#not that its impossible- just that less people will be willing to go along w you on it than there would've been before you fell down hard

[snow-and-saltea]

finished like 153 chapters in one night. i love these kinds of executions for yandere characters so much. i love it when a story takes mental illness and psychological brokenness seriously and still be able to create a beautiful interpretation without fetishizing that appeals to the very raw and basic nature of wanting to be loved so badly that fractures a person. i love stories like this that show us the worst of a person but doesn't rush to ease them again. i love stories that show the darkest pits of the human psyche and makes you go, "this is happening but it isn't the end. wait just a bit, and ill show you how things get better." i LOVE when stories do that; get all meta and create a story within the story that the actors/characters have to now see their way through and reach the scripted happy ending that feels impossible and illogical to reach as a conclusion, but happened anyways. stories that are seemingly taken out of the author's hands and into the characters instead and them being like "i know you believe this happy ending to be false, because you can't believe it'll be achievable through anything but delusion. but just wait, i'll show you." (thinking particularly about the princess iron fan arc in act age bc that still makes me tear up)

the depiction of ptsd and mental illness was something i was particularly touched by, too. the "problematic" aspects, ugly aspects, of mental illness were addressed so kindly and compassionately, and the solution never felt like it was straight up telling you "you're messed up. this isn't right, you're not normal". this is something i would've expected reading a story with a yandere character, because for most people the appeal of a yandere is to be attracted to someone who is Fucked up but hot. but like. even rebuttals like "no that's not normal! that scares me!" were handled so casually -- almost to the point you could call it carelessly, but it wasn't careless at all. it was a deliberate choice to not make a Huge deal about being turned off by someone's thoughts or preferences that made for a much more judgement-free and loving environment to agree or disagree with each other.

rindo is really the ideal wish fulfillment for mentally ill buddies like me along w kim kitsuragi sjjdjdjfkfkf. like i kept waiting for the other shoe to drop, to see the twist that oh this guy is gonna be fucked up too! bc of the Genre! but no. he's kind, steadfast and humourous, and is so generous w his capacity to love people. he might be understood as a selfless martyr type with the way he keeps wanting to reassure amane even during really troubling events in the plot, but he was never traumatised by those events and he had a clear and sane mind the entire time. its so easy to think of him as a "victim" in an overbearing codependent relationship in the story, but he's just really emotionally resilient. he doesn't give up, he doesn't take hurtful words at face value because he knows something deeper is at play, he doesn't hesitate opening up first and being vulnerable or pushy if it helps amane feel less ugly being vulnerable with his thoughts and desires towards him.

this is a fictional story and not irl, so obviously like. irl, you wouldn't want to enmesh yourself so deeply with someone that you'll die if they do. but he was willing to do that. not necessarily that, but the same gesture -- "if i ever betray you, you can kill me, and then we'll both be the last thing we'll see". on paper, even just writing it, makes me sound insane and delusional. how could this be something someone sane could say? but he WAS sane, because he was also saying "you said you love me so much you want to die with me, so you must also mean that you love me so much you want to live with me forever. this means your heart wants to be with me, so stop deceiving yourself into thinking you'll be fine. know that my heart and yours are joined in the same way, because i want to see you at the end of my life too, and there's nothing wrong with that."

rindo has such a great talent for finding multiple meanings, often positive, to amane's thoughts. because his mind is often muddy and swamped with unpleasant words and memories when he spirals / ruminates , he can't stick his hand through it long enough to see what comes out when he pulls out of it. very natural, normal and human desires you form with someone you love: "i love you. i'm scared you'll leave me someday. i want to be with you forever. i don't know if i deserve to be this happy. i love you. i love you. i love you. i don't want to spend a day without you. i want you to be happy and i want to be involved in making you happy, but i feel so incompetent that i'm worried i'll fail too much. i love you. please love me back.”

the way the characters in this story is so kind genuinely ... makes me want to cry. like rindo's mom accidentally saying homophobic things at first out of surprise but then her Maternal instincts took over and she could have another son to shower with love. the way everyone looks out for them but doesn't judge their relationship or try to messily break them away from each other or intervene for their "own good". there's no unnecessary drama or misunderstanding that isn't solved within 1-2 chapters in a really clear, reassuring tone (while also maintaining a natural pace so as to be thoughtful to the writing).

man. i cried multiple times reading this story. i was just here for the yandere BL ride, not the unexpected feeling of love and validation for my mental health issues?!

[aliwritesfic]

The Night Shift part 10 (F!Reader x Frankie Morales)

Summary: back to work :( frankie and the boys are sweeties tho

W/C: 1.3k

Warnings: none I think but its late and i'm probably wrong so pls let me know if i need to add some

AN: this is just a quick lil filler chapter before a biiiiig one on either friday or monday, depending on when I finish it, but I wanted to get this one out because part 11 might be late because im very in my Feels about it (and i think you will be too)

Spotify

Part 1 Part 11

Frankie noticed every time your head snapped up, shadowy eyes darting towards the diner door. He noticed how your shoulders would lose some of their tension in relief whenever it was just a group of kids, or an elderly couple, or one of the people he’d come to realise were regulars to the diner.

You wore long sleeves tonight, telling him before leaving that it was to cover the ‘ugly ass’ bruise on your wrist. The less questions the better, you said with a smile that hadn’t reached your eyes.

Frankie carefully organised a stack of choc-chip pancakes on a gleaming white plate and set them on the window. You shot him a confused look – there weren’t any orders.

“You look hungry,” he told. Your face softened as you took the plate and grabbed a set of cutlery. It was nearing 1, and you were always hungry at 1.

“Do you know of any decent not-a-total-rip-off moving companies?” you asked after swallowing a mouthful. Frankie nodded.

“Yeah, me and the boys.”

You narrowed your eyes at him. “No. You’ve already done so much I can’t ask you or any of your friends to give up one of their days just to get my shit back.”

“Well, yes you actually can,” Frankie countered, “and if the boys know something is important to me then they’ll help.”

“This is important to you?” Frankie fixed you with a stare and a raise of a brow. The look was one of pure are you serious right now? You threw up your hands and shrugged. “Okay, okay, I get your point. I’ll pay you guys, obviously.”

“Just a case of beer,” Frankie said. Tom might want money, but then against it was unlikely Tom would show up: he was leaving on Thursday. “Listen, just tell me the day you wanna do this and we will be there. I promise you that.”

You finished the pancakes and handed the plate back. “I was gonna let Lou know I wouldn’t be available on Friday night and get it done then.”

“Perfect, three-day weekend,” Frankie grinned. You smiled back, the first true smile he’d seen all night, and turned to greet a trucker who had just arrived.

Frankie grabbed his phone out of his pocket and opened the group text chat.

Catfish: Who’s free Friday for a favour?

Given the time, he wasn’t expecting an answer from any of them, so he was shocked when Benny texted back straight away.

Benny: Whatever it is, William and I are in. Even murder.

Catfish: It’s (probably) not going to come to murder. Just need help moving the girl I work with into her new place.

Pope: oh the 1 youre in love with? yeah ill help and ill bring that photo too

Frankie narrowed his eyes at the screen. He wouldn’t go so far as to say in love, so he decided to ignore that.

Catfish: It’s too expensive to hire moving ppl, so I said I’d help her, plus her ex is a cunt and I don’t know if he’ll try shit if it’s just her there

Pope: is she still there?

Catfish: No she’s staying at mine until she gets her stuff into her new place

Ironhead: Is this the guy you KO’d?

Catfish: Ok 1 why are you all awake? And 2 where did you hear that??? I didn’t KO him btw, but I could have if I felt like it.

Ironhead: I didn’t put my phone on silent

Ironhead: And I heard it from Benjamin. You know he loves gossip.

Benny: ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Catfish: ????????? how did you do that?

Benny: ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Frankie rolled his eyes and put his phone back in his pocket. They were impossible to talk to at this time of night, and he could already see that the conversation would just go in circles. He would find out how Benny made that weird little face though.

“Hey,” Frankie waved to get your attention, “the boys said they’d be happy to help, and they’ve all got pick-ups so no need to hire a moving truck.”

You looked confused, your eyes darting to the clock. “You spoke to them already?”

“Yeah, they’re light sleepers,” Frankie said. “Old army thing, I guess.”

You cleared your throat and blinked rapidly, “well, uh, let them know I’ll buy them all dinner as well as a case of beer each and money for gas. Whatever they need.” Frankie knew the boys wouldn’t accept your money, but he also knew you wouldn’t take no for an answer. This was something you could sort out Friday, he decided. If he was being honest, he was interested to see how would win that battle of wills. His money was on you. His money would always be on you.

~*~

“Can we go to the store quickly?” You asked, climbing into the truck next to Frankie once your shift was over. You were beginning to think of it as Your Spot now. Your spot, next to him, so close that if you wanted to you could reach out and hold his hand, lean over and kiss him.

“Yeah, what’d you need?” Frankie pulled out of the tiny diner parking lot and onto the road. Your cheeks heated slightly.

“A rotisserie chicken,” you mumbled, staring at one particular spot on the dash. “Sometimes when I’m . . . going through emotional turmoil I just need to eat. And I want a rotisserie chicken more than anything else right now.”

Frankie grinned his white toothed smile and you felt a little better about your habit. “That sounds like a fantastic idea, we should get two, one each.”

You smiled back, buoyed by the idea. The one and only time you had brought this up to Kurt, he had shot the idea down, grabbed your sides and commented on your weight. You knew there was nothing wrong with your weight, that there wasn’t no matter what size you were, but the comment hurt nonetheless.

But now you sat here in Frankie’s truck, and he seemed delighted with the idea of eating a whole rotisserie chicken in one sitting at 8AM. He drove to the grocery store, singing along to Stevie Nick’s Edge of Seventeen.

“I’ll go in, you wait here,” Frankie flashed you with a grin and raced into the store. You sat back, relaxed, and closed your eyes. You had been happier in the past twenty-four hours with Frankie than you had been almost the entirety of Kurt. You found yourself imagining a life with him; dinner at his cosy table, a new record playing every night, talking about your day at whatever jobs you had. Life with him would be comfort, it would be home. Your heart quickened at the thought of laying beside him each night in bed, bodies pressed against each other, skin against skin, delicious warmth -

His return snapped you out of your thoughts, the sight of him sent a rush of heat through you. He held a plastic bag in one hand, and keys in the other. “Should we eat these here or at home?”

Home.

The word sent a shiver of hope up your spine. Like he was saying it could be your home too. You moved an inch closer to him, so your thighs barely touched. It was electric though, the kind of touch that felt dangerous and familiar at the same time.

Your eyes met his and you wondered if he was feeling the same thing.

Taglist: @hnt-escape @sharkbait77 @1800-fight-me @annathewitch @darnitdraco @frankiecatfish @punkerthanpascal @nakhudanyx @gracie7209 @quica-quica-quica @pintsizemama @phoenix-of-loki

[painted-crow]

ugh i am so confused on my secondary :/ the one that i know im not is lion because i do the face switching thing with every person i talk to- even via text. its not a conscious thing either, it just happens & has always been this way & i enjoy doing it! but im unsure if its snake face-switching, badger mirroring, or actor bird. i just take someones energy and reflect it back at them- but the snek neutral state does resonate with me. there's a "me" under all the layers but its still... (1/2)

(2/2)..but its still very actor-y/mirror-y. the only time im not putting on any layers/pretty blunt is when im super apathetic or sick. im kind of a shitty improviser in certain areas but good in others, if that means anything. kinda makes me sound rapid-fire birdy or just a built sec in general lol. i do the bird *unconsciously hoarding info* thing haha which is nice, but im also usually suprised at my good rep/how much people seem to like me. any tips on telling between these 3? thanks paint!

Last ask before I crash for the night -w-

I have a couple asks about similar stuff, how to tell these kinda similar-looking secondary tools apart... let's talk about it for a bit here. Hopefully I'm not too asleep to make sense. I was just gonna write a quick post about it, but being concise is hard >.<

Courtier vs Actor vs Rapid Fire vs Snake (bonus: vs Lion)

Courtier Badger mirroring

Showing someone the parts of yourself you think they'd find most relatable. They end up feeling liked and accepted by you because they feel you're similar to them.

All of this is genuine on your part, at least in the moment--you're kinda bad at faking it. It's difficult or impossible to mirror someone you really dislike.

Actor Bird masks

You can play a role ("professional," for instance) or turn the volume up on some of your traits (e.g. "friendly/extroverted/music lover/charismatic") to make a mask. This is a way you can act, and it doesn't have to be as genuine as a Badger's mirroring, though it probably takes less energy if it is.

Once you've gotten into character for a mask, it can take a bit to change out of it. It's kind of a mindset shift, and it's hard to fluidly change into a different behavior set without seeming to contradict yourself. Masks don't easily adjust on the fly.

Rapid Fire Bird bricolage

You have background knowledge, skills, experience, and/or resources related to a whole lot of different topics. You're creative, resourceful, and good at recombining past tools into current solutions.

You might also use Actor Bird masks as part of your toolset. Actor + RF Bird doesn't = Snake, but can seem similar at first glance.

Snake improv

You're making this up as you go along, and you're totally cool with that. You're not really afraid that things will go wrong, because you know you can recover and just pivot into something that will work better. You're willing to experiment with different tactics, watch them work or fail in real time, and adjust on the fly.

You don't mind acting differently toward different people. Your act doesn't have to be genuine, the way a Badger's would. It doesn't have to be prepared, either, and you don't get stuck in it like an Actor Bird might. You're great at using whatever resources are around you, but you didn't necessarily prepare any in anticipation of needing them. You may or may not start out with a plan, but you have no problems with dropping it if you see an opportunity come up that you want to take.

If you're dropped into a situation where you have no clue what's going on and no prior experience and no tools and you don't know anyone, you're probably still fine. A Bird in those circumstances would either panic, or withdraw and become an observer until they feel they've gathered enough information to know what to do.

Lions being Lions

All this talk about code-switching and changing how you act is uncomfortable. Why would anyone want to do this? How can you get good results like this??? Nope. Nope.

You kinda just do stuff. You're resilient, even stubborn. You don't go in for half measures. You don't give up easily. Snakes pivot all the time, but you don't--you bulldoze a straight line through your projects and problems, without necessarily thinking ahead. It usually works out, which confuses the heck out of other people sometimes, but hey, it's just how you roll!

Final note

You might model or perform any of these in addition to your actual secondary. (Info about models and performances can be found near the bottom of this page on the SHC WordPress.)

You could be a Badger who's specifically learned to use Bird masks, for instance. It's up to you which words you think best describe you and the tools you use ^^

[sxfik]

and when the seasons change (will you stand by me?)

read on ao3 • main masterlist • law school masterlist

summary: when kang sol's mother has to work late, she has to take care of byeol. it's just her luck that she has an exam the next day, one for professor yang of all people. joon hwi, being the kind classmate he is, offers to study with her.

or: byeol is solhwi mastermind, and she's says everything we wanted to say to the two dummies.

request by anon: hiya! saw that you do solhwi prompts so I was thinking that Sol A has to babysit byeol but there's a big test the next day so she calls joon hwi over to help her w studying. meanwhile byeol(being iconic) tries to set them up in true shipper fashion.

a/n: this is based on a request i got on tumblr, pictured above! i have around 5 (ish) fics that will go out over the week so stay tuned for those lmao! uh yeah, i don't really know what else to say other than im really sad law school ended so i've just been sad and mopey, but still writing to fill that hole. as always, enjoy <333

Although Joon Hwi was the 'star' student of Hankuk Law School, he was never much for studying. It's not because everything came to him that easily, but because finding the strength to concentrate and study when he could be hanging out with his friends or doing anything better with his time was insanely tempting. Finding the effort to get to the library, and read up on his textbooks was arduous and he always found it easier to study by himself, no distractions around. This was, of course, until Kang Sol came along. For Joon Hwi, everything in his life was turned on its axis when she came into his life.

When he first met her, in Professor Yang's class, she was just the poor girl being grilled by the professor. His heart went out to her, watching her pull her hair out of the bun to avoid the question. He didn’t know what possessed him to answer for her, but he assumed it to be a one time thing. But from the moment she crashed into him yelling "Second Round Judicial Exam, save me!", he was stuck on her.

Slowly, she was everywhere in his life, from the study group to the legal clinic to a majority of his classes. Unlike so many of his classmates, who were by the book and generally clinical in personality, she was a fireball of energy and passion. In class, despite not being the best student, she would argue with so much passion and energy that it was impossible to win against her. It was fascinating, watching her connect and jump from case to case. She would throw herself into everything she believed in, which included defending him from the school and his uncle.

Joon Hwi has liked girls before, but he's never been so captivated and head-over-heels for anyone in his life. Love and dating seemed secondary, and he preferred to keep it out of his life until he reached his goals. You could call him selfish but he prefers to call it being focused on his goals. He's always had one goal in life, and it was to work with the law, whether as a judge or working as police or as a prosecutor.

Yet, if Kang Sol was in the room, his eyes were on her. Whether she was frustrated at him or teasing him or gleeful with him, he couldn't help but smile at her. If she was around, he was right by her side, making her laugh or cringe or annoyed.

So there he was, studying in the school library with Kang Sol. Professor Yang’s exam was right around the corner and unlike last time, he cannot miss the comma in the given case. Plus, he doesn’t even have the excuse of being accused of a murder this time, so both Sol and Joon Hwi were hunched over their books, pouring into the texts when Kang Sol’s phone blared loudly from her bag, startling them both.

Sol cringed as she dug around in her cloth bag, the classic dirty looks tossed her way by the sleep deprived students as she stood to leave the library and take the call. He buried himself back into the textbook, but the concentration was lost and he was more interested in the call she’d gotten than ins and outs of defamation laws.

Around 10 minutes later, Sol was speeding back to her chair, the phone clutched firmly in her hand. But Joon hwi could see her frustration from a mile away. Her face held that pout, her eyebrows furrowed and grumbling under her breath. It was adorable.

But he was worried, considering it was the day before the exam, Sol couldn’t afford to be distracted from her studies. He wasn’t blind to her struggles in school, but Joon Hwi never considered her lesser than him for not being able to pick up the concepts with speed.

Unlike him, and a majority of his classmates, she had passion and a heart when dealing with clients. He could see it in her mannerisms with clients in the legal clinic, patiently explaining the clause or the issues they might face to the client. She’s sympathetic to the max, always hearing out the client’s grievances before making a judgement on what they had done. She was exactly what the world needed: a sympathetic, patient lawyer that was willing to fight for the client, someone that they can cling to. He and every professor in the school knew it, but it seemed Sol was the only one who never realized how essential she was.

Suddenly, he felt himself getting up to gather his materials with her without a second thought, despite the confused look Sol shot him. He wasn’t sure what exactly possessed him to do it, but he knew that if she wasn’t there, he didn’t want to study at the library either. Grinning at her, he walked out, side by side until they were outside the quiet library. She paused in her tracks all of a sudden, taking him by surprise and he paused too, looking back at her, tilting his head in confusion.

"My mom needs to work late today, so I need to rush home and take care of Byeol," she looked up at him finally, her face apologetic. "I'm sorry, Joon hwi but I don't think I'll be able to study for the exam with you," she started to walk away, but he couldn't let her go that easily.

"I'll come with you," he offered, surprising himself, "I'll study with you. Plus, it'll be easier to take care of Byeol with two people than one, right?"

She paused, looking back at him, conflicted. Sighing, Joon Hwi stepped closer to her. "Come on, let's not keep her waiting. Shall we?" He was determined to keep her company, especially since she’d have less time to study since she’d have to take care of Byeol. It was easier this way, and I’d do this for any friend he told himself.

The ride there was slow and quiet, but not an uncomfortable one. They both walked in tandem, with their backpacks filled with everything they'd possibly need to study, and even the bus ride was peaceful, the two of them staring out the window, watching the scenery pass by them. Joon hwi sat beside her, rather than across from her like last time, just to save space on the bus. On the very empty bus they were riding together.

Days like this, where the air was heavy and humid, the earth preparing for a heavy rain, were the most comforting types of days. The air was still warm and humid, making Sol’s hair poof out slightly, her naturally wavy hair frizzing out of her bun. The feeling of her beside him, as if this was a regular ritual for both of them, brought a sense of content in his heart. He couldn’t pinpoint exactly what it was, whether it was the girl beside him or the past year’s chaos, but watching the trees and the traffic pass by them brought more peace to his life than ever.

The two made their way into the alleyway, where Joon hwi had once stood guard of when Lee Man Ho once lived, threatening her family. He's standing in front of Kang Sol's house behind her, holding her backpack in hand as she struggles with the keys.

Finally, finally, she gets the door open, and a figure zips by, crashing into Sol. Byeol’s arms wrapped Sol's waist, like the adorable sister she is. Sol stumbled back into him slightly at the sudden weight thrown onto her, but nonetheless, crouched to envelop her sister in a bone-crushing hug. Joon hwi couldn’t help but smile at the two sisters, their love for each other enveloping him

"Unnie!" she grinned up at her, "Did you bring him with you?" Her eyes were serious and wide as Sol opened her mouth to answer.

"Byeol-ah!" Joon hwi yelled out from behind Sol, peaking out to see the 8-year old grinning at him, much wider than she did at Sol. Ha!

"Joonhwi-oppa!" the girl squealed out, leaving Sol's grip to run to him. As she ran to him, he picked her up and twirled her in the air, the girl's giggles echoing through the small alleyway as the two greeted each other.

Sol, standing by the door, smiled faintly before calling out, "Come in, before either of you catch a cold!" Both of them filed in, incessantly chattering as if they hadn't seen each other in months, even though it had only been two weeks since Joon hwi had been by to take the two sisters out to the park.

"Oppa! Why did you come with Unnie?" Byeol asked, finally being set down inside the house, looking up at him curiously as Sol

"Ah, we have an exam tomorrow, so I'm here to study with her," Joon hwi replied.

"Good," the girl jumped onto the couch. "Unnie needs a lot of help," the girl quipped back, nodding her head solemnly, making her look a lot older than 8 years.

"Yah Kang Byeol!" Sol exclaimed, indignantly. Joon hwi chuckled at the two as Sol turned to him. "Here, we can work in the dining room," she moved to grab her backpack from him, stepping towards the dining room.

"NO!" Byeol yelled out at the both of them, her hand flying out to stop the two of them, "Unnie, you should work in your room instead! You know I'll be watching TV and obviously, it'd be too loud for you to focus," the girl rushed out, her doe-eyes a bit too wide, her voice a little too innocent. She is definitely plotting something, Joon hwi narrowed his eyes at her but she avoided the look, choosing to jump off the couch and walk towards them instead.

Before either of them could protest, the girl pushed the both of them towards, presumably, Kang Sol's bedroom. Sol awkwardly laughed at him, Joon hwi shooting her an amused look. They awkwardly stood in her room, Joon hwi avoiding her gaze and choosing to look at the walls instead. Her room here looked similar to the one she had back on campus. Her desk was stacked to the max, sticky notes lining the walls with old reminders and little notes of encouragement. It was neat, but brightly colored, which suited Sol so very well.

“Let’s get started shall we?” Sol finally said, clearing her throat, gesturing for him to set down his books. He obliged, sitting at her desk while she chose her bed. They both set up all their materials, the awkward silence shifting into a peaceful one, the two working themselves into a comfortable rhythm.

It had been almost an hour of straight studying, both of them regurgitating criminal codes and case precedents from memory. Joon hwi was sure that by this point that his mind was complete mush, and Sol was starting to wither, her eyes almost glazed over while she started into one of her casefiles. Her hair was a lot puffier than it was when they started. Turns out, Sol had a habit of ruffling her hair with her pencil each time she was confused or working herself too hard, which was often.

“Let’s take a break shall we? I’m going to get a glass of water,” he said, standing up and stretching his arms out, trying to put the two out of their misery. He yawned, the stiffness in his muscles finally noticeable when he stretched out. She nodded back to him, yawning and stretching out in her chair, before she picked up her phone to check some messages.

He walked out of her room and back to the living room, where byeol was still glued to her seat, her eyes on the TV playing some cartoon. Heading over to the dining table, he poured himself a glass of water with the pitcher, before heading back to check on Byeol.

“What’s this show called?” he asked her, taking a sip of the water while watching the show with her.

“Hm?” Byeol turned to him, “Oh, it’s this show about two kids who set out to find a treasure mapped out by their parents,” she explained, gesturing towards him to take a seat beside him. He obliged, opting to sit beside the girl, both their eyes glued to the screen. A few moments passed by, before the little girl turned towards him.

“You know, my sister’s favorite color is dark green. Not like emerald green, but forest green tinted with some dark blue,” Byeol said nonchalantly. Joon Hwi’s eyebrows furrowed, confused as to why the girl is telling this to him. “And, her favorite ice cream is this nutella infused one that you get down the street, closer to the town square. It’s been her favorite since she was little,” she continued, not giving his confusion any heed. The girl rapidly started telling him facts about her dear sister, all the while confusion took over his features.

“Joonhwi-oppa,” she squinted at him, pausing as her face grew serious, “You like my sister, don’t you?” He sputtered, choking and coughing out the water. “I knew it!” she excitedly squealed.

“Byeol, byeol, shh, you can’t let your sister know okay,” he brought a finger to his lips, his eyes alarmed. For an 8 year old, Byeol was surprisingly cunning and observant. She had managed to figure out what he had been struggling with for the past year after just a few short visits. They shared a look of understanding between the two, before the girl turned her attention to the show, leaving Joon Hwi walking back to Sol’s room. The Kang Sisters,  he shook his head, laughing as he thought, what a perfect duo.

bonus

It had been almost 3 hours of studying together before Kang Sol realized that the sun had set outside, and all of a sudden, they were in a rush to clean up. Joon hwi had to leave before the dorms closed entrance and because of their studying, the two of them had their head buried in books since the time they got to her house.

She was glad to have him over though. Despite her hesitation at the school and fears of inconveniencing him, having Joon hwi made the process a lot smoother. With his careful and gentle help, she had a much easier time understanding the concepts and she was eternally grateful, considering Professor Yang’s exams were always some of the toughest.

They were rushing out of the house, his backpack in her hand as he hurriedly put on his shoes and stepped outside the house. But before Joon hwi could turn with a hurried goodbye, she called out to him, her breath suddenly lodged in her throat.

“Thank you,” she quietly told him, the prospect of looking into his eyes as he leaned over her doorstep daunting. “Thank you for helping me, Joon hwi, it was really kind of you,” she beamed at him, trying to convey her gratitude and more in the only way she knew possible.

They both paused, looking at each other as the air got thicker between them, as if a string was drawing him closer to her. She watched as he swallowed slightly, his adam’s apple moving slightly before he let out a soft “You’re welcome,” and a classic smile, before he rushed out, trying to catch his bus.

She sighed, watching him as he rushed off, capturing the bus. Soon, she thought, Soon, I’ll tell him how I feel. She reassured herself, turning around only to find Byeol hiding behind a pillar.

“Byeol? What are you doing, weren’t you watching a show?” she questioned her sister, but Byeol made no response. Suddenly her sister frowned at her, muttering something about how can she possibly be a lawyer and she’s so blind, leaving her in utter confusion at the front steps.

[pi-yeah-no]

Hanahaki Disease: Naegiri

There were some pretty crazy situations where falling in love happened. While, yes, it happened in restaurants everyday or in libraries or even an English class that no one was awake enough to really participate in, there were some wilder places that have an amazing amount of potential for falling in love with someone.

For instance, a killing game.

Yes, the killing game that fifteen students had been gathered for originally, excluding one other person that would only be revealed to them later, ended up being a surprising candidate for lovers to be born in. There were some people more susceptible to romance, which was why Kyouko Kirigiri did her best to avoid talking to people as much as possible. The problem was, with the rule of proximity factoring into how easy infatuation could strike, love became a harder obstacle to avoid.

She found herself constantly being brought face to face with a certain boy who didn’t seem to have much going for him. For someone with the title of Super Duper High School Luckster, his luck seemed to be nonexistent at times. However, he always kept a positive attitude and put his trust in the people around him. The way he smiled and listened to everyone so thoroughly drifted itself into her head when she went off investigating on her own.

“Friends tell each other what they’re thinking, you know?” He asked her one day during one of the assorted times he decided to hang out with her. She was taken aback by the sudden question, remembering how willing Naegi was to tell her everything. There would be only one time where he uncharacteristically hid the truth from her, but with good intentions as not to hurt someone else’s reputation. She put her hand to her chin as she thought about the question in silence for a little bit, a patient Makoto Naegi waiting for her to respond.

“With this statement, you’re implying we’re… friends, right?” Kirigiri finally said with a small smile, turning her head to face him. His eyes connected with hers and he gave a bright smile as he nodded.

“Of course I am! Why wouldn’t we be? After all, with the things we’ve been through and how much you’ve been explaining things to us, it’s only natural to assume we’re friends.”

Kyouko felt something rising through her. A burning sensation took over, and she tried to swallow it away. She smiled, turning her back to Naegi. “Friends… I suppose that’s one way to look at us.” She walked away quickly, starting to dash when she figured she was out of sight of the boy. She rushed to her room and slammed the door, coughing violently. She had never felt such a horrid feeling rising through her throat. Vomit was one thing, but this felt entirely different. Finally, she felt something come out and onto her gloves. She looked down, only to regret ever checking it out.

A few dark petals emerged from her throat, an extremely dark purple color attached to them. Ignoring the blood, the fragrance reminded her of spices almost, and they had variegated coloring with a lighter color adorning the stripes. She examined them closer, finally coming to the conclusion that they were dianthus petals. she picked up her room key and went to the library silently, reading up on the flower itself.

What she found was that a dianthus is a kind of carnation, with a meaning roughly translating to “flower of the gods.” Dark colored carnations like this one carried the symbolism of deep love an affection. However, a variegated carnation like the one that was falling from her mouth symbolized a regret for a love that would be ultimately unable to be shared. She crushed the petals the had held onto in her hands, silently cursing herself for this foolishness. She knew falling in love was a horrible idea. she knew that getting close to anyone could trigger her downfall. She had spent far too long trying to push people away, but it had become a moot point.

She tried to conduct her business alone afterward, but it seemed inevitable that Naegi would come along and help her. The times that their hands accidentally touched made her flush, breaking whatever semblance of indifference that she had. He would smile and tell her how cute she was when she did so, and she would do her best to get rid of the blush so there wouldn’t be any indications.

It had been custom for people of the Kirigiri family to stay neutral to all things, swaying towards neither opinion presented. They were there to simply find truth and express the truth, yet… here Kirigiri was, failing to uphold that normal and understandable standard that her grandfather had taught her. She was falling for someone, and she was expressing her true feelings for him. She frowned at herself as she remembered this, cursing herself silently for being so susceptible to love.

—

Time passed, and Kirigiri had started coughing up more petals far more often. It became harder and harder to hide it, and eventually, someone found her coughing her lungs out in a bathroom. When they saw the petals falling, their heart stopped for a moment until Kirigiri silently wiped her mouth.

“I don’t suppose you plan on telling anyone, do you, Fukawa?” Kirigiri asked in a quiet, almost restrained manner. Fukawa wondered how she knew it was Fukawa, and was going to ask, but kept her mouth shut. Kirigiri turned to her, bearing an unreadable expression that contrasted the bit of blood that was now stuck to her face. She hadn’t caught all the petals in her hand, leaving a few of them on the ground. Fukawa thought rapidly before playing with a braid and feigning indifference.

“A-as long as it isn’t for my… my white knight, i-it means nothing to me!” She said, trying not to shout too loud as to give her away. She had also spent some of her nights coughing out purple irises herself, knowing well her own white knight wouldn’t love her back. Kirigiri chuckled a little as she walked past Fukawa, stopping for only a moment.

“I can only hope you won’t fall as far as I have only to realize your love is impossible. I hope Togami is easy on your soul, regardless of what you’ve done in the past.” Kirigiri walked out of the bathroom, leaving Fukawa to think about what idiot Kirigiri had possibly fallen for. It didn’t take long for her to figure it out. Makoto Naegi was the only person that Kirigiri seemed to constantly stand being around with, and Fukawa had often witnessed the way Kirigiri looked at him. She could equate them to a classic couple one would find in a romance novel, and began to gain the resolve to get Naegi to realize Kirigiri loved him. Maybe her white knight would even praise her for taking such actions.

She picked up a couple of the petals in her hand, rushing out of the bathroom and looking around quickly. Where would someone so boring and plain hang out in the middle of the day? She dashed to the cafeteria to see the Ahoge bouncing a little as he talked to Asahina. She took him by his hood and dragged him off, ignoring the protests from both him and the angry swimmer. She could deal with Asahina later.

“Did I… do something?” Naegi asked, looking at Fukawa with an apologetic smile. Wordlessly, she wrenched open his hand and let the flower petals fall into his hand, and she closed it, looking away.

“Y-you…she’s been s-suffering, w-waiting for you. Don’t let that g-go to waste, idiot!” She hissed before walking away. She didn’t expose who “she” was, expecting Naegi to come up with that on his own. She didn’t need to be a part of this love story anymore, and was more than content to just watch things fall into place.

Naegi stood there, looking at the now bruised petals. It took him a moment to realize that by suffering, Fukawa meant that someone had caught Hanahaki for him. While that thought was amazing on its own, he had a sinking feeling he knew who it was. He heard vigorous coughing coming from upstairs, and he dashed as fast as he could. The coughing got louder as he reached the library. He swung the door wide open only to see something that hurt him.

Kirigiri was clutching her chest as she coughed violently, looking as though she was becoming less and less able to even stand on her own. She was leaned up against the wall and slowly slid down, doing her best to cover who it was who was making such a ruckus. Naegi ran to her, crouching down to be eye level with her.

“Kir-no, Kyouko!” He said as he shook her shoulders to get her to look at him. She looked up, her eyes tired before she realized she was looking at who was causing this. She tried to protest, but just continued coughing. Naegi didn’t know what to do but talk to her.

“I… I didn’t know that I would mean this much to you.” He started once Kirigiri had a break in her coughing fit. She looked at him with confusion.

“I wish I hadn’t made you suffer, you know? I… there were times where I wondered, ‘what would it be like to hold her hand?’ or, ‘does she ever think about me randomly, and miss me at all?’“ He continued, stopping while Kirigiri coughed. Her eyes were squeezed shut as she did, and Naegi pounced at that moment to say what he felt.

“I really… I really love you, Kyouko.” He said quietly. Kirigiri froze, her coughing suddenly ceasing.

“Say it again.” She demanded, making Naegi confused.

“I-I really love you, Kyouko!” He almost yelled. Suddenly, the coughing became more violent until eventually, an entire flower fell from her mouth, seeming to have wilted. She looked up with a little triumphant smile.

“If you had taken any longer to tell me, I probably would’ve been dead in this library.” Kirigiri informed him, making Makoto look extremely worried.

“W-wait, what?!? I-I-I–WHY DIDN’T YOU SAY ANYTHING?” He questioned.Kirigiri would’ve normally tried to act annoyed with it, but she just smiled and threw her head back, laughing. Makoto stopped as he watched her laugh so heartily, wondering how often she had laughed like that before.

Oh god, he was in love.

[thetorturerwrites]

Lamb: Ch 2 - Someone Like You

***This amazing artwork was gifted to me by @elmidol​​. Please do not re-use or re-post it without permission from them and/or myself. Don’t be a dickbag.

Previous Chapter

Summary:  “You need someone in the middle—not dead, not alive.” You arched upwards, trying to get even a bit of slack, just enough to speak. “Someone like me.”

C/N:  Look - If you’re new here, this is adult shit. If you’re not new here, you know what my C/Ns are about. Be warned. 

Word Count: 3.7k

A/N: Did I ever think I would be writing about Kylo and babies? No. No, I did not.  Am I writing about Kylo and babies? Maybe.  Its a crazy, crazy world, y'all.

Special thanks to @kylorengarbagedump for helping me edit this asshole of a chapter.

***

“Retribution.” 

The word sounded ludicrous on his lips, infantile and irresponsible. Abruptly, you had a clearer picture of what was happening. In this mesmerizing nirvana, his encapsulated kingdom, you were a child, stumbling into an adult’s arena to demand attention.

Your senselessness laid bare, you stared at him, adrift in the gleam of irises that never settled on one color. The pregnant moon overhead framed him, adorning his breathtaking face with a perfect, glowing halo. He was unnaturally beautiful, the kind of king women wept for. 

“Father...”

He met your whisper with a sneer, and you recoiled. He, too, thought your trek here was juvenile; you were just a witless woman wrestling with her emotions. Your heart sank at his judgment, disappointed that he thought you naïve.

Ashamed, you fixed your eyes upon a creeping succulent. You traced thick, tear-shaped leaves and winced at inch-long thorns. You could all but feel the phantom pinpricks. The red and pink blooms made for a variegated shroud to decorate the otherwise plain shrine.

It was lovely in its lethality, a fitting summation of this place.

“The Resistance slaughtered my planet, my ENTIRE family.”

You licked your lips and tugged at his sleeve, pulling yourself up to sit. Recognizing what you had just done, you wrung your hands, as though he was a walking electric current. Even so, he was the only bit of warmth in this melancholy vale, and you subconsciously leaned into it.

“You’re a fool.” He rose to an obscene height and moved away. “I care less than a whit for your holy wars. You murder on fantasy, not truth.”

The absence of his body was nearly as painful as his lack of understanding, and the resultant shout erupted before you could stop it.

“IT WAS NOT OUR WAR!”

Your exclamation bounced off shedding trees to die away in spongy, mossy hills. Sniffling, you pressed the heels of your hands into exhausted eyes. Yelling at men was an awful idea; yelling at this specific man was the epitome of lunacy.

How were you going to explain the hole in your soul to a creature who had none? To Ren, your mourning and loss were just specks in eternity, but he didn’t spend his days loving the living only to lose them. If your grandmother's stories were true, he had been this walking void since his creation.

And the brothers made themselves a land with a great vault separating light from dark. In their wisdom, they decreed the living would gather under golden sun, and the dead would gather under silver moon.  Grandfather Sky Walker gave his blessing: Let them rule over these lands through all ages. Let there be day and night, and let them usher in The Balance.

He was here. It was true.

That cast his indifference into an unusual shade of acceptance. Like this place, he existed outside of the universe’s organic stream. It wasn’t a lack of feeling; it was one colored by millennia of demise.

You were struck by the understanding that he made everything here in his image, all of it immaculate, alluring, and fatal. Just as he was.

“The Resistance decimated my planet on a rumor—a rumor that we were a First Order cult.”  Your voice was steadier than you expected. “But my family, my friends and everybody I knew...We were just ordinary people.”

You lifted your eyes and found him examining you, a curious look playing across his striking features. You huffed a pained breath and looked away again, fearing you would shatter under his scrutiny.

“My grandmother believed in the Balance, not in some notion of wiping the Galaxy clean of Soloists.”

His silence was deliberate, aimed to unnerve, and you crumpled forward, bending as though you could implore his aid into reality. When he moved, it was to stalk a circle around the altar.  His head cocked to assess your every angle.  Captured prey, you could do nothing but watch, wait, wonder.

“Belief in the Balance will not return your family. Nor will I.”

His glorious voice had bite; but where there should be an echo, there was none. Every lilting tree, every swaying vine, even the very air enveloped him, moved with him, absorbed his energy.  

Hugging yourself, you fought down your apprehension.

“No, it won’t.”

You looked past him to fat carmine leaves and marveled at how they turned their faces towards The Ren, their master. 

He only understood in terms of the absolute. 

“I came to ask you to kill them—the people who murdered my family. The Resistance.”

His circuitous pacing ended at your front, and he speared you with such a look you felt conquered. If he was the next crusade, the holy war renewed, you would fight for him, lay down and die for him. 

His long fingers slid you to the altar's precarious edge. So near to him, your comatose heartbeat increased, thudding against ribs his knuckles skimmed.

“All of them?”

You nodded, meek and uncertain. He stepped in, spreading your legs wide just by his body’s substantial design. He was the epitome of domineering, his shape meant to terrorize the weak, to endure immortality. 

Uncertain if you were allowed to put your hands on him, you braced against the slab, leaning slightly away.

The scent of this place, misty and piny and richly floral, was powerful, distilled to purity in his body. It seeped from his pores, the sumptuous belladonna curling around you like tainted tendrils.  He obscured what scant light there was and blotted out your senses, filling your light head with dread and longing.

With one finger under your chin, he lifted your face and beckoned you into such a trance you didn’t notice how he lazily caressed your outer thigh. One by one, he tugged upon the plum, plump bows keeping the rest of you hidden. 

“What price are you willing to pay for genocide, lost lamb?”

It was hypnotic—the timbre of his voice, the delicate dance of his fingertips, the starry shine of his eyes.  You blinked at his question, too caught up in the slow drag of his knuckles along your sternum and down between your breasts.

Your lips worked feebly, discarding every suggestion your brain made. What could you offer a being such as this? Prayers? He would condemn them. Offerings? Paltry trinkets. Blood? You’d already given it. Pleasure? You weren’t sure he was capable. 

It was a cruel game, and the realization burst over you like icy water, flooding your addled mind and shocking you back from stupidity.

You had nothing. Purposefully divested of everything, you sojourned here a destitute fool. 

“There it is.” He brushed a thumb across your lips, smirking. “She understands now that she has nothing, is nothing, of value with which to bargain.”

He collected your silent tears and fed them to you, salt in the wound. Chidingly, he wrapped stiff fingers around your quivering neck and squeezed until you felt your supernaturally sustained pulse drumming in your ears. 

“It is as I said. The dying lamb has no value to the shepherd.”

Fear licked at your nape, clamoring into the rational parts of you. Your mind whirred, desperately trying to unearth some kernel that would serve your purpose. There had to be something.

The memory struck you suddenly and at full velocity.  Careening, your breath stopped. The lineage of Soloists was a pastime for your brother, who made you sit through innumerable sessions and lectures.

And Solo took himself a wife, making her flesh of his flesh and bone of his bone. Their union was prosperous, and she begat him many sons, the first being...

Your body shot into motion, vacating all self-preservation. You grasped his hand and pulled it to your chest. You were even so bold as to thread your smaller fingers through his. On instinct, both legs wrapped around his hips, heels digging into his legs in a feeble hold. 

You were unwilling to renounce your argument without a fight. Hastily, the words spilled out, a wishful wine you weren’t sure he would drink.

“NowaitIcanbeyourvessel!”

A perfectly sculpted black brow rose over his eye. He untangled his fingers from yours, scoffing. Your face burned, impossible beads of sweat forming at your pounding temples. Not knowing what to do with your hands, you pressed them to your flaming cheeks and tried to calm yourself.

“Choose your next words carefully.” 

Entertained by the toddler, he was indulging your delusions, but there was a limit to his patience. Sturdy hands slid beneath your thighs, parting and lifting them so he could draw your hips further into his. You couldn’t argue; you were the one who stopped him from leaving. 

Was that an erection you felt there? Was this proof to your curiosity? The possibility sent goose flesh tingling to every inch of your skin.

“Your brother... Ah!” 

Athame in hand, he gouged the tip into your unblemished thigh, raising a lone drop of blood. 

“Your brother has many children; does he not? There are stories about his prolific family.”

Out sized, you spiraled into anxious desire. When he tired of your nonsense, pulverizing your bones would be little more than a snap of his fingers. Yet, here he was, still wedged between your thighs and feeling a lot like a man who could make you forget your name. 

“Reminding me of my brother is not the way to make your case, lamb.”

He dragged warm lips over your pulse, lathing it with his tongue. His wide palm wrapped around your generous hip, and every single thought fled on bated breath. He was woefully seductive, a wolf in shepherd's clothing.

You licked your lips and shook your head, trying to agree and clear away cobwebs, but his hands and nipping kisses befuddled you so much you could only sputter half-formed words. Switching your concentration to the blade, you valiantly tried to keep track of it and tied yourself to it's path like a lifeline. 

“But you don’t.” You splayed your fingers out wide, palms flat on the altar. "Your seed will kill a living woman, yes? But a woman already crossed over cannot carry a child."

You were about to launch yourself from the proverbial cliff. Regardless of what came next, you would be a splatter at its bottom.

“I- I can.” You begged the endless midnight sky to strengthen your resolve. “You can have me.”

He had been rubbing you up and down his rigid length, your body no more than an instrument to appease his ardor; but at your declaration, he gripped your hips painfully tight and bit your shoulder. 

Attuned to his mood, the stars dimmed to a faint radiance. It was the one detail your brain could latch onto, the way even the greatest of them conformed to his will. 

“You think that’s a novel gesture? That you’ll be the first person I’ve fucked here?” His voice was low but no less edgy. “How many would you wager have died screaming at the end of my dick?”

A pathetic whimper escaped your open mouth, and hunger set it to watering. The idea of him fucking you here, in this open clearing under his meticulously curated twilight, was salacious, tantalizing.

“Countless.” You couldn’t stop yourself from rolling your hips, trying to jump start his back into rhythm. “But I would wager very few of them have been willing to bear your children.”

He growled, a vicious, threatening promise. His soft touch turned angry, coiling into your hair and yanking your head back. Your throat seized, elongated by his grip and fully bared for execution. What had been a grazing scratch of your blade turned again to a harsh point dug into the skin. 

You could hardly speak, reduced to gaping at his flashing onyx eyes. They blazed with a fiery hatred, and you knew it was because you were right. It wasn’t easy for him like it was his brother. He had spent eons alone whereas his brother wanted for nothing.

It infuriated him.

“You need someone in the middle—not dead, not alive.” You arched upwards, trying to get even a bit of slack, just enough to speak. “Someone like me.”

He curved around you so tight you could smell the deadly nightshade on his breath, every single part of him designed to snuff out life. You chewed the inside of your cheek, wondering how each part of him tasted. 

“Someone like you?” He spat the words, fingernails digging into your scalp. “Impure? Spoiled by how many men in your lifetime? Cowed by a little death and stupid enough to make demands of me?”

He was so close to snapping your neck, and you itched for it. You would gladly die at his hand, reunite with your family. All of these morose colors blended with the sorrow in your heart, and you pictured your bones rotting to dust, anchoring you here forever.

But he held off, glaring down at you in barely-checked contempt. 

Caught between wanting to die and wanting to murder, your breathing tilted into erratic, skirting panic so closely a fallen eyelash would detonate the bomb in your chest. 

He looked at you in such a way, though, that your apprehension settled. He was angry because he didn’t know how to feel things. He was intended, to his very marrow, to only ever take. Anything else was uncomfortable and worthy of destruction. 

You nudged his nose with yours, a mirror to his earlier gesture.

“Someone willing.” It was less than a whisper, barely a breath. 

His calculating gaze roamed your face, judging the depth of your commitment. In seconds, the pointed extension of his anger sliced down your supple thigh, cutting open a large gash.  

But pain wasn’t his target.

His aim was true. The rogue missile was expertly guided. And when the thing forced into your cunt, you screamed in unmitigated horror.

“I’m no gentle lover, and this is not your marriage bed. Willing or not, the lamb is meant to be slaughtered.”

You splintered into a wrecked and blubbering mess, heaving and howling. You clung to his shoulders, gouging little crescents into his neck. You had expected to die today but not by the blade cleaving apart your pussy. Offering him your womb seemed to make him only want to carve it from your body, a trophy to mark your idiocy.

“You should not offer things that don’t belong to you, lamb.” The vibration tickled your earlobe, drawing you down from your mania. “Your body was mine the moment you crossed into my land.”

You felt it then, the shift and nudge inside your cunt. Where you were certain there had been a sharp edge, there was only an ornately ridged column, handcrafted and safe.

It was the hilt. 

The wave of frenzy crested, and you opened puffy, red eyes onto a lucent, luminous moon.

He had buried the knife’s handle into your cunt and was pumping it slowly. He held the traitorous blade without even a single red cell shed. 

You wailed a halfhearted objection because this was a profane corruption of a consecrated relic. A particularly long drag of the makeshift phallus countered and shook loose a vulgar moan, and you squeezed tight around it.

It was shameless and sacrilegious.

And it felt so, so good.

You whimpered when he licked your lower lip, barely making contact. Your thighs splayed wide, eager, and an appreciative noise rumbled in his throat. He rewarded your responsiveness with another slow, deep plunge of the weapon, and your head lolled back.

“How is your religion serving you now, lamb?”

He shoved the handle as far into you as the guard would allow and worked it back and forth, rubbing the ridges and pommel against the sensitive spots inside. You moaned sinfully loud, and grasped at him. 

He was ruthless, prodding the elusive bumpy patch until you bucked against his hand and watching you float through this immoral delirium.

You wished it was him. His mouth, his fingers, his cock. Anything but this false idol ramming into your pussy.

Your whimpers turned to pleasured cries. Your calves tensed and shook. Looking down on his blasphemous claim, you yelped and pushed at his arms, the torrent of blood splashed over your thighs and sex wrenching you from your high.

In your hysteria, you’d forgotten that he’d sliced open your leg. 

“Father, please…”

He dug his thumb firmly into the wound, gripping nearly your entire thigh in the one tremendous hand. For a moment, the throb in your pussy traveled up to swirl around the intrusion, and you writhed to get away.

“If you call me that again,” he bit your jaw, raising a welt, “I will slit you open from cunt to crown.”

He played in the plasma, coating his fingers with it. You whined and grimaced, caught between salvation at your cunt and persecution at your leg. When his tacky thumb connected with your clit, you shouted, wracked with tremors. Like a savage, he masturbated you with your own blood, rubbing fast circles.

Rapture barreled down the length of your spine, working its way through every extremity. You were going to cum for him, at the end of your family's treasured athame, and there was nothing you could do to stop it. 

It was indecent, and you drowned in it. You collapsed back onto the altar, arching up into a delicious bow. Your knees drew up higher, and your hips worked for him, chasing what he dangled but never quite delivered. Your fingers scrambled against the uneven stone and fisted the velvet garment.

Your insides coiled, churning terror and thirst together until you couldn’t tell one from the other. Inching closer and closer to that crack of lightning, your cries built, a tumultuous, hoarse crescendo.  You thought he would make you tow that line forever, so close to bliss but never allowed to feel it.

But finally, mercifully, it came.

A blistering exaltation slid over your every nerve. Your cunt clenched and quaked, gushing a lewd prayer. The knife in his hand was the center of all gravity, and every part of you swiveled around it, rolling and bucking and shaking. You hurled a string of curses no priestess should ever know, earning a derisive chuckle.

“Such filth from that pretty mouth.”

Spent, your back finally met the slab beneath, and you fought for breath, chest stinging and throat crackly. A pained whine escaped when his torture implement departed from your slick center, but he gave you only a brief reprieve. 

He climbed above you, dropped his heavy knee onto your sensitive mound, and shoved the sullied hilt into your mouth. Your eyes flew open, but he captured your jaw and kept it in place, ensuring that you held the thing upright. 

Copper tang pooled on your tongue and wafted under your nose. On a muffled whinge, your eyes rolled back into your head. Automatically, obediently, you rocked your hips under his trap. 

“No less than you deserve.” He was all spite and venom. “Swallow.”

You couldn’t look at him, the stars in his eyes daunting and demonic.  Your tongue moved around the hilt, licking away the remnants of your vulgar display. You curled your fingers into the hem of his shirt, exhaled slowly through your nose, and complied, gulping the taste down. 

A timid glance found him studying you, but you didn’t know what he was seeking. Obedience? Passion? Reverence? The gravity of the moment was inescapable. He was deciding if you died here and now, and he gagged you from making any further entreaty.

Lithe for his size, he slid from the perch and pulled the athame from your mouth. Silently, he lifted you from the slab and dropped you on the ground. Not knowing if any of the flora was poisonous, you squealed, shot to your feet, and clutched the abused blade to your heart. A second later, you nearly impaled yourself with it when he threw the hefty book at you. 

Grateful that he didn’t destroy your remaining link to your family, you sunk to the ground and dug aching fingers into the dirt. It was cool and soothing, and you wanted nothing more than to lie down in it and die. 

Instead, you watched, benumbed and mute, as he punched a large hole straight through the center of the altar.  It should have been alarming; the crash of rubble should have scared you, but your senses were far past overstimulated.

Silently, he manipulated a chunk of the altar into a slender loop. 

It was astonishing. He was literally creating something from stone that should have been unyielding. Crouching beside you, he pushed your chin up to lengthen your neck. It was then you understood what was happening.  The thing he was fashioning out of the imbrued marble was for you.

Without a word, he molded it around your neck, cementing it with a pinch of his mighty fingers.

His masquerade as a man fell away. That shrine had stood for a thousand years, likely more, and he demolished it as though it was parchment. He had desecrated the altar to enslave you, spinning an infinite bondage into existence with his very will alone. 

The strength, the unfathomable power unleashed a yearning you weren't prepared to address. He was something wholly beyond what you'd been taught. He was profound, unknowable.

You ran your fingertips along the jagged edges and discovered his collar was perfectly measured to your size.  His fingers would fit between it and your skin, but nothing more.

Every story you ever heard about this place rang in your ears, a raucous chorus of warnings. The living could not stay here, nor could they take anything from here. 

But it was too late.

By your own hand, you now existed between life and death, trapped here by this pillaged, obsidian tether and it's king.

You didn’t know if he would do as you asked or if he would make you bear his children.

You did know that you would never be leaving.

[fvaleraye]

Echoes

Well well well, would you look at that, we got another chapter :> This one is the long awaited return to the gals- Leona, Velda, and Artemis This one is definitely longer than my other chapters, coming to around five pages worth of words. But I’m very happy with how it turned out... and I hope y’all like reading it ;w;

The hour was early, the sun was peeking shyly over the horizon. Pale orange and yellow hues bathed the earth, the colors highlighting the light brown paths among greenery of the wide open plains. It was all very vibrant, like something out of a painting. Beautiful. Not very many people were up early enough to see it, of course, but travelers got to see it all quite often. Though, the sight usually lost its luster after the first few dozen times. Especially when many of said travelers would prefer to not be awake- let alone travelling- at such an early hour. But such were the sacrifices of those who wanted to explore the expansive lands of Magna Terra.

The trip to Crystalbarrow was much the same as the one to Springford. Leona riding on the back of Artemis- not just because there were very few carriage drivers willing to transport a greatwolf from Springford- but because they were all taken. The carriages were all so busy, as they usually are during spring, and they were just too anxious to get going to wait any longer. So, the old fashioned way it was. Just a roadtrip with a girl and her giant wolf. The one difference from the last trip was the extra passenger. While Leona was- quite begrudgingly- awake, Velda was sound asleep behind her, resting her head on her back, arms around her waist. Her presence definitely made the long trip much more bearable than the last. Artemis was beginning to get a bit tired- a rare sight- but she pressed on, because she knew as well as her charges that Crystalbarrow was not far. Not too close, but certainly not far. She had been trotting along for ages… she could manage a bit further. It was just on the edge of the Outlands, bordering the sea.

Just a bit further.

After about an hour or so more of walking, the sleepy archer managed to rouse herself from her slumber, making her consciousness known with a big yawn, startling the tired warrior. She glanced at her from over her shoulder, and the two quietly exchanged a look. A moment later, she was back to resting her head, arms around her a little more tightly now.

“I’m shocked you’re so comfortable resting your head on my metal armor.” Leona mumbled tiredly, idly glancing at the road ahead.

“I’m never not comfortable around you…” Velda replied, her voice just dripping with lovey-dovey tones.

If it was a mystery whether or not a wolf could roll their eyes, Artemis would have solved it just then.

Eventually, as swaying grass and fertile land turned to grey, still earth, the sounds of waves started to echo out from the horizon. The coast was nearing. Their destination was nearing. Finally. The two had started to sit a bit straighter, look a bit more presentable. They weren’t trying to impress anyone, but Leona was going to visit a family friend. She needed to wake up a bit. Hopefully he still lives here...

The town climbed into view soon after, a fair portion the old wooden buildings nestled snugly in a sizable crater in the ground, the rest extending into the horizon. The ocean was in full view, a small dock off in the distance, sails being raised and lowered as sailors were either bringing in hauls or setting out for more. The town was a rather simple one, but not a small one. Still, its humble appearances hid its less humble origins.

After all, the town got its name from producing loads and loads of gems and crystals, whether found in the bountiful sea or mined from its expansive crystalline cave networks. It was the single largest producer of gemstones across the entire continent. But you wouldn’t tell just by looking at it. Well, unless you caught a glimpse of people pushing around wheelbarrows full of the stuff, of which there were a few right now. Just loading them onto carriages or into buildings. For now, though, the only thing on the girls minds was getting to the local inn- The Diamond in the Rough. A rather… on the nose name, but it fit, what with the town itself being in the middle of one of the more hostile environments on Magna Terra. 

Not the most hostile, but still. 

As usual, Artemis sat down outside while Leona went in to talk with the innkeeper for a room. Though this time she had the company of her lovely girlfriend Velda, who, unlike her, had actually got a decent amount of sleep the prior night. The two stepped up to the counter, and the kindly old lady there gave them a warm smile.

“Hello there.” She said, sounding a bit tired, but still welcoming. “Welcome to the Diamond in the Rough. Would you like a room?” The practiced ease in her voice was pretty comforting, especially compared to the last inn.

Leona just nodded, pulling up a barstool for a second. “Yeah, we’d like a room…” She replied, rooting around in her pockets for her money. “Us two, and a greatwolf, Artemis, if that’s okay.”

The woman leaned to her side to peek past her guest and out the window. Sure enough, there was a greatwolf out there. Big. But not the biggest she had ever seen. She let out a tired sigh. “Can you wait another half hour or so before letting your pooch in?” She asked, fidgeting a bit. “We’re sort of at capacity for the big fellas at the moment, but a few are about to leave…”

“Oh-! Of course!” After a moment, she produced a small pouch of silver and gold coins from her pocket. “How much? For the room, I mean.”

“Thirty-five silver a night.”

She breathed a sigh of relief at the quite frankly reasonable price. She was expecting to have to pick up odd jobs to make ends meet at this point. But no… her current savings should be just fine for now, thank the gods. She set a handful of silver coins onto the counter, and very quickly stepped back outside.

“Hey Arte…” She mumbled, giving the wolf a few pats on the head. “You’re gonna have to chill out here for an hour or so, but you can come right in afterwards, okay?” The wolf gave a tired little nod, clearly just thankful she’s getting any rest at all. “Okay, good… love ya, big gal. I’ll tell Velda to grab you when you can come in, I just… need a bed…”

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

It wasn’t long before Artemis could come into the building, and it wasn’t much longer after that before the duo fell soundly asleep, leaving Velda to her own devices. As much as she wanted to stay in the room and go to bed with her lovely girlfriend, she just… wasn’t tired. Not that that usually stopped her, but… she had a few things she wanted to do. Look around, mostly. This wasn’t a small town. While it wasn’t near the size of the cities, it was still one of the biggest towns she’d ever been in. There was a fair amount of ground to cover. And a lot of people to talk to. She had to start sometime, and there was no time like the present. Carefully tip-toeing out of the room, she stepped into the inn’s lobby. It was a bit empty, which was fair. It was still early. Most sane people were asleep. She gave the little old lady at the counter a wave as she wandered out into the streets of the Crystalbarrow.

It was a nice enough town, it generally had that rough, stocky look that most coastal towns had. All the buildings were of wooden make, with stone foundations lifting them a good seven or so feet off the ground for when the tides came in. A few of the older buildings here and there had barnacles growing from the sides, while others had plenty of scrape marks on the wood from barnacle removal. Everything had a vibe to it that could only be described as vaguely damp, salted, and well-worn, but still lovingly upkept; like a ship that had seen its fair share of the tides- and had its fair share of repairs as a result. It was surprisingly homey, even among the dreary and slightly depressing gray earth of the Outlands. Velda took a breath, the salty sea air making her pull a face, and started to wander the streets.

Most of the people out at this hour were workers. The workers in question were miners about to go to the mines, though there were a few idle early birds on the streets as well. Everyone was dressed in what you would expect, cotton shirts, pants, knee-high mud-covered boots… nothing really out of the ordinary.

At least, until a… figure, approached her.

They stepped up to her from the side, just barely catching a glimpse of them from her peripheral vision before turning to face them. They were tall, just under seven feet. An old, slightly rusted iron breastplate covered their chest, brown robes flowing from underneath it. It parted in the middle, showing the leather armor that covered their lower half. Their face was concealed beneath a hood, the top of which held a strange crown, and an ornate, but featureless, gold encrusted mask. Gaunt hands, covered in bronze gauntlets ending in sharpened claws, emerged from long brown sleeves, and in them a simple plate, which they held out to the woman.

After the shock of their appearance abated, she let out a sigh. They were a church missionary, and they were asking for a tithe. Of course. She shoved a hand into a pocket, and dropped a few pieces of silver into the plate. The missionary gave a slight bow, and left wordlessly. Her gaze followed them for a time, and she shivered. Gods damned were some of the people the church employed unnerving sometimes. There were always at least a few of the silent missionaries in towns this far out, to help keep the townspeople on the “right path” and away from religions that the church would consider unsavory. Which was most any religion that wasn’t theirs.

Kind of dick-ish, when you thought about it, but considering that most other religions nowadays were apocalypse cults, it was hard to blame them. Hard. Not impossible. They do overstep their bounds occasionally.

She continued to wander for a bit, looking for someone who wasn’t busy or currently under an oath of silence. Her search eventually led her to the docks. Of course the docks were busy, but there were a few workers who were just resting, evidently not having much to do. She nervously stepped up to the least intimidating one, a tired looking young man, probably barely over eighteen. His face seemed to lighten up at her approach, and he started standing a bit straighter. He gave a grin, showing off a few missing teeth.

“H-hello there.” She greeted, fidgeting with her stowed bow.

“Hey there, ma’am!” He greeted right back, running a calloused hand through his messy, damp hair. “What can ah do for ya?”

She was a bit caught off guard by the youth’s enthusiasm, but it wasn’t unwelcome. “Uh… d-do you know anything about the- uh- caves. A-around here?”

His smile dropped for a second, his expression shifting to a more confused one. “Uh… well, ah mean, ah got an idea…” He mumbled, scratching the back of his head. “Unc’s a miner, so’re my cousins. Ah know the names at least, if tha’s helpful.”

She gave a small sigh. Okay, that’s better than nothing. “Do you know where a cave called… uh, called Echo Cavern is?”

He flinched a bit at the name. “E-Echo Cavern, ma’am?” He parroted, tilting his head. “Y-yer probably not from around here, otherwise ya’d know that nobody- ain’t nobody- allowed in there.”

“Please. I really need to find it. It’s the whole reason I c-came out here.”

The boy cringed, and took a sharp inhale, glancing around at the other workers. He grimaced as he turned back to her, eyes still darting around. “Ya sure ‘bout this…?” He asked, his tone making it empathetically clear that he was already sure he was going to regret this.

“... y-yes.”

“Ya don’t sound very sure, ma’am.”

“Th-that’s just how I sound.”

“... I’ll take yer word for it.” He leaned a bit closer. “It’s on the north-east side, further inland. You’ll know it when ya see it, ‘s got lotsa crystals around it. And bugs.”

She blinked at the last bit. “B-bugs?”

“Ye, bugs. Bigguns, too.”

“Well… th-thanks.”

She stepped away from the dock, not wanting to sour the poor lads mood any more than she already had. Hopefully he wouldn’t get in any trouble. He seemed like a nice kid. From there, she just idly paced through the town for a bit. She should probably wait for Leona and Artemis to wake up, so they can all go together.

… but also, she really wanted to get to the cave. She really, really wanted to get to the cave. It was the only lead she had right now. And she really wanted to follow it. But it was probably dangerous- what wasn’t nowadays- and a bow wasn’t exactly the go-to weapon for spelunking in… bug-caves. Eugh. The thought of it made her skin crawl. She really didn’t like bugs. Bugs just made her… viscerally uncomfortable. Especially big ones. But she’s faced scarier… probably…

… I’ll just take a peek, and then go back and wait for Leona and Arte.

The Outlands were dreadfully oppressing, especially when walking on foot. She didn’t quite imagine the cave being this far out from the kid’s description. But who knows, maybe she had already passed it. The town was already getting kind of far away… and she really didn’t want to lose where it was. The Outlands were very same-y- gray rock and dirt as far as the eye can see. At least Crystalbarrow was a coast town, so she can just follow the coast and get there eventually. That is, if she hadn’t lost where the coast was already. Her sense of direction definitely could have been better... but it also could have been worse. She could figure out a way back, she could… she just had to push the anxiety down for the time being. If she didn’t find the cave within the next ten or so minutes, she was heading back.

Of course, it only took about two more minutes of looking to find it.

When the lad said that she would know it when she saw it, he wasn’t joking. It was… a big cave. Even from a distance, it was intimidating. An enormous, yawning maw of an opening, lined with crystals, giving the impression of the giant, toothy mouth of a hungry monster. It wasn’t exactly welcoming. But there were no bugs… at least, not visible ones. Not yet. Slowly, carefully, she stepped closer. The closer she stepped… the louder… something became. It wasn’t clear what it was. It was… deep. Bassy. Cacophonous. Like a choir of some sort. But it definitely wasn’t a choir. Not out here. That became more obvious the closer she came.

She peeked into the vast opening, the glittering crystals providing light a far distance down… but that just made it even more obvious how it just kept going. There was no end in sight to the tunnel, and she could swear it branched off at several points. The sight made her stomach drop. No. No way, no way was she going in there without Leona and Artemis. The noise was near unbearable this close… and it still wasn’t any more distinct. Just. Gibbering and jabbering, echoing out of the cave. She decided now was probably a good time to just turn around and head back. No way. Nuh-uh. She could not get back to town fast enough.

In fact, Velda was in such a hurry, she tripped right over something and fell flat on her face, a cry and ‘oof’ pushed from her.

She picked herself up off the ground, a hand reaching up to her eye. Yeah, that was definitely going to be a black eye for her troubles. And her arrows spilled all over the ground. Fuck off. She brushed the dirt and dust off her clothes, and started to pick up the arrows. At least she didn’t accidentally stab herself on any of them. That was nice.

The only thing that broke her bit of misery was the little chirping noise she heard behind her.

It was a little hard to hear over the cave, but it was… different. Enough to notice. She turned around, arrows clutched in shaky hands, and didn’t see anything at first… left, right… nothing. Then she turned down, and she saw it.

It was a bug. A big one, about the size of a small dog. But it was… different. She jumped back at first glance, but as she looked closer, she was almost immediately disarmed. It was… very round. Almost spherical. Its back was covered in a shining, sparkling, deep purple carapace. A small horn protruded from its forehead, sharp, but short. It had rounded legs, and what seemed to be a pair of small arms, ending in three little fingers. Its stomach, strangely, was not covered in a similar carapace, rather it was a bright, near-pristine white coat of fur, coating its belly, neck, and the lower half of its face. It was knocked on its back, chirping and squealing, struggling to right itself. The sight was a little sad. Her heart getting the better of her, she inched closer to the little creature, and gingerly picked it up. It seemed to panic very briefly, but seemed to take to it after a moment. She set it back down on its legs, and it looked up to her, making a little chirping sound.

“Uh… y-you’re welcome…?” She said, hesitantly giving it a little pat on the head. It trilled in response. “... you uh. Y-you have a good day, I guess.” She added, before turning on her heels and hoofing it back to town.

While she didn’t notice it immediately, the little creature started to follow her after a moment. Maybe it was curiosity. Maybe it was attachment. Gratefulness. Who knew. But she had a little tagalong, whether she knew it or not.

[talltales]

pair:   jaebeom / reader / jinyoung desc:   isn't it only natural         that people enter through open doors? words:  2.4k+ rated:  17+ genre:  angst/romance notice: cheating thanks: to marie, for keeping me humble and cackling

                                      « view the scene masterlist »

scene 2

            —GO CRY ABOUT IT, WHY DON'T YOU?                 MY DEAR, WE'RE SLOW DANCIN' IN A BURNIN' ROOM

                                    there is an itch beneath his skin.

the unrelenting kind that makes him want to claw at his neck; it crawls up his spine and slithers down the length of his arm to settle in the tips of his fingers. though for all appearances, they brush harmlessly against her skin, encompassing her wrist with just enough strength to hold her still. jaebeom examines the way her skin reddens; an anxious flush that reaches her collarbones and disappears under the hem of her shirt.

he watches her from somewhere outside of his body; disconnected and yet able to hear the thundering of his heartbeat in his ears. it bounces off the walls, rumbles along the windows—an earthquake that only he is privy to.

his grip tightens before he consciously removes his hand, finger by finger, until there is nothing but her warmth lingering in his palm. a part of him wants to hold onto that feeling, to savor it before it fades. shoving his hand into his pocket, jaebeom wills himself to meet her gaze steadily. it’s harder than he imagines, confronting the reality of their failures.

his failures.

his eyes hurt.

wordlessly, he shuts his eyes against the pressure building; a potent combination of a migraine and the burning of unshed tears behind his eyes. if he lets his guard down for a moment, he knows they’ll fall. they’ll be near impossible to stop, and jaebeom isn’t quite ready to fall apart.

“what did i do?” and though he pushes out the question, allowing the doubt to surface, if only for the briefest of moments. though it is apparent that she has no answer. there may not ever be one, if the way she grasps for words—for the strength to keep upright—is any indication.

her lips part, though no sound escapes. as it always seems to be, she is all feeling and not nearly enough practicality.

he had prided himself on his ability to remain grounded. but now, the ground is crumbling away beneath his feet.

now, she drowns.

now, he suffocates.

thoughtlessly, jaebeom drags a hand up his forearm—hoping to alleviate the itch that resides just beneath.

his eyes remain fixed on her; he clings to the tattered remnants of logic and the apathy that typically accompanies it. but before long it is swallowed whole—replaced by a directionless, impotent kind of anger that ignites low in his stomach.

when she does speak again, he isn’t surprised to hear another apology slip into the growing—ever growing—space between them. without waiting for a response, she scrambles for the bag sitting innocuous by her heel and hauls it over her shoulder. his feet remain firmly planted in place.

they won’t move.

some foolish part of him—small and insecure, insignificant—wants her to show him some modicum of mercy; to spare his ego the vocalization of what he already knows, deep down. he’s come up short, somehow. his complacency has finally come back to bite him.

jaebeom wants mercy, but he also wants the truth.

his jaw clenches as she stumbles in her rush to get to the door, and away from him.

there is no room in his mind for forgiveness yet, he thinks. not when the burden of her actions is still so fresh on his shoulders. he doesn’t know how to hold it—to carry it—let alone set it aside. paralyzed, he turns her request over in his mind, ignoring the roar in the back of his mind that asks him—

how far did it really go?

the question leaves a bitter taste in his mouth.

with a glance at the darkened sky outside the window, it becomes clear how much time he’s wiled away standing there since she left. where the faint oranges of the sun had lingered on the horizon when she came home there are only shades of navy, punctuated by the occasional glimmer of distant radio towers.

he didn’t know what he’d have for breakfast, let alone what the rest of the day would bring. the foundation of their little castle had been crumbling, jaebeom supposes, though he hadn’t really paid it any mind. even now, his mind struggles with the concept—to grasp at the edges of this suddenly tangible thing that has inserted itself into their relationship.

lost in his thoughts, the man drifts from the living room.

there is no relief to be found in the silence this time. he roams from shadow to shadow, skirting around an eclectic collection of furniture that barely fits in their small apartment. her textbooks seem to occupy every flat surface. the blanket she wraps around her on movie nights lays half-folded on the arm of the couch. it is dizzying to think of her in the morning, slipping into a well-worn pair of jeans and one of his old shirts.

she promised to be back at no later than five.

it is seven when he hears the front door unlock. five minutes later, she turns his world on its head.

only when he slips into the bathroom and flicks the light switch does he understand why her hands trembled in his grasp.

the man staring back at him is a stranger.

his eyes are rimmed in red, face drawn into a stern expression more worthy of his father than himself. his hair is too long, even pinned back into a haphazard ponytail. the faint shadow dusting his jawline brings to mind an aborted effort to shave—the razor lies on the edge of the sink, unused. reaching up, he runs heavy hands across his face and expels a shuddering breath. only then does he register the way his shoulders curl inward, the bowing of his spine until his forehead lays on the countertop—

the cold against his skin does little for the throbbing in his head, and even less to muffle the quiet sobs that slip between his fingers. his vision blurs, leaving nothing but hazy outlines of the scattered objects on the vanity—

innocuous things like her hair-ties, piled neatly by the faucet; a forgotten tube of gloss, glittering pink in the cool florescent lights overhead.

focusing on the items draws him back from the edge that he is toeing, granting him some measure of composure when the tears slowly subside. bitterly, he laughs—a slight breath of sound that begets another, until he’s able to breathe.

jaebeom doesn’t realize that his hands have moved from their white-knuckled grip on the counter’s edge—not until he hears the clatter of her things hitting the floor. bottles roll behind his heels; the hairdryer hangs by the cord from the outlet. it swings harmlessly, tapping the cabinet until it stills beside him.

the bitterness—his anger—churns in his gut. no one emotion holds enough power over the others; he cycles between them faster than his thoughts can follow. the only constant is the fire that burns white-hot in his chest, licking at the insides of his ribcage. he inhales and feeds it.

exhales, and feels it die.

there is guilt, and there is sadness. but mostly he is pissed.

at her?

or at himself?

he’s been made into a fool, left to wonder when it was that her appointments began to run over every time; when she stopped answering his calls; when she started thinking about kissing another man. he is left to wonder why he never noticed. when it was that their days together began to blur into afterimages at the edges of his consciousness. their conversations resonate with all the clarity of an old song playing on the radio.

he hadn’t been paying attention.

it is a hard pill to swallow, and like most bitter medicine, it threatens to come back up if he dwells on it too long.

for the first time in months, he is acutely aware of the silence and the way it occupies every corner of the apartment; hanging like a heavy fog. jaebeom turns and leaves the cramped bathroom, peering down the darkened hallway to their empty bedroom and their neatly made bed.

wordlessly, he turns away.

should he have followed her? what would it have accomplished to chase her down—to confront her with the ugly thoughts insinuating themselves into his head. where was she going? was she running away from him? or running to someone else?

he doesn’t want to know.

even if the question trails at his heels, driving him toward the door she’d slipped out of an hour before. soundlessly, jaebeom slips into his shoes and shrugs his coat on. carefully, he ignores the pile of fabric on the floor and the way it smells faintly of a cologne he’s never worn. he ignores the responding twist of his stomach, as well.

but it is impossible to miss the fact that her phone is peeking out of the pocket. he leaves it.

by time he leaves their empty apartment behind, night has descended and with it, a biting cold that chills to the bone. it is still better than the quiet, the empty spaces and deep shadows that mark her absence with all the subtlety of a neon sign.

here, it says, here is where you fucked up.

when the chill starts to numb the tips of his fingers, he shoves his hands into his pockets. a skyward glance reveals little more than a new moon obscured behind rolling clouds; the beginnings of a snow flurry coming down. the streets themselves are near-empty; dark, save for the occasional passing car casting shadows on the walls of nearby buildings.

it is not a night to be outside.

yet jaebeom starts on a steady path to campus, hoping she’s tucked away between the shelves like usual—though her textbooks are littered across their coffee table. she isn’t there, of course. scanning the aisles earns him little more than a few curious glances from students hunched over their notebooks. they return to their studies no sooner than he passes, and he leaves the library, disappointed.

next, he walks by the coffee shop that she frequents in the mornings. a few late-night customers slip out as the barista flips the sign on the door to display printed red letters.

closed.

she isn’t there.

the fleeting idea that she’s not waiting for him makes him nauseous. it tempts him to turn around and go back to their tiny apartment; to crawl into their neatly made bed and not get up until the sun wakes him. if he’s lucky, this will turn out to be nothing more than a bad dream.

continuing on, jaebeom is unsure of his next destination but unwilling to end his search.

he finds her in the park, a block away from the edge of campus. halfway home. her figure is faded in the dark, almost too small for the swing that she occupies. the tips of her shoes drag on the ground as she pushes herself off—though the effort is half-hearted at best. she shivers when the wind picks up, and he notes the way her arms are encapsulated in her t-shirt. it is no better at warding away the cold than a wet blanket.

jaebeom watches her from a distance. again, his feet remain firmly planted. after too many false starts, he makes his way to her with faint steps. though in the quiet—a car alarm goes off somewhere down the road, but he can’t hear it over his own racing pulse—she catches the sound and looks up.

her eyes widen, and his apprehension swells.

he is so very angry.

but her eyes are red, shining brightly beneath the lantern at the playground’s edge. she says nothing, at first. instead she dips her head and wipes her eyes with the inside of her wrist. it does little to help, and even less to alleviate the weight settling on his neck.

and though her face displays her trepidation clearly, she doesn’t look away as he approaches. if anything, she sways toward him, pulling the swing to a gradual stop to allow him closer. her knees brush his legs fleetingly, but jaebeom feels her shivering.

“you—” she starts, tilting her head back to compensate for their difference in height, “you came out for me?”

he is so very angry.

but her soft question allows for nothing more than a quiet nod. jaebeom doesn’t trust himself to speak just yet. wordlessly, he shrugs out of his coat and exhales; with it goes a little of that fire. she sniffles as he lays the heavy fabric over her shoulders, stares as he lowers himself to kneel before her, laying chilled hands on the chains that suspend her swing.

“i’m—”

“stop apologizing,” jaebeom preempts. his voice breaks mid-sentence, raw and disused. faintly, he’s relieved she left before he broke apart in the bathroom. immediately, her hands raise to cover her face, shoulders quaking—

he observes mutely, all too aware of the way his eyes burn in response. he doesn't move. there is no correct course of action—they are not friends, not lovers, but something undefined.

carefully, he threads his fingers through the hair at her nape, leaning forward to press his forehead to the backs of her fingers. the only sounds between them are her cries; his heavy sighs. it takes control to keep his hands from trembling as he shifts to pull her hands down.

and while it is tempting to wipe her tears away, to kiss her cheeks and tell her it’s okay—

a selfish part of him refuses.

it is not pleasure that he finds in watching her drown in her guilt, but a grim sense of satisfaction.

he is so very angry.

but there is no question of what to do now. without releasing his hold on her hands, he rises to his feet and pulls her with him. there is a clear question in her eyes as she stares at him, lips parted in clear confusion. even now, she follows his movements dazedly, as if she can’t believe that he is there.

he finds it hard to believe himself.

still, there is nothing good that will come of walking away or pretending that she is the only one at fault.

jaebeom examines her, dwarfed in his coat—wiping her cheeks with the back of her hands. when he opens his mouth, he is pleased to find that his voice holds strength.

“you’re coming home,” he says, and there is no room for arguments—the air of finality hangs between them.

she nods, and he pretends that the relief shown so clearly on her face has no effect on him.

[wapwetasspirates]

SO SFW AZ (Treasure)

A: Affection (How affectionate are they with a s/o?)

Very affectionate. The trouble is that she is very clingy but also that she is that way with everyone. It is near impossible to tell when or who she is dating as there is little difference in her affections between them all. It is best to set boundaries with her and let her know what you are comfortable with or Treasure will take the affection with everyone as far as they and you allow. It's not that she doesn’t love you especially but affection is a very freely given thing in her world and she has a hard time catching herself and saying no.

B: Breath (What can their s/o do to take their breath away?)

Compliments on her personality as opposed to her looks surprise her. She knows she is gorgeous but hears it so often it’s lost value. Telling her she did well or said something particularly funny, etc always melts her inside and will put a silly grin on her face. But also wear a particularly flattering outfit and she won’t be able to look away or speak for several moments, just be prepared to not leave your room for the next several hours.

C: Cuddling (Do they cuddle? If they do, how and when do they cuddle?)

Always. Silly cuddles, comfort cuddles, you name it she is always down to cuddle. She has no preference on position and just enjoys being able to touch you though she has a particular fondness for human hair and her fingers are forever combing through it during cuddles. 

D: Dream (What do they dream of doing with their s/o?)  

Thrill seekers, hunters of mystery. She wants adventure and to take in everything she can with you beside her, exploring everything and everyone. 

E: Effort (How much effort do they put into a relationship?)

Both a lot and none at all. Her care is rather evenly given so it can seem like less and any s/o will have a hard time competing for attention with Coffer. That is not to say she puts none in but the gestures and effort can ring hollow when she would do the same for anyone. This goes back to needing to discuss boundaries.

F: Fear (What do they do if their s/o is scared? How do they handle it?)

Treasure often uses humor to turn everything into a joke and try to remove the fear from it, this can be helpful and annoying at times. If that doesn’t work she turns to more physical means, whether cuddles or, ehem, more distracting physical fun. 

G: Gifts (What type of gifts do they give their s/o? Do they want a gift in return?)

She is shamelessly materialistic and adores being given trinkets and loves dressing up her s/o’s. Expect 99% of your gifts to be things she’d like to see you in. 

H: Hugs (Do they hug their s/o? How often?)

She basically drapes herself all over you all the time, it doesn’t really count as a hug but she is something like a leech so good luck getting space from her. If you want a real, comforting hug you’d probably have to ask her.

I: Intimacy (How romantic are they? Do they have problems with intimacy?)

Treasure knows exactly how to play the part of the romantic but she has little interest in it herself. She does it if her partner enjoys it but otherwise doesn’t bother. As for intimacy, you might end up wishing she had an off switch.

J: Jealous (Do they get jealous? How do they act when jealous?)

Not even slightly. She is open to all forms of relationship and trusts her s/o but if you don’t at least give her a heads up she can be very petty and expect more than a few sharp words from Coffer that will remind you exactly why you don’t want to do that. 

K: Kiss (Are they a good kisser? Do they like to kiss? How often do they try to kiss you?) 

One of the best in wap and no that isn’t just her pride boasting, it’s fact. Her and Coffer have regular competitions much to everyone's amusement. She loves kissing, any and all types and everywhere. She is very fond of giving and receiving shoulder kisses especially and loves surprise kisses. Especially dramatic, running across a street to leap into each other's arms dramatics. She is extra, what can I say.

L: Love (When do they say they love you? How often do they say it? Do they prefer to say it or show it?) 

Surprisingly she is very careful about saying it but once she does she’ll say it often and shamelessly. She’ll shout it from rooftops just because she can. Her showing it, much like her affection, can seem too similar to everyone else so she tends to rely on her words in this case. 

M: Marriage (Do they want to get married? If so what kind of ceremony?)

She isn't actually that fond of that type of commitment. Not that she isn’t committed but she idea of a piece of paper proving she cares for you doesn’t sit well with her. If she ever were to get married though, you can bet she would demand the most ridiculously extravagant wedding possibly and she wouldn’t pay a dime to get it either. 

N: Night Out (What type of dates do they like to go on? How often do they like to go on them?) 

Date night is every night. She has no preference; she just enjoys wining and dining her s/o and the same being done in return. If you let her everyday will end up being the most ridiculous date until it blurs into one endless date of madness.

O: Out of the Ordinary (What’s something they don’t normally do for/with their s/o?) 

Settling down. It isn’t really in her nature but with an s/o she is more willing to have calm, “domestic” days if asked. 

P: Playful (Are they playful in a relationship? If so, how do they play around/mess with their s/o?)

When is she not? If she’s not teasing you, flirting, or generally being a pain in everyones ass. You’ll have a much harder time getting her to not make light of everything and take things seriously than you will dragging her into a game play wrestling or prank war.. 

Q: Questions (Do they ask their s/o their opinion on things? Do they share theirs?)

She doesn’t. It doesn’t mean she won’t take advice but she usually is the type to do first and ask later. However, she has no problems voicing her thoughts on everything under the sun and then some. 

R: Random (How spontaneous is their relationship? Do they do things on the spot or plan ahead?)

Very. It's highly debatable that Treasure even knows what a plan is let along can plan something. Everything is done on a whim and in the spur of the moment with whatever strikes her fancy and she loves dragging her s/o along for the ride. 

S: Sleep (How do they sleep with their s/o?)

Whenever she wants and frequently. As much as she is the type to go everywhere and do everything she enjoys her “beauty rest” and will kidnap you no matter how inconvenient for naps and sleep, she never sleeps alone and it is something she will argue with you about. She is twice as clingy in her sleep as she is awake. 

T: Trust (How much do they trust their s/o?)

Completely. Entirely. And also not at all. She knows people far better than they know themselves at times and if she doesn’t trust you she probably never will, if she does trust you it's nigh impossible to have that trust broken. 

U: Unique (What makes them unique as a s/o?)  

Sexy brothel pirate lady. She’ll swindle your heart.

V: Vulnerable (How long until they can be vulnerable around their s/o? What are they like in this state?)

Immediately. She is shameless and not afraid of being vulnerable but this has burned her many times. There isn’t a real difference in behavior because with Treasure the version you get is the version you will always get in a sense. If she trusts you enough to be vulnerable she is so from the start, if she doesn’t you’ll never see it. 

W: Wild Card (Random domestic headcanon)

Wearing each other's clothes. Her favorite to see you in is something of hers and vice versa. She is a bit of a dork and loves the scent of you around her, surprisingly lazy days inside in the most ridiculous outfits are something that will happen more often than you’d think.

X: X-Ray (What would they do if their s/o got injured?)

As if she’d let any around you long enough for that to happen. And if it did Coffer will have it taken care of so quickly you’ll wonder if it ever happened at all. If it's a minor physical mishap she will mock you endlessly even as she teasingly offers to kiss it better. Serious injuries will have you ported to Coffer and healed before you even feel the sting of an injury. 

Y: Yuck (Do they have any pet peeves about their s/o? Are there any habits that might bother their s/o?)

Not really, Treasure is all about doing you (ha, see what I did there?). And if something does bother her she’ll just ignore it, she’s very good at that. And if it's something that really upsets Treasure you’ll suddenly find Coffer has somehow trained you out of it. 

Z: Zeal (Are they passionate as a s/o? Do they want or like passion?)

Very. But she’s passionate about everything and everyone, its both hard to match and almost seems false but she does enjoy when people try to keep up, especially her adorable s/o.

[f-agee]

I'm not really good at prompts but here goes nothing.

Claudette is beside herself when she finds out she's pregnant. For most people, this would be fantastic news. Hell, it would have been great news for her if there weren't a few significant issues. The first being that's she's stuck in an almost constant state of peril—second being that she has to find away to keep now not only herself safe but also her unborn child. The last issue but definitely not least is that the father of her child isn't exactly the friendliest or even friendly to begin with.

Claudette/ Frank or (whoever you pick I can't pick between Michael ,Evan ,Frank ,Kazan ,or Pyramid head)

It’s on ao3 if you wanna read it there too. I decided to do Pyramid head cause I like him and it was more interesting compared to some other killers for me

https://archiveofourown.org/works/24712846

For the first time after being trapped into the Entity, Claudette cried. She honestly thought all her tears have dried out by now. Every trial being an all too familiar torture she couldn’t even produce tears for anymore, but leave it to the Entity to find a new way to torture its inhabitants. In the end she can’t even blame the Entity for her mistake, it was even kind enough to grant her odd and unusual wish for a pregnancy test after she started getting sick. The dreaded object sat tossed aside carelessly near the log that she sat at, hidden away in the deepest part of an unexplored wood in order for her to feel comfortable enough to take it. It was her fault for not being careful, her fault for not thinking you could even get pregnant here, and her fault for even sleeping with the man in general. Despite everyone else she could try to blame, her newfound torturer was herself.

She tried to reason with herself a little, every act of negligence on her part did have a very valid reason to it. She never had her period since coming here, she’s had unprotected sex multiple times since being here, and if she was gonna be honest, she wouldn’t have even guessed that Pyramid Head was fertile. He seemed more like an entity himself rather than a regular human being. She would’ve been more concerned if she had slept with that Legion boy instead of him, but in the end she’d slept with him and was now facing the consequences of their actions.

There was nothing particularly bad about the man, except for the fact that he was a monster, and that was something that pained her more than usual. It was a somewhat ignorant thought that she would have never had otherwise, but in her grief, logic and empathy was starting to evade her. Claudette knew he was an intelligent beast. He responded to natural human conversation and was definitely capable of deeper thought despite his inability to speak them. They’ve had quite a few deep conversations before they started sleeping together, but for some reason Claudette felt a little disgusted with herself. Almost like she had slept with an animal and somehow found herself pregnant. The thought felt grotesque in her brain, and when she was more like herself, she felt that she should apologize to the man for even having such a thought cross her mind.

She hiccuped and cried harder into her hands. In a deeper part of her mind, she just knew her harsh and untrue thoughts were because of what he was to her. He was indeed monstrous to her both in stature and in nature. A born killer who preys upon the undeserving with no conviction would never make for a good father. She wished Jake had gotten her pregnant instead. They’ve had a few hook ups here and there towards the beginning of being trapped into the Entity.

Claudette couldn’t call it romantic, it was two people who were desperate for contact who wanted to feel a connection with someone they trusted. Their relationship remained platonic despite what they’d have done, and they were both fine with that. Claudette would’ve felt bad if she had thrusted a child onto him for something so inconsequential to both of them, but at least it would’ve been easy. It would’ve been a whole hell of a lot less complicated if it weren’t for the fact that the real father was a non verbal killer. It would’ve been one less situation to torture herself with.

She knew the father wasn’t Jake. They haven’t slept together in what seemed like years, and Claudette hasn’t had sex with any one else recently except for Pyramid Head. Oh God, to think that her baby daddy doesn't even have a name, just a title to call himself, made Claudette feel sick again. Once again, she shouldn’t be attacking him for things that he neither is, nor can he control, and she would definitely apologize to him later, but her child’s growth and future would absolutely be affected negatively by their bloody heritage. It’s already horrible enough to grow up in a place like this, but to have a visible murderer and torturer as your father doesn’t help.

She wonders if the baby would even make it. She’s so lucky she hasn’t died recently, but luck in this place dies just as quickly as the inhabitants it affects. Who knows what’ll happen to the baby if she dies, especially if her killer damages her stomach in the process? She knows that she’ll come back ok, but what about her unborn child? If her baby dies from her inability to protect it, the grief it will cause her would kill her again. She wouldn’t even know when she would have lost it. Prenatal care is almost impossible in this place, even more so with the fact that the only hospital in this realm has an ultra sadistic tormentor guarding it. She would have to wait to either miscarry in or out of a trial, or wait and see if her symptoms go away and she never grows bigger. She’ll sit and wonder if the Entity never put her baby back together like it did her after she died, just to start grieving for something that was dead months ago.

Even if her baby did survive, would they be healthy? Claudette could only imagine what it would be like to have continuous trauma to her womb during pregnancy. It’s not that she would love her child any less, quite the contrary actually, but she would always feel that it was her fault that her child wasn’t born as healthy as it could be. She also hoped that her child wouldn’t be afflicted with the same… condition as its father. She took the time to pause in her tears to laugh dryly. She could only imagine the torture of both carrying and birthing a child with a pyramid head. All of the cute little milestones of the baby moving around in her womb would slice her stomach open, or at least cause extensive, possibly irreversible damage to her. If it got bad enough it would probably be for the best to get an abortion, but God did she want this child. Despite every bad hand that's been dealt to her, she still loved this baby. She still wanted to make it work. She still wanted to see if she and Pyramid Head could be a family.

A family. That’s truly what she wanted at the end of the day. She definitely thought of the other survivors as her makeshift family, but this was different. To love someone dearly and have them love you back in such a way that only parents and their children could share. That’s what she wanted for herself. She wished she could’ve planned everything out better. If she was still going to have a child with Pyramid Head, she wanted them to be in love with each other. To at least have a romantic relationship before being saddled with a child. She wanted to have him love her, if not for her, then for the child. She’s seen what parents who hate each other’s guts do to children born between them, and she didn’t want another thing to add onto the child’s list of hardships. It’s not that she couldn’t have a loving relationship now, they’ve talked a lot and enjoyed each other's company many times before, but the chance that he wouldn’t love her in that way or would want anything to do with the child was far too high.

She’ll find out soon enough. It was for the best if she told him now before things got too deep. Her tears started to subside and before she knew it, she was already getting up to try and find a path that leads to Silent Hill. She only vaguely remembered the way to the confined hellscape, the killer being too new for habitual familiarity, and she hoped she didn’t stumble into any other killers territory. Afraid of what they could do to her if she walked into a particularly hostile domain, she started to feel herself tremble from more than just the tears.

She hadn’t even thought about it, but all of the extra stress that gets put on her could cause her to miscarry. Who cares if you escape a mad man’s clutches, when that same mad man scares you so past your wits that your own body kills the life inside it. Not to mention even if she survives the miscarry danger zone of the first few months, the further along she gets, the harder it is for her to run, hide, or help her friends. Try as her friends might they couldn’t do much for her if she couldn’t do it herself. None of them could face a killer toe to toe, and even as a group they can only save and protect the people who could help themselves out of a chase. If a killer truly wanted to kill a specific survivor, they will, and everyone who tries to stop them will only get hurt in the process. She can beg for mercy from the more kind and moralistic killers. Wraith, Legion, Huntress, hell maybe even the Oni may be more willing to turn a blind eye to her would be rounded form, but she knows for a fact that killers like Clown, Micheal and the Doctor would relish in the new ways they can torture her and would specifically seek her out in trials.

Her breathing got rapid and irregular. She was at the beginning of a panic attack and she knew it. This was all becoming too much for her. All this heartache, for a child that she wanted to keep. She needed to calm herself, knowing that it would do more harm than good if she let herself spiral, but her grief weakened mind couldn’t handle the onslaught of emotions. She paused in her steps, before falling to her knees. She didn’t even notice the startings of the familiar blood stained concrete, or the large figure walking towards her from a distance.

The ground shook slightly with the weight of Pyramid Head’s steps, small tremors getting stronger the closer he walked towards her. The even shaking gave her something to synchronize her breaths to, making her calm enough to at least be aware of her surroundings. Something must have gotten her there quicker or maybe she was just walking faster than she thought, either way she’s glad she made it here and not panicking alone in the forest. The sight of Pyramid Head clambering towards her would’ve scared her a month ago, but they’ve met up with each other like this a lot since then. It especially loses its impact after you’ve slept with a guy. Plus she had bigger fears on her mind than a man who seemed more concerned rather than bloodthirsty.

Claudette didn’t look up to him as he came to a stop directly in front of her. Her breathing had calmed down some, but she could still feel herself shaking violently. Only when the man kneeled down and put his hand on her shoulder, did she look up to him. She wondered how he could see with that thing on. If it were some sort of helmet, he would definitely only be able to give her a sideways glance, as he had to turn his head in order to not hit her with the metal contraption. He tilted his head even more to the side in concern, obviously asking a silent ‘What's wrong?’ To her. She knows she must look a mess to him, tear stained face and hyperventilating while sitting on the ground.

Her attack had mostly passed, but it’s disappearance did nothing to quell her shaking. She was definitely going to start crying again, and she didn’t even tell him what happened yet. The silence was starting to kill her. She wished either of them could speak to break the spell. She wished that she was strong enough to just let it all out. She wished that even when she did tell him that she was pregnant with his child, he could respond back and tell her exactly how he felt about the whole thing. She wished that she could’ve gotten pregnant under normal circumstances. Tears started to flow down her cheeks again as she whimpered softly.

Pyramid Head let out a startled low whine as he quickly shifted from letting go of her, to frantically waving his arms in front of her, then finally settling his large hands on her cheeks to both wipe her tears and let him have a clearer view of her face. He was definitely not used to comforting people, Claudette now knew that for a fact, but his genuine concern and eccentric way of doing it made Claudette feel a little better. She managed to let out a short teary laugh and put her hand up to hold his arm.

“Thank you,” She leaned into his touch and sighed. “I'm sorry... For the things I thought and said that you didn’t deserve. I’m sorry that I forced you into this position. I’m so sorry for everything.”

Now he looked even more confused than before. He paused in his ministrations and only seemed to stare at her. She knows he’s probably tired of her beating around the bush. She hasn’t said anything or done anything of substance since seeing him, only bawling her eyes out and panicking. She might as well get it out already, especially since, as a new killer, he gets called out often and could leave at any moment. She looked down, took a shaky inhale of breath, and licked her lips. Well… here goes nothing.

“Pyramid Head, I don’t know how it happened, but…” A pause.

“I-,” She looked back up at him. “I’m pregnant.”

She could feel him go stiff and even tighten his grip on her cheeks. As he made no further movements, Claudette felt the need to go on. To explain herself, to hear anything but the silence and the lack of clear emotion from the man.

“I asked the Entity to give me a pregnancy test, and it was positive… I want to keep it, if you don’t mind, but I don't know what to do. How we could survive, if we could survive. How I could raise them in a place like this,” Her eyes darted to and fro wildly, her hands following. She couldn’t help but to ramble. She needed someone there to listen, and here was just the man who needed to hear it. “God do I want this kid! I really do, but this is going to be so hard. And I don’t know if I’ll be raising the child alone or-”

Pyramid Head quickly grabbed her shoulders and shook them with a strong grunt. She finally looked up at him to see his large helm quickly swaying back and forth. This was somewhat unexpected to her, considering his lack of a positive reaction initially. Does he want to help raise the child? If so could her little fantasy of a happy family be closer to a reality? The thoughts ran laps around her mind. She felt her hopes starting to bubble up inside her. She wanted to see just how far she can press her luck.

“So… would you be willing to raise it with me?” A nod as his hand went down to softly palm her belly. She was starting to feel a smile coming on. “Well I don’t want to ruin what we have going on right now, but I was wondering if you wanted to.. I don’t know. Maybe start dating?”

There was a short pause that made Claudette’s heart drop a bit. She was going to backtrack on her words, but a confused grunt stopped her. She looked at him curiously as he pointed between them, made a lewd gesture with his hands, then formed a heart after he was finished. Claudette could feel her cheeks heat up at his display before questioning its meaning.

“Where we already dating when we had sex?” A curt nod was her only answer. She blinked stupidly for a second, then laughed at her ignorance. She was apparently worried about their relationship over nothing. She’s at least glad that she had one thing going positively for her.

“Sorry I didn’t realize. Most of the times I’ve had sex was mostly just flings, and to be honest it wasn’t a lot…” He put a hand on her shoulder and rubbed it, trying to comfort her.

“Well that’s at least two of my worries gone, but what about the more pressing issues. I don’t know if the baby could survive an attack or me dying. I know you wouldn’t hurt me, but what about the other killers? You can’t always be there to protect me,” They both looked down darkly at the grim situation. “I mean I could ask some killers not to target me. I know at least a few who wouldn’t hurt me-”

Pyramid Head gave a low growl at that. So that was a hard no, but they didn’t have a whole lot of options here, and Claudette knew that neither of them wanted to test the Entity’s rules on pregnancy death. Suddenly Pyramid Head made another noise as he then gestured to himself, then towards the sky. She took a moment to think about what he was trying to say.

“Are you gonna ask the Entity yourself?” Another nod. A killer asking the Entity for a favor worked out a lot better than a survivor asking for one, but Pyramid Head was new. Who knows if the Entity will trust him to keep promises or not, although he does have a good track record for kills so far. Claudette made a face. She didn’t like to take her chances with the Entity, but this was the only shot they got.

“Well… it’s worth a shot. I sure hope this works out.” She gave a reassuring smile as he rubbed her shoulder again. Eventually he pulled his hand off her shoulder, and opened up his arms to her for a hug. Claudette wasted no time taking him up on the offer, and quickly threw herself into the well needed hug. His hold was strong yet mindful of her small form. Strong bloodied hands lifted her carefully as he stood with her still in his arms. He walked them towards the main building, most likely on his way to the library, as was their usual hangout spot. The familiar scenery of the book filled room made Claudette feel the same sense of euphoria as when she’s in a garden. They definitely have a lot more to talk about, as difficult as some of the conversations may be they must be had. At least they had 9 months to think about the details.

[my-creative-hell]

Sick (Normal au)

Waking up slowly, Grave frowns and hums in concern as she notices Scarlet beside her. Though that wasn’t what was concerning, they had gone to sleep in the same bed. But Scarlet, someone Grave knew to always be cold, was now very warm, her skin pallid as she sleeps beside Grave.

Glowing in worry, Grave moves in the bed, shaking Scarlet gently in an attempt to wake her up, though Scarlet doesn’t stir, body heavy and limp in a deep sleep.

Feeling more worry flood through her, Grave shakes Scarlet more, starting to panic as Scarlet stirs slightly, a hushed whine escaping her, sounding groggy and disorientated.

Buzzing quietly, Grave continues to shake Scarlet gently, wanting to be able to help her as Scarlet seems to stir, weakly lifting one of her arms to cover her eyes, the world scorching itself into her sensitive retinas.

Opening her mouth, Grave quickly shuts it again as she realises she doesn’t know what to say to eased the situation, her worry making it impossible to form a coherent thought as Scarlet groans, trembling slightly.

Frowning, Grave kisses Scarlet gently, in hopes of healing whatever’s wrong. But Scarlet groans again, moving slightly as she shakes, her skin still pale and covered in a thin sheen of sweat.

Feeling confused, Grave gives her another kiss, glowing more as Scarlet coughs quietly, her eyes forcing themselves open sluggishly to look at Grave.

“But??? Why?” Grave questions softly, kissing Scarlet repeatedly in hoped something will work, not wanting her to be in pain any more. But Scarlet scrunches her face, whining in confusion as she stirs more, feeling groggy.

Frowning more, Grave thinks as she curls herself into a ball, feeling scared as Scarlet reaches for her weakly. She attempts to sit up, but her body seems too tired to even do that, leaving Scarlet to sink back down to the bed.

Grave pulls Scarlet into a hug, holding her gently as she shakes, feeling Scarlet lean into her as she struggles to keep herself awake, feeling groggy and disoriented.

Trying to comfort her, Grave strokes her hair softly, hearing Scarlet hum as she dozes slightly, her body not wanting to deal with the illness as Grave presses a gentle kiss to her forehead, some small tears forming in her eyes.

Interrupting them slightly, someone knocks quietly on the door to the room, forcing Grave to get up from the bed to answer it.

“Hello?” She questions, her voice quiet as she pulls the door open slightly, enough to see Lola standing outside of it.

“Oh good I am at the right place.” She comments, tapping her foot against the floor impatiently. Deciding against letting her in, Grave immediately closes the door in Lola’s face.

“Don’t you think that was a little rude?” Lola questions, scoffing softly as she continues to knock on the door.

“That’s a compliment compared to the way you treat me, dickhead.” Grave insults her in return, keeping the door closed.

“Look I’m not here to play catfight with you, alright?” Sighing, Lola lowers her voice as she speaks again.

“Mhm, s u r e you aren’t, Lola.” Grave responds, sounding sarcastic as she snorts in dull amusement.

“I’m really not. I heard Scarlet got sick.” Lola explains, her voice turning serious as she speaks now, making Grave hesitate.

“Come in.” She gives in, opening the door for Lola, despite not liking that she has to let her inside.

“Thank you.” Lola moves inside the room to sit beside Scarlet on the bed. “When did this happen?” She questions, looking to Grave for an answer.

“Today…” Grave explains, sitting down on the floor as she closes the door behind them, feeling more worried by the second.

Frowning, Lola moves to check Scarlet’s temperature, who has already fallen back asleep on the bed as Grave watches, curling into a ball as she fiddles with her fingers, unsure of what she could say.

“Well, the good news is it can be fixed.” Lola explains, sighing as she stands up from the bed.

“Really?” Lifting her head to look at Lola, Grave feels some excitement build at the idea that Scarlet can be helped, a tiny smile spreading on her face.

“Yup. Just gotta get some shit and find the dick who did this.” Lola explains, moving away from the bed.

“Yaaay.” Grave smiles, but its less happy as anger rises within her, making her glow in response.

“Pretty much. Coming with to catch em?” Lola questions, huffing quietly as she looks down at Scarlet.

“Of course, the fuck type of question is that?” Grave asks, standing up from the floor quickly.

“Just askin. Scarlet should be fine for a while so we can get it done and over with.” Lola explains, leading Grave outside with her.

“Gonna fight some assholes!” Grave exclaims softly, a small smile on her face as she follows Lola.

“Kill em maybe, depends on how much they annoy me.” Lola explains. “My cars outside.” She continues.

“Oh… we’re taking a car… c o o l.” Grave looks at Lola in confusion before noticing the car parked outside.

“Quicker than walking, and I’m sure you can agree we want to get this sorted as quick as we can.” Lola explains, unlocking the car for them both.

“I wasn’t talking about walking either, but this is cool too.” Grave explains, playing with her hands as she gets inside the car.

“Either way, we don’t wanna be too noticeable. The dudes who did this don’t play nice.” Lola explains, getting inside the car and placing the keys in the ignition.

“Oh really? I never knew.” Grave’s voice is dripping with sarcasm as she curls into herself.

“Look, I know you’re stressed and all but you don’t gotta lash out at me. I’m stressed too.” Lola counters, staring the car as Grave sighs, nodding

“Alright, sorry.” She apologises, half meaning it as Lola huffs quietly, starting to drive away.

“I know we don’t get along but I’ve been trying to lay off recently.” Lola explains, able to see Grave rocking gently in the corner of her eyes.

“T-That’s good…” Grave comments, her feet tapping carefully against the floor as Lola looks at her for a moment.

“Well it just makes sense given the… situation.” She explains, driving down the road quietly.

“Yeah… it sucks ass!” Grave explains, glowing in both good and bad energy as she watches the world go past them.

“Well yeah, there’s this… and you also are kind of dating my family.” Lola explains quietly, focusing her eyes on the road.

“Cuz we h o m e o f s e x u a l s.” Grave explains, feeling confused by Lola’s words, but not willing to question her on it.

“She really didn’t tell you anything, did she?” Lola questions, frowning as she looks to Grave.

“Nah… its fine though.” Grave explains, shaking her head as she looks out of the window, away from Lola.

“Well there’s some things you should know, and I can only assume Scarlet kept them from you for fear of being left.” Lola explains, sighing quietly as she focuses back onto the road.

“O-Okay…” Grave comments, biting on the string of her hoodie nervously, fiddling with her hands.

“Its only her being paranoid since she likes you so much…” Lola continues, huffing quietly. “Well I guess you should at least know my relationship with her.”

“I… sure, why not.” Grave agrees, trying to smile as Lola sighs, focusing on driving to their destination.

“I’m Scarlet’s sister. Twin sister, to be more precise about it.” She explains, sounding calm.

“T-That’s cool…” Grave comments, nodding as she prevents herself from asking questions, fearing being yelled at.

“I know it’s probably a lot to process, feel free to ask things.” Lola explains, flicking her eyes to glance at Grave quickly.

“A-Are you sure? I don’t wanna ask to many and bother you…” Grave argues softly, feeling confused.

“Nah, I don’t mind. We normally get questions so it’s not new.” Lola explains, snorting indifferently.

“That’s not related at all…” Grave argues, frowning as she shakes her head, thinking it through.

“Look, it wont bug me so go for it.” Lola continues, a small smile on her face as she looks to Grave.

“Why were you so mean to me most of the time? A-And why arte you even being nice to me?” Grave questions, frowning.

“…It’s a defence mechanism. Me and Scarlet… don’t have the safest life.” Lola begins, frowning as she stares out the windshield. “I don’t wanna bring people into it. If I’m a bitch, no one will ever like me. I’ll never make friends; never have anyone close enough to get hurt. But now… Scarlet’s in danger and… I don’t know what to do.” She admits, sighing softly.

“Oh…” Grave trails off, fiddling with her hands. “I-I’m sorry for asking.” She apologises.

“Its fine.” Lola reassures her, a small smile on her face. “It doesn’t really matter.” She continues.

“It does though!” Grave exclaims, frowning as she shakes her head in concern, watching as Lola sighs.

“Grave, look, once this is over I can go back to being hated and you can go back to hating me. It’s a win win.” Lola explains.

“Do you want that?” Grave questions, frowning more as she wraps herself into a ball, watching Lola shrug.

“Want or not, it doesn’t matter. Its what I know. Our mother hated us and left, and father is busy most of the time. Am I just supposed to let people get close?” Lola vents quietly.

“You could try it…” Grave explains, trying to smile as she thinks, glowing softly as Lola frowns.

“And if they get hurt? Then it’s my fault.” Lola frets, turning to look at Grave, slowing the car more.

“Nope! Its not your fault unless you hurt them yourself.” Grave explains, tapping her feet against the floor as Lola stops the car.

“Won’t I mess it up? I’m not good at this shit…” Lola continues, Grave seeing a genuinely distressed expression on her face for the first time in knowing her.

“I could help you!” Grave exclaims, holding herself back from holding Lola’s hand, unsure if she would want that.

“Why help me? Haven’t I kinda fucked this up already?” Lola questions, a sad smile on her face.

“W-We could always… try again? Only if you want to tho.” Grave offers, frowning as she looks away from Lola.

“I-I wouldn’t hate it…” Lola admits, looking at Grave slightly as she processes her words.

“Good!!! You wanna start now?” Grave questions, smiling sweetly at Lola as she parks the car,

“Lets start with getting the fix for Scarlet.” Lola explains, flashing Grave a genuine smile.

“Yeah, the sooner the better.” Agreeing, Grave clips outside of the car, glowing softly as Lola follows her, locking the car behind them. Stretching silently, Lola pulls out a gun from a hidden pocket in her clothes.

“Oh, shooty shooty.” Grave comments, wiggling as she looks at the building in front of them.

“Yup. I’m gonna shoot at the fuckers while you grab the antidote to the poison they managed to slip Scarlet.” Lola explains, smiling.

“I thought we were gonna yoink the antidote and then blow the whole place up but that’s easier.” Grave smiles in amusement as Lola points to a door in the building.

“The antidote is in the locked office pas that door in a safe, though I doubt that’ll be an issue for you.” Lola explains the route quickly.

“Good!!” Ceasing her glowing, Grave cuts the conversation short, running to the door as Lola snorts, firing a bullet upwards to gain the attention of the people inside.

“Its… an office. Totally unexpected.” Grave speaks sarcastically as she clips through the door, looking around the office as she notices a safe in the corner, faint sounds of shooting coming from outside.

Moving over to the safe, Grave quickly clips her hand inside, a loud shot sounding off outside before things go quiet.

Feeling worried, Grave quickly grabs the cylinder inside of the safe, clipping outside to see what is happening. As she gets outside, she can see bodies of some men strewn about, riddled with holes, though one seems to be holding a shotgun.

Frowning in concern, Grave hides the vial quickly, ceasing her glow as she looks around, seeing Lola’s feet from behind the car.

Deciding quickly, Grave runs over to the car, revealing Lola lying near it, turned away from Grave.

Moving to her, Grave shakes her gently, a worried frown on her face as Lola remains unconscious, the wound in her abdomen bleeding profusely.

“Oh yeah, that’s kinda really fucking bad.” Grave frets, glowing in concern as she notices Lola’s pale skin from all the lost blood.

Not hesitating, Grave presses a gentle healing kiss to the wound, hoping to help at least a little, watching in relief as the wound closes itself up, some life returning to Lola’s skin.

“Fuck yeah!” Smiling softly in relief, Grave keeps herself quiet as Lola shifts slightly, not yet waking up as a small frown appears on Grave’s face, gone as soon as it appeared.

“That’s fine, that’s great.” Reassuring herself, Grave opens the car door as Lola stirs slightly, seeming very groggy and disorientated. Unsure of whether to wait for Lola to wake up or just move now, Grave watches as Lola opens her eyes slightly.

“Uh… hi.” Grave waves quietly as Lola groans, feeling out of it as she struggles to focus.

“Grave?…” She questions, voice hushed and unsure as Grave nods in response, wanting to calm her.

“Yeah, you passed out. It wasn’t good.” Grave explains, trying to reassure Lola calmly.

“Did you get it?” Lola questions, whining as she attempts to sit herself up on the floor.

“You mean this? I dunno, maybe.” Grave pulls out the vial, holding it up for Lola to see and confirm.

“Then it’s worth it. That’ll help Scarlet.” Lola relaxes at the sight of the vial, nodding to confirm it is the correct one.

“Good! Do you think you can stand up or do you want me to carry you?” Grave questions, smiling gently.

“I think the second I try and get up I’m gonna pass out again.” Lola admits, a soft sigh escaping her.

“I’ll carry you then!” Grave exclaims, carefully picking Lola up, watching her close her eyes as she relaxes into her.

“I would ask you if we should just n y o o m back but… car.” Grave explains, putting Lola in the seat gently before getting in beside her.

“Can you drive?” Lola questions. “I’m still n the verge of passing out again.” She explains quietly.

“I can drive very well!!!” Grave reassures her, nodding as a soft glow spreads over her.

“Good…” Smiling, Lola leans into her seat in the car comfortably as Grave starts it up.

“Ssseatbelt…” Grave remembers, doing Lola’s for her as she starts to drive, speeding a reasonable amount as Lola struggles to stay awake in her seat.

Grave increases the speed slightly, but not too much for fear of hurting Lola, who is half asleep as she shifts in her seat to get comfortable. Giving up on being reasonable, Grave speeds faster, too worried about Scarlet’s health. Lola winces as the car moves quicker, but she soon relaxes back into the seat, dozing quietly.

“Sorry, Lola…” Apologising, Grave frowns softly, keeping her voice quiet as Lola hums in response, calming as she slips in and out of consciousness.

“We h e r e!” Grave exclaims, pulling up in front of the house and clipping outside of the car excitedly, Lola stirring slightly, though her movements seem sluggish.

Thinking, Grave carefully picks Lola up out of the car, carrying her inside as Lola curls into herself, eyes opening slightly to watch Grave.

“Hi…” Smiling softly, Grave glows as Lola wakes up more, a small smile of her own gracing her face.

“Hey…” She answers quietly, still sounding slightly groggy as she speaks, voice low and tired.

“I’m gonna give Scarlet the antidote, you still want me to carry you?” Grave questions, giggling softly.

“You can leave me down here, Scarlet’s the priority.” Lola explains, smiling up at Grave as she speaks.

“O-Okay…” Grave agrees, placing Lola down carefully as she moves upstairs to Scarlet, feeling nervous as she glows.

Opening Scarlet’s room, Grave can see that she is still asleep in her bed, her skin pale and sickly as she trembles.

“She’s gonna be fine soon, its okay.” Grave reassures herself, keeping quiet as she administers the vial of antidote to Scarlet, watching some colour return to her face as she relaxes into the bed.

Grave glows happily, wanting to give Scarlet kisses as she waits for her to wake up, Scarlet shifting slightly in the bed as she stirs from sleep.

Squeaking happily, Grave’s feet tap against the floor as Scarlet scrunches her face up, her eyes opening a tiny bit as she starts to wake up more.

Grave opts to sit beside Scarlet on the bed, giving her space as she smiles, fiddling with her hands as Scarlet opens her eyes more to look around, feeling groggy and weak.

“H-Hi…” Waving, Grave gently pokes Scarlet’s nose in greeting as she hushes her voice, watching Scarlet smile.

“Hiya…” She responds quietly, leaning into the gentle touch as Grave pulls her into a hug, littering her face with love filled kisses.

“Are you okay?” Scarlet questions happily, a light giggle coming from her at the affection, giving Grave a gentle kiss of her own.

“Of course I am! A-Are you okay?” Grave squeaks as she returns the question, giving Scarlet a gentle kiss.

“I’m still tired and weak, but I think I’ll be okay…” Scarlet explains, smiling tiredly as she leans into Grave.

“Good! I like it when you’re okay.” Grave explains, smiling as she presses a soft kiss to Scarlet’s forehead, hearing her hum as she closes her eyes, hiding in Grave comfortably.

“I love you…” Grave comments, holding Scarlet in her arms, glowing softly in happiness as she speaks.

“I love you too…” Scarlet returns the sentiment quietly, nuzzling into Grave’s warm body as she grows sleepy.

“Wanna pretend all this never happened and we just hung out all day?” Grave offers, feeling Scarlet nod as she pulls her in to cuddle.

Returning the cuddle, Grave presses one more gentle kiss to Scarlet’s forehead as she falls asleep in her arms, following behind swiftly.

[shogetsus]

Stripes of Auburn, Eye of Sapphire

25. Mai

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Summary: Her heart tries hammering its way out of her ribs, wanting more than anything in the world to say something that could sway him, whatever that might cut him off. But not a single idea crosses her mind, panic overtaking her senses.

All she knows is, there’s no way she would ever forgive herself if Sasuke gets killed trying to protect her. If anything, she’s not a damsel in distress.

Hot, blazing anger seeps through her veins, and her voice booms throughout the room. “ENOUGH!”

TW: Canon-typical violence Spoilers! - Masamune's route

Mai

The door Mai has been leaning against split moments ago gets thrown wide open with a strong kick, a very familiar figure stepping in. “M-Masamune!”

“The One-eyed Dragon?” Sasuke gapes, somewhat shocked to the core, sounding as if he’s been expecting anyone else but him.

“Correct.” Masamune replies smugly, standing in a battle stance on the other side, katana at the ready.

“W-what are you doing here?” She can’t help but wonder. “H-how did you find me?”

But Sasuke interposes himself between her and Masamune’s blade, drawing his own kodachi on his back. “You better get back, Mai.” She breaks out into a sweat, keeping her eyes fixed on the current threat looming over them. “I must recall, this is no appropriate place for a fight. And I’ve got no intentions of hurting Mai.”

His diplomatic approach proves futile as Masamune takes a step further into the room, making her flinch involuntarily. Fear spreads in the pit of her stomach like hot, molten lava, her pulse racing at the sight of his single eye; beautiful and yet, so deadly.

Whatever his intentions are with showing up out of the damn blue, they clearly contrast Sasuke’s.

“Wa-wait! Masamune, let’s just talk things out, like you did with the farmers—!”

However and in the flash of a moment, Sasuke turns and flings her to the floor, throwing himself over and shielding her with his body. The sound of steel slashing air rings in her ears, breath catching in her throat. The edge of a sword then stands where her head had been a second ago—Masamune’s sword, most precisely.

Swinging again, Sasuke appears to act on his own reflex and jumps forward with his kodachi in hand, placing some distance from her and Masamune. “Thought you’d be more of a spy than a fighter, ninja. But you’re good,” Their blades cross with one another, and her friend gets pushed to his knees by Masamune’s sheer strength.

She feels fear in a way she’d never felt before—not even when she’d met the edge of the same sword a month and so ago. If Sasuke hadn’t pushed me to the floor…

Masamune’s eye carries a wild blue fire as he stares Sasuke down, at the mercy of his katana. “You actually thought having her hostage could stop me? I’m ready to take both of you down!” His words make her throat go dry, his thin smile sending cold shivers all over.

He’s completely serious.

“Masamune, stop! Just STOP!” Mai shouts, but he doesn’t tear his gaze away from her ninja friend. “I’m not his hostage! Sasuke is a friend of mine from the future!” But her insistence only makes Sasuke stir in some sense of realization—though it’s no moment to apologize for spreading their secret—straining further to push back Masamune’s katana. “He didn’t kidnap me, I came willingly! You don’t have to kill him!”

“And you’ve clearly gotten the wrong idea. I’m not killing him for kidnapping you...” Masamune takes a tiny moment longer to make that remark, his brow twitching oddly. With his voice low, it seems her plea hadn’t really stirred him. “This guy’s been on the watch list, framed as the potential ninja from Uesugi’s ranks—the same who’s been seen sniffling near the Castle, digging up information. If he brings it back, our side will suffer in the upcoming war.”

A more confident smile breaks into Masamune’s face, strengthening his resolve. “As one of Lord Nobunaga’s allies, it’s my duty to see he doesn’t escape.” He leans further into the strike, the blade drawing closer to Sasuke’s neck.

“Agh—!” Sasuke grunts, on the verge of running out of steam.

Her heart tries hammering its way out of her ribs, wanting more than anything in the world to say something that could sway him, whatever that might cut him off. But not a single idea crosses her mind, panic overtaking her senses.

All she knows is, there’s no way she would ever forgive herself if Sasuke gets killed trying to protect her. If anything, she’s not a damsel in distress.

Hot, blazing anger seeps through her veins, and her voice booms throughout the room.

“ENOUGH!”

Pulling one fan off the folds of her kimono, the steel surface isn’t cold enough to ground her in the moment, exasperation taking its toll as she wrings herself in between the men, breaking the clash of their blades in a swift strike. Masamune’s eye finally lands on her, aggravated, its intensity matching her own.

Sasuke staggers backwards, and wisely takes it upon himself to flee the scene, rolling onto his feet. He can’t seem to help to look back at her for a split moment before crossing the threshold, the desperation in his eyes only proving how much he hates to leave her like that.

‘Run!’ She pleas not with words, but with her gaze, and her ninja friend complies with a solemn nod, disappearing into the shadows.

“Dammit! Get out of the way!” Attempting to move past her, she blocks Masamune’s katana with the metallic end of her war fan again, using the momentum to push him back. “Mai, I’m serious…”

“So am I!” She fears his fierce glare would stop her heart dead, but turns out it gives one large beat, then another, until her breath comes in fast, a rush of adrenaline kicking in. Masamune fumes, staring at her as if having a new prey upon his sight.

“Move, or I will kill you.”

“Then do it!” She growls back, just as scared to death as she is irrepressibly angry, spreading her feet in a defensive stance and daring to pull out her second fan for good measure.

His brow twitches once again, a haunting look crossing his face. Although Mai could pretty much have imagined that for, as fast as a blink, Masamune swings another blow her way. The katana gets caught in between her two weapons, his overwhelming strength getting a wide edge over her determination.

Still—and nearly against all impossible odds—she doesn’t move.

Resolute, she meets that wild, nearly unfocused blue eye, “I won’t let you get to Sasuke!” Stepping aside and parrying his blade, he swings from the side and Mai stops the blow once again, doing a preemptive kick forward to procure them some much-needed distance.

It doesn’t give them so much of an inch, unfortunately, and Masamune strikes again, this time meeting the ends of her hair as she cranes her neck downwards. “I won’t let you kill the one true ally I’ve got in this world!” She taunts him, hardly caring about the remnants of her rational sense all but screaming in her head how unwise it is to do that with a dragon such as him.

If he truly is such a beast though, and the violent scene merely serves as to show Masamune Date’s true face, then all that’s left is to demonstrate how steely determined a tiger can be.

With a newfound strength burning within her, a clash of wills come across the two of them, her flexibility giving her an equal hand against his natural overwhelming power. They start a dance around one another, silver and black meeting gold and crimson, dodging and deflecting.

Until, finally, Mai finds a small opening and goes for the kill without a second thought, hitting the inside of his wrist with her fan.

Masamune hisses, his fingers prying open in reflex and katana slipping off his grasp, landing on the mat with a thud. Left with nothing to do but pressing forward, she prompts the sharp, metallic edge of her other fan against his throat, eager to meet the end of such madness unfold—

… Only to meet the tip of Masamune’s second sword grazing her obi, against her stomach.

Panting hard, their eyes lock in no small surprise from both sides, sheer tension wafting heavily between them. She doesn’t even dare to blink, the silence feeling as if it’ll choke her all along.

It’s a tie—or that is, until one of them decides to finish the job.

And then, after giving her a long, cold gaze and for what it seems like an eternity later, Masamune lets out an aggravated sigh.

“I can’t fucking believe this.” Taking a step back, he sheathes his sword with a quick, angry movement—appearing close to regretting it if he doesn’t do it fast enough. ”I’ve never let an enemy escape before.”  

Am I… I am alive.

The bare second she processes that thought, all shreds of energy threaten to leave her body, feet turning to jelly, hardly feeling able to stand. Unceremoniously, Mai drops on her knees, sucking on as much air as she can.

As for Masamune, he rakes a hand through his hair, barely containing his frustration. “Can you at least tell me why in all hells did you protect him?”

“Because… Sasuke is not my enemy. Both of us came from the future, and I’ve got literally no reason to lie about that,” She pants, forcing herself to speak.

“People get killed here for way less than that…” He says matter-of-factly.

“But he’s my friend, trying to survive this hellish place, just like me,” Mai retorts, gathering enough strength to look up at his face. “I’m not going to let you kill a friend.”

He crosses his arms, “Did your friend happen to tell you he’s an enemy spy? Making sure he doesn’t get back alive is my job. It doesn’t matter whether he’s a friend or family,” He sounds coldly certain of that.

“So you’d kill your friends, your family… just because it’s your job?”

“Of course I would!”

She feels her blood turning to ice. I can’t really have just heard that. To some extent, that alone makes it easier to believe she was the one who miraculously managed to put up a fight with a veteran samurai mere minutes ago.

In fact, a desperate attempt to survive does make people do the craziest of things, and this Mai is well aware of. Her father and Nobunaga—the two people in her life she’s danced with—have never indicated otherwise.

Though either had suggested there would come a time in which she’d have to fight back against someone she cared about.

“Let me make this clear to you. I have responsibilities as daimyo of Oshu, head of the Date clan, and ally of Nobunaga.” If Masamune’s glare didn’t stop her heart dead moments ago, the one he shoots her then might very likely do the job. “If I must, I’ll kill anyone. Even you.”

The words are sharper than the blade he just swung at her several times, going pale as a ghost. Is he the same guy she’d been playing around, teased and had a hot, steamy make-out against the wall with just some hours ago?

“… How can you even say that?” Her voice comes off thin and weak, barely having it in to form a sentence.

“Because it’s the only way to live here,” Masamune insists, as serious as ever, “Standing up for enemies like you just did does nothing but get you killed.”

“I just can’t believe—“ What can she even say to that? “I know Sasuke means nothing to you. Probably either do I and… I can understand that. But would you really kill your own friends? Your family? That’s… that’s cruel.”

“Pointless slaughter is cruel!” He shoots back with a snarl, “But if you had decided to plunge that fan into my throat just a moment ago, say, to protect your friend? I wouldn’t think you were being cruel.” There are so many wrongs in that single idea she hardly knows where to begin with. “In this chaotic time, you need something to believe in, something to kill for, and something you’d die for. Consider this another lesson to stay alive in this time, and learn that your life, or anyone else’s, could end at any moment.”

So, that’s his motto? Kill someone—even your own blood—so several others might survive? How can that come from the same person who had experienced death not at the hands of men firsthand?

Tears brim her eyes, blurring her vision; all the anger, frustration and close experience to death bottling up to a point it’s difficult to discern what’s rational from what’s not.

“… Is that what you truly think duty is?” But she quickly shakes her head, realizing what’s pointless is actually having that argument. “No, it doesn’t matter. I’ll probably never know how you possibly bear with the thought of people important to you getting killed. And everyone has someone important to them.” Like you are to me, for starters.

Her tears trail hot down her cheeks, wetting her hands while she rubs them away harshly, starting to feel sick to her stomach. And still—

“… Not me.” Masamune replies after a silent, more solemn moment, “As a daimyo, as the head of a clan, as someone who has a damn lot of people under them, I’ve been taught there are some things I just can’t yield.” His detached words manage to pierce her heart further, “And so, when the time comes, I refuse to hesitate.”

Gulping to keep the awful bile where it belongs, Mai raises her head to take a good look at the completely unknown person in front of her—the sight can be compared to the classic one seen on the movies, when the nice, reliable character finally reveals their dark side to the audience. It’s like we’re not just from different times, but different realities.

Her head begins throbbing hard, most likely from the adrenaline wearing down combined with the fit of rage she can’t find within herself to put down. The dim light only shows half of Masamune’s figure, highlighting scars of old trailing down his neck and shoulder. And while in another time she’d have thought more positively of those marks of war and illness, the current view of it isn’t as easy to fathom as it once was.

It takes a long while when he does, but at last he deflates somewhat, sighing tiredly. “Here. We’re going back.” He says, offering his hand as if finally recalling his good manners.

However, there’s no way for her to take his olive branch. “’We’ are not doing anything.” Mai snarls, having the mere decency of slapping his hand away with her own and not with her fan as she deep down wants to. “Don’t you dare to touch me.”

Standing on her own, she gathers up the little that remains of her pride, turning her back on the utterly shocked look in his face. Her headache comes back with massive force after getting on her feet, white little dots dancing on the back of her eyes, but at least she manages to keep her head straight as she steps out into the hallway.

Killing because of an order? Because someone higher up demands it? Because of duty? I’d rather have something to live for, not the other way around. But these people have been fighting each other for so long they’ve just lost it.

And yet, the swirl of her thoughts ends up making her sadder than mad or scared.

Masamune’s upset yelling echoes through the practically empty main floor, “Mai, wait! Just wait—!” Outright ignoring him, she exits the inn alone.

Outside in the streets, it’s completely dark, shortly coming into realization she has no real clue where they are, or the road back to the castle. To make it worse, a downpour falls upon her, soaking her wet in no time, most likely to cope with her regular bad luck. Though to be fair, I might have run out of my stock of luck after that crazy fight…

Like a—if very slight—silver lining, though, a couple of familiar faces come to view as she keeps going forward: The young recruit she’s met in the morning, Tadamasa, joined by Hideyoshi and a bunch of his men.

Tadamasa’s gasp can be heard through the heavy rain, “Milady! You’re hurt—!“

“Let me through.” She growls back menacingly.

Not even meeting the boy’s eyes, she bumps his shoulder while walking past him, but sadly not getting much further to avoid Hideyoshi as well. Putting himself in her way, the frown in his face only shows how deeply worried he is about her, but she’s in no mood to entertain any of the men’s pleasantries.

“Thank goodness we found you, Mai.” He sighs in sheer relief, pulling off a coat to presumably cover her in.

Regardless, her tongue acts quicker than her brain, shooting him a sharp glare. “Am I your prisoner, Hideyoshi?”

He’s taken aback for a second, tilting his head back. “What—? Of course not…”

“Then I can walk back on my own.” She’s quite aware of her insolence, but that’s hardly a concern to her in the current moment, what little remains of her dignity overtaking her good graces, concentrating on merely returning to safety.

Is it Azuchi Castle even safe for her, though? After the death threat Masamune just pulled on her? Is even plausible to call a place with a bunch of blood-thirsty commanders of armies playing conquerors somewhere ‘safe’?

To add up to her misery, as the weather does no good to her headache, a cold shiver mixed up with her soaked clothes reveal a small gash on her upper arm. There’s little more than a pinprick of blood, though it’s enough to sting at the brushing of her wet sleeve. Hells, of course this madman did get me in the end. I still can’t believe he cut me after all!

She can hardly recall the last time she’s felt so miserable in her life, but the current experience could pretty much belong to her hall of fame by then, not even strong enough to scream all her frustrations out into the night. Her feet begin to feel like made of lead with every step she takes, and grunting under her breath she pulls through as much as she can, managing to finally enter town and a route that would surely get her back where she came from.

However, it takes but a gust of wind for her knees to buckle under her, the world tilting before her eyes.

“Mai!”

It’s a repeated event, so she’s not surprised when someone catches her before she falls into the mud. “Shit, I tried telling you it was raining outside…” Masamune’s face shows up among the shadows, pressing a hand to her head. “You’re burning up.”

Why did you follow me? Though her vision goes foggy and blurred, she can, if very vaguely, make out his worried features.

“Aren’t I your enemy too…?” Of all the things she wants to say, that’s the only thing it wheezes out of her mouth. Are you back to finish the job?

“No, you’re the most reckless lass I’ve ever seen… now with a fever.” Sighing, he says matter-of-factly, looming over her figure, perhaps if to cover her from the unrelenting rain.

A couple of steps splashing against the muddy road signal more people incoming. “Lord Masamune, you’re here! What’s wrong with the Princess?”

“We need to keep the rain off her.” In her barely conscious state, she can’t really keep up with Masamune talking with the person that unquestionably sounds like Kojuro. “Hideyoshi had a coat. He’s over there, get him quick.” A blue glimmer is the only indication his gaze is back on her again, “Just rest up, lass. I’ll bring you back home.”

Back home? Aren’t you going to finally kill me?

Strangely so, his voice sounds as tender and like the guy she met for lunch, brushing his fingers over her eyes to close them. Out of shame rather than anything else, she complies, if only to erase the sight of that sparkling eye off her mind and, most of all, her conflicted heart.

Just who are you?

Regardless of her struggles, it doesn’t take long before finally running out of steam, and touched by the warmth of that hand, she lets darkness overtake her at last.

Or that she prefers so, before breaking into ugly tears once again.

[4am-blackbirds-blog]

Like Profound/Dark Music? This Post Is for You. (Also, mild MBTI)

What Is Profound Music?

Personally, I look for profundity in my music. That is mostly my entire criteria besides having it sound relatively pleasing to the ear, and even that has exceptions in the case of some truly distorted tracks.

What does it mean though for something to be profound? If a top 40 pop song makes a declaration about how love is difficult, is that any less profound than an artist weaving complex metaphors about their love losing themselves to an addiction? I think profundity can be both of these things- ultimately, I think what makes something deep, profound, and interesting, is when a critical thinking question is asked. A critical thinking question is any question that probably doesn’t have one right answer, that can be seen and interpreted from many perspectives. It might invoke feelings in us, make us think of things we have never thought of, or be relatable to us on a level we didn’t know existed in us before. It may attempt to answer a question about love or pain or the world we didn’t even know we had, or knew we had but didn’t necessarily know that anyone else shared. If a song talks about love being difficult, it is profound if it asks why love is difficult. If the song talks about loving someone with an addiction, the implied questions might be Why is addiction so unfair? Why did I have to fall in love with this person? What do I do now? The uncertainty that comes with questions with no right answer forces us to feel this uncertainty and to think about all its possible answers and implications. The more we are inflicted with these two things, the more deeply we feel and the more invested we are in thinking about it is what gives music, and any other art, that personal profundity which is what I feel makes something worth listening to.

 But… No One Else Feels That Way

If you share this view, or some version of it, you may be wondering why popular music so often feels less profound. If it invokes an emotional response, it is fleeting. If it invokes a question, the questions have simple answers. Sometimes, there are no questions in it at all – often because they are supposedly answered in the song. The artist simply blames another person or fate for their problems. Or they talk about having a goal that they are sure to reach. It is especially difficult if we cannot relate to their experiences, because then, aside from the catchy beats, why listen to that music at all?

It is easy to be critical of popular music. The issue is though, we in turn are being critical of the people who genuinely enjoy that music. And if you have ever tried to convince someone with different taste from you that your music is superior, or even tried to explain why you like it so much, you probably know how difficult, and often impossible, that well-meaning goal is. Rationally, the only option is to “agree to disagree” and that is pretty much correct. But instead of being left feeling unsatisfied, and probably if you like the deeper, darker, and/or more emotional music, being left feeling misunderstood and even rejected or crazy – it may help to understand why that person will never like the music that means so fucking much to you.

 Why Most People Don’t Like It

So here are my thoughts and observations.

People choose, often subconsciously, to experience different levels of profundity. At some point, they drop off exploring the questions any further. For some, the statement that “love is difficult” is enough for them. They understand it enough for it to be useful in their lives and feel no desire to pursue it further.

And that is perfectly okay. Here’s why.

In my experience, these types of people feel no desire to feel and philosophize with music because their attention and energy is directed elsewhere. They tend to be the doers of the world. The people who prefer what they can learn from their own experiences, the physicality of the world, and/or more factual, answerable questions.

Myers Briggs would call them “sensors” and they make up almost 70% of the population. I won’t go into the details of what that means or all of the exceptions because there certainly are some. Nor will I go into the function stacks here because this is already starting to sound like jargon. I am simplifying, hopefully not misunderstanding. Not all sensors are necessarily this way, but it’s safe to say the majority are at least most of the time. The 30% who fall on the other side of the spectrum as intuitives don’t all enjoy the more profound philosophical music either. My INTP sister has no patience for my “whiny” Bright Eyes masterpieces or “mopey” Sujan Steven’s Carrie & Lowell because although she is very philosophical, she prefers to question thoughts rather than feelings and prefers things to have concrete answers. Although for example, she might be interested in music that seeks to answer some question about how unfair society is for LGBTQ+ people. My INFP mother doesn’t shy from the profound necessarily either, but she prefers her music to have a more hopeful and happier outlook due to her desire for kindness and harmony in life which limits the more profound questions, which we have to admit due to their uncertainty, are often dark and even despairing. 

Anyway, popular music is often for the doers.

Because most people prefer this more concrete, answerable world, music isn’t necessarily less important to them, it just has a different function. Because they prefer this outward world, they use music to aid them in their quest to getting things done. 

Working out? Look for something with lots of energy. Emotions in music such as rage in metal or the goal-getting motivation in rap can be useful for this because it stokes, fleetingly, that same emotion which fuels the workout with its power. At the same time, it doesn’t require a whole lot of profundity and thus thinking and feeling deeply which might hinder the workout and make the person want to sit on their rep bench and try to answer deep questions about the world. Similarly, if someone is going about their day full of errands they may want something positive with a boppy tune to fuel their running around from place to place. Listening to something deep may exhaust them out of their work. 

For the people that listen to these kinds of music exclusively or most often, this may be why they love them. It feeds the things they value which are getting things done, having a good time with friends, building a six pack, etc. And who could possibly fault someone for that? Those are all amazing, worthwhile things that make the world go round, keep us happy and motivated, and all of that good stuff. Even if you like deeper music, you probably listen to these kinds of things at least sometimes so you too can experience motivation and good times.

 Profound Music

So what about profound music? If it doesn’t help us be happy or get things done, what is it good for? Well, our culture, because it is made mostly of sensors, unfortunately makes us ask this question.

There is hope though. Art is a safe place for the philosophizers of the world to share the uncertainty of the unanswerable questions they experience along with the fear, sorrow, and pain these questions bring with them. That means, those of us who are also philosophizers, or those of us who wish to expand our understanding of the world to include a little philosophizing and profundity, can consume the art put out into the world by these often tortured artists or artists recovering from tragedy. With music, we really get to feel their emotions and hear their thought process, thus living for ourselves that circumstance, event, or mental state they are singing about. While we listen, we are basically forced to experience that profundity. For those of us to which that is not important or unnecessary, we might shut the music off. But for those willing to brave the dark hole of someone else’s mind, and dark hole of our own, we experience a kind of strange, perhaps even inexplicable feeling of home. 

Finally, the things we have been feeling are experienced by another, are explained from another perspective, are attempted to be answered by someone else. We feel understood. If it is not an experience we’ve had, we understand the feelings and can have empathy for the struggles of the artist. We even begin to understand our entire world more deeply, how humans are all connected through our emotions and our deep-rooted fears about the questions we cannot answer.

Personally, it evokes a kind of dark euphoria when I listen to a song that I relate to or can empathize with deeply. The deep human connection that I have craved from a sensing, external, fast-paced world for so long – it is finally here, with me, in my bedroom. I know this artist so extensively, so deeply, just from a one-hour album and I feel his or her fear, pain, lust, sorrow, love. Finally feeling that one is “not alone” is the cliché so commonly circulated as important for mental health and the like, but this is more than that.  Here, in this glorious space of connection, I am safe inside of my fear. The darkness is still darkness, the fear is still scary, the questions are still not answered. But my soul is housed inside the soul of another, and theirs, although they do not know it, is housed inside mine. And with that connection comes a sense of safety and finally coming home that is truly beautiful and for a moment, even fufilling.

 Implications

Although I am not a music artist, and perhaps you aren’t either, I hope that sharing our love for profound music can connect us too. We don’t have to know each other. If you read this, I don’t know you from Eve. But like the artist and the listener, you have a piece of me now, and I, although I don’t know you, have a piece of you too. If this does not scare you, you have a strength that others do not have. You have an ability to connect that others may not understand. Although, they will probably never envy or appreciate your taste in music, they will do so for this inner strength.

You like profound music because you, yourself are profound. This does not mean your music taste, or you, are better than everyone else. You’re probably not better at doing the real world all too well for example. But the important thing, is you aren’t nuts. In this world, you may be a bit of an alien but that’s alright. The last time I went to a Wonder Years concert, I was so emotionally invested, I looked like I was singing a really powerful hymn at a church. My lovely ISTP friend thought I was insane and was completely bored the whole time. But I wasn’t insane (at least, not completely) and neither are you. 

You are beautiful, just like the music you love.

[artemisegeria]

It Should Have Been You

Title: It Should Have Been You

Treat For: @anonthenullifier

Rating: G

Word count: 2365

Summary: Wanda and Vision attend a baseball game after the events of Civil War. When Wanda walks away briefly, Vision gets an unpleasant surprise that leads to a promising revelation.

AO3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16242128

Message for Recipient: Thank you so much for beta reading and providing invaluable comments and for everything else you did in organizing the exchange. I hope you enjoy this bit of fluff.

Sorry for the delay in posting. I intended to post it sooner, but I got majorly blocked on it.

Made (belatedly) for the Scarlet Vision Exchange 2018!

The baseball game reached a break in innings. Wanda leaned over to Vision and said, “I’m going to the restroom. I’ll be right back.” He nodded, smiling at her.

She walked down the steps to the concourse. She passed a concession stand and a gift shop, careful to keep her head down when she passed any cameras. As usual there was an impossibly long line for the women’s restroom. She walked a little farther and came to another where there were fewer people.

As Wanda was walking back toward their seats, she caught sight of the jumbotron. There was a giant heart on the screen, and the camera was panning the crowd, looking for a likely couple. She froze when she saw that it landed on Vision and the woman sitting next to him. Wanda hadn’t really noticed her when they sat down, but now that she saw the woman on a big screen, Wanda realized that she did look like a perfect match for Vision. She was tall, blonde, statuesque, and beautiful. Wanda imagined that she might run marathons, and her easy smile spoke of a carefree nature.

Vision, on the other hand, looked panicked when he saw himself on screen. He glanced around for Wanda, but he turned to the stranger when he saw that she was nowhere to be found. The chants of the crowd calling for them to kiss were growing louder and more insistent. The woman could clearly see Vision’s worry as well because she merely kissed him gently on the cheek and turned back to her friends. People in the crowd voiced their disappointment, but their grumbles faded as the camera moved on to its next victims.

Wanda finally worked her way back to her seat. Vision turned to her. He was smiling, but she could see the residue of his earlier fear. The rest of the game passed uneventfully; she pulled him from his seat shortly before it ended to beat the crowds.

Once they reached the outside of the stadium, they hailed a cab. It took them to a corner of the city near where she was meeting the others. Steve was nervous enough about being back in New York less than a year after going on the run, but he was convinced that this mission was absolutely crucial. Though Steve also insisted that he and Natasha had to do it alone, over Sam and Wanda’s protests. They were pulling out within a few more hours, so Wanda decided to take advantage of what little time she had. When she had let Vision know that she would be in the area, he readily agreed to meet her and suggested the game.

As she waited for the order to meet, Wanda pulled Vision into a pizza shop. Keeping hold of his hand, Wanda determined that she would not dwell on her unfounded feelings of jealousy over someone else kissing Vision’s cheek. He deserved to have that. She wanted him to have that. Besides, her rare alone time with Vision was not something she was willing to sacrifice to negativity.

She chewed her pizza slowly, but it had lost its flavor. Outside, people streamed past the shop. Couples were holding hands, and parents were dragging small children along or running after them. Other people were looking down at their phones or listening to music, strolling along with the appearance of having all the time in the world. Wanda wondered if she would ever have the chance to walk through a crowd so carefree again.

When she finished eating, they walked out and headed toward a nearby park to have a little space to themselves. The park was mercifully empty on this early spring day. It felt like a reprieve to be out in nature, wandering aimlessly through the greenery. Wanda still kept her cap pulled low on her forehead. Forcing herself to maintain a light tone, she asked Vision, “So, what did you think of your first baseball game?”

“Truthfully, aside from analyzing the physics and trigonometry necessary to determine the proper angles for throwing and hitting the baseball to obtain the desired results, I found it quite boring.” She noted the frown furrowing the designs laid into his brows.  Wanda could feel the shame emanating from him. She did not think that she had ever heard him admit disliking something so candidly. It was heart-warming that Vision was growing comfortable enough with his preferences, or with her, to be honest.

She laughed. “That’s fair. It’s mostly just guys standing around.”

He nodded slightly. “Although I did enjoy spending the day with you.”

“Me too, Vizh.” At the sound of her quiet agreement, his smile grew wider. Unwilling as Wanda was to bring up the subject, an irresistible curiosity overtook her. “And what did you think of your first kiss?” She grinned up at him. “That is, I’m assuming it was your first kiss.” She continued walking down the path, knowing that he would follow her.

***

Vision had the odd sensation of his synthetic stomach flipping over as he hurried after her. The mood had changed since Wanda had returned toward the end of the game. Wanda was still acting amiably enough, but he had grown sufficiently accustomed to human interactions, and to her reactions specifically, to recognize a shift. He could not properly decipher what the change was, but it felt like a blanket of unease had fallen over their earlier cheerfulness.

Perhaps her observation was the source of the shift. “You saw that?” She nodded, just a tad guiltily. “It was my first kiss.” Vision pursed his lips at that new thought. He had never imagined that he would have a first kiss, nonetheless with a stranger. “I was not in favor of it. The woman sitting next to us seemed perfectly nice, but I had no desire to be that intimate with a complete stranger. Moreover, it seems inherently wrong to do so for the sake of appeasing a crowd.” He fancied that he could still feel the kiss on his skin, slightly clammy and cooler than his usual temperature. His flinch must have been visible to the woman because she had merely given him an apologetic smile and turned away.  

They came across a bench, and Wanda pulled him down to sit on it. Her smile fell as she considered their joined hands, and her eyes turned sad. “I’m sorry.”

He shrugged. When Vision considered the magnitude of human suffering in the world, he could not weigh the opportunity to choose his first kiss as significant. “It is a small loss, all things considered.”

“You’re still allowed to be upset about it.” She squeezed his hand. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there. The camera operators probably would have thought we were together.”

“Would you have wanted them to think that?” Interested as he was to hear her answer, he knew it was ultimately good that she had chosen that time to walk away. It would not do to have Wanda’s image projected across the whole stadium. It was too dangerous to come here as it was; he would never forgive himself if she were discovered because of where they chose to meet.

It was her turn to shrug. “I wouldn’t have minded. Would it have bothered you less if it were me?”

“Significantly less,” though privately he felt that his level of panic would likely have been the same, though tinged with excitement instead of worry. “But I would never want you to kiss me out of a sense of obligation.” Her smile, which Vision assumed was meant to be reassuring, took on an out-of-place note of amusement. It unsettled him just as it intrigued him.

He was disturbed by his now unusual failure to read her intentions, and he wanted only to understand her. His judgment was only hampered by the remnants of his alarm at being projected on a screen in front of the whole stadium. The predicament was wholly unexpected. Vision’s only relief arose from the fact that only Wanda knew of his human disguise.

His usual calm was impossible to maintain when he thought back to that moment, the remembered panic clouding his mind. Moreover, Vision still felt a lingering shame at his admission that he did not enjoy the game. All aspects of humanity were fascinating. If anything, watching the crowd at the game should have been fascinating, from the various attire worn to the way the group’s excitement built on itself to lead to new collective behavior. Though something was still lacking. He shook his head in an attempt to clear his thoughts as he had seen his teammates do, although he recognized that it was a fairly illogical gesture.

Vision wished to think ahead and not dwell on this confusing, though enjoyable day. “Do you know when I may be able to visit you next?”

Wanda didn’t answer immediately, instead she looked away. “I think we should stop meeting.”

“Why should we not meet any longer?” His thoughts froze. He did not understand Wanda’s sudden rethinking of their rendezvous. Despite the slight pall over the afternoon, she had given no indication that she had grown tired of seeing him. She had said that she enjoyed spending time with him.

“You’re risking a lot by meeting up with me, Vision. If the UN ever found out, you’d be arrested for violating the Accords.”

“We have been careful, Wanda.” Vision thought of all the effort and secrecy put into his human disguise, the occasional security camera scrubbed, and their scrupulous attention to secure methods of communication.

“Maybe, but it’s still risky. Even more than that, I want you to have a chance at a normal life. With this disguise, you could learn more about humanity close up. You could go on a date, travel, make new friends outside the Avengers.”

“Exploring humanity is what I have been doing with you, Wanda. I cannot thank you enough for your help in teaching me.” Vision continued, willing her to understand, “There is also the fact that none of these people would be likely to accept me in my natural state. You are the only person who has fully accepted me as I am.”

Tears were welling up in Wanda’s eyes, but her smile was genuine. “You’re the best student, Vizh. It’s been my pleasure to help you.” She looked down at the ground. “But meeting up in secret, hiding, not even being able to talk on the phone most times is not normal.” She stood abruptly and pulled her hand from his. His body mirrored hers, although he was unaware of having made the decision to stand. “I’m sorry our meeting had to end this way, but I think it’s for the best. I have to head toward the rendezvous point.” She began to walk away. He had to stop her; they couldn’t leave their interaction like this.

“Wait, Wanda.” She turned to him. Her mouth was still set in a thin line. Her posture was defensive, hunched in on itself. “Are you upset with me?” He approached her slowly, uncertain what to do with his hands. Vision’s hands almost reached out to her of their own accord, but he put them in his pockets instead.

Wanda shook her head. “Not at all, Vizh.”

“Forgive me, but it seems that you are.” She did not typically shy away from expressing disagreement with him, but it was also seldom that he displeased her.

“I’m not upset with you; I’m just worried about us.” Moving a few steps away from him, Wanda folded her arms across herself, still half turned away from him.

Vision regarded her intently. She was more closed off, both mentally and physically, than he had sensed since the days immediately after Novi Grad and Lagos. “You have listed some of your particular concerns, but I do not understand. I do not share them, and you have not mentioned any concerns that you have for yourself.”

“I don’t have any for myself.” Wanda’s denial was forceful and immediate.

Her reply answered every doubt in Vision’s mind. “Then there is no reason to discontinue our meetings.”

She looked like she was prepared to offer more arguments, but the fight left her in a rush of breath. “Are you sure?”

“Most definitely.” Vision spoke not only out loud, but also in her mind. He did not take the restoration of their mental link, just re-established during the course of this visit for the first time since she left the compound with Clint, for granted.

Her grin returned full force, and he was astonished at the strength of it. “Oh, and Vizh?” He nodded for her to continue. “If I had kissed you for the camera back there, trust me, it wouldn’t have been because I felt I had to.” His words and logic and fine motor skills deserted him, leaving him mute and gaping slightly. The alarm on Wanda’s phone suddenly beeped insistently. She removed it from her pocket, glancing down at it worriedly. “I’m sorry. I’m not ready to leave yet, but I really do have to go now.”

He responded automatically, “Of course.” But Vision followed his earlier desire to take her hand. Her smile turned tentative at the edges. “Just one more moment, please.” She looked at him expectantly. He had not planned what he would do or say next, wanting anything to prolong their visit. The answer came to him from the depths of his unexamined wishes.

Vision’s other functions gradually returned to him. He leaned down and hesitantly touched his lips to hers. Wanda’s smile as he pulled away stemmed the tide of apologies that threatened to spill from his lips. “You are the only person I am interested in kissing.”

“I’ll keep that in mind for next time, Vizh.” She raised herself up to kiss his cheek, in the same spot that the stranger had. “I promise we’ll talk soon. Bye for now.”

“Goodbye, Wanda. Take care.” She threw one last smile and wave over her shoulder at him as she hurried away. He watched her leave, a bittersweet smile pulling up the corners of his mouth.

[scramblingminds]

Okay anon, you asked for this AGES ago but I was a bit stuck with it. But after the last few days anon drama in this fandom, I got the motivation to finish this one! I hope this is what you were hoping for. 

Warnings: ABO. Smut. Some angst and of course fluff because this is me after all. Rated E. 

@vbabe14  @syrabylene @greyhoundsgirl

Not Here

Daryl knew it would never get easier to ride through the gates of the Sanctuary, the sight of the place putting a foul taste in his mouth. Daryl knocked his kick stand down, the arms that had held on around his waist during the ride giving a firm squeeze before slipping free.

“Let’s make this quick.” Daryl muttered as Paul hopped off the back of his bike.

“I know, love.” Paul grinned at the alpha as he headed inside the building.

Daryl tried to not go in further than the exterior, rarely even to the gardens where only asphalt use to be. They just needed an update on all the community's food stores, Hilltop would be starting to harvest their crops over the next weeks and needed to know who needed what.  

Daryl was still straddling his bike, boot bouncing as he waited for Paul. As much as he hated the place, he hated the idea of Paul being inside of it alone even more. Daryl was no fool, Paul was the strongest person he had ever met and no one would honestly be dumb enough to bother him. After all, Rosita spent most of her time at Sanctuary and Daryl had seen her greet Paul as he went in. Paul could send anyone in that place to their ass and she was just as tough.  

There was just that hindbrain part of him that didn’t want his omega anywhere near the place that he hated so much. Paul being an omega wasn’t something that meant much to Daryl, it just made his instinct rear their head a bit more than if his boyfriend was a beta. Daryl had been a bit more protective of the man over the last few days, much to Paul annoyance.  

Daryl had even nearly knocked Rick off his feet when the other alpha had jokingly wrapped his arm around Paul when they had been at Alexandria earlier that day. Before Paul, Daryl had never gone into rut with anyone. Now it was something he was very familiar with.

Over the last year they had learned it started settling into Daryl in the week leading up to Paul’s heat. Daryl would get edgy about anyone being around Paul but he only started getting physical right before Paul’s heat. Luckily Paul only went into heat every other month, not every month like a lot of omegas did.  

So, Daryl twitchiness meant they needed to get back home as soon as possible. Daryl felt like he was going to crack the concrete under his boot as Rosita walked up with a grin. He glared at her until she pulled a silver case out of her back pocket and pulled two beautifully handmade cigarettes out. Daryl had fished his lighter out of his vest pocket in a flash making her laugh as she handed over the smoke to him, he clearly needed something for his nerves.  

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

“Things getting a little tight around here?” Paul asked as he looked over the shelves in the admittedly massive pantry. Though the shelves were shocking bare.  

Frankie chuckled with a grimace, “A bit. Our gardens were doing alright but still aren’t quite keeping up with demand. But we still have a couple weeks before we need to get too worried.”

Paul nodded at the former wife as he wrote out their list, “Well, soon there should be more than enough to go around.”  

Hilltop had the best agricultural system, their crops thrived long before Negan and they had since. Oceanside did well but their fish and other game from the forest around their home was much more needed by the other communities.  

Paul didn’t mind the Sanctuary, he had no real issues with the people or place but he still had a dislike for it. He knew it came from his love for Daryl, the pain the alpha had gone through while there. He knew Daryl was ready to leave and not just because of where they were. Paul was honestly just as on edge, perhaps more so since he knew he was the cause for Daryl’s behavior.

Paul knew that a lot of people thought less of him because he was an omega. He had fought that stereotype all his life. Being an omega just made Paul stronger however. That didn’t mean he did feel things all others felt, he could feel the hollow feeling blooming in his gut. The sweat that broke out on his neck at random as his heat approached. Daryl getting physical with Rick that morning only served to prove just how close it was getting.  

It didn’t take long to get the list together, with Laura pitching in to help them along. Paul had just stepped out of the pantry, the two ladies following when he gasped. A sharp pain hitting him right in the abdomen, starting under his belly button and burning deep into his gut. He stumbled, having to grip the wall for support as another bolt hit, this time it shocked down into his pelvis making his knees week.  

“Jesus?!” Frankie rushed to his side, “What’s wrong?”

Paul swallowed a sound that would have been far too close to moan as he pressed his hand to his stomach. He shook his head, this couldn’t be happening now but he could feel the fever spreading up his chest.  

“Oh god, is he...” Laura whispered as she took a deep breath and Paul knew before long he would be stinking with it.

“I need...” Paul hated how high his voice sounded as tremors started in his thighs, “I need Daryl.”  

Frankie turned to Laura and snapped at the beta, “Go get him! I’m going to take Paul to my room.”

Laura spun without a word and took off down the hall. Laura looped her arm around Paul’s back, if he wasn’t so busy trying not to double over with a whine he would have been impressed by how easily she hauled him with her. Her face was set in a hard expression, “We have to get you out of here. It isn’t safe to be like this out here.”

Paul felt like she might be speaking from experience but he wasn’t in a state to question the other omega. All he could think about was the ache settling inside of him and how much he needed Daryl.  

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

“Don’t tell Carol ‘bout this.” Daryl mumbled as he lit the cigarette now dangling from his lip.  

“Or Jesus?” Rosita smirked as she snatched his lighter for her own use.  

Daryl nodded, almost groaning with the long drag he took. He had been trying to quit but old habits do die hard after all.  His nerves were always on edge whenever he had to be around the Saviors home but it was made worse by his current state of mind because of a certain omega.  

They took a few puffs in silence, Rosita moving to lean against the bike with Daryl when he twisted around on the seat. Neither of them really saw much of each other anymore, usually just in passing because their lives had led them in different directions. She was still family though and he was comfortable with just being quiet with her.  

“So,” Rosita knocked the ash off the end of her smoke, “You guys still, you know, trying?”

Daryl figured she had smelled Paul when he passed her, the fainted scent of approaching heat clear even to her beta nose. Daryl took another deep inhale, glancing at her curious face through his bangs before giving the smallest nod.  

The first few heats they went through together had been protected. Paul had been taking, still affective but expired, birth control but it ran out after not too long. Daryl had never seen Paul nervous before, the man had been a ball of tense energy as he made the suggestion that they not try to prevent anything.  

Daryl could have been knocked over with a damn feather. They hadn’t been together that long at that point, around six months but honestly, they had been dancing around each other since that first day back on the road with the truck. Daryl couldn’t fathom that someone could love him like Paul insisted he did but the idea that anyone would be willing to have a child with him was seemingly impossible.

The term mate was outdated and many partners never used it. That was what it felt like Paul had been asking though, if Daryl might want to be his mate. Paul had been so patient as Daryl’s gears ground in his brain, just picking at his shirt sleeve between reaching up to tuck his hair behind his right ear. Daryl always found the little habit so enduring, Paul was all calm collected ninja but the little quirk only ever got seen by Daryl.  

Daryl had chewed his lip and thumb nail raw by the time he finally nodded. Paul looked like a feather would take him out too as his jaw dropped before it spread into a crooked smile. Daryl didn’t know why someone as amazing as Paul had chosen him but he wasn’t a stupid man. He knew not to look a gift horse in the mouth.  

“I think it would be good,” Rosita snapped Daryl back to the present and he cocked an eyebrow at her, “Good for there to be more kids. Good for Judith and Hershel to have someone to play with and grow up with.”

“Ya think so?” Daryl flicked his own ash away. He had thought the same thing more than a time or two.  

“Yeah,” Rosita smile was soft as she nudged his elbow, “It’ll be good for you too, Daryl. You’d be a really great dad.”

Daryl blinked at her, a flush pooling into his face as he cleared his throat, “Yeah?”

She nodded before smirking, “Plus we’d get to see Jesus trying to ninja around with a big baby belly.”

Daryl nearly choked on the laugh that image brought to mind before he jumped at a loud screech, “DARYL!!”

Laura hollered as she sprinted out of the building, stopping halfway to him before turning and franticly gesturing for him to follow, “It’s Jesus! C’mon!”  

Daryl threw his cigarette down, his feet moving faster than his brain. He never thought he would ever be in a hurry to get back inside of the Sanctuary but he was kicking up gravel as he took off behind the beta.

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

Paul’s skin was on fire by the time Frankie got him inside her room. She got him sitting on the bed, he crumpled into himself instantly. Paul didn’t mind the fact that he got heats, it was a part of his life as an omega. He didn’t particularly like where this one decided to rear its head though. If it had waited just another hour, they would have been home and he wouldn’t be throbbing in his pants at the Sanctuary.  

“Okay, Daryl will be here soon,” Frankie made him sit up so she could peel his leather jacket off him and toss it in a chair by the bed, “I’m not worried about any mess or even give a shit about these sheets.”

She nudged him with a joking smile and he tried to return it but all he could manage was a groan. She tucked his sweaty hair off his face as she pulled his gloves off and tossed them with his coat. She worked on his boots next, putting them next to the door and tucking his socks inside them so they wouldn’t get lost. She struggled a bit to get his holstered off but managed and set them on top of his boots.  

She knew every inch of his skin was burning, the heat not just setting flame to his inside but it was everywhere. Paul was grateful she had been with him when this cluster fuck had happened. If he had been around a beta they wouldn’t have been as prepared to help him. It had been a shit show if an alpha had been helping him or had run across them in the hall.  

“There is water in the fridge,” Her room was laid out a lot like a hotel, like most of the living quarters in the building, “Even some food.”

“Not going be here that long.” Paul managed to mumble. He planned that once the first wave of heat subsided for them to jump on Daryl bike and get the hell home. There was no way he was spending the next three days there.  

Frankie nodded in understanding then cleared her throat as she opened the top drawer of her bed side table. She left it open as she muttered, “There are condoms in there, the kind made for alphas.”

Paul almost shook his head, almost told her how they didn’t use protection but he stopped himself and settled on a husked, “Thanks.”  

Before she could speak again the door swung open, Laura stumbling in with the force of Daryl charging in behind her with Rosita on his tail. The alpha looked frantic, both from worry and Paul’s scent that was even filling the hallway. Paul whined at the sight of him and the rough sound that came from deep in Daryl’s chest had the women scrambling out of the room, locking the door behind them.

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

Daryl’s blood felt like it was boiling as he took in the sight of Paul hunched on the bed. His face was flushed, pupils dilated and sweat had his hair sticking to his neck. He was stripped down to just his pants and shirt, to aid in easing his pain and because Frankie knew Daryl would need the easiest access possible.  

Paul wasn’t in the worst of his heat, the first and last few were always the calmest. It wouldn’t be until the next day that Paul would be little more than a begging soaked mess and Daryl’s rut would be so strong he wouldn't be able to do anything but please him. He knew once this wave was over they were getting the hell out of there.  

“Daryl...” Paul gasped, reaching up to try and push his hair off his damp face.  

Daryl was across the room in three strides, ripping his knife holsters off and letting them thud to the floor. Then he was hauling Paul up from the bed and kissing him hard. Paul moaning into his mouth, gripping his vest to shove it off his shoulders. Daryl grabbing the hem of his shirt, parting from his bruising lips long enough to yank the garment off and toss it to the floor.  

Paul’s hands trembled as he got Daryl’s shirt open but left it on, moving next to work on his belt. Daryl wasn’t going to argue with Paul’s hurry, he was ready to get his omega home as quickly as possible. Daryl pushed Paul’s pants off his hip, the cargoes not stained with any slick yet.  

Daryl’s hands slid over Paul’s ass as he shoved his briefs off. They were a bit damp but thankfully not soaked. Paul gripped Daryl’s waist as he kicked his underwear aside. Daryl groaned softly as Paul got his zipper shoved down and pushed his pants down enough that his dick snapped free.  

Paul let out a small squeak as Daryl tossed him back on the bed. Paul arched his back as he drew his legs up to lull open. Not bothering to move around to lay his head on the pillow, content where he was as Daryl stepped between his thighs.  

Daryl had to catch his breath as he looked over Paul. Thighs trembling slightly, cock swollen against his belly and already dripping but it wasn’t the part of him that needed the most attention. Daryl ran his hand down Paul’s aching belly, feeling it twitch from his touch.  

Paul gasping as his fingertips grazed over his dick down his balls, slick already starting to drip down his ass onto the bed as Daryl finally reached his hole. Paul’s back bowed up even further, heading thrown back as he nearly screamed from the touch, it was so good but not enough.  

“So wet already, need me that bad, darlin’?” Daryl leaned over him, rest with his hand next to Paul’s head as he kissed over his sweaty temple. Paul could barely nod before Daryl’s finger slipped inside him.

Paul’s hands grabbed Daryl’s shoulders, thighs falling even wider around Dary as he panted, “More, need you, Daryl. Please, hurry.”  

Daryl kissed his quivering lips; his eyes having gone glassy with both pleasure and pain. Paul whining as he sucked Daryl’s tongue into his mouth, Daryl easing a second finger in. Paul was so wet, slick thick and body so relaxed under him Daryl knew he could possibly thrust right in. It would hurt though, just a little from the first stretch and Daryl didn’t like to do that.  

When Daryl added a third finger Paul groaned but it was more in frustration as he sat up and nearly knocked Daryl off him. He gripped the back of Daryl’s head as his other hand slapped around the bed side table. When he leaned back Daryl almost moaned at the way Paul glared at him.

“Stop teasing and fuck me,” Paul held up a condom between them, gripping the corner with his teeth and ripping it open, “Before I flip us over and take matters into my own hands.”

Daryl almost liked that idea but he stared at the condom, they hadn’t used them in so long now. Daryl raised his brow at it, hoping Paul couldn’t see what was going on in his head. He didn’t know if he could handle the thought that Paul had changed his mind about wanting to have a child with him.  

Paul, of course, did see that, even with his mind in a haze of heat he could read Daryl like a book. Paul kissed his cheek, reaching down to stroke Daryl’s aching dick and slipping the condom on. He nuzzled his beard against Daryl’s jaw as he husked, “When I get pregnant, I don’t want it to happen here, babe. I want you to breed me, when we get home. Not here.”  

Daryl actually sighed as he nodded, kissing Paul deep before shoving him back on the bed. Paul falling back with a smile as Daryl ran the tip of his cock over his drenched hole. Paul reached up, gripping the sheets above his head as Daryl pushed inside.

Paul moaned, so loud in the small room but Daryl wanted him to do it more. He watched Paul’s face as he eased inside. Saw how his mouth fell open with each breath, it was like he was in pain but the way his cocked dripped over his stomach proved it was pleasure.  

Paul felt so full when Daryl was fulling inside him, not just the stretch of his hole but the hollow ache in his gut eased just a bit. He knew it would fade once he had Daryl’s knot, for a little bit at least and more than enough time to get the hell away from the Sanctuary.  

Daryl leaned down, nipping at Paul’s throat that he bared on instinct. His hips taking up a hard, deep pace, one that always got both of them off in no time. It hit Paul’s prostate perfectly, making him go so deliciously tight around Daryl.  

“Oh, god, Daryl, that’s so good,” Paul whined as he arched into Daryl’s thrusts, thighs gripping him tight and one hand coming up to hold into the back of his neck, “You’re so good, babe.”  

Daryl moaned at the praise as he slammed into Paul, leaving dark marks on his throat. Daryl leaned back, shaking his sweaty bangs out of his eyes, “Yer so gorgeous, so damn perfect, Paul.”  

Paul whimpered making Daryl move even harder. Paul could feel his orgasm bubbling just under the surface, like it was waiting, waiting for that last little push. Paul almost sobbed when Daryl’s hand ran over his stomach, pressing down where the ache to be filled was the worst. Paul’s own hand slapped down over his as he cried out, “Please, please, please knot me.”  

It was like on Paul’s command that Daryl felt the first jolt, almost like pain but it was so good as his knot grew. Just another few thrusts before Daryl couldn’t pull out, his knot keeping him inside as his orgasm hit him like a punch.  

Paul’s mouth opening in a silent scream as he came between them. The stretch not hurting but the aching emptiness inside fading for now as Daryl filled the condom. Paul’s come splattering up over their hands, that stayed just a moment more now rubbing at Paul’s belly.  

Daryl collapsed, his orgasm still running through him and Paul wrapped his arms around him tightly. Daryl’s bulk not too much for him to take as he kissed his cheek and jaw. Daryl nuzzled at Paul’s throat, just catching his breath, “Can’t wait to get ya home and come in ya fer real.”

Paul hummed at the words, “I think I want that a lot more than you do, you have no idea.”  

Daryl managed to get his elbows under him, his knot would still take a bit more time to deflate but they were happy to stay like this. He brushed Paul’s hair off his face, rubbing his thumb over his bearded cheek, “Do ya know how bad I want ya pregnant?”  

Paul’s face had cooled some as his heat settled back for the time being but his cheek bones colored just a bit pink. Sex always made Daryl’s tongue loosen up, made it easier for him to be open and honest, “How bad, babe?”  

Daryl’s thumb kept up its soothing motion as he rest his forehead on Paul’s, “So fucking bad. Want to see ya all big and round, yer going to be so beautiful but it’s more than that.”  

Paul’s hands buried in Daryl’s hair so he wouldn’t move, his eyes clear of the haze of heat but desperation still in them, “Tell me. Don’t stop, keep talking.”  

Daryl’s face was flushed but he was smiling, “Want a baby with yer eyes and all that hair. Gonna be a lil badass just like its daddy. Can’t wait to see it.”

Paul kissed Daryl gently, nuzzling his nose as he whispered, “It needs your smile and sweet personality, then it will be perfect, just like its papa.”  

Daryl could feel that his knot was gone but he stayed inside just a moment more as he breathed the same air as Paul, “Love ya, Paul.”

“I love you,” Paul kissed up his jaw, “Now take me home and let’s make this baby.”  

Daryl nodded before carefully pulling out and dragging them both off the bed. Paul grimacing as Daryl removed the condom and dropped it on the floor. He didn’t bother to pick it up, though he would apologize to Frankie for that and the wreck they left her bed next time he saw her outside of his heat.  

They haphazardly pulled their clothes back on, the room still stinking with sex and heat as they left. Rosita had been in the hall, face impassive for the noises she had to have heard. She just gave them a salute as they hurried down the hall and out of the building. They didn’t have long before the next wave of Paul’s heat would hit.

Daryl saw Frankie by his bike, giving her a nod of thanks as Paul waved sheepishly as her as they climbed on. She just smiled at them as Daryl started his bike and tore out of the gate. Leaving the Sanctuary behind him where it belonged and speeding to Hilltop, where they belonged.

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

Paul couldn’t believe he was doing this. It was stupid as his foot bounced on the linoleum floor as he sat on the edge of the tub.  

Daryl hadn’t noticed that Paul’s heat was late, not that two days was that late. Paul wasn’t always perfectly regular, but when Daryl hadn’t started to show signed of rut the week before Paul had noticed. Daryl still wasn’t showing any signs and Paul’s heat would have usually started by now.  

Paul jumped as the small, chicken shaped kitchen timer in his hand went off. Paul sighed as it twisted it to stop the ringing. He steeled his nerves, he was a grown man and stood up. He picked up the plastic stick off the sink counter and looked at it.

Paul felt his fingers trembled as he pressed them to his mouth. A huge ever crooked smile behind it as he stared at two clear pink lines, “Holy shit.”