#it’s like… terrible and touching at the same time

[rubystudios-yt]

He held the small thing in his hands, gently shifting it from side to side, careful to not puncture it's frail flesh with pointed bone. Softly poking at it's face with a knuckle to see the skin move with it and it squirm at the feeling.

The tuff of wool on top of it's head looked clean, thoroughly washed and cared for. He only wished his flesh hadn't rotted off some time ago, maybe then he'd be able to feel it's warm softness, even if just a smidge.

The little sheep had made it's way up the hill to greet him, and took it upon itself to try and climb up his robes when he didn't respond. He had to catch it when it started to slip.

He hadn't ignored it on purpose, he had simply just not heard the sheep's little bleats. Far too small to make a sound really that loud enough for him to hear when it had been on the ground.

But with him cradling it in his palms with his legs pulled up by his chest, leaning back onto an old redwood tree, he could hear it just fine. He wasn't entirely sure what it had been babbling on about, only really half paying attention. He did hear it ask what the scars on his bones that where his wrists where. The question went unanswered.

The sheep didn't seem to mind the old god prying at it or his lack of any vocal responses, after a while it did seem to finally tire itself out of talking and were content with taking a nap as he held it.

It was intriguing to him.

He watched it's chest rise and fall as it breathed small and evenly through it's slumber. The way it's face twitched and softened, a reflection of it's dreams it held onto.

It was fragile and light, any wrong move of his could crush bones and tear it's flesh apart. Surely the creature knew of this as well, and yet it still entrusted it's life within his hands.

He looked up over at the village that the mortal had come from, nearly hidden in the dense forest of Darkwood. It was a cute little place, decorated beautifully with bright florals and different brilliant shades of green. Roofs of straw and hay bundled together tightly to protect from the weather outside sat atop of wooden walls with carved windows.

He wondered which one the sleeping sheep had come from. Did it have any family? Did he? The four gods who had found him in chains called him their brother, so he supposed he had them. But their every movement and word seemed like they didn't know what to do with him. They were afraid to touch him, like he would wither away if they pressed on his bones too roughly, spoke with shaking soft voices that sounded forced. Like they didn't want to speak with him, he never reciprocated their words so he knows not why they forced themselves to.

In a way he knew why, having the need to use a slickly scythe designed for combat as nothing more than a walking stick (which now lay against the same tree as he), easily falling down as his legs felt as though caving in on themselves. But those where nothing time couldn't fix, if he kept walking without over exceeding himself then he wouldn't have to walk with one of the gods trailing close behind any longer. He wouldn't have to be a burden to them, it was troublesome enough as is.

He had managed to find escape away from the worm this time around. He felt terrible using his blindness to his own advantage, but he felt as though they had been suffocating him, coddling him as though he couldn't do anything at all on his own. He felt pathetically small around them, despite his height causing him to practically loom over the four of them.

The sky that overcasted the village was dark with the night's colorful blues and blacks. Stars twinkled bright above them. It felt like only minutes before the colors shifted to allow room for the sun's early morning rays. Highlighting the shadowy purples with pinks and golden orange and yellows. It made the village below feel more full in a way. Like this was how it was meant to be viewed as.

small doodle for a snippet I wrote a couple of months ago lol

[ssuperrnnovaa]

— WHEN THEY FALL IN LOVE..

or, when there's no turning back for the first years.

a/n: first writing post.. AHH edit 1: i forgot to add things I DIDNT PROOFREAD SORRY

when ace trappola falls in love..

he's still the same guy. but almost sweet, almost kind.

but he's a master of his secrets. parts his mouth just to spew another joke about your appearance or how you did on that potionology test the other day - that same glint of hesitation in his eyes, that unsure croak of his voice just before he delivers another nasty quip about your face. like a punchline stuck in his throat - too funny to laugh at, too funny to acknowledge.

funny how he'd said he'd "rather hang out with his friends than find love", and here he is; laying in his bed. at 3 am. head filled with nothing but thoughts of you.

he'll let it simmer. wait for you to realize - wait for you to notice him, not just the facade he puts up. not the prankster he is in class, or the troublemaker you have to put up with.

wait for you to love him back.

when deuce spade falls in love..

he's trying his very best.

deuce was never much of a charmer - the guy's been a delinquent for most of his life; feared, not loved. he only sees (romantic) love in the movies - terrible rom-coms, poignant love stories.. you name it. deuce has no idea about love.

(his lack of knowledge gets worse with you.)

deuce tries - keyword, tries to keep his composure in front of you. he fails, miserably. his face? turning red. words? none. palms? sweating. and pride? absolutely crushed.

he apologizes to you later, blames it on the heat or how he forgot about another ridiculous rule. calls up his mom and his mouth is a dam - like he suddenly gained the ability to talk 10 minutes later. tells her all about you, as if she doesn't know your entire genetic code just from hearing him talk.

maybe one day.

when jack howl falls in love..

it's unyielding - unyielding, but quiet.

jack doesn't date for fun; never has, never will. he doesn't chase anyone.

wolves mate for life - you know it when jack immediately shuts down the idea of even having a crush or having an ex, saying that he's "focused on self-betterment" or "waiting for the right person". you're convinced that not even cupid could get him to fall in love.

but for you? that discipline shatters.

it happens during a study session in ramshackle when you're idly playing with his ears - making fun of that stone-cold persona when in reality he's melting under your touch. he catches himself after five minutes of bliss, thoughts of the future flooding his brain; "what if i won't be a good partner to them? what if i let them down?'

to jack, love isn't a game; love's not the way he feels embarrassingly giddy after you squeeze his hand or poke his bicep. love's permanent. forever. and it terrifies him.

when epel felmier falls in love..

it's fierce.

epel's not soft - in fact, he's everything but. he'd do anything to be seen as strong by you; even if it meant burying his own feelings.

epel was never much of a dreamer - let alone a lovey-dovey kind of guy. he despises those mushy romance stories, calling them "dumb as a box of rocks", grimacing when he watches the leads kiss.

yet.. he can't help but be entranced. by you.

he scoffs a little too loudly for vil's comfort, but in his head, he's repeating the same mantra over and over again in his head - "i'm not some silly little girl moonin' over someone. i've got better things to do with my time. besides, love is for babies."

yet, his defenses crumble when you ever do so much as breathe in his direction, and suddenly, he's back to square one.

when sebek zigvolt falls in love..

it's fervent.

sebek is passionate about a lot of things - his duty as a retainer, malleus, academics, and you.

you, a mere human that could quiet him down with just a finger to your lip. you, a mere human who keeps him awake at night and restless, overthinking. yearning.

it's foolish, he tells himself. tells himself it's just a small crush as if it's not all-consuming, as if he's not avoiding you all together just so he could have peace of mind.

is it the right thing to do? no. will it keep him unbothered? absolutely not. and will he come to terms with his feelings?... unlikely.

[haikyuubby]

YOUR RELATIONSHIP IN SONG FORM

songs that relate to your relationship with mha boys…

↳ featuring: shinso, bakugo, kaminari, todoroki, hawks, and dabi.

★ warnings: straight up smut, female reader

this was just an excuse for me to put y’all onto some fire romantic/freaky rnb songs…#sorrynotsorry

shinso: ♫ sweat ; zayn

❝ give you all of my attention. ❞

you and shinso have been together for years, having a somewhat steady relationship.

after having an argument, shinso knew how to comfort you, always being the one to apologize first.

make-up sex was a normal thing for you two to engage in, making it a pleasurable experience for everyone.

it didn’t matter to shinso if this happened in a car, bathroom, bed, or couch. if he wanted to pleasure you, he was gonna do it anywhere he damn well pleased to.

after having an intense argument with shinso, he loves to eat you out, making you forget that any conflict even existed between you two.

his tongue worked magic on your pussy, never failing to make you climax multiple times in a night.

shinso knew that once he cared more about your pleasure than his, that he’d really fallen head over heels for you.

bakugo: ♫ deeper ; partynextdoor

❝ i wanna be your favorite again. ❞

maybe bakugo didn’t know how to be a GREAT boyfriend, and he especially didn’t know much about actually fucking someone when you two first got together.

after a few years, bakugo is a pro at pretty much everything.

which sucks, because you two go through phases of being broken up then getting back together.

even when you two aren’t “dating”, you’re still his, and he’s yours.

if you try to use someone else to distract yourself from him, he’ll quickly remind you why you keep running back to him.

the way that he leaves the darkest hickies on you while rolling his hips into you after a long week of you two being “broken up” will always have you crawling back to him.

kaminari: ♫ on the way ; jhene aiko

❝ i been alone all night, i got you on my mind. ❞

you and kaminari are…overly freaked out.

being friends with benefits had its perks, like being able to get dicked down with no strings attached…

but that’s not how i’d describe your relationship with kaminari.

kaminari knew all the right ways to touch you, making him something more important than just a friend you occasionally fucked.

he was too scared to ask you out though, due to his fear of rejection.

kaminari decided that he’d settle for being fwb, but it was his goal to make you say “i love you” while he’s deep inside of you.

todoroki: ♫ as you are ; the weeknd

❝ show me your broken heart and all your scars. ❞

as the song states, you want todoroki to fully open up to you, broken heart, scars and all.

this is especially important whenever you two are having sex, the experience has to be extremely pleasurable for the both of you in todoroki’s words.

intimacy is something that he’s craved his entire life, so whenever he gets the chance to make love to you, he will.

hawks: ♫ we both know ; bryson tiller

❝ same old shit, pack your bags, come lay back with me. ❞

you and keigo have been fucking with each other since high school, constantly breaking up and then getting back together.

relationship wise, he’s terrible.

he lies to you, barely makes time for you, and refuses to take accountability for any of his actions.

after every argument, keigo comes up behind you, pressing his hard on against your lower back.

muttering stuff like “i’m sorry baby” and “i’ll never do that again.”

you try and stand on business, kicking him out of the house yet again.

that is until you find him deep inside of you that same night, pounding you endlessly.

you knew that your relationship with keigo would be never ending.

dabi: ♫ let me love you ; ariana grande

❝ and if it feels right, promise i’ll stay here all night. ❞

dabi has no problem fucking around with you, he even doesn’t mind once he realizes that he has actual feelings for you.

if you had to put a label on your relationship status with dabi, it would be a situationship.

every time you get close to saying “i love you”, dabi somehow manages to remind you why you haven’t yet.

emotionally, he’s immature; not ready for a relationship.

you just can’t help but fantasize what could be after he buries himself deep inside of you every night, making you feel the best that anyone ever has.

[vividly-vermillion]

Okay so you had me at plague doctor already because please don't judge me but they're so hot for NO reason at all. Add monster to it and my legs spread faster than I can even hit the reblog button.

Knowing this is from you Cort, I'm going into this with high expectations that I'll know you'll meet and surpass because no matter what you write it's just UGH YES TICKLE MY BRAIN!!!!

I hope you know that a shiver ran down my spine at the intro of this masterpiece and I shivered.

The entire ambient is just so good I have no words for it. But I don't want to stop reading. You set the scene so beautifully and paint a picture for my inner eye, making me a part of the story as if I'm witnessing this live and in color.

Oh lord. the description of the monster... whERE DID MY PANTIES GO???

The pain of loss - the willingness to do everything, to not run away from this it breaks my heart. Mr husband can be a very lucky man to be loved so deeply and sincerely.

THEY WERE BURNED ALIVE OH MY- i literally scrunched up in myself at the image. The downside of the way you paint pictures- the unpleasant ones also appear (which by no means is a bad thing but agsjsbsuidnw I wanna sob)

How does one even measure a soul? Is there ever enough money that would equal the love you have felt for one another? An eye for an eye? Do you need to give yourself away in order to get them back? It's such a cruel question but you portrayed it so beautifully

Great Death was terrible up close, freezing to the touch. Pale. Dead. Not of this realm. The air around him was dense, stagnant, like it had a breath to hold. It simply did not move in his presence. The feeling of his fingers wrapping yours then, pinning them to the countertop, suffusing you with his cold and his darkness made your neck hairs stand upright.

I loved this part so much for no reason at all I think. I just love great death it seems. The way he is so... otherworldly, scaring me down to my bones but also so soothing???

You bled on his cock that night as he savagely fucked you into the table. His nothingness had been moved away, parted in halves to reveal gray and blackened purple hardness. An emaciated belly of similar tones was eye-catching and harsh and familiar, but a view which became unimportant as he impaled you, yanked your head back by hair closest to your scalp, and forced your gaze to the ceiling.

This and the next 4 blocks of text... I can not tell you how they made me feel. There aren't any words for it. It's a strange mix of disgust, sadness, need and strangely enough want? To give yourself to something like great death for love... to get back the love is so... it's a price to pay but a price I'm willing to pay if that means I get my husband back? But it also feels so violating at the same time? Is this even full consent? No one will ever know and I don't care.

He serviced no others in town, but had expressed certain morbid appreciation to you, saying that because of your brazenness, more of the vendors were being skittishly approached by those deluged in grief and delusion....

He is so cruel and absolutely vile but he also seems so.... needy? He is craving this? You scratch an itch that he isn't able to reach and that somehow makes me feel appreciated help i need to tell my therapist about this ☠️

“Perhaps I see a little of what your husband saw in you. No. No, I see deeper than he ever could. I see through you into your core. I see your soul. Oh, how hideous it is.”

Now, sir, with all respect... no need to get mean okay 😭 but the way he yearns, mocks and just takes and takes why am I falling in love with him help

Now Cort... I AM SHAKING YOU BY THE SHOULDERS (gently) WHAT IS THIS ENDING I CRIED LIKE A BABY!! Fuck I did not expect this at all 😭 I feared that at the question above - whats the worth of a soul - that this would happen, that he wanted a soul in exchange but hell I did not expect he would just murder us like this :(( my silly pink glasses dropped because I was falling in love over here like the village fool I fear. The way he saw everything. The beauty, the ugly, he saw our most intimate - our soul.... but noooooooooooo

I dislike great death and hope he shatters the soul jar and eats bricks >:((

Anyways, personal feelings for the monster put aside - this was a truly beautiful piece and as said in the beginning I did not expect to be disappointed. I fear that I will come back to this a few more times because it will haunt my mind in the most beautiful way.

PESTIS

plague doctor monster x reader | 18+ | 3.7k

after the doctors in your town burn the bodies of plague victims, a mysterious cortège of black wagons begins visiting once a month. the one who leads them, great death, asks you what your deceased husband's soul is worth to you, and the result of it begins a convoluted spiral.

story warnings; dead dove do not eat, sexual content, major dubcon, kinda implied size kink?, size difference, his ejaculate is not sexily described lmao, extreme body horror + grotesque details, graphic depiction of gore (at the end), kinda-sorta cannibalism?, mc is pretty shitty in this, murder, disturbing details all around, bodies are burned, frightening imagery, prose + detail heavy, this is a bit of an exploration of greed + touches on some relevant events if you can figure out the parallels, plays with the idea of humans having actual souls, roughly proofread, don't look too much into inconsistencies lmao just have fun.

muted divider by @/anlian-aishang

a/n; originally, this was supposed to be >1k as part of a personal challenge where ppl could vote on a poll for what genre i'd write a piece for. horror won.

thanks to @shouyuus for shoving this prompt from @/deepwaterwritingprompts in my face. this piece followed the prompt very loosely, but still!!

pls share your thoughts + reblog this! it really means a lot to support writers, guys 💙

All anyone knew was that he was called Great Death, and he led a cortège of black wagons with black lace across the windows into town square for one night, once a month.

The procession’s arrival was announced by clopping hooves from skinless, skeletal steeds and enormous wheels jolting across the cobblestone terrain, of which the very foundation of the town had been built on top of. Even though they moved slowly, precisely, in a single line of synchrony, their sound was one of continuous rolling thunder; the roaring fireplaces where all of the bodies were incinerated.

Your husband had been reduced to human soot in one of them, but you weren't allowed to know which one.

No one was.

The doctors had argued it was to prevent grieving families and grave robbers from clawing through the ash in search of bones, scraps of clothing, or valuables discarded with the bodies of nobles. But, none of that made any difference as there was greed and loss, far too much of it to keep people out of the fireplaces and from digging and stealing and reclaiming.

You hadn't been so driven to search for your husband’s things because you still possessed more wealth than he had been burned with. He had been blistered with black and purple pustules of infection and plague before he died, so you feared that breathing him in (breathing anyone in) would fill your lungs with them (with him) and kill you, too.

But, that did not mean that you did not grieve, because you missed the beauty that he brought to your life. You missed his gentle wit and loving mind, how he always sent you exquisite clothing from wherever in the world he had gotten to now.

My love, this is your color!

- Samuel

Every color was your color, in his eyes. And, every piece he had delivered to you became a part of your collection of things. An opulent display of his devotion and good status to show to your friends, anyone sitting with you for quaint tea and distantly sourced food untouched by the town.

Meeting Great Death had come long after the burning of plague bodies, now hushedly called The Incineration, and months since the cortège had first appeared during each waning crescent.

The wagons had filed into town with their thunder, pulled by dead horses that made the ground shiver under your feet. Many townsfolk, including yourself, had been roused by the commotion and hurriedly made themselves decent to check outside. It became a spectacle of groaning complaints, white nightdresses, and bright orange lantern light floating midair in bloodless fists.

All light was to the wagons, which had formed a tight, silent ring around the poisoned fountain spouting brown plague water, and the disoriented chatter had ebbed into anticipatory shushing.

Then, the townsfolk jumped, as the windows with their blackout lace fell forward as though forced from the other side, landing flat like a countertop. The darkness beyond the windows was as dark and dense as it was infinite, smothering pulsing glows from the lanterns as some fearless men awkwardly inched closer to the wagons.

“O’ woe! Tragedy! Tragedy has befallen your home! It has taken your friends and family. It has crushed your souls and stolen theirs. But, have no fear, for we have come to return what once was yours!” said Great Death from somewhere within the throng of wagons and wet skeleton horses.

“What are they worth to you? The souls of your dearly departed. What are they worth to you? To be reunited with those that you loved so dearly and so terribly lost. Wouldn't you do everything you could to have them back? Pay any price? Come! Come! Come all! Let us speak!”

And then, bone-white beaks and hollow eyes emerged from the darkness within the wagons. Each window filled with these spectre merchants; frightening monstrosities in black cloaks and wide-brimmed hats and long fingers pushed into leather gloves.

One townsfolk had communicated what you, what everyone else had thought seeing them, “What are the doctors doing? Haven't we suffered enough because of them? They've burned everyone we loved, and now they're trying to sell them back to us as souls? This is madness!”

“They are not our doctors! Look! Look!” wailed another; a paranoid man, “those are not masks. Those beaks are bone and skin. They are demons coming for the rest of us! Run! Run for your lives! Seal your doors! Hide!”

You were pulled along with the scattering crowd, the dispersing lantern light and slamming doors, but you did not flee inside as everyone else had. Instead, you were coaxed back towards the wagons by a leathery hand and nodding beak gesturing for you to come close.

The wagon was larger than the rest, as was the creature leaning out of the window. There was fleshiness to his long beak, waxen with green veins that throbbed in the swaying light.

Great Death looked at you with nothing eyes, and nearly bent his head sideways onto his shoulder as if his true stature were cramped inside of the wagon. When he spoke, he did so clearly, even without his beak splitting into halves like separate jaws.

“How joyous! You didn't run away. Your grief must be immeasurable. Please, come even closer to me. Come here. Yes, yes, what a lovely thing you are.” Great Death giggled in delight of your obedience, or your foolishness. “You do not wear rags. You are well groomed. You possess no healthy amount of suspicion, yet I suspect you are still mourning someone. Who might it be? You can tell me. Who? Who?”

You sensed he was mocking you with that jaunty voice of his. He asked you like someone who already knew a secret, but who'd wanted to hear the great revelation straight from the source.

“My husband.” You told him. “He was a wealthy merchant who owned many ships. He sailed for more months out of the year than he was home. He could've found someone else far more beautiful, more handsome than I, but he kept me. He always came home.”

Great Death stayed at his sickly angle with his head as he leaned out the window further, both hands grasping the edge of the window-countertop. “Ah, I see. And I assume that this wonderful, merchant husband of yours succumbed to the plague? Yes. Yes, he burned with the rest, didn't he?”

“He burned with the rest,” you said.

“A hideous shame! You do have my condolences. I must ask, have there been any other cases of plague since The Incineration?” His gloves scuffed as he fluttered his fingers outward, away from you and towards the lightless houses and barricaded doors. “I won't hear an answer from anyone else, as you know.”

You couldn't hold his empty gaze, those sockets of penetrating black and looked over his shoulder, hoping to see inside at something.

Somewhere far, somewhere deep, you noticed a faint glow. Tiny hums of light blinking in and out of existence like fireflies. Little sentient creatures with will and action of their own. But, these were colors: mostly bright white, some were yellow and orange, and a few were searing white-blue.

“No,” you said, at last, remembering the question, “there haven't been any more cases since the burnings. Since—”

“The ships stopped sailing.”

“Yes.” you said.

Great Death then withdrew into the darkness of the wagon with his crooked neck and leathery hands. You considered leaving for your home, padlocking the doors and pushing furniture up against them because it was clear that this creature—all of these creatures—harbored no good intentions.

They were not your doctors who had incinerated hundreds of bodies, claiming it as necessity; saying that there was no other way to protect the rest of the town. At the time, houses quarantining the sick had been forcibly broken into by the doctors and other men in masks and gowns. They offered no apologies, no desire for absolution, no mercy.

The plagued were dragged from their deathbeds, their salt baths, their favorite chairs and out onto the streets with no dignity, in whatever way they'd been found. They were taken to the fireplaces, thrown inside those great, lashing lion flames and died screaming as they became smoke and ash. Outrage only came after as it had all happened so quickly, no one had expected it.

The doctors had said nothing. Offered few sympathies, yet promised that this sacrifice, this purge, had saved the rest of the town. That there would be no more plague.

Sometimes, the fireplaces still wailed, but not how they'd had then.

“What is your husband's soul worth to you?” asked Great Death, now back in his window with his sideways head and hands clasped on the countertop.

He'd been there for a while, it seemed. And you were still standing in front of his wagon, instead of being tucked away behind the safety of locks and walls.

“You—do you have him in there with you?”

“Oh, possibly,” he said, calm and unrevealing. His hands lightly thudded on the window-countertop, rattling the glass that it was made from. “I have a little bit of everyone in here, I suppose you could say. What is your husband's soul worth to you?”

You said nothing because how could you measure the worth of a soul? Did a soul cost as much as your vast wardrobe? Did it cost as much as your house? Was it worth the same one of your legs, or a cluster of pubic hairs cut with a razor?

“Do you think his soul is worth your fortune?” Great Death saw your stricken expression just then and let out a breathy laugh. A satisfied laugh. “Is he worth you giving up your clothes? Your house? Your comfortability? Do you love your husband enough to live in rags for the rest of your life?”

You rushed up to his countertop and grabbed his hands with yours. For once, your heart was beating something awful, foul with hot-cold dread that felt wet under your skin. “I—what else is there? What else would you be willing to take? Anything else?”

Great Death was terrible up close, freezing to the touch. Pale. Dead. Not of this realm. The air around him was dense, stagnant, like it had a breath to hold. It simply did not move in his presence. The feeling of his fingers wrapping yours then, pinning them to the countertop, suffusing you with his cold and his darkness made your neck hairs stand upright.

He was enjoying this.

“I will consider it a fair exchange. Everything material that you hold precious in exchange for the man you love. Wouldn't you say that sacrificing your wealth would be worth it if it meant reuniting with him?”

“I've earned everything that I have after a lifetime of scraping around the slums. I will not return to that,” you said, low in your throat, borderline vicious. “Anything else?”

He let out a windy sound, perhaps a breath, or hum that meant he knew too much. His thumbs, much larger than your own, caressed the peaks of your knuckles, stroked the backs of your hands and pressed down on your veins while he contemplated.

“Come inside, then. Just around the corner.” Great Death moved his slanted head slightly right, indicating a black door at the rear of the wagon, which had been camouflaged by the inky dark. “I'll open it for you. Come along. Come. Come.”

The interior became familiar to you each month thereafter. But, you would always remember how disoriented you'd been first stepping inside of the commodious space filled with all manner of things vile, fascinating, and mystifying.

Great Death was able to fix his neck when he wasn't hunkered by the window that reached only waist-height on him. He and the rest of the soul vendors were like afterimages of each other, seemingly indistinct, grayer, when you stared at one long enough and then looked to another. Great Death, however, came with a heavier beak that curved more sharply; a carrion face capable of tearing through your viscera.

He was one with the semi-darkness, his shapeless silhouette a seamless mesh with air and shadows, of which the yellow tallow candlelight did not fully reach. When he moved, it was swift, inescapable; he glided rather than walked, and you could only follow his pallid features appearing to float midair.

“Forgive me for the mess, it is so rare that I have guests come inside to visit me. Transactions are better done outside, after all,” explained Great Death, already unfastening, untying, disrobing you, and laying you out on a wooden slab of a table. “My, you are lovely, aren't you? I wonder if what I see is what your husband saw in you as well? Ah, that is unlikely.”

You bled on his cock that night as he savagely fucked you into the table. His nothingness had been moved away, parted in halves to reveal gray and blackened purple hardness. An emaciated belly of similar tones was eye-catching and harsh and familiar, but a view which became unimportant as he impaled you, yanked your head back by hair closest to your scalp, and forced your gaze to the ceiling.

There, you watched the serpentine emptiness coil across the ceiling of the wagon, watched the formations in the wood grain come alive with writhing, yawning faces that never lasted long enough to know if they were speaking to you, because Great Death thrusted too hard, made you cry, bleed more, but you didn't tell him to stop.

This was the price you were willing to pay. So, you laid beneath him motionless, sore, regretting your own stubbornness for just a moment until he let out a shuddering breath of release, rutting you with his cock still twisted with your insides. He flooded your walls with cum that felt wrong, gluey, membranous. It oozed out slowly once he removed himself, the pain of him having been there was worse now that there was nothing left.

“Even I experience lust and crave a human’s touch, their soft flesh. Humans are an indulgence we are rarely afforded. Souls, well, as you can imagine, cannot do much,” said Great Death once cloaked in his darkness again. He redressed you, starting with the sleeves, and helped you off of the table with encouraging pats to your lower back. “I greatly enjoyed myself. Thank you for this exchange.”

“My husband's soul, I want it.” Now, as he ushered you towards the end of the wagon, towards the black door concealed in staticy shadows, you ached in countable pulses. “Give it to me.”

Great Death giggled, pressed his hands down onto your shoulders, and nuzzled his lethal beak against your neck.

“Come back to me next month.”

And, that's how it went on from there on out. Each month during the waning crescent, a persistent bright and sharp sickle in the sky, he led the cortège into town square and allowed you through the threshold into his sacred place. He serviced no others in town, but had expressed certain morbid appreciation to you, saying that because of your brazenness, more of the vendors were being skittishly approached by those deluged in grief and delusion.

“Oh, oh, oh, how joyous, my lovely.” He fucked you on the floor as he spoke, ramming you cruelly, until you whimpered and moaned. You wondered if he was trying to make you scream. “What a boon you've become to us all. They're all so happy. Your people. Mine. The souls. None are so happy as me, though.”

Before he'd penetrated you again, before he'd let you through the door, he met you at his window-countertop and asked, “What is your husband's soul worth to you? Have you considered letting go of your fortune? My lovely, you know that you cannot possibly take it with you once you perish and rot, yes?”

Always frightened by the thought and obstinate, you let him have you in whatever way he pleased. The pain eventually washed over with numbness. At times, his long strokes against your walls felt good, and occasionally you would come on his gray and purple cock. Focusing on how thick he felt inside of you, and the white streaks of lightning crackling behind your eyes.

Without fail, he flooded you and made it stay for a short while as if relishing your prolonged discomfort and disgust that he was still there. It would leak slowly, abnormally, as he redraped himself. Concealed his sallow body with protruding ribs, jagged angles, and dark slits spread throughout.

He was corpselike; he looked like rot. His rot inched out you for days after he was long gone, and then the sickness would set in. Red hot fevers and bone cold shivers kept you bedridden for weeks, tended to by cautious maids unsure what to make of your recurrent episodes.

Nothing showed, but you felt festering beneath your skin. Unexplainable in that you saw no such lesions, no lumps lurking in the layers of your anatomy. But, you soothed and scratched yourself like something was there. The maids were worried that your grief had made you spiral into hysterics, and they considered calling one of the doctors to your bedside.

“I will ruin all of you if you bring one of those—those murderers into my house!”

At these times, you could not be reasoned with. There was too much itch, too much sensation, too much boiling under flesh and bone, too much crawling, too much pain, too much hunger, too much vomiting, too much too much too much too much too much…

“What is your husband's soul worth to you?” Great Death had returned during the waning crescent, said you looked unwell. “Will we continue our exchange as we usually do? I am not opposed, you know that. I am very fond of you, my lovely. Come inside.”

You were fragile and fatigued from fighting illness, so it didn't much matter how hard he fucked you into the floor. Skin slapped and moistened with fluids and sweat, and Great Death’s moans broke the stillness in the air.

“Oh, my lovely, I look forward to coming to this town because I know that you're waiting for me.” He said it dreamily, like in reminiscence of a bleary, beautiful memory. A faded photograph lost between pages of a book of someone once loved. “Perhaps I see a little of what your husband saw in you. No. No, I see deeper than he ever could. I see through you into your core. I see your soul. Oh, how hideous it is.”

His body was revealed to you. The dark slits which covered him twitched and opened wide into tens of dozens of pupiless black eyes, and lipless mouths with needle teeth. Purple-red tongues lashed out of the mouths at you, making you scream and struggle beneath his weight.

“This wasn't part of the exchange! I just want my husband’s soul!” you pleaded, searing with panic through every ounce of your being. “I'll give you it. I'll give you everything. My clothes. My house. My fortune! It's all yours!”

His fucking had slowed, stopped entirely as a bullous, flickering light had drifted out from some hidden places in the depths of the wagon. It was gently orange at its center, emanating a pale aura outward, which pulsed like a heartbeat and buzzed with familiar warmth.

You thought to reach for the doomed little thing destined to be smothered by the dark. All light eventually was.

“He's waited for you all along, my lovely,” said Great Death softly. He followed the floating marvel with his nothing eyes as it circled your joined bodies. Eventually, it came close enough to snatch out of the air and snuff out in his leathery fist. “Yes, such a beautiful soul he was. I no longer want it.”

Your breath snatched in your throat, mouth agape. Shock had invited in a swell of watery cold that made you unable to truly acknowledge what had just happened. That you'd lost your husband for a second time; this time forever.

There was no telling smear of blood or glittering orange residue in his open palm when he showed it to you. It was as if it had been a brilliant trick of extinguishing candlelight without a trace.

“Your soul is most foul, but it will be my prize. My lovely, for as long as I find you beautiful and repulsive, you will live on. Yes. Yes, I'll keep you here with me so that I may always be able to admire you.”

Before you could've launched yet another scream into the immense void of the wagon, he thrust his carrion beak into your chest. He wedged it deep through your muscle and blood, piercing cartilage and bone to reach your heart.

Great Death used his hand to rip out the throbbing, glistening organ from the rest of you. He observed blood filling the cavernous well he'd left inside you, saying nothing as it backed up your throat and spilled profusely from your mouth. Once you died, the bright red that had stained your teeth darkened to exquisite purplish-red.

He tore your heart apart into consumable pieces and fed them to his mouths. The piranha teeth and long, licking tongues chewed eagerly; meanwhile, the eyelids on his body closed knowing that the mouths would soon be sated by the decadent meal.

Thereafter, he waited.

He waited for a long time, because souls were oftentimes more timid than their human husks. There was nothing left to protect them from vendors on the prowl, vendors who had built collections across millennia.

But, eventually, your soul did appear before him in stuttering pink light. He caught you easily, let you rest in his hand while he decided on which jar he owned could possibly be enough to house your beauty.

You would turn sinfully red as you matured, became strong, forgot who you used to be.

All you would know is the Great Death and the inside of his vast wagon littered with strange things. He would be kind to you by letting you out of your jar sometimes, but for now, he'd keep you on the middle shelf where he could best see you.

a/n: I have this habit of killing husbands or doing awful things to them and I am very unapologetic about it.

anyway. this wasn't executed quite as well as I'd hoped. but, I wasn't writing to perfection, it was just a little personal challenge for myself. overall, I'm not unhappy with it.

I'd like to bring great death back again in another piece sometime, if y'all are interested.

this was also the first time where I think I've actually, deadass killed my reader-character and it felt so good lmao. I've implied in several of my stories without making it explicitly so.

anyway!!! I'd still love to hear your feedback and would absolutely adore you if you reblogged!!

[inevitably-johnlocked]

I have recently discovered Raina_at on ao3 and I am adoring their fic! Any recs for authors creating similar work? Thanks for all the gorgeous list making and fic recs!

@raina-at on Tumblr

Raina_at on AO3

====

Hey Nonny!

Oh gosh, LOL my first suggestion would be to read all of their fics!! That's the best way to get your fill!

Here are the fics I have bookmarked by them:

Spare Parts by Raina_at (E, 63,497 w., 10 Ch. || 24th Century / Futurism AU || Post TRF, Pre-TRF Relationship, Case Fic, Mutual Pining, Estrangement, Reconciliation, Science Fiction, Reunion, Nightmares, Angry John, Cybernetic John, Emotional Discussions / Heart to Heart, POV John, Scars, Past Drug Use, Forehead Touching, Emotional Lovemaking, Kissing, Apologies, Kidnapping, Rescue Mission, BAMF John, Bed Sharing, Top Sherlock) – Two years ago, Sherlock Holmes jumped off the roof of New London Hospital. Two months ago, he walked into John's clinic as if no time had passed at all. John hasn't seen him since. But then Sherlock knocks on John's door with a case he can't say no to, and while figuring out why the biggest manufacturer or synthetic limbs in the System is going after veterans, they also need to find out whether there's a way to fix what's broken between them. Part 1 of Realigning Gravity

Realigning Gravity Series by Raina_at (E, 69,159+ w. across 2 works || Series WiP || Sci-Fi / 24th Century Future AU || Post TRF, Cybernetic John, Estrangement, Reconciliation, Developing Relationship, Anniversary, Case Fic, Happy Endings, Doctor John) – Two years ago, Sherlock Holmes jumped off the roof of New London Hospital. Two months ago, he walked into John's clinic as if no time had passed at all. John hasn't seen him since. But then Sherlock knocks on John's door with a case he can't say no to, and while figuring out why the biggest manufacturer or synthetic limbs in the System is going after veterans, they also need to find out whether there's a way to fix what's broken between them.

Bakers with Benefits by Raina_at (E, 88,130 w., 14 Ch. || Great British Bake Off AU || Strangers to Lovers, Switchlock, Friends with Benefits, Mentions of Alcoholism / Past Drug Use, Banter, Flirting, Fluff, Light Angst, Semi-Public Sex, Past Sherlock/Victor, Mutual Pining, POV Sherlock, Obsessive Sherlock, John’s Bum) – Sherlock Holmes has a successful YouTube baking channel, but what he really wants is his own bakery. When an old friend sends him a call for the very first Great British Bake Off, he seizes the opportunity to finally win a sponsor for his bakery. Here's the plan: Win Bake Off, get the bakery, don't fall in love with the handsome Army doctor at the neighbouring station. Easy.

=====

It's hard to rec authors that are like other authors because I truly believe every author has their own unique style that have quirks and styles that I enjoy equally.

If you want similar-style stories that have the world building like Raina's, across various genres, my personal suggestions are:

J_Baillier

khorazir

SilentAuror

BeautifulFiction

patternofdefiance

Silvergirl

MojoFlower

azriona

SinceWhenDoYouCallMe_John

But that's just the ones that I saw on a quick scroll through PAGE ONE of like 200 of my bookmarks. AS I SAID, it's hard for me to compare, but those are good places to start. Each of them build their worlds drastically differently, but it feels natural all the same.

I legit just want to say though, check ALL of the authors' fics I rec, because they're all wonderful and unique!!! I wish I was better at suggesting more, but I'm terrible at these "authors like authors" lists.

Mainly I'm publishing this because I wanted @raina-at to know that they have a fan who took time out of their day to tell me how much they love your work, and Nonny, PLEASE go to their tumblr and let them know, AND comment on their fics!!!!! <3

[ditty-nightsong]

(art by risurisu on vgen!)

she's arrived at the bureau - sinner MBCC-S-505, liebling! (did she once go by another name, i wonder? shalom might know... these two seem awfully close.)

(notes/some Lore UTC!)

-her sinner code number is a reference to an arctic monkeys song. if i believe, it's a shalieb song. 😌 (there doesn't seem to be all that much rhyme or reason to sinner code numbers except for the ones that are references LOL. so i said. why not?)

-her sinner power is that she's able to use flowers as a healing device, which also has the side effect of "she has an incredible green thumb and flowers rarely die or even wilt under her care." this has made her quite a popular gardener in eastside, especially amongst the rich, powerful, and famous, and i thought it was a nice touch since shalom really likes flowers but has a really terrible time keeping them alive. :')

-speaking of her flowers, the ones on her legs are actually a mobility aid for her! she frequently deals with swollen ankles, varying levels of leg pains + aches + weakness, poor balance, and fatigue - among other things, that's just what directly affects her legs. while her flowers can't seem to totally cure her issues, wearing them does help her stay upright and out-of-pain enough to do her job as a gardener.

-for those of you who don't know PTN lore: shalom is a victim of human experimentation, and had a procedure (the hush procedure) done upon her to "sever her emotions." (it's basically a lobotomy... my poor lovely. thankfully, as of canon events, she's quietly and surely beginning to re-ignite her ability to feel these severed emotions!) per canon, before becoming the hush, shalom was actually extremely rebellious and would attack the people that experimented on her.

-i thought about it and experiments never have Just One Person like. that is never how it works. so, liebling was in the same experimentation group as shalom. she was far more passive than shalom, but always admired her rebellious nature, and followed her everywhere, becoming close with her. of course, once shalom had the hush procedure done, she never came back. however, following that, all of the other test subjects were released. after being freed, liebling found that her power had awakened, and she was now a sinner.

-shalom had originally forgotten, as a side effect of the hush procedure, that there were others in the group. but as her emotions rekindle, so do some memories. she begins to remember flashes of faces, but none more haunting to her than the face of someone she remembers by the name of elodie - a scared girl, slightly younger than she, with blue-grey eyes, who always clung to her and kept her company. going through records and experiment logs, she does find proof of elodie's existence - but once shalom had undergone the hush procedure and everyone else was released, all records of elodie cease to exist further. it becomes a haunting obsession.

-liebling has long-forsaken her real name - elodie - as a mark of her own failure, that she was powerless and hopeless to do anything to help or save shalom. she's assumed this whole time that shalom had been killed, presuming her dead. she took upon herself the name "liebling" - for the life she must live is dear.

-we meet again completely by chance. shalom decides to take a night walk during a heavy rainstorm, because she can't sleep. the only other person out and about is a woman wearing a rain jacket, tending to a garden. and of course, since shalom loves learning about people and observing them, she can't help but ask her about the flowers. she catches a glimpse of the gardener's eyes... and stops dead still. (we're reunited at last.)

[melwsnt]

MAYBE, SAM WINCHESTER.

summary. you and sam are both falling out of love with each other.

Word count. 826

Nooo my shayla number 2… Dean got one, Sam deserves one too because he’s so loved. By me. This makes me so sad. I need to write a happy one now. Pls interact :)

──────────୨ৎ──────────

Sam is not a hypocrite. But he’s a terrible liar. The way he touches his hair, paces, does anything to avoid and run from you.

It’s pretty obvious, now. You know exactly what he feels, because you feel it too. Or-don’t feel it, anymore.

His kisses don’t taste the same. His lips touch yours, but they’re barely here, it’s like a ghost of their own.

His hands touches yours from time to time, but it feels like his soul is gone. His hand is here-in yours, but he’s not. He does it because he’s used to it, he does it, because it’s an automat and he doesn’t want you to know, that’s he’s fallen out of love with you.

Your kisses are heavier than his, though also ghostly.

Your hands lay his in, because you’re used to it, and because though you don’t love him anymore, it’s still Sam. He’s still the safest person around. He’s still your best friend.

You tell him you love him because it’s what you think he wants to hear. He wants to hear that you have no idea how unhappy he is. That he doesn’t love you anymore, except you do know, because you don’t love him either.

Sometimes when you’re alone, you laugh about how fucked up and ironic it all is. Because not so long ago you were just two kids trying to make it through the day. Thinking that no one could come between the two of you, and that you’d be together forever. Neither of you thought what would come between your love would be- yourselves.

It’s beautiful though, you think. That two people who once loved each other so much, who would die for each other, could tear one another apart, without saying a single word. By their actions, or their lack of.

Sam has a beautiful soul, and you’ll love his soul forever- just not, him.

Neither of you can quite comprehend how it happened. You woke up one morning, and the spark was gone- like it’d never been there in the first place. His touch, his lips and his presence felt foreign, so did yours.

He could tell, sometimes that maybe you might feel the same. Maybe just maybe he won’t have to break your heart because you also lost it- that love. But you were still better at hiding it than him.

You didn’t cry about it which was out of character. You cried about a lot of things. But knowing that it wasn’t just you- that you weren’t crazy for falling out of love with Sam Winchester, made you feel more at ease.

Anyone would think it’s crazy to fall out of love with such a perfect man. Except he’s not perfect. At the end of the day, he’s still a man. He’s human. And no human is perfect. Sam has his flaws- you have yours. Sam pushes your buttons. Sam crosses a lot of lines. Maybe that’s what made you quit.

You quit loving him, maybe you gave up, and maybe that makes you a coward, but what does that make him?

Sam feels terrible. You’re the best and worst thing that’s ever happened to him. The moment the switch turned off, he felt like he might’ve lost his mind, because no one in their right mind would fall out of love with you.

So maybe he is crazy, maybe you both are. Maybe you’re both cowards, impatient, flawed, and stupid.

Maybe, just maybe this wasn’t meant to happen and there’s a whole universe out there where Sam is the love of your life. Maybe he cooks you breakfast, and spends long mornings laying in bed with you. Maybe- in this far away universe, sam is a husband, a father to your child or children, maybe you got out.

Maybe you’re a teacher, maybe he is.

Or maybe you’re strangers and never cross paths, maybe that’s all for the better for the other you’s.

Or maybe this was meant to happen, and it’s just a great story, ending with sad goodbyes, because he’s sam, and you’re you. You’re not perfect- this was never meant to be perfect. Maybe you’ll find your way back to each other, or maybe, just maybe this is the best thing to ever happen to you.

Maybe someone better is waiting for you, or him out there. Maybe in ten years either of you will be married with kids of your own running in the backyard of the house you bought. Sam will still be on the back of your mind, wondering how he’s doing. And you’ll be on the back of his while he’s taking the children to school.

Or maybe you’ll both be alone forever, because he was your one true love, and you his.

Maybe it’s meant to happen like that, even if it’s not fair.

It doesn’t have to be easy, it just has to be done.

[some-dull-scissors]

Ok I’m bored here’s some things about the calendar that I never really touched on

•Morph never refers to Sinister as “master” like the other nasty boys do in the show so I never had them do it in the fic. I wanted to write in a canon reason but never found a good spot. The reason being that people who willingly serve under Sinister have that “privilege” to call him that whereas people forced into working for him don’t

•Moira has Morph work with mostly female doctors in the same way some animals don’t like certain sexes due to trauma. This inadvertently made it so Morph was not able to shake the habit of calling someone “sir” because it didn’t present itself while in recovery

•Veronica, their dad’s girlfriend, is named after my car, which is named after the system that runs the Hulkbuster in AoU

•Jackie is a self insert who I didn’t intend to be in it a whole lot, but people liked her so I kept using her

•a lot of the later chapters parallel earlier ones

•Morph’s hoodie that Logan gave them is based on one I have irl. They don’t look remotely then same but it’s my comfort hoodie and I wanted to give them something like that

•Piggy and Robin were also not meant to be anything noteworthy

•the first word of the fic is Morph saying “Wolverine” and the last word is Wolverine saying “Morph”

•my father who I watch the show with has no idea I wrote this fic bc he complained one time about how people shipped them so I never told him

•Morph eats really slow if they’re talking, but really fast if they aren’t.

•the one time I cried while writing was the chapter where Morph explains how they want to be loved as themself to Moira

•all 200k words are in a single google doc that lags terribly

[who-can-touch-my-boob]

<- Sanemi simp posts masterlist

Babbling brook and bickering

Sanemi x gn!reader

Gahhh, I just had this thought about Sanemi. Like we all know he’s a real toughy-tough guy whose immediate response to most is shouting or violence. A man so out of touch with his own emotions or how to act on them.

Now hear me out… when he accidentally catches you taking a quick dip in a stream while you’re on a mission together. He was gonna find some firewood and you some water to refill your canteens.

Okay, so there’s a little bit of history here. The two of you have been dancing around this tension that’s been brewing ever since you first met. Him being an ass, authoritative and aloof Hashira and you — the poor soul he’d picked up on his way to his mission.

He’d been told to bring someone, reluctantly Sanemi had agreed, not letting his annoyance truly come to surface until he’s outside. Fist clenched and veins popping on his forehead he looks around, eyes locked onto a poor, unassuming Demon Slayer lounging beneath a tree eating their lunch.

“You. Come with me, now.” Without bothering to wait for an answer, Sanemi chose the easiest way — grabbing your arm and pulling you with him. You’d been too startled to even process what’s going on.

After him briefing you on the mission, a days walks from here to a settlement in north, the two of you had set out.

But if Sanemi ever thought that you’d just come along without protests he’d been terribly wrong. Oh, how he wanted to just rip his hair out and scream up at the sky. Out of all the people, he had chosen the one who dared talking back to him. Him?

So, rewind. After traveling a whole day through the dense forest, bickering, arguing and almost ending up in a physical brawl you’d split up to find wood, food and shelter for the night.

When he had done his part, Sanemi (while scowling) stomp towards where you’d last been seen. He follows the sound of splashing water, not at all prepared for what he’s about to witness.

“What the hell?!”

The words come out as a yell, echoing throughout the forest. A flock of small birds hiding in a nearby bush immediately flutter away until it’s silent.

Sanemi, for once did not know what to do with himself. He unconsciously wet his lips with his tongue, his mouth moving as if he’s about to speak. But he’s unable to form a coherent sentence.

There you are, the most annoying creature in existence, bathing in a crystal clear stream, sunlight kissing your naked skin as it filters through the canopy above.

He’s staring. His brain disconnecting and eyes wide, roaming over your body. Water droplets trailing down, down and further down… until.

“Ahem.”

The sound of you clearing your throat pulls him back into reality. His bloodshot eyes widens even more, if that’s even possible when he realise what he’s doing.

For once his face is not read from anger, but embarrassment. Once your eyes meet, he sees your gaze flickering down and then a smirk spreading on your lips. Sanemi glance down to where you’d been looking.

He’s hard. So visibly hard. His loose hakama are tighter than ever.

“I-I… Y-You…”

“For fucks sake, just get in here and join me, Hashira.”

You bark out a laugh, the same laugh that makes his blood boil, but this time it’s a different kind… the kind that makes him fantasise about every possible way he could fuck you right now.

“Fucking hell…”

He grumbles, quickly undressing, tossing the clothes aside before closing the distance until your lips are only a breath away from his.

[lulu2992]

Happy 6th Anniversary to this detail that made me emotional.

[prismbearer]

Idk why there's disbelief over Mark S/Helly in terms of motivation. Helly is just as capable of cruelty and selfishness as Helena. They are at the core of it, the same person with different memories/experiences. They can be two perspectives worthy of indulging their own dreams and desires and also be the same person. Narratively here especially, this isn't about morality, it's about human nature.

Helly was never cruel, sure, of course. Helly felt like she was the same as the other people in MDR. But Helly has something right now that she never even achieved as Helena. Someone who loves her. Someone who is choosing her. Helly is Winning over Helena here.

Jame Eagen wanders down just to be a freak and reinforces the reality of it. Helly is "More" than Helena, hasn't been worn down by the weight of experience and the world (and their cult and corporate bullshit). She still has, in some way, the innocence of youth and lack of experience with the world. She doesn't have the same fears and burdens or triggers as Helena in her conscious experience. She still has the ability to express her passions and outrage and defend herself. And to love and not feel sorry for it.

Severance gave Helena a chance to exist without the learned perspectives and burdens of the Eagens and she is able to be free with herself and her passions and desires-- whereas Helena was likely drained of any dreams for potential beyond a strictly guided future decades ago.

Of course Helly is feeling a rush of joy and satisfaction over Mark loving her. Mark choosing her. She tried to do the "right thing" by being logical with Mark. "I'm her." Even outside of Lumon, if they bring it all down, there's no hope for an Eagen and an ex-severed employee in reality. In the Real World they will never be together. Mark couldn't love Helena, how could anyone love an Eagen? (Poor Helly really with like, the enemy is within etc, but that's kinda the situation framed by Lumon for everyone by setting the stage with your Innie isn't human kinda rhetoric.) (This was also reinforced by Helena trying to get close to Mark to see if he still had feelings or chemistry with her and finding out they were not going to work outside Lumon.)

What if the equator is a building that could be a continent? Can be their whole world? They're choosing to live Now. Together in the present despite knowing that with their half lives, they could be brought to an end at any moment. It's very willful young love of them. And why wouldn't it be? This is their First Love. They haven't even been "alive" that long or have any memory of romance beyond their current infatuation. They don't know the world or it's places, and maybe that's okay, maybe they can exist in this space so long as they have love and the others.

It's completely human for Helly to accept Mark choosing her. To run to him just to see him for maybe the last time. It's human for Mark S to run to Helly. It's human for poor Gemma, who doesn't even know her fucking husband is severed, to be pounding on the door.

But this is their Final Day to Mark and Helly. Maybe the very end of their world. It's Judgement Day. Of course they'd have them holding hands and running back to the unknown to face the end together. To die together.

There is also zero fucking chance Mark Scout would risk his life and brain continuing reintegration once his wife is back. Mark Scout is going to choose his wife. Mark is choosing Love on both sides here.

All of it is reasonable.

[sunbunnyyy]

i know i just got here, but seeing all of the laughably bad takes from both sides of the spectrum is convincing me that no, i don’t actually need to be on social media again.

[discordiansamba]

spitballing about the altean empire AU, parallel reverse, a bit here because that's the mood I woke up in this morning.

it is, of course based very strongly on the alternate universe arc from who you are in the dark. I kept worldbuilding for it and this is the result.

the main plot focuses on Akira Kogane, our Keith parallel, who unbeknownst to him is half-Altean on his long absent mother's side. He's still raised in foster care, and still wound up under the mentorship of Sven (and still stole his car. some things never change). They have the same close bond that Shiro and Keith do, because of course they do.

They end up in a rebellion against the Altean Empire together, alongside the parallel versions of the other paladins- Tsuyoshi Garret, an engineering teacher from the Galactic Garrison, Isamu McClain, a cargo pilot instructor and Katie "Cat" Holt, whose entire family went on a 'diplomatic' meeting to Altea and never came back.

She stayed with Sven while they were gone (and then never came back), so she ends up knowing Akira quite well.

Akira always possessed an odd ability to temporarily disrupt the hoktrils upon making physical contact with them. This is wildly useful to the rebellion- but also caught the eye of the Altean Empire... and it's current Empress.

Eventually, Akira, Cat, and Tsuyoshi are captured during an ambush and taken back to Altea, where Akira is separated from the other two- and ends up learning more about his mother than he ever wanted to.

It turns out his mother, Lia, was one of the few Alteans who still possessed alchemical abilities, and that she disappeared on a quest to find Oriande. It means he's half-Altean, a fact which he can't deny after the Empress breaks the illusion his mom cast over him before he left Earth, that kept him looking so human.

Since Akira himself also clearly possess her same talents, the Alteans are very eager to convince him to join them. Akira wants nothing to do with the Empire, but he also sees the groundwork of a way to protect both Cat and Tsuyoshi from the hoktril. So he cuts a deal- he'll join them, if they spare them both from it.

(Turns out, the Alteans aren't wildly enthusiastic about applying the hoktril to a race that looks so eerily similar to themselves.)

This saves Cat and Tsuyoshi, although they do both get slapped with a much more old-fashioned pre-hoktril version of the Empire's 'rehabilitation'- effectively, shock collars. Akira can at least pull strings so that they're basically put into his service since apparently all Altean alchemists are brought into the royal family. Which means he's a prince now. what the fuck.

oh yeah. he guesses he's also betrayed the rebellion now too- he did kind of have to sell out one of their bases to really get the Alteans to trust him. Good thing he knows Slav has absolutely cleared the place out by now... but that doesn't stop him from being thrust back into the conflict on the Empire's side now.

he hates everything about it. but if wants to keep Tsuyoshi and Cat safe, he doesn't have much of a choice.

(he's also way too good at selling it for his own comfort. Sven hates him now, he's sure.)

He also learns that not all Alteans have fallen in line with the ways of the Empire. There's a resistance effort within the Empire itself, and they very quickly smoke each other out. This gives him a chance to pass intelligence to them, which they can in turn, pass onto the rebellion.

He also realizes that if he's able to master this alchemy stuff, he might have an actual opportunity to kill the Altean Empress himself and he's not going to pass that up.

In the process of trying to learn more about his talent, he stumbles upon an AI created from the memories of an Altean named Coran, who was killed shortly after Altea became an Empire...

(...and there's a ghost of a woman haunting the halls of the Castle that only he can see.)

[timegears]

after rewatching it im a lot more mixed on the ursaring episode than i was before tbh

[ancreneriwle]

feeling kind of bummed that i spent most of advent not celebrating or spending time in prayer. it is just so hard to find the right thing to say to God after the last two years and how much people ignore me at the cathedral now.

[mad-hunts]

✧

send me a ✧ and i’ll bold all that apply to your muse! (with italics as a 'sometimes' option because i'm a rule-breaker and things may depend on the situation).

i would kill you. ✧ i would physically hurt you. ✧ i would attack you unprovoked. ✧ i would manipulate you. ✧ i dislike you. ✧ you annoy me. ✧ you scare me. ✧ you intimidate me. ✧ i hope i intimidate you. ✧ i pity you. ✧ you disgust me. ✧ i hate you. ✧ i’m indifferent toward you. ✧ i’d like to get to know you better. ✧   i’d like to spend more time with you. ✧ i’d like to be friends with you. ✧  i’m unsure what to think of you. ✧ i’m unsure how I feel about you. ✧ you are my friend. ✧ you are my best friend. ✧ you are my mentor. ✧ i look up to you. ✧ i respect you. ✧ you are my hero. ✧ you inspire me. ✧ you are my enemy. ✧ you make me happy. ✧ i want to protect you. ✧ i would fight by your side. ✧ i consider you an equal. ✧ i think you are beneath me. ✧ i think you are above me. ✧ i would lie for you. ✧ i would lie to you. ✧ i would sleep with you. ✧ i would sleep by your side. ✧ i would hug you. ✧ i would kiss you. ✧ you are family to me. ✧ i would die for you. ✧ i would kill for you. ✧ i would trust you with my life. ✧ i would trust you with my most precious belonging. ✧ i would trust you with a secret. ✧ i would trust you with my biggest / darkest secret. ✧ i love you (platonically). ✧ i love you (romantically).