#this turned out so long and yet contains almost nothing from my first attempt at answering this question. god i hope any of this made sense

[magistralucis]

Hi! I saw you post about the meta funny deathmark and wanted to ask; do you think Ithakas and the one dynasty with the 'Mother Of Oblivion' for a Pharakh who killed that C'tan can ever be cured of the Flayer virus? I know Oltyx and co accepted who and what they are and found some type of twisted sort of piece but...they are still cursed 😅 do you think flayer virus can ever be cured?

And what do you think the Destroyer curse is? I have always interprited as 'envy turned hatred towards life'.

This is a good question, albeit a tricky one. I have a lot of thoughts about this, but to keep it brief: I think it depends on what you define 'cured' to be. If one's definition of 'cured' is 'physically freed from disease', as in 'the flayers stop craving flesh and revert back into their unmutated necron forms' - then no, I don't think the Flayer Virus is curable. Yenekh will never look like he did when he was uncursed again, nor will he gain his pre-biotransference body back. The Flayed Ones will always want to feed. By the end of The Twice-Dead King, their condition is written into the laws of reality, and I think it's neither possible nor in the Bone Kingdom's interests to reverse that. You'd have to kill another C'tan to do that, probably, and that's more trouble than it's worth.

But 'cured', as in just... 'healing'? 'Relief from torment'? Were the necrons all that healthy before, don't they usually despise their metal prisons? ... IDK, I feel like in some ways it's necronhood that's the disease, and the Flayer Virus is the cure. I interpret the Flayer Virus as less of a godly curse, and more a psychosomatic manifestation of a mindset. Returning to what Yenekh says:

'[...] It is hunger, Oltyx. Nothing more. Hunger for what is lost. For what could yet be. Hunger that knows no reason. Hunger for the bodies… we threw away… in Szarekh’s war.’ ‘That is the dysphorakh, then, which Mentep told me of?’ ‘Yes. In the end, only… flesh will feed it. But we all find other… substitutes… to stave it off. We find obsessions… to keep it at bay. Compulsions. Discipline, tradition, power. Violence. Recklessness.’ (Reign, Chapter 21)

Fundamentally, the Flayer Virus is want. Multi-directional, irrational want, unbound by time. Yenekh is quite clear that it's not purely a desire to return to their past (they want 'what could yet be') - what he means by 'what is lost', I think, is potential, from when their kind were not bound to metal and undeath and the slow winding decay that awaits them now. The Flayers are like that because they want to live.

The vast majority of necrons are not free. They weren't free back when they were necrontyr, but they were capable of having their own thoughts, being loved, having families and friendships and close relationships that helped them through their short painful lives. Now they don't die so quickly, but they are more slavish than ever, literally incapable of having a personality or an individual thought; almost everything that defined the necrontyr as necrontyr are gone. This is made worse by the fact that most necrons have an inbuilt disgust of organic life, which draws them further away from the lives they used to have.

I believe the Flayers are the ones who have overcome this disgust. As gory and horrific their outer appearances are, they are the ones who are capable of breaking their bodies' limits, of seizing even the faintest shadow of what the C'tan stole from them. Most necron characters who try to change their fate are exactly that, characters, individuals who work largely for their own purpose - Orikan, who wishes to be a god, Szarekh, who claims to want atonement and maybe reverse biotransference somehow - but the Flayed Ones are an entire community of interdynastic and inter-hierarchical individuals who're capable of doing this. In a very real way they represent the necron future, providing no great cosmic relevations about biotransference occur, and whatever future they bring will not cling to outdated traditions. So no, they will probably not be cured, and I doubt they want or need that. They're exactly where they need to be.

As for the Destroyers' curse, I think that is on the opposite side of the same coin. If the Flayer Virus is the psychosomatic manifestation of the urge to live and be free, the Destroyer curse is the manifestation of the death-drive. (I don't like Freud's work or Freudian analysis at all, but the concepts of libido and destrudo may serve as a good analogue.) The fundamental difference between them is that living is close to impossible for necrons, but they are extremely good at killing, and killing has a well-defined place in their hierarchy; between the Flayers and the Destroyers, the latter is given more recognition, and I think that must be the reason why.

As for why necrons become Destroyers, that seems to be a variety of reasons, too. Envy and hatred would be the strongest contenders - these are Zozar's reasons for becoming a Destroyer, and since he's the most compelling part of Indomitus, we can understand why a man who lost everything would want to descend to anti-life nihilism. But I don't know if that's the only reason, because I'm not sure if Borakka has ever meaningfully felt anything.* Before biotransference they were a cruel and violent executioner, but the text is clear that they did not do it for glory; it may be that Borakka was just a psychopath who enjoyed killing things, but I don't read glee in what they did/it does, only indifference. For whatever reason Borakka is a huge gaping void of entropy, and will always trend towards nil, until its self is destroyed.

(* Edited. Thank you @courgowr for the correction re: Borakka's pronouns.)

[baeshijima]

— one more time

jing yuan has always considered himself to be a patient man, never failing to have a plan in mind and out of sight for unforeseeable circumstances. when it comes to matters involving you, however, he finds that he never has the time to think; not when he acts quicker than he can process.

CONTAINS : gn!reader, 1k wc, fluff, kissing, very much pining jing yuan

A/N : holds this man gently as i stare at him doing his idles with big wide eyes and tears rolling down my cheeks (also yes this is me using the "idk how to kiss" "then i will teach u" trope as an excuse to write a kissing jing yuan fic bc i am delusional and proud🐥)

when jing yuan was reciting his usual pep-talk as he made his way to your decided meet-up spot (which included, but was not limited to: stay calm, cool, and composed— the triple-c, if you will — and don't make a fool of yourself, jing yuan), he figured the cosy picnic (date) arrangement would go smoothly and without a hitch. you would be there bathed in the artificial sunlight, fingers threading through blades of grass and then you would turn at the rhythm of his footsteps, that signature grin of yours on full display as he would attempt to calm his thunderous heart from spilling saccharine confessions accumulated over the last few centuries.

like always.

but very much unlike now, it seems.

in place of the predicted events he'd conjured up beforehand, the words “i don't know how to kiss” welcome him instead. (he just barely catches himself before the picnic basket in his grip goes tumbling across the grass.)

“...what?”

“right?” you huff, seated on the grass with your arms supporting your weight while bathed in the artificial sunlight of the luofu. “i've lived for this long, and yet i have never kissed anyone! wait, or maybe it's because no one wants to kiss me... am i that unkissable?”

“no!” is the immediate rebuttal which springs forth to the tip of his tongue, but he just barely catches himself. he's planned thousands, probably millions, of ways in which he could confess to you, but the timing has never been quite right. that, or the times where he was about to confess were interrupted; sometimes by some last minute calls, other times where he just misses the timing, but usually by yanqing unceremoniously barging in between you.

this time isn't any different either, because it is simply not quite right. there's something — something imperceptible yet obvious in the back of his mind, giving him the go-ahead on the perfect time to bleed nothing but the pure, unadulterated adoration you've inflicted upon him.

this time isn't any different either, but his mind goes blank, a clarity he has never felt before driving his senses.

“i'll teach you.”

it's a sudden offer, one he doesn't really know where he got the confidence to offer it from, and yet something about your stunned expression and his unusually calm heart seems... right.

“...you know how to kiss?”

“i know more than you do,” he counters. a triumphant grin tugs the corners of his lips when your mouth instantly clams shut at his words.

he waits for your response with baited breath. will you agree? will you refuse his, painfully obvious, advance? oh god what should he do if you say no? play it off as a joke? tease you for considering it? walk away in shame and cry about it—?

“alright then,” you say, and he blinks once, twice. “it's not like i have anything to lose.”

...is this a dream?

apparently not, as he now finds himself seated in front of you with the artificial sunlight doing little to help fend off the heat blooming along his skin. your eyes are closed with your body leaning towards him in baited anticipation, but his gaze hones in on the clench-unclench of your fists and your stiff posture.

unable to contain himself, he chuckles, “someone's a little tense.”

“ugh, cut me some slack! you're my first, so of course i'm nervous.”

your first. he's your first. yours. he's yours.

it's almost like a mantra the way he repeats your words (as well as varying renditions of them), one which does little to keep his waning self-restraint intact.

with a sharp inhale, he cradles your chin between his thumb and forefinger, lifting your head slightly to align better with his. if this were him any other day, he would have merely brushed this moment off as another one of his fantasies; an untouchable perception of what he wishes could be his.

this is not any other day, however, as jing yuan is hyper-aware of your light breaths fanning against his lips, the faint brush of his nose against yours, and your familiar scent which curls into him.

you, you, you. you are all he feels, all he can think of, even more so when he finally pushes forward into your awaiting silence and slots his lips against yours. it's a perfect fit, he thinks in what little room he allows for thought when preoccupied with your overflowing warmth and the taste of you on his tongue and the sheer euphoria which bubbles up when you hold onto him in response to his hands sliding up to cup your cheeks and holding you close.

he wonders if you can feel his centuries' worth of repressed affection from this exchange — if you can feel the desperation coursing through his veins as he leans into your touch. he already knows it's impossible though, for his love runs far too deep to be conveyed in just one singular moment.

“did you get that?” there's an ache in his heart when you part for air, but it's quickly forgotten when you blindly chase after him.

“one more time,” you whisper against his lips, his heart surging up his throat at your half-dazed eyes and tightening grip on his clothes. “i think you need to show me one more time.”

his waning self-restraint snaps.

“look at me,” he whispers back, voice hoarse with pent-up desire. his hands tilt your head up, guiding your gaze to align with his once more. before you can let a word slip through it's smothered, his lips crashing onto yours in an instant as he finds himself more determined than ever to leave you breathless with his adoration and have you focus solely on him.

if you enjoyed this, then reblogs with/or comments are greatly appreciated !! <33

[skyloftian-nutcase]

Lovelies, y'all voted which of my OC Links you wanted to hug most, and Shadow won, so guess what, Shadow gets a nice writing snippet :)

(Oh boy guys, I had such a good time writing this, partly because of the soundtrack I listened to. It was "Descent into Gloom's Lair" for the first half and then "Phase 5 Construct Factory")

This had to be it. He could sense the warmth of the magic, could hear the sword’s humming voice, could almost understand its whispers.

Link crept further into the canyon crevice, hands almost burning as they brushed against gloom. That never used to hurt. It was always cold.

He felt nearly giddy at the sensation. He reached his hand forward to grab it, one final piece, one last sliver of hope to add to his prayers and efforts. His finger snagged the sharp end, making it bleed, but the steel glowed blue regardless.

Sacred blue from a sacred sword. Link knew nothing of this blade, only that it contained light magic. Just as the dagger he’d used all that time ago had.

Please be enough. Please be enough.

Link felt his entire body trembling in anticipation and anxiety. If he tried this and it failed, it would give his entire plan away. But he’d never felt so certain, had never heard the sword’s magic so clearly. He’d scoured the entirety of the Depths, and this was the last shred of light he could find.

The pieces all fit together. The only thing that was missing was the base of the sword and its hilt. How such a blade could be so long—it was practically a claymore, but it held such little weight to it. Yet it held so much power. It felt… it felt familiar, it felt comforting.

He saw it sometimes, in his dreams. A blade shattered under Ganondorf’s power, only to be built anew in golden light. But there was no golden light here. Only the cool steely blue. Yet it was warmer than the sun, and he felt it seep into his skin, into his muscles and bone, snipping away at the cold tendrils that dug into him like needles.

Slowly, Link pulled off the bandages around his forehead.

This was it. This was his last prayer, his final attempt. He closed his eyes, feeling the icy cold vice grip Ganondorf had on him, centered in the malicious mark on his forehead. The sacred blade hummed in anticipation, nearly a growl, baring its metaphorical teeth. Its pieces slid together as he placed them on the floor, making him gasp a little. Thin, purple light, nearly like sacred thread, held the pieces together as they reverberated in unison.

He felt pain twinge in his forehead, and he sensed Ganondorf’s dark magic nearby. He’d been out of the demon king’s sight for too long. He could tell the man was growing nervous, worried. He was running out of time.

Fear pulled at him all of a sudden, sharp and horrifying and paralyzing. What if it wasn’t enough? What if it wasn’t enough?

Link took a trembling breath, pulling out a katana Ganondorf had gifted him. Then he pulled out a war hammer that he’d been gifted by one of the fallen soldiers.

It was now or never.

He brought the hammer down fiercely, channeling all his fear into it, turning it to something productive. With each clang he felt his heart rate grow ever faster. Holding the katana steady took all of his determination, and each blow reverberated up his shoulder. It felt like two different parts of him at war, one side ferociously fighting to be released while the other clung to its prison, petrified.

What if this isn’t enough? He’ll never let me go after this; he’ll use his power to control me forever!

But what if it was enough? If he hesitated, he’d never get this chance again, and the end result would be the same.

But we have a status quo. This is working.

But it wouldn’t last!

Clang!

The katana shook under his grip.

Clang!

The gloom spawn was getting closer.

I just want him back. I just want him back!

He was never getting the Ganondorf he knew back.

Clang!

He was sweating now. Tears mixed with the sweat, a sweet and salty flavor in his mouth.

Clang!

Clang!

The katana snapped, its blade giving way, its hilt remaining intact. He stared at it a moment, his breath caught in his chest, his body frozen. The sacred blade hummed louder. He could hear the shrill, shuddering sounds of the gloom spawn nearby.

Slowly, Link knelt on the ground, reaching for the blade. As he drew it closer to the hilt of the katana, the same strange, effervescent purple thread seemed to lock it into place with the hilt. Link stared at it a moment in wonder and awe, and it bolstered his resolve and hope.

This… this might actually work.

It would. It had to.

His forehead was beginning to hurt more and more. Icy cold darkness pulled at it. The blade’s sounds pulsed closer together, seeming nearly frantic.

Link turned the blade towards himself, hesitating a moment, breathing shakily, feeling the world around him stop.

If this was his last moment… then so be it.

He thrust it quickly, sharply, with every ounce of strength he had, aiming for his forehead.

His world exploded into agony. Time seemed to slow as he screamed, as white-hot energy ripped through his entire being, unraveling him. Images ran through his mind, memories scrambling around as if he were living his last moments.

Ganondorf’s face, stricken with horror as he laid in his arms dying. His own pain, heart breaking, body screaming from the wound.

Hemisi’s smile as they danced at a party in the castlte. His body retching as he tossed her ashes into the flames.

Coldness claiming him in eternal slumber as he fell down the stairs. Coldness dragging him back as Ganondorf ripped him from its embrace.

Nabooru holding him and Hemisi when they went to war. Nabooru’s scream as he was tossed down the stairs after stabbing Ganondorf.

Goddess, make it stop! It wasn’t as if he hadn’t experienced death before, why was this so utterly painful?!

He registered that his screaming had stopped, that he was suddenly laying on his side, that the world was spinning but most certainly in the present once more. Warm liquid lazily slipped down his forehead, pooling at his temple. He gasped, sitting upright as adrenaline slammed into him, as he heard the gloom spawn, as he saw it rapidly approaching.

Run, RUN!

Link’s body came to life, and he ran as hard and fast as possibly could. He didn’t dare look back, dead set on finding someplace that the spawn couldn’t reach. He knew this region fairly well by now, looking to his right and leaping on to the cliffside, hastily pulling himself upward. The gloom hands reached, but their claws could barely ghost against his ankles, leaving him breathless but somewhat relieved. He climbed higher and higher, feeling his body tremble and ache and protest considering everything that had just happened, but he finally made it to the top.

Collapsing, Link panted for air, completely and utterly drained. He felt like he’d been carrying a heavy load for his entire life and it had finally been lifted. He didn’t even know how to describe how he felt. The sacred blade was warm beside him, tucked into his belt, and he settled his hand on it like a lifeline.

It had worked. It had worked!

He laughed. He laughed until he was breathless, he cried.

But he knew he couldn’t stay here long. Ganondorf knew where he was now, and he knew he couldn’t control him.

It was a hunt now.

Link took a few more seconds to catch his breath before sitting up once more. He couldn’t see the bottom of the cliff with as dark as it was, but he could still catch wisps of dark magic, could hear the gloom spawn hissing in protest, remaining in its place so Ganondorf could track it.

He spat off the edge of the cliff, a sneer pulling at his lips, and made his way farther uphill. He knew there was an abandoned mine up ahead, and he knew there were Yiga there. But the Yiga were essentially harmless to him; he’d beaten up enough of them prior to escaping Ganondorf’s shackles to know that much.

Rushing ahead, Link noticed there were brighter splotches in new areas. More lightroots, probably. He blinked against it, trying to adjust to the change, when something caught his eye and made him stop dead in his tracks.

Was that… was that a…

Link stared.

That was a dragon.

A dragon floated in front of him, glowing beautifully blue, a chill steadily spreading through the air as it growled, its rumbling voice vibrating through Link’s chest.

How—he’d never—what—

It was beautiful.

But—but—

What was a dragon even doing down here?! They didn’t dwell in the Depths, they—

It had to have gotten here somehow.

Hope burned in his chest, along with excitement and indescribable joy. He knew how to get out of here.

Link charged ahead, leaping off the cliff, and landed directly on the mythical creature.

His hands and feet screamed at the icy contact, entire body immediately racking with shivers, but he clung to the crystalline spines on its blessed back regardless, laughing as he his teeth chattered. His muscles were so exhausted from everything that he nearly stopped shivering after a few minutes, watching his fingers and toes turn purplish blue.

He didn’t care.

The Depths looked so different from up here. He could make out the plant life, see scattered ruins. It almost looked like how it used to, when it had been far more alive and protected by lightroots.

Link gasped a little as his entire body shook with a shudder in response to the cold, and he nearly lost his grip on the creature’s spine. He couldn’t feel his feet anymore.

Come on, sacred sister… please… get me out of here.

The icy creature roared again, her entire body reverberating the sound. Her back started to arch, and Link nearly lost his footing as his world tipped. He reached for any kind of purchase, hanging off the dragon’s spiny icelike crystals, praying he could still hold on.

But she was tipping upward. That had to mean—that had to mean—

They were getting out of here. She was getting him out of here.

Link climbed as best he could to stand atop the scale, nearly falling before catching himself. And he saw light. He saw the sky.

Link’s face, freezing as it was, thawed a moment as tears spilled over his cheeks. Snowflakes suddenly appeared, getting caught in his hair and his lashes, and a sharp wind tore through him as sunlight blasted through, reflecting off snow covered fields. There were trees everywhere, decorated in the sparkling splendor of winter’s kiss, and Link gasped as the dragon started to straighten out. He could no longer feel his hands, couldn’t grip anything, and he fell.

He fell, the air screaming all around him, crashing through layer after layer of freedom as the chasm grew ever closer.

It felt like a nightmare, like the chasm was the maw of a demonic dragon, like Ganondorf was reaching up from hell just to drag him back down.

Link felt panic squeeze him as if a gloom hand had already gotten a hold of him, but he flipped his body around to try and redirect the wind and his course so he could at least land in the snow. He’d rather die than go back down there.

He was probably going to die either way once he hit the ground. But at least this way he’d die on the surface, buried in snow, never to be found by that man again.

He couldn’t… Ganondorf couldn’t bring him back again, could he?

There was no way he’d gotten this far just to—

Something sounded in the air, strange, different from the wind, whistling but in a sharp, repeated pattern. Link looked around wildly, in a panic, wondering if somehow the demon king had caught up to him, when something slammed into him.

“Hold on to me!” he heard, and his heart nearly stopped from the absolute shock of it. He turned as best he could, trying to see who in the world this even was, wrapping his arms around the person as the air below them suddenly pushed them upward sharply. It slowed his momentum instantly, but far too much for his tired and frozen arms to handle, and he quickly slipped out from under the person. He gasped, too tired to fight it or move, and he saw the figure above him let go of whatever parasailing device they had, diving towards him and grabbing him, twisting both of them so he was on top of the other when they hit the snow.

The impact was still hard, but not nearly as horrible as it could have been without that significant slowing. Link gasped for air nonetheless, stretched far beyond what his body could handle, numb and so cold it froze his bones.

He vaguely felt the person underneath him moving, and he opened his eyes as best he could, glancing down. Blue eyes looked back at him, framed in a somehow strangely familiar face.

“I’ve never seen anyone else ride a dragon,” the young man commented, expression perplexed. “Who—”

The man cut himself off, recognition shining in his eyes, in the way his brow shot upward, in the way his mouth opened even more with a small gasp.

And then it hit Link.

This… this was Rauru’s knight.

[destinysbounty]

Huh. I just dug up an old fan-theory i came up with back when i was like 15. And while its definitely way too weak to hold up against any real scrutiny, it at the very least makes for some mildly interesting fanfic fodder so i thought id share it with the greater fandom hivemind.

(Dont come at me about the holes in this theory btw, i was practically a baby when i came up with this and it was one of my first attempts at theory-crafting. Trust me, ive come a long way since then)

Anyway, the theory goes like this:

While in the lighthouse, Dr. Julien builds a replica of his son. But try as he might to get it to turn on, it never actually works. Whatever special spark brought the first Zane to life is inexplicably absent from this one. So he locks it away in his basement, and never gives it the light of day again. This is the reason Dr. Julien never told Zane about Echo, or brought him with them - because at the time, Echo wasnt even functional. Wouldnt even turn on. Was nothing more than a lifeless shell collecting rust in the basement.

So how, then, did Echo become sentient by season 6? Great question! But uhh heres where the theory kinda starts to go off the rails. So buckle up, folks.

Basically the theory goes that when Zane died at the end of s3, his soul still lingered in Ninjago. And his disembodied spirit eventually found itself drawn to a vessel that was similar to the one he'd lost - one his father had built yet long abandoned. But his new body lacked the memory storage contained within his old one, and his resurrection effectively gave him almost complete amnesia. All he could remember was his name and his purpose (to protect those who cannot protect themselves).

Meanwhile, when Titanium Zane says hes a replica, hes actually completely right about that. Some fragments of his code left behind from his visit to the Digiverse gained sentience and inherited Zane's elemental power, creating the Zane we know and love today.

But the original Zane, the one that died fighting the Overlord, actually ended up becoming Echo Zane. Which then would have explained why Zane had so many holes in his memories after being resurrected, and why his sixth sense became much less active as well - he was only made from fragments of the real Zane's code, after all.

Now, as the big smart grownup i am today, i can look back at this theory my baby self had crafted and poke about a million holes into it. But...idk, i always feel nostalgic about this theory in spite of all that. Not just bc it was one of my first fan theories ever, but also bc it would have such fascinating narrative implications if true.

Like, the idea of Mr. E being Echo? Well, if we apply that to the concept of Echo being the Original Zane, then his hatred for Current Zane takes on a whole new dimension. It also gives me a lot of emotions about the whole Ice Emperor situation, as well as Zane's apparent discomfort towards his own statue.

And what kind of position does that put the rest of the gang in? If they had to choose between saving one or the other - the Zane who died for you, or the Zane who lives for you - which one would they choose? Could they choose? How long do you have to love a replica before it starts to feel more authentic than the original? And in that case, who becomes the 'real' zane? The one you love, or the one you lost?

Again. This theory has more holes in it than the Titanic. Cut me some slack, i was an idiot child and also a novice at making theories. But giving credit where its due, i do think it at least raises some interesting concepts. And Ive always casually wondered what would happen if it turned out to be true.

Like i said. Fanfic fodder.

[swordheld]

i believe we all are unspectacular, though

this feeling - it's yours, through and through. your experience is yours and you have earned every emotion you hold on to. in writing this, i don't mean to try to explain away how you're feeling; i only want to attempt to show you the inverse, the hidden light that shadows beyond every darkness.

sometimes there are moments where it all becomes too much and we fall into it, that long dark, and it takes us from ourselves, from some part of us that lives close to whatever we hold to the light of things. the hard part of this was never finding that awe, that spectacular beauty, but keeping it close enough to guide us out of the dark. it slips so easy through our fingers.

when that becomes so big it swallows all else: what if you think of the softest thing? of similarity, and kindness, and how it seems to be rooted down to the marrow of us.

we have existed for so long, so little. we are like giants, on our pebble of a celestial grain of sand. our lives are short and memories far shorter. and yet look at all that we do with it: look at how far it goes - each shining piece.

how could it be just unspectacular? couldn't it always, always have the possibility for more? i implore you to read through ada limón's full piece that this is pulled from, titled dead stars:

Out here, there’s a bowing even the trees are doing.                  Winter’s icy hand at the back of all of us. Black bark, slick yellow leaves, a kind of stillness that feels so mute it’s almost in another year. I am a hearth of spiders these days: a nest of trying. We point out the stars that make Orion as we take out        the trash, the rolling containers a song of suburban         thunder. It’s almost romantic as we adjust the waxy blue        recycling bin until you say, Man, we should really learn some new constellations. And it’s true. We keep forgetting about Antlia, Centaurus,        Draco, Lacerta, Hydra, Lyra, Lynx. But mostly we’re forgetting we’re dead stars too, my mouth        is full        of dust and I wish to reclaim the rising— to lean in the spotlight of streetlight with you, toward        what’s larger within us, toward how we were born. Look, we are not unspectacular things.        We’ve come this far, survived this much. What would happen if we decided to survive more? To love         harder? What if we stood up with our synapses and flesh and said,         No.      No, to the rising tides. Stood for the many mute mouths of the sea, of the land? What would happen if we used our bodies to bargain for the safety of others, for earth,                  if we declared a clean night, if we stopped being         terrified, if we launched our demands into the sky, made ourselves so         big people could point to us with the arrows they make in their         minds, rolling their trash bins out, after all of this is over?

poetry is lovely for so many reasons, but a personal favourite is that it can mean different things to different readers. this one, to me, means there is more here. as in: you are not the first, you are not alone in this ache, this heavy weight of life. the ground has shook with dance since before our feet, the wind has carried stories beyond our voice. it says there has been more here.

and that, in turn, says everything without so many words, doesn't it?

we try, and try, and give everything we have. we have been doing it since before language, since before breath. it is a history that says i need you to know that i tried. that i made it out, into the light of things.

nothing lasts forever. there is no such thing as permanence. everything washes away. there is rot and things collapse, forests fall, seasons change, and time moves on. but the same time  –  there is no such thing as separation. we are not exempt. we all share this changing. 

yes, loving the world is difficult. finding pieces of living, of being alive, that make it worth living is one of the most difficult of searches, but it's one of the most rewarding, as well as the only things truly worth anything. you need to find things to keep going for. you need to recognize your own spectacular things specific to you, because who else is going to do it? 

there is something strong in teaching yourself to hone that perspective. to hold everything else in rays of scattered sunlight through canopies - momentary joys so profound: a violin melody, art that breaks you alive, poetry you want to hold behind your teeth, the smell of cinnamon bread in the oven, because at the end of it: wouldn’t you want hope? wouldn’t you choose hope?

and poems like this, they ask: if you could, even just once more, dare to dream, dream anything, dream it all, each and every piece of light that could await you - wouldn't you?

and wouldn't you? wouldn't you.

[imtrashraccoon]

Funny enough we had mac and cheese for dinner the day I wrote this. No, it wasn't my idea and it was the boxed kind. Homemade is so good though...

@owl-bones

First Day, Previous Day, & Next Day.

Bad Sansuary: Killer - Heavy

Word Count: 1,860

You were attempting to get some lunch made when Killer showed up again. Moving around on crutches was still rather difficult but you were craving something cheesy. So you were trying your best to balance on your crutches and still do meal prep.

"hey..." he muttered in a low voice as he pulled out a chair and sat down at the kitchen table.

"Hey yourself," you responded and continued what you were doing, barely sparing him a glance.

It wasn't a very nice way to greet a guest but you didn't like how he tended to just teleport into your home without notice. No, you weren't being hypocritical just because you were okay with Dust doing the same thing. At least he hadn't played a stupid prank that had resulted in a hospital visit!

Weirdly, Killer didn't make any effort to retort and when the silence grew too uncomfortable, you turned to properly look at him.

He seemed...fidgety and yet, kind of lethargic. The black ooze that seemed to perpetually drip down his cheekbones from his eye sockets seemed to have increased too. He also seemed to have slight dark circles underneath his eye sockets for once and the glowing red target that floated above his sternum seemed almost distorted and fuzzy.

Apparently, even Killer had bad days it seemed. You couldn't be sure if he tended to act detached like Dust or more reactive like Axe though. Hopefully, he was the quiet type, but you didn't like the chances of that being the case, considering how volatile he was normally.

So, you chose to ignore him, at least for the time being anyways. You really didn't need to know what was bothering him today as it couldn't be good if it affected him this much. Instead, you decided to make homemade mac and cheese to satisfy your cravings. It took a bit more work than the boxed stuff, but you could add as much cheese as you wanted to this way.

You had just started grating the cheese when something tiny bit the back of your head. Looking down at the floor, you spotted a stray toothpick and when you bent down to pick it up, another one hit your back.

Casting a stern look at Killer, you discovered that he had somehow gotten ahold of the container of toothpicks that you normally kept by the stove, despite seemingly not getting up. He stared passively back before sliding another one out of the container and flicking it, with surprising accuracy, so that it hit your chest this time.

You gave him a patient smile. "Can you...not do that? It's annoying and I'm going to eventually step on one, which might hurt."

He said nothing and just stared at you. Then, he went back to flicking toothpicks at you as if you hadn't said anything at all. Almost like a toddler testing what the limits of your patience were.

You rolled your eyes and turned back to the counter. He was apparently in a bratty mood and so you were determined to ignore his antics. He would get bored eventually and stop once you didn't give him the satisfaction of a reaction.

Once the cheese was granted, you got the milk out of the fridge and went to get a few spices, like salt and pepper, out of the cupboard. You'd just managed to reach one of them when it slid out of your grasp. Maybe you'd grabbed it wrong?

You tried again and got the pepper container this time. However, when you went to grab the salt container, the same thing happened. It was now somehow even further back in your cupboard than you could properly reach.

Heaving a long-suffering sigh and counting to ten, you did your best not to get mad. It would only give him what he wanted after all if you did.

You could do this.

Leaning your crutches against the counter, you balanced on your left foot for a second before jumping up. Your fingers closed around the salt and you grinned in satisfaction.

Unfortunately, you lost your balance when you landed and tried to grab onto the counter to catch yourself.

Strong but boney hands suddenly wrapped around your back, stopping your fall.

Killer's face was then the only thing in your field of vision and your face grew hot as you realized how close he was.

Your tongue felt heavy and your body was paralyzed. You couldn't move no matter how much you wanted to and even if you could, you likely wouldn't be able to stand up without stepping on your bad ankle.

He held you for a few moments before helping you regain your balance again. Once you'd grabbed your crutches and weren't in danger of falling over, he returned to his spot at the table.

He hadn't said a word the entire time. How unlike him...

You took a steadying breath and ran a hand down your face. That had been really embarrassing. If he hadn't acted so quickly, you would've had a nasty fall and possibly injured yourself worse.

You glanced up and instantly made eye contact with him. He seemed to have gone back to staring at you, which was just peachy. What was it with skeletons and staring anyways?

"What's got you in such a funk today, Killer?" you finally asked.

His permanent smile was already tight but the corners pulled up more at your question. "you know, you just reminded me of this weirdo that i know. he's a walking neon sign and stupidly tall... now that's funky!" His tone of voice sounded happy but you could tell he was forcing it.

You frowned that he'd completely ignored your question and hobbled over to the table. Sitting down across from him, you leaned your crutches up against the wooden surface before steepling your hands on the table.

"Killer...are you okay?" you tried again.

He waved you off. "it's fine cute-cake... get it? cause you're really cute and it's a piece of cake to make you mad?"

"Ugh..." You hated that your heart did a little flip at the stupid pun disguised as yet another flirtatious comment. "Come on! Killer, stop deflecting and tell me what's going on," you grumbled.

He opened his mouth to say something else but you reached across the table and pointed a finger in his face. "No. You've been pestering me to pay attention to you, so now I am. What are you dying to tell me?"

"guess you got me...dead to rights..." he muttered.

You leaned back in your chair and crossed your arms. "Ha. I'd give you more than a pity laugh but I'm serious here." When he smiled slightly more, you quickly added, "No, don't say that actually I'm cute or an angel. I'm not joking..."

He sighed and hung his skull in defeat. "you're no fun, angel face..." he muttered. He drummed his phalanges on the table for a moment before clenching his fists. "i'm just having a bad day... kind of itching to get some exp too..."

"Ah. I wondered if that could be the case." You pursed your lips thoughtfully and added, "Dust acted similarly when he was having a rough day, you know?"

Killer gave you a curious look and tilted his skull. "i don't get it..." he muttered. "i don't like any humans, you know?"

Rather than give you time to answer, he kept muttering. "...i once met a human who manipulated me and eventually forced me to kill everyone i ever knew...over, and over, and over again... it got to the point where i acted on my own without any prodding...and it happened over and over... until they got bored and left... they abandoned me after everything i did..."

The longer he talked, the more unnerving he became. You were familiar with info dumping death spirals by now, but it still sent shivers down your spine at how hollow his voice sounded compared to how he normally acted. You didn't like Fake-happy Killer but you especially didn't like Deathly-serious Killer either.

Without really thinking, you reached across the table again and this time, you placed your right hand on his left. You didn't say anything yet and just sat there listening to him.

The gesture seemed to shock him out of his ramblings and he looked down at your joined hands. When you didn't pull away, he caught your gaze again and studied you intently.

"why aren't you...upset...? i just told you why i'm this messed up..." His face hardened and he abruptly stood up, pulling his hand away roughly. "don't just look at me like that! get mad! call me a freak! say something! anything..."

He collapsed back into the chair, that had somehow not fallen over, and clutched his skull in despair. Then, in a small voice, he muttered, "forget it. i don't need your pity..."

"Hey."

You waited until he shifted and looked up at you before speaking again. "This explains why you act similarly to Axe and Dust..." you commented with a wry smile.

He stared at you with a mixture of disbelief and shock. He looked down at his hands and then back up to you. "what's that supposed to mean...?"

You took one of his hands in your own and gave it a small squeeze. "I shouldn't compare you to them I guess. You're similar in that you've been through awful circumstances and managed to come out the other side alive, but in doing so, you had to change. Maybe you think it was for the worse but I'm not focusing on that part right now. There's plenty different about you compared to the others, but it doesn't change the fact that you're still hurting and I can't stand seeing you like that."

You turned his hand over and examined it, although you couldn't really see his palm because of his fingerless gloves. Running the fingers of your other hand over his own, you hummed softly.

"I can't condone what you do for work but I can see you aren't completely irredeemable. You've been awful to me and yet you also tried to fix things when you went too far. Now, correct me if I'm wrong, but you haven't actively threatened to harm me since we first met either."

Killer was silent for a little while and he seemed to be pondering what you'd said.

You sighed and looked away from him. "Look, I still don't really like you... But, despite everything, I can't bring myself to hate you, especially after what you just told me..."

He made a quiet clicking sound with his non-existent tongue. "interesting..." he muttered. He ran a thumb over your fingers in a thoughtful way.

"no wonder they both like you..." He curled his phalanges around your hand and brought it up to his teeth.

From the smirk on his face, you just knew he was being flirtatious. This was confirmed when he pressed a slow skeleton kiss against your knuckles.

"you're even cuter when you're red in the face like that, angel~"

Scratch that, you hated him all over again!

[substantial-exposure]

Codes

Link to Part 2 ||

Summary: Crosshair meets a Jedi that catches his eye. Too bad he fucked up his first impression. Was it his poor attempts to show off? Was it her self righteous attitude? Or is all this just because he thinks she's pretty? Whatever it was, things started off on the wrong foot and now he's trying to fix it.

Warnings: 18+ (MDNI) Things get a little steamy by the end of the chapter. Canon level violence and Crosshair being mean to a girl he likes.

Wc: 3.2k!!

(A/N): This is a Crosshair x Oc fic! My first time writing for him so I'm a little nervous but I'm really loving how this turned out! This is a little bit enemies to lovers but 🤫

Dasibri Taraay was a Jedi Knight of great renown. She'd been stationed across the Galaxy all throughout the clone wars. It was a never ending battle. She'd frequent many planets, offering aid whenever it was called of her without any hesitation. Granted she would of preferred to be back at the temple, not living in a slate of constant war zones like she was now.

She found herself in a small barren room, fit to be her bedroom for the duration of her stay on Dantooine. Being the only female around on base didn't bother her much, up until it came time to call it a night. Nothing sounded worse than spending the night in the barracks with the clone troopers.

While yes, she was very fond of them. And yes, she was quite friendly with some of them, it didn't mean that she was content with staying with them. Just as Master Windu had his own room, so did she.

Dasibri didn't care for spacious rooms and lush decorations. The room was bare, containing nothing but a small dresser and a bed. It was more than she would of even asked for. She'd of been more than content with a cot in the hallway. But this would do nicely. There was a single window that had shown with the moonlight.

Her stay on Dantooine wasn't over yet, that much she knew. As a matter of fact, Dasibri was certain she'd be staying quite a while longer. After the long day she'd had she thought it best to meditate before bed. To ready herself for rest and whatnot.

She was hovering only a mere few inches off the ground, deep in her own personal thoughts. She was trying to expel the emotions of the day, rid of the ones she wasn't proud of: Except that was when a loud knock sounded at her door. Despite the late hour, they knocked with a harrowing insistence. With a roll of her eyes, her feet hit the ground and she dropped from her meditation space. Dasibri went to answer the door. Before she even made it halfway across the room, she used the force to unlock it and send the door open.

She almost wished she hadn't.

Standing in her doorway was a clone, atleast she thought. He looked different from the others. His hair was cut short silver, and his facial markings weren't any she'd ever seen before. Dare she say it. He was quite handsome. Then she gazed down and saw the helmet he was holding in his hands.

Oh.

It was Crosshair. That very same clone from earlier that day. The longer she looked the more sense it made. The marking on his helmet matched his tattoo. Not to mention the look on his face seemed to make a lot more sense. This was the one who was starting to make a home under her skin. He made her crawl with agitation. And he was getting very good at it.

"Crosshair." The Jedi stated. She took a deep breath, she approached the door and looked up to him. "Who do I have to thank for sending you here?" She said, sarcasm nipping in her tone. Granted, it was a lot harder now that she could see his face, see his eyes staring into hers.

The clone spoke up, his stance rigid and he hid his nerves well. "I thought it would be best to check up on you after rounds. Make sure I didn't rough you up too much" He said to her. He looked down at her, eyes raking over her body. She looked different than she had hours ago, her hair was down and still slightly damp, she wore different robes, and her face was clean and free of any dirt or soot. And she certainly didn't seem as uptight as she did before. "I wanted to see how you were holding up.. after earlier." He confessed.

Dasibri was quickly reminded of the mornings and the rest of the days happenings on the field. A shower had certainly helped to ease the ache in her body but remembering the event caused a phantom pain.

-Earlier that morning-

Debris and dirt filled the air as explosions sparked across the battlefield. Dasibri raised her arm to cover her eyes, she tried not to breathe it all in. Things weren't looking too good, which made sense, it was exactly why they called in reinforcements. Except, they hadn't only just called her in.

Dasibri had surely never heard of the clones that she was meant to accompany before. She hadn't know a think about them up until her debrief when she was already on world and they were standing in the room with her. The experimental Clone Unit 99 had left her feeling uneasy. Dasibri liked things concise and particular. A troop such as this did little to comfort her. Introductions had been brief, there was barely even a plan by the end of it. She stared over the battlefield. Watching as droids and troopers went against each other, a voice came up behind her, loudly in fact.

Arc Trooper Echo, a solider she'd met and fought alongside many moons ago, yelled across the field. Commanding the attention of everyone in earshot and on his communications to boot. "Couple of rogue Clankers! Incoming!" Echo called in warning. He certainly didn't go unheard. In fact, everyone acted accordingly.

Quickly, almost simultaneously as Dasibri ignited her saber, Wrecker drew his machete, Hunter his gun, and Crosshair lifted his rifle. Everyone took their stances, ready for the war that lied ahead of them. The group stood in a tight formation, each within an arms reach of eachother.

Dasibri eyed the situation with precision, focusing on the incoming droids. Up until a cool low baritone reverberated in her ear.

"Relax. I'll handle this." Crosshair called out. He effortlessly raised up his rifle and with a heavy thud, he unceremoniously dropped it onto the Jedis shoulder. Groaning at the initial impact and weight that was dropped onto her shoulder, she shifted. It weighed her down, pulled her shoulder lower. Before she could fully complain Crosshair began to shush her. "Quiet. Hold still" he grumbled. He looked down the scope and rather gingerly fired several shots.

Each one making contact and destroying every droid he had shot at with a perfect accuracy.

Dasibri almost immediately shoved the rifle off her shoulder. He removed his finger from over the trigger just in time. She let gravity take it. "You got quite an eye there" the Jedi said watching as Crosshair quickly lunged to grab his weapon. His hands wrapped around the scope of the gun, holding it tightly. He turned to stare at her, aggravated with her already. She certainly didn't sound impressed. The recoil had felt unbearable. It had wracked through her entire body.

Crosshair looked her up and down. As if he hadn't cared to finally notice her till now. As if he didn't just use her as his own personal rifle rest. An arrogant chuckle left him. " of course I do." He sneered. He watched her through the slit in his visor and looked over her face. Her grey eyes studied him. The way they narrowed at him almost felt like a challenge. One he would certainly try and live up to.

She rolled her shoulder and winced. An ache traveled down her back. "Do something like that again and I'm gonna start forgetting whose side you're on." She threatened. She grimaced as she moved her arm and held her lightsaber tightly. Her gaze shifted to stare intently at his helmet, the markings, the scratches, she took a particular interest in staring into the visor.

Crosshair leaned onto his rifle. Letting it support nearly his entire body weight as he leaned forward, hovering over the Jedi to shoot her a response. He knew that she couldn't see through his visor and see his eyes, but it was like she saw right through him anyway. Through his very psyche. His voice projected from his helmet. "Noted." He finally said.

Dasibri took a single deep breath before she walked away from him. From them all. As a Jedi Knight of her skill, she prided herself on her ability to keep her own peace. She carried grace and serenity in her very step. And for some reason, since the moment she laid eyes on this clone, she was agitated. Before she even had a reason too, she didn't like him. And he certainly wasn't helping his case.

This team of clones was unbearable. To her at least. They were arrogant. Who cares if they had a one hundred percent success rate? So did she. In all of her years in the order, Dasibri had never not delivered. These clones thought that they could do whatever they wanted.

Not on her watch.

Dasibri was well aware that her head should of been in the field. She should of been planning her strategies. And yet instead she was fuming over this sharpshooting clone and his team of equally weird defects. They were enhanced, and they were cocky. It was a combination she didn't like.

She looked to the other side of the battle field. Her own troopers were on their way to a certain victory. But she could see the cracks in their formations, in the back of her mind she could see exactly how they could lose. She rushed to their aid, desperate to assist and guide them to get another win. As her saber extended from the hilt she ran into the battle.

It had been a near full day that the battle raged on. Hours upon hours of mindless fighting. The sun had set long ago and and it was almost impossible to see any of the enemy droids coming.

The shine of a green lightsaber illuminated the area around the Jedi. She kept herself centered, even as her muscles ached and her body drained, she kept going. She couldn't see any droids around her, she held her blade out ahead of her. Dasibri moved in circles. She couldn't see them, but maker could she feel them. She could sense them, hear the ticking of their insides and the metal that made them. Rather tired and wanting this to end, she reached out with the force.

The four droids rose into the air, hovering feet off the ground and came raising straight towards her. As she raised her saber to strike, each droid had been blown back a few feet, all before her lightsaber even touched them. She stared dumbfounded.

Before she should think, before she could even blink, blaster fire whizzed past her face. Effectively hitting one of droids heads and sending it directly into another. It was a near instant display, the shot made contact, it flung the debris into another droid, and they both combusted. Dasibri heaved out a breath as the fire was all that was left to illuminate the field.

She looked back to where the blaster shots had come from. High atop his perch, laid Crosshair. His rifle in hand as he looked through his scope, looking for any more droids below him. He couldn't see anything.

It was finally over.

-

But that felt like it was so long ago. It had only been a mere few hours since the battle finally came to an end. Now, Crosshair stood in the doorway of her makeshift bedroom, staring her down. He had walked into the room, completely unwelcome. He stood silently. Not sure what else to really say. He just stared, watching the water droplets fall from the girls dark hair.

He fished a toothpick out from his case on his belt. His words came out soft, much softer than he intended. "You put on a good show out there. Pretty good, for a Knight" He hummed. He watched the way her eyes narrowed slightly. "Are you alright? Seems you took a lot of damage today" he asked her, closing the door behind him.

Dasibri looked at the now closed door, making a mental note of it. She looked up at him her eyes looking over his face, still getting used to seeing him without the helmet. "I'm alright. A little sore. But nothing a good nights rest won't fix." She said with a solid nod. She kept her eyes fixed on him, still looking over his tattoo, his eyes, and how he kept that toothpick in between his almost snarled lips.

Crosshair inhaled deeply as he stood in the room. It was rather stuffy and the air was saturated with the smell of a Jedi's incense. He could just see the end of it burning out along the windowsill. "That's good. Don't think I'd ever hear the end of it otherwise." He grumbled. His eyes cast down and immediately took notice of the small smile that pulled on the girls face.

He found himself rather sheepish after that. Not that she'd ever know. His stare remained the same.

Dasibri looked around the room and took a long awkward breath. "So... are you and your friends sneaking out or turning it in for the night?" She asked arching a brow. Antics like this weren't too common but they did happen. And these clones seemed just the type.

"Is that of any interest to you?" He asked, his eyebrow raised. What would she care if 99 went off world or even a town over. He stepped closer, looking down at her. Her eyes looked different, no longer were they as hard as durasteel, with the perfect color to match . They were softer and yet dare he to say it, tired. The longer he looked the more his mind wandered. He had to keep his sarcastic words and inappropriate responses at bay. But he wouldn't end up keeping them to himself.

She stared up at him, not sure how to respond. The mischievous glint in his eyes, gave off an impression she couldn't quite follow. Dasibri was well aware of what could happen come morning. But the way his jaw set as he bit onto that stupid little twig. She wasn't sure if she was blushing. "If it was?" She finally spoke. She was trying to be as vague as possible for the sake of deniability should this turn out unfavorably.

Maybe he was reading things the wrong way. But Crosshair made up his mind. He tossed the toothpick to the ground with one hand, and with the other pulled the Jedi Knight closer. Crosshair shifted his weight and leaned down. "You know" he shared trying to hide his excitement. "I always wanted to ruin a Jedi" his poker face fell and a smirk was all that was left. Nothing but his arrogance and his want. It might have been the most attractive thing Dasibri had ever seen. He was so forward... and his change of tone shocked her. The way his voice dropped was whole other variable she didn't have the time to even process.

The Jedi looked up at him. She hadn't felt intimidated by a clone like this in a long time. Granted these circumstances were... different. The feeling of his hand against her neck accompanied with the near scowl on his face as he leaned down to look her right in the eyes.

"Ruin? I don't think you'd quite know just what to do with me." Dasibri said slyly. She could see the shift in his eyes, watching his jaw clench. Those eyes, though... Dasibri had met a lot of clones, but none like him. The way he looked at her was strange. His stare was intense, but the longer they seemed to keep the banter going she could see his eyes softening. See his pupils grow wider. The barrier between them was breaking down. Being torn apart with their words and their own bare hands. She could of jumped his bones right then.

He scowled, and a cold chuckle left him. This girl had no idea what she was starting with him. Cross looked down at her, taking a deep breath. Her grey eyes drew him in further. "I'll tell you now.." he started, stepping closer. He was making sure his intentions were crystal clear. "I've never let a poor girl go unsatisfied." He stated simply. "Something tells me girls like you dont get around too much." He told her with a smile. It was downright sinister.

"Something tells me you haven't met a lot of girls like me" she quipped. Dasibri was part of the top bracket of Jedi Knights, there weren't many like her to start with. Most Jedi chose celibacy in fear of creating romantic attachments. However, Dasibri had never had such problems. She didn't suffer from such afflictions. Not yet anyhow. "You sure like to talk though" She laughed pulling from him a bit. She was still trapped in his grip.

That pulled a laugh out of him. Crosshair was many things, talkative wasn't one of them. "I can do other things besides talk" he hummed. His armored and gloved hand reached out and moved her hair behind her shoulder, his eyes narrowed in on the skin of her neck. His gaze traveled further down until her skin was covered by the fabric of her robes. He was still checking her for a bruise. His fingers pulled at the taught fabric, ruining the tight precision of her appearance as he tugged. "No bruise?" He asked her. His eyes slowly raked over the skin.

It all felt so wrong. The action alone had her turning scarlet. Dasibri was practically holding her breath as he started to mess with her robes. All of her tabards and tunics were secured thoroughly, just as they always were. But once he started to mess with that... it felt scandalous. It was like he was defacing her image, her entire religion. She would never admit just how wet it was making her.

"No." Dasibri scoffed as she remembered the incident. She grabbed the collar of her beige tunic and pulled it back to cover her shoulder. But the damage was already done, because as she tugged the robes over her shoulder, the displaced fabric left a generous gap over her chest.

Crosshair let out a low whistle as he looked down. "Do you want me to keep doing the dance?" He asked leaning down close. Eye to eye. He could see the girl study the marking around his eye. "Or can't I just get you out of these now?" He asked reaching towards her utility belt. Without breaking eye contact, he pressed the center button and opened it.

Releasing a breath it felt like she held for an eternity. Dasibri leaned forward, capturing his lips with hers. Cross almost stumbled, not shocked but taken aback by the force of it. All bets were off once their lips connected. Almost immediately his hands made it to her waist, unwrapping her obi that was snuggly wrapped around her stomach. After that, the rest of her robes fell with general ease. All that was left was the loose binding around her chest.

His eyes trailed to her shoulder again, silently checking once again for a mark. It was a quick moment. Less than a few seconds later he began to take off his armor. His helmet had been long abandoned after he entered the room. Each heavy piece of wear was discarded and thrown carelessly to the floor. Down to his under armor, Cross pulled away from the Jedi to pull his shirt over his head.

It was her turn to gawk and stare.

"Enjoying the show?" Cross drawled out as he dropped the black fabric to the floor. Not that he required a confidence boost, but watching and being able to see her stare at him was quite nice. That same smirk from earlier returned to his face as he grabbed ahold of her cheek and pulled her in closer for yet another hungry kiss.

Ahhhh this is the first Bad Batch thing I've actually posted! Hope you guys like! There might be a part two coming soon if I have some spare time! Thank you for reading 🫶🏻

[honey-katsu]

spirit summoning success - ao3

Summary:

After Wei Wuxian's death, Lan Zhan tries to get in contact with his soul. After years of trying and failing, Lan Zhan is just about to give up. But something unusual happens. OR If Lan Zhan had managed to summon and talk to Wei Wuxian’s soul during the years Wei Wuxian was dead.

Warning: mild desciptions of depression and substance abuse in the first paragraph

note before we begin: i am chickenKatsu on ao3. I do not give anyone the right to repost my work to another platform unless I’m asked then properly credited. Please support me on ao3 and ko-fi if you like it!

How long has it been? Lan Zhan had lost track of time. He had counted, for a while, the days as they bled into months, and then years. But they all blurred together. His grief overpowered his senses. Sometimes he couldn't tell what was real anymore. All the wine he had been consuming lately definitely didn’t help.

However, Lan Zhan remembered one thing for certain. Every night, he retreated to the back mountain. There, it was quiet, away from the pressures of the clan. The only sounds were those of the occasional breeze and the rabbits munching on grass. It was the best spot for Lan Zhan to think. There, he could focus on communicating with the spirits of the deceased in an attempt to summon a specific soul. The lonely nights, the desperate tune, the raw fingers. Those were clear memories. And tonight was no exception.

Yet again, he was trying to summon the correct soul. His fingers were numb. His mind was weary. His heart was tired of hoping his target would make an appearance. As the sun began to rise, and the rabbits began to stir, Lan Zhan managed to play one final song. It was the song he had created in the cave on Dusk-Creek Mountain. He still had not named it, for no name he could think of was fitting. And since then, he had not shared that song with anyone else. 

Lost in thought, Lan Zhan didn't notice the air stir. The summoned souls grew restless, their melodies jumbled and tangled. The rabbits scampered away, shivering in the nearby bushes.

 A glowing hand slowly reached out for his own as he played the last notes. It hovered gently above his fingers when he stopped. Anxiety made his vision swim. He squinted at his hands, trying to rationalize away this rising hope. It didn’t work. No soul had ever been summoned with his song before. It wasn’t composed in Qin Language; it wasn’t meant for Inquiry. He feared the soul was not who he was looking for, but who else could it possibly be? Who else knew of their secret song? Apprehension seized his lungs, and his breath caught in his throat as he chanced a glance up.

It was him. Wei Wuxian. Wei Ying. Wei Ying was in front of him. After so long, here he was. Here he was, shrouded in the blue light of the deceased. His face was expressionless, eyes empty. He held no traces of the person Lan Zhan had known before.

“Wei Ying…” he tried, voice scratchy from days of disuse. 

Cold, ghostly fingers brushed his cheek. A small smile graced Wei Ying’s face, but he said nothing.

Quickly, Lan Zhan turned to his guqin, trying to stay composed and proper when playing the Qin Language. His hands trembled, making this task difficult. Who are you?

You know who, came the slow, teasing reply. Lan Zhan almost laughed with relief. That was every Wei Ying-like of him. All sorts of emotions welled up inside him. He frowned, trying to contain it all.

Lan Zhan, don’t cry.  

Lan Zhan blinked, swiping at his eyes. Oh, so he was crying. Why? Was it the relief? The frustration? The longing? He wasn’t sure, but it was nice. He hadn’t shed a single tear since Wei Ying had passed. His brother had been worried at his lack of emotion. His uncle had been upset with his lack of motivation to cultivate. His juniors had been confused when he stopped showing up for training and night hunts. No one had really cared for what he was feeling, except for maybe Lan Xichen. They just wanted their perfect, prim-and-proper Hanguang-jun, one of the Twin Jades of Gusu, back.

And Lan Zhan had grown tired of their persistence and glares and obvious hints that he needed to pull himself together already. But he couldn’t. Not until he had a chance to talk to Wei Ying’s spirit. Now he finally, finally, finally, finally, finally, got the chance.

I have so many questions, he played with a small sniffle.

I know. I’m sorry.

What for? You had nothing left and every reason to leave.

I did have something. I had you. So I’m sorry.

He didn't respond to that, unsure of how to make his intentions clear. After a moment, Lan Zhan broke the silence. I missed you, he confessed. I was planning on joining you tonight.

I know. That’s why I came, he said with a grim smile. Airy hands cupped his face, and although they couldn’t touch each other, Lan Zhan complied with a tilt of his head. I don’t want you to die. I couldn’t stand it if you did. But listen to me, Lan Zhan. I think I’ll have a chance to come back to you.  

Lan Zhan stayed silent. There were too many questions he wanted to ask. Instead, Wei Ying took his que to go on. I’ve been feeling someone else trying to summon me with demonic cultivation. I don’t know anything beyond that, or if I’ll ever come back. Still, will you wait for me? 

“Of course,” he whispered immediately. Even though he forgot to use Qin Language, Wei Ying understood.

Thank you, my love. Swiftly, he pressed a chilly kiss to his lips. 

Lan Zhan stared with wide eyes, mouth agape. Wei Ying silently laughed, the guqin unable to pick up the joyful noise. His ghostly eyes teared up and he held himself as if all this laughter hurt his stomach. It was either Wei Ying’s joy or it was the sunlight that made him feel so warm and fuzzy inside. Definitely not the kiss. He wanted this moment to last forever. But Lan Zhan blinked. And Wei Ying was gone.

[neopuff]

title: demand me nothing chapter 1: the green-eyed monster word count: ~5043 ships/characters: holiday/bishop, holiday/six summary: Rebecca Holiday meets a strange, charming man named John Bishop. ao3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/58777651

x

Another symposium, another speech, another few hundred thousand dollars raised for Providence to continue working towards their as-of-yet unexplained cure. The questions were piling up faster than she or White Knight could answer them and Holiday was under strict orders to be as vague as possible until Rex was ready to be seen by the world.

It was exhausting, honestly. And she hated that it was exhausting, since the work Six was doing (monitoring and training Rex and Bobo) was certainly much more exhausting. Nevertheless, she wished she was back at HQ with them.

"Is it true?"

The sudden question surprised her, and Holiday turned her head to find a tall, dark-haired man pulling out the chair next to her. He looked vaguely familiar - she'd noticed him in the crowd during her speech, she was pretty sure. She almost didn’t notice him, his features and outfit weren’t exactly unique at an event like this. But he was very good-looking.

Broad shoulders, sharp jaw, clean hands, and a deep, gravelly voice that sent shivers down her spine. He reminded her a little bit of Six, though Holiday was going to ignore that thought and just focus on the handsome man paying attention to her instead.

"I'm sorry?" she responded, having forgotten what he asked in the first place.

"What you said in your speech. About Providence's new cure." The man sat down and smiled at her. "Is it true?"

Holiday smiled back, though she didn't really want to. "Of course it is. The future of Providence is containing and curing. No more killing."

"Well, that's wonderful to hear," he answered, sounding genuinely interested. "Killing EVOs always seemed like such a waste to me." He held out a hand. "Special Agent John Bishop, EPF."

"EPF…?" Holiday wracked her brain for a moment. "Earth Protection Force? What are you doing at an event like this?"

"Although we've acknowledged that the nanite threat doesn't appear to be alien in origin, we're still allocating resources to help contain EVO-related threats wherever we have active agents," Bishop answered quickly, like he'd practiced his lines before he arrived. "Protecting the Earth is a shared goal for everyone here, after all."

She smiled at that, meaning it this time. Providence didn't have any sort of formal relationship with the EPF, so Holiday briefly wondered if he was going to attempt to initiate some sort of business deal with her. It wouldn't be the first nor the last time it'd happened, but she'd give him the same line she gave everyone else: that's White Knight's department.

Instead, he smiled back at her, then turned around to motion towards a nearby waiter. After getting two glasses of champagne from the young man, Bishop placed one in front of her and one in front of himself. “How long have you been Chief Research Officer, Dr. Holiday?”

“Not long.” Holiday stared at the champagne, thinking about how Six would tell her not to drink it if he was with her. Too bad he wasn’t, then. “Just a few months.”

“I remember meeting Dr. Fell a few times,” Bishop added, taking a sip from his drink. “He wasn’t quite as nice to talk to.”

She let out a shaky laugh, turning away from him, unsure of how to take the compliment. It sounded a bit like flirting, but she was still figuring out the differences between genuine flirting and let’s-do-business-together flirting. She was pretty sure that was regular flirting. “Yes, well…he was never very good with other people.”

He chuckled. “That’s an understatement if I’ve ever heard one. So you worked with Dr. Fell, I take it?”

“For over three years,” she answered sourly, knowing she had no reason to hide her disdain. “I worked as his assistant, despite my PhD in biomechanical engineering which he sorely lacked.”

That specific piece of knowledge seemed to catch Bishop’s attention, and he leaned forward onto the table. “Biomechanical engineering is very specific. What made you choose that field?”

Holiday paused for a moment, soaking in the idea that a man might actually have some interest in her as a scientist rather than just another potential sexual conquest. She didn’t know Agent Bishop, nor did she have any reason to think he wasn’t trying to get in her pants, but at the very least…he was taking his time to get there. So she decided she’d go along with his questions for as long as it took to get to something else. “That was my second PhD, actually. Between mechanical engineering and nanotechnology.”

He took another sip of his drink. “It’s almost like you knew what was coming.”

She shook her head, though he wasn’t the first person to comment on the coincidence. “If I could see the future, I’d have done more to stop this from ever happening in the first place,” she responded dryly, though her voice wavered as if she had found some way to blame herself for the world’s (and Beverly’s) situation.

“We all would’ve,” Bishop suggested, staring down into his flute. “I’ve watched more of my men die in the past few months than in the last five years. It’s a bloodbath out there.”

Holiday sighed miserably.

“Good thing we’ve got scientists like you to work on fixing things,” he added, holding his drink out towards her.

She glanced at his glass, then down at her own, and finally grabbed it and clinked it against his. Holiday took a long sip and decided that she was going to be optimistic and choose to enjoy their conversation. “We’re doing what we can. I’m sure the scientists at EPF are working on their own ideas.”

Bishop smirked almost deviously. “There’s always projects in the works. Nothing I could talk about, I’m sorry to say.” He took another sip, then put down his finished glass. “Though I’m jealous Providence got you first, we could use someone like you at the EPF.”

“I’m sure you say that to all the scientists,” she answered half-jokingly, surprised to see another two champagne flutes placed in front of them. Still on her first, she put it down for a moment and studied the look on Agent Bishop’s face. “Really, though, Providence is the best place for me right now. I’m not sure I have the right experience for the EPF.”

There was a small part of her that wanted to comment on the EPF’s reputation - their obsession with saving the world from alien threats was seen as a huge waste of money by many people in the scientific community. Holiday would count herself among those people, if she was being honest. Though alien life wasn’t unthinkable, there were much more present and active threats that those resources could be used for.

Knowing that he was helping with EVOs was nice to hear. There was at least one sensible man working at the EPF.

“Oh, you’d be surprised,” Bishop answered, leaning onto the table a bit more into Holiday’s space. “Your paper on the potential applications of human cloning was surprisingly open-minded, considering the obvious ethical ramifications.”

She chuckled. “That’s such an old pa…wait. Sorry, um…” Holiday paused to think about his words, then before she could stop herself, she blurted out, “you’ve actually read my work?” She stared at him and wished she didn’t feel as embarrassed as she did. It was just strange. This man was definitely not a scientist.

Bishop raised an eyebrow at her reaction. “Of course. I’d heard you were speaking here tonight and wanted to learn a bit about you first.” He took another long sip of his champagne. “There was one paper about the composition of the human body, but taking into account our nanites and how we’ve changed internally…that one was very interesting.”

“A-and newer, too,” Holiday added, still feeling a little shocked. World-famous scientist or not, the idea that someone would put that much effort into learning about her was throwing her for a loop. “I apologize for being so shocked, it’s just that, um…the men who want to talk about my work usually aren’t…” The words fell flat on her tongue when she realized that she didn’t really know what Special Agent meant at the EPF. Maybe he was a scientist.

“…so muscular? Handsome? Charming?” he finished for her, smirking cockily.

Her cheeks turned red and she reached for her champagne, finishing off the first one and going straight for the second. “I, uh-”

“I may not be a scientist, but that doesn’t mean I can’t stay up-to-date on the latest trends,” Bishop added, freeing her from her embarrassment. “It’s not every day that a man gets to read about his body’s current elemental composition from a beautiful scientist like yourself.”

The blush on her cheeks darkened at that. There was no room for doubt about his flirting anymore, and she felt more nervous than she should’ve. Years of celibacy followed by months of whatever the hell was going on between her and Six had left her feeling…dry. Holiday couldn’t remember the last time she was hit on by a man she was actually interested in. It was a very, very nice change of pace. “Um…thank you.”

Their conversation continued for a while, long enough for Holiday to completely lose track of time. If she was being honest with herself, she didn’t really care. Why couldn’t she have a flirty conversation with a good-looking man? She had no friends anymore. All her socializing was with a stoic, impersonal coworker and their grabby pubescent ward. And her sister, of course, was completely incapacitated. She could take a moment to enjoy herself, even if it was just one evening.

He had a lot of interest in her work, especially in her work with cloning technology. Holiday had a feeling she wouldn’t appreciate the reasons behind his interest in cloning, considering all she knew about the EPF, but at that particular moment, she was just happy to have someone to talk to that didn’t make her uncomfortable.

After a significant amount of time and about five interruptions from other scientists looking to ask her a quick question, their conversation died down enough for Bishop to check his watch and adjust his sunglasses.

"Look, Doctor…" Bishop said, putting his champagne flute down. "I don't want to presume anything, but this-" he continued, writing something on the back of a napkin, "…is my room number. I think we could enjoy one another's company tonight, if you're interested."

Holiday's cheeks flared even redder than they already were from the alcohol. She glanced down at the room number - 2903 - and cursed her brain for immediately memorizing it. She couldn't even pretend to forget.

Bishop slid the paper closer to her and smiled. "I'm closing out for the evening, so if you decide to join me…I'll be waiting."

Without another word, he stood up and walked away, leaving Holiday with quite the conundrum.

She couldn't remember the last time she'd been propositioned by someone she was actually attracted to. And not only was he attractive, he was intelligent and worldly and genuinely interested in her work. He didn't dismiss her even once during their hours-long conversation, and if it was all just a plot to get her to sleep with him? Then it was a damn good one.

Holiday stared at that room number for another few minutes and sipped at her champagne. She took a long, long sip.

"Holiday."

Her eyes widened as Six's voice crackled on the comm in her ear. They'd agreed to only use it in case of an emergency, so her heart immediately started to race. She pressed on the center of the comm. "What's going on? Is Rex alright?"

"He's fine," Six answered quickly. "Just a cut on his arm."

She frowned. "Should I come back?"

Her so-called partner let out an agitated sigh that made Holiday want to strangle him. "It's nothing. I'm telling you now so you don't overreact when you see it tomorrow."

Six was a difficult man. As much as she really liked him sometimes, he also frequently pissed her off in ways that came across as very purposeful. Treating her concerns about their ward as overreactions was annoying her and reminding her of how often he dismissed her feelings like that. "Alright, fine. I'll try not to overreact, then."

He didn't respond and Holiday frowned deeper, squeezing the champagne glass between her fingers. She was out of the office, technically off-duty, with a tempting offer from a very handsome and charming man. There didn't seem to be any reason not to do it. Certainly Six wasn’t a reason not to do it, especially not at that moment.

Still, the thought of going to Agent Bishop's hotel room made her very nervous. So she continued drinking her champagne. And then drank some water to balance it out.

But shamefully, those two glasses of champagne turned into three, then those three drinks turned into four, and then before she knew what was happening, Dr. Rebecca Holiday found herself standing in front of Room 2903.

She'd never done something like this. Even in college, she just stuck to one or two boyfriends when she’d had time for them. The idea of a one-night stand with a handsome stranger was making her heart race and her face heat up. It was a bad decision. It was a terrible idea. It was going to have consequences. It was-

She knocked on the door gently, almost hoping he wouldn't hear it.

Less than a second later, the door opened wide, and Holiday was greeted by the sight of Agent John Bishop standing there in only a thin pair of black boxers.

She gulped and quickly moved her eyesight to his face, though that was hardly any less enticing. He was staring at her half-lidded, with an expectant smirk like she was the room service he'd been patiently waiting for.

"Hello, Dr. Holiday."

She tugged some hair behind her ear. "Um…you can, um, call me Rebecca. If you want."

His smirk grew. "Alright then, Rebecca." Bishop moved to the side and bowed slightly, inviting her inside. "Feel free to call me John."

x

Six didn't used to be such a busy man. He used to be able to come and go as he pleased, without the judgemental, watchful eye of White Knight keeping track of his every move. So with his busy schedule and his rush to get Rex trained and ready for action, he decided not to accompany Dr. Holiday to her latest event in Houston.

He assigned a capable soldier to drop her off and scan the area for any threats, which Callan did without a single complaint. Six also decided, however, that he'd relieve Callan of duty for their trip home, allowing the man to visit some family nearby before coming back to headquarters.

It was 7:16 a.m. when Six entered the hotel, satisfied that nothing bad had happened in the ten seconds between Callan leaving and his arrival. Holiday didn't answer her comm when he pinged her, but it wasn't unusual for her to sleep in after these types of events, so he decided not to fault her and just headed up the elevator towards her room.

On Six's request, she'd been placed in Room 222. It was far enough from the elevators for a threat heading towards her door to be noticed and had a large tree outside the window in case she needed to escape. And, of course, they had eyes on the tree all day and night just in case someone tried to get to her room by climbing it.

Six arrived at her door and instinctively straightened his tie before knocking once.

No response.

He knocked again. "Holiday?"

There was once again no response, so Six decided to enter the room and hope she wasn't changing and somehow didn't hear him. He used the key card that Callan gave him and opened the door slowly.

"Holiday? Are you awake?"

Light was pouring into the room through the windows and Six could very clearly see that she was not only not awake, she was not in the room at all. Judging from her perfectly-made bed, she'd not been in her room anytime during the night.

Six quickly pinged her comm again. "Dr. Holiday, respond. Where are you? Dr. Holiday?"

He waited a second before reaching out to Captain Callan, who was about to get his ass handed to him. "Callan, where the hell is Holiday?"

"She went into the elevator around 9:45 last night, sir!"

Six frowned. "And did you follow to make sure she got to her room?"

There was an awkward pause. "Ah…no, sir. She specifically asked me to stay in the lobby."

Six scowled at that. What the hell was Holiday thinking? If Callan made her uncomfortable, she'd had plenty of opportunities to let him know so he could assign someone else to the job. "She's not in her room. Stay on guard in case I need you to come back."

"Yes, sir!"

Deciding that pinging her communicator was a lost cause, Six pulled out his cell phone and attempted to contact her the old fashioned way. It rang five times before he got an answer.

"Mm…hello?"

"Dr. Holiday." He felt immensely relieved, but also immensely pissed off. "I'm here to pick you up. Where are you?"

"Huh? Uh…oh! Oh, God, it's after 7 already?"

"Who’s that?"

"I'm so sorry, Six, it was a long night. I'm in my room, just give me twenty minutes to get ready and I'll be right downstairs."

"…half-hour, instead…"

"Thirty minutes, at the most."

She hung up after that, and Six frowned deeply. He heard a man speaking in the background, albeit very softly, and he was unhappy about what he heard. Curious and angry that she'd lied to him so poorly, Six opened an app on his phone that allowed him to track Providence-issue communicators and clicked on Holiday's badge number. He didn’t want to do this, he didn’t enjoy invading her privacy so blatantly. But he was annoyed with her.

And it seemed she was somewhere above him.

Unable to fight the desire to make sure she knew that he knew that she'd lied to him, Six followed the signal up to the twenty-ninth floor, and suddenly found himself in front of Room 2903. He knocked on the door impatiently.

The door opened wide a moment later, and Six was suddenly face-to-face with a mostly naked man. He had a small towel around his waist and what looked almost like a lipstick stain on his neck.

"Can I help you?" the man asked unhappily.

Six matched his energy with a frown of his own. "Is Dr. Holiday here?"

The man smirked and glanced between Six and the bathroom next to him. "She's in the shower."

Of course she was. Six's frown deepened at the realization that he was going to have to stand by and wait for her while she had shower sex with this unknown man. "Can you let her know I'm waiting?"

"Sure," the man answered, shutting the door in Six's face.

Six was fairly confident that man wasn't going to tell Holiday anything and he leaned against the wall across the hallway. He was very, very unhappy.

x

Holiday felt a little bad.

She felt bad that she'd slept with a man she barely knew. She also felt bad that she was completely lying to herself and didn't feel bad at all about sleeping with him. But it was unprofessional of her, she couldn't deny that. She didn't come to scientific symposiums to meet guys, she was supposed to spread the new Providence gospel and leave.

Drinking too much with a handsome man was not part of that agenda. Sleeping with him was not part of that agenda. And then having another go in the shower when she was in a rush was definitely not part of that agenda.

It was difficult to make herself leave, though. They were very compatible. And she hadn't been compatible with anyone in a long time.

Holiday finally stepped out of the shower - hair unwashed but otherwise clean - and quickly grabbed a towel before John could start with her again. He was insatiable in a way that she found enticing instead of annoying and she didn't exactly know what to do about that.

"It's still early," he said, stepping out of the shower and locking eyes with her in the mirror.

"Not for me." Holiday turned away from his gaze and exited the bathroom, making a quick beeline for her clothes from the previous night. "My day usually starts between 6:30 and 7:00."

He leaned against the bathroom door frame, shamelessly nude. "Sounds like you work too hard."

Holiday scoffed and shook her head as she pulled her dress on. "That's an understatement if I've ever heard one.”

Bishop stepped closer and took one of her hands in his. "Why not take a day off? I can take you back to Providence later."

She stared down at their hands, then pulled hers out of his grasp. "I appreciate the sentiment, but my work is important. I need to be there." She didn't need to explain all the details of her sisterly hostage situation, hoping John would get her point and give up.

Fortunately, he relented, giving her a weak shrug. "If you insist," he said, then walked to the other side of the bed and handed her the communicator she'd left on the bedside table.

Holiday took it from him, embarrassed. It was another reminder that she'd mixed her professional life with something very unprofessional, and though she didn't anticipate getting in trouble (or dealing with any professional consequences, really), she didn't like the reminder that she'd done something she shouldn't have.

They chatted idly as she finished getting ready, then kissed one last time as she headed out the door. It was an extended kiss, longer than she'd expected - and Holiday's body was halfway into the hallway when he finally let her go.

"Bye," she mumbled half-heartedly as he shut the door.

Holiday turned to the left so she could walk to the elevator when she was suddenly struck by a sight so humiliating and awful and terrible and anxiety-inducing that it could only have been conjured up by her own nightmares. Certainly what she was seeing couldn't have been real, because it was so comically timed and embarrassing that no deity would allow her to suffer such a tremendously agonizing fate.

Agent Six was leaning against the wall, arms crossed over his chest, and staring directly at her.

She pinched herself subtly before speaking, needing to make sure she was awake before subjecting herself to the horror she'd encountered. "I-I, um…Six. How did you…?" She paused, realizing the question was stupid. He was Six. That was all the how she'd ever need. "What are you doing here?"

He stood up straight and moved his hands to his pockets. "Your friend was supposed to tell you I was waiting."

Her cheeks turned bright red at the realization that he'd been there long enough to have spoken to John, which meant Six was standing out in the hallway since before they got in the shower. She could feel sweat forming on the back of her neck. "Ah…um. He didn't. Sorry."

She started walking towards the elevator. Maybe Six wouldn't say anything and they could pretend nothing happened and move past the situation without any acknowledgement whatsoever.

"I'm sure he was plenty distracted," Six responded coolly as he caught up to her.

Holiday frowned, still blushing, unable to find an appropriate retort to that comment. Six didn't exactly sound jealous, which would've been nice but not very Six-ish behavior. He did sound judgemental, which was more expected but much less welcome.

"I guess he was," she answered, pressing the down button.

They stood next to each other very awkwardly as the elevator moved from 13 to 14 to 15, then sat there for a few moments. It was going to be a bit of a wait, that was for sure. Holiday didn't really want to stand around waiting with Agent Six, especially not when he knew what she was up to for the past fifteen minutes.

Since getting to know him a little better, she'd tried to flirt with him a bit. Tried to make it clear that she had an interest. But Six never returned the favor or reacted. So it wasn't like he had any room to tell her who she could or couldn't sleep with. She was an adult and she could do what she wanted.

Her mind repeated that sentence over and over again in preparation of Six making another comment, but he stayed completely silent as the elevator came and took them to her floor. He stayed silent as they walked to her room. And he stayed silent as she grabbed some clothes, went to the bathroom to change, then reemerged and packed up her stuff as quickly as possible.

Somehow his silence was just as agitating as any comment. She almost wanted to yell at him for it, despite knowing that she had no reason to be mad.

He was the one who waited outside John's hotel room, knowing full-well what was happening inside.

Holiday's face was in a permanent state of blush. She couldn't fight the embarrassment of her situation. She knew that the only way to move past it was to ignore it but goddamn was it hard not to think about it.

They got to the jet and started back towards headquarters. Still nothing from him. Until someone (presumably Callan) said something to him over his comm, and Six responded that he'd found her in a different room.

Humiliating.

Was it normal for an adult woman to be so embarrassed by sex? Holiday started to wonder if she was overthinking things. Maybe Six wasn't saying anything else because he truly did not care about that, he was just mad that she'd lied and kept him waiting. That wouldn't be unreasonable.

Needing something to focus her mind on that wasn't the terribly awkward situation with Agent Six, Holiday started going through her purse. Maybe she'd find a pack of mints she could read the ingredients label off of. Or maybe she could look at her cell phone and see if her mom had tried to reach out anytime recently.

Immediately when she opened up her purse, she was greeted by a small, meticulously-placed business card sitting on top of her other stuff. It was very simple, just black text on a white background, and said: AGENT JOHN BISHOP, EARTH PROTECTION FORCE.

It also included his email, work phone number, and job title. Holiday was both surprised and embarrassed to discover that he didn't just work for the EPF, he was in charge of it. 

She flipped the card over to the back and found that he'd scribbled another phone number there, likely his personal number. Holiday felt her face get hot again and quickly put the card back in her purse.

She wasn't going to call him. But maybe she'd send a text.

Maybe.

x

Six didn't understand Holiday.

Maybe he just didn't understand women at all.

She'd been Chief Research Officer of Providence Labs for a few months and he'd learned a lot about her in that time. He'd learned about her sister's situation, and her relationship with other members of her family, and he learned that she wasn't great with kids so they had to slowly figure out the best way to take care of Rex. She worked constantly, drank too much coffee, barely slept, and wore her hair up all the time because she "didn't have enough time to wash it."

But overall…she was professional. Even with White Knight, a man that she clearly, truly hated - she was professional. And Six expected that level of professionalism to extend to all Providence-related activities.

Never in a million years had he expected her to fool around with a strange man while at an important symposium. She was supposed to be promoting Providence and gathering more support, and instead she was…well.

He didn't really want to think too much about what she was doing. She was an adult and could make her own decisions. But she was also in the public eye, represented their organization, and was an easy target for a lot of bad people that didn't like Providence.

So obviously, when Six had stopped at the front desk to check Holiday out of her room, he also threatened the employee there until she revealed the name of the man staying in Room 2903.

John Bishop. Earth Protection Force.

Six wasn't familiar with the man, but he knew the EPF and was not a fan. They stirred the public into even more of a frenzy when the Nanite Event first happened - telling everyone that the mutations were caused by alien technology having made its way into our atmosphere. Providence was still fighting those rumors, even four years later, and Six wasn't happy about it.

Neither was Holiday, last time he checked. But he supposed she was more forgiving than he would've thought.

Six didn't plan on telling Knight what happened - didn't plan on telling anyone, if he could help it - but he'd need to keep an eye on the EPF to make sure Holiday hadn't willingly put herself in a dangerous situation.

She seemed fine, but in his line of work, Six knew perfectly well that looks could be deceiving. And the EPF wasn't an innocent, simple organization. They had influence and they had weapons and Six didn't want to see Holiday get hurt.

He stared at her from across the plane, frowning deeply. She was looking at a business card she'd gotten out of her purse, and Six could clearly see it was from Bishop.

There was a light blush on her cheeks. Normally he would've found that charming on her, but at the moment, he was too annoyed to feel anything else.

Hopefully, he wouldn't have to interact with Agent Bishop again.

[jawritter]

Something About Fate...

Chapter 4

Summary:  Y/N has been homeless and living on the streets of Dallas, Texas since the start of Covid. Until one day, a handsome, green eyes strange notices her and turns her whole world upside down.

Warning: Change, even good change, can be scary, and even a little hard...

Pairing: Jensen Ackles x Reader (eventually).

Word Count: 2k

A/N: This series is completely unbeta’d, so all mistakes are mine! This series will contain mature content eventually, and therefore is unsuitable for persons under 18 years of age! Anyone under the age of 18 will be blocked for my blog! Thanks so much for reading! I hope you all enjoy this series!

Main Masterlist                  Series Masterlist

Y/N and Jensen had been trapped in the hotel room in Dallas for three days and three nights. In that time period, Y/N had learned a few things about the mysterious actor. First, he didn’t act like any rich guy she’d EVER encountered, whether that be while she was still living on the street, or while she was a working-class citizen. 

He was mostly a quiet person, but somehow, it seemed easy to just BE with the man, and not feel the need to be pressured into a conversation. He was perfectly content to sit next to her on the bed or couch, and just watch whatever was on TV. 

TV. That was a whole new topic all together. Having been living on the streets for so long, and only seeing any form of news or goings on in the world around her from the passing magazine stand, or outdoor advertisement, she didn’t realize just HOW behind on things as she was, but more on that later. 

When they were talking, he was the tentative, focused, and open person she’d ever met. Which shocked the hell out of her. 

She didn’t realize this about herself either, but she had forgotten how to converse with people. She forgot how to hold a casual conversation with someone. She had no idea how that had happened, but it had. It took a lot of silent, long stretches of Jensen probing her a little to attempt to get to know her, but finally, she figured it out, and when she did, it took an immense effort on her part to actively not shut down every time Jensen asked her a question. She had to almost convince herself it was okay to talk to him, and that he wasn’t out to hurt her, like so many other had been in the past before she could get herself to open up to him, but she was glad she, because she like the person she found herself with, even if she still didn’t really recognize herself yet. She really had lost herself along the way…

Jensen was also very patient with her; something she’d ever experienced with ANY man, rich and famous or not. Never once did he get irritated with her. Even when he had to press her a little to figure out if she was hungry, or to convince her to allow him to pay for food. He didn’t get irritated when he ordered her a cell phone, and handed it to her, only to quickly learn she knew nothing about phones anymore, and he had to basically teach her how to use one. He never complained when she had to learn how to work the keycard for the room, or maybe spent too much time in the bath. He never even raised his voice at her, not once.

She’d only spent three years on the street, but trying to take a step back into society, she felt like she’d been out for decades. So much had changed in just three years it wasn’t even funny. She felt like she’d never catch up, and never be normal again. If there was really such a thing as ‘normal’ anyway. Jensen said there wasn’t. He was probably the most understanding person she’d ever met in her life. 

She couldn’t for the life of her understand how the man was still single, though, he did tell her that he was married at one point, and had three kids with the woman, but they had just grown apart in the latter part of their marriage, and they were better as co parents than an actual married couple. It made her wonder if there were some things Jensen was hiding, some issues or flaws she was too blindsided by the things going on around her to see, but so far, he’d given no hint to anything being gravely wrong.

“Have you ever flown before?” Jensen questioned, bringing her out of her head with a slight jump when he spoke as he zipped the bag of clothing up in front of him, and placed it onto the floor next to the bed. 

They were getting ready to fly out to California in a few hours, which would give her a little glimpse of his life outside of this room, and that made her incredibly nervous. 

“I have, but it’s been years,” she admitted. “Somewhere around the age of ten I think, and I don’t really remember it.”

Jensen nodded as he looked at the clock on the bedside table. It was barely four in the morning, and they were already about to head down to the Uber that was going to take them to the airport. She was no idiot. She’d heard him talking to his friends, and they were flying out so early to spare her the gawking fans asking questions as to who she was, and why she was flying with Jensen, when he usually flew alone. 

She wanted to confront him, ask him why, if he was ashamed of her or something, but she didn't. She kept her peace. For one, she was lucky he didn’t just fuck her like she thought he was going to, slit her throat, and throw her in a dumpster to rot somewhere. So she wasn’t going to question his methods right now. 

“It will be fine,” Jensen continued as he tossed not only his bag over his shoulder, but also the small bag of things that Felicia had collected for her and brought to the room. Literally, all she owned right now to her name, fit in a gym bag. The sad part about this was it was already more than she’d had in years. “It’s a super early flight, and it’s first class. I wouldn’t be surprised if we are the only ones in first class this morning, we can probably catch some sleep before we land.”

Y/N nodded, knowing damn good and well sleep wasn’t something that was going to happen for her. Maybe him, but not her. She wasn’t even nervous about flying until he brought it up… damn him.

“Will your friends be flying with us?” she questioned as she followed him down the completely vacant hallway, and to the elevator that would take them downstairs. 

“Na, Jared’s just going back to Austin, so he and Clif are just gonna drive, and Felicia has a later flight out to New York. Something about a project she has to get ready for, but honestly I was so tired when she was talking to me about it I wasn’t really listening,” he revealed with a chuckle as they stepped inside the elevator, and the large metal doors close behind them, leaving behind the kinda, sorta HOME she’d known for the last three day, in well, three years…

“Once we get to LA and get to the Air B&B, we can go shopping for a few things you're gonna need to actually do the job I’ve got you hired for; a laptop, pick up your iPad, things like that. I’m not filming or anything, but I wanted to spend some time In LA before we have to gear up for the next con.” 

Jensen continued to ramble about LA as they made their way through the mostly empty lobby towards the black SUV that awaited the pair outside that would take them to the airport, and Y/N’s heart seemed to pick up speed as a heavy weight settled in her chest. 

This was real… This was happening…

She’d never not left Dallas since she was a child. She never imagined herself living anywhere else. Now, he’s about to literally take her away from the only place she’d ever known, drag her all the way to LA, then once they were done there to Rome, then Toronto, then finally, when all that was done, possible New Mexico if they get renewed for a fourth season, before they could finally go back to Texas. Only God knew what would come up between them. It was surreal…

“Hey,” Jensen said, taking her hand in his own and pulling her out of the sudden fog she’d fallen into, and back to reality where he stood in front of her with the car door open, waiting for her to slide inside. “You okay?” 

Y/N nodded as her eyes suddenly started to sting, but she shoved it down, WAY down, and when he fell asleep on the plane, she’d cry then. She’d mourn the future she thought she’d have, that clearly she never was meant to have here in Dallas. She’d mourn the life she should have had, but now had to leave behind. She’d mourn it, and she’d leave it right there in the air, miles and miles above the past she was leaving behind. 

Not all of her memories from Dallas were bad ones, there were some good mixed in there too, but not enough to hold her here, not enough to make her stay. There had been plenty of warning from the Universe that it was time to move on. Some sort of higher power had sent Jensen her way that fateful day, or she was certain she would have frozen to death. This is the path she was meant to take, but that didn’t make things any less hard, or scary for that matter. 

Jensen watched her closely as she slid herself into the backseat, and took a deep breath as she watched him close the door with a tightlipped smile on his face. It was almost as if he knew how hard this was for her, but wouldn’t say anything out loud, not that she even wanted him too. Some things, even though you have someone sitting right next to you, you just have to walk through all by yourself. 

“Hey, if you need some time, if this feels like we’re moving around way too fast, just tell me. I can move some things around and give us more downtime. I don’t mind. I want you to be okay, that’s my main concern,” Jensen offered as the Uber driver took off towards the airport, and Y/N watched out of the frosty window at the dim light of the morning as it stretched it’s arms just over the top of tall buildings, still casting their own light over the streets of Dallas, the streets that she’d once called home. 

“No, it’s okay,” she assured him, not even taking her eyes off of the window as the familiar sights rolled by. Like the park she’d slept on the benches of so many nights, or the little sandwich shop she’d met Jensen at. All these familiar things, and yet, they all seemed so far away now. To which she was grateful, even if she was a little dumb struck in the moment. “I’ll be okay.”

Jensen reached over the small space between the pair of them, grabbing her hand in his to catch her attention away from the past that was now zooming by her so fast she could only see a cold blur, to focus on the more important future that was sitting right next to her. 

She’d be a liar if she said her heart didn’t skip a beat every time he touched her in any way, and that was dangerous. Very, very dangerous. She couldn’t go catching feelings and fucking this up, she just couldn’t let herself do it.

“It’s gonna get easier, I promise,” Jensen said, and she could only nod at him, and look down at the floorboard, a lump the size of Texas suddenly invading her throat and cutting off her ability to speak. 

“I got something for you while you were asleep this morning,” Jensen offered, letting go of her hand to reach into his pocket and she stared back at him in confusion. 

“While I was asleep? We’ve been up since 4AM! Did you sleep at all?!” she questioned, and he chuckled as he pulled a small, silver set of keys from his pocket. One looked like a house key, and the other was very clearly a car key.

“Na, not really, I guess I don’t sleep much anymore. But that’s not important,” he blew her off, as she examined the small set of keys in her hand. “One of those is the key to our house in Austin, where you will be staying with me, and the other is to one of the cars in the garage that you can use. No sense in being stuck at home while we’re there if you want to get out because you have to wait for me to get home to go somewhere.”

“Jensen!” She breathed, looking back up at him in utter shock as the car pulled up to the airport. 

“Hey, I don’t want an argument about it,” he teased, clearly amused at the shocked look on her face. “If you’re gonna be my assistant, then you’re gonna have to be able to get around for me sometimes, and besides, I want you to have some independence.”

“But… Jensen… I don’t even have a driver’s license anymore! It’s been three years since I’ve driven! What if I can’t even drive anymore?” 

“Hey, it’s okay,” he assured her for what seemed like a thousand times that morning. “It’s just like riding a bike. Not something you tend to forget how to do, and I can fix the license thing once we get back to Austin. You’re gonna be fine sweetheart, just trust me.”

Y/N swallowed hard and followed suit as Jensen made to step out of the car at the airport, and began to retrieve their bags from the back of the SUV. 

She did trust him, she didn’t understand why, but she did. That didn’t mean she trusted herself though, that was the problem.

Forever:

@britnwinchester​​

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Jensen and Dean’s Babes

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SAF tag list

@itsdesiree86​

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@tristanrosspada-ackles  

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@mavisiceroo

[fairy-writes]

Merfolk!Viktor x Reader 02

part one of merman!viktor HERE

all parts of this series are tagged under cryptid!viktor

cryptid!viktor also includes my pieces with vampire!viktor

“c’mon, jayce! he’s real, i promise!” you plead, and your friend and fellow scientist and unwilling cryptozoologist, jayce talis, looks more and more skeptical as you drag him toward the beach. the beach where you had last seen viktor.

which, in fairness, hadn’t been for almost a week. but that didn’t stop you from visiting at all hours in an attempt to see your life’s dream in front of you yet again. 

it was safe to say that you were a bit obsessed. 

because who wouldn’t be? (except maybe jayce) it was a real-life merman. it wasn’t a siren (you had had this conversation with jayce many times). but it was still something magnificent.

the beach is empty as it had been for the last week. you scan the waters, trying to see the head of the elusive merman. 

so far, nothing.

it’s like this for over an hour. you sit on the beach with jayce as he occasionally complains. until…

you see him.

until… 

you heard a splash, whipped your head around toward the rocky outcroppings a little way into the water, and gasped. 

there he was. 

it was viktor, peeking his head around the jagged rocks. you might not have realized he was even there had it not been for the unusual splashing and his golden eyes. 

he’s just as beautiful as the first time you saw him.

he ducks under the water, and you can see a shape move slightly until he’s heaving himself up onto the rocks and watching you with curious eyes.

at least he’s not angry.

you hear jayce gasp behind you and turn to grin at your friend. his eyes are transfixed on the brown-scaled creature. 

“told you he was real!” you crow and turn to approach the merman still watching you. his arm fins are folded close to his forearms, and his long tail is wrapped around the rock. his webbed ears twitched as you got closer, but he made no move to do anything until you kicked off your shoes and your bare feet splashed in the water. 

almost immediately, viktor is baring his teeth and recoiling, a deep resounding hiss rumbling in his chest. it sounded almost like a goose or snake. 

yet another one of your theories on how merfolk communicated was thrown out the window. 

that was happening a lot lately. 

but this was long and drawn out, not short like you expected. it was low and threatening. a clear warning not to get closer. jayce calls your name worriedly,

“i think that’s a warning,” he says, and your roll your eyes but stop nonetheless. 

“no shit, sherlock. i can see that.” 

you take a slow step closer, then another. all the while, your hands are outstretched, palms up to show you don’t have anything dangerous in your hands. your satchel thumps against your hip, and you suddenly remember the clams, mussels, and fish you have stored in tupperware. viktor is still tensed to flee, his tail fin flicking as he watches you with careful eyes. 

the smell of fish almost makes you gag, and the slimy texture makes you shudder. but you persevere and get even closer, holding the fish in one hand, the other holding the tupperware container. viktor seemingly perks up at the sight of food, but his eyes narrow after a thought occurs to him. what thought that was, you’ll never know, but as he reaches forward with webbed fingers, you can’t help but freeze. 

his fingers are covered in fine, almost translucent scales, rough to the touch and cold from the temperature of the water. his nails are long and uneven, likely never cut but filed down by something. maybe rocks from scavenging? were merfolk scavengers or predators? the placement of their eyes suggested they were predators, so perhaps they were both? maybe they were more like humans than you thought. 

viktor takes the fish and brings it to his nose, sniffing it before dropping it into the water with disgusted noise. you frown. he didn’t want it? was he not hungry? 

that was when you thought of something. 

merfolk were probably hunting their fish and eating it fresh. this was a day old from the market at the port of the city. so if you had to wager a guess, it probably didn’t smell very good to him. 

were his senses enhanced like your theories suggested? did he have a lateral line like fish for sensing vibrations in the water? if you squinted, you could see the faintest line starting from his stomach to the end of his tail. or so you assumed. 

the rest of the aquatic cuisine was tossed in the water by viktor as well, with him looking nauseous at the smell and you feeling somewhat exasperated. there went a bunch of money down the drain. but part of you was just happy to see viktor again. 

oh, what you would give to study him. 

turns out you would get your wish sooner than you thought. 

[miseries-mistress]

YOU MAKE ME FEEL LIKE IT'S HALLOWEEN | SITH!OBI-WAN KENOBI

Synopsis: You're the object of Furvor's pleasure, and amidst the haze of his obsession for his pretty Jedi, he seeks you out for the first time. 

Warnings: female reader, possession, non consensual touching (not sexual), obsession, slight fanaticism, helplessness from the reader, mention of stalking, W/C: 2589

Notes: this is shitty, and i have no excuse for it. this is inspired by the Muse song, "You Make Me Feel Like It's Halloween," so here is my version of a halloween story. happy halloween!

star wars masterlist

There is a fear, a dark winding fear that twists through your body, consuming, devouring the light that brought you to the place you reside in the world. That light, more the connection to it, was being tried, tested if you will, by a man. 

You don't want to refer to him as a "man" because that humanizes him, makes the threat of him more real, and appear like the Jedi he should have been instead of the creature he's fallen to. A creature was a better thing to refer to Darth Furvor as, for he was nothing more than a servant of the dark. 

His servitude to the darkness left him with an insatiable obsession with the Jedi. You assumed his obsession was deeply rooted back to his long-forgotten identity of Obi-Wan Kenobi, the Jedi you had heard from in stories after he fell to the dark from witnessing the death of his master by a Sith, which he had supposedly slain in the wake of his billowing rage. The boy that Qui Gon had found, Anakin, had gone on to become your padawan, which you trained valiantly until he had grown up to become his own Jedi at the ripe age of 19. You were alone for the first time since Anakin's trials, where he left you to become his own person and fight the raging war infecting the galaxy. But, of course, that didn't last long when the same Sith you heard about in stories found an infatuation with you. 

You didn't know where his infatuation with you sprouted from, for you had never met him before, but that didn't seem to stop him. You knew of his attempts to slay your battalion, either by his droids or his hand, but he never succeeded. Those attempts to pursue you were nothing more than that, attempts until today. 

You were stuck in a room of sorts, separated from your commander, as you pursued the pull you felt in the Force. The tug led you to this place, where you have nothing but your connection to the light to guide you out of the abyss of blackness. Your eyes have poorly adapted to the lack of light, and you resist the temptation to pull out your saber to illuminate the way. Although you were trying to leave the area as soon as possible, something urged you to stay, and you followed your feelings, reaching out with them to determine the cause of the disturbance. It was almost like a string, tugging you down into the rabbit hole of the darkness you were afraid you could never climb out of. The coldness brushed against the bare skin of your hand, and you involuntarily shivered, the feeling spreading across your body in a slow, thick movement. The coldness was nothing like staying on Hoth bundled up with Anakin on a mission but the kind of iciness that created a tremble in your bones, rattling every anxiety out of its securely closed container. The icy metal of your lightsaber clutched in your hand did nothing to soothe your spiking nerves nor calm the raging storm of untangled emotions buried deep in your subconscious. 

It was dread that you were feeling, you quickly realized, and you did your best to shove it down, control it so it couldn't control you. 

"My, my, what do we have here?" 

Your blade was ignited in a second, the steady hum of its deadly beat the only certainty you are given. The fast-paced beating of your heart drowns out the rush of your thoughts as you turn on your heel, your lightsaber illuminating no more than a few feet in front of you, yet there is nothing. 

"Such a pretty Jedi." The ghost of fingers caressing your lips made you jump backward, the phantom touch lingering for a moment longer before dissipating into the night. The sensation of disgust crawls over your skin, biting into your self-consciousness. You hear the amused chuckle escape the man, and your lightsaber whirs with your turn, your eyes growing frantic as you search for the mystery foe.  

"Adorable."

You consider the possibility that it's all in your head, but you discard it almost immediately. It all was too real…the sensations, the voice, all of it was too intricate to be a Force trick. As you follow that thought to conclusion, the scattered pieces slowly start to fit into place, the first piece clicking together like a light bulb going off in your head. This place, whatever it was, was composed of pure darkness, and something or someone was the tug in the Force that pulled you to encounter it. 

"Who are you?" you ask into the void, and for a moment, you expect there to be no response, only to prove the thought of your insanity. But Furvor's velvety voice breaks through the veil, and you feel the warm breath against your ear, the barest wisps of hair tickling the side of your face. 

"Whoever you desire."

Your lightsaber swings around, but it slices through the air, and you look over your shoulder to find him gone, whoever he was. He was dogging the question; that was obvious enough. Was it to hide who he really was? You thought to yourself. The man was surrounded by the dark side of the Force, and you could feel the tendrils of his presence pushing against your mental barriers on a quest to identify a weak spot.

"You're a Sith, aren't you?" you call out. 

"You catch on quickly." You could hear the grin in his voice, and the fascination he seemed to exhibit with you did not remain unnoticed. If this was indeed a Sith Lord, then now would be your only time to bring him to the Republic to face his crimes for all they were worth. 

"You've become quite the nuisance, my dear," he continues, and your body tenses as the realization dawns upon you. This man- creature- wasn't any Sith lord but Darth Furvor. The grip on the hilt strengthened. "My master wants you dead."

Goosebumps defiantly raised under your tunic, for however much you tried to quell your fear, it seemed to never fully subdue into the symphony of voices scattered across your mind. "Then why haven't you killed me?"

"You've piqued my interest." The undertone, the hidden message, sent your adrenaline pumping faster and faster. You needed to get out of here before it was too late. 

"Let me go," you growled, and airy laughter followed.

"And why would I do that, my pretty Jedi?" You took a step back, your heart rate rising with every step. His voice was like an echo, a sound you couldn't quite pinpoint where it was originating from. It irked you more than anything but made you fearful of the unknown. Furvor could be around any corner, waiting for the opportune moment to strike you down with a single stroke of his saber. The man who had been chasing after you ever since the clone wars started.

"Because then I might be merciful," you snarled. You could almost see the grin flashing over Furvor's face at the challenge. 

"Oh, really now?" he fired back, and with that, an unrelenting grip washed over your body in an instant, rendering you immobile. You tried to thrash against the invisible pressure, but your actions were futile. Then there's the soft click of your lightsaber as it is deactivated. "Because I think you rather like being at my mercy."

"I do not know of the lies you speak of," you reply, and a spark of amusement flashes over his sickly yellow irises. You feel the pressure of a hand coast up your arm to your neck, the back of it gliding over your supple flesh. You shiver. 

"You're so weak." The touch grows firmer, ignoring your rebuttal. "So pliant."

You can't find a response to his observation, can't pull your thoughts together to think of anything but his touch, as shameful as it is. 

"Don't touch me," you choke out. Furvor doesn't relent, but this time you hear his soft footsteps echoing through the place, and you feel him. His darkness and passion are consuming, twisting every ounce of the Force into something of his own creation. A Sith, he was indeed to manipulate the Force as he has. 

"I first found you when the boy, Anakin, became a Jedi," he states, almost as if he had been reciting it. The information is common knowledge, nothing you don't already know, but your curiosity has peaked. Where was he going with this? 

"My master wanted you dead, and I embarked on the mission as I was told. It was when I saw you for the first time that I became infatuated with you." 

You feel it now, the coldness of his hand seeping through your robes as they trace the curve of your spine all the way to the base of your neck. Goosebumps arise at his hand, touching the bare skin of your neck, and you battle your alarm for the sake of your sound state of mind because it is the only thing that would be able to get you out of here alive. 

"You became everything," his voice drips over the shell of your ear, and you desperately try to ignore the pinpricks of…something edge to the surface of your consciousness. 

"I watched as you destroyed entire battalions of droids by yourself. I witnessed the graceful dance of your saber technique, and I knew then that I couldn't kill you. No, you appeared to me as an angel, so sweet, so naive; it was far beyond any beauty I had ever encountered. You lured me in with your innocence, and now I don't know what to do with myself!" He laughed unbelievingly, his hand running through his hair harshly before continuing. 

"At first, I just wanted to corrupt that pretty little mind of yours, but that simple want became a need. I watched your every move, entranced by your power. How could someone as pathetic as you hold so much power, so much hidden anger underneath the lies the Jedi had bred? But I grew tired of simply observing while my men tried to capture you. I watched every hologram I could get my hands on, yet it still doesn't do justice to your beauty. I just couldn't get enough!" 

It takes you a moment longer than it should to recognize the weight of his words. He was obsessed. With you no less. That obsession, the lust of passion, is what brought you here to him. He was obsessed with you and not keen on stopping until he achieved what he wanted. Which was what? You? Your life? Your devotion to the light? 

Did he intend to turn you?

That idea alone sent your head reeling down a far darker passage than you should ever travel, and you shook your head to force yourself to remain focused. 

"What do you want with me?" you snap, and his grip loosens for a moment, but it still isn't enough to liberate you. 

"What do I want?" he repeated your question incredibly. "What do I want?! I want you! I want all of you!" 

You flinch at the desperate glee in his voice as he turns to face you. You can hardly make out his features in the darkness besides his eyes, which seem to glow an impossible gold. His irises are glimmering with pathetic despair, pleading. His hands fly to your arms, clutching them so fiercely that you are sure his fingerprints will leave purple splotches along your skin. 

"Join me, my dear. We could rule the galaxy together with no one to stop us!" Furvor's childish nativity is urging him down the spiral of fanaticism. He's fallen so far that a Sith Lord, for Kriff's sake, was pathetically begging for you, and now, standing in the face of it, you know why Master Yoda was so instant on the rule of possession in the code. It warps you, changing you into an object of greed. 

"Don't touch me," you growl, but his grip remains firm, not acknowledging your demand. "I don't know who you are, Sith, but I will never fall to the dark side."

"Don't say such foolish things, my dear. I know of your anger you try to hide away, but you can't fool me. I know you better than anyone could dream of."

"You lying kriffing piece of shit-"

His hand reaches for your face, grasping it in a bruising grip under your cheekbones. He yanks your face closer to his so he can spit his next words in an unforgiving vulgar voice. "Speak to me that way again, and I will find a better use for that filthy mouth of yours."

The fear you so utterly tried to quell is back in full force, and with a sickening epiphany, you realize you're scared of Furvor. His desperation, his passion for you, is making your chest coil into a tight knot. You are trapped, you realize, and a flash of white-hot terror thrums within you. 

"Good girl," he coos, letting his hands slowly slither away from your face so he could return them to your unmoving body. In your state of agitation, heat boldly rushes to your cheeks as you witness his use of praise. Furvor gazes at you, delighted by your embarrassment.

"Maker, you feel better than I imagined." His bare hands are cold as they run over your skin, leaving behind a trail of lewd desire that taints your once-pure skin. If anything, he seems enraptured by your response while the reality of the situation is tearing your mind apart piece by piece. You are helpless to his dependence, vulnerable to the unwarranted contact, powerless to a creature who wants nothing more than to devour you as you're now trembling before the Sith, weak and just as pathetic as him. A tear silently rolls down your cheek, and he looks up, his eyes resembling something of pity before they morph into sympathy. 

"Shh, my dear, everything will be alright," he reassures, pulling you unwillingly into his chest for a hug. You are suffocated by his grip as the softness of his robes pulls your hope further away from you. I don't even know you. You want to scream. You want to punch him, beat him to the ground for all the turmoil he's put you through, but you can't. Your helplessness is dragging the teachings you've grown up with into the mud of the forgotten, forcing you to stumble further into a state of submission before the Sith, your sworn enemy as a Jedi. You feel your grasp on the Force weaken as you give into your fear, your mind falling apart around your own defenselessness. His following words are what puts the final nail in the coffin, the crack that shatters your heart like it's child's play. It's then that you finally break. 

"You're mine now."

[autistic-autumn]

I began my tenure of Overseer of Gerbilgod in the year 155.

1st Granite, Early Spring, 155

I was immediately struck with the horrors! A vicious weretortoise bolting directly for the fortress entrance. My first order of business would be to take down this beast.

Just kidding! I have no clue what to do, nor do I care. Plenty of tasty dogs out there and a useless angry fisherdwarf.

As it turns out the weretortoise was almost completely useless in battle and was able to be taken out by a bunch of useless civilians with only one casualty. However it seems a bunch of dwarves were in combat and now may be infect with the curse.

Now of course I could simply expel these dwarves, but I have a more interesting idea in mind.

There was a few poets and others who I have no control over who seem to have got infected so just kind of hoping they leave.

While I prepare that there was a number of general fortress administrative businesses to attend to.

There was an unfortunate number of petitions to get through. All rejected because they sucked, except of the petition for a temple by the Order of Embracing.

With that all sorted I decided to unpause again (still 1st granite) and long behold!

Wonderful! the perfect time for a siege.

2nd Granite, Early Spring, 155

I don't know how burrows work in the new version. Those idiots better know how to move.

The goblins all seem well armored and skilled, although only totaling about 12 goblins.

3rd Granite, Early Spring, 155

Idiot fishdwarves server as good cannon fodder. We are creatures of earth and stone! Those who dare defile the good dwarven name with fishing get what they deserve.

Decided to just set the military out against them because it's a smaller siege than I anticipated and they probably will be fine.

the trap hall does seem to be doing a good job at trapping everyone but the goblins (heard rumors from a previous overseer that the hall is hostile to local dwarves).

I think it's caught a few dogs in the system.

4th Granite, Early Spring, 155

Siege seems to have been broken with only a few causalities. I think that's a success at least.

Back to the fortress business and there is a temple to build. This of course is The Order of Embracing who worship Ano, the god of fertility and love.

There is of course the rather aptly shape 'Giant Cock room', although that is currently filled with animals.

In the end I decided to go for a simply heart design on the floor below the star temple. While I'm sure there are many hilarious phallic objects I could have made for the temple of fertility and love I thought this was a better option.

There seem to be a few injured dwarves, worryingly some of the sacrifices dwarves who fought the weretortoise. Hopefully they recover before the next full moon.

26th Granite, Early Spring, 255

So it turns out there were two travellers that was infected with the weretortoise curse. Nothing I can really do at the point.

Also one of the dwarves from the hospital who was yet to leave to the sacrifice room ended up turning as well.

I'm going to remove all visitors from the fort in an attempt to remove anyone who may be infected.

Results: All the were-tortoises were quickly killed, although I am yet to check if there were any infections. I have carefully sifted through the combat logs to either expel any children bitten and get the remaining bitten dwarves into the sacrifice squad.

There is also now a tavern brawl occurring.

23rd Slate, Mid Spring, 155

Turns out there are 11 weretortoises in the fort. My best efforts to contain them all seem to have failed. The sacrafice chamber has four of them contained but preparations for the ritual are not going well.

A collection of the weretortoises. A lot seem to be in places that can be locked down and contained.

most seem to have been killed successfully however I am also too lazy to attempt to look through all the combat logs to find all instances of citizens being bitten, particularly given it proved to be unsuccessful with both one and four weretortoises.

I have simply decided to expel anyone in the vicinity of a weretortoise corpse that is also injured. I was hoping to do more interesting stuff involving sacraficing the were tortoises to forgotten beast although it seems futile. I would rather keep the fortress intact for now.

With everyone injured out of the fortress the current population is 107. Any visitors who were injured I was unable to do anything for. I was also unable to evict one of the monster hunters and the mayor. They shall be added to the sacrifice collection.

Currently anyone else injured has been locked in the hospital with the assumption that they are a weretortoise.

14th Felsite, Late Spring, 155

A new forgotten beast has appeared in the third cavern layer. I believe it is stuck in the caverns for now so hopefully it'll be fine to ignore.

There also seems to be a bit of a rotting corpse problem right now.

21st Felsite, Late Spring, 155

The weretortoise problem seems to be resolving itself, only two wild weretortoises and I have continues to expel all those that are injured. I shall continue to keep the hospital as a quarantine zone for the time being.

One of the sacrafices also went up against the burninator, although seems to have been quickly killed off.

One of the exiles seems to have returned as well. They were killed by a bunch of war dogs and attack no citizens.

Current population: 96

9th Hematite, Early Summer, 155

you know what I thought would be a great and awesome idea. Capturing the Burninator. Unfortunately all the dwarves are completely useless and didn't bother flicking the lever (probably all too busy being "upset") when needed. Anyways, this should all go well.

11th Hematite, Early Summer 155

Good news everybody!!

flying web beast!

It was even kind enough to let itself in on the first cavern layer (Right where it has access to the surface). However, if the dwarves can figure out how levers work we should be fine.

12th Hematite, Early Summer, 155

Praise be! A caravan of human traders have arrived!

also the minotaur was in a wooden cage and is running towards the tavern.

15th Hematite, Early Summer, 155

The beast has been successfully trapped, albeit in completely the wrong location. Don't know what happened to the minotaur but probably dead because people aren't complaining about it.

Unfortunately the caverns are now blocked off with an even more dangerous beast so can't even reclaim those. (There of course is a fun solution to his problem)

Current population: 51

16th Malachite, Mid Summer, 155

Metal deadly dust forgotten beast! This is the third forgotten beast this year, it seems perhaps the world doesn't want us in the caverns.

19th Malachite, Mid Summer, 155

It is too my horror to discover the third caverns were in fact, not sealed.

1st Galena, Late Summer, 155

I believe I have captured the beast in the room opposite the other beast. I have simply locked the doors, likely ineffective solution but no dwarves are available to place walls in.

Currently there are 11 dwarves remaining: 1 Weretortoise mayor, 9 badly wounded, unconscious, rotting dwarfs and a monster hunter who is convinced he is socializing in the oily chestnuts.

6th Galena, Late Summer, 155

I have moved all the dwarves to the old hospital, where the weretortoise mayor was residing. I have him recovering the patients and attempting to treat them. However with the curse I am going to have to prepare carefully and isolate him away during the full moon.

15th Limestone, Early Autumn, 155

The Dwarven merchants have arrived, although I have no plans to trade. The populations is down to seven citizens now, three of whom can't do labour as they aren't full citizens. The weretortoise mayor and another dwarf are currently attempting to keep the remaining hospitalized dwarves alive. Unfortunately a few have died of starvation or dehydration as there is enough dwarves to tend to everyones wounds.

20th Limestone, Early Autumn, 155

None of the remain dwarves in the hospital survived. The fortress currently contains two functional dwarves and three monster hunters.

21st Sandstone, Mid Autumn, 155

A new hope appears on the horizon. With that the population is up to 13. Hopefully the fort can begin to be tidied up.

28th Sandstone, Mid Autumn, 155

Fourth Forgotten Beast for the year. This one has direct access to the fortress through the third cavern layer, although there appears to be a door I might be able to seal to keep it out.

23rd Opal, Mid Winter, 155

Progress in the fortress has been much slower. The population is at 20, however many of these are poets, musicians and monster hunters who have requested residency. As such there is only a small number of dwarves able to do labour.

Saying that the temple from earlier in the year has been finished, and while anyone part of the Order of Embracing has since left the fortress, it still stands as a grand temple for all those that wish to worship Amo.

1st Obsidian, Late Winter, 155

Concerning news. One of the new migrants must have been a vampire and has killed the manager, one of the only two surviving dwarfs from from the earlier attacks. I has a strong suspicion on a dwarf named Domas given they have a vast amount of skills, including one or two legendary skills. They also happen to be almost 160 years old. Given there are many possible suspects I had decided to just simply evict this guy rather than try conduct and investigation.

11th Obsidian, Late Winter, 155

A final Forgotten Beast appears before the end of the year. Makes a total of five in one year. This one is stuck in the third cavern layer where it can fight it out with the eight-legged Dimetrodon.

28th Obsidian, Later Winter, 155

That concludes my time as overseer of Gerbilgod. Overall probably a general success with only minor grievances throughout. I am somewhat confused as to how powerful doors appear to be in the steam release. I recall a locked not being enough to stop a werecreature or forgotten beast but they seem to be enough in this version.

The fortress still needs tidying and the catacombs need to be expanded. The mayor is still the Werebeast and remains his office during the full moons to avoid him attacking anyone. There is still the webbed beast in the cavern layer that could theocratically be captured but I didn't dare attempt. The lever and bridge system is place from the attempts to capture the Burninator.

As for naming my dwarf I chose the new fortress manager. She also happens to be the bookkeeper, broker and chief medical dwarf as there weren't many with any skills in the fortress.

[vsnotresponding]

CHAPTER 9 - THE CALM BEFORE THE STORM - KARMA

masterpost

“Sit down.”

I obey, my steps slow and tense—afraid. The chair is in the middle of the room, away from the desk. The wood cold and hard when I sit down. I fidget, uncomfortable.

I don’t dare raise my gaze from where it rests on his hands, laced fingers on the desk, the faded golden ring mocking me from his fourth finger. I shrink, though not as much as I used to. I know what I did wrong, I know what my mistake was, the reason for this meeting won’t take me unaware.

Not unlike the punishment.

“You are forbidden from keeping working with the fatir.”

“But, fath…!”  my response dies. I force myself to close my eyes that, shocked, look at him. I notice his expression for the first time since I came in, his indifference, his disappointment—a strange shine. Without realizing, I’ve stood up, even if I haven’t moved forwards. I sit down again, and force myself to stop my voice from shaking when I talk, to hold his gaze, as hard as it is. “My shahin. I have to work on this project.” He doesn’t react. I add: “It’s vital for the survival of our state.” He interrupts me before I can continue.

“You failed your country when you weren’t at your brother’s fiancée’s arrival.” And before I can protest, even if I’m painfully aware that nothing I say will sway him: “With immediate effect and indefinitely, your position as imitator is revoked.”

No, no that. Please. My mind shuts down. I try to open my mouth to answer back, but his slightly raised hand shuts me up. He can’t do that, can he? My hearing buzzes, my heart shrinking, my ears on fire.

“From now on you’ll be present in the meetings with Derya's delegation. You’ll be in all of them, next to me. You’ll be the first to arrive and the last one to leave, and I don’t need to tell you that you’ll be expected to participate.”

My head empties, my chest fills up, constricted. Throat and eyes burning. The mere thought of the meetings, of the other nobles and senators and members of the Council, watching me, analyzing every tiny mistake I make, every incorrect word. My stomach sinks more and more, legs shaking, hands spasming.

I close them in a fist. A nod, because I can’t find the strength to talk, my eyes focused on my worn down boots.

“I’m sure we’ll find your contributions to be of great value, Oghan.” Not even that gets me out of the paralysis I've fallen into. I don’t even think he’s expecting a reaction out of me. He’s my father, after all, and he knows me. “You may leave.”

My body reacts to his order automatically. Legs shaking as I walk, my hand as I open it to turn the knob, head low and wet eyes. I almost forget to bow before exiting, my head flooding with thoughts.

They stop when I collide with someone. I expect to see Sher when I rise my head, and even if the eyes are the same honey-like color, I immediately realize who I’m now talking to.

“Khadae.” Another half felt bow, automatic. I look around with half a thought, but Sher’s not here.

“Oghan mirzaan, it’s been long since we last spoke.” The hands he had on my shoulders to stabilize me disappear. I wobble in place a little. When I look at him, he smiles. “I hope the work with the creator is giving good results.”

“Yes,” I contain my tears as I talk, they burn in my throat. My voice is shaky, my breathing deep in an attempt to calm myself. “Everything’s going according to plan.”

“Excellent.” He bows, nothing more than a nod, and disappears inside the shahin’s study.

I don’t waste any time. I haven’t even eaten anything yet, but I’m not hungry, I don’t have time for anything that’s not walking to my study. Bottling up my feelings and as I did with my project, I hide them under the desk to forget them, so they disappear from my sight and I stop thinking about them.

While I wait for the negotiations’ documents to be brought up, I don’t think about how being an imitator has been my life’s goal since I learned what they were. I don’t think how it’s my only way to fulfil the promise I made to my mom, how being separated from them will isolate me even more from the only friends I’ve ever had.

I know the project is in good hands, that Áine and the rest know what they are doing, that they’ll manage to accomplish our goal. But what I don’t understand is why the shahin has made this decision, now that we are so close to a solution, why he won’t let me show him that I’m capable of making him proud in my own way. Why a tiny mistake has consequences this big.

It doesn’t matter, the decision has been made.

I swallow my tears and devote myself to the work.

I work. I swallow my fear and attend the meetings, I talk when I’m addressed. I memorized the papers, the transcriptions of past sessions, I know as much as the ones that were there for them.

That’s not my problem. It’s my voice, struggling to be heard even if they stop talking to listen to me, the voice they sometimes shut up when I answer the doubts they direct at me. It’s my hands, that won’t stop shaking, I don’t know anymore if it's from the stimulants I take after nights without sleep or the panic that floods me every time the shahin asks to talk to me in private. For the khadae, always whispering in the shahin’s ear, watching with clear disappointment in his bright and cold gaze. It’s for Sher, that watches me every second we are in the same room, always without saying anything to me—the need to scream into the night once I’m safe and sound in my study with a new mountain of papers on my desk.

I try, in spite of everything, to stay informed about Ira’s progress: the calculations Garvan does in my stead, the ones I go over every night when I finish my work for the meetings, a little pile on my desk reserved for Áine’s reports.

I haven’t seen her in days. She probably hates me for all the work that now falls on her shoulders in my absence, on top of all the work she already did before.

At least I find solace in the data Garvan gives me. I can see their progress, every record she beats, every test she passes of strength and endurance. I see Sher’s name in some reports, I read he attends the sessions with his fiancée.

They say it’s because she’s curious. I think that’s another way he has to fuck with me.

Days turn into weeks and, finally, Sahare of Derya is allowed to participate in meetings concerning her marriage.

Next to Sher, they already look like true monarchs. Him charmingly captivating the whole room with his sole presence. Her, smiling at everyone, genuinely, paying attention to every work spoken in the room. She even smiles at me, when the meeting is over, she asks me to speak with her for a second.

I like her in a way few strangers do. She’s kind to me, and even if she sometimes overwhelms me, I don’t feel like she has anything against me. In another life, in a world where the island wasn’t dying, where I wasn’t burning up on the inside under all my work, I’d have greeted her at her arrival without more worries than trying to make a good impression. Her smile would have calmed me down, then, I’d have talked to her about our theories about the creators and imitations without time’s pressure on us and, eventually, I’d become her friend. She might have even managed to make Sher and I talk without wanting to hit the other for the first time in our lives.

But that’s not what happened. Something stirs inside of me, sad and tired, imagining the possibilities.

I barely register what she says to me, my mind busy already with what I’ll do next, with the papers I’ve been asked to revise about the incidents in the city and the proposals I’ve been asked to give to contain the people. With the reports that wait at my desk with Ira’s progress.

Still, I’m not that distracted to forget apologizing for missing her arrival.

“Oh, don’t worry, it’s alright,” she soothes me. I don’t look at her face directly, but the brightness of her carefree smile blinds my eyes, of happiness and easiness, I imagine the memory of her crystal blue eyes smiling at me too. “We are to be family soon, we should forgive our silly mistakes.”

I want to shout at her that I’d have no way of knowing that, that I wouldn’t understand it even if she explained it to me, but when I look up to thank her, she’s already gone. Her back, far away in the white corridor, accompanies Sher to wherever they are going now.

I close my eyes, the reflection of the sun on the marble too strong, too intense. I hurry to my study, curtains drawn—I find solace in the semidarkness.

I read nonstop, the worlds darkening too outside the room.

At one point I fall exhausted on a report half read. I try to force my eyes to open, but my body doesn’t respond.

I don’t dream.

tag list (ask to be added or removed): @my-cursed-prince @on-noon @aquil-writes @dotr-rose-love

[slimeclimbtime]

meanings behind the titles of my fics

in order of release! CONTAINS SPOILERS FOR ALL OF MY FICS, BE WARNED!

fractals and dominos - a fractal is unending symmetry, and dominos are known for the domino effect. the fractals are representative of the never-ending fate that zoom team was almost subject to, and dominos represent the domino effect caused by rickys arrival and yujin and hanbin breaking free to stop that loop from even starting

even stars die eventually - explained in the book, but the star in question is jianyu himself. the title is a reference to his inevitable death that keeps chasing him all throughout the story, even as he gets revived.

cygnus - a reference to the myth of phaethon and cygnus, best friends turned lovers

when the sun finds you - a reference to the blinding and much-needed intervention that would save rush hour team from doom—both in the real world and the alternate universe

we the one - a reference to ggang team's chant in their performance

polaroid love - there's no meaning. i just stole from enhypen

fun and forget - also a stolen song title, but also a reference to the inevitable decision jianyu would have to make about his situationships. its all fun, but its best to forget, too

we can be free - stolen song title, but this song in particular was one of the last things anthpo posted before dipping from the internet. so it's a reference to the end of their journey together, with them starting on different paths

lemon soda - both are sour and biting, but sometimes you can’t help but go back to them—just like how mingyu always goes back to hiroto

your revenge - a reference to how out of place jeonghyeon is with trying to get revenge for an alternate universe him

god shattering mania - a mismash of "god shattering star" and "god devouring mania", the god being shattered is mnet, and mania is a reference to the general chaos of it all, and how many sacrifices were needed to truly end mnet

our strawberry blonde - the name of the coldstone creamery order that jeonghyeon gets from jianyu, sparking their relationship

sugar, spice, and a touch of asphalt - a play on "sugar spice and everything nice", with the asphalt replacing the nice because things are NOT going nicely for jeonghyeon in that moment. the asphalt references jianyu, his "everything nice"

a honk in the name of love - goose honks to help jeonghyeon find love. annoyingly.

waves at the end of the shore - the waves at the end are usually small but can catch you off guard, just like what jianyu does to jeonghyeon

chasing for nothing - how gyuvins attempts to get seungeon back are futile; he's chasing for something that doesn't exist anymore

optical pulse - stolen from pulse by optic core. haven’t thought of anything for this one yet

not that close - a reference to junyu just not seeming that close at all

another gleam in the dark - a small light in the neverending darkness, just like the lights that are the three main storylines. it's ANOTHER gleam bc there's not just one

subatomic supernova - stolen song title once again, but a reference to the smallness of our existence yet we die with a bang like a supernova

a storm named after you - a reference to a tumblr copypasta. jianyu truly was the storm that shook wakeones roots.

heard him say - a newjeans lyric (ironic), but a reference to seunghwans interview

no wind resistance! - another song title

you of the dark - a fire emblem ost song title, but also a nod to how kamden is raised to become a villain

a dais at daybreak - junghyun's final resting place that becomes his downfall and marks the end of jeonghyeon's long journey to end his curse and stop the war

every stimulation (promise i can take) - stolen song title

five nights at haobins - do i even have to explain???

that love song locker combination - the locker is where junhyeon and seunghwan have their first real convo, and love song references the ggang team's band antics

[notladylikes]

hands on her hips, hair up in some sort of half-ass messy bun, the brunette begins to pace back and forth, back and forth, enough so she could wear down the wooden floor of her apartment in the space at the front of her desk.

she reaches for a cigarette from a crumpled pack, lights it up, and begins smoking. an inhale of tobacco, exhale, teeth gnawing down one the nail of her index finger as she tries to come up with something that sounds relatively normal. 

there is a board hanging above her desk, tucked in one of the back rooms of her apartment, where she's done her research. multiple photographs and newspaper articles are pinned to the cork, scribbled writings and half-eaten granola bars little the surface of the mahogany desk she set up.

she was originally supposed to use it for schoolwork, though she put off the idea of going back to college after her last mental breakdown. her family's interference in her life has always taken a toll on her, even though she has done her best to keep away from them.

she tried going home for christmas, and boy, was that a disaster. her step-mother did nothing but criticize the fact that she'd gone and put a stain on the 'family name' as the wicked witch called it, saying she didn't know why etta couldn't 'contain her crazy'.

it was bad enough that they tried to forcefeed her medications when she got a little too involved in the situation at hand, sending her headfirst into a spiral that ended with her behind the locked door of a mental institution.

a huff of breath and she stubs out the cigarette into an already overflowing ashtray, tears off the piece of her nail that she's been gnawing on, and spits it onto the floor, already forgotten among dust bunnies and various pieces of other junk that she's been too lazy to pick up. 

etta has a series of portraits on her desk, drawn by her hand. she keeps them hidden, for if anyone saw them, she fears they would lock her up and throw away the key. images of young women she's never met, scribbled down in ink, the palpable looks of fear in their eyes are enough to make her stomach churn.

tapping her finger against the book of portraits, henrietta sighs and grabs a bottle of alcohol, twists off the cap and downs a swig of it, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand.

she's so close to figuring it all out, finding out the reality behind her father's lies, and yet at the same time, she feels so far away from it all.

"henrietta,"

the sound of a distant voice catches her ears, and they perk up in response. turning to look at the visage of her mother, distorted by a break of light coming in through the curtains, she swears she can almost feel the coolness of her mother's touch against her overheated skin.

"you're wearing yourself thin, my darling,"

she says, her voice a soft and soothing melody, a stark contrast to the jarring of her step-mother's tone. she hasn't stopped pacing back and forth this entire time, still managing to shift from one foot to the other in an effort to spark some kind of revelation from the back of her mind.

she hasn't slept in two days, hasn't eaten in almost 36 hours, and her only beverage has been that of the alcoholic variety. her body yearns for some sort of normality, but she can't seem to focus long enough.

maybe she should take the sleeping pills prescribed to her. maybe they would help.

she doesn't like the pills, though. they numb her senses and make her feel like she's out of her own head - and that's enough to send anyone reeling. tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, she reaches for another cigarette only to find the pack empty, crumpled on her desk. grabbing said package, she balls it up and attempts to throw it into the garbage can, only to miss.

eventually, etta collapses into a chair, muscles burning from being overworked, from standing on her feet for twelve or so hours without any reprieve.

after a few moments, she starts to write.

it's mainly gibberish at first, random thoughts about what has been going on, a journal of sorts holding discarded thoughts. if anyone were to read it, they'd see the ramblings of a woman everyone claims to be mad.

in reality, she's more sane than most of them.

truth will set you free, they claim.

she only hopes that it happens before she keels over from sheer exhaustion.