#my thoughts have been all jumbled up lately hope this makes sense

[chair002]

My favorite moment so far in S6 has been the spacewaffles conversation after Mapicc & Jepexx kill them. What makes it really special for me is the way Planet is so adamant about turning down any negativity whatsoever from Bacon. Bacon keeps saying how they just let them win and they're now on low hearts and everything is fucked and Planet just goes "Nope! Errr Error!!" and tells him they'll make it despite everything. Made me think back to how Zam & Bacon reacted to Planet's suicide back in S5. 'Cause initially Zam was kinda chill about it, his reaction was literally just "damn well that just happened" but then Bacon rolled up like PLANETLORD IS DEAD! FOREVER! and that reaction made Zam panic as well. Meanwhile here instead of giving in to Bacon's as always extremely pessimistic view of the situation or ignoring it Planet just shuts it down immediately and even makes sure Bacon looks him in the eyes while he's doing it. And after watching his pov of the Planet Revival stream, it's a similar situation for him, i think it's interesting Bacon's lowest points are often when Planet dies and cannot log back on, i guess because then there's no one to snap him out of it. this is not something exclusively Planet does (Kaboodle tries to cheer Bacon up after he dies during her and Red's duel, to no avail) but Planet is just such a close, naturally positive presence in Bacon's life, and so his absence is felt the strongest. Even if most things Planet says seem naive or sometimes just simply untrue.

Like, when they went to retrieve the hearts Kaboodle stole from Planet that one time, Bacon keeps insisting they're gonna get killed, meanwhile Planet innocently goes "noo why would anyone do that? dont worry," and obviously Bacon's the rational one here, because theyre naked at spawn and there was a huge commotion there earlier - but nothing ends up happening. they don't get killed. and so even if sometimes Planet is actively choosing to be gullible and naive about people being kind and everything being fine, he's not always wrong. it's very deliberate. He's not stupid, he knows violence first-hand, from both ends of it, but that doesn't break his generally good nature. and i think that's the counterweight Bacon's negative outlook needs

[befuddled-calico-whump]

Strike a Deal

cw: manipulation, implied torture, violence, heavily implied noncon, adult language

Wildefire Masterlist (note: this drabble is non-canon as of right now)

•°•°•

After all she'd done to avoid Corp, entering one of their shiniest buildings just felt wrong to Sarah. If she wasn't here to 'work out an agreement’—which she hoped was CEO-speak for ‘we surrender’—she'd sooner brick the windows than set one foot on the polished linoleum.

Annie Rivera, head of Good Knight, was waiting when she arrived on the hundredth floor.

“Spyglass.” She offered a smile warm enough to blow a grandma out of the water, and Sarah had to remind herself that however friendly she seemed, Annie committed all the same atrocities as Uriah. Maybe more. She'd certainly heard this lady was ambitious, and that was CEO-speak for ‘out for blood.’

“I wasn't sure you'd come.”

It had taken a lot of discussion with the others and a lot more internal debating before she'd even considered it. She'd sat on the invitation for days before agreeing to meet. Lately, every little decision set her nerves in a jumble, anxiety firing on full blast, insisting she'd certainly make the wrong choice. Her brain had been working against her for weeks, ever since Lex—

She had to keep from physically recoiling at the thought of him. She was sure he was still alive, everyone was, but no matter how hard they searched, they couldn't find a trace.

Her fault. 

“Wouldn't miss it for the world,” she said.

“We've heard so much about you. Really making ripples out there, huh?” Annie strolled across the room, taking her place behind a huge wooden desk, and gestured to the leather seat across from her. Begrudgingly, Sarah took it.

“You care about people like you. You want to make things better. I think that's admirable.”

Sarah crossed her arms. “Sure. But I have a feeling you didn't call me here to join the cause.”

Annie gave a sympathetic smile, leaning forward on the desk. “Unfortunately, you are correct. I'm all for empowering the Empowered, of course, but you must understand the… safety issues such a movement poses.”

“So cut the niceties and tell me why I'm here.” She'd already known Annie wouldn't help them, but if she was pretending to be empathetic, that was a good sign, right? It meant she wanted Sarah's cooperation with something. 

“Ah. I've called you here to offer you a contract with Good Knight.”

Sarah frowned. “You gotta be shitting me.”

The easy, friendly smile didn't stray from Annie's face. “Not at all. I want you and your compatriots working for me. You'll be granted full protection and full immunity, and every one of you will have privileged positions within the company.”

“Really?” Sarah leaned forward. “And what's the catch?”

“There is no catch,” Annie said. “Of course, if you're Corp assets, continuing your investigation and public campaign would be a conflict of interest, but that's just common sense, isn't it?”

That was about what Sarah’d expected, and it made her feel strangely giddy. Maybe they couldn't stand against Corp directly, but whatever they'd been doing, it was working. Corp was scared enough to try and bribe them into silence. Even if it wasn't the surrender pipe dream she'd come in with, this new knowledge was enough to make the visit worth it.

She returned Annie's smile. “Well, thanks for having me. I had a great time. And I hope I never see you again.” She pushed away from the desk and stood. If there were any traps or underhand moves planned, now was certainly the time they'd be sprung, but she'd be ready. She turned up her hearing, listening for footsteps or motion in the walls. All she heard was the buzz of the lights and a slight rustling behind her.

“Maybe you'd like to hear the rest of my offer before you go.”

Sarah turned around, half expecting the woman to have a gun on her, but she hadn't heard anything. It had just been something light, like a sheet of cardstock or a…

A photograph. Annie had laid a photograph on the desk. It was dark, with a single figure in its center, staring at the camera with hollow eyes.

Lex.

Her stomach dropped, and she stumbled forwards, catching herself on the desk, gripping its edge for support. He was alive, Lex was alive, but the joy she felt was undercut by how awful he looked.

Lex’s cybernetics were gone. His head has been shaved, and she could see dozens of injuries scattered across his bare torso. He looked drained; like whoever’d had him for these last weeks had siphoned away all his energy, all his… him. He'd lost so much weight she couldn't say if they'd fed him at all, and his complexion was ashen and lifeless.

But the worst part was his eyes. That empty, defeated look. The wildflower purple seemed to have been drained away with the rest of him, faded to a dull bruised color.

“I found him deep in the bowels of the Tower. Nasty place.”

The Tower. He'd already been through so much bullshit there and Corp had just thrown him back inside.

“I could show you worse if you're still not convinced,” Annie said, pulling another photo from a desk drawer.

“Don't—” Sarah started as she laid it down, but this one wasn't nearly as brutal. It was Lex, curled up on a bed in a sterile-looking cell. There was a blanket draped over him. He looked almost peaceful.

“What is..?”

“I fished him out of hell for you,” Annie said. “Whether his treatment gets better or worse from here is up to you.”

Sarah fell back into the chair, trying to get her thoughts to fall in line and shut up so she could act rationally. It was impossible. They wouldn't stop screaming his name.

“How…” She clasped her hands in her lap. “How do I know you actually have him? That… that this isn't some trick?”

“Thought you might say that.” Annie withdrew a tablet, hitting a button before sliding it over. As soon as Sarah's eyes landed on the screen, she froze, her hand flying to her mouth. It was… it was Lex. Lex with the shit beat out of him, held up only by a hand on his head, angling a bruised and swollen face towards the camera. His breathing was shallow and uneven, his eyes unfocused. The timestamp in the corner was for October 5th. Two days ago.

She'd sat on the invitation for days. If she hadn't been indecisive, if she'd acted sooner…

Onscreen, the guy holding Lex  gave him a shake.

“Hey. Camera's rolling. Talk to her.”

He blinked. “Sa…Spyglass.”

Ice seemed to encase her lungs.

“Don't listen to them. D-don’t do what they want.” He took a shaky breath, his throat bobbing as he swallowed. “I… keep fighting. You have to keep fighting. I…” He blinked furiously, sending a tear rolling down his bruised cheek. “I love you.”

“Okay, that's enough.”

Whoever was holding him shoved him away roughly, and Sarah's stomach twisted as he hit the ground. The camera followed him down, kept rolling as the other man stomped after him, cut to black just as he pulled back his foot for a kick.

“Fuck you,” she whispered as Annie pulled the tablet back across the table.

“Have I convinced you yet?” the other woman asked in a casual tone, not even meeting Sarah's eyes as she fiddled with the tablet.

“Fuck you!”

“You didn't answer my question.”

Sarah clenched her fists, pushing her knuckles into her thighs with enough force it would probably leave a bruise.

I love you.

Lex… She couldn't walk away from him, not now. She never should've left him. She should've told Akeela to run and stayed with him to fight, maybe then…

Maybe then you'd both be in there. Listening to each other scream.

“Let him go.”

“That's not the deal.”

Her nails dug into her palms. “And how do I know you're being honest? How do I know you haven't already killed him?”

Annie cracked a smile at that. “Guess you don't, do you? But do you really want to make that wager?”

“You said you fished him out of hell.”

“Never said I put him anywhere better.”

She pushed the tablet forwards once more. On the frozen screen, Lex was bent over the same sterile bed from the photograph, a person hunched over him, a few others flanking them. At first, it looked like he was just being pinned down. For a frisking or… or something. But then Annie hit play, and the figure above him began to move. 

It took all of a second for Sarah to snatch the tablet and hurl it at the wall. It bounced off, looking relatively unharmed as it hit the ground.

“That was uncalled for.”

“I'll kill you.”

Annie raised an eyebrow. “And what happens to poor Alexei if I'm not around to order them to stop?”

“Stop?” Her lungs were tight.

“That last one…” She extended a neatly trimmed fingernail towards the tablet. “It's a live feed.”

Fuck. Sarah was on her feet, made it halfway to the tablet before stopping cold. She wrapped her arms around herself, squeezing.

“If I agree to your terms… you'll call them off?”

“Immediately.”

“And if I don't?”

Annie shrugged. “Guess they'll stop when the body goes cold.”

Sarah's head dropped. All the triumph and excitement she'd felt just moments ago was gone. They could never win, could they? Corp kept finding a way, kept proving there was no low they wouldn't stoop to in order to keep the status quo.

“I accept. Now stop them. Please.”

Annie casually reached for the phone on her desk, punched in a number. “That's enough on Cinder. We've reached an understanding.”

Sarah scrambled for the tablet, falling to her knees and flipping it face-up, needing to be sure. Thankfully, the others in the cell were backing away, leaving Lex in place, motionless.

“Let me see him,” she murmured. Even just for a moment. He had to know he wasn't alone. She'd get him out, she had to.

“That wasn't part of the deal,” Annie said coolly. “But once you get the rest of your rogues in here, I'll consider it.”

Akeela and Hugo and Rosie… she'd promised she'd keep them safe, and she'd practically delivered them into the clutches of another Corporate power. But what choice did she have when Annie had Lex by the throat?

“You made the right decision,Spyglass.” Annie was beside her. Slender fingers gripped the edge of the tablet, pulling it out of Sarah’s grasp. Lex hadn’t moved; the image of him slumped over the bed—exhausted, hurt, alone—was burned into the back of her eyelids, lingering long after Annie turned off the device. It couldn't be the last image she had of him. She'd do anything to keep this from being the last time she'd see him.

“We'll take good care of you.”

•°•°•

@whumpacabra @enteredin2eternity @kixngiggles @whumpsday @kiichu @whump-for-all-and-all-for-whump @shywhumpauthor

@distinctlywhumpthing , @bloodinkandashes , @fleur-alise , @whumpy-daydreams , @whumpwillow

, @honeycollectswhump ,

[persphonesorchid]

Mark Of The Arcane || Chapter Three ||

↣ Summary; Centuries before, in the times of the ancient Kings, a prophecy was heard. When the three kingdoms of Valerem fall to ruins, their saviour would come in blinding starlight. Who is this saviour, you may ask? None other than Min Yoongi, who was too busy being late to work to realize he definitely wasn’t on earth anymore.

↣ Part: Chapter Three; Habituation

↣Word count: 2.5k

↣Warnings: Yoongi's going through the motions, other than that, we're all good :)

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Chapter Archive | Masterlist

Notes: Welcome to chapter three! Thank you for being patient! I hope you enjoy! A little information on Yoongi's arcane and of course, dude's trying to wrap his head around it all, but it'll get better for him soon! Don't forget to share your thoughts, i'd love to know what you think!

“Hold on...” Yoongi puts a hand up, trying his best to ignore the ache in his side, the very real ache that feels like its sinking into his bones. He’s still trying to process everything, still trying to figure out if he’s losing his mind or not, and now this? You and Hoseok are barely paying him mind, talking in hushed tones again like he’s not sitting right there. So, Yoongi takes a moment to breathe, trying to calm down before he really starts crying.

Hoseok sighs and Yoongi tries to focus, you whisper something to him, sparing Yoongi one last glance before you’re through the door. Hoseok turns back to face him, a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes on his lips and it only makes Yoongi nervous.

“Alright...I'm going to explain what’s happening.”  He leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees, “That Arcane mark you carry, is the mark of the Light Bearer. It’s only been seen once, and with it comes a prophecy. Firstly, you should know that wherever you were before isn’t where you were born...” Hoseok pauses, considering something with a thoughtful look, “There’s only a few mentions of this in writing, about other worlds existing alongside our own. I’m assuming the world where you had been before doesn’t have the same properties as this one, meaning it’s without magic.”

Yoongi has a passing thought then, that he’s a fish in a tiny pool of water. Not nearly enough to filter through and he struggles to breathe, and gasps like there’s not enough air. His chest feels tight, caging his lungs behind the solid walls of his flesh and bones; unable to expand.

One side of his mind is trying to separate what makes sense of the jumbled words that left Hoseok’s mouth, and the other is trying to separate him from all of it. It was a regular Tuesday for him, he got up late as he would usually, got yelled at, met a strange woman on the street and helped her across. He’s not certain what happens after death, but this must be his personal hell. Where everything is confusing and wired the wrong way, only he would torture himself so.

Some of what Hoseok said made a little sense – if he wants to believe any of it – he was raised in an orphanage, and like some of the kids cursed with unfortune, he was simply left on their doorstep. He doesn’t resent his parents, or, whoever decided it, circumstances are not always in favour...

“I...” Yoongi opens his mouth and closes it soon after, distress drawing his brows together. He doesn’t know where to start addressing any of that, and simply stares at Hoseok for a while. The sting at his side has lessened to a dull throbbing ache, easier to ignore now and Yoongi takes a breath.

“I know it’s a lot to take in,” Hoseok says softly, calmly, and its enough to reel Yoongi in just a little. “But we’ll try to make this as easy as possible for you.”

“Will I be able to go back?” Yoongi twists the fabric of the soft sheets between his fingers.

Hoseok shifts on the chair he sits in, mouth forming a little triangle as he looks away, staring off into nothing for a moment. “I’m not sure. Whatever magic that was used to send you here is ancient. It’ll be difficult to find anyone who knows how to do the reversal.”

Yoongi deflates, the little hope he had in asking the question simply fizzles out. So, he’s stuck here for the time being. He wonders if anyone back home is worried about him – not that he has friends to be worried about his absence. He wonders if the old man thinks that he just straight up abandoned his job, or what would Mrs Li think when he isn’t there to keep her company on her afternoon walks.

Yoongi can only nod, gaze shifting to stare out the window. Hoseok had secured the curtains so that they hang at the sides of the window, and a cool breeze flows softly through it. The air lacks the scent of a city, no engine exhaust or the smells of too many different foods mixing together. It’s fresh and clean and Yoongi’s at least grateful for that.

“You should rest some more.” Hoseok says, bracing his palms against his knees before he pushes himself to stand. “It will take your body a while to get used to the new environment.”

When Yoongi wakes, it’s to a soft knocking on the door. He blinks blearily at it, brows furrowed. The light that filters through the window is now a soft orange, and Yoongi realises he’s slept through the day. He feels much better than he did earlier, though, sleepy still.

The knock sounds again and after a moment the door pushes open. It’s you again, and Yoongi stares at you from his spot. You’ve changed out of the clothes you were wearing earlier and you’re wearing something that looks like silk. The sleeves are long and flowing way past your hands and shimmers lightly with your movements, there’s a thin silver chain around your waist that clinks deftly against the navy-blue fabric of the dress. You aren’t wearing shoes, he notes, as you turn slightly to close the door behind you.

“Hello.” You greet, and Yoongi watch as you sort of glide your way over to his bedside. Your steps are graceful enough that he barely notices them, and he blinks at you, not too certain how he should address you or speak.

“Hello....” Yoongi mutters, turning his head to look across at the large floor to ceiling mirror that faces the bed he’s in. He looks like shit, if he’s being honest. He’s paler than he is usually, stress and fatigue had drawn circles under his eyes. You sit down on the chair Hoseok left, a gentle smile on your lips 

He looks back at you and you’re smiling, though, it doesn’t bring him much comfort. You extend your hand to him, and in your hand is a book. It’s dark and small, with a sigil on the cover in white ink that looks strangely like the mark on his side.

“What’s this?” He asks, and after a moment, glances at you, “Your...Majesty...”

“Oh, Y/n is fine.” You say and then motion to the book, “This book is the first record of your arcane.”

Yoongi opens the book, it’s written more like a journal, dates at the top of the pages, words that doesn’t make sense to him right now neatly penned in dark ink.

“The prophecy was given by the first seer a long time ago. There are a few snippets of it in there, we don’t know where the actual record is.” You say, “’When the three kingdoms of Valerem fall to ruin, our saviour would come in blinding starlight.’”

Yoongi’s eyes find yours, brows creasing, “And I’m supposed to be this saviour?”

You stare at him in silence for a moment, there’s a pity in your eyes that Yoongi’s too used to, something he’s gotten too many times in his life. You nod slowly, then grimace, “I’m sorry, I know it’s a lot to take in. And I know it’s frightening.”

That’s an understatement, really. Yoongi had become comfortable knowing that he’d always be nothing more than he was, just Yoongi, breezing through his life as a man who didn’t have much of a childhood to speak of. Someone who was just another face in the crowd, a cog in the machine; nothing special. And he was okay with that. Life was…well, it was life. He’s had his ups and downs; he’s had hard times and times that made the difficulty of his life an afterthought. He was fine with that. This? This is something else entirely.

He doesn’t know what to say, so he stares at the book in his hands with a frown. This isn’t fair, is it? Yoongi’s always said he had a shit time as his day-to-day muddled together and became repetitive, working to only survive with the cards he was dealt. But it was his. Compared to this influx of information that he’s some sort of prophesied Messiah, his life was easy. He’d rather wake up in his bed right now, late for work and swearing than be sitting here trying to make sense of it all.

He could feel your eyes on him and he dare not meet your gaze. You sigh, there’s a rustling of your clothes as you stand and tuck the chair back into the corner it was in before. “Are you hungry? I can bring you something.”

He wasn’t really, Yoongi doesn’t think he could stomach anything if he tried, but he nods anyway. You’re kind, he thinks, and he doesn’t want to be rude.

“Okay, I’ll be right back.”

You return fifteen minutes after, with a silver tray, smiling softly as you hand it over. There’s a silver bowl of chicken – At least, he assumes – soup, and the smell reminds him of Mrs Li’s cooking. A smaller bowl of assorted diced fruit, a slice of buttered bread and a gold rimmed glass of water. “Hoseok said anything too heavy may upset your stomach…”

Yoongi’s stomach rumbles before he can say anything and he flushes, clearing his throat, “Thank you.”

You smile again, nodding, staring at him long enough that he feels a little awkward about it. You seem to catch yourself, looking away, “Right then, I’ll be off.”

He wonders briefly if your feet are cold as you make your way back to the door, “Oh!” You turn around, “When you’re done, just knock three times on the wall.”

“Okay…” Yoongi glances at the wall and when he looks back, you’re already going through the door and closing it. He sets the tray on his lap and picks up the spoon, stirring the contents of the bowl around, finding potatoes and carrots among the pieces of chicken. Tentatively, he takes a spoonful, and it’s – quite frankly – the best thing he’s had. He didn’t realise how hungry he was until the soup was gone and he was slowing down as to not choke on the bread.

He glances at the book, resting on the table against the wall, he takes and sets the tray aside and wipes his hand against the material of his sweater before reaching for it. Opening the book, he finds the first page.

Year 871 We had not known that the shadow arcane would sire chaos, there was no way to know. So many lives were lost in the attempt to stop it, and the kingdoms are divided. We’re at a loss, it wouldn’t be long before we’re all gone. We must do something, anything to stop it—

The words trail off into muddled ink and Yoongi can’t tell what it says, the other page dates the same year, but speaks of something different. He picks through the bowl of fruit and picks up and apple slice.

Year 871 The Arcane of Light, created for the purpose of subduing the Arcane of Shadow. The strength of the Arcane is immeasurable, though, it’s volatile. We assumed that Zephyr is just unable to control such power, but he’s the only one who can wield it. We can only trust him. If he can stop this, we can end it, and perhaps, stop this from reoccurring. Arcanes has broken down into subfields, we’ve found, and as reveling as that information may be, we can only hope to wipe the Arcane of Shadow completely so that it may never bestow itself upon another.

Yoongi reaches into the bowl for more fruit only for his fingers to hit the bottom. He tears his eyes from the page, pouting at the empty bowl. He stares at the words on the page for a quiet moment before shaking his head and setting it aside once more. He looks at the wall and wonders what would happen if he knocked it, would the tray disappear? He knocks three times like you told him to and waited, its completely quiet for a moment and then the grating sound of stone against stone shatters the silence. Yoongi startles and whips his head to his left to find a part of the wall pulling in on itself, a man younger than him steps out of the darkness there, dressed in white and gold.

He bows at the waist and smiles when he straightens, “Good evening, my Lord. I trust your meal was satisfactory?”

“Uh…” Yoongi stumbles for his words, “Yes…”

The man walks over, “Wonderful! I’m Wooyoung, Head Chef.” He picks up the tray, “If you need anything, don’t be afraid to send for me.” He motions at the wall Yoongi knocked on before he was leaving back through the wall and Yoongi watches as it drags closed, shifting back into place as though it never moved.

There’s a knock on the door and Yoongi thinks he can’t catch a break as it opens, thankfully, it’s someone he’s seen before. Seokjin stands in the doorway with narrowed eyes, looking like he’d rather be doing a million other things. He comes into the room and shuts the door behind him. He’s holding a bundle of something in one of his hands and a pair of boots in the other. Yoongi can only make out navy blue.

Seokjin says nothing as he walks over, setting the folded bundle on the table and the boots on the floor. “You can’t walk around wearing…that.” He waves a hand at Yoongi’s sweater and jeans with a frown.

Yoongi looks down at his sweater and then at the bundle Seokjin brought with him, “Ah…right.”

“I’ll wait outside the door, let me know if you need help with the clasp.” Seokjin leaves him to change, and Yoongi moves over to the table.

The navy-blue bundle unfolds into a cloak like the one Seokjin and the other guards wear, there’s a long-sleeved white shirt with gold trimmings and black pants that are soft to the touch. Yoongi changes in silence, folding his clothes neatly, the only link to the place he came from, and sets them aside. He finds cotton socks stuffed into the boots and he pulls them on before putting his feet into the boots. The cloak is a little heavy in his hand as he secures it on his shoulders and clasp it at his throat. He wanders over to the mirror mounted on the wall, looking and feeling little uncomfortable.

He takes a breath, moving towards the door he pulls it open. The hallway looks completely different than it was when he first ventured out into it. The wall across from his room had a window, where Seokjin sits on the sill, talking to a bird.

“I already fed you.” He says and the crow squawks indignantly, its head leaning down to nip at his hand, “Ow! You little—”

Yoongi clears his throat and Seokjin looks up, he gets down from the windowsill, letting the crown hop off onto it, there’s a soft clink of something metal, two silver bands on the crow’s leg catching the light of the setting sun. Seokjin shoos the bird with a hand, “Go on.”

The bird ruffles it’s feathers, cawing loudly in what Yoongi could only decipher as offence at Seokjin’s shooing before it flies off. Seokjin turns to him, giving him a once over and a silent nod, “Come, Hoseok’s waiting.”

[Bold: can't tag]

Permatag: @allhobbitstoisengard @dontstoptime @astormunchar @eren-fall @taestefully-in-luv @main-bangtansmauyeondan @xpeachesncream @blog-name-idk @madbutgloriouspond

Series Tag: @purest-expressionofgrief @i-dont-give-a-fok @xyahrinx @3sriracha @loveyoongles @studiosakuras @amon-rei @mssukeyna @freyawreya

[baby--b4t]

hey pookster i’m just leaving this here because I know you’d do justice if you ever made it into a minific :3

kaveh absolutely LOVES horror/creepy things, especially when regressed, but alhaitham can’t do it. like CANNOT.

sincerely, 🐠fishie anon :3

OH MY GODS ANON YOURE SAVING MY WRITERS BLOCK RN (º̩̩́⌣º̩̩̀ʃƪ) im gonna try and write a quick minific in hopes that itll make me wanna post more and work on my bots. ALSO TY FOR THINKING SO HIGHLY OF ME- i feel like my writing is mid but ill try my best for this silly idea (its super late as of replying to this so sorry if its a bit jumbled or doesnt make sense-)

(fic under cut)

Kaveh was supposed to be in bed hours ago. 5 hours and 38 minutes, to be persice. Alhaitham had been counting. He did everything he though would work to get Kaveh to finally lay down, close his eyes, and rest, but nothing was working. Warm bottle, bedtime stories (he had read 7 different stories at this point), and even trying different stuffed animals and pajamas. Nothing. Alhaitham was exhausted.

“Hayi? Do da tree birdies sleep? Wha’ about… Oh! Wha’ about da creepy crawlies in da kitchen?” Kaveh had been asking nonsense questions like these all night, part of the reason he was still awake at nearly 4 in the morning.

“I dont know, Kaveh. What I do know-… Wait, whats in the kitchen?” Alhaitham began to answer before he registered what kaveh had said. He sat up in the bed a little bit and looked down at Kaveh. “What did you just say is in the kitchen?”

“Da creepy crawlies!” Kaveh excitedly exclaimed, a wide smile forming behind his pacifier. “Dey have 6 leg, 3 eye- BIG eyes, and are really teeny tiny. Dey walk around in da dark and eat da bread! Dats why it has all da holes.” Kaveh started giggling, his tiredness clearly showing in his speech.

Alhaitham felt puzzeled. More than when he was trying to figure out why Kaveh wasnt sleeping yet. But what was getting to him the most was the though of some spider-like creatures crawling around in his food while he didnt look. He shuddered, the thought of bugs in general making him feel gross. He rubbed up and down his arms for a moment, trying to get rid of his goosebumps, before pressing further into this. Surely it was Kaveh just being silly… Right?

“How do you know this? Who told you about these… ‘Creepy crawlers’?” Alhaitham asked as he tried to fight the tiredness in his mind. This whole talk took a turn that was not helping his already fatigued state of mind.

“Dey told me! I got mad ‘cause my sandwich had holes, and I asked and dey told me.” Kaveh explained trough slurred giggles and mumbles. “Dey very small, so is easy to make holes. I scolded dem like you always do for da holes…” The more Kaveh explained, the more Alhaitham imagined a ton of ant-sized abominations crawling around their pantry. He shook his head and tried not to gag.

“Kaveh, I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but the ‘creepy crawlers’ arent real. You probably dreamt about them at some point.” Alhaitham tried to explain to Kaveh, but Kaveh didnt seem to want to believe it.

“What?!” He sat up in the bed with Alhaitham, jaw dropping and his pacifier almost falling out. “But.. But dat were so cute-“ He felt himself tearing up over the fact that the little creatures he thought were so adorable werent actually real. Alhaitham sighed, realizing that now he had to deal with a meltdown.

“How about you go to sleep so you can dream about them? Does that sound like a good idea?” He suggested as he tried to coax Kaveh into laying down again. The poor baby was so tired at this point he didnt realize that Alhaitham was moving him. It did seem to stop his oncoming waterworks, however.

Kaveh gave a small nod and snuggled back up with Alhaitham. It seemed like as soon as his head hit the pillow, he was in a deep sleep. That baffled Alhaitham. How in the world would Kaveh be so willing to dream about thousands- No, millions of little spiders in his food? If Alhaitham saw them, he would already have a match in hand to burn the house down.

However, Kavehs great big imagination never failed to impress Alhaitham. He just seemed to show it so much more whenever he regressed. A soft sigh came from Alhaitham, just accepting it. His little Kaveh would just have that sort of creepy imagination and he couldnt stop it… But he would still be checking the entire house for bugs when they woke up. No ‘creepy crawlers’ get to live rent free.

[ahundredtimesover]

You did your big one with the last update.  I was on an emotional roller coaster. It took me almost 2 hours to read all 23K words because I had to stop several times to process my emotions with our couple. OMG so many feels and my babies I was just drowning right now, like their lack of emotional maturity, it’s so pitiful to see play out I feel like they are definitely sabotaging their own happiness and as much as I want to be mad, considering both of their backgrounds, it makes sense. it also is why they are so perfect for each other so it’s hard no scratch that is painful to see them  be a part when we know they are so much better together. Sorry my mind is all over the place. I hope for JK’s sake Namjoon has a wife. When the two families history was being revealed I really thought Daddy Jeon maybe had an affair with her mom so I was totally shocked that isw as an emotional affair with Mr Ri , like shocked stupid . Ugh I love how Hobi is all for family and willing to there fore JK at anytime . I hate how she feels that burden to server the family/company . But I do feel that JK is now being punished for something outside his control . I am drawing a parallel of how her crazy father lead to him being left in the rain as a kid and now her moms history with the company is leading to him being left by the women he loves now . It makes me question the string of fate that connects them , is this string a string of destiny or a noose that will burden their relationship to be ill fated . I am on the edge of my seat waiting for them to follow up now that everything is out in the open.

In a perfect world OC works for RKive and has a longstanding partnership with the Arts Center , I marry Yoongi and we all live happily ever after . Also I am curios where the hell is JK’s older brother at , do we know as readers . Will the family’s all reconnect at some point . Which supporting character delivers the speech to push OC to analyze her feelings for JK and his words . Is the ex boyfriend gone for good . Anymore plot twists , I am going to be up all night now .

Thank you for posting I love the series so far . I hope you ace your test/paper !!

Sorry if this is a big thing jumble i used text to speech for a large portion because I had to speak these thoughts into the universe

🚧spoilers 🚧

HI OMG U USED TEXT SPEECH? Haha why does that amuse me! I'm just imagining someone just expressing all this and says "In a perfect world... I marry Yoongi and we all live happily ever after" with a straight face hahaha but... same. 😂😂

Anyway. If 23k took you that long... Well, there's 24k and 28k. I can't shut up. 🫣🫣 But yes to emotions! We'll have more of those!

Of course, it's so easy to say that they're so stupid and perhaps they are. But similar to what you said, they have a lot of baggage that they carry and it's not easy to just give in to one's feelings when there's so much weighing them down.

And lol at the thought that there could've been an affair haha someone said that, too! But no, it's actually much more painful. And true, JK's experiencing all this and it's out of his control - he loses whether he asks OC to stay or lets her go. It's similar to her feeling selfish whether she resigns or not. We lose something with every decision we make but like Mr Ri said, we have to make them; it's the only way we can stand by them.

It makes me question the string of fate that connects them , is this string a string of destiny or a noose that will burden their relationship to be ill fated - getting all poetic on me now? BUT HMM interesting question. We'll just have to wait and see! As for your other questions... I can't say much but it'll be fun!! 🤭🤭

Pls don't apologize. I love these messages. I'm sorry I got to it late. I managed to submit my paper and my brain's just been tired for the past few days and I have 2 more to submit... HAHA but yes, I appreciate you. Hope you enjoy the rest of it!! 💕💕

[jamiscrazy4krerdly]

Happy Mermay gamers!! To celebrate I ate a gummy bear and wrote an ENTIRE 60 Chapter mermaid Krerdly fanfic just last night!! Not really but trust me I am tempted, instead here’s something smaller because I found the concept funny. I call this one… “Fishing For Crits”!

EXT. SECLUDED ROCKY SHORE SIDE - SUNSET

Merbird Berdly, posing tentatively against a rock with soggy feathers: I concur, you WOULD make good company for my impending excursions… alas, the only way for us to walk along the same soil is if I beseech THE SEA WITCH *lightning strike x4* to grant me a pair of stick-structured chicken legs and you’d be a PLEBIAN to think I’d go to such lengths for a single travel companion- ACK!

Kris cannonballs into the water, splashing the avi-phibian and further dampening his vaguely water resistant feathers.

Kris, grinning cheekily behind their already kelp-filled hair: Lets go turn me into a merperson.

Kris snatches up Berdly’s wing in their fishnet-styled, fingerless glove covered hands and watches him expectantly.

Berdly, adjusting his glasses (GOGGLES??) as his seafoam irises glimmer: Y-yes! Lets!

-one epic five-minute-swim adventure later-

Kris with their head in an air bubble: *signing at Catti that ghoul should totally give them gills and shit*

Catti with tentacle hair or whatever: k *blasts them with dark magic*

And then Kris swims out the door and shows Berdly (who was required to wait outside) that they are a mer now!!!! YAY!! Then the two of them go off to dress up and travel together and MAYBE fall in love, idk… you can’t really say for sure… its up to interpretation, really… (they eventually make a habit of gazing longingly into each others’ eyes and exchanging ocean facts late into the night as they lock their tails together and lay alongside one another at the bottom of the sea).

The End!!!!

—

Okie that was fun, I’m just gonna type a bunch of randomly selected but definitely Deltarune related thoughts down now. :P

You won’t even believe which character I’m not done talking excessively about yet- it’s CATTI!! This demigirl just unlocked a new pronoun and by the goddess it is he. WOOHOO! Rockin that She/He/Ghoul swag… I probably won’t actively use it in my w.i.p fics because there’s almost always someone with a he pronoun on screen and I don’t want all that stuff to get jumbled up but it will DEFINITELY be in the fic tags and perhaps actively said by Catti ghoulself. YAYAYA!! Y’all have no idea how long I’ve been itching to post about this, applying the he pronoun to ghoul just makes so much sense to me idk how to describe it but yeah. YEAH!

I’m genuinely terrified of writing a Catti POV fic thing because I love a good side character that makes a lasting impression but I could TOTALLY flesh ghoul out more if I tried… maybe after I get through my current projects I’ll consider it.

SPEAKING OF PROJECTS!! I may or may not have three now. Derp. The new one is smaller and I’ll probably be done with it first to get it out of the way but I don’t plan to post it until the first two projects are done but yeah. Don’t think I’m going to do a Halloween fic afterall ;n; but there’s always next year.

Btw this is random but in my first ever Krerdly fic I had the two attend this thing called Alternative Prom and apparently that doesn’t… HAPPEN in the mainland?? I feel like I made it pretty clear what it was but I’m making a callback to it in my super secret fourth project *GASP* so I mine as well address it: Alternative Prom is a dance held specifically for LGBTQ+ teens, basically. I went once when I was in 8th grade and it was MAGICAL y’all… and then I proceeded to NEVER GET TO GO AGAIN because it got cancelled due to covid hitting during my freshman year and it hadn’t recovered by the time I graduated my senior year (this year) so yeah. I really hope it comes back for the future teens tho!! I MIGHT be romanticizing it a bit but oh my godssss was it such a fun night. I still have the rainbow flower crown and pin as a souvenir. I used to wear my pride shit to school like allll the time, I was a rainbow princex and shit!!! Hell yeah!! I’m a frickin inspiration!!

Ok ok less about me now. I lowkey already outright said so in my Valentines fic but I headcanon that Kris and Catti are exes, right? Well it’s about time that I reveal the dramatic story behind their breakup… Kris wanted to kindate Beastboy and Raven from Teen Titan with ghoul and when ghoul said no it was all over. </3 I hope I didn’t make anyone too emotional with that one. /s

BY THE WAY… a new challenger might have entered the ring that is my infested brain. I’m definitely not gonna tell you guys because it’s my little secret OK FINE it’s M.K!! They are the guy ever and I’m DEFINITELY biased due to their iconic role in Undertale (ty Ask Frisk and Co. ask blog for changing my life for the better). Anyway so yeah they’re awesome and they’re precious and if I’m alone for two seconds I’m going to start shipping them with everybody so. Uhm. Idk if the world is ready for my M.K x Berdly rare pair…

BUT THEY BETTER BE READY FOR CATSEI because it’s been festering in my mind an d oo ooh my g osh… it is so based……………. almost too based, honestly. Like in my headcanon-ing brain the puzzle pieces fit together really well (fashionista x fashion designer) but I don’t. Know... there’s like a mental block that’s not letting me enjoy much past the original idea of their first meeting. If I try to envision their domestic life together I end up with big blurry blanks in the picture where their bodies should be. Which is PRECISELY WHY in my SUPER SECRET FOURTH PROJECT that isn’t super secret anymore they will undertake a magical adventure together through a dark world and tighten their bonds and Jockington will tag along and maybe put them in precarious situations and help them… do something idk it’s just a spontaneously slapped on B-Plot addition to one of my older Krerdly fic ideas but idk maybe something beautiful will bloom out of it!! IN DUE TIME, because it’s gonna take a while. Yea yea yea. Plus I need the excuse to write Ralsei more. His jolly little clap has been one of my dominating stims for a while now.

Also!! Also!!!!! Uhm!! @v@‘ Not super related at all but as I briefly mentioned I finished high school recently and it’s scary (bad thing) and I’m not in contact with anyone I know from there anymore (good thing) and like I’m kind of a bump on a log that’s in dire need of a job (the library thing was a student position) and am definitely nearing a low mentally (very bad thing) BUT I am battling so hard and writing helps so much (it’s like the only active thing in my life right now lol) and yeah… it’s giving going into chat rooms in Amino and telling people I’m depressed (NOT SOMETHING I DID I SWEAR)

As a reward for making it this far here’s two out of four of my outfit boards for my not-so-secret third project that isn’t coming out anytime soon!! Once again featuring my ultra cringe sprite edit of Kris that gets me giggling every time and doesn’t even apply here because both of their eyes will be concealed in this one but yeah!

It’s so obvious I’m a Nintendo kid it’s not even funny. -v- (HIGHLY EMBARRASSING!!)

[thatnebbles]

Instead of a full fic today, I want to share a drabble of some modern au stuff, mainly Kit getting to come out as non-binary to Cordelia! Their sibling relationship I've made for them is very important to me, as is enby Kit, as they deserve nothing but happiness.

Fic below!!

Kit isn’t entirely sure if it’s possible to be this nervous. All that’s to do is knock on Cordelia’s door and ask if she can talk—Kit made the walk to her bedroom after a half an hour of being terribly indecisive. They’ve already told themselves backing now isn’t an option, and she’s going to be the first person to know. They’ve finally admitted it to themselves. It’s a step forward—something to make Kit happier. It’s something Cordelia’s always wanted for them, especially with how difficult the past few years have been.

Kit takes one last deep breath, rolls their shoulders, and taps on Cordelia’s door three times. It’s been their particular knock for some time now, an indicator it’s time for a famous heart-to-heart. 

In about the fifth cycle of anxiety rolling through their stomach, the sound of the doorknob reaches Kit’s ears. It’s far too late to back out now, and even if they weren’t planning to, the very least Kit could do is not look scared out of their wits.

“Is everything alright?” Cordelia frowns, immediately going to pull Kit into her room. “You look as though you’ve seen a ghost.”

They’ve managed to fail step one. Kit lets out a sigh, “I’m alright, I just—I need to talk to you about something, um… important.” They bring their hair over their shoulder, fingers toying with its ends. “Important to me—about me.”

She nods, already leading Kit to take a seat on her bed. “Is this a “make a cup of tea” sort of conversation, or would delaying it not help the matter?”

“No tea this time, Lia.” Kit takes a seat, crossing their legs. They tap their fingers against her comforter, chewing on their lip. “Or… not right now, at least. After I tell you what I need to—and I’m not interrupting you, right?”

“Not at all,” she clicks her tongue, sitting across from Kit. Cordelia pulls one of her stuffed animals into her lap, offering out another to Kit. “My writing isn’t getting up and walking away anytime soon.”

Kit gives a soft laugh, running a hand down the back of the stuffed cat they’ve been given. Cordelia’s had this since she was a little girl—a gift from their Grandpapa Heathcote. It’s worn with age and love, fur still soft from years of care. Kit looks into its felt, stitched-on eyes as if it’ll get the first few words to come out.

“Take your time,” Cordelia says softly. 

They hug the cat to their chest next. “I’ve… just thought about myself recently, I suppose. You know I’ve been trying to be happier—more comfortable, too. I just… wanted to make sure what I started feeling was, um… correct?” Kit shrugs, trying to pull the jumble of words out of their mind. “I… I don’t think… I’m a boy. But I don’t think I’m a girl, either. I… I’m just—” Kit looks at the blankets, voice soft. “...just Kit, I suppose.”

Kit feels as though they should wait for Cordelia to say something, but now that they’ve started to talk, they may as well continue. “I really—I didn’t know what to call that. I didn’t know who to ask or talk to.” Kit doesn’t want to say they’re friendless, but… it’s not like they’ve actively spoken to anyone in their classes this semester. “All I did was type things into the search bar and hope for the best, and—” Kit sucks in a wavering breath. “I was able to find all these terms I’ve never heard of, Lia. I found things that made sense.” Are their eyes watering? They’re not going to cry, right? “I—I think I know who I am. Or at least I can start figuring it out.”

Cordelia reaches over to give Kit’s hands a squeeze.

“There’s a few terms, but… the one that fits me is non-binary,” Kit can’t hold back a soft sniffle as they wrap their fingers around Cordelia’s. “And that makes my pronouns they/them, too. I… I’ve just wanted to make sense of myself for so long, and now I think I’m finally getting there.” They look up to glance at Cordelia. “You’re the first person I wanted to tell, Lia.”

She’s beaming widely, emotion present in her eyes. “Just Kit,” she whispers, nodding fervently. “I’m so happy for you—I feel like the world’s proudest sister right now. You know I’d always support you, and if this is what you know to be true about yourself… then that’s just who you are. My little sibling.”

“You’re only older by one year,” Kit laughs softly, freely letting a tear roll down their cheek. “But you’re still shorter than I am, so I can’t even ask to borrow your clothes.”

“It’s not my fault you hit a growth spurt last year,” she teases back. “But if you want a different wardrobe, all you have to do is ask, and we’ll go shopping as soon as you’re ready to take that step.” 

“I’d like to try it soon, at least.” They’ve worn nothing but simple shirts or joggers and hoodies, as well as the occasional sweater. “It’d… be nice to feel beautiful, for once—to wear something that I’d really like.”

“You are beautiful, Kit-Kat.” Cordelia taps their nose. She hasn’t used their childhood nickname in quite some time, and Kit can’t help to smile wider at hearing it. “Even if I can’t give you a dress to try… here, come to the vanity. Let’s start with something else.”

Kit nods, setting the stuffed cat on the bed as Cordelia leads them over. Once she’s placed them in front of the mirror, she goes to gently take their hair out of its ponytail, gently bringing it over Kit’s shoulder. She’s careful in brushing it out before opening one of the drawers to their left. She hums softly, tapping her fingers against her lips before pulling out a pastel blue headband with a small bow attached to the side. She brushes Kit’s hair behind their ears next, carefully setting in the headband before fanning their hair back over their shoulders.

“Well?” She places her hands on Kit’s shoulders and gives them an encouraging squeeze. “How does that feel?”

They inspect themselves in the mirror. Having their hair down already seems like an improvement, and the bow makes Kit feel… cute. They brush their fingers over its fabric, smiling as they turn their head slightly in the mirror.

“Better,” Kit affirms. “It’s definitely a step in the right direction. I still don’t know completely how I’d like to dress, but… maybe it’ll just be a little bit of everything.”

“As long as that works for you, that’s all that matters.” Cordelia goes to take a few more hair accessories from the drawer. “When do you plan on telling Heathcote?”

“Sooner rather than later, I’d hope.” Kit thinks now that Cordelia knows, the words spoken aloud, it’ll get easier to come out. “I know he’d want me to be happy, too.”

[gazetotheabyss]

    I read the words plain as day on my computer screen some weeks ago. With no context it might seem so entirely monotonous. Like the pop up anyone might see on any given shady ass website they come across while doom scrolling. 

    But I think I'm getting ahead of myself. 

    My name is Geri. I, like most people my age, grew up in this wild age of information. My parents from the generation who slaved away in times of the unknown, blessed by the ignorance of some harsh bouts of misinformation given to them by Aunt Agnes some odd years ago that they just didn't have any sort of measure to dispute. Or, and God forbid, having to go to the library. But us? All of us? It's all at the tips of our fingertips, isn't it? The age of rumor and myth was killed by the dawn of Snopes and Wikipedia, and for the most part that's okay.   

    God, I'm sorry.   

    Okay.   

    I'm not that type of person to go on long diatribes about nothing. At least I wasn't. It's all twisted in my head now. Where to start, where it's going to end. I'm committing to just writing as a train of thought, to make sure I get it all down for posterity. It's all a mess and jumbled in my head, so some things might be out of order, but this is all true. As much as I would have loved to have been making this up.   

    Blah blah blah, it was a normal day. Went to work. Came home. Do you really even care about those details? Reading about the sort of hot pocket me, a broke college student, picked on that monumental night? After finishing up a particularly grueling portion of a paper I was working on for the Lit class I'm taking I had to shut off my brain. You know, decompress? My brain was fried, I was tired, but I just couldn't bring myself to sleep. The thought of working so hard the whole day only to waste what little free time I had with sleeping just sounded so fucking miserable. So, doing what any of us do, I laid there. Practically catatonic under a mountain of blankets, cozy up, listening to whatever YouTube videos I could find to just play in the background, while just scrolling. Post to post, site to site. Not even really reading or processing. Just scrolling, hoping to feel something.   

    I thought I would fall asleep for a minute or two. I clicked some link, shady as it might have been, thinking by some measure it was a joke or something since I'd just been imbibing in some pseudo-deep meme content after a bit. I'm hesitating to type the name of it right now, because I really don't want to curse anyone with this, but just know it was very... I don't know, 90s Geocities. The top of the page read 'Library of Eternity' with some bad clipart of a book. It was all very bad and by all rights writing it off should have been what I did, but that late with so little brain power the curiosity is stronger than the will to click away. Clicked the little book and my screen went black. Fucking virus, right?   

    Honestly that's what I thought. All the furious clicking, slamming my fingers angrily on the keyboard, it really didn't seem to do shit. After about ten minutes of screaming to any higher power who would listen a window popped up.   

    Corny shit, right? I've written off my laptop at this point. Maybe I can cry to mom and dad and beg for them to help me pay off a new one? Maybe Klarna? I just thank anyone who would listen that I didn't have any important information on there, and that two-factor authentication was on for my email. I close the damn thing and toss it off my bed, and that should be the end of it. If I had any sense about me at the time maybe it would have been, maybe if I knew the things I knew now or could go back and stop myself. 

    I browse reddit a couple hours, play some stupid game I saw on a mobile ad because fuck I'm bored, and that's the night. I pass out, wake up with a sore nose and my phone on the floor after passing out while browsing.   

    Then comes the beloved day off. The holiest of days to those of us playing double time as college kids out here in the trenches. I'm pumped, at least once I drag myself out of bed after hours of '5 more minutes'. Now not exactly being a social butterfly, most of the time my days off consist of exactly what you'd expect from someone who goes to school, goes to work, and has most of their friends online. I dick around on my computer, doing exactly what I did the night before. Now my dumbass, completely forgetting most of what had just transpired, gears up to do the exact same thing. Getting all cozy under my blanket fort again, ready to stream some movies, or binge the same show I've watched about a hundred times. But I open my computer and that popup is still fucking there. Mood trashed. Life ruined. Day off totally and completely in the gutter.   

    Nothing better to do. No computer, nothing else on the docket. I really have nothing to lose. At least for foresight purposes. So, boom, I clicked yes. But all it does is open up another pop up.   

    Fucking. 

    Yes? 

    I clicked yes. How much more ready could I be? 

Clicking yes again I'm ready for meat spin, surprise real life gore, or some other sort of stupid jump scare surprise. But no, nothing so fun. Just another goddamned window. 

This 90s ass virus website just called me ignorant. A challenge I could never have backed down from. No one will ever call Geri Monaghan ignorant. I was not about to be challenged by some two-bit website probably programmed before I was born. 

I’m ready. 

At the time that was what I thought. Of course, I did. How the hell would anyone expect-- 

My screen went from black to white. Okay, not expected in the slightest. It started with one sentence, then another, and they just kept lining up one right after another like a typical word document. Eventually when it ran out of room on the screen they started overlapping. I shouldn’t have been able to read or understand any of it with how fast it was happening. I just stared blankly, reading and absorbing every fucking word. Even as my screen went black, blank from all the information overloading it, I was retaining every written word. It was torture. It felt like hours were going by. Days even. Stuck in that fucking trance lost to endless streams of eternal information pouring bit by bit into my brain. 

No one ever tells you how loud silence can be. Staring into the blank void of my screen was like staring into entropy. All sound vacuumed from my room, all life void from my body. But trapped. I was still in there. Stuck frozen with my eyes open, unable to close them or even move as that information became more. Like eternity spread itself open before me, my consciousness was ripped away. I was at the start of it all. 

No. 

Sorry. 

That’s not right. 

It was before the start. The black void. Before life, before time, before existence. A place where things like us shouldn’t be. Like tendrils writhing and slithering, it probed my mind. The worst headache I’ve ever fucking had times a million. Drilling a half inch bit into my skull without me ever going into shock or going numb to the pain. Everything went white again. The page was clear, and I was sitting on my bed again. Laptop open. Screen still black. Not even a minute had gone by. 

Staring into that empty screen. That digital fucking abyss. I still felt like I was floating in that vacant nothingness. Existing before anything. 

I know there’s so many guys out there who pretend to be know-it-alls, or that they have all the answers...  

My head. 

Felt so heavy. Just to exist even now while I’m writing this it feels like I’m trudging through miles and miles of heavy sludge like thoughts to even get to the point. All this stuff sitting in my head. The real stories of how life and history happened. The beginning, the end, the swirling concepts of space and time that mankind has only scantly begun to get a grasp upon. Omniscience? But in a head not meant to keep it. Answers to every question, knowledge of every fact that could be, would be, or had been. 

I took an aspirin and decided to go for a walk. Maybe the fresh air would help. Maybe I just fried my brain last night reading a bunch of random shit after reading hours and hours of random Wikipedia articles or know your meme pages blankly to just fill the gaps.  

For a minute it did. 

Lights felt brighter, sounds felt clearer. I didn’t even put on my glasses today and I could see just fine. Something I didn’t even bother questioning in the moment. Mom always told me to never question good things and I wasn’t about to start now. 

It really wasn’t until later in the day I was hanging around with my only real-life friend at this school. I don’t know, we’ll call him Tom. Tom and I usually do the same shit I do at the apartment. Only sometimes we smoke weed too. Everyone does that with their friends, right? Sit pretending to actually hang out when you’re both independently browsing on your phones while some random shit plays on TV? He asked me some random question. 

I’d tell you I don’t remember it, but I do. I remember every detail as it hit me at that moment. Piercing through whatever fog the day had put to haze over the vast span of eternity all of those eons and eons of information just struck. Being shot in the head wouldn’t have felt all that much different. I answered his question. 

“Bro, do you think there’s life on other planets?” 

“Not within our immediate solar system.” 

Not stated as an opinion, but as a fact. I was on autopilot, like a fucking Alexa or Siri, just blindly answering the question in totality as I knew it. Like knew it. Subjects I’d studied for years and years on end. Tom stopped me about halfway through. 

“Dude what the fuck are you talking about?” 

It was fair. I think at some point I stopped speaking English, and it was more just guttural noises. Some foreign language? Alien. Obviously confused, I replied. 

“You asked me if I thought there was life on other planets dude, I’m just telling you there is.” 

“How can you possibly ‘know’ that?” 

Going off in a trance again pretty much, I told him all about the Library. All the things it showed me. I tried for him to keep it vague. But he kept prodding me. Asking me for more. I couldn’t shut it off. Like the curse of knowing all of this stuff was more than just the knowledge itself but having to share it just as readily. Which sounds great. Like the benefit of knowledge to mankind. 

I told him everything. I looked him dead in the eyes. Answered every petty or grand question that came to his mind. Ones I couldn’t possibly know the answer to or ones that had just been prying their way at his mind. 

He asked. 

Oh god he asked... 

“Can you tell me everything?” 

I told him no. Like I was being pedantic or something. Fucking possessed, not able to stop myself or control my own body I just grabbed hold of him. 

“No, I can’t tell you everything. There’s no time. I can show you though.” 

Both hands on either side of his head, staring into his eyes. 

“Dude don’t be gay.” 

Which was funny as hell coming from the gay dude, but I wish I could laugh. He just went silent. This wasn’t like a movie or anything. There weren’t bright flashing lights, or some orchestral song to demonstrate just what was happening. Just Tom’s face going from bright and lively to sinking. All the color drained from his face. Happiness turned to horror. Tom just started screaming. 

He wouldn’t stop. 

The loudest blood curdling scream I’d ever heard, and it’s haunted me ever since that night. Like all this information was attacking him. He was begging for me to stop but I felt my fingers furling on their own. I was squeezing him, holding him in place. My mission was to make sure he learned everything I had. By the end of it he had screamed himself down to a rasp. An hour or so passed while we were sitting there. When my hands finally let me let go of his head, he just sank. Tom sagged, his whole body wrinkling on the couch for a moment while he breathed ragged. I sat there. Feeling empty. Nothing. Then, all I could do was sit there on his couch and watch him while he calmly and slowly stood up. Take a minute or two to compose himself or process the information and then run at his window and just fucking leap.  

Tom was gone. One of the few things I don’t know is what exactly Tom saw that drove him to do that. Whether it was a specific piece of information, or if it was just his mind trying to process everything. Like burning out a CPU by overworking it. 

Cops came, because of course they did. A man just killed himself, and they come up the stairs, bust down his door, to find me just sitting there. The thousand-yard stare, locked in my body like a puppet while someone else moved me. Question after question came. I answered them all honestly. Their final one broke me out of my daze. 

“Why do you think he did it?” 

I started crying, because it was all my fault. I just told them I didn’t know. It was the only question I could think of where I didn’t actually know the answer. 

That week after that was a blur. I sat in my room doing my best to avoid talking to anyone while the Uni excused me from my classes for a while. Something about it being the last of my worries, but sympathy expires. I know it does. The vast swathes of information that shifts and wriggles through my brain like a virus. Infecting every part of myself that had ever been. I know what I was like before. Who I was. I’m having trouble holding on to whether or not that’s who I still am. The perspective of every single thing I knew has been warped beyond belief and I can’t look at life the same way I did before. 

What was the point? I asked myself aloud. 

And then I knew. 

Why were we here, then? 

And then I knew. 

So, our whole purpose in life, the meaning of everything we’ve ever done-- 

But I already knew. 

Mankind wasn’t meant to. Knowledge is not a gift. So many people spend their entire lives trying to find the meaning behind action. Why are we here? Where do we come from? 

Is there a higher power? 

Questions people live and die trying and failing to answer, I knew in an instant. I knew how Tom’s mom felt getting the call from the school. Every agonizing thought. I knew immediately how Tom felt, overburdened and overwhelmed. 

And I knew how burdensome I’d been to everyone around me. Every single negative weight on my consciousness about what everyone thought about me outweighed any single positive counterweight it had. The disappointment I’d been. When you’re alone in the dark, in the deafening silence of a room black as pitch is when you start whispering the worst questions to yourself. The ones you don’t really wanna know the answers to but muttering them just helps you feel better. 

Looking out across my desk, passed the light of my laptop, now I can still see the darkness of the void. The nothingness that probed my mind and let me see everything I’d ever asked. I claw at my scalp until it bleeds, scream until my voice can’t even carry sound with it. I haven’t eaten anything in days. I know there’s no point. No reason. I look in the mirror and I don’t even recognize the hollow shell of a person I’ve become. I just see... how tired I am. I’m so exhausted. Every time I sleep, more and more knowledge just floods into my head. For days I’ve felt like a balloon about to burst. 

Maybe that’s what Tom saw. 

Maybe he saw what would become of me, how it would feel. 

Decided that he didn’t want to become this. 

I looked up last night at my ceiling. Laid out flat on my bed, I asked to forget. If there was some way to unknow all of this. Could I go back to the way things were before? I remember very clearly the pop-up. As if the memory was spitting in my face. 

Ignorance is bliss. 

Humans weren’t meant to know this much. 

The void, the ardent darkness lingering in a time before time. This morning, it called to me. Maybe it always did, but now it spoke and for the first time I understood. I can’t go back, can I? I’m trapped in this loop of suffering, with entropy pulling me apart from the inside. 

There is no God listening. 

No, that’s not true. There is no God answering our prayers. But it’s listening. Amusing itself on our suffering. It has fooled us into thinking there was ever any reason. There was ever good and evil but, in the end, there is only nothing. Nothing like there was before. Tom isn’t living it up in Heaven playing guitar and smoking weed in the afterlife. He’s not in Hell lamenting his sins or paying penance to some arbitrary rules. He’s gone. What I don’t know yet is if it’s the same for everyone, or if it’s my fault. If having this knowledge is what did it?  

This whole thing to say I’m scared. 

Or I was scared. Maybe this has been my way of working up the courage. 

I’m so tired. I can’t sleep anymore. Every time I try, I just wake up more exhausted. I can’t keep doing this anymore. I tried. I tried to forget, I tried to make myself forget. I couldn’t talk to anyone else. I was afraid of what might happen if I did. What if they asked me like he did? It’s what it wants. I know it. 

We weren’t meant to know. What we are meant to know isn’t even a full sentence on a page in a chapter in a single book in the endless library of eternity. We’re lucky to finish a word by the time we die. My head is pounding. It feels like any moment I’m just going to explode.  

I can’t do this. 

I’m sorry mom. I’m sorry everyone. If you read this, and then happen to come across that site? 

Tom was right. 

[empressofthesunwriter]

Nothing is True

… Everything is permitted.

What is real?

What is not?

Is she just turning crazy or are other powers at work?

One thing is clear Kohana will get to the bottom of this and maybe change the whole Ninja-World at the same time.

S.I. Third Shinobi World War 

Chapter 3 : Searching for answers

Kohana couldn't make sense of the memories and sensations that flooded her mind.

Who was Haruno Kohana?

And why did she have memories from a different time and place?

It was all too much to process.

As she walked towards the nurse's office, she tried to focus on her mission: to keep Rin alive and prevent Obito from turning into a monster.

But even that seemed overwhelming now.

How could she possibly change the future when she didn't even understand what was happening to her?

When she arrived at the nurse's office, Rinka greeted her with concern. "Is everything okay, Kohana-san?"

"No,", Kohana admitted. "I'm just...I don't know what's going on with me."

Rinka nodded sympathetically. "It can be difficult adjusting to life as a ninja. But remember, you're not alone. We're here to help you."

Kohana appreciated Rinka's kind words but couldn't shake off the feeling that something bigger was at play here.

She needed answers, and fast.

But where would she even begin?

As she lay down on one of the beds in the nurse's office, Kohana closed her eyes and took deep breaths, trying to calm herself down. She couldn't afford to panic or lose control now; too much was at stake. She needed to stay focused on her mission and figure out what was happening to her before it was too late.

But for now, all she could do was rest and hope that things would become clearer soon enough.

Kohana's mind was still a jumbled mess as she lay on the bed, trying to make sense of everything that had happened.

She couldn't shake off the feeling that there was something more to her memories and sensations than just being a ninja.

As she closed her eyes and focused on her breathing, she tried to recall any details that might give her a clue as to who Haruno Kohana really was.

But all she could remember were flashes of people and places that seemed familiar yet distant at the same time.

It was frustrating, but Kohana refused to give up. She knew that if she wanted answers, she would have to keep digging until she found them.

Suddenly, a thought occurred to her - what if she asked her friends and family about her past? What if they could help her piece together the puzzle?

With renewed determination, Kohana sat up and looked at Rinka with newfound hope in her eyes. "Rinka-San that mind sounds strange but...can you tell me something about me?"

"Of course, Kohana-san," Rinka replied with a smile. "What would you like to know?"

Kohana took a deep breath before asking the question that had been weighing on her mind. "In your opinion who is Haruno Kohana?”

Rinka's eyes widened in surprise at Kohana's question. She hesitated for a moment before answering. "Haruno Kohana? That's your name, Kohana-san."

"I know that, but what is my character?”, Kohana frowned, feeling frustrated that she was not getting any closer to finding answers. “What are my good treats, what my bad treats, that kind of things."

The nurse looked thoughtful for a moment before responding. "Well, from what I've observed, you're very determined and focused when it comes to your studies. You're also very caring towards your friends and willing to do whatever it takes to protect them."

Kohana nodded, feeling somewhat satisfied with the answer. But she knew there had to be more to her than that.

She needed to keep searching for answers until she uncovered the truth about her past and the mysterious memories that plagued her mind.

With a newfound sense of purpose, Kohana got up from the bed and headed out of the nurse's office, ready to continue her quest for answers.

The school day was over and Kohana walked down the hallway, she felt a sense of determination wash over her.

She couldn't let these memories and sensations consume her any longer. She needed to take control of the situation and find out who she really was.

But where to start? She didn't even know where these memories were coming from or why they were haunting her now.

Then, an idea struck her - what if she consulted with the village elders? They had a wealth of knowledge and experience that could help shed light on her situation.

Suddenly new memories rushed her and they weren’t at all pleasing.

All about one of the village elders Shimura Danzo.

How he had a secret army named ROOT doing the dirty work for him...how he tried to prolong the third Shinobi World War!...how he was responsible that in the future the whole Uchiha-Clan would get massacres by the clan head oldest son!

The green-haired girl just leaned forward and threw up in disgust. Luckily she was already out of the academy, so no one would care if she vomited on the ground.

So, no, Danzo and the village elders couldn’t help her.

They were a problem that needed to be resolved.

It seemed like she had the whole world against her.

Kohana took a deep breath and tried to push the disturbing memories of Danzo and ROOT out of her mind. She couldn't let herself get sidetracked by their sinister agenda. She needed to focus on finding answers about her own past and the mysterious memories that plagued her.

But where else could she turn for help? Who else might have information about her past?

Suddenly, she remembered something - the library! The Konoha library was filled with books and scrolls that contained information about all kinds of subjects, including history and genealogy.

Perhaps there was something there that could shed light on her situation.

With renewed hope, Kohana headed towards the library, determined to find the answers she so desperately sought. As she walked through the aisles of books, she searched for anything that might give her a clue about Haruno Kohana or her mysterious memories. It was slow going at first, but eventually, she found a book titled "The Genealogy of Konoha's Shinobi."

As she flipped through the pages, Kohana felt a sense of excitement building within her. This book contained detailed records of every shinobi who had ever lived in Konoha, along with their family histories and other important details. Perhaps there would be something here that could help her uncover the truth about herself!

For hours, Kohana pored over the book's pages, taking notes and cross-referencing different names and dates. It was tedious work, but also incredibly rewarding - she was finally making progress in her quest for answers!

And then...she found it - a name that made everything click into place: Haruno Sakuya.

According to the book Haruno Sakuya was the clan head of the Haruno family during the Warring States area.

She wasn’t a ninja, but a Miko who was rumoured....to see in the future?!

Kohana couldn't believe what she was reading.

Was it possible that her mysterious memories were actually visions of the future?

And if so, what did that mean for her and her mission to protect Rin and prevent Obito from turning into a monster?

The implications were staggering, but Kohana knew one thing for sure - she needed to learn more about Haruno Sakuya and her history.

She found it in a little booklet. Long forgotten and dusty.

The young girl couldn't believe what she was reading. Haruno Sakuya, the clan head of the Haruno family during the Warring States era, was rumoured to have high-spirited energy and could seek Nature Chakra without Sage Mode, which gave her the power to see into the future.

She had aided the First and Second Hokage with her visions and had even foreseen Uchiha Madara's betrayal and the battle between him and Senju Hashirama.

But despite her knowledge, she couldn't prevent these events from happening.

Kohana sat back in awe as she absorbed this new information.

It seemed that her mysterious memories were actually visions of the future, just like those of Haruno Sakuya!

But what did this mean for Kohana's mission to protect Rin and prevent Obito from turning into a monster?

Was it possible that she too could change the course of history with her visions?

She continued ready.

The booklet talked about how Sakuya herself said that some things happened and couldn’t be changed, even if you tried hard enough.

That didn’t sit well with Kohana. She felt like her ancestor told her she couldn’t change faith.

“Oh we will see!”, she grumbled to the book.

Kohana would be damned if this terrible future happened!

Then came a part of the booklet that was supposed to be written by Sakuya herself. A part of a diary was found, yet the scholars couldn’t make sense of it.

With a beating heart, Kohana read the passage.

>>I tried my best, yet I failed. I thought our love was strong enough to not make Madara walk the same path he did in canon, but I was mistaken. Black Zetsu's influence is way stronger than shown in the manga. Why did I not connect earlier that the Ōtsutsuki are Isu’s! One part of the Isu’s managed not to get killed or banned into the Nexus, because they eat the God Fruits of the planets they come across. If I still was in my homeworld my assassin’s brother and sisters needed to hear this. Juno in her spectral form is already dangerous enough, but Isu who are flesh and blood? I’m beyond feeling scared, I’m terrified. Blasted artefact who sent me to this world! This Piece of Eden is more trouble than it’s worth it, but if I can’t change history now, I will do it again and the Piece of Eden will help me!&lt;<

Still, Kohana sat there staring at the booklet, till the words became foggy before her.

What?

What the hell did she just read?

Was it really possible that her ancestor, Haruno Sakuya, had come from a different world?

And what was this talk of Isu and Pieces of Eden?

It all sounded like something out of a fantasy novel.

But if what she had read was true, then it meant that there was more to the world than she had ever imagined.

She needed to investigate further and find out everything she could about the Isu and their connection to the Ōtsutsuki.

Perhaps there were clues hidden in the village archives or in ancient texts that had been forgotten over time.

With a renewed sense of purpose, Kohana closed the booklet and stood up from her seat in the library.

She knew that her quest for answers was far from over, but now she had a new direction to follow - one that could change everything she thought she knew about herself and her mission as a ninja.

“Konoha-Chan are you sure you are up for training?”, asked Rin worried.

Luckily her little research in the library didn’t have made her late for the training session with Obito and Rin.

While the Uchiha warmed himself up, Rin checked on her.

“I know today was weird.”, Kohana admitted. “But I’m fine Rin-Chan, really. I promise I will stop if I feel sick.”

“Okay, if you say so.”

“Hey girls are you ready now?!”, called Obito eager over.

The three of them began their training session, but Kohana couldn't focus on the task at hand.

Her mind was still reeling from everything she had learned in the library.

She couldn't shake off the feeling that there was something big and dangerous lurking in the shadows, waiting to strike.

As they practised their jutsu, Kohana kept an eye out for any signs of danger or unusual activity. She knew that she couldn't let her guard down now - not when so much was at stake.

Yet despite her vigilance, nothing seemed out of the ordinary.

The training session went smoothly, and before she knew it, it was over.

As they walked back towards the village, Rin turned to her with a smile. "You did great today, Kohana-chan! You're really improving."

Kohana smiled back weakly, still lost in thought about what she had learned in the library.

She needed to talk to someone about it - someone who might have more knowledge about the Isu and their connection to the Ōtsutsuki. But who could she turn to?

Maybe she should first learn more about Haruno Sakuya. It could be possible that her parents had some of her dairy or other things left behind by her ancestors.

Yes, this seemed to be the most logical step.

Haruno Sakuya was something real. Well, more real than whatever she had written in the snippet in the booklet.

Kohana made up her mind to talk to her parents about Haruno Sakuya and see if they had any information or belongings left behind by their ancestors.

She knew that it was a long shot, but she had to try.

As she entered her home, she was greeted warmly by her parents.

"Welcome home, Kohana-chan!”, called her Kaa-Chan. “How was your day?"

"It was good," Kohana replied with a smile. "Where is Kizashi-Nii?”

“Your brother is with his team aka. Mooning over Mebuki-Chan.”, chortle Oto-San.

The young girl couldn’t help but roll her eyes. Of course, her Nii-Chan would try to court his longtime crush now that they were back in the village for break, till they got out to the war front again.

Kohana sat down with her parents and explained everything she had learned about Haruno Sakuya.

For the time being she left out Isu, Ōtsutsuki and whatever Piece of Eden was.

Her parents listened intently, sadly they didn't seem to know much more than what was already written in the booklet.

However, they did mention that there might be some family heirlooms stored away in their attic that belonged to Haruno Sakuya.

Excited by this new lead, Kohana rushed up to the attic with her parents' permission. As she rummaged through old trunks and boxes, she finally found a small wooden box tucked away in a corner. With trembling hands, she opened it up and found an old diary inside.

She recognized the elegant handwriting as belonging to Haruno Sakuya. She knew that this diary could hold the key to unlocking even more secrets about her ancestor's past and the Isu.

Nervous she looked down at the diary.

This was a lead, why did she hesitate so much?

What made her so scared?

Maybe she had a feeling whatever was written in the diary would flip her whole world upside down.

Taking a deep breath she began to read.

[thegeneralreturns]

Thoughts on OPPENHEIMER

Christopher Nolan is a great director who, for the past fifteen years, has devoted himself to making less-than-great films. The Dark Knight was the last time he sought to entertain, enlighten, or inform, and ever since, he's constructed his work for the sole purpose of getting us all to congratulate him on being the cleverest little boy there is (yes, even Inception, don't @ me). He directs like Salman Rushdie writes, and I don't entirely mean that as a compliment. God in Heaven save us from artists who know they're good, but think they're cute.

So it is with no small amount of satisfaction that I report that Oppenheimer break's Nolan's dry spell. It's the best film in his filmography, and my dissatisfaction with his more recent work should not, I hope, obscure the Gadsden Purchase worth of ground that covers.

If it is a standard biopic, then it is one fed through the woodchipper of Nolan's penchant for chronological jumble and thematic obfuscation, constructed less to draw attention to itself, and more to follow a dramatic and emotional through-line. The chain of events may be veined with diversion and distributed piecemeal, but how you feel about what you're seeing is as straight and as true as an arrow's flight.

Those worried about an attempted rehabilitation of J. Robert Oppenheimer himself need not do so, for Nolan can't make any clearer the fact that he holds the man in almost sneering contempt. Portrayed by the wraith-like Cillian Murphy, he is not afraid to portray him as a man blessed by vast intelligence, yet in a poverty of anything even remotely resembling a damn lick of sense as his personal relationships blow up in his face as spectacularly as any bomb might. And the film goes to great pains to show that even his late-inning mea culpas are a luxury he can't afford and didn't earn.

This is where Nolan's almost alien detachment really works for Oppenheimer's benefit, as the standard story beats of triumph are handled like that of a parent looking at a child who has no idea what they did. Even the third-act redemption, which would have been milked by a lesser filmmaker, is viewed through a thick film of sour irony. The mask only slips after the Trinity test, when Oppenheimer addresses a crowd of people, and the pyrotechnics attendant make apparent that this character is beheld by a director that hates him.

Oppenheimer is the best film of 2023 so far.

SIDE NOTE THE FIRST: A movie for grown-ups made eighty million bucks in the US this weekend. Say Hallelujah, c'mon, get happy.

SIDE NOTE THE SECOND: It took him over twenty years, but Nolan finally wrote his first legible and compelling female character. Congrats to Emily Blunt on her impending Oscar nomination.

SIDE NOTE THE THIRD: Matt Damon's character states he studied engineering at MIT, and all I could think was that Will Hunting got that time machine up and running.

[trickkombowerskru]

Friends With More Benefits-Klaus Hargreeves Imagine

Request: No here is the 16th day-yes 16th the person who got day 15 never responded to my message- of the 25 days of trickkombowerskru! which goes to @rigbabys​ and they wanted a Klaus Hargreeves imagine where him and the reader are friends with benefits but he falls for her? 

A/N: So uh this is faaaaar overdue and I am so so sorry thank you for being patient with me.

Warnings: Mention of sex at the end

You push your hair back, putting it into a ponytail then getting a drink of the water that was set on the bedside table. Klaus taking in all your movements carefully, you mesmerized him. 

There was always an unspecified tension in the air whenever you finished hooking up, could have something to do with how things could sometimes get intense between you two or maybe it was the fact that Klaus had managed to completely and utterly fell in love with you. 

Yeah maybe it was something to do with that. You lay back down into his arms, sensing the tension more than ever this time. You move to look at him, a questioning and concern filled expression on her face.

"You got something on your mind?," You ask shaking Klaus out of his thoughts.

"What? No. Nothing Y/N."

"You sure? You just seem so far away."

"Well I'm not. I'm here with you," he smiles leaning down to kiss you.

"You know you can tell me anything," you confide, there was such a level of trust built between the two of them. 

This is exactly why Klaus bottled his feelings for you up he didn't want to throw off your dynamic and make things weird. You had been there for him during his lowest of lows, your couch had been always open and a frequent crashing place for him after a drinking binge or a relapse or anything else he needed it for. 

"I know."

"I can tell when you're lying to me."

"Really it's nothing."

"Are you using again?"

"No! No no no it's nothing like that. I've just had a lot of feelings lately."

"Alright well that's good at least. I don't wanna push you to talk about it if you don't want to."

"It's not that I don't want to it's that I don't know how to."

"Okay close your eyes, take a deep breath."

He follows the instructions not sure where this is going.

"When you exhale just let the words fall out. Whatever it is I'll understand."

Klaus was hoping that'd be true, eh what the hell. He figures now, it'd be better to tell you while you're single before you two have to stop sleeping around when you find someone. 

Klaus preps himself, he was just gonna rip off the bandaid the worst you could say is no and the two of you could discuss things. Which while terrifying he knew now it couldn't mess up your dynamic, at least not entirely.

"Ithinkiloveyou," Klaus lets out in one jumbled mess.

"What? i didn't catch any of that," you questions.

"I think....no I know..."

"Know what?"

"That....that I love you."

"I love you too."

"No like LOVE you love you."

"Oh...."

"Yeah"

"How long?"

"Huh?"

"How long have you known?"

"It started a while ago, but knowing I think about 3 months."

“3 months so you've definitely had time to think about it... shit."

You notice as Klaus' face falls.

"It's just like why didn't you tell me sooner?"

"I was scared. I didn't wanna fuck this up. And it's not exactly easy pouring your heart all over the place."

You kisses him he's in shock for a moment before melting into it

."I feel like that should make it clear how I feel about you, but just it case it didn't I love you too. So when you taking me out Hargreeves?"

"How's tomorrow" ,he proposes.

"Mm sounds perfect to me," you reply with a smile. 

Klaus feels a huge weight off his shoulders, you didn't freak out, and you felt the same way, was he dreaming?

"Ow," he says as he feels a pinch and looks to see you smirking.

"You're not dreaming."

"You. Bitch," he laughs.

"What are you gonna do about it," you tease.

"Oh ho ho I'm gonna.... I'm gonna get you," he says shifting to move you two for him to be on top.

"Oh are you?," you question amused.

You turn the tables and flips the two of you again, holding Klaus' hands above his head. You kiss, quickly things get heated when Klaus reaches up and gropes your breast. 

Needless to say that got both of you revved up and it continued to lead to your first ever round as an official couple.

[jaemsun00]

NCT Mark + 00Line When you come home drunk and horny

This is mature content, not much graphic details though. Read at your own risk :)

- MARK

As soon as he heard your going out on a girls night, he was planning ahead. He has dealt with your drunk ass to many times to count. So it was no surprise when you came home giggling over absolutely nothing. Mark thanked your friend who acted as the mother tonight, taking you out of her hands. “Good luck with her” she nodded before going back to the car with some more drunk girls.

“Mark!” You shouted, right in his ear at that. “Hi. Quite your voice down please” he whispered, worried you would wake his house mates up. Which you did but... “I missed you. So so much” your words were jumbled but it still made some sense.

“You saw me less than three hours ag- what are you doing” his voice was now high pitched as your hand traveled down south. “I missed you” Mark has never dealt with you like this, usually you would come home and pass out, this has never happened.

“Okay yeah Uh your hand is” he still held onto you as you placed your right hand right where a certain something was growing. “You missed me too” you chuckle to yourself but Mark awkwardly pushes you away.

“Your drunk. Let’s go clean you up” he nodded to the stairs but you scoff. “Let’s go to the couch and do something else” you sing out, strolling your way towards the grey sofa you helped pick out a few months prior. “No baby, come on” he grabbed onto your arm to pull you gently.

“Why won’t you fuck me?” Your straightforwardness made Marks eyes widen, a bit to wide actually. “Your being-“ “why not?” You whine, flinging your arms around like a child. “Your drunk and I’m not taking advantage of your state” “but I’m asking you” Mark sighed before grabbing at your arm again. “I don’t care, come on let’s get you cleaned up” once he finally had you walking semi straight, he let out a loud sigh.

- RENJUN

You were bored, and your boredom led to you drinking almost a whole wine bottle in a span of an hour. Renjun was late home so you just kept drinking. wine and you never really got along, You being a light weight and all. As soon as you heard your code being put in, you got excited. Fixing your posture as you heard his shoes being kicked off.

“I’m home” he sung out, words quickly seized as he saw the way you were lying on the couch. “Hi” he smiled, ridding of his jacket as he also got excited. That until he saw the half empty wine bottle on the little table beside you. “Hiiii” you wave seductively at him, your legs opening a bit more to show him what exactly he was missing.

“Yeah Hi. Your drunk?” He stood tall, the excitement leaving his body as he knew he can’t do anything with you in this state. “What makes you think that?” You whine, completely not in the right state to even be awake right now.

“The bottle, not to mention the red mark around your lips. I’m gonna go for a shower” he sighed, picking his jacket back up and start his mission to the bathroom. “I’ll come just a- ow” your cry made him turn back to you. You’ve fallen of the couch.

“No your not. Come on let’s go get your teeth brushed” he held out a hand for you to take but instead you slapped it away. “If I can’t shower with you what’s the point in getting up” “your being a child, you’ll feel better in the morning”

- JENO

“Your girl is getting a little... too handsy don’t you think?” Jaemin nodded towards a drunk you, who kept your hands all over your boyfriend. Jeno nodded, removing your hand form his crotch. “Welcome to the world of a drunk ____” he joked before turning to kiss your lips like you whispered for him to, among other things of course

Jaemin just nodded, clearly uncomfortable with you feeling up his friend right infront of him. “I think we might head home” Jeno stood up, a hand on your back as you followed. “Yeah yeah let’s go home” all the people at the table looked towards you two with knowing eyes. Jeno shook his head “sleeping, we are going home to sleep” he said turning to look down at you who was wearing a pout.

“Sleep? Ooo you wanna do it in the car??” You ask eagerly, already ridding of your -Jenos- jacket. “No no. Come on” he grabbed both your wrist to stop your wondering hands which knew their way to the place you wanted.

Jeno reckons this car ride was the hardest. Your hand rubbing along his crotch every other second. You trying to nibble on his neck, it was far to distracting.

Finally pulling up at the apartment complex, he grabbed your hand. “If your not to bad tomorrow we will begin this” he pointed between you two before unlocking the car doors. “I’ll come around, stay there”

- HAECHAN

“Your girlfriends drunk”

“Of course she is. So your gonna let her stay at your house right?” Haechan was joking, well your best friend hoped he was. “Your hilarious, come and get her” she snapped the last part, Haechan sighed hearing your drunk calls for another of your friends. “I reckon it’s your turn to babysit. Thank you” “if your not hear in 5 fucking minutes, lee Hacehan. I promis-“ “okay okay. I’ll be there”

He kept to his word, being there in amount of 3 minutes thanks to the club being close and the traffic was short. “Where is the drunk lady” he pulled up, three of your friends held you back from vomiting your guts up. “I don’t own her” Hacehan shook his head as he saw you, but he still got out to help you.

“Hiya baby” you mumble, grabbing at his cheeks to squish them. “Mmm your hair is wet, why?” He asked ruffling your drenched hair. “Girly thought it was fun to have a water fight with herself in the bathroom” your best friend spoke up, patting Haechan on the back before bidding a goodbye.

“You wanna know what else is wet?” You whispered into his ear making him almost chock on nothing. “Your scalp” he smiled before helping you to the passenger side of his car. “Nope lower” Haechan closed his eyes as he finally got you to sit properly on the seat.

“Well that’s sounds like a you problem” he smiled, leaning over to grab at your seatbelt. You took the opportunity to kiss his neck, knowing how that usually gets him going. “If it’s a me problem, I might aswell fix it right now” you smile once he plugs you in.

Hacehan shook his head. “Your to drunk sweetie. You won’t even know where anything is” he joked before hoping into his side. “I don’t like you like this. Where is the other Hacehan? The one who will gladly touch me?” The boy nodded, with a smile.

“He is still here. But he can’t exactly- do what you want right now. Tomorrow night is a different story though” 

- JAEMIN

Jaemin sat on the couch, ignoring your calls of his name. It’s been two hours since you yelled at him for waking you up early. An hour since you decided to down three vodka drinks. Twenty minutes since you begged for him. But he has ignored you, even though it was hard.

“Jaemin” you whined walking into the living room to see him. “Your ignoring me! I did nothing” he could hear the pout in your voice but didn’t dare to look at you, knowing he would give in if he saw it.

“Fine I’ll just go blow Jeno or-“

“Excuse me?” His head snapped up, seeing your red cheeked self. It was clear you had a little bit to much for your body. “Oh so that’s how I get your attention?” You chuckle, nodding as if you did something good.

“You don’t like the idea of my mouth around-“ Jaemin coughed to cut your words short. “Your being silly. Go drink some water” he nodded towards the kitchen, acting as if your words were not bothering him.

He hated you drunk, mainly because of this reason. You being the horny person that you are, and he can’t do anything because of obvious reasons.

“I don’t want to have water in my mouth, I much rather... some thing better” your eyed his crotch, licking your lips a bit to obviously. Jaemin scoffed, standing to his feet. Surely he was still a bit mad at you for earlier. But gosh you were so dang cute right now.

“As much as that sounds very exciting, baby. I would rather you suck me off when you know what to do”

- YANGYANG

All YangYang wanted was to go to sleep, not be driving over to your place and handle a drunk you. “Why’d you drink?” He whined once he saw the bottles scattered across your table. “I got fired” you shrug as if you weren’t crying over it for the last three hours. Yangyang’s eyes went wide when he heard that.

“What? Fired? Why?” He asked all at once, coming to stand beside you as you sniffled a bit. “Someone better. I don’t know he is a stupid boss anyways” you mumble the last part, YangYang patted your back as you downed another little bit of your drink.

“So you spent your money on alcohol? Baby that-“ “I called you for a reason you know?” Your boyfriend nodded, surely he thought you called him for support, to get your mind of the  events that you just went through.

Well how wrong was he. Cause now he was pinned down on your couch with you straddling him. “We cannot do this” he smiled trying to push you off his thighs but you pushed him away. “I want to. It’s okay” you smile drunkily at him and it makes him sigh.

“I would love to but baby, I don’t think right now is a good time for this” ignoring his words you lean in for a kiss again but he moves his head so your lips collide with his cheek instead. “We can do this any other time”

“But I want it now!! Oh come on I know you do to” you grind a bit on the growing tent inside of his pants. Groaning a bit YangYang sat up half way. “Please not tonight. When we have sex I want you to remember every detail, okay?”

Giving up you roll off his lop, sitting beside his legs instead. “I want another drink” “no no. No more”

- SHOTARO

“Babbbyyy” you scream through your apartment. Hoping the boy you need right now is here. “Shotaro?” You try again, walking into your bedroom to see a small light shining up the room. Shotaro laid comfortably on your bed, blankets pulled to his chest as he watched a drama with his AirPods in.

Shotaro saw the  silhouette of your body before pausing his episode. “Hi your back?” He smiled brightly at you. Switching on the light, you strode closer towards him.

The poor boy had no clue what was about to hit him, thinking you looked as normal as you usually do. That until you started sexily climbing up the bed. Hands on his legs as they got closer and closer.

“What are you doing?” He chuckled nervously, moving his legs underneath your hold. “I want you” you spit out making Shotaro drop his phone on his face, he forgot he still held it above his head.

“Your drunk?” He finally put two and two together, after smelling it once you got close. “Not drunk enough. So let’s get you ready” you sing out, handing pressing down on his sensitive area. “I’m uh. No” he stumbled among his words.

Of course he wanted your mouth around him but you clearly weren’t in a state of mind right now, probably about to pass out as soon as you got him out of his sweat pants.

“No? Why not?” Shotaro sat up, grabbing your hand to hold. “You need sleep, baby” he raised an eyebrow at your scoff. “Sleep is overrated. But you know head isn’t over-“ “baby. Please” he begged with his eyes that made you scrunch up your nose. “You always get what you want. It’s annoying” you whine before falling to lay beside him. Minutes later and you were passed out just as Shotaro expected.

[palbabor-writes]

Lá Bealtaine

Pairing: Choso x Fem!Reader

Warnings: mentions of blood, cunnilingus, SMUT, NSFW/18+only, loss of virginity - if you squint, using sex to mask feelings & trauma, mild JJK manga spoilers; but if you’ve seen the anime you’re pretty caught up on this stuff

Word Count: 4732

“Why do you let them––us, stay?”

You lift your head, blinking at his obsidian surveyance. “What am I supposed to do? Say no? Not like I put an advertisement on the door: seeking dangerous men and nefarious spirits, inquire within. I’m not wanting to die, you know? Besides, it’s not all bad.”

“Name one thing that’s not bad about this,” Choso demands, his tone clipped.

Why? Why does he care? You’re not someone he can save. There’s no room for you. You aren’t family.

“Only one thing? Well, that’s easy,” you continue, the steady lull of your voice jerking him out of his musings. “You.”

Notes: hehe, when i said i had Choso brain rot i was not joking. this dude has been on my mind for weeks, ya’ll. WEEKS. special thanks to @libiraki​ & @kugutsuu​ for beta editing! if you haven’t checked out their works please stop what you are doing & scuttle yourself over there bc you are missing out.

Lá Bealtaine [l̪ˠaː ˈbʲal̪ˠt̪ˠənʲə] 'the bright or yellow day of Beltane' - a time of fire and fertility.

It started with a touch. A simple interaction; but it sticks to the back of his mind and the heat of your hand lingers, a remembrance that he can’t shake.

He’d returned to the dingy bowels of the hideout, boots echoing over the well-worn floor as he made his way to his customary seat; unaware of the blood that oozed from the strip above his nose. Legs and arms are heavy as he slots himself into the chair, his eyes drooping closed as he leans his dark head against the cushions. 

Two weeks.

Choso’s younger brothers were killed two weeks ago. Leaving him alone; adrift in his loss, his failure as an elder brother. The remembrance of them stung in the morning and was an ache by afternoon, but in the night’s darkness it burned.

He will have his chance, he reminds himself, furrowing his brow; seeking the faint traces of the other six who need him to press on, and the hollow twinge of the two who need vengeance. The 31st is only fourteen days away; he can wait. He can–

The pressure of the sudden touch makes him jerk; coal-dark eyes snapping open, searching for the source. You’re standing above him, hand outstretched, the pad of your thumb delicately catching the long forgotten drip of blood against his cheek. 

“You shouldn’t touch that,” he says, voice gruff in the vacant emptiness of the space; but he doesn’t shift, meeting your frank gaze unblinkingly. 

“Oh?” you question, swiping the sullied digit across your pants, tacking the deep crimson into the material of your jeans.

“It’s poison,” Choso clarifies. The spot you’d stroked your thumb down is tingling. Exhaustion, he muses, itching his nails into the thick fabric of his loose pants. He’s imagining it; there’s no other explanation.

“You’re not going with the others?”

What? How can he? They’re dead. Ah, no. He’s not thinking clearly. You don’t mean his brothers; you mean Getō.

“No,” he quips, lifting the back of his hand to his cheek, wanting to quell that spreading warmth that you’ve left him with. 

“Then you don’t need this, right?” You gesture to the mess of game pieces and the forgotten board that is scattered across the low table in front of him. He shakes his head and you begin the steady process of tidying up, collecting the mismatched jumble into your arms, folding the rest into the tattered box before you step away. 

Choso closes his eyes again, steadying his breaths, finding the pulse of the blood that thrums within him. Nothing is out of place. So why does his cheek feel like it’s on fire? There’s no reason for it. Is he this starved for a connection that he’s latching onto the first interaction he receives? 

His onyx eyes follow you as you walk across the matted flooring. You own this space; have struck some kind of deal with Getō and the others, permitting them to come and go, quietly cleaning up their messes, and ducking out of sight when they gather within the confines of the darkness; talking through the plans, the ins and outs of the sealing and the massacre that they hope to spread throughout the underground station of the pre-ordained prefecture. 

In the grand scheme of things you’re nothing. Why waste energy focusing on you? It won’t matter in fourteen days.

The clink of the cup on the table rattles him out of his thoughts and Choso peers into the depths of your clear gaze once more. “What is it?” he queries, running a broad hand down his face, hoping the pull will make him forget the persistent warmth that’s radiating from the spot you’d touched. 

“You look tired. Drink that and get some rest.”

“Giving orders now?”

“Sure,” you grin, cocking your head at Choso’s curled lips and wrinkled nose. “That’s a good one. Like any of you would ever listen to me.”

What’s this called? Self deprecating humor? Well, whatever it is, Choso doesn’t enjoy the brittle tone your voice has drifted into. It doesn’t suit you and that low annoyance that’s been brewing under his skin is coming closer and closer to the surface. His fingers are on the cup before he can properly sort through his mismatched emotions, but he doesn’t miss the lift of your lips when he gulps the scalding tea down his throat. 

Why does he care? You don’t matter. You’re no one to him.

“Easy,” you tut, shaking your head at his sharp gaze. “You’ll burn yourself.”

So? He’d rather feel something burn than linger into the uneasy pull of an ache. 

Choso looks for you when he enters, shifting past the others. You’re tucked toward the back, brows creased and head down. It’s a smart move, but the frightened hunch you’ve adopted bothers him more than it used to.

“We have a few minutes,” Getō announces to the gathering, dark eyes bright as they fall on his impassive face. “And Mahito is always late.”

There’s an implication behind it, but Choso opts to ignore that uneasy instinct, already turning. He’s just going to ask you for tea; that’s all. When you spy him, you smile and that spot on his cheek flares, remembering the sweep of your thumb.

“Lucky you caught me,” you tell him, hands busy with the rattling cups. “I was about to go.”

He narrows his eyes, watching the curve of your neck, the stretch of your fingers, and the uneasy twitch of your shoulders. This sort of existence doesn’t suit you. You’re the antithesis of this; normal, kind, unabashedly human. So why do you… 

“Why do you let them––us, stay?”

You lift your head, blinking at his obsidian surveyance. “What am I supposed to do? Say no? Not like I put an advertisement on the door: seeking dangerous men and nefarious spirits, inquire within. I’m not wanting to die, you know? Besides, it’s not all bad.”

“Name one thing that’s not bad about this,” Choso demands, his tone clipped. 

Why? Why does he care? You’re not someone he can save. There’s no room for you. You aren’t family.

“Only one thing? Well, that’s easy,” you continue, the steady lull of your voice jerking him out of his musings. “You.”

Choso shakes his head, openly scowling at your answer. “Me?” he sputters, sucking his teeth and pressing his clenched fists into the long table that you stand behind. 

“Yeah,” you confirm, pouring the steaming water over the leaves, wafting the fragrant essence of the tea between his clenched jaw and your ducked head. 

“I don’t… that is...I...” Choso begins, but fumbles into silence when he catches sight of your eyes, half hidden behind the sweep of your lashes. It doesn’t make sense. None of this makes sense. “You’re strange,” he finishes, huffing a belabored sigh between his pursed lips, but when you laugh he can’t help a faint smile. 

It will feel disloyal later, that burst of momentary happiness, but right now he doesn’t mind the distraction; cupping the yunomi between his palms, catching your fingers before they can pull away, enjoying the warmth you transude into his chilled hands. 

Nothing holds. Choso knows this better than most. All things, given time, change. It is an inevitability. Something he’s known intrinsically, and clung to, all those years; when the only constant was the beating of his brother’s hearts beside him. But change rarely announces itself, content in its own emergence; the omnipotence of its bite.

Something has shifted. 

“You didn’t go again?” You ask one night, sitting beside him, a cooling mug between your fingertips. 

“Didn’t see the need,” he tells you, an outstretched legs brushing against yours. 

“You’re different… you know that?” A smile hidden within your words. 

“So are you.” He likes that, he thinks. He likes it more than he should.

“Can I ask you something?”

“What?”

You bite your lip and he watches the press of your teeth, hoping you’ll split the skin. 

“Come closer and I’ll tell you.” You bargain, coyly shaking your head.

“I’m close enough and I don’t like games,” he grumbles, hoping you won’t leave it at that, because while it’s true that he doesn’t like games, he’s enjoying this give and take. 

“Please?”

There’s something intoxicating about that gentle sound and he turns, wordlessly following your crooked finger. He towers over your seated form, but you don’t let that imbalance hang, hands tugging against the white of his shirt, urging him to kneel between your spread legs. When he settles, you curl your fingers against his jaw, smoothing that blistering heat over his icy skin until he’s pressing forward, resting his heavy forehead against yours. 

You’re so warm, he inwardly gasps, his breaths coming in pants. So warm he fears he might grow addicted to this heady intimacy. “What do you want?” Choso asks, the deep timbre of his voice quaking. 

“You.” It’s such a simple answer; how like you.

“I am here,” he replies, half drunk on the feel of your skin.

“Yes, but what if I told you I want more?”

That question casts him into the darkness. He’s unused to this; doesn’t know what to do, what to say; he’s been sealed for so long, too long, and he feels wobbly, lightheaded, but he tries to reach, his fingers grasping at the base of your neck, pulling you toward... toward…

The clatter of the front door startles you both, and he’s on his feet, eyes wild as they look down on your parted lips, and the furrowed confusion of your brow. Your hands are still upturned, waiting for his.

The others step into the space and when he blinks again you’re already gone; your chair vacant, the warmth you’d shared evaporating into the unfeeling cruelty of the chilled air. Shit, Choso curses, grinding his teeth.  

Something has shifted; it will be impossible to tear himself away from you now.

It’s only been a day, but he can’t stop staring at you. He doesn’t hide his blatant gaze, obsidian eyes tracking each step, hungrily snapping to yours each time you come near. You do nothing to lessen this itching want that’s raging within him, leaning close, pressing your hand against his shoulder as you gather the discarded cups that are scattered between them, asking him if there’s anything else he needs, your breath hot against his ear. 

He’s unsure if he likes this. 

But each time you shift away he wants to drag you back. 

When they leave, used to his excuses, and his protestations that as long as the mission doesn’t involve Itadori Yuji or Kugisaki Nobara he’s uninterested, he stands; head turning, searching for you. 

Ah. There you are. 

He’s against you in an instant, stiff hands cupping you, greedy to touch, to hold. You squirm, a laugh bubbling from your lips, swatting his wide palms from the tempting swell of your hips. “What’s gotten into you?” As if you don’t know.

“Tch,” he scolds, “you’ve been toying with me all evening. You said you wanted more yesterday, so show me.”

You breathe out a chuckle, bemused by his enthusiasm and take his hand in yours, leading him down a hallway. He’s never been back here, but he follows, trying to steady the thudding of his heart. Controlling his life’s blood is second nature to him, so why does this feel like it’s a losing battle? 

The room you open is dark, but he can make out the shape of a futon, stark against the mats, and his eyelids flutter, too overwhelmed by the realness of this befuddling situation to look. To distract himself, he pulls you against the slope of his chest, splaying his fingers against the sweep of your collarbone. You twist in his loose hold, folding your arms around his powerful neck.

“Do you still want this?”

Choso unsticks his tongue from the roof of his mouth, gulping down a wavering breath. “I already told you,” he begins, his voice gravel, “show me more. Show me what else you want to do with me.”

“Can I kiss you?” you inquire, dipping your head enticingly, catching his wandering attention, urging him nearer. He doesn’t answer, electing to tap his lips against yours, clumsily pressing until the tip of his nose digs into your cheek. It’s easy to feel your heartbeat like this, and he wraps his arms around your lower back, eliminating the meager distance that was trapped between your heaving chests. 

You let him steady himself, careful to keep your movements slow, but the squish of his face and the jerk of his hands tugs a bated humph of discomfort from you and he breaks away, elegant brows crumpled as he searches for the source of your discontent. 

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” you amend, smiling at his obvious pout. “Can you do me a favor?”

“Hmm?” Choso questions, stroking a palm up your spine, a smirk quirking the corner of his mouth when you draw in a gasp. 

You cup your hands beside his ears, fingers sinking into the dark tangles of his hair as you lure him back to your parted lips. “Open your mouth.”

He does as he’s told and you mold him against you, lapping your tongue over his, earning a shuddering moan and a sharp caress as he coils his hand around your throat. It’s easier this way and Choso steadily follows your lead, mimicking your sucks and teasing bites. Teeth clash when he reaches for more but he eases the sting with a flick of his tongue, and you nibble his lower lip in retaliation, pleased he’s so malleable. 

Your fingers fall to the sash that rests above his stomach and he grunts when you pull at it, easing it away with a stable unwinding. His breaths are heavy against your kiss shined lips, but he keeps perfecting his new found techniques, sweeping chapped skin until it’s worn smooth by the wetness of your tongue. His own hands are preoccupied with your neck and the gentle underside of your jaw, fingertips pressing until you can sense the pound of your heart within his grasp. 

“What are you trying to do?” you ask between his frantic presses. “It’s like you wanna match my pulse, or something.” 

“Worry about yourself,” he grouses, ill-pleased with your answering laugh. “It’s going to take forever if you go that slow.”

You shove your palms against his chest and he stumbles backwards, his booted feet loud against the heavy mats, dark eyes flashing up at yours as his face falls into a deep-seated glower. “What?! What was... why did you…”

His angry retorts melt into nothingness when you fling your shirt over your head, sending the thin fabric fluttering to the ground. The sudden exposure leaves him gaping, unsure of himself once more, but you ease the shock, grasping his limp hand in yours, guiding it over the dip of your stomach, and up the flow of your side. 

“Let’s play fair, huh?” you tease, tapping a kiss to his cheek, careful to land it in the same spot your thumb had touched weeks ago. Choso nods, obsidian eyes wide as his fingers trace over your goose-prickled skin. “Alright, well, it’s your turn.” 

His gaze snaps back to yours, whisking over your face; as if he’s searching for some kind of answer in the lift of your nose, or the plushness of your lips. Whatever it is, he seems to have found it because he ducks his head to yours, resting his brow against the crown of your temple, hands lifting to his own clothing, making quick work of the intricate knots and folds of the fabric.

The gleam of his skin in the moonlight takes your breath away, and you reach for him as he eases the black off of the white, sliding your warmth over the coldness of his bared pectorals. He’s smooth; skin as soft as freshly cleaved talc, or a scattering of downy feathers, and you keep stroking until he’s shaking under your touch, his exhales unsteady against your face. 

“I think I have more blemishes on my fingers and arms than you do on your entire body. You’re so soft,” you tell him, tracing an outspread hand against his muscled abdomen. 

“I’m... this is a new manifestation,” he answers, hoping the strangeness of him, of his half human, half cursed being, won’t drive you away. 

“Hmm,” you nod, pulling him down for another kiss. “It feels nice.”

He’s slow to undress. Not because he doesn’t want to see more of you, he’s simply distracted, too focused on touching what bits of you are revealed; the arc of your hips, the tipped buds of your breasts, and the line of your legs. But you’re like water; slipping through the gaps of his fingers, leaving him wanting, unsatisfied with his fragile hold.

When the last scrap of clothing is off, he waits, his cheeks flushed and mouth dry. “Now what?”

“Do you want me to touch you first?” you ask, that tantalizing smile lifting your lips. 

“No,” he asserts, shaking his dark head. “I want to learn you before that...so show me.”

“You’re very unusual.” Tilting your head as you take his hand, leading him to your futon. “You know that?” you continue, tumbling him over you as you splay across the crisp sheets. 

“Says the woman who is letting me between her legs,” Choso smarts, finding your lips in the gathering darkness. “Stop stalling; show me.”

With a pleased sigh, you reach for his hand again, looping your fingers around his as you guide him to the juncture of your thighs. You work one away from the others, gliding it along the ridges of your folds, showing him how you like to be touched. After his initial gawping and mystified rumblings of, ‘so wet,’ and half croaked, ‘fucks,’ he shifts closer, easing onto his haunches as he curiously follows your lessons.

“There,” he hisses, onyx gaze catching your twitching stomach and jerking hips. “Teach me how to do that.”

You work him to that apex, using your other hand to lift the slippery hood of your clit, showing him how to press and tap against the spongy nub. He’s a quick learner, his eyes falling from yours to watch the flutter and quaver of your cunt. 

“Move your hand,” he tells you, resting his lips against the hollow of your neck, his tongue lapping over your pulse. When you untwine your fingers from his he waits, lips too busy sucking a bruise into your skin; reaching for that unsteady thump of your heart. 

Bump-bump-ba-bump.

Yes. This will do. He’s caught the rhythm; can almost sense the flow of your blood, and see the surge of your clit under his touch.   

The next frig of his digit has you gasping out his name, legs unfurling, knees shaking beside his ribs, your head flopping back onto the futon with a dull thump as you arch into his hold. Choso reapplies the pressure, adding the pad of his thumb, leaving it opposite his seeking forefinger, squeezing until you’re clawing your blunt nails down the sheets. 

“You look good like this,” he smirks, looming over your heaving figure, licking his wet tongue along the valley of your breasts. “What else can you show me?”

Your fingers’ grip into his hair and you yank him from you, one brow delicately arched as you take in his irascible scowl. “You could put your mouth to better use…”

There’s no need to elaborate, and he’s wedged between your thighs before you can fully blink, ravenous lips slurping kisses and bites into the tender skin; he’s asking another question, but you can’t hear when he’s touching you like that, his fingers doggedly pressing at your clit, jerking more moans from your throat. 

“Wh-what?” you ask, breath stolen before it’s past your quivering mouth.

“I said,” Choso pants, lifting his inky head and fixing you with a dazed stare. “I can feel your heartbeat.” 

“Does that matter?” you laugh, popping onto your elbows to regard him inquisitively. 

“It helps,” he answers cryptically and you jab your toes against his arm.

“Helps with what?”

“You’ll see. Do you care if I experiment?” He lifts his fingers from you, sucking the dripping pads into his mouth as he waits for your answer.

“Knock yourself out,” you gape, biting your lip between your teeth.

His dark eyes glaze before he averts them, an appreciative smile gentling his sharp features. “Good,” he replies, easing one bent leg over his broad shoulder, sparing you a last glance before sealing his lips to your throbbing folds.

It starts slowly; a deep shudder that seems to radiate from your core before pooling against your extremities, making your fingers twitch and your muscles spasm incrementally. But Choso is mindful of the power that he’s found, and he eases you onto his tongue, helping you to relax with steady sucks, avoiding that all important button that is distending above his nose. He can almost hear the rush of your blood, can sense where to press with each swell of your slick folds, and he follows unquestionably; pleased he can lose himself in this, in you.

He taps his thumb against your entrance, eyes opening, searching over the curve of your breasts to see you, to watch what kind of expression you’ll make when he finally breaches this boundary. The sheer heat of you takes him aback, and he groans, his low voice vibrating over your twitching cunt, and you reward his elation with another moan, his name falling from your lips. 

What is this? 

He’s drowning and all he’s done is taste you. Will he die if this goes further? Or will it burn? Lapping away the remnants of his regret until there’s nothing left of him but splintered bone. 

“Choso,” you breathe, fingers latching into his wayward hair. “More, please… it’s not enough.”

He rotates his thumb before easing it out, making room for the wide push of his index finger, tongue lifting to swirl around the pulsing nub of your clit, and teeth grazing until you’re squirming.

“There!” you cry out, bucking into his open mouth. “Oh, god… I... I can’t––”

Something inside you shudders. He can feel it in the comforting thump of your heart and it makes him clutch you to him, his own hips rutting against the edge of the futon as he finds himself awash in the sheer intoxication of you. 

Fuck. Is it supposed to feel like this? Like he’s half himself and half you? Or is he simply drunk on the rush of your blood?

Your cunt sucks his finger deeper, gummy walls pulsing in time with your heart as he gulps down your essence, tongue greedily catching it before it has time to drip onto his upturned wrist. It’s good. It tastes so fucking good. 

He’s so winded by the sensations that he barely notices you pulling from him, his dark head lolling over the crinkled sheets, an inaudible moan slipping between his clenched teeth. Choso doesn’t resist when you ease him upward, warm fingers tracing up his heaving body as you press him onto his back. Only when you press a kiss to his fevered temple does he find himself, eyes bleary in the darkness.

“I’m sorry,” you tell him, straddling his hips, your hand reaching for his straining cock, palming some of the leaking pre-cum over your fingers as you stroke him. “I can’t wait… I want you… can I? Choso?” 

This part will burn, he thinks, helping you to hold yourself steady, eyes slipping closed when he feels the slick heat of you gliding teasingly over his tip. When you sink down, his back arches, and he hopes that the whispering shadows, the lingering remnants of his guilt, will be tossed onto this fire you’re stoking. Your hips still when they reach his base, legs twitching around him, your nails catching against his smooth skin, working nicks into the clean slate. 

You’re clutching onto him like he’s the only thing tethering you down, and he opens his shuttered eyes to watch, hoping he can glimpse you past the smoldering of his want. You’re beautiful, he thinks, hand lifting from your hips to fiddle with the necklace that sits around your neck, admiring the glint of metal in the gloom. 

He wishes he could see more, that he could wait a little longer, but he wants to put an end to this ache; he wants to burn.

The lift of your knees leaves both of you gasping, and Choso stifles a moan, legs tensing restlessly under the steady push and pull you’re establishing over him. It’s so warm inside you, and he can feel the thrum of your blood again, so he tries to match his to yours, controlling his pulse, right down to the multiplicity of his cells, eager to feel that potent tug of release once more. 

“Does it feel good?” you ask, leaning back so he can admire his engorged cock as it plunges in and out of your sodden pussy. 

“Do you have to ask?” he grunts, lifting a hand to your breast, tweaking the tender bud of your peaked nipple between the knuckles of his fingers. 

When you call out his name again, he snatches you to him, dragging you to his parted lips as he digs his heels into the futon, rutting into you until you’re squelching lewdly around his pistoning cock. The world feels like it’s narrowing; the shadows lessening as he engulfs himself in you, his teeth working bruises into your neck, your shoulder, the tops of your breasts, anywhere he can reach; but it’s not enough. 

With a huffed groan he’s gathering you into his arms, robust thighs helping him to flip you onto your back, hands splitting your legs as he drives himself back into your welcoming heat. It’s deeper in this position. He can feel more of your twitches and pulsations as he steadies his arms beside your ears, bracing himself over your prostrate form. 

“You want me to touch you again, don’t you?” he asks, voice broken. “Do you want me to touch your clit? Will that make you cum for me? Will it?”

“I-I can do it,” you gasp, easing your fingers between your grinding bodies, knees spreading so he can watch. “Tell me when,” you murmur, head dropping as you arch, slipping him further.

“Now,” he moans, grabbing your jaw, forcing your lips to his as he slams his cock into you, setting himself alight; easing the incessant tug of his guilt until it’s a blunted thrum resting close to his heart. 

When you shatter around him, he follows, wholly caught in the ebb and flow of his release; lost in the depths of this unsteady solution.

He stays with you through the night, eyes following the line of your body as you sleep. His hands are cold, he thinks, easing them beside you, but not for much longer. 

The 31st is only four days away.

“Did he question you? Ask you for anything?” Getō’s words are lanced with care, his voice honey sweet as he steeples his fingers, peering at you with an avariciousness that makes you shake.

“He didn’t. I doubt it will happen again. I didn’t...I don’t want to...to… hurt––”

“What? Hurt him? He’s a half-breed monster. His feelings don’t come into this. Nor should yours; you have a family to think of, a mother who’s an invalid, a younger brother who can’t be depended upon, a father who’s a drunkard; too far gone to notice, or care, his eldest is missing; hasn’t attended her college classes in weeks... and your sister. Well, she’s still a child... much too young to suffer from your mistakes, don’t you think?”

“You’re the monster,” you grit, hands folded into your lap, nails pressing until blood wells under your fingertips. 

“Perhaps,” he smiles. “We’ll be out of your way soon enough. Let me know if you show any signs of impregnation, would you? Any spawn you whelp will be useful; very useful indeed.”

notes: i was gonna name this something else, and i know the dates i am describing don’t match with the sabbat, but Beltane felt like a smoother fit. 

[wormstacheangel]

Second part to the mixtape headcanon. Dean’s reaction to Cas being at his door in the middle of the night with the mixtape in hand.  

Dedicated to Liv ( @blue-eyed-cutiepatootie ) sorry it took me a while but here it is. Might not be what you expected but hopefully you enjoy it either way.

Cas stopped short in front of Dean’s door. His heart raced as he held the Walkman to his chest, clinging to the words he just heard, but he knew those words were years old. So much has changed in general, but between them, it felt like a still lake.

Since coming back, Dean has acted as if those dying words weren’t even spoken. Sometimes Cas wondered if he imagined the whole thing, but he knew the truth; Dean didn’t feel the same way and didn’t want to make it uncomfortable for them.

It was something Cas has accepted the last few weeks of being in the bunker, being home, but now, with Dean’s secret message, he felt the courage in him bubble up his throat.

Cas quickly knocked three loud, quick bangs with his fist before waiting for a response. He heard a groggy, “What?”

“Dean? May I—Can we talk?”

Cas didn’t hear an answer right away, and for a second, he thought maybe Dean fell back asleep; he knew it was the early morning hours but wasn’t quite sure of the exact time. Still, time never really meant anything to him before, but now, as a human, time has become precious, and he didn’t want to keep wasting it.

He took a deep, shaky breath, raising his fist to knock again, but the door then clicked open. Revealing a disheveled and disoriented Dean.

He leaned against the door frame wearing lemon patterned boxer briefs and a hand up his t-shirt to scratch at his chest, as he yawned before he blinked at Cas a few times, “Dude, it’s 3 am. What can’t wait ‘til morning?”

Cas swallowed his nerves down before looking down at the Walkman to take out the tape. He brought it up to Dean’s face, and with an earnest voice, he said, “You said to come ASAP. So I’m here.”

Dean only looked at the cassette tape; a small gasp of a breath raised his chest, but then his face scrunched up in the familiar fixed glare, so Cas continued knowing Dean won’t talk. Not yet anyway.

He put the cassette back into the Walkman as he talked, rewinding it to keep his nervous hands busy. “I believe I understood what you—what the songs mean, but I am still so new at all this. If I am wrong, I don’t want it hurting us.” Cas took a sneaky look back up at Dean to find him watching the Walkman with the same intensity Cas was.

It only took a few seconds, and then Dean was shuffling in the doorway as the first song, Ramble On, started to play through the headphones. With no other words, Dean opened his bedroom door open just a little more, an invitation to come in, before he walked back over to sit at the edge of his bed.

When Cas walked in, he closed the door behind him but stood awkwardly by it. He broke the silence first as he looked anywhere but at Dean.

“You know what, maybe this can wait until morning.”

“You already woke me up.” Cas looked up to meet Dean’s stare, it wasn’t cold, but it still sent a shiver down Cas’s spine. “So talk.”

Cas opened his mouth, not knowing what words he was even forming, but Dean stood with a hand up to stop him before any words were spoken.

“Actually, first, why are you bringing this up again? I gave you that thing years ago.”

Cas put the Walkman down on Dean’s desk, the music softer but still background music, before looking at Dean with guilty soft eyes, not knowing how to explain himself. “Yes. I just heard—I appreciate the gift, Dean. Thank you but-um.”

Dean seemed taken back by the words, and, by his hardening demeanor, Cas knew they were the wrong ones. Dean was building walls up again.

“You know what, Cas,” Dean scrubbed a hand down his face as he glared past Cas with an uneasy smile settled on his face. “I can’t do this right now. How about we leave the rejections for some other time? Yeah?”

Cas opened his mouth, confused, but Dean nodded.

“Good. Night, Cas.”

Oh. He was already being rejected. It made sense that Dean’s feelings changed after all this time. He must have been waiting for Cas to mention the message, but it’s too late now. He lost Dean’s love.

Cas reached for the Walkman, but now he wasn’t sure if he wanted to listen to those songs, understanding why Dean skips them now. So he fists up his hands, leaving the Walkman where it laid, before giving Dean a stiff nod in return.

“Understood. Goodnight, Dean.”

Dean didn’t say anything in return, his jaw clenching as he looked at anywhere but Cas. “And take your damn gift with you.”

Cas’s chest tightened at the words. He felt familiar pain spread through his body, one he wished had a physical reason than an emotional, psychological one because a fist to his chest would hurt less.

“I don’t want it anymore.” Cas spit out as he opened the bedroom door and walked out into the hallway. “Throw it away for all I care.”

He slams the door closed behind him and stalks to his room, slamming that door behind him as well.

Then as soon as he is in the safety of his own space, he can feel the pain making itself known, like a hot blade slowly cutting into him or something heavy sitting on his chest. Either way, he wanted it to stop. Wishing he never heard that message or that he heard it at the right time.

Cas laid wide awake in bed, curled up around a pillow he was hugging to his chest. He stared at the wall, wishing he had a better imagination to keep him entertained, but all he could see was Dean’s glare. The glare those green eyes dug into him really digging roots and pulling him apart from the inside out with an invisible pull.

He couldn’t go out there and face him now. Maybe, Cas should have just ignored the long-ago message. It was apparent Dean had lost those feelings for Cas; he would have brought up Cas’s dying words weeks ago if Dean felt remotely the same. Now Cas was left with an awkward situation he didn’t want to be a part of.

He needed to leave.

Cas knew that. This is how it always went. Cas needed to go.

Cas stood up to walk over to his desk to grab his wallet and keys before grabbing his coat, ready to sneak off before the sunrise. He’ll be gone before Dean can kick him out again.

He didn’t even get a chance to open his bedroom door before Dean was striding in with a determined glare, “Okay, fuck this, I think we really need to-” Dean stopped to look Cas up and down as his shoulders dropped. “You’re leaving.”

“I think—I think it’ll be best.”

Dean nodded, his bottom lip being sucked into his mouth as he stared back at Cas. “Sure. Just do what you do best. Runaway.” Dean threw whatever he held in his hand across the room and broke it with a loud bang. Cas flinched as he saw what it was, the Walkman. “Fuck if I care!”

Dean was already turning to walk away, but Cas grabbed hold of his arm to stop him. “Why are you so damn mad, Dean?” Cas walked to step in front of him. He moved until he finally locked eyes with the angry hunter. “I’m only doing this for you.”

Dean rolled his eyes and shrugged Cas’s touch away. “Don’t bullshit me, Cas! You’re running away cause you don’t want to face me.” Dean poked Cas’s chest as he continued his angry rant. “Why don’t you start acting like a fucking man and face the damn consequences instead of being a little bitch and running away?”

Cas didn’t stand down as he glared back at Dean. “Enlighten me then. What would those consequences be?”

Cas took Dean’s finger and pulled it away from his chest, but it stayed in his grasp as he took a step forward, never taking his eyes off the familiar angry glare. The angry man he left behind still here after all those years, looking back at him with an ‘I dare you’ stare, but Cas could always read past those words. Dean was hurting.

“Why don’t you stop acting like a…like a little bitch, and just-!” Cas stopped with a loud sigh while he dropped Dean’s hand, along with his stare. Instead, he looked down at their socked feet. Dean was wearing pizza socks while Cas wore matching burger ones. They came in the same pack, and Dean split it up for them. He cracked a small smile thinking of that day before looking back up at Dean with pleading eyes. “Dean. I’m tired of this. Can you please just…Just talk to me?”

“Nothing more to talk about, Cas.” Dean sounded more defeated than angry now. “I got the message. Loud and clear.”

Cas blinked at him a few times. “Well, I’m sorry, but I apparently haven’t gotten the same message.”

“Don’t play dumb.” Cas just stood there staring at him, waiting for him to continue. “Geez, Cas, how many times are you going to fuck with my—I get it, dude, you don’t feel the same! I am doing my damn best here to be fucking normal about this, and then here you come bringing that old relic back as if—Did I fuck up somehow? Am I not giving you enough space?”

“I have enough space, Dean.” Cas tried to understand Dean’s words, process them, but they all felt just as jumbled in his mind as they did, leaving Dean’s mouth. “I—I’m sorry, I just don’t understand.”

“Shocker.”

“Did I understand the message wrong?” Cas ignored him as he asked, turning his head towards the shattering remains of his gift.

He felt his shoulders fall as a pang of sadness hit him from seeing his first gift broken. Cas walked towards it, hoping he would find the tape safely stored away inside the deck of the Walkman. He crouched to pick up the big chunk of plastic in his hand. It was smashed beyond repair, and the eject button was not working. Great, he’s going to have to break it more.

“ASAP,” Dean mumbled to himself, and Cas hummed in response, twisting the part in his hand.

“Yes. That’s what you said, so I did.”

“I told you to talk to me ASAP years ago, Cas.” Cas didn’t have to look up to know Dean was walking closer to him. “Did you just listen to the message?”

“I did.” Cas’s shoulders slumped in guilt. Dean has been waiting for a response all this time. “Sorry.”

“So when you were—when you tried to return the tape, that wasn’t a, um, a rejection?”

Cas looked up at him before he stood up, the broken Walkman in his hand. “I have loved you then like I love you now, Dean. I would never. Is that what you think happened?”

“Yes!” Dean took a step forward as he ran his hand through his hair, his eyes traveling down to the broken shards. “Shit. So wait, when you said you loved me, before the empty…did you mean,” Dean cleared his throat as he walked closer, nervously scratching his beard when he realized he didn’t have any pockets to hide his hands in. “Did you mean romantically? Like, like human romance?”

“I,” Cas felt his throat dry up as he tried to swallow a lump as he nodded earnestly. “I did. Yes.”

Dean looked at him, looking for something, and before Cas could ask what it was, Dean had his hands on either side of Cas’s face—pulling him in close until they were chest to chest. Then lips to lips.

Cas didn’t even realize he dropped the machine until he realized he had his hands on Dean’s skin. Feeling his body lift off the floor until he was being dropped on the bed, and Cas was watching something he never thought he would have or hear.

“I love you, Cas. I love you so much.”

Happiness isn’t always in the having, but fuck, this was so much better by a long shot.

[the-sappho-of-lesbos]

I worry about you seeing some of your personal posts. Other anons have said it too, but you seem to truly hate so much of yourself. I am not saying this to try to be unkind or hateful, it just truly hurts to see people, especially intelligent, thoughtful ones, do this to themselves. I hope you get the happiness and love you deserve, truly. I just hope you learn to stop giving in to the self hatred and commit to the incredibly brave act of learning to forgive and love yourself first. Please treat yourself with the gentleness and kindness you would give your younger self. They're still there.

And please remember, nobody's timeline is the same. Some people find their true love in their teens, some in their late forties some in the retirement home. Some people marry young and end up miserable and some stay single most of their lives and are truly happy, even if they aren't aromantic. Things happen in their own time, you are not restricted to some imaginary social checklist.

Good luck, honestly and truly. I wish you nothing but happiness.

-love, a very late blooming lesbian who took a very long time to find herself, love herself, and find someone else to love her too 💜

I’m so sorry it took me so long to reply to this!! I kept trying to get my thoughts right on what to say but I don’t know if I’ll be able to lol. So I apologise in advance if this is just a jumbled mess that makes so sense whatsoever.

But firstly thank you for being so kind 💕💕💕 it truly warms my heart and means a lot to me 💕

Ever since I started therapy I’ve jumped around “I hate myself” to “ can I really say I hate myself?”. I get conflicted because I feel like my actions and desires don’t always align with that self hatred. I buy myself things. I can definitely argue I do it sometimes in an OCD related way, to fill the void, , impulsivity issues. or a self harm sort of way. But sometimes I just see something I want and get it for myself. I start to wonder can I really say I hate myself if I do that. Would I happily buy something for someone I hated. I don’t know. And with how much I crave love and relationships. I’m definitely on my last tether with the whole thing , and I give up hope a lot, but I still try in my own way to get it. If I hated myself would I do that. Maybe just makes me a horrible person to chase after something so vulnerable and beautiful when I dislike myself so much. Butch

But also I don’t look at myself and feel joy. Most of the time I feel a massive disconnect to be honest. Like I’m not actually me, or I never have been me, or I don’t even know what me is. Sometimes it feels like my soul is disconnected from my brain and my brain is disconnected from my body. Like there are three layers of me that aren’t tethered together properly and all just floating around. So when I say I hate myself what part am I referring to. Because they often don’t feel like the same person. It’s like everything is fuzzy but clear all at the same time. As if I’m half awake and half asleep. So when I do feel hatred what part is it for. But also how do I fix it when everything is just floating away.

That sense of wanting to be neutral at the very least is sting. But it’s hard to catch that feeling when so much is going on in my head. This probably makes so sense but I often don’t feel real while simultaneously feeling so unbearably real it hurts.

So self hatred gets mucked up in all that. I don’t know what I can call she and what I can’t. Where it starts with me and where it starts with my circumstances. Or not being able to reach this fictions ideal of life I’ve built up in my head from an early age. I don’t feel cut out for living - not necessarily always in a suicidal way, just in an this doesn’t feel real or I don’t think I’m feeling what I’m supposed to kind of way. Like a blocked up river or something. Things aren’t flowing the way they feel like they should.

And just with the way my brain I’m so enamoured with ides of love. It’s probably so unhealthy and unrealistic and I’m probably never doing to find what fantasy I’ve built up in my head - and I know it’s just exasperated by the hole and emptiness I feel in my chest. But I wholeheartedly genuinely don’t know how to stop those feelings. I don’t know how to not crave the love and relationships I do. Or to just be content with what I have and wait for love. I want to. I just don’t know how. But maybe with more therapy I’ll get there one day. Because I think having that more grounded and understanding approach to relationships will go a really long way :)

And I completely feel like I’ve lost my train of thought now lolol.

But genuinely thank you again so much for reaching out and being so kind and helpful. It warms my heart so much 💕💕💕

I hope you have a say just as beautiful as your heart!! 💕💕💕💕💕💖💖🌸

[orange-plum]

So I was commissioned by @andrastesassets to write about the scene in “Satan and Me” where Satan gives his wings away for Natalie, but from his POV. This was kinda a big turning point as a wake-up call in the series for him, as you’re probably aware if you’ve read past that point and seen him be more open with his feelings and such. Anyway, it was a fun little thing to explore (yes, this is canon thoughts of his). I never expected to be commissioned to explore deeper into a canon of my stories that hasn’t been put into words before with the images alone of the updates, but I’m def open to that in the future!

Without further ado, here you go.

The looming presence behind him paled in comparison to the disorienting lurch his stomach gave as he kneeled on the unwelcoming cement floor. Keeping his gaze down, concentrating on the little tremors of his arms holding him upright, Satan struggled to properly see through the fog of stress clouding his mind. Clouding his judgement.

Fuck, this wasn’t the right thing to do, was it? Was he being too hasty? Should he spring up and sprint out the door before he followed through with something he couldn’t come back from? This was definitely one of his more impulsive and reckless decisions he’d ever committed to. Nothing could truly be worth this kind of –

Satan’s hand twitched, starting to rise as nerves got the best of him, when a blur of orange and maroon hovered on the edge of his peripheral. For a brief moment, he found himself vaguely wondering what the smudge of color was in the expanse of drab brown walls and muted trim. 

Reality came crashing against him like an unforgiving tide for what seemed like the tenth time this morning. Sweat gathered at the base of his neck and he swallowed.

Satan returned his palm flat against the cement, locking his joints and muscles into place so that he would not stand up. His stomach did another discombobulated lurch.

Right. This was for Natalie. Natalie, who had no right looking so gray, Father, she was like a corpse.

She is a corpse! His mind howled the confirmation at him, leaving his breaths shallow in his welling panic.

Yes, that was true. It had been true for hours now, yet, somehow, the complete depth of what that really entailed eluded him in his denial. How could she be dead when she had talked to him only moments ago? Human’s lives had always felt fleeting, but had any ever felt quite this temporary before? 

Less than a year they had been together . . . How had she burrowed this deeply under his skin? When? Satan tried to conjure a memory to pinpoint the exact moment Natalie had become a constant in his life as he bore his back to Death and Pestilence. In the end, it was fruitless. Between his ears remained endless static.

The tension in the air was suffocating. His arms trembled, but he kept his jaw clenched.

He would give them no further satisfaction when taking the last bit of value he still possessed of his former self. They would not see him fall apart at their feet. That could come later, when left in the privacy of this cold, dreary room, where he could lick his wounds and recover in peace.

He was still Lucifer, the Morning Star and omen of destruction to all who opposed him, wings or not.

But, fuck . . . Father, he would prefer to keep his wings.

Somehow, boneless and lightheaded from the trauma of the morning, Satan noticed, with a small sense of intrigue, that his back actually felt heavier now that it was empty. How was that possible? 

The long gashes where the trunks had been swiftly carved open spewed boiling trails of lava down his skin, soaking into the hem of his robe and pooling Great Lakes onto the floor. Energy had left in his limbs the moment the numbing kiss of Death’s blade breached his muscles.

On wobbling legs, Satan rose in his shock and joined Natalie at her side. He carefully reached toward her, gliding the tips of his fingers against her ashen cheek, almost afraid to touch, because she looked exactly the same. What the hell? She looked no different than when she had been splayed out like a weathered ragdoll amongst her bedsheets at sunrise, goddamnit. 

Before he could garner enough strength to turn on his company and spew venom and vitriol from his lips, Satan froze. Warmth wafted over his fingers under her nose as he lowered his hand. Closer inspection revealed the gentle rise and fall of her chest. The nauseating cramping in his stomach abated so suddenly, he almost keeled over right then and there.

“Give it a few minutes,” Death commented over his shoulder, as if reading his mind. There was no longer a smile in his voice, his face a neutral mask as Satan glanced at him with gritted teeth, the sight of his former pride being folded up and collected like loose laundry too much to bear. “It takes a little while for a soul to acclimate into their body after death. I assure you, her color and liveliness will rekindle when she wakes up.”

Through the haze, Satan vaguely realized he must’ve been making some type of suspicious face when Death suddenly snorted and shook his head, his eyes gleaming. “For all we’ve been acquainted, Lucifer, you should know I’m not one to break my word. Give my regards to little Natalie when she rejoins the land of the living, won’t you. As always, it’s been a pleasure. I look forward to seeing you and your brother again when the time comes for your big day.”

With the room empty, peppered only with the soft sounds of Natalie’s breaths and the distant echoes of Death’s laughter down the desolate hallway, the elephant in the room was no longer avoidable. Satan slumped against a wall, transfixed by the rise and fall of the chest beside him. Even more so as the rosiness began to fill Natalie’s cheeks the longer she breathed life into her form.

His previous adrenaline had left him a hollow puppet, now that there was no longer the turbulent cocktail of anxiety and doubt weighing on his shoulders. Satan allowed himself to drift to the floor, lying beside the only person he had ever met who had compelled him to do something so utterly foolish. Jesus, her daredevil stunts to ground him at his lowest points seemed to have rubbed off on him, and likely not for the better.

Satan’s wounds throbbed at the edges, a constant reminder of the magnitude of what he had just done.

Don’t think about it, his mind lethargically reminded. What’s done is done, so don’t start regretting it now.

“Prophecy child, huh . . . ” Satan muttered, his arm leveraged under his head like a makeshift pillow. The light cascading through the windows almost seemed to light up Natalie’s hair in its luminescence. Amongst the carnage splattered around them from his sacrifice, she was ethereal and without blemish.

He had found out about the Child of Prophecy by chance, becoming enraged at the notion of being kept in the dark so late in the game. Natalie’s existence had changed from an everyday annoyance to one of unbearable burden.

She had the power to sway him? To sway his empire and everything he worked for? A being like that, who would steal his autonomy or cast him spellbound, was too dangerous to fraternize with. There was just too much on the line to risk throwing away for some goofy, loud-mouthed human without an ounce of self-preservation.

And so Satan had done the only logical thing he could think of at the time: He ran away, leaving her with that pitiful, crumpled face as he rejected her in that inconsequential Oregon town. The less time he spent with her, the better off he’d be.

Only . . . That had not played out as he’d hoped. Watching Natalie disappear over the side of a bridge had been like a bolt of electricity coursing through his body. That she would see him as the monster that he was, a grotesque monstrosity that even Michael had recoiled from, and attempt to help him, regardless? Well . . . Perhaps there was more to Natalie McAllister than he had originally considered. He’d cradled her close and winced while he repaid her kindness by accidentally boiling her alive.

Oregon was a wake-up call.

Natalie had piqued his curiosity, her smiling reassurance that she didn’t befriend monsters jumpstarting the heart in his chest that he had presumed stopped functioning centuries ago. Not only that, but he had no way of knowing he would soon find out that running toward the very man attacking her and her cowardly little friend, despite the blatant terror in her eyes, was only the tip of the iceberg.

“Oh,” Satan muttered, something foreign flooding into his chest, emotion catching in his throat as he stared at Natalie’s slumbering form.

Silencing Hell for him at the cost of her soul . . . 

Calling him her guardian angel. Crying, not for fear of Hell, but for fear of being separated from his company . . . 

As much as he wanted to deny it, the fondness in Natalie’s eyes as she smiled at him was undoubtedly genuine. She really did seem to look at him like he hung the stars above her head.

“I love you, Lucifer. I’m glad I got to meet someone like you.”

Satan trembled, unable to properly sort through the sensations overflowing from his chest as Natalie’s eyelashes began to flutter. Champagne bubbles tickled his stomach, and though not required to breathe to live, he felt so remarkably breathless at once.

So that’s what this is, Satan distantly thought, watching pale eyelashes finally parting to reveal a cognizant gaze, blinking against the trickle of sunlight warming her cheeks. When meeting Natalie’s eyes, he couldn’t keep the smile of relief from his face.

Satan understood that he had never experienced this before, but he somehow knew what to latch onto in his jumbled mind with unquestionable conviction.

I love her.