#we are stars fashioned into flesh and bone (The gods) | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

keouil · 3 years ago

Text

how you forget to be human

“so is she like,” scott hesitates. “cap’s first lady or something?” rated t. 2k+. steve/nat. also on ao3 / twitter / cc

Scott hasn’t been with the team for a long time, but he thinks he at least has enough working knowledge of how everyone operates.

The Winter Soldier—Bucky to Steve, James to anyone who dared—quite frankly still scares the living shit out of him, and that’s Magneto on a good day. It didn’t take much to deduce he seemed wholly uncomfortable in his own skin, his jaw coiled perpetually tight and the rigid set of his shoulders always in alert. It was uneasy just being around him, his discomfort bleeding over others and charging the air around his space with its own brand of disquieting; but always, without fail, Steve cushioned whatever apprehension anyone aimed toward his bestfriend.

Most of it came from Sam, and almost always in good nature as if to ease the brainwashed supersoldier into some semblance of normality; and Scott would fear for Sam’s life every time he opened his mouth, were it not for the also very obvious fact the Falcon held his own and didn’t appreciate handouts and the three of them seemed to be getting along uniquely (if not a little oddly) well enough.

The witch was a small problem, however. Simply for the fact she was a witch and Scott is wary because history taught him they burned all of them down in Salem.

He sees her wiggling those voodoo fingers around sometimes, almost unconsciously, and feels the hairs on his arms rise with every flick of her wrist. The energy around her isn’t suffocating the same way Bucky’s is. It was more a subtle nervous tingling; like she herself was afraid of the gravity of her own powers she had yet to have complete reigns on. Scott is oddly humbled by the fact and even empathises with her a little.

Steve keeps an eye on her and doesn’t bother hiding it, but it’s the archer who gets past her when it really counts. Clint Barton, who, surprisingly is the one he’s on the most similar wavelength with out of all of them: family man and all.

Clint Barton whose also friends with Natasha Romanoff.

Hawkeye who has simultaneously the most complex and impossibly simple relationship with Black Widow.

“I swear to god if you ring me up next time you’re out of goddamn Fruit Loops,” Natasha warns, digging through one of the five grocery bags on the kitchen island. She fishes for a few more seconds, before popping a colourful cartoon box out from under the bag and tossing it to Barton. “I’m bringing you in for real.”

Clint scoffs, placing the carton on the top shelf. “How many times have I heard that before?”

“Apparently not enough,” Natasha glares at him from her peripheral, scooping out Nutella and a pack of store-bought pryanik to lay on the table. Russian biscuits. For Wanda. “If I’m still stopping by an abandoned boarding house in the slums of Siberia every other week. Y’all grown men can’t do grocery shopping by yourselves?”

Scott blinks from his spot by one of the stools.

Of all the things he expected to wake up to in hiding from 117 countries from possible charges of aiding and abetting a war criminal, Black Widow casually arranging and organising their weekly rationale was nowhere near the top of the list. She did this all the while supposedly fighting for the other team.

This one needs no introduction.

Scott knows who Black Widow is. Scott knows Captain America, after all.

You don’t grow up in the land of the free without knowing his legacy even in minute passing. The man has been plastered on nearly every surface of the continent since the dawn of America. Scott has seen the news footages, read the official accounts, willingly devoured every single documentary or biopic helmed in honour of their nation’s greatest hero: he knows, down to the bone, the star-spangled man with a plan.

A forgotten and revered and rebirthed war hero.

How he came to know of her, however, is an entirely different story: because come the news footages, zoom in close enough you’ll see the infamous shield covering a much smaller and daintier figure; go over the accounts with a fine-toothed comb, they speak of a levelled dynamic between a commanding officer and a shadow leader; and, lest history not forget, the documentaries: Peggy, because behind every great man is a woman, Natasha.

“Now why would we do that if we got you?” Sam. He comes up from behind the hallway to playfully grin at Natasha before enveloping her in a small hug. She returns it easily.

Scott braces himself for what’s to come, because they came in a pair, and so: “Nat,” Steven Grant Rogers, in the flesh himself, pokes his head in not a moment later with a barely indisputable frown on his face. “You came here again?”

Natasha clicks her tongue at him. “Someone had to make sure you boys were fed.”

“That’s not— We can—” Steve stutters as he strides in, and Scott has to very carefully school his features into nonchalance because Captain America does not stammer. He sighs deeply before settling next to her, nudging her with his hip. “Tony atleast know you're here?”

Natasha gives him a pointed look. “Who do you think paid for all this?”

Scott watches their silhouettes grow smaller and smaller by the distance.

Even from afar, he can make out Steve’s absolute hulk of a frame: back impossibly straight in a way that bespoke authenticity, years of rigid military training drilled into his bones; only he seemed to mellow, somehow and very slightly, the fine lines of his shoulders angled in the direction of her voice. And Natasha: brave and lithe, nearly a head shorter and so much more smaller, facing forward in full confidence and a leisurely stride in her steps.

Siberia has a biting night air that seeps deep into the bone. But it’s also comforting somehow; all of them knowing, in one way or another, what it was like to be iced out from society.

They were all huddled by the makeshift campfire Barton fashioned out of some wooden logs and a matchstick. Sam, in charge of roasting marshmallows, was gently coaxing Bucky into eating one and promising him it’s not poisoned. Wanda was handing out steaming cups of hot chocolate brewed from the pack Natasha brought in a few hours ago, a staple in her weekly grocery runs because apparently the kid witch liked sweets.

Scott gingerly takes a sip from his mug, some of the warmth seeping into liquid courage he was building up for weeks now. He takes a deep breath before plunging himself into the waves.

“I can’t be the only one worried that the enemy has infiltrated our territory, right?”

To their credit, neither of them kill him on sight.

Wanda pauses in levitating one of the wooden logs above the hearth, a single bark of kindling hovering uncertainly over the air. Bucky has an unreadable expression on his face when he regards him. A look passes between Sam and Clint, betraying nothing of their inner thoughts at his outburst.

The fire is nice and toasty, but the air is stifling now and Scott has never felt more the outsider than at that very moment.

Until Sam breaks into a hearty laugh. “Widow?” he shakes his head amusedly. “No, man, Steve and Nat are tight. They’re past stuff like that.”

Scott furrows his eyebrows in concern. “But isn’t she—”

“On Tony’s side?” Clint quips, poking at one of the planks. Wanda finally drops the floating bark, and Scott doesn’t miss the flash of something in her eyes when she glances at him from the other side of the fire. He thinks he saw a spark of red for a second. “Sure, I guess. Technically she’s Team Iron Man or whatever that means. But Natasha is also fiercely loyal, especially when it comes to Steve.”

“What does that mean?” Scott asks in genuine confusion.

Sam opens his mouth to elaborate, words already forming on his mouth; before he seems to come to a belated realisation, blinks, and manages a nonchalant shrug. "Damn if I know,” he admits, turning over a puffy mallow and watching the crackles of fire burn its edges. “But she’s good for him. That’s all I care about.”

“And he’s good for her,” Clint returns easily, not an ounce of hesitation in his voice. “Maybe sometimes it’s just that easy.”

They hear the crunching of footsteps on snow creeping up behind them, and Scott takes this as his cue to stash the conversation for another time.

He watches them stroll in together carefully.

Steve holds the gate open for her and places a small hand on her back as they advance in the small patch of woods by the backyard. Natasha settles next to Wanda, hands going up and down her arms to warm the younger girl despite being the one having only just gone out for a walk in the middle of Russian winter: because, and at this Scott is now confident, the jacket resting on her shoulders three times her size was keeping her warm enough.

The quinjet doesn’t start up right away.

Scott is slowly panicking, because the realisation that he was truly out of his depth at fighting in the next greatest civil war of the century notches above his pay grade only viscerally begins to take hold.

He has a family back home, pets to feed, a little life saving every now and then; but never this colossal of a scale, never with the stakes stacked up so high against them, that it really could only ever be toppled down by the likes of fucking Iron Man and Captain America.

But Steve is still confident.

It’s so bloody obvious he was always going to keep at it, gunned down the concrete walls of the airport and clawed his way out of it brick by brick if need be. He was really and truly the good man underneath it all, and at the back of his mind, Scott still finds himself awed at the fact.

But he doesn’t know how on earth the man came out of that airport not visibly rattled, not at all unlike how Scott was currently feeling; and, as he processes the rest of their wayward expressions, he knew he wasn’t alone in thinking so.

“Cap,” Sam wheezes by the floor, fighting to labor his breathing with a hand clutched on his dislocated shoulder. “I still got the jeep parked outside. It’s not too late. We can hike the rest of the way.”

“No,” Steve replies, an edge of conviction in his voice. There is not a single tremor in his stubborn hands gripping the wheel. “That’s gonna hold us back days. We just need to be up in the air for now. We need—”

“A woman to come to your rescue again?”

This time, it’s Scott who sighs in deep relief at her voice. This time, Scott doesn’t fight the churn in his stomach at the prospect of having someone who nearly nicked him lifeless not even hours ago this close a range with them again. This time, she is not Black Widow, but simply Natasha Romanoff; Steve Rogers’ friend.

This time, Scott thinks, he will let them be easy just like that.

There was no more a sign of tremble in his voice or hands the entire battle, but at the lilt of her voice, he just crumbles.

“Nat,” Steve breathes out when he turns to her, hands fisting at his sides in an attempt to regain control. Just like that, he unravels; so easily and without preamble in the face of her steeled strength. “I can’t get it to turn on— And I— We have to get Bucky—”

“Work through it, Steve,” she cooes in probably the most placating voice he’s heard of her, but she doesn’t move to touch him when she comes close. Her hands are going a mile a minute over the control panel, pushing buttons and lifting levers. Steve is hovering by her side like it's the only thing holding him together. “You know how to fly this thing, right?”

Steve is visibly taken aback and angles his body to face her. “You’re not coming with us?”

The question hangs in the air.

It charges the silence around them and quells any of their growing uncertainty, because, clear as it was of Steve’s well-founded and undeniable leadership skills: they also knew, intimately, she anchored him through it all.

Sam was putting pressure around Bucky’s human arm as he looked back and forth at them tensely. He could feel Wanda hitch her breath behind him.

Natasha’s fingers keep flying away at the keyboard, until they feel the telling signs of an engine rumbling underneath and the overhead lights spurting back to light. The whole jet roars to life in the next second, heating fans whizzing and technical sounds beeping. She shifts some gears around and locks in a destination with the GPS navigation.

When she turns to look at Steve, it is then Scott forces himself to pry his eyes away and not bear witness to this part of his already over documented life. In that single moment of uncertainty, the what does that mean is meant like this: an intimate baring of a soul, heart, trust: in a way no words could ever begin describing or should even attempt to put to paper.

It is friendship at the most intimate level, it is soulmates on the most soul-crushing departure, and it is the everything else that comes after.

“Not this time, Rogers,” he hears her say, and Scott doesn’t have to imagine the slight fracturing of his iron-clad footing in the world swaying ever so slightly, when he replies with: “Then I guess I’ll see you around, Romanoff.” .

“So is she like,” Scott hesitates. “Cap’s first lady or something?”

They’re some seventy feet off the air above the Pacific Ocean, the moisture from the ocean drifting up to the open barracks and making the air glisten around them. Bucky is fast asleep somewhere down the lower levels with Wanda keeping watch over him, upon the fervent insistence of Steve arguing he needed rest. It came as no surprise that he also self-assigned himself the first watch of the night.

Sam is sharpening his knives, the grating sound of sandpaper slicing over iron piercing through the silent hum and drum of the night.

“Please,” he scoffs, looking over at him. “If anything, Steve is her first lady.”

#romanogers #stevenat #fic #natasha romanoff #steve rogers #romanogers fi #stevenat fic #marvel fic

34 notes · View notes

highfunctioningflailgirl · 3 years ago

Text

Whumptober 2021

Prompt #5: Broken nose

“Aramis, the Musketeer?”

“Yes?”

Aramis, on his way to the garrison with Porthos, turned around to see who was addressing him - and his head snapped back when a fist landed square in his face. He heard and felt a nasty crack. His vision burst into stars. He stumbled backwards, clutching his nose. Blood gushed through his fingers.

Somewhere, in the haze of pain, Porthos was yelling.

“Oi! What in the Queen’s name-“

A scuffle ensued. Aramis more heard than saw it - he was perilously close to fainting from shock and pain. Next to him, fists hit flesh, cloth tore and yelps and gasps from a voice that wasn’t Porthos’ told him that his friend had the upper hand on whoever had attacked him. When his vision cleared, it was already over: hunched over in the middle of the street, Aramis stood dripping blood into the dirt, circled by aghast Parisians, with Porthos standing over an unconscious man.

The big Musketeer snorted angrily, fists still clenched, shoulders squared. Then he turned to Aramis, his fierce expression melting into worry.

“Y’alright, Aramis?”

“Yeah,” Aramis croaked nasally, gingerly fingering his nose. To his dismay, it felt crooked and hurt like hell. “Or no, that is. He broke my nose.”

“Are you serious?”

Porthos stepped closer and put his hand under Aramis’ chin, carefully tilting his head back to inspect the damage. Aramis sniffed, immediately regretting it. Pain stabbed up his nose, and his mouth filled with a copper taste so thick, it made him nauseous.

“Hell’s bells,” Porthos muttered. “It is broken.”

Aramis blinked tears from his eyes.

“That bad?” he asked nervously.

“It’s kind of bent to one side.” Porthos looked at him with a curious expression, as if he was looking at an interesting insect he’d never seen before. “And it’s swelling up really fast.”

“Wonderful.”

Aramis moaned and spit a mouthful of blood into the street. Around them, a few people were still standing and staring, whispering, while the rest of onlookers had gone back to their business. This was Paris. Street brawls happened and were of little interest unless someone died.

“What are ye starin’ at?!” Porthos waved a big hand. “Move! There’s nothin’ to see here!”

While their audience dispersed, Aramis had fished a handkerchief out of his pocket and tried to staunch the blood. His beard was sticky with it, the front of his leather doublet splattered. Porthos, meanwhile, walked over to the unconscious attacker and shoved him with the tip of his boot. The man moaned a little, starting to come around.

“I s’ppose you know this man?”

Aramis squinted at the tall and overweight figure dressed in the practical but fashionable clothes of the Parisian middle class. The reddish beard and the golden signet ring on one of his hands left no doubt.

“Yes,” he said uncomfortably. “Yes, I know him.”

Porthos lowered his head to glower at Aramis. “And?”

Bleeding into his handkerchief, Aramis looked away. “I know his wife, too.”

Porthos threw his head back in exasperation. His accompanying eye roll was so pronounced, Aramis could practically hear it.

“Unbelievable,” Porthos muttered. And then, louder: “You’re unbelievable! One day, yer gonna get yourself killed! Haven’t you learned anything?!”

Embarrassed and fighting a headache, Aramis said nothing. Michèle was a sweet girl. Milky breasts, black curls, amber eyes and with a love for poetry and soldiers. Why did God put such beautiful, smart women in front of him when he didn’t want Aramis to be with them?

“Well, maybe this will teach you,” Porthos added darkly. “‘M not sure a lot of Paris women have a taste for a man with a smashed potato for a nose.”

Apprehensively, Aramis palpated his injured face. It didn’t feel like his anymore, his skin stretching as the swelling escalated, the tip of his nose off-center, his moustache caked in coagulating blood. Even if Aramis claimed he wasn’t vain, he knew it wasn’t the truth. He’d accepted his prettiness as a convenient gift from God, and he liked what he saw in the mirror when he trimmed his beard or adjusted his hat. It was an advantage he would not like to lose. Frankly, it scared him.

On the ground, Michèle’s husband groaned and began to make an effort at sitting up. One of his eyes was blackening.

“We should get outta here,” Porthos warned.

“Yes. Let’s go.”

XXX

They arrived at the garrison right after morning muster. The regiment had largely dispersed, turning to their daily duties. A few stragglers were still in the yard, casting curious glances when Porthos and Aramis passed through the arch. Against Aramis’ hopes, Captain Treville was among them. Face turning thunderous, he crossed his arms in front of his chest.

“Let me guess,” he said, taking in Aramis’ appearance. “It’s a little early for gambling, and Porthos looks unharmed, so it cannot have been a bar brawl. Since it’s morning, and it’s you,” - he pointed at Aramis and sniffed - “with the nosebleed and smelling of perfume, I’ll assume you ran into an admirer? As in: head first?”

His eyes were blazing and Aramis could swear he saw a wisp of the Captain’s thinning hair turn white.

“He got ‘im pretty bad, Cap’n,” Porthos came to Aramis’ defense. “Bashed ‘is nose right in.”

Some of the fury drained from Treville’s face.

“Let me see,” he said, eyebrows knitting to a frown.

Aramis took his hand with the balled-up handkerchief away from his face and revealed the whole extent of the damage.

Treville’s eyebrows rose.

“By God, it is broken.”

Aramis whimpered miserably.

“But you’re lucky, son,” Treville added. “A visitor arrived last night. Just in time to help you out, it seems.”

“Who?” Porthos asked.

“Go see for yourselves,” Treville said. “She’s in the infirmary.”

XXX

When they entered the garrison’s small infirmary, a woman was busy sorting through the medicine cabinet. She was wearing a coarse brown nun’s habit and turned around when she heard them, hazel eyes shining brightly out of a freckled, middle-aged face.

“Sister Marie!” Porthos’ joyful bellow turned into laughter. He crossed the room in four strides and enveloped the petite woman in a hug.

“What are you doing here?”

“Returning some of Athos’ books and bringing some medicines Aramis requested,” she answered cheerfully. Spotting Aramis, she added: “And it seems our Lord knew just when to send me.”

“You are, indeed, a gift sent from Heaven,” Aramis said, relieved. He’d been fearing he would have to attempt to set his nose himself.

“What happened?”

Sister Marie, pragmatic as ever, took Aramis by the shoulders and led him to a chair close to a window where the light was better.

Porthos scoffed. “I don’t think you want to know, Sister.”

The nun looked back and forth between the two Musketeers, her intelligent eyes boring into them. All of a sudden, Aramis felt very stupid.

“You don’t want to know,” he said guiltily.

She cocked her head. “Then I won’t ask. But this,” she pointed at Aramis’ nose,”needs to be set before the swelling gets any worse.”

“Do you think you can fix it?” Aramis asked with new hope.

Sister Marie gently probed his injured face, feeling for the break, and Aramis bit his lip while his eyes began to water again.

“Yes,” she finally stated. “Feels like a clean break. But we have to do it now and you must follow my instructions. Diligently.”

Aramis nodded. Of course he would if she saved him from looking like a monstrosity for the rest of his life. He hadn’t looked in a proper mirror yet, but on the way here, he’d seen his reflection in a window, and it was horrendous.

Sister Marie looked around the infirmary.

“We need cold water, a bowl, a towel, some wool and horsetail tincture. And my comfrey poultice from the cabinet. Thank the Lord I brought a large jar!“

Porthos nodded and fetched what was needed. Often enough, he’d helped Aramis take care of wounded comrades, and he knew his way around the infirmary. If Aramis hadn‘t been so anxious, dreading what was to come, he‘d be proud of him now.

Everything laid out within reach, Sister Marie pushed a bowl into Aramis‘ lap.

“Here,“ she said matter-of-factly. “Hold this. No need to ruin the floorboards, and it’ll keep your hands out of your face.”

Aramis grimaced.

“Are you ready?”

Taking a deep breath through his mouth, Aramis steeled himself. This would not be pretty.

“Yes. Do it.”

Porthos stepped behind him, holding his shoulders. Without hesitation, sister Marie clasped Aramis’ nose between her fingers and gave it a quick, hard wrench. Aramis, eyes widening in shock, felt the bone snap back into place. The pain was monumental. The middle of his face seemed to explode. Briefly, his vision blackened, and he bent low over the bowl in his hands, blood dripping into it, waiting to either throw up or pass out.

“Oh God..” he moaned.

Tears streamed down his cheeks, and waves of nausea washed over him. He felt a cold cloth on his forehead and then at the back of his neck.

“Deep breaths through your mouth, Aramis,” he heard Sister Marie say. “Deep and slow..”

A hand - Porthos’ or hers - was rubbing circles across his back. It helped. Or maybe the pain simply lessened as he sat there and breathed.

Finally, he was able to lift his head and let Sister Marie inspect her work.

“Is it straight?” he asked, trepidation and the swelling making his voice sound strange.

Sister Marie smiled triumphantly.

“Good as new! Once the swelling goes down, that is. And you’ll have to be very careful!”

Porthos slapped Aramis’ shoulder - gently..

“You lucky bastard!

Aramis sighed in relief.

He still had a few unpleasant minutes to suffer through: Sister Marie stuffed both his nostrils with wool dipped into horsetail tincture, and Aramis didn’t know what was worse - the stink or the pain. Afterwards, she had him sit in his chair for an eternity, carefully cooling his swollen face with cold cloths. When his nose at least stopped swelling and the bleeding had stopped, she moved him to one of the beds and applied a thick layer of comfrey poultice to the bridge of his nose that dried out into a hard, itchy crust.

“It’ll peel off, and we will have to reapply it once or twice a day, depending on how good you are at lying still.”

Porthos frowned at her.

“He’ll have to stay in bed?”

“For a few days, yes. I want the bone to start growing back together before you move around again,” the nun explained, giving Aramis an encouraging pat on the leg. “And you’ll have to be extremely careful afterwards. No musketeering for you for a few weeks, I’m afraid.”

Aramis didn’t care. In bed, his head aching and his nose feeling twice its normal size, he was tired and grateful. He knew he was in for a lecture from Treville, and once Athos found out- Aramis swallowed. Athos was going to kill him. And he’d be the target of endless teasing from d’Artagnan.

None of that mattered now. Thanks to Sister Marie, he would not have to live with a disfigured face, although he knew he would probably deserve it. He’d learned his lesson this time. The next time a married woman - any woman - turned her head to smile at him, he would look the other way.

“I can’t thank you enough,” he said to Sister Marie, meaning it with all his heart. “You are a godsend!”

The nun nodded, rolling her eyes in playful reprimand.

“And you are a sinner, Aramis of the King’s Musketeers.” She chuckled. “But it seems even God is a little in love with your handsome face.”

(You can also read and comment on this story on AO3:)

#whumptober2021 #the musketeers #day 5 #prompt 5 #broken nose #fanfic #whump #hurt/comfort #aramis #porthos #bbc musketeers #sister marie

15 notes · View notes

amjustagirl · 4 years ago

Text

Chapters: one. ~ two. ~ three. ~ four. ~ five. ~ six. ~ seven.

Wordcount: 3.6k

Masterlist link here

AO3 Link here

Genre / Pairing: Romance, Akaashi / Reader

Summary:

Loosely based on the anime filme ‘Your Name’, also known as Kimi No Nawa.

Akaashi Keiji catches glimpses of another life in his dreams. He dreams of fields of endless gold, of constellation of stars that light up the night sky. He hears the echo of birdsong in her laughter, her songs to the gods in the wind.

Author’s note: This fic is a little different from my usual work, so I’m a little nervous about publishing it. If you do like it, would love if you leave a comment / reblog / anything!

Pro tip: Italics denote scenes in Akaashi’s dreams / past.

If you’d like to be included in the taglist, do drop me a msg/ask!

He is seventeen again.

Practice is hard especially with his new captaincy, with first years to train and a mountain of paperwork to clear, but even as each jolt of the train home settles exhaustion further into his bones, he’s more concerned at the sustained silence from her. His phone is empty of her text messages - no funny stories, no silly jokes, no pictures of sun drenched flower fields - but he tells himself she’s fine, she’s probably occupied herself with something vaguely illegal that she’ll tell him later about and laugh away his disapproval.

He’s in the middle of dinner when his father turns on the television to watch the news. It’s just background noise, newscasters droning on about which dignitary is visiting Tokyo this week, how the stock markets are doing, when monsoon storms are forecasted to sweep across Japan, but his interest is piqued when the newscasters mention ‘the tragedy of latchkey kids - the death of a schoolgirl in a rural Hokkaido town’.

It can’t be, he thinks, swiveling around in his seat to stare at the screen. It can’t be, he thinks, in frozen shock, as the screen shows a familiar wooden house in flames, broadcast live on national TV.

‘The police are investigating this tragedy as an unsolved murder -’

(It can)

‘The victim was seventeen years old -’

(It is)

‘Calling for any witnesses to step forward -’

(She’s dead)

‘Keiji, what wrong?’ he faintly hears his mother ask, and he looks down. His chopsticks lie slack in his hand, the other hand clenched and trembling so hard he’s knocked his bowl over, rice spilling onto the dinner table.

‘Sorry - I don’t feel so good’, he mutters, stumbling his way into the bathroom, his stomach retching at the horror tearing down his throat like acid. Even as he clutches the cold porcelain with shaking hands to empty his stomach of its contents, his gut burns from the realization that she’s gone - there’s nothing he can do about it.

Wait a minute.

He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, sprinting to his bedroom to snatch up his omamori, before bursting out of the door, deaf to his parents’ worried shouts. He doesn’t stop running, doesn’t even stop to take a breath until he’s leapt up all twenty six steps to the shrine where he first prayed to the gods to grant his wish for more time, a wish binding their souls together in a fated knot.

(Except that’s not true anymore, because she’s dead, she’s dead, she’s dead - unless he can use their bind to twist fate and bring her back from the dead)

His hands are numb when he claps them together, his head spinning as he bows, fingers barely able to grasp as he scrawls another prayer on the ema, hanging the wooden plaque on the wishing tree.

‘You’ve already upended my life by tangling it up with hers. Please - please grant my wish and I’ll give up anything, including what’s dearest to me’, he silently pleads, closing his eyes in prayer.

But the gods stay silent. The shrine remains still.

The shrine attendant chases him out when it’s closing time, and he fends off his parents’ concerned looks by feeding them a lie about forgetting to help one of his teammates with homework, shutting himself in the room.

But the problem is he can’t seem to fall asleep, not when the image of a white sheet draped over her cold body is branded into the back of his eyelids. Not when he can still hear the echo of her laughter as she teases him about his old fashioned book recommendations that she still ends up reading curled up under a tree. Not when his soul has traced the constellation on her back, the crescent dimple in her right cheek -

Damn it all - he needs to fall asleep to have any chance of waking up in her body in her yesterday or is it her today - he’s not sure, doesn’t dare look at the clock for fear of chasing sleep further away, why can’t he fall asleep - he’s done this countless times before, waking up in her body in her yesterday while she wakes up in his today which resets when he then wakes up in his own body tomorrow -

Time flutters through his fingers like fallen petals scattering in the wind and he can tell from the growing sliver of light through his curtains that it’s almost daybreak - so he stumbles desperately into the bathroom to break into his mother’s medicine cabinet, swallowing twice the recommended dosage. It’s dangerous he knows, but he can’t bring himself to even think twice about it.

A prayer is still on his lips when his eyes finally drift shut and sleep finally overtakes him.

He cracks his eyes open.

Ah, he’s in her living room. She must have just reached home from school because the irori only emits thin ribbons of smoke, flames licking the kindling in the heath. But that doesn’t explain why he’s lying face down in the dust -

Then a dull pain hits him. Copper pools in his mouth. Hot liquid drips down his forehead.

He curses the gods for their sick sense of humour.

‘What are you doing here, Keiji?’ he hears her whimper. ‘You aren’t supposed to be here, he’s going to end up killing us both.’

‘Let’s not jump ahead of ourselves. Tell me what happened’, he answers, trying his best to inject a commanding tone to cover up the fear seeping into his words.

‘Hana-chan must have told her father I managed to get records of whatever awful shit he’s been doing to her, because he was waiting for me when I came home from school. I refused to give the recordings to him and tried to bite his hand and I guess he lost his temper…’

‘We need to have a conversation about your lack of self-preservation when we get out of this mess’ he points out, terror building up in his throat when he’s suddenly aware of the way his arms are twisted behind his back, cloth rope binding his wrists together in place. But before he can even try to struggle against the binds, he’s pinned in place by a knee on his back.

‘Awake already, little girl? I would’ve thought you would stay asleep a little longer considering how much you bleed from a silly little smack on the head.’ Nakamura chuckles, threading his cold fingers into his hair, and with a swift flick of his wrist, slams his face back against the floor.

Crack.

Akaashi gasps for air, dazed at the pain that blooms across his face.

‘You’re not as pretty as my little Hana-chan, but it would be a pity to smash your face in. So are you going to tell me where you’ve hidden your dirty little recordings, little thief?’ Nakamura coos, and Akaashi can feel the hair at the back of his neck rise in alarm.

‘Don’t give in to him’, she shrieks, her panic echoing in his mind. But Akaashi’s in the driver’s seat this time, and he’ll be damned if he lets her die on his watch - not when he already knows the pain of losing her once before.

Think, Akaashi. You have a brain, think!

‘It’s on my phone in my bedroom’, he mumbles thickly, keeping his voice weak. ‘You can go get it yourself.’

Nakamura relinquishes his grasp on his hair, brushing the dirt from his pants onto him. ‘I’m glad you have some sense at least, little lady. But if I find you’ve been wasting my time, I’ll make sure no one even recognises your face by the time I’m done with you’.

Akaashi waits for his footsteps to fade.

Then he rolls his body across the flow, tipping himself straight into the irori. This probably ranks as one of the most reckless things he’s ever done in his entire life, but it’s not as if he has many options with both his hands and feet bound. It’s also possible he’s been infected by her particular strain of insanity. It’s the only way he can think of to break loose from his bonds, using the flames to singe through the rope binds, but it hurts to place naked flame directly on bare flesh, blisters forming and popping and he bites down on his lip so hard it bleeds because oh gods it hurts, it hurts, it hurts –

Thank the gods it works, he’s able to wriggle free - not a moment too soon because he can hear the door to her bedroom crash open. Between the daze from the concussion and blood loss, he’s not going to be able to outrun Nakamura to get to safety, especially not when he’s in her body, what the hell is he going to do –

‘Store room’, he hears her gasp.

He grits his teeth as he crawls out of the heath, mentally calculating the distance to the back of the kitchen, divided by the blistering pain in his hands and feet.

’Move, Keiji!’ She shrieks, the thud of heavy footfalls resounding through the house ominously.

Adrenaline and terror floods his blood. It’s barely enough to fuel his sprint to the storeroom. He doesn’t dare to look back when Nakamura snarls - ‘what the fuck are you doing, you piece of shit’, only stops to breathe when the lock clicks in place. But he doesn’t get a moment’s reprieve, the door shuddering with the weight of a deranged man’s rage.

‘It would be easy for me to burn the house down with you in it. No one would question any foul play if a wooden house goes up in flames. Or would you prefer it if I wait for little Toya-chan to get home and bash his little head in? It’s your choice, bitch.’

‘What should we do?’ he asks her desperately.

‘You’re going to think I’m crazy... ’

‘Let’s not waste time on foregone conclusions, thanks.’

‘Right. Remember how I told you fire is life?’

It’s a testament to how well he knows her that he knows exactly what she means. ‘You’ve got to be joking.’ He breathes, horrified.

‘Do you have any other ideas?’ she retorts.

But she’s right, they’re essentially stranded on a flaming shipwreck, there’s nowhere else for them to run. Cursing the gods over and over again for their twisted sense of humour, Akaashi scrabbles around the store room, grabbing the ingredients to light this powder keg of an escape plan.

‘Ready?’

‘Ready when you are.’

‘Okay’ he says, taking a deep breath in a futile attempt to keep his anxiety at bay. ‘Okay’ he repeats, loud enough for Nakamura to hear him through the door. ‘I’ll unlock the door if you leave Toya alone’.

‘Smart girl.’ He can hear the menacing chill in the older man’s voice, but there’s no time to second guess his decision as he unlocks the door. He lets Nakamura make the first move, lets him yank the door open, and with the benefit of years of setting experience (thank you, Bokuto-san), he flicks his wrist to send a perfect arc of an entire bottle’s worth of liquid petrol splattering against Nakamura’s front.

‘Stand back or I’ll set you on fire’ he threatens, holding her ridiculous pink lighter like a weapon as Nakamura splutters in shock.

But the man only shakes off his surprise with a menacing laugh, slowly straightening into his full height, leaning against the door. ‘You don’t have it in you, little girl, you’re just like my Hana-chan. She used to put up a fight, always trying to scratch my eyes out but now she’s learnt that little girls should be good and docile - ‘

He can feel the brewing firestorm of rage from her. It’s not unwarranted, not when he’s seen through her eyes the abuse Hana’s suffered at his hands and in a spurt of impulsivity that shocks even himself, he surges forward to grab the man’s shirt, the naked flame from the lighter mere millimeters away from his face. ‘How dare you, disgusting pig - she’s your flesh and blood’, he spits.

Nakamura grins, deranged. ‘Exactly. She’s mine to use, and you’re going to regret ever trying to get in my way.’ He slams his head against Akaashi’s already broken nose (or rather - her nose) and - oh gods pain bursts across his face and he trips, falling onto his back. Nakamura doesn’t waste any time, climbing on top of him, fingers digging into his throat.

‘Let go of me’, he rasps, his vision starting to blur. Nakamura only tightens his grip, nails digging into the tender flesh of his neck.

But even with air being choked out of his lungs, her refrain ‘fire is life’ smolders in his mind. The gods must feel some pity for him today because Nakamura is so intent on going for his throat that he’s left his hands unchecked, so he closes his eyes in prayer and desperation, twisting his face as far away from his target as possible and presses his thumb on the lever on her lighter -

Everything goes up in flames.

Nakamura screams, stumbling away, and the sound should spark a sense of cruel satisfaction if blinding pain exploding in his face weren’t a more immediate concern. There’s fire everywhere, and it hurts, it hurts, it hurts - but he already knows what hell feels like, this is nothing compared to the nightmare of her dying, so he gathers the last of his strength to fight against the ash suffocating the oxygen from his lungs, stumbles out of the backdoor to drop and roll in the mud until the flames on his clothes recede.

He’s alive. She’ll survive.

But it's at a high cost - the white hot pain of blistering burns all over his - well, her body slamming into him like a freight train when adrenaline recedes. Gasping in pain, he welcomes the gathering darkness at the edges of his vision. He tries not to think of the survival rate of burn victims, nor the risk of infection should medical treatment not be administered soon enough - this is as far as he can possibly go. He lies on his back, completely depleted.

The grass rustles. The wind blows.

Toya stands over him, eyes wide. ‘Nee-chan, what’s going on?’

Oh. Thank the gods.

‘Toya. You have to run and get help, ok?’ he manages to rasp before darkness finally devours him, swallows him whole.

He opens his eyes and finds himself back in the forest shrine.

It takes him a split second to gather his bearings before he leaps to his feet, his lungs still burning from the taint of smoke, his mouth still acrid with the bitter taste of ash, and he doesn’t know if either of them are alive or heaven forbid - if he failed and she’s dead –

‘Keiji, you idiot!’ He hears her shriek as he’s tackled from behind, crashing face first into the forest floor.

He’ll thank the gods again and again for the rest of his life because -she’s alive, she’s alive, she’s alive -

She throws herself into his lap, crying as she beats her fists against his chest. ‘You fool! You dummy! You scold me for being reckless, but what if you died when your soul was stuck in my body –‘

‘You’re alive’, he breathes in disbelief, cupping her face in his shaking hands, letting the warmth from her cheeks bleed into his skin.

She flushes, burying her head into the crook of his neck. ‘You’re not getting out of being scolded but yes, I think so’, she mumbles, her words muffled.

His heart grows cold. ‘What do you mean you think so?’

‘Where we are isn’t real - is it?’

She motions for him to be silent, to listen. There's the faint beeping of a hospital monitor, barely discernible over the whispering of leaves. ‘I think we’re in my mind for now. Or my consciousness, I’m not sure. I woke up to a bright light that beckoned me to follow it, but I saw you lying here and wanted to wait for you.’

Fear grips his heart, the spectre of black smoke and white sheets haunting him anew. ‘Don’t follow it’, he demands, latching on to her shoulders. ‘I’m not losing you again.’

‘I’m not going anywhere’, she promises with a smile, the sight quenching the fear in his heart. ‘I’m here, Keiji. I’m here. You said you wouldn’t let anything happen on your watch, remember?’

‘That was before you got yourself killed when I wasn’t looking’, he retorts dryly, though he’s unable to fully smother the smile blooming on his face.

‘It wasn’t my fault!’

‘I told you not to get caught in the first place!’

‘Yeah - but you came for me nonetheless’, she says, eyes sparkling. ‘You came for me, like Perseus saving Andromeda from her shackles, snatching her from the very jaws of the sea monster.’

He chuckles, amused that she remembers the stories he tells her. ‘Nakamura was definitely uglier than a sea monster, so I’m sure that’s an accurate comparison. ’

‘Stupid!’ she laughs, raising her hand to playfully smack him again when he catches her hand in his. He steals a moment to marvel at the constellations in her eyes, wondering if the stars in the sky are jealous of her light. He wants to bask in the spotlight of her warmth and songs and laughter forever and oh gods -

He’s in love with her.

The realisation strikes him like a hammer blow to the chest.

Has it already been a year that he’s spent mapping out the infinite breadth and depth of her soul? A year that he’s spent watching her wield her kindness like a sword and a shield. A year that fate has spent trying to smother her fearlessness to no avail - she still burns like an undying flame in the night sky. A year of unwritten poetry buried in spring flowers, stanzas of the wind echoing her songs to the gods. A year's worth of lessons in patience and exuberance and laughter, reminding him that life is a miracle to be treasured and not to be dismissed as a mere series of goals.

It is only now that he understands why his heart crumbled into dust, why his soul tore itself apart when he found out that she died - because he loves her, this silly scrap of a girl.

Her eyes widen as he tugs her forward to lean his forehead against hers. For once she’s at a loss for words.

I love you – he wants to whisper against the rosebud of her lips, wants to shout it loud enough for the whole forest – nay, for every speck of stardust in the galaxy to hear. His mouth moves to form the words, but suddenly his tongue grows thick, his mouth goes dry.

His heart stutters to a painful stop.

He can’t remember her name anymore.

He tries to say her name again, tries to spell out the syllables with his tongue but it’s no use, his mind remains stubbornly blank. It can’t be. He must have said her name a thousand times in this lifetime, recited each syllable like a sacred verse.

How could he have forgotten her name?

‘What’s wrong?’ She pulls away, noticing the horror taut on his face.

Beep.

He looks down at his hands. Flesh and bone start to fade to dust.

‘Keiji’, she calls, and he can hear the Kodama in the trees echo his name. Keiji, they call. Keiji, she calls again.

Beep.

‘I’m starting to forget you’, he whispers, heart breaking anew as despair dawns in her eyes.

‘No - ’ she cries, desperation in her voice, repeating his name again and again - Keiji, Keiji, Keiji and he wants to respond with her name, but he can’t, he can’t, he can’t -.

Beep.

His memories of her are golden hued and bathed in starlight, but slowly they all wash away into shades of grey. He tries his best to grasp onto them, but it’s hopeless -like trying to capture the sea with his bare hands.

Beep.

He thinks of her, dancing in grassy meadows, with moonbeams as her lone light.

Beep.

He thinks of her, singing to the gods in the shadow of the forest shrine.

Beep.

He thinks of her, brimming with laughter and joy and kindness and love - and gods -

Beep.

How is it even be possible to forget the birdsong in her laughter, the blossoms in her cheeks -

Beep.

‘Keiji! ’ She reaches desperately for him, tears spilling from her eyes.

Beep.

His time runs out. His soul starts to fade into the night.

Beep.

Her eyes shine bright, the constellations liquid silver in her eyes.

‘I’ll find you, Akaashi Keiji - even if it takes me a hundred lifetimes, even if I have to wait a thousand years. So you better be ready for me when I find you, because - because I love you - I love you, you fool.’

Beep.

It’s the last memory he forgets of her, her vow losing its light in the darkness of his mind.

Beep. Beep. Beep.

He wakes up with a gasp.

He is twenty five again, lying on the forest floor with a halo of fireflies dancing above his head.

It’s been almost a whole decade since he was seventeen but finally - he remembers her.

Taglist

@animeflower26 @forgetou @kageyamakock @underrated-fruit-tarts-official @bongofrito

55 notes · View notes

per-ineptia-ad-astra · 4 years ago

Text

Star Trek Episode 1.24: This Side of Paradise

AKA Yet Another Creepy Utopia Planet

Our episode begins with the Enterprise heading in to orbit around an Earthy-looking planet named Omicron Ceti 3. Omicon Ceti is a real star, by the way—also known as Mira or Mira A, it’s a red giant and part of a binary star system with its sister Mira B. It’s not a real likely place to go looking for such a nice homey sort of planet, though, because Mira is a pulsating variable star, which means its size and brightness is constantly fluctuating, and it’s hard to evolve life when your sun keeps flickering like a neon sign in a noir movie all the time.

Uhura reports to Kirk that she’s been transmitting a contact signal every five minutes just as he ordered, but she’s only getting dead air in response. Kirk tells her to keep it up until they get into orbit, then moves on to talk to Spock. “There were one hundred fifty men, women and children in that colony,” he says. “What are the chances of survivors?”

Looks like the chances are, uh...not great. And by ‘not great’ I mean ‘nonexistent’. Spock explains that ‘Bertold rays’ are a recent enough discovery that there’s still a lot not known about them, but one thing that is for sure known is that exposure to these rays causes living animal tissue to disintegrate. Nasty. Evidently this planet is heavily exposed to these rays, because a group of colonists-- “Sandoval’s group”-- came here only three years ago and Spock says there’s no possibility they could have survived. Well why the heck would anyone build a colony in such a place? All Spock can say is “They knew there was a risk.”

Kirk questions whether they can risk sending a landing party down under such conditions, but Spock says the disintegration doesn’t start immediately, so they’ll be alright if they don’t stick around too long. The helmsman reports that they’ve successfully established orbit, and he’s found a settlement—or at least, something that was a settlement at one point. Kirk tells Spock to equip a landing party of five to accompany him down there, including a biologist and McCoy. That’s gonna be a fun mission briefing. “Yes, we're beaming down to a planet bombarded with deadly radiation, but no need to worry, crew, your tissues will probably only disintegrate a little bit."

Sometime later, the landing party—Kirk, Spock, McCoy, Sulu, a blueshirt and a goldshirt—materialize into a meadow near a dirt path and a picket fence. They’ve thoughtfully arranged themselves into a nice alternating pattern.

[ID: A shot of a sunny meadow with a dirt road, a few trees and a white picket fence in the background. Newly beamed down are six Enterprise crewmembers standing in two rows: in the front are Kirk and Spock, in the back are McCoy, a goldshirt, a blueshirt, and Sulu.]

The goldshirt, incidentally, is DeSalle, who we last saw back in The Squire of Gothos. The character was originally written for this story as Lt. Timothy Fletcher, but was changed to DeSalle after the production crew realized they’d cast an actor who had already appeared in the series. Yes, really. AGAIN. The blueshirt is Kelowitz, who showed up briefly in The Galileo Seven and Arena, and likewise started out as another character but was renamed after being cast. I don’t know how this situation managed to happen so often on TOS, but apparently it did. At least they both seem to have managed to hold onto more or less the same positions that they had the last time we saw them, a rare feat for any minor TOS crewmember.

The group walks forward towards some nearby farm buildings arranged around a dirt yard, with a horse-drawn cart sitting out in front of one of them. But there’s no horse to be seen, and no people either. They wander through the yard and over toward what looks like a paddock, but without any animals in it. Everything seems quite thoroughly deserted.

Kirk leans on the paddock fence and glumly muses, “Another dream that failed. There’s nothing sadder. It took these people a year to make the trip from Earth. They came all that way...and died.” Hold on, it took them a year? What, do they not give colony ships warp drives? Did they have to hitchhike here?

“Hardly that, sir,” someone says, and suddenly we see three men in green jumpsuits standing at the edge of the yard, looking very relaxed and also very not dead.

As the landing party all turn around to stare in shock the man in front strides forward and says, “Welcome to Omicron Ceti 3. I’m Elias Sandoval.” McCoy looks like he’s getting ready to spray the dude with holy water.

After the titles, we get a brief captain’s log to sum things up, just in case everyone forgot what happened during the commercial break:

“Captain’s Log, Stardate 3417.3. We thought our mission to Omicron Ceti 3 would be an unhappy one. We had expected to find no survivors of the agricultural colony there. Apparently, our information was incorrect.”

The colonists start happily shaking hands with the landing party—but happily as in “oh, it’s so nice to meet you” not “oh thank god you came to rescue us we’re all on the brink of death”. Sandoval says they haven’t seen anyone outside the colony since they left Earth four years ago, although they’ve been expecting someone to come by for a while. Apparently their subspace radio didn’t work right and they don’t have anyone who could “master its intricacies”. Now, I’m no expert on establishing colonies on alien planets, but ‘person who can work our only communication device’ does rather seem like a position you would want to make sure was filled before you left.

Kirk has to explain that they haven’t come to visit because of the dead radio. He does not explain why they did decide to come when they did. Spock’s comment about the colonists knowing there was a risk indicates that whether or not Bertold rays specifically were known about before the colonists left, they at least had reason to believe there was something dangerous about the planet. So why’d the Federation let them go and then wait another three years before sending anyone to check up on them? Eh, probably just another failing of twenty-third century space bureaucracy.

Sandoval’s not bothered about it, though. He tells Kirk that it doesn’t make much difference—the important thing is the party is here now and the colonists are happy to see them. Then he invites them on a tour of the settlement and casually strolls off, leaving the landing party to stand there and try to process what the hell they just witnessed.

“Pure speculation, just an educated guess...I’d say that man is alive,” McCoy says. Thanks Bones.

Spock says that his scans show that the planet is getting ray’d just as their reports indicated, so that’s not the issue. Under this intensity, the landing party could safely hang out here for a week if necessary, as per the usual Star Trek rule that you can be exposed to a deadly thing and be just fine up until the exact moment it kills you, but there’s a mighty big difference between a week and three years. Or as Kirk succinctly puts it, “These people shouldn’t be alive.”

“Is it possible they’re not?” Sulu asks. Great out of the box thinking there Sulu, love it.

Kirk takes a moment to consider that, which is fair—compared to the kind of weird shit they’ve encountered so far, the walking dead wouldn’t even stand out that much. But McCoy points out that when they shook hands with Sandoval, “His flesh was warm. He’s alive. There’s no doubt about that.” Spock fires back with a reminder that, “There’s no miracle connected with [Bertold rays], doctor, you know that. No cures, no serums, no antidotes. If a man is exposed long enough, he dies.” Okay dude, calm down, all McCoy said was “he’s alive” not “my god! Bertold rays have been fake all along! wake up sheeple!"

As Kirk points out, this whole debate is pretty pointless anyway for the moment—they’re arguing in a vacuum, and they’ll need more answers if they want to get anywhere. So they go to follow Sandoval, who leads them towards a nearby farm house, while a few colonists do various farm chores nearby. Sandoval explains that the colonists split into three groups, with forty-five people at this settlement and two more settlements elsewhere on the planet. Apparently they thought that arrangement would give each group a better chance for growth, since if some disaster struck one group the other two would probably still be alright.

“Omicron is an ideal agricultural planet,” he says. “We determined not to suffer the fate of the expeditions that went before us.” It’s rather vague what expeditions he’s referring to here, since at no other point in the episode are any previous attempts at settling Omicron Ceti 3 mentioned. But given that Sandoval specifically mentions the possibility of disease afflicting one group as a reason to split up, and Spock earlier said that Bertold rays were a recent discovery—and that the colonists knew coming to Omicron Ceti 3 was risky-- it seems possible that previous groups tried to settle the planet and, without knowing about the Bertold rays, mistook their effects for some kind of disease native to the planet. Of course that doesn’t explain why this group of colonists decided it would be a good idea to try to settle here again anyway, but if there’s one thing I’ve learned over the past few months, it’s that not everyone sees the possibility of dying to a terrible disease as a compelling reason to change their plans in any way.

As they stand in the farmhouse talking about this, a woman steps forward from another room in the house. She’s in soft focus, just in case we might forget she’s a woman, and instead of the green jumpsuit all the male colonists are wearing, she’s wearing green overalls over a lavender shirt, a combination that somehow manages to be an even worse fashion disaster than the jumpsuits themselves. She starts to say something to Sandoval, then stops in surprise as she sees the landing party. But for once the romance-o-vision isn’t for Kirk—it’s Spock that the camera zooms in on as the woman stares at him.

“Layla, come meet our guests,” Sandoval says cheerfully, oblivious to the wistfully romantic background music. He introduces her as Layla Colomi, their botanist. Layla says that she and Spock have met before, but “It’s been a long time.” Kirk gives Spock a bit of a side-eye for that, but Spock offers no details.

Well, all romantic tension aside, they do still have a mission to attend to here, as Kirk reminds Sandoval. Sandoval tells them to go ahead with any examinations or tests they want. “I think you’ll find our settlement an interesting one. Our philosophy is a simple one: that men should return to a less complicated life. We have few mechanical things here, no vehicles, no weapons. We have harmony here. Complete peace.” Oh yeah, that bodes well. Remember the last place we saw complete harmony and peace? At least that explains why everyone on this farm is using equipment straight out of Stardew Valley, which is presumably not the most advanced agricultural technology available by the twenty-third century. I’m not sure why Sandoval’s idea of a simpler lifestyle excludes vehicles, though. They’re not exactly the most recent thing on the timeline of human technological advancements.

Sandoval tells the landing party to make themselves at home, and they all head off. All except for Spock, who lingers just a few seconds more to give Layla a completely neutral look before walking away as well.

Everyone goes off to conduct their respective investigations. Sulu and Kelowitz wander through a yard over towards another farm building. Kelowitz isn’t sure what exactly they should be looking for, though. “Whatever doesn’t look right—whatever that is,” Sulu replies, climbing up to sit on a railing on the building’s porch. “When it comes to farms, I wouldn’t know what looked right or wrong if it were two feet from me.” I hope you enjoyed that line, because “didn’t grow up on a farm” is about all the backstory TOS is going to give us for Sulu until the movies.

[ID: Three screenshots showing Sulu pulling himself up to sit on the railing of an old-fashioned farmhouse as he says, "When it comes to farms, I wouldn't know what looked right or wrong if it were two feet from me." Growing up from the ground nearby are two large plants with thick brownish-purple stems and large pink flowers on top.]

Hey Sulu, what's that about two feet from you? Oh well, I'm sure it's not important.

Kelowitz opens up a nearby barn and notes that there’s no cows there—in fact, the barn isn’t even built for cows, just for storage, and indeed it only looks big enough to be useful for holding cow, singular. Having a storage barn isn’t itself that weird, although the fact that there is nothing currently stored in the storage barn is a bit strange. But also, as Sulu points out, come to think of it, they haven’t seen any animals here, native or imported. No cows, no horses, no pigs, not even a dog. Which is a bit odd for an agricultural colony. They must have had or expected to have animals at some point—otherwise what was pulling that cart?

Back in the house, Sandoval is asking Layla about Spock (once again referred to as a ‘Vulcanian’). She says that she knew Spock on Earth, six years ago. Sandoval, apparently having noticed the dreamy background music by now, asks if Layla loved Spock. She says that if she did, “it was important only to myself...Mr. Spock’s feelings were never expressed to me. It is said he has none to give.”

“Would you like him to stay with us now? To be one of us?” Sandoval asks. Layla smiles at him. “There is no choice, Elias,” she says. “He will stay.”

Elsewhere in the house, McCoy is scanning a colonist. He doesn’t look exactly happy with the tricorder result he gets, but all he says is, “That’ll be all, thank you very much,” and the colonist leaves, passing Kirk coming in. Incidentally, I can’t help but note that this room contains two paintings on the wall and what appears to be a cabinet full of china. I suppose the paintings could have been done by a colonist, but the china could surely only have been brought there. Who decided to pack fancy china on a year-long space voyage to an agricultural colony?

[ID: A shot of the interior of a farmhouse with blue walls, with a large wooden table in the middle of the room, a cabinet with china and glassware in the corner, a wooden desk with a copper tea kettle and some other kitchen items on it against the back wall, and a painting hanging on the wall showing some blurry trees. Sandoval, a middle-aged white man with short brown hair wearing a green jumpsuit, walks past the camera as he says, "Oh, captain, I've been looking for you."]

Kirk asks if McCoy’s found anything yet. McCoy replies that he’s surveyed nine men so far, ranging in age from twenty-three to fifty-nine. And they’re all in perfect condition. Not just healthy—perfect. Textbook responses across the board, from all of them. “If there are many more of them,” McCoy muses, “I can throw away my shingle.”

At that point Kirk’s communicator goes off. It’s Spock, calling in from one of the crop fields. He’s made the same observation as Sulu—there’s no life on the planet aside from the colonists and the plants. No animals, no insects. Spock doesn’t have any explanation yet, so Kirk tells him to carry on with his investigation and hangs up.

McCoy notes the absence of animals as peculiar, and Kirk says it’s especially so because the expedition records show that they did bring animals with them to raise for food. And pull their carts, presumably. But it seems none of them are still around. McCoy says he’d like to see the expedition’s medical records, a request Kirk has apparently anticipated because he’s got the floppy disc on hand with him.

Sandoval comes in and says that he’d like to take the two of them on a tour of the fields, to show off what the colony’s accomplished. McCoy says he’ll have to bow out, since he’s still working on the medical examinations. “However, if I find everyone else’s health to be as perfect as yours...”

“You’ll find no weaklings here,” Sandoval says, which uh, sure is a hell of a way to phrase that. “No weaklings! None of those miserable, pathetic sods with imperfect health! Only the strong survive! THE SLIGHTEST BLEMISH SHALL BE CAUSE FOR EXILE!”

Leaving McCoy behind, Kirk and Sandoval head out to the fields, where Sandoval gushes to Kirk about how great this place is: they’ve got moderate climate, moderate rains all year round, and the soil will grow anything they stick in it. Which is pretty miraculous, considering there’s no such thing as growing conditions that are perfect for every plant. But as we’re about to see, that’s not the only weird thing going on with their farming practices.

The conversation is interrupted by DeSalle arriving to give Kirk the biology report. Sandoval excuses himself to attend to work elsewhere, leaving Kirk and DeSalle alone to discuss the report. At first, it seems to be just as Sandoval said: they’ve got a variety of crops growing here successfully. The weird thing is that they don’t actually have very many of those crops. There’s enough to keep the colony going at the size it currently is, but barely more than that. Which tracks with what we’ve seen of the place so far: a couple of tiny fields that look more about the size for someone’s backyard garden than for a prosperous farm, tended by the occasional person idly scratching at the ground with a hoe. For a supposedly bounteous agricultural colony, that’s pretty weird. What have they been doing all this time?

“It’s like a jigsaw puzzle all one color,” Kirk muses, taking a moment to stroll a few steps away so he can say this dramatically in the distance instead of actually talking to DeSalle. “No key to where the pieces fit in. Why?”

Kirk’s communicator goes off. It’s McCoy, saying Kirk had better get back over there. “Trouble?” “No, but I’d like you to see this for yourself.” Of course. No one can ever just explain something over the phone, can they.

So Kirk heads back to the house, where the thing that Kirk just absolutely has to see for himself turns out to be McCoy just telling him what he’s found out, but he definitely couldn't do that over the communicator for, uh, reasons. What he’s found out is pretty interesting, though: McCoy checked up on Sandoval’s medical records from right before the colonists had left, which said that Sandoval had had an appendectomy, and had scar tissue on his lungs from childhood pneumonia (the weakling!). Yet when McCoy scanned Sandoval himself today, the results came back just as perfect as all the other colonists’. Kirk’s first thought is instrument failure, but McCoy says no, he thought of that and tested it by scanning himself, and it recorded him just fine, down to “those two broken ribs I had once.” Which sounds like an interesting story. But Sandoval’s scan? No scar tissue, and one healthy appendix. That’s right, Sandoval’s apparently managed to regrow an entire organ. Do you think you would notice that happening? Like, would it itch?

While Kirk and McCoy try to figure that out, Spock is hanging out in a field scanning with his own tricorder, while Layla stands nearby smiling ominously at him. Spock muses that there’s “Nothing. Not even insects. Yet your plants grow, and you’ve survived exposure to Bertold rays.” Yeah, how are those plants growing without insects? Presumably the native plants have evolved some way around that, but the ones the colonists have brought from Earth would need some help. Are the colonists just manually pollinating everything? Maybe that’s why they haven’t grown very much.

Layla says this can be explained, but when asked to do so, she just says, “Later.” Spock looks annoyed and remarks, “I have never understood the female capacity to avoid a direct answer to any question.” Hey! Cut that bullshit out. No one on this colony has directly answered a question since you got here, there’s no call to go ragging on a whole gender for it. Besides, just saying “Later,” is hardly a stunningly deft diversion, it’s not like she threw a smoke bomb down and disappeared.

“And I never understood you,” Layla says, walking over and placing a hand on his chest. “Until now. There was always a place in here where no one could come. There was only the face you allow people to see. Only one side you’d allow them to know.”

[ID: Three screenshots of Spock and Layla, a white woman with a lot of long blonde hair wearing a lilac shirt and green overalls, standing outside in a field with a large tree in the background. Layla, seen from behind, is pressing her hand to Spock's upper chest and saying, "There was always a place in here where no one could come." Spock replies "you know that's not where my heart is right".]

If Layla was hoping this little speech would prompt Spock to cry out that yes, she’s figured him out, he does love her but has never been able to show it! she’s disappointed, because he just looks uncomfortable and steps away. He tries to steer the conversation back onto the mystery of the colonists. “If I tell you how we survive,” she asks, “will you try to understand how we feel about our life here? About each other?”

That’s a pretty vague thing to make a promise about, so Spock deflects by saying that emotions are alien to him; he’s a SCIENTIST. “Someone else might believe that—your shipmates, your captain—but not me,” Layla says. Oh sure! Obviously none of the people who have lived, worked, and risked death alongside Spock can be expected to know anything about Spock. Only you are the Spock Expert, gifted with incredible insight by virtue of having a crush on him.

“Come,” she says, sauntering off through the field with her hand outstretched to him. Spock rather pointedly folds his hands behind his back instead and follows her.

Back in the house, Kirk and McCoy are struggling to have a conversation with Sandoval. Kirk tells Sandoval that he’s received orders from Starfleet Command to evacuate everyone on the colony, since, y’know, deadly rays and all that. He expects Sandoval to start making preparations. But Sandoval, calmly, casually, says, “No.” It’s not necessary, he insists—they’re in no danger.

But...but the Bertold rays. Sandoval is unmoved, pointing out that as McCoy’s own instruments show, the colonists are in perfect health and there have been no deaths. Okay, what about all those animals? What happened to them? “We’re vegetarians,” Sandoval says blithely. Which, as Kirk points out, does absolutely nothing to answer the question. Actually it raises further questions.

Sandoval remains thoroughly unbothered and thoroughly unhelpful. “Captain, you stress very unimportant matters. We will not leave,” he says, and goes back to gazing out the window, evidently considering the conversation over.

Elsewhere, Spock and Layla are still walking, and Spock is getting annoyed that Layla still hasn’t explained just what it is they’re going to see. “Its basic properties and elements are not important,” Layla says helpfully. “What is important is that it gives life, peace, love.” Oh boy.

Spock is dubious, but Layla pulls him forward, over towards another one of those large pink flowers. “I was one of the first to find them,” Layla says. “The spores.”

[ID: A gif of Spock approaching a large pinkish-purple flower and saying, "Spores?" The flower then sprays a cloud of white spores all over his face and torso while Spock recoils.]

For a moment Spock just looks startled, but then he starts clutching his head and falling onto his knees in the grass, dropping his tricorder and gasping, “No--” For the first time all episode, Layla’s absolute serenity starts to fracture slightly. Over Spock’s agonized protests, she insists that it shouldn’t hurt—it didn’t hurt any of them. But, as Spock gasps out, he’s not like them. Whoops, did the biologist forget to account for biological differences before handing out a facefull of spores? I bet you didn’t even check if he had any allergies first, did you?

Just as it’s looking like this might put actually put a crack in Layla’s blissed-out impassivity, Spock stops thrashing about and starts seeming less anguished and more confused. Layla’s concern vanishes once again, and she goes back to smiling happily while stroking his face. “Now...now you belong to all of us...and we to you. There’s no need to hide your inner face any longer. We understand.”

Spock still seems unsure, but then he takes Layla’s hand in his and smiles. Not the slight hint of a smile or sardonic quirk of the lips you’d expect to see from Spock, but a huge, broad grin from ear to ear. “I love you...I can love you,” he says, and then he kisses her.

Hoo boy.

After the break, we get a quick Captain’s Log to recap:

“Captain’s Log, supplemental. We have been ordered by Starfleet Command to evacuate the colony on Omicron 3. However, the colony leader, Elias Sandoval, has refused all cooperation and will not listen to any arguments.”

Sure enough, we see Sandoval exiting the farmhouse, followed by McCoy and an extremely frustrated Kirk. “Captain, your arguments are very valid, but do they not apply to us,” Sandoval says, as calm as ever. He tries to walk off, but Kirk grabs his arm and pulls him back.

“My orders are to remove all the colonists,” he says, “and that’s exactly what I intend to do with or without your help.”

“Without, I should think,” Sandoval says, and strolls off, leaving Kirk standing there fuming.

Sulu and Kelowitz come walking up to report that they’ve checked out everything and it all seems normal, except for the missing animals. Of course, they also both said they had no idea what to look for in the first place, so maybe take that with a grain of salt. Kirk tells them about the evacuation orders, and says he wants landing parties to start gathering the colonists and preparing them to leave. And by the way, where did Spock and DeSalle go? Sulu says they haven’t seen either one in some time, but McCoy says DeSalle was going to examine some native plants he found. Native plants, huh? I think we can guess what happened to DeSalle.

Since Spock still hasn’t reported in, Kirk gives him a call. Or tries to, at least—Spock doesn’t pick up. On the other end of the line, we see why that is: Spock's communicator is laying abandoned on the ground, while Spock himself, now dressed in the same horrible green jumpsuit as the colonists, is stretched out on the grass with Layla, watching clouds. The communicator beeps away while Spock happily describes how one of the clouds looks like a dragon. "I've never seen a dragon," Layla says. BEEP BEEP. "I have." BEEP BEEP. "On Barengarius 7." BEEP BEEP. "But I've never stopped to look at clouds before." BEEP BEEP. "Or rainbows." BEEP BEEP. "You know, I can tell you exactly why one appears in the sky, but considering its beauty has always been out of the question." BEEP BEEP.

"Not here," Layla says (beep beep), and they smile dreamily at each other before going into another makeout session. Meanwhile, Kirk is still on the line, and not getting any happier about it. Layla finally picks up the communicator and holds it up for Spock, who takes a break from kissin' to say, "Yes, what did you want?"

Naturally, this throws both Kirk and McCoy for a loop. While McCoy stands there with a "what the fuck" look on his face, Kirk takes a moment to recover and then demands, "Spock, is that you?"

"Yes, captain, what did you want?"

"Where are you?"

"...I don't believe I want to tell you."

[ID: Three shots of Kirk and McCoy standing in front of the farmhouse, Kirk holding his communicator while McCoy looks on. Kirk has a stunned expression on his face and looks around with his mouth open, trying to figure out what to say.]

Kirk plows on ahead, telling Spock that, whatever the hell he thinks he's doing, he's got orders: they're getting the colonists out, and Spock is to meet back at the settlement in ten minutes.

"No, I don't think so," Spock says casually. "You don't think so, what?" "I don't think so, sir."

Kirk has to take a moment after that one. It's rather amazing that McCoy's made it this far into the conversation without saying anything himself. Presumably he's just in shock. Eventually Kirk tells Spock to report in immediately, but by now Spock and Layla have gone back to kissing, leaving the communicator open but abandoned in the grass once more.

"That didn't sound at all like Spock, Jim," McCoy says, putting in his bid for the Enterprise’s bi-weekly Massive Understatement contest.

"No, it--I thought you said you might like him if he mellowed a little."

"I didn't say that!"

"You said that."

"Not exactly,” McCoy protests, and then somewhat grudgingly adds, “He might be in trouble.”

I'm sure McCoy did say that, or something like it, but "I hope Spock has his brain taken over by alien spores" was presumably not where he was going with it. He obviously sees this sudden change of behavior as something to be concerned about--even moreso than Kirk, who seems more irritated than anything. But then, it's only been a couple episodes since McCoy had his own run-in with an alien influence making people act a lot more mellow than usual, and he didn't enjoy that experience at all, so it's not surprising that "trouble" is his first thought here.

Kirk tells McCoy to take over the landing party detail and start getting the colonists up to the ship, and to make sure the party works in teams of two, with nobody being left alone. Meanwhile, Kirk himself takes Sulu and Kelowitz and heads off to find Spock, using the open frequency from Spock's communicator as a homing signal. They follow a dirt path out of the main settlement and soon find said communicator, laying open and abandoned in the grass just off the path. As Kirk picks it up, they hear laughter nearby, and Sulu points in astonishment further down the path, where Layla is watching Spock dangle upside-down from a tree branch like a kid on a jungle gym.

[ID: A shot of Spock and Layla among some trees at the end of a dirt path. Layla is standing on the ground and holding hands with Spock, who is hanging upside-down by his knees from a large tree branch, laughing.]

For a moment all Kirk can do is stare weakly at this weird spectacle. Then he collects himself with a stern AHEM and marches over like a principal about to deliver some very serious detention.

Meanwhile, back at the main hub of the colony, the landing party seems to have gotten well underway with preparations for departure, with several colonists and crewmen piling up luggage and equipment in the middle of a field while McCoy stands nearby overseeing everything, a job I’m sure he’s enjoying since we all know administrative work is McCoy’s favorite thing. Then DeSalle arrives, carrying a couple of the spore flowers and tells McCoy to take “a good, close look” at them, because they’re very interesting. McCoy steps forward to check them out right before the scene cuts away again, leaving us with little doubt as to what’s about to happen next.

During that little interim, Kirk and his crew have made it over to where Spock and Layla are cavorting. Spock just grins happily at Kirk, clearly not bothered one bit, even as Kirk asks if Spock’s out of his mind. He didn’t report to Kirk, he says, because...he didn’t want to.

Kirk glances back and forth between Spock and Layla, who’s standing there smiling rather smugly, and tells Layla that she’ll need to come get ready to evacuate with the rest of the colonists. Spock cheerfully says that there’s not going to be any evacuation. “But perhaps,” he adds, “we should go and get you straightened out.”

That really doesn’t bode well, but rather than ask just what Spock means by that, Kirk tells Sulu that Spock is under arrest in Sulu’s custody until they get back to the ship. Which will certainly work out well because it’s not like Spock is strong enough to chuck Sulu all the way across the field barehanded or anything. Not that Spock seems especially perturbed about being under arrest; instead he just shrugs, drops down from the tree, and says, “Very well. Come with me,” before heading off across the field, leaving else to follow in confusion. That’s how you arrest someone, right?

Of course, Spock leads them right to another group of spore flowers, which the group stops and stares at obligingly for a moment. Then the flowers explode a bunch of spores at them. Somehow, even though he’s standing right next to Sulu and Kelowitz, Kirk manages to totally avoid getting any spores up his sinuses, while the other two are immediately affected. “Yes...I see now,” Sulu says blissfully, with that trademark Very High grin that George Takei does so well. “Of course we can’t remove the colony. It’d be wrong.”

Kirk grabs him by the shoulders—Kirk’s go-to method for snapping people out of it--but when this somehow fails to bring Sulu back to his right mind, all Kirk can do is say that he doesn’t know what these plants are or how they work, but “you’re all going back to the settlement with me, and those colonists are going aboard the ship.” This stern proclamation has absolutely no effect on anyone. The whole group just stands there happily watching Kirk stomp back toward the colony. “I can see the captain is going to be difficult,” Spock remarks.

Kirk’s day isn’t about to get any better, because upon making it back to the colony he’s greeted by McCoy, who we can immediately tell is under the influence as well because his accent is absolutely out of control. It’s so thick even the subtitles pick up on it.

[ID: A screenshot of McCoy walking through a meadow with his communicator out, saying, "Sho’nuf."]

“Hiya, Jimmy boy!” McCoy very happily says to a very unhappy Kirk. “Hey, I’ve taken care of everything. Now all y’all gotta do is just relax. Doctor’s orders!” With a very resigned look, Kirk asks how many plants McCoy’s beamed up to the ship, and McCoy says it must be going on a hundred by now.

So Kirk beams up to the ship and heads right to the bridge, where he tells Uhura to put him through to Admiral Komak at Starfleet, though what he expects Komak to do about all this I don't know. But it’s too late. Uhura turns around to show that she’s smiling as happily as everyone else, and says, “Oh, I’m sorry Dave, I mean, captain. I can’t do that.” She’s short-circuited all the ship’s communications, except for ship-to-surface, since they’ll need that for a little while yet. Then she leaves, pausing in the door of the lift to tell Kirk that it’s really all for the best.

Kirk stands there seething for a moment, then stomps over to grab a plant that’s been left in Spock’s chair. He throws it across the bridge, and the camera lingers ominously on it as Kirk heads back into the lift.

Things aren’t any better on the rest of the ship. Kirk soon finds a long line of crewmembers of all different shirt colors, patiently waiting to transport down to join the colony. Out of what I can only assume is some desperate futile hope that someone will follow his orders if he just keeps trying, Kirk orders them all to go back to their stations at once. Unsurprisingly, they all ignore him. Kirk points out to one of the redshirts that this is MUTINY! but it doesn't get him very far.

[ID: A gif showing a young white man with brown hair wearing a redshirt as he says, "Yes, sir, it is." The camera then zooms in very dramatically on Kirk's stunned face.]

So...they’re all going down to join the colony? All four hundred thirty of them? Or four hundred twenty-nine, I guess, if Kirk refuses to join the fun. That’s almost ten times the amount of people the colony currently has in it. That seems like it could present a bit of a problem, because if you’ll recall DeSalle told Kirk earlier that right now the colony’s growing enough food to feed their current population, with little left over. How are they going to handle such a large and sudden influx into their population? Do they have housing for all these people? Or are they just all going to eat dirt and sleep on the ground because they’re all too high to notice anyway?

After we’ve had a commercial break to contemplate this shocking turn of events, Kirk takes some time out to give vent to his feelings in a captain’s log:

"Captain's Log, Stardate 3417.5. The pod plants have spread spores throughout the ship, carried by the ventilation system. Under their influence, my crew is deserting to join the Omicron colony, and I can't stop them. I don't know why I have not been infected, nor can I get Doctor McCoy to explain the physical, psychological aspects of the infection."

And indeed, just in case we had any doubt, we then see McCoy strolling through the field and happily telling Kirk, “I’m not interested in any physical, psychological aspects, Jim-boy. We all perfectly healthy down here.” Kirk grumbles about how much he’s been hearing about things being perfect lately. “I bet you’ve even grown your tonsils back.” “Sho’nuf!”

Kirk tries desperately to get McCoy to do something to figure these spores out—run a blood test, take a scan, type the symptoms into WebMD, something, anything—but McCoy is more interested in rambling on about mint juleps. Meanwhile, back in the farmhouse, Sandoval’s having tea with Spock while they talk about how nearly everyone’s beamed down from the ship and things are “proceeding quite well.” Kirk storms in and demands to know where McCoy’s gotten to, and Spock says he went off to make that mint julep. Which could prove quite difficult unless this tiny half-assed farm colony has somehow managed to set up a working distillery around here somewhere, but Kirk’s got bigger concerns right now than where McCoy’s going to get his bourbon.

Sandoval wants to know why Kirk won’t join them in their private, spore-sponsored paradise. Kirk asks where these spores came from, anyway, and Spock exposits that there’s no way to know—they just drifted through space until they arrived at this planet, which is perfect for them because it turns out they actually thrive on Bertold rays. The plants act as a repository for the spores until they can find a human—or half-Vulcan—body to inhabit. No explanation is forthcoming as to how Spock knows any of this.

Spock and Sandoval insist that the planet is “a true Eden” with belonging and love and no needs or wants for anyone, but Kirk is skeptical. “No wants, no needs. We weren’t meant for that. None of us. Man stagnates if he has no ambition, no desire to be more than he is.” Of all the things wrong with this situation I’m not sure “BEING TOO HAPPY IS BAD FOR YOU” is the take I would go with, but okay. Spock says that Kirk doesn’t understand, but he’ll come around...sooner or later.

Kirk, disgusted with this whole conversation, goes back to the ship. The bridge is dark, silent, and utterly empty. We get a slow pan of the blinking lights and displays of the consoles, with no one left to man them. Kirk walks over to his chair, hits the intercom, and starts calling one part of the ship after another, with no response from any of them. With nothing else left to do, he sits down in his chair and starts glumly recording a captain’s log so angsty it could be a LiveJournal entry:

"Captain's Log, Stardate 3417.7. Except for myself, all crew personnel have transported to the surface of the planet. Mutinied. Lieutenant Uhura has effectively sabotaged the communications station. I can only contact the surface of the planet. The ship...can be maintained in orbit for several months, but even with automatic controls, I cannot pilot her alone. In effect, I am marooned here. I'm beginning to realize...just how big this ship really is, how quiet. I don't know how to get my crew back, how to counteract the effect of the spores. I don't know what I can offer against...paradise."

Hold on hold on HOLD ON what do you MEAN the ship can be maintained in orbit for several months? Every time someone takes their hands off the controls for five seconds we get told that the orbit is decaying and they’re gonna plummet into some hapless planet within a few hours at most but now all of a sudden it’s fine to hang out up there for several months? MAKE UP YOUR MIND.

Kirk gets up to go sit at the helm, just to get a change of scenery mid-mope, and as he finishes his log/rant the camera slowly pans down to reveal the spore flower that he chucked across the bridge earlier. Which is weird because we just got a wide shot of the bridge and that flower definitely wasn’t there then.

[ID: Two shots. The first is a wide shot showing Kirk alone on the empty, darkened bridge, preparing to sit down at the helm. There is nothing in on the floor in front of the helm. The second shot is a closer shot of Kirk sitting at the helm with his chin in one hand, now with a large spore flower poking up in the front of shot.]

The flower promptly shoots Kirk in the face, and for a moment he just continues to sit there with spores in his hair and a “yeah, this might as well happen” expression. But then he slowly starts to smile, suddenly as happy as everyone else. Exactly why Kirk’s been unaffected by the spores up until now, even after hanging out for quite a while on a ship that’s supposedly been thoroughly contaminated by them, is never really explained. Maybe he's just on a lot of Zyrtec. But it seems even Kirk’s determination to not be happy can’t hold out against a point-blank spray in the face. He calls Spock to say that he finally understands now, which Spock is happy to hear. Kirk says he’ll be down just as soon as he packs up a few things, so Spock says he and Layla will wait for him at the beamdown point.

So Kirk goes off to his quarters to pack up a suitcase, the contents of which seem to mostly consist of uniform shirts. Apparently paradise for Kirk does not include one of those green jumpsuits, which, really, who can blame him. He opens a small vault by his bed and pulls out a couple of black cases, one of which he opens to reveal a medal. This seems to stir some sense of conflict because he sits down and stares at it for a long moment, but then puts it aside and heads to the transporter room, where he puts the suitcase on the platform and then prepares to set the controls.

But then Kirk hesitates, and stands there for a moment looking conflicted. Possibly he’s still having feelings about those medals, or maybe he’s having second thoughts about whether he packed enough shirts. In any case, he eventually exclaims, “No...No! I...can’t...LEAVE!” Then he punches the console for good measure.

Apparently this little emotional outburst is all it takes to cure the spores, because Kirk gasps a little, looks momentarily confused, and then seems to be back to his old self. “Emotions...violent emotions. Needs...anger,” he tells the empty room. “Captain’s log, supplemental. I think I’ve discovered the answer...but to carry out my plan entails considerable risk. Mr. Spock is much stronger than the ordinary human being.” Then he treats us to this remarkable line:

[ID: A shot of Kirk in profile at the transporter controls as he says, "Aroused, his great physical strength could kill."]

Down on the planet, Spock and Layla are still waiting at the beamdown point when Kirk calls Spock up and says he’s realized there’s some equipment on the ship that they’ll need for the colony, and he needs Spock’s help to get it all beamed down. Really, you’d think there’d be quite a lot of equipment on the Enterprise that a farming colony could make good use of, but I guess they’re really determined to stick to the whole no-technology approach. Despite this, Spock cheerfully accepts the explanation, gives Layla a quick smooch, and beams up.

But upon materializing, Spock is greeted not with a smiling Kirk ready to go move some equipment with his bro, but Kirk standing there holding some nonspecific heavy metal rod thing that he’s smacking threatening against his hand. “All right, you mutinous, disloyal, computerized half-breed,” he says, “we’ll see about you deserting my ship.”

Spock reacts to this bar-brawl-starter with nothing more than a nonplussed expression and polite correcting Kirk on his syntax. Kirk, determination unshaken, continues laying into him with a stream of insults that would have made that fucker from Balance of Terror go, “Whoa, hold on there a minute.” Undeterred by not being able to use any actual expletives, he compares Spock both to a machine and to various fairy-tale creatures, makes fun of his ears, and rounds it all off by having a go at the entire Vulcan race. He even insults Spock’s parents.

[ID: 1. A shot of Spock standing in the transporter room looking perplexed as Kirk, off-camera, says, "Whose father was a computer and his mother an encyclopedia?" 2. A gif from Monty Python and the Holy Grail of John Cleese as the French knight on the battlements yelling, "Your mother was a hamster and your father smelt of elderberries!"]

Spock stands there taking it all stoically for quite a while, even as the background music gets increasingly tense. He finally starts to crack when Kirk goes after Spock’s relationship with Layla, and when Kirk keeps going despite Spock angrily telling him, “That’s enough,” Spock finally flips out big time. You know what that means, it’s time for a STAR TREK FIGHT SCENE! This one’s got it all: close-up shots of the actors intercut with long shots of very obvious stunt doubles; cardboard props getting punched; even people picking up random unidentifiable bits of starship equipment that may or may not have ever been there before to use as weapons. The only thing we’re missing is Kirk doing some kind of weird wrestling move.

[ID: Three gifs showing a fight scene between Kirk and Spock. First we see a long shot where Kirk and Spock are clearly being played by stunt doubles, as Spock punches a metal rod Kirk is holding, bending it in half. He then punches Kirk in the jaw, sending him careening into the wall. Then a close-up of Nimoy and Shatner as Spock advances on Kirk and throws a punch but misses, denting the control panel in the wall behind Kirk. Kirk dodges out of the way towards the console, and Spock throws another punch that hits the side of the console. Then back to a long view with the stunt doubles as Spock throws Kirk into the opposite wall, which Kirk careens off of, falling on his back on the floor, while Spock picks up something resembling a square metal stool or stepladder and raises it over his head. Finally, we see Nimoy and Shatner again as Kirk lays on the floor looking up at Spock, raising the thing he's carrying over his head.]

We dramatically cut to black as Spock stands poised above Kirk, raising whatever-the-hell-that-thing-is over his head threateningly. Apparently the ad break gives him enough time to cool down, though, because instead of bringing the thing down on Kirk’s skull, he hesitates.

“Had enough?” Kirk asks. “I didn’t realize what it took to get under that thick hide of yours.”

Spock slowly lowers the thing, looking a bit regretful about having to do so. Kirk says he doesn’t know what Spock’s so mad about, anyway. “It isn’t every first officer who gets to belt his captain...several times.” Dude, you just stood there and unleashed a screed of personal and racial insults at your best friend here. A “sorry” probably wouldn’t go amiss here.

“You did that to me deliberately,” Spock realizes, and then realizes that the spores are gone. “I don’t belong anymore.” Kirk explains that since the spores are “benevolent and peaceful,” violent emotions overwhelm and destroy them—that’s the answer. Which...definitely makes sense, chemically speaking. Sure.

Spock, still looking pretty glum about all this, points out that Kirk’s method might have worked out alright for curing one person, but they’ve got over five hundred infected people down there, and trying to pick a fight with all of them probably isn’t going to go so well. But no worries, Kirk’s got another plan. He wants Spock to rig up a subsonic transmitter that they can hook up to the ship’s communications system and then broadcast to all the communicators. Spock says he can do that, but hesitates as Kirk turns to leave. “Captain. Striking a fellow officer is a court martial offense,” he points out.

Kirk mulls over that one for a moment. “We-ll...if we’re both in the brig, who’s gonna build the subsonic transmitter?” he says, and Spock concedes the point. Besides, it’s a bit late to be worrying about striking fellow officers now.

[ID: A gif from The Naked Time of Kirk and Spock standing in an Enterprise conference room. Kirk slaps Spock across the face, and Spock retaliates by backhanding Kirk so hard he is thrown across the table in the center of the room and falls onto the floor on the other side.]

But what with the insults and the punching and de-sporing and everything, it seems that something has clean slipped Spock’s mind: Layla’s still down there waiting for him to come back. As she stands around the field, McCoy wanders over and asks what’s up. When she tells him that she’s been out here for some time now waiting for Spock and Kirk to come back, he gentlemanly offers to fix that for her and calls the ship. Spock picks up, and Layla asks if everything’s okay up there.

With obvious discomfort, Spock tells her that yes, he’s...quite well. Layla, oblivious to anything being wrong, asks if she can come up there, because she wants to talk to him, and besides, “I’ve never seen a starship before.” Wait a minute, never seen a starship before? You’re on a planetary colony! What, did you drive here?

Spock asks if she’s still at the beamdown point, and if McCoy’s there. Layla says yes to both, so Spock tells her to give the communicator back to McCoy, since she won’t need it to transport, and he’ll have her beamed up in a few minutes. One might think that at this point they might take this easy opportunity to also beam up McCoy and get him cured (it shouldn’t be hard, McCoy is already 85% comprised of negative emotions to begin with), so he can start investigating these spores, just in case Operation Go For the Eardrums doesn’t work. But they don’t. Kirk awkwardly asks Spock if he’s sure about talking to Layla while she’s still spore’d, but Spock just nods and heads to the transporter room.

He beams Layla up, and she happily runs over to give him a hug—they’ve been parted ever so long, after all—but when he just stands there stiffly, not reacting at all, she slowly pulls back and says, “You’re no longer with us, are you?”

Spock says it was necessary. Layla begs him to come back to the planet and belong again, but he says he can’t. She starts crying and saying she loves him. "I said that six years ago, and I can't seem to stop repeating myself. On Earth, you couldn't give anything of yourself. You couldn't even put your arms around me. We couldn't have anything together there. We couldn't have anything together anyplace else. But we're happy here. I can't lose you now, Mr. Spock, I can't." Look, if the only time the relationship you want can possibly work out is when the other person is being mind-controlled by alien spores, I think it may be time to consider whether this is really a relationship you should be pursuing in the first place.

“I have a responsibility to this ship...to that man on the bridge,” Spock gently tells her. “I am what I am, Layla. And if there are self-made purgatories, then we all have to live in them. Mine can be no worse than someone else’s.”

Layla soon realizes that all this anguish has resulted in her getting de-spore’d as well, and she’s not happy about it. “And this is for my own good?” she demands angrily. Well...yes, I mean, it is, but Spock doesn’t say that. Nor does he respond when she asks, “Do you mind if I say I still love you?” but she hugs him again anyway.

[ID: Layla tearfully embraces Spock and says, "You never told me if you had another name, Mr. Spock." Spock replies, "You couldn't pronounce it."]

ROMANCE

We’re obviously supposed to read this little story arc as the tragic tale of true love destined never to be, because Spock is only able to express his feelings for Layla under the influence of the spores. He has experienced paradise, but alas, he cannot linger there, and so on. It’s never set all that well with me, though. The problem is we never really get Spock’s side of the story and so it leaves open the question of how much he actually did want this relationship in the first place. Layla said earlier that “Mr. Spock’s feelings were never expressed to me” so evidently he never outright said “I love you but I can’t be with you” or anything of that sort to her. When they’re alone in the field before Spock gets spore’d he seems stiff, standoffish, awkward, and deflects all of her overtures with what appears to be discomfort, even annoyance. He clearly has no interest in talking about whatever history they had together, even when they’re all alone. For all that Layla goes on about how she can see a side of Spock that his crewmates don’t, we see interactions with those crewmates multiple times throughout the show that prove that Spock is perfectly capable of showing people that he cares about them, even if the ways he does it are usually a bit atypical. We don’t see any of that in his initial interactions with Layla.

If we accept the premise that the spores only make people act as they would if they had no inhibitions or fears holding them back, then yes, Spock saying he loves Layla after he’s been spore’d would indicate that he did secretly love her all along. The problem is that we know the spores make people do things that they would not ordinarily want to do. You think all of those four hundred thirty people on the Enterprise secretly longed for a quiet life among the soil but all chose to instead join the space navy for some reason? Should we believe Scotty is actually deep down perfectly okay with abandoning his beloved ship to a slowly decaying orbit? I doubt that Kirk has always harbored a subconscious desire to give up exploring the final frontier to pursue a peaceful agrarian lifestyle, but he very nearly does do just that. So the question of how much a relationship with Layla is what Spock “really” wanted seems to be a bit hazy.

Mind, I’m not saying this makes Layla an evil person who deliberately drugged Spock so she could have a relationship with him or anything like that. It’s clear throughout the episode that the spores induce those who are infected by them to spread them around to anyone nearby who’s not in the spore fandom yet, so there’s no reason to believe Layla would act as she did if she wasn’t under the influence herself. I just personally find it hard to buy into the tragic romance of a star-crossed relationship when the thing crossing the stars is that one of the participants is only enthusiastic about the whole thing when they’re not fully sober. It makes me question how much of their previous relationship really was Spock having feelings for Layla but being unable to express them, versus Layla projecting a lot of feelings onto him and writing off his disinterest or discomfort as denial.

Kirk and Spock go back to working on the signal, while Layla deals with her heartbreak by disappearing into thin air for the rest of the episode. Spock says that the sound they’re going to send out is on a frequency that won’t be heard so much as felt, but apparently it will be felt quite emphatically. Kirk compares it to putting itching powder on someone. Which may seem like another silly technobabble deus ex machina, but speaking from personal experience, driving someone into a frantic frustrated fit by playing an obnoxious noise just on the edge of hearing sounds totally legit. All they need to complete the sensory overload meltdown experience is find a way to simulate some flickering florescent lights and put tags on the backs of the uniform shirts.

And indeed, as the device starts to work, we see Sulu and DeSalle working in one of the fields—for a certain value of ‘working,’ anyway, they’re kind of just digging around aimlessly—when Sulu accidentally elbows DeSalle in the back. He apologizes, but DeSalle shoves him back, and before long they’re having a full-on brawl right there in the field, which can't be good for the crops. As the device on the ship hums away, two more crewmembers start their own fight over by the farmhouse, and when a third tries to break them up he promptly gets dragged into it as well.

The effects haven’t quite reached everyone just yet, though, as we see McCoy chillaxing under a tree with some unspecified concoction. Sandoval strolls up and says that he’s been thinking about what sort of work he could assign McCoy to. When McCoy protests that he does one kind of work and that’s doctorin’, Sandoval says that he’s not a doctor anymore—they don’t need any doctors here.

This does not go over well.

[ID: A gif showing McCoy reclining against a tree in a grassy meadow, a stalk of grass in one hand and a grass of something brown with several leafy stalks in it. Sandoval is standing over him. McCoy says, "Oh, no?" and then slowly stands up, tosses his grass stalk aside, looks Sandoval in the eye and says, "Would you like to see just how fast I can put you in a hospital?"]

Undeterred, Sandoval says that he’s the leader and he’ll be assigning McCoy whatever work he wants to, but when he tries to walk away McCoy pulls him back and snarls, “You’d better make me a mechanic. Then I can treat little tin gods like you.” Sandoval throws a punch at him, but McCoy dodges and whacks Sandoval in the stomach, putting him out flat on the ground. See, I told you it wouldn’t be hard to cure McCoy. Everyone else on the Enterprise was perfectly happy to give up their careers to go do a bit of light farming, but tell McCoy he can’t be a doctor anymore and no amount of spores are going to save you.

While Sandoval is busy rolling around on the ground, McCoy stands there looking confused for a moment, then—presumably having only just now noticed that instead of a mint julep he’s actually been drinking a coke with a bunch of cilantro in it—throws his drink aside and admits that he’s not sure why he just clobbered Sandoval. But Sandoval has other concerns for the moment. With a look of dawning horror familiar to all us chronic procrastinators, he abruptly realizes that they haven’t actually been doing anything all this time. “No accomplishments, no progress. Three years wasted. We wanted to make this planet a garden...”

McCoy points out that the colonists really will have to leave—they can’t survive here without the spores handling all that radiation for them. But the dream’s not over; the colonists could be relocated to start again somewhere a bit less deadly, if that’s what they want.

“I think I’d...I think we’d like to get some work done,” Sandoval muses. “The work we set out to do.”

McCoy calls Spock and says that Sandoval wants to talk to Kirk. Spock notes to Kirk that the crew are all starting to rather sheepishly call in by now. Sandoval tells Kirk that the colonists will fully cooperate with the evacuation now, and Kirk tells him to start making the preparations. Real ones, this time.

Sometime later, everyone’s back on the bridge getting ready to head out. McCoy reports that he’s examined all the colonists and they all remain in perfect health. “A fringe benefit left over by the spores.”

One would think that this would have been quite the eventful afternoon for the medical sciences, given that they just discovered spores with such incredible healing powers that they can make people regrow organs, and McCoy just confirmed that anything healed by the spores stays healed after the spores are gone. Sure, they’ve got some side effects, but Kirk’s already discovered a simple way to get rid of the things once they’re no longer needed. Strap someone to a bed, give em a facemask full of spores, let them lay there for a while having a nice buzz while they heal their cancer or whatever, then play an irritating noise at them until they sneeze the spores back out again. Boom. Done. You’ve solved medicine. Or, y’know, we could vacate the planet and never speak of it ever again, that works too.

Notably unmentioned by anybody during this little denouement is the fate of the other two settlements on the planet that Sandoval mentioned back near the beginning of the episode. The length of the timeskip isn’t specified, so it’s possible that the crew went and collected them as well in the interim, but we never get any details as to how that little adventure went, assuming that it did happen and that the Enterprise isn’t about to get halfway to the next starbase before Kirk realizes he forgot something.

As they watch the planet diminish behind them on the viewscreen, McCoy muses that this was “the second time man’s been thrown out of paradise.” Kirk disagrees. "No, no, Bones, this time we walked out on our own. Maybe we weren't meant for paradise. Maybe we were meant to fight our way through--struggle, claw our way up, scratch for every inch of the way. Maybe we can't stroll to the music of the lute. We must march to the sound of drums."

Spock remains unimpressed by this bit of philosophizing. “Poetry, Captain. Nonregulation.” Kirk notes that they haven’t heard anything from Spock about this whole ordeal, since, y’know, that definitely seems like something Spock would want to talk about. He says he’s got little to say about Omicron Ceti 3.

[ID: A close-up of Spock on the bridge as he says, "Except that for the first time in my life...I was happy."]

oh my god someone needs therapy

On that INCREDIBLY CHEERFUL note, the Enterprise flies away and the episode ends.

It’s somewhat baffling to me that of all the quite reasonable objections available to the whole situation with the spores, the main problem that Kirk—and by extension, the episode—seems to have is that “the spores make things too EASY and mankind was meant to STRUGGLE!!!” I mean, effectively what we had going on here was people being drugged without their consent into a state that overwrote their own desires, ambitions, emotions and much of their individual personalities and replaced them with bland, happy conformity to a goal and lifestyle none of them actually chose. That seems a bit worse to me than “people weren’t working hard enough.” Kirk goes on and on about how the spores made things too easy, but what they really did was make people apathetic to whether they succeeded at anything or not. Sandoval’s horrified when he’s cured of the spores because the colonists had much different plans for their colony; far from making those plans easier, the spores made them impossible. The dreams and desires of the Enterprise crew for a life of exploration among the stars would have been forever unmet if they had permanently joined the colony, they just wouldn’t have been able to care. Kirk seems to believe that the ultimate evil of the spores is that they deprive people of ambition; to me it seems that the worse evil is that they deprive people of their individuality and their autonomy.

Then there’s the fact that while the spores make people happy and friendly, they also make them remarkably blasé about the well-being of anyone who isn’t part of their collective. They have to be—caring about whether someone else is upset or hurt would make them unhappy, after all. Spock and McCoy are completely unconcerned with the mounting distress of their best friend, and beyond peer pressuring him to get with the program and take the spores like everyone else, they don’t seem to much care if he remains the only unhappy person on the planet. The colonists seem completely unbothered by the fact that all the animals they brought with them died a rather grueling death by radiation poisoning. Everyone on the Enterprise is happy to abandon the ship and join the colony with no message left behind for Starfleet, with apparently not a thought to spare for any friends and family back home, who would only ever know that their loved ones disappeared into space never to be seen again.

Or at least, they would if things actually went according to plan, which they probably wouldn’t, because the spores also made everyone cheerfully oblivious to the idea that anything could potentially cause a problem or pose a threat to them. After all, if Kirk hadn’t had a recovery at the last minute, the Enterprise would have been left unmanned in orbit around the planet, with no way for anyone in the colony to get back onboard. Uhura also goes out of her way to make sure that they no longer have any off-planet communication. So it’s probably not going to be long before Starfleet notices that one of their prize starships has abruptly gone incommunicado, and I’m willing to bet they’d be a bit quicker on that investigation than they were about checking on a tiny backwater colony (although it is Starfleet, so who knows, really). And since they know exactly where the ship was headed on its last recorded mission, it probably won’t take them long to find it. If Starfleet sends another ship along to investigate quickly enough, they’ll find the abandoned Enterprise hanging out in orbit around the planet, and Kirk’s log clearly lays out what happened, so all the other ship has to do is figure out how to neutralize the spores and everyone’s going to get rescued from Omicron Ceti 3 pretty quickly whether they want to be or not.

If Starfleet doesn’t show up in time...Kirk says the ship can be “maintained in orbit” for several months, but then what? It can’t stay up there forever. Sooner or later, the orbit will decay and the ship’s going to crash into the planet, and if it crashes anywhere near one of the colonies, their magic healing powers are going to be put to the test. Also their magic agriculture powers--rich soil and mild weather is all well and good, but is that going to be enough to carry all those crops through the ensuing environmental effects of an impact that big? Especially since, as already mentioned, the colony has enough to feed them and that’s about it—so they really can’t afford to lose any crops for very long.

Sure, maybe the Enterprise wouldn’t crash close enough to any of the colonies to ruin them, but why take the risk? All they had to do was have a helmsman set it on a course out of orbit, then take a shuttlecraft back to the planet. Doesn’t occur to anyone, evidently. Nor do we see anyone bothering to bring any supplies or equipment from the ship to the colony, even though there’s gotta be lots of stuff up there that would be useful. All in all, it seems quite likely that Paradise would have eventually collapsed in on itself simply because the spores make people unable to pay attention to any potential threats or obstacles long enough to do anything about them.

So what’s the moral here? ‘Society can’t survive if everyone is stoned all of the time’? I mean, okay? Sure? Cool? Glad we sorted all that out.

That said, despite having ranted for the past nine hundred words about the weird moral, I’m not saying this episode is bad. As a serious point about human nature I don’t find it especially compelling—YMMV, but I just personally tend to side-eye stories that center around the idea of “wouldn’t it be awful if we all had it too easy??”--but as fifty minutes of extremely Star Trek-y silliness it’s glorious. We’ve got Spock hanging from a tree and talking about dragons while making out in the grass, McCoy going full Georgia and wandering about with something he thinks is a mint julep, Kirk stomping around in increasing agitation as he tries to get some sense out of somebody and then making emo log entries while he sits on the bridge alone...it’s great.

The original draft of this episode apparently had the romantic subplot be for Sulu, who would have been motivated to stay with Layla after having been diagnosed with a serious medical condition that was cured by the spores, kind of like the eventual plot with McCoy in For the World Is Hollow and I Have Touched the Sky. D.C. Fontana rewrote the story to focus on Spock, since if you have an episode about something that causes a strong emotional reaction, throwing Spock and his ever-present internal conflict into the mix is kind of the most immediately obvious way to generate some pathos and drama. The spores originally granted those affected with them telepathic abilities, enabling them to link with everyone else who’d been spore’d and form a hivemind. There are some traces of this in the final episode with spore’d people talking about “joining us” and “being one of us” and so on, but without the telepathy part it just kind of makes it sound like they’re in a cult. Also, the cure for the spores would have been consuming alcohol, so presumably in that draft McCoy never got infected.

For the purposes of the Trek Tally I’m going to count the spores as a Space Disease, which might be broadening the umbrella of that term a bit but hey, close enough. Next time we’ll be looking for life, Jim, but not as we know it, in The Devil in the Dark.

#star trek #star trek TOS #star trek TOS season one #recap tag #star trek TOS recaps #1.24 This Side of Paradise #1.24 This Side of Paradise recap

93 notes · View notes

basicsofislam · 3 years ago

Text

BASICS OF ISLAM : Salah ( Ritual Prayer in Islam ) :An Ardent Prayer.

Part1

The Almighty Creator is He whose existence is the origin of all existence, whose might is the source of power for everything, and whose will is the only means by which all things and events occur.

The very soul of our essence is nourished by divine knowledge.

He is the one and only Sovereign who has created the whole universe, establishing the world and the heavens as an exhibition, putting His creation on display, fashioning a feast every single night with the stars, planets and the moon, presenting the lowlands, mountains, forests, rivers and seas with all their forms, colors and features to the view of the people of perception, like a book that is to be read, all serving to bring the heavenly beauties to the mind.

It is He who opens the ways for us mortal humans to observe the Heavens through the emerald hills of the heart; it is He who expands the breasts of the believers through faith, brightening their senses with their worship; it is He who grants a transcendent value to their standing before God when they bow in prayer, crowning them with the mark of prostration on their forehead.

It is He who intensifies the goodness of His servants with divine favor and grace; it is He who puts those with God-conscious spirits on a par with the angels.

It is He who overlooks His servants’ mischievous feelings, thoughts, and behavior with His mercy and forgiveness, both in this world and in the hereafter; it is He who forgives the transgressions of wrongdoers, exempting them countless of times from the punishment they deserve.

It is He who manifests His majesty and grandeur in a manifold variety of shades and hues at every moment, sufficing for all existence and who has power over all things; it is He who shows us the ways of seeking refuge in Him, lifting the veils from our eyes slightly, reminding us of our triviality and trifling nature, our insufficiency and discrepancies.

It is He who is the supreme ruler of eternity, awakening those who zigzag between the past and present in grief to endless longings and cravings that stem from their very human nature.

Given that the entire creation bears witness to all this, here I pray:

O King of Kings, whose signs of Lordship we perceive from the collars around our necks! Make us feel and understand our servitude to You fully and execute Your decree on those who make use of Your blessings a means of getting wild and straying into evil ways.

All those endless range of shades and hues of the realm of divine mercy and blessings which are present in human consciousness quiescently and which flow into the heart with heavenly joys on different wavelengths, even before getting into the Heavens-all these endless variety of shades and hues are from the divine grace and favor which are incommensurable with any quality or quantity. Were it not for divine favor and liking for us, what difference would there be between us and the flesh in the butcher shop? He not only livens up the earth with the fluffy clouds, rain falling down to the earth in drops, running rivers, and effervescent seas, but also enlivens our inner world and faculties, opening them into eternity through the inspirations, breezes, and springtides of divine grace.

It is He who has created the soil mixed with rocks and has filled the earth with infinitesimal creatures, turning all the corners of the world into heavenly gardens. It is He who introduces the human being, which He has created with flesh, blood, and bones, to the angels and other celestial beings and has them strive as if in a race toward good works.

It is He who has paved the ways from the passageways-which can also spread out to the cesspools-to Paradise and from the seventh heaven to the observation of the divine “countenance” and has shown how coal can turn into diamonds.

3 notes · View notes

naughtyneganjdm · 5 years ago

Text

The Guest - Chapter 8

Summary: The reader begins to feel emotions for Negan that she promised him that she would never feel while learning the multiple sides of Negan that she didn't know existed before.

Characters: Negan, the reader (OC)

Warnings: Swearing and lots of smut. A bit of BDSM.

AO3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20333263/chapters/55692673

Notes: As always, thank you for reading and I'll do my best to update this story ASAP.

“What are we doing here?” Y/N got out of Negan’s car after he had pulled up to the area that he had taken her to when they first had slept together. Looking out at the open plot of land, she watched Negan moving to the trunk of his muscle car and cleared her throat apprehensively. “You know my parents are going to come home at some point, right? I think we could get away with the bowling, but coming here…not so sure. At some point they are going to question both of us being gone at the same exact time.”

“I already wrote your father to tell him I wouldn’t be back tonight. I have a good out,” Negan explained with a small smirk. “If you can figure out a good sell, then you should try doing that.”

“So we’re staying the night here?” her eyebrow perked up in intrigue and Negan’s tongue swiped over his bottom lip. His right eyebrow arched when he nodded. “I guess I’ll think of something.”

“Good girl,” Negan hummed as he reached for her hand and convinced her to follow him toward the lake that was off in the distance. “I love it here.”

“How did you even know this was here?” she followed him toward the edge of the water. When they reached it, Negan moved in behind her and wrapped his arms around her tightly. His jaw rest over her shoulder and she found herself leaning back into his chest.

“I used to come here a lot as a kid. To get away from things,” Negan sighed and she shuddered at the sensation of his breath teasing over the side of her neck. The warmth of it compared the cool air surrounding them felt amazing. “It helped me get my mind off things when I was overwhelmed.”

“Sounds like maybe you still come here a lot,” she looked over her shoulder and her eyebrow raised in interest. Negan’s dimples sucked in when he smiled knowing that she had clearly picked up on that “It’s a beautiful place.”

“When you mentioned wanting to be under the stars the first time you had sex, this was the first place I thought of,” Negan chuckled nuzzling his nose against the side of her neck making her laugh at the sensation. “You make me want to be a better man, you know that?”

“Oh yeah?” she smirked when he began to pepper kisses against the side of her neck in a playful manner. Hooking her fingers with his, she found herself falling back further into his chest and smiled more than she probably cared to admit. “I don’t know if this is the best thing I’ve done or the stupidest…”

“Why is that?” Negan pressed a wet kiss against her flesh, dragging his bottom lip slowly up the side of her neck.

“Because I care about you too much,” she swallowed down hard and Negan sluggishly pulled his lips away from her neck. “I know we’re supposed to go our separate ways at the end of the summer, but I like being with you too much.”

“I know,” Negan sighed, squeezing her tighter in his arms. “I feel the same way.”

“Glad I’m not the only crazy one,” she whispered hearing him laugh against her skin and she closed her eyes firmly. Moments like this were what she wanted to stick in her mind and remember. Having Negan holding her this close was something she never wanted to forget. The warmth of him against her and around her felt incredible. “Is this what you were doing when you were my age?”

“Having a secret love affair with an older man that was my father’s friend?” Negan filled in the blanks making her giggle when he teased her. Her laughter made him smile against the side of her neck before he bit delicately at her skin. “I had a girlfriend at your age. We were going to go to the same college, so no...I wasn’t having such an exciting summer as you have been.”

“Oh, is that what this is? Exciting?” she teased him and heard him make a dramatic sound as if he was offended. He playfully tickled at her ribs making her laugh and turn herself in his arms. Her hands placed over his chest while he reached up to brush her hair out of her face. Negan’s jaw was clenching and he licked his lips while he stared out at her. “I’ve enjoyed this summer very much.”

“Me too,” Negan agreed, leaning in and his nose softly nudged at hers. A smile cracked in over his lips before finally laying a kiss over her lips. The kiss was slow, almost in a teasing fashion and she was surprised how easily Negan could give her chills. There was something so special about him and the way he could make her feel. “I’m glad I ended up where I did.”

“How do we part ways?” she slurred against his lips, but Negan shook his head and hushed her. “I don’t even know how to prepare myself.”

“Let’s not even think about that yet,” Negan grumbled against her mouth, tipping down to rest his forehead against hers. Reaching up, he dragged his thumb along her bottom lip and took time to stare into her eyes. “I just want to enjoy every single moment I have with you.”

“I know I shouldn’t ask, but…” she licked at her lips and thought back to the bowling alley when Negan got extremely deep with her on an emotional level. “What were you going to tell me at the bowling alley, but stopped?”

“The deepest darkest parts of me,” Negan admitted with a rumble in his chest and his hands slid in over the sides of her. “I’m just not ready for you to see those parts of me yet. I want you to see the light in me.”

“Oh, I see the light alright,” she poked into his chest and heard his proud laugh fill the air. “You’re a dangerous man Negan.”

“Did you want to see that video we made?” Negan’s nose wrinkled and she shook her head before thinking it over and nodding slowly. “I thought so…”

Negan dropped down on the grass and urged her with him making her take a seat beside him on the ground. When she took a seat she looked to see that Negan was pulling his phone out of his pocket and he pulled open the video that they had taken. Handing her over his phone, he got comfortable and pressed his hands back against the grass while he watched her.

“I don’t even like looking at myself naked half the time Negan,” she looked over her shoulder at him and he rolled his eyes. “I’m just saying this isn’t really me. You make me do things I wouldn’t normally have done.”

“The same goes for you, but in a sweet way. I guess I bring out your naughty side and you bring out my caring side,” Negan responded watching her cheeks blush over when she watched him pulling open his pants in the video. “You should see the look on your face. It’s like a young girl that is watching porn for the first time and you don’t want your parents to catch you. It’s fucking adorable, but…that cock was inside you baby. It’s okay to watch and enjoy it sweetheart.”

“You do have a beautiful cock,” she confessed as Negan leaned in to press kisses over her jawline. Licking at her lips, she tilted her head up and allowed Negan to kiss over the areas he pleased. Her body was already shaking and he grumbled an amused sound against her flesh.

“I know you like it,” Negan chuckled as he pulled away enough to look down at his lap. “It’s one thing most people don’t complain about when it comes to me.”

“Is sex that good with everyone else?” she inquired feeling her cheeks blush over watching the video closely. It was making her hotter than it should have been and she knew that she couldn’t keep jumping Negan’s bones. While she would love to do it again, she didn’t know if it made her pathetic to want to keep sleeping with him.

“No, I’m just really good,” Negan assured her with a laugh and she rolled her eyes. “Most men aren’t like me. They don’t pay attention to what you like. What makes you shake, what makes you moan the most. Most men are just in and out. They want to reach that orgasm and they don’t care if you get it. Me, I want to make sure you cum. I want to make you cum so many times that you feel like the fucking queen that you are.”

“So are you like that with everyone?” she poked further at him and Negan smirked.

“No. I’m good at sex, but I only do what I’ve done with you with the people I care about,” Negan acknowledged with a heavy sigh. “Sex is nice and it feels good, but when you are connected with someone on a mental level…there is something special about it that makes you feel so much better. It feels fucking fantastic.”

“So you’re a bit more selfish when you are with people that are just some random romps?” she replied and Negan snorted.

“I don’t go down on anyone like that,” Negan’s eyebrow perked up when he looked to the video that was still playing on his phone. He noticed the goose bumps that were over her body when she looked to it. “I’ve done that for two people in the last few years. You’re one of them, but God…I love doing it to you.”

“You don’t like doing it because you don’t like tasting like people,” she recalled what he had told her. Negan reached out to trace his fingertips over her arm seemingly teasing her more. Negan smirked and nodded once before moving in to kiss her, but she stopped him. “What makes me so special?”

“You’re mine,” Negan slurred, his bottom lip skimming over hers and it caused her body to shake. “I’ve had you in ways that no one else has…in ways no one else ever will. Plus, listen to you. You love it so fucking much, how could I keep it from you with my wicked tongue?”

“Jesus,” she shivered at the sound of his growl when he moved in to bite at her neck again. “You’re like a damn drug. As soon as I get a taste of you, I can’t stop.”

“Thank you,” Negan chuckled against the side of her neck, teasing the tip of his tongue against her flesh making her shudder. “Do you want me to send you that video?”

“Eventually…” she turned closer to Negan and rest her forehead against his. “So what happened with that college girlfriend?”

“She hates me,” Negan explained, clearing his throat awkwardly when he pulled back to look her over. “She ruined my life and I most certainly ruined hers.”

“Well that sounds intense,” she stammered and Negan shrugged. “I’m sorry I brought it up.”

“I told you I would answer you as best as I could without making you hate me,” Negan responded with a shrug. “I want to be as open with you as I can be.”

“Mmm…I see,” she met his lips in another slow, faint kiss. Negan pulled her in closer to him while he reached up to cup her jaw firmly in his hand. Gradually the kiss deepened and she could feel Negan’s tongue flicking against hers. Pulling away, she heard him let out a frustrated sound and he tried to move in to kiss her again, but she laughed. “Tell me something about you that I don’t know. A hidden talent.”

“I think you’ve seen most of my hidden talents,” Negan grunted, attempting to kiss her again, but she placed her hand firmly over the center of his chest to keep him back. “I don’t fucking know.”

“Humor me,” she requested of him while reaching up to slide her hand over his chiseled jaw. Negan leaned into her touch and let out a stressed sound. “Nothing sexual either.”

“Says the girl who is holding our sex video right now,” Negan nodded toward the cellphone and she rolled her eyes. She closed up the phone and tossed it back to him making Negan grunt. “You ended a sexy moment there.”

“We’ll have plenty more,” she breathed, urging him again to try and come up with something.

“I can skip rocks?” Negan’s nose wrinkled when he lifted his eyes to the body of water that was before them. Negan got up from where he was seated and looked for a rock that he found sufficient before motioning her up. “It’s a useless talent, but…”

Negan made sure she was close enough and he threw his arm back before tossing the stone. Negan let out an amused sound when he watched it skip across the surface. Looking back over his shoulder he could tell that she was entertained that he was proud of himself and he shrugged, “I told you I’ve spent a lot of time here.”

“No, it’s…pretty cool,” she nodded and Negan motioned her to step forward. He searched the rocks by the water before finding one he liked. He moved in behind her and carefully placed the stone within her fingertips. She let him adjust her fingertips the way he wanted. When he urged her to throw the stone in the water, she did and watched it simply splash into the water.

“Wow…that really sucked,” Negan snorted from behind her and she shrugged. “So you’re not great at everything.”

“Unfortunately,” she turned to face him and tipped up on her toes. Gripping at the sides of his face, she took in the scent of him and could hear his breathing getting heavier. “Where did the name Negan come from?”

“My parents gave it to me?” Negan teased with a laugh and moved in to kiss her, but she pulled back again. Frustration filled the air from his grunt that she kept denying him the kiss, but she didn’t care. Her hands slid down over his jawline, toward his neck and around the back of his neck. “I was supposed to be named Nolan.”

“Nolan?” she chuckled and Negan nodded, his tongue dragging out over his bottom lip. Her laugh clearly amused him as both his eyebrows arched up. “Nolan wouldn’t fit you.”

“I happen to agree with that,” Negan let out a short grunt. “My mother went into labor and when they asked my father what my name was, he couldn’t remember. He just happened to also be very drunk at the time and wrote down Negan.”

“Bullshit,” she giggled and Negan shook his head, a small laugh falling from his lips.

“I wish I was kidding,” he responded with a long, drawn out breath. His hazel eyes searched hers deeply and there was an extended silence between the two of them. Negan stepped forward to lessen the distance between them and he reached up to press her hair from her face. “You’re so fucking beautiful, you know that?”

“You’re smooth,” she felt a chill running down her spine with the way that Negan was looking at her. There was something in the way that Negan looked at her that made her feel special. It made her feel hot and amazing all over. It was something she had never experienced before, but the way his eyes shifted over her body made her feel special. The butterflies would develop in her stomach every time he gave her a certain look and she found herself going weak in the knees just staring into his beautiful hazel eyes. “What are your plans for us tonight?”

“I was thinking of going skinny dipping,” Negan nodded toward the lake making her let out a hesitant laugh. She looked before her nose wrinkled. She would normally do anything he wanted, but it was cold and the idea of being in the water made her uncomfortable. “You would do that for me, wouldn’t you?”

“I would do anything for you, but…” she began and Negan laughed, leaning in to meet her lips in a forceful kiss. It was strong enough to knock her back, but his hands were firmly over her sides to keep her in place. Negan’s tongue pressed between her lips and she whimpered when the flick of it was over hers. Everything inside of her melted when Negan would kiss her and he knew it, he was proud of it.

“I’m fucking with you…” Negan grumbled against her mouth, looking toward the car. “Wait here. I’ll be right back.”

She obeyed, observing Negan slowly walking back to the car. Everything Negan did was a surprise lately. Reaching for her phone, she pulled it out and began to write her mother a text. She thought of the best possible lie she could come up with and then texted one of her friends to make sure they would back her story if her parents contacted them. She was sure they wouldn’t. It had been a long time since her parents really gave a shit what was going on with her. Her mother cared about her, but they were always too lost in themselves to think about anything other than that. She was also an adult now. It wasn’t like she couldn’t just disappear. Her parents would have dealt with it either way, but she did what Negan suggested.

“Have you been camping before?” Negan’s voice startled her and she looked over her shoulder to see Negan setting up a few things behind her. Surveying the items, she saw a large sleeping bag, a single pillow, a basket and a lantern already set up. Negan finished straightening out the sleeping bag before wiggling his finger at her, tempting her to come closer.

“You’re friends with my parents, do you think I’ve been camping before?” she slowly lowered down onto the sleeping bag with Negan while he turned on the LED lantern that mimicked candle light. “That almost feels like cheating.”

“I’m doing my best here to set a mood, give me a break,” Negan huffed, sliding in closer to her and reaching out with his right hand too hook his fingers around the back of her neck. Negan tugged softly, demanding her lips to his again. A pant fell from her throat, but she eagerly kissed him back loving that connection with Negan. “Do you trust me?”

“Of course,” she swore with a heavy breath when he pulled away from the kiss. Her forehead leaned against his and a small, wicked giggle fell from his throat.

“Stand up,” Negan muttered making her half smile. She was unsure if that was what he really wanted from her considering he just had her get down. “You’re going to listen to daddy, right?”

Licking at her lips, she nodded once and unhurriedly stood from where she was seated. Negan leaned back on his hands and gazed out at her, “Good girl. Now take your clothes off for me and do it like the sexy girl you know you are. No more of that innocent shit. Only I can call you innocent after what you’ve done. So no more shyness. Show me that you know how fucking beautiful you are.”

A nervous breath fell from her lips when she shifted before him. Negan’s thick eyebrows perked up and he crossed his legs on the blanket waiting for her to do what he asked of her. There was a flushing at her cheeks and the warmth of them flooded further into her face. Reaching down she grabbed for the bottom of her shirt and very slowly pulled the material of it up her body. Negan made a rumble of a sound when she tossed the shirt aside. Negan tipped his head to the side when she began to unbuckle her pants after carefully kicking off her shoes. Pulling the material open of her pants, she turned to face away from Negan. Jerking the material down her body, she stuck her bottom further out in his direction while taking her time to gradually reveal herself to him.

“Good girl,” Negan approved from behind her when she got the material to her ankles. The pounding of her heart inside of her chest made her panic, but at the same time it turned her on. There was always the fear that she was doing this wrong, but when she looked over her shoulder to see Negan eating her alive with his glance, she was fueled to continue. “Keep going.”

“Yes daddy,” she agreed and unhooked her bra, letting it drop down her arms before tossing the material aside.

“Touch your breasts,” Negan ordered from where he was sitting, his eyes surveying her body. Listening, she traced her fingertips up her abdomen and toward her breast, teasing the nipples with slow circular motions. “Fuck…you’re gorgeous.”

Negan’s jaw flexed while she cupped her breasts in her hands, purring out before sliding one of her hands back down her stomach, “touch yourself…”

Listening to his request her hand palmed in over her mound that was covered by the thin material of her panties while her other hand still caressed over her breast. Negan smiled bright and his eyes met hers, “Are you wet?”

“Yes daddy,” she replied, cooing to herself when she managed to slip her hand beneath her panties to rub gingerly at her body. Her eyes centered in over Negan’s pants and her mouth grew wet with want. “Can I take them off?”

“Sure you can baby,” Negan hummed while she slowly pulled the material from her body. When she went to toss the material aside, Negan shook his head and snapped his fingers at her. “Those belong to me. Toss them here…”

Doing as she was told, Negan let out another amused laugh before pushing the material into his pocket, “Get down here with me.”

Sinking down, she got to her knees and seductively crawled toward Negan. His hazel eyes were hooded with lust and he bit firmly on his bottom lip while he observed her. Once close enough, she reached out to caress up and over his thighs, dragging her breasts over his legs. Negan exhaled heavily and he tipped his head back.

“Do you want me to suck your cock daddy?” she offered and Negan’s Adam’s apple bounced in his thick throat. The veins were showing more clearly with his head tipped back like that and she found herself desperate for him to say yes. “Please?”

“No,” Negan frowned, looking down toward the center of his pants and he shook his head. The frown that fell over her lips made him let out a long, dramatic laugh and he reached out to swipe his thumb over her bottom lip. Taking the tip of his finger into her mouth, she nibbled delicately at it and heard him hum. “You’re a naughty girl.”

Negan allowed her to suck at his fingers, taking them between her parted lips sucking over them as she would his cock and he closed his eyes tightly finding the restriction of the material of his pants causing an ache to grow inside of him, “Lay down…”

“But daddy,” she whined and Negan’s eyebrows tensed.

“Now,” he snapped and she obeyed. Lying back against the sleeping bag, she rest her head against the pillow and her breathing was erratic watching Negan stand. Negan kicked out of his shoes and swiftly urged his leather jacket onto the grass. There was no haste in the way Negan took off his shirt, but that’s where he stopped when he reached for the basket he had brought. Negan pulled it open to grab what he wanted and when he slowly lowered down she could see that he had a rose in his hand. “Don’t move.”

“Where did the rose come from?” she chuckled, but his hazel eyes narrowed out at her.

“Listen, I was planning on doing this today whether your father took me to a baseball game or not. So shut up and listen to me. This is the last time you’re going to speak out unless I tell you otherwise,” Negan growled and she felt an excitement filling her body. There was a tingling at her core and her hips involuntarily arched up. “Don’t move unless I tell you otherwise. Understand?”

“Yes daddy,” she nodded.

“Good girl,” Negan’s grin expanded and his dimples sucked in. A sharp exhale fell from her lips and she couldn’t help it. To say that she was excited with what he was doing was an understatement. Negan crawled in over her, balancing himself on his knees over her. Negan took the rose and traced over her body with the pedals of the flower causing her to tremble as he did it. “I fucked up our first time…”

A quivering sound escaped her throat when Negan teased the flower from the base of her throat, down between the valley of her breasts and toward her lower abdomen. When the flower lowered between her thighs she whimpered and Negan let out a proud sound.

“This time I’m going to do it right,” Negan looked up at the sky for a moment, urging her to do the same. “The stars are pretty fucking fantastic tonight, don’t you think?”

She nodded and Negan noticed that she was listening when he told her that she couldn’t speak unless he said so, “You’re allowed to speak when I ask you a question.”

“It’s beautiful,” she truthfully responded noticing the way that the stars shined above them. Negan glanced up again before lowering his head to meet her stare.

“Stay still,” Negan hummed with a drawn out breath. Negan set the rose beside her and carefully lowered himself down her body. Negan’s kisses started at her ankle, taking his time to drag his lips, leaving a wet mark over her skin. Negan’s kisses slowly rose further up her body and more than anything she wanted to reach out and touch him, but she tried to listen. Her hands grasped firmly at the material of the sleeping bag when Negan’s mouth dragged out long, wet kisses over her inner thighs. The sensation drew her hips to arch up closer to him and Negan growled. “I said stay still darlin’.”

“I’m sorry daddy,” she swallowed down hard while Negan’s eyes were hooked on her for a moment before he began kissing at her body again. Negan seemed to tease her by kissing at her inner thighs and then kissing at her lower abdomen. It was like he was trying to get her to move after he had ordered her to stay still. More than anything, that’s what she wanted, to be able to touch him. What he was doing felt amazing and it was causing a fire to flood through her veins. His tongue flicked out and teased over her folds making her whimper. “Negan…”

Negan simply hummed against her body and it caused her to jolt. His hands grasped at her hips to keep her in place while he forced his tongue between her folds, meeting her clitoris in a slow, teasing movement. Negan suckled tenderly at her flesh before moving his kisses to her hips. The trail of his lips moved further up toward the center of her torso and then to her chest. A frustrated sound involuntarily escaped her and Negan chuckled against her skin. He was teasing her and he was doing a damn fine job of it. If the outcome was to get her extremely hot and bothered, he was accomplishing it. Negan reached out to cup at her breasts and she mewled out. “Please Negan…”

“Shhhh…” Negan hushed her, moving his palm to lower his mouth to her breast. His tongue twisted and twirled around her nipple. Her body desperately wanted to arch up to him and it took everything inside of her to obey to his rules from earlier. Negan picked up on her breathing getting heavier and the expression over his face almost looked wickedly amused. “You have no idea how much I love doing this with you. God, you are so fucking expressive. I’ve never been with someone who reacts like you do to every fucking thing.”

Negan bit at her nipple, giving it a tug making her gasp. When he released it, his tongue flicked gently around it before he moved to the other one. The way at which she was squeezing her fingers into the sleeping bag had her believing that her knuckles had to be turning white. More than anything she wanted to touch him. To tangle her fingers into his dark hair, but she resisted.

“Help daddy get out of his pants,” Negan slurred, pulling his mouth away from her body leaving a small trail of saliva with it. Negan got on his knees above her chest and she reached up with her hands to palm over the front of his body. The stiffness of his rock hard erection turned her on all the more while Negan dragged his tongue over his bottom lip. His eyes were on her like a hawk and it was obvious this whole thing was turning him on just as much as it was for her. Shakily, she outstretched her hands to reach for his belt, dragging it out slowly. Negan’s chest was rising and falling in such a rhythm that it drew her into him. There was an eagerness to the way she pulled apart his pants and reached inside to grab at his cock. Negan leaned forward when she managed to pull his body out into her grasp. With the help of Negan she managed to get his pants down to the bottom of his waist and she desperately pumped her hand over his cock. “Ah fuck baby girl, you make me want to go against the plans I have and just absolutely destroy your pussy.”

“If that’s what you want,” she leaned in to kiss at his toned hip while Negan’s fingers dug into her hair. The grip on her hair was strong and a breath caught in the back of her throat when he tugged it back. “Let me taste you.”

“No, we did that this morning…” Negan looked down at his already straining cock. Reaching for it with his free hand, he urged the tip of it in front of her mouth and watched her go to open her mouth. Negan shook his head. “Just kiss it.”

Soft, gentle kisses were pressed over his length and he hissed at the sensation. The innocence in her eyes while she looked up at him caused him to lock up and Negan found himself eager to pounce on her, but he was doing his best to keep up to what he wanted. When her lips wrapped around the tip of his cock, he pulled away. The motion caused a wet sound to fill the air while Negan made a tsking sound, “I said no to the blowjob darlin’. We’ve got plenty of time for that.”

“Summer is almost over Negan,” she pointed out while Negan gradually lowered himself. He urged her thighs apart and laid himself over her, making sure to brace his weight.

“Us fucking doesn’t have to stop at the end of the summer,” Negan insisted, tipping down to meet her lips in a tender, slow kiss. Her fingers reached up to tangle into his hair when his tongue delved between her lips. Negan’s hips softly bucked up against her and she could feel the length of his cock teasing at her entrance. “We might not get to spend time together like this, but...I don’t want to let you go.”

“What do you mean?” she desperately kissed him, cupping his squared jaw in her hands. Teasing her fingers through his short beard while kissing him, she took her time to memorize his face. Everything about this was perfect and she never wanted to lose what she had with Negan.

“I live in the city you’re going to school. It’s a suburb right out of it,” Negan answered, pulling back enough to reach between the two of them to tease the head of his cock through her wet folds. A whimper escaped her and filled the night air while her hips arched up against him. “Maybe…maybe this doesn’t have to end.”

There was a silence that fell between them. More than anything she wanted that. She wanted it so badly, but there was a problem. Negan told her that she couldn’t fall in love with him and if she continued to spend time with him, she knew that she would be falling in love. She already cared too much for Negan as it was.

“If you want to do this, you’re going to have to put me inside of you,” Negan grunted, tapping his heavy length against her clitoris. It caused her to whine, but she swiftly reached down to grab a hold of his thick body. Raising her hips up, Negan watched while she led him toward her entrance. Negan’s jaw tensed, a moan escaping his throat when she pushed her body down over the tip. Negan noticed her eagerness to move and he shook his head forcing her to keep still for just a moment. Lowering his body closer to hers, he urged her arms around his shoulders and then pressed in as close as possible. The weight of Negan over her felt incredible and the warmth of the skin to skin contact was causing her to tremble. “I’m doing this right this time.”

Crying out, Y/N felt Negan softly rolling his hips forward before gradually pulling back again. The thrusts of his body were slow, drawn out and more rhythmic than what she was used to, but God…it felt so good. Her right hand slid up from his shoulder, to the bottom of his neck and into his hair to grip at it firmly.

“You deserved to be made love to the first time under the stars,” Negan whispered against the side of her neck while he peppered unhurried, wet kisses over her skin. “Not some random romp that started off perfect, but ended awfully.”

“Negan,” she cried out, rocking her hips against his movements and she found herself turned on in a completely different way. Every time had felt good with Negan, but there was something different about this. Negan would constantly kiss her; make sure they had eye contact. There was something so personal about the way they were together right now, that she could feel her heart pounding inside of her chest. There was more of a connection on a personal level…more than that they had ever had before.

“Is this what you thought of when you talked about having sex under the stars?” Negan’s lips pressed in over her earlobe, kissing softly.

“So much better,” she purred against the side of his neck, grasping tightly onto to him while his thrusts progressively began to move harder and faster against her. The plunges of his thick cock felt amazing. Negan absolutely filled her, but every pull back on his hips would draw the head of his cock to graze over her g-spot causing her coo with delight. While she liked the roughness that usually came with Negan, this was absolutely fantastic.

“Good,” Negan proudly muttered against her jaw while he kissed over it, leaving a wet trail over her skin while he did.

This felt like Negan was making love to her. It felt like he was drawing out every movement, every sensation and was connecting with her in the most intimate way possible. His hands would reach up and grasp at her face. It would lead to him stroking over her cheek and his forehead would rest against hers while he stared into her eyes. This felt more like a dream that she was having and less like what she was used to with Negan.

It didn’t take long with the connection between the two of them for Negan to get her to an orgasm and he followed suit not long after. With Negan laying over her, his nose nestling against the side of her neck she had found herself at a loss for words. She was stroking Negan’s wet hair, listening to his heavy breaths filling the air and underneath the stars just made everything all the more special for her.

“How are you not taken?” Y/N blurt out and Negan pulled back enough to meet her glance. It was a question that she had thought about from the moment she had gotten with Negan. She knew that he wasn’t much of a relationships person, but the way he was with her blew her mind. “You are…the most amazing man I have ever met. You are sexy, you are romantic, and you’re funny…”

“Shh…” Negan silenced her, reaching out to cover her lips with his fingers and he shook his head. “Let’s cherish the moment.”

Negan cuddled in against her again and she found herself grasping to him tightly in her arms. If there was one thing she knew, she never wanted to let Negan go.

It was weird how easily Y/N had found herself getting comfortable in Negan’s arms after everything had died down. The idea of sleeping naked in a sleeping bag in the middle of nowhere with him felt weird, but perfect all at the same time. She didn’t think she would fall asleep, but it was so easy to get comfortable falling asleep against the center of his chest.

Morning arrived way too fast and when she heard Negan’s breathing change, she knew he had woken up too, “Good morning handsome.”

“Good morning beautiful,” Negan yawned when her head lifted from his chest to look up at him. “You sleep well?”

“Absolutely,” she nodded, resting her hand against the center of his chest to brace herself while she looked up at him. Her fingers teased through the dark hair covering his chest and she found herself absolutely in awe of him. “Be honest, you bring all the girls out here to do this, don’t you?”

“I have never once done this with anyone else,” Negan chuckled, his tired eyes barely opened. Negan reached out to brush a strand of hair out of her face and a sigh from him filtered into the air. “I’m not really…a guy that has sex like that. It’s rare.”

“Well thank you,” she hummed, tipping her head down to press a small kiss over his chest. “It’s something I’ll never forget.”

“I aim to please,” Negan winked and his head lowered back onto the pillow. He seemed to be getting comfortable again and she found herself staring.

“How would we still keep this up past the summer? I don’t…I don’t want to lose you,” she informed him. She was being honest and when he had said what he did last night, she realized it may actually be an option.

“What about all the college boys that you could potentially meet? Or college professors that…” Negan’s words were cut off when she moved in to kiss him roughly. Negan grunted against her lips and kissed her back, his hand reaching up to firmly squeeze at her jaw.

“You, I just want you,” she retorted and Negan smirked. “I have to keep seeing you.”

“Keep fucking me,” Negan corrected her and she swallowed down. She thought what they had at this point was way more than that. What Negan had done with her last night was not ‘fucking’ her and he had to have known that.

“I just don’t want to say goodbye,” she insisted and Negan laughed. His dimples sucked in and he really didn’t have a response.

She didn’t push the subject much, but she really meant it. She wasn’t ready to be done with him. When it was time to get up and leave, she found herself depressed. By far, this was one of the best nights of her entire life and she didn’t want it to end. When they cleaned up and got dressed, it all felt more so like dream and a less like reality.

“Don’t forget this,” Negan reached for the rose and grabbed it before quickly moving before her. Negan smelled the rose before handing it to her. She felt her heart flutter. She had forgotten about the rose in all of the commotion and found herself in awe of him.

When they had gotten back to her house they had found that her parents weren’t even there. Negan seemed to be amused, but she was more so annoyed. Either they slept at the office or they were there, but left super early again. She liked having alone time with Negan, but it was getting ridiculous how often her parents were actually gone.

Y/N had put the rose upstairs in a small vase while Negan had urged her to go get cleaned up while he got some breakfast started for them. It was weird how comfortable Negan had already gotten in her parent’s home, but she liked it. By the time she had returned back downstairs, she had smelled the food that Negan was cooking and felt her stomach rumble.

“I guess I was hungrier than I...” she went to speak up and saw her father sitting at the opposite end of the bar in the kitchen while Negan was cooking, “thought.”

“So Negan’s cooking woke you up, huh?” her father smirked and Negan’s eyes narrowed out at her when she moved to take a seat at the island. “I came home to get a change of clothes and Negan was here cooking…”

“Well I got back this morning and figured it was the nice thing to do. I never realized you and the wife weren’t home,” Negan lied and went to the bacon that he was cooking.

“Speaking of…how did things go last night?” her father inquired and she found herself intrigued with the question. He was clearly talking about the ‘cover story’ that Negan had while he was actually out under the stars with her. “I imagine it didn’t go very well since you are back here.”

“Oh, you know,” Negan shifted at the stove uncomfortably. “As well as it could go.”

“That’s vague,” her father blurt out and she actually agreed with him.

“I don’t like talking about it, you know that,” Negan reminded her father before looking to her. The sound of her father’s phone ringing was heard and she watched him walk off to the other room. Getting up, she moved in behind Negan and heard him let out a tense breath. “What are you doing?”

“You actually were quite vague,” she stated, her hand wrapping around the front of Negan’s body to palm softly at the center of his pants. Negan jumped and he looked toward the opening of the kitchen. “It’s okay; you can hear him pacing in the other room.”

“Now is not the time,” Negan grunted when her hand pushed up underneath his shirt and then dipped underneath his pants to grasp at his manhood firmly. “Y/N…please…”

“This kind of shit excites you,” she tipped up on her toes to bite at Negan’s earlobe and he dropped the utensil that was in his hand. Negan tipped his head back while she caressed over his body. Negan was stiffening against her caress and she was proud. “You like the fear of it all.”

Negan’s head tipped back and her lips were over the side of his neck in no time. Kissing at the sensitive areas she knew Negan had liked, she heard a moan escape his lips and looked to the opening of the kitchen.

“I’d rather be putting you in my mouth right now. The food smells amazing, but I’d rather be swallowing…” she began only to hear her father’s footsteps closer and she quickly pulled her hand from his pants. Moving back to where she was originally, she heard Negan cuss to himself over and over again before going back to cooking.

She damned her father for staying through breakfast, but in no time he was gone again having to get back to the office. When her father was finally gone, she found herself standing at the entrance to the living room. When Negan watched her father leave fully, she could see the smile that Negan had over his lips turn to an angered expression.

“Are you out of your damn mind?” Negan snapped clearly bringing up what she had done to him. “I had a fucking hard on throughout breakfast. Do you know how hard that shit is to hide?”

“For someone like you? Pretty damn hard,” she licked at her lips in a seductive, dramatic manner. Her eyes lowered to his groin and Negan stormed forward, grabbing a tight hold of her. He threw her over his shoulder and reached up to smack firmly at her bottom. “Negan!”

“You’ve been a very bad girl, you are going to get punished for that,” Negan stated with a growl, another smack filling the air as he moved toward the ottoman that was in the living room. Negan threw her on top of it and urged her onto her knees. “Do you think it was smart to do that in front of your father?”

“No sir,” she countered, but she was amused and he could hear it in her tone. “I deserve to be punished for what I did.”

“Yes…yes you do,” Negan forced her to lower her head, but arch her ass up in the air and the movement excited her. “I may let you get away with things, but you need to learn there is a time and a place for things…”

“Oh?” her breath hitched when Negan reached for her pants and tugged them slowly down her bottom. Negan took his time lowering the material until he managed to get them off her body completely.

“Don’t move. No matter what happens…don’t move,” Negan demanded and the sound of his tone caused her to shudder. The sensation of his rough palms sliding in over her full bottom was felt and he squeezed firmly at her cheeks. Purring out, she closed her eyes and focused on the chills that it was causing her. “You like to be dominated, don’t you?”

“Yes daddy,” she answered, shivering when the warmth of Negan pressing in behind her was felt. Negan pressed his groin up against her bottom. It was obvious that he was still hard beneath the material of his pants and more than anything she wanted him to take her again right there.

“I know this whole sex thing is new for you, but we do this kind of stuff under my terms. Trying to touch me like that when your father could have walked in at any time…that was fucking bold,” Negan snarled and she could hear his tone deepening. Another smack filled the air when Negan spanked over her cheek again. A wince filled the air, but she tried not to react much to it because of his orders. “What would have happened if your father were to find out?”

“Nothing good,” she bit back a moan when she felt Negan rubbing up his hips forward against her bottom. Gasping, she felt Negan pulling the material of her panties down over her bottom and to her thighs making her whimper out.

“What would likely happen is I would get kicked out of this house and your parents would forbid you from ever seeing me again. Is that something you want?” Negan huffed from behind her and she quickly shook her head. “I told you not to move.”

“I’m sorry daddy,” she swallowed down hard and she heard the sound of Negan’s belt being pulled apart. Out of the corner of her eye she could see Negan stepping back to fold his belt in half once he pulled it out of the loops. A nervous pant escaped her lips when Negan roughly squeezed at her bottom with his free hand. There was a small smack over her bottom and Negan let out an amused sound.

“You let me know if you want this to stop, okay?” Negan muttered and she nodded. When she realized what she had done in moving, a sharp sound escaped her throat when the smack of his belt was felt over her cheeks. It wasn’t hard, but it was enough to make a point. “Do you know what would happen to me if your father found out I was fucking his precious, innocent little virgin daughter right under his roof while they were letting me stay here?”

She said nothing and it was followed by another whack of the belt at her bottom. This time it made her wince and her body clenched up. There was a stinging at her flesh, but for some reason it was causing a dampness to develop at her core. This was an uneasy feeling. Whether she liked it or not remained in question while he caressed over the obvious red mark he had left over her skin.

“You’d never see me again…and you don’t want that, right?” Negan blurt out, bringing the belt over her bottom again, but this time it caused a small moan to fall from her throat. “Is this turning you on?”

“Yes daddy,” she bit at her lip, her ass arching out more involuntarily. “Please…do it again.”

“Well fuck, the fun is kind of gone knowing you want me to do,” Negan rumbled with a tight laugh. “Is your tight little pussy wet?”

“Find out yourself,” offered and an amused breath from Negan filled the air. A stronger smack of the belt was felt over the fleshy part of her bottom and she cried out with the hit. “Fuck.”

“Oh man…you’re real daddy would be so disappointed in what you’ve become,” Negan taunted moving forward to slap softly at her pussy making her thighs shake when he did it. The vibration of it sent jolts throughout her body and more than anything she wanted him to fuck her raw in the middle of the room. Negan’s fingers teased over her slit before inserting a long, slender finger into her opening. When Negan felt how wet she was already she could tell that he was enthralled by the sound he released. “You are a naughty little girl, but fuck…I’m super proud of you.”

Negan forced her thighs further apart causing her to whimper. The warmth of Negan’s mouth pressed at her lower back and chills developed through her entire body. Goosebumps covered her skin and when Negan’s lips traveled her body to the back of her thighs, she found herself eager to have him taste her again.

“You are so fucking wet,” Negan pushed apart her ass and squeezed at the flesh. “You want me to eat out your pussy? Would you like that?”

“Yes please…” she begged. The warmth of Negan’s breath against her core caused her to shudder and he knew it. His laughter was heard and then the warmth of his lips kissing very carefully over her most intimate parts was felt. The rough stubble from his short beard was pressed against her skin causing her to shake harder. Negan hummed against her flesh, pushing his tongue forward toward her core causing her to cry out. Desperation filled her body while Negan’s tongue flicked slowly and teasingly at her body. “Negan…please.”

“No,” he slurped behind her and pulled away causing her to whine. Negan stood from behind her and she saw him wiping at his lips with the back of his hand. Negan stepped before her and grabbed a tight hold of her hair to tug her up enough onto her hands. “You’ve been a bad girl…you’re not the one that deserves a prize.”

Her thighs were shaking and trembling. A fire was raging through her entire body after the teasing that Negan had done to her. It was clear he knew what he was doing to her and right when he had started to get her excited for more, he took it away from her. His long fingers pulled apart his pants and reached inside to pull his hard cock out in front of her.

“Open your mouth,” Negan demanded and she eagerly did as he wanted. There was nothing slow or careful about what was happening right now. Negan instantly began thrusting his length into her mouth and toward the back of her throat causing her to choke slightly. “Focus.”

The thread of Negan’s fingers in her hair helped him urge her over his thick length while she did her best to open her throat for him. Negan’s dark glance was hooked on her while he fucked her throat. He was testing her limits and she was doing the best she could to give him what he wanted.

“Fuck,” Negan threw his head back and the way his throat tensed up caused her to moan at the sight of him. Her moan vibrated around his cock and his jaw lowered. “Fuck…fuck…fuck…”

Negan forcefully pulled her from his length and allowed her to breathe in sharply. His other hand wrapped around his saliva covered length pumping over it slowly, “You’re daddy’s good little cock sucker, aren’t you?”

Nodding, she licked over her lips and saw the proud smile expand over Negan’s handsome features, “Tell me that you belong to me.”

“I belong to you,” she repeated and Negan lowered down, his mouth level with hers. Negan pressed in closer to her and dragged his tongue over her lips causing her to cry out. She tried to kiss him, but he wouldn’t allow it.

“Who do you belong to?” Negan urged her to answer again, his hazel eyes searching hers while she stared out at him with big eyes. Her lips were parted and he could see the absolute desire that she had for him filling her eyes. “Who?”

“Negan,” she answered. The answer granted her with the reward of Negan’s mouth over hers. Negan’s mouth was forceful against hers. It was a rough, demanding kiss that left Negan biting and tugging softly at her bottom lip. When she whined into his mouth, Negan dragged his tongue over the inside of her bottom lip and she whined. “I belong to Negan.”

“Very good girl,” Negan stood back up and urged her to his cock again. This time he hooked both his hands into her hair and tugged firmly at it. Her eyes looked up at him, making sure to keep them hooked on Negan’s while he controlled the movements her mouth had over his cock. “Daddy is going to cum…are you ready?”

Negan pulled his cock from between her lips. Nudging her mouth open, he watched her hold out her tongue while he pumped his hand over his cock, “Alright baby, its coming.”

The flexing of Negan’s abdomen told her he was about to cum and she leaned in to lick at the tip of his cock. Negan’s deep moan filled the air and she felt the first strand of his cum spray out onto her tongue. Wrapping her lips around the tip, she sucked softly at the sensitive flesh. His cock was twitching and pulsating in her mouth as she continued to swallow down his release. Negan’s moans were causing her thighs to twitch and shake with excitement. The sounds of his please caused her great excitement knowing that he was making him because of her and that made her proud. Nothing was sexier than the sounds that Negan made when he was coming.

“Look at you,” Negan sighed, pulling her away from his body. The look in her eyes was desperate, her wet lips parted while he looked down at his saliva covered cock. It twitched and he hummed with approval. “Good girl…”

Negan pat her on the head and she whimpered, watching him reach to pull his pants back together. Negan stepped away and picked up his belt that he had dropped. When she realized him heading to leave the room she called out his name.

“That’s it?” she was stunned and he let out a tight laugh. “What about me?”

“You? Do you still have that vibrator I gave you?” Negan tilted his head to the side, his hazel eyes looking her over. She nodded and Negan spunkily licked over his lips, “then you better go use it because I need a shower.”

An offended look spread over her features as she pulled up her panties and took a seat on the ottoman. Negan moved across the living room and reached out to slide his finger underneath her jaw to urge her to look up at him, “Bad girls don’t get to cum.”

----

“What are you doing now Negan?” Y/N clutched tightly to his hands while he had a blindfold around her eyes. It had been a few days since they shared that moment in her living room and since then their interactions had been more innocent than that day. Negan would take her out for little things. A simple lunch or go for a walk. They mainly hung out and she actually enjoyed it quite much. It didn’t take a lot for her to be happy to spend time with him. She just loved it in general.

Today was one of the days her parents had planned on disappearing for work for a while and Negan decided that it was a good day to take her out. The problem was that when he came to get her, he urged her to put on a blindfold. Refused to take her where he wanted unless she was wearing one. So she had driven with him in the car with it on and when he urged her out of the car she still had it on. She could only imagine how people must have looked at her seeing the way she had a blindfold on while they drove to wherever they were. It wasn’t a short drive; it was a decently sized drive so whatever Negan had planned it better have been good.

“Don’t touch the blindfold yet,” Negan warned and she found herself worried that she may trip over her own two feet. Negan had led her into a building and as soon as they entered it she had felt a cold chill press in over her body. She could only imagine where they were. “We’re almost there.”

Negan’s hands were holding so tightly onto hers that she found herself in awe. He was doing everything he could to keep her from falling and she was kind of excited to see what he had come up with. Negan was proud of himself by the tone of his voice and she could only imagine what he was doing.

“First…” Negan stopped their movements. His hands released hers and he reached up to grab at her face, cupping it firmly in his rough hands. Pulling her close to him, he descended a slow, sensual kiss over her lips. Enticing her as the kiss grew and a pleasured sound escaped her mouth when he pulled away. “Take it off.”

Listening, she reached for the blindfold and pulled it from her eyes. Taking a look around she could feel her heart pounding inside of her chest when she looked over her head, “We’re at the aquarium…”

“Yes we are,” Negan stomped his foot and his body leaned back. A drawn out laugh filled the air and Negan dramatically reached out to grab at her hands.

“We’re in the aquarium and no one is here,” she looked around to see that it was only the two of them. Negan had taken her to the tunnel part of the aquarium where fish were swimming above them as well as beside them. Negan had clearly set up a little picnic in the middle of the tunnel area and she let out a hesitant laugh. “The aquarium should be closed at this time.”

“So, let’s just say I have friends in high places and I remembered someone telling me that the perfect date would be to go to the aquarium. So here we are. I got my friend to agree to this with a little swaying,” Negan explained rubbing his hands together as he spoke. “You told me about the sex under the stars, we checked that off and here we are now…your perfect date.”

“Negan, this is amazing,” she whispered looking around at the aquarium. She had never been to an aquarium when it wasn’t packed so this was already a brand new experience for her. Negan moved in behind her and wrapped his arms around her waist. His chin rest over her shoulder and she reached down to hook her fingers with his. “You’re amazing.”

“I know,” Negan’s nose nestled against the side of her neck and she felt her chest aching. There were so many sides to Negan that she was learning. There was sex craved Negan that was extremely naughty, but there was also the romantic Negan that went above and beyond for her. It was confusing because some days she truly believed that maybe they were just around each other for a sexual relationship, but then moments like this Negan clearly showed he cared for her more than he wanted to admit. “I have a nice little picnic meal set up and then I figured the two of us could go for a walk around the place. You can explain to me how you thought this would be romantic. I just see a bunch of creepy ass fish and stuff staring out at me.”

“It’s the idea that makes it romantic,” she pointed out and felt him kissing over her jawline.

“Mmm…I also remember me talking about being balls deep inside of you while fucking you up against one of these glass walls,” Negan hummed causing her to shake against him. “Then again, I can try to be on my best behavior tonight. I don’t want to leave too much of a mess for my friend to clean up.”

“That’s probably the best idea for the both of us,” she agreed and Negan laughed. “So what exactly did you have planned for tonight?”

They tried being on their best behavior and for the most part they were. They had their picnic that Negan had set up. A lot of their picnic was talking about Negan’s job and what she was planning on doing with school. It was coming up so fast that it was obvious things that were both on their minds. She got him to tell her how he managed to get his friend to let them have the aquarium alone. Apparently his friend owed Negan and IOU and this is what that was.

After their picnic they had gone for a walk that led to them talking about their relationship. Y/N had kept hinting to him that maybe there was something more to them, but Negan was never picking up on it. When she asked him why he was trying so hard to make her happy and his response was that she deserved to be happy, she found herself falling into the same trouble she had always found with Negan. With her back pressed up against one of the glass walls of the aquarium, her skirt hiked up over her waist and Negan’s pants at his ankles. Her legs were wrapped firmly around Negan’s waist while they had sex. It turned her on incredibly more than she ever thought it would to be having sex with Negan in a public place like this.

“Is this what you wanted baby?” Negan grunted against the side of her neck, his hips smacking up into her time and time again. There was a desperation in the way she clung to Negan’s shoulders while he had her firmly pressed against the glass. “Me balls deep inside of you here?”

“Yes,” she met his lips in a wet, sloppy kiss. It was crazy how fast things fell into place with Negan. She loved being around him. She loved interacting with him and she just couldn’t get enough of him. Negan tipped back, his forehead pressing against hers. “Negan…”

“Feel good?” Negan confirmed and she nodded. Negan’s eyes were hooked on hers while his body continued to plunge deep inside of her. Negan’s sharp movements caused her to cry out into his mouth and she felt her legs tremoring around Negan. The vibration of his pubic bone smacking up against hers was causing her to cry out into his mouth. It all felt fantastic and she couldn’t get enough of it. His thrusts had managed to help her reach that sweet moment of bliss causing a flooding sensation to filter throughout her body. Her whines pressed against Negan’s skin, while she rest her nose against the side of his neck. The way her heart was pounding it felt like it was about to leap out of her chest. “There a way you want to finish this darlin’? Any special thing you wanted to focus on?”

“Just you,” she stated with a cry when his thrusts got stronger. Grasping tightly onto his hair, she met his lips in a heated kiss. His tongue flicked out against hers and his grunting and groaning got more frequent. The warmth of Negan’s release began to fill her and she cried out into his mouth. His hips jolted and moved in unsteady motions as he came deep inside of her. After his breathing had started to relax, he lowered her to her feet and held onto her for a moment. His chest was rising and falling heavily, his forehead still resting against hers. They were still silent, but holding onto each other. “Negan…”

“Yeah sweetheart?” Negan nudged his nose against hers and helped her urge her skirt back down over her hips. “What’s on your mind?”

“Can we talk about something serious?” she gulped and felt her heart pounding inside of her chest. This was something she had been thinking about for quite some time and she knew that bringing it up was wrong considering Negan asked her to never say this certain emotion she was having. Negan kissed her one final time before reaching down to pull his pants and his boxer briefs back up over his body.

“Go for it,” Negan agreed before reaching out to grab a tight hold of her hands in his. It was a supportive grasp, but she didn’t know how long it was going to last after she said what she did.

“Listen, I know we started this saying it was going to be one time thing,” she looked away from him. Looking at him made this all too hard. When she went to speak again, Negan urged her to look up at him again. “I know you asked me not to. I know that it’s against everything you are, but I feel things for you. Big…things.”

“Oh,” Negan let out a long breath of air, but continued to hold onto her hands in a supportive grasp. “Okay.”

“I don’t know, with us there were just things that I was expecting. Things that I didn’t think that would happen and they are happening,” she stammered, trying to find the right things to say without saying what he asked her never to. “You are amazing. You are so sweet and so caring…”

“I know where this is going,” Negan hushed her, releasing one of her hands to slide up and brush at her cheek with his rough thumb. “I’m the first person you’ve ever been with. I’ve given you more attention than anyone else really has. What you’re feeling is completely normal. Hell, I acknowledge that the fact I am your first makes me feel a certain way about you too that I know I shouldn’t.”

So what did that mean? She was left silent while Negan tried to clearly search for the right words. Was he also saying that he cared about her the way she did for him?

“The two of us are always going to share a special bond over the fact that I took your virginity,” Negan insisted, his eyes narrowing out at her. “Trust me; it’s not normal for me to go all out for people. You might think I’m special, but what I’m doing for you…it’s not me.”

“It’s who you are with me though,” she reminded him and she moved in to kiss him in a desperate way. “You are the most amazing man and I…”

“Shhh…” Negan covered her mouth with his index finger. “I get it. I’ve thought the same thing myself, but in order to feel that way about a person you have to know all of them.”

“I think I know who you are Negan,” she retorted with a light snort. “I’ve been around you enough to know the man you are. To know you’re the kind of man that I never…”

“You know what I show you,” Negan shook his head firmly. “That’s all you know. Be with me through the bad times and if you still feel the way you do, then I know you mean it.”

“I think we had some bad times,” she recalled thinking about how he was a dick for that short period of time. “And I still know how I feel.”

“That was nothing in comparison to the shit about me you don’t know,” Negan rubbed at the side of his face, stepping back and away from her. “More than anything I want to make you happy. I want you to have the perfect life possible.”

“I can’t recall ever being this happy Negan,” she informed him and Negan looked to her with a bit of a worried expression. His eyes told her that he was unhappy with something in their conversation. His thick eyebrows showed the tension in his face and she was just attempting to explain how she felt. “You have made feel special. Something no one else ever has.”

“You are special,” Negan stepped forward, urging his hand in over the side of her neck. “And God you are so fucking beautiful.”

Tipping up on her toes, she pressed a quick kiss over Negan’s lips and he sighed, “Can we just take time to think about this? We both know we care about each other, but can we just hold off on these feelings for a little bit?”

She agreed and let it slide. She followed Negan back to the area that he had set the picnic up at to grab the flowers he had brought for her on their ‘date’. She didn’t understand why Negan was so eager to push away the idea that she might love him. Sure it was fast, but when you knew…you knew. And she felt like this was something she absolutely knew.

#Negan #Jeffrey Dean Morgan #Negan smut #negan x reader #Negan's thirst squad #negans-network #negan fanfiction #The Walking Dead #twd fanfiction #twd smut #my writing

338 notes · View notes

thunderdilf · 4 years ago

Text

What your MK OTP says about you

(based on ships I enjoy and/or have seen in passing)

[feel free to rebagel and add—ship hate will mean insta-blockage, for whatever that’s worth! I’m using the ship names I’ve krafted, and ballparking with others. I hope they give ye a giggle. If your ship isn’t here, PLEASE add it! I just went from memory. I love y’all.]

Caged Heat (Liu/Johnny): you’re here for a good time, not a long time—you like good tiddies and the word “angorny” means something to you. There is passion in both kombat and throwing someone’s luggage off a dock. Sparks, I tells ya.

Sonya/Johnny: you appreciate pegging and Cassie Cage (who doesn’t?). You like the story of a jerk with a heart of gold showing his true colors to a woman who is NOT easily impressed—and who also tops.

Shaolin Rowdy Boys (Liu/Lao): you’re here for a good time, not a long time… literally—you crave childhood friends to unexpected lovers and secret banging in temple broom closets! You see the value of a best friend who’ll go to bat for you, even against a 10,000 year old turboprincess, or maybe you ARE that friend.

Jadetana (Jade/Kitana): Kitana bottoms for NO man, but for Jade, she’d do anything. You love that dynamic of unswerving loyalty which secretly hides deep, abiding admiration and maybe a little lust—or a lot! Who knows what freaky shit Edenian gals can get up to in their private time? You. YOU know and may The Elder Gods™ bless you for producing kontent.

Thermodynamic Equilibrium (subscorp): old guy love is just the ticket—you crave the maturity of years, but you don’t want it boring; someone is getting speared because the love is more intense with age. Kombat to lovemaking is your kryptonite.

Warring Exes (Shang Tsung/Raiden): old guy love, but make it fashion—opulence meets chastity in a clash for the ages; you want an emotional roller coaster of “what if” and “why not”, where a mortal may teach a god to love himself, and love being loved… or perhaps not. Tragedy abounds. There’s enemies to lovers and then there’s this roller coaster. Do you really want good things for Raiden? Debatable.

Faraday Cage (Johnny/Raiden): old guy love, again, but this time it’s two dads finding comfort in a time when they need it most—you REALLY just want good things for Raiden and honestly, who doesn’t? Johnny is, decidedly, a good thing and you’ve decided that nicknames like “1.21 gigawatts” and “electric slide” are acceptable forms of foreplay.

Cassie/Raiden: Faraday Cage 2: Electric Boogaloo—you might be a spite shipper (rock on) or you just dig visible age gap (because you know that every ship including Raiden or Fujin is EXTREME age gap) and you just want Cassie and Raiden to have nice things.

Jacqueda (Jacqui/Takeda): you watched them grow over the course of X and you were smitten. You’re convinced love really can bloom on the battlefield and kombat spouses appeal to you. The idea of Jacqui throwing down with Scorpion for Takeda’s hand appeals to you as well. Same.

Liutana (Liu Kang/Kitana): all those voice lines and character endings mean something to you—in fact, you may have cried; they’ve been fiddling about since 1995, goddammit, you just want good things for them! Is that so much to ask? I say make it happen.

Royal Pain (Shao Kahn/Sindel): the term “power couple” means something OTHERWORLDLY to you—you took one look at this terrible twosome and went “get me a freak like that” but no one was sure which one you meant and that was okay with you. You’re enamored with their grisly Gomez/Morticia aesthetic. They are awful and you LOVE it. Good on you!

Windwolf (Nightwolf/Fujin): you played Aftermath. ‘Nuff said. JK I’m never done. You love the dynamic of middle-aged person and deity falling in love, which is bizarrely specific, but you’ve found your niche goddammit and you’re going to fill it. You appreciate the koncept of the “god” not always being on top of things, or put-together and the idea of a mortal comforting such a being titillates you. The way Nightwolf stands, holding his belt buckle is, you’re convinced, what sold Fujin; it’s also what sold YOU.

Windserpent (Shang Tsung/Fujin): you played Aftermath and while you didn’t think of it at the time, you’ve seen some REALLY nice art and batted the idea around a while and then settled on “yes this is for me”. The appeal is in the danger, from both sides—a nigh-immortal soul sorcerer and a god. Perhaps you crave a redemption arc, or a corruption arc; either way, this ship has serious potential and you intend to exploit it. How Shang Tsung of you.

Honor among thieves (Erron Black/Kung Jin): you dig age gap, unironic cowboys, and the idea of a couple of people who haven’t always been on the right side of the law finding themselves and their points of strength in the Kourt of an Outworld emperor.

Kotal/Jade: you only needed a few cutscenes to tell you that these two are MADLY in love; what we lacked in pure kontent (after all, the game didn’t CENTER on them), they made up for in passionate exchanges. You appreciate the dynamic of respect between them and pegging is NEVER off the table.

Kano/Raiden: the aesthetic of filth-meets-purity appeals to you something fierce. The dynamic is unique and you love the potential for a redemption/corruption arc(s?).

Shang Tsung/Kano: you saw the club scene in MK95 and you went “yes they’re boning”. Whether there is actual affection or not varies with your mood. You love the idea of disaster gay and refined gay coming together to make something dastardly.

Bi-Hanzo (Bi-Han/Scorpion): you crave old wounds and aches and angst, drowning in memories of what never could have been, and regrets of what might have been prevented. This is an angst fest and it is YOUR cup of tea; drink that shit down, my friend, no sugar, no cream. Have at it.

Sonya/Jax: team mom and dad aesthetic appeals to you on a spiritual level. Someone’s gotta be in charge of this chicken shit outfit. AMERICA.

The Storm (Fujin/Raiden): your aesthetic includes the difficulty of a mortal’s inability to truly connect with and understand immortals and immortals finding themselves and each other in that realization. These entities who have existed since the beginning of all things understand each other better than anyone else could. Shine on.

Sindel/Raiden: this is team parents aesthetic on ‘roids. You’re probably a fan of the brainwashed Sindel theory and you’re of the opinion that only the love of a god is remotely worthy of the ultimate scream queen. Honestly, you’re probably right. Body worship is on your list of goals, right alongside worthy equals in a relationship—kinky. That being said, pegging is always a possibility.

Mileena/Scorpion: your aesthetic is danger—but alongside that is “lost souls finding love” and “shared burdens of infinite AGONY”. You dig angst and the potential for star-crossed lovers, meeting each other’s eyes across the arena of kombat. The idea of Scorpion as a consort (Kahnsort?) for Mileena might also appeal to you.

Rain/Mileena: the song “hatefuck” by the Bravery is probably your jam. You know there’s little love lost between these two, but perhaps kombat will bare their souls in such a way that they find some redeeming quality in the other—and the sex is VICIOUS. That’s what you’re looking for and by The Elder Gods™ you’ve found it.

Fanblade (Kitana/Sonya): you saw MK95 and went “I can fix this”. Kombat futch meets ancient warrior princess futch—this feels like hardcore xenabrielle vibes with a side of GORE because it’s mortal kombat, let’s be real. You feel as if Kitana would be foolish not to claim Sonya as her lover after watching her snap Kano’s neck with her thighs. You would be right.

Taleena (Tanya/Mileena): rebel, rebel—we love a good usurpation, don’t we? Power struggles are hot, both politically and in bed. Your kinks include overthrowing the bourgeoisie (even though you ARE the bourgeoisie) and seizing the means of production (meaning the flesh pits, probably).

Shaiden (Shinnok/Raiden): your motto is fight and fuck—or enemies to lovers, for the more refined shipper. Maybe you prefer enemies AND lovers. Go hard or go home, I say.

Nightwolf/Erron Black: old guy love, but make it reformed criminal. The appeal here is that, very likely, someone has to convince someone else that he really IS out of the woods, to show him his true worth, and maybe give him some time off from the violent grind of kombat life.

Kablam (Kabal/Erron Black): black dragon buddies! In the depths of mercenary work, there isn’t time for love, not really, so you want to see these two assholes find some semblance of peace and pleasure amidst illicit activities. Whether or not Kano knows depends on what kind of quickie sex appeals most to you.

Jacquass (Cassie/Jacqui): military lesbians, friends to lovers, BFFs, this ship has it all. You’re in love with the idea of a couple of people who grew up together, suffered and fought and bled together, stumbling away from a battlefield, carrying each other and finding that perhaps they can keep carrying the other, maybe forever.

Kotal/Erron: The idea of watching someone go from bad to the bone, to actually CARING about something other than himself thrills and excites you. That kind of loyalty can’t be bought, even though you keep pretending that’s all it is. Very tsundere.

Kano/Kabal: “he’s a lowlife, piece of shit scumbag; you’re gunna love ‘im.” Nuff said.

#mk shipposting #I ain't taggin all these ships #just like my mains idk #warring exes #thermodynamic equilibrium #faraday cage #caged heat #shaolin rowdy boys #I'm so lazy that's all you get #for the record there ARE ships on this list that make me gag a wee bit but I've included them because someone out there likes them #if it brings someone joy I'm about it because no matter your moral argument #it's not hurting anyone because it is in fact fictional and you have the choice to block me and anyone else to whom you've taken exception #and move the fuck on #fuden #tagging this for you few out yonder #love you <3 #incest mention #???

28 notes · View notes

dinaive · 2 years ago

Text

THE KORAN INTERPRETED - A Translation by A.J Arberry

LVI

THE TERROR

In the Name of God, the Merciful, the Compassionate

When the Terror descends

(and none denies its descending)

abasing, exalting,

when the earth shall be rocked

and the mountains crumbled

and become a dust scattered,

and you shall be there bands-

Companions of the Right (O Companions of the Right)

Companions of the Left (O Companions of the Left!)

and the Outstrippers: the Outstrippers

those are they brought nigh the Throne,

in the Gardens of Delight

(a throng of the ancients

and how few the later folk)

upon close wrought couches

reclining upon them, set face to face,

immortal youths going round about them

with goblets, and ewers, and a cup from a spring

(no brows throbbing, no intoxication)

and such fruits as they shall choose,

and flesh of fowl as they desire,

and wide-eyed houris

as the likeness hidden pearls,

a recompense for that they laboured.

Therein they shall hear no idle talk, no cause of sin,

only the saying ' Peace, Peace!'

The Companion of the Right (O Companion of the Right!)

mid thornless lote-tree and serried acacias,

and spreading shade and outpoured waters,

and fruits abounding

unfailing, unforbidden,

and upraised couches.

Perfectly We formed them, perfect,

and We made them spotless virgins,

chastely amorous, like of age

for the Companions of the Right.

A throng of the ancients

and a throng of the late folk.

The Companions of the Left (O Companions of the Left)

mid burning winds and boiling waters

and the shadow of a smoking blaze

neither cool, neither goodly;

and before that they lived at ease,

and persisted in the Great Sin,

ever saying,

'What when we are dead and become

dust and bones, shall we indeed

be raised up?

What, and our fathers, the ancients?'

Say: 'The ancients, and the later folk

shall be gathered to the appointed time

of a known day.

Then you erring ones, you that cried lies,

you shall eat of a tree called Zakkoum,

and you shall fill therewith your bellies

and drink on top of that boiling water

lapping it down like thirsty camels.'

This shall be their hospitality on the

Day of Doom.

We created you; therefore why will you

not believe?

Have you considered the seed you spill?

Do you yourselves create it, or are We

the Creators?

We have decreed among you Death;

We shall not be outstripped;

that We may exchange the likes of you,

and make you to grow again in a fashion

you know not.

You have known the first growth; so why

will you not remember?

Have you considered the soil you till?

Do you yourselves sow it, or are We

the Sowers?

Did We will, We would make it broken

orts, and you would remain bitterly

jesting--

'We are debt-loaded; nay, we have been

robbed!'

Have you considered the water you drink?

Did you send it down from the clouds, or

did We send it?

Did We will, We would make it bitter; so

why are you not thankful?

Have you considered the fire you kindle?

Did you make its timber to grow, or

did We make it?

We ourselves made it for a reminder, and

a boon to the desert-dwellers.

Then magnify the Name of thy Lord, the All-Might.

No! I swear by the falling of the stars

(and that it indeed a mighty oath, did

you but know it)

it is surely a noble Koran

in a hidden Book

none but the purified shall touch,

a sending down from the Lord of all Being.

What, do you hold this discourse in disdain, and

do you make it your living to cry lies?

Why, but when the soul leaps to the throat of the dying

and that hour you are watching

(And We are nigher him than you, but you do not see Us)

why, if you are not Our disposal,

do you not bring back his soul, if you speak truly?

Then, if he be of those brought nigh the Throne,

there shall be repose and ease, and a Garden of Delight;

and if he be a Companion of the Right:

'Peace be upon thee, Companion of the Right!'

But if he be of them that cried lies, and went astray,

there shall be a hospitality of boiling water

and the roasting in Hell.

Surely this is the truth of certainty.

Then magnify the Name of thy Lord, the All-mighty.

2 notes · View notes

tabletoptrinketsbyjj · 5 years ago

Text

Trinkets, 33: Interesting baubles, semi magical objects and items touched by mystery.

A wax stamp that changes insignia depending on the proximity of the nearest royal blooded individual.

A hollowed, curled demon horn. When blown, it sounds like tortured screaming.

A strange note, written on bloody human flesh. Examining the ragged piece of flesh reveals a reeking stench of sweat and tears. A series of crude gouges in the skin pulsate and seep blood. They seem to form a pattern, and the reader can just make out the following: “Beware the Avatar of the Crawling Chaos, the Heart of Darkness knows no mercy.”

A sharp tooth as long as a human hand. Looking at it makes a humanoid creature uneasy in a deeply primal way.

A glowing orb that has a hidden button on it. Pressing it reveals several smaller variously colored orbs inside, which escape the orb and start to orbit it, like planets around a star. Pressing the button again causes the spheres to retreat back into the glowing one.

A sealed glass petri dish holding a small ooze like substance labeled, "Experiment #1".

A perfume vinaigrette shaped like a tiny, long amphora. Made of some silvery metal and worked all over with tarnished curlicue. If shaken, the vinaigrette rattles, as if filled with large grains. Its lid clicks open, allowing, from the grated neck, a mossy odor of chypre. A scent neither in vogue nor disliked, today. The scent does not run out, nor fade.

A long scroll made out of weathered parchment with a broken wax seal. The material is covered in strange diagrams of inhuman anatomy at crazy, disjointed angles.

A piece of parchment torn from a notebook, written on it are a list of names and causes of death.

A lead slate, five inches by four, and quite worn, with five lines of text written across the back in small, punched holes. Each line appears to be the same phrase, simply repeated in five languages. The first, punched out in the symbols and tongue of Ancient Dwarven, which is still legible today, reads "What wrought we here should be forgot."

—Keep reading for 90 more trinkets.

—Note: The previous 10 items are repeated for easier rolling on a d100.

A wax stamp that changes insignia depending on the proximity of the nearest royal blooded individual.

A hollowed, curled demon horn. When blown, it sounds like tortured screaming.

A sharp tooth as long as a human hand. Looking at it makes a humanoid creature uneasy in a deeply primal way.

A sealed glass petri dish holding a small ooze like substance labeled, "Experiment #1".

A long scroll made out of weathered parchment with a broken wax seal. The material is covered in strange diagrams of inhuman anatomy at crazy, disjointed angles.

A piece of parchment torn from a notebook, written on it are a list of names and causes of death.

An elongated, angular mask designed for masquerade balls. It features a large pair of velveted antlers and a crown of lustrous ivy.

An antique pipe that has a carved parrot wearing a tricorn hat perched on its bowl. The smoke that billows from the chamber is colored a wild mix of reds, blues, and greens.

A small jar of a sweet smelling green paste. When applied to the tender inflamed skin, it soothes and numbs the pain, replacing it with a pleasant tingling sensation for a few hours.

A coffin shaped scrollcase filled to the brim with loose sheets of yellowed paper. They are covered with maddened scrawl and diagrams and calculations and degenerate ranting.

An oil lamp made from a turtle's shell embellished with gold leaf and a copper handle.

A bronze bowl engraved with pagan figures, one side shows a city at war and another shows it at peace. The metal of the bowl is corroded, gone all green and black.

A surgeon’s amputation saw with a bone handle engraved with pictographs of burial rituals.

Kolain Drop: A small tin canister containing a few dozen candies made from amber sugar, spun into a shape resembling the outline of a teardrop (Although a cynic might claim they look like candy nooses) and coated in dark chocolate. Licking a Kolain makes it harder to concentrate on sad memories for a short while, but finishing a whole drop while focusing on a specific memory accentuates the positive emotions of that memory and makes it easier to deal with the associated negative emotions.

A prosthetic eye made of ivory and set with an opal iris. The eye whispers unintelligible breathy words to the bearer in the dark and if worn during sleep, the bearer suffers from terrible, barely remembered Random Nightmares.

A beautifully crafted silver pocket watch that functions but the hands tick backwards.

A ship in a bottle suspended above water that sloshes and froths rhythmically, regardless of whether or not it is moved or shaken. The ship bobs cheerfully in the water and is relaxing to look upon.

A bassoon with the bell joint carved into the shape of a dragon’s head that shoots smoke rings when played.

An iron mask resembling a skull with its mouth sowed shut.

A large tapestry made from an unidentifiable thread. Strange symbols and stranger images fill every space, chaotically strewn about the thread work with no apparent pattern. No centralized theme or focus can be made out, but the likeliness of several important figures and deities can be made out amongst alien creatures and other, unknown people. The tapestry is unfinished on one side, making it obvious that the project is still a work in progress.

A large hourglass which in place of sand, has dozens of tiny teeth of all shapes and kinds flowing between the two bulbs, each one glowing with a faint red light. The flow of the device switches directions at random times for no visible reason, with no bulb ever holding all the teeth.

A wanted poster that resembles one of the PC's but the hairstyle and colour are completely wrong.

A freshly dead messenger raven with a tiny scroll tube tied to its leg. Within is a small parchment with some sort of coded battle report written on it.

A fairly well made wooden mask that has been carved to resemble the facial features of the minor God of Random Domain. A creature actively wearing the mask see's the world through the eye holes with a slightly altered perception as if they are being subtly influenced by the nature of the God.

A simple but finely crafted leather armband embossed with a branch-like pattern.

A one gallon cask of a rare liquor known as Hag's Blood. A strong fruit wine with the hyphae of a fungus growing through it. It has to be fed a bit of sugar every year to keep the fungus alive, or else it just becomes a normal fruit wine. It is drank slowly, and induces hallucinogenic effects in the drinker.

A wide, flat bronze bracelet carved with couples entwining.

A large brass medal of military service. It once bore an intricate casting of a lion's head. But it has been polished smooth over many years.

A small medicine bottle, halfway filled with a herbal remedy.

A small portrait of a group of friends, all but one of them with a date written next to their name.

A blue and gold diviner's scroll covered in text that change every morning at dawn. The writing is usually cryptic message about future events.

An ocarina seemingly crafted from snowflake obsidian that produces some decently low notes and is shaped somewhat like an aquatic animal of some sort.

A silver coin with a siren on heads and a banshee on tails. When the coin is flipped it will make ominous wailing sounds until the outcome is revealed.

A brick taken from a haunted house. The brick grows sharp, jagged teeth at night which retract during the day.

A small goldfish skeleton preserved in a clear glass orb.

An amalgam of dozen small animal skulls, each from a different creature, all compressed and partly melted into a heavy, fist-sized ball of horror.

A bag of glass eye marbles fashioned in various shades of blue, green, brown, and hazel. When a marble is rolled on the ground, it always appears to be looking at the creature who rolled it.

A music box in the shape of a clockwork raven that sits atop a porcelain skull. Winding the mechanism plays an eerie tune, while the raven pecks the empty eye socket to the rhythm of the music

A small leather pouch filled with strong-smelling healing herbs.

A leather wallet stamped with the holy symbol of a God of a Random Domain. It contains a set of certified identification papers denoting that the bearer is an ordained member of a religion who worships said Deity. The section containing the priest's physical description (Height, weight, sex, race, eye, skin and hair colour) is completely blank and could be filled in by anyone with half decent handwriting.

A wooden, toy rocking horse, carved to look like a horse whose skin has been removed, muscles, tendons, and blood vessels are all intricately shown. In some areas, even those layers have been removed in favor of exposing parts of the horses skeleton.

A simple lantern with a hood covering. The hood spins as the base plays a music box tune to reveal pictures of clawed monsters, winged demons, witches and wolves on the wall. Different hoods can be placed on to show different scenes.

A carving of a boar made of quartz and no longer than a person’s thumb.

A clockwork dismembered hand wearing a white glove with an ornate signet ring and dress shirt cuff with gemmed cuff links. It moves around on its fingers when wound up.

A handheld mirror with a cobalt border engraved with strange runes. Instead of your reflection, you see nothing but mist in its surface.

A fire opal carved into a small coin. The obverse sigil is a picture of rainfall. The reverse is an elven phrase that translates to “Let us take what nature will not provide.”

A single small, filthy earring that when worn, allows the bearer to speak the language of the goblins, but only to say: "I don't actually speak Goblin. I only know that sentence, and this one explaining it.” The bearer is not granted the ability to understand the language and doesn’t comprehend what they just said unless they are already fluent.

A wooden relic carved from bronzewood, in the shape of a serpent. It can always adjust to fit snugly around the bearer's forearm. It writhes occasionally, when seen out of the corner of your eye.

A travel case for a Random Musical Instrument. The case is made of hardwood covered in boiled leather sealed in beeswax with rubber seals around the opening. The inside is lined with velvet sheltering the instrument from the harshest jostling the bearer might endure. An adjustable carry strap allows the bearer to wear it in whatever manner is most comfortable for them. Whatever type of instrument the case is deigned to carry, the case contains one such musical device (Or a set of devices) within it.

A shawl of beautiful rainbow color with lace frilled edges resembling clouds.

A black coin with two grim sides. One side bears the staring visage of a spiral-horned woman with mean eyes. Its opposing face displays an eyeless skull. A tarry blackbird, ragged, follows the carrier of said coin at cautious distance, watching with fish’s eyes.

A branding iron the length of a human hand, whose business end is forged in the shape of the phrase: “Random Motto”. The brand could be used to stamp leather or flesh and might have been used by an individual or organization to mark its goods, armor or members.

A brooch composed of three overlapping green-enameled nickel silver leaves secured together by rusted hinges. The enamel is cracked and dusty. If worn, the leaves click together; a sound reminiscent of clinking spurs on riding boots.

A chunk of amber included by a blackened, fossilized thing curled up upon itself. It is big-headed and roughly humanoid, like a minute fetus, but has distinct ridges or spurs running down its curved spine.

A clay whistle, shaped like a toothless, leering skull. With some practice, a user may develop a queer embouchure and play the thing, which requires a forceful blow into the cranium. It produces no music; only a high and rattling cry of human terror. A blood-curdling scream.

A die with six sides. An inch square, and cut from decayed walrus ivory. The carved faces, their lines filled with dirt, are thus: A long-fingered hand, a thin eye, an acorn, a seven-pointed star, a spiny fish, and a rose in full bloom. When rolled, the fish consistently lands facing up.

A dried serpent, coiled in a foggy crystal tube sealed with wax. A husk of a creature, like onion skins wrapped around brittle fishbones. A leak of ash and smothered cinders spills from a split in its long, desiccated gut.

A glass jar, blue, sagging with the slow melt of ages. Within are three seeds, somehow not yet turned to dust. They are like those of a pumpkin, or squash, but are reddish and much pointier.

A green, glass apple barely skinned with flaking gold leaf. Within, there are visible countless rivers of incredibly tiny veins, fibers, and seeds, as if a real apple were refashioned precisely as glass. Said seeds are glimmering red, perhaps rubies. The apple is profoundly strong and cannot easily break.

A handheld fan with lightweight steel leaves. When fully opened on its creaking rivet, it forms three quarters of a circle. The leaves are spotted with delicate openwork in flowering geometric patterns, some of which have been eaten through by rust.

A bright red, strip of cloth, stitched with images of a cheering crowd throwing garlands toward a chariot. It fits across the bearer's shoulder and then diagonally down their chest to reach their opposite hip.

A strangely shaped piece of whittled driftwood with dozens of holes in it. When the correct hole is blown into, it mimics the sound of the ocean.

A large locket, its case and door crafted from faceted, cracked, yellowed glass cut like a rectangular gem. Its interior frame holds not a painting, nor an etching, but a fuzzy, silver mirror. The mirror, when polished, has a hidden effect: If one looks into it, centers their face in the frame, and focuses upon the background, they may discern a tall, unmoving woman there, towering behind them. She is ghostly, as if cut into the silver, and looks on with deep, piercing eyes. A pair of long, spiraling horns extend from her gaunt and mirthless head.

A miniature, silver-plated skull inlaid with black fretwork. The skullcap lifts of on a tiny hinge, revealing holes for three vials, grouped in a triangle, within. Only two vials are there. They are octagonal, ruby red barrels capped with silver.

A bolt of coarse, beige, jute cloth wrapped in a protective oilskin case.

A monocle-like disc upon a fragment of silver chain. Unfit for wear as a monocle, as the thick, yellowed lens is scratched and scuffed with countless minutia and little pitted points. The points seem to coalesce as a man-shaped form. If set before a bright light, the lens projects a diagram: A flayed man, splayed in anatomical position, with labels in an odd language indicating his spilled organs and opened bodily structures.

An old harmonica engraved with a compass card and a variety of fish. When played on land it summons a fresh breeze smelling of salt and seaweed, putting everyone within earshot in a melancholic mood and longing for the sea.

An iron hook, barbed, like those meant for fishing, but quite too large. Two links of rusted, cast iron chain trail from it, followed by a flat, similarly cast tag of iron. It shows, under ample rust, the simple etching of a bony man hung by a hook sunk through his collarbone. Three runes, like circles cut with spurs, are stamped below. The tag has another hole opposite the attachment of its links, suggesting more where attached thereafter.

An ivory comb, the kind meant to lay flat and stay a plate of hair. Blackened, either with age or with purposeful tarnish, and carved on its handle with images of plagued skeletons, obviously undead, spilling over each other in a chilling accurate depiction of frozen, unnaturally insectile movement.

A petrified egg, slightly orange, with one side cut away. A hideous embryo, also fossilized, is curled there. It is a long-backed, anencephalic neonate with long, rodent-like incisors that join to form a sort of beak. It clutches, in three-fingered hands, its own tail. The thing is shot through with long maggots turned by time into red stone.

A silver brooch shaped like an imperious face framed by stylized, curling locks. It has small, yellow garnets for eyes. The eyes seem to be backed by mirrors, for they flash with an unusual brightness while in light. The brooch is magnetic, on its iron back, and connects powerfully to metal objects.

A silver tube, long, worked with branchwork, and thin, filled with yellow powder. Said powder smells of hickory and some astringent tang. It fills the tube, which is closed with a screw cap, to the brim.

A small, ivory figure nailed to a Y-shaped crucifix, also ivory. The figure is carved in excellent detail. Though emaciated and wracked in stiff-limbed agony, a wide and tooth grin is present on the figure's hollow-eyed face.

A small knife, unfit for fighting, with small notches and teeth, like those of a key, cut into its edge. Plainly made from dark, patinated iron. Shiny and sharpened at the hard, toothy edge.

A square bell, rather small, and unusually heavy. Smooth, unrusted, with a short tongue that wags with only great force. It sheds no sound; only heavy vibrations that shake the hand, vibrate one's teeth in their sockets, and touch ringing tones of nearby metal objects.

A squarish iron key, large, with three blocky teeth. One of the teeth rotates, with some difficulty, grinding with rust. The wide, handle portion of the key is also rusted, but depicts, in bas relief, a square door with a howling, heavy-browed face above the keyhole.

A strange pin, like a clothier might use for sewing, but larger, and with a slightly serrated shaft and a red glass bead for a head. Larger than is useful by a factor of two. If stuck in red-blooded flesh, into which it sinks readily, the red bead glows, faintly, flickering like a faint flame in a bloody shade.

A slide whistle made of bone, carved in the shape of an emaciated skeletal figure, mouth agape at the end. When played, it emits an eerie ghostly sounds that can be varied in pitch with the slide.

A thick crystal sphere, large as a grapefruit. Delicate fronds of green flora lie within, all sprouted in a choked abundance from a mess of roots and humus. Yellow dust, perhaps pollen, swirls about the stems amidst motes of white gas. The sphere does not open, and the plants within are like none seen on the earth.

Two glass eyeballs in a tarnished silver box with gold hinges. The orbs lie on dusty, red velvet divots. They are green glass and irregularly shaped in the back. Oddly convoluted inside, like jelly and fish eggs. Gold leaf irises lie under the hard, crystal lenses.

A heady, sweet smelling noose made of still-living flowers and freshly cut vines.

A massive cloth and leather banner emblazoned with the unified crests of ten different fey courts.

A white marble mortar, quite small, chained to its pestle with a thin iron leash. Stained on the interior with blotchy brown. Carved on the outside with simple images of tiny, impish individuals grinding teeth in mortars just large enough to accommodate a molar.

A whale tooth decanter scrimshawed with the image of a gargoyle within a star.

A darkwood and brass door knocker with the image of a rock gnome, and a tower within a teardrop shape. It is of ancient workmanship.

A matching pair of brass bangles, each decorated with the symbol of a sheaf of grain and an oak leaf.

A highly polished shell horn made of walrus tusk.

A beautifully-written madrigal, the first line reading "Your blazing mass negates any prudence." in Dwarvish.

A large tin canister whose lid is stamped with the image of barn, whose interior reveals a farmer milking a cow. The container is filled with dozens of well-preserved strips of beef jerky.

A white handkerchief, slightly yellowed, bordered in black thread. The soft, silky weave sloughs away all soaked or stuck-on mess once fully dried, no matter how dirty. Impossible to tear, by hand, but frayed around the edges. Bears a monogram in one corner; a rune reminiscent of a G, but with more curls.

A short scroll wrapped around a pair of dowels, bearing runic script and celestial patterns painted in rich, bold inks.

A small harp with a body made out of an opaque golden glass that seem to glow as the instrument is played.

A dark black cowl made from a fine matte cloth. The edge of the cowl is lined with a dull silver trim inscribed with shimmering symbols of Thieves Cant.

An ancient set of pipes made from the hollowed out finger bones of a dead bard, whose soul is still bound to them. When music is played from the instrument, listeners can faintly make out a gentle vocal accompaniment that perfectly fits whatever is being played.

A porcelain mask featuring a laughing face and a wide open mouth, and has all manner of colours and inlays on it. Inside the open mouth is just a black void that reflects no light, not even a glossy sheen.

An elven hunting cap that’s especially elongated, visually mirroring an elf’s elongated, pointed ears. It’s black, and the brim is pinned on one side with a tourmaline brooch, holding an iridescent peryton feather.

214 notes · View notes