#i hope y'all like angst

[da-rulah]

Wdym I'm 5,000 words into part 3 of Confessional and no one has bumped uglies yet?

WHAT DO YOU MEAN??!?!?!?!??!?!!!!!?!?!?!??!?!

[ninja-knox-ur-sox-off]

oh yeah almost forgot. just a little something from yesterday while i was processing the news and trying to cope [spoilers?? ig for the lmk s5 trailer?? i don't know if the trailer counts as spoilers tho honestly its a trailer but we gonna tag as such to be safe] (all my posts about the trailer and the upcoming season will be tagged as lmk s5 spoilers)

[viperwhispered]

Too Hard

Woop part 2 of the trip inside Jamil's head. Part 1 here.

The next time Jamil caught sight of you on campus, his first instinct was to turn around on his heel.

What a stupid thought to have because of you.

Besides, that would only make him more conspicuous, not less.

So, when your eyes met his, Jamil gave you a short nod in greeting. He would’ve left it at that and kept on his way, had you not walked up to him.

“Hi Jamil! How’s it going?” you said with that impossibly disarming smile of yours.

Why was it so difficult to look at you like he normally would? You had no right to make him feel so stiff, so unnatural.

On autopilot, Jamil exchanged a few pleasantries with you - those lessons from his parents had been instilled too deep in him for him to falter too badly in a simple exchange such as this. Still, Jamil quickly excused himself by telling you he still had to find Kalim before his next class.

Jamil didn’t miss the way your smile faltered. Had you hoped to get something out of him?

“Oh, okay. I’ll see you two later, then.”

Something about that irked him, though Jamil did not allow himself to dwell on it further.

His heart really had no business still racing as it did when he walked away, unaware of the frown on his face.

Just act normal. That’s all he needed to do.

After all, he had no time for dwelling in silly fancies.

If Jamil had been acutely aware of you before, it only seemed to worsen now that he was making a conscious effort to not act any differently with you. In fact, the harder he tried to keep you out, the more you invaded his thoughts, unsettling him.

The most innocuous words from you looped in his mind, and even the simplest actions caught his eye. For goodness's sake, he’d found himself staring at you while you were queueing up in the cafeteria the other day, not even doing anything other than standing around and looking bored!

For once, Jamil found himself grateful for all his duties. At least they provided him with something else to occupy himself with.

After all, if he was busy enough, it was difficult to think about those bright eyes of yours, your sweet laugh, or the way you bit your lip while thinking.

Still, sometimes it felt like no matter which way he turned, you were there, ready to throw him off-kilter. Not like it was his fault that often the most convenient route to class intersected with your daily routines. Or that your face seemed to jump out from any crowd, catching his attention.

Which certainly did not help his basketball performance. Jamil certainly did not recall you having such an interest in sports before, yet suddenly you were always there, distracting him. What had changed?

Could you possibly-

Jamil scoffed to himself, forcing his thoughts back on track for the nth time that day.

He picked up the tray of food and started taking it to Kalim. After dinner, he’d need to help Kalim with his homework, there were some housewarden tasks that would need dealing with, not to mention the preparations for the next-

Jamil froze in his tracks.

The voice he heard was quiet, but it was unmistakably you.

Really, it should not have come as such a surprise to him. You had become a rather frequent visitor to Scarabia, and Kalim often invited you to stay for meals. In fact, Jamil had started planning the dorm’s meal prep with your tastes and dietary restrictions in mind, just in case.

Jamil rounded the corner with strange exhilaration, his heart fluttering needlessly.

Yet, his mood evaporated when he saw you.

Why did you stop talking and look so guilty as soon as you caught sight of Jamil?

Jamil knew that look you gave to Kalim, had used it himself a thousand times. The one telling Kalim to keep quiet about something.

What could there possibly be that you would be comfortable sharing with Kalim, but not with him? That would give Kalim reason to sit so close to you, a comforting hand on your shoulder?

Jamil's mind raced with possibilities, yet could not settle for any single explanation.

He’d have to ask Kalim about it later.

Jamil gave you a short, polite greeting, his eyes lingering on you in an attempt to read what you were hiding.

“If I’d known you were coming over, I would’ve prepared something for you to eat as well,” Jamil said, already thinking about which parts of the dorm’s dinner to spruce up for you.

“Oh, no need, just figured I’d pop by. I’ll get out of your hair soon enough,” you said, something sheepish about your expression.

As expected, Kalim asked you to stay and dine with them, and with just a bit more persuasion you agreed - though not before telling Jamil that he should join you too and have himself a breather.

And since Kalim agreed with you, Jamil soon found himself sharing a meal with you and Kalim. Yet, even as he sat down with the food, his mind raced.

Had you been getting particularly close to Kalim lately? But surely Jamil would’ve noticed such a thing. Maybe someone from the dorm had been giving you trouble? But if that was the case, then surely you could let Jamil know about it, too. Unless for some reason you did not want to? But if it was something that concerned Kalim, then sooner or later it was bound to concern Jamil, too.

All the while, Kalim was talking to you about this and that, the latest topic being the animals kept on the Asim estate.

“I’ve got some pictures, let me show you!” Kalim said with an excited grin.

Only, a thorough patting of his pockets and a look around confirmed that Kalim’s phone was nowhere to be seen.

Jamil pinched the bridge of his nose. Where had Kalim left it this time?

Before Jamil even had the chance to say that he would handle it, Kalim sprinted off. Jamil hesitated for a moment, automatically halfway up from his seat, before he decided that leaving a guest unattended would be a worse offense than not helping out his master.

Jamil slumped back down with a sigh, mentally tracing the path Kalim took today, trying to recall the last time he saw Kalim handle his phone.

“Breathe. He’ll manage,” you said. There was the faintest of smiles on your lips, and Jamil could not decide if it was knowing or amused. Perhaps both.

Somehow, despite his frustration, Jamil’s own lips wanted to curl up too.

“Hmm. Maybe he will.”

Sure, Jamil could’ve called Kalim’s phone, to make it easier to find, but it was not that urgent, was it?

Jamil took another bite of his food, keeping an eye on you from the corner of his eye.

How was his mind so empty and so buzzing at the same time?

“You know-”

“So-”

You looked at each other, both just as surprised that the other had spoken up at the same time.

Even your surprised look was so-

“You first,” Jamil said. The way you bit your lip... Jamil had to raise a cup to his lips, slowly sipping his drink.

“Just�� Feels like it’s been quite a while since I’ve seen you be still, you know. Or exchanged more than two words with you,” you said. You were attempting a light, joking tone, yet it was quite clear there was more to it.

“You say that like it would be unusual for me to be busy.”

He was not prepared for the way your soft sigh tugged at his heartstrings.

“No. It is not.”

You were both quiet after, poking at your meals. Normally, Jamil would’ve cherished such a moment of peace, yet this particular silence between you two was decidedly awkward.

Where was your usual chatter? Why weren’t you looking at him like you usually did?

“If you’re worried about me, don’t. I’m fine,” Jamil said, some softness creeping into his tone despite his best intentions.

“That's what Kalim said too,” you said. Yet the way you looked at Jamil made it clear you were still skeptical.

Wait.

Had you clammed up earlier because it had been Jamil you had been talking about with Kalim? That Kalim had comforted you about?

The thought twisted his stomach into knots.

Eta: you can find part 3 here, part 4 here, and finally part 5 here. Hasdhfsdf the way I fought with that last scene I swear. I don't even want to know how many versions I went through, trying to figure out how to say what I wanted without rubbing it into your face or making it too veiled. The joys of trying to convey things through a limited pov. Hopefully it came out reasonably balanced in the end. Rip to all those sentences that were lovely on their own but didn’t work for the whole. Hopefully I can rehome y’all one day. I do have thoughts for part 3 and part x (might be some chapters between those two as well, who knows at this point), so maybe we'll see those at some point, too. Tag list: @colliope @crystallizsch @diodellet @jamilsimpno69 @jamilvapologist @twstgo If you'd like to be tagged for future works, let me know! (Just be aware that sometimes I do also write nsfw, though you can certainly ask to be tagged only for particular kinds of works.)

[sleepy-moons]

gojo constantly tells you he'd die for you. at the start of your relationship, you would kind of roll your eyes at the comment. he's so dramatic, you'd think to yourself, though you'd appreciate the sentiment nonetheless. but as time went on, and as your relationship blossomed, you began to feel a pang in your heart every time he said it.

an ache so deep in your spirit, that you could cry whenever he'd go on a mission. because you knew, that while he was fighting for a better society, for the eradication of curses and corruption, there was a large part of him that was fighting solely for you. for your safety. and if that meant he had to die for that to happen, so be it.

i don't want you to die for me. words you never thought you'd have to say to the love of your life. you want to spend the rest of your life with this man. why must he insist on showing his love in death?

he'd always give you a little smile when you'd say that, because he knows tears will be following soon after.

i know. there wasn't much more to be said after that. just a mutual understanding that a devastating heartbreak is lingering somewhere down the line, inevitable. he just hopes that in his next life, he gets to spend more time with you.

[florencemtrash]

The Shadowsinger and the Inkbird — Chapter 16 sneak peek

Lucien looked back and forth between you two, focusing on the blush of your cheeks and the wetness in your eyes and the thinly veiled adoration in Azriel’s face now that you were looking back at him. A sick, knowing feeling had been building inside of him throughout dinner, but he’d repressed it. He couldn’t repress it any longer. No. Absolutely not. There’s no way. There’s no fucking way. He let his shock flow through the bond and looked to Elain for confirmation. Please tell me I’m wrong. He begged silently. Anyone but him. Literally anyone but him. They’d yet to accept the bond, but that didn’t mean they couldn’t read each other like an open book. And right now Lucien was doing nothing to hide his seething temper.  Elain bit her pale, pink lips and nodded, confirming what he already suspected. Then, in a move of silent permission, she slid her chair six inches away from Azriel’s until she was practically sharing a seat with Nesta. 

Author's note: WHO THE FUCK IS READY FOR LUCIEN VANSERRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA?!!!!

Chapter 16 will be up tomorrow evening! And it's another long one! (7k words!)

The Shadowsinger & The Inkbird: Masterlist

Masterlist of Masterlists

^^ how Lucien is about to be

[spirk-trek]

Maybe if you can and are inspired something showing how smart Jim is? I live for genius!kirk!!! Please and thank you!

i hope you're still around to see this anon. i struggled with it SO much even though it's one of my favorite tropes ever. i'm quite happy with the way it turned out in the end :)

disclaimers: blood & injury, fake-real-science

read here on ao3!!!!

~*~*~*~*~

Spock.

The syllable drifted into his consciousness like an echo. Faint. Indistinct.

“Spock?”

He attempted to clear a path for rational thought, cataloging each sense as it returned to him. Pain. Disregard. Touch. The ground was warm beneath him, conforming to his body. Sand, he speculated. Pain. Disregard. Sight. None. Scent. Rotting vegetation. Sulfide. The metallic tang of blood.

“Spock! Acknowledge!”

Sound. Clearer than before. Familiar. Jim. 

He swallowed with some amount of difficulty. There was movement. Footsteps slipping over loose stone.

“I… am here,” he finally managed to rasp. 

The movement stilled. An expulsion of breath. 

“Stay with me, Spock.” 

Jim's voice, bounding off unseen walls, was imbued with a relief that was as illogical as the order it carried. Spock would not leave his Captain except in death.

“Stay with me,” he repeated the words nonetheless, though they did not carry as effectively as the first iteration. As though they were not intended to reach him. Upon consideration, perhaps his death had been the very thing Jim feared. 

“Don’t worry. I’ll get us out of here. Don’t…”

Spock wanted to deny his ability to do something so emotional as to worry, but moreso he wished to ask where ‘here’ was, precisely. He had the sense that he should know. Unconsciousness pulled at him again as he searched for an answer, a tide he struggled to resist, eroding the shoreline of his mind. He began to lose his body, sinking back toward wherever he had been before.

“Tell me- about- sodium chlorate.”

Spock’s brows pulled together. Surely Jim knew the properties of such a basic structure. 

“Sodium chlorate, Spock!”

This information was easier to access than where they had found themselves, or why his head was throbbing with each beat of his heart, so he forced a response from the back of his throat. 

“Formula… NaClO₃… Melting point… 521.01 kelvin… When heated… produces sodium chloride and…”

Oxygen. Yes. It became more apparent with each breath that it did not feel like enough. His mind opened, details of their predicament beginning to filter back to him.

Sodium chlorate. An elegant solution. 

“And?” Jim probed.

Spock did not finish his thought, aware now that the query was no more than an attempt to keep him alert. It had worked, for now, and it would be illogical to waste further breath providing Jim with information he already knew.

“Etherbane gas, Captain-”

“No-”

“Etherbane gas,” he insisted, and Jim fell silent, understanding his efforts were no longer necessary, “is currently filling the space... we inhabit. Estimated time… remaining with breathable air…” Spock thought back to prior calculations, existing on another plane. He considered the tightness in his lungs, Jim’s own struggle for breath, the echoes of sound around them. “Twenty three point seven… standard minutes.”

Jim did not answer immediately. When he did, his voice was quiet. Flat.

“Thank you, Mr. Spock.”

Following his words, for the first time since regaining consciousness, Spock saw. A flash of red accompanied by the sound of phaser fire.

“Captain-” 

“Increasing oxygen levels could displace it, dilute it even…” 

He was muttering to himself, seemingly unharmed, although the crackle of rocks tumbling over themselves continued.

“Captain,” he tried again. “I fail to see… how we will  produce oxygen without-” 

“A catalyst, yes,” Jim completed the thought, though provided no further insight. “Kirk to enterprise, do you read? Kirk to Enterprise. Acknowledge.” 

His communicator flipped closed when he received no answer. 

“There’s got to be a way. ”

“Perhaps… not one available to us.”

Jim did not answer. Spock could once again make out the sound of labored breathing, though it remained some distance away. His fingers twitched, irrationally thinking of reaching across the space between them. He forced them to still.

“Captain… It would be wise to conserve… your energy.”

“What for?” Jim pushed the question out with some degree of bitterness, jaw locked. More shuffling. More rocks. Spock pulled an unbalanced breath into his lungs.

“Longevity.”

“There won’t be any use for longevity if…”

He trailed off, coughing lightly. Spock did not have a satisfactory response to this, so he did not offer one, instead moving on. 

“If your intention is to burn… sodium chlorate… as a source of oxygen, it should be noted-”

“Etherbane is combustible,” Jim answered tightly. “It could burn up, suffocate us in the process.”

“Quite correct.”

“I’m aware of the risks.”

“I am unaware of the benefits.”

“I’m getting to that, I just need… What do I need? What do I need?”

“You are exhausting yourself.”

“How to control the burn, how…”

Spock was unprepared for the swell of unconsciousness that gripped him again, unable to fight it back this time, nor to utter another word before reality escaped him. With one last breath he attempted to form Jim’s name, then faded away.

*  *  *

When Spock next awoke, he could see. Swaths of deep orange contrasted with black shadows high above him, flickering and shifting over rough rock, giving the illusion that the cave itself was swaying. Once more he disregarded the pain that jolted through his skull. Concussion. Severe, but not life threatening. He blinked several times, grunting with the effort it took to turn his head toward the source of light.

A vaguely cylindrical object was protruding from the sand beside him, yellow flame emanating from its tip. He squinted, attempting to bring his vision into focus. Several strips of gold were wrapped around the object’s base, visible between messily gathered clumps of clay.

Gold. Sleeves of a command uniform. 

A pulse of clarity jolted through him. Spock pushed himself into a sitting position, noting distantly that the task of breathing appeared easier than it had previously. He scanned the perimeter of the cave and found nothing. 

“Captain?”

No reply came. Alarm pulled him the rest of the way to his feet, a wave of dizziness causing him to stumble until he found a wall of stone to lean against. Again he looked around for any sign of his Captain, seconds of silence passing until, finally, he identified a disturbance in the otherwise smooth sand. Sinking, dragging trenches, the stride of which undeniably belonged to Jim. 

He followed the trail deeper into the dark, throat itching as the air grew thin again. Broken flakes of slate-like rock cracked under his feet as he staggered, pushed through shadow, stumbled-

Finally, a boot. Half buried. Completely still. Jim. 

More of his prone form was revealed as Spock rushed to his side, lying flat on his stomach, one arm outstretched. His uniform was torn messily from one arm. The hand it led to was slack. Unmoving. 

Dread, frigid and alive, writhed into Spock's stomach. He gripped Jim’s shoulders, pulling them away from the ground. His head pitched forward, unresponsive.

“Jim,” he spoke urgently, rolling the man onto his back. He brushed grains of deep purple sand from his face before grasping it firmly between both hands. No movement stirred behind closed lids. No spark of familiar energy surfaced at Spock’s touch. No thoughts. No emotion. No steady beat of his heart.

The flame at Spock’s back flickered, momentarily casting their corner in a wash of yellow, and his gaze was drawn up to a partially covered gap in the cave’s wall. Details began sorting themselves into place again, breaking through disordered bouts of control and lack thereof. 

The etherbane gas. Jim had been attempting to stifle the flow. 

He threw himself forward, deft hands making quick work of what Jim had begun before returning to his side and immediately gathering him in his arms. How long had he been breathing this concentrated flow? Could it be too late? 

No. He will not perish. 

It was an irrational promise, but it took root in him nonetheless before he could stop it. He carried his Captain back to where he himself had been laying before, all but collapsing to his knees beside the light. Before they had even settled he was covering Jim’s parted lips with his own, breathing what little he had into his lungs, cradling the back of his neck to open the airway. He straightened to press the heels of his hands down over his chest, timing each beat perfectly. One two three…

“Jim,” he groaned as he came up after yet another breath. More heartbeats. Ten. Twenty. Thirty.

Just as he was about to repeat the process for a third time, Jim gasped. His eyes flew open before slipping halfway shut, the spasm of his muscles fading as he went limp once more. Spock watched as his chest stuttered upward on its own. His lips as they moved ever so slightly until a word could finally form.

“Spock?”

He released the hands which had fisted into Jim’s torn tunic, pressing both palms flat to his own thighs instead. He sat back over his heels and made a futile attempt at taming the panic still chasing itself within him.

“I am here.”

Jim's arm shifted clumsily in the sand, nudging against Spock’s knee, and he peered down at it for a beat before realizing it was reaching for him. He reached back, the touch delicate, opting not to raise his shields with perhaps some amount of greed. The sensation of Jim’s still mind, vacant and dark, prickled unpleasantly in recent memory, but as they touched now he could feel Jim’s emotions there again. Faint, but unmistakable. Spock shut his eyes. 

“You’re alive,” Jim breathed. Relief. Contentment. Joy.

Spock blinked his eyes open again as Jim’s fingers attempted to fill the spaces between his own. Eventually, he settled for simply hooking one around his thumb. 

“Indeed.”

“Good.” 

Spock reached forward with his free hand to gently catch Jim’s head when it began to roll to the side, turning it back toward him. Hazel eyes, appearing deep brown in the dim light, finally opened and found his, though they didn’t quite focus. Long lashes fluttered with the effort of remaining open.

“Good,” he repeated, quieter. The weight of his head fully leaned into Spock’s palm now. Whether consciously or from weakness, it was impossible to tell. 

“Thought I lost you.”

Spock felt a sudden, irrational flare of agitation. Jim’s pleasant expression fell, the finger hooked around his thumb curling a little tighter.

“S’ wrong?”

Spock quickly pulled both hands back into his lap, feeling foolish. He turned away.

“Despite us both being revived, we remain trapped here.”

It was not the answer Jim had sought, and Spock did not expect him to accept it.

“Not what I…”

He trailed off, head falling once more to the side. Spock caught it again, shields in place this time, though they shivered dangerously as his fingertips brushed over Jim’s qui’lari.

“Jim.”

Dim golden eyes blinked open again.

“...meant.”

Spock did not provide a different answer, instead simply shifting to sit beside him with his legs crossed neatly. He tilted Jim’s head further toward him, not removing his hand until he was certain it was no longer needed for support. 

“Your head,” Jim mumbled. He lifted his gaze to look for some sign of damage in the dark.

“I shall recover.”

Jim hummed, one corner of his mouth quirking. 

“Gas can’t be pushed out yet,” he patted the sand beside him. “Lie down.”

Spock looked up instead, noticing the faint twinkle of stars through the sinkhole which had swallowed them. The gap was slightly wider than it had been. Spock recalled the sound of Jim’s phaser, of rocks tumbling down around them. This is how the etherbane was being ventilated, but given the density of its particles, how that was possible was still unclear. When Spock looked down again, Jim was watching him with a small grin.

“Haven’t worked it out?”

Spock’s eyes shifted back to the cylindrical object, opting for the distraction of considering its nature rather than the restlessness continuing to press in on his chest.

“I have had little opportunity to formulate a theory.” 

He hadn’t meant to convey such bitterness, but if Jim noticed he gave no indication. He chuckled anyway.

“Oxygen candle.”

Spock blinked. Jim coughed slightly and took an unsteady breath before launching into explanation.

“They used to have them- on naval ships. Submarines too, in case of depleted oxygen levels. Uses sodium chlorate and…”

“A catalyst,” Spock repeated his earlier sentiment. “There are none present.”

“Aren’t there?”

A gleam had returned to his Captain’s eye that softened Spock’s concern slightly. He raised a brow. 

“The stalagmites.”

Spock looked down into the sand, noticing the shards of slate scattered throughout it again, deep black in pigment and matching the pillars of stone rising from the ground around them. After a moment of thought, his face ironed out in realization.

“Magnesium dioxide,” he said quietly before turning his head quickly to regard Jim. “Its presence would have been masked by the etherbane gas to our instrumentation without manual adjustment. ” He cocked his head, brows drawing together. “How did you detect it?”

Jim’s smile was stronger now, his voice wavering less. He nudged his chin upward, looking off in a direction past Spock. “Our phasers. They have a magnetic component, for recharging the banks.”

Spock blinked. “And magnesium dioxide has magnetic properties. Of course.”

Jim hummed again. “Found enough to make a core for the candle, used the phaser I didn’t pull apart to ignite it, bound it tight enough to control the burn, clay for ventilation.” He smiled again, looking up at Spock and blinking slowly. “Simple.”

Spock stared at him in wonder for several seconds, astounded.

“That solution would not have occurred to me.”

Jim let out a huff. “I appreciate the flattery.”

“The likelihood of the necessary components being present are several million to one.”

“Several million, hm?”

“If you will forgive my lack of precision, Captain.”

“Forgiven.” 

He paused then, and Spock could feel his observance on the side of his face. 

“Would you please lie down?”

The same sensation from before crawled beneath his skin again. He could feel the edges of his control continue to fray, pulling loose like threads of an old garment marked by constant wear. He looked toward the now filled gap in the wall. The disturbed sand where Jim’s body had collapsed without the necessary oxygen.

"You constructed this… as you were actively suffocating?"

"Seemed like the logical thing to do at the time."

Spock’s jaw tightened. He averted his gaze from the disturbed sand. 

"Come here, Spock.”

Spock remained resolutely still, back straight. 

“You need to breathe-"

"No, Captain." 

"Spock-"

“It was unnecessary for you to risk your life in this way.”

Jim winced as he pushed himself up onto his elbows, but Spock stood abruptly before he could reach out, pacing swiftly away from their spot on the ground.

“Spock, wait- I had to reduce the risk of ignition-”

“You could have allowed yourself to breathe-”

“There isn’t much use in breathing if the whole place goes up in flame, is there?” Another pause. “I had no choice.”

“There is always a choice." He snapped the words, speech pressured, their voices overlapping. He shut his eyes and fought for control. “If I had not woken when I did, you would not have survived. That is the choice you made.”

To die. The words remained unspoken, heavy, suspended in the space between them.

When he breathed this far from the candle his lungs felt tight again. Logically, he knew it was due to the gas, but the residual tightness he had felt in his chest when he first saw Jim on the ground also continued to constrict him. He curled his body toward the darkest remaining corner of the cave where he was unable to tell where dark sand met the perimeter, arms hung loosely at his side, fingers unfurled and shaking. He hoped that Jim could not see them. 

"It was illogical,” he found himself saying. “Reckless."

Distantly, he registered the sounds of Jim pulling himself to his feet, of clumsy footfalls approaching him until a gentle touch came around his upper arm. Spock shut his eyes uselessly, able to feel the heat of Jim's body along his back, remaining perfectly still until the touch slid down and fell away. 

But Jim did not leave. They stood there, and Spock could practically feel indecision encasing them just as the gas had, as it still did, until the touch returned to his shoulder. Before long it was joined by a second hand, and both arms slid around Spock’s thin frame slowly, joining over his stomach, forming a firm loop. 

A hug, Spock realized.

A human gesture, intended for physical comfort. The touch had no purpose beyond this, but Spock found he had no desire for it to end. He quickly suppressed the warmth he began to feel in response, but he knew the name. Pleasure. Sun on his face. The sound of oasis birds. Jim. 

They stayed like until Spock felt the pressure around him loosen somewhat, enough for him to turn. When he did, he found the Captain looking up at him openly. His hands slid to Spock's lower back, a question in his eyes, searching for the answer in his face. Regardless of whether or not he found it, Spock was spared the burden of explaining himself any further. Jim simply nodded back toward the light. 

“C'mon."

He began to move before Spock did, but he followed as always, watching as the human dropped heavily back to the ground. Spock lowered himself wordlessly and stretched out flat on his back, parallel to Jim, both of their heads positioned near the flame. Only a few breaths later he felt his head begin to clear again, but Jim sighed beside him before he could submit to inner turmoil over his lapse. 

“I’m sorry.” 

Spock swallowed. The apology was unnecessary, but he found himself unable to voice his repudiation.

“I thought I had more time."

Spock did not answer this either. Not for several seconds. The regret that had half formed released now, broken apart into small enough pieces to flow through his bloodstream and touch every part of him. He knew that it would coalesce again. That they had only delayed the inevitable.

“I believe I understand the feeling, Captain.”

Jim turned his head at the same time Spock did, and their faces were suddenly so close Spock could feel the other’s breath touch the tip of his nose. The longing to reach out and touch multiplied exponentially in an instant, but he resisted, even as Jim’s gaze dropped to his lips and he was reminded that they had touched just minutes before. A memory of how the contact had felt pushed into his mind. If he tried now, if he allowed it, he could even recall the taste despite not devoting thought to it at the time, concerned only with sparing his Captain’s life. 

“Spock.”

His name pulled him back to the present, but when he brought his gaze back up he found Jim’s no longer on him. Instead he was looking somewhere beyond, head coming away from the warm sand and craning upward.

“Spock, look.”

And so he did. Above them, around them, shifting over the walls and glinting in the faint light, were what he estimated to be several hundred small, fast moving creatures comparable to insects. Their wings shone like jewels when the light from the candle touched them, revealing striking blue abdomens topped by twisting red antennae. A prickle of defensive vigilance wrapped around the back of Spock’s neck, making his hair stand on end, but he suppressed it just as he had everything else. The creatures did not attack, nor did they seem interested in doing so.

"Incredible,” Jim whispered, eyes darting all around the space to watch them, having risen into a fully seated position.

Spock pushed himself up to join him, their shoulders brushing together. In an effort to remain close to their halo of oxygen, he told himself. 

“Fascinating.”

Jim was blinking upward, wide eyed, an open mouthed grin unyielding on his face. Without looking away he grasped Spock’s shoulder.

"You don’t think we’re hurting them, do you?” he asked, reverent. Quiet. He leveled his head and met Spock’s eye. “The oxygen?”

Spock considered the creatures again and shook his head. “They do not appear to be fleeing.”

A cluster of them began to stretch their wings, revealing intricate, vibrant patterns indicative of flora. He frowned in thought. This directly contradicted the lack of living vegetation they had observed or detected on the planet before falling into its depths, as well as the known history of this world. 

Jim was curling his knees and getting to his feet, reaching down to dislodge the oxygen candle before offering his hand to Spock. He took it, despite perhaps not needing to, and leaned into the flame just as Jim did. They paced further into what had previously been only darkness. 

“Spock. Could it be the light?”

The Vulcan considered this as Jim shifted the candle slightly, presumably to test his hypothesis. The insects who’s light it touched began to open their wings while those who were consequently cast into shadow shuttered theirs. He raised the candle higher, over his head, taking a few steps ahead. Spock watched as several of the creatures arranged themselves into the unmistakable shape of a flower, each pair of wings another petal. A trail of them formed as if blooming wherever the light touched, following Jim’s progression further into the cave.

Jim was beaming up at them. Spock found he could not look away, though wished he had when Jim spun to find him again, seeing he was already being watched. Instead of confusion, aversion, his smile only grew. Spock’s heart missed a beat in his side. 

“Thoughts?”

Spock looked up again and placed his hands at the small of his back. 

“These lifeforms must have evolved prior to the stellar death of their sun," he began. "Likely, the generation we are seeing now have not seen light in their lifetimes, yet the vestigial instinct to attract pollinators for prey appears to have survived.” When he leveled his gaze again, he found Jim’s eyes stuck to him, listening intently. “It is reasonable to assume they are mimicking flora which have since gone extinct. Perhaps nyctinastic ones.”

He took a few slow steps toward the cave wall, so he could observe one of them up close, having to crane his neck to do so. Jim was at his side again, lowering the candle between them, and they shared a breath of fresh oxygen. Light danced over the lines of Jim’s face, catching at the corners of his mouth, the lower lashes surrounding his eyes.

 “Preserved in memory alone,” he murmured after a moment, then sighed again. He turned to watch the insects crawl over one another in an effort to chase the light in his hand.

“A little sad, isn’t it?” 

“It simply is, Captain.”

After a beat of silence, in a move that surprised Spock to his very core, Jim reached for his hand again. Spock allowed their fingers to touch, not knowing precisely why. For Jim’s to curl into his. For his thumb to swipe an arch over the back of his knuckles.

“Yeah,” he said softly, looking down at their hands just as Spock did. “Simple.”

Spock dared to lower his shields then, and immediately something unknown passed over the contact. A shadow. Not quite sadness, but not unlike it either. He found he did not have a word at his disposal to describe it.

“However,” he attempted to entertain Jim’s emotional assessment, hoping to alleviate whatever the emotion was. Jim lifted his head to watch him with an air of amusement, but Spock didn’t miss the spark of hope that accompanied it. “One could, perhaps, view it as a testament to the resilience of life, and find value in the fact that we now know the beauty of at least one species of flower which once thrived here.” 

Jim’s smile had returned. Spock’s stomach clenched at the sight of it.

“Life finds a way,” he murmured.

“Indeed.”

They remained like this, hand in hand, long enough for Spock’s heart to beat eleven times and for Jim’s to beat six, until the harsh sound of a communicator ultimately severed the moment. They jerked away from each other, candlelight wobbling as the flame tilted in Jim’s hand.

“Keptin? Keptin, are you there?”

Jim passed the candle to Spock almost carelessly and dove into the dark, digging through sand until Chekov’s voice became less muffled. He dangled the device from his fingers once it was extracted, shaking it several times before flipping it open.

“Kirk here,” he answered breathlessly. Spock approached and squatted down, holding the flame out toward him.

“Keptin! Is Meester Spock-?”

“We’re both here. Are you alright?”

“Back aboard the ship, sir. We’ve been trying to find you.”

“Well done, then.” Jim clutched the communicator in both hands, propping it against his chest. “Can you get a lock on us?”

“Thank you, sir. Yes, sir. The interference has cleared now.”

“Have Doctor McCoy on standby. Spock needs treatment.” Once again amber eyes lifted to scan the side of Spock’s head where evidence of his injury was most pronounced, frowning slightly at whatever he found. 

“Delay transport for the moment, Ensign. Won’t be long.” 

“Aye aye, Keptin. On your order.”

He flipped the communicator shut and turned to Spock, grinning, both brows arched toward the curl of blond lying against his forehead.

“Well? Shall we?”

Spock looked around them at the creatures once again, wishing for his tricorder which was left abandoned back on the surface high above. 

“I know,” Jim said quietly. “It’s a shame we can’t study them further, isn’t it?”

“Yes.”

As they both stood, Jim touched his arm in sympathy before leaning forward and blowing the candle out, casting them into complete darkness. The touch dropped away and Spock straightened, preparing for the transporter beam to take them at any moment. The soft sound of a thousand wings folding around them was the last thing he heard before Jim’s voice drowned it out.

“Two to beam up, Mr. Scott. Energize.”

[coffehbeans]

Gt WAC Day 23

"A story with a nonhuman/ monstrous character"

THIS, this was a challenge to write ahsushus I'm so nervous cause it took me SO long and as per usual I'm still unsure about it.

This story is based on a dream I had a month ago, I was writing it since then so i could post it on day 23 of gtwac. So yep, new character. It's different from what I've wrote so far, but I hope you guys enjoy it!

Depending on the reception of this story I will continue it, but fair warning that it'll not be a happy one (IF I continue it).

I'm not sure if I'll rate this chapter in particular as above PG-13, but general warning for overall spooky, unsettling vibes.

Enjoy!

........................................................................................

Edward Becker has not seen his wife in seven years.

People called him crazy for waiting for her return. "She's done for", someone mentioned. "Why don't you find another one?", someone suggested, all falling in deaf ears as every single day, he'd go back from work, sit by the porch, and wait for her until the sun went down. A useless effort, as they said, a delusional hope, or the sign of going mad. But for Edward, it was his strength. The only support for his failed attempts at finding her. His last pillar of sanity that made him get up every morning and wait for her until nightfall. His wife would come back, like she always did. She would come back to his open arms, embrace him gently like she used to, cover him with kisses as he pulled her close. They would giggle and enter their home, enjoy a nice meal they cooked together, talking about their day during dinner, about plans for rebuilding their house, plans for a new job he wanted to get, plans about their future children. When night falls, they would sleep holding each other tight, relishing in their shared warmth.

All he had to do was wait for her by the porch.

...

One day, she did comeback.

It was past midnight. So dark and cold outside, most animals have gone to sleep, making the woods around his remote home dead silent. The cows and chickens of his small farm uttered no sound as they slept, and the wind billowed the wheat fields outside, his plain wooden house colored pitch black by the late-night sky. It was a weathered home, well kept indoors but in need of repairs, with ripped, dingy furniture and leaks on the roof. It was protected by a measly three-feet-tall fence that threatened to fall apart, and over the backyard, where the overgrown grass was blown by the wind, laid a simple wooden shed meant for storing farming equipment. Tossing and turning on his bed, Edward sat up with a jolt, sweat dripping on his face as anxiety threatened to eat him whole. He sighed, holding his face in his trembling hands, and letting out a shaky breath. He couldn't fall asleep in those nights, where the memory of Cordelia haunted his mind in his dreams, ones where she wore desperate expressions as she's dragged away from him by detached, withered hands, and no matter how much he ran, he didn't reach her. Nightmares where he found her dead body, pale and laying limp, lifeless eyes staring at him. Nightmares where he found her hurt, bleeding and beaten up, face covered by bruises ­– in most nights, those visions would plague him.

With a shiver, Edward got up, lighting up the oil lantern. He trudged for the kitchen, on his way to do the same as usual: put some water over the wood burning stove, boil it, try this new tea his friend had brought for him, and drink it aimlessly, hoping in vain for sleep to come back.

He sluggishly put wood pieces inside the firebox, reaching a hand for the lighter on the table. A flicker, two, and the fire was lit. He put the kettle over the stove with a clank, and stared at it blankly, waiting for bubbles to form. The house was pitch black, only the flickering flames of the stove and the lamp’s dim glow illuminated the room.

A loud sizzling of the kettle snapped Edward out of his torpor as the water boiled. He picked the hot handle, feeling its heat burning his skin, lifted it from the fire and — THUMP. A loud thud by the window behind him sent him jumping, fumbling with the kettle in his hands, heartbeat skyrocketing. He banged it on the table. Hot droplets prickled his hand. He turned around with rapid breaths. A blurred shadow dashed away from the window, sending a cold chill down his spine, the wind howling and heavy thuds echoing outside the house’s walls. Rhythmical and constant. Pounding on the ground. Edward sucked in a breath, head ringing against his skull. He stomped towards the cabinet containing his shotgun. There were thieves? In the middle of the night? Were they finally coming to steal a poor and mad man's house? He wouldn't allow it.

He can’t die yet. Not until Cordelia comes back to him.

Loading the gun with precise clicks, Edward aimed it at the window, darting his aim from window to window until he reached the door, the last place he heard the strange sound. With trembling hands over the trigger, his eyes focused on an invisible target. He held his breath, standing still. Not a single sound. Ears trained on any disturbance. THUMP. THUMP. A shadow passed by the window to his right. BANG!

He twisted his body and shot, missing the shadow by an inch.

"W-who's there!?" He shouted in a trepid tone.

No answer. Not even a sound. Maybe the sound of breathing. He couldn't tell. He couldn't tell if it was someone's breathing or his own.

The “sshhhs” and “thuds” echoed around him, heading towards the backyard. Edward adjusted the position of the gun in his arms.

He took a deep breath.

Edward ran to the back door and slammed it open with a kick, pointing the trembling shotgun towards the field. The sky was pitch-black outside, engulfing the horizon with its inky tint, and the stars didn't dare approach the darkness. The faint moonlight was partially obscured by the clouds, its glow too weak to lighten the outdoors. He huffed, feeling the weight of his gun, and headed further into the backyard with measured steps. His shoes crunched the grass below, the dry air amplifying the sound of his stride. Deadly silence filled the field. A puff of smoke left his nostrils as warm exhale met with the frigid air. Tightening the grip around the gun, he aimed it at the decrepit shed. Waiting for movement. Eyes trained forward. The dark blur of a large silhouette shifted behind it.

BANG.

He shot. Once. Twice. The sound of the bullets making his ears ring, metal creating holes in the aged wood. A loud, high-pitched, and definitely human scream cried behind it.

He stopped shooting, heart leaping to his throat. A weight plunked in his insides, making him loose the tight grip on his gun. Behind the shed, he heard it. A gasp. A whimper. A sob. Clearly feminine. Edward lowered the gun, furrowing his brows as the cries made a lump form inside his throat. A trick to let his guard down? A trap? It must be a trick for sure. No way an innocent person would show up in the middle of the night. No, there's no way. Goosebumps trailed down his back as the cries reached his ears. Why was there even someonehere?

The sobbing got louder, echoing in the cold, dark night. He shivered when the shrill voice reverberated in his ears, an uncomfortable knot twisting in his stomach at the thought he could have shot an innocent woman.

"Who... Who's there?" He repeated, cautious this time, as if talking to a cowering animal.

The sobs dwindled little by little. He didn't dare move. The figure was hidden behind the shed, not even the faint moonlight giving a glimpse of its appearance.

Finally, he heard it: that feminine voice. Frail, faint, and so utterly scared.

Its familiarity so potent, something clogged in his throat.

"... Ed..."

That voice. The voice he waited for so many years by the porch. The voice he dreamed of in his sleep. Screaming. Crying for help. Calling for his name.

"... Edward..."

The same voice that recited sweet words of so much care, so much love and adoration to him every day. The voice that followed a gentle embrace, the smell of perfume and a prolonged kiss. The same voice that said "I do" by the altar over 12 years ago, that whispered close to his ear, giggling with joy. The voice that chatted to him relentlessly, which he couldn't get enough of. The voice that laughed, cried, shouted, only to say sweet words of gentle love again. That melodic yet striking voice. Edward didn't notice the tears falling from his face. Didn't notice the gun falling to the ground. Didn't notice his feet moving on his own, towards the shed, towards the faint possibility that she was behind it. He stumbled faster towards it, raising a trembling hand. "C-Cordelia?!" "NO! DON'T COME CLOSER!" The powerful shout made him stop dead on his tracks, ears complaining from its sheer force. He never heard his wife sound so... Desperate. In panic. "... H-honey...?" "Pl-please... D-don't come closer yet." She said, her voice returning to its normal pitch, but shaking with trepidation.

  "W-what's wrong...? Did I –"

Then he remembered it. The gun. The shootings. The fact he almost killed his own wife. His heart sank, face turning pale, his voice hoarse.

"Oh God. It's - it's really you, it was you and I almost, I-I a-almost... A-are you hurt? Are you bleeding? I –"

Edward took more shaking steps towards it, the nightmare of his dead wife still clear in his mind.

"NO!" - He stopped again. - "I-I'm fine! I'm not hurt, you d-didn’t hit me."

Edward covered his face with a hand and stopped himself from wanting to vomit.

"Cordelia I'm- ... I-I'm so, so sorry I thought it was a thief, I..."

He lowered his head, and took a shaky breath.

"Am I going crazy? Is – is it r-really you?! I, I waited for s-so long – I thought you were dead —!"

Tears poured desperately from Edward's eyes, his attempts to stop his sobs coming in vain. He hiccupped under his cries, breathing rapidly as reality came crashing down and years of restrained emotion leaked out. The voice sounded just like her. The voice could really be her.

‘Then, if it’s her, why is she hiding?’

"Please, d-dear, if it's really you..." - he whispered, his voice croaky and dry. Tears continued to fall.

"Please let me see you..." The shed grew eerily silent. Cold air made him quiver. A silent second spread throughout the night, the sounds of his sobs echoing through the pitch-black darkness. "I... I can't."

She whispered back in a shaky voice. Unsure. Afraid. Edward raised his head, glancing to the fallen gun on the grass, a realization hitting deep inside his stomach. "Are you scared of me...?" A pause. He heard her sucking in a breath. A long, deep exhale was carried by the wind. Her voice faint and trembling. "N-no... Dear, I... I'm not scared of you." The shed's wood creaked, like something was gripping it and scratching it down. "...I'm scared of myself." Edward's guilty expression changed to confusion. He furrowed his brows. A part of him wanted to giggle. His adorable wife, scared of herself? Why? She always had some impatience and anger she was discontent about, but even so... That made no sense. The way she acted, hiding from him, made no sense. Another part of Edward felt an odd sense of dread. As if something was not right. "Honey, why are you hiding from me? I... I waited for so long... I-I searched everywhere for you, and when I couldn't find anything, I waited. And when I couldn't wait anymore, I prayed. I hoped. I-I never paid attention to what the others said, even if they called me crazy." He took a step towards the shed. She sucked in a breath. Edward didn't notice more tears started to pour from his face. "And it's you, r-right? It's you who's behind here, right? Alive and well? Please dear... Don't let me think I've gone crazy!" He took another step closer. Then another. She whimpered behind the decrepit barn. Edward's vision was blurry from his own tears, but he didn't care anymore. He just needed to see her, even if it wasn't true. Even if he died.

Gosh, he just wanted to see her.

"Honey, DON'T!" The sheer loudness of her rigid voice made him stop dead on his tracks again. He opened his mouth, ready to protest, but Cordelia interrupted him.

"It's n-not... It's not that I'm not alive and well, Edward..." "So why are y-"

"...I-it's that I don't know what I am anymore..." He paused. That uneasy sense of dread sank heavier inside him. "What...? Cordelia, what do you mean-" "If I," – She interrupted, taking a deep breath. – "If I really come out of this shed, Will you promise, promise me that you will not run?" A shiver ran down his spine. Heartbeat rocked harder against his chest. Something's not right. Something's clearly not right. But Edward planted his feet firmly on the ground. It was his wife's voice. He lost her seven years ago. He doesn't know what happened to her in that time. She could be different from how she looked back then, hurt and bruised from whatever abuse they inflicted on her. Rage bubbled up inside him. Whoever did anything to her, he would kill them in cold blood. They would pay for taking her away from him. Being hurt and disfigured by her captors… That was probably what Cordelia meant.

There was no need for him to feel so nervous.

"You know I love you, dear... No matter what. You know I'd never run away from you... So why would you even ask that?"

"Please, Edward." She said louder than he expected. Desperate. Too desperate. "Please promise you won't run." The moonlight cast over the shed, the little gaps between the wooden plates showing a faint shadow behind it. A hulking mass, piled up like a bundle of hay, a head peeking out of the lump as if there was no body attached to it. Edward's eyes widened, heart drumming faster in his chest. Cold sweat scurried down his forehead. 'What is that?' And yet, he couldn't deny the pleading voice of his wife, sounding exactly as she did seven years ago. It couldn't possibly not be her. Something grave must have happened when she was gone, and that's why she was so afraid. Yes, that's most likely it.

So Edward gulped his nervousness down, and wiped the sweat from his face.

"Honey... I promise I won't run away from you... I would never run away from you."

A light, quiet wail whispered in the cold night, slowly dwindling down. A sniff sounded behind the shed. A long inhale and exhale belonging to powerful lungs.

Silence.

"... Alright."

And the heavy sound of something dragging over the earth.

A form encased in shadow peeked from the wooden walls over fourteen feet above him. Edward took a while to notice the large silhouette was a head. His wife's head. It was truly, truly her! Looking just like he remembered and – pale. So sickeningly pale. A dark and somber expression covered her face. Her eyes were baggy and downcast, white lips trembling. But more importantly, he couldn't understand why she has so high up.

"P-please..." - she uttered, almost to herself. - Please don't run..." Gargantuan claws appeared next to her, black, sharp nails curling over the creaking wood. A long, bony hand covered by charcoal scales. His wife pressed her eyes firmly shut. Edward took a step back, his mouth going dry. The sinking feeling in his stomach cut deeper. And then he saw why she was so high up.

The rest of her appeared under the pale moonlight, her form triple of a human size. A gigantic torso loomed over him like a small tree, covering him in her shadow. She wore nothing on her, long, mahogany hair covering her chest.

Then he looked down.

Black and yellow scales jutted out of her skin, covering her lower half, legs attached together in a single, cylindrical body that twitched and writhed as it came closer. The thick tail uncoiled behind the shed, extending further and further to Edward's right, so much so it could envelop around him if it moved. With loud thumps, Cordelia's massive form fell on the ground, hair obscuring her downcast face. Black talons gripped the soil as she pushed herself forward. Rough and coarse scales scraping against the earth as the hulking, round tail crunched the grass and lugged over it like a corpse dragging on the dirt. Rocks broke with a sickening "crunch" under its weight.

Edward's face contorted in shock. He took one, two steps back, eyes widening in horror, shaken to the core as his heart jumped in his throat. Pounding harder against his ribcage.

It was a gargantuan something, half snake, half something that resembled human. Resembled his wife. He mumbled incomprehensibly. Primal fear took over him. A crying, shaky voice resounded from the creature's mouth. A clawed hand the size of his head reaching out to him. "P-please... Edward..." He ran. He screamed bloody murder and dashed back towards his house, hearing it holler back his name. Tears fell from his eyes, desperation taking hold of his body. A deafening sound of thumps and scratches came from behind him, growing closer, coming for him.

"WAIT–!" Tha thing can’t be his wife. Whatever it was it could not be his wife. It shouldn't be his wife. It shouldn't be human. He ran through the house's corridors, left became right and up became down and the crunches behind him grew louder and louder and he had to hide, he had to hide but there was nothing in his room aside from the cold, old bed so he bolted, ran and ducked under it, mumbling shaky prayers, begging to heavens for his life. Begging that he was hallucinating. To not die to someone who looked so much like her.

That couldn't be real. He heaved. It can't be real, can't be real can't be real it can’t – He's gone crazy. Yes, that must be it. He's finally gone mad and that’s why.

But the cracks of the floorboards under the creature's weight sounded far too real for him to doubt. The scratching of the claws over the ground as it dragged its gargantuan body caused a fear too intense for him to doubt. The cracking of the walls as it squeezed itself inside felt too real for him to doubt. Edward clamped his mouth shut with a shaking hand, curling up under the bed and closing his eyes tight. If he remained immovable, if he remained silent, maybe it wouldn't find him. Maybe he wouldn't die. He gulped down a whimper that threatened to escape from his throat. Cordelia's voice resonated from the creature's mouth again. Weak, raspy, and grieving. It was a strategy to lure him out. Yes. That was probably it. It couldn't possibly be something else. Because that huge monster with crude scales couldn't be his wife, with soft skin and flowing hair, with her dress that billowed in the wind when they walked over green fields together. No. That thing could not be her. "Edward... Please, I-I..." She whispered under her heavy sobs. Loud thumps echoed outside the room. "I won't hurt you... Please believe me!"

The sobs that sounded so much like her broke his heart in half. But he remembered to what it belonged to. He would not fall for it. Even if he wanted to scream for help, knowing that no one would come. Even if a part of him wanted nothing more than believe it was all true and run towards its scaly arms. He gulped down his screams of fear, and remained silent. Frozen. Unmoving. He would not fall for it

The scrapes and scratches got louder. Scales hissed over the floorboards that chirred in protest.

"I'm not a monster. I'm not –" A claw unhinged itself from the floor and the creature raised itself up. A loud bump thundered on the ceiling, a shocked gasp echoed in the dry air. Edward clutched his eyes shut. Dust and debris fell on the ground. The monster laid down again, a heavy bang thundering in the silent house. The floorboards groaned as it settled on the ground.

"If you... If you look at me like that again, I-I think I'll go crazy... I can't stand it!"

Loud sobs filled the house. Edward flinched and clutched his eyes shut, breathing heavily, curling further inside himself. He resisted the urge to break down into tears.

The dragging and shuffling got heavier. The floorboards of his bedroom, the ones he was currently laid over, creaked in complaint of the weight being placed upon them. The sound got louder. Closer.

It was entering his room.

He sucked in a quivering gasp. Heart threatening to escape his throat, he shook as if the room was freezing cold, tears cascading down his face at the thought that he really could die now. He would die. He would die. Maybe he should. Maybe she should just end him.

He saw it. The black and yellow scales, shimmering as it moved. The snake body crawling as it reached the door, so massive it got stuck in the door frame. A push or two and it got free, the walls around it cracked, dust fell around him and a crunching sound reverberated in the room. Black claws scraped the ground, wood screeching in the deafening silence. A towering human body, pale torso as tall as him, laid down, auburn locks of hair trailing on the floor. The face obscured by its raised head.

It stopped moving. He looked at its skin with heaving breaths and widened eyes.

They remained still for what felt like an eternity. The only sound was his own heartbeat, his breathing and the creature's. The tail twitched and thumped against the walls with a loud noise. He flinched as his eyes darted back and forth, hearing the friction of scales against wood.

Silence.

She sniffed. And spoke first. "... When the civil war happened, we hid here once. You would wrap your arms around me, and we'd curl up together under the bed, praying that it'd protect us." – she whispered.

"– But even when I cried, even when we thought we would die, I still felt safe with you. Do you remember that, dear…?"

The sorrowful voice spoke of memories that a monster should not have. Edward felt cold. So cold, alone under that bed.

He closed his eyes tightly shut. Maybe, after a while, he wouldn't see her when he opened them. Hugging himself, Edward shuddered as a shiver crawled up his spine. Maybe he could still return to a normal life, where he didn’t hallucinate. Maybe he could still pretend none of this happened.

There was a shifting sound, and he sucked in a trepid breath. A thud, right in front of him. With his lips trembling, and teeth grinding against each other, Edward wondered if his death would be quick. But time stretched as the room fell into stifling silence, the monster's breathing ruffling on his face. It was right in front of him. He knew. He knew that he should just keep his eyes closed, waiting for his death. He knew that. His heart hurt inside his ribcage from pounding so hard, and his stomach sank lower with fear. He should close his eyes more firmly. He should just wait a while longer.

But instead, he opened them.

Her face. Her same crying face, if not for the magnified size and its greyish blue eyes with slitted pupils. A shadow of what once was her. His wife. The one he waited for so long. The one he imagined walking back to him as he sat by that porch every day. It did come back, as a monster, a ghost ready to haunt him, blame him for the pathetic man that he was, for not being able to prevent her from going missing. A reflection of what he lost. Evidence of his cowardice. A sign that he has gone mad.

That's what he wanted to believe.

But the face that resembled his wife so faithfully mirrored his expression of dread and grief. It covered itself in such humanity, with the exhausted eyes dripping with tears. With the mouth, when its pale lips parted as it sucked in a shaky breath, even if it revealed sharp teeth underneath. With its thick, auburn hair as it clung to her sweating face. It looked so distinctly human. So distinctly real. Not at all like a ghost. Not at all like a monster out to hunt him.

In that closeup by the gap under the bed, it just looked like his wife.

Edward’s breathing got less exasperated. His heart rocked less inside his chest. His tears dried as his widened eyes remained frozen on the figure before him. He glared at its mouth, as it opened to speak.

"Edward..." It whispered. So silently, so tender yet certain, just like the time when he had her by his side.

"... I am real."

The tears resurfaced, a mix of fear, hope and despair turned into quiet, then loud sobs, then muffled screams as Edward cried and curled up further under the bed, letting out years of frustration. Years of guilt as it made his chest hurt and his breathing to narrow. He couldn't hear her, who was sobbing on her own, as he drowned in the sorrows that leaked out of his weathered body like a dam that has been broken. Did he have her back? Could he really put a stop to this? He felt guilty. So guilty. Was that his fault? If he found her, would she have turned out like this? No, she wouldn’t. He knew she wouldn’t and that was why the tears wouldn’t stop. If the monster wanted to hurt him, Edward wouldn’t blame it, not even a little.

When he started to calm down, he didn't realize the creature was still there, in front of him, with tears gathered on its enlarged face. He regained his breath, steadily and gradually, refocusing his eyes on the grey blue irises. Her gaze softened, just like when she greeted him home after a tiring day, eyes inviting him for peaceful rest.

He needed that rest. More so than any other day.

"If I... If I move away, will you come out?"

She whispered so quietly Edward struggled to hear it. But it still sounded the same, that sweet, honeyed voice that said “I love you” with so much earnest and ease. But a part of him still doubted. His body still trembled under her alien gaze. Doubts echoed in his mind, and adrenaline pumped in his veins. If this was her, then how? Why? What kind of degenerate devil would do this to her?

But still, he wanted to believe... He did, but... He didn't want to die.

"Dear... If I wanted to hurt you, don't you think I'd already done so?"

There it was, her bolder side, the one that always made her win an argument, that scolded him sometimes but he always loved it when she did. The one that now made him snap out of it, and helped Edward realize that he didn't have any power in this situation from the very beginning. The creature was huge and could see him. Indeed, if it wanted it would have hurt him long ago. Edward repeated this in his head over and over until it was enough to clear his mind.

In a glimpse of calmness, he managed to speak in what was left of his hoarse voice. "Yes... You're right, honey." And she smiled. A relieved, sad smile, one that did not have any hope in it, but that was glad he at least spoke to her like a person. Like his wife. Even if it was only for a little bit.

  She got up, the long claws visible for a second in Edward's field of vision. They recoiled towards the snake creature's chest as if it had touched a burning kettle, knowing he had seen its intimidating appendage. It shifted its body away and the scales glistened as it slithered towards the door. After a while, it stopped. The area in front of Edward was free to move now.

His heartbeat rocked louder. What if the moment he leaves it slices him open with those claws... – No. 'Snap out of it. Snap out of it.'  he repeated in his head, recalling the events and the fact that if it was a predator after its prey, he was already too difficult to be bothered with. He would be fine, Edward assumed. He had to be.

And if all of that was a lie, then it was better that he died anyway, granting the sweet release of death instead of sinking into his madness.

Because if all that he saw this night was not real, then he really has gone mad.

Edward took a deep breath. One... Two... The snake creature remained still.

Three.

He scrambled away from the bed and sat up in a hurry, heaving like he had run a marathon. Eyes closed. Waiting for the inevitable.

It never came.

So he opened his eyes, coming face to face with the creature's scales stretching in the distance. His heart throbbed.

"I-it's okay, honey... You're doing great." She whispered, voice clogged by her own desire to break down into tears.

Edward took another deep breath. In… And out. No closing his eyes now. And slowly, he raised his head up, searching for the face of his beloved. Even if he was shaking from head to toe.

His eyes trailed up her body. Nervous and slim hands, covered by black scales, interlaced over her lap. The scales of her tail became thinner and thinner as he looked up, their color contrasting against the ivory skin of her human upper body. It was ashen, slim, the torso alone was as tall as he was. He looked to the chest concealed by her hair, mahogany and wavy, just like he remembered, although the strands were much longer and thicker than before. And finally, he reached it. The same sweet, tender face, looking down at him. The trembling lips struggled to show a reassuring smile, forcing her mouth shut in order to cover the fangs underneath it. Those elongated eyes, with thick eyelashes that fluttered, blinking away tears. The same straight nose. Those previously beautiful blue eyes, now a greyer shade and with pupils like a reptile's, yet with that human, longing glance, darting around Edward's face as she analyzed his every expression.

It was her. No doubt about that now.

Edward opened his mouth and closed it, struggling to form words. Thoughts spiraled inside his mind. Feelings of guilt, frustration, anger, indignation. Fear. Sorrow. Pain.

Yet hope. Above all it was hope.

Edward got up, not taking his eyes off hers.

That was no monster. It was, indeed, his wife.

"Oh, Cordelia, what have they done to you?"

His voice whispered, thick with sorrow. He looked up to see pools of tears splashing from Cordelia's face, a clear expression of relief. She sobbed, burying her face in her clawed hands, relieved that her husband called her by her name again. Relieved that he was here. Relieved that he didn't see her as a monster, at least for that moment. A piece of humanity she lost, a piece of her previous life that she missed, a piece of hope that was snatched away from her seven years ago and that she never thought she'd have again. It was returning for her.

He was returning for her.

Cordelia was surprised by a warm touch over her scaled lap. She wiped the tears from her eyes with the rough back of her hand, looking down with a gasp. Her husband was rubbing his hand over it, tiny and shaking, comforting her. An attempt to reach out.

"D-don't. They are hideous..." Tears flowed on her face.

‘Indeed, they were’, Edward thought. He never liked snakes, their scales always making his skin crawl whenever he found one in the farm. The feeling wasn't any different as he trailed his hands over her, goosebumps raised the hairs on his skin and he shuddered with each motion. Edward exhaled shakily. No matter how much he looked at it, even if everything felt unreal at the moment, he couldn’t deny who was in front of him.

"They are still you." He said.

Cordelia widened her eyes and Edward looked up at her with compassion on his face. Love, longing. They both yearned for that. For the same feeling to return to them. For the same life, that was so cruelly snatched away from them, to return as if nothing had gotten between them in the first place. Even if it was a pointless dream.

They fumbled awkwardly at what to do.

Edward wasn't sure how to proceed. His mind conjured images of him holding her tightly, back to her human form, like a dream manifesting. Yet the reality loomed over him and the long tail that filled his bedroom in multiple coils covered his skin with goosebumps, a knot tightening on his throat.

He looked up and confirmed it, Cordelia's unsure face was there. He’s not crazy. All of that was still her.

She looked away under his apprehensive gaze, turning deep red and ashamed of herself. Edward took a deep breath; she didn’t feel well and he needed to fix this. He looked down. Then looked up again.

"Can I hold you?"

The question took Cordelia aback. She backed away from him and widened her eyes. Her tail bumped on the cabinet and he twisted his neck towards the source of the sound, clearly flinching from the movement.

He was still terrified of her. Then, why...?

"You don't need to do this, Edward. You did great already –“

"No. I want to do this. If you're really you, I want to do this."

Cordelia looked down and saw Edward's determined face. Her heart broke silently inside her. Why he was so adamant in dealing with her, Cordelia didn't know. But gosh, if it wasn't for his fear and for her disgusting claws, she'd have held him close a long time ago. She missed it so much. How much she missed his strong embrace.

So she nodded, and he came closer.

Edward couldn't quite contain how much he was shaking. Couldn't contain his jolt when he touched her frigid skin, chills crawling down his spine. But despite this, he pushed on forward, kneeling over her scaled lap, glancing at how they shone even in the partial darkness. With silent fascination, Cordelia let her arms hover around him.

A moment hung between them.

And Edward latched onto her. He rested on her torso and enveloped his arms around her, as much as he could, as they barely reached her back. Cold. She was cold like a corpse. He rested his cheek against her stomach, shivering upon contact. Gosh, it was so cold. He wanted to pull away. He wanted to hold her closer. Cordelia didn't remember the last time she sensed so much warmth. She felt herself getting hot inside even when she thought she was not capable of feeling warm anymore. Edward snuggled closer to her chest, and she sighed, relishing in his contact. Gently, like she was cradling an injured bird, Cordelia enveloped her arms around him, careful not to hold him too tight or not to loom over him, either. Gosh, the way her arms completely engulfed him... She felt monstrous. Edward shrank upon contact and she started to let him go, fearing this was a bad decision, but the feeling of his hug getting tighter made her arms remain still.

They stayed like this for an amount of time, taking in each other’s presence. Edward heard his wife's strong heartbeat against him, which grounded him in his current predicament, but still... Maybe he'd blink and she'd be gone, or maybe something would finally reveal that he'd made all of that up. Cordelia's embrace got a little tighter, not in a way that was hurting him, but she shifted around and her shadow loomed over as she curled around him. Her arms closed the hug in, and his heart skipped a beat.

"I missed you." she croaked.

She leaned over Edward, pulling him closer. He sighed in sweet relief upon hearing her melodic voice, feeling exhaustion weighing down on him as his body relaxed. He sank in her gentle embrace, kissing the surface of the freezing cold skin.

"I missed you too, dear."

...

They were laying on their backs under the early morning light, on the floor of the same bedroom where everything happened. Cordelia's tail stretched way further outside the room, disappearing through the door. Edward rested on top of her, not after much insistence that he wrapped a warm blanket around him. He ran his fingers through her hair, dazed, letting the reality of the situation sink in. He wasn't exactly afraid now, but the memories of the night made his heart twist with a mix of dread and guilt. Edward needed to know. How bad was everything that happened to her? Too much happened, she was gone, and now he had her back. It felt unreal and too real at the same time. And yet, Edward needed answers. Maybe, just for a few minutes, he thought, they could stay like this, and pretend that nothing had happened, but he knew that curiosity would get the best of him. Cordelia looked down at her husband with tenderness, watching as he caressed her hair, as she avoided touching him with her claws. She noticed his pensive expression and frowned.

“Is something wrong?

Edward hesitated, looking for ways to phrase his question. "What happened that made you turn into this?" He asked finally, tone even, yet with seething rage building up inside his chest. "Who did this to you?"

Cordelia sighed, closing her eyes. All the memories surfaced in her head like a messy conjecture of disfigured images and sounds. She took a shuddering breath, and spoke.

"I regained memories of you first before I remembered my own name..."

[matchingbatbites]

Steve's clock is ticking down. His timer has never had long, something that's always worried him, but now, now the time on his wrist has him nearly in a panic. 

Five days. 

He only has five days before his soulmate dies, and he misses his chance to ever meet them.

Robin knows about his short timer, and while she's unable to see the tattoo-like numbers ticking down on his wrist, she's been a great source of support. Unfortunately, even she can't erase the panic that's been building up in Steve as the clock ticks ever lower.

And then Dustin and Max rush into Family Video, and of course there has to be a Code Red while Steve is dealing with his own worries. He still goes, still helps, and in the process Steve meets Eddie. 

Eddie who is loud, and brash, and funny. Who is kind to Dustin, and patient with Steve, and claims to be a coward but is handling all of this Upside Down bullshit so well.

Steve's soul has been singing ever since Eddie slammed him against a wall, but there hasn't been any time to think about it, to talk about it, and that's the ironic part, isn't it?

The deeper they get into this mess, the more Steve ignores the numbers on his wrist, counting down from five days, to four, to one, to mere hours. 

Robin knows, knows that it's happening soon, even Nancy can tell that Steve is on edge, more so than he usually would be. Still, they make their way to the Creel house, leaving Eddie and Dustin behind.

Steve told Eddie, almost begged him, "Don't be a hero," and now he prays that Eddie has enough common sense to listen.

He doesn't.

Vecna goes down, and there are minutes left on Steve's wrist. He bolts back the way they came, knows the girls are right behind even as he outpaces them. He hears Dustin screaming and pushes faster, drops to his knees on the rough ground to find Eddie broken and bleeding out in Dustin's arms.

"Hey, Stevie," he says weakly, and Steve takes his hand between his own. 

"Hi there, Eds." Steve knows he's crying as Eddie weakly smiles up at him. He doesn't even have to look at his wrist, he can feel that his time is almost up.

"Stevie, you take care of- of everyone for me, m'kay?" Eddie asks before he coughs, expelling blood and ichor from his airway.

Steve can feel his pulse getting weaker, feels useless as he watches his soulmate bleed out, unable to stop it.

"I will, Eddie. Promise." He takes a breath. "I love you, okay? I know we didn't have long, but I loved you for every minute of it, Eds." 

Eddie slow blinks up at him and smiles. "Love you too, Stevie. So much. See you soon, okay big boy?"

Steve nods, gives a soft "Okay."

And his timer ticks down to zero as Eddie stops breathing. 

[daisynik7]

angst pls

i need to be hurt

cw: angst, unrequited love, sexually explicit content (flashback)

Author's Notes: hope this satisfies your itch to be hurt, anon! I wrote this quickly between meetings, so it's not edited/proofread thoroughly, sorry!

“Do you think she’ll like it?”

Eren pries the velvet box open, revealing the dainty engagement ring, sparkling against the sunlight. The two of you sit out in the balcony of his apartment, taking a moment to yourselves while the rest of the party continues inside. It’s Christa’s birthday today. And Eren plans to propose to her. 

He’s been your best friend for almost a decade now. You met during freshman year when you sat beside him in the lecture hall. He barely came prepared, turning to you to ask for a pen and paper. You’re not even sure if he had a backpack on him. What he did have was a dazzling smiling, brilliant green eyes, and a charming personality, still true to this day. And that’s all it took for you to start falling for him. 

You hit rock bottom the day Eren confessed his feelings three years ago. Except it was for somebody else, not you. Christa Lenz, an angel walking on earth with her golden hair and bright blue eyes, her radiant beauty coupled with her outstanding kindness. Everyone loves Christa, you included. And that’s what you hate most about it.  

They met at work when she took over her father’s position as head of the company. Eren admired her at first, always telling you over the phone how amazing of a boss she was. And before you knew it, six months later, he was quitting his job.

“Why are you doing this?” you asked him, confused about this sudden decision.

“Because I’m in love.”

The conversation that night had knocked the wind out of you. Luckily, he did all the talking, you listening on mute with tears streaming down your face as he rambled on and on about all the moments he had with Christa, leading to a kiss in the copy room. 

You had no one else to blame but yourself. There were opportunities, too many when you really think back on it, when you could have admitted your feelings for him. And the two of you also had moments. Drunken kisses at frat parties, midnight cuddling on the weekends, holding hands on the center console of his car at the drive-in movie theater. There were plenty of lonely nights spent together, using each other to fulfill your desires. His hands all over you, yours all over him. Lips smashed together, kisses sloppy and desperate. His mouth between your legs, lapping at your clit with his fingers curled inside you. You on top of him, bouncing on his lap while he sucks on your nipples, worshipping your body. It didn’t feel wrong; in fact, it felt right. It was natural to have your bodies tangled together like this, fumbling and giggling over clumsy positions. Neither of you thought it was a big deal, to use each other this way. After all, you had each other to rely on. That’s what friends are for, right? And you were satisfied with that. 

It changed when he had Christa, and you no longer had him. And despite crossing the line several times, the two of you remain best friends. You know everything about him, and he knows everything about you. Well, except for the fact that you are in love with him. And, with the way things are now, no one, especially him, will ever know. It’s a secret you’ll bear the rest of your life. One that will haunt you as you watch him walk down the aisle to the altar, waiting for his bride, who’s not you. Maybe one day, you’ll move on, find a person who you will share a happy life with, maybe even love more than Eren. But in this moment, you feel defeated. And the worst part is you have no one to help you endure this pain. Not even your best friend. 

You blink away the tears welling in your eyes, staring at the shiny diamond in his hands. Imagining just for a second that he’s proposing to you, that you’re the one he’s in love with. 

With your best smile, you say, “She’s going to love it.” 

[not-poignant]

Baldur’s Gate 3 - 19/? - Palmarosa - Astarion/Raphael

Title: Palmarosa Rating: Explicit Pairing: Astarion/Raphael Tags: (Check AO3 for the full list) Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Deals with a devil, Contracted sexual slavery, Bad BDSM etiquette, PTSD, Communication issues, Flashbacks, Trauma recovery and Retraumatisation, Dark and disturbing themes, Blood consumption, Minor character death, Canon typical violence, Dominance/submission, Top Raphael, Bottom Astarion etc.

Summary: (Set post-game / end-game) The love of Astarion’s life has disappeared to go live in the daylight with the druids, and Astarion is stuck in the darkness once more, yearning for sunlight with every fibre of his being, while bitterly reflecting on all the things that were denied to him in the end - love, sunlight, the option to kill thousands of people and become a near-god…

Raphael knows Astarion’s desperate, and comes to him with not one, but two horrid contract offers that Astarion loathes and dreads in equal measure - but the prize at the end of both are too good to turn down, and he’s become too cynical to care about how much of a good idea it is to give his body to a devil for a month or two, because really, comparatively, how bad could it be?

Palmarosa (Baldur’s Gate 3) - Raphael/Astarion - 19 - Beer-Soaked Blood and Piquant Salt

In which Raphael takes his anger out on Astarion, and tries to prove a point to his father, while definitely not entirely in his right mind.

[mulders-too-large-shirt]

i run the risk of sounding like a #fakefan here, but i've never lied to you before and i do not intend to start now:

i've got 2 episodes left of s4 and i know it is beloved by fans... but i'm having such a hard time with the Unrelenting Sadness. i feel like i'm tuning into scully torture time each evening.

[nixie-deangel]

Maybe this will work?

Request please: 🥹😎

😎 win a date with jake - hangster

Fuck, fuck, he couldn’t believe he’d spent the whole night rambling on and on and on about himself! He knew he’d tank the date but he hadn’t thought he’d be that kind of asshole to Jake. Bringing his hands up, he scrubbed harshly at his face as he stumped his way towards his Bronco.  He shouldn’t have come. He should have just let Jake think he’d been stood up instead of putting up with what a self absorbed asshole Bradley had been all night. “Bradshaw! Bradley!”

🥺 chap2 of helper - a/b/o hangster

Bradley arches, wincing as he feels his skin pull taught where it shouldn’t be tender. Brow furrowing as his lips twist into a frown, he lifts his head enough and blanches as he takes in the state of what he can see of his body.  He knows he shouldn’t be littered with bruises and marks in the shape of a mouth. Stomach rolling, he gingerly moves himself up till his sitting before the memories hit him. The way his heat had suddenly sprung up on him while getting checked out in medical. The way he squirmed and pleaded, begging strangers, begging Mav to get him his Alpha. To get him his Jake. He feels his stomach roll harshly as he chastises himself at the thought. Jake wasn’t his. Jake didn’t want to be his Alpha. Jake had walked away from him, from them.

Make Nixie Write This Weekend!

[softquietsteadylove]

I was wondering if you could do a toxic AU? One where like they're dating, but really bad for each other (like cheat on each other, make the other cry, or something just toxic) and they just can't let each other go. I know it would be kind if impossible because it's THEM, but because it's THEM, and they're obsessed with each other it kinda makes it possible😭

"She's here?!"

"Will you keep your voice down?" Gil attempted to shush Minerva, which of course only made her more upset.

She threw her purse to the ground. "Are you serious right now, Gilgamesh? First, you have some weird moment with Thena behind closed doors seconds before her wedding. Then, you stand and protest the marriage. And then you follow her after she runs off, and I have to find out she's in my home--our home?!"

"It's still my apartment, Minerva," he hissed at her, hand on his hip, solidly blocking the doorway to their bedroom. "You moved in with me, and Thena is my friend. What was I supposed to do, let her go back to that jackass's place alone?!"

"You don't bring the woman you're obsessed with into the apartment you share with your girlfriend!"

She was still in her wedding attire. So was he, suit still on, tie hanging around his neck loosely. "I am not obsessed with Thena."

But she dug her heels in, pointing up in his face. "You are. I should have listened when my friends told me what a red flag it was that you couldn't let go of her, even when she got engaged. I wanted to believe you when you said you weren't in love with her!"

"I never said that."

She reared back as if he'd struck her. "You what?"

"You never asked if I was in love with Thena, you asked if I was cheating on you with her," he clarified, even knowing what he'd get for it. "Which I didn't."

Her slap held nothing back, cracking against his cheek in the otherwise silent apartment.

It stung. "Okay, I deserve that."

"And more," Minerva choked, tears streaming down her cheeks. "Why the hell would you do this? Why did you agree to move in with me? I thought you were going to propose."

He kept his face passive. She didn't want any more lies, and he was tired of lying to her. "I figured 'why not?', that's why."

She stumbled back again. "Was-Was anything you've ever told me in our relationship true?"

"Yes."

"You fucking liar!"

"I'm not lying," he insisted. "I never lied. You asked if I'm obsessed with Thena, I'm not. You asked if I was cheating on you--if I would ever cheat on you with her, and I wouldn't! And Thena would never do that to you either."

"Maybe that's the worst part," she laughed coldly. "Why did she pretend to be my friend all this time?"

"She didn't pretend," he stated so straightforward he was starting to sound like Thena. "She doesn't pretend to like people, I told you. She wasn't lying when she told me she liked you, which you kept insisting was some mean, backhanded lie."

No, instead it was her boyfriend who was lying (according to her). Minerva swiped at her tears, dragging the mascara off her cheeks. "So, you're not cheating on me, you just brought the woman you've loved your entire life home after her failed wedding out of kindness."

Gil sighed. "That's right."

Minerva's tears began anew. Her petite shoulders folded in on themselves, her dark hair tumbling around her in long curls. "You love her."

She deserved this much--the real, whole truth. "Yes."

"You've always loved her," Minerva continued to ask questions he knew she wouldn't like the answers to. "The whole time?"

He stood up straight, dragging his tie off completely. He didn't really like orange, but Minerva insisted they match. "From the first day I met her when we were kids."

"Then why wouldn't you just go be with her?" Minerva demanded, even pointed to the bedroom door where her unseen enemy was lying in wait (according to her).

But he shrugged. He had asked himself these questions for a long time, the answers didn't have any pain left in them. "Because our lives went in different directions. Because we've always been best friends--too good to complicate it. We knew it wouldn't have worked when we were young so why try and break our own hearts?"

It seemed her tears were drying quickly the colder her eyes became. She crossed her arms at him. "So, you've always been in love with her. And you dated me anyway."

"Yes."

"But not everything you told me was a lie?" she scoffed. "And you expect me to believe that?"

"It doesn't matter if you believe it or not." She flinched again, and he did feel bad. He did care for this woman--they had been together for two years. "I never lied to you, Minerva. But don't ask me to choose between you and her."

Because he would choose her. He was choosing her over his girlfriend standing in front of him right now. "I see."

He crossed his arms as well, still planted in front of the door. "I'm not sending her to some hotel. Her brother and Phastos and Ben are probably helping get her stuff out of Eros' place as we speak. Once I know she's safe and has a place to go, you can come and get your stuff."

"That's it?" She was done--the line was cut, the bridge burned and floating down the river.

"Yeah," he also deflated. He didn't think what he was doing was noble by any means. And he deserved every horror story Minerva would tell about her nightmare ex who was always in love with his friend he had told her not to worry about.

Well, she wouldn't have had to if Thena had gotten married. If she had never told him that she couldn't go through with marrying Eros because she had always loved him. She was guilty of that, but he could bear that sin for the both of them.

"Fine," Minerva stated finally, drying the last of her tears.

"I can leave you the apartment, if you want," he added lamely. He really didn't want to.

"Don't offer me your pity," she spat back at him, and he admired her for it. "I don't need a homewrecker's space."

He was a homewrecker, that would stick with him. But he still couldn't bring himself to regret so long as he knew Thena was lying on his bed, crying.

"Go to hell," she hissed at him, picking her purse up and not even bothering to take anything on her way out. "You and your precious Thena."

"Watch it," he grumbled back at her. She could curse his name for generations to come, fine. But he wouldn't let her speak badly of Thena.

That was the last straw, and she slammed the door behind her as hard as she could.

Two years of his life, down the drain. It was a happy relationship, for the most part. She had always excitedly wanted to advance their relationship, take new steps together (like moving in). But looking around the empty apartment, he didn't care. She could come and take the furniture she had picked out that he didn't like, she could take all the stuff on the walls. She could take the stuff that wasn't hers if she wanted. What mattered wasn't out here.

Gil opened the door gently. Thena was sitting up on the bed, a towel around her shoulders and wearing the old shirt he had left out for her to wear. Her wedding dress was lying unceremoniously and disdainfully piled outside the bathroom. "I didn't like that dress either."

Her voice was hoarse as she looked at it. "His mother insisted."

He sat beside her, taking her hand in his, "forget it. Forget her, and her asshole son--never think about them again."

Thena looked at him, turning those big green eyes on him that always made him forget the entire rest of the world around him. Her eyes filled with tears. "She deserves better."

She was talking about Minerva. But he brought her hand up to his lips, "I know."

"She deserves to hate us," she whispered, her lip trembling.

"Probably," he brushed off, focused on pulling her big, ugly, stupid engagement ring off her. She didn't like it anyway--it was just one garishly ugly stone on a tiny band. It was always getting caught on things, always getting turned around on her thin little finger. She hated the attention it drew.

The ring tumbled and rolled as Gil tossed it away.

"I shouldn't have said anything."

"No," he whispered, still kissing each of her fingers. Either way it was true; no, she shouldn't have said anything, but no, he didn't want her to say that now, either.

"We always said we shouldn't do this," she whispered back, crying freely as he weaved their fingers together.

"I know," he conceded as he finally leaned in to kiss her. It was the worst time to do it. They were both crying, it was the worst day of her life, and both of their lives were about to never be the same because of it.

But Thena kissed him back, and they kissed like they had always been doing it. "Why couldn't you tell me earlier not to marry him?"

He laughed, although there wasn't much genuine mirth in it. There wasn't much in her smile, either. "Why couldn't you tell me you loved me sooner?"

She laughed as well, just as sadly. She tilted her head as he swiped her tears away with his thumb. "We're both terrible. We got this wrong, right from the beginning, didn't we?"

"Yeah," he kissed her again, more softly, more sweetly. "But I won't anymore."

[ingo-ingoing-ingone]

For the first time since his brother had become a demon, Kudari gets to ride a train. Nobori and his other friends are there too, and for a while, things are nice. That changes when a powerful demon attacks. Kudari has to first face his inner demons if he ever hopes to defeat the one endangering the passengers. Lucky for him, he has a brother who would never let him down.

Hey! Happy Pokemon Day!

I am FINALLY posting, at long last, my @destinationunownzine fic! Figured today was a great choice lol. Thank you, mods, who organized the fic and let me participate <3 It was literally a dream come true!

It's my Demon Slayer AU! I need to share more about this one ngl, it's been a while since I thought about it! Either way, please enjoy this fic free for all to read <3

[dragonsbone]

━━ 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐨𝐥𝐟 & 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐠

“I will write,” Jon whispered. “I promise.” His voice so soft, so quiet, he worried it might've been carried away in the northern wind, along with the boy’s dream of a future with the woman he loved. 

It was foolish. He understood better than anyone the many paths of a bastard’s life. None of which consisted of marriage between a noble man’s daughter and a lord’s bastard. Though, the harsh truth didn’t cease twisting of the sharp blade in his heart. 

If only I bore the name Stark, he thought countless times, more in her presence. When she held his cold, calloused hands in hers, which were just as rough and rugged as his own. When she brushed her lips against his for the first time and he could taste the fruity wine lingered on her tongue. When she was ridden of her furs and velvet gowns to reveal her bare skin, willing to forsake her maidenhood to him without a sliver of doubt in her mind. If he were a trueborn son of Eddard Stark, he would’ve held her hand longer, kissed her deeper, and lied with her that very night. 

But he’s no trueborn son nor a Stark. He’s a bastard of the north, burdened with the surname Snow. And now he was on his way to the Wall, soon to be sealed in his fate as a sworn brother of the Night’s Watch. Soon enough, Alynne would fulfill her own duties, marry a highborn man to compete with the wild stag in her, carry on their dynasty, become the lady she was meant to be, and his name would be a distant memory of her youth. 

“Be mindful of your promise, Jon Snow,” Aly said, pulling him away from his thoughts. “If you break it, I will ride to Castle Black myself. Not even the lord commander would be able to withstand a lovestruck girl waiting for word from her lover.” She spoke the words with a grin upon her lips, but Jon knew better than to forego the truthfulness of her warning. A Baratheon’s wrath was not one to tempt. 

Perhaps, they’d meet again when they’re fully grown and aren’t blinded by their affection. Until then, he would keep his word and write to her until his watch has ended.

tag list 🧚🏻‍♂️ : @zoyazenik @prosemoireia @dio-nysvs @kiara-carrera @fleetwoodmcs @daisyjohvson @aaudace @jessiemieli @chlobenet @iron-parkr @elmunson @luucypevensie @princes-jasmine @julianblackthcrns @darkwolf76 @megdonnellys @edshopper @bravelittleflower @lepetitchoux @fiercefray @misshiraeth98 @itsjustgracy @fragilestorm @notanannoyingfangirl @phoebestarks @ichorwithwine @darkling-er @purpleyearning @lovehermioneforever @stanshollaand @eddiemunscns @hiddenqveendom @foxesandmagic @nik2blog @daughter-of-melpomene @impales @arrthurpendragon @dyhlanobrien @fakedatings @princessmadelines @stachedocs @toilandtroubled @eddysocs

[ want to be added/removed? click here! ]

[shadedheart138]

I Left My Body Lying Somewhere In The Sands Of Time

This piece of writing focuses on a certain coping mechanism that I don't know if everyone is comfortable with, so I'm putting a border up. And here, I will put a definition! "Age regression is a psychological phenomenon that occurs when someone's thoughts, emotions, or behaviors revert to a younger developmental stage. It can be a temporary or long-term response to stress, trauma, or other factors, and it can happen at any age."

So this is NOT A KINK, and I only say this due to the people I know are out there who perceive it as such. People have this in real life. People cope with this in real life. This is just a personal headcanon that I was learning how to write with, and I'm doing my best to know all the research. Please let me know if anything doesn't fit or doesn't seem right or anything that I've gotten wrong, I'm trying to learn.

If you don't want to read it, no one is forcing you to. Be safe, readers!

Time was supposed to be unshakable, wasn't he? Their leader, the man everyone turned to for answers? When something goes wrong, who's the first person everyone knew had the answer to the given problem? Always ready to give advice. Ready to comfort. Old and wise.

So why was he curled in the trunk of an old tree, not feeling old at all?

His adventures had been hell, with time travel. More than double of his lifespan had been spent as a child. But he was in his late thirties now, he was sure, so why did he suddenly feel so small like the world was too big and he wanted to hide? Where was the strong leader people looked for?

He was gone, and a child was left in his place.

Link sniffled and cried, hugging himself. Thankfully they'd been at his and Malon's ranch, so whatever this... this was, was at least occurring in woods he knew were safe. But to someone who felt so small, feeling like the treetops hit the sky, like his memory wasn't quite there or complete, the forest was a maze. Almost like he was nine again. If Time was Time, he'd walk home in five minutes, no problem. But he... Was he Link out of Termina? Link after beating Ganon? Where was the math, what was his age? Would the Mask of Truth show him how old he really was, deep inside?

Was he nine, seventeen, sixteen, eight, five, thirteen, eighteen, or thirty six? That was too many numbers to think of. Masks he could do. He knew them, he wore them, he was the person inside for a bit. Somebody different. Certainly not the mess he was now.

He couldn't walk out, no problem, this time.

Link's hands- at least he knew he was Link, if not anything else. Was that a comfort or a curse? - fumbled at his belt. So many masks usually lined his belt. Where did they all go? The details were fuzzy. Only three of them were still there. At least there were three and they weren't all gone.

He hit his elbow on the tree and instead of flinching, his cries renewed, quiet and confused. Ow, why were even the trees being mean to him today??? It wasn't fair! It wasn't his fault that his limbs were too long and he was too tall and he felt too old to sit here and cry. Brain and body were not the same. Both complex in different ways. All mixed and matched and jumbled. He couldn't quite get a proper grasp on that feeling in the back of his brain, starting to spread and bleed fuzzily into the rest of his consciousness.

Link sniffled and rubbed his eyes. Right, what was he trying to do again? Masks? Ah. The first one he'd ever held.

He unclipped the Deku Mask with shaking, too-big fingers and cradled it gently. Perfect. He sniffled again. " 'M sorry." His voice was thick and small. He then slipped the mask over his face.

XXX

Why did transformations hurt so much? He'd forgotten how much they hurt. He didn't want to hurt. Had he, at some point, gotten used to it? But when had he had the chance to forget, it couldn't have been that long ago?

No matter. Link was maybe a little shorter than he was at nine, with the mask, and that almost cured his sniffles completely. Small in both body and mind, perfect! Matched like Malon's favorite cucco socks! But now what was he going to do, in these woods, in the late hours of the day? It was rapidly getting dark.

Being small wasn't useful in the dark.

And oh, Link didn't like the dark. Things that screamed and cried and took your life lived in the dark. The moon lived in the dark. Majora. Ganon. They all lived in the dark and he was surrounded by it, barely able to see the trees. No fairy to light his way. No song of home faintly heard through the trees to be his guide. Not even a night light.

He burst into tears again.

Link's tears weren't really there, seeing as he was effectively a Deku Scrub. There were no tears to cry. But the frantic breathing was there, the choked sounds in the back of his throat where vocal chords used to be. His hands were clumsy, made of wood, but they were small, how he wanted, needed, felt. How would he get home?

Oh, no no no, Link couldn't go home. They would think he was so silly, Mido would laugh. But was he going home to the Kokiri, or home to Malon? Would Malon think he was silly? His boys?

He didn't want to think of his boys. Link wasn't someone's dad. Being a parent was an adult job. And Link had just made the rule that he wasn't allowed to think of adults, effective immediately. Perfect rule, and rules were to be followed. Rules kept you safe.

So, instead of trying to go home, he scampered off deeper into the woods. He could find fairies, some light. And maybe when he felt better, they could guide him home. Navi always seemed so good at that.

XXX

"Where the fuck is he??" Warriors hissed, looking at the darkness outside. Time had gone out hours ago, claiming he needed firewood. It didn't take hours to gather wood from a stack of wood that was already chopped. He'd seemed a little detached as he told Warriors where he was going, but Warriors had chalked it up to needing some alone time from everything around.

"He jus' fuckin' up an' vanished." Twilight was pacing again. Time wasn't known for just disappearing. Or for saying he was going one place and turning up in another. That was Wild and Hyrule's job. Sometimes Legend's, if he was pissed off enough.

"It's nearly night, don't you think-" Four was cut off by Warriors grabbing his sword.

"I'll go get him. He's somewhere out here. I'll find him. He can't be far."

XXX

Oh, Link was so far away from home, and he wanted to go home NOW. Forget looking silly, the trees were all looking at him and they were mad and there was no moon and he could hear all the noises the forest made. He wanted to go home.

Link made soft, wounded noises, heading this way and that. No fairy bushes, no mushroom lights. No Navi. No Tatl. Just the dark and ohhelpno-

A very small hole he'd wedged a foot into. Had something grabbed him? Link pulled and pulled, but his foot was stuck and tight. Maybe some sort of burrow? He'd know if he was bigger. For sure. Link whined softly. He could hear the forest moving, which meant he had to GO GO GO or else something would find him and snatch him and he'd be gone forever-

Footsteps, quietly crunching, soft to try and not be heard. Link held his breath.

And immediately lost it in a grating sob, unnatural in the transformed body. Link's hands were too clumsy, no matter if they felt the right size. He couldn't magically dig himself out of the burrow-hole. The footsteps were getting faster, more urgent. Link couldn't get up, couldn't get free, one more footstep, Link curled up over himself, two more, hands on his face, covered in dirt one more two more three and four- "Heyyyy, shh. Are you okay?" The voice was warm, calming. As if talking to a frightened, wild animal. "I'm not here to hurt you, just looking for a- Time?" A time? What a funny thing to be looking for. Vaguely, Link recalled that he responded to that name. He paid it no mind, instead continuing to try and wiggle free.

XXX

Warriors looked down at this... Deku Scrub? That clearly seemed to be Time. The scar, the eyes, even the markings had transferred. Time was making an odd rattling noise, sort of like shaking deku nuts in a bottle. Trying to talk? Trying to explain? No. Warriors noted that it was some attempt at Hylian crying, though the body wasn't built for the sound.

Oh, dear.

"Okay, okay, I'll just- I'll try to figure out what's going on, okay? Is- is it some sort of curse? Can I break it? Here let me-" Warriors reached under Time's arms to lift him free, and Time was immediately clinging to him.

XXX

A curse? Was he cursed? Link cried into Warriors' neck. He knew Warriors, knew him from stern talks and warm mugs and being carried when he was too sleepy to walk. Warriors was safe. And he'd brought light with him! Link sniffled again, hands fisted in Warriors' scarf.

Warriors started to pat him down and check him over.

"Are you hurt? Are you okay? You've been gone hours, Time."

Link shook his head. But he didn't answer the second question, nor did he respond much to his name. Warriors found the small dip under Link's chin that meant that he was wearing a mask. Warriors frowned.

"Hey, can you look at me?"

Link looked up at him.

"Are you wearing a mask?" Link nodded slowly.

"Sprite, why? You've told me you don't like using those." Link jolted at the nickname and watched Warriors with wide eyes. 'Helps', Link signed, struggling to properly move his hands the way they should for the sign.

"Helps? With what?" Warriors only got a shrug as an answer.

XXX

Time shuffled to try and lay his head down on Warriors' shoulder, but Warriors gently held his head back up. Time was being so vague. He didn't seem to be fully there, his eyes distant. What could the Deku Mask help that Time couldn't do himself? Time didn't like using masks anymore, he'd said on multiple occasions.

"Can we take the mask off?" Warriors asked, moving his hand to try and get his fingers under it-

Time startled and pushed at his hand, making that same rattling noise he'd made earlier. 'Need it!' Time signed with emphasis, shaking his head.

"Time, c'mon. We've gotta get it off, so you can tell me what's going on."

Time made what was clearly some sort of whine and tried to hide his face in Warriors' neck. Warriors made a startled noise and tilted his head a little to make more space. "Is- is there a reason you can't take it off?" Time didn't answer that one, too busy clinging.

He was acting like a child, frightened and desperate. Warriors put a hand against Time's head, holding him close. "What's going on, Time? I'm just worried." Time made an unhappy noise at the name, and Warriors was sort of freaking out inside. He hadn't seen anything like this, where someone who was normally a functioning adult acted and sounded like a child-

Oh, wait. He had.

Back in the war, once things were starting to simmer down. The nightmares and flashbacks were terrible for many people. And Warriors had seen many a person cry and wail and ask for a parent. He had seen them draw and play in a safe tent. He had watched them seem at ease for the first time in a long time. He couldn't recall what Proxi had called it, but he knew it was some form of coping. Something to make them feel safe.

Time... maybe that's what Time was facing, now. The overwhelming feeling of being small and vulnerable again. These dark woods were no place for a child, whether only in mind or not.

"Alright, Link. I'm gonna need you to take off the mask for just a little while, okay? I've gotta talk to you and need to make sure you can talk back. It might hurt, and it might not make you feel great, but I've gotta check you over. Then, if you want, you can put it right back on."

Warriors softened his voice, hoping that he'd listen.

Time- Link. He could call him Link for now. Just in case.

Link sniffled and cried... and put his hands up to take off the mask. It came off quick, and as soon as it unlatched from Link's face it fell to the ground, and Warriors was met with wailing. He'd been right, the rattling sound had been an attempt at crying.

Now with an armful of a very heavy man, Warriors grunted a little and made to sit down. Link wound up in his lap, shaking and visibly trying to make himself small as he fisted a handful of Warriors' scarf.

"Hey, hey. Okay, see, wasn't so bad. I'm gonna check you over now, okay?" Warriors started gently moving Link's body to make sure that all the nicks that'd been in the Deku Scrub body had been scars and not cuts. Finding that that was the case, Warriors then gave him a hug.

"Alright, good. You're not hurt. Can you..."

Should he really ask this question, was this an invasive ask, would he be mad-

"Can you tell me how old you are? Or how old you feel?"

Warriors bit his lip, rocking Link gently back and forth, waiting for an answer. Link gave a wounded noise and shook his head, closing his eyes and pressing at them. Worth a shot.

"Okay, can you talk to me at all? Tell me why you were so far out here all alone?"

Link visibly tried to gather himself.

" 'S hard." He whispered, voice thick and upset. Link started crying a little harder, and Warriors was quick to console him.

"No, no, no, Sprite, it's okay. You don't have to talk if you can't. I can do without. Can you sign okay? Just give me a simple yes with your hands, if so." Link signed a shaky 'yes' and then moved to hide his face again.

"Okay, buddy. Do you think we can go home now?" Link shook his head, his tears soaking Wars' shoulder. "Why not?"

Link's hands were hard to read, as he shook and clung to Warriors. Warriors caught half-made signs of 'sleepy', 'scared', and 'can't'. He sighed and moved to rest his back against a tree.

"Alright, Link. We'll just sit here until you feel better, okay?"