#this was half beta read

[kairithemang0]

New fic!!

This one is decently long by my standards, hope it doesn't suck </3

[foldingfittedsheets]

I start my new-old job on Wednesday selling beds. I’m antsy. It’s gonna be a new routine to get into and it’s gonna be an official pause on game jobs for a year unless I wanna burn this bridge to the ground.

I need to get some button ups today, pick plums because I promised my nana, ideally groceries would happen but like. Who knows. And I need to bust out story illustrations.

I’m already so tired.

[allgremlinart]

Ayo can you recommend some jetko fics?

yipeee !!! oh anon CAN I ... please allow me to organize them for you as well ...

Post-Renaissance:

Empty vessels. by outpastthemoat

It’s just that he wanted Li to come with him and he didn’t; Li hadn’t wanted anything to do with Jet. And he really shouldn’t, Jet’s nothing but bad luck to anyone.  But Jet can’t let it go.

Let the City Pull You Under by MadSeason (naive_wanderer)

[He’ll wonder all that, later; but in this moment he kisses a boy who thinks he’s something other than he is, and clings to the bolt of revelation that strikes him in the dark: maybe nothing in life matters except grabbing onto whatever brief moments you have to feel good.] Before joining the Avatar, before choosing his path on the crossroads of destiny, and before he finds a poster for a missing bison, Crown Prince Zuko of the Fire Nation has a teenage affair in Ba Sing Se.

love never wanted me anyway by tiffaniesblews

“Do you really not know how to take a compliment?” Jet questions, turning so that he is leaning on his shoulder, raising an eyebrow over at Zuko. Zuko just shrugs, unsure of how to answer.  “Come on, Lee, you’re a handsome guy,” Jet states, giving Zuko a playful shove in the arm. “You have to see that, right?” OR: Jet gives Zuko a compliment that Zuko is unsure of how to answer.

The Classics:

 Something to Hold Onto by Wildgoosery

Since the day the walls of Ba Sing Se fell, the Freedom Fighters have struggled to protect what remains of the city and its people. Jet and his second command, a mysterious boy named Li, have spent the summer piecing together an army, hoping for a chance to take the city back for good. But Li is also Zuko, and the time for that secret is quickly running out. Soon, he'll have to decide exactly who he is, what cause he's going to fight for, and where his heart lies.

Something New by Anonymous

Zuko is sick and tired of living in Ba Sing Se. Jet is too. But he wants to make it better anyway.

The Bathhouse of the Four Beauties by jin_fenghuang

Set in Ba Sing Se. Li and the Freedom Fighters are visiting a bathhouse. Can be considered vaguely in the 'The Walls of Ba Sing Se' timeline, but is a stand-alone story.

[tanith-rhea]

Carnations

It was beautiful, in a morbid way, that this would be the way you'd go. A botany teacher whose lungs were filled with flowers.

Author's note: absolute angst on this one, I won't promise tears cause different people sail different ships, but I can say that there is no happy ending, a good old character death which I suspect is over-described, and the illusory or not certainty of unrequited love.

You may do with this information whatever you please 💛

You'd always had a fascination when it came to flower diseases. Hanakanjō always seemed to you like the worst thing that could happen to a person, flowers sprouting from one's skin and betraying their emotions to others around them. In the end, you wish you could trade it for yours, it would be mortifying to burst into pink carnations every time Larissa walked past you, but at least you wouldn't have yellow ones choking you up at night when you replayed her words repeatedly in your head.

"I could never fall in love with an employee," she'd said, nursing what little wine was left in her glass.

"Do you think you could control it?" the question had nothing to do with your fondness for the principal, it spoke of how much of a romantic you were, actually, how tragic it would be if it happened.

She seemed to consider it for a while, before settling for "I'm fairly certain. I have no interest in falling in love and even if I had I would make sure to not harbour any feelings for someone I could not pursue. I wouldn't be so careless as to set myself up for heartbreak," her voice sounded sure and final. She finished her drink and inhaled carefully before eyeing your glass and seeing you'd also finished yours.

"I'm afraid it's rather late," she continued softly, "This was supposed to be a work meeting and I kept you for far too long," she paused, and you felt something tighten in your chest as you realized the conversation (and your lovely evening) was over. "Thank you for indulging me, though."

Larissa would never fall in love with a teacher. And you, pretty much a teacher and "one of the few she considered a friend", would never have your feelings reciprocated.

It was rather lovely, to be in love, and you discovered you didn't mind to love alone that evening when you left her office. It was really such a shame that your lungs begged to disagree.

The first time you coughed you were in class. You were about to explain to a second-year student how a certain plant could be made into poison and medicine depending on the situation or its handling when you broke into a fit. You hadn't caught a cold and no flowers were blooming quite yet, so when you couldn't stop for a whole thirty seconds you thought it rather odd.

The blood in your elbow pit once you finally stopped was also curious, but you carried on until all classes were finished.

Later that same day, you were at the quad waiting for a student who had asked you to take a look at his potted plant which he said didn't look so good. He had left class just a few minutes before and passed through the quad to tell you he would go to his dorm take the plant and come back in two beats but he was taking his time, apparently.

Distracted, you didn't notice someone approaching the table you were sitting at and squeaked like a scared squirrel once Larissa's hand laid on your shoulder.

"My, my, I did think you were a bit lost but it seems you were in fact stupefied," she sounded amused. Your face was catching fire.

"You absolute menace, why did you sneak up on me like that? Do you want to kill me?" your voice was still squeaky; like you'd inhaled helium.

Larissa laughed, full of mirth and fondness, and you couldn't pretend to be displeased with her when your lips were insisting on twitching up. You were probably making a funny face while fighting back your smile because she only continued on, if softer, as you shook your head and looked away.

"I'm sorry to have startled you, I was only passing and wanted to know what you were up to." Her hand was still resting on your shoulder and her thumb was now soothingly stroking small circles on the hollow of your clavicle.

She smiled affectionately at you while you composed yourself enough to answer. You had close to no dignity left but you would fight to recuperate it.

You cleared your suddenly tight throat, "I'm just waiting on Ajax for plant advice. He's babysitting a Dahlia for a friend of his and is worried it might be dying."

"A dahlia?" Larissa arched an eyebrow.

"Yes... why?" what was so curious about a boy caring for a flower to her?

She shrugged, "Nothing, just-" she paused, her fingertips pressing a bit as if gripping you lightly for a second, "their meaning, I imagine, but boys his age probably don't know these things anymore," she smiled dismissively.

She squeezed your shoulder softly again, eyes glinting a bit before saying, "Well, it's always lovely to run into you, dear," and leaned down to kiss your cheek, hand sliding from your shoulder to your chin as she held your face gently and pressed her lips right under your cheekbone.

She eyed the spot where her lips had been, probably because they left a mark redder than your blush, before smiling once again and leaving. Once she was out of view, you brought shaky fingertips to your warm face and suddenly you were doubling over with coughs; unstopping, burning things scorching your throat as blood springled your trousers and then, like it was just another product any coughing fit could conjure, there were two yellow petals, tinged half red in blood, laid on your lap.

"Professor...?" Ajax's voice caught your attention, and frankly people had to stop surprising you like this. You looked up to see terrified eyes staring at the stains on your lap. "Is everything alright?"

You definitely didn't feel alright. "Yes, it's just an inflammation or something," you pretended to dismiss it and he didn't seem too convinced, "Is this the child?" you pointed at a perfectly healthy dahlia.

"Yeah... I left it on the window this morning and it seems a lot better now." He shifted from foot to foot, "I brought her here just to confirm she's alright," he completed.

"She?" you couldn't help a smile. It was a joke when you said the child.

His face reddened a bit and it was amusing but mostly adorable how uncomfortable he suddenly seemed.

"Xavior and I have this thing that we talk about her like she is a person," he appeared to be immensely interested in her since he couldn't take his eyes off the plant to look at you while explaining, "We read on a website that plants can communicate with others and respond well to being praised and stuff so it because sort of a thing and-"

His words were coming more and more like undistinguished mumbles so you took pity on him and interrupted, saying "She's alright, Ajax. A healthy little girl as far as I can see, don't worry."

He visibly relaxed, deflating like a cloak of lead was sliding off his shoulders. He finally looked you in the face, still unsure and stealing glances at your lap.

"Thank you, prof." He nodded forcefully and marched quickly back inside.

The tricky thing was that you loved life, but you also loved Larissa, and you didn't want to stop doing either of those, even if they might terminate each other and you in the process.

Love is such a beautiful sentiment and dying from it was just your luck. If you could choose, in all honesty, you might have chosen to die exactly like this.

That didn't mean you were eager to do so. And that was why you decided to distance yourself from Larissa. You loved her, and you knew your love would only grow stronger and having her around did not help to keep you from diving deeper into the magnificent, all-encompassing feeling of completion that filled your heart and soul so absolutely it spilt.

In the first few weeks, she didn't seem to notice, but after your third refusal of a shared glass of red at her office she appeared at your door, concern written between her brows.

"I'm sorry to disturb you, dear, but I have the feeling I don't see you as much as I'd like this past few days and was wondering if something happened."

She had no business looking so caring and... worried, fretful.

You were still standing at the doorsill, feeling thin roots curl and clench inside your chest like anarchist veins looking for tissue to spread themselves onto when the thought occurred to you for the first time. Why can't she love me back?

It was nonsense. You knew her, you knew why, and of course your life was on the line and it mattered more than school rules or power dynamics but she was not looking for love. She made it clear not once, but several times when she'd repeat incessantly every time someone brought up the fact that she was single.

"I don't see why I need someone, Tish," or "I don't mind being alone, Vlad," and "No, dear, I don't feel incomplete, I have everything I ever wished for".

You hadn't had a problem with it before, but now, seeing her standing there, gloved hands clasped together in front of her elegantly but not fooling you at all. The air was charged, she was waiting for something; an invitation to enter, an explanation, reassurance. Her hands in front of her were not a sign of grace but an attempt at not fidgeting. She never fidgeted, you suspected she practised so much that now every time she felt uncomfortable she'd instinctively adopt certain poses that evoked control.

"Finals are coming soon," you said with no thought at all, and her brows furrowed deeper, "I mean... Preparation for finals," you tried to salvage, "I like to do a pre-review with smaller classes."

She clearly did not buy it but also didn't question you. Instead, her posture impossibly improved as she cleared her throat quietly, "Well, I'll leave you to your evening plans then," and she motioned to leave.

"Which-" you said quickly before she could go, she stood attentively, "I don't have," you said, voice breaking at the end as you felt petals clog up your windpipe.

Larissa smiled, surprised and clearly pleased, and you stepped out of the way so she could enter.

"Give me a moment," you whispered with what you hoped was an easy smile as you excused yourself to the bathroom.

As soon as you closed the door you tried your best to vomit, expel? Get rid of the petals slowly rising with as little sound as possible. If you coughed there was a chance Larissa would hear and ask questions. You weren't sure you could lie to her if she asked why you were coughing petals like you're the embodiment of spring. Even if she'd know the reason, you couldn't trust yourself not to tell it was because of her.

But you can't vomit something coming from your lungs, and there is no such thing as "gracefully letting a foreign solid thing leave travel through your respiratory system". You just grabbed a towel from the cabinet and muffled the screeches and choking and sobs on it.

After an unknown amount of time, a knock took you out of your breathing exercise to regain control.

"Is everything ok in there?" you weren't coughing anymore, but her small voice made you want to cry. Your face was still flushed from all the exertion and the tears brought by pain were still drying on your cheeks.

Your breathing quickened as dread and heartbreak occupied the emptiness left by bloody petals. You screamed without a sound, air leaving your throat, face twisted from grief. You'd die from loving her and you knew you would do so soon.

Larissa didn't wait for an answer much longer, and as she opened the door you curled into yourself, hiding the petals between your legs and chest, burying your face on your knees so she wouldn't see how ugly you looked when falling apart.

"Love, what happened?" she breathed, kneeling beside you without another word and taking you into her arms.

Why was she calling you love? Why did she have to do that? You were her friend, dear and darling and sometimes sweet. You weren't her love, you would never be and that was going to kill you. Why did she have to be affectionate when it cut you deeper than any cruelty ever could?

You couldn't make a sound, your throat could barely manage between you not breathing from all the muted crying and you scrambling for air when you realized more petals were coming as Larissa's smell filled the air, easily overpowering the flowers' while she hugged your body with one arm and kept the other around your shoulders, fingertips massaging your scalp under the crown of your head where she kept her face pressed.

This was so close to love. Why was it so hard to take that final step? You shared evenings together like a years-old couple, talked easily as if you'd spent a life together and not two years of acquaintanceship, you thought of her every second of every day, nurturing her in your heart and her rejection in your lungs.

You wished you could make her fall for you. You didn't mind before, and it wasn't the prospect of death that made you yearn for it so much now. You realized you were sick because it was too much. You had too much love inside of you and if she didn't want it there was nowhere it could go, no one to belong to, so it had to cease to exist, one way or another.

As your tight muscles started to tire and your body to fail, Larissa helped you to your bed. You were less than a person, more like the hollow ruins of a once beautiful castle that was now being conquered by nature, retaken, reclaimed.

When you stood and full flowers fell from your hiding place to the floor, you heard Larissa's surprised intake of breath. A few uncertain second passed as you looked down to the beautiful blooms you couldn't help but longingly admire, wishing them to finish you before Larissa continued to care for you like it wasn't just make it worse.

You were so drained she practically carried you across the room, laid you down on the bed and looked for the Nth time uncertain. After a few seconds she seemed to reach a conclusion and slid under the covers beside you, pulling you half conscious to her chest.

Before you completely blacked out, you heard her whisper, "I wish it was me."

The next day she wasn't there. When you woke up with very few memories of the night before, you had the sense that something was missing and as snippets of images and vague recollections started to pile up into a sequence of tortuously sweet moments, you had your worse fit of coughs that date.

That was it. You were done for. Larissa cared enough to wish to die in your place but not in the way that could save you.

You'd do anything for her but she simply couldn't do the one thing you needed from her. And it wasn't her fault, you knew she could try, hell she did try the night before for all you knew but it just was not possible. No one could force people into love and you wanted nothing of the sort. Even if you hungered for Larissa like a person starving to death you were happier knowing she would have a good life, everything she ever wished for, as she said, than being forever bound to you when she didn't want it.

You knew you didn't have long now, you weren't really coughing as flowers with the semblance of thin stems were lodged in your throat, so you fumbled desperately for something to write on while you still could.

When Larissa found you, she didn't see the paper, the tray with tea she'd gone prepare to wake you up with fell with no sound she could hear, the shattered porcelain not registering underneath the deafening white noise. She lifted your body from the floor beside the bed where you'd slipped off only to scream and let you fall onto the mattress as she saw glassed-over eyes.

She screamed and wailed and didn't notice the countless people rapidly entering and immediately leaving the room to look for help. The love of her life lay on a bed of flowers, yellow and red while their skin was almost translucent. Choked on the stems of what could be a small bouquet, blood slowly pooling beside their mouth.

"Dear Larissa, I hope you forgive the state I'm bound to be found, and that whoever has the misfortune of finding me has it in themselves to remind this scene as a terrible but miraculous love letter.

I loved you so much that it killed me.

Doesn't that sound nice? Maybe not nice, I'm dying so I don't have time to weight my words too carefully.

I'm writing this to thank you. Thank you for every time you smiled at me, talked to me, touched the back of my hand while handing me wine or made me nothing at all other than company.

Life was harder but infinitely sweeter while I was fortunate to love you. I am in love with you, and I hope after I'm dead I'll be able to still be. I know you'd be kind to the point of letting me haunt you, but I love you more than I can put into words and want you to forget this ever happened and be happy.

It's ok that you don't love me back, it's ok that I'm dead now, I died loving you and there is no other way I'd rather have died. If the price for feeling this deeply is death then you could say I chose to pay, even though I didn't. I know you wished it were you, but I was happy to pay.

If I coul"

Part of the unfinished sentence was covered by a dark stain, the rest was simply not written.

Larissa sobbed brokenly reading "I know you wished it were you," over and over, what she'd meant the night before was "I wish I was the one you love."

I listened to this while I wrote if you'd like to listen to some soft, nice music. As always, @alder-saan I hope you like it. Unless you don't want to read sad stuff which I completely understand

[devotioncrater]

early morning static rated: E (smut in chapter 2) Words: 1,307 Chapters: 1/2 Summary:

And Ted tastes like an early dawn. Or maybe that’s just the first imagery to spring up in Trent’s sleep-addled mind, because his bedroom window faces the East and the clouds begin to color into a hazy shade of purple. Beautiful in a temporary way. Slow in a temporary way. There’s a promise of light to shine out, out, out and stun him blind with its beauty. Slowly, Ted begins to trail his fingers up and down Trent’s palm, forearm, elbow. A touch that wants to believe in the real, tangible proof of Trent's existence. That Trent won't disappear or fade away like some yearned-for dream had in a bed all the way in Middle America. "I'm here," Trent whispers by Ted's ear, gentle. "You're here. We're here together." “That’s all I want,” Ted responds, vulnerable, and kisses him again.

[lemons-pears]

"Come, sit down, I'm making-"

2am is a peculiar time in Shadow Company: some are fast asleep to face the coming day, some are staring at their ceiling, and some are still out and about. Of course, some members would hold roles that involve active duties past midnight.

However, some are avoiding the Sandman for different purposes entirely. Depending on the Shadow, some spend their time outside, watching the sky and, perhaps, indulging in a vice - whether that be smoking with the stars, or sharing a drink with past ghosts.

Others remain inside, though their bodies still as active as ever.

Communal kitchen, 2am. Or, he assumed it was communal, anyways.

Half of the ingredients he practically smuggled in himself, the other half he found unopened at the back of the cupboards. Unlike prior occasions, Moth's basically eyeballing it all the best he can with sleepy eyes.

Ingredients he's smuggled in include: glutinous rice flour (it looks so genuinely suspicious underneath his bed - wrapped in plastic, double bagged and it still left some remnants behind), coconut milk (oddly enough they had coconut cream, but not the milk itself) and cheese (cheddar - the fridge had an opened pack of American cheese, and processed cheeseburger slices). They're all spread out neatly and within arm's range.

Everything else - the eggs, butter, sugar and evaporated milk - was located in a couple minutes. To his surprise, he found some frozen banana leaf jammed deep inside the freezer. In case it belonged to anyone else, he took as little as he thought he needed. He'll ask about ownership later.

Sure, the normal recipe would call for more ingredients, but that would involve more smuggling, and Moth isn't in a position to ask Graves about the rules regarding what can and can't be kept in the pantry- turn the music on and start anyways.

'Strangers in the night exchanging glances

Wondering in the night, what were the chances...'

He lets the speaker take over the singing, silence being filled with sound: an old friend got him hooked on the tradition; before him it was himself and the quiet.

The recipe, how he remembered it anyways, was simple to follow. Having preheated the oven, he spent some time cutting up the banana leaf a little to fit the dimensions of the tin he found. Lining it with care, humming along to the music, and generally enjoying his night. This. This is his vice, in a sense.

Rhythmic cracking and whisking of eggs, he barely needs to measure how much flour he needs at this rate. Stabbing open the cans with a knife because he recalls how the can opener was recently broken. No questions about it. Sugar, butter- it all gets mixed in one glass bowl he rinsed in the sink.

It's fine. He'll clean up after himself once he's done. He stands, in his own bubble, whisking away. The batter needs to be rid of lumps, but not too overdone that it turns out wrong.

It's admittedly quite... domestic in the kitchen, a rare mercy when it comes to the culinary sphere in Shadow Company. He pays no attention to the busted up microwave, after all. He could stay there all night and bake if he wanted to-

"Ah! Kinam- er- good evening-" The music was too loud and he wasn't fully alert when the kitchen door swung open. Now some Shadow is standing there wondering what Sergeant Moth must be up to past midnight. Cradling a bowl in one arm and whisking away like a housewife, sunglasses pushed up on his head and mask covering up the microwave. Lord, he has an apron on too.

...Before they could ask, however, Moth's already quick to talk, practically beckoning them, "Come, sit down, I'm making bibingka." His startled appearance only melts away when they take a couple steps inside the kitchen; not a single appliance combusted once during his time inside so far.

Again, it's mostly quiet aside from the music. He's already finished pouring the batter into the tray, readying himself to put it inside the oven for however long it needs to bake for. They're just sat, watching. Almost childlike. There's a curiosity, at the very least.

"...Ading," Wrong- who cares, it's late, "If... if you want to help whilst you're here, then you could help me grate the cheese? Don't have to, obviously."

Still, he's talking them through the steps, winding up some egg timer. Preheat, line, mix, bake, top, broil. And make sure music is on, because: "Music gives the food some soul, no? Good atmosphere gives it a good mood to be prepared with." Understandably, Moth isn't exactly himself - it's late, he's less concerned with appearance or suitable behaviours. He's more casual than anything.

Looking over as he washed up, making sure they don't slice a finger on the box grater, "We'll put the cheese on top once the sides look done, then we'll broil it... You're doing great, by the way." Eyeing up the first aid kit on the wall anyways, just in case. He'll do some of the cheese preparation right before he pulls it out the oven and grate cheese. "...'m very grateful to have you here." That was bad.

A brief flash of heat when the oven door opens, and he slides the tray out a little. Cheese gets sprinkled on the surface of the bibingka, almost in excess. But good co-operation means extra reward, after all. And once it's all back in the oven?

Moth's handing the Shadow the egg timer, twisted up to a couple more minutes, with a proud look on his face. "I'll make sure the food's all out and cooling once this goes off, yeah? If I'm there then you're taking some, and if I'm absent, then you can take as much or as little as you want, alright?...As long as Commander Graves doesn't find out. Go do anything you need to, Ading." Praise. He's happy for having some company that isn't set and speaker-bound.

"...I'll see you around. Have a good night." Waves them off, takea a breather and... appreciates existing a little more.

[raineandsky]

hello friends!

this may seem like an odd post, but i thought i might as well bring it to the people i trust the most about my writing!!

so as some of you may have noticed from my erratic tags on some of my snippets recently, i've finished writing my book (YAHOOOO) which means i'm now looking for beta readers!! i'm absolutely pumped about this, of course, and i wanted to extend this opportunity to you guys :D keep reading you want a first look at a future #1 best-selling author (maybe):

so this is for my debut novel, a dance with death - a 79k word low-fantasy about demons, the afterlife, and what it means to be a victim of fate.

Find a blurb under the cut if you're interested!!

"Demons are generally expected to go undiscovered in the living world.

Azazel is not one to hit general expectations.

Mia, though, a weathered pizzeria worker and now accidental-demon-finder, has seen worse. A mutual agreement flourishes from her discovery – Mia doesn’t see Hell, and Azazel stays in the living world in return. It seems simple enough at first, but the tiny kitchens of the pizzeria prove an unfortunately intimate place if you don’t want to make friends with your demonic coworkers.

Then Mia introduces her boyfriend, Jake, and suddenly their blooming friendship feels a lot more dangerous. He’s six feet of jealousy and rage, and he doesn’t like how close Azazel’s secret has made them. They’re not sure how far he’s willing to go to keep them away from her.

After all, the Harbinger of Death is only willing to wait so long."

if you haven't done beta reading before but still want to give it a try, don't worry! i'm new to it too, but i'll help give you an idea of what i'm looking for :) i'd also like to point out the fact that this is a book, a wholeass novel (albeit a novel on the shorter side), so it would of course require a little bit of time dedication from you

leave a comment or shoot me a message if this sounds like something up your street!!

[bakersgrief]

Inspired by @ndoandou and their twin!alt!keith shitpost comic.

Keith always slept with his curtains open. The light from the moon and stars would bathe his room in the most ethereal glow. Not that he was awake to enjoy much of it. But the gentle light sang him to sleep like a lullaby when his mind wouldn't calm down enough to allow him his much needed rest.

Perhaps this was what lured the Creature to him. On a night like any other, Keith slept peacefully beneath his covers; the blankets carefully smoothed down and tucked around him. Perhaps it was the noise of his restless mind that had only recently died down; or perhaps it was the glinting of the moonlight off of the large panes of his window. Or perhaps, it was something entirely different that caused the pixie-like fairy to dance into Keith's room that night with a rhythmic thunk, thunk, thunking.

Now, fae-creatures do not give out their names. They most often use a pseudonym of some sort. This one called their self "Gil". A creature with fluttery, translucent wings and an unearthly glow. The Gil-fairy smiled a polite smile, the kind filled with frost and threat, as he waved his little star-shaped wand over the slumbering Keith. An odd sort of "heehee" sound filled the air as he did so, but most wouldn't recognize it as a laugh. At the very least, it lacked any sort of mirth. However, it was filled with the mischief fae-creatures are so infamous for.

The "heehee" had no time to crash upon the peaceful Keith's consciousness. The fairy's spell shocked the sleeping Keith awake with a violently bright burst of light. His body jolted so hard both his blanket and his night cap were thrown away from him.

Keith lay there panting, feeling as if his soul had left his body and was now laying atop him with a crushing weight. Wait...

What was crushing him right now? The answer was a very surprised and confused... Keith?!! Keith was what was lying on top of Keith! At least, it looked like him...

But it was quickly obvious that it was not Him. He was him, and yet he was not. As both stood up and regained their bearings, too many emotions to name flitted through both their heads.

The kind Keith was fearful. This was the other person who had been living inside him until recently. The one who would hurt others while wearing his face and leaving him to deal with the fallout. The one who was rough and unpredictable, untrustworthy and barely restrained at times. The one who was so much more successful than him... if only Keith could have been able to see through his eyes even once.

Instead, it seemed as if a stranger seized his body and his consciousness on a whim and used his face for some dark purpose. Well, this other side of him couldn't have been all bad, at least. He often did things to help the kingdom that Kind Keith could not.

However... the look in his eyes was much darker and more predatory than Keith had ever seen himself look, and he shuddered as he wondered if he always looked like that when He was in control.

The other Keith... was quite pleased. At last. Somehow, he seemed to be free. He stared at the trembling failure he was so often forced to masquerade as. The mean Keith had no idea what was going on, but he couldn't give a shit at the moment.

Was this truly real? The alternate Keith didn't notice, or perhaps didn't care, how frightened the kind Keith was by his pleased smirk. Not another second of using his right hand, smiling calmly at rude nobility, or wearing that damned jacket buttoned up all the way to his neck. Keith could have run and jumped for joy in that moment, could have walked right past that trembling failure who had owned the body he was born in before his conception.

He could finally be free...

Of course, he wouldn't actually leave the life of a prince behind. The wicked Keith cared for Jade and its people in his own way. But the high of finally having his own body filled his mind with images of running topless through the forest and jumping naked into streams and sleeping in other people's beds and-

The wicked Keith was brought out of his reverie by the sound of an opening door and the sight of a stunned Liam. The half-asleep man seemed shocked into wakefulness as his pale green eyes bugged out of his head at the sight of two Keith's, his black ponytail seeming to bristle like a cat's tail.

The mean Keith snatched the candle holder that Liam nearly dropped from him, wondering if he should poke his eyes back into his head for him. Ya know, pay him back for all his kindness and shit, calling him a piece of trash and whatnot.

He decided to explain the situation as simply and quickly as possible to avoid having to converse with either too long.

"Me and the failure no longer share bodies."

Ah. So it was true. This really was the other person that had begun inhabiting his body after the death of his brother. Keith trembled with emotion; fear, anger, curiosity, hope, questions- His eyes began to tear with helplessness at how overwhelming the entire situation was. He weakly called for help.

"Liam..."

Liam was still stunned. Too stunned for any eloquent speeches as he stared at the two princes in front of him. All he could say was one thing.

"What the fuck."

Edit: Wow this is the first thing I ever wrote on Tubmlr. A relic.

Taglist: @shadowylakes @floydsteeth @sh0jun @rou-luxe @letter-from-afar @mxrmaid-poet @anonymousnamedhera @kanatashinkaifr @rookkunt

Ikepri tags: @keithsandwich @littlewitty @awheeee

[splinnters]

she thinks you love the beach (7.2k words)

Nya doesn't understand why Kai won't spar with her. Is he really that protective of her, or is something else wrong?

hello, ninjago fandom! I have officially posted my first fic! it's kai and nya angst! as promised to the people, of course

this is the first fic of many, so please feel free to subscribe to my archive account if you want notifs. otherwise I'll update on here, too :D

[huskies709]

Been looking at a whole lot of That’s Not My Neighbor lately, and I’ve gotta say: as a horror game, the game is not scary at all.

What is scary, though? The fridge horror of it all.

Just imagine how society must function in this world. You have to match your ID near EXACTLY if you don’t want to get at best held for questioning and at worst ‘cleaned’ by the DDD, and some of these IDs expire 10, 20 years out into the future! Do you even look like your ID within one year of having it?

No dyeing your hair or cutting it, not without warning the DDD or your apartment or your workplace or anywhere else that people might need to be screened for doppelgängers. No nicking yourself while shaving- and if you took your ID photo when clean shaven, you have to do that till god knows how long- and if you do, how do you explain that cut to people? Do you need to have a DNA test done? Have a family member vouch for you? Even if the evidence is accepted by those in power and you are allowed to continue, what of the social stigma? Do people avoid each other when they look differently?

Getting sick, too. Sneezing and coughing can give you a red, irritated nose and a raspy voice- and if the doorman doesn’t trust you then, what do you do? No one would want to be near you, both because they don’t want to feel ill and also because that could mean having no place to sleep or worse.

Speaking of worse. Do you know how many doppelgängers there are? Some nights there are more doppelgängers trying to get into the apartment than there are real people! How does society function at all? Do the doppelgängers have jobs and go to work? Do they know instinctively who other doppelgängers are, or once the area is saturated with them, can they no longer tell? Is this why they don’t attack humans until they are in the safety of their own homes?

Are the apartment buildings the only private, human rich spaces left? How many people are left?

How many humans are left?

And despite all this, people are still having children and going to school and pursuing their passions. Nacha is a teacher- has she seen child doppelgängers get stopped at the front gates of the school before? We know they exist, there are plenty of her child trying to get into their apartment. What does she think about it? Godddd I need a story more to this game so badly. I have so many questions you have no idea

[ghoodles]

I actually did one of these prompts!!

Ive been having my eye on the ghoulette appreciation weeks for a while, but writers block kicked me in the ass

But, with the snow, i got a bit of inspiration (and a lot of free time)

So, without further ado, @jesusbutbetterrr 's ghoulette appreciation week prompt,

Lazy sunday

centering around cirrus :D

Warnings: i dont think there's any, this is relatively fluff based ^^

The earth ghouls had warned them all in advance.

Saturday night, their predictions had come true, flakes of snow falling from the earth, drifting. Cirrus could feel the cold wind outside. She was sure anyone with even the slightest Air in them could feel it too, even whilst in the comforts of the ministry.

It had not stopped the next morning, the ghoulette’s first sight being the white, powdery snow that had collected outside, with more falling from the sky. The shouts and squeals from the newer summons outside had filled her ears, but..

Not today. At least, not yet. 

She layered her outfit, a comfortable thing. A t-shirt, a sweater on top, and regular sweatpants. It couldn't have been that cold inside, and if she was dragged out, then, well, she’d just put on a coat or something. They could afford to wait a moment, after all.

Slipping on some slippers, she slunk through the halls of the ministry. They were large things, the size almost making Mountain look small, with stained, blue glass that let the cold air in, earning a shiver from Cirrus. She wasn't exactly built for the colder air, that was Cumulus, who was probably outside, enjoying the snow. She could almost imagine her laugh, airy and light, mixing in with the newer ghouls. 

The air ghoulette arrived in the kitchen, and grabbed a mug. Nobody really cared who’s mug was which, aside from some specific ones. 

This mug was purple, with an illustration of a white cat, playing with a ball of yarn. There was text above it, stating;         “Good Time We are having a great time”

With a small, soft chuckle at the mug, she placed it onto the countertop. As she went to brew the coffee, she noticed that the brown liquid was already in the pot. 

Seemed like someone needed it earlier than her.

She took the pot out of the machine, and poured it into the cup. 

Today would be a great day. A lazy one, there was no way anyone would want to do anything productive, but a good one, nonetheless.

[astarionsdarlingjade]

Ruin

Chap. 1

word count- 8k+

Astarion/Named Fem! Dark Urge

The gif isn't really relevant but I didn't want to not put anything. I'll probably change it later when I get the photo mod figured out.

This takes place ten years before the events of the game.

The lights and sounds of the tavern bombarded her senses as she walked through the wooden creaking doors. The place was packed with patrons of all sorts; humans, dwarves, and even some elves, and all of them were drunk out of their minds. A few heads turned as she made her way towards the bar, but most of the patrons were too absorbed in their drinks or their own conversations to notice her. She was used to it, though. 

It was best for when she needed to find her targets. Taking a seat at the bar she kept the hood of her cloak low so as not to be seen. The Blushing Mermaid was certainly busier tonight, filled to the brim with sailors fresh from a long haul and dock workers ready to drink their pay.

She would need to pick at least one tonight to sate her father's prayers. Her eyes landed on a tiefling woman, who sat in the far corner of the tavern. Her golden irises were framed by black, and her navy skin glinted under the candlelight. Away from the bustling of the sailors, she sat nursing one drink that seemed to have been sat there for hours. 

Their eyes met, and she quickly sent her a small coquettish smile before setting her own drink down. She moved to leave her stool, but before she could, a smooth and velvety voice reached her ears.

"Hello, beautiful."

Forcing herself to stop her movements, she turned to look at who exactly had the gall to approach a Bhaalspawn. Even if it wasn't obvious. Looking over her shoulder revealed a pale elf, his eyes a deep shade of red, framed by silver locks. Not too unusual, but there was something rather unnerving about how they seemed to glow so vibrantly.

She sighed inwardly, hoping that he would quickly leave her be, so that she might focus on the tiefling woman. He must have taken her sighing for a sign because he smiled and took the stool beside her.

"I've not seen you here before. What brings you to a place like this?"

His smile was a bit too practiced, she noticed. He also made sure that his lips were sealed tight. Strange.

What a pretty corpse he'd make-

She bit back a snarky response and forced a polite smile instead, "Just passing through."

Please leave, Lord Bhaal must have a sufficient sacrifice before midnight, and I refuse to displease him. She prayed silently.

But he didn't, instead, he regaled her with many a line about the beauty of her hair, and her eyes. All the while she had to bite back her temper and pray to her father for him to simply leave her be.

After what seemed like hours, she finally spoke again. "Do you wish to buy me a drink, or simply sit beside me?"

Her question seemed to startle him, but his composure returned, and he grinned at her.

"I can, but only if you promise me one thing."

Her patience was running thin. The clock was so close to ticking midnight.

Her eyes fell back to the far end of the room, the tiefling woman was gone, her drink still sat on the table, nearly full as it had been before.

Gods damnit-

"Give me the pleasure of your company for the night. And I'll buy you any drink you desire."

She nearly spat in shock. So that was what he getting at? He wanted to... take her to bed? 

His tone was laced with seduction as he continued, "And when morning comes, you can have your way with me. But first, let me have mine with you."

She could practically hear her father's screams of rage as the clock struck 11.

Lord Bhaal demanded blood. Demanded a sacrifice-

"Very well," she acquiesced, swallowing back thoughts of how he would look covered in blood. His own, of course.

She would have to make this quick, she was already late.

"Come," She said, taking his hand as she led him through the creaking doors. "I am at your disposal."

"For now," she added, her voice low.

The streets of Baldur's Gate were deadly silent for once, the only noise came from the taverns and the docks, and even then the sounds were distant, muffled by the buildings. She had led the elf through the alleys, weaving and darting through them, until they found a quiet spot near the harbor, where a single ship was docked.

"What's this?" he asked, an edge to his voice.

She turned and looked at him, and gave him a seductive smirk. "We're alone, and the streets are quiet."

It didn't take him long to understand her meaning. He wasted no time, and before she could get another word out, his mouth was upon hers.  The kiss was heated and messy, and he grabbed her waist and pushed her against the wall of a nearby building.

She pulled away and smiled. "Impatient, are we?"

"Only because I know what I want." He said, returning her smile.

"And what do you want, hmm?" she asked, still a bit breathless from the kiss.

He smirked and moved his hands down to her hips. "You. Now."

She laughed. "So forward! You haven't even given me your name," she said, with a tone of faux offense.

"I could say the same to you, darling," he retorted.

"Rhea," She said, whispering it softly.

He repeated it, rolling the name on his tongue.

"Such a pretty name, for such a pretty thing," He purred, pulling her closer.

She pulled back, her lips ghosting over his ear. His breath hitched. Her tongue darted out and traced the shell of his ear, before she nibbled on his earlobe. He let out a small, choked moan, before he felt her hand press against his bulge.

"And yours," she asked quietly, her hand moving slowly over his bulge. 

Even without the clock, she could tell it was just past midnight. Surely, skipping one night of sacrifice wouldn't be too harmful. If anything, Orin would more than make up for her share.

"Astarion, darling," He breathed, his lips ghosting against hers.

"A lovely name," she replied, rolling it on her tongue as she closed the distance. This kiss was much softer, and gentler than the first. It was tender and warm.

It felt nice. She let herself get lost in the moment. In his touch. His hands were cool, and it was almost easy, to forget her lost sacrifice. To forget who she was. Almost.

She pulled away, her breathing heavy, and her heart racing. Astarion looked at her, his eyes wide, and his lips slightly parted. It was hard to tell under the dim streetlights, but there seemed to be no color to his pallid face. She opened her mouth to speak, but he cut her off with another kiss. It was hungry, and it burned through her like wildfire. Intoxicating.

"Oh, darling. I am going to enjoy making you scream," he said breathlessly. 

"Is that a promise?" She asked coyly, tasting the salt from the sea on her tongue as she spoke.

"Indeed it is, " he murmured. 

She laughed dryly. "We'll see."

He pushed her forward, her back hitting the wall. He was on her in a second, his mouth attacking hers, and his hands roaming her body. She groaned, her hands tangling themselves in his hair. He chuckled and grabbed her wrists, pinning them above her head. He began to trail kisses down her neck, nipping and sucking on the skin as he went. She gasped, arching her back, trying to get closer to him. His other hand snaked up her thigh and under her dress, slowly dragging his nails across her skin. She moaned, rutting her hips into him.

"Gods, you're so eager." He pressed his body against hers, pinning her to the wall, and his knee found its way between her legs, forcing a whine from her lips as she ground her hips against his knee. Surprisingly desperate for friction. 

"Astarion..."

"That's it, darling. Moan my name. Let the whole city hear you."

He was surprisingly careful not to bite into her flesh, his teeth grazing just enough for heat to pool in her stomach. She gasped, her eyes fluttering shut. She could feel her arousal building, her body aching for more. For him.

He grinned, and pulled away, his hand leaving her wrist. She groaned at the loss of contact, and he silenced her with a kiss. His hands unclipped her cloak and let it slide to the ground before pushing her dress up and past her hips. Astarion broke the kiss and looked down at her, his eyes on fire. Cool air hit her heated core, and she shivered. 

"My, my, darling," He cooed. "How wet you are for me. Are you always this ready, or am I just special?"

"You talk too much," she growled, pulling him down into another kiss.

Her hand slid between them, and she rubbed her palm against him, drawing a low moan from his plush lips.

He pushed her hand away and pulled her dress up. She frowned and her brow furrowed, as he stepped back.  He knelt, and she swallowed thickly, anticipation coiling in her stomach. She leaned back against the wall, her hands gripping the rough bricks for support. He began trailing kisses up her thighs, and her breath hitched. His hand caressed her thighs, and he ran his tongue along her inner thigh. She let out a gasp, and she could feel him smirking against her skin.

"So sensitive." He ran his tongue ran closer to her heat, and she shivered.

" Astarion ... "

"Tell me what you want, darling."

"Touch me, please," She gasped, her nails digging into the bricks.

He paused his movements, seemingly lost in thought before he spoke again.

"Mm. Beg for me," he said, his eyes not meeting her gaze. Distant-

She gritted her teeth. "No."

He paused and looked up at her, his crimson eyes a blaze. "Beg, or I'll leave you like this."

She threw him a glare. Her, beg? For some-

His cool breath fanned over her cunt, making her stomach flutter, and her face hot. 

"Fine," she gritted through her teeth.

"Please."

"Please what, darling?" he cooed. 

"Please, I want you to fuck me. Right now."

He smirked. "Good girl."

He dropped to his knees and buried his face between her thighs. She felt his lips on her, and she threw her head back, moaning loudly. His tongue was warm, as he licked a line from her opening to her clit, circling her entrance.

"Oh, yes. Fuck, yes," she moaned, her fingers tangling themselves in his silver hair.

He moaned, his tongue lapping at her folds. Her hips bucked as her toes curled in her boots. Laughing, he began to tease her, his tongue flicking at her clit, his fingers slid into her hot cunt.

"Please, please, please," She pleaded, her voice desperate. 

A far cry from her usual disposition. Not even he could get this much of a response from her. 

He moaned, the sound vibrating through her, his fingers curled inside her, and his tongue teased her clit.

She was a mess, her body trembling, her eyes screwed shut, her breaths coming in gasps and short bursts. He smirked, and began to thrust his fingers in and out of her faster, his tongue swirling around her clit.

"More. Please, fuck. Please, please," she begged, her voice breaking.

He obliged, adding a third finger, and pumping them in and out of her. She could feel herself nearing the edge, her body shuddering, her thighs quivering. She was barely able to keep upright, the brick of the wall rough against her hands.

"Hells," She moaned, her hands fisting his hair. He hummed as he sucked on her clit, his fingers steadily working her to her climax.

"Oh, fuck, fuck!" She screamed, her body tensing as her orgasm washed over her, her vision white.

He licked her through her orgasm, his fingers still thrusting inside her all the while. She gasped, her body shuddering, her eyes clenched shut. He pulled away, and licked his lips, his eyes shining with amusement and his chin glistened with her juices.

"Now, love. Tell me, how was that?"

She stared at him, her eyes wide. It certainly didn't compare to her usual feelings, but-

He stood and leaned in, kissing her. Probably thinking her speechless.

"That good, hm? Well, it's a good thing we have the entire night to ourselves." Before she could answer, his mouth was on hers, his tongue slipping past her lips, and his hand gripping her thigh.

She could taste herself on his lips, making her whimper, her hands fisted the front of his shirt. Her hands reached for his belt, quickly undoing it before the sound of drunken shouts and slurred speech interrupted her.

Astarion pulled away, looking over towards the docks. A group of sailors were walking away from the taverns, their voices loud and their steps clumsy.

"Shit," She cursed. It would probably be best to return-

"Perhaps we should finish this  somewhere else." Astarion's voice pulled her back to reality. "Somewhere, with a bit more privacy?"

She smirked and nodded. "That would be wise." She looked up at him, her eyes narrowing. "Though I rather think you're enjoying this."

He smiled and shrugged. "Can you blame me?"

She shook her head. "I suppose not."

He looked at her, his smile faltering. "Shall we?" he said as he offered an arm. 

She paused and bit her lip before linking her arm in his. "We shall."

The door to her temporary home was quickly unlocked, and she ushered him inside.

He looked around, his eyes taking in the small room. "How quaint," He remarked, his eyes scanning the walls before they landed on the bed, the sheets and pillows still messy from when she woke.

"I prefer not to stand out," she said her voice brusque as she latched the door behind him.

He chuckled and turned back to her. "Fair."

His hand went to her waist, pulling her closer. Astarion leaned in and kissed her, his tongue slipping into her mouth. She moaned into the kiss, her hands tangling themselves in his hair, pulling him even closer. He hummed, his other hand moving to her hip. She gasped as he lifted her up, her legs wrapping around his waist as if by instinct. He carried her to the bed and laid her down, his mouth never leaving hers.

She broke the kiss, her hands tugging at his shirt. "Off," She demanded.

She ran her hands over his chest, her eyes trailing over his body. "Very," She murmured.

He leaned in, his mouth attacking her neck. She gasped, her back arching into him, and her hands gripping his shoulders. He chuckled and continued his assault on her neck, nipping and sucking at the skin. Her hips bucked, her eyes rolling back into her skull. His hands slid down her sides, grabbing her ass and pulling her closer. "Please," She breathed.

He smirked and ground his hips against hers. "Please what, my dear?"

She moaned, her eyes fluttering shut. "I need you," She pleaded.

He chuckled and moved his mouth lower, his teeth grazing her collarbone. "Where?"

"Everywhere," She breathed.

She whimpered, her hips bucking, her back arching. "Astarion. Please. Fuck. Touch me."

He hummed and pulled away, his hand sliding up her dress. His fingers found her clit and began to rub it.

He smirked at her, watching her fall apart under his touch. "Like this, darling?"

"Gods yes," she hissed, her eyes squeezed shut. "Like that."

He moaned, his fingers circling her clit, his tongue running along her throat. She shuddered, her hips bucking up.

"Please. Please. Please," She pleaded, her voice already hoarse.

"So needy," He slid a finger inside her, his thumb continuing to circle her clit.

She gasped, her legs spreading wider, her body trembling as the cool air hit her.

He continued, his finger sliding in and out of her cunt, his thumb teasing and circling her clit. She writhed beneath him, her body aching for more.

He added a second finger, his thumb pressing against her clit. "Do you want me to fuck you?" he whispered, his lips brushing her ear.

She whimpered, her eyes screwing shut. "Yes."

He grinned and quickened his pace, his fingers pumping in and out of her. Her hips rocked, that familiar heat pooling in her stomach again. She moaned, her back arching, while her thighs quivered. He curled his fingers, his thumb brushing against her clit. Her hips bucked once more, her back arching into his hand before all pressure vanished.

Her eyes opened, and she looked up at him, her pupils blown wide, her face flushed. "Why did you stop?" she wined, her voice an octave higher than its usual tone.

He laughed, and moved his hand, his fingers running up her thigh. "I want to taste you."

He leaned in, trailing kisses along her collarbone. She gasped, her body tensing, her eyes screwing shut as the kisses trailed down her neck, his hand slowly making its way down her stomach.

"You want me, don't you, darling? Want to feel me inside you, filling you, stretching you?" He nipped at her collarbone again, his fingers rubbing circles on her hip.

It was maddening, the feel of his fingers along her burning skin, his open-mouthed kisses were bruising, surely to leave a purple mark in the morning. 

"Please," She breathed, her eyes opening.

The word came so easily now, something she had never had to even utter before. A word that was many others last to her. 

"You beg so beautifully. It would be rude not to grant your request." He pushed her dress up and over her head, and tossed it to the side as his eyes roamed her exposed body.

She shivered as the cool air hit her skin. He smirked and leaned in, his lips ghosting over her nipple before he instead opted to kiss her again, his tongue slipping into her mouth, his fingers dancing over her hip. She moaned loudly, not bothering to cover her mouth this time, her hands were too busy fisting the sheets. He broke the kiss, his lips moving to her neck, trailing slowly down to her breasts.

"Please, Astarion," She breathed his name again, like a prayer. 

He laughed, his hand sliding down her stomach, his fingers teasing her clit. She writhed against his hand, her body needed more.

"I could get used to hearing that," He purred, his fingers pushing into her.

And she could listen to his voice all-day-

"Oh, fuck."

He moaned, kissing her shoulder, his hand still moving, his fingers pumping in and out of her faster and faster. She shuddered, and her hands clenched the sheets tighter. She writhed beneath him, her eyes screwed shut, her breath ragged.

"Fuck, Astarion."

He laughed and continued to pump his fingers into her, while his mouth found her breast, his tongue circling her nipple, his teeth scraped against it. 

"Gods." she moaned, her hands now around his neck, pulling him closer, her fingers tangling in his hair.

A familiar coil started to tighten as his fingers fucked her faster.

"I could do this all day. Watching you fall apart beneath me. Hearing you moan, feeling you writhe, seeing your body shake," he murmured into her skin as his lips moved from her breast and trailed up her chest, neck, and jaw before his mouth finally met hers, his tongue pushing between her lips.

Her nails dug into his shoulders as she broke it, her voice slurring, "Please. I need you. 'Need you to fill me. Make me yours."

He groaned before pulling away from her, his fingers sliding out of her. He forced them into her mouth, making her taste herself.  She sucked on them, licking them clean as he watched her, his eyes hooded, his lips parted.

He hummed and pulled his fingers from her mouth, his hand going to his breeches. Astarion undid his pants, freeing his cock. The sight of his cock made her bite her lip, her stomach twisted, and a shiver of excitement ran through her.

"Mmm, I do enjoy the way you look at me, darling." He positioned himself at her entrance, his fingers digging into her thighs as he pulled her closer.

"You're so beautiful, Astarion. So perfect," She cooed, as her hands trailed down his chest. She pushed him back onto the bed and she straddled his hips, her nails dragging across his skin, leaving faint pink marks in their wake. Surprise crossed his face, as if he hadn't expected it.

But he recovered quickly. "Oh, am I?" His smirk returned, though there was something else there too—something she couldn't quite grasp.

His eyes darkened and his nostrils flared. His voice was husky and his words were breathy, "Do tell me, what about me is so perfect?"

She hummed, as she trailed a finger up his neck and jaw. She cupped his cheek and leaned in close, their lips almost touching, but not quite. Her other hand trailed down his body to wrap around his cock, pumping him slowly. He was already hard for her. "So, so many things." Her tongue darted out and licked his bottom lip before she took it between her teeth and bit down.

"I'm sure, darling, but please do be a dear and enlighten me," He rasped.

She grinned wickedly. "I think it would be better to show you."  He leaned his head back, allowing her access to him. 

She kissed and sucked at the skin, leaving red marks that would certainly be gone by morning. Her lips trailed down to his collarbone, her teeth scraping his skin. She felt him shudder, his body trembling as his grip tightened. She pulled away, a satisfied smirk playing across her lips.

"You're trembling," She said, her voice teasing.

He swallowed, his eyes meeting hers. "You've been such a tease," His voice was hoarse.

"Am I?"

She leaned in, her lips ghosting over his neck, her teeth grazing his earlobe. "Well, maybe I should tease you some more."

He groaned, his hips thrusting up, as his cock brushed her stomach.

She pulled away, her hands gripped his shoulders, and her legs pinned him down.

"Or," she whispered, her voice dropping an octave, "Maybe I should ride your cock." She moved her hips, her heat grinding against his length. He let out a gasp, his hands grabbing her ass, pulling her closer.

He moaned her name, his face buried in the crook of her neck, his breath hot on her skin.

She smiled, her lips ghosting his jaw, her hands fisting his silver locks, pulling him closer before she pulled away again, her hands gripping his shoulders, her nails digging into the skin. She lifted herself off of him, forcing a whine from his plush lips, his cock brushed against her folds before she paused and sat back, a wicked grin playing across her lips.

"Hm ," she hummed, her eyes half-lidded as she watched his chest heave.

"Say 'please," she said.

"What?" His voice cracked, his eyes widening.

"You heard me." She ran her nails down his chest, a sharp cry escaping his throat. "Beg me."

He swallowed, his mouth going dry. His cock twitched, and precum smeared against her inner thigh. He sat up quickly, his fingers tangling in her hair, his lips crashing into hers. He kissed her hungrily, his tongue swiping across her lips. She gasped and allowed him entry, her eyes fluttering closed.

"Please," He muttered, his voice breaking while his hands gripped the sheets. 

She forced a smile when he averted his gaze, her hand wrapping around his cock, giving it a few slow strokes. He threw his head back, his body arching off the bed.

"Fuck," He breathed, his eyes fluttering closed, his jaw slack.

She smiled and wrapped her hand around his cock, her thumb stroking the head.

She shifted, her knees bracketing his hips, before her lips trailed down his chest, her tongue tracing patterns along his skin as she moved down. He groaned, his body trembling, his eyes screwed shut. "Look at me," She ordered, her voice dropping an octave.

He nodded, his eyes fluttering open, and his gaze met hers.

"You're so beautiful." She pressed her lips to his chest, and her tongue flicked against his nipple, eliciting a moan from him. She pulled away, and licked her lips, her hands stroking his length, her thumb tracing the vein, her hand gripping the base, her nails digging into the sensitive skin, causing him to shudder and moan.

She smirked and moved her mouth down his stomach, her lips kissing and sucking his skin. He bucked his hips, his cock brushing her cheek.

He breathed her name, his voice ragged.

She looked up at him, and smiled, her tongue flicking over his tip. "So desperate," she murmured as she gripped the base of his cock, her hand sliding down his length. His face contorted, unreadable as he struggled to form words.

Her tongue swirled around his head before her lips closed around him. He groaned, his hands tangling in her hair, pushing her head down further.

His breath hitched as she sucked his cock, and her hand cupped his balls. He moaned again, his grip on her hair tightening as his hips thrust up against her face. She hummed, her mouth taking more of him, her nails digging into his thighs. He let out a whimper, his eyes screwing shut, his hips rocking upward.

She pulled away, her tongue dragging along his length. "Don't close your eyes."

He nodded slowly, his eyes fluttering open, his gaze meeting hers. She moved her mouth further down his cock, her teeth grazing his skin. He shuddered, his body trembling. His hands wove into her hair tighter, his cock sliding deeper until he hit the back of her throat. His hips thrust up to meet her mouth. He sped up, the only sounds in the room were the sound of her sucking his cock and his moans.

She gagged, her nails digging crescents into his skin as his hips stilled and his cock twitched, his hot cum filling her mouth.

She moaned as she swallowed. Astarion groaned, his eyes fluttering shut, his body shuddering as he pulled away, a smile on her lips as she swallowed thickly. She moved her mouth further down his length, her tongue dragging along his skin, licking up all the remnants of his release, her tongue flicked over his slit, his hips jerking up one last time.

He pulled her head away from his cock, his fingers still in her hair, his cock still hard.

She let out a soft laugh and he released her hair. Her mouth trailed up his stomach, her teeth grazing his nipple.

"Gods," He breathed.

She hummed in agreement, her teeth biting down as her fingers pinched his other nipple, his back arched off the mattress, and a soft moan escaped his lips.

His hands were tugging at her hair again, and he pulled her head back. 

"Astarion," She breathed.

"I want you," She whispered, her head falling onto his chest.

"Mmm," He purred, his hands gripping her hips, his cock sliding against her slick folds.

She whimpered, her hips pressing down, trying to get him inside.

His hands pulled her down, his cock pushing into her. She let out a moan, her body shuddering. His hips thrust up, his hands guiding her. Her breath was coming in ragged gasps as her hips met his. She was so close, she could feel herself about to fall apart again, her walls tightening around his cock. He groaned, his hands sliding up her sides, his fingertips brushing her nipples. 

She didn't think she could last much longer, her vision was beginning to blur, and there were dark splotches in the corners. She was on her back in an instant, his mouth kissing down her throat, his teeth grazing her skin, his hands running up and down her sides. She shivered, her body arching into his touch, her legs wrapping around his waist. Her ankles hooked together, and her heels dug into his ass, pulling him closer.

Astarion growled and thrust his cock into her roughly, his hips snapping against hers. She gasped, her vision going white. He gripped her hips, his nails digging into her skin. She moaned, her head falling back, as her hands gripped the sheets.

"Faster," she whined.

He smirked and pulled out fully before thrusting back in. He set a punishing pace, fucking her hard and fast, his hips slamming against hers.

"Fuck, Astarion." She cried out, her eyes rolling back, her body quivering.

In response, he moaned her name and fucked her harder.

"Good girl," he said, his voice still hoarse.

She whimpered, her hands further tangling themselves in the sheets, as her eyes on him. 

"You're so good, darling. Such a good girl," he praised, his hand reaching between them and started to rub her clit.

His praise, his words, his touch- She could feel herself teetering on the edge yet again, her mind clouding over.

"So close- Come for me."

She swore she could see stars as she came, her eyes squeezed shut.

"Good girl," he said one last time before she felt his cock pulse, his warm release spilling into her.

"Fuck."

"That's it, darling. Take it all."

She whimpered, her hands grasping his shoulders, pulling him closer so that their chests were touching. 

He grunted, his eyes screwed shut, his lips pressed to her temple. She whined as her arms moved to wrap around his neck. He chuckled, his hand moving to her neck, squeezing lightly.

"Oh, fuck," She breathed.

"There we go," he cooed. "I'm going to let you catch your breath, then I'm going to fuck you again."

Morning light filtered in through the curtains, forcing her eyes to open. She stretched her legs out, the silk sheets brushing her skin as she did so. Her brow furrowed, her head tilting. Where the fuck am I? The night came back to her in waves: the tavern, the missed sacrifice, and finally the man with the pretty eyes and charming smile.

"Fuck." She hissed, her face growing hot.

Looking down she saw her dress was gone, she was completely bare save for the blanket covering her. Her cunt was sore, and the stickiness between her legs was a dead giveaway of what she had done the previous night. She looked around the room, noting the clothes scattered about.

Her dress and corset lay across the back of a chair, his shirt on the floor by the foot of the bed, his pants near the door. Both of their pairs of shoes tossed haphazardly across the wooden floor.

The memories came flooding back to her. How his hands roamed her body, how he'd praised her, how she'd screamed his name when she came again and again.

Astarion.

Something shifted behind her. She froze, not daring to look back. She could feel a chest pressed to her back, his breath cool on her neck. His arm was draped across her side, his hand resting on her stomach.

She tried to shift out from under his grip, but he merely tightened his arm and pulled her closer. His breathing was even, a sure sign he was asleep. Well- not asleep, but sill. She let out a shaky breath and settled back into the mattress, his arm still holding her close.

A soft, barely there smile found its way to her lips as her eyes fluttered closed.

"Fuck."

She turned to face him, his hair was a mess, and a silver curl fell just above his brow. She quickly pushed it away from his face, careful not to wake him. Her eyes ran over his visage, his lips were slightly parted revealing the tips of his canines. 

They were certainly shaper than she had expected, it was a miracle they hadn't pierced her flesh.

She shifted closer to him and wrapped an arm around him, her fingers lightly tracing his bare back.

Her face twisted as she felt ridges under her fingertips. Furrowing her brows, she moved her hand back to the spot and pressed her fingers down. She felt him stiffen, his breath hitching. She withdrew her hand as if burnt.

She didn't need to look to know what they were. Somehow, she hadn't registered the scars crisscrossing his back. She supposed she had been too busy the night before. She placed her lips against his shoulder, and wondered where exactly they had come from. 

He was still resting when she dressed and picked up a quill.

"You seem to be in a good mood, My Lady."

The Butler's voice was like nails on glass as she came to a stop. He was the second person to mention it. The first was some follower in the temple, who quickly scurried away after she sent them a glare. She hadn't realized that it was that obvious.

"Oh?" She looked at him and forced a smile, trying to hide her mounting irritation.

"Yes. I haven't seen you look so... cheerful in so very long, I suppose there was a significant sacrifice made in the name of Lord Bhaal?" he said as they exited the temple.

Her nose crinkled in disgust at the smell of the sewers. It was something she thought you'd gotten used to, but it always managed to get worse. "You could say that," she answered, not giving him any other information.

"Very good, My Lady. Your Lord Father will be most pleased."

"I'm sure he will."

No one needed to know that she had neglected her duties in favor of having her brains fucked out by a strange man. Her Lord Father certainly didn't need to know that. The thought of her father brought a frown to her face. He had already been displeased with her for some time now.

"I have a meeting with Gortash, I won't return to the temple for some time," she said, her voice neutral as she pulled her hood down and over her eyes. 

Sceleritas gave a quick bow before disappearing into a cloud of red mist.

Gortash's dark circles were worse, a stressed smile on his chapped lips. "My friend," he cut himself off his eyes narrowing as he quickly approached, his eyes darting around.

"You seem to be in a good mood." His tone was light, but his eyes were cautious.

"I had an...interesting night." She said cooly. 

She tried not to think about her night with Astarion, tried not to remember the feel of his hands and mouth. How he had her pressed against the wall. She shifted on her feet.

Gortash raised a brow. "Is that so?"

"I can tell. You seem-" He paused, closing his next words carefully, "happier than when we last spoke." He paused and sniffled, a frown settling on his features as his eyes zoned in on something.

"You've been with someone." His nostrils flared, his eyes searching her face.

She gave him a smirk, a brow raising. " How did you know?"

She felt his eyes move over her body, her face flushed - her neck. There was no doubt in her mind that he could see the dark purple bruises blooming on her skin. Damn. She'd thought that the neckline of her dress would cover the marks left behind. 

"I'm just glad that it was... pleasant for you," he replied, his tone lighter.

Her brows furrowed, his eyes meeting hers. "You're worried," she tilted her head and took a step closer, their noses almost touching, "Why?" 

He shook his head, and turned away. If she had a better look she might have said his expression was one of- jealousy?

Was he jealous? Her smirk widened as she crossed her arms behind her back and followed him through the room. Sunlight highlighted the piles and stacks of books that were littered throughout. 

Books on... "Ilithids?" She questioned, picking up a dusty time, the title nearly faded against the purple background.

He nodded before turning to face her again, "I've been digging for more research on our project," he gestured for her to sit.

She opted to remain standing. The book dropped to the floor with a dull thud, sending up a cloud of dust. Ilthids.

"I plan to involve the research done when it comes to taking Baldur's Gate of course," his eyes were frantic now, rimmed in red from a lack of sleep.

Her eyes stayed on his lips as they moved but no sound reached her ears. She hadn't visited Gortash in months. He was now Bane's Chosen, so she had heard.

The circles under his eyes were worsening, and it seemed he had lost weight. Rhea wasn't one to worry when it came to others' problems, but- she did have a rather close relationship with the man. One he clearly held dearly if the look in his eyes earlier said anything at all. 

Her eyes flitted across the room in confusion. She had yet to see the Tiefling girl he had recently taken into service. She always managed to derail their conversations, into hours long chats about everything and nothing all at once.

Gortash's hand cupped her face, and when their eyes met she noticed how concerned he seemed.

"Is it your Father, again?"

She placed her hand on top of his own before closing her eyes and humming in content. 

Lord Bhaal was certainly displeased with her, after last night. No sacrifice, and she couldn't keep that damned pale elf off of her mind.  And not in her usual, 'I wonder what his insides would look like twisted around him,' or 'I wonder what his blood would taste of.'

What was his name again? It had slipped her mind-

Gortash's lips were surprisingly soft against her own. His hand moved to her waist, pulling her closer. She could feel the heat of his body radiating from under his robes, and a shiver ran down her spine as her eyes fluttered closed. She was the one who pulled away. Her eyes met his own.

"Where's the Tiefling?" She asked, trying to ignore how tightly he gripped her.

A blush spread across his face, a frown settling on his lips. "I had to- dismiss her."

"I thought you liked her?" She cocked her head.

"I did."

"Did?"

"Not anymore," he shook his head, "she had her uses but, not enough to keep her around."

Her brows furrowed, the gears in her brain moving slowly as she took his answer in. "You had a lot of uses for her. What changed?"

He let out a deep sigh and sat down.

"She got boring."

"Boring," she echoed, not quite understanding.

"Yes." He answered.

"I think she was quite the opposite," she said stalely.  She didn't bother to pry further.

"I don't understand," he said,  as he looked up at her, his hands wringing in his lap. 

"Don't understand what?"

She scoffed, her eyes narrowing as she met his gaze. A subject change, how typical. At least as of late. She couldn't recall him being this wishy-washy before.

"Who were you with?" He asked, his eyes narrowed.

She shook her head and laughed, the question taking her by surprise. He had never really shown much interest in who she was with. Although, lately he had been acting a bit more... desperate.

"You don't get a say in my affairs, Gortash."

His eyes softened as he leaned forward. "You do  know I care about you, right?"

She shrugged and moved closer, her knees hitting the armrest of his chair. "You do have a strange way of showing it." She moved so she was straddling him, her hands gripping the back of his chair. His own went to her waist.

"How else am I supposed to show it?"

"By letting me go."

His eyes flashed. "You know I can't do that. I don't want to do that."

She let out a chuckle. "Of course not. How foolish of me." Her fingers tangled in his hair as she leaned closer. "Why would you?"

His breath tickled her ear, his grip on her hips tightening. "You're mine."

Her nose twitched, and her eyes narrowed. "Is that so?"

"You know it is," he breathed, his lips pressing against her neck.

"If I'm yours, then why do you keep asking me who I've been with?" She whispered, tilting her head to the side.

"You can fuck whoever you want, as long as you come back to me."

"How possessive of you," she breathed, her lips pressing against his jaw, his chin, his nose.

"I've missed you, Rhea." His lips captured her own.

"I know," she hummed, her nails digging into his scalp, "and I you."

She lied effortlessly. There had been a time when her feelings were mutual. But that time had long passed. His hands slid over her skin, his movements slow.

"It's been a while, hasn't it?" His breath was hot on her skin.

"Hmm," she hummed in agreement.

"How long has it been?" he asked in between kisses.

"Too long," she breathed, her head falling back as his lips moved lower.

The door slammed open.

"I'm sorry to interrupt-"

"Then don't." Gortash's head turned, his eyes meeting the interrupter.

"I've been looking everywhere for you." He gestured to Rhea and took a step past the threshold. 

He was an older gentleman, with graying hair and a permanent frown on his face. Gold horn-rimmed glasses were hanging precariously from his nose.

"What's wrong now?" her voice clipped, annoyed. 

"We have a slight... problem."

"Well spit it out, then."

"You know," the man trailed off, a sinister smile on his face.

She let out a groan and stood, her hand reaching for the dagger strapped to her side. She almost wretched. Orin. The man's face contorted and his body cracked to reveal the Changeling. Her putrid stench filled the room, her long blonde braid matted with blood and... what looked like viscera.

"Dear sister, I've missed you." The words were sickly sweet and sent a shiver down her spine.

"I can't say the same, Orin." Rhea's voice was monotone as her eyes met the Changeling's glossy ones.

Orin ignored the comment, her eyes narrowing as she picked her nails with her blade. "Father's been upset, all in a tizzy if you will," her tone was bored, her eyes meeting Rhea's.

"Oh, really? I hadn't noticed," she deadpanned.

Orin's eyes narrowed and she stood, her body towering over Rhea's. "Watch the tone." She spat the words, her teeth gritting.

"Or what, Orin? You'll tell daddy on me? You'll tattle that I didn't give the proper sacrifice? That I didn't come home on time?" She took a step closer, a wicked grin spreading across her lips.

"Father isn't happy." Orin's lip curled.

"Let him come, I'm sure he'll love the welcome party."

"You think you're clever, don't you, dear sister." Orin's hand was cold against her neck.

"I'm not the one that needs to prove myself," Rhea whispered, her hand sliding between their bodies. Her dagger pressed into Orin's stomach. "If you threaten me again, I'll make sure there's no coming back for you."

Orin scoffed, "I, will be Lord Bhaal's Chosen. Only I am his favorite, the only one truly he cares for."

"Keep telling yourself that, dear sister," Rhea's tone was light, but her grip on her blade held fast. She pushed the blade harder against her stomach.

"Just a little more," Orin whispered, her voice taunting.

Orin's hand wrapped around her wrist.

Gortash cleared his throat, and both women turned to face him. He was clearly uncomfortable with the... situation. "I'm sorry, to interrupt."

His eyes stayed on Orin's blade, the tip was pressed against Rhea's throat, and small droplets of blood were dripping from her skin.

"But, we were in the middle of something." His tone was curt.

"And?" Orin raised a brow.

"We'd like you to leave." His lips formed a tight, thin line.

Orin's jaw was tense as her hand dropped to her side limply. "Fine."

She looked down at her blade and smiled. "You made me bleed," she wiped the blood from her waist.

"Goodbye, sister. I'll see you again soon." Her tone was a warning.

"I'm sure." Her tone was dismissive.

"Until then," Orin smiled as she left.

Rhea let out a deep sigh, her shoulders sagging.

"I forgot how exhausting she was."

Gortash was silent, his hand running down her back.

"Is it always like that?"

"Oh, yes." Her tone was sarcastic, her eyes fluttering closed as she sheathed her blade.

"I have no doubt Lord Bhaal will choose you as his Chosen," he assured her.

"I'm not too sure of that myself, these days." She opened her eyes, and her head turned away.

"Why? Did something happen?"

"Nothing of importance," she shrugged.

He nodded and sat down.

"Would you like to continue where we left off?" His tone was hopeful, his hand motioning towards the space next to him.

She sighed and moved closer. "It's going to cost you."

His hand was warm against her waist, her head dropping to his shoulder.

"Anything." He breathed the word, his tone desperate.

She smiled a genuine one this time and leaned closer. "Tell me how the research is going."

He sighed and shook his head. "Fine, have it your way."

The sun was low in the sky, the clouds painted a dark pink. The streets were busy, and she could already hear the sounds of music playing from the taverns. Her feet dragged along the cobblestones, her eyes scanning the crowd. She wondered if he was still there if he was still in her bed. 

He wasn't. His boots were gone, the clothes that were thrown over her desk were gone, and his scent lingered in the air. She wasn't surprised, but she was disappointed. She moved towards her desk and sat down. An envelope was on her desk. It was a plain white, her name scrawled on the front. It was in his handwriting.

"Astarion" she whispered, his name was a sigh that slipped from her lips as she opened the note. The note was short but sweet. She placed the note back on her desk and smiled.

Astarion.

What a lovely name.

Her eyes snapped open. No- 

She admonished herself. She had been too distracted as of late. She rubbed her temples, a headache forming. It had only been a day and yet she could still feel her father's anger, his frustration. Bloodlust- Her mind had drifted again and she hadn't sensed the presence. She was getting soft, and careless.

It was frightening. She had only been in Baldur's Gate for less than a year. Before that, it had been at Moonrise, and before that- 

Her head throbbed, and her temples felt like they were going to burst.

She woke covered in blood, the sky dark. The only light came from the stars and the moon, their silvery glow lighting up the sky. The air smelled of death and the stench of it was so strong it was nauseating. Her entire body ached, and she had to force herself to stand.

A body lay to her left, unrecognizable, entrails pooling on top of a familiar ritual circle.  The air was heavy with the smell of iron. She tried to remember what had happened, but it was a blur. Her legs felt weak and shaky, and she could hardly stand, let alone walk.

She needed to find water, to wash the blood away. Her hands were caked in it, her fingernails stained red. The stench was starting to make her feel ill, and she felt dizzy. She stumbled towards the streetlights, the lights illuminated the cobblestone streets.

The city was quiet, aside from the distant sounds of taverns. As she walked she quickened her pace. Her steps echoed off the walls and the stone streets.

She was alone, and the emptiness of the streets was suffocating. She kept walking, the cobblestones beneath her feet turned to wood, and she slammed her front door behind her, the sound echoing throughout the empty house.

She took a deep breath.

She needed to clean up and rest.

And then-

The water was freezing, and her body ached, the cold a sharp pain against her skin. She shivered, the chill seeping into her bones, her hair wet and tangled. She sat there for a while, staring at her hands. They were covered in dirt and grime, and she could still see the dried blood under her nails.

She washed her hands until her skin was raw, and even then, she couldn't get rid of the feeling. It wasn't just the blood. There was something else. Something was wrong. She stood in the tub and stared at her reflection in the mirror. Her eyes were different, the pupils blown, the color a shade darker than her normal lavender.

She could still feel her heart beating, but she knew it wasn't the same. Her stomach lurched and she rushed to the toilet, emptying the contents of her stomach into the porcelain bowl. Her throat burned, and the taste of bile was acidic on her tongue. She didn't know how long she stayed there, her knees pulled to her chest.

The water sticking to her skin had long gone cold, and her body was shaking, her skin gooseflesh.

She should be used to this, waking up in strange places- covered in gore- 

But sometimes it still managed to take her by surprise. Like tonight. Her eyes darted to the door. It was locked, and the curtains were drawn. No one would disturb her. Hopefully. She thought of the first time Sceleritas had appeared, right before she-

She cut herself off- she needed to sleep, to get the smell of iron and blood out of her mind. Her eyelids felt heavy, and she couldn't keep them open. The room was dark, and the shadows danced along the walls, the only light coming from the moon, its pale light filtering in through the window.

She could feel the cold air against her skin, and the weight of the covers against her body. The smell of lavender filled her nose. Her limbs were heavy as her body sank into the soft mattress.

Notes~

Hi! Thank you so much for reading this! I have the next few chapters outlined, I'm just working on actually putting everything together. This is also on my AO3 under the same username

[enhanced-operatives-division]

Good day starstruck nation i wrote a starstruvk fic last night so expect that sometime soon o7

[rogueshadeaux]

Chapter Thirty-Seven — Consequences

We were there for what felt like forever. Long enough for Archie to try and take a drink of my hot chocolate, and Aunt Sia to grab both rats and return them to their cage in the living room. Long enough for Zeke to become restless and start pacing the five steps it took to span the entirety of the kitchen. Long enough for my hands to start shaking as I thought about everything.

9k words | 45min - 1 hour reading time | TRIGGER WARNINGS: Death mention, experimentation mention, illness, mass casualty, rats (?), fighting, threats, bullying.

⚠️AUTHOR'S NOTE: I cannot take credit for all of this chapter. My lovely @lobotomizedlemon wrote the beautiful speech in the end, like they knew what Jean needed to hear. Everyone needs an Aunt Sia in their life. Things move on from lore-heavy here, but Chi—thank you for trusting me with Sia. Thank you for letting me use her for something so deeply important to Erosion, and letting me hand her to Jean. She's exactly what was needed. I can't imagine this tale without her now.

Aunt Sia stood at the other end of the room, arms crossed, that cupboard full of mugs still hanging open. Brent and I were frozen mid-signage, both hands at the ready to argue further and yet absolutely no wind in our sails—mine especially. What did she mean she knew sign language? How long had she known that?!

Her arms stayed crossed as she stared at us like she caught us red-handed, Dad looking between her and us before asking, “What’s going on?”

Aunt Sia kept her gaze on us, unblinking even as I tried to shrink under her stare. “Brent,” she started, “What are you two talking about?”

Of course she’d go for Brent first. Take the weakest in the pack by the jugular, right? The man couldn’t lie, evident as Brent stumbled on his words for a moment before coming up with the best deflection ever:

“What do you mean?”

Dad suddenly became way more interested as Brent’s cheeks went red, his own eyebrows furrowed as he looked between the two of us. “Kids. What’s going on?”

Brent suddenly became very interested in the wood grain as my voice caught in my throat, eyes flitting between everyone as they all turned their attention towards me. God, why here? Why now? This was supposed to stay between me and Brent! I didn’t wanna explain everything to everyone. 

I took too long to respond. That’s what was the problem. I faltered, unable to find my voice, and prompted Aunt Sia to ask more pointedly, “What did Brent mean, ‘Tell Dad about Mom?’” she asked me directly. 

That got Dad going; his eyebrows shot up from their furrowed position, now zeroed in on me and cocking his head slightly, like a cat trying to get a reading on how far I was before it pounced. “Jean,” he said, warned, and I knew he expected nothing but the truth after saying my name. 

I swallowed thickly, trying to convince myself not to evaporate on the spot and run away while they all were confused. “I, uhm…” I drew off, voice crackling slightly. Jerry came over towards me and I grabbed the rat and held him close, using the little guy as a reason to not look up and meet anyone’s eyes. “When…before I woke up in the hospital, I…there was this thing wi-with Mom...”

And I was forced to recount it all to an audience. 

I couldn’t look up as I described it all; the long field of barley, the forest, the mines. How I followed wisps of neon thinking I was trying to find Dad. How I knew none of it made sense, but it wasn’t like a dream—I couldn’t escape no matter how hard I tried. The lack of a sun. My voice faltered when I came to the grove and I froze for so long that Jerry began biting holes in my jacket’s sleeve before I spoke of Mom. 

I could see Dad’s hand clench into a fist on the tabletop the moment I did. 

That was the reason I didn’t bring it up to him in the first place; not only did I not wanna sound like I was insane, but I wanted to keep from bringing up those memories that would turn his face ashen with pain. I couldn’t look at him as I described her. How we hugged, how she felt so real. If I did, I was sure we’d both have the same pained expression on our faces. 

When I ended my story with her using beams of neon to essentially throw me back into the real world, the room stayed tersely quiet for a moment. I hazarded a glance up; Dr. Sims was writing something down furiously on the back of one of Aunt Sia’s COLE papers, Aunt Sia was watching him as he wrote. Zeke stayed positioned by the wall, head down, not surprised but still avoiding my gaze, and Dad—

He was pissed. “And why didn’t you tell me this?” he demanded. “I thought we said no more keeping things from each other!”

“I know—” I started to defend, voice weak against his anger. That weak squeak that would have put Jerry’s noises to shame died off, though, when someone interrupted. 

“It’s my fault.”

Dad turned in his chair so he could glare at Zeke instead. “What?”

“I told Jean not to worry about the whole…deal so much,” Zeke continued, meeting Dad’s eyes without a flinch. Was he…covering for me? “When she came to me to ask if the same thing had happened to Cole and told me a bit about the…vision, I told her not to worry about it if it was the only time it’s happened. That Cole would get them if he touched tar too, and with her getting it in her bloodstream, well—’course she was in for a bad time.”

Dad seemed to have trouble processing this. “She told—” he spun his head around to look at me. “You told Zeke? But not me?”

“I didn’t want to upset you—” I started, Dad cutting me off. 

“Well, you didn’t do well, Regina.” he snapped. I flinched at how he growled my name and looked back down, throat tight. Of course he was mad! We promised each other we’d be truthful and honest and I lied to him within the same sentence. 

God, I messed up. Again. 

“You should have told us right away,” Dr. Sims chastised—not as passionately as Dad, but still disappointed. I could hear him turn slightly and he added, “You too, Zeke. If I’m going to make sure Jean’s okay, I need to know everything.”

I could hear Dad sigh hard, and my eyes followed his hands as they came up from the table and pressed against his eyes. “Okay, so what could this mean?” Dad demanded after a moment, blinking hard as he looked at Dr. Sims. “If Jean was seeing Abbs, could that have been a hallucination?”

“I’m not sure,” Dr. Sims muttered, looking down at the notes on his paper. “If Jean and Cole had hallucinations when interacting with the tar, I’d simply chalk it up to that and move on. But with the Vermaak’s history too, I’m not…not sure what to make of it.”  

“She’s not a forced conduit,” Aunt Sia interjected, finishing with the mugs she was messing with. She walked over, moving to lean between Dad and Dr. Sims and hand Brent and I cups of hot chocolate. It was funny—you could always find her in the kitchen when she was trying to think through something. A part of me was sure that’s why I loved sugary things so much. “The Vermaak went insane because their power was eating their neuroelectricity.”

“Yeah, but if she was injected with tar, could that have done something like the CRB solution the First Sons were using on the Vermaak?” Dad asked. 

“Retroviral integrase?” Dr. Sims asked before shaking his head. “No, can’t be. That would only work if she wasn’t activated.” 

Dad groaned slightly, the noise interrupted as Aunt Sia asked, “What about the power transfer device Cole MacGrath used? How was that different from the Vermaak?” 

“I couldn’t recover the files fully on that,” Dr. Sims admitted, clicking away, “But from what I can guess, the original power transfer device was used on a one-on-one basis, with a core of raythium to fuse properties of the donor’s protein to the other Conduit. It looks like some sort of process involving mutagenesis and particle acceleration? I can’t really make sense of it. Basically the original device damaged the part of the DNA that hosted the Conduit gene and then rewrote it with the second power integrated, so those abilities were a part of their normal powers.” He turned to look at Aunt Sia fully. “It doesn't use the same system the Vermaak’s does, and the DUP used CRISPR and gene editing. They’re all different.”

Aunt Sia crossed her arms, the hand of one going to town on the forearm of another, scratching away. “So there’s no correlation,” she hummed, glaring at the computer screens like it was their fault. “What about the DUP?” She asked. “Don’t you have files on their experimentation?”

Dr. Sims shook his head. “I have one, that only talks about injuries, heavily redacted with no info about what sort of experiments they were performing.”

Aunt Sia shook her head, Dad’s hand reaching out to stop her stretching and holding the hand in place. “Okay, w–what about tar?” He asked. “Or that woman that could use tar, what was her name—”

“Sasha,” Zeke cut in. 

The moment Zeke spoke, Dad’s jaw tensed, and he looked like he was 30 seconds away from picking up the man and throwing him out of the front door himself. He glanced at me with that same anger, and I just knew it was because I told Zeke about the hallucination but not him. “Right.” Dad said flatly. “Sasha.”

Dr. Sims got to searching, declaring—much to Dad’s absolute frustration—that there was nothing on tar. “But Sasha is mentioned in Wolfe’s notebook,” he hummed, scrolling through scans of the journal’s pages. 

“What for?” Aunt Sia asked, looking over Dr. Sims’ shoulder. 

“Apparently she was on Wolfe’s team when they were testing on Warner,” he hummed, scrolling just a tad to pull up more text. “She’s the one that determined all the properties of the…Warner’s Threshold…”

“That’s the evolution-to-mutation thing, right?” Brent asked. 

Aunt Sia nodded. “Absorbing RFE through a blast core, yeah.”

The way Dr. Sims drew off peeked Dad’s interest. “What’s up?” He asked, apprehensive. “Is…could the RFE be doing this to Jean?”

Dr. Sims didn’t answer immediately; whatever he was reading grabbed Aunt Sia’s interest, her hand pulling away from Dad’s hold to settle on Dr. Sims’ shoulder, squeezing once to get the man to look at her. They shared one of those looks, one of the ones Dad would reserve for talks within earshot of us when he felt there was some information that someone either didn’t know, or didn’t need to. 

But it didn’t stop Dr. Sims from speaking. “No, no, just…Can I ask you something?” He gave Dad his full attention, who just seemed absolutely confused on why his friends suddenly looked worried. “How many Core Relays do you think you’ve absorbed over the years?”

Dad blinked before chuckling, the sound a bit incredulous. “I don’t know? It’s been a while, Eugene.” After a moment, though—when Dr. Sims’ stare didn’t let up, he asked, “Wh–why does it matter?”

“I’ll spare you the math,” Dr. Sims said, turning back to the computer to begin to read from yet another section of the journal. “‘Absorbing the raw power from Blast Cores, a conduit's ability to harness energy reaches a precarious tipping point after accumulating between seven to nine cores. Beyond this threshold, the conduit's physiology undergoes a tumultuous shift. Initially marked by heightened abilities, this excessive energy absorption eventually sparks deleterious manifestations.’”

“Cole had to absorb seven to use the RFI,” Zeke threw in. 

My brow furrowed as I silently counted something off in my head, piecing thoughts together bit by bit. Seven to nine cores. Dad was scared the one he used on us was enough to mess me up, but he’d had far more than one, right? 

I glanced at Brent, who seemed to be coming to the same conclusion I did; Dad’s used way, way more than seven—probably just in this year alone.

“You’ve…it’s definitely more than nine, isn’t it Del?” Dr. Sims asked. “I gave you eight just for the twins and that’s not counting the five we found in Spokane after you were cornered by the Akurans, when you had Jean’s power.”

“You used six of those generator things at the construction site.” Brent realized, “When you got mine.”

“That’s eleven alone,” I murmured. 

“How many do you think you’ve used overall?” Aunt Sia interrupted. “If you had to guess, because this…it’s concerning, Delsin.”

“Didn’t I give you three or four when you were fighting Augustine in Seattle?” Dr. Sims added, looking off to the side as he tried to recount a memory I’m sure they all wanted to forget.

Dad nodded absentmindedly. “Yeah there…there were four when that happened. I think Abbs and I found four after I got her power too,” Hit brows knit so close that the lines on his forehead looked like waves. “And I know there were a lot after I got Hank’s power. Yours too.” Dad leaned back in the chair, eyes turning to look at the popcorn ceiling. “If I had to say, I think…I think I’m close to twenty? Maybe even over it.”

Everyone fell silent, looking between each other with the same tense silence like we all expected Dad to explode right in front of us or something. Even the warmth of the mug of hot chocolate wasn’t enough to warm my hands as I asked, “If you’ve absorbed…that many, then why aren’t you…”

Dead? A walking corpse? Some sort of monster? I wasn’t even sure what to say.

Dad’s head came down when I asked my question, eyes falling to the polaroid of Warner on the table. He picked it up tentatively, bringing it closer and looking at it with a mix of intrigue and pity. “I don’t know,” he said softly. “Maybe Wolfe was wrong. Or maybe there’s something different with the Ray Sphere and that’s why Warner looks like…that.” He set the polaroid face down, looking back at Dr. Sims. “Maybe the Core Relays are different. They aren’t exactly exploding bombs.”

“No, but they are miniature fission reactors,” Dr. Sims said, turning to his laptop to begin clicking away on it yet again, muttering to himself, “Fission, fission…” as he typed what I had to assume was that same word into the search database.

“Do we really need to worry about this right now?” Dad asked, exasperated. “I mean, we’ve always known I’ve been a bit weird when it came to Core Relays, really, it’s not—”

“We just wanna make sure there’s nothing wrong,” Aunt Sia cut Dad off, her other hand going to his shoulder. “There could be some sort of…radiation radius or something if you’ve absorbed that many Core Relays.” She smirked playfully, looking down at Dad. “Maybe you’re a biohazard.”

Dad rolled his eyes. “I’m being serious, Alessia. This is about Jean, not me—”

“It may have just became about Jean,” Dr. Sims interrupted. “Sasha LaRue was a part of the Ray Sphere project.”

Dad immediately snapped forward, leaning his elbows against the table like getting close to the computer was gonna help him read the words better. “I thought she was just some crazy lady in Empire City?” Aunt Sia asked, glancing back at Zeke. 

“We…she had ties in the First Sons, but Cole and I never figured out what sort.” Zeke said. “Just knew she and Kessler were a ‘late night booty call’ sorta couple.” 

I cringed. Oh god, I could have lived without that trivia fact. 

Dr. Sims stared at Zeke, processing that information for a moment before trying to etch-n-sketch the idea from his mind with a shake of his head, saying, “Anyways—yeah, she’s mentioned a few times in regards to the Ray Sphere. Turns out she was the lead engineer of the First Sons’ Empire City branch.”

“So she knew exactly how the Ray Sphere worked,” Dad hummed, glancing at Aunt Sia. “Probably knew all about Ray Field Energy too.”

Aunt Sia didn’t look convinced. “But…Ray Field Energy can’t be what’s making Jean sick…right?” She asked, unsure. “Every Conduit needs RFE. Could it be something genetic? Like an intolerance?”

Dad shook his head. “We checked already.”

Zeke clicked his tongue in thought. “Y’know, the gene ain’t the savior y’all make it out to be. People with the gene could still get the Plague.”

Dad rolled his eyes, not bothering to look at Zeke as he said, “Yeah, but people with the gene don’t just stop working.”

“They do if you mess with RFE. Why do you think most of ‘em died in 2011?” Zeke shot back. “We used the RFI.”

Dad chewed on the inside of his cheek as Zeke called, annoyance slowly dissipating as he thought through his logic. “Eugene,” he said, raising his head to look at the man. “See if you can pull up anything about Ray Field Energy being weird. Adverse reactions, whatever was wrong with Bertrand—the whole deal.”

“That’s not a lot to go by,” Dr. Sims muttered, bringing his hands to the keyboard anyways. 

“We need to know,” Dad said, glancing up at me.

We were there for what felt like forever. Long enough for Archie to try and take a drink of my hot chocolate, and Aunt Sia to grab both rats and return them to their cage in the living room. Long enough for Zeke to become restless and start pacing the five steps it took to span the entirety of the kitchen. Long enough for my hands to start shaking as I thought about everything. The hot chocolate was frothless and cold now, bringing nothing more than a chilly distaste to my mouth that could also be felt in the room. 

Eventually, Dr. Sims shook his head. “I’ve got nothing on RFE and Conduits,” he told Dad. “RFE and humans, sure, but not Conduits.”

Dad’s brow furrowed. “RFE and humans? Like the Plague?”

Dr. Sims shook his head. “No, that’s what’s weird—it’s about the Ray Sphere.”

Dr. Sims began scrolling back up as Zeke paused to listen, reminding him, “The Ray Sphere caused the Plague. ‘Course it’s mentioned.”

Dr. Sims, though, disagreed. “It’s talking about how they prevented the Plague.”

Everyone snapped to attention at that. 

“You can prevent the Plague?” Dad asked. A thousand emotions passed through his face—shock, confusion, doubt, anger. “So Kessler managed to fuck that up too? Great.”

Dad’s hand clenched until the knuckles of his fist turned stark white, barely acknowledging Aunt Sia’s reassuring hand on his shoulder. I couldn’t blame him for his anger; if I had found out that my parent’s deaths could have been prevented, but years after the fact?

I’d be fuming too. 

Dr. Sims, oblivious to the fact that Dad looked like he was a huff away from breathing fire, asked over his shoulder, “Hey, Zeke—the Ray Sphere only detonated once, right?”

Zeke, who was frozen dumbstruck in the middle of the kitchen, took a moment to nod. “Y-yeah, it only went off the one time.”

“And Cole was holding it?” Dr. Sims asked, the word holding stressed. 

Zeke blinked. “Yeah? At least I think so. I wasn’t there. He…he would talk about how it burned his hands when he was holding it, though.”

Aunt Sia, with one final squeeze on Dad’s shoulder before letting go, asking, “What did you find?”

“It’s—it’s sorta hard to understand,” Dr. Sims admitted, finally settling his scrolling to a segment of the journal, “But it reads like they had a lot of issues in the beginning of testing with illness, just like the Plague, but then figured out how to keep the fallout from its detonation from happening.”

The Plague was something I really didn’t understand. To be fair, I don’t think anyone really understood it fully; it ripped through victims way too fast for any solid science on it, and with it being completely eradicated from the world with the RFI, no one ever really tried replicating it. Most people didn’t even know how it happened—the Ray Sphere wasn’t public knowledge. Far as I knew, it was nothing more than an illness you’d occasionally see mocked up in conspiracy forums regarding chemical agents and aliens. 

What we did know about it was…weird. Contagious radiation poisoning. Contagious. No one really understood how that was even possible. 

Until now. 

Dr. Sims turned back towards his computer and began reading. “‘In the initial phases of our research, I harbored profound reservations regarding the implications of detonating the Ray Sphere—a device harnessing the raw power of nuclear fission. The prospect of manipulating such potent energy was both exhilarating and unnerving. I grappled with the uncertainty of its consequences, the unknown variables that could spiral out of control. It was already proving a terrible beast to control; those without the gene, when exposed to the energy output from the device, fell to an illness not unlike Acute Radiation Poisoning—only it battled with their neuroelectrical energy. Whatever it didn’t take to power the Ray Sphere, it sought to destroy. What was more alarming was how it seemed to spread to those outside of the vicinity of the detonation, as if the energy from the Ray Sphere jumped from person to person, seeking a genetically-positive person to attach to.’”

“Jeez,” Dad breathed when Dr. Sims paused. “So the fallout, what, seeks out the gene?”

“Seems like it,” Dr. Sims confirmed. I could see him highlight the section in the reflection of his glasses, and throw a copy of it into a note in the background, storing it away for himself later. This was probably a gold mine to him. He cleared his throat before continuing, “‘Despite my concerns, Kessler continuously reassured me, promising that as long as we found a suitable core, there would be no repercussions beyond the unfortunate souls sacrificed to the Ray Sphere for its initial phase. At first, I didn’t trust him. What if our actions unleashed catastrophic repercussions beyond our comprehension? But now, I see how wrong I was, and why Miss LaRue calls him her little oracle. After three failed attempts, Kessler insisted that I place someone with the gene directly beside the Ray Sphere, perhaps even holding it, for better results.

“‘Kessler was right. The Ray Sphere needs approximately eight hundred to a thousand microvolts from neuroelectrical energy to fully charge the Blast Core—about ten to twelve people. They all fall victim to sudden exposure to Ray Field Energy—including the genetic carrier in question. Who wouldn’t, when face to face with a miniature nuke with twice the concentrated energy? But where they fell, the carrier rose. Eleven test subjects turned to ash in an explosion greater than anything I’d seen before when activating the Ray Sphere, only for one to be birthed from the ashes. When the dust settled and we turned to our monitors for information on the fallout of the detonation, we found there was none. The scintillation counters were the only proof the Ray Sphere even detonated—well, that and the smell of burnt leather in the room when we deemed it safe to enter with hazmat. The test subject himself was in disarray and needed to be temporarily placed on a ventilator due to distress from direct exposure to radiation, but within the week, he was healed, no longer exhibiting symptoms of radiation poisoning and with the ability to manipulate flames. He had become a conduit for the raw, ionized energy, and came out of its blast anew, his proteins absorbing the radiation in full and preventing any fallout from occurring.’”

My mind was reeling. So the…the Conduit they used in their experiment basically sucked up all of the radiation? I glanced around the room to see Zeke’s back turned towards us all, nodding slowly. When we were out on the roof of that train car by his house, Zeke had said Cole went into a coma. “Took him a while to brush off what happened to him after the Blast,” he had said. 

Not because it was explosive, but because he was fighting radiation poisoning. 

“‘With no risk of radioactive fallout upon the use of the Ray Sphere, we’ve essentially secured funding from DARPA for any experimentation in the near future. As long as a gene carrier, a conduit for the Ray Field Energy, activates the Ray Sphere, the only damage to come to the world will be from the Conduit’s power as it becomes overloaded from so much RFE, and the poor souls that sacrifice themselves for the greater good.’” Dr. Sims finished before leaning back in his chair, closing out the translation pop-up. 

Dad looked furious. “So they knew.” He said. Not asked. “They knew it could go wrong, and they still set up everything to happen the way it did.”

“I don’t understand,” Aunt Sia murmured, moving to lean against the end of the table on my right. “Kessler didn’t care about the risk? Or did he want that to happen?”

Dr. Sims shook his head. “No. No, I don’t think Kessler would have wanted there to be a Plague. Wolfe said for the greater good. They were still working towards fighting the Beast and keeping humanity safe. Something happened.”

“Like what?” Dad demanded. “If the Ray Sphere detonated once, then how did it cause the Plague?”

Dr. Sims inhaled deeply, trying to brush off Dad’s anger. “There’s something here about proximity related to residual RFE post-activation,” he hummed, like it meant something. “They took everything into account.”

Wait—post what? I held up a hand half-heartedly like a student in class, not bothering to say anything until Aunt Sia hummed, “What is it, Jean?”

“Dr. Sims said post activation, right?” I said, looking between him and Dad. “And th–the notes said something about the Conduit’s power overloading. So did the Ray Sphere have to explode for the radiation to occur, or did it have to just be turned on?”

Dad and Dr. Sims stared at me for so long that I began to try to defend myself with, “Sorry, I don’t really get how this works—” before Dad held up a hand to silence me, staring at the wood grain as he worked something out. 

“It…It wouldn’t need to explode, would it?” He asked. “It’d just need to begin the fission process. That’d be enough.���

Dr. Sims slowly nodded, rubbing a hand against his chin in thought. “It would need to output that energy with or without the Conduit,” he hummed, “and Wolfe said something about the ‘overloading RFE’ and uh…an explosion bigger than what had happened before. That’s gotta mean there’s a version of the Ray Sphere being activated that doesn’t cause as big of a detonation.”

Dad nodded, his own more pronounced. “That means something could’ve happened when it was in someone else’s hands. Hey, Zeke, didn’t you say the Ray Sphere was taken by some gang back in—”

Dad faltered as he looked back to where Zeke had been standing only to see he was no longer there. Instead Zeke was by the sink, leaned over it like he was ill, gripping the edge of the counter with a grip usually saved for squeezing the life out of something. “Zeke?” Aunt Sia asked softly.

“A Conduit has to activate the Sphere?” Zeke asked, voice lower than I've ever heard it.

Dr. Sims glanced over at Dad, who looked just as bewildered. “I, uh...yes,” he confirmed hesitantly. “A Conduit has to be within…thirty-five centimeters of the Ray Sphere and holding it to act as a...well, a conduit for the RFE.“ He glanced back at the screen. ”Seems that's where Kessler got the name, in fact.”

Zeke's head shook as it fell, like he was refusing to believe what he was hearing. What was going on with him? He was acting like he was just diagnosed with the Plague himself. Brent looked over at me bewildered and all I could do was shrug.

Dad, though, didn't have as much tact. “What happened, Zeke?” he asked, eyes narrow as they bore through Zeke's back. “Do you know how the Plague started?”

Zeke breathed shakily, giving himself a few seconds to keep his head hung low as he collected himself. He reached up and pulled off his polarized glasses, running a hand across his face hard like he was trying to wipe away dirt. It's when he turned that I realized he was crying.

“I think I started it,” he whispered, refusing to meet anyone's eyes. “What did you just say?” Dad asked flatly, the hold on the back of his chair tightening.

Zeke kept his head low, eyes pointed at the ground but seeming to look far past it to some long-forgotten memory. “There was this...game of hot potato after the Blast as everyone fought to get ahold of the Ray Sphere. First John White pulled it from Cole's body after the Blast. Then the Dustmen got ahold'a it.”

“Dustmen?” I asked before I could stop myself. What kind of name was that?

“They were the old heir to the First Sons' gang.” Zeke informed me, only just glancing up. He saw how intensely everyone was looking at him, though, and his eyes fell once more. “He wanted the Ray Sphere back to eventually reclaim the throne from Kessler. He stuck it at the top of this huge tower he made with his powers, in some sorta charging cradle and had his men guarding it.

“We...Cole and I fought our way to the top of this tower and—you've gotta understand. There were Dustmen, there were First Sons, we were a good three hundred feet in the air and I had nothing but my pistol on me.” Zeke shook his head as he relived the memory. “And with everything else going on in Empire City...I was scared outta my mind. So when Cole was fighting Alden's men and I managed to get to the Ray Sphere and pull it outta that charging thing...”

His fist came down softly against the counter’s edge behind him, a beat far steadier than my own as I listened to his story. “I turned it on.” He admitted simply. 

It was almost instantaneous; Dad’s grip on the chair grew so strong that the wood backing splintered under his fingers, Aunt Sia’s protests unheard over Dad as he growled, “You what?”

“I was terrified,” he said, the admittance not really an excuse, but an explanation. He definitely didn’t seem to be defending his choice at all. “The world was going to hell in a handbasket and I barely had enough 9 millimeters to keep fighting against it. There were people who could suddenly make spiders outta scrap metal and tar that’d turn you into some zombie. My best friend was shooting lightning outta his hands and the most I could do to help him was hand him rubber gloves.” Zeke sighed hard, closing his eyes. “Kessler told me he…he knew why it didn’t work when it fizzled out. Why I didn’t get powers. And that he would show me what needed to be done if I just gave him the Ray Sphere. So…I did it. I gave him the damn thing. I was scared and thought that by getting myself some powers I’d live to see the next day. 'Cause then? That wasn't guaranteed.”

Guaranteed. 

“How long are you willing to fight for these Humans when they’re guaranteed to turn on you in the end?” Augustine’s voice rang in my ear. “Even the great Cole MacGrath was betrayed by his closest companion.” 

“You’re the one that turned on Cole,” I whispered, not realizing my eyes had fallen until I looked back up at Zeke, whose own were solemn. 

“You knew?” Brent demanded accusingly. 

“Kids.” Aunt Sia interjected sharply. 

“So you just set off the Ray Sphere because you were jealous?” Dad asked Zeke. 

“I was scared. Hell, we all were—”

“There was no one else close to the Ray Sphere?” Dr. Sims demanded, trying to click through some translation notes at rapid speed. 

Zeke shook his head. “Just me.” He began to pace back and forth in the three steps it took to get from the counter on one side of the kitchen to the oven on the other.

“There would have been no one gene-positive close enough to absorb the latent RFE. At least not in a way that mattered before the scattering of radioactive dust,” Dr. Sims informed the room.

Zeke stopped pacing, head falling into his hands. “Christ, did I cause the Plague?” he whispered aghast.

It was almost instantaneous; for a moment, Zeke looked like he was about to fall to his knees with how hard they were shaking, and then a second later he was flying back into the pantry door, Dad nothing but a plume of dust and concrete as he moved to beat on Zeke.

Whatever happened next was hell, and I was barely able to keep track of it all. There was a dogpile of limbs in the kitchen I was shoved away from. Brent emerged from it fully steel, holding Dad back and pushing him against the cracked pantry door as he fought to get out of Brent’s grip. Aunt Sia helped Zeke stand, trying to wipe away at his bloody nose with a random rag she pulled from the oven’s handle. Dr. Sims moved to intercept Dad's concrete-laden arm as it raised and aimed indiscriminately at Zeke, his face more furious than I've ever personally seen him.

“You killed them!” he screamed, loud enough that his voice echoed through the room. Brent pushed Dad against the wall and was trying to talk him down and I'm pretty sure the only thing that kept him from catching a right hook was the fact that he was Dad's son. “My parents died because of you!”

“I didn't know,” Zeke insisted, holding the white rag to his face that was steadily turning red. “I just...I was trying to protect myself—”

“You nearly killed the world because you were jealous,” Dad spat, face contorted in rage. “You gave Kessler back the Ray Sphere to get powers! You were a coward—”

“Delsin—” Dr. Sims tried to talk Dad down, though it was no use.

“I was.” Zeke agreed without hesitation. “You think I haven't regretted it every day of my life since? I’ve been trying to make up for my mistake ever since—”

“Regret isn't gonna bring back everyone you killed,“ Dad snarled.

“I know.” Zeke said solemnly. “One of those people that died was my best friend—”

Dad scoffed. “Save me the fucking sob story—you're the one that betrayed him! I'm supposed to give a shit about how sorry you feel when you turned on him willingly?” He shook his head, glancing at Dr. Sims, who was still holding his dominant hand. “Did you know about this?” he demanded.

Dr. Sims shook his head and opened his mouth to say something when Aunt Sia said, “I did.”

Dad's head snapped her way and he glowered, the stare enough to make my own spine chill despite being to the left and behind her. “You what?” he growled.

Aunt Sia didn't even flinch. “I knew what happened. Zeke told me years ago when we first started working on this together,” She motioned to the papers on the table.

“And you didn't think to tell me?” He looked beyond pissed. Betrayed, like Aunt Sia was the one to activate the Ray Sphere.

Aunt Sia raised an eyebrow. “Would you have understood?”

Dad blinked, his scowl just barely slipping off of his face. “What?”

“You're not human, Delsin. Not like Zeke, not like Reggie, and not like me.” Aunt Sia pointed to her own chest as Dad’s nostrils flared the moment she brought up his brother. “You don't get how...how scary and inadequate it can feel to be the person who can't do anything and to watch people you love put their lives on the line. You can—you can make a nonprofit to help or go undercover or sneak people out of the country but it's never enough.” Her hand fell. “I spent five years trying to help the Conduits and you were able to fix their issues in a week. Do you know how hard it is to feel like you're never doing enough when people you care about are in trouble? To be pushed aside and practically be told to let the Big Boys handle it?”

My eyes fell from looking at Aunt Sia to staring at the tile, her words settling on top of that weight in my chest that I couldn't seem to shake off anymore. Do you know how hard it is to feel like you're never doing enough when people you care about are in trouble? I could guess. I felt it in the pristine white of that First Sons base, watching Dad and Brent fight and having to run away like a coward. Helping Dad bandage chemical burns on his flesh that made the entire room smell like weirdly sweet bacon whenever the wrappings would come off. And I couldn't do anything to prevent that, even as a Conduit—or whatever I was now. Told to run away, asked to hide on the floorboard of a car, told that I 'didn't need to worry about it' when wanting to know more about everything.

And I guess that, even though I didn't really approve of handing over a miniature nuke to a crazy cult leader, I could understand why Zeke did what he did.

Dad, though, didn't. “That's different,” he insisted.

“Is it?” 

“You didn’t sell out Eugene to Augustine,” Dad said, before his eyes returned to Zeke and they immediately became darker. “He fucked over MacGrath.”

“And I’ve done everything I could to honor Cole and his sacrifice,” Zeke, surprisingly, snapped back. “You think I’m not haunted by what he had to do every goddamn day of my life?”

Dad shrugged off Dr. Sims’ hold. “He wouldn’t have had to sacrifice shit if it wasn’t for you.”

Aunt Sia sighed, exasperated. “Delsin, don’t act like you’ve never made a selfish mistake before.”

“I didn’t hand a goddamn bomb to Kessler!” Dad defended. 

“No, but you’ve done stupid shit plenty of times before.” Aunt Sia chastised. “Don’t act like you’ve never been blinded by your emotions.”

Dad glowered long after Brent let him go, not moving from his spot. He seemed to be debating on where to place his anger, and I saw his right hand twitch once without raising as his eyes shifted between Aunt Sia to Zeke and back again. The tight fist relaxed, but he still had enough anger in him to let them settle on Zeke and growl, “I’m only saying this once, Dunbar: You do anything to risk my family while we’re trying to figure out what’s wrong with my girl? I’ll kill you. You’re here because you’ve got good information, and nothing else.” 

The air itself felt thick as Dad stared down Zeke, waiting for some form of acknowledgement. “Alright,” Zeke relented, the first to break eye contact. 

Aunt Sia held up a hand, trying to force Dad and his cold glare to stand down. “We should stop there for today,” she said, voice suggesting she was leaving no room for arguments. “We’re getting nowhere like this, and I think everyone could do with a break right now, okay? So let’s stop.” 

Dad glowered our way a moment longer before storming off, making sure to give Zeke a shoulder check on his way past before he threw open the back door and disappeared into the backyard. 

It was hard to pretend like everything was normal for the rest of the day. 

The journal didn’t really get us anywhere, and when Dr. Sims declared he wanted to take me to a hospital tomorrow and run tests? I became nervous. “There’s a specialist there that can see her that might be able to help,” he told Aunt Sia. “And the endocrine unit and palliative care are on the same floor. That’s where the other prime Conduit experiencing strange symptoms is.”

Zeke disappeared soon after Dad retreated to the backyard, mumbling something about ‘giving space’ that he didn’t even let Aunt Sia try to retort to. She sighed hard as he closed the front door before turning to Brent and I, leaving Dr. Sims to mess around on his computer as she steered us to the living room, trying to use the allure of a movie to help us pretend like none of that just happened. 

She tried to make the resulting day fun. Tried being the keyword. Trips down memory lane where she reminded us of every young-age blunder she saw over the five years she watched us, equally embarrassing moments from Dad’s past before we were born.

“Met her soon after I met Eugene,” Dad said when he had returned from outside, anger somewhere dissipated. “She would locate the suspected conduits he was picking up, and Project Sanctuary would sneak them outta Seattle. Eventually had me doing the same thing.”

It was hard work, tearing suspected gene carriers out of jail cells and getting them out of the country, but they did it together with the network Aunt Sia had built over the years. “I started Project Sanctuary soon after I began volunteering at the Conduit Rights League,” she told us, “About a year after Eugene was taken from me.”

Dad and Aunt Sia really got to know each other in the after, though; those few months after Augustine’s crimes were shared but before the government was strong-armed into doing anything about them, Aunt Sia was there trying to help the Conduits that were trickle-released from Curdun before its doors closed. She was there to protest when they were opened again. “With the pandemic, and your mother’s condition, I didn’t visit her as much as I wanted for fear of getting her sick,” Aunt Sia admitted when we asked her why, since she knew Dad since we were born, there was no evidence of her existence. “And besides, you know me—addicted to my work. I had a lot cut out for me then,”

But everything she said, all she meant to be some sort of melancholic sharing of truth, was nothing more but another straw on the back of this burden that kept feeling like it was crushing my chest in. I knew so little. I was the cause of so much. I couldn’t stop thinking about everything that had happened in the last few weeks; the lies and the pain and the truths and the fights. 

I even made the mistake of going online at some point and was bombarded with new notifications; someone found my art blog online, and it spread, fast. There were so many messages, so many death threats, that I had to go hide in the bathroom and cry as I deactivated every source of me online. Not before seeing news updates about COLE, since my name was tied to them now. 

Protests, riots. More bomb threats than should have been allowed. COLE was officially defunded in 8 states, and forced to close by government order in 3 of those. CRON, the conduit registration bill, suddenly had enough signatures to pass the House, and was set to be voted on in the Senate. 

And this was all because of me, and what I did to Seattle.

I tucked my phone into the couch after that, ignoring every missed email and social media notification because I was so sure what they would be about that I figured it would be better to not even look at them. But I couldn’t stop thinking about them. God, I couldn’t—not during the movie Aunt Sia put on, not during dinner, and not even when she tossed me a pair of soft pajamas that I almost immediately dropped, declaring a girls night. “You all find a place to sleep,” she said, waving off Dr. Sims, Brent and Dad in a jokingly dismissive way. “Jean and I will be in my room.”

She ushered me into her bedroom and, after a brief moment where she helped Dr. Sims find comfort on her couch, returned, closing the door fully behind her and locking it for good measure before turning to face me, holding up my phone. “You forgot something,” she said, moving to the big king sized bed and handing it to me before crawling in. 

“Oh,” I smiled, trying my best to look grateful as I set down my hair brush and reached out to grab the phone, “Thanks.” I immediately put it on the nightstand beside the bed, face down. 

Aunt Sia sighed, “Alright, hon.” She raised an eyebrow when I looked at her. “You father isn’t in the room anymore. Out with it.”

I blinked, brow furrowing. “What do you mean?”

“I’m not blind, Jean.” Aunt Sia said softly, concern laden in her voice. “You’ve barely smiled since you’ve been here. I can hardly get any interaction out of you. What’s wrong?”

I looked away from her, shrugging and grabbing the hair brush again. “Just tired. I could barely sleep in that van.” 

Aunt Sia gently took the hair brush from me and began to go through my hair herself, working out the knots. “I don’t believe you,” she hummed. Non-accusingly but still all the worried. 

I sighed hard, and admittedly said a bit snappily, “I’m just tired,” trying to reinforce the lie to her. To myself. All it did was make me sound more guilty. 

“Jean.” 

I could feel her eyes boring into me from behind as she set the brush down and began to braid my hair, small hands moving expertly to make a french braid tighter and neater than anything I could ever do. I looked up at my reflection in the vanity mirror in front of her bed and sighed, hating how deep the eyebags looked. “I’m…I’m sorry.” I began. 

“It’s alright, I shouldn’t have pushed—”

“No not that—well, actually, yeah. That too.” My eyes traveled down to my cast, the same deep blue as those waves that devastated Seattle covering the ashen and yellowed bruises, the same shades as the remains of COLE in Portland. “I…a bunch of people found my blog and…they weren’t nice about it.”

Aunt Sia’s brow furrowed slightly. “How so?”

I didn’t answer, pushing Aunt Sia to pull her own phone out and go straight to the blog. Shit. Right. I gave her the link to that. She scrolled for a moment, seeing nothing innocuous until she got to the comments—and that’s where her anger flared. “Wh–” she cut off, scrolling further. Switching to reblogs. Her nostrils flared, gray eyes almost steeling like Brent’s and the hand holding my braid in place tightened. “Those assholes,” she hissed, dropping her phone and looking up and meeting my eyes in the reflection of the mirror. “Jean, how long have you known about this? We need to tell your father—”

“No!” I cut her off, a bit too loud. I screwed my eyes shut and inhaled deeply, forcing myself to be quieter. Involving Dad was the last thing I wanted to do, especially after everything today. “No, no–not Dad. Not now. Please.”

Aunt Sia, fury still in her eyes, let her face soften slightly. “Why not?”

It took me far too long to answer, instead glancing at the screen of her phone; she was on a picture I’d done of a beach. Pastels. That one had so many comments—not just of people saying how the art sucked, but saying I had planned this the whole time. That I wanted to flood Seattle, that I wanted to kill everyone I did, and this romanticizing of the tall waves was proof. “It…” I drew off, unsure of what to say. “He doesn’t need to worry about it right now.”

I could hear Aunt Sia sigh gently. “That’s not for you to decide.” 

A warmth of upset, of anger, lit in my chest. “I’ve already caused him enough issues, he doesn’t need to keep worrying about me—”

“Hey,” Aunt Sia cut me off, hushing me like one would some spooked animal. Her eyes met my reflection. “Now, Jeanie, listen to me. Everything that’s happened wasn't your fault. You hear me? It doesn't matter what anyone says, it wasn't your fault.”

I shook my head. “I killed one hundred and thirty seven people, Aunt Sia. People keep attacking COLE because of it. Dad’s cover was blown! All the people that were hurt and th-the politicians…” my voice cracked and I clammed up immediately, barely able to choke out after, “If I was more careful in the alley or the fight with Augustine—”

“Don’t you dare blame yourself for that, Jean,” Aunt Sia interrupted. “You’re a child.”

“Does that matter?” 

“Of course it matters.” The hairbrush came down, and she moved to look at me intensely through the mirror from over my shoulder. “You were dealt a bad hand and you did what you did out of desperation. Who could blame you?”

“Everyone,” I said softly, looking down at the printed quilt at the end of the bed. “Everyone does.” 

Aunt Sia sighed, silence hanging in the air for a few moments before she started. “I think…I think what matters most is knowing—and accepting—that, sometimes…you won’t be able to help.” The way she said it so matter-of-factly made me raise my head to look at her in the mirror. She wasn’t staring at my reflection anymore; her eyes were down, staring at the dresser the mirror was posted on and yet far past it, eyes traveled somewhere foreign. The look was familiar; that's how Dad would look when thinking about his past. About everything that still threatened to drag him down. “Sometimes all there really is is guilt and shame, and the feeling of your entire life being a burden to those around you. But what I learned throughout the years is that people will only start to treat you like an inconvenience if you present yourself as one.”

“I already am.” I interjected. “I know I had the healing thing for only, like, a week, but—”

The glaze in Aunt Sia’s mind seeped away and they snapped up to meet mine in the mirror. “You're a person who needs help, and you have so many people in your life who are willing to go above and beyond to provide you with that help. Not because they pity you, not because it gets you off their back, but because they love you.” After a moment Aunt Sia seemed to know the thoughts forming in my mind before the sentence was finished being built, adding, “Even if it might not always look like it—hell, I've known your Dad long enough to be aware of just how harsh he can be sometimes. But he does love you. We all do.”

I looked down at my hands, disagreement rising in the back of my throat like bile. “I just…I feel so useless right now,” I admitted. Why was that one sentence so hard to choke out? “I’m either not helping or when I do try to help I…drown half of Seattle. I couldn’t even protect them when we were in New Marais.”

“It's hard to come to terms with the fact that sometimes all we can do is rely on the kindness of others, and it's frustrating to feel like you're unable to ever return just a tiny bit of everything they did for you.” Aunt Sia sympathized. I’d never understand how it came to her so easily. “But there is one thing you're missing: You surviving, you making it through hard times with their help, you being able to smile again? That's the best way to give back to the loved ones that want nothing more but to be there for you.”

My brow furrowed as I processed her words. Was that really it? Was it that easy? It didn’t feel that easy. It definitely didn’t feel like someone else’s love would absolve me of my sins. “Those people in Seattle had loved ones.” I said simply, eyes glancing over to look at Aunt Sia’s knees. “That mom that lost her kid in the COLE bombing? There’s so many innocent people that’ve been hurt, and it’s because of me in some way.” I could feel the frustration and anger and self loathing bubble up in my chest. “I—Dad can’t even go back to work, Brent can’t see his girlfriend, you’re stuck watching COLE explode after everything you’ve done for it—”

I hadn’t noticed I began to tear up until Aunt Sia took my face in her hands, squishing my cheeks slightly as she forced me to look at her. “None of that is your fault,” She insisted, eyes searching mine. “None of that was intentional. You didn’t mean to hurt anyone, and that’s enough—even if you may have. You were trying, and that’s a lot more than anyone else can say. You think those politicians have ever done a thing in their life that benefited anyone but themselves?” She shook her head, answering her own question. Her hands fell from my face, but she stayed close. “The only thing I want you to worry about right now is your health. Everything else is for us to worry about, I don’t want you to feel guilty for us caring about you. You’re worth all of this stress. No one—no government, no human, and no conduit will ever be able to convince me of the opposite.” Her shoulders squared a bit. “And I'll beat the shit out of everyone that even dares to try and tell me that what happened was something you should be blamed for."

God, there she was—the Aunt Sia I knew. She managed to pull an amused huff outta me, my halfhearted smile bringing a brighter one on her own face. “Now stop this moping, I can’t handle it. Let’s have one night where we pretend nothing’s happening, okay? You need a night off, especially since tomorrow’s gonna be busy.”

With a swallow and a nod I agreed, trying to shove away the pain for now. I knew she was right; Dad had told me Dr. Sims was able to order some tests for tomorrow. “There’s a specialist there that can see you that might be able to help, and they work in the same hospital where the other prime Conduit experiencing strange symptoms is,” he said. We’d be leaving in the morning. 

I couldn’t see it from her point of view, I couldn’t understand how I deserved her understanding—but maybe it was easier to lie to myself anyways. And as Aunt Sia went to a folder titled ‘Jeanie’ Favs’ in her pirated movies, I figured maybe she was right about one thing; I could use a reason to forget about everything right now.

[battlevann]

Damn i feel so stupid about writing fan fiction about this character <- talking about his own character

[half-deadpoet]

Haven’t been writing a lot of poetry lately, so I’m going to start writing something new(still going to write poetry if I’m in the mood, haha)

Thinking about doing a soulmate story, because soulmate stuff has been plaguing my mind lol