much energy on something so frivolous.? 

Is it absurd to hold onto something you love even as your world crumbles around you? I dunno, but absurd or not it’s very human I think. The things I need to to are about surviving, but something I want to do is about living. I’ve had a hard time lately wanting to do anything, but I still want the pool. It kind of proves I’m still me and still alive.

One day I won’t be able to clean the pool anymore. One person alone has to admit that bodies aren’t forever, and no one will be there to do things for us. Will I be able to clean the pool at 60? I hope so. Folks in my family tend to be physically tough.  But 80? Probably not. And for all I know it could be sooner since no one can count on good health. One summer I’ll look at the pool and realize that no matter how much I long to swim I just don’t feel up to the ordeal that is pool cleaning.

We get only one life and we might as well enjoy what we can while we can. So I shouldn’t feel guilty....and yet I do. 

[ominousunflower]

(toi)let me in

Written for the APS server’s first birthday! Thank y’all for creating such an amazing and fun space. 

Summary: One lesson Adrien Agreste should have learned by now: Never ask what are the odds when you have the luck of a black cat.

Rating: G Word count: 1767

Read on AO3

__________________________________________

Adrien Agreste is wide awake.

He’s been lying in Marinette’s loft bed for ten minutes now, one arm slung over Marinette and his chin tucked against her shoulder, sure that if he just waits, he’ll fall back asleep.

This isn’t the first time that he’s sneaked into her room as Chat Noir and slept beside her. In fact, ever since they found out each other’s identities two weeks ago and started dating, it’s fairly commonplace.

It is, however, the first time he’s woken up desperately having to go to the bathroom.

He doesn’t want to disturb her, and what’s more, he doesn’t really want to risk going downstairs. What if someone sees him? The chances are slim, but then, Adrien’s never had the best luck.

Adrien groans and squeezes his eyes shut, trying to ignore the ache in his bladder. It’s no use, though: despite the grogginess in his head, he can’t fall back asleep, and there’s no way he’s going to last until morning.

With a sigh, he eases the covers back and crawls out from under them. As he does, Marinette mumbles and rolls over to face him, her fingers tugging at his shirt sleeve.

“Where’re you going?” she asks, words slurred by sleep.

“Bathroom,” Adrien whispers. “Go back to sleep. I’ll be right back.”

He smooths back her bangs and kisses her forehead, then crawls to the foot of the bed and descends the ladder. Walking lightly so that the floor doesn’t creak, he crosses to the trapdoor and opens it ever-so-slightly.

Holding his breath, Adrien listens for the sound of voices or footsteps below.

Silence greets him. Satisfied, Adrien eases the door open and lowers his body through it.

He can get there and back in less than a minute. The chances that either one of Marinette’s parents will also decide to go to the bathroom in the forty-five seconds it takes Adrien to pee—well, the chances are so low, in fact, that they might as well be nonexistent.

And so, moving as silently as his superhero namesake, Adrien creeps downstairs toward the Dupain-Cheng bathroom.

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

Tom Dupain awakes with a need.

He had a feeling he shouldn’t have chugged that bottle of water before bed, but what’s done is done; now he is awake in the middle of the night and forced to deal with the consequences.

With a heavy sigh, he rolls out of bed and drags himself to the bedroom door. Sabine’s quiet snores fill the room, assuring him that at least he hasn’t woken her up.

He opens the door and steps outside, moving as quietly as his weight will allow—and that’s when he sees a figure standing outside the bathroom door, frozen with its hands raised in surrender.

The stranger is too tall to be Marinette, but too small to be an adult. Nonetheless, adrenaline courses through Tom’s veins, and he takes a threatening step forward. “Who are you?” he asks. He reaches toward the wall and taps the light switch, bathing the room in dim amber light.

The stranger doesn’t say anything, but Tom’s question is answered: because standing in front of him, hair sticking up, eyes wide, is his daughter’s classmate Adrien Agreste.

“Adrien Agreste?” Tom says.

Knowing the intruder’s identity does not make things any clearer. Why is a teen idol who lives several blocks away standing outside Tom Dupain’s bathroom at three in the morning? Is this a dream? And if so, why is Tom dreaming about his daughter’s crush breaking into their apartment in the middle of the night?

“I, um…” Adrien’s eyes flick toward the kitchen window, almost as if he’s considering that as an escape route. “Our toilet is broken.”

Tom stares at him, not sure he’s heard correctly. Maybe there’s too much wax in his ears again. “What did you say?”

“Our…toilet broke, so…I came here?”

As the parent of a fourteen year-old, Tom Dupain is well-acquainted with teenagers and their bizarre excuses. On a scale of one to ten, he ranks Adrien’s a three. While a broken toilet is not unheard of, there are too many holes in this story: how did Adrien get in, if their front door is locked and everyone is asleep? If Adrien lives in a mansion, shouldn’t his father be able to afford twenty-four-seven toilet fixing?

And the most unbelievable part of all, which is how Tom knows for a fact that Adrien is lying: there is no way the Agrestes only have one toilet in their house.

“How did your toilet break?” Tom asks, narrowing his eyes.

“Uh.” Adrien clears his throat. “Water…rabbits.”

“Water rabbits.”

“They’re not actually rabbits,” Adrien says. “They are bugs. That…eat metal. And toilets.”

Tom squints at him. Maybe this is a dream. Isn’t Adrien supposed to be at the top of his class? This excuse is so disappointing that Tom is tempted to call Adrien’s father, just to tell him that Adrien needs to work on his improvisation skills.

“Water not-rabbits ate your toilet, you say,” Tom says. “Do I look stupid to you, Adrien Agreste?”

“No!” Adrien says. “They just got in the pipes. And…” He grimaces. “Okay. I lied. I clogged the toilet.”

Ah. Tom was once a teenage boy who did not understand how to use toilet paper in moderation. He’ll give Adrien the benefit of the doubt, although two questions still remain. “And you only have one toilet in that big mansion of yours?”

“There’s something wrong with the tank in the downstairs one,” Adrien says, his voice steadier than before. “It overflows if you flush it, and we can’t get someone to look at it until tomorrow morning. There is another one in my father’s room, but I didn’t want to wake him up to tell him that I clogged the toilet. He’s gotten mad about smaller things.”

Tom’s stubborn parental streak rears its head, and he fights the urge to spontaneously adopt Adrien Agreste. He can’t do that, of course. After all, Marinette can’t date Adrien if Tom adopts him, and since Marichat doesn’t seem to be happening yet, he supposes Adrienette is the second-best option.

Of course, Tom knows Adrienette won’t last. Especially not if Adrien is the type of boy who breaks into people’s homes and attempts to surreptitiously uses their toilets.

Which brings Tom to his final question. “Why our toilet? And how did you get in?”

“Oh, um, well…” Adrien rubs the back of his neck. “I texted Marinette, and she was kind enough to let me in. And she didn’t see a need to wake you up, since she was sure you would say yes!” He smiles tightly, eyes wide. “Um. You would have said yes, right?”

“I would,” Tom says, leaning forward. Adrien cowers slightly, and it occurs to Tom that maybe his stature is a bit intimidating.

Good. Let all teenage boys (or girls) cower before him. Tom Dupain doesn’t need a shovel talk; his body will be the shovel talk.

“But where is she?” Tom asks. Adrien’s excuse is approaching an eight or nine on the scale, but some loose ends remain. “Why didn’t she wait down here with you? My daughter is responsible. She must have known this would look bad. If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were…”

And then it hits Tom: it looks an awful lot like Marinette sneaked a boy into her room in the middle of the night.

OCCAM’S RAZOR, his mind booms.

Adrien flinches, and that’s all it takes for Tom’s Papa Senses to start tingling. “Adrien,” he says, his voice low. “Did my daughter—”

“No!” Adrien says. “No. Marinette would never do something like that. Neither would I! I—I’m not like that. I’ve never even seen Marinette’s room! Or, well, I have—but only once, when we practiced for that gaming tournament. Technically twice, since it was on TV that one time—”

“Where is she?” Tom repeats. He can practically feel his mustache trembling with suppressed fatherly rage.

“Oh! Right.” Adrien’s throat jumps as he swallows. “She just, uh, heard something skittering around upstairs, and thought it might be a mouse, so she went to—”

“There are mice in my bakery?” Tom bellows.

“No!” Adrien says. “Or, I mean, I don’t know. Maybe it was a squirrel!”

“That’s still a rodent!” Tom says. His concerns about Sabine’s sleep evaporate, and he turns to pound on their bedroom door. “Sabine! Wake up! There are rodents in our bakery!”

“Maybe there aren’t!” Adrien says. “It’s probably cockroaches—no, wait! Dust mites! I’m sure it’s just dust mites. I’m sure if you had enough of them they could make some noise—um, actually, could we continue this conversation after I’ve gone to the bathroom, please?”

And then a familiar figure appears at the bottom of the stairs, yawning as she tugs at one of her pigtails. “Adrien,” she says, “when are you coming back up? You’ve been gone for more…than…” She trails off, eyes widening as they focus on Tom.

Tom feels like his eyes are glowing red, and judging by the look on Adrien’s face, they very well might be. “You were upstairs, were you, Adrien? That’s strange. There’s not an entrance to our house upstairs.”

Adrien’s eyes dart to the bathroom door, then to Tom, then to Marinette—then, again, to the window for some reason. His hand creeps toward the bathroom door, fingers curled to clutch the knob.

“Don’t you dare,” Tom says.

Adrien pauses, hand lightly grasping the handle.

Tom glowers at him, a low growl building in his throat.

“Adrien,” Marinette squeaks. “Please don’t leave me to explain this by myse—”

“I’m sorry!” Adrien yelps. Fast as lightning, he wrenches the door open and ducks inside.

Tom lunges forward, hand grabbing the knob—but it’s too late. He hears the tell-tale click from the other side as Adrien locks himself in the bathroom, and the knob refuses to twist.

“You can’t hide in there forever!” Tom says.

“Tom,” Sabine’s voice says, from behind him. “What’s going on? Did I hear you say something about rodents?”

“Rodents?” Marinette echoes.

In a desperate display of strength, Tom twists harder at the knob, and harder—until it pops right off the door with a cracking noise.

“Oh my god,” Marinette says. “You sealed him in.”

“He did what?” Adrien’s voice cries.

“Enjoy our toilet, Adrien Agreste,” Tom says, with his most menacing voice. He raises the door knob like a sword. “Enjoy it, because this is the last time I let you near my toilet—or my daughter—ever again.”

[seizethesam]

Ode to an Angel-Chapter 6

A/N: Hello everyone! Chapter 6 is now here. I hope it was worth the wait. I’m very happy with how it turned out and taking a time off definitely was a healthy decision. I was in a little bit of deadline anxiety but now it’s all good. I hope you’ll enjoy this chapter!!

Happy reading! Xx

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Female Reader

Warning: A bit sad, mentions of death, and typical TWD gore.

This chapter’s recomended song is “Moonshine” by Oscar and the Wolf...

Then…

You felt unaccountably at home next to him—even with the grey walls. It was a kind of a reassurance that you could only felt with your family.

Right then you knew it, he was family.

He cleared his throat when you let him go. He got up from your bed and walked to the door without saying anything.

He turned and handed you something else, which looked like a book.

“I also found this,” he said in his husky voice.

It was a book and it was called The Mushroom Book: How to Identify, Gather, and Cook Wild Mushrooms.

Now…

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

The past few days at the prison were awful. The dark cloud of memories of the people you had lost were hanging heavy over all of you.

It was unfortunate. The worst thing was that you’d always kept thinking that maybe you could’ve done something.

Maybe, you could’ve done something to save Lori, and T-Dog, and Carol. Then, the baby would have a mother now.

The screams of T-Dog had never left your ears. The way his face had flinched, and the painful cries had left his lungs, and found your ears. T-Dog died trying to save your lives. You tried to reach out for him. You tried. But Carol’s arms pulled you inside the cellblock.

Maybe, you could’ve reached stronger. Just maybe, you could’ve taken him by the hand save him. And he would still be alive.

You wouldn’t be digging his grave now.

And Carol… If you weren’t stupid enough to lead her into a corridor full of walkers, you wouldn’t have lost her. You should’ve known better not to go in there. But the walkers were going crazy because of the alarm.

Maybe you could’ve done something. You could’ve fought the walkers harder and you wouldn’t have lost her. Then you would’ve found Lori in time and she would still be alive.

You wouldn’t have to face Daryl and tell him that Carol was gone.

He was furious when you’d told him.

The relationship between Daryl and Carol had always amazed you; the way they cared about and understood each other. It was so pure. But, now she was gone.

On the other hand, you and Daryl were something else. You still didn’t understand what it was. For a while, you thought that he was just like everyone else for you, family. But after a while you started doubting that too.

You didn’t get tingles when Rick or Glenn was around, and Daryl didn’t get red when someone else had touched his shoulders.

There was an undeniable attraction, you admitted, but you couldn’t pinpoint the feeling. You were sure of one thing; you cared about him so much that it hurt you to see him hurting.

“I lost her,” you cried as silent tears spilt down your cheeks. You’d just found a way out of the labyrinth of corridors.

“Whadya mean ya lost her?” he barked. He was pacing back and forth, throwing his arms around with anger. His breaths were almost audible.

You knew he wasn’t angry at you; he was angry at himself. He was always angry at himself. He was blaming himself for not being there to save her and you blamed yourself just as much.

“She’s just gone,” you added, you voice was no more than a whisper. He stopped his pace to really look at you, and for a second you saw his gaze soften. “I’m sorry.”

“Nah,” his took one step towards you, his breathing was slowing down, “ain’t yer fault,” he said. He came closer to you but still kept his comfortable distance.

You wanted to believe him.

You threw out the last shovels of dirt out of the unpleasant hole. Glenn helped you out of it. He was finished with the cross for Lori’s grave.

You didn’t dig one for her…there wasn’t a body—stop! The voice in your head snapped and you didn’t think any more about that.

There was only one grave as Daryl insisted on “no damn holes” for Carol until we find her—dead or alive. You’d agreed with him. He was away on a run with Maggie, looking for formulas for the baby.

The two of you held the lifeless body of your friend, carried, and tossed him into the freshly dug grave. None of you said anything, you just kept burying your loved ones.

Your mind traced back to the memories of your brother, how there was nothing left of him to bury, just a puddle of blood and a bunch of walkers. No!

When things went south while scavenging a market, your group took north. Leaving your brother to die alone, and you all alone, handcuffed to a metal bar behind the cash register.

You were throwing the dirt back into the hole, Glenn across you, doing the same. One single warm tear trailed down your cheek, and you immediately wiped it away with one swift motion and continued filling the grave.

Glenn didn’t recognize it. You could see it in his face that he was barely keeping it together. His lips were straight line and the lines on his forehead was visible as he threw the dirt in with you.

Later that day you wanted to talk to Rick about Carl and the baby, but Glenn held you back, said he was dangerous and tried to hurt him. He was probably right because Rick was walking around like a time bomb, ready to explode.

You couldn’t blame him, but right now, his daughter and son needed him the most. He needed time to heal his wounds.

You were in the common area while the darkness was falling over Georgia. Daryl and Maggie had just come from the formula run for the baby, or “lil’ asskicker”.

You watched as Daryl fed the little one in his big arms and rocked her to sleep. The thought of how those rough arms could hold something so fragile has come to your mind. It was astounding.

You realized that you were staring a little longer than you should’ve when you drew your attention to elsewhere and walked out of the cellblock to watchtower.

You opened the door to the platform and saw Glenn walking back and forth with the rifle in his both hands. “Hey, is it over already?” he asked.

His shift was supposed to be an hour longer, but you just couldn’t be inside the walls.

“Yup, you go home to your wife,” you joked.

“Alright,” even though it wasn’t funny at all, he let out a chuckle anyway. “Is the baby okay?”, he asked as he handed you the rifle.

“She’s fierce,” you answered smiling. She was just a newborn, but you believed her to be fierce.

He nodded and left you to be alone in the dark.

You held the rifle tight in your hands, carefully watching the darkness.

It had only been one or two hours when you heard the door creaked open to reveal a broad-shouldered figure. The moonlight shined on him and you saw it was Daryl.

He didn’t have the watch after you and yet, he was here.

“Hi,” you greeted him with a subtle smile, “what brings you here?”

He hummed as a response as he shrugged. Daryl wasn’t someone who used words a lot like normal people would generally do. He often let out sounds like gruffs, grumbles, or hums like this one.

After spending a reasonable amount of time with him on different occasions, you had learnt what each unique sound he made meant.

This one, you took it as in; he came here on an impulse.

After all, you always had found each other on impulses.

He came next you in front of the railings. You two were standing side by side without facing.

“Ya alright?” he asked, “been a rough couple a’ days,” his voice was as low as a whisper.

“I’m fine,” you answered, still looking ahead. Your tone mirrored his. You didn’t know if it was true, but you had to be okay. “You?”

“I don’ know,” he singsonged, pressing his fore arms on the railings, supporting his weight. “Ya didn’t have to see T-Dog like tha’,” he added after a few minutes.

“It’s fine.”

The resemblance of T-Dog’s and your brother’s death trembled your heart. The similar tightness of chest took over your body again.

That’s what it all took. A scavenge run going wrong triggered the asshole and left you handcuffed to the metal pipe. It wasn’t late when you heard a gunshot and the moaning of the dead while you were trying to get out of the cuffs. The sound made your hands stop.

The group came from behind the aisle and left the building without giving you a second look.

“Hey!” you shouted after the group of four as they exited the marketplace in a hurry. “Gareth!”, you called the so-called leader. Alex stopped at the door, “I’m sorry,” he said before exiting the place. What?

“Alex! Get back-” you called after him, “you son of a- “

“Y/N!” a voice came behind the aisle and you saw Matt— with blood pouring down his left thigh.

Your brother was limping towards your direction, to the cash register with a handful of walkers behind him. “Y/N!” he called again before one of the deads grabbed his shoulder and teared his flesh.

No, no, no…

“Matthew!”, you cried his name, wanting to distract the walkers away from your brother, but his screams were louder than yours. Suddenly, all the walkers jumped onto him, making him fall flat on his back.

You couldn’t see clearly through the tears. You tried to get out of the cuffs, pulling them, tugging your hand out of it. But you failed. You didn’t take your eyes off of him for a second.

You couldn’t.

Then his screams faded, leaving you in utter shock as the dead were still feasting.

“Aye,” Daryl’s voice snapped you out of the memory, “what is it?” he sounded genuine. He had fully turned to face you.

Then you decided to tell him, you didn’t have to carry all the weight all by yourself. You’d often found yourself blaming Daryl for not opening up to anyone, while you were just doing the same thing.

You’d never told anyone about your brother, or your old group.

You sat down, pressing your back against the wall, setting the rifle close, beside you.

“You wanna know what I was looking for?” you prompted. The words left your mouth in rush. You wanted him to know before you changed your mind, “back when I’d asked you about the factory?”

He didn’t say anything, he just looked at you with his piercing stare, only it was now spreading affection and understanding.

“I was looking for my old group,” you stated. You told him everything; the military camp, Gareth, Alex, how they were just a bunch of assholes, your brother, his death…everything.

He sat down next to you and listened. “M’ sorry,” he said when you were finished.

“Why did ya stop?” he asked.

It was the same question you’d kept asking yourself when you’d first joined the group. Eventually you had found the answer.

“What I’ve found turned out to be way more important than a revenge,” you spoke, turning your face to him.

He was watching the dark forest while chewing his tongue. He looked… beautiful under the moonlight.

You watched him for a while, put your head on his shoulder. He flinched at the sudden contact but eased into it after a while.

---

Then you held his hand.

Chapter 7

A/N: Feedback is always appreciated!! Please let me know what you think of the chapter! Are you happy about it? What would you like to change? English is my second language, so if you spot any errors please tell me.

Taglist:

@spidergirla5 @twdeadfanfic @kamieshep  @jodiereedus22 @purplebtsmagic @302rocks @itsmanillablog @decadentsoulbiscuitgoth   @crossbowking @bunnymother93 @ly--canthrope @sophia-gwendolyn

[buddywaterfalls]

I Won’t Leave You CH 1 (Toph x Male Reader)

“I’m telling you, we’re gonna find it this time!” Zei exclaims. You stare out of the window as he goes on about how his life has been leading up to this moment. His words would be encouraging, if this weren’t his upteenth time making the same boring speech on the same boring topic. The train speeds out of Ba Sing Se and you pay half a mind to him, ignoring his speech. You’re his best student, always working to learn the history of the world and understand how people feel. Zei is a close friend, your best, and always makes sure to take you along on his numerous expeditions, you get to frequently travel around the globe and make your own analysis on several topics. You were an intellectual prodigy, and he brought you into the university to better yourself. “Are you excited?”

“For what?” You ask, nonchalantly.

“Us to make history, Y/N. I just know it.”

“If you say so.” You reply as the train slows to a halt and you both step off. “It's the dry season.” you grumble, covering your face with your hat and moving forwards. You hand your passports to the angry lady to get out of Ba Sing Se after a long period of waiting in line. Zei is much more patient than you are, and babbles on about the possibilities of the knowledge that lies within the library to keep your impatience at bay. You waited for three tedious hours to get out and onto a ferry. “It feels like there should be a better way to do this.” You say, watching the water roll by slowly, “So why are we going to Misty Palms?”

“Just a gut feeling.”

“So we’re risking a mugging because of a feeling in your stomach?”

“Yes. You’ll come to learn to trust a gut feeling eventually.”

“I’ll never understand you, old man.”

“One day you might.” He says, smiling. “So Squirt, you finally participated in poetry night, I hear.”

“Yeah. Unfortunately I like actual poetry and they were all over haikus.”

“Well, haikus are poetry.”

“Bah.” You grumble, “How’s the girlfriend?”

“Oh we… broke up. She wanted kids, I wasn’t ready to make that commitment.”

“Oh. Sorry, man.”

“No, you’re fine. Besides, I needed to focus more on my work anyway.” The rest of the ride is in awkward silence as they slowly arrive at a dock and rent ostrich-horses to ride their way to Misty Palms Oasis. At one point, it was a gorgeous paradise now it sits as a reminder of the temporary nature of the world on which you live. “The ice has melted another three meters since our last visit.” Zei notes, writing it down in his little book. “Wait in the bar for me.” Zei says, “I’ll be right with you.” He pulls out a Pai Sho piece and walks in a different direction. You walk awkwardly into the bar, feeling several pairs of eyes prying into you. 

You sit, “Uh… mango?” You ask the bartender, who hurries up and makes your drink after you pay him. A sip makes you feel more clear, and soon, you’ve finished.

“Well, you finished that quick, huh?” The professor asks, now walking in, looking better himself. “I’ll have what he’s having.” The tender makes another mango juice and he pays, right before a kid bumps into him, getting Zei’s drink spilled all over his outfit. “Sorry son, I didn’t-”

“No worries, I clean up easily.” The boy says, pushing his fists together and unleashing a gust of wind that dries him off. 

“You’re a living relic!” Zei exclaims, holding his hat to his head.

“Thanks, I try.” The boy says. As they continue to converse, you look over the kid’s group, they don’t look like bandits. There are two Water Tribe people, a boy and a girl of around the same age as you and a short blind girl, with a dress that looks distinctively like it’s from Gaoling due to the stitchwork, who is in the back. An odd bunch for sure, but you’ve seen weirder. Soon, they’ve laid out a map and Zei’s rattling his life’s story like it’s small talk. With a groan you stand beside Zei. 

“...and knowledge is priceless.” 

You thank the heavens that you missed his whole spiel about books, the blind girl has an unimpressed look on her face. “Hm. Sounds like good times.” She sounds utterly unimpressed as well, which is reasonable. While he may be kind, you will always defend professor Zei there, but his speeches are tiresome at best.

“Oh, it is!” He says cheerily, disregarding her lack of enthusiasm, “According to legend, it was built by the great knowledge spirit; Wan-Chi Tong, with the help of his foxy knowledge seekers.” 

“Oh! So this spirit has attractive assistants, huh?” the Water Tribe boy dumbly asks.

With a shove, the Water Tribe girl responds, “I think he means that they look like actual foxes, Sokka.”

“You’re both right! They’re handsome little creatures. Wan-Chi Tong and his little knowledge seekers collected books from all over the world and put them on display for mankind to read. So that we might better ourselves.” He smiles as he pulls out a scroll of the library and displays it on the table, and you sigh realizing that he’s reeled a couple more suckers into his crazy plot.

The Water Tribe boy-- Sokka speaks in realization. “If this place has books from all over the world, do you think they’ve got info on the Fire Nation? A map, maybe?”

“Wait a second, we aren’t getting involved with the Fire Nation, are you crazy? Zei, we should go-”

“No. These people need our help.”

You stare him in the eyes, “Do you remember what those savages have done?”

“The Avatar is our best hope to stop them, Y/N.”

After a second’s hesitation you sigh, “Fine. Sorry, I’m just on edge here. You can’t trust anyone anymore.” You say. They all nod and look back at Zei.

“If a map exists at all, that’s the place it’d be.” He says, after a moment. 

“Then it’s settled!” Sokka exclaims, turning to the Air Nomad, “Aang, I do believe it’s my turn. I choose to spend my vacation at the library!” he animates the last part as if it’s a declaration of war and you groan. It’s quiet for a second before the blind girl speaks.

 “Uh, hey! What about me? When do I get to pick?”

“You gotta work here a little longer before you’re qualified for vacation time.” Sokka retorts, she slams her drink down, crosses her arms and grunts in annoyance. She’s new to the group. You note.

“Of course, there’s the matter of finding it. Me and Y/N have made several trips to the Zi Wong Desert and almost died each time. I’m afraid that desert’s impossible to cross.”

“Professor, would you like to see our sky bison?”

“A sky bison?! You actually have one?!” 

With that, he’s convinced so you trail the group with the blind girl until she finally speaks, “I’m Toph.” she says. 

“Y/N” you reply, “That kid’s really the Avatar?”

“Yeah. Weird, isn’t it?”

“Weird doesn’t scathe the surface. We were supposed to go on a tracking mission, just as guys, then we end up flying on a bison with a monkey that can also fly and the Avatar to dig up dirt on the Fire Nation. But screw it at this rate, you know?” She smiles at this as Zei shoos away sandbenders from the sky bison. “That thing is ridiculously huge.” you say, looking at it as everyone climbs up. Zei helps you onto the saddle and the air bender says something that makes the thing lift into the air. You screw your eyes shut and hold the saddle for dear life. As time ticks on, you feel more comfortable, but more restless. Sokka’s taken his shirt off and everyone’s cranky after a while. It doesn’t help that Zei reveals that the library might not even exist, which really ticks off Toph. Eventually she decides to blurt out a blatant lie, which everyone hilariously falls for.

“There it is!” she cheers. They look on her side seeing nothing but sand and back at her with scowls. “That’s what it will sound like when one of you spots it.” Then she waves her hand in front of her face to emphasize that she’s blind and you stifle laughter. She turns in your direction and smiles before scooting closer to you and striking up a conversation, “So where do you live?”

“Ba Sing Se. I go to university with Brainiac over there. He’s my teacher.”

“Are you a good student?”

“He’s the best!” Zei pipes up and chuckles as your face heats up.

“Best is an awful strong word, Zei.” You say, trying to redeem yourself from sounding narcissistic, “I’m good at what I find interesting.”

“I never went to school. I took earthbending classes, but my blindness held me back, so I sought out my own help.”

“Now you’re training the Avatar, that’s pretty cool.”

“How did you know one of them didn’t train him?”

“They’re both Water Tribe.” You say, nonchalantly, “And they’re wearing water tribe apparel.”

“I wouldn’t know.” Toph says, laughing nervously.

“That’s fine.”

“It shouldn’t be this hard to spot a giant ornate building from the air.” The girl says. 

Suddenly her brother speaks up, “Down there! What’s that?!” We descend to the ground and see a tower extending into the sky. 

The water tribe girl sighs. “Forget it. This obviously isn’t the building we’re looking for.” Aang looks over her shoulder at the scroll, “The building in this drawing is enormous.” Then you see a bright reflection of light in the distance and elbow Zei, who quickly turns around to see it. You all watch a fox-like creature come from the desert and scale the tower, entering a window near the top.

“I think that was one of the knowledge seekers,” Zei exclaims, “We must be close to the library!”

“No. This is the library, look!” Sokka says, comparing the tower with one of the towers in the picture. “It’s completely buried.”

It’s quiet for a few seconds before you feel the weight of Zei’s grief pour over him as he collapses to his knees, “The library’s buried?! My life’s ambition is full of sand!” You put a hand on his shoulder and he sighs, sucking the pain down and returning to his optimistic self, “Well, time to excavate!” He says cheerily, pulling out a tiny shovel and getting to work. 

“He’s… incorrigible.” You say, sighing. 

“Professor, that won’t be necessary.” Toph says, you look up and see her with a hand on the building and her eyes closed, “The inside seems to be completely intact, and it’s huge.”

“That fox thingy climbed in through a window. I say we go up there and give it a look.” Sokka says.

“I say you guys go up there without me.” Toph says.

“You got something against libraries?”

“I’ve held books before and, I gotta tell ya, they don’t exactly do it for me.” 

“Right. Sorry.”

“I’ll stay out here with her.” You say.

“But Y/N, this is our life’s work!”

“Reminder, I loathe spiders and if there is any place on Earth sure to have at least a thousand, it’s the library under two tons of sand, yeah?”

“Fine. Be safe, okay? Don’t do anything I’d do.” Zei smiles and ruffles your hair, chuckling at your scowl. 

“Let me know if they have something I can listen to.” Toph remarks. With that they make their way into the library, leaving you, Toph and Appa outside. “You know that I can handle myself, right?”

“I’m well aware. Like I said, spiders terrify me.”

“Why?”

“Well they’re eight-legged, hairy, revolting things that want to do nothing but kill.”

“That’s a little melodramatic, don’t you think?” She asks, sitting down, you can sense the smile on her face though and sigh, leaning back against the tower. “So, can you bend?”

“No. That’s why the fire nation makes me uneasy, what will I do if they invade again? Punch them to death? I can throw a punch, sure, but what’ll I do against an army?” You sigh, “Anyway, how do you walk without needing a cane or something? Not trying to offend of course! Just… intrigued.”

“When I was you, I… well what I did doesn’t matter, but it led to me being trained by the badgermoles. They taught me to see the way they do, through vibrations in the ground. This sand is awful because it’s all loose and shifty, it makes everything all fuzzy.” Appa roars, “Not that there’s anything wrong with fuzzy!” She adds, quickly. “Anyways, how’d you meet Zei?” 

“Well it’s a long story. My family had a big home, it was the oldest standing house in the world. Zei met me and we talked for a while, he was impressed. He wanted to take me back to Ba Sing Se so I could learn under guidance and my parents refused, insisting that I carry on the family tradition and live my life helping out people.” You sit down next to her, “Fortunately, my dad gave me a choice and I was able to use the cover of night to get away. I’ve since made peace with my family. I want to make a difference.”

She smiles, “I get it. Maybe you should join us.”

“I don’t think so, I don’t wanna be a burden.”

“You wouldn’t be a burden.” Toph cuts in, she blushes slightly and looks down. After a while of awkward chatting, you’ve fallen asleep against Appa, and Toph lays awkwardly next to you, after a while, Appa growls. “I already told you, I don’t want to snuggle.” Then Appa gets up, letting both of your heads fall into the ground, waking you up as you rub the back of your head. “Library's sinking.” she says calmly, then her eyes widen, as do yours. “Library’s sinking!” she yells, bolting into action and struggling to hold it up. 

You see sand rising in the distance and your senses start to tingle. “Uh, Toph?”

“What now?!”

“Whatever you do, focus on that building!” You say, taking up a fighting stance. The sandbenders conjure up a dust cloud that makes it hard to see. “Back off!” you shout at one who jumps off of his glider. He moves for a strike which you bat away and jab him three times in the stomach before crane-kicking him for the knockout blow.

“Who’s there?!”

“Sandbenders!” You shout back. Two more start to focus on you, using sand bending for cheap tactics and keeping you from fighting them fairly as their friends attack Appa. They try to hold you under the sand as they tie Appa up. With a huge effort you break free, leaping into the air and landing a swift kick on one. Then you feel something sharp puncture your neck. You pull it out and glare at the dart and then at the sandbenders. “It’ll take a lot more than-” Suddenly a barrage of about fifty darts fly your way, you run towards Toph and take about twenty that were heading for her before collapsing, “That’ll do.” You groan, watching the world fade in and out. Suddenly, she’s picked you up and leaped out of the way as the building crashes into the ground. You feel an overwhelming sense of failure as your mind sneaks itself into unconsciousness.

[neerasrealm]

bRO jason or LJ would be great with the record scratch one imo HSHSH

WHEN I SAW JASON AS AN OPTION I LOST IT FHGSDHF. Anyway hi this story is basically Jason getting bullied by Kate the Chaser for 2000+ words. Enjoy.

*record scratch* 

*freeze frame* 

Yep, that’s me. No, not the vague figure you’re imagining now from the zero amount of information I’ve given you, and no, I’m not the heroic yet relatable main-character you’d expect either. I’m the one that’s currently, and quite poetically, hiding in the corner of a chicken coop. Yeah, that’s the one.

Hi, I'm Jason. I'm a toymaker. And also half- or maybe three quarters demon because I work for an immortal god of chaos and destruction. And for a little more context, I'm in a chicken coop because things went horribly, horribly wrong. 

I was given one simple task. Spy on a woman named Kate. Okay, no problem. She's human, average height and weight. Nothing to be concerned about. The only foreseeable threat was the fact that she works for my boss's biggest rival. A man named Slender. I would say creature, but from what I've heard he's rather good at acting civilised, though I've also heard that it's all just an act to lower guards. Regardless, I had no fear of her.

No fear that is, until she happened to catch me watching her via my pet surveillance mouse, Licorice. She smacked the poor thing with a rake! A rake! My poor innocent little surveillance drone...Licorice wouldn't harm a fly…

Eh-hem. Anyway- after she found and assaulted Licorice I tried to make my escape- but she caught me. So I hid in the only place I could. 

The chicken coop. 

And that's where I am now. Curled up amongst feathers, grain and very upset birds. If I wasn't trying to be quiet, I would've killed them by now. Especially the one that’s pecking my leg. Rude bitch. I have half a mind to strangle you, you know that, chicken?

Wait.

Oh no.

I hear footsteps.

The door to the chicken coop is yanked open and suddenly I’m being glared at by an angry asian lady wearing black and white flannel. 

‘’Get outta my coop, bitch boy.’’

Okay, first of all, rude. Second of all, RUDE. third of all,

‘’No.’’

She glares at me.

‘’Alright, that’s it.’’

She climbs into the fucking chicken coop, grabs me by my EXPENSIVE knee high boots and YANKS me out of the coop with strength I didn’t expect from her. I scream and thrash about and kick at her until she lets me go. She stands over me, glaring. I glare right back. She puts her hands on her hips, channeling the energy of an angry texan grandma. If I wasn’t British I’d probably be terrified right now. 

‘’Who gave you permission to go snoopin’ around my property?’’

‘’I don’t need permission to snoop anywhere,’’ I growl back. ‘’I do as I please.’’

"So you admit you WERE snoopin'!" She points an accusing finger at me. 

"No, I was just saying I don't need permission to snoop." I cross my arms and give her a smug look. The word snoop sounds really weird now that we keep saying i- "AH!" 

She yanks me by the collar of my rather EXPENSIVE shirt. Blue eyes glare into mine between strands of dark hair. ‘’Jason,’’ she growls. ‘’Tell me what the fuck you’re doing here before I crack your skull open like an over-ripe cantaloupe.’’

I glare at her. ‘’...Fine.’’ I sigh. ‘’I was asked to look into you since you’ve changed location. It was suspected that you were doing something, or perhaps Slender had changed his base of operat-’’ I’m interrupted by her letting go of my collar and rudely placing her muddy boot on my nice clean clothes. ‘’HEY!’’

‘’I fucking moved out, Jason. Jesus. Can Zalgo just calm his tits? Do I have to live in fear of the bastard for the rest of my life just because of Slender?’’

‘’Yes, you do.’’ I glare at her. ‘’Maybe you should have considered that before becoming his proxy.’’ She rolls her eyes and lifts her foot off of me. I brush dirt off myself but- that mud isn’t going to come off easily...these were expensive clothes too…

‘’Get up.’’

‘’I’m not taking orders from you!’’

‘’Then maybe I should tell Slender I found a creepy redhead sitting up a tree watching me!’’

"Hey! I am not creepy!" 

Kate glares down at me, her hands on her hips again. After a few moments of stubborn silence, I stand up and brush dirt off myself. She folds her arms.

"I won't tell Slender about this if you do somethin' for me." She says. I squint.

"Are you trying to blackmail me?" I murmur. She nods.

"Yep. I have a fence that needs fixin', along with some stuff in the house and fields. If ya help me I won't tell Slenderman I found ya creepin' around my property."

What the hell does this woman take me for? I'm not going to let her blackmail me! I glare at her and cross my arms. "Absolutely not." I say before turning and walking away. Hah! That'll show her! I'm simply going to walk away from my problems!

"Aren't ya forgettin’ somethin'?" I turn and look at her and stare in horror. She's holding my beloved mouse from her tail, swinging her from side to side like she's a toy rather than a beloved pet!

"LICORICE!" I yelp and run towards her to grab back my poor pet. Kate moves out of the way with surprising speed. I suppose that's why her nickname is 'The Chaser'. 

"Ah ah ah." She wags a finger at me, teasing me. "Not until you help me."

"What?!" Licorice is being held ransom now?! I stare at Kate in horror. She smirks. "...fine! Fine, I'll do it! Just- don't hurt licorice...please…"

"That's the spirit, jacey-boy!" She chirps. Dear god I hope she never calls me that again. She stuffs licorice back into her pocket and smiles smugly. "Now c'mon."

Begrudgingly, I follow her to her home. It’s a large country house, with a spacious wooden deck. Inside is just as cozy as you’d expect. This is actually a nice place- I wouldn’t mind living here myself if it wasn’t on a farm. I don’t like farms. They smell bad.

‘’Alright, here we go.’’ She leads me into the kitchen. There’s a toolbag on the kitchen table. She picks it up and holds it out to me. ‘’There’s some broken bannisters on the stairs. Think you can fix them up?’’

‘’I guess if there’s replacement bannisters.’’ I grunt. 

‘’In the shed out back. And after you’re done that, you can fix some holes I found in the walls upstairs,’’ she shrugs at me. ‘’I think the past owner had a teenage son. Punched the shit outta the place.’’

‘’Of course he did…’’ I take the toolbag and sigh. ‘’Fine.’’ 

 I march out the backdoor and find her shed. Walking inside, the bannisters I need are laying on a table. It smells of fresh paint in here- I actually quite like that smell...I grab the bannisters and march back inside. The bitch is making coffee instead of- you know, working like I am. I glare at her as I walk back into the hallway. Her stairs are completely missing several bannisters- six to be exact. With a sigh, I put down the bannisters and rummage through the bag for a drill. Why does she think I’m qualified to fix stairs anyway? Because I’m a toymaker?? I mean- yeah I know how to fix things like this- but still! My skills are more in carving and painting and sewing...ugh…

I pull out the drill I need and get to work. It’s a simple process. Drill a nail into the stairs, drill a matching hole into the bannister, then screw it on. Nothing too difficult- the only bad part is the sawdust that gets everywhere. Not my problem though- at least I hope it isn’t. If she makes me clean it up I’ll be mad.

‘’I finished.’’ I growl to Kate as I walk back into the kitchen. ‘’What next?’’

She’s eating fucking banana bread. Taunting me with the fact that I’m doing all of her work for her. Fuck you, Kate. Fuck you. If I was in a room with Slenderman and you and I had one bullet, I’d shoot Slender and beat you to death myself. Fuck you AND YOUR BANANA BRE-

‘’There’s plaster and newspaper upstairs. You can stuff the holes up and plaster over ‘em.’’ she smiles at me. Ah. I didn’t need to come in here at all. I could have avoided seeing the accursed banana bread…

I go upstairs like a good slave laborer. The bucket of plaster and stack of newspapers is sitting right next to the top of the stairs. How did I miss it? Ugh. Whatever- ripping up the papers to stuff up the holes in the walls is actually kind of fun. I haven't made anything with paper mache in a while...it’s kind of time consuming to make but still fun! 

Thinking about paper mache makes the time go by much much faster. By the time I’ve patched up every single hole in the wall I’ve almost completely forgotten why I’m so angry! It’s nice- being productive always helps me calm down and forget why I’m so stressed…

‘’Hey, Jason!’’

Ah. I remember now. I look down the stairs at Kate. She smirks a bit. ‘’Ya done?’’

‘’Yes.’’

‘’Good! Ya can help me with the fence then!’’

Ugh. With a huff I walk downstairs and follow her outside. She leads me to a wooden fence that’s broken down and barely standing. Next to it is a shovel, some timber and more tools. She picks the shovel up and starts digging around the fencepost. Together, the two of us remove the rotten wood from the bottom of the post, fill up the hole, and replace the rest of the rotten and broken wood. By the time we’re done I’m covered in dirt, and sweaty. I huff and take off my jacket, holding it under my arm. Kate does something similar, tying her flannel shirt around her waist. She stretches, cracking her back and grunting. 

‘’Are we done yet?’’ I growl. Kate smirks. 

‘’Almost. Just need ta water some crops.’’ she strides past me. ‘’C’mon Jacey. It won’t take long.’’ 

‘’Don’t call me Jacey.’’ 

She laughs and leads me over to the field I was watching her in. There's a short pipe with a hose attached to it just by the gate leading into it. She picks up the hose and hands it to me. ‘’Just sprinkle some water over ‘em, got it?’’

‘’I know how to water plants. I’m not dense.’’

Her lips curl up into a smile. ‘’Good. I’m gonna go check on Marigold.’’ she says before wandering away. I frown.

‘’Who’s Marigold?’’ I call after her.

‘’My cow!’’ she yells back. ‘’Now get to work before I feed your mouse to her!’’

Cows don’t even eat mice...stupid bitch. Hmph. begrudgingly, I walk along the small paths in between each line of crops, sprinkling each one with water. She has all sorts of things growing according to the small wooden signs stuck into the dirt. Carrots, potatoes, tomatoes...being a farmer sounds like a hellish lifestyle, but having your own fresh ingredients for cooking does sound appealing...

‘’Jason!’’ 

Just as I’m watering the last of her plants she calls me. I glance over at her. She waves at me from the other end of the field. With a sigh, I walk all the way over to the gate where she’s standing.

‘’Yes?’’

‘’Ya wanna feed the chickens?’’

‘’No.’’ 

‘’Great!’’ she grins at me. Great, now I have to feed the bloody things. As if hiding amongst them earlier wasn’t degrading enough. I put the hose back where I found it and turn to her. She holds out a bucket filled with seeds, grain and berries. I take it and frown.

‘’What is this?’’

‘’Chicken feed. Duh.’’ she rolls her eyes. ‘’C’mon. This is the last thing, promise.’’ I follow her back to the accursed chicken coop. The chickens, there’s seven of them, are just wandering around, pecking aimlessly at the ground. Kate claps her hands and the demon birds all look up. Kate looks at me and gestures to the chickens. ‘’Well c’mon. They’re waitin’.’’

With a sigh I reach into the bucket, grab a handful of feed, and toss it to the ground. Immediately it’s swarmed by bloodthirsty- er- bloodhungry chickens who peck the ground aggressively. Out of fear for my safety I continue tossing feed at the birds. Admittedly it is fun seeing chickens rapidly look around in confusion when they’re hit on the head with their own food. This isn’t actually too bad. These chickens aren’t all that ba-

‘’Ow!’’

I TAKE IT BACK ONE OF THE FUCKERS JUST PECKED MY FOOT. I kick at the aggressive bird. It flutters back and I give it my best sneer. Kate clicks her tongue and I look up at her. 

‘’Bad idea, Jacey.’’

Huh? Wha- ‘’OW-’’ I stumble back and away from the flock of chickens pecking at my good nice boots. I drop the bucket of feed, stumble on a rock, and fall straight into the muddy ground. I stare at the sky, eyes wide. What- what the fuck...since when are chickens so- aggressive?? I sit up slowly and stare at the demon hens in fear, then at Kate who is aggressively laughing. I glare at her, regain my lost dignity out of spite, and stand up.

‘’Can I go now?’’

‘’Mmm…’’ she rocks on her heels, smirking and considering it for a moment. ‘’Sure. I think ya’ve done everything I need.’’ she pulls her hands out from behind her back and holds out a tupperware container as I walk over to her. What- why is she-

Oh.

Oh if she put licorice in there-

‘’Licorice!’’ yep she did. Bitch. I pick up my beloved mouse and cradle her in my hands, dropping the container in the process. ‘’Oh there you are sweetie...I’m sorry- did the mean lady trap you in there? You poor thing.’’ Licorice squeaks in distress as I pet her gently and kiss the top of her little head. ‘’I know, I know- don’t worry Jason’s here, she isn’t going to hurt you anymore my sweet.’’ 

Licorice rolls up onto my shoulder and snuggles up against my collar. I pat her again and glare at Kate. She smiles sweetly at me.

‘’Get off my property.’’

‘’Gladly.’’

[penaltybox14]

DecoFiremen: The Solstice

@zeitheist @darknight-brightstar @squad51goals @its-skadi The local snowstorm has inspired me!  It’s Solstice-time at Wynantskill, the start of the Dawning Days, when spirits are close by and spring is promised.

On the eve of the Solstice, the clouds broaden, and hang heavily in the sky.  Overnight, the temperature drops - the thermometer on the back kitchen door ticks down swiftly through the dark - and the wind howls a bitter song.  The snow seems to come all at once - one flake becomes one hundred, one thousand, until the whole of the grounds is swept away in a furious, frozen tide.  The high wind rakes its keening claws across the windows and the frost burns the glass.  Half a dozen times, Davey wakes to a lad stoking up the fire in the dormitory stove.  Once, he stirs to find Jules Menlo tucking another blanket over him.

He dreams aloft, where snowflakes are born from the laughter of the stars.  He sits with mother and father and Lyddie by the fireplace, in nightclothes, drinking hot cider with cloves and a fat cinnamon stick to stir with.  They are all together in the parlor, mother's sewing treadle and father's books, the piano, the curtains drawn.  Father is reading poems but his words are scattered, as birds, by the storm outside.  Mother sings the song about the turning season and the rising sun, the one where the day is only resting for the work of spring.  Father has brought home a little oak seedling, the root-ball wrapped in festive paper over the burlap, and it waits by the kitchen stove to be potted and tended.  In the dream above the clouds, the fire never leaves the fireplace, and the smell of books never bitters, and the hall will not grow long and dark, and he will not stumble.

The blizzard rages on.  In the morning, the electrics have gone, the world only goes so far as the wide front doors - even the steps are drifted, and the big yard has disappeared into a cloud of stinging white. 

"Put your sweater on, young fella," says Jules Menlo.

"And some extra socks," adds Bertram Cochrane.  Since Antoine and Ellis left for the city, they have become the senior lads at the grounds, always marshalling him about, fussing that his hair is combed and his teeth and nails are clean.  If the dry, rasping tongue of grief did not so haunt his long dreams as it does, Davey expects he might chafe more.  But if some days he wishes he were grown,  some days he yearns after their gentleness, like a young tree strives toward the sun.  He puts on his extra socks, and the sweater which is too large.

  The lot of them have to dig their way out to get to the mess.  They work in shifts, and the shovels are near as tall as he is.  But he digs along anyhow, with an extra hand and an elbow or two, and before long together they've cleared a path wide enough for four men to walk, and they are sweating, and they are hungry as wild things strayed down from the mountains.  They pile in through the doors of the main building and find the hall in splendor: ribbons, candles,seedling trees and boughs, empty cups beside the doors, fruit on the tables, smells of cider and eggs and pancakes, a right feast which Eddy and the captains, including Birch, have put together. 

"Glad to see the lot of you found your way out," Capper says, at the head of the hall, "else we'd have to start the holiday without you.  Seeing as the weather and the Solstice, we're giving you off training today - "

The grown boys roar their approval. 

" - but we'll be working to clear the way, keep the pipes warm and the whole place from caving on us."

"We're in!" Bertram shouts.  "We're in, Cap."

"Best you be.  Now come sit, come eat, we didn't do all this work for nay."

For twenty minutes without rest, they tear through breakfast, until at last they settle in and begin to talk and plan their day.  If the swarm of recruits were a body, Davey thinks, Betram would be the heart and the tongue, and Jules would be the brain and the guts.  Beside them, he feels small as he did with Antoine and Ellis, but he feels a rising in his heart, as if he could be such a young man some day, as if he might make his speeches like ballads, as if he might hone the strengths of men.  Maybe it's only the Solstice, he thinks.  Maybe it's only the magic of the Dawning Days, where spirits come to linger.

He takes three empty glasses, and slips away from the table.  He tries to be swift and he tries to bestill his heart, but Capper finds him, as Capper always does eventually. 

On the rare days it doesn't hurt so hard to think it, Capper makes him think of father, though younger, younger and wilder.  Father could always find him, when things were hard, when he would stare too long at a word, when he would whisper a line that struck him in some vibrant depth.  Father would take his glasses off, and put his hands on his slender shoulders, and say, I know my son.  What's wrong?

(Davey could not always tell him.  Capper told him, one afternoon in the office, that many of the lads who found their way to Wyantskill had always been a subtle kind of different, sometimes as the dark of a horse's eye, sometimes as the spark of a shoe, sometimes as swift as the passing of a winter sun.  Perhaps that was why some word would catch on his tongue, some tale would crinkle his lips.)

Capper limps harder, on stormy days, on days the winter has bitten and taken hold.  The sound of his coming is unsubtle, but Davey feels as if Capper was never one to shy. 

(Not, as Capper tells him, like Silky - the old friend, far away, who writes his letters on the backs of old fire department bulletins in graceful, looping longhand.)

Capper finds him, as he does, in the back kitchen, placing his three glasses on the window, where the Solstice sunset will - if it ever stops snowing - strike them clear.

"They say the spirits are close, this time in the year," Capper says.  He leans against the stove, his braced leg canted slightly to keep the weight off.

  "Can you tell Eddy not to move them, please?"

"I will.  But he'll know, I expect."

"We put the glasses out," Davey says, "but I never thought of it before, really.  And at the county, there wasn't anything ... it was just days, after days after days."

Capper nods. 

"D'you suppose they will come?"  He pauses.  " - not for real.  I know that."

Capper shrugs.  "Real is as real does.  A body dies, a soul, a spirit - that I can't tell you.  My old Silky, he grew up with the nuns and the Jesuits, and they think a soul's an eternal thing that goes to live with God, if it's good, or with the Devil, if it's bad."

"Who decides?"

"Hm?"

"Who decides where the soul goes?"

"God, I suppose."

"I don't think that's fair.  Suppose god was angry with someone, and sent them off to the devils, even if they were good in the heart."

"Suppose so.  I don't know Silky's god.  I've never met him.  A body, that I've seen.  A soul?  I have a sear, and so do you.  So do Eddy and Lufty and the Captains.  All the young men will have their sear, in time.  Is that a soul?  I can't say."

Davey looks at the glasses in the window, at the winter draped beyond, like a shrouding. 

Gently, Capper asks, "Do you mean, are they gone forever?"

Davey bites his lip against the rising of his heart.

"You love 'em.  I had your dream, when you came.  I saw that hallway.  I know.  But I heard the music, too.  You loved 'em then and you do now.  That won't ever stop.  When I was in that house, with Silky - "

Davey feels the thin, sinewy sorrow now.  He knows the blazing beam and the white hospital as sure as Capper knows his long hall.  The grief is like a burn itself, raw and ragged.

" - after it came down, I thought everything else came with it.  They packed me off here and I had nothing but my brass and my broke leg show for it.  And I hated it.  I wasn't who I'd been, I wasn't who I thought I was going to be."

"Aren't you?"  Davey can feel himself in a body twice his size, and he can feel the boards rattle beneath his feet, and he can feel the breath of horses, and see the steam that rises from their backs under an iron sky.

"I am now.  I'm here now.  My point, my son, youngest of my lads, is what we love comes back, that I do believe.  Be is soul or spirit, be it quiet, be it loud, whatever form it takes, it does come back.  Like the sun, each day."

Davey nods.  The wind seems lesser now, though the snow is, if anything, thicker.  When he thinks of the parlor and the piano, his chest aches.  There is a space where mother and father and Lyddie ought to be, the space where wood fits in the stove, the place where words fill a fable, three empty glasses at a table. 

"Come on now.  Chores to be done.  The sooner we all get through, the sooner the sun will set and we can get to celebrating.  How's that sound?"

Davey rearranges the glasses on the sill one more time.  Somewhere, Bertram Cochrane is humming a tune, and he'd like to sing along.  

[ellaofoakhill]

Kindling, Part One

For everyone who’s stuck with this story so far: first off, thank you so much! Just knowing you’re out there appreciating my work means a lot, and can really buoy me up on a bad day!

Second: this chapter introduces one of my favourite characters (simply a delight to write), and marks the first of several small multi-story arcs, and I am REALLY happy with how it turned out; hopefully you are too.

Meline allowed herself the smuggest of grins as she came up the West Earth Shaft; she’d gathered enough deep-black for several mantles. She thought about curing it; cured deep-black was sunbeam-resistant, but it didn’t offer the same level of concealment. She patted her rucksack; there was lots of time to decide what to do with it.

The elevator stopped, and she got out. A short walk down the passage, and she halted. The lid of the shaft was ajar; not how she’d left it. She spoke a word of power, and her staff brightened.

A scuffle came from the alcove beside the opening. Staff across her body, Meline cautiously moved forward. Crickets weren’t dangerous, but their bites hurt like Dramfa.

She jumped around the corner, pointing the lit emerald at the alcove. She almost dropped her staff.

A fairy child was fitfully asleep. Meline propped her staff against the wall and knelt. It was a little girl, maybe two hundred years old, so skinny she was nearly see-through, with a mat of hair all about her. Meline furrowed her brow. The girl’s clothes, though filthy and torn beyond recognition, looked well-made. Touching the child’s tiny hand and forehead felt like brushing against ice.

Meline removed her rucksack, and wrapped the girl in deep-black. The risk of tearing it hardly crossed her mind; deep-black, despite its native shafts and caverns, was quite warm.

Once the child was swaddled, Meline thrust the lid aside, hefted her in both arms, and somehow clambered out of the shaft. It was a cold autumn night, though the wind was dying. As Meline set the rock back in place and picked the girl up, she supposed the chill had forced her into the hole.

Meline whistled for Coarser; the child was lighter than anyone her age should be, but Meline was unused to the weight. Before she’d crossed halfway to Oakhill, Coarser was flying across the grass toward her. “Get Ella,” Meline said, “this child needs food, and shelter from the cold. Hurry!” Coarser sniffed the bundle once, reared, turned about, and was gone toward the hall.

Meline felt the child stir. “It’s alright,” she murmured, hugging the bundle to her chest. “You’re safe now. Soon you’ll be warm and full.” Whether the girl heard her, or was reassured by the contact, she settled back down.

Meline was in the light of the stable door when two figures approached, led by Coarser. Havel’s size gave him away, and Meline would recognize Ella’s stride anywhere. She held out her arms, and Meline passed the child to her. She pulled back a fold of the deep-black even as she turned on the spot and rushed inside, Meline and Havel on her heels.

“She’s cold,” Ella said. She looked to Havel. “Stoke the kitchen fire and gather the blankets from the storeroom in the upper wing. She’s injured too,” Ella said as Havel raced ahead. “Her right eye’s swollen shut. Once we’ve got her warm, we’ll have to check if she has any other wounds.”

“I didn’t see any blood,” Meline said as they passed the front landing, “though the poor thing’s filthy head to toe. If there are any cuts, we’ll have to clean them.”

“I’ll grab my supplies from the infirmary,” Ella said as they mounted the stairs; Meline had to puff a bit. “Could you re-warm the carrot-potato soup? She should have something thick and nourishing, but not too much if she’s starved.”

“Yeah,” Meline said, “and maybe a sip of faerye. It’ll warm her immediately.” Ella nodded. They came to the kitchen, the fire roaring in the hearth. Ella set the child by the fire and went for her supplies. As Meline pulled back the swaddling, Havel came in with blankets piled over his head. “Thank you,” Meline said. “Once I’ve unwrapped the deep-black, could you give it a shake and put it in my storeroom? It needs to cure for several months.”

Havel nodded. “How is she?”

“We’ll know once Ella gets back,” Meline said. “For now, she’s alive, and warming up. If we can get her clean, put some hot food in her, and make sure she’s not seriously hurt, that’ll be a good start.” Havel nodded, then left with the deep-black.

Meline made a bed out of the blankets on the floor, then set the child on it, and threw more blankets on top. She let the fire die down—Havel had built it up too high—then set the pot of soup on.

Meline felt the girl’s hand and forehead again. They seemed warmer. Hopefully she wouldn’t develop a fever.

Ella came in while Meline was stirring the soup, carrying two hefty cases. One held gauze of spider-thread, silk ties, and absorbent fluff of various kinds, along with glass knives, probes, and other instruments. The other held a number of small bottles. Meline examined these; various cleansers and tonics that would give strength to the weak and purge sickened cuts.

Meline turned back to the soup; piping hot. She pulled a small bowl out of the cupboard and was just filling it when she glanced at the makeshift bed. A dark eye blinked at her.

“Hello,” Meline said, kneeling. The child twitched as if resisting the urge to move away. “Are you alright?” After a moment, the child nodded. “Are you hungry?” Another nod. Meline glanced at the cutlery drawer. “I have some soup for you. I’m just going to grab a spoon.”

Meline scooted over, and reached up with one hand while the other grabbed the bowl from the counter. “Can you sit up?”

The child gingerly propped herself up. She caught sight of Ella, and stopped like a rabbit heard a twig snap.

“You have nothing to fear here, child,” Ella said. “You are in my house. And Meline has some soup for you.” She added in a stage whisper. “Between you and me, it’s pretty good.”

The child looked back at Meline, who held out the bowl. “Careful,” Meline said as she took it, “it’s…” the child, after a quick sniff, shoveled soup into her mouth until her cheeks were full to bursting, “…hot.”

But the heat seemed not to bother her. The soup was swiftly gone, and the girl held out the bowl to Meline. Her hopeful expression needed no translation.

“Before you have another bowl,” Ella said, “I’d like to have a look at you.” She knelt on the other side of the makeshift bed.

Havel came back into the kitchen. “The deep-black’s put away, Miss—”

It was lucky the child had eaten so fast. The moment the door opened she dropped the bowl and threw the blankets over herself. A small, ominous feeling crept into Meline’s heart.

“The child just woke up, Havel,” Ella said, turning to face him, “and she might be scared if there are too many of us here. Maybe go down to the forge and work on one of your projects. We’ll call if we need you.”

He bowed. “I’m just a bell away.” He backed out of the room, looking undeservedly sheepish.

Ella turned back to the blankets. She set a hand on top of them. “You can come out.” The blankets stirred. “Havel is a kindly soul. He has three little sisters, and he’s a big teddy bear to all of them.”

Two small hands appeared above the blankets, and pulled them down. The girl sat back up. Ella held a hand to her chest, and made a small, seated bow. “I am Ella,” she said, “and this is Meline. She found you in a mine shaft we have in the yard, and brought you here.” She smiled. “As I said, you’re safe here.”

The child sat still, then turned to Meline and held up the bowl.

Meline chuckled. “Still hungry?” She took the offered bowl.

“I’d like to have a look at you,” Ella said, “before you have more soup. Maybe we could wash you up a little bit? I’d especially like to have a look at that eye.”

The girl held a hand up to her face. Her other eye went wide, and she started trembling like a leaf. The ominous feeling in Meline’s heart grew.

She put a pot on the fire to boil. “Shall I grab the wash basin?” She looked at the girl. “Does a hot bath sound nice?”

The girl looked up at her. She stopped trembling, and nodded. She watched as Meline brought in the copper basin and filled it, adding hearthstones warmed by the fire. They hissed as she dropped them into the basin with a pair of tongs. Soon the water was steaming.

The girl’s clothes were caked with dried mud and bits of moss and grass. Once she felt the water with a tentative hand, she was all too happy to get out of them, though here and there she winced as they got her undressed. Meline noticed she wasn’t breathing very deeply. The child hissed between her teeth when Ella took her arm back to get it out of its sleeve. She shared a glance with Meline at that, but said nothing.

A moan rumbled from the girl’s throat when she eased into the bath. Goose-pimples erupted all over. She settled down until only the top of her head was above the water.

Ella and Meline each took a small copper bowl, and poured water over her head. The girl spluttered and shook herself. Her hair grew darker as the dirt washed away, and while Ella kept pouring, Meline started brushing.

“You have so much hair!” Meline said as she brushed. “And it’s so thick and straight! Ella, look!” she held up a lock she’d teased the moss and seeds out of. “When this is straight, child, it must reach to your knees!”

“Jealous?” Ella said with a quirked eyebrow.

“Only a little,” Meline said, resuming her work.

“When Meline doesn’t put anything in her hair,” Ella stage-whispered again, “it sticks up all over. Ow!” Meline had tugged her braid. Ella was smiling even as she yelped. “I’m going to go bald if you keep pulling my hair!”

Meline eyed her a moment. “You wouldn’t look too bad with a bald head.”

“I like my hair where it is, thank you.” Shortly thereafter, while Meline kept teasing out the girl’s hair, Ella lathered up a bar of soap. The smells of sage and lavender filled the room.

“Can I have your arm?” She held out one hand while the other held the soap. The girl hesitated, then gave her arm into Ella’s care. Soon she was covered in soap bubbles. Ella carefully worked all over her arms and back, then gave the child the bar to scrub her legs. Ella took a warm, soft cloth, and cleaned the girl’s face. She scrunched her nose and resisted, at first. But Ella’s kindly patience won out.

Ella made no sudden noise or movement that Meline noticed, as she finally wrapped the girl’s hair in a towel. But the way Ella carefully wrapped the soap back up, and picked the bowls up off the floor and set them on the counter, gave Meline to know she was reining in a terrible anger.

They got the girl out of the basin, and Meline dried her off as Ella went to dump the water, promising she’d swiftly return.

That was when Meline saw the bruises. The ribs on the girl’s right side were already yellowing, as was the hand-print on her arm, just visible against her creamy skin. But the bruise under her swollen right eye was unmistakably a fist. Meline took a long, long breath. Ella had obviously noticed. There would be time to talk with the child about it.

“Well,” Meline said, “I wish we had a nightgown in your size. Maybe I can stitch a few for you, and ask Havel if he could bring some of his sisters’ old ones. In the meantime, would you like a shirt of mine, or Ella’s? We can wash your clothes in the morning.”

Ella came back with the washbasin.

“Ella’s.”

Ella stopped mid-stride. “Yes?”

Suppressing a smile, Meline turned to Ella. “She’d like one of your shirts to wear to bed.”

“Oh?” She looked to the girl. “Is that right?” The child nodded. “Then I’ll go fetch a few, and you can choose one. Would you like more soup while I get them?” Ella bit her cheek at the girl’s aggressive nod. “Then I’ll be back shortly.”

The girl, wrapped in a blanket, was almost done her bowl when Ella returned. She had four short-sleeved flannel shirts of different colours. “Which would you like?”

After a moment’s thought, the girl pointed at one with a chocolate and cream tartan pattern.

“Excellent choice,” Ella said, setting the others on the back of her chair while she handed the chosen shirt to Meline. It was far too wide in the shoulders, which went almost to her elbows, but it was the right length for a nightgown, at least.

Ella knelt on the floor, and beckoned the girl toward her. The girl grabbed Meline’s hand, but she approached Ella.

“As I said before, child,” Ella said, meeting her eye, “you are welcome here, and you are safe under my protection.” She fidgeted. “I don’t know how you came here, and I don’t know where you came from.” She held up a hand as the girl froze. “I don’t need to know right now. But I need to know three things before you go to sleep.

“First…” Ella gulped, “do you want to go back to where you came from?” Meline’s heart twisted in her chest as the girl shook her head. Ella struggled again. “Is there anyone who loves you who wants you to go back to them?” Meline didn’t try to stop her tears as the child shook her head again.

“Alright.” Ella took a deep breath; it seemed to steady her. “Now, what is your name? If you decide to stay here, I would rather not call you ‘child’ all the time.”

The child gave Meline’s hand a small squeeze. She spoke so quietly Meline heard only a murmuring.

“I’m sorry?” Ella held a hand behind her ear.

“’m Selva,” the girl said.

Ella grinned. Her eyes were shiny. “Well, Selva, shall we get you to bed, then?”

The room Ella picked out for Selva was cozy. The bed had a down comforter, and a thick green and cream quilt. It even had a small lamp on the night table. There was just one problem…

Meline laughed. Selva had a death-grip on Ella’s left hand. In the brief instant Ella managed to prise her hand out of the child’s grasp, Selva got up and followed her out of the room.

“She’s quite attached to you,” Meline said, covering her mouth.

“Whose side are you on?” Ella was trying to loose her pant leg from Selva’s grip. And failing, but judging by her poorly-concealed smile, that wasn’t important.

“I have a thought,” Meline said.

“Is it helpful?”

Meline huffed, and met Selva’s eye. “This is what I live with. Are you sure you want to stay?”

“Yeah.” Selva’s nod, and her grip, were firm as bedrock.

“What’s the plan, Meline?”

“I don’t know if it’s ‘helpful’ enough.” Meline made no effort to hide her grin.

“Meline!” Ella was trying not to laugh.

“Selva is clearly anxious about sleeping on her own,” Meline said, removing Ella’s hand from the offending Selva. “So, this first day, why don’t we sleep in her room?”

Ella stopped struggling, and looked down at Selva, who nodded so aggressively Meline worried her head might fall off. She groaned. “Ugh, fine.”

[maandags]

Eidolon (Angel!Keith x Demon!reader) {part iv}

i have no excuse for the wait except that im an idiot who took this school year too lightly yeet

-- -- --

Summary: Keith is an angel, and he’s completed mission after mission for the Upper Hand, the organisation controlling all of the Above. He’s only failed a mission once: when he was assigned to kill you, a surprisingly charismatic demon. He roamed Earth–Middle Ground–for years before he was caught by the Upper Hand again, and things quickly go south.

Genre: angst. because whats new

Word count: 8.7K

Notes: CW: graphic violence/blood, emotional manipulation - masterlist - {previous} -- {next }

-- -- --

if heaven's grief brings hell's rain

then i’d trade all my tomorrows for just one yesterday

~ Just One Yesterday, Fall Out Boy

-- -- --

You wake up from a deep, dreamless sleep, disoriented and shivering despite the multiple layers you have on and thick comforter stacked upon you. It takes a moment before the events of the previous night rush back into your mind and cloud your thoughts, and you throw an arm over your face, inhaling deeply.

A huge weight has fallen off your shoulders. Last night, you didn't realise as much, your tired 3 A.M. mind already struggling to focus with the fact that Keith--who had been deathly sick only hours before--was up and about and sitting at your kitchen table and eating chinese takeout. But now that you had the quiet of the early morning to yourself you could feel the knots in your shoulders loosen and the lead seep out of your limbs.

You slowly shift your legs out of bed, still slightly dazed. Sunlight peeks out through the cracks in the shutters covering your window, and you cast a look at the alarm clock sitting on your nightstand. It's barely 7 A.M. And it's also a Saturday. While that doesn't matter much in terms of noise–a city is a city, after all, and this one certainly is never quiet–your neighbours' kids aren't allowed out of bed before nine on Saturdays, which gives you at least two small hours of peace and quiet.

You stagger to the bathroom and let the hot shower water beat down your stiff muscles, trying to draw out the permanent chill that seems to have settled deep into your bones. It works a little bit, but when you get out of the steamy little cell and wrap a towel around your torso you can feel it trickle back into the pit of your stomach, like an icy worm that's decided to make your body its home. It's more of a discomfort than a true pain, though, so you decide to ignore it.

Your hair is still damp when you pull an extra thick sweater over your head, stick your feet in warm socks and tiptoe your way over to the living room.

Keith is still asleep. You don't blame him–he's still recovering, even though he already looks so much better than the previous night. The colour is back in his cheeks. The dark circles and the hollowness under his eyes have started to fade away. He's still thin, and he doesn't smell too good, but you decide against waking him just yet.

In the kitchen, you put on the kettle and pull open the fridge in search of something to eat. The unfinished boxes of chinese sit in front, half-open from when you hastily stowed them away. You pull one out, sniff it, then shrug as you grab for a spoon.

The kitchen windowsill is probably not the spot a lot of people would pick to lounge on, an early Saturday morning. But you've always liked to watch the sun rise over the tall buildings, and the soft orange glow you're treated with today is worth waking up so early for. You rest your face on the knee you've pulled up beside you as you shovel another spoonful of rice into your mouth.

The orange slowly fades out into yellow, then into blue. It's soothing to watch, and you find yourself slow your breathing and close your eyes as the city wakes up beneath you. Noises of starting cars and motorbikes drift up to your window, and chattering fills the street. People exit their homes, throwing delightful glances up at the sunny sky; unexpected after the heavy rain of the previous night.

You finish your takeout, do some chores around the house. Change your bedsheets. Prepare a change of clothes for when Keith finally wakes up. Open the windows to let in some fresh air. Prepare a cup of tea and claim back your spot on the windowsill. It's a peaceful morning, and the air doesn't feel quite as heavy as usual.

And then there's a rustling in the room beside you, and a crash as–you assume–Keith tumbles off your sofa and hits the ground. A faint groan floats past the kitchen doorway and you try to hide your grin. A couple of seconds later a very dishevelled-looking Keith stumbles into the kitchen.

"Morning," you tell him, rolling your shoulders once so they won't go stiff against the windowsill. He nods at you, dark eyes bleary. "Feel better?"

He sniffs. "I don't feel like I just got struck by lightning and dragged behind a racecar over an especially rocky road. So I guess that's improvement."

You blow on the hot tea in your hands. "I'm glad. Would have hated to have gone through all that trouble for nothing. You're quite the guest, you know."

Keith winces at the words, despite your light tone. For some reason, his frown and pained expression tug at your stomach. "But I don't mind it," you add hurriedly. "I mean–it was my own choice to take you in. I very well could not have done that. But–but I did." Shut up, shut up, shut up, you shouted internally.

The corners of Keith's mouth lift ever so slightly. "Lucky for me."

"Lucky for you," you agree with a grin.

It's silent for a while, and in the sunlight, you can clearly see how thin Keith really is. His shirt hangs from his frame in a shapeless lump of cloth, his trousers sagging and almost slipping from his bony hips. While he does look better–the life has returned to his eyes–he still doesn't look good, and the sight of him makes your guts twist. You point to the fridge. "There's leftovers from yesterday. Grab whatever you want–but be careful not to eat too much. I don't want you puking all over my kitchen."

But Keith has already found the other chinese box, and you show him which drawers contain cutlery and in which cupboard are stashed the glasses. He scarfs down the rice in ten minutes flat, and you shake your head in silent judgement. "I'm going to find a way to make you pay back everything you'll cost me, food-wise. You're in debt, starting today."

He gives you a shy grin, but his attention is quickly taken up once more by the food in front of him. You quietly sip your tea, staring out of the window, occasionally glancing at the angel sitting at your kitchen table.

That's when it truly hits you how much of an idiot you're being.

Last night, it had been late. Five days of nothing on your mind but the thought of trying to keep him alive, and finally finding a way to do so, had left you shaky and dazed. Seeing him up and about after getting used to the sound of his ragged, unsteady breathing floating through your apartment had been a shock.

But now the full weight of what you'd done–and what you hadn't done–crashes into you, and you realise you have absolutely no idea how to feel. The air charges with tension, and the angel leans back in his seat. He looks about as uncomfortable as you feel. Your mind whirls with thoughts, all seeming to want something different–the part of you that's curious where this whole situation would lead and is whispering to you to let him stay; the part of you that's still a loyal soldier to the Below and is screaming at you to turn him in; the part of you that wants nothing to do with any of this and is growling to throw him back out on the street. You shake your head, downing the last of your tea and hopping off the counter.

"Take a shower when you're done with that," you mutter. "I have to get back to work soon. My co-workers are gonna ask questions and I need to be prepared."

Keith nods. Your phone is already in your hands and you fire off a quick text to the shelter's manager to inform him you'd be in this afternoon. You don't know Anthony that well–he mostly keeps to the side and handles potential adopters. You prefer to stay with the animals. Almost immediately you receive a reply: he says he's delighted that you've decided to return so soon after taking your unexpected leave. You resist the urge to roll your eyes at the barely-veiled passive-aggressiveness.

"Oh, yeah." You turn and point at Keith with your phone. "You can stay for as long as you need to, like, get your bearings and feel somewhat okay again, but then I'm kicking you out. I don't know if you have any idea of how much of a risk I'm taking here, but–"

"I get it," he cuts you off, and you can tell he means it. He needs to work on concealing his emotions, you think off-handedly. He's an open book. It's distracting. "Thank you. Seriously."

The tension builds until it's almost tangible. You shake your head, trying to shake the dizziness away. "It's–yeah. My pleasure, or whatever. I'm locking the door behind me." He gives a brief incline of his head to show he understands. "All right then. Later, I guess. Make–make sure you've showered. You kind of smell," you say apologetically. "No offence."

"None taken," he laughs. "You're right, anyway."

You make a gesture that's in between a nod and a headshake, then make a blind grab for your coat and your scarf before pulling the door closed behind you and locking it.

The shelter's lights are on, and its illuminated windows stand out starkly in the dim grimness of the gloomy street. It doesn't rain, for once, but grey clouds hang overhead and block the sun, the little light that makes it past them flimsy and thin. You pull the door closed behind you. The little bell above the doorway rings once, softly, and barking immediately pipes up from the next room over. You smile.

"Hey, loves," you mutter to each animal as you pass their cages, stopping here and there and sticking your fingers through the bars to give a furry face a pat, or to scratch a scaly butt, or to stroke a feathered head. "I missed you guys."

"They missed you too, I think," comes a quiet voice from behind you. You crouch and open a cage, plucking out a small cat and scritching it behind the ears. "They've been rather unruly in the days you weren't here. Restless, you know."

"Hi, Tony."

"Y/N." He inclines his head. "Did you have a nice leave?" It's a question purely out of politeness, you know, because he's your employer and he's supposed to be polite. As far as employers go, Tony really isn't the worst of them. But you can't shake the feeling that he's fishing for something.

"I did. I've been busy," you say cautiously, not taking your eyes off of the kitten you're cradling. "Sorry for it being so unexpected."

"Oh, not at all," Tony replies smoothly, sailing over to where you sit and leaning on the wall behind you, "We've managed. It was your week off, anyway, and just because you've insisted on working in your free time before doesn't mean that you always will." But it doesn't take amazing detective skills to hear the suspicious edge to his voice.

"That's right," you say, maybe a little too sharply. You can almost smell Tony's raised eyebrow behind you. "Sorry. I've just–I've been a little on edge, lately. I'll–" You scramble up, depositing the kitten back in its cage and dusting fur off your t-shirt. "I'll be in the back." You have the weird urge to salute, but you manage to suppress it. He's already suspicious, you remind yourself. Don't make it worse by acting weird.

It is a shame you can't spend more time with the animals, but you're not the only one who decided to come in today–it's actually quite crowded for a Saturday–so you get storage room duty and instead spend your afternoon putting away boxes of food and medicine and cleaning products. Emmie, one of your co-workers, sticks her head around the corner of your door at the end of the day.

"Hey. We're gonna go get milkshakes, wanna come?"

Your back screams when you push off the chair, eager for an excuse to cut your day short. "You're a godsend." The expression is actually used exclusively as an insult in the Below, but you find you like the Middle Ground version better. "Let me just grab my shoes, I'll be right there."

Hopping on one foot as you finish tying your laces, you join Emmie, Nirina, Adam and Zach as they stride out the door, Emmie and Zach's arms linked. In the back of your mind you recognise that's strange: Emmie and Zach can't stand each other. A smile curls the corners of your lips. You did miss quite a lot this past week, didn't you?

"We're going to this new place a few blocks down," Emmie shouts over her shoulder. You try to chat with Nirina for a bit, but she's more silent than usual, barely saying a word, and eventually she retreats to walk next to Adam behind you. When you don't focus on it, a black, vaguely animal-shaped shadow seems to sit on her shoulder, but when you look directly at it nothing's there.

Something isn't right here.

The feeling creeps into your very bones, making the hairs on your neck stand on edge and your shoulder blades tingle. The sense that you're being watched, and more–as you realise that with Nirina and Adam behind you and Emmie and Zach in front of you, it almost feels like you're being escorted. Guarded.

"Hey, Em," you call. Your hand creeps towards your pocket, but with a start you remember you left your knife at home. Stupid, stupid, stupid. "What's the place we're going called?"

Emmie turns around and flashes you a fanged grin. Your blood turns to ice. "So Above, So Below." And then she pounces--and pushes you straight through the pavement. You don't even have time to scream.

You lose all sense of direction. Up is down and left is right as you fall, fall, fall through a black hole, Emmie's nails still digging into your shoulders, though you're sure if you actually opened your eyes you'd see they're claws. You try to tug yourself loose, but her grip immediately tightens. You hiss when you feel her talons draw blood.

"No getting away, Y/N dear," she giggles into your ear.

Well, at least you know what she–and the others too, by the sound of it–is. Only Bountyhunters can get to the Below or the Above without using one of the doors or passages, instead creating their own temporary ones. You've travelled by Bounty Tunnel before. It's not a memory you cherish. The only thing you can do is close your eyes and hope it'll be over soon.

When you finally make contact, all the air is knocked out of you and for a moment you see nothing but black spots dancing in front of your eyes. Then you suck in a scorching breath and blink, and the familiar stark white ceiling of the Offices comes into view. You groan, and when you try to sit up, your hands catch in ashy grey feathers: your wings have popped. You flush, already feeling Haggar's disapproving scowl digging into your back. How unprofessional, she'd mumble.

Haggar has always hated your guts–even back when you were still loyal to the Below.

Emmie–except she looks nothing like Emmie anymore–tosses her long dark ponytail over her shoulder and sighs. "That was almost too easy. We were told you'd be a challenge."

"I haven't been feeling well," you reply, voice icy as you stand up and shake out your wings. You don't miss the way Emmie's expression sours and suppress a smirk. Bounties don't have wings, and they'll never stop being salty about it. "Also, four against one? That seems a little unfair, even for Management." You pause. "I'm assuming you got hired by Management."

"Of course we got hired by Management, demon," Zach snarls. He runs his fingers through his hair and glares at you, his fangs growing by the second and soon touching his chin. And then his face begins to change, his jaw softening (though not by much), his eyes growing more cat-like, his lips plumping. You frown, because you know this face. You know her.

Zethrid grins, fangs shining in the white LED light. "Long time no see, Y/N." You give a sarcastic wave.

"Yes, Y/N," comes an icy voice from behind you. Your shoulders tense, and your feathers puff involuntarily. "Long time no see indeed."

Haggar glides out of her office doors, and you feel all the stony calm and resistance leave you in one fell swoop. Her yellow eyes bore into yours, and it takes every ounce of willpower inside you not to look away. She nods her head, once. "My office, Y/N. Now."

"You're so dead," mutters Zethrid as you pass her.

"When I get out of here, you're the first person whose throat I'll slit," you hiss in return.

Haggar slumps in her seat and plucks her looking glass from its stand, making it levitate over her hand and glaring like she has a personal vendetta against it. "If it were up to me, I would already have you burning and hanging from the Grand Hall ceiling," she says, vanishing the mirror in a cloud of smoke. You try to ignore the pang of fear stabbing into your chest. You're gonna be fine, you tell yourself. You're going to be okay. But you find it hard to believe the words.

"But–" the mirror reappears in her other hand– "a certain Prince insisted on keeping you alive." She whirls the looking glass around and it floats in front of your face. Prince Lotor of the Below looks at you with a scrutinising gaze, as if gauging how much you'd be worth on the night market.

"Y/N," he says in a clear voice. You nod, then quickly incline your head in a slight bow. Watch your tongue, Y/N. Watch. Your. Tongue. "No need for that." Lotor snaps his fingers, and you look up again, eyes fixed on the rim of the looking glass, determined not to meet Lotor's. You're afraid of what you might see.

It's silent for a moment, and you keep your mouth shut for as long as you can, but you eventually break. "Forgive me, Lord, but–"

"Shut up." It takes all of your willpower not to cock your head and narrow your eyes in indignation. Lotor leans forward, elbows perched on his desk and fingertips pressed together. His cold gaze is calculating and cruel, and your entire body reels with disgust and hatred. "I didn't keep you alive because I care about what happens to you. Because I don't," he clarifies with a raised eyebrow, and this time you can't keep the grimly sarcastic smile at bay. "I kept you alive because I need you to do a job."

"With all due respect, sir, I don't think I'm the right person for any job." You try to keep your voice light and your fists unclenched, but it's a harder task than you want to admit.

"Told him so," Haggar mutters from behind the mirror. You can tell she thoroughly disagrees with being used as a TV-stand. "There are so much more competent candidates for this assignment who actually want to prove themselves and their loyalty to us." You have the feeling she's talking directly to Lotor now. "But no, you just had to get the one rogue who'll do everything in their power to get out from this–"

"Enough," Lotor says coolly, and Haggar clamps her jaw shut, though her eyes flash with murder. You don't know who she wants to kill more at the moment: you or Lotor. "Y/N will do the job, and they'll do it without complaining."

"You sound awfully sure." You've since given up on trying to be respectful. Lotor might be the Prince of the Below, but you had wriggled yourself out of more difficult situations than these before. You're already carefully plotting an escape.

Because the mistake most people make when they see you is that they underestimate you. They think they have you pinned down, and then they loosen their hold and up till now, that has always worked out in your favour–you know how to manipulate people and you know how to get out of the Below. You know every single of the dozens and dozens of passageways leading out onto Middle Ground, and from there on you know how to hide. You've done it before, and managed to keep off their radar for quite a while.

In fact, the only reason they caught you now was because you had been too preoccupied with a certain angel to keep your thoughts straight. A mistake, and one you won't be making again.

"I am sure," Lotor's clear voice cuts through your thoughts and pulls you back to the present. "There's a contract on the desk. Sign it, and we'll give you the details."

You can't stop the startled laugh that bursts past your lips. "A Blank Contract? You expect me to sign a Blank Contract?"

Lotor merely cocks his head and smiles that lazy smile of his.

And then the little looking glass shatters and you yelp, taking a step backwards in surprise, feeling your muscles tense. "I do," his voice says from behind you, and you whirl around just in time to see Lotor sail into Haggar's office.

Haggar gives a sharp sigh and brushes shattered glass off her uniform. "Do you always have to do that? Those mirrors are expensive, you know. I'm gonna have you pay for them if you insist on making a dramatic entrance every time."

Lotor ignores her, his gaze fixed on you. He waves his hand, and a piece of paper appears between his fingers. It's mostly blank, save for one thickly outlined black square with an inscription you can't read from where you stand, but you know what they say: Candidate's signature. "I'm not signing." But your voice has a tremor to it, and you suddenly feel a lot smaller as Lotor strides towards you. It was a lot easier to disrespect the Prince of the Below through a looking glass.

His eyes flash with irritation. "You will." Somehow, those two words hold more threat to them than all the insults the Bounties threw at you earlier.

But you set your jaw and clench your fists. "I'd rather die. I'm. Not. Signing." You had vowed to not ever help the Below in any way, shape or form again. It wasn't worth it.

"Told you so," Haggar sing-songs from behind her desk, a maniacal glint to her eye. "Just take one of the actually competent ones. Let me string them up."

Lotor gives a sharp sigh. "Touch them and I'll be stringing you up." Haggar pouts and crosses her arms. He turns to you, and the coolness in his eyes sends shivers up your spine. The realisation hits you like a freight train. He's done something. He knows something. He would never be this sure of himself if he didn't have an absolutely airtight plan.

Then Lotor waves his hand again, and another mirror you hadn't noticed before–a looking glass spanning from the floor to the ceiling, partially hidden by a black curtain–lights up, and the image you see has all the colour drain from your face and your heart skip a beat.

Allura is tied to a chair and breathing hard, her nurse's scrubs hanging crookedly, torn and dirty. A nasty cut spans from her cheekbone to her eyebrow, and blood runs down the side of her face. Tears mix with the grime and blood smearing her cheeks. Behind her stand Emmie and Zethrid the Bountyhunters, crazed smiles painted upon both their faces.

As soon as she sees you, Allura lets out a strangled cry that is muffled by the gag strung over her mouth. Her eyes widen, and you rush forward, stopping just short of the mirror's surface, afraid to break it. Your shaking fingertips hover just shy of the surface before you pull them back to your chest. Tears threaten to spill past your eyes, so you push them down and try to take a breath.

"Is this real?" You know how hallucinations work. You know how powerful illusions can be, and you know exactly how useful of a tool they can be in manipluation. It's a tool you've used yourself.

"Maybe. Maybe not," says Lotor's soft voice. His breath washes over the side of your face, and you can feel sick rise in your throat. All compusure is lost. It's all or nothing now. Thoughts muddle and get mixed up in your mind until all you can focus on is Allura, terrified and hurt, sitting in front of you yet separated by a thin sheet of glass and who knows how many miles.

A crazy thought of Maybe I can free her pops up, but you beat it down immediately again. You don't know where she is. You don't know if this is even real. Lotor would immediately order her killed if you attempted anything remotely similar to a breakout. Then kill Lotor, a ragged voice in your mind screams.

"Come, come, no rash decisions now," Lotor says as if he just read your thoughts. His hands ghost over your shoulders, sliding down until they reach your elbows. He gently forces them to your sides, and you don't even have the strength in you to resist. A fresh stream of tears runs down Allura's cheeks, and she weakly thrashes against her bonds, and in the end, that's what yanks you out of your stupor.

Your chin snaps up. "So you'll let her go if I sign the contract?"

Lotor rolls his eyes. "Look whose wits have returned to them." He lets go of your elbows and takes a step toward the mirror, hands clasped behind his back and his hungry gaze raking across Allura's form. She looks up at him with a mix of hatred and fear in her eyes. She's given up struggling against the ropes, but her jaw is set, and her eyes are steely; terrified, but determined. Her gaze flicks back to you and she gives the tiniest shake of her head.

Lotor reels back and laughs, the sound booming within the office walls. He shakes his head, still chuckling, his long silvery hair swishing behind him as he stalks back to the desk and swoops up the contract. "Feisty. I like that. Doesn't have the slightest clue of what's going on but still tells you to not do the thing you obviously don't want to do." He flashes you a fanged grin that makes your blood run cold. "I just might pay her a visit later myself."

"That's Middle Ground, my Prince," you manage through gritted teeth. "I'll find and kill you before you even have a chance to knock on her door."

"That's some confidence you've got right there, Y/N. Keep it for the job."

"I haven't signed your contract yet."

Lotor cocks his head and his grin widens. "Yet being the keyword here."

You turn back to the mirror, scanning Allura for any sign that she might not be real, looking for something that might hint that her image is off. Something. Anything. But your manic brain is running in circles, looking for loopholes that might not even be there, and you know you're not making sense, because the chance that she's just an illusion is there, but on the off-chance that she isn't, that she actually is in danger–

You would never forgive yourself if she were to get hurt and you could have put a stop to it.

"It's possible," you breathe, your hands curling to fists. "It's possible that none of this is real."

Lotor nods as if your words are perfectly reasonable. "True." There's a beat of silence, and his feverish eyes bore into yours. "But are you willing to take that risk?"

Anyone else–any proper demon–would have laughed in his face and torn the contract to shreds, watching gleefully as Allura got tortured in front of their eyes. But you had left behind your demon ways a good while ago, and you had always been a rotten pupil anyway. So you bite your tongue and snatch the contract and pen from Lotor's waiting fingers, scribbling your signature down hard enough that you pierce the paper.

"See, I knew you'd come around in the end!" He claps his hands in delight and throws a triumphant glance Haggar's way. "I told you so."

"Yeah, yeah," she mumbles, waving a hand as if to dismiss his words. She gives you a slightly disapppointed stare. "I was rooting for you, kiddo. Show some spine next time."

You fight the tears threatening to spill and slap the now-signed contract back onto the desk. "All right. Details, Lotor. What's the assignment?"

His eyes flash. Business; there's something he knows. "We received word that one of the Above's most prized angels has just gone rogue." He starts pacing, and your eyes keep finding Allura's behind him–but she looks at you with pity and something that's almost disappointment, and you have to look away before you break down completely. "It came out of nowhere, too: stellar record, followed orders without a second thought. A great soldier." You don't miss the punch behind the words.

"And you want me to do, what, kill him?" That wouldn't be too hard. At least, you think. Your mind is still a bit muddy, but something ugly and twisted inside you is still desperate for Management's approval. Still eager to prove yourself. I can be a good soldier too.

"Oh no, no," Lotor says with a dismissive wave of his hand, "I just want you to find him and bring him in. It shouldn't be that hard to do–after all, who better to track a rogue than another rogue themselves?"

There's still something else. Something he isn't telling you. Sure, you're good at what you do–at what you used to do–but was it worth going through all the trouble just to get you to sign the stupid contract? As much as you loathed to do it, you silently had to agree with Haggar on this one. There were so many young demons scrambling for their chance to prove themselves and their worth–why not let them take this assignment?

"That–that's it?"

Lotor cocks a brow. "I mean, unless you wanted more work, I guess that's it.'

You give a cautious nod. "Okay. So what do we know about this guy?"

"Not much. My sources weren't able to provide very recent information–"

"Get better sources."

"–But what they do know is that this particular angel has been off the map for years. Quite like you," he adds as he raises his other eyebrow. You roll your eyes. "He's impossible to find, quite hard to track, and a very skilled fighter. Rumour has it he's scouring your city's streets at the moment."

You resist a frown. If this guy has been prowling your streets and you haven't noticed, something is definitely amiss. Might just be that you've been preoccupied with Keith and everything that happened around him, but if this has been going on for as long as Lotor is implying it has... this just might prove an actual challenge.

The old feeling of excitement and anticipation starts to run through your very bones again, and you hate the way it makes you feel–energised. As if you can handle anything thrown your way. Ready. It's a feeling you haven't known in years, and one you haven't missed, though now that it courses through your veins again there's no point in denying that you're enjoying it. The thrill of the chase.

But then Lotor speaks the name of the angel you're supposed to bring in, and everything falls into place, only to shatter into a million pieces a split second after.

You see his lips move. Hear the words spoken, though they take a moment to get processed, and when they do they leave behind an emptiness that has you stare at him, too dumbfounded and untrusting of yourself to speak.

It can't be. This must be the universe's idea of a cruel joke. The very guy you'd risked everything for–the very angel that had caused your distractedness and is the reason you were here in the first place–is the same rogue angel about whom you had just signed a contract.

The crushing weight of it settles on your shoulders. All five days of you struggling to keep him breathing, for nothing. The weird excursion to Coran's shop, for nothing. The goddamn chinese takeout you'd bought for him, for fucking nothing.

But somehow you manage to keep your face straight, and Lotor hadn't been watching you as he said it, instead gazing intently at something over your head, so you can only hope he hasn't noticed the lurch in your expression at the mention of Keith Kogane.

"All right." You're almost shocked at how steady your voice is. "Okay. I've agreed. You got what you want. Now, free Allura." Even though your voice is pretty steady, you curl your hands into fists to hide their shaking.

Lotor doesn't move for a moment, and you seriously begin to think he's having a seizure until he snaps his fingers and Emmie lunges forward.

In her hand is a knife, and she plunges it into Allura's chest without a second of hesitation.

You rush toward the mirror, a strangled "No!" ripped from your throat. Your fingers claw at the smooth glass surface and you watch her slump, blood gushing from the wound and staining her scrubs a dark crimson. Your knees buckle, and your eyes stay glued to her form as she convulses, coughs up blood twice, then goes limp. Her head falls back...

And snaps back up, and you lurch back with a startled cry. Allura's eyes have gone red and are shining with mania. Her skin turns the colour of wet ash, and her hair falls out of its updo and cascades down her shoulders, tendrils black and writhing as if they have a mind of their own...

Demon.

Shapeshifter.

Your breathing comes in short and shallow rasps as the full realisation of things settles in. Allura was never in danger. You were right all along. If only you had put your foot down. If only you hadn't let your feelings cloud your mind.

It doesn't matter now. You signed a contract–and there's no going back from that.

Lotor fingers through the file that bears your signature in black ink. Slowly, the words explaining just what you signed start to appear on the sheets, snaking their way along the curves of the paper as if written in by an invisible hand. A steel fist clenches around your heart, and you struggle to stand up, your muscles turned to jelly. The surface of the mirror has gone black again.

A shaking hand comes up to cover your mouth, and your teeth clench down on your lower lip so hard that they draw blood. Lotor flicks his wrist, and the contract disappears. The fingers of your free hand twitch as if they wanted to grab at the file. You level your gaze with Lotor's, and evidently your years of training finally paid off in the end, because in his eyes you can see how passive your expression is. You'd be a good poker player, your fleeting mind thinks randomly. The only thing giving away your current emotions is the hand mindlessly tugging at your bottom lip, and the fact that your breathing is still rather fast.

"Now," Lotor drawls in his honey-coated voice–sugary sweet, sticky, suffocating–and snakes an arm around your shoulders, "that wasn't so hard, was it?"

And you know you should keep your mouth shut, because he is the Prince of the Below, and Haggar has already expressed her desire to string you up and set you on fire in the Grand Hall for every new recruit to see–but on the other hand, you just signed a contract, and that makes you technically untouchable until Lotor has reason to believe you won't be able to complete the task set out for you.

The very foundation of a plan starts coming together in your mind. You jut up your chin and break free from his grasp. "So do I get assignment-issue gear? A blade? A gun, maybe? If this angel is as good as you make him out to be, perhaps I should need some more useful weapons than your average kitchen knife."

Lotor scrutinises you for a moment, then waves his hand. A set of gleaming double blades appear on Haggar's desk, along with their sheaths and long black gloves. Haggar huffs with an indignant mutter of Sure, use my desk as your summoning surface. Don't mind at all. You ignore her and lift an eyebrow. "That's all you're going to give me?"

"If you're as good as you say, this is all you will need," Lotor replies in that smooth tone of his. His eyes glint; he's gotten what he wanted. He's already won.

But that's fine. Lotor may have won this battle, and you need to make him feel like he has, but in the end you'll do everything in your power to win the war. And Lotor just handed you the weapons that just might be able to get you there.

"Fine," you mutter, snatching up the knives, pointedly refusing to strap them to your back like is procedure, instead securing the harnesses to your thighs as a small act of defiance. Irritation flashes in his eyes. "I'll report to you how often?"

"No reports," Lotor says with a wave of his hand. "We don't want to make any potential spies of the Above suspicious. Just make sure you find him, and when you do..." He tosses you a little disk about the size of a large coin, and you startle at how heavy it is. It's pleasantly warm to the touch, and you have a creeping suspicion as to what it is that is only confirmed with Lotor's next words. "Portal pass. Use it wisely."

You turn the pass over and over in your hands, the familiar weight of the knives at your thighs comforting and seeming to pull you down to the ground at the same time. "Is that–will that be all?" Risky words, risky questions–you're going out on a limb and assume Lotor won't have you hanged for running your mouth: he did just pretend to torture your best friend to coerce a signature out of you, so you suppose he has to give you some slack.

He sails to a halt in front of you, face so close his nose almost touches yours, and you have to stop yourself from recoiling. His expression is cold, his gaze calculating–and the smile that creeps up his lips sends shivers up our spine. "Yes. I think that will be all." He raises a brow and throws a glance Haggar's way, which you find comical as he didn't seem to give a solid fuck about her opinions when he used her office as his personal torture chamber.

Haggar shrugs. "I still think we should string them up and burn them to a crisp."

"Yes, Haggar, I know. Why did I even bother." He gives you a lazy flick of his hand, but you've already turned and your hand is resting on the doorknob, when something occurs to you and you cast a look at him over your shoulder.

"My Prince?" The title feels like hot oil searing down your throat, but you expect the words you're about to say require this small bit of courtesy. He raises a brow and nods. "I'm going to kill the Bounties that brought me here." Your voice sounds oddly bored.

Lotor chuckles. "They're no demons. They don't have a place in the Below." It's like his gaze issues a challenge, and a fresh wave of loathing for this Prince washes over your being. "Go right ahead."

You flash a cold smile and slam the door shut.

– – –

You wipe your blades with some wet wipes and discard them in the trashcan beside you when they get too filthy with blood (the store clerk barely looked up when you came in and purchased a single packet of wet wipes and a duffel bag–apparently the average cashier sees weirder stuff than a maniac with bloodied hunting knives the size of their forearms slamming a pack of wet wipes on the counter on a daily basis). Emmie, Adam, Zethrid and Nirina's bodies have long since turned to dust, and you have to work to keep your breathing steady and to stop your eyes from glowing red as the phone wedged between your ear and your shoulder rings.

Allura picks up on the fourth ring. "'Sup?"

It was just a check. Just to make sure. But if Allura truly did just get tortured, you have a feeling she wouldn't pick up a phone call with a simple 'Sup?

"Hey. How was your day?" Your speech comes out slightly slurred, and Allura laughs on the other side of the line.

"Fine. Work, you know. Routine." You can almost hear the grin on her face as she says, "And you? Weren't you supposed to be at work too, today?"

Work. Work feels like such a long time ago--when it was in reality only a couple of hours back. You nod slowly, though it's more to convince yourself than anything else. "Yeah. I was. Some co-workers and I went to get smoothies afterwards. To welcome me back," you joke.

"Did they pay?"

"Yeah."

"Good for you. Free milkshake. I'm jealous."

You laugh, but it feels hollow in your chest. "Hey--I need to run now, but I'll call you later, okay?"

"Yeah, sure. Sweet of you to check in, Y/N."

You eye the gleaming blade, running a finger along its razor-sharp edge. "No problem."

After you hang up, you sit back against the wall digging into your back, forcing down the pumping feeling in your limbs.

It's something you've missed, and you can't deny it. The absolute exhilaration you feel when your blades make contact, the thrumming of adrenaline in your veins as you dodge to avoid the blows that four individual enemies are throwing at you. The fear in Zethrid's eyes when she realises she is the only one left standing, and the life seeping from her eyes as you slit her throat.

It doesn't make you feel good, exactly–especially now that the thrill of the moment has worn off and you just feel tired and there's an ache that has burrowed itself deep into your bones–but there's no replicating the rush of power that courses through your very being when you're the one in control.

When the blades of death are yours to wield.

The knives are now securely stored in your new black duffel, and you try and figure out how you're going to pull off bringing two huge knives home without rousing suspicion from Keith. You internally debate whether you shouldn't just find a safe space to stash the duffel until you need it. There are quite a few nooks and crannies you know no one in their right mind would look, but then again, this was a big city. There were plenty of creepier people prawling these streets than the occasional demon.

And then you pass a gym, and an idea sparks in your head.

After casually shoplifting a bunch of sportswear from the nearest Nike store, you return to the gym with the knives in your bag hidden by the copious amounts of t-shirts and trainers stacked on top of them. You get a locker and stuff the bag inside before making your way outside again, smiling at the desk guy as you leisurely stroll out of the gym. The guy narrows his eyes at you–your clothes are still slightly torn and dirty, and you're pretty sure you have a bruise forming on the right side of your cheek, but you don't pay him any mind. He works at a gym. He's seen stranger than you.

But the closer you get to your apartment, the heavier the portal pass starts to feel in your pocket, and the more insecure your steps become. The sun hangs low over the city skyline, but hasn't completely started to set yet, and soft golden light washes over the streets, making them look... wrong. Bleak. Colour in a place where colour shouldn't be. You had just killed in these streets, and nobody noticed.

The thought makes you feel kind of sorry for the Bounties. They would be missed by no one.

You're still lost in thought when you almost hit a door and you snap back to reality. Your feet had carried you all the way up to your apartment. You blinked hard, rubbed a hand over your face and fumbled for your keys.

"Hey. It's me. Did you burn the house down while I was gone?"

Keith looks up from where he sits on an armchair–your armchair, but you understand he wouldn't want to spend another minute on the couch he spent five days on, hallucinating out of his mind–and grins, and your heart does a leap. And then he frowns, and you freeze, and your immediate thought is Oh fuck, he's found me out, he knows everything, he's going to call the other angels and he's going to kill me–

But the words he speaks are soft with concern. "What happened to your face?" And it takes all of your willpower not to break down right then and there.

He puts down the book he was reading and walks over to you, eyebrows knotted with worry, and reaches out to touch your forehead. Only then does he seem to realise how close to you he's standing, and he quickly pulls his fingers back to his chest. They're red with blood. "Let's get that disinfected, yeah?"

Before you can answer, he's already started towards your kitchen. You blink, still stunned, before following him like you're in a daze. He looks over his shoulder and points to a kitchen chair. You plop down, and it's when the weight is taken off your legs that the exhaustion comes crashing into you at breakneck speed, and it takes all your strength not to plunk your head down on the kitchen table and just pass out.

"Where do you keep your first aid kit?"

You vaguely point to a cabinet below the sink, and moments later Keith plops the kit down beside you on the table and plucks out a wad of cotton and disinfecting spray. You don't even feel it sting when he gently dabs at the cut on your forehead and cheekbone. His eyes are firmly trained on the cotton, his dark brows furrowed–there's a little crease between them that your foggy self finds most endearing–and he's chewing absent-mindedly on his bottom lip.

With a shock, you realise this is the closest you've been to him. Ever. This is the first time you can properly study his face, and you can always blame your muddy mind later if he brings up how blatantly you were staring at him, so you let yourself drink in every feature of his face. You find yourself drawn to his eyes most; they're a stunning deep violet, the colour of the sky at twilight, when the sun has just set and the last rays of light streak the heavens with purple. Most of all, they're soft with concern and simultaneously fierce with a kind of fire you haven't seen on him before.

"Aren't you going to ask what happened?" you blurt out before you can stop yourself.

Keith's eyes briefly flicker to yours, and he gives an awkward shrug before going back to gently rubbing at your wounds. "It's none of my business. You haven't asked me about what I was doing on Middle Ground in the first place, and I won't stick my nose into what doesn't concern me." But the words sound like he's reciting them; like a lesson he learned at school. You can see in his eyes that he is in fact curious, but also that he isn't going to press further. How very angelic of him.

You purse your lips, fingering the portal pass in your jacket pocket.

Your mind is a jumble of thoughts, like someone took all your emotions and threw them in a blender. Every moment you spend with Keith in your kitchen–how is it you always end up in the kitchen?–you grow more sure that you can't turn him in. But the contract pulls at your insides, and you know that if you keep ignoring its contents it will keep gnawing at you until you can't take it anymore and snap.

The contract is the contract. Binding and eternal.

"Keith."

His hand freezes, and you carefully guide it to the table, gently forcing him to put down the cotton. "Thank you, really. But I'm okay. I promise."

He nods. Slowly. "Okay."

And oh, how you want to wrap your arms around his neck and press your lips against his, but that would make things a thousand times more complicated than they already are–

Your breath leaves you in one fell swoop. It's the exhaustion talking, you firmly tell yourself, before you yank your fingers back and stand. You're a bit wobbly, but you manage. Keith wisely doesn't attempt to help you, but you can feel his eyes boring into your back as you make your way to your bedroom.

You change. You brush your teeth. You splash some water in your face to clear your head. Everything happens in a haze, your mind too tired to think about anything at all.

But then your eye falls on a piece of paper resting on your pillow. You frown and pick it up, and your eyes widen when you recognise your own scraggly handwriting littering the little parchment card. A hand flies up to your mouth to muffle your startled scream, and you drop the card as if it just burned your fingertips, though your eyes stay glued to its surface.

The words I want Keith to be okay stare back up at you, and with every passing second your breathing gets quicker and more ragged. Your fingers tingle, and as you draw a tentative breath you sink down onto the mattress. Your fingers tingle, but they tingle with warmth, and the feeling is not unpleasant.

Where Keith's own skin brushed yours, the chill that had seeped into your very core and had burrowed there for days, leaving you in a constant state of stiff cold, dissipated. The feeling is so weirdly foreign after having only felt cold for days that you dumbly stare out into nothingness, trying to shake the heat out of your hand. It doesn't work. It feels good, and you want more of it.

For a moment, the contract leaves your mind, replaced by Keith's eyes, the way he'd looked up at you, all softness and worry; the gentleness of his fingers as they cleaned the shallow cuts on your face. You close your eyes and lean back, the little parchment card on the floor seeming to beg for your attention. You never knew paper could be this loud.

For just a moment, you allow yourself to think of Keith and not just see an angel–but something more.

[thetravelerwrites]

Jukah Ironblood (Part 3) Lemon

Rating: Explicit Relationship: Male Orc x Female Human Additional Tags: Exophilia, Orc Boyfriend, Daycare, POV First Person, First Person Perspective, Male Reader, Interspecies Romance Content Warnings: Kids, Children, Self-Esteem Issues, Self-Worth Issues, Hyperthyroidism, Graves Disease, Cachexia, Chronic Illness, Sex, Oral Sex, Hair-Pulling Kink Words: 4718

After her car is buried in snow, Briauna decides to stay with Jukah for a few days. During that time, she urges him to connect with his family. The final chapter of @ban23​‘s commission! Please leave feedback!

The Traveler's Masterlist

We got to my apartment just fifteen minutes after leaving the daycare, shaking snow out of our hair and shucking off our coats.

“Hungry, Brie?” I asked.

“Starving,” She said. “But I also want to take a hot shower.”

“I’ll cook breakfast while you wash up. First door on the right down the hall is the bathroom. There’s clean towels and a pack of toothbrushes in there, and I’ll find you something to wear. I’m sure I’ve got a long band t-shirt that would cover most of you.”

She smirked wickedly. “Do you want it to cover most of me?” She pressed her body into my side.

“During breakfast, yeah,” I replied. “After that… let’s play it by ear.”

“If you say so, cariño,” She said, giving me a kiss and squeezing my rear before prancing down the hallway. I followed her and pulled a shirt from my closet, handing it to her and watching her disappear into the bathroom, listening as she knocked about and turned on the water. I smiled and went back to the kitchen.

She emerged shortly, toweling her hair, just as I was plating omelets and toast. The shirt I’d given her fell just half an inch past her buttocks. If she raised her arms straight up, I’d see everything.

“Where do I put my clothes?” She asked.

“Laundry room is off to the right, there,” I said, clearing my throat and trying not to notice how smooth and curvy her thighs were. “Just throw them in the washing machine. Orange juice or milk?”

“Juice,” She replied, taking both plates and putting them on the table and retrieving silverware from the drainboard as I poured the drinks. It was strange how at ease we both were, moving around each other in the kitchen as if we’d been living together for years, despite the fact that we’d only known each other for about a month and she’d never been in my apartment before. It just felt… natural.

“What kind of pie are you making for Kody’s party?” I asked. “We can walk to a corner market not far from here and pick up what you need, assuming they’re open before then.”

“I was debating doing two, actually: a fruit pie and a cheesecake, for people who don’t like fruit pies.”

“Ooh, that sounds good.”

“Thanks. Apple seems to be a universal crowd-pleaser, and I can do pretty things with the crust, maybe little pastry poinsettia flowers as decoration. I was also thinking of doing three different sauces for the cheesecake, so people can pick.”

I laughed. “Damn, you don’t mess around, do you?”

“Not when it comes to desserts,” She said, happily munching on toast. “If I hadn’t gone into childcare, I’d have been a pâtissier.”

I smirked at her. “Well, hell, dating you might actually get my weight up.”

She nodded, sipping her orange juice. “You wanna get fat, I’m your girl.”

I snickered. I finished my breakfast while Briauna was still eating. I stood to put my dishes in the sink and turned to look at Briauna, leaning against the table as she ate and scrolling through worried texts from her family, who lived in a state that didn’t get snowstorms.

The shirt I had given her wasn’t quite long enough to cover her bottom when she sat down. She was also sitting in such a way that I could see between her legs, and she was not wearing underwear. The soft apex of her core was flush against the cool, polished wood of the chair in which she was sitting, the lower parts of her butt cheeks pressed flat. Man, that plump flesh would feel so good in my hands…

I looked away quickly, blushing. “I’m going to take a shower, too.”

“Mkay,” She said, giving me a kiss as I passed and returned to eating her eggs. I switched on the washer as I went.

My heart was thumping in my chest and I felt myself growing hard as I made my way to the bathroom, turning on the water. It had been a few years since I’d been with anyone, and I was a bit pent up. I was hoping Briauna and I would take that step today, so I didn’t want to… take care of it myself.

I undressed and got into the shower, my swollen cock knocking into the doorframe as I got it, making me flinch. My shower was the kind that didn’t have a tub; it was glass enclosed, tiled, and with a drain in the floor. It’s one of the reasons I chose this apartment. I hated baths. It felt to me like I was stewing in my own filth.

The glass was warped and frosted, so I could see the outline of everything outside, including the door opening and the silhouette of Briauna stepping into the room.

“Brie?” I said. “What’s up?”

She opened the glass door and looked at me, all of me, and bit her lip. I fought the urge to cover myself. I had been self-conscious about my skinny body all my life, and I was a little concerned she would be turned off when she saw me naked.

Turned off was definitely not words to describe the look on her face. “It looks like you are,” She said, pulling the shirt over her head, leaving her standing nude in front of me. God, she was gorgeous. “Room for one more?”

I smiled and took her hand, pulling her into the shower with me. “It’s a good thing your hair isn’t dry yet,” I said.

She giggled and kissed me, pressing her warm skin against mine, my arousal trapped between the flesh of our stomachs. It pulsed against her, and she giggled again.

“Can I help you with that?” She asked, putting her hand between us and stroking me as the water cascaded down her body. I groaned and my head fell forward onto her shoulder. I kissed and nipped at her skin. With her other hand, she ran it through my short hair and gripped it, holding me against her neck.

She knelt down while holding my eye and smiling slightly, and oh God, just that single fluid movement was so sexy that I had to brace a hand against the wall.

She took me in her hand, pumping me a few times. Her tongue came out and she slowly ran the length of it over the tip and I gasped.

“Moan for me, querido,” She said, and I couldn’t help but oblige her. A sound escaped out of me that I had never heard myself make before.

“Ay, si, cariño. Te voy a hacer sentir tan bien.”

“Remind me to take Spanish lessons,” I huffed, struggling to stay upright.

“I’ll teach you,” She said, smiling up at me as she stroked me in her hand. “You’ll be cumming in Spanish by the end of the month.”

Before I could reply, she had sucked me into her mouth down to the base and I cried out. I put my hand on her head as she sucked, combing my fingers through her hair and caressing her cheek. The litany of sounds I was making certainly weren’t dignified, but the hell if I cared. It felt incredible. Briauna knew what she was doing, and I was more than happy about it.

She sucked faster, sealing her mouth around me, and I nearly fell.

“I’m going to cum,” I whispered. She didn’t pull away, instead reaching underneath to massage my balls. Lightning struck my body, every muscle in my body wound tight, and I came straight down her throat, gushing over and over. She didn’t spill a drop.

As I was gathering my breath back with my arm on the wall and my forehead pressed into my elbow, I gasped, “You didn’t have to do that.”

“Spunk is bad for drains,” She said. “Wouldn’t want to clog up your pipes, now, would we?” She stood up and kissed me deeply, moaning into my mouth. Then she reached for my soap and started scrubbing me down.

“Don’t you want me to… uh… reciprocate?” I asked as she washed my back.

“I’m going to be here for a couple of days, huh? Plenty of time. No reason to rush it. I just saw you make a quick dash for the bathroom with a blush on your face and thought you could use a hand.” I groaned as she scratched that spot in the middle of my back that I could never reach. “Besides, I wanted to see that cute bubble butt in the flesh.” She popped my left cheek, making me jump.

I rinsed off the soap and turn the water off, stepping out onto the mat and reaching for a towel. She took a second one and ran it through my hair, wiggling my head and laughing.

This felt really good. Just… being close and playing around and just the general feeling of peace. I hadn’t felt like this in… ever. Comfort. That’s what it was.

I bent my head and kissed her, soft and lingering, holding her damp body against mine.

When I pulled back, she laughed, a sweet light in her eyes. “What was that for?”

“Just ‘cause,” I said.

“That’s a good reason,” She said, smiling and kissing me again.

We spent the morning mostly naked, watching Christmas movies while her clothes got cleaned. When they were dry, we both got dressed and headed to the market. Someone had gone to the trouble of shoveling the sidewalk so that people could travel on foot, but most of the cars were still buried, Briauna’s included.

“So what are we looking for?” I asked her.

“Well, you already have flour, butter, and sugar, so we need cream cheese, vanilla bean, apples, cinnamon, strawberries, blueberries, and some cooking chocolate.”

“Gotcha,” I said. “Have you been to this market before?”

“Nope,” She said. “I usually go to the supercenter nearby my apartment.”

I shook my head. “No, no, no, this place is far superior.” I raised my hand in greeting. “Hey, Mrs. Tailor!”

“Hey, Jukah!” The elderly woman at the counter said. “Who’s that with you?”

“I’m his girlfriend, Brie,” Briauna said, waving. I looked at her with an eyebrow raised. She smiled. “Aren’t I?”

I grinned and kissed her temple. “Yes, you are.”

“Oh, isn’t she pretty? I’m glad you’ve got a girl for the holidays,” Mrs. Tailor said.

“Thanks, Mrs. Tailor,” I replied.

“What are we looking for, niños?” Mrs. Tailor asked.

“Oh, hablas español?” Brie asked happily.

“Sí, conocí a mi esposo en Cancún.” Mrs. Tailor pointed at me. “Es muy guapo, te parece?”

“Sí, señora,” Brie replied. “Y él tiene un trasero muy lindo.”

The two of them laughed.

“I feel like you’re laughing at my expense.” I said suspiciously.

“You’re right,” Mrs. Tailor said.

“But in a good way,” Brie said, kissing my cheek.

“So, what are you two looking for?” Mrs. Tailor asked.

“She’s actually making some pies for a party we’re going to. Want to help us pick out the best produce?”

“Pies? Oh, honey, you’re talking my language.” Little Mrs. Tailor hopped off her stool and came around. “What kind of pies?”

Mrs. Tailor spent twenty minutes with us, helping us pick out the best berries and apples, the finest vanilla bean and cinnamon sticks in her store, and packs of cream cheese and graham crackers. She even gave us a discount.

“Aw, you don’t have to do that, Mrs. Tailor,” I said.

“Don’t you worry about it, baby,” She said. “Happy holidays, you two!”

“Gracias! Fue un placer conocerte! Feliz Navidad!” Briauna said, waving at Mrs. Tailor as we left and slowly walked back to my apartment.

“Cuídalo, cariña!” Mrs. Tailor called after us.

“She’s super sweet,” Briauna said, taking my arm.

“Yeah, she is. Mrs. Tailor was one of the first people I met when I came to town, and she’d been looking out for me ever since.”

“Aww,” Briauna cooed. “That’s nice. It makes me happy that you have so many friends.”

I hadn’t really thought about it, but I guess I did have a lot of friends. Maybe I just didn’t think of them as friends because I didn’t think they saw me as a friend.

Ugh. My head hurt.

We got back to my apartment, and she put everything in my fridge. It was around lunchtime, so I made us both a Caesar salad with ham chunks and cheddar cheese, and some garlic toast.

“You’re good with food, too, huh?” She asked.

“Yeah,” I replied. “Since my metabolism is so high, I have to eat a lot, so I figured it was good to learn how to make actual food and not just eat instant ramen and peanut butter on saltines.”

“Smart man,” She said, pinching my left butt cheek, startling me.

“You just like seeing me jump, don’t you?” I asked her, rubbing my behind.

She laughed wickedly. “You have no idea.”

“What happened to the sweet girl I started dating?” I asked her playfully.

“She’s still here. People are more than one thing, you know,” She said, kissing the back of my neck as I set our plates on the table.

“I know,” I replied, smirking at her.

After lunch, she helped me wash the dishes and clean up the kitchen. When we were done, she wrapped her arms around my waist and I held her close.

“So, more Christmas movies?” I asked.

“Actually…” She said, letting me go and walking backward toward the bedroom, tugging me by my shirt. “I have a much better idea.”

I let her lead me to the bedroom and start stripping me of my clothes. She peeled her own clothes off and stood before me in all her glowing, naked glory.

It was easy for people to underestimate my strength because of my size, but I was still an orc, after all. I was easily able to lift her in my arms and throw her onto the bed. She landed with a bounce and a giggle. I pounced and she laughed more as she kissed me.

She pushed me onto my back and climbed onto me, kissing me, pushing her tongue past my lips. I put my hand in her curls and made a fist, tugging up her head so that I could bite at her neck, making her gasp and release her breath sharply. She pushed my arms down and moved up my body, so that her dripping slit was presented to my face. Holding onto the headboard, she lowered herself down so that I could reach that swollen clit with my mouth, and I licked at it hungrily.

She moaned above me as I gripped her thighs, working my tongue up, over, and down her lips. The sounds she made caused my body to react, making my cock harder than I had been that morning in the shower. Her pelvis rocked slightly as I sucked and slurped at her, her moans increasing in volume and pitch. The rocking got faster, and I sucked harder, feeling her sweltering entrance tremble against my mouth.

“Oh, fuck,” She whispered as I pushed two fingers into her wetness. I sucked in her clit, shaking my head as I did so, and she gripped my hair as she came, crying out and falling against the headboard, her face pressed against the wood.

“Oh, sí cariño, que se siente tan jodidamente bien!” She cried, and again I made a mental note to learn Spanish as soon as possible.

She fell sideways onto the bed, on her back, and I rolled over her, rearing up to kneel between her open legs. I let her catch her breath, bending down to take a nipple in my mouth and gently run my teeth over it, pinching the other into a peak with my hand. She whimpered and writhed a little underneath me.

I switched breasts and sucked as much of it into my mouth as I could fit, flicking the tip of my tongue over it. She moaned again, louder, and I let her breast go with a pop. I pulled myself up to kiss her red lips, and she wrapped her legs around my waist, tilting her hips up, silently insistent.

I looked her in the eyes as I pushed myself inside her, and her eyes rolled back in her head as her mouth fell open. At first, my thrusts were tentative, but she opened her eyes, held my head in her hands, looked me in the eye, and said, “Do not be gentle with me.”

I got back up on my knees and grabbed her hips, ramming myself into her at top speed and intensity, and she shrieked in pleasure, holding onto the underside of the headboard. The wet smacking of our bodies as we connected with each thrust spurred me on. I worried that I was being too aggressive, but whenever I’d ease up, she’d shout, “Harder!” And I went back at it with renewed fervor.

I felt her clenched around me as an orgasm shook her body, and she screamed out, telling me not to stop, to keep going, and I listened. I whipped my hips into her as hard and fast as I could, and she begged me to keep going, even as her orgasm ebbed. Her thighs twitched and her stomach spasmed.

“Flip me,” She said, and I pulled myself out, whipped her upside down, grasped her hips, and jerked her toward me. I shoved myself back into her and she groaned with pleasure. I grabbed a fistful of her hair and yanked her face up out of the pillows so I could hear her moans and breathy gasps. I loved those sounds. I wanted to record them and listen to them on a loop for days.

I loved the way her butt jiggled every time my body collided with hers. I loved how she kept swearing in Spanish and how she arched her back when she was close to climaxing. I loved… her.

Now wasn’t the time to declare myself, though. It had only been a week.

I felt the swell of pleasure rising up in me as she clamped down again. She must have realized I was close, perhaps feeling me pulsate inside her, because she breathed, “Cum for me, querido.”

I seemed conditioned to obey any command she gave me, because at that exact moment, I came so hard I saw spots in my vision. I released her hair, letting her fall forward, as I felt every shot fill her up and drip out. I bent over her, braced on my hands, and kissed her back. I thrust slowly to milk out the last traces of pleasure, then stopped while still inside her, breathing hard.

“Don’t move, I’ll clean you up,” I told her breathlessly, moving off the bed and getting a warm washcloth from the bathroom. She was still laying ass-up when I returned and I carefully cleaned up the mess I made. When I was done, she simply plopped over on her side and sighed contently. Giving myself a cursory wipe with the cloth, I chucked it into a hamper and climbed back into bed, snuggling her back against my front.

“You good, sweetheart?” I asked her, my nose in her hair.

“Mmm…” She said sleepily. “I’m great.”

“I’m also great,” I replied, giving her a squeeze that made her squeal. “And I’m hungry again.”

“You did just burn off a bunch of calories,” She said with a smile.

“True,” I said. “Good thing I have some protein bars in my night table.”

She laughed. “Can I get one of those, too?”

I tossed her one, which she made no attempt to catch. It landed squarely on her sternum between her breasts.

“Whoo! Got it between the goal posts, two points for you,” She said.

I laughed at her as I tore open the wrapper of my protein bar.

“Do you always have food stashed in your room?”

“I have food stashed everywhere. Never know when my sugar is going to decide to tank out of nowhere.”

“Doesn’t the medicine help you manage that?” She asked with her mouth full, like a lady.

“To a point,” I said. “It works the majority of the time, but there are some times when my thyroid goes, ‘haha, you’re about to be real tired and grouchy, so buckle up, asshole,’ and I have to put something edible in my mouth with a quickness.”

“Makes sense,” She said. “I’ll just have to keep a fresh supply of cookies and cakes and pies for you.”

You leaned forward and kissed her with gratitude. “You won’t hear me complaining about that.”

After a nap, Brie got up to start on the pies. She taught me how to make a quick crust, and as I worked on crushing the graham crackers, she asked, “So… you haven’t spoken to your family in… how long?”

“Oh, god…” I tried thinking back. “I left when I was nineteen, so… ten years?”

“You really don’t think they want to hear from you?” She asked hesitantly.

“Nothing from my upbringing would suggest otherwise,” I said, shrugging.

“Yeah, but…” She paused. “Ten years is a long time. A lot could change in ten years. People change. Attitudes change.”

I laughed. “You’re not overly familiar with orc culture, huh?”

“I mean… I just think… maybe if they knew about your condition, they’d be more understanding than you think.” She stirred the strawberry sauce in the pan. “I mean, it’s the holidays. It’s a time to be with your family. I’m not saying you have to contact them, but… maybe it’s something to consider?”

I paused in my crushing and sighed. “I’ll think about it.”

She stopped stirring and put her arms around my waist. “Sorry. I don’t mean to insert myself into your problems.”

“No, it’s okay,” I said, kissing her, linking my fingers behind her back. “You’re just concerned about me. It’s sweet and I like that about you.”

“Aww,” She said, grinning. She gave me a last kiss and went back to stirring.

The next day, we carried the pies and sauces, as well as the bean dip I usually made, to Kody’s apartment, which was just a few blocks down the street from my building.

“Hey, guys!” Kody said, giving us both a hug as we came in. “Briauna, this is Jessie, my best friend.”

Jessie came up and gave me a hug, then shook Briauna’s hand.

“Nice to meet you,” Briauna said.

“You, too,” Jessie said, taking a the pies off her hands and setting them on the counter.

Jacob and Emily were already there, and Emily had brought a date. He was a lizardman but not a kobold, like her. He looked a lot like a chameleon, actually, complete with independently moving eyes.

“Taking a break from hibernating, Emily?” I asked as I gave her a hug.

“Yeah, I had Torin wake me up for the party,” She said, jerking her head at the chameleon man.

“He’s new,” I said.

“He’s fun,” She replied, winking at me.

Jacob came up and nudged me.

“Can’t help but notice that Brie is still wearing the clothes she had on at work that last day,” He said with a sly smirk.

I rolled my eyes. “Her car got buried under snow, so she’s been staying with me.”

“Sure, sure,” He said, glancing at Emily. The two of them shared a knowing look.

“Oh, grow up, you two,” I said, shaking my head.

The dinner was amazing, just like every year, and hours later, Brie and I wandered back home.

“That was fun,” She said as I unlocked the door. “I kind of want to fool around, but I also feel like I might puke from eating so much and just want to pass out.”

“I’m with you there,” I agreed. “Even I ate too much, and I didn’t think that was possible.”

She laughed and pulled off her scarf. “I could see my car from the distance. It’s almost thawed out. I was thinking maybe going home tomorrow and packing a bag and coming back to spend the rest of the week with you. Sound good?”

“That sounds great to me,” I said. “But… aren’t you going to see your family for Christmas?”

“I was going to, but I told them about you and they said to stay. Besides, I’ll go see them for New Years. Want to come?”

My head rocked back. “You want me to meet your family?”

“Yeah,” She bit her lip. “Is it… too soon for that?”

I smiled slowly. “Is it too soon for me to tell you I love you?”

She returned the smile. “Nope.”

“Good,” I replied, pulling her into a tight hug. “Because I do.”

“I love you, too, Jukah,” She said, muffled against the fabric of my coat. “So you’ll come meet my family?”  

“I’d love to.”

After I took my meds, we both undressed and got in bed, falling asleep almost instantly.

I woke in the middle of the night to her stroking me to attention from behind. I purred appreciatively and rolled over, letting her straddle me and putting my hands on her hips. When she bent down to kiss me, I reached between us and held myself steady as she lowered herself down and took all of me inside her.

She rode me in the dark, moving against the pale light shining through the curtains, glowing against the soft brown of her skin and the curl of her hair. I could hear her stilted breathing and soft moans. She was so beautiful.

I dug my fingers into her hips and thrust up into her, and she fell forward onto my chest, letting me take over. She kissed my neck and sank her teeth into my collarbone, and I groaned, my toes curling. I clapped a hand on her butt, feeling the jiggle, and she yelped and laughed.

She pushed herself up and rocked faster, grinding her body against me as she came loudly, crying out wordlessly. When her pleasure ebbed, she climbed off of me and sucked me into her mouth, bobbing up and down fast, massaging with her hands and clawing at the inside of my thighs.

It didn’t take long before I released, and like before, she took all of it. No muss, no fuss. I lay back with a sigh of relief, and she plopped down next to me, kissing me slowly until, eventually, we fell asleep again, not a word spoken.

As the first light of dawn filtered into the room, I woke up feeling hungry. Brie was still sleeping, the gold light of morning making the dusting of fine freckles stand out on her exposed chest. I looked at her for a moment with a smile on my face, feeling lucky for the first time in my life.

I got up, pulling on my boxers, and walking into the kitchen. I spotted a box of fruit bars on the fridge and grabbed one, scarfing it down to get my sugar up, when my eyes fell on my phone, which I’d left on the kitchen counter.

I picked it up and looked through my contacts, finding the number for the Floodwater Stronghold Communications Center. My finger hovered over the call button for at least five minutes before pressing it. With my hands shaking slightly, I held the phone up to my ear.

“Floodwater Stronghold Communications.”

I cleared my throat. “Yes, can you connect me with Gorcha Ironblood?”

“One moment.”

There was a waiting tone, and then the dialing tone. With each ring, my anxiety rose.

There was a click, and a voice came over the line.

“Do you have any idea what time it is?”

Yep, that was my mom.

“Um… Hey, Mom. It’s, uh… It’s Jukah.”

There was a full thirty seconds of silence over the line before she responded. “Jukah? I… Hi… How are you?”

“I’m good, Mom. I’m good.” I took a deep breath and released it sharply. “Um… I’m sorry it took me so long to get in touch with you, but... Listen, there’s, um… There’s something I need to tell you.”

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