#I really like this scene i'm really proud of it

[beanarie]

part 3 of buck takes a mental health break. things get kind of epistolary (ish) from here on out.

~

Los Olivos is... nice. Super nice. Buck has driven through a couple of times, but he's never stopped here. He squints at his phone, triple-checking the address, before he rings the bell.

The door opens, and it's like the sun came out. "Buckaroo!" Carla smiles big and wide. "You get in here right now." Her arms wrap around him as unabashedly as they always did. He gleans as much warmth and comfort as he can before she lets go to give him a once over. "Look at Mr. Universe! My goodness, so much more of you to love now. Come in, come in. I hope you're hungry. I've been cooking since late morning, but if you'd shown me a recent photo, I would've started yesterday."

He manages to put away most of the ribs she put in front of him, with her husband Elden polishing off the rest. After ignoring her protests and helping load the dishwasher, he takes in the photos taking up most of the wall space and several surfaces.

She chuckles at the one he stopped in front of. "That's from the wedding of, uh, you-know-who."

"It's a beautiful photo." Elden is wearing a suit a similar shade of blue to the one Buck wore to his and Abby's disastrous first date. If he closes his eyes, he can still hear Bobby's voice in his ear, giving last minute advice as he helped Buck with his tie.

That part of it was a good memory.

"You okay?" Carla asks.

Buck shakes himself, seeing a way out that's sure to be worth it if only to see her reaction. "Uh, hey. Do you remember how Abby had that ex that kind of smashed her heart into little pieces?"

"Oh, yeah. She was hung up to an embarrassing degree. Her mom used to talk about the guy, too. She loved him."

"I forgot about that," Buck says under his breath, suddenly thinking about Tommy hanging out with Abby's elderly mom, being mildly caustic at each other while playing scrabble or doing a puzzle.

"Why would you bring up whatshisn-?"

"Uh, Tommy."

She tilts her head, intrigued. "Good memory."

Later Buck is proud of himself for making sure she's sitting before he gives her the story. As it is she laughs so hard she almost falls off the couch.

"Your life, I swear," she says, wheezing. "I don't know why I'm even surprised."

Buck finds himself grinning along, wider than he has in a long time.

"You know, you lit up a little when you talked about him. You still like this guy?"

"Yeah," he says, only a little doubt in his mind. "I think so."

"He really thought you were in love with Eddie?" She has an incredible gobsmacked face. "Now, I adore that man, and the two of you would be pretty as hell." She winks and Buck snickers. "But he has a talent for making things hard, and you, Evan Buckley. You deserve something easy."

~

(Hen): Hey, Eddie told me what he said. Say the word, and Karen and I will get him ostracized from every parent group in the county.

(Buck): Don't do that.

(Buck): It affects Chris.

(Hen): Good point. We could do gyms. You have no idea how important gays are to that scene.

(Buck): I might not be Gay-gay but I have spent a little time in gyms. I know.

(Hen): Right, that's fair.

(Hen): You seemed like you were managing. I should've noticed you were making yourself smaller.

(Buck): Thanks, Hen.

(Hen): You're missed, just so you know. Not just during shifts. You'll always be one of ours, understand?

(Hen): Buck?

(Hen): Maybe you don't understand. That's on me. I'll do better in the future.

(Buck): I miss you, too. The lady who served me at this truck stop diner had glasses like yours.

(Hen): I hope you gave her a good compliment.

(Buck): Of course I did. And a big tip.

~

Oakland is next, Lucy doesn't have a spare room ("My partner's brother is staying with us for a while. He's a funny little shit. You'll probably be best friends.") but she does have a pullout couch, and when Buck lies at an angle, his feet don't dangle off the edge.

He and Lucy get just this side of absolutely trashed. When they've toasted to Cap's memory multiple times and the stories slow to a trickle, she grabs his phone. "I'm gonna find you a not-nice boy on grindr."

Buck sits back in his chair and gives a have at it gesture. He watches her, always so comfortable in her own skin. "When did you first, y'know, know?"

She doesn't hesitate for a second. "Eleven. Heather Edison. Sixth grade English. She read for Juliet in class and I wanted to be Romeo so bad."

"Who did you get instead?"

She makes a face. "Tybalt. Ugh."

"What's it like growing up knowing pretty much the whole time?"

"Well, I got a couple years on you. It was a lot of sussing people out and very carefully figuring out who was safe to share that part of myself with." She picks up her shoulders breezily. "Sometimes I was wrong. It happens."

"That sounds terrible. I'm sorry."

"Price of admission," she says. "Now, do you wanna stick with the Greek god aesthetic, or do you feel like broadening your horizons a little?"

Sheree, the girlfriend, brings him coffee the morning after.

"Do you miss it?" she asks. "The job? If you're anything like Lucy... She broke her wrist once and the whole time she couldn't be out there it was like she was locked in a glass case full of water."

The job is what killed him, Buck thinks idly. But even now, he recognizes that it's also what kept him going as long as he did. Buck sips at his coffee. "It's only been a few days," he says with a little teasing smile. "Right now it barely counts as time away."

~

(Eddie): Chris said it's my fault you left and then he stopped talking to me again

(Eddie): it's not really is it?

(Buck): I don't know what I'm supposed to say to that. It feels like no matter what I do it's wrong, so I'd rather not engage at all for a while.

His phone rings. Buck rejects the call, then pulls over and drinks half a water bottle.

(Buck): I know this was hard on you, but finding out after the fact was not worse than being there. It wasn't. Bobby's face that night will be with me on my deathbed. Maybe you'll always remember how Chris looked when you told him, but you get a lifetime of new memories to replace it with.

Buck plugs all that in from the notes app, then immediately has a thought.

(Buck): If you ever talk to me like that again I'll transfer for good.

Hands shaking, he turns off alerts from Eddie. Then he texts Chris a photo of himself and Carla at her house. The amount of exclamation points he gets in return chips away at the concrete block around his heart.

~

(Buck): Am I exhausting?

(Buck): Sorry. Hi how are you?

(Tommy): Too late, you already set the tone. Exhausting? You did tire me out on a regular basis

"Oh," Buck says to himself.

(Tommy): in the bedroom. But I'd never say you were exhausting, that's not how I think of you at all. I don't see how anyone could.

(Buck): Oh

(Tommy): Howie told me about your sabbatical. Where are you now?

(Buck): A couple hours outside Salt Lake City.

(Tommy): Exciting stuff. Don't let the mormons get you.

(Buck): Truck driver fell asleep and caused a pileup. That was pretty exciting.

(Tommy): Not for an old pro like you. Did you have to bust out your skills?

(Buck): For a bit. No fatalities, that was good. Mostly just concussions and whiplash.

(Tommy): Look at you, working on your vacation.

It's such a simple exchange, but the concrete block feels even weaker now. He remembers Bobby saying He's good for you, at a time that they later found out was him saying his goodbyes. That taints it, somewhat, but Buck can't get over that Bobby thought he'd be leaving Buck in a good place, with Tommy.

(Buck): Thank you, Tommy

(Tommy): For responding to your texts? It was a real hardship. I'll never get those 90 seconds back.

(Buck): For making me smile. You always do that.

(Tommy): You're pretty good at that yourself. Drive safe, Evan.

[tojigasm]

Bucky would just understand the need to be taken care of, and he'd do it soooo well I love that man

"I just really need someone to take over for me. To just make my decisions for me and pay my bills and tell me how proud I make them." You vent, making your way through the tower kitchen, biting into baby carrots.

"You just want a dad." Bucky states rather blase as you sit down beside him in the same moment.

The astonishment must be evident on your face by the way that Bucky raises his brows at you derisively.

"What?" he shrugs at you, and you're instantly drawn to the thick building muscle of his biceps where his arms are crossed against his chest.

"Bucky..." youre nearly at a loss for words, "That's so inappropriate."

"I'm not the one who described my type in man as a parental figure."

your face feels hot, and suddenly, the temperature in the room feels all the more warmer and heavy.

"I didn't mean it like- like that!" You scramble for the right words and realize there are none.

"Sure you didn't." Bucky says rather boredly from his seat, eyes fixed on the TV screen once more.

"I dont want a dad I just -" You stammer, "I just want someone who'll take care of me, and I don't have to worry about anything. just want someone who is there for me and can fuck me so good I forget about everything else and someone who I can just turn my brain off around."

Bucky sighs, rolling his head on his shoulders.

"Okay, let's try this a different way then. "

"Okay..." you pull your legs up onto the couch, biting at the nail of your thumb.

bucky goes through your list once more, "Okay, so you want a dom then."

For some reason, that hadnt occured to you before. the statement makes your head go mushy for a moment as you imagine what it'd be like to have someone like that.

Someone controlling every aspect of your life out of genuine care and wanting to see you succeed or even just regulate your day-to-day life.

the hair on the back of your neck stands up as you imagine that someone being Bucky.

the thought of Bucky checking up on you throughout the day -- texting you or calling you to see if you've eaten enough or if you need money to go shopping.

You imagine him guiding you by hand, both metaphorically and literally -- talking you through intimate scenes and keeping you grounded as he holds you to his chest, pressing soft kisses to your hair.

Or the two of you making dinner — you sitting on the countertop while he cuts vegetables, passing by you with an excuse to kiss you ever so often.

And the thought of him talking you down from the high of something so vulnerable and intimate all in the same with soft kisses to your temple and the contrasting touch of his hands on your skin, murmuring "Always my good girl, y'know that." Into your hair.

You have to pull yourself out of your own head before it becomes too much.

Your thighs rub against one another under you and you dig your hands into the fabric of your sweatshirt.

If Bucky notices, he doesn't say anything. Perhaps he's decided to take mercy on you.

"Yeah, maybe that is it." You offer.

You know you've been too quiet for too long.

Your mouth feels dry and your tongue feels heavy against your teeth all the same.

"Or, you want someone to play daddy." Bucky says.

Your eyes meet his instantly.

You stutter, trying to find the right words but words don't seem to make sense. Unable to even form a thought as Bucky stands up from the couch.

"Need someone to be daddy fr'you?" He asks, cautious as he rests his hand on the curve of your jaw.

You're speechless under him.

"Can daddy touch you, baby?" He asks, stroking the pad of his thumb against your soft skin.

"Please." You nearly whimper, letting yourself relax into his hand almost immediately.

And you've been needing this for so long — needing to relinquish yourself and just let someone else take the weight of everything.

Bucky coos at that.

"Just need someone to take care of you, huh sweetheart."

You nod.

"Tell me what you need."

You think Bucky might be the right one to give that vulnerability to.

"Need it to all go away," you say quietly.

Bucky hums, pressing the pad of his thumb against your lips and letting you take his digit into your mouth.

"Let daddy take care of it then."

[rvnwd]

Finished drawing Vicente Aloi and damn, I'm so proud of it! Cantata got me wanting to draw all of the beautiful characters in it. Perfect excuse to improve my skill hehe 😂 This is what i imagine my mc first meeting with Vicente looks like in my head. That scene really stuck to me 😚

Thank you @fir-fireweed for giving me the inspiration to fill my canvas ✨ (sorry not sorry for the spam. HAHA!)

[aikohellscape]

Lance barely had time to register the movement—a sharp, wild jerk of Kurt’s tail, a violent thrash of muscle beneath him—before everything around him collapsed inward.

The room vanished, his stomach plummeting as the world twisted and folded inside out, reality warping in on itself so violently that for half a second there was nothing—no weight, no air, no sound—just suffocating darkness, thick and absolute, pressing into his ribs, his skull, his bones.

Everything slammed back in at once.

The wind roared past his ears, deafening, a violent rush of air slamming against him as they plummeted, weightless and uncontrolled, faster than his mind could process, too fast to grasp, too fast to stop. Lance barely processed the gut-wrenching drop, the weightlessness that clung to his ribs, the way his skin prickled from the cold air tearing past him—because he wasn’t alone.

Kurt was thrashing, his body twisting violently, muscles coiled tight as his teeth bared in a feral snarl, wild-eyed and lunging with raw, desperate instinct.

Lance felt the snap of fangs just shy of his face, the air crackling from how close they came to his skin. Kurt wasn’t trying to escape anymore—he was trying to bite.

But Lance’s grip never faltered, not through the teleport, not through the stomach-churning weightlessness of being ripped through dimensions, not even as every nerve in his body screamed in protest, his muscles locking up from the sheer force of it all, his breath catching in his throat as the world twisted and reformed around him in an instant that felt like an eternity. 

His mind reeled, struggling to make sense of it, but still, his fingers stayed clenched tight around Kurt’s tail, refusing to let go, even as Kurt lashed out, desperate and unhinged, fighting like a cornered animal, his hands scraping against Lance’s jacket, legs kicking wildly, breath coming in harsh, frantic bursts. The raw panic in Kurt’s glowing eyes made it terrifyingly clear—he wasn’t thinking, he wasn’t planning, he was just trying to get away.

He didn’t dare look down, didn’t dare let go, didn’t dare think about the moment of impact, because whether they hit the ground or not, Lance was taking Kurt with him.

BAMF

The darkness swallowed them whole. Then—They were falling. Again.

This time, Lance knew—this wasn’t just blind panic, wasn’t just instinct taking over. This was calculated. Deliberate. Kurt wasn’t running anymore; he was fighting. He was using the teleport, not as an escape, but as a weapon, a last-ditch effort to throw Lance off, to send him spiraling into open air, to rip him free by force. If Kurt thought that was going to work—he was dead fucking wrong.

Kurt lunged again, twisting violently, a snarl tearing from his throat as his fangs snapped dangerously close, missing only because Lance jerked his head back at the last second. Too close. The sound of teeth clashing together sent a primal jolt of adrenaline down his spine, but Lance didn’t loosen his grip—not for a second. Kurt was writhing in his hold, a blur of fur and muscle and desperation, his fangs snapping dangerously close, each lunge more frantic than the last, his entire body twisting and jerking in a wild, unrelenting effort to throw Lance off.

BAMF

They spun as they fell, locked in freefall like eagles mid-strike, limbs tangled, breath stolen by gravity’s pull. The wind howled past them, pressure building in Lance’s ears. Kurt was snarling beneath him, furious and wild, but Lance clung like a vice.

This was backfiring—Kurt realized it too late.

Lance wasn’t letting go.

Another teleport—he was going to try it again—

But Lance moved first.

With a guttural shout, he jerked them midair, using the momentum to twist their trajectory. His arm locked around Kurt’s wrist, yanking it back, and in one smooth, brutal motion, Lance threw his weight forward, bracing his knee and slamming it down hard into Kurt’s shoulder—pinning it flat across his shoulder blades.

BAMF

They hit the floor like stones dropped from the sky. The guest room snapped back into focus around them—wooden boards slamming into ribs, smoke curling through the air, the sting of sulfur sharp in their throats. They tumbled, tangled and disoriented, until Lance managed to wrench control back with brute force.

By the time they skidded to a halt, Lance had him.

Kurt was face-down beneath him, body twisting, tail flailing in sharp, erratic bursts. But Lance had his right arm pinned behind his back, his right knee driven firmly between Kurt’s shoulder blades, his full weight bracing him down. He hooked one ankle behind Kurt’s tail, locking it to the floor.

“GET OVER HERE AND HELP ME PIN HIM!” Lance shouted, breath ragged, voice tearing from his throat as he fought to keep Kurt down. He glanced up just long enough to register the stunned faces in the room.

Tabitha was frozen mid-step, eyes wide. “Okay, what the actual—”

“NOW!” Lance snapped, hauling Kurt’s arm higher. Kurt hissed, his eyes blazing, mouth pulled back in a snarl.

Toad ducked low, instincts kicking in fast. He darted wide, nimble and quick, skidding in beside Lance as he wrapped both arms around Kurt’s legs, pinning them with his full weight even as they kicked.

Tabitha circled in from the left, but barely made it a step before Kurt twisted violently beneath them, his spine arching up in a whipcord jolt, his fangs snapped toward her ankle, fast and vicious.

“Shit—!” She jolted back instinctively, stumbling out of reach.

For a second, she hovered there—hesitating, wide-eyed, not sure if she wanted to get any closer to the thing growling and writhing beneath Lance’s knee.“TABITHA!” Lance barked, voice cracking with strain. “Now!”

-Living a lie for a while, Ch 19

[polinsated]

3.01 -> 3.05 | colin + smugness vs. sincerity

[tarufai]

[flemish-giant-jackalope]

In the middle of the lab a werewolf lays on his back. His legs and arms chained to the ground.

You would think he would protest more but the amount of drugs and aphrodisiac coursing through his veins prevent it.

It also helps that you're currently riding his dick in a desperate attempt to milk him dry. He is in utter bliss, drooling with his tongue hanging out of his maw.

You're in a cowgirl position. Wearing nothing more than a tiny chastity cage and your sweat. On the cage there is yellow warming label attached. The following text printed beneath it.

"Extractor is in use. do not remove!"

Officially you are designated as a biological extractor unit, and property of the laboratory. But the lab personal has given you the nickname "fleshlight". To your own drugged and hypnotised satisfaction.

You whimper as you're desperately try to get past his knot. You want it so bad! You want to be praised for a job well done! You want to be a good fleshlight!

A person wearing a lab coat approaches you. You're so out of it you don't ever hear them approach.

"Are you having difficulty fleshlight?"

You flinch when you hear them. Which you instantly regret as your hole clenches around the werewolf’s shaft.

You stop to let your hole relax. Looking up at them you let out whine. Laboratory equipment can't use words.

They look down at you amused. "it's ok you cute little fleshlight. This is our biggest subject yet, so you just need more time to stretch that pretty little hole of yours."

With a gloved hand they take your chin, and softly raise it till they know they have your full attention. With the same tone you might politely ask a machine to do something, they say; "you're only goal in life is to be a good stretchy hole."

You zone out as the words trigger intake training. As you relax completely your eyes glaze over and a lazy smile forms on your face.

The lab assistant, still holding your chin in their hand, slides a gloved thumb in your mouth. You don't even mind or register it. You're completely focused on relaxing your ass as much as possible, while drooling happily on their thumb.

They pull their one hand back softly. Reaching their other hand into their lab coat they take out a vial. With a routine that must have happened a 100 times they collect the saliva from their thumb.

While keeping their eyes on the vial of saliva they say: "activate extractor routine 4"

You place your hands on you calf’s, using all your weight to try and conquer the werewolf’s knot. You ride it up and down slowly.

Pleased with the consistency of the sample the scientist takes a step over the werewolf’s leg.

Their standing behind you as you blissfully ride the werewolf’s cock. Desperately trying to stretch your hole. A mantra going through your head.

"a good fleshlight is a stretchy fleshlight, a good fleshlight is a stretchy fleshlight, a good fleshlight is a stretchy fleshlight, a good fleshlight is a stretchy fleshlight, a good fleshlight is a stretchy fleshlight,"

The squat behind you and inspect your progress

"Fleshlight sit"

You stop at the tip of the werewolf’s cock and let your weight glide you down. Your hole slightly stretching over the knot.

The blue medical glove glides easily over the lubed knot. Their index finger gliding upwards towards your hole, and glides in with little resistance. They hum satisfied and glide a second finger in. The smile on your face just widens, happy to inspected like a good piece of lab equipment.

They glide their fingers out and collect the liquid in another vial. "It seems you do need some more help." they stand up and put one a new pair of gloves.

While still behind you they put their hand over your mouth. Index and middle finger pushed inside your mouth. You start sucking on them.

"Your intake training is still doing wonders" they get a small vial from their coat and open it one handed. Holding it under their nostrils the smell already giving you a rush of endorphin. You get the simple command of "breath in"

You fill your lungs with the product as if it was the first breath you ever took.

"gooood fleshlight" the scientists says with a smile.

The chemicals course through your system and you hear your heartbeat in your head. As a pleasant heat flows over your body, your exhale takes any bit tension left in your body with it.

"Fleshlight ride"

You move your body up and down the length of the shaft. Feeling your hole open up more and more. Al the wile repeating the mantra in your head.

"a good fleshlight is a stretchy fleshlight, a good fleshlight is a stretchy fleshlight, a good fleshlight is a stretchy fleshlight, a good fleshlight is a stretchy fleshlight, a good fleshlight is a stretchy fleshlight,"

After a couple of minutes later you almost get over the thicket parts. Joy radiates your face as drool slowly leaks out of your mouth. The scientist eagerly collecting it in a vial.

While putting the closed vial in their lab coat, they look at the werewolf’s head. Still drooling and content, but with a quickening breath.

Smiling but determined the scientists quickly gets your happy vile from their coat.

"Fleshlight tip"

You stop at the top of you ascend. The tip of the werewolf’s massive cock keeping you nice and loose.

Quickly they put the vial under your nose.

"Breath in"

Still swimming in the effect of the previous huff you greedily inhale again. Your mantra only getting louder in your brain. There are no other thoughts allowed.

"a good fleshlight is a stretchy fleshlight, a good fleshlight is a stretchy fleshlight, a good fleshlight is a stretchy fleshlight, a good fleshlight is a stretchy fleshlight, a good fleshlight is a stretchy fleshlight,"

A knew intensified wave of heat flows over you. Spreading to your whole body as you feel it loosen.

You can feel every cm of the werewolf’s cock in detail.

"Fleshlight sit"

You fall down and you feel the scientist putting a bit of their weight on your shoulders.

You slam onto the knot and your ass opens up. Feeling your ass stretch over the knot feels like heaven. And then suddenly

"pop"

The werewolf’s breathing is getting erratic.

"Fleshlight ride" the scientists commands, getting a bit breathless themselves.

You've never felt so full in your life! As you ride you feel the knot gliding over prostate again and again. Precum is being pumped out as you continue going up and down. The knot has now swelled too much and you can't get it out anymore. You don't care! A good fleshlight is a stretchy fleshlight! A good fleshlight is a stretchy fleshlight! And you've taken the knot! You want to be the best fleshlight!

And the best fleshlight are used and filled with cum!

The werewolf’s is panting heavily, even with all the drugs coursing through his veins he tries to hump the fleshlight. A low satisfied growl begins as he cums.

The knot swells a final time as your locked into extasy! With every wave of cum, the knot pushes into your prostate making you leak more and more, as you feel your belly swell more and more. Desperately you move up and down trying to get every last drop off cum out of the beast beneath you.

The scientist has a hand in their pants too, no longer able to contain themselves. They quickly bend down and grab your chin, bending your head backwards, forcing you to focus on their face and voice.

Slightly out of breath they say "You're a very good fleshlight and deserve a reward"

Without any objection from you they open your mouth. You see them open theirs and letting their tongue hang out. A droplet of their spit falls on your face. You're delirious with joy! You're being praised for a job well done and are going to get a reward!

Al the while you still feel the werewolf filling you up.

"You deserve it, fleshlight can cum"

They say before pushing their tongue in your mouth.

Fleshlight has been good! Fleshlight has been good! Fleshlight has been so good!

You ride werewolf’s dick for all that you still can. Your moans into the French kiss as you feel a well-earned orgasm rock you to your core! You're abused prostate finally giving you release as you spray cum out of your cage onto the belly of the werewolf!

Releasing the kiss the scientists the scientists place their face next your ear. Observing the beautiful scene of your cum on the wolfs chest.

"Good extractor, you've been a very good extractor."

They coo softly. "Now rest a bit while the subject knot shrinks. And then will take this good little extractor to collection" they say with while petting your cheek. You push your face into their hand with the little energy you still have.

Still smiling they pet your head a little more. "I'll get our favourite lab equipment some water. We need to maintain you properly so you can do your job so well." with a smirk they add "Sit tight, I'll get our equipment their liquids"

[trensu]

Some more of stasis in darkness. you have no idea how many times i've written this scene. i discarded three or four different versions of it before i came up with this one. i feel like this version worked best for the characters. or at least i hope they feel in character.

It was the ninth night.

Steve took his usual spot before the shrine. He greeted his god as he had before but decided tonight was going to be a quiet night. He didn’t have much to say so he’d simply let his faith burn bright in his silent vigil.

Hours passed, and again the strange man didn’t show up as he had been the nights prior. This time, Steve didn’t bother putting it off. He decided to do a perimeter check. As he stood, however, a cacophony of squeaks and beating wings filled the air.

A massive colony of bats burst into the clearing. They moved shockingly fast as they neared Steve and the shrine. Steve ducked his head under his arms but let the bats come. He ignored the little Robin in his head yelling about rabies. He couldn’t risk hurting one of his god’s favored creatures. 

There were so many of them, more than Steve had ever seen in his life. They flew round and round dropping altitude until they coalesced at the foot of the shrine. The din stopped as abruptly as it had started. When Steve could no longer hear a single squeak or feel wings zipping overhead, he lowered his arms. Cautiously, he lifted his head, eyes drawn immediately to the shrine to check for any damage. 

Not a single bat remained. Instead, the strange man sat, cross legged, at the statue’s feet. He wore a dark cloak comprised of deep navies, bruising purples, and an inky black. Each color slowly, gracefully shifted and melted one into another, again and again before Steve’s eyes. Flecks of light littered it in familiar formations. The clasp that secured it around the man was a bright silvery white. It was shaped exactly the same as the waning moon above. 

“Ta-da!” the man said, fluttering his hands in a showman’s gesture.

Steve took in the man's appearance. The ratty travel clothes, the cloak of constellations and its clasp…Steve leapt back in shock. Everything suddenly clicked into place very quickly to paint a very unflattering picture of himself. He whirled around. He couldn't face the shrine. 

"Shit," Steve's voice was loud with a stunned sort of panic as he remembered the events of the past week. He paced anxiously. "Shit, shit. It was y–the whole time, you were–FUCK. How did I miss–and even if you weren't you, you were still a traveler in the night and I treated you like–I'm a fucking idiot. I'm the stupidest man alive, how–"

"Probably from getting dropped on the head so much, huh?" the man asked with that same annoyingly self-satisfied voice he'd been using every night. The annoying stranger with his annoying questions and his stupid smug tone.

Mindlessly, Steve turned on his heel to glare at the man. He jabbed an accusatory finger in his direction, frustration flaring.

"Oh, you can fuck right off, man," Steve replied reflexively. "I am having a crisis!"

A split second later, he felt his stomach drop to his feet. This wasn't just a stranger talking. He backpedaled hard.

"Oh, ohhhh no, I didn't mean that, Lord, I-I wasn't thinking."

The man exploded into raucous laughter. It shook his whole body until he doubled over from the strength of it. He continued to laugh when he toppled off the side of his perch and landed with a thunk on the ground. The man sat up, wheezing and wiping at his face, mirth clearly keeping him in a choke-hold. 

"Oh, far be it for me to interrupt your crisis," the Lord of Night forced out amidst the laughter. He flapped a hand at him. "Please, continue."

The god attempted to regain composure but all that did was turn his full bellied guffaws into snorting giggles. Steve waited, his anxiety fading in the face of the god’s genuine good humor. It took another couple of minutes before the god calmed enough to pop back to his feet and climb back onto the plinth. The man made himself comfortable at the foot of his own statue as he had before.

"So how goes the crisis?" he asked mischievously.

"On hold," Steve said evenly, fighting back the start of a smile. The man said nothing but still radiated amusement. Steve crossed his arms over his chest. "Are you really the Lord of Night?"

"The one and only!"

“And you’ve been here the whole time?”

“Yep!”

“So why didn’t you say anything? I mean, I talked to you every night! I don’t get it.” Steve paused as a thought occurred to him. “Was this a test?”

“Uh…yes? Yes.”

Steve narrowed his eyes. The god shifted in his seated position. It reminded Steve of the time Dustin shattered a jar of his most expensive hair product and tried to hide it. Dustin had squirmed guiltily under Steve’s expectant gaze until he confessed to his dastardly crime. Apparently, the method worked on gods as well.

“Okay, it started more as an attempt to get you to leave me alone,” the Lord of Night admitted. 

“Oh.” It came out blankly, which Steve was grateful for, because he felt like he’d been kicked in the chest by a mule. “You don’t want me.”

Steve wasn't sure why he was surprised. This was a classic Steve problem. He tamped down the old familiar sting of rejection. Steve knew going in that this had been a possibility. It was a god’s right to reject an offering.

“I never wanted any holy warriors,” the Lord of Night corrected. “Hence the attempt to make you leave.” 

Steve supposed that lessened the blow a little. It was an impersonal rejection. That was better, right? 

"If you didn't want me as your holy warrior you could've just said," Steve said ruefully.

“You seemed pretty determined to come back, though.”

“Only because I thought you’d want to, like, use me for something. If you’d asked me to, I would’ve stopped bothering you. I could’ve gotten someone else who could worship you better,” Steve said, trying to keep his voice light and unaffected.

"Yeah, I really don’t think you could have,” the Lord of Night said in a strained tone. 

“No, I mean it,” Steve insisted. “I told you, Robin and Dustin wanted to come along. They would make sure you’re not alone again. You would like them. They pick up on stuff faster than me. They’d be good worshipers.”

“That’s not what I meant. Your worship was, uh, it was…no, nevermind, forget that. The thing is, the more you came back the more I…” 

The Lord of Night trailed off. He tugged his dark starry cloak around him tighter. When he spoke again, he seemed to have switched tracks entirely. 

"Look, I don't know exactly how the holy warrior thing works, but you guys do quests for your gods, right?"

"Well, yeah, that's the whole point. We're your boots on the ground. We do acts in your service to spread your faith. Like priests but less boring." 

The god snorted which made Steve grin.

"Priests are so boring," the Lord of Night agreed. 

Things went quiet again. The cloak of constellations made it hard to see his god, but Steve got the impression that the Lord of Night was fidgeting. Steve remembered the conversation from a few nights before, about nervousness and not knowing what to do. Steve fell back on his social graces, his good old Harrington charm, and carefully picked something that would encourage the god to speak.

"I can't believe I didn’t see it,” Steve said, with a self-deprecating shake of his head. “Like, I know I'm not the smartest guy around but I didn't think I was that slow."

"Don't worry about it,” the god replied instantly, breaking out of his internal reverie. “That's not on you. I didn't want you to notice, so you didn't."

"Oh."

"Yep. And, it's not like I have a face to remember, so, y'know. You're good."

"I guess that does make me feel bet–wait. What do you mean you don’t have a face?” Steve squinted at the Lord of Night.

“Well, I don’t know if you’ve heard, but I lost my name,” the Lord of Night said with a hint of irony. “No name, no face.”

“But I saw it,” Steve insisted.

“Did you?” the Lord of Night asked, amused. He slid off the plinth and walked up to Steve until he was only three feet away. The god lowered his hood without any flourish. “What do I look like?”

Steve squinted at him studiously. The god was pale as moonlight and had hair as dark as the night itself; as for the rest of him…it was the strangest thing. Steve knew there was a pair of eyes under a brow. There was a nose above a mouth. He knew the right features were in the right places. However, he couldn’t tell if the eyes were dark or pale. He couldn’t say whether the nose was large or small. The mouth could be thin or it could be full. 

“I don’t know,” Steve relented. The Lord of Night nodded.

“Yeah, me neither.”

“Is…is that the quest? To find your name?” Steve asked, dread pooling in his belly. That quest would involve a lot of reading and…he didn’t even know. Language things? General research, for sure. None of which Steve was particularly good at.

“That’s a bit presumptuous of you,” the Lord of Night smirked. He didn't give Steve a chance to apologize. “But yeah, there’s something important that needs to be done. I’m not strong enough to do it myself and I’m running out of time to do it.”

“I can do it,” Steve responded. “I’ll do it for you, my Lord.”

“You don’t even know what the quest is,” the god said wistfully.

“But I know you wouldn’t ask me to do anything cruel or unfair.”

“You’re unbelievable,” the Lord of Night muttered under his breath. Steve didn’t think he was supposed to hear that so he kept quiet. In a louder voice, the god resumed. “Okay, are you sure you wanna do this? Be a holy warrior? Because you could be literally anything else. You told me you liked cooking during one of your prayer sessions. You could open up a restaurant! Restaurant owners don’t usually die in the line of duty or whatever.”

Steve resisted the urge to roll his eyes. This is what Steve trained for, what he was good at, and he wanted to put those skills to use.

“You said you needed help to do something important. I want to be the one that helps you. I want to be your warrior. I can do it, I know I can. I won’t let you down.” Steve bit his lip uncertainly as a thought struck him. "If you don't think I'm worthy–"

“It’s not about worthiness!" The god cut in. "Do you know what it would mean to be my holy warrior? The weight of the night sky, with all the stars and the moon, will be on your shoulders for as long as you walk the land. I don’t know much about holy warriors but I remember this: there’s no take-backs. You can’t just quit and go off to become something else later.”

“Yes, I know. We covered this in lectures at school. It wasn’t all swordplay," Steve said impatiently. "I did think about it once I finished training and I decided if I could find a god to pledge myself to, I didn't want to be anything else. Then I found you."

“...Okay. If you're sure, then okay,” the Lord of Night said decisively. “So what do I have to do? How do I make you mine?”

“Um, I think it’s different from god to god?” Steve stuttered, heart thumping at the god’s words. “But I guess we can do our own thing? I’m pretty sure it’s the intent that matters most.”

"I can work with that." The Lord of Night gestured downward. "Kneel, kneel. I have an idea of what to say.

"Should I close my eyes or something?" Steve asked once he’d gotten to his knees.

"Nah, this is good," Lord Night said. 

The god squared his shoulders and straightened his spine. Then, something miraculous happened. The Lord of Night spoke his name aloud.

“Steve Harrington.”

It was the first time his god ever said his name; it was stunning in a way Steve couldn’t begin to comprehend. A bolt of lightning down his spine. A roaring forge in his chest. A whirlwind in his lungs. It felt like all of that simultaneously, yet nothing like that at all. How could pitiful human speech hope to encompass the intensity of a god’s undivided attention; his god’s specific acknowledgement of a primitive life such as his? 

Tears sprang unbidden in Steve’s eyes. He became aware how lowly and frail his own body was, and how utterly insignificant his existence was in the vastness of the stars in the sky. He curled forward, hiding his face and making himself as small as he could. He could not bear his god seeing his mortal failings and imperfections. It would invite an exquisite, holy agony Steve surely wouldn’t survive. 

“Oh,” the Lord of Night breathed. “I forgot how that could feel to a human. I’ll try not to do it again.”

“No,” the word tore out of Steve’s throat without any conscious thought. “No, please. Please, my Lord.”

Steve didn’t even know what he was begging for because the singular attention of a god was agony but the thought of his god leaving him filled him with terror. He shattered, left with no purchase save his god’s words. Then there were arms around him, pulling him close, and enveloping him in constellations. Steve’s vision blurred. Great, heaving sobs overcame him as though ripped from his very soul. The Lord of Night murmured comfortingly.

“Alright, there we go,” he said softly. “I’m here, Steve. I see you in the night, every night. The stars shine for you, Steve. The moon turns its face for you. I’m with you, Steve.”

The words crashed into him with the unrelenting force of ocean waves. They swept his footing from underneath him and sent him spinning endlessly, endlessly. They lifted him upwards and sent him plummeting down until he was deep below the surface where the currents finally slowed. Surrounded by eternally burning stars, he was left weightless and suspended in an unearthly calm. The words rang in his skull with the surety and strength only a celestial being could claim.

Somewhere between an eternity and no time at all, Steve came back to himself feeling overexerted, though he hadn’t moved from where he knelt. Steve’s heart and soul had been scraped out of his chest, put between a pestle and mortar before getting unceremoniously dumped back in his weak flesh, but in a weirdly good way. His sobs subsided. His breathing came in and out slowly.

Eventually the cloak of constellations released him as well. He blinked his eyes open gradually to see his god kneeling before him at arm's length, palms resting on Steve's shoulders. Steve felt a stab of shame at having brought his god down low to a mortal's level. 

“Sorry. I’m sorry,” Steve croaked. “Do you still–? Can I still be–?”

“No, yeah,” the Lord of Night said straight away. “That was on me. Not your fault at all. I’m out of practice interacting with mortals."

The god’s words lost the gravitas from before in a way that would've been jarring if it weren't such a relief. He finally broke his hold on Steve. He got to his feet, somewhat gracelessly. 

"Let’s try that again?” the Lord of Night asked.

Steve cleared his throat. He straightened up where he knelt and kept himself still. He nodded to show he was ready.

“Steve Harrington,” the god said. This time hearing his name on his god’s lips was exhilarating but at a level a human could bear. “Do you swear to spread my values in the minds and hearts of mortals, through action and word?”

“I swear.”

“Then will you, Steve Harrington, do me the honor of being my sword and shield? Will you carry my crest through all your agonies and all your joys?”

“Yes.”

For a breathless moment, their words hung in the air, resonating through the night with finality. The Lord of Night reached out and gently traced something on Steve's forehead. Steve assumed it was his god's sigil, though neither Robin or Dustin could find any images of it so he couldn't be sure. It felt like an incomplete circle with a squiggle running through it. The god stepped back to observe him when he was done.

The stillness that followed, ironically, rattled Steve’s bones with relief and joy that it was done. His god had accepted him. Then the Lord of Night shuffled his feet in an awkward, shy manner.

“Cool,” said the Lord of Night.

The heaviness and tension brought down by the gravity of their oath ruptured with that single world, and Steve could do nothing but dissolve in helpless, giddy giggles.

[deiaiko]

You know that fanmade Cave game? Yeah, it makes me so unwell 😩🤲🥹❤️‍🩹

I can't read/write Japanese and I don't have twitter, but still I want to thank the creators for making and sharing it 🙏 Please accept my offering

[slayerdurge]

the brainrot is telling me to do an evil karlach origin play through

[howtosingit]

banter and bickering at the top of the episode (plus sex) and at the end of the episode (with the promise of more sex)??

help I love them so much

[achingly-shy]

AGENTS OF S.H.I.E.L.D SEASON 1 -> SEASON 3

[riricitaa]

Soooo

[generic-enthusiast]

(An expansion of a moment from this qprpbj fic I wrote a while ago)

Ponyboy smiles when he opens the door and finds Avery on the other side.

"Hi, Aves."

"Hey, grandpa," they say brightly, stepping inside.

Avery takes their backpack off and heads to the bathroom like they do every Tuesday. The twenty-minute walk from school to his house is just long enough for them to need to pee when they get there but not at school.

Ponyboy closes the door and sighs. It's nice to have company once in a while, even if it's just for lunch on Tuesdays. It gets lonely sometimes, when everyone's paired up with kids. Cathy got almost full custody over Katie and Johnny, so he's been alone for a while. Two-Bit and Marcia, Steve and Soda... They never stopped caring about Ponyboy and Darry, but they have other things to do. Married life to attend to.

Shame Darry's out today, he always likes to talk to Avery. Seems like they might be going down the accounting path, and Darry's good for advice on that.

"What's for lunch?" they ask, drying their hands on their skirt.

"I'm tryin' out this new recipe I found online..." Ponyboy takes the aluminum foil off of a pot and looks inside. "It's chili but it's supposed to have some sort of sweet twist? I dunno, the girl explaining it seemed really excited."

"Did you check the reviews like I told you to?"

"Yeah, they all said to use less beans or it would be too dry, so I did."

Avery gives him a wide grin. "Great."

Ponyboy carries the pot over while Avery sets the table.

"How's school been?"

He starts serving Avery a bowl.

"It's been fine. I did a math test today and I made some stupid mistakes — that's enough, thanks — and there was this one formula I forgot that woulda made everything a whole lot easier, but it went okay."

"That's nice." He sets his own bowl down in front of him.

"Actually, grandpa..." Avery trails off and avoids Ponyboy's eyes when he looks at them. "There’s something I need to talk to you about."

Ponyboy looks at them silently, urging them to go on, but they stay quiet.

"Go ahead."

"I'm aromantic. And asexual." They look at him, trying to gauge his reaction. "Aroace for short."

Ponyboy blinks at them once. Twice. "What?"

They give a dry laugh before answering. "Yeah, no, I didn't expect you to know. Aromantic means I don't feel romantic attraction. Asexual means I don't feel sexual attraction."

"Those are different?" The look Avery gives him is the same one he knows he used to give Sodapop whenever he asked him what the movie they just watched was about. "Sorry," he says, suddenly feeling meek.

"No, it's fine," they sigh, "They're kinda new labels, I guess. But yeah, they're different. Mostly people feel them together, but some people feel them differently. I just... don't."

Ponyboy had been about to eat a spoonful of chili, but freezes with the spoon halfway to his mouth.

"You... you can just... not feel it?"

On Ponyboy's first date with Cathy, they went out for dinner, and it felt kinda like going out with Two-Bit. Laughing too much and feeling like he was breaking some sort of rule all the time. It was nice, though.

He kissed her goodnight like he was supposed to, and it felt weird, but it was supposed to feel weird, right? They'd just started to go out.

Then they'd been dating for long enough for it to be expected for them to have sex and he didn't really want to, but Cathy wanted to and they were supposed to and it wasn't that bad, really. Just kinda boring.

"Yeah. I know it sounds really weird, and you might think I just haven't met the right person yet, but think about like, straight people. You know you don't like the same sex and no one ever doubts that, so this is like the same only I don’t like anyone. And it doesn't mean I can't have meaningful relationships or anything — I like my friends a lot, I love them a lot, and Charlie can be nice when he isn't being an annoying little brother, and there's even other types of relationships, like queer-platonic relationships, that aren't for me, but that other aroace people can want—"

"Calm down, Aves," Ponyboy says with a slight grin. He definitely know where they got that from. "I wasn't tryin' to make ya feel like I didn't accept you, I just... didn't totally get it."

"Oh." They're slightly out of breath. "Okay."

There are a couple moments of silence before they go on, "Well, in any case, I find sex and romance disgusting and when people tease me about that sorta thing it makes me uncomfortable. That's all I wanted to tell you."

They smile awkwardly.

Ponyboy feels himself deflate, but tries not to let it show.

"So then aromantic and— and asexual people find it disgusting?" So it's just me? It's just me that's broken, then.

"Oh, no, not at all. I just don’t like it, but there’s people who are fine with it. Some people even enjoy it."

"Oh." Not broken not broken not broken not broken "And can, uh... can anyone be– aromantic? And asexual?"

They look at him curiously, eyes flitting across his face to try and figure out what he's thinking. A flicker of understanding — and something like hope — crosses over their face before they settle back into a neutral expression.

"Well, yeah. Not anyone that feels sexual or romantic attraction, obviously, but, like, there's aroace people of all ages with all sorts of romantic and sexual histories and they're still aroace."

"Oh."

"Yeah."

The rest of lunch is spent in near silence. Every so often one of them asks a question and the other answers, but conversation never lasts more than a couple seconds. The silence festers around them, Avery looking around uncomfortably, Ponyboy trying to force himself to be comfortable. Ponyboy's washing the dishes while Avery cleans up the table when there's the sound of a key jiggling and the door opens, showing Darry standing behind it. His face lights up when he catches sight of Avery.

"Aves! I didn't miss you!"

"Uncle Darry!" He sets his bag down next to him a takes his shoes off.

"How'd your math test go?"

Avery's face scruches up. "I forgot about the tangent squared identity and had to deduce it from the sine squared plus cosine squared one."

Darry makes a similar face and clicks his tongue as he walks over. "Did it go well besides that?"

"Yeah." He goes to ruffle their hair but remembers the last time they complained about it and grabs their shoulder instead.

Avery checks their phone. "Oh shii— shoot. I'm late. Gotta run back now."

They slip their shoes on quickly and run out the door.

"Have fun!" Darry calls, and a muffled "I'll try!" makes it back through the door.

Darry looks at the closed door for a second, easy smile on his lips. "Seems like slamming the door's genetic," he mutters.

He wanders into the kitchen and stops dead in his tracks. The water's running over dirty dishes but Ponyboy's leaned against the opposite counter, scrolling down something on his computer.

He has the same look on his face that he had a couple days after his seventeenth birthday, when he came up to Darry and told him quietly that he was older than Johnny would ever be.

"Pony?"

Ponyboy looks up, blinking quickly, not bothering to try and close the tab.

"Hmm?" His voice is unnaturally high-pitched. The eye contact only lasts a couple second before he looks away, back at the screen.

Darry walks towards him slowly. "Everything okay?" He turns the tap off when he passes by it.

Ponyboy's staring holes into his computer. He can't look away, can't look away from the words that've been there all along. The words he didn't see fifty-something years ago — oh, god, he can't even remember how long it's been.

The computer's being taken away from him.

"Pony." Ponyboy looks up to meet Darry's eyes. "What's wrong."

"The— the words are there." He's on the verge of tears and he knows that Darry can tell with the pitch of his words, but he can't control it.

"What words, Pony?"

"A— aromantic. And asexual. And queer-platonic." Darry just stares at him, clearly in as much confusion as Ponyboy was a couple minutes ago. "You don't have to wanna date people. And sex. And Johnny—"

Ponyboy doesn't finish the sentence.

"What about Johnny?" Darry seems confused, and Ponyboy realises that he thinks he's talking about his son.

"Cade."

"Oh."

"We weren't friends. I always knew we weren't friends, I knew it was different, because I ain't never felt that way again."

Darry blinks. "You're saying you're... gay?"

Ponyboy shakes his head and he can feel the tears tickle as they roll down his cheek but it would be wrong to brush them away.

"It don't— It don't gotta be like that. You don't gotta choose between bein' friends or datin', those aren't the only options. And it— it's real." He buries his face in his hands. Darry wraps his arms around him and Ponyboy stoops down to burrow his head in Darry's shoulder. "I know it— it doesn't change anythin', that we were the same thing, that we were— were queer-platonic even if the word didn't exist but I wish it did.

"I wish it did because then maybe it wouldn't be so—" He can't go on.

Maybe it's because there's no words to describe what it means to find out what something was when it's so far in the past you no longer remember, but remember remembering. Maybe it's because the pain he'd buried so deep he almost forgot about it comes back in full force. Maybe it's because he's sobbing so hard the words can't come out.

And that's how it ends.

It doesn't end with "stay gold" and it doesn't end with his English theme. It doesn't end with a roadtrip to the sea so they can spread his ashes and it doesn't end when he's twenty and unhappily married.

It ends sixty years too late. It ends with something as irrelevant as a pair of words. It ends with closure. Closure that comes far too late, but eventually comes.

[blackjackkent]

The second of the chains binding Orpheus in place shatters under the blow of the Hammer, and the magical prison explodes in a burst of light that makes Rakha have to flinch and look away.

She opens her eyes to find that the shards of light have fallen away, and the githyanki prisoner is sitting on his knees on the stone.

He draws himself slowly to his feet, then with a sudden motion lashes out with one hand, psionically summoning the sword of one of his fallen honor guard into his hand.

Narrator: As the githyanki prince takes his blade, a silent cry pierces your head. It's unlike any sensation you've ever felt.

Rakha grunts, clutching her temple as she steps back away from the point of the sword turned in her direction. This is - not pain, exactly, but a new connection, one she doesn't recognize. There's little time to analyze it, though, as Orpheus takes another step towards her, raising the blade so it is level with her throat.

"You reek of illithid," he hisses. His narrowed eyes are cold with disgust. "You destroyed a githyanki creche. And you slaughtered my honor guard."

She can see the rage work through him; she knows that expression, the desperate desire to strike, to destroy, to avenge. But he waits it out, holds it in, his knuckles whitening in their grip on the weapon's hilt. "Nonetheless," he growls, "it seems we must be allies."

She could not have maintained the alliance with the Emperor, not anymore - but nevertheless Rakha was worried this might be the reaction when Orpheus stepped from his prison and saw the wretched lines wrought into her face. She shoots a sideways look at Lae'zel, who steps forward at once, her head lifting proudly.

"Your Majesty. The Prince of the Comet," she says with earnest reverence. "Gith's true heir. It is an honor."

"Do not patronize me," Orpheus sneers, and Lae'zel's head snaps back as if he's slapped her.

In truth, Orpheus is barely looking at her; his attention is fully focused on Rakha and her illithid-corrupted appearance, wary and ready to strike. "You rejected the illithid when it no longer suited your needs. No doubt you freed me because it suits you now," he says, disdain in every syllable. "I will neither forgive nor forget your abuse of my powers."

Rakha grimaces. Nothing about this is false; everything Orpheus accuses her of is something that she has indeed done. Deaths and alliances and betrayals that all seemed necessary at the time - for survival, to keep fighting... or sometimes simply to spill blood. There is nothing she can say in defense of herself - except that it worked, and she has made it here to this moment.

"You're free now, aren't you?"(*) she asks curtly.

"I could have been free much sooner!" Sudden rage flares through the cold disdain. "You had the opportunity to surrender yourself to my honor guard. They would have given you a noble end!" His jaw works angrily. "Any worthy individual destined to become ghaik would have done so. My guard would have freed me, and I would have stopped the elder brain before it evolved into a Netherbrain."

He tilts his head back, looking at Rakha with a sad, bitter scowl. "All that suffering... avoidable - were it not for the choices *you* made."

Rakha stares back at him, resisting the urge to flinch away from his eyes. Perhaps the accusation is truth - and yet what does it matter? She has the blood of thousands on her hands far beyond what the brain has effected. Orpheus cannot give her any condemnation she has not already given herself.

But she came here, and she turned the Emperor away, and she pulled Orpheus from his prison at her friend's urging. Surely that counts for something.

"Let's forget about the past," she mutters curtly. "I was... misled. What now?"

Orpheus glares at her skeptically for a long moment. Then he shrugs resignedly. "We will destroy the Netherbrain together, and put a stop to this nascent Empire before it expands into the stars."

He paces a few steps side to side, and then scowls. "The ghaik was correct about one thing. The Netherbrain's power is beyond us. The hardest metal in the world will not cut through its mind, for it is made of thought itself."

He folds his arms with a grim expression. "At this point, it will take an illithid to unleash the full potential of the Netherstones."

Rakha stares at him, bafflement slowly giving way to horrified understanding.

The Emperor was telling the truth - about this, at least. An illithid must control the Netherstones in order to have a chance against the brain. And she just drove away the only illithid they had any chance of allying with.

Well - not the only one.

She looks over her shoulder impulsively, finds the others all watching her with varying levels of dread. They have all realized the inescapable truth in the same moment - if the Emperor is gone, then one of them must evolve.

It should be me, Rakha thinks numbly. It will have to be me. She has already consumed so many of the illithid worms, after all. She has taken on their abilities, traces of their magic. It is a small step, in a way, towards that final evolution.

If it is what must be done in order to see that this fight finally, finally ends... And yet the idea makes her stomach churn; her vision blurs for a moment and she clenches her hands at her sides in a desperate attempt to steady herself.

A hard irony; she has worked so hard, these last weeks, to try to find out who she is, what she is, who she might like to become when she is finally able to escape the cycle of destruction for which she was born. She has tried so desperately to find peace, and clung on with both hands to the bits of it she has been able to discover. And she has tried to claw her way out of the endless manipulations of those who have sought to use her for their own ends.

But now, after all of it, she must evolve, abandon forever the self that she has been building, and surrender to what the Emperor wanted from her all along.

But there is no choice. This has to end, and perhaps there will be peace for her friends, even if there is none for her.

"I understand," she says, and though her voice is low and ragged with exhaustion and fear, it is steady. "If that's what it takes... I'll do it."

Orpheus blinks, raises his eyebrows in surprise. But before he can answer, a different voice cuts across the conversation.

"Wait," Karlach says, her voice unusually quiet, strained with the effort not to tremble. "Maybe you don't have to. It--" She swallows. "It should be me."

(A/N: Oh god, her face. I'm not ready for this. Hector is HOWLING in the back of my mind.)

Rakha turns, startled. For a moment her surprise wipes out every other thought, and she stares at Karlach in bemusement.

"Why you?" she asks.

"I'm dying," Karlach says. And she tries to laugh, like it's a sardonic joke, but she can't; her voice cracks. "My heart feels like a live grenade - gonna blow any minute."

Rakha looks her over - and indeed, she can see the signs of it. She's been so preoccupied with the battle to come that she hadn't noticed, but Karlach's engine has gotten much worse in the few days since Gortash died. With that last effort, she has entered the end stages; the flames are higher around her, the heat causing the air in her vicinity to shimmer gently.

She nods, seeing Rakha recognizing the truth of the situation. Their eyes meet, and Rakha can see the sincerity and grief there in equal measure. "You still have a life to live," Karlach says. "I don't."

"If this is the end for me, let me be the motherfucker who saved the world," she says. Again, that raw and cracked attempt at a laugh; even now, she wants to find the humor in the moment, but Rakha can hear the desperate plea outweighing everything else in the words.

Rakha is silent for a moment. The brutal unfairness of the situation feels like a kick in the gut. It should be my job to die, she thinks bitterly, for perhaps the hundredth time since the battle at Wyrm's Rock. It should be my job to die and yours to live; you should have the path laid ahead of you, and I should go quietly into the void.

It is not fair. But she thinks she can see what is happening in Karlach's head, and despite the words, it is not simply an act of bravado, or even of sacrifice.

If this is the end for me, let me be the motherfucker who saved the world.

Karlach is going to die. There is nothing Rakha or anyone else can do to stop it. Left to her own devices, she will simply burn into ashes when the fire eventually overcomes its bounds and consumes her. And it will be a pointless death, fire and brimstone and senseless loss.

In a way, surrendering to the parasite here, becoming illithid, is its own sort of death. But this would have a cause to it - a reason for it to happen. And it would be an action taken to save many other lives.

It is not so different, Rakha thinks, from her own decision only a few minutes ago to stand up and strike the brain again, even when despair threatened to overwhelm her. To simply lie there and die would have brought a kind of peace - but it would have been a pointless death while there was still work to be done.

Attack with purpose, Lae'zel told her so many months ago, and she has clung to that statement as a guiding mantra. But she is realizing something else in this moment, something Karlach clearly knew without having to be told.

Dying with purpose is just as important. Maybe more so.

She examines Karlach's expression in silence for another long moment. And then she nods, and she sees the relief that crosses Karlach's face to know that she understands.

"If this is what you really want," she says, "all I can say is thank you." Her voice, though curt and matter-of-fact as always, has a distinct and unusual thickness in this moment - because it is a gift that Karlach is giving, and she sees it very clearly. Not only the sacrifice itself, but the lesson implied in it.

"Any time, Soldier," Karlach says.

-----

(A/N: Bit annoying that there is zero companion commentary in the moment on either the PC or Karlach taking this decision. But that's okay, I can write my own. \o/ )

For a moment, Rakha thinks Wyll is going to intervene, to demand that they find another way. He looks appalled, devastated, angry at seeing his friend make this choice, at seeing his lover support it.

But perhaps he sees the reality of the situation just as they do, or perhaps he simply realizes it is not his decision to make. He steps forward and rests a hand on Karlach's shoulder, wincing as the heat presses into his palm. Then he nods.

"I'm proud of you, Karlach," he says softly.

"Thanks," Karlach mutters shortly. "Trying not to freak out right now, so I'm glad to hear it's not showing."

"You do a brave thing, cub," Jaheira murmurs. "I have known kings who would not make such a step so unflinchingly."

Karlach laughs shakily. "Yeah, well. Some of my time's been pretty shit, but it's been a pretty good life, just this last bit, yeah? Got the Jaheira calling me cub, saying I'm brave. A girl could do worse."

Her breath catches raggedly; she meets Rakha's eyes with a weak smile. "And I got to see my city again. Got you to thank for that, Soldier." A pause, and then she reaches out and abruptly catches Rakha's hand in both of hers, a fierce grip which there is no denying.

"You're not so bad as you think, y'know, Soldier," she says quietly. "But I need you to promise me you're gonna live the fuck out of this life I'm giving you. All right? For both of us."

Rakha finds, abruptly, that she cannot speak. But she grips Karlach's hand back firmly, and she nods.

The others look on in silence. No one seems to know quite what to say, though grief is written on every face. Lae'zel, in particular, looks angry, enraged at fate and with no one to strike out at. But she doesn't interfere.

At last Minsc speaks, grave and intense, inclining his head at Karlach. "Boo shall sing of you in his songs of heroes," he says, "Karlach Cliffgate. While Minsc lives, you shall be remembered."

Karlach gives him a watery smile, letting go of Rakha's hand and drawing away. "Better him than Volo, I guess."

-----

"You! Tiefling!" Orpheus cries, shattering the moment apart. "You would volunteer your life for the greater good. You would make the ultimate sacrifice. I thank you."

He inclines his head, gives her a military salute which Karlach returns almost automatically. Her eyes are staring straight forward, jaw trembling with the effort not to lose her nerve.

"The Netherbrain wants nothing more than to see all infected become ghaik," Orpheus continues matter-of-factly. "My defenses keep the voice of the Absolute out, but just as I can raise them, so I can lower them. I will allow the voice of the Absolute in; once it reaches you, it will order you to transform. It will only take a moment, and once you are a mind flayer, I will fold you under my protection once more."

He waits, silently, until she nods, then lifts one hand glowing with power. Rakha watches, fascinated, as a glimmering shield around Karlach's head, so subtle that she has never noticed it, abruptly vanishes.

"You will be the savior of empires," he intones, "not least my own."

Karlach screams.

Narrator: With the withdrawal of Orpheus's power, Karlach's mind is rushed with the full force of the Netherbrain. The very fabric of her being is torn apart and reformed in an agonizing process that is over all too soon.

Narrator: Then - stillness as she stands transformed, once again closed off from the Netherbrain's mind.

Slowly, the being that was once Karlach draws itself up to its full height, hovering a few inches off the ground. A strange celestial armor shimmers into being around it, and it flexes its fingers curiously, its tentacles twitching.

Orpheus looks at her for a moment, and then slowly lowers himself to one knee, his head bowing. "My people will remember you, tiefling," he murmurs. "The rebel illithid who stood beside their reborn prince and ended the Grand Design."

Slowly he stands again, then squares his shoulders and shoots a look at Rakha, who jumps, as if suddenly recollecting her own presence in the moment.

"Let us return now to the city," he says gravely, "and follow the path of the Netherbrain."

-----

(*) Full in-game line: "Drop the attitude. You're free now, aren't you?"

[the-sky-queen]

The Mind Electric - Animatic

Starline AU belongs to @totaleclipse573

My goodness I'm so nervous to post this but I'm gonna be brave and do it anyway. Inspiration struck me like a lightning bolt yesterday and I rushed to make this as fast as possible. I have visions in my head for how I would do the whole song, but I'd only want to do that if I could use the actual audio. (I couldn't figure out how to just record it off of YT (there was a specific edit of the song I wanted to use) which is why I ended up singing the section of the song I wanted. If I ever figure it out, I may possibly reupload this and/or do the full version. *shrug*)

The editor kinda ate the quality a bit so separate pictures along with the original sketches are under the cut!