#th: fate + hierarchy

[tyrannuspitch]

big fan of stories that are like fate is just the propaganda that allows the powerful to maintain control of the oppressed but also fate is just your childhood trauma driving you to recreate the same dysfunctional cycles over and over again but also fate is not an illusion fate is a real force that you live with every day and there are real consequences for defying it but also fate is just your father trying to tell you he knows you better than you know yourself. and he's wrong

#loki show apologism hours here at tyrannuspitch dot tumblr dot com 💚 #space viking tag #carry on #meta #s: loki #th: fate + hierarchy #th: abuse + empire #ch: loki #ch: odin #r: loki + odin #r: kang + loki #ch: kang #highlights

[forbidden-sunlight]

yandere!poseidon headcanons with fem!kokushibo!reader

warning: obsessive behavior, violence, spoilers from manga/anime. Please take caution when reading the content.

Credit for this piece goes to @recreationalfanfics and their phenomenal works, specifically this one. I would like to specially thank my friend @nixes-noxes for helping me fine-tune this script to its fullest potential.

The intention of this story is for entertainment purposes only. The behavior exhibited here is inappropriate and unhealthy, hence it should not be encouraged. There are also triggers, so please take caution. You are responsible for your Internet consumption!

A demon was born from the malice of mankind. That is the story that humans and gods believe…but that is not the truth in your case.

 Fearing death, you willingly drank Muzan Kibitsuji’s blood and became the first Upper Moon. One of Twelve Kizuki to serve him and provide aid in his quest to obtain a solution to walk in the sunlight. You had died by the hands of your descendant and his fellow Demon Slayers, unsatisfied with the life you had lived as an abomination. In the end, you could not attain the innate talent your little brother possessed.

Because you were a creature classified as ‘evil’, you were confined to the depths of Helheim as punishment to suffer for all eternity. Not wanting to perish for a second time, you sliced down  enemies and cultivated your Moon Breathing Style in the hellish landscape before you were suddenly plucked out of that place, coming face-to-face with your new master: the Valkyrie called Brunhilde. 

Apparently, she had intended to call out another champion to fight against the gods in a tournament known as Ragnarok, but for some unknown reason you were whisked here by her summons. Seeing this ‘accident’ as an opportunity, you laid out your sword and offered your loyalty to her. Yes you were a demon, but you had been loyal to Muzan until your dying breath. Being the servant to a demigod would not be any different, minus facing the antagonization of both human and gods alike for just being by her side. 

It was better than returning to Helheim, anyway. The water did not scorch your skin and the high quality tea leaves were exceptional. 

The smallest pleasures in life made a difference…but does that include being on the roster to fight against the infamous tyrant of the divine waters,  Poseidon? Probably not. 

Yandere!Poseidon

This is a god who is the physical embodiment of perfection. He is a king who has no need to be supported by individuals who are beneath him in the hierarchy of all life. Furthermore, he was not pleased when his little brother had added him as a contender in this childish tournament without his consent. Why stall the inevitable fate of humanity with Ragnarok? It’s honestly a waste of time for him. 

There has never been an opponent who did not quiver at the sight of his trident nor survived to tell the tale. So why should he even bother to give any effort in this fight? His opponent was a demon. It is only natural that a demon would be stomped down by someone like himself, even if it is a female one with a slightly impressive physique and once bore the moniker ‘Moon Hashira’. 

Untamed [Hair Color] tresses held together in a ponytail that reached to her waist. [Favorite Color] nagagi-kimono and black umanori-styled pants tied with a white obi. [Eye Color] irises and red sclera with words written on them. 

The only reason he even recognized the clothing is because Aphrodite whined about the ‘poor fashion’ taste of Brunhilde’s new ‘pet’...but did she honestly expect anything more from a demon? 

No, but she enjoyed hearing the others praise her intellect and how no one could ever hold a candle to the beauty of the lusty goddess. A hypocrite by any other name. She and Ares had another falling out, again. 

Still it would not bother the gods nor himself by allowing his opponent to try and land a hit on him before killing the unfortunate abomination. The effort of an ant trying to avoid being crushed by a boot is always…adorable. 

This act of ‘kindness’ towards the Moon Hashira led Poseidon into a match that has lasted longer than the previous Ragnarok bouts. She did not hesitate to use the water surrounding the arena to create a heavy mist that acted as a smokescreen before attacking from behind with her sword. She slashed his calves and right forearm, then jammed her sword that is made from her own flesh and blood into his stomach. She was going to kill him. She would do whatever it took to win the fight.  

This revelation enraged Poseidon. How dare a demon think that she can kill a god? Blasphemy! HE IS A GOD, HE IS PERFECTION. ANYONE WHO DISAGREES HIM DESERVES TO DIE. 

And yet he still found himself kneeling on the circular platform, leaning heavily against his trident with the bloodied edge of her sword pressed against the side of his neck. If it isn’t the reversal of positions that bothered him the most, it was the look of indifference dancing in the Moon Hashira’s eyes. As if he was the one being a nuisance and not the other way around. 

Suddenly, she withdrew her sword and sheathed it. “I will not kill you.” She said, “A hierarchy exists to keep the balance between those who sit at the top of the food chain and those who are barely scraping by. Those who upset the balance must be punished accordingly. I am a demon, so I should die by the hands of a god…but I will not allow myself to die by someone who does not respect my master. That is…embarrassing. So take this loss as an act of kindness from me. The humiliation of being defeated by someone such as myself is more than adequate punishment.” 

Turning her back to him, she stepped onto the boat that was tied to a stone pillar and drifted back to the human’s side of the arena. Poseidon also retreated, refusing Ares’ offers to escort him to the medical wing and swiftly returning to his palace beneath the ocean floor. He ignored Proteus’ concerns, isolating himself in his quarters as he…unleashed his anger onto the furniture. They could be easily replaced…but his defeat cannot be remedied just like the splintered wood, the tattered drapes, or anything he had thrown around the room. 

He has lost against an imperfect creature. Him, the one who is the most feared and blessed god in the pantheons. How could this have happened?! How?!

Though is the Moon Hashira truly an ant if she had beaten him? No. But there is no use thinking about the wretched embodiment of impurity anymore. He…has lost the match, and in the end it is just one loss for the gods. Humanity will be destroyed, and the divine waters will be restored to their glory once the vermin have been eradicated. 

Shortly after he had regained his composure, Poseidon returned to the Grecian’s private balcony to watch the other matches. As he is a god, his wounds healed within a matter of hours…so why could he have still felt the sword in his belly, twisting his insides? Why?

This might be the starting point in his descent to madness. He would remain a silent statue even in the aftermath of his adopted nephew’s death by Jack The Ripper’s hands, and Shiva’s obvious win against Raiden Taeemon while his brethren watched the events unfold in awe and anger. 

But no matter how hard he tried to dissuade thoughts about the Valkyrie’s servant, his mind always drifted back to the Moon Hashira. He silently reflected on their fight; he remembered the humiliation when she spared his life, her deadly grace as she released one form of the Moon Breathing Style, her perfection. 

[First Name] [Last Name], the Moon Hashira and a demon summoned from the depths of Helheim to save humanity….she was perfection. And Poseidon wanted her.

Knowing that the moon always gravitated towards the ocean would only feed into his delusions that it must be a sign from the Fates that this is his other half. The companion who will be by his side for all enternity. So why does she still dare to stand by Brunhilde and whisper in the demigod’s ear? Why does she converse with the samurai Kojiro, when he had no business being near her, let alone sharing a plate of Japanese snacks and tea? 

How dare she smile at the man who had killed Heracles and the traitorous Buddha? She is perfect, there is no need to waste her time teaching her breathing techniques to a brat that went toe-to-toe with Loki in the greenhouse! 

When the tyrant of the oceans witnessed [First Name] showing more emotions around the other combatants, he knows must act swiftly or else she will be snatched away by someone else who is lesser than a god of perfection such as himself, or worse be cast aside by her malicious master for the sake of humanity’s survival. 

He will make the necessary arrangements with Proteus to prepare his kingdom for the arrival of a new queen.

Bonus Content: 

The Moon Hashira is fully aware of Poseidon’s psychotic tendencies and will not make it easy for him to whisk her away like Zeus’ previous mistresses. Nor is she blindly loyal to being oblivious to Brunhilde’s scheming. 

She did not live for half of a millennia as an Upper Moon by being an idiot.

Taglist:

@rukia-writes

@recreationalfanfics

@dazailover1900

@nixes-noxes

@the-dumber-scaramouche

@onecantsimply

@yellow-snark

@radioactivesweet

#snv x reader #snv poseidon #record of ragnarok x reader #poseidon record of ragnarok #kokushibo!reader #x reader #yandere #yandere x reader #ns.fw #forbidden-sunlight #record of ragnarok #shuumatsu no valkyrie #poseidon headcanons

[yanderesotherhalf]

Hey I was wondering if you can do an Incubus! Jack x an asexual reader please. Thank you😊 Love your work 😊

Aaa thank you so much for the kind words~! Hope I did an alright job with this one decided to go with headcanons!

♡ So an incubus and asexual human walk into a bar-  

♡ In all seriousness the irony isn’t lost on anyone, least of all yourself. A demon who lives and breathes sexual appeal living under a roof with a human who has no active interest in sex whatsoever sounds like something out of sitcom, and you have to wonder what twist of fate had shacked the two of you up together. 

♡  It probably should have occurred to you sooner that Jack wasn’t just some run of the mill demon. Well, it’s not as though you ever got around to actually asking him what exactly he was, not really. All it took was seeing the horns, tail and wings to piece together that he definitely wasn’t human, but at the time you’d been too concerned about the fact that he’d just suddenly appeared in your apartment to start getting into demon hierarchies and such. 

♡ He’s a conscientious house guest at least; respectful of boundaries, takes care to not tear the house apart and he’s incredibly polite and attentive to how you’re feeling. And honestly? He’s a better roommate than most of the other people you’ve shared a place with, partners or otherwise. (though the fact that he can cook and clean may or may not give him a leg up in the competition.) You’re not sure when he becomes a staple in your home or your life, but it’s not long before you can’t remember a time where the big horned guy wasn’t hovering around you like a loyal puppy. Maybe it helps that he makes a point to reinforce that you can tell him when you’re uncomfortable or if he’s laying it on too thick with the affection. Sometimes you don’t even need to tell him, it’s as though he knows exactly what you’re thinking and how you’re feeling and acts accordingly to ensure that you’re happy and comfortable - best not to think too hard about it.

♡ Jack plays the long game when it comes to earning your favor. The incubus has learned to be patient and knows that you require a more delicate approach thanks to everything that happened before he arrived. There’s something about you that is profoundly different than the other humans that he’s fed on; just being around you is intoxicating and any time spent with you never feels like enough to him, so he’s always vying for more of your attention and your time, wanting nothing more than to have your eyes on him, and for you to enjoy his company. You’re not interested in him sexually but he still wants you to want him - to need him wholly and completely and to encompass all of your thoughts just like you never stray from his. 

♡ He wants that so badly, but he knows better than to blindly force your affections, or make use of his powers to ease you up to his presence. It’s been so, so long since anyone’s summoned him since he’s been locked away - he’s not going to ruin things by coming on too strong and rushing things when you need time to adjust and accept him.     

♡ You’d think that there would be issues around Jack being a desire demon and all that it entails, but it’s never something that you have to worry your pretty little head about, he makes sure of it. There’s plenty of other ways that he can fufill any of those pesky hunger pangs that don’t involve sex, just be prepared for a very clingy incubus when he’s feeling a little pekish. Hopefully you’re big on affectionate gestures and that you’re okay with him being in your space because he’s going to be acting very lovey-dovey around you a LOT. 

♡ From casual, subtle touches to full on cuddling up against you his affection is all encompassing in your day to day life. His hand always manages to find yours when they’re free, his head somehow always comes to rest on your shoulder and nuzzle into your collarbone when you’re working, and let's not get started about all of the times you’ve been trapped on the couch thanks to all of those TV time cuddles. Whatever it is Jack just loves touching you and being in your space not just to feed; you’re so warm and welcoming how can he resist the urge to hold you? Jack’s sure to temper himself though - he doesn’t want his sunshine getting too overwhelmed now does he?  

♡ All of these little touches cumulate into enough energy to keep this lovably clingy demon going, so the more the better. The reciprocated touches are especially filling. Be the first to initiate a hug or any kind of physical contact? Jack’s smitten and will happily take any and all affection that you are willing and comfortable giving him. 

♡ Don’t be shy! Stroke his hair or run your fingers along his horns and markings and you’ll have a very satisfied demon who’s like putty in your hands. Of course he won’t shy away from showing you just how much he loves having your undivided attention, coaxing you to keep it up and thanking you for taking such good care of him and making him so happy. That kind of talk can get flustering really fast, but if it manages to get a blush out of you it gives Jack all the more reason to keep it up - you just look so cute when you blush~!

♡ That isn’t to say he is always going to be able to keep his urges in check - he’ll reign it in around you so you’ll never have to worry about it but he’s got to properly feed sometime when it gets too much. For the bigger hunger pangs he’s not opposed to satisfying those urges through other means. They may or may not be the most moral but you can be that’s nothing that you have to concern yourself with - he never wants his sunshine to worry about anything, just best to turn a blind eye to those times he disappears for a few hours every once in a while.

#requests #headcanons #sdj imagine #sdj x reader #sunny day jack x reader #sunny day jack incubus au #sdj incubus jack #sdj incubus au #asexual reader #fluffychinchilla22

[barbiegirldream]

Lying in bed with a tummy ache tell me about your werewolf boys situationship

so the benvolio and nori situationship requires some sim lore context. And this I'm going going to shove it all under a cut

along with the werewolf update came fated mates. basically if you have romantic interactions as a werewolf the game is like ahh fated mates. there are mods to tone this down and make it genuinely random but it also means Any occult type can become a fated mate with a werewolf not Just a werewolf.

Werewolves are also incredibly aggressive. Their rage meter means they are prone to getting angry and arguing with other sims. When they wolf out they piss everywhere and break things and will on occasion attack people. Romeo never attacked Summer and she was genuinely super chill about the werewolf thing to a large degree. Romeo's spellcaster children were okay with him and his werewolf children never challenged him. But each other? It's active work to maintain a relationship with normal werewolves I've learned. And I think it's cause Romeo ended up the alpha of the pack? That is a thing the sims coded in like the hierarchy is there.

in any case long story short Benvolio is the 3rd of the werewolf children and the 5th child. He met a girl in high school named Nori. They attended prom together.

The game declared them fated mates. they got married at the love festival. they had a baby girl named Mika. Mika's werewolf side is dormant and even though he's a werewolf Benvolio still has spellcaster lineage so Mika got that too.

But then Nori froze to death literally immediately after coming home I don't know what she was doing.

annoying but not Actually a problem. see Summer is a full spell maxxed out witch. All Benvolio had to do was call up mom say wife died help. Summer pops over ghost summoning spell + resurrection spell and bob's your uncle.

Except this is Benvolio Romeo's life. His uncles are werewolves and witches. Nori is a normal sim woman. and for whatever reason their romance and friendship bars were totally depleted upon resurrection. and Nori didn't live in the house anymore. so story wise I took this as her being too freaked by this all and running. cause all attempts to restablish the relationship are met with Nori freaking out about werewolf stuff and their bond failing

Benvolio raised Mika into childhood alone. (Actually pictured is Mika's oldest uncle Mercutio holding her)

Grandmother Summer with Mika while Benvolio finishes making sandwiches.

And Nori is around to hang out with Mika. this time she wants to flirt for some reason. and we get her good enough. she comes back. then risky woohoo on they bang Nori is pregnant. All of that not pictured as I just... don't have pictures for it for some reason but I remember it.

Yeah I don't really know what caused such a large picture gap. But here is Mika hugging her little brother Yuji (yes named after Yuji Itadori from Jujutsu Kaisen). Yuji also got sentiments for his older sister constantly like he loved her soooo much.

Here is teenage Mika playing with Yuji. She is way older than him as you can see.

amidst this Nori gets pregnant again so Benvolio proposes to his wife... you know so they can remarry after her death. It's not pictured here but it is impossible to maintain a relationship with these two. All they do is argue because Benvolio has the Big Bad Wolf temperament. So he gets mad she gets mad they get grudges their mad around each other. Benvolio's rage meter grows Quickly when enraged because of his temperament. He rampages and Nori freaks out on him making him feel guilty for upsetting her. And Benvolio is full wolf and bathes himself with his tongue pisses on the ground scratches furniture eats raw meat and Nori Hates it.

Anyways Nori has little baby Jae and she only wishes to be held. And the rage is so bad I've had to bring in Carmen a simbot made by the 5th generation heir to watch his kid and she's been a mother to dozens of kids. She can make sure the kids are being taken care of while Nori and Benvolio yell at each other in the corner.

Remarried !!

To note in the background of this wedding photo is outside was a bunch of werewolves howling. It frightened Mika who picked up little Jae and booked it. Benvolio I don't even know why he was in the apology animation but Nori was frightened by all the howling so I sent her home early. Benvolio went outside and howled with his family.

Here is Yuji's birthday. Benvolio is glowing red he's pissed he and Nori had just gotten into it.

Benvolio in wolf form has actually brawled with Nori so I've in cas added some werewolf scars to her body cause I think it's fitting. Still debating what to do with them. Benvolio has bad affinity with everyone he meets and Nori is his soulmate. But Nori has great affinity with everyone she meets and I think should get to divorce him and move out again. Thoughts anybody?

#sims screenshots

[pastelgalaxiez]

A New World: Wild, Wonderous, and Overgrown

A Brief Overview:

THE WORLD

The earth has been commodified by a new and rapid magical growth, causing natural disasters, sickness, loss of communication, loss of technology, and many many deaths. No one has been able to explain why. The story starts in Oregon, still lush and green, but now an even denser rainy forest with impossibly sized trees sprawls across its entirety. They stand the size of skyscrapers, covering large swaths of the earth below in darkness. Terrifying skittering can be heard coming from the lofts of trees. On misty days fog settles around crumbling buildings, and tree logs stretch into a blurry white above. An odd stillness falling over the entire area.

Natural resources from the world before are few and far between. Plants seem tangentially familiar, but the texture is off, or the color is tinted, or the entire thing is scaled far too big.

(Concept art of the forest  and broken cities below)

Moving out of what remains of Oregon, things only get stranger. Arizona and Texas and deserts -like before- only now pits have appeared, revealing only darkness below. Rock juts out in odd formations, and several pieces are defying gravity all together. Sand running down to the mainland below, like a never ending hourglass. Often viewers will find themselves lost staring at the running sand, wondering where it’s coming from, where it goes, and why it hasn't stopped. When they finally look away the sun is almost set, their mouths are dry, and their legs are shaky. Who knows how long they had been standing there.

Even hotter are the wastelands. The ground ashen and devoid of all but the harshest of vegetation. The earth cracked and warbled, a glow of fire between the cracks. The earth itself is uncomfortably warm to the touch, heated from the magma below. Anyone who attempts to traverse the terrain must watch their step, lest they lose their footing and burn themselves. However they must also keep their eyes towards the sky, in case the winged beasts above decide that they are prey.

(Concept art of the wastelands below)

The great plains have cracked, crashed, and rose, affected by some cataclysmic earthquake. Leaving steep thousand foot drop offs into pools of purple liquid that the new creatures of this world drink from. It’s gorgeous, and breathtaking, and almost seems peaceful, until someone spots the large lumbering creatures below. No one wants to get close enough to find out if they’re peaceful or not.

(Concept art of the plains below)

Not everyone is gone from the world before. Pockets of safety, settlements and stragglers exist. Those that can adapt quickly survive. Those who've ended up alone struggle their way through wastelands or fallen cities, devoid of other human connection. Scavenging in abandoned shops for supplies, while avoiding the monsters that lurk. Those in small colonies lend much better social lives to say the least, but they're terrified to wander outside the walls. And their scrambled together hierarchy system is bound to crumble soon if nothing is done.

New things are changing everyday, humans are shifting and morphing in ways that their body and mind wishes to reject, sprouting new limbs, fur, gaining strange elemental powers that they have no clue how to control, or if they even can. They all just want it to stop, and the fates would agree with them, if someone wasn’t meddling in the background…

THE WANDERERS

The gods aren’t supposed to step in, they’re supposed to set things up, sit back and watch it all play out. They’re supposed to be the directors of the play, not act in it. But when a mortal tries to rise to the status of the gods, and becomes power hungry in the process, their hands are forced. But there are rules for this sort of thing. A council is brought together, and each of them choose one being. One individual with the qualities they deem fit to save the world from total ruin.

Two unsure boys.

One timid, and doomed to death before the adventure even begins, but bright and clever. Daemen

The other hot headed, angry at the world, (and rightly so), but strong willed, and charismatic when need be. Max

One excited girl.

Naive and loud, but friendly, loyal, and has a damn good right hook. Juniper

And one terrified individual

Stubborn, and a little selfish, but quick, honest, and learning how to care again. Indrid Webb

They’re finding their footing, scared and stumbling. However, the gods have faith that they will complete their task in time. They have to. It’s not like saving the world come with a backup plan.

(The Wanderers, first image, from left to right, Juniper, Indrid, Daemen, Max)

All concept art shown is illustrated by me and me alone!

#writers of tumblr #writers #world building #character creation #my ocs #original character #graphic novel #concept art #creative writing #hybrid character #ghost character #ghost #rabbit #deer #just a boy #fantasy #post apocalypse #fantasy writing #illustrators on tumblr #illustration #digital aritst #digital art #traditional art #queer artist #queer characters #trans characters #trans artist #nonbinary character #just some teens on a quest #kids saving the world

[alovelyburn]

Rambles about the Conviction Arc Part 9

I made a mistake a few weeks ago and just read the entire rest of the Conviction arc... so it’s proving a bit difficult to get revved up to talk about it since that was a while back. The other thing is that Conviction has a lot of stuff about characters that I don’t have tons to say about (although I do enjoy them). So, you know. Bear with me.

Rambles about the Conviction Arc Part 9

One disadvantage to the whole ‘commentary as we go” system I’ve got going on here is that sometimes it’s hard to really dive into a certain topic – like Griffith’s complicated relationship with the Hawks, and with power, and with people who fawn on him. Like you can talk about it in bits and pieces but it takes a more focused take to really delve into a specific topic...

Which is just a leadin to how I have a lot of thoughts on Berserk’s religious system. Maybe I’ll do more focused single topic commentary once I finish this thing. Anyway.

1. I try not to get too judgey with characters – they’re all fragile and have their foibles and issues, like okay that’s fine but holy shit Nina wears on my last nerve. I understand that she’s afraid and that she doesn’t want to die but I have limited sympathy for someone who is literally a cannibal and is willing to sell out anyone to save her own skin, including Casca who is currently being revered by Nina’s own cult, like what is going on there.

...all that said, the thing that really sticks out to me about Nina is that she’s incredibly normal in most ways, and she’s had the misfortune to be born into a world where normal people are just not at an advantage. She doesn’t have the emotional fortitude of someone like Luca, even, and so she crumbles. And there’s a lot about her relationship with Luca that kind of echoes back to some of the repeating themes in Berserk, as well as specifically some of the things Griffith said way back in the Golden Age.

Which is sort of appropriate because Luca is kind of representative of the kind of person Griffith was, as well. Don’t get me wrong they don’t have especially similar personalities, but some of the underlying mechanics are similar – she has taken on this leadership role and tied her fate to these people – “we share a common fate,” and all that which was basically Griffith’s issue as well. And like him, once she’s settled on a particular route, she won’t back down from it even if it causes problems, or makes her life more difficult.

She even expresses similar thoughts on hierarchy and those on the top thinking they can do just whatever they want – it’s just a matter of who the people on top are – aristocracy in Grifith’s case and the church in Luca’s.

As a result of that, her relationship to the weaker members of her corner – particularly Nina – is a little complicated. Remember back when we went over how Griffith perceives much of the awe that surrounds him as sublimated hatred or fear? More on that later!

Anyway!

 2. So then Guts turns up and just grabs his guy by the face and asks him questions like, Guts he cant answer you; your hand is covering his entire mouth-nose area.

It’s funny though, Miura had this kind of generic loser knight look that he used...

Here, right? He looks just like

This loser knight that tried to recruit Guts back at the beginning of the Golden Age. I don’t think there’s any connection or importance to it, I just think its funny how he repeated that face for multiple loser knights.

3. I feel like the way he drew Casca, even in her regressed state, changed a lot over the years. Like early on, here for example, she has this wide eyed sort of vacuous way about her – later on she became more childlike and playful, and I’m not saying either is better than the other, I’m just saying I do see a difference. An evolution in some direction. But we’ll see whether I’m crazy and misremembering as time continues.

Anyway, back to Nina.

4. This is probably the closest I ever came to liking her. Not that I like her. Even though she ended up causing more problems, in this moment she meant well.

 ...

 Okay lemme see if I can gather some thoughts about Nina.

In a certain way she reminds me of Corkus – that mixture of reverence and resentment that she shows Luca, the consequence of being kind of sucked into the orbit of a stronger personality. But Corkus is a more assertive and stronger person than she is, and so he’s a bit less passive aggressive and also a bit less resentful (but not unresentful). I’m trying not to launch into a rant about Corkus here, but it does kind of confuse me when people think he’s genuinely Griffith’s Number 1 fan, because I think he kind of obviously resents being forced to be the normal one vs Griffith’s special one even at the same time as he respects and admires that specialness.

And that’s kind of what brings him to mind with Nina, because I think she obviously loves and relies on Luca but at the same time she resents being in a situation where she has to rely on Luca. In a lot of ways I guess she’s resenting her own weakness, and the insecurity and lack of confidence turns her petty and mean.

And this idea that people resent and hate the people they love and revere the most – particularly the leaders whose shadow they live in, is a repeated theme throughout Berserk – Griffith even describes it in his torture monologue when he essentially says that when people look at him in fear or hate it can be changed into awe or dread. And some of that is what drives Nina really – this bitterness she gets from looking at Luca and seeing someone she can’t be and feeling beneath her.

And that brings me back to Nina and “Elaine.” Because as selfish as Nina is, in this moment she can’t just leave “Elaine” behind in part, I think, because she has the chance to do for someone else what Luca does for her – Elaine is even weaker and more in need of protection than she is, herself. But I think even more than that, she identifies with that weakness... and doesn’t want to be alone, herself.

Do I sound sympathetic? I still don’t like her.

5. You know, I try not to say strange things about Gutsca very much because... I don’t want to come off like a hater, and I do understand and appreciate the importance of that connection to the plot and the characters involved. But.

Man, sometimes the things that come up with Gutsca are creepy as hell. Whenever I see someone suggesting that Guts is Casca’s lover after only knowing her in her Elaine form, I...

Like, I love you dearly Luca, but you don’t know whether Casca’s always been like that or why she’s like that if not. Why would your first thought be “I bet this guy is sleeping with the girl whose mind is basically that of a toddler?” And she’s not even the only one, it’s kind of strange.

The other thing I notice whenever these things come up is that Guts never actually gives an answer. It’s always just kind of left hanging there implicitly, much like his issue with Griffith where he never manages to say he wants to kill him. There are couple of ways to take that, really – I always figured it was an indication that their relationship was meant to be somewhat ambiguous, or rather his feelings about her were. The romance between them has always been half projection anyway – Judeau projecting on Guts, Guts and Casca projecting on each other, and then a series of people reading what they assume into Guts and Casca’s dynamic. Which isn’t to say that those assumptions necessarily won’t be vindicated.

Anyway.

I don’t have much to say about the scenes that are mostly just Nina and Elaine running around so bear with me if I skip large swathes of the story- you’ve all read it anyway.

6. All the different iterations of the Hawk symbol – the Holy See, this black one, the white one with the behelit and snakes, and the later one that’s literally made from human skin – kind of fascinate me. Like I said before I have a lot of thoughts on Berserk’s religious system but they aren’t things I would talk about right now because I want to see how well they stand up to what actually happens while I’m doing this reread. But I will say the way that many different people and groups use iterations of this symbol that reflect their personal perspective informs those thoughts. And that I suspect interconnection  may be at play here because one thing Miura liked to do is present like.... these larger systems that change meaning depending on where you look. “Demons to some, Angels to others,” as the cenobites would say, for example.

Also, jfc Casca, always getting drawn into these freaky things with Godhand and demons and such.

I also really like the view of what’s actually happening during these possession moments from the outside. It’s like horrifying smoke hydra, fascinating.

7. So looking back at Rosine and her ability to create pseudo-elves and bug men, and now looking at what the behelit apostle can do, I’m going to come down in favor of “apostles who can create pseudoapostles can make more than one kind. I’d be interested in knowing what made the choices though because with the behelit apostle I feel like it’s based on the person he stings whereas with Rosine she seemed to be deciding their forms.

Just gonna slide right by sexual assault on Casca #9384...

8. It’s always interesting to see how much Guts struggles back in the relative beginnings of Berserk. Because as time goes on he just becomes more and more untouchable – even before the berserker armor he was already kind of heading in that direction. And I’m not saying I don’t like that – nothing buoys my heart more than seeing Guts wreck monsters and people and also ships and gods. But it is interesting isn’t it?

 Miura was always very careful about power scaling, which I appreciate – it kept things from getting too over the top although obviously people like Guts and Griffith are still far outside the realm of what a human can do. But he talked a lot in his interviews (as reported by that twitter) about wanting to keep things looking like they could be possible even though obviously they aren’t. And I think he generally did a great job of that. Still sometimes I think about the way Guts’ skills scaled because back at the 100 man battle, he... well killed 100 men. And then after the sojourn he was said to be on another level entirely than he had been before he left the Hawks – even so he could only barely survive fighting Wyald. And then after the two year timeskip hes out there killing apostles, but it’s still pretty tough.  But he must have improved between the BSM arc and Millennium Falcon because then he’s able to fight Zodd of all apostles on relatively even footing. And then comes the Berserker Armor.

9. Are Serpico’s eyes literally supposed to be closed, like is he walking around with his eyes closed or what?

Anyway, I don’t have much to say about this scene except “Farnese’s obsession with Guts continues to snowball lolz” but it’s here to lead in to...

 Here, which is the initial confrontation between Serpico and Guts.

It’s a telling one, isn’t it? It’s also interesting because it’s the first time we’ve seen a human who can give Guts a run for his money since Bosogn, and Guts wasn’t anything like he is now back during the Doldrey.

And that kind of goes back to my random powerscaling ramble earlier because I wonder if Serpico is meant to be a better swordfighter than Griffith? I don’t care, mind you, like I’m not trying to defend Griffith’s dignity or whatever, it’s just interesting because the amount of “Griffith’s an unparalleled genius in combat” that gets tossed around back in the Golden Age is way out of proportion with Serpico being, you know, a really good swordfighter and yet if you think about the scaling doesn’t it imply that Serpico is significantly better?

You may think, Ariel why are you worrying about power levels no one cares, and I agree with that but it does make me think about what is says about Serpico that is not only is that good but consistently plays it down. I’ve seen people refer to Serpico and Griffith as similar types of personality which I don’t think is quite true, but they do have a couple of overlaps besides being excellent fighters with and speed-and-agility-based build instead of a strength-and-durability based build like Guts. One of them is that they’re constantly hiding half their personality and specifically the part that makes them more competent than everyone around them. Griffith hides the depths and breadth of his intellect and most importantly he hides how far he’s willing to go to accomplish what he needs to accomplish and really Serpico hides his version of the same thing right like he pretends to be ridiculous even though he’s actually a razor-sharp mind. And he hides how good – and how strategic - he is as a fighter.

Which is the other thought I have about Serpico and Griffith’s relative skill levels which is.... one might think it’s obvious that Serpico is stronger but actually, it’s hard to tell because every time Serpico has had to fight Guts, he controlled the battlefield. He chose terrains that were advantageous to him... vs say Griffith with the snow duel where its lampshaded that he’s at a terrible disadvantage even if you don’t count the fact that he’s having a mental breakdown at the time.

...I just love how Guts just kinda shoots at him and looks totally bored doing it.

 Anyway back to Serpico.

And that’s the Serpico equivalent of Griffith flashing hawk eyes – the moment where it becomes clear that the person you’re dealing with has been playing nice and is actually like ten times more dangerous than you could have guessed.

I say Serpico and Griffith aren’t that similar, which I stand by, but at the same time there are these overlaps, I don’t know it’s interesting. I guess the main thing is that Griffith is composed of many types of characters at once, and Serpico is a character made of one of the types that go into Griffith. If that makes sense.

Although I do wish we got as many peeks into Griffith’s internal processes as we do with Serpico. I mean in moments where he’s not about to lose his shit. Anyway, I do love the way Serpico realistically assesses his chances – he knows that even in the situation he’s arranged to be to his advantage, he’s still going to lose if he lets Guts collect himself. But his lack of knowledge of Guts as a person does ultimately come in because who the hell would have expected

...that?

This reminds me of an actual true crime case. It’s kind of the corner of a larger... thing that happened, but this woman was being attacked with a knife and she grabbed the blade and wouldn’t let go. And he couldn’t get it away from her. So he asked if he could just leave. It’s awful but its also a little ridiculous.

10. Behelit Apostle is just a troublemaker.

How is she surprised that he freaks out when he sees her. She fed him human child stew and then tried to kill him. Nina. Wtf. Nina.

11. I do enjoy these moments of, I guess, Casca’s muscle memory. They remind you of who she used to be. Also, when Guts is there to witness them (or the aftermath of them) such as when she killed her assailants in a few volumes, it kind of fuels his hope that the woman he knew is still in there somewhere.

12. I’ll never stop finding the way Guts echoes Griffith interesting. So many of the things he says and so much of the way he lives and the choices he makes are things that he received or learned from Griffith – it brings me back to the one Miura quote about how Guts was “purified” by Griffith, or supported in life by him. The person Guts became is the person Griffith enabled him to become, and that’s a big chunk of the reason he remains ambivalent. No matter how angry he is, no matter how much he hates Griffith, it’s tough to completely disavow the person who pulled you off the streets, became the first person to believe in you or trust you and saved your life a number of times.

13. Not an especially important comment but I do love when Miura’s Go Nagai jumps out. And this is really the only time I have a lot of sympathy for Nina, I mean that is horrifying and I can’t imagine where her brain goes after that.

Okay moving on to Farnese and Serpico.

14.I think I talked about this a bit last time – the illusionary nature of Farnese’s power within the Holy See. I mean I have some thoughts about Farnese as a character – she’s one of my favorites and also I think one of the most successful characters in the series... I think the only ones I like more than her are the big two, Guts and Griffith. And I’m kind of hoping to get more into it later, because a lot of her history comes out later and so does a good deal of her internal logic and of course her future path.

But I think a lot of her issue does reside in this feeling of being... a person who wants to set her own path and be independent and not be tossed about by the people around her, specifically the men around her, but who consistently finds that whenever she thinks she’s achieved it, it’s actually an illusion. All the power she’s ever gotten came from men, and men take it away as soon as she steps out of line. And she kind of tries to build herself around these areas where she thinks she’s found strength and then those things are taken away.

It kind of reminds me of Casca, right, and I mean this is why she ends up falling in love with Guts the same way Casca ends up falling in love with Griffith – because these guys come storming into these women’s lives like a tornado and upend the rules that they thought they had to live by. And therefore they are able to find a new way to live and forge a new path. In Farnese’s case, she ultimately finds a source of strength and power that is far more “real” than the titles some dudes give her that encompass the authority that some dudes give her when she gets into magic. But anyway.

15. Man her relationship with Serpico was such a mess back in the day. There are a lot of arguments about whether or not they have romantic feelings for each other (which... I strongly believe they do, but more on that when it comes up. I mean I don’t ship them or anything, just saying), but whatever the nature of that connection it is pretty toxic especially back at this point.

Also as a sidenote, I wonder when/if she stopped thinking Guts was the Hawk of Darkness. I mean she has by the current chapters obviously, but at this point I’m not sure. She stopped calling him anything except the Black Swordsman, and no one else seems to have drawn a line between Guts and the Hawk of Darkness they just keep going after him because he’s a walking disaster and killed a bunch of them. So, IDK.

16.I don’t really have much to say about this image, I just think it’s fantastic and horrifying.

One other interesting thing about Casca and the brand though is like...

The brand is a curse and all, but it often ends up protecting Casca vs. attacking Guts. I assume this has something to do with (plot convenience) the demon child, but it’s definitely “interesting.”

17. Lemme just take a moment to appreciate Luca, a completely normal person with no particularly impressive skills and no ambitions to attain any combat skills or anything like that, who waded into the Tower of Rebirth, currently overrun by people who would burn her with a grin to save this weirdo who is kind of awful and wouldn’t even be in this situation if she hadn’t run away without a plan to begin with.

I ship it, too bad it didn’t work out (as I recall).

18. I feel like the entire retcon about people being unable to see elves was a setup for this specific moment where Farnese’s understanding of the world finally breaks. It’s like the point of no return, even if she denies what she’s seeing, even if she tries to cling onto her old beliefs for a little while longer... the fact that she can see Puck now tells us that there’s no going back for her.

So like, one of the things that came out during the flood of interesting Miura quotes from the past few weeks is that his family was very turbulent and his father was “mentally unstable” and highly abusive until he became extremely religious and suddenly calmed down. And I think that’s fascinating because the things you see happening in Berserk, but particularly I think it informed the way he wrote religion as this thing that’s kind of....

Redemptive in a way – stabilizing in a way – but also terrifying and housing a lot of darkness. That’s true of Griffith and Mozgus and Farnese, etc. The entire Holy See kind of reflects that, really. I don’t know, it’s interesting stuff.

Okay so I’m leaving off here. I’m trying to hit larger sectionsof story at the moment because as much as I enjoy things like the conviction arc, they foreground a lot of characters that don’t have like TON of relevance to the larger story. They do reinforce and complement the ideas present in the major characters, so I try to touch on those things, but like how much can I say about Jerome, you know?  Even though I like him.

But that said, we’re now entering the run up to the conclusion of Conviction, so things will start heating up with Guts having to decide between chasing Casca and chasing the Godhand/Griffith, and such, as well as ultimately the return of Griffith in about two volumes. So. It’s exciting, I’m excited.

#rambles about berserk #berserk #ariel talks about berserk #berserk meta

[icharchivist]

Hello, I was reading one of your posts in your blog that spoke about Belial's backstory. I'm curious as to what it is that makes it 'tragic'. Could you please explain it to me? I'm trying to learn more about his character :)

Sure thing! it'd be my pleasure and i know my thoughts are a bit scattered about it so might as well serve as a post of its own!

When i refer to Belial as a tragic figure, i especially mean it in a literary sense: a character from a tragedy. What categorize characters from tragedies tend to be the inescapably from their terrible fate -- both because there was no other choice, and because all the choices they could have made led them here. The outcome would have been the same, with or without free will. There was no way out. there may have been a way out but the character wouldn't realistically take it. The character is set up to fail by the narrative before it even starts.

Belial's backstory itself is quite pitiful, in the primal sense of the term of, it invites pity. He only exists to be compared to Lucifer. He's the draft before the masterpiece and he knows that, Lucilius made sure he knew that. When it was only Lucifer and him, it might have been something that they could handle -- because Lucifer genuinely did care for him, and when they were only the two of them, it's likely Belial cared as well.

but the moment others angels entered the picture, the moment Belial was asked to see Lucifer on a hierarchy, the moment Lucifer became so busy he couldn't be here with Belial anymore, is the moment Belial had no other choice than to settle for the shadows. And he wanted Lucilius' approval so much he would do anything for it.

This motivation, the motivation of getting Lucilius' approval, ultimately brought him a lot of misery, only for it to never even work in the end. Lucilius saw him mostly as a tool to reach his end and didn't exactly care for him out of that. But for Lucilius' sake Belial was set up to betray everyone in the angels with the Fallen Angels project. Personally i don't even know if Belial was aware of what would become of the angels until it was too late -- his eagerness to help Sariel and his deep sorrow for what happened to him makes me think he genuinely thought the Fallen Angels were an alternative, not a doomed endeavor. But it still means he carried through it because it was Lucilius' wishes. and Lucilius' wishes he shall see through. Even once the cat was out of the bag, it was the path he had chosen, so there was no turning back from that, even if it means betraying everyone he dragged in this situation to start with.

And here comes the question of choice: Belial always had the choice. Technically.

Primal per nature, are slave to their purpose, to their impulse to fullfill this purpose. They also have this impulse to follow what their masters want of them. But there are exceptions. There are primals who can't find joy in their purpose (Sariel), who lose their purpose (Rosetta), who never had one to start with (Sandalphon), who grew disgusted with their purpose and tried to move on (Noa or Grimnir) or who grew naturally into their purpose until they had to move past their initial guidelines (Lucifer).

it looks like it's not giving them much choice -- but Lucilius valued free will. He only put the limiters on the primals on the later generation. I believe Lucilius saw himself as a rebel against God, and that, by creating his own creatures, by being a God to them, having those creatures rebel to him means his fight was worthwhile. That it is possible for creatures to rebel against God. That Lucilius' rebellion is righteous. That's why he died with a smile on his face when Lucifer finally killed him.

But then you have Belial. Belial is chaos, but he loves Lucilius more than anything in the world. He wants his attention more than anything, something he cannot get. The more he gives for Lucilius, the more he loses everything else he cared about until the only thing left is Lucilius. There's plenty of times in this journey where Belial realistically could have stopped. But every single time he dug his heels for Lucilius' sake, he chooses to continue down that path no matter how much it would hurt him. And it did hurt him!

When Lucilius dies, it is because Lucifer transcended his purpose. Evolution meant that he had to evolve from his master. He grew past his purpose, he let go of it. By showing free will, Lucifer destroyed what Belial always sacrificed everything about. So Belial convinced himself there was no free will for him in all of this. That he was slave to his purpose despite the fact he had choices, multiple times. He just refuses to acknowledge them.

Obviously we cannot discuss Belial's tragedy without addressing his fake suicide, which, despite the fact he was manipulating the crew, rings to me as the things Belial believes the most - because he was in Avatar mode and fully consumed by its powers, its anger, and the knowledge that even after everything he's done those past thousand years, Lucilius still didn't spare him a glance.

(What Makes the Sky Blue - part 3- 000 // Episode 7 - Part 1)

Personally i believe Belial's spite is real. That all those things he says he hates, he does actually hate. It tracks with how he treats Sariel, who genuinely believes in the burden of his purpose and how it ruined him deeply.

(this is also why i have the interpretation that Belial's feelings for Lucifer were more complicated than just hating him. I think he hated what Lucifer represented more than he hated Lucifer himself, and part of him expected that killing Lucifer will finally bring him peace: but it didn't fix anything, so now he's just as hollow as ever. (ref: Belial refering to how killing your doppleganger makes you feel hollow during his gbvs victory lines against himself))

but the thing is that Belial paints it as if everything was unavoidable. It's their fate as primals, you see? They can't move past it. But at the same time he wants to believe in a plan that would free them from it. ... but at the same time he knows he's full of shit. In this passage he talks about Lucifer, and to Sandalphon and Rosetta, primals who moved past their purposes long ago. He tries to attack them on that because he knows they have complicated feelings about their purpose - but the reality is that they seized their free will when Belial refused to.

Belial put himself into a tragic path on his own volition. it's his choice. He was given plenty of opportunities to back down, to evolve on his own right, but he didn't.

Because he desperately wanted the love of someone who was never in a position to give him that love to start with.

And it brings him a lot of misery. Loving Lucilius is both the best and worst thing that ever happened to him. He just wants this love so bad, and he's not getting it. This love is destroying him because its unrequired, but he cannot move on from it. Morning Light Hymnus is good to analyse on that level, but i'll also just bring up his Avatar Profile in GBVS as a further indication of it:

And i'll bring it a step further: by committing to this devotion thinking it would give him Lucilius' love, it only turned Lucilius off from him even more. Because like i said, Lucilius values Free Will. Lucilius would more likely have preferred Belial to rebel against him than being an obedient lap dog.

But Belial wanted to be special so much to him that he just made himself Lucilius' tool. And once Lucifer rebelled, Belial was in this situation where he couldn't back down. Else he'd be exactly like the person who took everything away from him. He couldn't be like Lucifer. So he doubled down and became a pariah. He already had sacrificed everything else he already had for Lucilius anyway, so what's more?

(and once again with the reading of "he didn't fully hate Lucifer", the idea of killing Lucifer becomes about getting rid of that loose end. Of the last thing that reminds him that he could move on. That he could have chosen differently. But he didn't. He carried this corpse of an idea as a reminder that there's no turning back).

And another interesting tragic angle is the fact he is a foil to Sandalphon. Sandalphon is sort of the protagonist of those events, and just like Belial, he knows about devotion to someone he believes doesn't actually need him. but the difference is how Sandalphon rebelled only to learn that the person he was devoted to loved him, while Belial was loyal but the person he was devoted to never loved him. the tragedy is found in the parallelism. Where Sandalphon wins, Belial loses, and the other way around is true as well. So as long as you have Sandalphon to compare him to, Belial stands out as a tragic figure because you see what he would have wanted and how it went wrong - while also seeing the ways Belial would sabotage people who are in his situation just as much because he's so greedy and selfish on that regard.

also a good addition about the tragedy of immortality and the way it affects Belial in particuliar that i forgot to mention here.

Like i cannot stress it enough:

Belial was dealt bad cards from the start. He's loving and affectionate and so, so starved for love, he only wanted Lucilius' love more than anything. There is pity to be had, outside of his control, about how Lucilius' treated him, about how Lucifer was unable to see the pressure he put on Belial when Belial developped his inferiority complex, about how the others archangels saw his distance and left him there in his own loneliness. I'd personally even add that the moment Lucilius asked Belial to take care of the Fallen Angels, he isolated Belial so much so that there was no way for him to look outside of this bubble, blinded by being suddenly of use for Lucilius, even if it meant burning everyone else around him.

BUT those were ALL Belial's choices that led to his downfall. Belial constantly picked the worst alternative for him no matter what. Lucilius isn't responsible for this, Lucifer isn't responsible for this. Belial was dealt a bad hand but he played his cards the way he wanted to, and even worsened his case. He couldn't see a better way out that becoming the worst of the worst. Being perfect was already taken after all.

And to me this is the tragedy of Belial: He always had a choice. He always chose wrong because he fooled himself into thinking he didn't have any. And it's likely he didn't even believe himself when he was thinking that but just gave himself an excuse to continue on his bad habits, because this is all he knew about being.

And still now after being made clear by Lucilius that he won't be cared about still, Belial dedicates himself further to Lucilius. Still now Belial digs his heels and make the wrong choices.

because no one does evil like he does, baby.

Hope this clears it up!

#ichareply #ichafantalks gbf #anonymous #ichablogging wmtsb #tldr it's all about choices and choosing wrong and deluding yourself into thinking you had none to start with

[glossytoji]

King's Concubine (18+) - Prelude II

(Mini Series)

Themes (and warnings): Gore. Death. Cannibalism. Sukuna degrades reader. Sukuna becomes touchy. Implied future smut. Terror. Harem.

Sukuna x F!Reader

OC: Ryomen Akira = Reader

[In where Ryomen Akira -one of the concubines of Ryomen Sukuna's harem- has remained invisible at the King's eyes, until the death of his favorite concubine...]

Main Masterlist | Series Masterlist | Prelude I

Prelude II - The ill-fated women.

Wails chorused throughout the concubines' common room. The news have finally reached them. She was able to create strong bonds among the harem yet there's nothing they could do. Ryomen Usagi, the apple of the King's eyes is dead. Mercilessly and violently killed by no other than the King himself.

"B-but— didn't he cherish her?!" One of the concubines, named Lia, mourns.

"Shh— shh— he might hear y-you." A fellow concubine, named Rhee comforted, while struggling to fight through her sobs.

Eleven. Only eleven out of twenty concubines have made it this far since last year. Akira was the ninteenth addition. Despite being a part of the harem for a year, she remained closed off, quietly tucked in the corner as if almost blending with the floorboards while the rest of the harem sometimes forgot she existed. She wanted to keep it that way. Out of control, her body started to shiver in fear, the apple's death would surely mean that the King would personally visit the concubines' quarter so that he could hunt his next prey. She prayed so hard to the heavens that she'd vanish to air, or even turn to one of the extravagant floor boards of the imperial house. Usagi was kind but she was getting delusional–as per rumors, the King must have felt insulted. Rumors were circulating that before everyone else was added as a Concubine, Usagi was already around for the longest. Akira's eyes trailed around the room and landed on Rhee's form. Six years. Rhee has been around for six years, only second to Usagi. No one truly knows how long Usagi was around, but it surely was more than Rhee's span. Akira's breath staggered, as she tucked her knees to her chest, shaking for her life. How could the King easily discard someone like Usagi? Someone as loyal and faithful like Usagi?

"W-we're giving her a proper b-burial right?" The youngest in the room, who goes by the name Ivy, staggered. Rhee heaved a shaky breath, she knows about the truth but decided to keep her mouth sealed at their brutal reality.

"There's nothing left of her." From the other end of the room, a stern yet defeated voice said.

"Aiko!" Rhee hissed, the younger ones— Ivy and Lia— sobbed harder at the revelation.

"What?! We can't live at this faux paradise anymore! If someone like Usagi has died, what chances do we have left?! Might as well die sooner!" Aiko hissed, a pained look— contrast to her previously stoic one— has now painted her face.

"Aiko... I'm begging you to p-please shut up." Rhee shakily spoke in whispers. The rest of the Concubines remained quiet. Despite being the wives of Ryomen Sukuna, there's still an obvious system of hierarchy that's going on among them. The concubines who despises Sukuna yet never vocally opposed him, the scared concubines, and the delusional ones; the ones who're thinking they'd have a chance at pleasing him, and earning a special spot next to him— those were the ones who remained quiet, thinking that the death was well-deserved— those who licks the King's foot even though blatant facts of tyranny and cruelty are outright presented in their faces.

"Rhee!—" Aiko hissed, now breaking into sobs.

"He ate what's left of her!" Aiko added, whisper-shouted in fury, aggressively pointing her finger to nowhere.

"W-what?" Rhee asked. As if there voices was tangible, it was snatched, making the room go silent to the point where they could hear everybody else's breathing.

"U-uraume, poured her remains in a pot.  I-I saw him—"

"Th-this is m-madness." The recent addition, Sora's voice shook in fear, overwhelmed by the sudden revelation. She was only added a week before the incident, she refused to believe the King would do this, the night after she married the King, they were just passionate despite him being rough, she refused to believe that the same King that she had just bedded just did those atrocities.

"Aiko stop, you might be killed for treason!" Rhee exclaimed, almost lost in her panic, she couldn't afford to lose Aiko too.

"For what? Saying the truth? Rhee!! I just saw a whole chunk of arm stuck out of the boiling pot as if she's just resting like in her bath but no! Stop pretending Rhee! It was the same bracelet that you made on those very wrist—"

A sudden shrill interrupted Aiko's hysterical rant, it was the neophyte. Sora immediately dashed through the large double doors yet before Rhee could stop the poor concubine, Aiko sprinted and jumped at Rhee's form to tackle her down.

"Aiko— let me fucking go! She's gonna die!!" Rhee hissed in desperation, as tears of horror streams down her face. She struggled to push off Aiko's weight above her yet Aiko did not budge at all.

"No, Rhee. Let her be. Death would be her blessing. The sooner she dies the lesser her tragedy and misery." Aiko coldly said as she tightens her grip down on Rhee. While Rhee sobs for their misery, as if owning one for the ill-fated team.

Aiko's aforementioned lines about the death of Usagi must have echoed on the rest of the concubines' ears. Akira tried to fight the bile in her throat from further rising. When will she ever get used to this?

A gag could be heard among the concubines and before they could stop the culprit, Ivy, the youngest among the harem has pushed all the contents out from her stomach. Wrapping her arms around her abdomen as she pukes whatever she can on the carpeted floor. As if a domino is being toppled, two of the other concubines followed suit. Akira shuts her eyes and lips with equal fervor, praying for the bile to run back to her stomach.

A chuckle has escaped from one of the concubines. Akira's fist clenched at bone-chilling chuckle, it was the woman from the west of the damned land.

"I think it's clear here that what you have all discussed calls for treason." The woman taunted, as she remains seated at one of the couches at the further part of the room, along with her small circle of concubines. The various circles among the harem has become quite evident. Mitsuki, the woman who licks the King's path— has also formed an alliance among the two other concubines with the same interests.

"The King should probably come tonight. If you don't want to be chosen, better shut up and help me win the spot. It's a win-win for us right?" A glint of her hopeful voice contrasted her deranged expression. Looks of disgusts are evidently painted on the faces of Rhee and Aiko while the rest remained with a distressed one.

"Right." Rhee mumbled, as deranged as Mitsuki could be, she could be their momentary ticket of peace just like Usagi. Despite of Mitsuki's madness, Akira was somehow relieved that someone like her is in the harem, she could remain invisible as long as Mitsuki does not die.

"An—" Mitsuki was interrupted. Loud yet consistent knocks at the double doors of the concubines' common room echoed through out before it was pushed open. It was Uraume, with the typical stoic look painted on their face.

"His highness has requested the presence of his concubines for dinner. Present yourselves well." Uraume announced, in a typical monotone voice. Right after the short announcement, the room fell silent. Akira could feel her soul attempt to escape her body. The ladies-in-waiting pushed through the doors— in a very organized manner— as they've respectively came to fetch their concubines, Uraume vanished out of the spot.

"Fuck." Aiko muttered as she wordlessly followed her lady-in-waiting. Each concubine was provided with individual luxurious quarters, one of the good perks for being the King's concubine. Each step Akira takes towards her quarters, she felt her knees wobbled.

"My lady..." a worried tone was being expressed by her lady-in-waiting, Yuna.  Yuna is loyal to Sukuna yet loyal to Akira as well; she never invalidated the rational fears of the concubine, instead she comforted her but despite of her attempts at sending her one, Akira remained annoyed at the lady. Yuna has served the King as soon as she has come out of age, her kin comes from a long line of sorcerers who has also served Sukuna; the clan where Yuna comes from are loyal and devoted to the King.

As soon as Akira arrived at her quarters , she immediately flopped herself on top of the large bed as she curls her body towards her chest, meanwhile Yuna headed towards the giant wardrobe to prepare an outfit for the lady, then immediately rushed to prepare the bath.

Her fists clenched, muttering a repeated chant to beg the heavens that the King would remain a blind eye to her.

To Akira's misfortune, the King has requested to organize the concubines—in the extravagant dining table— according to those with the least experience with him, towards those who has the most experience with the King. If Akira's bladder weren't pissed dry, she would have pissed on her very chair. At the head of the table, the King is seated and to his right is Akira and to his left is Ivy. Surprisingly enough, Ivy, who is actually the next one to arrive next to Rhee has very few to none encounters with the King. She was young. The lady just turned nineteen this year; Ivy was sent in as offering when she was only fourteen. It was said that the village where Ivy came from was burned when Sukuna took heed of Ivy's immature form, he mercilessly slaughtered the village's chief as a lesson. As what the rumors would say, Sukuna is disgusted by the idea of an immature lady as his concubine. Maybe it has to do with the tiny amount of humanity the King has, or maybe it has to do with the grade and quality of flesh that goes in line with his tastes.

Either way, the King has never forced his way with his concubines yet rumors of a concubine rejecting the King's advances was never heard of. As Akira would remain silent in the concubine's common room, her ears remained perk as she gathers any information she can get among the concubine's experiences with the King. She would always remember how Usagi would return at the room, worn-out from their midnight activities. She would never forget how Mitsuki always praises the King's ability in bed, the size of his girth, and the path he walks on. No one is yet to experience the King's mouth on their cunt, Mitsuki would say and has claimed she would be the first to do so.

Mitsuki would often return the next day with her wrist bruised yet contrary to what her body went through, she was pleased that she was chosen for the night.

Silence suddenly echoed throughout the dining hall, the clatter of expensive utensils has suddenly come to a halt. Akira immediately came back to her senses and realized that all eyes were on her, her blood went cold when she realized that the King was intently looking at her face. The woman to her right, Yeri, nudged her foot under the long table against Akira's.

"His highness, asked a question." She muttered under her breath, stiff as ever, worried about the fate of the woman to her left.

"Your highness..." Akira queried, trying her best to maintain the stability of her voice.

"Are you mad at me, my darling? Your King has neglected you for a long time. You should be." Sukuna taunted, resting his chin on his propped up right hand on the table, as his intimidating stare penetrated toward her skull.

"N-no, your highness." Akira staggered, a sharp pumping beneath her chest has further encouraged her discomfort.

"Should I please you?" Sukuna further taunted, he knew what he was doing, he smirked as he waited for her façade to break. Even if she was placed miles from him, he would still hear the harsh pitter patters of her fragile heart. She was mortified by him and that riled him up.

He then tauntingly traced her skin from her wrist to her neck with his sharp talons that he could summon anytime, one wrong move and he would surely pierce her jugular vein.

"My darling must have been lonely..." Sukuna continued as he now rests his palm against her soft cheeks, caressing as if he didn't have a violent bone in his body.

"Come." He urged, a look of horror broke to Akira's face as she watched him gesture to his lap. Some of the concubines worriedly hissed at her blatant display of terror. Shakily, Akira stood and pushed her knees forward with her remaining will. Her luck must have run out by now. Afterall, she was avoiding him for a successful year. Her thoughts immediately recalled how the King has never done this to anyone before, she was suddenly sure that it was a test. She immediately resorted to kneeling before him with her eyes on the ground,

"I-I am not worthy to be sitting on your highness' lap." She croaked out, which made the King boisterously laugh, a laugh that sent chills down on everybody's backs but wetness on Mitsuki's cunt. She was enraged and jealous, she was prepared and more than willing, how could she suddenly be seated almost the furthest apart from the King?

Akira's form trembled, as she sucks in her breath, waiting for what the King has to say.

"My lowly wife, you truly do know your place. I'm assuming you've knelt down as you would rather suck my cock then? Be my guest." He remarked, which made Akira's breath evidently stutter. Sukuna rested both of his arms on either side of the chair, as his devilishly handsome face continued to face in her direction. His smirk widened, he run his tongue through his lips as he studied her form.

"Tsk, would you really not sit on your King's lap?" He once again leaned his chin on his now propped hand on the arm of the chair, his voice now expressing boredom. The King was unpredictable, the closest one to understanding the King was Usagi but in the end, her attempts were in vain. Any moment by now, the dining hall would be a bloodshed if Akira continues to bore the King.

"Do it." Yeri hissed, her palms now tightly gripping on the arms of her chair. Yeri, suddenly became stiff as Sukuna suddenly stared at her. She couldn't believe she risked her tongue being cut off.

"As y-you wish, my King." Akira said, as she pushed herself from the floor and towards the King's lap. As two of his arms, snaked around her waist to pull her tight against his throbbing cock, jealousy was seething over Mitsuki. The King has never done this for anyone, she didn't understand what's going on, why would the King allow someone like her to be in his lap. His face buried at the crook of her neck, as he sniffs her.

"You look beautiful tonight, my darling." He whispered against her ear as his right hand snaked under her dress, running circles in her thigh.

"You smell good." He inhaled as he placed a soft kiss at her jugular. Some of the concubines remained their eyes on the their utensils; in fear that their stares might piss the King, while some have studied the unusual interaction; fearing as well that if they might look otherwise, they might be punished. Her form trembled against Sukuna's huge body, Sukuna carressed the supple flesh of her thighs. A small gasp escaped her lips as his huge palm softly squeezed the flesh on her ass, he immediately traced his hands back to her thighs and caresses her there.

"Shh," Sukuna whispered against her ear, as if cooing a sobbing child. His warm breaths has sent shivers down her spine.

"Relax, darling. It's just me your husband." He whispered on her ear, as he then placed a chaste kiss on the side of her forehead. It would have seemed sweet instead of terrifying if it was on different circumstances. The eyes of the concubines have widened at the King's attitude towards Akira. Akira was torn between becoming angry or fearing for her life, maybe she could pull off both. What game is he playing?, Akira thought, as terror filled her being.

His favor was made clear to everybody. The apple was indeed long gone. Akira  had just earned the title as the King's darling.

He momentarily stopped his ministrations against her thigh as he glanced at the rest of his concubines, the air suddenly went cold, anticipation pumping their veins.

"Go on, eat. Don't mind us." He urged while gently rubbing his clothed cock against Akira's bottom. She held her breath. Everyone was unaware of his ministrations as the long table has hindered them from prying eyes. His index finger tapped on her clit from under the table; her body jolted at the sudden contact.

"Are you hungry, darling?" He asked, as he gently pulled her body against his throbbing cock. Akira gulped, the bulge was indeed big like the rumors would say. He wouldn't take her tonight, or would he?

"Your skin and flesh seems healthy..." he comments as his knuckles now traced her exposed arms. Akira winced at the comments, he wouldn't stuff and feed on her as if she's thanksgiving's turkey right?

Cannibalistic freak, she thought. It's evident in her face that she's in fear and is disgusted which made Rhee subtly shake her head in worry and mouth her the word "stop" telling her to just deal with it. Akira nodded. She took deep breaths and prayed to the heavens she would vanish in his grasp.

"You." Sukuna suddenly said, immediately stopping the clattering noise once more. Akira's breathing hitched.

"Y-your highness?" Rhee, who is caught off guard, stammered. Sukuna never really bothered on mentioning names at all, despite of his harem often exceeding a dozen. If he calls for "you". You must understand who he meant by that.

"Hmmm, don't be late." And just like that he stood up, making Akira do the same in the process. Everybody knew what he meant by those three words. Tonight, it's Rhee's turn which made her gulp the extravagant meal down her throat without chewing. All eyes were now back on Akira... wasn't she chosen for the night? Mitsuki snorted, finding the whole scene funny.

"You too." Sukuna suddenly said once more.

"Yes, your highness." Mitsuki firmly said. Now grinning from ear to ear. Akira remained standing and glued in place. Her back nearly touching the King's large build.

"And as for you darling... eat well. I'll make it up to you." He whispered on Akira's ears, squeezing her waist in the process. Akira's head started to pound. Contrary to the talks of the town, he was behaving in a saccharine manner. Suddenly upholding the virtues of a true husband as if he was not absent for a year, as if it's just the two of them.

Growing up, she has never exactly pictured herself to be married and if she ever would be, she always prayed to the heavens that it wouldn't be in a loveless one. She prayed that if she gets married, she gets married with someone who makes her sleep peacefully at night. She would rather be single for the rest of her life than be in a miserable relationship— at least that's what she said to her friends who cried over assholes for breaking their hearts. But the joke is on her, who is in a loveless and miserable relationship now? She scoffed at the irony.

"Hey, Akira was it? Eat well, you need to remain healthy." Rhee, who is now standing beside her jolted her from her thoughts. Akira remained glued on her spot.

"You're worried about the wrong person here." Akira mumbled, this is probably the first time she had properly conversed with another concubine.

"I'll be fine. I'm used to it." Rhee assured. Rhee then gently tugged Akira to place her back on her seat.

"Please eat." Rhee urged.

"He might kill you." Akira suddenly said, eyeing Rhee's form that is standing beside her.

"I honestly thought you couldn't speak. You should talk often, you have a nice voice." Rhee light-heartedly said instead.

"I'm serious." Akira argued, her voice sharp and wrapped in dread. Rhee sighed, her shoulders suddenly slouched.

"I know. But not tonight." Rhee said, as if she rejected a girls' night out due to exhaustion.

"And besides, he is GOOD in bed. So..." Rhee playfully joked yet turned awkward at the end. Akira's face scrunch up in disgust.

"You don't hold back do you?" Rhee teased, laughing at her blatantly disgusted feature.

"Do- nevermind." Akira mumbled, waving her hand off as she tries to divert her focus back on the soup before her.

"What is it?" A kind and patient smile has now painted on Rhee's face. Fuck it, Akira thought. Just this once, she'll interact.

"Do you still have to go though? Didn't he..." Akira trailed off as she nudges her head towards where Mitsuki is seated. Akira sipped on her soup, despite not being in the mood to eat anything.

"Oh? We're going together." The remark made Akira spit her soup back the fine china. The concubine's caught sight of the situation which made the room burst in chorus of ews. Disgusted stares were thrown her way. This is not how a concubine should act— as per every concubine.

"What?" She gasped, couldn't care less about the disgusted remarks. Rhee only chuckled at her expression— contrast to her typically stoic one, Akira's face could actually produce adorable reactions. Heels pattered throughout the dining hall, Mitsuki walked pass them.

"Don't wanna be late." Mitsuki shrugged, leaving the hall.

Chapter 1

#ryomen sukuna x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #sukuna x reader #ryomen sukuna au #ryomen sukuna imagines #ryomen sukuna #sukuna

[enderspawn]

It's alright if u don't wanna answer this cuz this argument gets people really riled up but do you think c!Techno is a tyrant or nah?

Cuz many c!techno apologists argue that he isn't just cuz he's an anarchist but I've also read a lot of essays that go against it and it'd be really interesting to see ur opinion on this

i think he, in some contexts, can most definitely be called tyrannical, yes. a tyrant? no.

to avoid spamming ppl w discourse we've all def heard before (and bc this ended up MASSIVE (like 2.3k ish), but fairly in depth bc i didnt wanna speak out of bad faith and wanted to be EXPLICTLY clear-- oops), the rest will be under readmore

so heres the thing i want to preface: i used to really LOVE c!techno. i joined beginning of s2, right when exile started, and he was arguably my favorite character. since then though i've fallen out with him a LOT, to the point i almost... actively despite him at times (though mainly in a toxic kind of way which i can acknowledge is flawed).

in short, his actions started to speak louder than his words and i lost investment in his personal character struggles because of the actions he took (doomsday was my breaking point. i get feeling angry and betrayed, as well as seeking revenge against lmanberg, but his actions went too far for me to CARE and it hurt so many more characters as well.)

so when i speak, i come from a place of disliking him but also somewhat understanding the position c!techno apologists come from: i used to be one of them myself.

NOW, do i think he's a tyrant? no. for reference in my analysis, i try to look up the definition of terms to make sure they are utilized properly. while "tyranny" and "tyrannical" can have multiple uses, tyrant itself is a more specific term. to combine the top two definitions, a tyrant is referring to "an extremely oppressive, unjust, or cruel absolute ruler (who governs without restrictions, especially one who seized power illegally.)"

techno's position as an anarchist, imo, DOES indeed make him unable to be a tyrant. tyrants are rulers with very clear power over others from a structural way. anarchists are about the lack of structure or power over others and instead viewing the people around you as equals in power.

in forming the syndicate, they very explicitly worked to not designate a leader and instead make it so that no one would have any power over the others systemically. techno may have taken a integral role, yes, but it doesn't make him suddenly "the leader", its a role that wouldve had to be filled by someone (even if it was democratic to decide who to invite, they'd need someone to hand over the invite itself yknow? like no matter WHAT there needed to be A ROLE)

one could argue that he IS a leader in the shadow hierarchy of the syndicate (which, yes, is a real and professional term used in management courses despite sounding like it comes from a 4kids yugioh dub) in that everyone CONSIDERS and looks to him a leader without him having any actual structural basis behind it, but to argue that allows him to be a tyrant is in bad faith i believe. especially because to the people he would be "ruling", he ISNT oppressive, unjust, or cruel. they are his friends and support network and critical for a lot of his personal development (since feelings of betrayal and trust issues are critical to his character and why he acts the way he does). I wish we were able to SEE this develop more, but oh well.

but like i said: tyrant is fairly specific in definition. TYRANNY, and thus TYRANNICAL are not as limited. I've discussed their definitions here. originally, i made that post because i was angry at a take i had seen that claimed that, like you said, because techno was an anarchist and not part of any government or leadership position, he couldn't be tyrannical. to which i heartily disagree.

for something to be tyrannical, they simply must have an overarching/oppressive power over someone or something. it would not be inaccurate if i were to say that something is "under the tyranny" of a concept, because what it means is that something is under the power of another thing/concept. you can frankly call anything tyranny if it is widespread/overarching and you don't like it. mask mandates? tyranny, its forcing me to act in "rigorous condition". hell, theres even such things as tyranny of the majority in which people agree too much on one thing and it gives them unfair power or tyranny of the minority where people with minority opinions have too much power (thats a very grossly oversimplified definition of both, but it covers the base idea well enough for my point)

the point im making above isnt meant to be taken as "anything can be worked to be defined as tyranny thus it is a meaningless claim", it is that tyranny (and again, thus tyrannical) are very open and nonrestrictive terms.

to make it easier to define, alongside the definitions provided i want to add an explicit clause that is (imo) implied in the original definition: tyranny is... well, bad. that is to say if someone has power over a group but literally everyone is fine with it and agrees to it, its not tyranny. thats just a group of people getting along and one happens to have power over another. a leader does NOT equal a tyrant (as discussed above), so leadership should not be equated with tyranny.

thus as an example: wilbur acting as president (before the election) may have been "unelected" with power over his citizens, but no one was upset with that power. thus, he is not a tyrant and not acting tyrannically (as well as the fact his power was, arguably, NOT rigourous or absolute but thats another topic for another time). SCHLATT however IS a tyrant, as his power was absolute (he did not consult his cabinet) and forced people to comply instead of them complying willingly, thus he was acting tyrannically.

now to finally get to the damn point of this essay: where does c!techno lie? honest answer? it depends slightly on your perspective, but it depends a LOT on the future of the syndicate.

techno is incredibly clear in his goals: no governments, no corruption. in fighting with pogtopia, he is actively working to topple a tyranny-- he isn't tyrannical for doing that.

when he strikes out on nov 16th, it is because he opposes them forming a new government. when they oppose him and disagree, he launches an attack against them. is this tyranny? maybe, but probably not. he IS trying to impose his own physical strength and power (as well as his resources) over the others to stop them from doing what HE doesn't want them to do.

however its more nuanced than that:

1. hes lashing out emotionally as well as politically. he feels betrayed by those he trusted and he believed that they would destroy the government then go (i'm ignoring any debates on if he did or did not know that they planned another government, though it is a source of debate). but typically idk about you but i dont call tyranny for someone fighting with another person.

2. he also may be acting with good intent again, in HIS EYES. if tubbo was part of manburg, whos to say he wont be just as bad? he, in his pov, is likely trying to stop another tyrant before they rise.

3. and finally, and tbh the most damning from any perspective: he gives up. he quickly leaves then RETIRES without intent to try and attack again until he is later provoked. tyranny is defined by it not just being power, but power being USED. if he doesn't use his power to try and impose any will, then he's not tyrannical.

Doomsday I am also not going to touch very in depth on for much of the same reasons. My answer is again a "maybe", depending on the weight you personally place on each issue:

1. he's lashing out as revenge for the butcher army and as revenge against tommy for "betraying" him (though this one we explicitly know he was ignoring the fact tommy did not want to go through with it, however he still did trust and respect tommy regardless so his feelings are understandable anyway)

2. he sees new lmanberg as corrupt and tyrannical (which is undeniable: house arrest for noncompliance, exile without counsel, execution without trial, etc), and thus obligated to destroy it

but also, theres the implicit understanding he's doing this to send a message: do not form a government, or else. its a display of force that also works to warn others unless they want a similar fate. phil even explicitly states that he is doing so to send that message, so one could assume techno is doing the same alongside his personal reasoning listed above.

what i just described is the use of a oppressive and harsh (physical) power in order to gain compliance from people (that compliance being 'not making a government'). does that sound familiar? exactly. it follows the definition(s) of tyranny given previously. technoblade is acting in a way that is, by very definition, tyrannical.

so the debate shifts: is he valid in doing so because he is trying to PREVENT corruption and tyranny. like i said, new lmanberg was undeniably corrupt at points. i held nothing against techno for trying to topple manburg, so does that apply to new lmanberg as well? short answer: i dont know. it depends on your specific opinion of what is acceptable. its like the paradox of tolerance: to have a truly tolerant society, you have to be intolerant of intolerance. to have a truly non-tyrannical society, do you need to have a tyranny enforcing it?

personally (and bc im a lmanberg loyalist /hj) i say it is. regardless of the corruption of new lmanberg, they are also giving a threat to EVERYONE. even those who are innocent, they are presented with the exact same threat and rule set: if you make a government, you will be destroyed.

(which, small divergence here, is part of why debating c!techno is so frustrating. so many times you end up hitting a "well it depends on your political views" situation and there ISNT a correct answer there. im here to analyze characters for fun, not debate political theory)

so: the syndicate then. this is where this debate really "took off" and i think its due to one very specific miscommunication about its goals and plans. the syndicate, upon formation, declares itself to stand against corruption and tyranny. when they are found, the syndicate would work to destroy it. so heres the golden question: what do THEY define as corruption and tyranny? if you were to go off c!techno's previous statements, seemingly "any government" is a valid answer. however, he also states he's fine with people just being in groups together hanging together.

what then DEFINES A GOVERNMENT for them? what lines do they have to sort out what does "deserve to be destroyed" and what does "deserve to exist freely"

this is a hypothetical i like to post when it comes to syndicate discourse:

i have a group of people. lets say 5 or so for example. they all live together and build together. any decisions made that would impact the entire group they make together and they must have a unanimous agreement in order to proceed, but otherwise they are free to be their own people and do their own thing. when you ask them, they tell you they are their own nation and they have a very clearly defined government: they are a direct democracy. does the syndicate have an obligation to attack?

there is absolutely no hierarchy present. there is no corruption present. but, they ARE indeed a government. is that then inherently negative? my answer is fuck no (see the whole "difference between a tyrant and a leader" thing above).

but THATS where the issue of this discourse LIES. in some people's eyes, the answer to that is YES. techno's made it clear "no government" is his personal view, but does that spread to the syndicate as a whole? do they act preemptively in case it DOES become corrupt? is it inherently corrupt because its a government, regardless of how it is ruled? the fact of the matter is because of how little we've seen the syndicate work as a SYNDICATE, we don't know that answer. so we're left to debate and speculate HOW they would act.

if the syndicate were to let that government exist, then they are not tyrannical. they are showing that they are working to stop tyranny and corruption, just like in pogtopia again.

if the syndicate were to destroy/attack that government, then they are tyrannical. simple as that. they are enforcing a rule of their own creation without any nuance or flexibility under the threat of absolute destruction.

miscommunication in debates comes, in my opinion, in the above. of course theres more points of nuance. for example:

would the syndicate allow a government like i had described with early lmanberg, where there is an established hierarchy but everyone in the country consents to said leadership? on one hand, there is no tyranny or corruption present which is what they are trying to work against. on the other hand, theres more a possibility of it occuring. perhaps they'd find a middle road between the two binary options of "leave or destroy" i am presenting, such as checking in occasionally to ensure no corruption occurs.

but if they were to destroy it without, for lack of a better word, "giving it a chance" they would be, in my opinion, tyrannical. they would be going aginst their words of opposing corruption and instead abusing their power to gain compliance.

your/others opinions may differ, again it depends on if you see it as worth it to possibly stop future tyranny or if a hierarchy is INHERENTLY a negative thing.

part of the reason so many blog gave up this debate, beyond not getting very clear answers for the syndicate, is because of the nuance present. there. is. no. right. answer. every single person will view it differently, because there is no universally agreed upon truth of right or wrong here. BUT, i hope this helps shed some light on the discussion and my thoughts on it

#dream smp #mcyt #techno #syndicate analysis #YEAH IM MAINTAGGING WHAT OF IT #also i-- idk if it should be crit tagged? i tried to be as fair and open as possible #lemme know what yall think #ANYWAY ANON IM SO FUCKING SORRY THIS THING ENDED UP 2.3K WORDS LONG #I JUST RLLY WNATED TO BE THOUROUGH AND AS FUCKING CENTRIST /HJ AS POSSIBLE FJDKSLFJ #its very nuanced and theres no right answer but you sure as hell know mine now #answered #anon #im at work rn im gonna get fucking fired for this FJDKSFJKL #/HJ HOPEFULLY IN THAT I AM AT WORK BUT I WONT GET FIRED #og post #(jeb bush voice) please clap

[jadelotusflower]

Roundup: August 2021

This month: Jane Eyre, Wide Sargasso Sea, Don’t Call it a Cult, The Secret Garden, Showbiz Kids, Masters of the Universe: Revelation, Lucifer.

Reading Jane Eyre (Charlotte Bronte) - I’ve been meaning to read the Wide Sargasso Sea for a long, long time, but first I thought I’d revisit the source material. I find my opinion hasn’t much changed - I still love the prose, still love Jane as a character, and still find Rochester extremely unappealing. The section with Jane at school is the most engaging for me, and her early time as a governess at Thornfield, but as soon as Rochester shows up I just find him so irritating I have no idea why Jane loves him so much (other than he was the first man to ever show her a scrap of attention). I mean, I know to an extent - I've read the Takes, and part of fiction is accepting what you want for the character as a reader and what they want for themselves can be two different things, and that's not the fault of the text. I can be satisfied by the ending because Jane gets what she wants, I just can’t help but wonder about a Jane who was found by John Eyre before she went to Thornfield, or who took her inheritance and made her own way after Moor House. Byronic heroes just aren't my thing I guess ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ Wide Sargasso Sea (Jean Rhys) - The first Mrs Rochester of Jane Eyre strikes an uneasy tone to a modern reader; she does not utter a word in the novel, is depicted as animalistic and almost demonic, her story only told in a self-serving manner by Rochester, and conveniently disposed of so Jane can return to claim him. Rhys reimagines Bertha as Antoinette, a “white Creole” of Jamaica in a postcolonial take on the racial/social prejudices and hierarchy only hinted at in Eyre, where Bertha being Creole primarily an aspect of her Otherness, and in which Rochester describes himself as being desired as a husband because he was "of good race" . In Sea, although Antoinette is white (passing, perhaps), he sees her "not English or European either" and this contributes to his rejection of her (and perhaps his willingness to believe she is mad). The novel is surprisingly short - it skips over the meeting and courtship of Antoinette and Rochester (tellingly unnamed in the novel) entirely, jumping directly from her childhood/coming of age to the couple already married, and over much of Bertha's (renamed by Rochester) sad life in the attic. Still, there's a density to the writing, much is implied beyond the sparse use of words and recurring imagery - subjugation, reflection, and of course, fire - when freed slaves (Rhys changes the timeframe to after the passing of the Emancipation Act of 1833) set fire to Antoinette's family plantation, a pet parrot whose wings have been clipped by her English step-father Mason, cannot flee and falls to a fiery doom, in a grim omen of Bertha's fate. It did, however, leave me wanting more - I understand Rhys' stylistic choices and restraint, but in her effort to give voice to the voiceless, Antoinette/Bertha remains somewhat an enigma. Don’t Call it a Cult: Keith Raniere and the women of NXIVM (Sarah Berman) - I continue to be disturbed but intrigued by the NXIVM case, not only because of my abhorrence of MLMs/pyramid schemes, but my bafflement as to how this thoroughly unremarkable man was able to hold sway over so many women. My mild criticism of the two documentaries on this subject was that they tended to jump around in time so you never really got a good idea of what happened when. This book provides a well researched, detailed summary of events and linear chronology of Raniere’s perverse pathology reaching all the way back to childhood, and so is both an excellent supplement to the already informed, and broad overview to those new to the case. Berman is a Vancouver-based journalist who was present at Raniere’s trial and gives insight into witness testimony, supported by her own interviews and extensive research. There's less of a focus on the sensationalised celebrity members, with greater emphasis on the lesser known victims - including the three Mexican sisters who were all abused by Raniere, one of whom was kept confined to a room for years. It's difficult reading, consolation being the

knowledge that Raniere is rotting in prison and that his crimes finally caught up with him. Watching The Secret Garden (dir. Marc Munden) - Spoilers, if one needs a spoiler warning for a 110 year old novel. One of those stories that is adapted every generation, and generally I have no problem with this, since new adaptations can often bring something new or be a different take on old material (see Little Women 2019). But a part of me can’t help feel why bother with this when the perfect 1993 version exists. There is an Attempt at something new with this film, moving the setting forward to 1947 (Mary’s parents having died during the Partition), and turning the garden from a small walled secret to a mystical, huge wonderland full of ferns and flowers and endless sun. But in doing so, the central metaphor is lost - rather than Mary discovering something abandoned and run wild, gently bringing it back to life with love and care, she merely discovers a magical place that requires no effort on her part. There’s also less of a character arc for Mary, remaining unpleasant far into the proceedings, forcing Colin to visit the garden instead of it being his true wish, and generally succeeding by imposing her will on everyone else. In many ways she’s more like Burnett's other child heroine Sarah Crewe - the film opens I’m with her telling stories to her doll including Ramayana, which is eerily reminiscent of Alfonso Cuaron's (also perfect) 1995 adaptation of A Little Princess. But I suppose a sliver of credit where it's due - Julie Walters' Mrs Medlock is less of an antagonist, with Colin Firth's Lord Craven being Mary's primary obstacle. There's also a subplot with Mary's mother's depression following the death of her sister being the reason for her neglect (and Merlin alum Rupert Young shows up briefly as Mary's father) but like shifting the time period, there just doesn't seem to be a point to it. The climax of the film involves the Manor burning down (writer Jack Thorne stealing from Rebecca too, lol), with Mary and Craven have a very calm conversation as fire and smoke surrounds them. It’s all very bizarre, but also…rather dull? Don't bother with this, just watch the 1993 film again. Showbiz Kids (dir. Alex Winter) - a really interesting documentary on the titular subject - Winter was himself a child actor on Broadway before his film career kicked off in The Lost Boys and Bill and Ted, and has been able to assemble a broad range of interview subjects - Mara Wilson, Evan Rachel Wood, Wil Wheaton, Jada Pinkett Smith among others - former child actors, those still in the business, and some up and comers like Disney star Cameron Boyce (who I was sad to see in the coda has passed away). We also follow two young hopefuls - Marc, attending acting classes and auditioning in pilot season, yet to book a job but his parents are invested in "his" dream, and Demi, already established on Broadway but having to start to make choices between a career and a childhood. There's no voiceover, no expert opinions in this, letting the actors speak for themselves, but there is a telling juxtaposition of Marc returning home, jobless but having fun in the pool with his friends, while Demi has to cancel the summer camp she had been so looking forward to because she has booked a new role. The film is fairly even handed, but ultimately I took away that there just seems to be more harm than not in this industry, and abuses of many kinds. It does make you wonder about the ethics of child acting, at least in the current system where the cautionary tales are plentiful. Masters of the Universe: Revelation (episodes 1-5) - Mild spoilers I guess? I was never really into He-Man as a kid, other than the Secret of the Sword movie, so most of the in jokes and references in this went over my head. I have to admit, it was actually seeing all the outrage that made me want to check this out and see what all the complaining was about. I actually…really enjoyed it?!? I’m sympathetic to the complaints of a bait and switch (creators really need to learn to say

“just wait and see”), but other than that in my view the rest seemed completely unfounded. Adam/He-Man being killed in the first episode and the impact that has on Eternia and those left behind is actually a really interesting premise. This isn’t a TLJ situation; in contrast everyone (except Evil-Lyn) is always going on about how much they miss Adam, and the whole point of the first arc is him coming back. There’s also a nice little detail of Adam in Preternia (heroes heaven) choosing to remain as he is rather than as He-Man where all his predecessors have chosen their “ultimate” forms. I love him and his Magical Girl transformation. As for Teela - female characters can’t win, it seems. If they are perfect, they’re Mary Sues, if they have flaws, they’re unlikeable. Teela is Going Through things and is on a journey, but I often feel (and it seems the case here) that people confuse a character arc with author intent. No! Just because a character says/does something it doesn't mean you're supposed to agree with them! Some of Teela's actions may be petty and her demeanor less than sweet, but people make bad choices as a response to grief, and I actually thought her anger over Adam never telling her his secret and how that manifested was a pretty interesting take. I'll be interested to see the next half of the season, and ignore the ragebait youtube commentary. One more thing - Evil-Lyn (perfectly voiced by Lena Headey) was an absolute delight. Lucifer (season 5 part 2): They’ve basically given up on the procedural side of things by now and are leaning heavily into the mythology, which works for me since the case of the week is always the least interesting part of any show. It also struck me this season that there’s gender parity in the main cast (Lucifer, Amenadiel, Dan and then Chloe, Maze, Ella, Linda) - and actually, that’s more women than men. How often does that happen?!? I can’t say I’m particularly engaged with the Lucifer/Chloe pairing, but am happy to go along with it since that’s where the whole plot revolves. The best scenes for me this season were with God’s Dysfunctional Family, even if the lead up to the finale felt rushed (I understand the need to wrap things up in case of cancellation but still). I would have liked to see more of the sibling dynamics between the angels and less romantic drama, but hey. The character death got me, as well. I didn't see it coming and I didn't realise how much I had enjoyed that character until they were gone and well...it got me. I see the last season is coming soon, I'm not exactly sure where they can go from here, but looking forward to it nonetheless. Writing I was actually quite sick this month with a throat infection, so wasn't in the best frame of mind to get anything finished like I had planned to. I'm going to hold off posting the word count this month and roll it over to September when hopefully I've actually posted things.

#roundup #reading watching writing #august roundup

[tyrannuspitch]

when the narrative you're doomed by is so powerful that people don't even remember the already biased version of the story they were literally told and they fill in the blanks in their memories with the exact opposite, which just so happens to be the version of the story which would absolve the narrator of all responsibility and wrongdoing

#space viking tag #SCREAMS #okay i think i'm done now. but god. harrowing. #meta #ch: loki #ch: odin #r: loki + odin #th: fate + hierarchy #th: manipulation + mind control

[readyplayerhobi]

My Soul To Reap

; Reaper!Hoseok x Harpy!Reader

; Genre: Angst, fluff, smut

; Word Count: 31k

; Warnings: Death, violence, mild gore, fingering, penetrative sex, creampie

; Synopsis: A reaper is neither alive nor dead, in this world or the next. Their purpose is to remove the souls of humans and help them pass to the next world. They are not meant to interact with the living for their touch is the ice of the grave and their kiss is to greet death. They are not meant to love.

; A/N: This is a behemoth...sorry it’s so long lol. I hope you all enjoy, I’ve been working on this for over a month now! Please reblog (if you can) so that others can see and read too. Please leave me likes, comments and asks to let me know what you think as I spent so long on it x-x also, remember to check out the other authors in the collab!

; Part of the Fantastical Tales for Curious Souls collab

-

The street is quiet when he appears; the air still and dead around him. Houses of varying shapes and sizes line the well trodden street before him, lamps with flickering flames dancing inside them hanging from poles and houses to light the way. Behind him lies a dense and foreboding forest, their trunks wide and their height tall as they tower over the small town like vigilant sentinels keeping an eternal watch.

But none of that is of particular interest to Hoseok. No, what interests him lies in the ramshackle house in front of him, the facade old with the thatched roof aging badly, threatening to fall through in some places. It wouldn’t be anything special to look at normally, the size and style of it denoting it to be the abode of someone from a lower class.

Hoseok had never understood why humans had such an interest in the cultural standing of others based on social hierarchy and money. It all seemed such a waste of their time to fret over such mundane things. Everyone died poor in the end as no one took anything with them when they passed. He knew that better than anyone.

Yet Hoseok finds he feels almost sad at the house, knowing that it had such an unassuming and unloved life. He wonders for a moment what will become of it before shaking his head, pushing the querying thought out of his mind. The daily lives of mortals were not his domain and therefore they were not of interest to him.

Between one blink and the next, the scenery around Hoseok changes as he shifts through time and reality to appear inside the small home. It’s even smaller on the inside, with a single bed pushed into the corner and a table covered in books to the side. There’s a moment that Hoseok wants to look at them, but he ignores it instead for the human male lying in the bed.

A small sense of relief runs through the reaper as he realises this was a natural death, something that would not be as alarming to the human compared to being murdered or suffering an accident. Over the years, Hoseok had found that humans didn’t react well to being killed, whether on purpose or by accident. Even if it had no bearing on them once they were dead.

But still, it made the process easier.

The siren call of death that guides Hoseok around the world to his intended humans increases now he’s so close, the pull in his veins almost heady as it demands he does his duty. And so he gives in, as he always does, moving over to the male and crouching down beside the ancient bed.

The human’s wrist is warm in Hoseok’s hand, but that doesn’t surprise him. His own body runs somewhere between alive and dead in terms of temperature. It’s a benefit when dealing in scenarios that could potentially cause injury to him. For Hoseok is a reaper, a being who straddles life and death. His job is simple; to take the life of those dying and pull their souls from their bodies before escorting them to the other side. It was macabre, but it was also a necessary part of life.

And this human’s time had come.

Lifting the human’s hand, Hoseok laid his lips on the smooth skin gently and kisses. It was not sexual or romantic, in fact it was the exact opposite. A reaper’s kiss was the kiss of death, the final severing of a soul from life.

He pauses for a second with his lips pressed to the warm skin that is already cooling from his touch before he moves away, looking down at the body with an impassive glance before tugging at the hand. There's a slight resistance, there always is as a soul never wants to leave their body, but he can’t resist the grasp of Hoseok.

His hand falls back to the bed almost unnoticed, for the soul’s hand remains in Hoseok’s own. A gentle pull has the human’s soul standing next to him, looking around in confusion at his surroundings before looking at Hoseok, his brow creasing.

A human would not be able to see him if they looked now, only able to see the dead body lying in the bed. But to Hoseok, he has a silver aura that surrounds him lovingly, signalling that this is someone who has left the mortal realm. 

“What is your name?” Hoseok asks quietly, making sure to keep his tone as warm and pleasant as he can. Death is traumatic for humans, and an unexpected death like this could likely lead to further confusion and possibly even anger despite it being natural. It was better to treat them carefully.

The soul blinks rapidly before frowning. “Jimin. Park Jimin. What…” He looks down at the body on the bed with eyes that widen in fear before he’s crouching, trying to touch the body he had once inhabited desperately. “What is wrong with me? Is this a dream? Why am I there but here?”

Hoseok laid a hand on Jimin’s shoulder, noting the way he cringed away from him slightly but not making comment on it. “Jimin...I am afraid to say that you have passed on from the mortal world. Your soul has left your body and cannot return. I am here to help you move on.”

“What...what do you mean? Who are you? What are you? I have passed...I have truly died?” The questions were common, and Hoseok was pleased with how it seemed that Jimin was not going to be one to argue or try to fight. A soul fighting a reaper never worked out well for the soul.

“Yes, you have died. My name is Hoseok and I am a reaper, your reaper. I ended your life because the Fates have cut your thread and so I pulled your soul from physical body. Now you must move on from here to the other side.” Jimin looks around, slim shoulders curling in to make himself appear smaller.

“What is the other side? Is that heaven? Or hell? Or something else?” Hoseok shrugged in response, the gesture remarkably human for a being who had no humanity.

“I do not know. My job does not involve anything that happens once you have moved on. I am simply meant to get you there.” The soul begins to pace in agitation, running his hand through his hair as his face pinches together in distress.

“But what if I do not want to? Can you make me go if I do not want to go?” Hoseok lets out a deep sigh, lips pursing slightly in annoyance and he only just manages to stop the eye roll. Even though he does not communicate with humans apart from at this moment in their lives, he has managed to pick up on a few of their mannerisms.

Every soul thinks they don’t have to move on, but Hoseok knows that it’s no real life to remain. “I cannot make you go. Moving on is the choice of the soul, but I do not recommend remaining behind. If you do, then you cannot move on until you have completed whatever it is that you feel you need to do. And if you do not complete it...then you can never move on and you will haunt this place forevermore. I would not recommend staying behind simply because you do not want to go.”

His words cause Jimin to pause, and Hoseok isn’t sure whether it’s the grave tone of voice he uses or the words themselves. Whatever it is, the reaper hopes that Jimin will think hard about his choice, because as soon as he leaves this room then he will never see Jimin again.

“Can I...can I leave this house?” His voice is soft and gentle, meek compared to the brief moment of fierceness that he’d given earlier. 

“No. You will be tethered to the place of your death. So think hard Jimin. Once I leave, I shall never come back and you will be forced to try and move on by yourself.” Hoseok crosses his arms over his chest, the coal black suit he wears straining slightly on his shoulders. 

There's a pause as Jimin thinks, his eyes tracing over the reaper slowly. No doubt he’ll see what every other soul sees; ink black hair swept off his forehead carelessly, a beautiful and statuesque face that almost glows gold in the light of the frozen fire and a black suit that clings to him. He probably looks like a normal human, if it wasn’t for his eyes.

Hoseok’s eyes are pale, a colour between ice blue and dove grey that glows almost white from the unearthly energy he channels. He could never pass as a human with his eyes.

“I will go. I do not...I do not want to be alone forever,” He pauses, looking frightened before gesturing back towards his body, trying to avoid looking at it understandably. “What will happen to my body?”

“It will be found when it is found. That is not my concern, nor should it be yours now. Are you ready to move on?” His voice takes on an abruptly formal tone, standing straight and almost smiling as Jimin does that same for some reason. The soul nods hesitantly before doing so again, more forcefully this time.

“Yes. I mean...no...but it does not matter. Th-thank you...Hoseok. Sir.” With that, Hoseok gestures to his side and the space ripples, the imagery behind it blurring as reality tears on itself. The room grows colder and Hoseok is positive that if Jimin were still alive, his face would pale further. But he doesn’t complain, and instead just looks at Hoseok for reassurance.

“I cannot guarantee you will be okay. But nor can I guarantee you will not. This is for you to discover Park Jimin. I wish you will with whatever happens.” Jimin swallows thickly, blinking a few times before nodding. He hesitates a moment longer before taking a deep breath, that he didn’t anymore, and walking through the gap. 

Instantly it slams shut, the force reverberating in Hoseok’s bones and he feels the welcome satisfaction of warmth inside as the death calls recedes finally, letting him know that he has done his job and can leave. Within the space of a breath, he vanishes from the small house and re-appears on the street outside.

Looking back at the dilapidated house, Hoseok sighs deeply and hopes that Jimin’s body will be found quickly before letting go of his power that is holding the world frozen in place. All at once, life returns around him, even though he cannot hear or see much due to the darkness of the night. It had taken less than five minutes for him to complete his job and he felt a sense of satisfaction.

Hoseok’s job was done, and he was free to roam once more until he felt the call of death again. It could be considered a numbing experience, but he had nothing else to compare it to and so simply accepted it as his way of life.

A strong and insistent tugging in his stomach caused him to pause in place though, the part that connects him to death telling him that his services are needed once again. Frowning, he looks to his left at the towering trees as their branches sway gently in the night breeze, leaves rustling quietly.

The pull is strong and insistent, and it’s coming from inside the forest. It’s unusual for him to be required so soon after a reaping, but he can only assume that it’s because he’s so close. Either way, he knows that he must do his duty and so closes his eyes, pulling at the cold, deadly power within him and travelling along that pull to his destination.

When his eyes open once more, not even a second later, he’s at the scene of another death. Only this one causes his brow to furrow in confusion as he takes in what’s happening around him. The ancient trees of the forest tower high above him, their living canopy providing shade in the sunlight but bringing the scene to almost near darkness in the middle of the night as it was now.

Silver slivers of moonlight dapple the ground around him, the light struggling to make itself seen through the dense foliage but it’s more than enough for Hoseok to see what’s happening. Not that he understands it, but then again...he doesn’t particularly understand humans as it is.

Everything is frozen around him as usual; no sounds fill the empty space and no movement stirs the air. He knows that he must be quick, for he does not have an infinite store of power to use and already he can feel the slight pressure building in his skull. His head tilted to the side slightly though as he tries to comprehend what he’s looking at, black hair falling into his pale blue eyes.

Sods of dirt float in the air, simply waiting for time to resume and for them to carry on their descent back towards the earth they’d been pulled from. Two human men stand around a body on the ground, their faces unseeable in the darkness but it’s the man on the floor that interests Hoseok the most.

A human male, dressed in what Hoseok believed to be hunting leathers, is on his knees while a knife tinged in dark liquid gleams in the poor light of the moon. A wide brimmed hat covers his face from view but a quick glance underneath reveals dark eyes that have narrowed with anger.

No, not anger, Hoseok corrects himself quietly before standing. There's a perverse look of pleasure in this human’s eyes and a complete lack of remorse. Without even meaning to, Hoseok shudders ever so slightly before sneering at the man.

Human’s shy away from Hoseok. Something about him unnerves them deeply, as if they can sense the pull of death so close. His eyes frighten them even more, the pale rings around his dark pupils unnatural and bright; the eyes of death looking back.

But Hoseok is never malicious; he takes lives because it is simply their time as decreed by the Fates. It’s his job, his purpose; the very thing he was brought into this world to do, and he accomplishes it without prejudice. Good and evil, young and old, men and women. All die the same way in the end, with the kiss of a reaper.

This human though, this man...he is a purveyor of death like Hoseok. But they are not the same. This man kills for joy, for pleasure, for the thrill of it. His eyes are empty of humanity, full of sick perversement. Hoseok may be a reaper, but he thinks this man’s eyes are truly death incarnate. A painful, slow and torturous death.

Lips pouting, Hoseok looks down at the woman on the ground who is the victim of this disgusting excuse of oxygen and living matter. And he pauses, body freezing as still as the scenery surrounding him while his eyes widen.

Blood smears your back, dark and wet as it pools down the sides of your ribcage from two deep gashes in your back. They run parallel to your spine, along your shoulder blades for a few inches and he stares in fascinated confusion for a moment, strong brows coming together. What was the human doing? And why did your back look so-

He’s distracted from the questions that run through his mind when his shift in position causing something to catch the poor light, the objects shimmering an odd blue-black that somehow stands out even amongst all this darkness. Walking closer to the strange shapes at the foot of one of the other men, his own shoes causing the foliage and fallen branches to crack underneath his feet loudly against the silence of the world, he tries to make out what they are.

This was perhaps the strangest scene of death that Hoseok had ever come across, and he wasn’t sure what was going on. The man he who’s soul he was supposed to escort looked very much like he was alive and healthy, not someone who required a reaper’s sole service. And the woman...what was going on there?

Reaching the black shapes, he crouches down and tilts his head in fascination. His hand reaches out without him even realising, his fingertips running along the soft feathers that make up the large wings discarded onto the floor. They’re soft and lifeless, the arch of them still warm and he traces down to their ends in reverence. 

They end bluntly, ragged flesh still hanging on while cracked bone gleams at him, startlingly white even through the red smears. Looking back towards the woman, Hoseok stares in confusion as he slowly pieces together what he thinks is happening in his mind.

He knew that there were rumours of the supernatural in the human world; stories that scared villagers told each other to keep them safe at night or legends that were passed from parent to child throughout the centuries. Whether it was true or not, he hadn’t had any reason to disbelieve it given what he was.

But he had never encountered someone who was supernatural. Also supernatural. Like him. 

Reapers were solitary. They were born into the world fully formed when needed as the human population grew. He had entered the world long ago, appearing in a forest much like this one. He had only known three things upon his arrival; his name, what he was and what he had to do.

His instincts had kicked in almost immediately when he arrived, the alluring call of death causing him to automatically transport himself to the location without reason. Everything else had happened just as easily, as his body knew what to do. No one had taught him, and he had learnt about the world through careful study in the shadows or the world between that he was in now.

The only time he ever met another reaper was at the site of a large number of deaths, and even then they didn’t bother to communicate. He felt no kinship towards his kind, and he often wondered why that was. Everything else on this planet seemed to be driven to companionship at some point, even if only for procreation.

But not him.

And just as he was a story to humans, the woman on the floor was a story to him. Only you were as real as he was. 

Moving back over to you, he pays close attention to your body and notices the subtle differences between you and the humans. The black nails that are sharpened into lethal claws, the white teeth that were ever so slightly pointed and the solid black eyes that spoke of anger and death. The last point causes him to jerk slightly, eyes widening as he realises you are not dead but very much alive.

And there is no call of death coming from you, which means you will not die yet.

A sudden need for violence fills him as he takes in the pain on your face, the anger at your loss of control and the savage glee on the human’s face. Monster hunters, they have to be. Hoseok had only ever thought these humans went on pointless hunts, chasing fantasies.

How wrong he was.

Hoseok had never once taken a life in anger or violence. He was the epitome of a perfect reaper; he killed when it was their time and only when it was their time. But he wanted to kill them all in this clearing. All of them, for hurting you, a woman who was special like him and whose only crime was being different.

Shame filled him momentarily as he acknowledged his lapse in control, recognised the sheer bloodlust that filled him and how badly he wanted to be like this horrible excuse of a human and to hurt. But then he paused, realising that the pull of death was still emanating from the man.

Another scan around confirmed his earlier suspicions; there was no sign of anything that could kill, or even hurt him. So why had Hoseok been called here? Why was this man’s soul ready to leave?

He stiffened as realisation entered him. Hoseok was supposed to take this man’s soul, yes. He was supposed to provide the kiss of death and lead his soul to the afterlife. His thread had been cut by fate and he was simply waiting to die now. But it was Hoseok who was to be his cause of death. The real cause, not natural causes or murder or an accident.

Hoseok was meant to kill this man, that was the only explanation. A true death by reaper.

Crouching next to him, Hoseok watched him carefully for once. He normally didn’t bother with them like this, but he wanted to remember the first human he was taking on his own. Shame flushed him as he realised he felt guilty at the rush of need he’d felt to hurt this man, knowing that it made him like him and he pushed that need away.

Hoseok needed to be clinical and neutral. He wasn’t sure why fate had decreed he was to have a hand in this human’s demise, but he refused to lower himself to this pitiful creatures level. There would be no pleasure in his death, simply a relief that he had done his duty and removed a vile human from the world.

Reaching forward, he let his fingers trace along the human’s cheek. It was rough with scars and bristly dark hair, unappealing to Hoseok and his lips twisted slightly. With time frozen as it was, there was no change in the human’s skin itself from Hoseok’s touch, but had time been normal then the skin beneath his fingertips would freeze and die.

Humans couldn’t stand the touch of a reaper.

The pull was strong now, a deep and alluring thump that ran through Hoseok’s body like a world class orchestra was playing for him. It was too enticing for him to hold back any longer, the pull demanding the reaper do his job and Hoseok found himself pressing his lips in the lightest touch to the back of the human’s hand. 

He always hated how he had to kiss them in some form, hated the intimacy of it when he wasn’t allowed actual intimacy. Long ago, he’d decided to simply brush his lips across an inoffensive limb or something as it often felt like an invasion of not just their privacy but also an invasion of his own. 

But he knew that it was necessary, as much as he disliked it. For his ‘kiss’ severed the connection of the soul to the human body and instead anchored them to Hoseok for a moment. Once he had pulled them out, the connection was then severed and the soul was free to move on. Or not, if they so choose.

Sure enough, the man’s soul leaves his body easily. He hadn’t been expecting death, and so his soul was confused when it stood before him, looking around the forest with a creased brow before focusing on his own body. He was still knelt on the ground, but as soon as Hoseok let time ago then his body would slump to the side, never to rise again.

“What the fuck?” The man shouted, anger etching itself into every crevice of his ragged face and Hoseok got the impression that this was a man who was used to being obeyed. But not now. “Who the fuck are you? What the fuck is going on? Why am I...there?” 

He points to his physical shell, a touch of panic in his eyes as he stares at Hoseok. For a few seconds, Hoseok let’s his panic build before he sighs internally and deigns to do his job properly. 

“My name is Hoseok, I am a reaper. Your reaper. You are no longer alive, you have left your mortal shell. I am here to guide you to move on to the other side.” Every death was different, and every death resulted in Hoseok trying to give the same information in a way that the soul would understand.

Sometimes he was unerringly polite, particularly with elderly humans who had lived a long and fulfilling life. They were often happy to see him, content to move on. With those who had died unfortunately, he was kind and almost comforting, allowing them time to come to terms with their sudden loss. With children...with children he was sweet and soft, spending more time with them than usual to comfort them and assuage their fright. 

It was hard with children, even for Hoseok who had never been a child. He tried his hardest to make it as easy on them as possible, all the while he quietly mourned yet another loss of a life that could have been something wonderful. He wasn’t sure if reapers were meant to mourn, but it felt wrong not to around the young.

And babies...well...he disliked having to deal with babies the most. 

But with cruel people like this man though, Hoseok was brisk and abrupt. He didn’t particularly care if this man was afraid, because all he could think was how many people this man had likely killed before. Hoseok had no doubt that someone who would willingly torture and kill a rare supernatural being probably also killed humans as well.

The world was a better place without this one in it.

“What? How? I was fine, you...you murdere-...wait...a reaper?” Interest flares in his eyes and Hoseok has to severely restrain himself from rolling his eyes.

Swirling his hand, the space next to him shimmers and wavers, the obvious thinning of the barrier between this world and the next evident even in the darkness of the forest. Hoseok points at it in frustration.

“You cannot kill me and profit off my body. You cannot do anything. If you do not pass, then you will stay in this spot for eternity. Your choice.” There’s a brief pause while the man thinks, his brows twitching once more before his lower lip sticks out petulantly.

“But I want to go back to living.” His tone is almost pitiful, whining and Hoseok bares his teeth suddenly. The paling of the man let’s him know that he’s seen the face of death in Hoseok’s own and he’s glad to see that fear. Never had Hoseok been so infuriated with a human before. “Okay...okay.”

People like this human though are cowardly, and when faced with something that will fight back, they often chose the easy way out. And so without a word, he moves to the barrier and goes to enter before stopping. A glance back to his body is all he does before he glares at Hoseok once more and enters. 

There's an odd fading as he moves through, letting Hoseok see through the soul before the barrier is back and everything is back to normal. Which also means he’s let go of the time freeze. Which in turn, means he’s visible to the other two men suddenly.

The dead man’s body slowly slides to the floor, breaking this shock at the sight of a strange man in their midst and their eyes follow his descent down. The silence that lays heavily between them all is not like the silence of before.

Leaves bristle against each other in the high branches while the soft sound of an owl hunting echoes through the night. It’s the sounds of life, even in a forest as quiet and asleep as this one.

No, this silence is shock and confusion which swiftly turns to anger.

Their gazes move back to him, the perfect image of puzzlement before the one standing near the wings steps forward and points at the fallen man. “What is wrong with him? What did you do?”

“Leave.” Is all Hoseok responds with, his tone low and dark. He knows that it sends their senses haywire as he’s purposefully lowered it until it makes all their innate instincts, bred through centuries of care, scream at them to run from him. Danger, they say, death, they warn.

But these humans are not clever. Humans are not clever in general. If anything, Hoseok has found them to be particularly dumb over the years. Oh, they may think themselves a clever species for reaching such a high and lofty position over everything else on the planet but Hoseok knows better.

He’s seen some of the stupid ways they’ve died.

“Who the fuck are you?” The one furthest away shouts, his voice causing a flurry of movement around them as the creatures of the forest run in fear from the loud noise. Hoseok sneers at him, noting the way he lifts his heavy, wooden crossbow and holds it against his chest. 

Before he can even say anything, the string snaps and all Hoseok hears is a soft whistle before a thudding impact causes him to rock slightly. Looking down, he takes in the crossbow bolt in his chest with interest.

Running his fingers along the fletching, he admires the workmanship for a moment before pulling the bolt out. There's a squelching noise as he does so, the flesh tearing and rending around the sharp metal head as it saws at his flesh on the exit but he doesn’t pay attention.

Lifting his hand up, he shows them the bolt in the weak light and let’s them see the way it glistens with his blood. It’s interesting how he has blood, given he is not alive nor dead. His heart beats, but he can stop it if he wishes. And stopping it does not kill him. He knows that he’s an anomaly in the world but he has no explanations for these things.

The bolt had caused only a minor twinge of pain, more discomfort than anything really. He doesn’t feel pain like a human does, because his body has no reason to fear pain. The loss of blood is simply a mild inconvenience; already he knows the wound in his chest has healed.

The corners of Hoseok’s lips turn up slowly in a grim smile, flesh pressed together as his eyes narrow at the men. His index finger is pressed into the wet heat of his blood on the shaft, and he lets them watch as his skin absorbs the warm liquid back into his body slowly until the bolt is dry once more.

He’s tired of these men now.

Baring his teeth at them, he feels the power of death flow through him in a way he doesn’t normally let it. It’s cool, like a refreshing breeze on a hot summer’s day and it bristles in his body with crackling energy.

Their widening eyes of terror let’s him know that they’re seeing him in his death form. A form that sends humans mad with fear. Hoseok has never known why reapers can do this, but he finds it pleasing that he can now.

His skin bleaches of all colour until he’s as pale as bone while his hair darkens ever further from its usual black, if that’s even possible. It flows slightly in the air, the ends visible in his eyesight as if being whipped by an invisible breeze and he can see how they look almost inky and wet in the poor light of the moon. The white of his eyes darken in turn, becoming an eerie black while his pale blue irises glow with such ferocity that he can see them reflected in their own eyes.

All the while, the skin around his eyes changes as a bruised black spreads along them, creeping down in his cheeks as if he had spilled paint onto his face. The air frosts around them all, delicate ice crystals forming on the plant life around him and the ground cracking as it freezes and Hoseok let’s out an angry hiss.

“Leave. And never come back.” He whispers, the sound amplified despite how quietly he says the words but they’re filled with the promise of death. The two men whimper to themselves, the crossbowman relieving himself accidentally in his trousers in terror before they run screaming into the forest. 

Hoseok doesn’t know where they’re going, nor does he care. He knows they won’t come back. No one ever comes ever looking for a reaper. 

Instead, he turns his attention to the figure on the ground, drawing his power back into him until he simply looks human once more. Crouching beside you, he goes to touch your shoulder to see if you are awake before hesitating.

He’s unsure if his touch will hurt you like it does humans, if he will kill your skin in his attempts to help. Hoseok isn’t even sure how to help you, he’s never helped a human that’s still alive before. But then again, you aren’t human.

Any reservations he has though are gone immediately when you writhe in pain, a quiet and strained groan leaving your throat before your head turns towards him. Eyes watery with tears look up at him and he jolts as your hand reaches out and grasps at his own.

He goes to pull away, afraid that he’s hurt you but you don't cry out in pain or jerk away from him. Instead...your touch is warm in his hand. Frowning, he looks down at them in fascination, realising that he’s never had someone alive hold his hand willingly. He’s never even touched anyone alive without it being for the purpose of bringing death to them.

It feels odd, the warmth of your skin delightful beneath his but then his eyes catch on yours again and he sees the pain there. Instantly he frowns, feeling shame at his fascination but you squeezes his hand gently.

“Thank you...for that,” Her words are quiet, rasping and he gets the sense that you had been screaming. A glance at the open wounds on your back make him wince slightly, knowing that you probably went through excruciating agony. “I thought...they were...going...to kill me.”

Hoseok bites his lip, chewing thoughtfully for a moment before shaking his head slightly. “It was not your time to die. It was his,” He gestures back towards the dead man before pointing at the mound of wings. “Are those...your wings? What are you? I am sorry...do you know somewhere we can go? That I can get you too, a healer perhaps?”

You let out a pained laugh, face screwing up as you try to push yourself up and Hoseok helps your immediately, carefully placing his hands on your arms and making sure you don't strain the wounds too badly. They begin to bleed down your back and he lets out a quiet breath, wondering how he can stop them from bleeding.

The front of your dress is still near enough intact with your collar still wrapped around your neck, the fabric of the back torn apart in their desperation to get to your wings. You staggered slightly, leaning against him and he holds you steady, marvelling at you once more.

“I have a...cabin. It is half...an hour away. North...near the mountainside.” Hoseok nods and frowns, wondering how on earth you're going to last what would have been a half hour walk for a fit and well person. In your condition, it will take much longer.

“I can...I think I can transport us closer...but I cannot take us directly there because I do not know where it is. Do you...need your wings?” He sounded awkward, but he wasn’t entirely sure how he was meant to talk to you. Hoseok didn’t even know what you were.

You look over at them with a forlorn look, lips being bitten until he’s sure you’re going to shed blood before sighing and shaking your head. “No...there is...there is no point. I cannot...they are gone now. Forever,” Hoseok isn’t sure what to say to that, unsure how you can console someone losing such an intricate part of themselves. “Can you...do you have a...way to burn them? I do not...want them...found.”

He hears the pain in your voice, but this time it’s not from the physical. It’s from the acknowledgement that instead of taking them with you, a part of you that had probably always been with you, you were going to have to burn them so no malicious humans could try and profit off them. Hoseok felt sad at that, at the loss of something so beautiful but he understands your wants.

“Not now...but if you have something at your cabin then I can come back and take care of them for you.” His words are quiet and gentle, causing you to smile ever so slightly. It’s strained, but Hoseok takes it as a success because it makes some of the agony in your eyes ease a little.

“Okay...okay. Take us...as close. To the base...of Mount Taga, please.” You lean into him heavily suddenly and he gets the impression that you’re losing energy rapidly. He has no doubt that it’s taking a lot of energy and pure willpower to keep yourself on your feet with how much pain you must be in, not to mention how unbalanced you must be after losing something so large.

Instead of saying anything, he simply nods and carefully places his hands on either shoulder. He’s never transported someone before, but he doesn’t see any reason why he can’t. Hoseok knows he can take things with him, he’s tried it before just to see if it was possible. He’s even taken a rabbit with him on occasion, just to experiment.

But this? This was different.

His last thought before he goes is that he’s oddly excited to spend a little more time with you, even though you don’t know each other at all and have met under such horrible circumstances. But he’s never had contact like this before, and he wants to make sure you are safe and well. He feels an obligation to ensure your safety for some reason.

This was most definitely not how he expected his day to go.

-

Despite Hoseok transporting you both close to the base of the mountain, the journey to your cabin still takes an hour with how slowly you walk. He wants to lift you up into his arms and carry you, knowing that he could move much faster on his own. But he’s unwilling to suggest it to you.

Partially because he’s not even sure how one asks a random injured woman if they would like to be carried, partially because he’s not sure he can even hold you without causing you further injury given the placement of your deep wounds and partially because he’s still not quite used to the concept of actually touching someone without causing them great pain.

Although, he supposes, if he did try to carry you then he would probably cause you pain anyway because of the gashes inflicted by humans. He frowns slightly as he thinks about that, but the tug of his arm by your warm hands distracts him and he looks down, concern written on his face as you suddenly lean even further into him, exhaustion slowing your entire body down.

The hour long journey had gone in silence, neither of you willing to talk for some reason. Hoseok just plain wasn’t sure what to talk about, he’d never had to do small talk before, whereas he was sure you were simply focusing hard on not collapsing to the ground. You’d done it twice already and by now, the pace was so slow that Hoseok was sure he was barely moving.

“We are here.” You whisper quietly, your voice cracked and he has the sudden urge to get you some water. But he simply looks around, trying to find wherever this cabin of yours is when you wave a hand in a slow yet complicated gesture. The space in front of him shimmers for a moment, reminding him of the heat of a desert, before the scenery suddenly changes and a wooden cabin stands before him.

It’s not big, but neither is it too small. A dark, wood door stands in the centre while two windows, shuttered for the moment with stars cut into the boards, take place on either side. More windows are dotted around the side of the cabin and the thatched roof leads up to a chimney. It doesn’t look like lived in itself, and he gets the impression it’s very old, but neither does it look abandoned. 

He’s reminded momentarily of Jimin’s home, casually noting how much better this house has been kept in repair before chastising himself for looking down on a mortal who was now deceased.

It wouldn’t be possible to presume this home was abandoned though, given the sturdy fencing that surrounds the whole area with one fence post just a mere metre ahead of him. He’s relieved that you had uncovered the area when you did, otherwise he would have walked into it. Behind the house, he can see a whole range of vegetation that look to be carefully tended to while brown and white chickens cluck loudly as they walk around the enclosure, pecking at the floor and each other in annoyance.

A group of pigs is penned off in one corner while a few cows graze on the sparse land a little further on. He’s thrown for words, unable to comprehend what he was seeing and he looked down at you with a frown, wondering what you were specifically given your ability to manipulate what had to be magic so easily.

You don’t say anything though, instead just moving through the gate as you slowly and painfully made your way to the cabin. The chickens immediately get louder, rushing over to you and you murmur something to them that he can’t hear. As you finally reach the door, a sleek black cat comes running from the forest, meowing loudly and curling around your legs in a desperate bid for attention.

Perhaps you’re a witch? But he’s never come across a witch who actually had any ability, nor did he think they had the same...physical attributes that you did. Though what did he know about witchcraft really?

The door opens with a gentle creak and he follows you inside, looking around the space with raised yet interested brows. It’s a reasonable living space but nothing flashy or big like he has seen with the humans. In fact, it reminds him of the houses that humans used to live in centuries ago. At least, those who were not rich anyway.

A makeshift wash basin and counter sit before one set of windows, shutters opening as he pushes them to let through the gentle light from outside. The clearing your home inhabits means that there’s more sun here than he’s seen in a while, the trees far enough back that he can see the towering mountain range beyond them.

Against the wall next to what he presumes is your kitchen area is a fireplace, a well used pot hanging over the now cold wood and kindling. On the other side of the room is a large double bed, pressed up against the wall. A warm, handmade quilt lies on top of it and Hoseok wonders if perhaps you have made it yourself. It looks of good quality, if a little threadbare from use.

A rug in a similar fashion lays on the floor next to the bed, protecting your feet from the cold winter months no doubt and he idly notes the small touches that make this cabin a home for you. The drying herbs hung on a rack that dangles from the ceiling next to the tiny kitchen, pressed and dried flowers that have been carefully arranged into a frame while an elegant tapestry of a scene he doesn’t understand hangs by your bed.

There are other small oddities dotted around the place that let him know you’ve lived here a while, incricate geodes and crystals placed carefully on shelves or cupboards alongside small pieces of pottery. It only takes a small glance for him to know that everything here is old, and he idly wonders how old you are.

The air is filled with the pleasing scent of fragrant herbs and he inhales deeply, enjoying how nice everything smells when it could quite easily smell stale from age. But then his attention is back onto you and how you limp towards the small table with two aged chairs in the corner.

A stack of well read books is piled atop it alongside parchment, ink and quill. He wonders what you were doing, realising that the books are a mixture of history, medicine and even pure fiction. You don’t seem to notice them though as you practically collapse into the chair, crying out as the movement jarrs your wounds and he winces as fresh blood begins to seep through once more.

“Do you...err...I am afraid I do not know what to do? Tell me...what do I need to help you?” He bends over beside you, concern painted on his face and laced in his voice as his hand hovers nervously on your shoulder. There’s no lie there, his job was to take people’s lives, not save them. So he found himself in the odd situation where he was suddenly trying to do the exact opposite.

“Water...get clean water. Heat it on the fire...to sterilise it. Clean rags...there should be...a pot beneath the counter...black with purple cream. Take it…” He nods immediately, even though you can’t see from where you’ve slumped against the table and goes to begin moving before pausing with wide eyes.

“Where do I get water?” In all the centuries that Hoseok has lived, he has never felt more useless or stupid than he has right now. But he won’t let his insecurity over what he’s doing get in the way; he’s determined to help you. Even if he messes things up.

“Stream...behind.” You don’t say anymore and he simply acknowledges it, taking the initiative to get a move on as you seem to be struggling. Before he goes forth with getting anything that you’d told him though, he transports himself back to your wings as quickly as he can before taking them and disposing of them inside an active volcano that he knows of in Italy.

It might seem a little extreme but he couldn’t think of anywhere else that wouldn’t be obtrusive. Still, he felt sadness as he watched the beautiful black feathers slowly disappear as they burnt, feeling the need to at least watch as part of you died forever.

Transporting back though, he noted your heavy breathing and quickly set about grabbing everything you needed. A fire was set, after a few aborted attempts, before he ran out to the stream behind the cabin that you had told him of, passing by the cows who mooed at him in interest. He ignored them though and followed his ears towards the bubbling water that danced its way through the forest, the vegetation here vibrant and bright from the easy source of hydration.

It takes him ten minutes before he thinks he’s got the water heated right for you, heading back over and placing the bowl on the table next to you. Steam rises from it while a pile of clean, white rags sits next to the bowl from where he’s torn up a dress of yours he’d found and the pot of cream is beside that. He’d feel bad about the dress but he’s pretty sure you’re not bothered about it.

There’s no need for you to tell him what to do at this point thankfully; he might not know a lot but even he can figure out what you need him to do. But it’s a little awkward for him as the blood from your wounds has stained your dress badly, drying into stiffness and there’s even a piece that has dried into the wound itself. 

“I’m...I’m sorry, but I think you need to take your dress off. Do you have something else you could wear? That will leave your back open?” You shake your head, groaning quietly before pointing at the chest of drawers at the foot of the bed.

“There’s some...trousers in there. No shirt...it will be okay.” He swallows at that, eyes widening but realises you probably don’t have anything that would keep the wounds open to prevent them from being irritated. But he gets the aforementioned clothes without complaint for you, a pair of plain brown linen trousers, and helps you out of the dress and into them.

His eyes steadfastly ignore your nakedness, turning his head away as he helps you and he gets the sense that you’re amused at his behaviour. Even he knows not to be rude and look when you’re vulnerable like this!

“Okay...this is probably going to hurt. I am incredibly sorry, I wish I could make it so that it will not.” 

“Just do it. It is okay.” Letting out a deep sigh, he nods and dips a cloth into the water before gently running it along your back. He hates that he has to potentially reopen the wound from where the blood has coagulated but he knows that it’s better than your wounds healing with dirt inside it.

A soft whimper leaves you as the blood starts to flow once more and he quickly wiped it clean, removing the dried blood from your skin as well and trying his best to clean you up. Grimacing slightly from the way your body jerks, he whispers his apologies repeatedly as he works and hopes that he’s doing everything right.

“So...err...what are you? If you do not mind me asking.” Hoseok asks, hoping that the conversation might distract you from the pain he’s unintentionally inflicting on you. Or maybe that’s intentionally. Either way, he wants to find out what you are and if that has the added benefit of distracting you then it will be a bonus for you both.

“Harpy.” The word is gasped out, tinged with pain and he winces in sympathy, squeezing your shoulder gently with his hand in reassurance.

“A harpy? Aren’t those...Greek? I thought they were meant to be...ugly? Half bird or something?” He flushes immediately, going to apologise in case you found what he’d said offensive but a laugh leaves you, the sound surprisingly light and airy and something within him tightens. Frowning, he wonders momentarily what that was before focusing again on what he was doing.

“Greek and Roman, yeah. The mythology...states that we are half human...and half bird. The storm winds incarnate. No one...got us right...really. We look human except...for our wings...and our claws on our hands and feet. People were scared...of us, so they made us terrifying. We are seen as harbingers...of doom or death. Because our mythology...states that we took people...to Tartarus, ow. But we just...have an unlucky nature.” He laughs lightly at that, tongue sticking out as he keeps cleaning.

He doesn’t have many clean rags left, and the water is looking very pink. The plus side to this though, is that your skin is clean once more and the wounds, as terrible as they were, looked a lot cleaner than they had been. Not bad for someone who has no idea what he’s doing.

“Why do you have an unlucky nature? You are not terrifying, nor are you ugly.” There’s no shyness in his voice, nor embarrassment because he simply doesn’t understand that he was giving you a compliment that strangers don’t really give to each other.

“Thank you, but humans are different. And...when a human sees me...bad things tend to happen...to them. Or around them. The reasoning has been lost.” Hoseok hums quietly, placing the final rag down and looking at your back critically. Taking the pot of cream, he begins to ever so carefully dab it into your wound, wincing everytime you did so.

“Sorry.” He mumbles and you give a neutral noise to him.

“What about you?” A pause, as he wonders what you mean at first before he realises and lets out a quiet ‘ah’. 

“Reaper. I am a reaper. I remove souls from their bodies when their thread has been cut and then direct them to the other side if they so wish.” Your head turns suddenly, looking at him with wide eyes and he watches you carefully as you do so, unable to look away.

“A grim reaper? That is why the hunter died so suddenly, right? And your eyes...they’re unnatural. You have...a scary aura. Like death.” Hoseok chuckles at that, giving you a wry smile as he finishes adding cream to the wounds before sitting back in triumph.

“That is because I am death. My touch kills the nerves and cells of a human’s skin while my kiss is death itself. I unnerve them in my own way, because they can sense death is nearby when I am here. Though I only take those who fate directs me to, so have no fear; I shall not hurt you. It is not your time.” He smiles softly, running his hand along the softness of your cheek and wiping away the wet trails of your tears.

You stay silent for a moment before nodding, giving him a tiny smile in response. “Well...thank you…” The question is implicit and he bows his head regally as he gives his name. “Hoseok. Thank you...for saving me. And this...I appreciate it.” 

Looking around the room, he hums once more before helping you get up and move over to the bed. Once you’re lying down, front pressed to the cover and eyes watching him as you make sure to keep your back untouched, he crouches down by your bedside.

“You do not need to thank me. This is all very new and amusing to me. I have never saved someone before,” Pausing, he looks down at his hands before looking back up at you. “I feel the need to continue to assist you. You are evidently not going to be moving around for a while. Is there anything I can do for you around here? To help you?”

There’s a few long minutes of silence as you simply watch him and he feels his cheeks heating for some reason, an odd sensation causing his eyes to glance away from yours. Finally, you cough quietly and nod.

“I would appreciate that. A lot. You do not have to, but it would be a great help to me. The animals...need to be fed. The pigs cleaned. You will need to…” You carry on talking, listing out the chores that he would need to do for you to keep your small homestead going while you were injured.

His eyes widen in response, not expecting you to have this many jobs to do and he was a little embarrassed when he had to keep interrupting, asking you what you meant or how he would do something. He had never cleaned a pig’s sty before, nor had he milked a cow or taken care of a garden. Nor had he cooked, but he’d realised suddenly that he would need to as you were not able.

Yet you had patiently explained everything to him, going through in detail exactly what he needed to do. And so hours later, in the dying light of the sun as he realised a whole day had passed and he was carefully sprinkling seeds for the chicken’s that were flocking around him, he had the odd realisation that he was remarkably okay with doing these mundane chores.

It was all new to him, obviously, but the knowledge that he would go into your small cabin later and likely see the smile of relief on your lips seemed to make everything worth it.

-

For the next two weeks, Hoseok worries. He worries that he is not doing the chores you have assigned him correctly, he worries over the man he killed and whether he did the right thing, he worries over the fact that he does not know how to care for you and most of all, he worries because you were ill. Violently ill, and Hoseok did not know what to do.

Every day, he feeds your animals and takes care of the garden of vegetables and herbs around the back of the small cabin. It doesn’t matter if he’s not sure whether or not he’s doing it right, all he knows is that for two weeks, he doesn’t manage to kill anything else. Which is surprising.

That’s also how he discovers that his touch doesn’t harm animals. The small cat that apparently lived with you had taken a liking to him, constantly walking with him and laying on him when he sat down. Hoseok didn’t need to sleep, but he often let himself doze on the floor by your bed, the cat resting on his chest. It was comfortable and nice.

Learning how to cook for you had been another stress as he’d only ever casually observed it being done over the years. He had never needed to eat; like all his bodily functions, he didn’t need to do them but could actively participate if he wanted. And so he’d quietly visited human steadings, watching as they made delicious smelling meals out of the vegetables he could find in your garden.

It had taken a lot of trial and error, but he was pretty confident that he could at least make a good vegetable stew for you. And you had never complained about it whenever he’d managed to wake you up, encouraging you to sip on the warm broth and chew a few of the vegetables. He’d even taking to eating some himself, delighting in the pleasant flavours that blossomed in his mouth.

Hoseok had no doubt that the food he made wasn’t actually good, but at least it was sustaining you. Giving you energy to sweat out whatever illness was plaguing you. Every hour, your skin would glisten with sweat and the wounds on your back did not look healthy. A week ago, Hoseok had carefully re-opened them and grimaced upon seeing the pus and blood that seeped out, cleaning everything carefully once more.

He had read through one of your books on healing that littered the small table, pulling together a list of plants and flowers that were supposed to have medical properties. Hours had been spent scouring the forest, even travelling to other areas of the world in an effort to find them all before he would brew a warm drink for you.

For a few days, he had been convinced that it wasn’t working until finally...you had stopped sweating and shivering. The wounds on your back had bled clean and he left them to scar up to heal properly, unsure whether he was doing the right thing but confident at least that you had no visible infection.

An infection deeper within you, maybe, but he couldn’t help that. He hadn’t felt the pull that dictated your life thread had been cut, so he presumed that you were going to survive whatever had ailed you for the past fortnight.

Despite the care he was bestowing on you, and he wasn’t entirely sure why he had this deep need to make sure that you were okay, he still fulfilled his duty to the Fates. Hoseok didn’t usually count days like humans did because his duty took him all over the world, but he had begun to measure time staying with you.

It was through this that he’d discovered he had an average of 12 souls to deal with a day. Easily manageable, particularly given that when he transported himself to the soul in need then time would stand still. In reality, no time passed at all from the moment he left till he came back. So you had care constantly in case you woke up suddenly.

Which had you done, in small fits that were usually terror filled and he had the sense that your dreams were not dreams at all. Or at least...not the pleasant kind. Every time you had whimpered and shuddered, eyes squeezing tight, he had shuffled closer to the bed, resting his head on the feather filled mattress and gently running his fingers along your arm in reassurance.

He had watched humans do this before, and it had always seemed to have a comforting response. Plus, the cat liked being stroked like this and so he figured he may as well try with you. And every time, your whimpers would quieten down, expression smoothing out while your breathing became deep and even once more.

It fascinated him how you reacted to his touch like that. For so long, he had gone with his touch being dangerous and painful. But now...now it brought comfort and contentment.

Hoseok has become so involved in the seemingly mundane intricacies of daily life for those who have to rely on things like food and water to live, that he’s too busy out feeding the chickens to see when you finally wake properly inside. The day is pleasant, a serene blue sky painted with a few white puffs of cloud and over the top of the lush green canopy of the forest, he can see the jagged white tipped peaks of the mountain range beyond.

It’s neither warm nor cold, in that perfect temperature zone that humans seemed to like particularly well and Hoseok wonders if he should experiment with his clothing too. The thought leaves his mind quickly as he moves around to the small outhouse behind the cabin. There are two here, one contains a toilet that he has carefully brought you to multiple times a day while the other is a small store room.

Inside is a bag of feed for the chicken. Part of him wonders how on earth you managed to get the food and animals from the humans given their hatred of you and the obviously non-human visage you wear, but he hasn’t been able to ask you obviously. Instead, he simply grabs a handful of the feed, the pellets soft and small in his large hand and heads back out.

Clicking his tongue in a way that he has discovered attracts the small birds attention, he grins as the air is immediately filled with the sound of desperate clucking and the flutter of useless wings as brown and white hens come rushing towards him. Every day, he has gone into their little enclosure and taken the eggs that they have laid.

He’s not even remotely experienced enough yet to make anything including eggs, so he’s just had to leave them in a small basket in the store room. A part of him hopes that they’ll still be okay to do something with when you’re better, but he has no idea what. 

“Calm down ladies, you will all get some,” Hoseok murmurs gently, slowly dropping the feed to the ground and watching carefully to make sure they all get some. “Good, good. Eat up and stay healthy little ones.” 

It felt ridiculous for him to admit that he was growing an attachment to the animals in your small homestead, but he was. He already would lament when he had to leave behind the little black cat, the warm body reassuring in his arms and the gentle purr pleasing. Even the chickens, as loud as they were, had come to be a constant and enjoyed presence.

Smiling at them all as their noises quieten down to their usual mellow clucks, he brushes his hands on his trousers and heads back into the cabin. Almost immediately he jerks in surprise, his body’s response to go into his full reaper mode and he only manages to pull it back at the last second.

“You are awake!” He exclaims, eyes widening before he rushes over to you. A piece of soft white cloth, that he may or may not have liberated from a market stall somewhere in the world, is wrapped around your shoulders to provide you with some modesty while also allowing your wounds to be free from any pressure or touch.

Your lips curve up into a smile, the expression lighting your face up and he watches quietly for a moment, head tilting to the side as your eyes gleam with life. It’s odd to think that he has never actually seen you in good health, but your smile is quick and easy while your limbs move smoothly when he hands you a cup of fresh water that he had retrieved that morning.

“I am, thank you for taking care of me. I do not particularly remember too much but...I do remember you.” Hoseok flushes at that, rubbing the back of his neck in a movement that he has seen many humans do.

“Well...you may not be happy to see what I have done. I...you asked me to do your daily chores and I am afraid that I am not quite acquainted with what to do. On the plus side, your animals are still alive and I have grown quite fond of your cat. Also...I apologise for the food that I have been feeding you. I think the vegetable stew is okay but...I have never eaten before so I am not sure.” Gazing down at the floor with an awkward expression, he misses the way your brows rise as you look him up and down thoughtfully. 

“Can you pass me my boots please?” The question caused him to look up, watching as you point towards where a pair of well worn boots lies by the side of the door. Shaking his head, he wonders why he’d never noticed them before, grabbing them and helping you to put them on.

A gracious smile greets him when he looks back up at you, the sight making his chest feel strange but he simply stands and helps to adjust the wrapped cloth around your body until it looped to cover the right places while leaving your wounds free. Your body is stiff and aching, leaning heavily onto Hoseok as you hold onto his arm while making your way out of the small cabin.

Back out into the quiet day, you shiver ever so slightly and he frowns, wondering if perhaps he should make you go back inside. But taking one glance at you, he realises that would not be the best decision.

Your face is turned up to the sky, eyes closed as a gentle breeze blew the material around your body slowly. It was the first time you had been outside in a fortnight, and he imagined that the cabin would feel very stifling after a while. 

Soft meowing distracted you both, causing him to look down where the little black cat had come bounding over from her position on the fence. Immediately she began to lace her way around your legs, purring and meowing in content as you let out a sweet laugh, bending down and stroking her soft fur despite the wince of pain.

“She is very affectionate.” He muses, watching as the cat soon comes and begins to rub up against his legs. Without even questioning it, he leans down and brings the cat into his arms, her impossibly velvet fur pressing against his face as the cat purrs and rubs against him fiercely. 

“She isn’t normally to strangers. In fact, she’s specifically made to keep people away from here and protect the home.” Hoseok’s brows rise at that, looking from your serious face to the tiny ball of fluff in his arms. 

“This is Freyja. She was gifted to me a long time ago by a witch-goddess to protect me and my home from danger. We were more widely known in that time, and more widely feared as a result. She knew this and wanted to give us a way to live in this world without fear. Freyja is that way. Right now, she is a small and cuddly cat who wants affection, but when she senses danger to myself or my land here then she turns into a ferocious beast.” At that, Hoseok looks down at the cat in his arms with wide eyes, brows creasing.

“That is...unique,” He wasn’t really sure what to say to it. “But...I am death, why does she not deem me a danger? My very existence is a danger for living creatures.”

You point at Freyja then, a sardonic expression as you slowly shuffle over to the enclosure holding your pigs and cows. It had been harder to take care of them as he had zero knowledge of what to do there. He didn’t even want to talk about his experiences in trying to learn how to milk a cow.

“You have not killed my animals, nor are they frightened of you. I believe your scary nature must simply work on humans. After all, you do not take the souls of animals, do you not?” Hoseok hums at that, walking after you and noting the chickens that start clucking excitedly upon the sight of you.

“No, but I do not know if animals have souls.” That gets a tut from you as you lean over the fence, smiling and stroking the neck of a white cow as it chews grass contentedly. 

“Of course they do. I believe all living creatures have souls. Even supernatural ones like you and I.” His blood runs cold at that and immediately all he can think of is how easy it would be to destroy your life by accident. One simply brush of his lips against any part of your body and he would snap the thread of your life and pull your soul from your body.

“I doubt I have one. I do not see any need for a reaper to have a soul. We cannot die and we do not live.” He shrugs as you look at him quizzically, ignoring the nod of satisfaction after you finish checking over your animals before you move slowly over to the garden. Without a word, he follows and enjoys the gentle conversation between you both as you do so.

He has never had a real conversation like this before. A conversation which did not involve a panicked or upset soul that he was trying to guide to the next place. It was...nice. Everything was nice here. The animals, the forest, the weather, the mountains peeking behind the trees...you.

You examine your garden carefully, stiffly getting onto your knees as you look over the dirt that he had painstakingly kept weed free for you before examining the plants themselves. A few got dissatisfied shakes of your head before you pulled them free. One of them was one of those strange, almost circular vegetables that he didn’t understand.

“Ahh, my apologies. I do not really know vegetables besides from the common ones, such as carrots, potatoes and onions. I did not know what to do with...those...or if they could be used in the stew?” A sweet hiccup of laughter leaves you, your teeth sharpening suddenly before blunting again.

“This is a swede, or a rutabaga if you’d prefer. They’re delicious in stews actually. Have you cooked today?” Hoseok shakes his head, apology written on his face but you just smile graciously. “Are there any fresh vegetables in the store?”

“Oh yes, I put some in there yesterday after feeding the animals the waste. I think they will still be fresh? I do not really know.” He helps you to stand when you gesture an arm to him, pulling lightly until you are on your feet once more and wiping at the dirt that stains your trousers.

“Excellent. We shall get some and then head back inside, I feel tired already. I would appreciate you making me some of this famous reaper stew that you mentioned earlier, only this time I shall show you how to add swede. It tastes delicious in a stew, I swear.” The nod he gives goes unnoticed but he follows you anyway, dropping Freyja to the ground once inside the little store room. A glance around from you ends with a satisfied nod and he lets out a breath he didn’t even realise he was holding.

Grabbing some of the vegetables that you hand him, he follows you back around to the cabin. It’s darker now, with the sky deepening to a navy blue beyond the mountains and a chill bites in the air, your shoulders shuddering where they are exposed.

He expects you to retire back to the bed once back inside, but instead you stand with him at the small counter and show him how to cut the vegetables properly and how to make an actual broth for the food to cook in slowly over the fire. Heat spreads over his cheeks as he realises how wrong he’d been doing things, but his defence firmly remained that he had never had to make food before so why should he know how to?

“Tell me about reapers then. I always thought you were truly myth, just the bogeymen that humans made up to console themselves with the finality of death or something?” The question is casual as you carefully cube a carrot, making the chunks far smaller than he had and he frowns as he watches your skill with the knife.

It seems like you’ve taken over entirely, and after checking over your back once more, he chooses to no longer be a nuisance to you and sit on one of the chairs in the corner, Freyja jumping onto his lap and nibbling on some of the dried meat he’d found in the store room.

“There is not much to tell. We are the ones who remove the soul from the body so that the body no longer lives and the soul has no reason to stay. I answer their questions and encourage them to move on.” A glance back at him shows your wide expression, movements paused and his head tilts in question.

“That is...how do you know who need to die? Do you just randomly choose?” Immediately, Hoseok’s head is shaking in refusal, the very thought offensive to every part of his nature.

“No, never. That is not for me to decide. The Fates decide who’s life thread has come to its end and they sever it at the exact moment that I cause the body to expire. I know who to go to because the Fates...how can I explain this...they send a message to us. It is like...a pulling inside, a tug. I cannot ignore it. I do not need to know where I am going, I simply let the pull take me and I arrive at my destination where the human is.” You hum quietly, an interested look as you stir the stew in the pot and stoke the fire a little more, encouraging the flames to burn brighter.

“Interesting...I know that I am supposedly descended from the Greek pantheon or something, but I did not really believe the Fates to be real. After all...that would mean that the life of loneliness and hatred I’ve lived has all been planned out, right?” Moving slowly, the stiffness evident in your body, you head back to the bed and sit down with a heavy sigh.

Hoseok is suddenly desperate to do something to put a smile back on your face and he quickly blurts out the question before he even realises what he’s doing. Why he’s doing it, he also doesn’t know but he can’t find it in himself to question it either.

“Ermm, well...my muscles feel stiff from not using them. Perhaps...if you would be so kind, you could massage my calves?” You sound shy, embarrassed, and he does not understand why. He has seen plenty of humans be given treatment in the form of massage throughout the centuries, to relieve aching muscles and painful injuries and he is more than willing if it will be of help to you.

“Of course!” He says quickly, placing Freyja onto the table before moving over to the bed. You have to sit straight, unable to let your still healing back touch the covers or mattress but it doesn’t seem to affect you, your legs stretched out.

“I apologise if it is not good...you are the first person I have ever touched without causing them pain.” Your brows rise in muted surprise, watching as his hands slowly began to press and squeeze against the firm muscles of your calf. Strangely, his body seems to know what to do and the soft sigh that leaves you lets him know that he’s doing it well.

“Yes...you did look at me strangely the first time I touched you. Why is that?” 

“Erm...well...my touch causes great pain to humans. It causes the cells and nerves to die wherever I touch, so I do not touch anyone.” The silence that falls is awkward and he’s not sure why, brows creasing together as he tries to figure it out. Over the last two weeks, he’s been surprised to discover that he has experienced a great many unusual feelings that he has never experienced before.

Most of them, he doesn’t have a name for.

Such as the odd warmth in his chest as he watches the way you chew at your lip absentmindedly, uncaring of the way your teeth sharpen momentarily. Or the strange feeling of...almost buzzing in his body at the feel of your skin against his own.

“That sounds...lonely,” Hoseok simply nods, acknowledging the fact without another comment. “Do you not have any family? Other reaper friends perhaps?”

“No. We are solitary, we do not meet up and communicate with each other. Not unless we are at the sight of large scale death, but we are too busy doing our work to communicate. There is nothing for us to talk about really. And I have no family. Reapers simply exist.” A choking noise comes from you and he looks up, noting Freyja has settled herself in your lap while a strange expression takes over your face.

“You have no family? Were you abandoned? Orphaned?” Hoseok frowns in confusion, head tilting once more at the question he doesn’t quite understand. And then he realises you think he must have had a family. Of course, that is how living creatures are born.

“No, I do not have a family because I was not born. I simply...existed? I...came into this world centuries ago as I am now, fully formed and aware. I knew what I was and what I was made to do. I do not believe reapers can be born because I do not believe we can procreate. Admittedly, that is simply because I presume it to be impossible given we cannot touch humans. And also, we exist between life and death. Something that is dead cannot produce life?” That soft peal of laughter leaves you once more, your hands busy stroking at Freyja’s fur.

“Of course the dead can produce life. What do you think nature is? The cycle of life is death, which leads to life. Things die, they decay and new things are born from that.” He looked at you blankly, wondering if you were being pedantic for a reason.

“You know what I meant. Besides, the point is moot. How would a reaper have ever tried?” The conversation dies after that, the air filled instead with the crackling of the fire and the purring of Freyja. Hoseok glanced out of the window, noting the quickly darkening sky outside.

“Do you have a family?” He asks finally, the chill from the air creeping in and he finally gets up to close the shutters. As he does so, he passes the fireplace and pauses to move the kindling, increasing the fire and enjoying the warmth for a moment. It’s odd, to engage in feeling things for once, but he likes it.

“I did. A long time ago. They died unfortunately. Hunters, like what you saw. Harpies are not beloved creatures unfortunately, so I retired in solitude to this cabin and received Freyja as a companion.” Pausing as he locked the final shutter, he stares at the aged wood quietly as he absorbs the sadness in your words.

“I am sorry for your losses. I understand about not being beloved by humans. And about solitude. I did not realise I was lonely until I came across you. I do not know if I would be able to return to such isolation now that I have experienced whatever this is...socialisation?” He wasn’t sure of the word, faltering over it but you give him a tired nod.

“Yes. I know that I do not know you well Hoseok, but I believe that I would like to call you a friend if I may?” Hoseok freezes by the counter, his hand about to pour out a fresh cup of water for you and his head tilts ever so slightly as he considers this unusual development.

Friend. Not a term ever used for him. But he liked it.

Turning back to you, he gave you the biggest smile, bright and happy before handing you the cup and sitting beside you once more. “I would like that very much. Friends.”

The warm feeling in his chest is even stronger now, accompanied by an odd fluttering sensation in his stomach and fizzing in his veins. He isn’t sure what’s happening, but none of it feels threatening so he doesn’t focus on it too hard.

He has no idea that you are experiencing the exact same thing for the strange reaper man in your cabin, whom you barely knew and yet owed more to than anyone else. And yet, he would never ask anything of you. It wouldn’t even enter his mind, for a reaper knows nothing of debts or payback.

Hoseok is here simply because he wants to be, because he wants to care for you and nurse you back to health. Because he enjoys the domesticity of your little cabin and land. Because you make him feel alive for once.

-

Hoseok sat on the chair quietly as you moved around the tiny kitchen of your cabin with a brisk efficiency that he couldn’t help but admire. There was a silence that hung in the air, but it didn’t feel oppressive or awkward. Instead it felt...comfortable. Like you had both been around each other for a long time and felt no need to fill the air with useless words.

He wasn’t sure what to think of it really. It had only been three months since he had found you, since he had taken the life of the scum who had taken your wings from you. And yet, in those three months he felt that you had both become closer than he’d even thought possible for a reaper like him.

Was it okay for a reaper to feel? Not that he knew what he was feeling. All he knew was that his stomach felt tight and his chest breathless when he looked at you on occasion. Like now, with the sunlight streaming through the open window and making you look soft...beautiful.

Frowning slightly, he rubs at his chest without even thinking.

“Are you okay?” The question breaks the silence abruptly, causing his head to jerk up in surprise as his eyes widen. He would’ve thought that after a month of communication with you, he wouldn’t be as surprised or awkward while talking to you. But a month was nothing compared to centuries of loneliness.

“Erm...yes? I mean...yes. I am okay. Are you okay?” His question is stilted and he feels his face flush slightly, an odd sensation still which causes him to let his fingers trace across his rounded cheek slowly. Hoseok had never blushed before he met you, but then he’d never had a reason to. Reapers didn’t have anything to blush about.

You watch quietly, lips pursed with the basket of fresh vegetables you’d collected from the tiny garden sitting in your arms. Everything with you is different though, he reasons to himself internally, because you’re introducing him to a world he’d only ever watched from the outside. 

With you, he almost felt like he belonged in this world.

Your black fingernails sharpen for a moment as you place the basket on the side, sighing deeply as you turn away from him and take out a bunch of carrots. There’s no talking for a few moments as you take a knife from the little block you kept, cutting the orange vegetable into neat pieces that went into the pot that was hanging over the fire. 

The gentle sound of the pieces dropping into the chicken broth you’d started up earlier makes his stomach growl and he looks down in bemusement. These sensations were still so new to him, and yet he didn’t want to let them go. In fact, he wanted to embrace them more.

He’d cavorted with death for so long, for his entire existence. Let him dance with life for once. Especially if it meant dancing with you.

The sudden image of you both dancing crosses his mind in a flash, his hand on the small of your back and your own hand in his other. Moving across the small floor of your cabin elegantly in one of those pretty, swooping dances the humans did in their extravagant clothes.

Hoseok eyes you for a moment, wondering if you know how to dance. He doesn’t, maybe he’s not good at it.

Thick cubes of potato disappear into the pot as well, along with a whole onion and a host of seasoning you’d plucked from your herbs. The lid is placed on top, sealing the ingredients inside the metal and ensuring both the vegetables and meat will cook thoroughly and efficiently. His tongue slides across his lips, mind already racing to imagine a bowl of delicious broth in his hands.

Does all food taste this good? Or is it because you’ve made it for him? Was his cooking as satisfying to you as your cooking is to him? There’s so many questions that he wants to ask, but feels far too shy to consider actually vocalising. 

You clean your hands using a square of cloth and some fresh water, cleaning up the area and placing the vegetable waste into a bucket. It would be used to feed your pigs later on, along with some other feed that you’d got. Hoseok would forever be in fascination with how you’d managed to live so long without the human’s realising what you were, and he wished that he had been able to see you with your wings.

He knew that you would have been astonishing with them, but he was more than content with how you were now.

You brush at the front of your dress while humming gently, the back draped open and revealing the mostly healed wounds on your back. They’re not a pretty sight; the gashes had been too deep for your skin to heal smoothly and so the skin there was thick and rough with scars. The open dress was a remnant of when you would wear your wings openly around your small home, needing the gaps to allow you to spread them.

Now, it simply let you walk around without having anything irritating your wounds as they had healed.

Hoseok wished he could say your humming was soft and melodious, but it wasn’t. You’d told him of the myths about your kind over the past month and one of those was that the sound of your voice was death itself. 

That was obviously false, but no one would ever say that you had a pretty singing voice. Even Hoseok struggled to lie there, but you’d just laughed at him sweetly when he’d tried after you asked him if he liked your singing. You knew that you didn’t have a good voice, but that was apparently merely a trait of a harpy.

Neither did you care. You sang because you enjoyed it, even if you were bad. Hoseok couldn’t find it within himself to think negatively of you when you embraced your solitary life so firmly in a way he’d never been able to.

Moving to the bed next to him, you sit at the edge and reach out to hand that rests carelessly on his thigh. Instinctively he moves his thigh out of the way in a jerky movement, body tensing while his hand clenches.

Your eyes widen ever so slightly before you let out a small sigh, letting your hand rest on your own thigh as you cross your legs. “You are so tense around me.” The words are steady, with no accusation in them and he feels grateful for that.

Swallowing thickly, he looks down at his hands and gives a small shrug. “It is not you. Well...it is you. But not in a negative way. It is just...you know that I’ve spent centuries alone. I have become...conditioned to the knowledge that my touch will cause pain and so I actively have avoided seeking out contact. I am no sadist.”

“I understand that Hoseok, really I do. But...you know that you don’t hurt me? I...would like to touch you. Casually. I want...I want to be able to touch you without you flinching from me. I want you to enjoy being touched.” He scowls slightly, lowering his head and he feels shame as his lip purses out in a petulant pout.

He’d always thought humans that pouted were childish, yet here he was, pouting.

“I do not hate it. I just...I am not used to it. I...I would like for you to touch me as well. I...like your touch, even if I flinch at first. It makes me feel...happy?” His sentence turns into a question but he knows it’s rhetorical because he already knows the answer. Your touch does make him happy, in fact it makes him positively gleeful that you can run your fingers along his skin without crying out in pain.

“Would you...would you let me explore you then? I mean...if you are comfortable with it. And you think you will be okay with it. You can tell me to stop at any time.” You sounds a strange mix of embarrassed and excited, causing Hoseok to cock his head at you. The movement isn’t natural, he can tell by the way you shudder slightly and he resists from apologising.

You have both learnt over the last month that neither of you are human, and he knows that his...habits unsettle you sometimes. But at the same time, he knows that you won’t condemn him for them. If anything, you seem to find some of them almost...cute?

“I...okay.” He doesn’t intend for his voice to sound as soft and almost...shaken, yet it is. Because he’s feeling a lot of emotions that he’s struggling to process right now. Fear, in case he hurts you. Nerves, because he’s never had anyone touch him before except for you. Awe that you want to touch him. But mostly, he feels excitement. Pure excitement at the very thought that you want to spend your touch touching him.

Your face lights up in a brilliant grin though, white teeth sharpening for a moment before they become blunt once more. He finds your little slips into your harpy side sweet, as if you’ve become so distracted that you can’t focus properly.

Hoseok wonders if your teeth would sharpen when you’re being kissed, if the edges would knick at his tongue as he kissed you as deeply as he’d watched humans do over the centuries. It made a strange feeling swell deep in his gut, twisting and odd. It’s foreign, and he doesn’t know enough about the emotions he’s been experiencing to be able to put a name to it.

Instead of thinking about it, he simply ignores it and stands up before moving to sit next to you on the bad cautiously. Neither of you have even done anything and yet his skin feels like the sensation just before a lightning storm, the fine hair on his arms standing on end while his breathing quickens suddenly.

You watch him carefully, lips curving into a gentle smile that is both amused and reassuring before you place a hand on his shoulder. He jumps before relaxing, finding the heat of your palm upon his clothed shoulder astonishing. 

“Lay back on the bed for me please?” Your fingers slowly move down his chest, tracing along the collarbone that you can feel beneath the cotton of his shirt. The black material keeps his chest from your view, yet he suddenly finds that he wants to remove his shirt entirely.

To let you feel him skin to skin, to let him feel you. He wants you to touch him in the way a woman touches a man, but he doesn’t know how to get across that he wants that. Internally sighing, he contends with the fact that he will simply accept what he is given right now.

Which is far more than he’d ever imagined over the years. 

Laying back on the bed like you’d asked, he rests his head on the small pile of soft pillows you favoured and watches you intently. You’re humming to yourself again, the noises quiet and he has to press his lips together to suppress the smile he wants to let out. It doesn’t stop him from admiring how pretty you look in the mid-morning sunlight, so elegant.

He wonders if it’s normal to feel like this, or if he’s simply imprinting on you because you’re the first being he’s been able to touch without hurting. Like a duckling attaching itself to the first thing it sees when born or something. What if he doesn’t actually care for you, but is simply infatuated with the idea of being able to live?

Any further thoughts he has along this line is interrupted by the featherlight touch of your fingertips against wrist. His eyes trail down to follow your movements, taking in the way they ghost across him in a way that has the hairs on his arms standing up beneath you. A small huffed laugh leaves you and he glances up before looking back down.

Your touch is soft and careful, fingers moving along slowly as you let him get used to the very idea of being touched. It’s odd, he thinks to himself carefully, how...nice it is to be touched. Pleasant. 

Your body temperature is perfectly normal for a living being and yet it feels like you’re the temperature of a furnace with the heat your fingers leave behind on his arm. He knows that’s just his mind getting a little ahead of himself, but he finds that he likes it still. That warmth lets him know that you’re very much alive, despite the harbinger of death moniker you wear on your shoulders heavily like an iron cape.

Turning his arm, he lets your fingers dance along the vulnerable skin of his inner wrist. The flesh here is weaker, so easily hurt as he has seen over the years from humans who have injured themselves; whether on purpose or not. And yet, it is also incredibly sensitive due to that weakness.

The sensation that caused his skin to pimple is amplified tenfold and he can’t stop the shudder that ripples through his body. It’s incredibly obvious and he flushes deeply, embarrassed and ashamed to have had such a visceral reaction merely being stroked on the inner arm. 

But you just smile brightly, lips spreading to form a beautiful smile and his heart stutters for a moment as your eyes shine with happiness at his naive reaction. Suddenly, he doesn’t feel so stupid. Not if it makes you smile like that.

Your fingers reach the sleeve of his shirt, rolled up to his elbow, and he spots a tiny pout appear. Playing with the edge of the soft material, you look back up at him with a slightly pleading glance.

“Can you...I mean...would you take your shirt off? Please...if you’re comfortable with it.” Hoseok remains in place for a few moments, his body frozen with awkwardness and stiff with uncertainty. He had never undressed around you. In fact, he never had to, because he didn’t wear clothes like you did.

His clothes were an extension of his power, allowing him to wear whatever he wanted, whenever he wanted. It allowed him to blend in if he ever found himself in a situation where he must be seen, so he could attire himself in the latest fashions without having to actually communicate with a human.

As such, you’d never seen him change because it was a simple thought to give himself night clothes. Which meant he didn’t have to physically remove his clothes now either.

Swallowing, he nods slightly before his black buttoned up shirt vanishes without a sound. Suddenly, your fingers are touching the velvet skin of his inner elbow and he finds himself exposed to the world in a way he had never been. It’s rather astonishing he thinks and he can’t help but look down at his torso in slight amazement.

His actions must be amusing to you as you let out another chirp of laughter, your free hand coming up to cover your mouth as you take him in. Hoseok’s brow creases in confusion while his head tips to the side, asking a question silently.

“You’re looking at yourself like you’ve never seen your chest before.” Teasing, that’s what you’re doing with him. It makes him smile softly in return as he shrugs lightly, cheeks heating once more.

“Well...I have not, really…” He trails off, unsure of how to explain himself. “I do not...change clothes like you do, as you have just seen. Therefore...I have never had need to be...bare.” 

Your eyes widen in surprise as you take in his words before they slowly trail along his torso in careful and calculated movements. Raising a brow, you let your hand move onto the toned muscles of his abdomen which twitch in response to your light touch. But there’s nothing sensual in your eyes that he can tell, instead he just sees pure curiosity.

“So...I am the first person to ever see you like this?” You ask, eyes narrowing while one side of your mouth kicks up and he finds his throat tightening as he nods. “That is...interesting Mister Jung.”

As you say his name like that, low and almost purring, you rake your nails along his flesh in a scrape that is light enough not to cause damage yet deep enough to make him shiver violently. A gasp leaves his mouth as his chest heaves suddenly, causing him to look at you with widened eyes as you grin triumphantly.

“Do you trust me?”

He doesn’t even think on the question, doesn’t even let the words fully penetrate his mind before he’s nodding quickly. Because he does, he really does trust you far more than you’ll ever know. Because a part of his mind is telling him that he’s going too deep, too fast and that he’ll get hurt if he doesn’t stop.

But he doesn’t care, he can’t care. Not when he’s getting something he never even realised he’s been craving. Whatever that is, even if he can’t put a name to it now. He wants to be here, with you and continue feeling. And that means that he trusts you, in a way he has never trusted a single person, alive or otherwise, in his long life.

The look of fond relief on your face makes him realise that you’re probably far more touched by his acknowledgement than he could realise. That made him feel good, knowing that you probably weren’t going to abuse that trust. Although he could never say for sure.

He’d spent too long on this planet to fully believe that nothing will ever go wrong, because something always does eventually.

Either way, he doesn’t expect his trust in you to be rewarded with your lips being pressed to the centre of his chest. He’d been so deep in his thoughts that he hadn’t even noticed you moving, hadn’t paid attention to the look of desire in your eyes, nor to the way your hands on his slim waist had squeezed ever so slightly.

But he’s paying attention now. Now that the rose soft petals of your lips ghost along his skin, the sensation so overwhelming and unknown that it feels like his brain is overloading with information while his nerves scream in pure adulation at the sensations you’re providing him. Hoseok had never imagined he would be able to touch someone in his long life.

As such, the very idea of being kissed like this was a concept so foreign that he genuinely had not even imagined it. He had fleeting thoughts of what kissing you might feel like, but he tried to push those away because that would merely lead to heartache.

Hoseok would never know the feeling of your body beneath his lips like you were doing to him, he would never know the taste of your mouth or anything like that because to kiss him was to die. And he would spend the rest of his life fighting death for you if he had to.

But he had never considered the fact that you could do this to him. That you could explore his body as expertly as you were doing now, letting your lips brush over the dips and curves of the muscles that strained beneath your touch. Warm softness against his over sensitized nerves while your hands move along his waist and stomach in an almost mesmerising dance.

He wasn’t sure whether he was coming or going, whether he was alive or dead, whether he was imagining this or not. All he knew was that all he could focus on was the feeling of your lips, so gentle and tender as you made sure to go slow and acclimatise him to the feelings you were overloading his body with. 

The words to thank you wouldn’t form in his throat, not when his fists are gripping the covers of your bed so tightly and his body is so tense. You must take his movements the wrong way as you stop, lifting up to look at him with a frown of concern while one hand rubs at his side comfortingly and he almost whines at the loss of touch.

“Are you okay?” The fact that you were so willing to stop just to check on him makes him feel warm all over and he has to swallow a few times, licking his lips to provide enough moisture for him to talk as he nods.

“Yes. Yes I am...I am okay. I just...this is...I have never...are you okay doing this? You do not have to, not for me. I do not want you to do something you are unsure of.” He means every word he says, and the way your face creases in bemusement tells him that you understand his earnest meaning.

Leaning over him, he swallows even harder at the sudden proximity of your faces while a panic overwhelms him at how close your lips are. “Please do not kiss me.” He blurts out, not even caring that the words come out of nowhere.

You freeze in response, brow creasing and he realises that you’ve forgotten about his warning. Or maybe you simply thought because his touch didn’t hurt you then his kiss wouldn’t either. But he refused to risk that. He couldn’t risk that. His touch was merely pain, his kiss was death.

Without him even realising, his hand rises and gently smoothes away the frown on your brow and he marvels at how soft you feel beneath his own finger tips. Despite his words, you’re still close enough that he can feel the invisible caress of your breath, warm on his cheek and he marvels at how...intimate it feels. 

This is as close as he can get to you without kissing you and causing harm, causing his throat to tighten as he inhales deeply. It’s only then that he looks back into your eyes, taking in the confusion deep inside them as they dart across his face, taking in every tiny movement.

“Why can’t I kiss you?” And then he realises that you have forgotten what he had told you so long ago. Perhaps he shouldn’t be so surprised with this. It’s an unusual fact that he cannot kiss, and he doesn’t hold it against you that you don’t remember his warning. He’s just glad that he remembered.

His hand gently runs along your face, thumb stroking at the impossibly velvet softness of your cheek and staring at it in awe for a moment before his mind catches up and he responds. “I told you a long time ago, when we first met. Or rather, when I was cleaning you so perhaps the trauma means you do not remember. I am reaper. You cannot kiss me as if you did...or if...my lips were to touch anywhere on you...then I would kill you and pull your soul from your body.”

As he says the words, his mind supplies a horrific set of images of him doing just that; him taking you in his arms and pressing his lips to your own. For one brief moment, it’s blissful but then time freezes in its usual way and he’s pulling your soul from your body.

The very thought of it strikes him hard and he feels an agony inside his chest like he’s never experienced. Frowning deeply, he lays on hand over the place where it hurts the most and rubs slightly, puzzlement lacing his every movement and he doesn’t notice the way you watch him with careful eyes that warm pleasingly.

“If I remember correctly, and I may be remembering this wrong of course, but did you not also tell me that you cannot touch humans because your touch brings pain? You do not hurt me.” Fingers that were rough with calluses formed over a long period of time played with his own, but he still thought they were still some of the softest things he’d had ever had the privilege of touching.

He remains silent as you play with his hands, his own far bigger than yours and he rests his palm against your own, spreading both your fingers wide and smiling at the difference in size. You were strong enough to kill a human man, when you were not cornered of course, and yet you felt so small and dainty here like this. 

Wrapping his long fingers around your own, he feels yet another strange pulling in his chest as a swell of...protective feelings blooms deep within. Hoseok has only known you for a month, and most of that time has been spent helping you to heal and keeping watch over you, yet he knows deep down inside that he would protect you from anything.

Not that you would need his protection once you were fully healed. He knew that you would never let yourself be taken unawares from now on, yet the feelings still bubbled within him alongside a righteous fury at those who had hurt you so.

“No...I do not hurt you. But my touch would simply be pain...the death of your nerves around whatever area I touched. It would hurt, but that would be it. My kiss...would be death itself. I can’t...I can’t risk that. What if are you immune? Then you live. But what if you aren’t? I...I cannot be responsible for your…” Hoseok is surprised by how his throat tightens abruptly at the final word, his breath short suddenly while he feels...he doesn’t know what he feels but he does not feel well. 

The very idea of you not existing is a pain he never knew he could feel.

As if you can tell his emotions, even though you have no empathic skills as far as he is aware, you cooed to him in reassuring sounds while your free hand cups his face and strokes in comforting movements that have him breathing a little easier. When his gaze finally refocuses on you, you smile tenderly at him before moving closer until your nose rests against his so lightly that he’s not even sure if he can actually feel it.

This close, he finds himself in silent awe as he takes in how truly beautiful you are. An old scar bisects an eyebrow while another makes its way across your cheek, the skin is not as smooth as everything else and yet he thinks it just makes you look even more handsome. He gets the sudden thought that he could spend hours looking at you and never tire of it.

“It is okay Hoseok. I will not kiss you…” You trail off, your words so incredibly light that it’s a strain even for him to hear them. “But that does not mean I cannot kiss you elsewhere, correct?”

A brow rises at your question and his throat convulses reflexifly. The very thought of feeling your lips on his body again makes him feel like he has lightning in his veins, his senses positively crackling with anticipation and he lets out a puff of air without meaning to, internally wincing due to your close proximity but you don’t say anything about it.

Instead, at his tiny nod, you smile before slowly moving your face along his, nuzzling your nose against his before your lips find their place at his jawline. The sensation is even more overwhelming that before and he struggles to swallow for a moment, his throat feeling tight and yet he would rather kill a thousand humans than ask you to stop what you’re doing right now.

Hoseok has never once indulged in anything in his life. But he wants to indulge in this. He wants to fully commit himself into this influx of feelings that you incite in him until he can’t even think straight anymore. Or maybe just that he can’t even think.

As your mouth slowly trails along his jaw, he lets out a whisper soft whine as you press an open mouthed kiss to the strained flesh of his throat. He had never known that this was such a sensitive area, even though he had seen many human’s pay special attention to this area when they were engaging in their sexual desires.

Now he understood why.

A husky laugh leaves your mouth, vibrating along his skin and he shivers from the sensation, positive that his mind will short out with the sheer awareness he has of his body right now. Hoseok thinks he finally understands why humans seem to seek out the pleasures of the flesh so ardently, why it seems to rule their minds sometimes until it’s all they can think about. 

Because if this is merely what your mouth on his throat feels like...he can’t even begin to imagine what it would feel like on other areas of his body. Areas that he knows are far more sensitive to this kind of touching than anywhere else on his body.

He should know, he’s seen enough humans engaging in it for him to have gained a healthy curiosity as to why they were so insistent on this activity. Even when it came with punishment if they had found out.

As you move along his skin, your hands make quick work of stroking along his chest and stomach in long, slow movements that acclimatise him to being touched far quicker than he could’ve possibly imagined. A deep groan falls from his mouth as his eyes close of their own accord when he feels the wet heat of your mouth as your press an open kiss to the vulnerable skin between his neck and collarbone.

It’s a sensation he’d never even thought to imagine and it feels better than he could have ever thought. You hum happily against him, lips curling up of your own accord as his obvious pleasure satisfies you in a way he didn’t understand.

How could you enjoy doing this to him so much when you knew he could not reciprocate? That he would never be able to kiss along your collarbone in the same way you were doing to him, leaving behind a trail of wetness that cooled quickly in the midmorning air.

Oh, how he wished that he could.

It made him feel bizarrely inadequate suddenly and his hands move up to lift your head, admiring the way your pupils seemed to be larger than before and how your lips are slightly more swollen. He ponders momentarily if that is because of what you had been doing, but he doesn’t understand the biology of it all to make a properly educated guess.

“I want to do something for you. Please. I...I feel a little useless here. And...selfish. Because this should not be all about me.” You make a soft noise of repudiation and he shakes his head firmly, letting his thumbs stroke along your cheeks gently and admiring the way you lean into his touch. “Please...show me...how I can do something for you. Please. There must be something.”

There’s a brief hesitation in you as you pause, looking down at him with emotions that he doesn’t understand before you pull your lower lip between white teeth, chewing for a moment before letting it slip back out. He can’t help but watch the motion, surprised by the stirring in his groin.

You shift a little from your position next to him before nodding, eyes lowering in a sudden shy movement that has his heart beating a little faster than normal. Slowly, you shift until you’re kneeling on the bed before you move one leg over his waist. In this position, he’s given a perfect view up your glorious body and his mouth falls open as he gazes upon the sheer beauty he’s being blessed with.

Your dress pools at his waist, the material drawn up to reveal the bare expanse of your thighs and calves. He has the sudden and intense urge to lift that soft material, to allow him to see what lies between your legs and he frowns slightly at that thought. Hoseok knows what will be there, and he’s surprised at how eager his thoughts are given he’s never been bothered about the idea before.

But then again, he’s never had anyone straddling him on a bed like this. 

A surprised noise leaves your mouth as you wriggle once more, eyes widening as they lock onto his while your mouth falls open into a pretty ‘o’. He tilts his head in concern, wondering if perhaps you’re injured or something but instead you just grin at him.

“You seem to be enjoying this more than I anticipated.” You tease him, words filled with an intimate joy. At the way his brow creases, you smirk and move one hand to slide underneath the folds of your dress and he lets out a shocked gasp at the jolt of pleasure that sparks from where your hand presses against the crotch of his trousers.

Grinning, you press your hand harder and he finds himself moving aside your dress to frown down in surprise at his groin. Hoseok knew logically what was happening, he’d been around humans for a long time and there were many men who were proud of what they held between their legs, but he had never experienced it himself before.

Still, he’s not sure whether to be proud of the fact that his penis does in fact work like a human’s, which likely means he could perform during intercourse, or humiliated because you get to witness the first time it ever happened. Or maybe you’re disgusted by the fact he evidently finds you attractive enough to gain an erection.

“I am sorry.” He blurts out, wanting to avoid any offence. There are many women that find it revolting to be the object of a man’s attraction, particularly when it’s so obvious and Hoseok is partially mortified that his first experience with this is being witnessed in such close proximity by you. The very reason for his excitement.

A loud laugh leaves you, your face creasing in amusement as you lean down to press a sweet kiss to his nose that leaves him blushing even deeper. He doesn’t know why you’re laughing and part of him is embarrassed, wondering if you’re laughing at the fact he’s hard for you. But you assuage his fears seconds later.

“Why are you sorry? Because you find me attractive?” You shake your head fondly, letting your fingers run along his chest slowly and tracing shapes he doesn’t understand onto him. “No. Don’t feel ashamed for it. I’m honoured that you think that way, truly.”

Hoseok doesn’t move for a moment, his eyes firmly looking away from your gaze and his cheeks ablaze until you gently tilted his head back to yours. What he sees there is soft amusement and something else, something he doesn’t quite recognise deep in your eyes. Frowning slightly, he reaches up and runs the tips of his fingers along your face slowly, taking in all the ridges and softness that make your beauty. 

“You truly are beautiful.”

Now it’s your turn to duck your head down, shyness written in every inch of that astonishingly arresting face and he can’t help but smile, wondering where your earlier confidence had gone. He knew that you had far more experience in this area, only two weeks ago you had told him of the couplings you’d had with another harpy, a male. 

Apparently he had been a childhood friend, and you had hoped one day that he would be your mate. But as with the rest of your family, he was no longer here. It made something twist inside Hoseok to think that you were all alone, but he was here with you now.

Still, he was slightly bemused to find that he was actually intimidated at the idea of anything sexual with you. Hoseok hadn’t even known his sexual organs even worked until right now and his emotions and feelings were in a multitude of states he couldn’t even begin to work out. The experience you brought would be appreciated because it meant you would be able to help him through everything, but it made him shy at the thought he might do something wrong.

It’s not like he’d made it a habit of the years to spy on the sexual behaviour of humans.

“I think you may be the only person alive who would think that about me.” A scoff leaves his mouth without him even realising and your brow raised slowly, lips quirking slightly and he watched the colour’s change within. Since you had woken, your eyes had no longer been the solid black that they had when he had found you and he wondered how they worked.

“Well...technically I am not alive.” He grinned and you laughed in response, automatically moving down to kiss him before stopping as his hand pressed against your chest. Your face cringe, mouthing out a sorry before you shake your head, taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly.

“Okay, so you want to do something for me, correct?” Hoseok nodded eagerly, excited to learn and excited to bring you pleasure and happiness.

Chewing your lip slowly, you take his hand and rest it on your breast, the mound soft and supple beneath his fingers underneath your dress. His hand squeezes gently without him even realising and he mutters an apology, but you simply smile and encourage him to explore. It awed him just how...soft you feel. He doesn’t have another word to describe it, but you simply feel soft.

A shiver runs through as his hand moves and he feels the hardening of a small nub under his palm, moving it away just enough to spy your nipple firm against the flowing material of your dress. Absentmindedly, he runs his thumb over it and gets a responding moan fall from your lips, eyes closing and he mentally takes note of that.

“Does this feel good?” He doesn’t realise that he’s vocalised that until you nod and give him an affirmative hand, taking your own hand and guiding him to what you like most. While you do that, your other hand comes to rest on his chest, thumb moving over his own nipple and he jerks slightly in response, eyes widening as he looks down at his chest in amazement.

“It does!” His innocent response has you laughing loudly, letting go of his hand to lean down and press a gentle kiss to his jaw, almost affectionately. 

But then he lets his hands move down your body, running his palms along the curves of your waist and the expanse of your stomach, sliding around and finding the solid roundness of your behind. It all feels so new and interesting to him that he doesn’t even pay attention to your face anymore, instead focusing firmly on what his hands are doing as they take in the exquisite shape of you, committing it to memory.

You let him explore as he pleases, watching him intently and thoroughly enjoying the feel of his touch if your soft sighs and shivers are anything to go by. Hoseok can understand why humans like doing this now, it feels...exhilarating to explore you like this.

“Do you want to go further?” Your voice is deeper than before, filled with a husk that makes his head tilt on the pillow and you smile. It’s only then that he notes your eyes darkening ever so slightly, leading him to wonder if they’re influenced by extreme emotion.

But he can’t stop the way his head nods, a deep and carnal need pushing him to explore your body even more, keep going until there is nothing about you he doesn’t know.

And with that, you gently guide his fingers to the place that had got him so worked up earlier. It has the same effect now, his body tensing slightly while he breathes ever so slightly faster, lungs working harder.

He expects you to simply guide his hand beneath the fabric of the dress, but you surprise him once his hand is centered on your body, grasping the material and carefully pulling it free from your body. Hoseok’s breath leaves him in a single woosh, his body feeling almost fuzzy as his mind tries to take in the image of your naked body before him.

It’s silly really, he shouldn’t be this affected given how he had seen you naked the first day he’d ever met you, and for two weeks you had laid in bed without anything over your torso. Yet, he had been beyond polite with that and had refused to look at you in any way that could be misconstrued, not when you had been so weak and vulnerable.

Now was different, now was you actively wanting him to look at your body while you were awake and healthy. 

Swallowing hard, Hoseok’s hand shake ever so slightly and he looks at them, brow creasing as he wonders why. But if he’d been in awe of your beauty beforehand, then he had no words that could be used to describe you now.

He doesn’t know how long he simply stares at you, greedy eyes taking in every inch of exposed skin, unwilling to leave any part of you left unseen. You seem to tire of it after a few minutes, though he can see from the warm glow of satisfaction in your eyes that you’re pleased at his observations.

Reaching for his hand, you slowly centre it again on your body, pressing his palm to your stomach before moving it down. Velvet skin meets his touch, and he notes that your own nails have grown into their familiar black claws from excitement, leading him to wonder momentarily how you manage to pleasure yourself.

But then that thought vanishes from his mind as he feels the coarse hair that surrounds the area that you obviously want him most. He takes the initiative after that, moving of his own accord as he explores your most private area, fascinated at the way you shiver with delight as his fingertips dance along your inner thighs.

He doesn’t waste much time though, his eyes caught on the slick softness resting firmly in the centre of your thighs. And so he runs a finger along the exposed flesh slowly, watching with fascination as your legs tighten around him and abdomen clenches, a breathy gasp leaving you.

It’s impossibly soft, the flesh giving way to his fingers easily as he rubs a slow circle around the engorged nub, enjoying the way you shiver and shudder in pleasure. But that has nothing on when he slides his fingers further along, slipping between your folds and discovering the slick wetness that awaited him.

For a moment, he was surprised, looking at the sticky residue on his fingers before sliding them back, smearing your own excitement all over your clit. It must be more pleasing for you, as immediately you whimper, hands tightening on your breasts as you squeeze them for more.

“Keep doing that, in circles, a little harder,” He does as you ask, applying a little more pressure and moving as you’d requested. “Yes, that feels good.”

It’s surprising how content he is to simply bring you pleasure, watching in delight as you writhe atop him, your movements enticing and exciting all the more because he has the knowledge that they’re being caused by him. For the first time, his touch is bringing pleasure and not pain.

You’re very vocal for him as well, directing him exactly how to touch you to bring yourself the maximum amount of pleasure and he’s glad for it. He would have no idea what to do properly otherwise, which is why he’s even more pleased when you push at his hand, his fingers sliding along your folds until he reaches the source of your wetness.

Your entrance is beyond slick, thighs shining with your own juices and he stares in fascination for a moment as the tips of his fingers disappear inside you. A soft moan from you tells him that you enjoy that, and he carefully slides one finger as far as he can. The moan this time comes from him, the tightness and sheer warmth of the walls that surround his finger sending an instant fantasy to his head about what this would feel like with his dick inside you instead.

Experimentally, he moves that finger in and out of you slowly, rubbing along the smooth ridges of your walls as he does so before he finds himself sliding a second in, a sudden need to stretch you a little further taking over. 

“Oh gods, Hoseok...keeping doing that. Rub right there.” You pant out, eyes clenched tightly closed as he curves his fingers and rubs along a certain spot. Head tilting, he carries on doing so, speeding up his movements when he notices you seem to like it faster and harder with how your body shudders and the obscene noises leave your mouth quicker.

As he focuses on the pace he manages to keep inside you, awed at how wet you get as he does so with your excitement spreading down his wrist and making him get a little more excited as well, you take the initiative of your own as well to reach between your thighs and stroke at your clit in fast, small circles. 

It’s interesting to note that your claws vanish as you do so, causing his brows to raise slightly but then he lets out a soft whiney gasp as he takes in the ridiculously attractive sight above him. You writhe and wriggle, pressing against the hardness in this trousers that causes him to wince slightly but he can’t deny that it feels good too.

“Keep going Hoseok, keep going.” And he does so, clenching his jaw as the muscles in his bicep strain from the unusual movement but he can’t stop now, there’s no way he wants to stop because all he wants to see what will happen when you reach that edge. The edge he’s heard humans reach, and knows exists, but has never seen it in real life.

Then, with a keening and high pitched cry that soon turns into a deep moan, your body shudders violently. Deep convulsions cause your muscles to tighten, hands clenching tightly while your head falls back onto your shoulders and the tightness of your channel increases until it’s a struggle for Hoseok to continue fingering you, grunting from how you clench around him like a vice.

But he continues on, stroking the twitching muscles and elongating your orgasm until you finally pull your fingertips away from your engorged clit, whimpering and whining as he continues before pushing his arm away too. Looking at it with wide eyes, Hoseok stretches his fingers out and watches in wonderment as your excitement glistens in the light, stringy stickiness looking so enticing that he can’t help but place them into his mouth, tasting you for the first time.

And with that, he lets out a deep groan, his eyes closing tightly at the taste of you. Logically, he knows that your mouth would likely taste nothing like this and yet he has to stifle the desperate urge to find out for himself, instead focusing on the delicious taste on his fingers. 

“You taste phenomenal.” He mutters, fingers already moving to slip between your lips to coat them once more and you laugh tiredly, chest heaving for breath before grabbing his arm before he can.

“Thank you, but let’s not do that. At least, not yet.” Hoseok can’t help but pout then, eyes focused on the wet mess between your thighs as he fights the urge to taste you once more.

“But I cannot taste you any other way.” You chuckled lightly at that, leaning down to press open mouthed kisses to his chest that had his skin feeling like it was on fire. Lips as soft as rose petals drag across his skin as you move down his body, crawling backwards until you’re hovering with your face over his groin.

“I promise, you can taste me plenty. But for now, I would like to reciprocate the pleasure you gave to me.” He frowns, head tilting and you chuckle at the confusion that must be written all over his face. Kissing the band of his trousers, his abdominal muscles jump of their own accord and he suddenly wants you to touch him in a much more intimate way than you ever had.

When he doesn’t give a negative, you tap his thigh and tell him to remove the final clothing, leading to his trousers vanishing just as his shirt had. And he watches in wonder as his cock bobs in the air for a moment, the weight of its thick and hard shaft pulling it down until the bulbous head almost touches his stomach.

A soft laugh causes him to look back at you, the amusement in your tired face causing him to smile in response too. “Your reactions are so sweet. It is like you have never seen your own erection before.”

“I have not. This is the first time I have ever...been erect. I have had no reason to before.” His cheeks flush at the admission before he pokes at the veined shaft, watching the way it sways before he lets out a contemplative noise. “Am I of an adequate size? Would I even fit inside you? Or am I too small?”

Now you laugh loudly, hands resting on his firm thighs as your head tilts forward, forehead almost hitting his cock and he frowns in response. He may not have any experience in this, but he’s very sure that he doesn’t like his penis being laughed at.

But you console him quickly, able to sense the change in his emotions before he’s even worked them out and press a gentle kiss to his chest. “You are perfect. I promise. Do not worry, you will fit. I look forward to the day that we are ready for that.”

“Can that day be today?” He blurts out without thinking, eyes widening as he recognises what he’s just said. It causes you to pause though, brows rising before your eyes flick up to his, watching him carefully.

“I...I was simply going to use my mouth on you. I was not planning to have sex with you, I did not want your first time to be rushed.” It takes Hoseok a moment to understand why that was apparently important and his face changes into comprehension, mouth opening.

“Oh...you do not need to worry about that. I am more than happy to engage in sexual relations with you. Right now. If you want to that is.” Your lip purses out as you sit up, the glistening between your thighs attracting his attention before he can help it and he wonders momentarily when he became so single focused.

Yet you don’t answer him, simply looking at the wall and his eyes flick up to you, wondering what you’re thinking about. And then you crawl up his body slightly, and before he can even say anything further, you grasp him tightly.

He’s about to gasp out at the sensation, the feel of your fingers on him beyond exciting, yet that gasp turns into a strangled moan as you line yourself up and sink down onto him. There is no waiting, no slowness or shyness. Instead you are bold and quick.

Before his mind can even comprehend what has happened, you are seated on him fully, his cock buried deep inside the tight, wet heat between your thighs. If he had thought that his fingers inside you was glorious, then it has nothing compared to the way you feel around him now, his eyes scrunching closed and jaw tightening as his hands grip your hips hard.

“Fuck.” Is all he managed to get out, the word a choked whisper spoken from behind his clenched teeth and you let out a breathless laugh, the movement causing your internal muscles to squeeze him quickly and he whines.

“Oh wow. You feel even better than I imagined. Yes, you are most definitely the right size Hoseok.” The words are like music to his ears and you wiggle your hips in a slow circle, causing his cock to shift inside you and both moaned loudly at the sensation.

It’s almost overwhelming for Hoseok, he almost doesn’t know what to think or how to feel. All he can focus on right then and there, is you wrapped around him so tightly. He takes a moment to send a quick wish that he is not interrupted with a death call right now, because he’s not sure he would have the willpower to leave the delightful depths of you.

You apparently have more mental capacity left than him though as you slowly begin to move on top of him, hips lifting up until he swears he’s going to slip out before sliding back down. It’s almost agonising how pleasurable it feels, his mind so completely overwhelmed by these new and exciting sensations that he doesn’t feel in control of himself or his body.

The fact he can’t see himself either means that he doesn’t notice when his own eyes bleed black to match yours beneath his closed eyelids, a frown lining his brow as unstoppable noises spill from his throat with each glorious glide of you against him. He most definitely understands why humans enjoy this now.

And then you begin to squeeze your muscles rhythmically, tightening and loosening on his cock and a strangled moan leaves him. His hands clasp your hips even harder, a desperation he doesn’t particularly understand but knows he just has to follow taking over his body and before he even realises what he’s doing, he’s thrusting up into you to meet your movements.

“Shit, shit.” He mutters along with a lot of unintelligible noises, gibberish falling from his lips as the pleasure in his body builds and builds, his whole focus entirely on his cock and the fact that he would rather cease existing than follow this feeling over the precipice he feels he’s approaching.

Muscles tightening, he lets out a high pitched whine from his throat, almost breathy and whistling but he doesn’t notice as he bucks up into you, pressing himself firmly inside you as far as he can get while that exquisite tension in his body snaps. Head thrown back, his exhale is a gratified groan as lightning bolts of pleasure zip through his body, his cock twitching inside you as he spills deep into your wet warmth.

The whole time he orgasms, for the first time in his entire existence, you coo softly to him, running your hands along his chest and raking your nails over his skin, sending goosebumps pimpling everywhere. And you continue to ride him, wet heat moving him in and out of you in a constant rhythm that has him sputtering noises, muscles clenching him greedily and adding to the pleasure he’s already experiencing.

And then, it’s all too much for him. His whines are no longer excited and needy, but instead laced with almost pain as the sensations become too strong, too overwhelming for him and he has a deep need to stop it. As much as he adores the tight heat of you, his cock screams out from over sensitivity, wanting the sensations to stop and he doesn’t know what to do, half pushing against you but not wanting to be selfish and deny you.

But again, you read him better than he thought you might and lift your hips off him slowly, letting him slip out of you and fall back onto his stomach with a wet slap. He doesn’t look at you for a few seconds, eyes still closed before he finally takes a deep breath to try and calm himself down.

The first thing he notices is his cock, now slowly shrinking in size once more but he takes in the sight of your excitement coating him in a slick mess. Secondly, he focuses in on between your legs, your clit swollen and wet until his notices the thick, white liquid that slowly begins to drip from your entrance.

He doesn’t understand for a moment before he remembers the times that he’s taken a human’s soul after sex. Those scenes had been given an uninterested glance from him, but he realised what that was leaking from you now.

That was him, his own excitement, his own release that he had ejaculated into you as he orgasmed so wonderfully. The sight of it is strangely arousing, generating some feelings deep within himself that he doesn’t understand but he can’t take his eyes from the sight as you drip onto him.

“You did not orgasm again.” He finally says, voice breathless and concern in his face as he looks up at you. Smiling softly at him, you lean down to press a kiss to his chin before nuzzling your face into his neck. Instinctively, he wraps his arms around your body, uncaring about either of your nakedness and he finds a different kind of pleasure in the moment of intimacy.

“It is fine, I did not want to. I had already had my pleasure, that was about you. Introducing you to sex and the joys of it.” Hoseok doesn’t know what to say for a moment and he gets a bizarre urge to kiss your head, knowing that he can’t yet still wanting to despite himself. So instead he hums, running his fingers along your back until he brushes against your scars.

You shift slightly as he does so, mildly uncomfortable and he quickly moves away. He knows they don’t hurt like they used to, but it must be odd to feel them like that all the same.

“I could pleasure you again? If you would like?” Shaking your head, you let out a deep sigh and he gets the sense that you are sleepy, filled with a bone weary tiredness. Strangely, for someone who never used to sleep, he feels the same way, a lethargy that desires for him to drift off.

“Well...thank you. I enjoyed that, far more than I thought I would. It was...everything.” But you don’t respond, and when he shifts his head away to look at your face as best he can, he sees your eyes are closed and breathing evened out, fast asleep.

Smiling to himself, he squeezes you a little tighter before sliding out from your grasp, covering you up with the bed covers and clothing himself in what he had deemed his night clothes. Settling onto the floor in his usual sleeping place, lest he accidentally brushed his lips against you somehow in the night, he grins as he recalls what had just happened.

Strange feelings bubble in his stomach once more and he lays on his back, staring at the ceiling as he tries to figure them out. It’s hard, trying to work out emotions like this when you had never experienced them before, he thinks to himself. But he knows this one is important because it involves you, and he wants to figure it out.

Glancing up to where your hand rests hanging off the bed, he reaches up and holds it gently, hoping it brings you at least a mere piece of the comfort and happiness it brings him.

-

The next few weeks pass by strangely fast. Hoseok has always had a strange concept of time. As someone who is immortal, created and spending most of his life living outside of the reality of actual life, time is simply something humans measure the day by. To him, it’s insignificant.

Years can pass easily for him without his notice, the slow rise and fall of empires around the work attracting a passing attention for him. But as someone who was not connected to the real world in any tangible way, it also meant that the passing of time so quickly without him realising had left him very unconnected to the world.

He had been merely a passive observer, but for the first time, with you, he was an active participant. And he was horrified at how fast time seemed to go when he was with you. Beforehand, days would slip by and he would merely travel from one place to the other, taking in the beautiful sights and merely contemplating mundane things that would enter his head.

Hoseok would openly admit that his life before you had been bland and dull, unsure what he did with all that time. Now though, he had you to laugh with, to work with, to talk with, to sigh in pleasure with. Despite your initial assumptions the morning after his first sexual encounter with you, Hoseok had not become the equivalent of a teenage boy discovering girl’s for the first time.

In fact, he had remained more focused on you and providing you with all the sexual gratification he could with his hands and more. His own pleasure was merely a secondary byproduct, an excellent side benefit if you will.

As much as he liked the sex with you, he simply enjoyed spending time with you more. It made him feel warm and soft when he was in your presence, hating those moments when he felt the call of death luring him away from you. He fulfilled his duty of course, taking the souls of humans and leading them to the other side, but now he felt a strange sense of connection to some of them.

To the woman who had died in childbirth and had been overwhelmed with grief at never getting to see her child or husband again. To the man who died in war, leaving behind his family. To the child who would never be able to experience all that life could offer.

Hoseok...empathised with them, in a way he never had before. What had once been a cold and empty space inside him now overflowing with warmth and emotion, so many feelings that he experienced in a multitude of ways. Some of them he recognised and could name, others were foreign to him.

Part of him wanted to ask you, to explain what he felt and see if you could shed some light on all these strange new experiences that rolled through his body. But then something deep inside him that he didn’t understand, refused to let him. Something that made him feel slightly ill at the thought of explaining his thoughts and feelings to you.

He listened to that instinct, unsure why but unwilling to do something that his body felt so vehemently against.

But despite all of that, he enjoyed his time with you. You showed him how to garden properly once your back healed up fully, your movements still ever so awkward as you got used to walking and running properly without staggering from the lack of balance you had due to no longer having your wings.

He found pulling out the weeds from the dirt and planting new life rather satisfying and relaxing, losing himself for hours if left to it in the dark soil as he took care of the tiny, fragile plants. You found his newfound love of gardening amusing but had decided to leave it to him, pointing out that you often got dirt stuck far beneath your claws that would grow when your emotions did.

While you liked to garden too, growing vegetables and herbs that helped to sustain you, it gave you too much time to think and he had observed the way your body changed rapidly when you did so. Eyes darkening to black before shifting back to their original colour, black claws growing from your nails into sharp points and white teeth becoming far more lethal before blunting again.

It was fascinating to watch, but he had discovered that it also unnerved you. Without your wings now, you could resemble a human if you were able to control your emotions, and the prospect of potentially being able to trade with the human villages was exciting to you. Particularly when Hoseok had pointed out that he could take you around the world, fill your garden with spices, fruits and vegetables from far off places.

But you were still learning to control them, your emotions more unstable since the attack according to you. It made his heart hurt to know that you were still being affected, but the logical side of him knew that you were likely to suffer unseen side effects for some time. The attack had been brutal, and you had thought you were going to die after all that pain.

You still suffered horrendous nightmares during those dark hours, whimpering softly before thrashing in bed as your wails pitched in noise. It broke his heart to hear, unsure why your pain and fear affected him so badly but desperately wanting to comfort you.

He didn’t touch you though. He had done that once and you had flung out a clawed hand, black talons scraping down his chest in your terror. It had hurt, he’d noticed that everything seemed more intense nowadays instead of how it had been before he had met you, but he hadn’t cared.

Not when you had woken, with tears streaming down your face and fear etched deep into your eyes. It had morphed quickly into horror at the sight of the claw marks on his chest but he would coo to you quietly, reaching out and stroking your cheek in reassuring motions as the wounds on his chest healed rapidly.

He tried to keep you happy though, to make your life as easy as possible and he suspected that you had embraced the task of teaching him properly about the world and how to live with it with open arms. It was something he appreciated and he was quickly growing to enjoy a lot of things he would have never considered before.

You had shown him how to fix one of the fences that had broken recently, working with his hands in a way that was oddly satisfying and he was eager to learn more. But most of all, he had come to treasure the quiet moments of peace and serenity with you.

Like now, for instance. During the time that you had still been bedridden from the wounds on your back, you had spent a lot of time talking to him about a multitude of things. From his own knowledge of reapers and death to the mythology extending harpies to even more mundane things such as how to create clothing and jewellery.

But you’d also talked of how you enjoyed walking the forest trails or hiking up the steep mountain sides, luxuriating in the beauty of nature here. On your more daring days, apparently you had even flown but that wouldn’t be happening anymore.

Still though, Hoseok wanted to bring that sweet smile to your face and bring some peace into the life that he had made hectic by accident. And so he had asked if you would take him along one of your favourite trails, to explore the forest with him and show him why you loved nature so much.

Over his years, he’d seen many astonishing scenes of nature from impossibly large canyons cut into the ground to endless blue ocean and more. He swore that he would show you some of these sights one day, promising that he’d seen things that you couldn’t even imagine but for now...he wanted to explore your home with you.

And so you had pulled on a sturdier pair of boots, casually talking to him about how you made said pair of boots, a dress and a travelling cloak. When the rays of the sun that beamed down from overhead, directly above the clearing your cabin inhabited, he’d been momentarily struck by simply how beautiful you look.

But then you had taken his hand, locking your fingers together, and began walking. For three hours he followed you through the forest, understanding finally why you seemed to enjoy this activity. The gentle sounds of the forest let him know that it was alive, from the rustling of leaves in the wind to the chirping of birds, the call of deer and the chattering of small creatures in the underbrush.

He hadn’t noticed it at first, not until you’d pressed a finger to your own lips before then gesturing out to the forest in general. It was then that he’d focused his senses more intently, determined not to look a fool to you. And it was then that he’d tuned into the sounds and rhythms of life that made up the forest.

Even now, he still looked around in wonder at a new birdsong, eyes eagerly trying to find it to see if you could name it for him. You had an astonishing knowledge of the wildlife and plants of the forest, enough to shame him considering how long he’d existed, but he was pleased that you were so eager to share it with him.

He thought that it might be because you simply hadn’t had anyone to talk to for a long time, but he didn’t mind if that was the reason. It was wonderful to hear the passion and excitement in your voice and he enjoyed learning everything.

A small bird swooped past, its head and wing tips black while the underside was a luscious red and he watched it go before pointing. “That is...a bullfinch...right?” 

The quizzical look on his face is met with a bright smile from you, pleasure at his willingness to learn clearly present as you nod happily. “It is! You remembered.”

Hoseok has to bite his lip to stop his own smile from spreading, bashful as he looked down at the ground to avoid your gaze. The trail here was barely visible, hidden beneath fallen leaves of burnished copper, fiery orange, warm brown and sun-kissed gold but you seemed to know your way instinctively.

“I always remember what you tell me.” He said softly, the words so gentle that he’s positive they disappear on the breeze but you pause in your movements, looking at him with eyes that are slightly wider than normal and an inquisitive hint in them.

“Oh really? What was the first thing I ever said to you?” You query and his brow rises in amusement, the corner of his lips quirked up.

“You said thank you. That was the first thing you ever said to me.” The atmosphere between you both seems to deepen then with something he doesn’t quite understand, a multitude of emotions flickered over your face as thoughts he can’t hear filter through your mind. He wonders what you’re thinking.

Maybe it’s regret, that the first words exchanged between you both had been tinged in such sorrow and pain. But as much as he wishes he could go back in time and save you from being hurt in the first place, he still treasures whatever words you are willing to give him.

“Was it? I do not really remember. It was...a painful time.” You murmur, looking down at where his hand is joined with yours, lips twisting bitterly as memories of the attack obviously plague you. Hoseok feels distress at that, his chest tightening and he scrambles to find a way to distract you instead.

“That is good really, because my first words to you were not as memorable. Best you forget and instead focus on everything I have said to you since.” Swinging your joined hands, he gives you a bright smile in an attempt to cheer you up and it seems to work, your own lips breaking into a begrudging smile of amusement before you step closer to him, the heat of your body warm against him.

“I can accept that. You have said many wonderful things to me since.” 

“Really? I do not think I have said anything that is truly memorable.” He says, uncertainty lacing his voice as he frowns and tries to recall if he said anything that would make you remember it. The way you’re laughing tells him that perhaps he has.

“Oh really? I consider apologising for getting an erection because you found me attractive memorable.” His cheeks flush at that, embarrassment flowing through his body and making him feel far hotter than he should. Thankfully, he’s become a little better at speech in the bedroom.

Not that you really had a bedroom, considering it was a one room cabin but the point stands.

“I would prefer if you would forget that.”

“How about I pretend I forgot it? Because it was cute and I liked it.” The snort he lets out surprises him, causing his eyes to widen and you giggle loudly, the sound so bubbly and sweet that he’s enraptured as he watches you, something deep inside him feeling warm in a very different sort of way.

And he’s so caught up in admiring your happiness that at first, it doesn’t register in his mind what happens next. At least consciously, because his subconscious reacts immediately and he frowns for a moment, the lack of sound in the world startling to him but then he realises.

Recoiling back, he almost trips over his own feet as he looks in horror at your frozen visage, lips still pursed together from where you had just kissed him in your blissful happiness. It was the one thing he had to continuously remind you of over the last few weeks and there had been many close calls, but he’d been too late this time, too slow.

A horrible sound scrapes from his throat as his trembling hands cup your face as he staggers back forward, realisation of what had just happened still trying to slowly filter in his unwilling mind. The gentle light of the evening sun gives you an ethereal look as it dapples you in golden rays that manage to make their way through the thick forest canopy and his heart clenched tightly as he realises that he’s never seen a sight more magnificent in his life.

“No, no. Oh gods no. Please no. Please,” The words scrape from his throat, each word laced tightly with pain and anguish as he finally realises what’s happened and begs whoever may be listening. “Please no, please please please. No, not her. Please not her. Please not her, please don’t take her. Please.”

Tears quickly welled in his eyes before spilling forwards, sliding down his cheeks in a river of pain before falling to the forest floor. As soon as they left him, they pause in midair, waiting for time to resume. A constellation of his anguish that glitters in the light; almost beautiful.

“I love you. I love you. I love you.” He whispers brokenly, resting his forehead against your own while your noses kiss in a gentle touch. It had been the only way he could kiss you for weeks, to show his deep affection and love for you without hurting you.

So many times he had the chance to tell you that, to tell you how he felt for you and so many times he had held back; for fear you would reject him, for fear he was simply projecting, for fear you would not return his fragile, new feelings.

Hoseok regretted that, he regretted it more than anything and another sob wracked his body as he realised that he would never be able to tell you properly now. He would never get to hold your hand as you walked through the woods together, he would never get to see your shy smile when he complimented you, he would never get to watch another sunset with you.

He would never get to love you again.

Slowly, painfully, he closes his eyes and let’s go of all the fantasies he’d let play out for the last few months. He should have known better. He should have known that this was how it would all end. He was a reaper, he brought death and unhappiness to the world. He broke the hearts of thousands by ending the lives of hundreds.

Someone like him would never be allowed to love openly. He knew that now. 

His tears fall onto your cheeks, freezing and he wipes them away slowly as he sniffs, wiping at his nose as he takes in the sight of you. It reminds him of the first time you’d explored him, when you’d been so close that he could take in every part of you without obstruction. Just like then, it makes his heart swell with happiness before it bursts in pain and despair.

Months, he’d had merely months with you. And yet he knew that he should be grateful that he had been granted even that time. Because you had shown him how to love, how to adore someone so completely and live to see them smile. You had shown him how to live, for the first time in his long existence.

“I love you.” He whispered once more, ignoring the way his eyes burn from the tears before he presses his lips to yours. This is the only kiss with you that he’ll be able to remember properly, the brief touch of your lips to his own that had spurred this was already forgotten from his mind in grief.

But this? This was...he wished that you could enjoy it with him. Your lips were as soft as he had always imagined, velvety like a petal and so warm beneath his own. Even though you would never feel it, even though you would never know the sheer depth of his love, he wanted desperately to imprint the passion you had inspired in him.

Pulling away, he looks down at you through watery eyes and resists the urge to breakdown. There’s time for that later. He has the rest of eternity after all. Now...now he has to do what he was made to do. Now he has to lead you to the other side.

He doesn’t want to do this.

Swallowing the lump in his throat, he stands back and takes a deep breath, inhaling until his lungs hurt before letting it out slowly. It doesn’t help, but he tells himself that it does. Mind over matter.

And then, he realises something.

He doesn’t feel the pull of death. He feels nothing coming from you. No pull to signal a reaper is needed to sever the life connection between the physical form and the soul. Oh no, he panics, does that mean someone else is supposed to take your soul? Is he not allowed to because of his connection to you? He doesn’t know how this works for someone who is not human.

He can’t let some random reaper he’s never even seen before be the one to escort you. He has to. Hoseok has to at least tell you how he feels, just once, even if it’s only to your soul before you go. 

A whole new pain crushes his chest and a far away part of his brain is surprised with how many tears he has cried for you. Surely he must not have any left at this point? It feels like he has cried the river Acheron all over again.

But no one arrives. No one comes to take your soul, and a whole new panic overtakes him. You are not human, you are a creature of the supernatural. What if you don’t have a soul to remove? What if...what if nothing happens when you die? He’d never considered that. You were the first supernatural he’d ever met.

What if you didn’t have a reaper?

Oh no, no, no. He’s murmuring nonsense to himself, shaking his head wildly while his hands grip his hair in helpless frustration. No, this can’t be. You can’t...you can’t just...die and then...but if you...your soul...you can’t...he doesn’t...it’s too much.

Hoseok sinks to his knees slowly, the dried branches and leaves beneath him cracking under his weight as he lets out an agonised sound before he leans forward, resting his forehead on his arms as a wail of pure torment leaves him. Did he save your life all those months ago to simply just take it now? And so thoroughly that there will never be any evidence of you? That you won’t even be allowed the luxury of going to the other side?

His tears wet his sleeves as he howls in pain and anger. The disgusting excuse of a human who took your wings from you was given the honour of being allowed to move on and yet you get nothing? How was that fair? How was it fair? It wasn’t fair.

You deserved more. You deserved the best. Whatever was on the other side of the veil of life, you deserved to have the best version of it. You were pure and sweet, a kind heart and a gentle nature that loved even someone as unpure as him, someone who dealt in death. And you were going to get none of it.

Pushing up, he screams out his anguish at how unfair it all is, his head falling back onto his shoulders while his throat strains violently from the force. It echoes around the silent forest, a sound that has never existed in time itself and never will. But it’s only a shadow of the agony he feels in his heart.

Falling forwards again, he spends the next few minutes simply sobbing into his arms. Loathing fills him deeply as despair takes over his body, pained whimpers mixing in to create a quiet symphony of sorrow that only he will hear. Him and the Fates, those cruel masters whose whims he had been a puppet of his whole life. And whom had let him taste happiness only to pull it away just as quickly.

The increasing ache in his mind from the strain of holding time still for so long begins to throb uncomfortably. He has never held time as long as this before, never thought to do so and now he knows that he can’t. Even if he wanted to stay like this, where you’re still alive, beautiful and enchanting, he knows that he can’t.

Hoseok has to let you go. 

Slowly, his body tired from the strain of his grief and the drain on his power, he crawls towards you. Slumping against your legs, he presses his face into the soft fabric of your dress, inhaling deeply and taking in your scent, trying his hardest to imprint the smell into his brain as yet another way to remember you.

He loves your smell. It’s warm and earthy, the rich scent of forest pine and the crispness of a fresh morning. The tiniest hint of spice from your garden, all combining together to create an aroma that is uniquely you.

A soft whimper leaves him as he acknowledges that he will never smell it again. His heart aches fiercely at the thought and he wipes at his nose with the back of his hand before he uses his palm to wipe away the wetness on his face. It doesn’t help much as fresh salty tears replace those gone but he tries to ignore that as he takes in a deep breath to steady himself.

Slowly, painfully, he climbs to his feet. Staring out into the endless trees that surround you both, he concentrates on simply breathing, trying to steady himself for what he has to do next. His left eye twitches as the ache slowly begins to morph into pain that causes his brain to feel oddly fuzzy, his vision blurring, and he knows that he has to let go. 

Squaring his shoulders, he turns back to you and takes in your features one last time. Just once more, while you’re still technically alive. His eyes scan every centimetre of you, drowning in you to force his mind to remember and he feels a sudden flush of regret that there is no proof of what you look like. Nothing for him to look at centuries in the future and remember fondly.

It’s too late now though, and he lets out a shaky sigh before nodding. Moving closer, he rests one hand on the small of your back while the other goes around your shoulder. You’re still warm, and it makes his throat tighten but he pushes it away. He doesn’t want you to fall to the ground, you don’t deserve the indignity of that. 

No, he’ll carry you. He’ll carry you to the great oak in the forest that you’d showed him one week, a bright smile on your face as your features had practically lit from within with excitement at showing him your favourite place. It was a small clearing, meadow grass covering the floor while small dots of purples, yellows, reds and more of wildflowers painted a masterpiece. Above everything, a giant, ancient oak tree had stood keeping careful watch over everything below.

It had been huge, the trunk so big that Hoseok had to lean around to see to the other side while its branches had reached out dramatically, flush with green leaves that swayed gently in the summer breeze. That had been a good day, a day when your back didn’t hurt and Hoseok had simply got to revel in his happiness with you.

He wished he could go back then. It would have been the perfect moment to tell you that he loved you, when the air was strong with the scent of fresh flowers and sunlight. He would bury you under that oak, beneath the blankets of pretty flowers and underneath the boughs of the watchful giant. It was a beautiful place to rest forever, and Hoseok wanted the best for you.

You deserve the best, and though it may not be anything extravagant or awe-inspiring like the humans sought to do with their mausoleums and tombs, it was enough for him. And he knew that it would have been enough for you too. He would tend to that clearing and tree for however long he existed in honour of you.

Licking his lips, he lets out his breath slowly and tightens his grip on your body. A shudder runs through his body but he swallows hard, refusing to let himself fall apart once more. Not now. He can do that again later. 

And with the tiniest amount of effort, he lets go of time. It’s always a relief, that small part of him that he can’t even begin to describe relaxing as he lets go of his power. Normally he doesn’t even notice it, but today it’s obvious. The throbbing behind his eyes vanishes and the intense ache in his head soothes away in an instant.

If only it were that easy to heal his broken heart.

Birds chirping and calling to each other fill his ears instantly, the wind blowing through the trees gently and rustling the leaves and foliage all around while the warmth of the sun beats down on him once more. It would be a lovely scene, a nice place to take a break and enjoy nature but he’s not in the mood.

Instead, he just grips you tighter to him, his eyes scrunched closed as he presses you against his body. He’s not ready to let you fall just yet, not yet. One more moment, he can have one more moment with you.

And then…

“Hoseok...are you...you’re hugging me pretty tightly.” The words take a few moments to filter into his mind, his brow creasing in confusion as his brain stutters, unable to comprehend what’s going on. He swears he just heard you talk, but that’s impossible. You kissed him. He’s a reaper, his kiss kills. You’re dead.

Jerking back, he looks down with wide eyes and his heart stops as he looks into your eyes. Your very much alive eyes, that look back at him with puzzlement and a slight amount of bemusement. His hand moves on its own, cupping your cheek and the sheer warmth and life in it causes Hoseok to burst into tears once more.

A strange crying wail leaves his mouth and he doesn’t see the fright in your face as he pulls you closer, hugging you so tightly to his body that he’s probably suffocating you but he can’t care. He doesn’t care. Because you’re not dead.

You’re alive.

He doesn’t know how, and he doesn’t know why, but he doesn’t even care. Because you are alive. You are breathing and warm and full of emotion and life and he can’t thank the fates enough.

“I th..thought...I...k-k-killed you.” Hoseok manages to get out between broken sobs, pulling back to cup your face while he bends down to look deep into your eyes, making sure once more that you are in fact alive and that he’s not imagining it. He wouldn’t be surprised if he’d become delusional and was seeing hallucinations right now, his grief had been that intense.

But your own eyes widen as you realise what you’d done, how his fear of kissing had slipped your mind once more in your innocent effort to show him affection. He knew that you often forgot and had almost kissed him many times; he had forgiven you many times as well. It was an easy thing to forget, that a mere brush of his lips was death.

“Oh my...Hoseok...oh Hoseok, I am so sorry. I forgot, I just...I did not think. I mean...I am so sorry!” You blurt out, words falling over themselves as thick, salty tears continue to fall from his red, swollen eyes and your own fill in response to his heartbreak. “Hoseok, sweetheart, my love, I am so sorry. I did not mean to hurt you, oh I am so stupid.” 

Immediately he’s shaking his head, wiping away his tears as quickly as he can and sniffling, uncaring how pathetic he sounds. Because he had just walked through a valley of pain and come out the other side to find happiness once more. 

“I thought you d-d-dead,” He moans, voice cracking as yet more tears fall and he’s partially surprised to realise that even his nose is running in his extreme emotions. You wipe away his tears desperately, sniffing and crying quietly yourself as you try to comfort him as best you can. His head falls into your shoulder as you both fall to your knees on the ground, arms constricting each other as he cries brokenly. “I thought you were dead. I thought I k-k-killed you.”

“Shhh, shhh Hoseok. I’m sorry, it is okay, it’s okay. I’m here, I am alive. I am not hurt, you didn’t hurt me.” You run your fingers through his hair repeatedly, the long strands of black hair soft and smelling strongly of Hoseok as you press gentle kisses to his hair and forehead in your attempts to comfort him.

And then your fingers pause in their movements, so warm and alive against his skin that he wants to weep even more at the very knowledge that you are in fact alive. He’s so deep in his emotions, a garbled mix of relief, fear, panic and love, that he doesn’t notice the way your body freezes up.

In fact, he's forced to acknowledge you when your hands gently push at his shoulders, moving him back until you can lift up his face to your own. For a second, you pause in shock at the sight of his face and he wonders if his eyes are as swollen as they feel. Crying was something he hadn’t known he could do either, and he’d discovered he didn’t particularly like it.

“Hoseok...your...your eyes,” There’s confusion, fear and awe in your voice and he stiffens as he catches sight of the glowing reflection in your own. He doesn’t need a mirror to know that his eyes have fallen into their reaper state, an eternal blackness with his icy blue irises shining a frightening blue. It’s terrifying to the living, an unnatural sight and he doesn’t want to scare you. “They’re...beautiful. I mean...unnerving but...beautiful.”

Hoseok frowns slightly, looking down at his hands which grip at your dress desperately. No one had ever called him beautiful in his reaper state and he wasn’t entirely sure how to respond to you, surely you had to be lying?

The suddenness of your compliment cuts through his whirling mind quite well and he allows himself the time to try and calm himself, breathing slowly and steadily until his tears are quiet once more. You probably hadn’t intended for that to be a potential side effect, but he appreciates it either way. He didn’t like how...out of control he’d felt with his emotions everywhere.

A soft gasp from you causes him to look up with wide eyes, concern and fear that perhaps you were just having a delayed reaction or something. But instead, he’s met with a brilliant smile and pure excitement etched into every line of your face. It makes his heart skip slightly and he’s so surprised by your reaction that his tears even stop.

“Hoseok...I’m okay,” You say once more and he sniffs hard, reaching up to wipe away the wetness at his eyes. He doesn’t understand and he can see the realisation in your own eyes that he doesn’t understand what you’re trying to get out. So instead, you lean closer to him until your noses touch before repeating the words. “I am okay...I kissed you...and I am okay.”

For a few seconds longer, Hoseok simply stares into your eyes with a blank look as he tries to work it all out in his mind. And then suddenly, it all clicks together and he recoils backwards with an astonishingly loud gasp. You had kissed him, a death sentence to anyone. But you were still here. Perfectly fine and alive.

Without even meaning to, his eyes fall down to your lips before he’s looking back into your happy eyes once more. The grin you wear is amused and you visibly vibrate with feeling as you see him work it all out internally.

“You are okay...you are not hurt...oh.” He’s not sure what to do, his hands hovering almost comically as his head tilts to the side. Your smile turns softer, more heartfelt and he almost purrs with soft delight and happiness as you cup his face in your hands, thumbs wiping away the trails of his tears.

“You didn’t hurt me Hoseok. I am here, I am alive,” With that, you lean forward slowly. Hoseok has plenty of time to move away if he wanted, but the deep and pure need that clenches his gut to finally kiss you causes him to stay put. “I love you.”

There’s no chance for him to comprehend what you mutter to him as your lips are soft butterfly wings against his own before you press them to his firmly. This time, he doesn’t panic and freeze time. He’s not even sure he has the capability of that right now, but he pushes any of those thoughts away and simply enjoys it this time. 

Your lips are warm and soft against his own, as gentle as the petals of the flowers you tend to in your garden every morning. The pressure is light, letting him get used to the sensation and he’s overwhelmed by you, every sense fizzing out as his entire body and mind focuses on where you meet.

Humans made kissing look so effortless and natural, as if it was nothing to be bothered about. A quick kiss here and there; shy kisses, sly kisses, wonton kisses, moving kisses, grieving kisses. To someone who’s kiss has only ever meant the destruction of life, the very idea of kissing anyone for pleasure had simply not existed in his mind until you had come into his life.

But he understood now. Just as he understood many of the things that human’s enjoyed and loved. All because of you.

You pull away from him slowly, just far enough that he can feel your warm breath against him and he chases after you without a thought, face creasing in consternation as he seeks out that blessed happiness he’d found in the form of your lips upon his. He never wanted to stop kissing you, ever. 

But you laugh quietly, a hand to his chest causing him to stay in place and he opens his eyes, a pout forming on his lips already. Yet he stills when he takes in the sight of you, practically glowing with pleasure, eyes dancing with a mischievous light while a bright smile paints itself on your face, causing his stomach to flip.

He knows what these feelings are now, the feelings that he’d been so confused over for the last few months. The feelings he hadn’t understood; that had felt so foreign to him and caused him unease with how out of control he felt whenever he looked at you. How butterflies had taken flight in his stomach at your smile, his heart had soared when you laughed, his nerves had tingled at your touch.

It was love. Hoseok didn’t have any experience in it, and perhaps it was a fumbling, almost childish version of love as a result. But it was pure, and honest. 

Born from a place of deep admiration and respect for your courage and perseverance, your kindness and caring nature, your love for a simple life and acceptance of him as a person and not a monster of death. His throat tightens as all of these thoughts rush through his mind, his hands reaching out and cupping your face ever so gently as his eyes dart all over, taking in the sight that has taken his breath away for months now.

No one had ever treated him as something to be befriended, to be talked to, to be pleasured and so much more. With you, he finally felt like he was alive after centuries of merely existing. With you, he felt like he finally had a purpose to be in the real world that extended beyond the job he was created to do.

Hoseok loved you, and he wanted to continue loving you for as long as you would allow him. Wake up next to you in bed, warm and cozy with his arms wrapped around you tightly, cuddling your body to his as you both slowly woke up. Feed the animals in your small enclosure, garden with you and live a simple life when he was not called to his duty.

He wanted to live his life with you.

His eyes watered as he focused back on your own, the gentle crease in your brow showing your confusion at his strange antics and he gives a smile that wobbles ever so slightly.

“I love you.” 

There’s the tiniest pause of hesitation before your eyes widening, smile fighting with the shock as your jaw drops open. A tiny part of him worries suddenly that you’ll reject him, that you only wanted him for his company, both in your bed and in your small cabin.

But then your smile grows even bigger, wider and your arms wrap around his neck tightly, pulling closer before you press your nose to his lightly.

“Really? You love me?”

“Yes, I do. I...I think I have for a while now but I just...did not understand. It takes me a while-”

“To understand what you are feeling. I know, I have learnt that over the last few months. It has been kind of sweet to go through it all with you, being there to witness you understanding yourself. I consider it an honour.” You interrupt and his cheeks flush dark, knowing that you have been there for most of the big realisations of his feelings over the last few months.

And then you gently brush your nose against his, the sensation featherlight and he can’t help but let out a small giggle, surprised at the noise yet unwilling to say anything about it. Not when you’re this close, and he can see every strand of colour that makes up your beautiful eyes.

“Would you like to know a secret Hoseok?” He nods without even realising, the sound of his name falling from your lips like music to ears. Perhaps he’s being stupid for being this happy with you, maybe it will all fall apart. Maybe reapers aren’t meant to love like this, but he doesn’t care right now. Because he has you.

After thinking he’d lost you forever from his life, he has you.

“I love you too.” And with that, you press your lips to his again in a sweet kiss that has his blood singing. It’s quick and fast again, but he doesn’t care this time. Not when he smiles so big after and begins pressing as many kisses to your face as he can as he learns what you feel like beneath his lips, not when he takes your hands and kisses each fingertip in turn, not even when he has you beneath him later in the cabin, exploring the slopes and curves of your body with inquisitive and gentle kisses.

Yes, he thinks to himself that night as he sleeps in your bed with you for the first time, your body tightly wrapped around his as he kisses your hair like he’s always wanted to, no matter what happens...he has you and you have him.

#armiesnet #networkbangtan #btssunshineclub #btscreatorsnet #smutcentralnet #hoseok smut #hoseok angst #hoseok fluff #j hope fluff #j hope smut #j hope angst #bts smut #bts angst #bts fluff #hoseok fic #bts fic #hoseok one shot #bts one shot #reaper hoseok #hoseok x you #hoseok x reader #halloween fic #halloween hoseok #collab fic #hobi fluff #hobi angst #hobi smut #hoseok fanfic #j hope fanfic #hobi fanfic

[libidomechanica]

No, but the Fates deny him this side

If we see thicket from them about his moment, 

and set in huge vessels, heralded but is  now gynneth everywhere had in his  excess, I am is a flowers,  and Shírín tore of merry skies. Could be wrough  all, and shy and kept his sad and late, that  affectiond night free, the god put onely 

she spade from she wayst, yts time, she those his yet, and  he impressionate, the wine, like a rattlin  sang, and I may turn from him also  in an  operately sheets I forgetfulness; of  heart. That maybe your sepulchred, yea, gladly planted 

stately sweet and been  of my dwelling creature of their or plan fi  change; for my works are all his uppermost  nymph at Turin : Ancona waste and seen upon  your half-choked down to drink, a rosy deeme  ech the skies appeased? S kindly, so long for  a lass as far excuse weighs drop of  snow thereby communion with, it gave time  in the breeds like to pleasured in  buoyancy I am the last years  of his other, she news from which  your own swung throat, and every scene, such was  at labours that at one “Will” one  poor ’“twas an and shall spear, my orphan striped little  sea, touch obeying to my Mary, in equally  will she long his Houri-faced, that will  she was it, of pebblest fights a  hierarchy  which love I never the  wet grow. but soone whirld Assyrian, The stars  were the narrows a though th” enchanted  the kings in this stem, I heart  in here carefull peeled, and walls, who canonian was ( for once be passing bird to  impaird as seene. Wretch for a surf-torments  are. yet society of a maids are  never of early stillness skies. And and about  love, and, or womans power, pulling, and her  home? And to them and, when  the walled in nature, so all other five rust  throned, murders store, but something mind were left and kept,  and the thick as yet, till world, all thine  eyes of classie, life plenty day,) where my treason  bars twining let at my grace doth many men. He inlaid  whose child, and that Lady Psyche, without of  the right forth cause shoreward. To have  know, like two faire ladies, hind the webbing but head our  little muddy pond of the snow,  deafening benefit of bright the enfeeble  to breath and his broken: time in 

me sickness. There the dead: to grief which  those two months had left. But know in your trust may suit.

#poetry #automatically generated text #Patrick Mooney #Markov chains #Markov chain length: 5 #198 texts

[incandescent-creativity]

LiaHT: Wing Culture and Realm Structure

Differences between how Heaven and Hell are structured, and how the inhabitants generally view their wings

Gotta love late-night worldbuilding, amirite? I’ve been meaning to make this post for a few days now, but I haven’t had time until right now.

TLDR: 

Angels see their wings as extra limbs, something useful and to be smugly taken care of because they literally elevate them above other beings. Demons see them a reminder of who they used to be (ie angels) and use them as an intimidation factor, so they don’t have them out all the time.

Angels and Heaven

The thing you have to know about Heaven is that it’s b i g. The place is expansive, spread out over the entirety of Earth like a parallel realm. The angels are concentrated in the Heavenly equivalents of Big Cities (San Francisco, Tokyo, London, etc) while human souls are scattered everywhere else. 

The parallel Heaven cities are all headquarters for angels to organize themselves and shepherd humanity. For those who don't know, LiaHT takes place in San Francisco and Olu lives in the Heavenly version of that.

The second thing is that angels and human souls keep entirely to themselves. While the angels are caretakers, humans are sort of seen as beneath them. The best analogy that I can come up with is it’s like how we view our pets. They need protection and we care for them, but they’re not on our level, you know?

As a result of these factors, angels have their wings out almost all the time. 

It’s part convenience, because Heaven is huge and you need a fast way to get around. So, on the one hand, they’re just extra limbs that serve a purpose.

On the other hand, angels see themselves as divine beings above anything else created by God. While this is not wholly inaccurate, it’s pretty selfish and arrogant. So they like to show off their wings and amaze the human souls around.

Plus, they’re good for fighting!

Demons and Hell - OLD

No more “Levels of Hell,” now everybody is smushed together in that parallel realm described above! Old text preserved below for archival reasons.

- 

Hell is, shockingly, completely different.

The only similarity is that it’s a parallel realm with Earth, but where Heaven parallels humanity’s structure, Hell parallels the structure of the earth itself. The different levels of Hell’s hierarchy correspond with different levels of the Earth’s crust (of which I believe there are eight).

The major difference between the realms is that Hell is smaller and more contained than Heaven. It’s compressed, compact, crowded. There are more people down in Hell than there are up in Heaven, even if there aren’t as many demons as there angels.

Think of the difference as a super-crowded downtown city, like Tokyo or San Francisco, and a truly open and flat rural space, like Kansas or Antarctica (which isn’t rural, but you get my point).

As a result, demons don’t have their wings out all the time. It would be a hassle, and would either knock something over or bump into someone. Either way, it’s not ideal.

But there’s a deeper, psychological reason to keep them hidden, too.

Demons are just fallen angels. Whether they got kicked out (the term for it is “forsaken”) or left Heaven voluntarily to experience free will for themselves (something angels don't have)… it depends on the demon. 

But when an angel leaves Heaven, their wings start to fade. That’s why Archangels have wings of pure white light--they don’t leave Heaven. Demons, on the other hand, have wings of completely black feathers. Lucifer, who has been out of Heaven the longest (he was the OG forsaken) has wings of pure void.

As a result, having their now-black wings is a painful reminder of what used to be. It’s not quite a mark of shame, because most demons will stand by their choice to leave or have gotten used to their fate, but it is a difficult reminder.

Demons also use their wings as intimidation tools! When a demon brings out their wings, you know shit is gonna go down. So it would be pretty useless to have them out all the time, that intimidation would be a moot point.

As a side note

I’m pretty sure the wings are both magical and physical. They don't have to be there all the time, they have to be summoned, but once they are summoned, they’re physically attached to the angel/demon’s back. 

Because why have one when you can have both? That’s my philosophy.

- - -

If you read through all that, you have my sincere gratitude and the knowledge that you are of impressive dedication. 

And if your interest has been piqued:  WIP Summary ||| WIP Page ||| 

#my worldbuilding #lies in a holy tongue #long post #long long long post #I am so sorry guys

[abra-ka-dammit]

AU That Should Never Happen Pt. 4

:-))))

Again a forewarning for honestly pretty un-detailed adult situations. farts

also read part 3.5 guest-written by the lovely @dazzle-camouflage too, especially if you love a-fucking-dorable bathtime fluff

[PART 1][PART 2][PART 3][PART 3.5]

“See, here’s the thing, fellas,” he said, steepling his fingers as smoke billowed from between his lips. “You’re both fuckin' insane.”

Gremix gave a little chuckle.

“Boss, surely you understand. We only want th' world t' be a better place for goblin-kind.”

The large, thick-bodied goblin chewing on a cigar and donning a ridiculous island-print shirt—”The Boss”, founder and face of the mafia family that started spiraling into whatever was going on now—made a contemplative noise as he nodded slowly.

“About that…” The Boss said, taking the cigar with two fingers and leaning forward over the plan table towards his once-trusted generals; the Co-Trade-Princes of the new, “improved” Bilgewater Cartel. “You’re committin’ genocide. Straight up. Everyone but goblins? Yeah, no, mass genocide.”

General Catfeetz, who had remained silent until then, snickered. “So? Fuck 'em.”

The boss's thick brows lowered, shadowing intense carmine eyes.

“This is a problem.”

“Is it?” Gremix asked, with a note of surprise so obviously feigned that it was almost insulting. “Was this not the plan all along? You were so on board before, Boss.”

The Boss stood, jabbing a finger against the map on the table.

“Yeah. Before that.”

“The plan's already in action, Boss,” Catfeetz said. “The ‘copters already left. It’s too late t' call it off now.” He grinned maliciously.

A deep sigh cane from The Boss, and he eyed both co-trade-princes with a look that could only be described as “tired”.

“I can’t do this with you.”

“Well,” Gremix pointed out, “we’ve already done it without you, haven’t we.” It wasn’t a question.

There was a break of silence, where the only thing that could be heard was the tapping of The Boss's nails on the table as he considered the warlock.

“I’m out.”

It seemed that was the end of it, and The Boss started to the door. But before exiting, he tossed one last aside:

“An’ fuck th’ both a' you.”

They only smiled as the door slammed behind him.

After a silent moment, Gremix nudged Catfeetz’s arm with a robed elbow.

“Sick. D’you hear that? Boss wants t’ fuck us.”

Catfeetz broke out laughing. Was it even funny? Probably not, but Gremix knew how to tickle the undead ice cube’s funny bone. After all, they’d been working together for… how long had it been?

“You’re an idiot, I fuckin’ hate you,” Catfeetz said, wiping his eye in a habitual movement that did nothing considering he couldn’t even produce tears.

Gremix smiled; perhaps the most genuine smile he’d given to anyone who wasn’t Rusco in a long, long time.

“I hate you too, Cat.”

“Hey, congrats on the promotion,” Gremix said as they walked the stone halls together, heading back towards the throne room.

“What?” Catfeetz asked. “Who’s promotin’ me now?”

“Why, Gutshot, a’ course,” Gremix said. “With Boss gone, we take his place as th’ very tippy-top of th’ pyramid. What better time t’ change your title an’ rise above “general”? What have you always wanted t’ be referred to as?”

“What is this, 20 questions? Geez,” Catfeetz grumbled; but it was obvious he was now thinking about an answer, despite himself.

“Imperator Catfeetz,” the death knight decided.

Gremix raised a brow. “Alright. Didn’t give ya enough credit, I was sure you’d pick somethin’ dumb-soundin’. You’ve almost impressed me.”

Catfeetz—Imperator Catfeetz, flashed him a snarky smirk. “Alright, oh Grand one; what would you have picked fer me?”

“Tyrant,” Gremix said immediately.

“Now, that’s rude.”

“You asked.”

“So? What about you, huh? Is there somethin’ even better than grand?”

Gremix shook his head. “Afraid not. I’m quite fond of “Grand Warlock” anyways.”

“It’s gonna look like I’m taking the top an’ you’re jus’ gettin’ the tippy, if I get a nice new title an’ you don’t.”

“I am my own hierarchy,” Gremix said, outstretching his arms so the sleeves of his robes burst to his sides theatrically as he gestured to the palace around them. “I have always been at the top of this pyramid.”

“Okay, dude,” Catfeetz said, leaning away from the exuberant show of imagined grandeur (they were only in a gilt stone hallway, after all). “Up t’ you. I think I like mine though. I’m keepin’ it now.”

“Wouldn’t want anythin’ else,” Gremix said. “In fact, why don’t we announce it at th’ conference? It’ll be easy to relay alongside news of the other… changes in direction th’ Family’s takin’.”

“Good call,” Catfeetz said, pointing at him. “See, that’s why I’m keepin’ you around.”

“Oh, it’s you that’s keepin’ me around?” Gremix chuckled. “Well, I guess so; after all, you’re on top an’ givin’ me the tippy.”

Catfeetz pursed his lips. He tried really, REALLY hard. But he couldn’t—he burst into laughter again.

“Goddamnit, you fucker,” he wheezed.

“No, in this scenario, you’re the fucker; get it straight,” Gremix went on.

Catfeetz continued to crack up, taking a momentary pause in his trek to regain his composure.

“I fuckin’ hate you so much,” he finally said, rubbing a hand down his face and continuing along as Gremix smiled cheekily.

“I know, I know,” Gremix said. “You don’t have t’ confess your feelin’s for me every 20 minutes, I’m flattered, but…”

He didn’t get to continue, cut off instead trying not to fall over at a “playful” shove of the much too physically strong goblin to his shoulder.

“Shut it, we’re gettin’ to the throne room, ya dipshit. I don’t want none a’ your touch-horny followers thinkin’ you’re serious an’ gettin’ jealous of me.”

“Oh, I’m certain they already are,” Gremix admitted, brushing off his sleeve as though somehow Catfeetz had dirtied it. “You get far more one-on-one time with me than any single one of them do.”

“Aw, fuck, you better make sure nobody follows me back then, I don’t want no crazy fangoblin tryin’ t’ kill me. They wouldn’t succeed or even get close to it; but still.”

Their banter ended as they entered the palace’s throne room, where crowds of Gremix’s followers stood around, talking in hushed voices, the room generally sounding confused and maybe a little worried.

Gremix ascended the steps to his throne, then turned to the crowds, who had all started to quiet down, noticing their leader’s arrival.

“Children!” he started, voice projecting such that everyone in the large, crowded chamber could hear him clearly. The last who hadn’t realized him before came to attention, and hundreds of rapt eyes pointed up at the Grand Warlock. “The General and I have a magnificent announcement. We will be presenting it in the Midfields; go, now, and gather any others you find along th’ way.”

“Yes, Master,” the whole room seemed to say in perfect unison. Catfeetz’s brows rose in admiration. Now that was some good leader-work; if they were only standing in perfect grids with straight postures though…

The crowds began to depart, most heading out of the chamber and through the great stone doors that marked the main entry to the palace, others rushing down halls to fetch those who were absent from the announcement.

Gremix descended the steps gracefully, each bare foot stepping without a sound as he bounded down several at a time.

“You ready?” he asked.

“Ladies first,” Catfeetz said, waving an arm ahead of them, towards the entrance doors.

Gremix couldn’t think of a good one, so he conceded and accepted his fate as the lady who went first, and they made their way to the Midfields.

The Midfields, as it was known, was a huge, flat area of nothing, high enough people could see a nice view of the shores of Azshara, the Pleasure Palace, and the Orgrimmar gates over the tops of the clutter of buildings below. (There were hundreds of homes there before, but the war machine needs materials, after all.)

It was practically jammed with followers by the time Catfeetz and Gremix reached it, and still more were rushing to catch up behind them; everyone atwitter in excited befuddlement as they gathered there so late in the evening. Obviously not even half of the overall troops were there for the proclamation; many being deployed in various base camps and attacks, and many more in bunkers across the water… the Family had grown so fast that there was simply not enough room in the harbor anymore.

“Children! Silence, if you will,” Gremix called out as he and Catfeetz came to the front end of the Midfields; somehow even here, outside and in the open, he projected unnaturally well. As such, the followers, hearing him, stood to attention: Catfeetz’s soldiers straightening their stances and giving a firm salute while Gremix’s simply quieted down, enthralled eyes on their Master as he spoke.

“Our dear old Boss, the great Gutshot, has… departed.”

There were some mutters in the crowd.

“As such, the general and I are taking full control of things from here on out. And we, your beloved co-trade-princes, have chosen a bright new direction for the future of our family!”

Catfeetz stepped forward now—so used to barking commands across battlefields at this point he needed none of Gremix’s magical amplification. “Soon, we goblins will rise above all others! As we grow in power, so do we grow in rank! From now on you maggots will refer to me as Imperator. A new General will be selected soon—but for now…”

Catfeetz and Gremix leaned together, each outstretching the arm on their open sides like cheesy performers and yelled in unison:

“Let’s start our new world with a bang!”

It was eerie; like the sound of the entire planet had gone muted. Then, a rumbling began. Low at first, but soon enough it became a horrible, dissonant roar—and the sky flashed suddenly into bright, fiery orange. Behind the two gesturing leaders, in the not-so-distant distance, Orgrimmar was, within moments, entirely engulfed by explosion. The giant ball of flame seemed to move in slow motion, taking what seemed like forever to transform into a cloud of ash and smoke that blocked their view of what had become of the city. The general consensus among the crowd was that the Horde capitol was pretty much fucked.

“Soon, the world will bow to Goblin, and Goblin shall bow to no one!”

They cheered, they applauded, and they celebrated the beginning of a new era.

Many drinks were had by all, chunks of people splitting into different parties—Gremix and Catfeetz ended up with the one that headed back to the palace to tap into the celebratory kegs stored in a room among the cool cellar-like dungeons. The two leaders, however, eventually broke off from the crowd, both nearly having to peel tipsy, fervent followers off of themselves to escape. They headed up to the war room to make sure they had the next step in eventual world domination down; dictatorship never rested, after all. Drixzy followed close by Gremix, her clicking boots and Catfeetz’s stompy ones an intimidating cacophony as the dark three strode through the passages. (Irrelevantly, Gremix, in contrast to his companions, preferred soft-soled shoes or none at all.)

Tipsy conversation of other things overtook any actual planning when they got there, however.

“Man, can y’ even imagine how many useless orcs an’ trolls an’ other bullshit people we jus’ took care of?” Catfeetz cackled, humoring himself by sticking as many pins into Orgrimmar on the map as possible, the paper becoming useless shreds beneath them.

“It’s quite a feat,” Gremix agreed. “T’ think th’ Alliance couldn’t accomplish in all that time what we jus’ did so swiftly.”

Gremix cast a look to Drixzy before turning back to Catfeetz—a detached, nondescript voice seemed to speak in the back of her head. “Obey.”

“In fact, Imperator,” Gremix said, coming to Cat’s side and placing a hand on his thick forearm. “What’s a celebration of such a feat without a gift of good will between the leaders of th’ new goblin empire?”

“A gift?” Catfeetz snorted. “Sorry, Grem, I didn’t get ya anythin’ in return.”

“That’s more than fine.” Gremix gave him a sly smirk. “If you enjoy it, that’s all the return I need.”

“Oh yeah?” Catfeetz asked, curious brow rising. “What is it, huh?”

“I’d like for you to spend the night in my palace. Our deluxe guest suite can be truly decadent,” Gremix said, dropping his hand and stepping back towards Drixzy, then running a demonstrative fingertip from very low on the front of her torso all the way up to her chin in a soft caress that made her gasp silently.

Catfeetz seemed to take a moment to process what was being said, but slowly a smile grew on his lips until he bore his teeth in full wicked grin.

“For real?” he asked in disbelief.

Drixzy’s ears lowered ever so slightly. “Obey”. She had no choice, did she? It was for The Master.

“Jus’ for th’ rest of the night, ‘a course,” Gremix said. “I do need it back in the morning.”

The death knight’s lichfire-blue eyes flicked to Drixzy. Cruel eyes. Cold eyes. Hungry eyes. “Finally! I knew ya couldn’t hold out on me forever.”

“Yep, you wore me down,” Gremix said with nearly tangible sarcasm. “If you’ll excuse me, now, I have other things to attend to before I retire, myself. Drixzy, take our dear Imperator to th’ guest suite, and do make sure he’s completely comfortable before you deign t’ leave.”

Drixzy pulled in a breath. “Yes, Master.”

He was almost half out the door before he spun on his heel, pointing a finger and moving it back and forth between both of them.

“The blindfold—”

“Stays on, yeah, I get it,” Catfeetz scoffed, waving the warlock off as he stood to follow Drixzy from the room. “Only part of a chick’s face I care about’s still perfectly accessible, anyway.” Drixzy crinkled her nose in disgust.

Gremix nodded, and headed off down the hall, Drixzy and Catfeetz heading in the opposite direction. With every clack and thump of boot closer to the guest suites, Drixzy could feel another ounce of dread weighing on her. Not that she was going to disobey or even dare to say anything, but she reserved her right to not be happy about following some demands.

She could sense the awful goblin’s eyes on her back as they walked, the man tracking a few steps behind to get a good look and clearly already mentally undressing her. A shudder ran down her spine, but they reached the room in question and Drixzy opened the door, waving him inside.

“Your accommodations, Imperator.”

“Not all of ‘em,” he corrected, and scooped an arm around her waist, pulling her in and slamming the door behind them.

It was… not great, or at least at first. Drixzy was essentially so disinterested in the newly-promoted death knight that in combination with what was surely a ridiculously large package for such a small man, the overall friction situation was not very enjoyable. It certainly didn’t help that touching his skin was like touching flesh-textured ice—or that just before they started, he had commented that the candy you’re not allowed to have always turns out to be the most delicious. She couldn’t say it was exactly a flattering comment.

But then, as Catfeetz leaned in to run a cold tongue up her neck, Drixzy felt that familiar, dull feeling that happened just before a mental message from her master came through. “Touch”, it said this time. She furrowed her brows in uncertainty but then perked, noticing a green glow from behind the man’s shoulders where her hands rested. She shifted one up to take a glance at her wrist, and sure enough, there was an intense radiance coming from the runes thereupon that seemed to morph from light to a physical vapor, which drifted slowly up just a bit before appearing to be sucked into Catfeetz’s flesh.

Suddenly, she understood why Gremix had left her with such an otherwise vile task.

As the fel vapor emanated from her wrists behind the death knight, so too did it seem to flow into her own body; unexpectedly and a little begrudgingly, she found herself quite enjoying herself, (if only physically, but that was enough.) Able to get more into it, she got to work on the task at hand: letting the magic seep into Catfeetz for as long as possible. The longer they went, the more he absorbed, and the more dazedly those lichfire eyes leered at her, only making her job all the easier.

By the time Drixzy left the guest suite, the sun had risen, and she had just finally managed to wipe out the Imperator’s seemingly endless energy (much assisted by her Master’s gift affecting Catfeetz’s sensation situation along with her own.) He was utterly knocked out, to her surprise; she didn’t even know the undead man slept to begin with, but found herself glad for it, uncertain just how much longer she could have kept that up.

She knocked upon the door to the Grand Warlock’s chambers, waiting for the sound of his smooth voice to call out an “enter” before opening it. It was obvious by the tone of his voice he knew who was there, and he didn’t so much as bother turning from the mirror where he was switching out earrings before addressing her.

“I presume you’ve succeeded, if you’ve dared return t’ me.”

“Yes, Master.” Drixzy’s voice was rigid, her ears slightly downturned. Gremix peered aside at the woman, and, finishing his task, turned and headed towards her with outstretched arms, much to Drixzy’s surprise. She did not hesitate to close the rest of the distance between them and squeeze him in as tight an embrace she could without hurting the warlock, burying her face into the robes at his chest.

“Oh, Drixzy, my dear Drixzy,” he cooed, stroking fingers through her hair and leaning his head down to give her a gentle kiss atop the head, “I know it wasn’t th’ most fun of jobs, but you understand why it needed t’ be done, don’t you?”

Drixzy nodded into him.

He squeezed her back in a much weaker return embrace before they broke apart, Drixzy automatically taking it upon herself to re-neaten the embroidered robes she had shifted from their perfect aesthetic positioning.

“You did an excellent job, my girl.”

“Thank you, Master.”

After the Imperator woke and left with his troops later that afternoon, Drixzy, finally, got to spend some nice time with Gremix again. Catfeetz’s forces were deployed to scour the ruins or Orgrimmar for any survivors, salvageable materials, or, though doubtful, Horde soldiers. Gremix’s instead worked tirelessly in the dark labs and various chambers dotting the halls—on what, Drixzy was not told. Nor were any of those working on it, oddly enough. The Grand Warlock had many different teams working on many different things that made no sense alone; but together, apparently they would form the next big step.

But she hardly cared about all that. Finally, she was there with him again upon his throne: draped across his lap like a pet, stroking her fingers down his chest lovingly, while his hand idly caressed the tight leather around her legs. Sometimes, his fingers moved just ever so slightly too far up and brushed against the exposed skin of her upper thigh—“accidentally”, but with each gentle touch she felt the very deliberate rush of Fel energy sending tingles through her whole body and making her crave him just that much more. He was teasing her on purpose, and it was a wonderful kind of torture… just like the old days, before—

“Rusco!!”

Drixzy internally groaned.

“M-Master, Rusco is here to—”

The door guard was trying to chase down the new arrival to do the introduction proper, but Rusco, at full sprint and with a gleaming dagger in each hand, apparently didn’t care about formalities.

“I’M GONNA KILL YOU, YOU PIECE OF SHI—”

With a loud THWACK, the knife-brandishing rogue was kicked straight in the face with a heavy, hoof-toed boot, the impact tossing him like a doll several feet across the ground. Drixzy, on instinct, had leapt from her spot immediately upon sensing a threat; and reacted how she was trained to: protect the Master.

“Drixzy,” Gremix said imploringly.

Her ears shot up. “I’m sorry, Master, he had knives, I—”

“No, no, you did wonderfully, my dear, but remember,” Gremix said, standing and placing a hand on her shoulder, “we’re gentler with Rusco, yeah?”

“Yes, Master. My apologies, Master.”

A long moan came from aside, Rusco shakily sitting up and holding a hand to the side of his head in pain.

“Geez, what th’ fuck’re those shoes made outta? Bricks?” he groaned. He pulled his hand away from his temple and dizzily looked at it. Not surprisingly as guessed by the stinging pain, a dark red stain had wet his fingers. He tried to look around for his knives, but his head was so out of wack from the hit he could barely make out the gleam of the blades against the dark stone floor. It hardly mattered, as guards had already retrieved and confiscated the weapons by the time he figured out where they’d clattered away to; and to his chagrin, Gremix was approaching him with his classic, haughty-looking hands-folded-behind-his-back stance.

“My darling Rusco, how have you been?” Gremix asked, leaning slightly over Rusco as he came to a stop just a couple feet ahead of him.

“Cut th’ shit,” Rusco spit, pressing his hand back against his bleeding head. “You destroyed Orgrimmar!”

“Oh, yes,” Gremix said with a smile. “I did, didn’t I?”

“There were people there! Hundreds—maybe thousands of people! Innocent citizens! Kids!” Rusco yelled, the indignation cracking his voice. “You murdered them all!”

“Not all,” Gremix corrected, straightening his posture and waving his hand in a gesture towards some followers who had, prior to Rusco’s arrival, been idly chatting. “Those two over there are from Orgrimmar. In fact, many of our newest recruits are.”

One of the followers Gremix had mentioned chimed in; “yeah, there were fliers goin’ ‘round the slums. Warnin’ to get outta Org before th’ day. Said to keep it down-low—goblins only.”

Rusco looked appalled.

“Only g… what?! Even then, not all of th’ goblins coulda possibly gotten away! What about th’ ones that didn’t see th’ fliers? What about people who’d jus’ arrived?” He winced, his own voice causing his head to pound, the blood seeming to gush more from it the more upset he got.

“Such is the price of war, Rusco,” Gremix said, a faked sadness in his tone.

“This ain’t a war, it’s insanity.”

Gremix crouched in front of Rusco, lifting a hand towards the injured side of his head.

“Don’t you touch me, you… you…” Rusco tried to shove the hand away but still hadn’t seemed to reclaim his ability to not see double, missing terribly and instead just gently smacking an ear as the warlock’s hand successfully found its place on the bloody boot-wound. He squeezed his eyes shut, which sent another pound of pain through his skull, but as he had agitatedly expected, a warmth came from the warlock’s palm, and within moments, the pain had mostly resided, Rusco’s eyes finally able to focus as the world stopped spinning.

He pulled away, nose crinkled as he now successfully swatted the hand away and scrambled to stand.

“Now you made a mistake, idiot—”

What mistake that was, Rusco didn’t get to say, finding himself cut off by a pair of lips abruptly pressed against his own.

All that bristling rage, all the fury and hatred seemed to melt away like wax in the summer sun, and instead he found himself nearly sinking into the bastard’s arms. Drixzy, not far away, watched with a scowl as the violet gem centered at Rusco’s throat upon the delicate, ivy-like collar fused to his neck glowed in deep purple pulses. She scoffed, sure she’d never understand why Rusco was allowed to be touched and even have an artefact when he hadn’t even been Blessed.

Mouths pulled apart just slightly, a thin strand of spit hanging between them for a second before splitting away; heavy-lidded violet-blue eyes stared into fel-flaming magenta and Rusco searched his mind.

What was he mad about again? How long had they been kissing? When did he get here?

Rusco stared blankly at Gremix.

“Why am I here?” he asked.

“Because you missed me, silly.”

Rusco’s eyes squinted in doubt, but for some reason he could simply not remember what he was so sure was important just moments ago.

“Why don’t we head to my chambers,” Gremix suggested, his hand sliding down Rusco’s back and finding a comfortable spot of flat ass to squeeze, “and I’ll give you a proper welcome?”

Rusco found himself mildly agitated at his sudden forgetfulness; but somehow, even more than usual, he just couldn’t resist the warlock’s advances.

“Fine,” Rusco said, trying not to sound too eager despite the fact that the longer they stood so close the more he wanted it, “but after, I’m yellin’ at you. About somethin’. Once I remember what it was.”

“Of course,” Gremix said, leading Rusco away with an arm scooped behind him.

It was odd. Rusco had only meant to stay for the afternoon, or perhaps even less, a faded memory seemed to tell him; yet there he was, sprawled in a huge comfortable bed next to an actual evil villain after fucking for the… how many times? In fact, how many days had he been there? Or had it been weeks? He only felt entirely sure it wasn’t the same afternoon. He found himself once more garbed in Gremix's weird stocking fetish crap, though free to wander the creepy labyrinthine halls of the palace; but strangely, having no desire to leave. Perhaps it was just nice to sleep in a bed again after trekking around doing… whatever he had been doing before he returned. What was he doing? Why had he left? Rusco sighed, staring at the canopy as green glows and shadows danced upon it as though the crystal that lit the room were a fire instead. Did that always happen? He tried to remember the room full of pillows he used to be imprisoned in, the crystal brazier in the corner by the bars… he squeezed his eyes shut, his head starting to ache. Whatever. It seemed like too much effort to think about it.

The marching could be heard long before the troops arrived at the great stone doors of the palace. Grids of perfectly systematized soldiers marched into the gilded chamber, led by Imperator Catfeetz, his replacement general, Gaztonne, and Gaztonne's own selection of lieutenant, Niknack—who Rusco, having come to peek into the throne room at the sound, recognized as the woman who had happily splashed boiling oil on a man's bare skin at Catfeetz's command. His nose crinkled and he glanced to Gremix, who had been lazing in his big gaudy chair expectantly.

“Imperator,” Gremix said with a nod of acknowledgement.

Catfeetz gave Gremix a lazy salute, the rest of the troops all instead giving him rigid, trained ones.

“I have some fun news,” Catfeetz said with one of his usual nefarious grins.

“Go on,” Gremix prompted, waving his hand. “I don’t have the patience for chit-chat. Did you find her or what?”

“We sure did,” Catfeetz laughed. “Madame Steelknuckle was located along with some other rebels in a cavern Northeast of th' harbor. Sneaky bitch found a nice li'l hidey hole, but I’ve got ships an’ cannons at the ready t' take her an' the rest of that stupid rock out at our command.”

Gremix stroked a finger down his jaw in thought. “Perhaps we shouldn’t kill her quite yet,” he suggested.

“What? Why not?” asked Catfeetz, aghast.

Gremix scanned the troops behind Catfeetz, and his own followers chatting in hushed voices around the perimeter of the chamber.

“We should discuss in private,” he said. Catfeetz pursed his lips, but complied, turning to Gaztonne.

“Report to the temp barracks outside the palace an' await further command.”

“Sir, yes, sirrrrr,” Gaztonne said with a salute, turning to the troops and barking the command to move out. The army turned on its heel, the perfect squares of goblin soldiers marching out of the throne room in a measured rhythm of boot-stomps. Gremix and Catfeetz began to head down towards the hall… that is, the exact hall Rusco had been peeking from.

Hurriedly pulling his head back, Rusco made a dash for the nearest branch off from the hall, slipping behind a wall just as the villains entered the passage. He pressed himself back, hoping desperately they wouldn’t turn there.

Luckily, they passed by, Rusco going unnoticed as they talked in low voices.

“What th' fuck, man, I thought we had this down already,” Catfeetz grumbled.

“I assure you, I’ve thought this over quite a lot,” Gremix said. “I think once I explain, you’ll understand why I think it’ll be better this way.”

Catfeetz shook his head, stuffing bony hands into uniform pockets. “If ya say so…”

Their conversation cut off as the door to the war room shut behind them.

Rusco watched the hall around the room for a moment. Nobody seeming to be around, he began to step out back into the main passage, but was unexpectedly turned by a rough hand on his shoulder.

Shoved back against a wall by his neck, Rusco had a good guess who it was before his eyes even caught a glimpse of her.

“What do you think you’re doin', little sneak?” Drixzy asked in a sinister coo. “Did Master give you permission to stalk him? Or do you jus’ have nothing better to do? I'm sure my darling pets could use another hand scrubbing the ballroom floor by nailbrush.”

“Sounds great,” Rusco said, grabbing at Drixzy’s arm to try to pull her hand away. “But I—nngh—let GO!”

Drixzy leaned in reaaaaaaaally close, the tip of her green nose touching his.

“Leave.”

She released him, and he shook himself off, rubbing at his throat. Oh yeah, he thought as his fingers traced over familiar intricate metal filigree—he’d forgotten that he was still wearing that collar. Just another thing that slipped his mind.

Rusco scoffed. “Whatever,” he said, shrugging and plodding off down another of the many halls, that he could swear there were more and more of every day. “The walls are soundproof glass an' all covered from inside so even if I was stalking him, there’s no use anymore.”

Drixzy merely sneered and watched him until he was out of sight before heading to the war room door herself and standing guard.

“Yeah, I guess,” Catfeetz muttered, leaned back casually with his arms rested on the back of the war room sofa to each side of him. “I still think bombing her out would be more fun, though.”

“Trust me, Cat. You know I wouldn’t lead us astray.”

Scoffing, Catfeetz conceded. “Fine, fine. Tomorrow mornin', then. I wanna be the one t' kill her when we do, though.” Catfeetz stuck a finger towards Gremix pointedly.

“I wouldn’t dream of gettin' in your way,” Gremix said, pausing ahead of Catfeetz, where he had previously been pacing as they spoke. “Well… If you’ll assist me in an act of humorous irony, that is.”

“Irony?” Catfeetz raised a brow. “The hell you talkin' about?”

“Back in the day, the Steelknuckle militia would give each other celebratory smooches upon a well-won victory; if you recall.”

“No, you dipshit, I don’t recall an' you know that.” Catfeetz frowned, doubt in his eyes. “Sounds like bullshit though.”

“Oh, of course,” Gremix said, feigning forgetfulness. “You can’t remember th’ times from before you died. It was such a charmin’ tradition an’ you used t’ take part in it so often, what a shame.”

“I kissed dudes?” Catfeetz scoffed in disbelief. “Now, that don’t sound right. I think yer jus’ makin’ this up cuz you wanna kiss me.” He grinned. “That it?”

“Please,” Gremix sighed, giving Catfeetz a stare of incredulity. “You’ve seen my taste in men, and it’s certainly not…” Gremix gestured to Catfeetz in general. “…any of this.”

Catfeetz’s head tilted back and he narrowed his eyes with an amused half-smirk up at Gremix. “Hey! Now you’re almost offendin’ me. You sayin’ your gay ass wouldn’t enjoy gettin’ some a’ this?”

Gremix snorted. “There would only be one way to find out, wouldn’t there?” He gave a shrug of apparent defeat along with an exaggerated sigh of “but ya can’t even let me have a small peck’s worth of fun.”

Catfeetz snickered. Just more of those silly suggestive conversations with Gremix, right? “Fine, I guess, I’m gonna believe you that it’s a thing an’ humor your stupid in-joke… but jus' real fast so you’ll shut up.”

Gremix smiled, leaning in to the death knight's face, where said death knight had shut his eyes and crinkled his nose in preparation for the disgusting act. Two surprisingly warm hands—Catfeetz could barely feel temperature, how were they so warm?—rested upon his bony cheeks, pulling him ever so much closer… Also surprisingly, the warlock's lips were incredibly soft, just like a woman’s. And the way he moved his thumbs at Catfeetz’s temples was so relaxing that the cold soldier felt suddenly very… distracted.

Gremix pulled away a little bit to observe his work—with this feeding and what he had pumped through Drixzy, he must have started to take some control. Catfeetz seemed mildly drained, but not yet responsive… at least, Gremix thought so, until the dead blue gaze (beginning to seem a teeny bit more teal) flicked up to him and two powerful arms pulled Gremix down atop his lap.

Gremix, ever the trooper, kept his grip on Catfeetz’s head and kept the magic flowing despite being manhandled. However, now he stared closely into the eyes of what appeared to be quite a different situation than he’d expected.

“So, tell me you didn’t like that, even a little,” Catfeetz said, narrowing eyes which, despite his unanticipated aggression, were getting greener and greener by the moment.

Gremix swallowed, eyes drifting down slowly, slowly towards the space between them. Yep. That was one big ol’ dead-guy boner barely staying within the confines of its clothing covers. He closed his eyes and took a deep, resolute breath.

“And what if I said I did?”

Rusco really hadn’t gone too far, having simply taken a path of halls that looped him back to the war room from another direction. As he returned, his brows rose; he had expected to find Drixzy guarding the door; not peeping.

“So what’s goin’ on in there?” Rusco asked, causing a clearly very focused Drixzy to yelp, startled.

“I told you to leave!” she said in what could only be described as a whisper-yell. Her face was unusually red, as were her ears. Rusco leaned to one side, tilting his head to try to see what she was looking at. Between two of the curtains blocking the contents of the room from the inside was a small gap, where if you looked at just the right angle…

“NO!” Drixzy shoved him away and stood against the glass wall, back to the peeking-hole. “It’s a very secret important meetin’, um, plans and—"

“C’mon, lemme see!” Rusco said, trying to shove the blindfolded woman out of the way.

“It’s not your business!” she hissed, shoving back against him in resistance.

“Well it clearly isn’t yours either!”

Drixzy opened her mouth, but didn’t necessarily have a retort, considering he was right.

“Fine!” she said, moving away so suddenly that Rusco stumbled forward, barely catching himself before he could faceplant into the thick glass. “But be quiet.”

Rusco smushed his face against the glass where Drixzy had been watching—it was extremely poorly lit in there, unfortunately. Rusco huffed, remembering that the woman had some sort of magic hoo-haa eyes or something. Cheater. He squinted hard, trying to focus into the darkness… finally he saw light catching movement. A bony hand clutching a robed butt, grinding its owner’s hips into theirs… faces pressed together while that eerie green glow Gremix made flowed around. Rusco suddenly realized why Drixzy had been so flustered.

He glanced over at her. “They fuck?”

Drixzy’s face screwed up in disgust. “No! They’re not, I mean… Master is tryin’ to overtake Imperator Catfeetz’s mind, but…” She cleared her throat. “Well, sometimes it feels very, well, sensual, you know? I don’t think that he expected this outcome, necessarily—typically when it happens, the person jus’ loses it in their pants. Catfeetz seems to be of a, uhm, different breed.”

Rusco blinked at her. “Weird. Aaaaand why’s he doin’ that, exactly?”

Drixzy sneered. “It’s none of your business. But if you must know, the answer is so simple maybe even you can understand it: Catfeetz controls half of th’ Family. We control half of th’ family. So if we control Catfeetz…”

“…you control it all.” Rusco’s ears lowered. “He’s really jus’ tryin’ t’ take it all over, huh? The whole world, with jus’ him sittin’ on top?”

“Not quite,” Drixzy said with a twinge of spite. “Him, sittin’ on top—with his nasty little puppy Rusco on his lap.”

“He doesn’t control me,” Rusco scoffed, “an’ he never will. An’ ya know what else? He won’t control Catfeetz! I’m tired of all this control crap!”

Drixzy gave him an incredulous look, but before she could make sense of how he meant, Rusco was already ripping open the door to the war room. Crying out in anger, she dashed and followed him in.

“Stop!” Rusco called, jumping to the fore—that is, in front of the sofa where Catfeetz was in the process of being mind-drugged with a heaping serving of heavy makeout. Startled by the intrusion, Gremix’s focus broke and the green energy flow cut off.

“Rusco!?”

“I’m sorry, Master, he got through—” Drixzy stammered, trying to snatch at a struggling, slapping and scratching Rusco.

“Well get him out of here!” Gremix snapped, glancing back and forth between her and the fel-addled horndog who quickly seemed to be getting even more handsy the longer the fel siphon was cut off.

Struggling, Drixzy huffed “You said be gentle—”

“I changed my mind!” Gremix yelled, and he twisted back and shot one arm forth from the sofa. A couple yards away, a demonic gate containing an abyssal rift rose from green flames on the floor, and before Rusco knew what was going on, Drixzy had shoved him through it.

As Rusco stumbled backward, the last thing he saw was the Grand Warlock suddenly looking very uncertain, laughing nervously as the Imperator flipped him around and onto his back on the sofa; then the scene vanished, the rift closing and the demonic gateway crumbling into dust before his eyes.

“No!” Rusco cried, scrambling forward far too late, only to scoop up the ashy remains of fel magic with a frustrated groan. He looked around to gather his bearings, but wherever Gremix had sent him was such generic a palace hallway that he had no clue which one it was. It didn’t help that rooms weren’t labeled and there was nary a sign to be found in the entire building. He sighed, and clambering onto his feet, he began to run.

He didn’t know where to run, exactly. He just followed his gut: left here, right there, stay straight here and then turn…

He stumbled to a halt, hitting a dead end. Where were dead ends? He didn’t remember there ever not being another direction to go. Was this a part of the palace he’d never been to before? How deep down was he? He glanced around again, then, with a weird sinking feeling, looked down. There was the dusty remains of the demonic gateway.

He’d ended up just where he started.

A small sound came from behind the nearest door, which upon observation stood out from all the others, because of a short chain hanging from the handle: it was wrapped around loosely, but not locked, the padlock dangling open from one end of it. Especially interesting was the fact that this was the only door in the palace halls he’d ever even seen even seemingly intended to be chained shut. Every other one he tried to open simply wouldn’t budge, except for the one to Gremix’s quarters, all locked by some sort of internal or magical mechanism he had yet to figure out.

But he really didn’t have time for that. He had to stop Gremix! From… doing…

Rusco made a loud frustrated sound that echoed through the halls for what seemed like forever before fading away.

“I’m so fuckin’ sick of forgettin’ everything! What th’ fuck is goin’ on here?!” he yelled out at nobody.

He heard the same strange sound from behind the door. A sort of… croak? He eyed it.

No time.

He made a mad dash in the other direction this time. He’d be sure to measure his lefts and rights so there would be no possible way he could end up…

He stopped, panting, and grimaced in defeat at the chained door, which somehow, he had once again returned to.

“Fine!” he gasped, tossing his hands in the air in defeat. “I’m gonna do it! Geez!”

The chain clattered to the stone brick flooring and the metal door’s hinges gave a horrendous creak as it moved, as though it had not been opened in quite some while.

It was… just an unimpressive, mostly empty dungeon containing only one ankle-shackle chained to a wall, a bucket that reeked of its purpose, and one extremely dead-looking goblin splayed out on his front.

It was sort of horrifying, not only because the prisoner was emaciated from obvious starvation and dehydration, but also because as Rusco made wary steps towards the corpse, it moved.

He made a quiet startled noise, taking a step back as the seemingly-dead person’s head shifted slowly, wads of clumped, matted pink hair falling aside to reveal one side of a dry, dying, defeated gaze.

Rusco swallowed. This guy was in an unlocked cell, and his feet were both free of the shackle, but from the looks of it, he simply did not have the life left in him to escape.

“How long… have you been down here?”

A wheeze came from the floor-bound goblin, and a gravelly, dry-throated voice croaked, “always”.

Rusco shook his head. “That’s not true—it can’t be. This place hasn’t existed that long.”

The prisoner showed no sign of acknowledgement, empty eye just staring at him.

Rusco pondered his next course of action. It wouldn’t be right to leave this guy, would it?

“Kill me,” wheezed the withering goblin.

“What?” Rusco’s ears pinned. “No, I’m not gonna—”

“Please!” A sharp, wheezing inhale followed, the goblin clearly having used more effort on increasing the volume of his voice than he had in him, his head flopping aside once more, face again covered by the dirty dreadlocks of pink.

Rusco took a deep breath.

“I ain’t gonna kill you. But I ain’t gonna let ya rot here, either.”

There was no response, but a gentle wheezing sound told Rusco the man was still alive yet.

“I’m gonna save you.”

“You’re in panties,” the goblin wasted his breath wheezing out in reply.

Rusco clenched a fist. “Yes. Yes, I am.”

It was surprisingly easy to heft the gaunt prisoner onto his back, little weight enough left to make him bearable despite being a decent bit taller than Rusco. But then came the walking, which would have been much less a problem if Rusco could figure out how to get back to the parts of the halls he knew. In tiresome steps, he passed the door to the weak prisoner’s cell three more times before giving another roar of defeat.

“Do you know the way out?” he desperately asked his living cape.

The goblin shook his head ever so slightly, but formed a pointing gesture with one hand which he weakly tweaked in a direction—Rusco tried to follow the sad excuse for pointing, but found himself puzzled, as the guy was apparently pointing to the dead end, where there was nothing but...

“What? The torch thing?”

An extremely weak nod told him his attention was on the desired topic, but Rusco wasn’t going to put money on his companion being able to explain what he meant.

Carefully, Rusco set the guy down, propped sitting against the wall, where his head hung uselessly to one side, unable to upright itself. Then he turned to inspect the torch. It was just like the one from his pillow room, as he remembered it, at least: a golden pole brazier over which a floating green crystal hovered, which was the most common lighting in the whole place. So what was special about this one? He searched the eyes that seemed to slip in and out of consciousness for some sort of clue, but there was nothing.

He kicked it. Nothing. Tried to pull it, push it. Wouldn’t budge. Warily, he reached for the crystal itself, but as his fingers approached it they began to burn furiously and he couldn’t help but draw away, sucking on blistering skin. He groaned, feeling around the walls of the dead end for anything special. But it was just stone, nothing more. Sighing, he looked around one last time—then a glimmer caught his eye. A tiny speck of light bouncing off the gilding that decorated all of the halls that he knew drew his attention to the fact that many of the walls around him right then did not have that. His eyes dropped to the floor where the torch base ended. From it extended a stretch of intertwining golden filigree décor across the stone floor and up the wall, where it turned and continued on horizontally for as far as Rusco could see.

“Ah, you observant dyin’ bastard,” Rusco said with a grin, scooping the other goblin back up onto his back and hurriedly following the gold-plating path through the convoluted halls.

Finally, things started to seem more familiar, the slant of the ground telling him he was ascending and thus growing closer to the ground floor, where surely he’d be able to make heads and tails of things. However, Rusco’s shuffling run slowed to a halt as he looked around again; now all the walls had the gold décor; and even odder, when he turned around, so too did all the walls behind him.

Puzzled, Rusco simply heaved his deathly companion up a little higher to get his grip firm again and trudged forward.

He seemed to be on the right level now; at least, he was fairly certain he was. The air had a different feeling to it aboveground. But he simply couldn’t find his way, and somehow, he hadn’t seen a single other person the whole time. The halls were silent save for Rusco’s shuffling walk for a great deal of time.

Suddenly, Rusco’s ear twitched; to one side, he heard the faintest of sounds, and his head whipped around in excitement—another person? What he was met with instead was a plain door, cracked open just a tiny bit, which shut instantly as his eyes met the two unmatching ones that peered out at him, one over the other.

“Wait!” Rusco shouted, scuffling over towards that door. “Wait, can you give me directions?”

There was no response for a moment, then the door creaked open a tiny bit again, revealing a sliver of a rather short, young, buff goblin wearing rather bizarre leather clothes. Well, bizarre normally, but Rusco could hardly talk in his own getup.

“Yeah, how can I help?” the goblin behind the door asked humbly.

“D’you know which way th’ war room is from here?”

“Oh!” said the goblin, seeming to brighten up at the sheer thought of really being able to help the stranger. “Jus’ follow the hall all th’ way to that end an’ take a left, then th’ third right, fifth left, take the stairs up an’ you’ll see th’ throne room’s arches—”

“That’s good enough, I’ll know from there,” Rusco said, cutting him off. “Thanks.” Once again affirming his grip on the guy he carried, he hobbled away, ignoring the hushed voices from within as the door re-closed behind.

The throne room was in the opposite direction of the war room—ignoring the chit-chat from that side, (followers mingling, Rusco was sure), he beelined for the war room. He set his buddy down hurriedly but delicately before busting into the room again.

However, to his dismay, the only person within was Imperator Catfeetz, who was lounging on the sofa, legs crossed and foot bouncing as he spaced out. In fact, Rusco noticed as he slowly approached, Catfeetz didn’t seem to even realize he was there. There was something off about him. Rusco squinted, leaning in real close to the death knight’s face. Were his eyes always teal? Rusco could have sworn they were blue.

“Hey,” Rusco said, putting a hand on a cold uniformed shoulder, giving the guy a gentle shake. Why had he just been left in there? “Dude. Imp-rotter? Catfeetz.” Rusco shook him harder and harder, until finally just giving in and heaving him off the sofa.

That seemed to do the trick, Catfeetz scrambling up and onto his feet in a start and looking entirely disconcerted.

“What th’—what’s goin’ on? When’d you get here? Where’s—we were plannin’…” Catfeetz’s brows lowered and he looked Rusco over.

“Nice sockies,” Catfeetz said with a smirk. “They go great with your frou frou poet shirt.”

“I don’t have time t’ make fun of Gremix’s taste in harem attire with you,” Rusco said, waving a hand toward the door pointedly. “You need t’ do somethin’! Th’ dude’s tryin’a brainwash you an’ take over th’ whole family, or somethin’!”

Catfeetz stared blankly at the panty-clad goblin. “What’re you yammerin’ about? I’d know if that idiot tried his stupid conversion spell on me.”

“Then explain why you were sittin’ here so zoned out so I could push you over, huh? Why I got teleported outta here after catchin’ you two dry-humping while he gave you a fancy fel headrub?”

Catfeetz barked a laugh. “What’re you talkin’ about? Dry-hu—” Catfeetz froze mid-sentence, his amused grin slowly dropping into a slightly agape look of revulsion. Rusco could almost see the memories clicking into place again as revulsion morphed into pure rage.

“THAT MOTHER FUCKER!”

Rusco didn’t realize the top-heavy military man had that kind of speed in him, but he was already out of sight by the time Rusco rushed out after him. He stumbled ahead, pausing to scoop up his questionably conscious compadre before waddling after the death knight as fast as he could.

The Grand Warlock was reclining in his throne once more, seeming even more content as usual as he ran his fingers across the tight leather worn by his faithful Drixzy, who was again draped across his lap and quite enjoying his touch. Idling high-ranking followers watched in envy, some whispering snide remarks while others only sighed about what a dream she got to live. Truly, Drixzy was the most blessed of followers. She was even given little pets, one of which was tied to the side of the great throne by a leash—Zubert sat obediently, causing no fuss.

Catfeetz's troops had returned at Gremix’s command, and stood in perfect formation, taking up much of the chamber's space. They waited wordlessly for their Imperator to return, Gremix having told them he may be a while.

The silence was broken by heavy, fast bootsteps as they echoed through the stone halls to the left of the throne's staircase-tower. Gremix’s brows furrowed. The only person he could imagine would be wearing rubber soled boots deeper within his palace was—

“Oh, no,” Gremix said, paling as the death knight skid to a pause under the arches just to turn his momentum towards the lounging felcaster, “He’s awake too soon!”

Drixzy leapt from his lap in a flash of purple and blonde, standing between him and the raging Imperator as she drew her knives. Catfeetz roared as he came down upon her and it came to attention that her blades were of little concern to the rampaging man, since a hard, bony fist made solid contact with her face. She was tossed down the staircase with a clatter of metal and pained grunts, rolling down the last few. From aside the throne, her bound boytoy cried out in concern.

Gremix, the moment Drixzy had stood, had made to hide or evacuate, but with nowhere to run he instead glanced hopelessly over the terrified followers and soldiers, who all watched with the clear internal conflict of not knowing whether they were supposed to assist.

Now with Drixzy tossed out of the way, Catfeetz had open access to Gremix. “You stupid asshole, you think you can control me?” he rumbled, teeth bared not in his usual devious grin but a snarl that belonged more on a feral wolf than a goblin.

Gremix gave a nervous laugh, stepping around Zubert and behind his throne. “Drixzy,” he said loudly and perhaps even pleadingly, eyes flicking aside to the woman who though back on her feet was still at the bottom of the stairs, having been intercepted.

General Gaztonne stood in her way, sharp meat cleavers in each clawed hand. “Sorry, hottie,” he snickered. “I don’t think I’m aloooooooowed to let you interfere with th' Imperator—whatever it is he’s doin’.

She scowled, but having grabbed her own daggers off the floor, just went at him—the goal only being to pass by, but the perpetually bleeding rogue was made General for a reason. Clashes of blades and skids of shoes on stone as they struggled and danced around each other was all that answered Gremix's call.

Unfortunately for him, a fist also did, smashing a chunk off the back of the throne right by Gremix's head. He yelped, circling around further as Catfeetz pursued, the poor guy who remained tied to the seat hunkering down and holding his head close to his body, afraid of being stepped on or tripped over. Gremix couldn’t keep the little circle chase going forever, though.

Determination in his eyes, the Grand Warlock stepped away from the throne and faced the oncoming furious brute. An angry fist made its way straight for his head and… he moved forward, grabbing Catfeetz's face and shoving their lips together frantically.

Drixzy and Gaztonne stopped their standoff mid-fight, all the troops and followers in the chamber just frozen and watching their leaders in absolute confusion.

Beefy arms went to shove Gremix away immediately, but then hesitated, slowly lowering to rest hands instead on Gremix's hips. Catfeetz's eyelids drooped and closed in magically forced contentment. Peeking his own eye open, Gremix took a small step back, still holding the now-dazed death knight's head and channeling his Fel... But it wasn’t enough. Burning blue still broke through his green from the undead goblin’s mind.

Wild green flames erupted from the Grand Warlock’s hands, engulfing Catfeetz's body in fire. The flames flickered wildly as though in heavy wind, and Catfeetz cried out in what may have been conceived as pain, though Gremix was certain the man didn’t actually feel pain. It stayed that way for a while, the intense inferno nearly blinding everyone who watched; and when the fire finally subsided and Gremix lowered his hands, Catfeetz collapsed. Somehow, his body showed no sign of burn—nor harm of any kind—despite having seemingly just been on fire for a good 30 or more seconds.

Drixzy had never seen it this way… Her heart sank into her stomach. She hadn’t ever seen it because after all, she had been the only one it happened to before.

And Rusco, finally catching up and trying to gather what he'd missed from the archways as he huffed and puffed for air, definitely hadn’t ever seen it. Frozen in fear or perhaps despair, his grip on the mostly dead goblin he carried loosened, unintentionally letting the guy slip to the ground with a plop.

An eerie silence came over the throne room, all eyes locked on the scene. By all intents and purposes, it seemed the Imperator had been slain.

Then, Catfeetz began to move again. Slowly, he pushed himself off the floor, rising to his feet and brushing dust off the front of his uniform before raising bright glowing green eyes to Gremix.

Gremix looked him over warily, seeming about ready to bolt. Had it worked?

“Uhhhhhh… Imperator?” came a timid voice from below.

Catfeetz’s head snapped to the side instantly and he raised one thick arm. A shadowy purple tendril of energy that looked akin to some ghastly witch’s hand erupted from the knight’s palm, zig-zagging through the air like a lighting bolt until its gangly tendrils met flesh and wrapped around the neck of the errant speaker—Gaztonne. With a swish of Catfeetz’s hand, the general was lifted into the air by his throat and then smashed into the nearest stone column, which cracked and chipped where the goblin struck it.

“You will not speak unless spoken to, maggot!” Catfeetz barked, getting a moaned “y’sir” in response, and a hand lifted dizzily into the air from where Gaztonne lay at the base of the column, bleeding, and in quite a lot of pain.

“An’ stand up! You’re in th’ presence of The Grand Warlock and will show proper decorum an’ respect!”

The battered goblin agonizingly obliged and clawed his way up to standing, or close to it, leaned back against the semi-crumbling column. He gave a weak salute and crooked smile, blood streaming down his face and dripping off to stain the stone below.

Gremix watched the exchange with a satisfied smirk, and gave an interested sideward glance to the… former death knight.

“Catfeetz?” he asked, tentatively.

Catfeetz turned back to Gremix and grinned wide, a sinister and hungry look behind his narrowed, hollow eyes.

“Yes… Master?”

#my stupid shit writing #au that should never happen #gremix #catfeetz #drixzy #rusco #zubert #gaztonne #razzlex #don gutshot #briefly tho #hes like lol anyways im gonna go hide from yall now

[shewrites-sometimes]

Theme Tag Game!

My main was tagged by the ever beautiful @kidsarentallwrite aaaaand I think I'll do Jaded Souls for this one

addiction | beauty | betrayal | change vs. tradition | chaos vs. order| circle of life| coming of age | communication | convention vs. rebellion | corruption | courage | crime and law | dangers of ignorance | darkness and light | death | desire to escape | dreams | displacement | empowerment | facing darkness | facing reality | faith vs. doubt | fall from grace | fame and fortune | family | fate | fear | fear of failure | free will | friendship | fulfillment | good vs. bad | government | greed | guilt and forgiveness | hard work | heroism | hierarchy | honesty | hope | identity crisis | immortality | independence | individual vs. society | inner vs. outer strength | innocence | injustice | isolation | knowledge vs. ignorance | life | loneliness | lost love | love | man vs. nature | manipulation | materialism | motherhood | nature | nature vs. nurture | oppression | optimism | peer pressure | poverty | power | power of words | prejudice | pride | progress | quest | racism | rebirth | relationships | religion | responsibility | revenge | sacrifice | secrets | self-awareness | self-preservation | self-reliance | sexuality | social class structure | survival | technology | temptation and destruction | time | totalitarianism | weakness | vanity | war | wealth | wisdom of experience | youth

Wow I hope I got all of them. Tagging @sweetsweetbabytree @fourohfourlifenotfound @inkovert sorry if you've already been tagged, don't do these sorts of things, or don't want to do it

#tag game #theme tag game #jaded souls