#night time is MY domain it is CHILL TIME why must i be so so scared

[beauzos]

yeah you might say i’m a pretty brave person (thought i saw a person on my front porch and the adrenaline hit me so hard i couldn’t see straight and also there wasn’t even an actual person honestly)

[tojiluv]

EYES DON’T LIE — choso kamo [chapter five]

description: in which a girl unwittingly becomes involved with a handsome stranger in a club, oblivious to his true identity of being in a famous boyband… OR in which you and Choso must conceal your secret meetings from your friends and his bandmates, especially from his younger brother and your best friend, Yuji.

warnings: fem! reader. conflicted feelings. yuji is the sweetest. tiny angst if you squint.

notes: short chapter, next one will makeup for it!

The next day had passed since the celebration party for Hallow Domain as you got to meet the whole band with your friends, thinking that everything would have been great. Yet it was the total opposite of what you had predicted, way far from your results.

After confronting Choso about the situation and agreeing to pretend that it never happened for Yuji and the sake of your friendship, he dared to admit that he never regretted that night, even after knowing it was you. That confession alone made your mind tumble on what you were truly feeling about hooking up with your best friend's brother.

"I didn't regret that night at all and still don't."

Why did he have to say that?

You don't remember most of the night after that conversation and just woke up in your bed in your pajamas with a slight headache, not knowing how you got there. You panicked and called Yuji immediately, asking him what exactly happened last night.

"Well, after you returned from the bathroom you said you were feeling better and started to drink a bit more. I did try to stop you but you were persistent to drink away, then you tried to jump on top of the tables with Nobara until Megumi and I stopped you both." Yuji recalls, laughing slightly as he heard you groan over the phone.

"Please tell me I didn't..." You whined, holding your aching head as your eyes clamped shut to try to reduce the pain.

Yuji sighed, aware that he was probably shaking his head at you over the phone. "Oh, but you did, my dear friend."

You sighed, laying back down on your bed before shoving a pillow against your face, wanting the world to shove you into a black hole forever.

"Don't worry, you didn't do anything crazy! I made sure you wouldn't. Afterwards, we said our goodbyes to everyone and took you home." Your friend reassures, knowing that you were probably embarrassed for doing too much the night prior.

"Who dressed me?" You asked, voice muffled behind the pillow with the phone lying beside.

"Maki did since, you know, she's a girl and was sober too. We left you some water and made sure you were safe before leaving," Yuji states, yawning tiredly. You could hear him shuffling around in his bed, probably just woke up around the same time as you did.

Sighing, you ran a hand through your untamed hair, "I'm sorry if I made things difficult for you guys, don't know what came over me." Oh, but you did know why you probably acted out.

"I didn't say anything... you know, uh, weird?" You asked nervously. You desperately hoped that your drunken self had the strength to not mention or even hint about what happened with Choso.

"Hmm, I don't think so. Got any dirty secrets you keeping from me?" Yuji chuckled, not being able to witness your dreaded face at how true his joke was. You felt like your heart dropped until you forced out a chuckle to make sure he didn't become too suspicious of your behavior.

"N-no, just wanted to make sure!"

After that call with Yuji, you hadn't seen him bring up that incident during the day, rather asking you how you felt about meeting his brother over text. You kept it short and simple for him; 'He's nice and seems pretty chill', that was all you could say about him before your guilty conscience could slip out the truth in front of him.

The weekend was over and it was now Monday, two days had passed with a peculiar tension hanging in the air, a weight you couldn't quite shake off. Every time you were around Yuji, you found yourself second-guessing your words and actions, afraid that he might pick up on something you weren't ready to confront.

As for Choso, you tried your best to keep your distance, avoiding any situation that might lead to another awkward encounter whenever you came by Yuji's home. Luckily, he wasn't home whenever you came by during the rest of the weekend. But despite your efforts, his confession lingered in the back of your mind, like an uninvited guest refusing to leave... though, for some odd feeling, you didn't want him to leave either.

After classes were finished for the day, it wasn't until you were in the library studying with Yuji that things took an unexpected turn. You were sitting at the desk, absentmindedly tapping your foot on the floor with books surrounding you, when he suddenly brought up the topic you had been desperately trying to avoid.

"So, I've been thinking," Yuji started, his voice slightly hesitant. "About what you said a few days ago."

Your heart skipped a beat, panic rising in your chest. You prayed he wouldn't delve deeper into the subject, but fate seemed to have other plans.

"I can't shake this feeling that there's something off," Yuji continued, his gaze fixed on you, searching for any sign of hesitation.

You swallowed hard, trying to come up with a convincing response, "I—I don't know what you're talking about, Yuji. There's nothing wrong."

But even as the words left your lips, you knew they sounded hollow, even to your ears.

Yuji's expression softened, his eyes filled with understanding.

"I trust you, you know that, right?" He said gently, placing a reassuring hand on your shoulder. "But if something is bothering you, you can always talk to me about it. I'm here for you, no matter what. You're my best friend, always."

You felt a lump form in your throat, overwhelmed by his kindness and sincerity. How could you betray his trust like this? You forced a smile to appear, nodding in response.

"Thanks, Yuji. You're mine too, always."

But deep down, some secrets were too heavy to bear alone, knowing that it was pushing you down into the dark endless rabbit hole with no way out.

⇽ chapter four | chapter six ⇾

© 𝐭𝐨𝐣𝐢𝐥𝐮𝐯 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟒

[blackjackkent]

An unexpected voice interrupts Rakha's contemplation of the bleak plane to which they have arrived.

"You did well. Better than I would have credited you with." Balthazar hovers through the air with a self-satisfied smirk. Unlike them, he seems utterly unphased by the traumatic passage into Shar's domain. If anything, he looks far more energized than he did back in his laboratory.

"Now hurry along," he goes on brightly, as if ushering a group of distracted schoolchildren. "And bear witness to my masterpiece."

Rakha's attention focuses in abruptly. Yes. His masterpiece. The Nightsong. That is why she is here.

"This is the Dark Lady's domain," Shadowheart hisses angrily from behind her. "He does not belong here."

Rakha hesitates. She is no Sharran; Balthazar's presence or absence here does not trouble her as it does Shadowheart. But he is one of the Absolutists - if he has led her as far as he must, she does not need him alive. Him, at least, she can kill with purpose.

"I cleared the way to this place," she says curtly. "Not you. Why shouldn't I just kill you instead of letting you interfere?"

He sneers coldly. "Raise one finger to me, and I'd sunder you like lightning would a rotten oak. Now - enough dullard questions. Follow me."

He doesn't wait for a response, but turns and drifts down between the floating platforms, utterly unconcerned by whatever threat Rakha might try to offer him.

------

There is a sort of peace here, like the peace in her dreams of the guardian in the Astral. It does not have the Astral's silence, for the smaller floating rocks rage and churn in some sourceless roaring wind, and it does not calm the worm and the beast in her head to the same degree. But she does feel a certain mental silence that comes altogether too rarely. The brutal chill of the place is bracing, grounding.

Step by step they begin to leap downwards towards the central rock of this chained-together landscape. It is a dizzying set of falls; Rakha feels her stomach lurching repeatedly into her throat with each drop, but each time she lands softly on her feet. As in the Astral, falling seems to mean little here.

Empty figures of Justiciar armor line the pathways downwards. "Descend to her..." they whisper hoarsely as Rakha and the others pass. "Listen to her..."

Shadowheart is staring directly ahead, her expression taut with focus. "Blessed Nightsinger... witness my adoration..." she whispers to herself as they move. "Just a little bit farther... see my actions, Lady Shar... hear my words of faith..." Her voice is trembling with some deep emotion that Rakha can't parse.

"Look upon her..." hiss the armors as they pass.

"I have emptied my heart of falsehoods..." Shadowheart mumbles desperately.

Around them, the Shadowfell rumbles like a raging storm. The rocks swirl in the distance. Small bits of gravel pepper Rakha's face and she grunts with pain.

"Kill her," the armors rasp. Rakha shudders. Those hissed words sound all too familiar from the monologue that often wrests control of her mind.

"I have vanquished my foes," Shadowheart murmurs, barely audible under the wind. "Lady Shar's will shall be done, as sure as night will fall."

At the center of the chained structure, the magic swirls in tighter knots around a runic circle embedded in the stone. Rakha can see Balthazar standing at the edge of it, and within it a figure barefoot and dressed in rags, trapped by gripping claws of necromantic magic.

The Selunite prisoner, no doubt - the person Shadowheart has been bidden to sacrifice.

As she draws closer, though, Rakha realizes something altogether more startling.

"Hatred makes you so hideous, Balthazar," the trapped figure sneers. A woman's voice, low and weary and angry.

And Balthazar's basso in answer, mocking. "Unkind, Aylin. Unkind and incorrect - I could never hate my masterwork."

Rakha's eyes go wide. She hears Wyll curse softly and a string of incomprehensible githyanki words from Lae'zel as the realization connects with them all.

The Nightsong is not a relic. The Nightsong... is a person.

[thgreatestblue]

cold as you [part l]

➜ pairing: douma x fem!reader ➜ warnings: murder, blood, religious fanaticism, gore. ➜ words: 5.2k ➜ a/n: hello everyone, i’m back! this time with a character that i thought i would never write for, but here we are. you can also read and leave a comment on my ao3, i would really appreciate it! <3 ➜ ao3

summary: You always believed the best course of action was infiltrating; little by little gaining their trust, and when they would less expect, you would bolt out of that place with all the information you could gather. Not wasting one more day of your life inside that covil of madness and cruelty — of twisted faith and demonic rituals.

I.

The chill of the night crept into your bones as you walked down the dirty path alongside the followers of the Paradise Faith Cult. The only sound you could hear with your sensitive ears was coming from nocturnal animals and cicadas singing their creep melody all together with the cries from the crickets; blended together in a harmonic haunting song. 

The soundless steps from the Cult’s members were almost unnatural, as if you were surrounded by ghosts; a phantom presence of what once were people with their own ideas and beliefs — now transformed into shells of indifference and fanaticism. 

It took a couple of years, a lot of hard work and blatant lies for you to be finally accepted for the trial of the Paradise Faith Cult. You have been investigating their whereabouts since the day the Insect Pillar died. Since the day Kanae lost her life in a bloody fight against their Leader, a Demon called Douma.

The smell of the chemicals from the laboratory was all you knew for a long time, working together with Shinobu to find a way to win against one of the strongest Demon in all Japan — trying to find a way to win without using an absurd amount of strength, something both of you lack.

However, by the end of the first year, you were fed up with the scent that had impregnated even your skin; no matter how much you scrubbed it. And, although Shinobu never made any effort to convince you to stay, she still said between cold words how stupid you were being for dropping something safe. Even though she was right, the nagging feeling of annoyance wouldn't leave your mind — you needed to go out and find his trail by yourself. 

Once you packed your things to leave, she appeared at the doorstep of your room, watching you with her big, purple eyes. You were already used to her trying to control her anger inside her tiny body by smiling too forcefully. After Kanae’s death, she became another girl, more mature. Angrier, though. 

“I wonder who’s going to die first,” You said bitterly between your teeths, the silence from her part isn't totally unwelcomed, there was nothing left to say anyway, “You, with all those poisons. Or me, with my desire for danger.”

She clapped her hands together, the smile never reaching her eyes, “Let’s make a bet, then.” 

You squint your lips together in an effort to not let an ironic laugh escape your mouth, wondering if Shinobu was at least slightly happy with your achievement — how close you were to finally win the bet. 

As you walked with your hands tied in front of you, the dark welcomed you as an old friend. If it wasn't for the blindfold, you could try to excuse the need to have a hand on your shoulder. However, the path pulled some tricks and you were afraid of falling on your knees. But the heavy weight of their palm and the touch of the member’s stained fingers on your skin made your insides turn in disgust. 

Despite the taste of acid on your tongue, you needed to keep the composure you fought to be seen for so long. A noble and pure candidate for the Paradise Faith Cult; with no bruises or scars, hair as silky as satin, a skin so delicate that even the followers that came to escort you chose to not tie the ropes too tight, afraid of accidentally making a single bruise. The Leader would not be happy to see his next servant with a bruise — at least one not caused by him anyway.

Once you were accepted for the selection, you knew you had to prepare yourself to be someone else completely. All those years training under the harsh sun now were almost like memories from another life; stacked up in a corner of your mind. However, inside you were still a Demon Slayer. So, you straightened your back, walking proudly with your chin up; even if the blindfold would leave your senses in a disarray of red flags. 

In order to be selected for the Paradise Faith Cult, you had to let go of your old life. Although, sometimes you would miss the blisters, the fresh wounds after a tough mission, the scent of chemicals coming from Shinobu’s laboratory and even the way your body ached after training alongside with the Sound Pillar; building a new life from scratch in order to have at least a single advantage against the Demon was your top priority since day one.

“We are almost there, my lady. I’m sorry for the barbarian way we are escorting you,” The man holding your shoulder apologies, his tone never faltering. You could almost believe he meant no harm, “But we have to make sure to keep the place a secret, we already had cases of assassins coming and trying to steal our Leader from us.”

You had heard about those cases; after all, they were once your friends. Fearless and so confident with their skills, they would brag about how easy it was to spot their hideout, how weak the people inside were compared to their sharp katanas. What they seemed to never take into consideration was that, between masses of devotion, lived a King — who was, apparently, hungry all the time. 

You always believed the best course of action was by infiltration; little by little gaining their trust. And when they would less expect, you would bolt out of that place with all the information you could gather. Not wasting one more day of your life inside that covil of madness and cruelty — of twisted faith and demonic rituals. 

“Thank you for your concern, I understand wholeheartedly your methods,” You say with the softest tone you could managed it, trying your best to not spill the acid boiling on your tongue, “All I wish is to serve your Leader, nothing more.” You bow just a little, touching your heart. The rope brushes against your skin uncomfortably.

At first, those lies were hard to formulate — hard to accept that you were talking down your own family. However, one day, they stopped tangling your tongue; stopped making your lips tremble as you pictured your friends judging your behavior. It was all for a purpose, Shinobu never judged you for choosing this way of action. 

So, when your squad left you all by yourself in the middle of the mission, you said nothing. And when none of them came back, there were no tears left for them. Only the purpose of keeping moving forward, anything to make this mission worth it; to honor the name of those who failed to see the bigger picture. 

“We appreciate your compromise with the Paradise Faith Cult,” The man continued, seeming pleased with your answer. His scent was too sweet and the grip on your shoulder was too tight for your liking, “It’s not everyday that someone so well mannered and royal seeks for us. The Leader is going to be very happy to have you.”

“I’m flattered that you think so well of me,” Swallowing down the bitter words that always threaten to escape, you gently smile instead, “I hope your Leader will think the same.” 

By now, the lies that came out of your mouth were second nature. So easy to come up with, that most of the time you had to ground yourself in your past, remembering all those horrifying things you saw when it was part of your daily life taking down Demons. And even though the Corps itself agreed to let you live this fake life, it still pained you to sit down and do nothing. It had to be worth it in the end. 

Suddenly, your ears picked up a few voices in the distance, the quiet steps of shoes on wood, the rustling of clothes. Even with the blindfold, you could sense the lights coming to view, warming your skin from afar. And with that, the sensation of being caged in a twisted universe finally settled down in your stomach — a universe where a Demon was worshipped. 

There was a sudden stop, a few whispered words you didn't make any effort to listen to. You were too occupied thinking that the moment you have been working on for years was finally happening. You were here, right at the entrance of the Demon’s domain, and none of those members around you suspected that you were working undercover. 

Just keep the facade and you will be fine. 

“We are here,” The heavy touch of the man finally leaves your shoulder, making you involuntary sigh in relief. It was starting to be unbearable the feeling of his sticky fingers moistened in lotion to cover the smell of blood he must clean off the floors everyday. 

“I’ll be taking off the blindfold now, excuse me.”

As the darkness was lifted from your eyes, the lights coming from the huge temple blind you immediately. They shone so bright against the dark blue of the sky, that for the first few minutes you blinked helplessly, adjusting your vision to the sight in front of you. 

The temple seemed to glow on the top of the mountain, lights reflecting the intrinsic details of pure gold on the walls; like a savior beacon on the coast, guiding ships towards safe land. Or, like a flame to a moth, the warmth not only blinding, but also cruelly burning it till the bone — for you, it was definitely the latter. 

It was no wonder why this place was easy to spot if you were really looking for it, it screamed royalty and fortune as the outside walls were decorated with beautifully handmade flags. The few people walking around the entrance were also wearing neat and clean clothes, without a single hair out of place. 

“Please, follow me.”

Although the blindfold was gone, the rope that tied your hands together was still wrapped around your wrist. The rough material was starting to leave red marks on your skin, but what bothered you the most wasn't the prickling material bruising the delicate flesh you had always taken good care of. 

No, what bothered you the most was the way all eyes turned to look at you as you walked inside the temple. 

You were being judged, examined — just like a caged animal, ready for the slaughter. Those eyes bore down your body; crawling under your skin, making the blood underneath it boil with the intensity of the stares you were receiving. Despite the amount of mental preparation you did for this moment, being judged by them was still an outrage. I should be the one doing the judging! You wanted to scream; shout at them, try to put some sense on their empty heads. 

Instead, you held your head higher, smiling down to those who dare whispering about you. 

Arriving at the main room, you could see how large the temple was on the inside as well. But of course, for someone surrounded by his own food and adoration, the place had to be as big as his appetite. The walls were filled with fancy tapestry, adornments of gold decorated the pillars, all together with expensive rugs and pillows — it was all too much to take in.

This was more than a simple home for a Demon, it was a heaven to its God. And the massive throne sitting at the top of the stairs, was a proof of that power. 

The whispering and stares never stopped. Actually, they intensified as the crowd grew bigger, you could almost hear their words behind those filthy hands, questioning if you were worth being in his presence. And again, you had to hold the smile on your lips, hold your hands in place — even though your fingers would twitch from now and then, wanting nothing but to punch a whole in their faces.

The man who was escorting you comes to a stop right in the middle of the room. He doesn't say anything else, only unties the rope around your wrists, letting you go finally. You bow respectfully as you were trained. He offers the same treatment, leaving you alone to the eyes of the crowd. Involuntarily, you reach for your wrist, rubbing it to release the tension that was starting to bottle up inside you.

Staring straight ahead, you analyze the indentations on the throne. The sounds of their voices are muffled by your thoughts as your mind drifts away, remembering every moment that led you to this instant. All those years trying your best to be the perfect example of a woman, learning all the aspects that were needed to be selected by the Cult. Years spent behind closed doors only to serve a purpose many people thought was hopeless. 

Shinobu was right, she always is anyway — you were crazy for danger. How far would you go, now that your life was at risk? Now that you were in his domain, at his mercy? What if they asked for something you just couldn't give?

For now, just smile.

When their empty eyes finally left your face, you turned your head slightly to see what was happening. Caught by the corner of your vision, the commotion was caused by the arrival of another three candidates. They were well dressed just like you, but there was something different in the way their eyes were gleaming with adoration, looking at the place as if they were arriving at heaven's gate. 

It turned your stomach, leaving a bad taste on your mouth. Even after everything you had heard about this place, victimizing the way people around here acted was frightening. The amount of blind faith scared you to the bone, at the same time that it left you pitting them. They slowly approached the center of the room, amazed with the amount of fortune the place oozed. 

For a moment, you wondered if you should have interpreted the role of a fanatic — if it would've been more convincing. However, the way they were so baffled by those around them, speaking excitedly about the Cult, showed thet it would’ve been impossible to replicate then — not even years training your smile would’ve been enough to tell such a lie. 

Suddenly, like a lighting announcing the arrival of the rain, the musicians started to pound the drums. The heavy sound spreaded throughout the room, and the conversations abruptly came to a stop. There was only the sound of the synchronizing beat enveloping the place, announcing the arrival of the Leader. 

You pinch the back of your hand to stay calm; a terrible habit you developed after the time you spent at the etiquette school. This way, the teachers could never tell if you were inflicting anything to stay grounded. After all, it was highly rude to show signs of anxiety to the person you would serve. However, being in the middle of the room, so out in the open, with all those eyes watching you as a hawk watches its prey before the fatal attack; it was definitely maddening. 

You hear the sound of a door opening, the sound of people crying, shouting praises, excited to see their Leader. Holding your breath, you prepare yourself to see the Demon that has taken over the course of your life for the first time ever.

You had only heard rumours about his appearance, about his habits. But they were only speculations, no one really knew how the Upper Moon Two really looked like. And hopefully, you would be able to fill in those gaps with the discoveries you were going to find here. 

As the star of a play, he enters your view. And it is definitely not what you were expecting. 

His hair was long, falling like a waterfall down his back. Flawless and elegant, it swung around as if it weighed nothing, the pale golden color of it matched perfectly with his skin that was in a shade of white that reminds you of snow. The strands framed his face perfectly, giving him an almost angelic appearance that if you didn't know better, you could be so easily fooled.

The black cloak around his shoulders sways as the Demon waves to his followers, basquing himself with their screams of adoration. Douma was a young man, tall and well built, his clothes were perfectly tailored to his strong body, the red garment he was wearing underneath contrasted with the pale of his skin, but you couldn't say it wasn't a good look on him. He gracefully smiles at the crowd, and a slight shiver ran down your spine when you spotted the obvious fangs on his demonic grin.

But then, something made you stare for longer than you should’ve. Your eyes grew slightly bigger as you watched him from the ground. An array of colors filled his iris like the rainbow, they blurred into each other so smoothly that if you haven't seen it for yourself, there was no way you would believe it to be true. 

They were so… Beautiful. 

You didn't know that something so extraordinary was even able to exist — and maybe that’s why you were standing in a room full of worshippers right now. For a moment, you lose control of the beating of your heart, making goosebumps break throughout your entire body. The blood flushed through your veins faster than they were supposed to. It was a miracle to have such a distinctive eye color like that. Almost like a cruel joke that someone blessed with such beauty was actually a monster underneath. 

As his eyes scan the crowd, you can hear your own heartbeat, beating so loud in your ears that the screamings of devotion are muffled; it all becomes a blur as you watch him move around, examining every inch of his face — that carries a facade you unfortunately knew too well. 

The first thing you realize is that Douma is too perfect. The corners of his lips are frozen in an impeccable smile; but it's not the kind of stiffness you would find in someone who's lying. It’s the type of crooked smile that only manipulators wear on their faces. The oddness of his being is contradictory.

He’s faking it. 

But for what reason? Isn't he satisfied with the way he manipulated entire masses of people for his own sake? Free food walking straight into his claws, he doesn't need to move a single finger to have whatever he wants. Isn't it enough for him?

In a moment of carelessness, your eyes met. And, immediately, a piercing feeling hits your heart, like a dagger cutting through flash. The moment shifts, and the current of air suddenly hits the exposed skin of your arms and you shiver. Something heavy settles down on your heart, corroding it to a forceful stop as he holds your stare in an open invitation for defiance.

Not being able to hold still, your personality splashes into the blank canvas you had put in front of you. And maybe you should’ve painted the fanatic role for yourself instead of forcing a white canvas to stay white. It was too easy for him to spot patterns after decades looking at the same hopeless faces of those who wanted nothing but to bring him down. 

It slowly suffocates you as his eyes take a little bit too long to leave yours. Those mere seconds of being under such a dangerous, yet extraordinary combination of colors is enough for you to rethink everything you thought about this mission. Were you being too naive to think that you would come out without one or two scars? If you were to ever come back. 

“Ladies and Gentlemen, we are reunited here today to celebrate another successful selection,” The man announces to the crowd, seeming so full of ecstasy that it contaminates the other candidates, making them smile and clap in excitement. And you have to force yourself to keep smiling, holding it with a tight grip that almost hurts your face.

“Today, our benevolent Leader will choose another fortunate member for the Paradise Faith Cult, who is going to serve and adore him for the rest of their lives!” The way he says those words is so oddly normal that you have to stop your mind before it goes to a darker place, a place where not a single light ever survived. Do not think of those who came before. What’s done, it's done. 

Douma moves gracefully as he steps down from the high podium, the gold around him shines against his paleness, making his skin glow in different tones of yellow. Each time that his feet move to step down the stairs, your heart skips a beat or two. They were bringing him closer to you — closer to your facade. You wonder which lie was going to crumble first, he had decades to refine his, after all.

However, before he could reach the center of the room, a woman breaks down running in his direction. She’s clumsy and desperate, and even though you could see the tragery forming right in front of you, you don't make a move. Right now, your life's was on the line, if you made a single movement outside of the character, it was highly possible you wouldn't have the privilege to try the scene again. 

“Douma-sama, I love you!” The woman cries, getting on her knees as soon as he reaches the end of the stairs. 

She holds the fabric of his tunic for dear life as tears start to run down her face. The disgust that crosses his face is frightening for those who were paying close attention. And for your, oh so lucky, you couldn't stop analyzing every single wrinkle on his face. 

“You're a blessing to this world! You’re the chosen one! Please let me —”

The sickening sound of bone crushing fills your ears when her head is cut in half, so fast you couldn't follow his movements. Staring ahead, you could see the blood pooling down the clean wooden floor underneath his feet. No one moves. No one even bats an eye to the headless body on the floor. It’s so sickening that the taste of blood fills your mouth while you watch people around him apologizing for her behavior.

You wonder if your friends found the same faith by his hands, or maybe even worse.

“If someone is disrespectful on that level, they don't deserve to be here. Don't you agree?” Douma raises his voice to the crowd, running a hand through his clothes. For everyone else, it seems he was composing himself after such a dangerous attack. For you, he was clearly disgusted to be touched by the hands of someone so insignificant.

Not a second later, everyone is agreeing with him, nodding their heads collectively. Bowing until their noses touch the ground, almost kissing the place where his feets once were. They offer him gold jewelry, fancy fabrics and relics of an ancient era. The devotion was suffocating, and you feel extremely sick to the sight. How could people live like that? 

Douma carries on, finally reaching the first one of the line. He bows a little, analyzing the young man in front of him. The long nails are painted purple and well trimmed, they are long against his smooth face, dangerously sharp. The boy was paralized, you didn't know if it was for fear or adoration. You can see his mouth opening, but there’s no sound coming out of it. The boy’s head is sent flying across the room. 

The amount of unrestrained violence in an environment where there should exist a benevolent God is a cruel joke. If a God really did exist, would they be like that too? So cruel in the name of power. In a world where Demons existed, where hundreds of people were killed in cold blood in a nonstop night of horrors, then yes, they would be just like Douma. 

You can feel sweat running down your nape as he approaches the woman by your side. She’s visibly shaking, eyes wide open in a display of fear. The trembling of her hands are so strong you wish you could just hold them in place, for your own sanity. However, what you did not predict was that her voice never faltered through.

“You're a monster!” She screams in his face, as the reality of what the Paradise Faith Cult truly was, rapidly comes crashing down, and dreams of a better life are shattered by the Demon in front of her. 

You could choke on the silence that followed soon after those words left her mouth, the amount of predatory eyes that fell into her small frame could burn holes on her skin. Yet, Douma’s expression never changed. That sinyal smile still stood proudly on his demonic face. However, the crack on the smooth glass appeared for a fraction of time, the twitch of irritation in his eyebrow gave away the ending of the poor girl. 

“You're a monster! And everyone here is bewitched by—”

If you thought you had heard terrible sounds coming from someone when they were dying, the sound of someone being sliced in half was nothing in comparison. Her body splits in the middle as the halves fall apart on the floor. It’s gruesome, hideous. It was good that you didn't eat anything before the mission, the nausea was almost unbearable even when you weren't looking at the sliced body right next to your feet. 

“I’m getting impatient,” Douma says, too sweetly for your liking, as if he was trying to show emotions even when he seemed unfazed. He throws a glance to a man standing next to the stairs, “I thought you said it would be a successful selection, huh?” 

You can see the man shaking on the spot, already kneeling for forgiveness. And even though the blood, thick and hot against your face, disgusts you to the bone, you don't dare to blink. Don't dare to move. Even when all you wanted was to scrub that dirty blood off your face until you could see the rawness of your own skin. It turns your stomach again, painfully aware of the place you got yourself into. 

Douma then switches his attention to you, the last one standing in a room full of dead bodies of what once were believers at heart. Hawk eyes start to scoop every inch of you, from the dirty garment he himself got stained, to the still well tidy hair. Walking around your body as if he’s evaluating a new piece of art that was just acquired. 

Although there were so many things to analize, why the red of your lips was the one thing his eyes stayed for longer was beyond your imagination.

“And what about you?” Douma says, almost in a singing tone, “I hope you can give me an acceptable answer, this batch of servants they brought me is showing to be the worst until now.”

The air becomes colder as each word pierces little daggers in your heart. You were sure it was midsummer, it wasn't supposed to be so freezing. Not inside a place where so many people were crammed together nonetheless. You could even swear there was a little snowflake floating in between you and him, but it was gone as soon as Douma stepped closer, wrapping his hand around your neck.

It isn't the weather, you come to a conclusion then. It’s him. He’s the one who’s freezing. How fitting, you think. Just like the dead Demon he is, inside and out. 

“I’ve always wanted to be here, Douma-dono,” You don't falter, holding your head high with a slight defiance in your stare, which you couldn't help show in full display. There was something in submitting completely to him that makes your skin crawl in despair. His nails dig a little on your smooth neck. 

“And why’s that?” Douma leans closer, still holding your neck in a tight grip, nails starting to dig deeper on your skin. But you don't budge, not even when his face was so close that you could see each color of his eye bleeding into themselves, in a rainbow dance that left you almost speechless. Almost. 

“I believe I’m right where I'm supposed to be,” You answer, the rehearsed script you had prepared thrown out of the window. However, your tongue was still sharp enough to give him an acceptable answer — It wasn't like you were lying anyway. “There’s no place in this world where I would rather be.”

Douma’s smile sends shivers down your spine, one that you couldn't hold to yourself. He could probably feel the trembling of your body through his touch on your neck, and you hated that you could tell how much he was enjoying this just by the sadistic way he still held the fragile part of your body in such a tight grip. 

He represented the kind of cold that only the harshest winter would bring. First, it was your face, then the tip of your fingers. Slowly bringing you closer to death, painfully slow to those who don't have a place to stay, to those who are out in the open without any cover. Just like you were right now. 

It seems a long time has passed before he releases your neck from his freezing touch, it’s carved in such a cold grip, that it burns instead. Douma does not spare a second glance in your direction before motioning to one of his servants. The relief on their faces is palpable, it's disgusting.

Two servants come quickly towards you, pulling back the sleeves of your kimono, exposing the skin of your forearm into the air, that surprisingly enough, is hot again. As you watch Douma going up the stairs again, they bring a golden goblet in your direction. You don't understand what is happening, you can't even begin to process their hands on you; but it doesn't take too long for you to find out. 

Another one brings a very sharp knife, and there’s not even time for you to protest. The cut isn't deep, but stings all the same. You watch your blood fall into the goblet, slowly filling it. And for your surprise, you catch the moment Douma’s eyes grow a little wider from his place on the throne. It’s not a good sign. 

It takes some time to fill, but once it's enough for at least a satisfied sip, they let go of your arm. While one is taking care of the cut, wrapping around bandages, the other offers the goblet to the Demon. You nervously watch Douma take a long sniff at the content inside it, before drinking it all in a single sip. 

The creep smile that spreads through his face is enough to make your heart skip one or two beats faster than it was supposed to be, you were so nervous, that at this rate you were going to collapse from anxiety. Doumas’s eyes shine with a different type of malice and suddenly it's impossible to control the beat of your heart, it breaks down in a frenetic beat that has your head spinning. 

“Aren't you something else?” He licks his lips, stanned with the red of your own blood.

A long time ago, Shinobu had said something about the power that it carried. But after so long, you had forgotten the Marechi blood running through your veins.

Today was the day you would never forget about that simple fact.

[bluefirewrites]

Prince Protection Program AU

The response to the last post has been amazing. Thanks guys. I don’t plan on making a full on story ( I did at one point, but I have a lot of WIPs to work on), but I still have some riffs to unleash. This is my take on the boys’ life  pre-PPP. Enjoy!

(Also changed the name of Reggie’s kingdom and swapped it for Luke’s btw) 

Link to first post and artwork

Palace life sucked ass.

Usually Lukas would experience that brief split-second of bliss waking up in the morning, where he would blink against the Mediterranean sun seeping through the cracks in his curtains, the feeling of his body cocooned in silk sheets hitting him first and not the fact that he was the Crowned Prince of Solaria.

But after that, it all came crashing down on him in the form of knocking on his door, followed by the more forceful opening of his door, and the filing in of his guardian.

“Ugh,” the prince rolled around, stuffing his head under a pillow, “Five… minutes…”

“I’m afraid that’s not possible,” James stalked over, tugging the covers off of him, causing Lukas to groan at the loss of warmth, “You know what today is.”

How could he not? It had only been the very thing his parents would talk about for the past year-

The day he would be crowned king.

As was tradition, he was seventeen years of age, the time for him to learn how to be a proper ruler to succeed his father King Mitchell.

Though the problem lay in the very fact that Lukas was many things.

But proper he was not.

Lukas rose, reluctantly, which struck James quite odd. Normally there would be more complaints, a bout or two before he would summon the guards to extricate him from the bed.

“I’ll-” A yawn broke out and the young man rubbed his eyes to rouse himself, “I’ll be there soon.”

James raised an eyebrow.

Lukas lifted a palm in good faith, “I promise.”

The older man stared at him for a moment before leaving to attend to other duties. As soon as he left, the prince quietly tip-toed to the doors, pressing his ear against the cool wood and waited. The sounds of footsteps faded, marking his guardian’s disappearance around the corner.

“Sucker,” Lukas laughed, before shrugging on a shirt, swiping his headphones off his desk, and booking it to his balcony.

He had about a minute and half to scale down the vines encasing his wing of the palace before the guards caught him. 

Over the years, he had to get a bit creative to evade palace security, with his parents sealing off most exits, doubling the guards stationed by his window at night, but nowadays it was much easier to do the riskier, more obvious way to escape. 

No one would expect it.

Hopping down to the lower level and pressing himself against the wall, he crab-walked until he found the door leading into the kitchen.

He slipped through, greeting the staff who all shook their heads at him. They knew better than to dissuade him from doing what he was about to do.  All Geneveive, the head cook, could do was send him off with a bag of food with a “Hurry back now or James will have our heads.”

Biting off a piece of bread, he thanked her with a wink and was off, dancing around the extra busy kitchen and putting on his headphones in the process.

With Nirvana blaring in his ears, Lukas made it to the waterfront and hopped into one of the more modest fishing boats (exchanging one of Genevieve’s sponge cakes for the keys. Thank you, Garrison) and motored off to the islet a few miles out.

20 minutes later, he moored to the dingy port where two other boats were stationed on the small piece of land.

“Oh my god,” he heard someone holler, a guy about his age with jet-black hair and swim trunks, “Is that the future King of Solaria?”

Lukas rolled his eyes, lugging around the small back, “Oh my god. Is that Reginald? The future King of the Crescent Cape?” he mimicked.

Another boy, blonde and tall, lay under the shade of a tree reading, scoffed, “Unfortunately.”

Reginald and Lukas locked eyes and smirked.

“Wait,” Reginald squinted at the blonde, “Is that- No way! It is, Lukas!”

“It so is!” Lukas gasped excitedly, “You’re Prince Alexander!”

“Of the Grybrian Isles? OMG!”

“Thought he’d be taller,”

“Thought he’d be more handsome,”

Alexander got to his feet, rolling his eyes, “Alright. Can you two be any more louder? Do you want them to find us?”

“Chill, they haven’t caught us yet,” Reginald reassured, leading the two other princes deeper into the patch of greenery on the tiny island, one that they all had discovered and have been running to to get away from prince duties for years now.

Lukas would have been driven to madness by royal duties if it weren’t for his friends from the neighboring kingdoms. He, Reginald, and Alexander had known each other their whole lives, their domains all clustered together that made visiting each other so easy. 

But every now and then, they needed to get away from the watchful eye of their parents and guards and the citizens and just be… them.

Lukas was lucky to know that he wasn’t alone in feeling this way, and that he could always turn to his friends.

“You goons better be hungry,” Lukas announced, tossing the bag of food their way.

Reggie dug into the snacks ravenously, “When aren’t we?”

Meanwhile, Alex was pacing, set on a nervous bender, “Aren’t you guys… I don’t know… kinda nervous?”

“Hey,” Lukas flicked a crumb at the other prince, hitting his calf mid-stride, “Thought we weren’t gonna talk about it today.”

“We’re all gonna be king soon, how can we not talk about it?”

The three of them sighed.

Alexander continued on the runway, “I mean, do you feel ready? I’m not ready,”

“Nope,” Reginald popped the ‘p’, frowning, “I hate being the oldest.”

“Why do we have to rule a country at 17? That’s stupid,” Lukas complained, searching through the bushes

“‘It’s tradition, Alexander. It’s what you must do. For the good of Grybria’,” Alexander impersonated, “Ugh. My brother just had to abdicate. Can’t I do that? Can I just abdicate?”

“Your dad would never let you,”

“Maybe if I told him I’m gay, he’d disown me?”

“Alexander,” Lukas warned.

“I was joking!” the blonde muttered, “...mostly.”

“Well what about me?” Reginald started, “I couldn’t take care of a bunny. How can I run a country?!”

Lukas felt around the ground until he hit leather and lugged out a guitar case he had stashed for safe keeping.

“Boys, let’s just… drop it today,” he deescalated. Funny, since he was up for coronation first, his rehearsal ceremony in a few hours, but he was determined to squeeze in some quality time with his friends before he couldn’t anymore, “Can we just chill? For a little while?” While they still could...

The other princes nodded.

“Okay. Now…” he took out his guitar and slung the strap over his shoulder, “Wanna jam?”

That brought a smile onto all of their faces.

They gathered in a circle, Lukas signaling at Alexander, who immediately began clapping a beat:

“1, 2, 3, 4-”

Tagging: @blush-and-books @lydias--stiles @echocharm17618 @rainfallingfromthesky @pink-flame @ourstarscollided @caffeine-catastrophe @nottheleastbrave @brightattheorpheum @thedeathdeelers @tmp-jatp   @lenacarstairspotterstewart @harpersdagger @annabelle-grisha-goddess @shelvesofgold @lwhoscribbles @futurearchaeologyprof @iridescentkippen @heademptynothoughts @crummycassidy @smolfangirl @a-dream-so-alive @that-one-utensil @lucid-h @homeinabookshelf @beaniesflannelandfannypacks @ilovefandoms @it-tastes-like-lizard

[rax-writes]

Enchanted - Part I

Fandom:  The Chilling Adventures of Sabrina

Pairing:  Caliban x Reader

Warnings:  None

Notes:  I’ve been thirsty for this blond bastard since he popped up in the show, so it’s about time I write for him. // So this is slightly OC, because the reader is a Spellman and it gives some backstory on that, but I still tried to keep it predominantly a reader insert.

As the only trueborn daughter of Edward Spellman, conceived during his very brief, loveless marriage to his late bride, you had grown accustomed to being treated differently. Your aunties fretted over you endlessly, despite being well aware of the fact that you were an extremely proficient witch. You were given unearned, unquestioned respect by each member of the Church of Night, as well as every witch and warlock you met. Typically, they asked you endless questions, being that your father had intended for you to be his successor, prior to his untimely death and Faustus Blackwood’s treachery-ridden rise to the position of High Priest. This meant that you had been a sponge for each and every one of Edward’s theories, teachings, and creeds, as well as his extensive knowledge of spells, conjuring, potions, and other witchcraft.

You prided yourself on being a witch of above-average skill and know-how, although that did not mean you were keen on being subjected to impromptu interviews about it all. Additionally, it seemed as though every single creature you encountered knew your father, which often meant they were twice as heaven-bent on killing you, as he had not been one to take mercy on monsters. All in all, it was rare that you were treated as you – not Edward Spellman’s daughter.

That is, until you encountered a certain self-proclaimed Prince of Hell.

Of course, you had been vehemently against Sabrina entering the Netherworld to save her boyfriend. However, you were aware that her determination knows no bounds, so she’d certainly be going with or without your approval, therefore you decided it’d be best to join her endeavor. Upon entering Hell, you, your sister, and her companions found yourselves on a somber, despondent beach, and a medley of wails filled your ears – which could only mean one thing.

“Wait, so… Hell is a beach?” Harvey inquired dubiously.

“Not quite. Hell is a vast realm, full of a myriad of abysmal regions, and this is merely one of them. In particular: the Shores of Sorrow,” you explained. This new information seemed to distress him further. Theo stood, fear in his eyes as he looked to the cages standing out on the water.

“Guys, look…. What are those?”

“They’re the souls of the damned,” you responded, in unison with another voice. At first, you thought it was some sort of echo, but quickly deduced that it was a separate voice entirely. You turned to see a man standing a short distance away on the beach, and your first thought was that he was so beautiful that he looked monumentally out of place in this dreary landscape. He was quite tall, with lovely green eyes, blonde ringlets cascading around his handsome face, and a body that looked to be hand-crafted by Aphrodite herself.

The visually pleasing stranger held searing eye contact with you as he took a few steps toward your group. He seemed intrigued by the fact that you – someone who was clearly not from Hell – was familiar with your locale.

“They drown as the tide rolls in, over and over… for all eternity,” he elaborated, as your party approached him. He surveyed your sister and her friends, then returned his eyes to you with a charming smirk. “Although, I’m certain you already knew that.”

“Hi, we’re looking for Lilith,” Sabrina stated. “Uh… Madam Satan, Queen of Hell. She’s in Pandemonium, if you happen to know the way.”

“I would be more than happy to assist anyone accompanying a woman of such intellect and ethereal beauty,” the man stated, charm dripping from his voice as his eyes remained set on you. You would not deny that he was easily the most attractive man you’d ever seen, but you were also conscious of the fact that you were in Hell, therefore he was almost certainly a demon – not exactly ideal dating material. So, you merely met his gaze, donning a smirk of your own, crossing your arms gracefully, and giving a slight tilt of the head to wordlessly meet the challenge posed by his advances.

“All blood flows to Pandemonium. Follow the blood-red road where it flows, and there you’ll find the throne of Hell,” he responded, after your silent exchange, as he gestured toward a small creek of blood nearby.

“Thanks,” Sabrina said, nodding. “And you are?”

“We greatly appreciate your kindness, sir, but I’m afraid we’ve no time for formalities,” you interjected. It was just as well, as the man seemed hesitant of answering her query.

“Understandable. Although, I do hope to cross paths with you again,” he admitted, then took a step forward to take your hand and bring your knuckles to his lips, maintaining eye contact with you as he did so. He then turned to your sister. “Never step off the road. It’s clever you’re wearing dead men’s shoes, though… any demon worth his salt can smell mortal flesh a mile away.”

The two of you shared one last, lingering look, then he slowly spun on his heel and returned his attention to the nearby elaborate sandcastle.

“Come on. Let’s go,” Sabrina said, and the five of you made your way to the flowing blood.

After a not-so-pleasant stroll through the Field of Witness, and the Forest of Torment, where you searched with Theo and Harvey as Sabrina and Roz located Dorian’s pestilential flower, as well as an excursion to a hellish version of Sabrina’s high school, you found yourselves in the throne room of Pandemonium. Lilith decided to allow Sabrina to leave with Nicholas, so long as she would crown Lilith in front of all of Hell. She agreed to do so, but as soon as the ceremony began, it was evident that the Kings were still displeased.

“And who do you propose would rule?” Lilith asked.

“Ahh,” Beelzebub responded, and it was clear that Lilith had stepped right into his trap. “All hail Caliban, Prince of Hell. Molded from the clay of the pit itself. Native son of the inferno, born to restore and rule our dark domain.”

To your surprise, the good-looking blond from the Shores of Sorrow stepped forward, clad in a different outfit, one more suitable for Hell, and smiled at your sister. “Hello again.”

“Uh… hi?”

This Caliban explained that he intended to restore stability to the Nine Realms, and ultimately, conquer the Earth to make it the tenth circle. Unsurprisingly, your sister was simply not having it. She claimed the throne as her own, shut down Caliban’s refutation, and decreed that the Infernal Court be dismissed.

As Caliban turned to go, he locked eyes with you. With a small smirk, he stated, “It appears our paths will cross again, enchantress.” He left through the colossal double-doors of the throne room, and silence befell the room, before you all left, Nicholas Scratch in tow.

Upon returning to your room for the evening, you laid in bed, unable to sleep and staring at the ceiling. Although you attempted to steer your train of thought to more important matters, such as how to help the coven and what it would mean for Sabrina to be the Queen of Hell, you found your mind veering back the dashing young “prince.” Aside from the fact that he’s a demon, and that he sought to descend Earth to chaos and enslavement, he had challenged your sister – and that simply wouldn’t do. So, you conceded that you must push your unwelcome thoughts to the side, such as how his eyes made you feel vulnerable and on fire all at once, or how pretty that alluring voice of his would sound in the bedroom…. Hell help you, you were going to need to try much harder than this.

A sudden whooshing sound and a bright light brought your attention to the corner of the room, and as the vortex of fire dissipated, you saw none other than the object of your desires standing before you.

“To what do I owe the pleasure? Here to berate my baby sister some more?”

“No. I am here for you.”

You sat up in the bed, then swung your legs off the side, staring at him quizzically. You noticed that Caliban eyed your attire hungrily, and you briefly thanked yourself for choosing a red silk nightie with black lace trim this evening. Opting to bask in the feeling of him undressing you with his eyes, you stood and crossed your arms over your chest – both to show resolution, and to accentuate your chest. His gaze grew ever more ravenous.

“Speak your piece, then.”

“I wish to court you,” Caliban stated coolly, that smirk of his gracing his lips.

“And why is that?”

“You have piqued my interest. Your beauty is beyond compare, and your intelligence and self-assuredness are both endearing and intriguing. I am quite taken with you,” Caliban admitted, now perusing your bedroom and investigating your elaborate bookshelves. He then turned to you, and in a few strides, he was standing in front of you, towering over you as those enthralling green eyes seemingly bore into your soul.

“Allow me to court you. I vow to do my utmost to make you happy, and keep you unquestionably…” he trailed off, bending down to hover his lips mere centimeters above yours as he finished his sentence, “... satisfied.”

You did not miss the way your breath caught in your throat as a result of his actions – nor did Caliban. It caused his smirk to widen further. Nevertheless, you squared your shoulders and looked up at him with all the confidence you could muster.

“Stand down from your attempted coup d'état of Sabrina’s place on the throne, and I will gladly court you, Caliban.”

“Although my name falling so sweetly from your lips is enough to persuade me of almost anything, I’m afraid that I cannot comply with your request, princess,” Caliban responded. “But, if bartering is the ticket to courting you, then so be it. Even if I wanted to, it is impossible for me to stop the Plague Kings’ quest to unseat Sabrina Morningstar and Lilith, but I can let you in on how they plan to do so, which will allow your sister time to prepare for it. And if the Kings or Lilith ask, you didn’t hear a word of that from me.”

You pretended to mull it over for a moment. If you were being honest, it wasn’t exactly twisting your arm to go out with someone as mind-bogglingly attractive as Caliban, so having the opportunity to do so and help Sabrina certainly seemed to be a win-win.

“I agree to your terms.”

“Excellent,” he said, his smirk changing to a toothy grin, flashing a set of perfect pearly whites. He seemed genuinely thrilled that you agreed to court him. “You may inform Sabrina that the Kings intend to evaluate her progress as Queen of Hell for a short time, and if she fails to meet their expectations, they shall send she and I on a quest to find the Unholy Regalia. Whoever is the victor shall earn a rightful place on the throne, by infernal law. So, I would advise that Sabrina watch her p’s and q’s for the next few weeks, but still prepare for the inevitable quest for the Regalia.”

“Thank you, Caliban.”

“Anything for you,” he responded, taking your hand and placing a kiss upon your knuckles, as he had earlier that day, before cradling it in both of his hands. “Now, where would you like to go for our first outing, little dove?”

“I have heard rumors of a carnival coming to town this weekend. Take me?”

“It would be my pleasure,” Caliban said earnestly, then sat down languidly on the ornate velvet couch immediately behind him, and gently pulled you down to sit with him. “In the meantime, I would very much like to get to know you better, if it would please the lady.”

The remainder of the evening was spent on that very same couch, with the self-proclaimed Prince of Hell. The longer you talked, the closer you grew in proximity, until you were nestled against his side with your legs tucked underneath you, his arm draped around your shoulders. Caliban listened intently as you told him about your life, and he readily told you tales of his own past and answered all your questions. A large percentage of the conversation entailed you explaining earthly matters to the Hell-born gentleman, and he was genuinely interested in all the information you had to offer. It was incredibly refreshing for someone to be interested solely in you – not your father’s legacy.

After a while, your eyelids began to feel unbearably heavy, and eventually, you succumbed to sleep, your head falling onto his shoulder. As Caliban looked down at your sleeping figure, after sharing an invigorating, intimate night of soul-sharing, he vaguely wondered of the possibility of love for a man made of clay.

The warm, fuzzy feeling now forming in his chest was all the answer he needed.

Part II

[smuckersblr]

Cluess Part 2

after a good ass break I’m back boys 

When they got home, Peter had gotten ready for an early night in, he was still mulling over what happened that night at dinner. 

What had Dr. Banner meant by, “maybe we shouldn’t get into details while Peter is still here”? 

What was so confidential that made them reconsider talking about matters while in the presence of Peter? 

His father never cared to keep secrets between the two of them, he always let Peter know of his new projects he was working on, and even liked to hear Peter’s input in the matter. 

But that night, they stopped talking about business and instead talked about the theatre in Manhattan and how they’re set to have a play this month. 

While Peter was contemplating deeply about things his pretty head shouldn’t worry about, Tony knocked on his bathroom’s archway. 

“Hey Pete.” the teen turned around, still rubbing his moisturizer on his hands and neck. “Yes dad?” Tony was looking at Peter like he always did when thinking deeply, it was the same look Peter got, well at least that's what Dr. Banner says. 

“I have to go to the office real quick to pick up some papers I missed this morning,” he tapped absently on his hip with his palm, he was nervous. 

“So, hold the fort down while I’m gone, alright?” Peter frowned his brows, a crease forming between the freshly plucked eyebrows, one that would make Peter cringe. 

“Why can’t you just have Happy bring them here?” Tony let out a huff that resembled what would’ve been a laugh. 

“You know Happy’s my driver, and your chauffeur so i’d make sure to not think of him as a call boy, or else no sporadic mall trips ever again.” 

He frowned back at Peter, this of course was a joke and only in good humor. Peter stopped frowning and barked out a laugh. 

“I suppose you're right, daddy.” Tony smiled back and left the room, heading out of the house. 

Peter hadn’t ignored the fact that his dad was holding something back, he seemed even weirder than normal too by the looks of his reaction to having to leave Peter home alone. 

The teen decided to push all of these trivial thoughts aside, because he didn’t like thinking too hard before bed, it made it harder to sleep and a headache to form at his temporal lobes.

-----------

Only a minute had passed since the last time he checked his damn digital clock. The softly bright white numbers seemed to mock Peter with the fact that he couldn’t sleep now. 

All he thought about was the damn dinner, why did they choose not to speak about business in front of him? Was it that top secret? What could possibly be that important, or worse, dangerous? 

Peter sighed with indignation and shoved his sheets off his pliant body. The sweet warmth that was encased seemed to dissipate the longer he laid there, staring at the ceiling like the over thinkative kid he was. 

While Peter was thinking too hard and laying in his own self loathing, there was a creak from downstairs. The sound reverberated through the empty mansion. Peter sat up like he wasn’t just laying there like a ragdoll. 

He waited for a beat but didn’t hear anything else. He stood up and started to softly pad his way towards his open bedroom door. 

“Jarvis, what was that?” Peter’s heartbeat started to accelerate at the possibilities that it could be something dangerous, maybe a robber? How did they get past Jarvis’ lockdown system?

“It seems to have come from your father’s workshop. Would you like me to notify him to come home?”

Peter nodded, for a second forgetting Jarvis was just a disembodied voice, one of his fathers creations that served almost like a house alarm system. 

“Yes please, tell him to hurry home.” Peter licked his chapped lips, regretting not having a mini fridge in his room now so he could safely get a water bottle from his own terrain. 

He thought they seemed like a college frat boy thing, he always hated how it seemed douchey to have one in your own room. 

Peter took a step outside his own bubble of safety and stopped. He listened and heard nothing, so he took another, then another.

 He was soon at the bottom of the staircase, the flare of it open’s to the dark abyss of the first floor. 

“Jarvis, lights to 10%.” The lights on the first floor bloomed to life, the dim, yet needed, light let a wave of relief wash over the teenagers stiff shoulders. There was another noise from the hall that headed towards his fathers elevator that went down to his workshop. 

This time it was louder and sounded like something heavier dropped. Peter flinched back at the sound, it was abrupt and loud in the quiet home. 

Peter grabbed the antique candle holder that sat on the table near the front door before he decided to head towards the sound. He held it like it was a bat and took a deep breath before asking Jarvis to take him to his dad's workshop. Of course the robot had advised against it, but the teen was persuasive.

The lift opened, the whir of the doors was loud in the dark of the lab, Peter felt exposed with the lights in the elevator being a beacon to himself and blinding him from the dark void around him. 

“Jarvis, lights to 100%.” 

And once Jarvis had obeyed and the lights woke the room to expose every corner, Peter had gasped and dropped the candle holder. 

Its loud clunk to the elevator's floor hadn’t fazed the teen, he was too shocked at the sight of a hunched shirtless man leaning against a workbench. 

White knuckles of his right hand clenching tight to the table, as if it was the only thing keeping the man up from falling on the cold ground. Peter took in the sight of his trembling shoulders, the muscles in his back twitched and his legs seemed to be bowed inwards, like he was a doe walking for the first time. 

Peter ignored the thought of comparing this large man that was built like a UFC fighter, to an innocent creature of mother nature. 

“What are you doing in my dad’s lab!” Peter snapped himself out of his stupor and clenched his fists at his sides, trying to seem more sure of himself and intimidating. 

The man stopped his trembling and his muscles seemed to tense more. His hunched back straightening out slowly, he was getting his bearings, and he was getting them fast. 

The man seemed to be tall, taller than Peter’s own father even. The stranger was facing away from Peter, so the wall of muscle and some cargo pants were the only thing Peter saw of the man. 

The man turned his head sideways, side-eyeing the boy from this distance, his curtain of brown hair hid the cold calculating glint in them. 

The man seemed threatened, like a caged animal he slowly turned around, exposing his full body and features. Peter took a step back at what he saw. 

His back hit the closed doors of the lift, the cold bite of the metal seemed to shock Peter even more into knowing this wasn’t a nightmare. The man seemed to notice Peter’s frightened look and the way his eyes seemed to stray to one side of the man. 

The stranger followed the kid's gaze and looked to his left arm. The vibranium metal that met flesh like it was his limb. The man looked back at the kid, flexing his metal hand into a fist then relaxing it again, the whirring of panels shifting was even more jarring to Peter. 

The kid swallowed and calmed himself down with rational, much needed thoughts. Like the fact that this guy was standing in his dad’s lab, shirtless, and with a metal arm that made the guy look cybernetic, robotic even. 

So this must mean the man was the project his father and his friends avoided to speak about. It made sense when Peter finally noticed the empty glass tube that sat in the corner of the lab. 

Puffs of exhaust coming from a broken pipe that connected to the pod, the door to the pod was dented from the inside and swung open to almost have been thrown off its hinges. 

The man noticed Peter visibly relaxed rapidly by the second he was looking behind the stranger. 

“Oh, you must be working with my father on his project, or you must be the project. Either way I’m sorry about coming down here, I thought there was an intruder.” 

The man was still and his brows furrowed at the smile beaming from the kids face. The scared look was nowhere to be seen and instead of cowering against the doors of his escape, he stepped closer towards the man. 

“Did you just wake up? Do you have a change of clothes or do you want some food?” The man was quiet the whole time Peter was stepping closer, ‘till he was face to face with the man and tilting his head like the innocent kid he was. 

“Why were you in there anyway?” Peter looked once more behind the man and to the pod that seemed claustrophobic, it looked like there wasn’t enough room for a man to lay down, in fact it looked like it was meant from someone to just stand in. 

The longer he looked at the thing, he noticed the straps at the sides of the cushioned mat in the back panel of the pod. Restraints. 

Peter shuddered and looked back at the man, the more he looked the more he noticed the look of untrust in his eyes.

The guarded look made Peter’s jaw clench, the scruff on his cut jawline affecting Peter in a way he didn’t want to be affected in right now. 

His stoney gaze sent a chill down Peter’s spine and he stopped trying to ask questions, the man was clearly not talkative. 

“I’m Peter Stark.”

The soft tone coming out of nowhere, the rush of questions seized and his whirling mind was put to a stop once the man seemed to look over Peter. 

“Bucky.” 

Peter widened his eyes at the man's rough voice. It sounded harsh in the still air around them, waking the cogs in the kids head and causing a warm blush to tint the kids cheekbones. 

“Do you want water, Bucky?” Bucky nodded hesitantly and watched Peter walk away and to the mini fridge his dad kept down here (and yes Peter did trash on his dad for having one in their house, but he had no say since it was his father’s workshop, therefore, his domain). 

Peter quickly grabbed the chilled bottle and after a second thought got his own and made his way back to Bucky. He tried to help the man sit down on one of the mobile stools, but was ignored and made to sit across from Bucky. 

Peter watched Bucky drink heavily from the bottle, the crunch of the plastic loud along with the gulping coming from the man that seemed to be very dehydrated.

“What were you doing in there?” Bucky stopped drinking his bottle, placed it down and looked at Peter like he was back to being an enemy. 

The teen rolled his eyes and huffed, capping his water bottle and tapping his fingers against the cold surface of the metal table. 

“I’m just curious Bucky, I don't have an ulterior motive or whatever.” Bucky stayed quiet for a bit, taking in Peter and his words before going back to finishing his water. 

Right when Peter thought he really was just going to be ignored and waiting in silence till his dad got home, Bucky spoke up. 

“I don’t remember.” 

Peter snapped his head up, looking at Bucky like he was trying to sedate a bunny.

“I’m sure my dad was just helping you.” 

But those words didn’t sound right to him, they unsettled him and seemed to do the same to Bucky. His shoulders hunching once more and his head bowing for his hair to create a curtain once again to hide his face. 

Peter, without thinking, reached out to brush the strands away, gasping once his wrist was caught tightly by Bucky. 

His quick reflexes inhuman almost, it should’ve unsettled the kid, but it didn’t deter him at all from staying still and letting Bucky know he wasn’t gonna hurt him. 

His hold loosened minutely, until his hold was loose on Peter’s delicate wrist, once more reaching forward and brushing a strand from hiding the man’s fired eyes. 

It felt like they were in their own little world, like everything else around them was paused and Peter forgot that he made Jarvis notify his dad to come home. 

The swoosh of the elevator’s doors broke both of them out of their trance-like state. Peter lowered his hand from the air when Bucky had fully let go. Both their attentions to one panicked Tony Stark. 

Some sort of gauntlet that was bright red encased his dad’s opened palm. A bright circle of blue whirring to life once aimed at the target in front of him. 

“Pete, get away from him!”

Peter was put off by his dad’s yelling, the way his muscles were tense and his stance was ready for battle, and some kind of weird alien tech on his dad’s hand. 

“Daddy stop! Bucky won’t hurt me, put that thing down!” 

Peter made sure to lean more to his left to try and cover Bucky’s frame with himself, even if the man was too broad. “Pete, seriously kid move, that guy isn’t really in the right state of mind to be making those types of decisions right now.” 

Peter furrowed his brows, his dad was speaking again now as if Peter knew what he was talking about. “Dad seriously I didn’t know he was already down here in your lab, I thought he was an intruder.” 

While Peter was trying to stop his dad from firing off, whatever that weapon was, he didn’t notice Bucky moving out from behind Peter and subtly covering Pete with his own body. 

Peter stopped talking at the shock of Bucky protecting Peter from his own dad, albeit Bucky probably didn’t know what was actually happening and he maybe just thought that his only source of kindness was being threatened by a strange man in a suit and a gauntlet on his hand. 

Tony slowly put his arm down, the gauntlet looked like it was encasing itself back under the cuff of his dad's sleeve. Peter looked over Bucky’s wide frame and gave his dad a confused look, he’ll make sure to inquire about that weird thing later once everyone isn't trying to kill each other. 

Tony raised both hands in the air slowly, a token of trust, a surrender. 

“Alright big guy, imma need you to take ten steps away from my kid, then we can have an adult chat, with no more surprises, deal?” Tony was trying to talk calmly, his negotiating skills coming in clutch with the way Bucky slowly relaxed, but he still stood firmly in front of Peter. 

Peter ignored the weird fuzzy feeling in his stomach at the protectiveness from the stranger, ignored it because they just met and Peter was the first nice person he was probably introduced to in a long time. 

“It’s alright Bucky, that’s my dad he won't hurt me.” Peter put a placating hand on the man's back, the cool touch from Peter’s soft palm brought a flush to the warm skin. 

Bucky turned his head a bit to get a look of Peter while still having Tony in his line of sight. Peter smiled up at him and nodded confidently. When Bucky finally stepped away from hiding Peter from his dad’s sights, Tony rushed in and hugged his son tightly. 

“God I thought you were dying when Jarvis sent that message.” Peter let out a snort that he would later pretend he never made, his father was so over dramatic sometimes. 

“Sorry dad, I thought there was a robber or something, didn’t want anyone stealing your precious tools.” Tony shook his head and ruffled the kids hair fondly, relieved and satiated with the knowledge his son was safe, he looked back at the thing that was causing this panic in the first place. 

Or man, definitely man, he looked like he was created to be the embodiment of what a man should look like, strong, tall, broad, handsome. 

“Wait, who’s Bucky?” Tony pulled back from Peter with a confused look, Peter just smiled and turned his head towards the man that looked out of place in the sterile lab. 

“Him!” 

Tony frowned and let go of Peter to fully take in this new information. 

“You named him?” Peter punched his dad in the shoulder and whined. 

“No daddy, he told me!” Tony just nodded and put a placating hand on his shoulder. “Huh, well I’ll be damned.” It was spoken softly and almost astonishedly. 

“His name is actually James Buchanan Barnes, he was that project I was advised not to tell you about.” Tony winced at the word ‘project’, seeming a little insensitive to the fact that James was a human being and not a ‘thing’ to be experimented on. 

“So, who is he?” Peter turned around to look at Bucky curiously, tilting his head and squinting his eyes contemplatively at Bucky’s mimicking features of Peter’s. 

Tony brushed away the uneasiness creeping in from Peter being the one thing Bucky didn’t let his eyes stray away from too long. The billionaire stepped to the side and brought up a hologram from a strip of some cords that connected to a little box that looked like a wifi router. 

An image of a file with Bucky’s face on the side and a column of text in black bolded letters, a sigil in the corner signifying that it’s owned by the government. 

“Our new house guest here was a soldier-turned-assassin from 1941 to current time. Looks like we got ourselves a real life Doc.” 

Peter ignored his dad’s lame joke and instead focused on the fact that Bucky was from the 40s. What would that make him, a hundred years old? Peter looked from the holo screen to the prone figure of the ‘super soldier’, the article seeming to sum up Bucky to be a man killing machine, trained from brainwashing and rigorous punishment. 

A feeling of dread seeped into the boys bones with the thought of Bucky, what seemed to be a lost, cute, dopey guy, turning into a man-made machine, he was a test subject for years ever since he was captured by a guy who worshipped a thing called HYDRA. 

“Who would ever do that?” Peter’s voice cracked with the way his soft voice broke with a hitch of his breath. 

“He must be traumatized.” Tony hummed, still focused on the article and swiping through the pages of what seemed to be a folder.

“I would’ve thought so too, but he might not remember those things, probably blocked it all out, or his brain got fried enough to break off any strand of memory to get past that whole mess of feelings.” 

Peter scowled at his dad for insinuating Bucky to be brain dead by now, a complete insult to the evidence standing there proudly. 

“If you really must know my dear son, who is stubborn like his own father, me and Bruce got wind of this ‘Hydra’ having an empty bunker in the depths of Serbia. We got the authority to go in and get their research of what was called the ‘soldier serum’, some old patriotic move made by my own daddy-dearest. Long story short kid, I'm supposed to keep him near me at all times ‘cuz the guy was still knocked out in there and reserved, we all thought he was just a machine, but turns out he’s more real than we thought.” 

Tony looked over at the large mass that seemed to swallow up space in just one spot. “He’s nice, can he stay here? Like in a guest room preferably because this is totally on my red flag radar of keeping a human in a pod capsule locked in our basement.” 

Tony huffed and turned the hologram off with a flick of his wrist. “You make my very expensive extension to the house seem like a little ‘man-cave project’.” Tony’s muttering was white noise in the back of Peter’s head. He was now looking over to Bucky. 

The man was still staring at Peter, just standing and staring at the kid ever since Tony guided him across the room. Peter’s cheeks flushed a blossom pink, heat rushing over the teen’s face as if Jarvis turned the room’s heater on. 

“He can stay in the room next to mine.” Peter’s voice jarred Tony out of his rambling on the matter of his precious workshop. 

“Uh, I don't think so, he can have one on the first floor. The room farthest from you.” Peter turned and gave his cute scowl to his dad, as if it was a threat but it only caused a fond smile to spread across Tony’s face. 

“Uh hey big guy, stop staring, it's making me uncomfortable.” Bucky looked up at Tony then away, not looking back at Peter, the kid frowned. 

“Alright let's move this party upstairs, I need a drink.”

------

The next morning Peter sat at the marbled island, a strawberry smoothie on his right, and a super soldier from the past on his left. Bucky was hunched over, eating like it was his first meal in, well, forever. 

Peter watched with rapt attention, he was the one who made it after all, the paid chef that his dad loves didn't get to put down a pan before Bucky growled out a ‘no’. 

Peter then took it upon himself and made french toast with bacon, scrambled eggs loaded with cheese, and a glass of OJ. “Stop staring at him Pete, it’s probably why he stares at you, he thinks you're challenging him.” 

Tony walked into the room with an air to him that said ‘too early to deal with super soldiers and/or my own kin’. 

“Don’t talk about him while he’s in the same room!” Peter’s abrupt voice got Bucky to stop eating for a second and look over him, then went back to eating. Peter smiled at the man’s stuffed cheeks and looked over to his dad who was scrolling through his Stark phone. 

“Hey manchurian candidate, imma need you to stay in the lab ‘till Pete gets back home from school. Or at least stay in the house because I can’t have government officials knowing I took a souvenir from Russia.” 

Bucky just looked at Tony like he was stupid, Tony of course didn’t like the blank stare coming from him so he turned around and focused on pouring his coffee into his travel mug. 

“Why can’t Bucky come to school with me?” 

At Peter’s question, the winter soldier seemed to lighten up a bit, his posture straightening and his body turning more towards the teen. 

“No no no no, a thousand times no Pete. This guy is a trained assassin who was and probably still is government property, not some new roommate you can hang out with.” Tony gave a fake smile at Peter’s over exaggerated frown. 

“But daddy, look at him!” 

Tony watched how Peter gestured to the stiff man of a killing machine who wasn’t in the slightest as adorable as Peter was trying to make him seem. 

The guy's hair framed his chiseled face which only made him look more threatening. He was also staring down Tony like he dared him to say no again. Tony gulped and grabbed for his phone again to look busy. 

“I said no Pete, the guy hasn’t been in civilization in years, also I don’t think he’d want to be surrounded by emotionally oppressed teens all day.”

[mightysteelix]

The Sin Of Gluttony

Because this, after all, is still a fic blog. Here's my newest story - and my longest so far. And it did not take as much time as I expected, being finished in two-three weeks. Written to fix the lack of Shirou/Dantes fics and the lack of male "Fate/" kink fics.

Rating: Mature Category: M/M Fandoms: Fate/Grand Order Relationship: Amakusa Shirou Tokisada | Ruler/Edmond Dantès | Avenger Characters: Amakusa Shirou Tokisada | Ruler and Edmond Dantès | Avenger Summary: Shirou Amakusa had been sneaking in Chaldea's kitchen to indulge his gluttony. Thus, Archer enlists one Avenger to help him.Weight-gain kink fic. Don't like, don't read.

WARNING FOR KINK CONTENTS UNDER THE CUT

Additional Tags: Weight Gain; Belly Kink; Rapid weight gain; Magically assisted weight gain; Main character is 18+; Force-Feeding; Teasing; Erections; Mildly Dubious Consent; Feeder Edmond Dantès; Feedee Amakusa Shirou

LAST WARNING FOR KINK

Amakusa Shirou sneaked into Chaldea’s kitchen. Coast - clear. 

The last master of humanity was snoring in their bed, lulled by Nursery Rhyme’s tales. The Servants had taken the opportunity to sleep - expect the most obsessed, who tried to barge in Ritsuka’s room. Even EMIYA, usually restless about his domain, had holed with the rest of his not-exactly family.

As expected. Amakusa planned every heist months in advance, manipulating Servants for the perfect night. As a saint - even if apocryphal - he should reject the pleasures of the flesh: forget the buttery cookies, the fluffy desserts, the sweets that melted in the mouth... Snapping from the trance, he caught himself drooling. His eyes sparkled with desire. He had to fight the sin that would lead him astray.

Yet he crossed the large dining area in a single leap and entered the kitchen. The enthralling taste of gluttony, as captivating as EMIYA’s food, lingered. His own desires were controlling him. For a third night, he would indulge his longing in secret, fill his craving stomach with the most masterful food the world could offer. He would stuff his stomach past the norms of sense, lose himself in the pleasure of food. Perhaps the Fiendish Bodhisattva had cursed him with the unquenchable hunger.

Amakusa licked his lips, imaging the feast tonight. “Or my sins crushed me and I am their slave.” He should have rejected it. Yet those greedy desires took over the priest, stealing any control. Against the craving, he had no power. Gulping down his dry throat, he opened the fridge slowly, as if performing a holy rite. Sweet, sweet aroma tickled his nose. His fingers shivered. The light blinded his eyes, used to the dim darkness. As he adjusted, the outlines of the dishes took a concrete form. A large tray of cookies sprinkled white with powdered sugar; a few batches of thick, sweet, and fluffy ice cream.

Above them stood the crown jewel of EMIYA’s cooking - a five-layered cake, patiently decorated. Sugar flowers colored the frosting, each one with crafted petals. Fine glaze ribbons circled each tier. The Archer must have put an entire day in his masterpiece.

And Amakusa would destroy it in sheer, unbridled gluttony - a grave, unforgivable sin. Once he was stuffed, unable to stomach another morsel and pinned in one place by the pain and the weight of the food, he would polish down the cake in the most wasteful, decadent show of greed. His heart beat faster in his chest.

“The feast has started,” Amakusa whispered and took the chosen dishes. The light thinned, before disappearing as he pushed the door closed. Alone in the dark, hidden from everyone’s stare, he snatched a cookie and pressed it between his teeth. They tore the sweet dough. The sugar melted over his tongue.

“EMIYA,” he moaned, “you have outdone yourself again.” After gulping the cookie, he took another. The sweetness excited his tongue. His greedy fingers reached for the next one and it disappeared as quickly. The risk of capture at any moment, red-handed at the crime scene; the off chance his plan could fail drove him to gulp faster. If he did not finish before the others woke up, he had lost.

The ritual ended as the last cookie traveled down in Amakusa’s belly. A whole tray and he was barely stuffed. He had laughed at the tales of Saber’s hunger yet now was outeating her. His fingers rubbed the small curve of his stomach, hidden under his baggy clothes. A solid beginning, yet so far from the gluttony he desired.

“What should I pick now?” he asked himself. The cookies - however heavenly - had dried his mouth further. Some ice cream would serve as a relief. Amakusa opened one tub, a fresh, chocolate wave of coldness pinching his cheeks. “It’s decided.” 

Standing like a hero against their sworn enemy, Amakusa held his sword - a spoon - and broke the dark brown, almost black, layer of syrup.

“Huh?” Shadows hissed out of the ice cream and twirled around his arm. The curse chilled his skin, leaving a deep chain mark. Amakusa tensed. He tried to free his hand, yet the darkness pulled him closer, even more chains shooting at him. One bound his free arm, another warped his legs painfully tight.

They held him above the ground, unable to move a single finger. Only his mouth remained free. Should he scream for help? No, his captor desired that - to break his pride by forcing an admission out of him. He would never allow himself to be caught.

“Do not hope you will escape!” Thundering, evil laugh boomed. Pale sparks flared around the core of the curse. The shadows grew like smoke. Two legs formed under the cloud, covered by a long, dark coat to the ankles. “For your sin has already claimed your very soul!” The Avenger - the Count of Monte Cristo - cackled. His eyes flared brightly like the flames of hell. “No salvation awaits you!”

“This noise for me? Ah, you flatter me, Avenger.” Amakusa smiled, far more sweetly than any pastry. “I doubt you will release me if I ask.” He closed his eyes and lowered his voice to a sly whisper. “Would at least tell me why you took your time to curse me?”

“Politeness will lead you nowhere! The Archer yearned for vengeance.” Edmond walked closer to Amakusa, leaving a trail of shadows behind himself. “His thirst summoned me. The perpetrator must suffer and regret his crimes.”

“Have you stolen Holmes’ job? He will hate it. Very well, you caught me. You can turn me to the Master.” The pleasant way out. The preferable one.

Edmond shook head, his long hair swaying. “No, mon ami. Our Master will forgive you. That would be justice - their justice, yet the Archer does not care about it. He wants retribution, he wants punishment.” The fire in his eyes died as he held Amakusa’s cheek. “You will bear the weight of your sins.”

Amakusa gulped - an exaggerated jest of fake fear. “Does he plan to hang me until my limbs become numb? He must have a strange taste.”

The Count’s manic laughter filled the kitchen, making the utensils on the wall shake. “No, he gave me full right over your punishment. If the greatest Avenger accepts it, it will satisfy his dark desire. No one is observing us, nor anyone will wake in the following hours. Until our time runs out, I will plunge you in my curse.” He took the spoonful of ice cream from Amakusa’s hand. “Enjoy your greed, sinner! Rejoice as you become the embodiment of your sin!”

The spoon aimed for Amakusa’s mouth. He shut his mouth and bent his head backward. Whatever the Count had prepared, he would not comply. Although empty curiosity (or greater hunger) gnawed on his thoughts, eating him alive, he resisted. One word and the Count would stab with the spoon.

“Too late!” The magical sparks lit the kitchen with their pale colours. “You should have fought your sin before eating the bait!” Another shadow - thin like a piece of cloth - forced Amakusa’s mouth ajar.

He struggled to close it. His jaws shivered, pulled back by the bindings.

"Now," the Count continued, “you can repent only through punishment!” As soon as Amakusa’s lips opened, he lunged the loaded spoon in his mouth.

The ice cream had already molten a little. Thick and syrupy, it chilled Amakusa’s tongue. Sweet chocolate excited his taste buds, before emptying in his throat and leaving him craving more. He licked his teeth - some of the treat had stuck there. “Do you plan to feed me the entire night?”

“The punishment must fit the sin! Tell me, priest, how else should I discipline you?” Edmond scooped more ice cream, before pushing it in Amakusa’s mouth. “Three nights I prepared the perfect curse for you.” The shadow loosened its hold. “A curse to please Archer’s and my lust!”

Amakusa had to stop. The Avenger’s plans could only end badly for him. If he clenched teeth again, he could fight the spoons: sweet, sticky, pleasuring… The lingering chocolate taste flared up in the pit of his stomach. He wanted - no; he needed the creamy, thick confection down his throat.

A priest should reject any temptation.

And yet once the ice cream touched Amakusa’s tongue, he gulped down desperately.

“That’s it!” More frantic than a Berserker, Edmond forced a spoonful after a spoonful in Amakusa’s mouth. “Fall in your sin! Embrace your desires and suffer!”

The priest obeyed like a trained pet. He could not reject the tingling pleasure of the sugar. Each gulp moistened his throat, making him shiver with delight before a stronger, fresher taste replaced it. Closing his eyes, he waited for the powerful, familiar fullness. Once hunger had left him, he would eat because he wanted to blow in size: bloated, overfed, huge, indulging. Most thoughts were pushed away, only one lingering. The Avenger must have realized Amakusa enjoyed his punishment.

“You are shaping up perfectly!” The chocolate taste died without a new hit to replace it. “Now everybody in Chaldea will realize your gluttony!” Edmond pressed hands over Amakusa’s belly. “Did you believe I will only feed you?” The black shadows let him on the kitchen counter. “No! You will suffer the results of your sin: your lustful, decadent greed!” Where Amakusa used to have solid abs, now there was a chubby, small belly.

Intriguing. Out of all possible torments: the hellish tower; the soul-sucking nightmares - the Count chose to feed him in person and curse him with fatness. Amakusa smiled like the sun. "You do not lose points for originality. But what are you going to do now?" He took a spoon and fed himself a large scoop of the cursed ice cream. His body tingled as the sweet taste washed over his tongue and he felt himself pluming the slightеst bit.

Edmond snorted. "I have already broken you? Pity. I expected you would rebel for longer. If you had tried to run, I would have had you tied and stuffed for the whole night."

"Not at all." Amakusa's warm eyes locked on the Count. "You have not broken me. I would have eaten the ice cream anyway." He cupped his chin - a little thicker than normal. "Cannot let my careful planning waste. Thank you for speeding the process and feeding me."

Sparks flew around the Count, making the kitchen glow. "Don't talk!" he ordered, tying Amakusa with the shadows once again. "I will fatten you up until you need to be rolled around Chaldea! How could you still eat despite the curse?"

So cute. The big bad Avenger was flustered and his it behind anger.

Amakusa scratched the flab lightly. Small ripples formed around, disappearing at the limits of his newly gained fat. It was a real, permanent part of him; a definite proof of his gluttony. "Be fast, please." He wanted to grow soft, enormous, fattened by his inevitable obsession. And he would make the Avenger admit he enjoyed the night as much. "Perhaps I should have tried to run. I'd rather not waste time on small talk when there is still food."

"I shall make you eat your words along with everything else!" Edmond flared as if burning alive. The shadows boiled and squirmed behind him. One coiled around Amakusa's legs and pinned them to the base of the counter. "Even if you enjoy it now, the night is still young. I have endless time to make it a worthy punishment!"

"Would you drop the pretences already?" Amakusa leaned forward and his shirt rode a little, showing a silver of tan skin. He held Edmond's palm in his hands. "If you admit we both seek pleasure, the night will be more enjoyable."

"What pretences?" The Count pulled his hand free. "I work in the name of vengeance! My only pleasure is the pain of my victims!" He draped over his prisoner and fed him so fast that Amakusa could not talk.

The overfilled spoon left his lips and came again, even more full, forcing him to gulp or drown in the ice cream. With each course, his belly expanded - even more extra weight piling on it, stretching his black shirt tighter and making it ride up higher. The speck of revealed skin grew as his little bit of flab engorged in a proper gut - and Amakusa would not stop.

Not that Edmond would let him. Frantic sparks shot around, giving short bursts of light - Amakusa bigger at every one. Laughing madly fast, he scooped through the tub and ensured that all of its contents ended in the priest's mouth. Any moment he expected to break Amakusa's bliss and make him beg for mercy.

But it did not happen. As Amakusa’s body widened, so did his grin. A decadent desire possessed him; he sucked the ice cream from the spoon before Edmond had finished putting it in his mouth. He poked his hands sideways in his stomach and shook it up and down, the vibrations jolting through his flab. The weight over his hands increased, and he put more force to jiggle his forming rolls. The next dose could not come fast enough. 

And even though the Avenger controlled Amakusa, he was fighting on the defensive, unable to find an excuse. Tied and speechless, the priest still rebelled against him. Not only rebelling, but he also held swath over Edmond’s actions. His joy would not end soon; the Count’s anger was burning up. And how could it stay, when Amakusa ate every fattening spoon and took the full bunt of the curse?

The Count dragged the spoon out of Amakusa’s mouth but did not fill it again with ice cream.

“What happened?” Amakusa asked, his nimble tongue licking the ice cream on his lips. “Has it run out? Too bad,” he laughed, his chubbier cheeks jiggling along. “I was just starting to enjoy it. Can we move to the cake now? A bit earlier than I expected, but if there’s no more ice cream left…”

“How?” Edmond broke the spoon in two as if it was a mere twig. “An Avenger - a Servant born of hatred - to bring pleasure? Impossible!” With a flick of his hands, he cleared his pale sparks, drowning the kitchen in total darkness. “I hoped to keep this as my finishing move, but your joy has continued for too long!”

He took the second tub - the first truly empty - and imbued it with his dark power. It glowed a sick green color as the ice cream boiled, bubbles forming and exploding with a strong ‘Pop!’. It melted, leaving a thick liquid full of sugary calories. As soon as the light died, he pressed the tub to Amakusa’s lips.

The viscous liquid slogged down the priest’s throat, and the empowered curse fattened him faster. Even in the darkness, he felt himself expanding, stretching the black shirt to sizes Amakusa never imagined it would reach. Each gigantic gulp sent shocks through his gut. It flopped, pulling the shirt higher. Now it covered only the topmost part of his belly - and soon would free it as the mass of lard did not stop growing.

His pants proved somewhat more resistant, digging deep in his gut. The waistband stretched to its limit, a mound of flesh falling over it. Amakusa tried to reach under it and unbutton his pants, but his chubby fingers could not budge the button. He would have to pop it with his growing gut. An even heavier gulp made his abdomen sag lower, resting on his tights.

Of course, the fattening had not spared them either. His legs filled the dark pants, pushing the material beyond its limit. He felt the brush of air on his bare skin, small holes having formed around the seams. The fabric pressed deep, but with each second the thread unraveled further.

His arms also expanded, losing any muscular definition. Even with the powers of a Servant, he moved them with more difficulty than before. The arm flab quivered with his movements, doubling the pleasure of exploring his flabby body.

And the cushion of his ass softened, taking more and more place over the counter. Amakusa sneaked his hand down his back, squeezing the thick globe of pure fat. His nails dug in the flesh and the ripples traveled to his knees, the flab a perfect conductor for them. Moving up, he groped his large love handles - they have united with the bulk of his gut, forming a flabby ring around him. 

How huge was he? He could see nothing, only feeling his belly bulge and his shirt rise and his pants tighten…  Once the lights came back, Amakusa expected incredible joy and disappointment. He would find how enormous he had become, yet it would never reach his imagination. If his lardy ass covered the counter, the floor would be the next challenge, then the rest of Chaldea…

After each gulp, he leaned back more and more, the sudden weight of his gut proving too much for a Servant’s body - or another effect of the curse? The more his belly surged out, the closer he came to lying down, pinned under the always growing weight of his own fat. Could he even stand up on his own once done? Or he would rely on the Count’s whims: seemingly unpredictable, but completely under Amakusa’s control and in an endless game of cat and mouse?

As Amakusa lay on his back, the warm fat insulating the cold counter, the last spurt of the ice cream fell in his throat and pushed out his flabby sphere of a gut.

“Perfect!” The Count dissolved the shadows and jabbed his fingers in Amakusa’s stomach, above his belly button. The vibrations shook his mass, reaching to his now-ample moobs. “With all this fat pressing you down, you must feel -“

“Perfect.” Amakusa cut in Edmond. He huffed as he sat up, mashing his bulbous gut and forcing more pressure on his soft ass. “Did you believe that you can make me regret it? Abandon my gluttony?” He laughed, feeling his chubby cheeks wobble. “Avenger, this time your plans failed.”

The Count clenched fists. A storm of sparks flared around him, throwing blinding light over the kitchen. Amakusa bowed head, avoiding the sudden brightness. He saw his rolls: wide and flabby, daring almost to touch the counter.

“I failed!” The Count stomped away, causing the kitchen to shake - Amakusa’s fat body included. “I had only to force you to regret your sin, make you detest your desires - to punish you in Archer’s name! And now the night has fallen to ruin.” His body vacuumed all the sparks but the palest light.

“It does not have to be,” Amakusa said. “We have not touched the cake. Your last chance to make me detest the curse. Will you take up to the challenge?”

“Yes,” Edmond muttered. “Yes!” he roared, clenching fists in a triumphant pose. “You, mon ami, will curse my name by the end of the night!” He burnt bright with sparks. The closer he walked to Amakusa, the more air around him heated. “I swear it! As the sun rises, you will curse the Count of Monte Cristo!”

“And I swear,” Amakusa replied in turn, “to make you admit that you have enjoyed the night.” It was a deal with a handsome devil; a bet he would win. He extended his pudgy hand to Edmond’s slender one.

Edmond fell in the trap; once their fingers pressed, Amakusa pulled him closer, making him fall in the mountain of his gut. The sudden movement made Amakusa’s whole body jiggle like a ball of squishy jelly. Trying to push himself up from the soft pile, Edmond only sent greater tremors through it. He spoke horrible curses, his fiery tongue licking Amakusa’s skin. The priest wanted only to keep him there forever, worshiping and feeding him.

Alas, the momentary happiness had to end. Using his shadows, the Count pulled himself free. “I have never thought a priest as you would fall to such nasty tricks.” He draped over Amakusa. His hands groped his flabby moobs for support. “You could have asked.”

“You would have refused,” Amakusa smiled without a trace of regret. “Or I have won?”

“Not even close. I am merely -“ he leaned even closer, above the priest’s lips, “- casting a bigger net.” Edmond massaged Amakusa’s moobs, his fingers squeezing the two sacks of flab. His knees gently kneaded the gigantic mass of his gut.

Amakusa’s pants tightened even more. His erect dick pressed in the flab of his tights, and each ripple of his belly sent a stronger joust of pleasure through it. “And how it helps you to give me more pleasure?”

Edmond’s heated breath touched the priest’s face. “I could chain you with the shadows and leave you here.” One of his hands slipped lower and stroke Amakusa’s dick slowly. “Begging on the verge of a release that is not coming.”

“Is this your rumored cruelty, Avenger?” Amakusa smiled and pulled Edmond in a tight hug. “Then I will reply in kind.” He dragged his flabby hands over the Count’s back, holding them over his tight, tiny ass. Edmond’s dick poked into Amakusa’s stomach. “Now we are even.”

“Do not overstep your bounds, Ruler.” Pressing hands on the counter, Edmond pushed himself up above Amakusa’s face, close, but out of reach.  “I might just decide to leave you packed in shadows as a present for the Archer.”

“Perhaps it is your fault. If someone was… I don’t know - feeding me too fast - I would have no time to play with you.” Amakusa trailed a finger over his fat, empty gut. “Bear the responsibility and keep engorging me. Ensure I grow constantly.”

“Your tendency for shameful moves should have made you a Caster. A warning to the people, who don’t expect sneaky priests.” Edmond jumped off the counter and turned his back to Amakusa. “No.” He snorted, shaking his head. “I knew your nature and still chose to fight against you.” The flame in his eyes glowed. “Enfer Château d’If!” His body tensed and in the next second, he had Amakusa gagged again, while he leaned over his mouth with a chunk of the cake. 

One shadow had coiled around Amakusa’s calves, squishing the fat on them, and slammed them to the base of the counter. A second bound his hands, forcing him to lie down on the table. 

Amakusa smirked and opened his lips. “I won,” he muttered before the Count pushed the pastry down his throat. He gulped the light, extra buttery dough, letting the curse do its job. His tights fattened around his hard dick, embracing it in hot flab. Almost cuming, Amakusa ground them together. The movement shook his stomach, its bottom roll falling onto the tip of his cock and pressing deeper.

The Count moved at a fiendish speed; before Amakusa could gulp, a new portion of the cake had filled his mouth. Using both hands, he tore from Archer’s masterpiece, all in the important goal of feeding his priest. Amakusa twitched, his erection throbbing. 

His moobs - two balls of fat that could rival Raikou’s - strained the black shirt which fought in vain to cover them. His sleeves fared even worse; bits of exposed skin oozed out of the large tears. The tight pants endured the longest, yet as Amakusa’s gut pushed out heavier, fatter, more decadent, the waistband groaned. After an especially heavy chunk, the layer of fat forced it stretch more. The fabric could not take it and with a loud sound tore all the way down to his crotch.

Amakusa moaned as he felt himself cum, soaking his tight underpants. The Count paid no notice, only using the opportunity to force even more food into his wide-opened mouth. The priest’s body heated even more as a haze of incredible pleasure clouded his thoughts. He ate on autopilot, not caring how big he would end - it would not be enough. Thus, they would repeat the night’s session later, when…

The sweet flow of the cake ended. “What happened?” he asked, licking his lips. “Have I eaten the entire cake?” Already? Even with Edmond’s Noble Phantasm increasing his speed, the doughy tower should have lasted longer. Amakusa wanted to check, but his fattened neck and the tight shadows restricted his movement.

“Not yet.” The Count gritted his teeth, turning his head away from Amakusa. The long shade of his collar hid his face. “But I lost my only advantage. You have won. I do not have to feed you further,” he said in a weak tone. Melting away, the shadows released their prisoner.

‘You have won.’ The hollow words did nothing to fill the void in Amakusa’s stomach. He lay unmoving, staring at the dark ceiling of the room while Edmond walked away. “Wait,” he said, just as the Count stood in the door, ready to leave him. “As long as there’s some cake left, you have chances. You can fatten me so much that I would regret it. So fat that I would depend on you for everything.”

Edmond leaned on the door. “And yet you would still like it. Tell me, priest, one reason not to leave.”

“You will never know. I might just realize I dislike my size once the cake is over. Would you risk missing the chance to taunt me over it and mock me? Would the Avenger miss his vengeance? Besides,” Amakusa whispered an octave lower, “I am sure you are as aroused as I was.”

“Even the goddess of pleasure cannot compete with you.” The Count turned, his coat fluttering behind him in an arc. “Very well, priest. You will entertain me for some more time.”

Tomorrow, Amakusa would deal with the questions, the stares, and the consequences. The Great Order, the King of Mages, even simply moving became a distant goal. Tonight he had a cake to finish and a Count to tease.

[demonslayerimagines]

Here’s another story I wrote for @mevrouwrozestudios for our 2nd story/art trade! The prompt was some rescue fluff between her OC Nonaka and Inosuke! I hope you enjoy!

~ Mod Nezuko 🌸

Antidote of the Heart

The rumors of a mysterious, small village in swampland were being told around the country. It was humid, but cloudy as if it was about to rain. Nonaka walked carefully on the path toward this village. There were rumors of a plague spreading to every civilian, with some of them going missing. The signs of it were paleness, weakness, and a bite mark somewhere on the body. Everytime someone seemed to be cured, they'd be back in their sick state the next morning. Shinobu suspected a demon, so this is how Nonaka found herself stepping cautiously through the muddy trail. She was just to figure out if it was a demon or just a plague and report back by midnight! Nonaka felt a bit out of her element, the farthest she's been from the Butterfly Mansion in a while. Shinobu had the utmost confidence in her, so Nonaka was ready to do a great job. Even if she had to be away from her Inosuke.

The village was in sight, small huts and houses were all near the lakeside. Nonaka stepped into it and noticed the lack of people, all the doors and windows were shut. It felt like a ghost town, empty with only the breeze bringing a sort of life to the area. Nonaka felt a chill crawling up her back as she slowly walked around, looking for someone to question. Nonaka finally saw an older-looking man standing near the far exit of town. There were strange tracks leading out into the swampy forest.

Nonaka approached the man and noticed his troubled expression. “Now, who might you be, young lady?” the man spoke with a strict tone. Nonaka gulped and showed her wooden box, full of first aid supplies. “Sir, I was sent by the closest village to see what was going on out here. I’m a doctor’s assistant and heard there was a plague spreading” The man huffed, but looked melancholy, “A plague is the least of our worries...If you’re smart, you’ll go back to once you came and forget that this place exists” Nonaka wanted to ask more, but the old man gave her the cold shoulder and walked towards the closest hut.

Nonaka knew something was amiss, but wasn’t quite sure what the danger was yet. Noticing the tracks again, Nonaka looked at them closely. The tracks were quite large, furrows made in the ground in a wavy pattern. She knew whatever made these had to be the problem and began to follow the strange trail into the dark bog…

~~~~~

It was midnight, the butterfly mansion glowed with the light of candles in the dark of the night. Shinobu stood outside, waiting for an answer from Nonaka. Tanjiro, Zenitsu, and Inosuke were all relaxing in the baths after their last day of physical therapy. They had come back from a big mission in the city and had spent a few days there to heal up. Tanjiro seemed to be the only one who really focused on their training though. Zenitsu was fawning over Eiko, a new ally who had helped them in the city and who had protected Zenitsu in his time of need. Inosuke on the other hand was constantly trying to impress Nonaka, the two had begun constantly flirting and talking with each other.

They had officially begun to court after their herb adventure a few weeks ago. Inosuke was very proud to be the first of the group to actually get a girl! Zentisu was incredibly jealous about it. Inosuke and Nonaka were inseparable before training and after training. Inosuke gave her lots of hugs and loved to lift her up when she least expected it. That's why when she mentioned her next mission, Inosuke felt a pang in his chest. He wanted Nonaka to stay with him in the mansion! Who knows what could happen to her alone out there! Tanjiro mentioned that the feeling was called worry, surprised that Inosuke could feel that with the way he goes head first into battle. There was nothing to be done though as Nonaka gave him a kiss goodbye a day ago.

The three boys stepped out of the bathes in their casual kimonos. They walked out to see Shinobu waiting for them with a white kasugai crow, Inosuke immediately knew it belonged to Nonaka. Shinobu had a serious look on her face as she spoke, “Nonaka has gone missing and was unable to report back to me. I want you three to leave at once to find her-” Inosuke immediately ran past her in a panicked state, going to get his blades and clothes. Tanjiro nodded at Shinobu and took Nonaka’s crow. Zenitsu’s eyes widened and his hands shook slightly, “C-Can’t I stay o-or can Eiko-chan come with us?!” Shinobu smiled, but shook her head. “Eiko and I must meet Mitsuri for important matters, but I’m sure the three of you will do fine! If not, you can just come back for some more physical treatment” Zenitsu whined as he dragged himself to get his things.

Inosuke wrecked the room to find his things. He slipped on his boar mask in a rage. Whatever has his Nonaka will never see the blessed light in the morning. Tanjiro and Zenitsu quickly gathered their things, but Inosuke barely noticed him as he stomped out of the room.

Inosuke waited outside on the cobblestone road, Tanjiro thanked the butterfly girls for their help while Zenitsu was holding Eiko’s hands and begging her to marry him quickly! “COME ON YOU CHICKENS! WE BETTER GET THERE BEFORE THE SUN RISES OR I’LL BRING THE BOTH OF YOU DOWN!” Inosuke yelled with passion, meaning every word. Zenitsu yelped and hid behind Eiko, “SAVE ME!” Tanjiro only nodded, understanding Inosuke’s feelings of concern for his loved one. Tanjiro grabbed Zenitsu by the haori and started dragging him down the path. Inosuke huffed, hiding his fear under layers of anger, ‘She better be ok…’

~~~~~

As the new moon hit the horizon, the three demon slayers ended up in the same path as Nonaka. The village close, Tanjiro could smell blood and a slight poisonous scent in the wind. It led them to the back of the small village where the same exit stood. Inosuke noticed the smaller footprints in the mud. It had to be her...Why did she go off on her own?! Inosuke felt himself tear up in his mask, not wanting to think of the worst. His legs took over, running ahead without any thought for himself. Tanjiro’s voice had called to him, but the sheer fear made Inosuke unable to hear much else except his beating heart. She had to be alive...Inosuke couldn’t take being alone again...

He ran up the steep path and saw a bigger house with the sliding door busted open. Inosuke could hear his partners running up behind him, but he ran inside alone. Needing to find out the truth for himself first. Once Inosuke was inside, he noticed the smell of blood was heavy in the air. Around were the bodies of the missing villagers, eaten by a demon. Inosuke almost missed the pink see through material that was lying by his feet. Inosuke kneeled down and felt it in his hands, eyes widening. Nonaka’s haori, the rose pattern slightly stained with drops of blood. Inosuke felt his body move on his own, screaming his inner pain to the heavens. Gripping the haori to his chest, his screams were wild and filled with anger. The mere thought of his love being gone was too much to bear…

Inosuke felt a comforting hand on his shoulder. “She’s not dead, I smell a sweet scent in the air. It has to be her, I distinctly remember her breathing style from training” Tanjiro spoke softly, breaking into Inosuke’s rough exterior. Inosuke understood, tying his love’s haori around his waist. A new determination surrounding him to find her and kill the motherfucker that hurt her!

~~~~~

Tanjiro was in the lead, following the scent. Inosuke close behind, gripping the haori tightly. Zenitsu took up the rear, every little thing making him jump. Zenitsu screamed in fright as a snake slithered past his feet. “This place is full of snakes and other small reptiles...What a strange home” Tanjiro spoke up, quietly. Inosuke shrugged, used to the wildlife and not afraid of a puny snake.

The three happened upon a large sliding door, Tanjiro put a finger to his lips and slowly opened the door. There in the large room was a demon. A male with long blackish green hair in a slick ponytail that went down to the middle of his back. His eyes were orange with thin black slits. His teeth were long and sharp, two fangs jutting out from his mouth. He was muscular as well, but the main thing was that his lower half was a long dark green snake tail. A half man, half snake demon. Inosuke was only interested in the figure wrapped in the tail though. It was Nonaka! She looked pale, her beautiful brown eyes looking dull, and a large snake bite was in her neck.

Inosuke took out his sword in a fit of rage as it built back up in his core, “OI! PICK ON SOMEONE YOUR OWN SIZE!” The snake turned and grinned mischievously, “Ho ho ho, so more demon slayers enter my nest! Did you miss your little doctor? It seems she's also caught my ‘plague’” Tanjiro’s eyes widened, “The poisonous scent...He’s been injecting venom into the villagers and Nonaka!” The demon began to laugh, crazily, pissing Inosuke off even more. “Your little friend has had my biggest dose yet! That's what she gets for entering my domain!” the demon said between laughter. Nonaka looked in pain, barely able to look at Inosuke. Inosuke had enough, rushing quickly to stab the thing in the head. The snake dodged in the last minute at lightning speeds, as fast as a predator in the wild.

Tanjiro unsheathed his sword, leaving Nezuko’s box with Zenitsu to protect. Tanjiro took the side Inosuke wasn’t on and went for the tail to stop the demon’s wild movements and to free Nonaka. The snake smiled wide as Tanjiro’s sword hit the snake scales and slid off. No damage had come to the tail. Tanjiro’s eyes widened as the tail swung back and hit him hard against the wall, trying to crush him. Inosuke growled loudly, air coming from the nostrils of his boar mask, jumping up and bringing his serrated swords down on the snake. The demon screamed as Inosuke’s blade sliced between the scales, tearing them off and cutting the tail in half. The other half of the tail wiggled wildly in an unsettling way, releasing Tanjiro. Inosuke pushed Tanjiro away, “BACK OFF! THIS IS MINE!” The demon slid to the side and moved back to pounce at Inosuke, going for a bit to the chest. Inosuke held up his blade and the snake bit onto it, cutting his mouth as the two fought for dominance in the fight.

The two fought like a wild boar and snake in the wild, pushing against each other for the upper hand to kill their prey. Inosuke almost lost his footing as he was straining to keep the fangs away from his skin. He looked to Nonaka who had been released when the demon went for him. She sat there weakly holding herself up, but Inosuke read her lips as she tried to speak, ‘I-Inosuke...You’re so s-strong...I know you’ll s-save me...I love you!” Her silent words were enough for Inosuke to find himself, refocusing and twisting around. His flexible body twisting around with ease and slicing the demon’s head in half from the mouth.

In that moment, the demon remembered being an outcast, loving his pet snakes. The villagers were afraid of him so they broke into his home and killed his dear pets. The demon wanted revenge on the town and to make them suffer forever. Turning into a demon gave him that ability, but he really just wanted to live in peace with his snakes…

~~~~~

Nonaka began to awaken in a makeshift cot. She felt the humid heat and knew she was still in the swamp. The last thing she remembered was Inosuke fighting for his life and hers. His bravery and quick thinking as he used his strengths to win. Then Shinobu showed up and...the rest was very fuzzy. Nonaka opened her eyes fully, she was in a small hut with a few others who looked sick from the venom. Shinobu had a vile of purple venom with a few other medicines and was mixing things together. Shinobu had figured out how to reverse the effects of the venom by making an antidote with it. Tanjiro and Zenitsu were helping and giving medicine to sick villagers, but where was Inosuke?

Nonaka felt someone nuzzle up to her. Inosuke was snoring softly with his mask off while cuddling next to her on the floor. Nonaka blushed hard and sat up, quickly. Inosuke opened his eyes a bit and smiled at her. Before Nonaka could say a word, Inosuke sat up and met his lips with hers. His arms went around her and when he pulled away, she noticed her haori was on her shoulders. “I-Inosuke! I just woke up!” Nonaka exclaimed, her whole face turning as red as a strawberry. Inosuke chuckled, “Yeah! And I saved you! It was all me Nonaka!” Inosuke said as he flexed a bit, moving closer to her. Inosuke smiled wide as he held her against him. Nonaka heard his happiness, but felt him shaking a little. She knew that this all must’ve been hard for him. Nonaka returned the hug, feeling Inosuke’s worry wash away and being replaced with love as he hugged tighter.

[i-will-physically-fight-you]

Fragmentation Fanfic

Title: Fragmentation

Summary: Once Upon a Time, a Bold-and-Boisterous Prince sits on a throne. A Bold-and-Boisterous Prince has a great fall. A Hallowed Heart finds him in pieces and a Studious Scholar puts the Prince back together again. Or. 

A broken crown lies in an empty throne room. A Shrewd Snake and a Shy Spiderling enter the throne room. Only there isn’t just a broken crown awaiting them, there’s a broken boy. All the words and all the actions can’t put the boy back together again, but a listening ear and a comforting embrace softens the pain. Or.

If a mirror shatters into two pieces, which one is the original piece?

Word-Count: 2.9k

Pairings: Platonic Moralogince, Platonic Anxceitmus

Warnings: Angst, Crying, Panic, Murder Mention, Death Mention, Hurt/Comfort, Bittersweet Ending Kinda?, No Unsympathetic Sides At Worst Morally Grey

Hi, anyone remember the random ficlet I posted in pieces months back that ended all happily? Well, I expanded upon it and here we are. Or in other news, here’s my take on a Split Fic, and it’s not your typical take in my humble opinion.

-

A clatter echoed in the throne room. A golden crown laid cracked in two. A soft thud followed it as a red sash carelessly engulfed the crown. An exhale, long and strained. Silence. Then a sob as a prince fell to the ground, shattering.

A battered and beaten Heart came along searching for the Prince. He called out his name, searching the castle high and low. But the Prince did not answer nor did the Heart catch a glimpse of him. When the Heart entered the throne room, he kept his gaze on the empty throne. It was not until his foot caught on something that he drew his attention to the marble floor.

“Oh my!” the Heart gaped, eyes watering, “Oh dear!”

Lying at the Heart’s feet, was the fragmented remains of the once bold and boisterous Prince. The Heart touched a piece, a chill pulsing through him at its cold, ceramic touch.

Great globs of tears fell down the Heart’s face as he toppled to the floor in anguish.

He gathered the pieces close to his chest, trying to put the beloved Prince back together again. But for all the Heart’s earnest efforts, the pieces only fractured and splintered into more.

The Heart placed his head into his hands, shaking. He was not good enough to save the Prince. Worse than that, he not only failed but he had damaged the Prince further. He could feel his insides growing frayed, threatening to unravel and come unmade like the Prince himself.

But with a breath of air, he held it together. He may not have the ability to put back together the Prince, but perhaps the Scholar could.

The Scholar was smart. His idea of fun afternoon involved delving into complex, convoluted math theorems. Out of anyone in the realm of Thomas, the Heart trusted him most in solving the matter of the broken Prince.

Lifting a hand away from his face, the Heart summoned him. The Scholar arrived, completely oblivious. His eyes closed, hands tightly clasped around his bowtie. “Welcome to the Jungle, it’s so exciting--” the Scholar recited, in a spoken monotone measure.

The Heart pulled incessantly on the Scholar’s pants leg to grab his attention. This caused the Scholar to jump back, startled. His eyes flew open, trailing down at the Heart and then to the porcelain remains of the Prince.

Usually, the Scholar was never one at a loss for words. He was always the first to ask questions, to seek knowledge to better equip himself and others. But he kept staring at the scene before him, seemingly having lost the capability of speech.

Then a strange stifled noise came from the Scholar. As if there was a blockage in his lungs, a spear that punctured all the air out of them. But of course, there was no spear sticking out of his chest. No logical reason for such a noise to occur. With a face devoid of all emotion, the Scholar knelt down beside the Heart.

He picked up a piece, examining it with an analytical touch, short of licking it. Licking things was a very scientific tool. A tool he refrained from deploying at this moment.

“It’s him isn’t it?” The Scholar said at last, frowning, “But how? It does not make logical sense.”

“No, it doesn’t,” The Heart piped up, “but his realm doesn’t tend to follow the rules of reality. But you can fix this, right? Undo wh–whatever this is?”

The Scholar frowned, eyeing the ceramic shards carefully. 

“It is always easier to destroy than to create,” He began, “Or recreate in this instance. However, that does not mean it is improbable.”

A spark of hope ignited in Heart. So you can do it?!”

“I can try,” The Scholar amended, “There is, of course, a possibility it will not work at all.”

The Scholar placed the piece in his hand on the floor along with the rest. Then he stood up, outstretching a hand.

 “You should get back.” He advised. The Heart nodded, scampering a few feet back for good measure.

Satisfied with this, the Scholar’s eyes glowed indigo as he called forth his power. Nonsensical, really, but it was how the Prince’s dominion interpreted him; a wizened wizard with a terrifying amount of power. The Scholar restored sensibility to its whimsy. He could reduce a magical unicorn to an average horse.

Something similar could be applied in this situation. He would take the shattered statue and return its original completely whole flesh-and-blood state. He just had to focus and recall every factual evidence he knew of the Prince. Chips and chunks of ceramic floated in the air, swirling as they came together again. At first the shape was ambiguous. 

But as more and more pieces flew up, it became more apparent. A graceful swoop of auburn hair. A chiseled perfectly-formed jaw. A white tunic with a red sash spilling across the chest.

 Bit by bit, their treasured prince was returning to them at last.

As the last piece fell into place, a bright light burst forth, filling up the entirety of the throne room. Both the Heart and the Scholar were knocked to the ground by its force. As quickly as it came, it faded. 

“Ouch.” Heart murmured, still keeping a hand over his stinging eyes. The Scholar tried forcing his eyes open, but a wave of nausea hit him. He slumped back down, drained from the massive amount of energy he’d expended.

The sound of strutting boots reached both their ears, growing louder as it neared. Then it stopped. 

“Helloooo?”

The Heart opened his eyes. Through his burning, black-spot riddled vision, the Prince’s befuddled face greeted him. Whole and complete with no signs of cracked lines running across his sun-kissed skin.

“Prince!” The Heart exclaimed, jumping to his feet to embrace him, “You’re okay!”

“Whoa!” The Prince said, holding out his arms for balance. He nearly collapsed regardless when a second set of arms engulfed him. Despite being adamant against physical touch, the Scholar was also…hugging him?

“Not that I don’t appreciate being lavished with displays of affection, I must ask–what in Walt Disney’s name is going on?” 

“We thought we lost you!” The Heart wailed, “and that you wouldn’t ever be coming back!”

“Indeed, th-the possibility of you returning to your full stature was low.” The Scholar said, leaning heavily on the other two for support.

“Well that’s preposterous!” The Prince declared, bringing his arms around his friends, “You should know that a hero like myself could never die.”

“Pompous as always.” The Scholar snorted, but there was no true malice to it.

“Are you feeling alright?” The Heart queried.

“I’m right as rain!” The Prince said with a wide smile, “I admit, I’m very fuzzy on what happened, but I feel much better now.”

“That would make sense, seeing as we found you in actual pieces.” 

The Heart sniffled, burying his head into the Prince’s tunic. “I love you two so much, you know that right?”

“Of course we know, you tell us this every day,” The Scholar responded. Neither Heart nor Scholar saw the hesitation dancing in the Prince’s eyes before it was overswept by a glimmering gleam.

“And we love you very much, Heart,” The Prince said, “Why, I’d fight a thousand dragons to keep you safe!”

The Heart giggled at this. Then wailed, leaving wet spots in the Prince’s pristine clothing. “Th--that’s lovely, but all I want is to cuddle with you and Scholar watching Disney movies and never ever ever let go!”

“That’s ridiculous,” Scholar said, “you’d have to let go at some point--”

“Scholar,” The Prince said, holding up a hand, “Not the time.”

The Prince then massaged the Heart’s scalp, carefully untangling his locks of hair. “My Dear Heart, I apologize. I didn't mean to distress you or the Scholar so. If that’s what you wish for me to do with you two for the rest of the night, I shall do that.”

“I would not be opposed to that.” The Scholar agreed, “As long as we go to bed at an appropriate time--”

“Then it’s settled!” The Prince exclaimed, “Come on, let us build the most magnificent blanket fort!”

With a snap of his fingers, the three vanished. 

The throne room stood silent once more, absent of any apparent sentient life. All that remained was a dusty floor and a crown broken in two. It remained this way only just mere moments. For a Snake came slithering around, forked tongue sniffing the air. Scuttling after him came a Spiderling. All eyes and legs and not much else.

“Snake, why are we here?” The Spiderling asked, “This is the Prince’s domain! He won’t be happy if he finds us here!”

“Shush, Spiderling. Everything will be fineee.” Snake reassured, picking up the broken halves of the Prince’s golden crown. He examined them closely with a careful eye.

“Just because you say that doesn’t make it true!” Spiderling scowled, stomping a leg.

“If you’re so worried, you didn’t have to come.”

Spiderling mumbled something. The Snake raised an eyebrow, “Come again?”

“I came because I wanna protect you from getting hurt!” The Spiderling burst out, face flushing red.

“Aww, I despise you too,” The Snake cooed, ruffling Spiderling’s hair. The latter let out a shriek, hands flying to fix his hair at once.

“But you know I am totally a damsel-in-distress. Completely incapable of defending myself. Besides, surely you felt it too--the Disturbance.”

The Spiderling nodded, grimacing, “I felt Prince...he...is that his crown?!”

“Yes. Just like him to leave such a beloved possession broken and abandoned on the floor, hm?”

“Let me touch it,” The Spiderling pleaded. For he could draw the slightest hint of misery into himself with a simple touch. And with that misery, perhaps a glimpse into what tragedy befell the prince.

The Snake hesitated, before nodding his head. The Spiderling then stood up on the tippy-toes of his numerous legs, tracing one of his fingers on the remains of the crown lying in the Snake’s hands. A spark of anguish jolted the Spiderling at once.

He experienced a pounding, excruciating headache. A mind torn in two, attempting to entertain two polarizing ideas at once. Anger, sadness, frustration crashed down upon the Spiderling wave after wave. It sought to overwhelm, drive him to self-destruction like it had the young Prince.

The Spiderling cried out in pain, his hands cradling his face as he dropped to the floor. A series of metallic clangs followed and then the Snake was at his side.

“Spider!” The Snake cried, laying a cool hand on top of the Spiderling’s, “You’re okay, you’re fine, everything’s fineeeee.”

The Spiderling’s eyes glowed gold for a second, his face relaxing completely. Slowly, the gold left his eyes and he dug his face into the Snake’s satin vest with a whimper.

“I knew it, I knew I shouldn’t have allowed you to touch it,” The Snake said, stroking the other’s unruly mop of hair in a soothing manner.

“I’m okay,” The Spiderling grumbled, “Dealt with worse.”

“Lie.” 

“M-maybe, but Prince, he’s--” The Spiderling hesitated, tears gathering in his eyes, “I think he’s dead!”

“I’m not!” A voice said, hauntingly cheery, “but I wish I was!” 

Both Snake and Spiderling froze, each gazing at the throne room every which way. But besides themselves, there was no one else there.

The Snake’s slitted eye narrowed, “Who are you?”

“I’m the Prince!” The voice claimed, “Or at least, I was. Still am? It’s very unclear. I’m the pieces they forgot, the pieces nobody knew about! Hiding away, like an axe murderer hiding in a closet to kill you in your sleep!”

The Spiderling shuddered at the simile, both sets of arms clinging to Snake for dear life. He was very much content to allow Snake to do the talking for the two of them.

“What do you mean?” The Snake asked.

“Well, you see, I--the Prince--again, very confusing like that weird nightmare Thomas had about eating chocolate-covered teeth--had an argument with himself, ourselves? And his--my head hurt, like it was gonna explode! And so we did! Into itty bitty pieces of confetti and blood and guts!”

The Disturbance. The Snake’s blood ran cold at this. All this time the Prince was dealing with something on the levels of this, and he had no idea? How could the Snake not sense this hidden turmoil? 

That was what the Snake was best at--knowing the jagged truths behind brightly-painted facades. If he’d known--he could’ve possibly helped--well, it didn’t matter now.

Out loud, the Snake simply deadpanned, “Delightful.” 

“Isn’t it?!” The voice shrieked, two green eyes bulging with excitement, “Anywho, that’s when Mr. No Fun showed up and started boo-hooing. He tried to fix it, but he just made it worse! So that’s when he invited Smartypants to join the party.”

“Heart and Scholar?” 

“Winner, winner, chicken-weiner!” Two hands abruptly appeared, clapping, “Now I like Smartypants, but like I said, he’s a Smartypants, thinks he knows everything there is to know and hates when we--I make things up just because!”

“I feel your pain.” 

“Do you?” A several sets of needle-thin, sharp teeth jutted out.

The Snake waved a hand, “Not literally. I don’t presume to know what your pain feels like because I am not you. But I’ve had my run-ins with the Scholar and while an...useful asset to Thomas, I agree he can be difficult to deal with.”

Something green and sticky coiled around the Snake’s bottom reptilian half, entangling the end of his tail. “Ooh I like you!”

Another green-and-sticky something attached to the Spiderling, who did his very best to stay still and not freak. “And I also like you, even though you haven’t said much! What’s your favorite Disney villain?”

“M-maleficient.” The Spiderling said in a hoarse whisper.

“Ooh, sick. I like Ursula because she has two pet eels and when I--we--Thomas grows up, I think we should totally get two pet moray eels and we can feed people we don’t like to them--”

“That’s very nice and you can tell us that wonderful idea later,” The Snake cut in, “but what happened with Scholar and Heart?”

“Oh, alright,” A black boot stomped in mild irritation, “So you know Humpty Dumpty? He’s always depicted as an egg, but it never says that in the rhyme! It’s kinda like that. Smartypants tried putting him--me--us back together again but he got it all wrong!”

A translucent head appeared, shaking side to side in indignation. 

“Y’see, when he put the Prince back together again, he based it off of what he remembered the Prince being. All the pieces he thinks makes who me--him--the Prince is. All. The. Pieces. That. Aren’t. ME!” The fiery flash in the green eyes was the only warning the two received before the physical glimpses dissipated completely. 

“P-prince?” The Snake called out, uncharacteristically hesitant, “Are you still with us?” 

“Don’t! Don’t call me that.”

“Well, what can we call you then?” The Snake amended, withholding a sigh of relief.

“Can I...can I be called the Kraken?”

“Of course, you can be called whatever you’d like.”

An ear-splitting screech sounded in the throne room, causing the Snake to slightly regret his statement. Only slightly, because it was very clearly a joyous screech.

There was a green shimmer in the air and then within a blink, a boy. A boy who looked remarkably similar to the beloved Prince, but not quite. The green tentacles attached to his back was the most glaringly obvious difference. 

But there were more subtle ones. Half-healed scrapes and faded scars. Something the Prince would never allow to blemish his skin. A white strand of hair nestled among the boy’s auburn locks of hair. A black raggedy shirt and a pair of green pants that looked closer to a pirate’s garb than a prince’s attire. 

“I’m the Kraken! Not a stinky loser prince!” The boy whooped and with a running start, crashed into the Snake and the Spiderling. His tentacles surrounded them and the Snake was certain it’d be hard to escape their suction-cup grip anytime soon. 

He was worried that the Spiderling would panic and sink his fangs into the Kraken. Instead, the Spiderling comfortingly stroked the Kraken’s hair just like the Snake had previously done for him. 

The Snake repressed a smile at this. “Kraken, what would you like to do?”

“Cry, I think.” The Kraken responded, promptly bursting into tears. The Spiderling joined him, the poor thing, soaking in the Kraken’s fear and grief. 

“Shh, my dears, it’ll be alright,” The Snake promised, “Forget the others, the three of us can be our own little family. How does that sound?”

“S-sounds good,” The Kraken hiccuped, “Don’t know why I--we--him were so mean to you two, I’m--I’m s-s-s-sorry--”

“Shhh, it’s okay,” The Snake said, “don’t force yourself to talk, let it all out.”

The Kraken obliged, wailing as if the world had ended and all that remained was a trillion bits of space dust. Which, in a way, it felt that way for him. Have you ever been torn in two? Literally? It was an anguish that any amount of words regardless of language would fail to adequately capture.

It was a wound that wouldn’t, couldn’t, ever fully heal. There were some days, he wasn’t fully there, in mind or in body. Sometimes just a flash of needle-thin teeth. A warm breath behind your ears. A shadow in the corner of your eyes. 

But regardless of whatever remnant of him was coherent, he had a family who loved whichever remnant that was there. And for a long, long while, things were happyish. 

[ask-october-fox]

A Gift

I hope that this gets to you before you leave for the year. I’m not an artist, but I am a writer, and I wanted to take some time to make something as a thank you for the great comfort you give everyone around you. Thank you for everything you do. Lots of love, -Pennington Inkwell ————————————————-

There was a chill in the air, one that pushed just on the border between crisp and biting. Autumn was still far from over, but October could feel that her time was nearing its end for this year. She was always sad to say farewell to the many spirits who came to visit her year after year for her short month in the world of the living, but it was always accompanied by a sense of overwhelming relief. This year had been trying for the entire world, and she was no different. There were many more than she had been expecting needing her guidance to the other side, and she had performed her duties with all due diligence for each one. Now, though, she was going to be able to rest. She’d sleep away her exhaustion for another eleven months and return again as the spirit of the season next year. She had returned to her favorite resting spot, a wide tree stump that seemed to refuse to rot. She often wondered if the resting place for her lantern had somehow been enchanted by her presence, but it was of little consequence. It was her spot and she enjoyed it, and that was all that mattered. She curled her three perfectly-groomed tails around herself, resting her chin on them as she let out a yawn. She was ready. Or so she thought. Her ears perked up involuntarily as she heard the crackling of leaves and snapping of twigs approaching. She could tell by the pace and the gait that it was a human, a fact that momentarily confused her. She could count on one paw the number of humans who would venture this deep into her forest and still know their way, and none of them had been able to visit this year with the state of the world being what it was. She considered hiding, but decided to wait it out. If worst came to worst, she was more than capable of defending herself. The human was indeed a stranger to her, but she could tell that they weren’t a threat. They were caught in that perilous position of being too old to be a child and too young to be an adult, but they moved as if they had the weight of the world on their shoulders. Curiously, October could see a wandering spirit traveling alongside them, watching just over their shoulder as a small wisp of light. She watched them as they caught sight of her, their breath catching in their throat. For a moment their eyes met, and silence fell as they each stared at one another, one curious and the other fearful. They held up their hands in a placating motion. “I don’t want to hurt you.” October chuckled internally. “I never believed you did.” She smiled and rested her chin back on her tails. “You’ve come a very long way to be here, young one, this forest is full of perilous creatures. Why?” The human squirmed somewhat. “Y-You’re the Fall Fox, right?” October felt a small flare in the embers of her rage for her predecessor, but she didn’t let it show beyond an annoyed flick of her third tail. “You’re 300 years too late, I’m afraid. I am October, his… successor.” “But… you still guide spirits to the other side?” the human spoke almost in a whisper, what little confidence they had quickly dissolving. “Indeed.” October glanced again at the spirit floating alongside them. They clearly weren’t capable of seeing it, themselves, but it wasn’t out of the question for humans to be able to sense a spirit’s presence. “Did you come all this way to ask me to take someone beyond the veil?” The human nodded again, slowly walking up to the tree stump in as non-threatening a way as possible. Once they’d come close enough, they fell to their knees. They took one long, shuddering breath and bowed their head. “I-I think I’m ready to go…” October recoiled, the last vestiges of sleepiness vanishing in a moment of unadulterated shock. She blinked several times, trying to process the request. “I don’t- Are you certain that you understand what I do?” she asked. “My work is for the spirits of the dead, child! I don’t have any domain over-” “I know.” The human sniffled, and October could see tears dripping from their face. “Like I said, I’m ready.” They were walking the knife’s edge of despair, and needed to be brought back to safety. October knew that, even if they weren’t dead, this was another lost spirit, a VERY lost one. Perhaps, even if it wasn’t necessarily her place, she could bend her rules enough to help guide them to safety. She rose to her feet and hopped down from the stump. She seated herself directly in front of them, fixing her piercing orange gaze on their eyes. “Why?” As much as she wanted to give them nothing but comfort and softness, she forced a terse edge into her voice. She expected an answer, a truthful one, on the first try. “Why not?” They couldn’t hold her gaze, turning away. “Look around. Everything’s gone to hell. The planet’s dying, no one can really advance their station if they want to, people are dying in throngs, it feels like half the world’s on fire, and every day we hear more bad news…” they buried their face in their hands, as if it could hide their weeping growing stronger. “The ones who have power are the ones who are selfish enough to take it for themselves, and the ones who need help-” their breath hitched in their throat, and October could see the spirit that had accompanied them move closer, as if trying to comfort them. She could feel the strength of the bond and the love between them, and she understood why and how they’d found their way here: the spirit couldn’t save them, so it had come to her. She stepped forward, putting a paw on their chest and resting her chin on their shoulder. Her tails shut out the cold night as they were both enclosed in her gleaming fur. “Young one… There are many who question the meaning and purpose of life. It is an immutable rite for every living creature to question why they live at all. In good times, they wonder why it has to end and what the pleasure amounts to. In bad times…” She tightened her tails slightly, pulling them closer. “In bad, they question why the pain must exist, and themselves along with it. Sometimes, they are at fault for their own suffering, but much more often it is something beyond their control that inflicts such a cursed doubt on them.” She felt tears of her own brimming up as painful memories resurfaced, stories told to her by the many spirits that had passed through her care mingled with pangs from her own long life’s memories. "I wouldn’t aspire to the lofty title of ‘Oracle,’ but would you like to know the answer that I’ve found over my years?“ She felt them nod, unable to speak through the tears any more. "It is true that the world can feel uncaring or cruel. It may fall to pieces and lose parts of what we think are the very heart of it all… But that doesn’t mean it cannot be pieced back together… together.” She leaned back slightly to move and press her forehead to theirs. “When the summer sun dims and winter’s winds blow across our hearts, we gather together around an autumn campfire and warm ourselves with fables. We remember heroes that never existed so that we can, through the whole of the world, make them real. When we are fearful and trodden upon, we look to others to help us rise, and then look to lift up others. And when we find ourselves with… a hole in our hearts, one that feels as if it could never be replaced, we mend it with memories and love, both old and new. The hole remains, of course, but it is no longer the doorway through which despair can enter our souls.” She sighed, feeling the pangs in her heart soothed by the memories of the countless spirits who came back to her every year, always more enthusiastic than ever. Some were joyful, some would seek to help her or please her, and some would need guidance or comfort. It never meant that what she had lost was replaced or returned, but… “I’ve found that the heart is boundless. We can always fill it, piece it together, and make it grow anew if we throw ourselves into others. Helping them, laughing with them,” she smiled in spite of herself, “or even crying with them, when need be.” The human’s sobbing had slowed to a stop, and their tears had become a tiny trickle dripping off their chin, now. “S-So what should I do?” they whispered, their voice still wavering. “If you find that humankind feels beyond help, involve yourself in humankind. You’ll find that you’re never so alone as you feel in your beliefs. If you feel the world is beyond saving, save the part of the world you can, in what little ways you can. It can be helping someone across the street or a spirit across the veil. The more you help others, the more you’ll find your ability to help grows, and the joy you bring will be twofold: for them and for yourself.” She had to stop for a moment as another yawn forced its way past. “In my experience, THAT is the balm of a broken heart.” It couldn’t have been more than a minute that they sat in silence, but it felt like an eternity. For a moment, October worried that her words had fallen on deaf ears. When the human reached out and pulled her into and awkward hug, however, she smiled and knew that she had been heard. “Thank you.” “You are always welcome, child…” She did her best to reciprocate the hug with a squeeze of her tails before the two of them were separated again. She hopped back up onto her stump, seeing that the human was wiping away their tears and wearing a melancholy smile. They seemed unsure of what to say, but October knew just how to fill the silence. “I expect to see you again next year, child. Do you understand?” They seemed surprised at the assignment, but soon smiled wider, with a little more joy to their expression than grief. “I promise!” As they departed back into the trees, the spirit hung back, floating up to her and hovering just over her muzzle. October could already tell that they weren’t prepared to go, but she could feel the gratitude washing over her in waves. She only gave an understanding nod before the wisp flew away again, hurrying along to catch up to their beloved companion. With that last odd pair of spirits accounted for, October once again curled herself around the warmth of her lantern and settled into a comfortable position. As she felt herself dozing off into that deep sleep, she wondered what kind of world she would awaken to next year. If this year had truly been so painful, then there was no telling how much love would blossom as humanity sought to heal. Even if only that one soul would take her words to heart, she knew it would be a world deeply changed for the better.

[inviouswriting]

Darkwarden au - Redemption

Finally touching on this one again.

I think it deserves an alternative ending that’s nice. What do you think?

Revived au - For a few more installments.

Featuring @snow-covered-moon​ ‘s Shuri/Anubis along with all of her lovely children.

I will have another installment as I can write them. I have a nice way to end this one.

Kivera had lingered behind instead of leaving on her normal hunt, for other sin eaters and those with higher aether count to keep Anubis safe from those that wish her harm. Kivera paused in her thoughts for the name Anubis, in her world she knew the name of the Egyptian god of death. It was almost fitting, she is serving another god in that sense. 

The reaper’s thoughts drift to her past, how many has she served. From those in charge of her, from Bathory, Gabriel, Hades, Thanatos, Chiron. Her life of servitude never ended. Always the dutiful angel she is. Even if she wasn’t of the heavens, her path was laid before her in that sense. 

Her thoughts are drawn out when a pinged cry hits her head. She knew what it was, and turns on her heels, forgoing finding anything for a meal, instead she approaches in time before Thancred could fire his weapon.

Anubis in a vulnerable state from her hunger. She would never be able to fight back against him. She could but she didn’t “want” to fight. Thancred driven on his own conviction to put her out of her misery. To end someone who was doing no harm to those around her except exist. Power surged in the gunblade and just as it was about to fire, Kivera knocks it to the side with throwing her scythe. The blade fires missing its target, shooting pass her head and into the wall of the well itself.

“What the!” Thancred looks to the weapon that flew pass his head to knock his own. Kivera takes his distraction as opportunity and kicks her toe to the ground to send a ripple through it underneath Thancred’s feet to knock him further off balance.

Kivera flits and stands between Anubis and Thancred. She checks over Anubis quickly, only seeing mild fear in her, and acceptance of what would have been her death. Something she would talk to her later about. Kivera turns her attention onto Thancred who regains himself by now.

“You can’t leave her like this! That is not Shuri, and you know it.” Kivera ignores his words, her eyes going to where Antares landed. 

“Is there anything else you can say?” Kivera turns her back to him in favor of looking over Anubis. Thancred wouldn’t attack the fallen carelessly, he has seen her in action and knows it is suicide to fight her.

“Shuri. I think it is time to leave this place. It’s no longer safe.” Kivera completely disregards Thancred being there. She extends a hand down to where Anubis sits, and a hesitant hand takes hers. Kivera helps her to her feet, being gentle when regarding the darkwarden.

“Let’s go home, shall we?” Kivera murmurs the words Shuri had been wanting to hear for a long time. Home.

“Where do you intend to take her...” Thancred is met with an ruby eyed stare from Kivera. 

“Away from you, where you can’t go.” Her answer is cold, and she would never grant him the permission of going to her world, her domain, her sanctuary. Not when he intends to murder one she loves in cold blood. 

Thancred starts towards them, only for the ground to disappear underneath his feet. 

“Quagmire.”

Like water, the ground felt like water around him. Just as he wanted to climb out, he felt the surrounding get colder as it froze, his attention goes to the foot that was embedded in the ground. He forgot she is a master of elements. Earth is an element. Estinien himself has said the spars he had with the fallen that he could never get pass her tricks when she used earth and water together. 

“Why are you trying so hard to protect her?” Thancred feels the ground around him start to give from his moving around slowly. The ice chilled his core, seeping in faster than Coerthas’ winterlands ever chilled him.

“Why are you so intent on killing her?” Kivera guides Anubis to a gate she had prepared, a wall of ice that was reflective enough as a mirror. A conduit for Kivera, any reflective surface was her door to her world.

“I know her, that she would not want to live like that.”

“So why must it be you then?” Kivera pulls a white feather out of her left wing and uses it as a quill to write something on the surface of the ice. Scrying a door into its surface.

“Because of you, you dispatched anyone I sent after her.” Kivera knocks on the mirror and opens the gate for Anubis, on the other side a familiar hand reaches through from Divinity. 

Anubis had been quiet throughout the exchange, almost tranced from her near death. She recognizes the warmth from Kivera, standing closer to her white wing, the former angel curling it around her to shield her.

“It’s Divinity. She’ll take care of you while I clean up things in this world.” Kivera runs a hand through Anubis’ dark hair cupping her face to rub her face with her own. A show of affection she remembers from her youth as a Xaela. To try and jar her out of what she was feeling. 

Anubis reluctantly takes the hand, and is lead through the mirror to Divinity. As soon as Anubis was through the gate, it shatters as a preventive to keep Thancred from rushing the door.

Kivera now that Shuri was safe, turns her attention onto Thancred fully.

“I will give you one chance to go home. I will not attack you, you can forget all the happened here. You can run back to the townsfolk and tell them that the threat has been eliminated for all I care. She will not harm here or The Source. Leave with Kiya, and go about the threats in the other world.” Kivera walks over to the center of the area where Storge once was. Kivera looked small compared to the expansive nest that use to be the sineaters and darkwardens domain.

“And what happens if I don’t want to leave here?” At these words, Kivera whistles; to Thancred’s left Antares springs from the ground summoned back to Kivera’s hands. She catches her scythe to spin once on her feet holding the blade outward to her side in a way to strike.

“I will end you. And you know how good I am at that.” Kivera looked more sure of herself now that Anubis was safe from certain death. Thancred takes Kivera in, really looking at her. She wore different clothing than what he remembered not the odd attires she wore around them. From the black mage persona or dancer. This was her natural state, even the miqo’te side of her wasn’t there. 

“Are you not taking my offer then? You truly want to see this through to your end?” Kivera reminds him that he has an out. They don’t have to fight, Kivera is as certain of death to him as he would have been to Anubis. 

“What do I tell them... that you ran off with a threat?” Thancred sees her visibly upset at his words. Her eyes narrow, Kivera sighs.

“Someone like you would never understand unless you have been relentlessly persecuted. I take you are dismissing my offer.. don’t say I didn’t warn you.” Kivera taps her feet to the ground to stretch them. Kivera rests her head on one of her hands regarding him.

“Someone has to.” Kivera sighs, as much as she would love to fight with him, there was no point for her to do so. Shuri was safe from him and everyone that could cause her harm wouldn’t not with her secure in her very home.

“I don’t have time for you. Consider yourself lucky... I am being merciful today. I have no interest in fighting you. Go back home before your spirit severs from your body.” Thancred is shocked that she would engage him after trying to actively kill Anubis.

“Why?” Thancred takes a step towards her only to fall through a hole she created, it felt like he was slipping through another dimension itself. Unceremoniously he lands in a heap outside the well. Kivera stands on an abandoned crane away from him. 

Thancred looks up at her, he sees her with her scythe again, and using an ability to reduce the size down to an earring and pins it in her ear. She had no intentions of fighting him. She had already been gone too long from Shuri, and knew Divinity needs explaining as to what was going on from the reaper.

“It’s not your time yet. Your world needs you. I will take care of her from here on. If you somehow find a way into the other realm. May I be merciful on your soul.” Kivera ends her warning with leaving him on the red sand flitting away as if she was never there. The dread sensation Thancred had lifts, he wouldn’t say he cheated death, but simply death didn’t want him.

The darkness still lingered in the air, from the remnants of Anubis’ influence. Thancred wondered if there were others that he overlooked. Perhaps Shuri was not the only corrupted spirit in this world. 

“Kivera... is alot more kind than we give her credit for.” Thancred looks over his shoulder, Ryne. 

“Ryne?” He gets up and sees her fiddle with her hands.

“She’s not evil. She’s just protecting those dear to her. Let’s... let her do her part.” Thancred knew her right, and he’d thank his lucky stars he didn’t die today. The look in Kivera’s eyes meant it if he had harmed Shuri.

“I know... but why did she work so hard when she knew it is hopeless.” Thancred sees Ryne bring a hand to her own face in thought.

“For the same reason I don’t give up on Gaia. Everyone is worth redemption.” Thancred understood after that, that Kivera knows of a way to help Shuri somehow.

“I have been foolish haven’t I?”

“Yes.”

Kivera had secured all of her lingering doors to her world. Shattering certain mirrors that were direct doors. When she arrived back into her domain, she is greeted to the sight of the eternal night sky it already is. Only she can barely see the two moons overhead. Yet here she didn’t worry over Shuri’s well being like she was forced to do in the other two worlds.

She barely recognizes how long it had been till she had been home, as she walked through to the middle, she felt the pings between Shuri and her children. Kivera smiled to herself, there was no fear among them. She had a feeling they wouldn’t fear her, they missed her.

Divinity regards her leader when she comes into view. Getting up to greet her.

“Welcome back. I thought you weren’t going to bring her here until you found a way to break her out of this.” Kivera pulls Divinity more towards the house in the middle. 

“I was put in a position where I had to bring her here. Thancred was after her again, and he meant to kill her this time. Caught her at her most vulnerable, and when I was just leaving.” Kivera explains, Divinity understands it. It was a better move for Shuri, Kivera’s own home was brimming with life energy. Just breathing was enough to fill and satisfy the darkwarden’s needs.

Ysayle was confused to why her mother looked different, but did not fear her. In fact was content in her arms while her siblings clung to her after being away for so long. Divinity regards Kivera, a look between them both. The Libra spirit sees her relaxed with all of them out of danger.

“How do you intend we help her though?” Divinity asks the question that Kivera is unsure how to answer.

“Keeping her safe for starters.. The young ones are unaffected it seems, that is a good thing. She is still in there, bringing her to them was a good idea. She’s mostly composed of dark aether, the way we can counter that is of course with light.” Divinity closes her eyes, she wondered if her ability would be enough.

“I can try with mine.” Kivera’s eyes flicker blue brief then back to green. Divinity had a feeling about the abilities.

“It can’t be done carelessly, otherwise we could accidentally kill her, or alter enough to where she loses her humanity.” Divinity sighs, she knew. Kivera was best when it came to elemental differences, her entire life in training was spent learning and honing each element. Even her own weakness in holy. Enough to not be affected unless she prolonged using it. 

“We’ll just let her be for now, till we figure something out then.. Does Estinien know you brought her here yet? He might want to see her. As she is now or not.” Kivera didn’t have time to send the dragoon a message.

“I’ll go see him, and bring him here then.” Kivera muses aloud, her fingers finding the end of her left wing to pull a few white feathers off. New wards for her charges.

Kivera approaches the group of children and Anubis. Anubis greets Kivera, her dark figure sees the feathers in her hand. Enough for all of the children, a single black one for Anubis.

“What are those for?”

“Protection. Just like the first feathers I gave you. They’ll let me know if something is wrong.” Kivera kneels down and meets Anubis pressing forehead with hers. She felt tears, Shuri surfaced.

“Thank you.. for not killing him.” Kivera’s eyes widen and she tilts her head enough only to feel a full kiss pressed to her cheek. 

“You’re welcome..” The fallen feels a hand press on her white feathers. She doesn’t shrug Shuri’s hand off even if it felt like they were burning under her hand. Kivera gently takes her hand to lace their fingers together, prevent her from burning them further on the only holy thing about herself. 

Shuri looks at her for removing her hand.

“You’ll burn yourself...” 

“Does it hurt you too?” Kivera lifts her eyes, purple are her eyes. Hiding her pain behind her love.

“A little, but please, it means there is a way to counter. Give me more time. I kept my promise that you would be back with your family after all.” Kivera winds her arms around Shuri, pressing a palm to the middle of her back and rubs along her spine. 

“I’m sorry.. I know you kept your promise. Thank you.. I missed them. I missed everyone.. When can I see Estinien?” There is a sense of need in her voice, and Kivera feels it. Green eyes close.

“I’ll bring him here soon. I have to locate him, but I had to check on you and home here.” Kivera cups Shuri’s face using very trace amount of light in her palms. Using her thumbs she rubs Shuri’s face to test something, seeing pink almost white flesh underneath her palms. 

“Does this hurt?” Shuri thinks of the warmth on her face, a tingling where the reaper’s hands touch.

“Itches more than hurts.” Kivera stops the magic after clearing her face of the dark almost pitch black tones.

“I might have a lead then. I’ll return with Estinien soon. Be patient for us?” Kivera asks, and Shuri nods. A small kiss placed on her face, she returns it as Kivera stands up after placing a feather on each child and Shuri.

“I trust you.” Shuri says.

Kivera feels her soul alight.

“I love you too.”

[grailfinders]

Fate and Phantasms #73: Santa Alter

This has been one of the longest weeks I’ve ever seen. I need a little Christmas, now. Fortunately, there’s one servant who can help with that, Santa Alter! Deliver presents to good kids, and excaliburings to bad ones, all from the back of your very own flying reindeer! (Reindeer sold separately)

Check out the breakdown below the cut, or her character sheet over here!

Race and Background

Despite everything, Artoria is still a Human, giving her +1 to all stats. She may have the holy grail and the spirit of Christmas knocking around inside her, but that doesn’t change her physically. She’s a Knight of the Order, giving her proficiency with Persuasion and Arcana. 

Stats

Make sure your Strength is high, you’ll need it to lug around that giant sword. To be Santa, you have to be good at telling if someone’s naughty- Wisdom is a must. Your personality has mellowed out a little bit, but the prestige of being Santa means you still have some Charisma. Your Dexterity is lower than I’d like it- it might be a good idea to stay in your old spirit origin’s armor, maybe just wear a festive hat instead. Your Constitution is also pretty low, but we’re dumping Intelligence. You didn’t have much formal education, and what you did have came from Merlin.

Class Levels

1. Cleric 1: Santa is a shining light in the darkest part of the year so if you want to be him, a Twilight cleric is a good place to start. This gives you proficiency with Heavy Armor and Martial Weapons, Wisdom and Charisma saves, and Insight and Religion checks. You’ve got to be able to suss out someone’s true intentions, no matter how much charm magic they throw your way.

First level clerics can prepare Spells using their Wisdom Modifier. Twilight Clerics also get Eyes of Night, giving them 300′ of darkvision to pick out houses on your flight. You can also use your bonus action to give any number of creatures up to your wisdom modifier this darkvision for 1 hour. You can give your vision away once per long rest, or by burning spell slots. You can also bestow a Vigilant Blessing, giving one creature at a time advantage on their next initiative check as an action.

For your cantrips, Thaumaturgy is a great utility spell, and Guidance is a little gift you can give party members to help with checks. Not all your gifts are nice though, so grab Toll the Dead too.

You can prepare any spell you can cast on long rests, but you also get your domain spells, Faerie Fire and Sleep. The latter will definitely help keep any wandering children from noticing you at work. For other spells, Sanctuary and Cure Wounds are more gifts for the party, and Bane and Wrathful Smite are more “gifts” for your enemies.

2. Cleric 2: Second level clerics can Channel Divinity, giving you one of two options once per short rest. You can choose to Turn Undead like most clerics, or create a Silent Night with your Twilight Sanctuary. This uses your action to create a sphere of twilight around you for up to a minute. If a creature ends their turn in the sphere, they can gain one of two effects (or neither, if they’ve been naughty): they gain 1d6 Temporary HP, or you end one charm or frightening effect on them.

3. Cleric 3: Third level clerics get second level spells, including your domain spells Darkness and Invisibility, for Santa-level stealth. For more spells, Aid can increase your very small health pool, as well as the health of your party, and Continual Flame will create a light to help those members without darkvision. If you want to power game later, call Hold Person a freezing spell to hold a person in place and get guaranteed criticals on them.

4. Cleric 4: Use your first Ability Score Improvement to become a War Caster, letting you cast spells as attacks of opportunity, gain advantage on concentration saves, and cast somatic spells while holding weapons. There are other ways to cast spells while holding a sword, but his is faster. Plus, the advantage is really useful, given your low constitution. 

Also, pick up Mending to help repair any toys before you give them out. You don’t want to be giving people broken presents, do you? Wait, maybe you do...

5. Cleric 5: At fifth level, your Turn Undead can now Destroy Undead of CR rating 1/2 or less. You can also cast third level spells, like Leomund’s Tiny Hut if you want to build an igloo or Aura of Vitality for some cheap healthcare. For non domain spells, Tongues will help you become the international figure you are, and Bestow Curse is the next big advancement in naughty gifting technology. Why give coal when you can give curses?

6. Cleric 6: You can now use your Channel Divinity twice per rest, and your footprints are now the Steps of Night. If you’re standing in dim light or darkness, you can use your bonus action to gain a flying speed for one minute. You can use this a number of times per long rest equal to your proficiency bonus. (It’s been a while since last Christmas, but I’m pretty sure the reindeer is supposed to fly, right? Anyway.)

7. Warlock 1: Warlocks are kind of like clerics but edgier, and you’re all about that edge. If Santa was going to be any patron, my money would be on him being a Celestial; all about light and joy, that one. Taking the fat man up on his pact gives you Pact Magic, a separate set of spell slots, and Spells that are cast with Charisma. You also get a Healing Light, a couple d6 you can throw around to heal your allies as a bonus action. You regain your maximum of 1+ your warlock level dice after long rests, and can use up to your charisma modifier dice at once.

For cantrips, you get Light and Sacred Flame for free, but you also get Eldritch Blast to start up your Excalibur, and Prestidigitation to actually make some toys for once.

For spells, Expeditious Retreat will help you run like Rudolph, and Armor of Agathys will put a winter chill on any attackers.

8. Warlock 2: You get two Invocation at this level, but save one for level 3, it’s worth it. Right now though, you can grab Agonizing Blast to power up your Eldritch blast just a bit more. (If you want to be more true to character, replace this with Armor of Shadows so you can fight in a Santa suit.) You also get a Hellish Rebuke, in case they didn’t get the message with the ice last level.

9. Warlock 3: When you take the Pact of the Blade, you can summon a magical version of Excalibur as an action. You should also pick up Improved Pact Weapon using that invocation from last level to make it even stronger and count as a spell focus for you. Grab Mind Spike to deal a bit of psychic damage, and always know the target’s location for up to an hour. It doesn’t say if you know if they are sleeping or awake, but it’s probably safe to assume you do.

10. Warlock 4: Use this ASI to bump up your Strength for a better sword experience. For your spells, Minor Illusion will help you make some larger presents as long as the kids are gullible, and Crown of Madness is simply fun for all ages.

11. Cleric 7: Pick up your 4th level domain spells at this level. Aura of Life will keep those crybabies in your party alive, and Greater Invisibility will let you stab and sneak at the same time. For more spells, Freedom of Movement might let you go up a chimney.

12. Cleric 8: Use this ASI to round up your Constitution and Wisdom scores for stronger spells and stronger not dying. Destroy Undead now hits CR 1 creatures, and you gain a Divine Strike. Once per turn, you can add 1d8 Psychic damage to your weapon attacks. Maybe give them a doll while attacking them, that’ll throw them off their game.

13. Cleric 9: Ninth level clerics get 5th level spells. Your domain spells are Circle of Power, giving the give of evasion, and Dream will help you find the perfect gift for a target. To terrify them, if you want, dealing some psychic damage and disrupting their long rest. For even more spells, Scrying helps you actually tell if someone is sleeping or awake.

14. Cleric 10: At this level, you can call down the power of Santa himself in the form of Divine Intervention. One tenth of the time, he’ll help you out in a way the DM approves. You can use this once per day, but if it succeeds you’ll have to wait a week. You also get Word of Radiance. Sing a carol, blast some enemies, it’s a fun time.

15. Warlock 5: Fifth level warlocks get access to third level spells like Fly. Now you can slap this on a reindeer for authenticity, or keep your flight ability during the day. You also get a new invocation: Eldritch Smite turns your Excalibur into an EXcalibur, eating a spell slot to add force damage to your attacks.

16. Warlock 6: Sixth level Celocks are Radiant Souls, letting you add your charisma modifier to one creature’s damage when you use a spell that deals radiant or fire damage. You also get another spell; Fear lets you create the greatest, most disturbing gift a person could receive (in their minds), forcing creatures in the area of effect to become afraid and drop what they’re holding. They also have to move as far away from you as they can each turn.

17. Warlock 7: Seventh level warlocks get 4th level spells, and the Shadow of Moil gives you another magical counterattack, while also darkening the area around you. This means instead of casting a third level spell to fly, you can cast a fourth level spell and use your bonus actions instead! Wait...

Anyway, you also get your last Invocation, and Thirsting Blade will finally give you an Extra Attack to bring you on par with your non Christmas counterpart.

18. Cleric 11: Destroy Undead now hits CR 2 creatures, and you can cast sixth level spells! Harm is your biggest gift yet, and Planar Ally will let you summon an... elf... to help out with the gift giving. Yes, elves have horns, why do you ask?

19. Cleric 12: Use your last ASI to beef up your Constitution for more health and better concentration. You really don’t want to drop that while flying.

20. Cleric 13: Your capstone level gives you access to 7th level spells, and more importantly, a seventh level spell slot. If you really want to use it for magic, Regenerate would be a nice way to tell your party you’re thinking about them. Or you can use it to eviscerate your enemies with smites. Either or.

Pros:

Being able to fly is awesome, especially when you don’t have to concentrate half the time. Keep yourself safe while supporting the party!

Being able to smite makes you great at burst damage, especially with your cleric levels giving you access to hold person for guaranteed crits. 10d8 Force is nothing to sneeze at.

You’re great at fighting dirty. Fly out of the enemy’s reach, frighten them, turn invisible, lock them in place, or ruin their sleep beforehand. It’s fine; you’re Santa, so everything you do is for the greater good.

Cons:

It’s a good thing you don’t have to fight fair, because with your AC and HP you won’t be very good at it. (Especially if you want to be authentic and not wear plate.)

Being a warlock and a cleric nets you a lot of magic power, but that split casting skill means you’re not that great at it, especially the warlock spells. 

You don’t get a second attack until level 17, and that’s just sad.

Next up: I am thou, and thou art me...

[misterewrites]

Unlikely Allies (Welcome to the Underground

Hey everyone! E here hoping you are all safe and sound. Sorry for the delay. The original plan was for me to update every two week because of my various responsibilities but a lot of things ended up happening so I had to delay this chapter a bit. Also there has been a shift in my job that might affect the release date of this chapters as well so hopefully I can keep up the whole two week deadline but as a word of warning delays might happen.

Thank you for reading this project of mine. I really appreciate it and I am so glad it's doing so well. Feel free to Reblog, share, comment all that jazz I love reading them and remember this story is also on Ao3. Stay safe, wear your mask, wash your hands and take care of yourself and your love ones! Have a great week! E is out!

https://archiveofourown.org/works/27814297/chapters/71425041

Story so far: One day into the Underground proper and Abigail has already been chased by strange creatures into an unexplored tunnel and a creepy house that screams trouble. Trapped within, the group runs into a paladin wandering the darken halls. Despite the stranger's calm demeaner, Oliver claims he's nothing but trouble and little does the group know how correct he is. 

_____

“No by the way” Oliver narrowed his eyes at the man before the trio.

The stranger tilted his head quizzically “No?”

“No” Oliver repeated firmly “We’re not interested in your righteous cause or your god.

The stranger chuckled darkly “What righteous cause?”

“You’re a paladin in an evil creepy house in an unexplored tunnel off the beaten path.” Oliver explained “That only means one thing: Trouble. Solius I take with the whole…”

He gestured to the faded sun symbol splashed across the dented armor.

“Aye” The paladin answered with a nod “I am Fen, judgment of the sun god Solius on this mortal plane.”

Oliver raised an eyebrow sarcastically “Solius is the god of sunshine, rainbows and redemption. I wasn’t aware of he added judgment to his resume.”

“He hasn’t” Abigail mumbled.

Neither Oliver or Fen paid her any attention.

“Your mocking is common among the faithless” Fen growled softly.

Oliver gave a noncommittal shrug “If you want to believe in a higher being in exchange for some magical whatevers, that’s a you problem. I’m good with my music.”

“Bards” Fen spat out distastefully.

“Paladorks.” Oliver replied with false civility.

Abigail and Archibald watched the barbed exchange carefully, unsure what exactly was going on.

Abigail’s knowledge of paladins was sketchy at best: Like clerics, she knew their drew their magic from the deity they have chosen to follow. Good and bad gods existed in equal measure in this world and each ruling a domain such as light, dark, night, murder, redemption. Unlike the clerics, who often were healers or at the very least practitioners of powerful magics, paladins were their god’s warrior on the mortal plane, protecting their flock or routing out their enemies with religious fervor and steel.

Abigail was only familiar with Solius due to her family’s livelihood. While not particularly devoted to the sun god, her parents often left offerings in his church in the town to help ensure a good harvest for the year.

Speaking honestly, Abigail was never sure how exactly clerics and paladins drew their magic from a god or how exactly gods worked. She had heard the elders endlessly argue whether the gods were divine or simply higher beings who were beyond the comprehension of mortal beings. It was frankly above her thought process and she rather focus on questions she could answer such as what she was going to eat that day and if the bloodblooms needed more or less water.

“So.” Oliver began tiredly “How much danger are we in?”

Abigail and Archibald shared a concern glance

“I’m sorry, did you just say we’re in danger?”

“Yes” Fen answered bluntly “Much danger.”

“Much danger?” Abigail couldn’t keep stop her pitch from rising “Danger!?”

Oliver gestured to Fen “Of course we’re in danger. A paladin’s here. An experienced

paladin.”

“How do you know he’s…?”

The question died in her throat as she got a good look at Fen: A longsword hung sheathed at his side, his armor worn and nicked dozens of scratches and dents across the faded symbol of a sunburst. At first she thought his left arm was draped in his riding cloak, hidden out of sight but as he pushed the hood from his head and adjusted the cloak with his right hand, she realized with an icy chill that he had no left arm.

Archibald shifted uncomfortably beside her.

“I lost it in a mighty battle.” Fen answered the group’s unasked question “I had it removed when a cursed creature bit my arm.”

“Cursed creature?” Abigail thought for a moment “Like a werewolf? Wait, there’s werewolves down here? How would that even work?”

“Mystic moon energy. Let’s move along.” Oliver chimed in “What are you hunting here in the dark?”

“Wait I want to know more about the werewolves!”

“Demon” Fen stated, ignoring Abigail’s inquires.

“We’re in its prison, aren’t we?” Oliver rubbed his eyes wearily.

Abigail stopped dead in her tracks “Demon?”

Fen remained silent but nodded in conformation.

“Demon.”

“For fucks sake. Can we leave?”

“Guys, there’s a demon here?”

Fen paused thoughtfully “I do not know but I would recommend against it. The sealing power of this place is weakened. If it were to escape….”

“Yeah, yeah.” Oliver cut him off “Innocent souls consumed, bloodshed, the standard spiel.”

Fen glared openly “How carefree it must be to hold nothing sacred.”

“Not all of us wear our bleeding hearts on our sleeve.” Oliver coldly replied.

Abigail cut in between them “There’s a demon here?!”

“Yes, I thought we made it clear. Keep up farm girl.”

“How are you not panicking?!”

“Survival instinct” Oliver explained simply “You can panic when you’re not about to die.”

“Speaking of, remember not to in a moment.” Fen glanced towards a darken hallway, drawing his blade quietly.

Something changed. The air, calm and still, became tense and uneasy. Goosebumps ran down Abigail’s spine as a sense of dread filled every inch of her body.

She wasn’t the only one who felt the shift: Archibald stood closer to her, one hand his bow the other on her shoulder, his breath steady yet stiff. Oliver held his lute in a death grip, his fingers curved in anticipation and ready to pluck the strings at a moment’s notice.

“It’s coming” Oliver whispered carefully to the others, his gaze fixated on the hallway before them.

At first Abigail was unsure how the bard knew that: the house was dark and the dusty air swirling about made it hard to make out anything beside silhouettes of furniture and decor.

Then she heard it: Thud, thud, thud of uneven footsteps as the demon lumbered ever closer to the group. The scraping of wood against something seemed impossibly loud in Abigail’s ears as she tried to shove down her fear from bubbling out of her throat.

“What the hell….?” she murmured as the creature shuffled uneasily into the room.

Oliver scoffed “Yes it did come from hell. Thank you farm girl.”

“Even now? Seriously Oliver?”

“It’s how I cope.”

The demon was humanoid, 7 feet tall with splotches of bruising across its deep red skin. The form was a strange mixture of heavily muscular and malnourished. It wobbled into the room, its thinly skeletal left leg being dragged along uselessly. It flexed its thick muscles threateningly as it held a massive weighed club up with little effort. The demon studied the others with sunken flaming eyes, its skin loose and pulled over the skull like an ill fitting mask. The wispy strains of reddish black hair swayed back and forth.

Abigail’s throat dried as the room became warm and stuffy almost as if this creature’s presence alone corrupted the air around them.

Abigail coughed a little, trying to clear her airway from the heat “What is that thing?!”

“No idea.” Oliver shrugged, clearing his throat as well.

“I thought you knew everything!”

“Not even close farm girl.”

“Then why do you act like it?!”

Abigail snarled but before she could strike at the bard, she felt Archibald’s hand gently squeeze her shoulder. She turned to face him and saw him breathing deep and slow.

He was right. This was not time to let her feat lash out everyone around her. She needed to stay calm if they were going to get out of this in one piece.

The demon tilted its head curiously at the group before it. It spoke deep and gravelly with a tone that was questioning but no one knew what it was asking.

“Maybe it’s asking if we come in peace?” Abigail chimed in hopefully.

“Tis a beast from hell. Do you really think it is asking for peace?” Fen scolded harshly.

Abigail’s cheeks flushed with embarrassment “I can dream alright! It’s my first time dealing a demon from the 7th pit of hell! Forgive me if I’m holding on to childish questions cause I’m trying not to freak out here! It’s how I cope!”

The demon grumbled its question again eyeing each person carefully.

“Watch for its left hook.” Fen cryptically offered.

“What?”

The demon shrieked, rattling the house violently before reaching out with its left hand. Without warning, the arm stretched forward towards the group, the skin wrinkling and pulling loose.

Abigail froze as the sharp nails grasped wildly in her direction.

Archibald moved, shoving Abigail out of the way but ran straight into the hand’s grasp. It dug its claws into his armor though luckily it hadn’t manage pierce skin.

“Archie!” Abigail cried, fumbling uselessly for her knife.

Fen and Oliver jumped into action: As the arm pulled back to drag the helpless archer closer, Fen grappled Archibald, holding on with all his strength. Oliver pluck his lute with a dramatic flourish, gold musical symbols filling the air for a moment. Abigail flinched at the clashing notes played but the demon’s reaction to the dissonance was far more explosive: Its face contorted and recoiled as if it Oliver had physically attacked it. Its body shuddered and its claws loosened their grip. Fen jabbed his blade into the demon’s grip over and over again until it released its hold on Archibald.

Demon snarled hungrily as the arm snapped back into place.

“Archie, Archie I’m sorry I…” The words died in Abigail’s throat as he gave her a comforting smile.

“Don’t worry farm girl.” Oliver shouted, pulling at her cloak to get her moving “It happens but if you’re not good at fighting…”

“Get good at getting out of the way.” Abigail whispered back as she allowed the bard to pull her to the side.

Oliver faced Abigail questioningly “Oh you know the saying? That’ll save time.”

Abigail remained silent. Arthur used to tell her that when he joined the knights.

Fen pushed forward, sword drawn with Archibald close behind.

Archibald fired an arrow, attempting to cover Fen’s approach but it bounced harmlessly off the demon’s skin.

Fen lunged forward, swinging wide and cutting a deep gash across its chest but the beast countered, aiming its club towards the paladin’s head. He ducked, tucking under the demon’s outstretched arm and backing off.

“Oi paladin! Where’s your holier than thou smiting divine power?” Oliver called from behind a chair.

Fen didn’t reply, too busy deflecting the demon’s club with the flat of his blade. He drove his blade deep into the creature’s shoulder but the demonic entity ignored it completely. It gripped him tightly by the armor and lifted off his feet. Fen tried to push the sword deeper but it wasn’t slowing the demon.

The demon bent it shoulder in an uneven angle as it raised its club just above Fen’s head. It gave toothy smile, its fangs glistening in the dark while preparing to deal the finish blow.

It staggered backwards as an arrow struck its eye. It bounced off same as before but the demon was caught unaware and reacted instinctively.

Fen took his chance. He reached into his hood and smashed a vial of clear liquid across the stunned demon’s face.

It howled in pain as steam rolled off its burning face. The demon dropped Fen as it wildly flailed about, smashing anything nearby to splinters.

It shouted in its infernal tongue before crashing into the doorway, breaking a chunk of the wall off and retreating deeper into the house.

Archibald shakily leaned against the wall to catch his breath while Oliver approached Fen, his jaw tense with anger.

“What’s the big idea?” Oliver poked the paladin’s chest “What scam are you running?”

Fen’s face twisted in anger “Scam? How dare you speak to me like that!”

“Stow it.” Oliver snarled “You are not a paladin.”

Fen rose to full height, glaring with unrestrained rage “I AM A PALADIN! THE CHOSEN OF SOLIUS!”

“Former chosen.” Oliver spat out.

The anger drained out of Fen’s eyes only to be replaced by shame.

Oliver clenched his fist “I knew it. This isn't some mission for a higher power. This is a suicide run trying to get back in your god’s good graces! He renounced you, didn’t he?”

Abigail stood rooted in place “Is that a thing?”

“Yeah. It’s a two way street. You devote your life and existence to a god and they grant you the power to do so but if they happen not to agree with how you do things then bye bye divine magic. That’s why he wasn’t smiting it with holy energy.”

Fen said nothing.

“God this is why I hate paladins.” Oliver fumed “You act better than anyone but you’re as a big a sham as me!”

“I am nothing like you.”

“You lost all rights to your high horse pal. Now what’s the plan?”

“The plan?” Fen repeated in confusion.

“Yes focus.” Oliver replied “The plan to deal with the demon. I assume you have one or did you come in here expecting to kill it with your normal boring self?”

Fen scoffed “I am not completely brain dead. Of course I have a plan.”

“Which is?”

“The seal.” Fen awkwardly started “If we can strengthen the seal, we can weaken the demon enough to put it to sleep.”

Oliver rubbed his eyes “And of course you don’t know where it is.”

“It is well hidden for a reason.”

Oliver let out a tired sigh.

“We’ll help” Abigail jumped in “We can’t let that thing escape into the Underground.”

“And we don’t want to die.” Oliver chimed in.

“That too."

Archibald looked uneasy but resigned. This wasn’t what he signed up for but he really didn’t have a choice.

Fen raised an eyebrow “And that is it? You’ll do it out of the goodness of your heart, bard?”

“Of course not” Oliver admitted “But the sooner we get this done, the sooner I don’t have to deal with you.”

“Finally we are agreed” Fen murmured.

Abigail sighed “I wish I didn’t have to deal with Oliver anymore.”

Oliver clapped his hand together, completely ignoring Abigail “Alright, let’s see what we’re working with. How many vials of holy water do you have left?”

Fen blinked in surprise “Three but how did you…?”

“Don’t bother.” Abigail mouthed.

“Alright. Give them to Archie. He can dip his arrows in them.” Fen rolled his eyes sarcastically “And what will I use oh great amazing leader? My sword is not enough to slay the beast and I need time to apply the water as well.”

Oliver stepped closer, staring eye to eye with the paladin as he pushed his lute into his hands “If you lose this, I will kill you.”

“And what am I suppose to do with this? Play a song about friendship and love? Overcharge for a children’s rhythm?” Fen mocked.

“No you idiot.” Oliver pulled away “You beat him back to hell with it.”

Fen stared at him utterly lost.

Oliver knocked on the surface of the lute “It’s magic.”

Fen couldn’t contain his surprise despite his loathing of the bard

“Your lute is magic?”

Oliver rolled his eyes “Yes. It’s not a sword or a spear but at least you’ll be able to hurt him some. At least enough for me and farm girl to find the seal.”

“Me and who now?” Abigail shook her head “Wait, your lute is magic? Why is that important?”

“Demons are naturally resistant to mortal weapons” Fen explained as he held the lute aloft, getting a feel for its weight “It would be like attacking them with a butter knife, Painful but ultimately an empty gesture. But magic, whether spells or items imbued, can bypass their nature. Holy magic would be ideal hence the holy water.”

“But we work with what we got.” Oliver finished “And can you fight farm girl?”

Abigail shifted her foot shamefully.

Oliver snapped his finger “No. Don’t do that. Nothing wrong with not knowing how to fight. I don’t.”

“But you know magic!” Abigail argued “That’s more than me.”

“Look I don’t like you.” Oliver admitted “But beating yourself up isn’t going to save us. Yes I know magic but I’m not going to be tossing fire or lightning out of my fingertips. That’s not how my magic works. Finding that seal is just as important as Archibald’s and Fen’s job.”

Abigail glanced towards Archibald. His face was grim but determined.

“What’s your job Archie?” Abigail asked gently, unable to keep the worry out of her voice.

Archibald punched a fist into his hand.

“You’re planning on fighting? That thing?”

Archibald nodded firmly.

“Archie, you can’t be serious! What if it hurts you? I promised Cecilia I’d keep you safe! Archie…”

Abigail stopped as the archer wrapped his arms tightly around her. It was warm and gentle. Tears formed in her eyes. It felt nice to be hugged again. She hadn’t been hugged in such a long time she forgot how calming it was.

He pulled away, giving her a soft smile.

Abigail still wasn’t happy with the situation but there was little choice left.

“Alright.” Oliver spoke with an edge of finality “While you two keep the demonic asshole distracted, me and farm girl will find the seal and try to strengthen it.”

“Farm girl and I” Abigail corrected.

“Seriously?”

“No, I wanted to mess with you. It’s how I cope.”

Oliver glared “We need to move fast. Once the seal is strengthen we’ll need to make a break for the exit as soon as possible because I am not dealing this place longer than I have to.”

“Do you even know how to strengthen ancient seals?” Abigail asked

“No idea but I’m a quick study.” Oliver admitted.

Abigail glanced out the grime covered windows “That’s not very comforting. And what if those shadowy creatures are out there still?”

“That’s a for later problem. Let’s focus on one life or death situation at a time.”

“Fun” Abigail replied glumly “I’m really enjoying my time in the underground guys.”

“That’s the spirit farm girl!

“I hate you so much right now.”

[chocolate-parfait]

Congratulations on the 300! I see you do matchups?! (I really hope this is the right inbox, I'm still new to this) Could you do one for me (Mixed matchup IkeVamp, IkeSen)? INFP-A, like drawing, cooking, reading, writing, languages (translator to be), sarcasm, traveling, dogs. Don't like unnecessary drama, people disturbing my peace. I'm straigt forward and don't like but can be very confrontational but that rarely happens (no one wants to witness this). Unpaid therapist of all my friends. Thx!

Thank you, sweetie! Hope you enjoy~

I match you up with... Dazai!

Dazai is one of the few people in the mansion who enjoys his peace and tranquility, so aside some teasing and clowning here and there he won't be causing too much of a ruckus (unless Ai-chan is involved~)

Your relationship with Dazai evolves pretty slowly. From two acquaintances who exchanged basic greetings and made small talk every now and then, you slowly became friends who chill together while quietly enjoying the other's company, only to turn into a deeper relationship after various syntomps typical syntomps of the phenomenology of love took root in your hearts. Despite a comfortably unhurried evolution and what some may deem as just fleeting and superficial attraction, your feelings are actually genuine and strong. You and Dazai were able to find the perfect balance that not many couples are able to achieve; neither of you forces the other into something they don't want to do, and you can safely call the each other out without fear of hurting or offending, confident in the mutual respect and understanding you both have of the other

You can spend hours sitting together side by side in complete silence, only the ticking of a clock or a little bird outside comfortably filling the background. You read a book and he writes his newest novel or vice versa. Sometimes it's just one snuggling against the other in search of warmth and affection. It's extremely domestic and Dazai literally LIVES for it

Your romance falls into a steady routine that gives Dazai the impression of leading a completely normal life, just like any other man, finally free from all the doubts and sorrows that used to torment him back in his human days. As if the constancy of such lifestyle wasn't enough, he's also got you to fix up whatever trouble may pass through his golden orbs. You're always there to hear and help him out, and you're also the main reason why he was able to break free from his self destructive mentality, and knowing that you can live a happy, safe life just by being with him brings him ungodly amounts of joy.

One particular night you two had a semi-fight. During that period Dazai was already pretty much always on edge, despite concealing it pretty well behind his usual smile, but when the moon is high in the sky people are more vulnerable, and his remorse and self hatred all came flowing out at once. He absolutely didn't expect your reaction. For the first time ever since you arrived at the mansion, he saw fire burning in your moonlit pupils. Your usual serene tone slightly lowered to a much more aggressive and harsh pitch as countless words came out of your pretty lips. With each sentence you destroyed every one of his qualms just like a knight would cut down his enemies to save his princess. By the end of your discussion he was shocked and amazed to find how you had literally flipped everything upside down and gave him much to think about. A new perspective, things he ignored too much and others he cared too much about. After that night Dazai's usual behavior changed considerably towards you. You could now clearly feel the genuineness behind his smiles and gazes, the softness in his voice and movements when addressed to you. It was the spark that ignited the flames of your love.

Your favorite dates vary from strolls around the city to him teaching you Japanese. He has never taught a language to anyone before, but by having such a receptive student as you makes his heart swell with pride and he wants to try harder for your sake! He's actually on cloud nine ever since you asked him to teach you his native language. The fact that you want to get to know his country and a big part of him better means a lot to him, and it does nothing but strengthen his love for you

Dazai loves animals!! So even without pleading too much he'll agree on adopting a dog if you want one. He's going to take great care of it and you will often see him petting him while quietly babbling on various topics as if the poor creature could understand him

Second choice: Mitsunari

As the resident angel of Azuchi becoming friends with him was no difficult task, as he already trusted you with his life the moment you became a part of the Oda Forces. Additionally, he truly admires your kindness and care for others, so much that he can't help but happily praise you with the biggest smile on his face. Barely even a week passes and you already find yourself watching after him as you remind him to eat, sleep and maybe even breathe. Hideyoshi is extremely grateful as he finally can take it easier and not worry too much about the young man (he still does nonetheless, trust me)

On your part, hating Mitsunari is basically impossible, and even though your sarcastic retorts completely fly over his head (in return you gain Ieyasu's sympathy), spending time with him becomes the most natural thing in the world. Before you know it, you find yourself looking forward to being with him and your heartbeat confirms your suspicions. You may or may not have fallen in love with someone from the Sengoku period and the realization is a scary one. What will happen to your family and friends back home? And what about your dream job? But then that handsome smile, those vivid amethyst eyes full of tenderness, that soft voice that caressed your ears leaving pink warmth on your skin; it all came crashing down on you, leaving no other room for doubts.

If and when you confess him about your past and what had brought you to Honnoji that fateful night, you'll see the fires of an incredible passion taking ahold of his usually placid irises. He cannot fully explain with words the endless facets of what he's feeling, but he'll lock your hands in a tight grip and earnestly try to let out as much as he can. He vows eternal gratitude to you, the one who gave up everything for him, he who does not deserve such loyalty but decides to live up to the sacrifice you made. This new side of Mitsunari renews the love you felt for him, and at the end of his speech, in order to seal such an important promise, he kisses you on the lips, fiery and passionate

Everything escalates from there, and anyone in the castle can see how much close you two got in the blink of an eye. The moment you announce your relationship you get submerged from congratulatory blessings and gifts, even from a very grumpy Ieyasu who doesn't let this opportunity to slip in an ironic comment here and there

You may have given up on everything you had, but Ishida has no intention of making you regret choosing him over the rest of the world. If you're vocal and direct enough about your needs and wishes, he'll try to spoil you rotten at the best of his abilities. Your feet hurts? He's going to carry you bridal style to your bedroom to give you a two hours long massage. Headache? He's already in town with Hideyoshi to buy the best infuses for your head. He's very dedicated and it's very surprising to see him so active and attentive. If he starts getting too overwhelming the only choice you'll have is to explicitly tell him to tone it down a notch or two (please give him cuddles later, baby boy just wants to help)

Knowing about your love for travel, he makes sure to take you with him each time an inspection in a domain comes up, though he'll firmly refuse in case he deemed it to be dangerous. If something were to happen to you right in front of his eyes, he'd blame himself for 500 years and even more for not being able to save you. This is actually one of his biggest worries and from time to time he'll have related nightmares that cause him to wake up with a start, soaked in cold sweat. Take him in your arms, snuggle against his chest or cradle his head against your beating heart and most of the job will be done. If you happen to be concious enough and hear him out, console him with firm words of reassurance, press a kiss to his lips and he's going to be out like a candle in no time at all

Mitsunari is fascinated by the foreign languages you speak! You must have put a lot of time to learn all those exotic-sounding words, and he asks you to teach him a word or two. He's a fast learner and his brain has plenty of space to store whatever you say to him, and although he might cutely stumble every now and then, you're pretty surprised at the enthusiasm he's showing for your passion. He's going to take you to the tenshu to discuss with Nobunaga about a possible occupation involved with languages, and in no time at all you're already on your way to Nagasaki to discuss some deals with European and Asian merchants

[fuwafuwamedb]

A Day’s Worth of Life Pt 11 (Gilgamesh, Hakuno, Cu, Rin)

Previously: Two Dudes, Chilling in Otome Games. One Dude, Watching over His Boy, You May Have Goofed Rin, Hakuno’s Boys, First Words of Cu’s Little Pup, Goldie’s Small Heart Attack, Rin Joins the Fight, You Must Be Very Proud, A Prideful King, Build Our Own Area

___

Gilgamesh was in the dining area when he found Rin running into the room.

“Gilgamesh! Hakuno-“

He knew what it meant. He had felt the woman moving around, breathing different than normal. He had seen it last night and known that the end of the line was coming. There was no doubt now. She was bringing their second child into the world.

His feet climbed the distance in a frenzy, seeing the doors and yet seeing nothing at all. He didn’t know where he was for a time, since his feet took him from one hallway to another. He forwent the elevator, throwing the doors to the stairwell open and running down them. The other servants were burdens, haunting the spaces that he cast himself through.

Four floors were a blink in his eyes.

The hallways had him stumbling a bit, realizing he was already so much closer than before. He threw the doors to the lounge open, entering through to the part of the building that he and Cu Chulainn had built for their women.

And then he could hear it.

Screams, his name being cried out as Cu found himself running back and forth through the rooms.

“HAKUNO!” Gilgamesh called back to her, running up the stairs to the next level of their domain. Their room was at the end of the hallway, the doors ajar as he could see movement within.

“GIL!” Hakuno reached her arms out, wrapping them around him the moment that he drew close enough. Her face pressed to his chest, her breathing ragged. “It hurts. Why does it always hurt?”

Because she was creating something.

“I can’t get her to push,” Rin complained. “I brought that nurse servant all the way here and she’s helping, but Hakuno won’t push anymore. She’s exhausted.”

Gilgamesh glanced to his woman.

“I’m trying,” Hakuno countered.

“Give us the room,” Gilgamesh growled to the two women nearby.

“She’s dilated and having this child,” Nightingale argued.

“Give us the room,” he growled again.

His eyes bore into hers a moment before she cursed, turning on her heels. The fool of a sister was running after Nightingale, apologizing for her ‘sister’s fool of a husband’.

“Gil, I can do this, but-“

He wrapped his hands around hers, moving to where Nightingale had been.

“Squeeze my hands,” he told her. “We’ll do this one push at a time. You just breathe for a moment and then squeeze my hands as you push. I’ll keep my hold on you until the baby is out.”

“Gil-“

“Breathe,” he demanded. “Breathe deeply, you are doing the impossible a second time, Hakuno.”

Their tiny family of three gained another soul.

The tiniest of girls came out, hair dark wisps that left no doubt in his mind whom she had taken after. No wonder the girl had become such a pain and burden on Hakuno. The girl had her stubbornness, her looks, her-

A pair of red eyes opened as Gilgamesh finished cleaning the girl up.

His daughter looked up at him, blinking those little eyes of his right back at him.

“Your mother never fails to amuse me,” Gilgamesh murmured. “Let us get you back to her, shall we, Gula?”

The girl closed her eyes again, nestling into the blankets more in response.