#a sin a day keeps the thirst at bay

[yukiwrites]

Freedom and Good-byes

Thank you so much for the boundless patience as always, @breeachuuu! I hope you like it! Watch out for the sin, ye who enters!

Summary: It was time to unite Fódlan under one banner -- the Kingdom's -- and end this was once and for all. Wolfie's days in this foreign land were numbered, but he would come back. For his love, for Dimitri, and for his own future...

Commission info HERE and HERE!

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The last battle for Fódlan’s liberation was nigh. 

Byleth, Dimitri and Wolfram returned from their meeting with Edelgard after the sun had set and immediately headed to the last war council before the end.

They would attack at dawn, just between the window when the imperial mages would be replacing the magical barriers and under the cloak of the darkest hour before sunrise. Wolfie would play a no small role in the invasion as well — he would be in charge of destroying the gates for their troops to storm in, placing him in the very front of the frontlines.

He wouldn’t have it any other way, of course, especially since Dimitri would be leading the vanguard as a true Savior King — as the troops had begun calling him — so they would fight side by side.

Wolfie still — and probably never will be — couldn’t get used to all the fighting; especially not the killing, but he would persevere. For his mission, for Byleth and, most of all, for Dimitri.

This time, they entered the meeting hand in hand, proudly standing side by side as strategies flew back and forth, atop Enbarr’s map placed on the table. Anyone who had eyes could see that they shared a bond stronger than friendship, especially since they weren’t very good at hiding when they thought they were ‘alone’. 

Regardless, Wolfram’s role in the army had never been questioned, especially not after his Divine revelation. Honestly, no one was more worthy of being with the future King of the unified Fódlan than him, though he probably couldn’t see it himself — at least, not yet.

As the meeting stretched on well into the night, Byleth had to forcefully call it off. They would be of no use in battle if they didn’t get a proper night’s rest, so she shooed everyone out of the tent and ordered them, as their Professor and strategist, to sleep.

After suddenly being thrown out, Wolfie and Dimi stayed in a stunned silence for about a second before dissolving into giggles under the watch of the stars.

“I can’t believe she just did that! We were on a roll!” Wolfie complained, puffing his cheeks adorably.

Dimitri chuckled as they walked hand in hand through camp, a slight flush heating up his face from his lover’s adorableness.

Hearing Dimitri’s laugh, Wolfie’s cheeks puffed up more, though it was mostly him trying to mask his embarrassment/excitement rather than being actually upset about it.

Unable to contain himself, Dimitri caressed Wolfram’s face, trailing down his fingers to his braid, picking it up and taking it to his lips.

“Thank you once again for being with me, Wolfram. I do not know what I would have done without you.”

“Um, I,” Wolfie’s eyes spun as his heart rate spiked. “O-of course, Dimi. I’ll always be there for you. A-always…” he looked down, the realization of that promise dawning on him like a bucket of cold water.

He wanted to be with Dimitri forever.

The feelings welling up in his chest threatened to burst just for entertaining the mere thought of hugging him and kissing him again. Of being with him and waking up with him and laughing with him and—

“I just love you so much,” he blurted out, his thought process a mess since he’d been unable to freely transform and stretch his wings.

“...!” Dimitri let out a silent gasp, twitching his hand in Wolfie’s in surprise. “I… love you as well.” He replied, unaware of Wolfram’s inner turmoil, though his words served only to fan the flames inside Wolfie’s mind.

As they conversed, they had walked following each other to nowhere in particular, ending up at the edge of camp. Wolfie looked up, beet red from the exchange.

“Can…” he looked around, as if he could see anything or anyone other than Dimitri in front of him before looking up to the literal Prince Charming staring down at him with that wonderful blue gaze. “Can I kiss you?”

Dimitri’s lips quivered with the question, and he licked them without realizing — Wolfie mimicked the action inadvertently, his throat suddenly going dry.

“Of,” Dimitri exhaled, the spring night of the Empire much, much warmer than the one back in Faerghus. “Of course…” he leaned down to Wolfie’s lips, wrapping his arms around the other’s thin waist.

Wolfram closed his eyes as he enveloped his arms around Dimitri’s neck with the ease of habit, opening his lips to welcome the prince’s uncertain, but hungry tongue.

They shared a nervous kiss under the moonlight, melting into one another’s bodies.

As Dimitri’s tongue roamed inside Wolfie’s mouth, they started to get out of breath, but simply could not pull away from each other. Wolfram started losing strength in his legs, leaning on Dimitri for support as the kiss turned more and more intense. Their bodies heated by the second, but they refused to pull away from one another.

“Mhm…” Wolfie rolled his eyes in pleasure, panting under Dimitri’s relentless tongue.

The longer the kiss went, the harder it was to pull away, until Wolfram started feeling something poking at the tip of his stomach and squirmed under Dimitri’s rock-solid grip.

“Diimi… Dimi…” he bemoaned, gasping for air.

Under the stupor of their shared heat, Dimitri slowly opened his eye to look at Wolfie’s disheveled and flushed mien. “Yes…?” He huffed with the herculean effort it took to pull away from those sweet lips.

“There’s… something here,” Wolfie mumbled, not fully coherent and limp like a wet noodle, as he squirmed his waist along Dimi’s.

“T-That’s—” Dimitri suddenly pulled away, his face shimmering in a deep red. “I— Forgive me, I— I think it would be better if you went back first… I… I should take care of… things… before returning…” he blabbered, unsure if he should hide his face or the bulge in his pants.

Wolfie widened his eyes in surprise at the monument growing right there, suddenly feeling parched. “Um…” his head spun and his mouth spoke before he could think properly. “It’s okay. Can I… can I see it?” He asked without taking his eyes off of it, missing the egregious expression in Dimitri’s face, though he could’ve sworn he saw the bulge grow bigger… or maybe it was a trick played by the moonlight.

Regardless, that wasn’t important at that moment.

The important thing was that, as soon as Dimitri nodded, they held hands and ran to the nearest tent — thankfully, Dimitri had a tent for himself as the next King, so they headed there in a stupor.

At some point, they started kissing again, but Wolfie was just so focused and curious about it all, he immediately helped Dimitri out of his armor as soon as they reached the bed.

Wolfie could see well in the dark, though he wished he had lit some candles after they went inside — he knew he was missing the details under the chiseled muscles and rough scars Dimitri’s body was hiding.

The proportions under there were all so well distributed it made Wolfie’s mind spin. He remembered the first time he saw Dimitri shirtless after they reunited and oh boy, seeing it all again, but now from a different angle and while he was breathing so heavily and all flushed like that — it was simply inexplicable.

However, the proportion that caught him off guard was that of Dimitri’s manhood.

By Naga, how big it was.

Wolfie felt his own pants tightening in response, as he tried to gulp with a dry throat. 

Dimitri squirmed in the silence as Wolfram’s shimmering eyes scavenged his body. “Wolfram…” he squeaked, snapping Wolfie out of the stupor.

Dimitri’s perfection was too much for the poor manakete to handle all at once. Still, his words outpaced his thoughts once again, and his hands moved on their own.

“Can… Can I touch it?” he huffed, sitting on the bed, in the middle of Dimitri’s crossed legs.

The prince covered his face with both hands, his voice sounding muffled. “You do not need to ask permission for everything…” he almost cried, his embarrassed voice much too stimulating.

Wolfie gulped, then touched the tip slightly, retracting his finger immediately. Dimitri flinched with the sudden touch, but only let out a shivering breath. Veins bulged out of his arms in the effort it took to stay put rather than succumb to his most primal instincts, but he managed to stay in place.

Once again Wolfram reached out for it, but this time, enveloped it with his hand. It was so big he almost couldn’t close his hand around it — were he a woman or just slightly shorter, he probably wouldn’t have been able to.

By Naga, just that thought made Wolfie salivate. He moved his hand up and down slowly, watching as Dimitri hardened his entire body in self-control while biting his lips so as to muffle his moans.

The lips…

Wolfie leaned in to lick them, making Dimitri widen his eye in surprise and let out a moan escape as he opened his mouth to welcome Wolfram.

As if being released by a binding spell, Dimitri finally moved his hands, focusing on taking off Wolfram’s clothes. The faster he moved, the faster Wolfie touched him, forcing his reason to go further and further away from his mind.

“W-Wolfram…” he grunted as the climax rose from within his chest and escaped through Wolfie’s fingers. His seeds burst out of him, thick and milky, landing on both his and Wolfie’s chest, as well as drenching Wolfie’s hand entirely.

“So much came out…” Wolfie looked at his dripping hand, and, as if in a trance, took it to his behind. “Can I…” he was about to ask, but Dimitri was faster.

“Yes… Yes, you can.” He almost pleaded as Wolfie moved his hips up and down inadvertently, almost seductively so. Dimitri watched, patiently but painfully, as Wolfie coated his behind with Dimitri’s own semen and slowly descended on his erection.

“It’s… it’s so big,” Wolfie huffed, his body feeling hotter than when he used the dragonstone to transform. He didn’t know that, but his draconic skin shimmered with the moonlight filtering through the flaps of the tent, making the scene look holy in a debauched manner.

Dimitri closed his eye in pleasure, holding Wolfie’s hips for support. “If… If you wish to stop…” he said with a thin voice, almost not wanting to say it, but forcing himself to. He cared more about Wolfram than about his own pleasure, after all. It was still so hard to say.

Oh, so hard.

It felt so good, even with just the tip in.

“No… No… I can do it, we can do it…” Wolfie rolled his head to the sides, drunk in the pleasure just the tip was giving him. He lowered himself further, further and further down. As his stomach filled to the point of bursting, he felt like there was no end to it, but the moment his crotch touched Dimitri’s, they let out a sigh of pleasure in unison.

They were complete.

They were one.

By Naga, it felt so good.

Dimitri dug his face into Wolfie’s shoulder, his breathing erratic. “Wolfram… can I…”

“You can… Please, please, don’t ask…” The roles turned around, but neither of them noticed it. Wolfie simply couldn’t think anymore — he just wanted to be with Dimitri, to feel Dimitri, to taste Dimitri… his mind was spinning.

Dimitri carefully held Wolfie’s hips with one hand and slid the other one behind his neck, changing their positions so he would be on top. 

“Mhhhn…” Wolfie squeezed his eyes in a painful pleasure as the penetration felt deeper once it was out of his control, but he couldn’t let go. No, instead, he grasped harder at Dimitri’s hair and crossed his legs around the prince’s waist.

Locked in their lovemaking, Dimitri claimed Wolfie’s lips once more as he started to move slowly at first. He dug his tongue into Wolfram’s mouth, accelerating the rhythm of both the kiss and their lower bodies with each new breath they took.

Tears of pleasure rolled down Wolfie’s cheeks as Dimtiri’s thrusts dug deeper and harder into him, molding him into Dimitri’s shape.

“Ah… hahh…” Wolfie gasped for air, digging his claws on Dimitri’s back as the heat spread around his body like a wildfire. “I l-love… ah… you…” he slurred the words, delirious as the pleasure was too much to take. “Dimi…”

“And I… you… my love…” Dimitri grunted as he pounded harder into Wolfie, their bodies so in sync, they felt the epitome of pleasure at the same time — Dimitri released himself inside Wolfram as Wolfie’s seeds spread between their bodies, as a testament of their shared lovemaking.

Panting, but still joined, the couple shared a groggy kiss to seal their vows under the heated imperial night.

With the events of the previous night etched into their hearts and bodies, Wolfram and Dimitri rode into battle with a renewed resolve.

Dimitri would ask Wolfram to stay.

Wolfie would tell Dimitri he would come back for him.

There was no future where the two of them weren’t together; it simply wasn’t possible — not anymore. 

However, they still had to win that future in today’s battle.

With the dawning sun at their backs, Dimitri stood at the front, holding his Hero’s Relic that shone with a shimmering red. His mind was clear, and his voice carried the weight of all the lives of those he lost — and the lives of those he would protect, now and in the future.

“Sons of Fódlan!” He roared, truly fitting for the leader of the Blue Lions. “My brothers,” he spoke more softly, though with no less conviction. “For too long have we been fighting. For too long have we failed to protect our loved ones, our families… Our homes.” He shook his fist with regret, but raised his head as the first rays of sunlight peeked through the mountains. “Ere the sun rises!” he pointed his spear upwards, “the first day of the rest of our lives! Today we fight to reclaim our peace, to save those in need… Today we fight for unification and understanding! Today we fight to see another day! By all that you hold dear on this good earth, I bid you stand, Men of the Kingdom!” He rallied, the thunder in his voice clapping on the heart of every single soldier there.

The drums of war resounded, deafened by the troops’ roars. Spears, swords, shields, bows and tomes shot upwards, to the sun — to the future they would reclaim with their own hands.

Roused by the Savior King’s speech, the army charged forward, following the path Wolfram opened with his powers.

With such high morale, the Kingdom’s army trampled through the resistance, no matter what was being thrown at them.

Enbarr was littered with Demonic and Magical Beasts both of which did not care who was friend and who was foe — destruction was their only objective and there lay no unturned stone where one such beasts was. 

Dimitri made sure to instruct all soldiers not to pillage nor deliver unnecessary judgment, but to also rescue any civilians or surrendered soldiers in danger.

The battle would have ended sooner had he just focused on charging on ahead, but he had grown from that.

Charging on ahead without caring for anyone wasn’t going to achieve his goal — even if it would, he would be alone in the end regardless. A future of him sitting upon a pile of corpses in a field of tragedy could not be considered as such.

Bloodsoaked as he was, he still could do something good with the power that had been given him — and taking back a once doomed future was exactly it.

They marched on ahead, finding more and more Demonic Beasts the closer they got to the palace. Their stench was everywhere, to the point of numbing Wolfram’s nose.

“Dimitri!” Wolfram called from the sky, his voice being carried by the wind. “There’s something really powerful inside. It’s like one of those beasts, but somehow more…” he trailed off, unsure of even what he was warning his beloved about.

But Dimitri nodded with a deep frown. “Thank you, Wolfram,” he said firmly, turning to Byleth for counsel.

They had to adapt their strategies once they stormed the castle — they would go from an open city to a closed fortress, after all — but there was no time to rest on their laurels.

The battle was nigh, and soon they discovered the source of Wolfie’s anxiety: The Hegemon Husk, a gargantuan demonic beast that was waiting for them at the throne room, as if it was its owner.

Wolfram had used his Naga ability only once when a group of beasts were swarming a church, but he felt that he could still use it one or two more times if needed — and the boy was sure it would be.

Normal attacks bounced off of the Husk, not to mention the humongous reach its attacks had. Once they all got closer, however, they realized it was not a simple monster — it was Edelgard in the flesh, consumed by whatever foul power had made the beasts in the first place.

Dimitri and the others had been fighting towards a better future, one that all could live in peace and harmony. Edelgard held similar ideals, once. Or at least it was what she seemed to have believed when they had met at that secret summit.

However, now she looked like nothing more than a demon ready to swallow the world — and its peace with it.

The Savior King stood tall in front of the monster many times his size, brandishing a lance of legend. Many artists would try to recreate this moment in the future — of Dimitri’s holy aura; of the dark path that lay behind him as he trailed towards a bright future; of the monster the size of a mountain that stood in his path… But none would make it justice.

The scene felt somewhat holy — and Wolfram wasn’t even a big part in it, despite what people believed about his ancestry. It was the tale of a single man, carrying the weight of the world in his shoulders, standing down in front of impossible odds and still being able to overcome them.

His gaze was unwavering as he looked up to the beast. “To be changed beyond all recognition… That is what lies at the end of the ideals you served so diligently.” He adopted a battle stance. “I have no pity for one such as you. If that is the future you hoped for, then you deserve no compassion.”

Having said that, Dimitri started his onslaught against the Husk, being aided by his comrades, by his classmates, by his Professor… and by his beloved. Together, with the strength of all who would lend it, the odds tipped in their favor and, after a fierce day and night of battle, the Husk toppled over, dissolving into dust.

It revealed the real Edelgard underneath, her face devoid of emotion as she looked up to Dimitri in defeat. Wolfie reverted his transformation, landing right behind Dimitri, gripping at his cloak for support.

Edelgard glanced at the boy, then to Dimitri, her silver hair cascading down her shoulders.

“El…” Dimitri reached out to her, comfortable with Wolfie’s support behind him. However, Edelgard reached for the dagger inside her cloak and threw it at Dimitri in a last spur of strength.

“Dimitri…!” Wolfie gasped, unable to catch the action that had been too quick even for his heightened senses. 

Dimitri simply grunted as the dagger pierced under his armor’s bindings on his left shoulder, his right hand moving by instinct and stabbing her with his lance at the same time. She crumpled lifelessly on the ground as Wolfie reached to cast healing magic right away, watching as the dagger fell on the ground under the healed flesh.

After an entire day of death, after fighting through the night and breaching the darkness, Dimitri turned around to the open door.

The sun was shining once again.

It shone as if reminding them all not to lose hope; not to forget that a new day would always dawn, no matter how dark the previous night had been.

He took Wolfie’s hand and headed towards the light, though he hesitated for a moment, meaning to look back at Edelgard one last time before the end; however, Wolfie didn’t let him. He pulled him this time, leading the Savior King to his faithful subjects; leading him straight to the victory roar and into the embrace of the sun.

Dimitri squeezed Wolfie’s hand in his, smiling, then grinning, then laughing happily as the bright rays of sunlight shone on his golden hair, reflecting a precious, precious memory that Wolfram would never, ever forget.

His heart full, and his lips stuck in a permanent smile, Wolfie felt tears trickling down his cheeks as an immense weight was lifted from his chest.

It was over.

It was finally, finally over.

He had arrived in this land no older than a boy, lost and without a true purpose in his home world. He had been born in an Era after the end — in an Era that had seen the end, fought against it and reclaimed its peace with its own bloodsoaked hands.

He had been born unto a loving family and an even more loving home, but was thrust upon this world to help it fight against its own end. No year of training could have truly prepared him for what he had witnessed and experienced in Fódlan.

No wise counsels from his siblings, no ‘cool life hacks’ from his father, no amount of information from his mother — nothing could have truly prepared him for Fódlan. He had arrived as nothing more than a young man, loved by his family.

From nothing, he had acquired so much.

He had done so much.

He had befriended so many people, he had learned so much about himself, about humanity, about his own species and their distant cousins.

He had learned about true love. 

Looking at the scene in front of him, at the scene that had seemed to have stopped in time — of a smiling Dimitri, being showered with confetti and praises by their comrades, by the people and even by the surrendered soldiers. A halo of light shone behind him, or perhaps that was simply his golden hair dancing with dawn.

Wolfie had truly, fully finally learned what life was about only after embarking on this long yet short journey.

For five, lonely years he dove into his faith, following what he had been destined to do.

For five, lonely years he prayed, depositing more and more power into the tiny dragonstone he carried.

For five, lonely years he worshiped the small, handmade shrine. One that would play a great part in the future, though he was still not aware of how yet.

Yet, after his dragonstone cracked, he had been unable to focus on his prayers. Not even a whisper from Naga could be heard, even in the most silent of nights. 

But that was about to change.

With the weight lifted from his heart and mind, Wolfram’s body, exhausted from overusing his ultimate ability and for staying transformed for so long without pause, reached the point of enlightenment.

He could turn his head and see no one moving; he could see the trails of the wind and he could smell the color of the sun.

As his heart pounded and his ears rang, Wolfram heard it for the first time in what felt like an eternity.

“Young One, the time is nigh.” He heard the voice, though it felt like he was reading the words being written by the sky. “Go now, to the place where you used your power to save those in need.”

Wolfram couldn’t breathe, but he could feel all the molecules of air around him at the same time.

“Naga…?” he croaked out, his body somehow merging into the unknown, becoming part of the sky.

He saw Enbarr as if he was looking down at a model city, complete with the destroyed buildings and even the people moving in real time. His field of vision narrowed nauseatingly quickly, taking him to the back of the church he had first used his power Naga at.

At a small shrine right behind the church, close to a small fountain, there shone a lingering pool of light, connected by a white thread that ran all the way back to him.

As if he had made the trip himself — or at least his soul had — Wolfie was thrown back into his body forcefully, slumping down the moment he felt he was made of flesh again.

The light was too blinding, and the noises were too indistinguishable for him to focus. His vision blurry, he could barely make out what Dimitri was saying, as if they were separated by a thick glass.

“Dimi… I have…” he tried to move his dry lips, but soon darkness claimed him, and all that awaited was a forced slumber.

It all happened in an instant.

Barely had they stepped out of the throne room into the courtyard, Dimitri only had time to look at Wolfie and smile before the manakete collapsed in his arms, mumbling his name.

“Wolfram!” Dimitri’s blood ran cold. “Speak to me!” he tapped Wolfie’s pale cheeks.

“Medic!” Byleth yelled from behind, quickly putting herself between Dimitri and Wolfram. “Give him some space,” she elbowed him as she raised her voice. “Manuela and Hanneman!”

Although Byleth wasn’t completely in tune with the Blood inside of her — Sothis had disappeared way too early for that, and the talks she had with Wolfie about his world hadn’t nearly been enough — she felt an instability in Time itself for a moment there.

It felt like when she used a Divine Pulse, but somehow on a bigger scale, which was absurd. What could be bigger than turning back the hands of time itself? 

Yet, she could feel the lingering presence of a Blood in the air, as if reality itself was distorting to accommodate it. She could see a thin, silvery thread coming out of Wolfie’s locket towards the city, and that thread was consuming his power at a constant pace.

“Gods above!” Hanneman cursed in shock, “this is a severe mana exhaustion. Manuela, let us hurry and make a transfusion right away.” Being a renowned mage and Crest expert, Hanneman noticed the problem Byleth had seen but had no name for right away. He lifted his sleeves as Byleth lay Wolfie down on the grass, taking the boy’s hand the next moment.

Manuela grumbled something about not receiving orders from Hanneman, but acted quickly for the sake of the patient on the ground.

The two of them interacted with the mana circles inside Wolfie’s heart, infusing some of their own magic into him to supplement the sudden depletion.

“That should do it for now,” Manuela said after a few minutes, though Wolfie’s countenance did not look any better.

“Perhaps, but not quite,” Hanneman twisted his lips with a frown. “Something is consuming his mana at a steady rate. If this goes on, he will simply collapse again.”

“That’s why I said ‘for now’, you old coot,” Manuela growled. “We have to find the cause quickly — otherwise, even our mana will be depleted.”

“Is it that grave?” Dimitri crouched beside them, caressing Wolfie’s pale cheek. 

“It can be if we cannot find the source quickly,” Manuela tried to whisper, but had to yell due to the festive hollers and loud cries all around them. Wolfie passing out was just a drop amidst all the chaos the end of the war entailed.

There were a few onlookers crowding around them, but they did not linger for long amidst all the huddling and jostling. 

Byleth looked at the thread, then to Dimitri. “I think I know the cause,” she said, then turned to Manuela and Hanneman. “How long can he stay away from you two? I need to take him somewhere, but if it’s too dangerous…”

“As Manuela said, he should be fine for the time being. The mana being consumed is not much, but it is being depleted at a steady rate. A few hours, perhaps.”

Manuela bobbed her head to the side, then concurred. “Yes. I would rather you took me too, but I’m not confident I can follow after you two,” she waved to the two overpowered beings in front of her.

The bearer of the Crest of Blaiddyd who sported superhuman strength and the Avatar of the Goddess herself. Yeah, Manuela would not be able to keep up with them if they ran at full speed.

“Just bring him back right away if you can’t undo the spell.”

“Alright,” Byleth nodded, meaning to carry Wolfie in her arms, but Dimitri placed one hand on her shoulder, asking for permission. She took a step back, allowing the King to hold his Consort preciously in his arms.

“Lead the way, Professor,” he said in a grave voice, his heart trembling inside his chest.

Byleth pressed her lips into a thin line, then ran ahead, jumping over people and roofs, following the thread mostly by instinct rather than by sight. 

The Presence was faint, but constant, as if guiding her feet towards it.

The closer she got to the source, the more silent the surroundings became. Soon, as they dove deep into the buildings, even the light took a while to keep up with them, shrouding them in darkness.

Yet, the place they went to — a small church that could be easily overlooked if one did not know where to look — somehow shone in an otherworldly glow. Time felt slow around it.

As they approached, Wolfie showed signs of waking up.

“Wolfram!” Dimitri flinched, quickly finding a nearby bench to place Wolfie on. “Are you alright? Talk to me, my love…”

“Dimi…” Wolfie rolled his head to the sides, “I gotta… Naga said it’s time to go… I…” he blabbered, his vision blurry and his tongue numb. Tears rolled down his temples, wetting his pointy ears. “I didn’t know it would be so soon…” he sobbed.

“Wolfram…” Dimitri hardened his jaw. He wanted Wolfram to stay. Of course he did.

But if he was to suffer from mana depletion for the rest of his days… if he was to stay in a hospital bed, receiving transfusions just for his own selfishness, then…

Then, there was no other choice.

“But you must,” Dimitri said in a choked voice. “You must go, Wolfram.” 

He pointed to the fountain that shone brighter and brighter. Each droplet of water shone in a rainbow-colored light, as if the ever-changing surface of the water would reflect something else. Someplace else.

“Dimi…” Wolfie got up with Byleth and Dimitri’s help. “I couldn’t even say goodbye…” He groaned, light-headed and miserable.

“Still, you must,” Dimitri urged, his Adam's apple going up and down uncomfortably. “You must go and…” he reached for the Hero Relic strapped to his back — to Areadbhar, the lance passed down in the royal family since the dawn of the Kingdom. He took it and placed it on Wolfie’s hands. “You must go and come back. Come back to us. To… to me.”

“B-but this is your lance!” Wolfie protested, gripping at the Relic for support. 

“It is. You must return it to me, Wolfram. Promise me you will. Promise me you will return.” Dimitri grasped Wolfie’s hand on the lance. “You taught me selfishness, and I am aware this is a tall order I am asking, however… You must come back to me, Wolfram. I simply cannot be without you.”

Wolfie sniffled. “Dimiii!” He let go of the lance, jumping into Dimitri’s embrace. “Of course I’ll come back. I’ll find a way to come back and I won’t ever leave you alone again. We’ll be together forever.”

Dimitri’s nose stung with tears. “Yes,” he dug his face into Wolfie’s shoulder. “We will.”

“I love you, Dimi.” Wolfie hiccuped, kissing the prince’s ear, making him flinch.

“And I, you,” Dimitri replied in kind, letting go of their hug just enough for their lips to meet.

None of them thought that this was how the war would end.

They thought they would have the time to propose — for Dimitri — and the time to plan for a comeback — for Wolfram.

Yet, the Destiny’s Call was relentless in its pursuit for righteousness. It had to fix the otherworldly variable now that the worst had passed.

And it was the two lovers that had to be separated in the process.

Their last kiss was hungry, yet sorrowful. It longed for more, but it was pressed for time.

If only time could stop at that moment, to give them just a little bit more time together. Just a little bit more.

However, it was Aquilo’s cry from the sky that made the couple separate sluggishly, unwilling to part. He had also felt the distortion in the air, and followed the trio closely as they made their way into the city.

It was time.

Wolfie picked up Areadbhar from the floor, dusted it and held it close to his chest.

“Just don’t use it in battle,” Byleth patted Wolfie’s shoulder with a smile. 

“Duly noted,” Wolfie let out a hollow chuckle, then glanced back at Dimitri. “I’ll be back soon.”

“I shall be waiting for you.” He took Wolfie’s hand and kissed it, watching it slip away from his fingers as the dazzling light enveloped the fountain, then the entire area around them, swallowing Wolfie and Aquilo both in its almighty glow.

Just like that, in the blink of an eye, Wolfram was gone, and Byleth and Dimitri were left alone at the back of the church.

Dimitri’s shoulders slumped for a moment as his face was covered by his bangs, but soon he looked up to the sky — the same sky Wolfram always loved to trail on about; the same sky that he was sure Wolfie would be looking up to wherever he was.

Looking at that sky, Dimitri smiled.

They would see each other again.

#fire emblem three houses #fe3h #dimitri fire emblem #byleth fire emblem #fodlansona #fatesona #my writings #a sin a day keeps the thirst at bay #yuki's commissions

[nillabeam]

thirst texts at 2 am

synopsis: ah the queen of the drunk text. that’s you. but what happens when the person on the receiving end of your drunken sexting is none other than bakugo katsuki himself?? 

pairings: bakugoxf!reader

warnings: 18+ for sure, alcohol mention, phone sex, mutual masturbation, lANGUAGE bc bakugo is in it so that a given 100%, reader being a little brat, slight age gap but both characters are aged up

a/n: hi it’s me again bringing you another thirst post but Bakugo’s a little tiny bit of a sub in this one and i’m probably making a part two which will probably be pure sin but we’ll see! thanks for reading as usual please ignore all my shitty grammar and spelling mistakes <333 

You were more than lucky to score an internship straight out of UA, and even luckier to be scouted by Endeavor’s agency. And luckier still, to be able to work with Bakugo Katsuki, Ground Zero himself, the boy you had a school girl crush on since the day you watched him in the sports festival on TV. Feral and an obvious asshole, needless to say for reasons you couldn’t quite explain, you were smitten. You even managed to get into UA, granted he had graduated the year before you actually attended UA, still it was hallowed ground to you since so many great heroes were a product of the prestigious high school. What started as a shallow reason for attending became the best decision of your life. You left UA a strong pro hero to be, and your quirk made you a perfect addition to the fiery ranks of your new agency. 

You fit in quite nicely, most of your co-workers took a liking to you immediately. Except, of course, Bakugo, who always seemed to keep his distance from everyone. The loner rockstar of the agency, honestly it was very on brand for him. You could count on one hand how many times you’d interacted, and you only needed half the amount of fingers to count how many times you’d actually spoken to one another. Lucky for you your school girl crush had wavered a bit since graduation. After all, you were a full fledged hero now. That didn’t mean you steal a few peeks of the hero here and there on the rare occasion he would show up at the office. Honestly, you forgot he even worked there most of the time. Since you were a rookie and he was an established hero you two rarely crossed paths. You doubted he even knew who you were. 

It had been a little over six months since you started at the agency so you were eager to oblige when some of your old classmates extended an invitation to get some drinks and go dancing. The night was great, but like usual you went a little overboard at the bar, but you figured you’d let loose for once. Besides, you had the next day off from work.   

It was a little past 2 am when you fumbled out of your Uber, into your apartment, giggling to yourself as you kicked your heels off by the door. Clumsily, drunkenly, you drop the small purse you were carrying, effectively spilling everything out of it. “S-Shit--” you mumble and begin to shove the contents back into the bag. Your hands linger on your phone which is vibrating with texts from your friends asking if you made it home okay. You tap out a few replies to assure your friends you were safe just kinda drunk before you lazily stroll through your messages. Your eyes widen slightly as they rest on a name at the bottom of the list. 

Bakugo Katsuki.

A single message he sent when you were lucky enough to work on one of his missions a few months back buried beneath all the other messages. You forgot you had saved it. 

You shouldn't. 

You wouldn't. 

Fuck it. 

Quickly you type out a text, deleting and retyping until you’re completely satisfied with it before you hit send. 

A dull buzz against his nightstand stirs the blonde from his light slumber, his large hand smacking around in the dark before it finally lands on his phone. His eyes are heavy with sleep and it takes a second to read the screen properly. It’s from an unsaved number. He tosses the phone away with disinterest, rationalizing it as a wrong number. He starts to drift back to sleep when the phone buzzes again. “Fuck’s sake-” He opens the message to drill in a angry reply when his breath hitches in his throat. 

hi! remember me??, the first message reads. 

The second an expertly taken photo of you clad in matching lace bra and thong, posed in such a way that he could admire all of you. 

how about now? The third message makes him throw his phone away from his face. 

He definitely remembered you. You were a sidekick, he saw you around sometimes, that tight little body clad in your hero costume. Or sauntering around the office in that fucking pencil skirt/thigh high combo. He tried to remember your name but his mind came up blank. 

His phone buzzed again and he rubbed his face with both hands before grabbing it and opening the message. Another goddamn picture. This time you were on your back, on your bed he assumed, because your hair was slightly messy, forming a halo around you. One hand holding the phone, the other at your lips a finger pressed against your perfect pink tongue lolled out of your mouth. Your eyes were glassy and half lidded. He let out groan at the sight of you. 

does this help? 

He could feel his prominent bulge straining against his sweatpants. His hand dipped beneath the waistband, his first instinct was to palm at his growing length. He chewed his bottom lip, going back to the first picture to inspect your assets more thoroughly this time. He groaned, his strokes long and languid. He closed his eyes, his mind about to wander when he was suddenly hit with a pang of guilt. Tearing his hand from his pants he tossed his phone away. No, no, no, no- he wasn't this fucking desperate. He was not going to get off on some lewd pictures of his coworker just because she was clearly thirsting over him. The thought made his cock twitch in disrespectful betrayal. 

His phone began to buzz again. This time it didn't stop, it was rhythmic and slightly lower. Shit. A call. He stared intensely at the number on the screen. His ego got the best of him. He answered it, against his better judgement, promising himself to put this extra in her place. There was a long pause and he nearly hung up. 

“Bakugo?” The sweet voice finally rang out of the speaker and his confidence faltered. “You know it’s rude to leave people on read.” There was an obvious teasing tone to your voice, which he swore had a slight slur to it. 

“Listen, I don’t know what the fuck you think you’re doing you shitty extra but stop texting me that shit.” He growled into the phone. 

“You didn’t like it-”

“I don’t even know your fucking name, asshole.” 

“That’s okay, you’ll learn it soon enough.” 

“I’m going to tell you one more goddamn time if you keep sending me that shit i’m going to-” A soft moan completely derailed his train of thought. Fuuuck. Another slightly louder groan followed. “W-What the fuck are you doing?” He barks into the phone, face flush with embarrassment. 

“Don’t stop, aren’t you going to tell me what you’re going to do to me?” You mewl breathlessly, your fingers dancing along your wet folds as you imagined all the things he could do to ruin you.

He licked his lips, wetting them, he had to grip his bedsheets to keep his free hand from wandering back beneath his sweats. “Are you touching yourself right now?” He tried to sound disgusted, but it ended up sounding a little more desperate than he intended. 

“I wish it was you touching me instead, Katsuki.” You ask, your tone breathless and dripping with lust. The way his name sounded coming out of your mouth had his eyes rolling back. He wondered how you knew it in the first place. 

(Honestly, you saw it while you were helping Burnin’ with some paperwork one night at the office but that wasn’t really the point right now.)

He covered his mouth to stifle a groan that dared escape his lips. The way he saw it he had two options: let you continue and shove his hands down his pants the way he so, so desperately wanted to OR hang up the fucking phone. 

“Mmm-! K-Katsuki-” He snapped out of his daze and scrambled to hang up the phone. He tossed it away and thew himself back onto the mattress shoving his hands into his messy blonde hair. “F-Fuck.” He mumbled, groaning at the thought of you getting off to only the sound of his voice. 

It wasn’t fair. For you to look the way you did and sound the way you did. He figured you were drunk. The slight slur in your breathy voice, the dazed expression you wore in those sinful selfies you sent him, all idicating as such. That had to be it. There was no other rational explanation. He did the right thing, ending the call. 

He wasn’t so pathetically desperate that he had to get off to some drunken extra throwing herself at him. 

He was Bakugo Fucking Katsuki. 

Ground Zero. Soon to be #1 he—

 His phone buzzed again, louder now that it was pressing up against the headboard. Bakugo reluctantly checked the caller id. A fucking video call. No, no. He couldn’t. It would be too much. He was a man after all. With carnal, primal desire welling within him, and right now he was barely keeping those desires at bay. He ignored the call. 

Another buzz. 

He was fucking stupid. 

“FUCK.”

His fingers greedily swiped to answer the call. He was immediately greeted by your beautiful face, you offered a sweet smile and wave. “That wasn't nice, Katsuki, hanging up like that when I was so close.” You were lying on your stomach, feet swaying back and forth in the air behind the curve of your ass. He drank in the sight of you, your face flushed, messy hair framing your face perfectly, your lips plush and slightly pouting. 

He cursed himself internally. “So fucking desperate.” His voice was huskier than before, and his words were more akin to a growl. 

“Only a little.”

You sat up and rested the phone on something so you no longer had to hold it but ensuring Bakugo still had a great view. You stared at him through the screen and he felt his cheeks heat up, even though you weren’t in the room with him he still felt a little intimidated by your boldness. 

You dipped a finger to rub over your clothed entrance, “Now where was I?” You teased, your other hand trailing over your cleavage. Bakugo fumbled with his sweats, sliding his hand down them to palm his aching cock. His ruby orbs memorizing every movement you made. You stop suddenly and he stopped too, a little annoyed. “Something wrong?” He growls, his tone low and thick with want. 

“I’m gonna need you to do something for me first.” You say your fingers hooking into the strappy waistband of your thong pulling it away from your full hips teasingly before releasing it, the material hitting your skin with a slight ‘snap’. He ponders it for a moment, but his desire gets the best of him. 

“For fucks sake-”He rolls his eyes, “What now?” He asks, clearly skeptical. 

“Turn a light on or something, this isn’t a free show-” There's yet another long pause and Bakugo weighs his options. You start to get a bit impatient when a sudden ‘click’ catches your attention. Finally. There he is in all his glory. Well, not all his glory but some of it. It’s still a little dark but those piercing red eyes of him are unmistakable. His gaze makes you flush two shades darker. His appearance is slightly disheveled, his hair is messier than normal, probably bedhead since you most likely woke him up, his cheeks are tinted pink and he looks a little fucked out already. Probably from all the teasing. He looks absolutely perfect. 

“Fucking happy now, brat?” He growls. 

“Yes! Much better.” You comment, feeling your heat drip from the mere image of him. “I guess I can reward your good behavior..” You trail off, reaching back to unhook your bra, you catch it before it can fall, teasingly biting your lip. You can hear him groan at your teasing, finally you let the lace fall away from your body, giving him a full view. The liquor in your system keeping the shame and embarrassment you would normally be feeling at bay. 

“Fucking perfect.” Bakugo groans lowly at the sight. You’re caught off guard by the compliment and you feel your body heat up. He slides his sweats down enough to free his cock from its confines, he makes sure you can’t see him first, only visible from the chest up. He swipes his thumb over the tip spreading the pre cum along the length of his cock before starting slow, languid pumps. 

You notice his eyes roll back slightly at the sensation and you almost threaten to stop again if he doesn't show you what he’s doing, but you’re afraid he’ll stop entertaining this foolish idea entirely so you fight the urge to call him out. 

Instead you trail your hands along the top of your thighs, “Tell me what you want, Katsuki.” His breath hitches at your words, he smirks darkly before biting his bottom lip. 

“Touch yourself.” 

You feel a wave of lust wash over you and you pull your panties off eager to please. You spread your legs exposing your soaking folds, you rub a hand lazily along your slit. “Fuck-” You hear him groan at the sight of you.

 “Such a dirty little, slut.” A bolt of electricity shoots through you at his words and you can't stop your fingers from dipping into your mess of a cunt. 

“So fucking desperate for my attention.” 

You are moving your fingers feverishly now, chasing the release you were denied earlier, his words pushing you closer to that blissful edge. Soft moans fall from your lips, your free hand moves to rub clumsy circles against your clit. 

He’s keeping pace with you, his strokes matching your movements. “Fuck, Princess, you’re so beautiful like this.” He can’t help the moan that follows his praise. “K-Katsuki, i’m close-” You whimper, eyes watering from the building pleasure in your core. “Did I say you could cum?” He asks his breathing ragged as his own climax sneaks up on him, his strokes become more desperate.  

“P-Please, I can’t help it-” You whimper, you can feel your orgasm about to crash down on you. 

He can knows how close you are. He can see it.

“Beg for it.” 

“K-Katsuki! Please let me—ahh!—cum! Please, K-Katsuki, p-please I really can’t—mnn help it.” You whine, trying your best to be good and hold back for him.  

“Cum for me then, Princess.” 

You manage a hurried nod and your ministrations become hurried and sloppy. Bakugo’s not doing much better as his shirt is now in between his teeth, the camera tilted slightly giving you a view of his perfect chest. His muffled groans push you closer and closer to your release, as he thrusts up into his hand imagining its you instead. Finally, it all becomes too much and the coil inside snaps, you whine, tossing your head back, “Fuck. Katsuki!” Your fingers move from your core to your clit, wanting to prolong the orgasm as long as possible. 

Bakugo bites down even harder on the material between his teeth, desperate to stifle the whimpers falling from him, his face contorts and his eyes nearly roll all the way back. Thick, white ropes of cum make a mess of his exposed stomach. He lets the fabric of his shirt fall from his mouth, his jaw sore from how hard he was biting down. His body relaxes a bit too much as he comes down from his high and he accidentally drops the phone.

“Shit-” You refocus on your own screen, forgetting it was there for a second, you hear him cursing under his breath and fumbling around until you are graced by the view of his flushed, fucked out expression. You offer a sweet smile and he smirks a little in response. “That was great, but i’m a little disappointed it wasn't the real thing.” You admit, forcing a slight pout. You see him visibly stiffen, his pupils dilating at the thought. 

“You couldn't handle the real thing, Princess.” He taunts. 

“Prove it.” 

Fuck now you’ve done it. 

“Come over tomorrow.” 

“Don’t play games with me, Princess, I don’t like to be teased.” 

“I’m serious.” You disappear from the screen for a moment while you type out a text. His phone buzzes in his hand. “That’s my address. Tomorrow around 8 work for you?” He drags his teeth over his bottom lip. Fucking bet. 

“You’ll regret that. ” He offers a deliciously devilish smirk. 

“We’ll see.” You tease back. 

“I’m going to bed, it’s fucking—” He moves to look at the time, “-three in the morning—shit.” 

“You’re right big day tomorrow! Goodnight, sleepy head!” You muse rolling onto your back. You move to end the call when his voice stops you. 

“Wait-”

A pause. 

“Tell me your name first.” 

#bnha #bakugou smut #bakugo smut #bakugo katsuki x reader #bakugou katuski x reader #bakugou x reader #bakugo x reader #bnha smut #mha smut #nillabeamwrites #bakugo imagine #bakugou imagine #bnha imagines #mha imagines

[pathofcomet]

mystical time, cutting me open

fandom: ikemen vampire

pairing: isaac/MC 

summary: Isaac’s not sure a sin would entirely feel this right.Written for Isaac week, day 3. Prompt: Forbidden fruit. (AO3)

Whenever Isaac teaches, he has an apple on his desk. At this point, it’s part of the decor, it’ll be weirder for it to not be there one day, than to just accept it as having always been part of the classroom. Each morning, Isaac takes out an apple from the large pocket of his jacket, swipes at it with his sleeve, and places it there.

A reminder of the thing that changed the entire course of his life, once, centuries before. Sometimes the years blur past him, and Isaac is not entirely sure that he knows how to catch the differences between the centuries. Sure – there’s the French all around him, and the cut of one’s outfit is different as well, but when he seems so much alike the Isaac Newton of long ago, it’s hard to keep himself connected to the reality of now.

He still teaches, echoing hallways welcoming him every morning. He is still unsure that anything he says makes sense, or makes sense in a way that matters – even as both his best friend and his lover try to chip away at these stories he tells himself when stuck inside his head. He still tinkers at his machinations, he still writes and rewrites papers – tries to and solves the supposed equations of the universe. When he gets too much into it, even the hunger can get ignored, in that far-away part of his brain that won’t allow him to move or acknowledge anything until he’s finished with his focused purpose.

And the lines naturally blur. The apple, on his desk – a dash of red, as powerful as the sight of blood, is grounding. He’s in the future (his future, someone else’s past – he tries to remind himself, just to humble himself into not believing his perspective is the only one that matters). When he stands in front of his students, lecturing, he tries to focus on that object there, when the incoming panic attacks might overwhelm him.

She has explained to him; he needs to take a deep breath, refocus on the reality around him: the smell of chalk, the chattering of the students, the weight of his robes, the nibbling of the unnatural, just beneath the skin.

Sometimes though, he’s sure that’s exactly what he wants: to ignore this life for just a little bit. On carriage rides back home, on evenings when he’s supposed to map the movement of the stars, when he waits for her for the night – as she washes up after late evenings. He loses himself in past memories: the sting of refusal, the bitter taste of betrayal, the sight of her blood, the death of a friend. It’s a choice he has made, of course he is aware – he is the one who said yes at a second life, even as a vampire.

It doesn’t mean it makes it any easier to bear: the pain and the pleasure of it all, mingled together. He’s reached for so much, greedy after more (time, love, warmth). Of course that he is to be punished for it. What is hunger to a monster but his essence?

That’s the correlation that he always makes, whenever the Blanc or Rouge touch his tongue. If he is to want something, then he must always remember he’ll have to give something back. If he is ever euphoric, that’s because the fall follows next.

The fear follows like a shadow. Greed thrums at the back of his throat, a thirst that cannot be sated. Greed makes him now, and his breathing hours are an attempt to prove his own nature wrong. That’s why he works so hard, that’s why he pushes against the warm body, willingly at his lips. He understands he’s punished to be like this, to have his memories tinted in red, just so he can taste the happiness of this second life as well.

The red apple on his desk. To remember that he is what he is today through nothing but bad mistakes.

There is this book written during his times, “Paradise Lost”. Bitter and sour, Isaac sometimes wonders if he didn’t give up some kind of heavenly, wonderful end for a continuous, nightmare of a life. These kind of thoughts come rarer and rarer now, that he has her – but maybe that’s why when they do come, they’re all the more intense.

He has more to lose now. And he has decided to stay away, at the beginning of their uncomfortable stumbling together, temptation at bay. And she has glued herself at his side, had called him a friend, and then called him a lover – and oh, Isaac has fallen quite alright.

He has taken a bite out of her, his own personal forbidden fruit. And instead of being banished, punished – she has tugged her shirt lower, has offered him more. Isaac’s not sure a sin would entirely feel this right.

In the book, the hero is not God – Isaac wouldn’t have expected from a man of culture to actually believe in such unproven theories. Milton’s hero is Satan, because he chooses the fall. Milton’ hero is Adam, because he sins knowingly: choosing to fall right alongside his lover. The bigger sinner he is, but that doesn’t make him any less of a hero, any less of a lover.

Isaac wipes at the blood of his own lover’s neck, and thinks – she’s the heroine of his tale, isn’t she? She sins because she loves, because he has done it first and she is determined to not let him ever again suffer alone.

Isaac is not deluded enough to even play with the idea that he is anything else but a monster. But oh, if he’s not a monster that loves back. Oh, if he is not a monster that is trying to make up for the fact that the love will never be enough. But now that he has tasted her, not that he’s fallen, with the taste of her on his tongue, he wants so much more that it scares him a bit.

So, she is there: also a reminder. That the hunger doesn’t bring only suffering, but pleasure too, and not only for him – but for someone else to. That there’s someone by his side, now more than before, and that’s a win in itself.

That, maybe… there’s some safety in wanting the right things, wanting the right people. And although it’s hard to convince himself of it, all his precious people go through a hell lot of effort to convince him instead.

At the end of the day, Isaac picks up the apple from the desk and bites his fangs into it, taste sweet in his mouth – as he shuffles through papers, cleans the blackboard. Then –

“Isaac?”

Her voice, sweeter than sweet, and he turns around, already half grinning. Wolf in sheep’s clothing, monster in lover’s embrace.

The ribbon in her hair twinkles red in the sun. It matches the blood vial in her hand, but that’s not what he goes for first. He kisses her. His favourite treat.

#ikemen vampire #ikevamp #ikevamp isaac #isaac week #isaac x mc #isaac/mc #ikevamp fanfiction #ikevamp fanfic #isaac x reader #isaac/reader #i'm editing without my glasses bc ~ face mask and sorry if there are mistakes RIP

[corinthbayrpg]

NAME. Hotaru Imube AGE & BIRTH DATE. Unknown & 3000+ GENDER & PRONOUNS. Male & He/Him SPECIES. Rift OCCUPATION. Card Dealer FACE CLAIM. Sen Mitsuji

BIOGRAPHY

( tw: death, violence, animal death, infant death, torture ) The night Hotaru was born the grounds of the Imube clan were blanketed in fireflies, the long dark night punctuated an arduous labor that brought the screaming infant son of the clan leader into the world. Named for the omen that marked Hotarus’ auspicious birth, from an early age he was placed upon a pedestal - the prodigal son of a warmonger that could do no wrong. Despite countless attempts his mother failed to deliver another child which only elevated his own position within the clan, the heir and future son of the proud family. Superstition surrounded Hotaru, as did the whispers of servants who watched as from a young boy he seemed to delight in suffering. He’d pull the wings off of flies and watch them jump around uselessly, raise shards of broken glass over ant mounds and incinerate hordes of the creatures. These urges were only encouraged by his father, while his mother tried to temper Hotaru’s cruelty with games and strategy instead. She introduced him to Go and for hours at a time she would have him sit with her and they would play, if only for Hotaru to be rescued by his father who prioritized real-world military strategy over that which was found over a wooden board.

He learned to fight under their weapons’ master, a man well-versed in a variety of martial arts who was responsible for training clan’s generals and eventual military heads. At sixteen Hotaru had already seen combat, a bloody state of affairs that suited him. On the battlefield Hotaru was merciless, cruel, and unrelenting. While he never produced an heir, though this never bothered him there were some that whispered of his potential infertility. Whispers Hotaru was quick to silence.

It was at the same time that Hotaru’s mother managed to successfully give birth to not one, but two children. Though it took her life in the process. Twins born under a full moon, one boy and one girl. They were the Imube clan’s newfound promise, should anything ever happen to Hotaru there was a backup child, another boy to take his place. And a girl who would undoubtedly come to bare many more children for the family. While his father was advanced in years, he suffered from a thirst for violence that was never quite sated. The loss of Hotaru’s mother took a toll of its own and for months the man’s health slowly deteriorated, bringing down the power of the clan with it. At night Hotaru would watch over the children, they had servants, but the boy liked to watch them as they sleep their frail frames as they took such tiny breaths it was almost as if they weren’t even breathing at all.

The future stretched before him and Hotaru could see the path that lay before him clearly, these children were young and strong. They would grow as he had, and even after Hotaru inherited his father’s position as the head of the clan, these twins would potentially threaten his position and birthright. Though he despised them and in secret, conspired to dispatch them, Hotaru could never bring himself to do it. He cared little for his father, but he had genuinely loved his mother - and now these children were all that remained of them. His father however, blamed the children for his wife’s death - their birth had come under a bad sign and he took this as an omen that they would someday bring the clan to ruin. Hotaru found his father by the river one night, the children already below the water and while he could do nothing to save them he gutted the man where he stood. Whispers followed that the cruel young lord was responsible for the children’s death, a lie that Hotaru did nothing to discourage. If his enemies believed him capable of such a cruel act, then no one would ever dare to oppose him. In private, however, he mourned his brother and sister; in a locket around his neck were twin locks of their hair, spirited from them before their pyre.

From that day forward the young lord was leader of the Imube clan, with no one to threaten or oppose him. Hotaru had an uncle, but shortly after inheriting his position Hotaru a story emerged about the man conspiring against him. For months Hotaru tortured the life from his body and let his screams echo across the grounds - this was a statement - a warning. And it was effective.

Only mortal, death came for Hotaru eventually. Though it was when he was very old. Cruelty made his enemies cower, but fear alone was not enough to keep those beneath him from conspiring against him forever. Sickness took his frail body, and soon a knife across the throat sent Hotaru Imube hurtling towards the Underworld where the Great Lord Enma awaited Hotaru’s damnable soul. It was here that Hotaru’s potential and ability was truly appreciated, the fires of hell coursed through his veins and Enma transformed the once handsome lord into a demon, a monster, an Oni. Hotaru had been so evil in life that he was a fitting torturer of Hell, he would take the worst of humanity and draw their punishments out for what would feel like eternity. Then, Hotaru would piece them together once more and begin again.

Centuries passed in this fashion before Enma sent Hotaru back to the mortal world, his form no longer recognizable to the man he had been before - he was a giant with blue skin, horns and a gruesome third eye that protruded from his forehead. A great, iron club was Hotaru’s weapon as he descended upon men and women who were deserving of an Oni’s wrath. He dragged them down and into the Underworld where he would then torture them, or toss them into the innumerable army of Hell to be devoured by the hordes of like-creatures. Thousands of years continued as the name Hotaru seemingly fell away, that was the name of the man who had been dragged into Enma’s realm, only the Oni remained. As the world expanded so too did the Oni’s reach, more and more he’d appear in lands and regions that the yokai had no business in until one case brought him to a village that was soon to be engulfed in flames. It was here that the Oni hunted a creature that evaded Enma’s clutches, and it was here that he bore witness to a phoenix as they burst into flames for the first time. The sight was an interesting one, Hotaru could admit as much, but not as interesting as the hopelessly lost soul of the man who crawled out of the flames. The Oni returned to the Underworld and put little thought towards the sight again until the sundering of the veil broke free some of the long imprisoned denizens of Hell. Enma himself tasked Hotaru, along with a few others, with the retrieval of the creatures that had broken free. Once more his mission would take him far from his homeland, all the way to Greece.

It was on Delos that Hotaru had tracked down a yokai who had wiggled free of its cage,  when he brought it down into the Underworld he was intercepted by three sisters along the way. They were hideous and fearsome, not at all unlike himself. Serpents coiled for their hair as great bat-like wings unfurled behind them. Their voices sent terror down his spine, even him, an Oni of Enma’s realm knew of their power - these were the Erinyes. Furies and gatekeepers of Tartarus and Hotaru was trespassing in their domain. They told him he deserved punishment for his awful crimes, and for setting foot in Greece they could do just that. Or, he could help them as he was helping Enma and they would reward him instead. Hotaru would be given absolution, freedom, and the autonomy to move about the world with a human visage once more. For thousands of years he had been Enma’s soldier, but Hotaru was never given a choice in the matter. A fiend though he was.... he sought an end as well. Finality. Peace. Hotaru agreed and the furie’s washed his sins clean - despite Enma’s wishes he was sent forth to Corinth Bay.

PERSONALITY

+ protective, open-minded, amicable - disloyal, cruel, aloof

PLAYED BY SHANE. EST. He/Him.

#taken #male #rift #oni #sen mitsuji #hotaru imube

[submissivekpop]

ob sitim impotens sui; park jinyoung + kim yugyeom

Requested: no

Words: 1.000+

Warnings: m/m, f/m, light smut, vampire!reader + vampire!jinyoung x human!yugyeom in an established relationship, dom!reader x switch!jinyoung x sub!yugyeom, mentions of blood

A/N: the title has almost nothing to do with the story, it means something like "out of his mind because of thirst", but hey, it's latin, and latin is cool ;) Also I rewatched Twilight recently, which is why Jinyoung is going through some kind of Edward Cullen-ish drama

Jinyoung's eyes are dark with lust.

He licks his lips again - the third time in less than ten minutes - and you wonder how long it'll take before he breaks. He's hungry - no, he's thirsty - and so are you.

He's sitting in an armchair in front of your bed, red leather in deep contrast with his pale skin, a stoic expression only you can read painted on his face.

Yugyeom smells delicious. His back resting on your naked chest, head thrown back in pure bliss, you find it extremely hard to resist him. The soft flesh of his neck, skin red and sweaty, is calling you, and there's nothing you crave more than indulging in that sweet, sinful pleasure it gives you - both of you. But not yet.

Your right hand moves on its own, releasing the grip around his neck (and eliciting a desperate moan from him), a silent motion asking Jinyoung to join you. He shakes his head - it looks like he still hasn't changed his mind, and you're almost sure there's nothing you can do about it. He's still punishing himself for a small accident that resulted in a scared Yugyeom hiding behind you and a mortified Jinyoung disappearing for weeks - something both you and Yugyeom already got over, but Jinyoung... he can't let it go. Somehow, he thinks that starving himself is a good way to avoid it ever happens again. Well, no. Not starving himself, that would be too dangerous for everyone, including you, but he's been refusing Yugyeom's blood for almost a month.

"Hyung?"

Yugyeom shivers. Your hands - one roaming across his wide chest, the other jerking him off at an excruciatingly slow pace - are driving him crazy. He tries to buck his hips upward, but your legs are strong enough to hold him still.

Jinyoung's ears perk up. He moves closer, still not joining you, but leaning over to get a better view.

"Hyung?"

Yugyeom sounds so desperate, and you love it. He's been craving Jinyoung's touch for weeks, and now he can't take it anymore. He needs his hands, his mouth, his everything, all over him. Deep down, that's what Jinyoung wants too.

He stands up, makes his way to the bed and sits next to you. His fingers linger for a second over the younger's body, ghosting over all of the places he'd like to touch. He thinks of all the things he'd like to do to that boy - pushing his head on the pillow and relentlessly slamming into him, pulling his hair until he's begging him to stop, but also making love to him, touching him softly and overwhelming him with such sweet pleasure - and his eyes get even darker.

Yugyeom must notice, somehow, and moves against you so that his neck is even more exposed. Your nails trail across his skin - so soft and fragile - goosebumps following your every move.

"P-Please..." he begs, and you know exactly what he's asking for.

Before he can change his mind, Jinyoung's mouth is on his neck, white fangs sinking into the tender flesh. A broken moan leaves Yugyeom's lips, his whole body tensing up as an electric wave of pleasure crosses his body. Your free hand - the other is still jerking the boy off, despite the fact that white ribbons are already coating your fingers - instantly moves to Jinyoung's head, petting his hair as you wait for him to finish, ready to push him away if he seemed unable to stop.

Yugyeom feels dizzy, but he doesn't complain. The pleasure he's feeling is too much to make him worry about anything - also, he's sure Jinyoung will stop at the right moment. He always does.

"Fuck, I think I'm addicted to you" he grunts, licking his lips - and cleaning up the last droplets of Yugyeom's blood staining them - before cleaning up his neck, making sure there's not too much blood coming from the tiny wound his fangs left. Then, he moves away from him. Not too much, but enough to make sure he can resist the urge to bite him again.

On the other hand, Yugyeom, not yet satisfied, whines. A loud, almost pathetic, whine. He calls your name, then Jinyoung's, then yours again. You wouldn't even know how to describe the way he looks - and sounds - right now. You're almost tempted to give in and bite him, but you can't, not when you know he's way too tired to handle it - even if he'd never admit it.

"I think we should stop here, love" you whisper, your lips as close as possible to his ear, softly biting his lobe before leaving a quick kiss on his right cheek.

Jinyoung nods, agreeing with you, and then stands up, ignoring Yugyeom's pouty lips and the needy cry that comes from them. How he manages to be that needy, after all you've given him, you don't know.

"Just... one more time, noona. Please?"

You tsk, shaking your head.

"I can take it" he says, punctuating each and every word, not quite begging you, but not demanding either. He's trying to convince you - and you'd be more than willing to let him, if you thought there would be no consequences.

"Maybe tomorrow, hm?" you suggest, hoping that the promise of what might happen the next day is enough to keep him at bay for a couple of hours. After all, a couple of hours is all that separates you from tomorrow.

He's deep in thought, his brows furrowed, pondering whether it would be better for him to receive more pleasure - and pain - tonight, or to delay it until tomorrow.

"Why don't you get some sleep, love?" you ask, slowly moving away from him and readjusting his body so that he's now laying comfortably on the mattress. "We can't ruin you, if you're this tired already."

Somehow, your words seem to work. There is nothing that Yugyeom loves more than the idea of being completely and utterly ruined, but what really makes him change his mind is the fact that you said we (and not I). That word, so small and simple, holds the promise of a night he'll never forget, a night he's been craving for weeks. A quick look to Jinyoung tells you that it's what he's been craving as well. And you... well, the only thing you love more than having a pretty pet all for yourself is having two.

#kim yugyeom smut #kim yugyeom #sub!yugyeom #dom!reader #vampire!au #sub!got7 #got7 smut #got7 yugyeom #park jinyoung smut #park jinyoung #sub!jinyoung

[januarywren]

Hi if you don’t mind can I request a Snamione fic where he witness hermione’s mental breakdown upon knowing the death of her parents? Hehehe we are going angst today!

EEEEP, I’m really sorry - I’ve been feeling awful the past week, and I mixed up your prompt!! I thought that you wanted a sevmione scene about Hermione Obliviating her parents, not their death. 

The fic that I wrote is an Epilogue AU and takes place ten years after Voldemort’s death, but I’m sorry for the mix-up!! If I have time, I’ll write something that fits your prompt entirely. I’m posting the fic below, as well as linking it here! I appreciate you sending in a request, and I’m sorry again. 

-

“Hermione – “

It had been weeks of silence, with his lover hiding away in their rooms. There was more to the former golden girl of Gryffindor than anyone knew, and Severus watched, and he worried, as her cheeks grew pale and her words became fewer and fewer.

He felt the distance growing between them, even at night when he wrapped his arms around her, and she nestled close against his chest. Sleep was beyond them, yet they enjoyed the intimacy of it still – at least they had until she'd turned from him.

(Why? What had he done?)

“Trust me,” Severus ached to say. “Please, Hermione, let me in again.”

But he didn’t.

Couldn’t.

For underneath it all, Severus knew that he was a coward still, regardless of his duplicitous role at the Dark Lord’s side. The Ministry had given him a medal – a scrap of worthless tin – as if that could make his hands clean again.

He’d witnessed horrific things, things beyond anyone witch or wizard’s imagination, aside from Voldemort himself, and perhaps, Dumbledore. The later was hailed as the guiding mentor of the wizarding world, but above all others, Severus knew his true nature: Dumbledore willingly accepted what others would have cringed at, as long as it would aid his efforts during the war.

It was right, and it was wrong, and Severus –

He wanted little part of it.

His own Change was because of the Dark Lord after Voldemort explored the nature of vampires. Severus acted as his servant and was changed first – he'd burned in agony for days until his heart stilled, and he burned anew, his throat aching with thirst. He was a creature without morals, or limits, and had slaughtered as other Death Eaters had, and was privy to horrors that only those closest to the Dark Lord were allowed. There were so many innocents that suffered, regardless of their bloodline or their nature -

He never raised a finger to stop them, nor spared the unfortunate a single word, and he knew that he would burn for it –

Something that Hermione knew as well, for he’d wept in her arms, and confessed his sins to her. The world would never know the weight of his heart nor the true workings of his soul, but she alone would always know.

“Don’t.”

Severus flinched as his lover turned away from him, his heart thudding inside his chest. "It's over then?" he asked, forcing himself to swallow nausea that rose in his throat.

He’d always known he wasn’t good enough for Hermione, the same way he wasn’t good enough for Lily. (What had he told Hermione at the start of their relationship? “I’m less of a man than I am a creature, Hermione”? It was an understatement by far.)

And yet, Hermione had stayed by his side, freely and wholly of her own will. She’d accepted him when his nature became clear; his fangs grazing her wrist when he kissed her there, and his dark eyes had bored into hers. Her blood was ambrosia on his tongue, her nature as enthralling as a siren’s call.

And when they had reached the point of no return, she had done more than accept him –

She’d chosen him, as her Sire.

Her Mate.

They knew each other as no one else did, as they brewed countless potions together, in their little nest that was hidden from the world. They lived in muggle London, a place where they could live as they wished, and where no one noticed if a petty criminal or two went missing. (In fact, their formerly crime-ridden neighborhood was grateful for the dramatic reduction in crime, as stolen items were returned, and doors were left unlocked once more.)

He withdrew from her, as his familiar friend, anger, found him once again. “Have you realized what I am?” Severus asked, “A foul creature, a sniveling beast – “

It was easy to slip into his former skin, as the greasy-haired and embittered potions master. He knew what the students thought of him and remembered how the staff had avoided him. He reveled in their distance, as it fueled his bitterness; something he had ceased to feel in his life with Hermione. But he was weak then, and exposed, and wanted to hide away where she wouldn't see how he lived for her.

If she left him –

No, Severus thought grimly. When she left him, he would be the creature the world knew before, the one who snapped and snarled without remorse. He wasn’t meant to have others near, he was his father’s heir.

“Stop it,” Hermione said, closing the space between them.

“Why should I, Ms. Granger – “Severus sneered, stilling as her hand rose to cup his cheek.

"Severus," Hermione said as if his name meant something to her still. "This – this isn't about you, or us. I'm not," she hesitated, searching for the right words to say. "I know that I haven't been myself lately. I…”

“You haven’t,” Severus croaked, his tangled feelings exposed. He felt as anxiety entwined with his simmering anger, and his hand covered hers. “Please Hermione, let me in.”

“I did something a decade ago,” Hermione whispered, “something during the war that I cannot let go of. It…it happened next month, and I – I can’t stop thinking of it.”

Severus’s brow furrowed, as he rested his temple against hers. “You were a child during the war,” he said, his tone as gentle as his words were overused. “Dumbledore used you as a soldier – whatever you did is not yours to blame yourself for.”

“But it is,” Hermione replied, with a sad, little smile. “I wanted to keep my parents safe, and I…I took their lives away from them, Severus. I Obliviated them and sent them away to Australia, where they would be safe.”

He kissed away the tears that slid down her cheeks, as shame pooled through his veins. It was his nature to interpret his mate’s hurt as because of him, with his father’s words ringing in his ears – feelings of worthlessness and self-loathing always seemed just below the surface, as if he were a child still.

He wanted to be better for her.

He had to be.

She hadn’t made the decision for him to change her lightly, no, and it was entirely her decision alone. The cursed knife that Bellatrix had used to carve the horrid word into her skin was slowly killing her, the dark magic imbued within her wound leeching her very life from her. Hermione told him she wasn’t afraid to die, after cure after cure had resulted in little change.

Nor had Hermione proposed it at first, after Severus confessed his love for her. She asked for nothing from him but stayed at his side, faithfully stirring his potions, and spending her nights awake with him, even before he changed her. They kept the world at bay outside their door, and wanted nothing but privacy, above all.

She wrote letters frequently to Harry and his wife, as well as his godson, Draco Malfoy who sought redemption after the war and he apologized for his treatment of her. She wrote letters too, to George Weasley who mourned for the loss of his twin, and she wrote to Ron, who struggled to find his stride as an Auror still. Hermione had a longing for the outside world that Severus lacked, though he never sought to prevent her from having friendships.

Yet it was Severus who held her during the Change, allowing her to weep in his arms, as she writhed, and she burned. It was an experience that bonded them closer to one another, the fury of the Change driving the Dark Magic from her soul. It fled her body, but Severus never left her, nor did he want to.

“I’m sorry,” Severus whispered, before kissing the tip of her nose. “So very sorry, Hermione.”

She had always taken comfort in his voice, and like a purring cat, rubbed her cheek against his. “I can’t help but think they are safe but not whole,” Hermione confessed, “Or maybe it’s too painful to think of them as being happy and whole, without remembering me at all – “

His arms circled around her waist, as he pulled her flush against him. “I understand,” Severus said, having once felt the same about Lily, as she burned with life when she was married to James Potter. Yet his feelings for Lily were nothing like how he felt towards Hermione, the only soul to ever accept him wholly, and unflinchingly.

He never would regret the rainy night that he'd come across her, when she'd sat alone at a train station, with her beaded purse in her arms. She'd broken up with Ron and fled from the wizarding world – straight into his arms after they left the train station to eat at his favorite curry place instead. The dull flavor of human food had seemed spicy and danced across his tongue when he sat across from her, and they had simply never parted afterward.

Nor would they if Severus had his wish, and Hermione truly wanted to stay.

“I miss them,” Hermione murmured, “Every night and every day, even though I never forget that I’m the one to blame. I chose to send them away, without a memory of the child they had, or…or anything of their former lives. Their true lives,” her voice cracked at that, and she moved to bury her head against his shoulder. “I don’t have a right to feel this way.”

“You do,” Severus said, his hands resting on the small of her back.

She was a mess of contradictions; her small frame holding a soul that was far stronger, and bolder than his own. He wanted to curse himself for leaving her to the wolves during the war, though they weren’t lovers, nor friends then. His focus then was consumed with thoughts of Lily and twisted bitterness about protecting her son.

“Merlin, Hermione, you did the only thing that you could. The Dark Lord would have never allowed your parents to live. The things that he did to muggles – the things that I did to them – “ he dragged a ragged breath in.

He wanted her closer still as if he could hold on to her, so she never let go of him.

“You saved them, my love,” Severus said softly, though they were the only ones in their room. There would never be another between them, nor a child born from her womb, as their kind was unchanging.

There was only the low purr of her familiar, Crookshanks, who chose then to wind about their legs and rub his face against Severus' foot. With a little blood magic, he would live out his immortal days with them. "My love, my life - believe me. I wouldn’t lie to you.”

He wouldn’t.  

“Promise?” Hermione asked, quieter than he’d ever heard her.

He prayed that she would believe him, as truth dripped from his words. No one would have helped his mate and her parents, not even him. Dumbledore had cared only for Harry, zealously arranging his pawns so his king was protected, and at the forefront of the chessboard. Harry was the one that mattered – Harry was the only one that truly mattered and was needed in the war against Voldemort.

“I swear it,” Severus whispered. "I'll take a Vow if you wish."

He wanted to free her from her pain, her guilt, even as he knew that it couldn't be undone. It was an ache inside of her soul that wouldn't leave her, yet he wanted to try as he never had for any other. Offers rose to his tongue, ones of finding a reversal to the spell, and finding her parents once again.

Severus held his tongue still, knowing that wasn’t what his mate needed, not then. Later, perhaps, when her tears had dried and she nestled close to him, and she knew that he would listen to all that she wanted to share.

She pressed closer against him and grasped the fabric of his robes with her hand. “I wish that I didn’t remember,” Hermione confessed, “over and over again. I see their eyes glaze over and I…I just can’t – I want to forget but I never want to let them go.”

It was all that she could give him then, the wound too raw, and exposed as it was. (Yet she didn't turn her heart away, no – it turned toward him, as she sought the comfort of his hold and the honesty of his soul.)

“I know, sweetheart,” Severus said, knowing more than most how she felt. There were memories that haunted him once, a tangle of faces and a mesh of names that were engraved across his skin. “I know.”

They held each other close, saying nothing then.

#harry potter #sevmione #hp #hp fanfic #snamione #severus snape #hermione granger #hermione x snape #vampire au #angst #hurt/comfort #obliviation #hermione granger x severus snape #harry potter epilogue what epilogue #hp fic request #archive of our own #ao3

[ineffablegame]

crowley does not often become a woman, not these days, not when being a woman is just as insidious and flaying as it was when the world was new.  he does it when he needs to be stronger, when he needs to be beautiful and cutting and just cruel enough to keep all the jagged edges of humanity at bay.  

when he does, aziraphale luxuriates in it.  sinful angel that he is, he is greedy, gluttonous, and every facet of crowley is a new fractal of light to be admired, hoarded and adored.  he collects them, guards them jealously.  

sometimes crowley is a man, and sometimes she is a woman, begging aziraphale to her bed needing and just cruel enough to be selfish. and aziraphale, greedy devil that he is, goes to her.  he peels off layer upon layer of clothing, exposes her, pale and vulnerable, and gluts himself on her secrets: on flesh that has never bent toward temptation, on wide, golden eyes and clutching fingers.  he gluts himself between her thighs, laving, kissing, sucking, inside her, ravenous, greedy, teasing her,  making her keen and sob and cry out with every prayer of his lips and worship of his tongue.  her fingers pull painfully in his hair, clawing, frantic, reverent.

and when she gasps, shudders, collapses into herself, aziraphale rises, just the faintest hint of a smile pulling at his mouth, arms strong and sure around her as he lifts her, carries her.  bedsprings creak, the world spins.  he grips her hips, pushes inside in one desperate, urgent thrust, for he is wretched with the wanting of it.  it’s wanting and having and downfall, the unslaked thirst of a poor parched fool drinking poison in an endless desert.  her fingers score lines across his back, delight in ravaging the unmarked flesh.

the basest human sensation overwhelms him, a dance as old and vital as the thump of blood in his ears.  his fingers bruise her as he comes, head bent, teeth gritted against an unholy oath.  he kisses her and his lips are slick with her, filthy with her, tasting ever and only of her.  

“you are so beautiful,” he tells crowley, later, nestled close with his arm folded over her midriff.  sleepy, sated, she tilts her head against his.  so are you.

#good omens #ineffable husbands #good omens ficlet #idk dude #when i think filth it just comes out as... this #lemon #ish

[kozarukun]

“Contrary to popular belief, the main volcano in Ignis has only erupted three times in recorded history. 

Perhaps it wasn’t the most traditional way to tell a ghost story, but all of Ignis’s tales were deeply rooted in history, lest it be consumed in fire. Oral traditions demanded faithful recounting, and Hideyoshi had recited this particular tale so many times he could do it backwards. 

He saunters to the front of the crowd, steps rather light for the theme of the evening (the occasional ‘thunk’ of his staff against the floor the only unsettling thing about him). He holds up one finger as he does, beginning before he reaches ‘center stage’, “The first was said to be brought on by Groudon, titan of Earth’s inner flame, right after the region was abandoned by God. Without the righteousness and order of the Holy One, the sins and failings of mortals corrupted the remaining gods, tainting their hearts and bringing forth Armageddon as humanity deserved for their transgressions against Arceus. Of course, as all things, the rage of the various deities has subsided, but as many warlords here can attest to, the wounds left by the beasts can still be felt in traditions and stories of today.”

Finally at his destination, the warlord turned with a flourish, punctuating the movement with a rather forceful tap of his staff to the floor. “Much like Fontaine, my people took an active approach to preventing the same fate from befalling future generations. Our holy men seered visions of darkness within the volcano, an ever bubbling danger that threatened life as they had begun to know it. While the titan had exhausted itself in the mountain’s creation, it was only a matter of time before the vices of man brought him back.”

“That’s why our ancestors offered the mountain sacrifice- In order to keep the inevitable at bay, they believed by delivering onto the titan the purest souls Ignis had to offer, they would purify the energy of the volcano, sating the god for the time being.”

“Of course, after Heatran- the volcano goddess birthed of one of these sacrifices- appeared, the titan had retreated deep into the desert and Ignis thought itself saved. The kingdom ushered in a new era of prosperity.”  Hideyoshi gestured out suddenly, hand moving slowly across the air as though he could see it in front of him, “mining the ore rich mountains, crops flourishing in the now nutrient rich volcanic soil, thriving.”

Just as suddenly his other hand drove his staff hard into the ground, his aura reaching out to snuff out the fire behind him in time with the thudding impact. He gave the crowd only a moment to recover before he began anew, his voice low and foreboding, “Our golden age was met with terrible envy. A tyrant from the east had swept a plague over the region. Blood ran through every kingdom during with advance, and it was only a matter of time before they choked the life out of our golden state. We had reveled in our bounties for too long and had grown soft. There was no way to prepare for war.”

A beat, “Or, so the people thought.”

“Those that held fast against mortal temptations, the monks of the kingdom, looked across the land, both to the invaders and their own flesh and blood, saw nothing but wickedness. Ignis had grown fat with indulgence while the rest of the region starved. We sat comfortably in our homes while those we called allies were slaughtered. The invaders pillaged and ravaged lands with nothing worth taking. They killed those who pleaded mercy.”

A small flame ignited within the cusp of his palm, illuminating his face from below. 

“None of them deserved to live.”

“They made pilgrimage to the mountain, calling forth the Aggron who resided within. The Pokemon are revered as children of Groudon, born of the iron within the earth and forging the landscape of the mountain after its erection. They controlled the will of the earth, and through the monk’s forced links, they controlled the fate of the south.”

A sudden boom overtook his voice as well as the fire in his hand, commanding the room in both sound and light, “Combining the power of the demigods, the monks triggered earthquakes around the mountain, releasing the pressure and dark mana from below in a powerful blast! Kingdoms as far north as Dragnor told of an ominous smoke across the horizon. Entire villages were swallowed by lava, people choked on the smoke caked to their throats. Those who escaped the initial onslaught could be counted the unlucky.”

Slowly, the light began to diminish in turn with his volume. Despair hung in his words, “The sun was imprisoned behind a tower of smoke for days. Any Pokemon taken for hunt were cut away to reveal ashen, black meat. Water was nearly impossible to find, and that which was could be considered more toxic than the air. Ignis was dead. The invaders were dead.”

The fire was dead. 

“................Or, so we all thought.” 

It took a great deal of effort, but Hideyoshi managed to spark the fire behind him back to life, albeit much dimmer than the one their hosts had prepared. He leaned heavily on his staff, taking a second to breathe before going on. 

“Every year, on the anniversary of the Great Eruption, we celebrate and give thanks to the Goddess of the volcano for her mercy and bounties, but we have not forgotten the suffering that was inflicted to bring us where we are today. At the witching hour of the volcano’s eruption, every citizen of Ignis adhere’s to an hour of silence to pay respects to those lost.”

His head hung heavy, “Each of us stays perfectly still, heads bowed to the chimes of local temples or horns of the gate watch, as looking up spells nothing but misfortune for the unfortunate soul caught in the wave of the dead.”

“While worthy souls are reincarnated into the cycle of life, there are those that God and the cycle have judged unworthy to walk anew in the land of the living, and are thus trapped in purgatory upon the land. They relive their greatest sins away from the eyes of man, but there are times when the veil between the two worlds are at its thinnest. The dawning hours of an invasion, the dark night of a storm, or the day where all life was extinguished at once.”

He kicked his staff forward with a step, the wood clunking down. And again. And again. Slowly he retreated from the front of the room, idling off to the side. He was sure to inflect his voice accordingly, “Each year, the dammed make their escape from an endless flow of lava, compelling their bloodied and tattered feet forward with each lurching step. Their muscles are black with decay, flaking ash with every movement, yet they cannot seem to find the sweet release of complete disintegration. They reach out to us, bones jutting from melted flesh. They try and call, but their lungs have since become dust, leaving nothing but an agonized wail of the wind and a puff of soot where breath once blew.”

He stopped, forcing uncomfortable eye contact with whomever was closest to him (and the buffet table)

“If you dare look up, if you dare catch a glance of these ashen husks, it is said that their ember eyes consume your very soul, leaving you as empty as they are. In three days time, you lose all will. No drive to eat. No desire to drink. Nothing can compel movement- not even the sting of a whip or caress of a loved one. From ashes to ashes, and to ash you shall be, joining them in their march.”

“And if you were to taunt them with your tongue? Speak a word in anything other than prayer? You face the fate of those who lived just beyond the hour.” Hideyoshi reached behind him, taking with his unstaffed hand a leg of Pidove to bring forward and point for emphasis, “No water may quench the burning thirst in your throat. All food turns to naught but ash in your teeth. In a manner of days you’ll be nothing- bone to dust.”

Of course, being warlord and a religious man, the roasted piece of poultry he just bit into was not at all ashen. As expected of Dragnor, it was delicious! 

“So, you know, if any of you guys want to come to Ignis for the festival, its fun the other twenty three hours!”

#spooky scary ransei tales send shivers down your spine #FIRE'S TRUTH (headcanon)

[yukiwrites]

Stubborness and Compliance

Thanks for the support, @roy622! I hope you like the sin~ Watch out for the spicy, ye who enters!

Summary: Ignatz transferred from the Golden Eagles to the Blue Lions, and he's been doing his best to fit in and be worthy of being taught by Byleth. Ingrid took notice of his hard work and sought to reward him...

Commission info HERE and HERE!

______________________________

The days at the Officer’s Academy at Garreg Mach Monastery started early.

Students were expected to carry out extracurricular activities before and after class, though not many abided by them. Ignatz, however, was one of the few who always made sure to do his assignments — be it cleaning, kitchen duty, or even by simply helping others tidy up the communal rooms.

Not only was he a commoner at a prestigious school for nobles, he also had to carry the burden of his family’s expectations on his shoulders, so the young man strived to do all he could and more.

Doubly so after his transfer from the Golden Deer House to the Blue Lions. He wanted to show that he was good enough — or at least acceptable enough — to be under Byleth and among the Kingdom’s nobility.

Of course, there was also the need to be able to catch up to Ingrid, the beautiful and fierce apprentice knight of Faerghus. He wanted to better himself to be able to stand beside her proudly, or at least not to inconvenience her should their future paths intertwine the same way they had at the academy.

Looking at her and being with her was an inspiration, honestly.

The way her golden locks reflected the rays of sunlight during morning practice, or how the particles of dust glistened around her like a holy aura… How the green of her eyes sparkled hungrily when she saw a tasty treat, or how her round, rosy cheeks moved gleefully as she chewed on her food.

The way she thrusted her lance during training was both hot and frightening; the way she inhaled before making a throw and how she exhaled after successfully completing it made Ignatz’ hairs stand on end.

How her hot breath traveled down his neck—Ahem…

How her hot breath puffed with the effort it took for her to lift a heavy weight or maneuver a hard curve during horseback riding.

He was always looking at her and being inspired by her, both artistically, philosophically and emotionally. She was the model of the knight he was supposed to aspire to be, yet he couldn’t help but want to be caught under her shadow and portray all of her sides — the cute, the fierce, the lewd and even the bad. All of her curves; each and every strand of her hair, even the flickering of her eyelashes when they blinked while curiously looking at him.

From the tips of her fingers to the very last strand of hair — there was never a dull moment when Ignatz was looking at her or thinking about her.

Absent-mindedly, he doodled during class. It was hard to focus whenever Ingrid chose to sit beside him during lecture, so he simply stared at the blackboard as his hands moved to convey his innermost thoughts.

Little did he know, however, that those thoughts took harsher and harsher turns towards the gutter, and his pencil was well used to the curves of his knight-goddess’. If he focused enough, he could hear her controlled breathing even from a desk away; he could tell which of the pen strokes was hers even without looking.

Contrary to how she looked, she bore herself like a soldier, and her penmanship reflected that. It was rough and sometimes she tore the paper from writing with so much force; but even that looked striking to Ignatz’s eyes. That one time she ripped a hole through a brand new notebook and had to tearfully apologize to Byleth was engraved in Ignatz’s heart forever — as well as on his ‘secret stash’ of paintings.

Usually, anything he painted would be considered a ‘secret stash’, since he felt like his art held no real value to the onlooker, given that he was a self-taught commoner. However, whenever his classmates praised his paintings, he felt a twinge of pride swell in his chest.

Thus, he secretly enjoyed showing people his paintings, though would only do so if asked. 

However, there were some paintings and sketches that would never see the light of the day — paintings that were buried deep within his drawer and locked under a tight key.

Those he drew of Ingrid’s most embarrassing moments piled up like mountains in there. There were also some more… raunchy ones he did in secret, so he would rather literally die than show anyone — especially Ingrid — any of those.

Yet, unbeknownst to him, he was doodling precisely one of such ‘secret stash’-able doodles during class, right beside Ingrid, as his thoughts went further and further down south.

Curious as was her nature, Ingrid tried to peek at what Ignatz protected under his elbow even though he seemed to be taking class so seriously, so she stretched her neck towards his desk to take a peek.

Ignatz noticed a movement with the corner of his eye and slowly turned his face towards it, still a bit too caught up in his own thoughts to process what was happening.

He saw Ingrid.

She was looking at his notebook. Her eyes were wide and her cheeks started to redden.

He looked down, following her gaze.

There was something drawn under his pencil.

A whole lot of somethings.

Suddenly and with the force and grace of a horse falling down a cliff, reality came down crashing on him.

“AAAAH!!” He shrieked, scrambling to hold his notebook, failing in a way that only a newborn fawn would be able to. He tipped over the inkpot, tripped on his own tangled feet and grandly fell down, almost overturning the heavy, oak-carved desk in his descent. “I!! I’m sorry!” He cried out.

“Oh, man!” Ingrid gasped in surprise, jumping out of her seat to help him up. “Are you alright? That was a pretty bad fall. Did you hit your head?”

The moment her hand touched him, Ignatz pulled back as if he had been burned. “I-I’m sorry! I’m alright. I’m sorry…” he bowed, disheveled and stained with ink, to Ingrid, but most of all to the rest of the class who watched the spectacle.

Dimitri got up from his seat ahead of them in worry. “Are you alright, Ignatz?” He asked courteously. “Forgive me for getting up so suddenly, Professor,” he turned to Byleth, “but could I be excused to take him to infirmary? If he hit his head…”

Byleth watched the exchange with her hands akimbo, but ultimately nodded in compliance. “Very well. Ignatz, try not to doodle in class next time.” She dismissed him with a handwave, but the young man was mortified.

He held onto the notebook for his dear life and, under his red mien, nodded and excused himself behind Dimitri.

“Ignatz…” Ingrid was left on the spot, with her hand still outstretched. She looked down to it, then remembered the doodles he had been doing moments before.

“Ingrid?” Byleth asked plainly, making the girl jump out of her skin in response. She was still just standing there.

“O-oh! Sorry, Professor. I’ll, uh, sit back down now.”

Byleth only nodded, then resumed class as usual. This time, however, it was Ingrid’s turn to be lost in thought as she observed their Professor throughout the lecture, instead of properly paying attention.

She looked at Byleth’s scars, muscles, and… womanly attributes, then gripped at her own feather pen so hard it broke.

Well, it was one of many she carried, anyway, so losing one or a dozen wasn’t a problem. Still, she couldn’t help but think about the drawing as she looked at Byleth.

She pursed her lips in a way Ignatz would have described as ‘wondrously adorable’, nodded to herself and puffed up her cheeks.

Dimitri had returned shortly after leaving, saying that Manuela wanted to keep Ignatz in for the rest of the day to observe his condition, so, after class, Ingrid helped clean and organize the mess Ignatz had made before he left, then took the remainder of his things to the infirmary.

She thought about many things to say when they met, but the moment she saw him woefully sit on the infirmary bed with his head resting on the window, the words left her throat.

Instead, she stomped towards him — how dare he look so innocent and victimized when he was the one drawing those… those things! — and threw his bag beside him, before sitting at a nearby stool.

“I-Ingrid!” He almost jumped out of the bed in surprise, but she simply crossed her arms and legs and pouted, turning her head away from him. “I, um, thanks for bringing my stuff, um… I’m… sorry…”

“Oh yeah? Sorry for what? Drawing in class?” She said harshly, regretting it immediately, but also patting herself on the back. He was the one in the wrong, not her. She turned to him, her glistening green eyes reflecting the orange rays of the sunset in a way that made even the apology ready under Ignatz tongue to fall flat on the floor.

It was because of that striking beauty that he…!

Seeing his lack of response, Ingrid pressed her lips into a thin line, then puffed her cheeks. “Humph. I guess it’s natural, after all. The Professor is sooo well-endowed, it’s no wonder you’d draw her with such tight clothing and… such big… big…” She looked down at her chest, bit her lower lip then looked back up. “I am not sorry that my boobs aren’t that big, okay?! I was born like this and—”

“Wait— waitwaitwaitwaitwaitwaitwait, what?!” Ignatz waved both hands in front of his face. “Slow down! Your chest is perfect the way it is! It’s round and it fits in my hand and it’s lovely, and it has such an endearing shape and the color is also perfect in a way that makes me want to nibble at it and—”

Ingrid’s face turned into a darker shade of red the more he went on, culminating on her hiding under both hands. “What?! S-stop! What’re you talking about so loudly?!” She shut him up with one hand. “No matter how alone we are here, it doesn’t mean you can just blabber all that—” She stuttered, mortified.

“B-but,” his voice sounded muffled under her hand before he pulled it out of his lips. “But I wasn’t lying! And— And I don’t understand what you mean about the Professor… I wasn’t drawing her. It was… um… it was you,” he confessed, embarrassed to hell and back, but unwavering in his gaze towards her if only it meant that the misunderstanding would dissipate. “I would never draw another woman like that if it’s not you… Also, I may or may not have done that unconsciously…” He whispered the last part to himself, so mortified he wanted to find a hole to crawl himself in.

“Oh.”

Ingrid froze in place, her hand midway between him and her.

“Oh…” She cleared her throat. “I see, ahem,” she tried to compose herself. “So it was me. Okay. Okay, yes… okay. I see. Okay.”

“Um… Are you mad? I’m sorry—” he tried to pull her hand back to intertwine their fingers, but she pulled away, getting up from her seat.

“No, it’s fine. It’s fine, really.” She paced back and forth beside the bed. “Have I told you how proud I’ve been of you lately, Ignatz?  You’ve been doing so much for the Blue Lions! Don’t let today’s blunder in class keep you up at night, okay? You’re doing great.”

“Um… Thanks…?” Jarred by her sudden change in demeanor, Ignatz couldn’t do anything but nod in response.

“So, I’ll see you later, okay?” She turned around, took her bag and meant to leave. “Remember that room at the eastern tower? Same time, tomorrow?” She smiled before leaving without waiting for a response.

“Uh, sure—”

Before he could even finish the sentence, she popped back, said, “remember to bring your art supplies! I wanna see you paint the night sky,” and left.

“Oh…kay?”

Confused, scared and appalled at the same time, Ignatz could only concur in bewilderment.

The eastern tower housed many unused rooms. Some were used as storage while others seemed to have been old classrooms left to the elements — it was the perfect place to meet without attracting anyone’s attention.

After all, going into each other’s rooms was too risky given the tight security Seteth and Byleth ran around the dormitories at night.

The view was also spectacular.

Actually, Ignatz had been the first to find that place during his first month at the Academy as he ran an errand or the other. Lost around the labyrinthine corridors of the ancient Monastery, Ignatz found himself at an abandoned classroom a few stories from the top of the tower, whence one could see the entire Monastery and beyond.

The surrounding forests, mountains, and even the village down by the road on a particularly sunny day. He started coming up there to paint the scenery or to simply observe the beauty of nature, outside of anyone’s expectations or demands of him.

Ingrid saw him coming down from the tower by accident one day, and that was the catalyst for the place to go from being his spot, to being their spot. One day, she even flew her pegasus as high as the window only to call him to come back down to train with everyone else — thankfully no one noticed what she was doing up in the sky, so the secret was still kept between them, but truly it was a place filled with memories of them.

Ignatz arrived at nightfall, placing his canvas by the window and scattering his pencils, paints and other supplies by the desk beside it.

With only the moon as his witness, Ignatz dipped his brush in dark colors to portray the Monastery at night. He worked in silence, with only the wind as his company, until he heard careful steps approaching.

He didn’t even need to turn to the door to know who it was. The steps of which he could not take his eyes off. A smile bloomed on his lips as the steps approached, and he turned his gaze from the painting to the woman as she approached.

The brush fell on the floor, along with his jaw.

His throat was too dry to form words, so he gulped loudly as Ingrid approached in all of her beauty, and sat by the windowsill beside him.

She wore a strapless crop top with a deep cleavage, the only thing keeping… all of that… bound together being a meager string that could snap if Ingrid so chose. Not to mention the tightly worn black pants that seemed to hug every part of her curves from the waist down, leaving nothing — absolutely nothing — to the imagination.

The wind blew as if bewitched by her entrance, disheveling her hair and making her place a few strands behind her ear.

Their eyes met.

Ignatz held his breath as if he was a sinner caught red-handed by those graceful, somehow scornful and icy green eyes. He opened his mouth, trying to make a sound — any sound — but, like the wind, he was bewitched by her beauty.

Ingrid smiled, the flush on her cheeks almost imperceptible under the darkness of the night, though even the moon paled under the light she seemed to exude from within. “What are you doing?” She asked in a whisper, her voice carrying over with an intoxicating rhythm. “Paint.”

Ignatz blinked. “Eh?” He finally managed to conjure up a sound, though how that sounded and how he thought it sounded were two completely different things.

“Weren’t you so busy thinking about this that you drew it during class? The real thing is here now, so… paint.” She crossed her legs, the tight pants squeaking in a way that made Ignatz’s hair stand on end just by thinking of everything that was concealed under that…

“I… um… I…” he stuttered, his hand shaking.

“Here you go,” she leaned towards him, her hair cascading down on his face as she picked up a pencil from the table. “Draw.”

He reached a shaky hand to pick up the pencil, trembling even as he changed the page of his notebook for a fresh one.

Her beauty was striking, but her fierceness and the coldness of her gaze kept him on his toes.

As the pencil touched the paper, it scratched the surface uncomfortably under his quivery grip. The silence of his uneven breath and Ingrid’s occasional chuckles were only broken by the bewitched wind that made sure to dance in Ingrid’s golden locks, making her seem more angelical by the minute.

It was as if the whole room was only her. Her presence alone filled the floor, making all of Ignatz’s senses scream towards her. The longer he tried to sketch, the messier it became.

There was no way to encompass all of her beauty while all hot and bothered like that. Yet, he couldn’t deny her. He had to draw.

“You’re shaking so much,” she chuckled, and he jumped.

Tearing his gaze from the sketch to the knight-goddess in front of him, Ignatz gulped loudly. “Ingrid…”

“Over here, too… you’re shaking.” She reached her foot towards his crotch, touching the liveliness under his pants.

“Um— This…!” he squeaked, flinching as her foot fiddled with his manhood.

“Go on. Paint…” she whispered, flowing down from the windowsill so gracefully Ignatz could barely understand. She sat beside him, leaning her head on his shoulder. “The base pose is done, so I can move now, right?” she reached for his pants with her delicate yet rough hand.

“I— y-yes, you can…” he shivered under her touch, forcing himself to lift his pencil again. 

Slowly, so painfully slowly, did she reach under the cloth to touch his skin directly, making him flinch and let out a stifled moan.

“Shh, shh… keep going,” she ‘encouraged’, though it felt more like ‘torture’ to him. She slid down her calloused hand up and down his shaft, her breath tickling his neck as she pressed her chest against his non-dominant arm.

The sketch seemed messier than before, but if he stopped moving his pencil, she would stop moving her hand as well. The more he drew, the more she stroked him.

“I-Ingrid, ah…” he closed one eye as his body turned hotter by the second, especially more so as her own patience seemed to be running thin from doing things so slowly.

“You’re doing great,” she glanced at the base colors he hastily put down. “You won’t show this to anyone, right?”

“O-of course…! Ever…” he gulped, his chest going up and down so fast his vision was blurry. 

Ingrid stroked him faster, but it was a puff of her hot breath on his neck that shocked his body into a hasty climax.

“Ah… hahh…” he panted, embarrassed, as his head hung back under the post-orgasmic fog, and squeezed his eyes shut.

“That was fast,” Ingrid giggled, looking down at her stained hand, filled with his semen. Ignatz shot his eyes open to rebuke her, but was met by her licking her own fingers clean instead, which made him lose his words again.

“This, um… Ingrid…” he could barely form a coherent string of thought, let alone a normal-sounding sentence. Still, his body couldn’t lie.

“It’s up again,” she widened her eyes in surprise, reaching down for his manhood once more.

Sensitive after the climax, Ignatz flinched, closing one eye in response. “C-careful…”

“Of course,” she leaned her cheek on his. “But you’ve stopped painting… What should I do? I thought you wanted to portray all of this.”

“I— I do, I…” he gulped, “p-please don’t tease me so much…” he begged, already unable to lift his brush.

“You started it,” she turned her head to place a kiss on his lips, gripping at his erection a bit before letting go. “It’s starting to take shape, come on.” She stroked it up, then pressed down on his glans, as if preventing him from coming again.

Hardening his jaw, using every ounce of willpower left in his body, Ignatz lifted his brush again, but the colors were coming out all smudged and shapeless. Yet, the more paint he added, the more his brush moved, the harder and faster Ingrid stroked him.

She was rewarding him for his good work, and punishing him for not doing it.

It was such a delicious ‘carrot and stick’ approach; so much so that even though he wanted nothing more than to close his eyes and enjoy being with her, he couldn’t help but get more excited even though the canvas looked nothing like he would have ever drawn, in the past or in the future.

His breath accelerated with her movements, and she started nibbling his neck and licking his jawline in anticipation. Soon, she stopped telling him to paint, but paint he did, obediently so, until another wave of heat spread throughout his body, building up into his crotch.

Under stifled moans, his climax shot straight onto the canvas, smearing it right where Ingrid’s legs were supposed to be.

Ignatz’ body deflated on the chair, the brush falling helplessly on the floor as he struggled to remember how to breathe.

“Hmm, that gave me an idea,” she looked at the smudge — rather, the painting — and got up.

“I-Ingrid…?” Incoherent, Ignatz tried to focus on her as her warmth disappeared from his side. 

“Why don’t we reenact this?” She slowly pulled down her pants, revealing the soft, malleable bottom and legs underneath. “Right here,” she smeared her thigh gap with his semen, inviting him over. “Don’t you want to?”

Ignatz stood at attention right away, jumping out of his seat like a starving man being presented to a royal banquet. “Y-yes!”

“Come on,” she tilted her waist up, leaning on the desk with one hand as she spread her butt with the other. “Before I change my mind,” she panted, biting her lower lip in anticipation.

“Yes…!” Up and ready for more, pulsating and sensitive from the continuous orgasms, Ignatz slid his dick into her thigh gap, flinching in surprise once she tightened the way in. “A-ah… Ingrid, if you do that…”

“Work for it, lover boy.” She licked her lips, rolling her eyes in pleasure as his glans slid right through her clit. She hardened her body and tightened her legs as he pressed back and forth, stifling moans so as not to lose to him.

He moved slowly at first, trying to get used to the resistance, but soon her own body got wet, easing his passage and enhancing her pleasure. She gripped at the desk for support as he held her hips with a force his thin arms were not supposed to achieve.

He wanted to sweep down her neck and leave all sorts of marks, but he wasn’t worthy of leaving blemishes on her perfect skin. There was only the praise for him — the praise of her beauty, of her softness and of her stubbornness.

The praise of her flushed cheeks and red skin — her exposed shoulders, neckline and buttcheeks were all red from their combined lovemaking, even though there hadn’t been any penetration.

He could see her biting her lips and rolling her eyes in pleasure, and how she dug her nails on the hardwood, trying to keep her cool through the pleasure.

Even on the smudged painting they discarded to enjoy each other, she looked down at him in a way that only she could, that he would allow only her to. Seeing her — even a painted version of her — smeared with his own seeds brought Ignatz a manly, filthy sense of pride.

As she licked his fluids and smeared them through her body, she was marking herself as his, and he was marking himself as hers.

Even though his movements and actions were clumsy, they were making her, his knight-goddess, struggle to keep her composure under all the pleasure.

He moved quickly, thrusting so fast she started to lose the strength in her legs as her body grew hotter and hotter.

From the tips of her toes to the deepest reaches of her body, she shook in pleasure. Unable to hold back her moans any longer, but still refusing to give in, Ingrid gasped for breath, letting out a low moan each time she opened her mouth.

“Even when you’re trying to hold back your voice, you’re lovely, Ingrid…” Ignatz praised, leaning down on her neck to kiss her ear.

“Hhmm…” Ingrid bemoaned, “keep trying… maybe you’ll, ah… do it right…” she bit her lips, then covered her mouth with one hand as a loud moan threatened to escape just as he hit the right spot over and over.

Over and over.

Without the resistance of her inner walls to stop him, Ignatz moved much faster between her thighs, making their bodies rock and their hearts melt.

Ingrid felt the climax converge in her womb first, spreading out slowly, then all at once around her body, making her stiffen all over in response. Ignatz came at the same time, shooting his semen on the desk in front of them, right by Ingrid’s hands. 

Panting and unwilling to part with one another, they dissolved into each other’s warmth, as Ignatz leaned on Ingrid, and she on the desk. Their breaths in sync and their bodies still too hot for comfort, Ingrid moved her head back to him at the same time his lips came to claim hers.

Still in the rhythm, albeit slower, their heartbeats beat in sync, and they moved naturally.

They hastily pulled down the rest of Ingrid’s pants without ever leaving one another’s lips, and positioned themselves on top of the desk, besides the forgotten supplies and unfinished painting.

That was their spot, and, especially that night and for so many others later on, it was a place that belonged only to them.

#yuki's commissions #a sin a day keeps the thirst at bay

[the-infamous-mister-gates]

The Fury of Mother Bangkok

          There’s a reason why you dream what you dream. It’s something you hope for, but know that you’ll never get it. It will never happen. I learned a long time ago that it wasn’t about capturing a dream…

          It was about chasing it.

         There was one dream I had, where I would be laying in a wide-open wheat field looking up at the orange twilight of the engulfing dusk.  A spacious blue sky littered with pink clouds shaped like mythic beings: dragons, slithering in the crisp air; a mighty phoenix, its wings spread over the horizon; angel eyes made of fire, burning with intense love and mystery. The poetic existence of all these mesmerizing creatures broke into obscurity in the wake of the night.

         There was nothing to chase in a peaceful dream like that. I could find books detailing symbolism, analogies, and possible meanings, but in a way that would spoil what I already have: A vivid realm different from my life that I could escape to.

.   .   .   .

         There were poets and dancers. There were male escorts and silver tongue pimps. There was the underbelly that smelled of cheap cigars, body spray fragrances, and ammonia. Neon lights reflected in marble polished columns and chrome bar counters. A jugular of festive business men stroking the legs of servers, who brought mixed refreshments poured in glittering glasses.   Entertainers were situated in the center of the abyssal ballroom where masked men and women copulated in a pit of velvet ambrosia.

         Many people came here to witness the cross-cultured display of feverous engorge; the execrable wonders of snakes molesting women in a pool of cloudy water.  Spotlights and stage lights spraying the bodies with a gleam of patronage, unwilling to remove their ethereal stare like a perverted God in the absence of an unforgiving way of life. Off-duty cops and underage girls drinking in leather booths where stains of blood and cum reside under their feet.

         I stand between it all, the lone American among the locals of a foreign city, with scars on my body hidden from sight until the audience is worthy to see them.  I don’t know what year this is or what day of the week it could be, let alone the month.  I did not exist for those things.  I lived in the now. Not the past or the future.  I traded a moment for a moment with brutality and blackouts; the occasional companion and the mornings after.

Excess, no less

Pushing fingers into flesh

Zealous, Jealous

Devil woman tell us

       Heavy synth music matches my pulse as I gaze over the occupants.  Some were laughing and talking, others motioning some to go under the tables and unbutton their pants.  Disco ball lights and shining stars reflecting in the glass frames of an elder gentleman petting a young man with cold sores on his lips and bruises on his face.

         My eyes see the truth in the complex feeding off of Mother Bangkok, the place where we go to die and be reborn in a stew of depravity. If I could cut open all these people and spill their guts, all there would be is sludge and gunk within. These incestuous machines eating and throwing up one another over candle lit tables, calling it love and nurturing, filling their wombs with worms and digesting fluids from oozing statuettes.

         I can see the show in the middle conclude.  A wave of applause scatters around as the horny little masked performers walk off the center stage. The custodian boys run quickly to clean the stage for the next act. I turn my head to the main bar.  The man there looks at me and raises his hand displaying five fingers to remind me of the time I have left until show time. I nod to him subtlety.  I walked away from the main scene to the bathrooms. I approached the urinal and relieved myself. I noticed graffiti on the rustic green wall:

Mother Superior sucked me off twice

And Daddy Vader put me in a vice

And so it all goes

Long live the show

It’s a maze and we’re the mice

         I flushed the urinal and walked up to the restroom sink.  My senses begin to absorb the surrounding nuances in the restroom:  The flickering of the half-broken florescent bulb above my head; the buzzing of the mating flies in the top corner window; the boosted bass of the outside bar music; the vacant reflection looking back at me in the fractured mirror.

   I crack my neck and my back loudly. I wash my hands thoroughly. I pull out some paper towels and dry my hands completely. I look at myself in the mirror.  I flex my arms and raise them in front of my asymmetrical face. I crack my fingers and my back again. I roll my shoulders and slap my face. I smack the paper towel dispenser and walk out. I go through the back dressing rooms. The blind masseur was loosening the muscles of the performers as I walk past the dark rooms where questionable things happen all the time.

   Before I walk out into the main stage, I look to my right and see her: a slim young woman in a blood red dress and dark make-up.  Her southeastern Asian complexion glossed with natural shine. She looked at me worrisomely.  I stared back and winked.  She forced a small smile in return. At that moment, ear-encapsulating electronica music summoned my presence into the small area of the central stage where just previously, seven people were fucking each other for a hundred people to see. As I walked out, cheers and hollers of praise could be heard, accompanied with an equal amount of boos and detestable rants. I removed my suit jacket and shirt when I walked into the middle stage. The spotlight beamed down on my body like an alien ship. I rolled my head and loosened my body, revealing the gratuitous scars over my muscular definition and vascularity, inflicted from past fights and brawls.

         My opponent was a massive South Korean thug for a local black market operation. He sat in a chair, infuriated and tense like some savage giant.  The bartender walks into the middle and calls for us to enter the center.  My opponent stands up. He’s tall, I’ll give him that, but there is no way he’s fast.

   The barkeep says his name is Dae-Su. As the fight is approved, Dae-Su lunges forward and tries to grab me with both his arms. Stupid first move.  I saw that coming a mile away.  I duck and swoop around, planting my hard knuckles into his side.  He swings around; I duck again.  He grabs a chair and hurls it towards me.  I raise my arms up and try to block the shattering wood.  I fall over, anyone would.  Dae-Su kicks me in the chest.  I can hear the cheering over the booming music. You would think this happens so fast, but to me, it’s like fighting on the moon.  I feel weightless and serene.  The sound is muffled over the vacuum of space.  Everything moves in slow motion: the blood, the fists, and the crowd; it’s beautiful.

         I grab a beer bottle and break it over Dae-Su’s fat head.  I see some blood fly as he yells in pain, trying to cover his face.  I raise my arm up and punch him right in the left temple.  He goes down but gets back up.  Dae-Su stumbles like a hippo with Down syndrome.  I thrust my knuckles into the side of his face and watch as a patch of skin is ripped open by the sheer velocity of my strength.  I knock him to the floor. The crowd demands I finish him.  They want me to fuel their bloodlust.

   I was their vicarious avatar for relentless rage. They didn’t see some goon getting beat up.  They saw their bosses, their daughter’s boyfriend, their wives, their school rivals, their wives’ lovers, their father, their mother, their church pastor. They even saw God there being pulverized and beaten to a pulp by me.  By the time I’m done, Dae-Su’s face looks like the inside of a cherry pie.

   I stand up from Dae-Su’s body. The cheering pencil-pushers and government officials soon begin to really look at what I’ve done.  The voices cease into an eerie silence that welcomes the feuding guilt to twist their stomachs.  Noticing the change in atmosphere, the club music of Mother Bangkok turns back on as a couple of guys take Dae-Su’s body to the back.  I look over the silent faces, all blinking and coming to terms with what they just experienced and how they felt about it: They enjoyed it.  They would be back for more no matter how appalled they might feel or how drunk they are.

Meretricious and vicious

Her lips so delicious

Crimson red, silky bed

Sins welcoming the dead

               I pull a towel from the back room and head upstairs.  I live in one of the many apartments above Mother Bangkok.  In my room waiting is my little diva singer.  Her red dress hung over my desk chair. She’s waiting for me on my bed.  She helps me in and puts me to sleep, watching me and cleaning my wounds.

   This place hidden from the all-seeing eyes, but seen from those with all views of humanity, my iron-crafted home where fury bludgeons the underground dwellers and profiteers as souls, deplete and run dry like a desert thirst.

   Among Elephant Kings and She-male prostitutes, I’m a wanderer and deserter with no dreams that can soothe the painful embrace of such a hell.  The diva’s touch keeps the wrath of the begging dragon at bay, but the dreams I pursue nourish my longing.

   How simple a dream is to obtain when it’s the sky of your home far away.  The voices of Mother Bangkok tempt and revitalize, never letting go, but infuriating my sole purpose to fight, to please and satisfy.  The Diva and I, both are children to a Dragon and a Fury that birthed the cataclysmic endeavor of lost dreams and never-ending brawls.

   My dream has been captured, and I go on chasing it and the ones that have claimed it.

#shortstory #contemporary #fiction #transgressive #gritty

[goodbonesassembling]

Low Spoons June - Day 10

COMMUNITY

Prodigal Daughter by Kamilah Aisha Moon

Who proclaimed the healing mojo of wood altars, blood-red carpets & stained glass? A single cross hanging; polished brass bowls. It must be real, found all over the world configured like this. & me, bowing before it, finally understanding what the word beseech really means. I've come to be held up, to keep the fallings at bay. But listen, this NY parish doesn't sing gospel the right way. They don't sang it— leaving out shouts, moans, vocal runs & downhome syntax—“I just can't give up now” will never be “I don't feel no ways tired.” It's not the same, it ain't. I can hear the notes missing how the old words fit. This is not the song I need to sing tonight. How foolish, attempting to properly conjugate struggle. Lines form to pray & wash hands. About to sprinkle my face, the last thought I should be thinking stops me. Who knows where all of these hands have been! & could my clean be someone else's filth? How silly to be on this earth nearly 40 years & still worry about contamination. Everything has been touched, even what was buried in ice, thawing again. The subway's full of sin, the sullied riding side by side. Seems like my feet used to peel & remain soft on their own. But when I look down now, heels hardened by all they've had to carry, or stare at what happened to my face after an unholy baptism, no amount of scrubbing matters. I've come to be saved, to remember why I'm still worthy. But I'm becoming convinced a good memory is a passport to hell, all things that soothe before singeing. Perhaps like those in Manila in 2012, & the Gulf Coast in 2005 & 2012, I want water to be a good thing again, like love. How strange to answer the beg of so many thirsts, unable to swallow.

#low spoons june poem of the day #low spoons june #poem poetry #prodigal daughter #kamilah aisha moon

[miindframe]

Jekyll & Hyde: Musical sentence starters

A collection of lines from the musical numbers most commonly performed. May do a separate post with the “other” songs.

Lost in the Darkness

“If I could reach you, I’d guide and teach you to walk from the darkness back into the light.”

“Deep in your silence, please try to hear me.”

“I’ll keep you near me ‘till night passes by.”

“I’ll never desert you.”

Façade

“There’s a face that we wear in the cold light of day.”

“There’s a face that we hide ‘till the nighttime appears.”

“That’s how our little game is played.”

“Life is terribly hard when your life’s a façade.”

“Look around you!”

“So, what is the sinister secret?”

“Each man you meet in the street isn’t one man but two.”

“There are preachers who kill; there are killers who preach.”

“It’s all a façade.”

“Are we good or evil?”

“I’m inclined to think half of mankind thinks the other half is blind!”

Pursue the Truth/Façade (reprise 1)/Emma’s Reason

“How can I pursue the truth when they block each step I take?”

“I know I’m right!”

“I’m so weary of the fight.”

“There’s so little left inside me.”

“I started out on this alone, and it’s alone I’ll see it through to its conclusion.”

“Who are they to judge what I am doing?”

“It isn’t hard, dear, to create a façade.”

“Can you not see the kind of life that this would be?”

“You are mistaken!”

“You knew I had to be free.”

“What I choose to do is decided by me.”

“My father, full of good intentions, treated me as though I were a young child.”

“I am not the weak young thing you’re seeking.”

I Must Go On/Take Me As I Am

“I must go on with the work I’m committed to—how can I not?”

“I will prove things are not wrong just because they are new!”

“I will always understand.”

“Who knows where my work will lead me?”

“Just don’t leave me on my own!”

“The only thing I fear is the unknown…”

“We knew there’d be a price to pay.”

“Sometimes I see past the horizon.”

“And when despair tears me in two, who can I turn to but you?”

“Take me as I am.”

“Love is the only danger.”

“We’ll make that one dream come true.”

“Still, we can set the world on fire!”

“Give me your hand, give me your heart.”

Letting Go

“Don’t you understand? It’s you I am concerned for!”

“I am only trying to protect you!”

“I think I would die if any harm should come to you.”

“I still love you.”

“We mustn’t be afraid of letting go.”

Façade (Reprise 2)

“It’s the pit of the Earth.”

“Death is waiting.”

“You’ve got one chance in five.”

“It’s the devil’s backyard!”

No One Knows Who I Am

“Look at me and tell me who I am.”

“Why am I; what am I?”

“I don’t know who I am.”

“I’m such a sham.”

“Am I the face of the future?”

“Am I the face of the past?”

“Will I survive?”

Good ‘N’ Evil

“Good and evil—and their merits—men have argued through history.”

“Good is evil, and therefore all evil is good.”

“How do you tell evil from good?”

“You must decide which is heaven, which is hell.”

“Say that and Satan will laugh right in your face!”

“The battle between good and evil goes back to the start.”

“Heaven ‘n’ hell is a helluva gamble to lose!”

“Evil is everywhere.”

“Doesn’t suit me to be Robin Hood.”

Now There Is No Choice/This Is The Moment

“I must put aside the fears I feel inside.”

“So it comes to this.”

“Give me this moment, this precious chance.”

“For all these years, I’ve faced the world alone.”

“Damn all the odds!”

First Transformation

“I must try to analyze each change in me, everything I see.”

“Will I see the world through different eyes?”

“A slight feeling of euphoria, light-headedness; no noticeable behavioral differences.”

“Dear God! What is this?”

“A breathtaking pain devours and consumes me.”

“What’s this?”

“Is this death?”

Alive

“What is this feeling of power and drive I’ve never known?”

“I feel alive!”

“I do not know what I seek, yet I’ll seek it alone!”

“I have a thirst that I cannot deprive.”

“There is no battle I couldn’t survive!”

“It’s the feeling of being alive! Filled with evil, but truly alive.”

Your Work-And Nothing More

“You have your work and nothing more!”

“What is your demon?”

“Where is the fire you built your dream on?”

“There’s something wrong.”

“I see a change—it’s like when hope dies.”

“I see the pain in your eyes!”

“Have I become my work and nothing more?”

“Isolation only adds to your frustration.”

“Who are they to judge what I am doing?”

Sympathy, Tenderness

“Goodness and sweetness and kindness abound in this place.

“I am in love.”

“It’s a memory I know time will never erase…”

Someone Like You

“The past is holding me, keeping life at bay.”

“If someone like you found someone like me, then suddenly nothing would ever be the same!”

“I’d feel so alive if someone like you loved me.”

Alive (Reprise)

“Animals trapped behind bars at the zoo need to run rampant and free!”

“Predators live on the prey they pursue.”

“This time the predator’s me!”

“Lust, like a raging desire, fills my whole soul with its curse.”

“Tonight, I’ll plunder heaven blind.”

“I feel I’ll live on forever.”

Murder, Murder

“The poor bishop, what a shock!”

“He died in a London slum.”

“He should be made a saint.”

“It all seems very odd!”

“Sweet death has taken this brave man from us.”

“Take what comfort that you can.”

“I’m happy to inform you that you are relieved of your duties.”

“Look at this, another murder!”

“This killer has fancy ways.”

“Murder is the worst sin.”

“You really should be more careful.”

Once Upon A Dream

“We knew there’d be a price…”

“Once upon a dream, I was lost in love’s embrace.”

“Was it ever meant to be?”

“Could we begin again?”

Obsession

“What streak of madness lies inside me?”

“What is this strange obsession?”

“Am I who I appear to be, or am I someone I don’t know?”

In His Eyes

“Will I see beyond tomorrow?”

“Will I see beyond the sorrow that I feel?”

“If I’m wise, I will walk away.”

“Sadly, I’m not wise.”

“Love is worth forgiving for!”

Dangerous Game/Façade (Reprise 3)

“At the touch of your hand, at the sound of your voice, at the moment your eyes meet mine, I am out of my mind.”

“It’s a sin with a name.”

“It’s a dangerous game.”

“Will the ghosts go away?”

“There’s no way to win.”

“It’s a crime and a shame!”

“The devil’s to blame.”

“Lost of people, I fear, will make promises they will not honor.”

The Way Back

“Somehow I have to hang on to the vision that first inspired me.”

“I’ll search the world until the answer’s found.”

“I will not be cheated!”

A New Life

“What I wouldn’t give to have a new life.”

“Nothing is for free.”

“Although I never knew love, still I feel that one dream is my due!”

“That’s what I’ve been here for all along!”

Confrontation

“I will find the answer.”

“Do you really think that I would ever let you go?”

“Do you think I’d ever set you free?”

“You will never get away from me!”

“All that you are is a face in the mirror!”

“I close my eyes and you’ll disappear.”

“Long as you live, I will still be here.”

“This is not a dream, my friend, and it will never end.”

“I’ll flourish long after you’re gone!”

“You cannot choose but to lose control.”

“You can’t control me!”

“Each day you’ll feel me devour your soul.”

“I’ll rejoice as you breathe your final breath!”

“Can’t you see it’s over now?”

“If I die, you die, too.”

“Set me free!”

“Take all your evil deeds, and rot in hell!”

Façade (Reprise 4)/Finale

“We don’t want to see what is lurking right behind the façade.”

“Man is not one, but two! He is evil and good!”

“You are free now.”

#{ ;memes } #sentence memes #long post

[kerahlekung]

Sapa tipu sapa? Sapa sailang sapa..part 2...

Sapa tipu sapa? Sapa sailang sapa..part 2....

Rakaman suara kedua dikatakan dirakam dalam mesyuarat Majlis Pimpinan Tertinggi (MPT) Bersatu sebelum keluar PH pula di muat naik ke Internet di laman web pro-Dr Mahathir Mohamad. Suara mirip bekas perdana menteri itu meminta mesyuarat tidak memaksanya untuk mungkir janji meletakkan jawatan. “Tolonglah jangan paksa saya.  "Jangan paksa saya buat sesuatu yang bertentangan dengan prinsip saya,” menurut individu itu dengan suara sebak. “Saya janji saya tunai. Saya kata nak letak jawatan, saya letak jawatan.” "Tapi saya kalau janji nak letak jawatan, saya tak dibenar meletak jawatan, itu salah saya sebab keputusan itu ada pada diri saya," kata rakaman suara itu lagi. Rakaman suara itu dipercayai membincangkan isu peralihan kuasa antara bekas perdana menteri itu dengan Presiden PKR Anwar Ibrahim.

Sumber yang dekat dengan Mahathir pula mengesahkan bahawa rakaman itu asli.

Dalam rakaman pertama yang bocor, individu dengan suara mirip Presiden Bersatu Muhyiddin Yassin memberitahu mesyuarat supaya memberikan kepercayaan kepada Mahathir untuk menentukan kedudukan Bersatu dalam PH. Portal ini difahamkan ia dirakam di penghujung mesyuarat pada 23 Februari. Menurut rakaman suara itu, tiada siapa yang boleh memintanya supaya tidak melepaskan jawatan jika sudah buat keputusan sedemikian rupa. Berdasarkan rakaman suara itu, ia dirakam dalam satu pertemuan dengan pihak yang menyokong Mahathir untuk terus menerajui negara. "Sebab itu, hari ini akan diadakan satu mesyuarat dengan pihak-pihak mereka yang sokong saya dari parti lawan ini akan jumpa dengan saya dan inilah juga cerita yang saya akan sampaikan. "Dengan itu perancangan untuk mengadap duli yang maha mulia untuk menyatakan bahawa saya dapat sokongan daripada majoriti tak perlu dibuatlah kerana saya dah dapat sokongan. "Saya belum letak jawatan. Itulah cerita yang sebenarnya saya," menurut rakaman audio itu lagi. Pada 26 Feb lalu, Mahathir melepaskan jawatan sebagai perdana menteri ketujuh selepas tidak sampai dua tahun menerajui kepimpinan negara. Keputusan itu dibuat di tengah-tengah kemelut yang menyaksikan Bersatu bertindak meninggalkan PH. - mk

Gua yakin 1000% PN has "No Numbers..  Muhyidin nak ambil Kedah kena usul di Dewan Undangan Negeri.. Tun M nak ambil Negara kena usul di Dewan Rakyat.. Cuma PAS ja guna Dewan Merbok untuk dapatkan asal-usul kebodohan para walaun's negara.. - f/bk

Mahkamah melepas tanpa 

membebaskan anak tiri Najib...

Keputusan mahkamah hari ini melepas tanpa membebaskan (DNAA) penerbit filem Hollywood Riza Aziz bergantung kepada pematuhannya terhadap persetujuan yang dicapai bersama pendakwaan untuk memulangkan jutaan ringgit wang kerajaan yang didakwa berkaitan degan lima pertuduhan pengubahan wang haram. Bagaimanapun, sekiranya Riza gagal untuk mematuhi perjanjian tersebut, maka pendakwaan berhak untuk mengenakan semula pertuduhan tersebut dan mendakwanya di mahkamah. Hal ini dimaklumkan pada salinan kenyataan yang dibacakan oleh Ketua DPP Gopal Sri Ram ketika beliau memberitahu Mahkamah Sesyen Kuala Lumpur pagi ini mengenai persetujuan dicapai antara tertuduh dan pihak pendakwaan. - mk

Sekarang ni rakyat malaysia dah boleh mencuri dan mwnyamun. Kalau kena tangkap, cuma perlu pulangkan balik hasil damun dan curi tu. Hoi....tak payah mimpi lah, kau rakyat babi tetap masuk penjara. Golongan bangsawan suci saja layak dibebaskan. - Syed Azahar Curi duit dulu kalau kena tangkap bagi balik tiada tuduhan curi kosong lah penjara sungai buluh , untuk rakyat penjara penuh. - Alicina Ali Mana rakyat nak tahu dia bayar atau tak, ini semua hanya lakonan saja. Ini lah yg saya katakan bila kita serah kuasa pada penyamun semua penyamun akan di bebas kan.Tengok lah tak lama lagi si najib, rosmah, si zahid dan semua yg lain2 akan di bebaskan juga. - Ismail Ali Ali Nanti sekiranya najib di dapati bersalah, lawyer najib boleh merayu guna alasan "akan" kembalikan wang tersebut kepada kerajaan, selesai... semoga bertemu lagi selepas pilihan raya - Acho Labacho Dah agak dah.. bila saja Din pengkhianat naik jadi PM..Skrip² karangan puak² Umno Najibun akan te-realisasi satu persatu. -  Radn MJ  It’s a prelude by the backdoor PN government to acquit the big crooks like Najib, Zahid, Ku Nan, Azeez and Bung Mochtar without having them to plead guilty so that these crooks can re-start their political life with a clean slate. - Rupert16 TThomas has denied that he ever agreed to this backdoor deal.Can the current backdoor AG and the MACC now hide their faces in shame? Now we know what the backdoor AG has been doing all this while. Just looking for ways to free the thieves. From excellence in Tommy Thomas, we now have garbage masquerading as an AG. - On the other hand

Muhyiddin's days are numbered?...

The 2018 general elections brought together four different political parties with divergent ideologies and political philosophies but one common goal, to topple the 60-year-old BN regime. The kingpin of that epoch-making miracle was Tun Mahathir. The same Mahathir was instrumental in the collapse of the PH administration on February 24, 2020. And with PH now moving to table a private member's motion of no confidence against the prime minister, still this same Mahathir is the proposer. In other words, this guy plays a pivotal role in each and every key stage in the coalition's success as well as its downfall. On the second anniversary of the nation's first ever change of federal administration on May 9, Mahathir and Anwar Ibrahim were back in good terms, again. Many were awed when the news broke. The duo insisted in a joint statement that they were prepared to put aside their differences "for the sake of the people"! I recently wrote on this very column about the political drama unfolding in the country. No, this whole thing has not come to a close yet. Expect more sequels to follow. Indeed "power" makes one out of his mind and control. Politics itself is not a dirty name, but politicians are. 19th century British prime minister Henry John Temple, 3rd Viscount Palmerston famously said, "We have no eternal allies, and we have no perpetual enemies. Our interests are eternal and perpetual..."  For the sake of political power, one would work with a demon that keeps betraying others, thinking that a little caution should keep the dangers at bay. It doesn't matter now who was betraying whom or who was the culprit that brought down the PH administration. What is important is the reality that power is already in hand or about to be so. The noble rhetoric "for the sake of the people, nation and religion" is not to be taken seriously. Apparently the coronavirus has failed to teach our politicians a lesson. Politicians on both sides of the divide have forgotten that a week before the regime change in February, the country went without a functioning government and cabinet. The whole burden was forced onto the shoulders of our health DG Noor Hisham. 

If the tabligh gathering at Masjid Seri Petaling could be stopped in time, the number of our positive COVID-19 cases could have been halved! With the outbreak gradually tamed down now, these politicians are waiting to act again in a renewed round of power struggle. Muhyiddin is rightly called the country's weakest prime minister in history. Response to his call to get 12 political parties to join forces to consolidate his Perikatan Nasional alliance has been underwhelming. Umno president Ahmad Zahid says his party's support for PN is established upon the basis of individual Umno MPs being part of the government. Zahid is not someone one should take very lightly, and Muhyiddin will learn about this in time. Muhyiddin's excessively bloated 70-plus-member cabinet is not big enough to satiate the lust of the Umno chief, and the DPM post he has been coveting is still pending to this day. PPBM has a total of 36 parliamentary seats, of which Muhyiddin comfortably commands 32, with the remaining four being Mahathir and his closest aides. The prime minister needs the support of BN (42 seats), PAS (18) and GPS (19) to make up 115 in order to hold on to his office. It is a matter of time the PN regime will fall, if Muhyiddin is unable to meet the demands of Umno and PAS. PPBM will only lose working with Umno-PAS. Due to overlapping of seats, its candidates will inevitably have to fight tooth and nail with candidates from Umno and PAS come the next general elections. There's no bounds to Umno's and PAS's greed. To quench their thirst, Muhyiddin has agreed to put all PN backbenchers on GLC boards in a blatant political appointment in gross disregard of an appointee's capability and background. But even that will not appease Umno-PAS, the starving vulture ready to gobble up the whole of PPBM. Even within his own party Muhyiddin is no better than a lame duck, facing the hostile actions of Mahathir. And his plan to convene a supreme council meeting to ax Mahathir and his son has been cautiously shelved. With enemies all around him—Umno and PAS on one side and Mahathir on the other—Muhyiddin's days are numbered barring any miracle. - Pook Ah Lek, Sin Chew Daily

cheers.

Sumber asal: Sapa tipu sapa? Sapa sailang sapa..part 2... Baca selebihnya di Sapa tipu sapa? Sapa sailang sapa..part 2...

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[seouldsoul2kpop]

15| The Purge

Trailer| Moodboard | Prev | Next (Epilogue)

Characters: Jungkook x reader| BTS| ft. Got7 Mark

Summary: For one day, every year, killing is legal, and you’ll kill anyone as long as the price is right. He’ll kill anyone as long as his orders tell him so. Both of you are the top purgers in the business, but what happens if your name ends up on his kill list? What happens if you’ve been waiting for the perfect moment to kill Jeon Jungkook?

Warnings: blood & death

Word count: 1,822

A/N: Who will live? You won’t know unless you read! Let me know what you think!

Y/N & Jungkook

I sat on Mark’s desk, my legs dangling over the edge, and through his glass wall, I watched the sun slowly waking from its slumber. I didn’t know how long I had been sitting there waiting for the night to finally end, but it was long enough for me to feel the heavy weight of my new beginning. I’d lived the last four years preparing myself to kill the very person who’d murdered my entire family, but now that he was gone, I couldn’t picture my life without him. I suddenly laughed at the thought, raising my hand to my lips in an attempt to thwart my laughter, but the whole idea only made me throw my body forward as I laughed harder. It was all I could do to fight the tears that threatened to finally break free.

I thought about Jungkook sitting there, his hands cuffed to the chair, his body completely beaten, and his own blood seeping from the stab wound in his stomach. He looked less than human, even as he smiled at me, he looked like someone who had already died, but he was always a ghost, a hallow shell of a person. My laughter faded as I stared at the ground beneath my feet, and the warm touch of something familiar coated my face. We had a deal…but why did it hurt so much?

I took in a deep breath as my eyes shot open. The lights were blinding as I looked around the room, my eyes still trying to focus. My gaze fell on my father’s lifeless body, still watching me from his grave. I scoffed, my mind suddenly realizing my wrists were no longer bound to the chair. I pulled them up, wincing at the pain in my stomach before looking down at the blood still leaving my body. I quickly put pressure on my wound, drawing a small groan of pain from my lips as I willed myself to get to my feet. My legs seemed to give in as I fell to my knees; I coughed, my blood splattering against the floor as a result, and I smirked, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand before lifting myself back off the ground. The only thing driving me was her; I had to find her. She had to keep her promise.

I leaned against the wall, my breathing ragged, a cold sweat making my body tremble, and everything was spinning. I coughed again, feeling the blood running down my chin before I quickly wiped it away. I stared down at my bloody hand, and back at my hand still pressed against my wound. My vision blurred, the weight of my body suddenly too much for me to bear, forcing me to lean my shoulder further into the wall. I swallowed hard, feeling the sweat rolling down my face and my neck. I wanted to let go, but something inside of me kept pushing me forward, warning me of the consequences if she didn’t end it like she said she would.

I pushed off the wall, dragging my hand along the wall as I stumbled forward, leaving a trail of my blood to mark my path. It was strange, but a part of me didn’t care if she kept her promise because all I really wanted was to see her again. I wanted to see the Y/N who’d held me against her body; the one who let her guard down, and carried a secret in her eyes whenever she watched me. I wanted the Y/N who put the monster at bay.

I looked down at Mark’s guard, his face pressed against the marble floor as his blood coated the ground around his head red. I grinned, wincing in pain for a moment before I looked up at Mark’s office door. I wondered if she’d killed him. I wondered if she kept her end of the deal even though I knew she thought I was dead. I paused, taking hold of the door handle for a long drawn out moment. I heard the sound of her voice whispering my name, and I found myself pushing the door open, my eyes immediately falling on her back as she sat on Mark’s desk. Mark’s body was nowhere to be found.

 I heard the subtle sound of the office door opening. I smiled, expecting Mark had finally shown up for me. I hopped off his desk, turning on my heels, but the air seemed to leave me as I stared at Jungkook. He was grinning, slightly hunched over as he pressed the palm of his hand against his wound. I took a small step back, tears pricking my eyes as he stumbled forward.

She raised the gun in her hand, urging me to stop moving before I could get any closer. I stopped, noticing the pained look in her eyes.

“Y/N,” I muttered.

She lowered her gun, a small chuckle escaping her lips as she looked at me, but she quickly covered her mouth, staring down at the ground for a moment as she collected herself.

He was still alive. My stomach churned feeling his watchful eyes on my skin, and something inside of me stirred restlessly, reminding me of the moment we had together. I cringed, my mind screaming bloody murder as I raised my gaze back to his. I knew why he was here, he wanted me to keep the promise I made, and even though two parts of me were at war with the idea, the one that needed to avenge my parents was much stronger.

I could see it in her eyes again, that cold thirst to kill me, but there was something else in her eyes, a hesitation that was fighting against the person she had become over the last four years.

I had to kill him. I barely registered the tears that slowly began streaming down my face as I looked at him, and I clenched my jaw, trying to fight the feelings that I knew had always been there. He smiled at me, not the cold, sadistic smile he hid behind, but a warm childlike smile that made his eyes crinkle, and his cheeks puff up, resembling a bunny.

I smiled at her because I knew she was going to kill me. I watched as she took a deep breath, quickly raising her gun back into the air, aiming it right at my head.

“Why?” she suddenly spoke, “Why did you let me live?”

I chuckled, Jimin’s laugh echoing in my mind.

“You reminded me of someone,” I paused, reminiscing for a second, “You reminded me of Jimin.”

She paused, taking a long moment to scan my face.

I needed to know one more thing.

Her eyes brightened as a new thought seemed to come into her mind.

“That night, you asked me what I wanted most in this world,” she paused, her eyes searching my face for a sign that I remembered. I nodded, my lips falling into a small smirk before she continued, “I didn’t know what I wanted, but now I do.”

I pressed my hand against my wound as more blood slipped past my fingers, and I cringed, but I kept my eyes on her as she watched me.

“My father said something to you that night. What did he tell you?”

I grinned even wider, recollecting his final words to me in my head. I took a long pause, scanning her face for a moment.

“He told me he forgave me.”

Her grip on her gun tightened as she processed my words, and for a moment she looked pained to hear his dying words, but before long that familiar cold smile returned to her lips.

“Tell me, Jungkook, what do you want most in this world?”

I paused, her words catching me off guard. I didn’t know what to say to her. The silence mingled between us, all the unspoken things whispering amongst themselves, but they didn’t dare let themselves be known. I smirked at her, but her eyes flickered somewhere behind me, her attention momentarily pulled away from mine. Her face grew serious before her eyes met mine again, and her eyes were dark, filled with a renewed fire ready to ignite anything in its way, but there was something softer in them, almost like an apologetic whisper.

I stared past Jungkook, into Mark’s eyes, the cold, angry grasp of betrayal all too prominent. I quickly turned my attention to Jungkook; my heart raced with all the things I wanted to say to him, but before anything else I could hear my father’s voice, see him leaning into Jungkook, whispering his forgiveness. I felt the warmth of my tears rolling down my face, my mind already made up as I steadied my hands. I couldn’t forgive him.

I took in a sharp breath as the sound of his gun ripped through the air, followed by an almost instant rush of pain as it lodged itself into my chest. Even as I felt myself losing my grip on life, I couldn’t find it in myself to let them live, not after everything they’d done…and I made a promise. I tasted blood on my tongue, felt the pain radiating through my entire body, but I found myself replaying Taehyung’s words in my head just before I pulled the trigger. Blood is the only thing that can wash our sins away.

I felt numb as the sound of a bullet pierced the air, and the innocent look in her eyes as the bullet pierced her in the chest. I watched as a sliver of blood escape the corner of her lips as she fought to keep herself upright. She took in a breath, her eyes dark, telling, as she came to terms with the idea that she wasn’t going to go down without taking us with her. She smirked at me for a moment before her face was serious again, tears rolling down her face. She steadied herself, point her gun exactly where she wanted it to.

 Two gun shots went off. I could feel my very being crumbling before her. I watched as she fell to her knees, her body giving out on her now that she had finally done what she said she would. I smirked at her as her eyes fell on me, the glimmer of life slowly slipping from her irises, and she smirked back at me. I could feel darkness pulling at my consciousness, and I could see her waiting for me to finally let go. My body didn’t feel so heavy as everything faded to black—the innocent girl from the closet consoling me at the very end.

 She asked me what I wanted most.

I wanted her to keep her promise…

and she had.

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[amadnessofmuses]

Another Kind of Purgatory

@theycomeuninvited ~ Ringo

It had been a very long time since Bobo had been to Hell. He hadn’t remembered it being so hot the first time. He assumed then he had other things on his mind, like the fact that he was dead, a curse he was stuck with and that at some point he was going to be dragged back to Earth to do it all over again. Then there was the crushing weight of his mortal sins and penance waiting for him. It was hard not to be preoccupied and miss the scorching heat. Hell had changed him when he had been here, it had calmed him, made him think and rationalize the things he had done. It had turned him in to a demon, something less than human yet it had given him understanding that he hadn’t had before. He had learned a lot about himself in Hell.

As a human he hadn’t been normal, he had been an outlaw, smart yet prone to violence, loud and charismatic with a love of opium and thirst for complete freedom. It was freedom that had driven him to the darker things in life. Even as a child he had been a wild spirit and a free thinker and so the west had called to him and he had answered. He had led a dangerous group of men and he had paid for it in full. When he had died and gone to Hell he had known well the punishments he would take and he knew why he would take them. Looking back on it now he could see where he had taken the punishment s best as he could for as long as he could hoping that maybe he would be able to save himself from the curse. He hadn’t wanted to die yet he wasn’t sure how long he wanted to keep in living. People like him, his way of living had been changing. The freedom he had loved so much had been dwindling and changing. The spaces and the way of life the Cowboys had embodied had been driven out. He had been driven out, personally by Wyatt Earp himself. Even still nothing had changed.

When the next Heir was born he had been freed and dropped to the surface, atonement for his sins gone unnoticed due to the curse. He had held out hope for one thing however and sadly he hadn’t seen it. The one person that had kept him happy, kept him sane and in line, he hadn’t been able to find his best friend, and only person he had ever loved even though he had been sure that he would be there. Of course Juanito hadn’t been put down by Wyatt and he knew that but others that Doc had killed due to the Wyatt’s rage against them showed up. He stood in the spot of the hot dessert waiting as they all came and went. He waited for days for him to show up around them as the other demons poured in yet the number had reached 77 and they had stopped coming, Juanito never showing. He hadn’t shown the next time either and so he had given up hope of him doing so. Whatever Doc had said to him before he had killed him had sealed his fate as Holliday’s kill and saved him from the curse.

It was good for Juanito but not for him and ever the one to be selfish he vowed to find a way to fix it. That was what this second trip to Hell was for. He knew he wouldn’t stay dead; no revenant did even when killed with Peacemaker and even less him. He was the coroner stone, the last one to go every time, he had to be. If he wasn’t he would come back, he was counting on that. He had been counting on that when he had let Black Badge take him, when he had screamed for Wynonna to end it and shoot him. They weren’t friends, him and the bitch heir but he knew she would do it. Her only chance to break the curse was leaving triangle lines and as much as she would have wanted him to suffer once he was in their hands, her chances of ending the curse dropped to zero. You couldn’t kill all 77 revenants if you could only get to 76 of them.

The first trip to Hell he had been put on the rack and suffered as all the others had. This next trip he made sure he would make different.  He had atoned for his sins from when he was a human and sins as demon against other demons didn’t count, so he had walked into Hell with free reign as the other demons did. Years of carefully conducting business and letting others do his dirty work. Taking out his anger on demons only, leaving humans to do what humans did without his interference. He had lived a life he hadn’t felt guilty over so he could walk into Hell a free man. He had only one goal while he was down here and that was to find Juanito.

~*~

He had wasted weeks in hell since being there, three to be exact and the only think he learned was that demons were stupid, stupider even than his revenants. Information wasn’t easy to come by and those that thought they had it rarely did. It was annoying at best and a downright fucking goose chase at worst. He’d followed three leads on Johnny Ringo only to come up empty handed and he hated being empty handed. A growl slipped past his lips as he past a cell the person inside screaming out as if they thought he would save them. Only they could save themselves and yet they were too pathetic too.

His last lead was taking him out of Hell without the promise he could get back but it was the best he had to go on. In fact it was the only thing that he had to go on now.  He had found a demon that had claimed to know Clootie and claimed that the demon had put his best men in Purgatory to spare them from the ravages of Hell while he waited out his time until he was resurrected.  Even if it was a lie it was a good one. It was information on Ringo that most people didn’t have. A lesson he had learned about the man he loved too late in the game to change it. The man sold his soul to the demon before he had ever known him, before he had even personally believed that demons were real.

He could still remember the night, sitting in the Birdcage Theater, the women on stage dancing around as Satan stealing people’s souls. He had made a joke about craw-fishing a deal if he ever made one; he had been trying to be funny. He’d asked Johnny what he would do and his answer had been so serious, so real and hadn’t left room for an argument. I already did it had been his answer and he had believed him as much as any man who really didn’t believe in Hell at the time could.

Letting the door to Hell slam behind him he squinted in the brightness, handing coming up to shield his eyes, it was a vast contrast from Hell and the dark halls, the screams of pain and smells of blood and sulfur. Purgatory was bright and blanketed in never ending trees, the silence of the place almost deafening. He hadn’t known what to expect here and had he been asked this wouldn’t have been it. For a place that held the souls of the unwanted and monsters made before creation it was peaceful, almost calm. It reminded him of the forest back home. Pulling his coat tighter to him he shivered in the cold. It wasn’t that Purgatory was cold; it was that it wasn’t the oppressive heat of Hell.  

~*~

Bobo had once again found himself shocked by Purgatory and the monsters that it held. Monsters of course that he knew existed but none he had ever seen. He knew the Triangle held them at bay but he had never known how well. His own powers had only just been a match for some of the things he had met in here, things that had beef with him just because he was around for them to do so.

He panted softly as he dropped to the ground, sinking back against the trunk of a large tree near the water’s edge, he growled, eyes turning black as he pulled open his coat. He was hurt, having found himself at the clawed end of a very angry were wolf. He pulled up his shirt with a hiss staring down at the four long gashes across his stomach, it wasn’t often he found himself wounded, the site of blood on his own skin a bit shocking in the bright light of the sky. He needed to keep going, somehow he had lost track of time here and he didn’t know how. Actually he did know how. He had gotten angry, things here didn’t talk like they did in Hell and on Earth, here they only knew how to fight. He was wasting time here circling around and around, looking for someone he couldn’t even confirm was there.

He could feel the anger rising in him now, the movements of someone moving near him drawing his attention, his eyes turning red and black with anger, a growl bubbling over his lips as he pushed himself to his feet. He hadn’t expected the arrow that flew past his head barley missing him, nor the second that shot past his side catching in his coat and pinning him to the tree. He looked around, ducking as he caught site of another arrow coming right for him, barely managing to lean out of its way as it caught the edge of his other shoulder. It was then he caught site of the man sending them his way.

He would have known that face anywhere, he could have picked him out of a crowd of a million people. He could have looked at every human and still he would have known his Juanito and there he was, looking like the day he had left him so long ago.

“Jaunito.”

The name was soft from his lips, nothing more than a whisper, his hand coming up to run through his hair when he couldn’t think of anything else to do with it other than touch the man he had been so long without.

“Would you please stop shooting me? I am here to save you.”

#muse: Bobo #Another Kind of Purgatory #theycomeuninvited