#i spent way too long pondering this because i was like. What is a secret vs what is just something I haven't shared but wouldn't really

[ratwars]

Tell me a secret ;p

I investigated the shit out of anyone I've ever been in the talking stages with way back when I was dating because to say I don't trust ppl is an understatement.

Like digging up all their accounts going back years looking into all their friends, pulling them (the person I was talking to, not the friends) up on the damn county clerks website down to their parking tickets finding all their old addresses and commiting things to memory in case I caught them in a lie (like that would be my excuse to dip). This was before those records aggregate sites existed too so it was work 😔

Like I know ppl will run background checks before meeting ppl irl sometimes like for safety and that's maybe more normal but my ass was like 2 years back in someone's posting history on a gaming forum trying to make sure this person never said anything that would piss me off. I was pre-learning the sibling and cousin's names in case something didn't match up "just in case". I was dead ass serious too but I did not tell anyone (except my current partner but tbh it was years and years into us being married at that point)

Ask game

[darkestcorners]

polarity | 06 yandere!jungkook au ( sneak peak )

—

A/N : I decided to post this little sneak tonight since you guys have been waiting so so long. This is not edited yet so please excuse any grammar errors. Thank you💕 :)

——

“No secrets? I-I know what you did.” You accused in between sobs, your hands planted firmly on the floor as you shifted your body weight towards your right leg that left you in an awkward sitting position. It was hard to ignore the chills running down your entire body, your mind struggled to focus on what you wanted to scream at him.

He turned his head to look down at you. His penetrating gaze meeting yours at last.

“I know that you were the one that made my professor accuse me of plagiarism.” You said after another intake of breath. “ You did it, didn’t you? You blackmailed him! Just like you did to me. Just like you do to everyone in order to get your way. I don’t know with what but you did.”

He was silent. Just quietly looking at you.

Your short breaths only quickened, the horrible feeling coming in waves, stopping then gaining more force. You felt like you were stuck in a mid fall. It felt like years passed before Jungkook slowly made his way over to you, your eyes traced over the slight twitch of his fingers and cubic steel bracelet around his wrist. He bent down to your level and you felt his fingers lifting your chin up at him. You knew he could feel you shaking because he angled your face towards him again when you tried to look off to the side, his set gaze halting your rapid eye movements.

“Seems like a little birdie has been talking.” He whispered to you, he almost sounded disappointed. “That just won’t do, baby.”

You felt the sudden urge to slap him but you went to push him away instead. He caught your arms before you could do so, pushing them towards his chest and pulling your whole body closer to him. His actions were rough and careless. An indicator of just how much you’ve pissed him off this time. You could feel your teeth chattering now, your panic attack reaching its peak as you felt your vision blur. It was as if someone had poured a bucket of ice all over you except you wished someone actually had just to rid you of this feeling.

“You know she’s right, you know I’m right. That’s why you’re so upset.” You went on as you squirmed in his hold.

“How easily you’ve forgotten what she’s done to you. Is it that easy to fool you, baby? Does that bitch really have such a tight hold on you still that you that you accept her words as truth without question?” He sounded a parent scolding a small foolish child over taking sweets from a stranger.

He was wrong. Your once all-consuming love for Eunji had turned into a grudge that you couldn’t shake off. She might’ve been a horrible friend but why would she lie about something like that? It seemed too specific. It seemed like she knew more than she was willing to admit and for some reason that only angered you more. She knew more yet she had given you crumbs in return. Was that the plan all along or was she making you a victim of her selfish bitterness again? Even after everything, it was hard for you to believe she hated you that much.

Because you had seen it. You had seen a fragment of sincerity in her eyes earlier. A small piece of pity, no matter how fleeing.

“Ask your little boyfriend what he was doing walking into Professor Clark’s classroom a few weeks ago.”

You swore you had heard it in her voice too. As if she had been doing you one last favor. Granting you one last bit of kindness for all those years spent together being thrown away. But the more you ponder over it, the more Jungkook’s planted seed of doubt began to grow its roots. Had you only seen what you had hoped to?

“You accuse me of lying to you over some gossip your little fake friend filled your head with? It didn’t take long for you to go running back into her arms, did it? Where is your pride?” The disgust in his voice would be hard to fake and you had to look away from the sheer sincerity in it.

“I didn’t run back to her! I wanted answers and-"

“And did you find them?” He cut you off, eyes searching your face like something in it had already granted him the answer. “No, of course you didn’t baby. You let her have the last laugh again.”

Again.

“How would she know to make that connection and why would she lie about her seeing you walk into our professor’s classroom weeks ago.” You hissed back at him eagerly grasping to take control of the conversation that he had so easily overpowered in seconds.

God, you really couldn’t breath.

“Do you hear yourself? You’re asking me why a girl that has been jealous and spiteful towards you for years would try and scheme against you for sleeping with her ex-boyfriend! ” Jungkook sneered back and you flinched at the sudden raise of volume in his voice.

“Lying comes as easily as breathing to some. Haven’t you learned that by now? You really are more naive than I thought if you have yet to realize how unkind this world is and how often people like you get trampled over.”

You let out another quivering sob, growing more and more upset by his words. You might be naive but you weren’t that naive to not realize that he wasn’t the one who should be saying this to you. Him of all people. It felt like a stab in the chest. Jungkook lets go of your arms and brings them to cradle your face in his hands instead. His thumbs wiping away your never ending tears. His action is meant to be gentle but his grip is so tight that you feel his nails digging slightly into your skin.

“I’ve only ever tried to protect you, baby. Protect you from her and from yourself.” His hot breath sent waves of shock through you, you felt his lips lightly graze your own. “How many times must I save you from her? And from everyone who has ill intentions towards you before you realize it’s only ever going to be me.”

He lifted one hand from your cheek to carress your hair, those glossy doe eyes pulling you in and tugging at the invisible strings on your limbs and heart.

“How many times must I prove my love to you?”

This wasn’t love. It couldn’t be.

It felt like something much stronger. Much too different. Your love for Eunji had never felt this overwhelming. It never felt like you were being lulled to a perfect sleep, just to be suddenly plunged into a free fall. This didn’t feel anything like a secret held close to your chest, your heart skipping a beat everytime you used to see her even when you’d already seen her three times before that day. How giddy you felt at her accidental touches. How much you seemed to please her and never wanted to see her in pain. How easily it came to you to want to fix all her minor inconveniences.

No, this felt nothing like that. It wasn’t a secret. It didn’t allow itself to be. It was too loud. Too ugly. Whatever you had felt for Eunji, it felt five times more heightened with Jungkook. His presence felt like too much yet like there was never enough of it to actually violate you. It fit you in a way you were so frightened to admit. He had taken a piece of you that you never agreed on giving him. Yet it was that very foreign feeling that had you craving him in moments you shouldn’t have. In nearly all hours of a day. You were frightened at what you had been feeling these past two weeks sharing his space. Completely terrified at what he had managed to make you feel for him in such little time .

Even now, he felt so familiar yet so untouchable.

“This isn’t love.” You replied back in a broken whisper. It was mistake and you realized it quickly but it was too late to take it back. You blamed your overly emotional state for the thoughtless response.

A few beats of silence passed with only your uneven breaths filling the room. Jungkook continued to caress your hair before the corners of his lips twitched. An almost sad small appearing on them.

“Fine.” Another few beats of silence. The heavy air lingered.

You licked your dry lips as he retrieved his hand completely from you. Your eyes tracked the movement before they landed on the unreadable look on his face.

“ If you think I’m such a monster, I promise I will show you how easily I can make that come true for you. ” He stated lowly, dark eyes taking in your features again. “And it will make everything else I’ve done pale in comparison.”

—-

[utterlyazriel]

whom the shadows sing for —(and the thief's echoing hymn)

a/n: chapter twoooo i hope you guys enjoy!! and i take this as pure reason to knuckle down and finish chapter three tehe <3 let me know what u think!! a million mwahs to @strangerstilinski for being my beta too, even tho i yelled at u sorry :/

word count: 3.5k

synopsis: Azriel trains you and is particularly unforgivable about it. Together, you tackle tonics. Azriel ponders the unmistakable pull he feels and you try your best to keep your secret under wraps. fem!reader, mulan-esque au

— CHAPTER TWO :: ALLIES

The storm had calmed come morning. The Mother's Kiss slowed, quietened to only a whisper between the trees.

With it, the ache in your forearm too. The torn skin knitted up in the night, the heat from the fire like a balm on the wound.

But right now, the ache was threatening to make a reappearance.

You glare across the clearing at Azriel from your place in the mud, where he's just knocked you down. Your lungs burn. Your chest heaves as you try to catch you breath. The last hour has been spent on the same infuriating exercise.

The sludgy dirt, still sloppy from the melted snow of last night, drips off your arms as you scramble to get to your feet. Your wings shudder, flicking off the cold dirt with a shake.

"Try again." Azriel says, his voice calm.

He has no weapons on him today with the exception of one knife, strapped high on his thigh. Its obsidian hilt glimmers under the winter sun, rays catching the decorative jewel on the end. The rest of his weapons won't be far you're willing to bet. No Illyrian warrior lets themself be so unprepared.

Or perhaps he truly only needs one blade to hold his own in a fight.

A flicker of envy. You suppose you should feel little more gratuitous of his offer to train, especially considering he's such a mighty warrior.

But between the built-in wariness that comes with having a secret such as yours and the way he keeps throwing you in the mud... it's hard to dredge up some gratitude. You must have been at this for hours now.

Besides, a little part of you can't help but be skeptical of his offer. What exactly did he stand to gain from helping you?

"Why are you helping me again?"

You're panting lightly, bent over with your hands on your knees. Your bound chest twinges in pain. You weren't out of shape by any means — you were an Illyrian warrior after all. But getting knocked down endlessly was beginning to wear you down.

"And," You huff, waving a hand behind at the mud pile he keeps dumping you in. "How does this help?"

Azriel crosses his arms across his broad chest. In the daylight, his shadows shimmer and wisp about. You had been unsurprised to find he's even more devastatingly handsome in the light of daytime.

After his final words the evening before, Azriel had disappeared out into the storm without further explanation, his shadows swirling around him like falling snow.

Come morning, you rose before the sun and stepped outside, prepared to head to training—and there he was. Posed up against a tree, the obsidian-hilt blade his hands, sharpening it in long, precise strokes.

"Lord Mylind has been spoken to regarding your training." Azriel had said, in place of a greeting. "He knows of your expected absence whilst you train under me."

You hadn't said anything; half convinced there had been something coated on Brudam's knife that made you hallucinate the whole thing.

"Though," The male before you continued, finally sheathing his dagger away into the holster on his thigh with casual precision. "He tells me that your absences during training have come to be somewhat expected."

He raises his eyebrows slightly.

"Why do you think they hate me so much?" You asked, a bitter edge to your voice. It's a non-answer.

"Because you neglect your duties as a warrior?"

"Ha. Did Lord Mylind use that word?"

"It's true, one is not considered a warrior until one passes The Blood Rite." Azriel commented, his head tilting to the side just an inch. "You're a warrior-in-training. Provided you go to training, that is."

The combined mention of The Blood Rite and your missing time during training had you tensing up. Azriel had noticed, his eyes shifting to your stiff posture. He hadn’t commented — just stalked off into the snow, wings held high and proud, not checking to see if you bothered to follow.

Now, muscles aching and skin coated in mud-slick, you briefly wonder if you were regretting following him.

"You're smaller than usual Illyrians.” Azriel says. “They rely on brute strength but someone your size is better to rely on your agility— a skill they've been neglecting. No doubt to try to discourage you."

A flush of nervousness rushes through your system at his comment on your size. There's a good reason you don't size up against Illyrian males—being that you aren't one at all.

For good measure, you wipe your face haphazardly with a muddy hand. Any pesky scents that might give you away get smothered beneath it.

"And I believe in what you're doing," Azriel continues, his hazel eyes watching you closely. "It's honourable, no matter what Brudam and his brood say."

Something akin to pride blooms deep in your chest at his approval, at his belief in your mission. Having fought on your own for so many years had taken its toll— one you weren't aware of until it eased. Just a touch.

"Could've sworn you just enjoyed knocking me on my ass."

That glimmer of amusement is back in his hazel eyes. You swear his lips twitch as if holding back a smile.

"Try again." He says, in lieu of an answer. Not a denial.

He gestures to his neck again. Tan skin that hides beneath dark, scaly armor. This has been your task for the last hour — get your hand on his throat, through hand-to-hand combat.

Considering how you'd managed to stick him with a fork just yesterday, you had assumed it was easy territory.

You had been sorely, sorely wrong.

Straightening yourself up properly, you roll your shoulders back and flare your wings out a bit. Your boots sink into the mud an inch. You assess the distance between you and Azriel, eyes narrowed, and try to put together each piece of advice he's given you in the last hours.

Plant your feet when you're striking.

Stay on your toes if you're advancing.

Use your environment to your advantage.

Punch through, not just at.

Your height is as much an advantage as it is a disadvantage.

Some of it was nothing more than a reiteration of your training in camp. And yet, when delivered from Azriel, under his focused gaze, it seems easier to absorb. It holds a different meaning.

This time as you survey your approach a thousand other details whisper in your ear.

The rustle of the trees, the whirl of the wind, the stance he sinks into like second nature.

If you can't overpower him, how can you get a hand on his neck?

Your boots sink deeper into the mud and you tense, your wings held taut and high behind you as you ready yourself to pounce.

The wind picks up, a whistle in the air, and you can see, even from afar, how the swirling of his shadows perk up — as if listening for any whispers in it.

Time to strike.

You burst forward and stay low this time, letting your knees take the brunt of your weight. Instead of trying to get past him, you need to bring his neck down to your level. A half-baked plan scrambles together.

Feigning moves against a proficient warrior like him is nearly laughable and his thick forearm moves to parry your punch as quickly as you form it. Good. It's what you're relying on.

You pivot your energy and focus it on kicking out his bent knee— and you catch him enough by surprise that he stumbles back a step. He doesn’t fall though.

You grit your teeth and know you have about half a second before he’s going to have you dodging punches and landing back in the mud. You keep pressing forward.

Skin meets leather as you land a sharp snap against his shoulder, your knuckles stinging deliciously but he deftly blocks your next blow. And the next, and the next.

Then you’re hitting more of his hands than you are anywhere else.

Frustrated, you snarl, increasing your speed and letting him focus on your incoming punches so he doesn’t see it when you send a kick into his groin.

His defense drops razor fast— both his scarred hands wrapping around your calf and capturing it between his legs, stopping it 2 inches from making contact.

Your eyes dart up to his face, nearly grinning at the incredulous look he gives you.

It’s the moment you’ve been waiting for — and something gleeful in you sings when you shoot your hand up faster than both his can move. The palm of your hand connects with the skin of his neck.

“Aha!” You shout, unable to help yourself.

You’re panting, out of breath from the fast combat and yet, still savouring the victory. A foreign glimmer of admiration and approval flashes deep in your chest. It's gone as quick as it appears.

Azriel doesn’t waste a second to sweep your feet out from beneath you.

Unprepared, you crumple and hit the ground like a sack of potatoes. A groan rumbles in your chest. Mud squishes up against your cheek, sullying it.

For a moment, you just lay there and groan in pain.

You're pretty sure every single muscle in your body aches as you gather your strength and push yourself up from the mud, elbows quivering. If you thought regular training was rigorous, this has been brutal.

True, there's less hitting you while you're down which you were more than accustomed to — only once have you thought Azriel might give you a kick while you were defenseless and too tired to cover your face.

But instead, he had surprised you and offered a hand. You had hesitated before taking it.

And as you're finding out, when you're spending less time worrying about Illyrians unfairly targeting you due to your size, you're a hell of a lot better fighter.

With a much better opponent though.

You win some, you lose some.

"Anyone ever call you a prick before?" You seethe quietly; because you had done the task he wanted you to do and he'd still sent you back on your ass. You spit into the mud and wipe your mouth.

"Definitely." Azriel answers. Again, there's that hint of amusement in his voice.

You huff and push up to rest back on your heels, planting your hands on your knees and glaring up at him. The muck on your wings makes you shiver, sludgy trails of mud sliding off them unpleasantly. You're well used to the cold.

"Good." You huff. "Prick."

Azriel smiles at that, not bothering to hide it. You find yourself smiling back at him, an out-of-breath laugh making your shoulders shake and your head bow. The muscles in your stomach hurt as they move.

When you look back up at him, he's offering his hand again.

You take it, this time without hesitation.

—

The day is for training. Azriel, the mentor. You, the student.

The night is for learning. You're both students here.

The second part of his offer that you clearly hadn't expected, given your wide-eyed look when he turned up at your door on that first evening, bringing all manners of plants needed to make healing tonics. Things you hadn't been able to find or afford on your own.

It had been then, he thinks, that you realised how serious he was about helping you. That his offer extended beyond training you physically.

"Is there really a difference between cutting and slicing?" Azriel asks as he peers down at the table beneath him.

In his marred hands is a root vegetable, something that flowered prettily— nice purple skin with a golden centre. He frowns down at it, his gaze shifting slowly from the vegetable to the knife in his hand.

It’s strange, he thinks. Strange to hold a knife and have it not be for violence.

"There is a difference," Your reply floats across from the other side of the room.

Nearly a week he's been here. Azriel had been pushing you more each day he was here, brutal one-on-one training to hone your skills.

It’s working; already he can see the certainty of your stance, your increased agility, the hunter's glint in your eyes. The clumsiness of the first day of training has already been worn away. Beneath it, the Illyrian warrior emerges.

He's exhausting you, he knows. Working you twice as hard to try to fill every gap in your training that seems to be missed. Finding every weak point left by the Lords of this camp, to disadvantage you no doubt, and training it up.

But if you’re tired from it, you don’t complain.

Azriel lifts his head to look at you properly, his eyes watching your hands as you strip leaves off one of the plants he had brought with him today.

Hands, weathered and much smaller than most males, that work diligently at your task. Your focus remains strong, even as you talk over your shoulder.

"Well, slicing is cutting but a more precise form." You shift your wing back, tucking it in, as you finally turn your head back to look at him.

You're a very peculiar male.

Azriel can't say he's ever met a warrior, or even an Illyrian, like yourself before. You're small. It's the first thing he had noticed when he had slipped into your tiny home those nights ago, a sturdy shelter against the harsh wind of the mountains.

You're small but your wings are still large and beautiful, tucked up neatly behind your back. Most warriors in camp must have at least a head of height on you.

The armor you wear looks old. It's been worn down, softened against your body but even still, it sits a little too low on your hips. The shoulders hang out an extra inch.

You're small and you're hardened at every edge.

It's the way anyone who grows up here has to be. And for you to have made the cut to become a warrior, even with the impairment of your height... Azriel knows you're made of tougher stuff than most.

Within that, he finds himself inexplicably drawn to you.

Azriel hates the Illyrian mountains. Loathes the culture he comes from that festers here, their swift brutality and preferred cruelty against even their own. Invisible standards that made one Fae better than another.

The lives they taught him to take so easily.

So the last thing he had expected to find coming back here, to a place haunted with wretched memories, was... an ally.

But staring across the space to you, he can't think of any other word to describe the stirring in his chest. The drag on his heart, as if it's lurching forward.

"Look, let me show you."

You drop what's in your hands and take a couple steps to cross the space. The shelter is like you, small, just shy of cramped. The ceiling could stand to gain a few inches and the inside is as bare as Azriel would expect of a home in a war-camp.

One rickety table. A bed tucked into a corner. A fireplace with slanted, mismatched soot-covered bricks. There's the general rustle about the place that indicates someone sleeps here. Things hang off nails, bedded into the wall.

Hovering beside the table, you gesture for the knife in Azriel's hand. There's tenseness in your shoulders. You're still wary of him— or perhaps so used to your own company. He wonders which it is as he hands over the knife wordlessly.

"You just gotta—" The vegetable gets re-positioned on the board and when you bring down the knife, it's with an elegance that Azriel had been severely lacking.

You slice a long strip off, lengths-wise, and then pause, looking up at him to make sure he understands. "Slice?"

Azriel smiles despite himself.

That's the other thing.

You are, without a doubt, the most beautiful Fae he's ever seen in his life— not to mention, by far the most beautiful male he’s ever laid his eyes on.

It had taken him by surprise initially, even his shadows rearing back in shock when you had turned and sprung at him, cutlery in hand. Azriel had fumbled one of his blocks and it led to you sinking the fork into his shoulder— all because his mind had been whispering beautiful, beautiful, beautiful.

It's the reason you had managed to land a hit at all— or Azriel tells himself that. Because otherwise, he had a serious reason to brush up on his own training.

He also tells himself it had nothing to do with his offer.

It hadn't swayed his reasoning in the slightest; not the way he can't take his eyes off you for some peculiar, unbidden reason. Training you and learning how to make tonics alongside you was entirely due to his belief in your mission.

Liar, one of his shadows seems to whisper in response.

Azriel was over five hundred years old — tangling with a male was not entirely foreign to him. And yet, Azriel had found it was not as to his taste as females were.

Another glance at you has him, once again, second-guessing that.

As quickly as it enters his mind, he snuffs it, his wings giving a minuscule twitch, right as you offer him back the knife.

He opts for a question instead. "How did you come to live here?"

It's one of the other unusual parts of your intriguing survival out here. Not only did you make the cut to train to become a warrior against the odds, but you also live alone. Azriel lets himself survey the shelter once more.

It's far better than some of the conditions he's been subjected to before and yet... it's not quite homey. As though you've never relaxed here, even when it's just you.

"I built it."

Azriel blinks. Then he turns his head down to look at you, perplexed.

"You...?"

You've walked back to the plant you were handling, starting to strip off the leaves again. You hum in response to his words, sparing a glance up at the ceiling.

That certainly explained why it was on the smaller side, made to your stature. Azriel can't fathom how you managed it in the blizzardly conditions of the mountains, entirely on your own.

"As I'm sure you're familiar, bastards don't get anything in these camps."

Your voice tightens with the pain of an unhealed wound.

Azriel doesn't say anything, just presses his lips together thinly. He nods.

"It was already a ruin, the fireplace and floorboards were about the only thing left." This time as you tug the leaves off the plant in your hand, it's a little meaner. "It took me years to properly finish it because the males in camp kept coming by to see if they could knock it back down."

Something roars in Azriel's ears, a familiar icy fury at the injustice that roamed so freely in these mountains. A plague amongst these people. So many Fae, so eager to kick those who are already down.

Looking up from your hands, your motions slow, and a distant look dawns on your face as though you've been whisked away into an old memory. A cold smile graces your mouth.

"So eventually when one of them came around, I showed them why they shouldn't fuck with my stuff. Or with me."

How you gained your solitary fortress out here.

It had piqued his interest on the very first evening, the sole shelter out from the cluster of cabins in the camp. That even though the drunken warriors were first to point it out when Azriel came asking who was causing trouble, none of them would go near it.

He can guess a multitude of things you did to protect it and yourself. Something akin to admiration blooms in his chest. Something heavier, deeper, lurks beneath it.

As your hands go back to work, Azriel can't help but watch you silently for a moment. His shadows pour over his shoulders, seeping down his arms the longer he looks; as though they, too, want to figure out the enigma in front of them.

You're a very peculiar male, Azriel thinks for the second time that evening.

The runt of the litter and a bastard just as him.

A natural born fighter and an Illyrian warrior against all the odds.

A Fae with long hair like Cassian's, chopped at the shoulder and scraped back — and a voice softer than most. A Fae with eyes that burn with a promise for retribution, with icy fury like his own.

Azriel picks up the knife and slices the vegetable as you had, slow and long. He steals one more glance at you — to find you're doing the same, chancing a split-second glimpse to look at him.

Azriel averts his eyes back to the table.

He feels the treacherous glow of his cheeks and is thankful you can't see his face clearly in the dim light. He slices again.

And as he mulls his thoughts, the pair of you working in tandem as the fire crackles loudly in the corner, Azriel makes a point to ignore the thundering feeling that seems to sing right out of his heart.

No matter if he's half-sure he knows just what word it's singing.

(Mate. Mate. Mate).

[NEXT PART: COMPANIONS]

—

tags below!

@janebirkln @itsswritten @mischiefmanagers @hnyclover @waytoomanyteenagefeels @idkitsem @illyrianbitch @jeweline16 @fightmedraco @iamjimintrash @maeandering @spideytingley @aneekapaneeka

(if i tagged u and u would like to opt out, no hard feelings! send me an ask and i’ll leave u off :D)

[legobiwan]

"What if Stanley somehow manages to destroy the portal just like he destroyed my perpetual motion machine?"

Holy shit, Stanford, you just spent the last few pages of your Journal outlining in horrifying detail how Bill took your body on a criminal joyride and forced you to forget your own name while pulling your bones from their very sockets in a hallucinatory nightmare void. You woke up weeping on your living room floor.

And yet, you have the absolute fucking gall to be concerned your brother, if you summon him to Gravity Falls, might destroy the Portal???? You mean the one piece of leverage you have over Bill? The main reason he's stalking you? The machine that will literally end the world if activated?

Between this, Ford refusing to burn his journals, and the fact he fully intends on continuing his work on the Portal once he's solved the Bill problem -

This is the picture of a man at the apex of both megalomania and a mental breakdown.

Could you imagine if Ford had found a way to beat back Bill and keep the Portal? Just how much would his ego have inflated even more? (Probably large enough that he wouldn't fit out the door). I feel like it's a timeline where Ford becomes the Big Bad, not because of Bill (well, a little bit because of Bill), but because he sees himself as transcending godhood and what little is left of his moral compass he casts into a black hole. ("He may be a god, but I am scientist.")

The juxtaposition between this and Stan's sacrifice during Weirdmageddon is insane. Ford, who steadfastly refused to give up his life's work to save world and Stan, who gave up everything he was to save the world. There's got to be a part of Stan that reads these pages and wonders just who his brother is, when he turned unto a supervillain, and if it would ever happen again. Stan may not want to acknowledge it, but deep down, I think he's legitimately pissed at Ford for being such narcissistic bonehead. I think it is something that haunts him in the odd hours of the night, his brother sleeping soundly in the bunk next to him on the Stan O'War II while Stan ponders if he's sharing quarters with Lex Luthor. You could have ended it, Poindexter. You could have ended so long ago.

The past is the past and as his mother would say, you can't unshit a turd. (Something Stan has more experience with than he'd like, regret trailing him his whole life like a vengeful shadow). Ford is here now, they're alive, the bastard triangle is gone. But God, does he want to sit his brother down, tie him to a chair, and scream at him, to shake him and demand to know just what hell he had been thinking, why he had allowed himself to become this kind of...this kind of monster.

Stan will never, ever do this. He has his brother, has his awkward affection, has almost everything he's ever wanted. The answers are not worth it. (In Stan's experience, the answers are almost never worth it.)

And as for Ford? Somewhere in his subconscious, a shrill, too-familiar voice likes to remind him of who he is and what he can still become. The same grating voice that tells him they're not so different, after all, that there's still time, there's always time to fix the past, to create the future. You're a scientist, after all. You're more than a god.

That's the voice Ford papers over with contrition, with guilt and self-abnegation and a near-manic dedication to the small boat bobbing along in the Arctic, not even holding a speck of relevance compared to the vast and might ocean, forget to the multiverse at large. That's the voice Ford drinks away in secret on the worst nights, the one that tells him a stone statue in the forest is as much him as it is the monster whose shape it embodies.

[dovithedarklord]

Stucked - Part 7

You're trapped in a game and a new threat is lurking.

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Pairing: John "Soap" MacTavish x reader, Simon "Ghost" Riley x reader, König x reader

Tags: Mentions of death, Mentions of blood and gore, Blood and Violence, Sexual Scenes, Alternate Universe, No use of Y/N, Not Beta Read, AFAB Reader

Trigger Warning: Contains blood and gore, violence, injury, some body horror, and drugging. Please, keep that in mind!

⚠️MDNI⚠️

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Author's Note

The climax of the story is getting closer and closer, and now you meet someone who knows what kind of place you're stuck in.

Hello!

Sorry for the long delay, but I was finally able to get back to writing! The story is slowly coming to an end and the last important character enters.

Have fun! :D

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6

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The eerie silence of the forest penetrates every unprotected pore of your cold body like a latent sickness, as if the ominous uneventfulness would be a precursor to a deadly disease that can push you into a sick bed festering with ulcers at any moment. And you know that this calmness is only a fleeting mirage, because in every dark corner, in every hidden hole, something terrible can be lurking, which can ruin the unsettling ease with which you fled from your pursuers. Even though you're surrounded by the soft breeze of the night, the sighs of the branches dancing in the wind passing through the trees, the frightened shuffling noises of the feet of animals coming to life under the dead leaves, and even though the owls try to lull your suspicions with their melancholic songs, you already know this horrible prison all too well. And thanks to the last few hours, you won't make the mistake of trusting in its mercy again. Because in this fever dream, there is no benevolence, no compassion, only survival. And you do everything to win, because there is no other way out.

The time you spent wandering in the woods in the pitch-black night seems endless, and even though you know you're far away from the lake and the deformed creatures that turned the water into a putrid graveyard, the dull stabbing pain in your lungs reminds you of with what hurry you managed to disappear from the watchful eyes. You were just a hair's breadth away from being caught in the violent embrace of a beast, and if you hadn't found the pearls, you wouldn't have had a chance to make that daring escape with which you threw yourself into the thick of the forest before. 

If you had any hopeful foolishness left in you, you'd think the game had given up on its cruel pursuit of fun and finally presented you with a generous gift. But you know that this goddamn purgatory feeds on the sweet nectar of suffering and will do everything to squeeze every last drop of luscious misery out of your flesh and bones. And as it flashes before your mind's eye, how the red and purple stains of the damaged blood vessels drawn into the tissues disappeared from your leg following the cool caress of the beads, you become more and more certain that it was all just a morbid coincidence. Maybe even this nightmare-like torture chamber can make a mistake, because you doubt that it offered you this miracle voluntarily. Like when a bug appears in a video game, causing the world embedded in pixels to slip for a moment, and through the distorted chaos, the system reveals secrets that you should have never seen. And maybe it did. Maybe this diabolical place is finally starting to crumble under the weight of its own evil. 

But you know that now is not the time to ponder how the well-known hell will turn into a completely new kind of horror, because you only need to take a look at the map resting in your hand to know what your task is. On the yellowed page, the unknown gray building stands out with such definite outlines, as if someone had painted it there with liquid metal, and for a minute the sharp lines of the rough sketch seem to dance in front of your tired eyes. While trekking through the wild vegetation, you had time to decide where your path should lead you next, and although the knife-like anxiety in the depths of your stomach relentlessly pumps the warning acid of uneasiness into your limbs, you're aware that this new location didn’t appear without purpose. There's something there that makes this place important enough to have a prominent spot on the map, and that's enough reason for you to risk another disastrous adventure. After all, you have nothing to lose, right? A new killer, a new death, another damn mark on your skin, but a chance to find an exit. And at this point, you're ready to seize anything to get out of here.

It's almost cartoonishly comical, the way a small blood-red line on the stained page traces your journey so far, like a path sketched up with a crayon in the middle of the splotch-like woods, and this small detail only makes you even more certain that you're stuck in a grotesque game. The system keeps track of your progress, and although the knowledge that you cannot hide from the invisible gaze only increases the uncomfortable tightness in your chest, for once this atrocity has at least some benefits. For the dull edge of the gray building emerges with an uncanny glow from behind the dense curtain of foliage and branches, like a glimmering fragment of the imagination that may fade away at any moment. Even though the game follows your every move, it helped you to reach this point, and you're terribly grateful for it.

You keep your eyes fixed on the slowly approaching house with an unbroken focus as you carefully thread through the thicket of dry bushes, and it’s only due to random luck that you catch on your periphery those tiny, uncertain little blobs that rest serenely on one of the nearby trees. And when your brain finally registers the stimuli, you suddenly halt in your march, as if an unknown force had severed the nerve fibers wiring your muscles. There is something sickeningly familiar in the way the small human-like figures sway between the withered branchlets, and it dawns on you a few seconds later why your mind thought it was important to stop here. Because you saw the same dolls made of sticks at the shrine, where the map was waiting for you, and no matter how much this is a sure sign that you're moving in the right direction, you're unable to banish the instinctive sinister feeling stirring in your brain cells. At first, you thought that maybe they had erected that hideous monument in honor of the tentacled creature that lived in the lake, but now you know that they wanted to pay homage to something completely different. And whatever that unknown entity is, it doesn't bode well for you if teeth pulled from jaws, brown with blood, and clumps of hair lead to its grace.

But a completely new kind of confusion comes over you when you shift your attention from the sprawling tangle of dead twigs and finally spot the boot lying on the ground, almost hidden under the dry crown of curled leaves surrounding it. Perhaps you could chalk it up to a morbid coincidence, a background element without meaning, which fades into oblivion eventually, but the game has engraved in your mind with blood and pain that nothing here is just an insignificant detail. And as you step closer and examine the forgotten footwear, you discover those tiny, white shards on the faded leather covered in muddy dirt, which shine under the filtering moonlight like glitter. However, there is something quite unsettlingly velvety in the way the crushed pieces stand out from the grimy material, and as your vision finally sharpens enough to recognize the tiny red specks between the zig-zagged edges, you know what sits so innocently on the surface of the boot. Small pieces of grounded bones, which cover the abandoned object as if someone sprinkled it with granulated sugar. And this makes your stomach turn with such an elemental force that you stagger back from the horrible surprise, as if the very sight of it could breathe death into your cells. Because however that bone dust ended up on that unfortunate shoe, you don't want to suffer the same fate as its owner.

However, you’re jolted out of your stupor by an unexpected crack, which deafeningly pierces into the motionless quite between the tree trunks, and you crumple the map deep into your pocket with reflexive panic and turn in the direction of the noise, as if someone was pulling you on a string. And a completely impossible relief ripples through you, loosening the tennis ball size knot your stomach has shrunk into, as you find yourself face to face with an old woman, who freezes with her wicker basket full of chopped-up wood clutched to her chest, her face pale with a look of horrified shock like yours. You see the fright reflected in her eyes, as she looks you over slowly, and the thought arises in you that maybe you yourself might not present a more inviting sight than the boots. Because although the mementos of your wounds, colored with bruises, have disappeared, your dirty, wet clothes clung to your battered, paralyzed body, and at this moment you're quite sure that with your eyes widened with fear, you must remind her of a trapped wild animal.

A torturous, tense moment of stillness passes, and when you see the frail, worn-out old figure relax, anxiety releases its grip on your insides as well, and you let out the breath that has been trapped in the supple prison of your lungs with painful tension until now.

"Oh my… are you all right, sweetheart?" Comes the sincere question in a strangely accented voice, and the tenderness in her words hits you completely unprepared. And although an intimate, motherly concern moves between her features, as her thinning eyebrows meet under her gray hair with worry, you still can't suppress the flicker of doubt that whispers from the back of your skull to be careful. You don't dare to trust anything anymore, and a stranger rarely means good in this damn world. Yet, your tortured soul yearns for the tiniest spark of humanity with such pitiful force, that you involuntary let your spine loosen the painful stiffness that resides in it.

"I'm lost." You answer, carefully rolling the syllables on your tongue, savoring the caution that instinctively settles in your mouth and restrains your sociability. Although the woman seems defenseless, you already know how unnoticed a beast can hide behind the mask of sweet kindness. At best, she’s an insignificant NPC, an additional character who merely fills the void, who, like Pam and Rebecca, is condemned to eternal death, and waits unsuspectingly for the killer to appear to strip her of her aged flesh. And you want to hope that she's just a helpless puppet of the storyline and not another threat, because you want more than anything to have someone else suffer instead of you finally. Because you lost the compassion that would be appalled at this thought long ago.

"How about you come to my house?" She makes the timid offer, and as her gaze catches the thick layer of mud embedded in your T-shirt, you can see how her mouth curls into a line full of doubts. As if she would understand without asking any questions, that you've been through an endless hell that has soaked itself into your pores through the soft cotton, and can't be expressed with words. "I'll find you something warm to put on." She adds, and you feel the awareness with which she tries to dispel the restless rigidity radiating from her to not frighten you. As if she were talking to a trapped fawn, which would be able to take flight at the slightest thoughtless move, even if its shackles would flay its legs, trapped between the razor-sharp metal, alive in the process. And it makes you realize how pitiful it is, that the events of the never-ending night transformed you into a raw, pulsating nerve so easily. But you suspect that this is what has kept you alive until now.

Although the suspicion of the stranger has already settled into the depths of your consciousness, you still make yourself nod, because even if you don't know the woman and have no idea what might be hiding behind the defenseless exterior, you're aware that you're serving yourself as easy prey for the monsters in the forest.  And you know it's only a matter of time before they catch a scent and appear breathing down on your neck.

"Alright... Come on, I don't live far from here!" She motions towards the building resting in the distance with her head, and you immediately know where her home could be. And if you had doubts, now you're quite sure, you've become involved in a new storyline, no matter how accidental this unexpected meeting seems. The game can always surprise you with new horrors, but as merciless as this world is, it's also as predictable. Because it's addicted to its habits, and you have learned to interpret its hidden signs. There are no coincidences, only tools that lead to your doom. And if you were already on your way to another trouble, then you let yourself be lead into its open mouth.

She hesitates for a few seconds, waiting to see if you change your mind and retreat into the desolate depths of the forest, but when you continue to stare at her like statue frozen in place, she turns around with the ghost of a small smile on her face, and beckoning you with her knobby fingers, she aks you to follow her. And you join her a moment later, keeping that respectful distance that speaks more to the mistrust swirling in your belly than to the thoughtfulness you feel for her. Perhaps an onlooker would think that you're just a scared little girl tagging along with her in the maze of tree trunks, but you feel the energy slithering through your legs, ready to run off at the very first odd move. You may be a slow learner, but you could repeat this lesson even after waking up from a dream. Don't let yourself be fooled. Because you've outlined the ideal possibility, but even the whirlwind of your imagination cannot authentically paint the worst-case scenario for you.

After a few meters spent in wordless peace, as the last remnants of the wild vegetation, frozen from the autumn cold, disappears, the concrete building, for which you decided to drag yourself through the goddamn forest, emerges almost abnormally in the small clearing. It stands out from the dark foliage as strikingly as an old silver ring forgotten in a black velvet box, and there is something quite unsettling about the way the tiny windows stare down at you from the monotonous walls. Like hungry mouths, waiting for a victim that they can grind up with their glimmering glass teeth. And you notice, what grotesque similes your brain is making, but you're unable to suppress the voice in your head that tells you, that there is no one in this artificial world who would call this their home with peace of mind. Because the structure looks more like a slaughterhouse with its inhospitable, barren frame, on which the holes from the crumbling plaster and the dry carpet of faded lichens bordering them gape like scars left behind by smallpox. The building may have been standing here since the game's universe was created, and in light of this, it’s even more baffling to you why it appeared only now.

But you can't ponder on that now, because you reach the house, and the old woman hurries to the shabby entrance with an agility that belies her age, pushing in the thick wooden panel covered with flaking red paint with a light movement, and opens the door of her home to you with the same helpfulness with which she led you here until now. Even though she doesn't say a word, you still understand the gentle plea with which she invites you in, because you see the worried light dancing in her eyes, with which she examines the uncertainty glued onto your features. And you want to believe in this softness more than anything, but what helps your leaden legs move the most is the knowledge that you know you can't turn back. Because Johnny and Simon are out there looking for you, and even if you were to avoid them, you'd already delved into a new thread of events. And you fear how the game would punish you if you were to deny its generous gift. Therefore, gathering all your remaining composure, you force the faint curve of a weak smile into the corner of your mouth and head towards the interior of the house, fighting the instinctive feeling that makes it seem like you're walking straight through the entrance to the scene of your execution.

As you cross the threshold made of rickety boards, the characteristic smell of old houses snakes into your nose, the fusty stench of moisture that has soaked into the walls over the decades and the stale essence of powdery, old perfumes, which awakens nostalgia in you with an almost visceral force. And there is something extremely homely about the old chest of drawers, forgotten in the small hall, and about the lace tablecloth spread on the top of it, chewed by time, on which a bouquet of worn plastic flowers sits in a glass vase, like the last witnesses of a couple of long gone, sentimental memories. The old nick-nacks accumulated over the years rests in neat order, and even on the walls, the frames, covered with pale gold, hang with measured precision, with black and white photos of unknown people in them, testifying that perhaps, according to the story, the woman might not have lived here alone once. They looking into the camera with blank expressions on their grim faces, and you swear that they're staring into your soul with their dull, dot-like eyes.

And when the woman rushes past you towards the inside of the house, disrupts the thin layer of dust that settles on the worn surface of the furniture, and as the musty smell traveling with the tiny particles settles into your nose, it occurs to you that, despite the homely atmosphere, it's as if no more than a few stray ghosts would actually live here. And your subconscious warns you about this small intuition, which makes you sneak after your host with careful cat-like steps, like a curious child who knows she's straying into an area that adults have told her a thousand times not to venture near to.

The lamp hanging from the ceiling is the only source of light as you enter the kitchen after the the old woman, and the light bulb casts filmy, yellow rays from under the milk-like porcelain onto the battered furnishings of the little room. She’s already busying herself, and shoves chopped pieces of wood into the dilapidated stove, scaly with peeling white paint, glancing over her shoulder as she hears the shuffling of your shoes on the worn linoleum.

"Sit down, I'll make you some tea to warm you up!" She speaks up, and by now all uncertainty has disappeared from her voice, giving the impression that it was not a torn stranger, but an old friend who appeared in front of her humble abode in the middle of the night. And, as she digs out an ancient teapot from one of the cupboards, and the faucet turns on with a loud creak, as she steps to the sink and fills it with water, you wonder what will come next. Now you can't rely on your routine, with which you were able to tell exactly which breath followed the other in the cabin, and this creates an uncomfortable, gaping hole in your insides. And that sends a robotic rigidity into your limbs as you walk over to the table in the middle of the kitchen and settle down in one of the thick oak armchairs, because fear begins to twist in the bottomless pit that anxiety has opened in you, as your eyes scan the room for danger. You should feel bad that you're so persistently looking for a trap in the woman's hospitality, but you have experienced firsthand how big a mistake it is when you let yourself to be overconfident.

"A few minutes and it's done." She comments on her haste, and turning towards you, she leans against the shabby kitchen counter, finding you with her searching gaze again. Now that you have entered the scene of another dangerous mission, your consciousness automatically accepts the stimuli that your brain may have tried to push away until now. And you see the sparks of interest swimming through the pools of her eyes, but despite the soft expression still sitting on the worn face, the stress is too strong for you to let your guard down. You'd like to think that only your paranoia brings out this visceral suspicion, but you're smarter than that. "How did you get lost?" She formulates the completely legitimate question, and your ear once again discovers the accent that, despite the light tone, gives her words harshness. As if tiny little pebbles would be gurgling in her mouth, making every consonant flow out a little harder from her paper-thin lips. Maybe Russian?

"We just went for a walk with my friends. I lost them." You finally break your silence with a half-truth, which is just honest enough so that your tone is not colored by the sound of lies. You have no reason to tell her what happened during the endless torture of the past hours, and you have a gut feeling that it wouldn't help you if you mentioned to her what kind of monsters this demonic place has entwined your fate with.

And when the telltale shadows of doubt creep across the old face, you become quite sure that you have made the right decision. You can tell from the little quiver that makes the corner of her mouth twitch that she doesn't believe you, but there's just enough goodwill in her not to try to inquire further. You see how suddenly her throat jumps as she swallows the demanding questions, and you're quite sure that she knows exactly what happened to you. She must have resided in the middle of the forest long enough to know its every evil nook and cranny, and you doubt that her innocent facade is what has kept her alive. Whatever the purpose of this storyline, it is not a coincidence that she lives here in the middle of nowhere, and there is even less chance that it was thanks to some harmless tricks that helped her home to stay so undisturbed. This also raises a series of dangerous assumptions in you, and you can almost feel how the buzzing of suspicion in your head sharpens as a result.

A sudden whistle interrupts the thread of your thoughts sinking into ever darker pits, and the woman, breaking your silent examination, settles back into her caring role, turning to the teapot angrily steaming on the stove amid soft curses. And you take advantage of this to explore the hidden corners of the room, searching for small signs that can reveal what you're dealing with. It’s quite obvious that another important clue will be hidden here, and you have to do everything you can to find it, because you don't know how much time you have until the two men or another killer find you, one who has been lying dormant waiting for the opportunity to play with you until now.

And now that you take a closer look at the room, you discover more and more little details you missed when you wandered in here. You can see the touch of old hands in the order that resides in the small hole of the kitchen, but you can spot the silky blanket of spider webs that weave the plates decorated with flowers on the shelves, as if no one has used them for decades. There are rich bouquets of dried plants hung on nails on the wall, but below them, you can clearly make out the yellowed newspaper articles written in a language unknown to you, on which the same black and white people you saw in the hall look back at you. And when you squint and try to observe the figure emerging from under the withered flowers of one of the herbs, you see how a little boy, dressed in old-fashioned clothes, is cut through by the unknown mark, which almost decapitates him with the edges engraved with graphite. At first, the drawing may seem like a simple scribble, but you recognize the needle-sharp points of a star in it, as if someone had carved a grotesque crosshair there…

The knocking of the mug's porcelain jolts you out of your investigation, and you wince with the surprise of a small child caught in mischief, turning your gaze back to the woman, who takes her seat across from you with a much tighter smile than before. And the tenderness on her face turns into something completely cold, as if only habit would keep the friendly curl in the corners of her mouth in place, and the softness that used to be able to inspire sympathy in your soul has disappeared from them. Now her expression transforms into sharp lines, which are deepened into gloomy furrows by the yellow light filtering down from the lamp, as if would the woman transform into someone completely different in an instant. Someone you shouldn't be around.

"Drink up. It will help." She pushes the cup towards you, and you know it's not just your ears when you feel the impatient tone in her voice, from which the offer sounds more like an instruction than a well-meaning nagging. And you don't react for a tense moment, and despite the anxiety churning in your stomach, you try to keep your cool, because now you recognize the fleeting shadow that hides under the gentle warmth. Like a hawk waiting to strike, she follows your movements as you wrap your fingers around the handle of the mug, but she can no longer deceive you, because you've seen the same expression before. Although it's not Johnny's handsome face and the sparks of his sky-blue eyes that want to divert the suspicion that is scratching your insides, the disguise of an old woman feigning cordial concern would just as effectively put anyone's doubts to sleep. But she can put on any mask, you're already able to distinguish the vileness under the sickly sweet surface. And this woman wants to hurt you, you're sure of that.

Still, you pull the steaming beverage in front of you with almost automatic movements, trying with every cell not to let her figure out that you suspect something. You need her to reveal herself, because that's how you can get her to lead you to the clues that can get you out of here. There is something hidden in this damned house, and you feel it in your bones that it’s important to find out what it is. All your fake innocence seeps into the way you touch your mouth to the porcelain, and the luscious scent of herbs and fruits snakes into your nose. And although you don't feel the sting of poison in the steamy clouds rising from the tea, it fills you with a bad foreboding when the woman leans forward with artificial benevolence frozen on her face, watching with almost intrusive interest how you start sipping the hot liquid. And you feel more and more tense with each passing second, like an ant stuck under a magnifying glass, which has just begun to feel how the rays of the sun breaking through the lens burn its legs into charcoal stubs. And you see the dissatisfaction when you hesitantly lower the cup.

"Drink it all. You need it." She encourages you, almost cooing, and her accent is more reminiscent of an impatient mother who tries to dictate medicine to her protesting child with a barely controlled temper. Gentle, but just as much as boiling water forgotten under the lid. And you feel how the little hairs rise on the nape of your neck, as her glassy eyes fixate on you with unblinking persistence.

Uncertain silence settles in the tiny kitchen, which makes the saliva in your mouth thicken into molasses as you return the woman's stare. Under the flickering light of the old bulb, everything seems to change, and out of the corner of your eye, it looks as if the flowers painted on the wall would turn into wax, dripping off the plaster dirty from grease. But you’re unable to turn your gaze away from her, as she studies you with the immobility of a predator, and you have to forcefully suppress the trembling that awakes in your hands as you raise the mug to your lips and take another small sip. And the excited light that passes over her features does’t escape your attention for a minute, as she follows the almost painfully sweet liquid traveling down your throat. And now you're sure that no matter how harmless this elderly woman seems, evil is hidden under her frail frame. Because the pearls hidden in your pockets come to life with an almost warning glow, as the strange, bitter aftertaste sits on your taste buds, which the sugar has been able to suppress until now.

Under the pulsation of the little red spheres, the light buzz, that the brew wants to envelop your brain in, has no chance of spreading, but you know you have to pretend that she was successful, whatever she smuggled into your drink. Because there's a reason why she's trying to knock you out, and maybe if you make her believe that you let her trick you like an unsuspecting fool, then she'll reveal what she's up to. That's why you let the fatigue throbbing in your limbs creep onto the fibers of your muscles, numb with lactic acid, and you let the exhausted yawn loose that, now that you're finally resting, falls through your mouth sincerely. And you hear that satisfied little hum with which the woman finally leans back, when she assesses the unexpected force of the sleepiness washing over you.

"Perhaps it would be best if you stayed here for the night." She offers, and there is nothing to unsure about the way she presents her proposal to you. A selflessly offered opportunity, behind which lies a statement to which no opposition is expected. And it’s exactly this determination that dispels the previous softness, and fills her old joints with an almost youthful energy, when she springs up and starts towards the kitchen door, giving you one last, almost painfully fond look. "You just stay here and rest." She adds, and you feel nauseous from the kindness under which the poison of cruelty ripples, and which creeps into your ear canals with snide unsolicitedness.

When, after an uncertain nod, you lay your head down on the table with languid weakness, she hurries away towards the maze of the corridor giggling, with such immense glee, as if an unexpected present had fallen into her lap. And you, closing your eyes, order every part of your body to remain motionless in anticipation, slowing your breathing to a trembling evenness, listening through your own shivering for the woman's footsteps. You have to remain unnoticed because you're sure that if she realizes that her tea has failed to relax you enough, she'll come up with something much more painful to get the desired effect. You're not sure what her goal is, but you don't have time to create unnecessary excitement for yourself.

For minutes, only the soft puffs of the air flowing through your nose fill the room shrouded in an almost disturbing quietness, but despite your pulse pounding in your ears with an almost deafening noise, you wait until all the sounds die down between the old walls. And when you decide that you have wasted enough time, you carefully push yourself away from the worn furniture and stand up with your eyes fixed on the shadows beyond the door, watching for an unexpected visitor with every move you make. But, when nothing happens, and only the low buzzing of the light bulb and the hooting of the owls filtering in from outside travel through the empty house, then you sneak towards the hallway.

As you step out onto the corridor, it takes a few uncertain seconds for your eyes to get used to the dense darkness, and when you're finally able to make out the pitch-black outlines of the furniture, you set off into the unknown. The age-old parquet floor creaks under your shoes, reminiscent of the soft squealing of a mouse, and with each step you take, the presentiment tightens its grip on your insides. Because you have no idea where the old woman could have gone, and the fact that she can appear from behind any of the doors lined up next to each other is just enough to awaken the needle-like prickling of stress in your muscles. As if a thousand tiny ants would be crawling under your skin, and clenching your teeth, you fight the tempting compulsion to escape. You know you're wading into the swampy abyss of certain danger, but you also know you have no other choice. And not finding a clue is not an option. You have to move on or you'll be stuck here forever.

You wouldn't be able to tell how deep you ventured into the uninhabited house, but everything turns into an unsettling uniformity as a dull entrance follows another insignificant door, and the pictures hanging on the walls serve as your only companions in your wanderings.The lifeless eyes following you send shivers down your spine involuntarily, because although they're nothing more than the imprints of strangers lingering in the past, yet there is something bleak in the faces of the people on them. But when you discover something familiar, you stop dead in your tracks to take a closer look at the many of photos hidden in the frames, and you don't have to think long to recognize the boy from the kitchen. Although he may be much older here, and the childish roundness of his face has already been banished by the hormones of adolescence, but the light eyes stare at you with the same stern expressionlessness as they did from the shadows of the herbs. There is something hard in them, something angry, lurking beneath the frozen stillness, waiting to strike. And the longer you stare, the more the unpleasant feeling intensifies in you, which plants the impossible idea in your mind that the next moment he will come to life and, reaching through the scratched glass, wraps his pale, thin fingers around your neck.

A thunder-like bang tears into the empty quiet of the building, and you, shaking in terror, break out of your paranoia-woven imagination to spin around and start searching for the noise with the alarm of a frightened animal. And when the sounds don't die down, but are enriched by the clanking of a chain and the murmur of a muffled conversation, then you come upon the worn door, ajar, on the tattered surface of which a star-like scribble greets you, roughly sketched up with blood-red paint, the same that someone drew on the boy in the newspaper article. And you become aware with an uncomfortable certainty that the game has finally revealed your next destination to you, no matter how much every cell of yours protests against venturing towards the source of the increasingly loud clamor.

Every single nerve of yours tenses as one, as you move closer, keeping your eyes fixed on the cracked varnish clinging to the wooden surface, considering each step before the next, and the closer you stray, the sharper the violently snapping words become, and even though you don't understand them, you can feel the simmering ire in them. You open the door with your trembling fingers wrapped around the doorknob, and the saliva crawls down your dry throat almost like shards of glass, when you try to dispel the lump that has grown there. But nothing welcomes you, only a set of stairs covered in faint light, which leads you down into the uncertain darkness, and you feel the force of fear twisting your guts, as you muster up your courage and set off to the rickety steps.

The lower you go, the wider the hidden world of the basement opens up in front of you, and the more painful the horrible smell, mixture of the sweet stench of rot and the sting of sweat, pierces your nose. With each breath, the stagnant, moldy air penetrates deeper into your lungs, and if your brain weren't occupied by terror, you would wonder what kind of disease you're filling your chest with so voluntarily. Although to your own ears, every noise your shoes mak on the old stairs is ear-splitting, you know, even through the uncontrollably roaring fear inside you, that the sounds of your arrival will be drowned out by the wild discussion unfolding on the other side of the wall bordering the stairs. You recognize the woman's voice in the furious foreign expressions, but that's not what makes you halt hesitantly on the last step. It's that unexpected, raspy male baritone that stops the momentum of your curiosity from taking you any further, because even though you can't see the face associated with it, you feel the deadly threat traveling in the growl-like rumble.

"ублюдок!" The woman erupts, and even you cringe instinctively from the caustic rage that sits in her tone. "You ungrateful wretch!" She spits in a way that you finally can understand, and you hear the crunch of the dirt and dust sliding under her shoes as she take a step forward, as if she were moving closer to someone, but further away from your impromptu hiding place. "I should have let them take you!" The end of the heated cursing snaps, and with this the stormy exchange of words turns into painful silence, as if the shadows hiding on the dirty floor had absorbed not only the rays of the faintly flickering light, but also the sounds. And from this, even you know that something came out of the woman's mouth that shouldn't have.

The basement falls into an icy stillness, and the tiny hairs on your skin rise as you lean against the wall and listen, wondering if you made a mistake by coming down here. However, as your frightened eyes wander around the dimly lit room, you discover something in one corner that catches your eye with its golden glow. And you lean forward like someone who has been mesmerized, trying to decipher through the dying light of the old bulb hanging on the ceiling, what might be hiding in one of the shelves under the piled-up, dusty mountain of junk. And the relieved joy that washes over you when you notice the lost key that leads to Johnny's attic, is almost ridiculous, and for a fleeting moment, you're sure that it's just your eyes playing games with you. But the tiny little object winks back at you with an unmoving serenity a few long seconds later, and you already know what your task is.

"Oh, my little boy... don't be angry! Mommy loves you, you know that, right?" You hear the apologetic shush, and you're filled with an ominous feeling as you lean forward from behind the wall, clinging to the crumbling bricks, to see how safe it is to get the key. And your eyebrows knot together in confusion when you're greeted by nothing more than the old woman, who, stepping towards one of the dark corners, spreads her arms as if waiting for someone to fall into her arms. Although at first, you're sure that age and loneliness have warped her mind so much that she imagines one of her loved ones in the shadows, but as your gaze falls on the mattress, brown with dirt, lying by the wall, and the plates soiled from the rotting leftover food, you dismiss your naive assumption. Someone is here, and based on the dried, yellowish stains on the torn bedsheet, they weren't forced to retreat here now. But you don't care about that. Whoever is imprisoned here, you're not here to help them.

"I found a new friend for you... She is much prettier than the previous ones! You want to see her, don't you? If you're a good boy, I'll bring her down for you... You do as mommy says, yes?" The woman continues, mumbling the kind words with an almost atoning tenderness, and it becomes painfully clear that whatever lives down here, this old bitch tried to drug you because of it. And when you remember the boot sprinkled with bone dust found in the forest, you banish the idea of thinking about what could have happened to those who were dragged down here before you. You have more important things to do than brood over the deaths of imaginary strangers… as cruel as that may sound.

But just as you finally take the first brave step and leave your hideout with careful stealth, the chain rattle comes to life again, and you freeze, forgetting about the key, when a dull crack silences the old hag. Like when a ripe, juicy melon cracks and splits into two when a knife sinks into it, but deep down you know that it's not fruit juice you hear splashing on the floor in fat drops. And you're unable to resist the pull of fear, which draws you in the direction of the noise against your will, but as soon as you see the woman slowly staggering back from the dark corner, you immediately regret giving in to the impulse. Because when your eyes find the handle of the large knife protruding from her head, you clamp your hands to your mouth, trying to force back the horrified scream that rises in your throat. 

The woman clumsily stumbles backward, and you see the uncertain surprise in the trembling hands with which she reaches for her hair, slowly covered into a crimson veil from the blood, touching the wooden handle almost in disbelief. And there is something quite pitiful in the way she turns around in confusion, amidst frightened whimpers, brushing away the strands stuck to her eyes by the red streams running down her forehead. And you, swallowing the bitter taste on your tongue, take a terrified step back, as you suddenly see how impossibly tight the skin clings to the edges of the bones emerging from the sunken face, as if a parasite were about to break through a thin membrane. The pale tissues look unsettlingly papery, and you have a lingering fear that the dull, matte white of her jaw might penetrate them at any moment, as the woman's mouth opens in a silent scream. Unfocused eyes find you, and you're horrified to realize that maybe she wants to ask for help when she wobbles towards you with shaky legs, but you're frozen in terror, as you stare at her motionless, like a deer stuck in the headlights of a car. And you watch in shock, when after what seems like eternity, she, with a gurgling rattle, finally sprawls out on the dusty ground, like a sack full of rotten potatoes.

"You're finally here." You hear the hoarse voice from before, and as you look for its owner in terror, you see how a strong figure emerges from the darkness of the shadows, dragging the heavy shackle of the chain hanging from his thick neck behind him with a metallic clang. But what worries you even more than the muscles hidden under the torn clothes, is the pair of impossibly blue eyes that emerge from under the mask covering the unknown man's face, which look at you with cheerful interest, as if he had found a small bird with a broken wing. And from the cruelty glimmering in them, it immediately becomes painfully clear that he is the kind of person who would rip your wings out by the stem to free you from suffering. "I was waiting for you, Bunny."

(ублюдок (ublyudok) - bastard).

[julemmaes]

Always Been You

Nesta Archeron x Cassian, ~2.5k words

a/n: I saw a reel of a baby and this was born, it's trash but I love them, so enjoy!

"Sweetheart, do you know where my sweater is?! The black one?"

Cassian was rummaging through his wardrobe in desperate need of something heavy to wear in the frigid winter Velaris was hitting them with.

Nesta's robotic voice came from the speaker of his phone, hidden somewhere between his bed sheets. "Uh, might be here, actually."

Here, as in her place. On the other side of the city. More than half an hour from his flat.

He groaned, bending his head forward and halting his hunt.

"Care to tell me why yet another piece of clothing of mine is at yours?"

Nesta chuckled, rejoicing in his despair. He glared at the phone, thankful that his best friend couldn't see him and level him with an equally nasty look.

Her words came muffled this time, more distant, and Cassian knew he'd put him on speaker.

"Not my fault this time. You used it to wrap Little Miss Sunshine up," he couldn't help the smile at the nickname he used to call her daughter. "You claimed she was gonna be too cold on the oh so long way from your car to the door."

"Sounds like something I would do," he muttered to himself, a dopey grin on his lips still. He loved that little nug of happiness that was Nesta's daughter. He loved her as if she were his own.

He shook his head, focusing on the date ahead, and put on another sweater, of a light brown colour he despised, and shook out his duvet, fishing for the phone.

Turning off the speaker, he put it to his ear, "You think I could pass by after the pub?"

Nesta only hummed, seeming distracted.

A few beat of silence, "What is the girl's name again?"

Cassian clenched his jaw, pondering whether he should lie or not, and knowing full well that if he gave Nesta too much information she would stalk the poor lady till sunrise.

"Her name is Anne," he lied.

"Liar," she scoffed. Then she grunted, "Whatever, keep your secrets. But don't come crying to me when you'll find out she has a secret dark past as a pig slaughterer."

Cassian laughed, "You're so dramatic."

"And you love it." She couldn't even begin to understand just how true those words were. "Now leave me alone before you're late to the party."

Nesta didn't give him the time to say goodbye that she'd hung up.

***

Slamming the door and closing himself shut in his precious, silent car, Cassian finally got to open his texts app and check what Nesta had sent him mere minutes before.

The date hadn't gone terribly, but Lidia was not his type. And he wasn't hers.

That had been starkly clear after the first fifteen minutes they'd spent talking about a new friend of hers, a certain Ruhn that she'd been crushing on for a while now.

He was her type. He and him only.

She had apologised, and Cassian had laughed, confessing that he had been forced into this date by his brothers, who were so over seeing him brooding because he was single and they were married and with kids.

Their words, not his.

Because in reality, Cassian was happy.

He was happy waiting for his friend to notice he was there for her, when she decided she was gonna have him.

He was happy splitting his time between his own apartment and Nesta's, whenever Logan requested his presence. Which nowadays bordered on always.

Exactly why he wasn't surprised when, opening his thread with Nesta, he found a video of the little girl, now almost one year and a half old.

A weak smile blossomed on his face as he clicked on it.

Nesta was lying on her side, her right arm under Little Lo's head and the baby was looking up at the ceiling, probably staring at the bioluminescent stars he had glued there.

He didn't press play immediately, because the picture of his best friend's half face was too distracting.

Nesta wasn't even fully in the frame, but Cassian wasn't seeing anything else. Her lips were tugged on a corner, a half smile there as she cuddled with her daughter. Her nose glimmered with moisturizing cream, something he knew she put on every night before bed. Her eyes were hidden, out of the picture.

He could have killed, if it meant the promise of tracing his finger down the nape of her perfect nose, to her lips and chin. Of caressing her jaw, holding her face in his hands.

He would have killed to taste those lips, even once.

Taking a deep breath and pretending he wasn't unsettled by the mere thought of touching Nesta, he pressed play and his heart clenched in his chest.

"Da-da, dada, da-da-da-da," Logan was simply calling out for him, basically whispering in the quiet room, brushing her fingers on her lips. "Dadadadada, dada."

His eyes stung lightly and his pinched the tip of his nose, reigning in his emotions.

The little girl turned to the phone once she noticed her mom was recording her and the smile she gave him ended him. Lo yawned in the most cute and tiny way on video and Cassian's stomach tightened to the point of pain.

He loved her.

She smacked the phone from Nesta's hand, calling for her dada once again and everything went black for a few seconds.

The moment colours and pictures came back up, it was Nesta's face smiling at him, now sitting with a writhing Lo saying his name over and over again.

Nesta tilted her head to the side, avoiding being smacked in the face by the baby, "I need you to come here asap. This little beast won't go to bed unless she hears her favourite uncle's lullaby."

Uncle.

The video ended with an otherworldly screech from Logan and Cassian turned off the screen, throwing the phone on the seat, a weird kind of sorrow pulling at his heart.

Uncle.

Nesta had this bad habit of calling him uncle whenever Logan insisted on calling him dada, or dad, or any other way that pointed to the girl thinking he was her father.

And he couldn't be mad. Fuck, he couldn't do shit about it if not accepting the fact that that was the truth.

Logan wasn't his daughter and the only reason they had stopped trying to make her call him anything but dada was because of the meltdowns she had whenever they did.

She was definitely too little still to understand what they were saying, but she rejected the idea anyway. It was like trying to take her favourite toy away.

Putting the car in reverse, he drove out of the parking spot and on the road, hoping Lo would still be awake once he got to their house.

He tried to keep his thoughts at bay as much as he could, failing miserably.

Cassian wanted in on their life. Cassian wanted to be part of it, every morning he wanted to wake up next to them and love them the way they deserved all day long and at night he wanted to hold them tightly to him and fall asleep again. And do it all over again the next day.

For the rest of his life.

He didn't have a single dream or goal that topped this one.

And he was so tired to pretend anything else was more important to him.

***

He cupped the chubby rosy cheek with his palm, passing his thumb over her eyebrow over and over again, watching the way her tiny, tiny lips moved in her sleep, as if she was latching. Logan's little body twitched in his arms, and Cassian repositioned, hoping not to disturb her too much.

Her minuscule hand clutched his shirt and she rubbed her face in the niche of his elbow.

He lowered just enough to place a kiss on her forehead and the small sigh she released did something to him.

He was so focused on memorizing every little detail on her baby face—knowing perfectly well how fast she was growing—that he hadn't noticed Nesta standing just outside the nursery door.

"I'm happy she has you," she whispered.

Cassian didn't look up from Logan, too afraid of his own feelings, which were riding rampant in his mind tonight.

"I'm glad she..." Nesta paused, drew a deep breath and stepped inside. She sat next to him on the fluffy couch and pulled her legs up to her chest.

He hoped she didn't feel him tense when she leaned against him, her head on his shoulder as she put her hand on Logan's belly.

"I'm glad she can count on somebody else. That is not me."

Cassian paused his face massage, sliding his hand under Logan's head and moving so her neck wasn't straining. He fixed his gaze on the floor, not daring moving a muscle.

"Sometimes I think I'm fucking everything up by not actively looking for someone that would step up as her dad, but–"

Nesta moved again, pressing closer to him, moving her hand from Lo to his arm. He knew that if he looked at her, even if he just turned her way, he would kiss her.

When she spoke again, her voice was trembling slightly and Cassian's heart was threatening beating out of his chest.

"What I'm trying to say is, thank you. For being here for her."

He stayed silent, not knowing what to say. He just resumed tracing lines on Lo's cheekbones, something that never failed to soothe her before bed and that knocked her out almost immediately.

It was a long time before he found the courage to talk.

"Nesta, I–"

Or maybe not.

What if he fucked everything up?

What if he was reading her wrong, and all of this was just in his head?

"Yes, Cassian?" She whispered.

He took a shaking breath, closing his eyes, and said, "I don't wanna be her uncle."

The words were out now. And he couldn't seem to be able to stop them.

"And I don't want you to text me during a date that you can't get her to sleep because she needs me to sing to her. I don't wanna have to drive all the way down here every other day because you might need something from me. And it's frustrating when I'm at home and I wanna eat something, just to remember that I bought it for your place and not mine. And don't even get me started on my clothes. Half of my wardrobe is in this house, as far as I know."

Nesta retracted from him so fast that his head whipped her way. He missed her warmth on the spot.

She was looking at him like she'd hit her. Her brow was furrowed and her eyes were shiny, watering with unshed tears.

His throat closed, "Nes, what–"

"I'm sorry we're such a fucking problem to you," she hissed, doing a piss poor job at hiding the hurt.

Cassian's eyes widened with horror, "Problem? What are you talking about?"

She didn't give any sign she'd heard him, "If it's such a pain in your ass driving here just to make her happy, then don't. I annoy you with my texts, I'll stop texting, no big deal." She was heaving now, emotion and exhaustion from a long day taking over. "And you can get your food and your clothes and get the fuck out of here and never come back for all I care. But you could've told me sooner that we were such a bother to you, I'd have kept her from getting so attached."

Cassian was moving before he knew what he was doing.

One second he was on one side of the couch, looking baffled and confused for all the shit that she was spitting at him, the next he was on her, Logan's body close to his chest as he lunged for Nesta's lips.

He moved his hand to her hair, sliding his fingers to the back of her neck, pushing her towards him. He closed his eyes, savouring the plush touch of her mouth on his for the first time.

Taking in everything she was giving him.

Nesta didn't react immediately, but as soon as she realized what was happening she melted into the kiss, backing away slightly before going back for more.

Her hands went to his face, cradling his neck and bringing him impossibly closer to her, as much as she could without hurting her daughter, and Cassian soared.

They both lost track of time before they stopped, never going far. Nesta pushed her forehead against his, brushing her nose sweetly to his.

"Explain," she breathed out.

He chuckled, stunned, "I want her to call me dad, dada, daddy, whatever she prefers. I wanna be there for her, I'm happy to be there for her." He started, leaving a kiss on her lips.

Nesta turned her head sideways, keeping the contact with him, "Focus."

"I hate driving up here every day because I wish I didn't have to go back to my house. It's just another reminder that I'm a guest, someone that is temporarily here.

"I forget I bought food and brought it here because I eat basically all of my meals with you girls, and I want the entirety of my wardrobe to be in this home. I hate going back there. It's lonely. And I want to be here. All the time.

"I want this to be my permanent home. I want you to be my permanent home."

Nesta was keeping her eyes closed, but a tear was running down her cheek. He swiped it away with a thumb, and then passed his fingertip to her lips.

"Cassian," she said.

He kissed her again, a slow, full-of-love peck on her lips.

He inhaled, "I love you, Nesta, and there's literally no other place I'd rather be, than here with you and Logan."

She opened her eyes then and let him in, at last. She let him see the love there, the wanting and longing that had been eating at them both for years.

But they were done running.

"It's always been you," she said, running a soft hand down his cheek.

Cassian nodded, nuzzling her palm, "It's always been you."

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[glitteringcrab]

Why is Evil Morty still next to the Central Finite Curve?

He killed so many people to get out of the CFC and then he stopped running just as he crossed the CFC's metaphorical doorstep...!

Why did he anchor his minecraft base on a CFC universe???

No, they hadn't! The shockwaves had just as much range as they should! And Evil Morty deliberately insulted Rick immediately afterwards, to derail this train of thought and stop him from pondering over the implications or his calculations too much. And it freaking worked. (And might I add that Evil Morty stuttered just a little bit at that point: "l-look at this scan array". Nervous, boy?)

Evil Morty is a lying liar, he lies about everything...! (I still love him with all my heart). I-I-I no longer know how much of what he says or does to take at face value. In season he said he wanted to escape the Central Finite Curve, and it was clear he desperately wanted to do so, but he stopped running immediately after he exited. What is happening?!?! Why?

Theory 1: Home

Assuming he is a clone Morty, there is a universe from which the natural Morty whose memories he got originated. He was therefore created loving this version of his mum, this version of his dad, this version of his sister... Maybe he has not lived there once, he switched 20 Ricks since he was manufactured, and has spent more time in the Citadel than outside it, but in his heart this is were his home is supposed to be, so he anchored his space base on the limits of this one universe, just so he could be close.

Theory 2: Hiding

Since a Rick can hide from other Ricks by being next to a Morty, I'd assume that it also works the other way around: a Morty can also hide by being close to a Rick. And maybe if Evil Morty worries that someone will scour the multiverse searching for him (inside and outside the CFC) then maybe staying close to a CFC universe hides his own brainwaves when someone is doing a really wide (multiverse-wide) scan for him (of course, I doubt it'd work if the scan was more focused).

Maybe this is just a variation of the "Mortys of the Morty Dome thing": he needed a lot of alive Mortys to hide amongst then, he needs CFC universes to hide amongst now.

This could be just a precaution in case e.g. a Rick survivor of the Citadel or something comes after him (which is not so unlikely).

(eh. Would staying near a CFC universe, which might not even have a Rick inside at times, really be enough though?? I just stopped believing my own theory)

Theory 3: Time shenanigans

"Rick and Morty, a hundred years, forever"

...Were you being cute, Rick, or is this literal???

Is there a time loop of some sort? Is this why they say things like "how many thanksgivings have we had" or are they simply breaking the fourth wall?

Is this what the "Rick Experiment" that Evil Morty threatens to blow up if he gets pissed is? Is this why Rick hates to mess with time travel stuff, because it's already an ugly mess?

Does staying close to the time mess allow Evil Morty to stay young for longer or something? (but would he really want that???)

I'm skeptical about Ricks being able to mess with time in that scale because of (a) the existence of a pretty strict time police and (b) Rick apparently had to purchase illegally a small time crystal... whatever time shenanigans are needed for a hundred-year-loop, it'd need a lot more than that.

Theory 4: He likes something in that universe

Like, a friend he made a long time ago, who he plans to visit in the future when he finds the courage to do so (right now he's wiped out).

Or Morty Prime, so he didn't run very far away so that Morty Prime could find him in the future.

Or he's trying to make amends for his past misdeeds and visits CFC universes in secret, batman style, to fix stuff.

(I don't see that theory really playing out. He doesn't seem to be working towards anything, he's just on vacation... And I think he has given up hope of Morty Prime joining him)

Theory 5: THE WORLD IS A BIG, DANGEROUS PLACE

The world outside the CFC is filled with even more dangerous, power-hungry and evil people and governments than those in the CFC. Living in (or near) such a universe is stressful for a lone boy, so he'd rather stay close to the Curve and its brand of familiar, known evil (which he knows how to deal with) rather than face the absolute chaos that reigns beyond. (If there is a specific government or organization Evil Morty is worried about, I can see him considering asking Rick C-137's help... "Maybe I can use that some day"?)

Alternatively, the rest of the multiverse still believes that the CFC is unbreachable, so they keep their distance. Staying close to it is just safer.

(yeah I don't buy my own theory. I think Evil Morty would gladly face whatever crazy evil is beyond the Curve, as long as it wasn't a Rick. Could be he already tried and barely escaped with his life though, so he had no choice)

Theory 6: Not a clue!

I mean, we couldn't have predicted the existence of the Central Finite Curve in a million years...! It might just be a bit of unrevealed lore.

And it's impossible to guess or know what Evil Morty is thinking or feeling almost at any given time. He is always expressionless, always flat-toned, always cautious, always lying, and the way the scenes with him are built, we're not even sure when it's him on the screen half-the time and missing scenes can turn the whole plot on its head. He tricks the other characters, and he tricks us as well.

[hurrl]

IM GONNA SPRINT IN HERE AND REQUWST SMTH AGAIN BUT IDK WHAT

CAN I GET A FESTER AND KALANI THING JUST FOR FUNSIES THEMED LIKE IDK FUCKINNNNN CONFESSIONS OR SMTH?

And what if I threw in a little bit of a "no communication" trope in there for funsies.

I didn't proofread btw

Kalani liked Fester.

A secret to no one, except for Fester. There was a part of her that thought, surely, he knew how she felt! There was no way he could be so oblivious, she felt like she had constant heart eyes when around him! Nothing happens! She could flirt, bat her eyelashes, and do all the ‘accidental’ touches she wanted, pull out all her tricks, but her efforts would remain in vain. Maybe it was her, maybe Fester just didn’t see Kalani in that way.

When did her feelings for Fester even start? Kalani sat at her vanity, combing through her hair as she pondered the question. There was no real set incident, the feelings came about gradually. When they first met, she thought he was funny! She was new to the city, and meeting Fester had been a blessing, he was a little gruff- something that would make Kalani more attracted to him in the future- but he didn’t take himself too seriously. He wasn’t afraid to be sarcastic or silly! Every time they’d cross paths she’d make sure to look at whatever saying or phrase he had on his shirt. She had spent the past two years of her life being miserable, it felt good to have someone around who could make her laugh. 

She chased that feeling, that joy she felt from being around him. It wasn’t long before she was inviting him on outings. Lunches, movies, parks, the two had even gone to an arcade once or twice! Learning that he was a fellow ballet dancer was a surprise! Extremely talented too, his technique was impeccable for someone who no longer danced professionally- must’ve been a natural gift. 

Then being around him brought back that familiar warm fuzzy feeling. It was frightening, she tried to fight it. Not because she didn’t want it to be Fester, but because she was aware of what those feelings did to her. She was incapable of loving someone normally, it was never just a crush for her. It was all-consuming, wanting to know every aspect of every detail in their life. She could be obsessive, desperate, and violent.  

But she couldn't bring herself to cut it off. That warm fuzzy feeling turned into a full-blown flame as she tried to go about things in a “normal” way. Huge mistake. Everything about him became another thing to love, another thing to obsess over. She started to have daydreams about bringing him to the summer home, she wanted to be the only thing he could focus on, the only person in his life. To be the only one who could hurt him while being the only one able to bring him any sort of relief. Had she seen Fester cry before? How much pressure could she put him under before he broke-

Stop it stop it stop it!!

Kalani’s hand stung with the amount of force she used to slam her hairbrush down, her face felt hot. God, she hated herself. What was wrong with her? She didn’t want to want those things but she couldn’t help it!

With a racing heart, she picked up her phone and opened up her messages with Fester. They had made plans to go out soon, it was why she was getting ready now. She sighed as she typed:

“Hey!! I know this is last minute but our plans totally slipped my mind, I double booked myself and won't make it, so sorry!!”

Sent.

Moving forward, if she wanted to keep him safe, she had to keep her distance.

***

Fester chewed the inside of his lip, eyes scanning over his phone screen as he read Kalani’s message. He didn’t bother to type anything back, she’ll see that he had seen it. He shoved his phone into his back pocket before haphazardly tossing the bouquet he had bought into the sink.

He knew Kalani liked flowers, and from the amount of movies they had seen together, knew that she really liked those classic romantic gestures, which is why…

Whatever, it didn’t matter.

His confession wasn’t meant to be.

[venusvxen]

Astrology And The Law

I’m an astrologer. I got my start in astrology. My introduction into the spiritual community so to speak was through astrology.

I’ve spent the past year or so really pondering how astrology plays into the law. Because it’s called a Law.. i had to unlearn the idea that “Mercury RX means don’t manifest ____” or “I’m saturnian so I have to work for my things not manifest them or else they will blow up in my face!!”.

I let astrology control my life and the things I could or could not manifest for soooo long. If I was “working” on a manifestation, I would check transit charts or my SR chart to see the possibility of when it could “happen”. I literally tired myself out retweeting those dumbass “444” “Taurus will receive something special on saturday” “Capricorn this week is extra special. Manifest!” posts. I was always looking outside of myself because I needed something to hold my hand and tell me I was on the right path because I didn’t really trust myself to be honest.

It wasn’t until I really got deeep with the law and strayed away from the bullshit that is A/P and learned more about the inner man that i realized how dumb this was all along. Astrology/Tarot cannot come in the way of a manifestation or hinder anything because the law is a LAW. Just like no force on or off earth deny the existence of gravity… it’s the same here…

So.. How does astrology apply?

When I’ve started to take the concept of fulfilling your inner man serious and really running with that, I noticed a consensus between my deepest darkest desires and my birth chart… You see (to me), the birth chart is a map of the soul (chart for the inner man), not for the outer self.

I’ve already gone on about how the outer self is a shadow so I won’t touch on that too much, but i always found it uncanny how the things I would call myself delusional for even wanting were spelled out in my birth chart, almost as if “the stars” were pushing me in the direction of desiring it to begin with.

The birth chart, instead of hindering you, can actually be used to understand You. Not the one reading this but the one within. Because all desire comes from within and the birth chart speaks to everything you truly desire/want. Your deepest darkest secrets/wishes/hopes/desires.

The more I would go towards the things that I deemed impossible in the past the more I noticed myself growing more content and happy on the inside. And I found that alllll of these things were spelled out in some way in my chart. For example, I spent so much time denying the fact that I crave power and the spotlight on me but the more i fulfill myself with that in imagination the happier I’ve been within. Almost like I’ve freed myself from a cage I put myself in. Like I’m dancing on clouds inside imagination. What does my chart have to say about it? 11H pluto, 11H ruler being my 1H Aqua Mars, Pluto Opp. Saturn. These are just a few aspects but I could really go on.

I would feel embarrassed and ashamed to want people to think of me a certain way until I looked at my chart and realized that this is how I (inner man) truly want to be seen and so I should give it to myself with no restrictions because if I want it then it’s meant to be.

This discovery has taken “if you desire it it’s meant for you” to a whole new level for me because if you think back to all the desires you bury under a rug and try to brush off, you’ll probably find something in your birth chart encouraging you to sail in that direction.

This has also emphasized the importance of leaving no stone overturned as well. In any case that’s all i have for now

[jenerousjenocide]

Familiar Face

And now we are officially up to date and I have more chapters to write. Please be patient with me as I am not as creative as I once was and often have brain fog or I'm working lmao.

Comments are always welcome! Prologue - Chapter 2 - Chapter 3 - Chapter 4 - A03 Mirror Taglist: @skittleabyss

The first time he saw her eyes was when he finally let her go after dragging her to the ground and holding a knife to her throat.

She had been dumb enough to accept his excuse of some brain creature skulking in the bushes and he took the opportunity to hold a knife to her throat and demand answers. Granted, he was mistaken to assume she had anything to do with his kidnapping, but everything was all too new to him and she was the first person he came across after escaping his pod. The new mental connection they shared due to the parasite helped settle the matter between them, and when they stood he finally got a good look at the woman he aimed to attack.

A simple human girl, standing at 5'2" and her hair disheveled from the crash landing. She was obviously looked to be no threat to anyone, her face was once that you could trust, she was cute, to say the least. 

But her eyes. 

Astarion had spent centuries bringing back the most beautiful souls throughout the city for his master, spending so many nights staring into a strangers eyes and whispering the sweetest lies his tongue can manage. He was a master at seduction, easily taking each and every one of them to bed in his master's palace before sending them off to their doom at the hands of the man who gave him the gift and curse of immortality. He's seen every color of eyes a person could think of. However there was something about her gaze that shifted something within him.

Over time he found himself looking at them more with every conversation they had. Obviously to hold proper conversation, it's only polite to look someone in the eyes during the discussion, but as time went on he would ponder if she would come speak to him while she made her nightly rounds at camp, even just for a moment so he could look into those eyes of her and get lost in them for just a brief period of time. 

They held so much warmth, like they were just inviting anyone who met her gaze in.

As much as the young woman looked to be cute and innocent, she could double wield daggers like no one he's ever seen before. The moment a battle is afoot, her warm, inviting eyes shifting into something darker. She would only have one thing on her mind and that would be taking down each and every enemy that stood in her way. Once the fight was over, it was like she was a completely different person, the comforting orbs gone as she'd pickpocket the corpses and once Astarion thought he was finally seeing the real Tav, she'd shift back to normal with a bright smile while raving about all the cool stuff her found and would definitely hoard in her tent as though it was going to serve any purpose to her.

Perhaps it was because it was so easy to read her emotions just from a look, admiring the way she can so easily slip from a blood thirsty assassin to a confidant you can spill all your secrets to and know they will be kept forever. 

That is probably why when he finally saw her face after ascending and gaining his newfound freedom and seeing how absolutely distraught she was from his actions, he secretly wished he hated her eyes and the way she looked at him from then on to avoid feeling any sense of guilt that came bubbling up from under the surface. 

It did only last a moment, the guilt subsiding as the powers flowed through and clouded his mind, he was able to finally basking in the light after spending it so long in the darkness. Regardless of what she thought of his decision, she did help him by showing him what the contact on his back looked like. For that he figured she would get over it, and he'd once again be welcomed in with her warm gaze and bright smile. 

Asking her to join him in immortality was their breaking point. He could see how pained she was over the request, even as he tried to convince her this was the choice to make, it further cemented the fact they would not last. She had become adamant she was no pet or spawn. She was her own person, and in a way Astarion respected her for the decision, knowing she was too smart to allow herself to be degraded further just for his approval. She was right, she would have likely ended up a puppet for him to control had he turned her- And there would be no doubt those beautiful eyes he once adored so much would vanish into the blood red ones of an immortal being.

When the battle with the Netherbrain was over and the dust began to settle among the city, it was a matter of time before the heroes of Baldur's Gate split up and go their separate ways. The first of which being Tav and Gale.

Astarion should have figured Gale would leech off of his leftovers, this entire adventure he wasn't blind to the way he looked at her as they spoke. Somehow she had won the heart of her companions one by one, likely because of those damn eyes of hers. It's not as though it was up to Astarion to say anything or judge her for her decisions. He ignored the voice in the back of his head stating he needed to convince her to stay by his side instead of retreating to Waterdeep with the Wizard, but he had no use for her anymore. She made her choice and if she wasn't willing to spend eternity in each other's arms, that was her loss. Gale can have his fun with her, Astarion had a city to build up and rule with an iron fist.

So why did it cause something to stir deep inside himself the last time he looked into her eyes? Was it because he knew it would be the last time he'd ever see them again- See her again?

She had already bargained with him to keep his plans in the city, stating it was big enough to rule and fill with as many spawn as he deems fit. Her gaze stern and full of passion as she threatened to come back and end his reign if she were to get wind of any straying vampires that had been sired by Lord Astarion himself. It was cute the way she thought she could defeat him, but he allowed her to ramble on just so he can revel in her presence one last time. The world was different to him, yes, but she hadn't changed and it definitely struck something familiar within him that made him want her around all the time. 

Saying their goodbyes, he would never admit out loud how awful it was to watch the sadness return to her eyes as she dismissed herself to travel alongside Gale. Their eyes had been locked together for perhaps a moment too long and he watched her mask crack, all that joy she once carried as they spoke about their victory vanishing for a moment as though her feelings towards him bubbled up to the surface and she was ready to explode. 

Reminding himself he did not need her any longer, he watched her turn away and begin her new journey towards a new life. She didn't look back, much to his annoyance, but he had work to do. 

Years of pushing his feelings down, fighting back the urge to send out spawn to other areas just to see if it would summon her to him so she could keep him all to him, it had taken him a while to set everything aside and focus entirely on gaining popularity among the citizens of the city and using his powers to his advantage. It was easy to slip into a new routine, create his own army of obedient spawn and gain the Lordish he so desired. He may have lost those eyes forever, but he had a new life of his own to live.

Which is why he was so taken back staring into yours. 

The mask had been discarded on the bed, pulling him from his thoughts of checking in on you and realizing you were no longer shielding your identity. Your presence was still in the room, but it was possible you had hidden yourself out of fear of what could happen next, although he intended no harm by putting you in a secluded room away from any wandering mouths looking for a neck to feed from.

He was a fool to get lost in his thoughts, the moment his fingertips brushed against the mask in his hands, he could feel you moving behind him. You were on his back before he could grab you, your hand gripped his hair to yank his head back, the other hand bringing your blade to his throat and he couldn't stop the amused smile to cross his face. Your efforts to gain the upper hand were cute, but it was obvious he was too naive to simply do a kind thing for a stranger without having them attack him after learning what he was. He needed to kill you.

He hands were on you before you could blink, one grabbing the knife that pressed against his throat to pull you off his back and in front of him, the other clasped around your throat as he shoved you into the wall and pressed his body against yours. He could still have his fun with you before he drank you dry, knowing for a fact nobody in this city would come looking for her. He slammed her wrist against the wall, causing her grip on the blade to loosen and the knife fell to the floor with a clatter. 

Astarion pulled back his head to look down at him, drink in the fear on your face and relish in the sound of you begging for your life.

But when you opened your eyes to meet his stare, his entire body froze and his thoughts were completely clouded with memories of her.

You were frightened, that much was obvious, but you held the same warmth he hadn't been able to see for half a decade. He could stare into your eyes and revel in it's beauty as he once did long ago, and although it wasn't obvious to you, it caused something pushed deep down within himself to stir. 

His mouth came crashing down onto yours the moment he saw you part your lips to speak. He didn't need the illusion to be broken just yet, he needed you to be his long lost love- If even just for a moment. His grip remained on her to keep her in place, but it was no longer to be taken as a threat on her life. 

You were lost in a mess of lips, tongue and teeth. His kisses were painful and likely bruising your lips as he pushed for something deeper. You couldn't even gather your thoughts, your other hand gripping onto his unbuttoned shirt as the hand around your neck slid down your chest, feeling the skin exposed from your blunging neckline. His touch was freezing, fingertips just barely grazing your skin but causing a shiver to run down your entire body. It was intoxicating, you can feel yourself getting lost with every movement of his lips against his. It felt way too good, more intense than anything you had ever experienced before.

But it was wrong, you barely knew him, and his reaction to having a knife held to his throat was to kiss you?

You push your hand against his chest, an effort to shove him off of you but he was strong. His grip on your wrist seemingly tightened as the kiss deepened, he quietly moaned against your lips, drinking you in as if you were his first meal in days. 

When he pulled his mouth away, you could see his disheveled he looked from his actions. His eyes seemed to glow in the darkness, boring into you as if silently commanding you to remain still. He ducked his head to press kisses against the skin of your neck, causing the warmth to pool in your lower abdomen, the area always being a weakness for you as you feel his lips part and his tongue sweep across your delicate skin.| "St-" You gasp, trying to form any sense in your own mind in order to command him to stop. "Yes, little love?" He purred, nuzzling his nose against your pulse and relishing in how quickly it was beating for him. 

"Get off me." You finally manage, your voice betraying you as you tried to remain stern, "Please, I just want to go home."

Astarion paused, his breath lingering on your neck for a moment before he pulled back to look into your eyes once more. The desire and lust subsiding from his expression as he seemed to peer into your very soul and read your every thought. With him this close it was hard to gather yourself, hard to breath. 

"Tell me, pet, where is home to you?" He asked curiously, tilting his head in question while keeping you where you stood, his breathing heavier as he came down from the rush of your kiss. "Have you finally returned to me?"

"I have never met you before in my entire life." You spit back, wiggling yourself beneath his grasp in a poor effort to create more distance between you both. "Waterdeep, I'm from Waterdeep, please. I mean no trouble." "Says the one who held a dagger to my throat the first chance she got." He muttered, narrowing his eyes at you to try and understand your intentions. His grip on your wrist did loosen, allowing it to drop back down to your side limply as you wait for him to release you from your spot between his body and the wall. 

"And you kissed me in response, ask me who was more out of line here." You whisper back, noticing how the reality of the situation cross his features and he finally steps back to give you the space you were looking for. "Or who has more questionable intentions."

Astarion ran a hand through his hair, seemingly frustrated from not thinking his actions through. He hadn't acted like this in years, the way he got so lost in his own delusions of a past long gone- It was foolish of him to kiss you like you were his lost love.

"My apologies, you simply reminded me of someone I once knew." He replied, a touch more quiet than his usual tone.

"Seemed like quite the person if you were willing to shove your tongue down my throat." You chided, a subtle laugh bubbling up in your throat at the thought. "For a moment there I thought that was just how vampires greet their guests."

"That's a completely different event, my dear." 

A pause lingered in the air, you stared at him with wide eyes before he snapped back into reality and a smirk crossed his lips.

"A joke. Are you always this serious?" He laughed, watching the way the tension left your shoulders at the reveal of his own joke.

"It's not every day you end up passing out at a party full of vampires, I thought Baldur's Gate was abandoned for the most part. Forgive me for being a little on edge, my lord." You reply in a mocking tone, rolling your eyes as he easily slips into a nonchalant role, obviously trying to move away from the fact he was ready to devour you- And the fact you had half a mind to let him. "But then again, I'm not too sure how many of you are actually still alive."

"Many of them, darling, I'm not a monster." He bit back, crossing his arms and cocking his hip to the side. "Had you not jumped on me like a damned goblin and tried to slit my throat, perhaps we could have had a more appropriate conversation. Were you raised by animals?"

"No, actually. I was just always taught to attack first. I didn't know what you had planned, I panicked." You snap back, bending down to retrieve your dagger before moving your skirt to place it back in it's holster on your thigh.

Astarion's hand was on your wrist again before you can secure the blade in place, you look up expecting to see his eyes looking into yours again, but instead he raises your wrist to get a better look of the dagger in your hand. His eyes narrow intently, observing the intricate designs carved into the wood of the handle, it's steel jagged and the edge sharp enough to slice through anything that came across it's path. It was well used, obviously having gone through it's own story before ending up in your hands.

"Look, I'm sorry for trying to slice your thro-"

"Where did you get this?"

What.

You blink, expression twisting into pure confusion. His eyes are looking into your own again, waiting silently for you to answer him. 

"M-My mother?" It sounded like a question more than a response, although it didn't make your answer any less true. "It's been in my family for generations."

He remained silent, staring at you before decided you were being honest with him. His grasp on your wrist faltered and you quickly strapped it back to your thigh to ensure he knew you weren't going to attack him any longer. If you wanted to get out of here alive, you had to make sure he knew you weren't a threat.

If he had anything to say to that, he didn't bring it up. Remaining completely silent as he looked you over. It was like time itself stood still, he could have traveled back in time and he doesn't even know if he would complain. Before him stood an exact copy of the woman who freed him from his chains of servitude, aided his ascension and ultimately broke his heart when she decided he was no longer worth the trouble of remaining by his side to watch his plot unfold. The dagger now in your possession all too familiar as memories of watching it raised high in the air before striking down the enemy it aimed to gut through with practiced ease.

"Why are you really here?" He suddenly pressed again, the confusion he felt bubbling into anger as he gritted his teeth at you. "Are you a shape shifter? Are you here to torment me after all these years? Who followed you here?"

You shake your head, stepping back as he looms over you, clearly getting himself lost in a million thoughts per second.

"I'm alone, I just attended the party out of curiosity, honest. I mean no harm, I just want to leave now and I won't tell a single soul about what I learned- I promise."

"You'll dine with me tonight, then."

Once again this man really knows how to catch you off guard, your mouthing gaping open as your brows furrow high on your forehead. 

"I really can't st-"

"I insist." He cuts you off, his expression as serious as it could be. You could only nod in agreement before he relaxes and finally walks past you.

"You will remain here, I will have some of my servants fetch you a gown for the evening." He reached for the door knob, glancing back over at you to find you staring at him in surprise.

Without another word, the door is pulled open and he leaves the room, closing it behind him. 

The sound of the lock clicking echoed into the silence that surrounded you, you finally drop to your knees and try to process what the fuck just happened.

[thedeal-if]

💓 for fluff and 💔 for angst

angst 😈

the ask game!

This took surprisingly not as long as I thought it would lol ty anon

💓 - what gets their heart racing?

(Warning for very slight nsfw? It's so mild I won't even tag it tbh, just Lilith being lilith)

Dante: holding hands under the table—everything that has something to do with hands, really, touching and being touched. Compliments and eternal talks of art and music—he knows little of the former but could blow your mind with the latter. Your eyes upon receiving the latest grand gift Dante has been agonizing over—because the concept of delayed gratification is so foreign to him.

Lilith: the tendrils of anticipation before they take the plunge—the little pang of nerves after they've spent an entire day pondering something and finally decided ‘Yes, let’s give it a chance’. Being allowed to touch and taste and feel the welcomed warmth of a body next to theirs. Having their eyes graced by a pretty face—and not a conventional beauty either, but something they consider beautiful, someone they can’t help but compliment and want to seduce.

Josh: a sudden realization, a stray thought—“fuck but I could listen to them talk about nothing for hours”—, and the unexpectedness of it, but knowing that it’s okay, it’s alright. A hand running through his head—no matter if it’s a gentle pat or the sharpness of nails scratching his scalp. The sincerest compliments, simple in nature but as fulfilling as they’re meaningful: ‘You did well, I’m proud of you.’

Villanelle: she wants to be with you by the fire, fighting the frigid weather in the most primitive way. She wants to cook with you, order coffee with you, wash your teeth together—side-by-side, stealing glances in the mirror and holding back the laughter in-between mouthfuls of toothpaste, like it’s a secret. It’s all displays of domesticity, the physical proof that ‘this’ is real.

Victor: It was most definitely not his idea—otherwise what’s the point? Why would he react that way? But Victor can’t deny it feels like a punch to the gut when he sees you wearing his clothes—can punches even feel good, or is he so far gone that pain means pleasure? Apparently, it does: the thrill of teaching you how to defend yourself, of guiding you, watching you grow and learn, receiving your hits steadily—it doesn’t feel bad, not at all.

Aliyah: she pushes, she hates and she bites when she has to, but your backbone—it always takes her by surprise, even more than your kindness—is a kick, a buzz, and a flutter at the same time. Aliyah likes it just as she likes how opinionated you are, how you never back down from a fight. What she often mistakes as defensiveness, a need to fight, might be simply excitement and excitement alone.

Nathan: as an angel, Nathan experiences such a primal reaction at the sight of what he considers as beauty, overwhelming in its nature, and just as unexplainable as everything else. The other side of the scale is perhaps not as romantic: Nathan adores a challenge. Having someone question his ideals, fighting for his opinions, listening to someone else’s, discussing any sort of topic no matter how trivial or boring. The ultimate excitement in life is to be right.

Eden: he likes your voice, Eden should mention it, but he’s too busy listening to everything you say—and everything you don’t say, all those little details, inferences, contexts, and implications. He draws lines and pictures in his mind, falling deeper and deeper into a rabbit hole until he sees your story with his own eyes. It’s the silence too, the quiet companionship, the knowledge that the peacefulness doesn’t necessarily have to be broken, but Eden still knows everything you’re thinking with just a glance.

💔 - what could their partner do that would absolutely break their heart?

(I'm itching to write an angst scenario but it would be beyond spoilery so—)

Dante: physical jails pose a challenge—the thrill of breaking out—but metaphorical prisons chain your soul. Feeling that someone has that control over him, that he doesn't have the freedom to make his own decisions and mistakes— that would be heartbreaking, wouldn’t it?

Lilith: it’s a side of her she has never shown, you know? A face she has never deigned to see in the mirror. But she decided she trusted you and she decided you deserved to see the visage of a demon—the face of the monster she wears under the pretty mask you call Lilith. It’s your rejection, it breaks her more than you’d know.

Josh: any kind of uncertainty, of being unsure. Of knowing too little. Or perhaps too much. It’s not like it takes him by surprise��did he fool you into believing so? Josh would rather embrace deafness than hear the disappointment in your voice. But who is he kidding? It’s not like he can escape your eyes.

Villanelle: she has spent her 25 years on this Earth choosing to avoid her problems, tucking them away—tucking, tucking, tucking away, all her shelves, cupboards, and boxes are filled with unpacked shit, honestly. Any sort of conflict, the mere idea of being confronted negatively— it feels like she’s burning alive.

Victor: you’re… hard to understand, you know? Victor is a simple enough man, complications make his head spin. It’s undeniable, though. You were the one who chose to get close to him. You chased him around, pried his shell open like a knife would a clam, Victor trusted you— and now you’ve discarded him. No explanations given, just a sharp goodbye. Nothing more.

Aliyah: would it make you feel any less special to know that you are most definitely not the first one? Oh, Aliyah would make a list, but her memory doesn’t go that far back. Not even betrayal would sting this bad. Definitely not. It’s watching you die. The reminder that time really is just a relativity for her, while it is a deadline for you. Aliyah never got along with Death. They take too much, too fast.

Nathan: he’s so used to being the main and primary driver, the owner of the temple called ‘Nathan,’ he who for centuries was just Nathan. Not Nathan and Azriel. He can joke all he wants, he can push the truth around like a disgusting meal he can’t be bothered to try— but Nathan hates that you like Azriel. Or that you like him more. He hates being considered the same individual, he hates everything Azriel stands for, hates being pushed toward the passenger seat and losing sight of himself.

Eden: against all rationality and common reason—because that’s the only way to refer to the denial of the truth—Eden would only feel a sense of brokenness if you refused to look at him in the eye. He ignores the matter at first, it’s dumb to fixate on such a thing with no proof. But then you mention the power he holds, the power he inherited as a descendant of Solomon. So many assumptions could be made about such a thing— but Eden halts and entertains one. You too, like everyone else, believe that he’s a weapon, uncontrolled, to wield and otherwise ignore.

I think the point of ask games is to brief but the real challenge is to make me get straight to the point.

[shirohige-pirates]

Birds of a Feather

CisFem Reader x Marco

CW: Violence, blood, language, adult themes and scenes.

Summary: Life has not been kind to you. After a string of bad relationships, you're a little jaded and a little depressed in all honestly. The worst day of your life seems to be the turning point, but the roller coaster ride that follows could either throw you soaring free, or have you caged forever?

Chapter 4: Azul

You walked out of the front doors of the office building and saw Zoro standing nearby with a coffee and a small bag. You smiled and gave him a little wave as he walked over. The sun was long since set, and you had another couple hours of work ahead of you at least.

“Here you go.” He says in his usual curt tone, handing over the coffee and the bag. You take both, tilting your head a little. “Muffin.” He explains.

“Ah. Thank you, and give my thanks to Sanji too.”

Zoro smiles a little in response. “You want me to stick around and give you a lift home?”

“Hm? No, no I’m good.”

“I saw Bonclay leave just as I was getting here. Is Buggy driving you home?”

You shake your head. “We chased Buggy off over an hour ago.” You admit, opening the bag and feeling yourself warm up at the idea of a fresh baked muffin. “I’m going to sleep in the office.”

“What?”

“Oh, I’ll be fine.” You say dismissively. “And safe.” You nod toward the lobby. “Night security knows I’m in for the night, and I’m going to lock myself in Bon-bon’s office. It’s not the first time I’ve slept in the office, Marimo, it won’t be the last.”

Zoro clicks his tongue, seems to ponder something for a moment and then puts his hands up in defeat. “Call if something goes wrong.”

“Aww, how sweet.” You only coo a little, smiling brightly. “I will, thanks.”

Parting ways with Zoro you went back into the building, giving the security guard behind the desk a wave as you headed back upstairs. You took a drink of the coffee as you rode the elevator up to your floor, walking through the empty cubes easily. Working late fairly often meant you were comfortable with the emptiness of the office like this.

It was easier, honestly, to get work done with most of the staff gone.

Your job was fairly straightforward to explain, but the actual doing could be tedious. Ivankov’s business was the business of charity. Money came out, it was maximized – your job – and then it went out. Maximizing money meant researching deals all around the world, and dealing with vendors from all over. Once you set things up, Bonclay would take over and do the actual negotiating and logistics.

You kept the numbers straight, and did the research to make sure things were used as efficiently as possible. A few times that had you skirting the letter of the law, but being good at that part was precisely why the job was yours in the first place.

You and Ivan had spent many nights stretching money and resources through lanes that weren’t strictly legal. They weren’t completely illegal either, at least not that would hold up in a court of law. Since neither of you were pirates, you had the right to proper court proceedings and as much work as you did to maximize resources, you did as much to cover your ass legally.

Because of your role you knew all the company’s secrets, and knowing those secrets was also why you were happy to work long nights like this. Ivankov’s Empire fed and housed and helped millions of people every year. The organization filled a lot of cracks the World Government didn’t seem keen on filling.

You were ninety percent certain he had ties to the Revolutionary army, but that was need to know, and you did not need to know. Didn’t want to know, for what it was worth. Changing the world wasn’t on your radar. You wanted to help people, live your life, and if your luck ever decided to cut you a break you’d love to find someone to live that life with.

Someone you could tell your dangerous secret to.

Working until nearly midnight, you caved to your heavy eyelids and went to sleep in Bon-bon’s office. Old enough to not be thrilled about it, but young enough to survive it, you almost slept better in his office than you did in your own home. Emptiness in your house felt cold, but an empty office felt peaceful.

Your sleep was a little fitful, dreams sneaking into your mind as you tried to rest. Not enough to wake you, but enough to make you shift a little. When your phone alarm went off at six you felt rested well enough, washed your face and brushed your teeth before tidying yourself up as much as you could. It made you miss your shower a little bit, but you’d hold together well enough to make it to lunch, and make it over to the vet hospital.

You smiled a little, looking at yourself in the mirror, wondering if Dr. Marco would comment on your clothes or not, having seen you the day before at the coffee shop. He seemed like the kind of guy who would allow you to save face in front of others, but tease you relentlessly behind closed doors.

Then again, maybe not. You’d had a few rough days, and he was painfully aware of that fact.

As much as you wanted to keep the dinner date for the evening as platonic as possible, you had to admit you needed to clean up before hand. If you were going to be at the hospital just after lunch that left plenty of time to get home and back. The doctor would understand.

“Ah, (Y/N)-girl.” Ivankov greeted you, setting a bag on your desk and cup beside it. Ivan was in girl mode today, and so you smiled up at her.

“How’s my favorite boss doing today?” You question, opening up the offered breakfast and already looking forward to the hot coffee.

She gives you a wide smile. “I am good. I hear you have a date tonight?”

“Buggy or Bon-bon?” You question, pulling a bagel breakfast sandwich out and taking a bite.

“You, just now.” Ivan answers, laughing. “Bon-chan only told me you would be leaving early.”

“I walked into that then, but for the price of a hot breakfast, I can accept it.” You admit, taking another bite and a gulp of coffee. “I got the South Blue packet done. Paradise is all that’s left for what you gave me, but if I don’t finish it tonight it’ll be ready before Bon-bon needs it.”

“I would say you work too hard, but the hard work is appreciated.” She gives you a wink. “Be sure to have fun tonight. At the very least,” she adds a little hastily. “Don’t let that pride get in your way.”

You snort. “You and Sanji both. You make it sound like I’ve let the world slip through my fingers or something.”

Ivan rolls her eyes. “Your pride is one of your best qualities, (Y/N). But it is also a thing that holds you back. You’ve said so yourself, on some occasions.”

You hum a little noncommittally and take a big bite as Ivankov pats your shoulder before leaving you to your breakfast. The office filled up slowly as you finished your breakfast and continued with your work. Bonclay and Buggy both came in with spare coffees for you, and you let Buggy keep the extra one he brought. Your usually flashy coworker had bags under his eyes and looked like he was on the verge of falling to pieces.

Literally, for poor Buggy, given the devil fruit a friend had caused him to accidentally eat in his younger days. You often wondered if he was stressed so much before or after he ate the fruit. Though, paramecia type fruits weren’t known for altering their user’s personality like Zoan types were.

For better or worse, Buggy was likely always like that.

You check in with him and Bon-Bon before you head out. After you let them know the progress on the Paradise file, you pulled your coat on and stepped outside. It wasn’t a long walk to the Animal Hospital from the office, and despite the crispness in the air, it was nice outside. If there was a little less wind, it would be perfect weather for walking home in, but there was just enough chill in the air that your nose and ears would be frozen by the time you got home.

Something tickled at the back of your neck as you walked, and you resisted the urge to look behind you. Instead you used the reflections in store front windows, and windshields when you could. You couldn’t see anyone walking behind you, at least not close enough to be a concern, and shrugged the sensation off. Sometimes your pride turned into paranoia, ruffling your senses unnecessarily.

Stepping into the Animal Hospital, you saw Dr. Marco talking to the receptionist. He looked over at the door as you came in and gave you a bright smile.

“Come to see the grateful patient, yoi?” He asks, straightening up.

“Yes, and you said something about paperwork?” You reply, looking over at the receptionist and giving her a little wave.

The receptionist reached down out of your sight and came up with a manilla folder. “Everything’s in here.” She states cheefully, handing it off to Marco.

“Perfect,” Marco said praisingly, causing something to nip at the back of your mind. He looked through the folder quickly before closing it and stepping out from behind the reception desk. “This way, and we’ll get you down to recovery so you can see her.”

You catch up with him before he begins to lead you. “How bad was it?”

“Considering how bad it could’ve been, it wasn’t too bad, yoi.” He says assuringly. “A few stitches for the cut that earned you that little bite, and a simple splint and cast for a femur fracture on her hind leg. Some bruising, but there were no compound fractures, organ damage or internal bleeding.”

You flinch, but sigh in relief. “That’s good news.” Your voice comes out in a bit of a growl and Marco’s eyebrows raise a little.

“Violence probably isn’t the answer,” you admit with a sigh. “But if I see those kids again I’ve half a mind to throttle the lot of them.”

“Well, just don’t beat them into broken bones and I’ll defend you in court.” He replies evenly and you’re not sure how honest he’s being, or if he’s just trying to tease you a little.

Coming into the room you see the pit bull perk up at the sight of you. The two guys who helped you ease her onto the gurney a couple of days ago turn to see you.

“Oh, it’s the puker.” The red head says. He has a wide smile on his face and it’s obvious he means it teasingly, but the other guy smacks his arm.

“Shachi! Miss (Y/N) did a great job bringing Azul in, don’t call her the puker.”

Shachi smacks the other guy back. “You didn’t have to clean up the entrance, Peng.” He grumbles back.

You almost snort. “Sorry about that. Is that her name now, Azul?” You question.

The two exchange glances. “Whoever claims her can rename her, but that’s the name that’s stuck so far.” Shachi offers with a sheepish look.

“Oh, I’m not going to claim her.” You admit, coming over and kneeling down, giving her some scritches. She seems truly happy to see you, but maybe not up for getting up. Her tail is thumping against the floor with impressive force. “Sadly, I’m not much of a dog person.”

There’s a moment of silence, and then you hear a new voice speak up. “Then why risk so much to help her?”

You look up to see a tall man with scrubs and a lab coat nearly glaring down at you. He had several piercings and an impressive number of visible tattoos for a guy who was mostly covered by clothes. Despite the tone of his question, he almost looked angry.

Azul managed to lick your cheek while you were trying to think of a response, and you made a surprised noise. “Ah, cheeky little git, aren’t you?” You muse, giving her more focused attention. “I suppose I did it because I wanted to.” You admit finally, not looking up at the stern doctor.

You pet Azul for a little longer before standing up. “I was planning on paying her expenses too, if that’s okay?”

“For a dog you’re not going to claim?” Law questions, and there’s an edge in his voice.

“Law.” Marco says and the younger doctor just frowns harder.

“It’s alright.” You say putting your hands out. “I just know I’d be a bad owner is all. This way I can help in the best way I have available.”

There’s a grunt from the younger doctor, but he doesn’t say anything else before he leaves the room.

“Well, he’s downright loquacious.” You mutter and here Shachi and his friend snort as they try not to laugh.

“I apologize for my colleague.” Marco starts, but you just shake your head.

“S’all good. It’s an odd situation all around.” You admit cheerfully.

Marco smiles a little and holds up the folder. “We can use a spare exam room and get this paperwork sorted out.”

“Sure, sure. Ah, it was nice meeting you.” You offer, turning toward the other two and giving them a smile and a wave.

Shachi and Penguin return your wave and smiles as you and Marco leave the back of the hospital.

Marco walks you through the paperwork, having you sign where it was needed, and explaining the finer points. You beat him to the punch a couple of times, and he raises a brow.

“You read fast, yoi.”

You chuckle. “My job is untangling legalese in order to maximize the donations we get.” You explain briefly, eyes still flicking over the form. “This paperwork isn’t nearly dense enough to slow me down.” You assure him, looking up with a smile.

“You’re certain about covering the cost?” He asks, and you nod.

“That’ll make it easier on whoever claims her, right? And it’ll help your hospital too, you won’t risk eating the costs.”

“That’s not wrong,” he admits as you organize the pages and square them up before putting them back into the folder. He accepts the packet as you hold it out to him. “I imagine we’re stopping at your place before we go out for dinner.”

“I – er – I was planning on walking.” You clear your throat. “It’s not bad out, and I am very early. It’s hardly after lunch.” You had to give him credit, it was the smoothest way he could’ve pointed out that you were in the same clothes. How he was effectively inviting himself over was so natural it was like you’d been friends for years, not just two people who blundered into one another a couple days ago.

He glances down at you. “I’m surprised you’re passing up a chance to ride in my car, yoi.”

“… I was resisting the urge to ask,” you admit, nearly grumbling the words as you can feel the heat rising up into your face. “But if you’re magnanimous enough to offer…” You let the thought hang a little, looking up at him as his smile went from easy to mischievous.

“Let’s get this filed, and settle that account, and I’ll take you home.”

[bobaheadshark]

Nashuri - Roses

A nashuri drabble, based on the word prompt: roses

(i.e. due to some grief going on in my personal life, i’ve had five weeks worth or more of writer’s block, and this was what I could manage)

Rated: G/T

————————

“Roses really smell like pooh-pooh ooh…” Shuri sings, very off key.

“This does not make sense. ‘Down to Mars’ girl. Mars is above us. We cannot be down to Mars, when mars is in constant orbit above our planet.”

“It’s just a song, Namor.”

“Yes, a very catchy song. A, how do you say it in your age, a banger-bop.”

“That is not how we say it, but okay.”

OutKast keep singing about leaning a bit closer, and it’s two in the morning, the lab is a little cold because of the delicate cores and material they’re working with, and Namor is obviously grumpy because he hasn’t eaten anything in hours, but Shuri thinks for the first time in a long time she might, possibly, be having fun.

The Vibranium power cell hovers on its tiny dias, glowing blue and purple, even more compact and efficient than when they first started working on it. Two kingdoms, sharing expertise, working for something greater than themselves.

And nobody said sharing expertise couldn’t be fun.

Shuri sways gently along to the song. Namor puts up a front of not being enthused, but he’s tapping one foot perfectly in time with the beat. Shuri finds herself wanting to engage him, has the mad impulse to even take his hands and boogie along, so she stops herself by dancing a respectful distance away.

“Had a lot of time to ponder songs while you were underwater, eh?”

“I got a gramophone right when it came out.”

She’s sure he didn’t mean for it to come out sounding so defensive. It makes the corners of her mouth quirk up, despite herself.

“You are so funny.”

“I keep up with the trends.”

“Okay, boomer.”

“Shuri,” he says, warningly. With as much bite as a sunfish would a sea snail.

In one over enthused move, Shuri bumps the side of the lab table, knocking a vibranium core slightly off balance. It’s in no danger of actually falling off, since Griot is programmed to follow her movement and constantly nanobots are at the ready to form a protective net.

But Namor lunges anyway. Half of his body ends up knocked into hers, one arm outstretched to catch the rock where it would’ve fallen, and logically, exploded.

The lab goes into darkness. The song, silenced.

The muscled bulk of Namor’s shoulder is hard against her lab coat, his bicep like a tree branch where she’s ended up tangled up against him, lifted up on her toes where he is pushed upwards. He seems partially caught in an attempt to push her away from danger, and half to take the brunt of the impact where the core would’ve detonated on the floor.

“What are you doing?” Shuri asks, blinking spots out of her eyes. She hadn’t even realised how bright it was.

“Helping you.”

“I was fine.” She swallows the lump in her throat. Tilts her chin at a display panel, glowing softly in the distance. “Built in failsafes.”

“I know.”

Neither of them moves. She thinks they probably should.

The lights stay low. The vibranium core stains the world blue.

She can feel him breathing; remembers the lightning fast way he crossed the room to her, even though her reflexes are just as fast as his, even though she has her panther habit on, even though she’s done this a thousand times before.

Shuri stretches an arm out gingerly, and plucks the core back from his hand to put on the table. He pulls slightly away and stands straight. He doesn’t avert his eyes, or anything like that. He just looks at her, and waits.

The moment stretches out too long between them. He’s close enough she can see the uneven direction that his beard is trimmed, with so many hours they’ve spent up here.

She leans in, and he does too, mouth parted like he wants to share a secret. But she bails at the last minute, acting like she wanted to move the vibranium piece back to safety.

“Griot, resume song.”

The beat comes back on, and the lab with it. Namor blinks once, then twice, understanding her meaning.

(And what is my meaning? Shuri asks herself. Half fearing the answer.)

Neither of them says anything, falling back into careful syncopation as they fuss with the nano batteries. There is only the sound of music in her lab and the careful hush of quiet work. The smell of molten silver and something aquatic from him that she can’t place, like open sky and dark water.

As he holds a piece in place for her to solder a component tight, she thinks to herself that maybe she didn’t make it up in her head.

That he once told her about the chucum blossom and the tortoise shell; and maybe he wasn’t really joking, when he called her something like a smoking star.

What does that mean? She’d asked.

Precious beyond compare. He’d said back, with the wealth of an entire world in his eyes.

———————

Last few lines are, afaik, from flower song, an Ancient Mayan poem

[underratedandoverit]

they dont see you but i do (and i love you)

~5k words orangekip (orange cassidy/kip sabian)

whaddup have a secret relationship fic. this got unnecessarily long but who cares its good lol. slight shades of angst and some hurt/comfort, especially closer to the end, but its basically your usual pondering over difficult relationships stuff that you should be used from me by now if you come here often lol. oh also kris is here as ive fallen in love with writing her and i dont even know if im doing her that good LOL kip says fuck too many times. as per usual. other than that theres not really anything to warrant a high rating for it tbh

@midnightpretenders0 @stormbornpirate

on ao3

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

Laying on the bed, Kip eyed the ceiling opening above him, listening to the quiet sounds around him. It was just another week of this, being stuck in the hotel room, waiting for the next day to roll around so he could get to work. Take care of business there as per usual, get back to the hotel for the night, fly home the next day, and wait anxiously to repeat the whole thing next week.

It was the same thing week in and week out.

But at the same time, he didn’t really mind it in the end, Kip thought as he watched the bathroom door being pushed open, the blond walking out and approaching the bed. Cassidy plopped sitting down to the bed next to him, running a lazy hand through Kip’s brightly colored hair, the Brit sending him a tired smile.

“Long flight?” Cassidy asked, as if he hadn’t just spent like ten minutes making himself presentable after coming in from his own flight. Kip just chuckled at him quietly, scooting a bit closer as he snuggled against Cassidy’s side. He didn’t need to reply to the question, the answer was pretty obvious to both of them.

“Just happy you’re here finally,” he muttered into Cassidy’s side, the blond nodding despite knowing Kip couldn’t see the response from him. He continued to run a hand through his hair, spinning coils of it around his finger as Cassidy stared off into the distance across the room, briefly wondering why Kip hadn’t turned the television on while he had been waiting. They had arrived separately despite sharing a hotel room, like usually, not only because it would have taken one of them a good hour or two or maybe more of waiting for the other’s plane to land.

But also because the newly blossoming relationship was still a secret they were both in mutual agreement trying to kind of hold under the wraps to their coworkers and people around them, in hopes of being able to break the news when the response would have been at least a little bit less turbulent than what it would have been with them coming off from as heated of an on-screen feud as they had had the past couple of months.

Honestly at least to Cassidy it wouldn’t have been a huge surprise if some people had already started to put the pieces together, even if they had been openly sworn enemies up to just a few weeks ago. While they didn’t spend time together publicly, it was probably very obvious they were both hiding something from their own friend groups. Cassidy sure as hell knew Chuck and Trent had been asking him questions why he always disappeared so fast after the shows and never flew in early anymore for fun outings the nights before and so forth, and he always had to come up with some excuses like just wanting to spend some more time at home or the convenience of late hour flights. Kip had very similar stories to tell, and while they didn’t really have many mutual friends, surely someone at this point had started to think things. Like Cassidy had seen the way both Kris and Danhausen looked at him when he was talking about all of this.

“Clementine? Are you listening?”

Cassidy snapped out of his thoughts, looking down at the questioning look from Kip as the other man gently poked him on the thigh to gather his attention again. Cassidy shook his head a little, letting out a sigh. “Sorry. What’s up?”

“I was just thinking,” Kip started, pushing himself up into a sitting position next to him, leaning his back against the backboard of the bed. “Since I’m going to visit home next week. Why don’t you come with me? We can have a little getaway away from work together.”

Cassidy’s brows furrowed a bit as he processed the rather out of character proposal from Kip. He had been talking about going back to the UK to visit for a while now, but this was the first time he had directly made a comment about them possibly taking on this trip together, and something about him so randomly bringing this up now just felt very odd to Cassidy.

“I don’t know if I can get a whole week off.”

Kip pouted at him a little, knowing full well that wasn’t the only reason he was hesitant to immediately agree to his little proposal. “You’ve been working almost every single week for almost a year now. You can have a little time off, I’m sure. It would just be really nice to have some company.”

“Isn’t there anyone else you could ask?” Kip rolled his eyes, already knowing that Cassidy was going to try to pull as many excuses as possible to avoid being dragged along to this. “It would raise a lot of questions if we both flew to the UK at the same time when there’s nothing going on over there that we need to promote or appear in. Sharing a flight, sharing the time, sharing--”

“Yeah, okay, I get it, you don’t wanna go.” Kip turned away from him, clearly irritated by this turn of events as he leaned away, fetching the remote from the nightstand on his side of the bed, turning the television on. “You don’t have to be so rude about it.”

“It would just be suspicious if--”

“And what does that matter?” Kip asked with a sigh, Cassidy already regretting ever answering anything when this topic was brought up. “We’ve been dancing around this topic for weeks now. Is that ever going to fucking stop, or are we going to just keep this as a secret forever? It’s been like, what, two months at least now and nothing has changed except we just need to keep being more and more careful as time goes on. Do you understand how exhausting that is?”

It wasn’t really a surprise to Cassidy that Kip was bringing all of this up, and honestly he was right about it too. It had been a few weeks now, and it was wearing both of them down steadily, but surely. Constantly having to arrange things around one another but still keep being together a secret, never answering their friends questions about their free time anymore, not being able to spend time together while they were at work… It was all very exhausting, yes, but at the same time maybe that was at this point in time still better than potentially facing the backlash of bringing this whole relationship into light.

Cassidy just really had no idea how to tell all that to Kip in a way he would understand it better, especially when he knew just as well as the Brit himself did that Kip was already very well aware of all of these facts too.

“I just wish we could act like… I don’t know, fucking normal I guess, around other people too. I just want to be able to do stuff with you without it being all like this.”

Kip didn’t need to specify what “this” meant in this context, Cassidy already knew it. This was far from the first time they had talked about this, far from the first time either of them had tried to push out some ideas to maybe bring this all into the light. Cassidy less so, but nonetheless, to both of them this was an issue they needed to solve. Eventually more so for Cassidy, if he was being honest. Sure being so secretive was stressful and taxing, but at the same time he felt like this was all working out really well for the two of them, and having to bring it all out to the public when he didn’t know what kind of a general reaction they would get, was probably actually making him feel more anxious than trying to continue to hide it all for as long as possible until the world was ready to hear about the two of them in his mind.

“Whatever. Forget I even asked. I’ll just go alone, it’s fine.”

Before Cassidy could even muster an apology out of him, let alone a reply of any sort, Kip pushed himself up from the bed, picking up his bag on the way as he headed for the bathroom. A heavy sigh escaped from Cassidy as he heard the shower being turned on soon after, knowing that while the conversation was now definitely over for the night, on the long term the struggle had just started. While they hadn’t maybe been together for that long yet, he already had a very clear vision of what kind of a person Kip was especially in a relationship, and Cassidy knew full well when he set his mind onto something like this, Kip wasn’t going to let it go before he got what he wanted. Or something went terribly wrong while he was trying to get his desired results.

Cassidy just wasn’t sure if he was going to be able to give it to him yet. Eventually, obviously, if things between them went on well enough for long enough, they would make it official publicly as well to at least their friends and coworkers. But right now he still wasn’t entirely sure about it. While it didn’t feel very fast, it wasn’t like they had just gotten together yesterday, it had been a couple of weeks at this point, something about it was still off putting to him.

Maybe it was the fact that it had been a while and they were still hiding it. Obviously Kip didn’t really like that anymore, and Cassidy wasn’t even sure why they had carried it out this long. Out of habit probably, but it still felt more comfortable to him than putting it out there. Something about keeping it a secret felt safe, even if it was definitely the more taxing option, and he just wanted to cling onto that feeling maybe.

He shook his head, hand reaching for the remote as he turned the television off before proceeding to prepare himself for bed. It was obvious no more conversations were going to be had tonight, and it was late already, they really did need to sleep in order to be able to get to work tomorrow. Turning the lights off Cassidy listened to the sound of the running water coming from the bathroom as he returned to the bed, settling himself comfortably under the blanket. Kip was taking his sweet time, probably trying to distance himself from the previous conversation, giving them both time to breath. Or at least that’s what Cassidy was hoping for.

Trying to calm his own mind with a couple of deep inhales, Cassidy settled on his spot in the bed, snuggling his head against the pillow and closed his eyes. He was already tired from all the traveling and the mental toll all of this was taking on him, so it didn’t take Cassidy long to fall asleep despite the situation around him.

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

Navigating his way through backstage, Cassidy was basically looking for any possible glimpse of Kip he could. He hadn’t seen Kip since last night, by the time morning rolled around and Cassidy woke up, Kip was already gone from the hotel room. It wasn’t anything unusual for them to leave at different times to avoid suspicion, but usually they at least had breakfast together before leaving. And this morning Kip was just gone, before he even woke up, which was unusual for him, especially since usually Cassidy was the one that left first as Kip liked to sleep in and took longer in general to get ready for the day.

Cassidy didn’t blame him after what transpired the night before, but truth to be told, he was a little hurt by it all, there was no denying that. At least if something positive came out of this, Cassidy knew now fully where Kip stood with this topic, and it made it easier for him to make up his mind about it too.

Well. At least somewhat easier. Pulling the trigger on something like this especially when you had to afterwards explain to all of your friends why you had been hiding it from them for weeks wasn’t going to be easy. Cassidy already knew that at least Chuck was going to freak out at him no matter what. But at least if that happened, they would easily use his reaction as one of the key example reasons why they had decided to keep it under wraps up until this point.

Finally stopping the fruitless search and pushing the locker room door open, Cassidy was rather surprised to actually find it empty. Usually he was the last one to arrive out of their group, especially when they spent the morning hiding away at the hotel with Kip. Maybe it shouldn’t have been so surprising to him that the rest of the Best Friends hadn’t arrived yet, considering that things hadn’t happened this morning. With a sigh he flung his bag on the couch, taking a seat next to it.

He was going to get to see Kip eventually, that much was for sure. Even if he had gotten so irritated with Cassidy that he somehow would have gone through getting a whole separate hotel room, which Cassidy doubted but wasn’t completely ruling out immediately considering how last night had gone, they still had a big multi men tag team match between their respective groups happening tonight. So at least they were going to be sharing the ring tonight, if not the bed later.

Thankfully he didn’t have to be alone with his thoughts for too long, as soon the door swung open again, Cassidy watching Kris stroll in, a smile landing on her face as soon as she saw the blond sitting on the couch.

“Orange! Perfect!” Cassidy just shrugged back at her as he leaned back on his seat, just kind of hoping tonight would be over quickly. Kris parked her luggage next to the couch before walking around the room, quickly checking in the shower and bathroom before returning to Cassidy. “The rest of the boys are not here yet?”

He shook his head, the smile just growing bigger on her face as Kris threw herself down on the couch next to him. “Good, I wanted to ask you something.”

Cassidy didn’t even have time to let the dread build inside of him before Kris already blurted out the words he had been hoping nobody would be directing at him any time soon.

“Sooooo you are dating someone, aren’t you?”

Cassidy didn’t need to reply, as the way he tensed up visibly at the question already told Kris everything she needed to know, making her gasp a little bit in excitement as she pushed herself up in a proper sitting position on the couch, her eyes never leaving Cassidy as she did. “I knew it! The boys didn’t believe me but I knew it!”

“Kris, please--”

“Who is it? Do I know them? How did you meet? How long have you been together? What--”

“Kris. Please.”

She pouted a little at being interrupted, but quieted down pretty fast seeing how exhausted Cassidy was already about this whole thing. The blond just sighed, removing the sunglasses from his face before he wiped a clearly frustrated hand over it, letting out the sigh.

“If I say yes, will you leave me alone?”

Kris didn’t reply, just watched as Cassidy put the sunglasses back on, trying to relax a little on his seat. He knew it was pointless to try to hide the truth from Kris at this point obviously, but this was also maybe one of the worst possible times she could have actually brought this up with him. Whatever he said, it was either not going to convince her, or she was just going to keep on asking more questions, no matter what. And Cassidy just really didn’t want to think about all of this right now.

“…Sorry.”

Cassidy glanced in her direction, watching Kris’ eyes land on her lap, her fingertips tracing the folds of her jeans as she was trying to find a direction to take this conversation. Cassidy sighed again, shaking his head a little. “It’s fine. Or whatever.”

“Sorry,” she muttered again, reflecting his sigh with a quiet one of her own. “I just got excited. We’ve been speculating about this a lot with the guys and, well…”

Her voice trailed off, but Cassidy just nodded a little. Obviously the lies he had been telling had been easy to read through, honestly he was pretty sure the only reason why Kris was the one thinking along the right lines was because of Chuck and Trent’s denial about the situation, which was probably also why she was the first one confronting him and not either of them. He couldn’t blame her though, not only because she was right, but this was obviously a fairly big deal. Big enough to potentially disrupt the group dynamic even, especially if they found out who it exactly was that Cassidy was involved with.

“…You’re right though.”

Kris looked back up at him, blinking blankly at him a couple of times as she was registering his words in her brain. Cassidy just shrugged. He had no real reason to hide it from her if she had already figured it out up to this point. Denying her the truth only to hopefully eventually bring it up again wasn’t going to leave pretty marks. “But you can’t tell them, okay? We are not…”

He stopped to think about it for a moment, shaking his head slightly. “I’m not ready for that yet.”

For what it was worth, Kip obviously seemed to want to take the next step sooner or later, way earlier than he was ready for it honestly. Cassidy understood his side of things, but then again, Kip didn’t seem to have as much hanging here as he did. He hated to say it, but Kip seemed to have much more supportive friends in this case than he did. He never complained about anyone around him probing him for extra details about his life or the times he didn’t spend around them like the people around Cassidy seemed to do. And he knew Kip loved to complain, so this wasn’t just a thing he didn’t talk to Cassidy about. It just didn’t happen at all, or even nearly to the degree it happened almost on a weekly basis at this point with Cassidy.

He sighed. “I’m not ready for that yet.”

Kris nodded her head, sending him a little encouraging smile. “Of course. Again, sorry, I got a little carried away there. Just… When you’re comfortable, okay? I would love to hear all about it. For support, not for gossip. Obviously.”

Cassidy chuckled a little, glad not only for Kris’ immediate understanding but her lighthearted way of trying to lighten up the mood. “Sure.”

“Just,” she started, eyes trailing off as she glanced around the room, slightly awkwardly trying to look at anything but Cassidy in the moment, “You don’t have to answer, of course, but… Why?” His eyes narrowed at her behind the sunglasses, Kris just shrugging a little. “Why aren’t you ready? Why is this a secret?”

He had a million answers to it that he could give to her. So many ways to say it, so many ways not to. A lie for every truth he had in him. Instead he just motioned vaguely with one lazy hand around him, watching Kris raise a brow at him. Cassidy wasn’t sure what kind of an answer she had been expecting after all that, but apparently it wasn’t really this. But the look in her eyes still told him that she got it.

“…Is it the guys?”

Neither of them was sure why Kris was even asking, as soon as the question left her lips the answer was very obvious. Even more so as almost on cue the locker room door opened again, the two people in question walking into the room, Trent following up in Chuck’s leading footsteps. As both Kris and Cassidy turned towards them Chuck froze on his spot, glancing between the two of them, it being very obvious that they had interrupted something important here.

“Sorry, bad timing?”

Both of them just shook their heads, not answering anything beyond that despite the suspicious look they gathered from Chuck.

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

He knocked on the locker room door, but was met only with silence. This was expected though and it didn’t falter his plan as Cassidy just pushed the door open, not being surprised in the slightest to find the other man sitting there, sulking all by himself. He was right where he was promised to be.

As he heard the door open, Kip glanced towards it, obviously annoyed as he had wanted to be left alone for a while, a genuine look of surprise crossing his face at the sight of his boyfriend instead of one his stablemates like he had been obviously expecting.

“Clemen--”

Kip stopped himself before the affectionate nickname slipped from his mouth, quickly turning away to hide the slight shade of pink that climbed on his cheeks. Cassidy did his best to pretend he didn’t see any of it as he walked up to the other man, in his head trying to decide if Kip was being so bashful about it because of what had transpired in the ring and he was hurt about it, or if this was about trying to not show such affection towards him in public. He wasn’t entirely sure, but it was probably a bit of both.

“What do you want? Didn’t you already mock me enough out there?”

Cassidy glanced down at the ice pack he was holding in one hand that Kip had obviously missed him carrying, carefully extending it towards Kip, placing it against the side of his face. The Brit flinched away a little, but as Cassidy insisted on holding it against him, Kip hesitantly accepted it into his own hands.

“I didn’t mean to hit you that hard. Sorry.”

Kip muttered something that sounded like an insult back at him, still refusing to look back at Cassidy. The blond observed him for a moment, finally taking a seat on the bench next to him. Kip didn’t look at him, to be honest Cassidy was pretty sure he turned a little bit more away from him actually. The blond opted out to observe his hands as the stiff silence fell in the room between the two of them, it being obvious that some of this tension needed to be relieved one way or another.

Cassidy slowly removed his sunglasses, letting out a quiet sigh.

“Look, I’m sorry. About last night.”

“No you’re not.”

Cassidy’s eyes narrowed as Kip finally turned back towards him, his eyes still wandering around to everything but to look directly at the blond. At this point Cassidy wasn’t entirely sure if the slight reddish color on his face was a blush or a potential bruise starting to form on the side of his face where the Orange Punch had landed earlier.

“You’re not sorry about what happened. I am. I’m the one that was out of line.”

Leaning forward on his seat, Kip leaned his arms against his legs, letting out a sigh. “You were right. It would be all too weird and suspicious if we did any of that. Sorry for even suggesting it.”

He ran a free hand through his hair, shaking his head a little. “I’m just… You know. Fucking tired of all of this.”

As Cassidy remained silent, both of them knowing he didn’t need to say anything to confirm to Kip that he knew exactly what he was talking about, Kip just shook his head again, turning his eyes away from Cassidy.

“I just… I don’t want to just be your dirty little secret forever.”

“You’re not my dirty little secret.” Kip snorted quietly, choosing to sulk a little beyond the shadow of the ice pack again, to avoid eye contact with Cassidy. “Well, you are a secret and definitely dirty, but you know what I mean.”

“Sure do make me feel like I am.”

Cassidy knew this game Kip was playing and how he had the way to twist his words into the way he wanted to hear them, that being nothing but the negative in this case, so he just remained silent, letting the Brit continue talking.

“I hate tiptoeing around everyone else about this or my life in general. I hate it that I can’t just find you and hold you or your hand when I want to, that I can’t just push you against the lockers to kiss you. I hate going home alone and having to wait a week to come back to you for barely a full day before repeating the lonely cycle all over again. I fucking hate all of this.”

Kip let out a soft chuckle, sounding almost disappointed in his own line of thinking. “Fuck, I hate you for making me fall in love enough to keep on doing this.”

Cassidy observed him from the side, knowing full well that everything Kip was saying was genuine, as much as it hurt to think about. Mostly because he felt the same way himself, and not only seeing but also hearing that Kip was willingly making these sacrifices because Cassidy had asked him to, every word felt like a little stab to his heart that he was just forced to take because this was his own doing.

“I know why we are doing this, but…”

“It’s tiring. I know.”

Kip finally looked directly at him, scanning the clearly tired face of the blond, almost as if to try to find some hints of insincerity, like these were just words he was saying because he knew they were ones that Kip wanted to hear, but he came short in his search.

“I don’t like this either. But it’s… It’s for the best right now.”

Kip sighed, but he nodded, knowing Cassidy wasn’t playing him just for fun. They both knew how exhausting this situation was, and the reasons for them keeping it this way, despite how it was affecting everything. They had talked about this a lot, but it didn’t make it much better for Kip, if he was being honest. He couldn’t recount the times he had straight up told Cassidy ‘fuck what anyone else thinks’, but he had still kept his promise to keep it all under the wraps. For him.

He felt a hand land on his tight, Kip’s eyes traveling down to it, a soft smile crossing his lips as he reached his free hand for it, intertwining their fingers together before squeezing Cassidy’s hand carefully.

“The fucking things I do for you,” he sighed, hearing a soft chuckle coming from Cassidy. His thumb carefully petted Kip’s, Cassidy just observing their hands sitting in Kip’s lap before he spoke up again.

“I actually wanted to talk to you about something. Other than apologizing for your face.”

Kip glanced up at him, Cassidy not returning the look as he kept looking at their hands, a little smile playing on his lips as he pondered through his words.

“About what you said last night. I think I might actually take you up on that trip offer.”

Kip’s brows furrowed at him, but Cassidy just kept smiling. “Maybe it would be a good thing. Not for the potential rumors but…” He looked up, directing the smile straight at Kip, leaving no room for any misinterpretations of what he was saying. “Maybe it would be really good for us.”

Cassidy could feel Kip’s grip of his hand tighten a little, a barely noticeable amount, but the man never broke eye contact with him, looking almost surprised at his words. “Really? You… You do want to go with me?”

Cassidy shrugged, but kept on smiling. “Sure, why not? Like you said, we should spend more time together, and having this little getaway could do us some good. See if we can… Hold this together for more than two days at a time or whatever. And without having to worry about someone catching us.”

In a one fell swoop Kip dropped the ice pack from his face and his hand, with his now free hand reaching for Cassidy, pulling him closer by the back of his head for a kiss that was almost as big of a surprise to him as Cassidy’s statement just now was to Kip. Cassidy chuckled softly against the kiss, eventually returning it before Kip cut it short by pulling away again, looking away almost instantly as a shade of regret crossed his face as he realized what he had just done.

“Shit, sorry, I-I didn’t mean to. You just… Really surprised me.”

Cassidy just shrugged it off with a smile. It wasn’t uncharacteristic for Kip to act this affectionate, especially when put on a spot, but they had been extra careful and making sure such acts of affection weren’t done in public, which was the part that caught him off guard. Cassidy reached his hand for Kip’s face, landing it on his cheek, turning him back towards him.

Him blushing like that was so endearing to Cassidy.

“Your friends won’t bother us for a while. It’s alright.”

A soft smile crossed Kip’s lips, but Cassidy was sure he could see a little smirk also tucking in the corners of his mouth as Kip registered his words.

“Oh thank god.”

Before Cassidy could reply, Kip grabbed a handful of his shirt, pulling him close for another kiss, this time clearly intentional enough that Kip wasn’t going to let him go any time soon. Which suited him just fine, as Cassidy didn’t want him to, allowing his free hand to run through Kip’s hair as he let the Brit deepen the kiss.

[skylarstark4826]

Shuri, who is born with a name already engraved on her wrist, doesn't bother to look it up on any Wakandan registry, already making peace with the fact that she will find no matches. It wouldn’t take a genius (though Shuri prides herself on the fact that she is one) to recognize her soulmate, with his name spelled in foreign characters, is not a Wakandan citizen nor is he of Wakandan descent. 

At seven, she starts studying her soulmate’s language in secret. If in case he did not speak any of her languages, then Shuri will be there to communicate with him in his mother tongue. By the end of the month, she has already mastered writing the alphabet, and her free time is spent poring over the books in her soulmate’s culture. 

By twelve, Shuri grows impatient. She ponders the idea of becoming a War Dog and thinks of being assigned to the offshores of Mexico, dreaming of finally putting a face to the name on her wrist. Ultimately, she decides against it, content to stay in her lab to search for other, more alternative ways to find him, wherever he may be. 

When her brother is suddenly taken by sickness, Shuri temporarily holds off the topic of soulmates, and trades in her knowledge of history and linguistics for biochemical engineering and medicine. 

On the eve of her brother’s passing, Shuri is no closer to finding her soulmate, though she has since stopped looking. 

—

Shuri touches the painted walls of Namor’s grotto and starts to recall long-forgotten memories. As her fingers trace the waves, she is reminded of the warriors who speak her soulmate’s tongue. For years she had wondered what he would look like and now…

Now there is a slim chance that her soulmate might be blue. 

“It did not help my case when the Spanish priest had seen my bare skin, devoid of any mark, and branded me as el niño sin amor shortly after. I have reserved that name for my enemies ever since.” 

“So, I’m taking you don’t have a soulmate?”

There is a knowing glint in his eye when he says,  “I did not say that.” Then his gaze wanders briefly downward, leading to her arm. Where her mark is. 

Shuri, remembering that she is without her kimoyo beads, clutches her arm closer to her chest. One of her prerequisites during its early design stages was for the beads to be big enough to hide soulmate marks, so as to deter people from asking too many questions. A prerequisite that, up to now, Shuri still thanks her younger self for coming up with. 

To her surprise, Namor’s brows do not furrow in confusion, unlike the warrior who had bested Okoye. Nor does he glare at her in suspicion, much unlike the warrior next to him who had killed the American officers in cold blood. No, instead, the edge of his lips quirks in silent delight as he appraises her. 

He moves to grab her hand and brings it closer, Shuri along with it. She frowns at his boldness. The nerve of him, touching her without permission. She has to bite her tongue before any insults could fly, reminding herself that she is still a guest in his home and the probability of her negotiations ending in success depends solely on the extent of her self-control. 

“Your warriors took a good look at my wrist back there. They wouldn’t happen to know anyone with this name, would they?” She mentally sends Riri an apology and hopes the young scientist will find it in her heart to forgive Shuri for her selfishness. Surely she would understand if she delayed the negotiations for a few minutes. Just until she can wean out the identity of her soulmate. Perhaps maybe even his whereabouts if she asks nicely enough. 

Namor thumbs the pulse point located below her wrist, fingertips touching the edge of the second character. Shuri notes how big his hand is compared to hers, how easily it encompasses her slim wrist, but thinks nothing more of it. She had to focus. “They had looked at it because you are the first surface dweller in years to have a name borne from Talokan. And a princess no less.” He says simply, nodding like he has confirmed something in his head before letting her go. “But no, they wouldn’t know who it is.”

Her wrist is aflame, but it doesn’t deter her from asking, “But you do?”

Namor shows her his teeth and Shuri cannot stop thinking of a great white shark. 

“I do.” 

Before Shuri can question him further, he is already unclasping one of his bracers. When it drops to the floor, Shuri watches its descent. When the sound of its clanging reverberates along the walls of his hut as it slowly slides under his hammock, Shuri watches it, still. Namor raises his forearm to her face and the last few echoes of the golden accessory are the furthest thing on her mind right now. 

The words register immediately, but Shuri still has to blink—once, twice, just to make sure that what she is seeing is actually real. If her mind has decided that now was the perfect time to start playing tricks on her before she wakes up to find herself in her own bed. But the image does not leave her and the words do not change no matter how many times she repeats them in her head. 

There, on his wrist, is her name in familiar Wakandan text, barely legible to anyone save perhaps the author and its wearer. There, between the lifelines and long blue veins, is Shuri Udaku, written in rushed, easy strokes like she had been writing it in haste and proper penmanship was merely an afterthought. 

It is a shame, Shuri thinks, her head still reeling. Her soulmate is stuck with the chicken scratches she makes while running on seven cups of caffeine and pure genius, when usually her handwriting was neat and orderly. 

In one of her earliest memories, before her parents realize her mind would not be properly stimulated in a normal Wakandan school and decide to switch her to higher and higher grade levels, Shuri is five and showing her father a poem written by her own hand. She is sitting on her baba's knee and starts to talk of the baobab trees that grow strong and tall in Wakandan soil before he takes a peek at her paper and smiles, complimenting her on her shorthand. Five-year-old Shuri smiles too, preening at the praise. 

Now Shuri is twenty-four and does not sit on anyone’s knee nor does she write any more poetry about baobab trees. Instead, she stands with her feet planted directly on the ground, her spine ramrod straight, and swallows. The shock, the disbelief, the outrage–all of it goes down her throat, heading towards her esophagus. Her stomach ingests it in the silence. 

Her name might be on his wrist, but that does not mean he was her soulmate by default. There are many cases in which one half of a soulmate pair share a name and the other does not, which is rare, yes, but not impossible. On top of it all, Shuri is by no means an idiot and if he takes her for one then he will be greatly disappointed. She knows how to write his name in Mayan lettering and no matter how many ways she can put it, in how many ways she may twist it, K’uk’ulkan will never, not even in a million years, match the name on her wrist. 

Because how can Shuri ever accept the fact that this immortal god-king, who has trapped her with him in the cold dark caves he calls his home, and her mysterious soulmate (who, at this point, had practically been a childhood relic left hidden in the recesses of her subconscious) be one and the same?

As if reading her mind, he says, “You don’t trust me, I understand. But I told you this once before, princess, and now I will tell you again. I have many names. For my people, I am called K’uk’ulkan. For my enemies, I am Namor. But for my pixan gemela, for you, I am Cha’ah Toh Almehen."

Shuri blanched. “Can you prove it?”

Namor smirks almost as if he had expected her answer. With gentle hands, he picks up the bracelet Shuri has been eyeing ever since she walked into his hut and places it on her waiting hands. 

Shuri’s brows furrow at this, but he only juts his chin in the direction of the bracelet, silently urging her to inspect it. Though her head is still filled with doubt, she starts to examine the bracelet’s intricate jade beading. Her fingers run along its faint bumps and ridges carefully before she freezes in place. She has traced these lines before, hasn’t she?

In her lab, when she pauses her work to rest and takes off her kimoyo beads to massage tired wrists. In sleepless nights, when she tosses and turns in bed and brings a hand to cover her face. In the mornings, when she wakes up and it’s the first thing she sees—

All of a sudden, her head shoots up, almost smacking the side of Namor's skull. She looks at him, eyes wide and full of barely concealed emotion. “It’s really you,” she gasps, and he grins as he closes the distance between them.

Her soulmate might smell of the sea, but she finds that his tongue does not share any of its salt. Shuri is just grateful that her first kiss doesn’t taste like fish. 

—

“It would please me greatly if you accept this simple token of affection,” he says, already tying his mother’s bracelet to her wrist without waiting for an answer. “I have kept it close to my heart so that my uláak' chúumuk could wear it and think of me.”

They sit at the entrance of his hut, where Shuri can see her reflection in the water and Namor holds her hand with a certain reverence. It must have been hours now, she notes, since he had shown her his kingdom and yet his grip on her does not once falter. Not even when the bracelet is already safely secured on her wrist. 

She notices the size of it first; big enough to fully cover her mark. Almost like it was designed specifically for her in mind. Shuri is reminded of the promise made to his mother and, in a way, that might hold true. “It's very beautiful,” she says, in awe at the way the pearls shine against her skin. 

Namor brings her hand up to meet his cheek, and her thumb moves to feel the soft skin underneath. He sighs, leaning into her touch. “For years, I had dreamt of this day, wondering what name you would carry with you. Whether it was the name my people called me or if it would be the name that belonged to my enemies. Recently, I have even toyed with the idea that I may find both. But it is a great comfort to reunite with the name my mother gave me, even after all this time.”

Shuri’s eyes glance briefly at the water, her distorted reflection returning her slight frown, then back to him. “No one calls you by this name?”

His head shakes sadly and his beard starts to dig at her skin following the movement, tickling her. “I only allowed my mother to use it. My ears have grown used to hearing the same two names after she passed.” 

Until me. Her brain supplies, but she dare not voice it out.

“Would you like me to call you by Cha’ah Toh, then—only when it's just the two of us?”

Namor smiles then and Shuri thinks, not for the first time that night, how utterly beautiful he looks like this. She has seen his kingdom and even witnessed his vibranium sun in all its glory but none can compare to her soulmate’s kind warm eyes glittering against the low lights, looking contentedly at her like she was something to be worshipped. Like just the mere sight of her was enough to bring joy to his face. 

He kisses the inside of her palm, still smiling. “If it would only please you.”

Later, he will have to leave her for the surface, where her mother waits, but not without kissing the name–his name–on her wrist one final time, his nosepiece cooly pushing at the edge of her hand. Playfully, he will start to plant soft kisses on the pads of each of her fingers before she shoos him away, giggling at his antics.  

Later, she will be whisked away and leave death at her wake. Later, she will look at her mark in anger and she will hide the bracelet where it will find no light. Later, Shuri will see him as nothing but a curse to wear for the rest of her life. 

But here, in the now, she is with her soulmate who looks at her with stars in his eyes and warmth in his heart. Here they sit in comfortable silence, facing each other, and Shuri starts to envision a future with this man. One where she is not burdened with duty nor is she haunted by death. 

In her head, there is already an image of her smiling. This Shuri wears delight on her face like it belongs there. There is no grief to tug down at the corners of her mouth because he is there to kiss it away. 

[oldbutnotyetwise]

Purpose, Belonging, and Love

     I am a collector of quotes, ponderences and written words of wisdom.  You know the kind, where your reading a book and then suddenly what you are reading hits you right between the eyes, or perhaps in the heart.  You go back and reread that last sentence or paragraph again after which you just close the book and stare off into space and let what you have just read seep into your soul where it will be chewed on, pondered, perhaps expanded on and hopefully take root.

     My daughter knows I am a ponderer and we exchanged books, as per our usual Christmas Eve tradition.  The Book she gave me was 101 Essays That Will Change The Way You Think by Brianna Wiest.  If I am being honest the book isn’t really changing the way I think, but I did run across the following gem while reading it.  

     “Some of the statistically happiest countries in the world are nearly impoverished.  Some of the most notable and peaceful individuals to grace this Earth died with only a few cents too their name.  The commonality is a sense of purpose, belonging, and love; things you can choose to feel and cultivate, regardless of physical/material circumstances.”

     Now I don’t know what you thought when you heard that, but I thought to myself that is some simple but profound wisdom.  I liked it and found myself in total agreement with it.  A sense of purpose, belonging and love, that to me sounds like a good recipe for a successful and happy life.

     Now I have been blessed to have been born in Canada, into a simple middle class family and along the way I had some good opportunities that I was able to take advantage of and make a good life for myself and my family.  I was fortunate that I had a sense of purpose in my life, I had a sense of belonging and I gave and received an abundant amount of love.

     So if Canada is truly such an advanced country, with a highly educated population why is it that none of the commercials that you see or hear encourage you to pursue purpose, belonging and love?  No the commercials tell you that you want, no you need, bigger, better, more expensive and the majority of the population buy into that and forever chase that golden carrot.  Shouldn’t we all be smarter than that?  Of course trying to sell purpose, belonging and love would not be profitable, and in this world it seems to be all about making money.

      I spent thirty-one years in an organization that had a large amount of people who were driven to chase promotion, get more prestige, earn more money, get a bigger pension.  I often looked at some of these people who spent all their time doing volunteer work, going to night school, getting degrees, and joining organizations that would assist their promotional prospects, their main focus was getting ahead at work, and many of them did.  You might think I envied these people but I didn’t.  I felt sorry for them because while they were busy chasing promotion their children grew up with what must have felt like an absentee parent.  Their spouse or partner carried the burden of looking after children and the home.  One day they retire with their big pension, to a home that is now empty because their children are all grown and gone, and their spouse left long ago because they were lonely and tired of doing everything on their own.  Do these people have anything that is desirable or valuable, or do they just have a rich bank account and an empty life?  

     Maybe we could learn something from those young children whose parent spends all kinds of money on a big fancy gift and the young child is more interested in playing with the empty box then the expensive toy that came in it.  Hey parents let me let you in on a secret, your children savour time with their parents, that is worth more than any toy you could buy them.  Enjoy it before the opportunity is gone……Sorry, I got distracted there for a minute, a song started playing in my head, it was Harry Chapin singing “The Cat’s In The Cradle”.

     I’ve written about this search for happiness before, and I probably will again.  Why is happiness so elusive for so many people?  How can the Advertising Industry do such a good job at distracting us from true happiness and send us chasing an illusion that they themselves have created?  Flashing lights, big billboards, commercials, and the incessant advertising that intrudes into every corner of our life, really the only way to escape it is to disconnect from the world.  I think that we would all be wise to do that from time to time.  Here is an idea, leave your phone at home, go for a walk in the woods, listen to nature, see nature, feel nature, breath deeply and take pleasure in that peace and quiet that is a rare commodity in this busy, loud, expensive world of ours.  Remember doing this is free, you won’t find better value anywhere.

     In closing I would like to share another quote here, it is from Alan Lakein, “Time is life.  It is irreversible and irreplaceable.  To waste your time is to waste your life, but to master your time is to master your life and make the most of it.”  Wouldn’t this world be such a better place if we could just get people to understand that time is life’s most valuable commodity, not money.  Take it from someone who’s time is running out, the importance of money and things pales in comparison to the joy of spending time with your loved ones.  

     I think my definition of rich will be someone who has purpose, belonging and love….using that definition would you be rich?  Who is the poorest rich person that you know?  

     Purpose, Belonging and Love, remember that.