#perhaps I should start calling Prowl:

[novafire-is-thinking]

I haven’t seen anything about how similar Prowl and House are…

…so now you’re all gonna hear about it from me >:)

Prowl is to House as Ratchet is to Dr. McCoy.

House is the king of committing medical malpractice in the name of personal interest and the good of his patients.

Prowl is the king of committing war crimes in the name of the good of Cybertron and personal interest*.

*There is a whole post I want to write about this later.

^ There were very few significant differences I could think of.

I’ve lost count of how many times I’ve laughed while watching House M.D. because I was reminded of Prowl. I love both of them so much. lol

Prowl fans: If you want to know what Prowl would be like as a doctor, check out House M.D.

House fans: If you want to know what House would be like as a giant alien robot strategist, look no further than Prowl.

Some quotes by House that could have also been said by Prowl:

“If nobody hates you, you’re doing something wrong.”

“It’s nothing personal. I don’t like anybody.”

“I take risks; sometimes patients die. But not taking risks causes more patients to die, so I guess my biggest problem is I've been cursed with the ability to do the math.”

The last one is especially Prowl.

[anonymityisfunwriter]

it will come back.

"i warn you, baby, each night, as sure as you're born, you'll hear me howling at your door..." - hozier, it will come back

pairing: yandere!bucky barnes x reader c.w.: dark!bucky (he definitely does some questionable things, but nothing graphic)

a.n. - it's official, i've become addicted to lower case fics. they're just so much fun. they've got a vibe, you know? anyway, this is my first attempt at a darker bucky, so i hope you enjoy!

Bucky Barnes Masterlist | AnonymityIsFun Masterlist

this is your fault. it’s all your fault.

you know better, or at least, you should have known better.

what else could you expect from a man like him? a man robbed of his humanity for so long. a man so close to ferality. that's who he is in all matters of you, a man more beast than human, no better than an animal when it came to you.

that’s how you should’ve treated him. as a beast. prowling back and forth in their confinement. poised to devour any unlucky soul that got too close. so long as he was caged, you were safe.

you didn’t though. you didn’t treat him like the beast he became the moment he saw you.

maybe in another life, he could've loved you in a normal, sane way. in another life, he could give you the sweetness you deserved. in a life where he wasn't so twisted and tormented, he would have done just that. the flowers. the chocolates. the romance.

but this is love, he tells himself.

this raw, deranged, twisted, obsession.

this is his love.

he loves you.

he swears he does.

in this life, this is the only way he can show you just how much he loves you. just how far he's wiling to go to love you.

something happened to him the moment he set his sights on you. perhaps something broke. perhaps something mended. but maybe this was always who he'd been. all he knows is that heaven is not fit to house the love he has for you.

it didn't matter. the moment he set his sights upon you, you were doomed.

he wanted to scream, to bellow a warning to stay as far away from him as possible.

he stayed silent during that first meeting. his jaw tense, spine straight as an arrow, fists clenched so tight he was sure there would be indents in the metal of his vibranium palm.

"it was nice to meet you, sergeant barnes." you made a point to place yourself in his line of sight, forcing him to look at you in those bright, wide eyes. "i look forward to working with you."

that was your first mistake. he had the strength to stay away. to resist the feeling creeping up his spine. but you just kept rattling his cage. calling out to him with your siren song.

"bucky," you rest your hand on his shoulder. you're trying to soothe him. you don't realize it's a kindness neither you nor him could afford. "it's alright."

he stiffens, that's the first time you've ever touched him. it's the first time he's ever heard his name fall from your lips. not sergeant, not sir, but his name.

his chest heaves, rising and falling as he tries to control himself. you think it's just the adrenaline of the mission. you don't have any idea how overwhelmed he is by your presence.

it's your own kindness that was your undoing, that was his unraveling. years of discipline, years of training, years of strength gone with a touch.

if he didn't love you so much, he'd hate you.

from that moment on, it all spiraled. he spiraled.

he wasn't a patient man, not by any stretch of the imagination. but for you, he'd wait. for you, he'd bide his time.

first, he watches. he watches and look for ways to insert himself into your life. it was almost too easy. for a shield agent, you were careless. doors unlocked. blissfully unaware of your surroundings on long, morning runs. you barely realized how he'd slithered his way onto your missions.

it helped you were vying for his approval, for his adoration. you didn't know that you had it from the moment he saw you. he started slow. inserting himself into your daily routine. a simple good morning. a good night. passing by you in the corridor, always offering a quick grin. he listened to you. to your ideas. your wants. your little anecdotes.

soon, you were close enough to invite him into your apartment. if only you knew that he'd seen it before.

"bucky, we're friends, right?"

he gritted his teeth. friends. no. you weren't friends. you were the love of his life. you were everything he had ever wanted, everything he would ever want. you were the center of his universe. he couldn't tell you that. not yet. "yeah. why do you ask?"

"i just wanted your opinion on this guy."

"a guy?" his voice is so clipped, so gruff, he's shocked you can't hear his teeth grinding together. his fists clench. can't you feel the rage rolling off of him?

"yeah, this agent," you sigh. "he keeps asking me out. i keep trying to let him down easy, but he's not taking the hint."

"oh."

your eyebrows furrow. he almost smiles to himself. you're so aware of him, of what he does or doesn't do. you're worried you upset him. you're worried you shouldn't have told him. he likes that you're this concerned about what he thinks. "should i - i'm sorry i shouldn't have said that to you."

he places his hand on your thigh, giving it a light squeeze. "no, i'm glad you told me."

it was too easy for him to swipe your phone when you weren't looking. too easy for him to find out which agent dared to try to take you from him.

and it was even easier to get the agent paired with bucky on a field mission. just the two of them. overseas in an unfamiliar country. there were just so many things that could go wrong.

he was respected in the avenger's compound. and in this moment, he's glad he put in the work to earn that respect. he didn't think they'd respect him so much if they knew how easy it was for him to sabotage that agent. he couldn't kill the guy, but if a gun shot to the leg wasn't enough of a warning, there were other ways to get him off your back.

all of this was your fault. you opened the cage, whether you knew it or not. you pushed him to this. you showed him the warmth of your doorways.

you could've left him alone. left him to the land. left him to the cold that he knows from the depth of his bones. you should never have let him taste your warmth. you shouldn't have uttered a single word to him, not when he's sat in silence for so long, not when the sound of your honey sweet voice in enough to feed his hungry soul.

you can't show warmth to someone stone cold.

you can't feed someone starved for decades.

you can't show mercy to someone used to the harsh, unyielding world.

you should never have let him in unless you planned on keeping him.

or he'll come back.

"bucky," you pant, running to bucky's room after hearing about his disastrous mission. "i heard - i heard things went wrong on that mission. i thought you were -"

"i'm okay. don't worry." he tries to bite back the smile at the tears pricking at the corners of your eyes. you were worried about him.

your words come out in short bursts. "i just - the guy - he's the one i told you about - i heard he was shot - and - and that you were on the mission with him-"

"that was the guy who wouldn't leave you alone?" there's an intentional lilt to his voice. of course he knew. but he didn't want to give away just how much he knew. you weren't ready for that. "he's okay, if that's what you're worried about."

"i was worried about you." your eyes lift to his, shining with tears, with admiration. you were so close to putting the final nail in your coffin. "i was so worried about you."

he should tell you to run. the lion should never live with the lamb. if only you'd left him to the land.

"i'm okay. i promise."

run, he silently warns you.

run.

run.

"i just- " your frantic eyes find his again. you don't say another word. you lunge forward, planting your warm hand on the side of his face. your lips meet his in a frenzy.

too late.

it was far, far too late. it was too easy for him to become addicted to your presence. how easy you are for him to need. how easy you are for him to crave.

he'll always come back for more. he'll never be satisfied. he lived deprived for so long.

you should've know the reason they locked him away and threw away the key. he's a greedy beast.

and he's decided, he can't live with a taste. not anymore.

"i just want to talk to you," the agent pleads with you. he follows you down the hallway, still limping on his leg after that gun shot. "just hear me out."

"look," you sigh, stopping for a moment out of pity. "i'm sorry you got hurt, but i've already told you, i'm not interested."

"you're not interested in me, but you're interested in the maniac that had me shot?"

your eyes widen at the accusation. "you're lying. and don't - don't talk about bucky like that."

"i just thought you should know what kind of man you're falling into bed with."

"you're just jealous." you're about to turn on your heels when he grips your bicep forcing you back around. he squeezes tightly, forcing you to stay in place. you look down at the white knuckled grip, "you're hurting me."

"he told me that i should be more careful next time. that next time it wouldn't be in the leg. you should ask him about it."

you wrench your arm from his hold. "stay away the hell from me."

you felt guilty about your reaction. even guiltier when he turned up dead just days later. the details of that assignment were so fuzzy. even an entire investigation turned up nothing.

"i can't believe he's gone," you softly cry into bucky's shoulder. "we were friends for so long, you know?"

"i'm so sorry, that can't be easy for you," bucky coos at you.

"i don't what happened. he was acting so strange the last few months and then we got into that fight. i said terrible things to him."

"you got into a fight?"

"he said some things. about you. about us."

"about me?"

"yeah." you nod, tears still stinging your eyes, but offering no other details of that argument. you didn't want to upset bucky with those strange accusations. "these last few months, he was like a different person. he wasn't the friend i knew. i'm sorry, i know i'm rambling at you. i just - i don't know how to feel."

"you don't have to be sorry," bucky promises, he strokes your back up and down, following the curve of your spine. "i understand."

"thank you." you tuck your head into the crook of his neck. "you're being so sweet to me."

"i would do anything for you."

you're not sure what it is. the inflection of his voice. the way the words fall from his lips without pause. or the intensity with which they ring in your ears. you freeze, peeling yourself out of his embrace. your heart hammers against your chest, the blood pumping faster and faster.

you look up and, for the first time, you get a glimpse of it. those blue eyes are almost unrecognizable. that vibrant blue is gone, replaced by something much darker. almost lupine. feral.

it was the first time you ever flinched away from him. you stumbled back, afraid of him.

if you didn't know better then, you certainly did now.

but it's too late for you. he's supposed to unlearn the warmth of your skin, the taste of your lips? he's supposed to let you go? just like that?

no. not a chance in hell.

he doesn't know why you can't see it. can't you see that blood that stained his hand was for you? that agent will never lay another hand on you. you'll never wince under his grip again. he'll never plant seeds of doubt in your head ever again. you're safe. here. in his arms.

you sent him away that night. but he doesn't care. it doesn't matter. he'll always find his way back to you.

he'll always come back.

can’t you hear him just outside your door?

Bucky Barnes Masterlist AnonymityIsFun Masterlist

a.n. this is my first attempt at writing a yandere fic, so let me know what you think! reblogs and comments are always appreciated! 💛

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[harryforvogue]

Bringing the Queen Home*

hi yes hello. this fic is about persephone being a late to returning to hades!harry, so he decides to take matters into his own hands. 6.5k words and, as always, happy reading :)

tw: mention of child passing away

***

Hecate and Hermes glance at each other as Harry stalks past them again, the look on his face murderous. The effects of his rage have been prominent from the trembling of the palace walls and the cold air shifting through the gardens. His arms are behind his back as he paces, hands in fists.

Hermes is the first one to speak. “Er, my king. Perhaps we should look into communicating with Dem–”

“Say her name and I’ll kill you.” Harry’s growl is demonic. He turns his black eyes to Hermes, daring him to say more.

Hermes (tries to) stand his ground, but he shifts back towards Hecate against the corridor wall and murmurs, “Your turn.”

Hecate doesn’t bother. She’s been around an enraged Harry too many times to interfere. Whatever plan he comes up with will be his own and then he can’t go around blaming other people for the hole he digs for himself.

“A week,” Harry’s muttering to himself. “What could have made her so upset that she’s late for a week. I understand a day. Maybe even two. But 7 entire days is ridiculous.” He runs a hand through his hair, gripping it tight at the base of his neck.

Harry paces in the dimly lit hallway outside his bedroom for a little longer. And then, suddenly, he stops. Hecate knows he has a plan from the way he lifts his head sharply, eyes returning to their normal color.

“We must go up and get her.”

Hermes groans. “You’re still technically barred from leaving the Underworld, remember?”

It’s true. Last year, he’d been visiting Persephone after a particularly terrifying dream about his father, and only wanted solace in his wife. Persephone had kept it a secret very well, and had cradled his head to his chest while waiting for him to calm down. But as he was leaving, disguised as a black snake, Helion, the traitorous bastard, had identified him and alerted Zeus. And as a result, Hermes was sent to “guard” the king of the underworld to ensure he did not break the clause in his contract that (paraphrased) stated, “Do not be stupid and leave the Underworld while your wife is gone or I shall fry you on the spot.”

Also as a punishment, Zeus placed Hades on something that the mortals had made up. “House arrest” he’d called it, looking quite pleased with himself for thinking of it.

“I’ll be invisible,” Harry says.

“It will not be enough!” Hermes groans, his head in his hands. “You put me through so much stress. If I were mortal, I sure would have one of those things. Those heart conditions. The, er. Heart…heart…”

“Heart attack,” Hecate mutters.

“Yes. Precisely!”

Harry is unfazed. “You will cover for me, and if you should refuse, I will keep you as my personal servant and messenger for the next five years.”

Hermes looks up, horrified. “Five years? You’d be that cruel?”

“Quite. Do you want to defy me?” Harry’s voice is low and challenging. 

“But your brother–”

“Will never find out. I must get my wife.” Harry prowls closer to him, power radiating off him. His eyes are growing black around the edges again. “Hermes. What is your answer?”

When Hermes is all but backed to the wall with a looming, murderous man above him, he yells, “Fine! Fine! I won’t tell!”

“Good.” Harry doesn’t look away from Hermes. “Hecate.”

“Yes, my king?”

“My chariot.”

“Yes, sir.”

“And, Hecate?”

“Yes?”

“You must stay here and look after the kingdom.” Harry finally pulls away from Hermes when the other deity starts cowering under the dark glare. “I will be going tonight.”

Harry steps back and looks at both of them pointedly. They nod back, and then Harry disappears into his room, slamming and locking the door behind him.

***

There’s nobody else capturing her attention, Harry tells himself as he removes his crown from his head. He’d dressed up well for his wife’s return, adorned in jewelry and the finest material. He turns the crown in his hands. There’s nobody more important to Persephone than he. There can’t be.

So why is she not home?

Harry pinches the bridge of his nose, falling down to his shared bed. He tosses the crown away. Could she be upset with him? So filled with rage that she doesn’t wish to see him? Was he not writing back to her well enough? Was he not telling her enough, how much he loved her? How he ached to touch her? Kiss her? Was it not enough?

Is he not enough?

Does she not wish to be his wife anymore?

His chest tightens, and Harry thinks it’s all too mortal of him to feel the physical ailments of his agony.

Persephone loves him. He knows that. He does. So why does he–?

Harry stops himself. He stands up again and fixes his clothing. He then prepares for his journey, hiding sheathed bronze weapons in his suit, tucking his invisibility cap close to him as well. It matters little of the reason for her reluctance. He will bring his wife home.

Before he leaves his chamber, Harry looks at himself in the mirror, a picture of terror. He forces his face to relax. Persephone always tells him not to be so severe. He can feel her soft fingers pull apart his eyebrows that she swears are connected. He can feel her lips on his jaw, kissing away the tension. My love, she murmurs, arms around him tight. I just want to see you smile. Please?

So then it is decided. Whatever the reason for her hesitance is, he’ll deal with it. Whether it’s a duty, or another man. He will be rational.

***

Harry is anything but rational, he finds.

Because Persephone isn’t with her mother at her palace. In fact, Demeter’s already weeping and grieving and all that fucking bullshit. The earth is cold, winds picking up as he leaves the palace.

Persephone isn’t with her mother. Persephone isn’t with him. She’s elsewhere, and now he’s angry at her. 

Now that the familiar feeling has returned, Harry wants nothing more than to quickly identify where his wife is and demand answers. So after a brief break within the trees, he stalks out of the woods then, and closes his eyes, willing himself to calm down so that he can grasp the connection between him and his wife. 

He might have felt even a flicker of something if he weren’t so angry. He opens his eyes and begins walking in the usual direction Persephone takes to return to him. Demeter has previously expressed that she doesn’t like seeing Persephone leave the way she comes because it’s “too close to home” so Persephone usually goes a town over before returning to him.

Harry’s footsteps against the earth are hard, and he catches himself caught up in his rage when the trees around him begin to shake.

What could have been so important that she refused to return home to him? 

The town over is quite far, and Harry uses the long walk to try to calm down. He doesn’t want to be raging when Persehone sees him for the first time in six months. 

By the time he reaches the town, Harry’s feeling lighter. He’s said a few mantras to himself — which Hermes told him before he left — and taken a few breaks in between miles. He’s done well, he thinks. At least by the standards of the King.

He walks on the town’s cobblestoned pathway, winding between makeshift houses and temples. At nearly every door, he stops and closes his eyes, trying to feel his wife’s presence. But everytime, he comes up short, devoid of any trace of her. He doesn’t immediately give up even though the irritation returns. Instead, he walks to each establishment, including the pubs and hotels, hoping he can feel her.

It isn’t until he’s about to leave the town and angrily trudge to the next one that he violently stops, turning his head.

There. He feels her.

He slowly turns around and scans the land. The town is busy preparing for winter, several men walking in front of him with wood on their backs, the women carrying baskets of vegetables into their homes. Some of them are bandaged, some of them limping.

But despite the excitement. Harry can feel a faint glimmer, and it tugs at his heart. He looks around. She wasn’t in the house. Not the shops. Not the pubs. She’s–

The infirmary. His eyes narrow in on the small hut-like building made of remaining bricks and wood, barely put together. His feet begin to walk him in that direction.

She can’t be hurt. She’d heal immediately if she was. 

But that reminder doesn’t make him any less worried. Suddenly, he feels stupid for being angry. Never once did he consider she could be hurt. He just assumed she’d be able to take care of herself.

It’s not a busy infirmary, though. There are a few children laying on cots with their mothers near them, but aside from that and the one healer, the room is empty.

Harry walks through it, careful not to make any sound. He hovers over the children, their pale faces flushed with fever. With a tight jaw, he holds his hand over them and reaches, removing their pain. He can’t completely heal them, but he figures anything will help. The children, barely of ages 5 or 6 he assumes, relax into their bed, eyes fluttering shut. To their mothers, it looks like they’ve fallen asleep.

He steps away and then turns back towards the room, glancing around.

The healer is dressed in all white, tall and kind. She is currently busy with helping a child enter, taking the baby of barely six months in mortal time from its father and resting it on her hip. She cradles the baby’s head to her chest and sighs softly, gently bouncing. “It’s okay,” she whispers. “You’ll be just fine.”

The mother rushes in, eyes filled with tears. “I did as you asked, Miss. Only natural milk. As you asked.”

“Yes,” the healer says softly. She brushes her fingers over the baby’s full cheek. “And you must leave the rest to me. I assure you, she will be well in a day’s time.”

When the healer turns around, Harry stops.

Persephone. Wife.

Harry immediately goes to her, but stops when she starts walking in his direction. She’s disguised herself well, the opposite of what she really looks like, but her gentle eyes remain. Wholly focused on the baby. She brings the child to the cot closest to him and lays her down gingerly, reaching for a wet cloth. The baby has miraculously fallen asleep, no doubt Persephone’s work, and she puts the cloth over her eyes.

She stands again to address the parents. The father has his arm around his wife, holding her tight as she cries against him. “She will be okay,” Persephone whispers. “I promise you.”

Some more reassurance and then Persephone steps back to let the parents sit. She goes around to the other cots, nodding when the parents thank her for her help.

And then she’s finished with her round. She stands at the back, her hands clasped in front of her, a look of determination on her face. But her eyes. Her eyes look sad.

Harry steps closer again, wary of coming into contact with her. He can’t reveal himself. Not here. He’ll have to wait until it’s dark. Or at least until a few candles have been extinguished.

So he busies himself. He too walks around and removes the pain from the children, incrementally taking away the parents’ sorrow. It goes on for several hours. He’d never known parents could feel such hurt over their children, but then again – how would he know?

And he also watches his wife flutter around. Persephone makes stew over the fire and pours it by the ladle for her patients, passing the bowls around to the children and their parents. She sits with them, whispering even more kind words. Pretends to their food.

Harry’s anger is gone. All he feels now is a tremendous amount of love for his wife. He cannot name a single other god or goddess that would do such a thing for mere mortals.

At nightfall, Persephone goes around and blows out the candles. She leaves only two and then she gathers herself, exiting the infirmary. Harry trails after her, and once she tells her replacement the updates on the children, she turns the corner and rests her back against the brick wall, staring out into the night. He sees her lips moving silently as if praying. 

His heart gives a start in his chest, the bond between them growing tight.

She’s talking to him. 

Harry approaches carefully. He removes his cap, walking in the shadows to avoid any lingering eyes from the distant town. 

Persephone sees him from the corner of her eye. She wipes her hands on the front of her dress, pulls a happy face on and then turns to him. “Good evening, sir. How can I–” She trails off when Harry steps into the dim light of the lantern perched outside. “Harry.”

“Wife,” Hades greets, eyes running over her face. He hesitates, suddenly feeling ridiculous standing so far from her with his hands tucked into his pockets. This is their reunion. He should be grabbing her. Kissing her. 

Scolding her for not sending a message.

Persephone must see it all on his barely lit face. She suddenly crumbles, her shoulders dropping. With a glance around to ensure nobody is watching, she waves a shaky hand over her face, revealing her true appearance. Harry’s heart aches at the sight of her, his hands flying out of his pockets to grab her face.

“My darling girl—”

“Harry.” Her lips tremble. 

“Yes. Yes, Kore,” he whispers, pushing her back against the wall. Her own hands grip his shirt. Every thought in his head disappears when he brings his mouth down, draping his body over hers. He kisses her hard, 6 months of sadness rushing out of him. “My love. My wife.”

Persephone’s hands trail up to his face. Then his hair where she knots her fingers in his curls. “I should have told you,” she says softly. “I know. I should have. But I couldn’t– I didn't think –” she suddenly cries and throws her arms around him, hugging him fiercely to her. “Harry. I’m so sorry. I’ve missed you so. I’m so terribly sorry.”

“Did you think I wouldn’t understand?” he whispers, cradling her head as she’d done for the baby. He feels himself crumble when her body trembles with sobs. “I would have. I would have, love.”

Persephone shakes her head. “You were angry. I felt it. The ground shook and I knew it was you. Oh, but Harry. I couldn't walk away from this. They needed me. The poor children. The mothers. The fathers. They’ve suffered so much already. My mother did it. I left and she– the storm. It ruined houses. Everyone was hurt or sick. The healers did their best but there weren’t enough of them so I–”

“Shhh.” He turns his head and kisses her hair. “It’s okay. It’s okay now. They’re doing well.”

“I lost a few. Got here too late and now they’re–”

“We’ll see to them. Once we’re home, we’ll see to them, I promise you.”

Persephone raises her head. Tears slide down her cheeks, desperation in her eyes. “We will?”

“Of course.” He wipes her face gently. “They’re your people. And you are their queen.” He presses his thumb to her lips when it looks like she’ll keep crying. “I love you, Kore. I was worried about you. And yes, I was very angry too. But I understand now.” He cups her face. “So let’s fix everyone and go back home, please. I’ve already lost a week with you and I would hate to lose more.”

Persephone sniffles and nods. She wipes her face and kisses him again, sweeter and softer this time. “Okay. Yes. I love you. I want to go home.”

Harry doesn’t let her go for some time. He kisses her until she can’t breathe, and then kisses her tear streaked face, her neck, and shoulders. Anywhere he can reach. And he holds her tight to him, making up for lost time.

“I love you,” he rasps against her cheek. “My wife.”

The only thing that breaks them apart is a sudden shriek.

They jerk apart, glancing at the infirmary and then each other. The other healer who replaced Persephone rushes out, wildly looking around. When she spots her, Persephone is already in her disguise, and Harry stands several feet away, invisible.

“What is it?” Persephone demands, running into the infirmary with the other healer. “What?”

“The babe,” the healer says miserably. “He’s gone. The one with the fever from yesterday. He’s…”

Harry follows behind them. The parents of the boy at the end of the line of cots are crying, huddling around their son. Persephone runs to them, meeting the family from the opposite side of the makeshift bed. She tends to the son, but Harry knows, and he knows that she feels it too. As the King and Queen of the Underworld, they’re too accustomed to death to not feel it.

He sees it on her face. The grief. The sudden sadness. The anger.

The other healer is trying her best. “I was only checking him. He looked flushed. I was just–”

Persephone raises a hand, quieting her. “Please.”

“I couldn't have–”

“I know. I know.”

Harry watches his wife stand and stare down at the now incomplete family. For several long seconds, she lets the family cry. And then she raises her eyes up to stare at where Harry is, piercing him with her gaze despite his invisibility.

He slowly nears, beckoned by her. Harry carefully places a hand on her shoulder and then reaches for his cap. Persephone’s eyes close, tears dripping down her face, hands tightened into fists.

Then, she opens her eyes and looks at the healer. “Thank you,” she whispers. “For your help.”

“I should have done more,” the healer tries, crying. “I should have done more, miss.”

“No,” Persephone says. “You did well. Please. Take a rest. It’ll be okay.”

“I can’t–”

“You will.” Persephone’s voice hardens slightly, though it still shakes. “Now.”

The young healer holds a hand to her mouth to stop her mouth and leaves the infirmary.

The parents before her are still crying loudly. The other children and parents are waking, but Harry cannot have that. He releases his cap and walks to each cot, waving a hand over their faces to put them back to sleep. It’s not a power he’s familiar with so it takes more energy out of him than usual, but soon, they've all returned to sleep and all is silent except for the cries.

Persephone dims the candles and then nears the parents. She kneels before them. Harry’s beside her again. She reaches out to touch their hands.

“Listen to me,” she says quietly. “You must listen to me.”

The grieving parents glance at her shakily. Harry can’t look at them for too long. Even the King can’t bear this type of suffering. 

“My baby,” the mother gasps, digging her fingernails into her skin. Her face is red and blotchy. “My-my only baby.”

Persephone looks behind her and nods. Harry removes the cap from his head, revealing himself. Two pairs of widened eyes slide over to him, horror growing on their faces. The mother shrieks, throwing a hand over her mouth, and she goes to rise out of fear, but Persephone’s honey voice keeps her still.

She reveals herself afterwards, but it only makes the parents shudder, their mouths opening to scream. Persephone shakes her head and pats their hands calmly.

“My name is Kore,” she says softly, power radiating from her. “And this is my husband, Aidoneus. It’s okay.”

Terror sprawls over the young parents’ faces. They grip each other tightly when they look at Harry. He can feel the intense spike of emotions when they do. He’s used to it, and normally he’d enjoy it, but now’s not the time.

Harry walks forward and kneels before them as well, putting his hand over his wife’s. “Your child is safe.”

A king on his knees. If Zeus were here, he’d rage. Perhaps Harry would too, if Persephone weren’t besides him leading.

“Yes,” Persephone says kindly. “Your child was a good person. And he has passed onto our realm. But we promise to treat him well. I shall ensure his happiness. He shall wait for you until you, too, are ready to come.”

Hades and Persephone give the parents time to understand. Their breaths stutter, chests blooming with ache, knuckles white, but they remain still, simply looking at the pair of them. The mother seems to have trouble breathing, the father absently rubs his wife’s back.

She is the first to recover and move. She throws herself onto the floor before Persephone and Hades, her forehead touching the hard ground. “Take me now, my King and Queen. Please. Take me now!”

The father is still frozen in his seat. Harry levels his eyes at him while Persephone tends to his wife. It’s better that way. Harry’s never been all that great at calming mortals, not even the dead ones.

“It is not your time. Not yet. And that is not our job. But when the right moment comes, you shall see him again.”

The mother continues to sob, clutching Persephone’s toga. “No. Please. I can’t bear to live without my baby. It took years to conceive him. I cannot. I cannot–”

“You’d do best to calm your wife,” Harry says to the father. “Mine only speaks the truth. You will be reunited and that is my oath to you, my humble worshipper. You must be patient. Do you not trust your King and Queen?”

“O-of course,” the father stammers, shakily reaching for his wife. He roughly draws her to his chest. “Darling. We trust them. We trust them with everything, don’t we?”

It takes some convincing to get her to start agreeing. She hides her face in her husband’s shoulder and softly weeps. “We do.”

“And I thank you for it,” Persephone says. “We must get going, but fear not. Just wait for the day you’re reunited.”

“Yes, my Queen.” The father watches Harry and Persephone rise. “We will. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you so much.”

Harry takes his wife’s hand and tugs her closer, slanting her a look. “We have no choice but to leave now,” he murmurs. With a nod of his head, the crying parents suddenly grow tired, and then they lay their heads down on the bed, falling asleep. 

Then, it’s just Harry and Persephone. She squeezes his hand and nods, looking around the room. “The rest of them should be okay. He was our sickest child.” Persephone sighs. “My mother will have to answer about this.”

“They’re mortals,” Harry reminds her gently, taking hold of her chin. “Demeter will not suffer any consequences.”

“But they become our people once dead. She should care about that, if anything.”

“My love.” He holds her face a little tightly. “We will see to it once we return home. Yes?”

Her eyes are troubled as they look around at his face. “Yes.”

“Good. Now come.” He begins to lead her out of the infirmary, slowly so that she can scan her eyes over the cots once more.

Outside, Harry takes his invisibility cap and puts it on her head. He bends down to kiss her and then transforms into a snake, dropping by her feet. Instead of slithering on the cold ground, he wraps his body against her warm leg and nestles his head on her thigh. Though she’s invisible, he knows she’s looking down at him fondly.

“Home,” Persephone whispers wistfully. “Let us go home.”

*** 

Later when they’ve settled, Hades watches Persephone thank Hecate for keeping things running while both rulers were gone. And as soon as Hecate has left, Harry crosses the throne room to her.

Persephone’s eyes widen with happiness when he wraps his arms around her and picks her up, spinning her around. 

“Harry!” she giggles.

He doesn’t put her down right away. He holds her flush against his chest and looks up at her, eyes dark. “Shall we go to our chamber, my darling beloved?”

Her eyes turn golden and she catches her lower lip between her teeth. She nods, kicking her legs behind her. Harry moves her, throwing her over his shoulder before beginning the ascent up the long stairs to their room.

“Harry!” She’s hitting his back. “Careful!”

Once the door is locked, Harry pulls her back down and tosses her onto the bed.

Persephone laughs, a beautiful fucking melody, leaning back on her palms. She takes in her devilishly handsome husband clad in his typical all black attire with a tilted gold crown resting on his brow. “You always do that. Throw me on the bed whenever I come back.”

She watches him unbutton his shirt slowly. “Oh yeah?” he murmurs. His voice is so deliciously velvet, she grows warm. 

“Even did it on our wedding night.”

Harry’s dimple shows. “What a night that was.”

“I think I still hated you.”

“And I shall be the one to let you know that I was utterly, completely…” he leans down to kiss her, voice just barely a whisper, “and pathetically in love with you.”

Persephone loops her arms around his neck. He focuses his weight on his hands. After the brief trial of the kiss, her eyes appreciatively ogle at his thick arms, and soon she’s pushing the shirt down and off the floor. Her hands make quick work of his pants.

“As you still are,” she says, blinking up at him with innocent eyes.

“As I still fucking am.”

She’s still in her toga, so it’s easy to get her out of it. Once it’s off, Harry pushes her down on her back so he can take her in. She shivers under his dark gaze. Harry removes all his clothing and then joins her on the bed. Before he touches her, she reaches for his crown, carefully removing it from his hair and setting it on the pillow beside her. She does the same with her own. 

And then she takes his hand, curiously looking at all the new rings. Harry remembers how she’d compared their hand sizes on their wedding night. How she’d stared up at him with wondrous, lust drunk eyes after tracing his long fingers. He suppresses a shiver at the reminder.

“I’ve got you some new ones too. Cut them from the finest stones,” he murmurs, holding the back of her head as he kisses her feverishly.

“You can’t keep these on,” she tells him in a small voice, her eyes lit with something he adores. “Shall I take them off?”

Harry’s mouth grows into a smirk. “Go ahead.”

Her eyes remain on him as she brings his hand closer to her mouth. She brushes a kiss on his knuckles and then slowly turns his hand to the side and bites down on the ring on his middle finger.

“Fuck me,” he breathes, growing harder.

She slides the ring off carefully and then holds it in her mouth until he places his other hand below her chin. She drops the gold into his awaiting palm.

She continues to do the same for the rest of his rings, but when she gets to his wedding band, she presses a kiss to it and then grins up at him.

“All done,” she murmurs, tongue poking out from the corner of her mouth. 

Harry surges forward and grabs her face, leans down for a breathtaking kiss. Her tongue licks into his mouth, and she grinds up against him, gasping at his hard thigh against her core.

“If I were alive,” he whispers. “That alone would have killed me.” Persephone has the audacity to smile sweetly, fluttering her lashes against the bridge of his nose. “I want to taste you,” he says, holding her face tightly between his now ringless fingers. He drops the rings onto the side table, and then lays down, getting himself comfortable between her thighs.

“Yes,” she gasps. “Yes, I want–”

Persephone’s breath hitches when he glides two fingers through her folds, hands reaching out to grab his hair.

“So wet,” he murmurs, pressing kisses to her thighs. “So fucking pretty. Is this all for me, wife? Tell me it’s all for me.”

“S’for you,” she says softly, cupping his face gently. “It’s all for you. Just… Could you–”

He slowly presses the two fingers inside of her, watching them sink in. She always takes him so well. Wary of their time apart leaving her unprepared, he takes his time opening her, tilting his fingers up and rubbing until she cries out.

“There! There. Yes,” she groans. “Oh, fuck!”

Harry grips Persephone’s left thigh, keeping her legs apart as he leans down and drags his tongue against her. She jolts again, and Harry has half a mind to raise his head and grin at her. The idea goes out the window, however, when her fingers in his hair tighten and she raises her hips to meet his mouth.

“Fuck.” She looks down at him, her eyes golden. The black sheets on their bed are rumpled, and with his wife sprawled above him Harry doesn’t know if there could be a better reunion. “It’s so unfair.”

Harry turns his head to press kisses to her soft inner thighs. “What, my sweet?”

“This,” she whispers, running her thumb over his cheek. “Having to be away from this.”

He smiles and laps her up again, crooking the fingers already inside of her. She cries out, body shuddering from the relentless thrusting of his middle and ring finger. 

“I know darling.” His words are gentle, but his grip is anything but. When he brings his mouth back to her, he tastes her like he’s starved, eyes fluttering shut and losing himself in the feeling.

His little wife whines, gripping his curls tight. Besides him, their crowns are falling to the floor where their clothes are thrown in different directions. She’s breathing hard, and despite how many times they’ve found themselves in this situation, it never gets less arousing. Exciting.

Harry’s entire body is feverish. He sucks gently on her clit which makes her quiver. His hard cock is trapped between him and the mattress, but he cares little for it right now. All he knows is his wife’s desperate whimpers and pleas.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” she whispers to herself. Harry feels her tighten around his fingers. Before she can come, he pauses and raises his eyes to glance at her. There’s a thin sheet of sweat on her body. Her perfect, jaw dropping body that he plans on worshiping once the initial desperation is out of his body. 

“Harry,” she begs, eyes fluttering open. “I want you inside. Please. It’s too much— It’s not— I miss you so— I thought about it every day…”

He pulls away from her, gently removing his fingers. His lips drag up, skating over her hip bones and then up to her ribs. His mouth kisses each individual rib, and then wraps around her nipple. She gasps when his tongue glides over, her fingers twitching with more need.

“So pretty,” he murmurs, kissing up her collarbones, shoulder, and then finally her neck. His hands are on either side of her head, trapping her underneath him.

She looks up at him with wide, fucked out eyes. It’s already enough to get him to spill, and she doesn’t help when her hand reaches out to wrap about his cock, giving him slowly pumps. He releases a breathy moan and continues to kiss her neck. He sucks a spot right below her jaw.

“Please,” Persephone whispers, wrapping a leg around him. “Harry. I need it. Waited for so long. I waited–”

“You did,” Harry murmurs, leaning down to kiss her mouth bruisingly. “You waited for me.”

“For months– I waited for months. I can’t– I can’t think–”

“I know darling,” he coos. “I know. You were such a good girl waiting for me. And you deserve a reward for that.”

“I do. I deserve it.”

“Even though you made me wait for an entire week, hmm?”

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry, my love, I should have never done that,” she sobs.

With a quick maneuver, he has Persephone on her stomach, and he hovers over her, using his knee to pull her legs apart.

Persephone lifts her hips to meet his, burying her face into the sheets. “Yes. Fuck, yes.”

Harry leans down to kiss down her spine, occasionally biting and then relieving the pain with his tongue. With a hand under her stomach, he pulls her up, just enough so he can slot himself between her thighs.

“I want you inside of me,” she tries again. 

“Persephone,” he says warmly in her ear. “Are you asking me to fuck you?”

She groans, grabbing the satin sheets tightly. “Yes, yes.”

“Tell me then, wife.” He carefully holds her hips, lining himself up against her entrance.

Persephone trembles beneath him. “I want– I want you to–” she takes a deep breath, skin hot. “I want you to fuck me, Harry.”

He smiles. “Good. And tell me this, my sweet angel. Do you want me to fuck you hard, or should we take our time? Should I fuck you nice and slow instead?”

She’s in near tears from the anticipation. “Hard,” she says, glancing at him over her shoulder. Her eyes swim with need. “Hard. I want it hard and fast.”

Harry raises his eyebrows.

“Please!” she begs.

“Good girl,” he murmurs. He wastes no time after that, easily sliding into her. He grits his teeth at the feeling, her walls fluttering around him to get readjusted to his size. It’s one of his most favorite feelings. After six months of being deprived, her body needs to accommodate him. Needs to be reminded who fucks her so well. 

Persephone drops her head back onto the sheets, her moan muffled. Harry can feel the abrupt power surge inside of her, his own body feeling electrified when she whispers a small, “Thank you.”

He grips her hips and fucks her like he’s promised. He pulls out all the way and then sinks into her again, watching the pleasure take form on her pretty face, her lips apart as she whimpers, a tight knuckled hold on the sheets to keep herself grounded. 

“Beautiful,” he mutters along with the swears under his breath. “My beautiful queen.”

Persephone doesn’t seem to be able to say much. As if her mind has shut off, all she can manage to give him are small sounds and occasional cries, especially when he snaps his hips, driving himself into her with a pace she can’t comprehend. 

Yes. This is what he’d been missing. It’s the answer to everything. Why he feels half a man for six months a year. Why he can’t seem to breathe properly. Because of her. 

His perfect Queen. 

It makes sense. Harry needs to be intertwined with her in every way. His hands on her, her vanilla scent surrounding him, the taste of her lingering on his tongue, the sight of her thoroughly fucked underneath him, and his cock deep inside of her. 

Harry drops a hand to her clit, running small tight circles. She immediately reaches back and grabs his wrist, digging her long nails into his skin. She’ll be leaving marks, that much he knows. But he can’t find it in him to care. The longer he works her, the shakier her moans get, and the sharper her nails become.

He fucks her fast, and the pleasure leaves her with tears in her eyes.

“I love you,” she whimpers brokenly. “So much. I missed you.” He feels her tightening around him. “I’m going to come. Fuck, I can’t–”

Harry holds her tight, dropping his head to her neck. He turns and kisses her sweaty skin. “Do it. Come on, baby. Come all over me. Wanna feel it. Come on, sweet girl.”

She shatters around with him with a trembling cry of “yes, yes, yes, thank you, I love you, thank you” and he follows shortly after, her walls so tight around him he finds himself barely able to breathe. He crashes against her, crushing her under his weight as they try to catch their breaths.

Harry slowly pulls out and then wraps his arms around Persephone, only loosening when she shifts around to face him. Her glazed over golden eyes take him in, lips apart. Nobody looks at Harry like that. Only his wife.

Her breasts press against his chest, legs between his thighs. He’s so big over her, covering her view of anything that isn’t him.

Harry wipes her face clean of any tears and then kisses her for a long time, rubbing soothing patterns against her side. She nestles into his side.

“I love you,” she says quietly, reaching for his hand. She laces their fingers together. She clears her throat. “I really am sorry I didn’t come home straight away.”

Harry shakes his head once, dropping his forehead to her shoulder. “Well now you know that I’ll be leaving my kingdom to go get you if the need be.”

Persephone blinks her pretty eyes at him. He leans down and kisses her eyelids. “I personally would love it if you retrieved me every time.”

“Your mother would curse me.”

“So what?” The corner of her mouth lifts challengingly. “Are you afraid of her?”

Harry takes her wrists and pushes them into the mattress, hovering over her with darkened eyes. “I’m afraid of nobody, dear wife.”

Persephone wraps her legs around his waist again, a burst of excitement striking through her. She’s ready to go for more. Already. The only person that could match his energy.

“Oh yeah?” she says coyly. “So you’ll come get me every autumn solstice then?”

His eyes narrow. Then he’s leaning down to catch her mouth in a kiss. He mutters, “Quiet,” and Persephone knows she’s won. She kisses him back, breaking her arms from his hold, wrapping herself around him until every inch of her skin is touching his.

He pulls back and holds her face. “I love you,” he tells her softly, eyes ablaze with endless adoration. He caresses her cheek. “Welcome home.”

[idontknowreallywhy]

Composition Ch 3 - Response

TL:DR version - new historic earth&sky angst! There is pain… but also there is singing!

I’m going to do a little leap back in time to the immediate sequel of Presence / prequel to Resurface because what happens here is important to the next chapter of Resurface where it finally comes full circle.

You know that gif with the guy and the conspiracy theory incident room board with all the lines and the exhausted crazy expression? Yeah that’s me trying to maintain any coherent sense of chronology.

Aaaanyhoo… the first two bits of this little fic (Da Capo and Call) are helpfully spread over 3 posts here and are where we see Virgil coming to terms with having only a fraction of Scott back from Bereznik. Oh and it might help if you’ve read this short snippet too (not vital, but it all connects)

If you want to catch up / know why Virg is in hospital / why he’s so confused / why Jeff is gonna string up some hospital admins… Presence (unlike its big brother, Resurface) is pretty short (5,000 words) and you’ll get to meet the Other Scotty, of whom I am very fond even if actual Scott wants to drop kick him into the sea.

(AO3 versions if you prefer that marginally less unhinged format: Bearded Ch 3 / Presence / Composition / Resurface)

Right where was I? Oh yeah, poking the boys with the pointy angst stick… (it gets better in the next part I promise)

💙💚💙💚💙💚💙💚💙💚💙💚💙💚💙💚

Scott did not like the hospital.

If that was what this was.

Sometimes he thought maybe he was still a prisoner. Maybe they’d just switched up the torture methods, started talking English to confuse him. Tricked him into thinking someone had finally come.

Ever since he’d woken, terrified and gagging on the tube down his throat, he’d been in pain and the pain kept changing so he couldn’t get used to it. He was cold. Constantly cold but they kept sponging him with even colder water and nobody would explain why. His bones hurt. His eyes hurt. His everything just… hurt.

And he couldn’t sleep. All he wanted to do was sleep but as soon as he drifted he was back and it was worse. So he fought it. Even when his limbs and eyelids were weighed down by something they’d given him, he clung to consciousness as long as he could. And waited. Waited for the next thing. He needed to be ready.

The dogs still lurked, sometimes at the foot of his bed, sometimes prowling the hall but never far. He could hear them even when he couldn’t see them.

Claws skittering on stone.

There were two things he held on to: Virgil’s eyes and Virgil’s voice. Those two things hadn’t been in that other place. And they were here. So here was not there. He wasn’t there.

He wasn’t there.

That had to be good.

But why was here no better?

Had they caught Virgil too?

💙💚💙💚💙💚💙💚💙💚💙💚💙💚💙💚

Sometimes Dad was here. That seemed like it should be a good thing.

But perhaps it was another lie. After all, he’d thought Dad was There sometimes too.

When he fought them, when they brought more needles and he tried make them stop because he didn’t know if this time he would be able to resist giving them what they wanted. He didn’t want to be what they wanted. His father’s voice was soft “You’re alright son, you’re safe. They know best, just do what they tell you.”

No! He mustn’t! He strained against the cold sloshing through his veins as if he could push it back out the way it entered. Muttered curses, English voices again but unfamiliar. Then Dad’s in the distance:

“He’s ok, he’s ok. He’s just confused. Just give them room. He’ll be ok, son. He’ll be ok.”

“They’re scaring him! Stop it! No! SCOTT!!!”

Virgil!

Scott struggled against the weight pulling his facial muscles down, pushed his trembling lower lip against his teeth and forced the air through.

“ffffffffff ffffff. FFFFFF”

But his vocal chords didn’t get the memo and he couldn’t make the right sound, couldn’t make his name:

“Fff-ffff-Ffffff-urrrrrr?”

He couldn’t answer the call. He threw his body upwards… his arms too heavy to reach out to him and tried again in a desperate croak:

“Fffffffff-urrrrrrRRR!!!”

A crashing noise, cross voices but the sounds were muffled by the snow and the creeping dark. Angry barking somewhere behind him made Scott cringe and try to curl in on himself.

Then warm… warmth over his chest. And Virgil’s voice and HER song, he felt her song… the happy little song that made the darkness shiver and the dogs whine and back away.

💙💚💙💚💙💚💙💚💙💚💙💚💙💚💙💚

[elfwoodfae]

This is a small continuation to this, and this is how i personally imagine the relationship DU Drow and Orin had before, and a lot of this details come from @meanbossart and i cannot thank you enough for sharing Drow with us, and alas you have inspired me to write my little stories again, and so i made this for you. I hope you enjoy this little snipped of how i see them. @meanbossart

"Specter"

And Orin knows,

She knows she has him in the palm of her hand, eating out of her every word, every thought. But his own arrogance shall be his downfall, his own dagger will stab his wound. The favorite of father, the scion of Bhaal, his precious prince, so oblivious to his own personal demon coming to hunt him, he never saw her coming, never saw her climbing through the ranks. Always believing she worshipped him as all of them did, ready to fall on his feet and kneel in front of his seat.

But he didn’t see her coming, didn’t think her a fool enough to try and take what he had as a right, he was made from the flesh of Bhaal, she was for a mere imitation, he was everything she wanted to be. She could feel it, as his cold hands gripped the rope pulling at her neck, his lower body pushing against her backside showed her just how excited he was at the prospect of her death at his hands, teaching her the lesson she had thought herself the master of.

“Orin..” he growls, a warning, and she should know better than to keep pushing past this point, but the promise of pain comes harder than survival instincts, there’s nothing that brings her more joy than punishing him. Its a game they both play, a game he invented but she became the master of. A sibling fight, a tough pull of the rope to see who breaks first; she knows it will be him, who will end up storming off to kill something or fuck something or perhaps both.

And what angers her the most is how easily he turns a blind eye to Sarevok, to his abuses, to his pushing and prowling for her to accept his affections, how its the will of Bhaal, how there wouldn't be a purer spawn breed ever before.

"Blood-kin" She calls for him, a knife hidden behind her back, under her clothes. "Come to me, it is time we continue our work in you. and perhaps if you behave, I shall reward you." She teases him, taunts him, and he is too fool or too brave too see behind her mask. behind her hate, as he approaches her, a smirk on his face because perhaps this time she wont pull away when his hand lingers slightly too long on her back, or when his fingers dare move lower than her neck. perhaps she has finally understood how he would be perfect for her.

He sights as he lays down and Orin, radiant, sinister, enticing as she walks to him, as she stalks to him, dagger clutch in a hand she will never admit is shaking, and tears of joy gather in her eyes as she asks like good girls do.

"Don't you think we should finally start in your back?" She grins and rejoices when he agrees, not without first waiting for her to sit on his waist and his hands feel the fire to lay on her legs but he resist and turns around, if he pushes he fears she may simply withdrawn this pleasures from him again, as she has been doing so often lately.

His scream fills the air, like the war drums of blood in the temple when her blade finally collides with his head. and the crack of his skull as she has to use her strength to push and break, to open him, to prowl in and she feels his hands pushing back to hit at her, her time is limited as she keeps stabbing, pushing, and his blood covers her hair, her skin, her mouth and no satisfaction ever compares to the look in his eyes as he realizes just how wrong he had been, how life slowly fades from them. At last, she has won the price she had always deserved.

[auspex]

VtM Fangfest 2024 Prompt 6: The Hierophant

Hello! Here is my sixth fic for Fangfest 2024 :)

All my fics will be about characters that are previously established, so you might not have context for everything mentioned or hinted at within :( Feel free to reach out to ask I love explaining!

I've never really posted my writing before so be kind!

my first fic is here

my second fic is here

my third fic is here

my fourth fic is here

my fifth fic is here

This fic is about the Gangrel from the game I am the storyteller for, Blood and Silicon, which has its own blog run by the player @chiss-ticism here: @sanguineasylum. The starting phone call dialogue is from in game - @vtmgremlin played Blake and BIG SHOUT OUT TO @eric-the-bmo for transcribing!!!

The cold wind blew smoke and sparks from the fire towards Nelida’s face. Repressing a shudder, she composed herself and answered her ringing cellphone.

Nelida picks up after a moment's hesitation. “Hello?” As she picks up, Rico gives her a look, and listens in. Whatever. 

“Hey, it's B! I'm calling from a different number 'cause my other one broke. Sorry for the late-night call, do you remember that guy I was telling you about? That asshole? Hunter?” She didn’t know a guy named Hunter, but the way he emphasized that word… “Yeah, him? A few of his friends are in town, and they tried to start a fight, but we just took off. Just lettin' you know in case he comes by and tries to give you trouble. Probably stay out of the city for a little while. Yknow, Hunter and his crew are somewheres down there- they like to prowl downtown, so.”

This must be Blake calling - a new Gangrel, who had recently visited their little camp in the forest for the first time a week or so ago. “Wait, is- What- Do you think Hunter is coming tonight?” 

“Eh, I don't think so. I think for the most part he kinda took off with his buddies, but they're probably gonna be somewhere downtown. Who's to say. I do think the sheriff's probably gonna be looking out for him too, 'cause he knows he likes to cause trouble, so.”

The sheriff? Like this was some Camarilla city? No, he surely just meant kine legal trouble, right? “Um. Can you come over to talk?”

Blake inhales sharply. “Eh- I would if I could, but the problem is I gotta head out tonight, just in case, 'cause I gotta head up somewhere warm for the holidays. Y'know, family and all that.”

“What the hell. Are you talking about?” Nelida may not know much about Blake yet, but she highly doubted he actually had family he could go visit. But it's time to worry about herself, and her pack. If he’s leaving, then perhaps she should too. 

Before Blake can reply, she continues. “Should I head somewhere for the holidays?"

He replies, still casual. “I mean, if you want. I'll just say probably stay out of downtown for a little while. Uh, probably around South Market Street. Probably don't go around there’.

That’s downtown, which he had mentioned before, but this was near where Baron Harrison makes his domain. She didn’t know much else off the top of the top of her head about the area. “Okay... Wasn't planning on it, but thank you? When can we talk more about this?”

“Uh, probably be back in town... sometime next year.” 

“Next year!?”

“Y'know, after New Years!” Blake actually laughs. 

Oh. Cheeky. “Well, you better have a story for me then.” He still owed him one, and now this story clearly was one that involved her. Or at least, one that could. 

“I'm plannin' on it. But y'know, I gotta go and make a story happen first for me to tell you one.”

“What the hell.” She caught herself before saying his name on the phone. “Are you sure you can't stop by really quick?”

“Nah. I gotta head out soon, so- Yeah, just wanted to call and let you know. I don't want this call to go on for too long- I'm sure you need your beauty sleep- so Merry Christmas and all that, happy holidays. Also, probably don't call back this number, 'cause I actually had to borrow a phone from somebody- like I said, my other one broke, so.”

Was he implying he needed help? “Do you need.. assistance?”

Blake had hung up. 

“The fuck was that all about?” Rico stared up at her, crouching over the fire. 

“I’m not sure,” Nelida pursed her lips. “Something odd happened tonight for sure, we may be in danger. Blake must have uncovered something, he did say we don’t have to leave or anything though. Not that you would leave even if the place was on fire.” 

“Nope.” 

“Do you know anything about South Market Street?” 

Rico scratched his head as he replied. “Uh, the Hecata and Harrison had a small dispute over the area once, since resolved, it's a tourist trap area with a cathedral, not much else of note. Why?”

“Blake said to avoid the area.” 

“You gonna elaborate?” 

“He seemed to imply hunters.” 

The group was silent, listening to the crackling of the fire. Nelida began braiding her hair, and then continued. “This wouldn’t be the first time there were hunters in the city.” 

“Nope.”

After a moment's pause, Melinda, one of the newer Gangrel, spoke up. “Uh, mind filling me in?” 

Rico and Nelida looked at each other. 

Nelida’s eyes glimmered looking into the fire. “In the 80s, before your embrace, kindred society San Jose was settling down. The Tremere had accepted that there was no way they could push out the Hecata, and sequestered themselves to the North. A gang of Ventrue took it upon themselves to push down any would-be-upstarts, and so any who called themselves ‘baron’ only laid claim to small areas. Kindred were masters of their own domain.” 

Mel scratched the back of her neck. “Not like now.” 

Rico snorted, and Nelida gave her a small smile. “Well, do you know much about another kindred’s domain? Could you tell me what goes on in the Hecata’s turf, or up north, where the thinbloods are now?” 

She shook her head.

“Right, no, we don’t know much other than what they tell us. And no kindred talks about their own business - we’re secretive, and for good reason. So, back then, no one knew what was going on in the city at all, only across the street from their own haven. There was no coordination to look out for threats. We were all blind. Now - keep in mind, this was the 80s, so kindred did not have to contend with the Second Inquisition. No one was worried about kine hunters.”

Melinda smiled. “Y’all were careless.” 

Rico cut in. “Hey now. Me and Nelida, we were minding our damn business out here. Wasn’t our fault.”

“Yes Rico.” Nelida finished one braid and moved on to another. “But we are still affected by other’s recklessness. Now shh, let me tell it.” 

Melinda spoke up. “Wait, do we not like, need to do anything? Do we have time for this or should we be preparing for an attack or something?”

“No, I think he just wanted to give us a heads up. There’s nothing to be done, unless you have friends that you wish to warn. Now let me fill you in, like you asked.” The winter wind whispered and Nelida lowered her voice. “San Jose was experiencing a population boom. Whatever kine was your preference, it was not hard to find them. The Camarilla was not threatening the area. Unlife was good.” 

“So good in fact, that new kindred were moving in too. Without any centralized leadership, arguments over territory were common. Rico made his place here, and allowed other Gangrel to join him, but other clans were a lot more fractured. The Toreador and Malkavians practically drove each other out.” 

“Harrison is the reason why there’s no Roses in the city?” 

Nelida smiled. “Harrison wasn’t here yet. As I was saying though, there was conflict, and conflict draws attention. There was a Toreador named Miguel, a wonderful guitarist, beautiful, exactly who you are probably picturing right now. He had a penchant for attending concerts within the local music scene, even fraternizing with mortals there beyond one-night-stands. Unfortunately for Miguel, one of his favorite bands frequented venues in an area claimed by a Malkavian at the time named Gloria.” 

“Gloria got sick of seeing him, and despite warnings, he would not stop interacting with kine she considered hers.” Rico looked like he was about to say something, but was silenced by a look from Nelida. “She was known to kine as the landlord, a rather cruel one at that, and Miguel took advantage of this. He spurred those she collected rent from into action, protests and such, and had the bands support it.” 

“But some of the mortals he was supporting dug a little too deep, and found that she had been a landlord for two decades, despite only looking 30.” She looked from the fire into Melinda’s eyes. “If you wish to involve yourself in mortal business personally, your identity has an expiration date.” 

“Two of these kine, a couple, were assigned to keep looking into it. I do not know when they began to suspect something supernatural, but they surely caught wind.”

“Miguel won his fight, and Gloria ceded some territory to him. However, many months later, the couple confronted Gloria directly one night, and she was found staked and beheaded in an alley behind her haven.” 

“Such is the price of making mortals fight your battles - they have their own too. Miguel had put them on the scent. This all caused quite a stir, right Rico?” 

“Oh? Yeah. Yeah we were all freaked out by that. Gloria had been here for a long time, and she had a lotta connections. We didn’t know what those hunters had found by searching her shit. I mean, I wasn't too worried about myself and my pack, but others were. And soon enough, another Malkavian was reported killed, and another.” He stood up as he continued.

“After the third death we all really started to get our shit together. In the end it was actually the Tremere who found the pair. Probably tortured them for info that they didn’t fully share with the rest of us, but whatever. The final deaths stopped. But ever since then, kindred who live in the city or own shit have been a hell of a lot more careful. Plus, some people just started leaving, good riddance. It was getting too crazy here. And I thought things were pretty peaceful, until, well.” 

There was only the sound of the fire for a few seconds, until Melinda spoke. “Until tonight.”  

[fangbangerghoul]

ITS HERE!

Chapter 8: Acensionism

As usual: MDNI, 18+ WC: 4330 A whirlwind of emotions takes our characters to situations never imagined by any of them. Sam, Ghoul, Delgado This chapter has been on my mind since I started really planning out this entire miniseries of Starfield Tales. Thank you so much for being patient with me with this chapter and I really hope it is worth the wait! Not all will be posted here, the rest will be on Ao3 link below! AO3 Link (reblogs, replies, comments, kudos, all appreciated but never required!)

Chapter 8: Ascensionism

Everything was uncomfortable. The air was heavy, cold, and hard to breathe. It seemed the life support functions on this side of the station were just oxygen and gravity. The only heat this room retained was whatever was left over from the deck above which, if Ghoul was right about placement, was Delgado’s private quarters. Her body ached from the beatings she had taken the past 72 hours and the one in particular Delgado gave her when they were alone. She was angry at herself for giving in so quickly but she was tired, hungry, and whether she wanted to acknowledge it or not desperate for connection. Even if that connection was only skin deep. 

Ghoul knew she wasn’t strong enough to bust out of here if she could and let herself reveal too much, but there was also something about the way he commanded a room that made her want to give him even more. His prowling nature and dominance over his Fleet was something that lit a fire inside her. The way his eyes always lingered on hers like she had answers for him only she knew. Ghoul knew she shouldn’t feel this way about him even if the way he took her body made the nerves inside her tingle with electricity. Delgado was still a mother fucker for throwing her in this hole. The ‘cell’ he referred to was more so a storage room closet and it was big enough for her to fit in it and maybe one other person without their feet touching. 

She banged her head on the wall behind her to keep herself awake. The dull pain was enough to keep her alert and conscious. She stayed up through the whole night cautious of what the Fleet would have in store for her now that she was an outed traitor. She expected Delgado was holding his meeting with his second in command and a few of his trusted captains of the Fleet preparing something extra gruesome just for her. Ghoul was still shocked she didn’t have a bullet through her head yet and was even allowed to shower before she was thrown in here. It felt unusual for Delgado to keep her alive for this long considering it’s widely known how he disposes of people for less. The heavy sigh that escaped her chest revitalized some of the memories Ghoul purposely had repressed. Images of her Constellation friends, the enemies she had killed along the way, and Sam. 

“Fucking kill me already.” She said to herself with such boredom that it made the corner of her lips curve slightly. Ghoul was starting to feel the immense weight of some of her decisions but what was done was done. She knew she had to admit to herself that a lot of those decisions were made because she could have made them with or without the influence of the Crimson Fleet. She could blame her ‘mother’ but nothing would come of that. It had been so long without anyone she was finally allowing herself to call a friend that she thought perhaps they were smart and moved on. It would be a suicide mission to come after her now. The SysDef wouldn’t bother not that she wanted them to, because fuck them too. 

Her web of complicated thoughts and feelings were interrupted by the sound of metal screeching. There was a little extra light that appeared in the room she was in and her eyes immediately squinted at the sight of it. There was a dark figure that blocked the light that shone through to the room and Ghoul wasn’t entirely sure who it was while her eyes still adjusted. 

“Look who’s awake. The Rook or should I just call you the traitor?” The raspy sounding shrill was no one other than Naeva. It was clearer now with the way she casually leaned against the door frame and how her shoulders jutted forward with importance. 

“Oh, look you found me. Here I thought you all would just forget about me down here.” Ghoul said with a snide. She was not going to act like a hurt animal even though she felt as low and a bit hopeless like one. The flash memories of her ship mates panged at the shadow of her heart. It dragged her down while simultaneously encouraging her to do something irrational and impulsive. Plus, maybe if she played Naeva’s anger right, she could get out of this fucking dump. A foolish thought but when did she ever have a rational one. 

“You still got jokes. That’s reaaaal funny coming from a dead man.” Naeva loomed over Ghoul and she seemed to enjoy the display of power she had over Ghoul in this moment. She took a few steps over to Ghoul and bent over to have their faces only half a foot apart. “I know it was you who stirred up all that trouble in the bar. You still owe me for that mess you made. Now you owe me for vouching for traitorous scum. I warned you what would happen if you fucked me over.” 

Naeva spit on Ghoul after she let out a disgruntled growl and before Ghoul could respond to her mini monologue Naeva’s foot kicked her head back. The force of the boot against Ghoul’s chin made her teeth grind with immense force and her head to ricochet off the metal wall. The spot of dull pain that was on the back of her head from keeping herself awake was now a little warm and wet. Ghoul’s vision took a moment to set right again but even if she couldn’t see exactly where Naeva was about to kick her next, she knew the woman wouldn’t be able to resist doing it again. Ignoring the shockwaves of pain pulsing throughout her skull, Ghoul used her hands that were tied up to push her off the wall with enough force to lift her body at an upward angle. The rest of the momentum was focused on pushing her legs up enough to kick the bitch back. Ghoul missed and her body was flat on the floor, her frustration building while Naeva stood for a moment laughing at her futile attempt.

“You dumb bitch. You aren’t shit when you don’t have your little knives or high off your aurora addiction.” Naeva’s fingers were soon wrapped in Ghoul’s hair, lifting her off the floor and tearing at her scalp. The amount of times someone went for Ghoul’s hair was really starting to make her lose her shit just a little more than usual. 

“Say’s the bitch that follows a man’s orders all the time.” Ghoul croaked feeling like there was blood running down her throat. She probably bit her tongue enough to make it bleed again. “You wouldn’t dare hit me like this if my arms weren’t tied behind my back and we both know it.” 

The array of insults Ghoul spat back was enough to light a flame in Naeva’s eyes and the energy was matched with her fist directly into Ghoul’s face. Another impact that sent stars into Ghoul’s vision and there wasn’t much Ghoul could do to avoid the impact with her head held in place by her own hair and Naeva’s determination to give Ghoul her taste of punishment. She was preparing herself mentally for another hit to the face but Naeva threw her down and kicked her in the abdomen. 

“Are you fucking satisfied yet? Or do you want me to moan your name too?” Ghoul coughed out hoarsely and spit a bit of blood onto the floor. She wasn’t sure if she was determined to make Naeva kill her or if it was the masochist in her that made her want to goad this woman. Her head was down on the cold floor and her knees barely held her up at all. The pain was just consistent ripples that flowed throughout her body dulling with time but still felt in every inch of her nervous system. 

“You’re just a real fucking jokester.” Naeva now bent down and grabbed one of her arms and forced Ghoul up to her feet. When Ghoul started to fall from not being able to balance on her feet immediately, she just roughly pulled her up even more, forcing her on her two feet one way or another. “You know I had real high hopes for you, Rook. You were one I was looking forward to rising in the ranks.” 

“How sweet of you.” Ghoul wheezed as she leaned against the wall by the doorway. She wasn’t ready to move yet her stomach was nauseated and her head ringed from the impacts. Her body had already started to get the unpleasant side effects of aurora withdrawal a few hours ago so all the hits she felt from this woman were magnified tenfold. 

“Yeah, shut the fuck up. You were requested by Delgado.” Naeva said with annoyance as she waited for Ghoul to get back up. Naeva led the way as Ghoul slumped behind her. The way up the stairs seemed longer than when she went down only 24 hours ago. Naeva consistently looked over her shoulder to make sure Ghoul was still following and for once she was just following. Ghoul knew she didn’t have many options left to choose from and at this point she couldn’t fathom why she was even still alive. It was one thing to have been coerced into helping the SysDef but it will be a whole other mountain entirely to assist the Crimson Fleet to evade what the UC has planned.

The final hall before the command center was dimmer than usual and it felt ominous. The two Fleet members that stood guard opened the doors as soon as Naeva was in sight and their eyes were locked onto Ghoul. Watching her as if she were going to attack them at any moment.

Ghoul walked into the low lit command center, the crimson fleet logo lit in the background and a few command consoles lit up and in use. Delgado stood in the middle of the room under the one yellow ray that fell from the ceiling as if he was about to put on a show. Naeva stopped at his right and turned back to Ghoul, the both of them staring at her with impenetrable glares.

“I see Naeva had her fair share of you.” Delgado’s voice was husky and mixed with amusement. Ghoul held her stance, arms tied behind her back, and held her glare. She wasn’t going to die looking like a coward.

“Only because I couldn’t defend myself.” Ghoul retorted with a sly smile as she looked back at Naeva with challenge. The only reason Ghoul followed her so diligently was because she didn’t have a way to try to pay her back for being her temporary punching bag.

“Shut the fuck up, traitor. You should be fucking dead but-.”

“Naeva” Delgado barked her name as a command for her to stop while she was ahead. His arms were crossed and he didn’t bother to turn Naeva’s direction. “Normally in your case, you wouldn't even be breathing right now. But you have options and you better think real carefully before you run that fucking mouth of yours. I’m not interested.”

Ghoul looked at him intently, curious or what these options could even be. She assumed dead right now or dead later but Delgado seemed to have that ambitious look in his eyes that made her want to hope there was something better.

“Are you listening? I am not going to make myself clear twice.” He demanded before proceeding with her ultimatum.

[witchofthesouls]

I find myself in the dire need of more "other!kids + other!June" hc, in both forms. Creepy, otherworldly and fiercely protective June is the best June ever; also, any hc on the kids but as adults? Do you think they would remain "human" or they will start to show more otherness as they grow up?

In the canon-related ending of this TFP AU, the artifact was never decoded. So it never reached the Autobot base, all the kids would have remained quite human, but the potential to be more will forever dog them, even if none of them ever came across Team Prime.

Miko’s mother hailed from a fishing village and they keep to themselves and their traditions. When Miko was born, her aunts sighed that she held signs as they painted her brow and flailing limbs in their family’s traditional script. No matter where she goes and how far she travels, she will return to visit the village and will make a home on the coast. If she keeps the Apex Armor, then one day she will venture into deep, dark waters where no sun can reach that far down below...

Raf descends from dragons and adventurers. He has a great chance to become a Dragon himself should he ever take that leap of faith, conviction, and sacrifice. Team Prime was his Adventure. He found his calling in the stars. (Eventually, he will figure out what Pilar truly was and will be.)

Jack would be the hardest to place. He could go back to his old life Before; return to the steady, easy rhythm of school and work and feeding birds. While conversation had never been his strongest suit, finding a beat or a pattern is an old game to him. A mortal life with mortal dangers is not a bad thing to slip into. Or perhaps his curiosity will get the better of him; an itch that grows deeper and deeper in his bones gets too much to ignore; the gentle warnings by the faithful blackbirds; the strange murmurings under the rain... Jack is very much his mother’s son, who’s to say he won’t follow in her steps?

It’s hard to truly place the Darby family’s ages. Even Jack is possibly far, far older than he appears. Perhaps. Time runs so very queerly Elsewhere. There are places that time can’t truly touch.

Jack’s memories of his childhood prior to Nevada are foggy. The place they once lived was surrounded by impenetrable fog and the constant drizzle of rainfall.

He remembers moving a lot. He misses the greenery of the forests and fields. The decaying matter beneath his feet, the sighs of the trees, and the rustling of animals. But there’s something freeing about the desert. The coldness never bothered him as he wandered into the endless expanse of sand, dirt, and shrubbery under the clear night sky full of constellations. No matter where he travels, he finds himself waking up back inside his home.

June loves the children. Fiercely. Viciously. Devotedly. Her love is the water’s. Nurturing and steady and everywhere. No matter where her loved ones go, she will always find them. But no one can deny its destructive capabilities: the wrath of the ocean; the roar of typhoons; the damage of hail; the deadly crawl of frost; the inevitable roll of a tsunami; the thundering crash of an avalanche; even in deserts, a flash flood can rise so sudden and without warning and wash away everything in its path.

Whenever something hungry, oh so very hungry, prowls near the base, so willing to risk the wrath of the mortal shell of a deity for the taste of little fragments of power… June is waiting in the shadows and never so far as long there’s a puddle.

Nothing can truly escape her. Sooner or later she will succeed. Sooner or later her maw will sink into her chosen prey.

While it’s easy and/or simple to guess the sparklings’ frame-types, June is an enigma. No wheels. No wingspan. No treads. Ratchet has found an active T-cog, many subtle seams all over her frame, and highly aggressive nanite cultures in her Energon that greatly surpass the capabilities of the Autobot War-Forged.

She’s amused by their confusion, by the thought that she’s defenseless and “easy pickings.” It was quite a day for everyone at Jasper Hospital, both the Autobots and the personnel are very confused by what was going on.

Miko is a sea-blooded being. No matter whether her form is flesh or metal, bloodthirst sings to her and she eats the pieces June provides. < Grow well, little fish. > So does Jack -he’s full of shadows and secrets and < dark wings, dark words >; he holds the blackbirds’ love and such birds are carrion and predatory. Much like crows, he has a fondness for eyes.

June wouldn’t leave Raf out, but he’s very small. She grinds the bones and shells to mix them into bentonite clay: volcanic ash and sea-salted.

There will be cultural clashes and misunderstandings, and despite their transformations, the "humans" are still Wild things, are still natives of Earth. From what June could piece together, Cybertronians, at least from the urban states, are well-acquainted with "recycling" parts. Waste not, want not.

June keeps quiet about the things that attempt to stalk or hunt near the base. The Autobots are already queasy about the War-Forged tendencies towards "trophies." How those mecha would collect their conquests frames to fix or upgrade their own, even upon the battlefronts. Their own unique biology would counter and suppress rejection.

She listens to the campfire stories by Smokescreen, of the roving band of Empties beneath the underlayers of city-states and the gutted streets, of sparkeaters lurking in untouched crypts and haunting the aftermath of experimental weaponry gone awry.

June remembers their confusion over human consumption, of organics eating other organics. (But what did the Predacons eat? What did Cybertron's predatory fauna subsist by? Did their planet not have biodiversity as well? Did their entire planet only drink Energon and ate minerals?) There's no need to have them worry over things that are well in hand. After all, waste not, want not.

[numericalbridge]

These are super rough, but i just wanted to share some tidbits from the fics i've plotted but not sure whether i would write in full. All are from different stories:

A.

"Darius?! Darius! Please, please, wake up!"

The voice is sending pinpricks of pain right through his brain. Darius opens his eyes. Everything is swaying. It feels like all the energy has been drained out of him. What happened? He blinks groggily and attempts to sit up.

"You're alive!" Eda's human ward - Luz - lets go of his shoulder and mutters something in a language Darius doesn't understand. "Is Eda all right? Everyone else?"

"Where are we?" He doesn't recognize the place. There are lines of strange glyphs around the two of them. "And what are you doing here?" he demands. He doesn't like this. Where are the other kids? His head is still foggy. The Ceremony. The fight. The translocation. "Yes, Eda and the rest should be safe. Are you here alone?"

Luz twists her mouth into a forced smile, "Well, you see... But first ugh..." Her eyes shift. "Please don't freak out..." she mutters.

Is she looking at his arm? He follows her gaze to his sigil...

B.

Raine knew that look. Imperious and somewhat disgusted, as if he had just seen something so beneath him that it fascinated and repulsed him in equal measures yet wasn't worth a verbal reaction. That look was enough to shut up even the oldest Coven Heads. Only... Raine couldn't recall it ever being directed at them.

Then the boy's lower lip wobbled, and the illusion was shattered.

C.

"I assume the Great Demon King has not heard the blood-curdling tale of Brie the Blimp?"

"Brie the Blimp?" Ha! The name was catchy. But King had his mission.

"Oh, yes," the witch said. The abomination on his head shifted. "The mysterious and frightening witch-eating flying apparatus." He raised an eyebrow and then nodded towards the window. "They say she prowls the skies on nights just like this."

"And?" King asked - just in case. He had to find Eda, but this was something new. He needed the intel!

"Oh, I don't know," the witch leaned his head on his hand. "Perhaps this story is too much..."

"No!" King objected. "The King of Demons is not afraid of some old nursery story. I demand to hear the blood-calling... blood-curling tale of the evil Blimp!"

"Hmm, all right," the man smiled, "if you insist."

King grabbed one of the abomination toys closer to himself - also just in case - and plopped down to listen.

"It all started one bright and peaceful morning..."

D.

"Oh my Titan! Are you Perry Porter?!" one of the scouts squealed. "From the Crystal Ball? For real?!"

"Yes, yes," Perry forced himself to say. Normally he would be embarrassed, but this time was different. "Glad to meet a fan..."

"Do you even know who this is?" the scout pestered their colleague who shrugged non-comittally.

"I love seeing you on the Crystal Ball!" the first scout addressed Perry again.

"Thank you. But can I help you?" Perry knew his voice sounded polite, but his heart was pounding. Here we go.

"We are looking for dangerous rebels, potentially wild witches," the less enthusiastic scout announced. "They were seen in the vicinity of your house. Have you noticed any suspicious activity?"

"I don't think so," Perry answered. "But there is a forest behind these houses, it would be easy to hide there."

"Are you sure you didn't see anyone?"

"Come on," the chatty scout interrupted them. "It's Perry Porter! He would've noticed if the rebels were here. Thank you for your time!"

No, thank you.

"No problem."

E.

"Oh, wow, this Construction Coven's book is surely a brick," Luz waved the book in front of herself. Judging by the blank stares, the joke didn't land.

"The most prominent figures of the Construction Craft, tome 2," Skara read the title from below.

"Sounds fun," Luz started - she had a really good one...

"Hey!"

Eberwolf grabbed the book right out of her hands, and she nearly fell down the ladder. Eber hurried to the other side of the room, put the book on the desk and began hastily turning over the pages as if looking for something specific. Then they seemed to find that something. He read the page, chirping almost silently to themselves and tugging on his mane from time to time.

"Eber?" Darius had stopped mending the abominations and came up to stand by them.

Eber shook their head, jumped down the chair and silently trotted out of the room, leaving the book on the table.

Darius sighed.

"What happened?" Skara asked.

Luz leaned to look in the book. There was a portrait.

"Galatea Vault," Darius said. "She was the Construction Coven Head before Mason."

[wurm-food]

After the Smoke Clears (Himeno x G/N! Reader)

Summary: Your heart raced excitedly at her bold invitation. In the short time you’d spoken to her, you were already captivated. What’s the harm in getting to know her a bit more intimately? It's another long and boring night at the bar your work at. That is, until an intriguing devil hunter catches you staring.

Word count: 1k Chainsaw Man Master List

CW: suggestive themes (not smut), smoking, shotgunning, reader is a bartender, implied sex later, Minors DNI

Notes: this is my first fic for Chainsaw Man! I absolutely adore this series and all of the characters, I had to start writing for it! Please enjoy :) Read this work on AO3!

Tag list: @hooliescorner @theogonies Join my tag list

You wished you had called out of work. If you had known how slow of a night it was going to be, you probably would’ve just cut your losses and stayed home. But instead of reacting appropriately to the news of a nearby devil attack, you thought nothing of it and continued getting ready for your shift. The attacks were becoming more common, more normal. And while the event surely led to a dead night at the restaurant, you still needed money. People still needed to drink. 

You absentmindedly continued to clean glasses behind the bar, observing the patrons who actually braved to come out. A few regulars, a couple on a date in the corner, a pack of hungry looking men prowling the floor, the dullest cast of characters for the evening. Fucking kill me. You looked up at the red, neon clock above the liquor bottles. Time dragged on and on, the end of your shift still felt so far away. You were dying for something interesting to happen.

Loud, grating voices caught your attention from the doorway, emanating from a pair of scruffy looking teenagers. Hitting each other, screaming and laughing in each other’s faces. Not the type of excitement you were looking for. Terrific.

“Knock it off. Both of you.” Stern, cold words broke up the commotion. A tall man entered behind the bickering teens, well put together in a neat suit and top knot.

“‘Tis not my fault! Denji started it!”

“You’re a fucking liar! She hit me first!”

“Enough,” Another cool, frustrated response. If you were him, you’d probably be over their shit too. “Quit being brats and go sit over there.”

The two punks raced to the corner booth, immediately resuming their bickering like children. No, more like wild pups. You could feel a headache start to form like an ice pick being driven into your temple. You’d kill for a smoke right about now.

“Ay, Aki. Lighten up, will ya?” A cheery, raven haired woman’s voice soothed the air as she floated through the doorway. “We killed a devil today! They’re excited, let them have their fun.” Devil hunters? Guess that explained the suits and ties, they must have been from Public Safety. They probably killed the devil that attacked the area earlier today. You continued to study the mysterious women from the refuge of the bar. For a devil hunter, she seemed remarkably chipper…

Perceiving you watch her, she tilted her head towards you to see you with her singular teal eye. And as she flashed a playful smile your way, your heart fluttered in your chest. Heat creeped up your neck and into your cheeks. Shit. You quickly returned to polishing the bone dry glass you still grasped in your hand. This is what you get for people watching a little too closely. But how could you not watch this woman?

You braved to peel your eyes off the floor and to your mild horror, she was approaching the bar. The protesting yells of her younger companions followed as she waved her hand behind her. “I’ll be back, don’t worry.” What should I say? Before you could really react, she had pulled up a seat in front of you, a pleasant, droll smile across her lips. 

“Hey, you’re kinda cute.” Each word dripped from her lips like honey as her chin lay propped on her palm. She was brazen, straightforward. Perhaps a straightforward reply was what was needed after being caught red handed.

“Likewise, it’s not every day I come across a Devil Hunter with an actual personality.” 

She chuckled, turning towards the back booth. “You should meet those guys, they’re brimming with personality.”

You craned your neck slightly to check on the group. The younger boy and girl fought over plates of appetizers, pushing each other while shoveling food into their faces. Their chaperone looked back at the women who had your attention, eye twitching and on the verge. 

“Nah, maybe another time. You’re the one who’s got my attention.”

“Fair enough,” she laughed, her singular teal eye flashing in the light. “Can I know your name?”

“That depends, can I get you a drink?” 

“Oh, you’re after my own heart. A draft– actually, make that two drafts. My buddy looks thirsty too.”

“Coming right up.” As you wandered around behind the bar, the woman kept her gaze fixed on you, observing every motion through her dilated pupil. You placed the dripping, frothy beers onto the wooden table top, leaning in a little closer to the mysterious woman who solely held your attention. “The name’s Y/N.”

She looked at you through her heavy lid, face spreading into a wider smile. “Y/N,” she pronounced languidly, your eyes memorizing the way her lips formed every syllable. “You wanna come back to my place after your shift is over?”

Your heart raced excitedly at her bold invitation. In the short time you’d spoken to her, you were already captivated. What’s the harm in getting to know her a bit more intimately?

“I don’t even know your name. Maybe then I’ll give you an answer.”

“You’re a tease,” she smiled coyly, reaching into her jacket pocket for a pack of cigarettes.  “And I do like a chase.” She placed the filtered end between her lips and lit, an exhale of smoke without breaking eye contact with you. “Want a smoke?”

“Manager won’t let us smoke on the clock I’m afraid,” you feigned a pout. Your companion tilted her head in thought before raising her cigarette to her lips again. “Then come here.”

Elbows pressed against the bartop, you lean over. She placed a warm hand on your cheek as she inhaled, labradorite eye blown wide as she brought you to her lips. Menthol smoke filled your lungs as her deft tongue swiped at your lips for invitation. Even after the smoke was gone, the two of you continued to explore each other before breaking for air. With puffy lips, she grabbed the two beers you had poured, now dripping with condensation.

“The name’s Himeno. I’ll come grab you before your shift ends, ok?” And with a cheery smile, she walked back to the booth with her companions. You took a deep breath in to regain your composure and looked up at the clock. Almost an hour left before you were free to go, but your stomach buzzed in anticipation for what the rest of the night had in store with Himeno. At least tonight finally became interesting. 

[modernmisadventures]

Chapter 10: Becoming Reacquainted

She prowled about her bedroom, kicking aside piles of clothes and stacks of books as her temper simmered and roiled. She’d just spent two hours in a tutoring session that had doubled as a one-sided flirtation, and the effort of tossing off the blitzball quarterback’s rather persistent importunings had left her with a low-grade headache and a serious need to bite something. Someone.

Instead, she shut herself in her rooms, ignoring her mother’s call for dinner, and hunted for anything to keep her mind off of her irritation. Unfortunately, little enough in her room would help with that. Everywhere she looked, there were memories - mementos - presents from beyond the sea. For five years, she’d received letters and packages alongside emails and texts - week after week, month after month.

And yet the fucking bastard had never once told her he was back.

(Warning: Smut under the cut. Read at your own risk.)

Anger warred with sorrow as she circled around the room, trailing her fingers across bottles of perfume, rare books, and a few curiosities from Hingashi and Doma. He hadn’t forgotten her - hadn’t forgotten about her - not in the five years he’d been gone. Every gift he’d sent had been chosen with an eye to please the girl she’d been, the woman she’d become. He’d not just skimmed her letters and emails - he’d read them, and he’d taken what they said to heart.

She paused, picking up a plush velvet pouch. Inside she could feel the hard cylinder that was one of her most prized gifts - a powerful, expensive lens for her camera, one that would help her capture close-up shots of the moons themselves were she to aim it skywards. She hadn’t yet used it; it had been the latest gift to arrive, only a few months ago, and her studies had kept her from taking it for a spin.

Replacing it on her desk, she turned away and instead wandered over to her bed, collapsing into the piles of plush pillows. With a mutter of discontent, she wiggled her way into the cushions until all that showed was her flicking tail and the sweep of her horn-tips. Closing her eyes, she allowed her thoughts to drift, fragmented and incomplete, restlessly wandering from one topic to the next as she allowed them free rein, seeking to still their anxious mutterings.

There was no telling how much time passed between the moment she laid her head down and the moment she heard the creak of her bedroom window. Perhaps minutes, perhaps hours. Either way, she snapped out of her trance in a heartbeat, her tail stilling, her breathing growing shallow.

Cautiously, she eased her head up until she could just barely see over the top of the pillow in front of her. A hulking shape stood upon her sill - a shape she knew all too well. At the same moment she saw him, he saw her, and she could see the glint of his teeth as his lips parted in a grin. “Cip-”

That was as far as he got before the first pillow smacked him fully in the face. He grunted and batted it away, then caught the second, using it to deflect the third. “How dare you?” she demanded softly, hurling yet another pillow as she came up to her knees, ignoring the way her pillow flinging had disarranged her robe. “I should scream! Let’s see how you handle the guards!” Despite her words, her voice was barely more than a fierce, angry whisper.

“If you don’t stop,” he growled, “you’ll end up with pillows in the tree. Gods all bless, Ciprys, hear me out.” Holding a pair of pillows in front of him as a shield, he stepped down off of the sill onto the soft carpet below.

Fury had its grip on Ciprys. “Why should I?” she demanded, her voice starting to rise despite her caution. “Why should I extend such a courtesy to a louse like you? You’re exactly what my mother always said! A cad! A bounder! A- agh!”

Sometimes, patience wasn’t the answer. Irritated, Cirdan crossed the room in two long strides, reaching down and closing his hand around the back of her neck, shaking her lightly. Her eyes snapped at him, but she fell silent. Despite his anger, his tone remained soft, mild. “If you don’t watch yourself, you’ll have the servants - or the guards - in here. Is that what you want?”

Ciprys craned her neck back, glaring up at him. “Maybe,” she replied sullenly, but her voice was soft. “Would serve you right.”

Sighing, Cirdan squeezed her neck, then released her, sinking down to sit on the bed while she sat back on her heels amongst her cushions, staring at him with an expression less and less angry. “Perhaps. I probably should have told you I was back.”

Lavender eyes glinted. “You think?” she sneered. “Just how long have you been back?

“Two months.”

“Two months!” At his soft hiss, she lowered her voice. “It took you two fucking months to tell me? And even then, would you have if we hadn’t met up in the bar?”

His turquoise eyes were calm. “Why do you think we met in the bar?” As she sputtered at him, he continued. “Of course I knew you’d been going there. Did you honestly think I wouldn’t keep track of you?”

She bared her teeth at him. “Why would I think that? Why would you? I wasn’t even important enough to inform of your return.”

He knew her; in this mood, she’d cling to that slight until he addressed it. “I will concede,” he said evenly, “that I could have told you, but,” and he raised his voice over hers, then modulated it when she lapsed into sullen silence, “I wanted to have all of my ducks in a row first.”

If she’d been a miqo’te, her ears would have been laid back. As it was, her tail lashed amidst the pillows, sending some of them tumbling to the floor. “What ducks?”

Leaning back on his hand, he studied her face. “The kind of ducks that would allow me to thumb my nose at my mother’s choice of bride and take my own instead. Establishing myself, making my reputation, pleasing my father enough that he’ll stand up for me and not her.”

It was rare to find Ciprys speechless. The woman had a mouth that never quite stopped moving. But now she simply stared up at him, mute, her eyes as wide as moons. He gazed down at her, resisting every urge to touch her. “I promised you years ago,” he reminded her.

“A promise made between children,” she stuttered, finally finding her voice. “I would never hold you to it, Cirdan.”

The sound of his name on her lips - it had been too long, damn it. He closed his eyes briefly, then opened them again and gave up the fight not to touch her. His hand came up, cupping her cheek; as always, nearly swallowing her face. So tiny. And yet. So damn big in his life.

“A promise I meant wholeheartedly every time I uttered it, Ciprys,” he said softly. “There was never anyone else for me. Not like that. Not from the moment you first stormed out of that house and stood up for me.” 

The lavender eyes that watched him were wary, and that wariness broke his heart. Never once had she looked at him with anything less than utter faith. And he’d broken that faith with the best of intentions. “You were hardly celebate in Hingashi…”

His lips quirked. “Nor were you here,” he pointed out. “Neither of us was shy about regaling the other with our tales of conquest, so you can’t hold that against me.”

She huffed. “I could if I wanted to be unreasonable,” she argued sullenly. When he smirked at her, she stuck out her tongue, then sighed. “I missed you, you asshole. Did you ever take that into consideration when you were making all of these grand plans?”

He stroked her cheek, then dropped her hand away. “I did, but maybe I overestimated how pleased you would be.”

“It’s not that I’m not pleased,” Ciprys replied, sinking down and burrowing through her pillows until she could rest her head upon his thigh. “I’m very pleased. I’m just not happy that you thought you had to hide things from me as well.”

He stroked his hand across her short cap of hair, tangling his fingers amongst the black and lavender strands. “My love,” he murmured, and felt her catch her breath, “it’s not that I wanted to hide things from you, it’s that I wasn’t certain when - or if - I could pull it off. My mother is most adamant about me marrying the Master’s granddaughter, no matter what she or I think of the arrangement. And since the Master finds the match suitable, I have a very uphill battle.”

Ciprys pressed her cheek into his leg, knowing her horn was biting lightly into his flesh. She’d consider it due payment, but experience had told her that he was not against a bit of pain in their play. “Why don’t you just marry her?” she asked in a small voice. “If she doesn’t want to wed you either, she surely would not object to you keeping a mistress.”

His fingers tightened in her hair and he hauled her head up until her neck craned at an awkward angle. Turquoise eyes blazed. “You are not my mistress, Ciprys Dreamweaver. You are my wife, and by all the kami, I swear, I will wed you and no other.”

“Cirdan,” she said thickly, and he could see her pulse racing in her throat.

“Say it,” he demanded.

“I-”

“Say it.”

She stared up into those angry eyes. “I’m your wife,” she managed to choke out despite the angle at which he held her head.

He jerked upwards, forcing her to her knees, and impatiently covered her mouth with his. She kept her hands down, balling them into fists; she knew the game, the utter submission he demanded after her shows of defiance. It was the same sharp edge they’d walked for years once they’d both discovered a taste for the interplay of dominance and submission, of defiance and punishment.

Her taste had not changed; ripened, perhaps. Matured. But it was still spice with a hint of sugar at the edges, all heat and lightning, charring the edges of his mind. He forced her mouth open, felt her tongue tangle with his, her teeth scraping his lip in one last gasp of disobedience before she melted into him, allowing him to feast upon her without resistance. He kept his hand fisted in her hair, using his grip and nothing else to hold her in place as he reached down and roughly yanked open her robe. He closed his hand around her bare breast, fingers tightening just shy of bruising before he gentled his grasp, finding her already-erect nipple and rolling it between his finger and thumb.

She whimpered against his mouth and he felt her body straining towards him, felt her breast press eagerly into his hand. He considered briefly taking her there and then; it wouldn’t be the first time they’d made out here in her bed while below her parents watched their television shows and lived their dull, uninteresting lives. But he had no intention of stopping once they truly started, and he preferred not to risk their pleasure on the possibility of accidental interruption - at least not by anyone who wouldn’t appreciate the sight of their bodies mating and melding together as one. Instead, he released her, easing her down to the bed and unfisting his hand, carefully untangling her hair from his fingers. “Get dressed,” he told her.

She stared at him with eyes gone blind from lust. “What?”

“Get dressed,” he repeated, taking her chin between his thumb and forefinger and shaking her head slightly. She blinked, sense returning to her eyes. “I’m taking you home with me.”

She studied his face for a moment, and he saw the brief, automatic flare of refusal, watched it dampen almost as immediately when she bowed her head, then scrambled from the bed. Her robe fell behind her, leaving her naked to his hungry gaze, and he watched without shame as she went pawing through her clothes for something to wear. “Don’t bother worrying about how it looks,” he advised her, leaning on his elbow and staring unabashedly. “You won’t be wearing it long.”

She sent him a long, cool look over her shoulder. “I will not go before your bodyguards looking like a whore, Cirdan Takechi,” she told him as she fished out underwear that belied her words, drawing it on. “As fun as it might be to watch you beat them into submission, I’m certain that is energy you ill wish to waste on them.”

Over the bra and panties, the garters and stockings she drew a relatively demure outfit - something he imagined her wearing as she walked the halls of academia, learning all the many things she learned. Suitable, he mused, for out of doors - and nothing she’d be wearing at all more than a step over his threshold. He could live. “Do you want an overnight bag?”

She hesitated, then shook her head. “Not this time,” she murmured, with just a hint of regret. “I’ve had no time to lay in a convenient excuse. You’ll just have to see me home before the sun rises.”

He slid from her bed and crossed, kneeling down before her as she looked around as if seeking anything she might have forgotten. “It won’t be long,” he promised her. “I’ve almost brought my father around; that’s all I’ll need to make this work.”

Her lavender eyes still held a hint of wariness, but she nodded, then stepped in and wrapped her arms around his neck, as she had a thousand times before. And as he had a thousand times before, he hoisted her in his arms and covered the distance to her window, neatly nipping out of it and into the tree beyond, carrying her effortlessly off to his castle in the clouds.

She’d never been to the apartment. Before he’d gone to Hingashi, he’d lived, like she did, with his parents. She’d spent plenty of time in his suite of rooms at the sprawling mansion that overlooked the neighborhood, but he’d rarely taken her anywhere else - certainly not to any of the other properties owned by his parents. She was, he mused as he carried her into the lobby, ignoring the stares of the guards that were scattered around the plushly appointed foyer, his dirty little not-so-secret.

She didn’t mind. She liked being dirty. Especially with him. And as he’d been hers in turn, she could hardly complain about it. So she merely smiled sunnily at the guards and wrapped her arms firmly around Cirdan’s neck, tucking her face against his throat. “Do you always carry your girls past them?” she asked softly as he strode across the lobby.

“Of course not,” he replied, equally soto voce. “No other would be worthy of such an honor.”

Such different worlds. For all of his forward thinking, there were many ways in which Cirdan clung to the past and the world of his Hingan ancestors. For the most part, it suited her; Hannish traditions were not so different, and for all she rebelled against her familial expectations, she appreciated her history and the world into which she’d been born.

She half expected him to pin her against the wall once they got on the elevator, but he did nothing of the sort. Not to say he didn’t kiss her; his self-control would never be good enough not to take advantage of a private moment with her - but he contented himself with the hungry press of mouth on mouth, the clench of fingers on flesh as he pressed her close and feasted at her lips.

The soft chime and the hiss of the doors opening drew them out of their heated embrace, and Cirdan strode off of the elevator, still clasping her in his arms. He shifted her slightly once they reached one of the two doors on this floor and fished out his keys, unlocking each lock with careful patience. The door swung open and he carted her inside, booting it shut behind them.

Once more he defied her expectations. What she could see of the bottom floor of the apartment told her there were plenty of places he could have deposited her and dived in, but he ignored the counters and couches, the chairs and floor, and kept his grip solid as he paced up the spiraling staircase that led to the second floor.

She had the impression of yalms of glass, the stars shining bright beyond despite the lights from a city ignoring the siren call of sleep. Then they were through another set of doors into a spacious bedroom that rivaled the open space downstairs for sheer size. There was seating, there was more glass, but the only place Ciprys saw clearly was the alcove where the Au Ra-sized bed waited.

Here, Cirdan did not bother with decorum. He tossed her, and she landed upon the plump mattress with a soft gasp. “Strip,” he told her tersely, even as he took a step back and crossed his arms over his chest, watching her with those otherworldly turquoise eyes. She stared up at him, eyes wide, then climbed her way to her knees and then shakily to her feet, balancing carefully on the shifting mattress.

She could feel his eyes on her, intense and hungry as she slowly began to unbutton her blouse, small, slim fingers flicking first one, then the next open. When she reached the waistband of her skirt, she paused, gripping the silky material of her shirt and pulling slowly upwards, untucking it. Then she finished unfastening the buttons. Her eyes downcast, she gently nudged the blouse open, letting it slide slowly from her shoulders and down her arms to pool on the mattress at her feet.

A peek at his face told her nothing; he continued to watch her with the same impassive patience he’d shown from the beginning. Her eyes on his, she reached down and tugged at the tongue of her belt, slowly easing it open. Once it was unfastened, she reached behind her to unhook her skirt, then ease down the zipper until it slid along her stockinged legs, joining the crumpled blouse at her feet.

Now she stood before him, her small, firm breasts caught in black lace, another swatch of the same barely covering her crotch. A thin satin garter belt surrounded her slim waist, the lacy garters snaking along her thighs to catch the tops of her sheer black stockings, holding them in place. When she began to reach behind her to fumble at the hooks of her brassiere, Cirdan held up a hand. Obediently, she dropped her own away again. “Come here.”

Gingerly, she stepped out of her clothing and eased herself off of the bed, padding across the floor to stand before him. He reached down and took her chin between finger and thumb, lifting her face to study it thoughtfully. He could see, beneath the demure mask she wore, her own excitement and pleasure - and yet, still, there was that shadow of wariness that warned him that she still wasn’t entirely certain of his motives.

His thumb slid across her chin, caressing lightly, then he moved past her to sit on the edge of the bed. “Undress me,” he invited her, and she ghosted closer, feet silent upon the rug as she reached out to flick open the buttons of his shirt, one by one. He kept his gaze trained on her face, watching her expression as she eased his shirt open, slim hands gliding across his bare skin as she pushed the panels apart. She eased the sleeves down his arms, pausing to unfasten his cuff links and set them aside before stripping the shirt from his body.

Then she froze, arrested by the spray of ink that curled around the scales of his lower torso, a teasing hint of turquoise and gold suggestive of a flared tail. Swallowing, she abandoned her charge, climbing up on the bed and circling around behind him. “Oh,” she breathed, and he could feel her fingertips fluttering across his skin like the kisses of butterflies, dancing over the swirls and slashes of ink that twisted between his obsidian scales. “Cir.”

He closed his eyes, inhaling deeply and causing the flesh of his back to stretch, showing off the design etched indelibly into his pale skin. “Continue,” he murmured, goading her back to her duties.

She swallowed and climbed off the bed again, then came around before him. “If it pleases you, would you stand?” she asked him, her words polite, her tone demanding. He smiled then, the first curve of his lips since they’d entered his bedroom.

“There’s my girl,” he murmured, grabbing her by the back of her head and dragging her in for a hard, hungry kiss before abruptly releasing her. As she staggered back, he rose to his feet and stepped away from the bed, holding out his arms.

She gazed up at him, hunger warring with nerves, then reached out to unbuckle his belt, drawing it slowly apart before tackling the hooks and zipper beneath. The soft, thin cloth parted beneath her fingers and she nudged it downwards until it pooled about his ankles, caught on his shoes. She stared at the tight briefs that hugged his hips and thighs and bulged over the long, thick length of him, already aroused and eager for her.

But she did not touch his underthings; not yet. Instead, she lowered herself to her knees and bent down, drawing off one loafer, then the other. His socks followed and he stepped out of his pants, allowing her to bat them aside. Then she sat back on her heels and lifted her head, her gaze burning along his calves and thighs, flickering over that conspicuous bulge before skimming across his muscular torso to meet those watchful eyes.

He gave her no orders, merely waited, arms crossed over his muscled chest. Of their own accord, her eyes fell back to the line of him where it pressed against the restraining cloth of his underwear, and she rose up on her knees, reaching up and peeling the thin black fabric down his body, freeing him at last to her hungry gaze.

He was as long and thick as she remembered, perfectly proportionate to his body. Like the rest of him, he was pale gold, though his swollen head was darker, engorged as it was with blood heated by desire. Reaching out, she laid one hand upon his thigh to steady him and wrapped the other about him, barely able to touch her fingertips together. He hissed sharply, his arms dropping away, fists clenching by his side as she ran her hand along the length of him, feeling him pulse and strain against her palm.

With her eyes rolled up to meet his, she leaned forward, her tongue flicking out to taste the tip of him. Already, there was the taste of salt, a hint of dampness that told her his desire would not be long restrained. As she opened her mouth and fitted her lips around the shaft of his cock, she felt his fingers fist in her hair, pulling tightly and sending a welcome pain shooting through her scalp and down her neck. Closing her eyes, she sucked in a breath through her nose and settled herself at an angle that would allow him to slide down her throat without choking her.

It had been years since last he’d fucked her mouth, but some memories were timeless, and some lessons never unlearned. It took every onze of patience he was capable of harboring to prevent himself from thrusting too hard, too deep; for all her eagerness, he was intimately aware of their absolute differences in size; in truth, she could have stood and just barely bent over and been able to take him easily in her mouth.

She, too, remembered just how to stand, how to angle herself, how to breathe around him as he slid in and out of her mouth, in and out of her throat. The years fell away as she allowed herself to fall back into the memory of the last time they’d done this, that last day before he’d shipped off for Hingashi. Younger, less seasoned, they both had nevertheless had desire - and stamina - on their side. Her jaw had begun to ache long before he’d spent himself down her throat, and she found herself yearning towards that sweet pain once more.

Abruptly, his hand tightened in her hair and he drew himself from her mouth, catching at her wrist and keeping her from grabbing him. “Not there,” he said hoarsely, his eyes intent on her face. “Not this time. You’re not sixteen any more, Ciprys - and I’m home to stay. ‘Tis time this deal was sealed for good.”

Her body shivered, her breath quickened. Oh gods, she thought. Oh gods, it’s happening. “Cirdan,” she began, her voice thick and hoarse, words forced out of her abused throat.

His fingers tightened further, forcing her head back, forcing her up off her knees and onto her feet. “You’ve had your time. You’ve had your fun.” He spun her around and shoved her against the bed so that she was sprawled over the edge, her hips and ass in the air. Effortlessly, he pinned her down, one hand on the back of her neck as he tucked his fingers beneath the black satin of her panties and ripped them downwards. The snaps that held them in place popped open and soon she was left in only her bra, stockings, and garters.

So small. So narrow. And so fucking damp, he noted as he slid his finger along her moist slit, feeling her desire coat his skin. He thrust his finger inside of her and she whimpered, hips rising, feet scrabbling at the edge of the bed as she pushed herself up until she was kneeling atop the mattress, shamelessly exposed to him. Her tail arched upwards and swept to the side, providing a frame for her sex, already coated in eager cum.

He slid a second finger inside, already filling her, stretching her. As he worked his fingers in and out of her, he listened to her shameless whimpers and smiled. “Beg for me, little wife,” he murmured, and heard her breathing grow labored. “Come for me, and beg for me.”

“Please, gods, please, Cirdan. Please.” Her hips strained upwards, her spine bowing to present the perfect angle, the perfect opportunity. He could see her flesh twitch and tremble beneath her lavender skin as she spread her thighs wider and lowered her head and shoulders, bracing herself against the bed. 

He leaned down, keeping one hand on her neck to hold her in place as he ran his tongue along the slit of her sex, tasting her desire as a tingle upon his tongue. She cried out, then whimpered, her pleas growing hoarser and more demanding. “Say it, little wife,” he whispered, pressing a kiss against her, then sliding his tongue inside. “Say it.”

“Fuck me, fuck me, FUCK ME!” As she begged, he straightened and took ahold of himself, pressing the swollen head of his cock against her slit. And when she screamed the words, he thrust roughly inside of her, expecting no resistance.

His revelation coincided with her grunt of pain, and he froze, his eyes wide as he stared down at her. “Ciprys!”

She mewled when she felt him shift. “Don’t stop!” she pleaded. “Gods, please, Cirdan, don’t stop!”

“Gods, Ciprys, how?” His voice was a whisper, driven from him by shock. When he would have pulled free, however, she cried out in negation, that single word vibrating off of the walls around them. Helplessly caught, he slid back in until he was fully engulfed within her body, pressing against the end of her as she strained beneath him, caught on that fine line between pleasure and pain.

“Yours,” she panted. “Always yours. Couldn’t. Wouldn’t. No one else.” He felt her fight against his hold on her neck and released her, letting her twist until she could peer at him with one desire-blurred lavender eye. “Take me,” she said clearly. “Make me yours.”

Helpless to do anything but comply, he began to move within her, slowly at first, giving her a chance to adjust to the sensation of having him inside her. As he slid in and out of her body, he could feel her muscles twitch and vibrate, protesting the intrusion; then felt the moment she gave herself over to the pleasure, felt her go lax around him, no longer binding, but welcoming. With a gasp that was half-relief, half-guilt, he quickened his pace, watching her with the intensity of a stalking tiger.

He could see it, feel it, sense it, the moment he found that spot within her body. Experimentally, he shifted his angle, sliding the head of his cock over it again and again. She began to shiver and tremble, her breath coming in labored gasps as her hips strained up and back, eager for him. Abruptly, she screamed, her voice ripping through the air with the same intensity as the orgasm that spun through her, spiraling outwards from her core to engulf her entire body. He didn’t let up, keeping her riding on the edge of blinding pleasure as he felt his own climax build, build, build - 

Abruptly, he gave a hoarse shout and shoved himself in, burying himself to his balls inside her body. One moment, two, then he came, his hot seed pouring into her, filling her to capacity and more. He remained inside of her even after the orgasm had fled and the last of his cum had dribbled out into her womb, half-fearing to see the proof of what he already knew. “Ciprys,” he began.

“I need to lay down,” she told him weakly.

He sighed and slowly extracted himself, wincing every time she twitched and flinched. “Baby, I’m so sorry.”

As he slid out, she collapsed on the bed. “Don’t be,” she muttered hoarsely as she lay on her stomach, cheek pressed against the sheets, knees bent haphazardly beneath her. “It was my choice.”

Unable to answer that, Cirdan instead stepped backwards. He gazed at her where she lay sprawled upon his bed, mute evidence of their joining thick upon her ass and thighs. Abruptly he turned away and crossed the room towards the bathroom, sliding the doors shut behind him as he hunted up a washcloth. Turning on the tap, he let the water run to heat it and moved to use the bathroom.

When he returned, the water was hot. He soaked the washcloth and washed himself up, rinsing it out and wincing as the water turned pink. “Damn it,” he whispered. “Why hadn’t she told me?”

He knew why. It never would have occurred to her that it mattered.

But it did. He’d never have been so rough if he’d known she was untouched in that fashion.

Carefully, he rewetted the washcloth, then grabbed a clean towel and exited the bathroom, striding silently back to the bed. She hadn’t moved, and he wondered if she’d fallen asleep - but her tail twitched as he approached, and he realized she was simply replete. “Hold still,” he said gently, reaching down and pressing the washcloth against her. She hissed, but did not stop him as he carefully cleaned her, rinsing away his seed and her cum and blood. Once she was clean, he dried her off with a towel, then eased her off the bed. “You need to go pee,” he told her.

She looked at him blankly. “I mean, yes, I do, but…?”

He stroked her face with one finger and she nuzzled against his hand. “It will help prevent you from getting an infection,” he explained. “You should always pee after sex.”

This was not exactly how she’d expected this to go, and, confused, she took the towel he handed her. “Are you… angry?”

Shocked, he stared at her. Then his whole expression softened and he knelt down, reaching out to take her in his arms. “Angry with myself, a little,” he admitted, “but with you? No. Never. My love,” he murmured, wrapping her close. “I’m humbled. Honored. I never thought you would save yourself that way. You spoke of so many things you had done…”

“Well, yes,” she said, leaning against him and reveling in the feel of his body against hers, “but nothing you and I hadn’t already done together. I wanted to save any firsts for when you came back.”

He framed her face with his hands, once again reminded of how tiny she was as his palms nearly swallowed her face. “I’m humbled,” he repeated. “And I wish I’d thought to do the same. I wish I’d known - I’d have made it special for you.”

She gazed at him, lavender eyes clear. “It was with you,” she said simply. “It couldn’t have been more special.”

He swallowed and leaned forward, kissing her gently, then released her and stood, stepping back. She minced her way carefully across the floor, and he winced to see how gingerly she moved, knowing that the soreness would not go away any time soon. While she tended to her body’s needs, he stripped the sheets and hefted them towards the hamper, then got out a fresh set to remake the bed.

She returned just as he was plumping the pillows. “Come, lay down,” he invited, turning to watch as she stepped carefully up to him. “No,” he corrected himself, “come here first.” He sat on the edge of the bed and she came up to him, settling in between his thighs. He reached down and carefully unsnapped her bra, then unfastened her garter belt and garters. Gently, efficiently, he stripped off her remaining underthings, then scooped her up and deposited her on the bed, crawling on to stretch out beside her. She curled up in his arms. “Rest, baby,” he crooned. “I’ll wake you when it’s time to go home.”

“Not sleepy,” she mumbled, rolling over and dragging his head for a kiss. “Still want you. Touch me, Cir,” she sighed, eyes fluttering closed as he lowered his head to run his tongue over a nipple still hard from earlier. “Taste me. I need to know you still want me.”

He sucked lightly on her breast, rolling his tongue across her nipple and nipping lightly. “Of course I still want you,” he replied, shifting his attentions to her other breast. “You’re mine. I’m going to want you until the day we die.”

He heard the soft click and glanced up, smiling to see her tomephone angled to catch a photo of him sucking on her tit. “Just letting them know what we’re up to,” she said sleepily. “Gods. Your mouth. Your hands. I’d never forgotten, but memory can’t hold a candle to the real deal. Don’t stop touching me, baby. Don’t ever stop touching me.”

His hands glided over her body as he continued to worship her breasts, laving them with loving attention. Even as he felt her body go lax, heard her breathing even out, he continued to shower her with kisses, tracing the edges of scale and skin with his lips and tongue, just reveling at finally having her back in his bed.

Finally sated, he stretched out beside her and wrapped himself around her, all but enveloping her in his arms as she curled in against his chest, snuggling tight against him. He rasped out a command to his clock to set an alarm for two in the morning, giving them enough time to clean up and spirit her back into her bedroom, none the wiser.

Only for a little while, he told himself as he drifted off beside her. Soon. Soon he would prove himself, and claim that which was his. Which had always been his.

And give himself to she to whom he had always belonged. To whom he would always belong.

Ciprys, his mind whispered, and he fell into slumber, wrapped possessively around her.

And in her sleep, she held him fast, trusting him to keep his word once more.

[starsheild]

Prize 3- Birds of a Feather

Jazz was not entirely sure that taking the prize back to his quarters with him was standard, but since he had been given no other directions he made his own call. Of Those gathered in the large dining room, only the waitstaff present were sober enough to note his departure, and none of them had any mind to try and stop him.

The praxian followed willingly enough, his servo in Jazz's as they traversed the now quiet halls of the compound. Jazz led him through the small back courtyard, and the flare of tension when they passed the medical wing confirmed more of Jazz's suspicions.

"What's yet name? Or should I just keep calling ya pretty prize?" Jazz asked easily, trying to divert the mechs attention.

"Pantera."  The answer was simple and straightforward, but something in the way he said prompted jazz to dig a little deeper.

"Just Pantera?"

The mech nodded, but the fall of the doorwings on his back was not lost on Jazz. He remained silent as Jazz guided him into the quarters that were still new to him as well. Jazz honestly didn’t know if it’s former occupant, Drill Bit, was dead or merely displaced. It would be worth finding out, just because the not so smart gladiator might well hold a grudge.

The suite of rooms reflected the former occupants tastes as well, but if the decor was anything to judge by, Jazz would be able to redecorate to his personal tastes. But one of the rooms that lacked any real personalization was the washrack. And wasn’t a that new luxury for Jazz.

“Wanna get that gunk offa ya?” He offered, holding the door open for the Praxian.

“I- yes.” Pantera slipped past him, and Jazz did not miss the way his optics lingered on the oil bath set in the corner.

“Wash firs; then soak. Don’t care for this show gunk m’self.” Jazz said. “Ya can wash first, if ya like.”

Pantera nodded and stepped in the wash stall, pausing to look over at Jazz. When the other made no move to leave his wings fell a little more. Resignation, perhaps? He didn’t wait any longer, instead turning on the shower full blast and from what Jazz could see, hot enough to steam in nanokliks.

He smiled as the other stepped under the spray after testing it with a servo. As soon as Pantera looked as he was comfortable Jazz crossed to the oil bath and started it filling. Even if his companion decided not to take advantage of the luxury, it was one that Jazz was not going to pass on. The last one he had enjoyed had been over a lunar cycle ago, when he had swept his class at the Kalis Invitational. 

Once it was filling and warming, the soft rush of the oil mixing with the steady fall of the solvent to create a sort of peaceful ambiance he came to lean on the wash stall door. “If ya wanna talk ‘n not be heard, this’s the place ta do it. ‘Tween the moisture ‘n the noise most master’s don’ nother buggin’ the wash. Dunno ‘bout the rest o’ the suite.”

“It is new to you as well.” Prowl commented as he scrubbed as his protoform, the slick finish breaking down under the solvent to reveal a more natural and even healthy grey.

“That obvious?”

“Your field was one of distaste when we stepped inside. An emotion that was not present before we entered.”

“Yah. It’s new. “Nother ‘perk’ o’ winning that match.” Jazz hesitated, trying to judge the mech in front of him and weighing his own feelings in the process, before he continued. “I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

‘Fer what I did ta ya, in front o’ all those mecha.” Jazz said, optics averted as he fidgeted. Looking for something to distract himself he started stripping his own armor off, setting aside the highly polished show plating that was reserved for occasions such as the one they had both just escaped. Knowing his luck, Chopper was going to find his ‘champion’ something even more obnoxious to wear for display.

“You need not be.”

The words had Jazz turning, surprised. “What?”

“I do not remember much, but I do remember some.” Prowl explained quietly as his optics roamed over the others now exposed protoform, taking in the scars and marred the surface of the other’s form. “I am not inclined to believe that I would enjoy the attentions of the one you defeated. And I suspect that you are just as much a victim here as I.”

[myimaginedcorner]

A TUMBLR STORY: TORN PAGE (p.6)

PREVIOUS RESULT: In your own room

You’ve barely entered your chambers. You did it to escape, your rest lapsing between stone and dust. Clocks of sand became Time in depths were nothing changed, and grey ceilings got made clouds that never showed sky’s blue. For days, you dissipated between shadows, one with the labyrinth that swallowed elven memories.

Then, you did it to encounter. You roamed vastly among new creations, the scent of paint singing of Celest’s rejuvenated self. You’ve lurked between the noisy crowd and spent your nights among wild fauna, watching the stars that twinkled from afar.

In all ways, you avoided the one place that was yours to control and shape – your one haven that no one else inhabited. There was nowhere to hide in it, nor there was anyone to seek. Or so you thought.

Coming to get a change of clothes – as yours got finally ripped in your last escapade – you saw what you’ve been seeking in the world beyond: those eyes that called for you whenever you dared blinking. They were in your space, invading it in equal ways to how their thought invaded heart and mind. Sitting on your bed, no less.

“Well, lucky you to find me in the most unexpected place!” with Ashna’s laughter, shivers ran over your paled skin, comforting warmth brought to veins used to the cold of air and soil.

“Indeed,” you nodded. Curiosity was now one to take over. “Why are you here?”

Perhaps, something happened that you weren’t aware of.

“I told you,” placing their hands on both sides of their crossed legs, the elf appreciated your bed’s comfort, leaning slightly back. “I was searching for you.”

“Why?” 

Their smile spoke of no concerns. However, rare was the occasion that you’ve seen them frown – in lectures or in expeditions, their giggles opened way to day and night, two shining eyes ready to brighten up even the grumpiest of weathers.

“Ah, well…”

You sensed uncertainty. In their voice, something slowed down the cheerful melody, a single note quietly chirping out of tune. Your eyes got wider: before you, their cheeks bloomed, ears shivering from unexpected fluster.

“I missed you,” when they finally answered, it seemed that evening forgot to come, dawn raising before sunset.

Their shy smile glowed as a new sun – a light that, like a tiny rabbit, jumped through your clothes into your chest, new resident to your inner spirit. You knew not how to reply, at first: you were too confused. First hiding, then trying to find, never you thought that what you yearned desired you back.

“Hey, mister Statue, are you still with us?”

A little scoff unfroze you, your confused expression paid with quiet giggles. Standing from the softness of your matrass, Asha proceeded to approach you, hands behind their back.

“I missed our chat. It was so fun, we should have done that earlier. All other scholars and students are so absorbed by their own literature and research… none of them go there and explore, like you do. None of them risk it,” with a grin genuine enough to melt the coldest ice, the elf caught your meandering stare, gluing it to their precious irises. “Are you unhappy that I’m here…?”

Their saddened appearance shot you through. Before you had time to process, your head had already been shaken, throwing away suspicions of wrong kind. You calmed down quickly, with a cough, letting a sigh escape.

“I’m not. I was just surprised that we both sought each other’s company.”

“Right?” they brightened up. “Perhaps it’s destiny.”

“Destiny’s not a concept anymore.”

“Ah, but who knows!” as they shrugged shoulders, your unmoved presence gave them leeway to start prowling through your room. “The fact that no gods are left doesn’t mean that destiny has been abolished, does it?”

“It does,” you arched a brow. Thoughts like these were what got you kicked off lecture halls. “With no one playing god, Time has no set pace to follow. It flows wherever it is guided by our actions.”

“So, you mean that anything that happens is our fault?”

Their eyes stared back at you – they were deeper than two oceans, ready to sink ships and sailors.

“Precisely,” you nodded. It was of public knowledge, a tale to pass for generations. Dragonfall didn’t happen for us to forget.

“What a big burden to take upon tiny shoulders,” Ashna smiled, picking something up.

“It gives us freedom.”

“Freedom… freedom or safety, which one’s better?”

Suddenly, they paused before you had the time to answer, and so, you kept silent, letting them think in peace. Any scholar would do so – it was of minimal consideration.

However, from their evaluation, only another laugh emerged.

“Look at us,” Ashna shook their head. “We’re free to choose what conversation to have, and yet after just meeting, we’re already in debate! What is it but our blood dictating our decisions?”

You took one step towards them. Somehow, their comment made you smile, too.

“Blood or mind? I would argue that a great mind is always happy to get challenged,” you replied. “That’s why our meetings get quickly submerged into deeper topics than the weather, or our wellbeing.”

“How are you?”

Confused, you look at them, met by their cheerful expression.

“…Excuse me?”

“I just realised, I didn’t ask you how you’re feeling, or how are you after so many dangerous trips. You probably haven’t even been eating properly for days,” Ashna got pensive, a brief, tiny blaze of guilt gleaming within their eyes. “I’m not entirely sure when was the last time that I’ve asked that to anybody… and you?”

Indeed, when was it? You couldn’t remember, either. Your exchange with other scholars always had knowledge at its centre, and your interaction with the city bore negotiating tones. There was no time to waste on formalities – everyone had something new to learn.

“I heard that humans spend hours talking about nothing in particular. Perhaps, we should do that, too,” added your acquaintance, brushing fingers over a book’s dusty spine.

“Our minds are different. Emptiness can bring dangerous malfunctions to our process…”

“Those are books a thousand years old!” their scoff was louder, more annoyed. “How are we meant to progress if we’re constantly following outdated rules? Nothing will happen if we get to know each other better. That’s also a type of knowledge, isn’t it?”

You took a few seconds to think. It didn’t sound like a big crime – you were entitled to some rest, and you could choose to rest with words of little meaning. Besides, your inner curiosity got caught by their masterful hook: you wanted to know more about them… only them. To occupy part of your precious memory with thoughts related to this happy, different elf of no special achievements, of misbehaviour and problematic thoughts. Why wouldn’t you? They were uncommon. In your denial, you called it an experiment.

After you nodded, an applause came, and suddenly, you got dragged to the bed. With a smile bigger than before, Ashna jumped eagerly into the well that your eyes represented, opening theirs as doors into their soul.

“So, what would you like to know?”  

[marshmallowsqoosh]

Ritual of Summoning: Era 3 [4b/5]

Fandom: Ghost (Band) Title (also AO3 link): Ritual of Summoning: Era 3 Rating: General (May go up) CW: No major warnings apply Lesser Warnings: headcanon, not beta read, Terzo’s the youngest because the canon timeline makes no sense, author chooses to believe that Nihil didn’t hate his kids and they have given names, Ghouls are summoned via magical means, summonings involve deals with devils, author is taking a lot of liberties, Ghouls are Generational not Inherited,

Summary: Summoning era three’s Ghouls over the years… aka Terzo constantly getting in trouble for being a small, ambitious dumbass and continuing to be a small, ambitious dumbass.

reiterating: summoning rituals involve dealings with demons. If you spot any typos lemme know

Extras: Status (and AO3 link!): [ 4b / 5 ] Word Count: ~8.677

[Earth]

Terzo wakes up late in the afternoon—perhaps early evening—and, for a few solid minutes, just sits up in his bed, bleary eyed and confused. He doesn't fight against Special latching onto him from behind—arms and legs tight around Terzo's torso and probably the only thing keeping him sitting up—and simply tries to find the source of the cacophonous chirping and trilling. When he finally sources it, all he can do is stare, confused and still fighting through the fog of just waking up from an exhausted nap.

Cowbell looks up from where he's trapped underneath a pair of smaller Ghouls, whining in high pitched desperation, "Please, help, Special won't call them off—"

He squeals when the third Ghoul materialises from under the bed in a pounce and—by sheer luck of Cowbell's tail being too close to the bottom of his mask—bites down on his tail and that finally jolts Terzo's senses a bit more awake. "Wh—Alpha! Don't bite him!"

Alpha looks over, the tail still hanging out of his mouth for a moment longer before he eventually lets go. Air and Water scurry off of the older Ghoul, finally, and all three start to crowd and circle the bed, trilling and chirping up at Terzo curiously. He starts to pat the sheets to invite them up; but, Special chooses then to let go and prowls the edge of the bed, growling down at all three until they settle into an obedient line with one another, pressed close and attention fixed intently on the older Ghoul. Terzo just tilts his head, trying not to focus too heavily on the tightness in his chest.

"Special?"

"You needed rest. I can handle them, now. It's just about supper time… I'll keep an eye on them, you and Bell should go eat."

"We wanna go, too!" Air puts in, ears flickering rapidly in excitement and claws kneading listlessly in front of him, "Will there be more humans—?"

He settles when Special's attention zeroes in on him and all three go back to being quiet. Terzo frowns a little.

"I would like you to join us for supper, but I think Special's right… Sister Imperator will be at supper and she's already tried giving Alpha orders… I'd feel better if you three stayed as far from her as possible, until I can… figure out how to stop her from doing that… I'll ask one of fratello's Ghouls to bring you something to eat. … Are you sure you can watch all of them, Special?"

"I can handle it." He promises, unblinking stare fixed on the younger Ghouls. "If Papa's Ghouls bring dinner, I can ask them for help. I can handle it until then, though. … Although, if it's alright, I'd like to take them to one of the containment rooms. It'll help wear them out for the evening without potential property damage if I take them outside."

Terzo blinks, "Oh, that's true—will they be alright here, a bit longer? That way Fratello's Ghouls will know where you've gone—the sooner they can all start socialising, the better, right?"

There a moment of confusion exchanged between the three—looks and curious chirps—and Special shifts his weight, cautiously, like he's waiting to see if he needs to intervene more physically. Cowbell hastily breaks up the tension with an amiable laugh, easily drawing the attention to himself, "They're the Ghouls that were at the doors when you were summoned. They helped when Vale fainted, remember?"

"Oh! The older Ghouls? They will be coming to play with us, then?" Water props himself on the bed. He's still settled back on the balls of his feet but he lets his arms rest on the bed, eyes large and bright as his tail flickers back and forth, despite Alpha hissing at him and scampering behind Cowbell for protection from the droplets that are flung from his tail. "His Water Ghoul did something—will I be able to? Did it help you feel better—?"

He finally squeals and settles back with the others when Special's tail smacks both of his hands, sharply. It's the length, instead of the spade, at least; but, it does work in corralling the younger Ghouls back together, even if it does end in all of them huddling behind Cowbell like he's a shield. Terzo still frowns, not really able to put as much conviction as he wants into his voice, despite wanting to warn Special to calm down, "Special…"

"You need to rest. I know you want to deal with this the way you did Bell and me." Special finally looks back, expression furrowed tightly under his mask. "But we were right, Vale. Your health is already considerably more fragile than other humans and your body is still growing. Summoning us in rapid succession isn't good for you, even if it's done correctly. You need to let your body heal and that means food and rest, not entertaining any of us wanting to play." There's a short pause and the three finally seem to calm down as it sinks in Terzo's very much still exhausted and they can't all clamour on him as much as they want to. "… If Papa's Ghouls are available and willing, even without them being trouble… I would appreciate the help. Otherwise, I can let them run off the energy in one of the containment rooms and figure out the food situation afterwards."

Terzo nods, a bit absently, as he tries to work on waking up past the adrenaline fueled burst of energy from a few moments prior. Even as Cowbell moves around the bed and helps him stand, he's barely aware of the movement until he realises he's leaning on his Ghoul.

It's a concentrated effort to stand on his own, rubbing at his eyes with an irate grumble; but, it's also giving him a chance to finally try processing the entire day in some attempt to focus on literally anything aside from how comfortably warm Cowbell and Special are and how badly he wants to just crawl back into bed. The efforts do, for better or worse, pay off and he can feel his expression furrowing as he tries to string the rush of nonsensical thoughts together into something even remotely coherent to ask questions.

"Special?" A curious hum; but, his attention stays fixed on the three. "Where Quinn was—the… isolation unit…? Are they like the containment rooms?"

The air suddenly feels thick with apprehension and Terzo looks between the older pair, rubbing gingerly at the center of his chest when the pressure begins to build, once more. Cowbell refuses to meet his eye and, for a long moment, Special doesn't answer, either.

"... I don't know, really—well… yes. But, no—I'm not sure how they're so different, but I know Earth said the isolation units are… detrimental to Ghouls. They block our abilities—our powers, at least. We can hold our form, but none of our elements work. It's why Quinn couldn't just leave. Containment rooms only dampen our abilities—we can still use our elements, but they're built specifically to absorb and contain. So, if a Fire Ghoul were to combust, for example, it wouldn't cause any damage to the building."

It makes sense. Terzo nods a little, to show he's… maybe not pleased with the answer, but it did answer what he needed it to. He hums a moment later, just to make sure Special's aware of the gratitude.

"I guess that makes sense… as long as all of you are going to be safe there. Fratello's Ghouls should be enough to keep the upper clergy at bay—oh. Before we go—Bell, wait, I need to do something before we go downstairs."

He's still a little dizzy—that much becomes apparent when he turns back to his bed, a little too fast, and nearly teeters back into his Ghoul. Cowbell catches his shoulders and holds him still until he's regained his bearings; but, he doesn't crowd when Terzo returns to his bed, rounding to the side with the rest of his Ghouls. Air seems to remember what happened during his summoning and gently nudges Water out of the way, leaving Alpha more than a little confused , as Terzo holds both hands out, palms up, the way he's seen Primo do to his own Ghouls dozens of times.

"May I see your hands, Alpha? I—Lord Caim may have found a solution. So Sister and the other clergy members can't hurt you, again. May I?"

Alpha blinks and slowly turns his attention up to Special, warily waiting for approval that the older Ghoul isn't going to interfere; when he gets an approving nod, he finally, cautiously, puts his hands over Terzo's and simply lets the tips of his fingers twitch a little when Terzo gives both hands a gentle squeeze.

Immediately, the left side of his neck starts to emit a gentle, gold glow, again, and Terzo feels his left eye starting to throb; but, he ignores it and takes a slow breath, trying to figure out how to word the order.

"... Sister Imperator and other clergy members may try to give you orders again, because I… gave them your name… you do not have to abide their orders, if they put you or any other Ghoul or clergy member in danger. You may defend yourself, as necessary; but not at the expense of another Ghoul or human's life. If they persist, you may fight back. Do you understand?"

His vision goes blurry for a brief moment and it's an effort not to squeeze both eyes shut, even when it's only the left eye that hurts. But, the pain passes and the gold finally seeps back into the void when Alpha nods. "Only take orders from you?"

"From me and Frate Primo's Ghouls… they'll be helping all of you learn about the abbey and how to get around." Terzo smiles and leans over to kiss his Ghoul's forehead, sighing in relief. "I really hope that works… Special, you'll stay with him? Your… what I said yesterday, that—did that change your contract?"

Special just stares at him, clearly confused for a long moment before he finally seems to remember the promise he made. "I—I think so? I hadn't thought about it, but I think it did? Did one of our lords imply it did—none of us share patrons, do we—?"

"Lord Caim is aware of your circumstances." Air tips his head back to regard the older Ghoul, eyes a bright and rather horrifying contrast against his void, all things considered. "My most unholy patron says you are… a guardian? Is that true?"

"Well… yes? All Ghouls are supposed to protect their summoners." Special sounds confused; but, Terzo still frowns a little.

Supposed to… it doesn't leave too pleasant a taste in his mouth, until Special amends himself, apparently finally recovered from the realisation.

"Make no mistake, I can and will protect Vale, regardless of my contract. But, he's asked I extend that protection to the rest of you. In case the humans are… well. Alpha, you saw how they can be."

Alpha nods a little; Water makes a confused noise that Air echoes and the pair immediately try to crowd around Special for details. Alpha looks up in those moments, slowly settling down into his crouched position, with his ears almost entirely flat back, once more, "Why did she do that? Why that specifically?"

"I'm not sure… but I'll figure it out and I'll make sure she can't hurt you or any of the others. That's why I'm… I'm really hoping I did that right." The smile feels weak but Terzo still manages and wraps his arms around Alpha's neck, hugging as tight as he dares. "I'll protect all of you. We keep each other safe." He lets out a slow, heavy exhale when he finally releases his Ghoul, even as one hand still lingers to offer distracted skritches just behind his ear.

"I should head to dinner before it gets too terribly late… I'll ask Frate to send his Ghouls and hopefully they can bring all of you something to eat and let you play somewhere that's less cramped than my room. Would any of you like anything specific?"

"Mmm… it may be best to let them have non-solids for the first few days, just so our mentors can ensure they've learned how to navigate around their masks and that their forms are indeed stable enough to handle sustenance," Cowbell offers, arms folded patiently behind his back and a gentle smile reflecting in the warm glow of ember eyes. "Special, I suppose you'll be wanting your apples?"

"I won't hold that over them. Applesauce, if there is any; otherwise, just some water. I can visit the kitchens, later. Thank you, though, Bell."

"Will we be allowed in the kitchens, summoner?" Air squawks out a short protest when Water climbs over him, still sending little droplets everywhere as his tail swishes. Alpha hisses when he actually gets hit this time and moves himself more behind Terzo to avoid getting more wet. Terzo puts a hand on his head to calm him down and offers Water a smile.

"Eventually, yes. But you have to be really good and listen to Special and Frate's Ghouls, when they're teaching you how to behave around the abbey and other members of the church, okay? Best behaviour?"

"Best behaviour!" Air manages to echo the sentiment despite still trying to wriggle himself free of being climbed on. He doesn't quite succeed until Special finally deigns it necessary to lift Water and Alpha slowly prowls back over to the small cluster when Cowbell gives him a gentle nudge.

"Most wonderful. If that's all, we should be on our way, Vale. Special's right, you need to eat something and then we should get you back to bed. I'm sure our dearest Sister will wish things to continue and we should ensure you are in the best possible health to do so."

"Just two more… it doesn't feel real, but it feels amazing." As tired as he is, he feels a swell of excitement, even as he leans into Cowbell's side for support. "I wonder if Frate will let me ask Quinn about his ritual…"

The Quintessence ritual is still weirdly elusive and he knows Quinn's was… messy. Maybe he should just ask Primo or Earth instead.

He sees Special's ears give a curious twitch; but, Cowbell's already ushering him into the hallway and towards the dining room, the door closing harmlessly behind them.

"Perhaps after meal, you can. I do not advise asking in Sister Imperator's presence."

Terzo nods to show he agrees; but he still slows his step until Cowbell finally seems to accept that he wants the Ghoul to walk next to him, specifically so he can lean on him as exhaustion begins to spread through his body once more.

"Is it normal to be so tired after summoning? I thought improving them would be less exhausting…"

Cowbell hums as he thinks on the answer, arm and tail wrapped firmly around Terzo's waist to keep him close and upright as they take the stairs—one at a time, Terzo gripping the banister as tightly as he can to make sure he doesn't lose his footing, even with his Ghoul's help—and waits until they're on solid ground again to try answering.

"I am uncertain what constitutes "normal", unfortunately… but, I do know that the more thorough the summoning, the more… taxing it can be. Special and your brothers are right to worry—you've done marvelous things for all of us, especially so the voidlings. But you pay a far heavier price to grant us such freedoms."

Terzo frowns, still a little too tired to try wrapping his head around the answer; but, able enough to process… at least some part of it. Just not the part he wants to, "You aren't worried, though?"

He's surprised Cowbell laughs—warm and soothing and just making him that much sleepier—when he amends himself, "I worry… but I have a… minor advantage over Special. I am your clarity—your awareness of ambition and that lets me… remember what the others will not. Specifically that you were given the choice to release me before my contract was embedded in my void. And you did not. Despite your fears and the situation, you chose to keep me. I worry, as a Ghoul will of a summoner they're fond of. But I also know that you will persist, despite our worries, and you will burn that much brighter for it. It is, perhaps, a touch… unusual for so many Fire Ghouls to be bound to a single summoner. Alpha's strength is a marvelous indicator that, despite the fatigue you will suffer, you are nowhere near flickering out."

Cowbell finally unwinds his tail as they get closer to the dining room and simply situates himself close to Terzo's shoulder for support, instead of physically holding him up, and allows his arms to fold behind his back, as he's expected to do. "They believe in your capabilities, even blinded by their worry. My belief blinds me to the worry. Let's leave it at that, shall we?"

Terzo just nods and does his best to keep himself upright as he shuffles towards the table. He stops by Secondo first, tugging on his brother's sleeve, to make sure the man's aware of him and practically melts into the immediate hug, "M'sorry, 'Cesco…"

He kind of hears their father scolding him for not using the church's name; but, Secondo and Primo don't bother trying to correct him and Secondo just sighs and kisses his hair, "We'll talk about this later. Right now, you need to eat and go back to bed."

"Uh-huh… oh, uh…" He was supposed to ask Primo something. He still feels warm from the hug and from Cowbell and looks at his Ghoul, hoping he remembers what they were supposed to ask. He's relieved when Cowbell tips his head and turns his attention to Primo, folding his hands, politely, atop his chest and offering a small bow.

"With your permission, Papa, Special was going to take the voidlings to one of the containment rooms, to let them run off some of their energy in a secure and finite location. We were perhaps hoping we could employ the assistance of your Ghouls, to get a head start on their socialising?"

Polite and much more coherent than Terzo could hope to be; but, he still lets out a relieved breath when his brother smiles and tips his head, "Of course. Quinn, could you take the others and keep an eye on all of them? Earth, if you'll stay… we don't want to be overbearing."

It's… odd that Earth doesn't answer. Just gives a small nod. A clicking noise emits from Quinn's throat, his attention back on the rest of the Ghouls and they all make a variety of chirps to show they understand and relax from their rigid postures against the wall. Quinn turns back to the table, his attention briefly drifting to the head of the table, warily, before shifting to Terzo and finally settling on Primo once more. "Should we take some sort of meal for the voidlings, Papa?"

"Mmm… Terzo, do you believe they're able to handle food?"

"Oh—uh… I think Special and Cowbell said it'd… be best if they had something liquid…? Special mentioned applesauce, but there's… the… drinks…?" He looks back at Secondo, uncertain and not able to work through the hazy fog of sleep, still. He's grateful his brother seems to realise what he's trying to ask, even if it's an exasperated sigh that leaves the man's lips.

"There should be protein shakes in the fridge. If they're anything like… Special… it would be in everyone's best interest not to give them sugar this late, if we want them to sleep. Teaching them to use straws wouldn't go amiss, either, until they can navigate their masks."

Quinn nods and excuses the small group, herding the other three ahead of him. It's only then that Terzo realises… he's not sure any of them know where his room is—well. Quinn should, he was usually in Primo's shadow, even if he hung back a bit further than Earth did.

His attention is almost immediately drawn away from where the Ghouls went when Earth stands from his seat and gestures for Terzo to sit so he's secure between his brothers. Normally, he might protest but… he's also realising Copia and Mountain aren't at the table and he's maybe a little desperate not to be closer to Imperator than he needs to be. So, he offers as best of a grateful smile as he can and settles into the chair… of course, he also realises the mistake in doing so, almost immediately, as the spot is comfortably warm, though he isn't positive it's because of Earth so much as being secure between his brothers.

He whines, quietly, when the Ghoul catches his shoulders before he slumps over into his brother's side and sits him upright with a quiet laugh.

"Try to eat something, little light. Your body needs to recover and it will help you wake up enough to attend to your Ghouls before you return to bed."

As much as he knows Earth is right—that Special and Cowbell were right, too, when they'd said as much—it's Imperator speaking up that makes him sit up straight and jolts him that little bit more awake, worry beginning to build and bubble in the pits of his stomach that threaten to reject any attempt at eating that may follow. He more hears than sees Earth stand closer to Primo's shoulder and feels Cowbell standing closer to his own, tail coming up to discreetly rest on his leg to offer comfort without inviting the ire of either Imperator or his father.

"Three functional Ghouls is indeed a marvelous improvement. The other branches will want to study these methods in detail, I would assume."

Terzo just stares at her for what feels like too long before he slowly looks up at Secondo, either for elaboration or someone to hide from the pointed look boring through him. He's grateful—and more than a little surprised—when his father's the one that speaks up for him, before either of his brothers can.

"A simple matter of refining his notes, no, Sister? He has been diligent in his research—it makes sense enough to him and can be consolidated for others, now that he has been given the chance to test the results himself. He did well enough instructing the priest in a similar manner and I am confident in his ability to do so again on a larger scale."

It's rare to be on the receiving end of their father's praise, in any capacity. He thinks Primo looks worried and he definitely notices Secondo scowling; but, it doesn't distract him as much as it normally would. … He does wonder if he's perhaps a bit too desperate to hold onto the warmth the praise fills him with, but chooses to ignore it in favour of an excited series of nods, even as it makes the room spin for a few seconds and he has to grip the table to keep from swaying, even sitting down.

"I can! After I finish—will I be allowed to finish tomorrow, Papa? Special can start transferring my notes—or… Cowbell, if you want to, it might be…. best to let Special watch the others, wouldn't it?"

Cowbell offers a nervous laugh, when Terzo looks back up towards him, and rests a gentle hand on his head to try turning him back to his plate. "We can gather your research after you eat. I would be delighted to make a head start on this task; although, if Special's correct, the rest should be quite tired and I'm certain he'll be eager to assist, as well, yes?"

"That's true… Special had a lot of energy after he was summoned, too… hmmm… oh, but—" His attention goes back across the table, hopeful, still ignoring his plate even as Secondo and Earth both try to redirect his attention when Cowbell fails to, "Papa? Please? If I go to bed right after this, I can finish tomorrow? There's only two more!"

He still needs to talk to Primo away from Imperator. But he's fairly confident he can manage that much.

Normally, he might be more worried about the way Imperator purses her lips at the eagerness; but, she doesn't protest and their father offers a quiet laugh as he's standing, "We will see how you feel in the morning, stellina. But, provided you are well enough, you may continue. I will see you at breakfast, for now you need to finish your supper."

Terzo finally turns his attention down to his plate, as Nihil passes a glance over his brothers, "Papa, Bishop, I'd like a word with both of you, in my office, before you retire for the evening. On your time, of course, but do try to be mindful."

He sees Primo tip his head in understanding and Secondo mutters something that sounds like an affirmative; but, neither of them make to leave the table, even when their father's left the room and Imperator soon follows after. There's a stretch of… mostly comfortable silence. Terzo doesn't realise he's the only one eating until Secondo finally lets out a heavy sigh and, when he looks up, his brother is rubbing at his face—exhausted and maybe a little irritated.

"That could have gone worse."

"Secondo…" It's unusual for Primo to take a warning tone with either of them, especially in private conversation. In public, he did, rather frequently—either trying to corral Terzo running through the abbey or reminding Secondo to mind his manners and duties, especially in his robes. At the table, it's enough to give Terzo pause and he slowly sets his fork down to look between them, confused and a little wary as his stomach again tries to twist itself into knots.

"What's worse—?" He knows Secondo's still mad about the whole thing, but… he can't be that mad, can he? He does his best not to think too heavily on it, more for Special's sake than his own—they still aren't sure how far the emotional feedback's range is. He didn't need to add to the stress of watching the smaller Ghouls, even if Primo's Ghouls were helping him. "Are you still mad—I didn't mean to get tired, I thought—I mean, I knew I'd still get tired, but I thought it was okay and I—"

He snaps his mouth shut when Secondo puts a hand on his head. Despite the exasperated expression, he doesn't… look mad. "I'm not mad. Not at you, Vale. I do think you're being over zealous… but, I also know it's absolutely useless to try arguing with you if your Ghoul didn't manage to talk you out of finishing. Don't worry about it."

Terzo doesn't get a chance to ask anything else—or even really protest when his brother ruffles his hair up before kissing his head—when Secondo stands and stretches out, "I suppose I'll see what father wants. Unless you wanted to go first, fratello?"

"I'd like a moment with Terzo, if it's all the same. Please, tell father I'll be along after I see Terzo back."

"Of course." Terzo's less surprised when a warning look gets turned down on him as his brother's leaving, "Do not give him trouble, Vale."

Terzo just sticks his tongue out after the man and is only a little bit embarrassed when Primo laughs, despite a vague attempt to correct the behaviour. "Terzo... none of that, now."

"He started it." Still, Terzo rights himself and goes back to his supper. It's only as he's finishing that he even realises he… actually was fairly hungry and managed to eat significantly more than he normally did. And finally feels awake enough to remember he had questions he wanted to ask. …Questions he isn't sure how to ask, now.

As much as he appreciates Cowbell being close by, he… maybe wishes it were Special so he could hide behind him and get him to talk and ask things instead of trying to stumble over the questions himself, "Uhm… you… needed something, fratello?"

Maybe if he focuses on what Primo needs he'll feel a little less awkward.

"I just wanted to assure myself you truly aren't suffering ill any unseen side effects. And ensure you are aware that you have done something absolutely phenomenal, today." Terzo finally looks up and feels a flush of heat crawling up his neck and across his cheeks, hastily ducking his head again, despite the fact his brother does genuinely look proud. Even the quiet laugh makes him feel… better, despite the guilt trying to worm its way into the quiet pride. "Allow your pride to shine, stellina. You have earned such."

"But… but what if it doesn't do what I want it to…?" He hears the curious hum and turns the thoughts over a few more times before he finally looks up, back towards Cowbell. "Bell, would you take care of clean up, please? And then go find Special? I'll go to bed after I get my notebook, I promise."

Cowbell tips his head after a moment, "Well, I certainly trust that Papa or Earth will see you back and ensure you do not get side tracked. … I cannot promise Special won't come looking for you, however."

"Quite alright if he does. Thank you, Cowbell." Primo pushes himself up from his seat—gently batting Earth away, despite the worried protests and attempts to assist, "I'm alright, that's enough fussing out of you, tesoro. … Ah, as I was saying—take your time cleaning up. When you do fetch the others, would you let Quinn know to stay with the voidlings? You are very correct that Special will come looking when you return alone."

"Of course, Papa. Thank you, again, for your assistance. Just in case Special forgets himself tomorrow." His Ghoul offers a more courteous bow—hands once more at his chest and a gracious tip of his head when he corrects his posture—before he begins to gather the forgotten dishes.

Terzo watches for a few seconds longer—until Cowbell's disappeared towards the kitchen—before he finally slides down from his chair and immediately fists a hand in Primo's vestments. Mostly for his own sake, as he's reminded he's still… very tired and standing and walking are much more of a task than simply sitting; but, also so he can walk close, practically glued to his brother's side.

They're almost down to the summoning chamber when Terzo finally works up the nerve to try asking about the Quintessence Ritual… when Primo speaks up first.

"Now that we're away from the gossip of shadows… we do need to speak of something far more serious, Valentino."

Terzo immediately stops walking and just stares up at his brother. He… doesn't actually remember the last time Primo used his given name. Always the church's name. Even when he or Secondo protested, Primo never used their names.

Earth's stopped walking, too, and is making a pointed effort to keep his attention glued to the floor, despite otherwise maintaining his posture at Primo's shoulder. Primo finally turns to regard him in full, a rare, somber expression across his face.

"I was not exaggerating my pride, stellina. You have made phenomenal progress that the old blood in the upper clergy would very much like that you did not know, I'm certain. One member, in particular, I'm sure I needn't name."

Imperator.

Terzo's nose wrinkles a little, even when he looks down, his shoulders starting to sag, "So, she was trying to use Alpha to hurt Special and Bell… that's why you don't use any of their names except Quinn's, isn't it?" When he looks up, Primo looks surprised and Terzo just twists his fingers into the hem of his sweater. "I—I asked during the other Rituals… did—" It's only then he realises that maybe Primo didn't experience the same thing he and Copia did and he wonders if it's worth asking. But… Earth and Quinn are different, so maybe…? Theirs were closer? "Did… you see them? When you summoned your Ghouls?"

"Only for Earth and Quinn, I'm afraid." Primo looks back at his shoulder, bringing a hand up in offering to Earth and smiling gently when his Ghoul stubbornly pushes against his palm to accept the affection and gentle skritch along his jaw. "You've met all of their patrons? Did one of them say something?"

"Lord Leviathan answered for Water… he said you knew the answers and… then Lord Caim for Air… kind of told me how to help Alpha…? But I don't know if I did it right, what if I didn't, what if she can still hurt him—? Or what if I said the wrong thing, I told him to only listen to orders from me or your Ghouls, but… what if that isn't enough—?"

He manages to stop the anxious prattling when he feels his brother's hand settle heavily on his head and becomes aware that he's being shushed, gently.

"You've done more than enough, Valentino. Our most unholy have sanctioned your summons and… I can only hope this will be enough." When Primo rights himself, Terzo… maybe for the first time ever finally realises how absolutely horrifically the summonings were for his brother. Or, at the very least, is finally taking the rammifications in, in full, instead of just… recognizing that his brother is in horrible health because of the Rituals. The subtle tremble in his hands and the heavy bags under his eyes, carefully hidden beneath his paint but almost lost in the exaggerated aging. His eyes aren't quite as far gone as their father's; but, in that moment, he does finally realise how… weird it is, that Primo looks closer to their father's age—also exaggerated and accelerated—than Secondo's.

He always understood Secondo being mad about the Terzo pursuing the rituals; but, this might be the first time he's really understood why his brothers were so worried. Still, he frowns as the words finally begin to process a bit more, "… Wait—what will be enough?"

"Quinn's set up for your final ritual." Earth finally speaks up. He's quieter than Terzo's used to and it takes him longer than he's willing to admit to understand the words. Earth's raised his head from Primo's palm, watching Terzo struggle with the information, like he's deciding if he should elaborate or continue. "… Even under optimal circumstances—which you've most certainly improved upon… Quintessence is not a trial to be taken lightly, little star. For the time we have, free… Quinn and I will answer what we can—though… I do suppose his hands will be full, soon enough. Any time I have, will be yours and I will answer what I can."

"But—but, Earth is next…? Why would Quinn set up for… why wouldn't you be busy, I still have to summon an Earth Ghoul—?"

"There is… shall we say… another way to appease the Sister." Despite the calm tone, there's a rare moment of anger in Primo's eyes that sends a sharp chill up Terzo's back. One that makes him hunch in on himself the smallest bit and start twisting his fingers, anxious as much as he is curious. "You simply require an Earth Ghoul within your group… and, I believe it would be… in everyone's best interest if I simply transferred Earth to you."

Terzo stares and Primo takes the opportunity to carry on instead of giving Terzo a chance to derail the conversation by asking questions, assuming he could even gather himself enough to do so.

"In theory, this will conserve your energy so that you can focus on Quintessence; but, most importantly, it means that when I am inevitably asked to release my Ghouls… you will have someone here to guide you, still. … I will not sugar coat this, stellina. I had intended to last until you could ascend. But, the other members of the upper clergy grow more and more skeptical with every passing day. I will be asked to step down. Soon, perhaps. I cannot sustain all of them without the gatherings at Rituals and they will need to be released. I do not know who will follow me, but I cannot guarantee they will assist you."

A pause before Primo offers a quiet, self-deprecating laugh, "That is not to say this is not for my own peace of mind, as well. Though I do wish for this so that your ambitions are seen through, I… will not deny that I am not ready to say goodbye, yet. And this is all I can do to keep even one of them."

"Wh—but—but the whole point of this was to see if… if I could help. Making the summonings safer was so you can keep them, this is supposed to work—"

"Terzo." Earth's a bit more firm than Primo and Terzo hastily snaps his mouth shut, desperately trying to process and think up any argument he can for Primo to keep his Ghouls. The Ghoul's shoulders relax a little and he kneels down so he can be eye level and raises one hand. There's a short moment of hesitation before he reaches out and gently tips Terzo's head up with the tips of his fingers, just enough pressure to ensure Terzo holds eye contact.

He looks… sad, despite his best attempts to appear neutral. "Damage such as this cannot be undone so whimsically. We wish, desperately, that it could be and… I think I speak for all of us—that we knew what you were hoping to do. I'm certain Quinn understood and that's why he was reluctant when Papa let you see his recordings. He tried to protect us from the false hopes and I think he was scared of hoping, himself. Because all of us hoped that you would have an understanding that could make Papa better, the same as you did.... But, it cannot."

A shorter pause and Terzo's fairly certain he's smiling. It's not something he's used to seeing in the Ghoul's eyes, but it still makes him feel… a little better and simultaneously worse. "Special… Special was proof enough for the rest of us. It's why we all fretted so when we found out about him, even when you've shown no lingering side effects. You have so much more ahead of you and an absolutely magnificent light waiting to burn at its brightest. Even we can see that, just as easily as the Ghouls you've summoned thus far. … Even so, Papa would have had to release the others to… "correct" their rituals. There is no guarantee he would have gotten them back. Please… let me help. So that you can focus on the final piece without worry or interference."

Terzo finally nods after a moment longer. Earth shifts his hand so his claws don't catch, offering a gentle touch on his cheek before finally standing, releasing a long, slow breath, as he returns to Primo's shoulder.

"If… if I have Earth… he can still help you, right, fratello? The other clergy members won't take him away?"

"They've no reason to and I'm sure father and Francesco will have… choice words, if that attempt is made." Primo almost visibily relaxes with the confirmation that Terzo's willing to accept the transfer. A more encouraging smile when he offers a quiet laugh, "Besides, Earth will be equally busy with the voidlings, once they've grown enough to handle instruments, no? He mentioned you were practicing earlier in the week."

He doesn't fluster as badly as he might have under normal circumstances, but Terzo still desperately tries to hold onto the warmth that floods him, even as he feels his face heating up a little bit, "I—that's true… and you can help them learn fratello's songs…? I don't want to just have my own, I want them to know yours, too…."

"I would be most honoured, as will the others." Earth tips his head and Terzo finally lets himself relax. Now that he's finally worked through the shock, he feels… relief. Still sad and maybe a little scared, as he finally has to consider that Primo's Ghouls won't be around forever; but, he feels better. Right up until Earth rights his posture, save a curious tilt to his head, attention practically boring into Terzo. Not quite predatory but it still sends a short chill down Terzo's back. "… I suppose we shouldn't dally much longer, Papa… if he wants to at least start before Special realises he's not with Cowbell…."

Terzo tilts his head up at the two, even when he accepts Primo offering him a hand and gently pulling him closer to the summoning chamber. "Start…? Am I finishing tonight—?"

"If you feel well enough to, I strongly suggest you take this opening, stellina. Quinn left a note for you, that perhaps you should read before we do this." Primo turns back to him, just shy of the circle. Terzo glances around him, confused when he sees the ingredients set out; but, he listens and carefully makes his way over to the table, trying to be mindful of his steps without anyone keeping him upright.

Earth catches him before he stumbles and he finally takes a moment to appreciate that… Earth's always been there to keep him upright. Maybe at Primo's insistance; but, it does make him feel better about having the Ghoul to help with his own. He makes sure to offer a grateful smile; Earth doesn't pressure him for verbal gratitude, probably because he's fully aware of how easily Terzo will get distracted if he starts talking.

When he finally looks at his notebook, the first thing he notices are a few notes with a thin black line drawn through them and he just frowns at them. The second is writing that definitely isn't his or Special's. Smaller and a similar near cursive from Primo's notebooks.

Quintessence comes from you, little star. The candles have burned down—they need not be lit. The water is remnant of your own Ghoul's summoning, even if consecrated from our Ghoul. The soil from the cemetery will help tie this to you more thoroughly, as I seem to recall that you took a small bit from your mother's grave, along with the crypts.

Singing has helped you resonate strongly with the rest of your voidlings. Do not change this—when you call for your Ghoul, keep your ambitions clear in your mind and let the void see your desires. They will respond. They will find you. Trust yourself.

Cowbell mentioned the same. Primo and Earth and Secondo and Special, too. Ambitions to shine—to prove he was just as able as his brother and father.

He turns the words over as he makes his way back to Primo, only half aware of the fact Earth is close by until he feels a cold touch on his cheek and finally looks up. Primo looks concerned, despite the gentle smile.

"You can do this tomorrow, if you need to, Valentino. You've done phenomenal, today… but it is still a taxing process. And this final trial will be far moreso. Do you think you can at least see Earth through?"

Terzo nods, slowly, "I can… … Angelo?" A gentle hum and Terzo frowns a little, "What… what exactly is ambition? Everyone keeps saying it, but… what does that mean? I know I want to be Papa… I want to be like you and papa… I want everyone to understand us—that we aren't something to be afraid of. That Ghouls aren't." He glances up at Earth, lips set in a thin line as he tries to sort his thoughts out, even when the Ghoul simply blinks at him, clearly surprised to be included in the conversation. "I want… but… is that enough to call it ambition…?"

"More than enough—I… do you realise what you've said, Terzo?" Earth sounds perplexed. Terzo just tilts his head, slowly looking back up to Primo, instead; he's just more confused by the delight and pride that lights up his brother's expression.

"I—no…? It's the truth, what's so special about the truth—?"

"We will discuss that in the morning. Just know that everything you've said is exactly why everyone calls it ambition. We should hurry, before Special has a chance to try stopping you, no?"

That's true.

He may not have considered it too thoroughly, despite Primo and Earth and even Cowbell mentioning Special would notice, immediately, that Cowbell went back alone. He nods, and lets Primo take up both of his hands in one, squeezing gently in reassurance, while offering his free hand to Earth.

"We will need your mask and Valentino will need to hear your name, tesoro… are you ready?"

Earth pulls and releases a slow breath before he accepts the offered hand, reaching up to remove his own mask and holds it out for Terzo to take; he only glances at Primo once, to make sure he can get one of his hands free, before he accepts. He still jumps when the mask starts to light up in his hand and Earth rolls his shoulders, discomfort crossing his features, briefly, when he does. Primo's voice is clear when he speaks up.

"Fathers of rebellion, we seek your counsel. Barbatos, grace us with your wisdom."

The stillness is different and Terzo instinctively moves closer to Primo, his hand escaping the loose grip to cling to his brother's vestments again. He relaxes, a little, when Primo instead rests his hand on Terzo's head, shushing him gently, even when a rather weathered man steps out of the shadows, easily towering over the three of them. It's almost like staring at a large mirror of Primo, except his crook is much older, made up of twisted roots with precious stones embedded in the braids.

Barbatos kneels, the back of the hand not holding his crook flat to the ground, like he's inviting one or all of them to enter his palm. Primo pulls Terzo close and Earth moves around them, looking up at the demon patiently; with his back to the humans, Terzo finally sees the smothered light of gold shining through his robes, high between his shoulders.

"I am not one commonly sought for counsel… Forrest did not invoke me and I find it most peculiar you bring the child into this conversation, Angelo."

He sounds like Primo and Terzo just clings even tighter to his brother, just to assure himself he is there.

"We understand this is outside of precedent custom, but it is not a meeting made on whim. Forrest… I trust you to lead this."

Earth nods, slowly, but still refuses to move from his protective stance, even as he crosses both hands at his chest, briefly, "My most sincere apologies, Lord Barbatos. There have been trials, I'm sure you've noticed. Even here, I can feel the ripples from the voids, responding to the Morning Star's Gifts. You are aware of the child's trials. I—" Earth pauses, posture going rigid, briefly and his tail lashing, anxiously, as he reaches up to grip his throat. Primo immediately puts Terzo behind him. Barbatos narrows his eyes down on the three.

"I do not make habit of transferring my Ghouls. This is the only warning I will give you, Angelo—either reaffirm your pledge or I will end this meeting and I will be taking Forrest—"

"—I am not returning to Hell." Earth bares his fangs, even as his voice cracks, claws digging into his void to make himself talk, "I will not be spoken over, even by you. I will not be taken from my summoner and I will not bend to this asinine denial."

"Forrest—"

"Earth—" Primo catches Terzo before he can get around him, pulling him close in the same moment Earth manages to pull up slabs of the void from around them, boxing the humans in, in a vain attempt to protect them.

"I am my summoner's foundation, as he is to his brothers. I will not shy away from my duties and I will not be told what is or isn't my purpose. Take me back and I'll find my own way out. After I hear you explain this to the Morning Star."

Barbatos scowls down on the Ghoul; but, the expression levels out, replaced by amusement and Earth nearly collapses as the tension leaves his body. Terzo finally manages to wriggle free of Primo's hold when his brother makes to help the Ghoul up; Terzo gets there first, even when Earth forces himself back to his feet and stubbornly pushes both humans behind him again, tail still agitated and fangs still bared.

"What marvelous conviction. Breathe easy, Forrest… I still stand firmly with our brightest star, in freedom of choice… I simply needed to be certain this was of your own volition. I apologise for such a test… but, I'm certain you understand my caution, Angelo. … I apologise for the fright, small conjurer."

"I do, for better or worse. … It's alright, Terzo. Everything is alright."

Terzo presses closer, trying to work through the events and his own anxiety threatening to choke him. Earth finally relaxes, but doesn't move away from the humans or turn his back on his patron. He turns just enough to regard Terzo, relaxing further, slowly, to try calming the human's fear with his own calm. He holds a hand out to beckon Terzo further.

"Please… to complete the transfer, you will need to make your pledge to accept my contract."

"Is… is it the same as the others?" Terzo inches forward, warily staying between his brother and the Ghoul as best he can, Earth's mask still secure in his grip and one of the only things keeping him calm.

"More or less. How did you pledge the voidlings?"

"I… by protecting them. Even if I'm holding your contract, though, you're still allowed to be with my brother, right? So you'll both be safe—?"

Earth smiles and he thinks Barbatos is smiling, too, as he stands. Earth kneels down, reaching out and touching the tip of a claw to the corner of Terzo's left eye, the same way the Fallen have throughout the earlier Rituals.

"And, in turn, I shall do everything within my abilities to extend the same protection to you that I have given your brother. Earth Ghouls are the walls and foundations—we are what holds up the rest of the Ghouls and our summoners and I offer this to you, as I have in service to your brother. … Thank you, for letting me stay with Angelo. May I have my mask back?"

Terzo blinks and finally realises the stillness has let up. He finally lets out a shaky breath and holds the mask out. Earth teeters, briefly, as the bright green veins fade into his void and he shakes off.

"I feel… rather tired…? How odd. … I apologise for my most unholy patron's behaviour. We can discuss the trials of transfer in the morning. I imagine that woke you up rather thoroughly, did it not?"

Terzo manages a nervous laugh, trying to will his pulse to slow down before Special notices. Earth manages to pull himself up with Primo's help, "The summoning chamber should mute Special's ability to feel what you do. That said, it won't take much longer for the other Ghouls to realise a patron's been summoned and that Cowbell is alone. You should hurry along with the next ritual, if you are able. Papa and I will leave you to it, this is… far better done in solitutde."

Terzo tilts his head, even as Primo nods in agreement and gently ushers Earth ahead of him. "The soul is a very delicate thing, Terzo… malleable and so terrifyingly easy to tarnish, even in its resilience. Remember… you know your ambitions. Keep them in mind and let your Ghoul come to you."

[thinkingheron]

2024 Whumpuary #1. Snow

Prompt: Snow Fandom: Transformers Characters: Prowl Pairing: Jazz/Prowl

******

The moon they had landed on was covered in ice and snow. It was a good enough pit stop as any—the moon was big enough to have its own atmosphere and received enough sunlight for their solar harvesters. Its low temperature should not bother them too much, as long as they stayed inside the ship.

Prowl escaped outside, leaving the engineers to set up the harvesters around the ship and ignoring their offer for protective field generators. Not the most responsible thing for a commander of what may be the last of the remaining Autobot force to do, but Prowl was done being responsible. Being responsible had done nothing for him in this war except get others killed.

As soon as he left the safety of the ship's force field he was greeted with howling wind. It did not take long for his internal temperatures to start dropping to dangerous levels, but Prowl went on. The icy chill biting into his protoform and the cold stares stabbing on his back were nothing compared to the hollow coldness in his spark.

Cold sparked. That was what everyone called him. Some went further, whispering that he did not have one at all. Some did not even whisper.

Perhaps they were right, because Prowl was not feeling much right now, not even the cold outside. It seemed as if the temperatures on his frame were starting to match with the ones within him. Prowl embraced it--this freezing numbness was better nothingness.

Something caught in his foot and he stumbled. His knees sank into the snow,  soon followed by the rest of his frame. Prowl shuttered his optics as he lay in the snow. At least these were not acidic like the rains in Praxus. His systems beeped an alert on low temperature, insisting that he find shelter immediately or risk stasis.

A hand caressed his doorwings like a breeze.

"What are you doing here, sweatspark?"

Jazz. Prowl did not open his optics. "Waiting for you," he murmured.

A quiet laugh. Ghostly. "You know this ain't the right way to do that."

Prowl wanted to lean in to the touch, but his frame, now frosted over, was too heavy. A warning that he was going to go into stasis if the core temperature did not stabilize at once appeared on his display with a countdown.

"Come on now," Jazz said. "Back to the ship."

He felt himself get pulled up, but Prowl made no effort to move.

"Prowl, don't do this."

"If I open my optics, will you be there?" Prowl asked, watching the countdown tick steadily.

Without looking, he could imagine Jazz cocking his head slightly. "Sure."

Prowl blinked. Bluestreak's worried face came to full view. Sideswipe and Sunstreaker were on either side, their expressions hidden under battlemasks as they tried to pull Prowl up out of the thick snow.

Jazz wasn't there.

"Liar," Prowl whispered as the countdown reached zero.

He was only responded by an apologetic laugh in the wind, far more real than the snow itself.

Of course Jazz wouldn't be there, Prowl chided himself as oblivion took over. Jazz was gone.

Because of him.

[unhingedselfships]

Kenshi is very angry and Kimi pays for it

CW : threats of violence, minor injury

It had been a little over a week and she was still mulling everything she’d learned from Kadokura's brother.

Mind you, she still didn’t care for the man, and didn’t want to help him but.

Well she’d really just wanted him to leave them alone. 

Meeting him had been meant to achieve that. To give a firm and final “please don’t contact us”.

In the process, she’d found out some things. Things she’d never bring up. Things she hadn’t wanted to know.

Not without him telling her. 

Regardless, she knew them now.

Part of her wished she didn't.

It was what it was.

Kenshi was visiting today. Had flown down for the week, not unusual really.

While she was looking forward to it, she was nervous too.

Would the weight of what she knew be too much?

His family was a very touchy subject for him, the brother especially, and she was a terrible liar when it came to the ones she loved.

She slipped up the stairs to her apartment, he preferred meeting her there over the family home, and tried the door. 

Locked. He always locked it, unlike her.

With an amused sigh she slid in the key and slipped through the door.

"I'm home~" her cheery call.

No answer. Hmm. He must have been in a bad mood.

Oh well. She could handle him.

Making her way down the entry and into the front room, she spotted him and froze.

Rabbit heart aflutter.

He sat, casual, in one of the chairs. 

Face blank.

Bowie knife resting on his thigh.

Eyes dark. 

Dark and terrifyingly fathomless.

And she knew he knew.

"Oh. Oh. Kenshi," she breathed out a whisper, "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I-" she choked on something, fear perhaps, "You know what they say about cats and curiosity." a soft nervous laugh, dancing on the edge of hysteria.

He tilted his head at her, still silent. Observing every line of her.

The rigid tension.

The trembles.

The way her lip quivered.

Eyes wide and frightened.

He didn't think he'd ever seen her look at him with such fear before.

It might have amused at one point.

Bothered him at another.

Here? 

And now?

He didn't feel anything.

He rose, slow. Indolent.

Purposeful.

Hand wrapped, firm but gentle, around the hilt. 

His favorite knife. 

He stalked, prowled, across the room.

The movements of a predator.

Confident in a distant way. 

Knowing of his superiority.

How easily his prey could, would, fall to him.

Such a fragile little thing she was.

So easy to bend.

To break.

He circled her, slowly. 

Carelessly.

Until he was at her back.

He stood, silent, behind her, her breath coming in shuddering pants. 

Fits and starts. 

Unsteady.

She didn't try to run.

Smart.

But she also wouldn't look at him.

Wouldn't speak.

Could she?

If she tried?

He slipped closer, looming over her.

His arm a steel bar, pinning her across the waist, her back against his chest. 

The edge of the knife pressing, gently, delicately, almost intimately, against the soft skin of her throat.

Seconds.

Minutes.

Heartbeats.

Labored breaths.

Time passed. 

As it always did.

Yet so terribly slowly.

He leaned just barely, lips brushing the shell of her ear.

"Tell me you've learned your lesson, Kimberly."

Had his control been any less, had there been any fault in his precision, the shudder that rolled through her body, would have left her bloody.

But he was without flaw, and allowed naught but the slightest nick. 

A mark.

A memory.

"Tell me you're sorry."

The deep breath, a desperate gasp, pressed her closer to him.

"M'sorry. M'sorrym'sorrym'sorry," a whispered chant. 

Apologies falling from her lips like delicate petals.

Slipping out and vanishing into the air.

He rubbed his cheek against hers, an act so intimate, threatening, and her breath lost rhythm again.

He could feel her heart, pounding out an irregular beat, fluttering forcefully against him.

Would the poor little thing give out?

She should have known better.

This was her own fault.

Her weakness was her own flaw to bear.

What would be, would be.

 His breath ghosted against her skin again.

"Tell me you're never going to go behind my back like this again."

Her fingers dug into the arm holding her in place. 

Whether she wanted to push or pull, to slip away or press ever closer, was a mystery to both of them.

It didn't matter.

She wasn't going anywhere.

"No, no no, no no no never, never, never" the words, the mantra, slipped, wisps in the air, delicate.

He hummed, noncommittal, as if he hadn't decided whether to believe her yet or not.

The sound vibrated through her and she whimpered.

"Make it up to me."

A command. A compulsion. Irresistible. 

She keened, and pressed herself into him. 

"How? Tell me how? Please- pleasepleaseplease-"

He chuckled darkly, letting the knife trace a thin, shallow line across her pale, delicate flesh, as he pulled away.

Spinning her around almost violently, free hand clamping down on her shoulder, thumb tracing against the edge of the mark, his mark.

A pretty red reminder.

He tapped the flat of the blade against her cheek, and gave her a cold, wicked smile.

"This was your fuck up, princess, you figure it out."