#the problem is the dream structure of the first chapter

[merlinfromberlin]

Finally figured out why I'm stuck on Dreaming of Home's continuation.

Now I just need to figure out how to get unstuck again.

[godihatethiswebsite]

Tethered Bonds

✽ Poly 141 x f!reader (Omegaverse AU)

A lucky stroke of fate led you right into the arms of your alpha soulmates. But is it everything you dreamed it would be or just the continuation of a nightmare?

Main Masterlist ✽ Ao3

✽ Part Three - Deja vu

Remember when I said this was supposed to be the easy side project made of easy to consume chapters that was supposed to be easy on my brain? Oh the way life throws a wrench in things.

Apologies for the wait but thank you for the patience! A bit longer of a chapter this time (almost double the length) because if you also read my other fic you'll know I have a moderation problem :)

Trigger warnings: angst, depression

Time converted its seconds into a slow-motion camera, capturing the hectic moment as a series of shutter clicks in your mind. Rich earthy elixirs trapped like icicles in a frozen pour from heated spouts. Spare precious change suspended in mid-air spilled from jittery hands. A systolic heartbeat waiting to finish its rhythm. An overplayed Christmas jingle with the record player set to the lowest speed. 

How did you not pick up on the telltale signs sooner? It wasn’t as if this was a first occurrence for you anymore. Precious moments of escape wasted daydreaming of warm comfort when it could’ve been spent backpedaling to the safety of your vehicle. Even more insulting when you considered how perceptive you’d been not ten minutes prior, untrusting of your nose to keep you from trouble in the supermarket bakery, head on a dizzying swivel for any more unwanted surprises.

Yet here you were again, betrayed by the very caffeine that was supposed to be your savior, too slow to duck back out the shop before your scent had a chance to reach his nostrils. 

Now you were pinned in place by a complete stranger who had no business smelling that edible.

Pupils blown wide mirrored your own. Blue irises framed by full lashes contrasted against a faded tan that spoke of time spent abroad in warmer climates. Dark brown hair shorn close on the sides peaked into a mussed up mohawk, slightly damp from melted snow and tousled by the wind. Your eyes unfocused to take in the body belonging to the man - shifting lower, past slightly parted lips greedily inhaling your scent and a craggy chin scar encircled by a dusting of dark stubble. 

A deep brown leather bomber jacket stretched tight across broad shoulders only a few shades darker than his hair, upturned against the elements and protecting a tree trunk neck, accented along the trim by matching tufts of a lighter insulating sherpa. A hint of medium wash jeans caught in your periphery, unable to glance further at the lower portion of his body, too encapsulated by the cosmic force that kept you snared within his gaze.

The back of your neck prickled with the knowledge that whatever was passing between you in the charged space across the checkerboard tiles was a transient mirage at best and a dangerous amalgam of broken aspirations at most. That grim lesson had been embedded into your retinas the hard way– 

No matter how potent the connection, this man was not yours. 

You shouldn’t be here. You should not be here.

The alpha didn’t miss the way you transferred your weight onto your back leg. Predatory focus latched onto the subtle way you shifted, instincts preparing behind barely contained canines. You’d accidentally triggered something; a millennia’s worth of ingrained primality overriding the structured norms of good societal behaviour. Like an old timey saloon, it was an overstrung standoff to see whose will would break first.

Your need to run outweighing his need to possess. 

Eyes narrowed slightly, he pointed right at you with a warning look. In a rough brogue, “Don't…”

You didn't listen.

“Hey hey hey–!” 

It was all too familiar now - this choreographed dance of avoiding uncomfortable affairs instead of facing them head on, ignoring the startled clamor of bewildered customers as you darted past a group of unsuspecting teenagers through the narrowing gap of the cafe door.

Nearly bowling an elderly couple over in your haste to escape, you fumbled out a half-hearted apology as you skidded around the next corner with a high pitched squeak, losing traction on the glassy ice in your well-worn snow boots and catching yourself on a vintage lamp post that you used like a springboard to gain a few precious milliseconds of a head start. 

This was twice in two days now that you’d undergone a fateful encounter the majority of the population could only dare dream of. And here you were bolting from destiny like a frazzled rabbit scurrying helplessly through the underbrush from what should have been your savior.

What the hell kinda luck was this?! And why did it have to choose now of all times?!

The door flung open only moments after, the previously innocent bell chime now a harbinger of doom. Heavy footfalls slapped through the condensed slush of snowfall. Something feral rose up in the presence of a hunter in pursuit of his quarry. 

There was something on your tail, and it felt far more intimidating than a starving wolf leering at his lunch.

Your pulse was bellowing in your ears, weaving through the conglomerated foot traffic as best you could with a body not prepared for a long winded chase. A hot poker stitched your side and hobbled your gait. Frost coated your lungs with every ragged inhale, sapping what little breath capacity you had and crippling until you were little more than a wounded mammal, panicky and acting on pure foolish adrenaline. The rational part of your brain spoke of the futility against someone his size, the brief glimpse afforded to you of his stocky frame earlier proof that your alpha was capable; well fed, sculpted for survival, muscles made of endurance and stamina. 

Everything desired in a good mate, the back of your mind unhelpfully supplied.

Long strides ate up the distance, navigating the pavement far more sure footed than you.

“Bleedin’ Christ!” growled out the voice. “Will ye jus’– wait!”

The firm grip on your bicep rather than his frustrated words was what halted you in your tracks. The slippery slush beneath your feet gave way to an involuntary squeak as another hand snapped out to steady your skidding, keeping you from tucking ass over tea kettle. Heavy breaths turned visible in the frigid winter air as you panted from exertion, sucking in a heady mixture of espresso and chilled vapors that fogged up your mind and muddled your senses. 

Fuck, he smelled good.

A gloved hand shuffled you further out of the way from the crowds of passersby, huddling beneath a shopkeeper's veranda, muffled conversation from the building’s interior a muted buzzing compared to the ringing in your ears. He shifted so as to take the brunt of the whipping winds on his back, sheltering you from the worst of it and allowing you to blink clear the stinging snowflakes from your eyes.

Although you never really stood any substantial chance of escape, there was still something surreal to be said about standing toe to toe with an alpha outside your family circle. He beheld you with the same wide eyed stare you gawked at him with, pupils stuck in a constant state of dilation as he huffed in your shared air, just as drunk off his scent match as you were. At this proximity, even the outside breeze wasn’t enough to dampen the waves of pheromones spiking like heated tesla coils between you. Unlike you, he found it in him to scrounge together just enough self control to soften his stance and manage a relaxed smile your way.

“There now, lass.” His words weren’t winded in the slightest, something that petulantly annoyed you in your weakened state - even if the accented baritone of his vibrato was soothing the consternation from your veins. “See? No need fer misbehavin’.”

There was an obvious gentling to his tone; something placating with an edge of sternness that felt at odds with his choice of haircut. Blue orbs roamed your face as if he half expected you to collapse on him, no longer holding on to you but keeping a readied hand hovering in case your shaky legs gave way. Truthfully - with how you were still sucking in breaths - you weren’t quite sure his assistance wouldn't be needed.

“Christ, LT was right about ye. Got a scent that can skelp a man flat on his arse.”

Even in your current state he must’ve judged you steady enough to maintain balance, despite still keeping the rigid preparedness in his shoulders as his hands sought a place in denim pockets. “Got a habit fer runnin’, dontcha?”

The capability of speech was all but lost to you, tongue cemented to the roof of your mouth and dry as a wilted prune abandoned on the vineyard soil. You’d at least managed the bare minimum of appearing less like a beached guppy by snapping your jaw shut, but the snicker from his lips at whatever he found while searching your face revealed your inadequacy to mask as a functioning human.

Azure eyes sparkled with mirth. “I ken I’m a looker, hen, but I ‘ave tae say it’s been a while since I’ve left a bonnie lass like yerself truly speechless. Strokin’ my ego a bit, ye are.”

“Your coffee…”

The first words you say to the man of your dreams and all you can think of is his wasted cup left unoccupied on the counter.

“Eh, it’s only a drink.” His shoulder’s finally loosened with a shrug. “More concerned about yers. Not tae make ye feel bad, lass, but ye’re lookin’ a wee bit peckish if I can say.”

So your mirror liked reminding you every morning. 

You waved him off on instinct, not needing the alpha to start concerning himself with your health. Not like there was much either of you could do about it. “It’s fine. Shouldn't be spending the money anyways.”

He wasn’t satisfied with that answer, raising an eyebrow at your justifiably frazzled appearance, but choosing not to question it just the same.

“Gonna be honest, lass. Wasn't exactly expectin’ ta bump into ya.”

You could tell by the bite marks on another woman’s neck.

No. Stop it girl. That’s not fair to him.

You shoved back the bitter taste of jealousy, forcing a smile you both knew was awkward. “Yea… what are the odds…”

“Mind ye, when the others mentioned their wee run-in with ye at the shop the other night I ken’d there was a chance– Christ, when Cap’n finds out the…” His words carried on, but you stopped processing them beyond a certain point in his ramblings, focusing more on the melody as it slowly faded to the background. There was a lilt to his speech that didn’t quite fit the occasion - at least to you. A restrained awe; measured happiness so as not to overwhelm you right off the bat with unbridled emotion. 

Part of you was thankful for his careful insight considering the delicate nature of the situation. But even so, the squiggly edges of his personality felt forcefully crammed into an elaborate puzzle rather than fitting naturally into a predetermined space.

You should be thrilled to be having this conversation. Things should be clicking and the world should make sense and his voice should be songbirds twittering in your ear on a beautiful summer’s day without a cloud in the sky and…

All you can hear is the man in a blue camry honking at the lady jaywalking in front of his car, the squeal of halted tires and shouted insults from hot spilled coffee across his lap. The poor woman on the corner shaking a can of loose pennies in hopes of a two dollar meal from the shop down on 7th Ave. Dogs barking at strangers and high heels clacking on wet slushy pavement. 

Overstimulation hits you hard, leaving you incapable of making out anything but the shapes of his mouth without any of the feedback. His voice muffles despite only the foot distance between you, and try as you might you have no idea what’s causing that smile on his face. For all you know he could be just as easily discussing the week's snowy forecast or reciting Chaucer like those lunatics on the steps outside the performing arts college. 

The nagging presence makes itself known in the back of your mind, adding to the chaos plugging your senses and making the hairs on the back of your neck stand on end in a way that has nothing to do with the chill. The disgruntled alpha half a country away calls to your fraying nerves, taking advantage of your weakened mentality and twisting like a gnarled root around your windpipe. You disguise the full body trembles with a forced shiver, the restlessness of your fingers giving in to the urge to claw at your mating mark, hiding the motion by readjusting your scarf more securely and clearing your throat. A cold sweat breaks out underneath the insulating layers of warmth, adding to the already miserable conditions of the snowy bluster. There’s only so much more you can take before you split apart at the threads and reveal to the stranger just how rotted your insides were.

You needed to end the interaction.

“Look–” you interrupt his languid tirade, voice barely holding steady and as timid as a field mouse, mittened palm up to keep him from going any further and stunning him into silence. “You don’t have to do this. This kinda thing just… doesn’t happen to normal people. I’m not gonna hold anything against you when it was a one in a billion chance of us ever crossing paths. You have your life and I have mine.”

Something hard caught in your throat and gummed up your words, threatening to crawl into your lungs and make a permanent home if you focused on it for too long - gave it too much power. You hoped he didn’t see the way you forced yourself to push through. “Let’s just… be adults, acknowledge that it happened, and go about our day as if we were two strangers passing by on the street. No expectations, no mess. ‘Kay?”

Clearly not envisioning that reaction now that he’d finally gotten his paws on you, something in his look tightened at being told ‘no’. “Hardly seems fair.”

Who was he to know ‘fair’?

“And what about us?” he continued with an unexpected bite. “Ye think we can jus’ ignore the fact that our scent match is wanderin’ about somewhere in the city unguarded and at risk of bein’ hurt or– or taken?”

You could almost taste the self satisfaction flaring across the tainted bond, fighting back a wave of nausea and bristling at the emotional wound he unknowingly gut punched.

“And your omega?” You watched him flinch at the obvious retort, both hating and relishing in his discomfort at having reality thrown back in his face. At least you both knew there was an element of betrayal lingering beneath the surface. “You really want her to have to come home every day with you smelling like another woman? Your fated woman? Do you realize the damage that’ll cause not just to her but to your mating bonds?”

In a perfect world, this whole encounter would be different. He’d say hi, you’d give him your most winning smile. The two of you would go back to the cafe and he’d pay for your coffee. You'd sit across from each other with stars in your eyes, getting to know the ins and outs of their soul for however much time your schedules allowed, blowing off prior commitments in favor of lyrical words dancing sugar plums around your head. Numbers would be exchanged and you’d both part ways feeling lighter and hopeful and impatiently waiting for the start of the next exciting chapter.

God, you hated fairy tales. 

The alpha was clearly frustrated at how the conversation was playing out, scratching a rough hand through his mohawk with a groaned out hiss, eyes darting around empty space as a grimaced mouth searched for the right words. “Look, lass. The four of us–” 

Four. There were four of them. Four mates. 

“–aren’t gonna stop worryin’, not now that we ken ye’re within reach and without a pack of yer own.” Blue eyes skimmed downwards trying to peer beyond the veil of your scarf, flicking back up to your face when he failed, searching for a sign that you remain unmated as he suspects by your reactions thus far. 

Glancing off to the side, you avoid his gaze and focus on the piles of brown snow gathered along the curb, not trusting yourself to keep a straight face under his careful scrutiny. He must take your avoidance as confirmation, returning to the conversation at hand.

“Alright, yea. We’ve already bonded another. Nothin’ tae be done about it now and there’s no use bawlin’ o’er what might ‘ave been. But if ye think that's gonna stop us from tryin’ tae be a part of yer life then yer sorely mistaken.” 

There’s an endearing quality to his convictions - as misguided as you believe them to be. So sure of himself, reflected in the take-no-objections posture and firm set of his brows. All confident alpha bravado. 

A small part of you keens at his certitude, recognizing it on a primal level and wanting to bask in the commanding presence your– the alpha provides. But those same instincts that scream at you to welcome his protective nature also serve as a reminder of why that could never work.

There’s a reason packs only keep one omega. While alphas are stereotyped as being the possessive pigheaded brutes who covet your kind like unstable beasts, everyone knows there is none so fierce as a territorial omega, baring her teeth to encroaching females without a moment’s hesitation to defend. It’s not like you’re the worst sorts of overly attached pack mates though. Society wouldn't be able to function if an omega snapped every time they all came within three feet of each other. 

But to have the two coexisting within the same ecosystem fighting over the affections of the same alphas…

If the heartbreak wouldn’t kill them, the blood on their teeth will.

The fact that he’s trying to send all that flying out the window is both impressive and infuriating in its stubbornness. 

Your own voice is far more subdued as you fidget with the hem of your coat. “That’s not how this is supposed to work…”

“Oh aye? Turnin’ down gaggles of soulmates jus’ a light Saturday mornin’ fer ya then?”

Despite the dour mood, you huffed in something akin to levity at his words, feeling some of that tension unreel from your bones in the face of the small upward curve of his lips that accompanied them. “If I say yes will that convince you to throw in the towel?”

Enchanting eyes sparked with determination and something playful. “Hate to break it tae ya, lass, but we’re a right stubborn bunch o’ blokes.”

“And her?” 

Cerulean eyes hardened again. “We’ll sort that out between us.” 

A leather covered arm reaches out to guard your left side, a firm body stepping into your space to block you from a passing beta encroaching too close on your private conversation. You don’t miss the slight rumble in his chest given as a warning to the traipsing man, the subtle growl claiming this spot and two of you in it, an intimidating scowl berating him for nearly knocking into you because of it. It catches you off guard, unconsciously leaning into the alpha's safety from the unaware intruder, the heady scent of freshly ground coffee beans permeating his clothes and coating you in a fresh pot to ease your delicate nerves.

It takes the two of you a moment to separate despite both of you knowing the ‘threat’ is gone; and even then the amount of space between is kept minimal at best. It’s hard to deny the pull molecularly chaining you to this man whose pheromones are carving out spaces in the cracks between the marrow like rapids, filling the pock marked gaps and branding your existence as something completely different than it was before. 

The structural fibers in your body are being split in half like colliding atoms in a particle accelerator. It’s a molecular tug of war between listening to ancestral instincts imploring you to stay with the protective alpha and past emotional trauma begging you not to give in to complicated matters of the heart. You’ve been hurt once before by someone of his kind and the last thing you needed was to punt yourself all the way back to square one when it had taken you so long to reach this part of your healing journey. 

You know where that path leads. There’s nothing waiting for you but despair.

Unknowing or lacking regard for your internal struggle, the alpha surprises you by shifting his arm to sprawl across your shoulder, a gentle but unrelenting force ushering you back in the direction you’d originally come running from, the deceptively casual grip brokering no room for argument. “Now, what’s say we make up fer scarin’ ye earlier with that cup of caffeine ye were gantin’ after, eh?” 

Maybe if you’d possessed a stronger will you might’ve opened your mouth to protest his commanding treatment over you. Instead, nestled close to his body and tucked in tight against his shoulder, he was gentleman enough not to comment on the small whiff you snuck on your way back to the cafe.

The soft instrumentals playing festive tunes over the cafe speakers were an appreciated break from the harsh monotony of whirring kitchen equipment. Depictions of snowmen and candy canes painted artistically on the inside glass celebrated the joyous season. Evergreens and mistletoe; frozen fractals falling from white fluffy clouds. A veritable winter wonderscape - the natural frost accumulated on the outside only adding to the weathering effect. 

Red and green twinkle lights hung strewn across overhead support beams. Garlands with small plastic ornament bobbles snaked around the insides of display cases. An electric votive nestled cozily in miniature wreaths and placed at every table flickered warmly for an added ambience to the already welcoming interior.

The holiday decorations had been up since Thanksgiving, but you’d never taken a moment to really notice them, too focused on the transactional exchange and the time on your phone to give it more than a passing glance of acknowledgement. Fidgeting in your seat, it was a welcome distraction.

You’d been ushered towards one of the secluded tables upon returning to the cozy cafe, your companion either ignorant or uncaring of the odd glances tossed your way by those still inside who witnessed your previous outburst. You kept your head ducked from the initial embarrassment, blood heating your face as he helped you out of your coat and slung it over the back of your chair, making sure you were settled before sauntering off towards the register to place the drink order you’d rattled off. 

While he stood distracted at the counter amongst a sea of waiting customers, one of the older baristas with a candy cane apron discreetly tried to flag down your attention, meticulously cleaning one of the espresso machines with a soiled napkin purposefully tilted away from his view. 

The words in scribbled sharpie pointed your way: ‘You ok?’

Touched by her concern, you gave her a surprisingly genuine smile despite your jittery insides, easing her enough to pass along a thumbs up as she goes back to working on whatever festive drink concoction the lady at the drive thru has deigned to torture her with. It was kind of her to look after you given the strangeness of the day. But against what should be all rational thought you trusted the man who was for all intents a complete stranger.

Here’s to hoping life didn’t pair you with a serial killer.

Shaking your head of such nonsense (hopefully), it took you a moment to recall the last time you gave yourself permission to linger somewhere. With the exception of the hour spent every week in Dr. Miranda’s office, you avoided congregating in public spaces for more than the few minutes it took to get in, get out, and return to the safety of your abode. Crowds made you skittish; the abused animal inside burrowed deep within your rib cage voicing its objections and reflecting its displeasure in the way it made you outwardly twitch. Once upon a time even stepping foot in a place like this - enclosed, swirling with clashing aromas, a singular point of escape - seemed like such an unattainable goal. Even now the awareness of the situation caused your agoraphobia to writhe under your skin, poisoning like fire ant venom and tempting your lungs into anaphylactic shock. 

Deep breaths, girl. In… out… in… out… let it wash over you… inhale… exhale… 

You are safe. You are safe. You are– 

Like nails on a chalkboard, the scratching of wood against ceramic jostled you from your meditative process, an involuntary yelp met with a small grin of apology as the imposing alpha placed your own drink in front of you before taking up residence in the open seat across. Something about the setting exacerbated his already potent smell, mixing with the sweetness of the beverages and leaving you with a deep gnawing ache to lean across the table and drink it straight from the source.

The tide of anxiety receded back to the depths of your mind, your inner omega settling in the presence of your scent match. Even if you couldn’t escape the dark presence prowling like a half-starved panther on the other end of the bond, the natural relief that came with sitting three feet away from your opposite designation had you breathing steadier than you had since leaving therapy a short while ago. You may not be entirely comfortable with this predicament, but at least the attention came with a few built in perks. 

The fake candle in the center highlighted the limited edition designs on your respective drinks, but it’s the name scrawled in sparkly black sharpie that catches your attention on his disposable cup. “MacTavish?”

“John,” he confirms, “pleasure ta meet ya, lass. Though I s’pose tha’s how I should’ve started things out in the first place. With, ya know… manners.”

“Not like I made introductions easy for us…” you mumbled with a wince, tracing over the cafe’s symbol on your cup as a small distraction from having to make eye contact at the admission.

“Aye, ye didn’t. But I cannae fault ye fer havin’ a sense of self preservation starin’ down a big burly Scotsman, now can I?” 

It had been moreso about running from your problems than being outright intimidated by the man, but you weren’t about to question his assumption and open up a whole new can of worms in the process. “Right...”

There was a brief pause as he stared at you expectantly, hoping you’d return the favor now that he’d taken that first step with an official greeting. Something about offering up even that little part of yourself scared you though. It felt like handing over power to the fae folk; like once he knew your name he could strip the autonomy from your spirit and ensnare you forever in his enchanted domain.

Instead, you took a sip from the hot liquid in your hands, soothed by the syrupy blend like a steady palm rubbing lines down your back. Not nearly as good as the earthy bouquet your nose had been sampling with every inhale. Maybe if you’d added a pump of caramel…

You fought desperately to ignore the part of your brain that whispered comparisons to the rich espresso-y figure across the way, stopping any and all sidetracking towards scandalous thoughts of a more private taste testing. 

This was not the time for slick inducing fantasies.

Once he realized he wouldn’t receive an echoing answer, he mirrored you with his own brew, humming in approval at whatever pleasant taste he found and dropping the subject temporarily. Thankful he didn’t push, you read further down on his own drink, unable to help the small scoff of surprise after reading the incriminating label.

“A sugar cookie latte? Not the most masculine of drinks, is it?” You’re not sure where you found the courage to softly tease him over his beverage of choice. Clearly his heavy alpha pheromones were messing with your logic receptors. “Thought your kind liked to keep things dark and bitter.” 

“I'm an alpha, lass. Chasin’ after sweet smellin’ omegas is what we do fer fun.” There was a sparkle there that hinted towards your earlier predicament, a not so subtle implication combined with his cheeky grin that reassured you it was all good natured. You at least had the decency to duck your head abashedly, face heating up from more than just the warming drink. “Kinda gives us a wee proclivity fer honeyed tastes.”

Honestly, he had a point. Can’t say you’d ever thought of it that way before. I mean, seriously. Whoever said alphas needed to be gritty when they came naturally ingrained with a sweet tooth?

“Guess that’s why she smells like chocolate.”

Your lips formed the words without thought, something mean tugging at you the same time he did. Nails bite into the recycled coffee sleeve like sharpened teeth, taking out the urge to scratch on the poor item rather than call attention to the scarf still secured around your neck. Couldn’t even get through a normal outing without him adding his two cents to the mix.

A hard tap on the tabletop called your attention back to John. You’d maybe expected an affirming response, but what you don't expect is to find him staring at you from across the table with a suddenly serious expression, speaking to you in an almost chiding manner. “I'd rather ye didn’t bring up sore spots to intentionally cause yerself pain.”

He didn’t allow you to hide, his face moving in tandem with yours as you attempted to duck his gaze, the blunt observation leaving you sheepish as you worried your bottom lip. 

“...can't avoid the conversation forever.”

“Aye. But the least we can do is get ta know each other first.”

That genuinely puzzled you. “Why?”

Even through the bulk of his winter coat you could see the way the material stretched to make way for his biceps as he crossed them over his chest, leaning back in his seat as he regarded you with easy going eyes. “Yer my scent match, lass. Ye think I'm not o’er ‘ere stewin’ in a fruity cocktail wishin’ I’d ‘ave taken ye tae a juice bar instead?”

Your face heated again at the implication. Seems his own thought pattern wasn’t too terribly dissimilar to the wiley suggestions pawing at your psyche with scintillating ideas of debauchery. “Wouldn't go that far...”

“Got no shame in admittin’ yer drivin’ me up the wall.”

He really didn’t, did he? 

“Not sure you should be saying things like that.”

“Probably.” He shrugged nonchalantly. “Ne’er been one fer followin’ rules though. Doesnae make sense when we're both wantin’ the same thing.”

You examined him over the rim of your cup, forearm resting on the sticky laminate as you leaned in closer, almost imploring in your tone. “Isn't that just further proof we shouldn't even be talking right now?”

Taking a sip of his own, he brushed off your concerns like a piece of lint from his sleeve. “Ye really think ye can jus’ wipe yer hands and forget about us?”

Silence laid thick in the air between you. There was no point denying when he felt every bit the earth-rattling gravity well that had the two of you touching toes beneath the table. 

He didn’t even bother trying to hide the smugness from his expression. “Exactly. I may not be takin’ ye ta my bed, lass, but yer mine nonetheless.”

You shouldn't have liked the way that sounded. For the past four years of your life you’ve been unwilling property to a man holding you confined in a secret realm of bleak oblivion. You’ve begged and pleaded through every starless sky to go back to being the woman you were before fate intervened, desperate for peace in an internal war. All you ever wanted was freedom; to bound over mountains and soar across fields. To scrape off the layers belonging to him and build castles in the clouds far beyond his reach.

Yet here you were thanking the maker of scent wicking panties that your match couldn’t detect the perfume wafting up between your legs at the thought of him staking his claim over you.

“So,” he went on, “we figure out a way tha’ we can be in yer life that doesnae cross any boundaries and ye gain four brutes that'll gladly shank a man fer ya.”

You raise an eyebrow at his choice of wording before taking a sip from your cup. “Sounds a tad extreme if you ask me.”

Canines gleaming, the look he sends you is downright carnivorous. “Oh, yer in fer a spell, lass.”

Chatter turns to small talk in an effort to distract you from the discomfort of previous conversation. Turns out he’d drawn the short straw when he and his pack mates realized over piles of paperwork and exhaustive meetings that certain individuals who would not be named - but he’d been more than happy to throw under the bus - hadn’t checked some things off their list while out doing a routine grocery run the other night. Seems like the previous two you’d met were left nearly as shaken as you after the encounter, forgoing the last few needed aisles in favor of ending things early to process tough decisions behind closed doors.

That’s all the information he offers; no further details exchanged on the matter. The internal workings of your personal lives kept private. It didn’t take a mathematician to understand why you prefer to remain guarded, but you assume on his end it had a fair bit to do with the obnoxious purple elephant in the room, trumpeting and stampeding all over the future you could’ve built had it just stayed locked in a zoo. There’s still some moments along the line where he lays a trail of tiny bread crumbs, challenging you with hungry eyes to follow the path through winding woodland and glittering caves towards whatever lay beyond. You’re tempted a few times to chance a couple steps, toeing the line of curiosity but always pulling back to the safety of the unknown. 

The less you know about their lives the better. You never even inquire as to the missing three names.

Eventually you settle on the topic of just how exactly he proposed this hairbrained… relationship?... was going to work. Fuck, there really had to be a better word for it. Not friends, not lovers. Not a situationship. Not total strangers anymore.

Companions? Counterparts? Symbiotes?

Either way, you’d both been spouting suggestions for the better part of five minutes and you weren’t any closer to a solution that would leave both parties feeling satisfied. Granted the only thing that could work for you would be as little interaction as humanly possible, but he was firm in his convictions.

“We can keep it ta texts fer right now if ye like.”

“But then she'll feel bad if she sees you writing them.”

“Then we'll jus’ ‘ave tae come visit.”

“But then I'll feel like some sleazy homewrecking call girl.”

“Now yer jus’ bein’ a numpty.”

“I’m being realistic.”

“Yea, ye should stop tha’.”

“John!”

“Lass.”

Oh, how you wanted to wipe that flippant laughter off his face and pry it from his mouth with dental tools. The damn thing was unfairly infectious in the way it warmly beckoned a smile to your lips. Here you were trying to be sensible about the situation he created and so far all attempts to come to some sort of compromise were met with off handed ribbing and facetiousness.

You wouldn’t admit that some of the holdup was partially your fault - looking for desperate excuses to keep this from happening - but it hung suspended in the quiet between your words. And what’s more he knew it too.

“What about the occasional email?” you threw out for the hell of it.

John outright guffawed at the ridiculous suggestion, drawing the attention of some of the surrounding tables without a care towards who heard, brawny arms tossed upward in fond exasperation. “This ain’t a business transaction, hen! Saints, what a notion…”

“Well…” you sputtered, “then it seems like we’ve reached an impasse.” 

Please just drop it.

He just looked at you with further amusement, swirling circles on the table with the bottom edge of his now empty coffee cup. “Ye always a neurotically charged mess or is this jus’ my lucky day?”

Oh god. In your desperation to undo the upheaval he’s already causing in your life you really weren’t painting a pretty picture of yourself were you? 

You cringed backwards at the realization. “Pretty sure you’re the reason I’m making myself look like one.”

“Aye, but a bonnie one,” he agrees.

“And you’re not worried about the mental stability of the person which life has comedically deemed yours and is making a complete fool of herself?”

“Just tryin’ tae make ye smile. It's been workin’.” A fact he looked quite proud of.

And it was. You couldn't deny that. For how much havoc this was wreaking on the parts of yourself that had become so ill equipped to handle basic human interactions outside your minuscule inner circle, there was a part of you that was glad to find you still possessed the capability of laughing with a stranger.

The conversation paused as his brow knit in confusion, the faint buzzing of a cell phone rattling in his pocket barely audible over the din as he drew it from the interior lining of his coat. The way he held the device and flicked through it with his thumb implied a text message as opposed to a phone call, huffing as he read over the contents before palming it in his meaty hand.

“Och, the louses are houndin’ me fer their caffeine fix. Hang on a tic, lass.” Flashing a quick smile, his chair slid back with a sharp squeak as he stood, strolling back towards the counter and flagging down an unoccupied barista. It was impossible not to follow him with your eyes, ogling his stocky frame as he rattled off coffee orders from the conversation pulled up on his phone. Even the sweet beta girl behind the register wasn’t impervious to his roguish charms; just a little more subtle in the way she admired the casual arrogance in which he leaned against the marble. 

How long had it been since you last let your eyes wander over the shape of a man and thought of something other than a rancid dumpster and abrasive brick scraping morse code across your exposed back?

There was something uniquely disarming about the alpha. In many ways his ability to break past your bullshit reminded you of Dr. Miranda. Both refused to let you spiral to darker thoughts, spinning the world into one of muted colors rather than shades of desolate gray. But where she spent years undoubtedly locked in a study hall pouring over dissertations and cramming decades of designation theory over red bulls and ramen, John had accomplished that same level of trust in a matter of–

You checked the time on your phone. The pair of you had been sitting in this cafe for roughly fifteen minutes now. That’s all it took for this whirlwind of a man to blow away the cobwebs accumulating in your chest and deliver a shot of adrenaline to your synapses.

Too bad the monster in your veins would make sure it didn’t last.

John came back from the counter holding a cardboard coffee carrier by the handle, looking down at you expectantly from his position towering over you. “Right, lass. Need tae be droppin’ these,” he raised his arm a smidge, gesturing to the drinks, “off tae the lads. So hows about we quit the stallin’ and skip tae the part where ye stop overthinkin’ things and lemme have yer number?”

He didn’t even let you open your mouth in feeble defense of that (true) statement before serving you a warning look that dissolved the syllables from the tip of your tongue. From what little you’d gathered during your brief stint together, you didn’t doubt his potential gumption to wrangle you to the cold tile floor - even in the presence of all these people - just to fish the device out of your pocket himself if need be.

Personally, you didn’t feel up to testing his bluff. 

Working off pure muscle memory, you handed over your phone and watched as he pulled up your messaging app, inputting his name amongst the scant others on the list and shooting off a fruit emoji. If he noticed the sparse amount of contacts in your phone he didn't comment on it. Not like it was hard to miss a grand total of four separate text chains.

His phone buzzed again from the text he sent himself, handing back your device with a smile that erred on the side of slightly devious contentment. The bastard knew he won and was being unfairly smug about it. “There now. See how easy that was, lass? Perfectly painless.”

That’s when it hit you.

“What if she says no?” The sheer panic gripping your chest catches you off guard as much as the blurted out words. Trepidation crushes like a hydraulic press, the thought of this precious fleeting moment being all you ever get seizing your body like a hundred electrified shocks. The rickety tower of emotional stability you’d been working so hard to keep steady seemed to crumble beneath your feet now that there was a chance he wouldn't be around to keep it from falling. “What if this is all just some big mistake and we never should have met and I end up ruining your pack–”

Gods, this was so fucked up. A minute ago you wanted nothing more than to never hear from John again and now your inner omega was giving you whiplash trying to cling to an alpha that wasn’t hers by the skin of her blunted teeth. 

This was exactly why you didn’t want to have anything to do with them in the first place! It was a no win scenario that was only going to make things worse by confusing your already emotionally precarious omega. Delaying the inevitable. Dragging things out. Torturing her wounded soul trying to wring water from stone.

But you couldn’t give him up anymore - not now. Maybe once you’re home safe in your nest and can breathe clean air not tainted with his fragrance. When you’ve forgotten the oceanic hues that gleam at you with such open eagerness. When his brogue and his candor are replaced with flashes of doe eyed brown and thick flowing locks and the taste of chocolatey truth cuts too deep to heal. Maybe distance will make this ache inside easier to bear. 

But at this moment, despite your earlier hesitations, you weren’t ready for the clock to strike midnight on the impossible.

If he couldn’t read the distress on your face then he certainly was made aware of it by the sour smell of overripe fruit cascading off of you, bitter and tart and pungent as you began to spiral, getting lost in a torrent of what ifs and worst case scenarios. 

You never got to finish your verbal stream of consciousness. Alpha instincts snapped into action before you could begin blowing fumes, disregarding his coffee as he hoisted you up from your seat with immediate alertness. Strong arms encased your vulnerable form, one hand cradling the back of your neck with gentle pressure, engaging the bundle of nerves located there with a direct line to the body’s limbic system. An omega’s weak spot; it overrides all internal circuitry and sends calming signals to the brain, disengaging stress receptors, activating the amygdala, bringing you to a headspace of obedience and security. It was highly taboo to touch an omega there without their explicit permission; a right reserved only for close family members and chosen pack mates. 

You should be angry– you should be furious. How dare he assume that just because he was your scent match that it gave him any right to manhandle you! Robbing your ability to retake control and leaving you just as helpless as that fateful night in the alley.

But he was. And you just didn’t care. Call it biology working against you, but all you felt in that moment was a deep rooted need to sink into his grounding embrace and let your mind go blissfully blank. Trusting in fate to send you an alpha with morals and integrity. Handing over the keys to a man who knew how to drive.

Releasing more of his smooth creamy scent into the air around you, body and designation worked in tandem to soothe every aspect of your overwhelmed being. Outside influences floated away with all the cares of the world, revolving around a fixed point in space exactly where you stood. Nothing else existed in this fraction of the universe. Just two souls destined to be together by forces beyond comprehension.

This was what you were made for. This felt right.

And, god– he was purring for you.

“Hey hey– shhh shhh. Settle, omega, settle... easy now. Jus’ like tha’... There’s a good lass.”

Slowly but surely, the acrid odor of anxiety faded back into the sweet juicy scent of a fresh crisp pear. A small whine escaped your lips as he sapped your body of strength, held aloft only by the taut muscles in his forearms. Glazed over eyes reflected the haze fogging your senses, melting you down into something gooey and malleable that dripped like corn syrup, sticky and coating every inch of your skin in a clear varnish. Breathing became easier. The heavy thumping in your ears faded back to white noise. Bones turned rubbery and tendons fell limp until you could no longer remember what upset you in the first place.

No longer needing the subduing effects of gentling, his hand moved from its spot at the back of your neck to the base of your skull, thumb tenderly stroking where skin met hair, shushing soft assurances against your temple.

“Ye needn’t worry a strand on tha’ bonnie wee head of yers. Ye dunnae ken her like we do. Jus’ leave everythin’ tae me. I’ll sort things right as rain, yea?”

The rational part of your brain knew better than to believe honeyed lies, but in the cloudy serotonin you simply nodded into the dark leather of his coat, spellbound under his tranquilizing touch.

“Atta girl. C’mon, let’s get ye tae yer car.”

Helping you back into your coat, he made sure you were bundled up nice and snug before shuffling you outside into the frosty air, a hand resting over the small of your back in a way you didn’t object to in your current slothful state. The chime felt a little less abrasive this time around as you exited the cafe, moving in the direction of your car parked in its spot alongside the bustling rush hour traffic.

You knew the elderly thing was a spectacle to behold; all chipped paint and rusted metal, duct tape holding the bumper together, a dent in the passenger door from where your neighbor’s kids had kicked a ball into it last spring. There was a crack across the windshield from where a bird made friendly with it earlier in the year that sliced through your vision but didn’t impede you from driving. 

‘Character’ was the word you used to describe it, but it certainly wasn’t what everyone else usually chose. John obviously fell into the latter camp.

“Ye sure tha’ thing’s operable, lass?” He scrutinized every banged-up, well-worn inch of it, pulling a face at what he found lacking and raising an eyebrow in disbelief. “Not sure I trust it ta get ya to point b without a few bumps and scrapes.”

You sighed at the familiar criticism, having heard much the same from your fathers. “It gets the job done. Still safer than walking around by myself anyways. I promise I wouldn’t drive it if I thought it’d get me killed one day.” Only a partial lie at least.

He was clearly unconvinced, but blessedly didn’t say anything further besides whatever mumbled remark he kept under his breath. Watching quietly while still keeping an eye on the surrounding area, he stayed near your side as you fumbled with the keys, grabbing the handle to hold it open as you tossed your bag on the passenger seat. “Right. In ya go then.”

You thought that would be the end of it as he closed the door behind you, buckling your fraying seat belt and hoping he was far enough away that you could safely attempt to start your car without any more judgment from him if this ended up being the one time it didn’t turn over.

You jumped slightly as his gloved hand tapped on the glass, turning your head to watch him motion for you to lower the window. Rolling the old school contraption down, you were again hit with a velvety shot of espresso as he half leaned in towards you, forearm resting against the top of your car.

“If ye think fer one minute tha’ I’m gonna jus’ up and forget about ye now tha’ we’re partin’ ways ye’ll be sorely disappointed lass. Tha’ there thing in yer purse’ll be ringin’ before ye ken it and I’m not afraid to come lookin’ if I dunnae get an answer.” 

The promise in his tone felt suspiciously like a threat, but one without any real intended consequence. His relaxed posture and sparkling irises assured you that while he’d probably still be cross if you ignored his attempts to reach out, you wouldn’t be awoken in the middle of the night to someone taking a battering ram to your flimsy front door.

At least, you hoped they wouldn’t.

Flashing you a playful wink, John took a step back from the vehicle. “Take care, omega. Be seein’ ya real soon.”

You’re shouting your name at him before you even realize what you’ve done, the small part of you that longs for a deeper connection clawing free from the part that fears having her heart shattered. From a few feet away you could still see the fireworks bursting in his eyes, the way he stands a little taller and puffs out his already broad chest with euphoria at your proffered olive branch. You can’t bring yourself to regret it when his unabashed smile conjures images you never dared hope for.

He waited until you rolled up your window and heard the telltale click of the locks on your doors engaging before finally taking off, crossing to the other side of the slippery street and walking with a hand tucked into his coat pocket until a line of cars finally blocked his retreating form from view. 

You sat there for a moment with your hands on the steering wheel, the silence in the vehicle more deafening than the wind howling outside. The past twenty minutes played like rewind on a VCR, speeding through the chain of events leading to the present to be watched again and again and again. 

After the fifth or sixth replay, all you could think of was rushing back to your apartment before fate could intervene once more and you accidentally run over your fourth scent match’s pekingese with your fucking car. 

<< ✿ Previous ✿ << ✽ >> ✿ Next ✿ >>

[derinthescarletpescatarian]

hey! I'm pretty new to your stories: currently reading curse words and loving it! (I started the first book with the mindset that I wouldn't be caught enough to miss some real life stuff because of reading... guess what, I missed some real life stuff reading.)

but now I have a question: the books have a pretty intricate plot with a lot of good payoffs for small things. which is very cool from a reader's point of view, but from the writer's one— can you maybe share some stuff about your process? especially in the early stages, how do you go from the initial spark of an idea and what this is about to a fully formed plot? would be cool if you're willing to share

anyway have a great day I'm off to start the third book hehe!

One thing to know about me is that I have just the worst possible imagination. Absolute pisspoor garbage imagination, nothing going on up there. When I want to plot, my process is simple:

Find a problem, then solve it.

Curse Words was born of several disparate story ideas coming together, but mostly I wanted to play with the magic system -- I wanted to write a story where spells were metaphysical parasites that possessed mages, and each mage could only cast their unique spell. The whole thing came about when reading The Princess Bride, specifically the chapter where Buttercup dreams of being a perfect baby and the doctor looking her over and regretfully informing her parents that she was born with mo heart -- I was possessed with this powerful impression of a slightly wacky doctor peering over the top of his rose tinted glasses to inform a pair of parents that their baby had a curse trapped in her heart. From there, it's find the problem, solve the problem.

I wanted to separate Kayden from his family and put him in an unfamiliar environment for the story so that he and the audience would be on a pretty similar level re: world information; isolated magic and a magic school is the easy way to do that. Okay, so why is this school isolated? Why is the curse thing not common knowledge? Why do the public fear curses and have such limited access to magic that it's not a part of Kayden's day-to-day, if it's so useful? Solve the problem; look at the economy. The unique nature of spells makes them difficult to scale up, and the unpredictable nature makes them inferior to technological solutions to problems in most large-scale issues. What does this say about how the Industrial Revolution would've affected the usefulness, and therefore the public perception, of magic? The logical conclusion is the Purity Revolution.

This school is gathering and teaching all these students; why? I wanted a clear division between witches like Kayden and a privileged elite that formed most of the school body; why are they different, how are the elite kids here, why are witches accepted and integrated into the student body? Solve the problem; look at the economy, the politics. Where are these rich kids getting their magic? Why pull in witches? One question answers the other. Why didn't Kayden and Kylie know that curses were spells in advance? Seems something that should be common knowledge. Look at the politics; tie that in. Logical conclusion: magic trap. We have this magic lake with a monster in it that we introduced super early for dramatic purposes and haven't explained yet. What can we do with that? Let's invent empowered water. Let's look at what that means for the creation of potions worldwide. Let's tie in the management of unmanageable spells. Let's elaborate on the structure our magic trap.

Now we have a channel of power. Curses parasitise witches; some are blessings, some are more trouble than they're worth. The school collects curses, domesticates them, makes them more useful, locks away or renders harmless that which it cannot make use of. More curses are collected over time, the school grows and grows and Refujeyo becomes stronger and stronger as they control more of the world's magic supply, but every system has a capacity. What's the effect of this infinite growth? Here we have a clear and unavoidable economic metaphor, so obvious that not centreing the story on this concept would basically be dishonest. Who's managing this collection, what does it say about the power of the school within mage society? How would such a school relate to the rest of Refujeyo; how would Refujeyo, collecting power like this, relate to and be viewed by other magical traditions, and by nonmagical society? Run through the reasoning, solve the problem.

Why would the school only approach Kayden as a teenager, after his curse caused problems? Surely the school would want to collect as many curses as if could as early as possible. There has to be a reason why they waited. This is a good one because it flows directly from the complex political relationships between Refujeyo and commonfolk politics that have to exist, AND ties neatly into critical character motivations that have to exist for book 1's main twist to function (notably, Malas Aksoy's actions). Sort this out for book 1 and accidentally create a critical political point for the rest of the entire series.

I started writing book 1 with the idea of the court case and subsequent twist about Kayden's curse being the big mystery, but Kayden still needs something to actually do at school. We have this mage who we threw in to rescue Kayden and Kylie from the lake, and had Max hero worship her for flavour; she seems to be becoming central to a lot of interactions for some reason. A lot of dramatic stuff is therefore automatically happening in her presence, but why is this incredibly accomplished and intelligent mage fucking up so much? We've established her as careful and thorough. We need a reason for all these accidents beyond random chance. Someone's sabotaging her -- why? Let's look at our established characters and figure out who has means and motive, and who the most fun red herrings would be.

How could a place like Refujeyo, such a complex and time-consuming project that would have to involve the cooperation of so very many mages, even get built? How would it survive long enough to be powerful? When and where did this happen? We've already established the Purity Revolution; maybe there was something more coordinated than just random undirected economic forces. We've established some incredibly powerful mage families and the old system of apprenticeship and inheritance; we know that the most powerful family in Refujeyo used to have a prophecy and owned a very powerful place that helps prophecies specifically. They could coordinate something, given enough motivation and the help of enough other powerful mages. What kind of motivation? Let's go back to the Purity Revolution. If tech develops alongside magic without central oversight of some kind, what could magic enhance? What problems could be foreseen that would make this kind of investment worth it? How does Refujeyo save the world?

Tie this into our power channel. Refujeyo's attempt to save the world endangers the world due to infinite growth and power being passively collected by those who benefit from the dangerous status quo. It fits our economy metaphor, because they're essentially the same thing, just putting in magic instead of money as a means of power.

Find a problem, then solve it.

The important thing with this method is to keep your solutions cohesive. If you come up with a new different reason for every thing, your plot will look scattered and disorganised. We don't want to look like we're just pulling the story out of our arse. I mean, we are pulling the story out of our arse, that's what writing fiction is, but it's a big part of our job to help our audience suspend their disbelief on that. Whenever possible, you should look for answers that solve multiple things and weave disparate parts of the story together; this is especially true when they relate to the core plot or central theme of your story.

Also, leave gaps for reader inference. You don't have to answer every single question, you just need to make sure that some plausible answer exists for every single question. Sometimes this involves saying less, not more, and letting the audience figure it out.

[psychewritesbs]

Chapter 236: Go South—JJK is generational

Gosh. Can we pleeeease just like... have a moment of silence for the one and only...THE Man, Gojo Satoru.

Ok, time's up.

Moving on.

Word vomit under the cut.

The process of reading this chapter was a very interesting one this week because the fandom got really noisy as soon as the leaks dropped.

Between allegations of bad writing and the utter sense of grief Gojo fans were expressing, it was quite the 💩 storm.

And then the actual scanlations started dropping, and little by little they replaced most of the noise with the utter sense of calm and peace and satisfaction that Gojo felt in his last moments in this plane of existence.

I gotta say that I just absolutely loved how Gege depicted those emotions (outside of Gojo's "dream") through shots of the devastated Shinjuku district.

The remnants of the battle of The Strongest, as if the landscape and the buildings themselves represented the end of an era, the devastation of the structure of Jujutsu society itself.

After all, as The Strongest sorcerer in the modern era, Gojo represented the very system he was trying to destroy.

Gege loves his irony.

Now, I would normally say that the words in the speech bubbles are superfluous because Gege creates such a beautiful atmosphere through the setting alone. But it is the words themselves that re-contextualize not just the battle, but also shed more light on Sukuna's interest in Megumi, which I feel we haven't seen the extent of what he had in mind.

Now I'm hoping this isn't a dream

Listen, I must admit I've never cared for Gojo.

I don't hate him, I don't love him, I simply never really cared for him.

That, of course, changed with this chapter.

And it is perhaps Gojo's death that really solidified in my mind the idea that one of the underlying themes in jjk is... dun dun dun... DEATH.

Yeah, I know. Sue me, I'm late to the party lmao.

But it's not just death itself that is a theme, but rather the face we put on when death comes knocking at the door.

There aren't many things that we can be certain of in this life, but death is one of them. So how we confront death and our mortality shapes the sense of self.

I know a lot of people were dissatisfied with the transition from 235 to 236 and Gege not showing how/when Gojo got slashed in half, but I find the abrupt transition makes sense, and I even dare say was... quite poetic.

For one, now knowing that Gojo knew Sukuna was holding back, a lot of incidents throughout the battle are given new meaning. Like that look of confidence on Gojo's face as he "thinks" he's finally managed to "get through" to Sukuna.

So I have to say that I loved that Gege starts the chapter with Gojo becoming aware that he has died or is dying.

In other words, Sukuna's attack was so sudden that Gojo's next moment of awareness as "Gojo Satoru" is in what we would normally think of as "the light at the end of the tunnel" where he is greeted by people who were of significance to him in his youth.

And can we please just talk about how Geto is the first person he sees when he becomes aware that he is dying?

Please. This is fucking poetry!

Insert keyboard smash.

Screaming in jjk.

Go South

I literally lack the words to explain why I love this whole chapter so much. Which is a lot to say because I am about to word vomit about it. But like...

Again, hindsight is 20/20.

I always thought of the panel above as Geto being jealous of Gojo surpassing him in strength but, in retrospect, I think Geto's disappointment had more to do with Gojo's sense of self over-identifying with the title "the strongest" and how that made him harder to relate to, which is one of the main themes in this chapter. I'll come back to this in a sec.

But first...

Quick depth psych segway. I think I've said this before, but it bears repeating again that an overwhelming sense of self is all ego. There's nothing wrong with ego per se.

The problem is that an over-identification with ego means inherent separateness because, as an organ of the psyche, the ego sense of self is what gives us a separate identity from the collective.

On the other hand, soul/heart (another organ in the psyche) is the principle of relatedness--love, the single energy that can bring us all together as a collective.

But as we already know, the stronger the sorcerer, the more overwhelming the sense of self.

Unfortunately, because an overwhelming sense of self = separateness, this also means the person in question can't relate to others.

And is this not thematically perfect for a sorcerer whose perfected cursed technique was meant to render others unable to "reach him"?

In other words, Gojo saw himself as separate (because he was "The Strongest") and that made it harder for him to relate to others, but only because he self-identified as "The Strongest".

Infinity ∞, in this sense, is also about the self-fulfilling prophecy Gojo was stuck playing out in his life in regards to seeing himself as "The Strongest".

But like a serpent eating its own tail, Gojo came back full circle, and in the moments before his death, learned that what really mattered to him was not strength for the sake of strength, but rather the connections he had fostered with others.

PLEASE. GEGE. WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCKING FUCK?!!!!!!!!!!!

To bring it back to "Satoru became 'The Strongest'"...

I just loved so much that seeing Geto as soon as he becomes aware he's died felt like an encounter that meant Gojo had returned to the person he was before he self-identified as "The Strongest".

But more importantly, Gojo's imagination of himself as back when he was young also speaks both to how much he cherished that period of his life, and to how he was emotionally frozen in time due to his encounter with Toji.

It makes me wonder whether Gojo was afraid of dying alone when Toji almost killed him. So it's almost like what he took away from that battle was that he was always alone, and so he sought to push others away.

The kicker is that he simultaneously feared his existential isolation and yet craved the very source of his fear--human relations.

But in choosing self-preservation, he was a selfish to the very end.

What an idiot (tragically affectionate).

Anyways. How much of this is hc? Someone tell me please 😂. I feel like I went off the deep end in the last few paragraphs.

Like everyone else in this fandom I've lost all objectivity when it comes to Gojo because his departure from the story was truly one of the most heartbreaking moments in jjk.

I understand people's complaints about the "execution," but I think the world-wide phenomena that Gojo's death has spurred speaks to Gege's ability to elicit deeply archetypal emotional responses as a story teller.

With Gojo's death, a part of our own psyche too has died. And what's most significant about this death is that it was, true to Gojo's character, "something that needed to die because it represented the very thing it sought to destroy."

And this would be why I love Gege's writing.

A fitting way for Gojo to go out

I know not everyone agrees, but I really appreciated that he was satisfied and at peace in the very end.

He got his cake (battle to death with Sukuna) and got to eat it too (reconnected with his loved ones).

Sukuna

But we can't talk about Gojo without talking about Sukuna as the one who liberated Gojo from the burden of his existential isolation.

Sukuna gave Gojo a fun battle, but if it weren't because Sukuna figured out how to cut through Gojo's metaphorical defenses by learning to cut through space-time itself--the very fabric of reality, Gojo might not have found his humanity once again.

The outcome of this battle spells out in no uncertain terms how dire the situation is as Sukuna has proven himself to be the uncontested "Strongest".

But in a sense, the end is a new beginning, and this time, there is no light at the end of the tunnel.

JJK is generational

I get the feeling that everyone will remember where they were when this panel dropped.

I was in bed. It was 6 am and Tasokare, my miniature panther, was demanding attention.

A moot was on the way to the gym. They never made it out of the house after seeing the panel.

Another moot was completely avoiding Twitter to avoid leaks, but her brother, who does not even read jjk, saw the panel on Facebook and showed it to her.

Yet another moot was on vacation at the beach.

JJK is generational like that and there's just so much more I can say about this chapter and its implications (like the idea that Sukuna can now cut through space-time, why?! what does he want to get out of this ability?), but I just don't even know what more I can say right now.

Anyways, thanks for reading. I'm looking forward to any thoughts you might have. Just a heads up, I'm very, very slow at replying.

[bobbithewriter]

Miller's Secret

Chapter 1: Cafe Kisses

Pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader Rating: 18+ Word Count: 5058 Series summary: [NO OUTBREAK] You don’t know how or why but you find yourself drawn to an older man. His broad shoulders, strong arms, and pepper gray hair drive you wild. But there’s one problem: he’s your professor. Unsure of how to get over this crush you decide to apply for a mentorship… under him. It could all go horribly wrong, or it could be just the thing you both need.  Series warnings: SMUT SMUT SMUT, this is so smutty I’m not even sorry. Very veryyy brief mentions of Y/N (if any). Age gap- reader is in her 20’s while Joel is in his late 40’s/ early 50’s, it’s not specified. Student/Teacher relationship but it’s not what you think. Inappropriate relationships, yearning, tension, sexual tension, sarah doesn’t exist here (sorry girl), secret relationship, cursing. Chapter summary: After crafting the perfect schedule for your last year of college, you find out that one of your classes in your first semester got dropped. Forced to find a replacement, you settle for Intro to Philosophy with Professor Miller. You’re in for a big surprise. Chapter warnings: 18+, Smut, fem!reader, professor!joel miller, sexually explicit thoughts, cursing, age gap, inappropriate thoughts/dreams, oral (f receiving), sexual tension, secret relationship.

A/N: This is the first chapter to what I hope will be an interesting series. It goes without saying that this is all FICTION. enjoy:))

-

The heat is stifling outside, the sunning blazes down, scorching the Earth beneath it. It’s nearing the end of summer and you just can’t believe it’s gone by as fast as it has. Although you’ve spent most of it working, like today, there have been a few moments of relaxation sprinkled in, but not nearly enough for your liking. 

Making your way into your two bedroom apartment, you toss your keys on the coffee table near the door. You kick off your shoes and rush to turn the A.C. on hoping to be rescued from the heat. The apartment is silent, your roommate, Jade, is most likely at work giving you time to decompress from the very tiring shift you’ve just had.

You enter your room and are welcomed by your cat Lulu whose orange fur shines thanks to the sunlight passing through your window. Clothes litter the floor, books and magazines lay scattered on your nightstand and desk, your room is a proper mess, but it’s your mess. You make your way to the rickety wooden desk that sits against the wall closest to your window, pulling the near see-through curtains together in hopes of keeping some of the sun out. 

You open your laptop and look up your school’s student sign in, hoping to review the courses you’ll be taking this semester. Although you’ve grown to love school and love the structure it provides you with, you feel an immense relief knowing that it’s your last year in college. The parties and events are fun but you finally feel ready for more, you’re hoping for something more worthwhile. Lucky for you, your last two semesters are light ones since you’re not taking nearly as many classes as usual- you shudder thinking back to your freshman year when you thought taking seven was a good idea. Last spring, when registering for classes, you crafted the perfect schedule: four classes fall semester, three classes spring semester- easy. 

You scroll down to the bottom of your schedule only to find that one of your classes, an elective, has been dropped. Confused, you grab the notebook from the shelf above your desk and flip through the pages until you find the schedule you outlined back in April. Sure enough you see that your photography class has been dropped due to them not finding a professor for the course. You check your student email and find that you were sent a message back in July notifying you of the change. Frustrated at yourself for forgetting to read your emails, you return to the school’s registration page. Unfortunately, with classes starting next week, you know that the chances of you actually getting a class you’d find interesting are slim to none. You scroll and scroll until you’re able to find a class that fits with the rest of your schedule: philosophy. Great, you think, two hours a week dedicated to listening to some old guy drone on and on about ethics and morals and what the meaning of life is. 

The cursor hovers over the register button. Do you really want to do this? You have two options: you could always take photography next semester with the professor you like, or, you can suck it up and get this elective over with and earn another three credits but be forced to listen to a bunch of existential nonsense. You, for whatever reason, pick the latter. You rationalize with yourself that it’s only one class and it’s just one step closer to graduating. You decide to mull over the syllabus jotting down a list of school supplies you might need for the upcoming school year when you get a notification from your email. 

Professor J. Miller

Fall A- Tuesdays and Thursdays 10:30-12:30- Office hours: TR 1:00-3:00 or by appointment 

Welcome to Intro to Philosophy! Like the title suggests this course will be the most basic introduction to philosophy and its integration into our society. No textbook is required for this class but I do expect you all to come to every class prepared to discuss the handouts I give you. Participation is a requirement for this class and I look forward to hearing all of your thoughts and opinions. Looking forward to meeting you all next week!

Best, JM

Although you won’t have to spend even more money on textbooks for the class, the prospect of having to show up every other day for weeks on end just to earn a participation credit is enough for you to groan aloud. 

-

The week goes by quickly, between work, getting ready for the upcoming semester, and hanging out with Jade, you’ve barely had any time to yourself. Lucky for you, you don’t have any classes on Monday giving you time for some much needed self care. You complete your yearly before-school-starts-self-care-routine, trimming your hair, painting your nails, shaving your legs, plucking your eyebrows- the works. 

You spend the day lounging about your room, playing your favorite albums on your record player to fill the silence. You try on different outfits feeling totally relaxed for the first time in weeks. As if on cue you get a notification from your phone. Opening your email you find a message from Professor Miller with a full copy of the syllabus and a short article to read. 

Good afternoon everyone! Below I have linked a copy of the syllabus and an article for you all to read before class tomorrow. I hope to spend less time going over the syllabus, only answering questions you might have, and more time talking about the contents of the paper. Please come prepared!

Best, JM

Great, homework before you even start the class. You move to your bed where lulu is sprawled out and begin reading the article. You read paragraph after paragraph discussing value theory and metaphysics, taking notes as you do with the hopes of actually understanding what you’re reading. You finish and decide that you’ll review the notes tomorrow before class. Surely it won’t be that bad.

-

You wake up later than you intended and realize you don’t have nearly as much time to get ready as you wanted. You get ready quickly knowing you’ll have to stop by your school’s cafe since you didn’t get a chance to eat breakfast. The drive is a short one and eventually you’re pulling into the student parking lot.

Grabbing your backpack and keys you enter the cafe, the smell of freshly brewed coffee filling your nostrils. Looking at your watch you realize you have 20 minutes till class starts and relax a bit. You order your usual, a vanilla latte with two shots of espresso and a chocolate croissant, and wait for your name to be called. Behind you you hear the bell on the door jingle signaling that another customer has entered the already very busy cafe. 

As you wait you can’t help but look around at the cafe’s patrons, some are clearly students while others are harder to discern, maybe professors, maybe alumni, you’re unsure? Your university is located at the center of the city so many alumni linger around, finding jobs after graduating but still gathering at some of the college’s most popular cafes and restaurants. You’re broken out of your thoughts by the barista calling out names and orders. 

“Large six shot quad espresso with extra ice for Joel”, shouts the barista.

Your eyes first land on the very large cup filled to the brim with espresso and then to the person picking it up from the counter. Your eyes trail up from his hands, to his arms, and finally to his face, ogling him unintentionally, and you’re met with a sly grin from the man standing in front of you.

“Sorry for starring”, you laugh, “I’ve just never seen someone order that many shots of espresso in a single cup.”

“What can I say, I like my coffee strong”, he laughs. “I’m Joel”, he says, extending his hand out for you to shake.

The man before you is tall, six foot if you’d have to guess, with broad shoulders and large arms. He’s sporting a light blue button down and navy blue trousers that make his already tan skin seem impossibly warmer and brighter. His dark brown hair is peppered with grays as is his beard- though you wouldn’t really describe it as a beard, more like scruff. His hands are large and pretty much engulf your own as you extend your hand to shake his. His shake is firm and you find the handshake lingering longer than you both probably anticipated. 

“I’m Y/N, it’s nice to meet you”, you reply. From the looks of it he’s anywhere between his late 40’s or early 50’s, but you’re not really sure. His brown eyes hold your gaze momentarily and you notice that he too is sizing you up. You snap out of it when you hear your name called.

“Small vanilla latte with two shots of espresso for Y/N”, the barista shouts again. 

“Ah I can see why my six shots would scare you”, Joel jokes, keeping his body facing you as you reach for your breakfast. 

“Yeah well caffeine tends to make me jittery and I’ve got class in a bit so I’m trying to keep the coffee to a minimum”, you respond. “Anyways, I better get going”, you say, “It was nice meeting you, Joel.”

Before he has a chance to respond you find yourself walking to the door but not before turning back around and giving him a small smile. As you make the short walk to your first class you find yourself thinking of him. It’s been a while since you’ve been with a guy and maybe that’s why you find yourself still thinking about this stranger but a part of you also knows it has more to do with his good looks. You’ve never really found yourself attracted to older men like that, partly because you live in a college town where most of the guys you interact with are no older than twenty five and partly because you’ve just never met an attractive older man in person.

You think back to his face, a blend of strong, masculine features but with a much softer side as well. The slight curve of his nose and edge of his jaw seemed almost drawn with charcoal, and you can’t help but think back to the warmth in his eyes.

God it’s been too long since you’ve been with a guy, now you’re replaying a five minute interaction with a total stranger. Great. You take your phone out to text Jade.

Y: Dude I just saw the cutest fucking guy, too bad he was like 50:/ It’s actually concerning how touch starved I am bc im literally daydreaming about this guy and we said like five words to each other LMAO J: OUUUU DILF DILF DILF Girl go for it, who cares if he's old, hot is hot Did you get the sexy strangers number?? Y: NO our interaction lasted maybe two minutes  J: Too bad:(  It’s okay bc I hereby declare that we are officially going out this weekend and you’re gonna get laiddddd Y: okay this conversation is over J: this. weekend.

You smile despite yourself and fasten your pace hoping to leave any thoughts of Joel in your wake. You take the stairs up to the second floor and enter the room. Although it’s not quite as big as a lecture hall, there are a decent amount of students already there waiting for class to start. You take a seat in the middle of the third row, your usual spot since it’s close enough to seem engaged when you want but also far enough away so you’re not in the direct line of crossfire when it comes time to participate. 

You’re too distracted getting settled to notice him walk in but when you look up you see Joel… in your class… walking to the podium? You’re struck with the sudden realization that he’s your professor. Your professor is Joel. Oh my God. The sexy stranger, as Jade put it, is literally your teacher.

It seems that he notices at the same time as you do and he gives you a warm smile. Okay, there’s no need to freak out. He clearly doesn’t care so why should you and really there’s nothing to even care about right. It’s fine, he was clearly making normal conversation and you just happened to be the sex-deprived stranger he gave his attention to. There is absolutely no reason to overthink this. So what your teacher is cute, it won’t make a difference, you’re here to get your credit and go.

He makes his way around his desk and podium and begins, “Good morning class, I hope you didn’t have too much trouble finding the room. It’s good to see you’re all here so let’s get started shall we. If you have any questions about the syllabus now is the time to ask, I want to get started on dissecting the article I had you all read.”

His voice is clear- confident- and you can’t help but to hold onto every word he says. He looks around the room, waiting a beat to see if anyone raises their hand and moves on. 

“Okay great, now I want you guys to first raise your hands and tell me your thoughts on the paper itself, did you like it, did you dislike it? Feel free to get as specific as you want.”

Around you, your classmates raise their hands and participate, voicing their opinions on the paper. Some thought the paper was interesting, others didn’t, but there seems to be a universal agreement that the paper was difficult to really understand, a fact your professor seems to catch onto.

“So it seems as though the room is pretty split between whether the paper was good or not. That’s fine! Philosophers have disagreements all the time. But how many of you really understand what Value Theory is, hm? Can someone explain what it is to the best of their abilities, it’s okay to be wrong, that’s why I’m here”, he says. 

You raise your hand, “Value theory is, at its core, worried about justifying our value judgments and the actions that follow. It basically tries to answer hard questions like what it means to pick between the ‘lesser of two evils’ or what it means to be a ‘good’ person.”

“That’s exactly right”, he says, holding your gaze for a moment and giving you a small smile. 

You return his smile with pride, happy to have gotten the answer right. You’ve always excelled academically and although you would never admit it to anyone else, you crave the validation you get from your professors and peers. 

The rest of class continues on like normal with Professor Miller explaining the differences between Value Theory and Metaphysics and how they might help us answer some difficult questions. 

Class continues as normal and just as he’s about to dismiss everyone he gives a few housekeeping reminders: two papers to read before next class, office hours are Thursdays after class, and mentoring?

“Like the syllabus says, I do mentor a small group of students each semester who want to get a more in depth understanding of philosophy. Unfortunately I cannot mentor every single one of you so if you want to be one of the lucky students please submit a one-page proposal of sorts by the end of class Thursday. If you have any questions feel free to email me. You’re dismissed”, he says.

Packing your things you’re left with this new idea to ponder. It might be good to have Professor Miller as a mentor so you can get another letter of recommendation, but you’re not even sure you even enjoy philosophy like that. You have a couple days to decide anyways, who knows what you’ll end up doing. 

-

The rest of your day drags on slowly and by the time you finally get home you can’t help but sink onto your carpet floor and just lay there. Lulu hops off the bed and curls up next to your side. You let out a groan thinking about just how much homework you have to do and it’s only your first day. Two papers to read, a proposal to write- you decided you’d take a shot at it, there’s no guarantee you’ll even get picked so who cares- a four page research paper due, and an online quiz. You mentally thank yourself for only having picked three classes this semester. 

After eating dinner and showering you decide to start on your proposal. You rack your brain trying to come up with at least three different reasons you want this mentorship. One: you need another letter of recommendation- you plan on applying to graduate school or law school and both require amazing letters of rec- and one from your philosophy professor would look good. Two: you find philosophy interesting (sometimes) and maybe one on one sessions with your professor will strengthen that interest. And three: it doesn’t hurt that your would-be-mentor is easy on the eyes. Okay that third reason isn’t really a reason it’s more of a plus but it’s still valid. 

It takes you longer to submit your proposal than it does to actually finish it. You deliberate the options: you could submit it and work closely with Professor Miller, if you get picked that is, or you could never submit it and never have to worry about being in close proximity to that man. Fuck it, you think, and click submit. You hope you don’t end up regretting that. 

-

Thursday comes and goes pretty uneventfully with the exception of Mr. Miller telling your class that he would release the names of the students picked for the mentorship by the end of the weekend. You, surprisingly, aren’t at all nervous. You know that if you get picked it will look great on your resume but if you don’t it won’t really make much of a difference. 

Unsurprisingly you spend the rest of your day studying and going to work, it seems as though your days consist only of those two things now. When you get home you find Jade sitting at the dining room table on her laptop. You decide to join her seeing as you both have seen so little of each other because of all the craziness that the start of the semester consists of. 

You guys quickly stop working on any actual homework and start talking about random stuff, friends, boys, work, and school. Eventually the conversation shifts to your professor.

Jade gives you a smirk, nudging your arm, “So how cute is he really? Do you have a picture of him or something, I’ll be the real judge.”

You open your laptop again, scrolling down your course page until you find his picture. Zooming in, you turn your computer towards Jade.

“Sweet baby Jesus, that is the sexiest man I’ve ever seen. Oh my GOD! Is it too late to register for this class?” she laughs. “If you don’t make a move I will.”

You laugh, snatching your computer back from her. “You know I can’t do anything, he’s my professor. It would be totally unethical”, you say.

“It would be totally fucking hot”, says Jade. “Come on it’s not like you’ll get expelled or anything, it says nothing in the Student Code of Conduct about it so you’re fine.”

“Have you ever even read the Student Code of Conduct?” you retort. 

“Well no, but I’m sure it doesn’t say anything about that”, Jade laughs.

You both stay there talking for another hour or so, taking turns telling each other about how your days have gone. Eventually Jade decides that Saturday night is “the night” as she puts it. 

“We are so getting you laid, you need it more than anyone I know, no offense”, she says.

You give her a glare but ultimately give in. You haven’t gone out since that one night last semester that ended with you holding Jade’s hair as she hurled the contents of her stomach into the toilet. You’ve never been much of a partier, much less someone who enjoyed one night stands but if you’re honest with yourself, it’s been a barren few months and you haven’t had much company with anyone except Bertha, your vibrator. Maybe it was finally time to give into the college craze and sleep with a random person, no emotions, no strings attached, just sex. 

The thought stays in your head throughout the rest of your day. As you’re getting ready for bed you open your laptop and can’t help but look at the picture of Mr. Miller there. He really is sexy, you think, as you’re reminded of his broad shoulders and strong arms. You fall asleep with the thought of him in your mind.

-

You’re sitting in his office, nestling yourself further into the wicker chair. You close your eyes taking in the smells of his office, rich mahogany, oak, and leather. You feel him behind you, his presence close enough for you to feel the warmth radiating off of his body. Your heart seems to stop, anticipating his next move. His hands trail up your arms leaving goosebumps in their wake. He lowers his head down to your shoulder and you feel his breath against the shell of your ear, sending a shiver down to the base of your spine.

“Do you know how wrong it would be for us to do anything? Hm?” he whispers. 

His voice reverberates through your entire body, straight to your core. You feel the familiar flutter in your lower abdomen and the way your heart seems to start beating again but this time impossibly fast.

His lips press a kiss to your shoulder and you instinctively move your head to the side, hoping he takes it as a sign that you want more. His fingers trail up your arms again but this time to your neck, pressing the pad of his thumb down onto the skin he just kissed.

“Your heart’s beating a little fast there sweetheart, you alright?”

You nod, silently praying your body doesn’t betray you again. 

“Hm. Are you lying to me now? You know”, he says kissing your neck again, “good girls don’t lie. Are you a good girl?” he asks.

You think you nod again but your mind is so out of it you’re not sure if you actually do or not. His scruff lightly scratches against your smooth skin as his left hand wraps itself around the base of your left shoulder and his lips make their way up and down your right, your breath hitching as he does. 

Against your ear, he again whispers, “Tell me the truth, baby. Do you want me to touch you? Do you want me to take you right here?”

Your mind is reeling from his touch, his lips, his words, you’re struck silent for once.

“You know baby, if you’re honest I might just give you what you want. C'mon darlin’ be a good girl and tell me how much you want it.”

You open your mouth and pray that your voice sounds stronger than you feel right now. “I want you to touch me. Please touch me”, you whine. 

“Where do you want me to touch darlin’? Your breasts? Want me to play with your nipples? Or your cunt? I bet it’s already so wet for me”, he whispers against your skin. 

“Both”, you cry out, spreading your legs apart praying he gives you what you most crave.

He lifts you up from the chair and spins you around, pressing you firmly to his front. He moves one hand to your hair and pulls it gently, angling your face to his. His eyes have gone from brown to nearly black and it sends another shiver down your body. His lips crash into yours in a kiss so earth shattering you feel yourself turn to mush, leaning against the desk for some support. With one hand in your hair and the other on the small of your back, pulling you impossibly closer to his front, you finally get to feel the hard dent in his pants. You moan into his mouth and regain some sense. You kiss him with a newfound intensity, pawing at this chest hoping to feel some of the hard muscle beneath his shirt.

He smirks against your mouth, chuckling at your urgency. “You’re so damn cute when you’re desperate, baby. Don’t worry, I’ll give you what you want”, he says before his hands begin exploring your body even more. You feel the hand that was on the base of your back move down your ass and give it a hard squeeze, that familiar flutter in your abdomen returning. His lips once again move to your throat and down your chest; you feel your face getting hot and your breaths getting more rapid because of the lack of oxygen. He begins unbuttoning your satin blouse, replacing where the buttons were with kisses. 

He moves you so your back now rests flat against his desk and you feel him kiss lower and lower down your body. He kisses his way down to your naval and begins unbuttoning your jeans, pulling the zipper down slowly, taunting you. 

Just when you think he’s going to give you what he wants, his lips start going back up, following a similar path as before. He kisses your breasts over the mesh balconette bra you’re wearing, your nipples hardening as he does. You’re moaning wildly at this point, never having been this turned on before. His hands move to your back, unclipping your bra and tossing it to the side. He begins attacking your chest with a fervent need, softly biting your nipples, forcing a moan from deep within your chest. Your hands make their way to his hair and you tug at the base of his curls needing an anchor as you feel yourself slowly begin to lose it. You’re desperately trying to find some friction between your legs and you start grinding your still covered cunt against the dent in his pants. 

“Look at you, such a sweet thing grinding against me. Cmon baby, tell me again how much you want it”, he says as his lips make their way down your body again.

“Please” you beg, “I want it so bad, please just fuck me.” Your chest is rising and falling rapidly and you’re almost certain you look fucked out of your mind even though nothing’s even happened yet. 

“Oh I’m not going to fuck you here, honey, though I bet you’d fucking love it”, he says.

Your chest deflates a little from disappointment and you can’t help the low whine that comes out of your throat.

“I will, however, give that pussy the attention it deserves”, he says again, this time pulling your pants down past your hips and off your legs. 

Your heart begins racing as he kisses his way down your stomach, stopping right at the edge of your panties. He looks up at you and sees pure desire written all over your face. He kisses your center over the fabric of your panties, making you jolt from the sudden contact. Moving to kiss along the inside of your thighs, his scruff scratches harshly now against your skin. His fingers wrap themselves along the sides of your panties and he slowly peels them off of you. 

You look down at his kneeling figure, fully clothed with his shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows, a stark contrast to your entirely naked form spread out for him on his desk. 

“So fuckin beautiful”, he says against the skin of your thighs, peppering kisses there at random. Just as you're about to beg for the fourth time, he wraps your legs over his shoulders and dips his head between your thighs. He licks a long strip up to your clit where he starts sucking relentlessly. Your fingers find themselves digging into his hair, holding on as you grind yourself further into his mouth. He licks your cunt until you’re writhing in pleasure, holding onto the desk and his hair for dear life. You feel that familiar knot in your stomach begin to form and you chase it. You’re a moaning mess when he starts to tongue fuck your pussy, so close you could scream. His nose continuously bumps against the hood of your clit and you think you see stars.

“Fuck I’m close”, you moan, your back arching against the cool wooden desk.

One of his hands comes up to tug on your hardened nipples while the other finds refuge between your thighs. You feel him smirk against your skin and you realize why when he dips a finger into your spasming hole. His large finger works itself in and out of you, pushing you closer to your release. 

“You like that baby?” he asks. “Cmon I want you to come for me. Can you do that sweetheart?” 

Not waiting for your response he adds another finger, fucking you in tandem with his mouth. With every stroke you feel yourself getting closer, your juices gushing down your inner thighs, producing a sound so obscene it’s bordering pornographic. It’s only when he curves his finger, hitting your g-spot that you feel yourself lose it. 

“Oh my God-”, you cry out, “Fuck I’m cumming.”

Your legs shake beside his head but he doesn’t stop fucking you through your high. Your mind is blank and your thighs are sticky from your release and you think you might have just gone to heaven and back.

-

You wake with a gasp in your bed. You’re drenched in sweat and you feel your shirt sticking to the skin on your back. The boyshorts you’re wearing feel wet and sticky from your release. You sit up trying to momentarily catch your breath and you stare in the mirror directly across from your bed. The skin on your chest is red and blotching and your sheets are rumpled.

God, did you really just have a wet dream about your professor? Maybe applying for this mentorship was a mistake.

[slothquisitor]

Invisible String: Chapter Sixteen

A Baldur’s Gate III Modern AU.

Chapter Summary: With the exhibition open, Liv can finally figure out how she feels. Here there be smut!

Read from the beginning.

Read on AO3.

______________________________________________________________

When Liv arrives at the empty apartment, she’s struck by what a relief it is to walk back into a space that is hers. And it still does feel like hers despite all the ways she’d worried it wasn’t anymore. She doesn’t regret leaving, but she does regret telling Astarion it wasn’t her home. Because it still very much is. 

There’s a familiarity in dropping into her own bed in her own room, in the quiet of the apartment. Astarion promised her time, and she intends to take it, but first, she needs to sleep. And then she plans to spend the entirety of the weekend in what she lovingly refers to as goblin mode: in comfy clothes and absolutely not leaving the apartment under any circumstances. 

She does this sometimes, especially when it feels like her social battery has run out. She enjoys a weekend hermitted up alone and ordering takeout and generally not having to interact with anyone. It’s been a long time since it’s felt like a need in the way this weekend does though. 

On Saturday, she doesn’t wake until almost noon. She hadn’t realized just how tired she was until she woke up to discover she slept nearly twelve hours. Several notifications wait for her from her colleagues, congratulating her on the exhibit opening. She’s also missed a call from her sister. All of that sounds like a good thing for Monday Liv to deal with. 

She goes about making coffee, reads a book, watches her baking show. Orders a truly unhinged amount of take-out that will keep her fed all weekend. And then she does the only sensible thing one does in goblin mode: binge-watches the worst romcoms she can find.

The problem with most romcoms, despite her love for them, comes in the third act break-up. Every romcom has them. It is the staple of the genre and important to maintain a cohesive plot structure in an otherwise too-quiet story since the tension of the romantic leads getting together, which holds an audience’s attention until the culmination of the romance, needs to exist in some other way. Now they’re together, what is the thing that is going to tear them apart? And how do they overcome whatever insurmountable odds the writers have placed for them and claim their happily ever after? 

Liv’s issue with the third-act break-up is just that all too often the conflict feels…contrived. I didn’t tell you I was writing an article about how to get a guy to break up with me. Going out with you was actually a bet, but then I caught feelings. All of my wildest dreams have come true, and I’m dating this actor guy but I miss my best friend. Or least likely of all: I matched with my roommate on a dating app, and he figured it out before I did, used it, caught feelings, and then came clean. 

So does that make her the ridiculous one or the fool who forgives an unforgivable offense too quickly or readily for the sake of a happily ever after? Is there real substance here or do the main leads simply have too much chemistry that the audience is willing to believe they can just work it out? Are they on the list of couples that don’t even make it six months past the events of the movie?

Is that what this is really about? Is she afraid that whatever it is they are won’t last? That a single month in and his confession has rocked her to the very core, what happens if she forgives him and they have more time…and it still doesn’t work out? What happens to her then?

Because it’s a lot easier to hold Astarion at arm’s length now, to put that distance between them. Her own family can’t find a way to love her, to choose her, so why would he? And in lying to her, hasn’t he shown her what he thinks of her? But then…he’d also come clean. Not because he had to or because she’d caught him in the lie…but because he values honesty. Because he wanted something real. And where does that leave her? What happens now?

There are a lot of people she could call to talk this out with, but she needs someone who will understand completely. So she calls her sister. 

“How was the opening?” her sister asks. She sounds terrible, already coughing twice over the course of the call and clearly stuffed up. 

“It was great, but that’s not what I called about…I can let you rest though.”

She hears muffled movement of the phone while her sister goes through another bout of coughing. “It might be annoying to talk to me like this, but please distract me. I’m so miserable, and I blame Erin completely.”

“Is she feeling better?”

“Yes, thank the gods. We’re the worst versions of ourselves when we’re both sick. So…what did you call about?”

And so she tells her everything: from joining the app to that kiss on the couch even telling her about Astarion being a vampire. She leaves nothing out, even the way she’d run out of the apartment the other night and the distance she’d kept from Astarion at the exhibition. She tells her about her fears and hopes and everything in between. And Brelia listens. 

“You know, if he’d been any less awesome about you asking for time, I might be more mad at him,” Brelia says. “I feel like his respect for your boundaries says a lot about how much he genuinely cares. He did fuck up, don’t get me wrong, but he is also trying to fix it.”

“Is it ridiculous to want to let him?” she asks. 

Her sister clears her throat. “Oh honey, no. You love him.”

She immediately goes to correct her sister, to realize…that she’s not wrong. She does love Astarion. 

“When I first left the family, I felt like I was wandering around with my hands up, ready to fight anything. I felt suddenly so strong, so able to advocate for myself. And I was utterly convinced that I wouldn’t put myself back into a situation where I was treated like that ever again. What I didn’t realize was just how fucking isolated that made me…made it impossible for me to connect to anyone around me.”

Liv knows exactly what her sister is talking about. “So what did you do?”

“I had to learn how to let people around me in. That also means letting them close enough to hurt you. But you know what I’ve always admired about you, Liv?”

Her sister admires something about her? “What?”

“Your capacity for hope. For seeing the goodness in the world and being good to people regardless if they deserve it. You’ve never let your pain define you, don’t let it shape this either.” 

“You’re very wise.”

“Thank you, it’s the cocktail of cold medicine coursing through my system. Don’t expect it every day.”

“I do appreciate you letting me talk this through.”

“I think this is what sisters are for, but can’t say I’m very practiced at it.”

“Me either.”

“Liv?”

“Yeah?”

“I love you.”

“Love you too.”

When she wakes on Sunday morning, she feels like a person again. And unlike yesterday, the apartment feels empty. Astarion’s absence is everywhere. She wanders over to the open doorway of his bedroom, coffee in hand, leaning against the threshold. She misses him; it would be a lie to deny it, even to herself. She misses her friend and roommate. She misses the person who wanted to talk about weird theories from Crown of Shadows with her and set out her coffee in the morning so they could chat in the living room. The person who choked down food he doesn’t even eat simply because he wanted to spend time with her because he wanted to feel normal with her. She misses the jokes and the sarcasm and all of the ways he is the most high-maintenance person she’s ever known. 

 And yes, he had lied and obfuscated and it had hurt her. But he had also acknowledged it. Apologized, shown up when it mattered. Astarion is not her family, and it’s unfair to punish him like he is. 

He had called himself a bad draft with such utter hopelessness. And he’s not…like everyone else in the world, he is simply painfully imperfect. 

And at least now, she knows what to do.

***

“How am I supposed to do anything when I don’t know where I’m going?” Astarion says as his operator gets violently murdered in the video game Petras has insisted he play with him. 

“You’ll learn the map. Just look for people with red names over their heads and shoot them,” Petras replies. “Karlach says you walked off the edge earlier though, maybe don’t do that.”

Astarion bites his tongue because it’s not as if he can hear Karlach’s response anyway. He refuses to put on one of those ridiculous headsets like Petras is wearing and ruin his hair. So he simply can’t hear Karlach while they play. 

“Oh! I got a kill!” Astarion says excitedly. Had the person been mostly injured by another player? Yes. Did he still get the final shot? Also yes. That’s all that matters.

“Ayyyy. You’re gaming!” Petras says, but the tone is so patronizing he slaps his shoulder. 

“I won’t keep playing if you and Karlach make fun of me.”

The only good thing about couch rotting with Petras this weekend is that it keeps him from obsessively checking his phone to see if Liv has decided to talk to him again. He feels like his entire life is somehow hanging in the balance, and there’s really nothing to do but wait. He told her she could have time, and well, here he is, playing the most ridiculous white male military simulator…and weirdly having a good time anyway. 

Karlach and Petras are good at this game, moving with practiced ease and dragging Astarion along. He just likes opening loot boxes and gathering as much money as possible and hoarding all the good weapons even though he can barely win a gunfight in the game. He will grudgingly admit that he’s having fun, but he’ll never tell Petras or Karlach that. 

“Why are there no stairs in this house? I can hear a loot box,” Astarion says. 

“You’re looting right now? Karlach and I are fighting a team. Get over here!”

He shrugs. “No.” And keeps looking for a way up to the second story of the building. So annoying Petras and Karlach might be where the bulk of the fun is coming from. 

He’s a little disappointed when they all hop off so that Petras and Karlach can get ready for their shifts at the Elfsong later this evening. “You could come in tonight if you want,” Petras says. “Give you something to do that’s not watching your phone.”

Astarion tosses his phone aside on the couch. “I’m not watching it.”

Petras laughs. “You are, but it’s okay. She’ll reach out.”

“Eventually.”

Though how much longer is really anyone’s guess. Which means he’s stuck here for the foreseeable future. He finds he hates it less than he thought. Petras…isn’t the worst company in the world. He’s toying with the idea that maybe he should tell Petras that, but then his phone vibrates and he nearly leaps across the couch to see the notification. Even Petras freezes on his way to the kitchen. 

Liv: Are you still at Petras’s? Do you have some time to talk?

“It’s her…she…wants to talk,” Astarion announces. His chest feels tight like he can’t quite catch his breath. He’s already typing out a reply and doesn't care about how potentially desperate responding immediately makes him look. 

Astarion: Yes, of course. I’m still at his place. Do you want me to meet you somewhere?

“And?” Petras asks. 

Liv: I’m already on my way. I should be there in five minutes or so.

Despite having been waiting all weekend for this moment, he finds himself suddenly unprepared. She’s going to be here in five minutes? And then he’ll no longer be in limbo wondering what is going to happen to them, but what does that mean . Is it a good thing she’s coming here instead of inviting him back to their apartment? 

“Hi. Would love an update here…you’re just like…hyperventilating and we don’t even have to breathe,” Petras says leaning against the kitchen counter. 

Astarion stands up, unable to contain this sudden influx of nervous energy. “She’s on her way here.”

“Like right now?” 

Astarion nods. 

Petras looks around the apartment with concern. “We should clean up.”

It’s not as though they’ve really made a huge mess of the place, but Astarion’s bedding from the couch has been unceremoniously tossed on the floor to make room for gaming and there are empty glasses that were once filled with either booze or blood scattered across the coffee table. They immediately move into clean-up mode to make the apartment look a little less like Astarion’s personal pit of depression. 

A few minutes later, the place looks better and Astarion feels not even a tiny bit more relieved for that fact. “Should I go out front and meet her or…wait for her to knock on the door?”

Should he change his clothes? Should Petras be here for this? The questions all become quickly moot when there’s a quiet knock on the door. 

He and Petras stare at each other for a moment. Liv is here. 

He feels frozen in this moment, staring down the short hallway that leads to the door. Whatever happens next is either going to be very good or very bad. And he has no idea what to expect. 

“Astarion!” Petras hisses, and he’s brought back to his body. “Answer the damn door. Go!”

He nods quickly and hurries to the door, opening it to find Liv. She’s bundled up against the cold, cheeks bright from it. He drinks in the sight of her, unsure for how long he’ll be able to do so. 

“Hi,” she says with a tight smile. 

“Hi,” he breathes. 

Behind him, he hears Petras peek around the hallway. “Hi, Liv!”

She offers Petras a smile much less complicated than the one she’d given him. He tries not to resent it. “Maybe we should chat out front?” 

“Sure.”

He doesn’t need it, but he grabs his coat anyway, if only because it gives him something to do with his hands, and follows her back out into the cold, into the small courtyard in front of Petras’s apartment building. 

There’s a mixed sense of anticipation and dread. He wishes he knew whether he was walking towards the death of something or not. He wants to ask, but instead, he decides to wait, she’s clearly got some sort of plan, and…well, he’d follow her anywhere. Even out here. And he tries to make peace with the fact that this could be the end of everything and that maybe in a few moments, all he’ll have is the comfort that he did get to love her, and that will have to be enough. Because he does love her, but he wants her happiness more. Whatever that means for him. 

The silence drags on, but he’s aware it hasn’t really been that long when she turns and begins to speak. “Thank you…for giving me some space to figure this all out.”

“Of course,” he replies, stuffing his hands in his pockets so that she can’t see the way they’re shaking. 

“When you told me about the Weave…and I had to run through all those conversations and memories and pass them through the lens of that new understanding…it felt…it felt a lot like when my mother told me about my half-brother,” she explains. 

Oh, shit. He hadn’t thought… “I’m so sorry, I didn’t -”

She holds up a hand. “I know, and…it’s not your fault that it triggered those memories. You were wrong to keep that from me, and you could’ve just kept going on like that. I never had to know…but you value honesty too much.”

It’s funny to have spent so much of his life lying and pretending. Even his career is in some ways a bit dishonest, the way he hides behind a handle and can’t show his face. But she’s right, in this, with her…honest is the only way he can have it. 

“I should have told you sooner,” he says, gaze falling to the pavement. 

“Yeah, you should have,” she agrees. “But I forgive you.”

The vice grip on his chest loosens, just a bit. “You do?” He looks back at her, her green eyes are soft, full of an emotion he can’t quite place. 

She steps closer, not quite touching him, but it would be easy to close the distance entirely. He keeps his hands in his pockets, lest he does something to mar this moment, lest he’s read this wrong. 

“You made a mistake, but you’ve owned up to it. And I think you’ve been punishing yourself long enough. Don’t you?”

No. Not just for this…but for everything that came before it too. The years and the pain and all the ways that he kept himself locked up there. “Some days I don’t know how to move forward…if I’m even moving forward or just…walking in a circle.”

She nods like she understands, and he knows she does. “Do you want to figure it out together?”

“Yes,” he breathes. He wants nothing more. 

She smiles. “Good, I really miss my roommate.”

Is that all? He wants to be content with that…with whatever and however she’ll have him. “I missed you, too.”

But that is not all he wants to tell her, and he has waited too long and suffered too much to not at least try . “You are the single brightest spot in my life. You’re brilliant and funny and kind. Sometimes, I get overwhelmed just knowing that you exist. I love knowing how you take your coffee and that you watch baking shows when you’re stressed. I love getting to be the person you come home to every day. You’re the best roommate I’ve ever had, but I don’t want to just be your roommate. Liv…”

Her eyes are bright as she gently cups his face. At her touch, all words desert him. He leans into the gentleness she offers. “I love you.”

After everything? Even knowing every bit of darkness? All his secrets…everything he is so ashamed of? She loves him. And she wouldn’t say if it wasn’t true. This feels too big to hold. “I love you, too.”

“So kiss her already!” 

They both turn to look back at Petras’s building, seeing him standing at his bedroom window, head propped on his chin, unashamedly eavesdropping. He scowls and flips Petras off, but then Liv’s hands are back on his face and she’s pressing onto her tiptoes to kiss him and he forgets to be annoyed. 

Her lips are soft where they meet his, but he cannot help but deepen the kiss, arms wrapping around her and pressing her fully against him. She loves him, and he feels the truth of it with every press of her lips and gentle caress of her hands. 

Liv pulls away all too soon. “Do you want to come home?” Home. She’d told him that their apartment wasn’t home, but it is, for them both.

He pulls her back in. “Gods yes. You’ve no idea how dismal the shower pressure is here.”

She laughs into his kiss, and he thinks it might be the most beautiful sound he’s ever heard.

***

Liv books a rideshare back to their apartment after bidding goodbye to Petras. Despite his unabashed listening in on their conversation, Astarion had even thanked him for allowing him to stay there, and there had been some understanding passing between that she was glad to see. If nothing else, the events of the last week have shown both her and Astarion that they are not alone in this city. 

Still, it feels right to walk into their apartment together, falling right into routines and habits as if no time has passed at all. They hang their coats on the hooks near the door and she places her keys in the bowl on the counter. 

Astarion pauses as he enters the kitchen. “You cleaned.”

She shrugs. “Helps me think.”

“And what all did you need to think about?” he asks. Because he would need to know, to understand what kept her from forgiving him immediately, what kept them apart.

She steps closer to him and leans against the counter. He’d held her hand the whole way back here, as though letting go might mean she’d simply disappear. It breaks her heart a little to realize how tenuous this all must seem to him. She needs to explain this, explain it right. “That despite my knee-jerk reaction you don’t and have never treated me in the same ways my family has. For years, I minimized everything they did. I made excuses for the ways they treated me. And it was easy because none of it was outright abuse, no one hit me…no one told me to my face that I was unlovable or stupid or only worthwhile if I did something that they could brag about…It was easy for me to believe I was the one with the problem when faced with their utter indifference.

“So I made excuses and I minimized my own pain so much that when the next thing happened…I was always filled with so much hope it would be different this time that it all felt like fresh betrayal. Every damn time. Until I cut them out of my life, I didn’t realize just how…exhausted I was.”

His eyes are hard. “You deserve so much better than the ways they treated you.”

She nods. “I know. I know that now. If this past year has taught me anything, it’s that…they’re the problem not me. But I did allow it for a long time…so when you told me the truth…I was…I was afraid that forgiving you would be falling back into that same cycle. But it was unfair to you.”

“And I was unfair to treat you like someone who might discard me the moment I didn’t live up to expectations. You’ve always been patient…understanding…kind.” He steps closer, presses his forehead against hers. “We are…both of us…more than what others have made us.”

“I love you,” she says. The words come easier the more she says them, the more he offers them back. And the words are nice, but they have been telling each other how much they care in smaller, more subtle ways for a while now. She thinks the speed should scare her, but it doesn’t. It just feels right . 

His whole face softens at her words. “And I love you.”

“I’m in this, Astarion. All in. No matter the risk.”

He takes her hands in his. “I still don’t know what I’m doing. I might…hurt you again….even without meaning to.”

She squeezes his hands. “We’ll probably hurt each other, but that’s just part of being imperfect people. What matters is what we do every other day, not just the bad ones.”

“You make me feel like all the struggle might be worth it,” he says and then he’s kissing her, lips soft and insistent. Her arms are around his neck and he’s pulling her flush against him while backing her against the counter. They’ve been here before, kissing and touching and holding one another, but this feels different. There’s an undercurrent of need pulsing through them both, as though they’re trying to reach something in each other no one has ever found before.  

They are so often careful with the physical aspect of their relationship, but there is nothing careful about the way Astarion kisses her now, every touch a branding. He lifts her onto the counter, and her legs wrap around his waist, locking him there. Cool fingers ruck her sweater up, run over the exposed area of her stomach and waist before pushing higher to cup her breast through her bra. She is surprised as the sound it coaxes from her, the low neediness of the whine. He drops his attention to her neck, kissing and gently worrying the sensitive skin with his teeth while her fingers tunnel through his hair. 

He pulls back and they’re both breathing hard, but his crimson eyes are bright and alert, and so very present. “Your bed or mine?” he asks. 

“We don’t-” she begins only to be cut off with a fierce kiss from him. 

He pulls back just enough to brush his nose against hers. “I’m all in.”

And what a gift that is. “Yours.” And then she drops off the counter, letting him lead her to his room. She pauses at the threshold. “Not exactly interested in adding another roommate to the mix though, do I need to grab a condom?”

He smiles a little at her attempt at a joke. “I’m not interested in that either, though it’s less of a concern for me. Vampires…can’t.”

“Good to know…I’ve got an IUD, but I’m usually paranoid enough to use both.”

“Now that doesn’t surprise me one bit.”

He pulls her in, easing her sweater up and over her head before discarding his own shirt. She laughs as she nearly loses her balance trying to kick off her shoes and kiss him at the same time, and he’s smiling into every kiss too. This feels different than the night he drank from her, there’s a lightness to it, an absence of shame, still, she is careful in following his lead. 

He removes her bra and she is nearly undone by the press of skin against skin, the drag of her breasts along the smooth expanse of his chest. He pushes her jeans down and she steps out of them, already working at the button on his pants as he presses her down onto the bed. 

When he breaks away to kiss down her chest, tongue circling the peak of her breast, she stays watchful, looking for any sign or hint that this is too much. His gaze meets hers and reads the concern there. He crawls back up her body, and brings them nose to nose, the weight of him a solid press into the softness of the bed. 

“Stop worrying. I’m with you. Besides…I’ve had such plans since the last night we spent in my bed.” There’s no false confidence, no forced aloofness, just a naked earnestness that feels softer, more hopeful than anything he’s shown her before. 

He pulls away, kneeling on the floor and pulling her to the edge of the bed with him. He kisses the inside of her thigh, watching her with an obvious question in his eyes. Her mouth feels too dry to form words, so she simply nods and lets him pull her underwear away before burying his face between her legs. 

Her fingers clench the sheets as he licks her tongue toying at her entrance before darting up to her clit and white-hot pleasure courses all the way through her. It takes every ounce of willpower not to tighten her thighs around his head, worried what he might feel if she boxes him in. She’s lost for several moments in the movements of his tongue, drifting on the waves of slowly building pleasure. 

And then she feels his fingers move inside her and she nearly jumps at the sensation. “Astarion…”

“Hmmm?” he hums with amusement, mouth closing around her clit, the vibration making her see stars. Her hips buck uncontrollably at the sensation, and his fingers move inside her at a torturously slow pace, but all it takes is a flick of her clit with his tongue and she’s coming around him with a soft cry. 

His fingers coax her through the orgasm and when she gathers herself enough to look at him, she realizes he’s watching her with a soft, self-satisfied smile. She’s already pulling him to her, and he follows easily, discarding his briefs as he crawls up her body. She flips him as he kisses her, tasting herself on his lips, his hands in her hair. 

Now, there is nothing between them, just the coolness of his skin against hers. She rocks forward, groaning at the sensation of her swollen clit on his cock. He whispers her name and she breaks away from the kiss, only for him to carefully cradle her face in his hands. His hips roll below hers, and she shifts just slightly to feel his cock at her entrance. It’s tempting to simply sink down onto him, but she waits, breathing hard. 

One of his hands skates down her neck, over her shoulder, and across her waist. She shivers at the soft caress before he pulls her to him, his cock pressing inside of her. Fully sheathed inside her, he presses his forehead against hers, eyes falling shut. She kisses him, softly, tenderly and then they begin moving together in a broken rhythm. 

They move slowly as if this isn’t the first time but the thousandth, hands reverently seeking each other. Liv doesn’t forget the act of trust that this is, how preciously rare. He kisses down her neck, sitting them both up so he has better access to her breasts. He swirls one nipple with his tongue while his hand gently squeezes at the other, it’s all she can do to hold on as she moves in his lap. He leans back up to capture her lips in a hard kiss, his breathing stuttering as his hold on her tightens. 

“I’ve got you,” she whispers into his skin, reaffirming it with the press of her lips on his neck, his chest, whatever parts of him she can reach. 

He flips them in one fluid movement, rocking into her, hips picking up speed. He reaches between them, fingers brushing her clit, another orgasm building at her edges. She meets each thrust of his hips, the friction driving them both higher. The wave of pleasure rolls over her first, his name escapes her in a breathless whisper. He follows soon after, coming nearly soundlessly, arms tightening around her. 

He pulls back just enough to look at her, his eyes a little wide, but they remain connected, his softening cock still inside her. 

She brushes an errant curl out of his face. “I love you.”

He presses his face into her neck, breathes her in. “You are everything.”

And they lay there together, comfortably entwined for a long, long while.

[omgkatherine01]

Between Your Wings - Chapter 2: Walk Like Them

Series Masterlist

Chapter 1, Chapter 3

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x female reader x Rick Grimes (slow burn)

Please comment, like and share

After a little while, Merle was now calm, but Rick didn't release him from the handcuffs. After making sure T-Dog was okay and helped him sit on the ground and lean against the wall, you went to look down at the streets, there were walkers all around. Andrea joined you and she frowned lightly as she spoke, "My God, it's like Times Square down there."

"Yeah," you muttered and turned to your group.

Morales looked at T-Dog, who was holding the CB walkie, "How's that signal?"

"Like Dixon's brain--Weak," T-Dog said, making the older Dixon show him the middle finger. 

Morales sighed, "Keep trying."

"Why?" Andrea asked, turning to them, "There's nothing they can do. Not a damn thing."

Andrea walked past them and bend down to unzip your backpack. 

Morales looked at Rick, "Got some people outside the city is all. There's no refugee center. That's a pipe dream."

"Then she's right," Rick said as you sat down next to T-Dog, "We're on our own. It's up to us to find a way out."

"Good luck with that," Merle spoke up, "These streets ain't safe in this part of town from what I hear." He looked at Andrea, "Ain't that right, sugar tits?" You raised an eyebrow and rolled your eyes as he continued, "Hey, honeybunch, what say you get me out of these cuffs, we go off somewhere and bump some uglies? Gonna die anyway."

"I'd rather," Andrea told him, standing up and walking to your side.

"Rub muncher," Merle said, "I figured as much."

"'The streets ain't safe,'" Morales said, "Now there's an understatement."

"What about under the streets?" Rick asked and you frowned as you thought back. "The sewers?"

Morales frowned and looked at Glenn, "Hey, Glenn, check the alley. You see any manhole covers?"

Glenn walked to the other side of the roof, looking down the alley. He turned and walked back closer, "No, must be all out on the street where the geeks are."

"Maybe not," you said, making everyone look at you. You got up and continued, "Old building like this built in the '20s. Big structures often had, uh, drainage tunnels into the sewers in case of flooding down in the subbasements."

Rick raised his eyebrows, impressed, "How do you know?"

You shrugged lightly, "I've read about those structures one time... I have a photographic memory... I remember I've seen one in this building when I scoped this place up with Glenn."

Rick nodded lightly and looked at Morales before he looked back at you, "All right, then, lead the way."

You glanced at Glenn and then walked past him to the door. Rick, Glenn, Andrea and Morales followed you into the building. You walked all the way below to the basement, and you led everyone to the sewer entrance you memorized.

"This is it," you said as you peered inside with everyone, "It's the only thing in the building that goes down. But I've never gone down it. Who'd want to, right?"

When you met with silent, you glanced up and around to see they all were looking at you. Glenn glanced from everyone's faces to yours. You looked from them to the entrance, nervously, "Oh..."

"We'll be right behind you," Andrea assured you.

"No, you won't," you said as you looked at her, "Not you, I--"

"Why not me?" Andrea asked, cutting you off with a frown, "Think I can't?"

You hesitated to speak, but tried, "No. It just..."

Rick nodded to you in encouragement, "Speak your mind."

You let out a soft breath and looked around at everyone, "Look, until now I always came here by myself, or with only Glenn, in and out, grab a few things, no problem. The first time we bring a group, everything goes to hell."

Glenn nodded and you looked back at the rest, "No offense... If you want me to go down this hole, fine, but only if we do it my way." 

Rick nodded, "All right."

"It's tight down there," you said as you glanced back inside, "If I run into something and have to get out quick, I don't want everyone all in there get stuck. I'll take one person." You looked at Rick, "Rick, I've seen how you shot, and I'd feel better if you were out in that store watching those doors, covering our ass." You looked at Andrea. "And you've got the other gun, so you should go with him." You looked at Glenn, "Glenn, you be my wingman, sounds okay?" Glenn nodded, and you looked at Morales, "Morales, you stay here, something happens, yell down to us, get us back up here in a hurry."

"Okay," Morales agreed with a nod.

"Okay, everybody knows their jobs," Rick said.

You looked at Glenn, who nodded. "All right," you said and put your flashlight in your mouth before climbing into the ladder and started to climb down.

Glenn copied you and followed you down the ladder.

You reached to the bottom and looked up to see Andrea and Rick walking away. "Careful down there, guys," Morales said as he peered down at you and Glenn.

"Yeah," you muttered as you and Glenn peered into the dark sewers. You glanced behind you at Glenn who shrugged lightly, and you turned back to the darkness as you shined your flashlights.

"Come on," you said softly and took a couple of steps forward before you lighted your flashlights down at a rat, who squealed and walked away. 

You and Glenn followed it for a few minutes all the way to a grate. "Hey, can you cut through it?" Glenn asked.

"If we had a blowtorch," you answered with a soft sigh, and rubbed the back of your head. "I, uh, I don't have the items to make one like I did one time."

"What about Dale's hacksaw?"

"It won't do," you answered. You heard noises from the other side of the grate and shined your flashlight forward. A walker turned around to look at you and Glenn, eating a rat. It growled and reached forward, making you and Glenn jump back even if the walker couldn't get to you.

"Come on, come on," Glenn said as he grabbed a hold of your arm. He tugged you back and you both ran back all the way to the ladder. "Up, up."

Glenn moved so you climbed up first, while he glanced back to check the dark tunnel. "What happened?" Morales asked when you got up. Glenn got out after you a moment after.

"We can't get through," you said and walked past him to get to Rick and Andrea. You heard them following you and you rushed into the clothing store, just in time to see walkers had gotten through the outside doors and hitting the double doors.

"What did you find down there?" Rick asked.

"Not a way out," Morales told them.

"We need to find a way..." Andrea trailed off. "Soon."

"Come on," you said as you grabbed into Rick's arm and tugged him to the backdoor. You all ran up to the staircase and back to the roof where Merle and T-Dog were still there. Rick peered around the streets and then turned to you when you stepped over, "Got binoculars, by any chance?"

"Uh, yeah," you answered as you walked toward T-Dog who had your backpack near him. You opened it and diged inside. You pulled the black binoculars and walked back to Rick. "Here." You held it out and he took it. 

"Thanks," he said and looked through them for a moment before he pointed to the side, "That construction site, those trucks." He held the binoculars to Morales, who then looked through them, "They always keep keys on hand."

Morales looked down the streets with a frown, "You'll never make it past the Walkers."

Rick looked over him at you, "You got me out of that tank."

"Yeah, but they were feeding," you reminded him, "They were distracted."

"Can we distract them again?" Rick asked.

"Right," Merle spoke up, and you all looked over at him. "Listen to him. He's onto something. A diversion, like on 'Hogan's Heroes'."

"They're drawn by sound, right?" Rick asked.

"Yeah, like dogs," you said, "They hear a sound, they come."

"What else?"

"Aside from they hear you?" Morales asked, "They see you, smell you and if they catch you, they eat you."

"They can tell us by smell?" Rick asked.

"Can't you?" Glenn asked.

"They smell dead, we don't," Andrea said as Rick thought of a plan, "It's pretty distinct."

You studied Rick's expression and you frowned, "You have something on your mind, don't you?" He looked over at you and you pointed at his face, "That face right there, my dad had the same expression when he was up to no good."

That comment made him smile a little and he patted you on the back, "Come on." He walked back to the door, and you glanced at everyone before you all followed.

"Hey! Wha' about me?!"

You turned to Merle and shrugged, "Just... stay here." He sent you a glare and you quickly followed everyone to the door, you looked at T-Dog who smirked at you for the comment you gave the older Dixon. You let out a chuckle as you closed the door, and you shook your head as you both walked down the stairs.

Your smile disappeared when you got to the clothing store again and saw the walkers still trying to get into the store. You tensed and turned to Rick, watching as he grabbed coats and gloves. "What are we doing?" you asked.

"You and I--were going to go out there, and get that van, covered in Walkers' blood," Rick said as he handed you a coat and a pair of gloves.

You froze as you held the items to your chest. "What?" you asked softly, hoping you heard wrong.

Rick didn't answer and simply handed the rest of the coats and gloves to Glenn, T-Dog, Andrea, and Morales, all four of them were staring at him like he just made the most stupid and dangerous plan ever... which for you it was.

"If bad ideas were an Olympic event, this would take the gold," Glenn said, glancing at you nervously.

"He's right," Morales said and took a step to Rick, "Just stop, okay? Take some time to think this through."

"How much time?" Rick asked. "They already got through one set of doors, that glass won't hold forever."

Morales looked at you and then quickly at Rick, taking a deep breath, then he spoke, "I'll go with you then instead of Audery."

"No," you said quickly, making them all look at you. You nodded, "I'll go, I'll do it."

Rick nodded but the others were worried, which you appreciated their concern. "You don't have to," Andrea told you.

"I'm faster. I'll go with him." You looked at Glenn and nodded. "I got this." You looked at Rick, "But... I kinda of regretting saving your ass back there."

Rick didn't seem to take offend by that and just gave you a small smile and walked past you to the back door. You all put on the coats and gloves as you took a deep breath and you all followed.

Glenn opened the back door, and Rick and Morales ran out, and grabbed one of the Walkers that Morales and T-Dog killed, drugging the body inside.

Glenn closed the door, and you walked to the side. "Here, honey," Andrea told you as she stood behind you and lifted your braid hair up to the top of your head, and placed Glenn's hat on your head.

"Thank you," you said softly, and she rubbed your back before stepping away.

You all looked down at the body while Rick put on a face shield, smashing a fire axe box with a crowbar. He grabbed the fire axe and walked back to your side.

Rick held the fire axe up, about to chop the dead Walker but he stopped. He put down the axe and went through the body's pockets. You watched as he pulled out a wallet and looked through. "Wayne Dunlap," he read, "Georgia license. Born in 1979." He handed a card to Glenn, who stood next to you, "He had $28 in his pocket when he died... And a picture of a pretty girl. 'With love, from Rachel.' He used to be like us--Worrying about bills or the rent or the Super Bowl. If I ever find my family, I'm gonna tell them about Wayne."

Rick put the wallet back into Wayne's pocket, standing up, putting on his face shield. "One more thing..." Glenn trailed off, "He was an organ donor."

There was a moment of silence, before Rick started to hack away at the Walker, making you all look away in disgust.

"Madre de Dios," Morales muttered.

"Oh God," Glenn said, looking away.

You looked away again when Rick chopped again. You closed your eyes and listened to him chopping. 

"Keep chopping," you heard Rick's voice and opened one eye to see him handing the face shield and the axe to Morales.

Glenn groaned in disgust, "I am so gonna hurl."

"Later," Rick told him, as Morales started to chop the Walker a few times. "Everybody got gloves? Don't get any on your skin or in your eyes."

You froze when everyone started to dig into the body. "Oh, God," you groaned in disgust and tried not to move when you saw Andrea and Glenn approaching you with the guts. "Oh, God."

You closed your eyes and felt them rubbing them on your coat. You lifted your head up and opened your eyes and glanced down at Rick; Morales and T-Dog were rubbing guts on him as well, and you quickly looked up.

"Oh, God," Glenn said.

"This is really bad," you said and lowered your head down to see him and Andrea still putting more guts around you, "Oh, this is really bad!"

"Think about something else--Puppies and kittens," Rick said to you.

"Dead puppies and kittens," T-Dog muttered quietly yet you heard him. You tried to think only about Max, but you couldn't, all you could think about is the walker's guts rubbing on your body, and the smell.

"God!" you said and quickly turned around and vomited.

"That is just evil. What is wrong with you?" you heard Andrea snapping.

"I'm sorry," you muttered and cleaned your lips with your cleaned gloves.

"It's okay, honey," Andrea said as she rubbed your back. "You alright?"

You hummed as you nodded and turned back. "Sorry," you muttered again. 

"You suck," Glenn said, looking at Rick.

"Do we smell like them?" Rick asked.

"Yeah," Andrea answered. "Audrey." You looked at her, and saw she pulled off one of her gloves and had her gun in her hand. "Just in case." She lifted the side of your coat and tucked the gun in your pants.

You nodded in thanks as Rick spoke, "If we make it back, be ready."

"What about Merle Dixon?" T-Dog asked.

Rick pulled off one of his gloves, digging into his pocket. He pulled out the handcuffs key and tossed it to T-Dog. T-Dog looked at it and walked away. Rick looked at Morales as he put back his gloves, "Give me the axe." Morales handed him the axe. "We nee--we need more guts."

Rick started to chop again, and you quickly looked away.

"Oh, man."

****

"Oh, I hate you, I really really hate you," you said softly as Rick put the walker's hands around your shoulder.

"I'm sorry," he said as Glenn handed you a crowbar and him the fire axe, "Now, come on."

"I can't believe I agreed to it in the end," you muttered as you and him walked to the door.

Morales opened the door and you and Rick walked out slowly. You saw two walkers walking around the area and you and Rick exchanged a quick look before you both mimicked the walkers. The Walkers briefly looked at you but then turned away.

You closed your eyes briefly in relief but opened them quickly. You dragged yourself underneath a bus before coping with how they walk with Rick. You glanced around at the many, many walkers wandering around, as you walked along side with Rick.

"I can't believe it's working," you whispered.

"Don't draw attention," Rick whispered. A Walker walked between the two of you, looking back and forth from you to Rick before walking past.

You heard above you the thunders, and a moment after you felt water drops. You glanced up and saw the sun had disappeared behind thick, dark clouds. Oh no, oh no! you thought as you glanced around nervously as the rain started pouring down.

The rain will wash away the scent from your blood-soaking coats! You realized that as you noticed a few walkers staring at you and Rick.

You glanced at Rick nervously, "The smell is washing off. Isn't it?"

"No, it's not," Rick assured you, but you knew he was just saying it to try and keep you calm, which wasn't working when you both noticed a walker's stare lingering on him. "Well, maybe."

As more guts washed off, you knew the walkers realized that you and Rick were alive when one of them charged at you.

You jumped back and Rick crushed its head with the axe. "Run!" he said as he grabbed your arm and you both ran down the street with the walkers chasing after you. Rick killed a few of them before you reached to the fence blocking off the parking lot from the rest of the street. The two of you made it into a large van just as the fence collapsed and the walkers broke through.

"Go, go!" you said, and Rick drove back out from the parking lot and away from the walkers. "Oh, God. Oh, God. They're all over that place."

"You need to draw them away," Rick said, "Those roll-up doors at the front of the store--That area? That's what I need cleared. Raise your friends. Tell them to get down there and be ready."

You looked at him with a frown, "And I'm drawing the geeks away how? I--I missed that part."

"Noise."

You looked around the empty street and spotted a sport car. "Oh..." You looked at Rick, "Can I have your part of this plan?"

Rick raised his eyebrow, slightly amused. "You got this."

You leaned back and looked around the area and out of your window. You quickly got out and ran to the red sport car. You smushed the window of the driver side with the crowbar, tripping the alarm, and swiftly reached inside and unlock the door before getting in and hot wiring it.

"Yes," you said and closed the door. You leaned out the window and signaled Rick. He nodded and you leaned back and speeded out of the street, distracting walkers around the area.

You lifted your walkie-talkie and spoke to the others on the roof, "Those roll-up doors at the front of the store facing the street, meet us there and be ready!"

You drove near the store, and stopped, "Come on. Come on. Get closer. Get closer. Come on. Come on."

Most of the Walkers came to the car and you quickly drove backward. The walkers followed you and you continued to drive. You drove off and away from the street and glanced to the mirrors before holding up the walkie-talkie, "Everyone safe?!"

There was a moment of silent before you heard Glenn's voice, "Yeah! We all good! Except... Merle is still trap on the roof."

You looked forward in sadness, you didn't like Merle one bit, but his brother on the other hand...

Daryl will not like this.

You drove out of the city and into the highway but stopping. You quickly got out and popped the hood of the car. You opened it and quickly looked around to stop the alarm. You found the part and took it out, stopping the annoying alarm.

You through the part to the side and moved back into the car. You drove without stopping all the way to your camp. You saw everyone rushing forward as you stopped the car in the middle of the camp.

You leaned over the door and smiled teasingly at Lori who was the closest, "Hey, my sexy girlfriend!"

Lori laughed and shook her head as you got out of the car. "Nice car," she complimented as she stepped closer, and you both embraced.

"Thanks, I stole it," you said, chuckling as you broke the hug, and she laughed.

"Audrey!" You looked over to Shane and watched Carl running toward you with Max, who barked in excitement to see you.

"Hey, bud!" you said, kneeling down and holding out your arms. Carl jumped into your arms and hugged you tightly while Max jumped to your knee and barked in your face, making you laugh.

"Where's Andrea? Why is she not with you?"

You let go after a moment of Carl and stood up before looking at Amy, Andrea's sister. "She's okay. Everyone's okay. Except Merle."

"Then why is she not with you?" she asked about her sister before looking over your shoulder. You turned and watched the van approaching and parking at the entrance. Andrea was the first one who jumped from the back of the van, and you watched the sisters reunited.

You watched everyone reuniting before glancing at Lori to see her taking her son to the RV. Carl told you the day you met that his father was shot before the outbreak and was in a coma, but now he was told he was dead.

You looked down at Max and picked him up into your arms. Max was a huge help with the kids; playing with him was a good distraction for them, especially to Carl.

"Hey, helicopter boy! Come say hello," you head Morales calling out, and you looked to the van. Rick got out of the driver side, and you saw his expression turn to shock and disbelief. You followed his gaze to Shane, who stared at him in shock.

"Dad!"

You looked toward Carl and saw him running toward Rick with a huge smile, and Lori followed. Rick took a few steps forward before he bend down and pulled Carl into his arms. You stared in shock as you realized Rick was the father Carl spoke about.

"You're kidding me," you said softly, and couldn't help but smile softly with the rest of the group as Rick embraced Lori and Carl.

[punderdome]

The Fine Print

Ok, so this is the first of many things for me: this is my first fic, this is my first time writing romance (no I do not count whatever weird smut I tried to write at 13) , and I've literally never posted on Tumblr, so you're going to have to just help smooth the edges a little. I would love any amount of help, but here is my first chapter and it's a good thing it's SFW

Major edit: The exposition (Chapter 1) should read a little bit differently now and a lot clearer. Huge thanks to @bitethedevil, @a-true-neutral, and @mslanna for help with tons of different things like writing structure, POV, and tumblr in general. I was able to start many of their corrections for Chapter 2, but I went back and gave another round of polish for Chapter 1.

Read on AO3: [Chapter 1]

Synopsis:

Rapidly running out of options, Tav signing Raphael’s contract was the only way to free herself from the tadpole and defeat the Elder Brain and save her love from his eventual ruin. She should have paid closer attention to the wording of the contract before she signed it. Now, Tav gets more than she bargained for, and the devil has come to collect.

Chapter 1: The Devil's Den

The Devil’s Den.   She had met with Raphael many times before but was never filled with this much dread.  He was some sort of evil cambion bard, verbose but not foreboding, versed in iambic pentameter not ill-omen.  He was rhymes and lullabies, cherries and sulfur.  He seemed like he should be a character in a play whispering out his dastardly plans to the audience while standing on stage right.

The desperation of the Illithid voice in her mind raged and howled as she walked across the balcony to the ornate door carved with the likeness of a devil.  The rage shivered down every vertebra one after the other, demanding to be heard.  She refused it.

“What are we doing here?” Gale demanded.  “You can’t honestly want to make a deal with the devil.”

Tav eased him gently, running her hand down the Karsite scar on his chest.  “He helped Astarion understand the Rite, he might have other information at a price we’re willing to pay.”  She knew what he wanted the last time they visited: the Crown of Karsus.  Gale’s latest obsession.

“You know what he wants,” Gale pounced.  “He wants the Crown.”

“And my Prince requires rescue.” Lae’zel reminded him firmly.  “The perfumed trickster inside will provide us the means to rescue him for only a small price.”

Gale’s jaw clenched firmly.  Ascension.   She knew Gale thought that would solve all their problems.  In his mind they would be together for eternity, wanting for nothing, infinite in power.  Gale had dreamed of what Goddess that Tav would become.  At night, when they lay together, he told her of his imaginings of her as the Goddess of Regrowth.  The Goddess of Winter.  The Goddess of Snow.  She was all of these goddesses, currently residing in flesh in his mind, and he wanted her to pick one.  He would trace the path of her white scales on her human form and regale her with stories of how much they would shine when she was with him in Elysium.

“This deal will only spell trouble for all of us,” Gale countered.  “You will save your people from the Grand Design only to doom them further.”  Tav could feel the pinpricks of the Emperor’s eager agreement to her paramour, but she did not care to remind him mentally that he never gave a shit about Lae’zel’s people or any of them at all.

Raphael’s prior deal had been tempting.  They would gain the tools needed to defeat an Elder Brain and would finally be free from the looming dread.  The Grand Design would be over.  Raphael even promised to throw in a lavish dinner at the House of Hope at the conclusion of their adventure, allowing her band of mighty heroes to celebrate their victory in style.

Gale couldn’t ascend.  Gale couldn’t have that power.

Gale couldn’t leave her.

She took a quick look behind her and saw the panic on his face.  He was trying to hide it behind a mild scowl and his glorious beard.  Tav knew Tara hated that beard, but she melted every time the lips within went to her neck and the bristles tickled.  He quickly shook his head in warning not to knock at the door.

Tav didn’t want to lie to Gale, but she knew the terrible row they would have if she told him the truth.  She had come to read Raphael’s deal, and likely, sign.  Their terrible predicament would have a path to resolution.  A path to redemption , Raphael had called it.  Forceful eviction of their other tenant.   She had purposely left Wyll and Karlach back at camp, knowing how disapproving they would be of what was about to occur.  She wanted to have left Gale back as well, but he forcefully demanded that wherever his beloved went, so he too would go.  So, she reluctantly agreed to drag him along to a meeting that would break his heart and destroy his dreams.  The dread pooled deeply in her abdomen.  This was the only way to be free of the tadpole - or it was the only way that relieved the guilt at her lack of faith.

Lae’zel stood proud, eager for her to knock on the door and grant her the path to Prince Orpheus’s freedom.  When Tav hesitated, she urged her on.  Enter.  Go.

Tav could feel the sweat on her palms.  She took a deep breath and whispered silently to herself.  You know Infernal.  He won’t be able to trick you with hidden loopholes.  She researched Cania and Hellfire magic at the university, though sorceresses were often not accepted in academic circles.  Her research was about to be put into practical use, though she wished the stakes weren't so high.

Gale’s face had drifted from furious into stony.  His rage had hidden but not extinguished behind his eyes.  He knew they were there about the Crown, despite whatever story she tried to tell him. 

Tav ignored his gaze and placed three firm knocks on the door.

She had to do it.  Gale would just have to deal with the consequences.

“Come in,” the deep voice purred from behind the door.  Tav opened it and entered.

“Ah, my most cherished client.” Raphael’s face was smug.  He was wearing his human guise and gave a grand gesture of welcoming with a smile.  “Please, please, come partake of the Devil’s Den where we have no shortage of sins to enjoy.”

Raphael strode to his desk, crossing his legs as he lounged in an ornate chair behind it.  He gestured again to three ornate chairs opposite him.  Tav seated herself in the center, but both Gale and Lae’zel elected to stand.

“Now tell me,” he purred.  “What can I do for my most favored client?”  He cocked a brow and leaned back, relaxing into the silence.

Tav wasn’t going to be put on the back foot so early into a negotiation.  She leaned forward and rested her head in her hands.  “I thought you always claimed to be a good host.”  Raphael’s eyes narrowed before widening again with a smirk.  He snapped and a bottle of wine appeared with four goblets.  He waved and a mage hand poured and served each glass.  Tav took hers but the the mage hand had to leave the other two in front of Gale and Lae'zel.  Tav and Raphael each took sips from their own goblets, but the ones before the other two were left deliberately untouched.

“I imagine you are not just the famished coming to feast, but there is a reason you have come knocking at my door.” Raphael countered, now that his abilities as host could not be challenged.

“We have come to deal,” Lae’zel finished for her.  “We have come to negotiate for the Orphic Hammer.”  Raphael’s brow lifted quickly and his smug smirk brightened.  Tav stiffened, and she thought she could audibly hear Gale turn to her in betrayal and anger.  What she had wanted to hide from him was now completely out in the open.  She was going to accept the devil's deal.  Tav tilted her head slightly to Gale and saw his face completely red and his hands shaking.  His eyes were forced closed.  Tav winced at how much this must be hurting him.

“Aha!” Raphael exclaimed triumphantly.  “Are you now?” His voice held a cocky musicality.  He always knew they would come knocking at his door, and as much as it hurt to admit it, he was always right.

“Yes, Devil.  We have come to negotiate for the Orphic Hammer," Lae'zel repeated, becoming more annoyed and impatient at Raphael's lazy interactions.

Raphael turned to Tav directly, still holding her goblet and asked again.  “You are the only one with whom I wish to make a deal.  Are you here to make a deal with me?”  Smugness radiated off of him.  Tav paused, and Lae’zel gave her a look that was surely going to result in Gith expletives if Tav wasn’t forthcoming.

She swallowed and refused to look back at Gale who was likely trying to summon multiple Scorching Rays into the back of her skull.

“Yes, Raphael, I am here to make a deal for the Orphic Hammer.”  Tav spoke plainly, knowing that any attempts at subterfuge would result in a much more complicated contract to read when the actual signing came.

Gale immediately stiffened, and she knew she there was no way to deny that she had lied to him on several occasions.  She knew him well enough to understand that his fears were contorting and consolidating into a verbose rage that probably would require a dictionary the morning hence.  He stormed out of the Devil’s Den to return to camp without another word spoken between them.  Tav hadn’t wanted him to be here for this, and she felt a heavy pang of sadness that he had decided to join.

“My Little Mouse,” Raphael started, the excitement in his voice palpable.  “Then I believe we should get started with the contract I prepared.”  He snapped his fingers and a pitch black piece of parchment appeared in his hands.  Even in his human guise, his grin widened and his eyes glowed.  Tav felt like she could feel flickers of his cambion gaze break through his glamor.  He handed her a document aglow with the fiery runes of an Infernal contract.

“I had this prepared for you, in hopes you would return.”  Raphael rolled up the scroll and passed it to her.  She unfurled it, starting to read the runes within.  The infernal script danced in front of her as she tried to parse its meaning, but this wasn’t her first time reading and translating Infernal language.  She rolled it out fully over the desk to get a better scope of what legalese awaited her.  Raphael leaned over, amused at her reading.  Her fingers traced firmly over the runes, reviewing the translations.

“Do you require assistance?” Raphael taunted.  He leaned back in his chair again, waiting for a reply.

“No.”  She didn’t need his help.  He would have demanded additional clauses if she agreed to any additional services.  Raphael would never do anything for free.  The devil always received what was owed to him.

Lae’zel was waiting eagerly but impatiently.  Her armored boot tapped against the wood floors of the Devil’s Den.  Tap. Tap. Tap. Orpheus. Tap. That energy seemed to radiate from her impatience.

Tav blinked and took a deep breath, hoping Raphael wouldn’t notice the momentary lapse of focus.  His brow raised slightly, before he relaxed again, appearing disinterested.  The language was intentionally complex, written to confuse rather than educate.  She took her time and traced each rune.  She occasionally sipped at her goblet while ruminating on the meaning held within the runes.  They were sharp and jagged and angular - nothing like her Common language writing which was looping and gentle.  As with all Infernal text, the true meaning was held deeply within.

Raphael’s smile widened as she persisted.  His Mouse was a clever one.

“Shall I translate?” Raphael taunted.  They both knew that he had to be honest in their dealings, but every moment of weakness would set her back some sort of irrational and irritating demand of his.

“Raphael, I am only taking my time.” Tav breathed in and out deeply, internally trying to regain some sense of control over the accursed document while remaining calm in front of the accursed devil.  The distracting foot taps from her Githyanki colleague were not helping.

“Of course, my dearest Mouse, we have all the time of the Hells.”  Raphael sat back and continued to drink his wine.  He studied her with uncomfortable concentration as she continued to read.

“Crown for Hammer… Unable to invade mortal realms…” Tav started to roughly translate aloud as she read her contract.  Raphael raised an eyebrow but didn’t say another word as her monologue continued. “Soul collateral… Tavara Aureum.”  Tav looked him straight in the eye, though she was numb from so much horrible legal writing.  “Why just my soul?”

Raphael checked his nails uninterested in her question.  “Why would I want the others?”

“Are they safe from you if I fail?” Tav responded nervously.  The Little Mouse was fatigued and nervous, and Raphael found this state delightful.

“Would you like them to be collateral, my darling?” he responded again, still uninterested in her concerns.

“No,” Tav responded firmly.  Lae’zel gave an affectionate and approving noise, though it seemed more like a tut than a hum.

“Very well.”  Raphael finished falsely examining his nails and continued to watch his favorite client read.  She paused at the bottom of a page on some sort of footnote referencing an appendix.  Oh Gods, how many appendices did he include?

“Something wrong?” Raphael challenged.  The Mouse bit.

“No,” Tav fought back.  She thought back to all of her wizard colleagues who disregarded her because of her innate sorceress gifts of winter and storms.  Ignorant sorceresses could not study Hellfire.�� Dragon Children were too spoiled to be able to truly understand Hellfire.  Raphael clearly believed in the same fashion that Little Mousies could not understand his writing.

There was one clause that caused a multitude of rereadings.  She had a hard time deciphering it and didn’t know its meaning.  “Pater….” she almost tried to sound it out, the rest of the word huddled in her chest, locked in ice.  “Pater…” she repeated again.  It was part of a line, a subclause for Raphael’s duties to her.  He had agreed to protect her something something pater something.

Tav could do this by herself, and she definitely didn't want his help.  He was not going to translate, and he was not going to read it to her like she was a child. 

Raphael watched her intently.  Lae’zel’s foot tapped impatiently.

“Give me the quill, I’m ready to sign,” she declared triumphantly.

Wordlessly and with an unreadable expression, Raphael handed her a quill and ink.  Lae’zel’s eyes burned through her as she signed the contract.  The resident devil clasped his hands in joy before snapping and handing Lae’zel the Orphic Hammer.

“Thank you,” Tav deadpanned, fatigued and still frightened of Gale’s reaction.

“Thank you, Devil.” Lae’zel didn’t bother waiting for a response before heading back to camp.  She was out of earshot before Raphael responded to her.  Delight was a new look on his face that she had never seen before.

“You are most welcome, my Lady.”

*****

When she returned to Gale at camp, he was hiding: fuming in his tent.  Tav approached him, hoping she could lure him forth so they could speak.

“Gale, please come out.  I want to talk,” she pleaded quietly, so the entire camp couldn’t hear her.

“You didn’t want to talk before, and I certainly don’t want to talk now,”  He bit back angrily.  She paused, sadness biting at her and a horrible feeling of tension lay beneath her sternum.

“Please, Gale.  Please talk to me.”  Her voice became lower, and before she realized it, she was softly begging him to leave his tent or welcome her inside.

The reply became short and stiff.  “There is nothing for us to talk about.”

“Gale…” she took a sharp breath.  “I did it for you.”

Incensed, he sharply stood up and ripped the tent flap open to stare at her in the face.  Fat tears were rolling down her cheeks and her look pleading.  Mocking, he raised his voice so everyone could hear him.  “For me?  You threw away everything that I wanted and dreamed of.  You discarded all of my gifts and all of my ambitions for what ?” His voice was now a shout, emphasizing his final question.  All of her companions in the camp turned to stare at the two of them.

“Prince Orpheus!” Tav could hear Lae’zel call from behind her.  Gale’s face became red and angry.  He was obviously not expecting a third party to intrude.

“My love,” Tav pleaded, her voice missing the any confidence she might have had at her negotiations with the devil.  The confident, competent front she wore meeting with Raphael had eroded, leaving behind only a weak vulnerability.  Tears continued to fall, freezing on her cheekbones when they hit patches of scales.

“Do not call me your love.  I gave, and I promised.  You took, and you keep taking.  You stole godhood from us, Tav.  We could have been together for eternity.”

“Gale, Mystra would have ended you.  I couldn’t let her hurt you.”

“Why will I never be good enough for you?” Gale challenged.  He prodded his finger at her, which lightly struck the sensitive patch of scales on her chest that mirrored his own scar from the Orb of Karsus.

“You were always more than enough…” Tav continued to cry, but her pleas went unheard.  Gale’s face became red again and he turned away quickly.

“I will help you defeat the Elder Brain, but then I never want to see you again, Tavara Aureum.”  He threw his hands up in a grand gesture of exasperation.  “I’ve wasted too much of my energies on you.  We will get rid of these tadpoles, and then that’s the end of us.”

“Gale… Waterdeep…” Tav started to wail.  Some sort of dam inside her broke, her magic swirled angry and chaotic.  Her fingers crusted with ice that she could no longer control.  

“When all of this is over, I am going back to Waterdeep.  You are not coming with me.” 

Gale retreated back into his tent, closing the flap with an unmistakable huff.  Tav slowly retreated back into her tent, gingerly closed the flap, and lay motionless on her side for some time.  Long after the darkness was heavy in the sky, she continued to cry hail on her pillow.

[lappel-du-vide83]

Also getting back to the manhwas train I finally read debut or die which was?? Not at all like I was expecting?? But anyways, here are just my reactions (often kinda random) but I hope you read through and can figure out what's going on while finding it funny!

Also don't ask me which chapter it starts at because brother in arms I don't know either

EUGENE IS SO FUNNY

[VTIC Cheongryeo sunbae-nim: Call me if you feel like dying ^^]

- LMFAOOOO what

didn’t know where this dogsh*t idea came from. Does his pituitary produce saliva instead of hormones? It was fortunate that he was the type to be impressed by trivial interpersonal relationships.

- woah what went straight for the jugular

I never thought that the situation where I cried for the first time in nearly 7 years would be live in front of a camera with 13,000 people.

- AND AIN'T AFRAID TO CRY

- OR TREAT HIS MAMA RIGHT

“You didn’t have a trashy attitude back then, Moondae. You just worked hard even though you were sick. Chungwoo hyung was worried too.”

- Oml

[We have to lose!]

- Bless cha Eugene's heart

-- HE'S SAYING IT IN ENG

Hey, that’s scary. I’m scared.’

- Behold the intelligence of mcs

The company’s internal network structure is derived from T1.’

- HOLY SHIT THIS GUY'S DEDUCTING SKILLS IS CRAZY

- Have you considered a career in

- Forensic?

He also gave very American advice.

- LMFAO

I cheered as I reviewed the ten-day seclusion plan.

- FR

- secluded for 10 days sounds like the DREAM

‘I am so f*cking uncomfortable with it, you bastard.’

- Leave the poor man alone 😭

-- Is this..?

-- THE KIDNAPPING???

(- WHAT

Why don’t you try to commit suicide?”

- CRAZY BASTARD

-- He is now the kidnapper

--- Kidnappee turn kidnapper

Because I beat the sh*t out of him.”

- Amen

It’s okay. I won.”

- HELL YEAH YOU DID

The fact that I was injured enough to go to the hospital was funnier.

- WHAT STOP

- HE COLLAPSED

- WTF

- PLS REST

--

HE'S ACTUALLY SO MANIPULATIVE

-- USING THE SKILL

-- SUBTLY CHANGING THEIR THOUGHTS IT'S CRAZY

---

DO YOU REALLY WANNA WORK THAT HARD

Arent you drinking too much

- ONG was not expecting this to actually be a problem

You look tired these days!”

- OMG HE _IS_ AN UNRELIABLE NARRATOR

--

Oh no he got a SURPRISE BDAY PARTY

-- Woah so his actual one is 8 dec??

-- That's awfully close

---

WATCHING RED PANDAS IN THE CORNER OF HIS ROOM

--- SAUR CUTE

----

HIS GRANDMA IS AN OPP

---- I'M SORRY IT'S REALLY MEAN BUT GET IT TOGETHER GIRL

---- OMG CHA YUJIN INSISTING THAT HE STAY

---- URGHHH MY HEART

Self criticism should be done during spare time not when it's a nuisance

- I respect this man so much

like a brainless idiot

- STOP

- YOU ARE SMART

- AND AMAZING

- YOU JUST GIVE 200% AT THE WRONG TIMES

--

AW OMG HE CARES SO MUCH

-- BLESS RAEBIN

-- EVERYONE ACTUALLY

-- THEY ARE THERE FOR EACH OTHER SO MUCH

- - -

Woah wait so they're aiming for a Moondae is the the same person as bae sejin feel??

--- I am INVESTED in the mv lore

It doesn't matter if it was worse this time

- NO

- IT'S ALREADY SO BAD

- THE RECOIL SHOULD NOT GET WORSE

- THAT'S RIGHT SLEEP MORE

- JUST BECAUSE YOU HAVE BACCHUAS DOESN MEAN YOU DONT NEED SLEEO

--

OH NO

-- THE ACCIDENT

-- STOP

-- ARGHHH

-- WILL YOU REST PLEASE

-- OH THANK FUCK

---

WAIT

--- NO

--- NONONONO

--- STOP

--- NOT ALLT HE WAY BACK

--- Daydream??

( how desparate he is)

- OH MY FUCKING GOD

- SHOULD I JUMP OFFF

- NO

- OMG

- NO

--

OMG THIS REALISATION is Tearing me APART

rapid prayers in spanish

- the angst here is killing me

--

THANK GOD FOR NECTAR

-- 18 DAY COMA

OMFG

-- CHA YUJIN IS SAUR CUTE

-- BRIBED HIM WITH TANGEIRNES

-- HE'S SORRY

-- HE IS FORGIVEN

-- CHA YUJIN KEEPING QUIET ABOUT VTIC

-- AND BLACKMAILING MOONDAE

-- SO ADORABLE

---

FUNDRAISING

--- He's actually so sweet

--- PLS EVERYONE WAS CRYING

"do you think I'm some kind of sociopath"

- SEJIN NO

- THEYRE FRIENDS <333

- PLEASE I NEED THEM TO BE HAPPY

--

So the system is actively trying to help him??

---

TSRANDED ARC!!

--- Lights out :0

--- SAVE THE CHICKENS

--- The secret door is so ominous

--- Horror arc

--- OMG MOONDAE GOING wtf do I do??

--- SO REALL

--- WAS SO SCARED FOR A SECOND

----

THE MEETING

---- OMG

---- OMG

---- OMG

---- OMG

---- AHHHHHH

---- DID HE RUN AWAY???

---- I'M SO CONFUSED

---- BUT RGW IN THIS CONTEXT IS SO SWEET

HE TRIED TO COMMIT DEATH

- WHAT

- WHAT THE FUCK

- HUH

- IT ENDED LIKE THAT????

- No more abnormalities???

- WHAT

--

:OO A CONVO WITH OG PMD

Ah the need to be in control of every situation

- So valid

AND THEN MY TEXTS JUST END THERE SO...

anyways hope you had a laugh

And I really hope this fandom gets so much bigger than it is now :)

[tanith-rhea]

That I may be weak with you

"Do you love me enough that I may be weak with you? Everyone loves strength, but do you love me for my weakness? That is the real test." - Alain de Botton Dorothea Delilah Darcy is a woman in her mid to late twenties, struggling to find her place in the world. A recent job opportunity as a guidance counsellor at Nevermore Academy seems like a godsend, and she could not miss it for the life of her. Still, perhaps more problems will arise than she expected. Between bubbly, extroverted students and an uncharacteristically reactive principal, she'll be forced to overcome the limitations of her abilities or separate herself entirely from the place she'll grow to call home.

Author's note: this is... something that I'm willing to share at the moment. I hope you like it, it certainly is more of an indulgence on my part than anything else. This and Honey, You're a Keeper are what's keeping me sane lately (although more fantasizing about both the stories than writing them)

Chapter One

"There are times when I am convinced I am unfit for any human relationship" — Franz Kafka

You never thought you would someday get the chance to go to Nevermore. Being home-schooled was very common for kids in your community, and the boarding high school experience seemed to you like one of those unachievable dreams you only read about in the countless novels in your library.

You ended up not going, of course. At least not as a student. Now you approached the Nevermore gates in a car driven by a charming middle-aged man responsible for maintaining the campus surroundings nifty and, apparently, chauffeuring new professors.

A soft drizzle cast everything in a foggish autumnal setting. The term would begin in a week, so true autumn wasn't very far away, but the contrast with your parents' house was welcomed; it reminded you of Belfast, only warmer and sealess.

"What do you think, Ser Barnabas?" you petted the dark-grey tabby in your lap, "Will they be able to help us?"

"What was that, Miss?" the driver asked amicably.

"Oh! Nothing, Mr Duch, sorry to disturb you."

"Nonsense, girl, you've been nothing but nice the entire trip," he turned the car left and you saw the castle beyond the trees "We're here."

Nevermore Academy was a castle-like boarding school for teenage outcasts to learn how to control and develop their powers as well as a myriad of other subjects. You would do something along those lines, you would help them with their troubles. As it appears, their count had gone up considerably since last semester.

The building itself was a gorgeous piece of architecture. You remembered studying similar structures while going over the Gothic movement in college almost seven years ago but looking at pictures was never the same as visiting a cathedral. It certainly was not the same as stepping out of the car to a fairy-tale courtyard and mystical-looking archways. The grandiosity of the place brought you the nostalgia of reading The Secret Garden for the first time; childish curiosity meets fantastical hidden marvel.

"Everything was strange and silent and she seemed to be hundreds of miles away from anyone..."

"But somehow she did not feel lonely at all," someone interrupted your mumbling in a soft, amicable tone.

A tall blond approached you by the car, dressed in a long-sleeved, cream-coloured dress. She was easily a foot taller than you and quite intimidating, but contrary to her height, her warm blue eyes only invited you in. You felt a surge of emotion in your chest and slightly panicked at the thought of having an episode then and there, and out of nowhere too. You were certain no one was touching you, and you knew none of the people around you personally.

"Are you all right?" the beautiful woman asked, and a small crease appeared between her brows. She went to touch your arm, but you quickly composed yourself and stepped away to deposit Ser Barnabas on the ground.

"I'm quite all right, yes!" you tried to smile, "I was only surprised you knew Ms Hogson's words."

"Hardly an uncommon read," Ser Barnabas went to her and walked between her legs, rubbing on her quite uncharacteristically.

"But you knew them exactly, Pride and Prejudice is not an uncommon read and yet most people won't be able to quote it if asked."

"Quite the debater, I see, but you do have a point," she arched one perfectly designed eyebrow at you "Pleasure to meet you, Miss Darcy, I'm Larissa Weems, the principal of Nevermore Academy," she held her hand out to you and of course you were being unnecessarily prickly to the one person that could fire you and send you away at any time.

"Oh, my, I'm so sorry!" you hastily recovered from your previous scare, putting on a well-practised mask of serenity, "We only talked through e-mails so I'm afraid I didn't recognize you," you took her hand confidently "I didn't realise you would be meeting me quite so soon."

"I prefer to give the tour myself to any new staff member. I believe it to be a good bonding opportunity," she smiled easily. She was so effortlessly gracious, you had to admit leadership suited her like her obviously tailored dress.

You tugged on your glove ends to distract yourself from her overwhelming warmth and turned to look at the kind gentleman that brought you there, "Mr Duch, could you open the truck for me? I'd like to bring my things along to save time."

"Oh, don't worry, darling. I'll ask some of the staff to do that for you. You can go, Mr Duch, and have a rest before getting back to work, I believe Philomena made hot chocolate about half an hour ago and there still might have some."

"Thank you, principal, have a good day," the man left through a side pathway and quickly was out of view beyond the archways.

You were left with the imposing figure, and there wasn't much you could do aside from accompanying her. Somehow, she made you more nervous than you anticipated. Meeting new people was always a complicated ordeal, but with Principal Weems the hairs on your arms seemed more charged than usual as if her energy already knew you, which was impossible.

Ser Barnabas, the traitor, was nowhere to be seen. After nuzzling her ankles, he just skipped away to explore. You were relieved she didn't seem to realize or mind your cat's affections, after all, pets could not be prohibited but it didn't mean other co-workers or your boss had to like yours.

"I'll show you your private accommodations and we'll have a look around the school. Your office is near the astronomy tower, just before the Desdemona Hall communal area."

Your rooms consisted of a large bedroom and office area with an adjoining bathroom equipped with a bathtub and separate shower space. It was similar to what your last place of employment offered, but the stone walls and gothic feel were an entirely different level of appeal.

The principal showed you the dining area, the quad — which was a pentagon — the teacher's breakroom and your own classroom. The rest she said you'd be quickly acquainted with during the next few weeks. She explained some basic rules of the academy and advised you to be cautious of students trying to trick you into giving them a Jericho pass, especially Ophelia Hall girls. You found it all quite simple to understand, but that was only when you could actually concentrate on what the woman was telling you and not the movement of her lips forming words.

She had a very articulate way of expressing herself, something expected from someone in such a position of power, but it was understandably charming accompanied by her melodic accent, low voice and powerful stance. She commanded discipline by simply being.

"I hope to see you very soon, Miss Darcy," the woman concluded with a winning smile, "Dinner is served at seven-thirty, as I already told you. If you would like to dine out, please notify Mr Duch before five and transportation back is on you," she nodded one final time before turning on her heels and walking down the corridor.

You surveyed your office once more. Now that you were alone, a sense of calm finally made its way to your bones. Being near other people wasn't unpleasant most of the time, but the principal seemed to have a particularly powerful presence and keeping yourself in check all the time while paying attention to her was exhausting. Not that you paid all that much attention to her, instead just ogling like a creep.

Your files were already organized in the first drawer of your desk; all the documents you sent through e-mails to the school board were printed and put together in a leather cover binder. Very aesthetically pleasing and organized. You loved whoever did that for taking their time to sort through everything so carefully.

Leaving the office behind, you went back to your rooms for a shower and change of clothes. Ser Barnabas somehow was inside, sleeping atop a suitcase as if he was protecting your belongings.

"Someone had a busy hour," you scratched behind his ear and he stretched, meowing for being woken up.

You unpacked and put your things away in drawers and armoires, leaving Ser Barnabas' teacup by the enormous arched window overlooking the quad for him to hydrate whenever he deemed necessary — sometimes you were convinced he drank mentally because the water would disappear and he would be sleeping in the exact same position as the one before you left — before having a long-awaited shower.

You didn't go to dinner that day, deciding on a series of one-person games of draughts before bed.

[showamagicalgirls]

I thought I'd been noticing something weird for a while but today it properly dawned on me - how come there's never been any Minky Momo manga (other than doujin) whatsoever? Other magical girl anime of the time like Creamy Mami would usually get some form of manga adaptation, even if just a volume or two, but despite how important Momo was, I've never been aware of any corresponding manga.

First of all, I just have to say what a thrill it is to receive this question in my Tumblr Ask box. To say that I, too, have spent hours contemplating this would be an understatement, and it’s such a nice feeling to know that other people out there are thinking the same thing.

So one thing to point out here is that, even though it gets almost no attention at all, there actually has been one official manga associated with Magic Princess Minky Momo (魔法のプリンセス ミンキーモモ). It was called Miracle Dream Minky Momo (みらくる・ドリーム ミンキーモモ) and it was serialized in Second Grader magazine (小学二年生) in 2004 and 2005. The plot was related to the planned structure of a third proposed TV anime that never came to fruition.

The chapters were never collected into a tankouban, which may be a part of why it’s not well remembered. It is mentioned in the Japanese Wikipedia page for Minky Momo, but the reference is very small and not in any of the places you would expect it to be. You can find it if you CTRL+F the Japanese title of the manga though. Another place I’ve seen it referenced is in this tweet, which is also where I pulled the images for this post.

Still, I admit that the short and obscure life of this manga doesn’t actually undercut the original question. It’s odd that there are no other, earlier Minky Momo manga. The only real guess I have is that it’s somehow related to the show’s disappointing toy sales. Maybe when that problem became clear, they decided not to invest in the production of one. Still, that doesn’t explain why none were released in association with the OVAs or the second TV show. It truly is very odd!

[naerwenia]

Nemesis, The Ultimate Weapon - Nemesis x reader, part 3

I just wanted to write Nemesis smut, but man, here we are, crawling towards the day I understand that I have to start with the smut if I ever want to get there.

Resident Evil Nemesis x female reader

Wordcount ~1100 words

I've been overthinking this so much, so this chapter is more of a "let me write few nice scenes".

Part 1 & Part 2

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

Nemesis became more angry and erratic during the weeks after he was brought back after the first full mission, not only for the weird limbo he was put in, not quite stored away like a weapon, yet not a soldier living in a barrack with other soldiers. After healing from his wounds, Nemesis was intermittently kept between stasis and research, which included training. As a success, he was put under a microscope with a group of scientists trying to see if it was better to keep him in stasis between use, or was it better to try and keep him conscious, training and ready. 

Yet, while his biological functions and muscle mass were healthy and even improving, his behaviour was mercurial. There were times the tyrant behaved like a machine, perfectly executing every order given to it by marked superiors, only following the instructions given that day and stopping when ordered to, yet he was still flawed. The files kept piling on the rage the T-Type showed and how doctors failed to stop it or even temper the effects the rage inflicted on the tyrant. Every step out of line was followed by the facility putting Nemesis T-type in stasis for an analysis on the error, but there were no patterns to be found on the reports or biological graphs measuring vitals, muscle growth, the infection from the parasite, and brain activity. 

While in stasis, Nemesis’ mind wandered. It played over memories, heard roses’ smell, felt sounds of laughter, tasted the touch of another, and dreamed of something unexplainable. A sound that almost reached him, a warmth that was separated by a thin glass, but Nemesis felt like there were miles between him and the sound. The warmth was different from what he had felt before. Flames had seared him, burnt the restricting cloth to his skin. It didn’t hurt per se, but compared to the voice, flames felt like thousand spears impaling him, tasted like rubber and rotten onions. Still, he would step through those flames to feel the distant voice touch his face again. He tried reaching out, trying to lift his hand to reach out, tried moving to reach the voice, but could not. So he let the dream come to him, a warm voice sang to him, his skin heating up as a brush of soft touch caressed his scars, both old and new, and the song wrapped him, covering the hurt, healing him. For once, Nemesis felt he could relax his muscles, suddenly noticing how light his arms could be. A deep breath squeezed past his teeth, a flash of peace filled his mind, and as soon as the breath left his mouth, the crushing weight of reality pushed him back to his body and made him aware it was nothing but a hallucination, unreal, fabricated moment. It just got worse when his mind replayed the memory of the girl calling his name and how he immediately lost her. She was real, he knew it, and she was taken from him. The moment of respite and peace was taken away from them, replaced by constant pain and anger, feeding his wrath.

A brain scan revealed the dreams to a lab assistant, first fascinated by the intensity of the brain activity, rushing to write down what he saw, only to stop soon, as his mind found a troubling thought in the fact he tried to write about the dreams of a weapon. A dreaming weapon, B.O.W with vivid dreams no one knew of, and no one could ask as Nemesis’ facial structure prevented complex speech. The experiment had higher thought, he was able to solve problems and adapt to situations when on a mission, but Nemesis was still just an experiment, subject of the nemesis alpha parasite and intricate gene manipulation, yet the scene in front of him reminded him more of a cuttlefish dreaming. The fMRI changed colours and Nemesis’ skin seemed to slightly pulse, like the tyrant was trying to move in its sleep. The assistant had to remind himself the BOW was self-aware, that was part of the design, but having it clearly dreaming made it difficult for him to write a report as clinically as was expected, stopping every few sentences to choose his words deliberately. There was a part of him wondering if the tyrant was dreaming of the girl, you. 

Your presence at the facility was a sort of open secret and while no one admitted to spreading rumours, your every step was followed by a question and every breath with a wild assumption. Not a test subject, not at least yet, not a prisoner (this was not a jail but you could not leave), and not an employee. You were cared for, all your needs met both physically and mentally; food, warmth, showers and clean clothes, even people to talk to and a television to spend time with, but it was clear you were just a valuable nuisance. There was no way you could ever leave as you had seen too much, and even if you agreed to keep your mouth shut under the threat of immediate disposal if you ever uttered a word, your capability of speaking to Nemmy was valuable enough to keep you locked in your box for safekeeping and potential study when they had enough data to formulate a method for the study, when they could decide what it was that interested the men in suits.

Restless in your bed, you turned over to your other side, trying to sleep, but the fluorescent lights outside your door kept flickering, interrupting the constant hum they emitted. For no particular reason, you decided to hum to yourself, finding a tune from your youth you had almost forgotten. The tune comforted you, wrapped you in a warm embrace while hoping Nemmie would hear the song too, feel the song like you felt.

There was a certain charm to being the princess locked away in a tower, but there was no way you would stay here any longer than the day your voice could reach your prince. Your submission was to be earned, and you had played your part long enough to know agreeing to everything was not going to earn you an escape or even a life inside that was good enough to find interesting or fulfilling in any way. The thought of death from a gunshot was always on your mind, every corner here was guarded by trained military, but it would be preferable to existing as a decorative sword stored away in a locker. There was a way out, and you could see it; it just needed a call.

And as you closed your eyes, Nemesis opened his.

[closet-is-tired]

Mandatory chapter 150 post, but it felt wrong to do another silly edit like I did for the last two...

So here's my take on this spread!

After ultimately having achieved his big dream of living a normal life, Denji is now having to realize that it may have not been what he actually wanted. So far we've seen Denji's big dreams be twisted in a monkey's paw sorta way. Perhaps it may be because his dreams were too simple, and the hands of fate were telling him to dream bigger.

Because of the circumstances surrounding Denji's entire life till this point, he was never able to think about more complex topics. After all, he was just trying to survive. And now, after being trust into society head first, Denji's being confronted with problems more burdensome and complex than he ever has before.

Since being brought into civilization by Makima, Denji has had a strict set of rules and guidelines to follow. He was (most likely) taught that things are only black or white, right or wrong. He was taught the easiest and most uncomplicated structure of morality, and now he has to free himself from simple ideals he was taught in part 1.

Being Chainsaw Man provided Denji and escape from the moral confines of society. It was the one part in his life where he was truly free. But as much as Denji may enjoy being Chainsaw Man, it deprives him of his heart, his humanity.

But now, he no longer has Chainsaw Man to fall back onto.

For Denji to move on to bigger, better, and more selfish dreams, he has to learn that black and white cannot exist without the shades of grey in between.

He has to learn that he cannot only be Chainsaw Man, or only have a normal life. What Denji has to realize is that both sides of him can't exist without the other.

Denji has to learn to balance. Not only his normal life and being Chainsaw Man, but also his own self serving desires and those that can benefit nayuta. And ultimately, his own happiness and saving the world.

Balance is probably going to become a big theme in the upcoming arc(s). Not only for Denji but for Asa too. They'll have to learn how to work together, to balance each other out. But also on an individual level, they'll have to learn to balance. Both of their individual arcs, till this point, have been of self discovery and learning to be selfish. Now, they'll have to figure out how to balance all the new thoughts and feelings they have and channel them into defeating the death devil and stopping Nostradamus.

[an1tak]

100 days of getting my life together - Day 2

Today was a totally at home day, I worked and spent most of the afternoon listening to music like lot and a lot of old lana and making playlists before working out on a nice, normal Saturday.

Today's activities

ʚ - Today I worked on finalizing the internal structure of two courses i have to give and made the slides for both of them + planned the activities for each , tomorrow I will have to think about the publicity and stuff.

ʚ - Listened to a lot of music today which makes me very happy, music is one of my safe places and special interests by the way so it was a nice day for my mental health, in the morning I dealt with some intrusive thoughts but nothing that a cold shower won't improve.

ʚ - I ate at home but my mom brought me a pack of oreos and I ate them all with a glass of milk and two slices of vanilla cakes it was a dream but my stomach hurt after unfortunately I don't have the stomach of a 9 year old anymore.

ʚ - I started one of my courses in desing thinkin did the first 3 chapters today about an hour of work but taking notes and doing the exercises seemed like a good way to spend the afternoon.

ʚ - Today I started my new exercise challenge which is chloe ting's hourglass not my first one form her but I haven't exercised in years so I did an hour and it was great challenging but the feeling was super cool when I finished, a cold shower afterwards and went to sleep.

insights: Having to heal your relationship with money when you grew up with such a negative idea of it and in an environment where it was always the biggest problem and the cause of so much pain is super hard. The love you feel for other women in your life should reflect back to you the pride you have in these women's courage to fight for their dreams you should recognize it in yourself as well. i need to compare a shirt that says i love spencer reid.

xoxo ana

[yacinthemorning]

Birdsongs

Chapter 4

[first] [prev] [next]

Summary: The Life Pilgrimage is the biggest music festival of the century, set to take place all across the continent. Small-time rock band, GIST, and the up-and-coming alternative band, Empire, are both lucky to be among the hundreds set to make appearances, but there's just one problem. Neither can afford the travel expenses on their own. For better or worse, they're stuck with each other for the next five weeks as they try to make their dreams come true.

And, perhaps, among the chaos and music, two unsuspecting souls find one another...

Ships: Jimmy/Tango (slow burn romantic), Joel/Lizzie (romantic), Jimmy & Scott (platonic)

Warnings: Alcohol, drugs, anxiety attack, public performance, singing

As it turned out, Jimmy and Tango were, in fact, especially bad at putting up a tent.

“Have you never set one up?” Tango asked in a huff while his companion detangled him from the collapsed structure.

Jimmy managed to finally yank it over his head, coming face to face with Tango as he shook his head. “No, the two times I ever went camping Scott set it up for me. Have you never…?”

“I’mma be honest with you, Jimbo.” He was interrupted by a grunt as he pushed himself up onto his feet. “The closest to camping I’ve ever done is when I lived outa my car for two weeks in college, and a couple tailgate parties.”

“You were homeless?” Jimmy seemed genuinely distressed, as if it weren’t over a decade ago.

To that, though, Tango had to cringe as the memory came back to him. He wavered his hand. “Well, kinda? Me and our old bandmate sorta got kicked out of the dorms until they could fix the damage we caused. Honestly, kinda amazed they let us back in.”

“What? What did you do?”

“I’ll spare you the details and leave it at the fact that homemade rocket fuel is illegal for a reason.”

Jimmy choked, then sputtered. “What!” It wasn’t the first time Tango got that specific face from that story, and was the main reason he avoided recounting it. A face usually followed by- “I thought you were going to say you punched the drywall or something!” Yep. Right as expected.

“Yeah, well, that would be a normal and boring reason to get kicked out. And me and Zed? Couldn’t let that happen. That’s college for ya.”

“I can’t say that was my college experience…”

“That’s probably because you didn’t know enough engineering majors!” Tango swung his arm out with one of the poles, “I knew a group o’ guys whose final project was smithing a historically accurate bronze age sword from scratch. Most of the project was spent tryna spell manganese for their paper, sword was the easy part.”

 There was a pause where Jimmy seemed to consider the statement before he sighed in amusement and laid out the tent. “C’mon, Rocketman, Sixth time’s the charm.”

The two absentmindedly worked, mostly just trying to find which end went where. It figures Skizz would pack some old military surplus tent from the Napoleonic Wars he found in the back of his attic instead of just buying a nice easy setup tent from Big Box or something. Tango held the tarp steady while Jimmy triple checked the poles were slotted in place, backing away like it was a wild animal. At this rate, with how much attitude it was giving them, it might as well be.

“So, you went to college?” Tango asked as he tied the tarp down to a joint.

Jimmy ducked past him to pick up another pole. “Is that surprising?” His tone turned defensive, and Tango could imagine his hackles rising.

“No! No… Well, kinda?” He quickly yanked the tarp back just as Jimmy set the pole into the ground. “With the band stuff.”

“Gosh, imagine making a living wage off being in a band!”

“Fair, fair.” Tango conceded, “So what was it for?”

“Well…” Jimmy’s voice wavered, mulling over something. “I was hoping to be a teacher, but it didn’t really pan out. Probably for the best, I hear the pay isn’t very good.”

Tango listened as he gathered his thoughts, batting around the last pole in the general direction of the rambling man. It tapped the back of his hand and instantly was gripped tight enough to yank out of Tango’s hand while Jimmy continued, absently waving it. “It really sucked, actually. The classes were super difficult, I had to retake them a bunch. And that was if I got the class, which I didn’t several times. Scott and Lizzie wanted to go full-time when we were putting our first real album together and I got outa there pretty quick.”

“At least you got the experience?” Was the only lame sentiment that came to Tango.

Jimmy shrugged, unbothered and with a bit of a smile on his face. “Just wasn’t meant to be, but it was a nice experience. I just hop around now, and Lizzie barely asks for rent so I don’t need much.” He dismissed, spoken like a true upper-middle class kid. All Tango could think was how much money it must have been repeating classes.

“I mean that’s probably for the best.” He said instead. “Pretty sure Impy and Skizz are dipping into their sick days for this trip.”

“Oh, goodness me.”

Something about the way Jimmy said those words made Tango bowl over laughing. Despite being younger than Tango, he sounded like an elderly man who just heard something scandalous over the phone. Was it the accent? It probably was. Jimmy shuffled a bit, seemingly unsure if he should laugh along or be offended. He instead focused on the tent, driving the last pole through the loop and into the ground. Both men backed up cautiously, watching and waiting for the tent to suddenly collapse in on itself or maybe spontaneously combust.

It did neither. Though it scooched about in the breeze a bit from not being spiked down, it was built about as proper as could be told. They looked at each other with pure relief which melted into excitement. “I’ll get the mattress!” Tango sprinted off, catching Jimmy picking up his guitar and crawling inside. It suddenly hit him, how cozy it was going to be with the three of them in there. Oh well, at least he got his cuddle buddy. More important than that, getting to sleep outside instead of on that awful table.

It wasn’t until several hours later, after dinner had long since served, with the air already smoky with whatever Skizz and Fwhip were smoking around back, and the two laid staring at the roof of the tent shoulder to shoulder, that they spoke again. Tango honestly thought Jimmy had already fallen asleep. Then he shifted, shoulder rolling into Tango’s to catch his attention.

“Once we’re done tomorrow, can I come watch you guys?”

Tango blinked, “You can watch whatever shows you want.”

“R-right.” Jimmy shifted away.

God, he knew exactly what to say, didn’t he? Tango stuttered for a moment. “I wanna watch you guys too, then.”

“You don’t have to.”

“Too late. I’m gonna.”

Jimmy laughed, then winced as his knee banged into his guitar case. He was a long fellow, unable to sleep in the tent without either bending or sticking his feet out the front. Despite that he took up such a small space, even with his guitar. It wouldn’t do, Tango decided. He shuffled over until there was enough of a gap between them to catch Jimmy’s attention, and patted the space. “C’mon, don’t be a stranger.”

“Oh, it’s fine-”

“Nope, get over here.”

“I have plenty of room!”

“You look like a sardine. C’mon, I’m not a big guy, you take the space.”

Jimmy’s eyes darted from him to the gap between them. With the space now open, however, cold air flooded from outside, sending a shiver through both. It quickly became reoccupied by the guitarist. A bit too quickly, as he overshot the gap and pressed himself right up against Tango. How accidental it was seemed up in the air, but either way he made no move to… well, move. “I can’t wait to get to somewhere warmer.” He muttered, pulling his sleeping bag up to his chin.

“I’m afraid it’s probably not gonna be much warmer at night anywhere.” Tango laughed. He settled into the new warmth, still too awake. Why didn’t he try fixing his sleep schedule before they left?

Jimmy was quiet for another moment, then whispered. “If I get tangled in the cords trying to do some stupid dance move I wasn’t supposed to and fall off the stage, you can’t laugh at me, okay?”

Tango snorted in an attempt not to laugh too loud, sending a gust across Jimmy’s bangs. “That’s specific. I’ll be in the front row, so if you go down so’m’I.”

“Nooo…” Jimmy groaned.

“Don’t worry, I’ll try catching you. I think you’d crush me before I do, though.”

“We aren’t a mosh pit type of band, Tango, you shouldn’t be getting crushed.”

“Well you can return the favour at our show, ‘cause I will stage dive and I will aim for you.”

“I change my mind.”

This time Tango couldn’t stop the laugh, which Jimmy joined in on. “Get some sleep, partner, we got songs to mess up and stages to fall off.”

-

“Jimmy move back, you’re too close to the edge of the stage.”

The cords at their feet were a pit of vipers snapping at his ankles as he tried to move back as his sister asked. His guitar weighed thrice as much that day, threatening to tear his shoulder out of its socket in its ongoing mission to shatter at his feet. The notes of their first song had danced right out of his mind, then the page Scott shoved in front of him. They floated above him, indecipherable from the shadows of the rafters. Joel tried to console him, but it amounted to claiming ignorance to his failure that was not nearly as comforting at Joel seemed to believe.

Everyone scurried around him while he tried his best to keep out of their way. His finger tapped anxiously against the remnant scraps of the poppy sticker, situated at the topmost corner where his hand naturally rested. A panic button. Jimmy wasn’t sure if it made a particular sound or if the tapping itself was so obvious. Either way, like clockwork ten seconds into the action, there was a hand on his shoulder. Scott’s bow dug into his neck as he rubbed comforting circles. They were just as much for Jimmy as they were for Scott, even if he would never show it. It all felt a little too anxious to call a good luck routine, but a routine it was, all the same.

“This is crowd’s small compared to what we’ll be seeing at other venues.” Scott rambled, making Jimmy all too aware there was no curtain to hide behind on the open-air stage. “Think of it as a warm up, a taste of what to expect for the rest of the pilgrimage.”

“Yeah.” He said, curt.

“We’re starting with pescatarian. The easiest guitar, ‘kay?”

If Jimmy weren’t terrified out of his mind he’d roll his eyes at Scott’s use of the song title from their disc jacket, rather than the one they’d all used long before Jimmy officially joined them. “’Kay.”

“Just follow my lead and we’ll be fine.” Scott tried to assure. It was, if only slightly.

Their conversation was interrupted by the crack of fireworks and whirl of blades. Everyone looked up into the sky, right to where a neon pink helicopter hovered. Jimmy could pinpoint from where in the crowds the uproar rippled out from. The few large projectors dotted beside each stage zoomed in. Out stepped Arianna Griande, her feathered coat going wild from the winds around it. Just behind her was her two favourite backup dancers. She waved to the crowd, and then she jumped.

There was a chorus of gasps and screams. Jimmy felt his own heart jump into his throat, despite knowing what was most certain to follow. As she plunged towards the ground the wings on her back burst open, becoming a parachute just as glitter canons went off below her. The crowd cheered louder than ever as her feet hit the main stage, the camera not bothering to follow her back up dancers as they, too, leapt after her.

She bowed, then threw her hands up, “Welcome, Pilgrims, to the first stage of our lives!” 

Jimmy thought his eardrums might burst from the crowds cheers alone. Griande’s grin was impossibly wide, dancing across the stage as if touching the ground was passé. “And what a stage it is, is it not? Open, borderless, the sky’s the limit. Everyone take your first breath into this world!”

Despite the cheesiness, Jimmy found himself taking a deep breath along with several in the crowd.

She, too, took a breath, hand over her chest. “This was where I saw my first concert, the place where I was reborn into who I am today. I’m sure every one of us has that place. Can you see it in your mind? Let us take your spirit there as you let in the very first notes of our pilgrimage this weekend. Today, right now, every one of us is reborn!” Her hands went up, unable to contain her own excitement, and the crowds fed from her. No music had begun to play and they were already jumping about like popcorn.

The distant vibrations of the main stage thrummed through their blood. “It’s almost our time.” Joel announced from his seat. Scott released Jimmy’s shoulder to get in position. Their crowd was beginning to get riled up, hundreds of eyes watching them expectantly and cheering as Lizzie stepped forward to introduce them. Jimmy thought he might throw up.

A small commotion was happening in the horde just left of Jimmy. Fiery blond hair pushed past two folks, slamming into the railing just in front of the stage hard enough to nearly knock his red tinted glasses straight off. Tango struggled to recover, grimacing as he righted himself. His eyes met Jimmy’s and it turned into a beaming grin, hands outstretched in a catching motion. His fingers curled in. once, twice, thrice. Amusement bubbled up in Jimmy’s throat.

Behind him, Joel was snickering. Lizzie’s hands dropped to her keyboard and Scott had placed his fiddle to his shoulder. It was time to play. Tango settled down against the railing, cool as a cucumber as he tapped along to Joel setting the pace.

In all their years of playing, the first note had never come so easy Jimmy. He thinks it might not have even been the right one, with the side eye Scott sent him, but if it wasn’t it left his mind by the second note.

Lizzie and Scott were always in their own distant world when playing, and maybe for the first time Jimmy was there also. Every time he felt himself become too aware once more, felt the vipers tense against his sneakers, he glanced back over to Tango. The way his nail tapped against the metal rail, how his eyes never met Jimmy’s but seemed laser focused on his guitar, mouthing notes a quarter second after they played. If Jimmy tripped and fell he wasn’t sure Tango wouldn’t also collapse to the ground, despite his claims to catch Jimmy the night before.

The song slowed to its conclusion, the crowd already cheering and Jimmy already wondering how he could thank Tango for something that was all in Jimmy’s head. Scott seemed pleased, taking the mic from Lizzie to speak to the crowds and introduce their next song.

They slipped into some sort of groove, Jimmy nearly forgetting Tango was there as he watched his bandmates carefully. Scott led them again, then Lizzie in the third. It was a song she’d written a few years ago. To an onlooker maybe it sounded deep, profound even, about an endless, unreachable longing. Only her bandmates had to hold back their laughter, knowing full well it was about her breaking her VHS of The Little Mermaid.

It was the charm of her poetry, though. Jimmy wished he could see the world as overwhelmingly vibrant as her. He almost could, when he played her songs. Lights seemed brighter, grass greener, feedback from the speakers too loud, every note reverberating through his bones. At the same time, it was hard to remember where he even stood or where the sounds came from. How could he separate the faces in the crowd in front of him when he could feel every microscopic fault along his guitar strings? It was the sort of combination of hyper awareness and total obliviousness Lizzie always existed in. It decided what notes she chose and how she played them.

It was about something silly and replaceable, as had been done the day after she shared the song with them. But why shouldn’t she have been so distraught that she wrote an entire song before she remembered she could get a new copy? It broke because it was the thousandth time she’d shoved it a little too hard into the player after a terrible day.

It was the same as when they were teenagers, the first time he played something they’d created instead of out of a book. He’d never felt he understood his sister as well as he did then, while playing a song she wrote. Scott may have been the reason he started playing, but Lizzie had been what kept him playing back then, if only to play her songs.

If only in hopes it wouldn’t be such a one-way street someday.

I’ve gone and upset myself again. He huffed while Lizzie faded out the song. Escaping from Lizzie’s trance, his eyes settled back into the crowd. Whatever internal collapse just happened had thankfully not shown, as they went wild. No one cheered quite as loud as Tango, though it may just be due to familiarity that his voice stood out. Jimmy chest puffed up with pride. Why was he psyching himself out even when things were going well? He could worry about existential things in the privacy of the tent. Jimmy took a deep breath and waited eagerly for the next song to begin.

The last two went by in a blur. He knows Lizzie and Scott finished off with their duet, a showtune with no show, overly flashy and fun. It stuck out like a sore thumb, but that was the point according to them. Some visions Jimmy would simply never get, but it was always a fun last song to play.

“Thank you so much, everyone! We’ll see you again in the valley!” Lizzie announced as the rest of them shuffled off the stage as swiftly as possible.

Fwhip was waiting for them, barely containing his excitement with thinnest veneer of professionalism. As soon as Jimmy was in range it shattered, and Jimmy was dragged through into a hug. “You guys did amazing!” He squealed.

“Of course we did!” Lizzie said, attempting casualness. It did little to cover up her smile and the shine in her eyes. Her makeup had begun to bleed under the hot lights of the stage, rubbing off on her towel. “Goodness, though, I need a nice bath, I was sweating buckets before we even started.”

“You can go take a shower first, we’ll take care of everything.” Scott promised, wiping away his own running makeup. Jimmy was glad he’d only let them smear a bit of glitter across his cheeks. It would have been in a puddle on the stage before their first song.

Lizzie threw her case over her shoulder, gave her husband a kiss and the other two hugs. Jimmy shuffled his guitar around to give her room but she pulled him down into a bear grip that knocked it right back off his shoulder. “You did great today, Jimmy.” She whispered. Then she was off. “Don’t go to the food trucks without me!”

On her way out she paused, speaking into the crowd before continuing. It was Tango, now joined by Gem and Pearl, waiting for them all to finish packing up. “Great show, guys!” Gem beamed. The two bands had seen little of each other once they began to get ready, Empire going first for their earlier show. Now, an hour out from GIST’s performance, Gem dressed much more in line with Tango and Skizz’s punkish appearance. Though her accents were still bright, they were much harsher, and she’d undone her pigtails. Her makeup and jewellery still needed to be put on, but even without them she’d completely transformed.

“Were you here?” Jimmy asked, then clammed up as he realized how it sounded. Gem didn’t seem to notice, however.

“Yeah, though Tango ran off without us!” She teased, punching the man in the shoulder. He yelped, then shrugged. “There were so many tall people, Pearl had to pick me up at one point.”

The group chattered all the way back to the trailer, where Skizz awaited with an open bag of kettle corn. The next hour was peaceful. The two bands switched back and forth between GIST putting on their costumes and Empire removing them. Scott packed it all away, only having one show scheduled for the venue. They were free for the rest of the weekend from the mortification of performing, and Jimmy couldn’t be happier.

Impulse popped out of the trailer last, somehow still rocking the ‘dad at a barbeque’ look despite the makeup and piercings and leather. He was the last puzzle piece, and as soon as Gem got her pictures, they were off for final setup.

“They’re quite energetic for their age.” Scott commented.

Pearl shrugged. “They aren’t that old... And I’m pretty sure skizz took something while Impulse was in the bathroom.”

“Gods, speaking of, I think I’m about ready to die from stress.” Scott slid onto his feet only to lean against the trailer and put a dramatic hand to his forehead.

After a good chuckle Pearl also stood, pointing past the trailer. “There’s a band called HHH next door. I know the drummer. They always got good stuff.”

“Great, let’s go.”

They walked off with barely a wave to Jimmy, arm in arm. He raised an eyebrow that would never be seen, then shook his head. If they were going to ditch him for some weed he wasn’t going to wait around. He slung his guitar over his shoulder and went on a slow exploration for GIST’s stage.

The number of bands was nearly overwhelming. A psychedelic band that left Jimmy feeling like a boat in a storm was followed by a single guy with a metal mask shredding solo on the fanciest guitar Jimmy had ever seen. It wasn’t clear if he was playing an actual song or just showing off.

The first act he actually recognized was In the Littlewood, a ska punk band whose tape had wound up in Empire’s collection with a box of others bought for five bucks from a friend of a friend. It saw much more play than the rest in no small part thanks to the strange, complicated cords the lead guitarist pulled off. Or rather, usually pulled off and happily fumbled his way through the rest of the time. The same song he’d heard hundreds of times before was nearly unrecognizable at parts for how the band rebuilt the tune on the fly. It was a blasé attitude Jimmy had neither the skill nor the confidence to pull off.

Some noise-heavy act was just wrapping up as Jimmy found the stage GIST was to play on next. They’d gathered near the edge, half-listening to the previous band and half-prepared to set up the second they stepped off stage.

Tango waved him over. “We saved you a spot.” He explained as he oriented the taller right at the front. “Gotta be able to find you easy when I stage dive.”

“Wait, you aren’t actually going to jump, are you?” Jimmy warbled, eyes wide.

“Guess you’ll have to find out!”

This was going to end poorly.

Soon they were up on stage. Even before their set had started they roused a friendly atmosphere with casual conversation, contrasting greatly their appearance. Tango’s hair had been properly gelled and temporarily dyed to be much more vibrant like flames. He’d switched to a tank top under his vest that properly showed off the half-sleeve tattoo of... Well, Jimmy wasn’t actually quite sure what it was. It almost look like a maze, leading up to an icy castle. The other arm sported a much simpler tattoo that simply said ‘ZITS’. Impulse and Skizz sported matching ones in the same place. Below it was a GIST tattoo, smaller and bit more creatively scrawled, for which Gem also sported. Considering how much of a baby she could be, it was a surprise she agreed to get it.

Or maybe it wasn’t so surprising. The redhead had always been bubbly and outgoing, but Jimmy had never seen her quite as giddy as she was now, wavering between nerves and excitement. She bounced between her bandmates, checking one last time that they were all ready, before she snatched up the mic.

“Hey! How’s it going everyone!” Gem screamed loud enough the mic seemed redundant. The crowd burst with excitement, Jimmy nearly getting pushed over the railing by their zeal. Gem was giggling with absolute glee, bouncing on her heels from the reception. It was a motion Jimmy couldn’t help mirror. “Oh my god I can’t believe we’re actually here! How is everyone feeling? Are we ready for the biggest trip of our lives!?”

Jimmy cupped his mouth and shouted, joining in the collective approval. They were whispers next to Skizz’s battle cry. “Okay, okay! So-” Gem cut herself off with a squeal, red faced and shaking her free hand of the excess energy keeping her on her toes. “Sorry, Oh my god. Ah! I’m Gem, and these geezers-”

“Hey!” Tango shouted.

“Sorry, these big babies are Impulse, Skizz, and Tango, and together we’re the GIST and we’re here to rock your socks off!”

“Well, what if I’m not wearing socks, huh, Gemstone?” Skizz asked, which she responded to by blowing a raspberry. Jimmy laughed along with the crowd while Gem tried to keep them on track. Her face was already flushed by the time she announced their first song, the name of which Jimmy never caught through the uproar around him.

Tango was the one to lead, swiping the first note before Gem had stopped talking. It was a long beginning of instrumentals, one Jimmy suspected wasn’t originally so long. Gem, however, had her eyes trained on her guitar, still reeling from the excitement. Once the poor girl could breathe she stepped forward and the rest of the band immediately switched gears so naturally Jimmy felt himself physically swept up alongside them, his feet stumbling.

It’d been a long time since he’d witnessed such energy in a live performance. Nothing complicated, nothing ground-breaking, except when the wild assault of colour felt like it really was breaking the ground beneath his feet. GIST were truly purely hard rock, unencumbered by propriety. The actual lyrics completely slipped in one ear and out the other until the chorus burst forth and Gem was singing too loudly, “... And if you come to your senses, I’ve got a rocket ready to take us back to space!”

The music dropped, Impulse taking up the mic under a muffled hand while Tango and Gem combined the sound. A count down, Jimmy realized. It was ridiculous how closely it came to sounding like the real thing. When Skizz joined in to create a noise not like but similarly overwhelming to a rocket launching it sunk in that he never was supposed to hear the lyrics. Tango looked positively giddy at whatever strange orchestral storytelling they smashed together with their otherwise basic spread of instruments. No one of their parts was impressive on its own, but they blended into a singular mass Jimmy found difficult to pinpoint the individual parts within, even while watching strings being plucked. By the time the song lulled to its end Jimmy’s own heart had joined the cacophony.

A few people in the crowd could sing along to their lyrics. Jimmy joined them in the chorus, tripping up when Gem switched up one of the lines and giggling his way through the rest when Tango noticed and turned his nose up in mock smugness. He’d have to ask Pearl to borrow one of their discs so he could learn the lyrics for next time.

The rest of the songs felt like walking through a kaleidoscope. Nothing Jimmy hadn’t heard before, one was even a cover of a country song he’d heard Impulse playing in the van. Their lyrics were nothing to write home about, downright corny at points. They didn’t need to be, not with grins as wide as theirs. It was overwhelming.

Gem nearly jumped off the stage as the last song came to a close, her wildly styled hair flying all over. Tango’s hair, too, had started to lose its structure but he looked like he’d only just warmed up. It bled into the crowd cheering them on, which bled back into GIST. If there weren’t already another band waiting Jimmy had no doubt they would have been happy to play every song they’ve ever written until they collapsed from exhaustion. Alas, someone off stage sent a signal to them, and Gem was forced to wrap it up. Jimmy was surprised to find he was just as disappointed as GIST it had come to an end.

“That was amazing!” Jimmy said, intercepting the band as they escaped.

Pearl pushed past him to replace each of their water bottles for refilled ones. Tango snatched his up and immediately pressed it against Jimmy’s face, laughing as he jumped away. “You’re nearly as red as we are.”

“Well, it was a good show!” He pouted, then swiftly put behind him. “Are you playing again this weekend?”

Impulse replied, “Nah, I don’t think so. I think only main stage bands get to play multiple times most places.”

“Which means we’re gonna probably head out early so we can get an extra day to make it to the next destination.” Pearl declared.

“Whu- but Horsehead Farms doesn’t play until Sunday night!” Tango whined.

“You’ll be able to catch them at the other venues. Besides, Gem needs to rest.”

Jimmy blinked at the singer, who looked sheepish while Impulse rubbed her back. “I’m totally fine.” Her voice cracked painfully leading to a coughing fit. A roll of halls appeared in front of her, waved until she begrudgingly snatched them up.

“Glitter Girl has a bad habit of going all out, start to finish.” Tango explained, which got him a silly face from his bandmate.

“Like you’re any better.”

“My instrument ain’t my amazing voice!”

“Either way, we can’t have your voice shot if we gotta play again in a few days.” Pearl ended the argument, pushing between the two to take Gem away with Impulse. “I’ll go make some lemon tea. You guys should go have fun before we start packing up in the morning.”

Jimmy nodded and turned to Tango, hoping to ask the man to join him. He never got a chance. Tango hopped the railing and wrapped an arm around Jimmy’s neck, dragging him off without request.

They waded into the muddy crowds, Tango’s heavy boots splashing through the muck. The air was thick with the most pungent mixture of smokes and Jimmy was sure they were starting to get to him. At the intersection of stages they could all faintly rang over the crowds cheers. “Got anyone you wanna check out, partner?” Shouted Tango, barely audible despite no particular noise in the vicinity.

“I don’t even know who’s playing.” Jimmy admitted.

“Then I guess we follow the sound we like best.”

So that was what they did. A tune caught one of their ears. Jimmy wasn’t even sure which, only that they had stumbled off towards the open stage with more excitement than what they found warranted. It was probably a sign when a can tossed haphazardly over someone’s shoulder bounced off Tango’s head and smacked Jimmy in the face. Slipping in the mud onto their butts when a wave swept through the crowd was most certainly one. The singer was off key from nerves. Jimmy’s eyes stung from the dust and smoke. Halfway through the next mediocre song they realized the can had cut his nose. There was a ringing in his ears from standing too close to the speaker. He had to cover them when everyone started screaming at the start of a done-to-death cover. At one point Jimmy felt himself go red from second hand embarrassment when the singer tried to get the crowd to sing along to a song nobody knew.

It was the most fun he’d had in years.

The lounges and bars they’d near-exclusively spent the last five years in were a distant nightmare. When was the last time they went to a big concert instead of just catching the act after them?

They didn’t even wait for the goodbyes to end before they moved on to another stage. The main stage, it seemed. Griande was still going, dancing her heart out. Lizzie adored her glitter, but even she’d balk at Griande now. She was on to one of her pop-ier songs, a silly love song, but Griande could make anything sound like the most romantic lyrics you’d ever heard.

While singing along with the rest of the crowd he caught sight of Tango from the corner of his vision. It wasn’t his jam, Jimmy could have guessed that the moment he met the guy, but he was still swaying, a big grin on him. Jimmy bounced on his heels, singing along with renewed vigour.

“You’re gonna shoot your voice, there, partner.” Tango joked as the next song began.

Jimmy could hardly stop to reply, “It’s not like I need it, what’s the worst that can happen?”

“I dunno, you start sounding like me?”

“Stop it, no I won’t! You take that back!”

“Ouch.” But there was no real hurt in Tango’s voice. He slung an arm around Jimmy’s shoulder, tearing his gaze away from the stage and onto a water bottle Tango offered up. “At least oil the pipes.”

The water bottle was snatched up, even as Jimmy gave him a raised eyebrow. “I feel like there were better ways you could have put that.”

“Reasons I write lyrics as often as I sing ‘em.” He shrugged. “We can’t all be pretty little canaries like you.”

Jimmy choked mid gulp, laughter turning to pained coughs as water came back up his nose. Tango made the most ridiculously inhuman noise as he jumped back, not helping Jimmy at all in remembering how to breathe.

“Not those pipes!” Tango chastised, though he’d begun to laugh as well while he helped Jimmy wipe his face off.

“That was one of the lamest thing I’ve ever heard.” Jimmy gasped. His face had gone red for too many reasons to count.

They wandered towards the back of the crowd until they found a spot to sit in the grass. “But not the lamest? I guess I gotta try harder next time.”

That’s what he cared about? Jimmy covered his eyes and tried not to start laugh again. His throat and nose stung but he croaked out, “Where to next?”

[writing-for-life]

As It Was Before The Otherness Came

A one-shot fic for #sandmanfemslashweekend (also on Ao3 if you prefer to read there, chapters are linked), chapters only for structure.

Chapters: 13 (3,773 words) Fandom: The Sandman (TV 2022) Rating: Mature  Warnings: Major Character Death  Relationships: Modern Johanna Constantine/Rachel Moodie  Characters: Modern Johanna Constantine (The Sandman TV), Rachel Moodie, Dream of the Endless | Morpheus, Dream of the Endless  Additional Tags: Falling In Love, Developing Relationship, Sex, Moving In Together, Break Up, Emotional Baggage, Character Death, Canonical Character Death, Canon Compliant, Canon, Swearing

Johanna Constantine and Rachel Moodie are recounting their developing and failing relationship in short, intercutting scenes. Johanna tells her story from end to beginning (she is starting with Rachel's death), and Rachel from beginning to end (she starts with how they met). There are only two scenes in third person (at the exact midpoint and the very end), the rest is written in first person POV by the individual character.

If you find the intercutting, non-linear structure hard to follow, you could try to read Johanna and Rachel separately before putting them back together.

The song inspiration is "As it was" by Hozier.

Sex in ch. 2 but not particularly explicit language, so I don’t think we need a community label. Let me know if you prefer I put one on.

Chapter 1: Demons (Johanna)

It was pissing down in a way I hadn’t experienced for a while. I mean, it’s London, but on that night, it was something else.

As I stood there, waiting for him, I couldn’t help but think that she really was a good person.

And that’s the fucking unfairness of it all. Would be easier to say I didn’t care about her, and maybe it’s true. Maybe I didn’t care enough. It’s me who isn’t a good person. People just get hurt if they get too close to me. Too much darkness, inside and out.

I let her get close. At least for a while. Until I felt it—the dimming of light. The expectations. The domestic shit. And I told myself that’s all it was—feeling tied down. She wanted the happily ever after. I couldn’t give her any of that. Too many demons. Not the real ones, although they’re part of the problem. Sort of. But the demons I’m talking about are mine, and mine alone. And when she looked at me that final time before I left her with him, I wished I’d never let her close enough to see them. Because once she had, she wanted to get to the bottom of it all, and she kept on trying. But that’s not how it works. It never does because it’s true:

I ruin everything I touch.

The sound of his steps took me out of my thoughts.

“She died in peace. In her sleep…”

Chapter 2: It was all it took (Rachel)

It all happened so fast. And it was clichéd:

She cut in right in front of me like a complete bitch, I said, “Excuse me?!”

The side-eye. The husky laugh. The, “Sorry, love…” mixed with a raised eyebrow.

The glances across tables that finally made me burst out laughing. Her confused look, quickly replaced with an inappropriate grin. Only that I didn’t find it inappropriate.

Her wiping everything off my kitchen table before pinning me down.

My legs around her hips.

That hoarse voice of hers that had been driving me insane for the last couple of hours. “Tell me what you want.”

“Show me what you’ve got…” I put my hands on her hips and began to direct her.

She closed her eyes for a second and exhaled before opening them again. Those brown eyes that were blazing like all the fires of hell.

One of her hands moved down my flanks. When she reached my hip, she ran it between our bodies and began touching both of us.

“Trying to make me come first?” I moaned.

“Is that what you want?”

“I don’t…” I could hardly control my voice.

“Better do something about it, then.”

I ran both of my hands between us and put them on hers.

“Like this?”

“Fuck…” She moved with me, touching me, touching herself. I felt the dampness between us, my own stickiness on my hands.

The table creaked, and its surface was hard and unforgiving. It was uncomfortable, and I didn’t care.

She pulled her hand away and propped herself up on her elbows, cupping my face. No, not cupping. Clasping. Hard. “Keep on doing what you’re doing.”

I bent my knees and pushed my feet into the table. I felt her and myself. I heard her and myself. But alI could see was her. The little frown between her eyebrows. The colour of her eyes that seemed to change from brown to black right in front of me. The mouth I wanted to kiss but didn’t because I was too busy looking at her and feeling her.

Creaking, rubbing, pressing, sensing. My mind was clouded, my body aware. I touched, she pushed. Her breath hitched, her eyes closed.

Speeding up, the sound of her voice, the feeling of her breath.

A moment of stillness, slowing down.

Her hand reached down and rested on my hands for the briefest of moments before she removed them. “Put your hands over your head and let me touch you.” Her voice was breathless.

She finally kissed me while holding my hands in place with her left and touching me with her right. She breathed into me, I breathed into her. It only took her seconds to make me come. It was sweet, it was painful, it made me tighten and open up at once.

It was all it took. I knew I wanted more of it. More of her, even if she hadn’t shown me much. I wanted to find out…

Chapter 3: Save the light (Johanna)

She was asleep. I lay awake. And I had been for the last 3 hours.

I couldn’t take it anymore. The nightmares were worse than ever. Her light would fade if she stayed with me.

I’d tried to provoke her far too many times over the last couple of days, and I hated myself for it. Honestly, I wanted her to break up with me. But she didn’t get the hint. She didn’t mind arguing. She always said it was “healthy”. Fuck no, nothing that involves me is healthy. And that’s why I needed to let her go. And if she wouldn’t leave me, I’d have to leave her to save her light. She meant something to me, whatever it was, and I couldn’t afford that. Neither did she deserve to go down with me.

I got up and got dressed, grabbed a few things and left the rest. For a moment, I thought I should have taken everything I had brought into her flat over the past months, but then she’d immediately know. And I didn’t want her on my back. Or maybe I lied to myself and, for a split-second, thought it was a way back in if I changed my mind.

But when I quietly closed the door behind me, I already knew I wouldn’t…

Chapter 4: Moving fast (Rachel)

She was so beautiful when she laughed, and it’s not that she never did. But it was usually some sort of sneer, a grin with an underlying hint of jadedness, a smile that looked like it was covering up some kind of hurt. But this one was real.

“I should go home soon,” she said, a smile still tugging at the corners of her mouth.

I leaned forward and kissed one corner. “You could stay tonight.” Then the other. “Or you could just…stay?”

She immediately moved back and looked at me like only Jo looks at you. As if you’ve got two heads. As if you’ve completely lost the plot.

“Woah, moving a bit fast, aren’t we?”

And there it was. The sneer. But I was having none of it and just kissed her again. I felt a tiny bit of resistance at first, but not as much as I had feared. She finally gave in.

“Just stay tonight,” I mumbled against her lips. “We could cook together, maybe watch a film, and you could just pretend to be my girlfriend for once.”

She snorted. “I’m not pretending, it’s just…”

“Well, that’s it settled then,” I interrupted with a grin.

She smiled back, and that one was real…

Chapter 5: My nightmares, her dreams (Johanna)

I felt exhausted and drained. Seen things no human should ever see, and it had been a close one. Again.

When I opened the door to her flat, a part of me hoped to find comfort in her arms, felt like talking about what had happened tonight.

Past the point, not her stuff to worry about. What was I even thinking?

And in any case, she was waiting for me with a face like thunder.

“Where have you been?”

“Come on, Rach, not that shit again.” For fuck’s sake, she’d been crying, I could see it in her eyes.

“Well, yes, that shit again. What do you expect me to say if I’m worried sick about you? I can't take the constant worry. And you’re never honest with me!”

“When did I ever lie to you?”

She crossed her arms in front of her chest. “When were you ever honest when you get calls in the middle of the night, when you just disappear, when you come back stinking of god-knows-what?”

I felt a surge of pain and anger, but I quickly swallowed it. It wasn’t her fault. How could she even remotely understand?

Deep down, I knew she was right. I would never be able to be truly honest with her, not as long as my world was one of demons and nightmares while hers was one of humans and dreams.

So I turned on my heel and just said, “I’ll let you cool off a bit and come back later.”

“Yeah, just run away, like every time things get too close!” she called after me.

And once again, she was right…

Chapter 6: Light is armour (Rachel)

She had this funny little ritual. Every night, before we went to sleep, Jo told me a bedtime story. She was really great at it, spinning tales of adventure and slaying demons—always demons. And of course she was always the heroine of her stories (even if she pretended she wasn’t), and sometimes, she would even save me (even if she pretended it was someone else).

I found it hilarious and endearing—here was the woman I loved, who always seemed so tough, but she was like a little kid when she described epic battles against terrifying creatures that threatened the peace of some random kingdom.

She would talk about wielding a magical sword that could cut through any darkness, and wearing armour made of pure light.

“How does that even work?” I snorted. “You must be butt-naked under that.”

She rolled her eyes at me. “It’s not me!”

“Okay, then whoever she is, she’s still starkers. Light isn’t armour.”

She looked at me, and her expression changed. “Maybe it is.”

And of course I knew they were more than just bedtime stories. That there were struggles behind it all, disguised as fantasy. That Jo had hopes and dreams, hidden under a mountain of fear and insecurity. And I didn’t know how to help her through it all because she still wouldn’t let me.

But right then, as we lay in bed together, wrapped in each other's arms, I felt a sense of peace, and I’m sure she felt it, too.

Chapter 7: Pulling the drawstrings (Johanna & Rachel)

Johanna rang the doorbell and waited. It took Rachel a while to buzz her in, and it took Jo an even longer while to get up the stairs. When Rachel opened the flat door, she was soaking, a towel wrapped around her. It didn’t stop her from leaning in to kiss Jo and getting her wet in the process.

“Oy,” Johanna grinned.

Rachel’s gaze dropped to the bags that lay on the floor. “Moving in?” She smirked.

“Well, I need to keep some stuff close by and might as well just leave it here at the moment.”

“Right.” Rach raised her eyebrow and couldn’t stop grinning. “Come in then. Want me to take any of that?”

“Nah, just get yourself dried and decent.”

“As if.”

Jo rolled her eyes. “I’m serious, I need to unpack a few things.”

Rachel petted her lip in mock-disappointment. “Okay, just get started, I’ll be with you in a few…”

“What’s that?” Rachel asked, dressed in jeans and a jumper, a towel still wrapped around her head.

“I’ve no clue, honestly, It’s some old pouch I got while…” She hesitated. “Can’t remember where I got it, but I never even managed to pull the drawstrings open.”

“Let me…”

Johanna threw the leather pouch at Rachel, who nearly dropped it.

“Careful,” she grinned.

“I always am, aren’t I?”

Chapter 8: Sand (Rachel)

She’d just left me standing there like an idiot. It was the first real argument.

No, it wasn’t even that because we hadn’t exactly been fighting. I had asked questions. Okay, maybe I had raised my voice a little, but I had been sitting at home for hours, feeling worried about her, not knowing where she was. And it hadn’t been the first time. Her phone was always switched off. In fact, it was near always switched off. It was sometimes impossible to get a hold of her. And when I had told her that she wasn’t honest with me, she had completely stonewalled me before running away.

I felt my eyes welling up with tears again, and it annoyed me. So I got ready for bed. I lay there for hours, tossing and turning, and couldn’t get to sleep. I wandered back into the living room and switched on the TV. When I sat down on the couch, the leather pouch on the coffee table caught my attention. We both hadn’t managed to open it, even after trying repeatedly, but I didn’t have anything better to do, so I tried again. But no matter how hard I tried, it didn’t work.

“Honestly, I will just pretend I can open you with sheer willpower and belief, you stupid thing. Abracadabra,” I joked. And believe it or not, all of a sudden, the pouch was open. Just a tiny crack, maybe the size of a shirt button. But it was enough to take a peek. It was hard to tell what it was, so I turned it over gently.

Sand?

I brought my hand up to my face and carefully sniffed it to make sure that’s what it was.

I can’t remember what happened after, but I do remember I woke up the next morning, and that I hadn’t had such nice dreams in ages…

Chapter 9: Just a few bags (Johanna)

I honestly spent a lot of time with her, which wasn’t like me at all. And it just felt so fucking nice to have someone to come home to for once. But was I truly coming home to her?

Emotionally, maybe. But I was still only staying overnight. Well, on the nights I could. Big step for me though.

I second-guessed myself. Too rash? Too cautious? Missing out on something I knew I shouldn’t really allow myself?

For a brief moment, I actually thought, “Shit, Jo, you’re really getting in too deep.”

And the very next moment, she encroached on my mind like a flippin’ vision. Her smile, her laugh, her kindness, her passion.

How we spent time together. Me, doing shit like cuddling on the sofa and cooking. And of course we were fucking each other senseless, but that wasn’t it. I was always able to get that somewhere if I really wanted to. It was the way she made me feel. When I was with her, I was happy for a moment. I took a glance at the shitty photo booth shots of us, and I even looked it.

Was I ready for this?

Not really because it wasn’t just about me. It was about her.

Maybe I was overthinking it, letting fear get the better of me. And honestly, I should have.

It wasn’t moving in to just dump a couple of bags to make life easier, was it?

Chapter 10: As it was (Rachel)

It was okay for a short while. She’d come back, but she became more and more distant. The smiles were sneers again. The bedtime stories stopped.

Well, most of the time, she wasn’t even around at bedtime. If she was, the sex was still great, but I sometimes thought that was the problem. Because everything else had stopped. The real conversations, the watching stupid comedies together, the actual closeness.

I woke up at half past three, and she was gone. Again. And I was so fucking tired of it all. 

Tired and unable to sleep.

The pouch of sand was in the drawer of my bedside table. It helped me sleep. I didn’t have the faintest clue what this stuff was because it honestly just looked like sand. Maybe I just made up things in my mind, maybe it was true what they said about placebos: If you really believe something works, it will.

So whatever this stuff was, it worked.

I took a small amount and probably inhaled a bit too deeply because I immediately knew something was off.

When I came to, I was shaking, but I remembered the dream. It had been of her. Of us in a photo booth, and going on a walk together that ended up having her pin me against a tree, kissing me, letting her hands wander a bit too much and only stopping when a few people passed. 

And while it had been a dream, it was also real. Because that’s what we had done.

And I cried, and I wanted it all back.

I took a bit more sand and held on to the pouch. Maybe if I did it again, I could finally get to sleep…

Chapter 11: Snapshots (Johanna)

I don’t really have good days that often, I admit it. But that day was one of them. I had just decided to take her out. Properly, in a sort of old-fashioned way, because I knew she was into it, and I liked that about her to be honest.

We had lunch, and I, the woman who usually eats like a horse and doesn’t look too dignified while she’s at it, could hardly eat at all. All I could do was stare at her like some idiot, and it was fucking ridiculous.

As we entered the park (she wanted to “walk off the calories”, I just asked, “Why would you even say that?”), we stumbled across a vintage VW camper van that had been converted into a photo booth.

And of course she wanted to give it a try. I said no, probably 20 times, but she ultimately won.

Lots of funky props and costumes, and I honestly couldn’t believe she roped me into that shit—hats and sunglasses, feather boas and tiaras.

“Come on, Rach, let’s at least have a few shots without all the crap.”

“Okay,” she smiled, and we tried to get a few serious ones. Not that it worked.

Anyway, we ended up with a few I really liked and wanted to keep. She, of course, also wanted all the other ones, so we ultimately walked out with two sets of four prints.

When we walked home, I just pulled her off the path and kissed her. Well, maybe something else, too. But I remember clear as day it was the first time I actually felt I liked her a lot more than I wanted to let on…

Chapter 12: Whatever here that's left of me is yours (Rachel)

It hurt.

I couldn't even remember when I last got out of bed.

At first, I didn’t want to. I just wanted to sleep, get over the fact that she really didn’t come back this time. That she had left me without even having the guts to tell me. But it was impossible to get to sleep without the sand. And the more I took, the more I needed. To get rest, and to keep the nightmares at bay. Those nightmares that got a hold of me because of it but would also go away with it.

And then, I couldn’t get out of bed physically. Whenever I tried, the pain was so severe that I immediately had to lie back down. I stopped eating at some point, which didn’t help. But whenever I managed to get rest and dream of her, it didn’t matter. At some point, the hunger just stopped.

It was waking up that was agony, not sleeping. It was not dreaming that parched me, not the fact that I didn't drink.

I couldn’t remember when I’d last been to work. The phone had rung non-stop for a while, but I physically couldn’t answer. Maybe there were people at the door at some point. Maybe I’d let them in, maybe I hadn’t, because I couldn’t remember if I'd even managed to get up at any point. It was all a haze.

I lay there, wondering where it all went wrong. What had gotten me into this state. Why I couldn't breathe, why I was in so much pain. But it would all ebb back when the dreams came.

I counted to 100…

Chapter 13: Stark sights and dark nights (Johanna, Rachel & Dream)

“Jo, is that you?” Rachel’s voice sounded thin and brittle. “That’s such a wonderful dream.”

Johanna stepped towards the bed. “It’s me Rach. It’s going to be okay.” She took her hand, but the mere touch made Rachel whimper in pain. She looked at him. “What’s happened to her?”

“It’s the sand, it wasn’t meant for humans.”

He carefully removed the pouch from Rachel’s hand. The desperation that washed over her was so immediate that Johanna had to close her eyes for a second.

“No, no, no, give it back. Please, it hurts.”

He turned around almost immediately. “We can go.”

“What? We can’t go, we can’t leave her like this!” Johanna called after him.

“We can’t help her, the sand was the only thing keeping her alive.”

“You have to do something. If it wasn't for your sand, she wouldn't be like this!”

His expression was completely emotionless. “I'm not the one who left her with it.”

It was the moment Johanna lost all composure. “What is wrong with you? You want your sand back so you can save all of humanity? Well, here she is! But we're all just like Roderick Burgess to you. All you care about is your sand, your power. What is the point of you?” She swallowed hard and was back in control. “Well, you got your sand back. Why are you still here if you won't help?” And with that, she turned her back on him.

He hesitated before stepping closer to the bed. “Wait outside.”

Johanna looked at him briefly with an almost imperceptible nod.

Rachel was shaking violently, and Johanna sat down on the bed. “Rach…”

“I’m so sorry, Jo.”

She stroked Rachel’s head. “It’s my fault, all of it. I should never have left it with you.” She held and steadied her hands. “I should never have left.”

Rachel looked at her with glazed eyes. “You came back though, didn’t you?

Johanna gave her a small smile. One of the real ones. When she kissed her lightly, it all got too much. She got up and began to make her way out. As she reached the bedroom door, she heard that little voice in her head: 

No matter what he said, you really should stay.

And as always, she was good at ignoring it…

Tagging @sandmanfemslashfans @honeyteacakes @two-hands-toward-the-sun @lucienne-thee-librarian @seiya-starsniper