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novafire-is-thinking · 2 months ago

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Medic, Maverick, Maniac, Murderer: Understanding Pharma

First thing’s first: I love Pharma, dearly.

In all the time I’ve spent evaluating his character, I’ve mainly focused on what can be worked out about who he is as an individual: his core sense of self, psychological drives, subjective worldview, etc.

When all else is stripped away, who is Pharma?

This treatise is the product of obsessing over Pharma, analyzing canon (and extras), and reading as many different perspectives on his character from fans across the fandom as I could find. The post is long, so for those of you who balk at the thought of reading a shortfic’s worth of Pharma thoughts, feel free to read the TL;DR (Conclusion) at the end and then decide if the full read is worth your time. Also, a premium reading experience is available in the form of the original Google Doc version.

As you read, keep in mind that this is primarily a mix of psychoanalysis, evidence-based examination, and speculation—not moral, ethical, or sociological commentary. The goal is to examine Pharma’s psychological drives and core values, and each of his appearances in the context of those. All other types of evaluation are up to readers.

Now, take your victim blaming-allergy meds (just in case); remove your black-and-white thinking caps; and leave your personal morality lenses at the door.

Psychological Drives & Core Values

Why does Pharma act the way he does? What gives him a reason to keep living? What are his personal priorities?

At the beginning of the Delphi arc, First Aid establishes Pharma as a “control freak” and someone who “thinks he’s an expert on everything.”

Now, First Aid has a habit of complaining about his bosses, but on both points, there’s canon evidence to back them both.

Expertise and Intellect

Throughout the Delphi and Luna 1 arcs, it’s established that Pharma is a skilled and brilliant doctor.

He once performed a 4-way fuel pump transplant, donating his own fuel pump in the process. (see above panel)

Later, he invented a soundbomb that left an echo laced with a virus and invented an antidote to that virus:

And on Luna 1, he was on the edge of finding a cure for Cybercrosis, based on the fact that Swerve was able to formulate a cure from his notes.

More than being a doctor, Pharma lives for intellectual and scientific achievement as a physician scientist. He feels most alive when he’s able to solve complex medical problems, and when his achievements are recognized by those whose opinion he considers important.

This is Pharma’s 'why.'

And even though he’s arrogant and enjoys praise, it’s not his primary motivation. He doesn’t need it in order to set his mind to whatever he’s interested in, although he’ll seek it from those he values most (i.e. Ratchet).

Pharma sees himself as less of a doctor, and more as a scientific innovator or medical maverick. The practice of medicine is primarily a catalyst for his creativity and intellect; it’s not an end in and of itself like it is for someone like Ratchet or First Aid.

First Aid’s observation of Pharma can be better phrased as, “[Pharma] thinks he’s an expert on everything medical”—because he’s not so driven by achievement and admiration that he’ll grovel at the feet of strangers and get good at something he doesn’t personally find interesting. The only time we see him express a desire for praise is when he’s around Ratchet—someone he holds in high regard for both personal and professional reasons. This makes sense since Ratchet is one of the only people who can give Pharma any kind of competition within what he considers to be his area of expertise.

“Each day we go to our work in the hope of discovering—in the hope that some one, no matter who, may find a solution of one of the pending great problems—and each succeeding day we return to our task with renewed ardor; and even if we are unsuccessful, our work has not been in vain, for in these strivings, in these efforts, we have found hours of untold pleasure, and we have directed our energies to the benefit of mankind.” —Nikola Tesla

Ego

Without question, Pharma has an inflated ego, but having an inflated sense of self doesn’t automatically mean a person is a full-blown narcissist or that they are totally uncaring.

Every personality trait exists on a spectrum. Yes, Pharma is arrogant, but the presence of arrogance doesn’t automatically and completely cancel out all “positive” traits. (For fun, check out studies on Dark Tetrad and Light Triad personality traits.)

People are complex. Arrogance can coexist with genuine kindness, ruthlessness can coexist with deep compassion, etc.

Whether Pharma exhibits genuine kindness is up to each reader’s interpretation of what little canon material exists, but the point is: Pharma’s arrogance doesn’t automatically rule out the possibility of authentic “positive” traits.

Controlling Tendencies

Pharma is comfortable pulling the power card and using it to dump what he sees as uninteresting parts of medical practice on those below him:

“So Fisitron’s writing about the Wreckers’ elbows now, is he?” said Delphi’s Chief Medical Officer. “Come on, First Aid - get to it. You’ve got a Fader in Row 2 downstairs.” He squeezed the air with his finger and thumb. “He’s about this far from shutdown.” —from Bullets by James Roberts

However, there’s nothing in canon indicating he’s power-hungry in a megalomaniacal sense. He’s not Starscream or Megatron; he doesn’t seek political or social power. In fact, he seems perfectly happy hiding away in a lab or medibay by himself so he can direct all his energy toward solving issues and achieving the so-called ‘impossible’ within the field of medicine:

The ways in which Pharma exercises power and control are through his expertise, and his administrative/management skills. That’s it.

Self-confidence

Pharma’s arrogance and controlling tendencies don’t seem to be a mask—like he’s trying to compensate for some sense of lack (in those areas). Yes, he fears failure, and yes, he displays some insecurity when Ratchet questions his competence. But at every other point and in every other way, Pharma is unapologetically self-confident. He’s fully self-assured of his intellectual prowess and problem-solving capabilities; he knows what he knows, and he also knows what he doesn’t know.

Pharma’s arrogance and desire for control don’t stem from a hidden lack of confidence or a hunger for power on its own. They stem from the fact that he genuinely sees himself as the best person for the work he does. He trusts himself above anyone else to solve problems that come his way—medical or otherwise (within limits).

Elitism vs. Superiority

I’ve always read Pharma as having an elitist attitude, but not in the social stratification sense:

elitist (adj.) relating to or supporting the view that a society or system should be led by an elite.

There’s no evidence that Pharma believes an elite class of people should hold the most power. Instead, Pharma’s “elitism” is actually an individualistic sense of superiority. It’s centered on him alone, and is tied to his capabilities as a physician scientist and surgeon.

Pharma sees himself as the best of the best and makes sure everyone knows it—sometimes through his words, but mostly by his conduct in the field of medicine. This, paired with Pharma’s natural temperament, doesn’t exactly make him socially popular—inside or outside of medicine:

One could argue that the “personality” Lockdown is referring to was a result of all Pharma had suffered at Delphi and Luna 1, but just as easily, one could argue he was always a bit difficult to get along with, and that his traumatic experiences merely magnified his already-present psychological patterns. Personally, I like the latter interpretation because it’s a flaw that makes Pharma a more interesting character no matter his mental state.

Everyone reacts differently to real and perceived social rejection. Some are so concerned about it that they’ll try anything to belong; others genuinely don’t care, and they continue as usual; and still others cope by shifting their mindset and developing a sense of pride in being an outsider.

There’s no evidence for this in canon, but I believe it’s within reasonable characterization boundaries to headcanon Pharma as being in the second or third category.

With either of those two mindsets, a sense of superiority can develop, or even be an inciting factor. Either someone sees themselves as genuinely superior to the majority and doesn’t mind when this alienates them from people, or they convince themselves they’re superior because the pain of accepting they were rejected for who they are is too much to handle.

Whatever the case, the point is, having an “elitist” attitude isn’t necessarily rooted in a sociological or ideological belief. Sometimes, individuals just see something in themselves that—to them—justifies a sense of personal superiority. A quick glance at Pharma’s canon appearances makes it clear he holds such a view of himself, at least to some degree.

Morality and Compassion

When Pharma first shows up in canon, he’s working at the New Institute. A lot of questionable things took place there on a regular basis—things Pharma would have been aware of, to some degree. However, his presence at the Institute doesn’t automatically mean he agreed with everything happening. Depending on how strongly someone feels about something, some people are content to disagree in silence. Not everyone who seeks employment considers it a priority that the establishment they work for aligns perfectly with their moral values. After all, there are other reasons to take a job: financial benefits, exclusive educational and career opportunities, pure convenience, etc.

I’m not here to say either way whether Pharma’s willingness to turn a blind eye to the events at the New Institute was wrong or right; that’s up to each reader to decide for themselves. However, Pharma’s choice to remain employed at the Institute for some time can say something about him as a character: his priority as a doctor and person is not to take care of everyone he encounters, or to act as some kind of moral or ethical authority.

This isn’t to say Pharma won’t ever stand up for something he regards as right or push back against something he sees as wrong, “off screen.” It’s just that everything in canon points more to a tendency to choose his battles instead of acting immediately on any moral sense the way someone like Optimus or Ratchet might.

This also isn’t to say Pharma doesn’t care about saving lives, but from what little is shown of him before Delphi, it’s hard to say how much he cared. Ratchet confirms later that Pharma was an excellent doctor for most of his life, but all that tells us is he was an excellent doctor; it says nothing about his internal attitude toward his work or patients.

However, inferences can be made based on doctors in our own world:

Being a doctor—especially one in trauma care—is far from easy. It takes a lot out of a person, and there are very few people who last in the profession for a long time. Most medical professionals fall into one of the following categories:

People possessing a strong will that’s coupled with an unwavering passion for taking care of others (the public’s favorite)

People who naturally have, or develop, an ability to switch their empathy off and on at will, or build walls around it—also possessing a strong will (the ideal)

People who naturally have a limited capacity for empathy (the one the public hates to acknowledge)

People with a strong social and professional support system (the necessary, but underutilized and underappreciated factor)

Of course, even if a person has one or more of the above, burnout can and does still happen, but individuals who have at least one have the best chances of surviving and thriving amidst the demands of the majority of medical professions.

As far as is shown in canon, Pharma never had a strong support system—either circumstantially or by choice—so something else was keeping him in medicine.

Pharma shows concern for both Tumbler (Chromedome) and Hubcap:

But even though he obviously cared enough to step in, neither instance makes a strong case for a capacity for empathy beyond the “average” or “norm.” Performing a job well is a lot different from being personally invested in the work.

Based on everything up to this point, and this later comment from Pharma, about Ratchet…

…Pharma has probably never shared the same I-care-about-everything-and-everyone view of the world. Instead, it’s more likely that Pharma holds a more rational view of his work and patients.

One of the first things learned in medicine, especially in trauma medicine, is that you can’t help or save everyone, and to hold yourself to that standard can destroy you quickly if you have a certain temperament or lack healthy boundaries for your empathy.

“There are times when it may seem as though I view sick or injured people not as living, breathing humans with feelings and emotions and people who love them, but simply as cases, as problems to be solved. And that is absolutely true. It's not that I don't have empathy, but the hard fact is that as a doctor, and especially as a trauma surgeon, too much empathy can get in the way of your job and cause you to make decisions based not on sound medical judgment but on your own emotions. Sure, I've seen things that even years later can still make me choke up when I think of them: a little girl shot and killed, a shattered young Marine who shouldn't have died but did. But you can't choke up in the ER or the operating room. To be effective as a trauma surgeon, you have to put a layer of Kevlar around your heart.” —Dr. Peter Rhee, Trauma Red: The Making of a Surgeon in War and in America’s Cities*

Pharma may have learned this difficult truth earlier than Ratchet and developed a practical way of managing his empathy that comes across as “cold.” He may have always had an ability to put up walls around his spark. Or, he may have always had little to no capacity for empathy.

The fact that the morality lock on Tyrest’s portal prevented Pharma from passing through proves he felt guilty for what he’d done, and JRO confirmed this. Therefore, it’s safe to assume Pharma had some level of empathy for his former patients, suffering moral injury when he felt he had no other option but to start killing them.

Still, looking at Pharma’s psychological drives and his behavior throughout canon, it’s clear compassionate care and morality are subordinate to his other values and interests.

*I highly recommend this book, and learning about Dr. Rhee in general. He’s a huge inspiration of mine, and one of my main sources of inspiration when writing Pharma. Level-headed and capable, strong-willed, selectively empathetic, an excellent scientist, etc. He lives for the thrill of practicing medicine both on the floor and as an expert in his field who pushes trauma medicine to new heights through his research. He also takes great pride in his hands. Seriously—the man spent an entire paragraph and a half talking about his “good hands” and how they were one of two reasons he decided to go into trauma surgery. The other reason was that he “liked action and excitement, liked the feeling of being able to walk into a tough situation and take control.” (Sounds familiar…)

Delphi

First thing’s first: we don’t know how much Pharma did or didn’t know about the DJD before agreeing to take the Delphi assignment.

That far into the war, he would have known something about the DJD and their ways of terrorizing traitors and Autobots, but for whatever reason, he took the assignment anyway. Perhaps Prowl assured him the situation on Messatine would be monitored and that the security team would be enough. Perhaps he underestimated the DJD’s capabilities, or scale of territory, and thought he would be able to handle things on his own. Perhaps Prowl gave him no choice. Maybe it was all of these and more.

Whatever the case, according to JRO, Pharma didn’t hate Delphi before the incident with the DJD.

Word of god remains a touchy subject in fandom, but in this case, it’s important because it says two things:

The DJD left the Delphi medical team alone for some time.

Being on the edges of DJD territory didn’t automatically mean isolation and harassment by their hand.

On the second point, First Aid was free to come and go from Messatine as he pleased, seeing as he attended a medical conference at Kimia five years into his assignment at Delphi:

Five years ago [mid-Delphi assignment], the leader of the Wreckers had cornered him at a medical conference at Kimia, the space station that doubled as a weapons research facility. —from Bullets

And five years after that, he was able to not only contact Springer without delay about one of Agent 113’s bullets he’d discovered in an Autobot badge…

He raced upstairs to his computer terminal and typed in a certain frequency code for the second time in his life. A face appeared on the screen and grinned. “It’s me,” said First Aid. “And you're never gonna guess what I’ve got for you..!”

…but he was also able to meet up with Springer to hand off the bullet:

“Your friend has a funny way of making contact,” First Aid had said when he’d got in touch three days earlier, and he was right.

It’s not known if this handoff happened on or off world, but either way, the DJD didn’t interfere.

At some point, Tarn set his sights on Pharma and the Delphi team. Knowing the DJD, one can only imagine what Tarn used to show off his team’s capabilities and convince Pharma the best option was to cooperate.

In striking a deal with Tarn to keep the DJD away from Delphi, Pharma established his territory and ensured his continued security and the safety of his staff. As long as Tarn got his T-cogs, Pharma could continue on in relative peace. He could work his magic on bots that ended up at Delphi, carry out his management duties, and work on whatever projects or research he may have been conducting in his free time.

For whatever reason, after he first came into contact with Tarn, Pharma didn’t call for help. Communications were still operational, as Pharma wouldn’t have suggested contacting High Command about the Duobots if the team was aware of any comm malfunctions:

Also, First Aid later confirms that communications were fine until the Big Bang (soundbomb detonation):

It’s always possible the DJD was monitoring the radio waves, but secure subspace frequencies exist, such as the Datalog Network First Aid used to send the datalog containing the death statistics:

Speaking of which, assuming First Aid sent the datalog with the statistics right when things started to get ‘weird,’ and before the Big Bang shut down comms, it only took—at most—a few days for them to reach Ratchet and Swerve on the Lost Light:

But back to Pharma not calling for help: for all of Prowl’s intel, contingency planning, and fretting over the security of Autobot territories, I find it hard to believe he would have stuck an Autobot medical team on the fringes of DJD territory without giving them some means of securely contacting the outside in case of issues.

But even if Prowl didn’t give Pharma a secure way to contact him or anyone else, and even if Pharma was convinced the DJD was monitoring regular communications, there were other ways he could have reached out for help. After all, the team wasn’t alone on Messatine. Like Pharma said, Prowl continued to send bots to defend the nucleon mines:

The Autobots had been mining nucleon for millions of years at this point, so I doubt the mined nucleon was just sitting in storage on Messatine; shipments of the stuff would have been sent off-world to wherever the Autobots needed it. Why not send a message for Prowl with someone leaving with one of those shipments? A message meant only to be sent over a call when absolutely certain they were out of range of the DJD’s potential monitoring.

Or, why not order in off-world medical supplies and send a message back with the delivery bot(s)?

There are two possible answers to this. One takes into account JRO’s word on the subject; the other is more intricate and speculative on my part, but it leads to the same place. So whatever your stance is on the validity of word of god, there’s an answer for you.

Answer one (word of god)

Simple as that. Pharma was aware of the scope of the DJD’s capabilities and relentlessness, and determined he was trapped prey.

Answer two (no word of god)

There are a few possible reasons Pharma didn’t call for help right away:

He was convinced all his other options would take too long and/or would still lead to him being put under suspicion. After all, being found to have harvested even a single T-cog from an already-dead patient for the DJD could have raised concerns that would lead to Pharma being investigated and/or having a mark put on his record.

He underestimated the severity of Tarn’s addiction, and was certain he could keep up with the T-cog demand without resorting to other means of harvesting, not realizing Tarn’s quota would increase later on.

He was already paranoid as a result of whatever mind games Tarn had set in motion at their first meeting, making Pharma think escape was futile.

Word of god or no word of god, there are clear reasons as to why Pharma ended up trapped. Most likely, it was a mix of all of the above.

Whatever was going on in Pharma’s mind before, he ended up in deeper trouble. Tarn increased his demand for T-cogs, and Pharma couldn’t keep up. By the time this happened, even if he had wanted to call for help, it was too late to do so without implicating himself. He reasoned his only option was to start killing patients to harvest their T-cogs.

Soon, Pharma was so consumed with fretting over whether he’d be able to meet Tarn’s next demand that he didn’t have time or freedom to do anything else except worry and feel guilty. His whole life revolved around Tarn’s addiction; he was no longer in control, and could no longer enjoy whatever it was about Delphi he’d previously enjoyed. Perhaps the facility itself enabled Pharma to research cures and perform scientific miracles of medicine.

Being at the mercy of Tarn—convinced the DJD would find him no matter what—would have been pure psychological torture on its own, but also knowing that any small chance he did have of getting help would end in him losing everything would have added to his suffering. Pharma became desperate to reclaim control over his life and began planning an escape.

Now, JRO has said that Pharma didn’t originally plan to use the rust plague on the DJD…but canon says otherwise:

Of course, Pharma could have been lying to make himself look better in Ratchet’s view, but based on everything he’d been through up to this point with Tarn, it’s more likely he was telling the truth and had tried to eliminate the source of his suffering first. After all, wiping out the DJD would have been the simpler, cleaner option.

When the Duobots refused to detonate the soundbomb near the DJD, Pharma’s objectives shifted. He had to get Delphi shut down in a way that would:

Convince the DJD the shutdown was legitimate.

Pharma knew chances of escaping the DJD at all were slim to none, but he was desperate. Getting Delphi shut down would cut off Tarn’s supply of T-cogs and allow Pharma to escape Tarn’s immediate control, but the shutdown had to be “legitimate” to prevent Tarn from retaliating and hunting him down later. Leaving Tarn even the slightest chance of regaining control was too risky, so Pharma had to make sure his plan was as airtight as possible.

Cover up the patient murders.

If the truth got out about Pharma killing patients, he’d lose his medical license and most likely be put away for life. Being cut off from the practice of medicine and his intellectually stimulating work as a doctor would mean losing more than a job and a reputation. It would mean losing everything in which he’d anchored his sense of identity and life’s meaning. His refusal to consider any other options wasn’t just about ego and preserving his image as an excellent doctor; it was about preserving any kind of meaningful future he saw for himself.

Pharma needed a plan that would fulfill all of the above. Turning the engineered virus on the medical facility was the most effective and efficient solution. Anything else would have made him suspicious in the view of either Autobot High Command or the DJD, and neither of those would have ended well for him.

Because of his goal to preserve his reputation and future in medicine, he couldn’t even risk revealing anything to First Aid or Ambulon, who would have seen to his ruin. They became nothing more than loose ends that had to be tied up, and based on the fact that Pharma only prepared one vial of the vaccine, his original plan involved him being the only survivor:

He probably would have had no problem making more of the vaccine for anyone else who survived, but he wasn’t counting on it. He wanted a totally clean slate; in letting his staff die with most of his patients, he would be getting rid of any and all evidence and reminders of his failures. He may have cared about First Aid and Ambulon before things got bad, but somewhere along the way, he decided either it wasn’t worth it to go through the trouble of finding a way to save them without raising suspicion, or he didn’t want to risk them putting together the pieces later on.

Of course, when Ratchet showed up, plans changed.

Ratchet

Ratchet is not the kind of person who seeks first to understand or be understanding. He’s inclined to trust what’s in front of him over anything abstract, and tends to look at the results of someone’s actions over trying to find any kind of ‘why’ behind them. Also, unlike Pharma, he operates from a strong moral sense, and reacts quickly and strongly when something or someone goes against that internal moral sense.

Ratchet’s reaction to finding out what Pharma did may seem hasty and harsh, but it makes perfect sense on a human level. There is no such thing as unconditional love; everyone has personal and moral lines (boundaries), and they’re different for each individual. When the most rigid of lines is crossed, that’s it; walls go up and the offender is cut off, no matter how strong the relationship may have been.

Ratchet obviously knew Pharma well enough to think he could try talking some sense into him, but then Pharma revealed that he’d crossed one of Ratchet’s lines: murdering patients. Any willingness Ratchet may have had to try to understand vanished. By the time Pharma started trying to provide a ‘why’ for his actions, Ratchet’s moral judgment had already shut down any chance of understanding what could have possibly led Pharma to kill patients. It didn’t help that Pharma seemed totally unapologetic and outright proud of his plan. For Ratchet, the ‘why’ didn’t matter anymore. What he saw was what he trusted, and what he saw was a friend who’d become his idea of a monster.

Now, Ratchet and Pharma’s relationship is one of the most confusing IDW relationships I’ve had the pleasure and pain of dissecting.

It is notoriously difficult to determine the depth and strength of a relationship from the outside. However, I’ve decided to go ahead and address it anyway because it has the potential to provide insight into Pharma as an individual.

If I were to sum up Pharma and Ratchet’s relationship in a single word, I would use “ambivalent.” The first time I read MTMTE, the thing that stood out to me most about their relationship was the drastic differences between how they each perceived the relationship.

In one sense, there’s the idea of Pharma basically being Ratchet’s crazy stalker ex, which is tossed around in fandom a lot. While I personally dislike seeing it regardless of context (yes, even as a joke), I do see how JRO’s writing choices set things up in a way that makes it easy to superimpose that trope.

In another sense, there’s the idea that Pharma and Ratchet were always close friends, and that what happened at the end of the Delphi story was a betrayal of both sides that came out of nowhere and whose consequences were taken too far.

I disagree with both. Personally, what I see at the end of the Delphi story isn’t an obsessed ex gone mad, a sudden betrayal, or a badly executed backstabbing. What I see is a breakdown of an already-complicated and poorly-maintained relationship: true feelings being revealed, long-repressed bitterness being forced to the surface, carefully-hidden cracks being split wide open.

Most people don’t have an accurate understanding of how much or how little they truly know the people in their lives, often overestimating how well they know a person until something surfaces and blindsides them.

According to JRO, Ratchet was oblivious to Pharma’s romantic interest, and throughout canon, it’s easy to see Pharma was more invested in the relationship than Ratchet ever was.

The question is, did Ratchet ever care about Pharma at all? And if so, to what degree?

Yes, Ratchet calls Pharma “buddy” and “friend,” but the former was sarcastic, and the latter means something different to each person. Also, in light of the circumstances, Ratchet could have just been saying “friend” in response to Pharma saying it—an emotional appeal more than anything.

However, Pharma must have been aware of Ratchet’s lack of relational investment because during the confrontation at Delphi, Pharma’s first reaction wasn’t to appeal to their friendship (ex: “But you know me!”). Instead, he appealed to their shared profession:

Then there’s the exchange of insults:

This is what I meant earlier by “true feelings being revealed.” Ratchet may have just been trying to match Pharma’s insult, but it’s unlikely it was merely reciprocal because while Ratchet is snarky at times, he’s sincere in that snark. There’s almost always some truth in his verbal jabs no matter how unserious they seem, and he’s never cruel for cruelty’s sake.

So, if Pharma saw Ratchet as an inferior doctor, and Ratchet saw Pharma as an inferior Autobot…it’s reasonable to assume there was always some deep-rooted competition and conflict preventing them from being super close.

Possible suspicion surrounding Pharma’s conduct as an Autobot paired with a tendency to misjudge the nuances of relationships could explain why Ratchet was so quick to decide Pharma was a lost cause. Maybe Pharma’s actions at Delphi confirmed something from the past that Ratchet had brushed off for whatever reason.

In any case, Ratchet seems to have been largely unaffected by the Pharma he found at Delphi. While leaving Messatine, he emphasizes that he’ll miss Pharma’s talent.

Not “who he used to be.”

Not “what we used to have.”

Just…“his talent.”

Later, on Luna 1, Pharma mentions that he and Ratchet were inseparable, but that could mean a few different things:

Best case scenario: Pharma and Ratchet sought each other out on equal terms.

Worst case scenario: Pharma followed Ratchet around.

Somewhere in the middle: the job forced Pharma and Ratchet to work in close proximity most of the time, and while Pharma intentionally ran into Ratchet more often than necessary, Ratchet also sought out Pharma every now and then.

Whatever the case, working with someone every day doesn’t tell you anything about who they are as a person, and the amount of time spent with someone doesn’t automatically correlate to how deep the relationship is or how well the people know each other. It’s not like either Pharma or Ratchet are shown to be good at expressing their personal feelings outside of extreme circumstances.

Ratchet does bring up late-night conversations of the past:

But while this indicates there was something deeper between him and Pharma, because neither of them were ever shown to be super open with their true feelings, it’s unlikely the conversations were full of touchy-feely talk. In all likelihood, the conversations were mostly medicine and war-related, with the rare spark-to-spark talk sprinkled in. Also, considering everything up to this point, one has to wonder if those talks ever meant anything to Ratchet, or if he was just digging for something that might stall Pharma’s torture.

Maybe those late-night conversations did mean something to Ratchet, but whatever the case, Pharma didn’t take the bait. He knew Ratchet was trying to stall by making an emotional appeal, and perhaps he was convinced the conversations hadn’t meant that much to Ratchet.

Looking at all of this, it’s hard to believe Ratchet ever cared about Pharma as more than an interesting work friend. But even if he had cared more than he let on, it wasn’t enough to overcome the doubts he had about Pharma’s character.

As for whether Pharma truly cared about Ratchet, I’m convinced he did, but in a mostly unhealthy way, and with a strong undercurrent of one-sided rivalry. At some point, Ratchet had been an equal and a source of challenge, and he probably listened to Pharma pretty often. It’s reasonable to assume Ratchet was one of the only people—if not the only person—able to handle Pharma’s intense temperament and challenge him in a meaningful way, providing some semblance of friendship for Pharma.

However, one last thing that stands out is that, when telling Ratchet why he’s torturing him, Pharma didn’t say anything like, “Because you hurt me” or “Because you turned against me—your friend.” Instead, he said it was for “ruining things at Delphi” and because “you declared war on my body.”

Either Pharma wasn’t being entirely honest, or Ratchet’s friendship didn’t mean as much in the first place as he’d previously implied. It’s possible the ‘Because you hurt me’ was implied in “for ruining things back at Delphi,” but why not say it outright? Perhaps it was a fear of vulnerability and admitting there was ever a relational need at all.

At the end of the day, it’s difficult to say for certain how close Pharma and Ratchet were, but it’s clear they were never on the same page and there were always barriers between them.

Luna 1

Revisiting the matter of Pharma’s morality taking a backseat to other priorities, his time on Luna 1 further underscores this. Again, Pharma chooses his battles and is unwilling to put himself at great risk for the sake of others, but a closer look at the situation with Tyrest reveals there wasn’t really anything he could have done for the Cold Construct population even if he had wanted to. It would have been him against Tyrest, an army of Legislators, and a bunch of Decepticons. Pharma knew his limits, and seeing as his goal was self-preservation, it was perfectly rational for him to go along with Tyrest’s grand scheme.

Besides, it doesn’t look like he was given much of a choice:

Although, knowing Pharma, he still would have demanded to know beforehand what he would get in return for the pain, and evidently, Tyrest held up his end of the deal since Pharma had access to the Luna 1 tech collection.

As for Tyrest’s plan to wipe out the Cold Construct population, there’s nothing indicating Pharma’s decision to turn a blind eye to it was rooted in malevolence or bigotry—just rational apathy: ‘I can’t stop Tyrest, so why concern myself with the outcome?’

Again, you can’t save everyone; Pharma had all he could do to save himself.

But it wasn’t all horrible. I would even go so far as to say Pharma found some happiness on Luna 1. Tyrest didn’t care about him, but he didn’t need Tyrest to care. Everyone else there hated him, but he didn’t need to feel like he belonged or was admired. At this point, Pharma’s only interest was Tyrest’s Luna 1 tech collection, and that meant playing nice so he could keep his reward. Back at Delphi, he probably assumed he’d never again practice medicine the way he’d loved; being brought to Luna 1 was an unexpected, yet welcome, second chance.

Even so, Pharma had his moments of cruelty. Back at Delphi, he had easily-identifiable reasons to kill patients—both the ones whose T-cogs he harvested and the 20 more he tried to kill when he shot the life support machine. But on Luna 1, he had no reason to be cruel, yet he chose to be. By this point, he’d mastered the ability to almost completely ignore or subdue his conscience.

In the case of Ratchet’s torment, one could argue Pharma only drew it out for retaliation purposes; it was personal for him.

As for cutting Ambulon in half, it was obviously meant to be as gruesome as possible, yet also quick. But personally, I don’t think it was about Ambulon; it was more about hurting Ratchet. Due to the fact that Ratchet’s identity is wrapped up in his compassion and his ability to be helpful as a doctor, one of the most effective acts of revenge would be to do something that makes him feel utterly helpless.

Also I wonder if, subconsciously or consciously, Pharma was attempting to recreate the sense of helplessness he felt back at Delphi under Tarn’s watch: “Do you see, Ratchet? Do you now understand how it feels to have control ripped out of your hands? To be totally helpless?”

Next, for some reason, Pharma was invested in the promised execution of Getaway and Skids:

He had no personal connection to either of them that would give him a reason to be interested, so maybe Tyrest told him he could perform the execution and/or have the corpses for medical experimentation. Either way, Pharma would have had a chance to use some of the tech in Tyrest’s tech collection, possibly explaining his excitement.

Of course, any chance of an execution disappeared when the final showdown went wrong.

When Pharma tried to escape to Cyberutopia and discovered he couldn’t pass through the spacebridge forcefield, he gave up. He’d been caught; he would no longer have access to Tyrest’s tech collection; Ratchet and every other self-righteous Autobot would never forgive him; and the morality lock prevented him from escaping. By all appearances, he would never again be able to engage in that which gave him a sense of meaning. He had shrunken his world down to his obsessive interest in a specialized field and one significant, yet unrequited relationship. With both of these lost, his world collapsed.

Yes, guilt played a part in Pharma’s despondency, but because he seems to have been in denial of said guilt, it’s more likely his despair was primarily due to the fact that he saw no future for himself. He had nothing left to live for.

In light of this, Pharma’s flippant comments to First Aid make sense. He wasn’t being insensitive as much as he was goading First Aid. Pharma’s not stupid. First Aid had a massive rotary cannon on him, and Pharma knew exactly which emotional buttons to push to get him to pull the trigger.

Pharma wanted to die.

Adaptus

First, let me emphasize that Adaptus did not take possession of Pharma’s body. Instead, Pharma was the unwelcome guest:

How Pharma ended up in Adaptus’ new body is a mystery, but whatever the case, Pharma didn’t pass on to the Allspark. Whether or not he had a choice can only be speculated.

First Aid had blasted Pharma’s head clean off, so whatever happened must have been related to the spark. Perhaps some residual spark energy was trapped in a body part that Adaptus repurposed, leaving Pharma tethered to the new body unwillingly.

Still, Pharma managed to assert his will and override Adaptus for a brief moment. Considering Adaptus was basically a god, this is impressive.

Based on Adaptus’ surprise at being interrupted, it seems he didn’t know Pharma was there. Why Pharma hadn’t tried to assert himself sooner is a mystery. Maybe Adaptus’ scheme was entertaining; maybe Pharma actually liked the company; or maybe he’d been waiting for an opportunity to get revenge on Tyrest for everything done to him back at Luna 1.

Sure enough, just like with Ratchet back on Luna 1, Pharma’s vengeful streak came out as soon as there was an opportunity.

Unfortunately for him, this left him vulnerable, and Tyrest took advantage of the confusion:

Conclusion

When someone reduces their world to narrow personal interests and one or a few very special people, their grip tightens around what little they have. They often become obsessive and possessive of the few things that make them feel alive, and their view of the world becomes increasingly more subjective and detached from the outside world. Pharma seems to have fallen into this trap.

Even so, in the context of the circumstances, several of the decisions he made were rational—even if coldly so. Oftentimes, “extreme” rationality and self-preservation are villainized in fiction, and characters like Pharma who don’t automatically put themselves at great risk for anyone and everyone are villainized, or at least looked down on. Their choices are often regarded as less human, but rationality and self-preservation are just as human as compassion and self-sacrifice.

Ultimately, Pharma was trapped and pushed over the edge into “insanity” by Tarn’s cruelty, but his own choices made from a place of pride determined how he fell, and how far he fell. It was a perfect storm of Tarn’s mind games and Pharma’s intellectual arrogance, excessive self-confidence, obsessive nature, and stubborn grip on the kind of future he wanted for himself.

Pharma is yet another Icarus who flew too close to the sun and paid dearly for it, and while JRO/the narrative could have given this Icarus better wings, that doesn’t change the fact that he chose to fly so high.

***

Many thanks to anyone who made it to the end of this monster of a post.

-tosses a Rodimus Star at you-

#look who finally finished this thing #idw transformers #idw1 #maccadam #MTMTE #lost light #idw pharma #pharma #tf idw character analysis #tf idw meta #dr. fancy hands #nova’s nerding out again

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astralnymphh · 4 months ago

Text

The Sweeter the Wheat

# pair: post-seattle!jackson!ellie x reader

## summary: There is no better birthday gift than loving her.

### reader discretion is advised: romance angst, fluff, bit suggestive towards the end, alcohol consumption, jesse is alive (he thought ahead this time), loser!ellie, sometimes!awkward!ellie, sometimes!cheekyandflirty!ellie, reader is sickenly envious and a bit nosy, but aware, ravenous and tipsy makeouts, sappy shit. #### a/n; listened to "to all of you" by syd matters + "cardigan" by taylor swift while writing parts of it.. got a love/hate relationship with this fic but it slaps i guess

SPRING SUN

“At least we got back before her birthday. Psh—‘magine that sweet tooth havin’ to commemorate her twentieth with nuts and jerky.”

Jackson tholes the bright spring against countless heavy hearts, numb from the death groans of winter. Under the melted snow, came old meadows, but nobody returned to comb through them. Only to pluck them bare of flora for a sole reason—a sole person—and not in the name of beauty.

Some meadows were stabbed through. Pierced into, made into a final home for the dearly departed he.

Time slipped slowly.

“Huh?”

Jesse sits at the tail of the bar, mumbling somethings that fly right past your ears. The diner is packed and the jukebox softly plays, but that of joy and conversation rules, so all nearby speech that is spat has become hodgepodge, herding your brain to run where the world is quiet. Given that, and the subtle significance in the day around you, you feel less than yourself. Immaterial.

There's a rightful wager that you didn't hear Jesse at all. Something about birthdays, maybe.

You pull yourself from the stars with a head-shake, having to retire the tiny notepad in your clutch. “Sorry, I completely tripped out just then. Why are we talking about birthdays—whose birthday are we.. talking about?”

Jesse appeared to be in doubt that your star-scaping moments were over; his features contorting more and more into disbelief as you gave him that barely curious squint. Poor him for having to be offended for somebody else.

A special somebody else at that!

His drawl comes in handy, “Come on, man. Four years strong and now you wanna forget that girl's birthday?” a voice so versed in pettiness, you could smack it right from his clever, grinning lips.

At whim, you almost do. But then his words fall into perfect place; that subtle signifigance makes all the more sense.

Spring: dappled in sunlight and vigorous in the trees, seems lovelier than it would in March or May. Seas of crimson and clovers thrive in the middle of April, and so does the red in her hair—soft, auburn tines—and the meadows in her earnest and shiny eyes. Recently dim, bruised and disheartened. But there, and unplucked at least, above the freckles you least regret missing when vengeance and a clue drove her out of this large, timber sanctuary. Home.

Every year on this day, the sun is relentlessly beautiful. No wonder, you think, now that you remember.

It's Ellie's birthday.

“Shit,” you curse, chewing at your guilty lip. “Is Ellie hiding out today as well? Haven't noticed her walking the thoroughfare at all.” Through the idle-talk, your hands find stray porcelain to retrieve and pile in the sink, scoffing at the liters of coffee that inevitably go cold in forgotten mugs.

“Do you notice anything working behind that counter?”

“Duh, dipshit,” you spout, back-talking him shamelessly, “I noticed you ambling towards the window earlier and knew my ears were in for a grating punishment.” Minding your eyes on nothing but the various plates you grab, the clutter clears fast. Like a damn robot.

He raises his hands in defense. “Hey, not my fault patrol’s been on cruise control this week.” With a part of the counter graciously tidied by your speedy work, he reclines in the barstool and claims that space with his lower legs, off to the side. Blissfully permission-less. “Can't say the same for here, though.”

You draw in a prefacing breath, tilting a cup at him. “You could if you hel—”

“No chance.”

“Fuck you, Jess,” you reply wielding a nickname given for occasions of defeat, little knives glaring from your eyes. “Thought this friendship had a no-questions-asked sort of thing. You've disgraced me.” Cueing that age-old love for drama, you gild the lily; mock a drama-queen. Hand to your heart and a pout to your mouth.

Hating Jesse is out of the picture, and hate is an easy pill to swallow. Sure, you two bark blank insults from time to time, but it's all in good humor. You just get each other too well. A hitch fated to click. A shoulder to violently sob into.

Jesse tuts at you, rolling a smug pair of eyes. “Yeah, yeah. Diners just aren't my thing, as infected aren't yours.” He reaches and grasps his mug of coffee that'd been basking there ever since you whipped up his usual, content in keeping his gob flat for the ‘noon.

And you're content in the casual peace and company. Always are. It coerces you to fulfill orders quicker, you would say. Here you stand, in perfect function, machine of the cogs.

That's how all days streak by here. A warm sun arises, and the hustle and bustle of human nature crowds every faded red booth in here, as your kin would have you sustain, and you sustain it fine enough. Even with the latching, mostly silent presence of your best bud Jesse to keep boredom a stranger and insanity a myth. Peckish lips, thirsty throats; everybody. All famished faces of Jackson, satisfied in the wake of your work. All, save one.

Ding!

At the entrance, you hear the jingle of the tiny, golden bell topping the door, and it doesn't intrigue you to investigate. Everyone is a frequenter, and you're basically omnipresent; sensing who it is and where they're routed to before they even sit. Call that perfect function.

Abruptly, the vintage magazine Jesse blankly browsed through is smacked back in place, and his throat clears. “First customer to break the hour-long streak. Let's see who—” he trails, and a dramatic pause thickens the air. Surprise loudly ensues. “Oh, ain't that funny. Look what fate dragged in.”

“Is it not a regular?” you ask, and at last perk your chin up. Intrigue clasps you now, as Jesse thought it atypical enough to point out.

Turns out, it isn't a regular at all.

Fate was a scary portrayal, as fate—and unfinished threads—would have you snuck into a corner and stranded for her to find. Plaid and blue, stood Ellie, lost as a doe in tangled woods, yet tall with purpose in front of that swinging glass door. From here, you notice her right arm supported in a white sling and twisted into her chest, right off the bat, as you did the night of return. Changes were made, obviously, sprigs of marker detailing the canvas-color of it, no doubt produced by those pesky kids in-town. Her tattoo is sorely invisible behind the bandages too; you've always liked that thing.

She's a bona-fide crush. A red-headed angel.

There and then, you recall why your heart reawoke into a prance that night she returned head to toe in dry, aged blood. You felt the revival of an inner-warmth, tracing fingers over the stitches in her back as she hunched in repressive quietude. Felt the moon evaporate off your skin, felt her wrist tensen in your palm as you dressed the wounds in hers. Felt the elusive moment staying became going, as it wasn't right.

You went straight home and threw right up, that very night. Her cold, marred skin was as deathly-like as the skin of a corpse. And you trailed your fingertips, all over it.

Strange. In a week, her flesh has been suppled of life. Hale, blushing and glowing as in younger days.

In your heart: a tremor. It reaches up every time you swallow, and blooms its beat, pounding at the pit of your throat. You don't feel real, you feel light, you feel fright. You feel the past, waking from a slumber in you, emerging breathless beyond the surface. So many things.

You feel fourteen again.

“Guess her ears were burning,” mumbled Jesse, polite enough to not transform your shared scrutiny into a scene, only so he could leave it in your hands. His head carefully turns, speaking softly, “You spoke to her at all, recently?”

“No,” a weighted breath departs you, and your shoulders repose. “Only the night she returned, while I tended to some of her travel wounds. Conversation wasn't easy to digest.” Shunning her very blatant presence, you pick your wash rag and begin again, foraging distraction.

“Bet not. Shit got hectic on the route Tommy picked,” he hums, and his eyes pursue once more to secretly follow her walking the opposite direction. Eyes you expectantly the second she slips into a booth. “Gonna take her order?”

You glower at his smug stare, knowing full well he intends to badger you into jumping the gun. Well, you're employed to do that, but, fuck fate! “Uh, duh? Di—”

“—Ipshit. Stop stalling.” He aims his hand, escorting you. “Birthday girl awaits.”

“Yeah, hold that smile. See what happens later.”

“Mhm.”

EXTRA SYRUP

Spectral hands suffocate your heart, and now your chest is tightened. Gut nervously sickened. There, she sits, seemingly absorbed by the air, and the sun that ripens with it. Thumbing at her nails, but not anxiously. Blowing at her lip, but not boredly. Hair dark ochre as the earth, yet fiery as the flaxen ray that pours into it. Tucked into a neat bun, as it was in December, January, and every paving year before. You like her hair that way.

She halved it up when Joel passed, and Seattle howled her name.

A lot about Ellie changed, really, but that is the perennial nature of water. Ellie is Neptune; a late-teenage girl experiencing a crucial shift into a new, individual season. Ones so seldom—they're cataclysmic, but temporary.

So much of her is eclipsed to the naked eye. Buried to make burrowing space for others. Just not you, it seems.

Every now and then, she glances as you intricately work your way over, a fist cupped to itself as if it alone safekeeps her deep and untold intentions; the warrant for sitting there. And you too, glance when her eyes smoothly retreat, dedicating pockets of this single, cherished minute to drink in little glimpses of her face. Trying to read her, read the shapes on her face if they indicate trouble, or truce. Last time you talked, you declared your resentment for being left worried and sleepless in Jackson.

Was it out of love?

Through the fair-haired light, that scar-heavy look on her features has noticeably abated, recapturing the tender warmth that gave her face the kind, puppy-browed ambiance you hesitated the world for. Gently laid brows, scarred the same as ever.

Those fucking freckles, too; a constellated map. Hidden miles and miles away for one sun and moon too many.

Not a mile bridges you both apart now, not anymore.

“Hey, Ellie,” you chime in, frail in respect of the one-mind conversation her idle stare partakes. Just her, and the spring sun. Sweet wheat skin is taken from its aerial shine as her head heeds your voice, a loose twine of auburn falling from place.

Your somber greeting fine-tuned the focus in her eyes, softening into a shape less spacious, more devoted.

And though away from underneath the boughs of sunlight, her eyes found a disembodied source. Dried moss, gleams into a violent sea glass, pupils taking in how you hold that notepad firm in thumbs and pointers.

For the first time in an age, you too, have changed.

The corners of her lips crease into her cheek. “Hey,” her reply mirrors the breathiness of yours, and her left arm low-arcs up to rest on the booth seat, body facing you head-on. Totally relaxed. “How come you didn't mention the job switch? Was lookin’ for you,” she asks curiously, a tinge of that sweet-talk peeking through her wide grin.

Now that you've stepped closer and garnered her attention, you can see and feel every notched nicety of her face on yours. You can only imagine how a swollen, sliced lip feels, and the continual migraines a fractured nose brings. Weeks of healing have swept by, but her afflictions in particular weren't petty.

“Guess it felt irrelevant to bring up when you got back. But you're here now, and you found me. So?” your tone edges on.

“Well, yeah,” she chuckles. “Did you not miss me?” She feigns offense; brows quirking and her tone pitching slightly.

You did.

A sigh starts in you, “Hard to not miss and worry for somebody when you picked up their slack in every patrol dating way back.” Barely nipping what you really felt with a snarky tease. “Oh shit, that rhymes,” you glance off and whisper to yourself, still loud enough to inspire mirth.

And it does; her forehead pinches and her voice rises in mirth, laughing casually and shifting in her seat to lean one elbow upon the table. “Ha— yeah,” she admits defeat. Ellie is undeniably cute when she does, always shrinks into herself and sinks into thoughtful conference, thinking of something—anything smart to knock you back into that corner. “Guess you're right. Hm, always were on my ass about that, huh?”

You tut, “Mhm. Missed my scolding in Seattle?” crossing a leg and bearing weight upon it.

“Nah,” she confesses briefly, and you barely believe it. Wringing in doubt at that sly smile she tries to conceal from you. “I learned my lesson this time.” Ellie glances up, a prayer written on her face asking you to hold your scolds. “Trust me.”

“Hurt enough this time?”

“Fuck you!” She punts you playfully in the ankle and begins a laugh again. “You’re not allowed to point that out!”

That was the way of things; Ellie would charge into a fight wearing her life on her chest, slackening the rules, and you had to reel her in. Tug the leash. It had you suspecting her to have a foolproof reason as her backbone, like she was daring the devil with eyes fearlessly open. Steadfast intent. She would lure runners to her, grapple them from you, or push you away beyond safety. Leave you to watch an animalistic vigor fill every bind in her body until you're convinced she’s either coming out bitten or scathingly torn.

You wish she saw how worrying she truly looked; a sweet face splattered hair to chin in the blood of infected, catching her breath and shaking the arm of the croaking infected she just slaughtered off her ankle. Being way too blithe-hearted for the sacred sake of everyone involved.

“Don't worry about me.”

One day, when she asked you with her solemn eyes to be afraid, you thought she finally trusted you to handle yourself past her overprotective nature. Then, one clicker got too close for comfort, and she retracted the pact of fighting equally. Losing more than what her blade owes the earth would prove her fears to be a product of her unsacrifice.

Ellie figured it was half the reason you quit patrol duty, but not that it was fully the reason you anguished over her leaving for Seattle later on; her appetite for violence.

She accepts it so easily. But even when you had sworn she had place in something as simple as retiring from patrol and nothing else, she smelt the sugary scent of a white lie. Joel did it before. She never accepted it under a gentle radar. Instead, it had her wondering if she had upset you, if you would forgive the crimson melodrama and still take her up on breakfasts at ten when she returned. Regardless if you painted the full picture in the end, apologies spilled alike to winded waters out of this girl; sorry that she still could not stomach you tagging along for vengeance. Never-ending sorries, and you lapped each one up. Brought gaping arms around her and absorbed all the ugly and hopeless sounds. You wanted to prove her fears wrong, but perhaps it was time fear let you be the lamb. Live and let live.

Then, Dina would step in, and Ellie would be wrapped around her finger in sudden laughter. Happy and unhurt. Couldn't even remember what occurred before her sun entered the room, and dried those tears.

Crimson melodrama is all you preserved when abandoned, and is all you could look at her with when in longing.

The winter dance had your guts up to your throat.

Seattle, inexplainable.

You don’t hate Dina; your envy lies with the disconnection of it all.

“What do you recommend?” she questions, and her eyes anticipate you to be the ultimate apocalyptic-dining expert. Locked and attentive. She then begins to shake her head in gesture, planting the menu down. "I don't— I don't usually go to these kinds of places, so.. What do you think?" she awkwardly giggles, tapping the menu's plastic sleeve.

Tension presses a smile onto your lips at her inelegance. "Nobody does, not even people who went to these places before the outbreak," you opine, swapping the notepad to one hand and sliding into the booth. "It's okay. I mean.. hmm, what do you prefer? Sweet or salty?"

Her eyelids flick down, fingers coming to lace together as her eyes traverse the options. "Uh, I guess I— wait, wait," she interrupts herself. A swift finger draws you to look down at the menu, "You guys make pancakes here?" green eyes gaping at you with pupils more voracious than her stomach—or her sweet tooth.

"Yeah."

"I'll have that then."

It was a steadfast verdict. The sweet honey pancakes, she shall have, at the cost of a couple minutes and a couple ingredients. But it isn't traditional for birthdays, so you weigh in. “Just pancakes? I mean.. Faye is back there if you want something a little more celebrator—”

“—I'm not really a blow-the-candles-out and make-a-wish type of person,” she corrects you, brows cinched in as she rambles. Then, her free hand scoots the menu forward. “But you already knew that, you just insist otherwise,” she chuckles, unable to meet eye and eye.

True. Your soft insistence dawns from wanting nothing less than heaven inside everything for her, and maybe a dash of that sweet-sweet crush on her. But, Ellie is so staunch in being the humble girl that doesn't glorify every recorded happening with string lights and a wish hurled into the uncaring universe bent upon nurturing demised, late lights young girls reach for. She kept everything low-key: a small garage get-together on her last birthday, the one before that, and the one predating those two. Alcohol in your palms and movies playing back to back. Budding distorted laughs and tumbles into each other. Birthday things.

The remnants of her fifteen-year-old mind hangs aimlessly inside that museum. Dangled and stretched into archaic bones. On the day of return, she arrived happier than a sunflower drunk on the sun. Broad smiles and whatever else.

Wasn't for long.

“Forget you're so down-to-earth and reserved about all the fun things,” you snarkily deliver, retiring that still empty notepad behind your back. Memory shall serve. “Will that be it then?”

“Are you saying I'm not fun?”

“I'm saying you need more of it.” You emphasize with a tiny bounce-up on your calves, tilting your head north. Though, nothing she uttered was wrong and so your voice silkily drones on, “And that.” You act the lack of a ruder way to insinuate. “But yeah, okay. One order of pancakes coming up.”

“Cool, I'll uh—have a 'celebratory' drink in the meantime?” She nudges the menu towards you once again, irises pulled thin on themselves. Thoroughly staring; your reflection in a bead of black.

You have to laugh, kindly laugh. “No alcohol here, dumbass.”

“Oh. Right.” Her doe-stare only crescendoed from there, shying away at the result of her asking. Something reluctant is lodged in her pale throat, stumbling out only when it feels imminent as you turn away. “D-Do you wanna chat, afterwards? There's so much bullshit surrounding Seattle I have to catch you up on and I-I didn't before, so.."

Swinging your head back, you gauge that mercurial girl there. Tripping up her request like it couldn't escape hibernation from her head any quicker than insult does.

Faye shouldn't mind. “'Course, I was left to wonder about everything since that night anyway.” Your boss might even encourage it; knowing that your long-standing crush for her—heartbreaking to fathom, beautiful to feel—never swept you from rambling Ellie into some fairytale, so she would use it to psych you into asking her out. Jesse, too. Damn the nosy ones!

But it's the one thing that keeps you worried now.

“Cool, cool. Oh, hey, add extra syrup will you?”

What does Ellie think of you?

“Mhm,” syrup is nowhere as sweet as your hum. “Got it.”

Does she think of you at all?

MOUTHS ALL-CONSUMING AND DEPRIVING

Minutes in, minutes out, wallowing at that ruby-red booth fed the realization to Ellie that the nerves feeding off her anxious chest could not combat conversation alone. She needed an aid. Liquid courage. Velvety smooth and robust.

Fortunately for betting gods and heaven-watching anyones, leftover whiskey from the last bonfire made stock in her cloistered, chaotic cabinets. So it founded no surprise that it whirled to mind after the celebratory-drink fact; leading you here, in her bedroom, on her bed. She pours whiskey into stubby glasses, One for her, one for you, and a lucky extra two for further along this unexplored line. Nothing overflowing limits.

But, oh boy, did it make you all lovey-dovey.

Her lips move and they dance over words, but all you hear is your own enamoration of how heart-shaped they are. You see, but fail to hear and comprehend. Floating aimlessly into those freckles, again. Something a fourteen-aged, sanguine mind would do.

Ellie was relaying Seattle to you, she prefaced. Prefacing didn’t aid you in paying attention, though. Today is not your sharpest, it dates to be your most absentminded. Not your usual, at all.

Nods are swayed to every shock-value word that you manage to understand, but the star-crossed rest, you miss, and replace with whatever story her pupils trace. They flit to read your face after each end of her sentences, so it has you thinking too much of her time has slipped without the company of a listener, and now that her time slips into you, she can use it to stretch your expression with whatever witty remark she makes.

She did one day blurt that your laugh compliments your smile—or however that fucking flirt threw it over the crackle of that bonfire.

In fact, when you begin to let parts of her body neck-down from her face distract you, only then do you decipher how much she has grown in a month.

She pitches her drink to sip, and your eyes are hot on that glassy trail, artistically concerned with the way she swills down whiskey: fluently gulped, throat bobbing, the scar on her lip licked clean. Her brows too, have thickened, much so as her leathered skin, her callouses. She traces her thigh in circles repeatedly—a fidgety habit—and her lips purse and tug and wrinkles hug and press said lips when they are prettily wide.

Every high noon or low point of her body was different, and you have missed a great many things you care too much about to not appreciate every brink and midst. You don't want her to be lost to otherworld winds without studying her presence harshly. She is in your scrutiny, now more than ever.

“So, do I get to see my pancakes yet, or?”

“Oh, oops.” You snap out of your woolgathering, wagging your head left to right. Then briskly as you assented her invitation, you slide your knees under you, reorganizing your seating. “Can't blame me for being so invested in your epic tales. Could totally be a comic narrator for the school in town.”

Ellie had already been sat skyward. Sprawled at one leg and tucked at the other, arm in her lap, where her whiskey is nestled. “Oh, sure,” she says with a sarcastic edge. “Those kids are a bunch of little shits. They would probably interrupt me with fart jokes or make actual fart sounds than sit still and pay attention for thirty minutes.”

“Hmm,” you hum, short and atonal, peeling the corner of the plastic lid back. “And who do you think taught them those terrible jokes, huh?”

Soft lids narrow together to sharpen her gaze; glaring at your clever comment, lips propped slightly open. “Terrible?” An offended, toothy smile pulls on her lips. All sentences she could possibly muster up come crashing into each other; an agglomeration, “I—They aren't bad jokes—and they're puns, really, so they're actually pretty fuckin' smart,” she boasts with brows raised. “And It isn't my fault that every annoying kid picked them up and started repeating them.”

It most certainly is her fault. Hell, even you catch yourself reciting them at the crest of nightfall, giggling into your palm. Although, why she's trying so rigorously to plead her pun-enjoying case to you, might just be funnier. “Are you seriously trying to explain puns to me?”

“God,” she surrenders in a chuckle, and bows her head to introduce another quick sip to her parched lips. Ellie then eyes you for a blank second thereafter, tugging the plump of her lower lip through her teeth. Like contemplation has her hindered.

Around you, the lungs of the garage’s foundation inhale, and exhale; creaking and settling.

She dashes a huff. “You basically asked,” Ellie reminds you, her tone and eye-roll implying obviousness. “Can I eat my pancakes now? M'hungry.” Her face sutures into a pseudo-frown and encloses herself to a crisscross, impatiently behaving.

Now, as for the pancakes. Fluffy, biscuit brown, star-shaped, bountifully rivered in unrestricted syrup, topped off by a definitely-melted, humbled ingot of butter. Needless to say, you're pleased by what boredom and intact cooking-books taught you, and she hasn't even seen them yet.

The ask for a carryout-container was already in order the moment you set pace for her table, because you wound up in a near-catastrophe as she sought you out around the kitchens like a lost pup and maundered right into you. Thank patrol for instincts; it's the one thing you held an undying clutch to. And the sweet pancakes you proudly plated, making refuge on the counters as you cross-examined Ellie in case you injured her arm more.

Lucky girl was all fine and peachy, of course.

She only knocked you two right into that near-injury mess to invite you here. Persuasion sat readily in her throat incase you questioned her motives—most of her ideas turning out to be a little friend-group antic, never anything serious or singular—but you agreed to it in double-time.

“Think you might just be one of those kids at this point.” You gingerly tweak the rim of the plate you kept the pancakes on and lift it outside the container, planting it between all four knees.

“Eh, you're not so innocent yourself,” Ellie contends before she even casts her first peek at the hillock of starry sweetness, totally taken aback when she does. “Holy shit,” she awes, just as if she were a young teen again, “Are you kidding me?”

Labor-intended nights never slip soft through the gaps of your fastened fingers, not even days where your work period is abridged, but hey, strange, space-brain girls are far beyond ordinary exception. Hell, Ellie is vital! Commemorating the red angel you worship in the patterned and soapy act of cooping up on her bed, toasting to the moonlight and letting her talk your ear off for old times' sake is your approach to telling her you love her.

“Know I'm not a pancake-connoisseur, but I gave it a unique whirl. Just for you.” You held a fork out, gracing her with first honors. “Don't blame me if it gives you a stomachache,” your forewarn is a doubtful one; in your mind, morningtime will arise with an extra punch to her gut.

Ellie, however, stares right into the baying eyes of a challenge, snatching the fork from you. "Hey, if it's good enough for my tongue, then it's good enough for ma' gut!" and promptly after exclaim, gashes and tears her fork into the sweet, airy texture of the pancake, popping it past her sweet, berried lips. “Mhh—and I will blame you. So you end up feeling sorry n'take care of me.”

God, whatever souls you would sell to spend paradisal afterlife with this fool. Talking with a gob flush of the birthday project you're humiliated to be proud of. You scoff, “Asshole,” lightheartedly scornful as can be, and it snaps something to mind. Head tilting eye-to-eye, “Dina wouldn't be the one to?” you ask, right after she swallows.

That particular question seemingly struck a chord as her brows cinched together, eyes dropping with allusion. “No,” she says meekly, soft in the sound, but you can tell it came up heavy. Shadowed by a sigh, and an untimely chuckle. “Do you want to know?” She throws on a shrug that ripples through her head, sending it to hang lopsidedly. As the stout willow grows.

“Guess so,” you agree temperately, not wanting to seem too eager—even though with this topic, you just might be. Camouflage those old, foul feelings of envy. “Did Seattle have you kicking more ass than just Wolves and infected? Couldn't have been a very romantic tr—”

“Dina's pregnant.”

Silence carves it's way after that. Thick, tense and unyielding. You had words lined up but like a shot in stark night they've just—vanished, sunk back into the chamber. Nothing prepared you to hear that, “Pregnant?” lowering a hand to your belly where you swear your heart has pummeled to.

Ellie glances up, once at your widened face and once at your hand. A bite of humor works it's way above her chin; smugly smirking. “God, don't tell me you're pregnant now too.”

“What? No!”

Damn idiot. Should punch her right in the—nevermind.

Ellie is way too quick to make serious things unserious. “You're a damn menace,” you unapprovingly giggle.

“Am I?” Amusement raises her brows, tearing into the pancake with her fork for another bite. “Cause you seem to like menace.”

You adjust onto propped elbows, “Do I?” playing all nonchalant. “I mean, what do you mean by that?” your voice dims, expending for the small space that separates you and her.

“Mhh,” she contemplates with a purring sound, and shrugs. “Dunno.” Ellie retreats those eyes downward where you won't compel her to smile. You can tell she battles the letch to look up again, which—as proven in her case—doesn't fucking work. She shoots up carefully, and it's a conflicted gaze this time. “Not with Dina anymore, though. That’s the other thing.”

And we're back.

Having reconciled the chance, you retrace. Look at her with somber concern. “Did something between the two of you happen?” It's a gentle question, reinforced by the bulletproof stare you offer her to unwind in.

The air in her voice softens, “Sort of,” and the meridians of your body then become easier to look at as she continues, wrinkles in her brows. “Said some things I shouldn't have, and we.. figured it best to leave it at that. For now.” her explanation sounds desolate and attemptless, like she has sat in shadow and vigil accepting this fact and has given up on hope. Crestfallen and quieter; this isn't like her. Bent at her wrist, dangling that glass above her crisscrossed lap like a sad child pokes at the food on their plate.

“For now?” You hate that you pry, but that sick greed in your gut from times before haunts with a hunger for knowledge. Your envy that is enlightenment. Still, you hesitate to seem nosy, wanting nothing than to possibly just console your friend in need. “What's holding you back from.. calling it quits? The pregnancy?” You crane your body upright slowly.

“Just still feelin' bad.” Her fingers begin a tap-dance at the glass' rim. “I'm an asshole.”

You duck at the neck, searching for her downcast eyes. “Come on, El. I've only ever seen you rant and rave at middle-aged grumpy men and infected, no way it was that bad.”

“You weren’t there,” she insists otherwise with an earnest voice, inciting a refreshed sigh as she swigs her whiskey.

“Well, what did you say?” You are relentless. No, normally you would not condone it, but tonight, tongues are loose and boundaries are blurry. You miss your happy girl. “I could talk to Dina, if it helps.”

“Wouldn’t change shit.”

“If you love her, you would try.” Even if it sickens you.

Ellie slots her drink in her lap, and grouches. “Dude.” She pinches the bridge of her nose and stifles a groan, frustrated. It draws out in words without proper footing, “It's weird. We just don't know what to say to each other—I don't know what to say to her, it.. it's just how it is—it was a mutual agreement. None of your business, really.”

Her own tongue is a very obvious byproduct of nerves, whiskey, stress, by and large a lot of things. Being goaded, definitely.

How it is, is how it will be.

“She broke up with me.”

You didn't mean to goad her, but curiosity—and a kiss of alcohol and envy—ate your refrain. The lack of any eye contact or movements to stray from you thereafter her word is telling enough. That it aches her head, and a cold, guilty sweat crosses over your skin. It was a stupid thing to blurt. You feel fucking stupid for even saying that.

Fuck.

Her dry sniffle is noisy on your shortcoming, and has you scrambling to think. “Sorry, just been worried for weeks.” But you shrink into a ball of abraded arms and legs, conserving yourself into a shy, spotted egg of curiosity that clads no hatching cracks to be convicted of. “Thought you two finally getting together would be the dream to end all dreams.” What the fuck do you know anyway?

Her eyes watch through you, into you like water; she notices, and the pancakes are slid to the side. Shuffles of fabric clamber closer as she eats the inches between you two, her breath brushing your forehead. “Hey, hey. I didn't mean anything by it. It's fuckin' great that I got somebody I can drink with and mope to. Really. Just been shitty all around—Tommy? Fuck, he's been the worst lately.”

Everything ascends in temperature once her hand plants on the side of your neck, every nerve petrifies; unheard-of touch. She can feel the gasped tension in your throat, thumbing the muscles down.

“Don't worry about it,” she says, and her saying that amuses you.

A moth-eaten phrase in particular is what was said. You scoff at it, plopping your legs back out. “Dude.” You bite a smile into your lips. Sucks that such a hackneyed thread of words does so; you're really chewing back the urge to call her any byname of dumbass, per usual. But damn that sincere face on her face that sweetens the teasing deal for you. You settle for low-hanging fruit. “You always say that, Ellie.”

“Ugh,” she seconded a scoff back at you, grimacing coyly. “Don't you start.” Ellie drags her hand off, not intending for it to land smack-dab on your thigh. It takes her a second to register the sound, the texture, slinking her hand behind her when you say nothing.

“Start what?” you stutter a laugh, bringing your thighs together.

“Nothin,”

“Don’t bullshit me, WIlliams.” To educe her, you dig your foot into her side, poking her. “Does it have anything to do with only me being here and not anybody else?” You lean into her.

Ellie does too, an exact mirror of you. “No..” The only thing that contrasted you, was her hand again, seeking what was left behind on your thigh. “Just wanted to see you first,” her lips barely move besides a slick smirk. Voice tiptoeing through the air, the noise-level two clandestine lovers live at, in secret song.

“You fuckin liar. No hang-outs for weeks before you left and suddenly you want to see me?” You call bull when she relucts to raise her hung head, witnessing the corners of her lip curl. Her head twists away more, and you spearhead the first, little move: tuck that irkful strand of auburn with a single finger. “C'mon.. what is it?”

“Stupid,” she blatantly spits, and at last confronts your face with her puckish one—glimpsing down, and up, and down. Watching her grip flex into your leg intermittently, chewing her lip. “Mhh, maybe 'm starting it.”

Ellie is heart-poundingly close; her breath is now yours to breathe. You whisper, “Maybe you are,” perking yourself right up to her cheek, unnoticing of the ardor her eyes spin over your face. Unsure where to stare. You pretend the pressure on your thigh flies under the radar, too, and that your heart isn't in the middle of a love-logged swell, and your cheeks aren't tender from smirking at the feeling of it perched there. Love-struck death befalls, if else confessed, so you tease, tease, and tease to stomach your excitement. “Maybe, you're stalling on those pancakes because they actually gave you a stomachache. You feeling good?”

Her bitten lips part, and the next sensations you feel—are transcendental.

Wisping whispers so hot, and intoxicating on your skin, you fail to catch her hand coming up from your thigh to clasp your face, or that hers has shifted in front of yours. She breathes out, “Won't you shut up already?” through lips pulled into a smirk, and rushes to press it fondly against your mouth.

You wince—somewhere between an electrified gasp and a reaction of delight—into the kiss she stole, and it only beckons her to starve more for you. The heat of her whiskey breath pours into your mouth, and you drape your eyes closed. Scoring these seconds by, she spends them concentratedly rolling the skin together, others pushing and shying from the kiss, until she stills and bleeds out the pressure in a slow, wet smack. Hazily eyeing you for a response.

Once you feel her no more, your eyes blurrily creak open, and the corners of her lips at soft upturn greet you. Single creases at either side, the few freckles above them outspread.

Judgement renounces you, leaving you with pathetic pickings for reply. You aren't sure what she wants—or needs you to say. “Ellie?” daintily, a mumble flows onto her lips, and is far from a frail sound of concern. Intrigue encapsulates you.

What does this mean?

You think you know, but self-reason has always proven itself to be naive and too eager to trust.

By cruel emotion, she misunderstands you. “Sorry,” she pants out breathlessly, blowing the shape of it into your cleft lips and hovering right upon. Her fingers gouge the fabric clothing your chest, mangling it into her fist—an attempting grasp. This proximity is all she could ever dream of. “Is this okay?” Yet, dreams always sever at the apotheosis. So when she comes in for the second kiss, she wants no more for dreaming; the reality she yawns with hunger into, is insurmountable.

A dewdrop of something cold dribbles between you. Tears.

In turn, you misunderstand her. Using your own stubbornness to create an enigma. To think, that out of the blue, all of this would transpire? After endless wishes unanswered? You doubt it.

You love her, but you refuse the reality of it happening upon you.

Separating from the plush, licked skin of her lips fleetingly, you speak. “Is this you being drunk?” Only to be drawn back in without her processing your words right away, and then drawn back out. Intricate intimacy.

“Please,” Ellie begs, “Answer me, before I feel like an asshole again,” and chuckles sobbingly before her teeth feel rapaciously empty, and cannot tolerate it any longer. Instinct, and teeth nip your bottom, vulnerable lip.

Neither of you could be totally drunk, having only drank a modest portion.

So this is raw.

Thinly pulled, she slowly stretches it across the air between, and watches it spring back beneath eyelids sunken low. The action entails nothing else for her to feed satisfaction from, already panting right in your mouth in search of more as soon as your tongue descries the answer. “More than okay,” you heave in a passioned breath along that all-consuming, deprived mouth. Your hand squeezes her fist confirmingly.

It quenches her lust to know, a hot-blooded, moaned and voiceless curse snapping into your mouth. “I fuckin' love you.” Her rage softens in meeker kisses, peppering them up to the corners of your lips until she pauses, and pulls herself away. Her eyes turn troubled and adrenaline-rushed. Stains of tears shimmer beneath, along new ones that begin to plunge, and for the first time ever, you know they're yours. But then the flesh between frowns, the mood shifting, and she croaks, “Am I.. an asshole?”

It breaks you to hear that.

You glare, and stammer, “W-What? You aren't.” Hooking dearly onto her wrist when her hand glides up to rest against your cheek. “Why?”

“Cause I sprung this on you, 'nd I don't wanna force you to..” Ellie cranks to a halt, mouth screwing shut like her thoughts were too much to bear hearing aloud. “Fuck,” she quietly spews, cowering her face near your neck.

“Said it was okay,” you coo, clarifyingly coo, raking your fingertips up and through the tied loops of her hair. “The only asshole thing you'd ever done was not let me come with you.”

“I know.” Her eyes search for uncomplicated plains. The sheets, her lap, your neck. A kiss is planted as she tips her head, the gust thereafter a warm reminder of her sorries.

“Thought you were going to die.” You awoken in violent patterns, cold nights restless in bed, tossing and turning. Waking and falling into daydreams of how Jackson would feel missing a cardinal component. A girl to rave against dying lights. Thorns scale your throat at the thought. “You're reckless, y'know?” you mean it as a gentle insult, chuckling as it leaves your lips, and sealing it into her scarred palm. Kissing reckless consequences.

Her lips loiter on the pulse of your throat. They drag, and they drag.. sloppily limping over your jaw as she makes her way to observe you in her palm, mumbling low, and gravelly, “How many times am I gonna have to say it?” Ellie deems it redundant to tell you that she knows again, resorting to her own little gentle insult, “Such a fuckin' sap.”

“Says you.”

Her hand is comfortingly warm; you aren't fain to break away. But her fingers are curious, thumb nearly making it into your mouth before she second-guesses herself, easing it at the verge of your lips instead.

A longing moment of Ellie staring at the way her thumb looks—a decoration to your mouth—passes, and she responds, “Still alive, aren't I?” to that loose thread of a plea you forgot you even said. It calls you right over, bidding you to look into her eyes again as space finds itself thinning again, her scratchy, band-aided nose caressing yours. “Dumbass.”

She chuckles into your mouth as you chuckle into hers, cutting yourself off with a kiss that ebbs, and flows. Suckles, and smacks, snaking her tongue in for a change. That sweet, sweet wheat. Saccharinity you can't explore anywhere else other than the outline of her mouth. And you—of grunted volitions in her chest—take exploration further, replacing the grasp of her shoulder with the coursing of fabric, sliding under the hem of her shirt and palming the skin there.

You feel her skin breathe, her belly breathe into your hand, and a content wrinkle pinch between her brows. Her skin, is as soft as nothingness.

“You're a dumbass.”

Air clings to your cheek as her hand reaches around you, pressing fingerprints into the base of your head as to prop you for her delightments. Ellie is no amateur, enjoying you as if she knew you were hers without explicit pledge.

“Sure, babe,” she scoffingly counters, and pulls her tongue out of you, lips messiy shining. She scouts you out; lays eyes on your expression with undertones of satisfaction and presses an appetent bite right back into your damp skin, grunting into the filthy kiss.

Your mind is one-pathed right now; in the most maddened form, you crave the story further down her throat. In that warm space, is air thinned and balmy with the scent of alcohol and syrup. In those whimpers, is the sincere confession she held tight in throatly gloaming, all those intimate times before. In all of your yearnings, your lips never parted for more.

Two holes that want to consume each other.

Weeping, wailing, tormenting in an empty forever.

“Fuck you, Ellie,” you cathartically sob into the humid cavern of her, a hint of wanton—and other repressed things, taking form. That hand under her shirt wanders from her navel and tweaks the button of her jeans, pressing your body against all of her like it hurt to be inside your own, singular body. Overcame by a need you could not chew out.

Ellie cuts the kiss, quick to soothe the movement with her hand pressing down and collecting yours. “Hey, hey, too fast,” she laughs, distancing herself and giving you those eyes that could see you were overstrung, hectic to go somewhere you aren't prepared for.

She loves you, but that means appreciating you enough to wait until time is perfect.

Her head cocks, “Let's take shit slow, huh?” fingers weaving into the pliant gaps of yours and pulling your fist dear to her chin, kissing it.

You speak over the repeated sounds of her smooches, “Yeah, sorry,” cringing slightly at how fucking cheesy the scene became. But, when is Ellie not? Wonder clasps you now; intent to know what this makes out of the two of you, having held your feelings for forever. “Well, what does all this mean, then?”

“It means..” Ellie slants her body even more, stealing your wrist along with her. Planning something, no doubt. “You and me, breakfast tomorrow at ten, Tipsy Bison?” Her mouth stuck to the side of your hand like syrup, so firm in not letting you go.

It makes your ears simmer hearing her shamelessly set up a date, of all things she could have said. God. You errantly laugh, totally not giddy when her mouth starts sprinkling up your arm at an alarming pace. “Sounds more than good—hey! You slow down!”

Happy birthday, asshole.

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izvmimi · 1 month ago

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cw: post archon war, current time period. reader is a goddess. a little melancholy. mature but no overt smut.

“You’ve never taken a lover, have you, Morax?”

You mean your voice to be light, and it is, breathy with the levity conferred by a profoundly good fuck, a warm flush to your complexion still representative of your lingering affection for him. His eyes, lidded shut in quiet contemplation, open languidly and he turns, golden eyes on you and gleaming, quick to sense the playfulness in your voice.

“In this manner, do you mean to mock my technique?” he asks. His voice is low, accompanied by a gentle squeeze of your loosely interlaced fingers.

You shift, pressing your legs together, and turning in his direction to face him. Your foreheads barely touch, and your lips remain just inches apart, as if they hadn’t connected frequently over the course of the night. He looks at them not hungrily but with tempered greed, like another kiss would be an overindulgence.

“I wouldn’t dare.”

He sighs, and chooses not to kiss you yet, but pulls you closer. You adjust, resting your head on his chest, your fingers untangling from each other so that you can gently tap them against his chest. A few moments pass, and then he’s quick to take your hand again in his palm, bringing the fingertips to his lips.

“But you do dare. I do now have to admit, I’m worried, that somehow you may not be satisfied with our time together.”

His voice is steady still and if he’s truly hurt and not just playing along with your joke, you won’t catch it. But he’s still handling you tenderly, and your desire for closeness persists. Throwing your knee over his waist is not enough; even the sensation of his body inside yours, filling you deeply, is not enough.

You’re not sure yet what you want.

“I enjoy our time together always.” Your reminder is sincere, sweetly delivered.

“I could enthuse you in other things,” Zhongli asks. His eyes are to the ceiling, while yours are on him. “There are many games I have yet to teach you, perhaps over wine or tea.”

The idea of losing a game that you don’t understand in a foreign land doesn’t particularly enthuse you quite at all, but of course, you are a guest. A well taken care of guest, in fact, and often you wonder how many friends he’s made to replace the ones he’s lost over the eons - even if you’ve remained a constant from back then, gods often struggle to keep close relationships whether it’s among themselves or with mortals. You consider that Zhongli at least appears to be well loved in this new era, even if he keeps an air of seriousness around him that may push others away.

You wonder if he’s doing this with anyone else.

“You’d have me taste osmanthus wine again?” you ask him.

“Why not?”

In a swift roll, you move so that you’re on top of him, and his arms rest around the base of your waist. Squishing his cheeks gently, then reveling in how his generally stoic countenance softens at your playfulness, you smile.

“I’m flattered. It’s been over a thousand years.”

Zhongli lets out a chuckle, pulling the covers to shield you from the cold of the early morning, the windows having remained open a crack to let out the smell of the incense you burned last night to pray for the dearly departed. It’s a tradition you’ve had with him for quite a while now, if only because it’s within your particular expertise to do so - that, and whatever this is, serving each other physically most of the night into the early morning and idle chat in the daytime.

It’s supposedly good for you, to expel that excess energy and to help him expel his, but sometimes you wonder.

“Zhongli.”

You use his mortal name sparingly, and it often catches his attention more readily than when you call him by his other name.

“Yes?” He is quick to respond, glowing amber oh so charitable to your thoughts.

How silly it is to call for his attention when he is right in front of you.

You take a deep breath, then blurt out, “I know you would call this divine cultivation but I have no desire for more power in any way, shape, or form. Plus, I am quite balanced spiritually at this stage of my existence.”

He pauses.

“I understand.” His hand finds its way to caress your cheek gently, and you try not to let it distract you from your next statement.

“And what if I suggested also, that potentially, you yourself, might have enough?” To this, he sighs, and lets his hand drop.

“You are not wrong.”

Your heart skips a beat and soon you can no longer look at him, pressing your head against his chest instead for this next question.

“So what do we call this?” You finally ask. You want him to call it love but you don’t ask for it, and you’re embarrassed to fish deeper, and yet…

Humans have sex - rather, make love - for pleasure. You would like to do the same, rather than pretend that there is some higher purpose to the way you make each other feel, some greater meaning to your cries and moans of pleasure.

You can feel the heave in his chest as he responds.

“Claiming a moment for myself… chasing a feeling does not end well for me.”

You look into his eyes again, let his words flow into you.

“No sooner than I claim something as my own, would it find its way far from me.”

You rise.

“Morax…”

You’ve called him by his old name again, and he laughs, but you are not laughing. Your face is warm and your heart pounds.

“Are you telling me that you care about me or not?”

The timing must be right again, because soon you are flipped under him, and he presses his lips against yours again, his hand cupping your face.

“I don’t control fate the way I would like to. Not anymore.”

You pull in a breath sharply, then whisper:

“A decision you made and can easily overturn.”

He shakes his head.

“A contract.”

Your arms wrap around his neck again.

“Anything can be renegotiated,” you remind him. Your lips graze again, and another sigh escapes the both of you.

“Not death,” he reminds you. He has you there. Your lips pull into a sad smile automatically.

“And thus in calling you my lover-” Zhongli continues.

“I did not ask you to call me your lover, I simply asked-” you start, shame sending flame through your body. He smiles before he interjects again.

“I run the risk of adding you to the list of things that exist to me only in memory.”

Your blood runs cold suddenly, and he finally pulls back from you, rising out of bed to stand.

“We should begin our day,” he states, matter-of-factly. His hair is tousled still, the long lengths contrasting sharply against pristine pale skin, and you watch him in naked form move across the room to close the windows, the simple action fulfilled with the fluidity and grace of someone who’s probably existed long before time itself. Still grand, still heavenly. While he is undoubtedly calm, your heart thumps in beat with the tempest of thoughts in your mind.

Zhongli loves you, and it’s obvious. To call you dear out loud to him is akin to marking you for loss. Are you comfortable being loved if it will only add to his pain? Must you claim more than just the moments shared between the two of you?

“Zhongli,” you start, as he is just about to walk out of the room. He stops abruptly, and turns in your direction. He doesn’t say a word, just waits for you to speak.

“I will not die,” you say out loud. You’re sitting up and perhaps now, you are the opposite of strength, looking painfully vulnerable in the way you’ve gathered soft sheets to cover your bosom, in sharp contrast to Zhongli who bothers not to hide anything, uncontested power personified.

For a moment, you can tell that he’s surprised by your declaration, and yet you press on.

“I will stay. Perhaps, if I want to, I will exist even long past you do. But I will stay in this realm, and I can be yours for eternity.”

You pause, so that your voice does not waver.

“You are allowed to love me.”

…

The early morning remains cold, but the birds begin to chirp their good mornings, and Zhongli speaks your name with greater tenderness than he ever has, as he makes love to you once more.

#zhongli x reader #morax x reader #rex lapis x reader #genshin impact x reader #daydreams: genshin #mimi's notes #zhongmi

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hana-ane · 14 days ago

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This poignant portrait was created by the talented and compassionate artist @tytolito who dedicated time and energy to shine a light on the profound struggles faced by those affected by war. The portrait captures the heart-wrenching emotions of a family devastated by conflict, where the children long for the day they can embrace their beloved father, Hashem, once more. Each brushstroke reflects their dreams of reunion and hope amidst the chaos that has torn their lives apart. This specific portrait is a tribute to a family separated by war, with the children’s sole wish being to reunite with their father.

Think of someone you love dearly. A family member, a partner, a friend, your son or your daughter . Someone who brings you joy, who you feel safe around, who makes you smile. Someone who makes your life better just by being in it.

Now, picture being separated from them, not just physically apart but also aware that they are in danger. Imagine the helplessness you would feel, missing them dearly while grappling with the fear that you may never see or hear from them again.

This heart-wrenching reality is what the Badr family is facing. The devastation caused by war has impacted countless lives, leaving so many relying on the kindness and compassion of others to survive. It’s a profound reminder of the strength of our connections and the importance of supporting one another in times of crisis.n. Not only being apart from them, but knowing they are in danger, and being helpless to do anything about it. Both missing your loved one, and living with the constant dread that you might never see or hear from them again. This is what the Badr family has been living through. The war has brought all sort of damage on people and their only way to survive it is by the kindness of other humans.

@dykesbat @fromjannah @nightowlssleep @writerqueenofjewels @girlinafairytale @kaapstadgirly @sayruq @maoistyuri @queerdaydreamz @gir-posting @lune-tic @the-ballerina-battle @from-the-river-to-the-sea @kibumkim @lookineedsleeps-art-blog @loserlesbianongsa @artificialcaretaker @hyperfixatingmenever@brokenbackmountain @doctor-a-snakeman @schoolhater @flower-tea-fairies @queerstudiesnatural @wolfythewitch @turian @turtletoria @ur-daily-inspiration @ibtisams @irhabiya @ot3 @olovelymoon-slow-answers @plomegranate @ashwantsafreepalestine @determinatenegation @good-old-gossip @lonniemachin @zigcarnivorous @cherifaouachani @vakarians-babe @blackpearlblast @baby-girl-aaron-dessner @neechees @neptunerings @mazzikah @memingursa @malcriada

#lol #fashion #healthylifestyle #gif #free palestine #vintage #landscape #mindfulness #peace #freedom

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nanenna · 3 days ago

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Meeting the Mayor

Sleepy King Master Post

Mayor Masters had left their little group waiting for far too long. It was clearly a power move, something Batman expected of someone like Lex Luthor, not the mayor of a small town that had been all but swallowed up by the nearby larger city. It was so predictable that he even started a mental countdown on when they would be allowed to meet Masters. He was, of course, right.

On entering the mayor’s office, Masters was sitting behind his desk, an oily smile spread across his face. He didn’t even stand to greet them. “Good afternoon, it’s not every day…” Masters trailed off as his face scrunched up. “Strawberry shortcake! Did some youths play a prank on you?”

Batman glanced briefly towards his fellow League members, they looked just as confused as he was. Diana squared her shoulders, “What do you mean?”

“You don’t…” Masters frowned as he looked them over, “Nevermind, my mistake. What did you want to discuss?” The man smiled brightly as he leaned over and pressed a button on a small desk fan, the blades whirred to life.

Diana smiled just as brightly and just as fakely as she sat down in front of his desk. “We’re here to make sure you’re aware of the resources the Justice League has made available to any municipal body.”

Constantine took his cue and lounged in the chair next to Diana while Batman chose to loom over her shoulder.

“Resources?” Masters asked with a raised brow.

“Yes, we understand that attacks on a “super villain” level can leave a lot of collateral damage that smaller cities may struggle to repair, especially those that haven’t had to deal with such things before. The Justice League provides aid to anyone who applies.”

“Ah, how generous!” Masters gave a smile that made Batman’s skin crawl. “But I’m sure even you have limited funds, would not they be better left to those truly in need? As you’ve seen, our little town is doing just fine without your help.”

“And how is that?” Batman asked. “There’ve been reports of numerous attacks over the last two years, where is Amity Park getting the resources to repair the damage?”

“Believe it or not, ghosts are incorporeal and thus don’t cause as much collateral damage. Also, the appearance of ghosts has caused a spike in tourists, which has been quite the boost to our economy. And lastly, as the mayor is it not my civic duty to support my town, which I love so dearly? Of course I’ve been supplementing Amity’s budget, and I’ve been making sure to hire only local businesses to keep Amity Park’s money inside Amity Park.”

Batman narrowed his eyes. He chose not to mention that Vlad had only moved to Amity Park shortly before running for mayor, or that he had bought and combined a few local construction companies and has been using them exclusively. Certainly everything about the man was suspicious, but that wasn’t what they were here to talk about. Instead he pulled several pamphlets from his utility belt. “While you’ve been lucky so far, it would be in your best interests to be fully aware of the resources available to you and your fine town in case something larger scale happens.” Not that it hadn’t already, he couldn’t imagine anything larger scale than the entire town and neighboring city getting pulled into another dimension by an undead tyrant king.

While Batman and Diana painstakingly went over the pamphlets with Masters, who’s smile wilted more and more the longer they took, Constantine kept muttering under his breath and making motions with his hands where Masters couldn’t see them, staring intensely at the mayor the whole time. Batman was curious what he was seeing.

The wall suddenly burst, small bits of plaster and wood showering over Masters and the cape Batman had used to shield himself and his fellow League members.

“Vladdie!” A familiar voice called boisterously, “You won’t believe what happened! Oh, I didn’t know you had guests.”

Masters was brushing debris from his person as he spoke with clear disdain, “Yes, well, if you would use the door as. I’ve. Asked! Numerous time. This whole situation could be avoided.”

“Hello again,” Dr. Jack Fenton said cheerfully with a little wave. “What are you doing visiting Vladdie?”

“We were just ensuring Mayor Masters was aware of all the JL resources available to him,” Batman said as he let his cap fall back around his body.

“Oh, that reminds me,” Diana said brightly. “We also have support available for minors doing hero work, you wouldn’t happen to be able to get in contact with Phantom, would you?”

Dr. Madeline Fenton, along with both their children, approached as Diana asked her question. Masters’s eyes trailed over to the group before focusing back on the League members. “No, I’m afraid not. He’s a ghost, you know. Likely he spends most of his time in the Ghost Zone, only comes here to play around with his ghost friends and cause collateral damage.”

“Hey!” Danny said indignantly. “Phantom is a hero who’s working really hard to keep the town safe!”

“Yes yes,” Masters said while waving his hand at the family. “I know you and all your little friends think Phantom hung the moon and stars. Wait, shouldn’t you two be at school?”

“There was an incident,” Jack said proudly.

Masters sighed, “It wouldn’t happen to have anything to do with these fine people, would it?” He waved at the League members as he spoke.

“Good guess, Vladdie!”

“I thought so.” Masters swept the pamphlets into his desk drawer. “Well thank you very much for your concern, I shall make sure to keep these in case we ever do need assistance. Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to contact someone about repairing my wall. Have a lovely day.” Masters stood and simply walked through the busted wall with the Fenton family.

Batman watched them leave through narrowed eyes.

“Not the oddest town I’ve been in,” Diana remarked thoughtfully.

Batman simply turned to look in Constantine’s direction.

“The mayor is also dead as a doornail, but fully alive.”

“He also clearly smelled your demon blood,” Batman added.

Constantine nodded. “I'm getting all kinds of odd readings off the mayor, no I'm not explaining it. Just know he's weird, but still not as weird as the kid, though he's close."

"Should we not follow them?" Diana asked.

"I put trackers and bugs on all of them," Batman replied.

"'Course you did, mate."

#dpxdc #danny phantom #dc comics #justice league #fanfic #nenna writes #fanfiction #sleepy king #i honestly have no idea what the endgame is #i'm pantseating this bitch!#no editing we die like danny

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darlingkikki · 13 days ago

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wait need a 141 scare actors x reader blurb

Synopsis: A horror night worker sees you and gives his men a task; make sure you leave smiling. Pairing: TF141!Scare Actors x GN!Reader (first meeting vibes so nothing too crazy but Kyle’s too great for me to keep it lowkey lmao) Word Count: 3.6k (I think) Warnings: negative self-talk, reader is very lonely (reasons up to you) a/n: Let me know if I missed any warnings or did not keep it gender-neutral and I will fix it <3. You gave me the green light and you will pay dearly for how badly I wish I were a better writer. Happy Halloween!

A man with an interesting mustache and beard combo greets you at the gates.

“Admission for one?” He asks, glancing over your shoulder to check that your friends or partner aren’t lagging.

The question pokes at the part inside of you that recoils into your shell when others notice how alone you are, the forever raw wound that no positive affirmations or small bouts with talk therapists have been able to scab over. It’s constantly bleeding, oozing thoughts in voices you both recognize and don’t. They cover a wide variety, though they lead back to you, a homing missile locked onto your actual self and not the warped beyond-recognition version they are about. The version no one who knows you sees. You’ve been told you’re actually not that bad; you’re still stuck on why they used the word actually in something meant to be complimentary.

One therapist (the one you felt could help, but they decided a job in another state was more important than your problems), said that the best way to combat these thoughts is to fight them, think louder and harder in the opposite direction, even if you think you’re lying to yourself. So, that’s what you did. You psyched yourself up in the mirror for the better part of an hour as you pulled on your costume and repeated to yourself that this was normal.

Why should an infamous horror night be such a big deal? People go out alone all the time.

“Yep,” you say with a forced smile. It’s enough, but it doesn’t feel like enough. So, you over-explain because your mouth never knows when to quit. “I love going to these alone, really puts me in the Halloween mood.”

The man tilts his head to one side, observing that slight pinch of your expression. Your voice is light and measured. And that smile. You’re performing. Everything about this is fake, everything about you is fake, a mask worn when the switch in your brain flips to ‘social interaction mode’, so strangers think of you in a certain way. You want him to know you’re not the least bit insecure about being alone. Not at all. The distant sounds of screaming and laughter inside the park don’t carve into you like an ice pick.

You’re not fooling him—no one can, as far as he’s concerned. He’s posted at the entrance for a reason, not because he’s grown too old to run around and scare people with grotesque makeup or prop weapons. He’s an assessor through and through. One brief conversation and he knows whether someone will be a good sport or one of those rude assholes that think it’s cool to scream back at the actors or posturing snobs who shit all over their efforts. You may be lying to him and yourself, but you won’t be a problem.

Something about you reminds him of someone. He draws the comparison only after you school your smile to a blank expression. You have smile lines around your mouth, evidence that the muscles aren’t under-used, he just wonders how many are genuine.

You’re still staring at him as he extends his hand towards you, palm up.

“Give it here,” he orders and gestures towards your own, which has been clutching the fabric of your costume as if you think it’s trying to escape.

You stretch out your fingers, persuading them to relax and hold out your clammy hand so he can press a stamp down on the back of it. The design glows a bright lavender when light catches it at a certain angle, indecipherable enough that you can’t figure out exactly what it says or depicts. You’re about to pull away when he stamps you again. You don’t ask why, assuming it’s because the first was too light or smudged. With a gentle parting squeeze, your hand is your own again. You start towards the exit as he’s stuffing the stamp back into his pocket.

He speaks again just as you’re about to be past his shoulder. His voice is soft but gritty like a smoker's. “You have yourself a hell of a night, alright?”

“Yes, Sir.” You curse yourself for your unnecessary use of the title as you make it past the entrance to the park. You don’t know why you called him that, but it makes more sense than it should. He has a natural ability to garner respect, you felt it even in that brief interaction. He chuckles, rough and deep, as he pulls his phone out to make do with his mission.

You take a break from screaming and scurrying away from zombies and slashers to do something fun.

And what’s more fun than blowing too much money on playing carnival games until you win one of the large plushies? It seems easy enough after the woman running the stand explains the game to you—until you’ve sunk twenty bucks into it and only manage one ring on a bottle. The others have bounced off and landed on the ground.

The stares of the wide-eyed plushies feel less like they’re cheering you on and more like they’re mocking you. Are you seriously playing a child’s game alone? And losing? Why? So you can win a dumb stuffed animal? You’ll leave here the same way you came and you deserve it.

There’s no way one is even worth the amount that you've lost so far. You’re ready to throw in the towel when you sense something behind you.

It shouldn’t be something that spells danger, not with the woman who has been pocketing your money standing just a few feet away, but your body seems to ignore that fact and react as though Michael Myers himself is lurking behind you.

You whirl around and your bones turn to ice when you find yourself face-to-chest with a tall, imposing figure. You’re too aghast to scream, mind-body connection severed, you’re left gaping up at the man like a fish out of water. He can’t have been there long, but you’ve been so caught up in the game that he could’ve been standing behind you the entire time.

The man does not react to your fear, just meets you with an uncomfortably realistic-looking skull mask and unblinking eyes. His posture is rigid, like one of the decorative scarecrows you saw near the entrance. His eyes rake over your body in a way that reminds you of an x-ray, lingering on something for a prolonged moment. Whatever he sees, it pushes him to speak to you.

“This one’s fuckin’ awful.”

His eyes crinkle at the corners, dark pools glinting with humor, but you’re too busy trying to calm your racing heart to respond. He’s used to people being afraid of him beyond the context of working at events like this, so he steps around you and picks up the pile of rings on the table. You press a trembling hand to your chest and take deep, pacifying breaths.

In and out, you tell yourself, over and over, until your heartbeat no longer resembles the sound of galloping horses. In the time it takes you to collect your bearings, he's thrown each ring over the tops of three bottles effortlessly. Anxiety dissolves into confusion, even more when he turns to you and then jerks his head towards the higher shelves, ignoring the slightly annoyed woman behind the counter. She was probably hoping you’d spend another couple of dollars.

“Oh.” Confusion melts into realization. Your lips curl upwards, but something still doesn’t feel right. He’d broken character to help you for seemingly no reason. “Thank you, but you didn’t need to-”

“Already did. Pick the one you want.”

His insistence is sharp but harmless equally. The prize is yours, so no use in trying to out-polite the man.

When you look back at the shelves, it’s with a radiant smile. Even though you hadn’t exactly won one yourself, the kindness of the skull-faced stranger was enough to silence your worries. The perfect one picks you before you pick it. There’s a lone skeleton with cutesy eyes and a squishy body surrounded by a sea of adorable plush pumpkins and black cats. You point to it and the woman behind the counter hands it over with a half-hearted “congrats”. The stranger in the mask smiles at your choice, though you’re not looking at him. When you’re done giving testing squeezes to the plushie, you turn to the man to thank him again, but he’s nowhere to be found, gone just as quietly as he’d appeared.

Sometime later, plushie in your arms, you find the line for a walk through the cornfield. It winds around plastic dividers like a snake, but what else can you expect from the major attraction when the night is in full swing? You join the line, picking at the white tag sewn into the leg of your plushie. There’s a couple in front of you dressed in matching costumes; they decide the wait is the perfect time to get reacquainted with one another. A worker ropes off the divider so no one else can enter and the distracted group of friends in front of the couple doesn’t notice or care about them, so no one else accompanies you in the awkwardness of listening to smacking lips and affectionate hums. Bitterness swells in your throat like you’ve swallowed a pill without water. Stroking the soft underbelly of your prize helps—somewhat. You think about the sweet, albeit intense, scare actor until the giggling couple with now identically smudged makeup walks hand-in-hand through the entrance.

There is little to no light inside of the field. The brightest thing is the moonlight, which makes walking down the dirt path between corn stalks an even more eerie experience. It’s almost peaceful, ignoring the creepy props lining the paths and the random actors hidden in the stalks itching to grab at your ankles or jump out at you (three have accosted you so far). And soon to be a fourth as corn rustles in front of you, leaf blades bouncing off each other harsher than when skimmed by the wind.

Another couple of steps and a man in a bloody burlap sack-like mask pops out with outstretched arms and a loud “boo” to top it all off—you yelp, nearly dropping your plushie on the ground.

The man responds with a laugh, infectious and warm, before tugging off his mask. Odd, you think, because none of the other actors had prolonged the interaction after leaving you short of breath. Well, none but one.

“I’m Kyle,” he introduces himself, flashing a disarming smile. It’s dazzling, you almost miss him holding out a hand. “Sorry for…you know, just doin’ my job and all.”

Without the disturbing mask, he’s quite pretty, the kind that makes you immediately comply and give him both your right hand and name. Your stamps glow under the moonlight, and he sighs in relief, shoulders relaxing. He thought you’d have left by now.

“Nice meeting you,” he says, bowing at the waist.

He’s prince-levels of charming, much too relaxed for the environment. His costume is more normal than scary without the mask, just a deep red tunic and dark-wash jeans. You can make out small bits of hay stuck to his hair and clothes. It makes for a dorky and cute visual.

He does not slink back into the corn as the actors before him did. Instead, he straightens, making a face at the stuffed animal you’re holding.

“You win that for yourself?”

“Tried to, but one of the actors ended up helping me, actually.”

He quirks a brow. “You pick it because it looks like him?”

You don’t know how he guessed so quickly, but you nod, sheepish that he’d caught you clutching it so protectively, like you were holding a dear gift from a loved one.

It’s just a stupid toy a stranger won for you. Won for you. You hold it tighter.

Kyle shakes his head, muttering “smart bastard” under his breath and then his eyes are on you. He has that deep shade of brown that’s impossible to say no to.

“The way to the exit can be a bit borin’,” he explains, his lips pursed in thought. “You alright with some company?”

And now you’re even more confused. Was he even allowed to? And why would he care if you’re bored?

“Will you get in trouble?” You ask, glancing towards the quiet path, trying to gauge how long you’d be pulling him away from his job. From what he’s saying, you can assume the exit is near, but you can’t see it from here.

“Nah, you were the last one coming through, so I’m free to roam,” he shrugs, stepping out of your way so you can walk side-by-side.

You soon discover Kyle is even more of a gem than you’d initially realized. He's more than just a beautiful person to look at, he’s funny, and more friendly with you than strangers ought to be. He asks about you. You don’t know what to say at points, but he doesn’t seem to mind. When your voice wavers or your tongue fumbles, he’s patient. He’s genuinely interested, actually listening, and those pools of brown are as distracting as you thought because soon you’re walking underneath the cobweb-decorated archway signaling the end of the walk.

Your heart clenches. You’re not ready for your night to be over. You’re not prepared for your time with Kyle to be over, to face that tonight has been one of the few times you’ve been the target of considerate treatment and could very well be the only time.

You miss the reflected disappointment in his features because a harsh sound cuts through the air, similar to the rev of a car engine. Then it happens again, just as cacophonic followed by maniacal laughter, and a large man barrels through the corn so quickly you scream and nearly fall over into Kyle’s arms.

“Fuckin’ hell ‘Tavish, you nearly killed my new friend here,” Kyle laughs, patting you on the back. Reassurance. You’re in no danger.

The chainsaw wielder lets the act go rather quickly, lowering it to the ground and regarding you with a mischievous grin.

“Just doin’ my job,”—the man waves off the accusation—“Not my fault Price chose a screamer.”

You squint at the man who’d nearly given you a heart attack. Price chose you? Who’s Price? Kyle claps the man on the back of the head. They interact as old friends, brothers.

“Sorry,” Kyle turns to you, apologetic. “Should’ve warned you about the main event. Got a bit distracted.”

In fairness, you were too. You don’t mention that it was because of his eyes..

“Apology accepted,” you say, “Though your friend is on thin ice.”

“Me?” The man in question scoffs like you’ve accused him of a grave sin. His lips press together to keep his laughter at bay, though he’s got about as much tact as the hair on his head, which is shaved on both sides, leaving a strip of hair down the middle. He’s cocky, you can sense that. Cocky people are to you what salt is to a snail, though Kyle doesn’t seem the type to surround himself with the bad kind, so you try not to curl in on yourself.

“Not jus’ his friend,” he says, sending you a wink, “I’m John, Johnny if yer feelin’ brave.”

Kyle rolls his eyes and nudges you with his shoulder to get you walking towards the park exit, a straight shot from the cornfield. “Come on, we don’t need to take this.”

“You scared me too,” you remind him as Johnny takes up the space on your left side, “Don’t think I forgot about that.”

He snorts, “Touche.”

“A screamer an’ not afraid to knock you down a peg,” Johnny notes, “I like ‘em already.” He hasn’t stopped staring at the side of your face. You wipe your hand across your cheek in case something is on it.

The walk through the park is quiet, save for Johnny and Kyle throwing friendly jabs at one another. Most people have already left; the last few actors send looks in your direction and carnival game runners are shutting off their lights and closing down for the night.

“You have fun tonight?” Johnny asks you once the parking lot comes into view. Only a handful of clusters of cars remained in contrast to when you’d arrived.

The most fun you’ve had in a while. You’ve grown used to that heavy chunk of loneliness sitting in your chest like a rock. You drag it around behind you, a life sentence. Let it tether to your emotions and bog them down, anchoring your feet in some instances and letting the ground swallow you whole in others. You’re going home with a small part carved out. A crevice where something less bitter and more sweet can wedge itself in and find a home, spreading far and wide if you’re lucky.

The two exchange toothy grins when you respond positively, a cheerful smile cracking your face open for them to see. The look withholds a meaning that you aren’t privy to. Price was right, as always. A special someone deserved more smiles tonight, and they’d accomplished their mission.

“Found you any earlier an’ I would’ve won you one of those too,”—Johnny gestures to your plushie—“Ah’ve got an arm on me, a mean one when it comes to the bottle toss.”

Kyle and you roll your eyes. You assume the people in his life have grown quite comfortable doing so. Your initial descriptor of cocky was accurate, but he’s endearingly cocky in a way that doesn’t put you off too much.

“Watch it, the big guy will take your head off,” Kyle warns.

“He’s not even here. I can say wha’ I want.”

“He’s right behind you.”

“Nah, he’s—” Johnny spins around and gasps, similar to how you’d reacted earlier, though he is a bit more dramatic. “Steamin’ Jesus, where’d you come from?”

You turn as well, hoping it’s who you’re thinking, and it is. The man who’d won you the plushie you’re holding.

He looks at you in the same way as before, though his imposing figure seems more relaxed than it had been. You presume these men are all friends. They seem comfortable enough around each other to be.

“Price wants to see us,” he says, his deep voice rolling from his chest the way water does over the smoothed rock on the bank of a river. You can hear it much clearer now that your heartbeat isn’t thrumming in your ears.

“Can it wait?” Kyle glances towards you. “Wanted to make sure they made it out alright.”

Another chip at that loneliness, but you don’t want to jeopardize anything with him and Price—who you assume is his boss—even if you’d prefer he continues lessening the weight holding you down beneath your rib cage.

“You’ve done enough, Kyle,” you say, pointing behind you with your free hand, “I can see my car from here, anyway. I’ll be fine.”

“We cannae let ‘em go without makin’ sure, Simon,” Johnny insists, echoing Kyle’s sentiment and steamrolling over your assurance.

Simon, finally a name for the face, or at least the parts of it you can see. Kyle and Johnny had shed their costumes, yet he wears his like a second skin. His stiff demeanor from earlier seems more of a costume than anything he’s wearing.

Simon glances over your shoulder to where you’d pointed, dark eyes impossible to read. Johnny turns up the dial on his charm. At least that’s what you think he’s doing when he gives Simon a wide-eyed, puppy-like expression, pressing his palms together in front of his face and tipping his head forward. The picture would be complete if he sunk onto his knees with a bible in his hands.

He has the energy of the youngest son in the family. The visual brings a laugh tumbling from your lips and Simon relents, shoving his hands in his pockets.

“Go on then, we’ll watch from here.”

So you do, waving at the group, who murmur their goodbyes, and then walking to your car.

You walk slower than you need to, relishing in the experience of people wanting to ensure you made it anywhere safe. It’s a luxury. You strive for it like people dream about vacationing or owning a house. Unfortunately, time stands still for no one.

Chancing a look at the group of men as you climb into the driver’s seat, you find six pairs of eyes. Kyle smiles broadly, you get another wink and smirk from Johnny, and Simon blinks at you from behind his mask. You barely know them and yet their reactions are all so distinctly them. You beam, holding up the plush skeleton and waving one last time like an Olympic athlete holding up their medals before resting it on the passenger's seat.

Alone again, you push your key into the ignition and your car comes to life. The dashboard bathes everything in a golden glow. Come morning, when you’re bathed in a similar hue by the rising sun, you’ll think about this night. You’ll think about them, each of them, and you’ll wonder. Hugging your prize from the night, you will implant the memory into the grooves of your brain, where it can sit safe and snug, just as looked after as you’d been. You’ll wonder if any of them will end up in your life again, and hope the answer to that question is ‘yes’.

#simon riley x reader #john price x reader #john mactavish x reader #kyle garrick x reader #tf141 x reader #dividers by saradika #simon ghost riley #john soap mactavish #john price #kyle gaz garrick #fluff #cod x reader

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singmyaubade · 1 year ago

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No Longer Yours

James Potter x Female!Reader

A/N: Hello everyone! Now, I know I took so long to post this part but I wanted to think out everything and understand the direction of where the story is going! Thank you to everyone who was understanding and continued supporting me and this story, thank you so much!

IB: In The Cold November Rain by @sweetsweetjellybean (This is truly amazing guys and what truly inspired this entire series so please check it out!)

Summary: James had disregarded you for multiple years, but when you have an epiphany in your final year, how does it feel to taste his own medicine?

Warning: It may contain swearing, use of weed, and soon-to-be smut.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

The fresh sunlight peaked through the curtains in your room right onto your face as you squinted. Nothing like a beam of light hitting your face after three days of avoiding the Potter family.

You hadn't left your room and Dot kept appearing, asking if you needed anything and would give you dinner when it was time. You knew Euphemia was up to this but she wanted to give you your space which you respected.

You loved Euphemia dearly but you didn't know how to face her or what to say about everything. In all honesty, you were a bit embarrassed about the whole thing.

You wanted to go home badly but your Father was still sick and your Mom had to stay with him so it was with the Potters for Christmas which was a tragedy within itself.

You had asked your Mom if you could just go next door and stay there alone but she considered it rude and the Potters would still have to check up on you so it was easier if you stayed with them.

You just couldn't stop thinking about everything which was more painful.

You never felt like you acted obsessive when it came to James but hearing his words in your heard,

"I couldn't get away from you, and the only time I could was when I dated Lily; it was the best months of my life,"

The words echoed in your head during the last three days. You knew you were an amazing friend to James and always thought about his needs and comforted him.

And he had the audacity to say such cruel words when all you had been was kind and caring towards him.

Not only did it anger you but you felt humiliated that you could care for such a hateful and disgusting person.

He hadn't even tried to approach you about the situation, he just continued to live in the same house with you without such of a word.

The only one who did try to talk to you was Sirius and even when you tried to ignore him, he refused it and to admit, he was hard to ignore.

"Oh Y/N!" Sirius sang loudly outside of your door, "I know you can hear me!" You clutched your pillow over your ears to drown him out, "If you don't let me in, I'm gonna tell everyone what I saw you do in the girls bathroom sixth year," He said, urging you to the door as it swung open.

You glared at him while he had a grin on his face as he stepped inside your room, "Wow, Mom really set you up with the perks," He looked around in atonishment.

"What do you want?" You said sincerely.

"How are you?" He nervously asked, scratching the back of his head.

You scoffed, "Peachy,"

His face frowned, "I know you don't want to hear about James-" He started.

You cut him off, "Ding ding! I don't," You replied, laying on your bed as Sirius sighed.

"Prongs is a dickhead," Sirius started, earning a nod from you, "But he's trying to turn the love he has for you into hate," He explained as you looked off to the window, "So that he won't miss you but he does dearly," Sirius pleaded.

"Why can't he be the one to be mature?" You asked lightly, "Why does everyone always have to speak for him and excuse his poor behavior?" You exhaled, crossing your arms over your silk nightgown.

"James will never deserve you," Sirius answered, "But I do think a serious conversation is needed without the dramatics,"

You knew that you agreed that you needed to have a conversation with James to put an end to all the bullshit and to just finally be done but you didn't know what to say or how to start it.

"The only reason he hasn't tried talking to you is because he knows you will see how he truly feels and who you've always known," Sirius spoke, "It's up to you but I know that whatever you decide will be the best option," He gave you a reassuring smile.

You looked at him, smiling back, "When did you become so wise?" You asked.

He shrugged, "I'm afraid I've gotten fed up of James and gotten bored," He snickered as you giggled, "I'll see you," He said, kissing your forehead lightly as you nodded before he exited the room.

James didn't deserve you and he probably never would but you remembered that young boy who had been your friend for all of those years.

You couldn't excuse James's actions but you could find it in your heart to give him the much dreaded conversation that has been waiting to happen.

And despite hating him more than you ever have in your life, you had to find it in you to at least explain your feelings.

A knock on your door interrupted your thoughts, "Sirius?" You asked confused as the door swung open.

You were surprised to see your four best friends at the door, smiling at you.

"Ew why was that your first guess?" Marlene questioned disgusted as your face glowed in excitement, racing over to your four best friends at the door.

You embraced them all in a tight hug as you pulled back, "What are you guys doing here?" You gleamed in excitement.

"Well, we heard about what happened from Sirius and Euphemia suggested that we come," Dorcas answered.

"And well, we couldn't say no," Mary added.

"But what about Christmas with your families?" You asked, frowning at the fact that they won't spend Christmas with their families.

"It's just one Christmas and I'm sure Petunia will have a better Christmas without me," Lily giggled as you gave her a soft smile.

"Well I can't say it's that merry here," You said, sitting on your bed as they all walked in and Dorcas started admiring the bookshelf in the corner.

Lily sat down next to you as Mary and Marlene shared the chair across from you and Lily, "How about we actually have one day to celebrate your birthday instead of focusing on James?" Lily comforted.

"It's never one of those days," You sighed.

"But it can be," Dorcas smirked, holding up candies.

"Candy?" Mary asked with a snort.

Dorcas rolled her eyes, "No you idiot, there's weed inside them," She whispered.

Your mouth agaped, "Where did you even get that?" You asked.

"Remus is one hell of a dealer," Dorcas replied, grinning ear to ear.

"I don't know about that," Lily said, swallowing.

"You did say that you wanted to celebrate Y/N's birthday," Marlene replied with a smart-ass tone.

"That is not what I meant and you know it," Lily argued.

"We don't have to do it Lils," You smiled, kissing her lightly on the cheek.

"Yes my sweet Lily flower," Marlene walked over, pinching Lily's cheek, "Let's not prevent you from blooming," She snickered.

Lily stared daggers into Marlene, "You know what, just to prove you wrong McKinnon," Lily replied, walking over to Dorcas and snatching the bag from her.

"Wait a second!" Dorcas softly shouted before Lily ate two of the candies.

Lily's face contorted into disgust and then a gulp before shaking her head, trying to shake off the flavor.

"Is that safe?" You asked, walking over to Lily and checking her eyes.

"Yeah but it just means she's gonna fucked out of her mind," Mary snorted.

"Lily, you are the one who tells us to never fall for Marlene's tatics yet you do this!" Dorcas said, sitting Lily down.

"I feel fine!" Lily persisted.

"For now," Marlene snickered.

You glared at Marlene as she put her hands defensively, "Well if we wanna follows Lily lead," Mary said, eating two like Lily did.

"Count me in!" Marlene cheered, eating two straight after.

"Should we?" Dorcas asked as you shrugged your shoulders and took two as Dorcas did the same.

You both ate the candies and your face contorted the same Lily's did. It tasted like a bitter, earthy taste as if you were chewing cannabis.

"And now we wait," Marlene said, plopping down.

You yawned as Marlene exasperated, "I don't feel anything!"

"Well duh you idiot, it takes a little bit," Mary chortled, continuing to lay down on the carpet of the living room next to LIly.

"You did insist we move downstairs because you thought the aroma of Y/N's room was ruining it," Dorcas snorted.

Marlene crossed her arms, "It seemed right at the time," She pouted, sitting down in the big armchair.

"Maybe we should've took more," Mary suggested.

And that's when everything took a turn for the worst.

You felt like you couldn't fully think straight and you had this sweet, bitter taste in your mouth. You felt relaxed like a huge weight had been lifted in your shoulders and you could be alone in your own thoughts.

"Took more?" Lily giggled.

"Yeah duh," Mary said, giggling too.

"Duh," Dorcas repeated as you all laughed uncontrollably.

"Stop, I can't breathe," You horrendously laughed, holding your stomach in your hands.

"Guys, I'm gonna pee myself!" Marlene cried out, rocking back and forth laughing in the chair.

"Guys, we are so loud," Lily whispered, shushing all of you while uncontrollably laughing.

You felt like you were gonna explode, "You're right, you're right," You whispered, trying to calm down.

"Okay guys silent game," Dorcas shushed, covering her hand over her mouth.

Suddenly Sirius walked in with a confused grin on his face on why you all were whispering and trying to be silent, "What are you guys bloody doing?" He asked which made you all break.

You all bursted out into outrageous laughs while holding your stomach's, trying not to explode. James walked downstairs with a confused smile on his face as he watched the scene in front of them.

"What's up with them?" James asked, the corner of his mouth upturning.

"No idea," Sirius shrugged, walking into the dining hall as James followed him.

"Girls," Euphemia appeared from the dining hall as you all tried to shush yourselves, "Come into the hall for dinner," She gave a comforting smile.

'Shit.' You mentally thought.

Lily was the first one to rise up, looking at the rest of you with a worried look on her face. You stood up, trying to inhale the next laughing round.

You walked towards the dining hall as you could hear the girls behind you, whispering and saying to "act normal."

You sat down next to James as his face was mentally confused on why you had made that decision in the first place.

You felt like your eyes fluttering close as you laid your head on James's shoulder. You could feel him shift uncomfortably but let it happen without questioning you.

Euphemia saw the state in front of her in utter shock, "Y/N, are you okay dear?" She asked, worried.

You didn't want her to suspect that you had taken anything or were under the influence,

So all you had to do was act normal.

How hard could it be?

You straightened yourself on your chair, taking your head off of James, "I'm fine!" You said, louder than you wanted to, earning a worried look from James, Sirius, Fleamont, and Euphemia, "I just didn't get a lot of sleep last night," You cleared your throat.

"I'm sorry to hear that dear, do you need any potions?" Euphemia asked.

"No, no, that's okay," You smiled as she returned one back but still looked worried.

"James, can you grab me a piece of that chicken and some potatoes?" You asked, looking up at him as his eyes showed visible shock.

He hesitated before grabbing a piece of the chicken using a fork and knife and placing it on your plate and grabbing the spoon to put potatoes on the plate. You muttered a 'thanks' before digging into the chicken and potatoes.

You weren't the only one because the rest of the girls were doing the same. Sirius, Fleamont, Euphemia, and James all had shocked expressions, wondering if you guys were wolves.

Fleamont whispered something to Euphemia as she assured him that you guys were fine even if it didn't look like it.

"Y/N, are you okay?" James whispered into your ear.

You smiled, "I'm fine James, how are you?" You asked before stifling a laugh.

"Are you blazed?" He asked with a scoff.

"Shh," You laughed while shushing, "Don't tell Mom,"

"Bloody hell," James replied, trying not to laugh at the situation, "Okay, try to follow my lead," He whispered before standing, "Mum, Y/N is not feeling well, I'm gonna take her to lay down," He said, helping you stand up by grabbing your waist.

"Do you want me to come with?" Euphemia asked, rising up.

"No, no, it's fine," James stopped her, "She just needs to rest,"

Euphemia nodded, "Okay well, feel better dear," Euphemia smiled as James began walking you and you squeezed Euphemia's shoulder in a 'thank you,'

James whispered a few things that you couldn't make out while taking you up the stairs, helping you on each step. You almost tripped over a step as James grabbed your waist, leading you up the stairs.

You laughed obnoxiously as you went from room to room, trying to get to your own. James could only try not to laugh and be the serious one in the moment.

He was leading you to your room but you placed your hands on the door frame, stopping him, "No, your room," You frowned.

"Y/N, you need to sleep in your bed," James insisted, trying not to laugh.

"Jamesie, pleaseeee," You pleaded as he couldn't force you through the door frame and gave up.

"Okay," James sighed, "Come on," He didn’t want to see the sad look on your face any longer so he had to cave.

You cheered gleefully as James leaded you to his room, carefully helping you step towards his bed before laying you on the bed.

You looked up at him with a smile as he blushed, "I'm gonna go back downstairs and then I'll sleep in your room," He said, moving to leave.

"Wait!" You yelled, raising up, "Lay with me," You looked at him in the eyes as you looked at him back.

His mouth agaped, "Y/N, I don't know if this is a good idea," He replied.

"We aren't doing anything, I just want you to lay with me," You said, pleading with your eyes.

He walked over to the other side of you, laying up on the headboard as you moved your head to his chest, snuggling into him. His heart was beating faster than you ever could have felt it beat.

"Why are you so mean to me?" You asked, frowning into his chest.

He ran his hands through your hair, "Because I don't know what else to do," He whispered, slowing his strokes down, "I really am sorry Y/N, I don't know if you can forgive me,"

"Just talk to me," You said sadly in his chest.

"When you are sober, I will," He chuckled.

"Promise?" You asked.

"Promise," He said as your eyes fluttered close, sleeping into his chest, "I promise Y/N," He whispered, kissing your head before closing his eyes too.

A/N: For one, I am so sorry for how long this chapter has taken. Number two, this was based on my experience of being high so guys, please don't hate and say this isn't the right experience! This chapter was not that long and not very angst filled but I know my plan! Again, if you hated this, I apologize and thank you so much for reading.

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saylorsaysstop · 10 months ago

Text

Sleeping Together | 18+

also shout out to @joyful-enchantress because after she commented on my Grayson post earlier, this all came to my mind. 🤪

**underneath the cut**

DICK GRAYSON

Dick talks you through it. He wants you to be vocal and makes it his top priority that your needs are met first

"Tell me what you need, baby." - "That's it, just like that, baby. You're close, aren't ya? Yeah, look at you. Come on, grind a little harder. I know you can do it."

Giving head is a sport for Grayson and he excels at it. He eats you out like you're his last meal

The man is an acrobat. He's flexible. All the positions he can get the two of you in should be new entries in the Kama Sutra

Dick loveeeees head in return. He won't ever make you do it or ask, but he loves that you're so eager to pleasure him

"I've been good, haven't I? No other reason to explain why you're gifting me that hot mouth of yours, sweet girl."

Dick isn't afraid to moan either. He knows when the noises start coming out of his mouth, you get off quicker

Let's go back to that acrobatic thing. He may or may not figure out ways to suspend you in the air... He may or may not be such a kinky man that he's got a separate room in your house where he plays sports with you... I'm not admitting it, I'm just saying

Loves for you to suck him off when your head hanging off the edge of the bed. He also loves to eat you out simultaneously

Dick Grayson is a boob man. Both hands on deck, he squeezes and teases your nipples by plucking them between his fingers. Loves to suck on them until they're stiff peaks. Likes to push two fingers into you while he bites your nipple, stroking until he hits that sweet spot. You're a goner after that

Loves for you to take what you want

"Atta girl, ride it just like that. This dick belongs to you, right? Act like it. Pleasure yourself... Yeah, go ahead and play with your clit. Wanna see you come. You're so pretty when you do."

Dick treasures loving on you after sex. He rewards you for your good behavior and a job well done with baths, massages, you name it. He ensures you're taken care of and reminds you that he loves you dearly

JASON TODD

Jason likes it rough. He loves it when he sees your marks on him, whether it be teeth or nails. He collects each one like it is a kill

Ropes? Knife play? Any sort of bondage? Jason Todd is your man

Loves to bind your hands above your head while he rails you deep into the mattress. Loves the idea of you being helpless and unable to take it anymore. Gets him off real quick

Loves some dirty talk

"Take this dick like a good girl." - "You're soaking wet, babe. All this for me?" - "Not gonna waste a drop of this cum, you hear me? You won't let a drop leak outta this cunt - my cunt. You got that?"

Jason likes to get right by your ear while he grunts with each thrust, nipping your earlobe in between before trailing his tongue down your neck and sucking on your collarbone

"Gonna mark this pretty neck up, baby."

You two go at each other until you're a panting mess. Clothes strewn all over the place. Jason and you stare up at the ceiling, laughing like teenagers as you calm down from the high

"I think that was my new personal best. Ten orgasms. Ten!"

Yeah. Jason likes to place bets on who can give the other more orgasms in one night. Right now, he's winning

Jason loves your butt. Loves to slap your cheeks as he bends you over his lap as a warm-up. Carresses and bites the plump skin when he's kissing his way down your body before he hikes your legs over his shoulders and feasts

Likes to feel you breathe against him. He loves to feel your chest rise and fall when he's on top and you're panting for every breath while chasing your orgasm

He's a man who likes to edge that's for sure

"Uh-uh... That wasn't it. You can do better than that. Moan a little louder, that's it..." - "I'm being mean? No, you just need to work harder to come. You wanted this." - "Atta girl. I promise I'll let you come after this."

Jason's aftercare is you two taking a hot bath together where he can just hold your back to his chest and actually talk. You're his safe space

TIM DRAKE

Tim, albeit quiet, is a delectable switch. One day he's all soft and endearing, the next he's plowing you into next week (and blushing when you mention it afterward

He does a lot of studying on sex. What positions feel the best for you, different ways he can go down to ensure he has you screaming his name for all of Gotham to hear

Gets a little possessive during sex, especially when he's losing himself in it

"You're mine, do you hear me? Mine, sweetheart. Mine." - "No one else is going to claim you. You belong to me."

He likes it when you pull his hair, especially when he's going down. Feeling you guide him further into you is like a bolt of electricity shooting down his spine

Tim loves to get you relaxed before sex too, especially if he knows it's going to be a long night. He'll run you a warm bath, pamper you with sweet-scented lotions, and get you nice and ready before he unleashes. Fun fact, those nights are when you know he's gonna get rough

Tim won't admit it aloud but he loves a good missionary position or where you two lay facing each other. He loves to caress your face and kiss you softly as he takes you

"Lift your leg, sweetheart... That's it. C'mere. Let me watch that gorgeous face of yours when you fall apart for me, yeah?"

Like Dick and Jason, he VALUES aftercare so. Freaking. Much! Takes a warm cloth to the mess he made between your legs and kisses along the heated skin, telling you how much he loves you

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bunniekittiee · 1 year ago

Text

Shattered Ice- Bi-Han x Fem. Reader

This is my first Bi-Han fic (besides headcanons) I promised you all, and I tried to get his characterization correct in the way I wanted it to be. Credits to @magic-schoolbusdropout ‘s post and their ideas! I did not base it solely on their idea but I incorporated it into the fic. I wanted to give it a shot.

It is not exactly proof-read so there may be errors!

CW: a lot of angst, bi-han going crazy, yea this is not the usual fluff stuff guys im sorry :(, also this is extremely long so like beware.

“Where are your brothers, Bi-Han?” she asked so quietly, her voice barely reaching his ears. Like a little mouse squeaking.

“They have forsaken our clan.” He rasped back. “They do not want the Lin Kuei to succeed. They want us to be at the hands of Liu Kang.”

Her heart dropped. Memories of the faces of the two brothers echoed in her head. Never to be seen again. “You have… abandoned them?”

Jaw clenched, Bi-Han’s eyes narrowed at his wife. “Abandoned them? They have abandoned our clan. They made that decision when they did not follow me.”

“Bi-Han, they are your brothers-”

“They believe we should be shackled by Liu Kang’s rule.” He interrupted her. “The Lin Kuei deserve much more than we receive, and the only way to accomplish that is by removing ourselves as Earthrealm’s protectors. Kuai Liang and Tomas have departed from us, they are banned from coming into our land.”

Her eyes watered. “Bi-Han… this is not right. You have forsaken your brothers.”

“Do not talk back to me in that tone.” He said harshly. “You are my wife. Know your place.”

“Abandoned your brothers for complete rule? Your father would be so devastated Bi-Han!” She fought back against him. “The Lin Kuei are supposed to be Earthrealm’s protectors.”

He rolled his eyes. “My father was a foolish old man, he did not know how to truly rule the clan. Sektor has been advising the development of the Cyber Initiative with me. We will flourish.” He was certainly proud of his decision, which made her feel worse.

“I do not know who you are anymore, Bi-Han.” She said, tears falling from her eyes as her wide (e/c) locking with his brown eyes. Eyes that were once soft to look at now held frigidness and irritation.

“I am still your husband.”

“Hardly.” She choked out as she got up from her seat. “You are someone else, a stranger.” She stormed away from him, his eyes still stuck onto her figure. His heart ached. In the worst ways possible. But he could not waste his time on making her understand. He had a lot to do, and he needed to work.

The couple’s home was silent for many months. She avoided him at what chance she could, hardly interacting with Bi-Han when he came into their room. He did not make an effort to talk to her either. Bi-Han felt lonely in their large bed as her body was on the opposite side of him. She stopped cuddling with him like she used to. She stopped giving him her sleepy kisses that warmed his cold heart. It was as if she hated him. It hurt in ways Bi-Han thought it would not hurt, but he could not let his pain show. It was weak, and he was angry at himself for being so bothered.

She struggled sleeping. It was difficult to rest when her husband, an entirely different man, was so cruel. Leaving his brothers behind. The faces she loved like her own brothers, now gone due to Bi-Han’s thirst for something more for the Lin Kuei that costed him his family. How much was it all worth? That, she did not know.

Dearly missing the brothers, she conspired. She loved Bi-Han very much. It was obvious as many commented on her look of infatuation and adoration when looking at him, but she was lonely. And deep inside of her, there was an intense feeling of terror building up as Bi-Han’s personality began to change drastically. He was much more agitated and withdrawn. When their eyes met, he would quickly turn away from her. Sometimes, if he stared at her for too long, his once comforting brown eyes would shift to a blue hue. It ached deeply. She wanted the old Bi-Han to return back to her once more, but she was not so sure if that would ever be possible.

Bi-Han was always busy with Lin Kuei matters that he never discussed with her. Before, he would make time to come back and rest with her, or at least sleep with her during the nights. However, he was slowly stopping that. So she decided that it was the perfect time to try and find Bi-Han’s brothers. It was a matter of slinking past the guards and others that roamed the grounds, but it was something she could manage.

She quickly packed a few things just in case she decided to stay with them for a few days. As much as she did not want to be with a tyrannical clan, she could not leave forever. And she could not leave Bi-Han, for he was her husband. They were tied together for the rest of their lives.

Bi-Han was not in bed by the time she decided to leave, so she carefully descended down the stairs of the palace and avoided the guards. He had taught her a few tricks to not be seen by others and she never thought she would need it, but here she was now. Her heart thumped loudly in her ears as her adrenaline rushed. She was terrified of being found by Bi-Han or even Sektor. Bi-Han had never raised a hand to her, but with his personality changes, she was not too sure anymore.

It was incredibly dark outside, the wind swaying the trees to a slight rustling. This enhanced her paranoia as she snuck in the shadows, hiding from more guards. The Lin Kuei were much more guarded now due to Bi-Han breaking away from Liu Kang. Whether it was due to the fact the Shirai Ryu were beginning to rise up or Bi-Han was trying to increase numbers, the areas were guarded heavily. It made her escape difficult.

After some time of slinking past the darkest parts of the Arctika, she let out a small breath as she quickly padded in the direction of the horses’ stable. She knew that her journey would hardly be accomplished on foot, so having a way of transportation would grant her enough time to get away before Bi-Han realized she was missing. Whether it was the Gods’ way of helping her, the stables were not guarded. Luck must have been on her side tonight.

Quickly getting the gear on her horse, she frantically looked around to make sure no one would walk in on her. She could not be found out now. As she led her horse out of the stable, she looked around once more before lifting herself up onto her horse. She tried her best at being silent as she left, and the stables were on the outskirts of the Arctika. Once she hit the main pathway out, she looked down at the map she had stolen from Bi-Han of where the Shirai Ryu could possibly be at. It was in preparation for her trip. Her anxieties lessened as she increased her distance from the Lin Kuei, but guilt chewed her insides up. Bi-Han was going to be ravenous with revenge and fury.

Exhaustion hounded him like a starving stray dog. He had hardly slept for a while, the dark circles under his eyes darkening as he continued his bad habits. He craved the touch of his wife and her voice. Bi-Han missed her dearly. She had not taken the news of his new ruling well, and Bi-Han suspected that she was beginning to loathe him. But he tried to give her the benefit of the doubt.

“Firefly,” he whispered as he creaked their bedroom door open. “I have missed you so.” He entered the room, eyebrows scrunching at the sight of an empty bed. His mind wracked where she could possibly be at during this hour of the night. Jaw clenched, he turned away from the room and began to stomp around their home, asking his soldiers if they had seen her. They had not.

Panic ensued within him, however he did the best he could to compose himself in front of his clan. If they had not seen her, maybe Sektor had. He hunted him down rather quickly.

“No, I have not seen her.” He replied back to the Grandmaster as he studied one of the cybers on the table. He looked up at Bi-Han. “You don’t think she left, do you?”

“I do not know.” Bi-Han snapped. He was extremely worried. His brain was running a million miles per hour thinking about where she could have went.

Sektor ignored his tone and thought over what could possibly be the reason why the Grandmaster’s wife had disappeared.

“Unless… you don’t think the Shirai Ryu could have possibly taken her?” Sektor suggested.

Bi-Han’s blood froze. He felt the room spin as his eyes widened and he thought deeply about Sektor’s suggestion. It made sense. But how did they sneak inside so easily? Bi-Han had it heavily overseen with troops. They were on lock down practically, but he did not put it past them to kidnap his one and only weakness.

His brown eyes began to slightly shift in color, beginning to turn blue as energy surged through him. “We have to infiltrate their base immediately.” He said gruffly. “We cannot let them hurt her.”

She studied the map more as her horse carried her further away from her home. It had been at least eight hours with a few breaks in between for her horse and herself. At a galloping speed, she was able to get across more distance. She was cold, shivering from the wind. It reminded her of Bi-Han’s cold body when he changed his body temperature. Sometimes if she had hot flashes or extreme high temperatures, he would simmer his own in order to give her relief. He would cuddle her close to him as he did so, making sure to not overdo it. Her heart hurt as she thought about their memories together. After his betrayal, he was not the same.

Glancing around at her surroundings, she heard rustling in the trees around her. Her paranoia had risen once more and her horse had heard the noises as well, ears standing on end. She swiveled her head to see if it was an animal or a person. The rustling quickened, and she dug her heels into the side of her companion to run. But she was not so lucky, as they were both caught in a net. Her horse stopped dead in his tracks, squealing angrily as they were both thrown to the ground by the force of the net. Surrounded by unknown soldiers who had wrapped rope around her horse, she screamed. Adrenaline coursed through her body as her fear made her nauseated. Bi-Han was not around to save her, and she had led herself straight into the jaws of death.

As she attempted to get up, she was tackled back down to the ground once more. Her forehead was painfully wounded as she struggled against her captor who was much stronger than she was. Blood blurring her vision, she could not see very well. The soldiers had tied her extremities and picked her off the ground, silently making their way back to where they came from before. She continued to scream and thrash her body around, until another solider roughly tied a gag around her mouth to shut her up. Tears ran down her face and she could not help but sob. Her heart felt like it was going to come out of her throat as she knew she was meeting her demise. Without ever saying good-bye to Bi-Han.

She saw the dirt ground turn into a pathway, but soon after she had seen a glimpse of it, her head was obscured by a burlap sack by the same soldier that gagged her. They must not want prisoners to know the layout of their land. That made sense to her, she had seen the Lin Kuei practice the same method. For a moment, a fleeting thought passed through her brain. Maybe this was the Shirai Ryu clan. That meant she was near Tomas and Kuai Liang.

But then again, she was not so sure. That made the anxiety in her stomach twist. If she was wrong, it meant it would cost her her life. After some time of walking, she assumed she was where she needed to be when she was tossed to the ground like a rag doll. Her body ached tremendously from the cold, as well as the rough state her body was in.

“Unmask her.” A familiar voice rang out, but it was muffled by the burlap sack and her stinging head wound that made her lightheaded and dizzy. The sack was violently torn off of her head as her eyes adjusted to the light that the torches gave off.

Looking up, her vision was blurry as she could barely make out the two figures that sat near her. “By the Gods! Untie her immediately!” said one as he approached her fast. “Now now!”

“Y/N…” said the other who came near her form. “Is it really you?”

Kuai Liang and Tomas engulfed her in a hug as she began to cry. From pain and relief. She found them…

“I have been searching for you both.” she said, her words wavering. “I am so grateful to have found you.”

“We need to take you to the medics, little sister.” Kuai Liang said as Tomas gently picked her up off the ground. “That is a nasty head wound they gave you.”

“My horse…”

“They will take care of him.” Tomas said as Kuai ordered them to free her horse and put him in the stables. That was if they could avoid getting kicked in the face.

Reaching the medics, Tomas set her down on the bed as they began to work on her scrapes and wound. “If we had known it was you, we would have not allowed them to hurt you like that.”

She sighed quietly. “It is okay, Tomas. I was in your territory, a stranger. They were only doing what they were ordered to do.”

“How did you escape the Arctika?” Kuai asked. “I thought Bi-Han would have everything guarded heavily.”

“Well, he does. I was able to sneak past the guards and get to the stables. They do not exactly have soldiers patrolling the stables, and since it is on the outskirts of the Arctika, it is easy to escape.” She explained.

Tomas grabbed your hand gently. “If you have escaped, Bi-Han will not be that far behind you. He will go to the ends of the earth to find you.”

Looking down, she frowned. “I just… missed you both very much. Bi-Han is not the man he once was. He is much more aggressive and distant. He is searching for the Shirai Ryu. I have barely interacted with him since his betrayal, and I cannot bring myself to stay in a place that does not bring me joy.”

“Do not twist my words, I still love Bi-Han very much, but what he is doing is not what your father would have wanted. He has corrupted the Lin Kuei.”

Kuai Liang furrowed his eyebrows. “I heard that he was following through with the Cyber Initiative. That is what Shang Tsung had promised him. I cannot believe that he is doing all of this.”

“Neither can I. I wish he was easier to reason with, but he is very relentless on this matter. He believes you both have betrayed him, not the other way around.” She explained while gripping Tomas’ hand. “He is blinded by his own anger.”

“Bi-Han was never one to master his own anger, that was always an issue he has struggled with.” Kuai Liang replied. “I do not see him having mercy, especially now that you are with us.”

“But do not fret,” Tomas interjected. “We are happy to have you here until you recover. That is, if Bi-Han does not find you until then.” He exchanged a worried look with Kuai Liang who only nodded his head. “He will not take it lightly that we have his wife.”

She understood. She knew how much they were risking letting her stay with them. Bi-Han’s rage was not one to be in the crossfire of. She had hoped he would not find her just yet, she had barely reunited with the brothers and wanted to spend more time with them.

After cleaning her wounds up and bandaging her, the brothers led her out of the infirmary to walk to the temple. They talked about old memories of being together, the adventures they would go on. Tomas had asked how Jia was, which Jia was a little sad since the brothers were exiled. They were a part of her life since she was a kitten, it was not a surprise she carried melancholy since they had left. Many of their conversations were reminiscing as they did not want to talk about the present. It was saddening to know that they would never have the same bond they once did with Bi-Han, he would always crave for bloodshed. He already spilled Kuai Liang’s blood when he gave him that scar on his eye, he would continue his journey to spill more. Bi-Han did not see them as brothers anymore, they were enemies. Kuai Liang and Tomas understood that.

The brothers made sure she was fed and had a comfortable space to sleep. She was exhausted. She quickly fell asleep the minute her head hit the pillow, forgetting the events of her day in the dream state she entered.

However, Kuai Liang and Tomas were not so easily able to do the same as her. They stayed up, their anxieties chewing away at them.

“If Bi-Han finds her here, he will assume we took her.” Kuai Liang said while he brushed his hair. “He is not one for reasoning while he is angry.”

“Believe me,” Tomas replied. “I know he will be wrathful. There will be no way of explaining anything to him. He will ignore it.”

Kuai sighed. “As much as I am happy she is here, it also created a disaster in the long run. I just hope that Bi-Han will not be able to find her, at least for some time.”

“But if he already had a map developed of where we are at, then he will not take long.” said Tomas. “Once he is on a mission, he will never get side tracked.”

“You are right, brother.”

The glaring sun bore through the window near her bed, making her shift her body and scrunch her face up. She was not used to this as the Arctika did not have much sunlight coming through in the mornings. But where the Shirai Ryu were, there were lots of lighting. Eventually, it woke her up.

Blinking slowly, she remembered her journey that she had taken to get here. Her breathing increased when she remembered Bi-Han, and how he was going to eventually find her. It scared her. She did not know what he would do once he found her with his brothers. Maybe he would kill her? Keep her prisoner? Leave her to stay with the Shirai Ryu? The possibilities were endless, and Bi-Han was not exactly predictable like he used to be.

She crawled out of bed and made her way outside to enjoy the sunshine. The Arctika did not have sunshine with this amount of intensity, so she decided to embrace it as much as she could before she would have to leave. She sat down in a spot with direct sunlight, sighing with such peace as she closed her eyes. The sun felt good on her skin as the morning dew created a refreshing feeling.

Hearing the crunching of footsteps, she opened her eyes and saw the brothers approaching her. She smiled at them. “Good morning, brothers.”

They nodded their heads. “Good morning, sister.” They both said as they sat down next to her.

“It is a beautiful morning.” She said with a small smile on her lips. “Much better than the ones at home.”

Kuai Liang chuckled. “Definitely. The sun feels great out here.”

“I can see why Syzoth enjoys it, although he is a reptile, so it makes sense.” Tomas said. “It makes you feel good.”

They sat in a comfortable silence. However, they all had the same thoughts in the back of their mind. It always lead back up to Bi-Han no matter what. The worries of him arriving soon had nagged at Tomas and Kuai Liang. They could not abandon Bi-Han’s wife, as she was like a sister to them, and they knew they had to take care of her. But they knew they had to prepare for war. Bi-Han could arrive at any time, and they knew that.

“We came to greet you, but we must be on our way. Sorry, little sister.” Kuai Liang said as he placed a hand on her shoulder. “We have to prepare for war as a precaution. I hope you understand.”

Smiling sadly, she nodded solemnly. “I understand. I am very sorry.”

“Don’t ever be sorry, we are glad we found you. We hate to let you go so soon.” Tomas frowned. “We wish you could stay here forever, but your life is with Bi-Han. He…”

“He would not know what to do without you. It is better if you are with him, even if he is corrupt.” Kuai Liang finished Tomas’ thought. “But we will not throw you out, of course.”

Nodding once again, she said her goodbyes to the brothers so they could tend to their duties and prepare for Bi-Han’s arrival. She felt her eyes water, but she blinked her tears away. She could not allow herself to cry, not yet. She had nothing to cry over, until it was time.

Eyes ablaze with rage and distress, Bi-Han lead his army to where he speculated the Shirai Ryu were at. He did take notice of the map missing from his study, he had almost believed that his wife may have taken it, but he did not think so. Why would she scheme against him? His trustworthiness for her was beginning to diminish, but he could not let it go too far. He could be wrong.

After planning with Sektor and Cyrax, they gathered what they had of the cyber Lin Kuei and combined it with their human counterparts. They could overpower the Shirai Ryu. At least, that is what Sektor had promised him. All three of them were riding their horses in front of their army, the only sounds echoing around them being synchronized footsteps and the click-clack of the horses’ hooves.

It was now sometime in the late afternoon to evening, and they had hardly taken any breaks. Cyrax was looking down at the map they had, thankful that Bi-Han had more than one map of the possible location of the Shirai Ryu. As he did this, Sektor was beginning to converse with Bi-Han.

“Grandmaster, I do not want to worry you, but-” he started.

“What is it, Sektor?” Bi-Han snapped as he was led out of his own thoughts.

Sektor raised his head a little higher and bit back his retaliation. “When I went to get our horses from their stables, your wife’s horse was gone.”

Bi-Han glowered. “There is no way of her horse walking out on its own, were any of the stable doors open.”

Sektor shook his head. “Not at all, Grandmaster. In fact, some of the gear was missing as well. I do not want to assume she may have left on her own, but it would explain why her horse was missing.” He carefully chose his words.

Bi-Han tightened his grip on his horse’s reins. “Why would she leave me like that? She has nowhere else to go. Besides the Shirai Ryu.”

“Either way, it is still a positive sign to continue our journey.” Sektor replied.

Sektor’s information did not ease Bi-Han’s heart. He felt like it was going to shatter. Why would she betray him like this? It was bad enough that his own brothers did the same, but she? His own wife, the love of his life? His heart was beginning to harden after everything he had known. Why show her mercy if she was disloyal to him and the Lin Kuei?

“Halt!” Cyrax called out loud. “There is something on the ground.”

Bi-Han rolled his eyes. “Why are we stopping over something that pathetic?”

Cyrax hopped down from his horse as he approached the spot on the ground, studying it carefully. “Grandmaster, it is blood.”

Narrowing his eyes, he let himself down from his horse as he approached him. “Blood you say? Is there a chance it could be hers?”

Sektor had decided to leave his horse as well and study different parts of the area to find more clues.

“I am not too sure, Grandmaster. It could be an animal’s but there is also a chance it could be hers. But this is not near the assumed location on the map.”

Sektor was studying some sharp branches closely. There was something off about them. Almost as if-

“Grandmaster. Cyrax. I have found another clue!” He said as he pointed at the clothing. Bi-Han quickly approached him. “Look at the branches. There is clothing caught on them.”

“That is the colors of the Lin Kuei.” Cyrax said in slight awe. “You have great eyesight, Sektor.” Bi-Han reached forward and grabbed the cloth. He rubbed it between his fingers. It felt just like the clothing she wore. His eyes darkened as he glanced back at the blood and the clothing that was now pointing them into the right direction.

“They hurt her. They are where the cloth will take us, in that direction.” Bi-Han said as he pointed. “We must act fast before they cause more harm again.”

Kuai Liang was meditating, taking a small break from the large amounts of preparing he and Tomas were doing. They had to get their soldiers ready for any threat, as well as their land guarded at every point possible. They had to stay on high alert of the Lin Kuei showing up. Kuai Liang knew it was coming no matter what.

His eyes widened as the hair on his arms stood on end. He had a sense of impending doom, a feeling all too familiar to him. From experience, his senses were hardly ever wrong. Getting up rather fast, he had to warn Tomas. Bi-Han was here and he was ready for warfare.

Bi-Han’s lovely wife was resting due to her head wound causing her to feel dizzy. Tomas and Kuai Liang did not pressure her to leave her bed. They were already busy as it was due to her staying with them. It was only a matter of time before Bi-Han arrived like a bat out of hell. Eyes closed, she drifted off to an in between state of sleep and alertness. That was, until a solider of theirs stormed into her room. “Grandmaster Bi-Han’s wife,” he said. “We need to put you into hiding, they are here.”

Her heart sank. She nodded, getting up from the bed and following the soldier to a spot underneath the floor where should could possibly be safe at. That was if Bi-Han did not find her. He was a very thorough man, there was a good chance he would.

Encased in mostly darkness, she sat on the dirt floor and pulled her knees to her chest. She could hear the footsteps of the Shirai Ryu overhead, and the approaching sounds of their rivals. It was only a matter of time before they were murdering each other. All because she left. She realized how much trouble she had caused for Kuai Liang and Tomas just by arriving at their home. She shouldn’t be hiding underneath the floor, she should be trying to reason with Bi-Han.

“Where is she, Kuai Liang?” Bi-Han spat while placing a hand on the handle of his sword. “Give me back my wife that you took from me!”

“Brother, I did not do such a thing.” Kuai Liang said, eyebrows scrunched. “She came here looking for us. We did not tread on your land.”

Bi-Han did not want to believe them. Why would his own wife betray him like that? “You defile her name, you speak lies, snake. Why have you hurt her? There is blood on the ground.”

Tomas internally cursed and looked sullen. “Bi-Han, it was an accident. They did not know who wandered into our territory.”

Gritting his teeth, Bi-Han’s eyes glimmered with anger as he began to pull his sword out of its sheath. “Incompetent. I do not expect anything less from either of you. Give her back to me, now. Before I rip apart your home.”

Tomas and Kuai exchanged a look before averting their eyes back to Bi-Han. “Only if you stop your mission to kill us. And you will leave her alone.”

Bi-Han signaled his soldiers to attack, not wanting to hear more out of his enemies. Kuai and Tomas knew it was going to come to this, so they wasted no time in lunging at Bi-Han to calm him down. Despite all he had done, they did not want to hurt their brother. But he was starting a war that neither side could not afford.

Curling into a ball, she felt terrified and lonely. She wondered when it would all be over, but then, their faces appeared in her head. Bi-Han had the chance to kill his brothers if he wanted to, all because she made the choice to leave. To find them. It was unfair, and she knew that. As she gained courage, she rummaged around the small space, trying to find anything she could to break out of the confinements. She had to reason with Bi-Han. It was the only way to get him to stop this.

She wrapped her hands around the handle of what she assumed was a broom and began to slam it into the trapdoor. Over and over. Continuously, until the floor began to somewhat break. She used her hands to strike at it as it was weak, and it eventually gave away. Pulling herself up, she squinted her eyes as she adjusted to the lighting. She could hear the yells of the soldiers much more clearer. With adrenaline rushing, she sprinted out one of the doors and whipped her head around. In her attempts to find Kuai Liang and Bi-Han. Back farther into the forest, she saw glimpses of smoke, fire, and ice. They must have taken their fight away from the Shirai Ryu Temple.

Avoiding as much as the bloodshed as possible, as well as the soldiers fighting to the death, she ran in the general direction she had seen the men’s powers. The soldiers were too occupied with one another to see her. Otherwise, the Lin Kuei would have immediately attacked her. The sight of the cybers increased her fear. That is what Bi-Han and Sektor were developing. It was horrifying.

As she got closer to where the brothers and her husband were at, the smell of blood stung her nostrils. Her worries almost came out of her mouth as bile, but she could not let herself be so weak in this moment. She needed to help them.

“Surrender, and I will call off the Lin Kuei.” Bi-Han rasped as he stared down Kuai Liang.

“Now you lie, brother.” Kuai replied as they paced around. “You will never call them off.”

Bi-Han’s eyes narrowed in irritation. “Obey your Grandmaster and heed my orders!”

“You are not my Grandmaster no longer, brother.” said Kuai as his emotions were written on his face. Sadness, betrayal, and grief. “You are not who you once were.”

“And you are not my brother, a mere stranger to me.” Bi-Han lunged forward at Kuai as their swords clashed together. Bi-Han stepped back once again.

“Bi-Han,” said that sweet voice, one that brought him comfort, love, and warmth. “Bi-Han, you need to stop this!”

“Little sister!” Tomas said as he went to her side. “You are not supposed to be here!”

“Get away from her you fool!” Bi-Han yelled at Tomas as he began to walk forward. Kuai pointed his sword out at Bi-Han to stop.

“You will not touch her,” Kuai growled. “You leave her out of this, Bi-Han.”

“I want my wife back, the one that was wrongfully taken from me!”

“Bi-Han, I made the decision to leave.” She blurted. “I left to find them. They did not take me away from you.”

Another blow to his heart. His beloved, his most cherished human being in his life, left him. To find the Shirai Ryu. Sektor was correct in his theory. “You betrayed me!”

“You betrayed them first, Bi-Han.” She argued back. “You made that mistake.”

“You have forsaken all the Lin Kuei principles!” His voice increased in loudness and raspiness. “What have you done to me? You were supposed to rule beside me!”

“I missed them, Bi-Han! You cannot blame me for my sadness, you brought it upon me and I had no other option but to accept it. You are not the same man you once were, and it shows. I wanted to see them again, Bi-Han.”

Jaw clenched, his eyes moved from his wife, to Kuai, to Tomas, and back to her again. “All three of you have abandoned the Lin Kuei. For your own selfish purposes. You all could have ruled beside me and witnessed us flourishing. Instead, you have betrayed me.” His eyes began to shift in color, his arms beginning to turn icy and the nature around them as well. His feet created ice underneath them.

Kuai Liang took a step back as Bi-Han’s rage was focused on him, his now blue eyes staring into his soul. Raising his hands, Bi-Han shot ice out of his hands, enough to give Kuai injuries and more. But, it did not hit Kuai Liang.

Body thudding the ground, her face paled quickly as the ice began to seep into her body and penetrate her blood. Bi-Han’s eyes slowly moved down to her small form laying on the ground. It did not register in him that he hurt his own wife. The woman he promised to never hurt and always protect. Yet here she was, lying on the ground as her limbs encapsulated themselves in ice.

“Bi-Han…”

“What have you done?” Tomas said as he kneeled down next to her. “Kuai, we need your fire now.”

“Unhand her now!” Bi-Han said as he ripped her body away from Tomas. “You… will not touch her again.”

“Bi-Han, she needs immediate attention! She is going to die.” Kuai said as he stepped towards Bi-Han.

His eyes began to glow which did not settle right with Tomas and Kuai. They had never seen him do this before. “I do not need your help. Leave it to me, now.”

“Brother-”

“Silence!” He screamed, breathing unevenly and placing his hands gently on her pale face.

"Bi-Han, she will die if she does not-"

Their vision was immediately obscured by white, ears ringing as the whistling of the winds began to pick up. They were surrounded by snow and snowflakes. They squinted their eyes at attempts to find Bi-Han and his wife, but they could not see very much.

"Kuai Liang!" Tomas yelled over the whistling wind. "I think he created a blizzard!"

"I did not know he was capable of doing so!" he replied as he grabbed onto Tomas. "He will be easily angered in this form, I do not see him reasoning with us."

"We need to help her! If she does not get the help she needs, she will die!" Tomas yelled again. The look of defeat crossed their faces. They were not going to have much power to reason with Bi-Han to accept their help.

Bi-Han felt his word shatter as he stared at her limp form. Her heart beat was still there but it was rather faint. Her lips were beginning to turn blue from being surrounded by cold and ice. Bi-Han's eyes were still glowing as the winds increased more, as well as the snow fall. Picking them both off the ground, Bi-Han began to walk in the general direction he assumed where the Shirai Ryu were at. He had to leave now. They had to make it back to the Arctika before she gave up on them. He could not rely on the Shirai Ryu to help, as they would only use it as leverage. And Bi-Han knew that he could not bite his pride back and let them help her.

The blizzard Bi-Han created followed the Lin Kuei all the way back home to the Arctika. They had difficulty navigating back because of how heavy the snowfall and winds were. It only seemed to get worse as they approached their home. Bi-Han attempted to keep his wife warm with many blankets as possible as Sektor kept track of her heart rate, but her condition did not improve much. Bi-Han felt hopeless, his moods taking a turn for the worst. He was distraught as he felt many emotions he did not think he could feel. He was hurt. His heart hurt so much. How could she do this to him? How much did she tell Kuai and Tomas? He was not sure, and he almost did not want to ask. He felt like he could not trust the only person who he loved so much, for she had taken his trust and ran with it.

But Bi-Han loved her. He loved her so much and he knew he could not stop loving her no matter what. Could he stop trusting her? Yes, yes he could, but stop loving her? That was impossible as much as he wished he did not turn soft. For many hours of their trip, Bi-Han continued to monitor her closely as they were far from their home. Any moment Sektor's facial expression somewhat changed when he listened to her heart rate was another stab into his heart.

After many grueling hours, the Lin Kuei and their Grandmaster made it home. The blizzard was at its peak, but the soldiers hurried inside the confinements of their home. Sektor and Cyrax instantly began to prepare the infirmary for the Grandmaster's wife. Bi-Han was relieved to be home, but his anxiety was not at ease. It made him nauseated. He felt out of control, it was not normal for Bi-Han.

He waited impatiently, pacing and rubbing his face constantly as Cyrax and Sektor began to work on her hypothermia. No matter how much warmth they used, she did not improve. They knew it would take time, but telling the Grandmaster that was as if they were telling him she was going to die. Cyrax and Sektor exchanged small, concerned glances as they continued their work. Bi-Han was not acting normal, in fact, it seemed as if his defenses were down.

"Grandmaster, we can give you a moment alone if you want." Cyrax said to him, noticing how pained he looked. Bi-Han did not reply as he got up which signaled to them to leave. Closing the door on the way out, Bi-Han sat next to his wife, gently cradling her freezing hand between his own. If anyone had seen Bi-Han, it would look as if he was in mourning. His dark circles were extremely dark, his eyes bloodshot and containing no glimmer of hope. His lips were pulled into a tight line, whether it was to prevent himself from showing any other emotions or another reason, it was unknown.

"Firefly," he said softly. "Never underestimate how much I love you. You have to be strong, you are Lin Kuei. Lin Kuei fight their battles well, no matter if it is in physical battle or in health. Do not give up." He did not know if she could hear him, but a small part of him wished she did. His eyes scanned her face while his grip began to slowly increase. She was alive, a fact that put his certain worries at ease, but she was lying on her death bed. That he put her on. It was his fault, he had lost control and was not disciplined enough to master his own powers apparently. That was evident to Bi-Han.

Lowering his head, he continued to hold her hand as he closed his eyes. All the fighting and long nights were beginning to hit him all at once. He could not help but feel himself drift off to sleep. It was not peaceful, that was something he could not argue against.

Drowsily opening her eyes, her teeth chattered immensely at the freezing cold that pricked at her body. She was covered in multiple blankets and had some sort of heaters around her, but it was not able to fight against the cold that made her body convulse. She looked over and her mouth opened agape. Bi-Han was sitting next to her with his eyes closed, holding her hand in his large one. She felt her fear consume her, as she began to move away from Bi-Han’s figure. She could hardly move her limbs, it was as if they were frozen.

Bi-Han heard her struggles and awoke fast. He got up on his feet, now awake and registering his own wife moving away from him. He placed a hand onto her. “Firefly-”

“Get away from me!” She croaked. Bi-Han retreated his hand, as if he had touched a red, hot knife. “Stay away from me, Bi-Han.”

“You should know I never meant to hurt you.” He replied solemnly. “It was meant for Kuai Liang.”

She felt herself tear up. “Hurting me or your brothers will not help your cause. Get away from me, Bi-Han.” She tried to say this sternly but she could not help the few cracks in her voice. “You frighten me.”

It anguished him to hear her sharp words. The pit of his stomach fizzled with nausea and bile, his chest felt that broken, horrifyingly warm feeling as his vision blurred and his ears began to ring. His breathing increased. “My beloved, you do not understand.”

“Understand what? That you are a monster?”

He gritted his teeth. “It was you that left me. Had you not left me, this would have never happened.”

“Well, it happened, didn’t it? All for what? So you could get the upper hand against the Shirai Ryu?” She spat back, bringing her knees to her chest as she cuddled against the blankets. “You were going to hurt your brothers.”

“They are not my brothers no more. You of all people should know that.” His irritation was beginning to increase. “You have betrayed me. I cannot trust you.”

“I can’t trust you either. Now I am going to be fearful if you will hurt me again or cover me in ice.” She replied with venom dripping off her words. “You are a cruel man, Bi-Han. Leave me alone. I cannot bear to be around you.”

With her last words, Bi-Han stormed out of the room. He did not spare her a passing glance. She let herself cry, sobs wracking her body as she pulled the blankets closer to her and tried to warm herself up. But she could not. She craved Bi-Han’s warmth and touch, but she could not be held by him. He was corrupted.

Sektor and Cyrax recommended lots of bed rest, warm foods, and extra warmth to help her condition. She was eventually moved from the infirmary to the comfort of her and Bi-Han’s bedroom. Servants gave her what she needed, and they gave her warm baths in order to ease the aching cold. But it was hardly improving much. It was as if Bi-Han had given her a deadly frost bite.

Ever since their last argument, Bi-Han had avoided her like she was an illness. She had not seen him since. But little did she know, Bi-Han did see her. He was check in on her when she was asleep to see if she was still breathing. She was just as beautiful as the day he married her. He wanted to crawl into bed with her and hold her close to him. Give her warmth. But he had to listen to her orders to stay away. It was for her own good. He could not bear to hurt her again like he did. She was even lucky to still be alive.

He occupied himself with work and overworked himself in large amounts. He had to oversee the production of the Cyber Initiative as he had taken some to battle the Shirai Ryu. They found out their weaknesses and made the cybers stronger. Soon, they would be unstoppable.

Yet his achievements did not make him feel any better. He missed his wife dearly. He wanted to hear from her how proud she was of him, and how the Lin Kuei would never have to be servants again. Instead, he felt like a monster living within human flesh. The blizzards hardly faltered since that day she had gotten hurt. The weather conditions were horrible on the Arctika due to this. Bi-Han did not know he was capable of such a powerful weapon, but he had concluded that he could only do so when he was agonized.

In dire need of seeing his wife once again, Bi-Han had risen from his chair and decided to take a stroll and find her in their room. That was where she mainly stayed at due to medical orders. Cyrax made sure she did not disobey these orders, as she had already broken Bi-Han’s trust.

His feet carried him to their room while he was deep in thought. It felt as if he had teleported his way to their sanctuary. His hand turning the door knob quietly, he peered inside and was taken aback. She was not asleep like usual, she was awake. Her head swiveled to him, their eyes locking together as they stared at one another. Bi-Han entered the room and she began to flinch away from him. She moved her body further away, and it tugged at Bi-Han’s heartstrings. She was afraid.

“What do you want?” She asked him, still looking at him.

“I came to see you.” He breathed quietly. “I always do when you are asleep.”

She felt her heart beat faster at his words. Despite how much they were hurting, he still came to see her. It warmed her heart, but she could not bring herself to forgive him just yet.

“I know I hurt you.” He said with his arms crossed. “I am truly sorry. I never meant to hurt you.”

“It is hard to believe you. With your behavior changes and what you have done.” She frowned at him and felt herself begin to tear up.

Bi-Han started to approach her but she scooted back quickly. “Please stay away, Bi-Han.”

He stopped where he stood and put his arms behind his back. “I am sorry, my beloved. I never wanted this to happen.”

As much as she craved his touch, she could not trust him. Just as he could not trust her. “We both need time, Bi-Han. It is too soon.”

He nodded his head. “Understood. We both do.”

Many months had passed since her accident. Bi-Han tried to keep his distance away from her, but here and there she warmed up to his advances. They had not made love for almost a year, although Bi-Han was not a fiend for such an act, he still wished they could divulge in it with her. He missed being so close to her and her body. But he knew she needed time to trust him, just as he needed time to trust her once again.

“Bi-Han,” she spoke softly.

He raised his head up. “Yes, my firefly?”

She stepped closer to him. “Please hold me, Bi-Han.”

This was a huge step for them, but Bi-Han did not want this opportunity to slip from his hands. He gently wrapped his arms around her waist as he brought her closer to him. He felt her arms wrap around his body. He breathed in her scent deeply. She smelled wonderful. It was comforting to Bi-Han.

He wondered if their relationship would recover fully from what had happened. It felt that these wounds were partially healed, but Bi-Han did not want them to re-open. His brown eyes started to tear up as he held her close to him, but he blinked them away. He wanted to stay like this forever.

“I love you, Bi-Han.” She said as she closed her eyes.

“I love you much more, my sweet firefly.”

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