#space myths

[sixminutestoriesblog]

moon landing anniversary

Fifty four years ago, the first human footprint was left in the powdery dust of the moon.  For the first time in history, humanity had not just left their own world behind but had set foot on a completely new surface.  For as long as humanity had been humanity, they had looked up at the moon and know it for the brightest light in their night sky, their one ever changing, consistent companion.  Now, finally, man had managed to reach back across that darkness and touch that familiar face.  The moon landing was the culmination of not just a decade and a half of a space race between two world powers, it was the realized dream of humanity back into the very early mists of time when ancestors that weren’t even entirely what we’d call humans today looked up into the night sky and fell in love with the pale light that fell down over them.  The sun gives us light and warmth and life but the moon is what humanity has hung their dreams, their wishes, their magic and their romance on.  

It has always been something we have hung our superstitions on too.

Superstitions are a part of humanity.  And when we went to the moon - we brought them with us.

Instead of talking about goddesses and harvests and animals and omens, I thought, today, on the anniversary of the Apollo 11 landing on the moon, we’d talk about the superstitions that they took with them on that flight and the ones some astronauts still honor today in the space station that orbits between us and the moon and that may one day, hopefully soon, see us back on the moon and then even further.  Sailors have a reputation for being superstitious.  When you cast out into the great Deep, you can’t help but feel that you are very small and the world around and, more importantly under you, is very, very wide and very, very deep.  On land you can sooth yourself into believing that man has tamed nature.  There’s no such comforting lie when you are out of sight of land.  What are astronauts but sailors of the stars?  A ‘star traveler’.  And the space between here and the moon is a much longer and deeper horizon than any sailor on the water ever watched fade behind him.

Let’s start with the light stuff.  I was surprised by how much food factors into space launch tradition.  Not sprinkling corn meal or salt in circles to keep away evil spirits but eating food.  An astronaut’s breakfast the day of the launch?  Scrambled eggs and steak if you’re American.  If it worked for John Glenn and Alan Shepherd, it should work for every astronaut after, right?  Cosmonauts however get a champagne breakfast, because Russians know how to send someone off in style.  NASA has a cake delivered with the mission’s emblem on it.  No one cuts or eats the cake though.  Damaging the launch’s symbol would be bad luck.  When America first wanted to launch probes to photograph the surface of the moon in the early 1960s with the Ranger missions, every mission failed until the seventh one.  A seventh launch attempt that just happened to have everyone sharing the can of peanuts one of the engineers had brought into the room.  It’s been peanuts at ground control ever since.  After the rocket launch, everyone on the ground gets a meal of beans and cornbread, the meal that the original control crew had after the first successful launch.  And lets not forget the bagels and donuts ground crew gets after the shuttle orbiter gets successfully delivered to the launch pad.  Bagels and donuts are round; the shuttle is round.  Obviously.

In Russia, people would lay coins on the railroad track the shuttle would arrive via.  The flattened coins were not only a completely cool way to memorialize the event but were also considered lucky.  Cosmonauts were not allowed to lay coins on the tracks though.  It was considered unlucky for them to see the shuttle arriving.  Instead they were given haircuts during the shuttle’s arrival, as much a tradition as ward against bad luck.

In fact, you’ve probably already noticed that a lot of these seem to be tradition as much as superstition.  At its core though, what is a great deal of superstition but at some point someone did something and got the result they were hoping for and thought ‘if its not broke, don’t fix it’, carrying on with the habit until everyone forgot why it was a habit in the first place?    

For instance, cosmonauts sign Yuri Gagarin’s guestbook in his old office and, in some traditions, ask his permission to fly.  They also leave red carnations in his honor on the Memorial Wall.  And, like Yuri, they too pee on the right rear tire of the bus taking them to the launch pad.  Ladies don’t have to but some of them bring a jar of pee to contribute.

Both astronauts and cosmonauts bring a talisman with them into the shuttle.  Its for good luck, but it also is the first indication to the people inside the shuttle that they’ve left Earth as it starts to float once they’ve cleared the tug of gravity.  Stuffed animals are popular for this purpose.

Before launch in the States though, while waiting to enter the shuttle, the astronauts and the tech crew play cards until the commander of the mission has the losing hand.  This lets him leave his bad luck behind with his cards.  While the crew is playing cards, the launch crew fills the tanks with fuel for the launch and writes a woman’s name in the frost that forms during the process, a superstition picked up from their Russian counterparts.

In 1980, this tradition was left out during a satellite launch and 47 ground crew were killed in an accident.

Baikonur, Kazakhstan, leased by the Russians for their space program, has an Avenue of Heroes where a tree has been planted for every launch.  The successful ones - and the ones that weren’t. Every cosmonaut walks the route past the trees before launch.

Russia will not launch missions on October 24.  A disaster in 1960 was followed by another in 1963 on that date and it was permanently scratched from the calendar after that.

The Apollo 13 mission has put due to the taint already associated with that number for most Americans, though it did have a happier ending.  Incidentally, the vest worn by mission controller Gene Kranz during that mission is on display at the National Smithsonian Air and Space Museum in Washington DC.  His wife sewed him a new vest for every single mission he was involved in.  The Apollo 13 vest was white.

Lastly, every mission after the ill-fated Challenger explosion has seen a bouquet of flowers delivered to mission control.  One rose for every astronaut on the flight and a single white one to remember the ones that have been lost.

[rustic-space-fiddle]

WIP of Penelope with her forever-unfinished shroud.

[ilovemitsuya]

Same touch, a different life

(send in dragon Sylus fic requests and my life is yours)

[ughbrie]

tethered | caleb

⤜ ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ- “Do you even realize,” he whispered, his voice low and uneven, “what you’re doing to me?”

You barely had a chance to respond before he closed the distance between you, his lips crashing against yours with a fervor that left no room for hesitation. The kiss was deeper, more desperate than before, as if he needed it, needed you, to steady the chaos inside him. His fingers tangled in your hair, holding you in place, making escape an impossibility—not that you wanted to.

“You don’t get it,” he rasped, his voice breaking as his grip on you tightened. “I'll never let you go. Not again. Not ever. Not after this.” His hand moved to your jaw, tilting your face up so you couldn’t look away. “I’ll do whatever it takes. Whatever it costs.”

(Or... a continuation of Caleb's limited 5 star memory: 'Painful Signal'.)

⤜ ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ- caleb x female reader

⤜ ɢᴇɴʀᴇ- angst, smut, & fluff

⤜ ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ- 6.9k

⤜ ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ- nsfw, mdni, dom!caleb, spoilers and references to caleb’s myth/lore (lucid dreams) and bond story (rain's embrace), continuation of caleb’s limited five star memory (painful signal), themes of depression and trauma, mentions of the explosion, mentions of death, angst (slight-ish), possessive and obsessive behavior, implied virginity loss (mc and caleb), breast play, oral sex, fingering, sex toys (is caleb’s bionic arm considered a sex toy?), marking (biting), dirty talk, penetration (p in v), rough sex, unprotected sex, size kink, creampie, overstimulation, and mentions of ownership.

⤜ ɴᴏᴛᴇ- hiii, caleb finally urged me to post my first fanfic here, lol. when i played through his myth and five star memory, i couldn't help but feel that their interaction needed to be explored more. at first, i wanted to end this with just angst but i couldn't help it, i had to give caleb what he deserved after all. also english isn't my first language but i hope you enjoy!

"If that's what it takes to feel you, I'll accept it." he said, his voice steady but lined with an ache that made your heart clench.

The cold, unyielding touch of Caleb’s metal fingers sent a chill through your skin, a sharp contrast to the warmth of your hand. His grip was deliberate, almost tender, as though he feared you might vanish if he let go.

You studied his face, the shadows beneath his eyes, the faint tension in his jaw. “But most of the time, I wish your pain could be lessened,” you murmured, your gaze drifting to the metal arm. A pang of guilt and sorrow surged within you, each thought of what he must have endured hitting like a blow. Images of him being in pain clawed at your mind.

You pulled your hand away, an instinctive retreat from the weight of it all. Caleb’s expression faltered, the fleeting moment of connection slipping from his grasp. His longing was palpable, but you couldn’t bear to stay still. Anger bubbled in your chest, white-hot and unforgiving.

“Is this the Fleet’s doing...?” you snapped, your voice trembling as fury replaced grief. “They won’t get away with this.”

The thought of what they had done to him—what they had stolen from him—burned in your veins. You turned sharply, ready to storm out, the resolve to confront his tormentors burning within you. But before you could reach the door, Caleb’s left arm shot out, his grip firm but careful, pulling you back into the solid wall of his chest.

"You think you can just... come and go as you please?" His voice rasped, low and raw. His hold tightened, and you felt the tremor in his body—the weight he carried, the pain he bore alone.

Caleb’s left arm anchored you against his chest with unrelenting force, his breath ghosting over your neck. “It’s even more painful,” he rasped, “when you take risks for my sake.”

His words carved through your anger, leaving only the hollow ache of understanding. "Is that so?" you whispered, your voice softer now, like a balm against the storm raging within him as you met his intense, stormy eyes.

Turning to face him, you let yourself fall into his fractured orbit, your arms slipping around his waist. You lunged forward, the force of your embrace tipping both of you against the edge of the hospital bed. The cool sheets crumpled beneath you, but the world outside ceased to exist. His chest rose and fell rapidly beneath your touch, but he didn’t resist.

"Then hold me, Caleb. Do it tightly. Use your right hand," you murmured, pressing your face into his chest. The plea hung in the air like a fragile doll wanting to be held.

His hesitation lasted only a moment before he obeyed, his arms closed around you—one warm, one cold, both unyielding. His bionic arm caged you as though it were the only thing keeping him tethered to reality.

"You're the only one," he murmured, his voice thick with emotion, "who can ease my pain."

His grip told you everything his words could not: the fear of losing you again, the torment etched into his very being, and the solace he sought in your presence. As the machines hummed on, the pain and anger dulled, replaced by the steady rhythm of his heartbeat against yours.

You looked up at him, tears pooling in your eyes, threatening to spill over. The weight of your emotions clawed at your chest, raw and unrelenting. The memories of the explosion tore through you—flames consuming your home, the screams, the suffocating realization that Caleb and your grandmother were gone. And now here he was, alive but scarred, his very existence rewritten into something both familiar and foreign.

"I thought I lost you," your voice cracked, trembling under the strain of your confession. "For so long, I thought you were gone…" A tear slipped down your cheek, and you saw the flicker of guilt in his eyes—a storm of regret and longing that mirrored your own.

Caleb’s jaw tightened, and his hand—the bionic one—cupped your cheek with surprising gentleness. The cold metal was jarring against your skin, but there was a tenderness in the gesture that spoke of his desperation to keep you within reach.

"I never wanted to leave you, pip-squeak." he murmured, his voice strained. His thumb brushed away the tear trailing down your cheek. "It tore me apart."

His voice dropped, gravelly and harsh. "But knowing that there are people out there who’d use you, hurt you, for what you are—"

Your breath hitched, and the words struck like a hammer, cracking open wounds you thought had scarred over. "You don’t understand," you whispered, your fingers holding him tighter. "Losing you wasn’t just pain—it was like losing a piece of myself. And then to find you like this…"

Your gaze dropped to his bionic arm, the sharp edges glinting in the artificial light. "I can protect myself, you know, I would've preferred that you didn't have to go through all of this pain if it meant I had you by my side—"

His grip on you tightened, his other hand moving to cover yours, grounding you. "I understand you more than you think," he said darkly, his eyes narrowing. "Do you think I don’t remember the look on your face every time you put yourself in danger? Every time you thought someone else’s life was worth more than yours?" 

You flinched at the ferocity in his tone, but his words wrapped around you like chains. "Caleb…" you began, but he cut you off.

"No," he said sharply, his bionic fingers brushing against the back of your neck. "You don’t get it. If someone hurt you—no, if they tried to take you from me—I’d bury the world if it meant keeping you safe."

A shiver coursed through you at the steel in his voice, the unspoken promise in his words. His lips pressed into a thin line as he searched your face, looking for a flicker of understanding—or perhaps forgiveness.

Tears finally spilled down your cheeks, and your voice broke as you asked, "But what about you, Caleb? What about the pain you carry? The things they did to you?" Your hand hesitated before resting on his bionic arm. "You can’t shoulder everything alone. You shouldn’t have to."

His gaze softened for a moment, the harsh edges of his demeanor cracking under the weight of your plea. "I don’t care about the pain, it doesn't even hurt anymore," he admitted, his voice low. "I’d endure it a thousand times over if it meant you’d never feel an ounce of it."

"But I feel it anyway," you said, your voice barely above a whisper. "Seeing you like this, it's like they tore everything from me too."

Caleb’s breath hitched, his grip faltering for the first time. His forehead pressed against yours.

"I know pip-squeak, but I’m not going anywhere," he said finally, his voice a raw promise. "Never again. Even if I have to take you far away from this world, you’ll never lose me. Do you understand?"

The tears in your eyes blurred Caleb’s face as he held you tightly, the cold press of his bionic arm against your back a constant reminder of the lengths he had gone to. But as the emotions churned within you, they pulled loose a memory, vivid and sharp from one of your nights in Skyhaven after your reunion.

The rain had fallen in heavy sheets that night, soaking the park. You sat there, drenched despite your jacket, while Caleb loomed over you, holding an umbrella that shielded you both from the downpour. His presence was as overbearing as it was comforting, and the tension between you had been as thick as the storm clouds above.

"How long do you plan to lock me up this time?" you had asked, your voice sharp with frustration and resignation. "A month? A year? Or forever?"

Caleb didn’t flinch at the accusation, his expression calm, though his eyes betrayed a flicker of something deeper—possessiveness, maybe even desperation. He leaned in closer, his face mere inches from yours, the rain hammering on the umbrella above.

"If every problem pulls me further away from you," he said quietly, his voice as steady as the storm around you, "then I’ll spend a lifetime searching for the answers."

You had stared at him, a mixture of anger and confusion twisting in your chest. "But until that final moment," he continued, his voice softening, "we’ll always be together."

His words had left you bristling, torn between disbelief and the undeniable sincerity in his tone. You’d wanted to push back, to defy the invisible chains he always seemed to wrap around you. "What if my friends and colleagues from the Association come looking for me?" you demanded, testing the limits of his resolve.

He laughed, the sound low and quiet, yet it sent a chill down your spine. His eyes had glinted with something unsettling, a mix of amusement and absolute certainty. "In that case," he said, as if it were the most natural thing in the world, "I’ll hold a funeral they can attend. So they’ll think you’re gone forever."

Before you could respond, he had gently extended his hand to you, palm up, waiting for you to take it. The rain fell harder around you, but beneath the umbrella, there was an unsettling kind of stillness. Hesitantly, you had reached out, your fingers brushing against his, and the tension in his shoulders had eased the moment you accepted his touch.

Now, standing here in this room with his arms wrapped tightly around you, the memory struck you like a bolt of lightning. You realized that Caleb had always been this way—possessive, protective, willing to go to unimaginable lengths to keep you safe. Even when you were children, when the world felt so much smaller, he had been the same. You remembered the time he locked you in the attic of your grandmother’s house to protect you from the neighborhood bullies.

It was in his nature—this fierce, unwavering obsession with keeping you close, even when it hurt you both. The realization was a heavy one, bittersweet in its clarity. Despite it all, Caleb hadn’t truly changed at all. He was still the boy you grew up with, who would do anything to shield you from harm, even if it meant breaking you to keep you safe.

Caleb’s arms tightened around you, bringing you back from your reverie, his embrace almost desperate as if holding you harder might stop the storm of emotions swirling inside you. But you didn’t speak. The silence stretched, heavy and palpable, and for the first time, Caleb’s confidence seemed to waver.

“What’s wrong?” he asked softly, his voice laced with unease. He pulled back just enough to look at you, his intense gaze searching your face. “You’re… too quiet. Did I say something that—”

You didn’t let him finish. Acting on impulse, you reached up, your hands trembling slightly as you cupped his face. His words died in his throat as your lips pressed against his, soft but firm, silencing his uncertainty.

For a moment, Caleb froze, his breath catching as if he couldn’t quite process what was happening. Then, his right arm shifted slightly, careful not to press too hard against you, while his other hand slid up to cradle the back of your head, fingers threading through your hair. The kiss deepened, his initial shock giving way to something raw and unspoken.

“Why did you...” he began as he pulled away slightly, his voice a whisper, but he didn’t finish the question. He didn’t need to. The answer was in the way you looked at him, your eyes still shimmering with tears.

“You’re here, alive.” you murmured, your voice unsteady. “I can't lose you again and regret not doing that sooner."

The tension in his shoulders eased slightly, but the unease didn’t fully leave his eyes. “You’ll never lose me,” he said once again, his grip tightening as if to emphasize the point. “Not now, not ever. I won’t let it happen.”

You nodded and leaned in to kiss him again, but he frowned, his jaw hard. You paused, "What is it?"

Caleb’s gaze burned into yours, his resolve visibly trembling as if your kiss moments ago had shattered something fragile inside him. His grip tightened, anchoring you against him, while he cradled your face with a tenderness that stood at odds with the intensity in his eyes.

“Do you even realize,” he whispered, his voice low and uneven, “what you’re doing to me?”

You barely had a chance to respond before he closed the distance between you, his lips crashing against yours with a fervor that left no room for hesitation. The kiss was deeper, more desperate than before, as if he needed it, needed you, to steady the chaos inside him. His fingers tangled in your hair, holding you in place, making escape an impossibility—not that you wanted to.

“You don’t get it,” he rasped, his voice breaking as his grip on you tightened. “I'll never let you go. Not again. Not ever. Not after this.” His hand moved to your jaw, tilting your face up so you couldn’t look away. “I’ll do whatever it takes. Whatever it costs.”

His words were suffocating, wrapping around you like a second skin. You could see it—how deeply the thought of losing you terrified him, how far he was willing to go to keep you with him, even if it meant crossing every line.

“Caleb...” you murmured, your voice barely audible. But he silenced you with another kiss, softer this time but no less intense, as if trying to convince himself that you were still there, finally his, and no force in the world could take you away.

When he pulled back, his gaze bore into yours, unwavering. “I can't hold myself back,” he rasped, his voice trembling with conviction. "Not anymore."

“I’ve tried,” he continued, his voice raw and unsteady. “When we were younger... I’ve tried to give you space, to let you breathe, but with every second you were away from me, I felt like the world took it as a chance and ripped you away from me.”

His forehead pressed against yours, his breath warm and shallow. “You’re all I have left. Do you understand that? If I lose you... there won’t be anything left of me.”

The intensity in his words sent a shiver through you, a mixture of fear and something far more complicated swirling in your chest. You opened your mouth to speak, but he cut you off.

“You’re mine,” he said, the possessiveness in his tone leaving no room for doubt. “No one else’s. And I’ll do whatever it takes to keep it that way.”

Caleb’s gaze darkened, his restraint visibly unraveling as the tension between you swelled to its breaking point. Without warning, he surged forward, capturing your lips in a fiery kiss that left you breathless. His grip on you was firm, almost possessive, his bionic arm pulling you impossibly closer while his other hand slid up to cradle the back of your head.

His lips trailed away from yours, brushing down to the curve of your jaw and then to your neck, the sensation sending shivers to coarse through your entire body. His breath was warm against your skin, each touch of his lips a mix of desperation and barely-contained need. For a moment, it felt like he might lose himself entirely, his control slipping with every passing second.

But just as his teeth grazed the sensitive skin of your neck, he froze. His arms are still around you, not quite sure if he wanted to pull you closer or to push you away. He leaned his forehead against your shoulder, his breath heavy and uneven.

“I…” His voice was hoarse, trembling with the effort to hold himself back. “I need you to tell me if this is okay.” He pulled back just enough to meet your gaze, his eyes burning with a dangerous mix of longing and uncertainty. “If you want me to stop, say it now. Please. I don’t… I don’t want to hurt you.”

His control was slipping, but he was still giving you the choice. You smiled softly. Oh, Caleb.

You reached up, your fingers trembling as you cupped his face, your thumb brushing across his cheek. "It's okay," you whispered, your voice soft but firm. "I want this... I want you."

A quiet, broken sound escaped him, like a weight had been lifted from his chest, and before you could say another word, he leaned in again, this time more urgently, his lips claiming yours with a desperate intensity. 

His lips moved down to your neck again, this time without hesitation, his kiss filled with a mixture of tenderness and something darker, more possessive. His breath was hot against your skin, and his control, once so fragile, seemed to finally break as he gave in to the overwhelming need to have you.

Caleb lifted you up by the waist, placing you gently on the narrow bed, his bionic arm carefully maneuvering you onto your back while his warm hand slid up the curve of your side.

You felt his gaze on you, dark with hunger and unbridled with lust. It wasn’t just the way his eyes lingered—it was the sheer intensity of it, as though you were his axis, the very thing that tethered his sanity that's currently on the brink of snapping. It sent a shiver down your spine, your body betraying you with a tremor you couldn’t suppress.

"I've always wanted to mark you, you know." he murmured, his voice a low rumble. "To leave something on you that everyone would see."

Leaning in, he began trailing hot, open-mouthed kisses along the slender column of your neck. His lips brushed over your racing pulse before he latched onto your throat, sucking and nipping until he left a vivid hickey blooming across your flesh.

As if satisfied by his work, he hummed, the sound reverberating through your skin. "Now, I can leave as many as I want."

Pulling back, he pressed a quick kiss on your jaw as his hands reached beneath your shirt, slipping past the material to meet the soft swell of your breasts covered by your bra.

You trembled, the cold metal of his right arm harsh against the warmth of your skin. Suddenly, his touch retreated as if seared, hyper aware of every reaction you've been making.

He asked, his voice low. "Are you alright?" Hesitant, he reached out with his right arm only to pull back and reach out with his left hand instead. He cradled your jaw, and you could feel the tremor of his fingers against your skin.

You covered his hand with your own, giving it a gentle squeeze as you gazed up at him with a reassuring smile. "Yes, Caleb," you murmured softly, your voice barely above a whisper. "I just... I haven't done this before..."

Your words seemed to reassure the storm brewing within him, a desperate hunger that couldn't be sated. He crashed his lips against yours in a bruising kiss, his tongue delving into your mouth with a fervor that stole your breath away. His hands kneaded your breasts roughly through your shirt, his bionic fingers leaving faint indents on your skin as he groped and squeezed.

"It's alright, baby. I'll take care of you." he muttered in between.

He tore his mouth from yours, his breathing ragged as he stared down at you with wild, almost feral eyes. "You drive me crazy," he growled, his voice rough with desire. "I can't... I need..."

He couldn't seem to find the words, his mind too consumed with lust to form a coherent thought. Instead, he acted on instinct, his body moving on its own accord as he ripped your shirt off, you couldn't be bothered to react, your mind hazy. Your bra followed soon after, the flimsy material no match for his desperation.

You gasped as the cool air hit your bare skin, your nipples pebbling under his heated gaze. He groaned, before whispering to himself, "I can't believe you're real."

You wanted to ask him what he meant by that, but as he drank in the sight of you, you could see the way his eyes glinted with a primal hunger that sent a bolt of electricity straight to your skin.

"Caleb," you breathed, your voice heavy with want. "Please..."

Please what? You weren't sure, but you knew that you needed him. Needed to feel him, skin to skin, heart to heart. You needed him as much as he needed you.

He didn't need to be told twice, Caleb lowered his head, his mouth latching onto one of your hardened nipples. He suckled greedily, his teeth grazing the sensitive bud as his metal hand pinched and rolled the other between his thumb and forefinger.

Your back arched as you cried out, your fingers tangled in his hair. "Caleb—"

He lavished your breasts with attention, alternating between licks, nips and bites until your skin was flushed and aching with need. He looked up, his hot mouth still wrapped around one of your nipples, "Hmmm?" he hummed, his eyes dazed.

"P-Please... I need—"

His hips rocked against yours, stopping your train of thought, the rough fabric of his pants rubbing deliciously against your core. The layers of clothing separated you still, but you could feel the heat of him.

A low, deep chuckle rumbled through his chest, vibrating against your sensitive skin. "Please, what?" he murmured, his voice a sinful purr as he nuzzled into valley between your breasts. "Come on, baby. Tell me what you need..."

You shook your head, heat creeping up your cheeks. "You're so—annoying. Y-You know what I want..."

Gently, he lifted your waist to swiftly pull your pants off, you barely got the chance to register the action, only to feel the cold air as it enveloped your bare legs.

As if sensing your surprise, you felt him smile against your skin before inching down. He placed a single, open-mouthed kiss on your navel before trailing his lips lower, his breath hot and heavy against your aching core. Your hips jerked, a needy mewl escaping your lips as you felt the first brush of his tongue against your clothed sex. He licked a slow, deliberate stripe over your folds, the damp fabric of your panties the only barrier between his mouth and your dripping flesh.

A low groan resonated from deep within his chest as he tasted you, the flavor of your arousal seeping through the thin material. “Fuck, baby…” he growled, his voice muffled against your sex. “I dreamed of this so many times, I can’t believe I’m finally tasting you for real..”

You closed your eyes, shuddering because of his words. Caleb had always been teasing and confident, but hearing him say those words when everything had been innocent and playful between the two of you ever since made your stomach clench.

Slowly, he peeled your panties off, tossing them carelessly to the side. Exposed and bare, he could see your glistening folds, swollen and practically weeping with need. 

“You’re so wet,” he murmured, his tone devoid of teasing or malice—just an honest observation, quiet and unfiltered. 

You shivered. His eyes, sharp and unyielding, flicked back to meet yours, and the intensity in them made your heart skip. There was no judgment, no amusement—just an unwavering focus that left you feeling raw and exposed.

He reached forward with his left hand, his thumb pressing against the seam of your folds, and you felt the slick coating his digit as he swiped up, and there he started to circle your clit with heavy pressure.

"Fuck—" you whined, the foreign pleasure making you throw your head back.

Caleb chuckled, purring, "There, there...."

You could practically feel him smirking without even having to look at him and you wanted nothing more than to wipe the smug off his face. But you'd do it another time, now you'd let him take his time with you.

Leaning down, Caleb left open-mouthed kisses along your inner thighs, his tongue a warm, wet brand against your sensitive skin.

"Spread out like a feast, just for me," he murmured, his voice a low, reverent rumble. He breathed hotly against your dripping slit, feeling your body jerk in anticipation. Slowly, teasingly, he dragged the flat of his tongue along your folds, a long, languid lick that had your hips bucking.

"Caleb..." you breathed, your body starting to squirm.

"Stay still." he ordered, his voice muffled.

You peered down and saw how tightly his hands gripped your thighs, you're sure he'd leave a bruise. He was holding you open, keeping you exposed to his ravenous mouth.

You felt his lips seal around your entrance as he sucked, his tongue pushed inside, delving deep, the slick muscle stroking your velvety walls with unhurried, sensual glides. Then, his lips found your clit once more, wrapping around the throbbing bud as he suckled gently, his tongue flicking against it with maddening slowness. You could practically feel it pulsing against his mouth, the evidence of your growing arousal impossible to ignore. He lapped at it, circled it, teased it mercilessly until it was swollen and straining.

You wanted more. Needed more.

You reached out, your fingers tangling in his hair, tugging almost painfully as you ground your hips against his face, desperate for some much-needed friction. But he held you still, his strong hands gripping your thighs, keeping you immobile.

Each pass of his tongue sent jolts of electricity zipping up your spine, your body arching and writhing in a futile attempt to escape the overwhelming pleasure.

As you teetered on the brink, he pulled back, his chin glistening with your juices. Before you could voice your protest, he circled your entrance teasingly, the pad of his metal thumb tracing the swollen rim, dipping inside just barely before retreating again. Each brush against your sensitive flesh drew a breathy moan from your lips, your hips undulating helplessly, chasing his touch.

"I want to see you wrapped around my metal fingers..." he groaned, his voice a low, approving rumble. He eased a single finger inside your fluttering channel, the cool metal a delicious contrast to your scorching heat. Slowly, almost torturously, he pushed it deeper, inch by excruciating inch, until he was buried to the knuckle. He paused there, letting you adjust to the intrusion, feeling your silky walls clench around the digit.

With agonizing slowness, he began to move, pumping his finger in and out of your dripping sex. Each drag against your walls, each curl of his knuckle against that special spot deep inside, dragged a broken moan from your throat. He was relentless, his pace unhurried, determined to take you apart piece by piece until you were nothing but a writhing, wanton mess beneath him.

"Y-you're so tight," Caleb grunted, his finger pumping faster, harder, plunging into your soaked heat. "I love how you grip me like this." His words were punctuated by the lewd squelches of your arousal, your walls clenching desperately around the invading digit.

A second finger joined the first, stretching you wider, filling you fuller. He pumped them in tandem, in deep, rolling thrusts that had your back arching and your toes curling against the sheets. All the while, his thumb circled your clit, the rough pad rubbing against the sensitive bundle of nerves until it throbbed and pulsed with need.

"Ohh...!" you cried out as he curled his fingers just right, brushing against that special spot deep inside.

He groaned in approval, the sound rumbling through his chest and vibrating deliciously against your sensitive flesh. "That's it, baby... let me hear you," he encouraged, his voice a low, sinful purr.

"Caleb... hah... I can't... I'm close..." you gasped, your chest heaving with each ragged breath.

Caleb pulled back, he gazed up at you with hooded eyes. "Not yet, baby," he murmured, his voice a low, authoritative rumble. "I want you to come on my cock, nowhere else."

He sat back on his knees, his hands gripping your hips as he tugged your body towards him, positioning you at the edge of the bed. With one swift, powerful movement, he tore off his pants. He hooked his fingers into the waistband of his boxers, and with a swift, impatient tug, he shucked them off, freeing his straining cock.

It bobbed before you, long and thick and so hard it curved slightly towards his stomach. The broad head was an angry red, the skin pulled taut and flushed, the slit in the tip dripping with the evidence of his arousal. Your mouth watered at the sight, your tongue darting out to wet your lips as you imagined how he would finally feel inside you.

Caleb gripped himself, his left hand wrapping around the thick shaft, stroking it slowly, deliberately. "You want this, don't you, pip-squeak?" he growled, the head of his cock nudging against your entrance, the tip catching on your swollen, slick folds. "You want me to fill this greedy little pussy until you're stretched wide and all mine?"

He rolled his hips, rubbing the underside of his shaft against your clit, the textured skin catching on the sensitive bundle of nerves until your vision nearly whited out from the intensity of it. Your hands flew to his shoulders, your nails digging into the hard muscle as you arched into him, your body crying out for more.

"Please, Caleb," you whimpered, your voice thin and reedy with need. "I want... I need..."

"Tell me," he demanded, his voice a low, commanding bark. "Tell me what you need, baby. Beg me for it."

Almost desperately, he added, "Please... please..."

Your stomach ached as he pressed harder, the head of his cock pushing insistently against your entrance, the crown popping inside your slick heat, stretching you around his girth. The sensation was exquisite, the promise of what was to come making your toes curl and your thighs tremble.

"I need your cock," you gasped out, your voice raw and desperate. "Please, Caleb... I need you inside me."

A dark, wicked grin split his face, his eyes glinting with a feral, hungry light. "That's my girl," he praised, his voice a low, sinful purr.

He leaned in, his lips pressing a soft kiss against your jaw, he whispered, "I'm going to fuck you until you can't walk straight, until all you can feel is me, deep inside of you."

With that, he surged forward, the thick head of his cock splitting you open, sinking into your welcoming heat with a low groan that rumbled through his chest. Your back arched, your nails digging into his shoulders as you took him inside, your velvety walls stretching deliciously around his invading length. He didn't stop until he was buried to the hilt, his heavy balls nestled against your ass, his cock pulsing deep inside your core.

You gasped, "Oh..." The unfamiliar stretch made your thighs tremble.

Caleb paused, giving you a moment to adjust to the feeling of being so utterly filled, so completely stretched around his thick cock. He peppered your face with soft kisses, murmuring words of praise and encouragement against your skin.

"You feel incredible," he whispered, his voice rough with emotion and restraint. "So tight and hot and perfect around me."

The uncomfortable stretch didn’t last long, your body slowly adjusting as the tension turned into something else entirely. The yearning grew, your thoughts clouded by need. Every second of stillness felt unbearable, the ache for him to move consuming you.

Hurriedly, you whispered, your voice trembling with anticipation, “You can move now…”

Slowly, almost hesitantly, he began to move. His hips pulled back, the drag of his length against your walls sent sparks of sensation crackling through your nerve endings. And then he pushed forward again, harder this time, his length plundering your depths with a newfound urgency.

A broken moan tumbled from your lips as he set a steady rhythm, each powerful thrust driving the breath from your lungs and stoking the heat building in your core. The pain began to recede, replaced by a pleasure so intense it bordered on overwhelming.

"Hah... C-Caleb-!"

"That's it, baby. You're taking me so well..."

Caleb could feel your body starting to relax, could feel your hips beginning to move in tandem with his. Emboldened, he increased his pace, his thrusts growing harder, more insistent as he chased his own release. The obscene slap of flesh against flesh filled the room, punctuated by your needy moans and his grunts of exertion.

"Do you feel how big I am, pip-squeak?" he purred, flexing his hips to emphasize his point. "I'm so deep inside this sweet little pussy. Filling you up in a way no one else will ever be able to."

His hand slid down your body, your skin flushed and heated beneath his touch. He cupped your mound, his fingers brushing against where you were joined, feeling the way your lips stretched obscenely around his girth.

"I love seeing your tight little cunt so full," Caleb growled, his eyes glittering with a predatory light. "It's like this hungry little hole was made just for my cock."

"C-Caleb....!" you whined, lips parted open. His words made your skin hot and your brain go hay wire.

You could feel every rigid inch of him as he hilted inside you, his heavy balls nestling against your bottom. Your body had never felt so full, so deliciously stuffed. It was almost too much, the stretch pushing you to your limits, until you swore you could feel him in your throat.

He let out a choked groan, his breath hitching as he clung to the moment. "W-Wait," he stammered, his voice thick with need, "I need to feel more of you..."

Your body trembled under the weight of his words, a soft, helpless mewl escaping your lips. "M-More..?" you echoed, your voice barely audible, laced with vulnerability and the same yearning that reflected in his gaze.

Caleb pressed a wet kiss on your cheek and gripped your thighs, his large hands easily encircling your slender legs as he pushed them up and back, folding you nearly in half. He raised them high, draping them over his broad, muscular shoulders until your knees were pressed against your chest and your ankles crossed behind his neck.

Caleb leaned down, bracing his elbows on either side of your head as he pistoned in and out of your dripping sex. His hips slammed against yours, the new angle allowed him to plunge even deeper, the head of his cock kissing your cervix with each driving thrust.

He captured your lips in a searing kiss, his tongue delving into your mouth to tangle with yours. You could taste yourself on him, the flavor of your arousal lingering on his lips and tongue as he explored your mouth. Your hands flew to his hair, gripping the strands tightly as you kissed him back with a fervor that matched his own.

"That's it, baby," he panted against your lips, his voice rough and urgent. "Take my cock. Fuck, you're so deep like this. I can feel every inch of this tight little cunt squeezing me."

Caleb's mouth trailed hungry kisses along the column of your throat, his teeth grazing your sensitive skin. He latched onto your shoulder, biting down until you cried out, your fingers scrabbling at his back. The sharp sting of his teeth piercing your flesh pushed you closer to the edge, your pleasure spiked with a hint of pain. Your sex rippled around him, the velvet walls squeezing his pistoning length as he fucked you with wild abandon.

"Caleb!" you keened, your head thrown back, your body bowing off the bed. "I'm going to... I'm going to come!"

"That's it, baby. Come for me," he urged, his hips slapping against yours with renewed fervor. 

Your world exploded into a million pieces as your orgasm crashed over you, your sex clamping down around him like a vice. You cried out, seeing white. Your nails raked down his back, leaving red welts in their wake as you clung to him, anchored against the overwhelming feeling of your orgasm.

But even as you trembled and shuddered through the aftershocks, Caleb didn't stop. He continued to pound into you, his length plundering your walls as he chased his own release, the wet squelching sounds of your spasming cunt being fucked senseless echoing the walls. Your body knew the sensation was almost too much to bear, your sensitive flesh crying out for respite as he drove into you again and again.

"I can't... it's too much..." you whimpered, your voice thin and reedy as your trembling hands pushed weakly against his chest, though you lacked the strength to follow through.

"Shh, I've got you," Caleb murmured, his voice a mix of strained need and steadfast reassurance. He leaned in, pressing his forehead gently to yours as his movements slowed slightly, yet his intensity didn’t waver. "I need to fill you up, baby," he whispered, his tone low and fervent. "I just need to... let me take care of you."

You whined softly, tears brimming in your eyes as the intensity of it all overwhelmed you, your toes curling. Caleb’s gaze softened, though the desperation lingering in his expression didn’t waver. He leaned in, brushing his lips tenderly against your damp cheeks, kissing your tears away as if to soothe the overwhelming sensations within you.

"I know it’s too much, b-baby," he murmured, his voice a mix of huskiness and gentle coaxing. "Just take it for me, yeah? You're doing so good for me..."

His hips slammed against yours, the rhythm growing almost sloppy now, driven by sheer desperation, yet each movement was still hard and fast, claiming you in every way. His breath was hot against your skin, his lips trailing wet, possessive kisses along your jawline.

"You’re mine," he murmured, the words rough and trembling with unrestrained emotion. His voice dipped lower, almost a growl, as he repeated with fervent intensity, "Just mine. Finally mine."

You closed your eyes, your heart pounding as you wrapped your arms around his nape, pulling him closer, as if anchoring yourself to him. Your voice trembled, raw with emotion, as you whispered hoarsely, "I'm yours..."

The words seemed to shatter something within Caleb, unraveling the last threads of his restraint. Just hearing you say you were his was enough to push him to the brink, his entire being consumed by the overwhelming need to claim you.

"Fuck, I'm coming," he grunted, his hips slamming against yours one last time. "Here it comes, baby. Take it all."

You felt a sudden warmth spread through you as Caleb reached his peak, his release surging inside you in long, pulsing waves that left you breathless. The intimacy of the moment consumed you, your body trembling against his as you held onto him, feeling every shudder that rippled through his frame.

Caleb kissed you again, more gently this time, before he carefully lowered your legs from his shoulders, easing them down to rest on the mattress. His movements were slow, deliberate, as though he feared breaking the fragile moment you shared. He collapsed beside you, catching himself on his elbows to keep from resting his weight on you accidentally.

The room was quiet except for the soft rhythm of your breathing, mingling with Caleb’s. The air was warm, the atmosphere tender, as the fiery passion that had consumed you both finally ebbed into a calm serenity. His bionic arm rested protectively against your waist, his other hand brushing gentle circles along your shoulder as he held you close, your bodies tangled together.

“You okay?” Caleb’s voice was a low murmur, his lips brushing against your temple as he spoke. There was a vulnerability in his tone that made your heart ache.

You nodded against his chest, feeling the steady rise and fall of his breathing beneath your cheek. “I’m okay,” you whispered, your voice tired but content. “What about you?”

He let out a soft laugh, the sound rumbling through you. “I should be asking you that, pip-squeak.” he replied, pressing a lingering kiss to your hair. “But... yeah. I’m good. Better than good.”

There was a pause, and then his bionic fingers moved, carefully tracing patterns against your skin. The coolness of the metal felt strangely soothing, a contrast to the warmth of his body. “Did I hurt you?” he asked, the edge of worry creeping into his voice.

You tilted your head to look at him, your hand coming up to cup his jaw. “You didn’t hurt me,” you reassured him softly, meeting his eyes. “Not even for a second.”

He visibly relaxed, his shoulders easing as he pulled you even closer, tucking your head beneath his chin. “Good,” he said, the word more to himself than to you. “Because I’d never forgive myself if I did.”

For a while, the two of you simply stayed like that, wrapped in each other’s warmth. Caleb’s fingers absently played with your hair, his touch grounding and soothing. He whispered small things now and then—how much he loved you, how he’d never let anything hurt you, how you were his whole world. You answered with quiet hums, your heart swelling with every word.

As exhaustion finally began to tug at you, you felt him shift, “Sleep,” he murmured, his voice a soft command. “I’ll be right here when you wake up.”

likes and reblogs are greatly appreciated <3 if you want to check out more of my writings, head on to here — masterlist.

[yourstrulysylus]

My beautiful boy

[quasarcartoons]

Continue reading the last few pages here:

Mythical Galaxy - Part 1: Call of the Muse

In the very distant future, an alien humanoid named Cepheus, his reptilian colleague, Draco, and their robot butler, Auriga, aimlessly roam the universe in their ship.

However, Cepheus receives his first call to adventure in years when he decides to court his long-lost lover, Cassiopeia. Cepheus now sets out on his galactic quest of traversing the cosmos to finally reunite with his beloved Cassiopeia.

---

I spent the entirety of 2024 working on this iteration of my webcomic, Mythical Galaxy. I can't believe it’s finally finished! 

Checkout my official website, the rest of my Tumblr, or my other social media if you want to support this project: www.mythicalgalaxy.com

[xinyuehui]

I heard the Farspace Fleet got a new colonel. Judging by that uniform and insignia, could it be...?

[mehiwilldoitlater]

Y/n: Yuán Fèn, you're cool..but you'll never be cool as Captain Charles "Chuck" Simian!

Destined One:.......Who the fuck is-

[coldshrugs]

glamtober #31 - supernatural: mothman

my favorite american cryptid. i spent half my childhood in appalachia and those mountains are haunting and comforting. there's something nice about a fucked up creature trying to warn folks away from harm. this fit is silly but we can pretend she found it in eorzea's version of spirit halloween, right next to the sexy chirurgeon costumes.

items used:

head: tonberry head (jet black | ruby red) body: quaintrelle's ruffled dress (jet black | jet black) arms: demonic gloves (N/A | ruby red) legs: bunny tights (N/A | jet black) feet: makai priestess's longboots (ruby red) fashion accessory: fallen angel's wings

[gingermintpepper]

I would love to hear you talk about Kassandra???

So, what can I say about Kassandra.

Well, firstly, I've been thinking about how I want to answer this question since I got it however many months ago and I figured I wanted to speak about my own interpretation of things rather than formal stuff - half because I don't want to cite anything since going through Iliad based papers brings me little joy and half because I figure I could treat it a bit more casually this way. So here's like, a very brief selection of thoughts I have about Kassandra, Saintess of Troy.

I view her tale as a microcosm of the wider tale of the Fall of Troy from Apollo's perspective. A human is given a choice and, of their own free-will, they make the most destructive decision ignorant of the way they're sealing their own fate and no matter how much their patron will want to save and help them, they will be unable to so much as lift a meaningful finger because the choice made is one that is sealed in Fate and powers far beyond any one god. The themes of doomed love are also shared; Kassandra loved Apollo just as Apollo loved her but she couldn't be what he wanted of her. She couldn't accept what it was he was offering, no matter how much power, honour and love he tried to tempt her with and in a lot of ways, I think of her devastating visions of doom and death(tm) as a physical parallel to the feelings Helen must be tormented with knowing that she will be cited as the reason of such mass death, destruction and violence. Likewise, I see Apollo's inability to save Kassandra up until the end as representative of his wider inability to save Troy. All his love and blessing were not enough, even though all she had to do was take his hand, it simply wasn't meant to be and so I imagine that must be a fresh hurt for him with each beloved mortal he loses during the campaign.

Kassandra is genuinely so interesting? Both as a character and as a narrative idea; she sits almost in the center of so many fascinating parallels and foils that it gets me so excited whenever she comes up in conversation! I've mentioned it briefly before but she forms a very neat triad with Iphigenia and Troilus which runs parallel to the three dominant male powers in Iliad - Agamemnon, Achilles and Apollo. They're what I somewhat refer to as the sacrifice trio, innocents who must ultimately be abandoned and stripped away for the sake of the desire of their sacrificer, in turn revealing something intrinsic about the nature of the man. For Iphigenia, she reveals that Agamemnon truly values his ambition over all, that his image and status as a leader is more meaningful to him than the love of his family (which, of course, dooms him in the end). Likewise, for Achilles, Troilus' sacrifice reveals that no matter the glamour or glory that crowns Achilles' head, his rage is ultimately his most powerful feeling and it burns bright and hot no matter the circumstance, opponent or arena. For Apollo, Kassandra's sacrifice (which is much more symbolic as he is a god and therefore need not actually physically kill her) reveals his position as the 'loser', one who will be scorned and reviled and lose all the things he loves no matter how closely he cherishes or adorns them. He can't protect the mortals he's blessed, he can't protect his children - he can't even save one woman. She also has that aforementioned triad with Helen and Andromache - the sequestered women; doomed to wait and pray but each, in their own ways working to save and support their own in the conflict. They're all haunted by the promise of what awaits them - Andromache's hopes and future lies with Hector and with her son yet she is the embodiment of a war-wife, solid and stoic in her support when Hector returns but suffering deeply knowing each fight could be his last. Helen, of course, carries with her both the suffering of the greek women and the hatred of their men - if Andromache fears death taking the breath from her beloved fighters then Helen bears the weight of death upon her shoulders, all grief and scorn is bore like a crown upon her head and she must bear it. It is her duty to bear it. Kassandra then becomes the suffering of the young women - they who are surrounding on all sides by throngs of death and do not know why it has come, they whose screams intermix with that of the dead upon them. There is no avatar for Kassandra to experience the war through, no reason for her to be stoic or strong or upright. She tears her hair, hysterical at the suffering that is poured into her mind day in and day out, wild and unrestrained where her elders must hold their grief and tame it. In this way, she gives voice to the voiceless, she screams for those who cannot and is reviled for it - a young woman surrounded by death yet ordered not to speak a word of its stench or horror. There's many more things I can talk about too such as the whole Kassandra as Apollo's living Palladium thing or the Kassandra-Electra-Clytemnestra trio or even Chryseis as a reflection of Kassandra and how the taking of a priest's daughter could be seen as tantamount to trying to steal away Kassandra (and how this eventually wraps back around to the actual incident of Kassandra being stolen away and ending up right back under Agamemnon's care just as Chryseis before her) but like, we would be here all day.

Y'all maybe this is a hot take but scorned woman Kassandra is like, the most boring interpretation of her ever. She has so much life and passion in her, so much joy, so much despair, so much love - making her jaded and cynical towards both her fate and her god is such a slap in the face to me of what her character could and generally does seem to stand for. Kassandra never stopped loving Apollo - likewise, Apollo (at least to me) never abandoned her. All in Troy suffer heavy, cursed fates - Kassandra is one of the few who at least had some awareness of how hers would turn out. I like that she's a fighter. I like that she screams and cries and spits and is expressive and ugly in her torment and grief when so many of the women around her cannot afford to be. I like that she said no and despite how much she suffered for it, she never begged for her yolk to be taken from her because she knew that the choice she made was the right one for her. She's raw, she's vivid, she's human and more than anything, that's what I love so much about her.

[silverorchideon]

"What Do You See, Red Dwarf,

Sailing In the Night Sky?"

Got inspired by Doc's newest episode.

(The original plan was to recreate the "Do You Love the Color of the Sky?" Post, but the size made Tumblr absolutely eviscerate the quality, so you get this instead)

[furiousgoldfish]

While growing up in an abusive family, a part of me strongly refused to grow up, in fact it's still resisting it. I thought at first, it was because I was taught that I am less and less valuable as I age, but it wasn't only that. It turns out, growing around mostly abusive people, can give you some horrifying notions of what it means to be an adult.

I am going to write down how I perceived adulthood, as an abused kid, because I need to work on it myself, and if there's somebody else feeling this, know that these are not your only option for a future:

All adults are stupid, unkind, boring, bitter, aggressive, obsessed with money, do not understand people around them at all.

All adults have to play specific roles assigned to them and don't step outside of these roles. For instance: mother, grandma, father, aunt, teacher, uncle, neighbour. All roles are restrictive and people can only do whatever is assigned to this role (cleaning, cooking, working a job, going to army, being married, etc)

Adults can't play, be curious, or have fun. Adults have to be focused on their role and stay grumpy, serious, bitter and busy. They don't laugh except when drunk.

Adults are having it tougher than children. They are unloved, uncared for, nobody considers them nice or pretty, nobody wants them around or gives them gifts. Adults are permanently unwanted and undesired everywhere.

Adults have good opinions only of people who are already dead. Everyone alive is constantly being humiliated, shamed and criticized. It's better to be dead.

Adults don't care about children, and only think the worst of children. Adults think children should only exist to work and to be yelled at. Adults are dangerous.

Adults don't care about friendships, loyalty, kindness, courage, bonds, closeness, care, or love. Adults friendships are drinking and smoking in the same room while talking badly about every other person in their life. They don't play, laugh or share things. It's a big game of pretense that the other has it better.

Adults lie and fake everything. They lie about their home life, about what they know, about money. They lie about, and to their children. They tell lies confidently. They make things up if they don't know and then tell those lies as if they're truths. They don't feel guilt if caught lying and instead double down on it.

Adults have money but they can't spend it. They have to keep paying bills and they never have enough money for bills and food. They will buy alcohol and cigarettes though, but they're always stressed about bills. They consider it children's fault.

Adults are endlessly stressed about having to 'feed a family'. This is so bad that they actually end up hating their families. They wish all of their children were dead so they wouldn't have to feed them. They can't seem to stop having children but also hate feeding them. It's like they're forced into it.

Adults have to work constantly. They work their jobs and have to do endless chores when they get home. They have to get up early to do chores and do them late at night. They have to do everything alone, unless they can get a child to do it for them. They can't select not to do it, they have to shift it to someone else to avoid it. Adults have no free time, or hobbies. They have to work at all times and always know what needs to be done.

 Adults have bodies that work less and less. They can't run, climb or jump. They're always having surgeries and can barely walk. Their backs and hips hurt and they complain about the pain every time they need to do anything. They blame the work for this but can't stop working. They're still somehow stronger than children when they want to hurt children, and then they're fully mobile. But at all other times they appear sickly and need stuff done for them.

Adults never get over anything that ever happened to them. They're always victimized by everything that ever happened to them. We the children have to get over things instantly, but they are angry and bitter about the past forever. They hold grudges against family members forever. They freely take things out on other family members. They never forgive or forget or calm down.

Adults are not passionate about anything. Their main priority is looking good in front of others and convincing everyone they're better than they are.

Adults selectively care when someone is crying. If it's someone they don't know, they'll act nice about it. If they know the person they will tell them to shut up and stop annoying them. It's like they fall for strangers tears but see through anyone else's as pretense. I don't understand.

Adults die and then other adults get drunk at their funerals. They say you need to cry but they're only serious for the public part and then go and have parties where they just laugh with everyone. Adults don't care about the dead people but say you're not supposed to say anything bad about them now they're dead. They pretend they cared while the person was alive but they didn't. They obsessively clean and decorate graves just for others not to think they 'didn't care'.

Adults will betray anyone's secrets. Adults will tell other adults whatever you told them in confidence. Adults cannot be trusted with information.

Adults judge and badmouth anyone who doesn't act the way they think people are supposed to act. They will impose their own rules and morals on others and shame anyone who doesn't agree. They insist that everyone needs to follow their assigned family role even though they complain about hating their own. They use the most horrid slurs for people they consider 'bad at their role' and write these people off as parasites and worthless people

Adults all agree children should be obedient, quiet and never want anything or disturb them. They want children only to present them with achievements and work for the rest of time.

Adults have sex but nobody is supposed to say anything about it. It's unclear whether they want to be doing it. If it's a part of a role it doesn't seem like they can say no.

Adults can't be cared for or pampered like children can. Adults do not get candy or chocolate. Adults say it's because children are cute and they're not. Adults are jealous of children. Adults complain about not being cared for.

Adults don't understand how hard children have it and always say being a child is the easiest and best time of life. They seem jealous and tell children to be grateful because it's only going to get worse. I can't imagine surviving worse. They claim their childhood was better than anything they deal with now because food was free and they didn't have to have a job.

Adults have no freedom. They have to stay with family and play their role. They can't survive otherwise. They leech off of each other and hate everyone. They live by imposed rules that force everyone to stay together even if they hate each other. They hate everyone around them. They feel loyal to no one. They bring misery to themselves and people around them and don't feel shame or responsibility for anyone they've hurt or ruined.

Adults don't see others as people with their own inner world. They insist that everyone except them is stupid, shallow, mindless and worthless.

Adults are all cowards who will submit to anyone who is stronger and louder. They'll only fight those who are weaker. They don't care about justice and will happily punish victims in unfair fights. They themselves are bitter and upset if they don't get the justice.

Adults only ever look out for themselves. They don't care about other people. They want money and others to admire them and to serve them. If that is not happening they are angry and bitter at the entire world.

Adults don't see good in other people. They don't see what someone else needs or deserves. They don't care about adventures or magic. They don't have wonder or awe inside of themselves. They don't even look at beautiful things in front of them. They don't care about nature, animals or trees. They don't care about books or knowledge, or reading. They don't care about stories or legends. They don't care about people who suffer so badly they want to die. They judge people for suicide.

They don't care about creating or making something unless it can be sold for money. They don't even tolerate others doing it.

They love no one. Everything they do is a drag and a pain to them and they want to push their work on someone else all the time. They don't care about anything except money and how to get more attention and keep pretenses. They have no true friends or care for anyone. All they have is work, rules and roles they need to act. Their lives are meaningless. Even though they have money they cannot travel or use it for fun or joy. They don't think anyone should be free to do as they want. They have no dignity or honor but pretend they do when in company. They yell but pretend they're victims for 'having to yell'.

They don't care if someone wants to die because of their actions. They don't care for anyone who wants to live differently. People who live differently are worthless and stupid to them. They think they're the only ones who are always right even when they're always wrong.

Adults are convinced that when I grow up this will all make sense and I will grow up to be exactly like them

If you felt as a child, or still do, that these are the truths of adulthood, and something you'll end up becoming, it's not true, and it's mostly just abusers who live their lives in this manner. If this is the only thing you've ever known and seen as a child, adulthood would be terrifying and feel like you'd have to lose your soul in order to become like this.

I'll write another follow-up debunking these and writing what I feel adulthood is right now. It's just definitely not that. And living around people who act like this is normal, is traumatic.

[madame-helen]

[ilovemitsuya]

Since infold didn’t make them kiss I’ll do it myself

(Send dragon Sylus fic requests and I’ll kiss you)

[ughbrie]

converging threads | zayne

⤜ ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ- “And I know what that loneliness feels like.” His voice was rough, raw. “Because when I had nightmares of his life… he dreamt of mine.”

A chill ran through you.

“He dreamt of Linkon. Of Akso. Of—” He swallowed hard, his grip on you unyielding. “You.”

The word hung between you, heavy and fragile at the same time.

“Now, he’s clawing his way into my thoughts, trying to make sense of a life that isn’t his to have.” Zayne’s hands curled into the fabric of your clothes, as if anchoring himself to something tangible. “And every time I look at you—” His voice cracked, his hands shaking as he clutched you. “He’s reaching for you. And I don’t know if it’s me who wants you or if it’s him bleeding through.”

(Or… after the events of Chansia City, Zayne had started to avoid you. More than a week later, in the dead of night, he's outside of your door, struggling with his sense of self—blurring between two worlds.)

⤜ ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ- zayne x female reader

⤜ ɢᴇɴʀᴇ- angst, smut, & fluff

⤜ ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ- 8k

⤜ ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ- nsfw, mdni, softdom!zayne, references to zayne's third anecdote (still in the dark), spoilers to zayne's main story branch (thorns under the moon) and four star memory (fragmented dreams), mentions of childhood trauma and violence, too much angst, oral sex (blowjob), dirty talk, penetration (p in v), clothed sex, riding, breast play, emotional sex, unprotected sex, and creampie.

⤜ ɴᴏᴛᴇ- As a dedicated Zayne main, I've always had a soft spot for Dawnbreaker!Zayne, I just want to give him the biggest hug! While he never explicitly took control of main story Zayne’s body, their connection through dreams and nightmares allowed them to see into each other’s lives. And so, I wanted to explore what it would be like if that connection blurred even further after the events of Chansia City, and how Zayne would react to it. I hope you enjoy reading!

The knock at your door was soft, barely audible over the hum of Linkon City outside. You might have missed it had you not been awake, staring at the ceiling, unable to shake the restlessness clawing at your chest. Something felt wrong.

Hesitating for a moment, you peeled the blankets away and stepped towards the door. When you opened it, Zayne stood there, still as a statue. The warm glow from your apartment barely touched him; he lingered in the shadows of the hallway, his expression unreadable, like he was caught between two worlds—one where he stood before you and another far beyond, too distant to reach.

“Zayne?” Your voice was uncertain, your fingers tightening around the doorframe. He looked normal—his crisp shirt unwrinkled, his coat still shielding him from the cold. But his posture was rigid, like he was torn between memories, caught between the man you knew and something far more elusive, far darker. His breath came slow, controlled, but his fingers twitched at his sides, as if holding onto something unseen, something slipping away from his grasp.

It had been more than a week since you last saw him—more than a week since you clawed your way out of his dreamscape, fighting against the twisted phantoms of his nightmares and the suffocating pull of his uncontrollable evol. More than a week since he began avoiding you, and you couldn’t understand why.

You had searched for him—at Akso Hospital. 

You pushed open the door to Akso Hospital, the sterile scent of antiseptic filling your nose as you made your way down the familiar corridors. The sight of the bustling staff, the low murmur of nurses giving reports—it should have been comforting. But it wasn’t. Every step you took felt heavier, the weight of worry pressing down on your chest.

You were looking for Zayne. It had been a week since you’d seen him, and the silence between you was suffocating. You had tried calling, texting, but there was no sign of him.

You found Greyson near the nurses’ station, chatting with a few other doctors. He noticed you first, a flicker of surprise in his eyes before his usual, easy smile appeared.

“Hey,” he greeted, his tone too casual. Too… practiced. “What brings you by?”

“I was hoping to see Dr. Zayne. Is he around?” You tried to keep your voice even, but the question felt like a weight in your chest.

Greyson shifted on his feet, glancing toward the hallway where Dr. Zayne’s office was. “Oh, you know how it is,” he said with a shrug. “He’s been buried in surgeries lately. Really busy.”

You frowned. “Busy? He hasn’t been answering my calls. I’ve tried everything.”

At the sound of your words, Greyson’s gaze flickered uncomfortably, and before he could answer, Yvonne appeared beside him, her bright smile almost too wide.

“Hey, I didn’t expect to see you here today!” Yvonne chirped, her voice all sweetness, but there was a subtle edge to it. “Greyson’s right. Dr. Zayne’s probably just deep in work. You know how he gets, don’t you?”

You nodded, but the unease in your chest grew. “But… I haven’t been able to reach him. And he’s been avoiding me. I’m starting to get worried.”

There was a beat of silence before Yvonne glanced at Greyson, then back at you. She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, the motion almost too practiced. “Oh, you know Dr. Zayne,” she said, her voice a little too smooth. “He’s a bit of a workaholic. And, well, he’s been dealing with some… personal things lately. I’m sure he’ll be in touch when he’s ready.”

Greyson cleared his throat. “Yeah, I’m sure he’s just focused on… other things right now.”

You felt a knot form in your stomach. Something wasn’t right. Both of them were too evasive, too careful with their words.

“So he’s just been… avoiding me because he’s busy?” You asked, your voice thick with skepticism.

Yvonne’s smile didn’t waver, but her eyes shifted just a little. “Exactly! He’ll reach out when he’s ready. Don’t worry.”

But you weren’t convinced. You couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something they weren’t telling you. Before you could press further, Yvonne’s phone rang, and she quickly excused herself with a bright, almost rehearsed smile.

Greyson rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. “I wouldn’t worry too much, Zayne’s just… well, Zayne. He’ll be back to his usual self soon enough.”

The words felt hollow, like a lie wrapped in a smile.

You turned to leave, the knot in your stomach tightening. Something wasn’t right, and you were more determined than ever to find out what was going on.

You even went to his home not two days after. You had been patient, given him space, but the silence between you was gnawing at you, and you couldn’t ignore it anymore.

You arrived at his place and paused outside the gate, your heart sinking. The house sat dark and still, as though no one had been home for hours. The front door was locked, the quiet expanse of the yard untouched. No sign of Zayne’s car in the driveway. No movement behind the windows.

Frowning, you reached for your phone, calling him once more. It rang, and rang… and rang. But there was no answer. No familiar voice on the other end. You tried again, and again—each unanswered call tightening the knot of anxiety in your chest. It was unlike him. Even when he was busy at work, he always answered your calls. You thought things had changed between you—gone beyond just childhood friends, past the barriers you once had.

You hadn’t been able to ignore the way things had shifted between the two of you, how you’d shared more, laughed more, and even kissed—moments that felt like stepping into something real, something undeniable. And yet now, in the silence, you felt that connection fraying, slipping out of your grasp.

You reached for the gate, testing it, but it was locked tight. The metal was cold beneath your fingers, the weight of it pressing down on you in a way you couldn’t quite shake. You knocked gently on the gate, your hand hesitant against the metal, but there was no answer. No sound from inside. No footsteps echoing in the distance. Just more silence.

You stood there for a moment, staring at the door, wondering if you were missing something, if you were just being paranoid. But there was no denying the gnawing sense that you were being shut out.

Yet now, here he stood, unannounced, uninvited. The sight of him should have brought relief, but something was off, like he was a mere shadow of the man you knew.

“You should’ve let me in sooner,” he murmured, a wry attempt at a smile barely forming before fading just as quickly. His voice was softer than usual, almost exhausted, like the fight had been taken out of him. You stepped aside instinctively, letting him in. He didn’t move right away. Instead, his gaze lingered on you—as if memorizing every detail, confirming that you were real, that this wasn’t just another one of his nightmares.

Then, finally, he stepped through. The door clicked shut behind him, sealing the two of you in the silence of your small apartment. He exhaled, but this time it was unsteady—as if releasing a breath he’d been holding for far too long. His hands trembled, and he shoved them into his coat pockets, a feeble attempt to mask the unease rolling off him in waves.

“Zayne, where have you been?” The question came out before you could stop it. His avoidance had gnawed at you, making every second of silence between you feel like it stretched on forever.

He hesitated, his gaze dropping to the floor for a brief moment, like he was trying to find the right words. Then, finally, his voice broke through, hoarse and fragile, as if he’d been swallowing down too many words for too long. “Every time I close my eyes, I see a world where you don’t exist.”

The confession hit like thunder in your chest. Your breath caught, eyes wide with confusion, but something else too—fear, a strange sense of loss, creeping in. You stared at him, unable to comprehend, yet knowing there was so much more buried beneath the surface.

“It’s not just nightmares anymore,” he whispered, voice barely audible. His eyes flickered with something raw and unfamiliar—something you hadn’t seen in him before. “It’s bleeding into the day. I can’t… separate it. Separate me.”

You frowned, confusion tightening around your thoughts, heart pounding. “Separate what? Zayne, what are you talking about?”

He stiffened, jaw tightening as if he’d realized he’d said too much. He shook his head, dismissing the words before they could fully escape. “Ignore what I said.” he muttered, but the tension in his voice betrayed him.

“Zayne…” You stepped closer, cautious but firm. “Just tell me what’s wrong.”

A bitter chuckle escaped him, but there was no humor in it. His hand drifted to his temple, pressing hard as if trying to force something out of his mind. “I don’t know how to explain it.” His voice wavered slightly, a rare crack in his composure. “I don’t even know if it’s mine to explain.”

Your stomach twisted at his words. Zayne was rarely uncertain. But now, he looked lost, like he was trying to hold onto something slipping through his fingers. The man who had always been in control, who always had an answer, was unraveling in front of you.

“Then let me help,” you said softly, reaching for him.

He exhaled sharply, his hands clenching into fists before loosening just as quickly, as if even that took too much effort. “I don’t think you can,” he muttered, barely above a whisper.

You reached out, your fingers brushing against his sleeve. He tensed, but didn’t pull away. The warmth of his body under your touch should have felt familiar, comforting, but there was something cold in the air around him that you couldn’t ignore.

“I’m here,” you reminded him gently, voice steady despite the knot in your stomach. “I’m not going anywhere.”

His shoulders sagged just slightly, his resolve faltering under the weight of something neither of you could name. 

You guided Zayne to the couch with a soft insistence, his steps heavy, like each one was taking him further away from something he couldn’t quite grasp. He didn’t resist, but his hesitation was palpable. You noticed the subtle tremor in his shoulders as he sat down, his back stiff, as if the weight of the world was pressing down on him.

You sat next to him, your fingers brushing the fabric of his coat as you settled yourself. The space between you both felt charged, yet strained, like two magnets unwillingly attracted but refusing to align.

Your hand hovered near his arm, unsure, but you couldn’t ignore the impulse to reach out. The last few days—weeks—had felt like a slow, suffocating crawl through a fog. Seeing him like this, so unguarded, was both a relief and a deepening worry.

“Zayne…” You started, your voice low, soft. You weren’t sure how to approach him anymore. He had been pulling away, emotionally distant, and now, even his presence seemed fractured.

You reached out, your fingers brushing against his sleeve.

At the first touch, his body flinched. Not an outward movement, but a sharp intake of breath, like a quiet shudder that ran through him. His hazel-green eyes were blown wide, pupils dark and dilated, swallowing the soft color until only a thin ring of green remained. For a brief moment, he looked at you—through you—like he was caught between two realities, struggling to tether himself to the one in front of him.

Then, just as quickly, his gaze flickered away, his throat working around a breath that sounded too controlled, too measured. As if he was holding something back. The air between you thickened, the weight of his restraint pressing into the space between your fingers. His jaw tensed, a sharp line of tension beneath his skin, and yet—he didn’t move away.

With a careful breath, you let your hand rest against his arm, your fingers curling gently around the fabric of his coat. You felt him tense beneath your touch, but it wasn’t from discomfort. No, it was something else. Something deeper. His body shuddered again, more pronounced this time, and you could feel his muscles ripple under the strain of holding back.

“Zayne…” You said his name again, this time softer, as though you were speaking to someone who was slipping away. You moved a little closer, hoping that your proximity would ground him somehow, though you weren’t entirely sure how.

His voice cracked when he spoke, low and hoarse, like a man speaking to a ghost. “Every time you touch me… it’s like… I feel like I’m being pulled in two directions.”

You blinked, your heart skipping a beat as you tried to make sense of his words. “What do you mean?” you asked, your hand still resting on his arm, waiting, watching him closely.

Zayne exhaled slowly, his fingers twitching at his sides as if struggling to find an anchor. “I’ve always suffered from nightmares,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. “The same ones I’ve always had since I was young. But after what happened at Chansia City…” His throat bobbed as he swallowed hard. “It didn’t stop when I woke up.”

Your heart clenched at his words. You knew Zayne had always been plagued by restless nights, but this—this was different. You thought back to that moment at Akso Hospital, when you had found him slumped over his desk.

His brow was creased with the weight of exhaustion. His breathing had been uneven, his hands gripping the fabric of his coat as if he were bracing himself against something unseen. You had hesitated before stepping closer, unsure if you should wake him. But the quiet distress on his face made the decision for you.

“Zayne…” you had whispered, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder.

The moment your fingers made contact, he jolted awake with a sharp breath, his eyes wild with something you couldn’t name. For a split second, it was as if he didn’t recognize you, as if he were somewhere else entirely.

But then, his gaze softened, reality bleeding back into him. His breathing was still heavy, his shoulders tense, but when you knelt beside him, concern written all over your face, he didn’t pull away.

Without thinking, you had reached out again, brushing his hair back in a quiet attempt to soothe him. His body sagged under your touch, the tension in his shoulders melting just enough for him to lean forward. And before you could react, he rested his forehead against your chest, his breaths uneven as if the simple act of being close to you was the only thing keeping him grounded.

You had stilled at first, heat creeping up your neck, but you didn’t push him away. Instead, you let him stay there, your fingers threading through his hair in slow, absentminded strokes. You weren’t sure how long you stayed like that, the sound of his breathing evening out against you, his body losing some of its rigidness.

When he finally spoke, his voice was hoarse, barely audible. “Just… let me stay like this for a while.”

And you had. Because for the first time, you realized how deeply tired he was.At the time, you thought he was just tired physically, but now you realized he was tired in a way that ran so much deeper as you watched him sitting on your couch, that same exhaustion clung to him like a shadow, only now it was accompanied by something far worse. He wasn’t just tired. He was unraveling.

“I thought I could ignore it,” he continued, pulling you back to the present. “I thought it would fade eventually. But it’s not stopping.” His fingers curled into the fabric of his coat as if trying to ground himself. “It’s getting worse.”

You swallowed hard. “The nightmares?”

“They’re not just nightmares anymore.” He exhaled sharply, his hands clenching before loosening again. “They’re memories of a life that isn’t mine.” His jaw tightened, his entire body tense with something unreadable. “And the worst part?” His eyes flickered to yours, dark and conflicted. “I feel like I’m walking on air, seeing things that aren’t there, feeling emotions that aren’t mine.”

You frowned. “Zayne, what are you talking about?”

His throat worked around a response, but for a moment, he said nothing, only looking at you with something close to desperation. He shook his head as if trying to shake off the words before they could leave his mouth.

“It doesn’t matter,” he muttered, but you weren’t about to let it go.

“It does matter,” you said firmly, stepping closer. “You’ve been avoiding me for more than a week. You look like you’re about to fall apart, and now you’re telling me ‘it doesn’t matter’? What’s happening to you?”

He let out a bitter chuckle, but there was no humor in it. “I don’t even know if I can explain it. It’s… there’s another version of me. One I can’t escape. And he—” Zayne cut himself off abruptly, dragging a hand over his face. “He’s ruining everything.”

The conflict in his expression made your stomach twist. You had never seen him like this—so lost, so tangled in something that seemed beyond even his understanding. And when you reached for him again, your fingers brushing past his sleeve against his skin, you saw the way he shuddered.

At first, you thought his reactions stemmed from discomfort—that every shudder, every tensed muscle was his way of pulling away. But then you saw it. The way his breath hitched. The way his lashes fluttered shut for the briefest second, as if savoring the warmth of your touch. As if he had been starving for it. 

It wasn’t rejection. It was restraint.

Your heart pounded. “Zayne…”

His fingers twitched at his sides before he finally spoke, his voice raw. “Every time you touch me…” He exhaled sharply, as if the words themselves were dangerous. “It’s like my world’s losing its sense of direction.”

His confession stole the air from your lungs.

“But it’s not just me that wants this,” he continued, his voice barely above a whisper. “And that’s what scares me.”

Your fingers curled slightly around his wrist, grounding both of you in the silence between words. Zayne’s breath was uneven, his body strung taut beneath your touch. You could see it—the war waging within him, the push and pull of something he refused to name. His fingers curled at his sides, clenched so tightly that his knuckles turned white. He was holding himself back.

But from what? From who?

The question burned at the edges of your mind, but you didn’t voice it. Instead, you did the only thing you could think of. You moved.

Slowly, you climbed onto the couch, onto him, your knees settling on either side of his thighs as you straddled his lap. His entire body went rigid beneath you, his breath stalling in his throat.

“You—” His voice broke, a warning tangled in desperation. His hands shot up, as if to push you away—but the moment his palms met your waist, he froze.

A violent shudder ran through him, his grip faltering but never leaving you. He barely held together, his fingers twitched against your sides, his body caught in an unbearable tension. 

“You shouldn’t…” he rasped, but even as he said it, his hands pulled.

Pulled you closer.

Pulled you flush against him, until there was no space left to retreat.

You gasped softly at the sudden contact, at the warmth of him, the way his body molded against yours like he had been starving for this. For you.

His head dipped forward, his forehead pressing against your shoulder as his breath came out in a harsh, unsteady exhale. His grip on your waist tightened, not enough to hurt, but enough to make you feel how badly he was struggling.

“Zayne…” You whispered his name, hands lifting to cradle his face, to guide him to look at you. He didn’t resist, but the moment your fingers brushed against his jaw, his eyes fluttered shut—his entire body reacting as if your touch was something he had been craving but forbidden from having.

“Every time you touch me…” He repeated, his voice was raw, nearly fractured. “I feel like I’m slipping deeper.”

Your fingers trembled slightly against his skin. “Slipping into what?”

His jaw clenched. His hands trembled against your waist, caught between pulling you closer and pushing you away.

“Him.”

The word sent a chill down your spine.

Zayne’s eyes finally opened, and what you saw there made your breath hitch.

Something was breaking inside him.

Something was bleeding through.

Like the fragile moment before dawn—when night still clung to the sky, desperate to remain, yet the light pressed forward, inevitable. A battle between darkness and the coming sun, neither willing to yield.

You didn’t know who he was, or why Zayne was fighting so hard to keep him at bay, but you could feel it—how much hewas longing for you. How much Zayne himself was afraid of that longing.

Your hands slid from his face to his shoulders, steadying him, grounding him. “You’re still you,” you murmured. “No one else.”

His fingers flexed against your waist, his breath ragged. “Then why does it feel like every time you touch me… I’m losing control of myself?”

He was slipping, unraveling, caught between two selves—one who had you, and one who had only ever ached for you.

And for the first time, Zayne wasn’t sure which one he wanted to be.

You sighed, your fingers curled against his shoulders, gripping him just a little tighter. His body was warm beneath your touch, but the tension in him never eased. If anything, it worsened.

“Zayne,” you whispered, searching his face. “Help me ease your mind, tell me everything. Tell me about him.”

His expression darkened instantly. His hands, still gripping your waist, stiffened before pushing you back—just slightly, just enough to put distance between you.

“No.”

The refusal was sharp, final.

But you didn’t let go. “Zayne, please.”

His jaw locked, his breath coming out in harsh exhales as he tried to rein himself in. But you had already seen it—the flicker of something raw in his gaze, the weight pressing down on him like it was crushing him from the inside.

He turned his head away, his grip tightening before he forced himself to let go. “I don’t want to tell you.” His voice was quieter now, but no less strained. “Because if I do…” His throat bobbed, his hands clenching into fists. “What if you look at me differently?”

Your chest ached. “Zayne—”

“He’s not me,” Zayne bit out, his voice lower now, edged with something close to rage. His fingers dug into the fabric of your clothes as if anchoring himself. “I don’t care what I see, what I feel—he is not me.”

You frowned, your heart pounding. “I didn’t say he was—”

“It doesn’t matter,” he snapped, his fingers digging into you much harder before he wrenched them away, as if touching you made it worse. “It shouldn’t matter. Because whatever he is—whatever he’s done—I am not him.”

His voice cracked at the end, his composure slipping, and it hurt more than anything. Not because of what he wasn’t telling you, but because he was carrying it alone, letting it eat away at him like he deserved it.

Your fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt. “Zayne, I don’t care what you think this means. I don’t care what’s bleeding through or what memories aren’t yours.” Your voice wavered, but you pushed through. “What hurts me isn’t who you were or weren’t—it’s this.” You gestured between the two of you, the distance he was trying to wedge between you. “It’s you shutting me out, punishing yourself like you have to carry this alone.”

Zayne let out a sharp breath, his fingers curling into fists against the curve of your waist. His grip was tense, hesitant—like he was still fighting himself.

You watched him carefully, the weight of his silence pressing against your chest. He had been resisting, keeping himself locked away behind walls you couldn’t breach. But this time… this time, something shifted.

And then you realized it.

It wasn’t your persistence that made him falter. It wasn’t even the promise that you would accept him, no matter what. It was the fact that you told him it hurt you too. That his silence, his self-inflicted suffering, didn’t just wound him—it wounded you.

Zayne’s throat bobbed, his gaze flickering, as if weighing the consequences of speaking the truth. His fingers flexed against you, his breath uneven.

Finally, he asked, “Do you know why I became a doctor?”

You hesitated. “Because you wanted to save people.”

“Partly,” He let out a bitter laugh. “But mostly because I spent my entire childhood dreaming of a man butchering them.” His hands raked through his hair, gripping at the strands.

“It started when I was twelve.” His throat bobbed as he swallowed hard. “I didn’t understand it then. I just knew that every night, I saw his hands, covered in blood. I heard the screams, felt the cold metal of a blade I never held.” His fingers flexed against your waist. “And every morning, I woke up terrified that I’d become him.”

You sucked in a quiet breath.

“That’s why I became a doctor,” Zayne muttered, his voice barely audible now. “To erase him. To bury him. Every life I saved was another step away from him.” His gaze snapped back to you, and there was something close to desperation in it.

He paused, and his gaze softened just slightly as it met yours, though there was still that edge of desperation.

“And… I wanted to help you, too. Since the first time I saw you struggling with your heart… I couldn’t stand the thought of losing you, not like that.”

Your heart pounded. “Zayne…”

“But now?” His gaze locked onto yours, and you almost flinched at the intensity in his eyes. “Now it’s not just nightmares. After Chansia City… it’s like something cracked. Like I bled through him.”

You frowned. “What do you mean?”

His fingers flexed against your skin, then curled into a fist, as if the words physically hurt to say. “I used to only see flashes. His world, his sins—they were nothing more than fragments. But now? I see his everyday life.” His voice dropped lower, as if saying it out loud made it more real. “I see him waking up in an empty apartment, walking through streets that no longer have names. I see him looking for something—someone—who was never there.”

Your chest tightened. “Zayne—”

“And I know what that loneliness feels like.” His voice was rough, raw. “Because when I had nightmares of his life… he dreamt of mine.”

A chill ran through you.

“He dreamt of Linkon. Of Akso. Of—” He swallowed hard, his grip on you unyielding. “You.”

The word hung between you, heavy and fragile at the same time.

“Now, he’s clawing his way into my thoughts, trying to make sense of a life that isn’t his to have.” Zayne’s hands curled into the fabric of your clothes, as if anchoring himself to something tangible. “And every time I look at you—” His voice cracked, his hands shaking as he clutched you. “He’s reaching for you. And I don’t know if it’s me who wants you or if it’s him bleeding through.”

Your heart pounded.

His pain was something you could see, something you could feel in the way he held you too tightly, in the way he refused to look away, as if afraid you’d vanish if he did.

“Does it change anything?” you asked, voice barely above a whisper.

Zayne’s breath stilled.

“No, it doesn’t,” he admitted, his voice hoarse. “I want you. I do. I’ve never denied that.” His fingers curled against your skin, holding you closer. “But this… it’s never felt like this before.”

His gaze darkened, his brows drawing together. “Like I can’t go a second without feeling you, without needing you right here. And I don’t know if it’s just me—if it’s always been me—or if it’s him. But it doesn’t matter.” His voice dropped lower, rough with something unspoken. “Because either way… I still want you.”

You reached up, cupping his cheek, forcing him to meet your gaze. “You’re here, right now. Whatever he feels, whatever he wants—this moment belongs to you.”

His throat bobbed, the conflict in his gaze raw and unfiltered. His fingers twitched where they held you, as if he wanted to push you away and pull you closer all at once.

And then—finally—he whispered, “I don’t know if I can separate us anymore.”

Zayne’s breath hitched, his hands still gripping your waist like a man on the verge of breaking. His body was rigid beneath yours, every muscle coiled tight with restraint. His stormy eyes flickered between your lips and your gaze, warring with something unseen.

You could feel it—the way he was holding himself back, the way his fingers twitched against your skin like he was fighting the instinct to pull you in.

And then, just when you thought he might push you away—he moved.

His lips crashed against yours, the kiss rough, almost desperate. A sharp inhale left him as his fingers tightened at your sides, pressing you flush against him. It wasn’t careful, wasn’t measured like everything else about him. It was hurried, hungry, as if he had been drowning for far too long and you were the only thing keeping him afloat.

Yet even in his desperation, there was hesitation—a tremor in his touch, a battle within him. His grip faltered, his breathing unsteady, as if his own emotions were overwhelming him.

For a moment, he slowed, his lips ghosting over yours, softer now—less frantic, more reverent. His fingers traced up your back, like he was memorizing every inch of you, terrified you might disappear.

But then when you surged forward to deepen the kiss, something in him snapped.

His restraint shattered as his hand cupped the back of your head, pulling you deeper into the kiss. His other hand dug into your waist, as if grounding himself in the feeling of you. He let out a quiet, shuddering breath against your lips, his body trembling beneath your touch.

It wasn’t just desire—it was longing. A desperate, aching need that had been simmering beneath his skin for far too long.

And still, it wasn’t enough.

He kissed you harder, as if trying to chase away the ghosts of a world where you didn’t exist—where he had spent endless nights reaching for something that was never there.

Zayne’s breathing was ragged as he suddenly tore himself away from you, his forehead pressing against yours, his grip on your waist still firm but trembling. His chest rose and fell in unsteady heaves, as if he had just surfaced from deep waters.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” he rasped, his voice thick with something raw and desperate. His fingers flexed against your waist before slowly dragging up your sides, his touch both grounding and possessive. “But I need to feel—” His words cut off, a quiet ‘fuck’ slipping from his lips as he clenched his jaw, forcing himself to stop.

You could see it—feel it. The battle raging within him. The desperate need to claim this moment as his own, to separate himself, to make sure that this—this longing, this ache, this hunger—was his, and not something bleeding over from the nightmares that haunted him.

His fingers ghosted over your arms before gripping your wrists, guiding them up to rest against his chest. You could feel the rapid beat of his heart beneath your palms, erratic and heavy, proof of his struggle. His eyes searched yours, dark with emotion, pleading for something he couldn’t voice.

“I need to know it’s me,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. “Not him. Not the dreams. Just… me. But I don’t trust myself enough not to hurt you.”

His fingers brushed your skin, hesitant, reverent—like he was afraid of his own hands.

“But I trust you.”

The words felt heavier than anything else he had said tonight, laced with the weight of every nightmare, every fear, every ghost of a life that wasn’t his. He swallowed hard, his gaze flickering to your lips, then back to your eyes.

“I need you to take control,” he murmured, each syllable careful, deliberate. “I need to know this is real—that you’re real—that I’m real.” His hands curled into fists before he forced them to relax against you. “Because if I let go now… I don’t know if I’ll be able to stop.”

There was no mistaking what he meant. No mistaking the conflict in his gaze—the desperation tangled with restraint, the need warring with self-loathing.

Your hands slid up from his chest to cup his face, fingertips brushing against the sharp angles of his jaw. 

“It’s you, Zayne,” you whispered, your voice steady, certain. “You.”

You tilted his face up, brushing your lips against his—a whisper of a touch, just enough to tether him to the present, to this moment with you. He shuddered beneath your touch, his hands tightening at your waist as if anchoring himself.

“I’m here,” you continued, pressing another soft kiss to the corner of his mouth, then another along the line of his jaw. “This is real. We’re real.”

A sharp exhale left him, his resolve breaking little by little as you pressed against him. His grip on your waist faltered, then returned, stronger—desperate.

“Let me take care of you,” you murmured against his skin.

He shuddered at your words, his eyes fluttering closed for a moment as he wrestled with the warring emotions inside him. When they opened again, the desperation had intensified, the dark gray irises nearly swallowed by the black of his pupils.

“Show me,” he rasped, his voice low and rough with barely restrained desire. “Make me believe it.”

You took your time, trailing kisses along his chest, feeling the hard planes of muscle beneath his shirt as your lips travelled down. You wanted to savor this moment, to make sure he knew it was him, that this was real.

As you sank to your knees before him, you looked up at Zayne through your lashes. The raw vulnerability in his expression made your heart ache. You wanted to erase every nightmare, every fear, every shadow that haunted him.

“You’re real,” you murmured, your breath ghosting over his cloth-covered arousal. “This is real.”

With a steadying breath, you leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to the bulge straining against his zipper. You could feel the heat of him, the throbbing need, and it made your own body ache in response.

You worked slowly, unzipping him with deliberate care, letting your fingers brush against his arousal as you did. He was already hard, the thick length of him stretching the fabric of his boxers. 

You haven’t seen him naked before, and crossing this line made your thighs clench. Glancing up at him, you caught his gaze, holding it as you hooked your fingers in the waistband of his boxers and tugged them down. His cock sprang free, long and thick and perfect, the swollen head already glistening with need.

“Beautiful,” you whispered, wrapping your hand around the thick base of Zayne’s cock, giving him a firm squeeze as you gazed up at him with hooded eyes. “You’re beautiful, Zayne.”

Slowly, teasingly, you started to stroke him, your soft palm gliding along his hard length. You could feel every throbbing vein and ridge, committing the shape of him to memory.

Leaning in, you breathed over his swollen cock head, then, with a deliberate slowness that was almost torturous, you dragged the flat of your tongue along the underside of his shaft, tracing the thick vein that ran from base to tip. You lingered at the sensitive spot just below the head, swirling your tongue around it before giving it a firm press.

Zayne shuddered and groaned, his fingers flexing in your hair as you dragged your tongue back down to the base, your hand following the same path. When you reached the bottom, you dipped your tongue into the neat little slit at the tip, tasting the first salty drops of his arousal.

Savoring his flavor, you wrapped your lips around the swollen head, your soft mouth stretching around his impressive girth. You suckled gently, your cheeks hollowing as you began to take him deeper, inch by hard inch.

“Your mouth… it feels so g-good…” he groaned.

The praise that escaped his lips made the flush on your face more evident. As your lips moved slowly down his shaft, encasing him in the slick heat of your mouth, your tongue undulated along the thick vein on the underside as you took him deeper, until the head of his cock bumped the back of your throat.

You held yourself there for a long moment, relishing the heavy, throbbing weight of him, the musky scent of his arousal flooding your senses. Then, with a slow, deliberate motion, you began to bob your head, taking him deeper into your throat with each downward motion.

Your hand worked in tandem with your mouth, stroking and squeezing as you sucked him. You could feel him growing harder, the thick length of him pulsing against your tongue as you pleasured him.

“Fuck… just like that…”

You couldn’t help but moan around his cock at his groans, your brain committing the sounds to memory. You doubled your efforts when you felt he was close, sucking harder, stroking faster, your tongue never still as it lapped and swirled and caressed every hard, throbbing inch of him.

His grip on your hair tightened, his hips starting to piston forward, fucking your mouth as you sucked him with wild abandon. You could feel his body tensing, his breath coming in harsh pants and groans. 

“I can’t… I can’t hold back much longer…”

And then, with a roar that was nearly feral in its intensity, he came. His cock jerked and throbbed as it erupted, shooting hot, thick ropes of cum down your eager throat.

You swallowed it all, working your throat to milk every last drop from his pulsing length. The taste of him was intense, the salty-sweet flavor of his essence exploding on your tongue.

As the waves of his release began to ebb, you slowly pulled back, letting his still hard cock slip from your lips with a lewd pop. You licked your lips, savoring the lingering taste of him as you gazed up at Zayne with a look of pure, sated desire.

“Zayne,” you whispered, your voice hoarse. “It’s you. This is you. You’re real.”

You placed a soft, lingering kiss on the tip of his cock before nuzzling your cheek against his thigh, looking up at him with a smile that was pure tenderness mixed with deep, abiding lust.

As the last tremors of his intense orgasm faded, Zayne reached down and gently but firmly pulled you up by your arms, urging you back into his lap. You went willingly, straddling his hips as you sat facing him.

His hands slid around to your back, one resting high on the curve of your shoulder blades, the other splayed across the small of your back, pulling you flush against his strong chest. You could feel the heat radiating off his skin, the steady thrum of his heartbeat beneath your palms.

Gazing into your eyes, Zayne leaned in, capturing your lips in a searing kiss that steals your breath. It was a kiss filled with gratitude, with hunger, with a desperate need to claim you, to make you his.

You kissed him back just as fiercely, your fingers tangling in his hair as you arched into him, pressing your soft curves against the hard planes of his body. His tongue delved into your mouth, stroking along yours, tasting himself on your lips and tongue.

As you both lost yourselves in the kiss, you could feel Zayne’s cock, still semi-erect and slick with your saliva, nudging against your core. The friction sent sparks of pleasure shooting through you, making you ache with a renewed desire.

Almost unconsciously, your hips began to move, grinding against his in a slow, sensual rhythm. You could feel the heat building between your thighs, the dampness of your arousal soaking through your panties.

Zayne groaned into your mouth, his grip on your waist tightening as he felt your hips rolling against his. His cock twitched and began to harden further, growing thicker and longer with each passing second.

Breaking the kiss, Zayne trailed his lips down the column of your throat, his teeth grazing your racing pulse. “Ride me,” he growled against your skin, his voice low and rough with renewed desire. “I need to feel you, all of you, surrounding me, consuming me, making me forget everything but your name.”

You shuddered at his words, at the raw, primal need in his voice. Reaching down, you pushed your panties aside, baring your slick, needy sex to the cool air and his heated gaze. You could feel your own arousal dripping down your thighs, a testament to how much you wanted him, needed him.

With a roll of your hips, you positioned yourself over his hardening length, feeling the thick head nudging against your entrance, you slowly sank down. You were so wet, so ready for him, that he slid inside you with a single, smooth thrust.

You both groaned at the sensation, your inner walls fluttering and clenching around his thickness as he stretched and filled you completely. You could feel every ridge and vein of his cock as it brushed against your sensitive flesh, igniting nerve endings you didn’t know you had.

Zayne’s hands gripped your hips, guiding your movements as you began to ride him. You started slowly, rising up until just the tip of his cock remained inside you, before sinking back down, taking him to the hilt.

“You feel so good, love.” he murmured, his lips parted open.

With each downward motion, you could feel the pleasure building, the coil of tension in your core winding tighter and tighter. 

You arched your back and Zayne leaned forward, freeing your breasts from the confines of your shirt as he lifted it by the hem. He captured one straining nipple in his mouth, suckling and nipping at the sensitive bud. His free hand slid from your hip to the juncture between your thighs, his fingers finding your clit and rubbing the swollen nub in tight, fast circles.

You cried out, your head falling back as the sensations overwhelmed you. Your hips moved faster, rising and falling in a frantic rhythm as you chased your pleasure. The wet, obscene sounds of your coupling filled the room, spurring you both on.

His other hand inch upward, holding your head firmly, his fingers tangling in your hair, Zayne tilted your chin up to gently force your gaze to meet his intense, hazel-eyed stare. He let out a strangled moan, “Say my name, love. Come on…”

Zayne’s grip on your hips tightened, his fingertips digging into the soft flesh as he guided your increasingly desperate movements. His own hips surged up to meet yours, driving his thick length deeper, harder, faster into your clutching heat.

“Zayne,” you breathed, “You’re the only one I want, the only one I need.”

His breathing grew ragged, each exhale escaping through gritted teeth as he lost himself in the slick slide of your bodies joining again and again. The obscene sound of skin slapping against skin echoed through the room, mixing with the staccato cries spilling from your lips.

Zayne’s hand moved from your clit to your breast, squeezing the soft mound roughly as he pinched and rolled the stiff peak between his fingers. He leaned down, his hair falling forward as he dragged his tongue over your collarbone, tasting the salt of your skin.

“Fuck, just like that…” he growled against your neck, his voice strained. “S-Say my name again—please…”

His words sent shivers down your spine, making your inner muscles clench around him. You could feel every ridge and vein of his cock as it stretched you, filled you, owned you.

“Z-Zayne…!” you moaned.

Zayne’s thrusts became more erratic, more desperate at the cry from your lips. The hand on your hip slid around to the small of your back, pressing you flush against him as he pounded up into you. The couch creaking with each surge of his hips, the sound mingling with your cries and his grunts.

You could feel the tension building in your core, the pleasure coiling tighter and tighter as you climbed towards your peak. Your nails raked down Zayne’s nape as you held on for dear life.

With a harsh curse, Zayne slammed up into you one last time, burying himself to the hilt as his release overtook him. His cock jerked and pulsed inside you, painting your insides with his hot release.

The sensation of his release pushed you over the edge, your own climax crashing through you like a tidal wave. Your body convulsed, melting into him as your inner muscles clamped down around him while you came apart in his arms.

You collapsed against his chest, both of you gasping for air as the aftershocks of your release rippled through you. Zayne’s arms tightened around you, drawing you in close, his heartbeat steady beneath his damp shirt, grounding you in the moment.

In the quiet aftermath, as your breath began to steady, Zayne placed a gentle kiss against your temple, his lips lingering there as if memorizing the moment. “Thank you,” he whispered, his voice raw and heavy with emotion. “For this. For everything.”

You gently cupped his face, guiding him to look at you. “You have me, Zayne,” you said softly, your words steady and sure. “No matter who you are, no matter who you become—I’ll never walk away.”

He paused as his fingers brushed gently across your damp cheek.

He spoke, his voice was soft, almost hesitant. “All I know now is that… the only thing I’m sure of,” he began, his forehead resting against yours once more, “is you.” He swallowed, his grip around you tightening as if trying to ground himself in the present.

You thought that would be the end of it, but he exhaled, a shudder racking through him.

“I never believed in fate,” he added, his voice low, but without any trace of bitterness—only a quiet acceptance. “But now, I do. Because no matter where I am, or who I am… you’re the constant. The one thing that’s always been real.”

He paused, his words heavy with an ache that tightened your chest. “And I think… I think I’m meant to love you in every life, in every timeline. I’m meant to be with you. And no matter how complicated it gets, no matter what happens, I’ll always end up finding you.”

His grip on you tightened further, pulling you closer, as if to make sure you were really there. “Now… I can’t help but feel… bad for him.”

A heavy sigh escaped him, thick with weight and regret. “He doesn’t have you. He doesn’t get to have this—this connection.” His voice wavered, raw with something unspoken. “And I think that’s what hurts the most. No matter how much I try to separate myself from him, I can’t shake the feeling that a version of me is still reaching for you. That somewhere… in every universe, in every life, even if you don’t exist in it—it will always be you.”

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[puppetmaster13u]

Prompt 242

   He looks the same as he had that fateful day, a storm raging around him and risking sending the ship down into the abyss. Hair whipping in the wind as the sky roars its deadly challenge echoed by the beasts they all sought to bring down those centuries ago. 

   It looks just as human as they- that is to say not at all, not anymore. A body twisted, sand and lightning melding into a molten sea ever-expanding. Its eyes as gold as the treasure it guards, brilliant blues and greens dancing across bodies in sigils unknown. 

   It looks exactly as it did that time ago, smile dancing on its lips as the sky opened up in torrents, like blood gushing from a wound. “You’re free to go,” it says, in words they understand and words they don’t. “You don’t have to stay here any longer.” 

   “Where will we go?” They ask, so very tired of this eternal battle, of being trapped in crashing waves and storms of water and sand. Being tossed one way and the other, never able to go home, for home was gone long ago. 

   It looks up, their own gaze following, the ship crashing through the dredges of a storm they had thought eternal. And for the first time in eternities, they see them. The stars. Dancing and dripping from a serpentine form that cradles the Sun and Moon, smiling down to the beast and them alike. 

   And so, they take from the seas, and take to the stars instead.