#it's been on the verge of collapse for years it was only a matter of time

[alackofghosts]

not me pining for my country house stay during my holiday, only for mom to tell me the bathroom ceiling collapsed 😭

[oceantornadoo]

ch5 something borrowed something blue (mafia!price x simon's sister!reader)

tw: more mild dubcon groping and fingering

masterlist | next

It’s been a while since John Price woke up with a woman in his arms. He can’t say he hasn’t missed it.

Your skin is soft, the addicting smell of lilac radiating off you in waves. You’re tucked into the nape of his neck like a cat, curling the rest of your body around him like you’ve been doing this for years, not days.

Gaz was right. He’s fucked.

The penthouse bed is a King, taking up half of the room. The two of you went to sleep on opposite sides, a chasm between you, but in the late hours, you’d somehow met in the middle. He wasn’t going to force you to consummate the marriage. John Price is many things, but not a rapist. He figured you’d get to know each other a little, at least respect one another, before doing the deed in a clinical matter. If he needed sex, which he didn’t really, he could go somewhere else. 

Except since the night at his club, he hadn’t been able to think about any other thighs but yours. Any other pair of tits, glistening with sweat and alcohol. That terrible tramp stamp, his mark on you like he was your owner. He didn’t know what to make of it, but your continued proximity worsened the issue with each passing day. It was worrying to think it would get worse every time you woke in his arms. He’d have to manage; it’s not like he’d let you sleep in separate beds.

John probably should get out of bed and do his morning workout before you wake up. Except the moment he tenses his muscles, preparing to slip out quietly, you whine. A pitiful sound. Such a needy kitty, he thinks absently. You hitch your thigh higher around his hip, nuzzling into his neck forcefully. He doesn’t think you’re awake unless he’s in some alternate reality where you stopped hating him overnight. The physical touch is…nice. Something he hasn’t had in a while. Can’t remember the last time he fucked something that wasn’t his hand, let alone cuddled in bed.

His arm rests possessively over your hip, the other one free at his side. Taking a chance, he reaches up to brush the soft skin under your eyes. No rhyme or reason to it, pure instinct to touch the sleeping face of his wife. His wife.

Maybe he should sleep in a little more. It’s something Gaz is always nagging him on. A man’s due some rest on his wedding morning. With that decided, he shuts his eyes, his thumb still on your face. A part of him memorizes the feel in case you never let him that near again.

-

You wake to a harder pillow than normal. Your body tenses on instinct. There’s no way. You slept on opposite sides of the bed. Right?

“Before ya scream, I hav’ a proposition.” It’s him. Under you, over you, his hand on your waist like a chain. The feral part of you whines at his raspy morning voice, the overwhelming warmth of his body, his bare chest, and the morning wood that’s poking your thigh. Maybe that’s why you only say, “Ok.”

He doesn’t comment on your newfound timidness. His other hand is on your face, stroking the skin of your cheek absentmindedly. It practically lulls you back to sleep, and you must still be drunk to let him continue without a reprimand. “Clean slate. For today, a honeymoon period, and after tha’, friends. Or friendly, if friends is too hard to manage. ‘Ve got too much on my plate t’ worry ‘bout my wife poisonin’ me at breakfast.” Friends. When was the last time you heard that word? Everyone you know is family or enemy, no in between. Price was firmly in the enemy category, but you’re not naive enough to think that hasn’t changed.

Conceding to your contract amendments. Rescuing you in the garden. An annoying argument at the club, but also guaranteeing you were safe. Taking you for a break at your wedding, making sure you were fed and not on the verge of collapse. Not forcing you to consummate your marriage. Not caring if you weren’t a virgin.

It’s all the bare minimum shit you’d expect from a regular man, a regular boyfriend. But nothing about this situation is regular. You know tens of mafia men worse than John Price. Your father, to name one. One’s that would take advantage of you without a second glance, wouldn’t give a damn about your bookstore or thoughts on children. Your childhood indiscretions aside, John Price seems to be a good man. It’s not like he’s asking you to love him or anything else out of the realm of possibility. Friends is good. Friends can be married, have sex, raise kids, and still be friends. There’s an example out there, it’s just not coming to mind.

-

“You sayin’ you only want to be friends because you’re too busy? What a glowing vote of confidence.” He sighs against you. He should have worded it better, but your proximity is throwing him off. It’s making him think of lazy Sundays and discovering what’s under your silk pajamas.

John went into this thinking you were a brat, another entitled mafia princess. It’s clear you’re much more. Having the gall to negotiate your marriage contract and sticking firm with your business. He’s seen the love you have for Ghost and Soap; a deep-seated dedication he knows must not be easy with your family history. And of course, he can’t forget your drunk confession at the wedding. How you blame him for some stupid thing he said as a teenager. Under all your bravado, there’s clearly a hurt little girl. Some part of him, the part he thought died when he shot his first kill, wants a real marriage. A real partner. 

John’s got no clue if you’re willing to give him a try romantically, but it’s worth a shot to at least be friends. He needs someone to rely on that’s not Gaz or Laswell. Someone he can let his guard down around and not get shot by.

-

“I worded it wrong. Friends ‘cause tha’s the only way this will work. Friends ‘cause we’re both now livin’ with a stranger, an’ we migh’ parent a kid together. Friends and partners.”

“Frenemies.” You respond automatically, thrown by his admission. He squeezes your waist, and it’s a sullen reminder that you’re wrapped around him like an octopus. You move to unwrap yourself, but he holds you tight with a scary show of strength. “Friends.” He repeats firmly. You’ve already agreed in your head, but he has to work for it.

“Do friends give honeymoon gifts? I’ve been expecting a gift for putting up with you and have yet to see one.” His hand stops swiping over your cheek, and you can’t control the frown that emerges. He dips lower to press his thumb against your lips, pushing hard until it meets your teeth. It’s strange and sends a shock down your spine. “Friends an’ you’ll stop whinin’.” His voice is harsh, but it’s countered with how his hand now travels the length of your jaw, back and forth hypnotically. “Friends and we order breakfast.” Finally, he nods. That’s it. Friends.

John lets you escape to the bathroom while he calls room service. Even after using the toilet, brushing your teeth and splashing water on your face, you still feel off-kilter. Your skin is hot, hands trembling. A honeymoon period? What the hell does that mean? You hate how your core clenches at the thought of having a real honeymoon with him. It’s a terrible fact, but you’re attracted to your husband. And by how touchy he is, he’s clearly attracted to you. Clean slate. It’s barely taxing to forget your prejudices against him, tucked away in a far corner of your mind. You square your shoulders, giving yourself a nod in the mirror. Friends that are attracted to each other. Nothing to it.

When you walk back into the bedroom, John sits up in bed, the room service tray on the side of the bed. The sheets have fallen to his waist, giving you a view of his delicious upper half. He clearly works out, but not to the point where he’s a bodybuilder. His pecs and torso are hairy but maintained, the perfect combination. As you approach the bed, he gets up with alarming speed and snatches you off your feet, propping you in his lap. It’s terrible and you try to squirm out of it but his grip is too strong, pulling you in further. “Honeymoon period.” He growls in your ear, to which you finally settle down. Guess this is what he meant. At least you’re sitting sideways and not straddling him. You’d never recover.

“This is not friendly, John. I can’t reach the food this way.” All he does is hum, bending over the side of the bed to look at the spread before you. Waffles, pancakes, fresh fruit, yogurt, eggs, and scones call your name. “Open.” When you blink, there’s a piece of egg on a fork in front of your face. “That’s not-,” he doesn’t let you finish, shoving the food into your mouth the moment it opens. You moan at the taste, ignoring how he stiffens beneath you. “Oh my god, that’s the best scrambled egg I’ve ever had.” John picks at another piece, securing it on the fork, before turning back to you. This time, you open your mouth obediently, rolling your eyes when he takes longer than a second to reach you. “Hurry up, I’m hungry.” He shakes his head, eyes glinting with mirth. “Magic word?” You huff, turning hangry. You grab the fork, but he’s got unmatched reflexes, holding it high over your head with a raised eyebrow. The motion pulls at the rest of his face, highlighting his beard and wrinkles. It’s terribly attractive. In a friendly way.

“Please, John, will you feed me like the incapable adult I am?” Your words are dripping with sarcasm but it’s enough for him. You moan around the fork again, and you both politely ignore his half-chubbed cock under your thighs. The cycle repeats, John switching from eggs to waffles to fruit. It’s taken you nearly a half hour to eat but he’s so insistent it’s hard to say no. Every time you swallow, he acts like you’ve solved world hunger. It’s doing terrible things to your ego.

“You’ve hardly eaten.” You murmur. He shrugs, finally settling the fork down. That fork deserves to be thrown into a fire and never seen again. It’s a torture machine.

“I’ll eat now. Go shower an’ get ready.” You pull yourself off his lap and he let you, hand dragging across your skin until you’re completely out of his reach. “Nah, think I’ll sleep a bit more. This awful man was snoring all night.” He snorts and it’s so unbecoming you snort as well. He doesn’t dignify it with a response.

“Goodnight- hey!” Instead, he’s stolen the covers from under you. You did marry a manchild.

“Shower an’ get ready. Ya wanted yer honeymoon gift, ain’t tha’ righ’?” A gift? You might be determined that he’s an asshole, but you are not strong enough to turn down a gift. With all the money he spent on the wedding, it better be something good. “Fine.” An hourlong shower ought to set him straight.

-

Two hours later, you’re finally ready.

Your mission to annoy your husband is successful. He’s been huffing under his breath the last half hour, checking his watch and texting on his phone. He threw on a spare suit from the closet, looking immaculate despite the gun you watch him tuck into his waistband. 

Meanwhile, you take the absolute most time to do your makeup. In fact, you switch out your jewelry three separate times. He told you to dress casually but you also cannot trust the words of a man, so you slip on a sundress and grab a cardigan in case it gets cold. At least Aunt Riley packed you plenty of options in the bags that were sent up. Against your better judgment, you slip on a pair of lace underwear. For confidence purposes only. You forgo any shorts under.

“I’m ready!” He grunts, picking up your purse before you even have the chance to. “Finally. Driver’s been waitin’ fer twenty minutes now.” Well, now you feel bad. “I would’ve hurried if I knew he was waiting. Your fault for not telling me.” He shrugs, hustling you out of the room with a hand on your back. He guides you into the elevator, and although it’s demeaning and infantilizing, a small part of you warms. 

“Can’t take off work fer the week so this’ll be y’r one-day honeymoon. Sorry about tha’, sweetheart.” You shrug, tilting your body slightly so he can’t see you smile at the endearment. At some point this week, it’s turned from venomous to heartwarming, chipping away at your campaign against him. “It’s ok.” He rests his hand on your waist and for a heartstopping moment, he leans in. He’s about to kiss your forehead. You both realize at the same time, pulling away to opposite sides of the elevator so his hand drops. Luckily, the elevator dings. You don’t know what would have happened without it.

He warns you it’s a long car ride. You both sit in the back seat, opposite sides, and you slip off your sandals to curl up against the car door. Using your cardigan as a pillow, you watch him through heavy-lidded eyes. He makes phone call after phone call, his accent getting thicker with irritation depending on the caller. John speaks English, but he says so many code names and unfamiliar locations that it sounds like a different language. The comforting sound of it lulls you to sleep, dreamless and peaceful. When you wake up, there’s a mansion outside your window.

“Is this…” You freeze, taking in the sight before you. Is this your new prison? You were hoping to postpone your new reality a little longer. He shakes his head as he opens your car door, shooing the driver away. “‘S a friend’s, not mine. He’s lendin’ us a building f’r tonight.” A building? His friend must be some kind of royal. The grounds are sprawling and well-kept, sparkling in the warmth of the sunset. John leads you down a path through the gardens, and you walk slowly to take it all in. They’re all native plants, at the end of their blooming season. Their scents make the air thick, a natural perfume, and you sniff each one individually. John doesn’t rush you, stopping every time you do. You swear he’s hiding a small smile under the beard, but he looks away whenever you squint at him. Half an hour later, you make it to the building he’s been guiding you to. It’s an observatory, a rounded glass ceiling visible from the outside. The sun is fully set, and as the clouds clear, stars start winking at you. A perfect night.

“Don’t get impressed yet.” He murmurs to your awed face. Instead of explaining why, he presses a silver key into your hand. Even though you were cuddling this morning, the shock of his touch sends a shiver down your spine. Mistaking it for cold, he nudges you towards the door. It unlocks smoothly, revealing a small entryway. It’s bracketed by dark wood on all sides, with old and uncomfortable furniture. He keeps pressing you forward until you stop at a large door, curved at the top like in a castle. “Open it.” He says when you don’t move. Hand shaking, you turn the knob, and almost faint at what’s revealed.

“‘S a remake of-” 

“The Admont Abbey Library in Austria.” The world’s most beautiful library. Instead of being made for public use, this one is for comfort. 

There are two, no, three stories of books on every wall. Instead of a fresco on the ceiling, its glass, giving you a direct view of the stars. Books line every nook and cranny, surrounded by a lighter and more appealing wood than the one in the entryway. There are chairs and sofas every few feet, worn but well-loved. A few steps further reveal a fireplace with a mountain of chairs surrounding it, a place to invite friends to discuss books over tea. A large clock hangs over it, chiming at every hour. There are staircases and ladders to reach the books on high shelves, and a closer look reveals they’re ordered by subject. Books from centuries ago and recently purchased ones mesh together in a wonderful rainbow of colors. 

“You like it?” He’s still standing by the first couch, almost awkwardly. A mafia man in a full suit with his gun tucked into his waistband, and yet it seems a library is what makes him look small.

“John, it’s- I don’t even know what to say. It’s perfect. And all mine for a night?” He shakes his head at that in a confusing manner. “Not jus’ a night…” No.

“John Price, did you buy me a library?” He has the nerve to look ashamed, cheeks pinking as he tucks his hands into his pockets. “My friend’s quite old, can’t go up an’ down the ladders anymore. He’s givin’ it to ya fer free, ‘s long as ya don’t sell anything. Can come ‘ere whenever you like.” A library, just for you.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you.” You attack him with a hug. A friendly one, with your arms around his neck and your legs around his waist. “Got it after th’ night in the garden. Figured I’d give ya a new home since I’m takin’ yer old.” A stray tear falls at his consideration. “Thank you.” You whisper this time, throat thick with more tears. “Don’t cry, sweetheart. Go explore.” You nod, climbing out of his arms. His thumb reaches out to wipe away a tear and you let him, granting yourself a reprieve from the exhausting practice of hatred for one night. “Go’on.”

-

You explore for hours.

John makes calls from couches, occasionally walking around until he spots you. You’re like a kid in a candy store, running from shelf to shelf with a grin on your face. He was worried it was too much, but it seems to have finally cleared the air between you two. The phantom weight of your hug clings to his skin, a memory he can’t shake off.

He didn’t admit to you that this is his manor, the one he goes to when he needs to get away. The way you hesitated when getting out of the car with fear in your eyes was unbearable. He didn’t want this to feel like another gilded cage. There’s only staff around anyway, and they’re under strict instructions not to say anything. As far as he’s concerned, this whole building is solely yours.

When he’s finally done remotely managing a crisis at one of his clubs, he ventures off to find you. It’s near midnight now and the stars are shining bright under the glass ceiling. When he finds you on the second floor, you’re bent over a desk, reading while standing like you’re so enthralled you couldn’t be bothered to properly sit. It’s the most attractive thing he’s ever seen.

Bent over, your dress barely covers your ass. John takes a silent step back on the staircase and sure enough, he can see a black scrap of lace cupping your cunt. He thanks your aunt for not packing shorts.

“Givin’ a man ideas standin’ like tha’.” It escapes his mouth before getting permission from his brain. John blames the whiskey he found in between calls. You snap your book closed at the sound of his voice, turning around and standing ramrod straight. “I stand or sit in weird positions when I’m reading. You’ll have to get used to it.” Instead of answering, he approaches you until there’s only an inch of space between your chests. You don’t flinch, a show of trust. Ever the challenger, you tip your chin up until your eyes meet, defiance sending a rush of blood to his cock.

“Turn around.” You do. Slowly. The book you were reading is still clutched to your chest like a shield. “Show me how ya were standin’.” He steps back to give you room. To his disbelief, you comply, bending over until a bit of lace peaks out. “Read t’ me.” A rough finger reaches out, touching the edge of the lace separating him from your cunt. He traces the seam of it, the outline of your folds straining against fabric. John decides to push the limit as far as he can during this honeymoon day, to make you want him as much as he wants you.

“‘But strange and marvelous as she was, a wisp of silk in a forest of black wool, she was’- John!” His finger had slipped under your lace underwear. You were so wet, dripping over his hand, and he wondered if you got off on this more than he did. If this was one of your secret fantasies, fucking in a library. “Tell me t’ stop.” You’re silent, too proud to ask him to continue, but too desperate to ask him to stop. Unperturbed, he starts swiping up and down like he’s familiarizing himself with the feel of your cunt. “Go’on.” You take a deep breath and continue.

“‘Not the fragile creature one would have her seem. In many ways she was as cool and competent as Henry’- oh fuck.” He’d pressed his thumb against your clit, hard. “Feel good?” You nod, barely keeping your head above your shoulders. “If this was our real honeymoon,” he moved his thumb down to your fluttering hole, dipping it in lightly for emphasis. You drop your head down to the desk, exhaling harshly. “I’d-” Ding!

The clock struck twelve. The end of your honeymoon period.

John removes his thumb slowly, putting your underwear back in place with care. He kisses your back, over where your Sharpie marks are, before pulling back completely. “Driver’s ready whenever you are, sweetheart. No rush.” And he’s gone, walking down the staircase.

He’d only continue if you asked him to.

-

i hope this isn't moving too fast but i really wanted some fluff and smut. if yall couldnt tell, this was inspired by that scene from beauty and the beast.

also the semester is starting back this week so my posts will become less frequent, pls bear with me :)

fifty points to who can tell me what book she was reading!!!

-

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[bottledpeaches]

event horizon

SYNOPSIS: what happens when a black hole and a white hole collide?

CHARACTERS: sonic

TAGS: cosmic horror, major character death (sorta), very astronomy and astrophysics heavy fic (there will be an explanation post later), mentions of obsessive behavior, mild yandere if u squint (will still be tagged as such), gn reader, 4.2k+ wc

TAGLIST: @affinitytales, special thanks to @angelitenails and @waayix for being my beta readers! ily 🫶

NOTES: nerded out so hard while writing this that google started showing me physics and astronomy articles in my recommended </3

dividers are from @rookthornesartistry

You hear him before you see him. Millions of light years away on the other far end of the universe, a sound pulled out from deep within the fabric of space reaches your ears. A low-frequency groaning sound, like that belonging to a thousand souls in agony, ripples across space and makes you involuntarily shudder.  

Then you feel him. The fabric of spacetime ripples beneath your fingertips like stormy ocean waves, increasing in frequency and intensity the closer he approaches. He’s quite fast too, you realize as the fabric trembles violently under your touch. If you run now, maybe you can slip under his radar? 

Finally, and unfortunately, you see him. Only faintly at first in the form of a relativistic jet so far away, it barely shows up as a pinprick of light to your eyes. Yet you notice all the same, especially since the stars in that part of space have been going dark as of late. Then the rotating disk of matter slowly spiraling toward him, his gravitational field so intense it warps the path of light on the far side of the disk. All too soon though, he appears before you, bending the space around him and pulling in everything in his path without a care. 

The low groaning sound that was the first warning of his imminent arrival is unbearably loud now as pressure waves from hot gas being sucked in hit you with the force of a thousand supernovas. Specks of electromagnetic radiation being produced from the disk of superheated gas and dust spinning around him sting your face as they’re luckily flung out of his reach at immense speeds. The fabric of spacetime collapses beneath his feet and even though you’re a safe distance away from his gravitational pull, you feel a sudden rush of fear- like you’re standing on the precipice of a great fall, one that you won’t return from. 

He takes the form of an anthropomorphic hedgehog, quills upturned and glowing matter swirling around them. Even at this safe distance several million miles away, you can still feel his gaze searching for something in the cosmos, before honing in on you, his target. His eyes widen and his lips part in a silent gasp. He holds that amazed expression for an unbearably long period of time, drinking in your visage as if you are an oasis and he, a parched man on the verge of death by dehydration, before it morphs into something sickeningly sweet. 

“Hi!” he says cheerfully, and the mere sound of his voice sends a cold realization racing up your spine. “I’ve been looking for you!” 

In the vacuum of space where there shouldn’t be any air or sound, you feel the rush of the wind in your ears like you’re falling and time comes to a stop. 

Somehow, just now, you’ve fallen past the event horizon. 

They say nothing escapes a black hole. At least, nothing they know of escapes a black hole. You might be the only exception, but that doesn’t deter him from showing his true nature. He doesn’t leave you alone after that, always trailing behind like a persistent shadow. He’s always a safe distance away, although his attempts at toeing that line grow bolder with time, much to your trepidation. You should be able to reject his all-encompassing gravitational pull by virtue of your nature, but you’d rather not test it anytime soon… 

He never shuts up too. As you drift through the endless expanse of space, it’s always a guarantee that he’s telling stories of what he’s seen ripping apart galaxies and matter, even if you give zero indication of interest. 

“There exists a little blue dot I’m quite fond of,” he begins one day. He’s lingering much closer than usual today. It’s not enough to pose a real threat, but enough for you to feel a slight tug at the back of your head, like a warning of sorts. 

His hand gestures in the general direction of the planet and you hardly spare a glance, too concerned with distancing yourself from him.

“The inhabitants are a curious bunch, always wanting to know more about what lies beyond their little bubble. I got a little too careless one day and ventured close enough to their planet for them to notice me. They’ve been hooked ever since.”

You wonder what could possibly compel someone to take interest in a being like him. Destructive, greedy, and the ultimate threat to everything. Any species with a shred of self-preservation instincts would know to stay far away from him.

“Are they foolish?”

He grins.

“Far from it, actually. They’re some of the smartest I’ve seen in recent times. They even gave me a name!”

“You have a… name?” you ask incredulously, wondering how stupid they are to give him a name to remember him by. 

“Sure do. It’s Sonic!”

You look out at an empty pocket of space as your mind buffers for a second, the name bouncing around in your mind.

“... Sonic,” you repeat flatly. Your dry disbelief must’ve bled into your tone because the cosmic entity disguised as a hedgehog shrugs. 

“It’s supposed to be an acronym for something, but I couldn’t care less about that. All I care about is how pretty it sounds on your lips.”

You don’t bother hiding your disgust over his poor attempts at flirting. Did he pick up such crude language from them too? 

“A nonsensical name for an equally nonsensical being,” you eventually scoff after getting over your disbelief. He hums and closes his eyes, smiling in delight and tail wagging gently.

“Mhm, that’s it, keep saying my name. I could never get tired of hearing it from you.”

“You’re incorrigible.”

His cheerful demeanor remains unshaken.

“Always have been. Never been the kind of guy to stray too far from my beliefs, y’know?”

“Do your beliefs include uncontrolled greed and destruction in your wake?” you retort, unable to resist the temptation of a good taunt. He has the nerve to look offended, scowling and crossing his arms.

“Rude. That was uncalled for,” he grumbles. 

“It’s the truth,” you argue. 

“No it’s not,” he counters. “It’s protection. I love the universe for everything that it is.”

“Is that why you’re so hell-bent on swallowing it whole?”

His face scrunches up into a scowl you would’ve found adorable under any other circumstance. 

“What better way to preserve it?”

“Some form of preservation that is. Even you too will one day evaporate.”

“But at least they’ll live on inside me, no? Much longer than they would’ve been able to by themselves, that’s for sure.”

“Do they really still exist if they’ve been compressed and compacted into a dot alongside everything else your voracity has gotten the better of?”

He shrugs, as if to say “it’s the thought that counts!”

“It’s either that or they meet a slow, painful demise when the universe does end.”

“That’s the weakest form of justification I’ve ever heard, and I know you’re secretly aware of that fact too.” 

He exhales sharply through his nose and taps his foot impatiently.

“Speak for yourself. I’m just doing what I think is right and that’s all that matters to me.” 

“Your idea of what’s ‘right’ is going to cause the premature end of the universe as we all know it,” you snap, jabbing your finger at him for added emphasis. 

“You’re telling me that’s somehow worse than how the universe will actually end?” he asks, looking indignant. 

You take a step back.

“... You do know how it’ll end, right?”

He shrugs and takes a step closer, his irritated expression vanishing and being replaced by a lazy grin instead. 

“‘Course I do! Can’t say the same for the ones that gave me a name, though. They’ve got more theories for how the universe will end than there are stars in their galaxy.”

“The most widely accepted one though?”

He laughs under his breath, like he finds their theories to be amusing.

“The heat death of the universe is the most common one. Instead of a bang, we’ll all go out with a pathetic, cold whimper.”

“And what’s actually going to happen?”

He flashes a conspiratorial grin at you, like this is a secret only privy to you two. And in a sense, it is. This is forbidden knowledge. 

“Everything will-”

Despite everything he tells you, you still have almost no knowledge of who he is or where he’s from. And maybe that’s intentional. Does he even know himself? You doubt it. He seems like the guy who couldn’t care less about his origins. 

“I really don’t understand you,” you sigh one day. He’s in the middle of stuffing his face with superheated gas and matter from the nearest galaxy he’s devouring as he looks over at you, cheeks puffed out. You’ve come to realize he’s quite the messy eater, as he swallows and wipes the corner of his mouth off with his finger. Fitting for his insatiable hunger. 

“Neither do the inhabitants of the little blue dot. But that doesn’t stop them from being obsessed with my existence, does it?”

“Obsessed… with you?”

He nods.

“Some devote their entire lives to studying me. Not like they’ll learn much with their horrendously short lifespans, but I’m flattered. Really. Guess it’s true we all want what we can’t have.”

“Well, what have they learned about you so far?”

He grins smugly. 

“Practically nothing.”

There’s a hint of pride in his voice. You roll your eyes. How egotistical of him. 

“Good for them. They know some things are better off staying a mystery. Doubt anybody wants you either.”

“Ouch, low blow. Way to destroy a guy’s ego, babe.”

“It’s not a low blow if the bar is nonexistent.”

“Hey, if we’re talking mysteries then you’re the bigger culprit here,” he says. “You’re hypothetical, you know? No one knows if you really exist or not. And yet, here I am with you before me.”

“... You know I exist though,” you state almost dumbly, unsure of what else to say. 

He rolls his eyes.

“Well, obviously I do. But that’s because I’m me. As for everyone else? You only exist because the math says so, and only on paper at that.”

“Well, what do they call me back on your favorite planet?” 

“They call you a ‘white hole’,” he whispers conspiratorially. “A hypothetical region of spacetime and singularity where nothing can enter.”

He plucks a planet from its orbit and chews on it like a piece of bubblegum as he thinks. 

“They say you’re the complete opposite of me. Whereas I consume everything, you reject everything. Pretty poetic, don’t you think?” 

You nudge a star system with your finger. The planetary bodies scatter outwards from each other, repelled by your touch. 

“Suit yourself. I could care less.” 

He grumbles to himself and swallows the planet he was chewing, before resuming his snacking- this time an entire constellation. 

“You know, you’ve been asking me about my origins an awful lot as of late,” he mumbles around a mouthful of matter. “‘Where did I come from?’ I’ve been here since the beginning. I created everything. But you? Where have you been all this time?” 

With shocking speed, he closes much of the distance keeping you safe from him. He’s not close enough to drag you under just yet, but close enough to where you feel yourself precariously teetering on the edge of his event horizon more than ever before. Panic wells up within you and gravity tugs you toward him with increasing persistence, yet you remain frozen, rooted in place by his unnerving smile and unblinking gaze. 

“Well? Where have you been this entire time? Why have you been hiding from me?”

Why have you been hiding from me? The question echoes in your mind and a deep-seated, instinctual wave of quiet horror washes over you. Does this mean he’s been looking for you all along? But why? And for how long? You have no answer to these questions, because there is no answer. Rules and logic don’t apply to a being like him. 

“... Maybe I wasn’t meant to be discovered so early on,” you whisper after a long moment of silence, gaze trained on a faraway galaxy. “The universe has its rules. Something tells me you broke one of them by meeting me.”

Finally, you look at him.

“If you’re the origin, then perhaps I am the end.”

He pauses and raises an eyebrow. After a few seconds, he actually backs away a bit. 

“... Rules?” he scoffs after what you think is a nervous silence. “No rule in the universe can stop a guy like me!”

“You say that, yet you’re woefully ill-prepared for the consequences.”

He rolls his eyes.

“Consequences? Please. Nothing in this universe can catch up with me.” 

“Not even your past self?”

He grins and winks at you. It’s almost amusing, the way he can go from obsessive to his usual self in less time than it would take for you to disrupt the delicate orbits of a star system.

“Not even my past self! I get faster with every passing day.”

At your expression, which, if you had to guess, is a cross between disgust and disbelief, he throws his head back and laughs. 

“But man,” he says once his laughter subsides. “I’m glad I met you this early on. Really can’t imagine where I'd be without you now.”

“You’re just saying that because you’d have no one else to bother otherwise.”

“Touche,” he admits. “But it’s not just that. If there really are consequences to my actions, then I wouldn’t mind dying by your hand, y’know?”

“I can make that a reality. All you have to do is say the word.”

You beckon him over with a wave of your hand. You don’t miss how his tail starts wagging excitedly. 

“Mmm, tempting. But I think I’ll pass. I’d rather it be the other way around. Safe and protected within me, like everything else I love.”

This time, he moves to stand next to you. Spacetime screams in protest as two immeasurable and opposing forces approach each other, yet he completely ignores the irreparable damage he’s doing. He crouches down beside you and raises his hand. Unable to resist the overwhelming gravity, the star system you were toying with earlier is violently stretched and torn apart until even the bonds between atoms disintegrate. What was once multicolored plasma is now nothing more than protons, neutrons, and electrons struggling to escape the overwhelming pull. A blaze of interstellar gas is helplessly sucked around his fist and without any hesitation, he swallows it all in one go. 

“See? Part of me forever now. Hopefully, this’ll be you one day.”

You can only watch on in mute horror. The plume of gas he just ate was a similar shade of white as the matter and energy being expelled from you. For a second, you saw yourself reflected within the vapor, fighting yet doomed all the same. 

His greed toward you truly knows no bounds. You get the strange feeling your fate has been sealed. 

He always has a story for you, regardless of the situation. Sometimes, they have relation to whatever you’re doing at the moment (usually nothing at all). Most of the time, however, there’s no correlation and he’s telling you one because he’s bored or sleepy after running laps around the universe for the umpteenth time that day. 

“The residents of the blue dot have so many stories to explain what they do not know. How did life begin? What exists in the great unknown beyond the skies? It’s almost cute, in a sense. But there exists a story for the former question among the many others that I enjoy hearing, and it goes like this.”

His other hand runs through his quills and the accretion disk around them trembles and shakes violently. Sparks of radiation and matter fly upward, desperate to escape, before the crushing gravity sucks them back in without hesitation. 

“I never said I wanted to hear a story though,” you grumble, even though you know it won’t change a thing. And true to your predictions, he merely laughs. 

“That’s cute. Long ago, one of the ancients sculpted humanity from clay and imparted unto them his wisdom, knowledge, and craft. Later on, he felt pity for their weakness and stole fire from the rest of the ancients, enabling them to build civilizations but at the cost of his eternal punishment.”

“Don’t you grow tired of telling them?”

“Never have and never will!” 

“I don't understand why you’re doing this then.”

“I don’t need a reason to do things. That’s just who I am.”

Incorrigible in the worst way possible. That’s what he is. 

“... The man in the story named Prometheus took what was forbidden and suffered eternally for it. Fire was unknown to humanity at the time and he both blessed and cursed them with its knowledge.”

You turn your gaze to him for the first time in that conversation. He meets your gaze and grins cheekily, overjoyed at having your undivided attention.

“Isn’t one of the morals of the story about the price of knowledge as well?”

He shrugs.

“More or less, yeah. All depends on your interpretation.”

“Then, if I am the hypothetical and thus, forbidden existence of a white hole and you are Prometheus… what is the price you must pay?”

That grin remains on his face, yet his eyes are suddenly devoid of any emotion. 

He doesn’t give you a response. 

You go silent. He whistles a tune as he picks up a galaxy and tosses it between his hands like a ball, before tossing it into his mouth and swallowing it in one go. From the back of your mind, you recall another story he had told you. It was also how the world came to be. One line in particular had stuck out to you. 

“Let there be light.”

You stare at the empty pocket of space that used to house the galaxy he just devoured. And so there was light- until he came and swallowed it all.

“You know, I’ve been thinking about that question you asked me as of late.”

Your ear flicks in his direction as you traverse through space. It’s the only indication he gets that you’re listening, but like he always does, he takes this invitation and runs with it. Give a hedgehog an inch and he’ll take it a mile… 

“What price must I pay for stumbling upon forbidden knowledge? I’ve been thinking about that long and hard and I have an answer now.”

“Is that why you’ve been quieter and much more tolerable lately?”

He leans in with a gloved hand cupped around an ear.

“Hmm, do my ears deceive me? What I’m hearing is how much you’ve missed the sound of my lovely voice.”

“You-!”

“-As I was saying, I finally have an answer now. Wanna hear it?”

He doesn’t even give you a chance to say no before continuing. 

“It’s simple, really. There is no price I have to pay.”

… What?

He grins, as if sensing your inner thoughts. 

“I already told you I’m fast enough to outrun everything, including myself. Whatever the consequences of my past actions have no hope of catching up to me. I answer to nobody as well; therefore, who besides me can dish out punishment?” 

“The universe itself will make you pay.”

He rolls his eyes, looking exasperated.

“Doubtful, considering you and I mirror each other. Can it really be considered accessing forbidden knowledge when I can just repackage it as keeping the universe’s natural balance? You and I were made for each other in that- ouch!”

He’s right, you realize as you shake your hand off after slapping him. Is there really no way to save yourself from your fate anymore? 

“Best to accept whatever happens here on out. Because no one’s coming to help you anymore.”

You knew this day would arrive sooner or later, but that doesn’t make it any easier. There’s nothing outwardly different about him, but you sense it in the air. His tail, stiff and wagging with excitement. His eyes, a little more eager than usual. The way he keeps glancing over at you, as if awaiting something. His foot, tapping with poorly-suppressed impatience a lot more than usual. And perhaps the biggest giveaway of them all is his tongue, constantly darting out to swipe at his lips like he’s hungry. 

For a while, you act normal. Maybe if you pretend to not notice, you can delay the inevitable a little bit longer. But the feeling of his eyes trained on you, like he’s waiting for a moment of weakness, makes you shudder and you can only keep up the act for so long.

“What’s wrong with you today?” you demand. “You’ve always been an obsessive creep since the day we met, but you’re acting even stranger today.”

He merely smiles, a self-satisfied grin at that, like you’ve played right into his hands. 

“Finally gave up, huh? I was wondering how long we’d be playing this game for.”

“Spit it out,” you hiss. “Don’t play games with me this time, hedgehog.”

Fatal mistake on your part.

“If you insist.”

His hand shoots out and grabs your wrist in an iron hold. The very fabric of space tears at the seam, creating a horrible, ripping sound stretching out into the cosmos. You try to jerk your wrist out of his grasp, a difficult task as incredible gravity pulls you further into him. Even with your rejective properties, he refuses to let go, instead clamping down even tighter which earns a pained hiss from you. A gaseous trail extending from you to his accretion disk forms as you are rapidly consumed by him, like you’re the first meal a famished man has laid eyes upon in ages. What’s been sucked in, now stretched out until only atoms remain, seemingly stops in time past a certain point, and you know by then it’s already too late to stop what’s already been set in motion. 

“Like I said, best to give up,” he whispers, tugging you closer until you’re face to face with him. He’s a horrible sight to behold. 

Wisps of white matter and energy gather in long, thin tendrils around his gloved fingers. The accretion disk around his upturned quills expands as more and more of you is lost to him. 

“I’ve finally got you with me forever now. Isn’t that romantic?”

A single, fleeting thought crosses your mind.

I’m going to die.

“Sonic, wait-”

That horrible smile you’ve grown to hate crosses his face. The corners of his eyes crinkle as he gazes down at you tenderly, like how a lover would.

“There you go. You finally called me by my name.”

He blissfully sighs.

“It sounds even better on your lips than I imagined in my head. I could almost die happy right about now.”

I’m on the verge of death and this is what he cares about??

The universe is starting to go blurry before your eyes. All you can see is his brilliant, sickening glow. All you can feel is the crushing pressure of gravity condensed into a singularity ripping you apart and sucking you in. And in the midst of it all, clarity and acceptance wash over you like a tide. But not defeat- no, far from it. 

“I’ll tear you apart from the inside out. I’ll be the end of you.”

Famous last words as you are consumed whole. 

“I look forward to it, sweetheart.”

Powerful gravitational waves ring out as you are ultimately devoured, banging on space time like mallets to a drum. Space stretches and squeezes and the fabric warps as an unstoppable force meets an immovable object. Your eyes close and the cosmic symphony quiets as you finally become one, the silence deafening in its wake. 

Why am I the one being punished when he so brazenly takes what is not his?

His prediction came true. Eternal punishment was never in the works for Prometheus. 

Now all alone in this stretch of the universe, Sonic sighs to himself. You weren’t talkative company most of the time, but he misses the little sounds you’d make and your presence. 

He looks around. All alone with nothing in sight- literally. He’s devoured everything nearby already. Just an endless stretch of spacetime, the fabric so dark it almost makes his head hurt just from staring at it too long. 

Perfect opportunity. 

Sonic reaches a hand up into his quills, patting around as if seemingly looking for something. His hand pauses, eyes lighting up, then grips onto something and yanks it out. 

“There you are! Come on out now!”

Tendrils of glowing white matter coalesce around his hand, clumping together to form your visage. First, your face, set in its usual irritated expression. Then, your torso followed by your arms. The rest of your body remains a gaseous form occasionally taking a shape, constantly being dragged beneath the event horizon as you eternally fight against his gravitational embrace. 

“What do you want?”

“I missed you! Can’t a guy say hi to his lover when he’s feeling sad and lonely?”

Perhaps he was not Prometheus this whole time. Perhaps it was you. In your pursuit to stay hidden behind the curtain of general relativity and mystique, you had caught his attention and been punished for your selfishness. 

“If you’re the origin, then perhaps I am the end.” Even before you were aware of it, his appearance had already spelled your demise. It’s a cycle of mutual destruction and rebirth.

For better or for worse, not even you can escape his event horizon anymore. 

enjoyed this? the taglist is open!

@ bottledpeaches, do not copy, repost, modify, translate, or feed to ai

[mercwiththem0uth]

small drabble because i can't stop thinking about wade letting his guard down and completely relaxing around you </3

like look at him he's just so soft 😭

he'd come home from a long day of fighting and collapse on the couch next to you. if it was a particularly long and difficult day he would barely have the energy to lift his head to rip his mask off, before throwing it carelessly to the floor. he'd reach over his arm to loosely grab on to you, just wanting to feel your touch but with moving as little as possible. you'd shuffle closer to him and wrap him in your arms, encouraging him to lay down against your lap. your hand would stroke over his head whilst the other rubbed against his suit-clad back. he'd eventually let out a big sigh as you felt his body relax, finally completely stress-free and in his safe place where he doesn't need to make a hundred jokes per second or speak any thought that entered his mind.

as much as he loved to talk to you and try to make you laugh, and would sometimes yap until you couldn't take it any more, he would also enjoy to just be in a comfortable silence with you, especially after a hard day. you'd been together for a couple of years now, you knew absolutely everything about him that there could be to know, just the same as he knew you. eventhough your relationship thrived off of quick-wit and long chats, you appreciated these gentle moments where he clearly just wanted to be wrapped in your arms and feel safe and loved.

he would ask a few questions about your day, voice hardly raised above a whisper. and as you spoke gently in response, he would gain the energy to let out "hmms" and sighs in agreement. showing that he was listening, even whilst being on the verge of sleep.

he doesn't like to admit it, but he can really struggle sometimes to constantly make jokes and talk all day whilst at work. he's more comfortable with you than he is with anyone, so he knows that he can just be quiet when he comes home and take a rest if he needs to, because he knows that you love him for HIM, even without the humour and self-depreciating jokes. it took him a long time to learn that, but when he finally realised he didn't need to talk down about himself all the time around you, or make a joke out of anything and everything, he knew you were the one.

he'd eventually sit up after a while, give you a soft kiss, and venture into the bedroom, before returning in his comfy clothes like hoodies and sweatpants. or some sort of hideous pair of unicorn pyjamas. he'd sit as close to you as possible and lean his head against your shoulder, his hand intertwining with yours as his thumb rubbed circles against your skin. your arm would be wrapped around his shoulder pulling him close, and occasionally dropping kisses to his head. when he felt like talking he'd tell you about his day, commentate on the movie you're watching, or just say random things about random stuff, and you'd just look down at him with pure admiration in your eyes. eventually he might drift off to sleep cuddled against you, but never before mumbling about how much he loves you.

he'll fall asleep whilst thinking about how he can't get over how much he appreciates and adores you. someone who loves him for any version of him. his talkative, loud, full-on, sexual self, or needy, clingy, quiet self... the side of him that only you get to see. someone who doesn't care what he looks like and makes him feel loved no matter what. someone who matches his crazy but also his calmness. someone who loves spending time with him and would do anything by his side but also allows him alone time if he needs it. you're just perfect to him. and he doesn't know what he'd do without you.

<3

a/n: [ have had a deadpool smut in the works for a while, will hopefully be uploaded soon ;) ]

[jbk405]

Mickey 17 was definitely an experience.

The question of replacing dead/injured people via clones, and the ensuing dehumanization of the expendable copies, is not new ground for science fiction. But they did a great job showing the mundanity of the whole process, and the universal crumminess of the society that would make use of this.

They may be colonizing a new world, but these people don't live in all-white pods facing blank screens and eating food cubes. They live in dirty, cramped, worn cubbies doing manual labor, and eating recycled food that is icky (and not just weird).

It's definitely evocative of the real-world when we see that the evil people in charge aren't Machiavellian manipulators who are on the verge of founding a new empire. They're morons who are dragging all the rest of us down with them, and their new society is going to collapse in a matter of years since they're fundamentally incapable of sustaining it. But that doesn't mean they're not dangerous.

The only story part that doesn't hang together for me is just why Mickey 18 is so different from all preceding Mickey's. He's assertive, aggressive, and I'll even call him a bit of a dick. And it's such a stark contrast to Mickey 17. Dialogue does indicate that there have been variations before, but they were all variations on the same theme of the original Mickey. They never tried to break out of their role on the ship, never tried to get revenge on Timo for getting them in trouble with a loan shark originally, etc. So why did 18 suddenly leap to violence and revenge at every opportunity? I'm not saying he's wrong, but nobody ever mentions anything being different about this process, so....I dunno.

Unless we're saying that the religious nuts were right that multiples don't have souls, and since 17 was still alive when 18 was printed he was made without a soul. Because if that's the direction we're going, I think the rest of the film didn't get that message.

[familiarscars]

drive you insane | noah sebastian | experiment II

adult content | minors do NOT interact.

⋆ 𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆. noah sebastian X psychiatrist!Reader.

⋆ 𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒. a mysterious new patient arrives at the Grimshade sanatorium and you have been tasked with taking care of his case.

⋆ 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆(𝐒). disturbing environment, violence, unconventional treatments, manipulation, questionable relationships.

Steam rose from the teacup, thick and slow, as if the liquid inside was on the verge of boiling. I hadn’t touched it. Not a single sip. I was too busy staring at the morbid scene around me, absorbing every detail of this mausoleum disguised as a home.

Fiona—my mother—had been living like an exile on her own land for years now. Hiding in the south of the island, in a tiny house that barely stood upright. Two rooms, a low ceiling, walls stained with damp, and her, cooking in the same space where she slept, breathing in the smell of smoke and abandonment like it was perfume.

I hated crossing the city to get here. Not because of her. I liked seeing her, even if it was only for stolen minutes before Steven noticed my absence and sent someone after me. But every time I set foot in that forgotten village, the place shoved down my throat the reminder of who we were.

The gap between their world and ours was a wound that never healed. No matter how many years my mother had given to the Blackridge family, no matter how many nights she’d spent serving people who didn’t even bother to learn her name in the end, all she got in return was this cramped, damp, and cold space.

“You barely touched the tea... is it bad?” she asked, settling onto the other side of the table with the same careful movements as always, like any sudden gesture might shatter what little remained between us.

She was more bundled up than usual and coughing. A dry, restrained cough she made a point of hiding in the sleeve of her worn-out coat.

“How long have you had that cough?” I asked, ignoring her previous question, ignoring the bitter taste of the tea, ignoring everything—except her.

“The weather’s cruel around here, and the construction on the hill’s been kicking up more dust than we’re used to... but I’m keeping warm the best I can. Don’t worry about me.”

She gave me a small smile and, before the rage boiling inside me could take over, she placed her hand on mine like one last tether, like she could still hold me here, in this house, in this moment.

“You can’t stay long, son... I don’t want him sending anyone after you.”

Of course, my father owed her nothing now. Her body, now old, tired, and sick, was of no use to him anymore. Getting her out of that house had been the one and only favor he ever did for me... and not out of kindness, but because keeping her there no longer served any purpose for him.

But when it came to keeping me under control... keeping me caged inside Grimshade... he was still capable of anything.

And she...

She was what was left. The last thing in this world I could still call mine.

“How is he?”

Her question froze me mid-motion. The cup stopped in the air before touching the table, and for a second I had to take a deep breath just to stop myself from rolling my eyes. It was irritating. Almost pathetic, really, how much she still managed to care about those people—more specifically, about him.

“He had a psychotic break a few days ago,” I said, letting my voice drop dry and sharp. “I’m keeping him unconscious while I try to figure out how his head works.”

I made a point of not sugarcoating the words. She didn’t deserve illusions.

“So... I don’t have an exact answer to your question.”

Being okay was almost an offensive concept when it came to Noah. The primary personality might still be intact, just silenced, dormant as always. The psychopath, probably on the verge of collapse, driven mad by the invasion the tests were forcing into his consciousness. And the psychiatrist... lost somewhere in a dark corner, not knowing what was real, what was delusion, what was left of her after the breakdown.

The truth was... I had no idea who was in control now.

“All I know is that I need to finish this soon so we can finally get out of here.”

My mother froze mid-step, like the idea weighed on her with invisible tons. She stayed silent for a few seconds, staring at the floor like someone calculating the damage of a choice before even making it.

“You’re thinking of leaving and leaving him in Steven’s hands?” she asked, in a tone mixing disbelief and fear, bringing a hand to her chest as if to keep her heart from breaking apart. “Travis, you can’t... You can’t do that. You can’t leave Noah with that man, not after everything he made the boy witness. Look at what he’s making you do to your own brother just to get back what he himself destroyed inside that kid’s head!”

"That’s not my problem." I replied in a low voice, each word snapping out dry and sharp, as if I had to force my throat to obey.

"He’s your brother..."

"STOP SAYING THAT!" The outburst came before I could control it. My voice echoed through the small room, cutting the air like a blade.

Fiona’s eyes shimmered instantly. The tears she had held back for so long finally spilled, and at the same moment I tasted the bitter, acidic flavor of guilt rising in my throat, burning like a reminder of everything I was burying.

"You keep saying you have no one else but me, but what about him, Travis?" she shot back, her voice dragging, broken, pained. "Noah saw his mother murdered in front of him. Saw his sister die the same way... The only thing that boy had left was a man who hates him too. A man who’d kill him without hesitation... if he didn’t need a successor."

She looked at me like she was waiting for me to break right there. And maybe that’s exactly what she wanted.

But all I could do was close my eyes and breathe deep.

As always.

"So that’s what you want?" My voice came out ragged, my chest burning with pent-up rage. "You think it’s fair to keep me chained to him for the rest of my life? Think what’s already happened wasn’t enough? Isn’t it enough that I was his shadow all these years? Do you really want to condemn me to this family, just like they did to you?"

Fiona stepped back, as if each of my words was a blow.

"I understand your ancestors had no choice, but I do, Fiona! And my choice is simple: turn that boy in and get the hell off this island before it swallows me whole too!"

My breathing was erratic, as if saying all that had been physically exhausting. She was still standing there, staring at me with a mix of fear and sadness…

But I couldn’t take that look anymore.

Not from her.

Not from anyone.

"I raised Noah."

Her voice cut through me halfway to the door. It wasn’t a plea or a request. It was just a slow confession, thoughtful, the kind of thing that gets stuck in your throat for years.

"I saw him change, and I saw the boy I once knew turn into someone completely different. But even then I still recognized him. I still saw him there, somehow." Her breath faltered mid-sentence. "And I still believe in him, Travis. No matter how stupid it sounds... I believe. I’m not leaving this island without him."

I let out a crooked smile, almost mocking, throwing a glance over my shoulder.

"You spent your whole life raising him... and forgot I existed."

She closed her eyes for a second, like it hurt more than it should’ve, but quickly caught her breath.

"Your resentment is going to drag you straight into the same pit you’re trying to avoid, Travis." Her tone dropped, but lost none of its firmness. "I know how I raised you. I know exactly where I went wrong. And I know, too... that deep down you feel what you’re doing. Every time you look at him... you feel it."

My throat burned, and a strange pressure made me loosen the collar of my shirt. She went on.

"He has no one else... but you. But us."

Her gaze wavered, as if she were remembering every detail she’d been keeping to herself until now.

"If you really wanted to get rid of him, you would’ve already done it. You had all the evidence in your hands. You could’ve ended it the day he was supposed to be convicted and executed, just like everyone wanted." She took a deep breath, trying to keep her voice steady. "But you didn’t."

I took an involuntary step back, as if my body recoiled on its own.

"You chose to stay. You chose to keep watch over him at Grimshade, chose to keep him alive with your own hands rather than let him die alone in that death row cell."

She licked her lips, hesitating before delivering the final blow:

"You tampered with the reports, Travis. You manipulated the case, left it inconclusive just so they’d claim insanity even without a real diagnosis. It wasn’t by accident. It wasn’t out of pity. You want to save your brother, want to stop him from being just another Blackridge buried in that cemetery."

My stomach twisted so violently I had to brace my hand against the wall to keep from collapsing on the spot.

"You’re delusional..." I murmured, my voice faltering, trying to sound indifferent — but she knew. She knew better than anyone that it was exactly the opposite. "Still stupid as always."

"Maybe I am." She took a deep breath, but her voice came lower, almost a tired whisper. "Or maybe you’re just too exhausted to keep lying to yourself."

For a moment, everything around me felt suffocating. The walls of that cramped house. The smell of dust mixed with the tea I hadn’t even touched. The weight in my throat tightening like a badly tied knot.

"Doesn’t matter." I spat the words with the last bit of strength I had. "As soon as this whole damn mess is over, I’m leaving. Alone. Far away from all this… from you all… from him."

My mother didn’t reply. She just stood there, with that look that cut through me like a dull knife — not sharp enough to kill, but deep enough to make me bleed.

I left before she had the chance to answer.

Or worse — before I lost the last shred of conviction I still had.

The anechoic chamber allowed no echo, no sound, no memory. It was like being dead inside a cathedral built to silence screams.

Crane adjusted the IV drip on Noah’s left arm, administering a light dose of sedative. Not enough to induce sleep — just to paralyze muscular resistance without compromising consciousness. The blindfold over his eyes was made of flexible lead, pressing against the eyeballs to the point of causing a throbbing pain. His nostrils, clogged with cotton and camphor, induced nausea and disorientation. His mouth, stitched shut with nylon surgical thread, trembled.

Noah was sweating cold. He couldn’t see. Couldn’t speak. Couldn’t breathe clearly. But he could hear.

I activated the subliminal channel in the earpieces implanted just behind his ears. Distorted voices, in low frequency, began to whisper in alternating languages, then merged into a slow, circular soundtrack designed to collapse cognitive focus.

“A mind deprived of external stimuli falls back on its most primitive archive: trauma. Memory fragments without narrative, emotions without language. Inside the vacuum, the dominant personality mask cracks. And what emerges… is the true architect of pain,” I told Crane as he took notes.

The first sound didn’t come from the earpiece, but from inside Noah himself. A muffled sob — childlike, desperate.

The voice appeared, sweet and hesitant, as if reaching for someone’s hand in a dark room:

“You’re scared again, aren’t you? Close your eyes… like mommy taught us. If you squeeze them shut, the monsters can’t see you…”

Noah shuddered. His fingers contracted in spasmodic twitches. His heart rate spiked.

I nodded and signaled for Crane to record the subtle physical response.

“Persona I. Maternal archetype. Adaptive, docile, nurturing. The child who wears the mother’s mask to protect himself.” I explained, taking a deep breath, trying to organize my thoughts. “Notice the tone of her voice: soft, almost like a lullaby. An echo of the last memory before the mother figure was violently erased.”

I ran a hand over my face, exhausted.

“He kept only her voice. Her face… became a blur without form, without identity.”

“He created her the moment he realized she wasn’t coming home,” Crane commented while scribbling another line of notes. For a second, he even sounded moved. “This is the most passive personality. And the one that shows up the least.”

“Because that’s how his mother lived… submissive to anyone who raised their voice louder than hers.”

Noah’s tears slipped beneath the blindfold, mixing with sweat and nausea. His chest was heaving, as if he couldn’t get enough air, and the tremors were beginning to escape his control.

We paused the conversation and stepped closer, eyes fixed on the heart monitor as it spiked in erratic peaks.

“She’s the bridge between him and his childhood,” I added, lowering my voice. “The part of him that still believes someone’s coming to get him. That, unlike the other personality… just wants to get out of here.”

Then the second voice erupted — sharp, dry, devoid of any trace of humanity:

“You’re weak. Pathetic. Crying over her like a dog. Pretending you forgot what she did? If she ever loved you, she wouldn’t have left.”

Noah tried to scream, but only foamy saliva and blood seeped through the stitches in his mouth.

“Persona II. Paternal. Psychopathic structure. Punitive function. Internalized rage projected as cruel authority. The father’s copy. Dry speech, militarized rhythm. Takes pleasure in domination. This is the homicidal persona.”

Noah’s body convulsed. As if a battle were taking place inside him.

And then came the third.

The voice was closer, almost real. Familiar. Almost… alive.

“Noah… can you hear me? I’m still here. I don’t know how to get out. You locked me in. You let me die. But I understand. I just wanted you to know that.”

We stepped back. The intensity of her words caught us off guard.

“Persona III. The shadow of the ex-girlfriend. Internalized at the exact moment of her death. Origin: trauma + idealization + guilt. She’s the only one who still believes she can help, but carries visceral fear. Preserved academic vocabulary — suggests intact semantic memory.”

Noah mumbled incoherent sounds, like a man drowning in words he couldn’t form.

While writing, Crane kept throwing me half-narrowed glances, weighing every word of my responses as he filled out that damned notebook. I was exhausted. Silently praying that no more questions would slip from his mouth.

“So that’s it…” Crane closed his pen for a moment, resting his elbows on his knees, as if trying to organize his thoughts amid the fatigue. “We’re dealing with one personality that’s scared and just wants freedom… another that tries to free him… and the dominant one, keeping them all locked down out of pure terror of facing abandonment. The same abandonment he witnessed… in the murder of his mother?”

My breath caught for a second. I just nodded.

“The original personality, the one he was born with, is in some kind of coma,” Crane concluded, in a tone close to mourning. “Lifeless. Untouchable. Detached from everything… ever since the others emerged to protect what was left.”

I agreed with a nod, dry, too drained to elaborate.

Crane leaned back in the chair, his eyes wide, as if he were finally starting to piece the puzzle together.

Noah, on the other side of the room, was panting like a cornered animal. His body rigid, muscles in spasm, mind on the brink of rupture. The session was over, but the chaos of voices and misaligned memories would keep corroding his subconscious for hours.

For a moment, my mother’s voice came back to me, hammering just like that morning, when she threw in my face how I’d always tried — pathetically — to give him a less miserable life.

“Is there more to this, Dr. Rune?” Crane asked, his curiosity slicing through the silence like a blade.

I turned slowly and met his expression — eager, far too innocent for the kind of truth I was about to deliver.

“The creation of the personalities erased his traumatic memories, Crane.”

The psychiatrist froze for a second.

“You’re saying that—”

“That the real Noah has no idea,” I said, voice low, bitter. “He doesn’t know he watched his mother and sister be murdered in front of him, by the hands of his own father. He doesn’t know he was groomed to become that man’s successor. And least of all… that he killed his fiancée with his own hands.”

And I had no idea how I’d tell him that — if he ever woke up from the coma.

⭑ @bloody-spades ; @iluvmewwwww75 ; @anarchydomainglory ; @foliosgirl ; @lacy1986 ; @chey-h ; @supersquirrel1996 ; @zozaline​ ; @just-randomm-stuff ; @do-it-jakey-baby ; @flowery-mess ; @youcanreadmy-mind ; @tikosblogg ; @gothic-pumpkin ; @badomensls ; @themorticians-world ; @99png ;

[dyketorccio]

── pain days ; lottienat anon request : hiiiiii welcome!!!!!! would you like to write ummmm… checks notes… phys disabled lottie with nat comforting her please! tysm

summary : a fic about nat taking care of/comforting lottie on a bad pain day after practice.

tags/cws : lottie has fibro (as does author), he/him nat, fluff, hurt/comfort, pre-crash, soccer practice but author has limited sports knowledge, gentleman ! nat, bathing together, word count: 3.76k

an : i probably won't do tons of author's notes but i just wanted to apologize if this one isn't the greatest : (. i'm dealing with a particularly bad fibro/chronic illness flare-up and it's somewhat reflected in my writing.

۶ৎ ︶ ꒱ frustrated tears prick lottie’s brown eyes as she trudges stiffly toward the bench. “matthews,” coach martinez barks, “a little hustle please.” lottie can hardly bite back a sob, as she attempts to push her aching body further, her gait stilted and clumsy. “what’s the matter out there today, matthews?” he claps a firm hand on lottie’s shoulder. she grimaces, and the steely glint in the coach’s eye softens. lottie can’t bring herself to look at him. a fresh wave of tears threatens to spill down lottie’s flushed cheeks as his hand on her shoulder burns through her sweaty t-shirt. “‘s nothing,” she mutters, ashamed and humiliated, voice coming out hardly above a whisper. she’s not sure how much longer she can be on her feet, the pain is nearly blinding in her legs, joints and fingers which have curled and stiffened uncomfortably into claws. aside from the pain, the fatigue makes speaking even harder; the typically energetic and vocal lottie during practices has been replaced by a spacy, awkward, and clumsy one who can hardly keep her head up let alone her eyes on the ball moving rapidly from foot to foot, player to player. 

“hmm?,” martinez grunts in frustration. “didn’t quite catch that.” lottie whines gently, brain clouded with pain, agony, and frustration with both her body and her performance on the field today. she wants to stamp her foot like a five year old having a tantrum might, but on top of being too painful, that would be disastrous for her reputation and her coach’s respect for her. she feels defeated, humiliated. With a shuddering breath, she opens her mouth to confess. “fibromyalgia,” she blurts, making an effort to ensure her voice is loud enough. it comes out brittle but her volume level is better this time. her cheeks flush with shame, and she manages to flick her eyes upward to see the look in coach martinez’s eye shift from frustration to sympathy. “flare-up,” she adds. it’s the worst one she’s had in awhile and the first one to affect her this deeply. usually she’s able to handle herself on the field, though even lesser flare-ups take some of the aggression out of her. she’ll oftentimes be on the verge of collapsing by the time she gets home, with only a maid to fill the large living room and to offer an empathetic look, a handful of pills to ease the agony. 

“ah,” the man says simply, grip easing up on lottie’s shoulder. “i was going to bench you,” he starts and lottie’s cheeks flush a deeper red, her shame growing deeper. “but if you’re not feeling well, maybe it would be best that you head home. do you need an ice pack? or,” he shrugs, mouth thinning into a line as he appears to think, “anything else?” he finishes lamely. a worn smile tugs at the corner of lottie’s lips.

“ice would be good, thanks.” her voice is groggy, and she sways ever so slightly on her aching legs. “i need to sit,” she huffs tiredly, and he gestures toward the bench, now a beacon of light instead of the humilitation ritual she typically views it as. “be my guest.” lottie all but collapses onto it, the cool metal feeling good against her sweaty skin. her head drops onto her chest; she feels too fatigued to lift it anymore, taking in the green turf with her exhausted brown eyes. coach gestures misty over. the poodle haired blonde looks behind her, as if expecting to see him gesturing towards somebody behind her. coach martinez hardly ever acknowledges her, aside from the occasional shout when the ball gets too far out of bounds and she gets to throw it back into the fray. misty excitedly scampers over, always eager to help the team in any way she can. though she longs to be on the field, her parents have reassured her time and time again that the equipment manager is an integral role on the team as well. “run and get me an ice pack, okay?” he orders her, and she nods quickly, running in the direction of the nurse’s office. 

though lottie is far too tired to notice, nat continually glances worriedly towards the girl whose wilted hair is slowly falling out of its two respective ponytails on either side of her face. his brow furrows with concern at the way her head is flopped onto her chest, her hands clawed in the way they sometimes do on a particularly bad pain day. misty is back a few minutes later with a cold pack in her hand, glasses slipping down her nose. She breathes heavily for a moment before pushing them up her nose with one finger, smiling at coach martinez as she hands him the ice pack. “thank you, misty,” he says, dismissing her and passing the pack to Lottie. Turning toward the māori girl, he presses it into her hand with a slight smile. “hang in there, matthews,” he reassures her. “make sure you’re drinking water, yeah?” lottie hums an affirmative and the coach pats her on the shoulder before returning to the sidelines of the field. 

“take a water break, girls! five minutes then we’ll scrimmage,” he barks at the players, turning to the assistant coach ben to discuss what he missed while he was tending to lottie. when mari gets in off the field she scoffs upon seeing Lottie warming the bench. “the great lottie matthews on the bench? damn,” she says with a smirk, taking a large gulp from her plastic water bottle. lottie doesn’t even glance up, while nat shoves mari a little. 

“lay off, mar, she’s not feeling well,” he retorts, concerned eyes moving to take in the state of his girlfriend. mari mutters something, but her cheeks are flushed an ashamed red. usually when mari gives lottie shit she’ll bite back right away. lottie really must be unwell if she won’t even give the latina the time of day. 

nat takes a swig from his water bottle, trotting over to the bench where lottie is sat. “you okay, lot?” his husky voice is soft, full of concern. “bad pain day?” with great effort, lottie hauls her head up to look into nat’s grey-green eyes and nods. concern is etched across his features, and lottie gives an almost imperceptible nod, pain etched across hers. she looks as if she wants to say something, mouth opening as if to try then drops it closed in defeat, head thumping back against her chest, exhaustion clouding her senses. her hands remain clawed in her lap, and nat coos with sympathy for his girl. he gingerly sits down next to her, careful not to touch her and potentially cause more discomfort or pain.

"d'you need me to take you home?" his jersey accent comes out with his concern, something lottie typically finds extremely endearing. she often can't keep herself from smiling when nat allows himself to be vulnerable enough to let his accent slip through, softly kissing his furrowed brow or trembling lips. right now, though she does neither, though she leans into his sweaty body, trembling from both exhaustion and pain. lottie's tough. she's not one to cry in front of others and even nat has only seen the girl break down entirely a few times. yet he can tell she's on the verge of a break right now. "lottie?" he pushes gently. it comes out sounding more like "lawtie."

"the scrimmages are your favorite," she manages with a grimace. "plus, martinez'll kill you." she tries to smile but it's not much different from her previous grimace. nat gently elbows her.

"c'mon, lot. your health is more important than a fuckin' soccer practice. and he can't can me, where'd he find another winger before playoffs?" she manages a real smile this time. "my knight in shining armor," she jokes, nuzzling into his neck for a moment.

"scatorccio!" coach martinez barks from the sidelines. "water breaks over, let's go!" lottie puts a hand on nat's back as if to push him towards the field.

"'s fine, scatorccio," lottie husks with a smirk. her face is pale and nat's brow furrows, still not entirely convinced she doesn't need to go home. "scatorccio!" comes another irate shout. lottie attempts to prop her head up on one clawed hand. she tilts her head forward as if to say "i'm watching," and although her pain and exhaustion are evident on her face, nat can't afford to argue further. still, there's one more thing he has to do.

"what about your hands, lot. if you're gonna stay, can i help you with those? they look painful all clawed up like that." lottie flushes, not wanting to get nat in trouble for delaying his return any further. she moves her head in a forward motion as if urging him to go, but the blond doesn't budge. lottie sighs but she nods gratefully, allowing nat to gently uncurl the fingers of both hands, wincing as he does so. he tuts apologetically, kissing the palm of each hand once he's finished. when he turns around, coach martinez is watching him disapprovingly, tapping his foot in clear annoyance at nat's tardiness. nat blows lottie a kiss, giving her a wink as he sprints off towards the field, apologizing to the coach before getting into position.

the team scrimmages for the rest of practice. lottie slips into a dreamless doze more than once, but with her head resting on the palm of her hand she has a better view of the field despite the overwhelming heavy feeling of her head. a few times nat catches her eye, pointing at her with a wink before scoring a particularly good goal. the slight smile on coach's face confirms that nat's been forgiven for his failure to be in position on time. nat's team wins by one, which causes shauna to kick a cone in frustration though she begrudgingly shakes hands with the opposing side of her team. "scatorccio," coach martinez barks, and nat finishes retrieving a few stray cones before running over to him, wiping his sweaty brow with the top of his t-shirt. for a minute he thinks he's going to get chewed out, but surprisingly the coach gives him a good natured slap on the shoulder. "good work out there today. make sure lottie's taking care of herself, hm?" he raises an eyebrow at the blond. "see you tomorrow, on time, yes?" he stresses the words on time and nat gives him a sheepish smile. "you got it. thanks, coach."

a flushed nat makes his way over to lottie who seems to have dozed off once again, a look of misery etched across her soft features. she whimpers as she stirs, tilting backwards and waking herself up as her body jerks with the bench having no back to support her weight. in a flash nat has caught her but her breathing hitches as she finally breaks, the tears she's suppressed for so long finally beginning to fall. a mix of exhaustion, fear, pain, and frustration have the girl choked up, hardly able to breathe as sobs wrack her trembling body.

righting the girl, nat cradles her top half gently soothing her with whispered sweet nothings and rhythmic shushing. the two are the only remaining yellowjackets on the field. the others have quickly dispersed, back to their homes and whatever duties await them there. lottie's body trembles as salty tears intermingle with snot on her exhausted face. "oh, baby," nat soothes, stroking lottie's matted hair. "we should get you home, huh. my poor girl."

lottie's body shudders with exhaustion and she hiccups a few times before she can nod ever so slightly, whimpering as she burrows her face into nat's neck once more. "kevyn should be in the parking lot. d'you think you can make it, lot?" nat's tone is serious but gentle. the question brings a fresh wave of tears to lottie's eyes, and a loud sob bursts from her throat. nat frowns sadly at the look of sheer agony on lottie's face. despite her best attempts to undermine her pain, it's clearly taking an immense toll on her.

"here, let's try." nat lifts one of lottie's limp arms and gently places it around his shoulder, grasping its aching fingers gently but firmly to secure the girl. his other hand loops around her slender waist. she moans at the contact, though with pain rather than pleasure. lottie's body is especially sensitive during flare-ups, and her skin oftentimes burning to the touch. nat hisses sympathetically. "c'mon, lottie, you can do it. i've got you." lottie nods, sweating with effort as she half hobbles and is half carried by nat towards the parking lot. sure enough kevyn's shitty beat up sedan is waiting for them. he honks, rolling down the window to shout at nat.

"hey burn-ou...." he trails off when he sees lottie, jaw dropping when he sees the state that she's in. he curses under his breath, sighing as he opens the driver's side door, rushing to the side of his friend and his girlfriend. he's never driven lottie before, hell he's hardly even met the girl but he doesn't protest the last minute addition, assisting nat in getting her to the car. he opens the door of the car, having the decency to look ashamed by the series of bottles littering the floor, and overflow old trash spilling onto the pavement.

"i uh, didn't know you were coming," he says with a sheepish look, hand running through his long greasy hair in embarrassment. lottie manages a smile but shakes her head to show that she doesn't mind. there's an apologetic look on her face. his driving is over the speed limit, causing her stomach to lurch a few times but with directions from nat they finally reach the elaborate matthews home. kevyn lets out a breath. "shit," he says, dragging out the word with a note of impression in his voice. "you live here?"

"yes, dickwad," nat says playfully. "i'm gonna stay with her. thanks for the ride," he adds politely with a grin. he climbs out the right side of the car, before easing lottie out the other, practically holding her up as he stops by the driver's side window. "seriously, thank you man. i'll ring you tonight, alright?" there's a sober look in nat's eye and kevyn looks mildly uncomfortable. "later, burnout," he says with a chuckle, beginning to pull away. nat and lottie are almost to the door when he shouts from the window, "should've told me your girlfriend's rich!" the smile is evident in his voice and nat rolls his eyes good naturedly.

"got your key?" nat asks and lottie nods toward her bag. nat makes quick work of finding it as lottie leans against the door, biting back a grimace. he lets the pair into the cavernous parlor where the maid is dusting. upon seeing lottie's pale face and shaky legs she pauses. "miss matthews, are you alright?"

"bad pain day," nat mouths, and the maid looks sympathetic, nodding.

"oh yes. i'm familiar. let me get your pain medication, miss." lottie flushes, embarrassed at the usage of the title. no matter how many times she asks for the staff to simply call her lottie, old habits seem to die hard. she mumbles a flustered "thank you," sinking onto a beige futon by the entrance letting out a long pained sigh.

"i'd like to draw her a bath, ma'am. mind if we use the guest bathroom?" the maid looks almost surprised to be spoken to with respect from a stranger. even after years serving the family, malcolm has hardly taken it upon himself to learn hear name, let alone address her as a "ma'am" or even with a direct look in her direction. "yes that's perfectly alright. shall i bring the medication there?" nat takes a glance at lottie's graying face and shakes his head. "if you wouldn't mind, i think she needs them now." he frowns at the pitiful state of his girlfriend, before forcing himself to replace this concern with a smile at the maid who nods curtly, scurrying off to retrieve the pills.

"how are you doing, lot?" nat asks, gently tucking a stray, sweaty strand of lottie's hair behind her ear with his thumb. she looks at him with half-lidded eyes and manages a half smile. "like shit." nat coos.

"i know." he takes her hand and squeezes softly three times. i love you. she clumsily squeezes back once then winces. "you're gonnna make me say it aloud, aren't you, scatorccio," lottie jokes playfully. her features soften as she gazes into his eyes. "i love you too."

nat bends down to kiss lottie's sweaty forehead, wrinkling his nose playfully at her after practice musk. lottie rolls her eyes, smile more prominent now. "you really do need a bath," nat teases, and lottie blows a raspberry.

"you don't smell like roses yourself, natalie." nat scoffs, pretending to be offended.

"is that right, charlotte?" lottie snickers and nat slaps her good naturedly. lottie's eyes widen in mock offense.

"did you just hit your disabled girlfriend?" nat playfully gets down on his knee, hands together in repentance.

"forgive me, princess." lottie giggles. before nat can get up the maid's footsteps can be heard, signaling the arrival of lottie's medication. the sound of her sensible shoes stops in the doorway.

"am i... interrupting something, miss?" nat yelps, flushing a deep red as he quickly scrambles to his feet.

"no ma'am," he stammers, unable to meet her sharp gaze.

"your medication, miss matthews. feeling better, are we?" lottie flushes, thanking the maid and swallowing the pills dry. "would you like assistance with drawing the bath?" nat thinks it over. considering the matthews' wealth, it's not unlikely they have some kind of bullshit fancy clawfoot thing he'll have no clue how to work. "yes, thank you. if you wouldn't mind, ma'am." the maid smiles at him, finding his chronic politeness an endearing feature. "it's no trouble, i assure you. i'll come get you when it's ready."

fifteen minutes later, nat is helping lottie undress. though the way he caresses her warm tan skin, removing articles of clothing with the utmost of care is in no way sexual, the intimacy brings a tinge of heat to nat's cheeks. he kisses her soft, aching body, offering a firm arm as a support once all of her clothes have been removed so that she can shakily climb into the tub (clawfooted just as nat had suspected). she moans with pleasure as the warm water soothes her aching frame.

a smile spreads across her pallid cheeks. "feels so good," she hums contentedly. "you should join me," she adds shyly. "i want you to wash my hair," she adds softly, a faint blush on her cheeks.

"whatever you need," nat agrees, eyeing the warm water. "i'll pamper you," he adds with a grin. "my princess." he adds an exaggerated flourish of a pale hand. lottie giggles, splashing a bit of water at him. nat quickly sheds his clothes, gently climbing into the tub with lottie so as not to hurt her, a jolt of electricity running through him when his slender fingers brush one of her tantalizingly long legs. lottie shivers at this and nat grins a little to himself.

lottie turns around so that her taut back is facing nat, long brown waves flowing down her back. nat gently runs his fingers through the wet, nearly black strands, every so slightly scratching lottie's scalp, making her arch her back with pleasure. nat lathers the tresses with expensive smelling shampoo, leaning forward to breathe in the scent deeply. he shampoos and conditions lottie's hair with the utmost care, like a parent might a young child. lottie hums contentedly, hardened muscles slowly beginning to loosen up.

once he's done washing lottie's thick locks, he quickly washes his own shaggy blonde hair, shaking his head like a dog might after getting a bath when he nearly blinds himself with the perfumed shampoo. lottie turns to look at him with love in her eyes though she doesn't comment on this action. he clumsily works his fingers through lottie's long hair, twisting it into a loose, albeit clumsy plait.

"can i wash your body too, lot?" nat asks, ever the gentleman. lottie nods a bit easier this time.

"please," she breathes. uncapping the lavender scented body wash, nat carefully and gently works the soap into lottie's skin, working at the knotted muscles with his fingers. two fingers push the braid over one shoulder to make room for nat to plant a kiss between lottie's shoulder blades.

"you're beautiful, baby," nat hums softly, his voice husky. "are you feeling any better?" he questions. lottie nods easier still. "much," she confirms in a low but content voice.

"what else is there that can i do for you?" lottie appears to mull the question over, the brain fog inflicted by her condition making it hard to form coherent thoughts.

"hold me, nattie," she softly croaks. "i just want to be close to you." nat smiles as he kisses the spot between his girl's shoulder blades once more. her body shudders at the fluttery sensation of his lips against her skin, and she turns to face him, not bothering to cover her exposed chest. she leans into him once more, body tingling at the sensation of her skin melding with his. he wraps his gently toned arms around the girl in an embrace, unable to keep from giggling slightly when her head comes to rest on his small chest, her lashes fluttering closed creating a tickling sensation.

nat can feel the lottie's smile against his chest at his giggle. she plants a sloppy kiss on his jawline and he rhythmically strokes her back with his thumb, the water sloshing slowly with the circular movement. soon lottie is dozing in the warm water, tensed muscles having softened with the remedy. their bodies are one; lottie's body rises and falls along with nat's deep breaths. a gentle smile tugs at his lips. he's enthralled by lottie's body, her strength and resilience despite the imprisoning pain her condition so often causes her. he knows that soon enough he'll have to wake her, and they'll have to dry off, shriveled and wrinkled bodies wrapped in the fluffy white towels hanging on the crystalline rack. but for now he figures a few minutes more of the gentle intimacy of their bodies entwined in a gentle embrace won't hurt.

[idkfitememate]

I am CRYING. FURINA MY BABY YOUR TEAPOT LINES MAKE ME CRY. SHES SO INNOCENT BUT SHES BEEN SO TRAUMATIZED IT HURTS ME. WHY FOCALORS WHY.

😭😭 Furina asks us to dress up as a duo with her. And she said she’d even do our makeup. She’s trying to take back her stolen childhood. MY EYES ARE PUFFY FROM TEARS.

DONT GET ME STARTED ON THE ‘the more you let someone in the easier it is for them to hurt you’ LINE. SHES SCARED TO LET PPL IN AND IM WAILING.

I wanna give her all my love and affection!!! 😭

-🦌 anon, who is curled up on the floor crying

The Curtains Close

૮꒰˶ᵔ ᗜ ᵔ˶꒱ა Pairings : GN! Otter Reader x Furina & Neuvillette

૮꒰ྀི∩´ ᵕ `∩꒱ྀིა W.K. : 1.1k

໒꒰ྀིᵔ ᵕ ᵔ ꒱ྀི১ Tags/CW&TW : Angst to fluff, Furina is going through a breakdown, Neuvillette realizes he’s been distant

Forcing Furina on a bed wasn’t easy. The entire day was spent with and you having a “bonding day” and spend the day inside.

Makeup and clothes whirled past in a blur of blues and makeup was pressed into your fur. The entire day was fun, eating snacks and overall just having fun.

At least, it would be if you didn’t notice the sadness behind Furina’s eyes.

Every time she looked at you in your frilly little dress with a big blue bow around your waist and a smaller blue and gold bow around your head.

Now, you’d be a little ticked at being forced into an outfit, but seeing her on the verge of tears when you began to shake your head no - no matter how much she would deny it - you forced your pride down your throat and and put it on.

Her smile was worth it.

The entire day you could just feel her off-ness, and you’re pretty sure you know why. The events pertaining her curse and the death of that bi- I mean Foçalors had just passed and Furina was finally free.

Free to be human once more.

You, knowing the lore, knew that she had suffered with being alive - unchanging and never aging - for five-hundred-years. You knew that both Foçalors and Neuvillette understood that that would have and has had lasting effects on the poor girl.

But you knew they’d never understand. How could they? They were immortal. They had to get used to the passing of the ones they knew if they were mortal because they were literally built for it. Furina wasn’t. She never was.

And now that she was free, she was coming. Crashing down.

The curtain had fallen and the star of the show has fallen to her knees. Her tears stain the floor as the crowd leaves and her wails echo through the empty halls.

To be honest you haven’t seen much of Neuvillette around. You understood that he had new issues to attend to as the new overseer of the nation of Fontaine. But you barely see him in the halal’s anymore.

Your thoughts were immediately halted when you heard small sniffles coming from your friend.

Your head whipped in her direction only to see tears pouring down her face. You rushed over as fast as you could, wiping those tears away as you gently chittered at her, pulling her crumpled form up so she could face you. At your concerned expression, she only cried more.

“I-It’s just,” she started, “… Did she ever love me? Was I ever even worth anything to her? I played my part and danced till collapse and I didn’t even get a thank you! I don’t understand… I watched my friends die… I watched my f-family die… I outlived all of them! And I didn’t… even… get a thank you…” She broke down back into sobs, holding onto herself as she rocked back and forth.

You could only watch as she shattered in front of you. Pain and guilt rose in your stomachs as you stared. Huffing, you jumped off the bed, and grabbed your stuffed jellyfish, dragging it over and throwing it up before climbing up after her.

You gently nudged it towards her and made sure she grabbed on before jumping back down and racing through the halls.

You ran out the building as fast as your little legs could carry you, the winds of Teyvat boosting your form farther. You continued on until to made it to the Opera Eclipse and ran through there until you made it to Neuvillette’s office.

You didn’t even bother to knock before shoving to door open and rushing up to him. He stopped his writing and looked down, his eyes softening at you. He opened his mouth to speak before you grabbed his sleeve. You yanked and pulled and he finally stood up, allowing you to lead him.

Making it back home, you all but forced the man into Furina’s room, and forced him on the bed. She had stopped sobbing by this point, but silent tears still ran down her face.

She looked shocked at Neuvillette’s appearance and he looked shocked at her dishevelment. You shuffled up to her in the ridiculous dress you had on - you would later find out it perfectly match the dress Furina had on when she came into being, after being separated from Foçalors - and part her lips.

“Do you… wish for me to repeat myself?” She whispered, looking at the slightly panting Neuvillette with worry. But at your nod she sighed, realizing why you did this.

And if her Otter wanted something, who was she to deny them that.

When she parted her lips you leapt from the bed, and walked out of the room to give them privacy. You could tell she hesitated at your lack of presence, but hearing her start to speak after you closed the door, you wagged your little tail in relief.

Staring towards the kitchen, you planned on getting them both nice tall glasses of water.

And by the time you got back and managed to open the door, you were met with Neuvillette holding the girl close and shushing her, a light patter of rain outside.

“Of course we’re grateful. I’m grateful. I am so sorry my Lady that I had neglected you. I will say it until the stars and the moon itself command me to stop that you are appreciated. That I care. And though I cannot speak for her fully I can say that my Ar- … Foçalors did care for you. And she loved you. I love you. I care for you. I will never understand the trials of being human and I know that what she did is irreversible, but I do want to be there.” He continued to speak to the crying child in his arms, neither noticing you walking in while dragging the glasses of water in.

Making a small noise, the Sovereign looked down and smiled at you, though you could see the tears in his eyes. He picked you up then the glasses, handing one to Furina who was still clutching your plushy.

“And I can also say that our darling here loves you and cares.” Neuvillette mused, running a hand quickly through your fur.

You chuffed in response and licked the girls face causing a giggle to escape her throat.

Here she was wanted. Here she was needed. Here she was loved.

And you were going to do your damndest to make sure it stays that way.

໒꒰ྀི˶˙Ⱉ˙˶꒱ྀིა Author’s note : Wanna hug her and hold her and give her kisses on the cheek and UGH- My baby໒꒰ྀི ╥﹏╥ ꒱ྀིა

I personally think she’s like… a teen. She looks like a teen. So imagine being in a mental state of an adult with the emotional state of a child and being forced to watch everyone you know and love die. I couldn’t do it she is so strong but I STILL WANNA HOLD HER MY BABY!!! ૮꒰ ˶꒦ິ꒳꒦ິ˶꒱ა

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

WIBTA if I started doing sex work while still living with my mom?

Warning for sexual mentions(nothing heavily explicit though)

I (18F) can't get a typical job like working in customer service or physical labor because of a mix of reasons. I'm both physically and mentally disabled, for one. I have chronic pain & chronic fatigue so extensive physical labor or any job that requires being up for a long time is out of the question for me, as it would cause me a lot of pain and put me at risk for collapsing or falling asleep due to exhaustion. I also have heavy social anxiety and sensory issues, and despite being in therapy since I was around 11, this hasn't gone away. I still have problems with stuttering when talking to people I don't know, and feel on the verge of panic the entire time. I also can't handle loud noises well- I carry around a pair of headphones constantly but that does mess with my hearing so I couldn't really use those in a customer service focused environment. I'm a full time student as well, and will be for several more years, as I'm going straight into college out of high school. On top of all that, I can't drive yet, as the process was delayed due to concerns that my health issues would make me a hazard on the road, so I won't have my full license until late this year.

I've tried looking for other job types before, but nothing I've been able to find works. I've tried doing art, but it's not easy to get people to actually commission you- I've only gotten 1 so far and I've had commissions open for almost half a year. I've tried content creation but have yet to build a platform big enough to make money from it. I've looked for online focused jobs such as creating captions or proof-reading others work but realized very quickly I'm not equipped/qualified for that job due to my problems with processing audio correctly, and my problems reading and writing correctly first try- I often have to re-read things many times over and re-type things at least once to get it at all correct, as words and letters get mixed up in my brain sometimes or I just accidentally skip over entire words or even sentences. And even then I sometimes still get it wrong. So I'm a pretty slow worker with things like reading, and something that requires listening to something and then writing what was said took so long it wouldn't meet the time requirements a lot of places are looking for in workers for that (that I've seen).

So the only idea I have left for making money so I at least have something to help pay for college and to go towards me being able to move out someday is some sort of sex work. I'm not planning on doing anything super risky, like meeting up with real people or anything that would show my face. So I wouldn't be worried about this bothering my mom since she's not really sex negative or strictly against sex workers or anything if it wasn't for one thing. I'm not sure if this will work either. I have a lot of acne problems all over, and problems with picking at my skin that leave scratch marks in a lot of places. And I'm not sure anyone would be willing to pay to look at that. It's not something that bothers me on an individual level, it's just a part of me, but that doesn't really change what other people do or don't find attractive. So it just kind of feels disrespectful to be selling that kind of thing in my mothers house if it's not even going to be significant enough for it to matter financially. And, of course, there's always the risk my mom could see it, and I worry it would upset her to see her daughter selling that kind of thing. But I don't see other options left for how I could make enough money to not end up drowning in student loans down the line, or end up living with my mom for many years into adulthood- which wouldn't be fair to her since she's not financially well off either. I don't plan for it to be a permanent job, just something to help me through my college years till I can start working in the field for what I'm getting a degree in or until my issues get well enough I can work a more typical job.

WIBTA?

What are these acronyms?

[werewolfoffeverswamp]

tbh i dont know if i’ve ever made a single piece of art i actually like in an academic setting. they’re always haphazardly done last minute and the subject matter is always so. hm. it’s a little boring. the only times i think i’ve come close to making something i was proud of in school is when i was pushed to my mental breaking point and i just started fucking doing whatever i wanted. so today i’m rating them

in my sophomore year i was in sculpture class and had to make a smooth plaster sculpture. the amount of manual labor required to sand down a sculpture that had to be at least 3 feet in some direction is not something i wanted to deal with. as you can see my sculpture is not smooth. the design i was happy with— the sculpture itself i was not.

it was titled “Mistakes” or something along those lines. my classmates stood up for me in critique when my professor said it was lazy and unfinished. not one of my peers said a bad thing about it. we smashed the sculptures apart behind the building when critique was over. i still want to cry when i think about it, it was an extremely special experience for me.

10/10 i actually wish i still had it and i have been meaning to make a tiny version out of clay. such a special piece to me, very formative

this piece was made at the end of my college career when i first started testosterone. i wanted to make some sort of tribute to it for my final piece— i’m of an extremely divided mind when i think about it. there are parts that look clunky and not developed properly… thrown together, as i believe my professor Jason said. i am, however, happy with certain technical aspects of the piece! the formation and shading of the hand and the syringe is something i really like, and did a lot of layering to achieve. i used a paper cutout to make the repeated syringes on the bottom left, another new technique i tried and was happy with the results of.

the text WAS thrown on last minute in an effort to spice up the piece but it’s a reference to the song Crosseyed and Painless by Talking Heads. it’s a song i’ve always identified with in a gender way, with the first few lines being “Lost my shape, trying to act casual./Can’t stop, I might end up in the hospital.” i felt on the verge of collapse constantly in the early days of my transition. it was like i had lost my shape and was destined to end up hurt in some way. i wish the text was more well thought out, it could have been done in a more uniform way and i think it would have looked a little better.

the wasp head is also a reference to an old oc of mine, who was a man with a wasp head named Gene. i wish i would have used different colors, the black and yellow i used should have been warmer. mars black instead of ivory. whatever again it’s technical stuff.

6.5/10 i could technically go back and fix this one bc i still have it, but i have better things to do rn.

the hand dino came into the world in a fiery manner. for the final project we had to make a piece with the dimensions of minimum like 4ft by 4ft, and by this point i was burnt out and the most exhausted with art i’d ever been (besides maybe sophomore year ig 🤔) and i told my professor i couldn’t do a project that big. he made the mistake of telling me to do what i could manage, which ended up being a roughly 12in by 12in piece of oil painting paper.

in many ways i like the concept of this piece. the idea of it. it’s fun! it’s combining realistic elements with cartoonish ones in a way i enjoy.

however. looking back, i genuinely think it would have been a cooler concept on a bigger scale 😭 which is so frustrating.

7.5/10 i wish i’d had it in me to do it better.

and how could we forget dear body horror babe? made in my first semester of sophomore year and done with ink and charcoal and conte crayons, it was an assignment one of my more eccentric teachers wanted us to do where we randomly splattered ink on a paper using ink-covered coins and tried to come up with a drawing just from the happenstance of where the ink coins landed.

i chose a more abstract route and basically turned every ink splat into an eye and tried to come up with somewhat distorted body imagery to evenly fill all the space on the paper. you can find a lot of stuff going on in this piece.

11/10 but also not done at my lowest point, just during the steady decline.

ok can i be frank for a second. i fucking hate this piece. so what you’re seeing is an 8ft by 4ft thin block of particle board, carved by hand in low relief to ink and print on old bedsheets.

my professor for this relief class was strict about the theme of the class, which was political art. she insisted we make art relating to a political topic and our beliefs on it. and this isn’t to say political art is bad in any way, but it’s truly not something i want to FOCUS on creating necessarily. the fact that it was MANDATORY is the issue here. one of my classmates refused to make purposely political art and instead chose to make a beautiful piece of the sun and moon as lovers. i wish i had just done the same and refused to make strictly political art. if i’m honest i just wanted to make an epic wood carving scene of a dark and eerie night outside draculas castle. instead, as you can see, i chose (somewhat arbitrarily in an effort to make the project into something i could enjoy carving) environmentalism.

technically i don’t mind this piece. the composition is fine and the detail in some areas i’m very proud of. other areas not as much. my teacher also forced me to do what i think is over-carve some areas to fill the piece with texture. i do not like it and i wish i had kept some areas fully un-carved, even if it didnt print right. i don’t care.

also what’s worse about the whole experience of this piece is that it was part of an event called Blocktoberfest and my school partnered with a local state college to make and print these huge blocks on their campus. the reason this is bad is bc the state college students did whatever the hell they wanted for their designs and we saw some really cool subject matters, from aliens to occult symbolism. and their school’s art department had a couch in it and ours didn’t. :/

also blocktoberfest was an insane amount of physical work bc rolling those big ass rollers in ink and then a giant block and then ink and then the block and ink and block was a lot of effort. i was sore after it. and it lowkey felt like me and my classmates were doing all the work and like maybe 5 people from the other school were helping. whatever. whatever anyways

1/10 genuinely pisses me off to look at. wish i would have just done draculas castle

^i also think it’s worth mentioning about this professor: no one really liked her. she made it very clear that she thought there was a right and wrong way to create art. and she fully believed she was right about everything bc she was old and wise. and she was also gay so maybe she had some credit. but her art to me always felt a little uppity and she was also really rich. she let us visit her studio and we did our final critique there of a piece i made that i absolutely hated everything about. i dont even have a picture of it bc it pissed me off so bad. she also was lowkey racist towards a few of my classmates so i really don’t like her.

anyways that’s all the pieces i want to review currently. let me know what you guys think about em if you want. i hereby ask for you to critique my art.

the difference between making art for a deadline vs making art purely bc you enjoy the process and outcome is so crazy. it actually makes me sick with sadness. i don’t have the resources to create freely yet. anyways art under the constraint of academia is so frustrating for me specifically. like whatever. whatever

[spinningwebsandtales]

Imagine Jason Comforting You

Jason Voorhees X FemReader

Rating: T+

Warnings: Mentions of death, panic attack, no escape, mentions of drowning

Word Count: 814

Part 1: here

(A/N:) Happy spooky season!! My time has come once more! I have lots of horrific goodies planned and I can't wait to share them all! So enjoy the treats, the frights, and nightmares as I start getting back into the groove of writing! Until next time happy reading! ~Countess

You awoke suddenly, to misty sunlight streaming through a severely cracked window. Your surroundings were unfamiliar and the bed you were placed in had seen better days many years ago. It creaked and groaned as you turned your head. You had been brought to a shack as the memories of last night suddenly flooded into your head, rushing headlong into the forest as the strange masked killer kept a tight grip on your wrist. You jolted up with an audible gasp and tumbled from the musty mattress. Hearing the thud of you hitting the creaky floor, Jason eased up from the chair he had been occupying in the darkened corner. You almost released a terrified shriek when he stopped. His head cocking to the side as his eyes watched you carefully from the holes in his mask.

"Why?" You asked after gaining a little bit of courage.

He continued to stare, refusing to move as he just breathed breaking the silence surrounding the shack.

"Why me? You killed everyone else why would you spare me?"

Still he didn't say a word, but this time he did step forward coming closer to you. You flinched bringing your legs to your chest. He stopped before turning away. You relaxed a little, ready to flee if you needed to. Though you were sure it wouldn't matter if you did try to run. Everyone else in the camp had ran and their demise happened anyway. He searched through a bookcase that was on the verge of collapsing, junk fell to the floor, each thud and bang making you jump and twitch. He turned back around holding out his hand. You flinched, scooting backwards. But still he persisted. A crumpled nametag fell from his discolored fingers. Slowly you reached for it and plucked it from the dirty floorboards. It was severely damaged and it looked like it had been soaked in water at one point. But you could still make out the name.

"Jason," you looked back towards him. "Is that your name?"

He nodded eagerly before looking down again at the nametag expectantly. You took another glance, noticing something else written under his name.

"Voorhees. Is that your last name?"

Once again he nodded and you realized he was the victim of drowning all those years ago. It was the counselors fault of their negligence and it had cost one of the children's lives. The camp had been closed for a long time afterwards until someone bought the land and tried to open the camp back up. Only for tragedy to strike once more. You were forced by your parents to volunteer at Camp Crystal Lake as they tried to open it again. Once again it ended in a horrific scene and it seemed like now you were the only survivor. Now you were trapped face to face with the boy who drowned in that lake a long long time ago.

"Why did you take me," you wanted to make sense of it all. Fighting down the panic you tried to stay as still as you could as he knelt down in front of you. With a timid finger he stroked your warm cheek. Fighting tears as your emotions overwhelmed you.

"Can I please go home," you pleaded as Jason leaned down closer. The depths of his eyes searching, trying to understand why you were so upset.

"I don't want to stay here and I promise I won't tell anyone about you."

Jason only stared. You decided to take a chance and slowly stood up. Jason did the same never getting more than a foot away from you. You couldn't figure out what he could possibly want as you stepped backwards towards the shack entrance. Jason realized quickly what your intentions were and grabbed you quickly. You screamed, sobs wracking your throat as you struggled. He hugged you tightly, his scent surrounding you. He smelled of murky water and his skin felt cold and clammy. Like he had been steeping in the water of the lake for so very long.

"Please," you shouted. Repeating the same word over and over again until you couldn't bear the turmoil inside. You fainted, going limp in Jason's careful but tight embrace. Your body shook uncontrollably as he carried you back to the creaky bed. He laid you down gently, tucking the strands of hair behind your ear. He couldn't explain why he took you and he didn't want to lose you. You were a treasure that he refused to let anyone else have. He lost a lot already and losing you was not an option. He dragged the chair to the bedside where he could watch you sleep and planned everything you two could do together. You slept fitfully as the nightmares tortured you in the dark abyss and you knew if you woke up another terror would take it's place.

[queserasora]

DOFLAMINGO X FEM READER, NSFW WORD COUNT: 6.2k CONTENT WARNING: Mean ass Doflamingo strikes again. He is so mean, we already know this but I have to say it because I don't need people crying about him being mean. THAT'S JUST HOW HE IS. Dom!Doffy, consider this a dark romance~~ if you may, it's a bit toxic guys so like I don't recommend but that's just how the cookie crumbles, actually it's pretty damn toxic, like maybe this is on the verge of yandere doffy, idk you tell me, unprotected sex (please wear ur party hats in rl), biting and lots of degradation because Doffy loves talking shit, like it's so much shit talking it's half the fic, biting a lot of it, like everywhere, anal play, so much teasing, pussy slapping, he likes to tie people up because he finds it hilarious so bondage lite, blindfold???, yeah that too, lots of cum, it's everywhere A SUMMARY: Y/N (aka Butterfly aka Six) knows she doesn't have many weapons to use against Doffy so she tries depriving him of her undivided attention. Doffy lasts two whole days before he snaps.

PART ONE | PART TWO

He thinks two hours of hanging from his canopy bed by the wrists should be sufficient. If you hadn’t learned something by then, Doflamingo simply could not help you. There was only so much he could do, in his unending benevolence, to assist you in learning the skills needed for survival. Had he not taught you enough throughout the years you had known each other? Had he not been an attentive, and detailed instructor?

Had you, really, learned nothing?

He wanted to blame himself for this. Perhaps you had inadvertently exploited a weakness, he himself didn’t know he had. Doffy thought, if he should find it, he would cut it out of his body with his own capable hands. Too irate to face you, he sends two officers to cut you down from his canopy bed.

Your arms had started to grow numb. The uncomfortable tingling soon becomes painful. You kept shifting your weight on the bench bed, as if that would help alleviate the ache in your arms, or the throbbing of the small nicks and cuts of your wrists. At the sound of the door creaking open, your heart jumps. You turn your head quickly, but it is not he who walks through the door but two officers you know well. 

Shame heats your body before it grows deathly cold. 

It is apparent they’re fighting off embarrassed smiles as their mouths twitch. Their fingers move about carefully, as if they feared the repercussions of touching your skin for too long. What belonged to Doflamingo, belonged to him for the extent of its life. Although your body collapses as soon as you're free, a weight coming from it you didn’t know you possessed–you’re not dead yet.

You hold onto this realization as strong arms help you down from the bed bench, and half carry you out of his bedroom. You grip it tightly, like the air between your hands, until your nails bite into your skin. If there was any pride left in your war torn body you’d use it, despite the possible repercussions.

Your acts of rebellion are limited in range, so you do the only thing you can do–you deny him of the tiny bits of intimacy he craves from you. When he peers over his shoulder at you, you do not make eye contact. You look past his broad shoulders and to the intricate paisley pattern of the wallpaper in front of him. When he tries to make small talk, something you know he detests, you keep your answers short, clipped, monosyllabic if possible.

It is childish, you know this, but it is all you have. A blunt weapon was still a weapon. With enough force behind it, sometimes it could kill.

Six was being childish. He had put up with it for two days. This was as far as his immeasurable patience went. Doffy had half the mind to grab her by the hair and make her submit, no matter how many men were currently present in his office. Her usual soft, and pliable mouth was spread thin into a harsh line that made him frown. Her shoulders pushed back stiffly, as if she was busily carrying the weight of something.

That something, whatever it was, he would smash it to pieces.

Baby 5 is talking, and Doflamingo brings a hand up in the air. He curls his fingers in a quick snap of his wrist, grabbing onto thin air. She silences immediately. Her gaze follows Doffy’s to find it behind him, on the girl he affectionately called Six. Baby 5 had asked him once, defying common sense, what he meant by that.

He had laughed, and laughed and laughed.

Six, for the amount of steps she was to stay within him. Six, because he sometimes forgot her name.

Whether that was a lie or not, Baby 5 had no intentions of finding out. Just like she had no intentions of staying behind to see whatever sick twisted games Doffy was about to begin. She knew that smile well enough to know her time was up. She begins to make her exit wordlessly as the rest of the men in the room are already departing from the room.

“Lock the door,” Doffy says as she reaches the threshold of it. Her hand hovers on the doorknob and she gives one last look over her  shoulder. You make eye contact with her, and she notices the tension in your jaw, the way you suddenly bore holes through her forehead. A sensation close to pity settles in her chest, so she leaves quickly and locks the door as she was commanded before a conscience can begin to grow where one had already died before.

You stand silently, hands clasped in front of your stomach. His presence growing closer to your body was almost enough to melt away all your resolve; brick by brick, you had laid them one after the other these past two days. It all threatens to come toppling down when his fingers graze your chin. He clasps it with a clammy hand.

“Don’t make that face,” he says calmly, tilting your chin upwards. You follow his hand’s command with a small frown. “You know how much I hate it. You have been ignoring me. I can’t forgive you for that.”

You say nothing. What was there to say? You had been ignoring him in hopes of hurting him on some kind of level. You turn your face away from him, freeing your chin from his grasp. Doffy tuts, and steps closer, breaching whatever miniscule space was left between your chests.

“I’ve been thinking about it all day,” he says calmly. Doffy’s hand reaches for your face again, and you turn to face the other way. His fingers tangle in your hair, a curling lip is the representative of the last vestiges of his patience. His free arm wraps around your waist and he pulls you towards him until you are flush against his hardened body. Your breathing quickens. You despise the way your body warms up against his. It was such an easy, predictable thing. A flimsy paper that couldn’t even hold the weight of your convictions. “Your punishment,” he concludes when you still give him no reply.

You can’t help the way your eyes narrow. It is foolish, you know, to feel anything akin to injustice. You think to blame it on your still fading bruises; the ones on your skin and on your ego. You continue to think this when you utter your next words: “Punishment for what?”

“Six,” he says, tone growing impatient. The tangled fingers in your hair give a tug–an unspoken reminder to keep your eyes on him. His voice is short. His fingers dig into the skin of the small of your back. “Do I need to spell everything out for you? You’ve committed a grave sin.” Doffy brings his face close to yours. He presses his nose against your cheek and inhales noisily. The heat of his breath on the apples of your cheek is enough to have shivers coursing through your spine. You grab onto his mostly open shirt, tug on it as if it would bring you to your senses. His tongue runs flat up against your cheek, leaving a trail of hot saliva in its wake. 

Six was a nickname he used when he felt particularly mean. You flinch when he licks your other cheek, expecting the worst. 

“You’ve been ignoring me,” he says against your ear, fingers still knotted in your hair. The hand on the small of your back travels slowly over the curve of your ass. His fingers are devious, and unapologetic. They are used to always getting what they want, so they settle for digging into the supple muscle of your derriere. For their affront, they pull a small gasp from your lips. Doffy smiles besides himself. “You know I loathe being ignored, don’t you?” His teeth bite down on an earlobe. A whimper lays to rest in the back of your throat as you crush it down. “You of all people should know better.”

There’s a fluttering in your heart you want to squash. The pained sound in his voice, feigned or not, tugs at your heartstrings. You consider giving in, letting him have his way, and getting it over with. There was no use living at odds with Doflamingo. It wouldn’t benefit you in any way. 

“You’ve injured me,” his words are breathy, strained, as he brushes his lips against the line of your jaw. Your eyes close at the feel of his breathing scorching your skin. He kisses down the side of your neck. Kisses so wet and hot, it clouds your reason. There’s a slickness slowly seeping into your underwear. You become more acutely aware of this as the fingers on your ass move to slip between the waistband of your pants and your waist. “Now you have to pay the price.”

You nod, blindly agreeing to anything he could possibly propose. If it was your soul he wanted, he could have it. The method was up to his diabolical whims.

Doflamingo bites down on his lip. Not because the erection in his trousers is beginning to get uncomfortable–although it was. Not because when he sucks on the hollow space of your neck you moan so deliciously it makes him want to rip your clothes off—although he did want to do that. He bites down on his lip to keep the laughter at bay. You were so predictable, so pliable, so easily swayed. All he had to do was touch you, and you unraveled around his fingers, just like string. 

He releases you. You sway where you stand, suddenly breathless and dizzy. Doflamingo moves around the desk, and reaches for the inside of a small drawer. He pulls out two pieces of pearly white silk. It drags on the floor as he moves towards you.

“You’ve been a bad girl, Six,” he says, and gestures at your hands with one of his. “Now give me your wrists. I’m taking away some of your privileges.” You blink, unsure if you had any privileges to begin with but you concede, holding up your hands together, inside of wrists touching each other. He binds your wrists with one of the pieces of silk. “And because you dared to avoid my gaze,” he says, giving the knot on your wrists a good pull. You jolt towards him, and shout as he catches you by the forearms. Doflamingo leans forward, enough for his breath to tickle your nose when he speaks: “I’ll take yours away.” A sense of fear ices your veins. Your mouth moves, words refusing to form. You think to ask for him to reconsider but his hands are quicker than your mind. He is tying the silk over your eyes, like a blindfold.

The last thing you see is his grinning mouth, and a pair of shades reflecting your own face back at you.

Darkness consumes you. Your breathing sounds inexplicably loud to your ears. You focus on steadying your breaths, making them shallower and shallower. The sound of rustling startles you. You turn your head in the direction you think it’s coming from, but his hands are on your shoulders pushing you back. You stumble backwards until the back of your thighs hit the edge of the desk.

“Don’t,” he hisses against your ear. “Move.” You hold your breath before a shudder forces you to inhale loudly. He is tugging at your waistband. You feel thick fingers press against the skin of your hip as he grips the fabric. He had instructed you not to move but your body jerks as he pulls the fabric. The sound of cloth ripping, strings being torn and undone fill the still air of the office. A cool breeze touches your hip, your thigh, and even lower as he continues to tear the right pant leg all the way down.

Your breathing quickens. White teeth dig into your bottom lip as you struggle to keep quiet. He hadn’t asked you to not make a sound but you didn’t want to try his patience. Not when his fingers were on the other side of your waist, destroying whatever was left of the other pant leg. Another forceful tug, and you’re free of your pants. Cold air kisses the back of your knees.

“I hate these pants,” he complains, kicking the remains of the clothing item out of his way. He advances towards you, grasps your hips with heated hands and flips you around. You shout, as he bends you over the desk, ass up. “Why do you insist on this stupid suit? They are ugly. I thought I told you, I loathe ugly things. I’m throwing them all out,” he insists, his large palms running over the width of your ass cheeks. “Every single one, and I’m filling your closet with dresses. And skirts,” he pauses, hands still on your ass. Dresses and skirts so he wouldn’t have to tear into them with brute force. Doflamingo brings one hand up and slaps a cheek. You cry out as the sting blooms into a burning ache.

Doflamingo goes into his haunches. You feel him panting against the back of one thigh. You breath hitches. His mouth moves lower, to an ankle. He flicks his long tongue out, and grazes the inside of your ankle with the tip of his tongue. It’s hot, and wet, enough to make you twitch. You curl your fingers tightly, trying to fight the urge to rub your thighs together. It shouldn’t have aroused you so much, but you feel the growing wetness becoming worse in your underwear

The scratchy feel of your stockings over your skin is enticing. He hates it but he can’t stop. His tongue drags up from the back of one calf, all the way to the back of a knee. He stops there, contemplatively for one nanosecond, before he decidedly sucks on the sensitive area. You whimper, and he chuckles up against your thigh. His detailed attention is on the lovely crease of your ass cheek. Open mouthed kisses, and licks leave a slippery trail that mimics the dripping wetness from your pussy.

By the time he’s done with your other leg, you feel soaked. You rub your thighs together, the stockings scratching and creating a pleasant friction. You increase your pace. Doflamingo stands up in time to watch your salacious movements. He laughs before slipping a leg in between them to stop you.

“Enough,” he says, trying to hide his humor. “You’re always trying to do something like this. Can’t you stop being a slut long enough to quietly take your punishment for once? You’re always  making me work twice as hard. Be a damn good girl,” he finishes with a snarl. “And stay fucking still.” His thick fingers seize the stocking over your ass and he rips them open. You gasp and barely have time to process that when he is seizing the band of your panties. You know what he’s about to do but you cry out all the same when the fabric rips as well, leaving you completely exposed.

He would never admit it. Doflamingo would rather be strung up, beaten, burned and humiliated than to admit it. He’d choose imprisonment or death before he admits how the sight of you bent over his desk, pussy glistening already with your arousal, has him thinking stupid, feverish, foolish thoughts.

He should fuck them out of his mind while he still could.

His teeth find their mark on the swell of one ass cheek. You cry out when he digs in, leaving bruises that bloom into pink-purple flowers in the shape of teeth. He leaves mark, after mark, until he has counted eight total. His mouth presses at the top of your crack, a soft kiss that you know could only lead to debauchery. You wiggle your hips, trying to shake him off. Doffy tightens his hold on your hips, and slams you down on the desk. There will be more bruises on top of the old fading ones but you don’t care. The only thing you care about is the way his tongue is following the path of your crack.

“D-Doffy!” you stutter, slamming your tied hands down on the desk repeatedly to try to get his attention. His hold on your hips is unshakeable. You close your eyes tightly, when they move to your cheeks. “You don’t have to do this.”

He pulls your ass cheeks apart. “Don’t be stupid,” he tells you without looking away. He frowns down at your puckered hole, two shades darker than the rest of your skin. “I do as I please and you…” he pauses to tilt his head. He is aware you can’t see him but he shoots an incredulous look at the  back of your head. “Did you forget you are the one being punished? You have no right to say anything.”

With his case spoken for, he turns his attention to your hole once more. With your ass cheeks spread, he dives in, his tongue flush against your crack. His tongue circles your hole in a way that deeply shames you. The tickling pleasure makes your toes curl, and you try to keep quiet, try to still the small twitches of your belly as pleasure builds inside you. His circles become tighter and tighter, faster. Your neck pulls your head back. You cry out, a long soft moan hanging in the air.

Doflamingo pulls away to look at your sweating forehead. He grins. “Heh,” he chuckles, pulling your ass cheeks apart once more. “Look at you. You keep forgetting your place.”

He takes a rattling breath, nose wrinkled. Doflamingo hacks and spits into your hole. A glob of foamy white saliva hangs on your hole before it slowly drips down to your bright and puffy pussy. He leans back, fingers still digging into the supple flesh of your ass. You feel him let go of one cheek, and his thumb moves towards the middle. There's a protest forming in your mouth. It tumbles clumsily out of your lips, but he’s pressing his thumb against your hole regardless. He presses it further in, tip sliding in even when you try to speak again.

You cry out as he makes it past the first knuckle. He moves it inside you, soft wide circles. Your hips buck as you try to get away from him, a building pressure around your asshole. You whimper, and moan, the sensation so intense and so strange it scares you. He laughs when you ask him to wait. He laughs again when you sigh in relief when he pulls out his thumb. He laughs, lastly, when he inserts index and middle finger instead and you cry out. You’re banging your hands on the desk again, words almost unintelligible flying out of your mouth. You hate the way your folds are slick with your arousal, how your moans don’t stop no matter how many times you command them to go away in your mind.

“Oh?” you hear Doffy say, your fingers gripping the edge of the desk as he thrusts his fingers into your hole, time and time again. He is rough enough to shake you, to keep your hips pushing and bruising against the hardwood of the desk. “All of a sudden you can speak? How interesting. Should have done that two days ago.”

He reminds himself he is merciful, sometimes, and pulls his fingers away when you give a painful cry. Doflamingo looks down at his fingers, a frown heavy on his brows. He reaches for the back of you, and wipes them clean on your crisp white shirt, careful to go under the fingernails.  “You know,” he says, looking down at your dripping pussy. You’re so wet you’re soaking down the inside of your thighs. Shiny folds greet him, beckoning him for a lick or two, a good suck, a good fuck.  “You kept saying it was dirty while I was fingering you but you’re the dirty one. You’re fucking soaked.”

Doflamingo isn’t a man who kneels. He grabs your hips and pulls you up, helps you fold your legs so that your knees are on the desk. You lean forward on your elbows. Your breathing is loud, and erratic. The heat circling around you feels suffocating. Sweat covers your neck, and you feel it slipping down between your breasts. You can’t see him, but you feel him moving behind you again. His mouth hovering over your pussy. You take a deep breath, as the high of expectation seizes you. You’re desperate. You want to feel his mouth on your pussy. You want him to lick you and suck on you until you cum but Doflamingo has other plans.

He touches your entrance lightly with the tip of his tongue. Just as lightly, he traces your entrance. You flinch, and whimper. You move your hips, trying to follow his mouth. Doflamingo tuts and grabs your hips. “Six,” he says testily. “If you don’t stay still I will stop being so kind.”

He licks lightly over each lip. “You need to come to terms with this already,” he says breathing against your clit. He puffs hot air against your sensitive nub. Your toes curl in pleasure. Doflamingo brushes his closed mouth against your swollen clit. “I know what you want, and you’re not getting it. That’s my justice.” He kisses the opening of your pussy before kissing your clit. “Now just take it.” He parts his lips and bites down on your clit.

The heat of his mouth disappears. You whine, feeling cheated and petulant. Doflamingo slaps your pussy for your brattiness. “Apologize,” he says sharply. “You haven’t uttered a single apology. Did I not say you’ve injured me?” He slaps your pussy again. The sting is shocking, humiliating. You grip the edge of the desk so hard you fear your fingernails will split. “Apologize, Six,” he growls and slaps you one more time. You cry out, feeling pleasure jolt down the inside of your thighs. You’re dripping wetter and wetter. Your body is trembling as you struggle to keep yourself up in this position. Your biceps are burning, your thighs quivering. 

“I’m sorry!” you mutter quickly. It is the best you can manage at the moment but it appears dissatisfactory. Doflamingo slaps your aching cunt again. “I said I’m sorry! I'm so sorry!”

“Good,” he says, rubbing his hand roughly over your pussy. You moan, almost purr, as he slathers your slick all over. “Now thank me.”

You gasp, and turn your face around. You don’t understand what he says at first, so he repeats himself. Still you splutter: “What?”

Another slap to your sensitive puffy pussy has you arching your back with a cry.

“I said, say thank you,” Doflamingo mutters over your ear. You feel his body leaning over your back. “Don’t forget your manners. It should be considered a blessing that I'm even touching you.” He slaps your pussy one last time. “And you say?”

You mumble it at first. He can’t hear you so he grabs your cunt tightly. “What did you say? Enunciate, Six. Do you know how to speak?”

“Y-yes, sir. I said thank you. Thank you so much,” you breathed out, lungs burning from the effort. He chuckles lightly against your ear.

“Better. Much better,” he says before kissing your ear and pulling away. 

Doflamingo seizes your hips, and swiftly flips you around. The sudden movement causes your stomach to dip, and you cry out, arms flying out to grasp anything. You feel his shoulders, and grip tightly. Doflamingo shakes you off without finesse. He pushes your back on the desk, and pulls you towards the edge of the desk by the hips. He pulls your legs up, until your thighs are flushed against his front. Your knees bend, and your lower legs drape over his shoulders.

“These,” you hear him hiss around your ankles. Doflamingo’s nose brushes against the top of one foot–exposed by a kitten heel. “Are also atrocious. We’re throwing these out too. Every single one.”

He takes them off your feet quickly. You wiggle your toes, taking advantage of the only freedom you have currently. Your silent moment of victory is short lived. Doflamingo is tearing at your stockings against, revealing your feet. Your breath catches in your chest as you feel a hot wetness on the inside of one foot. It tickles pleasantly. Still, you wiggle your toes.

“Stop,” he growls against your foot, moving his mouth to your toes. He sucks on them noisily, one at a time. Drool slides down in between your toes, and you crinkle your nose. It is an odd sensation, but you refuse to pull your feet away. This temporary moment of discomfort was not enough to make you risk his wrath. 

He tires of your feet and at your lack of reaction. He tires of the way his breathing is ragged, how heat has forced him to sweat right through his shirt. He tires of the way his erection is throbbing in his pants. 

Doflamingo fights against it by seizing the front of your shirt. He pulls in one go, buttons ripping from their seams. They fly out in different directions, zooming past your face and his. You feel one hit your forehead. Another bounces off one of the lenses of Doflamingo’s shades. He cackles, amused by his own little stunt. He is laughing still as he leans forward, your legs bending with his actions. You feel his hardened cock press against your heated pussy. You’re maddened at the thought. You want the fabric separating you to disappear and curse your lack of strength. You are so consumed with your desire to have him inside you, deep and hard, that his bites barely register. He is nipping over the swell of your breasts.

There is no delicacy or tenderness to his actions. He has pointedly reminded you, time and time again, that this was not done in pleasure. This was your punishment. So he clamps down hard on your tender flesh, and covers your tits in dark pink bruises. You cry out each time, body trembling from a mixture of pain and ecstasy. Doflamingo loses interest when there’s no more room to mark so he shifts to your belly. He bites and sucks where he can. He leaves his imprint on your skin, for you to see later in solitude and think of him; only of him.

Your ribcage calls his name and he drags his tongue up and over it. He counts each ribcage in his mind, and leaves a bite for each one.

The assault is endless. The desk becomes an altar with you as a sacrifice. Doflamingo lights a fire, tall and full of rage, with every drag of his sharp teeth, with every desperate suck against your skin.

His mind is a mess. He can only think of tearing you open. He can only think of digging inside you, to rifle through your insides to see what was crawling in there that did not belong. He wanted to see himself in every part of you, slowly consuming you until there was nothing left but the spirit of him.

You; his carnal legacy. 

His tongue drags at a painfully slow pace over your nipples when he pulls your bra down with a wild tug. Doflamingo draws shapes that he has no names for over the swell of your breasts. His fingers pinch your erect nipples, and he lets your cries guide him. You moan when he flicks them with his thumbs, and he knows this is punishment. But what good was a punishment that punished him? He couldn’t hold out any longer.

He dives against your breasts, his mouth sucking in a nipple with viciousness. Your back arches as he bites town and tugs. Pain makes your nipple throb, and you aim at his shoulder with your tied hands. He deflects you and pushes you back down on the desk.

There is no apology, no words to soothe you or pacify you. You didn’t expect any anyway. Instead, he lifts your breasts to lick the underside of them. His hands knead your breasts as he pushes against your heated core. His erection is enticing, and you move your hips against him. You hear his breathing against your ear picking up speed before it disappears.

You breathe through your mouth, quick little pants that make your chest burn. You hear a buckle, and a zipper coming undone. You swallow thickly, fingers twitching where you’re holding them against your chest.

Doflamingo looks down at you as he pulls his cock out of his underwear. It bounces against the flat of his belly. A hand moves to  grasp it, and it pumps it lazily. His eyes are too busy devouring your body instead. You are a mess on his desk. There is your arousal leaking out of you, pooling under your ass. Your skin is bruised and battered. Your chest rises and falls in rapid succession. He smiles.

You are pathetic. You are a mess, and you are all his.

He presses the angry tip of his cock against your entrance. You clamp down on your lip, and before you can fully ready yourself, he snaps his hips and bottoms out inside you in one move.

A cry gets stuck in your throat, and your mouth is open but no sound comes out. Your back is arched, even as he pummels into you relentlessly. His cock feels divine. It is thick, pushing against your walls, a stretch so satisfying you wish you could feel it time and time again. Everytime he snaps his hips you can hear the loud slapping of his balls against your pussy.

You’re whining, and moaning, thrashing in place. The sounds almost overpower the sound of wetness. The squelching sound of your pussy makes him smile. He holds on tightly to your knees as they’re folded over his shoulders, busily watching his glistening cock slide in and out of you. 

“Oh, now you really have a lot to say, huh?” he grunts as he increases his pace, his hips slamming against your ass time and time again. You whimper, feeling your pussy starting to get sore but the fire inside you continues to build. The pain is not enough to make you want to stop. “Now you want to give me your goddamn attention.”

Not that he’d stop for you. Not when he’s like this.

You’re being far too loud for his liking. It is driving him mad with lust. He reaches out to the desk, his hand pawing blindly as he continues to snap his hips. You’re so tight around him it makes him clench his teeth. His fingers touch moist fabric, and he grabs the sad remains of your panties. 

“Be quiet for a second,” he tells you and shoves the panties in your mouth. You gag, and cough. He hears your mumbling against the fabric, but it is muffled. He chuckles in delight. “Better. Much better.”

Now that your moaning is not ringing in his ears, leading him away from reason, he can focus on his work. He watches your tits bounce on your chest. They jerk every time he slams against you so he goes even harder, delighted at the sight of them. He closes his eyes, focuses on the lewd sounds of your wet pussy, the way air slips in and makes inappropriate sounds. He chuckles, admiring the way your walls start clamping around him.

“You’re gonna cum already?” he asks you. “Oh. That’s right. You can’t talk right now.” He laughs at your muffled cries. Sweat is coating his chest. He feels his shirt sticking to his lower back. The heat is all consuming, and so is the heat of your pussy. It is greedily sucking him back in every time he pulls out.

He groans loudly, when he feels you cumming. Your toes curl, and spit soaks your panties. You taste the saltiness of your arousal on the fabric and breathe out through your nose, trying your best to catch your breath. Your orgasm is violent. Your body jerks as it continues to course through you. Doflamingo doesn’t let up, and he edges you closer and closer to an ecstasy that is almost unbearable. You scream against your panties, legs shaking. You’re so overstimulated you feel tears wetting the silk of your blindfold.

Your drool is slipping down your chin, and down your neck. It collects on the hollow of your neck. You catch a ragged breath, and pray–pray for release. At this rate Doflamingo will  be the end of you–or at the very least, the end of your pussy.

Doflamingo chases your high down. Demands it comes back. He isn’t done yet, despite the bruises already starting on the bones of his hips. He feels that cushiony spot inside you and he rams his tip into it, time and time again. Your legs twitch and you give another shrill cry.

Just when you think you could die, heat forms once more. A coil so tight, binds itself at the pit of your belly. You feel a strange urge, as if you desperately need to go. You try to warn Doflamingo but he’s not listening and you are too weak to fight anymore. Your back snaps, and your vision goes from black to white. You feel liquid gush out of you.

Doflamingo gives a startled gasp, he watches you soak his pants with mild irritation.

“Goddammit,” he mutters, still thrusting inside you. “There’s just no end to your nastiness. You just had to ruin my pants? I am almost done dealing with your punishment and now I have to think of another one. You are nothing but trouble, my Butterfly.”

You mumble something he can’t interpret and doesn’t care to do so. His laughter rumbles in his chest as he continues to snap his hips, on and on and on. 

“You’re mine, you know that?” he tells you and turns his face to kiss one knee. “You’re my slut.” His voice is a hoarse growl. Teeth flashing white. “You are my butterfly. My captive poor pathetic little thing. You’ll never leave me, do you hear me? I’ll never let you go. You’ll always be tangled up with me.” You whimper, and thrash in place. “You’ll never be able to leave. Not that you want to. You like this too much. The way I fuck you.”

He is right, of course. The thoughts of leaving his side were fleeting. You couldn’t picture a life without him. If it meant living in his shadow until he turned to look at you then so be it. You didn’t care about the pitiful glances people gave you or the thinly veiled words of advice. You had decided a long time ago that this is where you would be happy to die, underneath his forceful hand.

“You belong to me. You have no right to deny me anything,” he reminds you, as he leans forward to nip at your bottom lip. He kisses you, and you think you might die. It had been so long, you thought the day would never come. You moan when he presses his mouth against yours. You dare to part your lips, to seek out his tongue but he is gone as quickly as he came. “You can only adore me. You can only look at me and think of me.”

He rips the panties out of your mouth and you gasp for air, gulping and gulping. Doflamingo wraps his fingers around your throat as he continues to fuck you.

“Say it,” he hisses, his voice breaking. “Say it’s only me you want.”

You swallow and nod slightly. “It’s you. I only want you.” You say his name, over and over. Doflamingo smiles widely, feeling at the moment, victorious. 

And with this sense of euphoria, he feels himself close. He pulls out quickly, leaving you aching and pulsing around nothing. Doflamingo pumps his cock desperately, roughly, a few times before he spills all over your battered pussy. His cum is hot and you flinch as it touches your sensitive skin. There’s drops on your belly, and on each side of your inner thighs. The cum on your pussy drips slowly and eases towards your ass.

Your mind is fuzzy. Your body is still hot, and everything is aching and throbbing. He’s moving again, you feel him ahead of you grabbing things from the ground. Doflamingo wipes his hands on the ripped clothing before he drops them on your belly.

“Clean up,” he commands in a congenial tone, shoving his half hardened cock into his soiled pants. He adjusts as best as he can and zips up. “I got you a new dress for tonight. It is imperative that you wear it for dinner. Are you listening, Butterfly?

You don’t have the strength to speak. Your throat feels raw from all the crying and moaning. So you nod, once, twice.

“I’ll be waiting for you,” he says. His voice sounds distant. You hear his footsteps, farther away. There’s a click at the door, before it closes. Then silence.

He leaves you on the desk, blindfolded, naked and worn out to the sound of your heart beating in your ears.

[not-5-rats]

---

Nobody benefits from Bugs escape, it's unlikely much good will come from it

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Sure Bug got to live another day but the weight of knowing they're all after them, knowing they can never return to their normal life, they'll forever be labelled as a traitor no matter what they did next, it eats away at them, infecting the back of their mind, rotting it right through. They're scared and constantly alert, they can't rest, they can't take care of themself and they're on the verge of total collapse, each day drawing them closer and closer to total insanity

---

Bodie's already stressed out of his mind, mean he's been trying to keep Timmy and himself hidden out here, now he has to stop Bug from runnung out there too!? It was hard enough before, now Bug's in genuine danger, if Bug doesn't go crazy he might. He tries not to let it show, he tries to keep up his duty as 'guardian' and carer for those in the swamps...but it's clear things aren't alright, he doesn't talk as much and his voice seems strained whenever he does. He's struggling, but this is his job right? It's what he's meant to do. He wants to do this, to care, to shield, but...he'd be lying if he said it wasn't hard

---

Would you rather die or live knowing your entire life had just flipped on its head? Everything you knew has changed, nothing will ever be as it was. Could you ever accept an entierly new reality? Balancing mourning with moving, accept the past whilst embracing the new era. Could you ever face what Timmy was forced to? For years he'd lived not having a family, he had his father figure, somewhere between a father and a brother, and sure, he was family...but Timmy knew he'd never know where he came from, who he came from. He knew himself to be a gator, nothing more, he had his odd traits, his unique features but he was still a gator. That's what he knew, all his life, this was the truth in his mind. Yet somehow, in one day, the world he knew had fallen apart and he was thrown into a different dimension, a place he was unfamiliar with. His parents, they were alive, they were here, they...they didn't know him. It was so weird, he finally met those who made him, the ones responsible for his existence and they knew nothing about him...the only thing they knew was the thing he'd been unaware of, he knew who he was, but they knew what he was. Part dragon. He wasn't a weird gator. He was a gator-dragon thing. Such a large part of his identity turned out not to be entierly true. When your understanding of yourself is pulled out from under you and you're sent falling how do you move past that? How do you refind what you were sure you'd never lose?

Not only does he have to find himself, he has to find out where in his life his parents will fit. They're staying with him for now, they're a part of his life...but what part are they playing? Could he ever see them as what they were meant to be? The emotional spot of 'father' had been filled by the same person for years, his entire life, how was he meant to push that aside to allow this..guy to take his place? Would he be able to fill it as well as Bodie had?...how could he know without putting himself on the brim of emotional ruins.

He'd fallen from the comforts of his home to the edge of a cliff, barely tipping on the edge. As his heels rocked against the floor he could look back and see his old home, a place where things were simpler, he didn't have to deal with these sort of pains, the questions he couldn't avoid. He knew he'd never make it back to there, return was not an option. He could stay here on the cliff, clinging to the remains of his life before, being taunted by the new void below but never committing to seeing what was down there. Or...he could let go, he could send himself tumbling, down into the darkness, he couldn't be sure what was there, good or bad, he'd only know if he let go. If he accepted the chance. The chance that maybe they could be what he needed, a family he'd never known. It could be perfect. He just had to let them try

---

Oh and Marco won't get to travel for a while cause trauma and wanting to stay with the family for a bit ig

[kyndredravenstories]

Eyes of Infinity: Delirium Chapter 10

Hello, I have been posting my work on AO3 and recently decided to venture here to Tumblr. Please note: This story is 18+. No minors. Please read tags carefully. Link to AO3 below but I will also be posting the chapters here.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/53564641/chapters/149322682

Pairing: Sylus/Female MC with some elements of Xavier/Female MC

Genre: Romance, Drama, Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Angst, Adventure, Smut, Porn with Big Plot and Big Feelings

Content Warning (For the entire fic): Explicit sexual content, spoilers and alterations to existing lore and cards/memories/tender moments/secret times, size kink, size difference, vaginal sex, cunnilingus, anal sex, fingering, all kinds of fingering, elements of consensual somno, dom!Sylus, jealousy, possessive!Sylus, Mephisto stalking, typical game violence, battle and combat

Summary: To love him meant stepping over the threshold and crossing into darkness. To be with him meant accepting the lure of the shadows. And to protect him from betrayal meant sacrifice. I knew not how, only that I would not let time sever our paths ever again.

Previous Chapters: Ch 1 / Ch 2 / Ch 3 / Ch 4 / Ch 5 / Ch 6 / Ch 7 / Ch 8 / Ch 9

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Give yourself to her...she's right here...so close...so very very close...

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Nearly two days after he found Ellara in the N109 Zone, Xavier stands before their shared apartment building holding his sleeping partner in his arms. Though its only been a few days, it seems like he hasn't seen this building in ages. It's a far cry from anything luxurious, but this aging building has been 'home' for several years now.

He takes a moment to collect himself, breathing deeply of the crisp winter air. The falling snow should be a relaxing sight; it typically is. But, not tonight. On this night, he can't let his guard down, can't relax yet. They left N109 and its perils behind. But, just because they've made it to Linkon doesn't mean they're safe. Eyes could still be watching. In fact, an unwelcome intruder already is.

Up above, a large crow circles and settles on a light pole. Its eerie red eyes observe his every move.

Choosing to ignore this particular development, Xavier hugs his beloved's petite body close, giving himself a moment -- just that -- to feel her warmth against his cheek. He takes it in, using it to fuel his resolve. Within his core, his Evol pulses and writhes. It eats at the edge of his awareness --whispering, beckoning -- and it takes all of Xavier's self-control to keep it in check.

He should take her to his apartment, not hers. It's only logical. She'll be safer there, on his couch, tucked against him while she sleeps. Yes, far from prying eyes. In his arms where she belongs.

With great effort, Xavier shakes off the voiceless whispers and focuses on the task before him. Right now, the priority is to get Ellara home safely. Nothing else matters. Not the mark on her neck, or the crow leering down from above, or the long-imprisoned monster now lurking in his thoughts and making its demands. Jeremiah is already working on a new Limiter. Just need to wait it out until he can get it working.

If only the last week hadn't been so harrowing. He needs sleep. And food. Medical help probably for his injuries. His body is on the verge of collapse, and losing that Limiter isn't helping anything. Breaking the collar was not something he'd intended to do. But, the battle hadn't left him much choice. Or rather, Sylus hadn't left him any recourse.

What was he supposed to do? Walk away and let that monster keep his Ellara in his claws?

Again, he shakes his head.

Escaping the N109 Zone had proven to be much harder than Xavier had anticipated, even with help from his contacts. Based on the intel he had on Noxis, only a handful of sectors and areas were free of their surveillance. He couldn't risk them catching wind of Ellara's whereabouts, so they'd had to take the long way out. Truth be told, he hadn't even wanted to take her back here.

His apartment may not be safe, either. They were watching...always watching...

No.

She needs to heal. She needs to return to some normalcy in order to recover both in mind and in body.

And, he needs time as well.

So many things will only get much harder from here. Keeping her safe will require all of his strength and fortitude. Noxis will seek every opportunity to capture Ellara's Aether Core. No doubt they want to use it to make LUMINIS even more powerful. If anything was made clear with the disaster at the Mythe, it's that Noxis isn't some two-bit upstart looking to corner the market on a simple drug. Someone is planning to do something grave with LUMINIS. This operation isn't new. It's been in play for some time, and those leading it know exactly what they're doing.

Clenching his jaw so hard his teeth hurt, Xavier looks up towards the third floor of the building. Taking the elevator seems too daunting at the moment, so he Jumps. Taking care not to jostle the sleeping woman in his arms, he teleports a few feet above her balcony then floats down until his feet softly touch the tile. The sliding door is unlocked, and he manipulates his Evol to open the door and allow him entry.

Though it's been over a week since she's been home, her apartment still smells like her. Strawberries and cherry blossoms. Sweet, addictive. Her favorite lotion from a hole in the wall boutique down in the Azure District. A pile of detective and fantasy novels sits atop her living room table, their covers full of scuffs and creases. On the couch, her Betsy doll smiles at him from beneath Ellara's favored blanket.

Everything looks as though she hasn't left. Neat. Organized. Tidy.

With one small difference.

Someone's definitely been here.

Taking great care not to wake her, Xavier lays Ellara on the couch. He adjusts her injured arm so that the sling he forced her to wear doesn't twist. She doesn't stir, sleeping like the dead. Her palor hasn't improved since he first saw her, either. He hasn't been able to confirm it, but something is definitely wrong with her Evol. Now that the collar no longer binds him, he can feel it clear as day.

A winter breeze comes through the open balcony door, and Ellara shivers in her sleep. He should lay down beside her and wrap her in his warmth. Keep her safe from the cold. But, someone's been here, and there's no telling what they took or left behind. Now was not the time to lay down arms. He needed to investigate the place first.

His gaze gentle yet alert, Xavier covers Ellara with her favorite blanket and stands up. In his hand, he summons the hilt of a golden blade, ready to engage in combat if the need arises. He moves silently to her kitchen, bathroom, and bedroom. A sigh of relief; a release of tension in his shoulders. No one else is here, and Xavier takes a breath to keep his Evol and emotions steady.

He goes back to her bedroom. Her theme of gray, white, and black continues here from the living room. A cute desk stands against the wall, the cork board in front of it covered in small baubles, photo stickers, and plushies. Xavier smiles when he sees that most of the photos are of their times spent visiting the arcades in Linkon.

The bed is made, and all clothes and items are put away neatly. Not a thing looks to be out of place except for a single duffle bag sitting on Ellara's bed. It's new. Not hers. Wary, he walks up to its perch on the edge of the mattress and unzips it. Inside is a bunch of clothes packed into stacks based on use: shirts, pants, socks. Too neatly packed for his little workaholic. She always works too late on her reports and packs her things at the last minute, forgetting half of what she needs at home.

Something different about the closet, too. He shuffles to it but hesitates at the door. His instinct warns him not to open it. But, he needs to investigate. What if this is what's got him on edge? Of course. Now is not the time to hold back. He needs to ensure that this apartment is safe. Steeling himself, he grits his teeth and slides open the door.

Ellara is a frugal woman. She wears the same three sets of uniforms for work and only has a few everyday clothes that all fit neatly into bins on the closet shelves. Her hangars are usually empty. But now, something bulky hangs wrapped in a white designer clothes bag like a bright centerpiece. On the zipper hangs a slim stretch of paper with a single word on it scribbled in impeccable penmanship:

"Raincheck."

Xavier reaches for it.

Open it. Don't be a coward.

Against his better judgment, he unzips the bag all the way to the bottom. From within spills an extravagant evening dress with a stitching of the night sky stretching over a river. It's made of the finest silk and stitched with golden thread. Precious gems adorn the breathtaking scenery. A long flowing skirt ripples down to the floor. The quality is second to none. Without a doubt, it's a work of art. One of a kind.

Ellara will be a vision in this. Radiant, like a Goddess of the moon.

Shame it is not intended for you.

Anger simmers like an acid pill in his gut.

Because this item is clearly not something Ellara would ever buy for herself.

And who else could it be from but him, the same man that had dared to take her deep into the darkness, to touch her with his filthy hands, and to mark her like he owned her?

How dare he?

For centuries, Xavier had waited. Prayed and hoped. Then waited again. And at last -- at long last! -- he'd found her in a place where her life was her own. In a time when she could live as she desired and could choose him. He'd vowed not to interfere with her free will -- vowed to let her decide of her own volition whether she wanted their paths to unite. More than anything, he wanted her health and happiness, even if that wasn't by his side.

But, never had he really imagined that she might choose someone else instead.

Dizzy with fury, he stumbles back into the living room to stand before the couch. He watches Ellara sleep, his hands trembling and his heart in his throat. His nails dig into his palm as his hand clenches into a fist. He fights against the voice, so loud now. So insistent.

...she's so warm...and alive...alive at last...and mine... MINE ...

Why should he fight it? The voice was possessive, yes. Extreme, perhaps. But, it had a point. Nothing was yet decided. Sylus had played his cards, and now it was Xavier's turn. He'd waited on the sidelines long enough. He wasn't going to surrender her heart without a fight.

But, the voice was wrong, too.

Her free will mattered above all else. His vow was eternal, and he would never break it no matter how his soul cracked and shattered. He loved this woman more than his own unnatural immortal life, bought at the expense of her very heart. And it was that heart that he would protect with all he had.

From any who would harm it.

Even the monster inside of him.

As though sensing his determination, Sylus's crow flutters in through the open door and settles on a nearby bookshelf. It's crimson eyes narrow as it stares Xavier down.

Time to take care of this particular nuisance. He raises his hand, prepared to strike the unnatural thing down with his Evol, when his Hunter's watch rings with a message from an unknown number. He accepts it, grimacing when he reads the contents.

Be content with your role...or risk losing the gift you've been granted.

He types back without hesitation: "The loss will only be yours."

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Twenty four days, nineteen hours...

That's how much time passes from the moment when my life shattered on the rocks of chaos. Or maybe it wasn't a moment. Maybe it was a specific day? I can't be sure. So much happened in such a short amount of time that I can still hardly wrap my head around it all. In just a few weeks, I'd gone from living a calm and ordinary life as a Deepspace Hunter to facing one dramatic turn after another.

I'm losing my identity - my very purpose.

Who am I, if not a Hunter fighting Wanderers?

Who am I, if not Xavier's trusted partner?

Who am I, if not a lonely young woman who loves reading about detectives and fantastical new realms to a candlelit microwave dinner?

I try to think back on how it all started, wondering if maybe there was something I could have done differently to prevent this downward spiral.

Upon returning to Linkon, Xavier and I checked ourselves into Akso Hospital to treat our injuries. Doctor Zayne happened to be on shift. After hearing about my near-death experience, he was more than glad to help in screening me for any major after-effects. While succumbing to his battery of tests and inquiries, we reached out to Captain Jenna to schedule a debriefing.

As expected, the Captain was relieved to hear that I was alive and seemed to believe our story about me being injured and staying with a friend to lay low for a while. Naturally, the conversation turned to the truth about what happened in the club the night of the explosions. Reluctantly, we gave her everything we had on Noxis. There was no one better than Xavier and I to continue the investigation, and she was poised to place us at the head of it once our injuries were healed.

That's where everything started falling apart.

Doctor Zayne returned, and when he dismissed everyone from the room to speak to me, I knew something was seriously wrong. He didn't disappoint. Showing me the result of one test after another, he revealed a disturbing fact.

My Evol was gone.

Completely.

Something was blocking the Evol channels in my body, and if it wasn't resolved soon, my heart would be affected. The bouts of exhaustion I'd been facing weren't a result of the darkness in the N109 Zone. My Aether Core was shutting down, and there was no guarantee that one of these times, it wouldn't take my entire heart with it. At least, that was the theory. Not enough was really known about altered bodies like mine. Maybe Zayne was taking it too seriously; or maybe I wasn't taking it seriously enough.

Whatever the case, I asked him to keep it confidential. I didn't want anyone to know, especially Xavier. A solution was out there. I just needed to find it. Zayne said it could be temporary. If so, I just needed to figure out what would jump start my body back into its normal function. I wanted to remain positive. The alternative simply wasn't acceptable. I had too much to live for; too much still to do.

Though Zayne agreed to keep my sudden health problem a secret, I couldn't necessarily hide that something was amiss. He gave the Association a cursory diagnosis, claiming that I had a temporary disability due to my injuries. That's what we used for official record. However, the disappearance of my Evol rendered me basically useless in my former role as an S-Class Hunter. I retained my physical combat skills, but I couldn't Resonate with any of my weapons. I was more of a burden in combat than an ally, and with how fast paced and dynamic S-Class missions were, nobody could take the risk.

The first week went by in a flash of shattered hopes. I trained relentlessly, pinning everything on how weak my body was after my ordeal at the Mythe. I trained until I was ready to fall over. Yet, no matter how much I pushed my body, my Evol remained dormant.

On the second week, I was placed on extended medical leave. Suspension in all but name. Jenna wanted to reassign Xavier to a different Hunter as a partner, but he pulled some strings to avoid that. The thought was appreciated, but it did no good. Though my partnership with Xavier wasn't nullified, I was not allowed to accompany him on any missions.

After my diagnosis, he'd thrown himself into the Noxis investigations. He was determined to find out as much information as possible about the substance. We were both on the same wavelength. If my condition was caused by the LUMINIS spilling on me at the Mythe, we needed an antidote. This goal ultimately separated us for days on end, leaving me feeling useless and alone.

Tara was still in the hospital recovering after her kidnapping. She'd been transferred from the hospital in the Arctic to Akso just a few days before our return to Linkon. Unfortunately for us, she had no memory of who had attacked her. I visited her when I could, but she had her own battles to fight with physical therapy and getting back into her work at the lab.

To help ease my loneliness and help me feel more connected to what was happening, Xavier brought me to his friend Jeremiah. He was a tech genius and helped me obtain and configure a new phone and Hunter's watch. Since I was on suspension, my access to the UNICORNS database was revoked. Somehow, he helped me get past that. At the very least, I could do research now.

I started to lose hope in the third week. By the fourth, I couldn't sleep and hardly had any appetite. Worse yet, Sylus hadn't contacted me even once since we were separated on the battlefield. At first, I was worried something had happened. But then, doubts plagued me. More than once, I found myself brooding over what the twins had told me about being a prisoner or something Sylus was merely using for entertainment. A disturbing thought began to haunt me: had Sylus known about the disappearance of my Evol? Is that why he'd sent me away? Was I no longer useful to him without it?

I couldn't believe that he hadn't tried to reach me even once. The only line I had to him was Mephisto, who followed me everywhere I went. The crow's presence was oddly reassuring. At the very least, it helped remind me that I hadn't dreamed up everything that had happened in N109. Mephisto was Sylus's companion. He wouldn't have sent him to follow me if he didn't care about me. Right?

As I sit on my couch trying to understand where to turn or what to do next, my phone suddenly rings with a tone I've never heard before. I look down at the flashing notification.

Message from "Unknown". Do you accept?

I click the confirmation.

Are you tired of being on the sidelines? If you are, meet me at the Destiny Café tonight at 9PM. Come alone.

I hesitate. My hands start to tremble with excitement and fear. This doesn't sound like something Sylus would say, but who else would write a message like this?

I type back: "Who is this?"

To my surprise, my phone rings again.

What you choose to call me doesn't matter. I already told you, didn't I?

Biting my lip, I type a response: "Malakai?"

I have what you want most and a proposition to go with it. Will you wait until your heart stops beating at some random moment? Or will you come to me and make a trade? It's up to you.

I suck in a breath.

What I want most?

He can't be talking about an antidote, can he?

I jump to my feet and run to my closet. Sliding open the door, I notice a strange empty hanger I hadn't seen there before. Did Xavier bring it from his place? Shaking my head, I focus on getting dressed. I put on my Hunter uniform and holster two regular hand guns to my hips. I pull on a pair of combat boots and tie my hair into a braid. Glancing at my watch, I check the time:

2:15 PM

It's still early, but I want to go and scope out the scene before the meeting time. The Destiny Café is a very public place with many visitors and patrons. The 24-Hour venue is a popular hot spot for everyone from couples to gaming nerds who want to get away from the hustle and bustle of the every day. It has a public open bar, an internet café, and private rooms that can be rented for a fee per hour. No doubt Malakai will have rented one of these. If so, I can check the records with the staff. Though I'm on suspension, my Hunter's watch and uniform should make me look legit enough to gain some information without too much resistance. 

Would Malakai really try something under such public scrutiny? 

This could be a trap. It probably is. Absolutely. Definitely. But, I don't have the luxury to risk refusing. If Malakai has an antidote, then I have to try to get it. I don't know what connection he has to Noxis or why he was at the Mythe that fateful night, but this is a lead I absolutely can't ignore. His threat about my heart already has me sweating bullets. I've been trying to ignore Zayne's warnings, hoping that it was just his paranoia. But now, a second person has mentioned the possibility of my heart stopping. If that's true, then I'm living on borrowed time. Either I go and risk falling into a trap, or I stay here and wait for death to take me. When put that way, the choice seems clear. 

Is there anything I can do to try to protect myself, though? Jumping into the fire is something my old self would have done without thinking. But, I'm wiser now. At least, I want to believe so. I consider texting Xavier, but I hesitate. He's on a mission right now, and I don't want to distract him. But, I'd promised Sylus that I wouldn't be reckless, and I never want to see so much pain in Xavier's eyes again.

Running my hand through my hair and letting out a frustrated burst of air, I type him a quick text to let him know what's going on. Our relationship has been strange since our return to Linkon. He's been more distant than usual, though I can't really blame him after that awkward night at the bunker in the No Hunt Zone. I have no idea what he thinks of me anymore, and I'm too scared to assume. For the moment, I've chosen to stick my head in the sand until all of this blows over with my Evol.

I glance at Mephisto dozing on top of my TV and walk up to him. He lazily cracks open an eye. If I had to give an animal an emotion, I would have chosen "disgruntled" in this case. For a mechanical thing, he certainly has personality. Frowning, I clear my throat. I've haven't spoken to him in a while. Doing so always felt ridiculous. But, now...

"Sylus," I whisper, instantly feeling like an idiot. Despite that, I keep going.

"Sylus, I don't know if you can hear me. I don't know where you are or why you haven't reached out to me at all. Actually," my ears feel hot, "this just feels really stupid overall. But if there's a chance that you can hear me, then..." I take a breath. "I'm going to meet someone named Malakai. Tonight. Don't know if that name rings a bell. I met him at the Mythe the night I was injured. He was wearing a mask and seemed to be one of the people interested in buying LUMINIS. I have no idea if this is a trap, but he made me an offer I can't refuse."

My pride churns and boils inside me, but I take another breath and continue. "The truth is that I'm helpless right now. I don't have my Evol, and even if I did..." I hesitate. Why is it always so hard for me to ask anyone for help? Is it because I already feel weak and useless? Isn't asking for help just affirming that?

Another breath.

"This isn't courage. It's desperation, and if you can hear me I surely would appreciate some backup."

Mephisto is looking at me with both eyes now, the red within reminding me so much of his master. For a moment, I let myself feel how much I miss Sylus. How much I need him. The emotion is so strong that I have to immediately bury it deep within the back of my mind. Where I'm going, I can't afford distractions. I have to assume the worst case scenario: nobody will come to help me tonight. It'll be up to me and me alone to get myself out of this mess.

I turn towards the door and check my guns and clips one last time.

"Are you coming?" I ask Mephisto. He caws in his typical annoying way and makes a fuss as he flies over and reluctantly sits on my shoulder. "Alright. Let's do this."

[crisalidaseason]

Ninth entry: Exhausting nights.

Waking up earlier and sleeping later. The exhaustion catches up to you fast. Of course, a few hours of sleep can replenish the energies just fine…if you can sleep peacefully.

Ever since Liam became Violet’s shadow, general meetings in Xaden’s room were moved to at least an hour later than usual - to everyone’s annoyance. That night would not be any different.

After making sure Violet entered her warded room, Liam finally took a well deserved shower and decided to rest for a few minutes. The events of the night set an uncomfortable weight on his shoulders, a mocking proof of everything Liam was trying to avoid. The feeling of self doubt was brewing inside him and shame settled on his stomach, he did not have time for any of that but there was nothing rational about emotions.

That doesn’t mean you can’t hurt me.

Violet’s words still rattled in his mind. No matter how subtly - or not so much - Liam tried to convince her that Xaden cared, only his brother could be the one to actually build trust. And no matter how hard Liam tried to push Xaden towards Violet, only she would be able to slither through the iron walls he built throughout the years.

But Xaden was convinced distance was the only answer and Violet was too busy trying to survive the next challenges.

The devilish eyes Barlowe sent her haunted Liam more than he cared to admit. He knew the man stood no chance against him or Xaden, but the pure hatred in that motherfucker’s eyes could not be forgotten. That would be a problem, a real one. Liam considered for a moment if he could challenge Jack since killing him on the mat would be within Codex. He would have to ask Emetterio for the challenge.

And Xaden…Liam had honestly lost hope. His brother was making a mistake like no other and it could cost Violet’s loyalty. Liam was ready to put his hand on fire to prove she would join their cause, but he also knew the woman enough to understand how detrimental hiding the truth would be. Hiding the real threat beyond the wards, the deal with her mother, hiding Brennan Sorrengail. If someone had hidden Sloane from him after years of mourning…he would be fucking pissed.

Liam shook his head, looking for his pocket knife and block of wood. His emotions were all over the fucking place.

“Liam”

The voice startled him, the shame now bubbling through his face at the startle. He was distracted. Liam bolted to open his chambers' door immediately.

“Bodhi?”

The man was leaning beside his door, hair damp and dressed in night clothes, though he was likely ready to head to the meeting. Fuck, Liam was supposed to report before everyone else showed up. He motioned to leave the room, but Bodhi pressed a hand on his shoulder.

“Xaden canceled the meeting and also your reporting. Don’t ask me why, he did not explain”

Liam frowned at that. It was odd for Xaden to just cancel a meeting out of nowhere, and even more strange for him not to demand for a full report on Violet.

“Good news is that we get some blessed sleep, Mairi” Bodhi joked.

Maybe being Xaden’s cousin probably meant that sleep deprivation was a part of their blood, considering Bodhi seemed to be on the verge of collapsing. His dark circles were prominent and the shoulders were slumped, a mirrored image of his cousin indeed.

“Thanks” Liam replied “get some sleep”

He clasped Liam’s shoulder, bidding him a quiet goodbye. He watched as Bodhi disappeared to the next corridor, leaving Liam alone in the hallway. He was about to close his door and have a deserved sleep when the door next to his opened quickly, revealing his favorite ward.

“Violet?”

Liam frowned at the sight of her, his farsight more than capable of catching changes in her appearance. Her eyes, normally a very pale shade, were almost completely black. Her pupils had been just as dilated earlier that night but in that moment they were taking over all the expansion of her amber-blue hue.

Tairn.

He thought she had it under control, she was able to do so back in the gym.

“You all right?” he asked again once her silence did not break.

Her eyes quickly focused on him. She already had a frightening stare normally, but it was ten times worse in that state…and Liam was fucking uncomfortable.

“Are you sleeping in the hallway?” her voice is strained.

Deigh, is there something we can do?

Not necessarily. It’s her dragon’s emotions, her burden.

Yes, but…she looks strange.

“No” Liam replied to her “Just hanging out here before turning in”

She assessed him, in a more animalistic version of their first real interaction months ago. Her eyes were rapidly moving over his frame…as if she was considering him prey.

Liam shivered. What the fuck was Tairn sending her?

“Why are you looking at me like that?” he asked, pocket knife and block of wood long forgotten in his hand.

“Like what?” she said, but her mind was clearly not present.

Like she wanted to eat him or something.

“Like…Like something’s going on. You don’t look like you feel—you know—like yourself”

His words seemed to hold some effect since the pale shade of her eyes grew a little, pupil fluttering like a cat adjusting their sight. Her focus less animalistic and a hint of panic spread through her features.

“I’m good! Go to bed!” she managed to grunt, closing the door forcefully.

Liam stood there for a few minutes, not a single clue of what just happened. All he knew was that Violet had been overtaken by Tairn’s emotions again…but that particular time it did not seem to be rage that overcame her. He tried to remember if Deigh had ever sent anything other than anger through him, but with no success within his memories.

Do we all look that creepy when dragon’s send unsolicited emotions?

We do have a tendency of heightening your instincts, physically and mentally. Deigh answered.

He knocked on her door, too worried to just leave her there to deal with it on her own, but she did not answer.

The little woman is safe now and you cannot run to her aid whenever Tairn overpowers her senses. Deigh’s voice rumbled inside his head, slightly irritated.

It feels wrong to just let her be. She would have helped me!

Were you not the one who promised to trust her judgment? And we shall admit you would not accept her gesture of help anymore than she would.

Deigh was not necessarily wrong. There was scarcely anything someone could do to bring Liam back from Deigh’s rage. Violet was able to separate herself from Tairn before, he had to trust she would be able to do it again. Besides, whatever that was, Liam never wanted to experience being on the receiving end. He was still shivering while closing his door, deciding that he would deal with that in the morning, after a few hours of peaceful sleep.

Though sleep was far from peaceful.

Liam had grown used to the night terrors after five years living the same flashes over and over again. He was used to how the relic burned in sync with Codagh scorching his mother in a disturbing repetitive cycle, his heart gutting at the memory of the lifeless eyes of his father, the stabbing guilt as he witnessed - for the millionth time - Sloane’s crying features as leadership ripped her out of Liam’s arms.

That night though, his nightmares learned a new face. The body that it belonged to resting on his lap, the pale familiar face with pale eyes staring at him. Liam frowned as he watched her lips move silently, mouthing the same words over and over again. Wetness stained his left hand resting on her stomach, the horror settling as the red liquid seeped through her armor.

It’s too late. It’s too late. It’s too late.

A familiar laughter called his attention. Laying on his back was Jack Barlowe, throat slit - though the wound did not seem to bother him. The fucker stood, towering over Liam and laughing quietly, a bloody knife on his hands. Liam looked at Violet once more, but it was not her face staring back.

It was Xaden’s.

Liam gasped into the early morning. The room was bathed in the blue shade announcing dawn. He continued to breathe rapidly, pumping air into his lungs and forcing his heart to beat slower. Sitting on the bed, Liam tried to shake the nightmare off of his memory before it consumed and distracted him from his duties. No good in letting the cruel images his consciousness conjured haunt him throughout the day.

The mind is a formidable enemy, do not yield to it. Deigh whispered into his mind.

Did I wake you with?…you know, Liam asked

Your panic did, though I suppose nothing can be done about such involuntary behavior.

Sorry nonetheless, he tried.

Deigh did not reply, but he could feel the comfort through the bond. The dragon was not one for comfort, but he was a strong anchor whenever Liam seemed to wander. He sent a wave of gratefulness back to the dragon, impulsed by the interaction enough to leave the bed and prepare for the day. By the luminosity of the room, it was nearly time to leave for the archives. Liam dressed quickly, making sure to slide his latest finished sculpture in his breast pocket. Buttoning the shirt of his uniform, he slipped outside of the room, already hearing Violet’s door open.

“Good morning” he greeted, swallowing at the flash of the nightmare.

He focused on Violet’s face, finding her thankfully pale eyes full of life. There were dark shadows under them and he grimaced at the thought she might have had a terrible night dealing with Tairn’s emotions once again. He felt guilty, maybe he should have insisted in helping her.

“Good morning” she whispered, a shy smile on her lips.

“Are you feeling better?” he asked.

She nodded, but her eyes did not meet his.

“Violet” he began “I’m sorry, I should have helped you-”

“No!” she blurted louder than advised considering there were cadets sleeping around them.

Liam startled at her tone, eyes blinking.

“Sorry” she whispered again “just don’t worry, ok? There was nothing you could have done anyways, and you already do too much”

“Did you get angry again?”

She sighed, heading to the quadrant’s library to retrieve the cart. Liam followed her, but his eyes never left her face. Violet looked at him through her peripheral vision, pale cheeks flushing a deep red - to his utter confusion.

“Not really, Liam, but I ‘m also not comfortable talking about it” she muttered “just know that I got it under control really quick, don’t worry”

He nodded, not very happy about being left unaware of something, but it was probably the irony of life considering he kept worse secrets from her.

“You seem…unwell” she told him after they retrieved the cart, beginning their journey to the archives.

Her eyes focused on him completely and he had to look ahead to avoid comparing her face to the one of his nightmare. She was alive and well.

“Way to make a man feel desired” he teased.

He took the cart from her hands, allowing his hands to be occupied to hide their trembling. He was too on edge to carve anything - and the figurine was complete anyways.

“Trouble sleeping?” she asked.

He nodded, no point in lying. That was a truth he could tell her without Xaden’s nonsense. He was not comfortable talking about the contents of his nightmare though, nor would Violet be happy knowing she was indirectly the cause of his troubled sleep.

“Standard nightmares” he simply replied “I got used to it, but sometimes I wished I had a break”

Violet’s eyes continued their assessment of him, at least she was staring at Liam humanly that time.

“I know some concoctions that may help” she replied “the ones that just knock you the fuck out”

He chuckled slightly at her suggestions. He did not like sleep aid drugs, but maybe he could use one to recover for a night or two.

“I’ll take the offer” he said “though I do have some resistance to sleeping draughts”

She snorted.

“Believe me, I know drug resistance better than anyone. I’ll get you something that puts me to sleep whenever my body flares too much”

He laughed out loud.

“I’ll probably sleep for days then”

She chuckled and he felt some of the tension dissipate from his shoulders, the remnants of the nightmare were a dim light in his head.

Previous chapter

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[asofspades]

Listen, as someone who used to be this academic weapon, who handled living in a very toxic borderline abusive family situation for more than a decade, who balanced getting perfect grades while being the parentified oldest "daughter" and pushing through social anxiety, depression, swersidal thoughts and an ED all while getting bullied at school and being autistic without a formal diagnosis and far from having any help only got more expectations because of supposedly being gifted and also ignoring chronic pain and fatigue and pushing through it until we'll into college and now having burnt out because I pushed myself way too far I want to say that I feel kind of uncomfortable about people thinking that Nico's character has somehow been "nerfed" by Rick because he no longer does what he did during Heroes of Olympus, like, listen, that kid completely pushed himself way past the edge, he almost vanished into shadows, hes canonically dealing with so many mental issues he had to resort to Dionysus to not go insane , he literally has an unspecified eating disorder derived from all the crap he's been through. Like, of course he's not going to be doing what he was back then, he was killing himself literally, he was running on fumes, spite, the verge of mental and physical collapse anda shit ton of adrenaline. That kid definitely has long time and chronic issues derived, he's not going to be the same, and he's still extremely OP if we're being honest, he has a ton of abilities just naturally running in the background, he can now turn people onto skeletons directly and command them. One would think that he's now fully useless in combat the way people talk about him supposedly being "nerfed" in ToA but honestly I'd just be glad if that kid never had to use any of his abilities ever again and could just let himself actually rest.

It feels a bit like an attack to all of us who've been through stuff and wouldn't be able to go back to the level of productivity and the ability to handle stuff that we had in our worst moments where we were running on spite and fumes and hopes of making it out of we struggled enough and are now experiencing burn out and skill regression. Like, I feel like that kind of people are telling me I'm now useless even after all I've been through because I can no longer do what I did at my worse moments in life.

Like, I could legit run on just caffeine with no sleep or minimal sleep and no food for up to 3 days and still get good grades and do all teh household chores and homework and exercise to the verge of collapse, however I now am exhausted no matter how much I sleeps concentrating is the hardest thing ever, I do stuff half assed because I really do not have enough energy and I gave up on putting everything on my shoulders because I was genuinely collapsing in on myself. Like, this shit happens.

And maybe that's just me because if my personal situation but it really does rub me the wrong way, I'm sure Nico could pull the same bullshit again and push himself past his limits to the brink of death, the thing is that boy is tired and trying to heal and move forward and doing that would just be going backwards in his recovery. He has plenty of time ahead of himself to heal and grow stronger and capable of doing stuff without getting as exhausted but like it's been less than a year between the end of Blood of Olympus and TSATS obviously he's still recovering.

People say they wanted a story of him recovering and all that, but I feel like what they really want is just Nico magically getting rid of any real effect all the shit he went through had on him, which just isn't realistic.