#so young and yet has to burden so much...like a lot of the cast

[maskedchip]

I wanted to share this little comic I’ve had in my folder for a while, it was actually one of the first mini comics I planned right after finishing the game but I battled with the perfectionist demons so I never posted until now 😭

But yeah, I think Susato is really sweet and caring and deserves little breaks :’) 

[babygorewhore]

Sins of the flesh.

Charlie Mayhew x fem reader.

Father Charlie is a young, forward thinking priest with a deep internal battle. You carry the burden of fear from the local horrific murders in your community. But Charlie has his own way of comforting you.

Hi yes I have collected another character to my arsenal. Thank you so much to @xxbimbobunnyxx for helping me with the headers and @fear-is-truth for inspiring me and giving me confidence to write him!

Warnings! Religious themes! Blasphemy! Oral! Fem receiving! Mild clit biting! Finger sucking! Use of the word Daddy! Short and sweet!

“Aren’t you a little young to be a priest?”

Your bold question took the young man off guard. A lot of women were soft spoken, tentative and intimidated by his demeanor. But you, ever since you attended the church regularly again this week, he knew you were anything but ordinary.

“God holds no age limit. I feel he has sufficiently prepared me.” Charlie Mayhew was proud in his reply. Borderline arrogant. It wasn’t that you doubted his faith but you could sense his internal desires.

You lingered afterwards, not wanting to go home yet and unable to fight the curiosity. You crossed your arms, aimlessly circling and looked down at the floor.

“Tell me what weighs on your mind,” it wasn’t necessarily a demand but his tone hinted at desperation. You kept your gaze low, giving him no reply.

He gently spoke your name but his fingers caught your chin. His warmth surprised you, his guidance moved your stare to meet his. “Tell me what weighs on your mind.” This time, it was a demand.

“I’m afraid. Of what’s going on.” You whisper and inhale sharply as Charlie gives you a twinge of sympathy. His brown eyes oozing something you know is forbidden but you can’t deny it.

“Such feelings are natural of the flesh. You don’t need to feel less of yourself for that.” His tone was gentle and you watched his shoulders tense. You pull your lower lip between your teeth and he clicks his tongue.

“Fear makes you human. Humans are moldable by God. So you are just what the lord requires.” Charlie’s voice held anything but holiness. Before you had a chance to answer, his hands seized your elbows and he pushed you into a dark enclosed space.

You lost your balance and landed on a wooden bench as Charlie shut the door behind him. You could see him but shadows cast over his face. He knelt before you, his trembling fingers toying with the waistband of your leggings. Charlie was shaking with anticipation and it seemed like he was about to burst. Your hands steadied you at your sides, you looked at him with wide unsure eyes. He sucked in a breath at the sight of your soaked panties.

“If we are to do the will of God, sacrifices must be made.” He whispered and rested his head against your naked thigh.

“Father-“

“You will not address me as everyone else. You will either remain silent,” Charlie ripped your underwear down, your legs aiding him in the removal and you felt cool air against your cunt.

“Or you will call me Daddy.” His words were barely above a growl and your mouth parted as Charlie’s tongue dragged along your slit.

Your hand cupped the back of his head, his soft hair underneath your fingers as he moaned pathetically. His large hand cupped your tit, squeezing firmly and his other set of fingers spread apart your pussy. Exposing your swollen clit. Charlie sucked it between his lips, a surging aggression coming out as he licked harshly.

Your stomach tightened and coiled. His nose hit your center in the perfect place, his tongue intensely moving against your pussy. Charlie’s sharp jaw was set against your entrance and you whined. At the sound of your pleasure, he nipped your clit. As if reminding you of what he said.

“Daddy,” You hoarsely murmured as your head fell back. Charlie grunted and buried his face impossibly deeper. His digits held your folds open and your muscles strained to stay quiet.

“Pray.” You barely understood his order but you weren’t able to resist.

“Heavenly Father, hallowed be thy name,” You gasped and Charlie nudged your center with his teeth.

“Pray for forgiveness.” He demanded and added more pressure to your pussy.

“Heavenly Father, please forgive me for giving into the desires of the flesh,” You sobbed and Charlie drooled, sucking in your clit.

You gripped his hair, shaking and creaming all over his beautiful face. Your orgasm ripped through you violently, your eyes squeezing shut. Cum coated his full lips and he moaned with you. Charlie kissed your inner thighs, your lower stomach that was exposed and his blackened eyes looked at the cross you wore.

He took it, ran it along your leaking pussy. The silver shined and you looked down. His pants were damp in the center.

Your hand skated along his pronounced cheekbones, dragging to his mouth that still dripped with your cum. He took your fingers in his mouth, sucking softly for a few seconds but then suddenly stood.

You watched as he smoothed his shirt, your panties slipped in his pocket and he placed your cross beside you. Charlie’s expression held rage, madness and sorrow.

“Come to me when your mind is heavy. I’ll fuck it out of you.” With that, he turned and exited. Leaving you half naked and burning hot with a new insatiable need.

Dividers by @animatedglittergraphics-n-more

Tagging: @xxbimbobunnyxx @cxrrodedcoffin @fear-is-truth @starkeysprincess @cameronsprincess @justafangirls-blog @chavezprincess

[twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat]

jjk chapter 270 spoilers under the cut !!

GODDDDDDDDD I LOVED THIS CHAPTER. I LOVED IT SO SO MUCH . i feel so high rn you guys don’t UNDERSTAND 😭😭😭 it gave me literally everything i wanted (minus gojo stuff but we’ll get to that) AND I’M JUST !!!!!!!!!!!! i feel so satisfied . all is right with the world . i am a happy mouse

i love love loveeeee the fact that akutami finally decided to pick up (most) of the loose ends — at least the ones from the culling game !!!!!! it’s my favorite arc and i really adore all the side characters, so getting to see them all again was so nice 🥹 and my biggest criticism for akutami’s writing in general has been how he leaves these loose threads behind him, so i’m glad this chapter went back to piece them together. there’s still obviously a lot i would’ve liked to see before the finale, but this chapter finally made me feel somewhat satisfied with it all …..

buuuuut okok!!! let me get through some stuff <3

^^^^ THIS . THANK YOUUUUUUUUU GOD 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭 ALL I WANTED WAS SOME FINAL SHOKO CRUMBS . THAT’S LITERALLY ALL. i love her so much chat …………. THE BUN :((((((( i wonder if she’s paying tribute to suguru, in a way. since she can’t make his grave all nice like she did with tsumiki’s. <- WHICH IS ALSO . so heartbreaking :((((( shoko has been the closest to death and corpses out of everyone.

’that moron should’ve let me handle geto’s body, too’……… gojo thought he was doing her a favour by not forcing her to dispose of him, but i wonder if his decision only caused her more suffering? :’) either way i loveeee shoko and i think her character is so wonderful. her not believing in an afterlife is also so in character LMAO, my little cynicist <3333

^^^^^ AND THEN THIS . PEEEEEERFECT. SO PERFECT. shoko and her cigarette motif :’)))))))) SHE FINALLY QUIT AGAIN . SHE IS AT PEACE . also need to mention how fucking cute she looks ……. i neeeed to squish her cheeks !!!!! she’s my baby !!!!!!!!!!

i will say that . obviously . i would’ve loved for her to get a more concrete final moment with stsg :’) like her being at the airport, or something. overall i’m satisfied with this being her ending of sorts (though if gojo is alive i’d obviously like to see them talk)…… she hasn’t gotten as much spotlight in this manga as she’s rightfully deserved, but i do think her character writing has been lovely and consistent throughout everything, and she remains one of my ult favorites <3333333 i LOVE my wife. love all her little quirks . i hope she quits smoking forever and ever!!!!!!!

ahh, it was also nice to see them mention tengen!!!! and how the barrier techniques worked. again, i’m just really happy that we’re not letting plotpoints go unfinished 😭😭 i also think it’s . a little romantic. that tengen’s barriers will exist as long as sukuna’s remnants remain . the tengen / sukuna / kenny trio is very interesting to me (MORE ON THAT . LATER.)

THEN WE ALSO HAVE THIS !!!!!!!!!

^ this moment means . soooo much to me. will try to get my thoughts out coherently but this theme really resonates with me so deeply :’) since the beginning of the manga, jujutsu society has been built on the foundation that is the suffering of youth — adults casting blame and burdens on children. like the higher ups who hide up at the top and force the children to work themselves to the bone. we saw this so clearly in hidden inventory most of all. and gojo is the anti thesis of that society — he wants to preserve youth !!!!!! even nanami, who didn’t really have any clear desires to change the fundamentals of their society, did his best to protect children as an adult.

so to see gakuganji refer to utahime and nitta as young (even though they’re both grown adults)….. and say that ’they needn’t worry over this just yet’…… i think. it shows how much the society is already improving. with someone like gakuganji in charge. and also kusakabe, who basically told the trio to just be kids last chapter, and leave the hard stuff to the adults (can’t remember his exact wording lmao but he said it so perfectly)…… it just warms my heart. jujutsu sorcery is still a shitshow but as least the children won’t be as exploited anymore (or at the very least, there are good adults around them, who will bear most of the burden on their own backs). idk. i just loved this moment sm :’))))))

ahhhhh, and and and !!!!!! mr katana and mr sumo 🥺 IT WAS SM FUN SEEING EVERYONE AGAINNNN and it was so sweet seeing maki try to look out for them a little after they helped her ……..

^ maki and her middle aged man besties …… :3

AND THEN CHARLES !!!!! MY BOY !!!!!!!!!!! just needed to mention him lmao. i love him T_T happy that he’s working on his trashy little manga. keep up the good work king <3333333 SAME WITH THE FORMER BULLY . sorry can’t be bothered to remember his name ….. the pudding guy. you know who i mean. seeing him apologize and try to make amends was rlly heartwarming …….. i really am so happy to see all culling game characters happy and alive . WHERE IS REMI THOUGH . 🤨

…… but okay . okay. okayyy.

actually yk what we’re saving the best for last ^^ ONTO HANA AND MEGUMIIIIIII WHAT A CUTE MOMENT . SOOOO CUTE . i don’t ship them at all i think they’re adorable though …… AND HANA IS SOOOOOOO GODDAMN CUTE I CAN’T EVEN EXPLAIN IT ????? :((( I NEED TO SQUISH HERRR

^ LOVE this line . my brother pointed this out but isn’t it like …. eerily similar to that akiangel scene 😭 lmao. i just really love this. megumi offering to be her right hand because ’he’ was the one who took it from her ……. he’s such a good boy :< also instantly pictured him being her scary knight/guard dog and yk what maybe this ship could sail after all…..

^ THEN THISSSSS 😭 THEY’RE SO CUTE. MEGUMI IS SO FUCKING AWKWARD HANG IN THERE BUDDY ………….

ah i forgot to mention higuruma …… i love him!!!!!!!!! i love him a ton!!!!!!!!!!!! :’3 i think seeing his junior demand a retrial for the sake of justice meant a lot to him. i could go deeper into it because higu’s character is so dense but yeah !!! very fitting ending for him …… i’m kinda sad that he’s cursed to be an overworked sorcerer though 💀 hang in there king…

AND THENNN WE HAVE :333c A NEW MISSION… feels kinda nice to go back to our roots. i have literally NO idea what’s gonna happen though 😭 hopefully tied to gojo….??? for the record i obviously want him to live and will have Many things to say if it turns out he’s really been dead this whole time, but. we’ll save that for the next chapter <3 for now i’m just happy to see the babies back together….

^ noba being gay ……. all is right with the world 🥹

BUT OKAY . ENOUGH. ENOUGH ABOUT THATTTT ENOUGH ABOUT EVERYTHING ONLY ONE THING REMAINS AND IT’S THE ONLY THING THAT MATTERS. akutami loves me and only me and this chapter finally confirmed that once and for all…..

I FUCKING . SCREAMED. YOU HAVE TO UNDERSTAND.

TAKABAAAAAAAAAAAAAA FIRST OF ALL? I MISSED HIM . I MISSED MY BABY 🥺🥺🥺 BUT SECOND OF ALL WHAT THE FUCKKKKK WHAT THE FUCK ALL MY PRAYERS HAVE BEEN ANSWERED???? THIS IS ALL IVE EVER WANTED????????? i’ve been telling my brother that if i could manifest one thing i’d want jjk to end with takaba on stage with kenjaku without it ever been elaborated on AND MY PRAYERS HAVE BEEN ANSWERED . I’M SO HAPPY YOU DON’T GET ITTT

there’s so much to say ……… truly ………. these two make me insane ………… will start with: they’re so funny. they’re so gay. kenny wanting to make sex jokes like the freak he is. THEY’RE TOGETHER GUYS 🥹 THE KENKABA SPINOFF MANGA I WANTED IS RIGHT IN FRONT OF MY EYES .

….. but also !!!!! truly truly trulyyyyy — i love this. i love how akutami did this. this is kenjaku’s final scene, and it’s perfect for them!! it’s so chaotic…. they left sorcery behind for a life of stand up comedy 😭 AND IT’S SOOO IN CHARACTER . IT REALLY IS. what kenjaku wants, what they’ve claimed to want since shibuya, is to create chaos that not even they will be able to control, using cursed energy. and takaba is exactly that. kenny created takaba’s cursed technique using the culling game, and takaba is chaos personified!!! a chaos kenjaku can’t control!!!!!! as dissatisfied as i was with yuuta just swooping in and cutting their head off i did think that the takaba fight was a really clever and perfect end to kenjaku :3

soooo — it makes sense that kenjaku would go back to takaba. they had fun with him!!!! he matches their energy!!!!!! and takaba could easily have saved his life using his ct, which i think is the implication here. i love that kenny’s face is obscured, it just feels like such a fun little thing to throw in at the end 😭 but i doooo genuinely think this is akutami’s way of implying that kenny is alive and living the happy yaoi life with takaba . as they fucking should.

i also wanna say !!!!! that i think it’s so thematically fitting that kenjaku’s ending is soooo different from tengen’s and sukuna’s . i LOVE this aspect of it so much; kenjaku is the most morally corrupt of the three, and also the most human. sukuna is a human turned calamity, who slumbered for centuries, and tengen is a shut-in who ended up mimicking sukuna’s appearance while only maintaining human contact through a barrier. kenjaku laughs at them for it. he hates them for being so passive, because kenny is the opposite of that — he’s lived through it all!!!!!! changed with the centuries!!!!!!! so i think it’s just ….. soooo perfect and tasty that sukuna and tengen now only exist as remnants, as barriers, just like they did before — while kenjaku chooses to live, and takes an entirely different approach. they’re so fucking chaotic and i adore them. i can’t explain how much i love their character …… i really can’t ……… :’3

i’m just . still so happy . i really thought it was kenover…… i didn’t think they’d get an ending so perfect………………. i really, really hope akutami comes in clutch and gives gojo the same treatment :’) even if the chances are slim. i thought this chapter was absolutely lovely and i hope with allllll my heart that i end up enjoying the final chapter too.

……….. i think ……. that’s all 😭 (if you’ve read this far i’m kissing you with tongue btw). THANK YOU FOR BEARING WITH ME !!!!!! this chapter made me feel so genuinely satisfied and giddy and i’m super sleepy and tired but i just needed to rant :’3 i love kenjaku. they’re so silly . such a brat. i wanna kiss them. takaba too actually. we are in a happy polycule

[yuyuytt]

All the times that time has taken you away from me | Hyunjin au| ୧ ֺ   ｡part 1

synopsis: you always believed in the myths of past lives, soulmates, and twin flames, until these beliefs began to materialize in the dreams that visited you every night. Every morning, you woke up startled, feeling a sense of loss consuming you.

You tried to convince yourself they were just dreams, products of your mind, perhaps remnants of past traumas. Yet deep down, you knew everything could change in the blink of an eye. And everything did change when you met Hyunjin. Your world lit up, and you recognized him immediately, as if he had always been a part of your life. The arrival of this young man brought an intriguing mystery and a silent hope that destiny would cooperate.

But an unsettling question arises: would you and Hyunjin be willing to risk everything once again to live a romance, even knowing the inevitable outcome of it all? Destiny hovers uncertainly over your hearts, awaiting your decision.

'there was no greater pain than seeing

you lifeless in my arms.'

pairing: hyunjin x fem reader.

genre: romance, drama, angst (lots of it), mystery, smut, soul mates, forbidden romance, back in time, lovers from the past, strangers friends and lovers.

୧ ֺ   ｡ masterlist

You found yourself unable to translate the sensations coursing through your body; it was an amalgamation of unfamiliar emotions. A joy intertwined with anguish, an anguish interspersed with fear. You detested experiencing these feelings, and the distress was amplified by the certainty that, most of the time, your intuitions proved correct.

Each surge of emotion was a rollercoaster, a chaotic situation between happiness and restlessness, between discomfort and apprehension.

You noticed how quickly your mother had accepted things, especially your marriage. There was something about it that aroused your suspicion, considering how much she had denied and resisted for so long. Though not a surprising turn of events, you preferred to believe she had finally come to terms with the situation. Despite finding her attitude strange, you still cherished the idea of being married to the prince.

You were still adjusting to this new sensation, even unable to fully believe it. After so many disappointments, arguments, and tears, alongside all the persistence, you had finally reached this point. Here you were, barely able to wait to take it all in once and for all, completely in love, involved, and committed to the prince. Every move, every thought was driven by this overwhelming feeling. The hours seemed to drag on as you longed for the moment to finally express these feelings, to make clear how much he meant to you.

Even though that had been clear long before.

You advanced with slow steps towards the prince's room, where he lay, wrapped in expectations and dreams of a kingdom yet to come. The idea of becoming queen still hovered like a distant mirage in your mind, but reality was beginning to solidify as you approached the destiny that awaited you.

Each step was laden with meaning, each thought echoed with the imminent responsibility you were about to assume. It was more than just the title of queen; it was the burden of leading a people, of making decisions that would shape the future of a kingdom.

Small steps echoed against the polished wooden floor, reverberating through the castle corridor almost swallowed by darkness. Torches cast a dim light, enough to reveal the outlines of the weathered walls. With each cautious step, your body jumped as you came upon an unknown figure. Dressed entirely in black, their face hidden beneath a somber hood made it impossible to discern their features. The tension in the air was palpable as you tried to decipher who or what stood before you.

"Sorry, princess," he murmured with a hoarse voice and a tone laden with sadness. You tilted your head in confusion, trying to make sense of what was happening. Your eyes searched his, looking for any sign, while the weight of his words hung in the air, carrying a palpable tension.

"What..." you murmured, surprise taking hold before you could react. Your eyes widened as a gleaming blade suddenly flashed, wielded with determination. A cry of alarm escaped your lips, echoing in the tense air, while your muscles instantly tensed, preparing for the imminent confrontation with this unexpected threat.

Blood gushed in a violent stream, meticulously infiltrating every fiber of your delicate white dress, painting a brutal contrast against your pale, immaculate skin. A shiver ran down your spine, your eyes dilated in a frantic dance of shock and terror, capturing the intensity of the moment in a whirlwind of emotions. The violent impact swept through your body, causing you to collapse against the rough floor, an intense wave of pain spreading as you desperately tried to catch your breath.

Your limbs felt heavy, every movement a tough battle against the dizziness threatening to overwhelm you. A whirlwind of confused and incoherent thoughts assaulted your mind, a cacophony of voices trying to decipher the inexplicable, while your senses struggled to orient themselves in the haze of pain.

In a moment of confusion, you woke with a start in bed, your body covered in sweat and your breathing ragged. A brief relief flooded your mind as you realized it had all been a terrible nightmare. Still trembling, your eyes scanned the room for solace in the familiarity of the furniture.

The dream's images persisted, echoing in your mind, prompting you to reflect on your deepest fears and question the origin of these disturbing visions. With your breath still ragged, you tried to dispel the frightening images, clinging to the reality around you. In the suffocating silence, a familiar voice broke through the stupor plaguing you, rescuing you from the abyss of nightmares.

"Hey, are you okay? Another one of those bad dreams?" Minho inquired, his presence firm at the bedroom entrance like a beacon in the darkness. Concern overflowed in his words, echoing the genuine affection he always showed. Even in the semi-darkness of the hallway, you could glimpse the lines of tension marking his face, silent witnesses to his distress over your suffering.

Since you were 15, Minho had always been vigilant about your dreams, or as he called them, nightmares. Each night was a battle against the monsters inhabiting your subconscious, a fight he waged with determination and courage. You admired his dedication to protecting himself from this nocturnal torment.

Minho's constant concern for your well-being did not go unnoticed by you. It was evident in every gesture, in every attentive gaze. Since the day you met at age 8, you always knew you could trust him blindly. Your friendship was an anchor in life's storms, a safe harbor where both found comfort and support. Even after 13 years had passed, the connection between you and Minho remained as strong as on the first day. It was as if time had no power over the solidity of this bond.

"I'm fine," you murmured, trying to control the tremor in your voice. Your heart still pounded frantically, echoing the remnants of the nightmare that had haunted you. However, something subtly different hung in the air that morning. As you struggled between calmness and restlessness, the dream's images persisted in your mind, as if etched with painful clarity.

You were fully aware of the situation and your feelings, but struggled to admit how emotionally shaken you were, knowing it could affect your sanity. "Sure? Can I get you a glass of water?" Minho asked again, his voice soft and concerned echoing in the room you shared, as he approached slowly.

"It's going to be okay, I'm sure of that," you murmured, trying to instill confidence in your words, although you knew sleep wouldn't return so easily after the nightmare. Minho caught the hesitation in your voice; after all, he knew you better than anyone. With a compassionate look, he gently agreed. "And yes, I'll want some water, and how about a generous slice of that strawberry pie left over from dinner?" he added, with a slight smile on his lips.

Minho's smile returned to his face, lighting up his eyes with a renewed glow, evidence of his relief at noticing his own calmness reflected in your serene expression. "I'll consider your situation," he promised, his voice filled with a mix of compassion and consideration.

The sky began to brighten, heralding the sunrise. You woke up early, ready to start another day. As you glanced out the window, you noticed the serenity of the weather in Seoul that morning. The sun emerged gently on the horizon, bathing the city in golden light and creating a cozy atmosphere. You took a deep breath, feeling the cool morning air enter your lungs, while the sun's rays gently caressed your skin, contrary to the expectations of scorching heat.

Despite the recurring nightmares that never found a solution, you struggled to maintain positive thoughts and move forward. Peacefully observing the bustling streets of Seoul, you noticed teenagers enthusiastically walking towards school, their backpacks swinging rhythmically beside them. A slight nostalgia for your own adolescence began to arise, an involuntary smile forming on your lips as you remembered the days filled with energy and expectations. However, you were aware that you were now living a better moment in life. Attending your dream university and enjoying a fulfilling job was an achievement you deeply valued.

Your trip to the university campus proceeded smoothly. Fortunately, the dormitory you shared with Minho was close to the university where both of you studied. The decision to live and share a room with Minho had proven to be correct. After all, it was much better to share space with your best friend than with a stranger, at least that's what Minho always claimed.

Although you were late for the first class, you knew that in university time was more flexible and professors usually didn't care so much about it. It was one of the big differences from school, where schedules were stricter and responsibilities were more directed at students.

With hurried steps, you decided to make a brief stop at the coffee shop where Yongbok, the friendly barista, worked in the morning. The welcoming aroma of freshly roasted coffee filled the space, awakening your senses and inviting you to a refreshing break. Upon entering, the soft sound of background music complemented the cozy atmosphere of the place.

Navigating through the crowd of hurried customers, your eyes eagerly searched for Yongbok's familiar face. He was there, behind the counter, with a warm smile on his face.

"Shouldn't you be in class at this hour?" Yongbok asked, frowning as you approached the counter. He glanced at the watch on his wrist, a mildly surprised expression crossing his face as he checked the time.

"Oh, right, I should, shouldn't I?" you said, letting out a subtle smile that played on your lips, as you stood in front of the counter. With a teasing tone in your voice, you added, "But I can't go without my coffee and a good brownie." Reaching out, you grabbed a piece of brownie that was skillfully wrapped, ready to be savored.

"But first," Yongbok quipped, his words echoing as he deftly intercepted the brownie from your hand with a swift move. "Pay up first," he teased, a mischievous smile dancing on his lips as he extended his hand playfully, as if demanding payment.

"What?" you exclaimed, feigning surprise, placing a hand over your chest in a dramatic gesture. Your eyes gleamed with a hint of mischief. "I always thought that was reserved for closest friends," you added, letting out a soft laugh that echoed around. You watched closely as the boy's confused expression turned into a mischievous smile, waiting for his reaction.

"Oh, really?" the boy retorted, his voice playful as he shook his head in disbelief. "Brownies as gifts? Since when did that become a trend? Where did you see that happening?"

"Well, since you asked, I saw it on a cooking show where the host mentioned that brownies are a great gift option for friends." "But in this case, you'll have to pay to eat, right?" Yongbok shook his head and said, "Same as usual? Cappuccino and a brownie?"

You expected university life to be busy and hectic, but never did you imagine leaving a class carrying an armful of books, each one ready to be devoured and turned into detailed reports. You had your reasons for choosing history over literature, believing it would be a better fit for you, and you genuinely enjoyed the course, feeling a special connection to history.

As you arrived at the agreed spot, your eyes scanned the area until they found the figure of the boy. His red hair gleamed softly under the filtered sunlight through the leaves of the trees. A broad smile formed on your lips as you recognized him. With determined steps, you approached him, books securely cradled in your arms like a treasure to be shared.

"Hey," you finally said, directing your gaze at the boy before you. "Look who's here, the book girl!" Minho exclaimed, his curious eyes carefully scanning the stacked volumes in your arms. A mischievous smile played on his lips as he watched the scene unfold. "Looks like you've got enough books to start a library," he teased, injecting humor into the situation.

"I know, feels like I'm being inundated with stories from every angle," you replied, a playful sigh escaping your lips as you delicately placed the books on the table. There was a hint of sarcasm in your voice.

"Well, you did choose history over literature. And, look, it shows now," Minho said casually, shrugging as a friendly smile formed on his lips.

"I almost think literature has more books, I'm almost freaking out, Minho," you admitted, sincerity in your tone, feeling the weight of studies pressing on your shoulders. "I feel a real urgency to take a vacation, or I'm going to end up going crazy."

"We're all looking for a little relief, right?" the redhead said sincerely, a smile playing on his lips as he tried to lighten the mood. Both knew university life was exhausting. "But if you need a hand, I'm here. Not as a future psychologist, but as your best friend," Minho continued, keeping his gaze firmly fixed on yours, blinking slightly in a sign of mutual understanding.

"Thank you," you murmured sincerely, a smile lighting up your face. "I still can't believe you really chose psychology," you teased with amusement, letting out a chuckle.

The older one chuckled softly, the corners of his lips lifting as his eyes sparkled with humor. He casually ran his hands through his hair, accustomed to attracting attention, letting the strands settle naturally. "I know," Minho admitted, tilting his head with a mischievous smile lighting up his face. "Should've pursued an idol career, huh?" His teasing was accompanied by a playful twinkle in his eyes.

"Oh my God, I can't imagine you as an idol," you commented, still laughing, shaking your head in disbelief. "What position would you be? Main vocalist? Rapper? Dancer?"

"Don't know?" Minho replied, laughing, at the same time striking a thoughtful pose, tapping his chin with his index finger. "Maybe all of them?" he joked, winking with a smile, "I can be all in one."

"Multitasking," you agreed, laughing again.

"Oh, before I forget," Minho said, as if suddenly remembering something, and walked over to his backpack, pulling something out. "Here you go, your strawberry tart," he announced, displaying the package with a smile on his lips. "Not my recipe, but still good," he chuckled casually.

"Minho!" you exclaimed, surprised, watching the package in the boy's hands, your smile shyly widening. "Thank you, that's so kind, Minho," you expressed enthusiastically, pulling him into a warm hug. You knew life could throw a series of challenges, but Minho was a constant. It would never be a problem; you trusted him with your life.

[sepublic]

So I've seen some people criticize lately the deconstruction of the child hero trope, arguing that it originally existed as a way of empowering kids who feel ineffective and powerless. And yeah, kids DO have a notable lack of agency that as an adult, you really begin to understand more and appreciate, at least on my end. These are all fair arguments, the deconstruction of the deconstruction, and I don't think they're necessarily wrong. It's just...

Some stories are meant for other people? The thing about this generation is that it's got a LOT on its shoulders. This generation is the one that's tired and burnt out, it has to deal with the burden of a world that's imploding in on itself, and the expectation that they have to fix it. It feels like corporations and politicians are casually destroying the world, knowing future generations will be the ones to have to clean it up, so why should they care?

There's a lot of anxiety and angst about the sociopolitical sphere. We've got the rise of Linkin Park, we've got people becoming jaded with late-stage capitalism and wondering how they can even survive in this economy. The fantasy has shifted from large and grand stuff to simply being able to survive and make a humble yet satisfying living. Kids are becoming burnt out, and being gifted is more apparently not worth the hype.

So I imagine THAT's the appeal behind the deconstruction of the kid protagonist for modern audiences, the one that's like "Hey isn't this fucked up? Isn't this messed up? The fate of the world is on this kid's shoulders, they're just a child soldier?" Because I think it reflects a lot of people's frustration with the adults around them, that it feels like the adults have become useless and are just forcing them to do things on their own, and often for them.

For a lot of young people, it feels like they're being forced to do all of the emotional labor while parents and guardians who tend to fail them, especially for being queer, ultimately slack on their duties by guilt-tripping them; Saying they've already done so much providing shelter and food, so you should be grateful, how dare you expect emotional support and the like!!!

It's all a way to vent frustration over the ineffectivity, and even abuse, of parents and guardians. It's catharsis for angst, because it feels like there's so much wrong with the world; The internet and modern communication has led to this phenomenon of "infowhelming" where kids are constantly bombarded by news of all the world's ills. It's sensory overload, it's a Greta Thunberg situation where it's inherently ridiculous that a kid has to step up and fix things, and instead of acknowledging how much help they need, the adults have the audacity to congratulate this child and put them on a pedestal as the chosen one who will fix things for them. Instead of just taking responsibility themselves.

The "Kid Protagonist is a Child Soldier" deconstruction is an outlet for kids to explore darker emotions, to admit their angst is valid, that this is a really shitty situation and this is how they can deal with it. Growing up, I already had Lemony Snicket's A Series of Unfortunate Events, which DID play into the idea of kids cast into too much responsibility because of useless adults around them. It felt like a way for kids to cope with the fact that the world can be a very unfair place, it was cathartic in its acknowledgement of the frustration and its validity.

Plus, it's not as if all these deconstruction stories are saying that kids CAN'T have fun, that they can't do things, because kids DO want to do things!!! They want agency, they want to feel like they're making a difference! It's just that a lot of them also want the reassurance that the adults are still there for them as a support network, that they have people more experienced to fall back and rely on when it's too much; They can do their part but it's not ALL down to them, is that too much to ask for? The nuance of being able to do things, but not having to be the only one?

Sometimes kids like it both ways where they can be an adventurer but also recognize when some things messed them up, so they can have space to breathe before moving onwards. Sometimes they need a break because it IS taxing, but they’ll still go back to it. Sometimes they'll still do the work knowing how necessary it is, while wanting acknowledgement for how hard it was. People write about the traumatic effects of 'bad things' for a reason; They still want to see those bad things in media, for the catharsis of the coping and emotional fallout afterwards.

These defenses of the Kid Protagonist trope and how it resonated with kids from, say, the early 20th century is fair. It's true. But these deconstruction stories of today also apply, in that they're a power fantasy in a different way for different kids of a different generation, with different struggles. So I find it disingenuous to simply dismiss these deconstruction-type stories as just CinemaSins bathos, even if I understand that a lot of people are understandably tired of the MCU's "That just happened" attempts at self-awareness.

And I don't think kids of today are completely decrying straightforward depictions, it's just nice to have those, AND the deconstruction, to flip back and forth between as their mood needs. These types of stories where the protagonists realize they're child soldiers, like Animorphs -which itself was written for teenagers in all their angst- might simply... not be for some people. And that's okay, that's fine! Different stories resonate, different stories serve different purposes because they're by different people.

[shinjisdone]

hi hi hi! since requests are open, may i request jamil with the fluff prompt "cheek"? thank you !! have a nice night ^_^

oh no, this has ignited my love for Jamil, best character for real, fr, fr, s-tier easy

Fluff Prompt [CHEEK] - sender brushes a thumb over receiver’s cheek. - with Jamil Viper

He really tried to get rid off this habit.

This habit of smiling in your presence, of his lips twitching up the moment you pop into the room. One moment Jamil might be intently focused, his eyes narrowed and his brows furrowed as he skillfully handles one of Kalim's problems again - and suddenly this concentration is all but faded away as he turns his head and smiles at you. Today was no different and Jamil scolds himself for it. Your head pops into the kitchen as you ask if he needs any help.

The young Viper had wondered ever since the first time you asked to assist him in his tasks if you are doing this for any kind of purpose. Surely you must be, or else you wouldn't bother, no one really would nor does. Yet he stays quiet as he accepts with the slightest qualm that was quickly washed away. You were genuine in your help but obvious and Jamil knew from day one that you constantly looked out for him knowing how much of a burden he bears as a servant of the Al-Asim family.

"What are we making today?" You say as you observe Scarabia's kitchen. 'We' you say as if this was the norm.

"Kalim would like a party with just sweets this time."

Jamil quickly wiped the smile away.

You let out an amused hum and were quickly prepared. You took out the flour he pointed at as if it was nothing. Soon your attire matched his and once the apron was neatly tied, you turned back to him with a grin and a salutation.

"What's the recipe called, chef cook Jamil?"

The corner of his lips went up and he quickly covered it with his hand. Wiping his face, his expression remained neutral.

Jamil pointed and you followed. He took over a task if it was too difficult and you volunteered to help in one you deemed to difficult for one to handle. Even if it was Jamil you were talking about.

The sound of the oven closing was quickly followed by a few buttons pressed as you let out a sigh. "The last one. Kalim sure wanted more than usual for his parties." You let out as you dusted yourself off. "No, this is the usual amount for them. I just handle them alone most of the time. You just happened to come at the right timing."

"It is? That's quite a lot," You frowned and took off your oven gloves, "You can call me whenever something like that happens, y'know?" Grey eyes narrowed as he observed you before briefly brushing you off. He turned away and began putting his apron off.

"Oh," Tilting his head at your soft gasp, Jamil turned around to suddenly find you quite close to him, your warm breath hitting his skin and your thumb brushing his cheek in the most tender way he has ever received.

"Wh-wha-what...!" Briskly he jumped back, holding the apron close to him in a fistful, tight grip. Gritting his teeth as his eyes widened at the gesture, he could feel his heartbeat quicken. "What was that for?!"

"You had a bit of flour caked on your cheek, Jamil." You casually pointed to your face, which was met with a sharp inhale by the other. One hand went up to his heart while he desperately tried stay cool - though his flushed and grimaced face showed otherwise.

"F-flour...?" He repeated and covered his mouth. The young Viper stayed still and quiet for so long, you feared he might have frozen on the spot. All that could assure you that he was indeed alive were his deep breaths. His eyes casted downward until he finally started looking at you - eyebrows relaxing. "Oh...that so?" He let out more quietly than hoped as he took a step forward. In a smooth movement, his hand mimicked yours and cupped your cheek. His thumb stroked it several times while you were met with a smirk.

Your jaw froze. As easy as answering to him was just a moment ago, having Jamil stare at you like that while keeping his composure, his touch, his grip on you like this left you speechless. You tried to let out a sound but all that came out was an pathetic attempt of a stutter.

"You had some flour on you, too." Finally he talked and his eyes crinkled as his smirk widened to a grin. "What am I supposed to do with you?" Casually he retreaded his hand but not before playfully flicking your hair. Still, you couldn't let out a word and stood there, breathless and dumbfounded.

Jamil only smiled at you, hoping his heart would calm down. "C'mon, let's clean up until the cake's ready."

[nilsavatar]

PHOENIX | 2. PARULTSYÌP

Parultsyìp [pa.ˈɾul.͡tsjɪp] 'little miracle, dear little one' is a term of affection for children, derived of parul miracle.

Status: CHAPTER 2 (2/?)

Prologue, Chapter 1, Chapter 3, Chapter 4

Parings: Neteyam x Fem!UnknownOriginsNa’vi!Reader

Genre/Warnings: ANGST, sorrow, mentions of nearly death, romance, adventure, soulmate love, destined lovers, possible suggestive content NSFW/MDNI later on, no use of Y/N, clans never seen in films yet. All characters are AGED-UP.

Summary: During the battle with the SeaDragon, gunfire struck Neteyam’s heart. A mortal wound that heals itself under the astonished eyes of his brother, as if the Great Mother still did not want him with her. She has other plans for Toruk Makto's eldest son.  Nevertheless, his body is weak, and he falls into a slumber from which he can no longer wake up. His vital signs are stable, yet Neteyam is slowly slipping away. He is waiting. Waiting for the girl who has been appearing in his dreams since he went into a coma.

Chapter Summary: Title's Burden on Young Shoulders: Future of the Clan, Son of Toruk Makto, Parul. A title that carried both significant consequences and immense fortune. Just like a miracle.

Little note: I FINALLY finished this chapter. It took sooo long to proofread, cause so many things happened in the process. Not to mention there's a lot of action in this chapter (tiny spoiler eheh).

Hope you'll like it and if you want to be tagged in the next posts, just write it in the comments. I’ll gladly add y'all💕

Word Count: 4.5k

Masterlist - Request a fic

2. PARULTSYÌP

"I want to go home," rasped Neteyam, choking on his own blood flowing up his throat. The grip on his face tightened, and he felt a sudden relief in his breathing. “I know, I know,” Jake spoke in a cracking voice, “It’s ok, we’ll go home.”  His frantic gaze shifted rapidly as his chest quivered with intensity. He cast a look at each of those present, but his mind was too consumed by terror for his vacant eyes to truly registering their presence. He struggled to keep his composure, his lower lip trembling, but the pain was too much, and he pressed his lips into a thin line. His father's words had a soothing effect on him, and his tense body slowly relaxed. Savoring the rare moment of tenderness with a smile, he closed his eyes as his father's hand caressed his cheek.

"Dad, I—". His voice trailed off, and his eyes clouded over. The sentence remained unspoken. Against the jagged, stark rock, his body sagged like a marionette with its strings cut. His neck rested against Jake's fingers while his cheek nestled into his palm. Dilated like ink stains, the black pupils were strikingly intense.

Neteyam was gone. They couldn't bear the thought of never again seeing his smile or hearing his soft chuckle. A silence so heavy it felt suffocating marked his final moments. Last words left unsaid and forever unknown.

Neytiri’s voice echoed through the roar of the waves as she called out to him. Once, twice, three times. With each shrill cry and fat tear, she shook him more and more. She conceived her eldest son during the first war against the Sky People. His birth, coupled with their victory, was seen as a splendid gift, a symbol of harmony and renaissance to the People. A miracle. ‘Parultsyìp’ was the nickname she lovingly gave him in his childhood.

Parul: a title that spread like wildfire among the Omatikaya, as he was the epitome of it.

Yet, Eywa’s will had taken him away from her, at the hands of the very people responsible for destroying everything she knew and held dear; who had set fire to the forest, her dwelling, her serenity. The memory of who had torn her beloved father from her still haunted her. It was beyond measure, the depth of the wound so deep that it seemed to swallow her whole, as if she was falling into an endless abyss of pain. A mourning that remained with her in the years to follow, but was tempered by the unending delight and childlike behavior of her small kin. Her smile may have been warm, but beneath it lay the bitterness that had taken root in her heart; an anguish that moulded her into the warrior she is today, much like a parasite that feeds on its host. Beautiful and cruel. The disease had started with the separation from Sylwanin and had now reached its climax with that from her firstborn.

In one fell swoop, they took away her last bit of purity and his young life. However, there was no room for despair, not just now. Their daughters were held captive aboard the SeaDragon.

Jake was caressing her face. The same hand that a minute before had held Neteyam’s, and she almost had the instinct to flinch, horrified. It felt foreign and sinister as it reached for her.  Death had touched them both, though it was his words that left a lasting impression on her soul, resonating more powerful than any misery. Their appeal was so primal and dark that it awakened something ruthless within the deepest parts of her spirit. Like an iceberg, her rage was hidden beneath the surface, waiting to strike. A blind, savage desire for revenge.

"Strong heart," he whispered softly as his breath brushed against her lips. With only a few millimeters between their foreheads, they knew they had to hasten. There was no time to waste: Kiri and Tuk needed them. Lo'ak made to approach his father, but stopped short when he saw the stern expression on his face. Jake’s voice was filled with tangible cold fury as he instructed, “Stay here with your brother.” “Dad, I want to go with you.” Toruk Makto’s eyes met his son’s for a fleeting moment, yet in that instant, he perceived the weight of sadness, regret, grief, and anger that plagued the man. But Lo'ak also read something else lurking within.

Disappointment and judgment.

He raised a hand to halt his rant. “You’ve done enough.” His spatted words stung as he walked away, leaving him feeling small and useless. "But Dad," he said, his voice cracking in desperation. He was imputing the blame on him. As always. 

Neteyam's virtue translated into judiciousness and responsibility. He was prudent and thoughtful, someone you could rely on; had a strong sense of duty and was trustworthy. A wise person who always put the needs of others before his own and reasoned accordingly. Who worked hard to earn his place in the clan - both the clans. Always the good example to follow. 

The golden boy. 

Unlike him, Lo’ak had a mercurial nature, often characterized by fearlessness and impulsiveness. A scoundrel who never failed to drag his older brother into his misadventures. No matter what kind of trouble he got himself into, Neteyam constantly took the hit for things he couldn't control, which often left him harmed. It was his task to keep the younger one in check, preserving him even from his own recklessness.

Lo’ak’s fault that Neteyam had been caught in an explosion in the raid on the RDA train.  Lo'ak's actions led to Quaritch kidnapping Spider, discovering Jake's kids and forcing the family to flee.  They were jolted out of their ordinary, peaceful lives. Ripped their mother from her position as Tsakarem and his brother from his role as the next Olo’eyktan. Neteyam's split lip was a result of the fight he got into with Ao'nung, which was instigated by Lo'ak. If his sisters were tied up somewhere on the whaler off the coast, he should be the one to blame.

He couldn't shake the feeling that he was his liability for Neteyam's passing.

Before he winced at the sound of his name, Tsireya's gentle touch had already reached him. So deep in thought that he didn't even notice how close she was. "It's not your fault," she said, looking at him with empathy, as if trying to ease the guilt he felt. The atmosphere was tense, and the usual cheerfulness was nowhere to be found, replaced with a heavy, somber mood. She looked at him with a liquid gaze, clouded by concern and a desire to ease his burden. And by fear.

The Metkayina had known nothing but peace until now. The ocean was ablaze, and corpses were everywhere, both Na’vi and humans. Alien machines and people's cries fused into an earsplitting noise. The smoke enveloped the air, carrying an acrid stench that she couldn’t place, but she would soon associate it to the notion of war. She embraced Lo'ak tightly, her turquoise irises skimming the surroundings from above his shoulder.  Stars should have been scattered in the eclipse sky, and she should have seen the iridescent outline of Polyphemus. Everything was engulfed in darkness, save for the flickering red and orange flames.

Huddled together as far as the barrier of their bodies made it possible, their faces aligned. Eyes locked in a wordless exchange that seemed to convey everything they needed to say. The warmth of their breaths mingled as their noses collided, and they could still feel the salt water drying on their skin. Their heartbeats filled the space between them, drowning out all other noise.

Even though the timing was less than ideal, they shared the long-awaited first kiss that left them both breathless; uncertainty looming over them, knowing it might be their last. Their lips barely brushed as a sharp whistle rose from Neteyam’s now gaping mouth. Inhaling in deep, erratic puffs, his fatigued eyes widened. He let out a weak cough, a sign that he was still with us. 

Neteyam was alive.  He was still alive.

“Bro!” Lo'ak sprang into action, wrapping his arms around him and lifting him up, helping him catch his breath. "I've got you, bro," he said. “Take short, quick breaths. Keep calm, don’t fidget. You’re fine, you made it. You’re still here.” What was happening before his eyes took him aback. It was almost too surreal to believe. His brother had been awake, crossed over to the other side, and returned. An unrestrained grin plasticized on his face, not resisting hugging him. 

In that moment, Neteyam's agonized throat let out a grunt, and his entire body convulsed with spasms. The growls escaping from his mouth sounding more like painful moans. Lo'ak's instincts kicked in and he ducked his abdomen forward, tapping his shoulder blades. Something was stuck in his windpipe, and he choked violently in an attempt to clear it. Neteyam threw out as he urged him to, spitting out the stale, viscous blood with a loud stridor. He leaned back against him, and he could feel the tension leaving his body. "I can't believe it," he laughed with delight. “You kicked death’s butt, bro!”

His joke fell flat. As he waited for a response, a snicker, the only thing he heard was the sound of his own breathing, leaving him with an uncomfortable silence that hung in the air. He brought his hands to his brother's face, desperate to hold onto the moment, fearing any further separation. Something that would be too much for him to handle. There's no way he could see him fade away again, not after giving him a glimpse of hope. But his eyes were bright; that full, vivid yellow, free of impurities he remembered. Nothing like what they had become only a quarter of an hour ago.

“They’re two highlighters,” Spider quipped during their playtime one afternoon. They were probably around seven. “What’s a hailaite?”  “Highlighter. It’s a marker with a big flat tip. Norm's got a ton of those on his desk. He uses them to make important stuff stand out on paper. Crazy, huh? He's old school, he still uses paper!” he chuckled. "He says it adds a touch of reality to the technology.”

Paper wasn’t a foreign concept to the Omatikaya, as outsiders had introduced them to it. Although they found it almost useless since the Na'vi, except for the Tawkami clan, didn’t have a writing system. Only the Sullys could wield it, as they were the sole members of the clan who could read English, an Earth language. Norm was their teacher. Their weekly schedule included three sessions of English lessons, along with hours dedicated to maths and science.

With the village’s constant rhythms, educating them to the level of an average human being was a daunting task. But Jake and Neytiri believed their children should know of their human side to have a complete sense of their identity. Also, they realized having extra knowledge in science and technology would be beneficial. 

"Super weird," is how Spider described the highlighters. “They're not the go-to for coloring or drawing, but they're hella vibrant.”“Vibrant?” said Kiri skeptically. “It means the colors are poppin'. They look strong. You know, like Teyam's eyes.”

Yes, Teyam’s eyes were bright and energetic. Lo'ak doubted to possess the same vigour they conveyed. The leader's spirit was not passed down to him. 

Only if he had witnessed his father a few decades earlier, he would have finally comprehended how much he had taken from him. Not just the incredible resemblance of their faces. Not just the addition finger on each hand and foot, or the eyebrows, or the irises a shade darker than his mother’s. 

Jake held his youngest son in thrall, for he was his spitting image. - Nothing scared him more than catching sight of his younger self in Lo’ak; his mirror.

There was a time when Jake acted on his emotions rather than thinking things through. He was impulsive, trusting his gut over his head, and was always eager to join in any kind of altercation, to jump into the fray. Whether it was to stand up for a friend or for the sheer sake of a good fistfight.  A disposition that cost him his legs as a Marine, but it was also the reason he was brave enough to step into Tommy's shoes in the Avatar Project. A life-changing decision that led him here, to Pandora. To Neytiri. Where he got something more meaningful and visceral, a sense of purpose filled with hope, love, and a group of people to connect with.

A place to belong.  A home. A family.  And with them, countless worries come along. 

A father protects. That's what gives him meaning.

As his children grew, the somewhat awkward but endearing carefreeness gradually faded. He started to prioritize his role as Olo'eyktan over his role as a father, especially to the two boys, resulting in a shift in their relationship. They looked up to him and strived to match his standards, exceed his expectations, and earn his respect. 

To gain his approval. To live up to him.

To break free from his shadow.

The day would come when Jake wouldn't be there to guide the clan anymore. It would fall on them, as warriors and his successors, to preserve it, and with it, their sisters. They had to be primed.

The reappear of the RDA had merely fomented this authoritarian side, shaped by years of military discipline. One by one, a new tile replaced the playful, jolly dad with each clash. Toruk Makto and Corporal Sully’s puzzle was incomplete until the train episode and the memory of his first-born being thrown into the air came together to form a complete picture. A commanding and aloof individual who responded to the title ‘sir’.

But the proverbial final straw that broke the camel’s back was encountering Quaritch once more, as if resurrected from the dead. Like a ghost from the past. Well, almost. He was now a phony Na’vi of twenty-something years - like his own children. It was a disorienting experience, given that he was at least thirty years Jake's senior, as a human. Still, that voice and its overconfident and defiant demeanour were just as he recalled. Specifically, watching him press a dagger to Lo'ak's jugular.

The past had arrived at his doorstep, and he had a lot, far too much at stake. He had already lost one of his sons, his own flesh and blood, taken away before his very eyes. Little did he know that, as he battled his worst nightmare to the death, Eywa had already granted him mercy and clemency.

Lo'ak told his brother to sit against a craggy outcrop so he could breathe easier and said he had to warn their father. Slowly, he made his way to the edge of the rocks and looked down at the churning water below. With his back turned, he asked Tsireya to take care of Neteyam in his absence, sneaking a peek at her from the corner of his eye. The blinding glare from the sea made it hard to make out the features of his face.  “No!”  "Find someone, anyone - your father, a survivor, an ilu. But bring Neteyam back to the village, okay? He needs Ronal.” “Lo’ak, you cannot...” "I gotta," he insisted, cutting her off and kneeling to cup her face. As he wiped away her tears, he could feel her trembling beneath his touch, her face contorted into a look of distress. His thumbs circling on her cheeks. “I couldn't live with myself if something happened to my sisters. If something were to happen to my parents while they were fighting out of hatred and fury, I’d never forgive myself. Neteyam's alive, they must know. I won't let them think they lost him and sacrifice themselves.” 

All because of me.

He went to get up, but the girl gripped his hand, not wanting to let go, and said, “Don’t go, something might happen to you.” She gritted her teeth as more tears mingled with the salt that had dried on her cheeks. Three fingers intertwined firmly at his four. “They could lose you.” ”I'm down to take that risk. They’re my family. I'd rather me than him,” he said with a bitter chuckle, pointing towards his brother. "You can’t mean it," she said, sounding reproachful. He didn't answer, instead choosing to hold her hand in both of his and look away. Slowly and rhythmically, he stroked her back with his thumb.  ”Lo'ak, you're just as important as Neteyam. They love you. Losing you would be just as heartbreaking.” Again, the only response was a quick, disapproving shake of the head. “For me, it’d be heartbreaking.”

At those last words, their eyes met, languid and full of regret. For the time wasted, for the words left unsaid, for the chances they thought never-ending, when this might have been their last time together. Tsireya’s throat felt tight, but she took a deep breath and gathered her courage, swallowing the lump that prevented her from speaking. She drew him closer, filling her abdomen and feeling her diaphragm lower as her heart raced. She gave him a last kiss, pouring all of her remaining strength into it, all of her torment, and for a moment, nothing else mattered. The silence was a relief, as they no longer heard the ominous sounds of moans, screams, and blasts of machinery blowing up or rifles firing. As their lips cautiously danced together, she tasted the saltiness that roughened his own.  They were in their own little bubble, cut off from the rest of the world. Briefly, all their worries and responsibilities disappeared, and they were just two kids in love again, lost in each other’s embrace.

Unfortunately, that feeling was short-lived. They parted just as the SeaDragon engine exploded; the sound echoing around them. They both froze in fear as they saw the danger ahead, unable to move or speak. Their hearts sank; they had to act fast.  Despite Lo'ak's desire to turn away, Tsireya's palms kept him rooted in place. “Promise me you’ll be careful, that you’ll come back to me. Don’t do anything stupid.” He gave her a condescending lopsided smile, tinged with a hint of cockiness and a flicker of triumph in his eyes. “Trust me.” With a final nose peck, Lo'ak let out a guttural cry to summon his ilu. He mounted the creature, sensing its powerful muscles beneath him, and vanished into the choppy waves.

There was a great commotion in the Tsahìk tent as people bustled in and out, their voices mixing together in a cacophony of sound. The healers bounced from one side of the marui to the other like tennis balls when hit by a racket, rummaging through shelves and baskets. They sniffed and tasted different herbs and powders, hoping to create a medicine or a tonic to wake the patient up. Even just some strange-smelling concoction to place under his nostrils.

But Neteyam wouldn’t wake up from his slumber, no matter how much they tried. His body lay there, placid in its immobility. His chest was moving regularly and his eyes were twitching behind closed lids. 

Ronal passed a sharp needle over the boy’s torso, following the line of tendons from the jugular incisura to the rectum of the abdomen; where the hollow of the navel was drawn. She was chanting tones to the Great Mother in a melody that was exotic to the Omatikaya customs. Her face was a mask of unreadability.

“This ain't working.” Tsireya spoke in a hushed tone, her words meant only for Ao'nung's ears. The two communicated in a silence conversation, their eyes speaking volumes, shutting everyone else out. They had a secret language that only they could understand. Something just closed siblings have.  The elder’s head bobbed in agreement; a quick nod. His aquamarine eyes turned cold, hardening to a steely blue, his lips barely curving into a thin line as he tried to force the words out of his throat. “We need those scientists, sa’nok (mother).”

Silence fell, permeating and thick to suffocation. All the confidence that had prompted him to speak slipped away like water poured over an oil stain. He stood frozen, the weight of the burden on his shoulders threatening to buckle his knees. His gaze lowered to the dry straw floor, suddenly marveled at the intricate weave that made it up. He cowered, ears pressed tightly against his head, tail heavy and tucked between his legs. It was a surprise to see him in such a submissive posture, with a sense of resignation that was rare for him; he usually carried himself with confidence and authority. He strutted around with an air of superiority, fully cognizant of his influential status in the clan.

But with his parents, and especially his mother, was another story. 

Overpowering his mother would be easy for Ao'nung, given his sheer force and her current state. Yet, whether it was because of her role as Tsahìk or as a mother, the woman possessed an unwavering aura of obedience that commanded respect; one look was sufficient.  And as the boy faced the latter, he could feel the tension building between them, a mix of mute fury and surprise. She held the needle so tightly that her knuckles whitened, and her arms stretched along her sides. A conscious effort to redirect her irritation elsewhere, instead of displaying it publicly towards her son. Her refusal to turn away was evident in the stern side glance and stiff back. She closed her eyes, hoping to reset her mind and convince herself that the sentence was a figment of her imagination. She replayed the conversation in her mind, confirming that Ao'nung had, in fact, said what she thought he did. Had, in fact, implied that her intervention was subpar, and Nawna Sa'nok's ways were ineffectual. 

“Pardon?” she snarled through gritted her teeth. "Neteyam is part tawtute (human)," Tsireya said, defending her brother and standing in front of him. “This is beyond our comprehension,” gesturing to the patient on the cot. Ronal turned her full attention to her children, standing tall and proud before them. The regal grace of a queen, although a hint of complacency shone through in her every pore. Her children have blossomed into remarkable adults. With disbelief and shock written all over her face, she handed the tools to the nearby healer. The sight and sound were so extraordinary that people were left speechless. Seeing Ao'nung defy parental opinions or decisions was nothing new, but Tsireya’s reaction took everyone by wonder.

‘Since when did she stand up for him?' everyone seemed to be thinking the same thing.

Ronal looked at the fully healed wound at Neteyam’s heart level and pondered sarcastically if it could be their doing. “They, who killed their own Mother and then came here to repeat the same mistake?” Though rhetorical, Tsireya replied: “A second opinion might help.” ”We need nothing from those demons. They were no aid when Kiri had convulsions and they won’t be now with Neteyam’s lethargy.” “Lethargy??” Lo'ak, who had been quietly observing the curators until now, finally chimed in with a sudden outburst. He couldn't hold back, even if it meant facing his parents' punishment for criticizing Tsahìk — again. “He’s in a coma!”  "Name it what you will, boy.” Ronal’s tongue snapped against her palate as she expressed her firm belief that ketuwong (aliens) would not bring any benefits.

A deafening silence filled the air until Ronal herself broke it. “Notwithstanding, I concur that this is a case that surpasses the expertise of the Metkayina.” “What is your suggestion?” Jake's voice was reduced to a mere echo of its usual force. He looked at his son with a heavy heart, feeling afflicted and impotent.  With a shared understanding, the two wives nodded at each other, coming to a decision. Neytiri spoke up, “We have no other choice but to bring him to the Tawkami.”

“Sa’nok, we cannot assess Neteyam’s physiological condition,” Ao’nung stepped forward with newfound bravery, “now that he is in... coma,” he intoned, the word heavy on his tongue; his pronunciation tentative and labored in scanning the alien language. ”He might stop breathing any second,” Lo'ak warned. Neytiri, who was skeptical of the Sky People, unexpectedly found herself agreeing with the two young men. “He requires constant monitoring. If his condition worsens, they’ll have to put him on respirators. Moreover, transporting him via ikran may prove fatal.”  The woman brought two fingers to compress her septum. Her eyes narrowed as she sighed. “Alright, we will dedicate a temporary area to the lab. In the meantime, you…” she pointed at the Sullys, “You will travel to Greenhome.”

The bluish halo of neon lights that surrounded him once again was familiar and yet disorienting at the same time. A perpetual twilight that contrasted with the sterile walls inside greeted him. The monitors cast a gentle glow, illuminating the otherwise dark room, while the medical area streamed a bright white light through the small porthole. 

Neteyam was there, his eyes closed as he lay on the comfortable, ergonomic mattress. The hospital gown, an ugly replacement for his clothes, was accompanied by the beeping and whirring of the machinery. His now hideous accessorizes. An electrode attached to his temple where a single braid would normally be, and an IV instead of a band on his forearm. A pulse oximeter put to the forefinger of his hand, which rested on his hip, while a mask pumped Pandorian air into his lungs, covering his nose and mouth.

Max couldn't provide any answers for Neteyam's miraculous recovery, just as Ronal had assumed. He hypothesized the coma resulted from the traumatic event, and it left a greater impact on his psyche than on his body - his brain was still operational, but in a dormant state. He was in a stable condition, although he couldn't predict how long it would last. 

He shivered as a delicate hand trailed down his spine, leaving a tingling sensation in its wake.  He interpreted the gesture as a sign that it was time, and the girl nodded meditatively before burying her face in his chest. With her long arms wrapped around him, she held him close, anchoring him to herself with a tight squeeze around his waist. She rubbed the tip of her nose on his sternum before pulling away just enough to look into his eyes and say, “We’ll take care of him.”

Lo'ak examined the transceiver attached to the young woman's ear, running his fingers over the smooth surface. “You remember how to use it, right? It’s already connected to mine in the case — “ "Don't worry, I'll keep you in the loop," she grinned. However, as soon as the thought of his impending departure crossed her mind, her composure collapsed. He hugged her one last time, savoring the sweet scent of her wavy hair that reminded him of a warm, sunny day. “I'll be back before you even miss me.” With his chin on her head, it was at that moment that he saw something strange beyond the glass.

Behind the oxygen mask, Neteyam was smiling.

@cinetrix @scorpiomoon-444 @wh0rezs @sweetdayme4427

[masked-and-doomed]

So you want to talk about your ocs? Speak about UG. I demand /pos /hj (please talk about her she's so silly :3)

Waugh!! I do have a big post planned for her that I need to get the art done of, so for this, I'll talk about relationships of her to other chars !! (f.unger 1) :] (I hope this isn't that ooc for them Augh they haven't fully wrapped around my head yet..)

D'a.rce

UG loves her and wants to try and sway her over le'ga.rde. She knows it won't happen, but she definitely wants D'a.rce to get attached to her and the other party members so she has other people she can find solace in after le'g.arde's betrayal and him leaving her. D'.arce is protective of her and is worried for her well being. She does realise she can manage quite well on her own, but she doesn't want the burden of responsibility on such a young girl. D'ar.ce finds her quite strange and rude, sometimes pointing out her unladyness, but she gets over it soon enough.

C.ahara

UG loves Caha.ra and tends to joke around more with him. She makes sure to hand over every valuable item or money she finds to him, for his quest to get money out of the dungeon. He, like D'.arce, is worried for her. He won't exactly voice out his concerns but they both get his caution. Ca.hara also jokes more to her, them both using the humour of their situation to lighten the mood. Though, unlike him, UG actually finds the situation humourous. Penis monsters. Hah.

Rag.nvaldr

UG loves Rag, she sometimes consume the enemies too, offering him some of the remains. He reluctantly takes it and feasts with her, somewhat concerned that she is enthusiastic about devouring the carcasses of the monsters. Rag thinks she's cocky but can understand her skill shining through this dungeon. He likes her, not necessarily as outwardly protective. More so sees her as an ally in battle with her proficiency in murder. Still sees her as a kid, but doesn't worry too much.

En.ki

UG's most loved out of the 4 main adventurers. She tries to one up him and sticks her head in his business a lot. She loves annoying him. And it's not like he can kill her either, she's somehow more advanced in magic than him, pulling spells he hasn't even heard of. How ego crushing. Enk.i acknowledges her skill but only barely respects it considering how annoying she is. He's learned to tolerate her antics. He won't admit that he likes her a bit too. >:)

The Girl

UG and Girl are besties forever! With their shared experience of being doomed they find understanding in one another a lot. UG is the one that teaches her how to fight the most out of the cast, her praising the Girl at every time she helps a kill. The Girl finds comfort in UG's presence, despite how loud she can be. When reaching the tower of the endless and defeating Skin Granny, UG makes sure to get The Girl as comfortable as possible, with her having hard times with sleeping. The Girl feels. Quite safe around her.

Mo.onless

UG loves doggy ! She pampers Moon.less a lot and gives her all the scratches!! Belly rubs!! She's the one most keen on feeding Moonl.ess and handling the maggot infested rotten meat, to be gently taken out of UG's hand and to be scarfed down by the dog. Moo.nless likes her all the same as the others, she'll definitely remember UG's enthusiasm and scent. (wink wink nudge nudge Prehevil)

Le'ga.rde

UG loves Le'garde. (She fucking loves everyone, can you tell?) Not taking him seriously, since she knows about his 'grand plan to ascend' and stuff had been left up to the chances of these 4 saving him. Stupid man. Upon finding him, she jumps to treat his wounds and pats him on the head, in a mocking tone, congratulates him for making this far. Le'.garde can more or less tolerate her, but might consider being alone with Rag rather than being alone with her. He's more focused on his plan. He's quite suspicious of her, as she seems a little eager to follow along to Ma'habre...

Nas'hrah

UG likes Nas'hrah. Hah, first like. Maybe could be love, but Nas'hrah insults her quite a bit that she's taking it a little bit to heart. Not much, but she's getting tired of most of his words being mean ones. She's not sure why she finds Enk.i's annoyance towards her more endearing than Nas'.hrah's. (maybe cause of Enk.i's long hair) She entertains him with his quips often. Nas'hrah more or less dislikes her. Sure, he doesn't like anyone, but her constant energy and stupidity annoys him quite more than the others could manage. He finds some respect in her skill, but she's far too irritating for him to ever say anything good about it.

Pocketkitty

^ UG has mental illness so she uhh is like flip floppy between these about him. Him in return, well.. I'll.. leave you to guess that. He. Loves her, let's say. :) I wanna make a fic/comic of it soon, of their first meeting. She caught Pocketkitty a little off guard. ;)

[over-the-time-flow]

Super Robot Rollcall - The Photon Power Lab Crew

Koji Kabuto

"Mazinger Z is a god! It won't just break down over something like this!"

Source Material: Mazinger Z Age: 16 Hobby: Motorcycling Voice Actor: Hiroya Ishimaru Character Designer: Go Nagai

A young man who was burdened with enough power to become a god or a devil, Koji Kabuto is a cocky yet ultimately good-natured kid.

When the wicked Dr. Hell marched upon Japan with his army of ancient Mycenaean Mechabeasts, the tremors caused a cave in within Koji's grandpa's secret underground lab. With his final breath, he told Koji to wield the Mazinger Z's unmatched power to change the world...

After many tough encounters against Dr. Hell, his minions, and their Mechabeast Army, Koji and the Mazinger came out victorious... or so it seemed. From within the Earth, the Mycenaean Empire merely laid dormant, and awakened not too long after Koji's final battle with Dr. Hell, they were also intent on world domination.

Though Koji bravely fought them back even when clearly outmatched, he and the other members of the Photonic Power Labs crew only barely made it through thanks to the intervention of Tetsuya Tsurugi and his top-secret successor to the Mazinger, created by Koji's own (once assumed dead) father; the Great Mazinger.

Now, Koji, Tetsuya, and their respective teammates work together to thwart the ambitions of the heartless Mycenaeans.

High Melee, VERY high Defense, and a Potential skill that can reach even the max level 9. Koji is one hell of a defensive behemoth, and his Spirit Command learnset matches that. Not much else to add.

You can swap him (and all the other Mazinger pilots) around to other machines, but there's hardly much point in doing so when the side cast's machines are so bad. I suppose you could put Koji in the Great Mazinger in case you really really liked Grendizer vs Great Mazinger.

Fun Fact: Koji was originally to have a scarf, but Kamen Rider came out and became explosively popular around the time Mazinger would come out, and Nagai decided to cut it so as to not look like he was just riding the trend.

We were robbed.

Mazinger Z

Source Material: Mazinger Z Height: 18 meters Energy Source: Photonic Energy Real World Designer: Go Nagai

The sky-soaring fortress of steel that grants its pilot the power to become a god or a devil! The mechanical devil god itself! Mazinger Z!

Designed by Koji's grandfather, it both grants Koji the power to shape the world and burdens him with the tremendous task of controlling its power.

A mainstay of Super Robot Wars, with a nearly perfect track record.

High-ish Armor, decent HP. It's not unfitting for Koji, but it's hard to say it truly lives up to his stats. On the attacking front, it's decent as well, but has the usual issue that Mazinger has in a lot of games with Great and no Mazinkaiser; Great has better finishers on top of having the Great Booster, a one-use only finisher that serves as a proper nuke.

If only Mazinger got its own high damage one-use finishing move... Alas, that is but a dream. Unless...?

Sayaka Yumi

"Don't you know an angry girl is MUCH scarier than an angry guy? Huh? C'MERE!!"

Source Material: Mazinger Z Age: 16 Voice Actress: Minori Matsushima (among others, but she's the one who voices her in SRW) Character Designer: Go Nagai

Daughter of Professor Yumi of the Photonic Power Labs, pilot of the Aphrodite A and Diana A, and Koji's rival/love interest/comedic foil.

As she's rather short-tempered, Koji often picks on her by saying crazy misogynistic stuff. From how he acts around other women in the show, it seems like it really is just to pick on Sayaka. In any case, Sayaka rarely chooses to be the bigger man and instead beats the everliving shit out of Koji. Kids anime in the 70s was not here to give you healthy relationship role models, it was here to make you watch Koji and Sayaka throw furniture at each other, scratch and hit each other, and make the rest of the cast visibly worried.

This relationship might have been a bit more palatable if Sayaka ever got a single W against a mechabeast, but she's below Boss in that regard. Still, she does get her own mini-arc later in the series where Koji apologizes to her for a lot of his past deeds, which is surprisingly nice for a show of its age. She still continues to job afterwards.

In SRW, Toei Koji and Toei Sayaka's love-hate dynamic is usually very toned down if at all present, which is an understandable approach, even if it makes her less distinct than other versions of Sayaka.

No way around it, Sayaka is terrible. Awful stats and absolutely nothing good for her to pilot. That's right, you can't even fix her by shoving her in the Mazinger or the Great, because if her other stats are terrible, her Melee is ABYSMAL.

At level 40 she does learn one of the best support Spirit Commands in the game, but that'll be a LONG while of dragging Diana A around the battlefield to Repair to slowly crank up those levels.

Diana A

Source Material: Mazinger Z Height: 16 meters Energy Source: Photonic Energy

After the Aphrodite A gets destroyed by Harpia π7, Diana A rises from the ashes! Even Koji, who once advocated for phasing out Aphrodite A altogether, ended up being in support of the Diana A's construction after seeing how hurt Sayaka was to lose Aphrodite.

Born from Sayaka's determination to keep on fighting, Diana A will never die! (but it WILL endlessly job)

Decent Armor, but pathetically low HP makes Diana hardly fit for even its Repairbot role. As a Super (even if only nominally), it also has no Mobility to speak of. To make matters worse, it's got a Movement Range of 5.

If it has any upsides, it's that it's a version of Diana A that actually has its Ranged-attribute attack be its strongest move, to go with Sayaka's higher Ranged stat (even if it's technically only tied with the Melee-attribute Scarlet Beam).

Even the Methuss is a better pick. Don't bother unless the Diana A episode moved you so much it made you cry. Which i wouldn't judge you for. It's rather earnest and truly makes you feel for Sayaka's pl- huh? N-no, i didn't cry at it. Shut up.

Boss

"If it means I can buy time for even a few of the kids, I don't mind getting chopped into pieces. And if i die... tell Kabuto he was my best friend in the whole world."

Source Material: Mazinger Z Real Name: Not Even The Author Knows Age: 17 Character Designer: Go Nagai

Delinquent with a heart of gold, Boss is the mysteriously-named gang leader in Koji's town. Though initially they fought over Sayaka's affections, they would eventually become closer than even brothers.

Between the line quoted above, Boss' constant dreams about being saved from the clutches of the heartless Tetsuya by Koji in Great Mazinger, and following Koji to bumfuck nowhere, Japan, to fight literal aliens in Grendizer, Toei Boss is likely the incarnation of Boss that is most fanatically dedicated to Koji.

He's often followed by his two incompetent lackeys, Nuke and Mucha, but most SRW games featuring Toei Mazinger cut them for one reason or another.

Statwise, Boss is... alright, all things considered. He's completely outclassed by Koji and Tetsuya both, but he's still a few degrees of magnitude better than Sayaka.

Of note though is that his Spirit learnset is very underwhelming. He starts out with Daunt, letting him lower enemies' morale and helping with boss slaying, but other than that, he doesn't get much of interest.

Not really much of a point to using him, unless you hate Tetsuya for some reason like i do but still want the Mazinger combo moves.

Fun Fact: Not even the author knows his real name!

Boss Borot

Source Material: Mazinger Z Height: 12 meters (20m in Great Mazinger, inexplicably) Energy Source: High-Octane Gasoline Real World Designer: Go Nagai

Dan-da-daaaan!!! Lovable lug and friend to children all over the world, the Boss Borot is here! It's made out of scrap, it's a miracle it even moves, it's falling apart at every seam, and yet it somehow jobs less than any of the girl robots. Thanks, 70s Toei!

Well, you can't complain much because the Borot is such a perfect design.

Originally designed by the (then) trio of brilliant scientists from the Photonic Labs, who were kidnapped coerced convinced to make this thing at Boss and Sayaka's request. Since they made it in secrecy in a dumpster, this is the best they could come up with.

Boss is always coming up with convoluted plans to make the Borot fly... it rarely works.

It's bad, even for Borot standards. 5 movement, Boss has no sub-pilots, all of its moves are 1-range, until it gets upgraded with a 1-3 range move (which is also its only option to attack flying foes). It doesn't even have high HP to make use of Boss' Self-Destruct Command and its Repair Cost of 10.

Making matters even worse, it is completely outclassed by later Resupply machines. Diana A might be outclassed by the Methuss in terms of Repairing, but at the end of the day they're both pretty meh. You get actually decent Resupply-capable machines in this game.

Do not bother.

Fun Fact: In Mazinger Z VS The Great General of Darkness, Boss Borot is the only Photonic Power Labs machine to successfully down a Battlebeast... though it did destroy itself in the process.

Also, sometimes this thing is fucking sentient. Eva-01, eat your heart out.

[chargetheintruder]

I've been holding back for a bit.

This has been mainly to save my strength for things that matter, because my health's no good, and this has been a busy month (lots and lots of packages to snag). And now a few items have come to my attention as being urgent. Bear with me, I'll try to keep to the point.

Edit: I cut and pasted the aggro/political stuff so that this post isn't such a rude shitpost. Not that I think most of Tumblr is that conservative, it's just that the tonal whiplash was a bit much even by my own pathetic standards, my apologies.

Oh, and this happens. No, not my being aggressive when I'm aggressive, but this Media thing. Many of these bought, paid-for and kept hacks either can't (can not, as in are unable to) or won't (will not, as in refuse to) distinguish fantasy from reality. Do Dark Mirror stories make for some fascinating fiction for me? Sure. Does that mean I want to live there? Absolutely not.

But let's get back to this . . .

--In other news? Not that anyone's going to see this, but for real, Mr. James Gunn? You there, the guy doing a Superman film currently? I'm not sure what to make of your behavior over there on that thing Elon Musk made out of Twitter, okay? Because I thought for sure you were a nerd who knew his stuff and knew the difference between a Bizarro (Clone of Superman) and a Dark Mirror Universe Superman. Among other things. So I'll just keep it simple.

Based on the earliest evidence from your casting of guest heroes, I'm guessing that when it comes to Formerly Twitter, you're that guy, flipping the coin and saying, "Heads I tell the Truth . . . aw shucks, gotta lie some more," because it superficially looks like you're making a Superman (and a few bros of his) versus The Crime Syndicate movie (or two). And all I have to say to that is: Lean into it. LEAN INTO IT. If you're not doing that it'll be the slickest deception ever.

And if you ARE doing that, and you have to go Kill Bill on it and make it two tightly released volumes, please do that. Really, your whole superhero thing so far (based on your Guardians work and your work on The Suicide Squad) suggests that big honking clusterfucks like that are your jam. :) Just say something like "The Justice League's off-world currently, something's gone bad to screw Clark out of most of his powers, and he's having to scramble to get what help he can."

Full Disclosure: I am biased here. I admit I might be a fan of the Syndicate here. The concept of 1980s Yuppie Scum (and worse) getting together as a Gangsta League, that just hits the twisted buttons in all sorts of places. If I could draw worth a damn and still had my health I might do a bootleg comic or something called Challenge of the Super-Fiends, featuring the Syndicate, just so I could see my bad guys doing bad things more than once a decade. But hey.

Edit: And now for the political stuff for those who care about it, and only those. Sorry to burden the rest of you.

--This so-called "debate". This Media-orchestrated alt-reich mugging is more like it. No, who the fuck wants a proper debate with "no notes, no props" as their rules? No professional public speaker and/or politician since 1900 has debated this way, entirely from memory, for good reason. IT'S HARD, even when you're young and in your right mind. Way to throw Trump and Traitor Party YET ANOTHER fucking softball, you bought and paid-for psychos. No really, we get it, competence bores you, but you really WANT society to be ransacked and ruined by every petty fascist ever? Really? Fuck this noise, vote BLUE, fuck these experts, fuck all traitors, like the Trumps.

--And YES, I do have a PLAN for this godawful election in these so-called United States. It's still too early to discuss it in detail but I am going to need help with it--my health is too bad to do it all myself, even if I had the money to do so. No, it doesn't involve firearms (directly). We won't have to do much more than make well-timed phone calls, by the hundred, from burner phones.

And that's it for now, I might add more to this if it comes back to me tonight. Thanks for your patience.

[cerastes]

What do you think with the reunion squad? Do you symphatize them?

I'm assuming you mean the Reunion leadership in Arknights.

I only have one complaint with the way they are handled and that is that the game does veer into "you killed them :( feel bad about it" now and then, which, I get it, Arknights is built on a foundation of Who Is Right And Who Is Wrong, and there's a lot of persons of admirable character among Reunion, this much is true, so I don't particularly let this be more than a small complaint, and I realize that it's mostly my own views coming into play: I can mourn and honor a powerful and noble rival who stood on the opposite end of the board by carrying on and achieving the lofty goals of a better tomorrow we both believed in, rather than wallow in sadness. We both have beliefs, and this is just the outcome.

That very minor complaint aside, I think you can already tell, from this paragraph alone, and my previous posting regarding said member, ere you to peruse it if you have not already, that I do quite like them. I like the Reunion cast because they all have something to offer to the table. Each character could merit a whole post by themselves, so I'll keep it brief, for dashboard's sake, mentioning a few highlights:

Talulah, the leader, a young and brash idealist with the power and skills to make a difference, sweet Talulah, untarnished and warm and loving and caring, thrust into a raw, cruel world of warfare that twisted her beyond recognition, into a cruel manipulator, desensitized to the pain brought by the burden of leadership. Does this sound familiar? Talulah is an excellent narrative foil to the Doctor, as someone who has grown tragically unrecognizable to even their closest associates, who used to be oh so loving and compassionate, sanded by the burdens of leadership into a numb chessmaster. Yes, the Black Deathless Snake's possession is indeed a factor to consider, but keep in mind that by both the admission of both Talulah and Kaschei, he can't make her do things she wouldn't do, merely push her and influence her heavily towards things one might rationally not do but still would do.

Mudrock and Big Bob both represent the honest Infected that were wise enough to realize that Reunion had rotted from within, and yet, they couldn't, wouldn't abandon their ideal of making the world a better place for the Infected. Big Bob took his "family" and successfully funded an Originium Slug farm in Columbia, where he harvests the slugs' fluids, a commonplace item in Infected treatment to undo their pain, and gives it practically for free to the Infected (usually, these fluids are sold at an incredibly high markup), whereas Mudrock took it upon herself to fight for those that can't possibly fight for themselves, and to lead them to lands they could call a new home, where they wouldn't be second class citizens, in the borderlands of Kazdel, and was one hundred percent willing to die fighting to protect the refugees she had just saved in her Reel. The two of them represent candidly how, even though there's definitely a lot of violent and bad people in Reunion, there's also true believers not necessarily in the banner of Reunion per se, but rather, the goal of making the world better for the Infected, and that they, as powerful, skilled individuals, can make a difference.

Mephisto and Faust represent the horrors of child soldiers, those who die too young, who master combat to become rippers of flesh since childhood, who become twisted monsters to lash back against a world that has only hurt them. Mephisto is the latter, having become utterly incapable of feeling anything remotely close to kinship to anyone that isn't Faust, Talulah, FrostNova, Skullshatterer and Patriot, and thus being despised even by others in Reunion. Faust, on the other hand, is a subtle horror story. An unremarkable, weak, meek child, who got so distressed at seeing those who would protect him get hurt, who was so terrified of losing FrostNova or Talulah or any of the others any time they went out to fight, that he decided to kill his weakness and embrace the path of the warrior fully, becoming a master crossbowman and squad leader. Seldom is Faust's battlefield success seen as something positive. Yes, he was strong enough to pin down Nearl with his attacks. No, at no point is this anything more than a tragedy of how such a young child had to grow this strong just to make it to the next day. Faust's death is one of the most solemn in the game, mourned by practically everyone, akin to FrostNova's own: These were clearly caring people that had been dealt the mother of a mulligans. Can you blame them for fighting tooth and nail for what they truly believed was a better tomorrow, just the way you do?

There's a lot more than can be said for every member, what they represent, and their contribution, but overall, it's a well-balanced cast with a purpose besides just being antagonists.

[midnightsunnyday]

When With His Father, Diavolo Is A Lot More Stern, The Demon King, On The Other Hand...Part Seven (Final)

A/N: it’s the final conclusion for this series! Thank you all for sticking through it. This has been a fun headcanon to write. I wanted to write the Demon King in my own way, yet would love to see him one day in canon. Either way, I hope you enjoyed this series. Until the next one, stay safe everyone!

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

Part One Part Two Part Three Part Four Part Five Part Six

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

8:10 PM

Diavolo: before we leave, I suppose we should check up on the...oh.

*Mammon, head occupying the inside of a wall*

*Satan, buried under a bookshelf*

*Belphegor, sprawled out near a broken window*

*Solomon and Asmodeus, outside the window, knocked out and covered in glass*

*Leviathan, tangled on the chandelier*

*Beelzebub, torso jammed between a wooden chair*

Barbatos: Young Master, there you are.

Diavolo: let me guess, father threw yet another one of his tantrums after losing to Lucifer?

Barbatos: indeed.

Diavolo, looking around: though if anything, I'd say this party was an absolute success. This isn't half as bad as the damage he did last time.

Barbatos: Young Master, it is my deepest regret for not tending to you sooner. You were in pain, and I completely disregarded it for my majesty's sake. Had I only been more proactive, I could have prevented such a disaster. I am not worthy of being your butler. I will resign immediately.

Diavolo: well, I wouldn't say I was in pain, yet still, absolutely not! I will not allow you to resign!

Barbatos: but--

Diavolo: --you're my family, Barbatos. I couldn't possibly imagine you leaving my side, not now or ever. Without you I'm not sure what I'd do. So please, don't ever speak those words again.

Barbatos, blushing: Young Master I...thank you.

MC: aww.

Diavolo: now then, what to do about all this?

Barbatos: should we tend to everyone?

Diavolo: well, that depends. Father, are you still cognizant?

The Demon King, slumped over the couch: the fuck is a cognizant?

Diavolo: good. What say you, Lucifer?

Lucifer, flat on his back: where’s my MC? MC. MCCCCCC.

MC, sighing: what?

Lucifer: guess what IIIIII won?

MC: ....Me?

Lucifer, stretching out his arms: yaaaay. Now come...come give me a hug.

MC: no.

Lucifer, pouting: but I want one.

Diavolo: and what about the rest of you? Still holding on?

Everyone: *groans in pain*

Diavolo: well, I believe that settles it. Everyone's fine.

Leviathan: heeeelp.

Diavolo: just fine.

Barbatos: but Young Master--

Diavolo: --Barb, please. The last thing I need after an extensive therapeutic session is to be burdened with unneeded physical and emotional stress.

Barbatos: I beg your pardon?

MC: *clears throat* hi there, "certified" demonic counselor speaking. For the past 72 hours, Lord Diavolo has suffered through extensive psychological stress. Therefore, it is of my "professional opinion" that he, as we humans tend to say, "Fuck it."

Barbatos: I see. Though I am not certain of your qualifications, I do agree that the Young Master has been under a great deal more stress than usual. Though I must admit, this behavior is completely unlike him. Should I be concerned?

Diavolo: of course not. However, I've done nothing but run myself ragged trying to chase after my father. I think being a bit selfish for once won't harm anything. Besides, I'm sure they'll live, considering they're immortal, after all.

Barbatos: if that is what you wish, then I will oblige.

Diavolo: besides, I could really use something to eat.

MC: we still have some food in the kitchen, though it needs to be cooked.

Barbatos: then I will start immediately.

Diavolo: Barbatos, you truly are one of a kind.

Barbatos: and truly, I am humbled by your words.

MC, smiling: good grief.

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

*a few days later*

Barbatos: and?

The Demon King: and that such actions are unbecoming of a king and…oh, come now, do I really need to say all this?

Barbatos: I believe you should, yes.

The Demon King: *rolls eyes* and that it is within my birthright to not only set the standard of what is expected of royalty but maintain it at all times. So in other words…sorry.

Barbatos: very good, Your Majesty.

MC: it’s cool. Also, I don’t mind visiting you at the castle. Just don’t put me in a collar, please.

The Demon King, blushing: very well, little human. I’ll try to compose myself from now on. The same goes for you, sorcerer. I hope the gifts my son provided you are to your liking.

Solomon: very much so, Your Highness. Pegasus blood is especially rare to come by and will do absolute wonders for my spell casting.

Diavolo: let's just hope we haven't sealed our fates with such a gift.

Solomon: rest assured you have nothing to worry about *whispers to MC* when my empire is built, you shall be the first spared.

MC: I call dibs on evil ruler.

Solomon: oh MC, that's the only fun kind of ruler there is.

Diavolo: I heard that.

Barbatos: is there anything you would like to add, Lucifer?

Lucifer, folding his arms: not in the slightest.

MC: please?

Lucifer: …I’m sorry for beating Your Highness at a drinking contest.

MC: and?

Lucifer: and for teasing Di—Diavolo…even if it was hilarious.

MC: that’s as good as it’s gonna get, huh?

Lucifer: I’m the Avatar of Pride. Not the Avatar of Apologizing.

Diavolo, sighing: good enough.

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

*at the House of Lamentation*

Mammon: never again. Not for a million Grimm.

Leviathan: oh, so now you finally have standards.

Satan: crushed under the written word. An ironic fate indeed.

Belphegor: you doing alright there, Beel?

Beelzebub: so many splinters *shivers* I…don’t wanna talk about it.

Asmodeus: I can't believe I was knocked out a window. Thank goodness my perfect skin wasn't scratched or scarred. Poor Solomon, though. A fall like that would've broken every bone in his body...and it did! Good thing he knows magic.

Belphegor: though, isn’t this all technically MC’s fault?

Leviathan: hey, yeah! I can’t believe they just went off with Lord Diavolo and Barbatos and left us like that!

Mammon: I say we torture em’!

Asmodeus: ooh, how about we tie them up in pretty pink ribbons!

Mammon: and make em’ wear a cute, frilly outfit.

Asmodeus: with a tail!

Mammon: and those fluffy cat ears!

Satan: go on.

Belphegor: wait, what do any of those things have to do with torture?

Asmodeus and Mammon: torture what now?

Beelzebub, shaking his head: can we please just get some food and never speak of this moment ever again?

Mammon: and may we also never, ever, ever attend or throw another party for the Demon King.

Belphegor: agreed.

*text notification goes off*

Asmodeus: oh, Lucifer sent a message to the chat. It says, "All of you please make your way towards the castle. The king would like to...throw us an apology party."

Everyone: *groans*

Mammon: welp, spoke too soon. Yet think about it this way, at least we're immortal, right?

Leviathan: Mammon, shut up.

[atlas-of-a-human-soul]

Draw your swords, pt. 13

Summary: Terrified of losing Y/N, the Darkling lets his defenses fall.

Warnings: angst, slight fluff, sexual content

Part one // Part two // Part three // Part four // Part five // Part six // Part seven // Part eight // Part nine // Part ten // Part eleven // Part twelve  

=================================

“Stay with me”, the Darkling trembled as he rushed back to the camp. He held her body close to his chest, her head slumped right where his heart beats thunderstorms in her name.

She’s slipping away, he can feel it. The injuries she suffered and the power she used weakened her irreversibly.

He should be angry with her, enraged, but he had no strength to spare for violent emotions. His heart couldn’t bare much more than the pain he found himself drowning in. It wasn’t the pain of his own wounds, rather the pain of her parted lips and ragged breaths that came like final gushes of air her lungs released.

“HEALER!” He shouted, hoping, praying to the Saints he never believed in before.

“HEALER!” There was something in his screams for help, an unimaginable pain behind it.

Y/N’s fingers twitched, her chest rising in a strange manner; what should expand with an inhale suddenly draws in, a paradox he had seen in dying soldiers.

“HEALER!” It was the kind of scream that went straight for the heart.

Everyone tensed, following the Darkling – a man who never showed genuine emotion other than rage. His call for healers felt like a cry from the heart and soul that stretched across the foundations of who he is. The anguish tore through him as he saw a healer run toward him.

Letting out a shuddered breath in relief, he collapsed to his knees. “Not me!” He growled as the healer tried placing her hands on him, “Help her! Save my wife!”

Nodding, the healer looked down at Y/N with wide eyes. Another healer arrived too, then another, and another.

The Darkling refused to let her out of his embrace as two of the healers tried to take her away. “No!”

“We have to take her”, the first healer insisted. “She doesn’t have long and we have to act fast and that’s not going to happen while you’re clinging to her!” Eyes wide, she covers her mouth as it dawns on her who she’s speaking to. “Respectfully, General.”

Staring at her with raw suffering, Aleksander licked his trembling lips. He closed his eyes and wrapped his arms around her. Leaning in, he pressed a kiss to her temple instead of her forehead – forehead kisses in this moment would feel as if he’s kissing her corpse before her final rest. 

He couldn’t stomach that thought.

“If you die, I’ll never forgive you”, he whispers. 

This isn’t how it’s meant to be, how it’s supposed to be. He could never believe anyone ever loved anyone the way he loves her.

Nothing ever made him so frightened as the thought of losing her.

“Take her”, Mal tells them. Looking down at Kirigan who seemed incapable of standing back up on his own, he realized he had to take over.. “And send someone for your General. Send everyone for the wounded in the field.”

Aleksander looked up, jaw clenched and eyes swimming in tears he has yet to shed.

“I’m not leaving”, Mal quipped. “She’s my General.”

Y/N wasn’t able to scream, despite the pain darkening her mind. She tried to focus on her breathing, on staying alive. The only awareness she had was of Aleksander’s arms around her – she felt his scent. When he touched her face, when he tried to gain her attention, she couldn’t open her eyes. Her ears kept ringing, mixing with a rumbling inside his chest. She managed to blink her eyes open once, just one more time to see him, but all she managed to get was a glimpse of his chin and beard.

She wondered how he’d look without it, if it would make him seem boyish, softer. Maybe it would have erased the burden on his shoulders - they may be wide, but they shouldn’t have to carry all that weight alone.

Suddenly, his scent was gone. She tried to reach for him, but her arms could not move, hanging freely instead. Cold seeped in, clinging to her insides, wrapping itself around her heart.

Slowly, her agony had faded. The pain gradually lifted, dissipating like fog. For a moment, she wondered if this is what death feels like – no more pain? No more suffering? Being alone and cold?

Despite everything, if she had a choice, she’d embrace the pain. If pain means she would return to him, to his warm arms, she’d gladly suffer.

Dizzy, confused, she felt herself being pulled up into reality. The disjointed haze receded enough for her to make sense of the world around her. Her eyelids feel heavy as she opens her eyes, the edges of her vision flickering. Blinking fast, her eyebrows knitted as her vision blurred.

‘Aleksander’, she wanted to call, but couldn’t say a word. 

How odd it is that he’s the last one she thought about when she thought she’d die and he’s still the first one to come to mind when she wakes? 

She no longer felt cold. He always had the ability to keep the cold away.

Sniffling, she jerked her hands away as she became aware of another’s touch. Sitting up on a table she was laid upon, she pulled herself aside before looking to the one who touched her earlier.

“It’s just me”, he raised his hands in mock surrender. “I needed to see you.” His voice is soft, sweet like honey.

Scoffing, she narrows her eyes at him and the cup of water he held out for her to take. Her mouth is dry, her throat like sandpaper. She may be angry with him, but the water he held out felt more important than their fight.

“Are you in any pain?” He asks, watching her drink all of the water in one go. “I could have them come and take it away.”

Letting out a loud sigh, she wipes her mouth with the back of her hand. Raising an eyebrow, she licked her dry lips.

“Can they take you away?”

Snorting, he suppresses a smile. As long as she’s capable of annoying him, she’s going to be fine.

“What were you thinking?” Threading his fingers through his hair, Aleksander frowned. “You could have died.”

“Would have saved you a lot of trouble in the future”, she quips. Standing, she stumbles.

Feeling his hands on her waist, Y/N felt her heart skip a beat. Even now, when she’d like nothing more than to walk away, her body reacts to him. Looking up at him, she inhales sharply as she sees the tears in his eyes.

“I’m scared”, he admitted and she blinked.

“Of what?” She frowned, “Me?” Does her power frighten him? Because it frightens her.

He shook his head, “Of me”, he looked at her. His hands trembled as they touched her skin, “I’m scared of hurting you.”

“I’m scared of you hurting me, too.”

Dropping his hand, he takes a step back. “I don’t think I’m capable of ever hurting you.”

“Tell that to my neck”, she remarks. Her hand brushes over where his hand had tightened its grip just the night before, fixing his gaze on him. He seemed to regret it.

‘Good’, she thought. ‘I hope it haunts him, because it will haunt me.’

“I apologize”, Aleksander swallows thickly. He can’t remember the last time he apologized to someone. A part of him questioned if he ever apologized for anything he’s done in his unusually long life. “I had no right to act the way I did.”

“You once told me I could choose the way to punish you if you ever hurt me”, she takes his hand, intertwining their fingers.

Aleksander nods, “I’m a man of my word.”

“What’s your name”, she asks. “Real name.”

His eyes locked on hers like magnets of different polarities. Isn’t that exactly what they are? She’s his polar opposite in every way, fated to attract.

“Aleksander Morozova.” He uttered a name long forgotten; a name he wanted to forget. 

Aleksander was a weak boy who failed everyone that cared for him. He was soft, young, naïve and a damned fool for ever believing Grisha would ever be free. Even now as he elevated their status, Grisha had to serve a human – the Tsar.

Her eyes held barely contained anger. As her hands clasped, a few stray flickers of light appeared on her fingertips. Unclasping her hands immediately, she raised her chin up. “I want to know everything. Tell me your story.”

“And when will I hear yours?” Darkling demanded, swiping his thumb under his lower lip.

“You seem to mistake this for negotiations”, she maintained eye contact defiantly. “Last night you told me to either go back to the Palace or to cross the fold and return to my father. It’s a choice that would easily mean I can choose to stay with you or leave and never look back.”

Placing a hand on his chest, Y/N smirked. “You can either tell me the whole truth or watch me leave.” She spoke through gritted teeth, “Don’t push me unless you’re willing to lose.” 

Cupping his left cheek, she allowed a luminescent glow cast a light on his handsome features. She was angry, so angry and tired and her own power often terrified her. For once, she wanted to use it for her own benefit rather than hide it.

“What good will it do?” Aleksander’s bottom lip quivers as her light illuminates tears collecting in his dark eyes. “You’ll hate me as they all do. Even my mother saw me as a monster.”

“I’ve seen what you really are. And I never turned away…what makes you think I will now?”

She felt his jaw clench under the palm of her hand as he swallowed thickly, “You would if you could see my heart, all of it.”

Exhaling through her nose, she shook her head. Her eyes soften, her lips parting. How could she ever be indifferent to his suffering? She wished she could be colder, to leave him in tears and not look back. Hearing his words, his belief that he’s unlovable tugged at her heartstrings. 

"Have you no faith in me?"

In a fight, they’re lethal, but around each other their armor is gone.

“I’ve waited for you for centuries. I dreamed about you for hundreds of years before I ever saw your face. I longed for you, missed you, died and lived for you.” Taking her face in his hands, Aleksander bends. His forehead meets hers as his nose brushes against the tip of hers.

“Ever since I laid eyes on you, my dreams have been clearer, focused on you. And in my dreams I am kissing your mouth and you’re whispering ‘where have you been’”, his eyes overflow with tears as he continues with a fractured smile. “I say, ‘I’ve been lost, but I’m here now’.” 

Swallowing thickly, he felt as if his heart was breaking. “You’re the only person who has ever been able to find the real me. You saw me underneath all the darkness.” Reaching for her hand, his fingers tremble. “I was waiting for you without knowing it. I’ll make up for all the mistakes, for all the years I was supposed to be kissing you.”

“So why is it so hard for you to be honest with me?” She whispers, her hands trembling as they hold onto his shoulders.

His frown deepens, “Why weren’t you honest with me?”

“You once joked and said I’m no Inferni”, she shrugged. “You were right about that. My mother was. Father never knew about either of us. Your turn.”

“I was honest”, he sighs. Stepping back, he frowns. “I told you my name, I answered your questions about the black heretic.”

Reaching for him, she felt her heartache intensify once his tears began to flow freely across his cheeks.

“Don’t”, he recoiled from her touch. She wrapped her arms around her own waist, hurt by the rejection. 

“It’s not easy for me to talk about my past. It’s as if I’m cutting myself open, letting the ugliness spill out. It’s not painless.” Swallowing thickly, Darkling’s eyes widen as he tries to hold back more tears from escaping him. “It would have been simpler to close myself off and find an unremarkable lover who’d never dare defy me, but I keep taking the risk because I want to be with you and I hope that one day you will feel the same way about me.”

“I want”, she stopped, tucking her hair behind her ears. 

His voice was quieter, “What do you want? I’ll give you everything.”

“I don’t know”, she replied honestly. “I’m hurt, Aleks. You hurt me after you promised to protect me.”

Running a hand across his face, wiping his tears away. He averts his gaze. Watching her break because of him deepens the cracks in his poorly stapled, bleeding heart.

“What do you want”, she looked to him with a weight in her chest. How can loving someone hurt so badly even when the love is reciprocated?

“Never mind what I want”, he turned away. Facing her now would have chipped away at his fragile sanity, so he did what a coward would – he hid.

“You asked what I want”, she placed her hands on her hips. “I want to know what you want.”

Shaking his head, he let out a breathless chuckle. “You”, he smiled. “I’ll always want you.”

Closing the distance between them, she closed her arms around his neck. Before she could reach for him, he gripped her by her thighs and lifted her effortlessly. Wrapping her legs around his waist on instinct, she got lost in the rush of blood to her head when he pinned her against the table behind her. He paused, searching her eyes. 

Whatever he was looking for, she hoped he found it.

“I don’t own you”, his eyes flicker to her lips as she sinks her front teeth into the soft flesh of her bottom lip. “I never did. Human or Grisha, you always owned me. I was just too blind to see it.”

Brushing his lips against hers, Aleksander smiled in resignation. His eyes are so different in moments like these, softer than she ever imagined eyes could be.

“Your silver tongue won’t get you far”, she struggled to keep her eyes open with his lips a whisper away. “But you’re free to try.”

She felt his burning gaze, finding it hard to concentrate on much besides breathing. He observed her, capturing her soft, naturally charming and appealing nature. She’s genuine and sweet, the reason why everyone’s head turns when she walks into the room.

How did he not realize it before?

She’s the sun.

She always was. 

He always did squint angrily at her like he does with the fireball in the sky.

Y/N’s hands ran up and down his chest as her lips claimed his - passionately, roughly, determinedly. Without a word, she started to unbutton his kefta, her cold fingertips brushing his warm skin - until she lost patience and ripped the bottom part wide open, pressing her palm against his chest as he broke the kiss.

“Are you sure?” He raised his eyebrows in concern.

“I’ll be mad at you tomorrow. Kiss me”, she ordered, drawing a smile on his lips as she pulled him closer, her lips reattaching to his, her teeth sinking into his lower one.

Pushing him onto the floor, she didn’t waste time. Her bottoms were down so quickly he hardly had time to take a proper breath before she unfastened his pants too.

Heaving, Aleksander could hardly get enough of the view on top of him - her beautiful mouth opening in pleasure every time she sunk down on him, her eyes rolling back into her head, her hands placed over his chest to keep herself steady. She speeds up, prompting his loud, uninhibited moans that drew an honest smile upon her lips. He trusted up and into her as his high hit fully, taking her by surprise. She gasped, his thrust giving her an unexpected release as she clenched around him.

Gasping for breath, she laid on top of him. Y/N was very aware of his arm around her as it pulled her close, his hand on her hip, giving it a light squeeze. He leaned into her, his lips pressing a tender kiss to her temple, making her tingle with anticipation of something more - something she shouldn’t think about after their argument.

How can she trust his change of heart has nothing to do with the fact she’s the Sun Summoner? How can she ever trust him at all?

Clearing her throat, she pulled herself off Aleksander. “Put something on, someone might come in”, she told him as she secured her pants back on. She could hardly look at him, afraid he’d weaken her resolve. She couldn’t forgive him so easily, even if her heart ached for him.

“Let me in”, a voice from outside the tent made Y/N look to the entrance with a frown.

She crossed the distance swiftly, her hands ready in case she had to use her sword. She goes to place her hand on the hilt only to find her sword is not on her.

It’s a good thing that’s not her only weapon.

“Hey!” She shouts at the Grisha as they pulled someone away. “Stop!”

“General?!” Mal laughs as he manages to look back at her, fighting against the Grisha.

“Mal?” She chuckles, glad to see he’s still alive. 

“Leave him alone!” She orders, feeling a presence behind her. She didn’t need to look to know it’s Aleksander. Unfortunately for him, she wasn’t in the mood for anymore talking.

“You’re alive?!” Mal goes in for the hug, but his eyes catch a glimpse of Kirigan’s glare and he slowly backs away. “We need to regroup.”

“How many have we lost?” She frowns.

“You’re Grisha now”, Aleksander speaks up. “You don’t have to fight for the humans.”

Glancing over her shoulder, she scoffs at him. How could he even think she’d give up on her people now? 

“That’s not something I’d like. I enjoy my humanity.”

She was the flame who lit his life on fire and while he was burning, he wanted to thank her for it and ask her to stay a while longer. Darkling nearly chuckled at the thought of calling her fire, but she is and he craves the burn.

The Darkling wanted Y/N to be the one addicted to him, in equal measure as he was addicted to her. He wanted to give her a reason to stay with him, if not for love, then for lust. He’d find a way to her heart in the meantime and knowing they’ll have a forever comforts him, but he needed to have her in every other way until then.

He knew he could make her truly happy if she’d let him and he wasn’t about to let her go.

Not without a fight.

Watching her walk away with the soldier, he clicked his tongue. Mal, whoever he is, poses a threat he needs to handle.

Swiftly.

=============================

A/N - I struggled so much writing this chapter, hope you guys like it. I’m probably gonna pass out now, I’m exhausted. xx

Tags: @bruxa0007 @rangotangomango @kaitlyn2907 @thestoryofmylife9 @shelivesindaydreamswme @hxrgreeves @safetyhtom @kaqua @savannah-elliott @all-art-is-quite-useless  @azure23x @girlmadeofavocados @ashdab2611 @acciorudolphx @ladyblablabla @wckedheart @xceafh @sanna2020 @tarkanelima-blog @takethee @mellifluous-cosmos @marvel-ousnesss @tea-effect @starlightofsolaria @p3nny4urth0ught5 @blackbirddaredevil23 @sarcastic-and-cool @slytherinsbiggestproblem @within-thehollowcrown @notthatchhavi @musicconversedance @freakytillthemoon @lgkoval @honeyofthegods @queenmalhinewahine @misselsbells06 @whatthefluffrichard @aami98 @britriestbr @itsfangirlmendes @padme-parker @readingsssssssss @runawayolives @thehighladyofasgard @emlynblack @keithseabrook27 @dailydoseofchoices @deceivedeer @olympiacosplay @pansysgirlfriend @extrakyloren  @daybleedsintonightfa11 @thoughts-and-funnies @weirdowithnobeardo @folkloresworld @remugoodgirl @yagorlemmalyn @gonehopelessgirl @fefethecoffeeaddict @naughtynecromancer @poison-of-the-ivie @strawb3rrydr3ss @supersouthy @theilliterateironman @evyiione @kimoranelson03 @wizardwheezes @woodsabby6 @liajiah @its-carlerrr​ 

PART 14

[lubdubsworld]

Blackberry Winters.

Part 1

Check part one for warnings 💔

Part 2.

Namjoon stared at his mother, her words registering but not quite sinking in. He blinked, a couple of times and swallowed dryly, trying to gather his wits that felt like they'd been scattered to the four winds. There was a dull ringing in his ear, a feeling of impending horror and he had to fight to bring himself back to the present.

"She is...?" He couldn't even say it. Somewhere in the back of his mind he realised the irony of it. It wasn't supposed to makes him feel that way. The reason he had taken her to bed was for this : a heir to take over the duties of the head alpha after him. And yet, he knew that he couldn't just ignore all the things that would come with having a pregnant mate. All the added responsibility.

At the heart of it , Namjoon was exhausted.

He had been trained for this position but it didn't make it any easier. His wolf yearned for solitude and serenity, peaceful quiet where he could contemplate life and all its mysteries but the duties and responsibilities kept piling up. He had no time to indulge in such whimsical fantasies. From daybreak to sundown, he drowned in problems that demanded solutions, issues that required his intervention and he was always giving so much of himself to so many.

It was as taking a toll.

And now here was the promise of another new soul. A pup. Fully dependant on him for survival. It was hard to be ecstatic.

" Why do you look so surprised? Have you not been sleeping with her?" She frowned, moving closer to the small wooden bench in the corner of the room. She sat down, primly adjusting the large swathes of her skirt. Even at her age, she was a beauty and despite being a widow, she was treated with great respect by all the wolves in the clan.

" I have... Of course...I just didn't expect her to ...so soon. " He muttered hesitantly. He made a quick calculation, Conceived at the end of autumn meant the child would be born at the end of summer. Rains and more rains. He would have to commission the weavers to make a lot of warm blankets and thick bedding for the babe. And make sure that all the birthing huts had their roofs mended. He felt an ache in his chest. He knew he had to have a heir. It was part of what he was responsible for. But he wasn't ready to be a father yet. Especially not with someone like her.

" You haven't been very subtle in your disdain for her, Joon. It makes me wonder of perhaps I have failed in teaching you the ways of a husband." His mother's sharp voice made him wince.

His parents had been deeply in love with each other. His mother had been an equal contributor in running the clan, his father's most trusted confidante. He couldn't imagine having something like that with the woman he had rather recklessly chained himself to for life. But he couldn't be openly defiant in front of his mother.

So he bowed.

" I've tried to talk to her mother. She looks at me like I'm some marauding villain."

Lady Kim scoffed.

" Because, for all she knows, you may as well be one. Think of who she is, how she was raised. Her mother died when she was eight and she has been keeping house for her father since then. It Is a miracle she knows how to read a few words and to write her own name. Old man Gong is unkind and cruel and I've only ever watched him treat her like an unruly dog that needed discipline and never like his own flesh and blood. She knows men to be cruel and powerful and capable of doing her great harm. Add to it your status as the head of the clan, of course she thinks you're dangerous. "

" am I to be blamed for her childhood now?"

" Don't be obtuse. That is not what I'm saying. I just want you to consider her upbringing, before you write her off as dramatic or hysterical. "

Namjoon sighed deeply.

" Alright, mother. I'll try to talk to her again. "

And he knew that he had to. If he wanted some semblance of peace in his life, he would have to make an effort with his wife.

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

Jiah sat by the haybale near the barn, cross-legged on the dirty floor as she watched Misu and Loshim, two of the stable boys tend to the horses. She stared at the careful way they brushed the large beasts, their tone gentle and soothing as they murmured reassurance to the agitated animals. She found it fascinating, how even an animal that powerful could feel fear and anxiety. It made her feel better about her own shortcomings.

From a very young age, she had known of her flaws. She was jittery, prone to cold sweats and breathing problems, easily frightened and absolutely terrified of confrontation of any kind. Her parents had been, to put it lightly, unkind. They had seen her as a burden, as something broken and useless and cumbersome and that had done nothing for her self esteem.

To make matters worse, they didn't let her attend lessons with the other omega girls, her education limited to scribbled writing on granite with chalk when her father was feeling bored or charitable. She could read a few words with difficulty . Could write her name out if you gave her some time and patience.

At first, her ignorance had been embarassing but over time she realised her education wouldn't serve her much purpose.

She thought of herself as something temporary and fleeting. Not meant to leave any lasting impression on the world. So it was alright if she didn't know what every other girl her age did. She was going to live and die in that hut near the boundary walls..... She would have no use for fancy words or exotic dances.

Or so she hd always believed.

So when the head alpha had asked for her hand in marriage, she had nearly passed out from her heart giving out.

Namjoon was seven years older, almost thirty winters old and she had only ever caught glimpses of him when he came to check on her father's watchpost occasionally. He was a tall man, strapping and intimidating with dragon eyes that glowed red. And one evening he had stopped by her side when she had been tending the beets and potatoes in the small vegetable garden out back.

He had stared at her for a few long minutes while she had sweated in nervousness and then he had promptly asked for her father. When the man had Stepped in and told her father that he was looking to make her his bride, the old man had been jubilant while Jiah had been confounded.

She hadn't wanted to say yes but she had been too much of a coward to say no. Besides, she didn't know if saying no would have any repurcussions....she didn't want to risk offending the literal head of the entire clan. What if they banished her? What would become of her then?

And so she had said yes. And here she was.

Mated to the man for life, her wolf connected to his and his mark on her neck and now....his child in her womb.

She felt the familiar stirring of panic, digging her nails into her palm to ground herself .

Jiah had long come to terms with the fact that her mind was not her friend. It sometimes tried to attack her , tried to make her feel irrational things. It convinced her that she was a bother, that she was useless, that she was a burden. It also tried to tell her that she was in danger, that she had to run and avoid and get away, even when she was perfectly safe.

When she had first come here as the head Alphas new wife, her brain had wrecked havoc on her senses. Had made her feel like a hunted animal, always cowering and hiding and trying to disappear . Namjoon had tried to be friendly, tried to be courteous and all she had done was hide and recoil, skin ice cold and words practically non existent. She hadn't said a word to him those first few days and even the bedding had been a nightmare, her entire body stiff as a board and she knew that he had probably felt like he was making love to a corpse.

She regretted it. Deeply. But there was not much she could do about it now. Besides she wasn't sure she even wanted to. It was obvious her husband's affections lay elsewhere. She had seen the way he looked at that courtesan. Had seen him sneak out for walks with her, had seen them huddled together in the room with all the scrolls and leather bound books.

Jisoo was a beautiful omega, well read and trained in musical arts. She played the gayageum and the flute, knew how to entertain guests with a perfect ceremonial dance and she was always at the helm of every festivity, dressed in vibrant fabrics and full of life.

She was also madly in love with Namjoon.

Jiah sighed, watching the horses paw at the dirty stable floor. She wanted to get to know her husband, yes. But she knew that even if she did, he would only find her wanting and inadequate in all ways.

And that was just not acceptable .

She maybe self aware when it came to her short comings but she also had her pride.

She would rather live like this. Tucked away like an embarassment, hidden like a dirty secret because then there would be no piercing gaze weighing her against her peers and declaring her broken.

Yes.

Pregnant or not, she wanted nothing to do with her husband.

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

" Are you feeling well now?" Namjoon's voice startled her, eyes going wide as she looked around the resting quarters , gaze finally falling on the man standing near the large table on the side. Namjoon was bent over the rough oak surface , papers spread out in front of him, an oil lamp burning bright nearby, casting a sepia shadow on the man himself and she hesitated, debating the pros and cons of excusing herself to go see his mother instead. Maybe claiming a headache?

In the end she did neither, resolving to at least make an effort with this.

" I'm well, alpha. " She swallowed the lump in her throat. " I'm sorry for inconveniencing you. "

He straightened, turning around to look at her finally.

" Do you wish to move into another room?" He said briskly and she startled.

" Another room?"

" Now that you are with pup, there's no reason for us to keep sleeping together. I prefer having my own space. "

Jiah felt the blood rush through her ears. This shouldn't hurt but it did and she could feel the self loathing flood her senses. She stared down at herself, the lack of beauty and the utter lack of any kind of elegant upbringing. Of course he didn't want to stay with her any longer. What had she been thinking , agreeing to this farce of a mating?

" I... Alright. "

Namjoon turned away from her.

" Good. I've already arranged for all your things to be moved to the west wing , next to the gardens."

Far away from his rooms, Jiah thought bitterly. The sudden realization that Namjoon had been looking for some sort of brood mare and not a mate hit her . And it suddenly made sense that he hd picked her.

Someone easy to boss around.

Someone who wouldn't demand anything from him, loyalty or affection or attention .

And it irked her for some reason.

Why did he get to treat her that way? Why must she put up with it?

But she stayed quiet because she wasn't sure what to say.

" You can leave now, Jiah. " He said dismissively and she hesitated before stepping out of the room.

And she wondered if with her departure, someone else would be taking her place in his bed.

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

Authors Note : would you guys like first person narrative or should I continue in third person? 👀

[sharkbait77]

The Sun Sets With You

Chapter One: The Season Begins

Summary: A simple yet despondent farm life suddenly sparks with new hope when an unusual traveler makes your town his latest stop and brings with him intriguing and promising viewpoints and no one to share them with. Until he meets you.

Pairing: Ezra Prospect x f!Reader

Rating: M

Warnings: Despondency, depressive undertones, death of a parent, grief, unsolicited advances, age old sexism, strained parent relationship, nosy neighbors, food, lmk if I missed any pls!

W/C: 3.2k

A/N: And here we go! The first chapter! Welcome & thank you for tuning in, it means the world, truly! As I mentioned before, this story may not be the best for some, so please heed the warnings & proceed with caution. The sadness will not consistently be in each chapter, that much I promise, but we have to get through it right away so we can understand our dear Reader’s mindset as of right now. NO EZRA YET, SORRY! And like I said before, this is probably not totally historically accurate, so take everything with a grain of salt pleeease. Other than that, enjoy!

Tags: @the-ginger-hedge-witch @asta-lily @honeymandos @pascalpanic @aliwritesfic @mandocrasis @hnt-escape @winter-fox-queen @barbossa2319 @sarahjkl82-blog @day-off-inkyoto @pedrocentric @astoryisaloveaffair @ezrasbirdie @danniburgh @foli-vora @lucrezia-thoughts @djarinsbeskar @chasingdreamer @quica-quica-quica @meesterblack @amandalovess @hunterofartem1s @pedro4ever @mishasminion360

Let me know if you’d like to be added or removed!

Series Masterlist || Main Masterlist

Chapter Two

~APRIL FIFTEENTH OF EIGHTEEN SIXTY-SEVEN~

Your eyes flutter open on instinct as the sun rises against the pale blue of the sky, its ochre rays peering from behind the grassy hills and across the wheat fields while waking the birds. They start their day with a song, shaking their feathers and stretching their wings as they merrily fly through the air in search of their morning meal. The hens that found solace in their coops from the stark chill of night chatter amongst themselves as they roam around their pen and the lone rooster releases its shrill call, a signal for the day to begin. Beat you again, you think.

The sun rises a little higher now, the bright of day in full effect as it fills your room with its intense luminosity. You lie in bed a moment longer, watching the dust mites float through the air and dance in front of your nose with each exhale of breath you release. Signs of life all around you, from the dew drops that formed on your window in the early morning to the muscles within your very skin twitching as you climb out of bed. Every little thing teasing and taunting you of significance, of meaning just on the horizon, yet so far out of your reach.

This is your life. Each and every morning, day, and night is as repetitive as the last. Wake up before the rooster crows and stare into the minute cracks rippling through the ceiling, envious of the pollen that manages to escape through and longing for you to shrink microscopic enough to hide away as well. Fill your basin with cold water you had gathered the night before to wash yourself quickly before your father wakes. Clothe yourself in your underdress, long sleeved, blue work dress layered on top with the sleeves rolled up, an apron cinched at your waist, and dirty and worn, black boots laced up tight enough to prevent you from minding the ache they feel as the day progresses.

You look at your reflection in the hazy mirror as you braid your hair; the drabness of the glass only accentuates exactly how you perceive yourself. The girl staring back at you was but a shell of the one you knew before. Before, when you still had ambitions that would have led you far from this town. To a place you could live anew. Now, just an empty being as one day fades into the next. Eyes that no longer gleam, hair that no longer shines, skin that no longer glows.

You had given up long ago of any hope and dream of something more, surrendering to the bleakness and repetitiveness of this life when your mother passed. A promise on her death bed to help care for your father any way he needs. And this is what he needs. You, here on the farm, helping tend to the chickens and the cows and the small shop he owned in town. The one your mother ran that was unceremoniously thrust onto your lap. The organ within your chest beats solely to pump the blood through your veins and keep you breathing, if only for the promise you made to your mother.

You fasten the gold chain around your neck, a locket with a faded photograph of your mother hidden within hanging to your breast. You tuck it into your blouse to keep her close to your heart and head down the ladder, stepping lightly as to not awaken Pa any earlier than necessary. Your Pa, an old man now with hair white as snow, only having turned the shade since Ma left.

Wrinkles crease deeper into his skin and the bags under his eyes droop slightly to his cheeks now on his once chiseled face. His strength has dwindled within the last year, and with no other siblings to share the burden of the farm, you knew you could not leave your Pa to deal with it by himself. So your own dreams and goals were swiftly thrown into the dirt to be rained on and turned to mush, impossible to be picked up again.

As you finish grounding the coffee beans and throw them into the pot of already boiling water resting on the range, Pa begins to stir and soon after wakes up, the aroma of caffeine acting as his own signal to wake. Leaving the house to give your father privacy to dress, you head to the hen coop to gather a few eggs for breakfast.

You take a deep breath of the crisp morning air, the smell of apple trees at the front of the house, then the smell of grass with fresh dew, to the smell of hay and chicken feed as you get closer to the pen they are corralled in. As you head back into the house, Pa is already seated at the small, round table with his tin of coffee.

“Good morning, Pa,” you greet softly.

“Good morning daughter. Thank you for the coffee.”

“Grace to our health, Pa,” you say, as you always do when he gives you his thanks.

Financially, you and Pa were well off enough; you still couldn’t afford luxuries like sugar, but you were able to live comfortably with only the necessities and the occasional new pair of boots. You were grateful to have the farm and the shop, both reliable sources of income for your small family, and you were blessed that Pa was still able to work the fields, but you know as time passes and his joints weaken, you would then need to take over the labor. There was truly no path for you to leave this life.

The older women around town had begun to whisper about you, not necessarily trying to keep their gossip from reaching your ears. They were just as bad as the hens that cluck around their pen all day. A never ending chatter of you being stuck in the house or the farm or the shop, working as an old maid for the rest of your life.

You’re still fairly young, just over two decades of life in you; sure, the girls you once played in the streams with as children were all married women now and on their third, fourth, fifth child, but you didn’t feel the desire to find a husband just to bend to the simple mold of life this society has cast. If you were to still have any control of your life, it would, at the least, be that.

You crack the eggs into the beaten and tired pan over the range, letting them cook to completion before removing and plating them, along with a roll of bread and the butter you had just churned the day prior. You walk over to Pa and place his portion down before working on your own. Pa sends up a quick prayer and starts to eat. His prayers turned to letters to Ma, but he never failed to speak them before every meal or before bed, sometimes even when a sudden abundance of eggs were laid or vegetables had sprouted during the night.

“The season is nigh for corn and potatoes,” Pa mumbles and you feel your heart sink to your feet.

You had forgotten about the season, when Ma and Pa would work the fields together endlessly, sweating through their work attire to be washed every evening. You still feel the creak in your elbows to this day. It is the busiest season, bringing in the most coinage for the year, but now that it was only you two, you worry about juggling between the shop and the farm.

“Pa, how will we manage?” You voice your concern. Pa takes a deep breath.

“You will hang a notice in the shop when you go today,” he says matter of factly. “Ask Mr. Williams if you are able to hang one on his window at the post as well.”

“And what shall it say?”

“‘Seasonal laborer wanted – will provide lodging with pay’.”

“Where will he stay?” You inquire.

“The barn; we will provide him blankets and he will be free to use our wash basins when needed and we will offer him meals.”

“It will be a lot of money expended, Pa; will we be all right?” You ask as you sit at the table with your plate and coffee tin.

“We will make do, daughter,” he says, the finality in his voice signaling for this conversation to cease. “We will not be able to pay handsomely or feed him much, but we require the extra hand if we are to pass the season.”

“Yes, Pa.”

You lower your head and eat your eggs in silence. You don’t pray anymore, not necessarily feeling the need since your Ma was taken, as well as your aspirations. Pa finishes his coffee, leaving the dishes in the wash basin and grabbing his hat, walking outside into the fields to begin preparations for the season. You sigh; the tears that have long hidden in your ducts refuse to spill out to bless you with relief.

The last time you properly cried was for Ma; every day you feel them there, the pressure building in the corners of your eyes, but nothing ever falls. A mind trick, you suppose, to force you to focus on the more important things. You don’t have the time to spare to release them; your mind and body are now slaves to the farm and the shop.

After your breakfast, you walk to the wash basin with your dishes, hand pumping the water from the pipe just off the side and using the homemade lye soap you learned to make from your mother. Once the dishes are washed, dried, and put away, you walk over to the black safe in the corner of the room, turning the dial to its correct numbers and pulling out the metal lockbox from the inside.

It carried within it the sales ledger for the shop and the velvet bag for the coins. Pa empties the bag every day as he looks over the ledger, placing the coins into another metal box that only he has the key to. He gives you coin anytime you ask, as long as it is needed for the shop or food for the house and, occasionally, on special days.

You pick it up and take it with you to the front door, pulling your bonnet and fabric bag from the hook they hung on. You stick the lockbox inside your bag, as well as the key assigned to it, and head outside. Pa is already far into the fields, hacking away at the dirt and smoothing it out for the new growth. You don’t bother saying goodbye; he knows where you’ll be. Where you’ll always be.

Living alone with Pa became quite challenging, you were disheartened to learn. You’ve always had a loving bond with him since you were a child; maybe he expected the same from you as he did from Ma, but he still managed to make his lessons on the farm enjoyable, doting upon you as any loving father would. Now? The anguish you both have felt since losing the feathery soft and caring love of your mother strained the relationship between you two.

What was once a thick belt of leather that connected you now pulled further and further apart until it became as frail as rubber, threatening to snap at a moment’s notice. You love your Pa; of course you do, and you know he loves you too. If only you could grieve together.

Upon entering the town, the people are going about their normal routines. The baker stacking the fresh loaves of bread in his window, the shoe shiners along the streets working tediously on men’s boots, the hens clucking – the older women gossiping away passionately about whomever they desire. As long as it isn’t you today.

You reach the shop, key in hand as you unlock the brass keyhole and turn the knob, the small bell dinging above you as you enter. You flip the sign in the window from the side that reads ‘Closed’ to the side that reads ‘Open’ and you pull back the shut curtains, allowing the light of day to flow into the small room.

Heading back to behind the counter, you remove the lockbox from your bag and set it on the shelf underneath in its usual resting place. You barely have a moment to remove your bonnet when the bell dings and you look up to greet the person who has walked in. Wonderful.

“Hello, my sweet,” the man husks and you find it difficult to choke back the bile rising in your throat.

“Hello Silas,” you say flatly. “Is there anything I can help you with today?”

“Darlin’, you know exactly how you may be of service to me.”

Silas Taylor, a boorish man of thirty-eight years, has desperately been attempting to attract your affection for the past two years. He had the decency to respect you and Pa after your mother passed, halting his advances for all of one week. Considering his age, he did not show any signs of maturing, both in his looks and his brain. One might even label him handsome, were he not such a crude and overbearing personality.

Ma and Pa had bid you to consider his proposal, but in time came to understand he was not the best man you could have as a husband. Pa despises Silas, has even told him so to his face, yet it did not cause Silas to stray from pursuing you. Disrespectful, despicable, a generally awful person, Silas is.

Why he had you locked on to his sights, you weren’t sure. You never gave him the opportunity to court; staying cordial as to not make an outright enemy of him, yes, but never once have you made it apparent you enjoyed his attention. Nevertheless, he continued.

“Silas, please. I must ask you to leave my shop if you are not interested in a purchase,” you implore, hoping he will understand your position and take his leave.

“But, little one, I am very interested in a purchase. What must I do to make you my wife?” He grins, as charming as the manure out in the fields. In a flash, your vision goes red as you replay his statement in your mind.

“I am not for sale, Silas. That is the most offensive remark you have said to me yet,” you declare harshly, the acidic bile in your stomach turning into a burning rage.

“There must be something that can be done, my sweet. You name it; the most lavish jewels and dresses your pretty, little mind can dream of,” he presses on with a smile only found on masks to scare the children with.

‘Pretty’ and ‘little’, amongst his unwelcome endearments, are the words to send your mind into a downward spiral to declarations that you’d rather not say unless you were alone, lest he take offense and decide to wreak havoc on you and Pa. You put your foot down and grab his arm roughly, pulling him with you to the front door. He only laughs at the scene unfolding, rather pleased with himself that he’s ruffled your feathers so.

“Silas, I am no longer asking. Please leave,” you say as plainly as you can, doing your best to keep the tremble of anger out of your voice.

“Fine, fine,” he chuckles satirically. “Until our next meeting, my love.”

He pulls your hand to his lips, his strength surpassing yours and his thick, wiry mustache rubs harshly against the tender skin of your hand. You furl your lip and flare your nostrils, unable to contain the look of disgust on your face as he glares at you perversely with his black eyes. You tug your hand away and the bristly hair under his villainous nose scrapes you with the motion.

You stand with your jaw clenched and hands balled up in tight fists at your sides, your fingernails digging into the skin of your palm as you watch him walk away, leaving puffs of dirt trailing behind with each cocksure step he takes. If you were to only be allowed one person to despise in your lifetime, it would be Silas Taylor.

“Dear, are you well?”

A gentle, aged voice calls out to you from behind. You whip around quickly, your skirts twirling as you face the elderly woman that has hailed you.

“Mrs. Williams,” you greet, willing your fury from the unpleasant interaction to rest for the time being.

“Was that Silas Taylor you were speaking with?” She asks.

“Yes,” you exhale. “Yes, it was.”

“He’s a quite handsome lad, dear. It is known all over town how you have bewitched him. Why do you not accept his proposal?”

Adelaide Williams; the sweetest among the hens, but still a hen nonetheless. You sigh deeply to yourself, deciding not to engage in the conversation with the one woman who treats you with any shred of respect and kindness, even if her ideals still match those with the others in town.

“Mrs. Williams, while I have you in my presence, may I ask a favor?” You appeal.

“Why, of course, my dear!” She smiles, all thoughts of your personal affairs exiting her imagination.

“Do you suppose it would be alright to leave a notice at the post office? We are asking for help on the farm for the season.”

“Yes, dear, it’s quite alright,” she smiles, her wrinkly skin creasing along her cheeks and eyes.

“Thank you; will you wait a moment while I draft it?”

She nods and follows you inside the shop, slow in her old age. You quickly grab a sheet of paper and a fountain pen, inscribing the words your Pa informed you to write in large enough letters.

“I imagine this season will be most difficult without your mother. I am so very sorry, dear,” Mrs. Williams says as you write and your hand quakes slightly at her comment. “How have you and your father been managing?” Cluck, cluck, cluck.

“Not without difficulty, Mrs. Williams, but we manage nonetheless,” you say courteously, not wanting to relay any information that could be the next piece of news to travel through the grapevine. You finish the notice and hand it to her.

“Shall I direct him here or to the farm?” She inquires as she reads the note, perhaps looking for anything contradicting what you already stated would be written.

“The farm, more suitably, so he can speak directly to my father,” you reply. “Many thanks to you and Mr. Williams,” you end with a sweet smile.

“No thanks are required, my dear. Anything to help you and your father. Your mother was a wonderful being. I was proud to have known her.”

Another quake. You nod politely, letting her hold your forearm as you walk to the front door. The bell dings as it opens and you watch her while she walks down the wooden pathway to the post office. Once you’re sure she’s well on her way, you turn back inside and draft another notice for the shop window before you begin arranging the merchandise for the day, taking inventory of goods that are depleting, and checking order forms belonging to families around town for produce off your farm.

A most provincial and forlorn life, indeed, that you will have to bear until the end of your time here on Earth.

Series Masterlist || Main Masterlist

Chapter Two

[heliads]

Best Kept Secrets (Part One)

Based on this request: “Wanda and the reader are married and the reader mom is Agatha but the reader does not know that...Then Agatha watches the reader having a good time with her family and Agatha is happy but sad because we get another flashback of the reader snapping their finger in order to destroy thanos and his army.”

masterlist / part two

Lights flick on in the studio. Cameras start rolling. Title cards disappear, show is live.

Wanda sits on the sofa, legs folded primly in front of her. Her best friend, Agnes, is seated one cushion over, arm flung over the back of the couch, similar to Wanda in excitement but less so in decorum. Classic, charming 1950s dresses are resplendent on both; Wanda’s is plain, Agnes’ checkered. The scene is set, the black and white filter flickering over them both.

The friends are in mid-conversation when Agnes stops suddenly to point at a ring on the other woman’s hand. “Why, Wanda, I didn’t realize you were married! Who’s the lucky sucker, and how come I haven’t met them yet?” Wanda holds out her hand, and both of them admire the shiny band on her finger. “Their name is Y/N, and you don’t know because we were only married recently. The ceremony was just a short while ago, but I feel like I’ve known them all my life.”

There’s a knock on the door, and Wanda flies from her seat, hurrying over to answer. “In fact, I think that will be them right there. Oh, this is swell- I’d been hoping the two of you would meet.” Wanda opens the door to reveal her spouse, sporting 1950s attire as well, a briefcase clasped loosely in one hand. Y/N leans over to kiss their wife, then glances over at Agnes, who has risen to her feet, a somewhat stunned expression on her face.

“I see we have a guest! I don’t believe we’ve yet been introduced, my name is Y/N.” Y/N holds out their hand to Agnes, who shakes it after a second. “Agnes, dear, I’m Agnes.” The neighbour glances over at Y/N’s clothes, then flashes a cheery grin. “I love your fashion sense, honey! You’ve got to tell me where you got those slacks.” Y/N laughs. “Odds and ends from around town. I saw this purple shirt and I just couldn’t resist picking it up. I think purple’s got to be my favorite color.”

Agnes' smile twists slightly, as if thinking about an inside joke that only she happens to know. “It’s my favorite color too, dear. Looks like we have that in common.” Y/N smiles at that. “I’m afraid I’m rather late to meeting you, though. I have work in the city, which ran a little overtime.” Wanda, after taking Y/N’s coat, rejoins the two newly formed friends. “Y/N’s magic at computing. Magic’s just the right word for her, actually.”

Y/N flinches at that, turning to Wanda with a frozen smile. “Wanda, honey, I thought we weren’t supposed to be bringing that up.” Wanda just waves a hand dismissively. “Don’t worry about it-Agnes already knows everything about me. She won’t be worried by a few things that are out of the ordinary.” Y/N visibly relaxes. “That’s good to hear.” Y/N faces Agnes once more, smiling. “If you know about Wanda’s magic, then I’m assuming you’ll know about mine. I’m still not sure when to tell people or not. I don’t want a whole Salem Witch Trial on my hands, you know? That could get kind of messy.”

Agnes grimaces. “You have no idea.” A faint ripple of laughter cascades down from the audience, and Y/N smiles fondly at Wanda. “That’s part of how we met, actually. We both have similar abilities, except she’s in red and I’m in purple. It certainly helped bring us together- I don’t think anyone can really understand everything about me except her.” Agnes clasps her hands together. “That’s just darling, honestly. You two are the cutest.” 

Camera zooms out on the scene, screen fades to black. 

Agatha walks out of the house while Wanda is busy setting up the next scene. There’s no way Y/N could be- absolutely no way. But there are too many similarities between herself and Y/N for a coincidence- the purple, the magic, the resemblance? It couldn’t possibly be true, but yet, Agatha still has a dawning realization that Y/N could maybe, possibly, just be-

Scene opens to a new episode. The audience cheers, action!

Y/N stands, holding their young son Billy in their arms as he carefully tapes the last edge of a banner to the wall. Y/N adjusts their grip slightly, Billy’s shoes several feet above the ground so he can properly affix the banner. There’s a whooshing sound from behind them, and Y/N glances over to see their other son, Tommy, just arriving in the room. He flashes a thumbs-up and a big grin to his parent. “Everything is set. We’re ready to go!”

Y/N smiles, putting Billy back down on the ground once the banner is secure. Billy gestures excitedly to Tommy, who pulls a card out from behind his back. “We made this for you!” The boys say, identical broad grins stretching across their faces. Y/N beams at them, flipping open the card to read the message inside. “Aw, you guys are the cutest! Thank you so much!”

There’s a sound from the staircase, and all attention is instantly diverted away from the card and to Wanda, who is descending from the upper floor. She begins to enter the room. “What’s all this noise I’ve been hearing?” Wanda freezes in her tracks, taking in the room, the banner, the decorations. Billy and Tommy run up to her, shouting “Happy Mother’s Day!” to their mother and wrapping their arms around her. Wanda laughs, glancing around her with a look of awe. “You put all of this together?”

Tommy smiles exuberantly. “Well, Y/N helped us too.” Wanda nods understanding, gaze cutting across the room to her spouse. “That doesn’t surprise me.” Y/N laughs, leaning over the boys to kiss Wanda. “It was an important occasion.” Wanda grins, then her voice drops to a whisper. “Have you really been up decorating with them since early this morning?” Y/N’s eyes widen in exhaustion. “Yes. I’m going to bed at 5 tonight to make up for it.” Wanda grins. “You’re the best.”

Already, the twins are tugging at Wanda’s sleeve, pulling her over to the semi-edible breakfast they’ve prepared. Y/N watches them go, but once all eyes are off of them their grin fades away and they stand alone, looking on in melancholy. Once Y/N’s sure their family isn’t watching, Y/N slips away, out of the house through a door out back. They walk into the backyard, breathing in the refreshing air of morning. 

However, it doesn’t look like they’ll be alone today. There’s a shout of greeting from the sidewalk, and Agnes starts to walk over to them, but her friendly grin drops when she sees the look on Y/N’s face. “You alright, dear?” Y/N sighs, looking away. “I should be fine, it’s just-” They break off, hesitating a few times before continuing on. “When I was very young, my mother left. My father was already out of the picture, and it was just us until, well, it wasn’t. It was one thing to have to learn how to take care of yourself when you’re so small, and it was a whole lot worse when I had to figure out all this.” Their voice drops off as they hold up a hand, purple sparks and streaks flying around their fingers.

“I was scared and alone and I had no idea how to control my magic. All I knew was that my mother abandoned me, probably because of all this.” Agnes’ face drops, and she looks shattered. “Oh, honey, I had no idea. I’m so sorry.” Y/N laughs bitterly. “It’s alright. Sorry to burden you with all of this so early in the morning, it was just strange seeing the boys so excited about Mother’s Day and all that. I was wondering why I didn’t have any memories like that with my mom or if I should be calling her and then I remembered.”

Agnes sighs in sad sympathy. “Well, I don’t know if this will do anything, but if it makes you feel better you can consider me your mother for now. I know it doesn’t solve anything but at least you’ve got me, you know?” Y/N smiles ruefully at that, glancing over at the dark-haired woman. “Thank you, actually. It means more than you’d think.” Y/N laughs quietly. “In that case, I think I should give you this. The boys found it from the highest quality of Hallmarks.” Y/N pulls the slightly bent card out of her pocket, and hands it over to Agnes.

Agnes laughs. “I’ll treasure it.” Y/N laughs as well. “Well, I’d better get back inside.” They start to head back over to the door, and then turn back to face their neighbour once more. “Oh, and Agatha? Thank you.” With that, they disappear through the door. Agnes stands alone in the backyard, suddenly frantic. “Wait- how did you know-that’s not my name- how did you-?”

Cameras cut to black. Ad break begins.

Agatha feels sick to her stomach. Seeing Y/N so hurt, so sad over the disappearance of their mother? It was strange seeing them like that- Y/N was always happy, always smiling, always there. Yet in the flash of an eye, their guard had come down, revealing the person within, who was far more battered and broken than Agatha could have thought. And then Y/N said Agatha’s real name-

She doesn’t know what to think. As she crosses back over the road to her house, Agatha’s head is spinning. She doesn’t want to go back to that time, to revisit that memory, but the scene is already building before her eyes. It happened many years ago, but Agatha can still see it as plain as day.

Agatha stands in the center of the witch coven, one she’d found only recently. She’d been hoping for another group of women to teach her power and control, but it had been a mistake. She can see that now, see it in the way they stand and why they’ve come. Agatha’s voice is raw with begging and pleading. 

“Please, no! You can’t take my child! I’ll do anything- leave, use my power for you, anything. Just don’t take them. They’re just a child! They won’t know how to survive!” The coven shakes their heads, and the leader steps forward. Agatha shrinks away, but the witch still approaches. The leader casts a spell, one that freezes Agatha in place. The woman draws closer, takes the bundle wrapped in blankets from Agatha’s arms. The witch stares at the bundle, at the face of the child inside. “You knew the rules. They cannot be broken.”

The witch walks away. The coven melts away to follow her, and they all disappear into the night. Agatha isn’t sure when the immobility spell breaks, or if it matters at all- she couldn’t move an inch if she tried. All Agatha can think about is the child that has been ripped from her grasp, the child she was just beginning to raise as her own. 

Y/N. That was the child’s name. That was the child Agatha could have had, and the child that is now gone from her forever.

Agatha’s eyes snap shut, sealing her away from the world around her. She can’t think about this anymore. She gestures idly, sending out a magical message to the show. Continue on with the episode, further the plot. Anything to distract Agnes from the pain of the past.

Return from the ad break. Scene opens with an overhead shot of the city. B-Roll is being filmed for the title sequence.

Agatha stands from a distance, watching the figures before her. Y/N and Wanda have decided on a picnic, something cute where they can bring their children along. It was a good move on Wanda’s part- they’re not saying any important lines, and park picnics are always adorable and simplistic enough to make excellent material for her next title sequence. Y/N has recovered from the memories of their past with their mother. Agatha wishes she could move on as easily, although she has a feeling that Wanda took note of her spouse’s unhappiness and wished it away in the changing of the decades.

Y/N is laughing now at a joke one of their children told them. It was a terrible joke, certainly, barely makes any sense, but that doesn’t matter because it’s a beautiful day and Y/N is happily content here with their family. Y/N reaches over to muss up the hair on Tommy’s head as the boy attempts to use his super speed on a Rubik’s Cube. Wanda hands them a sandwich, and Y/N kisses her lightly on the cheek as a thank-you. They look so happy here, so peaceful. It’s hard to imagine that it’s all happening within Wanda’s barrier, that all of this is only happening because Wanda called it up.

Y/N kneels on the red and white checked cloth of the picnic blanket, reaching for a water bottle. It’s an innocent scene, perfectly charming and everything, but Agatha flinches just for a second. It’s that movement right there, Y/N kneeling and their right arm raised in front of them. It reminds Agatha of something she saw in Wanda’s head, when she was searching for a reason as to how Wanda conjured up this entire place. Agatha winces, trying desperately to stem the flood of memory, but it’s no use. The moment is called up before her anyway.

The battleground is desolate, armies of heroes and alien mercenaries clashing all around. The sky is dark with dust and debris. Tony Stark, or the famous human hero Iron Man, sees the Infinity Gauntlet torn from Thanos’ mighty fist and begins to lunge for it, but he’s stopped by another figure, who holds out an arm to block him. Tony turns, sees a familiar face. Y/N shakes their head. “I’m not letting you do this. You have a family who needs you.” Tony puts a hand on their shoulder. “You can’t do it either. You have a life in front of you.” Y/N smiles, though it is sad and broken at the thought of the life they’re about to give up. “There are people depending on you. Tell Wanda I love her.”

With that, the witch sprints away, meeting Thanos at the gauntlet just in time to be knocked aside to the ground with a blow that shakes the earth, a blow that would have killed anyone who didn’t have Y/N’s power. The other Avengers charge Thanos again, desperately trying to fight for a world where Y/N won’t have to make the sacrifice they know is coming. It doesn’t matter. Thanos still rises, still strides towards the gauntlet. 

The Mad Titan slips the gauntlet onto his hand, grimacing in agony as the power rushes over him. There’s a silence on the battlefield. Y/N claws their way out of the cracked ground around them, stands and locks gaze with the Sorcerer Supreme, who holds up one finger. Just the one, but it is enough. Y/N nods, eyes flickering shut for just a second as they reconcile themselves to what they’re about to do.

Thanos stands triumphant. His fingers are about to come together in a snap when a figure flies out of nowhere, violet magic lighting them up and making their eyes dance in a purple haze. Y/N’s hands lock around the Infinity Gauntlet, and they begin to pull it off before Thanos backhands them into a rocky outcropping.

Thanos smiles a crooked leer, speaking one last time to the assembled warriors. “I am inevitable.” He snaps his fingers, but nothing happens. Confused, he turns over his hand to see that his gauntlet is empty, and whirls around to face Y/N once more. Y/N, who is kneeling on the broken ground, whose hand is enveloped in a gauntlet of purple light, Infinity Stones displayed proudly across their knuckles. The power of the Stones should be too much for them, almost is, but they keep their cries of agony buried deep inside.

“Not anymore.”

The sound of their snapped fingers echoes across the battleground. Around them, enemy ships crumble to dust, scores of fighters turning into ash. Even the Mad Titan himself decays away, although he is the last to go. The heroes turn to each other in awe, but their smiles of victory slip away as they realize the cost. The final cost, one that cannot be erased by another snap of gauntlet-clad fingers.

Wanda flies down from the sky in a cloud of scarlet, her face a mask of calm. She rushes to Y/N’s side, helps them sit down against an overhang of metal. Wanda smiles at her love. “You saved us, Y/N, you saved us all. You did it.” Y/N opens their mouth to speak, but can’t, and settles for a quiet smile of their own. Their face, arm, entire right side of their body is split open from the brunt of the Infinity Stones, a hundred scars and gashes crisscrossing across them. Wanda cradles Y/N’s face in her hands. “I love you. I love you so much.”

Y/N nods, just the once, and then their eyes lose that light, the light they’d always seemed to spark and carry. The last remnants of purple charms and magic fade from their body. It is only now that Wanda allows herself to lose her painted picture of serenity, allowing her face to twist with the grief and sadness of a lifetime. Y/N is dead. Y/N is dead. Y/N is dead.

Agatha stares at the happy family in the park, at Y/N in the center. Y/N L/N, Avenger, was buried a couple of weeks ago. Agatha came to Westview to find out how Wanda had so much power flowing right at her fingertips, and was later joined by S.W.O.R.D. or whatever that organization was called. Between the two of them, there’s no doubt that Wanda will be forced to leave this daydream behind and join reality, but Agatha doesn’t know if she can take it. Agatha doesn’t even know if Agatha can take it, to be honest. At some point in the future, there will be a time when Agatha will have to watch her own child fade away into nothingness once more, gone at last.

It’s strange to think that Agatha technically hadn’t met her child at all, that this Y/N is just a projection of Wanda’s power, but they’d grown so close. Agatha bites her tongue, trying to focus on the physical pain instead of the knowledge that haunts her, that she’ll have to say goodbye to her child once and for all. Then she turns, and walks away. The family remains at the park, one witch among them smiling and laughing for all to see.