#the hope is wavering but somehow persists

[cure-rosie]

Satoru in the latest episode explicitly being frustrated with his place on the sidelines and wishing he could do more... we LOVE to see it, if only from a character standpoint and not a bunny duo truther standpoint. On that note...

Why does it feel like they're still setting them up as Cures? Especially with the whole "all I can do is watch" line, and Daifuku inspiring him to not give up like- we got the freaking power ups this episode it's a wee bit late boys.

Is this gonna be another Cure Pekorin situation? Gosh I hope so. Eleventh Hour Cures are so underrated, given that there's so few of them. I wanted them to be solidly mid-season, but if we're going an eleventh hour/interesting arc direction I would not be mad.

[deansbeer]

★ in his arms, the world fades // clark kent.

synopsis. feeling unwell and overwhelmed, you seek comfort in clark's arms. his warmth, soothing touch, and sweet words make the ache in your stomach—and your heart—feel bearable.

warning(s). fluff | comfort | f!reader | s1!clark | reader feels unwell stomach aches | nausea | difficulty eating | mild angst | distressing moments | academic stress | brief mentions of exams | studying | cuddling | kisses | superman references.

kari yaps. last night, i had horrible stomach pains and wrote this <333 + a lil disclaimer! i'm on ep 5 of smallville (the ads on hulu r mad annoying) so i only know a little about clark. but don't worry i will get to know all ab pookie soon !!! trust <33

it starts with the ache. sharp and twisting, like someone's wringing your stomach out like a wet rag. it's been days now—days of barely keeping food down, of your appetite wavering between nothing and everything, only for nausea to win every time. eating has become a battle, and losing feels inevitable. but you haven't told anyone, not really. maybe it's pride. maybe it's not wanting to worry anyone. maybe you're just hoping it'll go away on its own.

still, it lingers, and today's no different. you pull up to the kent farm, the gravel crunching under your tires, the sight of the red barn and yellow farmhouse somehow grounding you. you're supposed to be here to study. algebra—not exactly something you're excited about, but clark's always been good at making the hard stuff easier. it's one of the many things you love about him: his patience, his steadiness, the way he seems to know when you need a little extra reassurance. and maybe you need that today more than ever.

"hey, pretty girl," clark greets you at the door, his smile soft and familiar, like it's meant just for you. "you okay? you look…" he trails off, squinting at you in that way he does when he's trying to figure you out. "…tired."

you force a smile, shrugging it off. "just didn't sleep much last night."

it's not a lie, exactly. the ache had kept you up most of the night, twisting and turning beneath the covers, unable to find a position that didn't make it worse. but clark doesn't need to know that. not right now.

he nods, stepping aside to let you in. "i made us some lemonade," he says as you follow him up the stairs to his room. "my mom said it's good for focus or something. i don't know, but it tastes good."

you hum in response, though the thought of drinking anything right now makes your stomach churn. you'll figure out a way to avoid it later.

when you get to his room, it's the same as always—neat but lived-in, the bed made but the desk cluttered with papers and books, a small stack of cds next to his stereo. it smells faintly of pine and something distinctly clark, like sun-warmed hay and fresh laundry. it's comforting in a way you didn't realize you needed.

you settle on the floor with him, textbooks and notebooks spread out between you. he's already flipping through his algebra book, pen tapping idly against his knee as he scans the pages.

"okay," he says, glancing at you with a smile. "where should we start? graphing inequalities or quadratic equations?"

you groan, letting your head fall back against the bed. "do we have to start?"

he chuckles. "the exam's next week. i don't think mr. phillips is gonna let us wing it."

"worth a shot," you mutter, but you sit up anyway, flipping open your notebook to a blank page. you try to focus, really, but the ache is still there, dull and persistent, and it's hard to think about numbers and graphs when all you want to do is curl up in a ball and sleep.

half an hour in, you're staring at your notebook, pen tapping against the paper. clark's voice is distant as he explains something about parabolas, the words blurring together in your head. you're not even sure when you stopped listening. all you know is that your chest feels tight, your stomach twists again, and suddenly, you just can't anymore.

"hey," clark says, his voice soft with concern. "what's wrong?"

you don't answer, don't even look at him. instead, you set your notebook aside, shifting closer to him until you're wrapping your arms around his neck and burying your face in the crook of it. his skin is warm against your cheek, the faint scent of his cologne lingering there. you don't say anything, and neither does he, not at first. he just sits there, still and quiet, letting you hold on like he's been expecting this all along.

then, slowly, he moves. his arms come around you, strong and steady, and he shifts your things aside before effortlessly pulling you up with him onto the bed. his back hits the mattress, and you're lying on top of him, your head resting against his chest. his hands find your back, warm and soothing as they rub up and down in slow, gentle strokes.

you close your eyes, letting out a shaky breath. his touch is enough to warm you, enough to quiet the ache in your stomach, at least for now. you don't know how he does it—how he makes everything feel a little less heavy just by being there.

your hands move to rest on his collarbone, fingers brushing against the fabric of his t-shirt. the side of your head presses against his chest, and you can feel the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath your ear. it's grounding in a way you didn't know you needed.

he doesn't say anything at first, just keeps rubbing your back, his touch slow and deliberate, like he knows exactly how to calm you down. but then he starts murmuring soft, sweet things in your ear, his voice low and soothing.

"you're okay," he says, his lips brushing against the top of your head. "whatever it is, you're okay. i've got you."

his hand moves to rest on the side of your head, his thumb tracing gentle circles against your hair. he presses another kiss to your temple, then another, each one softer than the last.

"you don't have to say anything," he whispers. "just let me hold you."

and you do. you let yourself relax against him, let yourself melt into his warmth. his chest rises and falls beneath you, steady and strong, and you match your breathing to his without even realizing it. the ache in your stomach is still there, but it feels distant now, muted by the way his hands move against your back, by the way his voice wraps around you like a blanket.

"you know," he starts after a while, his voice still soft, "i'm not great at algebra either. but i'm pretty sure lying here with you is a way better use of my time."

you let out a quiet laugh, your breath fanning against his chest. "you're supposed to be the responsible one."

"yeah, well," he murmurs, his fingers threading through your hair, "even superheroes need a break sometimes."

you tilt your head to look up at him, catching the small smile playing on his lips. "superhero, huh?"

"what? you didn't know?" his grin widens, teasing. "i'm kind of a big deal."

you roll your eyes, but there's no real bite to it. "you're ridiculous."

"maybe," he says, pressing another kiss to your forehead. "but i made you laugh, didn't i?"

you hum in response, letting your head fall back against his chest. the silence that follows is comfortable, the kind that wraps around you like a warm blanket. his hand moves back to your back, tracing slow, lazy patterns against your spine.

"i mean it, though," he says after a while, his voice quieter now. "whatever's going on, you don't have to go through it alone. you can tell me."

"i know," you whisper, your fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt. "i just… i don't know. i've been feeling off lately. stomach stuff. it's probably nothing."

he frowns, his hand pausing mid-stroke. "how long?"

"a few days," you admit. "it's not a big deal. it'll pass."

"you don't know that," he says gently. "have you eaten today?"

you hesitate, and that's enough of an answer for him. he sighs, his hand resuming its slow movements against your back.

"you're stubborn, you know that?" he murmurs, but there's no heat behind it. just concern, soft and steady, like everything else about him.

"takes one to know one," you shoot back, your voice muffled against his chest.

he chuckles, the sound rumbling beneath you. "fair enough. but promise me you'll let me know if it gets worse, okay?"

"okay," you say, and you mean it. because if anyone can make you feel like everything's going to be okay, it's clark.

you stay like that for a while longer, wrapped up in each other, the rest of the world fading away. the algebra books are forgotten, but neither of you seems to care. right now, this is enough. he's enough.

and for the first time in days, the ache in your stomach feels bearable.

⎯⎯ SPECIAL TAGS. @titsout4jackles @floralscented @aileenunfiltered @st4rfckerz @jasvtsc . . . ୨୧

[redvexillum]

Y/N: Alastor? Do you believe in redemption?

Alastor: [He grins maniacally] Hah! Redemption? Oh, my dear, I don't believe in fairy tales!

Y/N: Well, maybe if you try really hard, you could be redeemed!

Alastor: [He tries, very poorly, to stifle his laughter, but it bursts out] Redeemed? Me? Oh, that's precious! Truly a riot!

Y/N: I'm serious!

Alastor: [His grin stretches unnervingly wide before he finally breaks into a full-on, maniacal laugh] Oh my heavens, you're killing me! Redemption—for me! Ha!

Y/N: ...Ala—

Alastor interrupts you by throwing his head back, howling with laughter like a lunatic, voice echoing off the walls. After a solid minute of ear-splitting, manic laughter, he dramatically gasps for air, as if it were all part of some grand performance.

Y/N: ...Are you done?

Alastor: [Doubling over in exaggerated bows, clutching his sides like he's about to split in two, he manages to laugh even harder]

Y/N: Alastor!

Alastor: [Finally catching his breath] Oh my, I haven't laughed this hard since—oh, when was it? Ah, yes! Last Tuesday! Remember? When you oh-so-gracefully tumbled down the stairs? [He grins even wider, eyes glinting with malicious glee]

Y/N: [Crossing your arms, pouting] You're such a jerk.

Alastor: And you think I can be redeemed? [He cackles] Darling, that’s the funniest joke of the century!

Y/N: Actually... no, probably not. But I do believe you could be a better person.

Alastor: [Eyes lighting up with mock surprise] A better person? Me? Oh, you poor naïve soul, I’m the best at being the worst—and that’s just the way I like it!

Y/N: Well, you won't know unless you try! What if you like it? B-being a better person that is?

Alastor: Ohhh, you're so hopelessly idealistic, and it's an absolute delight! I can't wait to see all your efforts to make me into a better person inevitably crash and burn! [Coos as he pinches your cheek, voice dripping with fake sweetness]

Y/N: Ugh! You'll see! [In a defiant move, you stomp your foot, but the sound is barely audible, only making Alastor grin even wider] One day, I hope you become super happy and are surrounded by all your loved ones!

Husk: Was that... supposed to be a threat?

Angel Dust: Nah, just another Monday for them.

Though Alastor won’t admit it, there’s a twisted sense of amusement he finds in your unyielding optimism. It’s a peculiar kind of charm that is almost...endearing.

He relishes the thought of watching you stumble through your futile attempts to redeem him - or rather, make him into this supposed "better" person. The idea of seeing you falter, your hopeful efforts turning into spectacular failures, is something he eagerly waits for. He looks forward to the day when he can gleefully rub your face in your failures, basking in the irony of your relentless pursuit.

Yet, as the years pass, you never waver. You persist with an astonishing, almost maddening consistency. Your refusal to give up on him is confounding to say the least.

And now...you somehow became a permanent fixture in his life.

How irritating. How curious. How...interesting.

Follow Vexi's Alastor Being a Lil Shit for all the latest updates!

[mrsgucci24]

~Home Field Advantage~

Summary: Meeting Joe's family reveals the warmth and love that shaped him, deepening your connection and making you feel truly at home.

Authors note: Idk why the spacing is so weird but I don't feel like fixing it lmaoo This was super fun to write umm I really don't have much to say sooo HAPPY GAME DAY & WHO DEYYY!!!

Warnings:None (I think) Cute as hell😍

“It’s just my parents,” he’d said with that easy smile of his. “They’ll love you.”

But that hadn’t stopped the butterflies from wreaking havoc in your stomach.

When Joe pulled into the gravel driveway of his childhood home, your hands gripped the seatbelt tighter. The house was modest but warm, with a wide front porch and a basketball hoop nailed to the garage. The yard was dusted with the remnants of winter snow, and a yellow lab barked excitedly from behind the fence.

“You ready?” Joe asked, cutting the engine and turning to you.

“No,” you admitted with a nervous laugh. “What if they don’t like me?”

Joe chuckled, reaching over to take your hand. His thumb brushed over your knuckles in a gesture that somehow both calmed you and made your heart race. “They’re going to love you. Trust me.”

You exhaled shakily and nodded. “Okay. Let’s do this.”

---

The door swung open before you even reached the porch. Robin Burrow stood in the doorway, a bright smile on her face, and you instantly understood where Joe got his warmth. She pulled Joe into a hug first, then turned her attention to you.

“And you must be the famous girlfriend,” she said, her tone teasing but kind. “I’ve heard so much about you.”

“Good things, I hope,” you managed, though your voice wavered slightly.

“All good things,” Robin assured you, pulling you into a hug before you had a chance to panic. “Come on in. We’ve been waiting for you.”

As you stepped inside, Jimmy Burrow appeared, offering Joe a firm handshake and a clap on the back. Then his attention shifted to you. He didn’t say much—Joe had warned you his dad was a man of few words—but the smile he gave you was warm and genuine.

“Nice to meet you,” Jimmy said simply, and you could tell he meant it.

The house was cozy, filled with family photos and the faint smell of something delicious wafting from the kitchen. On the mantle, a framed photo of Joe in his LSU uniform caught your eye, alongside pictures of him as a kid, his siblings, and the family dog.

Robin led you to the kitchen, where she was putting the finishing touches on dinner. Joe’s dad joined her, slicing bread with a precision that made you smile. Joe leaned casually against the counter, clearly at home in the space, and you felt a pang of affection for him—this version of him that was softer, more relaxed.

---

Dinner was a mix of good food and easy conversation. Joe’s mom asked you about everything—your job, your family, how you and Joe had met. His dad chimed in occasionally with a dry remark that made everyone laugh, and Joe seemed content to sit back and let you talk.

When the meal was over, you insisted on helping Robin clear the table. She waved you off at first, but you were persistent, and soon the two of you were alone in the kitchen, stacking plates by the sink.

“You’re really good for him, you know,” Robin said after a moment, glancing at you with a soft smile.

You blinked, caught off guard. “Oh, um… thank you. I hope so.”

She nodded, her expression thoughtful. “Joe’s always been so focused, so driven. That’s just who he is. But I can tell you make him happy. It’s good to see him smile like that.”

Your cheeks warmed, and you ducked your head to hide the grin spreading across your face. “He makes me happy too.”

Robin reached over and squeezed your hand. “Good. That’s all I needed to hear.”

---

Later that evening, Joe found you sitting on the back porch, bundled up in one of his old sweatshirts. The stars were bright above, and the air was crisp, but you didn’t mind. It was peaceful here, in a way that felt rare and precious.

“Hey,” Joe said softly, stepping outside and closing the door behind him. He carried a blanket, which he draped over your shoulders before sitting beside you.

“Hey,” you replied, leaning into him.

“How’d I do?” he asked after a moment, a teasing glint in his eyes. “Did they scare you off?”

You laughed, shaking your head. “Not even close. Your mom is amazing, and your dad… well, he’s intimidating, but I like him.”

Joe smiled, his gaze softening. “Yeah, they’re pretty great.”

“You’re pretty great,” you said, the words slipping out before you could stop them. But you didn’t regret it. It was the truth.

Joe didn’t say anything right away, but the way he looked at you—like you were the only person in the world—made your heart skip a beat. Then he leaned down and kissed you, slow and sweet, like he had all the time in the world.

When he pulled back, he rested his forehead against yours. “I’m glad you’re here,” he murmured.

“Me too,” you whispered.

And in that moment, with the stars above and Joe beside you, everything felt right.

[madaqueue]

eternally, yours

chapter 1 | gratitude

synopsis: 'forever' is a peculiar concept - how can something persist, unchanged, throughout time? when our bodies halt their aging, do our minds continue to evolve? do our hearts? choso was comfortable with his version of forever, one of solitary loneliness; that is, until he meets you. forced to confront the harsh realities of being human, the fragility of life, his definition of 'forever' changes as he stares down the barrel of eternity.

pairing: vampire!choso kamo x f!reader

themes/content: non-curse modern au. mentions of child physical abuse, medical setting, blood. 18+, MDNI

word count: 1.9k

a/n: YAY new series RAAAAAH!!! will be updating this one a little less frequently (aka not everyday) but i hope y'all like it :)

series masterlist | next chapter

Intoxicating.

The first word that comes to Choso’s mind when he sees you is absolutely, utterly intoxicating. The bright lights overhead seem to dim, the sound of the machines whirring and beeping quiet as his focus turns to you and only you. Something within your aura, your soul, your very life force, seems to draw him to you inexplicably, feet moving on their own as he crosses the cold linoleum to stand before you.

“Are you the doctor?” your voice wavers in his silence, eyes moving up his tall figure, currently clad in a white coat, before landing on his eyes.

Blinking, he struggles to anchor himself back to reality. “Y-yes,” he stammers. “I’m Dr. Kamo, I’ll be taking care of your brother today.”

The uncomfortable faux leather of the hospital chair creaks as you adjust in your seat, muscles sore after waiting hours to finally be seen. Normally you’d pay more attention to the man before you - his striking black irises and the tattoo that covers the bridge of his nose, the dark circles ringing his eyes, or how his hair frays messily from the buns currently pulling it back - but right now, you’re just too damn tired.

“‘S’nice to meet you,” you murmur, gaze turning to the floor as you rest your head on your palm.

There’s a certain exhaustion to your voice, a deep fatigue Choso knows all too well, seeing how you shift, struggling to find a way to rest the weight of your bones.

“Tell me what happened,” he asks, shoving his nervousness down as he pulls over a rolling stool to sit between you and the hospital bed where your brother currently sleeps.

Raking your hands through your hair, a sigh leaves your lips. “He fell,” you state.

“He…fell?” Choso echoes, a hint of disbelief in his voice.

Glancing at your brother, the sounds of screaming replays through your mind, the broken glass, his small body hitting the floor. The yells echo through your thoughts as your eyes cover him, his dark hair only barely covering the open wound on his forehead, his uninjured arm cradling his likely dislocated shoulder. You nod. “He fell.”

Blinking, Choso pauses. He ignores the fact that these injuries are almost impossible with a fall, the fact that somehow a six-year-old would have ‘fallen’ at 2:30 a.m., the fact that you can’t make eye contact with him as you speak. Instead, he just nods. “Okay,” he breathes. “Well, we need to get some scans to see if anything is broken, and that cut definitely needs some stitches.”

“Do what you need to do,” you wave your hand in accordance.

“It’s just…” he trails off, “you’re his sister, right?”

You nod.

“Well, for minors, we need-”

“I’m his guardian,” you state curtly, gaze traveling from the floor to meet his, an unintentional coldness behind your eyes. Noticing how the man across from you flinches slightly, you soften apologetically. “Sorry, I didn’t-”

“Nothing to apologize for,” he smiles forgivingly, moving to stand. “I imagine it’s been a long night. I’ll go put some orders in and I’ll be back in a bit.”

With a gentle wave, he steps out of the room, leaving you in the ambiance of unfamiliar medical machinery with a wounded brother.

As promised, a few moments later a flurry of technicians and other staff comes in to take your brother for his scans, reluctantly waking him from the rest you know he so badly needs. Less than an hour later, you’re met another knock on the door before it tentatively swings open.

“Hey,” Choso’s familiar gravelly voice calls. Seeing your brother awake, albeit a bit groggy, on the bed, he cracks a wide grin. “You must be Megumi, right?”

Hearing his name, your brother nods politely, careful not to disturb the IVs and monitors poking from his skin. A precaution, the medical team called the wires and tubes they attached to him, but all you can think about is how small, how fragile, it makes him look.

“Well, Megumi, I’m Dr. Kamo, and let me be the first to say, you’re a pretty tough guy,” Choso smiles.

The sweetest giggle leaves your brother’s lips as Choso crosses the room to sit on the edge of his hospital bed.

“You got pretty banged up, buddy, but the good news is that nothing’s broken,” Choso continues explaining. “You are gonna need a sling for your shoulder, though, but you can pick any color you want for it, and I’m gonna stitch up that cut on your forehead.”

“Is it gonna hurt?” Megumi’s voice calls softly, lifting a hand to the wound on his skin.

“It might for most people, but I’ve got a feeling you’re pretty strong, so you’ll be okay, right tough guy?”

Megumi grins, another laugh leaving his throat as he flexes the muscles on his non-injured arm. “Yeah, I’m tough!”

“Then let’s get to it,” Choso chuckles.

You watch in silence as the man wraps Megumi’s shoulder, the dark blue cloth covering his arm and holding it in place. Reaching into a metal drawer near his bedside, he then carefully threads a needle through your brother’s skin, his rough hands moving so gracefully, so precisely. Megumi winces occasionally, evoking a pause from Choso until the boy flashes a thumbs up, allowing him to continue. When he’s completed the task, tying the stitches closed with a knot, he moves to let Megumi to find his reflection in the mirror across the room, admiring his work.

“Woah,” Megumi muses softly, his fingertips grazing the suture, “looks cool.”

“Looks very cool,” Choso confirms with a grin. Turning to you, he tilts his head towards the door, signaling you outside. “I’ll be back in a second, buddy, just gotta chat with your sister,” he explains, placing a gentle hand on Megumi’s shoulder before leading you outside.

The hallway is brighter than the room you just left, your eyes struggling to adjust to the fluorescent lights and the soft bustle of hospital staff moving around you. Even though tiredness weighs on your body, you force yourself to meet Choso’s gaze.

“He’s gonna need to wear the sling for at least a month, and he’ll need to be seen in about a week to get the stitches out,” he begins.

As you look into his eyes, you notice just how dark they are, black pools set within exhaustion. He’s hauntingly beautiful, a chill running up your spine as you take him in, surely just because the hospital is so cold, because you’ve been here for so long, because everything is becoming too much.

Tears begin to prick at your eyes, the lack of sleep starting to affect you more than you’d care to admit. Before you know it, your arms are thrown around Choso’s torso, firm through the layers of his scrubs.

“Thank you,” you mutter into him before pulling away, stunned at your own show of affection.

He seems equally surprised, his lips parted slightly as he forces an awkward chuckle. “It’s just my job,” he hums.

You aren’t sure if it’s your tiredness getting to you, but you swear his cheeks flush as you pull away from him. You nod, murmuring another thanks as you step back into your brother’s room, readying him to return home.

In your absence, Choso stands stunned in the hallway, the feeling of you lingering on him, unable to move from this spot.

All he can think about is you, the warmth of your body as your arms wrapped around him, his thoughts buzzing as images of you flash through his mind. He knows something is wrong inside of him; he’s never felt like this before, never felt this absolutely consumed by someone, especially someone he’s only just met. Yet something about you, something indescribable, made him want you - need you - in a carnal way, his body aching for more.

In Megumi’s room, you similarly can’t get the way Choso felt in your arms out of your mind. There was something in him, beyond his strength, his stature, that you couldn’t stop thinking about. He felt cold.

Peeking your head out of the room he’s nowhere to be seen, surely lost in the business of late-night hospital work. Grabbing Megumi’s things, you guide your brother through the building and out to your car, sinking into the plush of the seats.

Reaching to the passenger seat, you brush his bangs from his eyes as he rests his head against the window. “You were very brave,” you murmur softly, continuing to stroke his hair.

“I know,” he whispers, eyes fluttering shut, desperate for rest.

“I wish you didn’t have to be.”

“I know.”

You drive in silence, your brother asleep next to you as you make your way back to your family’s home. Pulling into the driveway, you carry Megumi from the car to his bed as quietly as possible, mentally begging that your father isn’t awoken at the stairs creaking beneath your feet. By now he could be up, the sun beginning to rise over the horizon, but hopefully the alcohol-fueled events of the previous night were enough to keep him unconscious throughout the afternoon, a schedule that had become a regular part of his routine.

As you tuck Megumi in, you place a kiss to his forehead next to his cut, the dark thread of his stitches a stark contrast to his pale skin, a harsh reminder of the reality you two endure. The image of Choso’s hands flashes through your mind, recalling the tenderness they held as he worked.

Finally in your own bed, your thoughts are clouded with the last twenty-four hours, mentally spiraling as anxiety racks your body, until Choso returns to you again. You picture him holding you, comforting you, reassuring you. Waves of tranquility wash over you, and for the first time in too long, you allow yourself to drift into sleep.

༝ ˚ ｡⋆ ༝ ˚ ｡⋆

He swore he wouldn’t do this. He promised he was better than this, that he had more restraint than this. Yet, here he is again, surrounded by the sterile atmosphere of the blood bank.

Dark red bags line the walls of the chilled room, tempting him, drawing him in. It was you, he thinks. He knows it was you, it had to be. He only came here once a month, taking the bare minimum necessary for survival, yet only three days after his last visit he felt that familiar hunger clawing at his insides, imploring him to consume.

His thoughts are blurred, overtaken with images of you, your voice, your smell, the way your arms wrapped around his body. Reaching out he grabs the nearest bag, sinking his teeth into the plastic as red drips down his chin. He laps at the liquid, the metallic taste only conjuring up more images of you in his mind, nearly intoxicated as he pictures the heat beneath your skin just begging him to taste you. He wishes it was you, knowing he would give anything to feel the warmth of the blood coursing through your body.

Draining the bag of its contents, he’s left physically satiated but mentally starved, desperate to feel you again, to hold you. Cleaning himself up, his hands shake as he undoes any remnant of the sin he committed in the quiet of the hospital corridors, a final trace of blood wiped from the corner of his lips. His mind swirls, only knowing one thing: he needs you.

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[girl-next-door-writes]

Then There Was You

Characters: Mycroft Holmes x reader

Summary: A chance encounter in an airport at a magical time of year might make a believer out of even the most logical of men.

Word Count: 2076 words

Prompt: Airport. Mutual Pining. Eyes meeting across the room. “You feel like home.”

A/N: This is the first of my Build-A-Festive-Fics so thank you to the wonderful @savvy-devine666 who put these prompts together for the enigmatic Mr Holmes. Hope you enjoy it, I may have got a little carried away.

************************************************************************

In the departure lounge, the holiday spirit is palpable, creating a lively and enchanting atmosphere. The glittering decorations and twinkling lights transform the space into a festive haven, immersing travelers in the magic of the season. As passengers navigate through the terminals, the air is infused with a sense of excitement and anticipation, each step bringing them closer to the warmth of family and the joy of holiday celebrations.

Sparkling lights, glittering ornaments and garlands filled with holly and tinsel seem to adorn every surface, forcing the joviality of the season upon all who enter this artificial winter wonderland.

The sounds of classic Christmas carols fill the air, creating a harmonious backdrop to the lively conversations and laughter. The departure lounge becomes a stage for a symphony of joy, where people from all walks of life unite in the shared celebration of the season. The place somehow feels more than just a transit point, it feels almost held outside of time itself, where anything could be possible.

Mycroft Holmes, ever the embodiment of control and authority, sat in the plush surroundings of the first-class lounge, a haven for the elite travelers. The atmosphere exudes sophistication, but the irritation on Mycroft's face betrayed the inconvenience he felt. The hum of quiet conversations and the clinking of glasses momentarily ceased as an announcement crackled over the speakers, signaling yet another delay.

His brow furrowed in annoyance. The delay was unacceptable, a disruption to the carefully orchestrated schedule he had in place. He retrieved his phone from the pocket of his impeccably tailored suit and began to type furiously. His fingers danced across the screen in a rapid and precise ballet, as if Mycroft believed his typing could somehow command the weather outside. His gaze never wavered from the device, as though the intensity of his focus could single-handedly rectify the situation.

The snowfall outside the window continued unabated, indifferent to Mycroft's attempts to influence it. Despite the annoyance etched on his face, Mycroft remained the epitome of composure. The delay might persist, but Mycroft Holmes, with his phone as a weapon and his ice-cold demeanour as a shield, was determined to restore order to the chaos, even if only within the confines of the first-class lounge.

Mycroft's discerning gaze swept across the crowded first-class lounge, his mind momentarily shifting from the pressing matters of flight delays to the intriguing spectacle of human interaction unfolding before him.

His attention settled on a peculiar scene: a man, who seemed to have overindulged a little at the lounge bar, engaged in rapid-fire conversation with a young woman who appeared young enough to be his daughter. She seemed uncomfortable with the invasive nature of his questioning, but the man appeared unperturbed by her avoiding answering.

Further down the bar, an elderly gentleman called the barman by his first name. Mycroft's keen observation suggested a regular patron, a man who had traversed the halls of this exclusive lounge on numerous occasions. The over-familiarity hinted at a sense of entitlement, a privilege earned through repeated visits, and he couldn’t help but smile at the deference the bar staff paid the man. Clearly a big tipper, Mycroft surmised.

As Mycroft continued to survey of the room, he noted that everyone appeared to be bathed in the fake joviality of the festive season, papering over the cracks in their lives, and Mycroft wondered why people felt the need to cling so desperately to the promise of hope and possibility during the festive season.

Mycroft, usually the embodiment of control and emotional detachment, found himself in the throes of an unexpected internal turmoil as he observed the attractive figure across the bar absentmindedly stirring their drink. The subtle shift in his composed demeanour betrayed a rare vulnerability, and an uncharacteristic ache in his chest stirred his emotions. In his mind, he grappled with the unfamiliarity of this emotional response.

Blinking rapidly, he attempted to shake off the unusual sensations and refocus his thoughts. This wasn't the Mycroft Holmes he knew; the man who thrived on logic and control. It had to be the effects of sitting in what amounted to an oversized festive snow globe for far too long.

Despite the internal turmoil, Mycroft couldn't resist the urge to deduce. It was a coping mechanism, a way to regain a semblance of control. Not married, not romantically attached: these deductions flowed effortlessly. The presence of a book in your bag and your apparent nonchalance about the flight delays intrigued him further. As he continued to observe from a distance, Mycroft found himself at a crossroads, torn between the familiar comfort of his calculated control and the allure of exploring beneath the surface, the possibility of creating a connection with someone who had unexpectedly captured his attention.

In that unguarded moment, just as Mycroft was contemplating the probability of instigating a conversation with you which would make him somehow favourable, your eyes met his. Time seemed to stand still as a profound shift occurred within him. The man who thrived on logic and science, the master of cause and effect, found himself inexplicably lost in the depths of an unfamiliar emotional landscape.

The carefully calculated moves in the chess game of life, the strategic thinking that defined Mycroft Holmes, dissipated like mist in the face of an unexpected connection. It was as if the world had momentarily slipped from the moorings of reason, and he was caught in the uncharted territory of raw, unfiltered emotion. The air seemed to crackle with unspoken possibilities, and Mycroft Holmes, the orchestrator of order, found himself suspended in the magic of a moment that defied the logic he held so dear.

As Mycroft was caught in the whirlwind of his own thoughts and emotions, unbeknownst to him, you had not been quite as passive as he believed. Upon entering the lounge, your attention had been immediately drawn to the striking man in the finely tailored suit. The ambient glow of twinkling fairy lights seemed to play upon his features, creating an aura of both mystery and sophistication. Your observant eyes didn't just see the meticulously groomed exterior; they delved deeper into the subtle expressions that danced across his face; stern, frustrated, yet undeniably captivating.

In the backdrop of the festive ambiance, you began to weave your own internal narrative, a fictional backstory for the handsome stranger engrossed in the world within his phone. The tapping fingers and furrowed brow sparked your imagination, and you found yourself concocting scenarios that might explain his intense focus. Perhaps he was a high-powered executive handling a critical business deal, his mind navigating the complexities of global affairs. Or maybe, he was a brilliant doctor, eager to get back to the hospital where he worked in order to save the lives of several orphans who had been in a horrific accident, him being the only one who could perform the surgery. The finely tailored suit hinted at a life of privilege and authority, but the flicker of frustration painted a more human portrait beneath the veneer of sophistication.

Your eyes met Mycroft's, and both of you instinctively looked away, a fleeting moment of embarrassment shared in the silence of the lounge. Yet, as if drawn by an unseen force, your eyes found each other again and a soft smile graced your lips.

Caught off guard by the unexpected warmth of the encounter, Mycroft returned your smile nervously. His usual calm exterior seemed to falter in the face of these unfamiliar feelings bubbling inside him, threatening to breach the carefully constructed walls of his emotional reserve. It was a sensation he wasn't accustomed to, and the vulnerability it brought unsettled him.

Your hand rose in a small wave, and Mycroft hesitated for a moment before reciprocating. This was ridiculous. He had faced the most powerful people in the world, had even given some of them a dressing down, he could walk to the end of the bar and strike up a conversation with an attractive stranger. Surely it wasn’t that difficult. Yet, here he was, feeling like a teenager with their first crush. 

With a mixture of anticipation and trepidation, he got to his feet and navigated his way towards you.

"Would you mind if I joined you?" Mycroft's voice betrayed a hint of vulnerability, a departure from the usual confidence that defined him. You, however, seemed not to notice his nerves.

"That would be lovely."

As the two of you engaged in slightly awkward small talk, there was a palpable tension in the air. Mycroft couldn't shake the feeling that he was not excelling in this arena, that the art of forging emotional connections eluded him. The potential for something wonderful lingered in the air, but he couldn't shake the sense that it was slipping through his fingers.

"So… are you headed home for Christmas?" Mycroft asked; a question he knew the answer to but felt compelled to inquire nonetheless. The conversation seemed to teeter perilously on the edge of uncertainty.

"Yes. I suppose so." You said thoughtfully.

"What do you mean?"

"Well… home is such a strange concept. Somewhere can feel like home despite it being the first time you are there. People can feel like home. Not just family, not just the familiar. Have you ever been somewhere and felt like you have been there before? Like you are remembering a place you have never visited. Or met someone who just feels like they are new but also so familiar? Sorry, that took rather a strange turn. When people talk about home, they mean the place they come from, not some abstract concept." You gave him a bashful smile, clearly embarrassed by your ramblings.

The conversation had indeed taken a turn into the realms of introspection and philosophy and Mycroft found that delightful. As you spoke about the abstract nature of home and the peculiar familiarity one can feel with places and people, Mycroft found himself drawn to the depth of your thoughts, drawn to you.

For a moment, the awkwardness seemed to dissipate, and Mycroft discovered that he did indeed understand point of view.

"You feel like home," he said softly, the words escaping him before he could stop them.

"What?"

"I said, Yule feels like home. The time of the year. There is something about it that just feels…" Mycroft trailed off, the weight of his words hanging in the air. In that vulnerable admission, he revealed a layer of himself that rarely saw the light of day.

"It does. There is something so cozy about the festivities. You can't help but feel something magical could happen."

Your response held a warmth that echoed Mycroft's sentiment and he couldn’t help but think what his brother would say if he heard this conversation. There would be severe mocking, but Mycroft found he didn’t much care.

The moment between the two of you was abruptly shattered by an announcement over the lounge’s speaker, signaling the boarding call for passengers.

"Well… that's me." You rose from your seat, casting a bittersweet smile in Mycroft's direction. "It was lovely to meet you, Mycroft."

“You too.”

As you walked away, Mycroft's gaze lingered, and he couldn't help but feel a tinge of regret. The encounter had been brief but had carried a weight of unexpected connection and shared sentiments. The lounge, once a stage for silent glances and meaningful conversation, now felt a bit emptier as you moved toward your departure gate.

The first-class lounge, adorned with holiday decorations and a twinkle of lights, returned to its bustling atmosphere as other passengers prepared for their journeys. Mycroft, still lost in thought, found himself contemplating the significance of the brief encounter and the unanswered questions that lingered in the air.

"What am I doing?" Mycroft muttered to himself, a sudden realisation propelling him to his feet. The urgency of his thoughts overrode any hesitation as he hurriedly headed after you. The encounter had left an impression, and he couldn't bear the idea of letting you simply walk out of his life.

The bustling atmosphere of the airport became a blur as Mycroft navigated through the crowd, his determined strides reflecting a sense of urgency that contrasted with his usual measured pace.

Mycroft reached your departure gate just in time to catch a glimpse of you preparing to board. With a breathless yet determined expression, he approached, the echoes of uncertainty and vulnerability replaced by a sense of purpose.

"Wait!”

[iwritenarrativesandstuff]

Trimax Thoughts Vol. 3 Pt. 2

Oh boy. So this might be a little silly but I can't stop thinking about the face. I want to give my own interpretation of it because I did notice something earlier on that I think gives it a bit of context.

Yes, it's this face.

Ok. First off, this is undoubtedly a fond look. Unbearably fond, if you ask me. His eye is dark; there's no fear, shock, or feelings of being unsettled. There should be no contention at this point - he cares about Vash.

But the actual feelings expressed by this face are mixed. If you hold up your hand to cover the left side of his face, you'll find a closed eye and a smile. Cover the right side and you'll see an open, half-lidded eye and a small frown. The overall effect is conflicting.

All throughout this volume, Wolfwood has been struggling to come to terms with what Vash is, how he can have seemingly no survival instinct (which directly challenges his worldview), and, importantly, the concept of immortality.

We can split up this immortality concept into two types of immortality. The first is immortality of the self - that runs directly counter to the survival instinct that comprises much of the core of his worldview, and so entities that seem to display proof of immortality are unsettling to him (even more so in Vash's case, since somehow his pacifism survived all this time...).

Immortality of the self is disturbing yet possible to Wolfwood. It is something he can prove through mounting evidence and disprove with a gun. And to have Luida tell him that Vash's use of his immortality is not for healing or fixing himself but purely for others - that's important, because up until that point, Wolfwood had done mental gymnastics to convince himself that Vash could afford to jump into danger because of his immortality, something Vash even refuted earlier ("I don't do this for fun, you know.").

But Wolfwood is not fully convinced until he sees Vash's smile again.

Their entire dynamic started off with Wolfwood immediately noticing Vash's smile hides his pain - but what he's now realizing is that Vash's smile helps him move forwards in spite of the pain too. It's not a mask, it's his armour. It's his way of shielding himself in the same uncaring world they all inhabit. Vash's decision to choose kindness over and over then, isn't because his immortality means he can, but because it is necessary for his survival. It's not a whim, it's something he believes in. These are his ideals. They're genuine.

That's worth the right side's smile. He may still not understand what Vash is - but who he is, as a person, is rather straightforward.

And now, for the other type of immortality - immortality of ideals. Unfortunately, there is no wavering on this front, because there is no way to definitively prove that an ideal will survive, especially in a harsh world like this. Wolfwood's cynicism is on full display.

"Ya can keep on walkin' down this road 'til ya bite the dust. Nothin' will change."

To Wolfwood, ideals can never be immortal, not in a world like this. Vash's efforts seem fundamentally hopeless to a man with no hope.

And so, the left side of the expression; that bittersweet frown. Being unsure of Vash's intentions in the Ninelives scene, Wolfwood is able to appear rather darkly satisfied - he understands a truth of the world that Vash (apparently) does not. He's "won" the argument against Vash's apparently incomprehensible foolishness. Except then he comes to understand that Vash is genuine in his intentions and in his kindness, that he needs to believe in it himself, and suddenly there is no deriving any of this cynical satisfaction anymore.

Wolfwood is still convinced he's right, but now, that takes on a more tragic context.

Vash is good. His ideals are good. And, according to Wolfwood, nothing good lasts.

To me, this bittersweet expression reads as fondness from Wolfwood for Vash, for his kindness and persistence in the face of everything... but it's complicated by the certainty, in his eyes, that eventually, these ideals will die, either when he inevitably succumbs to the world's cruelty, or, what's seeming more likely at this point, when Vash dies himself.

Wolfwood has been sticking around closely with Vash. He might have to watch this happen. He doesn't want to watch this happen. But he thinks it's inevitable. Kind things don't grow.

...or I may just be dramatic and reading into it too much. But that's what I got from it.

[anna-the-undertaker]

Prides Gift

- Prompt: MC accidentally summons one of the brothers with the strength of their sin. - I read something similar to this a while back from another creator, but I can't remember who it was. All I can remember is that it was about a teen MC who accidentally summoned them. The idea was very entertaining, and I wanted to give my own twist to it. - I'm only going to do one brother for now, and if it does well, I will do the others. If not, I'll let it die lol So let me know how it is. Any critique is appreciated. - MC is in their mid to late teens - I'm sick atm and my meds have made me kind of out of it so I apologize if this didn't turn out all that great or make any sort of sense lmao I'll probably read back through this when I come down from my medicinal cocktail and just think "wtf" - Not proofread - Song recommendation: Product Of My Own Design by Artio

- Edit: I did come back and read through this, and I did say "wtf" but like in a good way.

This work contains topics that some may find unpleasant. If you are sensitive to any of these, please, KEEP SCROLLING

Warnings: Small amount of physical/mental Abuse

Lucifer

The avatar of pride hated being summoned. It was a complete inconvenience. He had far too much work to do and had no time nor desire to deal with some petty humans wants or needs. Rarely ever did a human have something of value to exchange for his influence and even more rare were they even worthy enough to be in his presence.

He had become quite skilled at resisting. Only ever giving in when he truly needed to. But this time it felt odd. Different somehow, in a way he couldn't fully comprehend.

He tried to ignore it, to keep going about his work, hoping it would pass, but it persisted.

With a growl of irritation, he slammed his pen down and shoved his chair back as he stood before teleporting to its originator.

He made sure to keep himself out of sight, hiding away in the shadows, just out of a human's perception.

What he found perplexed him. Before him were two humans staring each other down. The feeling was coming from the younger one. His eyes traveled to the other.

One of their parents he presumed. They shared features with one another. In the background he saw other children.

In their hands was a piece of sheet music.

"It's not good enough!" their parent yelled. "You are a disgrace! What good is it that you're a prodigy if all you can produce is this garbage?!"

A slap echoed through the room.

The parent continued with their cruel words. Going on and on about how worthless their child was.

The young human did not cry or yell, only turned their head back to them with a fury in their eyes. Their spine rigid, chin held high, and fists balled at their sides.

It was obviously not the first time they had endured this treatment.

He felt their pride waver and anger swell within them. The smell of frankincense and amaryllis came off of them in waves and invaded his senses. The flavor of their sin was unique to say the least and it was clear to see that summoning him had not been their intention. He had half a mind to leave but he remained out of morbid curiosity.

He tapped into their thoughts.

"You're wrong. Wrong! Wrong! Wrong! How dare you?! How dare you?! How dare you?! I will be better than you! I am better than you! All you want is to take credit for my accomplishments! My hard work! How dare you act as if I am inferior?! Don't crack. Don't give in. Don't give them the satisfaction of seeing me broken. They must never see me weak."

It was a sentiment he was all too familiar with.

The older human sent them to their room and he followed. He let himself indulge in their sin. Let it feed him.

When their door shut and locked behind them, the humans hands flew to their hair and pulled, a growl rising in their throat. They paced around the room for a while before finally leaning onto their desk, taking deep breaths.

"Just breathe it out," they muttered to themself. "A break down won't help."

They continued this until their emotions settled within them, or rather were locked away again.

The avatar of pride stepped out of the shadows. His wings and horns on full display, arms crossed in front of his chest.

"You shouldn't hold back, human." He said.

The human jumped and whipped around to come face to chest with him before looking up to his piercing red eyes. The slight fear at the sight of him fed his ego.

"Who are you? How did you get in here?" they asked.

His chest puffed up, "Lucifer Morningstar. You summoned me. Who are you?" He demanded.

He saw recognition flash through their eyes at his name only for confusion to overtake them once more before they settled with acceptance, "MC... May I address you as Mr. Morningstar? Or something along those lines? I feel like using your first name is too familiar and a bit disrespectful."

Lucifer was surprised by their manners but didn't let it show as he gave them a slight nod of approval. Another surprise was that the fear had disappeared from them and was replaced by curiosity as they appraised him.

"You are being very polite for a human in the presence of demon," he commented.

MC scoffed in exasperation, "It is in my best interest not to earn your ire. Besides, you haven't done anything to me personally to justify rudeness."

"You aren't going to call upon god to save your soul? I can feel his influence here. Pieces of it are scattered throughout your home." The low timber of his voice vibrated through the room with an air of ridicule.

"My parents beliefs are not mine. I do not care for their god. And what good would there be in calling upon him now? He has done nothing for me and I owe him nothing. I do not need nor want his intervention."

MC walked to their bed and sat down before gesturing to their desk chair, "Have a seat if you want to, Mr. Morningstar."

His respect for the human grew just a little bit so he accepted.

"You mentioned before that I summoned you," MC began again. "How? I don't remember doing anything of the sort."

He sighed, "Simply put, my sin in you was strong enough to pull me here."

"Oh, so what now?"

He thought on it for a moment. He felt an unusual connection with the human, though he would not know why for a while yet. He couldn't help but notice the open minded air about them and their maturity and intelligence. They had the potential to be successful. A willingness to learn and persevere, to push forward and work harder were qualities he admired.

They had one immediate obstacle and that was domineering and controlling parental figures.

An obstacle he knew intimately.

"Normally, this is when you humans start stating what you desire from me, but if you are amenable, I am willing to offer you a deal."

MC watched him cautiously, "What would this deal cost me? My soul?"

"I am not some lesser demon who requires souls to gain power," He replied with a snappish tone. "I do not require yours."

"I meant no offense, Mr. Morningstar. I simply have no knowledge of demons or how deals with demons work outside the churches influence. To be honest I didn't truly believe any of it existed. What exactly are you offering and how would it work? I do not want to blindly incur debts."

He was not going to make a pact with them. They were far too young to offer immediate results or benefit him in any way, but his instincts told him that assisting this human would be in his best interest.

"It is an exchange. By giving me that which you are most proud of, I will offer you a small piece of myself that is of equal value. The power from that will make you succeed in your endeavors, but it will still require work. You must earn it."

"Aside from aiding my success, how else would this affect me personally?"

He smirked. They were perceptive as well. Good. "It will increase your pride in yourself and your work. Effectively raising your confidence and make you work even harder."

It was similar to the effects of his pact, but not nearly as potent.

"And of course, you lose any chance of going to heaven. You would be making a deal with a demon, after all." He added.

"What do you gain from this?"

"Some of the pride that you accumulate through your accomplishments will be syphoned to me."

It was an extremely simple exchange. It didn't required MC to do anything but pursue their strengths and he wouldn't have to come to human realm as often as before to meet his sins needs. It was a win-win.

The human appeared lost in thought as if having an internal debate. Then something sparked in their eyes and they stood. He watched them walk to a bookshelf in the corner of the room and pull out a binder before coming to stand in front of him.

"This is a collection of the most complex musical compositions I have written. Each of them have earned me first place in competitions all over the country. I have them all committed to memory so I have no need of a physical copy. Is this sufficient?" They asked while keeping eye contact with him.

He could see and feel the unwavering certainty in their eyes.

Without a word, Lucifer reached down and plucked a single feather from one of his wings. It settled in the center of his palm and he cast a transfiguration spell on it making it change into a pendant in the shape of his sigil.

While simple in design it was still quite large. His pride demanding that it be seen.

They exchanged items carefully.

"You must not lose that, ever," Lucifer stared them down as he stood to leave. "If you do, I will know. Do I make myself clear?"

"Yes, sir."

"Good, I'm leaving. I have been here far too long and I have a lot of work to finish, and no doubt more on the way from the damage my brothers have caused in my absence."

MC looked down at the pendant in their hands and back up, "Farewell, Mr. Morningstar, and thank you."

He said nothing and disappeared back into the shadows.

But before he returned to the Devildom, he had one last thing to take care of to ensure this transaction bore fruit.

He made his way through the house until he found MCs parent.

Lucifer let his presence slip into their senses. Exuding an intoxicating aura of power and arrogance and terror that preyed on the darkest recesses of human vanity.

Then he manifested before them, his true form imposing, standing tall and lean. His entire being seemed to ripple with suppressed energy, ready to unleash his dominion on any who dared to challenge him. As he stalked his way to them, he radiated an ethereal essence, swirling hues of crimson, gold, and violet dancing and intertwining like a mesmerizing kaleidoscope of color.

But it was his eyes that captured the attention of the human before him. They burned with an intense, otherworldly fire, shining like twin suns and within their depths was a potent mix of confidence, ambition, and superiority that captivated any who dared to meet his gaze. Those who did found their own doubts and insecurities exposed, their sense of self shaken to its very core.

Even the air seemed to bend and quiver in his presence. The atmosphere crackled with palpable energy, an invisible forcefield pulsating around him and with his every step, a symphony of whispers and murmurs that danced on the very edges of the psyche followed. A chorus of both awe and trepidation that only continued to grow louder.

In seconds the human found themselves trapped as he closed in on them and the air turned suffocating. They were frozen in place, limbs trembling.

"MC and I have come to an agreement," His demonic voice slithered through the air, a chilling tone that resonated with primal malevolence. Its timbre was a haunting blend of gravelly growls and seductive hisses, capable of both commanding obedience and instilling paralyzing fear. As it echoed, the words seemed to claw their way into the human's mind, leaving a lingering sense of unease and bore the unmistakable mark of the infernal, a haunting reminder of the abyss from which it emerged.

"So if you so much as lay another finger on them or harm them in any way, I will not hesitate to come back here and tear you limb from limb, understood?"

The human nodded weakly, unable to speak.

Then he was gone.

A decade had passed since then and Lucifer had nearly forgotten about it, barely even remembering their name. Being swamped in a literal mountains of work on the daily will do that to people.

This day was an important one. He was in a rush to get things in order for the arrival of the new exchange student. Doing double checks on everything. He had already had to deal with his brothers antics: Mammon disappearing, Satan trying to sabotage him with yet another prank, having to drag levi from his room, Beel having cleared the fridge again, Asmo constant inappropriate questions about the exchange student, worrying of belphie in the attic, and the list goes on. He couldn't handle another setback, otherwise he was liable to explode.

There was one document he just couldn't find and it was driving him mad. He ripped open the draws in his desk and started pilfering through his files only for eyes to fall to a binder buried underneath.

Suddenly his DDD went off and his eyes shot to its screen to see that is was a message from Diavolo stating he had the document in question and to meet him in the student council room.

Before long he and his brothers were watching as the exchange student was summoned.

They were disoriented at first and glanced around in confusion until their eyes locked with his, and a soft smile graced their face.

His own fell to the pendant around their neck.

"It is a pleasure to see you again, Mr. Morningstar."

Part 2

[noxxuniverse]

This is just insane.

I am anon who wrote this - https://www.tumblr.com/noxxuniverse/770856101471305728/i-am-sorry-for-what-i-will-write-here-it-will?source=share

TW : it will sound very emotional and..kind of pathethic if i am being honest.

Since you replied to me, i kept affirming, persisting no matter what, i literally affirm so so often whenever unwanted assumption comes up.

I even stopped being scared at this point...Until today..

I am in tears, it's so scary, guess what happened today? (i really wish i could write success story instead). I wake up today and see (i forgot how to say it in english) asylum workers, doctor and ones who were supposed to take me away. Maybe my affirmations about being lucky saved me, i don't know. They didn't take me away this time.

It's not first time they are here, this time they told me it's last warning. (damn after i get this off my chest i will continue affirming for luck)

That's just insane, i hope i will be able to not take pills (somehow spit them out or drop to the trash).

It's not really legal to send me away but yeah, in my country stuff like happens often whether it's legal or illegal. And yes, my mother is...Is just devil. She wants me away (but damn i already manifested moving out in my 4d+found new part time job, JUST GIVE DAMN TIME FOR 3D, gosh)

This is just so so so scary for me, i made promise to myself to move out this year no matter what, but damn, i.. I feel scared.

I need to make through this hell no matter what.

I will continue affirming right after i send this post to you, but i guess i just need support (and unfortunately I can't have it from other people because you see what they do). If it's not really hard for you, i will be insanely grateful for your support, any support words. But now..? I'll take your advice and will continue affirming in my head, persisting.

This is what i have to do, right? Just persist in my affirmations, nothing else needed, am i understanding it right?

I really hope next time i return with success story instead of..this. I'm sorry.

Thank you so much.

(p.s. i didn't write this success story because it's extremely small but last week i manifested my mother returning at 9 pm after work, it was surprising because she ALWAYS returns at 7 pm, but this is not a big success story like manifesting sp, money, house, etc so..but i don't want to sound too desperate so i'm sharing to let you know i keep persisting as you said)

Hey hun, keep persisting, keep affirming, and try your best not to waver all the time. Remember, the external world MUST conform instantly, so do not let it have "time."

You've got this I promise you <3

[battleangel]

Mulder's Quest: 30 Years Later

The Truth Is Out There — 30 Years Later

X Files started in 1993 (Season 1).

Mulder's sister, Samantha, was abducted in 1979 when she was 8 years old & Mulder was 12.

Mulder became an FBI agent because he was convinced aliens abducted his sister. 

He wanted to examine & investigate the X Files in the hopes that she was still alive to find her and bring her back.

By the time the show starts, in Season 1, Mulder is already an FBI agent and is introduced to Scully.

It is May 1993 as of Season 1, Episode 1 of the X Files so 14 years has already passed since Mulder's sister's disappearance in 1979.

So, given that Samantha was 8 and Mulder was 12 when the abduction happened in 1979, Mulder is now 26 at the beginning of Season 1 in 1993.

Throughout over 10 seasons of the show, a series reboot, movies & a videogame, despite Mulder later learning that his father is part of The Syndicate, a shadowy government organization involved in alien human experimentation & preparing for an alien race to secretly colonize Earth, and further learning that his own father actually gave Samantha up in exchange for his silence regarding said alien experimentation along with top secret government projects, Mulder never gives up hope that his sister could potentially still be alive.

As late as the X Files movie which was released in 2007 — nearly 30 years after Samantha's abduction in 1979 — Mulder tells Scully that he "still has some hope" that his sister is alive.

While an alternate theory of Samantha's fate is presented to the audience in "Closure" (Season 7 - 2000), which presents the possibility that beings called Walk Ins saved Samantha from further experimentation, ended her human life and turned her into stardust — the fact remains that the mystery behind Samantha's fate is actually left ambiguous — the audience is never told 1000% if the Walk Ins saved Samantha from further tests and experimentation by converting her into stardust or is it possible that Samantha was not turned into a star and that she is still out there somewhere alive?

X Files presents both of these possibilities to the viewer as viable and it is left to the viewer to decide.

But for almost 30 years — throughout the original X Files series in the 90s, the reboot, the videogame and movie — Mulder persists in his quest to definitively find out what happened to Samantha.

In fact, Mulder is never shown giving up on finding his sister — even decades after her abduction & disappearance.

Samantha's disappearance and Mulder finding her is the sole reason he became an FBI agent with the hopes of looking into the X Files to somehow find the aliens he believed abducted her.

It is revealed as the series continues that one of the members of the aforementioned The Syndicate actually clones Samantha and Mulder finds multiple clones of his sister, each and every single time believing that the clone is actually Samantha.

In Season 5, Mulder believes that a serial killer that he previously apprehended in Season 3 may have killed Samantha but once the remaining victims are identified it turns out that none of them are Samantha.

However, before this is confirmed, Mulder is shown during the episode having many nightmares that Samantha is one of the serial killer's victims, specifically that the serial killer murdered Samantha at the age of 12 after she was abducted and buried her in the woods.

Mulder ends up digging through the soil in the woods with his literal hands to see if of one of the bodies of the victims is Samantha but when the corpse is later identified it is confirmed that it was not his sister.

Despite all these endless twists, turns, developments, traumatizations, nightmares, haunting visions, waking dreams, hypnotic regressions, lies, deceptions & subterfuge, Mulder never gives up on his quest to find Samantha or even slightly wavers.

Mulder is told in Season 7 (Closure - 2000) about the Walk Ins and it is implied that the Walk Ins turned Samantha into stardust thus ending her human life but saving her from further experimentation and that she now lives forever as a shining star.

Seven years after this revelation in Closure (2000), in 2007 when the X Files movie came out, in the movie Mulder is showing telling Scully that he "still has some hope" that Samantha is alive.

Obviously, Mulder would never be able to "prove" that Samantha was actually turned into stardust and is one of the stars shining brightly in the night sky above regardless of the emotional closure depicted in the "Closure" episode, the fact is, there is no literal way for Mulder to know for sure whether or not Samantha has actually been turned into literal stardust by the Walk Ins.

Given this, as stated, Mulder was quoted in the X Files movie as late as 2007 — when the show debuted back in 1993 — that he still believed that Samantha was possibly out there and alive.

Mulder is never shown giving up hope that he can find out what truly happened to his sister because if she is still out there somewhere, Mulder absolutely wants to know where she is.

Does she remember Mulder & her parents?

Or does she only remember the Cigarette Smoking Man who raised her after she was abducted and his son, Jeffrey Spender.

Did she start a new life?

Did the trauma of the experiments give her total amnesia?

Mulder never gave up hope and the driving force that led him to become an FBI agent in the first place and all of his endless searches for the truth about what happened to Samantha never ceased.

Why was Samantha abducted in the first place?

Here is the background per Google: The Syndicate was formed at the end of World War II, after the Roswell incident in 1947, when German scientists were brought to the United States to work on developing an alien-human hybrid.

Alvin Kurtzwell and Bill Mulder, Fox Mulder's father, as young men in the military were recruited for a project that they were told was concerned with biological warfare.

Deep Throat claimed that an ultra-secret conference of power brokers signed a multinational treaty that if an alien spacecraft crashed on Earth and the extraterrestrials survived, the country that held them would be responsible for their immediate extermination.

The group that became The Syndicate existed as early as 1952 as a secret group within the State Department.

The Syndicate's activities included experimenting with xenotransplantation, relocating ex-Nazi scientists to the United States after World War II and covering up the "black oil" discovered in the Piper Maru.

The members of the Syndicate were Conrad Strughold, Well-Manicured Man, First Elder, Second Elder, Third Elder, Cigarette Smoking Man, Deep Throat, Victor Klemper, William Mulder (Fox's father), Alex Krycek, Marita Covarrubias, Erika Price & Mr. Y.

The members of this secretive group within the State Department and Central Intelligence Agency officially broke off ties with the United States government in 1973.

On October 13, the Syndicate formally forged their alliance with the alien colonists at El Rico Air Force Base.

The Cigarette Smoking Man personally presented a folded American flag to the aliens, symbolizing their surrender to a superior intergalactic force. 

The Syndicate also commenced work on the Project, which would see an immense effort in creating an alien/human hybrid to serve the aliens as a slave race after colonization.

To allow the Syndicate to develop the hybrid, they were provided an alien fetus from which to extract DNA and begin research.

However, the aliens demanded, in exchange, samples of human DNA.

Members of the Syndicate turned over their loved ones to the aliens as human collateral.

The Cigarette Smoking Man handed over his wife, Cassandra Spender, and William Mulder reluctantly surrendered his daughter, Samantha — Fox's sister — who was abducted from her bed in front of her brother who was helpless to stop it at a later date completely clueless that he and his sister's father had been forced by the Syndicate to betray them.

In fact, William Mulder at first tried to offer his son, Fox, but the aliens wanted a female human to do their hybridization and other experimentation on and insisted on his daughter, Samantha.

Prior to March 7, 1992 — keep in mind Season 1, Episode 1 takes place in May 1993 — FBI Special Agent Fox Mulder, William Mulder's son, had been trying to access classified government information but someone at a higher level of power had been blocking his attempts to get at it.

Fox Mulder's attempts to access the information had been blocked because the Syndicate were afraid he would leak the classified information.

On March 6, 1992, the Syndicate was responsible for assigning Special Agent Dana Scully to work with Agent Mulder.

Later in 1999, Scully asked Mulder what more he could possibly hope to do or to find — six years into the X Files — after having done and uncovered so much, such as exposing the secrets of a conspiracy of men who had been doing human experimentation but were now all dead.

Mulder's reply was that he still hoped to find his sister.

When the Cigarette Smoking Man later revealed to Agent Scully that he believed that Samantha Mulder was dead, Scully wondered why the Cigarette Smoking Man had not admitted to this knowledge earlier but his only reply was that there had been "so much" to protect before, all of which was now gone.

What Happened to Samantha Mulder?

Theory #1: Samantha Died in 1987 - Season 7

Let's look at the first theory which is that Samantha died in 1987.

There is testimony shown during Season 7 that the horrendous experimentation that Samantha endured simply killed her and she died in 1987 eight years after being abducted at the age of 8 in 1979.

Testimony - Season 7 “As the next witnesses, Skinner calls, whose ravaged appearance shocks Kallenbrunner and shames the panel. 

After sitting down, Mulder looks at him in astonishment, before nodding slightly in respect, a gesture returned by Spender. 

Spender states that as part of the syndicate's deal with the colonists, each member was forced to give up a loved one, and that after being taken initially, Mulder's sister lived with Cigarette Smoking Man and him before dying in 1987 after horrendous tests. 

He goes on to say that after he survived being shot, he was subjected to the same tests."

Theory #2: The Walk Ins Saved Samantha - Season 7

An alternate theory is that a Walk In saved Samantha by converting her to starlight energy and turning her into a star that shines in the night sky. This process while ending her human life and causing her death actually literally saved her from horrendous future experimentation and gives her eternal existence as starlight energy aka a star.

The last shot of Closure (Season 7, Episode 11) where Mulder finds out what happened to Samantha ends with a close up of a starry night sky and then a slow gradual zoom in to one specific star that is shining brightly as Mulder speaks a monologue stating that he "wants to believe" — the tagline for the X Files — that a different fate awaited the children who were murdered by the serial killer that Mulder previously apprehended in Season 3 of the X Files who were all killed between the ages of 11 to 14. 

As Mulder says he wants to believe that there was more for these children than the cruel fate that awaited them in the cold earth after they were brutally killed and later found by himself and his fellow FBI agents buried in the woods. 

Mulder he wants to believe in a bigger purpose, in a more metaphysical existence, in a God, in a universe that would somehow provide these children a fate beyond just what Mulder and his FBI cohorts literally unearthed that day as they are shown in the episode zipping the decayed corpses of the murdered children into body bags. 

At that moment in the episode, the murdered children seemingly come to life, exit the ground and their body bags, and excitedly play, talk and laugh and run around to form a circle.

The children however are shown to be glowing with a ghostly like appearance so it is clear they are no longer living yet they are shown very happily and excitedly running around laughing, playing and talking so this may be the "extra" type of metaphysical existence that Mulder alluded to that he "wants to believe in".

Mulder then sees his 12 year old sister, Samantha, as one of the children with the same glowing ghostly demeanor run towards him and hug him.

The children are shown playing in the woods that their murdered corpses were found in earlier by Mulder & his fellow FBI agents but it is now nighttime and the woods are dark and completely deserted.

As the children interact and play together, they then form a circle and the children are then shown one by one leaving earth and dissipating into the starry night sky.

The camera then zooms out and you can see the star-filled night sky above the woods then the camera continues to zoom out further and further into the night sky then zooms in on one single star shining very brightly as Mulder finishes his monologue about how he "wants to believe" and the episode ends with the camera zoomed in focusing in on the lone individual brightly shining star.

This is a possible reference to the walk in concept that was explained to Mulder earlier on in the same episode (Closure).

The walk in is a concept in New Age mysticism of spiritual entities that enter the bodies of humans that have endured extreme severe trauma or multiple traumatic incidents that no longer have a will to live — the spiritual entities walk in and take over the soul and inhabit the body of these humans that no longer want to live and this then frees that soul to leave this realm and enter the afterlife.

When the Walk Ins take over the soul of said humans automatically inherit all of their memories but with none of the host human's original emotions that were attached to those memories.

Additionally, since the Walk Ins are spiritual entities that are not human and they take over the soul of a human typically in their 20s or older who have endured massive and extreme personal trauma, the Walk Ins are inheriting the host's memories without the host's emotions that were attached to the memories, while also inhabiting the body of a human that is in their 20s or older without ever having gone through the human process of childhood, adolescence, listening to authority figures, indoctrination, school, education, religion and so on. 

So, the Walk Ins then get to live as that human whose body they have walked into with all of the human's memories intact, but none of the emotions attached to those memories as well as none of the indoctrination, conditioning, grooming, authoritarian systems, education centers, etc. that any individual in their 20s would have presumably gone through in childhood and adolescence by the time they became adults in their 20s.

The X Files videogame further discusses Walk Ins lending additional credence to the theory that the Walk Ins possibly saved Samantha by turning her into starlight thus ending her human existence and saving her from further experimentation..

As I've made clear, however, Mulder himself states seven years after the events described above in “Closure” (Season 7 - 2000) to Scully in the X Files Movie in 2007 that he “still has some hope” that his sister is alive.

There is no conclusive proof that the experiments done on Samantha after she was abducted killed her nor was her body ever discovered. The fact is, while the Walk Ins theory is possible and Samantha may have been saved by them and in losing her human life been saved from additional experimentation and turned into pure starlight energy aka a shining star — it is just as, if honestly not more probable, that that isn't what happened to her. Consider the fact that there is no proof that the Walk Ins converted Samantha into starlight energy. 

Mulder is simply told than an eyewitness saw "light beings" take his sister and then a separate individual explains the Walk Ins concept to Mulder and the explanation closely aligns with what the eyewitness claimed she saw but that is absolutely the extent of anything resembling proof that is ever presented to the audience that Walk Ins "saved" Samantha.

Obviously, as a human being, unless Mulder is also converted into starlight energy, there is just no literal way for Mulder, the "eyewitness" or anyone else to unequivocally prove that the "star in the sky" is actually Samantha Mulder.

But that's the point — it is possible that Samantha survived the experimentation and somehow escaped and restarted her life over somewhere else with or without her childhood memories prior to her abduction intact.

But in the absence of discovering her body or finding Samantha alive, Mulder has every reason as he is shown in the X Files movie in 2007 to persist in his belief that his sister can still be alive as it is more than possible.

As Mulder said nearly 30 years after becoming an FBI agent solely for the purpose of finding his sister in the X Files movie,  he “still has hope”.

Mulder "wants to believe" that his sister is still alive.

Mulders Quest:

[meowww-ffxiv]

About that new guy, Yukinko Sato.

.

(1) "Yukinko" was obviously a city name. It was what the non-Viera kids in the villages at the bottom of the Skatay Ranges called him when he was a child sneaking away from his own mother to play with them.

She always told him off -- they were straying close to these settlements to gather some herbs, not to be seen! -- but Yukinko never listened to her. After awhile, she rolled her eyes and let him be.

(2) Against his mentor and father's wishes, Yukinko left the Ranges when Doma was invaded by Garlemald, and journeyed to the country's hearts alongside some village youths in the hopes that he could fight.

He learned and quickly grew proficient in samurai arts, the teaching of which had been unrestricted by then as Doma scrambled to fill its ranks with more men while Garlemald bore down on them.

Unfortunately, it was not enough. Doma was conquered, and Yukinko along with his cohorts were captured and conscripted. What happened to those village youths who were his friends, he never knew... At least, not the ones who did not commit honorable suicide.

(3) The Crown Prince of Garlemald was seventeen by then, and had made an idle sport of killing every single tutor that he had. Varis was growing heartily sick of him, but he was almost eighteen and ready for the field, anyway. Amused by Yukinko's skills, he ordered him to be the boy's newest -- and supposedly final -- tutor.

Zenos thought of this stranger as a new round in a game of only the barest amusement. Most of his tutors taught him, but they also loathed him, and did not mind inflicting as many wounds on him as possible. He timed himself on how quickly he could pick up their skills, then kill them with it. The record was thirteen days, by this point.

But Yukinko, though he loathed his circumstances and loathed this scion of his enemies to some degree, was also utterly unable to inflict pain on someone he had authority over as a teacher. Mentorship in his culture was no less sacred or less heavy a burden than parenthood, and so...

So he taught Zenos coldly but sincerely, and was in turn skilled enough to survive Zenos's onslaught.

Thirteen days came and gone. It became a month. Then it became two months, and then four.

Zenos felt--

Not quite curiosity. But rather, pity. He pitied Yukinko. Like someone pitied a rabbit with a broken leg left to die on the side of the road. He could tell that teaching him pained this man, yet he would not be riled and he would not be pressed into explaining why he persisted. He did not rise to any of Zenos's remarks either.

Yukinko spoke only to correct him. Not harshly, not severely; fairly. But he never said a word of praise, and never wavered.

(4) Assassins making attempts on the Crown Prince's life was commonplace. Varis only staged guards because leaving his son undefended was bad press; everyone in the royal palace knew His Highness could kill a squadron of the Empire's finest soldiers if he so chose.

These assassins were a little different, however. They were not insurgents, but rather Varis's political rivals. And somehow, they made it all the way to Zenos's chambers.

Yukinko happened to be there, reviewing sword moves on paper with the young prince. Of course he defended him.

Killing six enemies was boring, so Zenos let him do it.

But it did stir some strange, heretofore unknown emotion in his breast, to see that man who so coldly despised him yet so steadfastly taught him, standing between himself and this perceived danger.

For a moment, Zenos saw a little of the world in a matter of perspectives and not banal truth. The danger might be minuscule, but still, someone -- this man in particular -- was still standing between him and its tiny, pitiful jaw.

Yukinko bled to defend him. When the assassins lay dead and he was flicking the blood off his blade, Zenos found himself saying, "Had you been stronger, you would not have been cut."

Yukinko only laughed. A hollow, bitter sound.

Robed in crimson, a mockery of Doman samurai robes adorning him, a magitek katana at his side, barefoot and spattered in blood, more of it artfully spattered in a halo of carnage around him, the splayed bodies of his enemies like grotesque rose petals...

Beautiful, Zenos thought.

The sincerity of that realization startled him. Beautiful.

But Yukinko was already walking away, to call for the guards.

Zenos stared at the dead bodies for a very long time. Contemplative. Regretful, even.

Then the servants cleaned them away. Zenos paid no mind to their trembling hands and pallid lips, though for once it was not because he did not care to. It was because he was distracted. Dreaming, still, of that splendid scene of red and white, and a different pair of pallid lips, curved so cruelly.

That was the first time Zenos had seen his teacher smile.

...Oh, but he must see it again.

(5) Yukinko would not let Zenos have it.

He was back to his frosty terseness right after, refusing to even grace Zenos with a frown, let alone that smile of hollow mirth. Let alone that laugh. And Zenos -- he hardly knew how to court it out of his teacher.

Realizing that there was a deficiency of knowledge about this man, Zenos took to observing him more closely. Yukinko's habits, his schedule, his philosophy, his art...Suddenly everything about him became possible areas of interest to Zenos. This was no longer a mere passing amusement. It had become a hunt, a true sport. And Zenos would understand the prey that he sought.

Yukinko, who had since grown to pity the young man in return, thinking of him as the product of his environment more than anything, was surprised at this sudden interest. But he did not recoil from it.

They traded words on more than swordsmanship, then. Yukinko was careful not to say too much, aware that Zenos would likely wield anything he learned from him against the Empire's foes, but still, he talked. He talked to Zenos about fate, and the cruelty of circumstances, and hakanai bi. Ephemeral beauty.

Beauty, he told that young man, was tied irrevocably to death and its inevitability. All which was beautiful shall one day fade, and that was what made it precious.

Zenos thought about the wreath of crimson and carnage, of bodies and blood spatters spread like petals around a red-robed, barefoot figure in white. About pallid lips curved in a cruel grin, a voice that laughed so sweetly, so hollowly.

He thought, Indeed, beauty is fleeting.

(6) There were more assassins.

By coincidence, or rather because Zenos had grown to shadow Yukinko too much, they were caught together by the enemies yet again. This time, before Yukinko could even reach for his sword, Zenos had dispatched of them all.

In one move, flowing as water, swift as a dream, a perfect replication of Yukinko's most profound maneuver as a swordsman.

And then, standing amidst all that slaughter, he turned to Yukinko and offered what he would never know was a genuine smile, probably the first in his entire life. And he asked, "How did I do, sensei?"

Yukinko's only answer was an expression of pure horror.

He drew his sword on that child. He did. He realized three things at once -- that Zenos was a monster, that Yukinko himself had raised and armed a monster that would serve the Empire's depraved dream of conquest, that he could not let that monster live.

But a look of confusion passed over Zenos's face, and Yukinko could not get his sword arm to move.

Palace guards burst into the scene then, and upon seeing the Crown Prince standing there amidst corpses with his tutor, sword drawn, facing him with such terror in his eyes... Well, they drew a reasonable if incomplete conclusion.

(7) Yukinko was sentenced to die immediately. Varis wasn't sure whether he was responsible for this attack, but he considered it an irritating breach of security that Zenos's security detail hadn't thought to suspect Yukinko for the previous attempt.

Zenos said, "You cannot kill him."

"Know your place," Varis answered, thinking to himself he better turbo-kill this rabbit harder before, heavens forbid, his heir continued developing sympathy towards savages.

In response, Zenos slipped in, murdered the guards, and set a bunch of prisoners in the same prison free. In their escape, they took Yukinko with them.

Because if Zenos could not kill his sensei, then no one shall get to do it. Zenos had killed every single other tutor of his, those sniveling old fools...but Sensei was different. Sensei deserved better.

No matter. They needed only time. Zenos shall find Yukinko again. And perhaps next time he shall smile again, for him.

He dreamed of their reunion. It would be magnificent. It would be beautiful, and fleeting. And it will be painted in red.

(8) Yukinko wanted to die for his shame, after.

But among the escapees who took him was a Viera, and she kicked his ass about being a coward. If he was really sorry, she said, he'd be working the rest of his life to assist everyone in repelling the Empire and not sit around wishing for the sweet fucking release of death.

She was right, of course.

For years and decades afterwards, Yukinko traveled across the many lands, moving on dangerous missions to thwart imperial gains anywhere he could. Five years ago, he arrived in Eorzea and stayed for the descent of Dalamud.

Five years ago...

Five years...

(9) What happened in those five years?

Yukinko wandered through a forest. Sunlight dappled the ground, bleeding softly through swaying leaves. He had an assignment. He was having a hard time recalling what it was, but he was sure that he did--

Oh, yes! He needed to get to Gridania, where a contact would meet him and... And tell him what needed to happen next. Yukinko knew they had failed. They had failed catastrophically, but there had to be a next step. Dalamud's fall no doubt weakened Eorzea; they must rally.

A carriage stopped by. The man on it asked him if he was alright, if he was lost.

Admitting that he sort of was, the man showed Yukinko some pity and let him hop on. They were going to Gridania anyway. They talked a little, and then.

And then Yukinko found out it had been five years.

The grizzled merchant gave him a weird look. "Maybe ye hit yer head."

Amnesia? Possible. The thought frightened Yukinko, but it was possible.

He thought to sleep it off.

But a crystal appeared in his dreams.

Hear...

Think...

Feel.

And the serpent had found its tail, that it could begin this devouring.

[minti-tales]

Vierapril, Day 25 - Wave

(For the love of the gods, Tumblr, let me schedule this post.)

CW: Intercourse.

Heimar, you beautiful boy, you're persistent. I hope you know that.

I know it's you, because sometimes, when I summon my carbuncle, there's a moment when the wind kicks up and blows my hair back. The scent of spring flowers dancing on the breeze tickles my nose; smoke from an evening campfire winds upward around the tip of my ears. Your breath, hot from a day's worth of work, brushes my lips, leaving them warm. So delightfully warm. Your long hair, brown like mine, always easy to run my fingers through.

My feet touch muddy ground, sopping wet from downpours, and in so doing, I'm brought to the last time I saw you.

I am just a few paces ahead of you, nearing the edge of the Golmore Jungle and everything I know. You, my friend since I can remember, are gaining on me, stride for stride, telling me not to leave. You never beg - you were never the kind to - but I know from the wavering in your voice that you're close. They promised to leave us be, you say with tears in your eyes. Only a few of us have to go. ...You want your freedom, don't you? We'll be in the same unit. We'll be together. We'll fight the Empire together.

I let you catch me. I can feel your lithe arms wrap around me like a snare, tight enough to make me catch my breath. To look around at the trees, one last time, and think about what I was doing. That's what your intention was, wasn't it. To get me to think.

And yet.

I have earned my freedom. It won't be with the Resistance, and it won't be with the Empire.

I turn around quickly, catching you off guard, and I kiss you like I've never done before. I know it's cliché, forgive me, but...

The leather you wear isn't made to save you from a girl going into exile. Menphina knows that your loincloth wasn't either. We are together, but we both know that you aren't going to win.

How bitter you taste, in the moments that come after. A warder going into his last battle, giving it his all, thrusting his spear deep into the beast's side.

I'm selfish.

You deserve better than me.

But we don't stop. Not until you are sleeping on the leaves near us, and my hands are gently resting on your chest. There's a wave of regret that comes over me, and I hate it. I hate every decision I've made with you since we were young, all the promises I made to you, about nearly everything. I can't go. I can't leave you.

I'll be gone before you wake up. I'll get what I deserve in the world outside the Jungle, don't you worry.

Somehow, the memories of you will persist, if only when I play the role of a Summoner. Better memories, where we're young and in something like love.

You are the first to join the Chorus.

---

Recommended reading from Professor Minti:

The Love Song of Night and Day

Loran's Smile

[rhpsdys]

In the awareness between being locked away and being taken, the bard may have seen a hopeful sight, quickly turned grim — a glimpse of a familiar face, one who had been presumed gone, lost like the observer had been. The true fate that he had been dealt, when revealed, was no better. A limp body that crashed to the ground, the last slips of consciousness escaping their grasp. Blond hair, fallen haphazardly in front of their face, the familiar tones of black and grey in clothing. Collapsed, scarred, unmoving — the body of the elder former Guard. The monster which seeped from their vessel bounded to Raine’s, overtaking the puppet for his own uses, his own control. The scene was departed from, left without a glance back. Chaos rose and chaos fell. With Raine no longer harboring Belos, they were supported by the group which had searched for each other, searched to piece back together the broken remnants of their scattered family. Rie had fallen off the brink. In the split moment before falling, they had been brought back. Still wavering on their feet, still uneasy — but alive. That was more than they had anticipated when their eyes had fallen shut last. “ … Raine ? ” Tone, almost disbelieving. Perhaps it was — perhaps they did not believe. Quiet, hoarse, but familiar voice. Addressed from a distance — from the moment Rie had caught sight of them. ( @wrensfeatheredpen )

everything had happened so fast, you almost hadn't registered it. a tall form staggering toward you ( hunter? your clouded mind had provided, but no — hunter's in the human realm. so — ) then green had flooded your vision, && then nothing.

now, weakly supported by eda who hovers, concerned, you struggle to sit up ; phantom stiffness permeates your joints, though no longer wooden, && there's a persisting ache that you can only attribute to him, as if his presence infected you somehow.

all in all, the vessel belos had been using when he turned his sights on you had somewhat slipped your mind, given... everything.

but when you hear your name in that familiar voice, you lurch forward, eyes wide && scanning the area until you see them, && it all comes rushing back at once.

"rie." your own voice is ragged, && you strain to shout louder, above the dull roar of fifty people all tending to their recovered loved ones. "rie!" having locked eyes now, you scramble to your feet, despite eda's protests, && pick your way through the somewhat thinning crowd, pushing forward despite the ache.

yes — up close now, you remember. it had been their face you saw. && it's clear locking eyes with them now that they know what had happened as well. "i'm sorry," you say, even if there's really nothing to apologize for, only because you don't want rie apologizing either. the former golden guard carries enough guilt on their shoulders without blaming themself for this as well. "you're okay." relief seeps into your expression, fond && meaningful. "thank titan — i'm so glad."

UNPROMPTED.

[tseneipgam]

"of course, without the legitimacy of a flashy title at a blue-chip company, I wouldn't have a platform to say anything at all. Any value my words have in this country is derived from my association with its institutions: universities, banks, government. I can only repeat their words and hope to convey a kind of truth. Perhaps that's a poor justification for my own complicity. My part in convincing children that they, too, must endure. Silence, surely, was the least harmful choice."

"There's no time in October for more than peanut butter, traffic lights, and liberated slaves. It's disorien- tating, prevents you from forming an identity. Living in a place you're forever told to leave, without know- ing, without knowledge. Without history. After the war, the crumbling empire sent again for her colonial subjects. Not soldiers, this time, but nurses to carry a wavering NHS on their backs. Enoch Powell himself sailed upon Barbados and implored us, come. And so we came and built and mended and nursed; cooked and cleaned. We paid taxes, paid extor- tionate rent to the few landlords who would take us. We were hated. The National Front chased, burnt, stabbed, eradicated. Churchill set up task forces to get us out. Keep England White. Enoch, the once-intrepid recruiter, now warned of bloodied rivers if we didn't leave. New laws were drawn up; our rights revoked. Yet, some survived. And managed somehow, on meagre wages, to put a little aside. Eventually enough to move wife, husband and child from a rented room in a house shared by five families, to a two-up two- down all of their own. That they owned. And an ethic, a mindset, a drive was established then, that persists now. A relentless, uncompromising pursuit. Transcends race, they say of exceptional, dead black people. As if that relentless overcoming, when taken to the limit, as time stretches on to infinity, itself over- comes even limits, even infinity, even this place."

"But what it takes to get there isn't what you need once you've arrived. A difficult realization, and a harder actualization."

"

Beside me, sleeping, he is formless as water. Unperturbed by the day's anxieties. He breathes stead- ilv. With him, I have become more tolerable to the Lous and Merricks of this world. His acceptance of me encourages theirs. His presence vouches for mine, assures them that I'm the right sort of diversity. In turn, I offer him a certain liberal credibility. Negate some of his old-money political baggage. Assure his position left of centre. I turn my phone to silent. Perhaps he doesn't recognize the pragmatism of our coupling as I do, or Rach would. As his father surely must. But it's there. In his imagined autobiography, this relationship will ultimately reduce to a sentence - maybe two. Thin evi- dence of his open-mindedness, his knack for cultural bridge-building. Everything is a trade."

"

He introduces me to his political friends from across the spectrum. Conservatives who o and ah and nod telling me I'm just what this country is about. And so articulatel Frowning liberals who put it simply: my immoral career is counterproductive to my own com- munity. Can I see that? My primary issue is poverty, not race. Their earnest faces tilt to assess my compre- hension, my understanding of my role in this society, They conjure metaphors of boats and tides and rising waves of fairness. Not reparations - no, even social- ism doesn't stretch that far. Though some do propose a rather capitalistic trickle-down from Britain to her lagging Commonwealth friends. Through economic generosity: trade and strong relations! Global leader- ship. The centrists nod. The son nods, too. Now that, they can all agree to. They take their modern burden seriously; over Beyond Meat burgers with thick-cut chips drizzled in truffle oil. Per bell hooks: We must engage decolonization as a critical practice if we are to have meaningful chances of survival . . . yes, yes! But I don't know how. How do we examine the legacy of colonization when the basic facts of its construction are disputed in the minds of its benefi- caries?"

"British officials during the government-sanctioned frenzy of mass document destruction. Operation Legacy, to spare the Queen embarrassment. The more insidious act, though less sensational, proved to have the greatest impact: a deliberate exclusion and obfus- cation within the country's national curriculum. Through this, more than records were destroyed. The erasure itself was erased. With breathtaking ease, the facts of Britain's non- war twentieth-century history have been unrooted, dug out from the country's collective memory. Sup- planted. Vague fairytales of benevolent imperial rule bloom instead."

[percyashworth]

Percy blinked― owlish and mildly surprised― a laugh catching in his throat before he could bring himself to bite it back. It wasn't as if he couldn't wrap his mind around the thought but he was surprised to hear it― surprised that it was being offered so casually. "I'd imagine you're right about that," he mused, his brow furrowing for a split second before he rolled his shoulders, a lazy shrug.

"I can't say I've ever seen it for myself but my students chat about some absolutely insane things they get up to so it's... somehow not the strangest turn of events I've heard about in passing," Percy continued, amusement dancing in his eyes as he spoke.

His thoughts turned towards his mother― towards her recent attempts to contact him and her dogged persistence in the face of his wavering attempts to keep anything from happening. He shook the thought away and nodded instead, taking a moment to gather his thoughts before he looked at her and offered her a wry smile, "All the time, actually." He admitted, a certain safety in his own anonymity in that moment.

"Well," He said, not hesitant so much as thoughtful. "I can't promise I'll make it any better but I'd hope I wouldn't make it any worse by keeping you company for a bit. You'd have to keep me apprised of how I'm doing, of course," he said, a hint of teasing in the comment. "We could start with a drink, at least?"

“Oh, I don’t know,” Sey drawled in response. “My virtue, the entire contents of my wallet, those keys to my car. ” She’d done that once— handed some unsuspecting teenager the keys because where she was going her car of the month couldn’t follow. “You might be surprised what some people will hand over to a perfect stranger.”

She had stories for days on that front but none that could be shared. It was hard to prove a point when the evidence you had meant confessing to your own crimes.

And that’s one thing she wouldn’t be doing— Confessing. Not now. Not when she’d finally broken free of her family and committed to this so-called fresh start. The same fresh start that was the very reason why she so desperately tried to ignore her phone. Especially then, in that very moment, when it began to ring again. 

Sey grabbed it from its spot beside her nearly empty glass, punched in the power button to just shut it down, and then shoved it into her clutch. “You ever have to deal with someone who just can’t accept that you decided to leave?” Her head tipped toward the now quiet, hidden device. “It’s been one of those nights. Not sure what to call it, but I guess we could go with rough until I see how the rest shakes out.”

[bakerstreethound]

Love that Binds, Love that Fractures & Forever Endures

Relationship: Dr. Stephen Strange x soulmate!reader

Warnings: slight angst, pining, sad stephen

Summary: After seeing that you don’t end up with him in another universe, Stephen begins to doubt if you were meant to be. Needless to say, you help remind him that you always were his despite what the other universe showed.

All writings belong to me @bakerstreethound​ (Do NOT claim, repost, copy or translate my works to other sites. I only publish here and on A03 under the same username)

Word Count: 810

A/N: I’m dedicating the fic to @ironstrange1991​​​ in honor of her one-year anniversary of her finding and falling in love with Stephen. I sincerely hope you enjoy!

He knew you. He looked into your eyes and in many universes without so much a touch, he knew he loved you. Loved you so deeply, irrevocably, beyond space and time. 

But what a universe was this when you were there on the sidewalk holding onto the arm of another man that wasn’t him? 

He gets whisked away to another time, another memory, it’s almost like looking through a crystal ball, too many fractures of a broken life twisted and convoluted, much like his soul or multitudes of them.  

When he first laid eyes on you, he didn’t know you were the one for him, that you were destined to be his. He only felt a pull a whisper of promises taunting him; never mind the promise of the poison of love that seeped through the cracks. 

Wasn’t getting your heart broken a privilege? If so, why did it hurt so much? 

The constellations never wavered constantly tormenting him with images of you, building upon them and breaking them into pieces, only for him to form them back together so he could gaze at them, his one constant in his universe. 

******

He swallows in self-agony, burying himself in his bed, stacking books up by the bedside doing anything to pull the image of your laughing, as you clung to the arm of the other man. He knows he shouldn’t question it, but the thought of one universe where you don’t find him torments him so. He huffs, pulling back the covers, managing to dress and stand by the fireplace, the cloak draped over him, hoping to provide a sense of comfort. 

He sighs and slumps down in the armchair by the fire, staring into the flames he produced. In this universe, his present, his past, and his future, it was all you. 

Everything he does is for you. 

But why does this phantom ache persist and eat away at him? He huffs in frustration swallowing down the scalding tea hoping it brings a sense of relief. It does for a moment, but then there’s a knock at the door and his heart thrums in anticipation laced with dread. 

When you walked in through the door in all your blazing glory, he shook his head, refusing to believe the sight before him. No, it can’t be right you weren’t with him, this wasn’t the correct universe. 

“Stephen?” Your voice beckons to him softly and he finds himself leaning into your touch, your hand cupping his cheek in reverence as you kneel by the chair. This couldn’t be happening, and yet, it felt so right. He feels complete, the other half of his soul aching, screaming out to yours in agony and hope. 

You swallow, resting your forehead against his taking your time, however, this trance was concerning you. “Stephen, what happened?” You will your voice not to crack as he snaps out of his stupor, his breathing short and ragged.��

There’s almost a wild incomprehensible look about his gaze, haunted and forlorn. 

He knows he shouldn’t burden you with this weight, but he sighs in recognition, watching you intently, the weight of the world heavy on his shoulders, this burden he has to bear. He doesn’t dare turn his gaze away from you, not believing you’re real, but an illusion his mind casted in desperation to have you close to him. 

Yet despite this he knows somehow you are here, the only one he loved, his enduring love that spanned across centuries; the love he would always fight for to keep. 

He decides to trust, oh how it took him eons to, but it was you…you were here with him and no one else. 

“I saw you with another man in another universe. I don’t understand it because in every universe and timeline we end up finding each other no matter the situation but you betrayed me!”  He almost howls in agony and your heart breaks to see him this way, how he pushes you away, burying his face in his hands. 

Heartbroken. 

Lost. 

Defeated.

Confused.

You soften at his admonishment, trying desperately to understand his torment. You pull yourself off the floor to sit in his lap, carefully guiding his face away from his hands and tilting his chin up with a finger. 

“Stephen,” you start softly pressing a kiss to his cheek, “everything is going to be okay. Don’t worry about all the universes for you burden yourself. In this universe, our love endures unbroken by time and I am yours as much as you are mine. Don’t forget that, okay? I’m yours for forever and a lifetime.” 

He holds you to that promise when you bring your lips to his, forever sealing your vow. 

“Forever and a lifetime,” he repeats, returning the kiss with reckless abandon, his arms wrapping around you for eternity and lifetimes to come. 

******

@bakerstreethound​ @lilythemadqueen​ @frostandflamesfanfic​ @feral-for-strange​ @starks-hero​ @lykaonimagines​ @classickook​ @azu21​ @strangelockd​ @sobeautifullyobsessed​ @french-vanilla-in-the-clouds​ @starstruck-loner​ @wint3r-h3art​