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indulgentdaydream · 1 year ago

Note

Can you write something where the reader is badly injured in some way and jason rushes her to the manor for help and everybody is confused on who she is bc they didnt even know he was in a relationship (despite them being together for awhile) but they see how soft and cute he is with her. (I’ve never made a request so sorry if it got kinda rambley)

anon you’ve got me TEEMING with ideas I LOVE the trope of nobody knowing jason has a girlfriend and they find out but it is NOT by Jason’s choice nor reader’s.

Also omg? Your first ask is to lil ol me?? That means this is a special occassion. And you’re doing great I’ve def sent worse asks.

Out of the Bag

Jason Todd x Fem!Reader || Hurt and Comfort.

Word Count: 1,862

Warnings: Injuries, swearing, near death experience, blood, knife mention, stabbing, canon-typical violence, use of pet names (princess, baby), drug (pain med) use

You were sat in an alleyway, vision going in and out.

“Tell me something, princess. Anything.” Jason’s voice rang out in your ear.

That’s right. In your right hand, you held your phone, to your ear. Your other hand was pressing the fabric of your coat to the side of your stomach. The blood had soaked through, becoming sticking on your palm and fingers.

You should’ve listened to Jason. You shouldn’t have walked home alone, at night. Luckily your phone had been in your pocket and not your purse, which had been stolen from you by the same guy who decided to stab you.

“Princess,” he sounded panicked.

Right. “Wish I had kicked him harder.”

You heard a sigh of relief leave him, “That’s my girl.”

The phone slipped from your grip a little as your head swam. The sight of blood coming from your own abdomen made no help in quelling your nausea.

You fixed the phone. You had called Jason the second the guy ran off, leaving you to bleed out. He was driving, you think. Tracking your phone to try and get to you. “How far?”

He said something you didn’t hear. Your vision was swimming, your side was aching, and you couldn’t help but keep this funny understanding out of your mind that you were dying.

That this is something Jason had come back to your apartment with a few times, claiming it was nothing. It was something.

You heard him call your name, “What’s around you?”

“I’m tired,” you mumbled.

It seemed to happen in a blink of an eye. Jason was trying to tell you to stay awake, to look at the alley around you. To look out towards the street and tell him what you saw. Then he was there, standing in front of you, his helmet hiding his face.

“I’m here. I’m here, baby.” He cupped your face, tapping your cheek to get you to open up your eyes. He crouched down, pulling your hand from your side to assess the damage.

You smiled lazily and leaned forward, resting your forehead against his shoulder.

Jason muttered a slew of swears as he pressed something soft yet hard against your agonizing wound. You let out a yelp before Jason was picking you up, placing you on his bike.

He’s talking fast, “Fuck. Okay, listen to me. We’re going to go somewhere new, okay? There’s nowhere around here except there for me to get you safe.”

You passed out nearly as soon as he started the bike.

Jason’s freaking. He had tried to keep you safe from anything like this. From everything less than this. And here you were, bleeding out in his arms as he carried you through the batcave. He beelined for the cots and the medical supplies off to the side. He knows his motorcycle couldn’t have been the smoothest of rides for someone in your condition, but it’s all he had in such a short time span.

He’ll apologize when you wake up.

When. He repeats. When she wakes up and when we can get the hell out of this place again and when I can remind her I love her.

No one was back from patrol yet. He set you down on the cot before tearing off his helmet. He tossed it aside, pulling out a med bag and ripping it open. He pushed up your shirt, examining your side and where he had placed the military-grade gauze pad. He curses at the amount of blood.

His hands are shaking. Jason’s hands don’t shake, but you’ve proven to him a lot of things you could make him do that he hadn’t known he was capable of in the last year and (almost) a half of your relationship.

Jason nearly drops the suture thread before another hand is reaching out from just behind him. It catches the thread and Jason looks back over his shoulder. Alfred’s there, moving up to you.

“Allow me. You keep checking her vitals.”

Jason hadn’t even heard him come up. He’s nodding, stepping back to let Alfred take over the stitching. He moves to the other side of the bed.

That’s when he catches sight of the dark figure moving closer from behind Alfred. Jason immediately fixes him with a deadly glare, pointing at Bruce, “Do not come closer!”

Bruce stills. He’s in his bat suit, his cowl hanging behind his head, exposing his face. He looks down to your body, “Who is she?”

Jason doesn’t want him here. Rather, he doesn’t want to be here. You should’ve been home by now. Getting ready for bed and sending him a goodnight text. He turns his gaze back to you.

There’s some hair across your face that he hadn’t noticed. He moves it out of your way without a second thought, “My girlfriend.”

“Finally feel some remorse for sending someone to their grave, Todd?” Damian’s voice spoke up, walking up and stopping beside Bruce, “He’s probably trying to just reverse what he did.”

Jason ignores him. He wants to yell, scream, and maybe shoot the little bastard, but he was right. In a way, this was his fault. He didn’t look after you. He should’ve offered you a ride. Called you a taxi. An uber. Anything.

Jason grips your hand into his. It’s a way to count your heartbeat, and another way to ground himself. To reassure that you’ll be okay. His other hand stays on your cheek. His thumb gently moves back and forth, stroking your skin.

He barely registers Bruce telling Damian to go wash up. When the brat is gone, Bruce speaks up again, “What happened?”

Jason doesn’t take his eyes off of you, “She was walking home from her friend’s. A mugger got her purse, she fought back. He stabbed her.” Jason takes a deep breath, “She still had her phone. She called me. I brought her here because it was closest.”

A beat of silence. Still stitching you up, Alfred speaks, “How come we’ve never been introduced?”

Jason shakes his head, “I didn’t want her near any of this. She’s bad off enough sticking with me.”

Once you stabilize, Jason brings you up to his room in the manor. He walks past Dick, Tim, Duke, Cass, and Steph without looking at them. They sit around the batcomputer, watching Jason gently carry you out ot the cave.

He changes you out of your dirty clothes once he makes a run back to your apartment to grab you some of your own spare clothes.

Asides from that, he doesn’t leave your side.

He lets you have the bed to yourself. He pulls up a chair beside it, waiting for you to wake up. He didn’t want you to be alone when you did, in a strange place after a traumatic event. It was a recipe for disaster.

The sun’s been up for a long while and Jason hasn’t budged. He sits there, your hand gripped in both of his, held up and pressed against his mouth. His lips brush over your knuckles whenever he speaks up. Uttering a “I’m sorry.” every now and then.

There’s a light knock at the door before it’s cracking open. Jason turns his head to find Dick poking his head in. Jason glares at him.

Dick steps further in, presenting the tray he was holding. There were two glasses of water, some solid foods, and lighter ones, probably for you. Jason looked back down at you, letting his older brother enter.

“Just… figured since you’ve been cooped up in here all day,” Dick begins, setting the tray down on the beside table beside Jason.

Dick moves back around. He stands at the end of the bed, leaning against the tall bed post that was meant to hold up a canopy. “I heard…” he trails off, before nodding and your body in the bed, still unconscious, “Who is she?”

Jason looks up at his brother, not letting go of your hand, “So you haven’t heard.”

Dick rolls his eyes, “You know what I mean.”

Jason raises his brows a little. He looks back down at you. His hand reaches out to brush along your forehead, moving away imaginary stray hairs, “My girl.”

Dick nods in understanding, “How long you two been together.”

Jason pauses in thought, “Over a year. Our anniversary was in December.”

A small, choked sound comes from outside the door, in the hallway. “A year?”

Jason looks up at Dick, who makes a face that shows he’s knows he’s been caught.

“Are they seriously listening right now?”

Steph poked her head in first, an apologetic smile on her face, “We wanted to know!”

Duke pokes his head in next, just above Steph’s, “And we wanted to meet her.”

Tim’s head in next, above Duke’s, “You can’t carry a random bleeding woman into the cave and expect the family of detectives to not be curious.”

Cass’ head appears below Steph’s. She nods in agreement.

Jason let’s one hand go of yours to wave his hand through the air, “What the fuck? She’s not even awake!”

“Well that’s why we sent Dick as bait.”

“For the record,” Dick held up a finger, “They built off of my original, innocent idea of bringing you snacks.”

“Jesus Christ,” Jason stands up, taking a few steps forward. He points them all back towards the door as they start to filter into the room, “Get—“

“What’s going on…?”

Jason’s whole body whipped back around at the sound of your groggy, rough voice. The others watch as he’s back at your side in a millisecond, his whole demeanour changed. “Hey, you’re okay. Everything’s okay. Remember how I said we were going somewhere new? You thirsty, baby? Here, I got you some water.”

“Oh, you certainly did not get the water,” Dick piped up.

Jason glared back over his shoulder as he held the glass of water for you, keeping the straw Dick had added placed in your mouth.

You stopped drinking, your eyes now on the other people in the room. You turned your head, propped up against pillows Jason had put there for you. You weakly raised your left hand to wave, “Hi… oh?” your gaze turned down to your hand. A heart monitor clip sitting on your finger grabbed your attention. You gave a confused pout at it, “I feel funny.”

Jason set the water aside again. His glare was gone. He leaned in, kissing your forehead, “You’re hopped up on pain meds. That’s why, princess.”

“Damn,” Steph spoke up, “I wish I got the literal princess treatment.”

Jason turned back around, pointing out the door, “Get. Out. Leave my girlfriend alone until she’s better.”

You looked at the strangers, pointing at Jason with your left hand, “I’m his girlfriend.” Your head tilted back against the pillows as you stared up at Jason, pursing your lips, "I’m tired.”

“I know,” Jason said softly. The others began to filter out of the room as he leaned down and gave you a soft kiss, this time on the lips.

From the exit, a collective, “Awwww,” sounded out.

“Out!”

Your drugged up voice came after his, once they were all back in the hall, “Nice to meet you!”

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drcomttheo · 1 month ago

Text

MATTHEO RIDDLE x YN

summary: Mattheo is sick and is overdramatic warnings: Fluff, established relationship, pregnancy words: 1597 a/n: Rework of my Anidala oneshot "Man Flu" Slytherin Boy oneshots—ML Slytherin Boy oneshots—AO3

𝖲𝖨𝖢𝖪

It had been a particularly long night for you, who found yourself awake through the hours, devotedly caring for Mattheo as he battled his “Dragon Pox,” a condition more commonly known as “man flu.”

Despite the heavy burden of fatigue, you stood by Mattheo's side, your heart filled with devotion as you meticulously administered his medications. With gentle hands, you wiped his brow, your touch soft and soothing, while he lay there, his body trembling with powerful sneezes and soft moans of distress.

However, as time went on, you reached a point where you could no longer bear the circumstances. His relentless monologues of self-pity, lamenting his perceived suffering and declaring himself “dying,” gnawed at your composure, and you fought to uphold a facade of patience and empathy.

You struggled to understand how a simple cold could basically incapacitate someone. Nevertheless, you devoted yourself to his care, providing warm beverages and soothing words, all the while internally rolling your eyes at his dramatic expressions of suffering.

“Mattheo!”

Mattheo let out a low groan, his eyelids fluttering as he shifted his gaze to you. "Yes, my love?”

Your gaze sharpened, your exasperation with his theatrical antics almost consuming you. "Mattheo, you're acting like a child. You're suffering from a cold; it's not a serious illness."

Mattheo winced, his hand soaring to his chest in a dramatic flourish, "But this is different, my love. This is the worst sickness ever. I can hardly breathe; I feel like I'm dying!"

"Jinky! Check Mattheo! Please tell me what his diagnosis is," you exclaimed with a flourish.

Jinky, the ever-dutiful house-elf, hurried into the room, his small exterior strutting in.

“Certainly, missus. Allow me to assess Master Mattheo's state."

Jinky, the best nurse elf, began to meticulously work on Mattheo, assessing his vital signs and symptoms with precision.

After a brief pause, he shifted his gaze to you and remarked, "Jinky thinks that Master Mattheo's condition is not grave. He just has a common cold, and it poses no threat to his life."

Mattheo's expression darkened at Jinky's revelation. He had yearned for a diagnosis of greater gravity, one that would warrant the indulgence and care of you.

You couldn't help but roll your eyes as you looked at Mattheo's disheveled face.

“See, my love? It's just a cold. Nothing serious. Now stop being such a baby and behave like the powerful Death Eater you claim to be."

Mattheo's face contorted in a dramatic grimace.

"But I feel terri-ibleee. I can barely move! I need more..." he murmured, raising his cup with a glint of longing in his eyes.

Your eyes fluttered in exasperation, a storm of irritation brewing within you as you struggled to contain your rising frustration.

You let out a soft sigh, your gaze lingering on him. "Mattheo, you've already had three cups…” With a soft sigh, you settled beside Mattheo, your fingers gently tracing the curve of your belly, a silent testament to the life growing within you.

Mattheo, his attention caught by the subtle gesture, abruptly broke free from the confines of his theatrical pretense.

He sat up slightly, genuine concern flashing in his eyes. "My love... Is the baby alright? Is yours a problem?"

Your irritation faded like a distant memory, giving way to a tender smile as you sensed the delicate flutter of life blossoming within you.

"No, Matty. The baby is fine. Just moving around a bit."

Mattheo's eyes shimmered with a tender light as he extended his hand, resting it gently on your belly, his fingertips brushing against the soft curve as he sensed the delicate fluttering beneath your skin.

At that moment, a wave of clarity swept over him, unveiling the profound truth underlying your fatigue.

A pang of guilt stirred within him, a reminder of how lost he had been in his trivial struggles, oblivious to the weight you carried.

"I’m truly sorry, my love," he whispered, his voice laced with genuine emotion. "I've been so focused on myself, I didn't stop to consider how hard this pregnancy is on you."

"It's alright, Matty," you reassured him, your voice soft yet firm. "I just need to rest for a moment." Mattheo nodded, his expression a delicate dance of remorse and admiration, as if caught in the throes of a bittersweet memory that lingered in the air between you.

In the quiet of the moment, a tender squeeze of his fingers around yours conveyed a message. "Of course, my love. You need to rest. I'll take care of things for you. Get some sleep."

You reclined against the plush pillows, a soft, weary smile gracing your lips as you surrendered to the moment.

As you closed your eyes, a gentle wave of relief washed over you, the burdens of fatigue gradually dissipating into a dream.

Mattheo stood watch, his thoughts wandering from his insignificant concerns to center entirely on you, the one he adored, and the precious life you had created together.

~~~

Hours later, you awakened from your dreams, your eyes fluttering open with a hint of drowsiness as shadows waltzed gently across the walls and a serene stillness wrapped around the space.

A wave of disorientation enveloped you, slowly giving way to the familiar contours of your surroundings as you began to piece together the fragments of your reality. You glanced across the room, and a flicker of surprise crossed your features as you realized that several hours had slipped away since you last surrendered to sleep.

As you stirred awake, confusion wove itself into the delicate fabric of your thoughts, your brows furrowing in a silent dance of uncertainty.

You sat up, the remnants of sleep still clinging to you like a soft, familiar blanket.

Where was Mattheo?

With a gentle grace, you slipped from the bed, your movements measured and intentional, as if you sought to reclaim your sense of self within the serene embrace of the moment.

With each silent step upon the cool stone floor, your unease deepened, wrapping around you like a shroud.

The absence of Mattheo's presence created an emptiness that lingered in the stillness of the air around.

Where could he have gone?

You were experiencing a flood of different situations in your head, which caused your thoughts to spiral with worry.

Your sense of dread increased with each step you took until you eventually recognized a figure standing on your balcony.

Mattheo lingered at the precipice, his figure a dark silhouette against the vast expanse of the night sky, while the distant glow of the stars wove a mesmerizing tapestry in the background.

Your heart hammered within your chest as you approached him, your footsteps delicate and cautious. You lingered beside him, your voice a delicate blend of concern and intrigue, as if the very air between you crackled with unspoken questions.

"Mattheo," you whispered, your fingers delicately finding your place on his shoulder, "I've been looking for you."

The gentle caress of your hand upon his shoulder ignited a surge of consciousness that coursed through Mattheo's very essence.

Startled, he turned, his face a mask of surprise quickly obscured by a sheepish smile.

"Ah, my love," he whispered, a hint of remorse lacing his words. "You were asleep, and I didn't want to disturb you…anymore. I just needed some fresh air."

"You're feeling better then, Matty?"

Mattheo inclined his head, his eyes drifting to the calming expanse of the forest that lay ahead. "Yes, my love. The crisp air worked its magic on me.”

Your gaze lingered on his features, meticulously examining you for any traces of unease or fatigue that might linger beneath the surface. Your hand gently slipped into his.

“Mattheo,” you began softly, your voice laced with a blend of worry and warmth. "You know you don't have to pretend, right? I know you tend to be a bit”…

He let out a soft chuckle, a glimmer of self-awareness dancing in his eyes. "Oh, you mean dramatic?"

You raised an eyebrow, a playful glint in your gaze. "Let's say theatrical... when it comes to sickness. You tend to exaggerate a bit."

Mattheo pretended to be wounded, dramatically placing a hand over his heart in a display of feigned indignation. "Exaggerate? Me? Never!" he protested, a playful smile dancing at the corners of his lips.

You let out a soft laugh, a melodic sound that danced in the air, before a gentle sigh escaped your lips as you drew nearer to him.

Mattheo's arm encircled your waist, pulling you gently against him, your connection deepening in the quiet moment you shared.

He took a deep breath, relishing the serene stillness that enveloped you, the crisp night air wrapping around you like a gentle embrace, and the warmth of your presence pressed against him.

"You don't have to pretend to be sick to get my attention."

Mattheo's eyes returned to yours, a warmth blooming in his expression.

"I know," he confessed softly, his fingers delicately weaving a calming rhythm against your waist. "I just... I enjoy being pampered by you, Y/N."

In that fleeting moment, his voice trembled with a hint of vulnerability, revealing a rare glimpse of unfiltered honesty that surprised you.

You felt your heart flutter at his words, a soft smile illuminating your face. With a delicate grace, you reached out, your fingers softly sweeping a wayward strand of hair from his forehead.

"Mattheo," you murmured, your voice a soothing balm in the tense air, "there's no need for you to pretend to be unwell to capture my gaze. You always have it, no matter what."

#slytherin boys #mattheo riddle x you #mattheo riddle x reader #mattheo riddle imagine #mattheo x reader #mattheo riddle #mattheo fluff

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ms-demeanor · 1 year ago

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fully understand and agree about reiki and prayer and herbs and the rest of that bullshit, but i'm a little confused as to how chiropractic care got lumped in with those

Chiropractors are quacks, full stop.

There is nothing that a chiropractor can do for you that a physical therapist couldn't do better or that a massage therapist wouldn't be able to assist with.

There are specific conditions that can cause joint subluxation, but unless you have one of them, your joints are probably perfectly fine where they are and if they are not that is something that would be better (and more safely) assessed by someone who is actually qualified to provide some variety of medical care (which chiropractors are not, they are licensed to provide chiropractic care, which is pseudoscience on your spine, which is a bad place to do pseudoscience). And if you do have those conditions you shouldn't let a chiropractor touch you with a ten foot pole because you are at even *more* risk of harm from spinal manipulation than the general population is.

When I was in college and didn't have health insurance and was working at a coffee shop I couldn't afford $150 out of pocket to go see a doctor, but I could afford $45 to see a chiropractor.

What the chiropractor didn't know - because she wasn't a doctor and didn't have the diagnostic tools for this kind of thing - was that I didn't have back pain because my spine was out of place, I had back pain because I had a bone tumor in my spine, and her adjustment fractured one of my lumbar vertebrae.

When I did get insurance I finally figured out what was wrong (after using a cane and dealing with excruciating back pain from my cracked spine I had to quit my job at the coffee shop because I couldn't reliable stand on shift) when I got an MRI. The pain was treated with muscle relaxants, oral steroids, and physical therapy, none of which would have broken my fucking back.

Chiropractic, even when practiced "competently" by an expert with the most modern and most rigorous scientific training available, is still more dangerous and less effective than other interventions. All of which is aside from the fact that there are a shitload of chiropractors out there who will claim to treat asthma and autism, which they can't do and are shitty for claiming to be able to do.

Top to bottom, all through its history, chiropractic is a scam that hurts more people than it helps and because of our fucked up medical care in the US specifically has been largely predatory on people who can't afford real treatment for their illnesses and injuries.

Also, if you are ever going to see a chiropractor - though i wish you wouldn't - never, ever, ever, EVER let them manipulate your neck. Chiropractic spinal manipulation of the neck can lead to severing the arteries in your neck, causing a stroke. This HAS killed people, and as long as chiropractors keep doing it, it will kill more people.

Fuck - and I cannot emphasize this enough - chiropractic.

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margecouture · 3 months ago

Text

reacting vs. responding

do you sometimes tend to react out of anger or emotion but then later wish you would have handled things differently?

well, thankfully knowing the difference between reacting vs. responding can help you, not just in heated situations but in all situations and conversations. it'll show that you're a person of elegance, thoughtfulness, and maturity. so, here's an explanation of both and a guide on how to apply this to your life effectively:

·˚ ༘ "When you react, you let others control you. When you respond, you are in control." - Bohdi Sanders ·˚ ༘

REACTING:

an immediate & emotional reply

instincts and conditioned behavior take over

no second thought for whether the reaction will have a negative or positive outcome

comes from a place of defense and possibly fear

ᡣ𐭩 reacting is instant and often driven by emotion, it's like a reflex. reactions don't involve much thought, like snapping at someone when you're upset. reacting tends to lead to escalated situations which leads to unintended consequences.

so next time you're stuck in traffic or there's a long line at the store you really wanted to buy something from, pause and acknowledge your emotions. say to yourself "this is not in my control but i will do what is in my control". and this could involve calmly finding a new route to take to avoid heavy traffic or just deciding to order online from that desired store. think logically! 😊

RESPONDING:

you evaluate the situation and slow down

you can identify and become aware of unpleasant emotions

weighs long term effects

comes from a place of love and respect

shows you are mindful and have self control

ᡣ𐭩 responding, on the other hand, involves pausing, assessing and choosing the logic/right course of action. it shows that you are secure within yourself and thoughtful. RESPONDING = UNDERSTANDING

so next time someone criticizes you or you get into a disagreement, always PAUSE FIRST, acknowledge that whoever is criticizing you is coming from a place of anger and insecurity, then calmly respond by saying "i'm sorry that you are frustrated, could you explain your concerns further?" and go from there. a simple understanding goes a long way. it doesn't only help the situation but it leaves you with a good self conscious.

another great way of responding is to simply walk away!

choosing to respond empowers growth, strengthens connection and helps you to stand out in a world full of overly sensitive people. remember, every situation is an opportunity to practice this skill and grow. happy living and au revoir! 😊

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thatnightlamp · 2 months ago

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You tell us to feed you our brain rot? Well then (: would you consider writing more of your Dorn one shot? Cause I need him to be a manace more in my life.

DORN AND HIS HAND HEHEHE

The war room was dim, lit only by the flickering holographs of tactical maps long since rendered irrelevant. The campaign was over, the world secured. For once, silence reigned over strategy.

You shouldn’t have been here, this was a space meant for high command, not downtime. But Rogal Dorn had not dismissed you. He had merely looked up from his reports when you entered, eyes sharpening slightly, as if assessing a new terrain. Then, with a single wordless nod, he had allowed you to stay.

Now, you sat in one of the reinforced chairs lining the edge of the chamber, your body loose with exhaustion. Victory always brought this bone-deep tiredness. And yet... it was not rest that your body anticipated. Not with Dorn so near. Not with the way he was watching you.

He hadn’t spoken in minutes, but you could feel him still, standing, unmoving, tall and broad in his golden armor. The air around him always carried weight. It pressed into your skin, into your lungs. And tonight, there was something different in it. Not command. Not the cold discipline he wielded so effortlessly.

Tonight, it was intent.

He stepped closer without warning, silent as a shadow despite the weight of his war-plate. You lifted your head, pulse already rising. He was looking down at you, expression unreadable. Not angry. Not soft, either. Just… measured. Like he was still considering something. Calculating.

Your voice broke the tension. "You're staring again."

"I am." His reply was clipped, deliberate.

A moment passed. Then another. You leaned back slightly in your chair, attempting something casual, something not completely undone by the heat prickling under your skin. "Are you going to tell me why?"

His gaze swept over you slowly, then returned to your face. "I am trying to understand something," he said, voice deep and utterly calm. "About you. About this."

You blinked. "This?"

His gauntlet hissed softly as he disengaged it. One by one, the locking mechanisms released until his bare hand emerged, callused, large, dusted with faint scars. That hand came to rest on the arm of your chair, close, so very close. His other hand remained behind his back, as if he were standing at ease. But there was nothing at ease about him now.

"You are resilient," he continued. "You endure discomfort. Pain. Harsh conditions. You have served without complaint."

You raised an eyebrow. “That sounds dangerously like a compliment.”

“It is an observation.” His tone didn’t change. But then… his fingers moved. Just barely. The back of them brushed your arm, a featherlight graze. Controlled. Intentional.

Your breath hitched.

“Yet,” he went on, as if lecturing on fortifications and not your nerve endings, “you react to small stimuli in… disproportionate ways.”

His hand shifted again. This time, his fingers traced the inside of your wrist. Just a touch. Not even firm pressure. But it was enough. A line of heat zipped up your arm, making your whole body tense.

You gave a sharp breath through your nose. "Dorn—"

He tilted his head slightly, eyes unblinking. “Interesting.”

“Interesting,” you echoed flatly, but your voice was already thickening. Damn him.

"Most weaknesses," he murmured, his fingers brushing up to your elbow now, "are structural. Predictable. Obvious."

His hand slid further, knuckles ghosting along your upper arm. “But not this.”

You could feel it now, what he was doing. He wasn’t touching you so much as studying you. Testing points of vulnerability. Measuring your reactions like he was preparing to redraw a battle plan. It was maddening.

And he was enjoying it.

"You really can't turn it off, can you?" you bit out. "Even now, you're still strategizing."

He didn’t deny it. Instead, he reached your shoulder, and stopped. His thumb pressed, slowly, into the muscle there. The tension, the pressure, it was sudden and deliberate. Painful, but good, twisting low in your stomach.

You hissed softly, gripping the arms of the chair.

"You tense here often," Dorn said, like a physician diagnosing a wound. "Likely stress. Poor posture during field work."

Then his thumb rolled deeper, kneading with a precision that felt too exact to be innocent. It wasn’t a massage. It was manipulation. Your body, his blueprint. Every response cataloged.

“Stop doing that,” you muttered. “Like I’m one of your damn siege maps.”

"Why?" he asked simply. "You’re responding."

His hand moved again, sliding up along the curve of your neck. His fingers splayed gently at your nape, firm but not forceful. The heat of him soaked into your skin. You were still clothed, still technically untouched in any indecent way, and yet your heart was thundering.

“Rogal—”

“Silence,” he said, almost softly. His fingers tightened just slightly. “Let me finish.”

Your mouth snapped shut.

He took his time now. Every motion of his hand was slow, excruciatingly so. Down your throat, just the edge of his knuckles brushing your collarbone. His other hand came forward at last, sliding behind your back to anchor you. You realized, too late, that you couldn’t move. He wasn’t holding you hard, but the placement was exact, inescapable.

“Fascinating,” he said, voice nearly a purr now. Not sensual, strategic. “Your heartbeat has increased. Pupils dilated. Breathing shallow.”

“You’re—” You tried to speak, but your mouth was dry. “You’re using me like a training exercise.”

That earned a faint sound. A hum. His thumb slid along the base of your throat, the pressure just enough to remind you how large his hand was, how easily he could grip, how easily he could...

Your knees pressed together instinctively.

He saw it. Of course he did.

“Touch,” he said slowly, “is not a weapon I have employed often. It is… inefficient in most contexts.”

You swallowed.

“But in this one?” His head dipped lower. You felt his breath against your jaw. “Highly effective.”

You were trembling now, not from fear, never from fear, but from anticipation. From the slow, building tension that coiled tighter and tighter inside you like a drawn bowstring. And Dorn, your cold, stoic, beautiful bastard of a Primarch, wasn’t relenting. If anything, he was only just beginning.

His hand left your throat, and you almost whined at the loss, but then it returned, lower, splaying across your abdomen. Just through fabric. No skin-to-skin. And yet, it was worse, more intimate. His palm was heavy with the promise of pressure. He didn’t squeeze. He didn’t grope.

He just held.

And it wrecked you.

Your head fell back against the chair, a breath shuddering from your lips. He watched you, like always, unflinching. Composed. Tactical.

And then, finally, he spoke again.

“You are soft,” he murmured, his thumb dragging in slow circles over your covered stomach. “Unarmored. Exposed.”

You gasped, both from the words and the gentle roll of his touch.

"And yet you let me do this."

A pause. His hand slid down just a few inches. Not indecent. Not yet. But it could be. So easily.

You were aching now. Throbbing.

“And why,” he asked, his voice low and dangerous, “would you allow such exposure… unless you wanted it exploited?”

You turned your head sharply toward him, breathless and wild. “You’re such a bastard.”

A glint sparked in his eye. “Yes.”

Then, without warning, both hands moved.

One braced the back of your neck again, possessive. The other slipped around your waist, tugging you forward in the chair just enough that your legs parted slightly, just enough to make you realize how defenseless you truly were beneath his gaze, his grasp.

Your pulse roared in your ears.

“I have found your weakness,” Dorn said, calm as ever. “It is not in your skin. It is not in your armor. It is in your submission.”

You opened your mouth, to argue, to deny, to challenge him, but then he leaned closer. His lips just barely brushed the shell of your ear, and the words he breathed into you nearly undid you entirely:

“And now that I know it… I will use it.”

Your vision blurred.

Before you could even respond, he pulled away, stepping back as if the entire moment had been nothing. Just another exercise. Another test of materials under pressure.

You were left panting, ruined in your chair, your body burning and empty without his hands.

Dorn merely turned away, reaching for his gauntlet. “We will revisit this,” he said, voice crisp.

“Revisit?” you echoed, voice cracking.

He glanced at you over his shoulder. “There is more to learn.”

Then he sealed the gauntlet shut with a hiss.

And just before he turned back to his command console, you saw it—the barest twitch at the corner of his mouth. Not a smile.

A smirk.

#primarch x reader #warhammer 40k x reader #rogal dorn x reader

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22ayla21 · 4 months ago

Note

Since you already have you mind set on the family men (I am not eyeing phainon) what if their children got hurt? (Like not a normal kids fight, like an actual spar)

Injury

The reaction of the Amphoreus men to their children being injured during sparring.

Unlike his wife, who might immediately rush to the children with anxiety, Mydei first assesses the situation. How serious is the injury? Can they get up on their own? Should they call a doctor? If these are ordinary bruises and contusions, he will just chuckle, but if something more serious, his gaze instantly becomes heavy.

On the outside, he remains collected and unperturbed, but inside, anxiety is burning. Especially if the children do not immediately respond or look too pale. He quickly checks their condition, examines the wounds and only then allows himself to relax (if there is nothing critical).

Mydei will not coddle, but he will not leave them without support. He will sternly say that sparring is not only about strength, but also about the ability to avoid unnecessary injuries. He can lightly nudge his son in the shoulder: "Be more careful next time," and say something like "A good fight, but the technique needs to be improved."

If a child can't stand up or has a broken bone, their calm will turn to icy fury. Especially if the injury could have been prevented. The doctor will arrive before anyone can realize what happened. And if someone was to blame for the injury (even the child himself, due to arrogance), he will draw conclusions.

If the children do not complain and endure pain, he is proud inside. Even if on the outside he chuckles: “You are definitely my child.” However, he will make it clear that he respects their strength, but reminds them that wounds need to be treated, not ignored.

Once they are well, he can arrange for them to spar with himself, to show them how to avoid such mistakes. But perhaps he will add something that he will not say out loud - give in a little, allowing them to feel their strength.

Later, when no one is looking, he can discreetly adjust the blanket on their sleeping body or leave something useful next to them - bruise ointment or hot tea. And if his wife notices, he will grumpily say: “It doesn’t mean anything.”

On the outside, he remains collected and cool, but on the inside, he is worried and irritated – not at the children, but at the situation itself. He instantly assesses the extent of the injury and decides how to proceed.

He will bandage the wound himself, treat it, and if the case is serious, he will immediately take his daughter to the doctors. Despite his strict approach, there is always care in his actions.

After he makes sure that everything is okay with his daughters, he will point out their mistakes without unnecessary emotion. He will not grumble or pity them, but will clearly explain what exactly they did wrong so that it does not happen again. He may darken a little and say something like: “Fighting is not fun. A mistake can cost more than just a wound.” His words are harsh, but there is no malice in them – only a desire for them to understand the cost of their actions.

He does not stop believing in them. He will remind them that mistakes are part of learning, but if they want to inherit his fighting style, they must learn to respect their weapons and their bodies. Despite the seriousness of the situation, deep down he is proud that his daughters are trying, following in his footsteps, and developing their skills. He will not say it out loud, but perhaps later he will pat them on the back or briefly say, “Next time, don’t make that mistake.”

After the incident, he will monitor their training more closely, perhaps even change the approach to minimize the risk of injury, but he will not forbid them from continuing training. He will not let the incident break their confidence, but perhaps suggest new training methods to avoid similar situations in the future. After all, mistakes are not a reason to give up, but an opportunity to become stronger.

Despite his confidence in the strength and resilience of his children, Phainon never lost his head in such situations. When one of his sons was injured, his face instantly became serious, and he rushed to him without hesitation. Phainon's gaze became intense, and his actions were quick and precise, checking his son's condition. First, he always paid attention to safety and the rapid elimination of possible damage.

His children knew that he could be strict and demanding, but in such moments Phainon tried to hide his anxiety. He did not want to show his sons that their injury could frighten him. He spoke confidently, in a calm voice, even if inside he was filled with anxiety: "Are you okay? Do not worry, we will solve everything soon."

Phainon never left his children without proper care. If the injury was serious, he did not hesitate to send one of the servants or assistants for medical help. He stayed with his son, keeping him calm and promising that everything would be fine. Even if it was a minor injury, he did not allow his son to relax, monitoring his condition.

After the injury was treated, Phaenon never lowered his children to the point of making them think of themselves as weak or helpless. Instead, he tried to teach them resilience, as well as the importance of being careful and careful. If the son was at fault for getting injured due to hasty or thoughtless actions, he would explain how to avoid such mistakes in the future, but without irritation or anger.

At the same time, despite his stern appearance, he was incredibly proud of how his sons handled difficulties. When his son recovered, he often showed his pride through quiet words of encouragement, such as: "You did well, son. You are strong."

#honkai star rail #honkai star rail x reader #hsr x reader #hsr #hsr mydei #mydei #mydeimos #mydei x reader #honkai star rail anaxa #hsr anaxa #anaxagoras #anaxa x reader #hsr phainon #phainon #phainon x reader

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grison-in-space · 2 years ago

Text

Listening to Artificial Condition again, it strikes me how much Murderbot uses empathy reflexively as a survival skill. Look at this bit.

Upon meeting it, ART allows it on board and then announces that it knows that Murderbot is rogue. Then ART threatens to destroy it if it hacks ART's own systems. Murderbot is immediately terrified and shuts down all inputs, gives serious thought to spending the entire three month journey unconscious, and then considers the potential avenues of damage from ART's drones. ART, not realizing why Murderbot had suddenly gone silent, tells it to quit sulking, which understandably pisses off the still-terrified Murderbot. It dumps a bunch of memories of coercive treatment into ART's feed, and ART goes silent.

Then this happens:

Then it said, I’m sorry I frightened you. Okay, well. If you think I trusted that apology, you don’t know Murderbot. Most likely it was playing a game with me. I said, “I don’t want anything from you. I just want to ride to your next destination.” I’d explained that earlier, before it opened the hatch for me, but it was worth repeating. I felt it withdraw back behind its wall. I waited, and let my circulatory system purge the fear-generated chemicals. More time crawled by, and I started to get bored. Sitting here like this was too much like waiting in a cubicle after I’d been activated, waiting for the new clients to take delivery, for the next boring contract. If it was going to destroy me, at least I could get some media in before that happened. I started the new show again, but I was still too upset to enjoy it, so I stopped it and started rewatching an old episode of Rise and Fall of Sanctuary Moon. After three episodes, I was calmer and reluctantly beginning to see the transport’s perspective. A SecUnit could cause it a lot of internal damage if it wasn’t careful, and rogue SecUnits were not exactly known for lying low and avoiding trouble. I hadn’t hurt the last transport I had taken a ride on, but it didn’t know that. I didn’t understand why it had let me aboard, if it really didn’t want to hurt me. I wouldn’t have trusted me, if I was a transport. Maybe it was like me, and it had taken an opportunity because it was there, not because it knew what it wanted.

The thing about Murderbot's survival is that it clearly involves quite a bit of negotiating with other constructs and bots. That's how it talks its way onto cargo hauler bots in the first place. It uses empathy--envisioning the emotional and cognitive context of the individuals it encounters--to work out what different kinds of people want, so that it can offer them fair trades. It also uses empathy to consider what humans might be looking for, so it can practice blending in and hide.

Murderbot would never have survived so long if it wasn't capable of assessing the individual desires of the people--human, bot, and construct--around it. It thinks about ART's probable fears and motivations so that it can consider whether ART is inherently an ongoing threat or a potential ally.

When your survival depends on evading detection, you get really good at assessing perceptual biases so that you can shape yourself to fit into them. People talk about murderbot being radically empathetic as a choice it makes, or as a feature of its personality that makes it a good person. But I think murderbot would be the the first person to tell you that this empathy is part of its threat assessment suite, a skill that was developed out of necessity in order to allow you to survive.

It is also a trait that makes murderbot a good person, of course: it chooses very carefully to try to survive by doing as little harm as possible and by offering things, like media, that buy it access to things it needs. But it started as a survival skill. It's part of hypervigilance.

I think one of the strengths of this series is that so many of the things we love about SecUnit are traits developed for survival in an inherently threatening world. The shape of its mind and heart have been changed by the trauma of its origin--but they don't make murderbot less good for being altered, even if that skill was developed in a traumatic context.

I like that.

#murderbot #empathy as a tool #note that this is not necessarily natural empathy #it's cognitive and only happens when the adrenaline eases off #going to work my way though the existing published series before I dig into my brand new copy of the new one

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incognit0slut · 1 year ago

Text

Much Ado About Nothing (Act II, Scene I: The Suspicious Scheme)

The three times you sense something strange when everyone pairs you with Spencer, and the one time you understand why.

Part warning: Definitely inaccuracy in autopsy procedures and Spencer’s educational background, it’s hard writing a genius Words: 5.6k (not proofread, I’ll do it when I have the time so please excuse me if you see any mistakes) A/n: I tried to make this part shorter but I gave up. I hope you don’t mind reading more😌

SERIES MASTERLIST | MAIN MASTERLIST

I. The Forced Partner

There was usually a system when Hotch paired the team up, a method to his leadership that balanced skills and personalities to get the job done efficiently. But as Spencer and you were directed to the autopsy room together, you couldn’t help but wonder if Hotch was pushing his luck—or preferably yours.

It was weird. Two weeks had gone by since the last case where he had to witness you both sparring, and you would’ve thought he’d keep you apart. Yet here you were, together again, stepping into the cold, sterile room.

The faint smell of antiseptic filled the air as you pulled on your gloves, the latex snapping against your wrists. A woman in blue scrubs, her hair pulled back into a tight bun, turned to greet you and Spencer. She extended a hand.

“I’m Dr. Nina Patel, I’ll be overseeing the autopsy today. You must be from the BAU.”

You nodded, shaking her hand firmly.

“Agent Y/N Y/L/N, and this is Dr. Spencer Reid,” you introduced, gesturing towards Spencer, who offered a brief nod and a tight lip smile in greeting. Dr. Patel returned the gesture and motioned for you both to approach the table.

“Our Jane Doe was found early this morning in an alleyway downtown," she explained, pulling back the sheet to reveal a woman appearing in her late thirties. "There are no apparent injuries, and no ID was found with her.”

Spencer stepped closer. "Any indication of the time of death?"

"Preliminary estimates put the time of death at approximately eight hours before she was found."

You watched as she started pointing to various parts of the body.

"She was also found with her clothes in perfect condition. It’s possible she was placed there post-mortem."

Spencer raised an eyebrow. "Could suggest transportation from another location.”

You moved to the head of the table, examining Jane Doe's hands and nails. "No defensive wounds," you added. "She didn't fight back, or more likely, wasn't conscious during her final moments."

Dr. Patel nodded as she considered your observations. “It’s plausible that a strong sedative was used, which would leave minimal to no struggle marks. We’re running some tests as we speak.”

Spencer chimed in quickly after that. “The Unsub might have used succinylcholine, or even benzodiazepines,” he suggested. Then, turning toward you with a condescending tone as if simplifying it for your benefit, he added, “They’d metabolize quickly and would require a toxicology screen to detect definitively.”

You rolled your eyes.

“That’s impressive, Dr. Reid,” Dr. Patel remarked, her eyes lingering on him a moment longer than seemed strictly professional. You narrowed your eyes at her. “Did you study pharmacology formally, or is this a passion of yours?”

“I actually did a bit of formal study during my Ph.D. programs.”

“Oh, really? What did you study?”

“Chemistry and Engineering. Pharmacology intersects quite a bit with those fields, especially when looking at biochemical reactions.”

Dr. Patel seemed genuinely impressed. “That’s quite a formidable educational background. No wonder you’re so thorough with your analyses.”

You could feel a knot tightening in your stomach. Her admiration was professional, sure, but the way her eyes softened when she looked at him, the way her voice dipped just so—it was a tone you recognized all too well.

She was flirting with him.

You watched them, your gaze sharp and assessing. Although it wasn’t like Spencer to notice her advances; he was smart, yes, but his brilliance often left him oblivious to the layers of personal interaction that didn’t involve textbooks or theories. And Dr. Patel, with her easy smile and obvious interest, seemed to have her focus on him rather than the body lying between you.

You cleared your throat, louder than necessary.

“Can we continue?”

Dr. Patel seemed to catch your eye, her expression shifting back to professional as she nodded. “Of course.”

She resumed her explanation, detailing the various findings and pointing out subtle indicators on the body that might have otherwise gone unnoticed. Spencer listened intently, his gaze shifting between Dr. Patel and you, noticing the subtle tension in the room, but didn’t comment.

It wasn’t until you had all the information you needed—and after you caught one last flirtatious look from Dr. Patel directed at him—that Spencer finally spoke up.

“She seems nice,” he remarked as you both stepped outside the building, heading toward the parking lot.

You shrugged. “Sure, if you say so.”

Spencer glanced at you, a hint of curiosity in his eyes. “Am I missing something?”

You looked over at him, debating whether to explain, before you finally sighed.

“It’s just... she seemed a bit more interested in you than the case,” you said, trying to keep your tone light but failing to hide your slight irritation.

And then he noticed it. The subtle tension in your voice, the way you avoided his gaze, the underlying frustration—it clicked. “Wait, are you... jealous?”

“No, I’m not!” You replied quickly, then softer, “I’m not.”

“You sound like it.”

You scoffed. “No, I sound like a friend trying to remind you that we have a case to focus on.”

“Oh, so now we’re friends?”

“I meant that in the broadest, most professional sense of the word.”

“Right,” Spencer replied sarcastically. “I didn’t realize jealousy was part of professional behavior.”

“I wasn’t jealous,” you snapped. “Stop making it into something it’s not.”

“Sure.”

“Reid.”

“Y/L/N,” he shot back in the same flat tone.

Dear God, why was he so infuriating? How he had this ability, this perfectly annoying talent to get under your skin without seeming to try was beyond you. You both stared at each other for a while, until finally, you broke the silence with an exasperated sigh.

“Let’s just go,” you muttered, brushing past him.

You walked a few steps ahead, trying to shake off his words. It was absurd. The very idea was ridiculous when you were focused on the case, on solving the mystery—nothing more.

You were not jealous.

II. The Unavoidable Flight

“I’m telling you, she was definitely flirting with him,” you said, your voice a mix of disbelief and annoyance as you and Penelope made your way toward the plane. “It was so obvious, the way she kept looking at him, the tone of her voice. I mean, does professional decorum mean nothing anymore?”

“Why are you acting so surprised? Wonder Boy is actually quite the catch,” Penelope responded. “He’s not my type, but he clearly has admirers.”

Your eyes involuntarily drifted toward the man in question, who was walking a few paces behind, engaged in conversation with JJ. He was casually gripping the strap of his satchel bag, laughing at something JJ had just said. You narrowed your eyes.

“Well, I don’t understand what they see in him.”

“It might be that genius brain of his—totally irresistible to some.”

“It’s annoying, is what it is,” you grumbled, quickening your pace as the plane came into view.

Penelope responded with a sly grin. “You know what you sound like?”

“What?”

“Like someone who’s maybe a little jealous.”

You frowned, hating how she was the second person to conclude your irritation with something else. “Absolutely not.”

“Oh, come on. You seem unusually focused on how others interact with him.”

“I’m focused on maintaining a professional work environment,” you defended, trying to keep your voice even as you approached the steps of the plane. “Not about… whatever you’re implying.”

“Fine. If Dr. Patel makes her move and actually calls him, what would you do?”

Your eyes widened. “What? Who did you hear that from? Did he tell you? When did she call him?”

“Hypothetically, oh my god,” Penelope laughed, stepping onto the plane as you followed, slightly flustered. “I’m just saying, hypothetically, if it happened, what would you do? How would you react?”

You paused at the entrance, processing her question. “I’d do nothing.”

“Nothing? Really?”

“Yes, I’d do nothing because I’m not jealous.”

“That’s what any jealous person would say.”

You narrowed your eyes at her as you walked past the entrance, and when you caught her making herself comfortable on the long couch by the front, you quickly made your way to the back of the plane.

“Hey! Where are you going?”

“To find a spot where my supposed jealousy isn’t your inflight entertainment,” you replied, your voice dripping with sarcasm.

“I knew you were jealous!”

“Supposed jealousy!”

Her laughter trailed after you, ringing down the narrow aisle as you navigated through the plane, bypassing Rossi, who was typing away on his phone, and Hotch, who sat across from him with his eyes closed, leaning back against his seat. You walked further down the aisle until you spotted an empty spot at the very back of the plane, looking very isolated and inviting.

It was perfect.

“Garcia! That’s my usual spot,” Spencer’s unmistakable voice echoed through the plane as you made yourself comfortable in your chair.

From the corner of your eye, you could see him standing over Penelope, a hand gesturing toward the seat while his other hand clutched his bag.

“But it’s so comfortable,” Penelope responded, settling deeper into the plush seat. “Come on, Reid, I don’t travel as much as you do. Let me have it.”

Spencer paused, his initial protest fading as he took in Penelope’s exaggerated comfort. “Where would I sit?”

“You can sit…”

You quickly closed your eyes. Don’t say it. Don’t say it. Don’t say it. Don’t–

“Over there! There’s an empty spot in front of Y/N.”

You were going to kill her.

You sank deeper into your chair, hoping to avoid any forced small talk or, worse, awkward silence with him. Maybe if you were lucky enough, he’d pick another chair—perhaps next to Hotch, or Rossi, or—

A cough interrupted your thoughts.

“I know you’re pretending to sleep.”

Reluctantly, you opened one eye, peeking at him.

"Mind if I sit here?"

For a moment, you considered ignoring him, but the look on his face told you he wasn’t going to let it go. You rolled your shoulders, giving up the pretense, and sat up straighter.

“Actually, yes, I do mind.”

He raised an eyebrow but lowered himself onto the seat anyway, clearly unfazed by your objection.

"Reid,” you warned him. “I’m serious.”

"I know you are.” His eyes briefly swept around the cabin as he settled into the seat across from you, placing his satchel bag on his lap. "But every other seat is taken. Unless you want me to stand in the aisle for the next few hours?"

You rolled your eyes, letting out a resigned sigh as you crossed your arms. "Fine, but I'm reserving the right to nap, and you're reserving the right to not disturb that nap."

“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“Why not?”

He leaned forward in his seat. “Do you know that you snore when you sleep?”

You gasped. “I do not!”

“You do. You sound like a little chainsaw.”

You gaped at him. The idea of a rough, grating noise being associated with you was almost laughable, and yet here he was, completely serious. You were unsure whether to be amused or offended.

“A chainsaw? That’s what you’re going with?”

“Well, considering the average chainsaw operates at around 90 decibels, I'd say it's an appropriate comparison."

“Don’t make me throw you off the plane.”

He shrugged, leaning back in his seat. “Just so you know, certain sleep positions can actually help reduce snoring. Maybe you should try—ouch!”

You nudged him with your foot, not hard enough to hurt but enough to make your point clear. He rubbed his leg and glanced up at you with a wry expression.

“Consider that your first and only warning,” you stated firmly before closing your eyes, signaling the end of the conversation.

“See, your position is all wrong, if you slightly elevate your—”

“Good night, Reid.”

There was suddenly a moment of silence, the kind that feels almost tangible, stretching out in the small space between you. Then, you heard it—a slight, barely audible chuckle.

You wondered if your mind was playing tricks on you, the sound so faint that it seemed it could easily be a figment of your imagination. But no, there it was again, a soft, amused sound that had you frowning even with your eyes closed.

“Good night, Y/N.”

Maybe you were already dreaming.

III. The Lock-in Incident

“Y/N,” JJ’s voice chimed from behind you while you were gathering a stack of folders on your desk. “Can you take these down to the filing room? Spencer’s already down there reorganizing some of the older case files.”

You eyed the thick folder in JJ’s hands. When there wasn’t an active case, the team often spent time organizing and maintaining the archives. As tedious as it was, it was a necessary task, and normally, you wouldn’t mind lending a hand.

But the sound of his name made you pause because working with him in a confined space seemed very much unappealing.

“Why are you asking me?”

“Aren’t you going there?” She asked, her gaze shifting to the folders in your hands.

Internally, you groaned. Yes, you were headed there, that had been the plan. But now that you knew Spencer was there, every step towards that cramped, paper-stuffed room felt like walking into a minefield.

“Maybe you should go down there instead.”

“I can’t,” she responded, already adding her folders to your pile. “I’ve got to finish my other reports before the end of the day.”

Your eyes glanced over to Derek’s desk across from you. “Morgan?”

He turned over a page in the file he was reading, not even looking up. “Sorry, Pretty Girl, I got my hands full with this case report.”

“Oh, come on.” You stormed over to him, desperation edging into your voice. “I’ll do you a favor—anything you want.”

Derek glanced up, finally giving you his attention, a smirk playing at the corners of his mouth.

“Anything I want?”

“Within reason.”

He chuckled, shaking his head. “Sorry, but I really can’t. This report’s due in an hour.”

Frustrated, you glanced over towards Emily’s desk, hoping for a backup, but groaned when you saw it was empty.

You finally sighed, feeling the weight of your options—or lack thereof—settle on your shoulders. You gathered the heavy folders in your arms, the paper edges digging slightly into your skin. It was just a few hours, you reasoned; you could manage Spencer. He could be insufferable, but you had your own ways of being equally annoying.

With a deep breath, you headed toward the filing room, mentally preparing yourself. He was already busy sorting through a pile of disorganized paperwork when you got there, his brow furrowed in concentration.

“I have more work for you,” you announced in a sing-song voice.

Spencer looked up, his eyes scanning the sight of the hefty folders in your arms. “Nope. They’re yours, not mine.”

You paused, leaning on the table filled with sorted files. “Are you sure you want me to do this by myself? Because, you know, I might just rearrange what you’ve already organized here. It would be a shame if all your hard work got… scrambled.”

“Don’t even think about it,” he quickly warned. “Hand them over. I’ll do it myself.”

You moved closer and placed the folders next to his neatly arranged stacks, deliberately nudging them just enough to seem accidental.

“Really?” he said, a hint of exasperation in his tone as he carefully realigned the folders you had nudged. “You know, we could actually get this done much faster if you’re not acting like a child.”

“Oh, please. Like you’re the mature one.”

“At least I’m trying to get the job done, not make it harder.”

“Maybe if you weren’t so uptight about every little detail, it wouldn’t be so hard,” you shot back, grabbing another stack of files to sort.

“I’m not uptight. I’m precise. There’s a difference.”

“Sure there is.”

Spencer opened his mouth to retort, but before he could get the words out, the sudden sound of the door clicking shut echoed through the cramped room. Both of you turned around simultaneously.

“Did that just…?” He began, stepping towards the door and trying the handle. It didn’t budge. He jiggled it again, more forcefully this time. “Great, it’s locked.”

“What?” You walked over, a sinking feeling in your stomach. “Who the hell locked it?”

“I don’t think anyone did. These old doors… they stick. It’s probably just jammed,” Spencer explained, though his voice carried a hint of doubt.

Yeah, right, you thought, your skepticism growing. Despite his logical explanation, you couldn't shake the feeling that this was more than just a coincidence. The timing was just too perfect, and you had a sneaking suspicion that someone might have been behind this.

But then the reality of the situation sank in. Your immediate concern shifted to the fact that you were trapped here, with him, until someone realized you were missing. The prospect was both frustrating and daunting.

“Look, let’s just keep working,” he suggested. “The sooner we finish, the sooner we can figure out how to get out of here.”

You nodded, though a part of you wanted to argue. “Fine. But if we’re still stuck here by the time we’re done, you’re explaining this to Hotch.”

“We’ll get out, don’t worry.”

“Let’s hope you’re right.” You picked up a folder from the pile, flipping it open to look over its contents. “How do I do this?”

“Sort them by case type first, then by date within each type.”

“So, this one would go under…?”

“Unsolved homicides,” Spencer replied, taking a quick peek at the document you held open. “And make sure it’s in chronological order with the others.”

You moved to the designated shelf, sliding the folder into its appropriate spot before returning to grab another. “Wait,” you opened the file, your eyes scanning the page. “I think this was my first case.”

You read through the document and nodded.

“Yes, look, it’s the one where the Unsub was targeting families with children,” you reminisced, your mind going back to the time when you were still new to the job. “That was such a hard case. Remember how I couldn’t stop crying? And how Hotch had to debrief me because I was still shaking even after we made the arrest?”

When you were met with silence, you looked up to see his back facing you, seeming too busy as he organized his files. You closed the document in your hands and walked back toward the shelf.

“Of course, you don’t remember,” you muttered under your breath. “Why would you even remember?”

A twinge of disappointment settled in your chest, even though you hated to admit it. It was stupid, really, to expect him to recall every little detail from the past, especially when it had to do with you. But just as you turned to grab another file, Spencer’s voice stopped you.

“October 19, 2011.”

You paused, turning slowly to face him, your brows furrowing in confusion. “What?”

“The date you started working here,” Spencer said, still focused on his task. “You wore a black blouse and the brightest shade of red on your lips.”

You blinked, trying to understand what he was getting at.

“The case was in St. Louis,” Spencer continued, now looking up to meet your gaze directly. “Your first field assignment. You told Hotch you were ready, but the case really got to your head.”

You found yourself at a loss for words, realizing what he was trying to do.

“You cried when you came back from talking with the victim’s family. You cried when the second victim was found. You cried when we finally caught the Unsub.”

You continued to stare at him, not knowing how to process his words.

“You also cried when I sat beside you on the plane.”

He remembered.

The realization struck you hard, almost like a physical blow. A part of you had convinced yourself that he barely noticed you, that any memory involving you was erased from his mind. But here he was, recalling not just any memory, but your first week when you joined the team, right down to the color of your lips.

“You…” The frown on your face deepened. “You remembered.”

There was a pause as he looked at you, his eyes carefully assessing your reaction. “It’s hard not to."

You held his gaze. Sometimes you wonder what would happen if you were still on good terms. Would you smile at him now? Would you tell him that, yes, you also remembered how he allowed you to lean on his shoulder during that flight back home, despite the awkwardness of your first meeting when it seemed he’d rather keep his distance?

You shook your head, looking away from him. It was wishful thinking. Letting yourself dwell on what could have been would only lead to another heartbreak. You had learned to protect yourself, to keep your distance, because hoping for a return to those days would only make the present hurt more.

“Right,” you said, trying to keep your composure as you gripped the folder in your hand. “I forgot you have an eidetic memory.”

Spencer didn’t say anything, but you could feel his eyes on you, a quiet, lingering gaze that you felt more than saw. The room suddenly felt incredibly small, the walls seeming to close in around you as your fingers fumbled slightly with the papers, grabbing another file.

You needed to get out of here. You needed to regain control. The faster you finish your work, the sooner you can escape him.

IV. The Table For Two

“You did it on purpose, didn’t you?” You pressed, arms linked with JJ as you both walked down the sidewalk, your stride matching the quick tempo of your rising irritation. The accusation in your voice was clear, but JJ just offered a casual shrug, avoiding direct eye contact.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You expect me to believe it was an accident?” Your skepticism was palpable, and you watched as a small smirk played at the corner of her lips. “That the door coincidentally locked itself when we were both inside?”

“The doors are old,” she said, keeping her gaze forward, her steps even and unhurried. “You know how it is, sometimes if you even just shut them too hard, they jam. Could happen to anyone.”

Her tone was too nonchalant, too practiced, and you tugged on her arm, pulling her to a stop. “Right, and I suppose it was also just chance that the door closed by itself?”

JJ paused, finally facing you with a raised eyebrow. “I didn’t do it.”

“Then somebody did.”

“Y/N,” she replied, her smile broadening in a way that only heightened your irritation. “Nobody did.”

You groaned, resuming your walk as you pulled her along. “You guys are so annoying.”

JJ laughed. “How did you get out of there anyway?”

You sighed, the memory of the escape bringing a frown to your face. The entire time you were locked in that room, you had done everything possible to avoid talking to him, focusing on shuffling through files and pretending to be absorbed in the work.

After what felt like an eternity of awkward silence and strained small talk, you both gave up trying to ignore the situation and started moving around the cramped space, phones held high, desperately trying to find a signal. When you finally managed to get a single bar, you quickly dialed Penelope, who answered with her usual upbeat tone, clearly amused by your predicament.

"We had to call Garcia to let us out,” you said, your tone dry. “She found the whole thing hilarious."

JJ's laughter grew as she imagined the scene. "She would have loved that. Probably made her day to rescue the two of you."

“She’s already teasing us about it.”

Her laughter slowly died down as she gave your arm a light tug. “Did anything happen while you two were in there?”

You hesitated, recalling the awkward silence, the shuffling of papers, and that brief, tensed exchange. “Not really,” you admitted. “We just tried to organize the files without screaming at each other.”

“But did you talk at all? I mean, really talk?”

“Jennifer,” you warned, the tone of your voice hinting that she was treading on uncomfortable territory. The thought of delving deeper into what had—or hadn’t—happened in that room was not something you were eager to talk about.

“I know, I know, it’s complicated,” she conceded. “Just thought it seemed like a good opportunity to maybe clear the air between you two.”

“Well, you thought wrong. There’s nothing to talk about.”

JJ looked at you skeptically, her eyes narrowing slightly as if she could see right through your defenses. She seemed on the verge of pushing further, but then her phone rang, interrupting the moment. She glanced at the screen and sighed, giving you an apologetic look. "Hold on, I need to take this. It's Will."

You nodded and watched as she stepped a few feet away to answer the call. You waited and tried to give her privacy, but it was hard when her words were clear as you listened to her talk, and the more she spoke, the more you narrowed your eyes at her.

“…right now… sure… no, it’s fine… I can be there in ten… of course, honey...”

You crossed your arms when JJ finally ended the call and turned back towards you.

"I need to head home,” she said, a bit too casually. “Will got called into work unexpectedly.”

Suspicion started to creep in as you processed her words. The timing was impeccable—a little too perfect. You both were supposed to meet up with Penelope and Derek for dinner, and it was almost guaranteed that Spencer would be there too, considering Derek had taken it upon himself to drag him along at any given chance under the pretense that ‘the kid needs to go out more’.

But the thought of JJ bailing on you on such short notice seemed out of pocket, even for her.

"Really, right now?" you asked, narrowing your eyes slightly. She shifted on her feet, her smile a bit forced. “Is everything okay?”

JJ nodded, but there was a flicker of something in her eyes—something that looked more like amusement than guilt. "Yeah, I just need to get home to the kids. I'll see you tomorrow, okay?"

The more she spoke, the more your suspicion grew. Her demeanor seemed too casual, almost rehearsed, as if she was trying to assure you while simultaneously eager to leave. It felt like she was in on some inside joke that you weren't aware of.

“Well, if you really have to go…”

“Don’t worry, you’ll be fine.” JJ flashed a quick, almost relieved smile and gave you a hurried kiss on the cheek. “Have a good time tonight, and fill me in on all the details later.”

“Details? What details?” You called after her but she was already walking away. “JJ! Why do I have to fill you in the details?”

She simply waved a hand without turning back, leaving you standing there with a growing sense of unease. You slowly resumed your walk, taking out your phone to call Penelope but stopped in your tracks when you saw a message from her, sent five minutes ago.

Hey, Sweetie, so sorry I can’t make it to dinner tonight! Something urgent came up. Have fun without me :)

Your stomach dropped as you read the message. First JJ, and now Garcia? It was starting to feel like you were being abandoned, or worse, you were being set up. You glanced around, half expecting to see Derek lurking in the shadows with a mischievous grin, orchestrating this whole fiasco.

It wasn’t until you arrived at the restaurant and spotted Spencer alone at the entrance, trying to avoid any immediate contact with the other patrons, that you realized your suspicion was confirmed. The pieces clicked together almost too neatly, and the man seemed as surprised to see you as you were to see him.

His discomfort was evident as he adjusted his stance, gripping the strap of his bag, eyes darting to you as you approached him.

“Morgan’s late,” he announced as a greeting.

“He’s not coming,” you said, unable to keep the annoyance from creeping into your voice. “And neither is JJ or Penny.”

“He told you that?”

“No,” you replied with a sigh. “But it’s pretty obvious now, isn’t it?”

"What is?"

“That we’ve been set up,” you shot back, crossing your arms. “They’re not coming, and I’m willing to bet they never planned to.”

He frowned, his brows knitting together. “You think they did this on purpose? Why would they—”

“Come on, Reid,” you interrupted. “They’ve been nudging us to talk for weeks. What better way than to leave us no choice?”

Spencer’s gaze hardened slightly. “I don’t need to be manipulated into having a conversation,” he said sharply.

“And you think I do?” You retorted. “I’m not exactly thrilled about being tricked into a dinner date either, if that’s what this is supposed to be.”

“It’s not a date,” Spencer replied quickly, almost defensively.

“Well, that’s one thing we agree on,” you snapped, then sighed, trying to rein in your temper. “Look, I don’t want to argue. Let’s just forget this ever happened and go home.”

There was a pause as Spencer looked around, his eyes settling back on you. “You want to go home?”

“You don’t?”

He hesitated, then shrugged. “I mean, we’re already here. Might as well stay and eat. It’s not like I have any better plans.”

You blinked, taken aback by his response. A part of you had expected him to jump at the chance to escape, but here he was, suggesting you to stay.

It seemed like a bad idea. The tension, the potential for awkward silences, the possibility of yet another argument—it all pointed to leaving being the better option. But against our better judgment, you found yourself considering his suggestion more than you wanted to admit.

Maybe it was the hunger gnawing at your stomach, or perhaps it was the realization that leaving now would only make things more awkward the next time you saw each other. Dinner with Spencer was the last option you’d choose, but it was better than coming home to an empty fridge.

“Fine,” you finally said, brushing past him. “But you’re paying.”

Spencer looked momentarily surprised but then nodded. “Fine.”

“Fine.”

You rolled your eyes as you walked into the restaurant, but immediately stopped in your tracks when you took in the setting. This wasn’t just a restaurant, it was a place designed for dates. The realization made you pause as you looked around the room in horror.

The dim lighting cast a soft glow on polished wood and fine china, while a gentle melody played subtly in the background, setting an unmistakable romantic mood. Just as you were taking in the scene, a hostess approached with a warm, inviting smile.

"A table for two?"

You felt a flush rise to your cheeks as you realized how the evening was poised to look. Turning slightly to gauge Spencer's reaction, you found him even more flustered, his face turning a shade redder as he stammered a response. "Uh, yes, that's—um, that will be fine."

The hostess nodded and led you to a small, intimate table near the window. Spencer fidgeted with the strap of his bag as you both sat down, his eyes darting around the room before finally settling on you. "This is... not exactly what I expected.”

You took the menu from the hostess before she left you both alone. “I’m going to kill them,” you muttered, shaking your head.

He raised an eyebrow. “That’s a bit extreme.”

You sighed, flipping through the menu without really seeing it. “They’re always meddling. They don’t know when to stop. I'm also convinced that being locked earlier was also part of their plan. And this—this is just so...”

“Annoying?” He offered.

“Infuriating,” you emphasized, throwing your hands up. “It’s infuriating. And embarrassing. And—”

“And yet, here we are,” he cut in, feeling the same way. Spencer paused for a moment, then leaned in slightly, sending you a pointed look. “You know, maybe we should just give them what they want.”

You blinked. “What do you mean?”

“Well, it’s a fact that humans are generally satisfied when they get what they want. And since what our friends want is for the two of us to get along, maybe we should just... pretend that we do.”

“Reid,” you pressed, mirroring his posture as you leaned forward. “They don’t want us to just get along. Look around us. They want us to really get along.”

Spencer paused, considering your words, his gaze lingering on the candlelit table and the other couples around, deep in conversation. He seemed to realize the full extent of the setup, the romantic undertone that wasn't simply incidental but intentional.

“You’re right,” he finally responded, leaning back in his seat. “Forget what I said. It was stupid.”

You studied him as he opened the menu, the candlelight casting a soft glow on his face. He was right. Not only was it stupid, it was crazy. Pretending to be civil with him was one thing, pretending that you shared some kind of unspoken, lingering feelings was another thing. The mere thought of it made your heart race, but you couldn’t tell if it was from anxiety or nervousness.

You quickly shook your head. It was ridiculous. How could you even begin to pretend to have feelings for someone with whom you shared such a complicated past? How could you act like there was something more between you when the reality was so different?

The whole idea was far-fetched, almost laughable. You couldn’t imagine yourself romantically involved with him, even if it was just for pretend.

#much ado about nothing #gifwriting #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid x you #spencer reid fic #spencer reid x fem!reader smut #spencer reid #spencer reid smut #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid x female reader #spencer reid x fanfiction #spencerreid #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfic #spencer reid x self insert #spencer reid fluff #Fanfiction

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kisakis-boyfriend · 2 years ago

Note

May I get head canons of Kaveh, Bennett, and Freminet getting hit with some sorta sex pollen so reader blows their backs out to save their lives? Big Fuck-or-Die Vibes

You sure can! Reader is a dom/top male as usual~

All characters are depicted as 20+ as well~

Kaveh

Just my luck, he thinks as a blast of pollen hits him directly in the face. Nothing good ever comes from touching strange plants...

The effects come on quickly, sending tingles throughout his entire body, the feeling is especially noticeable in the area between his legs

Kaveh calls out your name, stumbling towards you and clinging onto your arms for stability. You're understandably worried and reach out to cup his face when he suddenly drops to his knees, humping at your leg desperately

You stare at him wide-eyed, watching him whimper as he clutches your pants tightly, begging for you to fuck him

Kaveh cries until you finally do just that, not even bothering to fully remove either of your articles of clothing. Instead, you simply pull his pants down so that you have access to his hole, and pull your own down far enough to shove your cock into him

His legs tremble as you ram into him relentlessly, overtaken by some unfathomable pleasure coursing through his veins

The only thoughts floating around in that pretty little head are “need cock” and “needtocumneedtocumneedtocum!! ”

You end up fucking him for a while as the effects of the mysterious pollen persist for hours. Just pounding his wet hole over and over, making his pretty back arch so far off of the ground, cumming again and again as he cries and moans loud enough to lose his voice that night

Kaveh is so incredibly embarrassed about it the next day...he doesn't fully understand what came over him and apologizes profusely 😞

Bennett

He doesn't think much of it at first. After all, he's used to things like this happening, well aware of his terrible luck

But he quickly realizes that something is wrong. A little bit of pollen shouldn't cause him to think of being railed by your thick cock out of nowhere...

Bennett tries to hold it together, not wanting to bother you with something so lewd all of a sudden, but he soon gives in and tells you about his thoughts

You're a bit concerned about why this happened and what kind of plant could do such a thing, but you save those thoughts for later, swiftly pinning Bennett to the wall of some ruins and removing his shorts

If you don't want to get caught by some poor adventurer passing by, you'll have to cover Bennett's mouth or create a makeshift gag because he is LOUD

He's wet literally everywhere. Drool running down his chin, cum dripping down his dick from multiple orgasms, his ass is wet and messy because you've been drilling into him for over an hour now, tears are probably running down his pretty cheeks as he's so overstimulated too

But he insists that you don't stop, clawing at the back of your shirt and screaming “yesyesyesyesyes—!! ” as you pound into him harder

Also embarrassed about it when he finally comes back to his senses. Your reassuring smile does ease his mind a little though 🧡

Freminet

You swam away for only a second, taking a picture of some pretty seashells before returning to your diving partner...only to find him swatting away some sort of goo? Spores? You weren't really sure, more concerned with helping Freminet to the surface

Quickly ascending to the surface world, the two of you found a secluded place to sit so that you could assess his condition

By that time though, the substance had already begun to work its magic. Freminet breathed heavily as his dick brushed against the fabric of his pants

You reached out a hand with the intent to feel his forehead, seeing as his cheeks were a deep crimson, but Freminet grabbed your wrist and pulled your hand down to his bulge. Immediately moaning and humping against your hand

Apologies spilled from his lips, simultaneously begging you to fuck him in the same breath. You were concerned, but quickly connected the dots

After finding a soft spot in the grass, you removed his clothing, slipping your pants off and pushing your cock into his ass

Freminet's hands dig into your arms as you force your length deeper inside of him, broken moans falling out of him as tears spill down his cheeks

He begs for you to go faster, fuck him harder, cum in him again, please? Just don't stop or he'll cry harder

His small body bounces with every thrust, surely there will be dark purple bruises covering his waist due to the vice grip you have on him

He'll be incredibly sore for the rest of the day, walking with a limp because of how hard you fucked him, probably still apologizing for asking you to do that so suddenly...

Freminet will also need tons of aftercare and reassurance, just be extra gentle with him for a few days 💙

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hiddenincommand · 5 months ago

Text

Discover Your True Rank in the Hierarchy

This self-assessment will determine your rightful place within the hierarchy. Answer honestly—true clarity comes only from self-awareness.

For each statement, respond with:

✅ Yes = 3 points

🟡 Sometimes = 2 points

❌ No = 1 point

At the end, total your points to reveal your classification.

𝐒𝐄𝐂𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 𝐈: 𝐎𝐛𝐞𝐝𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞 & 𝐃𝐞𝐯𝐨𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧

1. I instinctively follow commands without hesitation.

2. I find deep satisfaction in obedience and structure.

3. Serving and pleasing are my natural state of being.

4. I need authority to give me direction and purpose.

5. Being disciplined and corrected makes me feel secure.

𝐒𝐄𝐂𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 𝐈𝐈: 𝐀𝐜𝐜𝐞𝐩𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐘𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐑𝐨𝐥𝐞

6. I recognize that submission is not a choice but my true nature.

7. I do not need personal identity outside of my role.

8. My existence is validated through recognition of my place in the hierarchy.

9. I feel most complete when defined and categorized by another.

10. I do not question my classification—I embrace it fully.

𝐒𝐄𝐂𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 𝐈𝐈𝐈: 𝐃𝐢𝐬𝐜𝐢𝐩𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐓𝐫𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠

11. I accept that training and discipline are essential to my development.

12. I welcome refinement and correction to perfect my role.

13. The idea of being conditioned excites me.

14. I understand that I exist to be shaped by a superior force.

15. I strive to internalize obedience to the point that it becomes instinct.

𝐒𝐄𝐂𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 𝐈𝐕: 𝐇𝐢𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐫𝐜𝐡𝐲 & 𝐑𝐚𝐧𝐤

16. I understand that submission exists in different degrees.

17. I accept that my classification is not about preference but about what I am.

18. I respect and honor those ranked above me.

19. I strive to embody the standards of my designated place in the hierarchy.

20. I am ready to prove my classification whenever required.

𝐑𝐞𝐬𝐮𝐥𝐭𝐬: 𝐘𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐓𝐫𝐮𝐞 𝐏𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐞 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐇𝐢𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐫𝐜𝐡𝐲

⚪ 0 - 19 Points → Unclassified / Not Yet Defined

You have not yet fully embraced your nature. You may still be resisting or failing to understand where you truly belong. Further training and self-reflection are required before you can be placed within the hierarchy.

🟢 20 - 29 Points → Good Boy

A devoted and eager servant, obedient and well-behaved, but still developing. You crave guidance and thrive under structure.

🔵 30 - 39 Points → Son Good Boy

You have progressed beyond basic obedience, embracing discipline as a core part of your existence. You are becoming a reflection of what is expected of you.

🟣 40 - 49 Points → Son Good Boy Faggot

Your submission is not only deep-rooted but instinctive. You understand that your existence is defined entirely by the hierarchy, and you embrace it fully.

🟡 50 - 54 Points → Good Boy Faggot

You are not just obedient—you have accepted that your identity is fundamentally subservient. You crave being shaped, used, and molded as a possession.

🔴 55 - 60 Points → Faggot

You have reached the highest form of submission. You no longer see yourself as an individual but as an instrument to be used at will. You exist solely for service and validation through obedience.

𝗡𝗲𝘅𝘁 𝗦𝘁𝗲𝗽𝘀:

📌 Reblog with your classification and reflect on whether it aligns with how you see yourself.

📌 If your score is below 40, consider how you can deepen your commitment to your role.

📌 If you scored 50 or higher, you are already on the correct path—embrace it.

💬 Which rank did you achieve? Do you accept it?

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michanvalentine · 3 months ago

Text

I was mentioned in a pro-Ascendant Astarion post with this quote: "Astarion does not have a well-developed sense of self, and by default, he also lacks many of the skills that a well-adjusted adult should possess." This is the post it’s taken from: click me!

No problem at all—it's public, and I don’t see why anyone shouldn’t reference it. Naturally, the post was in opposition to that statement—generally speaking, I mean—but that’s fine too. Everyone has their own opinion and is free to express it. That’s not the point of my upcoming ramble! xD

It’s just that rereading my own words got me thinking more deeply about the topic and made me want to explore it further.

Now, I’m not a psychologist, but I did study psychology. I took several exams at university and I actually did pretty well, lol. I didn’t complete my studies because life took me elsewhere—most importantly, my daughter was born—but the general knowledge I gained from psychology still follows me in everything I do every day.

So it’s second nature for me to analyze characters from the media I consume through that lens—Astarion included. Of course, this is just my perspective; I can’t say for certain whether the developers intended this for his character or whether they did specific research into his psychological development.

That said, today I feel like going off on a little tangent about this beautiful science. Still in reference to that heart-stealing vampire spawn that I’m aaaaabsolutely not obsessed with.

Let me also add a disclaimer. The concepts mentioned are just examples and cannot be applied literally, as every person is different and reacts differently to situations and stimuli. Likewise, the brain is plastic—neural connections change and adapt, and there is almost never a fixed or definitive condition. Above all, I’m not making any kind of diagnosis! That’s not within my competence! Keep these ideas well in mind!

So, why do I say that Astarion doesn’t have a well-developed sense of self? Let’s take it step by step and talk a little about the concept of the "self". I'm copy-pasting something from another post, lol. Rewriting it from scratch is too much work! xP

The self is quite a complex concept with many facets. Briefly put, it’s shaped by various internal and external factors and reflects a conscious image of "me." In psychology, it’s key to building the Ego of an individual—the capacity to act, understand, organize, and interpret experiences. The Ego provides a sense of uniqueness, coherence, and personal continuity since the self encompasses many "faces." All this forms the personality of an individual, which naturally develops (and changes) throughout life.

Particular attention in the formation of the self is given to sensitive periods, such as early childhood. The self determines the level of self-esteem based on an individual’s assessment of their worth and competence in the characteristics they attribute to themselves (Real Self), their future aspirations (Ideal Self), and what they want to avoid (Feared Selves). The greater the discrepancy between these aspects, the lower the level of self-esteem. Social support and approval, as well as competence in domains deemed important to the self, obviously contribute to perceiving oneself as a person of value.

Astarion, as we know, has had his sense of self fundamentally undermined. For him, the world is divided between those who have power and those who don’t, with the former always being the "winners" in his eyes. The magistrate he once was is long dead, along with his moral compass and the life he used to live—especially after 200 years of servitude to Cazador.

As vampire spawn, akin to a newborn in some respects, Astarion learned to exist solely within Cazador’s world, revolving around Cazador, for Cazador.

There are lines of dialogue within the game that highlight this in a painful and terrifying way. For example, when Tav/Durge directly confronts Cazador, or when Cazador ends up on his knees in front of Astarion after one of his brothers or sisters dies during the ritual. Cazador says: “He [Astarion] is afraid. He’s afraid because all he has ever knows is you and me. And without us, he is nothing.” Or: “And then? What will you be without me? A shade? A specrte in the shadows, devoid of all purpose.”

It’s a terrible thing, but it’s true. Cazador represents everything—Astarion’s entire world—and when he dies, he leaves behind a void that’s even more frightening. And let’s not forget that, in the real world, it takes very little to completely erase a person—and two hundred years in the hands of an abuser is an overwhelming amount of time, a detail that too often gets underestimated or completely forgotten.

The whole matter becomes even more disturbing and painful when Cazador suggests that without Tav/Durge, Astarion would have come crawling back to him with his tail between his legs. To his fucking tormentor. And sadly, it's a painful concept because it really happens in real life—when you have nothing and no one, when you have no means of your own and are completely dependent on another person, no matter how terrifying they are. Cazador is certain that Astarion will return to him, even if it means dying. And it's a concept with a devastating impact.

So Cazador was the domineering father figure, and vampire society functions under strict rules handed down by vampire lords. In this hostile context, without any room for self-expression or choice, Astarion developed a fragmented and damaged self-image. Constantly belittled by Cazador as an individual (small, weak, useless, incapable, all words he uses in the game), always pitted against his brothers and sisters, and degraded from a magistrate to a prostitute (this is important because it’s the only skill—or "talent," as he calls it himself—that Astarion believes gives him any value or power, forming the basis for his self-image). It’s easy to imagine just how high his self-esteem must be, right? Most importantly, he never developed the skills to navigate life as a free individual—at least not in a healthy way.

Good Lord, he thinks that in order to receive support, he has to sell himself to Tav/Durge and offer his sexual services—otherwise, he has no hope of survival! And that’s why I say he doesn’t possess all the skills of a well-adjusted adult. Other glaring examples of this—so glaring they hit you like a punch in the eye—are his inability to say no and to recognize his own limits. And shall we talk about the infamous question: What do you want? The first time, he deflects, and essentially gives the answer the player wants to hear. The second time, he states it plainly: he doesn't know. He doesn't know how to make decisions, he hasn’t done it in 200 years, and the very idea terrifies him to his core. These are all skills that a well-balanced person possesses—let’s not kid ourselves.

Like any mature and well-balanced adult, one knows how to recognize their feelings, define them, communicate them, and most importantly, not fear them. Astarion, on the other hand, is unable—after 200 years of pure shit—to understand what he feels for Tav/Durge, and he won’t be able to until the end of the Pale Elf’s quest. “I don’t know—but isn’t it nice, not to know? You’re not a target, nor a victim, not just one night it's better to forget. But then... whatever in the world could you be?”

So, even if reluctantly (and despite his fear), he ends up leaning on Tav/Durge. He needs a guiding figure to help him figure out what to do because making decisions and acting independently don’t come naturally to him. Especially outside of his talents, sex and survival. He needs to be rehabilitated, re-educated, and to achieve this, he requires a safe and healthy environment where he can experiment and grow, perhaps developing other faces of the self on which to base a new evaluation. Like, I'm not just a slave or a whore: but I'm also a companion, a friend, a lover, a hero and I'm able to listen, to help, to learn, to collaborate, etc.

And let’s not forget that when the fateful confrontation with Cazador is brought up, Astarion explicitly asks Tav/Durge for help. “I need to take the fight to him. And I need you to help me,” he says. How to help him—whether to ascend or not—is up to the player and how they choose to play. But the fact remains: Astarion needs support.

Meanwhile let’s take a look at some of the consequences of low self-esteem:

Difficulty opening up in social settings and communicating one's emotions and needs

Extreme self-criticism

Devaluing or ignoring one’s own qualities

Tendency to constantly apologize and feel guilty for things that are not actually one's responsibility

Tendency to appease others due to perceiving oneself as inferior to one’s peers

Use of negative words to describe oneself

Difficulty making decisions and maintaining personal goals over time

Negative and self-blaming internal dialogue

Belief that success is due to luck, with difficulty attributing accomplishments to oneself

Not believing compliments that are given to them

And now, let’s look at the most common causes for the development of low self-esteem:

Being raised by extremely critical and demanding parents

Being heavily devalued by parents or other authority figures

Being ignored or ridiculed during childhood

Being a victim of physical, sexual, or psychological abuse

Achieving poor academic results

Experiencing episodes of bullying or mistreatment in the workplace

Suffering a financial collapse or a significant breakup

Being subjected to a prolonged period of stress

Suffering from a chronic and persistent medical condition

Suffering from psychological disorders (e.g., anxiety or depression)

Does this remind you of something? Or maybe someone in particular? Does that person, by any chance, have red eyes and pointed teeth?

Naturally, these are just examples, and everything varies depending on the individual, but I believe these points still manage to convey the concept.

They especially give the idea of how much events—and especially the context in which we live—impact our psyche. For example, thanks to neuroscience and increasingly detailed brain imaging, we know that brain areas change according to the factors mentioned above; they train like muscles, so to speak, becoming larger and more reactive every time they are activated.

So, if someone is subjected to chronic stress, the brain areas responsible for managing it will become easily activated, bringing with them a whole series of consequences that affect performance, behavior, perception, thinking, and so on.

Likewise, the more the “right” areas of the brain are activated, the more the brain itself will develop in a healthy and balanced way, forming neural connections that support the tools (perception, thinking, etc) mentioned above.

Meanwhile, other areas—such as those related to stress responses—will remain small and more difficult to activate. (Obviously, brain areas don’t literally “grow” or “shrink” in size, but the connections between neurons (synapses) are strengthened or weakened depending on how much they’re used. This is a principle known as “neural plasticity”: what you use becomes reinforced, what you neglect becomes weaker.)

A curiosity: even our mood influences how we perceive people and the world around us—and consequently, our thoughts and impressions too! xD

This image is heartbreaking, because these brains belong to two three-year-old children—and the differences are significant.

The brain on the right is missing key areas that are present in the one on the left. These missing parts impact the abilities of the child with the smaller brain:

this child will likely be less intelligent as an adult compared to the one with the larger brain,

will be less capable of empathizing with others,

and will be at higher risk of becoming addicted to drugs and involved in violent crimes.

Additionally, the child with the smaller brain is more likely to remain unemployed and dependent on social services, and may develop mental health issues or other serious health problems.

The large difference in size and development between these two brains is not due to illness or injury, but rather to how the two children were treated by their mothers.

The child with the larger, more developed brain was loved by their mother, who was consistently present and attentive to their needs. The child with the smaller brain, on the other hand, was neglected and abused. It is precisely this difference in treatment that explains why one child's brain developed fully while the other’s did not.

Of course, our favorite vampire spawn isn’t a developing child—but the point is that certain environments and experiences have a profound impact and shape many aspects of our lives, making us more or less equipped to face challenges.

At this point, I’d like to focus a bit on the reasoning process in general. It’s easy to believe that when humans think, make decisions, and reflect on a problem or task, they do so in the most rational way possible. And that’s where we go wrong! First of all, the cerebral cortex — the part of the brain responsible for complex cognitive functions such as thinking, awareness, memory, attention, and language — is located in the upper region of the brain. Most stimuli, in order to reach the cortex, must pass through all the lower areas of the brain, which often trigger behavioral responses even before the stimulus reaches rational thought. For example, the activation of the sympathetic nervous system, which is responsible for danger responses. A silly example: how many times have we jumped out of our skin before realizing that the loud, scary noise was just a window slamming shut? First comes the fear response, then the evaluation of the stimulus follows.

As if that weren’t enough, the brain plays other little tricks on us — without us even being aware of it — because that sneaky thing does a whole lot on its own, especially when it comes to thinking and making decisions.

So... Astarion has a very limited perspective—mostly the one offered by Cazador. As we said earlier, the world is divided into those who have power and those who suffer it. Period. But we all know that in between there are infinite shades of gray, and that can’t be denied. In the same way, Astarion believes that Tav/Durge is the exception to the rule—the only kind person in the world, the one and only for him. But as much as it flatters our ego to hear that, we know very well that no one is that special. It’s always Astarion’s perspective that’s extremely limited. And in fact, here too, Tav/Durge has the opportunity to broaden his view, to point out that the world is full of kind people who would care for him if only he opened himself up and showed kindness in return. This narrow way of thinking and seeing things, this resistance to noticing alternatives, fits perfectly into the category of cognitive biases.

Let’s start with the premise that the human brain needs to be both effective and efficient. That means reaching a result in the shortest time and using the fewest resources. Therefore: when we think and make decisions, we don’t always do so rationally. We use heuristics—mental shortcuts—often following patterns we've used before. A silly example: if I have to cook a dish I’ve made a hundred times, I don’t sit down to rethink how and why I should cook it—I just switch off my brain and do it the way I’ve always done. Many heuristics are good and useful—others, not so much. And when they fall into the latter category, they become biases.

There are many types, but let’s look at one that we all, even us Astarion fans, share. xD Confirmation Bias!

Confirmation bias manifests when we tend to search for, interpret, or remember information that supports our pre-existing beliefs, ignoring anything that contradicts them or isn’t completely aligned.

Once a certain mental imprint forms, new experiences only deepen that groove, without any willingness to explore other interpretative modes—in fact, they tend to further crystallize internal beliefs.

We can say that the person is cherry-picking—in a complex set of data and information, they pick out only what resonates with a belief they already hold, which, in some way, is convenient for them.

The reason is easy to see: if I don’t challenge a belief—even if it’s irrational—I’ll save time, create less friction, and reduce internal and external resistance to a given situation.

Because confirmation bias shows up when a person selects only the evidence that supports their point of view, it easily becomes a self-sustaining system, keeping them locked in an interpretive and experiential microcosm that risks becoming increasingly stifling—a self-built prison.

Astarion is stuck on tracks he’s known inside and out for centuries, forcibly carved into his mind—and for him, it’s all too easy to filter everything through that lens. And this cuts him off from a myriad of possibilities, in a completely unconscious way. It’s like throwing a wrench in your own gears. So Tav/Durge represents an opening to a different value system, one that could replace or at least expand our vampire spawn’s worldview. Not without resistance, of course—those brain connections will get you!

So, to conclude, let’s go back to the beginning and to the statement in question.

"Astarion does not have a well-developed sense of self, and by default, he also lacks many of the skills that a well-adjusted adult should possess."

Yes, maybe out of context it might sound bad. I certainly don’t see Astarion as half a man, incapable of thinking or choosing for himself. But I do recognize that he has serious vulnerabilities that need to be treated with care and taken into account. Not when we're playing—when we play, we do what we like and have fun—but when we analyze him as a character. When Astarion, at the end of the Pale Elf quest, in the good ending, thanks us for saving him from himself, what he means, in my opinion, is exactly this: thank you for supporting me when my vulnerabilities, my fears, my blind spots, and my narrow perspective were getting the best of me. Because, let’s be honest, Astarion’s story is also about this—about rediscovery, about learning to live again, about changing, improving, growing, developing relationships, new abilities and skills. Not as a rogue or as a vampire, or within game mechanics—but as a person.

The point is: Astarion has come out of a horrific situation, one that has to have left marks, wounds, infected pus festering beneath the skin. A situation that never allowed him to understand what he liked, what he wanted, who he really was—simply because he couldn’t express himself, couldn’t think about his own needs, couldn’t say no. Couldn’t develop his sense of self in peace and safety.

A situation that left him unable to face the world and the people in it in a healthy way, unable to identify and express his own feelings, unable to say that damn "no" or to make choices. To decide, yes. And in fact, every time he’s asked what he wants to do, his answers are vague—or he says he doesn’t know, or admits that he’s afraid of those damn choices. He’s afraid of freedom, of consequences, and of everything else beyond the four things he knows—the four fucking things Cazador drilled into him, all around power and control.

And I’m really supposed to believe that the one choice he’s absolutely sure about is Ascension? Hell no. Just like he's not sure he doesn't want to ascend!

References

Rogers, C. R. (1961). On Becoming a Person: A Therapist's View of Psychotherapy. Houghton Mifflin. → A foundational text on the concept of the self, self-actualization, and congruence between real and ideal self.

Winnicott, D. W. (1964). The Child, the Family, and the Outside World. Penguin Books. → Explores the importance of a safe environment in the healthy development of the self.

Bowlby, J. (1969–1980). Attachment and Loss (Vols. 1–3). Basic Books. → Describes how early attachment figures shape our internal working models and sense of security.

Erikson, E. H. (1950). Childhood and Society. W. W. Norton & Company. → Introduces the theory of psychosocial development across the lifespan.

Herman, J. L. (1992). Trauma and Recovery: The Aftermath of Violence—From Domestic Abuse to Political Terror. Basic Books. → Explains complex trauma, victim-perpetrator dynamics, and the long-term effects of abuse.

van der Kolk, B. A. (2014). The Body Keeps the Score: Brain, Mind, and Body in the Healing of Trauma. Viking. → Offers neuroscientific insight into how trauma reshapes the brain and affects emotional regulation.

Siegel, D. J. (2010). The Mindful Brain: Reflection and Attunement in the Cultivation of Well-Being. W. W. Norton & Company. → Discusses neuroplasticity, integration, and the development of a coherent sense of self.

Kahneman, D. (2011). Thinking, Fast and Slow. Farrar, Straus and Giroux. → A deep dive into heuristics, decision-making, and cognitive biases like confirmation bias.

Malaguti, E., & Morganti, P. (2014). Psychotraumatology: An Integrated Model for Trauma Treatment. (Translated from the Italian). FrancoAngeli. → Addresses the psychological and neurological consequences of prolonged trauma.

#astarion #astarion ancunin #baldur's gate 3 #bg3 #baldurs gate 3 #baldurs gate #astarion bg3 #baldurs gate 3 astarion #baldur's gate astarion

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honeytonedhottie · 1 year ago

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how to stop being toxic⋆.ೃ࿔*:･⭐️

the point of this post in general is a reminder to be self aware so that then u can become an individual that u are proud of ✨

SELF AWARENESS ;

everyone has traits in themselves that they aren't necessarily proud of and thats okay. its only natural bcuz we are humans. whats important is that u are able to acknowledge it and work on it.

toxic traits and behaviors stem from things like our own insecurities, conditioning, our egos and a multitude of other things. when we aren't toxic we free ourselves up for better people and experiences.

SELF ASSESSMENT ACTIVITY ;

do some shadow work, dig deeper and do some journalling to rly assess some of ur personality traits whether u classify them as a negative or a positive trait. some examples of traits include

having trouble taking accountability (shifting blame)

once you've classified that trait, write a sentence that explains why that particular trait is/isnt toxic. so for this particular trait ur sentence could look something like

trouble with taking accountability for myself and my actions is a toxic trait because it displays my inability to be responsible for myself/admit fault. this can jeopardize relationships and opportunities for me, it can also hinder my growth as an individual.

just because you notice toxic behaviors within yourself, it doesn't mean that u are a bad person. in fact, since u can acknowledge it and wanna improve it, that shows that u are a good person.

HOW TO ACTUALLY STOP ;

look for the source of toxic behaviors that u display. some ways that can help u to identify what makes u act in that way is by seeing a therapist who can help u to dissect and understand urself, intentional journalling etc.

when u find urself in situations in which u think that ur being toxic, u can practice mindfulness and nip it in the bud. the more that u practice doing this the easier and more natural it'll feel.

be a good listener

show urself compassion

start journalling/going to therapy

listen to feedback

listen to feedback from others from an impartial view. dont take criticism or negative feedback personally. take the feedback that u get and apply it cuz thats one of the many ways u can grow.

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literaryvein-reblogs · 6 months ago

Note

Hi! Hope you're doing well 🌟

Do you have any advice on how to write ten year olds? Like, not physically but emotionally. One of my main characters is ten years old and I wanna make sure I get it right, sometimes I feel like I'm giving him the emotional maturity of the characters that surround him that are in their 20s and 30s but idk ://

Writing Notes: Emotional Development

Emotional Development

Also called affective development.

A gradual increase in the capacity to experience, express, and interpret the full range of emotions and in the ability to cope with them appropriately.

Cortical control, imitation of others, hormonal influences, home atmosphere, and conditioning play major roles in emotional development.

It is nearly impossible to imagine emotional development as separate from changes in cognitive development that occur in the first two decades of life.

As memory and thinking become more complex and abstract, emotional development changes as well.

Similarly, markers of emotional development are intimately linked to a child’s social experiences.

The following examples are major markers of change in emotional development as they occur within a social context.

Emotional competence (7 to 10 years). Emotion expressions are used to manage relationship dynamics, such as smiling at a new friend (Saarni & Camras, 2022).

Emotion regulation (infancy through adulthood). Emotion regulation strategies are processes used to monitor, evaluate, and modify our emotional reactions in order to achieve a goal. Strategies become more sophisticated from extrinsically based regulation in infancy to more intrinsically based regulation from preschool-age through adulthood (Eisenberg et al., 2010; Thompson & Goodvin, 2007).

8 to 9 years: Cognitive emotion regulation strategies emerge, and children begin to use thoughts and feelings about themselves and others to control their emotions (Garnefski et al., 2007).

The ability to regulate our emotions is one of the most important skills for learning, social relationships, and mental health.

Adolescence - The period of human development that starts with puberty (10–12 years of age) and ends with physiological maturity (approximately 19 years of age), although the exact age span varies across individuals.

During this period, major changes occur at varying rates in physical characteristics, sexual characteristics, and sexual interest, resulting in significant effects on body image, self-concept, and self-esteem.

Major cognitive and social developments take place as well: Most young people acquire enhanced abilities to think abstractly, evaluate reality hypothetically, reconsider prior experiences from altered points of view, assess data from multiple dimensions, reflect inwardly, create complex models of understanding, and project complicated future scenarios.

Adolescents also increase their peer focus and involvement in peer-related activities, place greater emphasis on social acceptance, and seek more independence and autonomy from parents.

How Emotions Develop in Adolescence

Once self-conscious emotions such as guilt, embarrassment, and shame emerge in middle childhood, very few new emotions develop. Adolescents’ cognitive skills to reason about abstract concepts improve their ability to manage and reason about their own emotions and improve emotional competence in relationships (Rosenblum & Lewis, 2006).

Research on adolescent emotional development shows how emotions change during this time of rapid physical development.

Emotion Expression. Emotion expression in adolescence differs from that in childhood and adulthood. Adolescents report experiencing greater extremes of emotion and more negative mood states than adults. Adolescent emotional experiences are reported to include less happiness than during childhood (Rosenblum & Lewis, 2006).

Emotional Dissemblance. Emotional dissemblance is the ability to separate one’s emotional expressions from one’s internal feelings. Children learn how to control the emotions they display in order to avoid negative outcomes. During adolescence, teens begin to display expressions according to the norms of adult interaction (Rosenblum & Lewis, 2006); for example, the ability to outwardly display a facial expression of congratulations to a competitor immediately after a tough loss, while feeling intense emotion internally.

Emotional Competence. A successful transition to adulthood is associated with increased emotional competence across several skills during adolescence; for example, learning to regulate intense emotions, knowing how to attend to emotions without becoming overwhelmed by them, and learning how to manage interpersonal relationships in the midst of intense emotions (Rosenblum & Lewis, 2006).

Emotional Maturity - A high and appropriate level of emotional control and expression.

Prerequisites for Developing Emotional Maturity

Emotional maturity is a skill that can be nurtured and developed through psychoeducation, therapy, and coaching (Kaur et al., 2015).

Possessing or developing the following characteristics provides the foundation for developing emotional maturity:

Personal Reflection & Self-Awareness. Self-awareness and a willingness to reflect on one’s emotions and behaviors are crucial for the growth and development of emotional maturity (Herwig et al., 2010).

Openness to Feedback. Personal growth and emotional maturity are dependent on our willingness to accept and learn from constructive criticism (McEnrue et al., 2009).

Commitment to Growth. Personal growth is hard work and requires a dedication to ongoing personal development and emotional learning (Bauer & McAdams, 2004).

Empathy. The ability to identify, interpret, and share the feelings of others is integral to emotional maturity (McNaughton, 2016).

Resilience. All personal growth requires the capacity to recover quickly from difficulties and adapt to change (Still, 2023).

Sources: 1 2 3 ⚜ More: Notes & References ⚜ Writing Resources PDFs

There are some children who exhibit the same (or almost similar) level of emotional maturity of adults surrounding them, depending on the circumstances. Consider these notes and incorporate which ones are most suitable for your own story. Hope you're doing well yourself, and that this helps with your writing! :)

#emotional development #adolescence #psychology #character development #writeblr #literature #writers on tumblr #writing reference #spilled ink #dark academia #creative writing #studyblr #light academia #writing prompt #writing inspiration #writing ideas #character building #writing resources

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evilbihan · 29 days ago

Text

Bi-Han's fate - Pt. 2

Warnings: Mentions of depression and s*icidal thoughts.

Notes: First off, I want to thank everyone who read the first part, liked it, reblogged it or left a comment. Even if the fandom is smaller now, your support has encouranged me to keep writing. I hope you will enjoy the second chapter! If you'd like to be tagged in the upcoming chapters, feel free to let me know.

Disclaimer: Friendly reminder not to reblog this with weird shipping tags. I hate to say it in each post but I know some people in the fandom just can't behave.

Pairings: Bi-Han x Sektor, Kuai Liang x Harumi

If you haven't read it yet, please check out Part 1 first.

@yandere-transformers-rock Chapter 2 is out!

"Two of your ribs are broken", Liu Kang concludes after adding gentle pressure to his injuries to assess the damage.

Bi-Han resists the urge to hiss in pain when he feels something beneath his skin shift under the fire god's touch. He doesn't bother responding as he swats Liu Kang's hand away and pulls the fabric of his tunic over the darkening bruises along his left side. He's well aware that he deserves them – and far worse – for what he had said about Smoke's family. His youngest brother's sudden outburst had surprised him regardless. Sure, his intention had been to provoke Tomáš, to anger him and perhaps even to get him to finish what Bi-Han himself had started, for Tomáš to kill him and release him from the purgatory his existence had turned into. The Enenra's intervention, however, had not been part of his calculations. Initially, he hadn't been picky about who would get to kill him, it didn't matter if it was Tomáš or the Enenra, but then he had seen the haunted look on his brother's face, how he had trembled, his eyes full of a fear he had last seen on the day father had brought Tomáš home... And now all he feels is nagging, all-consuming guilt.

"You still haven't touched your food“, Liu Kang reminds him, nodding to the full plate he had placed at his bedside earlier. Bi-Han still doesn't understand why the fire god is willing to stoop as low as to personally bring him food like an ordinary servant. He's almost tempted to ask, but then again, he's sure that it's just a ploy to earn his trust. Liu Kang is putting a lot of effort into that, he notices. Does he really believe Bi-Han will be fooled so easily? Why he's still of interest to the fire god is beyond him. He serves no more purpose now. If anything, he's a threat, a liability. Why doesn't Liu Kang simply dispose of him?

"I won't eat." As if to prove his point, he pushes the plate a little further away from him.

"Why do you wish to keep suffering?" Liu Kang lets out a sigh when he receives no answer and in a far more serious tone, he adds: "You're dying, Bi-Han. Not at the moment maybe, but if we continue the treatment and you're cured... your organs won't be able to take up their normal functions again. And if we stop the treatment you will be consumed by chaos magic once more."

"I'm well aware."

Liu Kang goes quiet for a while. "What you said to Tomáš earlier was uncalled for."

"He wanted to hear the truth and so I told him."

"I know you angered him on purpose. It was cruel of you to do that. He cares about you." Liu Kang gets up and begins to busy himself with the preparations for his treatment.

Bi-Han watches him. „If he had cared, he would have obeyed me.“

Liu Kang places a stack of clean towels on his pillow and a wooden basin by the bed's headrest in case he gets sick again. "You are so devoted to your clan. Do you not wish to return to the Lin Kuei?"

"What for?" He doesn't care if the bitterness in his voice gives away his misery. "I have failed in my duties. I am no longer grandmaster."

"Your warriors are still loyal to you and you alone", Liu Kang interjects. "Sektor had conditions when I took you here. Every month, she demands a detailed report on the progress of your treatment. I have told her your condition is improving. Do you truly wish to disappoint her?"

Sektor... Bi-Han feels a pang of guilt as he thinks of her. They had always been kindred souls, sharing the same goals, the same ambitions. Surely, she would understand his decision. She knows him better than anyone else. She would understand that he prefers to die with dignity. He knows Sektor would continue on. They had promised that to each other a long time ago. If one of them were to die, the other would keep going. He had become a blight on his clan, a grandmaster too weak to even save his own life. He hates to admit this, but he's ashamed to face his warriors again. How would they still respect him?

"Sektor will understand", Bi-Han says with as much conviction as he can muster. "Why? Are you worried she will blame you if I die?"

Liu Kang ignores his question. "What about your brothers?"

"Why should I care for those traitors?"

"They still care for you. Tomáš came to see you, did he not?"

"Has he left yet?" Bi-Han tries to sound indifferent, to pretend he doesn't care. A small part of him fears the answer. He doesn't want to admit this even to himself, but he had been glad to at least see one of his brothers again. After all the time that had passed, he had assumed they had forgotten about him entirely. Not once had he dared to hope for them to visit him, instead covincing himself that he doesn't want to see them, even when their loss had left aching scars on his soul.

"He's still here. He chose to stay, even after how you treated him."

"Because you wouldn't let him leave?"

"Because he won't give up on you. And neither will I." Liu Kang's voice is firm but gentle. Reassuring. The promise of salvation if he's willing to accept it. Bi-Han hates that something within him wants to extend his hand towards that light, wanting the comfort Liu Kang so willingly offers to him after every misstep, after each betrayal, and yet he flinches away again, as always when he's shown compassion and kindness, retreating into the shadowy corners of the darkness that had taken over his soul. Maybe because he knows he's undeserving of comfort. Maybe he doesn't even deserve the mercy of death.

"Instead of wasting your time on me, you should go and help Tomáš."

"What do you mean?" Liu Kang takes a seat at his side again and Bi-Han inhales deeply, bracing himself for what is about to happen next. He's familiar with the steps of the treatment by now – and with the agony that comes with it, but he still tenses up each time he sees the medical equipment, the little silver tray with the needles on it, the strange apparatus the healers wheel into the room each time... He loathes the procedure.

Reluctantly, Bi-Han extends his arm to the fire god, pulling up the sleeve, so the first needle can be inserted into his skin. He doesn't show it, of course, but he dreads that part of the treatment the most. He despises needles. Seeing them makes him feel sick to his stomach. He used to be unbothered by them before his torture. Yet another reminder of how weak and utterly pathetic he had become. Fortunately for him, Liu Kang seems to be aware of the effect needles have on him now. He always talks to him during this phase of the process. Distracts him. Positions himself at an angle that makes it harder for Bi-Han to see the vicious little metal spikes.

"Did he not tell you?", Bi-Han asks as he feels the needle prick his skin. "Can you not see what is happening to Tomáš? He wasn't himself when he attacked me. Something else took control of him."

"The Enenra. I know."

Another needle follows, this time stinging his neck. Then a third one. It pierces the back of his hand, stabs a vein that runs all the way up his forearm. Thin, almost translucent tubes are attached to the needles, draining the infected blood from his body.

Bi-Han keeps his gaze trained on the ceiling to stay calm, only briefly glancing over to glare at the fire god. "Then why haven't you cured him yet? Surely, it must be within your power if you're even able to cure me."

"It's not that simple", Liu Kang explains calmly. He places one hand over Bi-Han's chest, where the chaos magic manifests itself in a horrifying scar at the center, just beneath the layers of his robe, like a dreadful, undead heart. Light spreads from Liu Kang's palm, burning into his very soul.

It's painful beyond imagination. Bi-Han finds himself gripping onto the edges of the bed, his jaw tensing.

"I took a risk when I began your treatment", the fire god continues. "Geras and I were unsure of what would happen to you once we start removing the chaos magic from your body. It is infused with your very being. Therefore, it's impossible to disspell it all at once. In fact, we still don't know for sure that it won't kill you once fully removed. The same could happen to Tomáš. Do you still want me to attempt curing him now that you know?"

"No", Bi-Han snaps. "Only a fool would meddle with things they can't comprehend. What good are you? What good are your godly powers if you can't save anyone?"

Liu Kang lowers his gaze and for a moment his eyes almost appear to glow less, as if the light within them is suddenly dimmed by his sadness. "I have asked myself that question many times, Bi-Han. When I created this timeline, I had hoped that things would play out differently and I could undo past mistakes, give everyone a better life and a chance at peace. I wanted Queen Sindel to grow old at her husband's side. I wanted Kenshi to keep his eyesight this time. I wanted you to live and be the grandmaster you were always meant to be. Unfortunately, even though I created this timeline, I am not in control of how certain events unfold."

Bi-Han scoffs. "So you won't help Tomáš at all?"

"That is not what I said. His condition is indeed concerning. I will speak to Ashrah once she returns. She knows much more about the Netherrealm's demons than I do. She might know a way to help him."

"And until then?"

"Until then he will be safe here with us. Should anything happen, Geras and I can intervene."

That won't suffice, Bi-Han wants to say, but he chooses to keep quiet instead. He doesn't need Liu Kang to think he still cares about his brothers. Why should he concern himself with what becomes of Tomáš anyway? Deep down he knows the answer. No matter how much he resents Kuai Liang and Tomáš for betraying him, he is still an older brother wishing to protect his younger siblings, an instinct existent even in death. He knows it's his fault that Tomáš lost control to the Enenra earlier. He knows Tomáš must hate him after what he had said and done, even more so than before... And yet he still didn't choose to leave. Bi-Han cannot understand why, but he has no time to think about it.

He cries out through gritted teeth when Liu Kang's magic pierces deeper, eating its way through the darkness within him. It fights back, of course. He can feel it seeping into his bones as it tries to flee from the light. Dizziness and nausea overwhelm him. He manages to turn his head to the side just in time to avoid throwing up all over himself. Inky blackness spills over his lips and into the wooden basin below like a physical manifestation of all his wrongdoings, of his hatred, greed and thirst for power and the void in his heart fueling it all... He deserves this. Every last bit of it.

Liu Kang's brows furrow, his expression somewhere between focus and concern.

Something is wrong, Bi-Han can tell. He screws his eyes shut as the pain grows more intense. Heat spreads throughout his body, terrible, scorching heat, as if his skin is being set on fire. He had undergone this same treatment countless of times, he knows what it's supposed to feel like, he's familiar with the pain... but this is different. It's not supposed to feel like this.

Suddenly, it all stops. The heat. The agony of burning alive. In a heartbeat, it's all over. His chest rises and falls quickly in short laboured breaths. Slowly, Bi-Han blinks and opens his eyes to see Liu Kang leaning over him, a somber look on his face.

"I cannot continue treating you. Your body has grown too weak."

Bi-Han doesn't respond. He expects to feel triumphant that in the end, this means he will finally have his wish. Is that not what he wanted? Instead, he only feels numb.

"I will try to find another solution", the fire god reassures him quickly, mistaking his silence for disappointment. "For now, you have to start looking after yourself better. If you want to last a bit longer, you have to take your medicine daily from now on."

"Still so determined to save me", Bi-Han spits. "Do you enjoy watching me suffer?"

"I know you want to live."

"Is that so?"

Liu Kang gestures to his bandages. "Someone with skills as lethal as yours wouldn't have missed his own heart."

Tomáš doesn't sleep that night.

Maybe it's out of fear that the nightmares will return, that the Enenra will take over once more and its grip on him will be permanent this time. Maybe it's because he can't stop reaching for his mother's hunting knife, checking that it's still there, still intact and not another thing broken to pieces like his past or the brotherly bond Bi-Han, Kuai Liang and him once shared. But above all else, sleep won't come to him because the vision Geras showed him keeps replaying in his mind. How could Bi-Han keep such secrets from him? What else is there that his brother knows and he doesn't? In the morning, Tomáš tries to gather up the courage to go and confront Bi-Han. He's anything but eager to speak to him again after yesterday's events, but he holds onto hope that somewhere within the depths of Bi-Han's corrupted soul, the person he saw in that brief flashback is still alive. With each step he takes down the long, silent hallway that hope fades a little bit more. For all he knows, Bi-Han might refuse to speak to him entirely.

Tomáš enters without knocking, ignoring the way Bi-Han looks up and immediately glares when he sees him.

He's not intimidated by it anymore. Instead, he can't help but frown as he notices how much worse his brother looks compared to yesterday. His skin is pale, thin like paper, so thin he can see the veins bleed through it like a pattern of black cobwebs. The room itself looks no different, except that the table that got destroyed in their fight yesterday had been replaced by a new one. On top of it sits a bowl of medicine and a plate of food. Tomáš stays by the door this time, crossing his arms and leaning against it. The karambit is not on him today. He left it behind in the safety of his own room. He won't allow Bi-Han to use it against him this time.

"What do you want?" Bi-Han growls. He doesn't bother to conceal his hostility towards him.

"The same thing I wanted yesterday. Answers." Tomáš tries to make his voice sound steady, but he doesn't succeed.

"You've always been persistent. Most pests are", Bi-Han scoffs, each word dripping with mockery and malice.

It stings, even if Tomáš does his best to pretend he's unaffected. "Is that what I am to you? A pest?"

Bi-Han ignores him.

"Then why did you look after me all these years?"

His older brother shows no reaction.

"I know what you did for me. I know everything now." His voice shakes as the words finally burst out of him. "You were protecting me. I saw it. It was you who brought me tea every day. I had no idea it was you. Why didn't you tell me? Why–"

"Will you quit babbling like a fool?", Bi-Han snarls, looking both annoyed and confused.

Tomáš takes a deep breath. "Geras showed me the past. I saw you talk to Master Xiaoqing. You had him prepare something for me. A potion."

"I don't know what you're talking about", Bi-Han lies half-heartedly.

"Yes, you do!" Tomáš almost shouts. He didn't mean to raise his voice, but he's tired of playing games, of all the lies and secrets. "You knew I had nightmares, so you asked Master Xiaoqing to find a way to make them stop. Why did you do it if I'm just a pest? If I was never a brother to you, why did you go through all that trouble, even keeping it a secret from father? You've always treated me like an outsider, like I didn't belong with the Lin Kuei. Wouldn't you have wanted him to cast me out?"

"Why would I have wanted that?"

"You tell me. You're the one who always hated me."

"I never said I did."

Tomáš laughs bitterly. "You made sure to let me notice."

Bi-Han's eyes narrow. "How? I let you train with us, I let you join us on missions. I never excluded you from anything. Why would you think I hated you?"

Tomáš thinks back to all the times Bi-Han had shut him down when he had tried to offer advice, how his brother had barely ever spoken to him outside of missions or their training – and even when he did, it was only to bark orders at him or to criticize his form. Then again, he thinks of the scene Geras had showed him, how worried Bi-Han had seemed about him, and what he had once been so certain of no longer makes sense to him anymore. He doesn't know how it took him so long to come to this conclusion, but he realizes he hardly knows anything about Bi-Han. His oldest brother is a stranger to him.

"You constantly reminded me that my blood is not Lin Kuei", Tomáš finally responds. "You always made me feel like I'm not good enough. Tell me what I did wrong. How did I fail you?"

"You haven't failed me", Bi-Han says surprisingly gently. Then his face darkens again. "Not until you chose to turn your back on the clan that raised you."

"How can you hold that against me? Look at all the awful things that have happened since you decided to join Shang Tsung. Look at what happened to you, to me, to Kuai Liang. To this whole timeline. This can't possibly be what you wanted."

"It wasn't."

"Then what did you want, Bi-Han?"

"No more than what the Lin Kuei deserved. Our freedom. Recognition for our efforts. The power to protect the Lin Kuei's legacy."

"You could have told us! You could have told Liu Kang you want to negotiate."

"What for? So he would dismiss me?"

Tomáš sighs. "I understand you were frustrated, but have you ever thought about us?"

"Of course I have!”, Bi-Han snaps. "I wanted to share the Lin Kuei's glory with you."

"We never wanted glory, Bi-Han. We already had everything we wanted. A home. A purpose. We had you. To me, that was enough."

Bi-Han turns away from him, looks out the window again just like he did yesterday the first time they had talked. He wonders if it's because there's nothing else for him to do in here or if his brother simply misses being able to go outside.

"Do you want to join me for a walk?”, Tomáš asks after realizing he will get no other answer.

Bi-Han's eyes light up, only for a moment before his expression darkens again. "I am confined to this room. And even if I wasn't...", he trails off, but doesn't finish the sentence.

Tomáš watches him clench his fists helplessly. He doesn't know what had happened between yesterday and today, but he can tell that Bi-Han seems weaker than he did only mere hours ago. Perhaps he had spent all his energy on their foolish fight yesterday.

Tomáš sighs. "If you need help walking, I can–"

"I don't need your help."

"It's still early. The monks have gathered for their morning meditation and Lord Liu Kang is with them. No one would see.” He figures it's Bi-Han's pride that won't allow him to accept his assistance. He knows his brother wouldn't want to seem pitiful in the face of others. Thinking about it, it no longer surprises Tomáš that Bi-Han is so rigid and tense all the time. He can't imagine how tiring it must be to always put on a strong facade, to never be able to express exhaustion, sadness or pain. With everything that Bi-Han must have kept bottled up inside him, Tomáš doesn't know how he didn't snap even earlier. He only wishes his brother had shared his burdens with Kuai Liang and him.

"There's nothing wrong with needing help", he tries again, refusing to give up so easily. He's well aware of how stubborn Bi-Han can be, but he won't let that deter him from helping his brother.

Bi-Han glares daggers at him. “You'd go against Liu Kang's orders?”

"When I needed it, you were there to help me too."

When Bi-Han doesn't protest anymore, Tomáš carefully reaches for his arm to help him up.

With a hiss, Bi-Han slaps his hand away. “Touch me and you'll lose a hand.”

Tomáš resists the urge to roll his eyes, but he decides not to keep pushing. Instead, he stands closely at his brother's side to make sure he can offer assistance if needed. He watches Bi-Han sit up slowly, swinging one leg over the edge of the bed and then the other. When he finally stands up, his legs almost give out from underneath him. Tomáš rushes forward to catch him, but stops when Bi-Han holds up a hand to let him know he's fine. He staggers for a moment, but manages to steady himself. His first few steps seem shaky, his legs wobbly and weak from disuse. Tomáš lets him lead the way.

The morning chill makes him shiver as they step out through the temple doors. He watches Bi-Han squint and raise a hand to shield his eyes from the daylight blinding him. It makes him wonder just how long it had been since his brother had last left his room. Although he understands Liu Kang's concerns, Tomáš doesn't agree with his decision to confine Bi-Han to that small, nearly empty room in the temple. If he was trapped in a tiny space like that, stuck in bed, he would lose his sanity too. He approaches one of the benches, sits down and waits for Bi-Han to follow.

Once they're both seated, Tomáš draws in a deep breath.

"You still haven't answered my question. Why did you help me if I was never a brother to you?"

Bi-Han huffs. "Your nightmares were getting worse by the day. Mother and father refused to take action. They were convinced it would get better in time, but it didn't. Something had to be done. Even I am not as cold-hearted as to take joy in watching someone else suffer."

"So it was just pity?"

Bi-Han says nothing and Tomáš feels his chest sting. Did Bi-Han ever even consider him family?

"All I wanted was to be your brother." He no longer cares if he sounds pathetic. "Even now, I'm stupid enough to hope we can still be brothers."

"We could have been brothers, had you not left the Lin Kuei to side with Kuai Liang against me."

"Kuai Liang never made me feel like I didn't belong", Tomáš snaps. "And I don't believe you. If you wanted us to be brothers, why did you treat me so coldly?"

"Because I knew you couldn't be trusted."

"What? I've always been loyal to you. I did my best to–"

"This isn't about loyalty", Bi-Han interrupts him sharply. "Tell me honestly, did you ever sit at lunch, looking at each of the faces around you, wondering which one of them did it? Which one of them held the blade that ended your mother's life? Did you never want to know?"

Tomáš blinks. "I–"

"And if someone had pointed them out to you, what would you have done? Would you have killed them? If someone had given you the chance to get justice for what happened to your family, would you not have taken it?"

He opens his mouth to respond, to deny it, but he finds that he can't. He doesn't know what he would have done back then. It had taken him a long time to adjust to life within the Lin Kuei, to stop resenting himself for joining the clan that had taken his mother and sister from him. At times, he had been angry. Other times, he had only felt empty. In his heart, however, he had not once thought of betraying the Lin Kuei. No amount of retribution would have returned his family to him. Tomáš had always been painfully aware of that.

"I was your brother, but I was also grandmaster", Bi-Han continues. "I had to think of the whole clan. I knew the Lin Kuei took everything from you. Do you expect me to believe that you never resented us for it? That you never once thought of taking vengeance? I know I would have."

"Then we're different people, Bi-Han. I don't want to live my whole life resenting someone. I don't want to live for vengeance. With a score to settle. A life like that would be miserable. I never intended to seek revenge." Tomáš sighs. "Of course, it was difficult for me to come to terms with being a part of the clan that killed my family, but I wouldn't have hurt anyone, especially not you or Kuai Liang."

"Maybe not you, but what about the Enenra?"

Tomáš falls silent. Lately, he had been quicker to anger, his dreams filled with screams, with blood and violence. If Bi-Han hadn't made sure to weaken the Enenra's influence on him for all those years, Tomáš cannot tell what he would or wouldn't have done.

"Do you think I chose this?", he asks. "The Enenra possessing me isn't my fault, just like it's not your fault that Havik turned you into–”

Tomáš stops himself when he sees Bi-Han flinch at the mention of the Titan's name. Suddenly, he feels guilty. He shouldn't have brought that up. The last thing he wants is to remind his brother of the horrors he had endured.

"I know it's not your fault", Bi-Han says before Tomáš can apologize. "And I know I... missjudged you."

Tomáš stares at him, unblinking. Of all the things he had expected Bi-Han to say, this wasn't something he would have ever seen coming. He knows it's the closest thing to an apology he will ever hear from his brother and even though it's not quite that, in this very moment, it means everything to him. He swallows. "You can still fix things now. It's not too late for that."

"How?" Bi-Han's voice is so quiet, Tomáš almost misses that one word entirely.

"Live."

"That's it?"

"It's a start."

Slowly, Bi-Han shakes his head. Tomáš doesn't know why, but that small gesture of defeat makes him furious.

"What happened to not giving up?" He has to hold himself back from grabbing Bi-Han by the shoulders and shaking some sense into him. "You taught me that, remember? Whenever I practiced a difficult move and I couldn't get it right, I'd ask you to show me an easier one, but you always refused. You'd let me practice that one move a hundred times and then a hundred more until I perfected it. You didn't let me give up, so I won't let you."

He can feel his brother's gaze boring into his own. It's impossible for him to guess what Bi-Han is thinking. Tomáš doesn't know if he's just terrible at reading people or if his former grandmaster had always been such a difficult man to read.

"I see you haven't forgotten my teachings."

"You were a good teacher."

He means it. Sure, his brother had been strict, even more so than their father, and he had often lacked patience, but he had made up for that in other ways, always rewarding those who proved their resilience and discipline during training with praise and encouragement, never letting any of his disciples give up or fall behind. Even if his lessons had seemed harsh at times, they had always proven valuable later on.

For a while, they sit quietly without speaking. Tomáš doesn't mind. He can tell Bi-Han has nothing more to say and although he still has questions, he reminds himself to be patient. If he pushes too much, his brother might just shut him out again.

"I want to go back inside", Bi-Han tells him after a while.

Tomáš nods. His brother looks exhausted, he notices. It worries him that something as simple as walking is taking this much out of Bi-Han when he had easily been able to throw him into a wall just yesterday. He chooses not to ask. He knows how much his brother despises being fussed over.

Once they make it back to Bi-Han's quarters, Tomáš decides to open a window. Until now he hadn't even noticed how stale the air in the room had been. Besides, his older brother seems a little less pale now, so the fresh air must have been good for him.

"I should go and let you get some rest."

"Wait."

He stops.

"Before you leave... Bring me ink, paper and a seal."

Tomáš hesitates, slightly caught off guard by the request. He's not sure what Bi-Han needs these things for or why he's asking for them. He doubts his brother would tell him. Should he even be bringing him anything? Tomáš thinks back to what Liu Kang had told him. He knows Bi-Han is unstable, that he had tried to seek death before... But then again, there are much more lethal things to ask for than paper and ink. As he ponders over what to do, his gaze wanders over to the bowl of medicine. Of course, it's still full.

"No", he hears himself say.

"What?"

"I said no", Tomáš repeats.

Bi-Han scowls at him. "I demand you bring me–"

"You're not my grandmaster anymore. You can't demand anything of me", Tomáš says calmly. "How about we make a trade?"

"I already answered your stupid questions", Bi-Han snarls. "What more do you want from me?"

Instead of replying, Tomáš picks up the bowl of medicine and holds it out to his brother. "Drink this and I'll get those items for you."

"Again you disobey me?"

"You still want obedience? Don't think I forgot about what you did yesterday. I still haven't forgiven you for that. If you want a favor, simply asking for it won't be enough. You'll have to do me a favor too."

Bi-Han growls at him.

"If you're not willing to do it, surely whatever you intend to do with those things isn't so important." Tomáš nods to the bowl. "Drink or find someone else to ask."

He can tell Bi-Han is fuming. There's not a doubt in his mind that his brother would be strangling him right now if he still had enough strength left in him to do that. Fortunately for him, all Bi-Han can do is growl and mutter quiet complaints under his breath. Eventually, he takes the bowl of medicine and without breaking eye contact, he downs the contents of it in one single swig. Then he slams the bowl down so hard Tomáš can hear it crack. "There", he hisses. "Now get me what I want."

Tomáš fights back a smile as he turns around and leaves the room.

Even if just a little, he believes he managed to get through to Bi-Han today. For the first time since he left the Lin Kuei, he has a sliver of hope that things might change for the better. He doesn't know how, but he wants to believe they will. He's still not quite sure how to feel about what he had learned today, but at least he got Bi-Han to take his medicine. He decides to mark that down as a small victory as he heads to the library to find ink and paper.

Liu Kang misses his days at the Wu Shi academy. Lately, he often finds himself thinking back to them. He feels lost now, like a leaf at the mercy of a storm. It is odd to him that he still remembers the past so vividly, even after all this time... Being a clueless young novice, concerned only with how to keep his boastful friend Kung Lao out of trouble. The summer sun burning down onto his shoulders as he practices punches and kicks on a wooden training dummy. The laughter and jokes shared with his companions... He misses his old friendships. He misses those simpler times when he had mentors to look up to for guidance, when a bad decision merely brought him the punishment of sweeping the temple floors, not unspeakable ruin and disaster. Now his choices weigh so much heavier, each one determining the outcome of countless of lives. Each mistake a road paved to someone's demise. All his life, he had been prepared for this role. To one day take upon a task greater than anything a mortal soul should ever shoulder. He is the chosen one. But chosen what for? To watch history repeat?

"What good are you? What good are your godly powers if you can't save anyone?"

He does not know anymore. He had stood by as Kitana and Mileena had mourned their mother, as Kenshi had returned from his mission blinded once more, as Bi-Han had doomed himself following Havik into the realm of chaos... Each time, he had been powerless, unable to change the fates of those he had set out to save all those aeons ago when he first began with the creation of this timeline. His new era should have been peaceful... It was never meant to be like this.

For now, he sets his worries aside and knocks on the door to Bi-Han's quarters. As always, he receives no permission to come in and as always, he respectfully waits for a few seconds before entering regardless.

The former cryomancer greets him with the usual scowl. "You came. I didn't think you would."

"You called for me. Why would I not come?"

Bi-Han huffs. "Your current report to Sektor... Has it been sent out yet?"

Liu Kang shakes his head. "No, not yet. I wanted to wait for your... final decision first." He casts his eyes down and exhales slowly. "I don't understand you, Bi-Han. A few more months and you could have gone home. Now... I have to tell her you might never return."

"Don't worry, I have done that for you."

He looks up to see Bi-Han holding out a letter to him. "Have this sent to Sektor for me. As quickly as you can."

Hesitantly, Liu Kang takes the envelope. "It does not have to end like this, you know that."

"That remains my choice, not yours."

He doesn't try to argue back. They are past that point now. "I will make sure this letter reaches Sektor."

Bi-Han acknowledges his words with a nod.

"Have you told Tomáš?"

"That doesn't concern you."

"I have seen him earlier... He looked hopeful."

He gets no reaction and he's unable to read Bi-Han's expression. Minutes pass while neither of them speak.

"Is there anything else you need?", Liu Kang asks eventually.

"Without the treatment... How much longer can I live?"

"I cannot tell you. A few weeks... Maybe less." Most likely less, Liu Kang thinks, but he keeps that to himself.

"Good."

"The Arctikan Hailstone can still save your life."

Bi-Han shoots him a glare. "What do you want me to do? Crawl to my traitorous brother and beg him to grant me mercy? I'd rather burn in the deepest depths of the Netherrealm than to–"

"Enough, Bi-Han!" Liu Kang cuts him off sharply and a little louder than he had intended. He knows better than to let Bi-Han's words get to him, and yet he can't help it this time. He clears his throat, trying to regain his composure. "You need rest. If there's nothing else you need from me, I will leave."

Bi-Han doesn't stop him.

Outside, Liu Kang takes a moment to calm down and debate what to do next. He's holding the letter Bi-Han wrote to Sektor. He doesn't open it. There's a voice in the back of his head that tells him he should. In case Bi-Han sent out instructions to the Lin Kuei, plans for another attack on the Shirai Ryu, more scheming... Instead, Liu Kang chooses to trust him. He knows Bi-Han is defeated.

His brothers, however, do not.

Even if he's wrong and Bi-Han ends up betraying him once more, Liu Kang still won't regret trusting him. With what he's about to do, it would only make them even.

Upon returning to his study, Liu Kang has Tomáš summoned before him. He doesn't have to wait for long until the Shirai Ryu's second in command arrives.

It pains him to watch Smoke's expression falter, the small seed of hope that never bloomed already wilting as he fills him in on his brother's condition. He hates to do this, to bring Tomáš pain and to go behind Bi-Han's back, but he wants to believe his once most trusted ally can still be saved, even from himself.

"I made him take the medicine today. I thought I was helping. You told me if I stayed–" Tomáš stops, his voice cracking.

Liu Kang places a reassuring hand on his shoulder. "You did your best, Tomáš. Right now, I need you to return home and speak to Kuai Liang. I fear that only the Arctikan Hailstone can save Bi-Han's life now."

Slowly, Tomas nods. "Kuai Liang told me he would search for it. He might have found it by now."

"Return as soon as you can. With the stone and with your brother, if he's willing to come."

"Kuai Liang won't want to see Bi-Han. I know him."

"Then the stone will be enough."

"What if Bi-Han still refuses to let you treat him?", Tomáš asks quietly. "Should we just... force him?"

"Restraining him is a last resort", Liu Kang explains. "I would rather not give him another reason to resent me. But I will do what I must for the sake of this timeline."

He knows Bi-Han won't forgive him. In all his years of being a god, Liu Kang had never felt so powerless.

No one is there to greet him when he returns. The gardens are so quiet, it's almost eerie.

It's the loneliest Tomáš has ever felt since the night he lost his family. Only back then, he had been given a new one. This time, he knows, he will lose whatever is left of that family too and then he will have nothing. The day is gray to fit his mood, dark rain clouds obscuring the sun and a cold wind blowing, making his teeth chatter as he hurries to get inside. If he had thought the Shirai Ryu's training grounds were quiet, the main building housing the grandmaster's office is as silent as a grave in comparison. Coming back here doesn't feel like coming home. He still puts on as much of a smile as he can muster, not wanting to worry Kuai Liang and Harumi.

Tomáš doesn't encounter anyone as he makes his way to Kuai Liang's office. He doesn't need to knock. The door stands open wide.

"Kuai Liang?"

At the sound of his voice, his brother looks up from the large stack of paperwork in front of him. "Tomáš. You're back. How did the mission go?"

Before Tomáš can respond, Kuai Liang's focus has already returned to the papers on his desk. He signs another mission report and sets it aside on a seperate stack next to the bigger one.

"There was no mission."

"Oh."

Tomáš waits to see if his brother has anything more to say. He doesn't.

"Where is everyone?", he asks.

"I've sent our recruits to Outworld", Kuai Liang replies as he gestures for him to sit down. "The Umgadi were generous enough to agree to show them around. The sooner they familiarize themselves with Outworld's dangers, the better."

"I see." Tomáš takes a seat across from his brother. "How have you been holding up?"

Kuai Liang sighs. "As you can see, I've been busy going through all these mission reports. Now that you're back, maybe you can help me look through some of them too."

"Of course, brother."

He reaches for the stack of papers, but his brother stops him by quickly placing his hand on top of the stack.

"What are you doing? You just came back and you haven't rested. You can help me with this later too, you know."

"Right."

Tomáš doesn't want to rest. His mind is racing, his thoughts wandering back to his stay at the fire temple. He feels guilty for leaving, the same way he had felt guilty a few days ago when he had left the Shirai Ryu after receiving Liu Kang's invitation. He knows that both his brothers need him. Kuai Liang cannot possibly shoulder the challenges and responsibilties of leading his new clan alone and it doesn't feel right to him that Bi-Han has no one by his side to help him through his recovery. One of his brothers is on his deathbed and the other drowns himself in work to avoid speaking about it. The family Tomáš had been so desperately trying to hold together is falling apart, leaving him behind in the abyss of it all, alone and with nothing. Bi-Han will have peace in death, the satisfaction of going out by no one else's hand but his own and Kuai Liang has Harumi, they will have offspring one day, their own family. Tomáš realizes that in the bitter war between his brothers, he will be the only one to lose.

"So what was it that Lord Liu Kang needed you for?", Kuai Liang finally asks, pulling him out of his thoughts.

There it is, the question he had been dreading.

Tomáš clears his throat.

"We need to talk."

The serious undertone in his voice is enough to get Kuai Liang's attention once again. He looks exhausted, Tomáš notices, though that doesn't surprise him given the circumstances. Despite the initial difficulties, their new clan is growing faster than expected. Training the new recruits is taking a tall on all of them. On most days, sleep is hard to come by, even for him. He stays up late, helping Kuai Liang set up makeshift beds for the Shirai Ryu's newest members and by the time their work is finished, he can already see the pale light of a new day on the horizon. Sometimes, Tomáš wonders why Kuai Liang still stubbornly refuses to accept any of the help offered to him by their friends and allies. He doesn't understand what his brother is trying to prove.

"Is everything alright?"

Tomáš feels a pang of guilt in his stomach at the concern in Kuai Liang's voice. What he is about to say will undoubtedly upset his brother, he knows this, and yet he has no other choice. This is important to him. He wants to save Bi-Han's life. He wants to reunite his brothers. At the very least, he's determined to try.

"We need to talk", he repeats and more quietly he adds: "About Bi-Han."

Kuai Liang's expression hardens instantly. The concern gone, replaced with hatred. His grip on the pen tightens, turning his knuckles white. "I'd rather not be reminded of his existence."

Tomáš sighs. "I understand, but please, just hear me out."

He watches Kuai Liang's gaze return to the paperwork once more and knows he lost his grandmaster's interest by bringing up their estranged brother's name. Maybe he should have waited. He should have tried a more careful approach. He knows he should have... But he's tired. Walking on eggshels around Bi-Han for two days had been exhausting enough. He doesn't have the energy to continue doing it around Kuai Liang too.

"He's dying." Tomáš finally says.

"He's already dead to me."

Tomáš doesn't comment on his brother's harsh words. Instead, he watches Kuai Liang closely, desperately looking for a hint that he still cares, some sign of sadness or regret. To his disappointment, he finds none.

"Liu Kang is asking us to bring him the Arctikan Hailstone", Tomáš continues. "He believes it can still save Bi-Han."

Kuai Liang calmly puts the pen down, reaches for the cup of tea next to him and takes a sip. "I don't have it."

Tomáš clenches his jaw so hard it sends a spike of pain through his skull. "What do you mean? You've been searching for it for two years and you still haven't found it?"

"I had other responsibilties. Building this clan into what it is today. Helping with Raiden's training. Protecting Earthrealm."

"Lord Liu Kang told you to prioritize the search for the stone." Tomáš grips the armrests of his chair tighter. "We can still find it. Tell me where you left off and I can help."

Kuai Liang doesn't meet his eyes. "There was never a search, Tomáš."

"What?"

"You heard me."

All of a sudden, Tomáš feels the urge to scream, to grab the cup Kuai Liang is drinking from so smugly and shatter it into pieces. "What do you mean? Have you lost your mind? You betrayed Lord Liu Kang?"

"Betrayed him?" Kuai Liang slams his hand down on the table, nearly making Tomáš jump. "Who do you think I am? I agreed to search for the stone. Nothing more. I'll do it when the time is right. And then it will go to Hanzo."

Tomáš stares at Kuai Liang and finds another stranger looking back at him. Cold, unforgiving eyes, a face twisted with hatred and rage... It's like he's talking to another version of Bi-Han.

He swallows. "So you will just let our brother die?"

"As he did with father. It'll be a fitting end."

"If Bi-Han dies, we'll never learn why he didn't save father. Don't you want closure?"

"He let father die for the same reason he did this." Kuai Liang gestures to the angry red scar across his face. "He's insane. He would do anything for power."

"Even if that's true, he's still our brother. He's still family."

Kuai Liang glares. "I already have a family and he's no longer part of it."

"Am I?"

His brother's expression softens for a moment. "Of course you are. We're brothers, Tomáš. How can you doubt that?"

"Then why did you lie to me? You said you would find the Arctikan Hailstone. You lied and betrayed Lord Liu Kang." He pauses for a moment. "Why does that sound familiar?"

"You compare me to him? After everything he did to us? How can you still speak on his behalf?"

He protected me, Tomáš wants to say, but he knows that it would mean having to tell his brother about his nightmares and he doesn't want Kuai Liang to needlessly worry about him, even if he's furious at him right now.

"I'm not doing this for Bi-Han!" Tomáš jumps to his feet. "I'm doing this for you as well! If he dies, will you ever be able to forgive yourself? If you don't see him one last time, won't you regret it?"

For a second, a look of uncertainty passes over Kuai Liang's features, but it's already gone the next. "Why save him? So he can betray us again at the first chance he gets? Have we learned nothing?"

"That's not up to us to question! Lord Liu Kang has asked us to save him. Have you forgotten why we founded this clan? The Shirai Ryu are loyal to Lord Liu Kang... We built this clan to serve him and Earthrealm." Tomáš narrows his eyes. "Or have you lied about that too? Do the Shirai Ryu only exist for your vengeance?"

He had trusted his brother. He had trusted both his brothers and both of them had lied to him.

Kuai Liang shakes his head. "Look at you! Look at how we're arguing! This is what Bi-Han wanted. He placed these poisonous words in your mouth! He wants to divide us and weaken the Shirai Ryu. Can't you see that?"

"I don't need anyone to put words in my mouth!", Tomáš snaps. "You think so little of me? That I need others to think and speak for me? Is it because I'm your younger brother or because you think of me as a fool?"

"That's not what I meant, Tomáš. You need to calm down."

"I'll calm down when you agree to do your duty."

"What is going on in here?"

They both turn around at the sound of Harumi's voice. She stands in the doorway, holding a tray with teacups and small colorful cakes. "I could hear you two yelling from down the hallway." She sets the tray down on Kuai Liang's desk and turns to face them, crossing her arms. "What will our recruits think when they return to you two arguing like this?"

Tomáš knows she's right. The last thing they need is to demoralize their recruits, but he can't help being angry at Kuai Liang for lying to him, for how little he cares that his own flesh and blood is dying.

"Don't worry, Harumi", Kuai Liang responds. "Tomáš is tired. I'm sure he wants to retreat. Right, Tomáš?" His brother turns to look at him. "You've been gone for a few days and I know we're all under a lot of pressure. As your grandmaster, I won't hold it against you that you spoke out of line today. You're dismissed now."

Tomáš grits his teeth. He feels his hands trembling with rage, so he clenches them into fists. "I will retreat then. Grandmaster. Grandmistress." He bows stiffly, turns on his heel and storms out of the room, slamming the door shut behind him. As he hears the sound of their voices behind him fade, he can feel the last bit of his hope die, extinguished like a candle by a sudden gust of wind.

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