#the futility of it all; there's always another. what does it really matter as long as someone fills up the vacant spot

[mashandmartinis]

I'm about halfway into season 9 now and the change of tone really stands out. It did from the start of the season, but Depressing News somehow solidified that. It's the type of episode that would've resulted in a ton of hijinks in earlier seasons (I just know season 1-3 Hawkeye and Trapper would've done crazy things with those tongue depressors, and so would pre-moustache BJ!) but even though the episode is still funny in its ideas and goings-on, there's an undertone of sadness and desperation to what could've been such a silly plot. And it's just fascinating to see. The war has changed the characters and they, in turn, have changed the tone of the show.

[hahaifolded]

141 x POC!GN Intelligence Operative - Thanks for the ride (Long Drabble) Author's Notes: Personally this one is the worst one of the four. Also I didn't expect this to be this long. Warnings: MDNI, Angst

Did Soap enjoy being a little shit? Most of the time. But when it involved hurting you, even disguised as Price’s doing, he couldn’t find any joy in it. He may have successfully ruined Price in your eyes but at what cost?

He knew that you would only take so much of this. He wasn’t stupid. You will snap one day and all of their efforts to keep you will end up being futile. But some sick part of him hoped that you liked them enough to stay. That’ll you’ll hold out as much as they have so far.

And if you hold out long enough, maybe, just maybe, Soap can outlast the others. It’s only a matter of time before the others get over their little crush. Right?

But until then, he’ll be waiting. He’ll keep his distance but he’ll come as soon as you start calling.

Like now, as his phone lights up with your name. It’s Friday morning and he’s currently spotting Gaz on the bench press when his phone starts to ring. His heart jumps when he sees your name. He swipes his phone and answers it.

“Sergeant MacTavish,” he says. He cringes at his words.

“Sergeant,” you start. He could cry. He’s not just your sergeant, he’s Johnny, your Johnny-boy. “I am so sorry to bother you so early but I didn’t know who else to call.” He could tell from the tone of your voice that you were in trouble. He turns around to avoid Kyle from overhearing.

“What’s wrong? Are you okay?”

“Yes, I'm okay, but... I... I'm on my way to base, but my car just broke down. I'd walk but I won't make it on time to today's meeting if I do. Is there anyway you can pick me up? I'll pay for gas and your time. Again, I am so sorry for bother--"

"It's not a bother. I'll be there in 10." He hangs up the phone before you can say anything else. Soap was truly God's favorite. Despite everything, you still called him. And like always, he'll answer.

"Everything good there, buddy?" pipes up Gaz.

"Yeah, yeah, don't worry. Uh... just one of the techs," Soap explains. He grabs his bag and tells Gaz he has to go... "bomb emergency." He leaves and rushes to his room. He zips through his room, trying to change into something less sweaty. He wasn't sure why, but his heart was racing.

Was he nervous?

Of course he was nervous.

This would be the first time in over a month that you called him for something that didn't involve a mission. There would be no Ghost, no Price, no Gaz to get in his way. He sprays some perfume that you had gotten him for his birthday, grabs his keys, and runs out of his room.

It's just a straight shot - straight down the hall and to the parking lot. Should be easy?

Wrong.

Waiting for him at the door was his fellow sergeant, Kyle Gaz Garrick.

"Where you going there, buddy? Isn't techs on the other side of the base?" He stands up straight, staring the Scotsman down.

Soap does the same. One way or another, he was going to give you that ride. "It is, but it'll be faster if I drive there. So if you can move, you'd make my day." He tries to side-step Gaz, but Gaz stay still. "Move!" Soap tries to push his teammate. Kyle pushes back, pinning him up against the wall, his arm over his neck.

"Did you really think I wouldn't notice? Mate, your brightness and volume were all the way up ," he scoffs. "You really think I'm going to let you be the hero here."

"Get off!" Soap roars. He shoves Kyle back and punches him in the gut, forcing the sergeant to fall to his knees. However, it does nothing to stop him as Kyle lunges at the Scotsman, forcing him on the floor. They tussle for a bit before two pairs of arms pull the sergeants off from one another.

"What the hell is going on here?" commands Price. He has Soap in his grip while Ghost grabs Gaz.

"Soap here is trying to see them without us," Gaz spits out. Soap feels Price's hold on him tighten. Soap tries to explain himself. How you had called HIM for a ride and he was just trying to be a good teammate.

Price lets out an empty laugh. "Just like how I was trying to help with lunch." Fuck. Soap knew that was going to bite him in the ass, but he didn't think so soon. Ghost lets Gaz go. Gaz walks towards Soap and snatches the keys from his hands.

Soap tries to stop him, but it's no use, Price isn't budging.

And you of course don't know that all of this is going back on base. You're stuck in your car, waiting for Soap to come pick you up. You weren't happy that you called him, but you really had no choice. The bus had already passed, you didn't have enough time to walk, and it looked like it was going to rain. Besides, Soap said it wasn't a bother.

15 minutes have passed and you were starting to get antsy. The meeting was going to start soon and Soap still hadn't come by. You decide to text him... worst case, he's driving and can't answer.

You: Hey! Sorry to bother, but are you close? Again thank you so much for the ride

You put your phone down and look out the window.

Buzz, buzz.

Johnny-boy: Something came up. Sorry.

No fucking way. You could cry right now. And not even out of disappointment, but out of anger. You don't even bother to answer. You turn off your phone and jump out of your car. At this point, it didn't even matter. You were going to be late either way. What's the point of giving them a heads up?

And to your luck, it starts to rain... hard. Could your day get any worse? Fuck, your month, really? Whatever you did, there's no way it was that bad to deserve all of this.

You were so caught up in your thoughts that you didn't hear the racing car blasting rock music behind you.

Back on base, Soap is close to just dying in his seat. The 141 are all in the conference room, waiting for your arrival. Gaz and Price are in their seats while Ghost blocks the door. He can see his phone in his Lieutenant's pocket.

Soap begs him to let him go. It's pouring out there and knowing how stubborn you could be, you're probably walking in this weather.

Price shoots him a pointed look. "You really think I'd let them walk in this rain. I already sent some rookies to pick them up." And on cue, his phone rings. "Look, it's the rookies."

Price answers the phone. But instead, of keeping his neutral face, he just frowns. "What do you mean they're not there?" Soap's blood runs cold. Price argues with the rookies for a bit until he hangs up. The room tenses. Everyone looks at Price with baited breath. They all assume the worst. But before anyone can even suggest it, the door opens.

"141! My favorite team! How are... what's with the long faces?" The men all pause. They all had forgotten that Nikolai was going to help them on this next op.

"Nik, not the time," Price grumbles out. All of the men agree. Right now, you were missing and it was all their fault.

Nik gets serious and takes a seat. He assures them that things will work out. Once you finish changing, you can all brainstorm and find a solution.

Once you finish changing?

Soap makes the connection first. He asks Nik if you were on base.

"Da. Found them on my way here." Soap could just cry out of joy. You were okay. You were alive.

His joy is cut short when you come in. You don't say anything. You take your seat at the end of the table.

You look at all of them with indifference, with apathy. "Let's get started."

Soap calls your name. He wasn't sure what he was going to say. All he knew was that he needed to talk to you.

You glare at him. "Sergeant MacTavish, we've wasted enough time today. Let's just do our job," you spit out. You reel in your anger. You were done with Soap, with this team, with everyone.

Soap sinks in his seat. He didn't think you were capable of hatred.

Word Count: 1450

More Thoughts - Next Thought

[rindreamery]

Hihi!!! For ur evenr can i request nagi + sweet + kiss on forehead + sibling's best friend

ORDER 11: READY TO GO !

nagi + sweet + kiss on the forehead + sibling's best friend w.c. 1k+

note. sooo, this is more like a comfort fic than fluff... but in MY mind, this is still considered fluff ☝️ nagi tries to comfort you when you're sad abt him and reo moving away for college basically LOL

interested in more? check out the lounge !

this feeling is foreign to him; this overwhelming, heavy weight that settles deep in his heart as he watches your shoulders subtly slump. 

you’re shifting your weight from foot to foot, lingering around the threshold of your bedroom door frame as you watch reo walk past with another box of his belongings. he’s supposed to be helping, he’s supposed to be offering support to reo as he prepares to move out for college, but he doesn’t. he sits on one of the boxes in the hallway, unmoving, eyes trained on you. eyeing the way your eyes stay locked onto reo’s retreating back— sad, obvious in the way your eyelids droop ever so slightly. 

even so, he simply watches, observes, because it’s the only thing he knows how to do. because, even when he tries to come up with the words, he can never string them together to say what he intends to. when you turn to face him, his lips stay pursed shut. 

“aren’t you,” and you hesitate, “going to help reo out?”

he thinks of what to say. which is futile, because in the end, he shrugs and answers with, “too lazy.” a typical answer, one that provides you brief comfort.

you try to smile at that. fighting back the frown that constantly tugs at the corners of your lips, overcompensating by flashing him an unsteady and forced smile. like you’re trying to convince yourself that this is just another day, this is normal, and you’ll see them again tomorrow. but they just never quite reach your eyes— not in the way they always do when you’re truly happy. and your eyes are fluttering, blinking rapidly but softly at the same time, like you’re willing yourself to stop them from glazing over with tears. he can tell, because he always does, especially when it comes to you. 

you’re trying your best to keep your facade up in front of him, trying to act like you’re not upset. trying to act like you won’t miss having him and reo around once they’re set off for college. he doesn’t quite understand the feeling of missing someone this close, a sibling, family— but in a way, he thinks that he might understand what you feel. he thinks he might end up missing you, too— someone close to him. 

nagi feels his chest tighten, so uncomfortable and constricting, at the thought. you're upset, and that makes him upset.

he thinks of ways to rid himself of this feeling, to make you okay again, and he thinks long and hard. a beat passes, or two, and it clicks— and he wonders if what he's thinking could really provide any real comfort to you.

but it’s swift, his body acting on its own before he, himself, truly processes what he’s doing. he’s standing up, taking two long strides, closing the small distance between the two of you in a matter of seconds. before his arms are opening, making space only to hold you. 

frankly, he doesn’t know what he’s doing. more concerned with making you feel better, and less about how this isn’t like him, at all.  

your body stiffens at the sudden and unfamiliar contact, arms going frigid at your sides. it's awkward, and he has to nudge one of your arms to move, enough to slither his arm around your waist to firmly plant a hand against the small of your back. he presses, pulling you flush against him, completely enveloping you. and his other hand comes to rest on the back of your head, fingers lightly threading through the strands of your hair, just enough to tilt your head upwards.

he’s leaning down, enough for his lips to ghost the skin of your forehead, whispering, “i’m—” he catches himself, “we’ll always be right here.” before his eyes close as he presses a gentle, almost fleeting, kiss to your forehead— pausing, letting the feeling of his lips last, even for just that extra second. 

the heaviness in his heart lifts, even by a tiny amount, as your arms wrap around him too. reciprocating. he feels the way your body relaxes against him, leaning your weight into his chest as you fully surrender in his embrace. he keeps you there; he lets you lean on him for just a moment longer, feeling the way your heartbeat finally settles into your chest into a steady rhythm. a constant, slow thud. 

he's not sure how long the two of you stay like this, frozen.

when he finally pulls away, only enough to be able to glance down at you, his arms stay still in their spot. he waits as your eyes flutter, slowly drifting open, to look back at him— watching as your eyes widen, mouth parting in shock, as you process what happened. but, you don’t push him away, neither making an effort to untangle yourselves.

off in the distance is the sound of boxes shuffling and being moved around, accompanied by reo’s voice, that drags the two of you out of your little moment. he’s calling for nagi, nagging for him to help him out. you shuffle against him, and feels the light weight and warmth leave from around his waist, as you pull your arms back to your sides. 

nagi clears his throat, awkwardly, looking off to the living room and then back at you. 

“i should…” he starts to speak, quiet as his voice tapers off with uncertainty. his hands linger a little longer on the back of your head, not wanting to pull himself away just yet— but he does. it takes everything in him, but he peels himself off of you, fighting the way every part of him wishes to have you in his arms again. “i should probably go help reo now.”

he watches as you nod stiffly at him, shoulders now less slumped, but feet firmly planted in place as he takes a few steps back. with that, he turns to walk away— not before glancing over his shoulder, one last time, for your eyes to meet for that fraction of a second— heartbeat thundering against his chest. 

© rindreamery, 2025

[togglesbloggle]

Insofar as I have a principled position on the matter- and I don’t, not really- it’s this: art does have the ability to alter our values and our way of interpreting the world. It’s absolutely a live grenade, and should be taken seriously as such.

Like, of course it does! Probably you can point to some book, some film, some story somewhere that touched you not just deeply but irrevocably. There are moments of aesthetic experience which give a before and after to our lives, just as surely as moments of extraordinary suffering or extraordinary joy can.

I’m lucky enough to have more than a few I can list off, personally. Profoundly transformative ones like Evelyn Waugh’s Brideshead Revisited or the music of John Cage, sure. But maybe even more interesting (tractable?) to me were small moments of grace like the one I found in the Dragonlance novels by Weis and Hickman: the dark wizard Raistlin Majere wove back and forth across the line between ‘hero’ and ‘villain’ in exactly such a way that, after reading his books at a young age, I immediately and quite distinctly overcame my fear of the dark.

What a wonderful thing for a book to do! I’d be hard-pressed to explain exactly how, if only because I’m such a different person now than I was then. Perhaps your own intuition will bridge the gap a bit. It was all tied up with this distinction between good and evil, you see, and with the ability to stare in to the face of evil things without flinching, to understand that they have contingency and history just like good things do, and to be in some sense in community with them.

That was a long, long time ago, and I don’t think my model of the world even has evil in it any more, not in the sense that I believed in it then. But my fear of the dark never came back, either.

I don’t believe for a minute that Weis and Hickman had any idea that they were giving me that gift in particular, nor did they have any sensible means to achieve such a goal even if they somehow wanted to. It wasn’t a transformation mediated by intent, you know? It didn’t reduce to an argument that I believed or disbelieved in some intellectual way, or to some specific controlled experience that the authors had planned for me.

Art is transformative, but not in the way that effective polemic is transformative. It doesn't (principally) reason with us or persuade us. Rather, I think art is dangerous for the same reasons that travel to a foreign country is dangerous, or a friendship with somebody new is dangerous. It threatens us by expanding our conscious history to include new categories of experience, that is, by changing the context in which we go about the business of living.

It's wrong to think of art mostly as a tug-of-war dragging hapless consumers from one ideology to another, with the victory going to whichever faction can fill the algorithm with mass-produced and doctrinally compliant stories clamoring endlessly for their views. Normalization has its power, don't get me wrong, but there will always be far greater power in a single glimpse over the horizon.

Think about Whoopi Goldberg's account of seeing Nichelle Nichol's Uhura on television:

“Well, when I was nine years old Star Trek came on. I looked at it and I went screaming through the house, ‘Come here, mum, everybody, come quick, come quick, there’s a black lady on television and she ain’t no maid!’ I knew right then and there I could be anything I wanted to be.”

Once. It took one time, and the walls fell away, and everything was possible. The fashions and approved styles may come and go with the seasons, but the outer perimeter of our experiences, and the sense of what the world could be, can only ever grow, and sometimes it grows by leaps and bounds in an instant.

I guess this is why I tend to think of censorship and control over media as basically quixotic. Sure, with enough energy you can control what's normal and what's public, but controlling what's possible is an exercise in futility on a grand scale. You can never win that fight, only lose it fast or slow.

We all have this remarkably unpredictable collection of soft places and hard places: some things in us that deform to match the shape of their environment, and other things that break us before they can bend. And we all try to find a way to make these strange shapes work within the limits of our own experience and the world as we understand it. Some of us thrive in communities and cultures where others die gasping, and some of us spend our entire lives trying to smash through excruciating barriers that others can't even detect.

Art is one of the things that expands those limits, gives the strange creature inside us a little bit of room to stretch and grow and find a space for the hard bits to arrange themselves as they need to be. But it can't do that without changing the soft parts as well, because the soft parts need external force to maintain their shape. Socialization and ideology can only weakly bind us, because they rely on deliberate and conscious pressures to conform; ignorance is stronger, because it denies us the choice altogether. Without art, you'll never really be able to learn what kind of animal you are, as opposed to the kind of person your world has told you to be. But art will change you, too, as discovery always will.

The life you have now has real value- great beauty, and great meaning. For all that you are defined in part by the walls of your cage, knowledge and new experiences are not something to accept lightly, and they can never be undone. All I can say, really, is that I've never once regretted it.

[juniperdugong]

How the JJK characters sleep!

With: Gojo, Geto, Toji, Choso, Ino, Shoko

Gojo Your eyes flutter open, the light heat of the sun peaking through the curtains warms your skin, and you turn over from your restful sleep to your perfect boyfriend...

NOT! You wake as you're nearly being pushed off the bed as this large ass man that you've (unfortunately) invited into YOUR home to sleep in YOUR bed is sprawled out like a goddamn starfish. Snoring like he's SpongeBob's alarm clock. His pajama shirt is riding up and you would be drooling over his abs if it weren't for the amount of drool he's currently letting fall onto the pillow. Any attempt to push him over enough to get back on the bed is futile, you have to slap him awake to get anywhere.

"Satoru. Satoru... GOJO!" BWAM you smack his face. "HUH?! WHAT'S HAPPENING?!?! WHAT'S GOING ON! Hollow-" "HOLY SHIT NO JUST FUCKING MOVE TO YOUR SIDE OF THE BED????" "Oh, my angel! What's up?" Feet in the air kicking and giggling like he didn't just try to blow up everything from Tokyo to Hokkaido "Do not play with me right now Toru..."

Geto This man sleeps like the dead and has the routine of a 50's housewife, truly casket-ready if you were to ask me. You always fall asleep before him as he has an arduous night-time routine that he insists on doing, Every. Single. Night. And you (almost) always wake up before him. Rising from a night of peaceful rest you look over to his side of the bed and it almost freaks you out how still he is.

No snoring, lying perfectly on his backside, night mask still on. It really is freaky. The blanket is tucked so neatly under his arms that are placed on his chest like he's some sort of corpse. You get used to this over time but in the beginning stages of your relationship, there is definitely an urge to check if he's breathing once in a while.

You poke at his face and put a finger under his nose to see if air comes out. "Babe? What are you doing?" His face is completely still as he says this. "No offense but you looked dead..." "Can I not practice good sleeping habits and hygiene without being questioned?" "Boy- I did not say you couldn't."

Toji Here we have another big boy who, in his sleep, has managed to leave no room for you. Except this time you're certain it's on purpose. The way you flop onto the floor and crawl back up to see a smirk on this dumbass's face. He's got this shit planned out!

Of course, Toji would never admit it but he likes it when you're cuddled up next to him, even on the hottest days. Doesn't matter if you both sweat like dogs as long as he can feel you in his hold.

His smirk grows as his ploy continues. He stretches his arms out and, not so subtly, wakes up because of "the racket that you're making".

"Woah, doll! How'd you end up on the floor?" He's full-on smiling now. "...I think you know how Toji..." "No clue what you're talking bout...but I do know this could all be prevented if you slept on top of me." You have to scoff at this. "It is too early to-" "No funny business! Promise baby, you're just my favorite blanket s'all"

Choso He's a bit of a hot-blooded man. Sweats super easy in his sleep is what I'm saying. He cuddles you to sleep every night, you swear he does. But somehow when you wake up he's on top of the blanket, stripped down to his underwear, fan turned on high.

He hates it though! Doesn't like how he doesn't get to hold you all night without feeling uncomfortable. On occasion he'd attempt to just push through but the heat eventually gets to him. He can't sleep well if you're not next to him but he also can't sleep well if he's overheated.

A string of a apologies come from him every time he wakes in the middle of the night to move you over and get into a more comfortable state, he knows you don't hear him but it's just for his own peace of mind.

"I'm sorry honey, just gonna move you a little-" Mind you he's whispering, basically just mouthing words so he won't wake you. You're in deep sleep but you moving even an inch sends him into panic. "No no no, don't wake up! Sorry, just got a little hot, I promise I'll stay right here!" You wake up to a freezing cold room but at least you're man is sporting the cutest and most peaceful smile as he rests.

Ino He's a sloppy sleeper too! So you should never be surprised when you wake up and find this man somehow with the upper half of his body on the floor and the rest of him sprawled out on his side of the bed.

Lowkey...lowkey, I think he's a bit of a sleepwalker. NOTHING DANGEROUS! But definitely talks to you in his sleep and is constantly sitting up and waving his hands around like he's in an imaginary argument.

You'll wake up sometimes and you hear him whispering sweet nothings about you, obviously his dreams get wild enough for him to be professing his undying love for you to dream rando's. He denies it heavy if you him about it when he wakes up though.

"Baby..." "Yes, sweetheart?" "You know you talk in your sleep sometimes?" "No, I don't." "You do though, just last night you were arguing with someone named Micheal about how he was looking at your, and I quote, "WIFE"" "I did no such thing... But seriously who does Micheal think he is anyways?? Trying to take you away from me like you aren't the air I breath..." The pout on his face is lethal!

Shoko Certified couch sleeper for real. (She's just like me, your honor!) You cannot tell me that after a long day of dealing with whatever the fuck she has to deal with on the daily she isn't totally passing out on the couch before even making it to the bedroom. And you can bet you're ass that she's dragging you with her!

You'd wake up completely entangled in each others arms in the wee hours of the morning, now it's your turn to drag her to the bed. She might be slightly whiny but once you hit those soft sheets she's completely K.O.'d again and moving to cuddle you back to sleep as well. No excuses. Showering and eating can some later, sleeping is the main priority.

"Shoko, we should move to the bedroom. We'll wake up sore if we sleep here all night." "Just a few more minutes..." Still sleepy she grabs your hand and presses a small kiss to your knuckles, "...I'm comfortable right now."

A/N: Some jjk headcanons because I've been doing a lot of SVT stuff! I PROMISE I'M MULTIFANDOM! Srsly though, I barely get requests so if you see this please feel free! On that note, do you guys think putting a prompt list in my guidelines would help gain requests? Also, if you want more characters please let me know!! Have a great day lovelies! And please reblog and comment if you liked it or have any thoughts.

JJK Taglist (OPEN): @iluvmattyb

[kingqueensoobscene]

SUNFLOWER "ANON" HERE AGAIN RGHHAHHHHHHH (i prefer sending anon asks)

timeskip scout with a dilf hunter reader /j /sfw🙏

reader meets scout (and the rest of the team) again after 7 years and now he has kids and a shitty mullet, immediately goes *neuron activation* after seeing how great he is with his children

reader fr being not the step parent but the parent that stepped up 🙏

HEY ANON!!!!!!! (I totally get you) 

I am so happy to get this request, because I think about this SO often! I was already into Scout before, but him becoming a Dilf was NOT on my 2024 bingo card 🗣‼️‼️ I have made another fic about Dad!Scout before, so here’s the link if you wanna check it out!! https://www.tumblr.com/kingqueensoobscene/770802320729669632/you-got-it-boss-i-wrote-this-as-a-romantic-scout

COMIC!SCOUT X DILF LOVER!READER (SFW)

-In the beginning, you met Scout working as a mercenary and while you joined the last out of the 10, you quickly became good friends. Being the 2nd youngest out of the 10, you and Scout had more in common. Comic books, TV shows, action figures, collecting cards. As a skilled defense, you worked well with Scout. Scout created a distraction long enough for you to knock the enemy Soldier from behind. Or for him to grab the intelligence while watching his flank. Then there was always celebrating wins together with spiked Bonk! on a late afternoon.

-Over time, you wanted the one you could not have. The unrequited crush he had on Miss Pauling, who you felt would not like him back considering she devoted 10 years of her life to a woman, made you feel sad. And Spy noticed those nights you spent sitting alone in the common area, morphing into color to tell you that this was all pointless. You only shrugged. You couldn’t help who you were attracted to. The fabric of his gloves brushed along woven cloth as he moved from his hand from his head to his eyes and rubbed them. Reassuringly, Spy told you you were an open book and Jeremy can’t read. As stupid as it sounded, he was right.

-Most of the team, some uncaring for it, knew you liked Scout. And it wasn’t that you acted like an idiot in front of him or that you flirted or even act jealous when Miss Pauling was around, you did none of that. It was how you looked at him. You looked past all of his stupidity and his overconfidence and you saw how he actually was. A sore loser who wanted to be liked. He told you all of the things that bothered him; how he couldn’t kill that one dumb Blu Sniper that keeps getting a hit on him no matter what you two strategized and how he viewed the other mercenaries as the family he missed back in Boston. He was oddly sacred when it came to his family. He liked not being alone and being around the loud and despite being the least strong, being capable of helping out his team and getting the chance to prove himself. And how everyone knew that you saw him as something other than a Masshole. And they really, really doubted you.  

-Down the line, with the help of Soldier, Miss Pauling found the scarce Australium thought to be gone from the Earth. After getting out of Australia, you found yourself in the maw of the Administrator and the many other teams of mercenaries. After the purpose of the entire manhunt for this element was found to be futile, you moved on. That was it. Moving on in life after the administrator was dusted was difficult. A harsh reality that the 9 other guys you started to see as people other than your coworkers, you would most likely not see again. It’s wasn’t so bad though; you got a good job, still did the things you loved, had a good social life too. You just missed one thing very much, your friend. 

-It was a shock when you found Soldier in your apartment when you came home from work. He gave you a big ol hug that knocked the wind out of you while two weights held your legs down to Earth. Two kids? Zhanna and Doe had children?! Soldier quickly brushed you off, saying that Merasmus wanted to hurry and explained that you were the only one the rest of the team couldn’t find. You were the only smart one who threatened to sue unless you were given a compensation package and a new identity. You were taken, not by choice, though you didn’t complain, to the city of Boston.

-When you arrived with the entirety of Heavy and now Soldier’s family, it was on the steps of the house of a boy you used to know well. Honestly, you were nervous, but excited. You had already caught up with Heavy and Medic the whole car ride there. Drifting to the back of the line as Heavy entered with the turkey the unattended Miss Pauling bought the team and Soldier’s kids practically dashed under the legs of everyone. Then you saw him. His hair all shagged out and his face with no traces of his 20’s anywhere. His eyes widened and a smile grew. 

“You goober! I thought I wasn’t gonna see ya tonight!” He said as he pulled you into a squeezed hug. 

It lasted for a couple more seconds before Scout looked down. A little boy tugging at his legs. 

“Daddy, can me and Patton and Georgia go play outside?” A small boy with yellow goggles on his face asked.

“Hmm, I dunno. Dinners about to start. Why don’t you wait until after dinner, alright?” Jeremy ruffled the boy’s hair. 

“Alright dad!” He ran off back into the kitchen.

You were honestly kind of surprised. You knew he wanted a family, but you never expected how good of a father he would be. His kid didn’t seem to throw a fit about waiting, instead just listening to him. Your crush just got revamped entirely. Your mind became moments of the days you spent on the rooftop talking about his Ma and his family. It seemed weird to be passionate about, but the impression was given that he wanted to have kids of his own to take care of and be a better father than the man who was absent. Giggling was loud in the living room where you saw 5 more kids, two of which were Soldier’s. 

“You have 4 children?!” 

Jeremy only laughed. “You too, huh? Yeah, everyone’s so shocked.”

“I mean, it has been 7 years.” 

“Yeah, but that just means we got lots of catchin’ up, huh?” He punched your arm.

“For starters, where’s your lucky wife? You nudged his side, smirking.

“Got none. All deadbeats, the last three. Doesn’t matter, they’re my kids and I’m gonna raise ‘em right.” 

Despite the circumstances that you wish were much better for the children’s well-being, this just got so much better for you. 

“But I love my lil boogers.” 

He ran up behind the running girl who had a purple skirt and a grey sweater on. He picked her up under her arms and brought her to his face. 

“Isn’t that right, my lil booger?” He kissed the girl’s cheek and she giggled more.

He set her down gently and made an explosion noise. Another girl, a redhead, came up and asked if she could be exploded and you chuckled. But he did it, he lifted her up, gave her a peck on the forehead and set her down making a crashing noise. He was really good with kids. Maybe you would take him up on that offer to catch up.

-Eventually and habitually, you often visited his home on the weekends. He wasn’t really a fan of leaving the kids home alone, so he liked having you over for dinner. He has a recipe book his mom got him that he uses almost every time he makes dinner. She copied all of the recipes from their family, saving the originals and made them into a book for him when his family visited for Christmas (After the holiday party with the team). It is some of the most delicious food ever. 

-During the spring, he brought out the toy cars for his kids to run around with in the backyard. While he was inside making lemonade, the brown haired girl, Tanya, ran up to you. 

“(Name)! (Name)! We need someone to be the helpless victim to Tommy’s castle.” She shook your arm, her balaclava that was way too large for her face flopped around as she did so. 

“I guess I’ll have to be saved by the princess assassin once again.” You woed dramatically as she dragged you along to Tommy’s little sandbox. 

Tommy had a plastic knights mask on, one he got for Christmas as he has told you ecstatically many times. Jeremy was a good listener when it came to his kids, since he was the youngest of 8 and was mostly given hand-me-downs and mostly unintentionally ignored at times by his Ma. So, since he has half the kids and more free time due to being technically in early retirement, he makes sure all of his kids get what they want. They are a little spoiled.

You were behind the green closed sandbox, where Tommy has “captured” you. You pretended to be tied up, with the imaginary chains behind your back. Tanya, Andy, the curly haired boy and Sierra, the redheaded girl, were huddled up and talking in hushed voices. Andy had on a red cape and his yellow goggles. You could never get him to take those things off.

“So we’re gonna tackle him?” Sierra asked.

“Duh!” Tanya exclaimed.

“Ok!”

They took after their dad so much. Going into things with one thing in mind. Tanya and Andy ran after Tommy and grabbed his legs, tumbling to the ground. Sierra grabbed your arm and led you to the playground set Jeremy had installed over the summer. She urged you to hurry up, so you climbed up the slide while she went up the rocks. 

“We won!” She threw her hands to the sky. 

You, on the other hand, “Are you ok, Tommy?” 

Andy was looking down at his brother, biting his lip. Tommy lifted up the plastic top of the knights mask and you could a smile on his rosy face.

“I’m ok!” 

You took the slide down and went up to him. 

“You sure?” 

“Mhm!”

“Good,” you helped him to his feet, “because I need a knight to help me win against an assassin.”

Tanya whined and looked betrayed. 

“What? No fair!” 

“You were fooled, it was a trap!” You grabbed a foam sword. 

Tommy giggled manically as you both ran after them. You didn’t hit the 3, you couldn’t, but you pretended to slash them with a “shh!” noise. Then you heard a loud laugh to your left. 

“Heh, oh man! That’s something. C’mon kids, come get your drinks.” You saw Jeremy had come back. 

The kids dropped what they were doing and ran to the cookies and lemonade. You walked up to Jeremy a little rosy. 

“I hate to say it, but I betrayed your daughter.” You chuckled.

“Yeah, I saw that.” He smirked.

After putting the kids to bed, Jeremy walked you out the door.

“Hey, uh, thanks for taking care of my kids when I would step away.” He leaned his elbow against the doorframe. 

“That’s nothing! You’re great with your kids, I’ve never seen kids be such good listeners.” 

“Heh, well, their dad is an amazing guy.” He chuckled.

Then there was silence. You hesitated. Jeremy looked at you with a squint and a smile. 

“You okay?” 

“I have to tell you something to tell you. And it’s going to be hard because it might ruin things between us.”

“Oh yeah?” He smiled, unserious. 

“I- ok, so I have known you for a long time and you are one of the people I care about the most. I know it’s been a long time, but those feelings have come back again. I know you have your kids and I know that’s the life you want, which is totally fine! But now that we’re older, I wanted to tell you and get it off my chest.” 

He leaned closer, waiting with an eager smile. 

“I have always liked you.”

“That it?” 

“That’s all.” 

You could not look into his eyes. You did not want to see him angry or in disbelief if this would be the last time you ever talk to him again. You feel awful, but you need to tell him otherwise you would regret it again. 

“Is it because I’m a dad now? Because i always knew I was smokin’ hot, but I never knew that’s what it would take for you to tell me.”

Then you started to laugh. And he laughed. And you looked at him now. He was just looking at you. 

“Do you like me?” You asked.

“Well, no. But now I’m thinking why the hell I didn’t.” 

And there was another moment of silence again. For once in his life, he actually thought about his words. It would take some serious rekindling before he would consider dating you. His kids come first and that is something he makes clear from the beginning. To be honest, he has thought about you for some time. He’s trusted you for years, and now he knows he still can.

“I dunno, maybe this could work. But, hey, uh, just gimme some time. I’ll have to find a babysitter.”

[mightiestofmumblers]

Simon Riley, who's been surrounded by death for longer than he can remember. It's become harder and harder to remember the years without it. Whether the ones who fall are the soldiers beside him or enemies at his own hands no longer matters to him, not really, not like it should.

Ghost, who becomes used to watching that final spark leave a set of eyes before they become glossy and empty. It takes him years to notice that final little thing. Nothing more than a reflection, but She's there.

Ghost, who questions Price and Soap, quietly and reluctantly, but they don't understand. They don't get it like he does. And it doesn't make sense, he knows it doesn't. Soldiers are known to go insane after too long in the field, perhaps that's what's happening to him.

It's after not sleeping for 60 hours that he sees Her after all, sweeping or floating through the battlefield, draped in every colour on the spectrum and not a single one of them. Ghost has never seen a face like it, and he knows he never will. All of Her reeks of paradoxical features and curves that swirl and change whenever he thinks he's finally grasped some aspect of Her. She bends down, soft and caring, as the final light slips from his teammate's eyes, and She carries him with her while his body remains.

The second he tries to stop Her, reach out and touch her, his hands slip through her. For one moment lasting years and less than a second, She glances at him. He doesn't blink, but She disappears anyway.

Years pass. Ghost recognises her. Always. In time, she watches him through reflections. She follows him wherever he goes. But there's nothing cruel about it. It's impossible with the sad smile shining from Her. It's not something she does but rather something that she is.

Ghost, who no longer has any true fears on the battlefield. It's simply another work day. But it changes when he sees Her. How She looks at him. He isn't afraid of Death but he manages to stagger back. Running is futile, he's seen others feverishly try to crawl from Her, fingers scraping at the ground until the skin wears away, a bloody trail following the leg no longer there and all of it with no use. Fighting is quite the same: as impossible as this entire thing is improbable.

"Shhh." Something beyond a voice, coming from his own head, he's sure, coos. "So close to me. You rarely ever are. How long has it been? No... you're alright, my love."

Ghost stops. She's infinitely tall yet he looks down at Her. Her smile isn't sad as She stretches a hand towards him, lifting the bottom of his mask, and that's when an inkling of fear finds him. For years, She's been his sole comfort on the battlefield. A single neverending entity he could always trust to be with him no matter how many years were to pass, but after wishing for so long to see Her, have Her closer, he wants nothing more than hundreds of miles to separate them.

"Is it time?"

"Afraid not, love." She smiles with a thousand pleasant summer days and cosy winter nights. "I have a job to do, but you've been close to me for so long. I want to see your face before I go."

Death lifts the skull, removes every layer until his scarred skin is visible to Her.

"How can I see you?"

"What a wicked thing it is." A sigh falls from wonderful lips as She caresses his cheek with a cool touch. "I'm sorry, Simon."

"Simon..." He repeats, tasting the foreign word.

She's fading.

"Wait! How can I-"

"Don't worry, love. No matter what, you'll see me again at the end."

Ghost becomes worse, more than he's ever been. With enough blood on his hands and enough souls at his feet, he can see Her again. He haunts the battlefields like never before, staring into the eyes of his victims for the mere chance of catching a glimpse. However long, no matter how many bodies it takes, he will see Her again.

« ⌑⌑⌑⌑⌑⌑⌑⌑⌑ »

I've had this in my ideas doc for, like, years, and I just needed to get it out lmao. I'd love to write a full fic but unless I'll get 30 hours in a day, I don't have that kinda time lmao.

[yanderes-galore]

Hi!!! May I request Yandere X-Tale Chara with a Darling who tried to escape?

　- 🪷🪼

Was torn between making this a short and making this a concept, so I just poured the thoughts in my head here. This is a bit of a divergence from canon, as you're an X character like him. I'm not that proud about this one but I wasn't sure where exactly it should take place, it was vague so I tried :(

Yandere! X-Tale! Chara with Escaping! Darling

(FT. Frisk, X-Event)

Pairing: Platonic/Romantic

Possible Trigger Warnings: Gender-Neutral Darling, Obsession, Brainwashing/Overwriting, Isolation, Possessive behavior, Trauma, Angst, Forced relationship.

He can't force something he once had to happen again...

It doesn't work like that...

But he keeps trying....

Chara recalls you from his previous timelines.

You two used to always get along.

Childhood friends... He adored you.

Still does even if you don't feel the same.

Chara is the only one who really understands Gaster's resets and overwrites other than his brother.

Chara's tired of Gaster turning you against him, of corrupting you...

He's tired of you being taken away from him.

Chara's bond with you ranged from childhood friends, perhaps even crushes, to even enemies due to Gaster.

Yet his feelings never changed.

Imagine if Chara got sick of this and tried to force you to like him again?

He wants to undo the brainwashing, to be happy for once.

But it's futile.

I imagine it would be futile until Chara became the X-Event.

Remember that point where Chara/Frisk/The X-Event could create their own timeline?

Imagine if they made one where they, especially Chara, tries to make you back to how you were.

Chara doesn't care if he has to force it...

He just misses those times you two had.

In this new timeline, one where he has the power to overwrite with Frisk, Chara tries to make you the person he remembers you to be.

He tries to give you the role of friend, or something else.

It irritates him that he has to do this through Frisk... But he's happy in this way you're his.

The issue?

You keep rejecting your role somehow.

You find how clingy Frisk/Chara is with you odd.

Even more so when you feel yourself being... isolated.

Poor you doesn't know the truth.

You're like a favorite doll compared to him.

One made to obey.

Now, Chara/The X-Event doesn't entirely cage you.

The timeline itself is your cage.

You think your life is genuine, that you aren't a copy of some other version.

Unfortunately, you're not your own person.

The only reason you're around is due to the X-Event.

It's due to Chara and Frisk enabling him.

Imagine if you start to act out, to distance yourself from Chara.

You have memories you don't understand, you're scared to be around them.

Perhaps you do try to run.

You won't ever get far, but you run.

This might not even be the first time you ran.

There might be many times where you have.

Only for it to end the same.

"Again?"

No matter how much you run, you'll always end up with The X-Event, with Chara, in front of you.

"How long have we kept up this game? Don't you know you're safe with me?"

He's used to this, to your scared expression that just learned the truth.

Part this reminds him of how he and his brother acted with Gaster...

But he ignores such a thought.

No, all he can focus on is you, running away again.

"You never understand, do you?"

He sounds exasperated.

"Escaping... It's pointless. Why aren't you happy? Am I not enough...? I give you everything you need."

He steps closer, you step back.

You don't understand what's going on.

What's wrong with him? Them?

"It's alright, we'll try again..."

The purple button that manifests in front of him looks familiar.

It makes you scared...

But it doesn't matter.

By the time the button is pressed, you're back by Chara's side.

You don't remember what happened before.

However, there's no doubt you'll try to escape again...

Then, the cycle repeats...

You'll always belong beside Chara... One way or another...

Until the timeline breaks apart... You'll never be free.

[blackjackkent]

The back room of the House of Grief always strikes me a little like those rooms in a museum where you go to watch a little movie about the subject matter before being let loose into the exhibit.

I had Rakha instruct Shadowheart to take the lead here, but it just occurred to me to see if you actually get to do the "mapping" if Shadowheart doesn't take the lead - and you do! And actually I feel like it's pretty interesting for Rakha under the circumstances, and I didn't do it with Hector, and I'm always a sucker for scenes that entail plumbing an OCs emotional depths.

So we're going to play around with this after all.

-----

Rakha really does intend to let Shadowheart take the lead through the Sharran facility. All she does is sit down on the bench while Shadowheart examines the room - and as she does, she feels a wrenching in the Weave behind her, the twisting rip of a dimension door.

A voice at her elbow makes her jump. "You seek to be Unburdened, yes?"

The voice is unfamiliar - dark and low and surprisingly gentle. An equally unfamiliar woman has appeared at Rakha's side, slender in build with dark violet skin visible through slits in the black fabric of her robe.

She tilts her head as Rakha glances at her. "The Mapping of the Heart can reveal the way... yet there is another here whose need is great."

Shadowheart, standing next to the others at the wall, has gone deathly still. "That voice..." she whispers. "Allow me-- I think I'm supposed to do this."

And she should. She should step aside. This place is Shadowheart's past, not hers. The fight that certainly lies ahead is Shadowheart's fight. Their very presence here is on Shadowheart's behalf.

And yet... and yet...

You seek to be unburdened, yes?

The beast, the Dark Urge, is gone from her - but its absence has not healed the grief or guilt or rage or pain that it left behind. And in the end she still carries the same need that led her to follow the Emperor for so long - the desperate, futile hope that there is some magic by which all the damaged parts of her might slough away, leaving behind only a peaceful and unbroken whole.

These people are enemies, and yet she must see what succor they offer before she destroys them.

"Keep back, Shadowheart," she mutters hoarsely. Her fingers curl into fists in her lap.

Out of the corner of her eye, she can see the anger that flashes across Shadowheart's face - but the cleric waits, as instructed.

Amusement touches the stranger's voice. "You cow her so easily? I had thought I sensed more strength to her. Perhaps not..." She snorts softly, a barely audible exhalation. "We shall begin."

Rakha turns towards her, eyes narrowing. The mocking at Shadowheart's expense has briefly struck through her own preoccupation, prodding up a hint of anger- but the woman cuts across her before she can speak. "Do not look upon me."

And Rakha goes still, turns away. There is no resisting that voice; it hums with power, it is soothing, it is steady and unrevealing as stone.

"This is your time, not mine," the woman murmurs. "Look inward. See what will be discovered."

Rakha realizes suddenly that she is trembling. She has hurled herself headlong into this moment, but it should have been Shadowheart's, and whatever peace might be on offer, she does not want to look inward to find it. Inward is a place stained with blood.

"Perhaps this was a mistake," she mutters, and moves to rise.

But again the stranger's voice seems to freeze her in place, helpless before that implacable calm. "Hush..." she croons. "You have already taken the first difficult step. Now you merely have to sit here a while and talk to me..."

-----

"What is happening?" Wyll hisses under his breath. "Who is this?"

"The Mother Superior," Shadowheart answers in a low, flat voice. Her eyes are wide with apprehension. "I hope Rakha knows what she's doing."

"I think we can be quite certain," Jaheira says darkly, "that she does not." One of the Harper's hands rests on the hilt of her scimitar, and her eyes are fixed on the barely visible outline of the stranger's face.

"Chk. Then let us attack," Lae'zel mutters. "She places herself in danger. And this is not why we have come here."

Jaheira frowns. "And put the whole place on alert? No," she answers curtly. "Settle yourself, Minsc," she adds curtly to the Rashemaar, who has begun to straighten to his full height.

"But Jaheira, do you not see that it is--"

"I said be calm," Jaheira snaps under her breath. "This moment sits on a blade's edge, ranger. Do not tip it into chaos."

-----

"You are here because something grieves you," the stranger says softly. "Perhaps you know what that is. Perhaps you merely think you know. The Mapping will reveal your heartform. Then the healing can begin."

Rakha's breath catches raggedly in her throat. She should never have begun to listen, but now that she has, she finds she cannot stop. What healing might this woman offer her?

The woman's head lifts a little, a thoughtful tilt to one side. "Answer the questions I put to you. And answer honestly - the lips may try to deceive, but the heart will offer the truth in the end. Let us begin..."

A minuscule pause, and then she asks, "What last caused you to shed a tear?"

(A/N: Doing a little tweaking on some of these answers to make them more Rakha-ish. As usual, the text in italics is in-game dialogue, text not in italics is mine.)

Rakha has only a few memories of crying. But she remembers the last instance with painful clarity. She sat in a pool of her own blood and sobbed as Withers told her that there was more to her than the beast that had been ripped out of her soul.

"Hope,"(*) she whispers.

"So be it," murmurs the woman. "The second question - what is your unspoken desire?"

So many desires have crossed through her in the past - the hunger for blood, for chaos, for destruction. But those violent desires are gone now, leaving behind softer and subtler things - and in the end there is only one thing she has ever truly wanted, even while the violence ravaged her.

"To be at peace,"(**) she answers.

"Your heartform begins to take shape." The soothing tone takes on an edge now, feeling the hook set and steady. "The third question - what is your greatest fear?"

Rakha's jaw works. She has far more of these than desires. But in truth one of them stands out far above the rest now, because the thought of it is wreathed in a memory of overwhelming pain and blood and everything she has most hated about herself.

"My father,"(***) she whispers.

The stranger hums softly. "The heartform grows clearer again. Such a burden you carry... but we can help." Rakha hears the subtle shift of fabric as the woman turns slightly towards her. "The fourth question. How would you spite one who wronged you?"

Rakha says nothing for a long time. This question, she finds, has a simple answer, and she does not like it. She would have liked to believe that all the violence in her nature vanished when the beast was torn from her, that now in her rebirth she can, without any struggle, manifest Wyll's gentleness, Minsc's good humor, Jaheira's wisdom.

But the answer to this question is the same as it has always been, because she is still her in the end. She might be a little softer, a little slower to strike, and her violence is no longer founded on helpless, animal hunger. But she is still blunt and direct, and she has not forgotten Lae'zel's words that formed the core of her world when she had nothing else to guide her. Attack with purpose and savor your kills.

"I would kill them," she admits flatly.

The woman laughs softly. "So simple? As you wish..." A slight pause, then: "The final question. How would you feel, if all your burdens were lifted?"

Another long, long, long silence. Yes. This is what she wants, what she hoped for in even seeking this conversation. A lifting of her burdens, a sanding off of the scarred places in her soul.

And yet... even in answering these questions, she has seen a new and uncomfortable truth. Much of her has been emptied out by the removal of the beast; if the scars are taken away too... there will be nothing left.

"I would be lesser," she admits, very low, almost inaudible. "My burdens molded me."

The Sharran woman's voice turns dryly approving. "You know the value of suffering. Good. Life is full of it - whether you welcome it or not."

She turns her head. "It is done. Your heartform has revealed itself to me." Rakha catches a glimpse of intense violet eyes peering at her from under the black hood. "You possess a violent heart. Rage grips you. Blood inflames you. The House of Grief knows such burdens - and can lift such burdens."

(A/N: Wellp. Ouch.)

Yes. It is true. She has seen flashes of it in the last few minutes, the painful realization that has been waiting for her to notice it, ever since the temple of Bhaal. The beast is gone, but the soul it shaped remains, and the path to peace is no easier now than it ever was.

But this woman will be no help to her. She already knows what Wyll would tell her, if she could make him understand this revelation. It is her path to tread, and no other's - least of all this Sharran, Shadowheart's enemy. She should not have sat here and listened in the first place.

"You're wrong about me," she says quietly. Not wrong in your description, but wrong that you are the ones to save me.

"This is your own judgment of yourself," the woman says calmly. "Embrace the truth your heart shares - however painful." Again the sound of shifting fabric, this time as the woman stands. "Our help comes at a price, one that cannot be discussed here. We will talk further - but first, an introduction."

Rakha turns in time to see the woman pull the hood away from her head.

"I am Viconia DeVir," she says coolly. She is a drow, Rakha can now see - not unlike Minthara in her violet skin and pale hair. "The House of Grief is mine. But what lies beneath - that belongs to my mistress, and that is where you must go."

"Viconia DeVir," Jaheira says icily. One of the scimitars is out in her hand now, in spite of her earlier admonitions, and her eyes have narrowed to tight slits with dislike. "Alas, I know you a little too well to follow you into a dark hole in the ground."

"You," Minsc snarls at her side, unable to restrain his own anger any longer. "Boo would have caught your foul scent, had you not confounded his nose with evil Sharran incense."

"Always a pleasure to see old acquaintances," Viconia answers sardonically. "But you would be wise not to interfere in what is to come." Her eyes drift from Jaheira to Minsc, then to Rakha, and then finally to Shadowheart, where they settle with a cool sneer.

"We will talk more down below," she says, and vanishes.

----

(*) Under the hood there is an actual calculation going on between several different possible results here, so I selected the nearest equivalent in the available options - "A beautiful sunset."

(**) In-game selection: "To be held."

(***) This one was pretty hard to find an equivalent for in the available options and, unfortunately, affects the way the fight later plays out. In the end I chose "Darkness" but we may end up headcanoning a different manifestation for this in the battle.

[multifandomfix]

Kilgrave Yandere Alphabet

A = Attachment (How do they show their love and affection? How intense would it get?)

He mainly uses gifts. He knows his words have power in ways that may not show you his genuine affection, but the gifts he leaves for you have no such influence so he feels those are a more genuine sign of his infatuation.

B = Blood (How messy are they willing to get when it comes to you?)

He’ll keep his own hands clean, but if things need to get messy, he’ll use his powers to have someone else do the dirty work.

C = Clingy (Do they require your attention at all times? How do they act when you ignore them?)

He makes it impossible for you to ignore him. Though even with his influence, he can tell when you’re less than willing to comply and might give you a bit of time away from him. But not too much.

D = Dependent (Are they codependent? Do they want you to rely solely on them for your care/protection?)

He definitely wants to be the only one you can rely or depend upon. If you go to anyone else he’ll be extremely upset.

E = Excess (Would they spoil or pamper you? To what extent?)

He’d spoil you with anything you wanted. It doesn’t matter at all how ridiculous or expensive. If you want it, he’ll use his powers to get it for you.

F = Fatal (Would they kill you? Kill for you?)

Killing you would be his absolute last resort…well unless he got bored of you, then you might need to be disposed of to keep his whereabouts a secret from Jessica Jones and other such heroes.

G = Give Up (What are they willing to sacrifice for you?)

The way Kilgrave sees it, he won’t have to sacrifice anything, and that works out well for him. Though if you were particularly insistent on something he might make an effort to do away with it. Or just make you think he had.

H = Harsh (How do they take to you mouthing off to them or saying something they don’t want to hear?)

He shuts you up immediately. He won’t tolerate you mouthing off to him. It’s likely he’d stop you before you can even finish saying something he doesn’t want to hear.

I = Inseparable (What are they like when you’re not with them? Do they check in on you constantly, or feel lost without you?)

He always has tabs on you one way or another. Can’t have you wandering too far and getting the full scope of your free will back. That would only make more work for him when he saw you next.

J = Jilted (How do they act when met with rejection from you?)

Well with Kilgrave, there’s no such possibility. Whether you really want to or not, you won’t reject him. You can’t. He won’t allow it.

K = Kidnap (Would they ever abduct you just to have you to themselves for a while?)

Of course he would. If by chance you’d been avoiding him, he’s more than willing to steal you away to get you back under his control.

L = Lines (Do they cross lines with you? What ones? Is it something they know they’re doing?)

He can cross any line he wants and you haven’t a single say in it at all. He knows what he’s doing, but he doesn’t care how many lines he may cross with you.

M = Manipulation (Would they manipulate you? How? And would you realize that’s what was happening?)

His whole thing is manipulating you. You don’t really realize it’s happening until you’ve had some time and space from him though.

N = Naive (Do they like you pliant or do they prefer you to challenge them?)

Pliant. The less trouble you give him the better. Of course, he does like to play games, so he’ll let you think you can defy him.

O = Ownership (Do they feel possessive of you? How do they act when you’re around others?)

He’s very possessive of you. He will keep you by his side when others are present and will easily snap at anyone who even looks at you for a second to long.

P = Petulant (Are they moody? Easy to anger? Or are they patient and forgiving around you?)

He can be easy to anger, but you’re usually not the cause of it and his anger isn’t often directed towards you either, but rather others who make futile attempts to come between you.

Q = Quit (Would they quit any of their behaviors for you if you asked?)

More than likely not. If you’re lucky he’ll make some sort of effort, but will most likely continue and just hide it from you and lie to you about it.

R = Rules (Would they have rules for you? Brainwash you? Teach you the right way to be theirs?)

He doesn’t have to teach you how to be his. You do what he says when he says when you’re with him. That’s just how it works.

S = Stalker (Would they stalk you? How far would it go?)

He’d stalk you for sure. He had to make sure you were worth his time and effort. He’d follow you wherever you go to learn your routines.

T = Target (What do they wish to do to you? How twisted are their ideals?)

He just wants you. Simple as that. He’ll let his whims decide what he wants from you and when.

U = Utopia (How much effort do they put into making you happy?)

He’d like you to be happy with him, but he can manipulate that too, so as long as you’re acting happy then that’s good enough for him.

V = Violence (Would they ever be violent with you?)

Rough, sure, but never anything outright violent. He just wants you controlled, not hurt.

W = Will (Would they ever do anything against your will?)

Yep, without a doubt. He has say in what you do, but it is not a two way street.

X = Xoanon (Would they revere or worship you? To what length would they go to win you over?)

He doesn’t have to try and win you over. One word and you could be his. He doesn’t revere or worship you, but would love having you worship him.

Y = Yowl (Do they ever make you cry? Do they enjoy your tears?)

Tears are nothing but an annoyance to him. He’ll put a stop to any tears as soon as they start. He hates them.

Z = Zenith (Would they ever break you just so you’d stay with them?)

Oh yes, easily.

For anon

Kilgrave: @unexpected-character, @lilyontheloose, @puppy-coded, @marinarashakeyobooty, @marvelgeek09, @becomingthedreamversionofme, @music-bird, @chaotic-mushroomz, @mbruben-stein, @sunflowergurlsposts, @danimorgan1708, @onlykeres, @floresferae, @stressydepressyandlemonzesty, @multifandomlover01, @tokyo-liv, @geekyandgay98, @sweetyprincesschaos, @yetanotherattemptatanaccount, @dark-swanbrat3

[spiderin-space]

So does Leviathan only really dislike Baphomet because of the latter's change of faith, or is there something else brewing under the surface?

Also what made Baphomet so happy to swap faiths when they did?

I hope your ready for an Essay on these two’s relationship because I think about their tragedy A Lot

(Under read more in case it gets too long)

So I’ll answer the second question first, and funnily enough I actually have a short comic I did a while ago (but never posted) kinda explaining it!!

So for a long time Baphomet’s family worshipped The Fanatic to the point they were some of their most devout followers, never missing a single sermon, always sacrificing what they could to their god; for they always believed that, no matter how much they lost, it will all come back to them in the end and they will be handsomely rewarded whenever their faith was finally recognized by the deity they so loved.

However, The Fanatic viewed their followers as nothing more than vessels for power and devotion; as long as they kept worshipping the serpent, they didn’t particularly care to reward or elevate them in any way, even when they gave up everything in The Fanatic’s name.

However, that didn’t mean their followers still couldn’t be useful… in particular, they figured that thanks to their blind devotion, Baphomet would be especially gullible and easy to take advantage of: specifically by fitting them with a Demonic Necklace, possessing them with a demon, and ordering it to go kill The Bishops (though it would surely cost Baphomet their life in the process).

Of course Shamura is able to free them from the demon’s influence before they can cause any real damage (but not before they get seriously injured), and they’re left with a feeling of betrayal and loss, as the deity they venerated and adored with all of their heart and soul ‘rewarded’ them by sending them to their death in a futile attempt to settle a petty score.

They didn’t want to worship The Fanatic any more of course, but these lands are dangerous without a cult to call home… and that’s when Narinder came along, visiting them in the Healing Bay as they recovered from their possession, giving them gifts and making polite conversation; something The Fanatic wouldn’t dream of doing to a lowly follower.

Being shown even the smallest amount of kindness and basic decency was enough to convince them to switch sides; Finally seen and loved by a god who saw them as more than just a pawn in a divine chess game, it really was an easy decision to convert to Narinder’s faith, especially when they were awarded the role of disciple 😩

AND NOW to answer the first part!!

After The Fanatic dies (along with the remaining gods, leaving just The Bishops), their cult did not follow them; in fact, it was kept alive by Baphomet’s former family who stayed behind, with each heir becoming the new leader until finally Leviathan came along 😩

He was taught to hate The Bishops (and Narinder specifically, believing he delivered the killing blow to The Fanatic) because they got to live while their god didn’t, their cults thrived while his own struggled rebuild; but Baphomet is a unique case, coming with some… complex feelings towards them.

While he does hate them for abandoning The Fanatic, he also believes that they were manipulated by Narinder in order to follow him, despite the fact they left their old cult out of their own free will; his family had reinforced the story for countless generations, and so he can’t help but feel pity when he finally meets them in the flesh and invites them home. After all, Leviathan and Baphomet are kin… shouldn’t they want to return to their true family? He feels a strong (FAMILIAL) love towards them, emotions which are complicated by the dead god he devoted his life to. He wants to redeem them so badly, viewing them as worthy of forgiveness for the sin of worshipping Death; but alas, you can’t convert an unwilling soul 😔 their refusal becoming just another reason to despise them.

But ultimately, Leviathan views them much the same way The Fanatic did; as a pawn to be used to settle a score, seeing as how they’re one of the few things he can use to get his revenge against Narinder. And he succeeds, causing great pain to the god of death by killing his beloved disciple in front of him, even though he loses his own life in the process.

But, what’s a life lost in this great game of gods and heretics? In the end, he gets what he (and The Fanatic for that matter) always strove towards, as the death of Baphomet eventually led to Narinder’s rebellion against The Bishops, and the dissolution of the Old Faith all together 😩

[calamiitywrites]

— qimir x mae

trigger warning: a bit of hateful speech ( towards jedi ) and mentions of violence and addiction to power.

request via ask: "Ok so Mae is my favorite lowkey and I feel like if she had time to develop she could've been so much more. Would you mind making a oneshot where she actually does harness the force and she's scared of the darkness of it? Like she tells Qimir ( the shopkeeper ) that she's scared to tell her master because she doesn't know how to feel about what she's becoming? does that make sense?"

note from author: I also like Mae and feel like she should've had a little more time to develop, but I think I understand what you mean. Let's see what we come up with. I didn't mean to make it so long!!! as always please leave notes / feedback / messages etc. - calamiity

The warm and desolate air of Khofar slid between her lips and nearly caused her to choke. They hadn't even begun hiking yet and she could already feel the regret of coming here nipping at her brainstem. "A relaxing retreat outside of the outer rim," he had said. Instead, she was confronted with a grim and dense rain forest surrounded by crumbling rock and fields of dead flowers. one would have to be braindead to find this relaxing.

truthfully, she couldn't decide which was worse; his erratic piloting or his incessant need to speak to her in old cryptic ideologies that centered around trusting her master. She had half a mind to believe that Qimir and her master were lovers with the way Qimir would radiate adoration and acquiescence at every utterance of her master and his antics. It made her wonder how close they really were. Had he seen the master's face? What deal did they make with one another? How much of what she tells Qimir, will the master find out about?

The more time she spent with Qimir, the more her questions and distrust amplified and stacked like a pile of bricks lodged in her throat, making it hard for her to breathe. osha was alive and he had known this whole time without telling her. everything had changed and yet everything still reminded the same. Her allegiance was irrevocably tethered to Osha. she didn't know who to be without her. now that mae knew and understood that osha was alive, her quest for vengeance seemed increasingly futile. Yet beneath it all lingered a piece of shame she was desperate to keep hidden from her master and from osha herself. a piece of her that refused to stop.

She didn't realize that her eyes were watering and the idea of Qimir seeing her in any state of vulnerability nearly made her grimace. She knew that the right thing to do would be to turn herself into Master Kelnaka and leave her fate in the hands of the Jedi counsel. But a fragment of herself, long suppressed and yearning for freedom, emerged from the shadows, chastising her for clinging to shackles. "This is not who we are," it spoke mirroring her own voice.

This inner voice had been with her since the death of Master Indara, and she had come to recognize it as a part of herself—an insistent, primal force that echoed through the forefront of her mind without remorse.

Before she realized it, her feet were already moving toward the forest’s perimeter when Qimir’s voice halted her in her tracks.

"Whoa! Whoa! Whoa! I wouldn't just take off if I were you. Khofar is massively uncharted. I know bounty hunters wont set foot in these forests." He stepped forward, inadvertently knocking over the container at his feet.

"Oh but you have," she replied, disbelief lacing her words.

"Yes… I have," he acknowledged matter-of-factly, shoving items into his bag. "To find the Wookiee and it was hard. That is one jedi that does not want to be found."

Her eyes wandered back to the forest and it some how seemed more threatening than before. The deep overcast destroyed any semblance of sunlight, casting an aura of dread that reached out with malevolent fingers.

"You went in there and risked your life for my master?" the disbelief in her tone had amplified and for a moment she found her eyes scanning him from head to toe. there was absolutely no way.

"No, I risked my life to help you." He corrected, retrieving a canteen of water from his bag and offering it to her

"Admit it, you need me." he added, his tone trailing off as he pushed the bottle toward her. When she reached for it, he held it firmly, meeting her gaze with unspoken intensity.

"You know, you sister being alive doesn't change anything. You need to kill the Wookiee. You made a deal." He reminded her.

There was a distinct pause between the two of them and for a moment she saw something she had never seen in Qimir before. A deep sense of understanding that he shouldn't have had. It was so profound and unsettling that she narrowed her eyes as if to look deeper into him. The deal with her master was not a secret between them, yet the concern etched in Qimir’s expression almost mirrored a warning—a subtle form of authority that twisted at her stomach. Was he commanding her?

Defiance decorated her features, her furrowed brows portrayed her resistance and betrayed her calm demeanor. "Osha being alive changes everything." she declared confidently, though her gaze fell away from his, while her thoughts moved inward. "But it doesn't change this." her voice was distant. she could feel his eyes burning holes in her skin, but she remained silent, teetering on the brink of revealing her true struggle.

She ground her teeth together to keep from speaking and turned towards the forest again. Though no further words were necessary, Qimir’s presence beside her rekindled that irresistible urge to unburden herself— he was the only one that she could really talk to. Yet the choice still felt unwise.

"How do you kill a Jedi without a weapon? It has to be some sort of test right? You engage unarmed, but you can use their saber if you unarm them. Or....is that cheating? I'm just curious to how you're gonna do it this time...you ..you failed so much." He jested.

"I didn't fail. I killed Torbin and I killed Indara." She retorted.

"But you killed them your way. You have to kill the Wookiee without a weapon. Your master wants...."

"What kind of deal did you make with him?" she interrupted, her voice sharp.

"I didn't, we didn't......I just owe him. You know how he is, he collects people."

"I've never seen his face, have you?" She pressed.

"You know I haven't." He spoke slightly annoyed. She could feel him pulling away from her, but she couldn't stop herself.

"I suppose it’s for the best that he hides his face. I’d hate to see his reaction when he learns I’ve been deceiving him," She chuckled bitterly while mentally wincing.

"Lying about what?" he asked, his gaze fixed on the distant trees, though his curiosity was simmering on the edge.

"Everything." She shrugged, eyes fixated on her feet as the sound of rocks crunching underneath her feet reminded her of their current remoteness.

"What do you mean?" He pressed further, this time looking back at her through the sides of his lashes.

"I know he's displeased with me for not ... killing the Jedi his way, but I have to do it my way Qimir. If I do it his way then I'm afraid he'll see that...." She trailed off, finally meeting his gaze. He had slowed his pace, studying her with an intensity that seemed foreign to his usual demeanor.

"He'll see what, Mae?"

She blinked, losing focus under his scrutiny, her gaze shifting away. A distant feeling warned her that if she told him he would end up telling her master. After she killed Indara it became clear to her that she couldn't trust herself so how could she ever hope to trust him?

She didn't notice it before, but they had stopped walking a few feet away from the forest. His eyes implored her to elaborate, but this was slowing them down.

"Nothing." She retracted refocusing on the forest and moving toward it. She was surprised to find his hand outstretched to halt her. Her eyes fell to his arm, and her brows furrowed in confusion. When she met his gaze once more, she encountered that same unsettling blend of authority and curiosity.

"Tell me."

"Why? So you can run off and tell him?" she questioned raising an eyebrow. Qimir’s shoulders shifted slightly, a hint of offense flickering across his face, but she saw through it. It was irritation, fueled by her lack of trust in him.

"Mae, you can tell me." He urged, but it was still there. That tinge of weariness that warned her to back away, but she wanted to trust him. he was her only friend.

"Something… happened during my fight with Indara," she began, her gaze skirting away once more. She half expected him to press her further for a response, but instead he stood quietly listening to her speak. She couldn't remember a time he seemed so in tune with her words.

"There was a moment when I thought I had her, but she bested me. I managed to escape, but even from a distance, I could tell she recognized me. She called out to me, and when I realized she knew who I was, this… tightness gripped my chest. It was as if it had been empty all this time, and then something flooded in without warning. All of a sudden she started clawing at her throat, and I didn’t realize she was choking until she collapsed. I couldn’t tear my eyes away, and it struck me—it was me. I was doing that to her, and I couldn’t stop. I almost killed her, but when I felt what I was doing, I stopped."

She swallowed hard, finally meeting his gaze. His expression was a mix of confusion and awe, leaving her unsettled.

"Are you afraid your master will learn you failed with Indara?" he asked.

"No," she replied, shaking her head. "I’m afraid he’ll discover how much I... liked it." The words felt like a confession, yet the peace she sought was overshadowed by shame. "I watched her struggle for breath, pleading with me for mercy, and all I could think about was how my people had been in the same position. Yet Sol, Indara, Torbin, and Kelnaka remained unmoved. They didn’t stop until my people were slaughtered and my home was destroyed. I showed mercy to Torbin. He was always fated to die by my hand, but after Brendok, he chose a life of permanent fasting and meditation, consumed by guilt. I allowed him to pass gently into darkness, but the others deserve no such reprieve." the malice in her voice had finally shown through and her eyes reflecting the rage she had tried so hard to conceal.

"I liked seeing her that way. I liked the rush of power that I felt, knowing I would be the last thing she saw before her death. To kill her unarmed, with the very power they used to destroy my people—just because they didn’t understand them—was satisfying. My master was once a Jedi. There’s something old and wise in him, and I know if he finds out... he’ll see me as a monster. Who would want to train a monster, Qimir?" her question was genuine, but when her eyes met his she froze. He was looking at her, but it didn't seem like it was her that he was seeing. Where was his mind?

"You can't....tell him, Qimir." She spoke, bringing him back into the present and pulling him away from whatever thoughts had been rummaging through his mind after her confession.

"I wont, but I think you should....." he admitted.

[betterbemeta]

re @mousebrass

[context]

Sorry for the delay, I just needed some time to simmer my answer. (for frame of reference, I'm mostly referring to fallout 3 and fallout 4. not new vegas, and I don't know enough about FO76.)

When I said 'Bethesda's fallout will never say no to you', I meant in sort of a structural sense. The gameplay and the storytelling combine in Bethesda's fallout games to do nothing but affirm the player's forward motion.

They do this so well the storytelling is ONLY a function of the gameplay loop: a relay race that progresses with total blindness to what the player actually does so long as they hit the checkpoints that advance things along.

Forward motion is good, we need stories to progress and to get from one event to another, we don't want to run around in circles in a game achieving nothing. And we don't want to encounter a true dead end, or a frustrating 'sorry mario the princess is in another castle!' situation where we feel our prior actions were pointless.

BUT. Hear me out. Negativity, 'being told no', friction along the way, is important to an 'adventure' being more than just an endless gopher loop.

Lucy MacLean IS given objectives in her journey. But the narrative is not her personal facilitator; instead she can't proceed UNLESS she does these increasingly heinous uncomfortable things, okey dokey! She COULD choose not to do them, but she'd 'fail' or thinks she would. Her struggle 'drives the story' rather than styling her actions as intuitively synonymous with 'progress.'

In Bethesda Fallout games. It really doesn't matter what dialog options you choose, progress is inevitable. And blind. If you choose peaceful or guns-blazing approaches. Want to join the fascists? You won't encounter too much content that places pressure on you for doing that. Want to side with the scrappy underdogs? Done, it won't be that much of a strain on your resources. Take the evil option? Except for maybe a few NPCs that could desert you, you won't be constrained by that commitment very much.

It's 'the customer's always right', when that idiom exists basically to facilitate transactions and nothing else.

In fact, the one time in a Bethesda fallout game where meaningful pressure or negative consequences impacted you, in fallout 3, the ending was so unpopular it was retconned in a DLC. But it doesn't have to be this way; there are many times in New Vegas where you might feel conflict or constraints on your actions, a 'no' that makes what you actually choose to do feel more interesting. Like, enough times that I think anyone who's played it, could think of one (their favorite one?) right now. I don't even have to list examples, because the variety is great enough that different people can choose which one feels compelling to them.

Remember when I said we wanted to avoid scenarios where we feel futile, running around in circles, pointless, or obstructed? Well, after a while a lot of Bethesda games become that anyway even if they always take the player's side. People just... give up playing a save usually by level 30. Boundless affirmation towards forward motion, where all paths are THE path and you're the main character of reality, it sucks. it's why Lucy MacLean's wasteland experience will leave you wanting to play fallout and then sighing when you boot up the game that just got a 'remaster' and it's still mostly drudgery. When SHE hits 'quest objectives,' her world doesn't say 'yes! now go do...'

It says "oh, hell no. but you gotta... unless maybe..."

[hell-drabbles]

I been learning 19th centuries Literature so I can improve my writing even more 👉👈 Eldritch is so fun to wri6✍️- dyssey

-

Behold the comedy of the mortality.

Pursing and vying against one to another in the reiterative it deems life. Peeking down at the peasant 's desultory. Once full of optimism and pursuit of understanding, now dissolved in shallowed, old and waste of life. All because of an endeavor they can't get pass without any narrative from their guts. Not once a god.

Fascination yet mundane.

FAILURE

FAILURE

FAILURE

FAIL𝘜𝘙𝘌FAIL𝘜𝘙𝘌

𝘍𝘈𝘐𝘓𝘜𝘙𝘌𝘍𝘈𝘐𝘓𝘜𝘙𝘌

𝘍𝘈𝘐𝘓𝘜𝘙𝘌𝘍𝘈𝘐𝘓𝘜𝘙𝘌𝘍𝘈𝘐𝘓𝘜𝘙𝘌

𝘍𝘈𝘐𝘓𝘜𝘙𝘌𝘍𝘈𝘐𝘓𝘜𝘙𝘌𝘍𝘈𝘐𝘓𝘜𝘙𝘌

𝘍𝘈𝘐𝙇𝙐𝙍𝙀𝘍𝘈𝘐𝙇𝙐𝙍𝙀𝘍𝘈𝘐𝙇𝙐𝙍𝙀𝘍𝘈𝘐𝙇𝙐𝙍𝙀

𝙁𝘼𝙄𝙇𝙐𝙍𝙀𝙁𝘼𝙄𝙇𝙐𝙍𝙀𝙁𝘼𝙄𝙇𝙐𝙍𝙀𝙁𝘼𝙄𝙇𝙐𝙍𝙀𝙁𝘼𝙄𝙇𝙐𝙍𝙀

𝙁𝘼𝙄𝙇𝙐𝙍𝙀𝙁𝘼𝙄𝙇𝙐𝙍𝙀𝙁𝘼𝙄𝙇𝙐𝙍𝙀𝙁𝘼𝙄𝙇𝙐𝙍𝙀𝙁𝘼𝙄𝙇𝙐𝙍𝙀𝙁𝘼𝙄𝙇𝙐𝙍𝙀

𝙁𝘼𝙄𝙇𝙐𝙍𝙀𝙁𝘼𝙄𝙇𝙐𝙍𝙀𝙁𝘼𝙄𝙇𝙐𝙍𝙀𝙁𝘼𝙄𝙇𝙐𝙍𝙀𝙁𝘼𝙄𝙇𝙐𝙍𝙀𝙁𝘼𝙄𝙇𝙐𝙍𝙀𝙁𝘼𝙄𝙇𝙐𝙍𝙀𝙁𝘼𝙄𝙇𝙐𝙍𝙀𝙁𝘼𝙄𝙇𝙐𝙍𝙀𝙁𝘼𝙄𝙇𝙐𝙍𝙀𝙁𝘼𝙄𝙇𝙐𝙍𝙀𝙁𝘼𝙄𝙇𝙐𝙍𝙀𝙁𝘼𝙄𝙇𝙐𝙍𝙀𝙁𝘼𝙄𝙇𝙐𝙍𝙀𝙁𝘼𝙄𝙇𝙐𝙍𝙀𝙁𝘼𝙄𝙇𝙐𝙍𝙀𝙁𝘼𝙄𝙇𝙐𝙍𝙀𝙁𝘼𝙄𝙇𝙐𝙍𝙀𝙁𝘼𝙄𝙇𝙐𝙍𝙀𝙁𝘼𝙄𝙇𝙐𝙍𝙀𝙁𝘼𝙄𝙇𝙐𝙍𝙀𝙁𝘼𝙄𝙇𝙐𝙍𝙀𝙁𝘼𝙄𝙇𝙐𝙍𝙀𝙁𝘼𝙄𝙇𝙐𝙍𝙀𝙁𝘼𝙄𝙇𝙐𝙍𝙀𝙁𝘼𝙄𝙇𝙐𝙍𝙀𝙁𝘼𝙄𝙇𝙐𝙍𝙀𝙁𝘼𝙄𝙇𝙐𝙍𝙀𝙁𝘼𝙄𝙇𝙐𝙍𝙀𝙁𝘼𝙄𝙇𝙐𝙍𝙀𝙁𝘼𝙄𝙇𝙐𝙍𝙀𝙁𝘼𝙄𝙇𝙐𝙍𝙀𝙁𝘼𝙄𝙇𝙐𝙍𝙀𝙁𝘼𝙄𝙇𝙐𝙍𝙀𝙁𝘼𝙄𝙇𝙐𝙍𝙀𝙁𝘼𝙄𝙇𝙐𝙍𝙀𝙁𝘼𝙄𝙇𝙐𝙍𝙀𝙁𝘼𝙄𝙇𝙐𝙍𝙀𝙁𝘼𝙄𝙇𝙐𝙍𝙀𝙁𝘼𝙄𝙇𝙐𝙍𝙀𝙁𝘼𝙄𝙇𝙐𝙍𝙀𝙁𝘼𝙄𝙇𝙐𝙍𝙀𝙁𝘼𝙄𝙇𝙐𝙍𝙀𝙁𝘼𝙄𝙇𝙐𝙍𝙀𝙁𝘼𝙄𝙇𝙐𝙍𝙀.

FAILURE.

You are all nothing but a sack of futile dreams and ambitions. Believing, waiting, yearning until your days end and becoming an additional feast for my unyielding hunger. You sin. You preach. You live. You die. You love. It's all the same to me. There is no such as Good nor Bad in 𝘮𝘺 palm.

Be still your breathing heart. Solomon. For your end has yet on my fork.

(Ahh, I remember that phase I had way back when, when all I wanted to do was emulate that specific writing style those old novels used to have. Those paragraph long sentences. Fun times. It's pretty fun exercise, especially if you're attempting to write in that Stream of Consciousness style. Now, let me stretch out my muscles and see if I still got it. While I have my doubts, all I can do is try, right?)

Pray tell me, how many years do you think you can afford to spend prattling at me, swallowing my every word until you've reached the end? Tell me, dear dear Solomon. Tell me, oh human who vies for my every little seed of knowledge.

...Ha. You'll be dust by then. Is that really the kind of fate you want? To shed off bits and bits of your humanity until there is nothing left? I heard stories from your homeland, of colorful, cautionary tales of what's to come when you're no longer human. That you'll hunted by the angels, that the earth will open up and swallow you right into the depths of hell with no hesitation. That even the sun will gaze upon you until your existence has been erased.

You will not know rest, dear dear Solomon. No matter how many years you may gain, understanding will always be far from your reach. You know this well. Understanding me means sentencing yourself away from the rest of your ilk, and I know well how isolation breaks a most fragile human mind.

...you find that much comfort in my presence, in just this small, grain-like part of me? You are speaking to a speck, Solomon. And I am speaking to something so, so much smaller.

How strange you are, Solomon. A true human, in every sense of the word.

And how fleeting you will be, Solomon, when I next blink, when I next sleep. If I so much as sigh, your little system will end just like that. If I move to stretch out my branches, you will all fall apart and end without even knowing it.

...no, dear dear Solomon. Mourning, lamenting when all has past, I don't do such things. Past, present, future, it does not matter to me to mourn or reminisce.

Solomon, my branches, my leaves, my fruits and seeds stretch across all. I cannot mourn what can never leave. Did you not dedicate your existence to me?

I am not human, Solomon. I am not confined to this shell you have made me. I do not dream, nor do I yearn. I hunger. For as long as I am, I will hunger. There will not be an end to it.

...Ha. That makes you happy, even when, as all things, you will become nourishment for me eventually?

How... human of you, Solomon. How delightfully and stupidly human of you.

Ascribe as much meaning to yourself as you like, dear dear Solomon. Whether you break, or grow, or even learn to hate and love, you will be a part of my branches eventually.

[anne-bsd-bibliophile]

"For man seems to be unable to live without myth, without the belief that the routine and drudgery, the pain and fear of this life have some meaning and goal in the future."

"On the one hand, there is the anxiety that one may be missing something, so that the mind flits nervously and greedily from one pleasure to another, without finding rest and satisfaction in any. One the other, the frustration of having always to pursue a future good in a tomorrow which never comes, and in a world where everything must disintegrate, gives men an attitude of 'What's the use anyhow?'"

"The believer will open his mind to the truth on condition that it fits in with his preconceived ideas and wishes. Faith, on the other hand, is an unreserved opening of the mind to the truth, whatever it may turn out to be."

"The power of memories and expectations is such that for most human beings the past and the future are not as real, but more real than the present. The present cannot be lived happily unless the past has been 'cleared up' and the future is bright with promise. There can be no doubt that the power to remember and predict, to make an ordered sequence out of a helter-skelter chaos of disconnected moments, is a wonderful development of sensitivity. In a way it is the achievement of the human brain, giving man the most extraordinary powers of survival and adaptations to life. But the way in which we generally use this power is apt to destroy all its advantages. For it is of little use to us to be able to remember and predict if it makes us unable to live fully in the present."

"Life and death are not two opposed forces; they are simply two ways of looking at the same force, for the movement of change is as much the builder as the destroyer."

"Struggle as we may, 'fixing' will never make sense out of change. The only way to make sense out of change is to plunge into it, move with it, and join the dance."

"For the brain, including its reasoning and calculating centers, is a part and product of the body. It is as natural as the heart and stomach, and, rightly used, is anything but an enemy of man. But to be used rightly it must be put in its place, for the brain is made for man, not man for his brain. In other words, the function of the brain is to serve the present and the real, not to send man chasing wildly after the phantom of the future."

"Words and measures to not give life; they merely symbolize it. Thus all 'explanations' of the universe couched in language are circular, and leave the most essential things unexplained and undefined."

"A less brainy culture would learn to synchronize its body rhythms rather than its clocks."

"The brain should, and in some cases does, calculate and reason with the unconscious ease of the other bodily organs. After all, the brain is not a muscle, and is thus not designed for effort and strain. But when people try to think or concentrate, they behave as if they were trying to push their brains around. They screw up their faces, knit their brows, and approach mental problems as if they were something like heaving bricks."

"The desire for security and the feeling of insecurity are the same thing. To hold your breath is to lose your breath. A society based on the quest for security is nothing but a breath-retention contest in which everyone is as taut as a drum and as purple as a beet."

"Herin lies the crux of the matter. To stand face to face with insecurity is still not to understand it. To understand it, you must not face it but be it."

"For most of us this conflict is ever gnawing within us because out lives are one long effort to resist the unknown, the real present in which we live, which is the unknown in the midst of the coming into being. Living thus, we never really learn to live with it. At every moment we are cautious, hesitant, and on the defensive. And all to no avail, for life thrusts us into the unknown willy-nilly, and resistance is as futile and exasperating as trying to swim against a roaring torrent."

"There is no problem of how to love. We love. We are love ,and the only problem is the direction of love, whether it is to go straight out like sunlight, or to try to turn back on itself like a 'candle under a bushel' Released from the circle of attempted self-love, the mind of man draws the whole universe into its own unity as a single dewdrop seems to contain the entire sky."

"By trying to understand everything in terms of memory, the past, and words, we have, as it were, had our noses in the guidebook for most of our lives, and have never looked at the view."

"To remain stable is to refrain from trying to separate yourself from a pain because you know that you cannot. Running away from fear is fear, fighting pain is pain, the mind is pain. The thinker has no other form that his thought. There is no escape. But so long as you are not aware of the inseparability of thinker and thought, you will try to escape. From this follows, quite naturally, absorption. It is no effort; the mind does it by itself. Seeing that there is no escape from the pain, the mind yields to it, absorbs it, and becomes conscious of just pain without any 'I' feeling it or resisting it. It experiences pain in the same complete, unselfconscious way in which it experiences pleasure. Pain is the nature of this present moment, and I can only live in this moment."

"Because the future is everlastingly unattainable, and, like the dangled carrot, always ahead of the donkey, the fulfillment of the divine purpose does not lie in the future. It is found in the present..."

"Nothing is really more inhuman than human relations based on morals."

"Hell is the fatuity, the everlasting impossibility, of self-love, self-consciousness, and self-possession. it is trying to see one's own eyes, hear one's own ears, and kiss one's own lips."

[anniesocsandgeneralstore]

I loved it! I will absolutely read a part 2 of the lumen au if you write it! I wish I was half as talented as you!

Ah! I'm so glad you liked it!! (and also thank you you are seriously so sweet always 💕) Yeah he....he's stupid and 16 lol but let's see if he can redeem himself shall we?

Part 1

Rhett stares at the spot that Tess just ran from until Mrs. Cooper takes him by the shoulder and leads him back to class

and he goes with and continues on with his day cause the hell else is he supposed to do?

He knows immediately that he fucked up and that he fucked up pretty bad. He just really likes Maria, or liked he supposed - he really wasn't sure anymore - and has for a long time. He could have sworn she was gonna be it.

He knows Tess. They're on the rodeo team together where he rides bulls with a helmet that he hates and she barrel races with her horse Peaches.

He's never paid attention to her much. Other than the fact that she was a good racer and won countless ribbons and medals. Their circles intersect sometimes, but she's very shy. Doesn't say much. Especially when he and his friends were around.

But she's his soulmate. Shit she's his soulmate. The other half of him. The soul that Sunshine belonged to - whose shine seemed to be dulled since their interaction in the hallway.

He doesn't know how he's gonna make this better. If he even can. The look on her face...he thinks about it for the rest of the day. For several days actually.

Cause what if that wasn't a reaction to the expression he KNOWS he betrayed but a reaction to HIM being her soulmate? What if she doesn't want him at all?

Tess walks the 20 miles home until her dad picks her up halfway there. He doesn't take her back to school (the principal called and told her parents what happened...and he knows his little girl. she needs some time) he brings her home and lets her go straight to the horse barn to let off some steam.

Peaches whinnies softly as Tess throws open her stable door with her saddle in hand. She can barely see through the tears blurring her vision, but she knows the motions like the back of her hand. Peaches is saddled in a matter of minutes and Tess is ready to ride.

But then she catches sight of Cowboy floating off in the corner, like it knows she's sad because of him, and she breaks. She's sobbing again with her face pressed into the leather of the saddle.

Of course Rhett didn't want it to be her. Everyone knows he's been crushing on Maria since forever. Even Maria knows that (and uses it to her advantage). She just thought...she shouldn't have gotten her hopes up.

She always knew her crush on him was futile, a fool's hope, her just being a stupid teenage girl doomed for heartbreak.

But what was she supposed to do now? Go back to school tomorrow and pass him in the halls like nothing happened? Pretend like their Lumens weren't fighting to get to one another??

Was she just supposed to go about her life knowing her soulmate was right there but didn't want her?

Eventually, her tears dried enough for her to lead Peaches out of the barn and for the two of them to take off into the north pasture together - Cowboy trying to keep up. They stayed out there for hours. Tess too horrified and embarrassed to go back and talk to her parents and Peaches just happy to be getting in a run when she usually didn't.

It's the grumbling in her stomach that eventually makes her come back around midafternoon

And after setting Peaches up with some oats in her stable, she turns to head inside and is face to face with Cowboy. The blue of that little ball of light seemed darker.

But at this point, Tess is just mad. And who better to take it out on than that little piece of Rhett Abbott that's been following her around all day like a kicked puppy?

"Will you just leave me alone? He doesn't want me, alright! So stop trying to act like some part of him does!"

Poor girl. She's had a Lumen for not even 24 hours.

Inside, her parents are sitting at the kitchen table with their own lumens dancing overhead - swirling around each other happily. it makes more tears spring to her eyes that she didn't know she could make. she wanted that with her soulmate. she wanted what her parents have. but now she doesn't know if that's going to happen, even KNOWING that she has a soulmate and who they are. and that just fucking hurts.

Her parents try to sympathize, try to tell her that he's a teenage boy. he's bound to be a little stupid. he'll come around. that he didn't mean it. that she should give him another chance. but their reasoning doesn't work. she's too hurt and honestly too embarrassed to even think about ever seeing him again.

That night, Cowboy sits on her pillow again and even though she doesn't want it to - it's comforting.

Tomorrow is Friday, and her parents are going to let her stay home.

Sunshine spends the rest of the day nestled in Rhett's hoodie. Won't come out for anything. It's always been shy, and now he understands why, but this was something else. When he would look inside, it was like the light was nearly put out. And it scared him.

And when Rhett FINALLY gets home, royal and cece ask him how his day was, and he just says it was fine.

Cause they won't understand. Neither of them ever got a lumen, neither of them have soulmates.

But Perry, Rhett's older brother with a bubblegum pink lumen and a two-year-old daughter that means the world to him, can immediately see that something is wrong.

After dinner, when Rhett runs up to his room just to be alone, when he takes off his hoodie and Sunshine just sinks down onto the floor and he starts whispering desperately that he's sorry - Perry comes up to talk.

"What happened?" and that's really all it takes to make Rhett spill his guts. About meeting his soulmate and their lumens exploding when they met and how for a SPLIT SECOND he was disappointed it wasn't someone else and Tess ran off crying

"Yeah, you messed up pretty good. But you can't give up. She's your soulmate for a reason, so maybe she'll find a way to forgive you...And actually love your ugly mug."

He literally has to scoop Sunshine off the floor and carry it around. But he does snuggle up with it that night, trying to figure out what he's gonna say to Tess.

Rhett has no idea what he's gonna say, but he goes into school the next day determined to talk to her. Only she's not there. And when he asks her friends about it, who all look at him like he's the devil incarnate, they tell her she stayed home cause of what he did.

So on Saturday, he asks to borrow Perry's truck and he drives over to the Abernathy Horse Ranch. He....still doesn't really know what he's gonna say. But he's hoping when he sees her the words will just come. He's been practicing with Sunshine, whose glow has slightly returned, if only a little.

While he's driving he sees some wildflowers on the side of the road, black-eyed suzannes, and for some reason they remind him of Tess. Of Sunshine. So he pulls over and picks a few.

When he knocks on their front door, his hands are shaking and he's sweating through his t-shirt but he knows he has to do this. at least to apologize.

Her dad answers the door and Rhett swears he's never come so close to pissing his pants

But her dad just nods out into the yard, and when Rhett turns, he sees Tess walking along the fence line with a little ball of blue light that nearly blended in with the sky trailing behind her.

Taking a deep breath, and nodding at her father in thanks, he sets off in her direction. And as he watches her, trailing her hand over the top of the wooden fence, kicking her booted feet into the dirt, he wonders why he's never really taken notice of her before.

She's cute. With the long light brown hair, big blue eyes - and she's tiny. Barely comes up to his shoulder and he wants to squish her. He doesn't. know where that thought comes from, but it makes him smile.

She sees him coming. Of course she does. It stops her in her tracks and snatches the air out of her lungs to see him walking up to her with that shy little smile and a bunch of flowers in his hand.

As he gets closer, Sunshine comes flying out from behind him and Captain zips past Tess' shoulder. They meet in the middle in another mini-explosion that makes them both flinch.

Rhett still doesn't know what he's gonna say, but he has to admit, being near her feels like coming home.