#and there was so little snow that my shoes were barely wet

[noxturnalpascal]

Devotion 🖤 I. Stronger Together (Ch 1)

CultLeader!Joel x OFC!Reader

Series Summary: When is it enough? When is it too much? When does Devotion become Obsession?

Visit the Series Masterlist for series warnings, cult info, timeline info, and HCs on ages. Reader has a nickname and some minor physical descriptions - is an OFC from Reader POV.

*This series is 18+ MDNI. I will not be listing individual chapter warnings as I don't want to spoil the plot of each chapter. Please see the series masterlist for entire series warnings to decide if this is for you.*

I. Stronger Together

CH 1 (5.4k) You can hear it behind you, wheezing breath, strangled grunts. You’re pretty sure it’s getting closer but you don’t dare to look backwards. It’s been following you halfway down this mountain, dragging itself along, waiting for the inevitable. You plod on, one foot in front of the other, letting gravity help you fall forward, knees threatening to buckle with each slap of your foot down on the dirt. 

It’s been hours of this now, you must be miles away. Away from the little snow-topped cabin where you were ambushed by a single infected behind a closed bathroom door. Away from where the rest of your party was bitten, first by the clicker and then by each other. Away from where you had to shoot each of them, one by one, until you ran out of bullets and escaped out a window.

You wish you could silence your cumbersome steps. You wish you could quiet your labored breaths. You wish you could stop the drip, drip, drip of your blood from smattering onto the dried leaves underneath your feet. Maybe then this one-legged, blind, croaking monster behind you would cease its pursuit. Then you could stop moving and just close your eyes for a moment. You just need a moment, just one moment.

You think you do close your eyes for just a second, and it’s then that you trip over a buried tree root. Your eyes open as your face meets the ground, wet and hard, knocking the wind out of you. Everything immediately hurts. You can barely think. One arm remains wrapped tight around you while you attempt to pull yourself forward on your other elbow, away from the scratchy breathing. 

You feel a hand clawing at your shoe. Kicking the shoe off, you roll away, further down the hill as best you can. Reaching one hand out, you grab at sticks and stones, anything you can grasp, throwing them backwards in an attempt to slow down the inescapable. You hear nothing but your own muffled heartbeat pounding in your ears. It's so loud it sounds like hoofbeats. 

You finally roll onto your back to face it, watching it slowly closing the small gap between you, bony fingers outstretched towards you. You close your eyes again. You’re so tired.

A gunshot rings out.

Tiny specks of blood spatter outward, covering both you and a circular pattern on the ground around you in a fine red mist. The infected falls backwards, unmoving. Your eyes are open now, ears ringing. You hear muffled shouting and then there’s a gun barrel in your face. You’re too tired for this. You close your eyes again.

Another gunshot rings out.

“What the fuck you think you’re doin’?” Joel shouts, having grabbed the barrel of the gun just in time.

“He’s infected!” the man previously holding the gun says, pointing at your blood-soaked torso.

“You think that–,” Joel points to the deformed clicker lying next to you, “woulda followed him halfway down the mountain if he was already infected?”

Joel leans down at your side, gently opening your jacket to assess the damage. He sees several layers of cloth wrapped around your torso, all soaked in blood beneath your ribcage, where your bloodied hand still clutches right over a large shard of glass sunk into your middle.

“Bring my horse, now,” Joel yells at the rest of his party.

He’s sure about three things. One, unlike the fungus-covered body lying beside you, you are not infected. No one infected fights this hard to stay alive. Two, you are most definitely bleeding to death. The tight bindings around your middle likely serve as the only thing keeping your slowly-draining body alive. Three, despite your short-cut hair and boyish appearance due to the many layers enveloping your chest, you are – in fact – a woman.

Days later someone comes bursting through his office door. Come quick, Joel. It’s all he needed to hear to follow the messenger to the clinic, worried that when he arrived he’d see your cold and lifeless body lying on the bed. When he bursts in the door to your room, ignoring the shouted protests of the medical staff, he is shocked to find you alive. Not just alive but standing up against the far wall, brandishing a pair of scissors, clutching at the pulled stitches on your side. He hears the doctor beside him muttering the words fuckin crazy.

“Who the fuck are you?” you point the scissors at him.

“I saved you,” Joel whispers, not surprised you don’t recognize him as you were basically unconscious when he rode with you into town. He points to the red drops accumulating on the floor, “that’s my blood you’re drippin’ all over the place.” He briefly recalls the argument from the doctor when he brought you in two days ago and insisted you be given his Type O blood.

He watches you look down at the blood spilling over your hand and uses the distraction to close the gap between you. Ignoring the scissors in your hand he quickly grabs some gauze and presses it against your side, hearing you gasp in surprise. 

“I want to leave,” you say through clenched teeth, raising the scissors up to his eyeline, as if he forgot they were there. You make no further move to try and hurt him, somehow confident that your feeble threat is enough. He meets your eyes, wide and wild. You’re terrified. You don’t trust him. You’re threatening him in front of four other people while you bleed onto the floor. You’re fucking fantastic. 

“Let’s get you better and then you can go wherever you want to,” he says, as he nods to the doctor to come fix you up. The doctor shakes her head, motioning towards the scissors. With no fanfare Joel grabs the scissors easily from your grip and pockets them. He ignores the hey he hears come out of your mouth and guides you back to the bed, nodding once again for the doctor to come over.

You allow the doctor to fix you up with no more threats, Joel standing close guard. About halfway through the re-stitching you wince, internally chiding yourself for showing weakness to these strangers. Joel takes your hand in his, not even making eye contact, holding it for the remainder of the procedure. Once the doctor steps away Joel squeezes your hand and looks you in the eye, telling you to get some rest before following the doctor out of your room.

“When you brought that ‘wounded little animal’ in here the other day, you didn’t warn me she bites,” the doctor mocks as she walks Joel out of the clinic.

“I told you she came down that mountain half-dead with a clicker on her heels. I guess we shoulda known she was a fighter.”

“You really gonna try and keep this one too?” 

“Why wouldn’t I?” Joel answers immediately.

Joel thinks of the look in your eye; feral, distrustful, combative. When was the last time he saw that look on the face of anyone here? He has a community of people who love and adore him, who hang on to his every word. But none of them look at him like that. You have awoken something deep inside of him, something he thought long dead: burning desire.

“If you wanna keep your little pet, Joel, I think you should be the one to take care of her. I don’t want to see any of my staff get hurt and she seemed to take to you.” The doctor knows. She knows Joel brings her wounded birds all the time and she fixes them up. A broken wing here and there, sometimes scrapes and bruises, sometimes wounds that run deeper.

However, none of them have threatened her with a weapon – until today. But she knows they all “take to” Joel. That’s the kind of person he is. Everyone in this town is drawn to him that way, even her. She knows he’ll gladly take on this responsibility and bring stability to the situation. She knows she won’t have to worry about a repeat of today. 

He nods in response and promises to stop by later as he retreats back to his house.

—

He follows through on his promise, showing up later that night and bringing a bowl of hot stew for you to eat. He sits in a chair in the corner of your room, watching you sip at it while you try to avoid awkward eye contact with him. His eyes on you make you uncomfortable. He doesn’t look at you like men usually do, with malintent. He looks at you with interest and curiosity. It makes you feel like a zoo animal. No one looks at you like that. No one ever has. 

This goes on for days. He brings you three meals a day, he hands you medication, he fills your water cup, he sits in the corner of your room and watches you. The doctor comes in to check on your wound and adjust the fluid dripping into the IV in your arm twice a day, but they are the only two who enter your room. You hear the doctor call him Joel. 

You watch him out of the corner of your eye but you don’t ever make full eye contact, you don’t ever make conversation. You aren’t looking to strike up a friendship. He said you could leave after you get better, so that’s your plan. Get better, and get the fuck out of here. Finally, on the third day he speaks to you. You drop your spoon back into your bowl because it startles you so much.

“What’s your favorite book?” he asks, unphased by the clatter of your silverware.

You’re unsure if you heard him right, but you don’t ask him to repeat himself. Instead you say the first thing that comes to mind. “To Kill a Mockingbird,” you say. A lie. You’ve never read that book in your life. You don’t owe this guy the truth. You don’t even know him, you don’t owe him a goddamn thing. He says nothing further, not acknowledging your response, so you spend the rest of your meal in silence, as usual.

You’re all but certain he didn’t hear you until he shows back up with your dinner, hours later, with a book in his hands. To Kill a Mockingbird. He brought the goddamn book? As you uncover the plate of food, he takes his usual seat in the corner, but this time he clears his throat and starts reading from the book he brought. You stop fiddling with your plate to look up at him.

You stare at him for a while, you’re not sure how long. This is the first time you’ve allowed yourself to look at him, to really look at him. He has a strong jaw, a prominent nose, and dark eyes. His trimmed facial hair is flecked with grays along his cheeks, showing his age along with the lines creasing his face. He’s probably in his forties but you can appreciate he’s still got a damn good hairline.

He’s sitting down, of course, but when he was standing you remember thinking he was decently tall, towering over everyone else you’d seen in the building. His shoulders measured about a mile wide and his clothes seemed to strain against the bulk underneath them. You’d tried to ignore the way he wore his jeans but it hadn’t completely slipped your attention. He certainly wasn’t ugly.

As he continues to read aloud, your eyes drift to his lips. His top lip is obscured by his mustache but you’re pretty sure there is a near-perfect cupid’s bow hidden underneath. His bottom lip, by contrast, is plump and pouty, although you doubt anyone has ever described it that way, at least to his face. His gruff voice continues to scuffle along in the background as you watch his lips curve around the words.

His tongue darts out to wet his lips and you realize how silent it is. He’s stopped talking. Your eyes move to his, meeting his direct gaze. Why did he stop? Did he catch you staring at him?

“You gonna let your dinner get cold?”

You turn your attention back to your meal, slowly finishing it while he reads on. He continues reading long after your plate is empty, his voice lulling you into a relaxing state in your hospital bed. When he eventually closes the book and rises to leave, you let a goodnight slip from your lips. You’ve spoken maybe five words to this guy and now you’re wishing him a goodnight? Jesus, what’s next, sweet dreams?

The next morning is a repeat of the past three days; he comes in as the doctor heads out from checking on you, speaks with her at the door, then brings your breakfast in a wrapped up parcel, still warm. He takes his usual seat but picks the book up off the floor that he’d left there the previous night. He opens it up, clears his throat, and resumes reading you the story.

He’s about an hour into reading during his afternoon visit. Your lunch is long since finished and you’re trying to make sense of it in your head. 

“I don’t understand why they call him ‘Boo’ Radley,” you interrupt. Slowly his eyes raise to meet yours over the pages. A line forms between them.

“I thought this was your favorite book.”

“It is,” you blurt out, poorly reinforcing your deception. “I just– I guess it seems like a strange nickname.”

He shrugs his shoulders then, leaning back in the chair and lowering the book. 

“Well, I suppose they call him ‘Boo’ because he’s so reclusive, almost invisible.” 

You nod your head, electing not to ask any more questions about the story since you’re pretty sure he’s caught on to your lie. After a minute he lifts the books and continues reading.

The next day shortly after you finish your lunch, he finishes the book. You try your hardest not to react. You’ve been trying your best to listen to him speaking as though you’ve heard his words before, as though everything he says is familiar, as though this tale is not new to you. You’re pretty sure you’re a shit actor.

He gets up and goes to leave the room, hours before he usually would. 

“You’re leaving?” you spit out before you can stop yourself.

“That’s the end of the book,” he holds up the book and flips it over, as if to show you it’s empty.

“Y– you don’t have any other books?” you mutter, looking down at your hands.

He crosses the room and sits on the end of your bed, holding out his hand towards you. Your eyes dart between his face and his outstretched fingers.

“I’m Joel,” he says, by way of an extremely late introduction. You gently take his hand in yours, feeling his rough, warm palms grip yours and move your arm up and down. I know, you whisper, not even sure he can hear you. You don’t bother introducing yourself in return. You don’t think it matters what your name is. 

“You ever even read this book?”

You look up and he’s wiggling the book in his hands again, as if it wasn’t obvious which book he meant. You don’t answer again, you just look back down. You’re not ashamed of lying. You’re not embarrassed you got caught lying. You don’t even know this guy, Joel. He’s just some guy who keeps you in this room all day because he apparently doesn’t want you to bleed all over everything.

“What’s your favorite book?” he asks for the second time. You open your mouth to let another lie fall out, but before you can, he follows up with, “And let’s try the truth this time.” You meet his eyes.

He should be offended by the way you look at him. You are so distrustful of him. You lied about what your favorite book was, as if it was some state secret, and here you are about to do it again. And don’t think he didn’t notice you side-stepping telling him your name. This is the fifth day he’s spent by your side and you won’t give him an inch. He’s got to find a way to crack you open. He wants you to let him in so badly. 

C’mon, he urges, reaching his hand forward to touch your leg comfortingly. You pull your leg back quickly, recoiling from his touch. His eyes go to your face again, finding it full of fear, your eyes blazing. He pulls his hands back into his own space and lifts them slightly, to show that he has no intention of putting them on you again. He mutters I’m sorry as he slowly rises and heads towards the door, certain he’s just set himself back by miles. This is turning into a real shit day.

—

When he comes back with dinner, passing by the doctor at the door, you look surprised to see him. Clearly the moment between you earlier scared you, but you don’t look scared to see him, just surprised. He’s determined to gain your trust, he’s not going to be driven away by a setback here or there. He hands you your dinner plate and then lays three books down next to you on the bed.

“Pick what you want next,” he says softly.

Ignoring your dinner you look down at the selection he’s brought. Pride and Prejudice. Little Women. Jane Eyre. You can’t help the disappointment that flies across your face. He brought you girl books. He thinks you’re just a girl who likes traditional girl books. You’ve never read any of these books and you don’t want to. You don’t care if they’re ‘classics’. You don’t care if they’re read to you in a scratchy, southern drawl. 

You shake your head and eat your meal in silence while he sits in his chair with knitted brows, rubbing his hand over his beard. After you’re done he immediately rises, takes your dirty plate and all three books into his arms, and leaves the room. You don’t try to stop him this time. 

To your surprise he returns twenty minutes later. Wordlessly he places a small bowl in front of you filled with some kind of baked apple treat. He’s never brought you dessert before. Then next to you he places three new books. You look at the three very different titles. The Chronicles of Narnia. The Count of Monte Cristo. The Hobbit. You can’t stop the smile that breaks out on your face and you bite your cheek to stop the stinging behind your eyes from turning into any embarrassing tears. 

You reach out and grab The Hobbit, holding it out to him. You don’t tell him it’s the book your dad used to read to you as a kid. You don’t tell him anything and he doesn’t ask, either. He just takes the book and sits back in his chair as he opens the cover, reading it from the beginning. He notices the smile you try to hide and the wetness in your eyes but knows better than to react. He’s gained some distance back. It’s a good day after all.

—

The next few days go by much the same, with Joel spending several hours surrounding each meal reading to you. The only difference is that he’s started asking you questions. They start off about the book. You tell him you’ve read it, and this time, it’s not a lie. You’re pretty sure he believes you. He asks if you’ve traveled as far as Bilbo has, nodding to your healing side, making reference to your ill-fated trek down the mountain.

The questions slowly become more personal; did you have any siblings, how old are you, where did you grow up. Unsure of his motives you ask him back every question he asks you, making him answer first. He says he has a younger brother, he says he just turned forty five, he says he’s from Texas. If he’s making up lies then he’s quicker and better at it then you are. You’re finding him easy to talk to, which is why you almost let it slip out when he tries to get your name again. But you hold it back. 

He sees you practically bite your tongue to stop it from rolling off. He thinks you’re starting to trust him but you still look at him warily whenever he stops to ask you a question. You don't even trust him enough to tell him your damn name yet. You seem confused why he’d want to know about you, why he’d be interested in stories that don’t involve him, why he’d want answers that don’t benefit him. It’s like no one has ever tried to get to know you before.

He’s been building this community for nearly two years now and he knew the QZ’s were getting bad. He wonders where you’ve been, what you’ve gone through; these are the questions he doesn’t dare to ask you. You are frightful and distrustful for a reason. Whatever you’ve experienced it hasn’t been kindness, not for a long while. No one has been nursing you back to health, feeding you home cooked meals while they read classic novels to you.

It’s been just over a week and the doctor finally gives you clearance to start moving around and regaining some strength, albeit slowly. Joel brings you some warm clothes and guides you out the back of the clinic, which leads to a large square park in the center of town. Despite the chill of fall, you’re eager to get better, and you revel in the opportunity to feel like your old self again. You get tired easily but Joel is always a few steps away to help you back to bed if you overexert yourself.

He leaves the book in the room but he continues on with your conversations, which have become more lengthy. Despite your reluctance to trust and his seemingly gruff nature, you find your time together has become easy, maybe even friendly. He still asks most of the questions and you still make him answer them all first. But you wonder things about him that he isn’t asking.

You know he’s in his mid-forties, but you don’t know if he’s married or if he has kids. It makes sense though, most people don’t talk about their family because people aren’t exactly living white-picket-fence lives anymore. You know he’s from Texas but you don’t know how he ended up here, in the mountains of Vermont. You don’t know why he comes to see you three times a day, why he reads to you, where he goes when he’s not with you. You don’t know what his favorite book is. You don’t know why you care.

You jokingly call yourself a Plain Jane and he perks up, chuckling while he tells you that’s your name now. Well you still haven’t told him your real name so it might as well be. When he calls you that name an hour later – Plain Jane – you feel your cheeks burn. It’s not exactly a complimentary name but the smile on his face when he calls you by it makes you look away from him. What is he doing to you?

Why does he look at you like that? You have been half-invisible most of your life and when anyone does actually give you attention it’s never been a good thing. You prefer it when they don’t look at you, when they don’t see you. But Joel has been sitting in that chair and watching you, looking at you, seeing you. He’s been asking you questions, reading to you, and bringing you meals. Yet you still don’t trust it. You don’t trust him and you don’t trust the feelings he stirs inside of you.

Joel is walking by your side during one of your afternoon walks and he tells a bad joke. He wasn’t expecting you to laugh, he’s never made you laugh. Until today. You’re not just laughing, you’re giggling, and he thinks it might be one of the best sounds he’s ever heard. It makes him feel as light as air. You grab his arm as you double over, losing yourself in the laughter. 

This is the first time you’ve ever touched him aside from your hands grazing when he hands you your meals. Not that those count, he doesn’t even count those. He shouldn’t even notice when it happens, yet he does. It’s like you have his insides twisted up and his head all fuzzy but somehow he feels like himself for the first time in nearly a decade.

He has been ignoring responsibilities for over a week now, sneaking away three times a day to spend hours with you. He rushes out of the house with breakfast in his hands, opting to eat it with you instead. His afternoon and evening meetings all get pushed back, until he’s left your side and can make time. No one questions him but he knows Tess is starting to get annoyed with him. She doesn’t approve of his behavior, his attention so focused on one person. She hasn’t said anything yet but she has that look.

It’s easy to be with you. It was easy in your room, even when you weren’t talking to him yet. He could sit there in the corner in silence and just be, without anyone asking him anything. Then when you finally spoke to him he couldn’t wait to hear more. He asks stupid, pointless questions all day just to hear you answer them. He has to be more guarded when you’re outside together, everyone is watching. 

They’re all watching him, watching you, wondering why he’s spending all of his time with you when he used to spread himself around to the whole community. But the answer is easy. You don’t look at him the way they do. You don’t have their expectations of him. You don’t think he’s got all the answers. You don’t stand around waiting for him to save you.

–

When it’s been almost two weeks since you came under the doctor’s care she tells you that she thinks you’re well enough to leave the clinic. “Where do I go?” you ask her before you can stop yourself. She lets a huff escape her lips, but before she can reply, you both notice Joel standing in the doorway. You see a look of panic cross her face and you don’t miss the way she dodges his hand grabbing for her arm as she slips out the door past him.

He turns back to you and you notice he has three new books tucked under his arm. He’d finished The Hobbit, The Count of Monte Cristo, and The Chronicles of Narnia this past week. Part of you wonders what selection he’s brought for you this time. You still haven’t told him your favorite. Now you’re not sure you ever will. The doctor said you’re well enough to leave, and that’s what you wanted to do. Leave. Right?

You look up at Joel and just as he opens his mouth to speak you hear the main door open behind him and a commotion of conversation coming through the door. You hear someone say, “fell off a ladder” and Joel’s attention is diverted down the hallway behind him. Suddenly a woman is at his side. She’s tall, with long chestnut hair and freckles that dot her cheeks and nose. She’s gorgeous.

You instantly feel like you’re one foot tall. You feel inferior. You feel like you’re staring at a marble sculpture. This woman is beautiful and she’s standing so close to Joel. He’s listening to her talk and nodding and he’s not even looking at you anymore. He probably forgot you were even there; look at this goddess in front of him. She stops talking and looks at you, pinning you with her stare. You freeze.

“Hi, I’m Tess,” she reaches out her hand to you, closing the distance between you since you’re stuck to your spot. “You must be the reason I never see this guy anymore,” she teases. You think she’s teasing.

“I was just about to invite PJ to come stay with us,” Joel clears his throat behind her, using his newest version of your nickname – Plain Jane. You look at him, eyes bulging out of your head. He was going to what? Stay with him? Who is us?

“Oh, you were?” she says, as if reading your mind. She’s still gently shaking your hand, regarding you with a curious eye.

“Yeah, we’ve got the room,” he says casually, flashing you a smile. Tess says nothing. You look back and forth between them. They’re both looking at you, waiting for you to speak. 

“S– stay?” you manage to squeak at him. Does that even begin to cover the questions you have?

“Just until you’re feeling a hundred percent,” he says, gesturing to your nearly-healed side.

Now Tess drops your hand and turns back to look at Joel. You can’t quite read her expression. He doesn’t meet her eyes, he keeps them locked on you. He walks over to you and hands you the three books, placing your small breakfast plate on the top of the stack.

“Pick which one we should read next and Tess’ll come by after lunchtime to bring you home.” Without waiting for a response he grabs Tess by the shoulders and leads her out of the room.

“Since when do we ‘have the room’, Joel?” she questions as soon as they spill out onto the front sidewalk of the clinic.

“You can put her in the room next to mine,” he replies, taking strides so long that she has to hustle to keep up.

“My room is the room next to yours,” she mutters. He stops dead in his tracks, causing her boots to scuffle on the sidewalk to stop from crashing into him.

“Well obviously I didn’t fuckin’ mean your room. She can have Bianca’s room,” Joel huffs as he walks on.

“So, across the hall from your room?” He stops again and this time she does crash into him. He grabs her shoulders, pulling her even tighter to him and brings his head down to her ear.

“You’re supposed to be the one who worries about all this shit for me, so just figure it out, okay Tess?”

She stays standing in place while he resumes his walk back home. She doesn’t bother answering him since she knows his question was rhetorical. Tess did agree to manage his house. However, that was before she realized that he was going to be bringing little lost pets in and out of it all the time. She always knew their relationship was transactional. It served a purpose, it fulfilled their needs, but it was never loving. 

When they agreed to start this community, she thought they’d do it together. He convinced her that he needed her help, and he did – he still does – there’s no way he could do this without her. He never wanted to manage the details. But she thought she’d be his partner, in the community even if not in life. Instead she finds herself at his mercy. She also finds herself not disliking it as much as she should. She lets herself get lost in him, lost in what they’ve created here in this valley.

She plays the role of his partner, but only behind the scenes. She plays his girlfriend, but only when he’s not otherwise occupied. She’s his friend, but only if he’s feeling in need of comfort. She’s mother to his children, but only the broken little birds he brings home to their doorstep. She does all of the work, but reaps none of the rewards. And yet, she lives a safe, comfortable life. She can’t help but feel grateful to him. In a lot of ways she still feels like he saved her. She was once a broken little bird herself.

After lunch she comes back to the clinic and finds you sitting on the edge of your bed, as if you’ve been waiting there all morning. You probably were. She fights the urge to ask if you have everything, reminding herself that you had no possessions save for the bloody clothes they found you in. Let’s go, is all she says, and you follow her out of the clinic in silence, nodding a goodbye to the doctor as you exit. 

“Are you Joel’s wife?” you ask as you walk side-by-side, mustering up courage from god-knows-where.

“Joel doesn’t have a wife.”

🖤

NEXT

Thank you endlessly to @papipascalispunk for helping me with this series and listening to me rant about Cult Leader Joel. 🫂 I appreciate you SO much. Thank you to @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin and @strang3lov3 for your support and help creating this world. 🫶

TAGLIST (lmk if you wanna be added or removed) @covetyou @iamasaddie @sr-lrn @clawdee @theywhowriteandknowthings @beefrobeefcal @merz-8 @speckledemerald @alltheseperfectimperfections @survivingandenduring @afraidtofear @millennial-teenybopper

#devotion series #cult leader joel miller #noxturnalpascal #ofc!reader #joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #joel miller fanfiction #pedro pascal characters

[hungwy]

We missed the last train of the night due to the snow. It was the first snow Tokyo had in a while, apparently. None of us seemed dressed for that kind of wet cold. No gloves, just jackets, hats. We were worried for a little bit about how we would get back to the dorms. We waited a long time for a taxi. A long time. The snow had built up on everything in thick layers. I was used to snow but could not ignore how the cold penetrated my pocketed hands to the bone. We stood outside some building, I cannot remember now what it was, but freezing puddles formed around our shoes, kept liquid by some unseen heat source. The puddles reflected all the reds and blues and golds of the city lights. It was quiet for a city. I was tired.

A taxi finally arrived after a while. Just long enough to make its arrival a celebratory affair. We hurried inside it. I sat in the back, on the left, behind the passenger seat. My friends took the front seat and the seat next to me. Someone showed the driver the university address on their phone. In broken Japanese my friends both attempted small talk with the driver, an older man, but he seemed reticent, probably tired. I can't remember if he even responded with real words--probably focused on not crashing the taxi in the fresh slick snow. I knew how to drive in snow. I wonder, in all his long years, if he ever got used to it. The snow had been falling for some time now. Everything was capped in that snow, diffusing the golden glow of the street lights. Were they gold, I wonder? Maybe some were silver. I can't remember any more. It reflected the colors of the night, the still, freezing night which churned under an endless dark grey cloud. I'd seen those clouds before, in the winters of home, and they made me feel comfortable, warm, like a great blanket stretched across the sky.

I remember how the taxi cruised through the thin residential alleys of Tokyo, lined with small one- or two-story houses, stone fences barely interjecting between the property and the street. Most houses did not have their lights on. Fence after gate after fence after wall flickered past. I fell asleep, or pretended to be asleep, or failed to fall asleep, for a long while. I love sleeping in cars. I always have, since I was a kid.

It was a very long drive. I don't remember how I ended up back in the dorm. Where were we even coming from, then, when we missed our train? Were we split from a larger group? By ourselves, us three? Did we go out to eat, go to see some place? I don't remember any more. I remember the night, the cold, the snow, the frozen world, and the pleasant doom of knowing something would become a memory. Something I would regurgitate and reconsume in my mind until all the realness had left. The snow made sure the memory would become imaginary, picturesque. My eyes engulfed the fluttering, transient frames of the lamp-lit snowy streets. Those pictures which with use would eventually smear and blur into puddles of soft form and color, as they do even now. I wish I had written anything at all then. None of it would've been good, but just to preserve the detail, to remind myself of real, solid things. It's all slowly melting away, now, so soft

#this is not fiction. it is very real. and i needed to relive this in my head #originally this was going to be a one sentencer about how i miss messaging my friends on wechat and line. oh well

[selfindulgentpixies]

Blood upon the snow: chapter 1

Vampire!Gojo x gn!reader

You read that right folks, it's finally here. Or part of it is anyway. I decided to split my vampire Gojo fic into several parts just because feed back really helps me stay inspired and I'm not sure how long this potential beast of a fic will take me to finish otherwise in all honesty. I've put a lot of work into this fic so far. probably one of the most refined things i've written.

CW: canon typical violence, blood drinking (you know vampire stuff),GN!Afab!reader, reader isn't a blank slate but I still hope you will enjoy putting yourself in their shoes, reader is a hunter(the normal kind), Sukuna is here and he's his own warning. Potential for vampire politics in a future parts if i'm feeling crazy, past satosugu (what you thought i'd be able to leave suguru out of this?)

4.2k

It had been years since it happened but you’d never forget it. The winter had been a particularly harsh one and you’d heard the adults talking about bandit attacks being on the rise due to scarcity. Your mother had soothed you and told you nothing would happen though. That you'd get safely from one city to the next. She’d been wrong. 

A merchant caravan was far too tempting a target with all the potential goods on board. From the food to all the valuables carried within. You’d been asleep when it happened, curled up safely in your mother’s lap the both of you wrapped in warm furs and being gently rocked by the movements of the carriage. You were meant to make it to the next major settlement by noon the next day. But right now the moon hung high in the sky, bright enough to to be seen through the thin cloud cover. The world outside was all shimmering shades of blue and white under the winter moon’s silver gaze. 

The silence of the snow muffled night is cut sharply by a scream followed by a loud crack of splintering wood echoing through the air, likely from the back of the caravan. You wake groggily in your mother’s arms, dazed and confused as she sets you down on the seat so she can look out one of the carriage’s windows toward the front where your father was at the reins. A wet thump, followed by a scream from your mother. More screams, seemingly from all around, cries from adults scrambling to issue orders. Then your carriage veers, the horses startled by the chaos.

 You’re knocked from your seat, tiny body tumbling across the carriage when something suddenly rams into its side, sending it over and off the path. The world goes dark, you’re not sure for how long. When you come to the caravan isn’t immediately in sight though the screams seem to echo all around you. When you finally catch sight of an orange glow in the distance your eyes are able to focus on something much closer as well. A dark shape lying in the snow, red slowly spreading around it. No. Not it. Her. Your mother. There’s several figures in the distance backlit by the distant chaos approaching but you can’t tear your wide eyes from your mother. You begin to crawl toward her when her eyes suddenly fixate on you. “Run.” You freeze. With more strength she speaks again. “Run.” The figures in the distance grow closer. “I said RUN.” 

You stumble up to your feet then. A step backward. 

“RUN”

And you do. Turning on your heel to stumble through the forest. You hear shouting then but you don’t listen to it. Can’t listen to it because you need to listen to your mother. Her face in that moment seared into your mind. Cold air burns through your throat and lungs as you push yourself to run. To where you had no idea. You didn’t know these woods. You’re quick though, like a little rabbit, running with fur boot clad feet you barely sink into the snow at all while your pursuers stumble and sink through the deep drifts of snow. Too heavy to be supported by the shimmering shell that is the snow’s top layer.

You keep running long after you stop hearing their crashing footsteps and shouts. You keep running until you can’t. You collapse, coughing, lungs burning from the effort and cold. You curl into a ball right there beneath the canopy of pines. You’re not sure how long you lie there, but eventually somehow silent and without sinking into the snow at all a pair of boots appear in your line of sight. You weakly turn your face to look up, your lashes and cheeks decorated with jewels made of frozen tears

A person.. Are they really a person, they seem too beautiful to be a person, it’s as if the moon took human form and came to earth. They kneel down in front of you, expression solemn as they reach out to brush away some of the frozen tears before cupping your tiny face in their large hands. Their hands are nearly as cold as the snow you’re laying upon. All you’re really focused on now though are their bright blue eyes, not just bright but glowing. You attempt to speak but no sound comes out of your raw throat. 

“Shhh… Don’t try to speak.” The voice is deep yet melodic, you think it might be soothing if you weren’t so numb. The deepness of the voice at least makes you think they’re a man of some kind even if not a human one. He picks you up and bundles you into his coat. You gaze up at him as he carries you, where to, you have no idea but you can’t seem to care in your current state, so instead you gaze up at him. His eyelashes like the snowflakes that fall around you as they dust over his cheeks with each blink. 

You’re apparently not the best listener  because you weakly croak out a question. “Are you an angel? Did I die..?”

He pauses mid stride and glances down at you, crystalline eyes wide. Then he laughs, the action jostling you against his chest. “Now that’s a new one.” He adjusts his hold on you and continues. “You don’t need to worry about what I am and no you didn’t die.” His solemn expression has been replaced with a soft one. Lips gently curving at least for a moment and gaze soft before he looks ahead. “No more talking from you, you need your rest.” 

You don’t need to be told again as your eyelids feel heavy. The exhaustion from before settling over you like a blanket, wrapped in this strange man’s coat and being gently rocked by his steps you drift off. 

__

You stare up at the ceiling of your small room, blinking away sleep. It’s been years since that night and yet you still dream of it. You roll from your cot, immediately stuffing your feet into a pair of slippers. It was beginning to get cold out, the chill always bringing with it the dreams. Not that it was winter yet. Instead of a world dusted in white the world outside was a fiery palette of reds, oranges and yellows. 

You wander your way to the small kitchen where your grandmother sits with a cup of tea clutched between her weathered fingers. “You slept in.” It’s simply an observation not an accusation. “That’s not like you. Normally you’re up before the sun, not well after it.” 

You reach for the pot of tea and pour yourself a cup, happy to cradle the warmth in your hands. You hum. “And yet you didn’t come to wake me.” 

Your grandmother hums in turn then, it was a response you picked up from her after all. “Of course not. You need to get more rest or you’ll burn yourself out. You’ve spent nearly everyday in the woods either hunting or gathering other supplies.” 

“I need to make sure we’re both taken care of. It’s predicted to be a harsh winter. This fall has already been particularly cold.” You blow on your tea and sit across from your grandmother. 

“We already have more than enough smoked and dried meats to get through the winter.”

“And the extra can go around to others in the village who need it in that case. If not that I can take it to trade in the larger towns for other supplies we might need. You know, like your medicine. OW!” You yelp as she gives your leg a thwack under the table with her cane.

“Watch your tone,” She replies, both hands returning to her cup to raise it to her lips for another sip. “And stop worrying so much about me. I’m more than capable of taking care of myself still.” 

You grumble and rub at your leg. “Stubborn old bat…” you mumble beneath your breath. 

“What was that?” 

“Nothing~” You sip at your tea as she narrows her eyes at you. 

Before she’s able to say anything more there’s a knock at the door, drawing both of your attention. “Expecting someone today?” You ask her as you begin to get up and go to the door. 

“Not at all.”

 Not that it was abnormal for people to stop by for any number of reasons in a village like this. What wasn’t normal was when you looked through the peephole and saw one of the lead elders had stopped by your home unannounced. You open the door quickly and step to the side so your grandmother can see who it is. 

“Now to what do I owe the visit, Gakuganji? The elders council isn’t meant to gather until the end of the week.” Your grandmother was technically on the council though she was the current youngest member to be welcomed on. Meanwhile she’s said before that she remembers Gakuganji being old already while she was young.  Honestly you can’t imagine this fossil ever being young anyway.  

“There’s an urgent matter that I need to discuss with you.” He says to your grandmother while his eyes flick pointedly toward you. 

You raise your hands in mock defeat. “Alright alright I’ll make myself scarce. Just give me a minute to get properly changed, old man.” This earns you a glare from Gakuganji and a snort from your grandmother as you head back to your room. Soon enough you’re dressed and heading out the door, grabbing your bow and quiver as you go. Your hunting knife already secured to a belt at your waist. Admittedly you’re curious about what could be so urgent that it would bring Gakuganji here, especially when as your grandmother had said there was to be a regularly scheduled meeting of the elders from the various villages at the end of the week. 

You stretch and breathe in the crisp air. Glancing toward the sky you realize just how late you actually had slept in and feel a bit mortified. Your grandmother had really let you sleep in well past noon. You grumble and go to bundle up one of your kills from the previous day onto the back of your horse to bring to the city to sell. You really did need to go and get more medicine for your grandmother anyway. 

__ 

It’s grown dark once you’re on your way home. The days grow shorter and shorter giving way to long nights. You didn’t mind it much. There was a certain peace that came with it, though while on the roads  you didn’t allow yourself a false sense of security. It’s why even when you weren’t hunting you always had your knife and bow. It’s a habit that’s saved your life on more than one occasion, both from creatures of the night and simple brigands who think you’d make an easy target. 

Something is wrong tonight. You feel it in the air. Everything is too quiet and when the forest is quiet it often means something dangerous is around. You pet your horse’s neck, aiming to soothe it. That’s when not far ahead you see a figure on the road. You slide your bow off your shoulder, your free hand poised to grab for an arrow if you need it as you steer your horse with your thighs. Not that it needed guidance on the path home which you’ve taken hundreds of times.

“So even rabbits can bare their teeth, hmm?” The figure speaks without looking at you. His voice is deep and dripping with amusement. “Put that arrow away before you get hurt, human. I have no business with you”

A shiver goes through you at the words. Human. Your horse stops and refuses to go forward. Your horse that’s encountered all sorts of beasts and kept its nerve. When you don’t say anything the man looks over at you, his eyes are crimson and his face is adorned with tattoos. You know who he is even without having ever seen him in person. You press your lips into a firm line. Sukuna the vampire lord from a distant land. His territory brushed precariously with the Vampire lord who called your own lands home. Two vampires who were closer to gods than anything walking this earth truly ought to be. Crystalline blue eyes and a snowy night flash through your mind’s eye.

You at least know better than to question his presence out loud. But still you don’t avert your gaze and his eyes narrow.  Suddenly he is much much closer, making your horse rear back in panic, knocking you off before it lets out a sound of fear and runs off into the woods, leaving you on your back on the dirt road. 

“Perhaps your beast is smarter than you are.” 

You let out a hiss of pain before opening your eyes and looking up.  He’s standing above you, crimson eyes gazing down at you unimpressed. Fear pricks across your skin and keeps your mouth shut. After what feels like an eternity he snorts and suddenly you feel as if you can move again. You scramble to your feet and look away. Years of experience have told you not to take your eyes off a predator and give them an opening lest they rip out your throat but your instincts say to stop meeting his eyes and get away. You think your instincts have the better of it this time.

“Now you show sense,” His tone is incredulous. Now that you’re looking away from his face he begins to walk past you. He pauses when he’s right beside you. “You should be grateful I’m in a good mood tonight.” And like that he’s gone.  

The encounter leaves you shaken and without a ride. You curse and shakily gather up anything that fell off your horse with you before heading home. Hopefully your horse would find their way back home just fine and wouldn’t get picked off. You’d worry about them being stolen if they liked anyone but you.

You debate the whole way home if you should tell your grandmother that you encountered Sukuna. Would she even believe you? And if she does, what can she do with the information? Bring it up to the other elders at the end of the week? Or maybe Gakuganji is still at the house… Your whole face sours like you just drank bad milk. That old man wouldn’t believe you. There’s no way.

You’re incredibly surprised then when you crest the hill to the village and see chaos. People rushing around everywhere, loading carriages and preparing livestock to move. You break into a run toward your home. This had to do with the elder’s visit, there’s no way it wasn’t related. When you burst through the front door and into the kitchen you’re surprised to find your grandmother much like you had this afternoon when you’d gotten up. Though this time she’s smoking instead of drinking tea. Blue grey smoke curls into the air from the intricately carved pipe.

“Grandma, what’s going on? Why is everyone panicking and why’re you just sitting here?” 

A deep inhale and the end of the pipe shines bright with embers casting the old woman’s face in orange light before she sighs out a plume of smoke and sets the pipe down against her little wooden ashtray. “I told the villagers they need to evacuate.” 

Your brows furrow together and dread begins to tighten your chest. “But why? What did the old fossil say, and don’t try and say it’s unrelated.” 

She snorts. “Don’t let him hear you call him that…” she ignores your mumbled ‘you call him that all the time’ and sighs deeply. “You’re aware that we fall within a vampire lord’s domain correct?” 

You’re a bit taken aback but you nod. “Lord Gojo oversees this territory and the vampires within it.” Not that he exercised any direct power over the human population. Not in a ruling sense anyway. 

Your grandmother nods. “The people of his territory are lucky. He’s benevolent as far as vampire lords are considered. He limits the hunting of vampires within his territory and protects us from outside threats.” She pauses, seeming to think for a moment. “He even saved you and brought you home to me without asking for anything in return.” 

You’d started to brew tea as she spoke, needing to direct your attention somewhere to control the dread, but now after lowering the kettle over the flames in the hearth you look at her. Really look at your grandmother, frail and forlorn but with a slightest hint of a smile on her face.

“Imagine my shock when he showed up at my door with you bundled up tight. By the time he brought you home I’d heard tell of what happened to the caravan, I’d assumed you’d been lost. But there he was with you, rosy cheeked and cared for. You’d been missing until you were able to tell him who your family were… “

You sit across from her, wondering where she was going with bringing up this story. “I don’t really remember much other than when he found me to be honest..” 

“I’m surprised you remember that much.. Truly though I’d expected him to ask for something in return. Perhaps even ask for you once you were of age.”

You choke on nothing at her words and your cheeks flush with heat. “Grandma! That isn’t funny.” Your voice is indignant.

“It’s not meant to be,” she says seriously then sighs. “My point is we’re lucky. He mostly leaves us all be despite his eccentric whims. That isn’t something many who live within a vampire lord’s territory can say. Afterall when I was growing up I fled from the territory of one who was far more malevolent.” 

Lord Sukuna. Your encounter on the road flashes through your mind. Things are slowly clicking into place in your mind. 

“Lord Gojo has been challenged to a battle by Lord Sukuna.” She folds her hands on the table in front of her, the weight of her words creating a pit beneath you that threatens to swallow you whole. You'd heard the stories of how those who lived within his domain lived or died based on his pleasure of displeasure. 

“On the road tonight-” you begin but your grandmother cuts you off.

“This is why the village is evacuating. We’re too close to where the battle is to take place. Though some are going to go further than others. If Lord Sukuna wins, who's to say how quickly all our lives will be thrown into chaos. If he’ll decide to try and take over or if this is simply a game to test his power.” 

You chew your lip. “Okay if that’s the case why aren’t you preparing to leave as well?” 

She makes an incredulous sound. “Please, you know how my health is. I’m staying here, I won’t be run off from my home by him again. I told the villagers to evacuate so they can make their own choice. Mine is to stay here.” 

You stare in disbelief. Maybe you shouldn’t be shocked considering this small village basically sprung up around your grandmother after she settled here. But still to just stay and wait for whatever happens… 

The kettle begins to whistle and you push away from the table to get it. To prepare you both steaming cups of tea. 

“My question then, oh grandchild of mine, is what will you do?” 

Your hands tremble slightly as you pour each of you a cup. “How long do we have, do you know?”

“Two nights from now on the harvest moon.” 

“Thats-” 

“Incredibly short notice? I imagine Sukuna is forcing lord Gojo’s hand for it to be so sudden. Fight him on that night willingly or he’ll simply begin wreaking havoc in his domain regardless and force him into a confrontation that way.”

“And i really can’t convince you to leave…?” 

“No. I decided years ago that I would live out my life here in this village. If it’s to end in a blaze of glory during a battle of titans? Then so be it.” 

You tightly clutch at the tea cup in your hands. There’s an unspoken ‘you won’t take that away from me will you?’ that hangs in the air between the two of you. And you won’t. Despite how much it pains you, you won’t take that away from the woman who’s given you so much over the years. 

—

In the end you’d left. You stayed longer than most, until the autumn sun was high in the sky, uncaring of the destruction that was sure to be wrought that night. Hadn’t the sun realized that a day like this was meant for storms and gloom? But you’d stayed until your grandmother urged you out the door. You’d wanted to drag her with you but if her final wish truly was to live and die in this village you couldn’t take that away. 

You didn’t go far. Only as far as you had to, something in you deciding that you’d bear witness even if from a distance. The powers at play were hard to comprehend. Two beings who appear to be but mere men but with power so immense that you think your grandmother’s description of titans failed to convey it fully. You imagined this is what it was for gods to clash. 

The night is old when all seems to have settled and you make your way toward the battlefield. Your intention was merely to see what was left of your home and if your grandmother perhaps still lived. You don’t make it that far though under the harvest moon’s orange red glow. Instead halfway through a scorched field you find him. Pale form covered in ash and blood, once brilliant blue eyes staring dully at the night sky above. 

Your breath stutters in your chest. Part of you wishes you could say you hesitate but you don’t. You move to the vampire lord’s side, gently going to your knees by his head. There’s no reaction, not at first anyway. But then dull eyes slowly move toward you. Even still you knew he was dying. If nothing was done he was going to die just like you would have in the snow all those years ago if he hadn't found you.

You draw your hunting knife from your belt, the worn handle carved from the antler of your first kill making it feel like an extension of yourself. You stare at it and its glinting blade, kept meticulously sharp and clean by you, before glancing back down at the man who’d saved you. You weren’t sure if this would even work but you felt you needed to try. Cold steel cuts into the back of your wrist cleanly. You let out a hiss between your teeth at the feeling, and then watch mesmerized by the blood welling to the surface. 

With the knife tucked away you slip one hand beneath his head and then lower your bleeding wrist to his lips. At first he doesn’t react. Instead your life simply flows passively past his lips. “Please… I never got to thank you,” Your plea is quiet. 

You feel it then, his lips moving against your skin. His lashes flutter before his eyes seem to gain a hazy sort of focus, different from the dullness of moments prior. You press your wrist more firmly to his mouth and you feel his tongue laving over the cut in your wrist. The action surprising you both as something unfamiliar in itself but also in how it soothes the stinging wound. Then like a steel trap being triggered his hands fly up and grab your arm securely before his mouth fully latches onto your wrist, fangs cleanly piercing your flesh as if you were nothing more than a ripe summer peach. You cry out, both from the sudden sting of pain and the abruptness of his action. You don’t try to yank away, instead curling forward, the hand that was once supporting his head going to the ground to curl into the soil. You pant, your face directly above his with your eyes closed tight. The pain is fading as quickly as it started, numbness taking its place similar to when he’d licked the cut you’d made. Your eyes flutter back open and for the first time the eyes you remember from that winter night meet your own. Crystalline as they hold your gaze even as it grows hazy. 

You wonder then if you were trading your life for his. If he would drink you dry with every pull of your blood past his lips. You don’t think you’d mind that since your time had been borrowed from him anyway. You sway even on your knees and begin to fall forward. It’s only distantly that you note him releasing your wrist before everything swims out of focus. __

Ba-thump

“Gojo! You’re alive! We thought- .. who is that?” 

Ba-thump

“I don’t have time to explain. Get Shoko-”

Ba-thump

Ba-thump

And there you have it folks! And i used dividers for the for the first time. Nothin too fancy but I felt this deserved it. I would love to hear if you guys enjoyed this and what your favorite part/s were. This fic is sorta my baby. It's somthing I'll work on when the mood strikes because I want to do it right and put a lot of love into it. I'm really trying for those gothic romance vibes. Also sorry Gojo wasn't in this chapter a ton but I really needed to set the scene and tone of this story.

tag list!: @icy-spicy @margumis @fah-keet @missmugiwara @pastelle-rabbit @mysugu @fushigurro @nanamikentoseyebags @whispers-of-lilith @princess-okkotsu @strawberrystepmom @chifuyuskoneko @katsulock @kinjuutsu @kweenkatsuki-main @biscuitsngravie @pupkashi @chuuyasboots @porridgesblog @kailali @4sat0ruu

divider credit: @/animatedglittergraphics-n-more

#satoru gojo x reader #gojo x reader #gojo x gn!reader #jjk x reader #jjk x gn!reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #gn!reader #vampire gojo #vampire x reader #rossi writes

[thiniceofeternalyouth]

MISLEADIN' ME SERIES: CHAPTER SEVEN

WISH UPON A PAPER PLANE [2 pt.]

⊳ Gojo Satoru x f!reader

series masterlist

Genre: angst, fluff, sci-fi, cosmology.

Chapter warning&tags : ooc, slight manga spoilers, profanity, mentions of alcohol, violence, murder;

Words count: ~11.5k

⊲ previous

Sitting on the bed, you stared blankly at the box that peeked out from behind the open closet door. The box was wrapped in purple paper and tied with a satin blue ribbon. Its night-lit edges reflected in your eyes, and the intrusive thoughts wouldn't come out of your head. You were frustrated. However, you weren't angry about why he'd stayed by your side or frightened that he might not change his mind, or if he did, why he hadn't told you. The only regret that settled in your chest was that you'd found out before December seventh.

The feeling didn't want to leave your chest, but you couldn't afford to sit still. As you walked to your closet and slammed the door shut, you glanced at your phone's screen and saw the low battery. You put it to charge and left the room.   

From downstairs, you could hear a lot of activity: creaking floorboards, rustling jackets, children running and squealing, Frank's low exclamations, the clinking of cutlery or the clinking of tongues. As you went down to the first floor, each wooden step beneath you made a pitiful creaking sound.

You were barely downstairs when you were nearly knocked over by a passing Mike (who didn't even look in your direction afterward), who was out the front door in two seconds.

"I see ya've got this under control, don't ya?" you asked a panting Frank who was trying to hold a wriggling Tris in his arms while trying to pull off her snow-wet woolen tights to replace them with dry ones. "Now," you squinted taking Tris in your arms. Lifting her into the air, you looked into her eyes. "Either change the tights or no paper planes this year," your words made her chubby cheeks puff up even more, but she immediately went limp and fell silent.

"Ya're not much of a carer," Frank shook his head and sat the little girl on his lap again. "Couldn't ya've been gentler?"

"Weren't ya the one who threatened little me to take away all my toys if I didn't go to bed at nine at night?"

"That was a long time ago and not true," Frank muttered and finally pulled the tights over a motionless Tris.

"Listen," you began squatting down in front of them and began to put warm pants on the girl. "Lock Nael out of town."

Frank raised his eyebrows in surprise. "I thought ya two were allies."

"He owes me, Frank," you said grudgingly, wrinkling your nose. "As soon as he gets the chance, he's gonna set my ass up."

"Watch your mouth," the man snorted and flicked you on the forehead. "I'll shut him out, but aren't ya afraid of further questioning?"

"I think he'll understand why," you waved it off, and not wanting to talk about the subject any further, you immediately moved it. "Are the others outside already?"

"Sent them out to hand out torches to people," Frank informed. "We're already behind schedule today, two hours up the cliff and it's dusk outside."  

"Then let's hurry up," you rushed them already pulling on your clothes yourself.

You looked at yourself in the mirror and wrapped the warm scarf around your neck. Even though Frank had assured you that you were fine after your bath that morning, you were still relieved that there wasn't a single blackened strand on your head, just your own hair color.

The steps creaked again, so prolonged and pitiful that they sounded as if they were about to fail, a sign that more than one person had went down the stairs.

Danielle appeared on the steps holding a folded paper plane in one hand and holding her side with the other. She struggled to move her feet, and on the next step, when she nearly stumbled and flew down, Megumi snorted irritably and picked her up.

He gave you a brief nod as he walked by and sat Dany on a stool near the entrance. He silently began to put her shoes on.

"Bun," you turned to the girl worriedly. "Wouldn't ya rather stay home?"

Megumi didn't even let Danielle utter the first word. "I already tried to talk her out of it," he muttered sullenly. "But she's just, she-" he stammered and clenched his teeth with such force that jowls showed on his face beneath his lower jaw. "I'd rather carry her in my arms than change her mind."

"Dany," you said in a quiet voice. "Why don't ya stay after all?" girl only shook her head.

You were just as quietly called out by Frank. "Hey," you turned around, and he gestured for you to come over to him. "I don't approve of her antics, but I think it's especially important for her right now," Frank whispered into your ear, and you kept your eyes on Danielle. "Besides, she has a caring young man. Oh, and I'll see to it, if anything."

You didn't say anything, but just accepted it. You couldn't just lock a fully self-aware and almost adult person in the room. "Whatever ya say. I'll go to others."

The door was right in front of you, but it seemed like a long way to get there: all from worry. What's going on with her? If she's sick, why not go to the doc? Why didn't she say she wasn't feeling well in the first place? She already told you it wasn't pregnancy (and you trusted her) - could it be that it's just some food poisoning? All these questions were beating against each other in your head forcing it to spin.

When you were finally outside the door, the frosty air finally brought you to your senses. You turned your head up into the clear night sky: at first you thought it was stargazing, but when you looked closer, you realized that the stars were the same glowing sparks Axel had shown you earlier. Unlike the stars, it weren't stationary: the sparks were moving from side to side, falling and rising, intertwining with each other as if dancing. One of them seemingly the boldest, flew right up to your face. You gingerly raised your hand and touched it with the tip of your index finger - the sparkle vibrated like a giggle and immediately flew back up into the sky.

It was good that there were no clouds in the sky, so there would be no precipitation that would soak the fragile paper planes. There was no headwind that would have prevented them from taking off. 

A loud clamor came from the side of the bridge. You couldn't see the bridge from the corner of the house, but you could see the main street that led to it - even there was a huge crowd. It would be no easy task to break through it and find the others, especially given the mood of the town now: everyone would try to stop you just for chatting or exchange mutual congratulations. That was the way it was done with absolutely everyone who passed by.

Burying your face deeper into your scarf, you avoided the slippery spots and started down the hill straight into the main street.

Nathaniel couldn't call himself a pedantic man, but every time he saw a hair or lint on his or someone else's clothes, he was tempted to brush it off, or when a corner of a piece of paper was knocked out of a stack of papers, he'd put it back in place in one motion. Now it was not the presence of an extra pair of shoes in his hallway that annoyed him, but the fact that they stood unevenly.

The man carefully moved one shoe to the other and exhaled in relief, but the next task was more difficult: to deal with the owner of the shoes. He did not hesitate and ignoring the dread hunger immediately went to the ajar door of his office.

At Nathaniel's desk sat a man whose black hair was braided into a tight black braid. He was filling out paperwork, and Nathaniel shuddered when the man licked his finger once more to loosen the sticking sheets.

"Ah, here you are," said Christian looking at him over his glasses. Without waiting for an answer, he buried his face in the papers again, and the room was filled with the sound of a pen squeaking.

"What are you doing in my house?" asked Nathaniel indifferently, clutching his palms together and hiding them in his wide sleeves.

Christian smirked skeptically, adjusting his glasses on the bridge of his nose. "Your job."

Keeping a calm expression on his face, Nathaniel didn't think to react to the barbed remark. "I don't receive guests at this hour. You should go."

"You know...," Christian said in his drawling voice, scratching his chin thoughtfully, and pulled an already-written sheet from the stack. "I had a terrible craving for peaches the other day. I wanted them so badly that I couldn't think of anything else. Big, juicy ones. I can't get those at the grocery store. It's all plastic," he held up two sheets of paper - the one he'd just filled out and the one he'd pulled from the stack. Christian held them up to his face, his eyes running from one sheet to the other as if comparing something. "A lot more of our people have been killed this year, haven't they?" the question was unexpected and clearly out of context. "Now, what am I talking about," Christian looked pensive. "Ah, yes. I had to go to the market. So, I wandered around looking for peaches," he put the sheets back down and swatting at them with his hands, slowly rose from his chair. "And I saw an old lady. Her counter was filled with seeds. Seeds of fruits, vegetables, and... flowers," he walked up close to Nathaniel and abruptly pulled something out of his pocket. Clasping a clear bag of creamy beige dust between his index and middle finger, Christian shook it right in front of Nathaniel's face. "Are you going to explain where a fucking huckster got the seeds of black orchid from?" he hissed, but broke off into a shout at the last word. "You don't have so many tasks and one of them is to just keep watch and buy up seeds, and if you don't want to do it yourself, you have people to assign it to!" yelled Christian, and Nathaniel phlegmatically brushed the saliva off his cheek with his hand. "What if the demons saw this? What would they do to her? Don't you feel sorry for granny?" he asked in a mocking tone.  

"If I remember correctly, we all have equal responsibilities. You have no right to show up at my house and hurl accusations. It's as much your fault as it is mine."

"Remind me who put you in the superior chair?" asked Christian in a low voice squinting his eyes contemptuously.

"Y/N did," Nathaniel replied, cocking his sharp chin. "And as you can see, I don't kneel at her feet. I'm not going to kneel at yours, either."

Christian's eyes widened with indignation, and his nostrils began to flare with rage. "You are out of line," despite his angry face, Christian spoke in as calm a voice as possible. "She may have helped you, but I could easily get rid of you."

Nathaniel raised his eyebrows defiantly. "Shall we call a council?" he inquired. "So let's do it. I think the rest of the higher-ups who unlike you have relatives and children living in Hopetown, would be very interested to know why you're trying so hard to sneak in.

Christian felt as if he'd been punched in the chest, and he immediately exhaled all the anger out of himself. "How are you-"

"You're not the only one with ears everywhere. Honestly, I don't care why you need to go there. I just want you to remember that just because you've been sitting a hole in a superior's chair longer doesn't make you more important."

Christian took a deep breath. Exhaled. Repeated. He backed up a few steps and leaned against the table. "I wonder why, of the five of us, only you have access to the town?" he asked and threw a bag of creamy beige dust in Nathaniel's face. He caught it with a deft movement.

"Probably because I don't act like an arrogant idiot," Nathaniel pointed out indifferently and tucked his hands back into his sleeves along with the bag. "You have two minutes to leave my house," Nathaniel said and turned on his heels and headed for the door. Pulling the handle toward him, he added: "The lad won't kill her. So leave the two of them alone," Nathaniel tossed over his shoulder.

Christian clutched his hand to his face as if he'd just been punched. "I need to...," he mumbled. "I just need to talk to someone who's doing their job properly. Or else my head's going to burst."

At the very path that began at the bridge, you silently pushed the empty crates aside. Your tongue ached from the endless congratulations, and your feet ached from being stepped on at least a dozen times as you made your way through the crowd.

You watched the people leaving the path, and the city seemed so empty now that you could hear the quiet hum of the golden sparks that hovered above it. Kyle's shout of 'torches overhead' was still ringing in your ears, and you shook your head trying to get rid of the sound.

Itadori fidgeted with the unlit torch; he glanced around at the rest of the people present. "Anyone have a lighter or matches?"

"Don't worry about it," you assured him shoving one of the few overflowing torch boxes toward the bridge, away from the path. "Ya'd better catch up with the others. And ya two too," you turned to Danielle and Megumi who was holding her shoulder.

You picked up your backpack from the ground and opened it; it contained a stack of blank sheets of paper and a few dozen pens, the conclusions drawn from past years when someone had either lost their paper plane or it was crumpled and, as a consequence, no longer able to carry fulfill  innermost dreams and wishes. "I think I've got everything," you muttered to yourself and slung your backpack over your shoulders.

At the same time, Megumi picked up a weak Danielle in her arms, but watching such a scene you weren't at peace with joy for them, only worry. She'd been holding up fine for a year, had she only just gotten down?

Gojo's voice pulled you out of your thoughts. His tone was childishly whiny, but no less demanding. "Can't we do the same?"

"Nope," you stretched watching their distant silhouettes. "I'm afraid I can't carry you far."

"Bully," Gojo muttered under his breath. "That's not what I meant," he added even more quietly.

You turned around to Kyle who was waiting just for the two of you. "What about ya? Going forward as usual?" Kyle remained silent glaring at the man who stood directly behind you. "Hey," you muttered crossly and snapped your fingers in front of his face. "If ya're gonna kill someone with a stare, do it more discreetly."

Gojo's arms wrapped around your waist and pulled you closer to him. "Don't worry, big brother. I'll take care of her," he said, and smiling broadly, rested his head on the top of your head. Kyle didn't seem to care what he said - he was already vividly visualizing the scarlet trickles of blood coming out of Gojo's nose.

Barely escaping the clutches of his fantasies, Kyle finally turned his gaze to you and looked straight into your eyes - you only blinked slowly, your eyes squeezed shut letting him know that everything was okay. You were comfortable. "Okay, I'll go."

"So what?" you inquired indignantly, exasperated by his terseness. "Not even an annual tutorial?"

Kyle exhaled in relief, laughing softly as a cloud of steam covered his face for a second. "Ya know yourself. Keep an eye on the laggards, and keep an eye out so it's not like last year. I don't really wanna spend all night again looking for a kid in a snowy forest who just happened to fall asleep in his own bed before the procession. That's it, I'll go now."

"Aren't ya forgetting something?" you asked sternly, tapping your forehead lightly with your finger. Kyle gave you a quick peck on the forehead, and then, taking a step back and looking you in the eye, he turned the triangle he'd made with his fingers downward: lights came on the horizon. He hurried out onto the path afterward, and at the same time, the arms around your waist squeezed you as tightly as if they wanted to be one with you.

After standing like that for a moment, you tried to unhook his hands, but to no avail. "I heard from a reliable source that you wanna live in a dumpster."

"What did I do wrong?" he snorted irritably into your hair. You tried to tear his hands away from you, again without any chance of success. It was time for the forbidden moves - you pinched his nose. "Ouch!" he exclaimed quietly and his palm flew to the sore spot on automatic; you immediately jumped out of the embrace. "You know, you act like that and I'll turn on infinity and you'll never touch me again," he mumbled resentfully, rubbing his nose with his fingers.

"Is it worth mentioning that all this time ya've been the first to seek to touch me?" you rubbed your forehead thoughtfully, but when you saw his indignant look and the way he took a deep breath, gathering more air into his lungs, you immediately returned to the original topic. "Look," you began softly. "I know Kyle seems rude, but he just... um," you stammered trying to string the information together into something concise and blurry. "He has some trust issues. So please forgive him for this behavior, but ya... Could ya please not provoke him? At least on purpose."

It was noticeable how he frowned his eyebrows slightly, and the way he clasped his hands together across his chest gave him an even stranger serious look. "What do you mean? I didn't provoke him."

You opened your mouth, but closed it again. His lack of understanding confused you, and what made it even more confusing was that you couldn't tell if he was really serious right now or if it was just part of another joke. "I mean, 'I'll take care of her?' What was that for? There are tons of ways to piss him off, but ya chose this one-"

"Okay, cease," he stopped you, and put his hands on your shoulders for good measure. "Maybe I didn't really think about how it would sound to you from aside, but... ahem," you tried to look him in the eye, but he was trying too hard to avoid your gaze staring somewhere behind you. He kept hesitating to continue, biting his lip, and then opening his mouth again, trying to get a word out. "I just... I really meant it."

You chuckled nervously. "You can't even take care of yourself."

"It's because you spoil me!" he whined in a reproachful tone, and when he heard your impish laugh, he shook you gently by the shoulders. His reaction only made you laugh even more, and he started doing something weird - still holding onto your forearms, he started rocking you back and forth. You shook your head dazedly, drilling him with a questioning look. "What are you-" you didn't have time to say before he turned ninety degrees with you and shoved you into a snowdrift. 

You sank into it, but that didn't stop your laughter from spreading, now more like the whistling of a boiling kettle. "What is that-" you barely got it out in a choked voice, your chest refusing to take in air. "That-that's your whole revenge thing?"

"Not revenge," he hissed raking the snow that was on sides with his big hands and dumping it right on your face. "Justice!"

While you were floundering, he's already buried your legs in the snow. As soon as you were able to lift your body up, he shoved you back down.

"Ouch," you squeaked squeezing your head into your shoulders. "It seems I got snow down my back. It's cold!"

"What?" he exclaimed restlessly, immediately pulling you to him. He fussily but gently wiped the melted snow from your face with his palms, and when he reached under your scarf to wipe the back of your head, he felt that it was completely dry.

"Hey ya," you said quietly, squinting your eyes slyly. "The strongest sorcerer in the world as naive as a five-year-old."

He looked at you as if you'd stabbed him in the back with your dagger. Still sitting in the cold snow, he sighed dramatically and turned away from you, hand resting on his cheek. You knew it was just a joke - he'd pulled that trick more than once. Nevertheless, you crawled up behind him and rested your chin on his shoulder. He was lazily tracing patterns in the snow with his finger, not paying attention to you, and you had no choice but to rub your nose against his neck - once you did that, you looked at his profile again. "Some of us won't live to be old," he muttered turning his head slightly toward you. "Perhaps that someone is you. I'll kill you myself."

"Yeah," you said smiling. You started to pinch his sides: maybe it didn't have the same effect through the thick fabric of his jacket, but he started to smile - you could see the corners of his lips lift. "I know," you pulled away from him, but as always you didn't notice the way his gaze dimmed as you did so. "We should go." 

It was a joke. Just a joke.

To the tinkling music of the heavy chains sang someone's long painful whimper. The woman's hands dangled limply in the shackles, and almost all of her fingers were missing their nails - and the ones that were left had small, thin nails hammered under them. As she struggled to move her arms, she sobbed raggedly and then began to cough up choking on her own blood.

She tried once more to raise herself up, and once more she failed. She couldn't feel her legs at all, and through the shroud of tears and pus she tried to see if they were still there.

As a child, the captive was a decent girl - an obedient daughter, a diligent pupil, always trying not to upset her mother and father. As a teenager, she tried to ignore all of the attentions and was immersed in her studies - she was too concerned about her own future. Of course, she fell in love at university, but is that a sin? With that man, she had a happy marriage, though not without minor scrapes and quarrels, but she never betrayed her beloved husband. They had two wonderful children, to whom the woman tried to give everything, and if it was not enough material resources - she made up for it with all-consuming maternal love.

The captive didn't understand what she did wrong.

She used her willpower alone to force her weakened body to sway sideways - sitting still was much more painful. That made the chains rattle with renewed vigor, and the man who had been tirelessly correcting the painting on the wall before finally turned around. "What's wrong, sweetheart?" He walked over to her and gently cupped his fingers around her chin forcing her to look into his eyes. "Thirsty?" the woman nodded weakly, though it was as her head had just dropped from helplessness.

Pouring water from the carafe into a glass, the man cupped her cheeks and brought the glass to her mouth. Her swallowing reflex was almost non-existent as the water ran down her neck, washing away the fresh blood and soaking the old dried one. "Here ya go," he said softly, scrutinizing her face. "Feeling better?"

The woman only covered her eyes, and he immediately removed his hand from her; the captive's head collapsed back against her chest.

However, the man paid no further attention to her; he put the empty glass on the table and returned to painting. He circled the canvas with his hands, barely touching it - he wanted to feel every stroke of paint, but lacked the courage to apply more force. "One of the three studies of the crucifixion," he whispered reverently, unable to take his eyes off the painted bloody human body writhing on the bed. "Ya really don't know where the others are?"

The captive was silent.

The man exhaled quietly and clenched his teeth only to unclench them and smile again. He turned and walked over to the woman again and squatted down in front of her; the captive clenched into a ball, as tight as she could be with her chained limbs. "Ya're an honorary restorer at the Solomon Guggenheim Museum, did they really not tell ya where paintings were taken?" he gently tucked a strand of her dirty hair (what little was left of it) behind her ear, and the tone of his voice was so soft and enveloping that the woman nestled her cheek against his hand.

"Rei," a voice hit his eardrums, and it was so annoying that the man didn't hear the clinking of chains or the thump against a weakened and gaunt cheek, he only heard the whimpering of the cornered woman. "Not tired of sitting in the shadows yet?"

"Who am I hearing," Ray noted sardonically, getting to his feet and adjusting the collar of his suit. "Ya know I can see better from the shadows," he sat down tiredly on the couch directly across from the newly acquired painting, crossed his legs. "Unless ya wanna offer me something interesting."

"I know what you're getting at," noticed the voice. "No. You treat chances the same way you treat money. Wastefully."

"Oh, come on," Rei waved it off examining the blood painted on the picture. His whole skin itched with the urge to add the real thing to it. "I got too... over-excited that time. This time I'll just blow her head off."

"Blowing her head off won't be enough this time!" came a voice so loud that blood flowed from Ray's ears. He wiped the scarlet liquid away indifferently with the back of his hand. "And as far as your games have gone, that's as far as she's been able to go. It's your fault she's walking around our territory and besides... opening it up to others."

"How much longer ya gonna spray?" asked Rei through clenched teeth. The voice had no right to say things like that: somehow, they were part of the same whole. It was their fault.  "Just tell me what needs to be done."  

"Let's start with her rear," the voice suggested calmly. "Weaken it preferably, remove it as a priority."

"Be specific."

"Check out the redhead's habits. How she dresses, who she likes to socialize with, how much she sleeps, what she eats, what toothpaste she brushes her teeth with, down to what time and how often she goes to the bathroom."" 

"Where has our former majesty gone," Rei sighed staring blankly at one point. "If queens used to sit between our legs while kings licked our heels, now we have to watch some broad in the latrine."

The voice didn't answer.

The captive had long since gotten used to the man talking to himself from time to time, but what she couldn't get used to was his fits of rage right afterward. Each time, she hoped - no, not just hoped - prayed that in a fit of rage he would finally kill her.

She heard his footsteps approaching. Unable to lift her head, she began to sob quietly. An agonized and tearing moan escaped her chest as he grabbed the rest of her hair with a jerk. "So ya're not gonna tell me where the rest of the paintings are?" he bellowed in her face.

The woman wanted more than anything to shout 'I don't know, I don't know, I don't know!" but her voice had long since given up - the words wouldn't come, and she only had to shake her head from side to side. 

Rei's face contorted. He grabbed the woman's face squeezing her cheeks - and it was unclear whether it was his gray strands or his eyes that were turning black faster. He was breathing heavily, and the woman felt pain - his growing claws digging into her cheekbones. "Okay," he whispered softly.

A second ago, the room was filled with convulsive sobs, but because the rage was confined within the four walls, it was replaced by the sound of tearing mandibular ligaments. The woman let out one last loud gurgling wheeze, after which everything was replaced by the sounds of blood dripping to the floor and the final clanking of old iron chains.

In the cold December, there was no music more beautiful to Rei than this.

The fire seemed to be warming the frosty air and pushing the winter out of its glow, but it was not the only thing warming people now, they were warming each other themselves. Some of them were already walking with their arms around each other, drinking songs; some were stealthily taking a few sips of wine or something stronger from their flask fidgeting around. Tired children were already sitting in the arms of adults comfortably as it was possible; other children, more active, were running from side to side, playing catch-up under the concerned shouts of older ones. Every passing person left footprints in the white snow, there was no better proof than this that someone was here, and that someone was alive.    

It was a well-traveled and known road, but still the responsible adults led the younger ones by the hand, and the responsible younger ones led the older ones by the hand. Everyone was looking out for each other - everybody wanted to get to the cliff safely.

Frank had moved Tris from one hand to the other four times already, and she had refused to get off and walk on her own since the beginning of the trail. The man berated himself for it: just as he'd done with the three of you, he couldn't refuse Tris; he pestered himself with thoughts that she might grow up to be too spoiled, but if you hadn't, maybe this time it would be all right, too.

Frank never thought of himself as a good father. He kept going over in his head what he had given you and what more he could have given you, and it didn't seem enough, because he had missed the most important thing of all: your childhood. While you were growing up and trying to learn about the world getting bumps and scrapes, all he did was cut the throats of others. Higher-ups praised him a lot and often, but he hardly remembered it, but he sure remembered Rachel's delight at his first cooked breakfast, Kyle's brief but meaningful nod when Frank finally managed to explain to him how to use his ability of lighting, and your snide laugh when all the infant formula from the bottle he'd just fed Tris ended up on his shirt.

"Ya tired?" turned Frank to Itadori who had already been carrying Mike in his arms for about twenty minutes.

"No!" exclaimed Yuuji tossing the slumped Mike higher on his shoulder and grinning broadly. "I'm very resilient."

"Frank?" Yuta picked up the conversation peering out from behind Frank's big shoulder. "What happened to us? I mean... why did the sorcerers split up?"  

"Son, it's been over a couple or three thousand years," Frank chuckled and was about to pat the boy on the top of his head, but remembered his busy hands and snorted unhappily. "I'm not quite sure I can say exactly what it was about. Although... My grandpa used to tell me that it was all because of the promise system."

Yuta tried to catch up with Frank, whose stride could be compared to three steps of a normal person. "Promise system?"

"I think you've met something like that," Frank hummed shifting Tris from one hand to the other. "All of this filth trying to negotiate something one way or another," Itadori looked further away with each word he said. "Long time ago, when the demons started to realize they couldn't cope, they started to negotiate with the sorcerers. Of course, at first, for just a 'small favor' the demons promised mostly more powers. Some sorcerers thought that this is a great opportunity: the more they will have strength, the more people they can protect, and other sorcerers didn't like it, because there is no limit to human greed, and all this will not end well. So we parted ways. I dunno how it happened, and I can't say that we had nothing to do with it... But as time went on, the caste of sorcerers that had given up on the idea began to be covered with dirt, and rumors have two properties: they spread very quickly and in addition, they grow with details that come from nowhere... and years later you look at it and don't understand why it was necessary," Frank sighed heavily. "Ya boys," he nodded his head at Yuta and Itadori. "Ya don't even know what the promise system is at all, do ya? I don't think your older generation is aware of it either... Nor of the existence of demons in general. And we're all just a thing of the past. But be that as it may, and whatever happened between our ancestors... I'm glad we're back together."

Yuta and Itadori looked at each other in confusion.

"We're glad to have met you too," said Yuta, and smiling, got all flushed.

"Stop it," chuckled Frank, and he thought he pushed Yuta lightly with his shoulder, but boy didn't fly off into the snowy bushes only because of his intense training.     

"So how the promise system work?" blurted Itadori, and Frank raised an eyebrow in surprise at this unfamiliar pressure. "It's just..." he swallowed the thick saliva that rose in his throat like a cork. "Forewarned is forearmed."

"How-how... Unfairly it works," Frank spat in indignation. "Demons can watch ya for a long time, digging into your head for your most secret desires, and once they know... They come to a person and offer them a deal. If the terms aren't agreed upon onshore, the default is five years. I don't need to tell ya what happens if you don't fulfill the terms... If a person has done everything they were asked for within the specified period, they can also ask the demon to do something for them, and everything works the same way with deadlines. All this works in the opposite direction: a person can first come and ask for something. With one adjustment - the demon can pretty much say no."

"Can't a person refuse a promise?" queried Yuta confusedly.

"Son, ya think those bastards are gonna stick a piece of paper under your nose and ask ya to sign it?" Frank panted so hard that Tris wrapped her arms around his face. "All they need is your mental assent. They don't care what you say out loud. You can tell them fu- ahem, you can tell them no, but if they nailed, you're in trouble. You won't even know it. That's why... That's why hunters are taught not to want anything from childhood, and if they do, to keep it so deep inside that no bug can get to it."

"Why not turn this to your favor?" boiled Itadori. "Why not in return for their wants just ask that they all die?"

Frank marveled at the amount of stilted anger sitting in the pink-haired boy. "We tried," the man shrugged. "But we got the impression that the very concept of death itself was unfamiliar to them. The hunters tried different formulations: 'die' - only the body died, 'fade away' - only the body disappeared, 'burn in hell' - maybe they did burn, but they came back. Hunters tried to set impossible tasks, but if we take into account the fact that we want to keep humanity intact, there is no such thing. Ya can ask for the sun to go out, but there's no way to be sure they can't. But what if they could and would do it? Even if there was something impossible for them to do, all demon 'requests' result in a huge loss of human life, and it is too disproportionate and unfair that several human lives are taken in exchange for one demon life. I believe there is some formulation that will make them finally disappear, but so far, the hunters have not found one. The only two working methods now are judges and void killings. I hope you never fall for such a thing."

Amidst the chatter of all the people walking down the slope, only their voices were hushed - each buried in his own thoughts. Almost every minute each of them caught an occasional nudge on the shoulder and a loud apology as people hurried to the cliff.

Something - if intangible, but something to lean on - began to emerge in Itadori's memories. Their pact with Sukuna. The only thing he regretted now was that the curse had never learned how brightly human rage could burn. "Kid," Itadori yanked back so that Mike nearly fell out of his arms. Kyle, on the other hand, looked into his eyes searching for how he was feeling. "Everything okay?"

The anger in Yuji's eyes was immediately replaced by confusion, confusion replaced by awkward nods of the head. "Yeah," muttered Itadori. "Yeah, everything's fine. Kinda."

Kyle looked calm, but he still didn't relent and kept his hand on the boy's shoulder. "Why don't we wait a while," he pulled him aside and they stopped letting a group of cackling people pass by. Looking around, Kyle noticed that they were separated from the rest of the people by a few dozen feet. "No more bad thoughts popped into your head?"

Itadori's eyes became as round as two shiny coins. "No, no, of course not!" the boy rambled excitedly, and when Kyle was back on the path, Yuji scrambled up beside him.

"Look," Kyle began softly, choosing his words. "It's unlikely that I'll ever fully understand what ya've been through - it's not like I've ever had someone sitting inside me and controlling me intermittently. Besides, I can't promise you that the pain will ever diminish, but what I can guarantee ya for sure that time will change in size," Itadori noted to himself: the more times it was mentioned, the less pain he felt. Did repressed anger sit in him? Yes. Did grief sit in him? Perhaps. However, the pain flowed out of his body like water through the tiny openings of a huge sieve, or it still sat in him, but as a captive and overgrew the vines of a newfound hardness of character. "I know when the fruits of your labors are invisible to the eye, we can't help but wonder what it's all for. After all, the world would look the way it does now without us: calm, peaceful. We completely forget that it looks like this only because we had the courage to take on such a burden. Ya know what I mean?"

Itadori didn't dare blink, afraid that tears would come out of his eyes again, and tried not to sniffle, though his nose tickled unpleasantly. He nodded his head once not daring to answer, fearing that the brokenness in his voice might come out of his mouth.

"Cold today, huh?" asked Kyle casually, wiping his eyes with the palms of his hands. "Even my eyes are watering."

"Yeah," Itadori blurted out and began to wipe his eyes hastily with one hand. "True," he felt a sense of gratitude in his chest, and it came as sharply as the darkness of winter: just a blink, and there was darkness outside the window instead of sunshine.

They had been walking for a long time; the forest around them began to thin giving way to a landscape of bare rocks and cliffs covered with snow. The last turn showed on the horizon, and people along with their lights were turning and disappearing from sight. "I was talking to ya like a child," Kyle said. "Now I'll tell you like a man: you chose it for yourself. Get your balls up and take responsibility," Kyle was surprised at the harshness of his statement. They were already at the turnoff. "Still, there's something ya need to see. I hope that for you this day will be one of those memories that will generally justify living like this. Now look," they finally turned, and Kyle nodded toward the climb up to that very cliff.

Itadori stopped dead in his tracks, and he did it so suddenly that the people walking behind him crashed into his back.

However, he didn't feel it.

It was the third time the raven flew over your heads - Gojo kept throwing anxious glances at you, but you didn't seem to notice the bird, only stared ahead.

When the raven stopped silently circling over your heads and finally made a sound as if to attract attention, Gojo couldn't stand it, and behind his back - so that you couldn't see - he jerked his palm sharply, and the raven immediately began to fall straight into the crowns of trees. "Is it still far? " he asked diverting your attention and at the same time watching the bird's body fly downward.  

"We'll go around that corner and almost done. We'll just have to climb up."

"If we're almost there, why haven't I seen a single person coming back?"

"We throw them off a cliff," you replied indifferently, shrugging your shoulders. "An annual sacrifice," you continued to tease him, and as he watched not a single muscle on your face flinch, he squinted his eyes suspiciously. "It's just a joke," you chuckled and nudged him lightly with your shoulder. "There's another road back there. The first year we organized all this, we didn't think about the way back. The road got so crowded... So we had to build another one as a matter of urgency."

"We passed one turn into the woods, didn't we," he drawled thoughtfully. The raven just appeared just as you approached it. "You mean that way?"

There was no point in lying now: when you were on your way back, Gojo would realize this wasn't the right road. "Nope," you shook your head. "It's just a cutoff."

It was obvious to a fool that it wasn't a shortcut - there was nowhere to cut. He was about to launch into another joking drama about your mistrust, but he shrugged it off - maybe that was all he deserved.

The last light on the horizon had already gone out; you were inevitably approaching the turn as well. "If that doesn't capture ya spirit, I don't even know what will."

"What are you talking about?" he asked puzzled, flapping his eyes.

You took his hand intertwining your fingers with his and turning the corner, leading him onto the final path. "Look."

He always knew exactly what he was doing: saving lives. He hardly did it out of the goodness of his heart - though he certainly had one - but rather to gratify his ego once again and to feel the power that had been flowing through his body since birth. He'd never seen the result of his labors and he'd never been interested in it, and no one knew or praised his name outside the sorcery world - he hardly cared.

Nevertheless, what was there left to do now with the feeling that filled his gut as inevitably and irrevocably as the coming of tomorrow? That feeling was reflected by hundreds of lights in his glittering eyes.  

Those lights stretched and rose upward, and they did so as tenaciously as any hope can survive. What goes hand in hand with hope?

Every man could move a mountain long before he even knew he could do it. You just have to believe - if not in God or mythical creatures, if not in your relatives or science, then at least in yourself. For somewhere in the most secluded corner of the earth, faith kisses the hands of hope tenderly every time and assures it to go forward, no matter what.

What keeps them both going?

He unconsciously shifted his gaze to you - he was scrutinizing your half-hidden profile with an edge of his eye, and your eyes reflected the same lights as his. 

The answer held his hand.

"Did you…," he stammered hearing his voice hoarse, and coughed quietly. "Did you do all this?"

"We!" you exclaimed confidently. "We did it all," you added quietly, but still firmly, and exhaled the exhilarating feeling that made your heart beat faster. "Let's go, the only thing missing there is our light," you shook the torch quietly. "I hope ya made plane?"

"Of course I did," he replied trying to suppress a smile.

"Won't ya show me what ya've written?" you asked peering into blue eyes.

"Dream on!" he hissed indignantly, pressing his hand to his pocket.

When you came up, there were hardly two dozen people left on the cliff - all the others who had made a wish had already gone down to the town to drink wine, eat delicious food, warm themselves by the fire and tell stories.

Still holding Gojo's hand, you walked around the embracing couple, and then you led him over to the cliff and nodded ahead. He puckered his lips, but you'd never say it was from embarrassment - his face was already red from the biting cold.

He carefully pulled out a paper plane and noticing you somehow furtively peering out from behind his shoulder, he clutched it to his chest with childish stubbornness. "Turn away!" he commanded. You, on the other hand, made a helpless and begging look and tried to peek again. "I said turn away!" you snorted and turned away: for the first time It didn't work out.

There was a quiet rustle and then silence, even the wind was quiet. The silence was short-lived; a few seconds later you heard an indignant cry. "Hey! It's gone!" he turned back to you, and you could barely keep from laughing: that was the look on Tris's face when she found out the snow wasn't sweet at all.

You threw up your hands and shrugged. "They always disappear, there's nothing ya can do about it."

"I thought it was just me," he snorted puffing his cheeks, but there was relief in his voice. "Now it's your turn!"

"Then turn away," you mocked him. 

"How dare you!" exclaimed Gojo clutching at his heart.

"Turn away, or you'll leave poor me without wish," you sounded like you were about to cry, and without thinking he immediately turned away. He furrowed his eyebrows in bewilderment, realizing what he'd just done.

A small manipulator, that's who you was.

You turned slowly toward the cliff. You looked down at your empty hands and bit your lip so hard that you could taste the metal in your mouth.

"That's it," you squeezed out a cheery voice with the kind of difficulty that people use to squeeze the remnants of toothpaste out of an empty tube. "We can go."

"Can't we... Stay here a little longer?" he asked quietly. "I know you have a raid in a few hours, but still. I really want to hang out here with you."

"Sure."

Just as you were about to sit down on the edge of the cliff, an indignant shriek reached you. "Y/N!" Itadori was already running towards you at full speed with Mike in his arms, with Kyle running after the boy. "They're all missing, aren't they?" seeing the dumbfounded expression on your face, he added: "Planes! Everyone's missing them?"

"Uh?" you shifted your gaze from Kyle to Yuji confusedly. "I mean… Yes?"

"Thank goodness," Yuuji exhaled in relief.

"That's what I said," Kyle muttered quietly, wrinkling his nose annoyingly.

"Ya look like fucking yakuza. I wouldn't trust ya too," you wished you could say it to yourself; for under Kyle's gaze, your skin felt like it was starting to burn. "Itadori," you turned to the boy. "Ya okay?"

"I- Well, yeah... Yeah," he looked at you, and the way you regarded him made it all clear to him. "Did you... tell her?" he asked Kyle, and he sounded both embarrassed and ashamed at the same time.

"Just don't take offense to him, no one in our family knows how to keep their mouth shut, but it never gets any further," you assured Yuji. He looked at you, but didn't dare to look up at Gojo, afraid to see the disappointment in his sensei's eyes. "Alright, ya guys go have fun. We'll be here for a while," you patted Itadori on the top of his head, and with a glance you indicated Kyle to keep an eye on him. Your older brother seemed to accept your choice shoving his hands in his pockets and following Yuji out. 

There were no people left on the cliff at all - even the couple who had been hugging each other was gone. You were left alone, and now no one could stop you from sitting on the cliff.   

"What was that just now?" asked Gojo watching Itadori leave.

You knew what you were going to do. Break the reassurance given to the boy. "He kinda...uh, he tried to kill himself," you muttered quietly, looking down at your swaying legs. 

It was too rare to hear him like this, in utter confusion and denial. "What?"

"Didn't he tell ya?" you asked uncertainly. "Those events in Shibuya... Sukuna overran the control and slaughtered people, so Yuji blames himself. We only got there towards the end; we didn't have time to do anything. And besides, Itadori thinks Megumi became a vessel for Sukuna because of him too."

"He...," he couldn't speak normally because of the rising lump in his throat. "He was telling me, but it was so casually, and I really thought that it might bother him, but not that much."

"Ya thought wrong then," you mumbled not taking your eyes off the distant tree crowns. You could hardly see them from here, but you looked like they were the most interesting thing on earth.

Without realizing it, he was looking at you pleadingly, but you refused to even turn in his direction. "You too?" he asked so bitterly that you immediately looked up at him. "You think I'm a shitty teacher too? A shitty person? A selfish asshole who doesn't care about the feelings of others," the last phrase came out of his speech - it sounded like it was an assertion. 

"Satoru," you addressed him softly. The words you were about to say forced you to look away again. "I honestly have no idea if this will mean anything to ya, but... I'm proud of ya," you exhaled and without letting him get a word in edgewise, you began to jabber gesticulating vigorously. "I mean, ya've had so much strength since birth, and where strength is power, and power, it... it corrupts. But just look at ya. I don't care why exactly you're protecting people, but ya do. I don't think anyone taught ya the right thing to do either, so ya're probably just doing what ya can. Ya take custody of children, ya've even defended so many in front of your higher-ups, and most of the curses are sitting in corners shaking like mice just because ya exist, even though ya could have just tucked the world away and enjoyed it. But here ya are," you were so out of breath you had to take a pause. "Ya're here, and instead of burning some city to the ground, ya're throwing a paper plane. So yeah... I'm proud of ya."

You chuckled nervously; sometimes you just wanted to kill yourself for being so chatty. In the silence, you just wanted to tell him not to take it all in stride.

"Wanna be my best friend?" he blurted out and froze - his heart was racing too fast; he wanted to rip it out of his chest for a second so it wouldn't get in the way of hearing your answer.

"I...," you began confusedly. "Ya know, first... I have a question too."

Shut your mouth. Shut up, shut up, shut up.

"Yeah?"

Just be quiet. It's okay; everything was going well as it was, you don't need to break anything with your little hands.

"Is it true?" you asked calmly enough, despite your earlier excitement and equally emotional monologue. "Is your pact with Christian true?" your hand that was resting on the cliff twitched, and a pebble that had been resting under the snow flew down the cliff. Enough time passed for it to finally reach the ground, but Gojo still didn't say anything. "Gonna say something?"

What you heard made you round your eyes. It wasn't his words that surprised you, it was his voice. It trembled. "How long have you known?" 

You rubbed your forehead perplexed. Of all the answers he'd chosen, he'd chosen this one? "Yeah I'd love to say something like 'don't take me for an idiot, maybe I'm a fool, but I'm not stupid, and I knew about my position from the very beginning' and blah-blah-blah, but no. Nael told me this afternoon. I guess ya realized it yourself - I don't think ya ran into the storage all out of breath just because ya wanted to help."

His soul was a cloth of rubber threads, and with every word you said the threads snapped one by one. Where before Gojo had been able to sprawl on top of you without hesitation crushing you into the bed to your grumbling of displeasure, now he barely had the courage to put his palm over yours - you could feel that it wasn't just his voice that was trembling. "I-I can explain everything-"

"No doubt ya can," you said indifferently. "Ya must have been promised to be paid well. Maybe not even in money. Or not just money," you listed the options cheekily. "Or ya were simply told who I am and what I've done, and even a man like ya who has a few second chances scattered in his pockets for everyone decided it was best to get rid of me. Ya know what?" a chuckle escaped your lips. "I don't wanna know. I don't know what's worse."

Gojo wanted you to look at him at last. He wrapped his hands around your face and pulled you to his face. When you tried to break free of his grip, though without much enthusiasm, a painful whimper escaped from his lips. Why weren't you angry? He would have been so happy to take a slap from you, or a scream, or just a bucket of slop on his head. However, it was as if you didn't care. "I was so mad- I was so mad at you then. I was just angry, I didn't even know I could do that- And then you came in with those damn mochi and-"

"Enough," you said sternly, and he stopped talking. You struggled to pull his hands away from you - his grip was strong, but you could barely feel it on your face. "Ya've had a year to tell and now any explanation will look like an excuse," he kept looking at his hands and wondering why he missed you. You rose from your place and panic gripped him - he may not have had the right to touch you anymore, but he wouldn't be able to stand it if you disappeared from his life altogether. Still clutching at you desperately, Gojo jumped to his feet and stared into your eyes, shaking his head frantically, as if begging you not to leave. He was unable to say anything. He looked so confused and distressed that you had to soften your voice. "Ya know what we're gonna do? I'm going on a raid for three days, so ya'll have time to think it over," you said backing away from him a couple steps. "Think it over well. If you do stick to your agreement - leave, and if we meet again, we'll talk differently, but if you change your mind, then... just stay. Just stay and we'll never revisit this topic again."

"Okay," Gojo tried to sound as calm as possible, but here were his telltale hands still reaching for you. He barely lifted them, and then yanked back. "Can I... Can I at least hug you?"

"Nope," you shook your head. "We aren't friends yet or anymore."

"Let me..," Gojo began, but immediately fell silent, and you were dying for him to say something already. You could have just kept your mouth shut and everything would have been fine. "Let me walk you out, okay?"

"Deal."

Already dressed in your uniform, you raced around the room like a lunatic. If everything at home was a mess, at least you knew it was your mess, but in Hopetown, you had to work hard to find everything you needed.

Without taking off your original mask, you put on your work mask and started screwing filters into it, all in a hurry. When you were done with the respirators, you quickly tied your hair into a ponytail and grabbed your phone - the charger fell out of the socket and clattered on the table. You furrowed your eyebrows - you hadn't pulled that hard. You glanced at the screen. There was almost no charge.

The phone was not charging the whole time.

There was no time to deal with it - the main thing was to remember what date it was. With these thoughts, you grabbed your backpack and started looking for your watch, but everything but it came up. You remembered that you had taken it.

There was a knock at the door. "Come in!" you shouted out in a rush still digging in your backpack.

"Y/N?" asked Gojo quietly. "Almost midnight. You'll be late."

"Yeah, yeah, I know," you were already throwing the contents on the floor in panic. There wasn't even time to ask anyone for watch.

"Hey," he softly called out to you intercepting your hands. "Calm down. What's wrong?"

"Watch!" you exclaimed. "Watch. I can't find it," you mumbled anxiously combing out the loose strands.

He reached for his hand - the clasp clicked. "I'll give you mine, okay? Don't worry," taking your hand, he started to put the watch on you.

You stared at it all in utter shock. You'd never experienced anything like this before - the blood in your ears was rushing so hard you couldn't hear your hitched breath. "Ya... Ya can't do that. Ya can't give them to me."

"It's just a watch," finally snapping it onto your hand, he barely denied himself the urge to kiss your palm. "If it bothers you that much, you can just return it later."

"Oh!" you exclaimed as if it had hit you. "Yeah, sure," you checked the time on your phone screen against the clock. It was all coming together. "We should get going."

You ran out into the street and you took a quick stride toward the deserted place not paying attention to whether he was following you. Two steps across the bridge, you ran past the storage and on to where there was not even a hint of any building or presence.

Gojo followed you. Your quickened gait was like his normal stride, so he could easily keep up. He lacked the resolve to even look at your back, but he couldn't let you go without saying anything. He couldn't.

You had already reached a small and deserted field. The dark rustling forest in the background was eerie; or rather, it would have been if your thoughts hadn't been cluttered with other things. "Okay," you said stopping him. "I'll take it from here," he nodded briefly, and wrapping his arms around himself, watched helplessly as you walked away.

You took a dozen steps and stopped when he called out to you. "Y/N," Gojo's voice was so faint you hardly recognized it. You turned around - there he was, still the same one standing in front of you: tall, with disheveled white hair, and the blue of his eyes could be seen even from the distance that separated you, but you couldn't explain to yourself why the feelings were different now. "You belong in mine now," he said quietly, but it sounded like he was whispering these words right in your ear.

He'd never seen you look like that before; you looked down, and he could tell your mouth was open, but he knew you weren't going to say anything. You shifted your gaze back to him, and he had enough to catch a glimpse of your grateful look that he almost lunged at you. Сlosing your eyes and making a barely visible bow with your head, you turned away. Gojo immediately covered his eyes with his hand to keep from being blinded by the purple flash.

When he took his hand away, he knew he would be alone. Gojo was well aware of that, but he still hoped, and that hope turned into something else: the idea that next time he wouldn't let you go so easily. Maybe, he wouldn't at all.  

[Timeless, Void; Time on watch 11:58pm]

Each of the voidrunners had gotten bilateral pneumonia the first time they'd entered the void. Not surprisingly, having come in here for more than the hundredth time, the cold stabbed at your face with sharp blades of ice.

As soon as your feet touched the ground, you began to run. Every step you took left black sand rising behind you, and the dust cloud seemed to chase you. There was nothing but a glowing purple line on the blackening horizon - and you ran straight for it, all the while looking around for something that stuck out. In simple words: anything.

Run.

Trying to distract yourself from the cold and the upcoming hungry and exhausting days, you started playing songs in your head, any kind of melodies: happy, sad, annoying, contagious. The sand under your feet crunched so nastily that it was better to run on broken glass, but you were never offered a choice.

Run.

Your peripheral vision picked up a growing purple flash; you looked back, and it was another rift. So some demon was coming out of that point, and if you were extremely lucky, it wasn't an loner, which meant there might be a settlement nearby.

Run.

You turned toward the rift, looking around much more carefully now. Nothing. You ran up the hill, thanking the creators of this place once again that at least there was no wind - otherwise you'd be tired of getting sand out of your eyes.

As you ran up the hill, your inner instinct barked at you to duck - and you did so obediently and sharply, and something flew over you. Still not slowing down, you looked in the direction from which the thing was thrown - there was a loner standing there. He was covered from head to toe in black ugly patterns that had a life of their own and crawled across his skin, blackened uncut hair falling over his face covering the same dark eyes. Loner looked at you and grinned in a way that showed all of his teeth, and the only thing you wanted right now was to knock them out.

You turned sharply in his direction, and changed from running to pacing. 

"Shading."

The demon bent his head sideways unnaturally, and his eyes flickered - he straightened up again, ducked down a little, and began to spin around, seeking.

"Relocate."

Wherever and however he turned, you were always at his back. You looked at the spectacle for a moment, with one hand you dug into his face, pulling him close to you, and with the other, you gave him two quick dagger strokes between his collarbones, before he could even wheeze as he fell to the ground.

Emerging from the black haze, you resumed running, not looking back as the demon you had just killed crumbled into immediately vanishing ash.

You had been running for a long time, but it was as if the rift wasn't getting any closer. Another descent and another long ascent, and finally the purple-colored sand told you that the rift wasn't as far away as it seemed.

Only in that light was an unfamiliar dark spot. Another one?

You've gone back to a step - getting close enough to the figure, you saw that this certain someone was lying curled up, not moving.

You shoved him with your foot, but there was no response. With an annoyed exhale, you grabbed the man's head, and when you saw his face, you let it out in horror. It was Megumi. "Hey!" you exclaimed worriedly, pushing and braking him. You put two fingers to his neck and exhaled in relief when you found a pulse. "Come on," you started slightly slapping his cheeks and shaking him by the shoulders.

It was your fault. Getting rid of Sukuna, you led Megumi through the isolation, but you didn't realize the boy would be so strong that one time would be enough for him. However, how did he end up here? "Come on, open your eyes!" you whined lifting his eyelids with your thumbs. They immediately fluttered open. "Okay, good!" you encouraged him, though you doubted he could hear you. You pulled off your mask and leaned it against his face - it wouldn't fit him because of the customized shape, but it was better than nothing.  "Come on, help me," you put his hand on the mask and he clutched at it, whereupon you picked him up by the waist and put his arm around your shoulder and waddled towards the rift.

He was barely moving his feet and almost all of his weight was on you; you were walking with your legs bent about halfway over. "It's okay," you assured him in a cheerful voice. "We're almost there. If you can get in here, you can definitely get out."

Once at the rift, he fell down and pulled you with him. "Pull yourself together!" you said anxiously, picking him back up. "Here," you said taking off your watch and quickly putting it on him. He wobbled from side to side, and you grabbed his shoulder each time bringing him back into place. He looked up at you - from under half-closed eyelids, he was staring at you with a stubborn look as if refusing to leave. "Don't worry, I've got another one, it's fine, just go," you immediately went behind his back not wanting to be under such scrutiny, and began to nudge him towards the rift. "Straight to the doc, got it? That's it, go. I'll be back in three days," you still pushed him to the rift, and he barely had time to turn his head to look at you - he immediately disappeared. You exhaled noisily, and leaned over and rested your hands on your knees, cursing under your nose.

When the adrenaline was finally out of your body, you looked down at your hand where your watch should have been. Pressing your lips together, you pulled out your phone - the screen showed five percent charge. "I guess I fucked up," you swallowed a lump in your throat and clicked your tongue. You buried your face in the palm of your hand trying to calm down - your hair was starting to darken from the roots.

In three days, you're not coming home.

The only thing left to do was run.

#gojo satoru x you #jujutsu kaisen #gojo x reader #gojou satoru x reader #jjk angst #gojo angst #gojo fluff #gojo satoru x reader #gojo x y/n #gojo x you #gojou x reader #gojo jujutsu kaisen #gojo satoru #gojou #gojou fluff #gojou satoru x y/n #gojou satoru x you #gojou x y/n #gojou x you #jjk gojo #jjk gojou #jujutsu gojo #satoru gojo #satoru

[fandomsnstuff]

Consider: twosun didn't have snow. Anywhere. At all. They didn't even have a concept of it. They don't know what it is. Anyway, it's day 26 of @taznovembercelebration and im a canadian who tried to write people who've never seen snow before

Day 26: wonder

The IPRE crew is very happy that their plan worked and they've successfully hidden from the Hunger. What they didn't plan for, was how cold Faerun could get and the not-rain falling from the sky.

Read it on AO3

After they deploy the relics in what they hope to be the final cycle, the IPRE crew waits with bated breath for the Hunger. But the scouts never come. Days pass, then weeks, then months, and the sky never darkens unnaturally, revealing countless white eyes opening up to find them.

As those months pass, they find that the days shorten and the air cools. As people built for a world with two suns, this poses a bit of a problem. Sure, they spent certain cycles in colder and darker climates, but that doesn't mean they enjoyed it. One year just isn't enough time to adapt to that. So they make do. Sweaters and blankets are plentiful, and when the cold gets bad enough that the ship's heating system can't seem to break through it, they all pile up in the living room. Body heat is crucial for survival. Not to mention that Magnus is simply a furnace of a man.

He's the one who seems to be able to function the best. He has to wear a shirt (or a few), much to his chagrin, but he still gets up every morning and dutifully goes for a run.

One morning, he extracts himself from the pile of bodies on top of him, and everyone shuffles in to fill the space he left. He's barely gone for a few minutes when he comes back and excitedly says, “guys, get up! You gotta see this!”

There are some grumblings about having to leave the nice warm sleep pile to go to the cold outdoors, but they comply. When they get outside, though, the grumblings stop as they all stand in awed silence.

Davenport had landed the cloaked ship in a field just outside a nearby town. That town, the field, and everything else, is now coated in a thick layer of white… stuff. And small bits of it fall from the sky. Magnus runs out onto it, and it crunches under his feet, leaving footprints behind. He turns back to them and holds his arms out, “isn't it great?!”

“It's beautiful,” Lucretia says. The sun peeks through the soft grey clouds and it sparkles. She breathes out, “woah.”

Lup steps out into it and holds out her hand. Some of the little bits land on her hand, and stay there a moment before melting away. She crouches and scoops some up off the ground, crushing it in her hand. Some falls back to the ground and some melts away. She wipes her hand off on her pants. “It's like the cold sand from, what was it? 45?”

“42,” Lucretia says, “but I don't remember it falling from the sky. Or melting.” She holds her hand out too, and watches the bits melt. “It's water.”

“So it's raining ice,” Taako pulls his obscene amount of blankets tighter around himself, “peachy.”

“I don't think it's ice,” Barry says, “this isn't one solid piece.” He examines the bits that have collected on the sleeve of his sweater, “it's like it's crystallised.”

“Maybe I can go into town and talk to someone,” Magnus says, “they'll probably know what's up with this. Maybe we can get some better gear, because I don't know about you guys, but my shoes and socks got wet the moment I stepped out here.”

“I'll go with you,” Lucretia says, “just give me two minutes to put real clothes on.”

Not long after, they're crossing the field together.

“You weren't kidding about the wet shoes,” she says.

“I even changed my socks while you were getting dressed and put on different shoes, and my feet are still wet.”

“Well Taako promised us soup when we got back, so I think that'll keep me–” she cuts herself off with a yelp as her feet hit harder ground and fly out from under her. Magnus catches her before she cracks her head open on the cobblestone. “Now that,” she says, getting back on her feet, “is ice.”

“No kidding,” Magnus links her arm in his and they make their way (carefully) into the streets, “the last thing we want to do is lose you when we've only just begun the rest of our lives.”

She squeezes his arm. “We won't be perpetually in our early 20s anymore.”

“I'll finally be able to fully develop my frontal cortex.”

All through town, there are children playing in the cold snow, and people walking briskly down the street. Lucretia and Magnus are wearing the most layers out of anyone. Lucretia spots a café on the opposite side of the street. “Let's go in there,” she says, nodding in its direction, “the air out here is making my face hurt.”

They cross the street as quickly as they dare, and sigh with relief as the warmth of the indoors and the smell of fresh baked goods hits them. They walk up to the counter, where a young woman is placing a tray of croissants into the display.

“Awfully cold out there,” Magnus says, turning on his rustic charm.

The woman looks up at them, amused. “Newcomers?”

“You could say that.”

She laughs and shakes her head. “Trust me, if you think this is cold, you haven't seen anything yet.”

Both of their faces drop. “It gets worse?” Lucretia asks.

“Oh, yeah.” She gestures to the window, “you actually can't get snow if it's too cold. That's when you get freezing rain and everything's covered in a layer of ice.”

They both just stare at her, dumbfounded. Their home plane had nothing like this. It didn't get this cold, and it certainly didn't have “snow” and rain that covered everything in ice. The young woman smiles pleasantly, “so what can I get you?”

They glance at each other. Magnus says, “directions to somewhere warmer, maybe?”

#taz fic #taz #taz lucretia #madame director #magnus burnsides

[kailyn-writes]

First Snow | Tyson Jost x Reader

A/N: it has been forever since I have written or posted anything so please go easy on me!! This is just a short little thing to try and get my motivation to come back. If you have any requests, feel free to send them in! IDK if I'll write them but I might!

Word Count: 600

Growing up in Texas, you’d rarely had the opportunity to see actual, fluffy snow. Texas turned into one sheet of ice anytime it was cold and wet, and you’d only been out of state during the winter a couple of times. You knew when you moved to Buffalo that you would have to get used to the snow, but the first snowfall of the season took you by surprise. 

It was a Saturday morning in the middle of November, and you’d only been up long enough to brush your teeth. You’d stayed at your boyfriends place the night before, and you saw the snow through his balcony door in his room. 

“Tyson!” You shouted, rushing to get up. You grabbed a pair of sweatpants and one of his hoodies, running over to the balcony door.

“You called?” Your boyfriend asked, stepping into his room.

“Look! It’s snowing!” You pointed excitedly at the door as he chuckled, moving to wrap his arms around your waist.

“Barely. This won’t even stick, it’ll be gone by the afternoon.” He says, placing his head on your shoulder. 

“I’m still gonna play in it.” You say, pulling out from his embrace, moving to pull a pair of socks and your tennis shoes on. 

“Really? You’re not going to get much playing out of it.” Tyson says, watching you incredulously.

“Party pooper.” You give your boyfriend a quick kiss before hurrying out of his apartment and down to the lobby. There wasn’t much snow on the ground, but there was enough of it piled up on the plastic chairs sat in the courtyard, so you pushed open the door and headed right for it. 

Moments later, a pair of hands scooped up some of the snow beside the tiny snowman you were making and when you looked up, Tyson was standing beside you, nose already a little pink. You smiled up at him, watching as he scooped up a little bit more snow before squishing it into a small ball. Your eyes widened as he grinned, and you knew you were in trouble. 

Twenty minutes and several tiny snowballs later, your fingers were frozen, cheeks pink and sore from laughing so much. 

“C’mon, there’s no more snow left, what do you say we go inside now?” Tyson asks, reaching out to hook an arm around your waist and pull you closer to him. 

“Can we make hot cocoa and watch Christmas movies?” Tyson raises his brows as you smile up at him.

“Babe, it’s not even Thanksgiving.”

“You don’t even celebrate American Thanksgiving! Even more reason to start preparing for Christmas now.” 

“Okay, okay, we can make hot cocoa and watch Christmas movies.” 

One pizza, two cups of hot cocoa, and three Christmas movies later, you and Tyson were snuggled up on the couch under a blanket. The two of you had rearranged his sectional into a makeshift bed with pillows and blankets and everything. You had long since abandoned the movie playing, in favor of listening to your boyfriend’s heart beating. The steady rhythm of his heart beating, his breathing and the soft touches on your waist where his hand was idly drawing shapes on the small sliver of skin exposed was lulling you into sleepiness. 

“Hey Tys?” You murmured sleepily.

“Yes, baby?” 

“Does this mean I need new tires on my car?” 

His soft chuckle vibrates through you and you crack an eyelid to see him smiling down at you. 

“Yes, but I’ll take it to get done one day this week for you.” He says, before planting a soft kiss on your forehead.

#tyson jost x reader #tyson jost blurb #nhl fanfiction #nhl imagines #also I definitely did not reread or edit this so if there are mistakes pls forgive me

[kaminocasey]

25 Days of Life Day: Day 21 - Taking a Warm Bath with Dogma

Summary: You get stuck out in a small blizzard and warm up with Dogma in a bath.

Warnings: 18+ Suggestive Language

The sun was starting to set and the snow was coming down harder than it was before, covering the sidewalks and roads. You’re almost afraid that you and Dogma aren’t going to make it before nightfall. You’d been the one to make the suggestion to go and grab a bite to eat after the rough day you both had had. 

Unfortunately, neither one of you knew that it was supposed to snow. So, here you are in the start of a blizzard, freezing your asses off, and starting to not be able to feel your toes. Your shoes and your socks are wet and cold and starting to become unbearable.

“Come here.” Dogma tucks you into his side, sending your discomfort. “Tuck your head into my neck.”

You do as he says and let him guide you, thinking warm thoughts, which isn’t hard to do because he somehow smells warm.

“Dis…tract m-m-me. T-t-talk ab-b-bout any-th-th-thing.” You tell him, teeth chattering. 

“Like what?” He asks, tucking his face closer to yours.

You laugh. “Anything.”

“Fives and Echo got into a fight this morning.” Dogma starts talking.

“A-b-b-bout w-w-what?” You shake, holding onto him.

“About Fives leaving his underwear all over the barracks after his… encounters.” Dogma chuckles.

“Y-you ought… to t-t-teach him to pick up-p-p after-r-r himself.” You laugh. 

“I try.” He shrugs. “Two more blocks. I promise.” He kisses your head with cold lips. 

You nod, keeping your eyes glued to his coat zipper, clutching onto him for dear life. 

“When we get back, I’m gonna draw us a bath.” He murmurs.

“You’re… gonna sneak… into my barracks… after hours?” You feel that familiar warmth pool into your stomach, just thinking about Dogma naked. 

“Sure am.” He grins. “Gonna warm you up and wrap my whole body around you to get you warmed up.” 

“That sounds p-perfect.” You start to think about it and you swear your body goes a little warmer. 

“I’m gonna let you sit between my legs and run my hands down your front.” He starts to tell you, and you almost can’t believe what you’re hearing. 

Dogma’s usually pretty shy when it comes to this kind of stuff. He’s more of a shower, not a teller.

“Go on.” You grin.

“And then I’m gonna spread your legs so that I can push my fingers into your-“ He tells you as you hear someone come running by.

“What are you two doing? Get your asses inside!” Fives whooshes by you.

You look up and see the gate to the base and both forget momentarily what you were talking about. 

“What are you doing out?” Dogma calls out to Fives.

“Tell you about it later!” Fives smirks and then runs toward his barracks.

You both know exactly what he was doing. 

“P-p-player!” You yell after him, laughing.

He turns slightly, giving you and Dogma a sly grin. “Have fun keeping each other warm, you two!”

Finally spotting your barracks, you and Dogma book it as fast and carefully as you can inside. You and Dogma both let out simultaneous “Ahhh’s” as you let your body adjust to your room’s temperature.

“Starting that bath now.” Dogma kisses you before going back to your fresher to run the tub. “Take off your clothes and get under the blanket.” 

“That sounds awful right now.” You shed your coat to the floor. 

“I know but it’s the only way to get you warmer faster.” He starts to peel off your wet clothes, neglecting his own.

“I’ve got it. You get out of yours.” You insist.

Ignoring you, he grabs your big blanket off your bunk and wraps it around you once you're fully naked. The warmth of your blanket is instantly satisfying. 

Dogma peels the rest of his clothes off and takes the blanket from you, wrapping it around both of you and pulling you against him. His naked body is still cold but yours is already warmer than it was so it shouldn’t take long to get his body temperature back up.

“I’m sorry my idea turned us into icicles.” You murmur, kissing his bare chest.

He rubs his hands up and down your back, trying to create some friction for warmth. “Don’t be. Any time spent with you is a good time.” 

“Liar.” You laugh. 

He leans his head down near your ear. “I mean it. Whether or not we’re being intimate, or just grabbing dinner… I’m happy to be near you.”  

“You mean that?” You look up at him, finding him smiling softly down at you.

“Of course I do, mesh’la.” He murmurs, leaning in to kiss you.

When your body temps finally return to normal, Dogma leads you to the tub, helping you in. The warm water makes you go fuzzy all over and Dogma gets in behind you, immediately pulling you against his chest, wrapping his arms around you just like he promised. You nestle your nose against his neck, kissing the base of his throat. He sighs, content. 

“So, what were you saying earlier before we got interrupted by Fives?” You smirk against his skin.

He hums, traveling his hand down further until he reaches your warmth. “Let me remind you.”

TAGS: @grievouus @brynhildrmimi @madameminor @dumfanting @rain-on-kamino @misogirl828 @rexandechosandwich @corona-one @tecker @ladykatakuri @the-sith-in-the-sky-with-diamond @twistedstitcher27 @zoeykallus @maulslittlemeowmeow @littlemousedroid @arctrooper69 @rexxdjarin @agenteliix @padawancat97 @hated-by-me @sleepingsun501 @crosshairmylove587 @idlenesses @redheadgirl

#25 days of life day #tcw dogma #tcw dogma x reader #tcw dogma x you

[sciencelings-writes]

Frightful & Delightful

My Hurricane family secret santa gift for @flustered-flux 

Summary: The chain have to travel in the snow and Hyrule is internally very dramatic about it 

wc:3047

AO3 Link

Hyrule didn’t think he would ever get used to snow. Real snow, the kind that pilled up high and covered everything in a fluffy blanket of white. The snow he was used to was runny, slippery, and miserable, slush that froze the ground and made it difficult to get around. Hearing Wild get excited when he saw snow in the forecast left him bewildered, snow was awful! It made it impossible to travel and would leave them shivering and wet. Even with good snow, this was true, but after the first time he had experienced it, he had to admit that it was, at the very least, incredibly beautiful. 

Puffy snowflakes lazily twirled to the ground, that day hadn’t been too terribly cold or windy, the sun was still shining and the heroes had the privilege of watching as the snow slowly built up on the ground. It made the world so bright and crystalline like it had been covered in glittering clouds. There were only a few inches of it but Wind still required half of everyone else's extra clothes to keep from shivering out of his shoes. Out of all of them with limited experience with the weather, Wind was easily the most affected by it. 

That day, Wild had taught them all how to shield surf on the hills of frozen cotton, Warriors had started a day-long battle with Twilight in which the only weapons were ice and the plot was getting as much of it under each other's clothes as possible. Legend had refused to put on pants but eventually conceded to wear one of Wild’s enchanted circlets that kept the wearer warm with a magic ruby. Most of them had pulled out their old green hats to keep their heads warm, or at least less wet. 

After months of wandering through forests and fields, the change in atmosphere was more than welcomed, their constant movement kept them warm enough, and the snow allowed for different ways for them to pass the time. At the end of the day, they found an inn with a warm fireplace and made a pumpkin soup that tasted extra good after the chilly day. That day, Hyrule had decided that he liked the snow. 

This time, the snow was much less welcoming. The wind howled around the group, sending the grains of ice scraping across any bare skin left exposed. The whiteness covered the air so thoroughly that they all had to stick in a tight group to keep from losing each other, depending entirely on Legend’s map to keep them walking in the right direction. The hero himself had finally accepted wearing tights to keep from getting frostbite, as it became clear that no amount of magic rubies would keep him warm enough. 

The snow had started at a manageable height but had risen so quickly that the smallest of the heroes were forced to share Epona’s saddle, who seemed easily the least bothered by the weather, with Wild in a close second place. It had taken a miracle on Twilight’s part to keep the champion from donating his cloak to one of the others, using the reasoning that if he got sick, the rest of them would follow as he was in control of all their food and they would all rather have him cook with a little cold than allow anyone else to take control of that job. So if he got sick, they were all doomed in more than one way. 

So far, they were only kept from being solid blocks of ice with their extremely limited supply of warming elixirs and an almost excessive amount of clothing layers. Still, even Time couldn’t repress his shivering which was especially evident in his voice when he asked how each of them was doing throughout the day. None of them dared to tell him they were any less than fine because they knew he would give them his boots if they even implied that their toes were cold, leaving himself to walk in the several feet of snow in only his socks. Or at least, that’s what Hyrule’s thought process was. 

Trudging through the relentless storm made the snow seem much less beautiful, the bite of its chill piercing even the most insulated of their clothing, neverending piles of fabric never seemed enough. Any skin left to the mercy of the blizzard had long since gone pink and sensationless, looking as if they had all forgotten to apply a fireproof elixir when scaling Death Mountain. Hyrule now knew what it felt like to be burned without any flames involved. He especially hated the numbing effect of the ice, as far as he knew, his nose had fallen off of his face. 

There was no playful spirit among them, Warriors wasn’t trying to sneak any ice down anyone's tunics, Wind wasn’t trying to chase any of them around, Wild wasn’t pleading to take a break from walking to explore, they all just had to keep moving in the hopes that there was an end to the bombardment of colorlessness, straining their eyes in front for some glimpse of anything other than blinding white. 

At least Hyrule and Legend could stumble in tandem with one of their blankets anchoring them together in an attempt to share body heat. At least it prevented some snow from melting directly into his hair but it failed to keep him truly warm. 

His hands were full from having to maintain his side of the blanket with one hand and using the other to help hold open the veteran's map, though it hardly helped as the storm was too dense to identify any landmarks. Somehow though, Legend seemed confident in their path. 

Strangely enough, it was Legend’s uncharacteristic optimism that kept them from giving up on traveling to wait out the snowstorm. Though after hours of struggling against the barrage of ice, some of their confidence in the pink hero started to wane. Normally walking hours a day was expected, but the strong winds proved to make traveling far more difficult on top of the blizzard. It was only a matter of time before one of them got irritable. 

“Are you sure you know where you’re going?” Warriors grumbled behind his scarf, only barely audible for Legend to hear. 

“Of course I do! I’ve traveled this way a hundred times!” Their navigator snapped. 

“I’m just saying that we’re kind of blind here and it doesn’t feel like we’ve even moved, are you sure we aren’t going in circles?” The captain deadpanned. 

“Can you get past your trust issues for one day and let me get us out of here you prick? I doubt a bitch boy like you could find your own non-existent ass in this weather!” His frustration prompting him to walk slightly faster, the sudden wave of rage stemming from Warriors doubt in him poured fuel on a flame that the storm had reduced to embers within his chest. Hyrule was just being pulled along for the ride, thankfully, he managed not to fall face-first into the snow so that was a win in his book. 

“Well, that’s a little harsh…” Warriors grinned as he slowed his pace enough to get out of the veteran's peripheral vision, sending a look Time’s way. Unlike Legend, Time knew fully well about the move the captain pulled. They had been slowing down for the last half hour, their navigator just needed a little push, and nothing fueled Legend better than spite and indignant rage. Time rolled his eye at Warriors' smugness about it. 

With the sky swarming with aggressive snowflakes, it was hard to pinpoint the exact position of the sun, so it was hard to say how long it had been before the freezing torture was assumed to end. Hyrule assumed he was about three minutes away from losing his fingers, perhaps less, when they were able to catch sight of something that wasn’t snow. The simple miracle of a color that wasn’t white. 

Elevated, as if sitting on a hill, was a speck of red, soon to be identified as a lawn decoration in the shape of a bird, some brown, from a scarecrow, and the most easily identifiable, a big purple sign in the shape of a familiar bunny hood. Hyrule could’ve cried in relief but having tears freeze on his face didn’t sound pleasant so he decided to avoid doing that. 

“Thank the three,” Legend muttered under his breath before announcing loud enough to be heard over the wind, “We’re almost there! And you dicks were doubting me!”

“I didn’t doubt you,” Hyrule admitted while listening to their tired group's cheers, “Do you think your roommate has a fire going?”

“Ravio gets cold if it’s any less than fifty degrees, there’s no way he hasn’t had a fire going for a month straight. He wears a wool scarf in the summertime Rulie. I would be surprised if we got home and it didn’t feel like the inside of an oven.” He rose his eyebrows at the desperation in Hyrule's voice. Before this point, entering an oven didn’t sound enticing but at the moment, he dreamed of taking a nap in Death Mountains crater, where he was less than a foot away from molten rock at all times. Real warmth seemed like a distant memory. A dream that he knew he had experienced but just couldn’t recall. 

Even though they had all sped up at the first sign of hope, it still felt like it took forever to get to Legend's house. The fact that it was at the top of a hill didn’t help. Most of them had a point where they almost slipped on the bottom layer of ice, but only Warriors had successfully fallen and rolled several feet down the slope. Legend and Twilight were the only ones who were unable to keep from laughing. The rest of them at least tried to have some tact but in Hyrule's case, it was a battle more difficult than facing a Lynel. He managed to prevail in the end though, only letting out a snort and a puff of foggy air to add to the whiteness of the world around them. 

Finally, their refuge lay before them, the dark gray smoke exiting the chimney was a stark contrast to the light of the snow, promising a hint of heat just beyond a single door. Unfortunately, that door was frozen at the hinges and was blocked in by several feet of the cursed pieces of ice. It took a fire rod and some frantic shoveling with fingerless gloved hands before it was able to crack open. Being so close to salvation made the time flow so slowly, it felt like it took hours just to get inside. 

After a wave of heavenly warmth, Hyrules eyes were assaulted with colors and various objects, he didn’t realize how being devoid of visual stimulation slowly tortured him before this point, Even though the room felt so dim, it was active with colors and movement from the raging fire and it took an embarrassingly long moment for him to spot Legends roommate. 

Hidden in violet robes and his classic hood, gripping the handle of a comically large hammer, as if he had been preparing for a break-in. Thankfully the bunnyman lowered his weapon the moment he saw who the snow-covered creatures who had entered his home really were. Hyrule didn’t blame him, even blanketed in ice they didn’t look like the most friendly bunch, even if they all stumbled onto solid ground like newborn deer. 

“Link! Link’s family! Thank Hilda it’s just you guys! I thought I was gonna have to start playing Hylian wack-a-mole!” Ravio set down his hammer and slumped in relief. Now that they weren’t in danger of sustaining blunt-force trauma, they started to remove the soaking layers of clothes and shoes and leaving them by the door.

Later Hyrule would realize that Twilight wasn’t with them but Wild explained that he went to go put Epona in Legend's little backyard barn, mostly used for storage, specifically for the hero's orchard, but it was big enough to protect a single horse from the elements. And it also had plenty of apples in baskets that were easily accessible for hungry equines. 

With a speed only comparable to transportation, they were all piled in front of the fire, Hyrule was disappointed that just being in the proximity of a heat source didn’t immediately solve all of his problems, in fact as the numbing of the cold wore off, he was starting to feel extremely sore, but at least now he was mostly dry and fully removed from the blizzard. He also wasn’t moving and that definitely helped. 

Wind had settled in closest to the fire, covered in a blanket Ravio had given him and impatiently trying to chug the hot apple cider Ravio had also given him. Recoiling and exclaiming ‘Ow!’ before immediately trying again, only to receive the exact same result. Time had to stop him before he burned his tongue and advised him to simply use the toasty mug as a hand warmer until it was cool enough to drink. Wind was not happy with this compromise but he had accepted that maybe the drink was too scalding to chuck down his throat. 

Wild promised that once he could move his fingers, he would start on dinner, torturing them with the mental images of hearty soups with dumplings inside and fresh buttered rolls, thinking out loud about what he would make for dessert and if they would still require something to keep them warm, like a simmered fruit dish or if a pie was closer to what they would want. As their bodies needed to focus less on keeping them from freezing to death, it became increasingly easy to tell how hungry they had gotten. 

Hyrule could be patient, he had gone without food for far longer with much more difficult trials and the meal he would be able to scrape up at the end was far less rewarding than anything that Wild was able to create. 

At first, he worried that Wild would get cold being so far from the fire before he remembered that the cook would be able to stay warm next to an oven or a stovetop. It seemed like the champion never ran out of energy, at least if cooking was involved. This was unlikely to be the first time he had gotten stuck traveling in a snow storm and he likely still had to eat then. Though the traveler knew that his best explorer buddy would be sleeping hard that night despite acting so unfazed by their journey now. 

He found himself looking out the window, where the storm had slowed only to the point of providing slightly more visibility. Now that they weren’t in the middle of it, the snow had gone back to being beautiful rather than a curse sent by Ganon to turn them into icy statues or bury them in piles of white dust, leaving them to suffocate instead of freeze to death. Whichever one worked faster. 

The snowflakes swirled in the air in an unending dance within a peaceful silence, the wind was no longer howling and the warm room had started to fill with soft conversation as each of their vocal cords began to unfreeze. Hyrule stayed quiet, content with letting the mellow talking and mesmerizing falling snow lull him into a spacy state, floating lazily around his own mind, until he was suddenly interrupted. 

A weight on his shoulder forced him out of his wandering thoughts, fluffy light brown hair tickling his cheek confirming what had slumped against him. It was the well-known and accepted risk of sitting by the skyloftian, anyone was pillow-shaped to him. After a moment of shock over an event that he really should’ve expected, he leaned his own head against his snoozing brothers. Warmth bloomed in his chest and it had nothing to do with the fire. 

Hyrule had spent so many years almost completely alone, in a world that wanted to kill him, although the world still seemed to have the same vitriol towards him, he wasn’t even close to being alone anymore. Sometimes it was hard to adjust, difficult to deviate from the mindsets he had created for his constant solitude, but in moments like this, it felt like a worthwhile trade. 

He had been so used to being alone, long past any bitterness at his situation or longing for someone to be around to listen to any thoughts that he had. He was over being sad about it, it was just what his life was like. He had to constantly be on the move, becoming a target for monsters if he stayed in one place for too long, even if that place was one of his Zelda’s castles. Being lonely had been a reality that he had willingly accepted, at least before he knew anything else. 

Now, for months he had been surrounded by incarnations of his own soul that he would readily admit were as his own brothers. He had smiled and laughed more stumbling through this adventure than he ever had before, feeling truly seen and understood and supported for the first time that he could ever remember. He had once been so numb to the empty space and silence around him, but now that it was filled with eight pseudo-brothers, he was hypersensitive to every fond side-hug, hair ruffle, and encouraging back-pat that was just on the edge of being too hard. Saving kingdoms had nothing on making a joke and hearing his brothers laugh. 

Hyrule took a careful sip of his cider, it had perfectly cooled, just enough to thaw him from the inside while still being able to taste all the spices in harmony with the fruit juice. He took a deep breath of sweet warmth mixed with cinnamon, before letting it out along with the remaining chill that had made a home in his body. 

If he relished the comfortable weight of Sky on his side, leaning into his brother's mass, not one of the many witnesses felt the need to call it out. 

#happy holidays flux i hope you like it! #i meant for there to be more Legend but Hyrule kinda stole my braincell #he was way too fun to write #linked universe #linked universe fanfic #linked universe fic #lu fic #lu hyrule #lu wild #lu legend #linked universe hyrule #lu ravio

[invisibleraven]

Winter prompts! 2 (sees snow for the first time) character of your choice!

When Julie's parents sent her away to live with her aunt in the countryside, she had hated them fiercely. Yes, they had assured her that they still loved her, and would come back for her as soon as they could. And deep down, she knew she was safer here in this little house than anywhere near where the war was raging or bombs were being dropped. But she didn't have to be happy about it.

She missed the city, the ability to get a bus almost anywhere, even if she wasn't old enough to ride it by herself yet. The museums, the shops, the cinema. All tia's village had was a little store that sold sweets alongside the postage stamps and the newspaper. Plus you had to walk everywhere, not a bus in sigh. And you could forget about culture, the closest thing was the library, and Julie had exhausted their small supply of child appropriate books months ago. She was half tempted to see if the librarian would loan her something more adult, but she knew that woman would rat her out to her aunt.

Thus she was stuck inside exploring her aunt's house more often than not. She had a healthy supply of records, and the wireless was a good distraction, even if Victoria scrambled to change it when news of the world came on. Julie scowled at that, wanting desperately to know if the city still stood, if the country was winning... if her parents and their fight for victory was succeeding.

Eventually she felt she knew every corner of the home, down to the last dust mite. Except the one room that her aunt kept locked. Julie found the key hidden in a drawer, and one day while Victoria was out playing bridge, she clicked it open. Only to find it empty save for one large wardrobe against the wall.

Opening it up, she saw a wealth of coats, some even lined with fur, luxurious ermine, soft angora wool, one even had mother of pearl buttons! Julie dug in, pulling one on, posing in front of the mirror, pouting her lips like she saw the movie stars do.

It was then that she felt a chill, heard the tinkling of bells, coming from behind the coats. She dug into them, finding the wardrobe went even further back than she thought, and dove in, leaving the coat in a crumpled heap on the floor.

She kept going until she found a light in the distance, and when she reached forward, it didn't feel like coats, but the branches of a great pine tree, the kind her parents always got at yuletide. She could smell the evergreens, and when she pushed past their scratchy branches had to stop.

The world around her was cold, and covered in snow.

Snow!

Julie was delighted, holding her hands out as soft flakes fell from the sky, watching them melt against the warmth of her skin. Giggled when she could see her breath dancing on the wind. Skipped and danced through the crunchy snow beneath her, heedless of the wetness seeping into her sensible shoes. Holding out her tongue to catch the errant flakes that blew past, and twirling once more until she found herself in a clearing.

Where there was naught but a lamp post.

She approached slowly, the warm glow feeling welcoming amidst this new world of icy delights.

"Well, what do we have here?"

Julie whirl around and stared, for before her was a man... well he looked like a man, only with the legs of a goat! His chest was bare save a bright red scarf around his neck, and she could spy tiny horns peaking through his unruly brown curls. "Hello my dear. Welcome to Narnia. I'm Mr. Tumnus."

"Julie," she said, giving a little curtsey. "Pleasure to make your acquaintance."

The satyr grinned, giving a mock bow, and Julie immediately felt at ease. He even offered to introduce her to his friends, the badgers, but she could hear her aunt calling, so she regretfully declined.

She gave Mr. Tumnus a mournful goodbye, and made her way back through the tress, struggling through the coats until she collapsed onto the hard wood floor. Then rushed off towards where Victoria was calling her.

Resolving to come back, to see snow, see her new friend once more.

One thing was for certain though, her sojourn into the country while the war raged on was looking a lot less boring!

#filled prompts #ficlet #julie molina #julie and the phantoms

[anxietylord]

Here’s one I’m submitting to a few lit journals and will almost certainly be in my chapbook, it’s called Muscle Memory.

I listen to your songs on repeat. I even learn to play a few. I pretend the ones you wrote for other people are about me. Are you singing to me?

Everyone I pass on the street smells like your cologne. There’s no way I’m passing a hundred people a day that wear Dior Sauvage. I’m just thinking of the way you smell when I bury my face in your neck. Are you thinking of me?

Every poem I try to write lately comes out dead upon delivery, their twisted little corpses bloody and rubbery translucent. They weren’t made to last. Made but not alive. Just like me. At least this one feels like something. Do you feel anything when you read it?

Words feel like a tiny legion of enemies recently. They sting like fire ants when they drip from my mouth and fingers. They bite me on the way up my throat and leave slick trails of venom in their wake. I don’t like talking these days because what I mean and what I say become doppelgängers in a mirror. One waves and presses its face against the glass, the other grins to reveal sharp and jagged teeth, blood running down its chin. They’re two sides of a Janus coin, doomed to tug and trip over each other, never really in alignment. Well, not these days anyway.

I write when I’m angry and they come out rusty and ragged, and that’s good. When I’m sad they cling and grasp at one another like wet snow coming down with crackles and spatters, the ends of a million used cotton swabs. Soggy little lumps that desperately reach out and say ‘please take my hand before I get lost and can’t find my way back to you.’ But that’s the terrible secret of my words on word on words, isn’t it? They never pour out the way they do for you.

I feel like the victim of a stroke learning to ride a bike again, to walk again. You’re never supposed to forget those things, memory lives in our muscles. My useless body was never any good at remembering. I struggle with the words, barely walking, hardly standing, frustrated, screaming at my legs to move. At my fingers to type. Why can’t I do what I’ve done before? I feel it inside but I just can’t push my limp foot forward. My muscles have deja vu at best, not enough to remember how to flex and stretch, to dance. The only thing my flesh truly remembers is the way you feel when our bodies touch.

When I can’t define the feeling how do I trap it on the page? You need to know the true names of demons to banish them, so I flounder as dozens of talons tear away at me till I’m ribbons, a pile of scraps blowing away in the wind. And when I think of you it’s the worst it gets.

I think of you on the stage. I think of you at the bar. I think of you waiting for years and years and years for someone to see you the way I waited for someone to see me. I see you; a lonely planet, orbiting a star with no name in a vast, inky blackness, the only thing in your solar system. And me? I’m lonely all the time. I’ve spent so much of my life looking at the patterns that the shadows of windowsills make on buildings. At graffiti with something to say long worn away. At plants that grow out of cracks. Into warm, golden windows with glowing halos against the blue of twilight. I stand outside the house across the street from the playground and I hear the fiddle and the piano and the singing and laughter every night. Could you be in that house? No, you’re standing out on the street with me wishing you were inside, too. If only we’d turned and looked at each other, then maybe we would’ve realized we’d been in the house with the music and the laughter the whole time.

You’re the only thing that’s ever felt familiar in this world. When you leave, a massive ship breaks and sinks. The suction pulls me under so deep I can’t breath and no amount of kicking will ever get me to the surface. I just have to wait for you to show up again and pull me out. Soaking wet, I vomit brackish water onto your shoes. Is it alright? I’m sorry.

But when you stay… when you stay it’s almost harder. I used to float so untethered to the ground with you, sitting on our little cloud, playing games and singing songs. I’m touching your skin and you’re kissing my hand. When we have to come back down to the ground, back to life, I can feel the water underneath me, lapping at my feet, a threat of what I already know is coming.

Nowadays there is no cloud. There is no water. It’s just you and me on the edge of a cliff, looking down into a chasm with no bottom. You give me a brick. “Do you want this?” And you give me a stone. “Can you carry this?” And you give me a bag of sand and a chunk of ice and a ball of iron ore the size of your fist. They say your fist is roughly the size of your heart. “Just for a second” you say. Just for a minute. But my arms are tired and I tremble under the weight. Do my muscles remember this? Remember the strain?

But if you asked for them back I’d bite and snarl and bark, I’d snap at your hands as you try and pry them away. These are mine now. They’re my precious little gems, my brick and my stone and my fistfuls of pebbles and metal fragments. They make lifting my feet so hard that I stay rooted to the ground, I won’t tip over the edge of the cliff that way. But if I lose my balance they’ll pull me straight down, so much faster than I would’ve dropped without them.

How am I supposed to hold all of these? How am I supposed to gather them up and hold them?

#this is probably my favorite so far #I’m gonna be submitting this one and a house is not a heart to a few places so keep ur fingies crossed for me 🤞🏼🤞🏼🤞🏼 #bird boy writes #idk just some stuff about creative blockages and navigating big feelings and how they influence our art #cw depression #cw anxiety

[gwydionmisha]

Personal: Alarms and Excursions

Saturday was incredibly challenging for us. The cats and I were having a nice sleep in my bed when we were jarred awake by the skull splitting alarm. It's hard enough on the rest of us, but Livia is super sensitive by cat standards. She hid of course, and there is no chance of us ever evacuating her in a fast emergency as it would be a three person job. This worries me, but it's a problem without a solution.

I could barely walk and it's bad cold outside. It took ages for me to dress and hobble out to the bench by the curb. (I certainly wasn't going out there naked, and it's too cold for me not to need to bundle up. I learned a long time ago you always grab the keys and go bag just in case). I could tell from the fact that it was still going while I struggled to get the shoes on that it was real, but also the fire engines didn't have the siren on. There was no smoke smell, and it was the non-fire emergency light that flashes for the deaf, so I guessed water emergency. Except when it's a false alarm or test, it's always been a water emergency. They want us to walk through the corridors and gather in the parking lot in the way of the fire engines in emergencies. This has always struck me as madness, so I hobbled out the back door. The gimp to the curb took ages and was incredibly painful. I said fuck this to going all the way around to gather with the others and grabbed the bench.

From there I watched the denizens of the other buildings walk dogs, etc. and glance occasionally at my ringing building. I saw a lot of dog owners sensibly evacuate their dogs into their cars with blankets, which made sense. Seriously, the blizzard missed us, but I think this is the coldest it's ever been where I lived since I moved west in the early '90's. We are talking unsheltered people freezing to death weather. This kind of thing is extra dangerous here because we barely even get snow normally in our weird little micro-climate, so a lot of unhoused people from nearby areas migrate here for cold weather precisely because it's safer than the plains or the mountains because, while it gets chilly it generally doesn't freeze much. (We fucking need housing first in this town with full social support services, because there's no excuse for people being forced to sleep rough when the area is this well off). We are talking when I took Goth Millennial home later, my fingers went numb in fifteen minutes with the car heater on cold. It wasn't quite that bad with the sun out, but it was close. I watched firefighters go in and out. I saw squirrel chatting with the firefighters, but they didn't see me. I read for a bit. The bench was a really good idea. I couldn't have stood that long and the wheelchair would have taken ages to get out given how bad my shoulder and hip joints were functioning. We got the all clear and I hobbled back in.

I decided to try to sleep clothed just in case. Tavy and I were settled back in bed, when squirrel popped in to tell me it was yet another water emergency involving an indoor waterfall, this time involving building pipes rather than a bad water heater or maintenance error (Previous causes of indoor/outdoor waterfall. There was a really impressive one from a forth floor balcony once when the guys replacing the roof had an ooopsie). As I wrote this, he came out to tell me that my suspicion it was frozen pipes was correct. Get this, they hadn't insulated the main building pipes for the forth floor so they burst. Duh. There is a reason they won a massive lawsuit against the guy that built this place. Indoor waterfall through four floors of maintenance area and out the front door to freeze in the parking lot. O.o. I think there is water in the wall between my bathroom and the hall. There is water in the carpet approximately where my washer and dryer are. I can't see water, but I can smell wet plaster in there. I have Concerns.

One of the other buildings had the same thing happen last week. I hope they quick wrap the pipes in the third building.

Livia had just emerged from the secure hide for her reassurance pet and was about a minute in when the alarm went off again. Cats panicked. I figured it was the inevitable multiple retriggering sequence after a water emergency. They shut off all the building alarms for the duration after the second retrigger. I didn't see Livia again until about 8. (I have furnished her favorite hide with a multilevel sleep complex and toys in the lower level. She's fine in there. Sometimes she sleeps in there for fun.

Fucking Low Bid contractors.

#Personal

[fox-buried-in-maple-leaves]

Blizzard (Hirudo 3?)

taglist: @cerasus--flores

tw: none actually lol

The snow came down heavily, blanketing the town and castle in heavy flakes. The blizzard had lasted two days now, far worse than the area had ever seen in previous years. It made hunting difficult, leaving some denizens of the castle irritable and tired. The cold didn't help either, the wood pile covered in snow, the wood wet and ice speckled. 

Jacques had managed, with Lumio's help, to keep everybody minimally fed at least. Often hunting for those near death on the roads into town or the woods behind the castle. But it was barely enough, he had to resort to those willing to risk the blizzard for supplies. Often apologizing to the God in question for changing their fates. But times were rough for all.

A knock resounded through the large manor, echoing off of the stone and wood walls. Alee looked out of the window, it was still blizzarding outside, who could that have been? The man stood up, bringing up his heavy dress to move faster. He got to the top of the stairs when he saw Eudes enter the main hall as well. The master of the manor went down a few steps to watch. Eudes opened the front door, greeting the snow covered person on the other side. 

"Hello, welcome to House Destan, how can I help you?" 

Alee watched and listened curiously, he could only really see the person's shoes from this angle but, still. "The storm has made travel to the town impossible, and I would rather not freeze." A man's quiet voice spoke, his accent wasn't odd, but it wasn't French either, British, Alee assumed. He crouched down a little bit to try and see him.

"Can I please come in? I won't be a bother. I just need to warm up."

Eudes turned his head, looking up at his master behind him on the stairs. Alee seemed to think about it, before giving his companion a quick nod. Eudes turned back to the man in the doorway. "Come in. I am Eudes, the butler of the house." He stepped back, letting the man in. Alee finally got a better look at him.

"Mieran."

Blond hair, brown eyes, pale.. He was wrapped in heavy rust coloured robes, wet from snow. His nose was pink from the snow, he had a bag on his arm, arms wrapped around his body. Alee stood straight, descending the last few steps as Eudes shut the door behind the man. He looked up, seemingly surprised by the man's sudden appearance.

"Mieran." Eudes addressed him, pivoting to look up at his master. "The master of the house, Lord Alee Destan. My Lord.” He bowed somewhat as Alee approached them both, stopping beside his longtime companion. Alee waved his hand halfheartedly and Eudes stood straight once more, looking between the two men. 

“Welcome to my home. Have you eaten? I can have our chef prepare something for you.”

“My lord.”

“I’m aware, Eudes.” 

“Food would be pleasant. Thank you..”

Alee nodded, his smile not once faltering as he gave a look to Eudes. The man bowed once more, taking a step back and disappearing further into the house. “I’ll show you to where you can stay. I’ll also have our housekeeper, Giana, bring you warm clothes.” He gestured up the stairs and Mieran gave him a small smile, mostly hidden by the scarf around his neck.

“You’re from Great Britain, correct?” Another nod. “Ah, thought I recognised that. May I ask what brings you to the French Empire?” 

“Oh.. Ah, research. I am a doctor.”

“Oh, how quaint! So is Eudes.” 

Mieran’s confusion momentarily flashed across his face before it settled back to his previous expression. But Alee’s keen eyes didn’t miss the man’s surprise. “Yes, a medical doctor, no less. Still, he chooses to work for me. His medical expertise occasionally comes in handy, often in circumstances like yours, that brings strangers to our home.”

“You seem well though, despite the chill.”

He cracked another small smile at Alee’s words, following him along the dim candle lit hallway. "I am well, thank you." Alee opened a door, stepping inside the room, Mieran followed him. "Wow this is.. Very nice." He looked around the large room, a big bed, a fireplace, there was even a nice sized desk and chair against one wall.

"I'll get some wood for the fireplace while Giana brings you clothing. Or rather, our chef Jacques probably will. Make yourself at home, she'll be by soon."

"Thank you, Lord Destan."

"Please, just Alee is fine, doctor."

"Then just Mieran is fine."

#☾*✲⋆. fates' will #⋆｡°✩ alee #༺☆༻ Hirudo #☾*✲⋆. creatio ex chao #𓆩✧𓆪 mieran #the question mark is because there may be another part that i write later but takes place before this

[averykedavra]

why don’t you go outside in late afternoon when the sky is blue and gold and look at the grass between the chunks of snow and skate on a frozen parking lot with ice so thick it’s pure white and listen to the mourning doves and maybe you’ll calm down

#aaaaaa guess what i just Did #i went on a walk and holy hell it was gorgeous #with the sunlight gold on the trees?? #and the ice so slippery? #we had an icy snowstorm a day or two ago #it left icicles all down the leaves of the trees #and now the snow i see is basically all ice #people have to break it into chunks to clear it off the sidewalk #and it's so easy to slide around on!! #it's so icy i didn't leave footprints #and there was so little snow that my shoes were barely wet #it was so coollll #a a a a i am at peace with the world #cold day beautiful evening 10000/10 #avery's argot

[butwhyduh]

"There is only one bed" "Exes forced to work together" and "Accidentally cuddling in sleep" with homeboy Dickie please <3

There were certain members of the Titans who said Dick’s superpower was being friends with his exes. Not very many of them had ill feelings for him after breakup despite everything that happened in their relationship. You tried to be like them. Kori could laugh at his jokes while he dated Barbara. Zatanna would often give him an open mouth kiss when she saw him and yet had no interest in dating him again.

But you weren’t like that. You didn’t know how to act around him. Possibly because you didn’t exactly break up normally, or at all. He just disappeared. It had been for a mission but still. He could have called or talked to you afterwards. That’s why you were mad. It was inconsiderate, you thought as you ignored the tiny voice that told you that you couldn’t be normal around him because you still liked him.

And currently you were dying because you had teamed up with Dick on a mission. Both of your skill sets matched for the mission’s needs and so this is how you ended up at the front counter of a Swiss hotel high in the mountain trying to get 2 hotel rooms instead of one. Or even just another bed.

“Madame, I apologize but there is no other room at this hotel. We are very sorry for the mix up but this is all we have. The nearest hotel is 30 kilometers north so I have very little I can do. Again, I apologize,” said the man. “It is the busy season.”

You sighed. “That’s fine. I’m tired. It’ll be fine,” you said grabbing the keys a little rougher than necessary. Dick looked at the man apologetically before following you.

The hotel was actually really nice. Very traditional with red ornamental patterned rugs and golden brown beaded board halfway up the wall. A gold chandelier hung in the front entry. A bellboy carried your bags up to the room and let you in.

The room was just as nice but tiny. Barely had enough room for the bed and a small table with 2 chairs and a tv stand. A little closet sat behind door and the tiny window with covered in thick curtains.

You tossed your bag in the closet without a care and pulled off your shoes. You groaned and stretched your toes before flopping on the bed.

“I’ll sleep on the floor,” Dick said grabbing a pillow.

“No just get in bed. There isn’t enough floor to sleep on. It’ll kill your back to sleep weird,” you said with a yawn. Dick stood awkwardly. You hadn’t thought about it but you were probably his only awkward ex and he didn’t know what to do about it.

“You sure? I don’t wanna be in your space,” Dick said tentatively laying down the pillow. You patted the mattress.

“You could sleep in the room beside me and I think you’d still be in my face with how tiny these rooms are,” you said and he chuckled.

“Yeah, this hotel is probably like 500 years old or something,” he said laying down. He was on his edge of the bed and you on yours. “Did I ever tell you that we toured out here when I was a kid in the circus?”

You turned to look at him. “No you haven’t. What was it like?”

“It was cold but fun. My mom got mad when I tried to do flips barefoot in the snow,” he said with a laugh. “I was probably 6. She thought I was going to get deathly sick from the cold.”

“That sounds exactly like something a mom would say,” you said with a smile.

“I also remember one of the sword swallowers tried to learn the language to speak to all the pretty women that came to the shows but he learned Swedish instead,” Dick said and you both laughed.

“I bet that didn’t go well.”

“He got lucky and the first woman he talked to spoke Swedish! It was pretty funny,” Dick said with a yawn. “We should probably get some sleep.”

“Yeah,” you said and the pillow felt like heaven. Your eyelids felt heavy and before you knew it, you were asleep. Hours later you woke to light hitting your eyes through the curtains so you snuggled closer to get it out of your eyes. Arms that wrapped around you tightened a little and you felt a humming noise that threatened to put you back to sleep.

Hot breath against your cheek made you move again. This time you woke up to take in your surroundings. A collarbone. Arms around your back. Legs tangled in your own. You hadn’t taken anyone home last night. Who was that? You blinked before realizing that you were in Dick’s arms.

You pulled back a little and he whined in his sleep and held you tighter. His touch was warm and comforting and you almost wanted to be lulled back to sleep with him. But Dick wasn’t your boyfriend and you needed to move. You shifted again and he opened his eyes to look at you in surprise.

“Oh,” he said. You both froze. “Sorry,” Dick muttered before moving his hands away slowly. His didn’t scoot away from you.

You looked at him and the way he looked at you stopped you from moving. It was raw and unfiltered in the mornin light and he clearly wasn’t over you. He looked down at your lips before looking back at your eyes.

“Morning,” you said softly. You looked down as he licked his lips. They looked soft and shiny. You slid your hand to his arm. Almost painfully slow, Dick scooted closer to where your lips were almost touching. You inhaled a little faster than normal.

“Can I,” he said already hold his head slightly turned. You leaned up to meet his lips. Dick’s hands went back around to grip your waist. The kiss started out tentative but didn’t take long to deepen. He tasted the same as you remember and his touch was familiar and comforting.

After a little bit of you both laying on your sides, Dick laid back and pulled you on top of him. You straddled his hips and kissed him hard. Dick made a moan against your lips and gripped your thighs. You rubbed down against him. You could feel him grow hard in his thin sleep pants. Dick pulled back to breathe.

“Fuck baby,” he panted. You huffed out a laugh. “What?” He asked and you grinned.

“Still has the same weaknesses, I see,” you whispered and he chuckled before shrugging. You ground down on him and he inhaled quickly.

“Yeah but so do you,” he said before flipping you over and pinning your hands above your head. You gasped into a moan as he nipped at the spot behind your ear. Dick smirked against your skin. “Yep the same spot.”

“Hmmm using it against me,” you asked and he nodded.

“Always take advantage of weaknesses. That how I was taught,” Dick said. He bent and sucked hard on the spot and you pulled at his hands, wanting to put your hands in his hair. Dick kissed down your neck to your collar and nipped at your collarbone. You made a keening sound.

“Not fair Grayson, not fair,” you said breathlessly and he chuckled.

“I could always stop,” Dick said, his breath was hot on your skin. You groaned and he chuckled. Dick slid his hands under your shirt and pulled back to slide it off. His fingers traced a new scar that you had gotten since the last time you had been together.

“Two Face,” you commented and he nodded before kissing the arcing curvature of lighter skin. You pulled at his shirt and he pulled it off too. He had some more scars too. A pair of red healing marks on his forearm that looked like claws you touched with your thumb.

“Killer Croc,” he said before kissing the valley between your breasts. You hummed in agreement before realizing what he said.

“Killer Croc? You got very lucky,” you said and he pulled back a little.

“Yeah. I mean, it got mad infected and I was out for 2 weeks but yeah, he could have ripped my arm off,” Dick said. He ran his hand along the waistband of your sleep shorts. You inhaled quickly.

“You’re too casual for a man that almost died,” you said.

“Yeah, I know,” Dick answered sliding his hand in your shorts to play in your folds. Your eyes closed and you forgot all about scars and Killer Croc as he fingered you.

“Condoms?” You gasped. He grinned as he kissed along the column of your neck.

“One minute,” Dick said getting up. You watched him move around the room. His boner extremely obvious in his sleep pants. He came back with a few attached together.

“3?”

“Let’s start with one and go from there,” he smirked and you laughed. That was Dick for you. Cheeky no matter what. He pushed down his pants and rolled it on as you slid out of your panties and shorts. Dick stared down at your wet pussy. He already knew from fingering you but he certainly wasn’t complaining about the sight.

Dick climbed back over you and kissed you soundly. “Ready?” He asked and you nodded. Dick slowly thrust in and you made a soft sound. He started moving and found a good pace. It was great for missionary but it wasn’t like either of you didn’t have the ability to be a little more flexible in positions.

“I want to try something,” you whispered in his ear and he looked at you with a twinkle in his eyes.

“Go on,” Dick said excitedly. You pushed him off of you and he eagerly complied. You stood up and bent at the waist and wrapped your arms around the back of your knees with your legs closed giving Dick one hell of a show.

“Oh fuck,” he whispered. Dick moved behind you. “Like this?” He asked and you nodded. Dick slowly slid in with his hands on your hips making all kinds of little noises. “You look fucking amazing baby. Truly.”

You let Dick move for a while in this position. He alternated between holding your hips and grabbing your ass to slightly spread it to watch better. It was possible he’d never been that horny in his life. It felt amazing on your part but there was something you wanted to try without telling him.

You slowly moved your hands to the floor and put your weight on one leg. And with a smirk, you lifted one leg up and Dick inhaled deeply as you lifted it up to his shoulder. He held your leg and moaned loudly. His hips stopped and he was panting.

“Fuck, you almost made me cum right then,” he groaned. His hips started moving and all of took was a little shake of your ass for him to cum despite himself. “Fuck,” he groaned while burying himself deep. As soon as he was done, he pulled out and helped you stand up. You noted a little dusting of pink in his cheeks and ears.

“I’ll get you back. Lay down,” he said and you nodded and laid on the bed. It was no time at all that he had his lips wrapped around your clit and fingers in your core as your grabbed his hair in pleasure.

“Fuck! Dick! Fuck!” You cried, completely ignoring the fact that it was 7 am and you were in a hotel. He seemed to be hell bent on making up for the fact that he came first. Your thighs shook and you weren’t even sure but you probably screamed when you came. Dick peppered kisses up your body with a smirk as you heaved in breaths.

“Like that,” he said wryly, pulling you into his arms.

“You already know that,” you answered. He ran a finger along your arm and kissed your hair.

“So this...” he started but trailed off.

“Yeah...”

“Do you wanna... try again? Us?” He asked.

“Maybe,” you said biting your lip.

“Give it a shot?” He asked hopeful. You sat in silence for a second.

“Yeah. Yeah.”

“Yeah?” He said with a smile.

“Yeah,” you answered shyly. He grinned and kissed you again. He rolled on top of you.

“Since I fucked up the first round, I should make it up to you,” he said playfully. You rolled your eyes with a smile.

“If. You. Can,” you whispered in his ear. By the end of the morning, the hotel security had come to knock on your door to quiet down.

#friday night smut #dick Grayson x reader #nightwing x reader #dick Grayson smut #batboy smut #batboy x reader

[apocalypticgargoyle]

𝐕𝐄𝐍𝐄𝐍𝐈𝐅𝐄𝐑𝐔𝐌 𝐈 ↟ 𝐓𝐞𝐜𝐡𝐧𝐨𝐛𝐥𝐚𝐝𝐞

↠  summary: After fleeing from the regime taking over the castle, you find yourself under the protection of the renowned Blood God, Technoblade.

↠ fantasy au, slowburn romance

↠  pairing: c!Techno x fm!reader

↠  tw: blood, mentions of gore, mentions of violence

↠  wc: ~2.3k

a/n: This is actually a pretty self-indulgent thing so no characters or plotlines will really be accurate. As always, my series(es) are at the mercy of my inbox so if you have any comments/ideas/want to make a moodboard, let me know! Happy reading :)

♡ ᵍᵉⁿᵉ

The leaves crunched beneath your feet with every dragging step, your strides heavy and uneven as you clutched your side. Sticky ribbons of crimson threaded through your fingers, oozing from between your ribs as each movement sent a new flash of white, stabbing pain to echo through your body. Your toes were growing numb, and your vision was blurring at the edges.

The snow stirred pink in the steep trenches you had begun to cut into the earth. As your lungs burned with each gulping breath, you wondered how long you could make it in this state. Where had you even been going in the first place? You couldn’t remember at this point, only that you were running.

Each time you figured you could go on no longer, your body somehow managed to carry you further. The uphill incline you were now grappling with left your knees buried and the chill of hypothermia began to take effect.

Bright flairs torn open the darkness of the sky, a sign they were looking for you in the woods now. Surely, they would see the trail of struggle you had left behind and would follow you. The shrieking noise of the lights scrapped against your eardrums, adding to the intense beating of your heart already pounding against your damaged ribs.

Your ice-cold fingers reached for the trunks of the slender trees masking your identity, hoping for any signs of leverage to propel yourself forward and away from the noise of the bloodhounds and nearby circuits of soldiers and their braying steeds. The light from the flairs illuminated the scenery around you, the shadows of the trees stretching across the snow like bony limbs aching to entangle their prey.

Your teeth dug into your bottom lip as searing pain rippled through one of your legs. Tears stung your eyes as you avoided looking at the flesh now torn from your worn body as you dislodged your knee from a tree root buried in the snow. The frustration weighing on your tired body was overcoming your earlier adrenaline.

You scorned yourself as you looked down at the blood seeping from your mangled limbs and into the crystal snow. So much blood, you thought, finding it difficult to lift your head as you propelled yourself further up the hill. The dogs were nearing your location, the flairs becoming more sporadic as if they knew exactly where you were. Maybe your mind was draining as your blood further spread against your skin.

You had lost feeling in your legs, the warmth of your blood pooling in your shoes was no longer a reality check for you. Your eyelids felt as heavy as stone as your chest ached for rest, a burn of exhaustion settling in your lungs. Your knees buckled beneath you, digging into the blanket of white as your body sighed in relief at stopping. You knew you needed to move further. You needed to put more distance between you and the men, but you were so tired.

As your body began to fold in on itself, you could barely make out a figure standing before you. Animalistic eyes of panic and confusion burned into your figure. His cloak drifted against his stature in the nipping winter breeze. Neither of you moved at first, your cheeks burning from your tears and the cold. He watched you, unsure of your next move or if you even had the life force to pick yourself up enough to be a threat.

You weren’t sure how, but suddenly you found yourself staring at the night sky, your corpse cradled by the icy snowdrifts. Large flakes of translucent white flakes made it seem as if the stars were falling towards you, swirling around the tree limbs and avoiding their grasp. As the black sky began to blur your vision, your body began to feel lighter, the urge to relax becoming overwhelming as you no longer heard the dogs, only the sound of the snow hitting the ground could break through your calm as your eyelids drifted shut.

Bright light streamed into your room, burning your eyes slightly as you came to. Your mind panicked, realizing the sweet smell infiltrating your senses was completely unfamiliar to you. You hesitated to reopen your eyes, your ears picking up on a quiet scrapping noise somewhere in the room you were laying. Your body was stiff; sore even. You could feel someone else in the room. You could tell the other presence wasn’t paying you any mind, but the fact that they were there startled you. Could they be waiting to kill you? Did it matter if you were dead anyway?

You finally mustered enough courage to open your eyes, a bare wood ceiling staring back at you. You turned your head to the side, finally spotting the other person. You could tell by the broadness of his shoulders that it was the man in the woods. Images from that night flashed into your mind as you looked at him. The look of worry that had painted his features into pitted darkness was wiped clean, instead, a healthy calm settled over his face.

His feet were kicked up at the end of your bed, a book resting on his lap as he leaned back in an old chair. He held a bright green apple and a knife, lazily cutting a slice for himself as his eyes skimmed the pages like he’d read the words over and over in the past. A blush crept to your cheeks as your gaze traveled to the part of his chest peeking from beneath his open shirt. His pink hair was braided back with a hint of messiness like the escaping tendrils were planned. What wasn’t tied back hung freely around his strong shoulders.

It scorned you to think in such a way, but you figured you really were dead and some Roman god was waiting to send you to the Fields of Mourning, or, more accurately in your case, Tartarus.

As you moved to sit up, pain spiked throughout your body, joints aching with soreness and the sharpness of your wounds signaling your nerve endings. You groaned, attempting to fight through your instinct to cry. The man watched you, an eyebrow raised in your direction as his deadpanned expression surveyed your actions. He cut another piece of apple off, the blade pressing against the pad of his thumb without bother.

“You should probably hold still,” he stated, ruby irises flashing over your pathetic state. You eyed him carefully before lowering yourself back into the pillows. You reached up to touch the cut that you knew would scar from one of the men. Their blade had sliced across your cheek; a failed attempt to decapitate you. Your brows furrowed slightly as your fingers moved into your hair, finding it crudely cut near the bottom of your ears. You looked at him, mustering the panic you felt into your expression. His eyes softened in guilt. “I’m sorry. I had to hide you rather quickly after you passed out. It worked,” he mumbled the last part.

You swallowed; the dryness of your throat felt like sandpaper as you opened your mouth to speak. “Where’s my bag?” You croaked; your voice as foreign to you as the man sitting before you.

He wet his lips as he sat forward in the chair, settling his feet on the ground and his elbows on his knees. You watched his muscles flex as he moved. You could tell he was no stranger to manual labor, and by the slight dusting of sunburn painting his nose beneath his freckles, you figured he usually spent more time outside. The sunspots reminded you of your friend, Dream; a man that now helped to lead the tetrarchy dismantling the kingdom.

“I’ve hidden it. Just until I know you won’t kill me, or until you’re better,” he answered plainly. “I know what nightshade can do.” You narrowed your eyes at him slightly, your fingers curling around the soft blankets covering you. He stood, sticking the book into a spot in the array of shelves lining the walls from floor to ceiling. “I seem to be sheltering our local Locusta, huh?” He quipped.

You wet your lips. “Just because I travel with nightshade doesn’t make me an Emperor killer,” you grumbled, watching the way his shirt gave little heed to his strong frame. The curtains moved in the slight breeze swirling into the room.

The man moved toward you, dragging the chair closer to your head. “They sure went after you like you were,” he stated bluntly.

You perked an eyebrow at him. “From one point of view, it could seem like that…” you jested.

He smirked slightly, shaking his head before pulling back your covers. You almost shrieked at the sight of all the bandages twisting around your limbs. You wiggled your toes, sighing in relief that you paralyzed from the waist down. If you didn’t move, you didn’t hurt, but as soon as you angled yourself upward to lean on your elbows, your whole body protested in pain. The man skimmed his fingers along the bandages wrapping around your shin. You could practically feel the heat of his body seeping into your own.

You watched his delicate fingers smooth an edge that was ruffled from the sheets and you moving about. “This one was rather deep,” he commented, his fingers then traveling towards your side as his ruby eyes danced from yours to your bandages. Your breath hitched at his closeness, his presence commanding. “A friend of mine helped me stitch you up over here.”

“Were you the one that dressed me?” You snarked, letting your eyes travel the length of his body.

He chuckled lowly, pulling the blankets back over you and sitting back in the chair. He tucked some of his hair away from his face, kicking his feet up on the bed again. “I had to,” he answered. You chewed on your bottom lip, your eyebrows giving away your slight flirtations. You knew he was only humoring you because you were his injured little bird. “I’ve seen a naked woman before. Calm down,” he grumbled.

You smirked, tucking your arms behind your head. “Oh, you have now?” He bit into the apple he was holding, the blush creeping to his eyes not going without notice by you. “How long have I been out, oh great Asclepius?” You joshed, making him chew the inside of his cheek.

His eyes drifted towards the window in thought before slightly furrowing his brows. “Just over a week,” he replied. “Should I be concerned about your knowledge of Roman history over Greek?”

You scoffed, partially in disbelief for how much time had elapsed, partially in response to his question. “Should I be concerned of your favoring of Greek history?” The corner of his mouth turned up slightly. “Perhaps we’re just destined to be emulations of each other then?”

“Maybe so,” he concurred. The stoicism of his façade seemed to crack around you. As he smiled at you, he bore small fangs, something that seemed all too familiar to you. Your mind began to race, attempting to place his features with a name or, at the very least, a legend.

Your mind clicked, Dream’s voice flashing into your mind from when the two of you were sitting in a tavern, discussing the Blood God of the western woods. Your heart began to pick up speed as reality had settled in of how vulnerable to you in front of such a beast. Your mind ran blank and cold as you looked at him, suddenly terrified that if you dare close your eyes again, he would kill you.

You had not expected him to be so… alluring. You’d heard stories of his piglin appearance, his wild tusks, and even cloven hooves. The man before you looked like a character pulled from an ancient storybook, not someone who had torn some of your acquaintances' limb from limb. Dream always mocked a prayer to the old gods each time his name was mentioned. They told stories of the man in orphanages like the ones you’d been passed between.

Now, as you sat like a wounded animal in the gaze of the Blood God, you wondered which of the pair of you would kill the other first. “Not feeling so chatty anymore, Locusta?” He teased.

You could feel the color draining from your face. “I know who you are.” You swallowed harshly. “Why did you help me?”

He sighed, chuckling to himself. “I thought you were pretty,” he teased. You folded your hands on your chest, looking up at the ceiling once again. “I no longer live up to my legacy,” he answered.

“I’m a killer.” You turned your head to look at him, receiving his indifferent expression head-on. “I could kill you.”

He wet his lips. “I could kill you,” he mirrored. “Wouldn’t it be more fun if we didn’t, though?”

You stared at him blankly. “Is this a trick?”

He scoffed. “I would have left you out in the snow if I planned on killing you. I would have given you up when the Royal Guard came knocking down my door,” he paused for a second. His eyes analyzing you as you controlled your breathing. “I would have slit your throat at the sight of the Mad King’s mark. Trust me, I have no intention of killing you.”

Your fingers reached to brush against the branded scar on your shoulder; a triquetra knot symbolizing your loyalty to the Mad King and his sons. It set you apart from the normal guard; you were an advisor and a trusted associate of the King. After the fall of the monarchy, you’d been on the run because of it. What you’d once worn as a badge of honor was now proving to be the sigil of your downfall.

Despite your mellowing fear of him, your mind searched for answers. “Who are you if not the Blood God?” You questioned, the silence between the two of you breaking hesitantly.

“Techno,” he replied, his eyes searching your face as if he were looking for your approval.

You pushed yourself to roll onto your side, gazing at him with calculating eyes, wanting to understand him completely. “I like Asclepius better,” you whispered.

#technoblade x reader #techno fanfic #techno x reader #techno x you #techno x y/n #fantasy au #tw blood #tw gore