#they ended up sharing the same fate after all in the worst way possible

[lunastrophe]

What would happen if multiple female noble drow go after the same male for whatever reason? Would they fight for him? Would he go to the highest ranked House? Because he definitely wouldn't get to choose lmao or would it just end in him being a prostitute, for lack of a better word?

Alternatively, is there a difference between consort and patron in the drow world?

ily

Such a scenario - when two or more noble drow females go after the same male and none of them is willing to give up - is probably every male's worst nightmare.

🕷️ When one of the females has significantly higher station, her rival - or rivals - may show some common sense and back off. Things start to get complicated, though, when the females are of equal or nearly equal station. Then... well, the conflict can get pretty messy, and the male can end up dead.

Sharing is not really an option, because drow females, especially powerful ones, typically do not share. To some degree, it is a matter of possessiveness, control and pride - but also a matter of safety, since "shared" lover could easily become a spy.

🕷️ Eliminate The Rival - a noble drow female trying to kill another noble female over some male is an unlikely scenario, especially when both females are mature and level-headed. To such females, no male would (or should) be that valuable - also, openly fighting for a male could make both of them a subject of mockery.

Still, it can happen, especially when females are young and / or hot-headed, and dislike each other for some time - then the assassination of the rival becomes a tempting option. In the end, the winner gets the prize.

🕷️ Claim The Male First - this applies to a situation when a powerful female wants to officially claim some male as her consort (or patron), but one or several other females also desire him.

If the female is a matron mother, she can, for example, arrange for the male to be discreetly kidnapped and delivered to her doorstep - Matron Malice Do'Urden "obtained" Zaknafein in a similar way. Male officially becomes a member of her house and her consort / patron, and then no other female can have him - not without matron mother's permission, at least.

If the female is not a matron mother, but she is still a noble, she can, for example, convince the matron mother of her house to give her some support - claiming a valuable male as a member of the house can strengthen it, after all.

If the female is on good terms with matron mother and she serves her house well, I suppose that she may even ask to be given a specific male as a reward.

🕷️ If Not Mine, Then No One Else's - even if one of the females finally "wins" and claims the male as her lover, it does not necessarily mean that the conflict no longer exists - on the contrary!

Her rival can, for example, arrange for the male to be killed only to spite her. She can also try to take the male away from her, sometimes only to torment him and / or to kill him - to make sure that he will not be taken back.

🕷️ Male's Misery - many drow males dread attracting the attention of two or more competing noble females. They know that females perceive them only as playthings - and just like it sometimes happens with unfortunate playthings, they may end up being torn apart in such a conflict.

It is said that some very handsome and very popular drow males try to avoid this fate, deliberately making themselves less desirable to females - by acquiring ugly face scars, for example. It usually makes them lose their status, but it can also save their life, since females typically lose interest in them.

🕷️ Patron And Consort - basically, every patron is a consort, but only some consorts are patrons.

Patron is the favoured consort of matron mother of the noble house and (usually) the father of her children - it is one of the highest ranks possible for a male drow.

Consort is one particular male selected by a female drow (of any rank) to be her... well, not a partner, but more-than-an-occasional-lover. Consort is typically expected to be loyal, obedient and good-looking - he is bound to fulfill the female's wishes and to protect her in case of danger. In exchange, he usually receives some measure of female's protection and more or less wealthy gifts - sometimes also the female helps a talented consort to propel his career forward, if only for her own benefit.

One female can have multiple consorts. She can also have female consorts (of lower social status than her).

[kourota]

in a sky full of stars, I think I saw you

[lookingforariaa]

Attack On Titan: Actor AU ᝰ.ᐟ

ᯓ★ From the very first "Attack on Titan" table read, Eren Jaeger and Y/N L/N been locked in a personal war. They had hated each other, for their own personal reasons. But, now, fate (or the writers) had dealt them a cruel hand: their characters, the series' central love interests, were about to share their first intimate scene. actor!eren x actress!reader

Ensconced in the makeup chair, you flipped through the script with practiced ease. Your brow furrowed in concentration as you absorbed the scene directions and drilled the lines for today's shoot into your memory.

If 13 year old you thought it was bad enough having to share your first kiss with Eren Jaeger at the end of the season 2 finale with a bunch of camera's pointed at you, she would probably want to kill herself for this scene.

Smiles were plastered on for fans, talk show appearances, the whole nine yards. But everyone on set knew the hatred simmering beneath the surface between Eren and you. But your reasons for the animosity ran deeper than just hating him for the funsies.

You'd always bristled at entitled people like Eren Yeager. His producer father had undoubtedly greased the wheels for his leading role alongside you. He hadn't earned it like everyone in this series had, and he had gotten one of the leading roles in the series.

It wasn't fair. The rich always win.

The first table read had confirmed your worst fears. You had extended a friendly hand, introducing yourself as his love interest and the second leading role in the series.

Eren's response? A dismissive scoff and a head-to-toe sweep that spoke volumes. That self-satisfied smirk ignited a fire in your gut. People like him, who waltzed into success on silver platters, were everything you weren't. You'd clawed your way up, and his arrogance was a slap in the face to everything you'd achieve

The hatred towards Eren only intensified on the first filming day. His arrogance wasn't confined to you. He barked orders at crew members and treated his assistant like an indentured servant. Your blood pressure skyrocketed.

These were people, not props for his entitled performance.

He treated them like they weren't human.

The scene triggered a raw nerve. You knew all too well the sting of dehumanization. The humiliation. Your mother was a single parent forced into sex work to keep a roof over your head. Even if you lived in a brothel full of sex workers, you didn't ask god for anything else other than to get your mom another job.

You had watched your mom try her best to hide you from the men coming in so you wouldn't have to fall into the hands of prostitution as well. The way those men treated her - a flicker of desire followed by callous dismissal, like a discarded rag.

Like she wasn't even worthy enough to be called a human.

You had clawed your way out. Your striking features - the cascading dark blonde hair and the mesmerising hazel eyes and amazing acting skills - were your ticket to this role, a chance to give your mother a life she deserved.

Seeing Eren was like looking into a mirror of your traumatic past, seeing your mom thrashed around like an object.

Blinking back the sleep in your eyes after having drinks with Sasha the entire night, the scripts pages wavered in your hands, the words blurring at the edges.

Sasha's death still felt unreal. You'd sought solace in her company after they killed her character, clinging to the real Sasha for as long as possible.

A yawn stretched your lips into a wide, ungainly shape. The gentle hum of the hair curlers and the soft touch of the makeup brushes did little to dispel the exhaustion clinging to you like a second skin.

The last layer of blush being applied felt strangely cool against your warm cheeks. You lowered your heavy lashes as they started applying a gentle layer of mascara to your makeup as the finishing touch.

The problem with Attack On Titan was the fact that all the makeup had to look natural. But at the same time all the girls, especially you and Mikasa, had to look beautiful.

Which wasn't hard, because both of you were drop dead gorgeous. But both of you were too humble to ever admit it out loud.

You skimmed through the script one last time as the Matt, your gay best friend who mostly does your hair, brushes them out slightly to make them look more natural.

Perfect," he sighed dramatically, a playful smile on his face. "Ready for today's shoot?"

You rolled your eyes, a groan escaping your lips. "Absolutely not."

"Yeah, figured," Matt chuckled. "t's funny honestly. Do you actually have to ride his thigh? God, the writers hate you."

"Oh shut up!" You scoffed, slapping his arm with your script as you looked a laughing Matt through the mirror.

"Okay, come on, they're asking for you."

"Tell them I'll be right out."

The director barked out his final instructions, taking help from Isayama as his gaze flickering between you and Eren.

Both of you stood with arms crossed and brows furrowed, listening carefully to the director and Isayam. Eren, clad in his iconic faded green shirt and a the black jacket over it.

While you wore a white button-up strained slightly against your chest, the small black corset tied right beneath your chest emphasizing your hourglass figure beneath it.

"So, remember, Y/N you hate him in this scene, you despise him." The director emphasized, looking down at the script.

"Yeah, that's gonna be easy to act out." You scoffed, rolling your eyes.

Eren smirked, leaning down for his mouth to reach your ear. "Don't forget what scene we're filming." His breath tickled your ear. You didn't know what sent the chills down your spine-- his mouth being so close to your ear, or the fact that he was referring to how you had absolutely no control in this scene.

The director clapped his hands, snapping you and Eren out of your silent standoff. You cleared your throat, forcing your attention away from the infuriating green shirt and towards the man barking orders.

"Y/N," he said, pointing at you, "when you say, 'So you're going to kill billions of people for what?!' I want a reaction. Fling your arms wide, like you're trying to grasp the weight of those lives. Let your anger crackle in your eyes, burning into Eren as you demand an answer." You nodded.

His gaze shifted to Eren, a glint of amusement in his eyes. "Eren, when you deliver the line, 'For you,' I want hesitation. Let out a sigh that speaks volumes. Run your hand through your hair, whatever. Turn away, build the drama. Then, do a dramatic turn around back towards Y/N, unleashing that scream with every ounce of conviction you have. Got it?"

Eren nodded understandingly, pursing his lips. "Got it."

"Great! Let's get this scene rolling!" The director boomed, clapping his hands. A flurry of activity followed as the set crew started getting the prison set ready for filming, fixing any minor misplaces in it.

You and Eren stood by, the tension crackling between you like live wires. Within minutes, the set was prepped, the harsh overhead lights casting stark shadows on the fabricated brick walls. You took a deep breath, steeling yourself for the emotional rollercoaster about to unfold.

"Scene 27, take 1."

"Lights," The director sighed, "Cameras." He pointed, "And.. action!"

The sterile light glinted off the metal bars, casting a harsh glow on the tense scene unfolding. You stood across from Eren, your voice laced with barely contained fury

"I know what I'm doing," you spat, the words sharp as shards of ice. "But do you, Eren? Do you have any goddamn clue what you're doing?!"

Eren was positioned before a cracked mirror, avoided your gaze. His knuckles tightened around the chipped porcelain sink, the strain evident in his posture. A sigh, heavy and laced with despair, escaped his lips as he stared down at his clenched fists.

"Yeah," he muttered, his voice barely a whisper.

"Yeah?" you shrieked, disbelief and frustration clawing at your throat. "Because from where I'm standing, it doesn't seem like a single thought has crossed that thick skull of yours!"

Your hands flew to your hair, tugging at the strands in agitation. Frustration boiled over, and you flung your arms wide, the metal cot scraping against the wall with a jarring clang

"Eren!" you roared, your voice echoing off the cold stone walls. "You're about to make billions die at the hands of a horrifying death! And for what?!"

Eren remained silent, his back a rigid wall against your onslaught. A shaky breath escaped him, his jaw clenched so tightly his teeth seemed ready to shatter. Slowly, he raised his hand, running it through his hair in a gesture of defeat. His eyes, half-lidded and shadowed, flickered towards his reflection in the mirror, a flicker of something akin to shame crossing his features.

Then, with a dramatic flourish, he spun around, his voice laced with a desperate conviction that bordered on hysteria.

"For you!" he screamed, the words echoing through the cell. But as quickly as the outburst erupted, it died down. A defeated sigh escaped his lips, and he repeated the words, this time a mere whisper, "For you..." His half lidded eyes met yours.

"Well, that's fucking stupid!" You screamed out.

"Cut!" You furrowed your eyebrows and turned your head back to the director. "Y/N! Your resolve breaks for a second, okay? You still love him deep down and when he looks at you like that your heart aches." The director says, clutching at his own heart to emphasise. "So wait for a second, show emotion, and then say the stupid line."

"Idiot." Eren muttered under his breath, loud enough for you to hear.

"Okay, got it. Everything else was fine?" You asked, ignoring his comment.

"Yeah." The director responded, "Let's take it again from Eren's line."

"Scene 27, take 2."

"Lights, camera.. action!"

Eren sighs once more, "For you.."

A tremor ran through your composure. Your eyelids fluttered shut for a brief moment, a shaky breath escaping your lips. When your eyes reopened, the anger had returned, but it felt brittle, tinged with a flicker of something else - confusion, maybe even a hint of pain. It was a fleeting glimpse, quickly masked by the familiar fury

"Well that's.. that's fucking stupid!" You stammered, trying to showcase your characters resolve breaking.

"Is it?! I think it's fucking stupid that you aren't understanding that Marley wants to take you so you can make pure royal blooded babies with my brother so they can take the founding titan easily!" Eren roared, turning back to you.

"Babies?" The word hung in the air, a foreign concept amidst the weight of Eren's plan. The anger you wielded began to crumble at the edges.

A shaky laugh escaped you, a humorless sound that echoed off the cold stone walls. "Is that it, Eren? All this so I don't sleep with your fucking brother?!"

Eren's jaw clenched tight. He ran his hands through his hair again, his voice laced with a desperate edge. "You aren't fucking getting it! They'll use you, Y/N! Turn you into a breeding machine for their twisted agenda and then kill you! This way, at least you're..." His voice trailed off, the defiance flickering for a moment.

"Atleast i'm what? Safe? You fucking sociopath! You're killing all these people for one person?!"

"Shut up."

"That's what you are.. a murderer, a psychopath!"

"Shut the fuck up." He growled, grabbing you by your neck and pushing you against the wall, choking you slightly. The camera followed both of you in kind.

You smiled, scoffing. "Or what? You'll kill me?"

He choked you harder, making you stretch your neck up as you whimpered slightly.

"I told you to shut the fuck up."

"Make me."

A tense silence stretched between you, punctuated only by the ragged rasp of your breath. Disgust simmered in your eyes, a mirror image of the icy loathing reflected back from Eren. The space between you crackled with unspoken hostility

He was supposed to kiss you now, but you were glad he wasn't, otherwise you might've barfed in his mouth. He looked at you with the same expression etched on his face: disgust.

"Cut!" The director yelled out and Eren rolled his eyes, sighing as he released your neck and immediately walked away from you.

The director slammed his script down, the sound echoing through the soundstage. "Alright, what's going on here? You two are supposed to be passionately making out, not glaring at each other like you're about to duel."

Eren scoffed, running a hand through his hair. "Maybe that's the point. Maybe our characters wouldn't actually kiss in this situation."

You crossed your arms, your eyes narrowing. "Oh, and why wouldn't they? Because your fragile ego can't handle kissing someone who doesn't fawn over you?"

Eren's smirk vanished, replaced by a cold stare. "Funny you should mention ego. It takes a certain level of delusion to think anyone would be interested in someone who constantly reeks of desperation."

You bristled. "Desperation? At least I earned this role on my own merit, unlike some nepo baby." You smirked. "At least I don't need a daddy with a fat wallet to buy my way into a role."

Eren's voice turned low and dangerous. "Careful. You wouldn't want to upset the golden goose who keeps this whole production afloat, would you?"

Y/N leaned forward, her voice a steely whisper. "Don't you dare pull that daddy producer stunt on me. You think your money can buy you everything? It can't buy respect, and it certainly can't buy genuine affection."

Eren's smirk faltered for a moment, his jaw clenching, much to your amusement. "Oh, touchy subject? Truth hurts, doesn't it?"

The director sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Look, can we focus? This scene is supposed to be about raw emotions, about their need for each other. Let's take it again, both of you are professionals, I know you can handle it."

"Scene 27, take 3."

"Lights, Camera... Action!"

The boy holding the movie clip snapper sighs, exhausted, even from a simple job as his. "Scene 27... take 23."

"Okay, guys, If it doesn't happen this time then we'll have to redo this tomorrow. And then we won't have time to film the scenes scheduled for tomorrow, hence the season 4 premiere will get delayed. So, just be professionals for once. You aren't kids anymore." The director sighs, putting his cap back on as he leans back in the chair.

Both you and Eren get back into place as the director yells action and Eren quickly slams you against the wall.

"Shut the fuck up."

"Or what? You'll kill me?"

He choked you harder, making you stretch your neck up as you whimpered slightly.

"I told you to shut the fuck up."

"Make me."

You and Eren looked at each other for a second and you almost thought he was going to chicken out once more, so did the director as he rolled his eyes and slid a hand across his face.

But he didn't.

Eren quickly brought his lips to yours, rough and full of all the hatred that's been simmering between both of you all this while. It was a frantic kiss, as the director had wanted. Both of you were breathless as his hand stopped choking you and went to the side of your neck and the other clutched at your waist, and your hands went to grasp at his hair.

It was a tangled mess of limbs as your heads moved together at the speed of light, begging to deepen the kiss, begging to explore every inch of each others mouth. The air crackled with unspoken desire, the kiss a whirlwind of exploring touches and desperate needy moans. 

Everything was a blur. Gasping breaths mingled with the frantic rhythm of your kiss, his tongue had even made an appearance. It surprised you, because when kissing a co-star the other doesn't use tongue to keep the kiss professional and to show the person respect.

But what would Eren Jaeger know about respect?

His hands gripped your waist, a possessive ache that mirrored your owns as one of your hands tugged at his hair and the other caressed his cheek. The kiss deepened, your heads moving together frantically, a battle fought on bruised lips and tangled tongues.

A whimper escaped your lips as Eren grabbed your hair and tilted your head backwards, the kiss turning urgent, so frantic. It felt like an eternity, a culmination of unspoken longing poured into this single, desperate moment.

Your hands twisted in his hair, pulling at it harshly on purpose, hoping it would hurt. With the groan that he let out into the kiss, you were sure it did.

Then, with a swift movement, Eren shoved his knee in between your legs, your surprised moan swallowed by the next searing kiss.

His hand shot out, gripping your throat as your heads whipped back and forth, a frantic chase for deepening the kiss. A tender moan left your lips as Eren's grip on your throat tightened, his tongue thrusting deeper. The sound of your kiss echoed in the room, into the mic, a desperate rhythm. You let out another soft, breathy moan and it was muffled into his mouth as he tried to get even closer to you.

And with the directors snap, which was your cue to start grinding on his thigh, you did just that. A soft moan escaped your lips and muffled into his mouth. "Eren." You sighed into the kiss, as you disconnected your lips and connected your forehead with his, grinding on his thigh.

Fuck. You didn't expect this to happen, especially not with Eren, but you could feel your pussy pulsate and throb with need. You just hoped he couldn't feel it.

"We shouldn't do this." You said in a soft moan as you threw your head back, giving Eren the chance to kiss down your neck.

"We shouldn't." He sighed into your neck.

"It's a bad idea." Your grinding intensified and his hand came to grab at your hips to help you, a sigh of pleasure escaping you, your nails digging into his shoulder.

"It is." You could feel his breath on your neck.

"I loathe you."

"The feelings mutual."

The air crackled as your eyes locked with Eren's. You guys locked eyes for a moment, as written in the script.

And then you leaned down as you were slightly lifted above the ground with a surge of undeniable desire. Your lips met in a frantic kiss, a tangle of emotions that both fueled and fought against your self-control. The kiss was so rushed, such a blur. Both your heads moving so frantically to fight for dominance.

It was like you were fighting to crawl into each others skin.

A strangled sound escaped your throat, a mix of surprise and something more primal. A flicker of uncertainty crossed your mind. Fuck, why were you enjoying this?

Shame threatened to choke the rising tide of sensation, but Eren's touch, a hand gently yanking at your hair, grounded you. In that moment, you were caught in a delicious storm of confusion and exhilaration.

"Cut!"

You tore yourself away from the kiss, gasping for breath. Eren mirrored your action, his chest heaving slightly. A ghost of a smile played on his lips, a hint of amusement dancing in his eyes. Both of you gazed at each other with longing and confusion, almost disgust and hate for themselves because deep down they know they liked it.

''Great job! I love the intensity. We'll just need to film some POV and closeup shots for the sex scenes and we're done for the day." The director smiled, praising both of you. "Let's take 5."

You started to walk away, but before you could leave, Eren grabbed your hand. "Also, by the way." You sighed and rolled your eyes.

"What?"

"I could feel that, you know."

Shit.

[yuri-is-online]

And Your Name Is? (Sebek, Silver, Idia)

Synopsis- After successfully resolving whatever was causing NRC to be trapped in an endless time loop of overblotting and disaster, one last reset should give him a chance to experience a normal school year with you. But instead you find yourself trapped in the here and there, appearing as a vague shadow around the school that vanishes as soon as he catches up to you. The kind thing to do would be to allow you to be forgotten in the chance it lets you return to your world.

But this is Twisted Wonderland where the kind thing is seldom done, and he wants you back as much as you want to find him again.

notes: they/them pronouns used for Yuu, thanks to the lovely annon who requested this, they suggested Silver and Sebek in celebration of Book 7 Chapter 5 and I decided to add Idia because I expect he'll be doing something soon-ish. Please look to my masterlist for the other parts if you liked this.

Sebek

This is madness, it has to be. What other explanation could he have for these memories torturing him every time he finds himself alone. Lilia had reassured them they were real, even if Lord Malleus's memory was fuzzy and Silver's as unreliable as ever what he saw, what he felt, were all painfully real. There was a missing student from his first year class, an incompetent irrevocably out of place, magicless human who seemed determined to get into the worst situations possible. He can't decide who he is angrier at, the other students for forgetting you, you for once again getting yourself into a situation someone would need to rescue you from, or himself for... for... for...

He'd asked his mother once, angrily and painfully disrespectfully, why she would marry someone so weak. The perspective of time, looped or otherwise, made him realize he was really blaming her for the way his grandfather saw him. As if he could have somehow earned his total respect and love if he erased everything about his father from his being, as if the answer his mother ultimately gave him was a sin somehow.

"Because my love is not weak, true love never is. You can let it change you for the better, or you can let it make you worse. When you see the person you love you will know what they'll do, your soul becomes theirs in a way. Your strengths and weaknesses become shared."

Sebek thinks he must be letting love make him worse. He isn't loud when he approaches your silhouette, he makes no announcement, no demand you be grateful he is paying you attention despite your humanity. He just sits under the apple tree, and quietly into the the empty night air reads a novel. There's a vague memory he has of a much louder conversation you had here about the exact same book. The knight saves his love at the cost of his own life, and he had gone on at much louder length about how noble that was.

You though, you had hated it. "What's the point of living if the person you want to share your life with had to die for it?"

"Do you remember?" His voice is still woefully in line with a normal volume, and you are still just out of reach. "That is what you said, and I am sure I said something very stupid about knightly honor. I probably told you that a mere human would never understand, but whatever I might have meant you were right in the end. It's an empty world when your life is paid for with the life of someone you love." You flicker as if to disappear, but Sebek is faster, snapping up from his seat to grasp you in a death roll and tumbling down to the grass. Yes, love is absolutely making him worse, how else is he supposed to explain to anyone the sheer joy he feels to find you, heavy and warm in the flesh successfully pinned under him and trembling. He can atone for his improprieties later, the sheer worry you inflicted demands immediate penance. There is no running from your fate, not that the arms that encircle his shoulders and pull him further down seem at risk of fleeing anywhere. Sebek's eyes close in relief, allowing himself finally to release his weakness into the strength of your embrace.

Silver

He used to dream what it would be like to live without his curse. Granted Silver didn't have much of an imagination, most of those thoughts consisted of him doing simple things like training with his father or cooking without fear of hurting himself, not that those were bad things to want. Now though, he almost missed his lapses into sleep. He was certain, based off of what little Malleus and Lilia had been able to tell him about the here and there, that he could find you in his dreams. When he went to bed at night he knew he slept, knew he dreamed, but for some reason he just couldn't find you. There were traces, locations he remembers from past timelines, places he's sure must be a twisted echo from your world, all showing traces he could follow but never once showing him you.

It was enough to make him cry, he swears he's cried more in the past month than he has in how ever many years he's been alive. He knows it's scaring his father, he thinks it's scaring Sebek. Malleus is still under the impression there is a way to save you so he has yet to give into fear, but if the way he dismisses Silver, teasingly telling him to get some rest, is any reassurance he's worried about him too.

"I really hope you aren't missing because you think we don't care." He seldom speaks aloud to you outside of dreams, Silver isn't sure if you can hear him when he does. But there's a painful strength to his desire tonight, maybe fueled by the silhouette he saw flickering just beyond the Ramshackle Gate earlier in the evening. He knows Malleus told him to rest, but he finds himself walking back there "just in case" before he returns to his dorm. It's quiet here, inviting himself to close his eyes and begin tracing the steps he saw earlier. You were dancing, he tried to reach for your hand to give you the partner the waltz so clearly demanded but only found air. They're still only holding air when when he pauses, eyes blurring as he tries to examine a still tingling palm, confused to find tears pooling in its center as words continue to flow. "That's not to say if you do I don't understand. If I was in your place, I would feel lonely too. It has to be painful, feeling so alone when you are surrounded by so many people..." His eyes close. A gentle breeze picks up the autumn leaves and tickle his nose with a familiar scent as he chokes out an earnest plea: "Is it too much to ask for you to be lonely in my hands? I promise I'll hold on so tight you never float away again." A comforting weight settles itself onto his hand, his fingers thread through theirs and his other arm pulls them into his embrace through sheer muscle memory before his eyes even open.

"Why are you crying?" A voice he's been chasing after for hundreds of years now, cracked from a months worth of silence asks him so earnestly and sweetly the only response he can find is laughter.

"It doesn't matter, it doesn't matter!" His arm finds it's way under your legs to sweep you up into a protective cradle as he spins you around and around to reassure himself that this is not a dream, no matter the familiar gleam shining up at him from your eyes.

Idia

This is so not worth it. Idia is not built for this, this, this cliche bullshit plot line. He will not own up to his past self's decisions, he will stay resolute in nihilistic pride and continue to refer to himself as a looser NEET who has never gotten any in his entire life. And technically, as he has argued to Ortho for the past five hours now, that is still true.

"New timeline new me, I am not in love with a student who doesn't technically exist that was my much cooler alter ego." He says that, but Ortho knows that's not a video game's code he has pulled up on his monitor. And despite checking the school's security cams being his thing, his older brother has several open on his other monitor. They've been changing through this entire argument, clearly monitoring wherever you appear and logging it as data in a massive spreadsheet Ortho has maybe taken one or two looks at when he managed to convince Idia to take a nap.

"Um big brother, not to be rude-" Ortho really wants to be. Idia isn't the only one who loves you, just the only one insistent on denying his feelings. "but isn't it sort of... childish to deny yourself at this point? The prefect-"

"They can't be a prefect if they aren't in school." Idia snaps.

"Just Yuu then." Ortho chooses to take the weird cackle Idia lets out as a sign he is making progress with his code and not a sign of a mental break. Yet. "They never showed interest in anyone else, they always picked you. That's got to be enough data to prove that when you save them," because there really is no point in pretending Idia is trying to do anything else at this point, even he gave up denying that just fifteen minutes into this conversation "they won't abandon you for anyone else."

"That's what I'm afraid of." Idia doesn't think he meant to say that, the words sort of just fall out of his mind onto his lap. He risks a look at the security footage, your ghost seldom comes into Ignihyde. That had bothered him at first, angered him even. What, you'll tell him you love him, steal his first kiss every time you can, and watch all his favorite shows just to get him to talk to you more but then when you're trapped in a liminal space you won't bother knocking on his door? Did all those things you said you would do only apply to the good times?

Not that it changed what he was going to do, part of him saw saving you as a challenge but mostly it was just out of gratitude for saving Ortho. That would have earned you his help even without the whole "lovers doomed by the narrative" thing you had going on. But recently, the more he worked on saving you really, he had started to wonder if his self doubt was what was pushing you away. Idia hated how much magic could rely on something as unpredictable and unreliable as human emotion, but it did. And whatever was happening to you was absolutely magical, he had the data to prove it. Reluctantly, ignoring Ortho's protests despite the guilt that gnaws at him he leaves his room. The harsh nighttime light of Ignihyde's LED displays bounce off his skin as he shuffles himself through the empty dormitory, no real destination in mind. He couldn't bring himself to say it out loud in front of Ortho, he couldn't bring himself to say it in front of you either, if his spotty memory is serving him correctly. He finds himself stood in front of a vending machine in one of the school's hallways, two distorted shadows flickering with equal uncertainty in the glass.

"Hungry?" Idia doesn't know why he asks, but he knows why he puts enough money into the machine for two bags of chips. "I keep forgetting I'm just getting shit for myself now." You don't respond, but Idia isn't too surprised or upset. It has to be weird hearing him address you directly after he's spent so much time ignoring you. "Just because Ignihyde's meant to respect the King of the Underworld doesn't mean you'll get snatched away if you pay me a visit. You shouldn't be afraid of him, he isn't dangerous to you." But I am. He doesn't say that, but the words hang heavy in the air anyway. Your shadow tries to reach for the vending machine, but pause almost confused when Idia beats you to punch in the familiar number of your favorite drink.

I love you. He doesn't say it out loud, but the thunk of the can makes the point just the same Idia realizes when he brings the can up to a very confused, very familiar looking face. You are confused, and a bit scared when he drops the drink to tackle you but you hold onto him anyway.

I love you too. You don't say it either but the steady, comforting beat of your heart screams it just the same. I will find you in ever lifetime.

[darlingshane]

Primal

Pairing: Frank Castle x F!Reader

Summary: Frank doesn’t enjoy rutting as much anymore. He lost that ability after Maria's death, and now it’s back and having you, his new omega, he has to start coming to terms with his nature.

Content/Warnings: 18+, Explicit, Omegaverse AU, Alpha Frank Castle, Omega Reader, Rutting, Mating, Knotting, Scent Kink, Light breeding kink, Vaginal Sex, Overstimulation, Canon-typical violence, Dom/Sub Undertones, Light Angst.

Word Count: 2,6k

— You can read below or at AO3.

Missing an easy shot irritates Frank more than it should. Missing a second one drives him off the wall. Instead of aiming a third time to his moving target, he puts his gun aside, and takes off sprinting behind the piece of shit he's been chasing for a week. His legs speed up. In less than a minute, the perp is struggling to breathe in Frank's ruthless hands. His eyes beg for his life, but Frank doesn’t let up until he has squeezed the lights out of him. This guy chose a bad day to get in Frank’s crosshairs. It could’ve been an easy death. One painless bullet. But going into rut right before waking up always sets Frank into a different mindset. And as the body falls limp to the ground, there’s a brief relief in the anxious pit of his stomach. That is not enough, however. This isn’t something that violence can quench. Being with his Omega, you, is the only balm that he needs to put an end to that maddening, rousing ache that stretches through every inch of his body, emanating from a primal need he thought forgotten.

He needs to get home as soon as possible.

It’s a good thing he finished the job, seemingly well, despite that inconvenience. His focus was hindered, and if there is something he hates about ruts is when they interfere with important matters, such as taking care of that organ trafficker who’s been leaving empty corpses all over the Tri-State area.

Once he comes out of that momentary trance of rage, he inhales deeply and dashes out of the warehouse.

Heading home, he texts your number on his way. He won’t call cause still morning, and he knows you’re at work. It unsettles him further that you won’t be meeting him for hours. The Alpha is already begging to be close to his Omega and won’t stop nagging at him until that moment. He fucking hates that. Not you, he doesn’t hate you. You’re absolutely precious to him. But being this way is nothing he enjoys. He used to, but now it’s just an annoyance to be driven by a fated force that only can be sated by lust.

By the time he gets to the apartment, his cock is already tense behind his jeans; the flesh band around the base, that’s usually invisible, starts protruding slightly behind his skin. It doesn’t help that every corner is bathed in your essence. That only worsens his state.

It didn’t use to be this bad for Frank. His DNA was altered the day Maria was taken away from him. His ruts were naturally suppressed when his true mate died, and for a while he believed it’d stay that way forever. He was absolutely okay with that, cause he couldn’t imagine sharing this with anyone else that wasn’t her. That was until he met you. Falling in love again and finding a new Omega is what got him here. He’s thankful for that. But once that happened, his nature morphed once more, and it came back kicking hard, and wild.

This is only the second time he’s gotten a rut ever since. The first one was already painful, and this time is heading in the same direction.

He texts you again, not once, but three times. Desperate words fill your inbox. As much as you want to be home to help him, you can’t abandon work. You could, but you decide to finish the day and take a mating absence for the next three days. It can last longer than that, but the first three are usually the worst. The rest he’ll be able to handle to have you a few hours away a day.

Frank takes a long cold shower to alleviate the hot, pressing need while he waits for your arrival. The shower handle is turned all the way to the side of the blue dot, but it's not cold enough. His blood is boiling. He should've brought a couple of bags with ice and just dip himself into frozen water instead to tame that inner beast that feels like slipping past the scorching surface of his skin.

He hates losing control of his own body and being tied to the innate desire of mating. As much as he loves sex with you, he prefers it when it’s his choosing. In an ideal world, he’d thought he’d be better off as a beta. You actually have to remind him often, that there’s no better Alpha than Frank Castle. It’d be a shame if he was anything else, but he can’t bring himself to see that.

When his body gets used to the temperature of the spray to the shower, he steps out, dries his body and yanks a pair of sweats on.

Counting the hours until you get home, he curls in your side of the bed, buries his nose in your pillow, and inhales your sweet scent printed on the fabric of the pillowcase. It's made out of fresh cinnamon rolls dipped in warm custard, with some notes of jasmine. It drives him wild. He intoxicates himself until there's no option but to relieve his painful erection.

You can smell his arousal behind the front door as you hold on to a bag of groceries in one arm, and turn the key with your opposite hand. It makes your knees weak. When you cross the threshold, you place down the groceries and the rest of your stuff on the table and brace yourself for a moment to keep yourself from falling. It’s astounding how those pheromones work on their own, calling you, drawing you to him like a magnet. Never before you've felt so entrapped in someone else’s as you do with Frank’s.

When you hear his steps, you look up to see him coming out the hallway. He rushes up to hold you in his arms, pulling you flushed against his bare chest. His nose lands on that spot in your neck where he sank his teeth a few months ago, inhaling the mind-numbing essence straight from your scent glands deeply.

“You’re here, you’re here, you’re here…” he repeats, restless and needy. “You’re finally here.”

“Shh, it’s okay,” your palm soothes up and down his warm back. It breaks your heart to see him like this, as much as you want him too, you’re aware it takes a huge toll on him having to go through this once more. “Why don’t you go lay down, yeah? I’ll be with you in a minute.”

“No, I can’t. Not gonna happen,” his arms lock tighter around you.

“Frank. I love you, but I just need a minute to breathe and put all this away. Then, I’m all yours, baby.”

“Please. I’m… I feel like I’m dying.”

“You’re not gonna die, baby. I promise.”

You try not to laugh, cause when it’s your turn to go into heat, you know you get more dramatic than him. He always cares for you with so much love, you can only reciprocate, and follow the same lead as your Alpha and be as soothing as possible. It’s also a good option to tread lighter than usual. He’s a very volatile, possessive Alpha, almost like a newborn, and he could rip you apart in a second if you were to pull away from him without warning.

“I promise,” you reiterate, softly exhaling, as he carefully releases you.

He holds onto one of your hands for a few seconds, lifts the back of your palm up to his lips, “don’t take too long, sweetheart.”

“I won’t.”

A smile is formed on your lips, as he disappears into the bedroom. You put the groceries away, and take a moment to collect yourself before meeting him again. You slip out of your work clothes, then wash your hands and face to freshen up as the contagious desire of your Alpha settles deeper at your core, stirring that wonderful slick to pool on your panties.

Frank's sitting on the edge of the bed, white-knuckles gripping the edge of the mattress when you enter the room.

“Have you eaten anything?” you put your hands on either of his shoulders, as his palms move to frame your hips.

“Wasn't hungry.”

“Maybe later. I brought your favorites.”

“Thanks, baby.”

Frank pulls you closer, kisses your stomach as his fingers sink into your skin. They tremble as he fights the urge to hold you down on the floor, and fuck the lights out of you until he's been sated. But he desperately clings to that thin thread that keeps him safely in check from hurting you.

He noses the surface of your skin as you unclasp your bra and set it aside, so he can trail the valley of your breasts. His favorite aroma is printed on your nipples. He’s told you it’s slightly sweeter than the rest of your body. His lips part, trapping the first puckered tip of one of them into his mouth. His tongue swirls the circumference as you let out a soft moan, sliding your palms to the back of his head, brushing our fingers in the short fuzz on his nape as his teeth gently tug the pointed peak. He salivates and presses his hands firmer around your ass, while his mouth eagerly moves to your other breast. He hums and gets harder than a rock. It tampers your own excitement as he pulls your panties down to let your juices slide down your inner thighs.

When he’s down with your chest, he settles you down, back comfortably pressed on the mattress, knees spread, to let his eager tongue lick your legs clean. Your slick, the cure of his affliction, sends him in a trance. He groans against your skin, letting the sweet taste of your essence be the catalyst for his precum to stain the fabric of the grey sweats, inside and out.

Your core throbs as your Alpha gets closer to your center, but he doesn’t use his mouth in that crucial spot. He’s got more pressing matters in his hands. Asserting his ground, he lifts his head and crawls over you, yanking the waistband of his sweatpants down, letting his massive erection spring into sight. It’s leaking, veins bulging, swelled to its maximum size. Frank guides himself inside you, stretching your opening that has tendered its grip for his enjoyment only. His knot, barely formed, touches your vulva as his cock slips deeper inside you.

You reach with your hand and collect part of his seed that dripped around your mound, bring it to your lips to taste him. Frank watches, enraptured, as you swallow his cum. Holding your gaze, one of his hands curls your neck. He presses just slightly, massaging your sensitive glands. Your lips turn into a big O, gasp escaping, as the tip of his tongue traces the shape of your open mouth.

His hips begin moving to the mind-numbing rhythm played by that innate desire of filling you, breeding you, knotting you.

The bond is palpable, floating in the air, present like another entity that ties you two together, as if it was always meant to be this way. You love it, Frank tolerates it. He overthinks too much, you believe. He forgot that it could feel amazing if he’d only let it take over a little. It'd be easier for both if he would.

Your breathing falters as he drives you closer to the brink. You press your nails hard on his back, etching pink half moons between all the scars that cover his torso. His stare is set ablaze when you do that. The grunt he releases is utterly frightening. He grabs with sheer force one of your wrists, pins it on the bed, and keeps it leveled with your head.

You almost forgot the golden rule – not testing his Alpha while he’s in this state. Maybe you wanted to. Though, that's merely a scrap to Frank; to your Alpha, that's a provocation to his domination.

He punishes you for it, and as your body wriggles underneath his broad frame when you reach the highest point of your climax, he doesn't let up. Not for a moment. You cry out in pleasure, tears slip out of your eyes, and Franks keeps pounding you with great power until your trembling legs give up into submission once more.

Unable to form real sentences, you moan and whine and beg repeatedly as another orgasm quickly builds from the mastering pace of his thrusting. It boosts you to higher ground during that second wave of raw, electric pleasure that claims every inch of your body.

He’s not done yet. But you can tell that he’s close. Keeping that same attitude, he lays fully flat on top of you, releasing your hand, and hiding his face in the crook of your neck to drown himself in your scent. It’s at that moment that his cock twitches, expelling his first heavy load into the depths of your pussy. He doesn't knot you, however. It took him a few tries days the last time. But he finally eases up some. His body shudders relentlessly, like little aftershocks that travel up and down every damn muscle until they’re all relaxed.

The first wave is over, but Frank stays inside you, unable to pull away. His back is covered in a thick layer of sweat that wraps around your fingers as they glide up to his nape. The touch sends shivers down his spine.

It might be a few hours until the next wave comes crawling, or just a few minutes. For now, he just lays there for a while, as you doze off inhaling on the calming scent of your Alpha that fills your nose with the delectable mix of roasted chestnuts, anise, and sandalwood incense.

Once he's mildly recovered, he slips out of you, rolls to the side and cradles you in his arms. You sigh, half-coming into consciousness, and press a few kisses on his collarbones. It makes his lips form a sweet smile as he comes down from his high.

One of your hands moves between your bodies, aimed at his semi-hard. You gently hold his length, spreading your juices around the ring around his base with your thumb, giving him a little massage. He doesn’t protest this time. He only submits to your whims as you keep him hard, nibbling all over his neck, and gently sucking around his glands.

“Hmm.”

“You like that, baby?” you mumble between kisses, getting a firm grip around the base, pressing fingers on either side of his knot.

“I love that, sweetheart. You’re always so good to me.”

“Likewise,” the corners of your mouth pull up, as you glance up to watch his face completely beaming with devotion, losing his signature scowl. “You wanna try again?”

“I’m ready when you are.”

“Yeah?” you bite your bottom lip, as he grabs your top leg and drapes it over his hip, so you can guide him inside you.

Bodies intertwined in such intricate way, you can’t define which limbs are his, and which are yours, you rotate your hips this time, fucking him slowly, as he captures your mouth with unbridled passion.

The next two days are more of the same. Just you and your Alpha mating like there are no limits. You only stop to sleep and recharge with food, with a couple of refreshing showers in between.

It's on the second day that Frank wakes you up at night with that urgent, primal need burning at his core. Past 3AM, he finally stops overthinking, and he’s able to grow and lock his knot inside you. Having him swell inside you is heaven in the purest form you've ever experienced.

[mandos-mind-trick]

Lost Time

Summary: Two years. Your soulmate has been missing for two years. After exhausting all your resources to look for him, you get a message from an old friend asking for help. Little do you know what's waiting for you when you arrive.

Pairing: Captain Gregor x reader

Warnings: NSFW, smut, unprotected sex, Gregor is a boob guy, mention of a brain injury, Gregor's past, major angst and feels, Soulmate AU

A/N: I know I said Echo was up next, but this one just came upon me out of nowhere. I've never written for Gregor before, and I've never really read much fic for him so I'm sorry if this is absolute trash. It's the shortest out of all of them so far cause I definitely don't feel confident in this. I gave it my best shot, and I hope it's at least palatable.

MASTERLIST

It’s been two years. Two long years since you’ve seen your soulmate. You remember sneaking into the supply closet, clinging onto him as he kissed you goodbye before he left for another battle. 

If you had known that was the last time you’d see him, you would have held on longer. 

The battle was one of the worst. You remember the defeat, the far too few troopers returning to the ship. You were kept busy, treating and aiding the battered troopers. You hadn’t noticed until later, when Coil had pulled you aside with the pity filled look in his eyes. You’ll never forget that look. 

MIA. That was his official status. You know he’s not dead. You would know if he was, you would have felt it. There would be no hiding it. Besides, he had too many life points left when he’d walked away from you. 

He’s not dead. 

He’s missing. 

You leave the army not long after. 

They hadn’t even tried searching. You were slave to your duties, to hiding your connection, but it was driving you insane. They cared so little for the people laying down their lives for them every day. They won’t extend any searches, not wanting to risk staying in the area any more than they have to. They had lost the battle, and you had lost your soulmate. 

You left the army, instead focusing your efforts on trying to find him. He had made it to a ship, but then he could have wound up anywhere. You exhausted every resource you had, spending every last dime you could afford trying to locate him. 

You fail. 

It’s like he vanished. 

You know he’s still out there. You can feel it. He wouldn’t leave you like that. 

Then the war ended. You knew something wasn’t right, things were happening that shouldn’t be. You didn’t trust the Empire, and so you had gone underground, trying to avoid them as much as possible. Your hunt for Gregor was over. There was no way you were going to find him now. 

All you can do is trust that you’re going to cross paths again. Fate wouldn’t be that cruel, would it? 

You stare at the number on your wrist in the dim light of your makeshift shelter. Life points, they were called, or a tracker of how many years you have left to live. You hadn’t known Gregor was your soulmate until you’d touched him for the first time, even though you both shared the same type of mark. His points had been lower than yours, significantly lower. 

Despite your insistence, he hadn’t let you give him more points. It was possible to give points to your soulmate, shortening your life to lengthen theirs. You didn’t want to outlive Gregor, but he had refused to shorten your life for him. You knew he wouldn’t die in the war. He had too many years left. But the thought of living without him was too much. You didn’t want to outlive him, no matter how he died. 

Your sweet, loyal Captain, out there somewhere. You wonder what happened to him, why you haven’t been able to find him. You wonder if he’s been looking for you, if by some sick chance you’ve been missing each other. Had he made it back to the GAR expecting you to be there? Had you made a mistake in leaving? 

The doubts plagued your mind as the months passed without a sign of him. You’re determined fate won’t keep you apart, but still, you can’t help but question it in the dark of night as your thoughts run rampant. 

“You think too much, cyare.” He’d said, playfully poking the wrinkle on your forehead. You had been lost in thought, curled up in his bunk with him during one of their brief shore leaves. 

“I just worry.” You’d said, every mission he left on, every battle he fought in making your mind wander with thoughts of all the horrible things that could happen to him. 

“Don’t worry about me.” He’d tried to console you, wrapping his arms tighter around you. 

You can still feel him, even two years later. The rasp of his voice, the smell of him, the feel of his arms wrapped around you. You’ll never forget. Your mind, your body, your very soul yearns to have him again, to hold him, to kiss him, to feel his skin against yours just once more. 

What you would give to make that happen. 

***

You're shocked when Rex contacts you. You knew Rex from the few times you'd worked with the 501st. Gregor knew Rex too, and had only the highest praise for his fellow Captain. 

You haven't heard from Rex since you defected. You haven't heard from anyone since then. That wasn't exactly the smartest move, especially if Gregor had somehow returned to the army. Burning those bridges probably wasn't the best, but you could be arrested for desertion if the wrong person knew how to find you. That would have put both you and Gregor in danger. 

You're not sure exactly how Rex got ahold of you, but you replay his comm message over and over. It's hardly more than a location and a request for assistance. It could be a trap. Anyone or anything could be waiting for you there. 

Or it could be someone.

You decide to go. If nothing else, perhaps Rex could help you rekindle your search. Or, maybe he already knew where to find Gregor. 

You make for the location, your heart pounding in your chest. You feel sick with nerves, hands shaking as you land your piece of junk near the location. You steady your nerves, tucking your blaster into the back of your pants before you leave the ship. 

Almost immediately you're greeted by two troopers with blasters. Is this it? Has the Empire caught up to you? You're not sure what they would want from you, except maybe to uphold punishment for deserting the Republic's Army. Or perhaps your reluctance to register in their system. 

"What is your business here?" One of the troopers asks. They're not dressed like the troopers you've seen in passing. Their armor is worn and painted still. 

You state your name, lifting your hands in surrender. "Rex sent for me." 

They share a look before lowering their blasters, the one that had spoken motioning for you to follow with his head. You follow them through the trees, down the path towards what looks like an abandoned building. It’s not abandoned, though, many troopers mulling about inside and out. 

You’re led inside, Captain Rex approaching you. You remember him well, even if he looks a bit older, and more tired than the last time you’d seen him. You can only imagine how hard everything has been on him. 

“Captain.” You say, greeting him. “I wasn’t expecting to hear from you.” 

“Thank you for coming.” Rex says. “I didn’t know if you would.” 

“You said you need my help?” You frown a bit, not sure what you can offer that he probably doesn’t have already. 

“Well, that’s only partially true.” He says. “I actually have a surprise.” 

Your frown deepens as you stare at him. A surprise? What kind of surprise could he have? 

“Hello, doll.” 

Your body stiffens, breath catching in your throat. You stare at Rex wide eyed, a small smile forming on his face. Had you imagined it? Had you misheard something meant for someone else? You should turn, you should look. You’re too scared to move, too scared he’s not going to be there, that it’s all in your head. 

Rex gives you a small nod, reassuring you as you begin to turn. Slowly, inch by inch you turn, half expecting nothing to be there. 

It’s him. You know just by staring at him. Tears gather in your eyes as you look him over. He’s a bit thinner than you remember, but he’s no less defined. There’s dark circles under his eyes, wrinkles popping around his eyes as a smile tugs at his lips. He looks as much tired as he does relieved. 

“Gregor?” You whisper, still trying to convince your brain this isn’t some dream, this isn’t some trick. 

“It’s me.” He says, running a hand over his hair. He lets out a nervous giggle, eyes dropping to the floor. “It’s really me.” 

He sounds different. His usual husky rasp is gone, his voice pitched higher than it had been before. A small frown pinches between your brows. What happened to him? 

“You’re thinking too much, cyare.” He says, holding out a hand. 

Your hand is shaking as you reach for him, tears blurring your vision. You’re pulled forward, body collapsing into his. He squishes you tight against his chest, your face pressing into his neck. He smells the same, just as you remember. Your legs wobble, nearly giving out as you cling to him. He holds you, his armor digging into your skin but you don’t care. It’s just another reminder he’s real. 

“I looked for you for two years.” You sniffle, pulling back just slightly to look up at his face. “What happened to you?” 

“It’s, uh, it’s a long story.” He says, letting out another giggle. 

***

You’re coiled around him like a snake. 

You’ve barely let go of him since your reunion, afraid he might disappear if you let go too long. You’re laying in a makeshift room on the base, stretched out on the cot together. It’s barely big enough for him, much less the two of you, but you don’t care. You don’t expect to be going far from him for a while. 

He’s told you everything. What happened during the battle of Sarrish, crash landing on Abafar, his amnesia, the droids, the explosion, finding his way back to the Republic, signing up to train the new troopers, and then defecting and being imprisoned, then rescued, then brought here. 

“I looked for you.” He says, hands trailing along your side. “Coil said you’d defected.” 

“I was looking for you.” You say, curling a hand in his blacks. He’d ditched his armor, stacking it in a pile near the door. “I should have just stayed.” You say, shaking your head. “We could have been together sooner.” 

“Don’t.” He frowns, tracing your lips with his thumb. “There’s no guarantee we would have seen each other then, either. I’m just glad you’re safe.” 

“I think I’m supposed to be the one saying that.” You say, leaning in closer to his face. 

“I think you’re saying too much right now.” He murmurs, his hand sliding down to your thigh to tug you further on top of him. 

You close the distance, pressing your lips to his. They’re slightly chapped, but they’re still just as you remember them being. 

He pulls away, letting out another giggle. He squeezes his eyes closed, a frown forming on his face. “Sorry.” 

You press yourself up so you’re seated over him, looking down at him. A brain injury, you think, your medical training coming back to you. You cup his cheek, tracing his soft skin. “Don’t.” His eyes meet yours, lips parting as he stares up at you. “I know you can’t control it.” 

“I know I-I’m not-” 

You shush him, lowering yourself so you’re face to face again. “You’re here.” You peck his lips softly. “That’s what matters to me.” 

His hands grip your hips, holding you against him as his nose brushes yours. “What did I do to deserve you?” 

“I think it was that cheesy pickup line the first time we met.” 

He snorts, kissing you softly. “I didn’t think it would work.” 

“Well,” You kiss him again. “Here we are.” 

He stares up at you, his gaze darkening a bit. You can feel him getting hard against your thigh. “Here we are.” 

“You must have really missed me.” You murmur. 

“You have no idea.” He says, cupping the back of your head to pull you into a kiss. 

This kiss feels different than the ones you’d shared before. The desperation, the urgency, the longing. Two years apart, two years with no idea when you’d see each other again. It’s too long, far too long to be apart after forming your bond. You need him, you need all of him, and judging from the bulge pressing against your thigh, he feels the same. 

His hands slip under your shirt, rough fingers trailing along your spine. You shiver under his touch, a fire lighting under your skin. You shift so you’re straddling him, grinding against his bulge in desperation for any sort of friction you can get. He groans against your lips, tugging at your shirt.

You pull away long enough to strip out of your shirt and breastband, his hands immediately reaching for your breasts. You roll your eyes with a smile, leaning down again. He tugs you closer, your body falling against him so his face is buried between your breasts. 

“Gregor.” You say exasperatedly, but you don’t move, letting him lay there for a moment. 

“Sorry, doll.” He says, voice muffled by your breasts. “I missed these beautiful tits.” 

“It’s okay.” You run your hand over his head. “Take your time.” 

He wraps his arms around your back, squishing you tight against his face. You’re worried he might smother himself, but you know if he’s going to die, this would not be the worst way he could go out. 

For a moment you think he might be asleep, but he releases you, letting you push yourself back up. His hands close around your breasts, thumbs flicking over your nipples. You bite your lip, staring down at him as he’s transfixed by your breasts. He was always obsessed with your breasts, his favorite body part of yours he’d told you once. 

“Maker, I could stare at these all day.” He says, squeezing them gently. 

“Well, fuck me first, then you can stare all you’d like.” 

His eyes snap up to yours, his gaze darkening a bit. “Deal.” He says, releasing your breasts so he can sit up. 

You tug his shirt over his head, trailing your fingers along his skin. You trace scars, new and old, every divot of his skin. His hands work on undoing your pants, and you sit back to help him tug them off. You push him onto his back, tugging his pants down his hips and over his thick thighs. He’s hard and leaking already, your hand closing around his length.

Oh how you’ve missed him. 

You jerk his length a couple times, your own folds already slick and ready for him. You move yourself on top of him, lining him up before lowering yourself onto him. You sigh at the stretch, working your way slowly down his length. His hands rest on your thighs, holding onto you as he watches you. 

You feel alive again, the tension leaving your body as you reconnect with him after so long. The distance you’d suffered is washing away, the bond between you strengthening once more. 

“Feel so good, doll.” He groans, hands sliding up your thighs to grip at your hips. 

“Missed you.” You breathe, bracing yourself on his stomach. “Missed you so much.” 

“No idea how much I missed you.” He groans as you begin to move, rocking yourself on his cock. 

You curse quietly, extending your movements until you’re bouncing on his cock. He watches you, eyes focused on your body as you fuck yourself on him. He loves watching you, loves letting you take your pleasure from him. He wished you’d had more chances before. Having to keep his distance while simultaneously so close to him was torture. 

He doesn’t have to worry about that now. You two can be together without having to fear any repercussions. No one’s going to tear you apart now. 

He pulls your body down against his, wrapping his arms around your back to hold you as he lifts his hips, beginning to thrust into you. You let out the most beautiful noises as he fucks you, your fingers digging into his shoulders. He grunts at the bite of your nails, but he doesn’t stop, wanting to feel you cum around him. 

“So good,” He groans. “So good for me, mesh’la.” 

“Gregor!” You cry, your clit dragging against his pelvis with every thrust. “I’m gonna cum!” 

“Cum for me.” He moans, breath panting against your ear. “Wanna feel you.” 

You shake as you cum, spasming around him. His own hips stutter, the tightness of your walls milking his own orgasm from him. He groans loudly, stilling as he spills inside you. You let out breathy little moans at the feeling, going limp against him. 

He strokes your skin, staying still under you. He had missed you so kriffing much. He had been determined to find you, determined to track you down, even if he had to scour the entire galaxy. He had been elated when Rex told him he’d already contacted you before he’d picked him up from Ord Mantell. 

“Gregor,” You breathe his name, your warm breath fanning across his chest. 

He sits up, holding you in his lap. “Yes, doll?” 

You shift just slightly, hand closing around his bicep. “I love you.” 

He kisses your forehead, the skin damp with sweat. “I love you too.” 

His muscles tense when he feels a tickling sensation on his wrist. He lifts his warm, watching as the number on his wrist changes, increasing significantly. He grips your arms, pulling away from you slightly. 

“What did you do?” He asks, grabbing your arm to stare at the number on your skin. 

The numbers are the same now, still far more than he’d had before. 

“I can’t live without you.” You say, blinking teary eyes up at him. “I don’t want to.” 

“Doll...” He says, staring at the two numbers. He never wanted you to give up time for him. He didn’t think he was worth it. 

You cup the back of his neck, drawing his gaze back to yours. “I wanted to do it. I lived two years without you. I don’t want to spend any more time apart.” 

He blinks at you, tears filling his eyes. He pulls you tight against his chest, pressing his lips to yours. “I don’t deserve you.” He murmurs against your lips. 

“You do.” You say, kissing all over his face. “You deserve this and so much more.” 

He holds onto you, flipping you on the small cot so you’re on your back, his body resting on top of you. He presses his face back against your breasts, resting there. “You promised.” 

You can’t help but laugh, letting your fingers trail over his face. “I did. I did promise.” 

Taglist:

@stressed-cherry @6oceansofmoons  @ladytano420 @spicy-clones @kaminocasey @dangraccoon @bobaprint @star-trekker-0013 @stunkbiggu @endofthexline @padawancat97 @rosechi @arctrooper69

[swallowedbyfandom]

Anthony returns to his study 2 hours after scolding Eloise and making plans with Kate to pull her from the rest of his season. His sister is clearly not ready to be out in society. Miss Cowper's influence will only make her worst. He will not jeopardize Francesca's courtship with Earl Kilmartin over Eloise's lack of sense. Kate has the servants packing her belongings already. He is sending her to Aunt Winnie's tomorrow at first light. The last thing his family needs is her and Colin conspiring to provoke Miss Featherington.

He will think more on the problem Eloise has so insistently become tomorrow. Tonight he is wants to drink his disappointment away. He finds his mother weeping in his study with his good brandy already poured into two glasses. One glass is already half gone. He cannot blame her. He hands her his handkerchief, before dropping heavily into his favorite armchair. He sips his drink in silence until his mother wordlessly hands him two letters.

Mama Violet,

Thank you for your endless support. Your maternal affections mean more to me than words can ever express. I leave you with this letter for Colin, so he may have the closure his pride will not allow him to seek. Feel free to read it, so you can judge when it would be best to give it to him.

While Lord Samadani and I have only just announced our formal courtship, I do believe we will be married here in the next month. The Queen seems eager to plan our wedding. Eloise's recent closeness with Miss Cowper made me fearful of what secrets may be revealed. I settled my issue with the Queen. I do believe she will miss me. We both know how much she abhors boredom. Do not fear for me, mama. I am safe.

Samuel is wonderful. His mind is razor sharp. He is supportive and kind. He is also surprisingly silly for a Marquis. He reminds me a bit of Anthony. He has that same steady devotion to family. It has long been a trait I find appealing in a gentleman. I believe we will have a beautiful future together. I know it may be difficult for me to adjust to a new country and language, but I am excited.

I will miss Bridgerton house. I will miss Aubrey hall. I will even miss watching your heathen children attempt to slaughter each other over Pall Mall. Please know that I will hold you all in my heart no matter how far I go. I shall miss your gentle wisdom and guidance most of all.

All my love,

Penelope

P. S. Since tonight was the night of secret revelations here is one more. In 1810, I was the one who hid the mallet of death up in apple tree. It was retaliation for Anthony mocking my embroidery skills.

Colin,

I have always known if we ended, our end would be exactly like this. There was no other possible outcome for us. We whom have been so deeply embedded into one another since childhood would never part without first ripping each other into pieces. There was simply no other way to let each other go. It is brutal. It is visceral. It is final.

The tragedy of us Dear Colin, is that I learned to love you before I learned to love myself. I learned to value your charms, before I discovered my own. I sought your strength before I grew into mine. I put you on a pedestal as my ideal gentleman and everyone paled in comparison to you.

I bathed you in my love and watched you flourish, proudly. I got so caught up in you I forgot about myself. I hung off your words. I lived for your smiles. I swallowed your many slights. I accepted you all of you. I forgave you every hurt you carelessly dealt me. I foolishly devoted myself to you. It was a mistake, Colin. It led you to believe that you could treat me anyway you wanted.

I am not Penelope of Ithaca, you are not Ulysses. I will not allow myself to share her fate any longer. You have taken your voyage twice now. The first time I waited for you. I returned your correspondence dutifully. I had faith that you would return to me healed in mind and spirit. I had hoped the journey would teach you to trust in yourself. It did not. I knew then you would not stay.

After deriding me publicly, once more you fled. I did not wait for you this time. I did not correspond with you. I let you go. I stopped giving you my devotion and instead I learned to love myself. I am imperfect but I am glorious, Colin.

Once more you returned, only you returned a stranger. You proposed Colin, yet your actions betray you. Your actions betray us. Here is the truth you will not admit. Here is the reason you faltered. You do not love yourself. Until you embrace yourself and not the version of you the world wants, you will never be ready to commit yourself to another.

Letting you go was the hardest thing I have ever done. However tonight's confrontation assured me that I have made the right choice. I deserve a man who will accept all of me. I deserve a husband who will see me and listen to me before passing judgement. I want the intimacy of a true partnership.

Our time has passed, old friend. Despite our harsh ending, I hope you find happiness someday.

Farewell,

Penelope

When he is done reading his mind is a dichotomy. He is happy for Miss Featherington. She has grown into a remarkable young woman. She has saved his family several times over. He is not blind to how her publication made his marriage with Kate acceptable to the public. He feels honor bound to respect her choices.

However respecting her choices will leave over half his family in mourning. They have lost Penelope. Why? Why did Colin and Eloise have to make such a mess of things? He cannot fix this. Colin is in shock right now. Once the shock passes he knows they will lose parts of Col too. How could they not? Colin found his true love match and trampled on her heart until it no longer beat for him. Colin will spend his life punishing himself over it.

Anthony huffs out a wet laugh. He cannot believe little Penelope scaled a tree to hide his mallet. He remembers that day they delayed the game for three hours before he finally found the mallet of death. He torn the seat of his favorite pants climbing that damn tree. He even had to walk home with his jacket tied around his waist to cover his ass. It never crossed his mind to suspect Penelope. His siblings still heckle him over it.

He and mother drink well into the night.

[vmplvr1977]

Chapter Six is posted!!

Fate is a funny thing. Just when you think you have your life planned out, destiny sweeps in and fucks it up. And the worst part? You're helpless to stop it. Like a boat without a rudder or anchor, floating from one end of the ocean to the next with no way to impede or change its direction. Next thing you know, you're stranded on an island with no hope of escape. That is destiny. Or Clarke's, at least.

Sometimes, fate's intervention is for the best. A meet-cute, of sorts, where two people destined to be together, whether as friends or lovers, share a random moment that changes everything. Usually, it is bumping into a stranger and spilling a drink all over their new shirt. Or two people who pass each other only moments apart at the same coffee shop for years before fate finally intervenes.

Clarke's parents had a charming little tale like that. They told it at dinner parties, anniversaries, and family gatherings more times than their daughter could count. But Clarke's first meeting with Lexa was nothing like the rom-coms on TV. Nor was it a tale to share with friends and family without extensive revisions. Still, it was clear that destiny had brought them together, though the reasons remained unclear for some time...

Clarke and Lexa's love was forbidden for many reasons, notably their different natures. Their people had been sworn enemies for centuries. So, by all rights, the wolf and vampire were born to despise one another. But fate doesn't give a damn if its intervention is untimely or unwanted. Destiny blazes its own path without care for the world's rules.

It all began on a particularly gruesome night. The pack was under tremendous pressure after a string of murders within Skaikru's territory had garnered the attention of humans. Skaikru couldn't risk mortals discovering their secret, especially after centuries of carefully integrating into mortal society. So, Clarke's mother and the pack's leader, Abby, ordered her to find the killer and bring them justice as swiftly as possible.

Of course, many assumed the vampires were to blame. Each slaying had occurred near the invisible border that marked Heda's territory. Furthermore, the victims had been exsanguinated with their bodies riddled with bite marks. Naturally, the wolves were eager to place the blame on their oldest enemies.

But they had to be sure before they broke a two-century-long treaty with the Vampire Queen, Heda. Which is why Abby specifically assigned her daughter to lead the hunt. Clarke may be the typical alpha, but she is more intelligent than most and often seeks peaceful solutions before resorting to violence. Furthermore, as a physician, Clarke was better qualified to inspect the crime scenes and sniff out the killer.

Additionally, Abby hoped this special mission would grant Clarke the opportunity to prove herself as the next pack leader. If her mother had known the chaos this assignment might bring, she likely would have chosen another to take Clarke's place. Perhaps if Abby had, her daughter would not have been dragged into a fight with hontas (hunters), nor would she have had the opportunity to fall in love with a bloodsucker.

There were countless times through the following centuries that Abby wished she'd sent anyone but Clarke. But she couldn't have known the mysterious killer had set a trap. Nor did they realize that wolves and vampires were the prey, not the hunters.

Continue Reading

[washeduprockstr]

What gave you the idea of the lovebug ship? I'm curious lmao. It's now starting to grow on me...

Big fan of guys who hate each other and also kiss.

Or moreso, in this case, a guy who likes the other who hates him. They kiss on occasion.

One-sided enemies to lovers slowburn (in the most angsty way possible; with a bitter end) is a trope I may or may not adore with my whole heart.

They're both extremely messed up and mentally ill. They understand each other's struggles more than anyone else because they both had to go through the same terrible fate of the virus. They can be toxic, bitter, and hateful, but also the complete opposite. It's a relationship that gets healthier over time, in my opinion, as they come to terms with themselves and each other. They're very complicated people.

[Small writing below cut.]

[ Your only True Friend leaves you while in your worst state. Your cat goes missing. Your other friends stop checking in on you. You can't remember why.

You definitely don't remember when this Thing showed up.

It sticks around no matter how you try and get rid of it. Almost like a lost puppy, but you don't dwell on that idea.

You are at your lowest. You lost everything you cared about. It's strange, but occasionally, it doesn't really seem to matter that much to you. Sometimes, you can't even remember what you are so upset about.

At the same time, it feels like your world is caving in on itself.

It's there. It's with you when you feel the most vulnerable and unstable. You feel so unlike yourself. It makes you dizzy. The Thing in your apartment doesn't seem to judge you. It doesn't even barely talk. It seems to listen to your broken record rants, though.

For some reason, you think it can understand your struggle.

You both share the same trauma. You bond. You're both severely messed up in the head. You bond. You bicker, spit at each other, wish each other dead. You bond. You comfort, care, and are there for each other when things reach their lowest. You bond.

Your roommate is the most insufferable person you've ever known. You wouldn't have it any other way.

Through it's persistence—and oddly comforting qualities at times - but you can't seem to figure out why, and that annoys you—you come to accept it's company. Even crave it at times. It's not something you understand. You're not even human, after all. Those emotions do not come naturally, and it's too much to unpack right now. Nonetheless, you've grown very attached to it, and him you.

You are intrinsically a part of each other. ]

[aetherialpiplup108]

How the Alchemy of Souls Season 1 Ending Perfectly Demonstrates Yeong's Guilt, Uk's Persistence, and the Beauty of their Bond

I should hate the ending of Alchemy of Souls season 1. Jin Mu's random contrived bells showing up and being used as a pivotal series-defining plot-point in the same episode drives me just as insane as it did Mu-deok. And it kills me to watch two characters who are defined by their ability to challenge the world and resist fate succumb to its pressures (note: I don't think this is a flaw in the series since it's simply a fraction of the overarching theme the story is trying to convey but boy did it hurt). I should have been so massively disappointed and yet the climax itself runs rent-free in my head a full year after I saw it for the first time.

First of all, we finally get sword-fighting Yeong again and in the absolute worst way possible. It creates this wonderful cognitive dissonance in your head where you're simultaneously crying in angst while cheering on Jung So-min as she puts on the performance we've been longing for the entire show.

Next, there's the behemoth stabbing scene itself. When Mu-deok regains consciousness in Uk's arms, there's a brief look of confusion in her eyes likely due to the gaps in her memory, the heaving of his voice, the desperate way his arms are wrapped around her, or maybe even the blood seeping between them. But the first thing she says even before processing everything is: "Jang Uk? ...Did I do this?"

Despite embracing the ruthless assassin lifestyle (a hard path she undertook due to the love she felt for her family and the immense grief felt in their loss), Yeong does care about other people. We know this through the way she slyly sneaks in affection towards Uk, helps Yul heal and let go of the guilt he's held onto since running into her as children, and offers Go-won an esoteric companionship they both come to value greatly. In season 2, through amnesiac!Yeong, we're given an even clearer glimpse at her intrinsic compassion through the unhidden empathy she shows to practically everyone she meets.

But the real Cho-Yeong spent years of isolation in Danhyanggok's cruel winters training, breathing, and living for revenge. Knowing only how to kill and draw blood, of course Yeong believed she'd end up hurting anyone stupid enough to come too close. It's why her first instinct is to shear off every potential bond she could make: to protect herself from any more loss and to protect others from her. When it became impossible to deny the love she and Uk shared, Yeong chose to wield it callously to avoid getting attached, to remind him and her that she wasn't round-faced Mu-deok who was free to earn and give affection. She was Naksu. Undeserving, dangerous, poisonous Naksu. We see this thought process and self-denial make a reoccurrence in season 2 when Yeong immediately distances herself from Uk the second she gets her memories back, even if it agonizes her, because she can't bear to hurt him again.

Rather than assigning blame to Jin Mu, she takes her sword through Uk's chest as mere confirmation of what she always believed: how could the ruthless shadow assassin that lives off revenge be allowed to love and be loved?

Yeong's guilt is especially ironic when paired with Jang Uk having no doubt in his mind that she's innocent. He gets stabbed and just pulls her close before he's even able to process what's going on because they'd been there before at Jeojingak when he had her hold a sword to his neck.

Jang Uk is the first and only person, really, to hold complete confidence not in Yeong's prowess as a mage but in her character and ability to care. And it means more because as her pupil, he's the person (aside from herself) that Yeong's been the harshest with. She continually put his life in danger whether through poison or overtraining or by inciting death matches, and hurts him again and again with words and actions (gambling the jade egg) meant to prod right at his insecurities. Yeong had thought this would be enough to keep him at bay, to force him into a transactional relationship where she wasn't afraid he'd run away too soon and yet wouldn't let herself build up hope that he'd actually stay when the terms of their initial agreement were met.

Except.

Uk had already seen glimpses of that lonely girl Yeong buried inside and actually tried to understand her, failing at times but doing his best to make sense of the way she thinks without judgement. In the process, he realized just how much Yeong values the people she loves, how much she wants to protect those who've shown her even the ounce of kindness she doesn't think she deserves. That's how he knows, instinctively, that she couldn't have stabbed him. It's how he knows she wouldn't even fight Dang-gu (although, I'm not sure if he was aware that she killed Cho-yeon's father before arriving in the forest). Because how could someone who's so grateful for the love they deem themselves undeserving of cast it aside so easily?

And finally, because somewhere along the way this post devolved from a loosely structured rant over one scene to a frantic gush over these two ridiculously endearing characters, the beauty of the climax is shown in the way Uk just watches helplessly as Yeong struggles and breaks down in a way so uncharacteristic of the stoic, emotion-swallowing woman who could only say "I like you" under copious amounts of alcohol. It's so unbelievably soft (idk, maybe I'm just a lunatic) when he slowly searches for her hand, using the last pieces of his strength and then some to lace their wounded fingers together, somehow managing to use his entire blood-soaked body in the last 2 minutes to show her that she has his entire heart, whether she deserved it or not, and there wasn't anything she could do that would make him leave.

of course, these are just my interpretations of the characters. Maybe I'm completely off or reading way too much into it.

tl;dr: I have a lot of criticism for certain aspects of Alchemy of Souls, but the relationship Jang Uk and Cho Yeong share is so powerful. Though tragic and shockingly reliant on plot-convenience, the finale of season 1 depicts their relationship beautifully by illustrating the depth of their trust and reliance on the other. Also, UkYeong has rooted itself thoroughly in my head. I've never been so invested in a ship, someone send help!!!!!

[decks-writing-blog]

She's Gone

Summary: Isaac has a talk with Alyx about her mother.

[A/N] Here on Tumblr I saw a post talking about how Alyx and Gordon could potentially trade stories about their time as Kleiner's pupil. Gordon was canonically his student and thus since he has teaching experience it makes sense he might've taken on the responsibility of being a teacher for Alyx as she grew up. It was a fun idea and made me want to write Kleiner and Alyx having some kind of funny school room related interaction, weather I was going to bring it back around to a flash forward of her having shared this story with Gordon, I was going to decide when I got there. But alas, I am cursed with the inability to come up with funny ideas on command. So when I was thinking about it, I came up with this idea instead. It isn't funny in the least but I wrote it anyway because it struck a cord with me.

Content Warning for grief and talk of Azian's death. Since she disappeared, it's entirely possible Alyx didn't immediately know she was dead and thus had be told.

~

In some ways having only one student was easier than a full college classroom. The 1st grade curriculum was naturally simpler for sure, making the main challenge in teaching it be having to resist the urge to go into the more complex specifics. Having only one pupil to focus on made making sure the ‘whole class’ was following along and understood everything before moving on to the next thing easy.

It was harder in other ways though. The situation with the Combine made everything more difficult. Trying to start and keep a classroom and school schedule as close to normal seeming as possible in hopes of shielding Alyx from the worst of it was uniquely stressful. Nothing in Isaac’s teaching career had prepared him for that. It didn’t help that that was actually a full-time job. But having recently volunteered to be her teacher – though really, Eli taught her plenty too just in a less structured and scheduled manner – encouraged her to ask him questions about it specifically.

“What’s the Combine?” “Why are we moving so often?” “What happened?” “Why?” “How?” “What about [friend, neighbor, or just person she’d known before the Combine invasion]?”

Naturally they couldn’t keep the truth from her even if that had been Eli’s first instinct. This was the world she was growing up in, she had to know everything eventually. But Alyx had turned five a mere week before the resonance cascade. So while Isaac never lied to her, he withheld the grisly details. The Combine were alien invaders from space. [X person from before]’s fate was a mystery, the three of them had had to move a few times already after all, it was hard to keep track of people who probably also fled. They moved so often because they were hiding from the Combine; “Yes, kind of like hide and seek but bigger and more important because they’re bad guys.”

With all this Isaac should’ve expected the question to pop up eventually; it was basically inevitable. And yet somehow it still took him by surprise when at the end of a math lesson – usually her favorite subject but today she’d been distracted – she approached him and… “What about Mommy?”

Isaac flinched, almost dropping the chalk eraser he’d just picked up. Trying to hide it, he erased the board before turning to look down at her. “What about her?” As if he had to ask.

“Where is she? Daddy said she’s gone but didn’t say where she’s gone to and he got sad when I asked so I didn’t ask that and don’t wanna ask again ‘cause it’ll make him sad again, I think. But you know, right?”

The small room they’d set up to be a makeshift classroom suddenly felt even smaller and stuffier than it had before. It wasn’t Isaac’s place to say anything about Azian. If Eli wasn’t ready to talk about her with Alyx then doing so in his stead wouldn’t be right. But at the same time Alyx deserved to know that her mother wasn’t coming back. Eli had probably tried to convey that but five-year-olds, even ones as smart as Alyx, weren’t known for picking up on subtleties. While ‘she’s gone’ would convey to most that the ‘gone’ was permanent, to a small child it would seem the same as saying ‘she’s gone to the grocery store’ just without the detail on where. She still believed she’d potentially she her mother again one day.

He could send her to ask Eli again later at which point he’d know to give a more clear answer. Or he could bring the matter to Eli himself and make it clear that Alyx needed a clearer answer. But it had only been a handful of months since the resonance cascade. The wound of Azian’s loss was still fresh, especially Eli. Mitigating the pain the conversation would cause would surely be kind, right? Eli was busy trying to gather up the Black Mesa survivors after all. Isaac didn’t want to distract him from that by reminding him of his dead wife.

And so with a sigh, Isaac pulled out his desk chair and sat down again. “Sit.” He gestured to the spot across from him. Her being his only pupil and there not being room for much else in most of the places they ended up, most of the time they shared a desk for this ‘school’ thing they were doing.

Alyx obeyed, pulling out the chair and clambering back up into it. As proof of her seriousness she didn’t even spin around in it this time before pulling herself over to the desk.

Isaac waited until she was settled in before explaining anything. Before he could figure out how to begin though, she spoke up instead. “She’s not coming back, is she?” Well, it least it wasn’t a surprise.

“Correct. She’s not coming back.”

“Why not?”

Was it better to be up front and direct with the answer or be gentle with it? … Isaac wasn’t entirely sure how to be gentle with this kind of news, straightforward was probably easiest. “She’s dead.”

Alyx stared at him in silence for a few seconds as her eyes welled with tears. “Like… like when you step on bugs and they die and stop moving and get squished with their insides all outside?”

“Yes.” Wait! Not a good thing to say as when applied to a human, that was a horrifically gory description. Oops. “Sort of anyway.” Gosh, science was much easier to navigate and discuss than personal emotional things like talking about a friend's death to her five year old kid. He should’ve sent her to Eli or insisted they talk about it as a group. “Her death probably wasn’t that bad.” That could be a lie though as they didn’t know how she died. Technically, they didn’t even know for sure that she was dead. But it was likely enough that holding out hope and/or letting Alyx continue to do so wouldn’t be wise or kind.

Alyx was full on sobbing now. Isaac opened he desk’s drawer to pull out a box of tissue – something that was quickly proving to be a rare luxury – before standing and walking around to hand to her. He then put a hand on her shoulder, that’s what helped Eli most of the time. It seemed to calm her a little too so he kept her hand there, shifting it slightly to lightly rub her back. Other than that though, he let her cry. She had a right to cry about this for however long she needed to.

It was several minutes before her sobbing finally started to peter out. Finally, when she was done, she blew her nose and sniffled before before looking back up at him. “I should’ve figured that out before, huh?”

“No, I don’t believe so. A lot’s been happening and changing. It is entirely logical you were too caught up in it all to figure that out. Especially since one wouldn’t want to consider such a thing.” And he and Eli had been trying to keep her distracted and busy.

“Is it the Combine that killed her?”

“Possibly. We’re not sure.”

Alyx nodded as if that was the exact answer she’d expected. “I don’t like them.”

“Me neither. We’re going to fight them though and we’re going to win or at the very least try our best to.” The only thing Eli cared about more than his budding efforts to build a proper resistance against the Combine was Alyx. And when Eli got dead set on something like that, things always got done. Isaac was just here to help and to get done whatever science and study he could while doing so.

“I wanna help.”

“I’m sure you’ll be a great help one day.” They couldn’t exactly pretend that she wouldn’t be part of their resistance efforts once she was older. Every single person mattered when it came to fighting a conquering alien force. “For now though, how about we practice reading until your dad gets home, huh?” Which would hopefully be soon and would hopefully be him returning with the info he’d gone after. No use dwelling on anxiety about what would happen if he didn’t.

Alyx looked up at him and sniffled one last time into a tissue before tossing it into the trashcan and turning the chair so she could slide off it. “Okay.”

[ijustliketoreadstuff]

Who used it?!

The sentimonster topic has always been very interesting to talk about, but recently, as I was conversing with a fellow Miraculer, whom has asked to be referred to as “Sunny D”, something new came to light. As a quick refresher, just as any miraculous, if the peacock miraculous is used when in a broken state, the holder will receive a terrible backlash that will not only make them ill, but inevitably lead to their death. No human medical knowledge can heal the effects from a broken miraculous, because no such human cure or treatment exists to treat such magical side effects. 

Now, throughout the series, we have already been subtly hinted of there potentially being numerous sentimonsters in the series, most notably by all the references to feathers, such as the ones we saw in the “Adrien the Fragrance” ad back in ”Gorizilla”, being a clear sign of the various amoks/sentimonsters in the series who were always close to Adrien.

Felix and Adrien were always prime sentimonster suspects for years, but we knew there had to be more, and sure enough, one of the people on that list of potential sentimonsters was narrowed down to Kagami, who not only had a very strict and controlled way of life, but was also among the few with a mom that was close to Gabriel, meaning she to could share in the secret of the peacock miraculous. Confirmation of Kagami being a sentimonster along with Adrien and Felix, was quickly obtained near the end of “Perfection”, when Tomoe revealed that Kagami had an amok in the family ring. 

(Tomoe lashed out at Gabriel, after learning he sent a megakuma to Kagami’s ring, if the amok is released, Kagami will disapear. In “Emotion”, Felix further confirmed things, the moment we saw him sense Kagami's amok in her ring.)

But even with knowing now that there were three official sentimonsters in “Emotion” alone, the three being of course, Felix, Adrien and Kagami, we forgot that we don’t actually know the full backstory on how Kagami was created, at least not yet anyway. There is a grim fate to anyone who uses the broken peacock miraculous, so who used it to create Kagami? Tomoe is still alive and healthy, so did someone else create Kagami for Tomoe?

 Back in "Riposte", we learn through Adrien’s online search that the Tsurugi's were mainly comprised of a grandfather, Kagami, and Tomoe, but no spouse is talked of. We don’t know much about Tomoe and the rest of the Tsurugi family line just yet, but it wouldn’t be to shocking to know that Tomoe was the last of her families lineage and wanted to have a kid on her own without a spouse. But regardless of what she could have told the public and Kagami to cover up the truth about the peacock miraculous, it feels like there is some darker truth Tomoe has not yet revealed to the audience.

With no one else but a grandfather in her life, Tomoe could have sought the help of her only remaining family to help her by asking him to use the peacock miraculous for her, but considering the circumstances of Kagami’s way of life, Tomoe could have also brought it upon herself to create the “perfect” child she envisioned, a child who would uphold the Tsurugi family name exactly as she wanted. Of course, if Tomoe used the peacock miraculous and is still alive, then there is a possibility she used the peacock miraculous before it was broken.

No matter how far back we trace the peacock miraculous, we know that it was broken when Emelie used it, but we don’t know how it was broken or exactly when. For all we know, the peacock miraculous would have still been completely in tact when it was found along with the butterfly miraculous all those years ago, but was placed into a situation, not long after it was found, which gave it its first crack, and then later forced that small crack to spread, honestly who knows. We know that whoever uses it in its broken state would face the same fate as Emelie, Colt(Felix’s dad), and Nathalie, worst of all, nothing humanly possible could save them once they used its power. 

So, if the Tsurugi Grandfather used it to bring Kagami into the world and passed away a few years after that, no one would be suspicious of an elderly man passing on. But if Tomoe was potentially the last person to use the peacock miraculous before it was officially broken, then she must have received some sort of side effect that was not necessarily life threatening, but still very sudden and impactful onto her life none the less, such as loosing her vision. But again, lets just wait and see what the show has to say.

[luimagines]

I see requests are open my brain is drawing a blank for something to request other than something real old that I thought about when I first got into the linked Universe fandom basically a fear room I'm going to try and explain this the best of my ability think of the room as starting out sort of like a parallel world where everything that the individual ever wanted come true before it starts making amalgamations of their worst fears. Something that I thought would also be interesting is to have an insert reader something gets stuck in the fear room

Oh snap- fear room, fear room, fear room-

This is gonna get angsty. Let's go!!!

Masterlist

Content under the cut!

You wouldn’t have known that the dungeon was as evil as it is when you first entered it. But little by little, it had been splitting your group up. The second you would have taken your eyes off of a member, they would have gone missing.

It didn’t take much. For some, it was merely turning a corner and when you got to the same corner they would have already disappeared.

You tried, my god you tried to stay together in the end. But as fate would have it, or perhaps this particular dungeon was alive and watching your every move, you ended up alone.

You kept quiet and tried to keep yourself as small as possible. What was more concerning was the lack of monsters as well. And it was quiet. Silent as the grave, if you will.

It was unnerving. 

You were sure that you were in danger. You had do be. Something was waiting for you to take your eyes off of the way in front of you and jump you. Or it was waiting just around the next corner or it was lurking behind you.

This dungeon didn’t seem to have an end to it either. You were only walking in a straight line for the most, having foregone the idea of turning corners after losing four members to that fate.

“NOOOOO!!!!”

You jumped and screamed. It echoed through the halls. It was blood curdling and painful. Pure unadulterated agony.

It sounded like Wind. And close by.

You take off running toward the sound. He was the first to be lost to this magical maze. You had to find him again. “Wind!”

“ARYLL!!!” The voice cries out again.

“I’m sorry!” Another voice cries to your right. “I’m sorry! I’m sorry! I tried! I didn’t mean to fail you! I didn’t want this! If I could trade my life for yours-”

That’s Wild.

You freeze, the blood in your veins turning to ice. Wind sounds desperate. Wild sound broken. Wind is in front of you. Wild is to your left. You’ll have to choose.

“Zelda?” Sky whispers to your left. It sounds far away but impossibly close to your ear. “...Impa? ...Groose? Pipit? ...What? What happened? Oh god... the blood...There’s so much blood...I couldn’t have been late again...”

“You have to wake up.” Hyrule sobs from behind you. “I didn’t go through all of that just so this could happen again. Zelda please you promised! Ganon can’t come back like this! I can’t heal myself like this!!”

Your feet get stuck where you stand. You can’t pick a place to go. They all sound broken, horrified, guilty.

“LEAVE THEM ALONE!” Twilight bellows from even above you. “DON’T TOUCH THEM. GET AWAY FROM THEM!”

You have no idea what he’s screaming at but he doesn’t sound any better than the rest. He sounds just as desperate. You can feel the terror in each of their voices as they all witness things you have no access to.

You gulp and slowly fall to your knees. Your arms wrap around yourself and your eyes well up with tears as a thought dawns on you. You can’t help them. You can’t help everyone. You have to choose or let them all fall.

Their pain. Their wounds. Their agony. What have they seen that they don’t share? What are they going through that they don’t share?

The floor beneath you falls.

Your scream rips out of your throat before you can stop it. The air rushes past your ears, making the blood pound harder by default. the idea of hitting the ground only passes your mind once, before you begin to slow your decent.

A window passes before you. Your slow float downwards allows you see more of what’s inside. Inside there is a dim torch, just barely lighting a figure held up by their wrists in chains. The metal of their armor glitters in the light but what’s more striking is the familiar red and blue war paint being illuminated, glowing and the one empty white eye that stares back at you.

“I can’t do it.” Time says. You think he can see you but something tells you that he can’t. “I can’t hold him back. You have to run. You have to get out. All of you. I can’t. I can’t do this any more!”

Your fall speeds up again.

You soon pass by a passed out Four. You think you see the sword he carries just beyond his reach. But you’re falling to quickly to make heads or tails of it. In front of him was a statue of a girl but you’re already gone.

You hit the ground.

And survive.

As you try to gather your bearings, you can distantly hear the sounds of fighting. You want to run toward it but you’re afraid to move through the dungeon as it is.

It appears the dungeon is more animated that you thought. The tiles shift and you’re sent sliding through the corridor until you come to a small cliff.

Below, you can see Warrior fighting, the sounds of battle much more clearer now with the walls to stop the clanging of metal.

Warrior falls backwards and you jump to your feet. Now you can see the battle more clearly. He’s fighting all of the boys. He puts up a good fight but he’s not winning by any means.

You can see him pull his punches, begging with his eyes to stop this madness but he fights on. The others looks like the boys you’ve come to know to love but just behind their heads is a little black wisp of smoke.

You whine. you have to say something.

“Warrior get up!” You scream. “You can’t lose! They’re not real!”

He makes no inclination that he heard you.

The cliff actually falls from under you and you scream once more. You land on your side and something snaps.

You cry out again and fall when you try to put weight on it. You think you broke your arm.

Beside you, even if the battle wages on to your right, you can hear quiet sobs.

“I did it.” It says. “I killed them. I ruined it. It’s my fault. They’re gone forever.”

You have to crawl... but you eventually find Legend curled up in a ball. His hand are digging into his hair and his face is in between his knees.

“It’s my fault. It’s my fault. It’s my fault. It’s my fault. Leave me alone!”

You jump back.

Legend stands suddenly, and you’re hit with the suddenly and terrifying fact that this Legend is not yours. His eyes are pitch black save for a single red light that flickers every now and then.

You scramble and try to use your bad arm only to fall on your back.

He sneers. “You did this.”

“W-what?” You gulp and try to move away still.

“You let us fall.” He spits.

You push yourself to your feet right as he takes out his sword.

“YOU LEFT US ALL TO DIE!”

You take off running.

Even if you were weary of taking corners before, if seems to be the only way to lose him as he begins to chase you. You try to add as many twists and turns as you can but he always seems to be breathing down your neck no matter how hard you try to get away.

You take a random turn and are blinded by the sun.

You trip and fall. Your arm is suddenly healed.

“There they are!”

“Help them up!”

“Get them away from the door!”

“Do we have any water?”

“It’s ok. We’re all ok.

“Oh thank goodness you’re alive!”

Multiple pairs of hands help you to your feet. You find yourself weak and startled and break down into sobbing, not able to hold yourself up by your own strength.

They pick you up, wrap you up in blankets despite the heat and stay by your side until you exhaust yourself from crying.

Dinner is quiet and everyone is a little more than a bit jumpy when night falls. You’re not really sure if what you heard was true. No one was willing to share what they went through once they were separated. They seem to have been handling it better than you were however.

Sleep is a fruitless endeavor. When you wake up, you can see that everyone congregated into one giant pile, yourself included with limbs and bodies tossed and tangled within one another.

You feel a bit better, if still disturbed. Maybe you’re going to be ok. 

You dust yourself off and manage to slip away to start your morning routine. There’s anew scar on your arm- right where you’re sure that you broke it.

You look up and the dungeon entrance is in front of you again.

Chilled, scared and violently slapped by the malicious air that leaks out of it, you run back to the group.

Never again.

[ihatechosingnames]

Honkai Star Rail Lore and Spoilers?

So, this is actually the second attempt. The first got lost.

Kafka, even as an enemy, is exceptionally helpful in terms of lore. And with the Data Banks, we can fill a lot of plot holes, maybe left on purpose.

So, we capture Kafka and interrogate her, first with the Diviner, then alone. People leave us alone with Kafka, even when they don't trust Kafka to not pull some kind of brainwashing and even when they see a strange connection between Stelle (the female MC) and Kafka herself.

So, Elio, her boss, has already foreseen everything, even our questions, and that make Kafka tell us everything she knows, which is only a tiny part of what Elio knows. I can't wait to actually meet him. So, they lead us with tiny crumbs to do what they want, in this case, ally ourselves with Xianzhou because in the future we are going to fight Nanook the Destruction.

She actually says "in the best and the worst cases", so if we stay on a neutral case there is a tiny chance that we are not going to fight an Aeon. But I don't think we are going to have that much of a choice: Kafka telling all of that could mean two things:

1 we can fight against this prophecy, which can end up as a self-driven prophecy or we can avoid altogether this scenario

2 we do nothing and the prophecy can or not happen.

Since the Stellarion hunters are working so hard to give us all the help we may need, it's possible that we cannot avoid fighting Nanook. This may be the reason why we have a Stellarion inside our body. And the cutscene ends with Kafka telling us that even Aeons can die, and soon after our point of view changes to Dan Heng and his side of the adventure. Basically in this world, Dan Heng is a protagonist just as much as Stelle, I'm going to analyze it later.

Back to Kafka, Stelle, LORE, and juicy information.

So, in the game, up to this moment, 5 Aeons are already dead, killed, or disappeared. The names are Long the Permanence, Idrila the Beauty, Ena the Order, Tayzzyronth the Propagation, and Akivili the Trailblaze.

Kafka is giving so much information that she also tells us how two of these five died:

So, that explains why we don't have any information about Ena in the Data Bank, they were assimilated by another Aeon. But how does Kafka know it?

From the Data Bank, Tayzzyronth duplicated himself "a torrent of infinite propagation. [...] fluttered across the worlds until their advances were halted by fate in some way."

Funnily enough, Dan Heng's side starts with Luocha talking about the Propagation and the mortality of Aeons.

But nobody says which Aeon did the deed. Could it be it was the Hunt while he was searching for the Abundance? After all, their names share a similitude:

Propagation: 1. the breeding of specimens of a plant or animal by natural processes from the parent stock

Abundance: 1. a very large quantity of something.

It may be a theory since the Abundance's symbol is wheat and in the game is associated with plants, such as the Big Tree.

Theory number 1: Lan the Hunt killed the Propagation while pursuing the Abundance.

Back to Kafka, Stelle asks about Akivili's fate:

Nobody knows. In the Data Bank: "Akivili's destiny was abruptly ended due to an accident", which tells nothing. Curiously, even Idrila the Beauty disappeared with no one knowing a thing: "The Aeon of Beauty suddenly vanished one day. It was just as mysterious as when they first appeared." So Akivili disappeared one day and it was not something decided by fate; Idrila disappeared, probably in the same way they appeared.

Of the five Aeons, three were discussed by Kafka and two by Dan Heng's party. And color me surprised, they talked about Long the Permanence.

So a specie that lives in Xianzhou is a descendant of an Aeon, Long the Permanence. And they are related to dragons. Since Sushang is someone who doesn't like school, it's Dan Heng, Mr "I can't set foot on Xianzhou for multiple reasons regarding my backstory", which tells us what we need.

And say, Dan Heng, how do you know all of this? It's more than what normal people should know, more like inside knowledge.

Theory number 2: Dan Heng, since his nickname is Cold Dragon Young, is a Vidyadhara and he was banished because he messed up a serious and important rite regarding Blade. But from the character story, it looks like he ran away and changed his name and face (maybe he reincarnated like they said about the Vidyadhara, even though it's said they have draconic features) to avoid detection and he is scared of someone (Blade, if we connect the dots with the Light Cone "Nowhere to Run") who has a killing intent against him, bad enough to follow him and destroy every single ship he (Dan Heng) was on. Dan Heng possibly is one of the rare descendants that inherit the trait to become a dragon. Whatever it means.

Side note: Am I the only one to see that Luocha and Dan Heng have similar clothing? Luocha is hella sus with a huge casket, his knowledge, the fact he was on the port after the blockade, his Path being the Abundance... This all leads to him being a kind of enemy, but it's such a huge red flag that is natural to put the focus on him.

The wiki also says "Luocha, also known as Rakshasa, are a type of evil spirit in Buddhist mythology who eat human flesh". Great way to name a character who is a healer, Hoyoverse. It's like they are trying to shout "LOOK AT HIM AND HIS HUGE RED FLAG".

[ftwdb]

Don't Say Go.

Chapter 12.

Summary: Soulmates find each other through what is known as The Pull. A sense within a persons body that their soulmate is within reach that guides them to find them. You find yourself following this Pull, guided by vague dreams of a man you can't quite see, until you collapse in the wild and are found by Troy, your soulmate, who has been following the same feeling toward you for days.

Once connected soulmates are able to share emotions through their bond, as well as being able to sense where the other is. But how this force works is very much a mystery still, it can vary from soulmate to soulmate, and just sometimes a connection too deep can lead twist a bond from something beautiful to, well...

Warnings: Dark themes, sexual content, violence, non-graphic description/implications of SA, child abuse and domestic violence. References to addiction. Unhealthy love/obsession/relationships. Soulmate AU. Eventual smut.

Your feet led you while your eyes could only see fire. You ran, ignoring voices that called after you as your breath caught in your chest, choking you.

How had it been possible for him to survive, to end up here?

It was like fate enjoyed the cruelty of it. Confronting you with the worst parts of your past as it handed you your future with the ranch, with Troy. And how would you explain it now? You fell to the ground, heaving up the little that was in your stomach into the grass and you tried to bring yourself back to reality.

You could feel the blood on your hand growing cold and sticky. You began to wipe it on the grass frantically, trying to rid yourself of the stain. You tried to blink your eyes clear, tried to work out which way the main house was so you could find Troy. Everything would be okay if you explained... somehow...

A set of hands on your shoulders tried to turn and lift you from the ground. You screamed.

Thrashing at the stranger and confused as to how he had managed to survive again and follow you all this way, you kicked and screamed until the hands let you go. You fell hard on the grass but didn't waste time for him to get his hands on you again as you forced yourself up and started running again. It was so dark you could barely see, you'd run too far from the main camp.

A voice shouted out, then heavy footsteps followed, faster than your own. He was going to capture you, he'd take you again, he would hurt you-

A shadow in the darkness appeared in front of you, illuminated only as the clouds moved to allow moonlight to stream down. You cried out as Troy came toward you with open arms and eyes wide and alert as he saw the blood, your tears...

You ran into his arms, shrieking and gasping. With one arm tight around your shoulders urging him behind you the other pulled a gun from his side and aimed it at your pursuer.

Mike came to a halt, skidding in the dirt as he raised his hands and stared at his friend.

"Whoa, easy..." he panted.

Your grip on Troy's back eased as you too stared at the man who you thought had meant to harm you, too shaken with adrenaline and confusion to form words. Unfortunately Troy could only glance at your stricken face, his eyes falling to your shirt which you suddenly realised had been torn when you'd been grabbed in the medical tent, and then at his oldest friend who had began to ramble as he panicked, realising exactly how the situation looked. You realised it too and tried to speak, to tell Troy to put down the gun, but all these things happened in a matter of seconds and you could see the murderous intent in Troy's eyes as his knuckles turned white around the guns hilt just before he fired.

Your hands grabbed at his wrist, forcing the gun down and to the side.

Mike screamed before collapsing onto the dirt...

XXX

"What in the blazes happened here tonight!"

Jeremiah was furious. He paced behind his desk as Troy sat with his head in his hands.

"It was... a misunderstanding." he said lamely, pressing the palms of his hands into his eyes to try and eradicate the image of you - blood smeared on your cheek, eyes red and pouring tears - and his friend, screaming on the ground as he rolled from side to side, his foot clutched in his hands.

"A misunderstanding? What kind of misunderstanding leaves the head of my militia shooting at his own men and a dead man bleeding all over Jake's med tent?"

Troy wished he could explain, but even he didn't yet know the full story. The sound of screaming and gunfire had of course drawn attention. The militia had come running, Jake and his father too, to find Troy stood over Mike with the gun pointed at his face whist you tried to tell him something through your sobs.

"Not him. He didn't-" was all Troy could make out when Jake had tackled him from the side and knocked the gun from his grip. Jeremiah had hauled Troy into his office, barking orders for Jake to tend to Mike and for Cooper to find out what the hell was going on.

You'd tried to follow but Jeremiah had spat something at you that Troy hadn't been able to hear over all the yelling and you'd faded from his view as Gretchen Trimbol placed an arm around your shoulders and turned you away from the scene.

Troy lifted his head as his father's words sunk in.

"The man we brought in, he's dead?"

Jeremiah threw himself down in the chair behind his desk and looked at Troy with eyes that burned.

"Stabbed in the neck with a pair of scissors. He was still tied to his bed. And you wanna hear the kicker?"

Troy felt something sickly settle in his stomach as he waited for his father to continue.

"It was your soulmate who saw him last."

Troy scowled.

"That's not possible. She was waiting for me, in the bunkhouse..."

"Then how exactly did she end up halfway across my ranch, screaming and looking like one of those broads that gets killed at the beginning of a horror movie?"

Troy pressed his lips together as he tried to put together the events of the night. He'd thought Mike had attacked you. Perhaps it had been a misguided assumption but finding you fleeing in the dark, your clothes torn and dirtied as you sobbed whilst Mike appeared looking like a wild thing in the moonlight... what else could he have thought?

His only instinct had been to protect you. From the moment he'd been woken, sprawled across his bed and confused by the lack of daylight, he'd only felt terror. It had been just like before, when he'd followed you to the collapsing cabin and seen that man on top of you. He'd known it wasn't his fear he could feel, but yours.

A knock came from the main entrance. Jeremiah sighed and rubbed at his tired eyes as he called for whoever it was to enter.

Cooper appeared, looking apprehensive as you darted out from behind him and strode into the room.

"This is all my fault," you said, not looking at Troy but only at his father.

Troy jumped to his feet to move to you, but you deliberately avoided looking at him as you came straight up to Jeremiah's desk with your back rigid and hands clenched at your sides.

"I killed the man in the tent-"

"Stop-" Troy tried to interrupt but both you and his father raised a hand to silence him. It was an action that unnerved him, leaving him feeling bitter but still wanting to pull you out of his father's fierce gaze.

"I recognised him from the city. He attacked me and I acted in self defence-"

Your words came out quick and breathless and Troy could see how you shook as you pushed on.

"He was tied up." Jeremiah pointed out.

You shook you head slightly and dropped your gaze down to your feet.

"I cut him free, just one hand, when he started vomiting. I didn't recognise him then, because of the bandages."

Jeremiah nodded as if to give you permission to continue. Troy watched on as if he were stood outside of his body, knowing that look on his father's face.

"He grabbed my shirt. I panicked and grabbed the scissors..."

You couldn't bring yourself to say anymore.

"It was quite a sight to see, when I'd followed you down to the tent to find him bled out on his bed." Jeremiah said flatly.

You flinched. It had been barbaric. Violent. But so were the things he'd done to you. Would you have to finally speak of those days, when you'd thought for sure you would die in the ugliest way possible?

You could feel Troy standing behind you, watching you. You reached inside for the sense of ease that came with being in his presence but found only tension.

You took a shaking breath.

"He... was not a good person." was all you could manage, your voice faltering.

If Jeremiah truly hated you now was his chance to torture you, to make you relive the horrors you'd been subjected to and have Troy have to hear each detail.

Instead his eyes looked at you pensively in the moments that passed in silence.

"And Mike?"

You almost let out a long sigh of relief that he was not intending to push for more information.

"He was meant to be on guard. He was late-"

Troy cursed under his breath but you ignored him.

"-he must have seen me run from the tent and come after me. Then Troy was there and everything just happened so fast-"

Jeremiah waved his hand in the air and you snapped your mouth shut. His drunkenness had seemed to have passed and now he simply looked tired.

"Well it's a damn good thing you only shot him in the foot," he said, finally moving his gaze back to his son.

Troy nodded once but remained stoic.

Mike. He knew he should feel something for having assumed the worst, for having tried to kill him for something that had never happened. Instead he felt nothing.

He always felt nothing... unless he could feel you.

You who was still standing with your back turned, unable to meet your eyes.

He was not a good person. Troy repeated those words to himself silently. He remembered the knife in your hand as you'd stood over Derek, the way you'd looked to him almost for permission before doing the only thing you could for an animal like that. Putting it down.

Although Troy told himself he usually felt nothing, he knew that wasn't true. He'd just gotten so good over the years at making himself numb to his surroundings he'd thought he'd forgotten how to feel. Now guilt uncurled in his gut.

He had brought the man here.

He had left you alone and broken his promise to walk with you and somehow you'd ended up in danger. One fuck up after another, just like he always did. Just like his mother had always told him.

In his chair Jeremiah was scratching at his unshaven face and speaking with Cooper, who was still standing silently by the main door. Troy vaguely heard them speaking of Jake and Mike, but he could barely comprehend what they were saying.

At least his father had calmed down. But Troy knew there would have to be consequences. There always were.

[rainbowchewynuggets]

TMA Encore #14b

Not-Martin cannot reach his partner.

Not-Jon isn’t listening. Even now, as the man drags his screeching nightmare of a body around, the end of which is held in unseen space by his masters. The worst part is that he knows it. He knows he has failed to control the hunger, and he still won’t stop. With his back against the wall, he managed to phase through it into a whole new realm of delusion.

NJ: It’s still happening all over the world. We can’t just leave it like this.

Not-Martin could hear Not-Jon’s voice carried through the field of obstacles set between them just after the hellscape had risen.

NM: We weren’t supposed to fix the entire world. We only wanted to undo our part in it.

Not-Jon then told him what he saw in his flash of true omniscience. The apocalypse could still happen a hundred different ways. Not as closely managed as theirs had been, but still teetering on certainty more than either of them had dared to fear.

Not-Martin could almost see it as the image crept out of the crack in the barrier Not-Jon holds between himself and his partner. Not-Martin had had just enough time to question if it’s only true of this world or of every world they’ve attempted to save before perishing the entire possibility. He begged and threatened, finding no argument beyond what has driven them so far. Their mission is over. They don’t belong here. They have no future here. It’s time to go.

He cannot reach his partner.

Not-Martin moves silently through bucking, shifting halls. There is no choice but to do his worst. The long sharp piece of industrial steel in his hand should be enough. The enigma that used to be the prison can’t hurt him at this point, and it isn’t trying to. Not-Jon can barely make controlled use of his abilities and doesn’t want to. He only tries to push Not-Martin away. The two know each other too well for the contest to be swift. Only now, Not-Jon is marred by the degradation of his body and the panic of the threat of premature death. Not-Martin can feel his vulnerability. It draws him forward.

Then, he finds him cornered. Motionless. Staring.

Not-Martin has the perfect shot to do it. Multiple shots. The makeshift dagger twitches in his grip but doesn’t move. He can’t even take a step closer. The grisly fate of being the stronger candidate to carry out this Extinction wrests his will. Cradling Jon as he died and waking up alone in the house on Hill Top Road stretch on for eternity in his memory. A hint slips through the barrier of the sheer enormity of the hunger’s pressure. He feels the fear that the Entities soak up from Not-Jon. The creature knows that if he surrenders, he’d be leaving his heart behind with all of his pain. If they shared it, it would grow until they tore at each other before eventually moving on to the rest of the world. He can’t bring himself to kill them both. It paralyzes him just as it does Not-Martin. He can’t die. He has to hold it all down just the way it is, or the Entities will win.

Not-Martin tries to shut it out, but the hellscape seizes the exposure of fear. It divides the chamber in two and pulls their occupants miles apart. Not-Martin is dragged down through the floor and encased in a cell within layers of brick and cement. Feeling like he’s out of moves, he surrenders to his isolation.

He cannot reach his partner.

~

Tim and Sasha sit in silence on the peninsula as the cracked tape plays.

It stops with a click.

Listening to the tape wasn’t very comforting. It at least prompts them to break the quiet and process things aloud for a while.

Neither of them fully forgive Jon. They had already gleaned that Jon’s worst nature was being pressed by an entity that knew him inside and out. They did try to warn him. Though, they do give him points for realizing his mistake, if too late. They’re both in the same boat with him, really.

Sasha ponders her relationship to agency and risk. When she found out about her death at the hands of the Stranger, she was so afraid and upset because she felt like she had had her life and participation in something important torn away and misused. But now that she’s here, after making her best efforts not to die and not to sit out, she finds that she has still been made into a tool. In hindsight, the right thing to do really was not to participate at all. How could she have known? The trap was shut before she knew it was there.

Tim takes the time to unravel some grief. After losing Danny, he had investigated the death as hard as he did because part of him hoped that he could hunt down whatever did this. As if it could be held accountable. Getting confirmation from Not-Jon that it was something real and evil that could potentially be killed was gratifying. But it all turned out to be so much bigger and deeper than he’d imagined. And now, it’s made its way inside him and his friends. They’re part of that “other”. If he gets up now, his drive to see things set right will only be used against them.

Martin is the most worrying case. It had at first seemed that his outbursts of bravery were signs of him coming out of his shell. In hindsight, it was a sign of something much worse.

They think that perhaps the best, most resilient thing they can do against their tormentors now is nothing.

~

In his quest to find Not-Jon, Martin stumbles upon Not-Martin’s cell through a small hole in the surrounding materials. He almost passed by, thinking it was empty at first. It’s hard to see through the haze that now follows him everywhere.

Not-Martin fails to express his surprise that Martin made it this far and the clear reason why, based on his faded pallor. Martin’s face is unreadable. He reacts mechanically without a word, trying to pry the door of the cell. Not-Martin stops him. It would be better if he stayed. His voice is low, like the hum of air flowing through an empty vessel. Martin lets his discomfort show, if only slightly.

Martin: You could have told me that this apathy thing was part of the Lonely.

Not-Martin muses humorlessly that he wouldn’t have been able to abstain from the Entities’ power either way. This way, he has some leverage.

Martin stifles a bitter frown.

NM:  Are you going after him?

Martin: *heavy sigh* Yep.

NM: Take this.

He gives Martin the sharpened steel. He admits that he’s never going to be able to stop Not-Jon. Martin will have a better chance since Not-Jon won’t be expecting him. He hasn’t been watching Martin for a while. If he’s remorseful enough, he might even hold back.

Martin: It’d be smart to take care of you first, wouldn’t it?

The sharp end of the steel gravitates toward his double’s throat.

NM: Well, I think I’d be good for it at this point. But he won’t play fair if you do. I’ll try my best to stay put.

Martin takes a minute to consider.

He leaves.

~

The fog that follows Martin begins to dissipate as he arrives at the wreckage of the Institute at the very top of the island’s interior. The field of loose boards and shrapnel creates a consistent chaos that makes it difficult to distinguish out-of-place shapes. 

He wades further into the wreckage.

Further. Further.

Suddenly, a mass of metal tines and canvas pulls itself deeper into the junkheap with the sound of crunching glass. He follows.

The heap grades down into a steep hill where larger pieces of rooms slowly drift. There, he finds his target half-submerged in the debris. It shoves away slabs of brick wall and window from the center of the pit, making awful noise. It doesn’t appear to notice as Martin approaches under the din.

Dark purple tissue rises and falls beneath the missing ribs on Not-Jon’s right side. Martin readies the steel dagger.

Closer…

Closer…

Closer…

Martin tightens his fingers and plunges the weapon into the gap. Wet reeking soil and maggots spill out, covering his hand.

Nothing else happens. Martin retracts.

The tissue tightens, but the creature ignores him.

Martin looks for another spot, wondering if he could get away with tearing the thing open neck to hip so that it can’t move.

As if reading his mind, the creature raises its head.

NJ: Your hands are cold.

It speaks in a voice nearly unrecognizable. The faint remains of the voice he knows are what freezes him solid.

NJ: You should have turned around while you still had the chance.

Martin readies himself for an attack, but one doesn’t come.

Not-Jon stops. He hoists himself out of the wreckage and looks at a figure cresting the lip of the pit. Martin turns, and an incredulous thought crosses his mind.

Oh my god, is that Jon?

Jon, a dot in the distance, shouts and throws a pipe at the creature. It misses by several feet, but the creature recoils all the same. The trash starts to shift, rapidly increasing the distance between them and Jon. The creature itself dives into the wreckage and out of sight. Jon scrambles forward, hopelessly outpaced by the still expanding ground.

Martin doesn’t move. Or, he doesn’t try to. The world around him twists and loses definition. The myriad images taken by each movement of his eyes suddenly don’t add up. He feels dizzy. He doesn’t move.

When it finally stops, Jon slides in next to him, panting. He steadies himself on Martin’s arm.

Jon: Are you alright? I-I didn’t mean to do it like that. I was just scared I wouldn’t find you again.

Martin: You... you did that?

Jon has to sit down, more than a little dizzy himself. He gets Martin caught up on his strange developments. When he’s finished, he pushes his disheveled hair back and looks up at him. Martin looks positively ghostly to Jon.

Jon: It’s happening to you too, isn’t it?

Martin nods, sitting down next to him. Up close, he can see that Jon’s clothes are torn and stained in more places than they had been before. So are his own. Two scraggy little rats huddling in a monster’s trash yard. He puts down the dagger.

Martin: It didn’t work. He shrugged it off.

Jon winces and lets his head list forward.

Jon: Right. Of course he did.

Martin: I should have been more suspicious when Not-Martin told me to go for it. But I couldn’t… stop myself, I guess.

He swallows hard.

Marin: Turns out he’s as tied in with the Entities as the other Jon, after all. For all we know, they’ve both been having their strings pulled this whole time.

Jon: And I think I know what their masters want.

Jon outlines a theory he’s been formulating since their departure at the waterfall. He’s being marked on purpose to prepare him to replace Not-Jon as their avatar. Not-Jon is dying too quickly, and Not-Martin is too unmotivated. If Martin marks him with the Lonely, him killing Not-Jon would replicate the replacement ritual that killed the first Jonah. He’s already close with the power he has. That’s why the creature was afraid of Jon. Why he tried to separate him from Martin.

Martin observes that they would just be repeating the cycle again. Jon defeatedly says that he doesn’t think they can escape the cycle, but they can mitigate its trajectory from here. If Jon had control of the hellscape, he could let the others go free. Then, they could come back with a cement truck before Jon loses the will to stay in the enigma. He, Not-Martin, and the intruding Entities would be left to die. The rest of them could go on.

Fog thickens around them.

Martin was seriously considering the plan up until that last part. Assuming that he wouldn't make it out alive had excused him from having to think about where this escapade would lead. If he survived, he would have to live on with the guilt of dooming Jon and being stuck as a creature of the Lonely. The Fears might still escape through him. Reflex tells him to push the thought away, but it doesn’t go. It’s too important.

Blood suddenly rushes through his brain, as if he’d slammed the brake at high speed just before he would have rammed into traffic. His pulse pushes the coldness in his veins out into the air.

The sureness of the plan vanishes. It feels like desperate haggling with a devil that controls all the variables.

Martin: No. I can’t. You can’t. It’s not gonna fix it. You said so before.

Jon: It’s too late, Martin. We have to!

Jon’s voice quivers with palpable uncertainty.

Martin is speechless.

The Lonely turns on them, closes in, and swallows them both.

~

The fear that had just gripped Martin materializes. He can’t find Jon or anyone. The more he calls out, the more he can feel the ice in his body, needling through his muscles and bones. He can’t move. His legs are lead. He has to go find Jon.

Move damn, it. Move.

Hot sears on cold as he takes a single step. Every impulse tells him to stop. They warn that he’s giving up on the only power that gives him an edge. He’ll be vulnerable. Killed. Used.

He doesn’t care. He doesn’t want this.

Another step. He nearly falls. He wants to live. They are going to live through this. It’s the only way.

~

Jon appears to be outside. The hellscape has spread. The civilians all around him are suffering in terror. Their screams and writhing forms are muted and gauzy, as if he exists on a plane apart from them.

He isn’t one of them anymore. He did this to them.

His shadow is too long, too large. He looks down, and all we see is color. Above, the Entities fill the sky.

He feels his connection with them as a person identifies an appendage as an extension of themself. They’re not as devious as he had imagined. Dull, abstract amalgams of the fears of the living more than creatures in their own right. Their “voices” are loud, but they don’t command him with speech. They act on impulse. Their base repulsion at impending death and the desperation to feed are only reflections of that which dwells in their creators. In Jon.

It’s human. Almost pitiful. Though, their endless size makes Jon acutely aware that he is their appendage. They pay no heed as he pleads, “Stop… stop… stop… stop.”

The only path clear of victims lies straight ahead of him, stretching on toward another enormous shape on the horizon. He resolves to follow that path to its conclusion. The haunting chorus wanes behind him as he walks. His shadow passes over a sliver of black. The dagger. He picks it up.

The enormous shape ahead begins to shrink, as if retreating further into the distance. Jon quickens pace to catch it. That coward. He’s not going to let it get away.

The shape shrinks further and further and further until…

Not-Jon tries to talk Jon out of it as he approaches. He tells him about the other possibilities he saw for the apocalypse.

Jon doesn’t reply.

Not-Jon says Jon will never be able to stay in the enigma any more than he has been able to entomb himself. He always knew that he should have and tried many times, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it. The urge to get out and act always won out.

Jon: I’ll risk it.

Not-Jon: You don’t want this.

Jon: I have to.

Not-Jon: No, you don’t. You shouldn’t.

Jon’s expression twitches, but he keeps coming. He can feel his emotions twist and pull him back form the inside. From the Web. From the Eye. He's sick of being manipulated.

NJ: I’m sorry. I never should have laid this all on your shoulders. I thought that if I had the right to torment anyone over this, it was you. But I could hardly have prevented what happened to me any more than you could prevent what’s happening to you. Trying to take control now–believe me, it won’t make you feel better.

Jon lunges.

Jon: Stop groveling. Do you really expect me to just let it happen and pretend I couldn’t have done anything?

Not-Jon recognizes the exhausted contempt in his rival’s voice. Just as it had from a version of Martin he once knew, who had petrified and ground down to become the one he knows now. Just as it had from the friends he lost a lifetime ago.

He could keep trying to scare his younger self out of this, but he suddenly thinks he’s already done enough damage. Instead, he reaches with difficulty into a long-buried vault to offer something more compassionate. He can feel himself tearing apart as he does.

NJ: It doesn’t have to be that dire.

He says that the best successes he ever had were small–trying to help other people through the ordeal rather than directly tackling a force that always outmatched him. It added up, and lives were spared. It helped him keep going.

Jon’s expression grows complicated.

Jon: They won’t be spared if they die at the end.

NJ: They might not.

Jon: Prove it.

He searches his double’s eyes when an answer doesn’t come.

Jon: You don’t believe a word of what you’re saying.

The worn, scarred hands that hold the dagger back tremble with exhaustion.

Not-Jon: No. I… I can’t.

Jon pushes with all his might, the dagger’s edges biting at his hand. But the broken man is still made of iron. Still trying to force him to obey with the power he insists he doesn’t want.

Frustration boils in Jon’s chest. With little hesitation, he burrows into Not-Jon’s mind to force him to give up rather than being coerced himself. To tear away whatever resilience is still holding the creature up.

That’s where he finds it. The obsession that has grown in him like a tumor over decades. There is nothing to hold or take away. It is an absence. An abyssal certainty of doom.

Grasping at the nothing inside of Not-Jon brings Jon an epiphany.

It only makes sense. Thinking that life could continue after the worst-case scenario would contradict the urgency of the mission that keeps him from giving in to the Entities. At the same time, his masters need that fear to manipulate their puppet and sustain themselves.

The cycle turns on that certainty. Questioning it might be the only way out.

Jon could radically, illogically trust the road ahead and hope for the best, making whatever improvements are within his reach. In that way, at least, he cannot be controlled by his fear or despair.

The thought is asinine. It goes against every value of logic he has. The thought of the inherent risk alone is killing him.

Not-Jon reads it in his face, the jagged steel point inches from his chest.

NJ: You understand now, don’t you?

Jon sets his jaw.

Jon: You lied to us–threatened us–because you said it was the only way. But did you actually try trusting us before? Or was that another lie?

NJ: We did. Many times. They always got to you in the end and drove you apart. Most of you didn’t even make it past Prentiss. I had to try something else when I felt the ceiling starting to come down on me.

Jon: So it was more reliable to manipulate us to put us where you wanted us. You didn’t actually intend for us to get killed.

Not-Jon needs a moment to summon another breath.

NJ: Wasn’t planning on it.

Jon: But if it hadn’t worked, you would have done worse.

The creature has to steady itself, but he manages a nod without looking away.

Jon: Because what can’t you afford to do when the alternative is oblivion?

Not-Jon holds his steadfast gaze.

NJ: Would you honestly have done any better if you were me?

Jon: Well, like you said. I don’t have to be you.

————

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