#this was incredibly self indulgent but i hope other people take comfort in it too | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

penny00dreadful · 2 years ago

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Crossroads

So I was hoping to get some more Return of the King or Somebody to Love out but these antibiotics are burning a hole through my stomach so I needed something incredibly self indulgent for my own comfort.

Some warnings up front: this is a reincarnation AU so there will be character death. But they do come back, I promise. Apparently my comfort involves a fuckton of angst and devastation so there's that too 🤷‍♀️ but I make it better, I promise. This is a heavy one guys, so take care of yourselves.

Now with beautiful cover art by @subbaculture

AO3 Link

Steve kept his voice low and soft.

Comforting.

Respectful.

He gently gestured the small group of mourners through to the viewing room, content to stand like a sentry in the back, there if they needed him but invisible otherwise in his plain black suit and glasses with his hands folded in front of him after double, triple checking his phone was on silent.

Death was an old friend to him now, though it had taken him a very, very long time to see it that way. Maybe that’s why he’d chosen the profession he had. Becoming a mortician wasn’t something many people actively worked towards since their teen years, unless they were already in the family but it just felt right to Steve.

He hadn’t been taken seriously at the start. He was young. Very young to be in this line of work. Currently in his early thirties and still fifteen years the junior of most funeral directors in the country.

But he was good at what he did. How could he not be? He’d seen more death than any other human alive.

He’d spent so long trying to fight death and losing every time that death no longer felt unsettling to him anymore. It was a fact of life.

Unavoidable.

So he made it his business to ease the crossing from one life to the other, for both the living and the dead and they tried to meet the needs of as many religions, as many traditions, as many practices as they could, both new and old.

They’d spearheaded more eco-friendly and green practices and with the recent rise of neo-paganism and wicca and worship of the Old Gods, they tried to be as accommodating as possible.

If the Steve from all that time ago, still on his first go around and organising the single most devastating funeral he’d ever experienced, could see him now, the Steve whose hands shook as he washed and anointed him with oils, the Steve who was so consumed by despair and fury as he placed the coin in his mouth with one last kiss…

He was pretty sure that Steve of old would have been enraged at his calm acceptance of death in any form.

But this Steve had grown. After all this time. Maybe it had taken him too long. Maybe he hadn’t grown in time, hadn’t grown quick enough to break it.

His Curse, he had taken to calling it.

But that had been when he was a broken and angry man. Now he saw that it had been less of a Curse and more of an Opportunity.

But it had taken him so long to pull himself from his spiral of devastation and anger and as a result he’d squandered that Opportunity.

It had been too late by the time he’d let any humility in.

So this was it now. This was his life and though he’d never be truly happy again, not without him… he was calm.

He was as centred as he could be.

He’d accepted his Fate.

Steve glanced up at the sound of a woman’s sob, ready to step forward if he needed to. The woman, Marion, he remembered, ended up being soothed softly by her sons, Jeremy and Killian. Their fathers death hadn’t been sudden, Walter had been sick for a while but that didn’t make it any less devastating for the three. They’d be okay. They were strong together, Steve thought, loving. Funerals were often make or break for families but these three at least, would pull through.

Steve loved what he did, strange as it was. He loved being able to bring comfort to the living during their hardest times. Helping them to say goodbye and hopefully get some closure.

Closure that he himself had rarely had.

Having that person one day then… they’re gone the next.

He wanted to bring that closure to people.

The room was exploding in flowers, both as a show of love from the deceased's family and a kindness from Crossroads Funeral Home, to try to cover up the smell of Robin's embalming work and to quietly bring some beauty to the room.

Robin.

Pretty much the only good thing that had come from that previous Life.

She'd followed him to this one after they had both died, side by side, dragging Vecna/Henry/One back into the Rainbow Room with the last of their energy and locking everyone else outside before the explosion could go off on the cold night of New Years 1987.

She didn't know it, of course, no one did. No one ever remembered except for Steve. But she knew there was something between them. Some strange string of Fate that connected them. He didn’t know how he’d survived so long without her.

She'd told him once that he looked old. He'd snorted and pushed her away, sitting on that dirty bathroom floor in their comical sailors costumes but she just shook her head.

I meant, like, you don't look old. It's your eyes Steve. They're… they're ancient. Like this isn't your first go around, you know?

He did know. God, did he know. He’d been in a cycle of life and death, life and death, on and on for over two and a half thousand years.

That first Life had been good. Fantastic, even. Two men living together and keeping the same bed wasn’t unheard of at the time. It wasn’t the done thing but it wasn’t something that brought them the hatred of their neighbours.

It was seen as more of an eccentricity than anything.

In later years, in later Lives, they’d have to learn the hard way to hide. But for now, they were happy. They were content.

Steve would accompany Eddie to visit Her temple at the entrance to Thessaly though he never much bothered with worship himself. He never much cared for Heracles or Zeus or Demeter or Atlas. He had everything he ever needed standing beside him.

Though Eddie would often jab him with some kind of teasing comment about how Eros had come for him specifically through Steve, waxing poetic about his moles or the line of his shoulders, often loudly and in public with that terrible cheeky grin of his that Steve was just forced to kiss off his face.

And if it wasn’t Eros then it was Helios inhabiting his eyes or his hair or his skin with the light of the sun.

Everything had been so good.

Steve didn’t think he’d ever been so happy just living.

But they hadn’t had enough time.

Barely seven years they’d had together before death came to tear them apart and vengeance buried itself deep in Steve’s blood.

When it all started, when Eddie lay feverish and dying in their shared bed from an infected bite, Steve had gone to Her.

It was the first time he’d ever given much of a shit about the gods and he didn’t know much about any of them to start with. But he knew Her. He’d listened to Eddie as he’d spoken about the strange feeling he had, the weird connection he felt to Her. He’d watched as Eddie had placed little food offerings of grapes and nuts at their little household altar for Her. He’d seen Eddie find a weird rock or shell or odd trinket and it was always a toss up as to whether it would be placed into Steve’s hand or on Her shrine.

He even wore Her strophalos around his neck.

Hecate.

She was a strange deity for Eddie to focus his dedication to. Her temple was mostly women but Eddie had always been a bit eccentric.

Sorcery, witchcraft, necromancy, the moon, ghosts, gravesites, the night and crossroads. All the things She watched over. All things that were just so Eddie.

Of course he felt a kinship with Her.

Steve’s weird and wonderful freak.

When it happened… Steve had been incandescent with rage and desolation and wanted the world to bend to his will as a consequence of it. He’d been ready to tear everything apart.

His despair had crawled up on him in those last few days, sitting at Eddie’s bedside, watching his love slowly fade away.

Once the infection took hold, Eddie wasn’t really there anymore. He was in and out of consciousness, muttering nonsense and barely able to register anything around him.

Steve spoke to him constantly, holding his hand, stroking his hair but Eddie never responded, not coherently anyway.

They didn’t get to say goodbye. They didn't get any last ‘I love you’s’, they got nothing.

The only time Steve had left his side was to beg and plead and offer himself up at the small household altar. He told Her he’d give anything She asked, make anything She wanted to happen happen, She just had to save him. But like always, She stayed silent. No sign, no movement, no feeling, not even a gust of wind.

But when had the gods ever paid attention?

There was a reason he’d never worshipped. It never brought them anything.

When Eddie died, Steve had refused to let anyone else come in and perform the funeral rites. Eddie was his and his alone, no one else had the right to wash his body, to anoint him, to carefully place the wreath over his head.

Tradition could get fucked.

He had lost his whole world, so everyone else could deal with the consequences.

Steve had kissed him one last time after he had placed the coin in his mouth. He’d debated the coin heavily with himself.

If he didn’t pay the Ferryman, maybe Eddie could come back?

But in the end, common sense won out. He couldn’t keep Eddie trapped like that. He’d never forgive himself.

By then his rage had settled into something cold and constant in his gut.

He would get Eddie back.

If he had to climb to the top of Mt. Olympus himself to demand it, he would.

After the burial, he stood in the street outside Her temple, watching with a half drunk bottle of wine in hand. He wanted Her to know he was coming. He wanted Her to know he was a damn force to be reckoned with.

How dare She ignore him.

How dare She allow him to be taken.

How dare She not give him back.

Eddie was his.

And he was Eddie’s.

How dare She.

He didn’t know how long he stood there before he walked inside.

He wasn’t supposed to be here.

It was forbidden. He shouldn’t have even thought about it. He’d been touched by death, it had entered his house and he would be unwelcome anywhere holy for at least a year, lest his miasma spread to the precious gods.

Funny how they claimed to be all powerful but shrunk away from the air of death that hung around the mortals left behind by loved ones.

Fucking cowards.

People tried to stop him from coming inside, of course they did. Everyone knew of his loss, his rage, his determination. He’d screamed so loud when Eddie had died, the sound had practically stretched through the entire town. They were all so loyal to the gods who couldn’t give a flying fuck about any of them.

As soon as he stepped over the threshold, the worshipers cowered away from him. The Priestesses fled, as though the taboo of the touch of death in this sacred space could somehow infect them.

He had managed to fling Her offerings to the floor and tear a small statue from its pedestal before he was dragged back outside.

The people on the streets gave him a wide berth in the weeks after that. He’d disrespected a goddess and no one wanted to get caught in the crossfire.

But fuck Her.

Let Her be pissed off.

She’d taken everything from him.

Steve felt like he was adrift. He spent hours every day at Eddie’s grave, barely able to exist away from him for long. And whenever he wasn’t there he was at home, in the dark, lying on Eddie’s side of the bed slowly dancing in between unbearable waves of sadness and crawling, festering anger.

The anger he felt was… it was poisonous. Sometimes he felt like he couldn’t breathe for how furious he was.

Physicians were sent to him and were all extremely alarmed at how out of balance his humours were. His Yellow Bile was in extreme excess and they desperately advised him of what he needed to do to become balanced again, but Steve didn’t want anything less.

He needed to stay angry.

His legs were carrying him to Her crossroads before he even knew where he was going.

It was the dead of night and the only thing lighting the intersection up was a single torch burning bright, hanging off a pole in the ground, illuminating up the three faces of Her statue.

She stood like a sentry watching and waiting carefully to make sure travellers made it across safely. A small gathering of offerings stood at the bottom of the statue and Steve had a sudden urge to burn them.

He wrenched the torch down from where it hung and thrust it at Her feet, catching the wreaths and flowers and fruit and small hand carved figurines worshipers and travellers had left behind in deference.

It did nothing to quell the rage within him so he swung back around, prepared to bury the charred and desecrated remains right in the centre, to send a goddamn sign straight to Her heart if he had to.

But as he straightened up he was forced to recoil in shock as the head of the statue had turned. She seemed to stand taller now. She had been of a height with him when he started. Now She loomed over him, glaring down at him with such ferocity he could feel it down to his very core.

But he refused to back down now, he couldn’t.

She was finally paying attention.

“Give him back.” He growled at Her. Her face didn’t move, She stayed as still as stone. Maybe She was still stone, he hadn’t actually seen Her move after all.

And angry wind blew through the crossroads, nearly snuffing out the torch Steve still held in his hand.

She didn’t speak to him but Her words were clear.

He is not mine to give back.

“You’re fucking right. He’s not yours. He’s mine. You had no right to take him.”

Something hissed behind him and Steve whipped around with the torch that almost seemed to phase, one into two into one again.

At the centre of the crossroads, slowly writhing and coiling about itself sat a giant serpent, its crystalline amber eyes burning through him. It was much bigger than it should have been, as thick as one of his arms and so long Steve couldn’t see its tail extending back into the darkness beyond.

I did not take him. She hissed, extending a forked tongue.

Steve swallowed, trying to stop the oil from the double-single torch dripping onto his hand and burning him but also keeping an eye on the giant creature in front of him, taking a shaky step back, heart beating furiously through his chest both from fear and all encompassing rage.

“I don’t believe that. He loved you and you did nothing to stop his crossing!” He spat back at the viper.

The dark was so close around him now, closer than it had been, though the single-double torch still burned as bright as ever.

The crossroads felt completely separated from everything else on earth at that moment, like he was on an island afloat in the darkness.

A low rumbling growl reverberated through the air behind him, sending another spike of fear up through Steve’s spine and forcing him to turn, trying to keep one eye on the giant snake and another on the behemoth of a creature that was slowly stalking towards him on the opposite side.

The dog was huge. It’s snout just about level with Steve’s shoulder, with teeth bared, head low and an angry look in its eye.

That is not my domain. She snapped at him with a gnashing of Her teeth.

“Then make it your domain!” He snapped back, baring his own teeth in kind.

He took another step back, away from the two creatures but was frozen to a stop as a great gust of air was exhaled onto the back of his neck and through his hair.

Turning again, he was backed into the centre of the crossroads as a great and powerful horse approached, towering over him. It did not glare or snap but simply observed.

Steve was now surrounded by Her on three sides, the writhing serpent, the gnashing dog and the stoic horse all slowly closing in on him.

The horse tilted its head, almost curiously.

If you have not earned your penance by the time I am worshipped again, you will bring your end to the both of you.

“Wh-what?” Steve was still trying to strike with anger but the roiling terror was starting to take hold, especially as Her three avatars slowly closed in. “What does that mean?!”

She didn’t answer and Steve knew in his soul the conversation was over. He’d signed his warrant by searching Her out in the first place and whatever happened now, he just hoped it brought him back to Eddie, somehow.

He felt the snake coil itself around his neck, he felt the teeth of the dog in his stomach and the crack of a hoof against the side of his head before everything went dark.

Steve was fifteen in his second Life before things really started to make sense. Because ever since he’d hit puberty he had all these memories that didn’t belong to him.

Or he thought they didn’t belong to him.

His parents thought he was some kind of Seer. He thought so too until one day four years later. He’d been hired as a private and exclusive Seer to a local wealthy politician who Steve suspected just preferred to look at him, rather than have him divine anything.

But they’d been travelling for days to a neighbouring city to marry his daughter off to some young aristocrat or other when their party came upon a familiar crossroad.

The place had changed in the twenty years since he’d last stepped foot here in his previous Life, where he’d sealed his Fate. He could feel it in his bones.

Her statues had been replaced with finer, more intricate and detailed reliefs. The offerings towered high, stretching out into the road itself, like the people here knew this place had been touched by Her.

Everything came back to him tenfold. All the anger, all the devastation, all the bargaining and rage and loss hit him like it had happened only yesterday.

What the fuck was he doing here? Following around some fat, over-indulgent, lecherous old man, spitting nonsense at him like that would help his political decisions?

That’s not what he was here for. He was here to find his Eddie.

Steve didn’t even know if he could find him. Is that how Hecate had punished him for disrespecting Her so much? To relive his life again but without him this time?

Didn’t matter.

If Eddie was here, he’d find him.

And he did find him.

Betrothed to his Master's daughter.

Of course.

But their wedding would never happen. He stole Eddie away with him into the night. As soon as they had laid eyes on each other the decision had been made. They had to have each other, no matter the consequences.

And the consequences did come for them. Thirteen years later they were finally caught and Steve had been forced to watch Eddie die again. They’d been sentenced to death by banishment.

The downsides of pissing off a politician with a grudge.

They’d been starved out, stripped of everything but the clothes on their backs and dumped out into the wilderness.

Eddie had died first of exposure to the cold and the only mercy Steve found in that was that he followed soon after.

He learned pretty soon in his following Lives to be a bit more careful when seeking Eddie out, trying to keep him as safe as possible.

Because Steve remembered everything.

Eddie remembered nothing.

Each new Life was a fresh start for him.

But it didn’t really matter how careful Steve had tried to be. Tragedy and devastation always came for them. And it always came for Eddie first.

He thought sometimes that maybe things would have been different if he’d tried to get Eddie back through Hades, or Thanatos or Atropos. But then again, they probably would have taken his desecration of their shrines much more seriously. Maybe Eddie’s connection to Hecate had been a kindness.

Throughout his various Lives, Steve had died almost every way it was possible to die. He’d been executed, fatally injured, succumbed to sickness, fallen victim to accidents and even died of old age a few times.

Eddie usually died too soon. Way too soon. But Steve wasn’t sure if that was just his own perception of things. No amount of time with him would ever be enough, so any time death came for him seemed too soon.

So maybe he wasn’t dying unusually early just because Steve was there.

But it certainly felt like it.

Once Eddie died, Steve usually followed not long after.

And then he'd be born again. Sometimes nine months later, sometimes years and years later, often in another country, another part of the world.

He’d seen hundreds of years of history pass him by.

He knew where Cleopatra was buried (with extreme disrespect), he knew what happened at the Library of Alexandria (it wasn't burned to the ground), he'd been to the Hanging Gardens of Babylon (estimated location was about 200 miles off where people thought), he knew what had happened to The Princes in The Tower (they hadn't survived five minutes once the door closed), he spoken and forgotten ancient languages and text, he'd been in moments of history again and again.

Each of Eddie’s deaths felt like dying to Steve. Each and every one.

Some were gentle.

Some were not.

In some Lives Steve never even knew what happened to him.

In some, by the time Steve found him, Eddie would already have a family around him. Some strange amalgamation of outcasts and ‘undesirables’. Sometimes he’d have a wife or a husband at his side and some children of his own.

Steve could never bring himself to get in between those relationships. Yes, Eddie was his. But only when he chose to be.

Regardless of Eddie’s choice, Steve would always belong to him.

And if that had to be as a friend, then so be it.

He just wanted Eddie to be happy.

Because he knew intimately all the ways it could end for him.

Steve had seen him sentenced to transportation for life to Australia, just reaching the dock as the vessel was on the horizon, disappearing soon after and Steve would never see him in that Life again.

He’d seen him starving and pale boarding a coffin ship during The Hunger, just slipping out of his grip before he could get to him. Eddie had never made it to Quebec.

Steve had seen Eddie hanged and stabbed and shot. He’d died beside him in battle.

He’d seen him fade from sickness and his own grief at the loss of all of his children during the Black Death.

Eddie had died in almost as many ways as Steve had and Steve had to bear witness to most of them.

The worst of all of them had been in 1602 in a tiny village on the edge of the Holy Roman Empire.

It was early in the morning. They’d been asleep in bed, curled around each other when their door was kicked in. Steve had been as prepared as he could be. He was always prepared now. It had been two thousand years at this stage and he was always ready for anything.

Well, almost anything.

He’d snatched up his sword without a second thought and swung. He was the most skilled combatant in the world, hundreds of years of training and discipline in some of the best armies, under some of the best commanders history had to offer. It allowed him to cut down three of the men before Eddie could even untangle himself from their blankets.

But no amount of skill could help him when he was overpowered and outnumbered.

Something had cracked him hard over the back of the head and everything had gone dark before he could raise his sword again.

He didn’t know how long it was before he came to, but when he did he almost wished he could go back to blissful darkness.

Almost.

Because Eddie was struggling, tied to a wooden beam on a small platform in the centre of the town with kindling being tossed at his feet and a long list of heresy charges and accusations of witchcraft being called out to the gathered townspeople.

Everything was still foggy, like his brain was being filtered through a slow fed sieve. His movements were sluggish and broken and he couldn’t break free. He was being held on his knees, on his own platform with a guard on either side.

Things were still fading in and out for him as he tried to shove the guards away and fought to loosen the bonds around his wrists, tying his hands behind his back.

Steve’s head was wrenched upwards by his hair as the first torch set the kindling under Eddie ablaze.

His gaze locked with Eddie’s, his wide, brown, beautiful eyes were tear streaked and terrified as he screamed out for him through the rapidly thickening haze, coughing and spluttering as he tried desperately not to breathe in the suffocating grey-black smoke.

The cry that Steve let out was one filled with millennia of fury and anguish as he snapped the ropes around his wrists clean away and reached over, unsheathing one of the guards swords and beheading the two of them before they could even blink.

He cut his way through the crowd, completely uncaring if it was civilian, soldier, guard or religious figure who stood in his way. If they didn’t move, they were removed.

Steve threw himself up on top of the pyre, ignoring any pain that came from the stifling heat and burning wood below him as he cut Eddie's limp body down and threw them both off the side.

But it was too late and Eddie was gone again.

Steve turned his cold eyes back on the crowd who were now standing back, regarding him with apprehension and fear as he slowly got to his feet and twirled the sword in his hand.

That town wouldn’t be found on any modern map. He’d obliterated it.

He’d let the streets run red and razed it to the ground.

It would never be remembered.

History never knew it existed.

He’d made sure of it.

Something in that Life had broken Steve irrevocably. Something had cracked. Doubt began to seep in. He started to worry that this cycle would never end.

This was the worst kind of punishment.

It was a punishment he’d not only doomed himself to, but he’d doomed Eddie too.

With each Life his soul felt heavier and heavier.

Until it all came to a head in Hawkins.

Being Steve Harrington, babysitter extraordinaire and ex-King of Hawkins High had been… easy at first. He’d been born into wealth this time which was always a relief. He didn’t have to scrape and slog just to eat or put a roof over his head but wealth had its own shackles, its own chains.

Expectation and duty and honour. That always travelled in wealth, no matter the century.

Add that onto the crushing weight of his Curse, the deal at the crossroads he’d made with Her… it wasn’t the worst Life he’d ever lived but it wasn’t the smoothest either.

Because the Life in Hawkins was the first Life he had ever lived where he made the choice not to find Eddie.

It should have been simple.

It should have been the simplest thing he’d ever done. Born, live, die in the same small town.

And Eddie would stay safe.

Live a long and happy life, wherever he’d been born into.

Steve had scoured the town out of the corner of his eye as soon as his memories came back to him but was able to breathe a sigh of relief when he couldn’t find hide nor hair of him.

Because if he wasn’t here, if he wasn’t around Steve, maybe he wouldn’t die tragically this time.

But it was almost as if the universe heard his sigh of relief.

Almost like She had.

Because a year later when Steve was thirteen, a miserable boy with a buzzed head and giant, defiant brown eyes turned up at school.

He’d be living in the town now.

Steve couldn’t escape him.

He could run away, get as far away as a bus would carry him and hope he wouldn’t be brought back, but he knew he’d never be able to. He’d seen Eddie now, so trying to physically separate himself would be like trying to rip his own arm off.

So no, he couldn’t escape him.

But he could ignore him.

If he couldn’t put physical distance between them, he’d keep the emotional distance as much as it killed him to do it.

He was growing crazy with it by the time he was sixteen and he thought…

Maybe he could try something else?

Nancy was as much of an Eddie look alike as it was possible to get. He hadn’t even realised that that was why he’d picked her. It hadn’t been a conscious decision.

But if he was going to let Eddie go, he could allow himself to have the next best thing.

Up until Tommy and Carol and Barb and the pool.

He couldn’t… he couldn’t do it.

It made him feel disgusting.

It felt so disloyal to do anything with anyone else. He never had. He’d never wanted to. He still didn’t want to, he realised.

Eddie wasn’t his in this Life.

Eddie had never been his to dictate decisions over anyway.

But Steve was Eddie’s.

In every Life, in every iteration, Steve belonged to Eddie.

Whether Eddie knew it or not.

So no, he couldn’t go through with it, with Nancy. She was a lovely girl but she wasn’t him.

Steve had only ever belonged to one person and he would only ever belong to that person.

And he was okay with that, he realised.

Nancy was a bit surprised that he’d stopped but understood well enough in the end.

All of that was swiftly forgotten about though, when they heard Barb scream from outside and had to pull her from the jaws of some otherworldly demon.

Steve had thought he’d seen everything the world had to offer but he’d never seen anything like this.

War was no stranger to Steve, he knew it well.

He and Eddie had fought side by side many times whenever Fate had pushed them in that direction, most memorably in The Sacred Band on Steve’s second or third Life. They’d actually survived long enough to retire from that troop and had another ten years together before death came for Eddie again.

Throughout time Steve had fought using an aspis, a gladius Hispaniensis, a Hallstatt sword, then maces, glaives and longbows. He fought as a knight in plate and then with canons and bayonets before getting his hands on an SMLE and then an M1 Garand.

But this war was different to every one he’d fought in the past. There was no phalanx, no column, no cavalry. Just vicious mindless monsters, a handful of kids and teenagers and one super powered child.

Steve fought that war like he’d fought every other one in his long life, with reckless abandon, trying to keep his charges safe and most importantly, trying to keep Eddie safe.

Eddie was a musician in this Life, like he so often was and he was going to go far. He was talented. He was beautiful. He had so much life in him.

Steve was going to make sure Eddie got there if it killed him.

Again.

He’d let him get as far away as possible and maybe, just maybe Eddie would live the life he deserved.

But that hadn’t happened.

Like the universe, like She had heard Steve’s silent pleas again, the two of them had been shoved together under the most apocalyptic of circumstances. Like it was all one last test of Steve’s resolve. To see if he could stay away. To see if he could let Eddie go. Allow him to look at him with those big, beautiful eyes and smile his devastatingly pretty smile and light up like a live wire in Steve’s space with so much energy and passion Steve felt like he was caving in on himself.

If he could let Eddie be, if he could avoid reaching out, if he could stop himself from ruining Eddie once again then maybe Eddie would be allowed to live. The Curse would be broken.

And he thought he had succeeded.

He felt something snap in him, something break, something release.

So he thought he’d done it.

But then he’d made it back to the trailer to find blood. Blood and torn flesh and bubbling breath and one last whispered “Stevie?” before Eddie’s endless brown eyes went dull.

And Steve was done.

He couldn’t do it anymore.

He’d walked to the crossroads just outside his house and screamed that he was done. It was over. She’d won.

He didn’t get an answer.

He didn’t expect one.

So he went into that Rainbow Room with Robin convinced this was his last Life. Ready for it to be over. For good.

Almost wishing for it.

But he’d been born again in 1992 and now?

Well now he had learned to just exist.

To just be.

And to find whatever contentment he could.

He had his business. He had Robin. So he was… okay.

And that was okay.

Robin stuck her hands in her pockets as she stood in the cold of the morgue, watching Steve close everything up for the evening.

“I don’t want to go.”

“You have to go, Birdie. You need to break up with her.”

Robin sighed, long and heavy. “God, I know. Can’t you do it for me?”

“For the last time, no. Break up with her over text if you have to. She deserves shitty treatment. Fuck her.”

“I can’t. She’ll refuse to accept it. She’ll keep showing up and insisting it never happened and then she’ll throw the mother of all fits when I try to tell her it did happen!”

“So that’s why you’re taking her out to dinner? So she has to listen?”

“And we’ll be in public. So she can’t cause a scene.”

Steve scoffed. “That’s never stopped her before,” he muttered to himself but raised his voice again at Robin's scowl. “That’s all very red flag behaviour, Birdie.”

“Yes I know Steven, thank you. Why do you think I’m breaking up with her?”

“Okay.” He gave the door to the morgue one last tug, making sure it was locked up tight. “No dead bodies are escaping from me tonight. Call me after?” He jabbed his finger up to the ceiling and behind, in the direction of his house, tucked away at the back of the business, separated and hidden from sight by a line of trees.

“I can’t believe you still own a landline. Who even has a landline anymore?”

Steve shrugged but grinned at her still. “I’m old fashioned.”

“Whatever. Okay. I’m gone. Wish me luck!” Robin called back as she bounced her way up the stairs.

“Good luck!” He shouted after her. “Let me know if you need my assassination skills!”

“You’ve never killed anything bigger than a spider, babe!” The sound of the front door closing was the only thing she left behind to punctuate her statement.

Steve frowned. “Never killed anything bigger than a spider,” he mimicked as he trudged back upstairs, grumbling, “I’ve taken on the damn Mongols, never killed anything bigger than a spider, pshh.”

He continued to mutter to himself as he walked through, switching off the lights before making his way outside to lock up the front door.

He had just given the door one last tug when he heard a voice behind him, speaking in a language he hadn’t heard in over two millennia.

“I’ve been looking for you, my sunshine.”

Steve swiped around, scarcely daring to believe what he was hearing but there he was.

Eddie stood in front of him, ripped up black jeans, black cons, long curly dark hair and a yellow sweater that looked like something Steve had worn in the 80’s.

All Steve could do was breathe out his name. “Eddie.”

Eddie smiled at him, a warm, gentle, pretty thing that filled Steve’s heart and made it ache all at once.

“What… what do you-?”

“I remember everything, sweetheart.” Eddie stepped forward, only stopping when they were toe to toe.

“Everything?” Steve could scarcely believe it. Wouldn’t dare believe it if it wasn’t for the strophalos symbol hanging around his neck.

“Everything.” He nodded, placing a hand at either side of Steve’s face. “You came for me. Every single Life. You were there. I figure it’s about time I return the favour.”

A laugh burst out of Steve without his permission but it was really more of a sob than anything as he raised his own hands to encircle Eddie’s wrists.

“What does this mean?” He whispered, terrified that too loud a noise, too sudden a movement would shatter everything. “What does this mean for us?”

“It means it’s broken, baby.” Eddie touched their foreheads together and said, with scarcely a breath between their lips, “It means you have me. And I have you. Forever.”

And Steve was so scared. So scared that it wouldn’t stick, that it would all change the second he closed his eyes but he couldn’t deny he could feel it. Deep down in his soul he could feel that he was free.

Steve nudged himself forward, just barely a hair but it was enough to bring them together, it was enough to kiss and it was only at that moment he realised he hadn’t kissed Eddie in decades.

Since before Hawkins.

It was like electricity had shot through him, his whole body, his mind, his soul had been aching, craving, needing Eddie's touch and it was like he could breathe again with it.

When their kiss broke neither of them pulled away, they continued to hold each other, to hug, pressed flush with arms tight around each other and Steve didn’t think he’d ever be able to let go.

Yeah. Forever sounded pretty good.

I am not a particularly religious or spiritual person but when I tell you I felt seen as I was writing this know that I am not exaggerating 😅 it was less that I felt watched, more that I felt observed.

I shit you not when this idea popped into my head, Hecate started appearing everywhere. On my podcasts, in my YouTube videos, my tiktoks, on the radio, in conversation at work... Everywhere.

Being Irish living in Ireland I'm surrounded by mythology and legends and stories and paganism all the time so that did fuel some of my interest. I follow a good number of pagans and wiccans on social media and I know a few in real life too so I tried my best to be as respectful to their beliefs as I could in my depictions.

This has been my most researched fic to date. The amount I read for this was intense. Funeral rites in Ancient Greece, as much as I could read on Hecate, how funerals work in America because apparently the Irish do things very differently to the rest of you?? The greatest mysteries in history, millennia of military tactics, the intricacies of the Greek Gods... just so much stuff! And it was fun!

ALSO The Sacred Band! Holy shit! The Sacred Band was a specific troop of soldiers in Ancient Greece composed completely of male lovers under the understanding that if you're fighting next to your love you'll fight harder. And people say this whole queer business is a recent thing 🙄

Anyway I hope you liked it! 🖤

Hecate

Strophalos

The Princes in The Tower

Coffin Ships

The Hunger

The Black Death

Holy Roman Empire

Heresy witch burnings

The Sacred Band

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woozten-x · 1 year ago

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#. 𝐈𝐧𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐧𝐢𝐚 || 𝐉𝐚𝐞𝐦𝐢𝐧

[ ; M.List including other Neos! ]

─ Synopsis: Insomniac nights are a pain...But, Na Jaemin will be the end of it all.

─ CONTENT WARNING: Indirect mention of suicide, DEPRESSION!

─ Pairing: Na Jaemin x Gender-Neutral Reader

─ Genre: Angst w. Comfort, Fluff/Wholesome

─ Concepts: reader has insomnia and depression, indirect statement towards suicide(?), basically reader getting comforted by reader because everyone needs a Jaemin in their lives, crappy writing pls don't mind that LOL

─ Count of Words: 1.2k

─ Inspiration of the work: What Was I Made For? - Billie Ellish

A/N: hi again LMAOODHSD yeah its been awhile. uhh... well... ive been burnt out for awhile because for some reason sitting and writing was a really difficult task to do lately. i am working on other projects! but, finishing them is a different story. this isn't how i wanted to come back... but, things been rough so i've been in the gutter and just wrote this on a whim since writing is just my source of comfort.

this is incredibly self indulgent. its a little too real? idk. the emotions are there but its not exactly clarified further? i decided to post so i can just put something up before doing changes to my acc + have some comfort for people who dealt with similar issues (stay strong<3). i am not sure what else to really say HAHAHDGS but, i will be writing and putting some things up again!!

ty for anyone who followed and continued supporting my works. i really appreciate it<3 i hope you guys have a great day/night :)

Another sleepless night.

At this point, it should be part of your routine, but it has gotten to the point where you are staring at your ceiling in the dark. Endless thoughts struck your mind like thunder, each droplet of your breath seems repetitive; you are still breathing yet somehow everything feels so empty. You are not sure why you feel this way or maybe you do, it is simply one of those feelings you feel at times.

Because of these same feelings, you are left wide awake with your body begging to sleep but your mind is continuing to howl within the night; yet there is no moon. Somehow, everything feels so dark. During these late hours where everyone is sleeping, nightfall seems endless for you - finding no peace within, especially amongst your inner turmoil.

You glance at your bedside, reaching out to take your phone and check the time. The white, bold number glows back at you - ‘2:00 a.m.’ reflecting back at you and momentarily blinding you with its powerful light. You let out a heavy sigh, placing down your phone on the nightstand with eyes stinging slightly from exhaustion and possibly the bright light of your phone. Rising from your bed, you quietly open the door.

Your footstep croaks upon the wooden floor of your apartment, walking to the kitchen that was only down the hallway; thinking maybe you could find something to munch on. Knowingly, you would only go to the kitchen without much reason or an appetite. It was a distraction, one that could help you out of your thoughts; even for a brief moment.

Quietly you stalk towards the kitchen, the tile floor cold against your skin, you pay no mind however. Your hand extends towards the fridge, opening it and letting the light be the only thing illuminating back at you. Eyes scan the items inside the fridge, finding nothing appetizing nor did you bother to move to grab something; instead you stand in front of the fridge, the coldness escaping wraps around you.

It wasn’t comfortable. No, it was far from comfortable…Yet it was somehow comforting to feel it.

“Y/N?”

Blinking away the daze cursing you in place, you glanced over your shoulder to see Na Jaemin; your roommate and a friend since highschool. The two of you have quite a history, in fact he is one of your best friends, one who experienced the highs and lows with you. He seems confused upon seeing you at this hour, concern evident in his gaze but he conceals it with his usual smile of his.

One that seems to hold no worries.

“Can’t sleep?” He asks, walking over to you and you look away once hearing the beeping from the refrigerator. It was alerting the both of you about how the door was open a bit too long. You close it and Jaemin grunts when he bumps into the corner of the counter within the kitchen, “What are you doing in the dark? You got night vision?” He grumbles, a hint of pain in his teasing.

You chuckle, walking towards the light switch of the kitchen and pressing the button - “Maybe I do~ Maybe I am a vampire.”

“Is that why you are always sleeping during the day?” Jaemin jokes along, the same smile playing on his lips. The light of the kitchen glowing in a faint yellow, your eyes easily landing on Jaemin; although he carries a smile, it did not reach his eyes. “Are you okay?” He asks, inquiring about your well-being once more; he seems to care so much.

But, for what reason? Your mind instantly thinks that when just seeing it. Feeling it.

You shrug, “No idea. Just have…A lot of thoughts.” You admittedly say, not exactly direct with what you were feeling. No words could describe it; was it exhaustion? Sadness? No, for some reason, it was more complicated than that.

Jaemin eyes at you, tilting his head - “What kind of thoughts?”

“When will the world end?” You joke with a small, half-hearted laugh. Jaemin rolls his eyes, your playfulness seizing an opportunity; but, it wasn’t exactly worth it. No joy overwrites the concern on Jaemin’s handsome face.

“Do you want the world to end?” He asks, leaning himself against the edge of the counter. You stood near the fridge, feeling your shoulders shrug at his question; it was a joke, nothing more. However, Jaemin had caught on the deeper undertone of it.

You sigh, “Honestly, I don’t know. It’s not like Doom would appear at my service.”

“Yes, dating some type of godly being is out of the question.” Jaemin chuckles, nodding at your words. You feel your lips tug up into a small smile at the same banter, your eyes falling away from his; your eyes scanning the tile floor, each line of the floor somehow more interesting than the person facing you.

“I wouldn’t want it to end.” He said, shrugging his shoulders and you scoff at his words. You part your lips to speak, but he continues - “But, if it ever ended, I would want to spend the very last moment with you.”

You chuckle, not exactly surprised to hear that from him. He’s always been vocal about his loyalty towards you and even his fondness; but, somehow it has your eyes watering just a little. It was such a small thing, one thing that seemed like a Na Jaemin thing to say yet it held so much impact. You look up, blinking away the tears with a laugh leaving you - “You are so cheesy.”

Jaemin shrugs, “I prefer speaking the truth.” He softly said, noticing the vulnerability surrounding you. Even when you hide it, he is always going to notice. He lifts himself off the counter, walking towards you. Strong arms surround you, tugging you close against a warmth; one that seems familiar, but one you seemed to have forgotten.

You rest your head against his chest, hearing the faint heartbeat of Jaemin. He places a hand on the back of your head, cradling you in his secure grasp - “It’s alright now.”

Burying your face in his chest, tears streaming down your face; the same tears that never came for these past nights. No matter how hard you tried, they wouldn’t fall. Finally, the warmth streams down your cheeks, letting all the heaviness drown you; you hold onto Jaemin, fingers loosely grasping onto his sweater, as he lets out a low assuring hum.

Even when you know he would never understand, he is going to stand in front of you with open arms. He always will.

“I won’t leave you alone for the night, okay?” He murmurs near your ear, his breath warm against your skin.

You nod, your grasp tightening on his sweater. By the end of the night, you won’t be able to let him go…

Even with these past nights of anxiety and overthinking, you are finally falling asleep in peace.

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coveredinratz · 4 months ago

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Petta Mellark; Sick comfort

Word Count: 901 words

Summary: You're sick and Peeta is there to take care of you

This is an incredibly self-indulgent peice, I'm sick rn and need some Peeta comfort. Its also been a hot minute since I've written something (and finished it) so spare me.

◦When Peeta found you, you were tucked deeply into your bed with the blankets pulled to your ears. Peeta immediately knew you were not okay. He could tell by the flush on your face and the sheen of sweat on your forehead.

◦He kissed your forehead with the promise of returning back soon. You whined but didn't have the strength to protest. So you simply laid in your bed, trying to get as much rest as one could get with the flu and congestion that made it hard to think.

◦Peeta had mapped out the quickest route from the Everdeen Apothecary to grab some medicine for you, then down to the Hob. He wasn't a frequent flier at District 12's black market. But he figured you'd want something warm for your empty stomach, and finally made a short stop to his family's bakery to snag some bread to go along with the questionable soup the Greasy Sae had been selling that day.

◦When Peeta returned, he found you asleep. He put the things he had gathered down quietly, and made his way towards your bed. He knelt down, and just like before, he brought his hand to your forehead. He knew there was no way your temperature had gone down in between the time he left and came back.

◦He watched you as you slept for a moment, letting you get as much peace as you could before he had to painfully wake you up. He brushed his hand across your face, his thumb rubbing and caressing your cheek. He knew this wasn't enough to wake you from your sick-induced slumber. But he hoped he wouldn't have to force you awake.

◦But alas, you were far too sleep-deprived and finally fell asleep so there was no chance that gentle touches were going to wake you up. Peeta sighed, taking the hand that was on your face to your shoulder, gently rocking you awake while calling your name sweetly.

◦At first it did nothing, but soon after a couple more shackles you finally started to stir awake. At first, you shook your head, refusing to let the ebbs of sleep fade away. But then you heard a sweet voice calling your name. A thumb brushes across your face.

◦When you opened your eyes you were greeted with a soft smile and gentle touches to your heated skin. “I got you some things,” Peeta said faintly. You grumbled an inaudible Thank you.

◦Peeta coaxed you out of your cocoon of blankets. With you upright, he fed you the medicine and water which you didn't refuse. He gently brought the cup to your lips, at first you did nothing, but once you felt the cool liquid against your lips, you drank it all.

◦Peeta chuckled, brushing away the drops of water that spilled from the corners of your mouth.

◦”M’ sorry,” you mumbeled out, your voice was naisley and sounded funny. Peeta looked at yo usympatheticly.

◦”Why are you sorry?” He asked, taking your hand in his.

◦”Fr being like this,” you whined. You didn't get sick often, thankfully. Living in the Seam you had developed quite a resilient immune system. But when you did get sick, it tended to knock you on your ass. Itd only last for a couple days, but in those couple of days you were bed ridden, head pounding and body aching.

◦”You dont need to apologize,” Peeta said sympatheticly. You had been together for a while, so he knew that anytime you felt less than normal, you felt horrible. Felt weak. You shouldnt have to have other people take care of you. But no matter how many times you feel this way, Peeta will always be there, with his warm hands to comfort you.

◦You just nodded. Feeling to out of it to say anymore. Peeta took a deep breath, ready to take your mind off of being sick and taking care of you. “I also got you some food, if your hungry?”

◦You suddenly realised how hungry you were. The whole body throbbing and head pounding distracted you from the fact you hadnt eaten since mid-day yesterday. You nodded, “Yes. Food please.”

◦At that peeta put a bowl of Greasy Sae’s soup and bread from the bakery. He tried to keep you from wolfing it down almost immediately. With the food and medicin in your system you started to feel better. The fog in your head started to lift and you body seemed to relax.

◦Peeta was laying in the bed with you, your head on his chest, his arm wrapped around your body. With food and medicin in your stomach, you actually felt present, not somewhere distant.

◦”Thank you,” you said into Peeta’s chest.

◦”For?” he asked, his hand tracking up and down your side.

◦”Takeing care of me,” You answered, “For always taking care of me.” You thought about the times where you felt lost and unsure of how you were going to be able to continue living in the Seam. Life was hard, but Peeta always seemed to be there and help you find your way.

◦You lifted your head up, propping your chin on his chest, looking over his face. He still looked like the same bakery boy youd met one wintery day. But he was older, obviously, but he grew out of his pudgie cheeks and short body.

◦”Of course,” Peeta shifted, propping his other arm underneath his head. He was looking all over your face. Remembering the little girl in the Seam, shivering because the cold had weaseled its way into your bones. How he brought you inside, half frozena nd sat you next to the oven which they were baking bread in.

◦He brought the hand he had tracing along your side to push a stray strand of hair from your face. “Always,” he said softly.

Thank you for reading! Maybe these short drabbles will get the creative juices flowing so feel free to request something. I CANNOT promise ill write it. Or if I do, finish it. But maybe it'll help me get out of this writing funk I'm in.

#writingblr #Peeta Mellark x reader #Petta Mellark #the hunger games #the hungergames x reader #the hunger games fanfiction #Peeta Mellark fanfiction

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the-travelling-witch · 8 months ago

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omg i managed to catch the exact moment!! just in time for my upcoming birthday, you guys are giving me the sweetest gift ever >///<

thank you so so much, you have no idea how much this means to me!! i know i say it every time we hit a certain number but i mean it every time too. i mean it for every number in between too <3

i know i’ve not been the most active lately (which i cannot promise will change in the next months) and that there are a lot of drafts and wips people are waiting for which i cannot work on atm; i want to, i really really want to, trust me on that ㅠㅠ

it’s especially because of my somewhat hiatus that i’m absolutely floored new people have been finding the blog, how did you guys get here? /lh

well, what matters most is that you enjoy your stay now that you’re here. i don’t think i’m all that deserving of the attention you’re bestowing me with but i’m still very grateful you’re giving me your precious time :]

i’ve recently talked about how everyone has always been incredibly nice to me and that i’ve been fortunate enough to never have received hate before, and just know i’m not taking that for granted >.<

i hope that in the future, this blog can continue to be a safe haven not only for me, but also for you. my writing is always highly self-indulgent, so it makes me super happy if it can provide a break from stress and/or some comfort to other people too!!

before i keep blabbing on, let me just say again, thank you so much, you lovely lovely people!! <3

#┊glimpse into the crystal ball ೃ༄#it’s very late and the last few days have been very tiring #so please excuse it if i’m hardly coherent but i wanted to show my appreciation immediately!!#i unfortunately don’t have any milestone event planned due to irl time constraints ㅠㅠ #but if you have any suggestions for maybe some ask games or the like you want to play #feel free to send them my way!!#mom i’ve made so many new friends are you proud jshhs #4k milestone <3

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bastetwastaken · 2 years ago

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It's my birthday today, and my brain has decided that my gift will be a flare in my depression, which means I've been writing something incredibly self indulgent. But I guess you all get a treat too so it's all good. <3 <3

Here's a lil something set in the Double Exposure universe but you don't need to have read the fic to understand it. Atem is having one of those days, and Yugi is more than happy to help him.

(Not explicitly stated but themes of dealing with depression under the cut)

......................

“You don’t seem like yourself today.” Mahad said from beside him.

“Hm.” He acknowledged his friend but didn’t really feel like saying much more.

The truth was that he didn’t feel like himself either. He didn’t understand why he had to feel this way sometimes but unfortunately he was used to it. He’d been fine when he woke up beside Yugi that morning, excited when Yugi kissed him goodbye and he hurried to the car to join Mahad and start his day, content to do as he was asked on set and enjoyed himself…

Then suddenly some time after lunch his mood had taken a turn for no reason other than his brain deciding he just wasn’t going to be happy that afternoon. He only hoped that hadn’t shown in his shoot.

He sighed and pulled his hood over his head as they exited the building, trying to hide behind Mahad instead of letting people see him. Recently he’d been taking more time to talk to fans who decided to wait for him and he’d at least humour the paparazzi, but today he didn’t feel like it.

Mahad seemed to take the hint that he wasn’t in the mood for talking and remained silent…until they were in the car.

“You don’t have to talk about anything else.” Mahad started. “But just answer one question, where are you spending the night?”

He hesitated for a moment, quickly weighing up what would be best, to go to Yugis and wait for him to return home in the place he found so much comfort in or to go back to the hotel with Mahad and spend his time in a soulless room.

His hand felt for the key in his pocket that Yugi had given him only a few days ago. He hadn’t used it yet, but Yugi had told him he was welcome in his home anytime, even if he wasn’t in.

It was the one place Atem could hide from the world.

“Yugis, please.” He said quietly.

Mahad nodded and continued to drive.

Swallowing a sigh he looked out of the window, staring at nothing in particular, but taking in the city all the same as he allowed his thoughts to wander. Yugi would still be working given the time and that suited him perfectly. He’d have Yugi's wonderful home to sit quietly in for an hour at least.

He was already looking forward to snuggling into Yugi's sofa with the overstuffed soft cushions, pulling the fuzzy blanket he always kept folded on the back of the sofa over him and just being surrounded by Yugi until he felt better.

Maybe he’d even get a quick shower too, he had some clothes at Yugis which he could change into and Yugi had told him he was welcome to do as he pleased when at his so he doubted he’d mind Atem helping himself to a shower.

Tears stung his eyes and he fought the urge to scream because he didn’t even know why. There was nothing that had upset him today, the date held no significance, people had been nothing but kind to him but still…he wanted to curl up into a ball and cry anyway.

Days like these came more often than he’d ever admit yet he was still to find a way to deal with them now he couldn’t drown his sorrows and ignore his feelings…

He didn’t realise where they were until the car stopped, then he recognised the house they were parked outside and he felt relieved to know that he didn’t have to be outside any longer, didn’t have to be in public.

“I’ll pick you up tomorrow unless you let me know otherwise.” Mahad said softly. “Call me if you need anything.”

“Thank you.” He nodded, then jumped out of the car, pulling the key out of his pocket and making his way to Yugi's front door.

The Kuriboh charm hanging on the key smiled up at him as he turned the lock and despite how he was feeling, the little charm made him smile because it was just so…Yugi.

He closed the door softly behind him and then leaned forward, his palms flat against the surface and his forehead pressed to the smooth wood.

For a moment he just breathed.

In…out, slow and deep and he felt himself relax gradually. He felt the pressure of the day fall from his shoulders and he leaned heavily against the door, feeling as if he could finally drop the act, there were no expectations on him now, no need to fake smiles.

He was home now, he could just…be.

“Welcome home.” Yugi's voice startled him and he jumped upright, blinking rapidly to try to fight back the tears which threatened to fall as he turned to face his boyfriend.

“I’m sorry.” He said quickly. “I thought you were working…I would have knocked if-”

“It’s okay.” Yugi smiled at him and he so desperately wished he could find it in himself to return it easily but he felt his own smile was forced, he knew it didn’t quite reach his eyes and he could tell Yugi knew something was up. “I gave you that key for you to use anytime.”

He nodded, bending to take off his boots as Yugi moved over to him slowly. He took his time with the laces, not wanting to face Yugi just yet.

Of course he loved his boyfriend, of course he was glad to see him but he just…didn’t want to have to talk to anyone. Deep down he knew it would probably help, but he just couldn’t bring himself to speak right now.

Yugi never judged him, aside from Mahad, Yugi was the one person that he could allow himself to be vulnerable in front of, the one person who he didn’t mind losing himself around because he knew that no matter how far he fell, Yugi would bring him back.

Still though, he tried to keep most of it to himself. Old habits die hard and he’d been hiding his feelings for way too long now to simply…stop doing it.

He had long finished with his boots but he remained on the floor, trying to talk himself down before daring to look back up.

A gentle hand on his knee was the first thing that alerted him to the fact Yugi had joined him on the floor, he glanced up at him, then looked back down at the wood floor, following the grain with his eyes, not trusting himself to look at his boyfriend just yet.

“You don’t have to speak.” Yugi said quietly. “But I’m here.”

He nodded.

“It’s not…” He sighed. “It’s silly.”

“No.” Yugi's hand moved to take one of his, pulling it away from his boot and intertwining their fingers together. “What’s silly is that you thought you had to go through this alone.”

He looked at their joined hands, biting his lip as he tried to think of something to say. Nothing came to mind though.

“You trust me, right?” Yugi asked softly, his other hand coming to rest against his cheek, thumb brushing against his skin slowly as his face was gently lifted until he was looking at Yugi.

“Yes.” He said. Yugi gave him a small smile.

“Nothing I say can make what you’re feeling go away, but perhaps I can help make it a little better…Come with me.” Yugi said.

He nodded and let Yugi pull him to his feet, let him lead them back to the bedroom and felt the excitement stir in his stomach, but shook it off when Yugi walked past the bed and opened one of the drawers Atem kept some of his own clothes in too.

“Get comfortable.” Yugi said, handing him the only pair of sweatpants he owned and an oversized t-shirt. He took them, clutching them to his chest as he nodded, then Yugi reached out to place a hand against his cheek again, smiling at him. “When you’re ready come find me, I’ll be making tea.”

He leaned into Yugi’s touch, already feeling a little better having his boyfriend so close to him. When he stepped back Yugi gave him another sweet smile then he turned and left the room.

He stood there for a moment longer, hugging the soft clothes that smelled of Yugi to his chest and trying not to let himself go just yet, trying not to give into the way he wanted to just crumble to the floor, curl up on himself and cry until he couldn’t anymore.

Slowly he placed the clothes on the bed and he began to change. Shedding the clothes he’d spent all day in made him feel a little better, less restricted, less…judged.

Once he was fully changed, he felt a little lighter. He left the bedroom and walked toward the kitchen, Yugi looked over his shoulder and smiled at him when he walked in, then beckoned him over to the counter where he was standing.

Yugi held out an arm and he accepted the hint gladly, leaning against his boyfriends side and sighing happily when he was pulled into a tight hug. He smiled as he watched Yugi finish their drinks and this time it felt a little more natural on his face.

They didn’t remain there for long, Yugi nudged him gently and he moved away enough to let his boyfriend turn to face him.

Yugi joined their hands and looked into his eyes for a moment, a soft smile on his face.

“You know, you don’t have to be so brave when you’re with me.” Yugi told him.

He looked back into those beautiful eyes so full of patience and love, the eyes which had never judged him, never expected him to be anything more than he was, never wanted more from him than he was willing to give…and he broke.

The tears fell quickly, his shoulders shook and he took a shaky breath. He was pulled back into Yugi's arms immediately and he crumbled further. He leaned heavily against Yugi, forcing his boyfriend to lean back against the counter to hold them both up, but feeling Yugi's arms around him, hearing his soft words in his ear and having hands run slowly over his back was all the comfort he needed.

“I’m sorry.” He whispered, pressing his face to Yugi's neck. “I don’t even know what’s wrong with me.”

“Atem, it’s okay.” Yugi said softly. “Nothing is wrong with you, it’s just one of those days, but I’m here for you. Let me love you.”

“I’ll try.” He sighed, his tears had stopped, but he remained hidden in Yugi's arms, safe from the world.

“You’re such a wonderful person.” Yugi said, hands running down his back slowly. “You always make me feel so good…I wish you’d treat yourself the same way you treat me.”

“I’m trying.” He said, hands tightening on Yugi’s shirt and holding him closer.

It wasn’t the first time Yugi had said something like that to him and it probably wouldn’t be the last, and he really was trying, but years of self hatred didn’t just disappear overnight and Yugi knew that.

“I know, and you’re doing amazing.” Yugi said softly, Atem felt his lips against his temple, a soft kiss followed even softer words. “Now, I’ll happily hold you for as long as you need me to, but we should move to the sofa instead of standing here in the kitchen.”

He nodded, Yugi was right, it couldn’t be comfortable for him to stand here with his back against the counter, Atems weight crushing him against the hard surface.

“I might take that offer for the rest of the night.” He said with a quiet laugh.

“Oh no, what a shame.” Yugi said sarcastically. “I’ll be stuck under a gorgeous model for the rest of the night, I really hate my life.”

The words made him giggle and Yugi laughed softly too.

“I’d hate to make you suffer.” He teased.

“Hm.” Yugi slid a hand up to his face to cup his cheek again. “It’s nothing I can’t handle. So take a cup and we can get comfortable.”

Reluctantly he forced himself out of his boyfriend's arms and picked up one of the two mugs Yugi had been filling when he joined him, walking to the living room and settling down on one half of the sofa.

Yugi took a seat next to him, holding an arm out to him as he leaned back into the cushions. He was all too happy to fall back into Yugi’s warm embrace.

Whilst they sipped their drinks, Yugi put one of Atems favourite movies on and held him close, he never spoke, didn’t try to force Atem to tell him anything and never asked him to do anything more than he was in that moment.

It was just what he needed.

As much as he had intended on dealing with his feelings by crying in the shower for a while then sitting in complete silence alone, he was glad Yugi had been home and that he didn’t have to spend time alone with his thoughts.

Once his cup was empty he shifted to lay down, Yugi moved with him and wrapped his arms around him, laughing as Atem buried his head under his chin.

“I’m glad you were home.” He said quietly.

“My late meeting was cancelled, so I decided to do the rest of my shift from home.” Yugi told him. “I’m glad I could be here for you.”

“Today has been tough.” He said after a moment of silence.

“I understand.” Yugi said, a hand ran through his hair and soothed his thoughts. “It’s not easy, but you made it through the day, and for that, I am so proud of you. Now though, you don’t need to be anything, you don’t need to do anything, just stay here with me.”

Those words made him blush and he hid his face in Yugi's neck, smiling to himself.

“Thank you.” He murmured.

“Is there anything you’d like to talk about?” Yugi pressed gently.

“There’s nothing to say.” He said honestly. “My mind is just…” He trailed off, not sure how to finish that sentence.

“I understand.” Yugi told him, sliding his fingers through his hair again. “If there’s anything you need, or anything I can do for you, just let me know.”

“I will.” He said, a content sigh left his lips when Yugi began running his hands slowly down his back, fingers slowly trailing down his spine and then back up, slipping into his hair before repeating the path again.

He felt himself relaxing further into Yugi, enjoying the way that their bodies fit together, how easily he melted into Yugi's embrace, the way Yugi’s touches made him feel even though they were only small.

His eyes closed and his breathing began to slow a little, but he fought to stay awake, they should get up soon and make some dinner or order something or-

“You can go to sleep, I don’t mind.” Yugi said quietly, lips against his temple and a hand running slowly through his hair again. “I won’t leave you.”

“Promise?” He asked although he knew the answer.

“I promise.” Yugi said, kissing his head softly. “I’ll never leave you.”

“I love you.” He whispered, closing his eyes and resting his head against Yugi's shoulder, placing a soft kiss to the collar bone exposed to him.

“And I love you.” Yugi replied, his voice so soft, Atem barely heard it. “More than anything on this earth.”

He sighed happily and melted into Yugi’s arms even more, breathing in the scent of Yugi’s skin and his home, feeling safe, warm and content to remain here for the rest of the night.

...................

If you wanna read the (complete) fic along with some amazing artwork in which these two idiots fall in love, check it out here on Ao3

#puzzleshipping #atem #yugi mutou #model au #journalist au #another stupid cliche thing from the mind of Bastet #fanfic #ygo dm #i just want a hug

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onlyplatonicirl · 1 year ago

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Hello HeadcANON here, late, but here nontheless to congratulate you ON TCOTI's fifth anniversary. To say this fic changed me would be an understatement.

It became something so much more than just a piece of fanfic.

It became a source of inspiration, of comfort, of joy. It became a reason for me to keep going, through anything really. Anything difficult I was dealing with, I knew I could do it because despite everything you've been through, whether minor or major, you persevered.

That and, if I hung up this hypothetical phone too early, I'd never get to hear the end of it, and I really, really wanna.

This fic meant and still means so much to me. You published it when we we're 13, now we're 18, and all throughout that time, my interest (if not obsession) with your fic and characters never dwindled. It only grew. It made me want to pick up writing again, and I did, and I still do. And, I hope you continue to do so, as well.

Genuinely, I'm glad to know how much this fic has changed your life, but I need you to know that on the flipside, it's changed mine and so many other people's lives as well. Whether by inspiring them to write their own stories or to begin drawing, or just giving them that same feeling of comfort and joy.

Thanks for everything, Lorel - HeadcANON

Under normal circumstances when I recieve a complimentary message I keysmash and spam a million heart emojis because I'm not the best at taking compliments, but I would be an absolute fool to not respond to this ask with the same sincere and heartfelt energy that you put into it.

I legitmately began to cry as I was reading this ask. It absolutely baffles me that I have literally impacted people's lives over something so silly and self indulgent.

I want you to know that I see and fully internalize every single person who has ever sent me a message like yours. To know that I am inspiring people to draw, to write, to create, to overcome challenges not based on my writing but from what I've been through myself, it's all I can really hope for in life. By all accounts, if my fic really did do everything you said it did for you, than I have quite literally succeeded in life. Even if it's only a handful of people, knowing I have helped them through dark times in their life, even inadvertently, means more to me than I could ever express in words. I am so incredibly happy.

Genuinely from the bottom of my heart, I am so grateful that I could help you all like this. And I know you know you've all helped me too. I hope even when my silly fanfic has finished writing, that we can all continue to support each other and go out into the world and raise more people up. I sound so insanely sappy and dumb right now, but about a couple of weeks ago one of my friends I met thru TCOTI flew out to come see me, and us plus a mutual friend hung out together in my appartment and talked and laughed and all watched movies together and I realized my life, and their lives as well, have been changed by this. Which is simply insane to me.

I hope that as I continue writing this story you all enjoy what I have to offer. I plan on updating by at least the 9th of January, but we'll see haha.

Have an amazing day headcANON and I hope you know how much love you have filled my heart with today. I don't think I will ever forget this message <3

#ask lorel #anon #tcoti

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acacia-may · 2 years ago

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YTTD requests, you say?

Hello hello, hopefully this isn't a clog or too much of a bother; and most importantly, I hope you're having a great day right now! But I thought I may as well drop in and get a YTTD headcanon request in, seeing as I may or may not have been the cause of you getting into that series in the first place 😶

So, I'll try to indulge you a little by putting down two characters I know you have a really deep love for. Sei and Kai. 💙 + 💛. Maybe for the friendship one, how they deal with the other getting closer and having more friendships with other people? (I wonder if Sei would be the jealous type that's worried someone might try to take advantage of his brother's kindness 😅)

That's all from me. Do take your time with all the asks getting thrown your way in your inbox, and make sure to get plenty of rest and stay in good health! Have a lovely day ahead of you!

Oh my goodness, Repo! Your ask could never be a bother at all! Please don't ever worry about or apologize for sending in asks about anything. I enjoy them a lot and appreciate each and every one of them that comes in (even if it sometimes takes me a while to answer). I'm actually so excited for this one especially, you really have no idea! Thank you so, so much!! 🥰 It's my first YTTD ask ever so I feel very accomplished and also very excited! 🥳

It does feel appropriate that my first YTTD ask would come from you since, yes, you are absolutely the reason I am now suffering... (I'm only kidding of course. Thank you so much again for the recommendation of such an amazing story and game! I've got some of my friends irl playing it now, and my sister absolutely loves it. I would have never even known it existed if not for you so many thanks for that even if I am now heartbroken over a lot of dysfunctional fictional siblings 💕). On that note, there is especially no need for apologies for sending in an ask that is so incredibly self-indulgent for me. Seriously, I feel so spoiled right now. I don't deserve this! 🥺 My problem sons and their dysfunctional brotherly relationship really is so dear to my heart even if (at the same time) thinking about them makes me want to curl up and cry...

Why do I do this to myself?! 😭 KAI AND SEI DESERVED BETTER!!! I want to adopt them and give them cake 🎂 *cries*

Anyway, thank you so much again for the ask and for all of the kind words, friend! I hope you have a wonderful day as well, and I really hope you will like these headcanons! Please feel free to stop by anytime (and send in another ask if you want something more self-indulgent for yourself/an ask about your favorite characters too 😁). Cheers!! 💖

Headcanons are below the cut. Thank you for playing my Bye Bye Writer's Block Headcanon's Game! 🥰

(Warnings: Mentions grieving, food, sickness, injury, child abuse, death and angst. MAJOR SPOILERS for YTTD especially the Kai mini-episode)

Kai & Sei Friendship/Family Headcanons

💙-- Hurt/Comfort

During his childhood, Kai once contracted a terrible flu that lasted nearly two weeks. In general, he and Sei were essentially "on their own" when it came to sickness and injuries as children since Gashu believed that they should be strong enough to get over whatever it was on their own and if they weren't, then it was probably for the best that they just succumb to their wounds or illness. Just luckily neither of them were particularly sickly (usually), but they were often injured as part of their training and mostly learned how to care for and dress wounds for themselves. In this case, however, Kai was the sickest he had probably ever been, but as he wasn't expecting any sort of help, it was a complete shock to him that Sei jumped in to take care of him almost immediately.

In Sei's mind, Kai was such an airhead that he couldn't take care of himself on a good day--there was no way he could take care of himself while he was sick, so even though he really didn't know what he was doing he tried his best to play caregiver--mainly just kept his brother warm, making sure he had plenty of water, trying to keep his fever down with cold compresses, and preparing him meals of instant noodles (the only thing he really knew how to make) while worrying far more than he would ever admit. Sei told Kai not to make a big deal out of it--insisting that he was only helping to patch him up so he could beat him at sparring practice later, but Kai, who had never actually been taken care of before, was truly touched by his brother's actions and tried his best to repay the favor going forward.

(Related) Bonus HC [though this one is more angsty]: The first meals that Kai ever learned how to cook were Sei's favorite foods which Kai learned to make for his brother when he was injured (or on the rare occasions that he was sick). Gashu allowed the hobby because he thought it may prove useful one day (And it eventually did when Kai's cover became 'homemaker' and housekeeper for the Chidouins). Sei was always a bit jealous of Kai's cooking skills, especially since when he was recovering, he got these gourmet meals from his brother, but when Kai was recovering, all he got was instant noodles (since Sei really couldn't cook to save his life). Kai insisted he loved the instant noodles, however. (Of course what he really loved was the fact that his brother had taken the time to make them and take care of him).

When he lost Sei, Kai couldn't bring himself to make his favorite foods for a long time, but he spent many a night for those first couple of months without him crying into a cup of instant noodles.

💛-- Friendship

(A/N: I really loved your prompt! Thank you for that. My sister and I were actually just discussing this very topic a couple of days ago, so I'm more than happy to run with it for you! Also 100% agree with your interpretation of Sei as a protective brother!)

Sei is much more jaded and mistrustful than Kai--believing that other people are always playing some sort of angle and/or only looking out for themselves whereas Kai wants to believe in the best in others and is a truly generous person who will genuinely put other people's wants over his own without expecting anything in return. As this is a foreign concept to Sei, it takes him a long time to realize that Kai genuinely cares about him in altruistic way without any strings attached. Sei who has never had such a relationship before recognizes what a gift and a privilege it is to be loved unconditionally, and as such, his bond with Kai quickly becomes one of the most important things in the world to him.

One of Sei's greatest worries as far as his brother is concerned is that someone will twist or trample on what he considers his brother's greatest strengths and take advantage of Kai's selflessness and generosity. For this reason, Sei can be very protective of Kai. While he admires Kai's kindness and good-hearted nature, he thinks it can make his brother a bit airheaded at times and can cause him to put his guard down around other people when he shouldn't--ultimately, leaving him vulnerable to being taken advantage of. Since Kai is kind of aloof, he can seem to be unapproachable to people who don't know him well, and since he is naturally quiet and not one to take much initiative in social situations, it can be difficult for him to make friends. This is, truthfully, a bit of a relief to Sei since it protects Kai from falling in with a more manipulative group who might try to take advantage of him. That said, Sei would be genuinely sad to learn his brother was lonely and wanted friends when/if he didn't have them.

If Kai ever made some good friends, it would take Sei a very long time to warm up to them. They would likely be incredibly confused upon meeting Sei for the first time since Kai always speaks so warmly about his brother and describes what a caring person he is--failing to mention the fact that his brother is a tsundere so that caring nature is hidden under a frosty exterior of bluntness, callousness, and snark.

Sei would have absolutely no problem telling Kai's friends exactly what he thought of them and would likely tell Kai (on multiple occasions) that he can do better. Ultimately, however, Sei wants good things for Kai. As soon as Kai's friends prove that they care about him just as much as Sei does and really do have his best interests at heart, they will likely become endeared to Sei forever, and Sei will feel very grateful and indebted to them for looking out for his brother.

Kai on the other hand would immediately love any friend that Sei made. In fact, he would probably consider them Sei's friends even before Sei would acknowledge them as such--saying things like "It's so nice to meet your friends, Sei!" while Sei (the indignant little tsun) huffily insists, "They're not my friends. They're just some people I know." Kai would be absolutely thrilled to know that Sei had friends (especially since Sei is pretty vocal about his opinion that "friendship is overrated"), and he would try to include them in all of their activities and basically bring them into the family. Sei would very quickly get huffy and annoyed with Kai constantly insisting "Why don't you invite your friend(s), Sei?", muttering under his breath or bitterly thinking to himself "I wish I had never told you I had friends" at least once or twice a week.

Unlike with Kai's friends meeting Sei and being thoroughly surprised, Sei's friends meeting Kai is exactly what they expected--well once they get past that initial awkwardness and aloofness from Kai being naturally shy and quiet person, that is. It is a very short-lived period of time, however, since Kai really tries to push himself to be more outgoing when meeting the friends of his brother. He likes them very much for taking such good care of Sei and befriending him, so he tries to be more openly warm and friendly towards them. He also always treats them very formally (similar to how he addresses Sara as "Sara-san" or "Miss Sara" in the game), and he actually, genuinely thanks them all for being Sei's friend (which embarrasses his brother to the point that his ears turn pink. Poor Sei).

#kai satou #yttd kai #yttd sei #*cries* about the satou brothers #yttd spoilers #thank you for the ask #headcanon requests #yttd headcanons #repo-net the great

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nichefireemblem · 1 year ago

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I wanna say what you're doing right now is INCREDIBLE. it's amazing to see material this niche in english, and your translations read super nicely too!

...i also have to admit i'm super interested in how you'd tackle hasha, since the only available translation is. a little old.

anyway, thank you for doing this! cipher is rather mysterious to the western audience i think (outside of "ohh pretty art") so it's wholly unknown territoriy we get to see for the first time. great work!! 👍

Thank you, I am so glad you're enjoying them so far! I very much started doing this completely at peace with the idea that likely only a handful of people would care, and messages like this make me feel like it's worth the extra effort of sharing it.

I adore Hasha no Tsurugi! I am grateful for the hard work of those who scanlated it waaay back in the day and made it accessible to the little me who did not know Japanese. That said, that translation has aged in many ways, some of which make it a little hard to recommend. It's a little self-indulgent, but I really just wanted to translate it in a way that I would be happy sharing with others.

There's also the matter of official translations of certain names and places existing now thanks to things like Fire Emblem Heroes, so it's a great opportunity to bring everything into the modern era. And the Fire Emblem fandom is so much bigger now than it was fifteen years ago! Who knows if it'll be the case, but maybe retranslating it now would bring more attention to it. You'll never know if you don't try!

That said, all I've done so far is make sure it's a feasible undertaking, which has mostly chalked up to rereading it to make sure it's within my comfort zone & procuring some raws online (I think I would cry if I had to take apart my own copies...). It might be a little while before I put anything out! I hope everyone's willing to bear with me until then.

#FAQ #thank you for the ask!

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hooves-of-hyrule · 1 year ago

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Hey, Zelda - ...Another You?

“Hey, Zelda” is a documentation of my personal Tears of the Kingdom playthrough, told through the eyes of Link in a series of monologues.

In the brief intermission between Breath of the Wild and Tears of the Kingdom, Link and Zelda spent a lot of time together - and by that I mean, they lived together. They shared a house, shared meals, even shared a bed (though if you asked them, they would’ve told you it was for comfort and safety, and yes, they’d really believe what they were saying). Link, however, also shared stories. Old habits die hard, and after Zelda disappears, he talks as if she's there listening to him just to keep some semblance of normalcy in his life.

Note that these are incredibly self-indulgent and I fully expect no one but myself to actually care about any of these lmao.

~~~~~~~~

Hey, Zelda? You’d come and find me as soon as you were able, wouldn’t you? I mean, I would do the same for you, you know. If I’m being honest, that was my reason for checking Lookout Landing first, then coming here to the house, and then going to all the skyview towers in the first place. If you were going to be anywhere, I would’ve thought it would be there, or here, or if I got up high enough in each region maybe I’d catch a glimpse of you. Even going back to Thundra Plateau to check on the herd, I thought maybe you’d go there to find me. But you weren’t in any of those places, and you aren’t here, so wherever you are, I have to believe you’re gone because you can’t come back for some reason, and not just that you’re… running away. If you’re out there and you are running away from everything that’s happening, I can’t blame you. It’s just that… maybe it’s selfish, but I’d hope that you’d ask me if I wanted to run away with you too. Because I do. Not that I’d tell anyone else that, but if I was given the choice, I wouldn’t be here saving the world. …You’re not actually here, so I can say this, but… I lost everything again. Not just the sword, you already know that’s gone. But my strength, my stamina, my capacity to handle just about anything… I’m back to where I started seven years ago. Back to being knocked out by a single pebble thrown by a blue bokoblin. I don’t think I can do it again. I don’t think I can go through all of the training and literally back breaking work just to be the hero I’m supposed to be again. I’m still so tired from the Calamity, Zelda. You kept telling me that the soul of the hero I once was still lives inside me but… does it? And if it does, then why am I back to being no stronger than a common Hylian? Is this why no one remembers me? Even the people from the village act like they’ve never seen me before… Maybe I never will be the hero of Hyrule again.

…Sorry, that was a lot. I found the gold horse. She was at the snowfield stable, exactly where the other stable owner said she would be. Or at least, she was at the stable. She wasn’t when I got there. One of the stablehands had grown very fond of her and was apparently personally looking over her care, so I imagine she was being taken care of well, but apparently she also kept escaping her stall and trying to run away. On the topic of being forgettable, I swear people must already be forgetting what you look like. She said that apparently she saw someone who looked like you trying to take the horse, and that the mare freaked out and bolted away as fast as she could. That couldn’t have been you, then. Between the two of us I know you were always her favorite, so I’d think she’d be running toward you rather than so far away from you. Which means it couldn’t have been you. And that means you must still be out there looking for a way to get back, and that means you couldn’t be out there looking for me yet, which means that you’re not not looking for me, which means my entire rant was for nothing. …great. Again, one of the few times I’m glad that you’re not actually here. Anyways, I got a hold of the mare for you. The stablehand seemed shocked that she seemed so fond of me. I wasn’t about to argue - it’s not like we frequent this stable anyways so I guess I can forgive her for not knowing that I was the one helping you train the horse. She’s officially registered with me now, though. I named her after your favorite historical figure - Tetra. I hope you like that name.

Oh, and remember that tack set I had that we both hated? …backing up for a moment - So the stable took away all my tack sets. Apparently now people are only allowed to have special tack for their horses if they have a certain amount of pony points. Again, not going to argue with them, but come on. Those tack sets were already mine. Why would they take them away just because I was gone for maybe a month and then force me into this “pony point” system just so I can get it all back?! Apparently they got rid of the ancient set I had because “the teleportation system was just too dangerous for horses.” Which is so incredibly ridiculous. If anything the teleportation system was a lifesaver in case they got stuck somewhere. …but oh well. Thankfully I got all the rest of my tack back because it’s harder to keep me away from all the stables in Hyrule than it is to find me at one of them at any given time. Anyways, back to the tack we hated. The “extravagant” tack? Turns out Tetra looks even better in that saddle than the royal gear you originally had her in. You’ll have to see when you get back but I think you’ll really like it too.

~~~~~~~

Author's Note:

Yay the tiniest bit of "angst." We'll call that angst I guess.

I wasn't sure what to name the golden horse, but when I was thinking of what Zelda would name a horse, I thought she'd probably name it something from Hyrule's history. I imagine she must be very fond of stories about Tetra, even though Tetra is technically just another version of her. And also for some reason the name just kinda... fit.

For real though I have a hatred of the extravagant set but for some reason the saddle looks so nice on her.

#legend of zelda #tears of the kingdom #fanfic #zelink #hey zelda

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vyllraen · 14 days ago

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Class and Divinity

I think only the rich want god. And they want him in the way they want a grand self-portrait; something to last beyond their lifetime and echo their perfected, glorified image. An old-fashioned thing rarely indulged in in the modern age. Their god (whichever they lay claim to) never gives them commands that run against their existing ways. Their god is a bigger, louder voice than theirs (or so they say) but it always speaks the exact way that they would. And their god is always gilding, both in that it accentuates their existing selves as an chosen bit of vanity and that it runs barely skin deep. There is always a perfectly functional engine of pragmatism and mortal will beneath all trace of religion in the wealthy.

The middle class (what paltry few remain, excuse my lack of knowledge) seem the least godly of people to me. Comfortable enough that divinity is a fun thought exercise, neither needed nor wanted to get through the day or excuse the day's takings, they tend to gravitate more towards general spirituality and mutated trappings of religion rather than firm belief in a deity itself and relationship to it. Self-actualization, and more importantly the freedom to pursue it, means all forms of modernized "hippie-dippie" pursuits, most of which read to me as incredibly incomplete and insincere. A thought experiment, where in the end there seems to be an assumption that it's all for fun: at the end of the day, your own thought is all there is.

The lower class (and this reaches in my mind all the way down to destitution) need god. Desperately. And their belief in it is the most all-consuming, sincere religion in the world. Maybe it's always been this way. When the leisure to self-actualize is robbed from you, when forces far beyond your control that dominate every aspect of your life are already something you are accustomed to, when the road up is so steep and impossible that often the best you can do your whole life is not slide too much further backwards, then divine intervention is your only lifeline. You believe in the thing you need to believe in or lose all hope. Same reason rich people don't buy lottery tickets. They don't need a distant miracle to save them, and they don't need to depend on such miracles to start with.

And the suffering. When existence alone is full of hunger and fear and uncertainty, you starve for purpose and fairness even oftener than you starve for food. Religion gives you a reward far out in the distance. Purpose. Divine protection. Divine punishment on your enemies. It hands you a set of pre-made rules and principles, sparing you the long process of developing your own (something you do not have spare time or mental energy for anyway). A shortcut to mental relief from oppression. A sense of order and justice in a hostile and chaotic world. A new standard by which to measure yourself, one in which you can succeed regardless of how much you lack. A shortcut to community and understanding with others that bypasses their personality and background. Something, somebody else to trust in, who is powerful beyond measure, when you are intimately aware of how powerless you are.

In lockstep with this, wealth affords a thousand ways in which you can distance yourself from the human experience. Leisure and safety are only worth so much toward self-realization when stripped of all consequences, risk, struggle, and empathy. The ability to opt out of all conflict and even mere exposure to the suffering of others leads to a very different kind of god than the inability to escape suffering, your own and everyone else's, for even a moment. Not only do the rich want god, while the poor need it, but the divinity of the poor is fuller and sharper and far more sincere not just because of sheer necessity, but because it contains vast amounts of trauma and fear.

this, of course, skims past many related ideas like how religion is actively used to satiate and control the lower classes, how it relates to the way cults form, the differences between deity-specific religions and vaguer, more principle-based religions and how they express, and the limitations of my own experience as it involves almost exclusively the MOST christianized elements of western religion, but it's still a thought i've been turning over.

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spacebuck · 5 months ago

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1, 3, 13 and 15!! I love all your writing BTW. Especially your newest one with Argenti messing around with Boothill’s -REDACTED-. It’s incredible 👀

1. Do you prefer writing one-shots or multi-chaptered fics?

I actually really like both!! Some stories lend themselves better to one or the other. I find my attention span leads me to one-shots but I enjoy the lore and world building I can out into longer things!

3. Describe the creative process of writing a chapter/fic

OUAHHH this is a hard one!! Depending on the fic it can just be "see art. Stare. Blink. Fic written." and sometimes it can take a bit of nurturing. Taking my current long fic as an example, I floated the idea to another writer who loved it enough to not only support my dumb ass, but we're actually cowriting it now! I started by describing the setting and the biggest scene I had in mind, then we walked back and established the larger arcs of the setting and some core secondary characters, and how we wanted the first scene to go. Then, i sat down and wrote it. Then we came back together, once we had words on the page to look at, reassessed our plan, and have built on it from there.

Sometimes I'll literally just send them a twitter post or a meme and be like "them lol" and an hour layer we have another chapter fleshed out tho, that's always fun.

I can't wait for you to meet Nonna C. Beloved Nonna C.

13. what’s a common writing tip that you almost always follow?

Oh man. Uhh. "show don't tell" I suppose? I'd rather say "Argenti's eyes gazed over" than "Argenti got bored" as an extreme example haha. I'm a big fan of purple prose and playing in the bounds of words, so that's probably the one that I keep to the most!

15. How do you write smut scenes? Do you get very visual or detailed? How important is it to be realistic?

It depends on the scene! I will often have an idea of how I want it to go in my head, either from talking to someone of a brainrot urge or a nice art made me think of something. Then I'll do any research I need to do (like, if I want to use a specific item or prop or position - there are free online pose libraries I love!!) and I make sure I know the mechanical aspects of it. With my schooling and sporting background I'm pretty comfortable in knowing what bodies can do in terms of positions and relative strengths, so I trust my gut in that regard. Then I just kinda. Let the brainrot take me? Kinks I like to read get shoved in a lot of the time too, what are authors if not self indulgent!

I definitely can get detailed, but it really depends on the scene. If it's supposed to be quick and hurried my writing will reflect that, skipping and stopping and starting erratically almost, but if it's supposed to be a more lovey affair I will do that, slow it down, and that lends itself to more detail. More time to wax poetic about cyborg mechanics hehehe

Regarding realism, I'm torn. I don't think it's important for fic to be too realistic - most of the time people know you're not gonna rawdog a stranger etc, but there's also a level of suspension of disbelief that plays into it. Does the character have feasibility to do these acts? Are they physically capable? Does the realism of the smut match the realism of the rest of the fic? Depending on the intent of the work, you may want to maintain a very specific tone or style and the whole story should match that imo, and that to me is more important.

Man, I yapped jdjcjdjcjd but I hope that was insightful?

Also, THANK U SO MUCH!! the brainrot OVERTOOK ME NDNCJDJXJD but also it's a v real example of what I mean with my last answer!!! It's a cyborg, people aren't gonna care about too much realism, but also I'm in stem so I couldn't not. Include certain bits hehe freakgenti rise

#Capanswers #Anonymous #Ask meme #THANK U THANK U THANK U #I am competing with beloved red with how much I yapped to this hehehe #I wrote this on mobile sorry for any formatting weirds

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trace9091 · 10 months ago

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- Blue Period -

(Just some self-indulgent vent rambling to myself, to put these thoughts down)

I used to not understand Yuka. What they meant by "my wants are the only thing that protect me". It felt like something I could never grasp or properly understand. Desire was always bad, when has wanting something ever been good? You want something, and either you get it and get called greedy, or you don't get it and instead are left with disappointment. Or worst of all, you get it just to lose it soon after. What good is there from that? It wasn't until now that I finally realize the only thing worse than wanting something is having so little that you don't even have wants. Having nothing, being pushed out and into the abyss, is worse. People will always hate desires that aren't theirs, that brush up against theirs or pose even the slightest pushback. People are extremely territorial of their desires regardless of how little territory there is for people to live on. These desires will be hated for as long as they exist. And the only thing keeping that hatred from snuffing them out, is these desires in the first place. These wants, wishes, dreams, the only reason they're still here is because they're stronger than the fear of being hated. If they'll always be hated anyways, if I'll always have to carry that weight regardless of what I do besides disappearing completely, then why should I care at this point? Why should I try to hide it? Even the slightest action that shows wanting something will be punished anyways, so why not cover myself in these dreams completely? They'll find out anyways, they'll hate me anyways. It doesn't matter if it's characters or friends or media or food or anything, it'll all be hated the same. It's just something I have to accept this point, and carry it in the most comfortable way possible regardless of how well hidden that way is.

I get what Maki's saying too though. It would be more enjoyable if things were different. If they weren't hated, if the circumstances of this scorn never existed in the first place, I could enjoy this life so much more freely. I'll still wish for it even if it'll never happen. Maybe it's like what Tobias and August talked about though. "You can't stop the pain, Tobias! It doesn't stop, it doesn't just go away! Even if you rid yourself of one, it'll only replace itself with another no matter what... You would only find new suffering and feel equally burdened by it. But it isn't hopeless. How do you combat this? Face it. Conquer it. Be brave." Maybe there would always be someone new. Maybe that's just how it is.

Hm. Maybe not everyone at least. At least not now. There will always be one, there has always been at least one, but if it can withstand that one then maybe it'll be ok. There's an entire universe of a difference between 0% and 0.1%

And there's even more than that too. Others won't be hated in this exact way, but there are things that can be learned from it too. You can always learn something by reading the stories of others. That they're hated too, that you aren't alone. It's never a mirror, but at a glance would you be able to tell the difference between a reflection and a mannequin?

It's bound to happen. I can live with it though. I mean, I've seen others do it before me. Do it with me, beside me, to me, I've seen it all. But there's a way to survive it. To survive in a ruined world. "You wish for wings or horns or fangs" but you've also seen someone else take that hatred and keep going. You've watched her go through it all. You've seen it twice actually

"Remember that they have a voice, but so do you."//"How long are you going to keep quiet? If you don't say anything, the whole world will misunderstand you."

"There's always hope. If you don't like the ending you can always go find another one."

If she could handle it for 1864 life times, then I can handle it for this one. At least just this one

It really is incredible how someone else's story can say the words you were looking for. How looking at them can say it to you. That's why I wrote all this after all, because I knew there was some way that they held what I was trying to say.

"A storyteller was supposed to remain neutral. The thing was, though, all judges secretly rooted for a team they liked."//"Some people aren't liars, they're storytellers."

"I liked you, hated you, resented you, and cheered for you. I was with you throughout your three thousand episode journey."//"You're alone? Do you know what we went through to get here? And you say you're alone?! How are you alone?"

"This life, although miserable, is made slightly more tolerable with each time I hear your voice."//"You knew deep inside that you had to take the dive cause it was the only way you knew to feel alive."

"I like it when it snows. Because for a moment, when the entire village is blanketed with the pure white snow, it's original disgusting appearance seems to disappear. And the whole world looks pure and beautiful. So I like it when it snows."

"Surprisingly, I don't really care anymore because in this universe, on this vast planet, I was able to know you."//"Never in any dimension, or any timeline, or any anything, have I ever found someone that doesn't matter."

I do have desires. I have passions, and likes, and feelings, and wants. Even if I hated them too, I still have them. I do like them. I do. And I guess there's nothing left to think about.

#vent

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bruhstories · 3 years ago

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flinch

summary: the hero gets the girl, only the girl is an mi13 agent with abandonment issues, and the hero is the shell of a man, his alter and a moon god OR how marc, steven and khonshu learn to work together while you more or less babysit them

pairing: marc spector x fem!reader x steven grant

warnings and content: heavily canon-divergent, swearing, alcohol consumption, mentions of self harm, angst, some fluff, violence? (people fight lol, both reader and marc are a tad too violent), fem!bodied reader

wc: ~5.8k

a/n: pete, eric, brian and dane are actual comic book characters, pete is the head of mi13, the others are blade, captain britain and black knight respectively. this is a self-indulgent mess, please forgive me.

blue for khonshu, green for steven.

The coins attached to your belt dangle and jingle with each undulating movement of your hips — left, right, up, down. You've always been fascinated by belly dancing, and it wasn't until you actually tried it that you realised just how incredibly difficult it is. Now you've got more respect for those in the dancing industry.

Still, the mission was simple — infiltrate the Cairo black market by posing as a dancer, obtain information about Ammit's tomb, arrest Arthur Harrow and save the world.

Oh, but it turns out to be far from simple.

There's a big crowd of men ogling at you tonight, and you scan the masses looking for suspicious people. But you nearly trip and fall when you see a huge shadow towering over a man wearing a baseball hat and a grey jacket. If that's not suspicious, you don't know what is.

You decide to get off the stage and dance through the crowd, your fingers gently ghosting over men's shoulders and chests. With each step, your hips lift and drop, you smile and laugh, and hypnotise everyone with the way your body moves.

As you get closer to the target, the silhouette becomes more of a mummy and less of a shadow. There's a bird skull instead of a head, and it holds a moon-shaped sceptre, and for a moment, the man catches you looking up and not at him. You quickly shift your eyes away from the humanoid, and your irises meet his — brown and full of rage.

You want to talk to him, want to ask him a million questions. But you can't do that unless you blow your cover, so you go to someone else before dancing your way back to the stage. The song ends, and fortunately, so does your performance, and you dash to the changing room to remove your bedlah, face veil and accessories. You don't have the time to take off your makeup, but change into more comfortable clothes, tie your hair up and exit through the back door.

The humanoid is gone, and you think the man is gone too, but you spot the black baseball hat and move through the crowd towards him. When you gently touch his shoulder and he turns around, you're disappointed to see that it's not the same man you're looking for. With a scoff, you leave and focus on your mission. It's only then when your phone vibrates, and you get a message from your boss.

Marc Spector. Find him and you'll find the tomb.

Attached is a picture of the very man you're looking for, so you text your boss back.

I just missed him. Any other lead?

You order yourself a drink — you can't deal with the paranormal sober — and wait for a text which comes quicker than you hoped. It's a picture of five dodgy looking men, all wearing the same shade of burgundy.

Harrow's men. Beat the information out of them.

Finally, some action.

You down your drink and exit the bar, asking people left and right if they've seen any of the men, and luck has it that someone knows them. Not wasting any time, you go to the market, and through the hundreds of people, you spot the five men. They look much bigger than in the picture, and you know for a fact they'll put up a fight, so you have your knife and gun close by.

As you rush through the masses, so is Marc Spector, and you catch a glimpse of him before he disappears in an alleyway. The thugs follow him, and you follow them, quiet as a mouse. Back leaning on the wall, you listen to the conversation.

"Where's Harrow?"

"Fuck you." You hear one of the men spit.

"We can do this the easy way, or the hard way."

You decide to use a knife, not wanting to draw any unwanted attention to your location, but you hear a grunt and a groan, and you can't let Marc get his ass kicked. Emerging from behind the wall with your knife in its holster, you're surprised to see that it's not Marc who's getting his ass kicked, but one of the men. Still, five on one is unfair.

"Fellas, let's even the playing field." You distract them and Marc lands a powerful punch.

As one of the men runs towards you, you step aside and grab his arm, spinning him and throwing him into a wall before a second one grabs you from behind, rendering you unable to use your arms. So you use your legs instead, using the narrow alleyway to your advantage. You drag the man close enough to the wall and push yourself up, kicking your legs into a wall until you do a backflip, and the only thing the man can do is let go of you. He yells a beautiful 'fuck this bitch' in Arabic — thank god for the language lessons during your training — and leaps at you again.

Marc has his fair share of fighting, three on one is still bad, and the two of you end up cornered, back-to-back.

What a predicament. You hear a deep, mystical voice, and you look around to find its source. But you're the only one who looks around.

"Split up and meet me back here?" You suggest a tad too eager for action. These were the kinds of missions you wanted. The thrill, the chase, the satisfaction of getting every drop of information, through any means.

Marc nods, and with his approval, you kick one of the men in the chest and as he goes back flying, you avoid the punches from the other one, slipping through his fingers.

"Catch me if you can!" You taunt them and dash out of the alleyway and back into the marketplace. Luckily, they do chase you, and you're so grateful they do, because Marc couldn't have handled all five of them.

You run through the people and inside a building, and they follow close behind as you get to the rooftop. One of them pulls out a knife, and you pull out yours. He looks ridiculous, like he's trying to impress you with his knife skills, so you throw yours into his chest. He falls like a log and you look at the other one, having the audacity to shrug, as if you didn't mean for this to happen.

"So, where's Harrow?" You ask him, and he charges at you, but his movement is unpredictable, and he ends up slamming you into a wall. "Ow, motherfucker!" You headbutt him and as he goes back, snatches your sleeve and rips it. "Aw, man, I really liked this jacket."

You pull your gun out, because fuck this, you don't have time to play around, and aim it at the man.

"For the last time, where's Harrow?" You ask him, and he only sneers at you.

"Praised be Ammit." Is the only answer you get before he slits his own throat, blood gushing on your face and chest.

You don't even flinch. It's not the first time this happens.

You sit on a crate and wait for Marc, but you're fidgeting and tapping your hand on your knee impatiently. What if he got killed? What if you can't find Harrow and he releases Ammit?

The afternoon sun is blinding and scorching hot, but you can't take the coat you stole off of you because people might freak out when they see you covered in blood. You already did a poor job trying to wipe it off your face, specks of the red liquid dry and crusty on your cheeks and forehead. If anyone were to describe you now, they'd say you looked like a Picasso painting, but if Picasso was high and a mass murderer.

What if he doesn't want to meet you?

The intrusive thought drills into your brain with so much force you get up from the crate and pace up and down the alleyway.

You considered yourself an approachable person, although your coworkers might disagree, especially Eric and Brian, and new guy, Dane. Hell, maybe they're right, maybe your resting bitch face keeps people away. Maybe this is why you can't get a date. Not the fact that you work for the government's bloody paranormal department, definitely not.

Now is not the time to be thinking about your love life. You're done waiting, and you turn on your heels only to be met by Marc. And the mummy-thing. You practically stare at it, until Marc waves a hand in front of you.

"What are you looking at?"

"Nothing." You lie through your teeth.

She can see me.

Marc glances behind him for a moment and you assure him that you're only checking to see if he's been followed. That seems to please both the man and his... demon?

"Right, who the hell are you?" He demands.

"Oh, pff, where are my manners? Y/N Y/L/N, MI13." You scramble to find your badge and show it to Marc.

"MI13?" He's puzzled, and it's understandable.

"UK's paranormal division. You must be Marc Spector." You extend your hand but he doesn't shake it.

"The government's involved in this?"

"I mean, I don't suppose you want Ammit to get out and wreak havoc. Speaking of which, did you get anything out of them?"

"No, they died before saying a word." Marc sighs.

"Bollocks!" You kick the crate you once sat on, breaking it, and Marc flinches. Is this what Layla saw whenever he got angry? "Son of a fucking bitch!" You punch the wall right next to his head, knuckles cracking and turning white. Is this how Layla felt? "Piece of shit human being!" Your final punch goes through the window of the abandoned building next to you, and as the tiny pieces of broken glass break the skin of your fist, Steven takes a step back. Is this how Layla reacted?

It doesn't matter anymore, Marc signed the divorce papers a long time ago. She moved on, and so did he, in his own way.

"Right," You inhale as much air as you can, "this is fine, everything's fine. Chillax, Y/N, it's not like the world is coming to an end. Again." You laugh a bit too hysterically, and Marc is seriously wondering if he's the crazy one.

I like this one.

"Thanks." You reply without a thought behind your eyes, and quickly put your hand over your mouth. Marc's eyes widen, something like this has never happened before.

"Wait, you can hear him?"

You sigh, hitting your back against the wall and slowly sliding down, until you can rest your chin on your knees.

"MI13 deals with everything supernatural. I can interact with things most people can't even see, that's why they recruited me."

So why the long face?

"Um, because it's all kinds of fucked up? Ghosts are real, you know? And they aren't pretty, ethereal and transparent." You explain as Marc sits down next to you, resting his elbow on his bent knee. "They’re corporeal, and sometimes horrifying. Stuff of nightmares."

"Right, but Khonshu isn't a ghost, he's a god."

"Should I bow?" You snort at your own joke, Khonshu doesn't find it amusing. "If it's not human, nor extraterrestrial, I can see it. Witches, werewolves, fuck it, once I saw a leprechaun."

He laughs. For the first time in a painstakingly long time, Marc Spector laughs. Maybe because he didn't expect to hear it, maybe it's the way you said it, but the fact of the matter is, he laughs.

"I'm bloody serious, mate." You don't abstain from chuckling. "Proper leprechaun, green suit and a pot of gold!"

Marc is physically wiping a tear from his eyes, his abdominal muscles hurting from all the laughter.

"Jesus, I don't remember the last time I laughed like this." He rests his back against the wall. When was the last time he even smiled? Because he's pretty sure he didn't smile at his own damn wedding.

"I'd love to give you a personal comedy show, but I gotta tell my boss I fucked up."

You both did.

"Excuse you? We both tried out best, thank you very much." You quip back at the god, but you don't really mean it. Khonshu knows. He likes you more than he'll admit. Once is enough.

You text Pete and let him know what happened. Khonshu watches you curiously. He's always been fascinated by human technology, and he already has a plan.

She's trouble.

"I know." Marc says and you turn to look at him.

"Sorry?"

"Nothing." His smile fades and is replaced by the scowl you are now familiar with.

You rip a piece of cloth from the cotton jacket and pick the shiny pieces of glasses from your knuckles. Thankfully, the cuts aren't deep, so the blood seeping from your wounds isn't flowing heavily. You're disappointed by the outcome of your chase, but you should've seen it coming — Harrow is literally leading a cult.

But then, your supernatural awareness becomes stronger, more intense, and after wrapping the cloth around your hand, you look up you see Khonshu waving his sceptre. He explains that where he's taking Marc, you cannot come. And then it all becomes dark, a full eclipse.

"Alright, 's alright. Just, be safe. Don't do anything reckless." You chew on your lower lip as some sort of stone entrance materialises in front of you.

"Me or him?" Marc scoffs as he approaches the entrance.

"Both." You shrug and wait. Again.

Time seems to move slower, like you're counting each speck of sand that falls in an hourglass, only the sand never stops, and the glass is opaque.

Part of you is glad that you didn't go with them, you deal with enough paranormal shit on a daily basis, and you didn't want to be meddling with the affairs of gods, not when they can literally smite you.

But part of you is desperate for action, especially after you've just gotten a taste of it with that chase. And you can't trust Marc to tell you everything that happen at that meeting — you're missing out on important details and it's frustrating.

Pete's not answering either, you stare at your phone with impatience and eagerness, but those two feelings drastically change when your intrusive thoughts appear in your mind again.

They don't need you.

Not true.

They don't want you.

Not true?

You're useless.

It's not true, none of those things are, but the pit in your stomach tells you otherwise, and the dam breaks, and the tears pooling at your eyes stream down your face. The people walking down the alleyway don't exactly bother to check up on you, and you don't expect them to, you're covered in blood, sweat and dirt.

You bawl your eyes out, weeping uncontrollably as your fear of abandonment only increases in your mind and soul, and you dig your fingernails into the flesh of your cheeks until you leave a trail of crescent moon-shaped wounds.

Pete knew about your mental faculties when he hired you — you underwent a few psychological tests — which is why he allowed you to befriend fellow agents , and offered you weekly therapy sessions, which you gladly accepted. How could he not hire you? You can literally talk to ghosts (and gods, apparently), and your supernatural awareness is exactly what he needed from you. But he never expected your powers to take such a toll on you, nor will you ever tell him. You cannot lose this job, and you cannot let Harrow win.

The wounds you inflicted to yourself begin to fade — you wouldn't have drawn blood — and your phone vibrates. Pete's text tells you of a billionaire who owns what might help you find Ammit's tomb.

I want to bring Marc with me.

You text back, and Pete agrees, arranging a meeting with the billionaire tonight. The ground shakes, the eclipse disappears, and in front of your very eyes, the same entrance as before materialises. Marc and Khonshu step out of it, and you eagerly get up from the ground.

"You're back!" You tell him them, voice going up an octave and if you were a dog, your tail would be wagging.

"You look like shit." Marc deadpans, immediately noticing your puffy red eyes.

"Periods, am I right?" You lie. "Anyway, we have a new lead!" You perk up and your face lights up. "Anton Mogart, billionaire, probably an art thief. Man's got a mini Cairo in his backyard." You show Marc the picture on your phone. "Pete says owns–"

Senfu's sarcophagus.

"Oh, I'm so glad I met you!" You flash Khonshu your best smile.

"So, what, do we go in there and steal it?" Marc catches a glimpse of Steven in the broken window on the ground.

It's a bloody sarcophagus, mate, where are you going to put it? Up your-

"Shut it."

"I didn't say anything?" You study Marc with a raised brow. This isn't the first time he says random words, and Khonshu didn't say anything either. So, whatever is going on, it's not supernatural, you can rule that one out. "Oh, shit, I'm still bleeding!" You completely forgot about your knuckles until now, when you notice how bloody the cloth around your hand is.

It's funny how much Marc can relate to you. In fact, he hasn't found anyone in the world who is so similar to him, yet so different. But he can't allow himself to develop feelings, not even platonic. He's got a debt to pay, and he just wants to go back home and drink.

Yet despite only meeting you now, he enjoys your company, enjoys your voice and your personality, he enjoys, well, you.

You tell Marc the plan, and you offer to bring him to your hotel to take a shower, but he refuses, promising to meet you at the docks instead. He is not one bit surprised when he sees you covered in blood under the coat, but he is surprised to see just how unfazed you are by it.

Just like him.

One thing your MI13 training couldn't get rid of was your fear of large bodies of water. You know how to swim, you need to, but whenever you ride a boat or a canoe, you nearly piss your pants. It's a beautiful view, truly, the way the sky reflects in the gentle waves, the fairy lights dangling above you as you hold onto the bench for dear life.

Talk to her.

Marc groans. It feels like a reply to something, but you don't know to what.

"Do you want to get over our story again?" You offer, and he nods.

"We're a married couple of archaeologists, we want to replicate Senfu's sarcophagus and bring the copy to the British Museum. I'm Rufino Estrada, you're Margaret Atwell."

"Perfect!" You smile. You've lived so many lives through this job, and you wouldn't have it any other way. Not now. Especially not now. You've only known him for half a day, but Marc awakens something in you, something you thought long gone, something you thought you lost.

"How well do you know Egyptian mythology?" The question catches him off guard. He wants to tell you that Steven knows a lot, but he's not entirely sure how to say it. He's not entirely sure of what's happening.

"I barely scratch the surface." Marc decides to answer. "You?"

"I didn't know Khonshu was the Egyptian moon god. No offence. But we're supposed to be archaeologists, we don't know shit about it." You laugh at how ridiculous this situation is.

He won't admit it, not even to himself, but Marc is mesmerised by how pretty you are, especially now, without the blood, dirt and smeared makeup on your face. And if he didn't know any better, he would think you're some kind of angel, when you're really the devil — tempting, cunning and oh, so beautiful.

"We'll figure something out."

Of course, things don't go according to plan. They never do, but you don't expect Harrow of all people to arrive at Mogart's estate and turn him against you so quickly. All the planning and pretending gone, in a matter of seconds. A battle ensues, and that's when you see what's really going on with Marc.

He summons a suit, clearly a gift from Khonshu, but at some point, it changes, it's different, like a completely new man, and it distracts you from taking the burnt map in the sarcophagus. It's only until the other suit comes back that you remember your goal, you snatch the map and exit the glass pyramid, only to be met by one of the guards who's putting up a fight.

Marc, on the other hand, has no problem beating half a dozen of Mogart's men, his prowess and strength increased by the suit. You get kicked in the abdomen and end up rolling on the grass, vulnerable and exposed to gunshots, so Marc swiftly comes to your aid, sheltering you from the bullets with his cloak.

It's magical, it's enchanting, and you would love to sit back and watch him fight, but you pull out your gun when the guards stop shooting, and skilfully shoot some of them as Marc covers you. He takes out the rest of the men with his moon-shaped knives, and lands one final blow to Mogart.

"Sooo, are we going to talk about what just happened? When your suit changed?" You squint at the pieces of cloth, trying to piece them back together.

Marc sighs, hands gripping the steering wheel tighter and tighter. Of course you had to notice that, you're a damn government agent. But what exactly can he say? That there's a little man living in his head, and he has his own life, his own thoughts, his own feelings?

"That was Steven." He replies, and it doesn't faze you a bit.

"Your alter?" You don't look at him when you ask, too frustrated with the map.

The question hits him like a train. You're not stupid, he figured that much out. You have done research, and encountered shit Marc can't even begin to imagine, so this is child's play for you.

"I guess." Marc parks the car on the side of the road. There's nothing but sand and a gust of wind surrounding the two of you, and a sky so beautiful that it takes your breath away.

You take the map, sellotape and your phone, and place them on the hood of the car, and he joins you to try and figure it out. It's an impossible task, and Marc grows visibly frustrated, hateful, even. When he punches the metal hood and leaves an indentation in it, you don't flinch, you just keep trying.

"Fuck!" He shouts, not at you, not at anyone, but you don't flinch.

When he kicks the rubber wheel of the car so hard it slightly moves, you don't flinch.

"Marc?" Your voice is saccharine, and he hasn't heard you speak so gently before. "How good is Steven with puzzles?"

No. He doesn't want to let him take control of the body. He's going to fuck everything up and get himself killed.

"Good." Marc admits. "But I can't let him out. I don't know if I can take the body back."

"It's worth a shot. Please, I can't go through another apocalypse." You beg, and your pleading seems to move him, because he rips the side mirror of the car, takes the map and sellotape and walks away.

I summon the suit, you summon the worm.

You look at Khonshu, wondering what the hell he's talking about, then look back at Marc. It's the same body, but different. He doesn't sit straight, he lacks confidence, he's shaking, but he's doing something. Slowly, you walk towards him, trying not to scare the man, because you don't know him and how he might react, so you just whisper his name as you crouch next to him.

"Oh, hi, hello, I'm Steven with a V." His smile is sweet, genuine.

"Hi, Steven with a V. I'm Y/N." You smile back, and you can't remember the last time your voice was this... calm. "It's alright if you can't do it, but I appreciate the help."

What the fuck are you doing? You're never this mild. You don't ask, you demand, you don't speak, you shout. You don't thank, you take. So, why is it that when Steven appeared, you changed, too? Is it because you're trying not to scare him? Do you just adapt to your surroundings like that?

"Done." Steven shows you the map, held together by the tape, and you're speechless. He did it!

"Holy shit, Steven, that's amazing!" You squeeze his arm, your other hand grazing over the map. You don't notice the blush that takes over his cheeks when you praise and hold him, so he just explains that it's an astronomical map, and that if you follow the constellations, it should get you to Ammit's tomb.

"The only problem is, well, the sky changed from 2.000 years ago, so unless we find someone who lived back then, we cannot track the location." Steven sighs.

I remember that night. I remember every night.

Khonshu walks up a hill, taking in the night sky, the moon and the stars, and Marc follows behind. You, on the other hand, take out your phone and start googling. It doesn't take long for you to find a website that replicates the ancient sky, and after some tapping and and swiping, you finally find the coordinates you were looking for.

"Alright, I found it." You tell them, and they turn on their heels to look at you.

Found what?

"The location." You shrug. "How else were we supposed to see the sky 2.000 years ago?"

Perhaps the two of you aren't so useless after all.

"Hey, you said you like me." You argue with an ancient god. Mark that one off your bucket list. "You alright, Steven?"

He nods, dipping his hands in the sand. He looks so fragile, so innocent, with the sand slipping through his fingers.

"I've always wanted to visit Egypt. But not like this." Steven's smile is bittersweet, and you can't help but feel bad for him being dragged in this mess.

"Hey, after we save the world maybe we can go for an ice-cream and visit the pyramids." You try to comfort him.

"I'd like that." He dusts the sand off his palms and heads to the car. "I suppose there's no chance for things to go back the way they were."

You shake your head.

"If it helps you feel any better, I thought the same thing when I started seeing ghosts. I guess I just got used to it." You get in the car, but this time you're driving.

"Marc mentioned that. What's it like?"

"Scary." You give him an honest answer, and again you wonder what is going on. Normally you'd play it cool, you'd joke about. Marc, or Steven, or whoever this man is, is trouble. It's like each of them brings out a different side of you. "I remember every single one." You start the engine and grip the steering wheel.

"I'm sorry to hear that." Steven is so genuine, it awakens something else, some kind of instinct, like you want to cherish and protect him.

"It's alright. Like I said, I'm used to it. Look, I don't want you to think I'm an asshole, but when we get to Ammit's tomb, I'm going to need Marc back." You admit.

Steven nods. He knows he's not as skilful as Marc, he can’t even kill in self-defence. Sure, he packed a punch in the suit, but he can't save the damn world.

"We'll do it together." You tell him, as if reading his mind. "All four of us. Try to get some sleep maybe?"

"No, Marc usually gets the body when I sleep. I'd like to stay like this until we get there, if it's alright with you."

"Yeah! Yeah, of course."

You've never questioned destiny before, just went with the flow, rolled with it, improvised. But meeting Marc and Steven feels natural, like you were always meant to meet them. The entire drive to Harrow's location he told you facts about Egypt, stories from work, how he discovered Khonshu and Marc, and made you laugh. You told him all kinds of crazy shit you encountered that made him feel much better, told him about MI13 and your friends there, even tried to recruit him.

You don't want the ride to end, you don't want to fight — which is surprising. You just want to stay in the car and talk to Steven, so it pains you when you ask him to bring Marc back. But Steven is a lot more rational than he shows, so he switches.

"What's the plan?" You ask Marc.

"Not dying." He gets out of the car and summons the suit, and it almost looks like it's shining in the full moonlight.

"Fair enough." You reach in the back seat and pull out a bag filled with guns and ammunition before exiting the car.

"I'll go uphill, you stay here." The hood and bandages on his face disappear, and he gives you a very condescending look.

"Ha, no the fuck I won't." You snort and watch him walk to your side of the car.

"Listen, they're dangerous-"

"I know, okay? It's my mission as much as it is yours." You scoff and clasp the holster belts around your waist, hips and thighs.

"You can't heal." Marc still argues with you.

"Yeah, no shit. It's in my job description that I may die." You check the guns for bullets and shove them in the holsters. Should you take knives? You never know.

"Fine. I'll go high, you go low." He gives up on trying to convince you. "Try not to die."

"A kiss for good luck?" You joke after arming yourself from head to toe. He's not laughing, and it's not like you expected him to.

Instead, Marc grabs your waist and pulls you closer to him before crushing his lips onto yours. It's a sloppy kiss, imperfect and ferocious, but it's absolutely electric, like molten lava coursing through your veins.

He never had any hopes of catching feelings, not when the fate of millions of people is at stake, but you hopped in his life like a fucking jackhammer and completely demolished all the thick and heavy walls he built.

The kiss softens, becomes gentle and delicate, and you breathe Steven into his lips, his nod only confirming your hunch.

You kiss him back without hesitation, and you're wondering if this broken man, if his severed personality, is what you've needed your whole life. Marc, to keep you alive, and Steven, to keep you sane.

Steven pulls away, and you notice the formal suit he's wearing, a chuckle escaping your lips.

"This is strange. I don't think any of us meant to switch." Is Steven's apology, but you press your index finger onto his lips.

"Ice-cream later, murder now."

"Right, of course." He nods, and Marc is back. "Can this get any weirder?"

"We'll have to survive to find out." You grin.

It was a long night and a long fight. Harrow had an army of followers shooting left, right and centre, and he nearly unsealed Ammit, but Khonshu stepped in, and so did other gods. You called Pete to arrest Harrow and his followers, which didn't stand well with the Moon God, but he reluctantly agreed, as long as Arthur couldn't be pardoned.

Tens of MI13 and MI6 agents drove to the dig site, arresting them and sending them to their respective countries for prosecution, and Pete allowed you to have the day off before going back to the UK, so, as promised, you took Steven out for an ice-cream. And a coffee. God, you need a coffee.

"Oh my goodness, this is delicious!" The scoops of lemon and raspberry ice-cream melt together in one orange-pinkish mess that trickles down Steven's fingers.

"It's the least I can do." You enjoy your two scoops of bubblegum and your cappuccino. "Thank you for everything, Steven, the map, the company, the kick in that guy's balls." He watches you like a puppy. "The kiss."

His cheeks burn, and it's not the noon sun.

"I really didn't mean to interfere."

"I like you. Both of you." You hide your smile behind the ice-cream cone, but Steven catches it and smiles back. "I know we've just met, but I don't know, you're an interesting man."

Ahem.

"You're not too bad either, old man." You laugh. "But I prefer my men human."

"Thanks for saving the day." Steven licks the ice-cream off his fingers. It's an innocent gesture, but it has your mind running wild.

"Like I said, you played an important part in this. Take the damn compliment." You urge him and he nods. "Hey, when we go back, do you think I can take you out on a date?"

Steven nearly chokes on his dessert. He missed a date because of Marc, and it took him a lot of time and patience to build his self-confidence back up, but here you are, asking him on a date.

"Me or Marc?" He pouts, his own intrusive thoughts getting the better of him.

"You. I expect Marc to ask me out himself." You tell him nonchalantly as you casually stir your drink.

It's strange, like some sort of polyamorous relationship, and he never once thought he'd find himself in this situation, but it works. It's natural.

"Yeah, alright. It's a date." Steven grins from ear to ear. "Oh, he wants to talk to you."

You nod and wait for Marc to take over the body, and there he is, scowl and all. He's not saying anything, just staring at the melting ice-cream. He doesn't want to eat it, he knows Steven likes it too much.

"Doesn't this weird you out?" Marc eventually asks.

"Should it?" You finish your dessert and wipe your hands with a tissue. "If you're fine with this, then I don't see a problem."

"I-" He's speechless, for the first time in a long time. Not because you're so open minded, but because he hasn't thought of Layla since he met you, since he saw you dancing on that stage, even if he couldn't see your face, he could see your eyes. And something about you had him hooked like a drug.

"Cat got your tongue?" You poke your tongue out at him and he just wants to ruin your mouth. It probably still tastes like bubblegum, and even if he hates that flavour, he hates you less.

"Fuck it. You like Chinese food?"

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