#the shot of the ritual looks sick as hell

[silent-stories]

𝐒𝐇𝐀𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐄𝐃 𝐁𝐎𝐓𝐓𝐋𝐄𝐒

Pairing: Eddie x GN!Reader

Summary: Eddie's father didn't react well when Eddie accidentally dropped a bottle on the ground and years later, he still expects a violent reaction to an incident like this.

Warnings: violence (eddie gets beaten by his dad), blood, angst, fluff.

Eddie slowly opened his bedroom door, careful not to make too much noise and looked around, trying to identify the figure of the man who had returned home about an hour before, around three in the morning.

Probably, it was not a suitable time for a father of a seven-year-old boy and husband of a dying woman in hospital to come back home, even Eddie understood that.

He used to come back home late and drunk when his mother was still with them and he didn't stop doing it even when she got sick.

The blue socks on Eddie's feet cushioned the few steps he took forward, in the dark. His sleepy gaze, due to the late hour, scanned the room as he brushed aside a curl that had fallen over his eyes with his small, thin fingers.

His hair was getting too long again, he knew his father would soon order him to cut it.

The man's snores were guttural, punctuated by occasional coughs that rattled the room. The bottle lay discarded on the floor, its contents drained, a silent witness to the nightly ritual.

The television flickered in the corner, casting eerie shadows on the walls. Eddie’s mother’s favorite show played—a distraction from the harsh reality outside. But she wasn’t there to watch it anymore.

Eddie knew that when his father woke up in the morning, he wouldn't remember the bottle of whiskey left at his feet and would most likely drop it when he got up.

Only a few weeks earlier it had happened and Al had blamed it on the boy, saying that when he saw the bottle, the kid should have picked it up and thrown it in the trash when he was sleeping.

Eddie walked over to the couch where his father lay and grabbed the bottle in his hands. It was sticky and had a smell that the boy had found nauseating at the time.

He headed towards the kitchen, thinking whether he should leave it on the table, throw it in the bin with the remnants of the reheated pizza he had eaten for dinner, or go out and throw it in the rubbish bin on the street in front of the house.

The TV program came to an end and the screen went black for a few seconds, plunging the room into total darkness.

Eddie was sure that chair was a few steps ahead, he could have sworn it.

Probably, he should have waited for the light on the screen to return before taking any more steps.

His body hit the chair. The bottle slipped from his hands.

The glass shattered into a thousand pieces, emitting a deafening sound in the silence of the night and the man who was previously sleeping thoughtfully woke up with a start.

"What the hell..."

The child's eyes filled with tears even before his father reached him, staggering.

"What the hell did you do!?" The man barked, his deep voice seeming capable of shaking all the doors in the house.

"I'm sorry! I just wanted to throw away the bottle and I didn't-"

The man's fist came in contact with Eddie's face before he could finish his sentence.

The boy stumbled back, leaning against the wall behind him to keep himself from falling on the ground.

A terrible pain spread across one side of his face and he felt something warm dripping from his nose, the blood mixed with tears that he couldn't hold back.

“You never do anythin' right.” His father spat out.

Eddie sniffed, his lower lip trembling as he spoke. "I'm sorry, I-"

"Shut up!" Al shouted from a few inches away from the child's tear-stained face.

Eddie closed his eyes and held his breath, waiting for a second shot that didn't come. A sob escaped his lips and the fear that another punch would come soon didn't go away.

“Look at you,” Al chuckled, “weepin' like a girl.”

"I-I'm sorry-"

“You keep fucking sayin' that but you're doing nothin' to fix your mess!” The father shouted, grabbing the kid by the shoulder, with a grip too firm that would surely have left a bruise, pushing him towards the place where the bottle had fallen.

"Clean up." Al ordered.

Eddie nodded, knowing his voice wouldn't come out the way he wanted it to.

The silence received in response only further angered the man who, after reaching the child again, grabbed his face with one hand, squeezing it between his fingers.

"What is wrong with you? I said fucking clean up."

"Yes- sir." The boy sobbed.

Al released him with one last push, gave him one last look before heading towards his bedroom while the boy tried not to step on the pieces of glass around the room, which would easily pierce his old socks.

"Useless, fucking useless" Eddie heard his father say, "He can never do anything fucking right."

Finally, he closed the door of his room behind him and, only after Eddie heard the sound of his snoring reaching all the way to the kitchen, he started sobbing like he had never done in his life.

He spent the last hours of the night and early morning cleaning the pieces of bottles from the floor- cutting his hands two or three times in the process- and wiping away the drops of blood that his nose had left there.

He went to bed when the sun was already up, his hands had been bandaged as best he could and his nose had finally stopped bleeding.

The sound of the bottle shattering and his father's shouts seemed to haunt him even during his sleep.

That was the case for several days.

The memory of that night has never been erased. Not even thirteen years later.

"Eddie, we didn't buy any basil!" You exclaimed, looking up from the open recipe book on the table. “I knew we forgot something!”

The kitchen was warm, the aroma of simmering tomato sauce filling the air as Eddie stood by the counter, his hands dicing onions.

You were surprised that he hadn't cut any of his fingers yet and that he seemed to be putting all his effort into the task you assigned him.

"I have all kinds at home, if you really wanna add some... herbs."

You threw a rag at his head, making him laugh under the fabric.

"Hey!" He complained.

"What does "hey" mean? You wanted to put fucking drugs in my sauce!"

"“I thought that was our sauce.” He smirked.

You laughed at the way he said it, as if he was actually offended and hadn't spent the last hour laughing even though he was chopping onions.

“It depends, are you done with those?”

Eddie rolled his eyes. "All yours, my lady."

When he turned around, his elbow accidentally hit the glass bottle of olive oil, making it crash onto the tiled floor.

You never do anything right

Shards scattered like stars, reflecting the dim light.

After the sudden deafening noise caused by the bottle, the room seemed almost too quiet. He felt your gaze on him, but he didn't dare meet your eyes.

His heart raced, memories of that childhood night flooding back. His father’s rage, the jagged edges of broken glass, and the fear that had etched itself into his soul. Eddie clenched his fists, berating himself for his clumsiness.

His hands shook, the tremors echoing the chaos within. The room seemed to close in, the walls pressing against him. He suddenly felt like couldn’t breathe.

“Shit,” he muttered, his voice barely audible, "I'm sorry."

You keep fucking saying that but you're doing nothing to fix your mess.

He knew you weren't like him, not even remotely. He knew that he was no longer with him, that he was far away, that he couldn't hurt him.

What is wrong with you?

Despite this, he held his breath for a moment without even realizing it, as if he expected you to yell at him, to insult him, to tell him that he was no good at anything.

Useless, fucking useless.

"Shit, I have to clean up." He breathed, ducking ready to grab the pieces of glass with his hands.

He didn't even notice when you knelt in front of him, almost without making any noise.

Your touch was gentle as your hand met his, preventing him from grabbing the glass pieces.

"Hey. You're gonna cut yourself."

Your voice was calm and sweet, your tone almost sounded like one someone would use with a scared animal.

You weren't mad at him. You knew something was wrong with his reaction, and you weren't mad at him.

"But-"

“It’s okay,” you said softly. “Just a bottle.”

Your thumb ran over the back of his hand, drawing a couple of circles.

Eddie thought he might burst into tears right there in the middle of the kitchen covered in bottle pieces.

He expected anger, frustration, maybe even a shout. Instead, you reached for a dustpan, your hand never leaving his. Together, you swept up some of the shards, the silence broken only by the soft clink of glass. Eddie’s breaths steadied, and he realized that maybe, it was going to be okay.

His words stuttered when he spoke, still caught between vulnerability and fear. “You’re not mad?” he asked, his voice raw.

“No,” you replied, you gaze steady, still soft as ever. “I’m not mad and I have no reason to be. I don't know what was going through your head and I'll be here if you ever want to tell me, but really, it's just a bottle for me. It's okay. We’ll clean this up together.”

Your smile has always been one of the most beautiful sights for Eddie and in that situation even more so, if possible.

He couldn't help but gently push you against him and leave a light kiss on your forehead, without saying a single word. Now he knew you understood him even without them.

In your small kitchen covered in broken glass, Eddie realized that it was impossible to erase certain bad memories but that, if you gave him the opportunity, he would spend the rest of his life creating new ones with you.

When you finished cleaning and the sun went down, neither of you really cared that you hadn't finished cooking.

When you went to bed, Eddie held you a little tighter than usual.

His dad was no longer part of his life.

You were. And you loved him.

Eddie didn't need anything else.

A "thank you" was whispered during the night.

Tags: @jacklesbrainworms @morning-sky7 @pipsqueakkitten @navs-bhat @michaelfuckinglangdon @flawiette @needylilgal022 @bubsonnobx @yujyujj @findmeincorneliastreet @kennedy-brooke @witchwolflea

[cuubism]

Like the Foxglove to the Hummingbird

Dreamling, E rated, Fertility Rituals, Sex Magic, Canon-verse, Soulmates-of-sorts Theirs was a long love affair, Hob and the concept of dreaming.

--

Children were born dreamers. Naturals at seeing what could be instead of what was, at touching the innate fantasy and magic of the world, finding it and building it in their play and in their stories. They lost the knack for it as they aged, as the harsh realities and responsibilities of the world intruded—but in their youths, they were looking towards the sky.

Not Hob Gadling.

Hob never had the knack for it. He saw too much, too young: neighbor boys cut down by swords, and just-born babes starving in the winter cold, and good people who tried to help the sick struck down by the same plague. Family, friends, whole villages. Muck was what it was, muck it would stay, and no use harping on dreams when one had to survive.

But survive Hob did, when so many others did not. Hob hit adulthood, and the world still lay before him in all its wasted glory. Hob did not know hope, had no acquaintance with some high fantasy life somewhere far away from here. But Hob did know good ale, good friends, the warmth of a fireplace on a cold night; the rush of stepping off a battlefield with all his limbs intact, and the sweet moans of a lass as he plumbed her secret places for the first time. Hob knew the turning of the sun, and the gentle nicker of a horse that had given him its trust— and heaven might have been a crap shot, Hell not even worth thinking of, but there were dreams down there in the muck, if one was willing to trust in life. 

Hob believed not in progress or a better world, or a grand arc of history that bent toward justice. He only believed that there would be a tomorrow, and that something there would be worth sticking around for. 

Hob Gadling was not born a dreamer, but he chose to become one. And later, Hob would think that someone out there must have had a sense of humor—for they saw fit to send this scrappy, self-made dreamer, of all people, an actual dream.

—

The creature that stopped before Hob could have stepped out of a dream. Only later would Hob know how right he had been in that thought. For now, all he knew was that the most ethereal thing was standing over him, querying him, challenging him. And Hob was inclined to meet that challenge, to push onwards, he always was.

Besides, his dream creature was so pretty. And he looked at Hob with such fixation. Like Hob had plucked some string within him he hadn’t known was there, and he was trying to pick out the notes of that song.

Hob was challenged to return, to meet him again. And he would. Hob wanted to meet him again. To touch this being that had come down off its cloud. He felt like he was meant to.

In truth, he wanted to have him now. To lure this strange creature who was challenging him not to die out behind the tavern and— no, that certainly wasn’t good enough for this dream of a thing, he would have to find a proper room, he would want to do this properly.

Hob would make him feel so good if only he wanted. It struck him like a blow, that wanting. A peek at something he wasn’t yet meant to touch.

But he could be patient. Hob wasn’t often patient, but he could be, for this. He would meet this stranger again, and find out why. Get a proper look at what he had only glimpsed.

He told his dream creature as much. Grinned at the self-satisfied smile that was returned to him. His strange creature might not believe him, that he would come back, that he wouldn’t give up. But Hob had made his choice long before they had met, and wasn’t inclined to change it.

—

That night Hob’s dreams were a swirl of hands and skin and wet kisses. Of his stranger’s dark hair and sharp eyes, teeth set to his inner thighs, the tang of his spend in Hob’s mouth. The contortion of his stranger’s body under his, and his long fingers, and his soft moans. Pain and pleasure. Taking and being taken. The hook of joined bodies.

Hob disrobed a thin frame and unveiled a marvel, wrapped his arms around a narrow waist and kissed soft hair, murmured words he wouldn’t remember, had his stranger in the room above the tavern, in his seat at the table, in a great bed he couldn’t identify, held him, ravished him, again and again, wet lips, aching thighs, his stranger’s cries dragged from deep within him.

Hob woke feeling ruined. If that was what dreaming was like, well. Maybe he would keep to it.

—

Choice being made, dreaming came naturally to Hob after that—in his own fashion. He was no writer, no artist, though he did come to enjoy stories. He was no particular believer in divinity or magic. And Hob did not dwell on fantasies or powers beyond what was attainable to him in this life—a way out of soldiering for a living, a proper trade, then simple riches and social stability, and finally a family to call his own again. No use dwelling on the unreal, when there was such to be had here, if only one persisted long enough.

(Only occasionally did Hob mull on the unreal. The unreal of his stranger. Only when his life brushed up against his stranger’s did Hob’s dreams spiral out briefly into the cosmos, for something about his stranger inferred the fantastical, the unnatural, the darkest darks and lightest lights reachable or unreachable to the human mind. He thought that his stranger had seen things on this earth that would be unimaginable to a man like him who had spent all his life in one certain corner of the world. They were discovering new corners every day, and his stranger had been to all of them, Hob thought. Had touched every fantastical creature spoken of in stories, dragons and unicorns and great beasts under the sea. If the moon was travel-able, he had been there, too.

But this was a flight of fancy, a little story; Hob had no ambitions, no hopes, of touching any such things himself—strange enough already, for his life to touch his stranger’s.)

And when their paths parted again, diverging along the counterpointed sound waves of their lives to intersect again only a century hence, said fancies faded again to the background and Hob’s dreams returned to their mundane heights.

— 

The first time Hob actually longed for his stranger, his dream, longed rather than just wanted him, was in the mid-1600s. Broken, filthy, lying in a gutter somewhere starving, he would think of his mysterious stranger swooping in to rescue him. Materializing from the very shadows Hob languished in, sweeping his imperial coat from his shoulders and draping it over Hob’s rags. Coming to him as some awesome beast, a great black unicorn, perhaps, for their touch was said to heal—and resting the tip of his horn on Hob’s head like a strange knighting, banishing the many bruises from his skin. Appearing, even, as the night itself, and softening the sharp edges of the darkness. Whisking him away, maybe, to some faraway land. Just for a little while.

Hob’s hallucinations brought him to many strange places. Made him long for a touch he had never felt.

Looking back on this later, from a time when he knew who his dream truly was, Hob would wonder if it wasn't the ability to dream itself that he had truly been missing. He never gave up on life, but dreams felt distant from him then, even the modest ones he had been accustomed to. And Hob’s chosen love affair with dreaming had been long by now, and he missed the press of it along his side like a lover’s warm body, a bed gone cold.

It was only when he saw his dream again that he touched it once again—the presence of dreams. It was so easy, then, when his dream asked if he wished to live.

—

A century later, Hob’s longing somehow brought him here—a borrowed bed in a particular inn, his borrowed stranger bobbing between his legs. His fine fingers wrapped around Hob’s thighs, his fine lips around his cock, swallowing him down like ambrosia. Hob couldn’t quite replay the steps that had gotten him here in this state, but he knew he was on borrowed time, that he would soon have to give his stranger back to whatever unfathomable business he came from—so he decided not to overthink it and just let the dream of it all wrap around him. A memory to carry until next time, a brilliant fantasy brought to earth.

He spilled in his stranger’s mouth, half-delirious with the heat of it and the shift of his throat as he swallowed, and scrabbled blindly for his stranger’s arms, drawing him up into a mashing kiss before he’d even had a chance to wipe his mouth.

His dear stranger whined into his mouth, composure broken, and Hob only hoped he knew that this was a sacred space, that nothing would leave these walls, that Hob knew how dearly he held his armor and wouldn’t take it away from him—that he felt blessed to touch such a thing at all—

“Hob,” breathed his stranger, voice all cracked stone, and Hob wrapped a hand around the back of his neck, held him close, slipped his other hand between them to take him in hand.

“Shh,” he hushed, stroking him in quick twisting motions, not meaning to leave him in suspense any longer. “I have you, s’alright.”

“I would have been fine without your intervention,” panted his stranger, face pressed to Hob’s throat now as he squirmed so beautifully in Hob’s grasp. “I would have—”

“Oh, don’t I know it, dearling,” Hob consoled. “I’m sure you could have wiped the whole inn off the map if you wanted, hm?”

“Yes. I—” He let out a strangled sort of whimper, muffled into Hob’s neck, as Hob twisted his hand just so. And when Hob finally made him come, he stumbled over the edge of it with a surprised sound, like Hob had caught him off guard, and pressed his face even further into Hob’s neck, fingers grasping restlessly at Hob’s sides.

Hob soothed him through it. “Shh, sweet thing.”

His stranger grumbled against his skin. “You need not placate me so.”

“Want to, though. So pretty, you are, it makes a man say terrible things.” Dangerous things.

“Hmm.” His stranger subsided, and they lay there for a time, loosely entwined. Finally, he said, “I cannot stay long.”

Hob couldn’t hide the disappointed note in his reply. “I figured as much.”

“My responsibilities are great,” said his stranger.

Hob wondered what those responsibilities might be. He still didn’t know who his stranger was. He hadn’t even gotten a name.

“I know,” he said, voice tight.

Not long after that, his stranger was gone again, though for the first time, he seemed genuinely reluctant to leave.

Hob held the memory of that night close in the coming years. He didn’t know exactly what it meant yet, him and his stranger, his dream, but he knew it was something more than a casual tangle of bodies. He knew their paths had collided for a reason, even if that reason was only that it gave them both comfort, something to cling to.

He came back to that night again and again, mulled on the memory of his stranger in the years before they met again. Perhaps, when that day came, Hob would find a way to express even a small fraction of what he thought they could be to each other.

That day did come, and Hob said so. Gave his stranger a small window into his feelings since their union—since they had met, really. Called him friend, called him dear one, expressed how he wanted to care for him.

These sentiments were not taken well by the strange creature Hob had bedded. He recoiled from the name friend, from Hob’s insinuation that there might be anything real there, something more than fleeting. He fled from it, nearly in tears, leaving Hob bereft and wondering what he was supposed to do when his heart was increasingly captured by a being that did not want him back, did not want even to hear of it.

Hob was hardly going to ask for his hand in marriage. He wouldn’t even ask him to stay. All he wanted was the slightest acknowledgement that there was anything there between them.

But how dare he, to ask him to say that it meant something. 

—

Many stopped dreaming in the 20th century, but not Hob. Later he would learn it was because of Dream’s absence, this collective loss in the ability to dream. But Hob kept dreaming, because his dreams were never tied to sleep anyway—always to the real world, the one he properly lived in. Nor were his dreams tied to his stranger, not truly, for all that he usually left their meetings feeling a bizarre mix of devastating loss and unique excitement for the years ahead. 

When his stranger walked out at their last meeting, all he felt was the devastating loss. It lodged in his chest and kept him company through the years, like a bullet that had stuck in him and couldn’t be carved out. But he didn’t stop dreaming, of his stranger’s return that he so fervently hoped for, of new inventions across the century whose stories he could share, of the end of each war, of change, always so invigorating to watch happen around him. Hob was still dreaming, pain didn’t stop it, hadn’t since that terrifying period three hundred years ago, and even if his stranger never returned—he wouldn’t give it up.

He might nurse the wound forever like a longing widower, but he wouldn’t give up.

And Hob would be glad he didn’t, for, cliche as it felt, not giving up on his dreams got him his dream back.

—

“I missed you,” Hob said, not for the first time, on the night his dream returned. He’d managed to lure his just-returned friend, his Dream, he now knew, upstairs with him, despite their parting, and now had Dream lying across the couch with his head in Hob’s lap. So much more than he’d thought he would be allowed, this tenderness. But Dream had explained, somewhat reluctantly, that he was tired, that his realm was tired, desolate, damaged—and perhaps that was all this was. Seeking sanctuary, rest, nourishment.

“I am missing you more the longer I lie here,” Dream said, his low voice a purr against Hob’s thighs. “It seems that. My time away was… illustrative of more than one misstep.”

“Oh?” That unexpected admission lodged itself in Hob’s heart, piercing right between his ribs. To think that such a thing as Dream might want him back…

“Stay, then,” he said, and ran a hand through Dream’s feathersoft hair. “And get tangled up. If you want to.”

“And miss this more when I must go?”

“And come back,” Hob said. “Yeah.”

Dream let out a long sigh that seemed to carry the weight of the world in it. “Very well. I will come back, then.”

And Hob drew a blanket over him, and kept petting his hair, offering what comfort he could as his heart leapt and sang.

—

Hob no longer quite knew what dreaming was, because every day merged the real and imaginary. His stranger, his Dream, once only in the stories in the back of his head, walked beside him now. Drank tea in his kitchen and shared his bed. And in his dreams, too, they walked, through strange vistas and sentimental places. It was the culmination of a long, twining pathway, the both of theirs, where Hob stepped through the Dreaming like a second home he had always known he was meant to walk. Met Dream, daily, at that turnstile between sleeping and waking, where things blurred and slid and he felt, sometimes, he might be able to pull dreamstuff right through into the waking world.

And one day, hovering on those cloudy crossroads, Dream said, “There are some particularly strong dreamers in this world.”

“Oh, yeah?” Hob drifted back to wakefulness from where he was falling asleep against Dream’s side, fingers lazily combing his hair.

Dream was lying beside him on his back, stilled in thought. Hob wished he would relax. Though Dream’s manners of relaxing could be strange. “You are one of them.”

Hob pushed himself up on sleep-heavy arms. Dream’s expression was considered, but he was staring off into his own thoughts, or into an echo of the Dreaming perhaps, rather than at Hob. “Huh?” Hob said eloquently. “But I’m not like. An artist or anything. You have no idea how unfantastical I am.” 

“Art is only one manner of dreaming,” Dream said. He looped his arm around Hob’s shoulders and started rubbing there, though he still seemed lost in thought. “Though admittedly I have focused much on creating inspiration in that realm in the past. An oversight on my part, perhaps.” 

“What are other types of dreaming?” Hob asked, rather than asking what Dream meant about him being a strong dreamer.

“Much of dreaming is passive, and all sentient beings have the right to a place in the Dreaming when they sleep,” said Dream. “But there are also those who bring dreams to the waking world. Enact my power here, as it were. Art, literature, theater, storytelling, these are forms of strong dreaming, of course. But striving to enact positive change in the world against great opposition and the pull of Despair is also a form of dreaming. Invention is a form of dreaming. Love is a form of dreaming.” He smirked. “Perhaps I will reclaim it from Desire.”

Dreams and Desire fighting over the concept of Love, Hob thought, head spinning. That was a tussle that had been happening for a long time with no end in sight, he thought.

Still, he didn’t know what this had to do with him, unless Dream meant the way that Hob loved Dream, but he didn’t think that was all of it. 

“I have recently been reminded that living is also a form of dreaming,” Dream explained, sensing Hob’s question. “Persistence. Stubbornness. You love life, Hob. No matter how it tries to prove it is undeserving.”

“That counts as dreaming in your book?” Hob said, dumbstruck. 

Dream ran a hand through his hair with a tiny smile. “Very much so. And the Dreaming loves you. It feeds off your presence.”

“Feeds,” Hob repeated. “That’s. Um. A lot. Wait, does that mean you ‘feed off my presence’?”

“You nourish me in many ways,” Dream said. “As friend, lover. As dreamer, as well, yes.”

“Like a battery,” Hob said, unable to resist the opportunity to tease him.

Dream wrinkled his nose. “No.”

“Like a good meal?”

“You are well aware that I meant it metaphorically—”

Hob kissed him halfway through that line, and Dream’s words melted into a comfortable hum. Hob settled over him, giving up on sleep in favor of the pleasure of touching Dream, again. His own dream on earth.

He was going to have to mentally unpack this whole you are a strong dreamer thing later, and properly mull over the fact that his mere stubbornness to keep living was apparently enough to nourish all of dreaming. And his lover most of all.

For now, he just grinned cheekily and said, eyebrows raised innocently, “I could feed you again?”

Dream grumbled. “Must you make everything innuendo?”

“You handed it to me,” Hob pointed out.

“So I did,” Dream admitted, aggrieved. And Hob smiled and went back in to nourish him, figuratively or literally or all ways between.

—

“There is, in fact, a ritual,” Dream said.

They were sitting on a couch in the Dreaming library, Hob’s legs draped over Dream’s lap. Dream had a book open in one hand, and his other loosely holding Hob’s ankle, half tender half possessive—but he was now just looking at Hob expectantly. 

“A ritual for what?” Hob asked, feeling very much like he was about to be dropped off the edge of a cliff. He often got premonitions like that when talking to Dream in the Dreaming, for Dream’s feelings and intentions were everywhere in the space and the Dreaming seemed determined for Hob to understand them.

And Dream actually blushed and looked away. 

“Wait,” Hob said, realizing, nudging Dream’s thigh with his toes until Dream looked back at him. “Are you somehow talking about sex?”

Dream plucked at the hem of Hob’s trousers. “The Dreaming loves you,” he said, instead of answering, and almost in a way that suggested this was no longer a source of joy to him, rather an incursion.

“Okay,” Hob said, and scooted closer until he could rest a hand on Dream’s arm, concerned, now, by whatever this was. “Aren’t you also the Dreaming?”

Dream nodded. And finally he said, “Answer me this, dreamer. Is it me that you love, or is it dreaming?”

Hob’s heart lurched at the flat, guarded tone of Dream’s voice. There was very much a wrong answer to this, he knew, but he wasn’t even sure he understood the question. He knew what was in his heart, but he didn’t know what would assuage Dream’s uncertainties.

“I fell in love with you a very long time ago,” Hob told him gently. “My mysterious, mystical stranger.”

“That is not as long as you have been dreaming.”

“Can’t I love both?” Hob asked. “Can’t I love all of you?”

Dream stayed silent.

“What answer were you hoping to hear, Dream?”

“I do not know,” Dream admitted, with a pained breath. “No one has loved… all that I am. I am dreams, and the Dreaming, and people have loved the Dreaming. But.”

“You are also Morpheus,” Hob supplied, and Dream nodded.

“I suppose I… have been loved, as such.”

He didn’t sound wholly convinced of it. Hob took his hand, kissed it, held it close to his face. “Has truly no one loved both?”

Dream shook his head, his gaze on his own hand pressed to Hob’s cheek. He twisted it to cradle Hob’s jaw, thumb to the corner of his mouth. “Not the way you have.”

With aching slowness, Hob pulled his strange, unfathomable, hurt creature into a hug. Dream tucked his face into Hob’s shoulder. “Let yourself have it, then, yeah?” he urged. “Will you trust me?”

“Yes,” Dream vowed. “Only beware of the power you hold, Hob Gadling.”

For Dream to even admit such a thing was a power placed in Hob’s hands, he thought. 

He squeezed Dream’s shoulders again and then pulled away far enough to look at him. “What’s this ‘ritual,’ then? Is this a good thing, or a you sacrificing yourself upon the altar of my apparent greater love for the Dreaming kind of thing?”

“There are no sacrifices and no altars,” Dream said, with an eye roll that Hob thought meant he was feeling slightly more at ease about the whole thing now, which Hob was glad for. “I am not a god.” 

“So what is it for, then?” 

“I shepherd all dreaming minds,” Dream said, starting his explanation several steps away from what Hob had asked as per usual. “Particularly strong dreamers can oblige me to take certain actions. Namely, vortexes, whom I must kill for the sake of the rest of the Dreaming. But most powerful dreamers present not a threat, but an opportunity. It is a symbiotic relationship, you understand. I created the landscape you see here, the dreams and nightmares who inhabit it, but the Dreaming would not exist at all if there were no dreamers. There is a ritual one can perform, to remember their importance to one another—dreamer and Dreaming.”

“And… this involves sex, somehow?” It was the impression Hob had gotten from Dream’s reaction before, and he wasn’t entirely certain how he felt about that.

“It can,” said Dream, carefully. “It is mostly about love. And devotion. And union.”

This was starting to sound to Hob rather like marriage. Or at least, a wedding.

“And… you want to do that? With me?” Hob couldn’t help but feel shaken by the thought. That Dream felt them so important to each other, their love so true, that he would use it to symbolize the power of his entire realm.

“I would explore it,” said Dream. “If you are amenable.”

“I mean, obviously I would—“ Another thought occurred to Hob halfway through that sentiment. “Wait. You don’t have to do this, do you?”

“It is not a necessary part of my function, the way dealing with dream vortexes is,” Dream stressed. “It is merely. An opportunity. To strengthen the bond between dreamer and Dreaming.”

“Between dreamers and you?” Hob added, voice tipped up in a question.

Dream shook his head. “I am but a conduit.”

“You are dreaming,” Hob said. “That sounds pretty damn central to it, to me. Besides, Dream—“ he took Dream’s hand and squeezed “—I’m not really interested in using you as a bridge for some ceremony. But if you want to do it with me, and the Dreaming, then we can talk.”

Dream smiled, a tiny, surprised thing. “This is why it has not happened before. Because no one would see it the way you do.”

“Never?”

Dream shook his head. “No one has… loved me quite the way you do.”

And if that didn’t hurt and make Hob feel more special to Dream in equal measure.

He wrapped his arms around Dream and pulled him close, kissing his temple. “Well, if you want to do it, then fill me in on what it entails and let’s see, hm?”

Dream hummed, a pleased, purring sound, and let Hob hold him close.

—

This was how Hob found himself, one night, in one of the great forests of the Dreaming, just before dawn. Dream had brought them to a small clearing covered in grass, where old growth trees leaned in above them and framed a cloudless sky, scattered with stars.

It was a uniquely quiet part of the Dreaming. Not a properly sentient dreamspace like Fiddler’s Green, but something older and wilder, a place that still grew only out of Dream himself. No other beings around, only Dream sitting across from him, a loose robe around his shoulders and pooling in his lap.

“Are you certain?” he asked, voice deep and old as the shifting of the trees around them. Hob was reminded of the moment he had first seen him, and the bolt of realization that this was an ancient thing, a wild and magical thing.

“Why, could something go wrong?”

Dream shook his head. “If we are not committed, it may not achieve its intended effect. But there will be no adverse results, no.”

Something could go very wrong indeed, then. If Hob wasn’t committed—in whatever way that manifested—he was certain it would break Dream’s heart.

Still, if there was anything he had been forever tied to, it was his Dream, and his dreaming. So he took both of Dream’s hands in his own. “Okay. Then I’m ready if you are, dear heart.”

“Dear heart,” Dream echoed, a hint of a smile on his lips. A tentative, hopeful glow in his eyes. He was so beautiful.

“Dear,” Hob repeated, and kissed his cheek. “Dear,” he said again, and leaned down to kiss the grass between them.

When he looked back up, Dream’s cheeks were colored with the slightest blush. “Truly, you are singular, Hob Gadling.”

Hob kissed him again, on the lips this time. Dream leaned into it with a hum, and Hob tangled a hand in his hair, holding him there, holding him close. “Nah,” he said, when they parted for a breath, lips still brushing Dream’s. “I just love you.”

“Yes,” Dream breathed, an exhalation of great weight. He pulled Hob close by the front of his shirt, hands fisted tightly in the fabric, and fell back onto the grass, Hob following to land on top of him. He cradled the back of Dream’s head in his hand to protect him from hitting the ground, though he suspected the soil of the Dreaming would be soft and kind to its creator, even this old forest, with its tangle of hard roots under every patch of ground.

Indeed, a flurry of flower petals swirled up from where they’d landed, carried on the wind of Dream’s power. Hob knew not where they came from, but they circled around Dream’s head and then disappeared into the woods as Dream’s hair fanned out over the grass, robe slipping open in a deep vee over his chest.

Hob raised an eyebrow. “You doing that?”

“Not… consciously. I—“ Dream ran his thumb over Hob’s cheek, a steadying motion. “I must… let my power merge more with the Dreaming’s, for this. Give it agency over me in a way that I normally would not.”

“Just be safe, yeah?”

“The Dreaming is me. It is safe,” said Dream.

“Only you usually keep yourself more separate,” Hob guessed, and Dream nodded.

“I do not usually relinquish such direct power to the broader Dreaming, like so,” he confirmed.

Dream didn’t usually relinquish any power ever, Hob thought. “Well, just relax,” he told him, and Dream huffed.

“I was under the impression that I was leading this.”

“Well, maybe I wanna. You’re supposed to give up control, aren’t you?”

Before Dream could answer, Hob kissed him again, pressing him down into the grass with both hands in his hair. Dream tipped his head back, baring his throat with a little whimper, and Hob took the hint, kissing under his jaw and sucking a mark into the skin.

“Very well,” Dream breathed. “Take the lead, then, dreamer.”

So Hob did, pulling his loose shirt over his head and tossing it off into the grass. Despite the relative chill of the night air, and the darkness, he wasn’t cold. He supposed that was the Dreaming, already building magic up between them.

Dream pet at his bare arms and shoulders, clearly pleased, as Hob guided his legs apart, slotting himself between them. Dream folded his legs around Hob’s waist, hands in his hair now, running through the strands with actual sparks following his fingertips.

“I think I like this wild magic,” Hob told him as he kissed Dream’s throat again, then his sternum between the lapels of his robe. “I think I like seeing all your feelings like that.”

Dream grumbled, “You would,” but didn’t stop touching. His fingertips tingled against Hob’s skin. Hob thought about having those hands all over him, and groaned.

“Yeah, I like it a lot,” he confirmed, and tugged on the tie of Dream’s robe. It fell open around his body, and oh, he was so gorgeous in the dark, almost glowing from within with power, deep shadows in every corner of him. “You’re beautiful,” he added, and the air shimmered around them. Hob grinned in delight at the reaction. “Ha!”

Dream squirmed uneasily under him. “You have much influence here.”

Hob laid a gentle hand on his cheek. “Oh, yeah? Is this thing making you uncomfortable?”

“I trust you,” Dream said, which wasn’t quite an answer. Hob waited, and he added, “I want this.”

“Okay,” Hob said, offering a reassuring smile. “Let’s have it, then, yeah?”

The reassurance didn’t land as solidly as he had hoped. “Can I?” Dream whispered, and Hob didn’t think it was something he would have vocalized if it wasn’t just them, alone here in the grass. It was so important to Hob to catch that feeling, to not leave him holding it in empty air. “Would you, truly, love me? The King of Dreams, of Nightmares? The landscape of the unconscious? Hope and fear, persistence and uncertainty, creation, story, ambition, art and terror all?”

“I already do,” Hob murmured, kissing his lips, his cheek, his forehead, lingering there in benediction. “I already have. I’m no artist or visionary with one foot born in the Dreaming. I chose to love you, you know.” 

“Oh,” Dream breathed, hands framing his face. “You did, yes.”

“Would choose it again until the end of time, my Dream,” Hob vowed. “Love for you carried me through every hardship. And now. Maybe my love can carry you in return.”

“It does.” Dream’s eyes were shut now, and Hob watched the bob of his throat as he swallowed, the air wavering around him as his composure slipped. The tightening of his expression as he fought it.

“Don’t,” Hob said, as Dream’s hands fell from his face to grip his shoulders, fingertips sharp. “Don’t do that.”

“Do what?”

“Hold onto yourself so tightly like that. Isn’t the point to let go? Let me catch you.” 

“I—” A tremor ran through Dream’s body, echoing out into the ground around them. “I. Yes.” Incrementally, he relaxed, opening his eyes again, and they were rimmed red. Hob ran his thumbs across Dream’s cheeks as tears slipped out one by one, water breaking its surface tension and spilling over. 

“Do you want to stop?” Hob asked.

Dream shook his head. “It simply feels… more than I expected.”

“Okay.” Hob kissed the corner of his eye, catching a tear on his lip. “Stop me whenever you need, okay? But otherwise, let me take care of you. Will you let me take care of you?”

“You are good to me,” Dream breathed, eyes falling shut again, “my dreamer.”

The word shimmered something through Hob’s being, a title, a calling, a naming. The Dreaming reaching out to its other half. A magnified version of what he had felt in the Dreaming recently—a comfort, a closeness, a sense of belonging.

Breathing hard now, he kissed down Dream’s collarbone, then his sternum, peppered kisses over each of his ribs, wrapped his hands around Dream’s thighs. He pressed his nose into Dream’s stomach, felt the tension in all of his muscles and their gradual loosening as Hob kept kissing him.

“Relax, Dream. You have got to let go.” Dream’s fingers wound into his hair again, gripping tight. “Easy, my love.”

“I—” Dream blew out another shuddering breath, warm wind whipped around them, caressing Hob’s shoulders like a phantom touch— and he felt the moment Dream finally turned the Dreaming over to his hands. The diffusion of power into the clearing around them, the way the stars shined brighter, the loosening of Dream’s grip in his hair. Dream’s chest heaved like he was truly breathing, like he truly needed to, and Hob surged back up to catch his mouth in a kiss.

He felt so connected to the Dreaming now. He could feel the raw dream power in him, what he could usually only just barely touch by touching Dream. And he knew then that if he wanted to bring the Dreaming’s power to bear against Dream, he could—and that Dream was trusting him not to.

I am but a conduit, Dream had said. Hob shivered. The swirl of emotions was almost overwhelming—honor that Dream would trust him with this, that he even wanted to; and pride that Dream had been able to take that step; and horror at the thought of it ever being abused.

It’s safe, Dream had also assured him, and Hob was about say something to the effect of this not being safe at all, actually—before realizing that Dream meant it was safe with Hob. That the thought of Hob being the danger in this scenario had never crossed his mind.

Dream’s love for him was a terrifying thing sometimes. And a great gift.

“C’mere.” Getting choked up, he gathered Dream close to his chest, pressing his face into his neck. “I love you, you know?”

A tremor ran through Dream’s body, and he hummed, wrapping his arms around Hob’s shoulders. “Hob, I—” his voice rumbled unevenly through Hob’s chest. The powerful thrum of it that usually echoed through the Dreaming whenever he spoke was brought down to normal volume, a human sound Hob could hold within him. “I need—”

“Shh, shh, I’ll give you everything, don’t worry. I’m gonna make you feel so good.” Hob dragged his fingers through the soft grass at their sides, and Dream shivered. “All of you.”

Dream plucked at the waistband of his trousers. His voice was a whisper in the night. “You are still clothed.”

Hob laughed. “In a rush, now?” But he obediently tugged off his trousers, throwing those to the side as well, and then they were skin to skin, only Dream’s thin robe between their bodies and the ground. Dream was bared to Hob in all his beauty, familiar now but so special when he could feel the energy of dreams in him, the power and vitality of them.

“God, you’re so fucking gorgeous,” he said. Dream made a quiet, rough sound in his throat.

“You are incomparable with the Dreaming’s raiment upon you,” he said, hands running up and over Hob’s shoulders, up his neck to frame his face. Hob leaned in to kiss him and finally pressed their bodies together properly, grinding against him. Dream gasped, already so on edge, hiking his legs up to allow better access. Hob took one narrow thigh in his hand and bent him back further, hooking Dream’s leg over his shoulder. He had Dream physically at his mercy now, too, twisted and pressed into the ground, and he felt this was what was supposed to happen. That Dream was supposed to trust, and Hob was supposed to be deserving of it.

He would be deserving of it.

“Going to make you feel so good,” he promised. “Trust.”

“I trust,” said Dream. He was moving needily against Hob now, and pink dawn was peeking over the horizon, the darkness of early morning slipping away, and Hob reached between them to press his fingertips to Dream’s entrance, finding him already loose and slick. Dream magic. Wanting made manifest.

Hob swallowed hard, throat tight, heat building in his groin, aching in his thighs. He slipped two fingers into Dream, relishing in Dream’s groan, the line of his throat as he tipped his head back. Hob worked him open carefully. Normally, it wasn’t possible to hurt Dream during sex in the Dreaming unless he allowed it, but Hob wasn’t sure that was true in this particular moment. All the power was in his hands, and he wanted it to be right, and good, and easy.

Dream’s hands grasped the back of his neck, buried in his hair. His groan was long and dragged with the agony of wanting, and Hob kissed at his jaw to appease him, nipped along the shell of his ear. “Hob, I am ready.”

“Alright, love. You know me. Got to be sure.” He lined himself up and pushed in, one long, smooth motion, breath trembling as Dream’s heat enveloped him. Dream whined, grip tightening in his hair. And Hob braced himself over him, starting to fuck him in long, slow rolls, each point where they touched a bright spark of dream power. So much of it, in his chest, in Dream’s body, in Hob’s hands where they brushed Dream’s sides. As far as Hob had learned, there was no inherent incantation of this ritual—it came only from them, and their transfer of power, and their trust and devotion. And he could feel it, that connection, and the conduit Dream had made of himself, though Hob would never see him that way. For him it was Dream first. Always had been.

There were words, though. Dream had said he would know them, that he would find them within the Dreaming. And find them he did. He kept his pace slow and dragging as he spoke, fitting the soft, solemn lines.

“I take thee as my lover, all world’s dreaming.” His voice felt rough, torn, and it sounded like marriage rites.

“And I take you, dreamer,” Dream replied, hushed. His breath hitched with each of Hob’s thrusts. His eyes were midnight blue in the shadows, and Hob couldn’t look away.

“To hold you from within and without," Hob continued. “To make you stronger.”

“To never forget you and your power,” said Dream, and the Dreaming flared around them in reminder.

“To help you grow,” said Hob.

“To help you rest,” said Dream.

“To help you rest,” Hob added, kissing his forehead, and Dream huffed.

“Not the words.”

“Still.”

Dream sighed again, and Hob kissed his lips, quick and light. “To inspire you.”

“To inspire you,” Dream echoed. Met Hob’s eyes again, a hopeful, vulnerable little look. “Kiss me again?”

Hob could never say no to that. He kissed him deep, plumbing his mouth with his tongue. Dream groaned, surrendering to it. Hob increased his pace, just a bit, and Dream’s groan stuttered out into a drawn out moan. Hob kissed him deeper, kissed it out of him, pressing Dream’s hiked up leg to his chest until he whined from the angle. Until he was hitting Dream right where he wanted and each thrust drew him a punched out gasp.

“The words?” Hob prompted, grinning against his cheek, and Dream just groaned.

“Hob—”

But he gathered himself, breathed out, wonderfully affected— “I will be a haven for you.”

“I’ll be your custodian,” promised Hob.

“You will plant in me.”

“You’ll help me bloom.”

“You will…” Dream swallowed, throat bobbing, trembling under him, “love me.”

Hob kissed his forehead, and Dream closed his eyes. “I will love you.” Those were the end of the set words, but Hob continued, pressing kisses over Dream’s face: “I’ll adore you, I’ll worship you, I’ll love you fore—”

Dream pulled Hob’s lips back to his. Kissed him deep as he pulled Hob’s body into his, encouraged Hob to thrust harder, clenching around him, and Hob did, bringing them closer and closer until the heat peaked and his orgasm washed over him.

Dream followed him over the edge with a cry, a rush of dreaming power going with him. Hob felt it his hands, over his skin, in Dream’s fingertips where he clutched at his hair. He could feel the entire Dreaming now, the infinite expanse of it. The long history of hope, of curiosity that had curled around him on dark nights; invention and newness, the reshaping of hands and thoughts; change and memory, the shadow that had cloaked and warmed him all his life. Companion, haven, challenge. A shape too big for comprehension. And all of it localized within his lover. Within his heart.

Hob kissed him hard as the power shimmered through them. Waves of pleasure through Dream, through the Dreaming. He held Dream close to him, body and soul, every moment a deeper connection.

When he pulled back from the kiss, Dream’s eyes had slipped to their natural starry darkness. Hob rested his hand on his cheek. Swam in the pleasure he could see in that look. Pressed his forehead against Dream’s.

“Did it work?” he murmured, voice thick.

“I should probably tell you.” Dream was still twined around him. “It is not binary, where the ritual works or does not. It is a degree of power. Of. Connection.” His voice was more solemn than Hob would usually have expected in the aftermath of sex. “You felt it, did you not?”

Hob could still feel it, Dream running through him, and the vastness of him at the edges of his vision. “Yeah. I did.”

Finally, Dream slipped away, just far enough to separate them. Curled up against Hob’s chest, resting his head over Hob’s heart. “I did not imagine,” he started at a whisper, “how it would feel. To give over the Dreaming.”

Hob wrapped his arms around him. “How did it feel?”

Dream’s voice was still a whisper. “Terrifying. But. Freeing. And you held it so beautifully.”

“I’m proud of you,” Hob murmured. “For even being willing to try that.”

“I have wanted to for a long time," said Dream, "but did not always know it was what I wanted. I would have rejected the idea until recently. But always. There was an itch in me. Something with teeth, biting.”

“What changed?”

Dream’s lips curled up in a tiny smile. “You. I knew there was something to you that I needed, even when I first saw you. Only I did not know what. Not until. My escape. When I saw you again.”

“Couldn’t have imagined anything like this, but I wanted you the second you challenged me,” Hob told him. "I felt like I was supposed to. Like. I'd been watching the horizon for you. Still can’t believe my own patience about it.”

Dream chuckled. “Not so patient. My return was not the first time we had each other.”

“I don’t get any credit for four hundred years?”

“I was speaking of your dream.”

It took Hob a moment to think back. He dreamt of Dream quite a lot, nowadays, and had in the past, too. Then it clicked. He had had really quite a vivid dream the night they had met, hadn’t he? Vivid enough that he could still remember it, when he had forgotten whole eras of his long past. He pushed himself up to look Dream in the eye. “That was actually you? Dream.”

“As I said.” Dream’s voice held a tinge of guilt now, though he didn’t look away from Hob. “I was… compelled by you.”

“You’re a little nightmare, you know that?” Possibly he should have been upset over it, but wasn’t. Dream had that effect on him. And he had known, already, that Dream had hooked something sharp into him, long before they had acknowledged it. “I did wish it was you at the time, although I was imagining you in my bed, not the real you in my dreams.” He swept his thumb over Dream’s lip, and Dream’s tongue dipped out to wet it. “Hottest dream I ever had. Left me wanting for days, you did.”

“Good.” Dream tipped his head back as Hob kissed his throat. If they weren’t careful, this was going to tip right back over into sex, but as much as Hob wanted to make Dream come again, make him cry from overstimulation, he wanted this more right now: touching and lying quietly in the aftermath of their lovemaking. And baring long-held truths, apparently. “I imagined you wanting me, and satiated myself on that for a long time.”

“Could have had me any time you wanted,” Hob murmured. “Only had to say.”

“I see that now. I worried what it meant that I wanted to. And. I understand now that I was sensing something… true and dangerous that really was there, only I needn’t have been worried about it.”

“Dangerous?” Hob asked, but he knew what charge Dream spoke of. He still felt the echo of the Dreaming held in his hands. Union was safety and comfort but also a collision of power.

“Most dangerous,” Dream agreed. He ran his thumb along the hollow of Hob’s eye. “Most kind. Most lovely.”

“Keep me, then,” Hob said, though it was almost a plea, his face still held in Dream’s palm. The perennial fear that Dream would flit away again was always within him, even now, in the wake of all that power, that sharing. Dreaming was so immense. And Hob loved it, loved him, but it was a terrifying thing, to love something so much greater than you, even if doing so felt right.

“Can you not feel it?” said Dream. He took Hob’s hand and a spark jumped between their fingers. “The Dreaming would not let you go now. And nor would I. Even when you return to the waking world, there is always a place for you here. Beside me.”

“Dream…” Hob kissed his hand, then leaned back in to kiss his cheek. Lingered there, with their faces pressed together, his heart soothed of a raw wound he had almost forgotten had once been carved. Wedding vows, Hob had thought of the words they had spoken. He thought now that he had been married to dreaming for a very long time, and being able to give that devotion to Dream himself was only a solidification. It did not, truly, need words. It needed only their hands tangled together, and Dream tucked in his chest, where he had always, truly, resided.

Hob was not made for dreaming. But he chose it. And he intended to keep it.

[hypnoneghoul]

how does it feel to be evil also please please please tell me more about lying dewy ? <3 (no pressure of course but OUGHH i love that headcanon so much)

being evil is so cool actually i love havin power heh

and im glad you liked that hc! more rambles under the cut

cw for self inflicted injury

i mentioned dewdrop lying about small, irrelevant things just because he has to, because he can't help it, but it doesn't mean he doesn't lie about big things, too

he can fuck up bad if he just twists one word when a tech asks him something on tour

it brings him sort of sick satisfaction when that happens, he's disgusted by himself but he feels powerful in a way

it becomes sort of self-harm for him at some point. he can and will lie in a way that will hurt him, so the consequences will influence him. he thinks that if he must be a filthy liar that hurts his loved ones he deserves to hurt because of those lies too

think him telling the costume people that his balaclava's fabric is light and breathable enough and that his collar isn't too tight just so he can choke and barely be able to breathe during the rituals. small lie but it makes him hurt nonetheless and he revels in that ache in his chest and throat

his lies are also like thread being weaved together to create a shroud under which he can hide. he uses smaller and bigger lies together to create an image of himself that he feels like he has to be, but isn't

other people simply act differently, they just mask some of their truest colors to fit in or be more likable, but dewdrop takes it...too seriously, I'd say

most of the things don't matter but he aches with the need to lie about them, as if the ground will open up under him and swallow him if he lets a thing as simple as truth fall from his lips. he doesn't want to lie, but he has to, and he always realizes he's lied just seconds too late

one time he fucks up real bad. his lie makes rain hurt himself and dewdrop crumbles

"isn't the stage too slippery for your ghoul boots?" someone asked

"no." dewdrop told them, even though he slipped twice just walking across it. if he said yes the roadies had ways of making the surface bettter, but he didn't

and because of him rain slipped and hurt himself bad enough that they needed to cut the show short

even though its a disorder and all the ghouls do their best to be understanding, that time they snapped. especially swiss, he yelled at dew so much that the fire ghoul spent the night curled into a tiny ball shaking in a cabinet under the sink on the tour bus

the next morning dew emerged after all of his pack has already left. he didn't plan it but just when he was crawling out he saw a fresh pack of cigarettes laying on the counter

his throat was already feeling sore because of all his crying. his anxiety would help, chainsmoking a whole pack too. one more thing he could add...

he got an idea

he got out of the bus after downing a few shots of tequilla. alcohol dries out vocal chords. he smoked all the cigarettes one by one. then, he put his hands around his neck in the unsafest way he could come up with and squeezed

it hurt like hell but he was still making damn noise

he looked around and noticed the bus was parked far away from anything else. there was no one around so he could just scream. he still used a pillow for muting but he screamed and screamed and he started tasting blood but finally, finally, the noise just...cut off

he didn't know how long the vocal cord paralysis would last with him being a ghoul

but he hoped it'd stay

[i-jus-wanna-writehappy]

Abundance

incubus!Gojo Satoru x black!fem!reader

Warnings/Content: 18+ only cursing, praise kink, some spit (not spit play), blowjob, toy usage, joint (that isn’t relevant until part 2), deep throat, cum eating (both), dirty talk, pet names (baby, pretty girl), porn with plot

Author’s Note: well fuck. I got sick as hell and it pushed back all of my kinktober work. I’ll still publish them all, they’ll just be coming out in through November. Anyways, I hope you enjoy and let me know if you’d like to be tagged in Part 2

Part 1 | Part 2

•••

You gnaw on the skin at the edge of your thumb nail nervously as you look at the shoddy, yet well intentioned miniature hut you’ve built with the help of YouTube, 20 minutes of sleep, and the 4 shots of tequila you guzzled to quell your anxieties after said 20 minutes. If we’re being honest, it doesn’t seem like the kind of offering a deity of abundance would really like, but it’s the best you could do, and you cross your fingers and snap a picture, hoping it’ll be enough.

Not even 5 minutes after sending your photo does your phone ping with Shoko’s personalized ringtone.

It’s kinda plain. Put some flowers or something. Or a money tree… duh

You grumble at the message, but still jump up and throw your feet into two mismatched shoes before sneaking out to your apartment courtyard and ripping some of the flowers from the display out front. Crouched down, you check to see if anyone is around again, the jumbo beads on the ends of your braids clatter and nearly erase any semblance of stealth that you have as you rush back into your apartment, not even breathing until your back is flat against your door.

Looking at your cozy one bedroom with fresh eyes, you notice that not only is your hut plain, but it’s also sitting on your coffee table where no sun can reach it. Taking your thumb back into your mouth, you kick off your fuzzy slide and wedge sandal and get to arranging in a way that will hopefully make Shoko proud.

She’s an expert by zero means at all. She really just sent you the first abundance ritual post that popped up on Pinterest after listening to you freak out about how long you and your colleagues have been striking at the office and what are you going to do with only a side hustle and a half? You’re both as knowledgeable as each other when it comes to summoning anything but a free drink at a club, but only one of you thought to check Pinterest and now maybe the other one is looking for some validation because even if it’s shoddy, she worked really hard and would like to hear that she did good.

So though you send the photo of your hut, now preciously decorated with maybe too many flowers and sitting in the sun with only a “Fuck you, she’s pretty 🥹”, Shoko is quick with her reply, knowing exactly what you’re looking for.

Much better, very pretty. You did a pretty good job honestly.

The praise has a smile growing wide on your face, you did do a pretty good job for your first go at it. You stayed up all night and even added a few symbols (sigils? Fuck if you know) to the bottom for good measure. That kind of dedication deserves a reward, so you decide to take yourself out on a date. These have been a hard few weeks and until the deity, fairy, or whoever does it, you will give yourself an abundance. Of love and care that is.

As you return home an hour or two after the sun has set with two handfuls of bags and leftovers from your lunch with Shoko, you feel satisfied, maybe this was the work of your sweet little hut. “Give back to the universe what it gave to you.” You whisper before places a small wet kiss to the smooth, misshapen roof of what you have now decided to call a cottage, potentially thanks to a few dinner mimosas that were not your idea, but we’re happily consumed.

With your day having been lived and the universe having received your thanks, early or otherwise, you drop your clothing and beauty supply bags beside your couch and set your leftovers on the counter to wait for you until after your shower. You let out a long groan of anticipation as you try to undress without the hands currently pushing your braids into your bonnet.

You’re absolutely right to anticipate your shower. The steaming water is loosening knots in your shoulders you didn’t even notice were there. Just as you go to reach for your body wash and wash rag, a shiver runs down your spine and ends as a warm buzz between your legs. The intensity catches you by surprise, almost making you slip out of your bathtub and wiping away your soft intoxication.

Catching yourself quickly, you push your urges down, you have plans for her already; leftovers, specialty ice cream, a rose-petal wrapped joint, and the cute little rose toy you picked up today. It’s nothing fancy, but you figure that your date should end the right way, and you deserve to be wined and dined before putting yourself to sleep as you throughly plan to. It’s hard, let’s not downplay the severity of this arousal, you’re stalled for nearly two entire minutes, fearing any movement right now ruining your plans, but your brain wins and you’re able to finish your shower with major discomfort, but no worries.

Out of your shower and donned in your favorite panties and flirty nightgown, you begin to set up your bedroom for your eventful night, lighting candles and putting your comfort show on the television all of your friends hate that you keep in your room (until they’re all staying over) while your leftovers spin in your microwave. All the while, you can’t get rid of the infuriating itch in your lower belly, demanding attention. “Guess abundance can mean anything.” You mutter as you cut your eyes over to your cottage while removing your food from the microwave.

There’s no one to blame but yourself, you figure as you shut off the rest of the lights in your apartment, and while the abundance isn’t fully working out how you want right now… that doesn’t mean you won’t wake up to a 30 million dollar check in the mail from a secret admirer.

Though you don’t have time to be amused by your thoughts, instead, you’re frozen in your doorway, petrified by the two icy blue eyes glowing in the darkest corner of your room. As your eyes meet, another wave of arousal rushes over you, threatening to knock you off of your feet, but you’ll be damned if you drop your leftovers, opting instead to squeeze your thighs together softly as his mouth cracks open into a wide smile, teeth just as bright as his eyes.

The man begins to approach you, each step feeling like a vibration in your core, and as your mind reels, you figure that he has to be the deity. Granted, now that he’s out of the darkness, he does look good enough to eat - tall and lean, black dress pants running along the incredible length of his legs to gleaming shoes and a white button-up shirt that looks soft enough to wrap your pillow in, just enough buttons open to show the peek of a silver necklace glinting beneath - but you’d be lying if you said you thought a real person could turn you on to this extent. He stops once the cool tips of his shoes rest against your toes, his burning gaze lazily dropping to the soft pink polish on your toes before dragging its way up past the hem of your nightgown to your chest, lingering there as his Cheshire smile grows even wider and his eyes make one final jump to meet yours. “Hey.”

Having him so close to you is an adjustment you don’t know if you’ll ever be able to make as you feel your pussy flutter around nothing. You have no idea what to say in response, and before you can think about it, or simply whimper instead, your mouth moves without your permission, “Are you a fairy?”

The man throws his head back in a boisterous laugh, his lower lip poking out in a mocking pout when he meets your eyes again, “Awe, pretty girl,” A cool thumb caresses your cheek, your body still adjusting to his pressure, “Were you supposed to be summoning a fairy?” Nodding, your shoulder lifts in a halfhearted shrug, “Or a deity. Of um, of abundance.”

He removes his hand from your face and clicks his tongue, not relinquishing his pout as he pulls one of your cottage flowers from his pocket. “And here I thought you were trying to set the mood.” As he maneuvers the flower behind your ear, you realize that you hadn’t even noticed that his pockets were stuffed with all of the flowers you’d set up to welcome… whatever he was. Luckily, he answers your question after plucking the long stem from the flower behind your ear, “My name is Gojo Satoru, and I am the finest incubus you can summon.”

You’re not given much time to process, your confused (and betrayed) gaze still out of your bedroom door and set on the naked cottage as Gojo takes your hand and pulls you towards your bed. He takes a seat on the edge, releasing a hum of delighted satisfaction at the soft bounce, and rests you so you’re standing between his open legs, the tv flickering colors across his face, all paling in comparison to his eyes. “I summoned a demon?” Gojo nods, smile ever present and hand not yet leaving yours, “Can incubi also bring money?”

Gojo chuckles, “You ask a lot of questions don’t you?” He pulls another flower from his pocket and rips the stem off with his teeth before placing behind his own ear, “I’ll answer that one and any others you’re allowed to ask until we’re done, okay?” His okay is punctuated by his hand releasing yours and instead mirroring his other to slowly trail up your legs and beneath your nightgown.

“For starters, you’re gonna call me Satoru tonight, or however much of it you’re able to get out later.” A cheeky smirk as he looks up at you through his frosty lashes makes you want to feel his mouth on you and see if it’s as chilled as the rest of him is, but he’s also a demon, so using your newly mastered skill of beating your desires back until you just barely have control, you nod and clench your thighs again, “Okay, Satoru.” His hands have reached the hem of your panties now, fingers bunching the material until he clasps the entire sides in both hands, “Good! Now, as far as money goes, usually, no, but, if you’re a good girl for me, I just might reconsider.”

If you weren’t already struggling to keep your breath softer than a pant, you’d probably be embarrassed at how your legs quiver at the label, especially when Satoru acknowledges the shake with a groan deep in his chest and the tortuously slow descent of your panties, which he follows with the burial of his nose in the crevice between your thighs over your nightgown. After he finishes a deep breath, he releases your panties to land on the floor and catches his bottom lip between his teeth as he chuckles again. “I’m a demon, not a monster, you’re not in any danger.” The end of the statement is very pointed, Satoru’s eyes serious as he says it, though they soften again when you nod, some of the returned tension in your shoulders dropping with the motion of your head.

Satoru’s icy hands have made their way back up your legs, his fingers digging into your ass as he kneads the fat of it, the crotch of his pants tightening in response, “Last answer, no more questions til we’re done; I don’t care about your neighbors, don’t muffle any of the sounds you make. I know I won’t be, so it’ll be a waste if you try.” While you heard Satoru, your entire body’s attention has been focused on his cock trying to break through the zipper of his pants, and with one more nod, this one much less invested than your prior, you drop to your knees in front of Satoru. He goes to protest, but you offer a silent trade, offering him your leftovers, though he doesn’t take the plate until you pull your lust blown eyes from the growing tent in his pants to meet his own. Once your eyes meet, Satoru laughs, almost giddy, and takes your plate, “Are you repaying me for earlier?”

Your fingers fumble with his pants, your anticipation so high, you can barely function. You have to taste him, and you most definitely have to do it now, besides, Satoru is counting on you to be a good girl for him, “I’m gonna try.” You mutter as you finally get his pants undone. Satoru takes a forkful of leftovers into his mouth, those paralyzing eyes of his focused on you.

Taking a note from Satoru’s book, you slowly, tortuously pull his pants down, your lips leaving wet kisses along his snowy happy trail. Satoru is about to say something else, but you finally get his pants down low enough to see he isn’t wearing any underwear beneath his perfectly tailored pants and lick a path from one side of his pelvis to the other, forcing him to cut off whatever he was going to say with a breathy groan.

The noise makes you impatient, yanking Satoru’s pants just low enough for his cock to come springing up onto his stomach, long veiny, and begging to be touched. Flicking your eyes up to his flushed face, you guide his tip into your mouth, hollowing out your cheeks and pushing your tongue against the sensitive skin just beneath the head of his cock, a smile constricting your mouth even more when the repeated motion causes Satoru to flop back onto your bed with a long whine.

Taking a deep breath in through your nose while you can, you glide his twitching length over your tongue until the cool, yet angry red tip pushes at the back of your throat. The entirety of Satoru can’t fit into your mouth, the very base of him eluding the warm wet embrace, so to make up for it, you sit up on your knees and extend your tongue to lick what your lips can’t reach, spit pooling into the short shorn hairs you can’t quite bury your nose into. Now Satoru moans, low and lulling, setting your plate beside himself on your bed and tossing his head back. As you lift your mouth from his cock slowly, tongue lazily dragging behind, Satoru’s breaths turn into shallow pants. You can’t remember the last time you wanted to savor something so badly, or the last time you wanted to devour something so grossly it’d be hard to look your mother in the eye. Satoru is using one hand to push his fluffy hair off of his forehead and the other is lying limp over the edge of your bed. His moans and whines have your pussy clenching and dripping, aching for the relief that comes when you slip two of your fingers into your heat.

As the stimulation on your g-spot and the dizzying heat of Satoru’s slack jawed stare make you moan around the head of his cock, you suddenly drop your mouth back down on him until his spongy head makes harsh contact with the back of your throat. The feeling pulls a deep growl from Satoru, the edges of his licked lips curling as you repeat the motion, building a steady pace of slow ascension and burning descent until the sounds of your clattering beads, moans, and squelches of your fingers fidgeting in your pussy are joined by the wet, choked cry forced from your lips every time you make that bruising collision.

“So good, baby. You’re doing so good for me.” Satoru praises you, reaching for something on the small end table beside your bed, sharp blue eyes still trained on you and summoning another wave of arousal over your curling fingers. You moan at the feeling, air in the room growing thick and Satoru sits up now, resting his weight on his left arm as he extends the other to you, revealing your new toy. You still your movements, your aching throat enjoying the reprieve as you gaze up at Satoru, eyebrows scrunched in confusion and your tongue lazily sliding along his twitching length. “I wanna taste you while I fuck your mouth, pretty girl, you can use this.”

You don’t go to move for the toy, not because you don’t want to, of course, but once again, as your eyes flicker from his open hand to his face, his eyes, your body’s actions seem to be incredibly limited, only allowing for your pussy to clench tighter around your fingers and your mouth to release a needy whine around Satoru’s cock. Hissing at the vibration, his expression gets serious, “Take it and use it. Give me your hand.” His demand turns your brain back on and you pull your fingers out of yourself with a loud pop, your wetness dripping onto the floor as you present your sticky fingers to Satoru, your other hand dropping into his own to drunkenly grasp the pink toy.

Satoru is smiling again, pulling another cock muffled whimper from you, “Awe, baby, is that all for me?” He coos, cheeks flushed as he licks at some of the sticky arousal that has dripped down to your wrist. You nod, needy moans and whimpers leaving your mouth more often than breath at the moment, and your heat missing something to grip as Satoru’s eyes roll back into his head as he groans hungrily at the taste of you. When his eyes meet yours again, they’re dark and hazy, almost making his cheeky grin look ravenous, devilish. “You should have told me you tasted so good.” He doesn’t leave any room for response - not that you really could in your state anyway - before his head gestures to your hand, still lying in his, “Use your rose, pretty girl. I want you to cum with me.”

Now that your new toy is turned on and pressed against your clit, Satoru gently grips the back of your neck, his thumb gently stroking the skin behind your ear as he savors the taste of your arousal on your fingers, “Relax your mouth, baby, okay?” This time, Satoru let’s you nod in response before his grip on your neck tightens and he thrusts his hips so he hits the back of your throat again, the sensation making you both moan loudly. He barely pulls back before plunging his cold cock head right back into the increasingly more sensitive spot. Relentless, Satoru keeps his pace, whimpering broken fragments of praises and your name as he sucks and licks at your hand, cleaning you up with a greedy attention to detail that almost makes you wish he was licking into you in tandem with the you making your thighs shake.

Almost. But as Satoru’s thrusts begin to speed up and his licks begin to turn into dragging bites to your palm, you relish in the feeling of having his heavy cock twitch in your warm mouth and his balls gathering and spreading the drool seeping out of your mouth with loud slaps. He’s loud, he’s rough, he’s greedy, and as Gojo Satoru clenches his jaw and interlocks your fingers, begging you to cum with him and telling you how good you feel, you’re sure he’s also absolutely divine. His lidded eyes and slack jaw are enough to have you clenching your thighs and moaning loud and long as your orgasm crashes over you, so strong your vision goes white for a moment.

Satoru lets out a low broken moan as he watches your orgasm rush through you, contorting your face and constricting your mouth around him. His short fingernails are digging temporary crescents into the back of your neck as he holds you down on his cock as far as he can manage, “Eyes up here. Watch what you do to me.” Satoru waits patiently, grinding into your mouth slow and hard until you’re able to lull your eyes back to his.

As soon as you make eye contact, Satoru reaffirms his grip on your neck and begins to piston his hips, making his earlier pace seem geriatric. “Fuck, been so good for me, haven’t you?” Satoru pants out, voice soft and raspy. You hum an acknowledgement around him, a nod barely able to be formed due to Satoru’s rapid thrusting, but your whiny confirmation, the beg for his approval buzzing around his aching cock is all Satoru needs. With his jaw slack to release a loud throaty moan and his snowy eyelashes fluttering, Satoru cums down your throat, warm and so, so filling. As he twitches against your tongue, holding you so far down his length tears slip between your lips and add to the salty flavor of him filling your mouth, Satoru chuckles breathlessly, “That’s right… take it all.”

Satoru doesn’t let his hefty cock slip out of your mouth until you’ve swallowed all of the cum he gave you. Untangling your hands, Satoru pulls you up so you’re straddling his lap and he sets to wiping the tears from your cheeks and sweeping the cum that seeped out of the corners of your mouth up with his thumb. “Open up, pretty girl, you’ve got leftovers.” Satoru coos, the cheeky tone he never abandons for long makes you huff in soft indignation, but the compliment has you moving forward to suck the digit into your mouth, being sure to clean it of Satoru’s salty cum, eyes closing at the flavor and pussy fluttering again.

Opening your mouth to release Satoru’s thumb, you rub yourself against his still stiff member, subconsciously scratching the itch he seems capable of continually causing, “I wanna do that again.” You’re insatiable as you hump your way through your sentence, wanting him so badly you can’t stop yourself from gripping his shirt so tightly your knuckles hurt as you run your clit over his bulbous head, high pitched whimpers falling from your lips at every pass.

You lean in to kiss Satoru and lick the smug grin off of his face, but he moves away, reveling in how your pout after chasing his lips doesn’t result in him meeting you excitedly, tongue startlingly warm and licking a path through your mouth. “No baby,” Satoru flips you effortlessly, standing to slowly discard his clothes as he watches you rub your thighs together, “Now I do my job.” Fully naked, adorned only in the thin, glistening chain and the securely placed flower he set behind his ear earlier, Satoru creeps himself up the bed towards you.

One sloppy kiss after another, Satoru hums his way up your body. As he’s passing by your pussy, Satoru pushes your thighs open and with his tongue flat, he licks one mean stripe up your slit before abandoning your lips entirely and setting to nibbling at your neck. Before you can protest though, Satoru slips one of his long fingers into you, immediately curling to where you’re most sensitive, “You gonna be loud for me while I fuck you full, pretty girl?”

[vraisetzen]

*inhales copium* and now, a bleach "no breaths from hell" analysis to soothe the soul

i've been rewatching bleach (both canon and filler eps) and rereading the TYBW arc, and nothing can convince me that the opening page to the NBFH one-shot isn't about ukitake.

two things stood out to me: the very sentimental language ("when i was younger"; "i adored the dear things"; "seeing that brought me great relief"), as well as the metaphor of the two fishes – one large, the other small, until one day the larger one passed away.

but then, with the larger fish's death, the smaller one grew bigger, and even "flourished". the narrator of the tale finds great relief at this – thank goodness, they say. the story then ends with a cryptic, "it was good that the larger one died".

while i might have to check with the japanese originals for the phrasing, i immediately clocked the two fishes as referring to ukitake, for his zanpakuto – sogyo no kotowari.

more than that, i think the story of the two fishes also parallel his life: a small child who coexisted with a larger, infinite being to stay alive on borrowed time. stagnating, in other words; the exact term used in the panel, similar in description to mimihagi's abilities, delaying ukitake's sickness and death.

and i think it wasn't – or won't be, depending on where this story is headed – until ukitake's sacrifice that he comes to grow bigger than he is, into his powers, and what he was meant to be. we see, for a brief time during his sacrifice, that he becomes the soul king himself; later on, we are told that ukitake's reiatsu far surpasses the sheer volume that the other captains can put together – these things indicate ukitake's transformation to come, as seen by the large zanpakuto that he wields in hell:

[i'm just gonna ignore the possible implications of the familiar language used here by syazelaporro: "ahh... you're early...", like this has happened before(?) elsewhere(?)]

but it is also worth noting that a large zanpakuto isn't necessarily a good thing – it could also mean that ukitake is having difficulty controlling his immense spiritual pressure now that he does not need to use it to sustain mimihagi and his life. which also only raises the question: just how much more reiatsu did he have when he was alive, and potentially now that he's the (likely) gatekeeper of hell?

and more than that, the epithet that ukitake is referred to – "kamikake", or "god-sworn"/"divine possession" – references no doubt his past life as a host for mimihagi. it is indeed curious that he would be referred to as such in the afterlife/hell, and i can only suppose that his title or duties are related somewhat to the sacrificial ritual, or even the soul king.

which, in the end, brings us back to the first panel – the death of the larger fish allowing the smaller fish to grow and flourish. when one considers the literary significances of fishes in world literature, particularly in christianity, which the TYBW is rooted heavily in, then the small fish could also be a symbol of resurrection and rebirth.

when kubo-sensei hopefully picks up this story, i look forward to seeing if ukitake does get to become the fighter that he could be without his illness, possible even transcending those barriers placed upon him when he was living.

[deadweightwritings]

WRECKING BALL. TWD S5. [snippet]

WRECKING BALL - MOTHER MOTHER

TWD + Dixon!Reader [SEASON 5 E12 SPOILERS]

It ain’t no secret that Kit Blythe Dixon did not like Alexandria. The shower was nice, but the people are too normal for her liking. Too…not traumatized by the fuckin’ apocalypse. These people were babied and sheltered from all of it. To not be bored by the cookie-cutter lifestyle, she agreed to join Glenn, Tara, and Noah on a trip beyond the fence.

Piece of cake.

Until one of the two guys, Aiden and Nicholas, started bragging about hanging a walker, after it got one of their people.

“What? Why?” Shot out of Glenn’s mouth as he questions why in the hell these two strung up a walker. You strung a fuckin’ rotting body on a chain n’ expected it to not go anywhere?

“Now we have a little pregame ritual.”

“It reminds us of what we’re up against.” Kit snorted, wiping her bottom lip:  

“Oh, so y’all need a reminder, huh? Tha’s cute.”  

“Son of a bitch!” The familiar smell of deteriorating guts were strewn from a chain tied to a tree branch, dripping with rotted blood onto the dirt ground.

“Help me find it.”

“Look at this shit.” Yeah, look at it, jackass. Ain’t so pretty, hm?

“Shit! The blood’s still wet.” Aiden muttered, frantically looking around, Glenn shared the same exasperated look with Kit. A sharp whistle met Kit’s good ear and she winced, immediately shushing him with the others.

“Hey, hey, hey, it’s gone.” Glenn stated sternly to him, trying to lay it into his thick skull the waste of time this was.  

“It killed our friend! We’re not letting it go—”

“You’re gonna fucking have to—Will you shut up?!” Kit barked, the next guy whistling and clapping again. Low and behold, the walker turned up behind Aiden and the two idiots tried to rein it in, clattering of the chain heard behind the dead flesh. Kit fashioned the trusty machete, raising it up, ready to strike at any sudden wrong movement of the walker.   “Hey, hey over here, come this way!” Taking a few steps forward, arm up in the air, she got screamed at.

“No, don’t touch it! The rest of you back off!” Ok, so when it comes to kill you, don’t call me. It was the stupidest thing Kit had seen in a while. Seems she was due. The two men danced around this walker like a couple of ballerinas, getting frustrated when the chain on the dead skin kept slipping through.

“What’n the fuck?” Whispered out of Kit’s mouth as she stared ahead, genuinely confused by their movements. The metal clanged again by missing the wrists of the walker, and turned around, clacking its teeth at Aiden next. Wow, didn’t see that comin’. Everyone’s guard went up again, knives and guns drawn to aim at the target. Aiden struggled for a minute, which made Kit smirk, in a sick way.

Then this motherfucker launched the walker at Tara, it reached and hung onto her frame, as she held it off at arm’s length, trying to get a grip on her knife. Kit wasted no time launching forward and slamming her machete into the skull, blood splattered on her face, though she was unfazed. The THUMP of the body made almost everyone relax, heavy breathing surrounding all of them.

“What the hell?!” “YEA, what the hell?” Tara shot back at the Aiden, eyes wide and furious.

“You almost got her killed!”

“I told you all to stay back! I told you to listen to every damn thing I say!”

“Well, jackass, ya ain’t our boss!” Reaching into her back pocket, Kit yanked out a merlot colored bandana, copy cat of her dad’s and wiped the blood off her weapon. Aiden and Glenn had a stand off before his gaze switched to Kit and oh boy, he glared. Scoffing, Kit grabbed Tara’s shoulder and lead her out of the woods. Reaching the entrance back into Alexandria, the tension grew and laid around them like a smog.

“You four need new gigs! You’re not ready for run yet.” Aiden called after them.

“Yeah, pretty sure you have that backwards” Glenn shot back, unfazed by his comment. Aiden caught up to Glenn, putting his hand on his shoulder, which is dodged out of the second he laid his hands on him.

“Look, we have a way of doing things around here—”

“You tied up a walker!”

“It killed out friend! Look I won’t have this conversation. You obey my orders out there.” Kit nearly choked on her spit, man, did he know who he was talking to?  

“Well then, we’re as screwed as your last run crew.” She grinned at Glenn’s remark, happy he wasn’t putting up with anyone’s shit anymore. Walker bait, my ass.

“Say it again.” Aiden squared up to Glenn, Kit tensed up, fists clenching. He started pushing on Glenn’s chest, trying to get him riled as other people tried diffusing the situation. Did Kit participate? Fuck no, she’s a Dixon.  

“You’re run crew lucked out, ‘cause they had you leadin’ ‘em, hm?” Aiden whipped his head to the woman behind him.

“Hey, woah, take a step back man.” Noah chimed in, placing a hand between the dumbass and the hothead. He knew first-hand how brutal Kit could be, in any type of fight.

“Aiden! What is going on here?” Deanna’s sharp voice rang out into the street,

“These two have a problem with the way we do things.” Jabbing his two fingers at Glenn and Kit, who appeared rather calm as he explained like a 7-year-old tattling.

“Why did you let these people in?”

“‘Cause we actually know what we’re doin’ out there, dipshit.” Aidan swung at Kit. His knuckles grazed under her eye.

“Aiden, no!” At that moment, she knew her uncle was practically standing there, watching and cussing at her:

“Shit, you gon’ let him talk to you that way, missy?!”

Kit had a second to respond in her head: Fuck no. Her fist flew at his face, making a THWAP contact sound, as Nicholas tried to cover for Aiden but ended up being fucking bulldozed by Daryl Dixon. She tried taking another punch, though Glenn stepped in, looping his arms around hers from behind and trapping her in.

“Glenn—”

“Kit, cool it.” Michonne then stood toe to toe with Aiden as he shook his head, trying to set his jaw back into place.

“You want to end up on your ass, again?” Came out of her lips and that made Kit calm down a little in Glenn’s grasp. She went limp in his hold, and he let her go, huffing, Kit ran a hand through her hair, taking notice that there’s dried blood in it. Fuck, I jus’ showered too.  

Kit looked through her bangs to see her dad stalking back and forth behind Rick, trying to get his hands on either of them. She took notice of the guy choking on the ground and connected the dots. Ah. Daryl made his way to Kit, standing next to her, not saying a word but his features were pissed beyond belief.

“I want everyone to hear me. Rick and his people are part of this community, as equals. Understood?” Deanna held a lot of power in her voice, everyone falling silent, practically twiddling their thumbs along the way.

“Everyone, turn in their weapons.” The dread on everyone face set in at those words, and Aiden bore his eyes into Kit’s skull.

“Might as well turn in the redneck, as well.” “Aiden!” A fire lit under Kit’s ass as she lurched forward, swinging her fist. Arms steadied themselves around her waist, effectively holding her back as her teeth barred.

“Lemme at ‘em, 'm gonna kick his fuckin’ teeth in.” Snarled out of her lips, eyes dialed in the Aiden on the ground in front of her. Kit wrestled in the grip of Rick behind her, Daryl holding her shoulders down. She kicked out one of her legs, trying to scrape Aiden with her steel-toed boots. Aiden and Nicholas backed up, a glint in their eyes at her attempts. Deanna snapped.   

“Enough. You two come talk with me, now.” That group walked away, as Kit still squirmed under their protective grips.

“Kit. Calm down, it’s over.” Rick muttered next to her ear, and she let out a huge sigh through her nose, Kit’s eye twitched. She planted her feet on the ground, holding her body still until they slowly let her go.

“You alright?” Glenn asked, hand on her shoulder. Kit nodded, her cheeks becoming dusted with a rose color, taking in her recent actions. She shook off his hand, and uncurled her fingers from her palm. He didn’t mean to, but Daryl roughly grabbed Kit’s upper arm. Meeting his eye, she felt like a kid in trouble again.

“Where’d he get ya?” Kit scoffed, spitting on the ground and tapped under her left eye, growing red. Daryl licked his thumb and swiped it in that spot on her face,

“Gross, what the hell dad—” Swatting away his hand, a hint of a smirk came over his face.

“He can’t throw a punch fer shit.”

“I know that much.”  The pair overheard the job offers for Michonne and Rick. Deanna eyes Kit and Glenn, thanking them and they return her gesture with confusion. Kit crossed her arms over her chest, quirking a brow at the woman.

“For knocking him on his ass.” She smirked, tapping the tip of her boot on the ground twice and swiped at the edge of her nose.

“Oh, I can do that anytime, darlin’.”     

[notinthislife50]

Chapter 22 - Keep it down

Previous Chapter

Next Chapter

You sat in your seedy motel room. Your eyes rolled as heard the groans and screams coming from the other room,  you banged on the wall. “keep it the fuck down“ you yelled.

A voice boomed “Make us bitch.”

You downed your drink and went next door and banged as loudly as you could, the door swung open and a large bald man stood naked in front of you.

“I said keep it the fuck down” you scowled.

He laughed “What are you going to do about it?” he taunted looking you up and down “You know you could join us, looks like you use a good fuck” his grin made you sick.

You kicked him in the balls and elbowed him in the back of the head while he was hunched over.

“No thanks, as loud as she was screaming I could tell she was faking it.” and you walked off leaving the lady screaming.

You gathered your stuff together and drove to the next motel hoping to get some silence.

You drew the blinds, grabbed your bottle of tequila, and started on your research again. You had now lost count of the rituals you had done,  the books on hell you had read, and even books on ancient cultures that had dabbled in the resurrection of the dead. You know these were all stupid,  but you were desperate. The scars on your arms with all the blood you had used just showed how desperate you were.

A knock came at the door but you ignored it. You continued reading your books. Another knock came at the door.

“Fuck off “ you yelled and continued setting up your spell.

When the knock came a third time you stomped over to the door and flung it open pointing your gun in the face of Bobby.

“Well kiddo nice to see you too” he smiled.

He stepped into the room and hugged you tight. “I love you y/n but you could really do with a shower” he looked around the room taking it all in.

“What are you doing here Bobby?” you asked rolling the sleeves of your jumper down your arm when you saw him staring at them.

“Well you know we were in the neighbourhood“ he shrugged.

“Sam and I” Bobby nodded towards the door and Sam entered the room.

“Hey Frodo” he smiled.

But you crossed your arms and glared at him.

“What do you want? I'm busy” you stated and turned your back on him.

“Busy making deals with the devil” Sam scoffed.

“What's that meant to mean?“ you shot back trying to hide the fact you were caught out.

“Y/n we know “Bobby sighed “We know what you've been up too”

“yea well don't worry about it it didn't work” tears streamed down your face. “I've tried everything Bobby and Dean still isn't back” Slumping in a chair and taking a large swig from your bottle,

“About that” Sam stated “something worked”

But before you could reply Dean burst through the door and stomped over to you.

Grabbing your jumper he yelled, “What did you do?”

you stared eyes wide.

“Tell me,  what the hell did you do Y/n?” he shouted again his face red with anger.

“I..I” you stuttered in shock.

“Dean” Bobby grabbed his arms off you but as soon as Dean let go you launched at him with your knife.

Sam and Bobby grabbled you and held you on the ground and as you kicked and screamed out the words to an exorcism. Bobby tried to calm you “Y/n it's him, I promise it's him”

When you stooped kicking Sam held out his hand to help you up but you threw him a dirty look and took Bobby's instead.

“Why did you do it Y/n?” Dean asked.

“ I didn't” you argued back.

“Well, the room seems to say something else” Dean spat pointing around.

“For months I have tried getting you back,  I tried everything,  from selling my soul to offering my blood but no one wanted to deal with me, so this wasn't me” you screamed back.

I was without you for months and all I could think about was the torture you were being put through I couldn't let you go through it, but I'm sorry this wasn't me, I let you down Dean” you resigned in guilt. “I'm sorry I failed you” you whispered bowing your head.

“It’s okay Y/n I believe you, you...” but was cut off when you threw water on his face.

“Come on” he yelled rubbing the water off his face “Really? Are you all going to do this?”

“Sorry force of habit” you smiled at him shrugging.

Dean threw Sam and Bobby a glare when he heard them laughing.

“So if it wasn't any of us that got you out, how did you?” you asked.

“Well, that's the question,” Dean asked.

[cosymelody]

Sorry for the late update everyone :P

Kinda been sick for the past few days and my wrist has been hurting quite a bit ;-;

Anyways, here's the fourth and final part of this little oneshot! Hope you've enjoyed it and sorry if it hasn't been the best it's been a while since I wrote anything

.•♫•♬• 𝑷𝒕. 𝟏 •♬•♫•.

.•♫•♬• 𝑷𝒕. 𝟐 •♬•♫•.

.•♫•♬• 𝑷𝒕. 𝟑 •♬•♫•.

.•♫•♬• 𝑶𝒏𝒆𝒔𝒉𝒐𝒕 𝑷𝒕. 𝟒 •♬•♫•.

Crimson was about to reply with a sarcastic remark but was quickly stopped by Orange speaking in a gentle tone while placing their hand on Crimson's shoulder. "Don't let them get to you, alright, Crimson. Anyways, I suppose I'm the part of us that usually takes care of others and ensures everyone's well-being. It's just my nature to be protective and nurturing." Cyan stood anxiously behind Orange and looked up at them with a nervous glance before lowering their gaze once again. "And Cy here might be our anxiety and other emotional vulnerabilities. They tend to worry a lot and overthink things, but they also bring a sense of caution and carefulness to our decisions." Orange said reassuringly at Cyan, offering them comfort and support.

"So, how the hell do we get back to normal, huh? There some weird cult ritual shit we need to do or something?" Crimson said it in a passive-aggressive way, rolling their eyes. "Now that you mention it, how do we get back to normal? Does it have something to do with the swords, like how we got into this situation in the first place?" Orange said as they looked down at Four, each version of you holding the swords to their sides except for Gray, who was waving it around like a crazy person.

"Mhm. The swords should return you to normal when you hold them in the air with their points touching one another." Four said as he looked at each version of you, a hint of uncertainty in his eyes. Gray snickered at Four's words and finally stopped flailing their sword around as Cyan anxiously backed away from them, with Crimson shooting Gray an aggressive and dangerous look. Cyan looked around hesitantly before returning their gaze to Four and Orange, giving them a nervous nod of understanding.

"Alright then. Let's get this over with so we can get back to normal." Crimson said aggressively, their arms crossed impatiently, before skillfully and quickly spinning their sword into the air, the point of the blade pointing into the sky. Gray snickered as they approached the area where Crimson stood before speaking. "You know, you really are impatient. It kinda proves that you are our spite and rage, Crim." Crimson shot Gray a sharp glare, their eyes filled with fire. "Shut the hell up, ya dipshit."

Orange sighed softly as they pinched the bridge of their nose before glancing over at Four. "I assume this is similar in some way to how your colors act?" Four nodded in agreement with a small hum, confirming Orange's odd yet correct query. "Hm, how interesting. Well, I guess we should undo this whole split before we head back to the group and before Gray and Crimson start a fight with one another. Come along, Cy." Orange finished as they looked over to Cyan with a soft and kind look in their eyes before walking over to Crimson and Gray with their swords in hand.

Orange chuckled slightly as they saw how the others were ready to get back together and reunite into one. "Alright, is everyone ready?" "Hell yeah!" "Mhm." "Yup! Oh, can we keep this?" Gray said as they held up the torn-off claws of the Lizalfos from earlier in one hand. Crimson facepalmed as they groaned in annoyance, while Orange just sighed and spoke again. "Yes, but make sure it doesn't make a mess. It's still leaking blood, and it would be best if we didn't get it everywhere." "Yes! Thank you!" Gray said excitedly as they lifted their sword in the air. Crimson raised their sword as well, followed by Cyan and Orange, the points of all the swords connecting before a bright light enveloped them.

You opened your eyes once the blinding light had dissipated, your vision coming back and seeing no other versions of you standing around. It seemed that the fusion had been successful, and you were now the sole embodiment of your existence. Relief washed over you as you realized that you no longer had to split your mind and body with multiple versions of yourself. You patted yourself down to make sure you were completely whole—a subconscious act that proved you were whole once again.

You sighed in relief as you felt a weight lift off your shoulders. The confusion and chaos from that situation were finally over. You looked back at Four, who was staring at you as if you were some sort of divine being, as if you were the highest and purest living thing that could ever exist. You calmly walked over to him before carefully handing his sword back to him, his expression showing surprise and adoration for you. "Sorry about that whole situation. It was really weird, but still quite interesting." You said softly as he took his sword back with great care.

Four's eyes sparkled with gratitude as he replied, "No need to apologize. Your bravery and quick thinking saved us, after all. And I'm sorry for going through your stuff earlier." You couldn't help but smile at his genuine appreciation, feeling a sense of connection forming between the two of you. As the tension dissipated, you both stood there for a moment, silently acknowledging the unspoken connection that had been forged.

You chuckled softly after a moment before looking down at him with a sweet look, your voice coming out in a gentle and kind melody as you spoke to him. "It's alright, I forgive you. We should probably get back to the group before they start getting worried about us." Four seemed to snap out of his trance of adoration before letting out a little chuckle, his own voice coming out a bit smaller and more soft than usual. "Yeah, I guess so." He would never admit it, but he would much rather have more time with you and only you, not the other Links or anyone else.

You made him feel special and understood in a way that no one else could. As you both made your way back to the group, Four couldn't help but steal glances at you, cherishing the moments you shared together. He knew that the bond between you was something truly extraordinary and irreplaceable. Four couldn't help but hope for more moments like these, where it was just the two of you.

[bullet-rebuttle]

Executions

Ultimate historian, Naoko’s execution: ‘Ashes Ashes. We all fall down.”

Naoko is put in a hospital room. When he chooses to exit his room he looks and sees multiple Monokumas sick with the plague. Immediately recognizing the symptoms from history, Naoko tries to run out of the hospital before being grabbed by two of the monokumas who force him to spinning with them as they sing Ring a round the Rosie. During it, Naoko immediately starts showing plague symptoms and horrifically sick until collapsing. Finally, a Monokuma appears in a plague doctor outfit ‘mistakes’ Naoko for a corpse and burns him alive.

Ultimate gardener, Tsuyoshi’s execution: bloom into you

Tsuyoshi is dropped into a large, beautiful garden. While terrified, being around something he loves so much calms him as he explores. Suddenly the vines and plants seem to attack him shooting seeds and the like. The vines eventually tie them up with multiple poisonous thorns stabbing him. He eventually begins to cough and hack violently as flowers begin to grow in his body suffocating them to death. In the end, flowers grow over hiding his corpse.

Ultimate storyteller, Kaoris execution: Belle of the ball.

Kaori begins with telling a story she is put into. She wakes up in a massive ballroom with monokumas dancing away. The main Monokuma dressed up as a prince stands in the middle demanding she dance with him. However, while they dance birds fly into tear out her eyes and brutally attack her until death. It ends with the prince Monokuma declaring her unworthy and getting with another Monokuma dressed up as one of the wicked stepsisters from Cinderella.

Ultimate pilot, Raijin Hiroses execution

Raijin begins tied up as Monokuma pilots a plane. Monokuma flies poorly as they shoot at another Monokuma in a plane in a massive war scenario. Raijin is able to get released from his ropes as he rushes to get the plane to safety. However. The plane gets shot down from the other monokumas plane. It crashes into a civilian area killing multiple people who think he did it. Before he dies he sees the survivors curse his existence.

Ultimate Actor, Giichi Kutsuki execution. ‘All for the fans!’

The curtain opens up to a stage that Giichi is dropped into. There is a crowd of monokumas watching and cheering for him with a large sign declaring this execution is ‘LIVE’ That changes his former afraid/scornful execution to a hesitant smile not wanting to disappoint anyone watching. He is given a script and begins to act. However, the crowd begins to get closer and closer stressing him out to act better. However, they soon begin to grab at him, roughly. He is unable to get rid of them as they keep pulling at them eventually enough to rip off his limbs. He screams in pain as the crowd continues to grab and forcibly take whatever piece they can of their favorite actor until there only leaves a pool of blood with all of his remains going to the crowd.

Ultimate exorcist Yukino Kimura: ‘Burn the Witch!”

Yukino starts off in a graveyard and spots Monokuma. Monokuma laughs before doing some sort of ritual that Yukino immediately tries to stop. However. Multiple demons looking like Monokumas are summoned. Yukino tries to exorcise them, but to no avail as hand crawl out of the graves to restrain her. All while more demons keep coming beginning to grab her as she is now unable to do anything. Showing pure fear towards the dead for the first time she is dragged to a grave hole with her name on it and thrown into the pit with flames like hell with the rest of the Monokuma demons to burn.

[saltinekryze]

ahsoka 1x08 (finale!!) liveblog / post-mortem

under a cut because a) i have a lot of thoughts, and b) i finally updated my tumblr app and i can do that on mobile now

in the recap where thrawn talked about “wren and bridger” as a team and there was a shot of them grasping each others’ wrists mid-fight, the epitome of trust and partnership — chef’s kiss. i luv them

“even i fell victim to the heroics of a single jedi” yeah thrawn you better give ezra his flowers

the nightsister ritual is cool af. i’m still wondering why morgan elsbeth looked mostly human in the first place. is she generations removed from the nightsister line?

“the blade emitter is too narrow” lmao was that a nod to the criticism about how the lightsabers in rebels looked skinny

ANOTHER KANAN MENTION

“HE TAUGHT ME EVERYTHING I KNOW” 😭😭😭

EZRA’S USING THE SAME EMITTER AS KANAN AND USING A BLUE KYBER CRYSTAL 😭😭😭😭 THERE’S ONLY TWO EMITTERS OF THAT SAME KIND. IM FINE!!!!!

oh i’m glad sabine got her helmet back. (did she get it back last ep and i just didn’t notice?)

ahsoka, sabine and ezra all fighting the troopers is VERY COOL!!! please imprint that scene onto my brain

oh it feels soooo good to see ezra fighting with a saber again

zombie troopers! oh shit!!

“what’s your excuse?” “i missed you” AWWWW I LOVE THEM ❤️❤️

“for dathomir” 🥺 idk can we get merrin and morgan to have a cup of tea together or something. can they just vibe together

yessss let diana lee inosanto’s skills shine!! major props to rosario dawson too, i can’t imagine the amount of training she undertook

ezra and sabine fighting more troopers together with lightsabers HELL YA

ezra’s nervous smile as he stabbed the night trooper PLEASEEE that is so him

so there we have it… sabine using the force…. cool moment but again dave. we don’t HAVE to make everyone force-sensitive. that being said, i do enjoy the contrast of the effort it took sabine to summon her saber vs. the ease with which ezra summoned his. different levels of force-proficiency! i suppose that’s something they’ll explore more later (in a different series or in the upcoming filoni film?)

ezra’s trust in sabine!! sabine’s trust in herself!!! THE FORCE JUMP!!! (i guess sabine really unlocked her force abilities just then. 0-100 real quick. i am still figuring out how i feel about that.)

the troopers just standing in a circle watching ahsoka and morgan fight lmao. like a cursed dance battle

SABINE CAME BACK FOR AHSOKA 😭😭😭😭 oh this is such a good moment for her character. i’m so proud of her

ezra up to his old tricks stealing stormtrooper armor and imitating voices on comms :)))

“i knew your master” sick thrawn novel reference. so where’s the chiss ascendancy

SABINE AND AHSOKA ARENT MAKING IT BACK HOME. I FEEL SICK. IM SO SAD

SABINE AND EZRA WERE FINALLY REUNITED AFTER ALL THESE YEARS AND NOW THEY’RE SEPARATED AGAIN. I AM ILL

MORAI!!!!!!

oh there’s shin. that shot of her on howler-back raising her saber? dope af

BAYLAN STANDING NEAR MORTIS GOD FIGURES???

the Daughter’s head is missing. so i guess they are setting it up so ahsoka will take her place somehow and restore the balance. she’s imbued with her spirit after all

the fuck is thrawn planning to do on dathomir?

so like. did ezra just steal a ship and sneak away? no one noticed? or cared?

DID CHOPPER RECOGNIZE EZRA FROM AFAR?? IM CRYINGGGG

“hi hera. i’m home.” THE LOOK ON HERA’S FACE ❤️❤️ EZRA’S TEARY SMILE

ahsoka telling sabine “it’s time to move on” … leave me the fuck alone. sabine HAS to get back to the ghost crew. she just has to. i cannot bear it if she never sees them and never gets to go home again. i can’t even think about it too hard

FORCE GHOST ANAKIN WATCHING THEM (sabine can sense him too so i suppose she’s officially part of The Disaster Lineage. good luck bestie)

THE BEAUTIFUL MUSIC!!!!!

i do have some bones to pick though: namely — NO ONSCREEN HERA AND EZRA HUG????? NO ONSCREEN EZRA AND JACEN MEETING??????? DOES EZRA EVEN KNOW ABOUT HIM?!!

i wish we got more of a hint of what baylan is up to. ray stevenson is a tremendous actor and his presence will be greatly missed.

i might just write an angsty fic about ezra returning to the empty communications tower sabine lived in and maintained in his absence. i’m in shambles. goodbye!

[alketaire]

Oh fuck S17 trailer up early

Dan and I watched it again frame-by-frame so lots of screenshots and bullshit under the cut

hey calus, uh. your suns are looking pretty sick. no, no it’s not a compliment, take those things to the vet or something

but more importantly: see that thing at the top of frame? that’s the HELM. WE HAVE LIFTOFF, BAYBEE

Leviathan’s fucked, yeah. Pretty much every shot in the trailer is some recognizable part of the raids, but egrespored to hell and full of wee nightmares.

Like so.

Scorn bodies all over the trailer. Not a lot of Loyalists, but they’re still around.

Scorn portals, too. And still plenty of Calusbots. Gonna be disappointed if those nightmares don’t possess the bots and make them wiggle their fingers spookily or something.

Why wasn’t Caiatl invited to the weegee board session? Rude.

Seasonal artifact spotted. Hive magic rituals inside the Leviathan while surrounded by Calus’s Crown-of-Sorrow-fied Scorn...

New glaive? 10/10. New STASIS TRACE RIFLE? 15/10. Trespasser comeback? Nice/10. New Ghost shells? NICE/10. Seasonal armor? Scale broke, please call maintenance crew. /10.

Is - is that his -

she looks so COOL

Speaking of looking cool

Possible people Caiatl’s Nightmare could be: - Calus, who is ”““““alive”“““““ and doesn’t wear armor like that - Ghaul, who does wear armor like that but I feel like was way bigger than Caiatl sees him here? - Umun’Arath, who we have no fuckin’ clue what she looks like, this could be her, fuck who knows

Is there some “become the Nightmare” aspect to this story or is it “he is also his own Nightmare” because either way I am DOWN

oh hey Uldren, still got the boots

Dan was confused and delighted to see the Menagerie guns coming back, e.g. Epicurean on the left. Looks like a new auto in the middle and CALUS Mini-Tool on the right?

As a professional bonk Titan, I lost my shit. Given this is the first time we’ve seen animation of a Titan catching the hammer, Dan and I came up with two different ideas. Dan’s: you now have to catch the hammer mid-air to get the full melee charge back (i.e., if it hits the ground and you pick it up there, you only get half the charge or something). Mine: Fuck it, bonkerang.

Cutting edge Hunter tech: two Tripmines taped together. This looks fun as hell.

Beloved is back, get ready to Crucible

That is a GREAT activity rally flag, also please yes more rally flags

Did they actually change the way the maul looks, or do I just never see it from this angle?

I have only played Voidstalker, can a Hunter main verify whether “stab ground, give buff” is new or not?

ngl feeling like I am going to fucking elope with this subclass rework. LOOKIDAT.

HEY WARLOCKS, WHO’S YOUR FAVOURITE FULLMETAL ALCHEMIST CHARACTER? I’LL PRETEND YOU SAID ROY MUSTANG. YOU’RE ROY MUSTANG NOW.

FUCK.

YEAH.

Here’s where Dan reached peak ????? because:

I never got Trespasser in D1, but Dan’s excited, so I am, too.

That ship is so gorgeous that it has to be from either Eververse or PVP. :(

Leviathan Underbelly my beloved and everyone else’s detested

Is that armor Iron Banner, Eververse, or Solstice? Season preview site says Eververse set? Also oh no Caiatl having even more of a bad time :(

the FUCK is THAT about. i literally got nothing here, what the shit is the Hellmouth doing now

Also, the clouds on Earth look like a Dreg yelling while he gives you the finger if you look long enough

Looks like that’s an event-specific flaming scythe of looking insanely cool rather than a class-specific one

Confirmed: Uldren, Zavala’s dead wife, and Crown of Sorrow. Not confirmed: whether Caiatl’s nightmare is Ghaul or Umun’Arath. Looking pretty Ghaulish there, though.

[spnae]

Chapter 21 Our Expert

The two vampires made their way down to the front entry hall. Spike bounced on the balls of his feet while Angel leaned against the wall with his arms across his chest. Angel eyed Spike with annoyance, “So I see you found her alright. Did she even really need your help?”

“I managed to get to her in Paris before it did. We took down the nasty together. Sort of solidified the bond between us.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“Thing’s blood had certain mystical properties, we both got completely drenched in it.”

“That sucks.”

“Not as much as you might think. Turns out that back in old times they used to use this thing’s blood for marriage rituals as a test of true love. Couples that shared real true love got over a weeks worth of seriously incredible sex and the couples that had anything less than the real thing just went completely mouth-foaming, bug-shagging mad. Normally ended up with the unhappy couple killing each other before morning according to Little Red. These folks would do it on purpose as a test of love and fidelity. It just sort of happened to us. We didn’t find out about the strings attached until well into the next day when Wil called to tell us about it.”

“And since neither one of you is dead or insane…”

“Course, Buffy and I hadn’t noticed anything out of the ordinary. We just thought things were amplified because we’d been apart for so long. Couldn’t keep our hands off of each other, you see. Didn’t really leave the room much that week… or the next. Nothing quite like Paris in spring,” he smiled serenely, gloating.

“Are you done? You got that out. Played your little mind game and had your fun?”

Spike grinned, “Not just messing round, Angel-cakes. Every word is true. Best. Sex. Ever. And I do mean, ever. Not to mention it seems to have left this sort of connection between us. Like a psycho-sexual thing, hard to make out sometimes if we’re not actually touching or in the act, but it’s coming along, getting stronger. Growing. That one wasn’t in the books, we’ve been figuring it out on our own since it happened.”

“Bet you’re loving this.”

“Damn right I am.”

“You’re twisted.”

“Yeah, a bit. At least I know how to have a good time.”

Buffy came jogging down the stairs dressed for fall in jeans, a sweater and running shoes. Her hair was pulled back into a severe braid. When she got there she pulled a messenger bag down from a hook by the door and slung it around her neck.

“Ready boys?”

Spike smiled at her fondly while Angel looked like he might be sick. She shifted her gaze between the two, “You told him about Paris, didn’t you?”

“You know I couldn’t resist.”

“I thought we agreed we were going to wait to tell him about that.”

Angel looked at the two of them, “Seriously?”

Buffy sighed and opened the door leading the way in across the lawn towards the duplex, “Nope, it’s all a figment of your imagination and you’re going to wake up soon. What the hell do you think we are doing here anyway?”

“Each other apparently…” he grumbled as he followed them across the lawn, “I don’t know, I assumed training Slayers. But you two seem more like honeymooners than teachers. So you tell me.”

“We wanted to take a trip together but thought we should come up here first. Do a little actual work and take things from there—“

“Then Giles broke his leg, and we decided to stay on a bit longer. Had planned on a little sightseeing tour of Edinburgh this weekend, and now we’re entertaining out of town guests,” Spike interjected.

Buffy shot Spike a quick nod, “Right now we’re just sort of rolling with it.”

“You always did like rambling didn’t you, Spike?”

“Figured the lady deserved a bit of fun for once; before we decide to settle down for good,” Spike rested a hand on her shoulder as Buffy stopped to unlock the front door. The three of them stepped inside without any resistance. For now the two vampires still didn’t need an invitation.

“So what is this place anyway? Looks like you’re starting renovations in here,” Angel said as he looked around the living and dining rooms and followed Buffy through the kitchen and into the basement.

“Yup. We just got the place cleaned out, renovations will be starting soon.”

“Are you going to start keeping the girls in here?”

“Not exactly,” Buffy said, dismissively as she pulled out a map, “look this is where Wendy said she and her girls found the baby.”

“Don’t you think maybe we should’ve brought her with us, Love? The redemption bit?”

Buffy frowned a little, “Honestly at this point, I don’t know if that would be a good idea. She’s been seriously off since it happened. Obviously it’s important for her to have a role in fixing this, but maybe just not tonight.”

“Fair enough, I just work here.”

“I’m not your boss, we’re partners.”

“Can we move this along?” Angel asked impatiently.

Buffy folded the map up and handed it over to Spike for safekeeping, “Ready to see something cool?” She asked Angel as she made her way down into the basement, stake at the ready. Once again the basement was empty. She went over to open the tunnel door and it swung open.

“Nice,” Angel grinned approvingly.

“I know right?” Spike agreed as he pushed past him into the tunnel, “Dead convenient.”

It didn’t take them long to find the tunnels Wendy had noted on the map. Angel led the way until they came to a large curved room with a small altar in the middle. There was a single older looking demon standing near the altar. He had blue skin a little darker than the baby’s and was wearing green robes with black trim. He had been lighting a series of candles on the altar. He was mostly bald, which made the three small horns on each side of his head seem larger than the ones on the stocky male demon they had seen in the tunnel before with the mother. The old demon in front of Angel had several eyebrow piercings and a large ring through his nose and a thick white beard.

Angel held up a hand signaling for Spike and Buffy to hang back while he took several more steps into the room. He waited a moment then cleared his throat before speaking in the odd language Buffy had heard the parents of the child speaking. The conversation seemed to be going well until the older looking demon suddenly tilted his head looking confused.

Angel fumbled for a second, “Spike? Help me out here.”

Spike cleared his throat, “Ah well, I think you just told him you know the location of the missing cabbage.”

Angel grimaced, nodded once, “Always get those words mixed up…” he said under his breath before he continued on.

“Ladies and Gentlemen, I present our expert,” Spike murmured low into Buffy’s ear.

Buffy glared at him and turned her attention back to Angel trying not to smile. Angel continued his conversation with the old looking demon. After a moment he bowed his head. Angel imitated him then turned around to Buffy and Spike. “This is Elric, he’s one of the elders. He is willing to arrange a meeting with the other elders tomorrow night. The girls involved will have to be present.”

Buffy stepped forward, “Do we trust this guy? How do we know they won’t hurt them?”

“It’s not part of the process. They wouldn’t do anything until they talk to them first.”

“Ah hum, ok… do we bring the baby?”

Angel turned back to Elric, asked Buffy’s question and turned back to her, “The elders will need to see the baby, but they can not accept him at that time. If things go well tomorrow, then we can bring him back the next night when the girls will have to present the parents with gifts. If they accept their gifts then we can give them back their son.”

“Ok. And if they don’t?”

“Oh the usual.”

“Great, I love the usual,” Spike quipped.

“Speak for yourself,” Buffy intoned flatly.

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

They had no more than got back into the kitchen at the duplex when Angel’s phone started ringing. He checked the phone and held up a finger. “I’m going to have to take this,” he excused himself walking away from them and into the empty living room area.

“Hey, is something wrong?” he asked quietly into the phone, “No, of course not. I don’t mind.”

Angel listened intently for several minutes before answering, “I’m in Scotland on business right now…” another pause, “It might be a few days but I can meet up with you if—“ Angel stopped talking abruptly, “Yeah alright, sure. I’ll be in touch. Hey, thanks for calling. It was really nice hearing from you. I’ll see you soon.”

He flipped the phone shut and looked up to find Spike and Buffy both watching him. “That the werewolf?” Spike drawled.

Angel looked at the phone and back up at them, “Wh— oh no, that was just— it’s not important,” he slipped the phone back into his pocket then rubbed his hands together. “Ready to get out of here?”

Buffy eyed him, “Sure, sun up isn’t really that far off, probably a good idea.”

As they made their way across the lawn Angel spoke up again, “By the way, where’s Dawn? I’m surprised she’s not here with you.”

“Taking summer classes in Rome.”

“And you’re here, with him?”

“And she’s almost eighteen, living with a super powerful witch and a Slayer; not some random guy. I have met most of her friends and she hangs out with at least one Slayer nearly all the time. Plus there’s this thing called a telephone that’s super handy for two people to communicate with.”

“Hard to believe she’s that old already.”

“Yup…”

“Wait; Did you say Rome?”

“They’re still in the same flat,” Spike interjected.

“What school is she at?”

Buffy told him and then raised an eyebrow at him when he stopped dead in his tracks. “What’s the matter with you?” She asked.

He shook his head, “Ah nothing, I just know someone else who is taking summer classes there,” he hitched a thumb behind his shoulder gesturing towards the duplex, “Kind of a crazy coincidence… the phone call I got in there… just letting me know he’s—“

“You gotta be kidding,” Spike and Buffy said in unison as they both stared at him.

“I—“

“No seriously, you gotta be kidding me,” Buffy repeated, “If you tell me your kid is at the same school as my little sister… that’s some coincidence.”

“What?”

“Oh right, so how many college-age kids do you know?”

“You expect us to believe that your kid just happens to be taking a summer semester at the same school her little sister is?” Spike asked.

“First of all, I don’t have much contact with him. He calls every once in a while to give me updates. I knew he was planning on taking a summer trip somewhere in Europe. I didn’t know he’d be in Rome. Or there. It’s a big school, they might not even meet.”

“They’re taking summer classes at the same school, roughly the same age, both speak English, come from LA, and both exist because of some major cosmic rewriting. No, they won’t stumble into each other at all.”

“Probably shagging already,” Spike said nonchalantly.

Buffy and Angel both glared at Spike, “What? Like you’re not thinking it too? I know you are, Pet. Probably what Dawn has been so squirrely about.”

Buffy turned to Angel, “How long has he been there?”

“Humm, I’m not sure, maybe a month? He had some trouble with housing, he was just letting me know that it finally got sorted out and he was settling in.”

“Be funny if he’s just crashing with Dawn. He knows Willow right? It’s not that far of a leap, is it? Friend of dad’s, bonus cute girl… just saying,” Spike said.

Buffy rolled her eyes towards the sky, “William, Honey, please shut up…”

“Slayer, I’m just elaborating on what you already said. You know as well as I do, how this stuff works. I can’t be the only one who’s noticed how the Powers That Be, love to screw with anyone in the know. Sounds just like their brand of screwy. Your mystical sister getting it on with his mystical son. Both of whom shouldn't actually exist. You see what I’m getting at don’t you?”

“That’s just what we need…”

“I’m sure it’s nothing. Connor is a good kid… now… Look, I was already thinking about heading down that way when I’m done here. That’s what we were talking about. I can check in on Dawn at the apartment too if you want.”

Buffy shot Spike a quick glance, “Yeah, I think I’d really appreciate that. As much as I don’t want to think about it, Spike is right.”

“Only if Dawn has started wearing leather and slaying,” Angel mumbled under his breath.

Buffy caught it and looked at him strangely, “What's that supposed to mean?”

“Just that he, ehh… has a type… wears leather, can fight… and he may or may not have a thing for Slayers…” he trailed off.

Spike opened the castle door and let them all in, “Must be hereditary… but Dawn’s not a Slayer,” he pointed out.

“No, but I have taught her to fight and she does have full access to my closet…” she said grumpily as she hung up the messenger bag she had taken with them.

Spike smirked as he shrugged off his long leather jacket, “No telling what sweet delights are hiding in there.”

“I’m going to see if Willow or Dawn emailed me back yet. Maybe they’ll tell me something that cancels out this whole stupid conversation,” She paused abruptly and shook her head, “You know what, no, I’m done worrying for tonight. Now we have a game plan for getting the kid back. I feel a little better, like I can breathe.”

Spike and Angel exchanged glances.

“You have something planned for tonight, Pet? Letting go of worry and all…”

Buffy thought for a moment looking between the two handsome vampires. She had a brief daydream of the two of them standing in front of her shirtless on some tropical beach at sunset. Buffy cleared her throat, “Humm, not really. Maybe a glass of wine and a movie, then I can check my email.”

“Switch wine for whiskey and I’m in,” Spike shrugged. He brushed her hair behind her shoulder and ran his hand down her arm taking her hand in his.

Buffy smiled, “Movie night?”

Spike swung her hand once and smiled at her, “Alright, but not another chick flick.”

“I was thinking of a comedy. I need a laugh. Get my mind off Dawn and all this baby stuff for the night,” Still holding his hand, Buffy turned to Angel, “What do you think Angel, join us for movie night?”

“Yeah, what do you say, Mate? Bury the hatchet and try doing the old-friends bit. At least for tonight. Try it on for size,” Spike said in a tone that dared Angel to refuse the olive branch.

Angel glared at him then glanced at Buffy. She was still holding Spike’s hand. All she was asking for was a little civility and an escape. “It’s been a while since I’ve watched a movie.”

“I’ll get the popcorn!” Buffy withdrew from Spike and shot off towards the kitchen.

Spike watched her for a second then turned towards Angel, “Come on then, let’s find something to make the girl laugh.”

Angel hesitated but followed Spike into the large living room. Spike immediately started rummaging through the extensive movie collection, pulling out a couple of Buffy’s favorites along with some random ones she might be interested in and laying them down on the coffee table to give her the final say.

Angel eyed the movies, “I’ve never even heard of half of these,” he said skeptically as he eyed the small stack of movies including, ‘Death Becomes Her’, ‘Scooby-Doo’, ‘Men In Black’, ‘Dazed and Confused’, ‘The Burbs’, ‘Saving Grace’, and ‘Bedazzled’.

“Not surprising. You really got to get out more.”

“When did they make a ‘Scooby-Doo’ live action movie?”

“It’s pretty new. Haven’t watched it yet. But look at the front. Daphne’s never looked better, she’s seriously hot.”

Angel eyed the movie case, “Looks like Buffy with red hair.”

“Like I said, seriously hot.”

Angel looked at it again and set it back down. Buffy came in a minute later with a big bowl of popcorn and she set it down, “If you two want blood you can help yourself.”

Spike raised a hand absentmindedly as he continued looking through the movies, “Just whisky for me, for now.”

“That’s what I forgot,” she said as she went to retrieve her wine, and the whiskey and glasses for the guys.

She came back in, set down the glasses, a bottle each of wine and whiskey. Angel watched with interest as she stripped off the sweater she had worn out. Now they were inside, she was getting warm again. Buffy didn’t notice his gaze and picked up the stack of movies. She threw one back down and handed the rest back to Spike to put away. He shifted through them before putting them back in the bin, noting which movie was missing from the stack and grinned.

“Go on, Pet. Let’s see what happens when cartoons come alive.”

Buffy got the movie started and went over to stand by the couch, “I’m honestly just hoping for a good laugh.”

“Freddy looks like a real winner,” Angel scoffed as he sat down.

Buffy looked almost offended, “Maybe not the hair, but I thought the actor was pretty damn cute.” Both vampires looked at her, “What? I’m allowed to look,” she said indignantly.

Spike stood up, suddenly wrapping his arms around her and pulled them both down onto the couch. Buffy let out a squeal as she landed on top of him awkwardly and laughed. She swatted him playfully and Spike loosened his grip, letting her up. He sat up a little with her. Their eyes locked as he pushed a lock of hair behind her ear, “As long as you know where home is.”

“You know I do,” she said low in his ear. Spike leaned down to her for a kiss. It was sweet and passionate and left them both wanting more.

Angel fought the urge to vomit. Instead he just reached for the remote and hit play on the movie, “Could you please not do that? Movie night was your idea, if you two need to go upstairs then go,” his tone was grim and he said it without looking at them.

Spike smirked at Buffy, “What say you, Pet? Do we need some alone time?”

“Shhh, the movie is starting,” she said in her most innocent tone. She pulled the popcorn towards herself and settled into the crook of Spike‘s arm leaning up against him comfortably.

The movie had barely started when Faith came into the living room carrying a glass of ice and stopped dead in her tracks at the sight before her. Spike and Buffy cuddled on one couch and Angel sitting alone, sullenly on the other.

“What the hell is going on in here? What happened tonight; did you meet with the elders?” Faith asked indignity.

“Movie night. We will go back tomorrow and the next night with Wendy’s group and the baby,” Buffy answered without turning towards her.

Faith sat down with a huff on the opposite side of the same couch Angel was on and grabbed the popcorn off of Buffy, “Nice of you to see if I wanted to join. Where’s the love, B?”

“Got wine and whiskey, get yourself a glass,” Spike added.

“Already got one. Felt like having one on the rocks so I came down for some ice. Guess that explains why I couldn’t find the bottle in the kitchen. Sounds like my kind of movie night. What are we watching anyway? Is that— is this Scooby-Doo? Are they getting stoned in ‘The Mystery Machine’, what the?”

“Everyone knows Shaggy’s a stoner. Now shut it, watch the movie. Drink,” Spike said simply.

Faith leaned forward to grab the whiskey off the coffee table. She poured herself a glass and glanced over at Angel. She caught him stealing a quick glance at Buffy and Spike, and filled his empty glass. Angel grunted a thanks and sat back looking dejected. Faith stretched her legs out on the couch, her feet not quite touching Angel’s thigh. He didn’t seem to notice. In fact he just sat there staring at the television rather than actually watching the movie. Faith rolled her eyes and directed her attention back to the movie where Scooby and Shaggy were doing something goofy.

Spike and Buffy both laughed at the antics on the screen. He murmured something into Buffy’s ear that Faith couldn’t hear and Buffy laughed again. Angel furrowed his brow and downed half of his glass of whiskey. He held the glass to his forehead as he glanced at them again.

Faith kicked him with one sock covered foot, “Let it go,” she mouthed to him.

Angel let out a sigh and relaxed a little before finishing off the contents of his glass and poured another drink. He continued drinking, sipping slowly rather than pounding shots, throughout the rest of the film. Casting a glance at the happy couple nearly every time Buffy giggled.

The moment the movie ended, both Buffy and Spike practically shot off the couch. Buffy muttered something vaguely apologetic about going to bed early and she and Spike made their way up to their bedroom.

Faith got up, “How about another movie?” She asked Angel.

He turned his head back around to look at Faith, “As long as it’s not based on a cartoon.”

Faith rummaged through the movie bin and pulled out ‘Lethal Weapon 3’ without asking what he wanted to watch. As Faith sat back down with a fresh glass of whiskey in her hand. The movie started and Angel patted the top of her foot, “I know what you’re trying to do…”

“Is it working?”

“I’ll let you know.”

Faith eyed him before taking a sip of whiskey and turning back to the TV, “You got to lighten up dude. I’m not saying get your happy on, just ease up a bit.”

“Not sure that would help the situation.”

“A little levity helps in like 80% of all situations. Maybe you should give it a shot.”

“I can be funny. I make people laugh all the time,” he said with a pout.

“Ah huhh, sure, whatever you say,” she added as she rolled her eyes.

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

Upstairs in their bedroom, Spike pulled Buffy to him. She placed a hand on his chest, “Thanks for tonight. I think Angel is finally starting to come around,” she said softly.

“No he’s not. Just because he’s playing nice doesn’t mean he’s on board with you and me shagging every chance we get. Might not be such a bad thing if he never does.”

“Now that’s just evil.”

“I don’t mean it like that,” she gave him an angry look, “No honestly,” he said defensively, “Think about it like putting an extra lock on Angelus’s prison. Even if he does get back with his werewolf chippie or finds someone new, he can be happy without being TOO happy.”

“So you’re saying flaunting our happiness in front of him is for the greater good?”

“Basically, yeah. It’s also a hell of a lot of fun. Throwing all that nonsense of his, back at him.”

“Yeah I’m not sure how I feel about that. I get that he’s put you through some shit but I refuse to be a pawn or worse, some ridiculous prize, in some kind of sick game between you two idiots.”

“You know that’s not how I think of you, don’t you? You are so much more to me than some stupid prize, Buffy. I love you, all of you.”

“I know. I just can’t stand the stupidity of it all when you two get together.”

“Not really much I can do about that, Pet.”

She glared cooly at him. Spike sighed, “I’ll do what I can. But only because it’s you, Slayer.”

Buffy let out a huff and dipped her head before looking back up to him, “I’ll take the nice act for now.”

“That right?” His tone was seductive as he let his hands roam over her body.

“What do you say to trying a little meditation?”

“Not exactly what I was hoping you’d say,” he arched an eyebrow at her.

“Oh I think we could make it interesting if we try,” she smiled wickedly.

“Alright, where do you want me?”

Buffy threw a couple of throw pillows on the floor and got out some candles. Once the candles were lit she sat down on one of the pillows. Spike kicked off his boots and mirrored her. They sat cross legged across from one other. Buffy held out her hands for Spike. His fingers glided over her palms. A subtle electric current passed through them both as their fingers intertwined. Buffy let out a small sigh.

“Ready for this?” She asked.

“Ready if you are.”

She nodded, “Close your eyes and clear your mind. Focus on me. I’ll do the same. We’ll try sensing each other and sending thoughts back and forth.”

“Sexy thoughts?”

“Let’s try small and work our way up,” she winked, “Although I wouldn’t complain to a little sexy.”

Spike cracked his neck and settled down. Closing his eyes he started picturing himself kissing Buffy dressed just as they had been. The kiss was slow and tender. Buffy pulled back from him a little.

So far so good, can you hear me okay? She thought.

Loud and clear, he responded.

A moment later the mind-scape shifted slightly. The kiss resumed and they were floating through space.

Spike? What just happened?

Just roll with it, Love. In his mind's eye he tangled his fingers into her golden hair and pulled her head back kissing along her neck and down to her exposed breast. They were both naked. Interwoven and floating. He imagined taking one of her breasts in his mouth, nipping at the tip with a little more force than he normally would. He heard Buffy gasp and realized it must have worked. Buffy’s eyes suddenly flared with desire.

Two can play that game, she thought. She ran her mouth along his neck and throat. Down towards his collarbone and back up to his ear as she ran her hands through his hair. She wrapped her legs around him, then ran a leg down the back of his thigh and hooked her ankle around the back of his knee. She ground down on him, rubbing herself against his hard member.

You’re in for it now, Pet. Spike growled and his eyes flashed yellow as he reached a hand down working his fingers over her. Slowly he worked his way in. Buffy moved to take him into her warmth.

He had barely worked himself in all the way before Buffy pulled back and opened her eyes, breaking the connection. They were both still sitting in the middle of their bedroom on the throw pillows. Buffy was panting. Spike looked at her with a combination of lust and confusion on his face, “Why’d you break it? It was just getting good.”

She rocked up onto her knees pitching herself into his arms, “Because as awesome as that was, I need you. The real you. I need to feel you inside me.”

He smiled, “Bloody hell yes!” he pushed himself up to his knees to meet her lips. Buffy stripped his shirt from him and ran her tongue along the well defined line bisecting his amazingly chiseled torso. She bit at his hip. Spike’s eyes flashed open turning from blue to yellow and back again.

He gripped his fingers into her hair pulling her up to kiss him again, “I love you, Buffy,” his growl came out from deep within his chest.

She knew his demon self was hovering just below the surface and didn’t care. She kissed him as she reached for the hem of her own shirt. Spike ran his hands up her smooth taught stomach and up over her bra. He pulled back to look at her as she pulled the shirt off revealing a pale purple bra.

“This a new one?”

“I held back a few surprises from our shopping trip.”

“Keeping thing’s interesting are we?”

“Always,” she said as she shimmied out of her jeans.

They kissed again as Buffy pushed Spike back onto the bed. She unfastened his pants and slid them down. Spike sat up to remove his shirt, and she straddled him. Buffy took out the hair tie still holding her hair back in a tight braid and shook out her hair, letting it fall around her shoulders.

“God you’re beautiful,” Spike exclaimed softly. He ran his fingers lightly along her hips stopping when he felt little bows of ribbon on the sides of the little matching panties.

He looked down and grinned, “I like this set,” he said as he pulled a ribbon on each side before pulling them off completely. She shivered as the fabric passed over the sensitive skin. Then he reached up until he found the clasp of her bra and undid it with a practiced hand. Buffy arched her back, letting the bra slip down exposing herself fully to him. Spike gazed at her atop him, feeling like the luckiest man in the world.

Buffy grinned at him, “What's that look for?”

“Just appreciating the view” he lifted a hand, trailing his fingers from her collarbone downward. She shivered in anticipation when he passed down over her breast. He brushed the soft toned skin of her abdomen and continued down her body, moving slowly and deliberately.

Buffy moved her hips, slowly rocking herself over his fingers as he rubbed her gently. Buffy was starting to feel desperate now. Her need for him growing. She raked her nails lightly down his chest as she went in for another passion laced kiss. Spike deepened the kiss as he adjusted himself and pulled Buffy down onto him in one fluid motion. Buffy let out a little gasp as he pushed his hardness into her completely. Giving her exactly what she wanted so badly. The connection between them intensified as they sensed each other’s needs and deepest desires. Spike nearly lost control for a moment, feeling his fangs descend. Buffy watched. Then leaning down she grabbed his hands and using her strength she pushed his hands up over his head pinning them there. In retaliation Spike took one of her breasts in his mouth, teasing her with his tongue. Buffy gasped when he bit lightly. It sent a shock of pleasure and pain through her that had her right on the edge of release. After several minutes she let his hands go. However, he held them in place, reaching up to hold onto the headboard.

He watched her with hungry eyes as she pulled back, sitting up and rolling her hips sensually as she felt him gliding inside of her. They were both lost in a sea of sensation as they moved their bodies together in writhing synchronized motions. Suddenly it was as though they were connected in both the physical world and their shared mind-scape. The feelings were intense as they explored each other both inside and out. The mind Spike was the one in his vampire form, the demon inside him joining in the fun. She opened her eyes to look at the real Spike pressed into her, realizing his face hadn’t actually changed at all. She kissed him and they kissed in the mind-scape too, in spite of his fangs. With a thrill Buffy realized she didn’t mind either way and deepened both kisses.

When she opened her eyes again Spike really had let his face shift, “Are you sure this is what you want?” He rasped quietly.

“I want you, all of you. The monster and the man, inside and out.”

Spike growled as she brought her mouth back down onto his, carefully keeping himself from hurting her with his fangs. She moved back over to his neck and ear, sucking and flicking with her tounge. Can you be gentle with those things? She asked inside her head without ever lifting her mouth from his ear.

“What did you have in mind?” He gasped aloud when she bit his ear with blunt teeth.

Buffy sat up a little, offering her other breast to him. He took it gleefully. As he rolled his tongue along the tip the way she liked. He gave a little nip with his teeth. She gasped. Little pinpricks of blood met his tongue making him shudder involuntarily. Did I hurt you? He thought to her.

“A little. Don’t stop,” she gasped again as he continued to tease. The sensation over took them both. He ran his tongue around soothingly, tasting the little hints of blood on her skin. He loved that taste but never wanted to really hurt her. He thrust up into her as hard as he could and Buffy shuttered as the first orgasm hit.

Spike let go of the headboard. He grabbed Buffy’s hips, suddenly lifting her up and pulling her forward towards him. He let his face melt back into his human form before grinning up at her. “Wouldn’t want to damage your sweet spot, Pet,” he growled low, “I want you.”

Buffy grabbed hold of the headboard and pressed herself against it as he dipped his mouth under her. Tasting her. He teased her with his tongue relentlessly and dug his fingertips into her hips and thighs as she pressed herself to his mouth asking for more.

Buffy screamed as he continued to pleasure her. His hands wandered over her lower back and up to her breasts. She released her grip on the headboard and grabbed his hands signaling him to let go. She ran her fingers through his hair roughly. Spike let out a low sexy growl. Arching her back, Buffy reached behind herself rubbing her hand against him. He was still slick and wet from being inside her. Electricity shot through them both as Buffy screamed again, “William!”

Buffy moaned again, and gripped a handful of his hair, thus spurring him on harder. A scream escaped her lips again before lifting herself up. She swung her leg around so she could move to the side, going down on all fours. Communicating her needs through their link.

Without saying a word Spike got up, and positioned himself behind her. She pushed back into him and he glided into her deeply once more, feeling her clamp down around him. Buffy straightened up, pressing her back against his chest as they continued moving in rhythm with each other. Spike growled and kissed her neck, tasting her salty skin. She moaned in appreciation and reached one hand to grab his hand on her hip, moving it down between her legs. Then she turned as she grabbed the back of his head and pulled him to her for a kiss. He bent towards her, accepting it like a living man might accept an oxygen mask.

As their lips and tongues kneaded each other, Buffy felt herself building towards another release. The kiss deepened. Spike moaned into her open mouth as he continued to drive into her steadily. She let out another little cry of delight as he moved his other hand over her breast pinching gently. Buffy released her hands and moved slightly as she pressed them against the headboard for leverage. Spike increased his pace, sending them both over the edge.

He held her in place with his hands on her hips as Buffy steadied herself. She reached her arm back again pulling him into another kiss, this one slow and tender. They turned to face each other and resumed the kiss as they laid down on the bed. Buffy struggled to catch her breath as they lay there intertwined in postcoital bliss.

Spike rested his head against hers and smirked, “That was incredible.”

“Yeah it was,” She panted as she pulled herself a little closer to him.

“That’s a mind game I don’t mind playing.”

“Think we’ll ever get the hang of that without the sexcapades?”, she teased.

“I’m not complaining.”

Buffy laughed, “Yeah, I didn’t think you would,” she passed the moment relishing in the feel of his arms around her, “I love you.”

“Still getting used to hearing that,” he said softly.

“I love you,” she repeated earnestly.

“I love you too.”

Buffy wiggled a little in his arms as she readjusted herself on the bed with him, “I know I don’t say it enough… to anyone… I just really want you to know how much I really do, love you— you know, with Angel in town and all… I just want—“

“I’m gonna stop you. You don’t have to prove anything, Love.”

She took a deep breath, “Liar,” she laughed, “You say that, but I know you. You wouldn’t be so damn insecure around Angel if—“

Spike huffed, “You have no idea how much of that bloody nonsense isn’t even about you, Pet. You’re right about one thing, I’m still working through it a bit. Did a lot of that in LA but it’s still there; a bit.”

“You’re sure that’s all?”

“I’m sure. Think of it like serious daddy issues— except not— and way more twisted than the average.”

“Yeah, I can’t think of you two like that—“

“Like what? A freaking twisted family? That’s sort of what we are, Pet. A little like the family you’ve built for yourself around here. Except way more buggered.”

“I so don’t need to hear this. Why not go with something less— icky than daddy issues?”

Spike chuckled, “Dru always called Angelus ‘daddy’,” he shrugged, “Then he wouldn’t think twice about shagging her just to annoy me,” he cleared his throat, “I see your point.”

“Yup. That and it sounds like you’re still hung up on Dru.”

“Pfft, not bloody likely,” he paused a moment turning his face towards hers with a wicked grin, “So what do you think, Love, round two? Or would that be three with the whole mind thing?”

“Oh yeah, color me totally reassured,” she snorted delicately and grinned.

Still grinning, she tilted her head for another kiss and let herself melt into him. He pulled her hard against his naked body. Letting out a gruff moan, he kissed and gently nipped her neck. She ran her fingers in his hair and gripped hard. Setting up the mind-scape once more they dove in. The physical and the mental intertwining until they lost themselves in the other. There in that bramble of mind and body they found themselves and each other over and over again.

They moved against each other. Feeling, touching, and tasting every inch of one and other in slow sensual movements that consumed them both in sheer ecstasy. They let their minds wander in and out of each other, heightening the experience exponentially. The sun had risen long before they finally fell asleep, still intertwined in a tangle of limbs as they slept.

[thegreymoon]

Black Wedding

I'm so sick with some bullshit virus and trying to gauge whether I will feel better tomorrow so that I can get back to work, but. Ugh.

In the meantime, I will try to get back to the Black Wedding. It's been months, I think, since I put a pause on all drama-watching. Unfortunately, my concentration has been shot to hell. I've been finding it so hard to focus, even on the things I like, but I am going to try tonight.

This show doesn't deserve this. I'm only two episodes in, but it has been fantastic so far. So dark and atmospheric, they are doing a brilliant job with the characters and it is easily the best I've seen so far from any ex-Yu production (or at least the most tailored to my taste).

The goal is one full episode tonight! Let's see how far I make it.

***

This show is stupid gorgeous. So beautifully filmed.

***

LMAO, of course 🤣🤣

So typical of a Balkan mother. When doctors don't help, turn to mystics and wayward priests. Even though my family is Christian, they fully believe that a Muslim imam has the power to lift black magic. Even had one of my aunt's in-laws ask my mother to get her in touch with one, but mom sent her to one of our own scammers instead. Fun times.

***

LMAO, the communism didn't stick even when everyone was supposedly communist 🤣🤣 People may have been willing to renounce religion, but they were never willing to renounce superstition.

***

This went well 😅

***

Aww, they are friends.

But you just know that she is fucking that jerk cop. There is zero chance a Balkan show is going to pass up on the opportunity to illustrate how the rabid feminist is nevertheless gagging for that bad boy misogynistic dick 🙄

***

LMAO, I love her, she is such a queen (albeit with potentially terrible taste in men) 🤣🤣

***

Well, shit.

***

SHIT, SHIT, SHIT AND EVEN MORE SHIT.

HE'S UP AND AWAKE AND TALKING. YES, DOCTOR, WHAT DID YOU DO??

***

LMAO, so foul.

***

Anyway, yeah. A full episode in one sitting didn't happen. Continuing with the second half two days later 😢

***

WHAT HAS BEGUN

Anyway, I love this priest and I love Orthodox churches in general. They have good energy, even when the priests are criminals.

***

Oh? He's been excommunicated?

I knew I liked him.

***

Who?

Super creepy. Hoping for a witch.

***

She's so happy, this does not bode well.

That deranged pregnant girl has something to do with all this.

***

Yeah, this is bad. Very, very bad.

***

NOOOO, DON'T FOLLOW THE WITCH INTO THE MURKY DEEP WATER

***

IDK, she doesn't look particularly pregnant to me.

Anyway, yeah. He's going to die. Let's hope that's the worst that's going to happen to him.

***

Apparently not 🙄 I was so sure she was going to drown him.

Anyway, what is even the point of a devil-worshipping ritual if you don't get to sacrifice the mediocre dude who abandoned you to marry some city girl in the process. Disappointed.

[eurofox]

Project zero/Fatal Frame 4 review

I really want another addition to this series or at least a re-release of the original triology so I can play them again so I paid full wack for this now 15 year old port but I did enjoy it. Although I ‘m going to be controversial here, I preferred 5 overall, this game is by far the least scary in the whole series. I enjoyed it, but probably worth about 30 euro, not 50 😩 Anyway spoilers at the end:

Although it’s on old Wii game, they’ve touched up the models and everything looks well enough. The characters aren’t very expressive, fairly doll like and don’t react much to the freaky shit going on around them. They are also improperly dressed for such a trip, heels and dresses, and I’ve said it before, but I’ll say it again, that is very jarring for me. The ghost design is the most uninspired ever in the series, most just look like normal people who float and there’s only one or two really freaky ones. The gothic lolita ghost was more cringe than anything. They did react just before a shot and that was kind of cool, it’s just a shame they were mostly pretty boring looking. Plus there are 3 in particulr who just keep coming back again and again and I got so fucking sick of them. The original game still has the best disturbing ghosts.

  I was disappointed there was no English voice option. I know it was never originally released but it meant I couldn’t understand what the ghosts were saying and that takes away from the fear. I also enjoyed the goofy voice acting in the other games, it gave me an uncanny feeling. The Japanese just didn’t do it for me.

The controls are ok, but stiff. Characters can barely run, just shuffle slightly faster looking like they've shat themselves. Evade feels clunky as hell but usually works. The mechanic where you shine the torch to reveal items is an absolute ball ache though, didn't translate well to PS4 at all and you can miss things. Plus those fucking shitty ghost hands are here too, albeit far rarer.

 I liked the environment this time, the western style hospital made a nice change from the usual Japanese mansions in the other games. I also didn’t get lost as much this time as most rooms felt very unique and memorable so I knew where to go. The other games had a lot of similar tatami rooms and I’d always mix them up and spend ages running around. A lot less open than MOBW which helped set it apart. Although some areas I felt were used too much and other areas weren’t really visited except once.

 The camera gameplay wasn’t as good as 5 I feel. I liked the way in 5 you could target weakpoints, felt there was more strategy to it. There is variety here though so it didn’t get too stale. I quite liked Chosiro’s OP torch, loved blasting those ghosts back to hell with my superbeam. Made a nice change of pace. The fighting was more tricky than 5 as the you’re often in small corriders and the enemies can ‘blossom’ and move faster and hit harder. I died once in the beginning but you can buy healing items and film so it was ok after that. A lot of the ghosts in this game just slowly float around, probably as it was a wii game originally, so it’s easy enough. The final boss is the easiest of them all.

 Some good sound design here. Usual spooky atmosphere tracks and I liked the pipe Organ tsukimori song, that was fairly memorable. There is also one room in particular with a very unsettling track.

 Ok now for the story

I liked the way they changed the usual format of the stories for this game. It isn’t the usual ‘maiden must suffer for the good of all and something fucks up’ schtick, the ritual here was just supposed to help. And something fucks up. Just a local dance, with friendly islanders looking to entertain tourists, with a family of oddballs hosting a ‘real’ version in secret that backfires. And even the real version isn’t supposed to kill anyone. Refreshing tbh. The lore this time was little light though, not as many notes to read and they were usually short. More is better imo. Some of it is cliche at this point, dolls, long hair, medical malpractice, etc.

 None of the characters themselves were all that interesting, other than the haibaira family and some of the ghosts. Choshiro had his notebook so you got to see his perspective a bit more, but the girls were fairly bland. Misaki seemed like she’d have an attitude but that was dropped pretty quickly and we don’t learn much more about her. Ruka’s just the usual project zero spiritually gifted quiet protag, nothing to say really. Sakuya is scary shrine maiden no.5 and is the least frightening. I still enjoyed her story though, more sad than disturbing.

The scares in general were poor honestly. Far too many attempts at jumpscares that fell flat. Loud noises and zooming in on pretty meh ghosts happen too often to count. I started guessing when they'd occur it happened so often. I'm not opposed to jumpscares, if they're done well and they just aren't here There's no random spawning ghosts this time, which I don't mind tbh but you always feel fairly safe backtracking. I found 5 scarier, which I wasn't expecting since a lot of people said this was scarier and it just isn't, and nowhere close to 1 or 2 either. No subtle scares I can recall at all. And the fact that there's no English voices means the ghosts mutterings were lost on me. Least scary game in the franchise by a mile.

 The story in general was a bit vague and confusing at times too, especially with the time loops. I don’t understand the timeline, especially with Ruka’s mother, is she dead when she sends the man? Then how does she know Ruka left? Why did the other 2 girls suddenly get sick and die after years of being fine? If the guardians could prevent disasters why did they phase them out? These games are always kind of vague though so nothing new. Lack of endings here too, just two 'good' ones and the second is just still images, pretty poor.

Overall though the story was enjoyable though, if confusing and I enjoyed my playthrough. It's not the longest game and the most streamlined I'd say. Less repetition than 5 which is a good thing. The areas led into each other in a logical way. The combat is good, if trickier than usual at first and the sound design is great. The atmosphere is good as usual and it looks well despite it's age. I just wish it was scarier. Still well worth checking out if you like spookier horror games.

[soupbabe]

Heard you wanted to be spammed with requests-

So uh- Idk if you do platonic headcanons but- maybe platonic Stardust crusaders with a pillar crusader? Doesn't matter what,,, gender the bby pillar person is,,, just,,, sweet pillar babe who's tall af- and totally acts like a doofus at times---

You dont have to do this tho uvu

Stardust Crusaders + Pillarman! Reader HCs

It says Pillar*man* in title, but reader will be gender neutral, I think that's just the species (?) name! Also I like doing platonic requests so I don't mind doing this at all ! <3

Joseph Joestar

He met you around the time he met Santana

You were stuck in the same Pillar as the youngest pillarman, also playing the role of a guard dog before you were turned into stone

The main difference between you and your (uh forced adopted?) brother is that your face broke out in a huge smile and giggles filled the room when he booped your nose and told you to be happy

You were loyal to Kars, but throughout the time in Battle Tendency that decreased due to the realization that he never cared about you and did abandon you without thought

Joseph was there to comfort you through it and you helped in defeating Kars in return

After BT, you were sent to be studied at the Speedwagon Foundation and years later they were able to replicate the red stone of Aja for you

Ultimate Y/N ! Ultimate Y/N !

Sunburn no more

You became a nature deity, similar to Kars

First thing you did when the study was done was prank Joseph into thinking that the Ultimate Lifeform came back

Although it didn't work all too well, your forced down smile and stifled giggles definitely wasn't a sign of Kars, despite the mighty wings you sprouted

You lived with Suzi Q and Joseph for the majority of your new life and you adored being apart of their lives

Also they did make you babysit Holly numerous times even though you had no idea what a human baby looked like until now

Should've learned their lesson when one time you were caught making a rough sketch of what would have been a traditional pillarman tattoo on a 10 year old Holly, claiming that it's needed for her to grow up big and strong like you

Although you weren't a stand user, you had experience fighting ancient supernatural beings stronger than some stand users and you were a deity among men. Joseph didn't wait to take you with him when he found out that Dio was making a return

When Holly got sick and it was clear the crusaders had to go to Egypt, you didn't hesitate to sign up. It was a rare time that you were serious and your loyalty to your aged best friend shined through. You loved his family and you saw Holly grow up, of course you'd be there for him

Throughout SDC, you mostly just laughed at him (mostly during the fight with Mariah) and cracked jokes with him to ease tense situations

Also that bit at the end of the show where he pretended that Dio possessed his body?? He got that from you and you both laughed while Jotaro gave you both a glare

Iggy

Oh my god you barked back.

Y'all gossip with each other in dog, you're a nature deity, of course you can understand him perfectly

Added bonus of your powers is that he naturally relaxes with you

Sleepy gremlin

Jotaro Kujo

It took him a while to warm up to you

You were raised by Kars and Esidisi, dealing people who come off as cold and have occasional outbursts of anger come natural to you

He first doesn't think of you as anything when he first saw you

It wasn't until you sized him up, easily towering over the 6'5" teen, his eyes widened in astonishment a little

He has no problems with you, you're respectful to his mother and you respect his privacy for the most part

You're real bonding moment was when you made a lame, but fairfly obscure, fish pun when beating up the stand user of Dark Blue Moon

You both talked about marine life, he was genuinely interested in your experiences with ancient marine species and types of life before evolution made them what they were today

Although he doesn't like the happy go lucky types of people (they remind him of his annoying fangirls) you'll be the exception

A moment you both really became friends was in the Steely Dan fight

You shot your hand up in excitement, offering to aid in beating the hell out of the cocky bastard that mistreated Jotaro and Joseph

It was a good moment for you both to have light hearted banter and you ended the fight with a smile and a high five

Although persuading Joot to do the high five went more like: "Jotaro please" "No." "Pleassseeeeeee" "*sigh* Leave me alone after this."

I thank that you can't see stands. I can only imagine the endless lighthearted fights you and Star Platinum would have, you both giving each other proud smiles of how strong your friend has become

Noriaki Kakyoin

You gave a welcoming and cheerful aura when he woke up at the Kujo household

Out of all Crusaders, I do like to think that you would think of Kakyoin as more of a little brother

Probably because you miss Santana a bit tbh, red hair and a more reserved personality?? Easy for that to happen

Although you do make sure to keep that distinction between the two separate beings, gotta be healthy bby

You were one to always encourage him to get more out of his shell and be the friend he deserved

He would encourage you to speak about Pillarman society/culture when you both roomed together

One time you pranked him by giving him a handful cherries and giving him a tiny jumpscare when the cherries actually did turn back into your hand

Sometimes you both make fun of Polnareff together </3

Jean-Pierre Polnareff

,,,,big tall gentle giant? Oh my god he would've melted for you at first

He flirted with you first thing after the fight with Avdol, only to be immediately shut down with your laughter

It's not the first time someone hit on you, but his attempt was so cheesy and bad that it was funny

Don't worry he didn't keep on flirting with you though, it was clear that you weren't interested

That and you told him that you were over 1000 years old

You both were outgoing so it wasn't a big surprise that you two got along so well

He actually enjoys your tales of past fights and how it was like not being able to be in the sun for the longest time

That and he asked for hair care tips, your hair is very beautiful to him and to keep it as such even when you were turned to stone? Impressive

You both are dumbasses together, but you're the one to save his ass all the time

Especially during the first fight with Hol Horse, guns can't kill you and even then your skin can create a harsh shell to soften the blow

You just laughed it off, said that it tickled, and encouraged Polnareff to chase after the (now) frightened cowboy

You and Polnareff also have a lot in common too and you both are able to be for each other when it comes to Polnareff's grief over his sister and you technically being the only pillarman alive

Omg Y/N I can't believe you have yourself an emotional support himbo I'm jealous

You're also a wingman/wingwoman for him, years and years of experience (and using Joseph in his younger years as a "what not to do" reference) led you to being the perfect helper in getting whoever Polnareff wants

Muhammad Avdol

He's read about the Pillarmen, but he never thought that they were actually real

So when he met you he was flabbergasted

You and Avdol's friendship is like him unintentionally parenting a 7 foot 5 year old on one of those kid leashes

He knows that almost nothing can cause you great harm, but he still worries

Because of that his favorite form of hanging out with you involves chatting over tea or showing you foods you might not be aware of

In all honesty, it's greatly appreciated since your diet switched from vampires and humans to absorbing like 2-3 raw cows every other week. Your "palate" is not as expansive as you may think

While in India, you were able to buy some Henna and Avdol was very open to you giving him a mock Pillar tattoo

He wore it with pride and was very greatful

Sometimes when he gets homesick you make your arm into a chicken, and although it isn't the real thing, he appreciates it

You also show him ancient Pillar rituals too and it's his favorite thing to listen to

In return, you bother him to show you how to read tarot and tell him about (in your words) "occult business~"

You balance each other out and Avdol cherishes you greatly

When the mission to Egypt was over, he did name a chicken after you btw

[fruitcoops]

okay so we all love dad dumo and he's an incredible parent but even dumo isn't perfect. Could we maybe have dumo snapping at logan (or sirius, if it strikes your fancy, but i love dumo+logan dynamics) and then apologizing for it like a parent actually f*cking should

Oof, yes. Combined with asks for Sirius and Logan bonding, as well as some pre-Cap and James. SW credit goes to @lumosinlove!

TW for parental figure disappointment

The car rumbled. Dumo’s hands squeaked on the wheel as he flexed his fingers. Logan felt like he was going to throw up.

Can we turn around real quick? No, too vague. Can we go home so I can use the bathroom? No, he’ll say I can wait another ten minutes. I forgot my phone at home? No, he saw me put it in my pocket. Logan ran through every possible way of asking to go back to the Dumais house without giving away his dilemma; with each scenario, they grew further from where he needed to be.

“Hey, Dumo?” he began quietly, swallowing around his dry mouth. What was it his father always said? Honesty is the best policy. “We need to go back to your house for a moment.”

“We’re already running late,” Dumo said, not even sparing him a glance in the rearview mirror. The traffic around them was a mess. “If we go back, we’ll miss the first part of warmups.”

“I know, but it’s kind of important.”

“So is the game. If it’s your wallet, you don’t need it right—”

“I left my skates by the front door.”

Dead silence filled the car as Dumo slowed to a stop at the fourth red light. Logan’s heart sank and his stomach crawled into his throat. “What?”

“I left my skates by the front door,” he repeated, staring at his hands. “I’m sorry, I wasn’t thinking—”

“Tabernak, Logan!” Dumo snapped. He felt something inside him wither and die. “First the nap, then forgetting to wash your jersey, and now you left your fucking skates behind? What’s going on in your head? You are an adult now with responsibilities, and it’s your job to keep track of your shit.”

“I know,” Logan said quietly.

Dumo huffed. “Clearly you don’t! Do you just not care? Is that it?”

“I care.”

“This isn’t a college team, Logan.” Dumo’s accent grew harsh around his name. It had been a bad day for him—Adele came down with a nasty cold just after Celeste left to visit her parents for the weekend, and there was always an added pressure with home games. Logan knew that, and he knew he should have been paying better attention.

“I know.”

Dumo muttered a curse under his breath and pulled onto a side road, then swore again when his duffle bag slid in the passenger seat. Logan closed his eyes; there was no way they would make it all the way to the house and back to the rink in time for pre-game rituals. Damn it, Tremblay. What were you thinking?

They drove the rest of the way in silence. Dumo parked the car with a quiet “go”, and Logan hurried inside with a slight nod to the babysitter as he grabbed his skates before slinking back to the car with his head hung low.

“I’m really disappointed in you,” Dumo said when they reached the freeway again.

“I’m sorry.”

He received no response.

They won the game despite skipping all their superstitions, no thanks to Logan. He played like shit; Arthur barely gave him four shifts the whole night. Finn shot him a concerned look as he rinsed off and slipped back into his street clothes, but Logan didn’t have the energy to confront both his best friend and the upsetting feelings connected to the aforementioned best-friend-slash-secret-crush. If he tried, he’d certainly end up doing something stupid.

He packed his things, slung his bag over his shoulder, and followed Dumo out to the car like a stray dog with his tail between his legs. “I really am—”

“I don’t want to hear it,” Dumo interrupted as they pulled out of the parking lot. Logan pressed his lips together. “Are you hungry?”

Starving. “Kinda.”

“I’ll heat up some leftover lasagna when we get back to the house. Will you pay the babysitter and make sure the kids are in bed?”

“Sure.”

“Thank you.”

Logan ground his teeth around the steady ache building in his chest—he hated disappointing people in general, but it was a whole different story with Dumo. He was his second father, the person Logan admired most on the team. He gave him a home and a substitute family to ease the homesickness, and was always there to cheer him on. And Logan let him down.

They went through their nightly routine silently, which was a sharp contrast to their usual banter. Marc and Louis refused to go to bed at first, nearly bringing Logan to tears in his frustration, but he eventually got them settled down and tucked in. By some miracle, both the girls were already asleep.

“I’m going to call Celeste,” Dumo finally said as Logan unloaded the dishwasher. He nodded without a word, not trusting his voice.

As soon as the dishwasher was full and running, Logan took his phone out and dialed the only person he wanted to hear from. It rang twice before connecting. “Hello?”

“Hey.” His voice cracked and he cleared his throat. “Hey, Cap, what’s up?”

“Not much.” Sirius sounded confused, and more than a little tired. “Ça va?”

Logan’s eyes burned. “Not bad. Do you have a minute?”

There was a rustling noise from the other end, followed by the clink of keys. “You’re at Dumo’s, right?”

“Oui.”

“I’ll be there in ten.”

“Thanks,” he managed around his tight throat. “See you soon.”

Hushed voices came from the living room and Logan padded down the hall, knocking gently on the doorframe. Dumo looked up and furrowed his brow. “Un moment, mon amour. Are you alright?”

“Sirius is coming by in ten. We’re going to hang out for a bit, if that’s okay.”

“Tell him I say hello.” Without another word, Dumo uncovered the base of his phone and returned to his conversation. Logan nodded and headed back out into the hall, swallowing down the tears forming behind his eyes.

Ten minutes turned out to be seven minutes—Logan was simultaneously flattered and concerned—and a soft knock startled him out of his thoughts. Sirius already looked worried when the front door swung open. “What happened? Is everyone okay? Did something happen to Celeste?”

“She’s fine. Dumo says hi.” And he’s horribly disappointed in me. Logan took several deep breaths through his nose to control the tremor in his voice and Sirius gave him a worried once-over. “Can we drive around for a bit?”

“Of course.”

For all of his bluster and general brooding vibe, Sirius continued to be the king of empathy and (in Logan’s opinion) a secret mind-reader. The second his arm draped across Logan’s shoulders and held him close as they walked down the sidewalk, he felt some of the pressure in his chest release. “Sorry about the late call,” he sniffled. It was a cold night—the snot threatening to drip from his nose was frigid already. “I just—I needed to get out for a minute.”

“À tout moment.” Any time. Logan didn’t feel deserving of that kindness after the mess he had been on the ice. The heaters kicked on as soon as Sirius started the car and Logan closed his eyes, leaning back into the warm seat. “Can you tell me what happened?”

“It’s so stupid.”

“Doesn’t sound like it.”

Logan took a moment to breathe before shaking his head. “I forgot my skates. We were already running late, and I forgot my fucking skates at the house.”

Sirius hummed, but said nothing.

“It’s—Dumo has been having such a horrible day.” Tears clogged his throat again. “And I took a nap earlier because I stayed up late last night like an idiot, and Adele’s sick so he had all the kids and no help while he was trying to get ready, and then I overslept so it was already going to be rushed and forgot to clean my jersey and then—and then I forgot my skates. God, I’m so stupid.”

“Don’t say that.”

“It’s true.”

“It’s not.” Logan wanted to kick him for being so infuriatingly patient. Sirius glanced at him out of the corner of his eye. “That’s not why you’re upset, though.”

“He’s—” Logan broke off and swiped the first tear away with his sweatshirt cuff. “He said he was disappointed in me.”

“Ah.”

“It’s such a stupid thing to be upset about.”

Sirius sighed through his nose and pulled into the parking lot of a 24-hour Taco Bell, then turned off the car and faced Logan with one eyebrow raised. “Stop doing that.”

“Doing what?”

“Belittling yourself.”

“Okay, Heather,” Logan snorted. Sirius reached over and flicked him on the forehead. “Hey!”

“You forgot your skates. Big deal. We’ve all been there.”

Logan shot him a glare. “You’ve never forgotten your skates.”

“Yes, I have. My very first game with the Lions, actually. Except I didn’t realize it until we were already at the rink.”

“Did Dumo drive you back?”

“The whole damn way. He was mad as hell, but he did it.” Sirius’ face softened, and he poked Logan gently on the thigh. “Stop kicking yourself for this one. It sounds like it was a bad day for you both.”

“I still feel like shit.”

Sirius shrugged. “I bet. Disappointing Dumo is the worst feeling ever.”

“He wouldn’t even let me apologize.”

“He will.”

They sat in silence for a full minute as Logan tried to find the right words. “How did you deal with it? Letting people down. It feels like I’m drowning, sometimes.”

“Really, really poorly,” Sirius half-laughed, crossing his ankle over his knee. “It wasn’t until I was named captain that I started accepting that people weren’t lying when they forgave me for fucking up.”

“Why?”

“Believe it or not, the people I was around as a kid didn’t make a habit of apologizing to me when they did something wrong.”

Logan looked up from the faded letters on his sweatshirt sleeve and sniffled. “Thanks for bringing me out here.”

“Pas de problem. I figured you could use some company outside the house.”

“You’re the best.”

“I try.”

“You succeed.” You’re like a brother to me, actually. “Is this what James did for you?”

“No,” Sirius laughed. Affection took over his face, bright even in the dim light from the streetlamps. “No, he snuck me onto the roof of the rink with massive amounts of junk food and stayed with me until the imposter syndrome faded. It was fantastic, but we nearly got hypothermia several times in the winter. This is much more comfortable.”

“Thanks for helping me keep all my fingers and toes,” Logan said wryly. He lapsed back into silence and folded his forearms on the dashboard, sighing at the pleasant stretch of his back. “I know I have to go back eventually, but I’m scared.”

“Honestly, Logan, I bet he’s already forgiven you. He knows it was an accident.”

“But what if he doesn’t?” The words came out as little more than a whisper. Sirius’ hand rested hesitantly between his shoulder blades until Logan leaned back into it, then began rubbing gentle circles.

“He does,” Sirius said softly. “And he loves you so much.”

Logan sniffed back more tears. “Really?”

“Ouais. You’ve been living with him for nine months now, and he’s so proud of how far you’ve come.”

“How do you know?”

“Because he told me. Last week, after your hat trick. People fuck up, Logan, but that doesn’t mean they’re unforgivable. You don’t need to flay yourself for one bad day.”

Logan shut his eyes with a slow exhale and buried his face in his forearms. “I think I’m ready to go back now.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah.”

“D’accord. Buckle your seatbelt.”

He straightened up and stretched, wincing at the crack of his back. Sirius drove out of the parking lot and hummed under his breath to the radio, but Logan didn’t miss the careful glances out of the corner of his eye. “You don’t need to worry about me,” he finally said. “I’ll be okay.”

“I know,” Sirius said casually, though he looked like he was holding something back. Logan didn’t press; Sirius would talk in his own time if he wanted to. He opened his mouth, paused, then sighed. “But I do worry about you.”

“Why?”

“Because.”

Thank you, Captain Black, for the most media answer of all time. “You really don’t have to.”

Sirius parked the car and leaned his head back against the seat. “You’re my friend, and I care about you, so I worry.”

Logan blinked at him. “You care about me?”

“Obviously,” Sirius muttered. Even in the darkness of the street, his cheeks were pink. “Now go on, you've got someone waiting for you.”

“I care about you, too.”

“Out of my car, Tremblay.” Despite his words, a smile quirked at the corner of Sirius’ mouth. Logan socked him lightly on the arm and opened the door, shivering in the night air as it bit through his hoodie.

“Drive safe, Cap.”

“I will.”

The walk to the front door felt less like a trip to the gallows and more like coming home; Logan felt his muscles relax, and saw the curtains shift as someone moved away from the window. Dumo opened the door before he could even knock.

“I’m sorry,” they said in unison. Logan raised his eyebrows and Dumo opened the door the rest of the way, ushering him inside.

The moment the door closed behind him, Dumo wrapped him in a hug. “I’m so sorry for what I said earlier, Logan. You made a mistake, and I shouldn’t have come down hard on you.”

“I’m sorry I made us late,” Logan said into his soft shirt. “And for not helping earlier. It won’t happen again.”

“All is forgiven.” Dumo patted him on the back of the shoulder and held him at arm’s length with a sad smile. “I should have kept a better handle on my temper. You don’t deserve to be spoken to like that.”

Logan bit back the urge to say it’s okay or I deserved it and instead pulled him in for another hug. “Thank you for everything you’ve done for me. I didn’t realize how much you’ve helped me until today.”

Dumo made a quiet sound and held him tighter. “It’s a gift to have you here.”

Logan squeezed his eyes shut as a wave of emotion rolled in his heart. “There is nowhere I would rather be,” he whispered. They stayed like that for a long moment, swaying slightly, before Dumo stepped back.

“Get some rest. We have early practice tomorrow.” He mussed Logan’s hair and gave him a nudge toward the stairs. “Bonne nuit, mon fils.”

Mon fils. Logan’s breath caught for a second and he smiled. “Bonne nuit.”