#besides I don’t want anything that can be given to me; I want freedom and peace of mind and thunderstorms

[theres-whump-in-that-nebula]

I think I’ve been horribly burned out for the past year ahaha

[love-of-the-red-star]

That time I got reincarnated as an Aeon

(Series)

Chapter six: A place to belong

(Unedited, like the rest of the series)

Outer space had always been cold.

Your body didn’t suffer the effects of the temperature, yet you still felt the chill of the void on your skin. The stars and their dusts glowed around you, decorating your space in the most beautiful way that your human self could never dream of.

You thought of your family in your previous life and wondered how they were, if they were alright, if they were eating well and living well.

You also came to realize you weren’t homesick at all.

Materializing in the express and glancing at Welt made you feel a humane sense of relief in knowing you aren’t the only one who wanted to badly convey that you were safe in this new world you resided in.

Unlike Welt though, you don’t have the luxury of ever returning to what once was, or have the choice in having the best of both worlds. Your existence was cemented in this world permanently the moment you became the embodiment of a concept and a being no longer human.

You can’t turn back. It’s a little funny that though you represented freedom, you don’t have the luxury of ever returning to something simpler. You did not have the freedom to return to be the being you once were.

You can emulate human expressions, you can still feel, but you know you’re not really seeing or feeling things the way a human would anymore.

You’re not disturbed by this in the slightest.

You snapped out of your thoughts and walked towards your room then thought of how you’d decorate it— maybe something similar to a bachelor pad? No, Pompom would not be a fan. Maybe something similar to the archives? No, you’d be stealing Dan Heng’s shine.

Then you remembered cozy cabins, quilts, books, all things comfortable and got an idea.

You walked out of your room to seek Pompom and Himeko, ready to lay out your idea in personalizing that little space inside of this train— now that you think of it, it’s more of a house than anything else.

You realized having a home feels comforting more than it ought to be. As an Aeon, your home was the cosmos, the space being your cradle and the nebulas your walls; but the cosmos is hollow and cold, and it did not provide the warmth of the train, or the warmth only humans had.

While you could not go back to being what you were before, you at least had a choice in what your home should be, and what you could do.

“Himeko.” You called out to her, and she turned to you, smiling like you’re a kid that wants her company. “I have ideas to personalize my room, would you be fine if I were to be a bit loud in there for a bit?”

“I don’t mind, though you should ask Dan Heng-“

“I’m fine with it.” Dan Heng answered for her, sitting on a chair and tasting one of her coffee cups— you bit the urge to grimace at the sheer will he had to even drink that.

“Great! I’ll start when we’re on our next stop.” You said with a grin. “Herta got something heavy for us to do right? Leave it to me, think of it as a thank you and a vacation of some sorts.”

“Are you sure? I don’t want to burden you.” She sounded cautious almost, even after more than eight years.

“It won’t be much. Besides, you do own this train, think of it as a courtesy— like a tenant paying rent.” You stated, “I shared this space with you for more than eight years now and I’m modifying an area to my liking, it’s only fair if you get something in return in exchange right?”

Her eyes widened, seemingly surprised. She parted her lips, as if wanting to say something but you gently shushed her, knowing what it is she wanted to say. You’ve already given your protection and blessing to the express— you didn’t even need to help, but you want to.

“[Name].” She sighed fondly. “You can do as you wish, you don’t need permission from me or anyone else.”

“Oh, isn’t asking permission how things work in a shared space though?” You tilted your head, frowning. “I know I’ve done pretty unsavory things outside of this train,” you twirled a strand of your hair, looking away as you felt Dan Heng’s questioning stare on you. “But I don’t mind having to go back and forth with this every time I want to do something inside of it. it’d be unfair for everyone here if I don’t consider their feelings in the matter, or warning them ahead of time to what I will be doing.”

“Ah, I see.” She said, nodding to let you know she understood your point with a relieved and fond smile on her face. “Very well then. I’ll tell Welt you’ll be going to fetch the materials Herta asked for on your own.”

“We’ll have fun next time I promise— ugh if only Void was dead so I could use his body.” That sounded wrong, but soulium is great to use for whatever reason— be it a weapon, a snowboard, or a pan. “Hey uh before we land…. please tell Welt that (Censored).”

With those words, you left, disintegrating from the activation of a space anchor as you saw the planet where the materials on Herta’s list were particularly abundant.

Dan Heng for once looked a little horrified, Himeko however could only sigh at your antics.

What even was your suggestion? Well, it involves using Void as a snowboard, and using his “son” as the brakes.

Those words would be horrifying enough to hear if you were a man.

“Don’t worry, they won’t do that to you.” Himeko said in an attempt to reassure him. Although it worked, the words still rang through his head.

———————————

As you hummed and gathered the materials after killing a couple of Nanook’s children, you heard bells, then giggling.

You sighed. “You’re not very subtle in showing your amusement for the shit I do you know?”

You could feel them smiling, before multitudes of masks enter your vision and the sound of party balloons fill the space at the corner of your eyes.

The Elation morphs into a human-like shape like you, and you’re not surprised to find out whose form they took.

Familiar green eyes, and dark hair. Of course it would be Belobog’s conman this time— the last time Aha had showed themselves to you they took on the form of Hanabi when you were in some planet with Boothill some years ago.

“Of course! It’s rude to greet a friend without announcing my presence.” They grinned, their smile stretching a little wider than what a normal human could smile. You think this would have utterly creeped you out had you been a human.

“Good to see you again, Aha.” You said.

“And you are still the same old you.” They poked your nose. “What fun are you going to pull next I wonder?” They jeered.

“None of your business— I didn’t think you cared. I was under the assumption that as long as you are elated, then all is well.” Aha laughed at your intentional wording, slapping their knee as they wheezed too loudly.

“This is why you are my good friend.” They pinched your cheeks. “To think you’d offer all sides of a theater just like this, did you enjoy it when you were behind the safety of your screen too?”

What the fuck.

“What do you mean by that?” You innocently prodded, Aha merely kept their grin wide like a Cheshire Cat, their form morphing into something.. wrong, off, inelegant and disproportionate if you looked closer.

“Oh you know well what I am talking about, Little Libertas.” They said. “A reborn Aeon from a realm none of us can reach, how amusing indeed.” their eyes widened, pupils blown as they confirmed your suspicion. Aha had no reason to speak of lies to you for they were not human.

“Ugh.” You groaned. “Of course you’d break the fourth wall.” You said softly as you went back to picking up the materials with ease.

“Yet you still laugh whenever I rickroll you.”

“Fair.”

Aha hummed, their features returning back to normal seeing as it didn’t get a reaction out of you as they wanted.

“I would like to watch you more.” They said to you. “You are amusing.”

You made a face, and they laughed as they slowly but surely disappeared.

“Until next time little friend.”

You sighed, looking at the materials inside of the sack before dragging it with you and walking to a space anchor.

You still have a room to renovate after all.

—————————-

Part I, Part II, Part III, Part IV, Part V, Part VI, Part VII (HERE), Part VIII, …….

Interludes: one, two…..

I’m still navigating on how I could properly write this fic, so when I eventually edit it please expect minor or major changes to how things would function because we know HSR lore isn’t that concrete yet.

I would also like to thank everyone for their love and support for this series, I love everyone’s praises towards this— I was initially hesitant to publish it, but I’m glad I did.

See you on the next installation!

[obbystars]

Encounter Nihilism

Synopsis: “Just because they don’t have any eyes doesn’t mean they don’t have other senses. Come on, you should know that by now.” Z-13 (Sebastian Solace)

Notes: Not exactly a Sebastian Solace x Reader fic but you can read it as such / read When Light Fades before reading this / Reader deaths, nothing too angsty though / Sebastian being an asshole (and we love him for it) / Experimental deaths + cutting off limbs / Brief angst at the end / may be a tad bit shorter than my usual (it bothers me)

Credits: dividers by @cafekitsune

(Is it obvious this is self indulgent? I really love When Light Fades, super proud of it. I haven’t decided if I’m gonna take this concept and use it for an OC yet, but oh boy, it’s getting strong. Anyway, this fic’s meant to explore more on the reader featured in When Light Fades while also continuing to experiment with Sebastian’s character.)

As you swam to the next door, you hear strange noises coming from the other side. It’s not the Good People, they can’t come into the flooded rooms. It doesn’t sound like an angler either. You continued forward and the next door slid open. Your eyes widened at the sight of the creature on the other side as it looked at you.

Panicked, you try to climb into a locker. You don’t make it in time as you feel its tentacles wrap around your head to crush your diving mask, but that isn’t what kills you. The creature manages to trick the operator behind the PDG by attempting to remove it, causing immediate detonation.

You woke up with a gasp in an all too familiar room.

“I heard that,” Sebastian leans on his hand as his lure flickers on, “What’d you run into this time… Ah,”

You looked down as he slides over the document. An image of the creature you encountered is shown and beside it was another photo that was redacted. Maybe in another death you’ll see what that other photo is.

Nihilism was the codename Urbanshade had given it. A lot of the text within the first page was left redacted, and only a few lines were on the second page were visible.

“If by chance any operative encounters Z-8 within any flooded rooms, it is advised to remain still and turn off any light source currently in possession. Wait for Z-8 to pass.”

That was the only line you were able to read. Sebastian begins to tap his finger against the desk. You sit back and he takes that as the signal you’re done, but it’s not like you read much anyway.

He sighs as he closes the document, “Think of if as Red Light, Green Light. Surely you’ve played that game before,”

“Ugh, this feels worse than Pandemonium…” you groaned, leaning on the table.

“Pretend you’re a corpse floating in the water. That should be pretty easy for you, yeah? I mean, you have died quite a lot,”

“Screw you…”

Upon your next life, you find yourself in the trench tunnels about 20 doors in. It was an area in Hadal Blacksite you despised since it showed you that the anglers can attack from the front. You stepped out of the locker once the angler passed by and turned on your flashlight. There’s no squiddles in this room so you decided to look through the drawers for anything useful.

In the corner of your eye, you swear you saw something moving in the dark water. It wasn’t the Eyefestation as you didn’t see a green glow. Instead, it was Z-8. You freeze once you finally realized it, and you clicked your flashlight off. They looked like they were just passing by, but they suddenly turned to look at your general direction. Did they somehow sense you turning it off?

“Are you alive?”

You actually freeze up this time. It was a voice inside your head, but it wasn’t like Eyefestation where it tried to mimic the voice of the person in the PA. This was its own voice.

“I can sense you there,”

You start taking shallow breaths, almost resorting to holding it.

“Don’t worry. I can’t reach you. But when I do, it’s not personal,” it continues, “We’re both fighting for what we want, right? Freedom from this place?”

You try to not listen, thinking it’s only try to persuade you into meeting up with it. Maybe even striking up some sort of deal.

“I wish this wasn’t how we met, but I owe Sebastian. This is my favor to him,” its tone suddenly changes, “We can’t let you get that crystal,”

“…they owe Sebastian?” You whispered to yourself.

The Eyefestation suddenly emerges from the dark, and Z-8 swims out of her way as her eyes turned red. A new voice cried inside your head, pleading for you to look into its eyes. The next thing you knew, you were back in the room with Sebastian who stifled a laugh as he slides over the document to you. You had questions concerning what Z-8 had said, but maybe now’s not the right time to ask.

“For unknown reasons, Z-8 is somehow able to communicate with Z-317 “The Eyefestation.” Should operatives see Z-8 outside the windows, or hear its voice, DO NOT LISTEN and keep moving forward as they cannot reach you. They have already called “The Eyefestation” and are trying to keep you in the room.”

Sebastian closes the document, still trying to keep himself from laughing, “A tag-team! Who would’ve thought, huh?”

You rolled your eyes, “I can’t believe that’s how I died,”

“Like a deer in headlights,” he smirks as he leans closer, “Happens to all of us, but man, I thought you’d be used to seeing that shark considering the amount of times you looked at her,”

“She just startled me! I’d love to look at her if she wasn’t able to kill me just by making me look at her,” you shrugged, “She is a beautiful shark,”

Sebastian gives you an odd look and groans, “Get out of here already,”

“Fair enough,”

The next few deaths to Z-8 were more of trial and error. In your most recent death, you learned the hard way that Z-8 does not like the flash beacon and did not hesitate to detonate your PDG. You felt like it was a strange reaction considering it took them a moment to even react when you used any other light source.

“Got grabbed again, did ya?” Sebastian laughed.

He then slides the document to you, now revealing the entire document with some text still left redacted. Some documents contained those, such as his own, and you learned to stop caring about it. At least it wasn’t like the Multi-Monster. Previously redacted photo was now uncovered. A person whose face was obscured.

Z-8 - Codename: Nihilism. Real name: ▇▇▇▇ ▇▇▇

In early 2011, five LR-Ps were selected to be a part of an experiment to achieve immortality. Out of the five selected, only Z-8 survived the first round of tests. Z-9, Z-10, Z-11, and Z-12 all succumbed to different effects as each subject was given a different dosage. Although Z-8 survived, they were not immune to the effects their dosage brought. As a result, the experiment was left on hold until researchers found a better source to reach the desired goal.

By 2013, the experiment resumed using the immortal jellyfish as originally planned along with the mimic octopus, the ▇▇▇, and ▇▇▇▇. Z-8 was used again for the next test and hasn’t experienced any side effects on the first day. Two days later, a guardsman escorting Z-8 noticed they have been stumbling and bumping into the walls. On the seventh day, Z-8 had gone completely blind. However, it has been noted that Z-8 is capable of sensing where there is light and where someone is even if they are not moving.

Z-8 soon began to struggle walking and can’t seem to have a tight grip. It didn’t take very long for them to lose all feeling in their arms and legs. They were still able to move their torso as well as their head. They were still capable of speech, but Z-8 has been refusing to talk.

Z-8 was meant to be executed due to the state they were in, but thirty minutes after their heart seemingly stopped, it soon started to beat again. They wake up an hour later as if they had just taken a nap with all of their memories still intact, but Z-8 still cannot see and still cannot walk or move their arms. This resulted in having to move Z-8’s location into a more suitable cell for testing.

Z-8 has endured 5 deaths before changes in their body started becoming clear. Shortly after, testing and studying the regenerative properties Z-8 should have began. Due to poor execution during the procedures, Z-8 ended up enduring 7 more deaths. By the 4th death, a new side effect to Z-8’s resurrection was noted. Upon death, coral (polyps) begins to form on their body.

Their body soon takes the form of a humanoid jellyfish, leading to having to relocate them again. Z-8 no longer turns to others when they are near until they shine a light. The behavior they show gives the impression they like the light and often try to follow it, sometimes moving their head or even their entire body.

Z-8 will then be used to study the regenerative properties further until it can be refined in a way that is desirable.

Before the lockdown was in effect, Z-8 was going to be sold at The Anomalous Auctions as Z-8 had been deemed of no monetary value, nor can be used for work. 5 hours into the lockdown, camera footage caught Z-13 transporting Z-8 to an unknown location.

If by chance any operative encounters Z-8 within any flooded rooms, it is advised to remain still and turn off any light source currently in possession. Wait for Z-8 to pass.

DO NOT move as Z-8 can sense you nearby, but they can’t differentiate between a corpse and a living person until you move.

Turn off any and all light sources in your possession as Z-8 can sense it and become curios. Your window to turn it off is narrow, but it’s still wide enough to not raise their suspicion.

There is a chance where operatives may find Z-8 roaming in a dark flooded room with S-Q. If the room prior has lights on, Z-8 will go into that room. It is safe to move in the dark room as Z-8 cannot tell the difference between you and the S-Q.

For unknown reasons, Z-8 is somehow able to communicate with Z-317 “The Eyefestation.” Should operatives see Z-8 outside the windows, or hear its voice, DO NOT LISTEN and keep moving forward as they cannot reach you. They have already called “The Eyefestation” and are trying to keep you in the room.

Unlike Z-13, operatives are instructed to contain Z-8 as it is impossible for the subject to stay dead.

You’re not exactly sure what to say to all of this. Sebastian is being much quieter than usual too, not even closing the document when you sat back. You look up at him, building up the courage to speak.

“So that’s what they meant when they said they owe you…”

“They don’t owe me anything,” his voice lowered into a growl, “It was their choice to stay much like that shark,”

You look down at the document again and sighed, “Kinda feels like there’s much more than that,”

“Don’t you have somewhere to be?”

You sighed again as you stood up to leave. Sebastian watches you go and looks back down at the document, then closes it without another word.

[one-idea]

I had an idea for a story but no time to do anything with it so I offer to you:

The crew is facing some monarch with a devil fruit that forces absolute obedience from the people they hit with it. Zoro gets hit, but the command is "kneel and obey your king" and. Well. Zoro has only ever had one king, hasn't he?

It quickly turns out that Luffy and Zoro can read each other so well that Zoro starts responding to nonverbal orders, things Luffy wants but would never say, never command. Zoro might not even be mentally present, just responding automatically.

I love this!!! And I am honored that you chose me.

On this could be so sweet and at the same time utterly heartbreaking.

Because you know as soon as they find out what that guys devil fruit ability is Luffy hates him. Luffy values freedom above everything else. The idea that someone has the ability to strip someone of their freedom so completely and force them to obey every command has to enrage him.

Especially if the people under his control have no free will. Because you can play this ability a few ways

Complete and utter control. They don’t do anything without being told to do it.

They live their lives normally until an order is given (like Ella enchanted. She has to obey the order but she is conscious the whole time and able to express her displeased with certain orders)

Mix it they live a normal life until an order is given and then they kind zone out until the order is complete.

And depending on which style it is can lead to a lot of different outcomes. (You could even make it so that the ability differs depending on how many times he commands them, the power becoming more encompassing each time.)

Anyhow the Strawhats hear about this and Luffy goes in Guns a Blazing as always. Nami tries to stop him because “what happens if he orders one of us?”

Luffy is sure that defeating the guy will free everyone, it’s worked every other time. Besides they are all stronger willed enough to probably break free. Zoro agrees because he’d never take a weak man’s orders. Sanji is hesitant but agrees that they have to beat this guy and the other two have already left.

But they get there and Luffy and Zoro have fought their way to the top. The others following up behind them. They are facing down the Monarch who smirks because they’ve heard about the famous strawhats Captain and his loyal dog. “I wonder what you’ll do Strawhat, when your mutt no longer listens to you.” They then turn to Zoro and order “Roronoa Zoro kneel and obey your King.”

They’re smirking expecting Zoro to fall to his knees in front of them. And Zoro does fall to his knees but he’s facing Luffy. He’s not speaking (he can’t) and is awaiting his orders.

Luffy is shocked. The enemy is cackling because he thinks he’s got Zoro but Luffy yells. “Zoro get up.” And Zoro’s right back to his feet.

“Yes my king.”

The king is flabbergasted and Luffy is looking on with pride thinking Zoro shook off the command.

The monarch escapes durning some confusion which isn’t ideal but they’ll catch up.

It isn’t until later when Zoro is doing every little thing Luffy says with out complaint (“Zoro carry me.” He gets scooped up no question. “Zoro! Meat.” They’re heading to the kitchen) and it takes the crew a while to catch on because Zoro is always by Luffy and Zoro always does things for Luffy. But normally there is gruff complaining from him at the least.

It isn’t until later that they put it together that Zoro is under the devil fruit power. But the command “Kneel and obey your king” was a poor one to give Zoro because he already has a king. He is the first mate of the future pirate king. The monarch meant obey me but Zoro’s brain only processes King as Luffy. There is no other.

Luffy is horrified when he finds out. Zoro has been doing whatever he wanted all day. And he thought it was his first mate indulging him. In actuality he had stripped Zoro of his freedom. Zoro had been obeying not because he’s the best first mate ever but because he had no choice. And he hadn’t said anything!

Zoro figures it out right away. But he can’t say anything to Luffy. He knows his captain. If he knows he has complete control over Zoro he would hate it so much. He’d be overly careful around Zoro and probably stop talking to him to try and avoid giving him any commands. (He’s right that’s Luffy’s go to strategy once he finds out)

He trust Luffy completely. Luffy, while silly, rarely gives Zoro orders that he wouldn’t chose to obey anyways.

Until they find out. Maybe Zoro sees a threat and goes to chase after it and Luffy yells to wait. He means for Zoro to wait up, he wants to fight to. But Zoro freezes mid-step. And just like that all the pieces click together.

And the idea that they can read each other so well that Zoro is obeying non verbal commands is so cute but also heart wrenching because Luffy is trying to hard not to order Zoro around that he’s just not talking to him. But Zoro knows Luffy. And is so used to predicting and interpreting his wants and needs he’s doing things any ways.

He’s pulling Luffy into hugs when he needs comfort (a movement Zoro normally lets pass) he stands beside him when Luffy needs support.

And it’s causing Luffy to spiral because Zoro doesn’t want to do these things he’s making Zoro do them.

But Zoro absolutely wants to be with Luffy and comfort him and support him. Luffy could ask him to disembowel himself and he’d do it. Because the king was right he is Luffy’s loyal first mate (dog) and if he was going to be forced to obey anyone he’d pick Luffy because he trust him completely.

But to Luffy this is a violation of this trust. Any order he has to give that Zoro follows blindly is stressing him out because Zoro is going to hate him for taking his freedom.

Oh I love this idea so much!!! Thank you. I’ll have to think about this more.

[howlsofbloodhounds]

tell me, certified killer mutual, what your pet peeves are in killer ships and what you like in them/how to make them good……

you are my something new encyclopedia at this point and as a kross/krepic lover i must ask what i need to keep in mind to make things balanced and good…. because killer is grossly ignored in ships involving him!!!

oftentimes he is treated like something used to forward the plot or focus on other characters and often do not focus on him (with the exception of colorkiller) like they should. i don’t try to do that exactly but you know a lot bout him and id really appreciate and enjoy tips on writing him in a relationship in a way that’s tasteful and good for his character :3

Oh i haven’t really thought all the pet peeves through, besides the idea that I want it be earned and I want Killer to be his own complex individual. So I’ll just want take this opportunity to rant about some thoughts I’ve had about Killer and relationships in general, mostly in Stage 2 as that is often the Stage people will meet him in. This isn’t meant to be a definitive be all of “you have to do this” or anything, just thoughts.

First thing would probably be that Killer doesn’t choose partners based strictly on attraction or feelings, not in Stage 2.

If there’s a benefit in being in a romantic relationship with someone and there doesn’t seem to be an alternative to gaining that outcome—such as access to someone’s soul, for example, and he’s really interested in their soul for a particular reason—he’d probably be willing to engage in a romantic relationship if that seems to be the only way to get what he needs and fulfill his goals.

He’s not romantically or sexually interested in this person, going through the motions of a relationship without much emotional investment in this case. It may be different if he gets involved in a relationship out of an impulsive curiosity or drive for something new, out of a sense of boredom or a distraction.

If the partner isn’t pursuing this relationship first, they may start feeling used or that there’s some other motive going on here; perhaps even a sense of being preyed on (not like that, ya know, and likely not with malicious or cruel intent, even if the partner doesn’t realize that.)

Killer views relationships as a form of power dynamics: “control or be controlled.”

He could enter a relationship to avoid being controlled by someone he perceives as a threat or authority. Becoming docile or compliant could be a survival strategy, especially if he believes the person has influence over him (like the Player, Nightmare, or another powerful figure). Fawn response is likely.

Conversely, he might pursue a relationship with someone weaker or more dependent, feeling safer when he holds the perceived upper hand. (Less likely, as he’d probably prefer to avoid relationships entirely if there’s no need or reason to be in one that he can see.)

(Safer as in he genuinely fears what’ll happen to him if he loses this control, what they’ll do to him and his mind. He’s not hiding behind power or control for power and controls sake, but because he believes that’s the only way to maintain even a sliver of freedom or agency—and he’d be pretty ruthless to maintain this, given how he treats Swap.

Examples such as pushing him to try and “feel again” or triggering Stage 1 in jarring, upsetting, and traumatic ways.)

He’s drawn into a relationship for tangible or strategic benefits (e.g., protection, access to resources, fulfilling a mission, and not consciously, validation and acknowledgment—even if through the means of masochism or sadism directed at him or towards him.)

Emotional connections are not a motivating factor unless he becomes attached, and even then, his apathy often masks deeper feelings.

Though he is emotionally detached, Killer might engage in relationships to fill a void, especially if the other person makes him feel “seen” or real.

The Player’s influence looms large in Killer’s life. He would act in a way that aligns with what he believes the Player wants, which could include romantic relationships.

If he sees the Player as controlling his choices or wanting him to do something, he may either accept this control passively or react with aggression if he feels threatened.

His actions in relationships could often be influenced by what he believes the Player would approve of.

His programming under could make him believe he should be in relationships if ordered to or if it aligns with the mission or goals. He may also mirror what others expect or desire, using charm to manipulate or deflect.

(Such in Bad Sanses AUs, utilizing attachments and emotions to perform his duties as Nightmare’s Right Hand and keep subordinates loyal and attached, therefore less likely to leave, therefore less likely for Killer to be punished or deemed useless.)

When in relationships where he’s not attached to his partner(s), he would maintain his extroverted, silly facade, using humor and charm to deflect scrutiny. Any signs of vulnerability would be carefully masked.

These relationships would serve a purpose. He would observe and exploit the other person’s weaknesses or desires to gain control or minimize threats.

Killer would remain emotionally distant, treating the relationship as a transaction or game to maintain his apathy and avoid deeper connections.

If the other person has power over him (or he believes they do), he might appear docile or submissive, following their lead to avoid punishment or conflict outwardly while subtly trying to regain small moments of control or even just express resentment through passive aggression.

If he is attached, it would confuse Killer, as it clashes with his belief in the futility of emotional connections. He might deny or suppress feelings, fearing they make him vulnerable and will be used to further control him and use him.

While he may not admit it, attachment could manifest in small, unconscious gestures, such as taking care of the person’s needs, (similar to how he cares for stray cats) and acts of service (often rather extreme).

He’d likely find it extremely hard to accept care from others, because it causes such confusion and distress and conflicts with what he’s used to, and will make him feel unsafe —likely causing him to dissociate and derealize, unable to accept what’s happening as real or trust that it is, even if it feels good and comes to crave it.

Especially if this affection feels forced onto him, if he believes he can’t reject it or struggles to even realize that he doesn’t want it—which would likely subconsciously turn him off from asking for or seeking out affection from his partner(s), even if he passively accepts when they give him it to him or when they ask it from him. Like a cat, he wants affection on his own terms—even if he doesn’t realize he’s allowed to have terms or wants.

He feels threatened when approached first — either likely to throw his weight around through LV like a puffed up hissy cat like he did to Swap, or passively accept and resign himself to it if he feels like he can’t resist or that it’d be pointless to.

If the relationship becomes a rare source of validation or comfort, he would become possessive, or fear losing control, though he would mask these feelings with cynicism or humor.

Killer would likely push the other person away to avoid being controlled or hurt, especially if he feels the relationship challenges his emotional detachment or survival instincts. For him, emotions often do and (often were) dangerous and life threatening. This is how he’s been taught to view them.

Killer would likely approach relationships with a fatalistic mindset, believing they are ultimately meaningless and doomed. He might justify his involvement by thinking, “It’s just something to do.”

He is hyper-aware of power dynamics. If he feels controlled, he may resent the relationship but comply out of fear or habit. If he feels in control, he may feel safer but detached.

Emotional intimacy terrifies him, as it threatens the protective barrier of his apathy—and his in cases like with Color, his apathy and disconnect works against him when he struggles to connect emotionally even when he wants to, unable to tell if anything he felt or thought in Stage 1 was real or not. Any genuine feelings would provoke confusion, shame, or fear of exploitation or abuse, losing control, and dissociation.

Killer��s detachment from his identity as Sans makes him feel unworthy or incapable of genuine connection, reinforcing his apathy and cynicism.

When controlled or viewing it this way, Killer may become submissive or compliant, viewing the relationship as inevitable and something incapable of saying no or resisting against. He would use his facade to avoid punishment or suspicion while quietly assessing how to regain control.

When in control or viewing it that way, he would behave more confidently and playfully, seeing the relationship as a source of entertainment or advantage. However, his detachment would prevent him from fully engaging emotionally.

I’d say he needs to be needed—especially if there’s a perceived power dynamic regardless of attachment or not, as to him his usefulness dictates his right to continue existence and he can’t conceive being wanted for anything besides what he and his body can do and is able to handle.

If he thinks he needs someone for some reason, or in a case similar to Color—needs and wants someone—he’d adapt to whatever they seem to need or want from him.

In cases like Nightmare it’d be to the extent of what avoids inconvenience or being discarded and replaced because he thinks he needs Nightmare, in others where he needs something somethings from someone like their soul (as opposed to needing them) it’ll be until he can gain access to that soul.

In cases like Color (where Color is viewed as stronger than him), where there’s nothing Color seems to want from him and nothing Color seems to want to use him for and yet Color has put all this time and effort into him

anyhow and he thinks he needs (but also wants) Color—he gives Color reasons to keep him around.

if Color wants nothing more than a friend from him, then he’ll be the best friend he could ever have. And Color would never want anyone else.

He just has to figure out what the Hell being a friend means to Color..

He’s unlikely to agonize over things like “what if having these types of feelings ruin this type of relationship? Or what if doing or saying this makes it awkward?” the way he might in Stage 1.

This is where his possessiveness and terrortital (and honestly borderline obsessiveness with Color, even if he tries to hide it) tendencies come in.

He’s Color’s best friend because that’s what Color seems to want from him. Not because he cares about the concept of friendship on its own. To him, Color is his. He needs him, and wants him—although that last one may take the back seat a lot in comparison to what Color wants. He’ll be whatever makes Color keep him around.

With others he may view as friends—which he likely wouldn’t seek out himself without a functional purpose such curiosity, need, or convenience and would likely question the motives of anyone trying to approach him claiming to want to be friends—he’d keep a distance if they haven’t become something like what he with Color, wouldn’t expect much emotional depth and would likely have a general disinterest towards others if there’s nothing new about them enough to catch his attention.

He’d avoid emotional demands and would likely be highly uncomfortable with neediness from others or even resentful, even if he doesn’t express it outwardly—especially if he feels they’re trying to control him with their emotions and expectations, often leaving him feeling trapped in the relationship and with that the fear of basically being enslaved and subjugated.

He may crave validation and attention, but only in ways that don’t require him to open up or feel vulnerable—especially with those he doesn’t trust, feel safe with, or connected to.

He may classify those close to him as something like this; those he needs, those who serve a purpose in keeping him grounded or engaged, or those whose absence would leave a significant hole.

Basically, if anyone attempts to do anything like what Swap did (when’s he’s still under Nightmare, as opposed to another ending such as when he’s with Color)—regardless of their intentions—it’s likely to end very badly for them.

As in Killer would sooner beat them half to death to make them leave him alone and give up than allow anyone to have control over him again, or be forced to “feel again” or deal with the fear and pain of being forced into Stage 1 and all the memories and emotions associated with it. Of being weak.

And if they keep sticking around after he’s made it clear he doesn’t want them around him, shoving themselves into his life, he’d clearly take it as free reign to have some “fun” with them and assert control if they really want to be in his life and “help him” and “be his friend” so damn much. And he’d blame them for their own pain, as it’s “not his fault they are weak.”

I think Killer would need someone who can offer emotional stability and security. Given his detachment and fear of vulnerability, he craves someone who provides a sense of calm and reassurance. This person would need to be able to ground him, helping him feel less emotionally adrift and detached from reality.

Killer’s fear of abandonment and emotional numbness make him cling to consistency. He would need someone who is reliably present, offering him a sense of continuity and comfort. A partner who is emotionally available and can consistently demonstrate that they’re there for him would be highly valued, even if Killer doesn’t openly show it.

Killer’s trauma and emotional turmoil often lead him to believe that he’s fundamentally broken and unworthy. A partner who can accept him as he is, without pressuring him to change or revealing too much, would be essential. Killer needs someone who won’t push him to be someone else but will accept his detached, cynical persona and understand the deeper pain and reasons behind it.

He needs someone who understands that his behavior (detachment, cynicism, possessiveness, etc.) is rooted in his experiences and struggles and how he’s adapted to survive, not just a lack of care or an attempt to be “edgy” or manipulative.

This someone would need to refrain from judging his emotional barriers and instead offer gentle encouragement and space for Killer to process his feelings at his own pace.

Stage 2’s obsession with control extends to relationships. Killer might not necessarily want to dominate, but he would want to feel that he has some level of control over his emotional environment. He would need someone who respects his space and boundaries, but one who also allows him to feel like he’s not being controlled or manipulated.

However, the right person could earn his trust and have some control over the dynamics of the relationship, which would give Killer a sense of emotional and physical safety.

While Killer would need emotional connection, he might also need space to retain his autonomy. The ideal partner would understand this balance, not forcing Killer to open up more than he’s comfortable but still offering subtle guidance and understanding when necessary.

Killer’s apathy and emotional walls make him unlikely to ask for or express a need for affection in conventional ways. However, he would likely still need affection—though on his own terms.

Small, quiet acts of care (like a touch on the shoulder (with the understanding that he’s allowed to say no and have that respected), an offer of support, or even nonverbal understanding) would mean a lot to him, even if he doesn’t always know how to express that need.

Killer’s lack of self-worth makes him seek validation from others, but this is indirect. He needs someone who can show him that he’s worthy of care and connection, especially without forcing him to explicitly ask for it.

Through actions and small gestures, Killer’s partner(s) would help him feel that he matters, even if he struggles to believe it.

Given his tendency to suppress emotions and struggle to believe he even has them, Killer needs someone who gives him space to be emotionally closed off when necessary.

He needs someone who respects his boundaries, doesn’t force him to share his deepest thoughts, and understands that his need for space isn’t a rejection, but part of his emotional defense mechanism.

Killer needs someone who is patient with his slow emotional progress. His emotional walls are hard to break down, and he may not be able to communicate his feelings directly. A partner who respects his process and doesn’t rush him to be more vulnerable or open would be essential in helping him grow at his own pace.

Loyalty is a critical component for Killer. His emotional instability and fear of abandonment might cause him to fixate on people who are unwavering in their loyalty to him.

He needs someone who proves their loyalty through actions, remaining steadfast even when Killer’s detachment or emotional shutdown makes it hard for him to show affection in return.

Killer needs a partner who earns his trust over time, not rushing or demanding it but allowing him to grow comfortable with them. Trust for Killer would be hard-won and easily lost, and once it’s earned, he would cling to it, even if he doesn’t always express it.

Trust is one of the few things Killer would place high value on in a relationship, as it provides him with a sense of stability and safety.

Stage 2’s need for control manifests in wanting to maintain some level of power in the relationship, but he also needs to be guided gently by someone who understands his psychological needs.

While Killer may feel the need to hold control over situations, he also is secretly drawn to someone who has a subtle ability to influence him without overwhelming him.

His sadism and masochism. His history of being controlled by others might make him both crave and fear these dynamics in a relationship. He might feel drawn to a partner who subtly indulges or challenges these tendencies in ways that help him feel emotionally alive, but this would be something he might only recognize subconsciously.

Killer needs to feel seen or recognized as a person, not just an instrument to use or a threat or something not to be trusted.

His deep-seated fear of being overlooked or forgotten could make him crave someone who acknowledges his struggles, his desires, and his worth, even if he doesn’t explicitly ask for it. Being validated by a partner would be deeply important to Killer, even though he may hide this need under layers of indifference.

I could talk more about this, especially how his relationship with his body could effect his relationships in general, but I’ll leave it there for now as I have no clue if this is helpful at all 💀.

[skyward-floored]

Whumptober Day 10: Passing out from pain

I’m soooooo glad I had this prewritten guys you have no idea. Who’s ready for a Hyrule blood curse fic? 😈

Warnings: blood and severe injury, brief body horror, uncertain fate of a character

Ao3 link

Continuation (day 18)

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The blade sinks through his chest, and with it, seals Hyrule’s doom.

He can’t even scream anymore, his voice raw from threats and defiance and previous cries already torn from his throat. Ropes keep him from moving anything except for his head, and even if they weren’t, he’s so exhausted from the lack of nourishment and every last-ditch escape effort he’s made in the past couple days that he couldn’t move even if he wanted to.

So when the blade rips through him, right below his ribs, all that comes out of Hyrule’s throat is a breathy whimper.

It changes to a keening whine when the sword is twisted in his gut, the sound thick with agony. Blood gushes when the sword is pulled back out, and Hyrule lets out a weak cry, watching through blurry vision as his skin turns red with it.

Blood pools below him in a slight indentation in the stone, the rock cut precisely for this moment. It trails down the side, and Hyrule forces himself to watch as it lands in a large bowl with a pile of ashes, which immediately begin to smoke.

An angry sob tears from his throat as more of his blood spills, howls of victory and glee a cacophony in his ears. He fought tooth and nail against this ever happening, yet here he is, like a lamb at the slaughter, his blood spilled and Ganon’s return imminent.

And nobody comes to help him.

Hyrule closes his eyes then, shaking in pain and grief. He’d fallen through a portal alone, right into a near army of monsters in his homeland. Caught off-guard and dizzy from dark magic, he’d given the fight everything he had, but it hadn’t been enough. He’d been hit over the head and dragged away, and despite his endless attempts at freedom, nothing had worked.

The others had never shown up.

Goddesses if nothing else, send them to fix my mess, Hyrule pleads as he hears an unearthly squelch come from the ashes, and the monsters roar in excitement. Even if I have to die, help them stop him, don’t let my land be destroyed because of me.

A hissing sound is coming from the ashes now, dark magic coalescing and feeding off of Hyrule’s blood. It’s like ice in his veins, sharp and deadly cold, and Hyrule sobs again, giving a weak thrash against his bonds.

He can’t let them win. He can’t.

He can’t.

The dark magic is leeching off of him like a parasite now, feeding off of his blood and magic, stealing his energy and very lifeblood to use for its own purposes. The chanting around him speeds, excitement thrumming in the air. Hyrule hears something move beside him, drag itself through the ashes, and if he’d eaten anything in the past few days, it would be coming up now.

“More,” a voice rasps, phlegmy and horrific, and more tears born of pain roll down Hyrule’s cheeks as the blade sinks through him in a different part of his chest. He chokes, and it’s pulled out and slashed at his sides and arms as well. By then the pain is blocking out so much of his world that Hyrule doesn’t realize it at first when the blade is dragged from his shoulder straight down to the opposite hip.

He would scream, but what energy he had is being siphoned away from him, and all he can do is shudder with a cough that tastes like blood. His whole body feels soaked with it, and an almost hilarious thought drifts through his mind that it’s a good thing the monsters stripped him of everything but his shorts, otherwise he’d be washing bloodstains out for months.

As if I’ll live that long.

He convulses with another wracking cough, and blood spatters up with it, pain dulling so much of his world. For some reason the only clear sense he has left is his hearing, and his ears are filled with his own agonized breaths, chants and cheers of monsters, the gut-churning sounds of bones popping together and skin forming over flesh beside him.

He’s shocked he isn’t dead yet, but the dark magic probably has a hand in that. It’s siphoning even more greedily now, and Hyrule feels it increase and increase and increase until all he can do is shake and gasp from the pain it leaves him with.

It abruptly triples and rips a broken scream from his throat (apparently he is still capable of such noises), making his back arch and vision go red with agony. It only lasts a few moments, but they’re like a lifetime.

When it eases and Hyrule finally falls still, all he can do is drag in a trembling, wretched hiccup.

And then the laughter starts.

It begins at first weak and croaking, as if it has to remember how to make such a sound. But as the minutes tick by, it grows louder, and deeper, and so familiar that Hyrule nearly wails with the weight of his failure.

He’s back.

Oh gods he’s back.

Hyrule keeps his eyes closed as the laughter continues, his body finally gone limp. It’s the one comfort he has left, and the darkness behind his eyelids is getting deeper at the edges, the kind Hyrule only ever sees when things are really bad. But the moment he begins to drift into its edges, the stabbing ice of dark magic drags him back, wracking him with another bubbling cough.

Footsteps trail closer to him, different then that of the monsters who’ve been prowling around the stone. Fingers—claws abruptly grab his chin, tilting his face around, and Hyrule feels blood drip down his face.

“I know you live, Hero. Look at me.”

The voice is familiar and not, booming and smooth, yet holding an inhuman growl, one that makes Hyrule involuntarily shudder.

The claws grip tighter when he doesn’t obey, breaking skin. Despite how Hyrule doesn’t want to do anything that voice tells him, let his final act be one of defiance, his curiosity of what his failure has done gets the better of him.

He drags opens his eyes, and sees a monster.

Ganon isn’t a beast like when Hyrule fought him— but neither is he entirely a man. He’s some sort of mix of the two, claws rather than fingers, hooves instead of feet. His hair is more of a mane than anything, and where there isn’t fur, his skin has a blueish tone to it, one Hyrule wishes he didn’t remember so well.

Ganon’s face is largely human, though the features aren’t quite right, a snout-like nose, sharp teeth... especially the red eyes, shot through with a terrifyingly intelligent yellow. Those eyes study Hyrule in silence, the laughter subsided.

He tilts Hyrule’s head side to side, and Ganon leans so close to him that Hyrule can see the flecks of black in his eyes.

“This is the child who slew me?” he growls, digging his claws even tighter into Hyrule’s jaw. Hyrule can’t control the way his breath hitches in pain, and a smirk pulls at Ganon’s mouth, revealing fangs so large they’re almost tusks. “Pathetic.”

Ganon abruptly drops his chin, scoring marks along his cheek, and Hyrule can only watch as he studies the crimson on his hands, leaning forward to sniff it. A grin pulls at his lips, and he suddenly drags a clawed hand across Hyrule’s chest, coating his palm in blood as Hyrule chokes back another whimper of pain.

Ganon raises it up for the crowd of monsters to see, fingers dripping with red.

Then presses it to his bare chest, and the monsters roar at the handprint of blood left there when he removes it.

Ganon raises his hand to his mouth then, his tongue flicking out as he licks the remaining blood off his claws, and Hyrule chokes back bile. The monsters around them continue to roar, watching as their master licks their enemy’s blood from his hand, but they fall silent as he finishes, and raises a fist.

“Hyrule will be ours!” he roars, and the monsters roar with him, blin and poe, wizzrobe and daira, all ecstatic at the return of their master.

Ganon probably gives more of a speech of some kind then, one that whips the monsters into a near frenzy, but Hyrule doesn’t hear any of it, lost in his failure and brokenness. Blood still drips from his wrecked chest, sticky and hot against his freezing skin. His whole body is pain, his world is that of darkness and blood, and he doesn’t know why he isn’t dead yet.

Am I not even granted that release?

Something wet falls down his cheek, and Hyrule doesn’t know whether it’s blood or tears.

Just breathing is agony in its purest form, and Hyrule’s wet rasps grow weaker with every gurgling exhale. Claws grip at his chin again after a bit, pressing until his eyes open, and Hyrule sees Ganon leering at him mere inches from his face.

“Not yet, little hero,” Ganon growls, victory glinting in his eyes. “As much as I’d like to watch you drown in your own blood, I have use of you yet.”

Hyrule glares through the pain and his tears, rage at the beast in front of him granting him just a bit of energy. “G... g-go to... hhh—”

His chest convulses and blood spurts from his mouth in a weak cough again, making Ganon laugh.

He abruptly slams a clawed hand down on Hyrule’s middle, and his world explodes into white and red, swirling with stars that bleed almost as much as he is.

If he screams, he doesn’t hear it.

He can’t breathe, not through the pressure and pain in his middle, his throat full of liquid he’s too weak to expel. Hyrule gags and writhes, tears slipping down his nose, all while Ganon watches with a delighted smirk.

“Bring him,” he hears faintly, and Hyrule wants to do everything he can to stop that voice. He wants to scream and fight and protect his world from the monster he’s created, steal a sword and drive it through Ganon’s chest before he can do anything else, but he’s too drained. Too powerless.

Too weak.

All he can do is sob one last desperate prayer that his brothers will do what he couldn’t, and then his vision spirals from red to black.

[yanaleese]

◈ Love Me, Kidnap Me, and Love Me More ◈

Yandere! OC Karma x Calculative! Gender Neutral! MC

VER EN ESPAÑOL. MUY PRONTO

Synopsis: You put blood, sweat, and tears into your work. Little did you know, your secret admirer, Marka does it too.

Content warning: Yandere and literally anything that goes with it, violence, hypnosis (not on reader), drugs (implication), and yes there will be a Part 2

PLEASE SUPPORT PALESTINE WITH MONEY, OR WITH A CLICK

Scores, talents, personas.

THESE are the factors that classify the education system. Although not immaculate, it serves its purpose - to send vulnerable people into the workforce, and devour them whole. Their livelihoods, their time, and the minuscule bits of energy left inside of them.

But there are some who are born with advantages, and some who have to work their ass off for it.

I, unfortunately, have the latter. Things don’t come easy, instant, or perfect. I am actually quite idle, I enjoy the freedom of gaining knowledge and insight. Uniquely, tried and tested knowledge that is critical for survival.

And that, is how I manage my late nights. By listening to “Advice to Survive” with its host, McGregory Callahan.

Back in the 60s, he was a CWO-4 Navy Seal officer, a rank given to an exclusive few. And now that he’s retired, he humbly shares his advice to the community, and showcases guests every now and then to keep the show alive. But majority prefers to listen to his voice, which I strongly agree with.

“And so, ladies and gents…” His voice was smooth and husky. “It’s time to sign off, folks. Stay safe, and always remember…” I chuckled, saying his closing lines with him.

“Live, not die, and try to survive. Thanks everyone.”

As the radio chipped off, the sun poured its rays into my window, as if the heat wasn’t enough. I groaned, my eyes leading me to my collection of “wake-up” capsules. Tempted, and deceived, I slithered my way over to it, dropping another 2 or 3 in my mouth.

I grumbled. Regret seeped into my veins, my body woozy and tense. Once again, I stayed up.

And of course, it happened to be a Monday morning; where I had a morning class. “Well fuck me gently with a chainsaw.” I began stuffing my bag with my utensils, paperwork, snacks. I could never get used to this shit. “I hope nobody pisses me off for the rest of the day.”

◈

“The bell. Ugh, the damn bell. Never have I wanted to smash that thing into pieces.” You could barely make out the crowd, more or less. Not even your best friend’s face.

“Wait. You had a rough night…again?” Heidi glared, her eyes were practically glowing with concern.

“Maaaaaaybe.” You slurred, taking baby steps to your seat. “Good thing my seat mate is a quiet kid.”

Speak of the devil, Marka entered the room, his footfalls silent as he strolled to your direction. His timing was impeccable.

“Good morning, Marka.” You mumbled, your eyes not meeting his. Besides, there were no eyes thanks to his bangs.

“Heh…” In response, Marka gave an exciting grin, happily waving a good morning back to you. How he could be energized on a Monday morning, was a complete mystery to you.

Actually, a lot of him is shrouded in mystery. Or rather, in suspicion.

Other than the weird name, Marka was supposedly from the countryside of Honduras, Tegucigalpa. His parents were also from Honduras, and he worked as a pizza delivery driver, and stayed at a friend’s apartment for shelter, with the purpose of redoing college thrice to get a degree. While some of this is true, some of it didn’t add up.

For example, his idioms. Sometimes he would say “Puchica” , “Chero”, “Chivo” - and when I looked them all up, the common denominator was El Salvador. He said his parents came from Honduras, so how can this be true?

“[Y/N].”

Then him, being the pizza delivery driver. You don’t often order pizza, but you’ve never thought that pizza could smell so shitty. You could remember him rushing to one of your afternoon classes, and instead of smelling like oil and grease, he smelt like weed. What the fuck???

“Hello? [Y/N]?”

Plus, the fact that he is redoing the course a third time. And yet, every single exam he is perfectly scoring an average mark. He also ends before everyone else, as if he has all the time in the world.

That’s not normal.

Though you’ve never confronted Marka about this, you preferred to remain silent. Times are harsh, and you weren’t willing to stretch out a hand when you could barely help yourself.

But there is NO way that you’re befriending someone as suspicious as him.

“[Y/N]!!!” Heidi whisper-shouted, breaking you out of your thoughts.

“[Y/N], please answer-“ Mr. Dimmy paused, clearing his throat. “Actually. On second thought, please see me after class. Thank you.”

You bit my lip, letting it bleed. Fuck. You spaced out again.

“Sir I-“

“No buts, no coconuts.”

While cursing yourself internally, you decided to take out your vent book out of your bag, only to be stopped by Mr. Dimmy once more.

“[Y/N]. Can you please answer the question on the board for me, please?”

Shit, you just opened your bag.

“Give me a moment-“

“[Y/N].”

Clenching your fists, you gave a plastic smile. It was understandable where he was coming from, since he didn’t want his star pupil to daydream for the second time.

“My bad, Sir. Hopefully I’ll get this right.”

As you were busy solving the equation, Marka decided to do you a favor and close up your bag. So by the time you came back, Marka grinned, hoping for a thanks to come out of it. But you decided to ignore the kind gesture, continuing to pay attention to the board. You had enough attention for one day.

◈

If there was one thing you loved, it was clocks. It was nice to know how the time passed, whether it was rapid or abnormally slow. And of course, it was slow.

“[Y/N], this has happened on multiple occasions.” Mr. Dimmy rubbed his temples, exhausted from having the same conversation with you. “We, as staff, made it clear that you can take days off.”

“I’m very sorry Sir, but I can’t do that-“

“[Y/N], enough with the excuses. You are not enough getting enough sleep, and it’s affecting your concentration.”

Scores, talents, personas: nothing on this conversation applied to that. Kindness was a pain in the ass.

“And so, I’m going to ask the dean to personally give you a suspension. A whole week suspension.”

You had to hold your tongue. Why do you have to do triple the work???

“Sir. I’m behind on what I need to cover. I’m begging you, please just let it slide.”

“But [Y/N], you are three weeks ahead. Taking a week off is enough right now. Trust me.”

You glanced at the clock. It was 9:47, the minute hand approximately reaching the next minute.

“If I see you Tuesday afternoon, I will personally escort you outside. That is all.”

Rubbing your eyes, you ran to the top of the stairs, before making yourself out. You couldn’t believe what just happened.

“[Y]-[Y/N]…” It was Heidi.

“Heidi. I’m done for the day, so I’m going home. Text me later if you’re curious.” Your demands were quick and stern.

Poor Heidi snuggled her books, her expression shaping into pity and guilt. If only you could just take a break.

◈

“Giggles, after giggles. These fucking cuches don’t know when to quit it, don’t they?”

“Markaaaa…” She snorted, sounding exactly just like he called her: a pig. “Teach me a little Spanish, no?~ ❤️”

Marka shook his head, his face clearly showing discomfort.

“Come on, we wanna hear it! Maybe we can fuck it up, you know?”

Damn that Rico bastard. He never knew how to read a room.

“I said no.” Marka ran his fingers through his bangs, revealing the swirling darkness within his eyes. “Now learn to be good little shits, I’m in a bad mood.”

Immediately, the entire group stood completely still. Before seconds later, horrifying shrieks escaped people’s lips. Some froze in horror, sweating profusely. Others just ran away from Marka, while some fought with him. Luckily, thanks to his physique he could handle his attackers pretty clearly.

“Ha…shame…” He continued to hit Rico with every punch, starting to see blood oozing out of him. Marka couldn’t help but grin in sadistic glee. “This hypnosis is always pure luck for me.”

Grabbing the leg of one of his classmates. Marka twisted, fractured, and even jumped on her leg, which was perfectly in sync with his words.

“Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. FUCK.” Marka cursed out loud, growling in frustration. Every time he thought about you, the feeling wouldn’t go away. “I just wanted to do a good deed. Why. Won’t. They. Love. Me.”

Hearing the classmate’s sharp cry, Marka kicked the person away from him, heading to your locker. It was encased in a shitload of locks, all of them personally made by yourself. You knew how to be efficient and useful.

Too bad Marka knew lockpicking a bit too well. “It’s been a while since my last rejection…so let’s see what’s here now-“

With a clink, he guided his fingers to first few letters he made….only to find them….

Crushed.

“….”

He should’ve been used to this by now. The dust, the grime, the dead spiders. After finally getting a fresh new locker, it was understandable that you cleaned up the space.

But you didn’t. You decided to make your old locker your new dumpster bag instead - including his love letters.'

His scarred thumb clutched the pink envelope, or the crushed up ball that it was. He could remember the time he had to go off on business, missing college for an entire week. He had to stay low due to a shot out, which resulted him gaining a major injury in the shoulder and his left hand. He didn’t mind the injuries due to past experiences, but he was…depressed. Marka couldn’t see anyone, neither be online lest he got found out. It was a decision that both he and José made for his safety.

And so, to satiate his loneliness, he wrote to you. Even though his left hand was twitching in pain, he wrote. Even though his brain was telling him to stop because of the pain; he wrote. He wrote because he knew that you gave him the happiness, the hope that he needed for this world. Yes, you were flawed…but with each other, the two of you could heal one another’s scars. Right?

“….Ha….”

His hands shook in silent rage as dark droplets dropped on to the paper. I’m sure you didn’t know any better, it was simply a misunderstanding. Yes, yes - it was miscommunication.

It was understandable, since he didn’t make it clear. He didn’t flirt with you since it wasn’t your thing. I guess the letters weren’t either.

Maybe he’d have to try something…a bit more drastic.

“I need to know…do they love me…? Do they not? Maybe….”

Clutching the paper in his chest, he started chuckling to himself. No, grinning madly as he stared at the locker in front of him, his face contorted into something twisted and grotesque.

“Maybe it’s time I should pay your house a visit, hmm? ❤️~.”

NOTES:

Cuche = Means pig in Salvadorian slang. ɪғ ʏᴏᴜ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ᴀɴʏ qᴜᴇsᴛɪᴏɴs ᴀʙᴏᴜᴛ ᴋᴀʀᴍᴀ, ᴊᴏsᴇ́ ᴏʀ ʜᴇɪᴅɪ ғᴇᴇ�� ғʀᴇᴇ ᴛᴏ ᴄʜᴇᴄᴋ ᴍʏ ɪɴʙᴏx.

[marvelmusing]

A Courtship of Shadows

Pairing: Fae King!Aleksander x Fem!Reader

Summary: After centuries of seclusion, Aleksander is ready to form an alliance with the humans of West Ravka. The human king will be easy enough to manipulate, though his royal advisor appears to be more than Aleksander anticipated.

Word Count: 1.6K

My Masterlist

“She is infuriating.”

Ivan watches his king pace back and forth beside the fireplace in the royal study, firelight dancing over his features as his brows draw together. As the king’s most trusted advisor, Ivan knows to remain quiet as his ruler vents his frustrations. Especially since he knows exactly who has him so riled up.

For centuries, East Ravka has been a safe haven for the Fae-folk, protected by the wall of shadow that shielded them from the rest of the world. Humans from Fjerda, Shu Han, and West Ravka often ventured into the darkness, only to be driven out by the volcra – fierce creatures that would only answer to their master.

Just over a year ago, the Fae king had decided it was time to witness for himself how humanity had changed, parting the Fold and creating a small path for his travelling party to journey into West Ravka safely.

When the volcra and the shadow barrier had been created, Fae were hunted for their gifts, held captive to be tortured, killed, or enslaved. The Fae king had wanted to see if they had changed.

The Fae kingdom was thriving with freedoms never allowed before, but there is always opportunity for improvement. If there is one thing the Fae king cares about above all else, it is the people he has ruled over ever since the creation of the Shadow Fold.

Ivan finds the human king rather unremarkable, and he’s certain his king feels the same. The humans don’t suffer for it, but the man lacks any sort of drive or ambition. After one conversation with him, Ivan had thought his king would abandon his thoughts of an alliance with the humans.

Then he had met you.

A royal advisor that possesses everything the king lacks. Even Ivan will admit that you are intelligent and quick witted, you clearly care for your people, and you had never looked down upon the Fae. Though it is evident you don’t trust them. Fedoyr, ever the optimist, had argued that you didn’t seem to trust anyone.

Ivan knows that his king isn’t above manipulation to get what he wants. From what they have seen of your influence at Court, to have you in his debt would be to own the human king himself. Though it appears you are not as easy to trap as the Fae king had initially hoped.     

“She doesn’t accept gifts until she knows they are given freely.”

He runs a hand through his hair before he stops at the small table beside his armchair. There’s the clink of glass as he removes the stopper on the decanter of wine, then the dark liquid flows into a short crystal glass.

“She won’t eat or drink anything I offer.”

The king swallows down a mouthful of liquid, nose wrinkling at the strength. He looks down into the glass, sighing as he sits down.

“Almost every human I’ve ever met responds with thanks after a compliment, but of course she doesn’t.” He scoffs lightly, taking another drink.

For a moment, Ivan thinks he hears amusement in his king’s voice, though he pushes that thought away quickly.

“She never accepts my invitation to dance. Even at a human function, where the music holds no power over her.”

The king runs a hand over his face, smoothing across his neatly trimmed facial hair.

“She never lies to me, though I can hear the way her truths bend into clever little remarks to distract me.”

The corner of his mouth twitches slightly as he stares down at the rug beneath his feet.

“She gives me a new name to call her by every time we meet, with this teasing smile, as if this is all just a game to her.” That prompts Ivan into speaking up,

“You think she suspects something of you?”

“Perhaps,” the king muses distantly.

Then he appears to realise that Ivan is still standing by the desk where they had been discussing plans for a trade route, until the topic of conversation had somehow shifted to the king’s opinion of you. He nods towards his advisor, saying quietly,

“I think that will be all for tonight, Ivan.”

»»---------------------►

Aleksander is so very tired. Being away from the Fae kingdom always drains him but the company, particularly at these balls, has him longing to lie alone in a field until the sky grows dark and the stars reveal themselves.

He stifles a yawn, briefly wondering when the last time was that he had a relaxed morning where he could remain in bed until whenever he wished to rise.

A group of young men and women flock around him, unable to resist the allure of the unknown and fantastical. He captivates them all easily enough, securing an almost unending chorus of ‘thank you, your highness’ in a coy response to his charms.

Humans really should teach their children about the dangers of the Fae. He isn’t intending on invoking any of these young nobles into his service, but he could, with the power they all hand to him unknowingly.

Politely, he excuses himself from them and makes his way around the room, noticing that the Kaelish ambassador had finally found another poor soul to listen to his ramblings, meaning that you are alone.

He appears beside you, stepping closer as he reaches behind you to pick up a goblet of wine. You bow lightly, inclining your head as you greet him. His own words are spoken into the crook of your neck.

“What name have you selected to offer me tonight, my lady?”

Momentarily, your eyes meet.

“You may call me Blossom.”

“Feeling inspired by the turning of the season?”

A small smile flickers at the corner of your lips.

“Spring has always been one of my favourite times of the year.”

As you watch people gathering to the centre of the ballroom, glittering dresses twirling as princesses and noble ladies are swept up by doting suitors, you don’t notice his gaze as he admires you.

“Might I say you look rather lovely this evening.”

“That’s kind of you to say, your highness.”

Whilst your knowledge of Fae-folk might be vexing at times, and detrimental towards his plan for the human throne, Aleksander finds it refreshing. His smirk widens as you turn to meet his gaze, no doubt curious as to why he hasn’t provided a response like usual.

As his lips part to give you a retort, there’s the sound of a small commotion at the side of the ballroom. The two of you watch as people gather around to get a glimpse of whatever has happened.

When Aleksander sees you roll your eyes lightly he frowns, and you duck your head down, tilting it towards his to inform him.

“It appears a lady has swooned rather tactically into Prince Rudolph’s arms.”

The corner of his mouth twitches in distaste. This isn’t the first swoon Aleksander has observed in the human court though he is no more impressed than the first time. The Fae Court, for all its rules and laws, is infamously brutal. A display of weakness, and dishonesty, such as swooning would gain a lady nothing but indifference.

“If someone were to swoon in my court there would be very few that would consider them a suitable partner.”

“That’s my sister.”

Aleksander’s eyes widen as they bounce between you and the woman currently being fanned down by the Prince.

“I meant no offense. I-”

The soft sound of your laughter stops him from fumbling through any more of his apology. As you look over towards your sister, your smile fades.

“Mother will be pleased. At least one of us turned out how she wanted.”

Aleksander has never known you to mention your family before. Of course, he knows of each and every member and their position in the human court. That your father was a viscount before a riding accident left your mother a widow when you and your sister were young. He knows you have a cousin that will inherit your father’s title when he comes of age.

“She thinks I was a changeling child.”

He tilts his head towards you at your admission. The idea of changelings is rather outdated, something humans of the past had used to scaremonger their peers, because the Fae were considered evil creatures that would kidnap society’s most vulnerable and innocent.

“We don’t actually do that.”

The corner of your mouth twists as you remark teasingly,

“What? Steal children?”

He nods with a tiny smile as he observes the glimmer of disappointment in your eyes. Had you hoped to be a changeling? Did you want to be like him? Aleksander has a feeling that you would thrive in the Fae kingdom.

“It’s just a fable,” he says softly.

Looking down, you nod in resignation.

“I thought so.” Then amusement sparkles in your eyes as you look back up at him. “After all, there’s only one person who can cross the Fold safely, and I can’t imagine you smuggling armfuls of babies in your leisure time.”  

Aleksander laughs. The sound turns a few heads and you look rather bashful at the realisation that you had made the fearsome Fae king - the infamous Darkling - laugh.

“I actually use a cart pulled by volcra.”

As the jest leaves his lips, you gape at him with amusement and surprised delight dancing in your eyes. Then you bite down on your lip momentarily, before succumbing to your own bout of laughter. Aleksander loves hearing you laugh. When your laughter fades and the two of you go quiet he decides to add,

“Kaminsky’s parents were human.” When you frown he elaborates, “My second in command, his parents were both mortal humans. His brothers were human too.”

He can see you holding your breath as you look at him, eyes wide with longing and hope and fear. Your voice wavers as you whisper,

“What are you trying to say to me?”

“That you do not have to be born of the Fae to be one of us.”

»»---------------------►

marvelmusing Tag List: @dreamlandcreations @blanchedelioncourt @idaofinfinity @slytherheign @ellooo0ooo @vixenofcourse @dumb-fawkin-bitch @jane-arthur @ilikefictionmen @budugu @watersquirtpewpewboomm @mysweetlittledesire

Aleksander M Tag List: @nyctophiliiiiaaa @jazmin2211 @wooya1224

BB Characters Tag List: @rachlovesactors @noortsshift @aikeia @weallhaveadestiny @two-unbeatable-beaters

»»---------------------►

[maelove1819]

Harry’s Trip To Fortescue’s || Microfic 1,867 Words

Harry was sure that when he stepped into The Leaky and saw the minister, his wand would be immediately snapped. He was surprised to see that not only was he forgiven, he wasn’t even being punished or made to go back to the Dursleys! He had thanked whatever God out there for that one. Uncle Vernon would beat him into next century if he saw Harry any time soon.

But he couldn’t bring himself to regret his actions. Aunt Marge was talking bad about his mother, the only woman who had ever been kind to him. Showed him unconditional love, gave her life for his. So he would not apologize or be sorry.

The minister had told him that there was a madman after him. A man who was supposed to be his godfather, but had sold his parents out to Voldemort. Which was quite irritating to listen to. If anything, staying in Diagon Alley wouldn’t provide protection. It would just make it easier for him to be kidnapped or killed by the man.

But Harry would take what he was given. He smiled and thanked him. He put his things away and got his homework out. Then with his newfound freedom, he did the thing any thirteen year old would love to do. He went to the Ice Cream Parlor.

Walking in, he was greeted by a middle aged man, with a slight gap in his teeth and straw blonde hair. He wore it up in a ponytail with a hairnet over it. He had kind eyes that bore straight into his soul. Like the man could see exactly what Harry had been through. The man smiled at him anyway.

Harry walked up to the counter, timidly holding his essays and his last few Galleons.

“What can I get for you, Topolino?” He asked as he sat his work down, giving Harry his undivided attention.

“I don’t- I don’t know. I’ve never had ice cream before. I was just hoping for a place to do my homework. I don’t really want to be alone right now. Dudley’s favorite is that rainbow colored one though. It always smelled nice.” Harry started fiddling with his fingers and not looking him in the eye.

The man seemed to ponder Harry for a minute, then he tutted and turned to grab a bowl.

“Alrighty kiddo. Why don’t you just grab a seat, or you could come sit with me behind the counter, and I’ll sow you how to make a chocolate sundae. Would you like that?” He smiled at Harry as the child nodded. Then he sat on a stool and watched as the man made a chocolate sundae.

“My name is Harry.” He picked up a quill to work on his divination essay.

“Mine is Florean Fortescue. It’s nice to meet you.” He scoops a large ball of vanilla ice cream and plopped it in the bowl.

“Nice to meet you too.” Harry responded politely, watching him scoop another.

Harry turns back to his homework, but after a few minutes of staring at the parchment, willing anything to write, he sighs and places his hands above his head, scratching his left pinky.

“Say, why does a child who looks to be thirteen never enter an ice cream parlor before today?” Florean mused as he handed a malt to another customer.

“When I was eleven, I was too busy admiring the fact that I was a wizard to want ice cream. And then when I was twelve I accidentally ended up in Knockturn Alley. Besides the Weasleys were on a time limit. I didn’t want to bother them. I don’t think I had enough for any ice cream after anyway.” Harry places his quill down to watch Florean go back to the sundae.

Florean paused for a second, but then put sprinkles on the ice cream, then chocolate syrup, and a cherry. Then he turned and handed it to Harry.

“Thank you sir, how much do I owe you?” Florean waved him off.

“That’s on the house. I put the sprinkles on before the chocolate sauce. I can’t sell that. Just enjoy it kiddo so you can get your homework done.” Florean walked over to the sink and started washing dishes.

“Thank you sir.” Harry turned back to his parchment, writing only ‘Palm reading is a basic form of fortune telling,’ before giving up and turning back to Florean.

“Do you know who Sirius Black is?” This made Florean drop a cup back in the sink.

“Yes, we used to have interloping friend groups in Hogwarts.” Harry watched him take a few breaths.

“So you went to Hogwarts with my parents?” Harry was just a ball of excitement. No one ever told him much about his parents. Mostly just told him how he was like his father.

“Lily was one of my friends. James and his little group, not so much. They didn’t much care for Slytherins.” Florean waved a soapy hand around.

“You’re a Slytherin?” Harry’s face twisted in a little confusion.

“Yep, was a year above Sirius’ little brother. Was quite close to him and his friends.” Florean sighed as he looked back on his school days.

“Really? Were you and my mother good friends?” Harry walked over to him and picked up the soapy dishes and started rinsing them.

“We weren’t the best of friends, no that title went to Emmeline Vance. A Hufflepuff in our year. But I knew her well enough to tell you that I already see a lot of her in you. My twin sister was a better friend to Lily. I wish she could tell you more.” At his words Harry looked at the man with huge doe eyes.

“Really? Everyone tells me that I have my mother’s eyes. But that’s all they ever say about her. They don’t tell me anything else. Just that she was the smartest witch of her generation.” The boy was practically vibrating, but he still rinsed the dishes.

“Lily was smart, that’s for sure. But the only thing that set her apart from anyone else was her common sense. See, being muggleborn she had an outside look on life most of us didn’t get.

“And you don’t just have Lily’s eyes, you have her mannerisms. She used to bite the end of her quill when thinking. She also had chapped lips from sticking her tongue out when working with her hands. She would also set her hands on top of her head and scratch her left pinky with her right hand. Odd trait, but you have it.”

“Wow… Do you know why everyone says Sirius Black is hunting me?” Florean sighed before answering.

“I don’t believe he’s after you, Topolino. Sirius Black considers the Potters his family. Got disowned and gave up everything for them. He wouldn’t turn them over like that. He’s the most loyal person I’ve ever met. If he’s back, he’s not looking for you.” He places a soapy hand on Harry’s head.

“That’s a relief. You said you were in Slytherin? How come you’re scooping ice cream and not a death eater?” Harry pushes the soapy hand off of his head.

“Slytherins weren’t the only followers of You-Know-Who. I know several Gryffindors who followed him, along with people from the other houses. Regulus Black was one, but he saw through it. He died betraying You-Know-Who. Most of the Slytherins who joined him were forced my parents who went to school with him.”

“But Hagrid told me that there wasn’t a wizard in that house that didn’t go bad, and Malfoy’s a right prat.” Florean scoffed at Harry’s words.

“Hagrid is a bit hypocritical, don’t you think? He was one. A Slytherin, I mean. And that Malfoy fellow, why do you think he’s a right prat?”

“Well, it started in first year, we were getting fitted for our school robes, and he insulted Hagrid. Hagrid saved me from the Dursleys and that hurt. But then on the train he insulted my first ever friend. So when tried to shake my hand, I told him no thanks.” Harry waved his arms around in frustration.

“Ooh, see? I’ve found your problem. There is a lot of undue hate towards impure people in amongst the pure bloods. I’m not saying it’s correct, but he was eleven. He was probably repeating something his father said.

“But you’re true problem is when you turned away his hand. In your culture, it is okay to turn away someone’s hand that you don’t like. But here, you can’t do that. Especially among young heirs. You essentially told him to get out of your face, you’re better than him. Your magical guardian should have taught you customs. Harry, the things you said have me thinking. Did you know you were a wizard before Hogwarts?”

“No sir, Hagrid told me when he came to pick me up to take me to Diagon Alley.” Florean sighed again and pinched the bridge of his nose.

“This is a problem. I’ll take you to Gringotts after I close up shop for the night. When do you have to be back with your guardians?”

“Not until next summer, sir.” This startled Florean. There was no one watching this child while they think a murderer is targeting him?

“So there is no one watching you?”

“No sir, I’m staying at the Leaky.”

Before Florean can respond to that, Xenophilius and Luna Lovegood enter the store. Luna stops to stand beside Harry while Xeno leans in and kisses Florean. Harry stops and stares at them.

“Wait, you can do that?” Harry asks, voice full of confusion.

“Do what?” Florean turned toward Harry once more. Xeno still holding onto his hips.

“Two men can kiss?” Harry looks at Luna, who just nods.

“Two men can do more than just kiss. They can get married too.” Florean and Xeno hold up their green and blue wedding bands.

“And it doesn’t make you a freak?” This makes Florean’s heart stop in his throat.

“Salazar no! Who told you that?” Florean places a hand over his heart.

“Uncle Vernon. He says Wizards and The Gays and cripples are all freaks. He says I’m a freak.” Luna places her hands on Harry’s shoulders, rubbing in small circles.

“Oh dear. Harry, you aren’t a freak. You will never be a freak.” Florean places both his hands on the side of Harry’s face. Rubbing his thumbs over his cheeks.

“But-”

“Harry, our mothers dated for years in Hogwarts. Our mothers aren’t freaks.” Luna states, less dreamily than normal.

“No they aren’t. So it’s not bad if I feel that way?” Luna rubs her nose on his cheek.

“No, that’s perfectly normal.” She turns and spins away. Grabbing Harry’s melting sundae and proceeds to eat it.

“I finished up early at The Quibbler. Do you want me to watch your shop for you? Luna said you needed an extra long lunch break.” Xeno walked over and started washing the dishes. Florean turned back to Harry.

“Okay, Topolino. I am not comfortable leaving you in England’s biggest shopping district by yourself. Would you mind staying with me and my family?” He asks as Harry nods his approval.

Heya! If you made it this far, thank you for reading. This is for you, @yourlocalbadgerscales just like ya asked for. Promised you it’s be done by tonight and I delivered! I might make this my first chapter, but I’m better at typing on a computer than my phone. Also, Tumblr deleted my writing, like three times! So I wrote it on google docs. Anyway, Florean didn’t outright say it, but his Twin sister is Alice. He looks just like Neville. Also, I decided that he was going to take Harry under his wing. We need more Marauders Hufflepuffs, Ravenclaws, and Slytherins (in the marauder’s year) so a Ravenclaw Xeno and a Slytherin Fortescue. I am so excited! Please reblog so this becomes a popular marauders-cannon!

[nanfrost]

A dive into Vertin's core aspect of her character and it's impact through the story: Part 3

Part 1

Part 2

Matilda and Vertin

It's important to note that despite everything, Matilda and Vertin are good friends. 

Matilda had the same aspirations as Vertin did as children: the freedom of self expression in spite of being raised to abandon those values; to know their world around them than to just learn from the textbooks.

However, what sets them apart is that Matilda willingly chose to join the white marble.

What sets them apart is the extent they’re willing to go to achieve that, and how they help people at their positions.

What sets them apart is how they handle their own inner struggle.

Matilda finds Vertin, who is in a miserable state, utterly unresponsive to the people around her because Sonetto is no longer around.

In just a day, the girl had already reverted back to being a mess, a sight that shocks Matilda greatly, but also pity for the girl who she respected a lot as a friend and classmate.

Sonetto had already given her the lengthy details, but seeing it for herself still leaves a pit in Matilda’s stomach. It was awful, how low Vertin had let herself be.

Yet somehow, Matilda feels determined, approaching her old friend as she tries to talk to her.

It doesn’t work of course, Vertin doesn’t even look like she seems to acknowledge the girl’s presence. This is what Sonetto was fearing, that without her, Vertin has no one she can open herself to, no one she could vent her pain to, no one she can let herself be broken fully towards.

It’s almost painful in a way, that even though Vertin is as much of a mess as she is, she still hides herself away from others, to not trouble them in having to deal with her. Even though it only makes people more worried, Vertin refuses to let anyone in, to know the full extent of her pain.

If Matilda was similar to Sonetto, she would likely try to find comfort for her in any way, to try to be an emotional pillar for Vertin. But that was nigh impossible, she didn't know Vertin as long as Sonetto did, didn’t understand her as much as Sonetto does.

And besides, she isn't Sonetto anyways.

“You’re scared, aren’t you?”

Matilda doesn’t know Vertin as well as Sonetto does, so she doesn’t know what would be the best way to help Vertin. But she is more perceptive than she lets on.

“Not of others, but yourself. You’re terrified to let people in, because you don’t want them to bother having to worry over you. To not have to deal with you. For them to not have to care about you.”

Matilda can’t be like Sonetto, a girl too kind, too caring and too sweet to ever be harsh or direct on people she cares about, especially Vertin. But she is kind in her own ways too.

“Sonetto is worried sick for you, I don’t know if you knew that or not. But if you do, then get up. Get up and let me help you do something about it.”

Vertin, although surprised, didn’t respond. But even so, the girl still stands, following Matilda lifelessly, for as miserable as she was, a part of her also understood just how much trouble she was placing on Sonetto. How much of a burden it must be to care for someone like her. 

She feels sick of herself for doing that to her partner, and so she follows Matilda, to see if there’s something she could do.

But what can Matilda do? What does she even have that Sonetto doesn’t? How can she help Vertin when Sonetto, the person closest to her, couldn't even do that?

She can’t.

Of course Matilda can’t. They were only friends and not even close ones, it would be completely arrogant of her to think she could do anything for Vertin.

So instead, she will get Vertin to help herself, by using her divination skills and her own perceptive nature to guide the girl to her own answers.

Matilda drags Vertin’s inner thoughts out and lays it bare for her, forcing her to confront those memories and the regrets she holds within her mind. Some bad, some very bad, and all of it still hurts to this day as she constantly relieves them.

At first, Vertin is bombarded with toxic and painful thoughts of herself, but it’s through Matilda’s words and guidance that Vertin starts to see things a bit more clearly. By having Matilda offering her perspective, Vertin can see the events in a more objective manner.

Vertin had kept all these events warped against her. She wanted every reason to hate herself and so her memories were altered to fit into that narrative, to make it easier to put the blame on her and solely her. But Matilda will not let that happen, she will offer her own insights and keep Vertin from spiralling out of control.

Eventually, they do make progress, as Vertin starts to understand that she wasn’t responsible for everything. That there were things completely out of her control and she shouldn’t, couldn’t have known better. She was only trying her best in her own ways, even if it didn’t turn up well. 

But the catalyst that got Vertin to even begin to accept this was Matilda, for through her conversation with her, did Vertin start to notice something in her that she never before. Something that gave her a sense of comfort, knowing she isn’t alone; something that they both share in common.

They are both selfless individuals.

Vertin gave herself up to help those around her, disregarding her own safety and agency if it means the people around her can make it out safe. She has no inherent sense of worth, only existing to help others as a way to bring meaning to her life.

Matilda gave her life to her studies, her academics and for the constant grind to become the very best, to stand at the top amongst the top. She does it so she can be acknowledged by the people around her, so that she can convince herself that she is meaningful, that she has meaning, that she can help.

Her constant drive to better herself is so she could feel like she is useful, to feel like she matters, to feel like she can help anyone in need.

Her sense of value comes from other people’s perception of her, and she will go to great lengths to prove that she can be useful. She exists to be helpful to those around her, for her value comes from their perception of her.

The way they go about it may be different, but Vertin and Matilda share this trait between themselves. They were mirrors of one another, reflecting both ends of the extreme. And because of that, Vertin learned to trust the girl more, to start opening herself up for she now understands that the girl truly does sympathize with her, at least somewhat.

Finally, after a long and gruelling journey of unwinding all the events in her head, Vertin comes face to face with the thing that represents all her insecurities, all her doubts, all her hatred and pain that she has kept within her for years until now.

Vertin faces herself, the one that started it all.

Gazing at the girl that represented Vertin’s biggest regrets and mistakes. The girl who had wronged so many lives because of her own naivety and unwillingness to look past herself.

She admits to herself that after everything, Vertin still cannot forgive her. She can’t forgive the girl for what she had done, for the people she had lost, for the trust she had broken and for the mistakes she had foolishly wrought over and over. 

She admits that the girl was stupid, blinded by her own short-sighted and naive views on the world that caused others to suffer because of it. She admits that the things she has caused can never be erased, that the pain will never fade away no matter the decades that pass by.

And yet, Vertin admits that there is more to the girl, that in spite of all the bad she had done, some of it was good. 

The girl had saved lives, gave others a reason to keep going, gave others hope and the conviction to follow their own hearts and even became the reason for others to put their faith and trust and love in, because they truly believed in the girl, placing their hopes and faiths into her goal, but above all, because they genuinely cared about her.

Vertin admits it, she admits that she does not know if she could keep walking a straight path, that she would never make a horrible mistake again like she had done before. That she wouldn’t one way or another lose the most precious things to her, that she won’t falter and break again. 

But she has hope.

Because in spite of everything, there is still someone who loves her. And for that, she wants to have hope, to hold onto it as tightly as she could. 

Hope that through them and through her crew, she won’t fall back into her old ways, that she won’t break again. 

Hope that someday, maybe not now, maybe not tomorrow, maybe not in a long long time, but someday; she can learn to like herself a little more.

With that, Vertin finally concludes her session with Matilda, thanking the girl for what she has done. But most of all, she acknowledges that the two of them are alike, going through something similar albeit still very different ends of the spectrum; but if the girl ever needs help, she is willing to be there for her.

Vertin’s selfless nature never disappears, and it likely won’t ever.

Because that is who she is at her heart, a girl who cares far too much to ever let other’s lives sifted away. But she will try to include herself this time, to find things about herself that she can like, to learn to place a bit more value on herself, even if it will never be above others. For she now understands that there are those who care far too much to let the blazing life that is Vertin's soul fade away as well.

Her friends, her crew, her family has always welcomed her, yet she has always kept herself distant from them. She did it because she didn’t want to hurt them, and didn't want them to get too involved with her where they would inevitably get hurt by her. All because she fears that she might lose them again, that because of her, she will lose those precious to her once more.

But now, she is willing to knock on the door of that familiar home, to let herself be welcomed in, an invitation that has always been open to her. To meet their happy and warm gazes with her own. To let herself be not the Timekeeper, but just Vertin, a scared yet hopeful girl.

Reconnecting with friends:

Eventually, Vertin will gradually start being open again to her team, Slowly but surely, she’ll start taking the time to interact with them more and properly communicate with them on her own without an emotional crutch or trying too hard to keep up with a facade.

Vertin is willing to be vulnerable to those around her in spite of still harbouring doubts about herself, letting her thoughts and emotions be known to those that she cares about, and who Vertin also gradually starts to accept that they care about her too. 

After reuniting with Sonetto again, being surrounded by all the people she has grown so close to in just a short few months, Vertin laughs. 

A laugh filled with regret, sadness and underlying pain that she can’t ever forget; but also filled with joy and relief and happiness. That after so many years, Vertin finally feels like she belongs, to feel like she can belong in a family she can call her own again. 

She regrets that it took her so many mistakes, so many bad choices and so many lives lost just for her to finally reach this point, that resentment towards herself still clings to her every step of the way.

But Vertin has found hope again.

She has hope that if she continues the path she is now, to continue walking along with her new-found family and to rely on them just as they rely on her, to find the worth in herself that she refused to admit she has for so long; that one day, she can look at herself in the mirror, and smile at the girl she had become.

And that is how Vertin’s character development might look to us. At the very least, if the game goes towards focusing on her selflessness a bit more throughout the story. 

For those that read all the way to the end, we hope you enjoyed it. It’s a very self-indulgent analysis that we have been obsessed with for a week, and it took many tiring nights to get to this point. But this was our way of showing our love and appreciation for the character that is Vertin, and so no matter where the story will take her after this point, no matter how absolutely wrong we are in predicting her story(which I have zero doubts we very are wrong lmao), it would be a story that we would eagerly await all the same.

With that, I shall be signing off. I will keep rambling on, until we meet again.

[monebula-art]

Yknow I’m gonna rant about something rq. Maybe a bad take but just 👀👀👀 hear me out.

EDIT: this is legit just a saucy rant it’s not meant to cast blame on anyone and I love both Astarion’s because I find the character progressions and options for both Spawn and Ascended to be equally juicy with their own things to unpack. Every player has the freedom to choose and experience the adventures however they want to. These are legit just. My ramblings in amidst some hate brakes on Ascended that I wanted to shout into the void about. It’s not a dissertation. If anything this is just a ‘What if after the End’ kind of scenario that’s been tumbling around in my head. That’s it.

People give Ascended Astarion a bad rap, but like lemme cook for a smidge. If you stick with him. If you support and love him, sure he’s a little power hungry and arrogant and the power of being the Ascended gets to his head a little.

But like, he mentions going traveling. Seeing the world with you. Maybe for decades, for CENTURIES even. Just the two of you seeing all the world has to offer. He’s spent two hundred years+ STUCK in Baldur’s Gate. His love is no bougie noble who must travel in a carriage. And in fact I’d think a Tav or Durge would insist against it. They would travel like they used to. Like people do. (And famous words that tamed the most notorious of vampires was ‘Travel like people do, you might like it~’)

I think that time would eventually change Astarion back to who he was on track to being before he Ascended. Aka ‘Spawn Astarion’. Seeing the world from a ground perspective. Not above it, alongside it. Having a Tav/Durge who is grounded.

Once his little power trip has run its course, I think he’d mellow out. It might take a decade or two. But he’s got LITERAL ETERNITY to address his hurt. And with a loyal and loving Tav/Durge by his side, being his support and his compass how could he stay lost for long? Like think about it.

Who says yall can’t rule a new nation of Vampires? Who’s to say a world where Vampires can become a diplomatic SOCIETY that can coexist beside other mortals? A world where blood isn’t stolen or taken, but given freely by willing offerers. Where spawn are created to serve by their choice and not stolen out of the night with ultimatums to be slaves??? Where a bite from a vampire doesn’t mean a life of servitude or a death sentence??? Yknow??? Kinda like y’all’s romance first started????

Imagine a Tav who is so passionate about changing THEIR nation, that they build a dream where tormented slave spawns like Astarion and wretched monsters like Cazador don’t EVER HAVE TO EXIST.

And at the top they get to rule it all together. The king and queen of a new nation, a new age of vampires out of the shadows. Where they are beloved and revered and ok maybe a little bit feared, yknow? Rulership is hard.

Tell me in a few decades Astarion wouldn’t be all over that shit. With a dedicated partner, they could guide that ambition of his into something TRULY AMAZING. Like how is no one seeing the POTENTIAL? They swear he’s trash, like he wasn’t totally hanging on you before. Like he doesn’t revere you like the sun as his consort. His treasure??? His love, who he sees and desires eternity with? He’s not just keeping you around for shits n giggles. Like he doesn’t have compassion for people that just because he makes a fucked up choice(one that lowkey you helped him make so if you wanna be like ‘Oh but the 7000 lives!’ Like you made that decision with him. I mean. It was a shitty decision and if you fail the roll you fail the role that isn’t on you. I can get that thinking the Ascendant route is the best course and getting more than you bargained for. And I’ll concede, he’s INSUFFERABLY arrogant. But that’s just one choice in a long line of, really ONLY having fucked up choices to begin with???….. every body has done some irredeemable shit. Not saying you can’t condemn Astarion for that, plenty of the characters already do. But like… you don’t have to??? The lesson was keep living and live better. It’s the only way to make up for the misery and suffering.

He opened up to you once. Permitted your probing, even when it pissed him off. He learned to love you because of that. The power got to his head a little and he’s using that as a substitute coping mechanism for shit he still hasn’t dealt with. It’s fresh. It’s a very open wound he’s trying not to show.

It’ll pass sooner or later. And he’ll have to start healing. That’s why he has YOU. That’s why you stay.

Both Ascended and Spawn say they are with you, if you choose to go down the dark road and embrace your destiny as Durge. Both of them are with you no matter how bloody or deplorable or immoral it gets. Spawn isn’t just suddenly this sweet innocent with a peerless moral compass just because he decided not to ascend. Their dialogue is exactly the same. He’s still THERE and he’s still with his darling.

Miss me with that Ascended is irredeemable but Spawn did nothing wrong. They’re both equally happy to stab someone just for funsies. One hopped on the healing track sooner, that’s it. Abandoning Ascended Astarion right after his ascension just cuz you don’t like how he got a little intense about it is like GUARANTEEING he becomes a bitter and sadistic tyrant. Comparing him to Cazador so soon after he just ended that chapter but has yet to actually DEAL with the chapter mentally or emotionally is an interesting choice, but like… idk a lil wild from my perspective I guess.

You handled him with honesty, trust and patience all up until now, but suddenly he gets a little spooky and you back out? Seems to me like someone is just scared of his power now that he ain’t weaker than you anymore and needs to be protected hm??? Now he can actually fuck you up if he wanted and instead of embracing that with him some of yall wanna be like ‘Oh well now you’re the monster you always hated’.

Grow uuuuup. Make him worse? Make him better??

It has to get worse BEFORE it gets better. That’s how improvement works. It’s everyone’s personal choice to stick with him or bail. I don’t think either choice is a wrong one is all I’m saying. If you’re all in for him, and his mess, and sticking with him for the evil, or even to see if in some aftersotry imagining that time and wisdom eventually mellows him out a bit then cool~ I think that’s possible tbh?

If you think he’s too ‘abusive’ for you to stick with then feel free to end things. It doesn’t make him any less insufferable.

All I’m saying as someone who’s legit been in a few abusive relationships in the past— using possessive language and being manipulative and desperate for control is not a character trait that just appeared out of nowhere after Astarion Ascended. And some folks can just not like the path he took and wanna back out without outcrying a whole essay about why he’s now terrible and abusive and nobody should ever enjoy the Ascendant route. Is all I’m saying.

[kimetsu-chan]

hey!!!! I saw that you were writing emergency requests and I was wondering if you could write one 4 me?? I’ve been having a lot of trouble at home recently….my parents got a divorce and are ALREADY remarried. it all happened really quick. I have a lot of anxiety because going from house to house is HARD!! My Stepmom and biological dad fight a lot which doesn’t really make sense….if you know what I mean?? also my stepmom and bio dad have a REAL drinking addiction (maybe that’s why the fight a lot?). I was just wondering if you could write something like that??? The character that I would like to request is Nikolai (BSD).

Pls only do this if you have time to!! ❤️❤️

~Not Fun~

A/N: I apologize if this was late, I’ve been gone all weekend, but I tried to get this out as soon as possible! Please don’t worry, I had plenty of time to write this, I can only apologize as I probably don’t have the best grasp on Nikolai’s character, and I wasn’t quite sure how I wanted to write this scenario out. If this wasn’t quite what you were wanting, please let me know, and I’ll re-write it for you :)

TWs ⚠️: mentions of alcohol, probably at least a little ooc, reader is a minor, platonic relationship, reader cries, no dialogue so I apologize for that

Nikolai knew about your situation at home, you had previously found comfort in confiding in him with that sensitive information. And oddly, he felt the need to.. protect you in a sense.

At first, he hated it, he thought being tied down to a hurting child would take away his freedom. But after some thought, he came to the wonderful conclusion that he was expressing his freedom by caring and comforting you when he did not have to.

He was not tied down to you, he was doing this out of his own will.

And that is what brings us to today.

You were moving houses so often lately, and that toppled on top of hearing arguments and being around alcohol almost constantly had utterly drained you.

Not an ounce of energy remained as you wept tiredly in his arms. His hand ran soothingly across your back, trying to calm your exhausted tears.

He felt sympathy, an emotion that wasn’t quite uncommon, but not what he’d expect to feel towards you. You were so young, yet already burdened by problems you shouldn’t have to bear.

It’s not your fault your parents’ relationship was messed up, so why should you have to deal with the consequences?

It made him angry, to say the least. They were constricting your own freedom. And in his eyes, he wanted you to be free just as much as he, himself, wanted that freedom.

Often, he’d let you stay with him. When there was just a little too much alcohol was being passed around in the house, and when no one would notice your impromptu disappearance.

He’d make space for you in his bed and would kneel beside you, running his hands through your hair all night or until you fell asleep.

It was so oddly nice of him, he felt out of place giving this kind of comfort, especially given his list of terroristic crimes. But he felt like he wouldn’t want to be doing anything else in the world.

He was like a rock for you, something to cling onto when it got too hard. He would never judge you, he would never turn you away. No matter where he was, what he was doing, or what time of day it was, he would always drop everything and come to your aid. You could come knocking on his door in the middle of the night, and he’d be half asleep, ushering you to his room.

You meant so much to him, and he never really understood why. But he soon decided that he didn’t need to understand, he just needed to know that he’d do anything for you.

He’d sacrifice the world to keep you happy and safe.

And if you felt safe crying in his arms, so be it.

A/N: once again, please let me know if you need me to re-write this. I am so sorry that you have to experience this, you shouldn’t have to :(

my parents were going to have me and my sisters switch houses every three days when they divorced and that sounded super tiring, so I kind referenced something like that when writing

Taglist 🏷️: @larz-barz @mooechi @saffron0v0 @zenitsustherapist @gyutarowritings

@muichirolover12 @midnightmah07

[darsynia]

Hand(s) Off (Complete) | Ch 6: Fantasy

(Steve Rogers/f!Reader sex pollen-esque multichapter)

STORY MASTERLIST | STEVE MASTERLIST | SERIES | PREV

Summary: You and Steve have to navigate the aftermath of the overexposure to Mistress, and something tells you that your mood swings and inability to self-satisfy is directly related to the drug…

Length | Warnings: 4,030 | masturbation MINORS DNI

Fill: Adoptable ‘Pheremones’ from @allcapsbingo

Tags (please request!): @starryeyes2000 @munstysmind @ronearoundblindly @chickensarentcheap @themaradaniels @tiny-anne @deepbatched @whiskeytangofoxtrot555 @wolfstar-marvelsfan @icequeen1371 @chibijusstuff @nekoannie-chan @brooke0297 @caplanreads @mrsevans90 @hails270105 @venusfalling @zzz000eee

Fantasy

Steve doesn’t take sex lightly. He doesn’t take attraction lightly either, and that’s what makes everything so confusing, because he likes you. Most of what he knows about you comes from Bucky, despite the time you two have spent near each other, and while these positive, protective things he’s feeling seem logical, there’s no way they’re natural.

Bottom line: Steve doesn’t think he can trust his gut when it comes to you. His gut says you’re exactly the sort of girl he wants to get to know. He wants to bring you flowers, take you to a baseball game, maybe hold your hand as he walks you back from a date. All things he’s skipped right past, thanks to Mistress. All things he might not have wanted, if it weren’t for the way the two of you met.

All things he maybe shouldn’t want at all, if Bucky wants them too.

Steve levers himself off of you with a hand on the wall and one on your shoulder, careful to project as much respect as he can, despite what’s just happened. He can still feel the echo of your satin-smooth skirt on his fingers, and that’s private enough, given the other after-effects of the explosive kiss you've just shared. Backing away quietly, he stops after just a few steps to watch you, telling himself it’s not to admire the way the deep breaths you’re taking accentuate your breasts. No, he’s watching your closed-eyed expression shift between secretly pleased and embarrassed.

“Did you take out the earpiece?” you ask quietly.

“I threw it,” he admits, and your eyes open to look at him first in shock, then in amusement, and then both of you fully crack up. The laughter is such a release, such a relief, that he’s wiping amused tears from the corners of his eyes when the door opens.

Bruce sends you both giggling again when he says, in an Annoyed Dad Voice, “The preliminary test results are in.’

“So let me see if I have this right,” you say fifteen minutes later, folding your hands on the conference table in front of you. “You detected pheromones in the enclosure, an unusually high level of them.” Banner nods. “They’re recognizably pheromones but not anything you’ve seen before, and there’s two kinds?”

“Three,” Steve says in a stunned voice, trying to be helpful even now.

“Well, technically the third one is a combination of the other two, one from each of you, and it’s so complex I’m not sure I can call it a pherom--” Banner cuts off as Dr. Lyonne clears her throat beside him. “Sort of, yes.”

You and Steve are on one side of the long table, with the two doctors at the other. It feels like you’re at a hostile takeover meeting, where two sides negotiate how much freedom the defeated company will have-- except you and Steve are the ones who have been taken over, and the answer on freedom is as yet unclear.

“Okay, setting aside the third one, then.” You pull in a deep breath and let it out. There will be time to freak out about everything they’re telling you another time, when you’re not in the middle of learning about it. “You’re saying we were both hot and horny for an unnaturally long time with Mistress in our systems, and that made the drug… teach our bodies to create these pheromones? Are you sure you don’t want to go get the Ancient Aliens guy to deliver this news?”

Banner does a wince-chuckle and looks down at the table. When he looks up, his expression is the same bleak, apologetic one he’d started with. “Yeah, I know it sounds ridiculous, but this is clearly alien biology. I doubt it helps at all, but if it hadn’t been for what happened to you two, we’d be a lot more in the dark about this.”

“You’ll need to study us to figure out how to reverse it,” Steve breaks in. You look over at him, note that his back isn’t touching the chair. If there’s an ‘official’ way to sit in a chair as a military man, that’s what he’s doing.

“If it helps, my husband and I are also submitting samples. I imagine we’ll need to come in and have you check to see if we give off any pheromones?” Dr. Lyonne says, looking to Banner.

He’s nodding gravely. “Yes. Without the accompanying symptoms, I doubt there are any, particularly not this long since the incident. At the level that we detected them from you two, though…” He gestures to your side of the table. “You say you were about forty, fifty feet apart at the performance, but both of you felt better last night, and even better today?”

You feel Steve’s eyes on you as you nod, and you can tell by Banner’s look of satisfaction that you’ve both responded in the affirmative; he pushes back from the table, obviously uncomfortable with the boardroom setting.

“Ok, we have an imperfect two-week sample, I’d like to have both of you come in every day for two weeks. Obviously I can’t take blood every day, but I’ll set up something to detect the pheromones.”

Dr. Lyonne swivels to face Banner as he paces the windows. “How about we split a lab in three, have each of them enter separately, meet in the middle after we get their individual resul--”

“We’d compensate you both for this, of course,” Banner breaks in. You see Dr. Lyonne’s wry smile and wonder if she’s used to having ideas so good her boss wants to move on before she’s fully articulated them. She seems like a strong enough personality to handle it, at least.

“I’m happy to help, but I can’t take any money. It wouldn’t be right.”

“We’re not paying you for sex, Rogers,” Lyonne says, a challenging look on her face.

Even though you’re not looking at him, you can feel Steve’s dismay. “That’s not what I meant. I don’t need to be paid for something I’d be--”

He cuts himself off, and there’s enough unsated lust simmering in your system to enjoy the possibilities of that sentence. I don’t need to be paid for something I’d be doing anyway.  

“Steve, you have to understand, it’s unethical for me not to pay you for this. The city, the planet needs the information we’ll be collecting, and I hate that it’ll take so long, given what we’re learning,” Banner says, walking over to grip his abandoned chair. He looks agitated but not angry. “Ideally you’ll both be anonymous, but how do you think anyone’s going to take my results studying an aphrodisiac if they realize that one of the subjects aren’t compensated for their time? No one will believe the results are genuine!”

“All right, but if we’re going to mention ethics, I want to point out that it’s not ethical to force Dee to participate in this at all, paid or not.”

Banner pulls in a breath, but you turn your chair and say, “Wait. Steve, I get it. You chose the serum-- but Tony Stark didn’t choose the magnet in his chest. Bucky didn’t choose--”

“Okay, I hear you,” Steve says, reaching out to put his hand over yours where you’d been holding on to the edge of the table. The immediate calming effect is almost annoying, and you glare at him for a second, sending his eyebrows skyward.

“You don’t feel that? It’s like a mini injection of Xanax or something,” you grouse.

A notebook slides across the table, followed by a pen you have to spin your chair around and pull free of Steve to grab before it falls to the floor.

“Write that down?” Dr. Lyonne’s scarlet lipstick’d grin is almost predatory.

“I feel it,” Steve belatedly answers under his breath to you as Lyonne and Banner confer across the room in urgent voices. You pause your writing  mid-sentence, biting your lip. This turns Steve bashful adorable, like that helps any, saying, “Shoot, sorry. I’ll just--” and getting up.

“I assume you want me to keep away from Steve except during the tests, but what about Bucky?” you ask aloud, covering for everything that’s chaotic inside your body and your mind right now.

Steve speaks up, quick and gruff. “That’s right, if the two of them want to start dating, how will that--”

“Steve! That’s not--” Your body is tuned for pleasure today, and this sends you images of Bucky you’ve never pictured with your waking mind before. A challenging smile, his arm held out in expectation that you’ll of course take it, the sexy fit of his leather jacket and your secret knowledge of what’s underneath… 

You press your eyes closed and open them to see three very interested pairs of eyes focused on you.

“Bucky is my friend,” you say, a twinge of guilt at the boundaries you’d just mentally crossed making your tone more brittle than necessary. “I was asking because the two of them live together. Are you expecting me to stay away from anywhere Steve could be, to avoid contaminated pheromone test results?”

Dr. Lyonne leans close to Banner to say something you don’t catch, and he nods before saying, “To be honest, I haven’t thought through all of the logistics. How about the two of you figure out a good time of day to stop by for testing, so there’s at least 22 hours between each, and I’ll get back to you on that question? Say, this weekend?”

“Four days,” Steve says. “Do you want us to stay apart in that time?”

You have no idea how you want that question to be answered.

“I uh, hmm.” Banner puts his hands on his hips and scrunches up his face, clearly thinking. “Better start the habit of once a day, so it’s easier, come Monday?”

“Phrasing!” Dr. Lyonne groans, waving Banner off with one hand and gesturing at the two of you frantically. “Run! Shoo! Before he starts getting more descriptive!”

You get home at lunch time and lean up against the apartment door after you lock it. Your roommate won’t be home for hours, and now that you’re alone, all you can think about is Steve Rogers’ frantic lips on yours.

Closing your eyes, you go through the motions of stripping off your ‘outside armor’ as you relive those heady moments. Toeing one shoe off leads to a few seconds of remembering the way his fingers dragged along the nape of your neck before he asked to kiss you. On your way to your bedroom, you drop your bag on the back of the couch, then steady yourself on it, thinking about that first exquisite swipe of his tongue against yours.

You almost turn your ankle in the hallway because you forgot to take off your other shoe.

The heat of embarrassment quickly shifts back to arousal when you’re finally in your bedroom, with the door locked behind you. That’s when you realize your keys are still in your hand. You usually hang them up on a hook, or at the very least, put them in your bag.

“Completely wrecked for Steve Rogers,” you say aloud.

Fuck, even his name sounds different to you. Instead of living in your memory banks as Bucky’s childhood friend, someone decent and good and loyal, he’s… well, right now he’s a taste in your mouth. One you can’t get enough of.

You leave your skirt in the middle of the floor.

Shirt and bra go flying in the general direction of your dresser. Something in the back of your mind tells you that it’s a terrible idea to associate that particular paragon of values and virtue with hedonistic, desperate pleasure, but you cannot possibly bring yourself to care. Not with the memory of Steve Rogers’ lips latched to your neck. Not with his need-distorted sounds of assent vibrating through you.

Your fingers feel clumsy as you rush your device from the drawer, accidentally striking the button that starts the pulsating rhythm you love most. Grateful for the privacy of a silent, empty apartment, you throw yourself diagonally on your bed. The toy in your hand sounds far too loud to be decent, and god, the ghost of Steve Rogers is invading every inch of you today, isn’t he?

There are places on you he hasn’t been, your mind supplies as you settle into the silky indulgence of your sheets. Setting the vibrator next to your head but not turning it off, you slide your hand down to slip the tips of your fingers past the waistband of your panties. Don’t touch your breasts. Pretend he wants to, but he won’t let himself.

That thought has you arching your hips up, your eyes clenched shut. God, your naughty mind is turning the taboos of this whole situation into something delicious, and you can’t be fucked to care.

Honestly, given the taboos of this whole situation, ‘can’t be fucked’ is likely to be true, and is that fair? No.

Grabbing your blanket, you throw the edge over your eyes and let yourself picture Steve Rogers trapped in the room, able to see you, unsure of whether to participate. Your nipples tighten at the thought, and you push your fingers down, finding your folds wet with the wanting of him. Shit, you’re in it now, because you used to let yourself imagine a faceless man, someone who wanted everything you had to give. Now all you can imagine is Steve, as though his broad shoulders have taken up the entire doorway in your mind, intimidating anyone else who might have designs on you.

“Oh, fuck!” you voice, grabbing the toy-- because the thought of a jealous Steve has ramped you up to Mistress levels of desire. You’d told yourself the whole journey home that the first thing you needed to do was try to come. Sure, you’d orgasmed today and it had been glorious, but this-- As you fit the toy exactly where you like it most (panties on for your imaginary guest), an outrageous thought occurs, and you're already indulging yourself, so why not keep going? “For science,” you gasp aloud, rocking your hips.

Would Steve disapprove of this display? Would he watch, or stop you?

Would he join you?

With your eyes tightly closed and the weight of the blanket preventing you from seeing anything, you can feel Steve's presence in the room, even though you know he isn’t there. The thought that your desire is linked with his, that maybe right now it belongs to him in a twisted, dangerous way heightens every buzz and touch, and your orgasm rolls over you with powerful certainty.

Bruce and Dr. Lyonne are deep in discussions of their plans when you leave, and Steve doesn’t want to interrupt. Truthfully, he’s glad he can be a help with these tests. As he rides up in the elevator to his apartment, the reassuring thought strikes him that few users are likely to resist the aphrodisiac pull of the drug. He hopes that means not many people are caught up in this strange cycle of desire and proximity.

Bucky’s in the living room watching a movie when Steve lets himself in. There are no messages for JARVIS to inform him about, and he grabs some water before walking over to see what film it is. Bucky’s face is wary, confused, even concerned, enough so that he doesn’t notice Steve until he sits down.

“You okay?”

“Yeah. This--” Buck hits pause on a scene that looks so similar to the torture he’d described under HYDRA that Steve grabs the remote and shuts the whole thing off. “You don’t have to do that. I’ve got a--” Bucky feels his pocket, the surface of the couch beside him, lifts up a book Steve’s been reading to get to sleep over on the table. “Lost it already, that figures. Dee wrote out the scenes I should skip. It’s The Matrix.”

Steve hasn’t heard of it, but he knows what his friend is like. “This one of the ones you’re supposed to skip?”

“Yeah,” Bucky grins. “She’ll probably yell at me.”

“Only if watching it messes you up,” Steve says, shoving the rim of his glass to his lips for a sip, so he doesn’t say anything stupid about you. The secret that he’d touched you again burns his mouth like bourbon.

Bucky gets up and stretches, backing away from the couch so the movements don’t hit Steve. “You get those tests done?”

“You could have warned me you were planning to send her over,” Steve says. His voice sounds more unhappy than he’d meant to show, so he frowns, which makes things worse.

“Would you have gone?”

Steve tries to think of an answer that isn’t a lie, and when he can’t, he looks down and shakes his head. “What if I tell you Bruce wasn’t ready?”

“Banner was like a kid in a candy store, I can tell you that without even being there,” Bucky says. “You figure anything out?”

The array of ‘yes’ answers to that aren’t safe to say aloud, Steve decides. “He thinks it’s changed us, taught our bodies to make some kind of chemical that messes us up until we’re close enough to swap our individual versions, I guess. He wants us to meet up once a day for two weeks to test it, starting Monday.”

Bucky sets a firm hand of reassurance on his shoulder from behind the couch, and Steve lets out a sigh he didn’t realize he was holding in.

“That’s good-- the part where he figures it out, I mean. The two of you haven’t been yourselves.”

“She doesn’t deserve this, Buck.”

“Good thing it’s you, then.”

Steve reaches up, squeezes his friend’s hand, and then gets up. “That’s not the message your fist sent me,” he teases. It’s a risky thing to say; the punch had been thrown after Steve’s low-ebb, frustrated, self-flagellating comment that Bucky was just mad it wasn’t him in the room with her.

“If you didn’t get the message, I’d be happy to send it again,” Bucky shrugs. “Your room’s ready, by the way. All new furniture put in this morning, while you were gone.”

It’s an out, and Steve takes it, grabbing the laundry basket of his clean clothes and heading into the hallway. As reported, his room is completely redone. He stands in the doorway and blinks at it for a few minutes, then asks JARVIS to dial up a number. He could do it on his phone, but this feels more appropriate.

“Hey, Cap,” Tony says on the second ring. “Guessing you saw the room.”

“This is too much, Tony,” Steve says, walking over to touch the clearly antique dresser. It looks exactly like the one in his parents’ bedroom, so much so that he wouldn’t put it past Stark to have done the research to find out the exact model, rather than making a lucky guess.

“Don’t chew through your sense of obligation, Steve, it’s not all vintage. There have been much-needed improvements to mattress design and bed construction in those middle decades.” There’s a pause, and then Tony says, “You wouldn’t have stayed in there at all if I’d have done it starting out, admit it.”

He’s got a point, but Steve can’t let it go. “This had to cost--”

“Well, yeah!” Tony sounds amused, not annoyed. “Would you rather I spend that money on weapons? Tell you what, you try it out with your girl, and I’ll--”

“Tony!” Steve had specifically wanted to avoid thinking about you and his bed in the same mental breath, and Tony Stark had just blown those good intentions all to hell within five minutes of walking into his remodeled bedroom. That thought had come before the objection that you’re not ‘his girl,’ actually, and Steve’s stunned speechless with that realization.

“I saw you called with the room speaker, figured I’d rile up Barnes if he was around,” Tony says, completely undeterred. “Anyway, you’re worth it, end of conversation.”

The phone call cuts out without even an apology from JARVIS.

Steve looks around the room again. Every piece of his new furniture is familiar, not to mention entirely different from the utilitarian set up that had come with the room. He sets the basket down, noting that the blanket you’d covered yourself with that day is neatly folded and laid across the foot of the bed. Oddly, that helps with his qualms; just like the room, he’s been remodeled after a crisis, and things have been added against his better judgment. Even with all the same furniture back, things would remind him of you. The solution isn’t to change everything. It’s to adapt.

Just thinking about you is sending his heartbeat racing, but Steve tries to tamp back the impure thoughts and gets on with the task of putting away his clothes. 

The bottom drawer sticks as he pushes it back in. He has to blink a few times to regulate his emotions-- and then, a thought occurs.

Steve’s knock on Bucky’s bedroom door is loud and insistent.

“All right, hold on!”

When the door opens, Bucky’s in a tank top and shorts, and some of his long hair is stuck to his face with sweat. The image hits Steve in a place he hasn’t considered in years, in decades, really, but that’s not why he’s here. He shoves that all away and cranes his neck to see into the room.

“I knew it!” Bucky crows. “You wanted to see if they gave me 40’s stuff too, didn’t you? They did.” He backs up to let Steve in.

It’s the suite’s ‘master’ bedroom, and Steve sees that there’s a pull-up bar installed in the doorway to the private bathroom. Just like in his room, the furniture is achingly familiar, right down to the four poster bed and the color light shining from the lamp. He walks over to peer under the shade.

“I guess they can color them, now, ‘cause the old bulbs are illegal,” Bucky supplies. “You gonna be okay?”

“Tony said I was worth it.”

“You are.”

“Well, so are you,” Steve says, his voice thick. “I’m so sorry she was caught up in--”

Bucky punches his shoulder, derailing his apology, but then tugs him into a brief hug. “As long as I can have the two of you back, do whatever you have to. Now, get out of here, I have fifty more of these things to do.”

Steve nods and heads for the door. As he goes, he sees that there’s a rubber grip on the pull-up bar so Bucky doesn’t have to worry about damaging the thing with his metal hand.

Everything about his life in the tower seems to be tuned to his happiness, made for his comfort, encouraging him to feel safe and needed. The only thing missing from the life he used to picture back before the serum is someone to share it with.

Unbidden, he’s struck with an image of you in that gorgeous skirt looking up at him with obvious happiness and desire in your eyes. He can still hear the lovely, expert tones of your voice singing a song he’d loved hearing on the radio. You’ve challenged him, stood up for him, pleased him-- but most of that hadn’t been your choice, not really. Is there a way through this mess that leads to all of you at peace and happy, Bucky included? Or is that completely unrealistic, a fantasy borne out of his need to make decent a situation that is anything but?

Something deep inside him rebels, at this.

You’re a good person, that much is clear. You could have-- heck, you could have filed charges. You could have refused to have anything to do with him. Instead, you’d looked on him with warmth at the performance, and then participated in Banner’s tests in good faith, right up until you realized that the data would be deceptive. You are worth the stress and temptation that it will take to salvage this.

Steve can’t wait to try.

THE END

Next in the series...

mini note: it occurs to me that I should say, that gap in time between the mutual orgasm from last chapter and the chat at the boardroom involves some time for Steve to clean up, hah 💚

[tobythewise]

toby!!!! so excited you're doing this uwu naturally gotta request fenders, anddd the dialogue prompt of “You’ve thought about this, haven’t you?” stood out to me <3

Thank you so much for this prompt! I want you to know that I’ve been thinking about it all week 🤣 I was super indecisive on how I wanted to go about it because part of me wanted to go full smut but instead I went head first into introspective fluff! I hope you enjoy! 💚

Written for @dadrunkwriting

Gentle, barely there fingers run down Anders’ spine and a shiver goes through him. His body is pleasantly sated, his mind practically blank for the first time since he can remember. He’s not sure if that’s because of the thorough fucking he just received or if it’s from being in the presence of Fenris’ lyrium but either way he feels content. He knows it won’t last but he plans to enjoy it while it’s here.

For once, he embraces the moment of quiet that’s meant just for him instead of planning his next underground mission or the next page of his manifesto. They’ll keep until tomorrow.

The fingers running along his back are soft as they trace the spattering of scars they find. There was a day that Anders used to be embarrassed by the scars left behind in his skin. He used to keep them hidden from Karl. He used to attempt to hide them while sleeping with other people, always keeping them under him instead of behind him. Now? Now he doesn’t see the need to hide, especially from Fenris who bears his own marks of past oppressors.

Anders still can’t believe he’s here, naked in Fenris’ bed. By the Maker, how did they end up here?

When Anders imagined this happening, it was always a heated arguement that instead of coming to blows, came to heated kisses. Or maybe a drunken mistake they’d both pretend never happened the next morning.

Instead, it was comfort given during a trying time. It was a slow build of trust. It was leaning on each other when the others around them didn’t quite understand what it meant to find freedom and then hold onto it so tight it hurts.

In the past, Anders fell quick. His affection would come fast and it would burn hot and bright. This time it took him by surprise, growing slowly over the span of years until it was a part of him, the same as breathing or the same as Justice inside him.

“May I ask you something?”

Anders turns his head slightly so he can look over at Fenris. He’s sitting beside Anders with his one leg curled up to his chest, the other laid out in front of him. He has one land on Anders’ back, tracing over his scars, the other outstretched on his knee. The blanket covers Anders’ ass and flows over Fenris’ groin. He looks so carefree like this, so much so that Anders feels tears spring to his eyes. By the Maker, he’s getting sappy in his old age.

“Anything.”

“You have thought of this, haven’t you?”

Anders looks away for a moment, biting back his first reaction. In the past he would have made a joke to break the tension or sent out sharp barbs to keep himself safe from being vulnerable. He doesn’t want to do that with Fenris. Letting out a long breath, his eyes meet Fenris’ once more.

“Yes,” he says honestly, daring to give Fenris a soft smile. “It’s almost embarrassing how often I’ve thought about this, about you. I would lay awake at night, aching for you.”

Anders stomach swoops at the sound of Fenris sucking in a harsh breath. Fenris’ hand on his back stills, his palm laying hot and heavy on one particular scar. A mark left behind from a knife into his back. That particular one coming after he was joined with Justice.

The moment stretches and Anders waits, for once staying just as still as Fenris.

As Fenris goes back to touching him, this time playing with the ends of Anders’ hair, he finally responds. “Don’t be embarrassed by your desires. We have earned our right to have them and embrace them.”

Anders smiles up at him, his chest warm with affection. There’s something beautiful about being with someone who understands the magnitude of moments like this.

He reaches over and wraps an arm around Fenris’ waist, forcing him to lay back. Then he flips over, hovering over Fenris. Not that long ago Fenris would have fought him, pushed him away, snarled in disgust. They’ve come so far.

“I’m in love with you. I’m not sure if you realize that,” Anders says softly, “but I want you to know.” He cups Fenris’ face, his thumb caressing his cheek.

“Why does it sound like there is a but coming?”

“You’ve suffered so much at the hands of mages. It feels wrong to bind you to me when I fight for the things I fight for.”

Fenris closes his eyes, breathing through his nose. This close, Anders can feel Fenris’ heart picking up speed.

“I knew your fight when I kissed you. My eyes are wide open. I know of your plight, mage. That did not stop me.” Fenris swallows thickly while Anders feels hope blossom inside his chest. “I would still have you, Anders. If there is a place for me at your side, that is where I want to be.”

Anders can’t stop his smile from spreading. He rests his forehead against Fenris’ for a moment before taking his lips in a fierce kiss.

There’s so much coming that Anders isn’t sure he’s prepared for. There’s a storm blooming and one way or another things have to change. Who better to change things than a man with a limited life thanks to the blight inside of him who also has a spirit of Justice inside of him?

But right now he doesn’t need to think about that. Right now he’s allowed to just be Anders.

[cryscendo]

For the drabble game! Kurt, au: sports!au (gymnastics), trope: exes, prompt: “sometimes, i sit in bed and wonder what would happen if things were different.” :)

thank you so much for the request, this was so much fun to write. i decided to make this kurtbastian bc i’ve never wrote that ship before and you gave me some freedom with the ship choice. sorry if this is ooc at all, i tried my best <3 i decided to go about this as gymnast!kurt and coach!sebastian. it makes more sense in context i promise

Word Count: 823

Fic can be read under the cut!

“Porcelain, take a break! You’re useless if all you're gonna do is fall on your ass every time you try to swing on the bars. Give yourself ten then be back on the high beam.”

Thank god, Kurt thought. He had been working with Coach Sylvester for awhile now, and though his routine has improved for it, his sanity is certainly taking a toll. She pushed him in ways that no other coach had prior.

Well, aside from one.

He attempted to dust the chalk off his hands, — though he admittedly was just making small puffs of dust clouds, — before reaching for his water bottle. He had been a practicing gymnast for close to fifteen years, and these days he’s starting to feel those years wear on him more and more.

“Damn, Hummel, you look like you’ve been going through it. That new coach of yours really rides your ass, huh?”

He recognized the voice immediately. He wished he could be surprised by the other’s presence, but given as they frequently occupy the same training facility, it wasn’t all too much of a shock. With a sigh, he turns and faces the owner of the voice.

“What do you want, Sebastian?” Kurt took a sip of his water as he took in the man before him. Sebastian looked largely the same that he always had. Then again, they are forced into relative proximity with enough frequency that he could never possibly forget how he looks. Sebastian looked at Kurt with that same smirk that always agitated him when they were together.

“Who says I want anything? I have a trainee I’m working with, but she seems to be running a bit late. I guess not everyone is as punctual as you are, Kurt.” Kurt scoffs in annoyance, looking anywhere but at the other man. At Kurt’s lack of response, Sebastian continued on. “You seem exhausted, how about you come have a seat in the bleachers with me for a bit?”

“I really don’t think that’s a good-”

“Just for a few minutes. C’mon, we can be nice.” Despite everything in Kurt telling him that spending any period of time with Sebastian was a bad idea, he decided to silence that part of him. There was not much that the man could do in ten minutes. And besides, Kurt could admit, if only to himself, that he missed Sebastian.

They sat in silence at the bleachers for only a moment before Sebastian spoke up again. “So Sue Sylvester is your coach now, huh? Makes you seem like quite the masochist.”

“My routine is better for it. I’m at the best I’ve ever been.” That much was true. There was hardly a gymnast in the state that could outpace him.

“You didn’t seem to appreciate being pushed back when I was the one doing it.”

“You were different,” Kurt insisted, finally looking Sebastian in the eyes as he spoke. “Sure, Coach Sylvester puts me through hell, but there’s no emotional attachment there.” Sebastian should know that it was always different with him. It was largely Kurt’s fault, he should’ve never gotten involved with his coach. But of course, hindsight is always twenty-twenty. “You were my coach when I needed my boyfriend and my boyfriend almost never. Can you see how that maybe fucked me up?” Kurt let out a sigh, shaking his head. “As dumb as it sounds, sometimes, I sit in bed and wonder what would’ve happened if things were different.”

Sebastian looked at him coolly and that in itself frustrated Kurt even more. Then, he let out a small huff of a laugh, but there was hardly any humor in it. “You have no idea what my intentions were. And you’re right, that does sound dumb. There’s nothing you get out of dwelling on the past.” The look on Kurt’s face turned into one of confusion. Sebastian elaborated further. “Kurt, you were great. But I knew you could be incredible. So my methods are unconventional, I’ll admit that. Made you tougher, though. Sounds like a pretty good deal, don’t you think? So in a way, I don’t feel too bad about pushing you.”

Kurt seemed at a loss of what to say for a moment. He was trying to conjure up what to say in reply to all that. But before he had the chance, his coach was calling out to him. “Porcelain, you got one minute!”

Kurt wasted no time in standing up. “Goodbye, Sebastian.”

“Kurt, wait.”

Kurt stopped midway down the bleachers and looked back at Sebastian, an eyebrow raised. Sebastian spoke up again. “Why don’t we get coffee again sometime soon?”

At this, Kurt gave a small smile. With a shrug, he continued back down the bleachers, but not before giving one final reply. “Maybe after I win my next gold medal. I mean you said it yourself, I’m already great. I figured you’d want to see me be incredible.”

[justatiredghost]

No Freedom from Knowing ch9

The general mistrust of magic as well as dangerous people in his past kept Jonathan Sims isolated, hidden away where he hoped he might finally be safe. Until he met someone who might be worth shattering that peace for.

ao3

-

John woke slowly, the fog of sleep dissipating as the solid weight beside him slowly came into focus, as well as the warmth emanating from there, seeping into his bones. Somehow, he woke feeling content in a way he was completely unfamiliar with, the knowledge that Martin was with him preventing him from panicking at the foreign feeling. 

Waking up beside someone else was not something he was used to. Any previous relationships felt like a lifetime ago, like they happened to a completely different person. John let himself indulge in the feeling, in the warmth that would quickly become stifling, in his arm that was slowly going numb from the awkward position, and the absolute relief and fondness that swepped over him at how perfect it all was. 

He knew there were things he needed to do, concerns and fears he needed to contend with, but when Martin’s eyes fluttered open and eventually focused on him, a sleepy smile tugging at the corner of his lips, it was the only thing John was capable of caring about. 

John leaned in and kissed him, because he could, because he was allowed to. Because it made Martin smile. He knew his expression had to be one of self satisfaction when Martin did exactly that. 

“Good morning to you too,” Martin said, placing his hand on John’s arm, smoothing his thumb against his skin, and he looked so fond, it made John melt. 

This closeness was still so new, John felt himself somewhat overwhelmed despite how much he wanted to indulge in it. He wanted to stay here forever, but the agitated need to walk was greater and won out. 

“It’s still night, I think,” John said, squinting towards the window. “How about some dinner?”

Martin had barely opened his mouth to agree when John climbed over the top of him. It was either that or climb to the foot of the bed, and this way won a surprised laugh that filled him with such pride and fondness, he decided he’d chosen correctly. 

“Okay, okay, jeez,” Martin muttered, covering his burning red face until John had climbed off of him and the bed, before following. 

It was inevitable that they’d eventually have to talk about next steps. The place was still a mess, but Martin righted the table and chairs so they could at least sit down while they ate. Instead of sitting across from Martin, John elected to sit beside him, which neither of them commented on, although John could tell he wanted to given the pleased and amused smile Martin tried to hide behind his tea. 

“Maybe we can train the chickens,” Martin joked. “They can act as guard… um, chickens.”

“Guard chickens?” John repeated, deadpan. “I’ve been living with them for years and I can’t even get them to lay eggs in their nests like they’re supposed to. I think they’re beyond training, which is a shame, because I for one would love to see Elias attacked by chickens.”

“My thoughts exactly,” Martin said. “I don’t know how useful they’ll be, but I did get some weapons while I was in town.”

“Weapons?” John asked in alarm. While being able to defend himself was certainly an appealing idea, he didn’t actually know how to use— well, anything. He had to admit to himself that he was more likely to stab himself than anyone else.

“Look,” Martin said defensively. “I may not have any proper training with a sword, but I’ve made a few in my time and that includes testing the strength of the blade. I can work out the basics. Unless you’re going to tell me Elias is also a renowned dualist.”

“Not that I know of,” John said. “He’s likely far older than he looks, though, so who knows.”

“Great, that’s just great,” Martin griped, and John hoped it wasn’t obvious how endearing he found it. “Well, what about—“

And then all hell broke loose. 

It sounded like an explosion, rocking the house to its core, sending spiderwebbing cracks up the wall and ceiling, and knocking John to the ground, where he landed hard. His entire body felt like it was on fire, his magic ripped out of him as it tried to strengthen his wards against the unseen magical bombardment, but it was pointless, there was no way he had enough strength in him to combat that sort of power. 

It felt like he was being flayed open and ripped apart, everything he was torn out of him, leaving a ragged hole behind. He couldn’t even cry out, paralyzed by the agony. And worst of all, he could feel the exact moment his protections gave out. Everything that had shielded him from the outside world was stripped away and he was left vulnerable and broken in its wake. 

He tried to gasp, but he couldn’t get enough air in him, leaving him wheezing on the ground, grabbing at the neck of his shirt as if that would somehow alleviate the crushing weight on his lungs. 

“John? John, can you hear me? Please say you can hear me!”

He was vaguely aware of Martin over him, trying to support him. It was all he could do to reach out and cling to him, every movement a tremendous effort, his hands shaking too much to properly hold onto him. 

John could feel tears running down his face. He wanted to tell him to run, that all hope was lost and he needed to get as far from here as possible, but no words would come, only a strangled sob. Martin heaved him into his arms and carried him to the couch, staying close to hold him, to whisper reassurances that John didn’t know how to tell him meant nothing against the horrors of the world. The horrors that were coming for him. 

He could feel the full force of the Eye, of Beholding, glaring down on him now. It had been so long, he’d almost forgotten what it felt like to be such a target of that scrutiny; the at once intoxicating and horrific power that he was too weak to fight. He didn’t like who he was with it, the people he had hurt, the people he would likely hurt in the future. It had never been this intent on him, and he didn’t want to know what that meant. 

He cried for a long time, there in Martin’s arms, taking comfort where he didn’t deserve it. He should have pushed him away when he had the chance, at least then he would be far from here, where he might be spared whatever was coming. Martin was smoothing his sweat-dampened hair out of his face, trying to talk him down, when he finally got enough breath in him to speak again. 

“Elias will be coming for me,” John said, gripping Martin’s hand where it had been resting on his shoulder. He thought he might have been holding on too tightly, but he was so weak, it was likely Martin barely felt it. 

“Like hell he will,” Martin said, determination and a protective fury in his eyes that both warmed him, knowing someone could care for him so much, and also froze him to the bone, because he couldn’t get hurt, John couldn’t watch that happen. Elias wouldn’t hesitate to kill him if he wanted. 

“Please don’t try to fight him,” John said, still gasping for every word. At least the pain was lessening, the tight grip on his chest slowly growing slack. 

“I’m not just going to stand by! “

“Please, I can't protect you from him,” John begged, and he felt the tears in his eyes again. 

“Tough! It’ll be him that needs protecting.”

And, fuck, he loved this man so much. “Help me up,” he said, and Martin did just that, grabbing his cane and handing it to him as well. 

“Come on,” Martin said. “Let’s at least get somewhere more defensible.”

“Oh,” John said, and any remaining shred of hope he had fled from him completely. “Oh, god. They’re all coming.”

He could feel it. He could feel the unnatural tremor through the earth as they came, the fury and hatred whipped up into a supernatural frenzy, and he knew Elias was somehow the cause. He never did like to do his own dirty work. John shouldn’t have been able to see it, feel it, without his wards, but maybe this was one last gift from Elias. 

“What?” Martin said. “What’s going on? John?” 

“Martin, Martin I need you to listen to me,” John said, grabbing his arm tightly once again, desperately, as he spoke as quickly as he could. ”I need you to go out the back. They can’t find you here.”

“Is it the monsters?” Martin asked, and the set of his jaw told him there was nothing he could say to keep him safe. He’d fight them with his bare hands if he had to. “I’m not leaving you alone.”

“No, it’s not, it’s—“

“Come out, witch!” A voice yelled from outside, followed by another. “We know you’re in there, sorcerer!”

“Oh. Oh no,” Martin finally saw what he could; a crowd of people from the town, whipped into a frenzied mob, stepping out of the forest and into his clearing, armed with whatever weapons they could find. 

“They’re coming up with new things to call me all the time,” John said, almost hysterically, catching onto the absurd amidst the horror. 

“Maybe you can sneak out the back while I de-escalate,” Martin began. 

“No, no,” John said, stopping him when he made to walk towards the door. “Something isn’t right, I think Elias has done something, they can’t be reasoned with.”

“Are you sure? We have to at least try!” Martin insisted. 

“Look, if you at least stay here, stay hidden, I might be able to do something,” John lied. “It’s just, my magic won’t protect you, you have to stay safe.”

“I can protect myself—“ Martin began, indignation clear on his face. 

“Martin please, we don’t have time,” John said. But even as he begged, he knew there was no chance. Neither of them could leave the other in danger. They just weren’t capable of it. 

“You’re right, we don’t have time,” Martin said, a steeliness in his eyes. 

“Okay,” John relented, trying desperately to think of something, anything that might get them out of this alive. Or at least get Martin out. He didn’t know what was even happening, really, which made it impossible. 

And then, impulsively, Martin pulled him into a burning kiss. John wasn’t sure if the tears were his own or Martin’s. He wanted the moment to last forever, but a crash caused them to jerk apart. Someone had thrown a rock through a window.

Martin tried to position himself in front of John as they heated outside to confront what was happening. There was no way John could let him do that. He was going to face this head on, he was not going to cower. And he certainly wasn’t going to let Martin risk himself like that. It made his chest ache, knowing he would try to shield him from all of this and the pain he would suffer for it. No, they would face this side by side at the very least. 

A few people were at the head of the group, no doubt the spokesmen. This entire thing was beginning to feel surreal. This was the most organized mob he had ever witnessed. That was probably thanks to Elias, though. He always loved order and bureaucracy. 

A roar went up through the crowd when they spotted them and he suppressed a wince. He didn’t have his cane on him and he did his best to walk without limping, refusing to even lean on Martin. If nothing else, he wanted it to be said that he met his end with dignity, not groveling and crying. He would stand tall until he couldn’t anymore. 

There were shouts, demanding to know what he had done, but he couldn’t answer because he hadn’t done anything. He and Martin were left bewildered, trying desperately to figure out what was happening, what they were being accused of, until one of the lead figures called out louder than the rest. 

“We know this isn’t you, lad,” an older gentleman said to Martin. “Step away from him.”

“What are you talking about?” Martin asked. 

“He’s bewitched you.”

“What?” Martin said, somewhere between a scoff and a laugh. “Of all the stupid—“

“Just step away from him, it will all be over in a moment.”

“No! This is absurd, he hasn’t done anything.”

“He’s a monster!”

“What are you even—“ Martin said, furious and completely at a loss. 

“Actually,” John tried to whisper, because on some level he probably was a monster, they all seemed to get their power from the same place, but Martin just glared at him because now was not the time to be joking around. John personally thought, if not now, when? 

“He’ll kill us all given the chance,” another heckler called. 

“He’s been trying to help. He saved my life, probably plenty of yours, too!”

Martin continued to talk, to defend him, but that was when John saw him, out of the corner of his eye. Very casually lighting a cigarette, watching the entire thing unfold from the shadows of the trees, was Elias Bouchard. He was still dressed in his immaculately pressed suit, a strange contrast in the middle of the forest, a slight smile on his face, and John wondered how he ever could have looked up to this insufferable, cruel man. 

Realizing he was being watched, Elias waved briskly, his grin widening. Then, he looked out over the crowd and back at John, and it was clear exactly what he was thinking. Things were moving too slowly, perhaps he could liven things up a bit. 

A shout went out in the crowd and a rock suddenly struck John in the shoulder, causing him to stagger. He looked around in alarm, but Elias was gone and Martin was grabbing him, pulling him behind him, and then all chaos broke out. 

John was thankful, in a way. When the crowd surged forward, he and Martin were both grabbed and ripped apart. At least that meant whatever happened to him, Martin couldn’t be caught in the middle. He didn’t know what he would have done if Martin had taken a rock for him.  

“Stop it, stop! Can’t you see he hasn’t done anything?” Martin was yelling somewhere to his right. “Leave him alone!”

He caught sight of Martin, being restrained by several men, and he breathed a sigh of relief that they weren’t taking this out on him as well. If they truly thought he was being controlled, maybe they would let him go when they were finished. He hated that Martin was here for this at all, he couldn’t imagine how terrifying it would be to have their positions reversed, but at least he would live. 

He had a feeling where this was going, and while beaten to death wasn’t exactly an ideal end, if Martin was safe, he wouldn’t use his magic. He couldn’t. The idea terrified him so much more than the violence of the crowd. Once he started, he wasn’t sure he’d be able to stop. He would rip open their minds, expose knowledge and secrets for the Eye to feast on and it would be horrible to see. 

He doubted Martin would be able to look at him the same after that. He wouldn’t be able to look at himself, either. Assuming, of course, that it didn’t consume what was left of him in the process, until there was nothing but the thrill of power, making him as cruel as Elias. He wasn’t sure he’d be able to recognize Martin anymore if that happened. He wasn’t sure he could protect him from the Eye, or from himself. 

Through the throng, he managed to catch Martin’s eye and he tried to smile, tried to reassure him that everything would be okay, that he was okay with this. That just made the tears begin to flow down Martin’s face and his chest ached to see it. 

Then, someone punched John in the face and he couldn’t see anything anymore as he was sent sprawling. A sharp kick dug into his stomach and he did his best to curl into a ball, covering his head, as another caught him in the back. 

Out of the corner of his eye, back towards the house, he saw movement and managed to turn in time to see someone opening the door and slipping inside. Elias. It was Elias. And as their eyes met, he had the audacity to wink. And then he was gone, the door clicking shut behind him, and John was brought back to the current situation by a kick to his ribs

He always seemed to end up back here, under the boots of the people around him. He’d wanted to help them, but he’d failed at every turn. He’d done nothing but hide away and protect his own skin, while they fought and died to the creatures lurking in the darkness, the creatures he should have been able to work out, protect them from. 

Maybe this was the end he deserved. Elias had been right, he was a failure. He could do nothing for anyone, living off the work Gertrude had put in while contributing nothing of his own. He would die unmourned and forgotten. Hopefully Martin would eventually see him like that too, so he could move on and forget him like he deserved. 

John was fine with this, with keeping their focus on him, to let them take their rage and hatred out of his body, hoping it would be enough to satisfy them so they wouldn’t turn it on Martin or anyone else. It was a familiar oppressive terror, the hopelessness of knowing no one would save him, as they demonstrated just how far their hatred for him went. 

Somehow that was always more frightening than the physical pain; knowing for certain that whatever self loathing he possessed, their hatred for him was exponentially worse. It was unfathomable in its cruelty, that it could blind them until they couldn’t even see him as a person anymore. He was just a monster. Lower than a monster. And the world would be a better place without him in it. 

Someone stomped down on his ribs, causing him to cry out and flinch from his position, leaving his head exposed and he caught a kick to his forehead, dazing him. It almost made him miss it. There, an oppressive weight, fear and a bloodthirsty intent. But it wasn’t coming from the crowd, at least not completely. It was so much worse, so much bigger than all of them, and it fueled them all in their violence. 

Oh god. They were coming. More monsters than should have been in the forest, pressing in on all sides, feeding off of all of this. He tried to scramble to his feet, to cry out a warning, but he was knocked down immediately, brutally, and he had no breath for words, unable to even protect himself from the assault coming from all directions. 

And then the screaming began. 

First to arrive was the Slaughter, feeding off the long-festering anger of the townspeople and amplifying it, a horrible visage of a man, twice as tall and towering over the crowd, with too many heads and too many limbs, that sliced through those closest with swords and spears and knives. Then the Flesh, and John was grateful for his angle, unable to truly see the form they were taking. The last one he’d seen was hulking and bulging and dripping and he didn’t want a comparison. 

Then there was the fog. 

The crowd had backed off somewhat, distracted by the chaos, and John took advantage of the moment to search for where he’d last seen Martin, but he wasn’t there. Unhindered by the press of the mob now, as they began to scatter, John began dragging himself across the ground, desperately casting about. 

Martin had to still be here. The Lonely couldn’t have taken him so quickly, surely. But if it had, it would all be John’s fault, forcing him to watch all of this, leaving him helpless to stop it. John of all people knew what helplessness felt like, what it could do to a person, and he hated himself for putting him through that, for not even thinking. 

John could feel himself on the edge of desperation, near tears, when someone grabbed him by the back of his shirt and hauled him roughly to his feet. He staggered, forced to lean on the man holding him to stop himself from falling or being choked by his own clothing, his bad leg unable to take his weight. 

“Give them the witch,” a man shouted, and they dragged John forward a stumbling step. 

They were going to feed him to the monsters. And Martin was still out there, he needed his help. He tried to object, to explain it wouldn’t do anything, they didn’t care about him, but he knew it was useless before he’d even begun. Everything was happening in a blur around him, he could barely process any of it, the screaming of the injured and dying drowning everything out, his panic making it all into an incomprehensible wave of noise. 

He was vaguely aware of something hitting the man holding him and it was almost a relief when John was dropped unceremoniously to the ground, where he could press his face against the cool grass. But then he was looking up at Martin and he thought he might weep in relief. 

Martin was trying to check his injuries, but John grabbed at him and pulled him close enough to wrap his arms around his neck, pulling himself closer to give him a desperate hug, more relieved than he’d ever been in his life. 

“We need to go,” Martin said, and he tried to nod along, even though he didn’t know if he could. 

Martin pulled his arm across his shoulders and hauled him up. John bit back a cry of pain at the sudden movement and just tried to hang on, moving one foot in front of the other, dizzy from the movement. They were jostled several times, but Martin stood strong, determined. As they reached the perimeter, the fog grew thicker. 

“Martin,” John said, voice hoarse and painful, still barely able to get breath into his bruised lungs. “It’s coming, we can’t —“

“It’s okay,” Martin said, and the smile he gave him chilled him to the bone. He imagined it looked a lot like the one John had given him before the first blow had been struck. 

“No, Martin, please,” he tried to protest, but he was much too weak. 

And then they were swallowed up by the white, drawn into the depths of the Lonely, by Martin himself. John thought there was a chance he himself might be protected by the Eye, he might be able to retain his sense of self in that oppressive forsaken place, if it could even still reach him there, but Martin had no such protection. And yet Martin was welcoming it in like an old friend. And he was doing it for John, to get him somewhere safe, and there was nothing he could do to stop it.