#we know nothing. Her words were not recorded and she died.

[phantoms-planet]

Barred Protection Chapter Seven

First

Misspelled J'onn's name the whole chapter, don't have energy to fix it, sorry

Daelus was unkempt. Hair loose and in his face, bags under his eyes. Batman had seen many people go behind bars but none of them fell apart this quickly. It had only been a little over a week after all.

“Are you here to ask where I got him?” A weak voice called out. “I made sure that there weren’t any records of that.”

“I know.” Batman responded shortly. “Where?”

“When I was first building my company, I went on the look for anything that could be used for healing. I found a group called the G.I.W and got in contact with them.”

Batman pursed his lips. He didn’t know this organization, at least not by acronym.

After a pause Daelus put his head in his shaking hands. “Please, I never meant to hurt anyone.”

“Except for Danny.” Daelus flinched at the words.

“I didn’t know he was really a child. They said he was…I believed them…God why did I believe them?”

 A twinge of sympathy found its way out. Batman ignored it. “Who is the G.I.W?”

“They hunt ghosts.” Daelus answered simply.

This resulted in a confused grunt. Danny wasn’t a ghost; he was a meta child. Ghosts existed, just look at Deadman for an example, and ghost hunters were nothing new, but as far as he was aware none of them ever boasted having ghosts in their possession.

It was usually amateur groups waving recording devices and different cameras everywhere hoping to catch their supposed ‘anomalies’. They were as incompetent as they were spiritual most of the time.

Daelus took in a shaky breath before clarifying. “They’re a government branch dedicated to the capture and eradication of ecto-entities, as they call them. I assure you that what they do is entirely legal.”

Now wasn’t that a concerning statement. How they got permission to do things like capture a young boy while the Meta Protection Acts were in place was, unfortunately, beyond him.

“Where is their facility?”

Daelus shrugged tentatively. “I don’t know, we met at an agreed secondary location to discuss the deal and for them to transfer custody over. In hindsight that was most certainly a red flag.”

Batman hummed his agreement but didn’t say anything, waiting for Daelus to simply tell him things. The man didn’t disappoint.

“They said he was a ghost that’s whole purpose was to protect people. Through experiments they found that his tears…his tears could heal people.”

“So you bought him.”

“I didn’t believe he was a ghost though,” The man didn’t seem to hear him. “Ghosts are silly. But there is proof of gods and god-like beings. Superman, for one. I thought…maybe if I could harness the entity’s need to help others, I could find a way to make his tears into medicine, and it worked!”

“I had spent so many years trying to synthesize cures and all I needed was Subject P’s tears to do what no one else had managed. There weren’t any negative side effects, the tears were easy to incorporate, it was perfect! Everyone was happy!”

Batman pursed his lips as Daelus lit up when speaking about his success. It was as if the man only saw the solution and not the horrific path to get to it.

Seeming to sense his rising frustration, Daelus deflated with a quiet mumbled apology. They sat in silence for a few minutes. Nothing made noise but the clock ticking away the seconds up on the wall.

It was Daelus who broke the quiet. “When I was in middle school, there was a girl who had a terminal illness. I wasn’t close to her, to be honest I found her unworthy of my time. But I noticed when she died.”

Batman rose an eyebrow at the sudden story.

“Everyone was devastated. I couldn’t stand the way the air felt. It was as if we were all suffocated by the grief of her friends and family.” Daelus pulled a hand down his face, a deep frown forming. “I never cared about her, but I did care about the aftermath. I knew then that I wanted to make sure no one else had to feel the grief her loved ones did. That’s why I made my company.”

There was a pregnant pause. “You could use some of my medicines for-“

“No.”

“But- It could help the boy get better!”

“I said no.” Batman pulled himself to his feet and swept his way to the door, nodding to the guards to let them know he was done for now.

“Please! Let me help fix this!” The door slammed shut on the rest of Daelus’s cries.

---

After being brought back to his cell, Daelus started pacing like a caged animal. He knew his cures could help the boy, he knew it would be better than healing without help, he knew Batman had to know this as well.

Surely using P’s tears on himself was a good use for them? Even with how they were acquired if there was anyone who deserved their healing factor, it would be the boy who produced them! After all, he had helped save thousands of people!

Dealus didn’t know what to do with the buildup of guilt and rage. He wanted to yell. He wanted to cry. By God he wanted to break something.

Batman wasn’t letting him help fix anything. It wasn’t fair. Shouldn’t he get the chance to right the wrong he had caused? Surely Batman, who sent his rogues to get help, would understand this.

Only it seemed like he hadn’t. There hadn’t been a moment’s thought into denying Daelus’s ideas.

He forced himself to stop pacing and start taking deep breaths. It wouldn’t help anything to simmer in his anger right then and it certainly wouldn’t do anything good for his already troubled mind.

Instead Daelus called over the guard and made a simple request.

---

The NastyBurger.

That is where he was at the moment. Sitting in a booth, eating a burger that didn’t actually have any taste to it. That’s when the green guy showed up asking to sit with him. Danny had obliged.

“Do you remember me at all?” The green man asked. Danny shook his head. “My name is J’ohn. I was there when we rescued you.”

Rescued him? That was odd. He wasn’t in any danger; he was sitting around eating fast food after all.

J’ohn’s face seemed to grow…concerned? He wasn’t really sure how to read that expression. “Danny, do you remember what happened to you?”

“You’re gonna have to be more specific dude.”

“The facility.”

The edges of his surroundings started fuzzing out. If he thought about it, and he didn’t, there felt like something wrapped around his throat and wrists. Then it all went back to normal. “No idea what you’re talking about. The only ‘facility’,” Danny used air quotes, “I’ve been in is my parent’s lab.”

This didn’t seem to make J’ohn feel any better. Whatever, it wasn’t his problem. “Look man, my friends are going to be here soon, I’ll…talk to you later, I guess?” Before J’ohn could stop him, Danny was booking it from the building.

What a weird man for real.

…

This time it was at school. J’ohn walked in on his gym class in the middle of dodgeball. He wasn’t hit once as he made his way over to Danny.

Oddly enough, no one else paid attention to him.

“Danny, we need to speak. Your mind isn’t healing well, we need to know what has happened to you.”

Danny snorted. “Dude, I told you; I don’t know what you’re talking about. Nothing has happened to me besides Dash trying to pelt my face in with a dodgeball.”

“The facility was real Danny. Please try to remember.”

Once again the surroundings fuzzed out but this time Danny wasn’t going to stand for it. Rage boiled in his chest. “I said I don’t know what you’re talking about!” Jhon was about to respond when a ball hit him square in the side of the head.

Danny ran into the locker room.

…

Surely as Phantom he would get a break from J’ohn, right? Surely!

Not.

J’ohn was floating right next to him now as he shot ecto blasts at Boxy. “Danny please, this isn’t healthy. You need to remember so you can begin to heal.”

Danny had had enough. Turning square onto the man he aimed both hands and- fury exploded outwards as J’ohn simply dodged the blast. “I DON’T HAVE TO REMEMBER ANYTHING!” Just like that the world ripped away, leaving them in a blackened void. “I don’t WANT to remember anything!” J’ohn stumbled as winds started whipping around him. “And you can’t MAKE ME REMEMBER!”

---

J’ohn tripped backwards as he was violently expelled from the young boy’s mind. Diana caught him and gently sat him down. He spent a moment just catching his breath.

Of course he understood, such a young child going through something this traumatic would be difficult to reach, but he realized too late that he might have picked the wrong route to get to him.

Batman grunted, asking for what happened.

“I pushed too hard. Danny won’t welcome me into his mind so easily again. He’s adamant that he doesn’t want to remember anything about what happened to him. He’s choosing to fabricate a life as if it never happened at all.”

“That’s…” Diana couldn’t seem to find the words. Even Batman was upset by the news.

Everyone had been so excited when they had found out that Danny’s mind had been clearing up, and worried when he stopped waking up. This was not the breakthrough they had been hoping for.

“Where do we go from here?” Diana’s voice was uncharacteristically fragile.

Batman reached over to lay a hand to her shoulder. “Now we go after the G.I.W.”

---

Frostbite had many regrets. His most current one was related to the collar latched around his throat. He knew he should have listened to Clockwork but standing by while Danny was hurt and captive hadn’t sat well with him.

He had grown so fond of the young boy, so much so that he had begun to see him as something akin to his own. More than anything it hurt deeply to watch as Phantom was abused and neglected. Frostbite refused to stay idle any longer.

Now he was in a cage, unable to help anyone.

He dreaded what was going to happen to him, and even more-so how it would affect Phantom. After all, the G.I.W weren’t known for their mercy.

For what seemed to be the hundredth time Frostbite looked around the cage he was in.

It was only just large enough to house him sitting down, glowing green in an ominous way, and the bars on the one side showed a lab that made his fur stand on end. There were needles, saws, scalpels, clamps, anything medical that could be used to open someone up or keep them properly down covered the walls.

A sterile metal table sat in the center of the starkly lit room. It was large enough for him to fit on, which did nothing to help his nerves.

Frostbite curled in tighter on himself. He hoped against everything that someone might come to rescue him before it was too late.

[chuthulhu-reads]

[ID: A page from Trigun Maximum. In the first panel, the child Knives, wearing a big heavy coat with a furry collar, is reaching up, looking startled. The second panel shows that what he's looking at is a distant, faint, pale figure. The third panel closes in on the figure to show a child with pale shoulder-length hair and a blank expression, wearing the same kind of oversized shirt that Vash and Knives usually do as children. In the fourth panel, Knives is reeling back a little, still looking startled and anxious, as is Vash, who's standing behind him. Knives yells, "Vash! Is that..." The fifth panel shows the top of a cold sleep pod, and a bit of the face of the child sleeping happily inside. The sixth panel shows Vash in the background, looking down and saying, "No, it's... it's not her". In the foreground, Knives is still facing forwards, still frowning anxiously. The seventh panel shows the pale figure in the distance, and then the eight panel shows a sort of glimmer as if it's fading away, with Knives chasing after it and giving out a wordless exclamation. In the ninth panel, Knives is running down a corridor with Vash following behind, looking at the white silhouette of a person at the far end. The tenth panel shows that it's the same pale child, now looking back over her shoulder at the twins. End ID.]

Has there ever been a definitive answer as to what the fuck is happening here? Is Tessla a ghost? Is her body actually, as TriStamp suggests, still alive, and reaching out to the only other independent plants around? Are the twins somehow sensing her presence, but because they don't fully understand their own powers, the sense manifests as a shared hallucination, similar to the way Vash seemed to sense that Knives had been around during a plant's Last Run but didn't see what actually happened, just a loose representation? If this is Tessla purposefully reaching out to the boys, why now? Is it because the rest of the crew woke up, and she wants to warn them of what could happen if anyone else sees them? Or, like Vash argues later, does she too think that the twins are in danger now that they're a year old, older than she ever got to be, old enough for experiments to pick up where she died? Or does she just want her own kind to visit her lonely grave?

[wonderjanga]

Marvel Eating Random Things

I love allllllllll the Billy eating random things as Marvel posts/headcanons. I don’t know why. I just love it. I love unhinged Marvel soooo much. But what if we took it one step further and had Marvel eat anything, including living creatures. Also, I’m gonna connect this to the Marvel being a Good Cook post. In that post, he’s just a good cook basically.

Flash: *passed out on the floor of the kitchen in a hypoglycemic coma*

Marvel: *walks into the kitchen and stops dead in his tracks* “Wally?” *walks over and prods him with his shoe* “Are you dead?” *kneels down to sniff him* “Can I eat you?”

Flash: *groans*

Marvel: *stands up* “Oh, thank the gods.” *picks Wally up to take him to the medbay* “Come on, bud. Let’s see if we can fix you up.”

A little bit later…

Flash: *on a medical cot and wakes up*

Marvel: *nearby, doing a crossword puzzle*

Flash: *sees Marvel* “Cap?”

Marvel: “Yes?” *fills in one of the words on the puzzle*

Flash: “Did you… Did you ask if you could eat me?”

Marvel: “Nope.”

Flash: “Yeah, that’s what I thought. It’s just I swear I heard you say something like that.” *sits up, stomach rumbling*

Marvel: “You were pretty knocked out, man. I don’t remember saying that.” *puts crossword down* “Why don’t we get something to eat? Like chili dogs or burgers or something?”

Flash: “Sounds great.” *gets off the cot so they can head to the zetas*

He gaslit, gatekeeped, and girlbossed. He’s also done this to multiple leaguers by the way. One of them was Batman who now has a recording of Billy asking if he could eat him. Bruce listened to it a solid ten times because in this AU, he knows next to nothing about Marvel, and now, because of this recording, he’s wondering if Marvel is, or was even human.

Then, there was the time him and Wonder Woman went together to wrangle some demons back into Tartarus. Unfortunately, one of the demons died during the process and didn’t make it back into the gates. So, now Diana and Billy were stuck with a demon corpse.

Diana: *looking at the corpse* “What should we do with it?”

Marvel: *also looking at the corpse* “Hmm… I have an idea.”

Diana: “Oh? Could you sha-” *now sees Marvel in his little lightning bolt apron and chef hat* “Why’re you dressed like that?”

Marvel: “I like to get into it.” *starts pulling salt, pepper, paprika, Goya Adobo, basically a bunch of seasonings out of his pocket dimension*

Diana: “Cap…? Cap. You can’t seriously be suggesting we eat the demon?”

Marvel: “I’m not suggesting anything. I’m just politely telling you that it’s one, delicious, and two also delicious.” *conjures up a giant, demon-sized, floating frying pan from nowhere with a fire underneath it*

Diana: *watches as Marvel picks the demon up, puts it in the pan, and starts seasoning*

She does end up eating some of the demon later with Marvel. Though she swore she would “never do it again.” But, when she heard Marvel tell her of a demon that tastes like hard candy when you mix its body with a certain magical herb, she wouldn’t admit it, but she had second thoughts. Those second thoughts amped up when he told her they were really good to eat with ice cream.

Then, there was the time with Aquaman. He came over to Atlantis because he wanted to see Aquaman’s sea creatures. His school had a field trip to the aquarium and he not only did he not have an adult to sign the permission slip, he also didn’t have enough money to pay the fare. Thankfully, Billy’s Marvel form didn’t need to breathe so he could go underwater just fine. Meanwhile, Arthur was just happy to yap about the sea creatures to and listen intently and ask questions and all that. Unfortunately, some mermaids swam up and decided to ruin their fun. Now, you see, they were sort of fighting them in an underwater cave and all the fighting caused a piece of rubble to come loose and fall on one of the mermaids, killing her. This caused the rest of them to run.

Aquaman: “Alright, back to the tour.” *sees Marvel casually sawing off the mermaid’s tail* “What’re you doing, man?”

Marvel: “I’m gonna eat this later.” *holds the mermaid tail up, shaking it a little*

Aquaman: “Oh. Cool. Can I have some?”

Marvel: “Sure, I can make it when our tours done.” *puts the mermaid tail in his pocket dimension*

Aquaman: “Nice, I’ll bring some Atlantean mead.”

Later…

Marvel and Aquaman: *both munching on mermaid tail*

Aquaman: “This really good!” *grabs some mead to drink down his mouthful of fish*

Marvel: “Thanks.” *munches on fish* “You know, I was surprised you wanted to eat this.”

Aquaman: “Why?”

Marvel: “You can talk to fish right? So, if you were to go to an aquarium, wouldn’t you hear some fish screaming to be let out or something?”

Aquaman: “Geez, I haven’t been to an aquarium since I was a kid.” *sounding nostalgic* “But nah, they normally just chill.”

Marvel: “I haven’t been to one ever. And really? Huh.” *munches on fish more* “But I guess what I’m really asking is if you’re sensitive about eating fish or not.”

Aquaman: “Nah, not really. In this great big sea, what did you think the main source of protein was? Plus, this is mermaid, it’s only technically fish.”

Marvel: *shrugs* “So is that a no? You don’t care about eating fish?”

Aquaman: *nods head as he drinks more mead* “It’s a no.”

Marvel: “Sweet! Cause I have a bunch of fish recipes I wanna try out.”

About an hour after this, Marvel had to help Aquaman home since the Atlantean challenged him to a drinking contest, not knowing the Captain couldn’t get drunk. Mera had a brow raised at Billy judgmentally the entire time he explained why he came home with her husband black out drunk.

[mrsshabana]

𝐆𝐇𝐎𝐒𝐓!𝐆𝐘𝐔𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐎 ⛧ 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐇𝐑𝐄𝐄

꒦꒷‧₊ Summary After reaching your breaking point you decide to do some digging to learn about Gyutaro's past. But once you do, everything changes and your relationship with the ghost boy will never be the same. ꒦꒷‧₊ Content Gyutaro x female!reader, 18+ MDNI, masturbation, vaginal sex, creampie, gore, violence, body horror (?) ꒦꒷‧₊ Note 2.2k words.

༺ Art ༻

⇢ Chapter one ⇢ Chapter two ⇢ Kinktober Masterlist

You've had enough.

What happened when Mitsuri was over was your last straw. You tried to confront Gyutaro after she left, but yet again he refused to show himself. You don't know what his problem is but you're fed up with his antics.

So the next afternoon you decide to go to the local library to do some research away from the ghost boy's prying eyes.

Once there you begin looking for any records on the house. Anything at all that might talk about what happened there with Gyutaro. But you come up empty-handed, even when you try searching his name.

It's not until you ask the librarian for assistance that you actually get somewhere.

"So you're the one that moved into that old house," she mumbles as she looks through documents in a large filing cabinet, "It's a shame what happened there..." she trails off.

Finally, she finds what she was looking for, "Here you go sweetie, this should give you all the information you need," she says with a somber smile as she hands you a newspaper dated from June 2nd, 2004.

"Thank you!" You excitedly take the newspaper and make yourself comfortable at a table before reading it.

Large letters heading the front page read, "Local Teen Killed in Hit and Run Accident"

You feel a shiver go down your spine as you read the title. Almost afraid to continue the article for what you might find, but you push on.

"Gyutaro Shabana, a recent 19-year-old Graduate of Daikoku Academy, was killed yesterday afternoon in a hit and run accident. Shabana was playing with his little sister, Ume, in front of their family home when he was struck by an unidentified vehicle. The driver fled and has not been identified. Shabana died at the scene."

Below the first paragraph is a photo of Gyutaro when he was alive, smiling in what appears to be a graduation photo.

"Mrs. Hisa, a neighbor who witnessed the gruesome crime, had this to say, "Gyutaro was on the sidewalk drawing chalk with little Ume like any other night. When this truck sped up and drove over the curb! It looked like he pushed the little girl away, thank god she survived. But poor Gyutaro, I ran over to try and help... he was covered in blood after the truck sped off. There was nothing we could do."

Another photo is inserted here, this time a photo from the crime scene. It depicts a colorful children's drawing on the sidewalk, but it's covered in blood.

"Paramedics arrived on scene but were unable to save the boy. Shabana is survived by his sister (6), mother, and father. If you have any information regarding the driver that killed Shabana please call 555-0661."

The old newspaper trembles in your hands as you finish reading the violent recount of Gyutaro's death.

Before you came here you were angry towards him but now you don't know how to feel. Of course, his past isn't an excuse for his behavior. But you still can't help but feel sorry for him.

He was so young. And he left behind his family, including his little sister who he seemed to be close to. You can't imagine the pain she went through - seeing her older brother die right in front of her eyes. And at such a young age too.

Gyutaro had his whole life ahead of him, but it was snatched away from him due to someone else's recklessness. And according to this article, the driver who hit Gyutaro was never found. For all you know, they could be living a happy life, while the Shabana family had their lives shattered.

It's not fair.

After spending hours at the library you finally go home. You know Gyutaro is around by the chill air that seems to travel around the room.

Despite you trying to keep your cool, Gyutaro can sense that something is off.

"Y/N?" he finally shows himself, "The hell is up with you?"

When you look at his face, all of the emotions you felt while reading that article hit you again. The sadness, the anger, the yearning to comfort him.

You don't need to say anything for him to know what happened, he can tell just by looking at your face.

"I don't need your pity," he rasps.

"Gyutaro, I'm sorry-"

"Save it!" he shouts, "What happened to me is none of your goddamn business."

His voice is harsh, but his watery eyes give away what he's feeling inside as the painful memories of that day return.

June 1st, 2004 was the day he got accepted into University with plans of majoring in marine biology. His parents were so proud of him. And he was so proud of himself, he felt like he was finally on the right track. All he ever wanted was to make his family proud.

That afternoon, he went outside to play with his little sister. There weren't many kids around her age in the neighborhood, so he would often play with her. He didn't have many friends himself, so he didn't mind. Ume was the only friend he needed.

They were drawing pictures on the sidewalk in front of their house.

"Look, it's us!" his sister chimes as she points to two stick figures. One has long white hair and the other has black spots on its face.

"Heh, that looks just like me! Who taught you to draw like that?" Gyutaro smiles.

"Onii-chan!" Ume chirps as she crawls into her big brother's arms and gives him a hug.

Hugging his little sister was the last happy moment he had.

Gyutaro saw something barreling towards them and he instinctually pushed his sister away.

It was a miracle he didn't die instantly.

Surprisingly he doesn't remember the pain he felt as blood filled his lungs and spilled out of his mouth and nose.

All he remembers is Ume's screams.

A tear rolls down Gyutaro's cheek as he recalls the memory.

"Look, I've been trapped in this house for 20 years," he mutters, "I just wanted to have a little fun. But I know it was wrong... and I'm sorry. You won't have to worry about me coming around anymore."

And with that final statement, he disappears.

No matter how much you plea and say you're not angry with him, he doesn't return.

It really begins to sink in after a few days pass and there's no sign of Gyutaro. You talk to the air, hoping that he can hear you, but to no avail.

You thought ridding your home of the ghost boy would have made your life easier, but all you can think about is how much you miss him. Sure he was aggravating at times but he had a playfulness about him that brightened up your home despite him being a ghost.

He was also super horny all the time. And you pretended to hate it, but deep down you enjoyed it. For the first time in your life, someone was feral for you and it felt good to be desired like that.

It's clear now that his intentions were never bad. He just got so excited when you moved in that he couldn't help himself. Being isolated for twenty years makes you forget how to act around a girl you're crushing on.

You miss him. All you want to do is bring comfort to him in the afterlife but no matter how hard you try he still doesn't appear.

But you have a devious idea. If anything can draw him out of hiding it would be this.

First, you rid yourself of your clothes, and then you go into your bedroom and dig out those old porn magazines you found when you first moved in.

You grab one that seems less abused than the others, and sit on your bed with your back rested against the headboard. Making sure to spread your legs slightly.

The lights in the room begin to flicker and the temperature decreases until you can see your breath in the air.

You knew he couldn't resist the temptation.

"H-Hey!" he shouts, "I told you not to touch my shit!" He snatches the porno out of your hands.

He's just putting on a tough act, pretending to only care about the magazine. But his cheeks are flushed pink and he can't help but glance at your body.

"Sorry, I thought you wouldn't mind if I used them," you blush, covering your body with your hands as the cold hair surrounding him gives you goosebumps.

"Well um, I guess I don't mind as long as you don't crease the pages," he says shyly, still trying not to stare.

"Thanks, I promise I won't," you smile and take the magazine back.

He watches in awe as you begin to touch yourself while looking through the magazine. So distracted by the scene in front of him that he just sits there staring like a weirdo, not speaking or moving an inch.

"Uh, earth to Gyutaro?"

"Wh-what?" he clears his throat, "Oh heh, sorry I'll give you your privacy." He disappears into thin air but you know he's still there.

Honestly, it was cute seeing him get so flustered when before he acted so cocky. Now that you're alone and he can't manipulate you as easily, he melts from your attention. Finally, you can see through the act.

You continue to touch yourself, moaning softly and putting on a show for him. It's obvious he didn't actually leave as you can feel the cold air moving around you. Maybe he's secretly pleasuring himself too.

The magazine is just a prop at this point, the only reason you're so wet is because you know Gyutaro is watching.

Ditching the magazine, you get more comfortable and lay on your back. Spreading your legs wider to allow better access for your fingers and a better view for Gyutaro.

You pick up the pace, rubbing your clit and rolling your hips. Gyutaro feels like he's gonna fucking lose it when he sees your tight walls fluttering around nothing, but he tries to control himself. However, you do feel the cold air shift above you.

"Ah," you moan softly, "I wish someone was inside of me right now..."

Almost instantly Gyutaro manifests. But you're surprised to see he's already positioned on top of you, his aching cock already lined up to your entrance.

Your eyes meet, his glowing inhuman orbs scream of loneliness - begging for your affection.

Placing your hand on his cheek, you pull him in for a kiss. Softly pressing your lips against his. His skin is cool to the touch and leaves a tingling sensation on your body.

Gyutaro happily accepts the kiss and slowly slides into you at the same time.

You gasp, feeling the unusual coldness enter you. It feels good but also so unnatural at the same time.

"Holy shit, you're tight," he groans with a big smile on his face.

Finally, after 20 years of death, Gyutaro has lost his virginity.

Getting excited, he begins to thrust quickly and sporadically. The sensation is indescribable. It's like he's able to push deeper than he should, forcing his semi-physical cock to literally go through you when he thrusts too hard.

He glides through your gummy walls, pushes past your cervix, and into your womb. It causes your body to tremble and your legs to give out. But Gyutaro doesn't mind, he keeps a firm grip on you as he fucks you senseless.

"Ngh Y/N - your guts feel so good," he groans, pushing further into uncharted areas of your body.

You can't even manage a proper response as you get your insides rearranged. "G-Gyu! Pl-ease, ah-ah!"

"H-Hurry up and cum already," he growls, "Feels too good!"

He clenches his eyes shut, trying desperately to hold it in. But he just can't help it, being more than balls deep in your guts is too much for him to handle. And he's left emptying his load inside of you.

You can't stop your body from climaxing with him as you feel the ice-cold sting as the sticky white substance fills your insides. Shooting all throughout your body as each splatter causes a wave of pleasure. It feels like ice melting inside of you as you lay there in pure bliss.

"Holy shit," Gyutaro mumbles as his body begins to glow, "I think I'm ascending!"

"Wh-what?!" your eyes widen and you're brought out of the blissful state you were in, "Are you serious?!"

"Haha, no," he laughs as his skin returns to normal, "I'm just fucking with you."

You roll your eyes and punch his shoulder but your hand goes right through him.

"You only touch me when I want you to touch me," he snickers, back to his usual mischievous behavior. But honestly, you can't even be mad. You're just happy to have him back. "You have a lot to learn about me, Y/N," he smirks.

"I should have known better," you smile and open your arms, wanting to hug him, "I missed you, Gyutaro."

He allows it and hugs you tightly, falling back onto the bed with you. It dawns on him that this is the first hug he's felt in 20 years.

"I ain't going anywhere, ok?" he smiles softly, nuzzling into your hair, "You're stuck with me from now on."

[sammyluvr]

something about being close — sam winchester

cw : gn!reader, angst, fluff, sam and reader are lovingly mean to each other, bad insults (weird, stupid, lame), bad jokes, swearing, canon typical violence and ghosts, arguing, so much kissing, could be ooc but idc, edited but most likely still contains a few mistakes, single usage of y/n, 9.5K words. requested !

summary : sam's being overprotective of you, and it leads to an argument and something more.

“hey, check this out,” sam calls to you and dean, not bothering to look up from his computer screen. “think we found our violent spirit.” you part from your own research without a single qualm, resting a hand on the back of sam’s chair as he leans back for you and dean to get a better look. “marissa hancock. she was a student at the college, died a violent death there, just like we thought. it’s thought that the janitor impaled her with his mop while he was working in her dorm hall, but he was never put away for lack of evidence.”

“explains the janitor kabob,” dean quips, already headed to shrug on his jacket. 

“easy solve,” you admit. it only took a solid half hour of searching through records to find the right murder. “but why’s she killing now? she’s had, what?” you lean further over sam’s shoulder to inspect the record, “fifty some years to be killing janitors, why start now?”

“dunno,” sam shrugs, and you can feel his shoulder brush against you, reminding you how close he is. doing your best to stay casual and maybe not stare longingly at his pretty face from this close up, you straighten your back and go to grab your own jacket as sam types away on his keyboard. “looks like her original murderer died two weeks ago.”

“right when the killings started,” dean finishes. “alright, let’s go. you got where she’s buried, sam?”

“yep,” he stands, shutting his laptop. “saint mercy cemetery, not too far.”

“hm,” you laugh out, “second saint mercy cemetery this month. people need to get more creative,” you note as you exit the motel room and head down the short hallway to get to the impala.

“and what would you name a cemetery?” dean asks, ready to catch you off guard or tease you for anything he can get his hands on.

“i should have thought of a clever answer before saying that,” you admit, “but i do wish it were socially acceptable to call them dead people neighborhoods.”

“that’s lame,” sam grins, throwing his arm around your shoulders for just about two seconds before he has to let go to get through the small doorway and outside.

“c’mon,” you complain, “i know it’s kind of lame, and definitely insensitive, but imagine someone just asked you where you’re headed after work and you get to tell them you’re going to the dead people neighborhood. cemetery’s no fun, at least dead people neighborhood is accurate.” you close the back door of the car behind you as you settle in to punctuate your point.

“you’re weird,” sam teases in a matter-of-fact tone, not even looking back from the passenger’s seat to see the sneer on your face.

“no, you’re weird,” you fire back.

“alright, kids,” dean interrupts, “enough bickering like we’re four, we’ve got a job to do,” he snickers as he backs the car up.

“okay, dean,” you and sam chime, voices full of mocking and almost totally in sync. dean rolls his eyes hard, because it’s just one of those days where the two of you can’t stop feeding into the antics of the other, regressing the combined mental age of the three of you by at least twenty years. 

having known the brothers since you were kids through bobby, and starting to hunt with them about a year and a half ago, you’ve certainly grown close with the both of them. but a little closer in age, you and sam are nothing but two peas in a pod. and much to dean’s chagrin, that means it only takes a split second for the two of you to switch things up and turn against him when he tries to break up your banter. it’s pretty much all loving argumentation, of course, but that doesn’t mean it isn’t annoying as all hell for whoever has to witness it.

“and for the record, i like dead people neighborhood,” dean offers, ignoring your moment of synchronicity with sam.

“yes!” you celebrate, reaching around the seat in front of you to lightly hit sam’s shoulder. “you’re the lame one, you’re no fun.” 

he scoffs, mumbling something to himself about how, “of course dean likes dead people neighborhood. it’s stupid.”

you resist the urge to tell him that he’s stupid, and instead follow dean’s direction to focus on the case.

“hold on, dean. you should drop me off on campus first, one of us should make sure another janitor doesn’t fall on his mop handle before we can burn the bones,” you suggest.

“no.”

your brow furrows at how fast sam shuts you down, his serious tone a harsh contrast to his practically whiny mumble moments before. you glance at dean to see that he’s got his own eyebrows raised in confusion.

“what’d’you mean, ‘no’?” you question.

“i mean,” he clears his throat as if he’s just realized his strong denial was awkward, “that that could be dangerous alone, so i’ll go and you can stick with dean.”

you send a bewildered look to dean, one he doesn’t catch trying to pay attention to the street name up ahead. “i’m sorry, are you suggesting i can’t handle a measly ghost?” mostly you’re confused by sam’s words, but you can’t help letting a bit of offense slip into your voice.

“n-no, no that’s not what i’m saying,” he fumbles, trying to fix what he said, “i meant– i meant it would be safer for anyone not to go alone. so– so i’ll go with you and dean can stick with burning the body.”

it’s a clumsy, bad save that’s entirely unconvincing.

“you’re seriously gonna stick me with grave digging duty?” dean grunts, “y/n’s right, it’s just one ghost, we don’t need two of us to deal with it. digging up a grave is arguably harder.”

“exactly,” you reason, “which is why i should go scope out the dorm hall, and you should go with dean to the dead people neighborhood.”

“she’s buried in a family mausoleum,” counters sam, “her grave doesn’t need to be dug up, which means it’s a one person job, and since there could be an actual violent ghost in the dorm, two people should go. and don’t try to make dead people neighborhood a thing, at the very least it’s too long, not to mention it’s not funny.”

despite the fact that he’s teasing you, you’re glad to hear something normal come out of his mouth. his hesitancy to let you take on the ghost is odd, especially considering the ghost might not show up at all. it’s not like he’s never been protective of you, it’s in both his and certainly dean’s nature. but he knows full well that you are completely capable of handling one violent ghost, and he’s been weird like this for the past two weeks.

you laugh when you admit, “it wasn’t quite as good in context as i thought it would be, but it wasn’t that bad, i’m just tryna to stick with my bit,” you defend, “and fine, two people at the dorms, one on dead person arson.”

“are you serious?” sam laughs, halfheartedly tossing his head back to give you a judgemental look through the corner of his eye.

“dead serious, pun absolutely intended,” you let out a full laugh at the strangled sigh he lets out. oh how you love to rile him up with bad jokes. “you’re too easy, sam. for that, i’m sticking you on grave duty. dean and i will handle the dorm.”

“you should be on grave duty, for all the bad jokes today,” he argues.

dean practically growls in annoyance, “how about i go on grave duty, so i can get away from your annoying asses.” it’s not a suggestion, and the both of you huff out a sigh, but don’t argue.

dean drops you off a little ways from the dorm hall for you to grab a shotgun and salt rounds with less of a chance of being seen. you leave the other shotgun for dean just in case, bothered that yours is still broken from the last hunt. there hadn’t been enough time to fix it yet. so, you grab an iron rod, hoping to use that before any guns on a college campus. it’d be a sticky situation to get out of, being caught with shotguns in a dorm, and at the very least incredibly inconvenient to scare the hell out of a bunch of college aged kids at eleven pm. sam sticks the shotgun under his jacket, generally hiding it from the view of anyone not looking too closely.

walking a few minutes, you find the right dorm hall and sam hands the gun off to you to pull out his lock pick. but, glancing behind you, you shove the gun back into his hands and yank him into you.

“the hell?” he resists for a split second before you quickly interrupt him.

“shut up! hide the gun and act like you’re piss drunk. someone’s coming,” you hiss. in a swift movement, he tucks the gun back under his jacket as you shimmy the iron rod into your sleeve, then he swings his free arm around you, practically dropping half of his weight on you. “dude,” you complain, before falling into character. “sammy, come on!” you whine loudly. “i can’t reach my id with you like this,” you pretend to feel around for something in your back pocket while keeping him standing, and he immediately picks up on what you’re trying to do. he stumbles forward so that you have to use both hands to keep him upright, and you curse at your false struggle. “help me out here, sammy, will you?” you try to make your voice sound overly desperate, maybe a little innocent too, “why don’t you lean against the wall so we can get inside,” you beg, trusting sam to play his part well.

“nooo,” he slurs, dragging the word out in a whiny pitch, “don’t wanna.” he turns into you and haphazardly wraps his lanky arm all the way around your form, tugging you to him and nearly knocking the both of you over. you feel heat rush to your cheeks at this and desperately remind yourself that he’s only pressing his face into your neck so that he can get a look at the person approaching and keep the shotgun well hidden from view.

you see the girl out of the corner of your eye, young and clearly a student headed for the dorm.

“oh, thank god!” you exclaim, “hey, i’m so sorry to bother you, but do you think you could open the door for us?” you ask as sweetly as you can, pulling your eyebrows together to gain sympathy, before adding on a humorous tone, “my boyfriend is stupid drunk and i can’t get us inside.” you can feel sam stiffen for a split second at your words, and you yourself wonder if you should have just gone the “friend” route for the sake of your own sanity. you’re going to want to keep calling sam your boyfriend, over and over again.

“oh my god, of course,” she laughs goodnaturedly, and you thank the lord she’s laid back, rather than some uptight rule follower ready to report you to administration. she swipes her id and holds the door open for you, and as you struggle into the building, you think that sam is making this harder for you than it has to be. but there’s absolutely no denying you love the way it feels to just have him all over you, even for the sake of illegally entering a building with a gun.

“thank you so much,” your voice is one big sigh of relief, slightly muffled by the fabric of sam’s jacket.

“yeah, don’t worry about it,” she smiles, “you two are super cute, by the way,” she compliments before turning towards the stairs and waving a kind goodbye.

you do your best to not stumble over your words as you thank her, heat once again rising to your face, and you’re sure that sam can feel the warmth of your neck. body stiff, you turn and head down the hallway in the opposite direction, sam still clinging to you until it’s clear.

“alright, get off, you big dork,” you snort, gently pushing him away and doing your best to regain your composure to proceed as if you don’t have a massive crush on him. “did ya have to make it so hard for me?”

he shrugs with a sly grin, “had to make it convincing, didn’t i? besides, it was your idea, you don’t get to complain.”

you stick your tongue out at him and he raises his eyebrows as if to say, “really?”

“she was really nice,” you note, voice almost wistful in a way that sam easily picks up on. about a year into hunting with the brothers and dean was off buying food, you and sam had collapsed onto a motel bed together as you had many times before by then, both exhausted after a long case. that night, as you spoke in tired, hushed tones, with no need for anyone but the other to hear your words, you had somehow ended up with your head resting on his biceps and one of his legs swung over yours. 

that’s the night you told him you were jealous that he got to go to college, even if it wasn’t for long. you’d told him how you liked the idea of that life, even if you had to return to hunting after it was over. you wanted friends your age, to learn, go to stupid parties and have a college partner. you knew the experience wasn’t all rainbows and butterflies, but you wanted it anyway. he’d said, sure, it wasn’t perfect, but it was a hell of a lot better than hunting in his opinion. he wanted you to have that. once this was all over, and you both got justice for your families, he’d help you apply, make sure you got in somewhere, maybe even go with you. a hush fell over the room and he knew you weren’t convinced.

“yeah, she was,” he says, his own voice a touch more gentle than moments ago. “we were lucky.” he doesn’t want to tell you that most college kids would be at least cool enough to let you inside, maybe not as friendly as her, but that it’s true you’d like it here. he doesn’t want to remind you of what you can’t have. 

a silence falls over the two of you, punctuated only by the shuffling of your feet or the rustle of clothes. it’s comfortable and easy because you’ve done it a million times before. you don’t have to say anything to agree that you’ll head to the basement where the original murder occured. the both of you stay quiet and light on your feet, sam always peering around corners before rounding them.

in the basement he stops you with a simple finger to his lips. he leans in close to whisper as quietly as he can, “janitor’s here.”

you resist the urge to call said janitor an idiot, because who the hell is going to be cleaning an area in which three of your coworkers have mysteriously died in the past two weeks, but you just nod instead, taking in the way that sam’s eyes look under the dim light.

“wanna wait around til dean calls or warn him?” you ask, equally as quiet. he turns his head to look back around the corner before continuing.

“well, we should warn him, but we can’t use the drunk ruse on an employee. he probably has a radio scanner on him, might even be connected to campus security,” he points out.

“fbi?”

“we look too much like college kids right now,” he reasons.

“right,” you agree, “well then, stupid college kids trying to see a murder scene? we’ll link arms and you can hide the gun behind your back. just so we’re near him til dean burns the bones. hopefully nothing’ll even happen.” it’s as if you jinxed it all in that moment, as the lights immediately begin to flicker, the buzz of electricity filling your ears and a sudden chill filling the air. “nevermind,” you curse, flicking the iron rod back into your hand and barging around the corner, only a hair behind sam.

“way to jinx it,” he grunts.

you just scoff and beg him, “just try not to use the gun.” this time neither of you attempt to hide your presence as your shoes pound against the tile floor.

“no promises,” sam says, the gun up and loaded in front of him.

“what the hell?” the janitor barely has the time to exclaim before he’s thrown against the wall.

“i got it,” you warn sam, eager to avoid gunshots and sprinting full speed towards the apparition, iron rod in front of you. you throw all your weight into reaching the ghost of the young girl before she can flicker out of reach. the iron in your hand makes contact, and she evaporates for the time being. unfortunately for you, your momentum keeps you going, through the space the ghost just occupied and straight into the section of the floor slick with soapy water. with no time to gain any semblance of your balance, you slip and come crashing to the ground. your back hits the floor and the wind gets knocked out of your lungs in the same moment that the iron skitters out of your hand.

you struggle a bit to sit up due to the wetness underneath you, gasping slightly and letting curses fall from your mouth the moment you can speak again.

in a split second reaction, sam shouts your name, his voice inappropriately taught and worried for such a silly accident. he’s by your side in an instant, strong hands pulling you up and his anxious voice asking if you’re alright. you wave him off easily, unconcerned for yourself.

“help him,” you urge, “i’m fine.” but he doesn’t back off nearly as easily as you’d think.

“are you sure, did you hit your head? you couldn’t breathe for a second there,” his hands stay glued to you as he rattles off his concerns, ones that you find utterly unnecessary and unhelpful considering the fact that you’re fine, and the ghost could reappear any second. his strong grip keeps you from bending down to scoop up the iron rod, but you have to wrench yourself away from him when you hear a strangled cry come from the janitor. he whirls around with you to see the ghost with her hands around the janitor’s neck, crushing him against the wall as his feet dangle just above the floor. the iron rod is back in your hand in an instant, but sam’s shotgun lays abandoned on the floor a few feet away.

he dives for the weapon, but with a flick of the ghost’s hand, he’s knocked against the wall with a noise so loud it hurts to hear. before she can pay you attention, you fling the iron towards her, vaporizing her once more. the iron clatters to the ground as the janitor collapses to his knees. you rush towards him, pulling him away from the wall before tugging a container of salt from your jacket’s inside pockets. apologetically, you haul the poor man to his feet, throwing a quick look over your shoulder at sam. he’s groaning painfully, but already moving to get back up. 

knowing he’s easily survived worse, you turn your attention back to the janitor, who’s sputtering out confused and incoherent questions about what in the goddamn hell is happening.

“just stay there,” you urge him, too pressed for time to add adequate sympathy to your tone. “stay in the circle and she can’t get you.” with practiced ease, you shake the salt onto the ground with barely enough to make a small, solid ring around the man.

you scoop up the gun from the ground, then turn to help sam onto his feet. “we’re gonna have to tough this out til dean gets done,” is all you say when you place the weapon into his hands, despite the urge to ask what the hell is wrong with him and why he’s so off his game. you turn to grab your own weapon, but it seems the ghost is reappearing faster and faster. this time, you’re the one who gets tossed into the wall, but you stay pressed against the cold surface as a mop flies to meet you, the long handle pushing against your throat and cutting off your air supply. you take in a strangled gasp, hands clawing at the old wooden handle and giving yourself a few splinters that you couldn’t care less about in the moment. of course, it doesn’t budge.

the second you’re flattened against the wall, sam shouts your name again, this time with his gun in the air, swinging around to get a shot at the ghost. but before he can react, it flies out of his hand and she reappears right in front of him, pushing him against the wall across from you.

he struggles against her wildly, his hand itching to get free of her hold to reach the hidden iron knife in his pocket. but before he can get there, her grip weakens and she lets out a strangled scream as she bursts into flames. the flames climb up her old fashioned pencil skirt and swallow up the bloody wound in her abdomen. her grip on you and sam falters as she burns away, then dissolves completely as the last of her ashes fade out into the musty basement air.

you drop to your knees, coughing and gasping for breath as the sound of the mop clattering to the floor echoes through the hallway. sam’s saying your name, half through a cough and his voice still so worried as he stumbles towards you. then he’s on his knees too and his hands are sturdy on your shoulders.

“‘m fine,” you rasp out, hand reaching for his bicep to ground you to something solid and steady. he stays right there, completely ignoring the poor man who’s still practically frozen in fear in the tiny circle of salt and the ringing of his phone. one of his hands slips around you to rub soothing strokes up and down your back and it brings you even closer to him, your forehead dipping to rest on his shoulder. you feel silly for how much he’s fussing over you, but you can’t quite scold or question him until you’ve caught your breath. clearly something is bothering him (and you want him so bad), so you let him hold you close.

“are you hurt anywhere?” he finally asks once he feels your breathing even out under his touch. 

you pull away from him gently, shaking your head before verbally confirming, “no, i’m alright sam. nothing more than your typical bumps and bruises.” your voice is a touch raspy from the pressure on your throat, but it’s nothing that won’t go away with some water and rest, maybe some tea if really necessary.

his hands stay on you as he stands. “are you sure?” he asks, and you can’t figure out why on earth, heaven, or hell he’s so overly concerned about you. frankly, it’s starting to worry you. and definitely annoy you. all the sudden he’s acting like you’re fragile, like you can’t take care of yourself. things which he should know for a fact aren’t true.

he lets you slip away from his hold as you swoop down to pick up your lost weapons and face the poor janitor.

“sorry about that all. you can step out of the salt now.” he looks at you as if he can’t be sure, and your tone softens a bit. he’s young, probably just a college kid himself. “she’s really gone this time, i promise. you won’t ever have to worry about her again. though, i wouldn’t blame you if you wanted to look for a different job.”

he nods and thanks you, and you tell him to repay the favor by not mentioning you and sam. then, at a pace you certainly can’t blame him for, he scurries away.

“c’mon,” you nod to sam, “we should get out of here. you should also call dean back. he’s probably worried you didn’t answer.” with that, you turn back in the direction of the stairs without looking back at sam, rolling your eyes when your own cell ring. you pick up with a, “we’re fine, dean,” before he can even ask why the hell it took you so long to answer him. he lets out a sigh, half relieved, half annoyed. 

“what took ya so long?” he asks anyway.

“had a few bumps in the road since little miss janitor-killer showed up, but we’re fine. neither of us are hurt. would’ya pick us up in the same spot you left us?”

“yeah, ‘course. already on my way, see you crazy kids in five.” with that, he hangs up and you don’t have to glance over your shoulder to feel sam following behind. it’s all just the familiarity of his footsteps, the sound they make, and the pace at which he walks. it’s the particular rustle of his favorite jacket, soft and scratchy sounding all at once. it’s the feeling of his tall figure, his broad chest so close behind you that he’d run right into you if you stopped even for a moment. you debate whether to ask him what the hell is up now or at the motel. for now, the priority is getting out unnoticed, so you clench your jaw a bit and continue in silence because you’re beginning to feel a little angry with him. you think he can feel it, so he stays quiet too, all the way out the dorm and down the street to wait for dean.

it’s not uncommon to be quieter after a hunt is finished because you’re all usually tired and more often than not achey from some toss around or another. but sam can tell there’s something else bothering you tonight. from the way you tilt your shoulder away from him, the distance so nearly imperceptible that only he would notice, he’s willing to bet that he’s that something. and though he doesn’t want to admit it, he thinks he knows why. he just won’t be the first one to say something about it because he’s stubborn, a little prideful, and most of all, too afraid to explain why he’s acting this way.

even so, he just can’t help himself. he hovers near, so near that once you’re settled by the side of the road, you can feel him without actually touching him. you’re tempted to nudge him away, just because of how overprotective he’s acting. you’re also tempted to lean back into his chest because somehow you know his hands wouldn’t waste a second in gathering you up and keeping you closer than ever before. it starts to rain a little bit, soft and almost unnoticable if it weren’t for the new chill in the air. for a moment, you can feel one hand hover over your waist, just for a second before there’s a light swish of fabric when it falls back to his side. you wonder if he’s worried about you getting too cold.

you hear dean before you see him, the rumble of the impala coming into earshot moments before its headlights appear around the corner. the car slows as it nears you, pulling to the side of the road with the front windows down and some classic rock guitar riff filtering into your ears. the music’s quieter than you know it was just moments ago from when dean was alone. he greets you two with a simple, “hey,” once he’s fully stopped and you place your hand out, palm up and wordlessly asking for sam to hand you the rifle to put in the trunk.

“i got it,” he says, not waiting for you to argue when he takes the iron from the loose grip of your fist and makes his way to the trunk. you slide into the back seat behind the passengers side and return dean’s greeting.

he twists in his seat to watch you as you close your eyes and massage your shoulder with a wince. it’s beginning to become more sore, just like all the rest of your body.

“you okay?” he asks, voice full of his normal gruffness that tells you cares enough to ask but knows not to be too worried.

you open your eyes back up to give him a nod. “‘m fine. just the usual ghost beat down. y’know, bumps and bruises.”

“mm, sure do,” he agrees, “so what? dearly departed marissa thought you were janitors?” he asks skeptically. you hear the slam of the trunk, and moments later sam’s settling into his seat in front of you.

“no,” you scoff, “some idiot kid was actually cleaning down there. told ‘im to get a new job,” you snort humorlessly.

“well, i’ll say,” dean raises his eyebrows in agreement before twisting back to face the wheel. he sneaks a look between you and sam before switching the car out of park and getting back on the road. for a few minutes, all you hear is the muted music, the constant roll of the engine, the light patter of rain on the metal roof, and the road under the tires. then dean switches off the music. “anything happen back there that i should know about?” he ventures.

“no,” sam answers casually, “nothing, just the usual.” you don’t even answer. you just can’t figure out if you should involve dean, tell him how sam was unthinking and almost entirely uncaring about the innocent civilian involved, all because he was so worried about you.

“alright,” dean concedes, glancing at you through the rearview mirror and sounding entirely unconvinced. he doesn’t turn the music back on, just lets the silence reign, so you close your tired eyes and lean your head against the cold glass of the window. you’ve fallen asleep in the back of the impala countless times before, but your drowsiness doesn’t take over this time in favor of letting your mind wander over what to say to sam. you can’t just let it be, and tonight is certainly the worst it’s gotten. plus, it’s an easy habit for you to wait for sleep when you’re already so close to the motel. 

when dean pulls into the parking lot, he doesn’t turn off the engine. “gonna grab some grub. i’ll be back in a bit with the usual.”

“grab me something for dessert, will ya? ‘m craving something sweet,” you request, leaning towards the driver’s seat. 

“sure thing,” he nods, and you slide out of the car and close the door after a thank you and tired smile. “anything for you, sammy?” you hear him ask.

“i’m good, just the regular,” sam responds as he exits the car. you unlock the motel door, and he’s inside the room just a moment later, closing and locking the entrance behind him. you stand facing away from him at the shitty table, your jacket already strewn across the back of a chair. you can hear him behind you, going through his routine movements. he’s taking off his jacket, setting it down on the edge of the bed. then he’s pulling comfier clothes out from his pack.

“you wanna shower first?” he offers, breaking the silence of the room. you can feel his gaze on your back.

“sure,” you swallow, “thanks,” you say without any sort of edge to your voice.

“‘f course,” he says, and he means that. his eyes follow you as you pull out your own change of clothes, just a tshirt and sweats, and make your way to the dingy bathroom. you’re tired, so you’re quick with it, but the water’s already lukewarm by the time you’re done. you dry off and dress quick, eager to lay in bed.

and yet, when sam takes your place in the bathroom and the sounds of the shower start up again, you sit at the table instead, picking out a few splinters in your hands before folding your arms and resting your head against them. you stay that way, even when you hear the water turn off, the bathroom door open, his heavy footfalls that are only heavy because he’s so tall and not for lack of gentleness, then the scraping of the chair across from you. he doesn’t even say a thing, just looks at the top of your head and the tip of your nose. the shape of your hands, the point of your elbows, and the curve of your back.

with a deep breath and some pain in your neck, you lift your head. you look back at him and slump your chin into your palm.

“i’m upset with you,” you state.

he frowns. even his frown is pretty. “i know,” he sighs.

“so? why are you acting like this?” your voice is tired, but you still manage to infuse accusation into your tone, “sam, why are you suddenly acting like i can’t take care of myself out there? you’ve been weird for nearly two weeks now, and i don’t like it. i don’t like this.”

sam doesn’t know how to respond. he’s used to being yelled at, shouted at, angry at. he’s used to yelling and shouting and getting angry back. and though he’s certainly fought with you before, he’s still not used to the level tone and the way you say each word so slow, like you’re not actually arguing. just upset and rightfully a little angry, like you just want to understand. 

sure, he can hear the plain anger in your voice. you’re not trying to hide it. but you’re not yelling. how’s he supposed to use the heat of the moment to shout back, “i don’t know what you’re talking about,” or “i’m just trying to help,” when there is no heat in the moment? instead, he’s embarrassed and the only answer he can come up with, the only one that he can mean if he answers in that same, level tone you’re using is, one he’s having too much trouble saying aloud. any other answer would just be too wrong like that. or maybe if you were shouting, he’d tell you the truth, because he could yell it out, loud and rash without thinking about it. if he says it now, it’s not because he just let it slip. if he says it now, there’s no way to take it back, to get around everything threatening to bubble over the surface like forgotten water on a heated stove.

“i don’t think that you can’t take care of yourself. i know you can,” is all he says, because it’s true and it skirts around the real questions. his voice is rough, halfway between pleading and holding back from the anger he doesn’t yet know how to control. you heave a sigh.

“so why, sam? why?” you let the heavy question stew for a moment, then go on when he doesn’t even meet your gaze, “or, i don’t know, if you’re not gonna tell me, just promise me you’ll stop?”

he clenches his jaw because he knows he can’t. he just wishes you would shout. then, he’d tell you. he can imagine the words coming out of his mouth, but only if they’re loud, only if you’ve pressured him to do it. he realizes that’s probably fucked up. but the other way is too vulnerable, too vast of a leap to take to when he’s just not sure.

“sam,” you press, “you don’t have to worry about me, i swear. i don’t understand what’s got you like this, but it’s getting in the way of you being able to do your job right. that kid could have died because all you could do was worry about me,” that’s when you begin you raise your voice, just a little. because that’s what’s making you most upset about this. you hate it ‘cause you feel like he’s doubting your abilities as a hunter, but you hate it even more because it’s making him disregard the safety of others and of himself, for you. “sam, i only slipped. sure i got the wind knocked out of me, but you dropped your gun for that? frankly, that was stupid. and the poor kid was being choked, and if i hadn’t been lucky enough to throw the iron before she could react, he could have died. i need you to understand that. i need you to understand that i can do this job, that i’m strong enough, and that if you don’t trust me with that? people could die. and i’m not about to let that happen. so either you tell me what’s up and we figure it out, or you stop and i pay you the huge favor of just dropping the whole thing, okay?”

suddenly he looks all sad. “i do trust you,” he says, voice all sincerity and nothing more.

you close your eyes for a moment, half in frustration and half because you could really use some shut eye right about now. “that’s not– well, it is. it is part of the point. but i need an answer from you, i need you to tell me you won’t let whatever this is put somebody else in danger.”

he clenches his jaw. he’s still stuck. you still haven’t shouted.

“just spit it out. i can practically see something rolling around on the tip of your tongue. just say it, sam.”

there’s an edge to your voice, so maybe he can.

“i can’t lose you.”

there it is. it’s said with an edge, too, like he wanted to shout it but couldn’t. it’s said rough and a little bit angry and full of this undying faithfulness and yes, love. 

but you still don’t quite understand it, so it makes you sigh. it makes your eyes soften a bit and it makes you a little angrier than before. it makes you want him to mean that with all his chest and it makes you want to shake him hard until he comes to his senses.

“that’s always been a danger, ever since we met. you know that,” your voice is something so oddly gentle in its frustration, “sammy, you’re my best friend, and i can’t lose you either. hell, i don’t think the words “best friend” even begin to cover the depth of how much i care about you. but we’ll both be safer if we trust each other, if we trust in both of our abilities to keep ourselves and the other safe. tell me that you understand that.”

it takes him a minute to speak again, his jaw clenching and unclenching as he searches for what to say. “two weeks ago,” is all he manages at first. you try to think back to it, and it immediately dawns on you. “i couldn’t prote–”

“sammy, no,” you interrupt, “that wasn’t your fault, okay? i know this doesn’t help to say, but we can’t always protect each other perfectly, to the extent we really want. i’d do anything for you, sammy, you know that.” after that there’s supposed to be a “but” where you explain to him that you can’t let that get in the way of your thinking straight and keeping everyone safe. instead, those last words just hang, suspended and weighty in the air.

“but you could’ve been killed,” the way he says your name is almost desperate. “it was dean that saved you. i was there and i couldn’t even help. what if next time, dean isn’t there? what if–,” his voice breaks, and he effectively cuts himself off from finishing the sentence. you know what he was trying to say.

any answer you give to that, you know isn’t enough. “but i wasn’t killed, sam. i’m here. i’m right here and i’m alive and i’m well and i don’t want to spend all my time worrying about you worrying about me. not like this.” you let that sit for a moment or two, and though his eyebrows are still all sad and pinched together, you think you’re starting to get through to him.

“but i can’t lose you,” he repeats stubbornly.

“sam,” you’re practically begging at this point, frustration creeping back into your voice, “the best way for you to keep me safe from ghosts and monsters and everything else is to take care of the problem, efficiently and effectively, like we always do. if there’s no monster, it can’t hurt me. but if you drop your weapon just because i slipped on soapy floors and lost my breath for a second? then it’s not just you and whatever innocent bystander around who’s more vulnerable now, it’s me too. so if that’s what it’s gonna take for me to convince you to stop fussing over me, then, please, think about it like that.”

sam is smart. he loves logic and reason, and you’ve handed him just that. but even more than that, he loves you. in the end, that trumps all.

“but i love you.”

he says it like a plea. like he didn’t mean to say it at all but it was the only thing running through his mind, and therefore, the only thing running off his tongue.

“sammy,” you breathe out, and then it’s like there’s no more air for you to breathe back in. that sweet nickname of his coming out of your mouth, resting on your tongue before tumbling into the air, is half like a drug to him, half like a bitter wind to sober him up quick.

“i– i only meant that i–,” he meant just that and now it’s said and now he’s never going to take it back, even if you hate him for it. “i meant that,” he says it firm and true this time, “i love you, so i can’t lose you.”

the way he looks at you, right into your eyes like they’re the prettiest things he’s ever seen, like you’re the best thing he’s ever had, oh, it has you hooked like bait has a fish who bit down too hard. it has you praying he never looks at anybody else like that again. it has you rising out of your seat and it’s pulling you across the small, wobbly table. he’s wedged into the grooves of your heart, so deep it could kill you to pull him out, so you follow the tug and he leans in too so the line isn’t so taught, so that it’s easy and comfortable and beautiful to reach his lips. 

his hands are like a net that catches you up in big, lovely swaths. they travel from your own hands, that lean against the table to keep your lips pressed to his, up to your elbows and then he knows he can never get enough. so he pushes up out of his own seat, drags his hands further up your arms until they can wrap around your biceps and push you up. not for a moment does he let his lips leave yours as he stands and pulls the both of you away from the table until he can bring you close, right into his wide, warm chest. then his hands can roam, gentle over your sensitive back, up to your neck then the back of your head to push your face into his. the other hand gets to go from your waist to your hips, or dip to the small of your back and press you flush to him.

you can only get away from him for a second, just enough time to whisper, “i love you, too,” before he swallows you back up. you melt right into him, and he loves it so much, but he feels how tired you are and he remembers he is too. so he only kisses you for a minute longer before letting your head rest on his shoulder. without any reservation, he presses a long kiss to your temple and you sigh a sweet sigh into his worn out tshirt.

unwilling to let go, he waddles with you, all bundled up into his arms, to the edge of the bed. without warning, he collapses into it, taking you right down with him and pulling out a little shriek from your mouth that he finds to be nothing short of endearing. he laughs, a belly laugh that you can feel the vibrations of as it moves up into his chest and out of those pretty lips of his. with some struggle to readjust yourself, you press a sweet peck to those lips. another easy i love you.

then you collapse back into his hold and the low quality plush of the motel bed. “now promise me you’ll pull yourself together next time we get a case?” this time your ask is so much more lighthearted, sweeter because it’s mumbled into the skin of his arm. you mean it just as much, but you can’t help the fact that you feel like you’re floating, “now i really, really can’t have you getting us in trouble. i’ll need to be able to kiss you at any given moment, so you have to promise me that you’ll trust me to take care of myself. because it works, and you know it. it’s the safest way. for both of us.”

the sigh he heaves can be felt through practically your whole body. it’s heavier than you wish it’d be, but he relaxes against you just a bit more. “i know,” he relents, “i’ll do my best, okay?”

“thank you,” you breathe out, too relieved to care that he couldn’t quite promise. you know this all means he’ll just be more protective of you, but you can say the same for yourself. now that you’ve kissed him and he’s told you he loves you and you’ve said it back, right against his lips, you’ll worry about him extra. but the both of you know the best ways to keep each other alive, and that has to be enough for you. you allow yourself to snuggle closer into him before joking, “d’you think dean’s ever gonna come back?”

you feel sam’s quiet laugh more than you hear it. “yeah, he really did us a favor with that one, didn’t he?” you can hear the smile in his voice before he remembers himself, “do not tell him i said that.” having you in his arms like this has got him a little giddy, saying things aloud that he normally wouldn’t.

letting out a laugh of your own, you promise, “i won’t. but i’m starting to get hungry. maybe we should call him and tell him the coast is clear, we didn’t tear the room to shreds or anything like that.”

sam chuckles again, and you decide very quickly that you like the way it feels for him to laugh with you so close. neither of you move, not to get a phone to call dean or to stop yourselves from growing drowsy. not for anything.

you’re half asleep when you hear the familiar sound of the impala’s engine near the room. it turns off, then comes the sound of its front door being open and shut. just because you’re hungry and it spells the arrival of food, you force your eyes open and let out a groan when you wiggle your arms out of sam’s hold to stretch. the way his hands shift to your waist as you do so has you a bit flustered and you wonder if you’re supposed to pretend in front of dean that you haven’t spent the last half hour kissing and cuddling. but sam doesn’t seem to care, because he just sits up when the door’s lock clicks, one hand by your head to hold him up, the other still settled decidedly on your waist. so you decide not to care either, and turn your head around to accidentally grin at dean when he peeks his head through the door. you had meant to look casual, but the second someone else becomes a witness to the fact that you’re laying together like this, you’re beaming.

dean visibly relaxes when he takes in the sight, pushing the door all the way open to walk in, then lock the door back up behind him.

“hey, there,” is all he says, shooting the both of you a look that says, really, you’re just gonna keep sitting there like that in front of me? it’s not that bad, but he’s allowed to tease because he just turned a twenty minute food trip into an hour purely for yours and sam’s sake. you clear your throat awkwardly, and only when you sit up does sam’s hand fall away from you.

you pad over to the table as dean places the paper bag of fast food on the surface. he drags over an extra mismatched chair and sam follows close behind you, pulling the remaining chair to sit beside you. as you begin to pull food out from the bag, now clearly gone cold to the touch, dean sits down, complaining that they didn’t have pie, so he bought you two cookies for dessert instead.

“well, thank you for the food anyways,” you smile, hoping he picks up on the fact that you’re thanking him for the other thing too, “damn shame there was no pie, though,” you say, more for his sake than yours. you wonder why he didn’t just pick some up from somewhere else since he was gone so long.

“mhmm, and don’t sweat about the pie. just got a slice somewhere else,” he shrugs, “ate it in the car, there was only one slice left and i didn’t want you to feel like you were missing out,” he explains with that familiar teasing edge which makes you think he indeed caught onto the double meaning of your thanks. you let out a small huff of laughter before tearing into the food, only now realizing just how hungry you are. you’d felt it creep up on you on the car ride back, smiled at the mention of food from dean, even stupidly thought about it during a quiet moment in the argument with sam. but the second your lips found his, that was the only hunger you’d felt. to keep kissing him, to keep him close, keep him loving you. only when you settled all the way into his arms, sure that you’d be able to satiate that hunger again, could your body remember you hadn’t eaten since early this afternoon.

the three of you eating like this, late at night and without much conversation, is common and comfortable. dean is on what you assume to be his second burger, because there’s no way he’d have just sat in the car, probably parked in a random lot and wondering how long he should be gone, and just waited to eat an extra-bacon burger until he came back. sam’s nearly the same as always, too, but tonight he sits so close that his forearm brushes against yours. you bump elbows or knees every so often, and the side of his socked foot is pressed against yours the entire time.

you sigh, content with the nearness of him that’s so much more complete and full than it was just hours ago. now, there’s no need to hover. now, you can just swoop in and land, take what you want, give what the other needs.

dean makes no teasing comments, but you can feel the way he’s been examining, reading the two of you. you’re not sure if you’re supposed to say something aloud, but you know that he knows the two of you so well that he understands almost exactly what must’ve happened while he was gone. maybe he’s not teasing because this is the outcome he wanted to come back to. he probably knows better than the both of you how you were crushing, pining even, over the other.

he takes his turn in the shower when he finishes his food, and you and sam begin to clean up a few minutes later. once all the trash is crumbled up and tossed away, you go around and turn off all the lights but a single bedside lamp. as you turn away from clicking off the lamp in the corner of the room, sam’s right there in front of you. you don’t have the time to be startled by him sneaking up on you, he’s so quick to cup your face with his hands and slot his lips against yours. he lingers a long moment before pulling apart just enough to rest his forehead on yours.

“gonna kiss you forever,” he whispers, and you realize you’ve turned this giant man into a complete and utter sap. 

“you better.” your grin is wide and real and he can almost feel your lips moving, he’s so close. just as you’re ready to wrap your arms around his neck and kiss him hard, the steady white noise of the shower shuts off. you sigh and laugh a little, leaning in to steal one more chaste kiss before brushing past him. but he turns with you, hands still warm on your cheeks and not letting go until he’s kissed you once more.

when dean’s gone from the bathroom, sam follows you in to brush his teeth with you. you’ve done so plenty of times, but tonight, sam gets to loop his free arm around your waist and pull you into him, rather than stand shoulder to shoulder in the cramped space. he gets to make you giggle through toothpaste when he does so, and you get to switch your toothbrush to your other hand and wrap your own arm around his waist, too. he gets to make you laugh dangerously harder when he tightens his hold on you to prevent you from bending and spitting into the sink when you’re done. you try to hold back the laughter with your mouth full of toothpaste, then he’s the one laughing around his toothbrush because there’s white, foamy spit rolling down your chin from the corner of your mouth and threatening to drip to your dark-colored tshirt. of course, he lets you spit and rinse your mouth, relishing in the continued sound of your laughter.

“you asshole! almost ruined my shirt til the next time we make a laundry stop!” you take revenge as he rinses out his own mouth, splashing the running water onto his face as he swishes water around in his mouth. 

he spits the water out in surprise and sputters an indignant, “hey!” before he bursts into laughter again.

you’re both giddy, high off of kissing each other, and silly from the exhaustion of a hunt, so he tugs you into him by your hips and keeps laughing into the crook of your neck. you wrap your arms around his neck and thread your fingers up through his soft, newly washed hair. you kiss the closest thing you can reach and he melts right into your arms.

it’s only when you yawn that he pulls away from you. “we should get to bed, huh?”

you nod and twist towards the door, peeking through it to see dean sleeping in his bed, his still form highlighted by the warm light of the cheap lamp. taking sam’s hand with a shy smile, you lead him to the other bed, turning off the last light and climbing under the covers with him not far behind. he loops his arm under your head, then the other over your waist to splay his hand flat across the small of your back. the way he does it is exactly the way you wished he would, as if he’s thought about holding you like this every night you share a bed, just as you had. with a final glance towards dean, he kisses your forehead, then your cheek, then your lips.

you try to stifle the giggle that the soft, ticklish contact of his lips wants to pull from your chest, praying that dean is really as asleep as he looks. the both of you stiffen a bit when you hear dean’s blankets rustling, but you let out another breathy, quiet laugh when it goes silent again.

sam’s about to kiss you all over again when dean’s voice rings out into the hush of the night, startling you both.

“no shenanigans while i’m asleep, lovebirds,” he grunts.

that brings more laughter out of your lips and a rush of heat to your face that you’re sure sam feels, too. he just groans in annoyance at his brother, because of course dean had to get in at least one borderline dirty comment. neither of you really answer as dean shifts around in his bed again, likely turning his back to you and mumbling something mostly unintelligible. 

the only word you can catch is “finally.”

[nebulaafterdark]

Exile (Part 3)

Summary: Y/N Undersee thought the games were over after becoming a victor. Unfortunately, life outside the arena has become just as dangerous. Prequel to Moves & Countermoves

Trigger warning: forced prostitution, explicit sexual content, alcohol abuse and other mentions of trauma. 18+ ONLY

Part 2

Days turn into weeks and they fall into a routine. Y/N and Haymitch lead different lives for the most part. He likes to stay in, she needs to go out. To see people. To prove to herself that the world didn’t actually change, only she did.

“My father wants you to come over for dinner.” Y/N tells her husband, upon her return from town.

“He wants me?” Haymitch frowns.

“Well, it’s a family dinner,” Y/N shrugs. “You haven’t really met my family.”

“I know your family.”

“I didn’t mean…” Maysilee.

“You said your mother struggles,” Haymitch remembers their conversations. Every word she’s ever said. “I don’t think it’s a good idea for her to see me.” The boy who won, the year her little sister died.

“My dad wouldn’t have asked if he thought it would be too much for her. He’s very protective of my mother.” Sometimes at the expense of his own daughters. “It would mean a lot to me.”

“Fine.” Haymitch takes a long swig from his glass. “We can play happy family, why not?”

“I don’t want you to feel like you have to put on a show. Just be yourself.”

“If I didn’t know any better I’d almost think you like me.” Haymitch smirks.

“Good thing you know better.” Y/N grins, turning away from him.

————————————————————————

“Well, Haymitch, it’s good to see you again.” Mayor Undersee claps the other man on the back as he steps over the threshold into Y/N’s childhood home.

“Nice to see you too.” Haymitch forces a smile.

“Please, come in and make yourself comfortable at the table. Dinner will be served momentarily.”

Y/N gives Haymitch’s hand a squeeze, kissing her father’s cheek, in greeting, before leading him deeper into the house. If Haymitch could even call it a house. More like a mansion, similar to the ones they occupy in victor’s village.

Madge and Mrs. Undersee are waiting for them at the dinner table. The girl glares up at him from her seat. She’s younger than Maysilee was, when Haymitch met her in the arena, but it’s still like seeing a ghost. It hurts to look at her.

“Madge pie, this is Haymitch.” Y/N smiles at her little sister.

“I know who he is.” Madge bites out. Y/N never had many nice things about him, until a few weeks ago when she up and married him.

“Y/N talks about you all the time.” Haymitch tells Madge. “All good things.”

Madge scowls, and says nothing.

“I understand that this is confusing for you. I know he and I don’t have the best track record.” Y/N sighs. “But what I need you to know is that Haymitch is good to me; he’s so good to me and he’s…important to me.”

Haymitch stares at Y/N, snapping his mouth shut as Madge huffs, but agrees to drop the subject.

He was important to her? Haymitch stews on it, through dinner. He couldn’t be important to her, he isn’t good enough. It’s his fault they’re in this mess to begin with.

But Y/N seems…happy. Happy with him and her family all together. Happy to make him part of her family.

Perhaps things have changed for her too.

The Undersees are nice enough, but they make Haymitch long for his own family. To have people he could bring her home to meet. His mother would’ve loved her. His little brother. His father was a man of few words, even still, Haymitch is sure Y/N could’ve pulled a smile from him.

When they are stuffed from their meal, the table disbands. Waving Y/N and Haymitch goodbye, from the doorway.

The victors set off, back to their village. Their foot steps falling in tandem atop the melting snow.

“I think they like you.” Y/N says, after a moment of silence.

“Your kid sister wants to string me up.” Haymitch chuckles.

“Madge will come around. She just needs time.”

Haymitch nods. “Well, they invited me for an encore next week. So at least there’s that.”

“You can tell them no, you know?” Y/N reminds him.

He shrugs, “happy wife, happy life.” You’re important to me too.

They manage to make it home, to the new couch in the foyer, before they’re a mess of lips, tongues and wandered hands.

“I want you.” Y/N breathes, staring up at him above her.

“You have me.” Haymitch assures her.

“Please?” She is prepared to beg. Because surely that wasn’t allowed.

They haven’t…not since their wedding night. Never just for them. Never just because they wanted to. Mostly, they exchanged a few words and then did this; kisses and heavy petting.

“Angel,” he sighs. She couldn’t possibly want that, she must want comfort and to be close to him. “This is enough, I’ll stay right here.” With her legs wrapped around him like a vice. “We don’t have to do anything else.” He nuzzles her nose.

“I want to. Just for us. Unless you don’t-”

“Oh believe me, I want.” His cock is hard and pulsing between them. “But only if you’re sure.”

Y/N nods. “I’m sure.”

Haymitch kisses her then, letting her set the pace. Their clothing hits the floor and Y/N keens as he slips a hand between them. She’s so wet.

“Please.”

“Anything you want, anything you need.” Haymitch murmurs, lining himself up with her entrance and easing inside.

“Fuck,” Y/N says. He angles her hips upward, hitting that spot with each pass.

“Is that all you want, angel?” He hums, cupping her breast in his hand. “I’ll keep you full of me and make you cum until you can’t think straight. Is that what you want?”

Y/N nods.

“Oh, sweet girl,” he all but growls. Leaning back on his heels, driving into her faster. “I want that too.”

He can’t avoid her like this, or feign a shred of indifference. All he can do is love her and love her and love her. Fuck, how he loves her. Even though he isn’t supposed to, even if he’ll only admit it to himself when he’s balls deep. Haymitch is in love. In sinking, festering, all consuming, inconvenient, love.

Y/N kisses him reverently, because Haymitch makes her feel things. He’s one of the few people who can, after the games. Like parts of her went numb in the arena. She feels nothing at all. But he sets her ablaze. Sometimes with rage, other times with passion, but she’s never felt this way about anyone before.

It is real, so very real.

The coil in her belly goes hot, impossibly tight. What is he doing to her? “I-” she begins to protest. “Uh!”

“You’re ok.” Haymitch assures her, pressing his hand to her lower belly, adding to the sensation.

“Oh god,” Y/N gasps. It’s unlike anything she’s ever felt before. Building and building… “Haymitch!” She claws at his forearms, in warning.

A rush of wetness greets him. Her cheeks heat up, but Haymitch won’t allow her to be embarrassed. “I want you all over me- make you cum on every piece of furniture in this damn house.”

Y/N whines, lost in him. His words, his touch, his eyes, boring into her soul as he ruins her. Until there is nothing left but him. All of him and all of her, splayed out for the other to see.

————————————————————————

Things are different after that. Haymitch becomes very…attentive. Bringing Y/N little gifts. Anything from books he found at the hob, to flowers he’d found growing around the back of their house.

Because it has become theirs now, not just his. Little pieces of her are everywhere, twining themselves into his DNA.

Y/N takes an interest in fixing his favorite meals, watching his face light up.

“Went down to the hob today.” Haymitch tells her, lying his latest offering on the dinner table.

Y/N turns away from her pot on the stove, flipping the burner off. “Oh?”

“Funny enough, they asked about you.”

“Haymitch-”

“Whatever you’re doing down there,” supplying them with things to sell, bringing money back into the district, “is grounds for execution. Even for a victor.” Haymitch reminds her. “So you’re gonna stop doing it.”

“I can’t stop, Haymitch. Those people, our people, they need that money. They’re starving!”

“I’m taking over. You supply the goods, I’ll pitch in some things of my own. But you stay away from the hob. Peacekeepers can’t see you there, nobody can see you there.” Haymitch continues.

“I’ve been doing this for years.” Since before the games. “I haven’t been caught.”

“You got lucky.” He reasons, “or maybe you didn’t.”

“What?”

“What are the odds that the mayor’s daughter gets her name called at the reaping? You didn’t have to take tesserae, so your name was in there once? That’s some incredibly bad luck on your part. Or maybe somebody did know that you were trying to help the people in the seam.” Haymitch lifts a shoulder.

“My aunt’s name was in there once. Just one time. It can happen and it does.” Y/N crosses both arms over her chest.

“Look, I don’t want to fight. I know this is important to you, but I can’t have you there. It’s too much of a risk. I’ll be the middle man.”

“Fine,” Y/N sighs. Reaching down for his glass and taking a swig. The liquid is foul, burning her nostrils and throat, causing her to sputter and gag. “Is that fucking rubbing alcohol?”

“That’s the hard stuff, angel.” Haymitch claps his hand against her back as she continues her coughing fit. “Should’ve started off with wine or champagne.” Something sweet for his sweet girl.

“It tastes different when…” Y/N’s eyes dart to his lips. “When it’s on you.”

“Interesting,” Haymitch muses. Suddenly he’s having her for dinner.

Part 4

Taglist: @spideysimpossiblegirl @ancientbeing10 @1-800-styles @l3xi3luv @lam-ila

[stereksimp]

Derek hated the mouthy, sarcastic, asshole that stuck his nose in business that had nothing to do with him. Like when he was looking for Scott because he got shot but couldn't find him, and Stiles found him first.

He did convince Scott to actually help him, which kinda kept him alive. He was still an asshole the whole time.

Stiles also stuck his nose in the Kanima business. So when he got in the way when the Kanima was attacking them, protecting the kid got him paralyzed in 8 ft of water.

He did hold him up for over 2 hours, and even when they were going under the last time, he didn't let him go. The kid would have drowned right along with him, but Stiles would have died without him, so it had to be self-preservation.

After when they were all talking the in parking lot and he said that the Kanima was a werewolf that went wrong and Stiles called that an abomination over a werewolf, he started seeing the loyalty in him.

Then Scott betrayed him. He worked with Gerard, and that kid is not smart enough to come up with that plan himself. Stiles had to have been in on it. He betrayed him as well.

He was still paralyzed, grapling with what just happened when that damned jeep crashed through the wall and smashed into the Kamina. Stiles figured out how to save Jackson, and when everything was settled, Derek started to leave but overheard Stiles talking to Chris about Erica and Boyd. He left before the conversation finished.

When he got back to the train station, Boyd and Erica were there curled up together. When they saw him, they whimpered, and Erica rushed him.

Erica: Where's Stiles? What happened to him? *tears running down her face*

Derek: *a low growl in his voice* he's fine. What happened to you guys.

Erica tries to speak, but she's crying too hard to get words out, so he looks over to Boyd for answers.

Boyd: Gerard and Allison took 5 when we were in the basement, Stiles was thrown down the stairs. They tortured him, but he didn't say anything.

Derek: *stunned* What.

Derek: Boyd, take her and stay here. I'll be back.

Derek peals out of the lot and makes his way to Stiles' house in record time. The Sheriff is gone, so he slips into Stiles' room to find him wrapping his ribs. A growl rips its way out of him as he crowds Stiles.

Derek: *running his hands all over Stiles* You... didn't know. Scott. Gerard. You. Safe.

Stiles: woah woah woah slow down, big guy. What is going on? I need you to use full sentences here.

Derek's growl tappers off into a whine.

Derek: You protected Erica and Boyd. You got hurt protecting us. You didn't know what Scott planned. You...

Stiles: *Anger laces his voice* I would never do that to you. We may not always get along but to take away your choice like it is unacceptable. Are Erica and Boyd all right. Chris said that he released them when he found out.

Derek just silently grabs the first aid kit and goes about patching Stiles up .

[eqt-95]

day 2 | courage / trust issues

supercorptober / whumptober the master list

There were clues. Hints and moments. Together it made the end more inevitable, but like time, those hints and moments often just seemed like life until cast under hindsight’s guise.

“Are we going to talk about this?” Kara asked, following closely through the apartment door. She tossed her jacket onto the back of the stool-back and watched Lena’s focused expression fixed on the glow of her cell phone’s dim light.

Her thumbs tapped without interruption.

“Lena?”

tap tap tap tap

“Lena.”

Lena dropped her phone onto the kitchen island and reached for her laptop. Kara watched, perplexed, dumbfounded, and with an unhinged jaw as Lena’s attention turned to the brighter, larger screen. It made the apartment seem darker.

“Is this because I ate that tray of potstickers?” Kara continued. Her hands found confidence poised on her hips. “Because I asked the caterers before and they-”

“What?” Lena asked, her focus broken to interrogate Kara standing across from her. “You what?”

Kara rolled her eyes and flipped the lightswitch, earning a small squint of adjustment and nothing more.

“Did I do something wrong?” Kara prompted, the whine barely concealed under the question.

“Are you really-”

The forgotten phone buzzed, lighting up with an incoming call. Lena reached for it, confused expression never leaving Kara as she answered.

“Jess, hi… Yes, yes, please… No, only once we have NCFD’s approval. I don’t want to activate the nanobots until then… Before midnight if possible. Reconstruction will take at least…” tap tap tap “four hours; maybe five. Any wiggle room before rush hour is a luxury we need… Thank you; keep me posted.”

Kara balked. “This is about the overpass accident?”

“Can we do this later?” Lena asked, though it wasn’t a question. Her attention had already returned to the computer. “I’ve never simulated this kind of infrastructural engagement-”

“You’re really picking a freeway over our relationship?”

“A two hour pause in an argument will have far less implications on the trajectory of our lives together when stacked against the risk of a failed structural intervention, so if that’s how you want to frame it, then yes: I’m picking the freeway.”

“So we are fighting,” Kara huffed.

“We are doing nothing until I get these things programmed-”

“It’s a block of concrete, Lena. It can wait.”

Lena hunched forward against the counter. There was exhaustion in the tired way her jaw worked and reworked until the words felt right. “It is not just a block of concrete.”

“Then what is it? Why are we fighting?”

A tired thumb and forefinger squeezed the bridge of Lena’s nose. “You can’t keep choosing me. You can’t…” a slow breath, “eleven people died tonight. Three are in critical condition. Another four dozen sustained injuries-”

“And that’s my fault?” Kara asked instinctively, defensively; with shoulders straightening and eyes narrowing.

“No, Kara, of course it isn’t your fault, but,” Lena sighed. She sighed because this wasn’t the first time; she knew it wouldn’t be the last. She hated that but didn’t know any other way than to persevere; to echo the words of Rita Mae Brown like a broken record. “Countless others were trapped. J’onn and Nia were there, but first responders were overwhelmed.”

“I wasn’t on duty-”

“That’s not the point.”

“Then what is it?” Kara asked, a familiar impatience rising in her voice.

“You could have helped.”

Kara flushed and clenched her jaw. “I was celebrating my wife’s big night; her accomplishments-”

“I don’t need to be celebrated, Kara,” Lena said with familiar exasperation. “Especially not when it means ignoring people who could be saved.”

“So I’m supposed to put every part of my life on hold and just courageously carry the banner of a tireless hero?” Kara growled. “There will always be people who need saving. There will be people tomorrow and next week and next decade and next century.”

“And that’s what, an excuse for inaction?”

“I can’t be everywhere-”

“That’s not even what I’m asking for.”

“Then what? What do you want from me? You want me to promise I’ll choose nameless strangers over you? That I should stand with one foot out the door, perpetually waiting for something to interrupt a dinner or a movie or a holiday?”

“Kara-”

“Or better yet: should I promise that, given the choice between a bullet barreling toward you and Mrs. Fischer, I’ll pick Mrs. Fischer? Because I’m not doing that.”

“Even if you promised it, I wouldn’t trust it,” Lena shot back.

The moment of honesty slipped free, and Kara pressed her mouth into a tight line to conceal the tremble in her lip.

“I’ve got forever, Lena,” Kara replied, voice gravely with emotion. “So if it’ll make you happy, you can rest assured that the day after you're gone, I'll go back to saving all of those other people first.”

“That’s a heavy burden for a person to carry.”

“I guess it helps that I'm an alien then.”

“Except I'm not.”

- - - - day 3 | dress / set up for failure

[imma-queencard2]

Demon lee know! [Minors dni]

"Can we talk,Y/N?" Your eyes shot up as you heard his husky voice. Your friends' laughter died soon seeing his posture. You rolled your eyes. Lee know, your classmate. You both went to the same faculty. Everyone said he was mysterious. He seemed so nerd but aint one.

He was a demon. An obsessed demon.

"We had nothing to talk about,lee know" you said in a harsh tone. You would catch him staring at you during the semester sometimes.. At first,you didn’t mind thinking those were friendly stares. Even sometimes you would walk up to him and had a friendly 'hi-hello' conversation with him. He would always stare. He was never the one to walk towards one and start talking as him being the typical gentle type nerdy man,always hiding in the corner under dark... At least you had never seen him doing that in the whole semester. Darkness & forest attracted him. He would rather go to the field staring at the green than befriending with classmates. He was indeed a mysterious introvert after all.

"I insist,Y/N,pleas-" you cut him off screaming, "why the hell can't you understand this Lee know?Gosh!I am so tired of you!I told you!" Lee know looked taken aback for your sudden screams in front of the other students. You started giving a nice show to them. He looked around and saw some students laughing at him. He clenched his fists looking at the floor. He was never that much degraded down by anyone. His jaw tightened.

His head was spinning in anger. He wanted to crush all those heads in a snap.

"I was just being nice with you and look at you! I told you we are barely friends! I-I dont like you!" you screamed the last words pushing his built chest with all of your strength and he stumbled a few steps backwards.

His eyes flickered trying to coo you with his lullaby.

"Y/N-stop it" he said in a serious tone,clearly not liking the stares and gasps he was receiving from his classmates. Some were even recording the scene on phones.

"Why!I even told you multiple times to stop saying 'you like me' and those pathetic stuff!have you ever listened?" you pulled some hair strands behind your ear roughly. You had had enough. This man was just being so irritating. You did told him nicely he had not been your type, didnt you? He was the one who made you do this drama in front of other students.

"Women dont like pitiful thing like you LEE KNOW!" one of your classmates shouted out making others laugh at the man standing in front of you. You looked away in disgust.

Bang Chan,your boyfriend suddenly came over to your rescue and placed his long arm over your shoulder. Your eyes brightened seeing this man which earned him a deadly glare from lee know.

"Listen,Lee know, right?Why would Y/N go for you when she has a thousand times better option standing by her,huh?" You heard your boyfriend muttered those words followed by some 'ouch' from the spectators. You looked around and felt a little sad for him. Part of you became guilty when you saw Lee know glaring at the floor quietly. Oh! You shouldn’t have humiliated him in front of others. You and your anger! You cursed yourself. You had no intention of making this drama or humiliate him. And there your boyfriend Bang Chan was determined to make the situation worse for you and Lee know.You were really sorry for him.. But little did you know that it was already too late. You had awaken something.

"Look,lee know You are such a sweet man but you are not my type..I told you before,didnt I?..I-I am sorry for this.. I should have thought before creating such scenes... Please leave me alone" you said in a calmer tone and waited for him to look at you and say something as he wiped the corner of his mouth using his palm. However, it never came. He was glaring at his shoes. His eyes were glowing red which none of you noticed yet.

"I-I am sorry..I must leave now" you mumbled and waited for his response before you leave. Just like before, it never came so you pushed the arm of Chan off your shoulder and ran away quickly.

You leaned your head on the wall of the corridor hiding yourself from other students. Putting your head between your palms,you started sobbing. You never wanted to insult Lee Know. But a part of you and the situation had made you do that.

"Baby,you are here!" you heard Chan's worried voice. He took a breath of relief before pulling you into a warm hug. You clasped his shirt and sobbed harder.

"Hey~" he cooed with his husky voice, "don't cry Y/N.. You did good. That was not your fault"

"Chan....I didn’t want to humiliate him-in-in front of others... It just came out that way..you-you know he had been following me saying th-those stuff des-despite knowing I am com- committed in a re-" you hiccuped. He rubbed his thumb over your cheek gently wiping off the tears and placed his warm lips over yours. You hiccuped between the kiss and tried to push him away. You were not in the mood of kissing him after creating up such a mess. But he didnt let you go. Rather he pushed you lightly against the wall behind you and moved his lips passionately as his fingers intertwined with yours..

He broke the kiss and placed a soft kiss on your forehead, "better?" you nodded. He definitely knew how to make you feel better no matter how terrible the situation was.

"No one can't resist my kiss,you know?" he winked at you making you throw some playful light punches on his chest. You smiled seeing him smiling at you as if he had just cracked the best joke of the century. Bang chan was the sunshine of your life. You hugged him tightly.

"And things happen like this Y/N..these are the parts of life... We all know how soft and caring you are.. And-I know you can't hurt anyone. But things happen sometimes...but you said sorry to him,right? " he patted your head pinching your cheeks.

"I just hope-He doesn’t trouble you throughout the rest of the semester" he murmured in your ear before tugging you to the corner to kiss you more passionately.

Lee know came out of the corner where he had been hiding. He actually ran after you to apologise again though he truly believe he didnt do any wrong. He was hurt when you screamed at him in front of others. He had angry tears in his eyes in degradations but his tears and his humiliations were not so important to him than your crying posture. He could hear your mind. You were so sorry and worried for him.So he ran after you only to find you crying in guilt for shouting at him. And that moment all of his pain got vanished. You were worrying of him,thinking of him. Your heart was in a mess for him. It made butterfly in his stomach. He hid behind another corner and watch you silently crying over him,hearing your sobs and occasional hiccups. He wanted to run towards you and wipe off those salty tears from your face or maybe taste those red plump lips. He knew you wanted him as much he wanted you.

But all of his fantasies ran in vain when he saw you almost making out with that boy,Chan hiding behind the corner. He wouldn’t let this happen anymore because he always got what he wanted for eternity and you were no exception. He made a mental note. It was time to take some action.

"Dont fight me,love." he whispered huskily looking straight into your eyes.You felt your head being dizzy and vision blur. "Wha-what Lee-" you tried to utter but failed miserably.

"Sshh,it's gonna be fine.." he cooed with a smirk holding your half comatose body.

"What-what are you!" you mumbled seeing his eyes glowing crimson.

"You will know soon.." you heard him chuckle before you fell unconscious into his long arms.

When you woke up from your deep slumber,you found yourself in an unfamiliar room on an unknown bed which was giving off a male scent. Your head throbbed. You rubbed your forehead trying to remember how you ended up here.

The glowing red eyes...oh no!

"Lee Know?..." you whispered in disbelief when you recalled how he forced you and how he abducted you. You started panicking more when you found your left leg chained up to the bed stand. You whimpered silently thinking how you ended up in such a mess. You shouldn’t have insulted him that day. Who knew this guy was that weird?

Even the room was weird. The darkest room you had ever been. You didnt know if it was day or night. You whimpered again. If Chan was there, you wouldn’t have to tolerate this. Would you ever get the chance to see him again? You cried out loud until your eyes slowly gave in.

You moaned unconsciously as one finger ran along your cheek. You smiled thinking how it was feeling so good before jerking up in the bed to find Lee know hovering over you. He smiled when you got up and cupped your face in his hands,inching his face closer to yours.

"What the hell!"You screamed at top of your lungs and pushed him away with all of your strength. He looked taken aback but sat silently on the bed looking at your stoic face.

"Why..." you cried out to him. His eyes softened a bit seeing you miserbale," becauseI love you Y/N..."

"Shut up!"

"You don't understand how long I have waited for you.. You are the light of my life. You pulled me out of the hell like a magnet.." he explained as if he was hypnotized.

You sobbed harder hugging your knees close to your chest,'I dont want this..please let me go?"

"Please dont cry...I dont like when you cry.." he said using his long hands to pull your body closer to him. You tried to push his hands again but he was determined this time to pull you until you landed in his arms. He snaked his arms around your body holding you closer to his strong chest. He patted your head slowly when you sobbed in his arms, "please dont cry..I love you. I wont hurt you"

"We will work this out together.."

"You-you are already hurting me know...please let me go..why why are you doing this.." you hiccuped in his arms. You were too tired to fight.

"If I let you go,you will go to that Chan..why you do this.. I love you so much..you want a mere human over me!" his grip tightened around you remembering how it was not him to have his arms wrapped around you but that Chan. His eyes flashed with anger. Just one snap and that pathetic human was over.

You were scared feeling his aura getting darker. He was so of a hell..

"Ple-please..I beg of you.." you mumbled looking up at him. His eyes studied your facial features. It was the first time he was so close up to your face. Stained tears on your cheeks,plump pink lips,puffy eyes-everything was mesmerising to him. You suddenly felt self conscious under his heated gaze and looked away immediately. It was not the lee know you had been knowing.

"Don't look away,love because I am the only one you will be looking at from now on.." he whispered in your ear taking his chance to take in the smell of your curls. You flinched hearing those words and flinched harder when his hand started sliding up and down on your back,taking his time to caress your back. You pushed him away and he chuckled letting go of you.

"You smell so beautiful, love,exactly the way I had imagined..." his words made you blush harder. You hugged your knees tight. Biting you lips looking away.

"God..the things I want to do with those lips.." he snuggled closer in a second to whisper those dirty words in your ear and placed a soft kiss on your earlobe. Tears formed in your eyes again. This man was getting out of hand and you never imagined him to be anything but like this.

"You-you are a pervert!"

"Oh?is that so? You still haven’t heard of the way how I touch myself thinking of you every night,baby.." he cooed with a sinister smile. His fangs coming out of his mouth. Your ears turned red.

"I wouldn't lie but I love moaning your name out loud,sweetheart" he chuckled moving away. You shut your eyes in embarrassment. Never had Chan himself even said those nasty words to you despite being the playful boyfriend of yours. And here the nerd calm gentle man had just opened his book of fantasy to you. You hate to admit that the sudden change of his gentle aura and his words were turning you on.

"Your name really tastes good when it rolls out of my lips.." he commented with a smirk before continuing, "oh?Your that pathetic boyfriend never told you this?that's sad..I always knew I can treat you better...in every way"

"He-he treats me well. He's not like you abducting people and touching women against their wills..and of course he's not a demon." you spitted out making him furrow.

"I dont abduct people. I am just keeping you safe. You are safe in my arms. And you love my touch. I saw your smile when I was touching your face and you were sleeping so peacefully..." he finished with a smile.

"I am safe anywhere but here with you!"

"That's a misconception of yours,love. You are perfectly safe in my arms. You just dont wanna admit that." he said walking up to the bed stand. Your eyes lit up as you saw him sitting on the floor to unlock your restraints. It was your only chance and you have to make the best use of it.

"The bedroom is locked,Y/N, so dont try to run away. You will end up being in my bed with me..maybe then I can show you how I am way better than that Chan.." he said these nasty words smiling at you innocently. His puppy eyes were not matching his fangs.

"Do you fucking think I am an object,Lee know!I really did think better of you! Look at you! Every single time you open your mouth about me you end up taking things to-to-" you couldn’t finish the sentence due to anger and shame.

"To what,love? Sex? Dont play innocent Y/N..It's not like you haven’t done it with the man you fucking love!" he growled flying in front of you and you crawled backwards in fear.

"You-you can fly!" you uttered in disbelief.

"Yes,I can and I also want to do it with the woman I love...and Y/N that's you. You make me crazy..." he blushed smiling. But you had already seen his true side so his this fake cute side wasn't impressing you at all.

"You make me do the things which I never-" he blushed harder again making you blush too. But he quickly composed himself, "It's not only about sex and your body.. I have seen better-its just I love you and I want you in every possible way.. I want to be the only man of your life." he said the words looking in your eyes before taking a bowl full of soup.

"Here-have it. I made it for you. You love chicken, dont you?we have so much things in common" he beamed with joy.

"How do you know?" you asked.

"Oh..I used to watch you every night through your window...I even copied the recipe so you can eat it.." he replied innocently.

"I dont feel like eating.." you looked away in anger. You shivered thinking of a demon watching you in your room every night.

"Would you like me to feed you,baby Y/N?" he cooed taking a full spoon of soup towards your lips. You slapped the spoon away spilling the hot soup on his fingers. He didnt't winch in pain rather his eyes turned red.

"Dont you fucking understand! I am so tired of you! You are a psycho! And you should consult to a psychiatrist fast! I fucking hate you so much!" you screamed at top of your lung and got down from the bed. But he grabbed your arm instantly and pulled you to his bed with him hovering over you. You tried your hard to push him away. However, all of your effort went in vain when he locked both of your hands over your head using his one hand. You blushed harder looking away from his face. You were never in this kind of position with Bang Chan.

He grabbed your face and made you look at him,"Dont you fucking think about your pathetic human boyfriend when you're with me"

Your breath hitched looking at his face so close. You wouldn’t lie that you did find this man attractive. If only Chan wasn't your boyfriend and if he was a bit normal, you would try a relationship with this man. But after seeing his obsessive side, you had no option without hating him to the core.

"Gosh,how much I want to take you right now!fuck!" he chuckled looking in your eyes. You squirmed hearing his husky voice.

"You really need to eat before I start training you.." he bit your earlobe all of a sudden making you moan instinctively.

"Fuck,you want it,dont you?" he smirked making you blush.

"Please..."

"Yes,baby,tell me.." he moaned in your ear.

"Le-let me go please Lee know"

His eyes softened and he caressed your cheek, "I'm sorry love..Trust me,I am not that bad...we will work this out together...."

"And if we don't?" you managed to ask in fear.

"Then that pathetic boyfriend of yours is dying tonight"

[trashcanlore]

Kabbalah in the Worldbuilding of Genshin Impact; Part 2: Descending to the Garden

Written by Sabre (@paimoff on twitter) and Schwan (@abyssalschwan on twitter)

This theory assumes you’ve completed the Fontaine Archon Quests, as well the Narzissenkreuz questlines. If you haven’t, you will be a) very confused and b) very spoiled. 

A Tale of Four Descenders 

Four entered the pardes (orchard/garden)...one looked and died, one looked and went mad, one looked and cut down the saplings (apostatized), and one came in peace and left in peace [1]. 

This Jewish legend appears in multiple locations throughout the Talmud and its commentaries, and is associated with two pre-Kabbalah schools of Jewish mysticism known as Merkabah (chariot) and Hekhalot (palaces) mysticism. Both depicted visions of the throne of God (chariot) and the heavenly palaces, and provided instructions for how one might ascend to heaven to receive some kind of revelation or knowledge. The orchard/garden represents esoteric Torah (Jewish law) knowledge; this is why the euphemism for apostatizing is to “cut down the saplings.” (I know he says “blasphemy” (which is different), but this is reminiscent of what Dottore says at the end of Winter Night's Lazzo.)

The pardes legend first appears as a warning to scholars about the consequences of teaching about the “chariot” to disciples who are not ready. Though it's not mentioned in this specific text, this process of meditating to ascend to the palaces of God is referred to as “descending” in the writings of the Merkabah mystics [2]. In other words, this legend tells the story of four descenders. 

In the conclusion of the Sumeru Archon Quests, Nahida tells the Traveler about the existence of the “Descenders." Based on the information she got from Dottore in exchange for her Gnosis, she shares that:

Descenders are “external beings, ones that don’t belong to this world”

There are at least four of them, and the Traveler is the fourth 

According to the Fatui, the Traveler's twin is not a Descender

The Traveler is not recorded in Irminsul, but their twin is 

Nahida speculates that the First Descender is the Heavenly Principles, but the identity of the second and third are unknown to her. At that point though, we still didn’t know what it was that Descenders do, or what the exact criteria for being one is, only that it couldn’t be as simple as just being from outside Teyvat. 

The Fontaine World Quest series about the Narzissenkreuz Ordo fills in some pieces of the puzzle; specifically an additional criterion to be a Descender: they must be someone with a will “that can rival an entire world.”

In retrospect, Inversion of Genesis also hinted at the role of a Descender; The Traveler witnesses the results of someone attempting to change fate and/or the world and failing.

Nahida: Changing the world, changing the past, changing the fates of other people... These are not simple things to accomplish. Nahida: What you were looking for is complete annihilation... But this is just a fantasy. Even if The Balladeer is removed from existence, the world will not heed your will. (Inversion of Genesis)

For most people, actually “changing the world” is impossible. But for a Descender, it might be different. 

Will 

...Though the results are nothing impressive, this is because the object they chose was pure elemental force, which lacks any will whatsoever. Like the difference between the Director (Lyris) and a Hydro Slime, perhaps?  ...Actually thought of a possible breakthrough during the process... Even though the calculated result is unchanged, but if the refinement method is reflected... If the power of... then maybe we can extract the "will" within. Using this method... resist the impact… (Excerpts from Rene's Investigation Notes)

...The true source of the mysterious power unique to this place that the locals call Khvarena is unknown. But based on its ability to eliminate or reverse the influence of the Abyss (in fact, it is a type of annihilation reaction), the two powers are of the same level, that is to say, they are of the same order in terms of rules... ...In other words, both possess the power to "re-write the rules"... ...Regrettably, be it Abyss or Khvarena, all current users are stuck in an "unconscious" stage of being influenced and overwritten by their power… (Bizarre Transcript)

The Gavireh Lajavard region of the Sumeru desert introduced us to the writings of Rene, a precocious researcher with world-saving ambitions and not nearly enough adult supervision, as well as his only slightly Abyss-corrupted bestie Jakob. Like the Khaenri'ahns before him, Rene was searching for a power that had a “will,” believing it necessary to save Fontaine from an unspecified disaster that we would later learn is The ProphecyTM. During their time in the desert (which was right after the cataclysm), Rene determined that both Abyssal and Khvarena power have a will, but pure elemental energy did not. 

Some time after their trip to Sumeru, Rene and Jakob would found the Narzissenkreuz Ordo, with the goal of finding a way to save Fontainians from being dissolved in the primordial sea-laced floodwaters. They would do this by dissolving all humans in Fontaine with primordial seawater in a controlled manner, melding everyone together into one Oceanid-like being to survive the apocalypse (think Human Instrumentality Project from Evangelion).  Rene had predicted the coming apocalypse with something he called his “world-formula,” and in addition to predicting the doom of Fontaine, it also informed him that “unlike the world depicted in these ancient texts, there will be no more new civilizations born.” The only way this could be changed would be by introducing a new “‘variable’ from outside the system” into the formula (Enigmatic Page 1). Rene’s goal was to become this variable, i.e., a Descender.

Four Worlds 

The Tower of Ipsissimus comes from an old concept from the ancient Fontainian kingdom of Remuria, and was used to describe a powerful will that could rule, sustain, and destroy the world. This tower was designed by the Narzissenkreuz Ordo, and it represents the evolution of the human soul and the infinite mysteries of the world. The Narzissenkreuz Ordo believes that people continuously refine themselves through samsara cycles. These include Hyperborea, Natlantean, Remuria, and the first half of the fourth samsara (Khraun-Arya), which we are presently experiencing. Please take note that these are just names given to these eras by the Ordo based on ancient texts, and this evolution refers to spiritual evolution. There is no intent here to antagonize any research results obtained by the Akademiya. The human spirit undergoes the loss of paradise, the defeat of evil dragons, the original sin and baptism, and finally, freedom from the gods.

The term samsara is typically used to refer to the cyclic nature of reality, and can be used to describe concepts like reincarnation. It is not, however, referring to time loops. There is A Lot to unpack about this note, but for the purposes of this theory we will be focusing on the concept of these “four samsaras” and their relationship with the concept of a Descender, specifically that there seems to be the same number of samsaras as Descenders.

You may be wondering - this is Kabbalah world structure theory and we’ve yet to discuss Kabbalah. Well, it’s time now! But before we can get into specifics, we first need to review some terms discussed in Part 1 and then go through some basics of Lurianic Kabbalah.  Ah, the irony of calling anything about Lurianic Kabbalah “basics.” Caveat that what follows will be a simplification of concepts that are very difficult to grasp (I definitely don’t know what’s going on). 

Creation of the World, Kabbalah Edition  Previously, we compared the “limitless light” emanated by God to create the world to the power of elemental energy, and compared the sefirot of the Tree of Life to the seven elements. The sefirot are components of this divine light (like light passing through a prism and refracting) and represent attributes of God that are used to create the world. The sefirot are traditionally depicted together in the form of a tree, which maps out their relationships with each other. For more details on the similarities between Kabbalah and Genshin worldbuilding, consult Part 1 (link) if you haven't read it yet. 

Kabbalah focuses on describing the relationship between the infinite God and the finite universe and how it was created, with variations between different schools of thought. In this theory, we’ll be primarily focusing on the ideas of the Kabbalist Isaac Luria. The central idea of Luria’s philosophy was a concept he called Seder Hishtalshelut, or “Order of Evolution,” which refers to the cycles of “exile” and “redemption” (creation and destruction) the world is eternally experiencing. In the Lurianic system, time isn’t linear; the world was created in the past, but it’s also being created now. 

The beginning of this Order of Evolution is referred to as the Tzimtzum, or Contraction. This refers to the contracting of the infinite God to make a space where reality could be created. Once this is created, a ray of divine light enters the void and begins to emanate reality. This is similar to the concept of the Pleroma in Gnosticism. The further the divine light gets from the source, the more it starts to break down into separate parts. More specifically, it breaks down into the Four Worlds, which represent stages of the evolution of reality, but also stages of the spiritual evolution of the human consciousness. 

The Four Worlds are:   0. Adam Kadmon - Primordial (Original) Man  1. Atziluth - Emanation   2. Beriah - Creation 3. Yetzirah - Formation 4. Assiah - Action Material reality is distinct from these four worlds; the ‘real’ world emanates out of the fourth world, Assiah. Each of these four worlds have their own sefirot structure, which in themselves contain additional sefirot, on and on, like a fractal. Luria called these recursive structures “tree systems” [3].  In Genshin terms, this is like how we have Irminsul, the world tree, but also the other smaller Irminsul trees in domains.

(Fun Fact: this schematic is sometimes called Jacob's ladder) The system of the Four Worlds and their nuances are very interesting in themselves, but for the purpose of this theory, we’ll be focusing on the 0th world, Adam Kadmon, and the symbolism associated with this concept in both Kabbalah and general Jewish philosophy. 

Primordial (Hu)Man

The concept of an ‘original man’ is discussed in Philo’s commentary of Genesis, where he describes this being as androgynous, connected to the concept of Logos, and the Idea/Form of humanity in contrast to the ‘earthly man.’ Philo’s definition of the Logos was something closer to the concept of a demiurge-a being responsible for creation of the world. Logos literally means ‘word’ or ‘reason’, and otherwise typically refers to divine reason, or the word of God.  It’s important to note that here the use of the word ‘man’ refers to a human being, not specifically a male person. Though often described as a man, the Primordial Man of Kabbalah is considered androgynous (like the Primordial One of Genshin).

The Zohar (a foundational work of Kabbalah) describes the Primordial Man as the “image of everything that is above [in heaven] and below [upon earth]; therefore did the Holy Ancient [God] select it for His own form.” The Primordial Man is the personification of the 10 sefirot together and represents a microcosm of the universe (macrocosm) [4]. 

Narzissenkreuz: I... I sense "reason." Visitors, are you the successors to Narzissenkreuz, or are you a threat? Narzissenkreuz: Is "Reason" that which grants you such strength? Narzissenkreuz: No, I have noticed. Have you always been in that realm that I pursue? O, you who are equal to a world! (Waking From the Great Dream) Man, as he was before his fall [first sin], is conceived as a cosmic being which contains the whole world in itself (Trends in Jewish Mysticism, pg. 215)

Lurianic Kabbalah considers the Primordial Man to be the highest level manifestation of God that can be conceptualized by humans. The world of Adam Kadmon precedes the emanation of the lower Four Worlds, but each of these worlds have their own corresponding anthropomorphic figure as well [5]. In contrast to the worlds that follow Adam Kadmon, the sefirot of Adam Kadmon are not in a Tree of Life configuration, but rather in the configuration known as “upright,’ arranged in the shape of the human body.

The concept of a Primordial Man exists in other religions and mythologies as well. There’s the Gnostic Anthropos, Adam Kasia of Mandaeism, the ‘Universal Man’ (al-Insān al-Kāmil) of Sufism who functions as an Axis Mundi, the world-soul of Platonism, Gayomart of Zoroastrianism, and more. The symbolism of the human body as mediator between the divine and the material world is not unique to Kabbalah. Kabbalah’s version of the World Tree and Primordial Man both function similarly to the Axis Mundi; they are the same emanations of the divine, just arranged in different configurations. 

Will and the Primordial Man In Kabbalah, Adam Kadmon represents the will of God, specifically the will to create. The blueprint for the creation of the world is contained within this being/world, all superimposed together into a “primordial thought.”  Within Adam Kadmon, there is no distinction between the individual sefirot, or rather, between anything at all. Everything is contained with this world/thought, but there is no time, no space, and no limitations. WIthout limitations, individual beings and concepts cannot be created. Therefore, the unity of Adam Kadmon had to be broken; specifically into the 10 sefirot, which could then assemble themselves into new configurations and continue the process of creation [6].

Narzissenkreuz: The witness of all, the recorder of all, the designer of all. Narzissenkreuz: Only one who is worth a world can bear that title. (Waking From the Great Dream) If the righteous wish to do so, they can create a world. (Babylonian Talmud, Sanhedrin 65b) 

Back in Part 1, we compared pure elemental energy to Kabbalah’s divine light of creation and the ten sefirot to the seven elements. If we apply this analogy to Adam Kadmon, doesn’t a being that could (theoretically) resonate with all elements and would eventually meet their end by being broken up into many pieces sound familiar? 

At the end of Act V of the Fontaine Archon Quest, Skirk tells Neuvillette that the Gnoses are actually the “remains of the Third Descender.” Neuvillette, the Traveler, and Paimon speculate that this is possible because as a Descender, they would have also had the same unique compatibility with the elements as the Traveler. Neuvillette’s character stories refer to the remains of the Third Descender as the “seven remembrances,” which were used to create a new “order” for the world, with “all fragments of the primordial…driven to devour each other.”

Rene’s notes in the Tower of Ipsissimus directly tell us that there is a connection between the concept of the Primordial Man and Descenders:

"Lies beneath the great sea" is, itself, an interesting phrase. It comes from ancient Sumeru texts, and should be read as "Narayana*," which also means "primordial human." This, too, is my goal, for not all that comes from beyond may be as one that "descends." That title belongs only to wills that can rival an entire world. That is what I seek, the way to become just such a will, one that can protect the world, sustain the world, destroy the world, and create the world.

[*Narayana (Sanskrit: नारायण, romanized: Nārāyaṇa) is one of the forms and names of Vishnu, depicted as sleeping under the celestial waters, and is associated with creation. This reference aligns with Rene’s goal of using the power of the Primordial Sea to make himself a Descender. ]

In summary, we have four Descenders, we have four samsaras, and we have four symbolic worlds that are only able to exist due to the destruction of a 0th world known as the Primordial Man, who represents the totality of the divine Will to create the world and the Idea of humanity. 

Keep all this information in mind, because before we can discuss the connections between samsaras, Descenders, and the Primordial Man, we must take a detour into alchemy and psychology.

Primordial God Impact 

Genshin Impact has always been about the primordial - it’s literally in the name: 原神, or yuan shen, which means ‘original god.’ Many other in-game items share this descriptor, including primogems (原石), Primordial Seawater (原始胎海之水), and the Primordial One (原初的那一位). The same characters are also used in the note from the Tower of Ipsissimus when referring to the ‘primordial human’:  原初之人, which as it turns out, is exactly the same word used for the Primordial Human Project.

The Primordial Human Project has been mentioned exactly once, in a cutscene from the Shadows Amidst Snowstorms event in version 2.3. There, Albedo refered to his doppelganger who had been wreaking havoc on Dragonspine as the “failure of the Primordial Human Project.” Albedo implied that he is the “survivor” of an experiment associated with the Primordial Human Project and considers it to be related to his origins as a creation of Rhinedottir, aka the alchemist Gold. 

We know very little about Rhinedottir and her motivations. She’s a practitioner of the Art of Khemia, a member of the Hexenzirkel, is labeled a sinner and blamed for the appearance of monsters during the Cataclysm, made a dragon named Durin and sent him to Teyvat during said Cataclysm, where he caused destruction everywhere he went while thinking he was playing, and might have also made Elynas, who had a similar fate. According to Skirk, she, like Skirk’s master, is “pursuing some form of perfection.”

The Great Work

 Rhinedottir’s alchemical research was focused on the creation of new life and she was familiar with an alchemical text called the Opus Magnum, which she left behind for Albedo to study. The Opus Magnum is a reference to the real life Magnum Opus, or Great Work, which refers to the alchemical process of creating the philosopher’s stone from the prima materia (original matter). The process typically goes as follows: nigredo (blackness), albedo (whiteness), citrinitas (yellowing) and rubedo (redness). Later Western alchemy would merge the citrinitas and rubedo steps into just rubedo, or include additional steps, such as the peacock’s tail stage between nigredo and albedo. Notably, the order of the last two steps in this process is reversed in the version of the process Albedo learned from Rhinedottir: rubedo is third, with citrinitas last.

This reordering isn’t universal in Teyvat: Rene’s notes disparage this choice, saying that Khaenri’ah is distracted from the true goal of the process:

..."Red" is the foundational principle, the philosopher's stone*, while "yellow" represents gold and mortal temptation. Yellow is simply bait. Red is the final goal. However, Khaenri'ah would likely seek the truth for gold's sake before turning that truth into a bread production pipeline…

[*This is the first and so far, only, time the phrase “philosopher’s stone” has been directly mentioned in-game.]

Rene has a somewhat ironic take on the Khaenri’ahn alchemical philosophy, given that Albedo’s character stories specifically say “Khaenri'ah was an underground realm, with precious few natural fauna. As such, its alchemy focused more heavily on the creation of life.” Rene often has strong opinions - but why would he care about the order of the Magnum Opus?

The Chymical Wedding of Rene de Petrichor

A recurring motif of the Great Work is the ‘chemical wedding.’ This refers to a union of opposites; male and female, sun and moon, fire and water, sulfur (Red King) and mercury (White Queen), etc, and is often depicted as taking place in a fountain. Here, in this drawing from a copy of the Ripley Scroll, sulfur and mercury wed and form the androgynous (like the primordial man) ‘philosophical child,’ which is philosophical mercury. 

Philosophical mercury is the underlying principle or “divine flow” that makes alchemy and transmutation possible. Therefore, the goal of the Great Work was to pin down this mercury into matter through the four (or more) stages of the Great Work and make the philosopher’s stone [7,8]. 

"The Stone that is Mercury, is cast upon the Earth, exalted on Mountains, resides in the Air, and is nourished in the Waters." (Michael Maier's Atalanta Fugiens. 1617.) The cubes represent prima materia. ;)

The chemical wedding is also used as a motif throughout the story of the Narzissenkreuz Ordo. The Book of Revealing includes a schematic of the “Seal of Chymical Marriage,” which consists of a “Tree of Emanation'' and the “Four Orthants,” and was used to seal the Primordial Sea. The Tree of Emanation component is, of course, a version of the Kabbalistic Tree of Life - for more ramblings, feel free to check out my twitter thread here.

The Narzissenkreuz Ordo is likely intended to be a reference to the real life Rosicrucian Order, and the name of the seal a reference to an important text for this order called the “Chymical Wedding of Christian Rosenkreutz.”  Other possible references to chemical weddings include Lyris being referred to as the ‘Red Empress,’ Rene using her power to dissolve himself and be reborn through the water, and Mary-Ann and Lyris fusing and eventually producing “pure water” aka Ann.  Actually, when you dig into it, there are many suspicious interactions between sun and moon-coded gods in Genshin lore, as well as the doomed wedding of the Seelie and the traveler from afar. My Name For Now made a really interesting video about this, so if you would like more information and speculation, check it out here.

The Philosopher’s Stone and the Self

The philosopher’s stone is the Holy Grail of alchemy: an alchemical substance that can transmute base metals into silver or gold, make someone immortal, cure all illness, make a homunculus, and more. The stone represents perfection and spiritual refinement, either of nature through alchemy, or of the self (the alchemist) [8]. 

Carl Jung, the founder of analytical psychology, considered the steps of the Magnum Opus to represent the process of the individuation of the self from the collective unconscious. The similarities between his interpretation of alchemical symbolism and the ideals of the Narzissenkreuz Ordo deserve their own separate analysis, but in brief: Jung defined the collective unconscious to be the shared unconscious mind between humans, full of basic instincts and archetypes, which are primordial symbols that exist in many mythologies throughout the world. Jung compared the collective unconscious to the alchemical symbolism of water, which he describes as “wisdom and knowledge, truth and spirit, and its source was in the inner man [9].” The process of individuation separates aspects of the personality from the unconscious (the water) and then eventually integrates all components together, to form the individual self, which can now bring “order” to the unconscious (at least on a personal level)[10]. In other words, the Jungian interpretation of the Magnum Opus is that the final product, the philosopher's stone, is the Self. 

If we apply this symbolism to Rene’s journey, it appears he was attempting to refine himself into a philosopher’s stone, which would explain why he was so interested in the work of the Khaenri’ahn alchemists. As he stated multiple times, his goal was to become a “primordial human,” whose will “can rival an entire world.” Rene’s philosopher’s stone is a Descender. 

The Primordial Human Project

After Rene’s failed attempt to dissolve himself in Primordial Water and be reborn using Lyris’s power, Jakob turned to his own research to try to save Rene and complete his rebirth. In his log of this time period, Jakob wrote: 

...I've been interpreting the data in search of a solution and sharing the results with Rene. There has still been no response, but I can already envision his response with perfect clarity: criticizing the Universitas Magistrorum for putting the cart before the horse, neglecting the fundamental principles underlying everything, and diving straight into the details of how to put those techniques to use... How they inverted even the alchemical stages for other purposes… ...It seems that there was an alchemist from Khaenri'ah named "R" who joined a secret order. From what fragmentary records exist, it appears that they made significant headway. 

There are two items of note here; the first is the mention of Universitas Magistrorum, which previously had only been mentioned in a namecard description. The card description reads "O Almighty Sovereign, the Universitas Magistrorum has provided the predictions you requested: The two stars have been captured by the world's gravity…” which may be referencing Khaenri’ah’s summoning of the twins (Inversion of Genesis). From the context of Jakob’s notes, we can infer that this organization was also utilizing some form of the Magnum Opus for an unknown purpose.

The second item of note is the mention of the alchemist “R,” who is almost definitely Rhinedottir, and the “significant headway” that she and this mysterious “secret order” made. It’s very likely that Jakob is interested in Rhinedottir’s work simply because he wants to make a new body for Rene; the log also mentions Remurian golems and experiments with prosthetic limbs. However, the mention of her and the Universitas Magistrorum in the same context, with Jakob’s commentary on the reversed order of the Magnum Opus, gave me the idea that sparked this whole theory (descent into madness): Is it possible that Rhinedottir’s Primordial Human Project was intended to make a Descender? 

Sometimes, very important lore gets buried in character stories. For example, the first time the term “primordial (hu)man” shows up - which is in Albedo’s fifth character story. 

This art of creation was known as "The Art of Khemia." Albedo had learned of this in his youth from reading his master's notes. The next stage after "soil" is "chalk," which was also something his master had mentioned. "Chalk is the spotless soil, and was used to make primordial man." Now, Albedo understands alchemy in far greater depth than he did in the beginning, and his knowledge on the subject is far more comprehensive. "From soil was birthed chalk." The profundity of this statement is well understood by Albedo now.

Albedo is also the “chalk”; Rhinedottir gave him the title of Kreideprinz, or Chalk Prince. She seems to have a habit of naming her creations after types of soil. Durin was ‘humus,’ the Riftwolves are ‘alfisol,’ and Albedo is ‘cretaceus’. According to her, earth is “the basis of all life” and the “accumulated memories of time and lives,” so it makes sense she’d use soil as the starting material for her alchemical creations. 

Albedo seems to be aware of the Traveler’s unique status, although he never names them as a Descender. During his Story Quest, Albedo studies the Traveler to get insight on how to help an alien flower bloom.

Albedo: The only other life form that, like you, has come here from afar, is the seed that I mentioned. Under the effects of Teyvat's natural laws, it isn't even able to sprout, let alone bloom. Albedo: But after I observed you, I had another idea. Albedo: Imitating you helped to inspire my alchemy, and so... Albedo: Is not nurturing otherworldly life also nurturing the world itself?

Following the experiments he performs on them, he reveals to the player that he lied about some of their test results, and even compares himself to the Traveler. 

Albedo: I made a point throughout of telling them how ordinary the results were... Albedo: But what was that sediment I saw forming at the bottom of the vial? It should not have been there... What could it mean? Albedo: Those born of earth are bound by its imperfections, but those born of chalk are free of impurities... You and I are alike, both composed of a substance that has yet to be fully defined...

This leaves us with questions. Assuming Albedo is similar to the ‘primordial human’, what is his role? Is he a Descender, or is he meant to work to become one eventually, like Rene tried to do?

Let’s return for a moment to the Primordial Man and Adam Kadmon. Earlier, we discussed the symbolism of Adam Kadmon; this being represents the divine will to create, also known as the “primordial thought,” as well as the Idea of humanity. Adam Kadmon is the potential for creation unified together, with no distinctions between any concepts. Hermeticism and alchemy have a similar concept, succinctly summed up in the phrase “the all is one,” which can be found written on one of the earlier alchemical drawings of an ouroboros by Cleopatra the Alchemist [11]. 

In Gnosticism and alchemy, this symbol refers to unity of all material and spiritual things, as well the eternal cycle of destruction and re-creation as things change form [12]. 

Rhinedottir shared this philosophy, as evidenced by the description for Cinnabar Spindle, Albedo’s sword.

Separate the dust in the flames with joy, and extract the exquisite from the crude. For all in the universe comes from a single source, and all things may be derived from a single thought.

The weapon description also contains instructions for Albedo that likely tie into his expected role as a success of the Primordial Human Project. 

You must pursue that which your elder brother, the one-horned white horse, could not accomplish. Reach the far side of philosophy, and create a new destiny for myself and your brothers…

Albedo’s final assignment from Rhinedottir is to learn the “truth and the meaning of this world,” a phrase echoed by the Abyss Twin in We Will Be Reunited. Knowledge is literally power in Teyvat: both Nibelung the Dragon King and later, Deshret, utilized Forbidden Knowledge, also referred to as a “power of darkness from outside of this world”, believing it to be the only effective power to defeat the Heavenly Principles. In fact, it’s even possible that the Dragon King was one of the Descenders despite presumably being native to Teyvat. The process of acquiring the Forbidden Knowledge could have evolved him to true Descender status, although this power appears to be incompatible with Teyvat, especially in the wrong hands. The power of the Forbidden Knowledge is similar to the metaphorical garden of the pardes myth, where out of four “descenders,” only one was able to safely leave, with the esoteric knowledge gained. The philosopher's stone also represents knowledge-it is the lapis philosophorum; literally the 'stone of wisdom'. Knowledge is also how one ascends in Gnosticism, i.e, achieving gnosis. 

Perhaps this is the true method to create a Descender and Albedo’s future role: once he reaches the far side of philosophy (learns the truth and meaning of the world) and ‘evolves’ and ‘refines’ himself from albedo through rubedo and citrinitas to the philosopher’s stone, he can change destiny. 

This sounds familiar…

Fortuna and Evolution 

Rene’s calculations of the world-formula predicted that following the fulfillment of Fontaine’s prophecy, there would be no new civilizations formed from the ruins, as there presumably had been in the past following similar disasters. Rene believed the only way around this was for him to become a Descender, and save Fontaine from the disaster, beginning a new age. It’s implied in the text of the Book of Revealing (the version in the WQ) that the fulfillment of the prophecy would spell disaster for all of Teyvat, not just Fontaine, but even if that were not the intent of Celestia, we can use this example as an analogy for the world-formula of Teyvat. 

Rene directly compared the world-formula to the Remurian concept of Fortuna: 

Kingdoms rise and fall, and when a civilization is annihilated, a new one will be born after from the ashes, which these books refer to as "Fortuna"... It's somewhat rudimentary, but theoretically at least, it bears striking resemblance to the computational scheme I have formulated and termed "world-formula"...

Let’s spin the wheel of Fortuna and return to the beginning, where we first discussed the four samsara cycles of spiritual evolution and the Four Worlds. Although the samsara cycles don’t refer directly to actual historical events, their names are based on ancient texts. It’s not a large leap in logic to suggest that each of the four samsaras refers to eras in Teyvat’s history- what others in the lore community have been referring to as ‘root-cycles.’ For example, the defeat of evil dragons associated with the Natlantean samsara could refer to the war between the Primordial One and the vishaps described in Before Sun and Moon, or the war between the Heavenly Principles and the Dragon King (which might be the same thing!). The events associated with each samsara must be what ends the samsara, since the fourth, Khraun-Arya, is the current, and represents freedom from the gods, which has not happened yet. 

Given that the Descenders can (theoretically) change the result of the world-formula/Fortuna, it can’t be a coincidence that there are the same number of Descenders as there are known samsaras. In addition, if the four samsaras of Teyvat function like the Four Worlds of Kabbalah, that means that a samsara-ending event would be something that results in the evolution of the world. Apep says that during the war between the Dragon King and the Heavenly Principles, Teyvat was in danger of collapsing, and that the victor of the war would “inherit the right to shape the world”. This sounds a lot like Rene’s definition of a Descender: one that can protect the world, sustain the world, destroy the world, and create the world. The death and disassembly of the Third Descender led to a significant change in the “order” of Teyvat when the Gnoses were created to replace the “ruined” functions of the Heavenly Principles. Put another way, Descenders are able to evolve Teyvat into its next stage of evolution.

The fate of the Third Descender and ruined functions of the Heavenly Principles suggest another, alarming component to the relationship between samsaras and Descenders. It could be that as part of the process, a Descender must replace or repair an aspect of the mechanisms that maintain Teyvat. Don’t worry about the Traveler though; the fourth descender of the pardes legend gets to leave the garden in peace. 

On the other hand, the first Descender in the legend is the one who dies, and in Genshin it’s the third, so maybe the list isn’t exactly in order. Of course, this comparison to the legend is partly a joke, but it is very interesting that the metaphor for apostatizing is uprooting trees….

Khaenri’ah’s World-Formula

We know from Rene’s notes that Khaenri’ah had their own version of a world-formula, or at least, their records contained information Rene could use to reverse engineer their predictions. We don’t actually know what he found there, but based on the name he gave the fourth samsara and the whole “freedom from the gods” thing, it seems they were trying to evolve Teyvat into the next samsara and make this freedom a reality. We also know that the Khaenri’ahns were searching for a specific kind of power, a power they referred to as both a “perpetual” energy source and a “secret from beyond the skies” that could “throw off the shackles imposed by this world's laws.” This power from “beyond the skies” is thought to be some form of Abyssal power, and the Khaenri’ahns who used it seem aware of a will contained in that power, a “dogma from beyond the heavens.” In fact, it’s possible that this power is the same as the Forbidden Knowledge brought in by Nibelung, which also had an influence on Apep’s behavior when they were infected with it after eating Deshret.

It appears that Khaenri’ah was familiar with something similar to the concept of a Descender, which makes Chlothar’s words to the Traveler in Caribert all the more impactful. 

Chlothar: I never imagined that you, of all people, would deny the Abyss... How ridiculous! Chlothar: We once believed that you would bring new strength and hope to Khaenri'ah. Chlothar: To us, you were the Abyss... A wondrous mystery far beyond our imagination and comprehension... Chlothar: ...And the one who controls the Abyss can control everything! Chlothar: We yearned for that future. We looked to you to take us there.

The Future

As mentioned previously, the Four Worlds of Kabbalah are all precursors to the actual material reality, which will be emanated (created) from the fourth world. Luria believed that our world was not yet completely realized and needed another spiritual push from humanity to be actualized. (The mechanics of this won’t be discussed here - so consider this a teaser for Part 3 of Kabbalah theory.) Therefore in Kabbalistic terms, this fifth samara, this fifth world, would be the final and true reality for Teyvat.

This would be why Khaenri’ah needed a Descender or even merely a power that could defy the Heavenly Principles. That was why they summoned the twins, and why projects like the Primordial Human Project existed. It’s ironic that in their desire to remake the world in the image of their dreams, where they were free from the gods and the Heavenly Principles, they chose in the end to bind themselves to a will from beyond the sky, which ended up in catastrophe. 

As the letter in the Khaenri’ahn ruins of Gavireh Lajavard says: “The gods are untrustworthy and the demons, ineffable. If there is one thing that can pry open the corners of this hollow world, then it can only be human will.”

Congrats on making it to the end! As you can see, this was already reaching a ridiculous word count, so there were some things I had to leave out, or only briefly touch on. So here are some people and concepts I pretended didn't exist so this didn't get (more) convoluted, but you should read about them: Crowley and True Will, Nietzsche and the overman, Zoroastrianism as a whole, but particularly their version of the Primordial Man, William Blake's prophecies (his Auguries of Innocence is a big inspiration for the artifact lore), Schopenhauer and Will, Atman and Brahman, Plato's concept of the world-soul, SWORDS (in Genshin lore), the Holy Grail legend, and shoutout to Otto Apocalypse the real First Descender. I do want to point out that some of the (real) people on this list, like Crowley, either were terrible people who believed terrible things, or had their philosophy used for terrible things. This also applies to other inspirations for the Narzissenkreuz Ordo. Please keep that in mind when engaging with these people's work.

On a lighter note:

Sabre’s Fun Fact Science Corner aka Miscellaneous Stuff I Need to Put Somewhere 

I didn't want to have to get into explaining the lore of another piece of media but yes, this theory was inspired by a binge watch of the last arc of Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood, transmutation circles and philosopher’s stone and all 

On the topic of FMAB, the The Black Serpent Knights archive description states: “The long years and a curse seems to have robbed them of their reason and memory. Now, all that remains within that armor is the will to ‘fight for something, someone, and some matter.’” Funnily enough, the subtitle of the Knights is ‘Aldric’ - Alphonse Elric, anyone?

Caribert becomes the Loom of Fate to “weave his own destiny anew”, Albedo has the Cinnabar Spindle and instructions to create a new destiny - I’m sensing a theme here 

Rene believed that getting a Vision was a bad thing in the process of actualizing your Will, and resulted in you selling your fate to the world. So he developed a ritual to remove a Vision from an allogene (this is only mentioned in passing by Caterpillar). So even though Albedo has a Vision, he’s not out of the running to become a Descender. But also Rene was wrong about stuff so ¯\_(ツ)_/¯  

The anthropomorphic imagery in Lurianic Kabbalah can get pretty bizarre, but in a fun way if you're into Genshin lore. Adam Kadmon is described as emanating divine light out of his face, specifically his eyes, to create the next world. Genshin eyeball lore is my roman empire.

As a full elemental dragon, Apep had a “world” inside their body. Rhinedottir seems to like dragons a lot; I wonder if she considers them to be similar to the primordial human. Also, there's evidence that the Traveler's elemental abilities mimic those of the elemental dragons, rather than the archons.

References:

Toseftah Hagigah 2:2 Babylonian Talmud Hagigah 14b, Jerusalem Talmud Hagigah 9:1.

Introduction to Kabbalah and Jewish Mysticism - Part 3/14 - Merkabah Shi'ur Komah & Sar Torah

Introduction to Kabbalah and Jewish Mysticism - Part 10/14 - Christian and Lurianic Kabbalah

https://www.jewishencyclopedia.com/articles/761-adam-kadmon#anchor10

https://www.jewishvirtuallibrary.org/adam-kadmon

https://www.chabad.org/kabbalah/article_cdo/aid/380321/jewish/Chaos-and-the-Primordial.htm

https://dpul.princeton.edu/alchemy/feature/the-chemical-wedding

https://www.scribd.com/doc/11441835/The-Four-Stages-of-Alchemical-Work

Jung, Collected Works vol. 14 (1970), Mysterium Coniunctionis (1956), ¶372 (p. 278) via Wikipedia

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Analytical_psychology#Individuation

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Chrysopoeia

https://www.britannica.com/topic/Ouroboros

https://www.gla.ac.uk/myglasgow/library/files/special/exhibns/month/april2009.html

https://alchemywebsite.com/rosary0.html

https://www.alchemywebsite.com/rscroll.html

[demonslayedher]

Low-Key Married AU fluff

Kochou said that I was disliked, so I asked her if she disliked me too. For someone so quick to have a smiling response to everything, she struggled to reply. She was the one who proposed marriage and swayed me, so I had thought that meant she had feelings for me. There would be no other way to read it. However, with as unbothered as she is by my absence, I have to wonder.

It’s been ten days since I had last contact with her. I went home to the Butterfly Mansion, but she had just departed for a mission, so I didn’t stay long so as not to trouble the girls. It may still be a few days before I can return again, but it’s always likely she’ll be busy. She’s incredible in that way, taking on all the care of our injured Corp members in addition to her Pillar missions. It must be in her personality to keep adding to what keeps her busy, like taking me in as though I looked like I needed the care. Although the times we’ve spent together have been nice, I don’t require it. My duties call for me to always be ready for battle, and I’ve always kept my heart steady.

So has she. We are Pillars first, and no amount of affection can sway us—whether an abundance or a lack.

I’m not bothered by lacking something I didn’t deserve in the first place.

Last night again, I was too late to prevent a family from being slaughtered. There were no survivors this time, aside from the eldest child who was still ravenous with a recent transformation. Having to chase him down and keep him from harming anyone else kept me off the trail of the progenitor of demons, who had to have been close by. For centuries, he’s evaded us this way over and over, sacrificing entire families to throw us off his trail. If I were to chide myself over every failure, I would have lost the ability to do anything ages ago. Each time, the anger is something I carry with me, to push myself harder the next time, and the next. Any extent more that I can push myself may be the difference to someone’s survival, no one can afford to lose their life over any of my own lost confidence.

“CAW!! TOMIOKA GIYUUUU! NEWS FOR TOMIOKA GIYUUUU!”

Each time it's a crow I think I recognize, my stomach drops. My mind is already playing the words I dread to hear, as though trying to protect my mind once I someday hear them.

"Kochou Shinobu has died."

Even if I hear them, I'm a Pillar first. That was what we promised each other. I'll always do as I must.

The crow says nothing as it delivers a letter.

YES, YES, I KNOW, THIS FANDOM HAS TURNED ME INTO SHIPPER TRASH. For this pairing, it was more specifically my own joke AU which later bit me in the back and made me start really, really enjoying GiyuShino (which, for the record, I do not consider canon). Was throwing ideas back and forth with @reicchel again the other day and so here we are with ship content!

Part of the reason I love the Low-Key Married AU (in which it's mostly canon as usual, except that Shinobu and Giyuu have been married for over a year or so, and it's not a secret but they make such little deal about it that many people don't even know they're married) is that it's a frame through which to see every interaction and either make it really, really funny, or very, very, sad. Everything was supposed to be funny, but it keeps hurting, hahaha... aaahhhh.

For instance, in a regular romcom situation, it should be funny that Kanzaburo doesn't deliver all of Giyuu's letters. Knowing these two, who might had started this whole "well, we'll be a couple when we have time" thing by actively writing regular letters, this could had simply given the impression that the other person wasn't writing as much, so they both naturally decreased frequency to match. It's a little lonely, but neither one is going to push the other for more attention.

No!! I refuse to let this post end with angst! Time for omake!!!

[covid-safer-hotties]

On the first night of the DNC, Georgia Senator Reverend Raphael Warnock took to the stage to give a rousing call for disease control and community care:

"The pandemic taught us how. A contagious airborne disease means that I have a personal stake in the health of my neighbor. If she’s sick, I may get sick also. Her healthcare is good for my health… we are as close in humanity as a cough!"

He made this declaration about contagious airborne disease in a sea of contagious airborne disease. With nearly 1 million new COVID-19 cases in the US each day as of August 16, approximately 1/34 Americans are currently infectious with COVID-19, a quarter of them fully asymptomatic

The DNC, though it easily might’ve, implemented no COVID safety mitigations; no test requirement, no mask requirement nor even mask distribution, no air quality information, zero of the vaunted “tools” we supposedly now have to “keep us safe” from COVID infections. Long COVID has not been mentioned. While bragging about their unprecedented “accessibility” measures, the DNC ensured that no immunocompromised person would be safe to enter the United Center this week.

Without apparent irony or cognitive dissonance, Warnock seemed to make the case for public health measures controlling the SARS-COV-2 virus while celebrating an administration that oversaw the utter destruction of public health as we once knew it, in a building this is, objectively, full of the SARS-COV-2 virus.

As kids return to school amidst record-breaking August COVID levels, multiple schools have already shut down simply because infection levels were too high for them to continue operating. Meanwhile, the CDC issued guidance encouraging students to stay in class if they have lice or “mild” diarrhea, as the absence crisis “mysteriously” continues to worsen.

The event comes just weeks after a sprawling Nature Medicine review determined the global burden of Long COVID to be about 400 million individuals less than 5 years into the crisis, already costing economies a staggering $1 trillion annually. As quoted in Fortune, lead author Dr. Ziyad Al-Aly observed that:

"I think they (government agencies) are itching to pretend that COVID is over and that long COVID does not exist."

Pretend is certainly an apt word for what has been on display in Chicago this week.

A massive collection of close-packed delegates, electeds, lobbyists, influencers, celebrities and rich people cheered the idea of protecting each other’s health while participating in pandemic denial, refusing to use any mitigations, and purposely spreading COVID.

It was, frankly, bizarre.

The explicitly false nature of Senator Warnock’s statement- along with other Democrats’ varyingly inaccurate statements about beating the pandemic- begs several questions about exactly how far these delusions go.

Does Senator Warnock know we are in a massive COVID surge?

Does Senator Warnock know over a thousand Americans died of COVID-19 last week?

Does Senator Warnock believe that immunocompromised people deserve access to public spaces and representation in a setting like say, the DNC?

Does Senator Warnock know that millions of Americans have already been disabled by COVID-19 infections?

Does Senator Warnock understand that COVID did not literally, actually disappear when Biden took office?

Does anyone in that room?

For some time, it’s been clear that Democrats, like the Republicans before them, are now married to the COVID-is-mild-because-I-got-it-and-survived narrative and that nothing can pry it from their hot little 102-degree hands.

But his particular words struck me because they seemed a leap forward, a new frontier in the competitive field of pandemic denial. He stated not just that COVID is mild and safe for everyone to repeatedly catch forever - something that no public health body has ever claimed, and no scientific study supports - but that Democrats embrace disease control measures and believe in not coughing on one another, in a room full of people actively refusing to utilize disease control measures and instead coughing on one another.

And the crowd, an estimated 3% of it currently COVID+, cheered.

The Democrats perhaps first diverged from reality on COVID during Delta, when emerging evidence indicated that the vaccine-only approach would not work to control the virus. Vaccine protection waned rapidly, the virus proved capable of mutating to evade immunity from both vaccines and infections, and early days of plummeting transmission rebounded with a vengeance.

Instead of acknowledging reality, the party, with assistance from the slobbering media, doubled down on claims that only the unvaccinated would be harmed and killed by continuing mass infection policies. It wasn’t until after Omicron wave one that data emerged showing nearly 40% of those dead in the brutal winter ‘21-’22 reopening wave had been vaccinated. That summer, 60% of the dead were vaccinated. But by that time, the Democratic Party was happy on Earth 2.

No one called them out on their alternate universe fanfic where the virus had been vanquished; people kept dying, the public was sicker than ever, it became clear that Long COVID was a serious disease. But the call of the Disneyfied Pandemic Free Future was too strong. People bought the lies because the truth was just no fun.

In the three years since Delta, we’ve been on an unending roller coaster of massive waves followed by short-lived lulls, lulls during which 1/200 Americans are still testing COVID+. No sooner had we made it through JN.1 than KP.2 was surging; no sooner is KP.2 subsiding than KP.3.1.1 is right behind. New variants are emerging before the current wave is spent, with endless mass infection giving SARS-COV-2 the ultimate playground to experiment with genetic mutations and maximize its immune evasiveness.

Vaccines are updated but fail to keep up with the virus; the current booster is for XBB, the variant that was predominant in the winter of 2022-2023. The JN.1/KP.2 boosters still await FDA approval as the KP.3 surge crests.

Meanwhile, the Democrats’ Earth 2 fantasy persists. It goes a little something like this: In January 2021, the COVID-19 vaccines debuted. We all got the shots, a year later COVID also became mild somehow, everything went back to normal, and everyone lived happily ever after. There’s no Long COVID, there are no record student absences, there are no record disability numbers, hospitals aren’t overwhelmed, people aren’t sick all the time, disabled people aren’t unsafe in all public spaces, there are no worker shortages, there is no scads of scientific evidence showing long-term damage to all major organ systems following even mild infections.

None of that exists!

The Earth 2 story has even begun retroactively assigning Biden era deaths and outcomes to the Trump administration. Multiple times in recent months, both the Biden and Harris campaigns have referred to “a million people” dying under Trump. 400,000 Americans had died of COVID when Trump left office. The Biden administration even held a memorial event for those first 400,000 dead, the night before it took power and ceased to care about COVID deaths.

1.2 million Americans are dead of COVID today.

But those 800,000 dead bodies conflict with the Earth 2 story. How could hundreds of thousands of people died after COVID became mild and everything went back to normal? Maybe that somehow also happened under Trump! It doesn’t have to be true, it just has to feel true, and it sure feels like Joe Biden wouldn’t kill 800,000 people with negligence and scientific misinformation.

Just like it feels like we learned how to protect each other from airborne contagious diseases when Senator Reverand Warnock says it in a booming, inspiring, church-ready voice that invites us to relish our social justice credentials and love for our neighbors.

And doesn’t it feel like the DNC, an indoor event with hundreds of COVID+ attendees not wearing masks, is the most inclusive and accessible convention ever?

These delusions are so powerful, have been so propped up by the media, are so appealing to the public who wishes them real, that they have become indistinguishable from reality. Now, we all have to live on Earth 2, where the COVID infections never end but the pandemic is over.

“COVID no longer controls our lives,” declared outgoing President Joe Biden, who recently announced he would not seek re-election via twitter during his third COVID reinfection. It’s a favorite line of his, one that probably came to his comms people by process of elimination when they realized they couldn’t say:

“COVID is no longer a leading cause of death”

“COVID is no longer killing people”

“COVID is no longer disabling people”

“We no longer have to fear getting sick every time we leave home”

“Schools aren’t closing”

“Workplaces aren’t understaffed”

“Millions of people aren’t currently infected”

No, they settled on the most vague, subjective criteria for COVID victory, namely, “we don’t think about it anymore.” Sometimes they brag that people “aren’t wearing masks anymore.” And it’s certainly true. At the DNC, it’s quite clear, people are surely not thinking about COVID, nor wearing masks. Like Republicans in 2020, they aren’t letting some stupid old virus control their lives. Masks? More like face diapers! If a few disabled people can’t be exposed, those people should really stay home!

The Democratic National Convention is taking place on what sounds like a very nice planet. One where the oligarchs are working to solve climate change, which can be fixed with carbon credits and fracking. One where there’s no genocide in Palestine, and there aren’t any protestors outside either. Fascism is going to be defeated at the ballot box in November, and we’re all going to move forward together. COVID-19 was a virus that existed in 2020-2021 (RIP) and killed a million people under President Donald Trump (RIP), not because public services have been hollowed out over the course of decades of neoliberalism, but because one man is a rude Cheeto. We all went through something scary back then, during the pandemic. But now we know how to take care of our neighbors.

Now we know, if they get sick, I may get sick too.

Now we know, we’re as close in humanity as a cough.

But none of us are sick anymore, and none of us are coughing. Not on the planet where the Democrats live.

[evita-shelby]

Hi, hello

This is my first request ever, please ignore my spelling mistakes if there's any, I'm French so...

So how abt the femreader /OC (as you want) has an illness and is destined to die but Tommy pursue her and falls in love with her anyway and then she dies and we see how he copes. I'm a sucker for angst.

Thank youuu

You are welcome 😊

I cried so hard i ran out of tp to clean my snot.

Promise

Gif by @manie-sans-delire-x

Cw: death, illness, grief, suicidal thoughts

You hoped he’d forget about you while he was in France, but when he stepped down that platform he was as in love with you as when he had left.

You had broken things off with him before he even left and yet he returned to you as if nothing changed.

No matter how much you tried, Tommy never left your side.

Eventually you had to tell him the truth.

You were dying.

You had a year at most, the tumor was not operable, and it wouldn’t be long before you were dead.

“I can’t leave you, love, not when you need me most.” He had said as he held your face in his hands.

And he hadn’t.

Not when the barmaid showed up and made it clear to all that she wanted him, not when he provoked Kimber and certainly not when Campbell threatened to have the hospital deny you care if he didn’t give him the guns.

Campbell hadn’t expected you to laugh and spit at his face, “Do it, do your fucking worst, Inspector. I am dead anyways.”

You were dying, but you were never going to let Tommy and his dreams die with you.

You had a year.

And you had decided that your last wish was to see Tommy get the hell out of here and be the great man you know he is.

This you tell him as the two of you stand as witnesses for Freddie Thorne and his sister, Ada.

He couldn’t say no to you, he said so as you tied his tie for him and told him to drive you and Ada to the courthouse where Freddie was waiting with his cousins and a rabbi.

“It could be us up there,” he said quietly knowing you’d say no.

“Ask me again in a year.” You love him, and that is why you refuse to tie him to you like that.

Time passes slowly, you encourage him to pursue Grace because he needs the distraction. There was something there, on her side at least.

Not that he budged, said he didn’t need anyone else. Not when he had you.

“I’m going to marry you.” He says the words you feared the most. He did never learn to let go, even when death took those he loved most, he stood there refusing to let go.

“Tommy, I do not want to tie you to me like this. Not like this.” You plead for him to move on weeks later when he takes the barmaid to the races.

“I’m gonna marry you, when you go, I want you to go as my wife, y/n.” he vowed just as you vowed to see him succeed.

You supposed that is what had you say yes.

He wants to do things proper, keeping almost every tradition and custom in place that you find to your liking. Whatever you want for your big day, he and Polly make it happen.

Its sweet and thoughtful you think as he gets the two of you on a table at the Garrison and announced to all that the two of you will be getting married.

He had bought you a ring, a Claddagh ring like the one his mum had worn. Only difference was that the other one was lost in the Cut and yours had a red garnet heart to represent his love and devotion to you.

Tommy was a romantic, no matter what he did to hide it.

You dance in the dark of your room nights later to some old record your mama had since she settled here with your father.

“We could always elope, go somewhere just us and come back like our parents did.” He suggests and you nod.

As much as you’d like to do things properly, you’d rather get the things on your list done before you meet your maker.

Besides, that trip to Liverpool before the war had been lovely and you’d like to see the sea again before you go.

“I’d like that.” You say and that next morning the two of you set off to Liverpool like the wild teenagers the two of you used to be.

The wedding is lovely even if it happens in front of strangers, but the weekend the two of you spend as newlyweds is enough to make you forget your time is running out.

Perhaps when your health becomes worse you could return here, die somewhere beautiful away from everything.

“I wish we didn’t have to go back.” He admits as the two of you lie down on a blanket and enjoy the sun on your faces on your last day here.

“Once its over, we should come back here.” You say as if you knew for sure you’d be alive by then.

Zilpha Lee saw your death in the first chills of December. A black star and blood on Tommy’s heart.

It was late July now.

Only five months left in your clock. And you were going to make the most of it.

And you did, you danced at John and Esme’s wedding like there was no tomorrow. You gave the barmaid a good enough thrashing she never even got to call the police on Freddie and when little Karl was born it hurt your heart to know you would never have this with Tommy.

You wept like a baby in his arms as everyone celebrated down at the pub.

“Promise me you will love again.” You dry your tears and make him swear to live for you.

He cannot die with you, you refuse to let him.

“Don’t make me promise that, love, I’ve only ever loved you.” He shook his head, refusing to even think of a life without you in it.

It becomes the first of October that night.

You can’t hide your illness no matter what you do. A girl from the neighborhood is hired to help you and from your bed you play cupid between the sweet but never spineless Linda and the most unlikely dashing knight, Arthur.

When they finally go out ---with Finn to keep things proper--- it is late November.

And as if by magic, you are bursting with energy enough to leave your bed and make sure there is no loose string left by December 1st.

You are laughing with Polly over something when you see it in Tommy’s carefully annotated diary.

A black star on December 3rd.

He plans on having everything done by then, to deal with Kimber and Campbell that same day and spend the rest of your time on earth in a cottage by the sea.

It was supposed to be a surprise until you answered a call back from the woman renting it.

If only you could live long enough to get there.

But you won’t.

Zilpha had said on the day of the Black Star.

On December 3rd your time was up.

And you had fulfilled your mission, on that day Tommy would have reached the first step towards getting the hell away from here.

Only Polly knows what transpired during that meeting with Zilpha Lee and she holds you as your heart breaks all over again.

“Promise me you’ll take care of him.” You ask her as she holds you tight enough to put you back together again.

“Of course I will, sweetheart. Just like I told Martha Strong I’d take care of her boys and John’s Martha as well.” The older woman promised you as she gave you her Black Madonna.

Its is December 3rd when Tommy leaves the house as giddy as a boy on boxing day.

“After this it will be just us in that little cottage by the sea, love.” He had promised kissing you like there was no tomorrow.

And there wouldn’t be.

The moment the bullet strikes his chest, you collapse at his desk and never rise again.

By the time Jeremiah lets him go, you are gone.

That night, after the undertaker has taken you away to prepare you for burial, he takes your ring, a bottle of whiskey and his gun.

When he pulls the trigger, there are no bullets and he curses you for leaving and refusing to let him leave with you.

He wakes up in Charlie’s Yard, with his aunt and uncle wearing black for mourning.

“I promised her I’d take care of you, don’t make break that promise, boy.” Polly said as she helped him back on his feet.

After your funeral he leaves for the seaside, hoping to have the peace and quiet to finish what he started and yet as he sits there in ghe sand looking at the ring he gave you, he remembers your voice making him swear to live for you.

And he does.

On December 3rd 1922, he returns to the beach with May Carlton now wearing your ring on her finger.

“Thank you.” He whispers to the wind.

[tellmeallaboutit]

knock knock (Raphael x Player), THE ENDING

Chapter 18, In Which You and Raphael Live Happily Ever After

read on AO3

Luca Signorelli: detail of The Deeds of Antichrist 

The second year of the Coming of Prophet Raphael. Holy See, Rome. Do not let anyone deceive you in any way, for that day will not come unless the rebellion comes first, and the man of lawlessness is revealed, the son of destruction, who opposes and who exalts himself over every so-called god or object of worship, so that he sits down in the temple of God, proclaiming that he himself is God.

“Such a blessed day”, your mum said. 

“It is”, you said. 

A lovely midsummer day. The sun beat down on the Vatican gardens, dappled shadows through the trees. You and your mum were having coffee in the gazebo, you with your phone, she with her newspaper, enjoying the sweet scent of flowers and freshly cut grass.

Not much changed in the Holy See. The Family of the Prophet Raphael moved in where the late Pope used to reside; crosses were banned and called a heresy, replaced by a symbol vaguely reminiscent of the double horns, but otherwise, not much.

Your mum gasped as she read something, and you had to shoot a quick glance at the headlines as well…

…a tactical nuclear strike… the Holy Army of Prophet Raphael…

You quickly looked back on your phone before you could catch the rest.

“Well, there has always been trouble in the Middle East”, your mom said after some contemplation. "God willing, Raul will bring about an end to it all."

“Raphael”, you corrected. “And be careful with your phrasing”.

"I prefer to call him by his baptismal name, the one he bore before the Resurrection," she responded with a soft smile. “Old habit”.

“Those are two different people”, you said. “The one who got resurrected was not the one who died”.

“Anya, you got more religious than me”, your mum laughed. “Who could have known?”.

You held your tongue and continued scrolling through Reddit, the subreddit dedicated to the Prophet. 

“You should go out”, your mum said. "You should visit Rome someday; it's been reborn. The streets are pristine, people dressed in their Sunday best every day, crime rates at their lowest since records began. It’s heaven on earth. Reinstating capital punishment was truly an act of divine wisdom. We are blessed indeed to have witnessed His Second Coming".

And he will speak words against the Most High, and he will wear out the holy ones of the Most High, and he will attempt to change times and law, and they will be given into his hand for a time and two times and half a time.

You did not need to go out. 

Nothing existed outside of this house anyway.

It’s just you and this house. And the gardens.

As for your mum, she was the necessary evil.

Raphael was busy with his Crusades, you were busy battling Asmodeus, and since Raphael could not stand the idea of nannies, your mother looked after your son around-the-clock. It was her own personal mission from God, to raise the son of the Great Prophet, so she said.

“If you ask me,” she said as she sipped her tea from a china cup, “those who turn a blind eye to Raul’s miracles are simply reaping what they've sown. God knows who they truly serve.”

Oh, damn! They finally dropped the new update to the Conquest Of Nessus. At long last, you flagged these bugs a month ago. 

“Anya, pay attention to your child. What’s so interesting on your phone?”

Three new re-worked romance scenes with Raphael and a new boss fight, that’s what's interesting on your phone.

“What?”, you asked as you scrolled through the release notes. “He is happy. Michi is a very happy little boy”.

Your little boy sat in his stroller with his jet black hair and blue eyes; angelic except for those little double horns and tail. So well-behaved and sweet you sometimes forgot about his existence. Michi was short for Michael, and Michael was short for Archangel Michael - nomen est omen after all.

Couldn't ask for a better baby.

“Anya, you need to be present for your son”.

You never spoke with Raphael of Michael’s blue eyes; with your mum, of his horns. She never brought them once either; but she would often knit small hats for him, carefully including two holes on each side.

Some things you just don’t talk about in a family. 

“Present where?”, you tore your eyes off the phone screen. “Mom, I wish you would refrain from criticizing me all the time—I'm doing my best here.”

Your mother’s face softened into a serene smile.

“I know, sweetheart," she said warmly, "I am proud of you. I love you—you're the most wonderful daughter anyone could dream of."

That’s all you ever wished for.

****

The remainder of your day was spent immersed in beta-testing, just like in your pre-Raphael days. As midnight loomed, you'd squashed enough bugs to warrant a serious chat with Larian.

"Thanks for the latest patch," you began as the newly appointed development lead appeared on your Teams call screen. "There are a few areas I want to discuss, particularly this bit where Tav and Raphael liberate Nessus from Asmodeus' tyranny and celebrate their wedding."

“Too cheesy? We hoped you’d like it”

“Um, I appreciate the sentiment”, you said. “But I had a feeling it was too much. Like, unrealistic. Can you schedule me a call with the chief writer? Besides many other minor points. Raphael doesn’t talk like that. But you will receive my full feedback in an e-mail”.

"Certainly," he agreed with a nod. "We'll make sure everything is according to your preferences. After all, Lady Prophet, you're our exclusive client."

Nobody else was allowed to play the game.

“Anya”, you corrected. “I really cannot stand when they call me Lady Prophet. But just so you know, I really appreciate the hard work you do for me”, you said.

“How is the Prophet?"

"Oh, well... The Middle Eastern conversion isn't exactly going as smoothly as anticipated. South Asia isn’t looking much better".

Russia was in the drenches of a civil war between raphaelists and orthodox. China bought itself some time. 

"Here's hoping there will still be some folks left for him to convert," he joked without a smile on his face. "Just so we're clear though - we are all followers of the Prophet here at Larian Studios. In hoc signo vinces. No heretics among us, Lady Prophet. Anya. Sorry. Anya".

You could feel your cheeks turning red. There were heretics, yes. A lot of them. Especially in northern Europe.

They did not live long before they were put on trial in hellfire. Raphael had his own inquisitors (there were about ten thousand applications for a place, a favourite career choice for young men of Catholic background).

Raphael did not burn the inquisitors for their crimes back then.

He burned them because their crimes were not in his name.

For false messiahs and false prophets will appear, and will produce great signs and wonders in order to deceive, if possible, even the elect.

“Don’t hate me”, you muttered. “I did not… You guys created Raphael. Not me”.

There was a long silence.

"We'll have that update ready for you ASAP," he finally said.

***

You used to hate the spotlight, and you still do. 

Unfortunately to you, you were the most discussed woman in the world; and your marriage was the item of every gossip. Which meant you had to do public statements from time to time. This time, on national news, live stream from the papal enclave, you and Raphael sitting on the sofa, the entire United Christian nation's eyes on you.

He was dressed in pristine white and blood red; the two colors he hailed now to be his signature. White shirt, scarlet waistcoat, pristine white cape over his shoulders. Not quite the papal robes, not quite his devilish attire; something quite in the middle. 

"Lady Prophet," the reporter began, her face magnified on the giant screen behind her before switching to yours. “How challenging is it to be the spouse of the Chosen One?”

“It is what I wished for”, you said simply.

“My dear Anya and I are striving to give our utmost efforts in making our relationship flourish and serve as a model for other believers to follow”, Raphael said as he held your hand and kissed it gently.

Raphael was trying his best, you were sure of it. He never raised his voice at you, nor did he ever harm you in any way. Everything was wonderful in the bedroom. 

Both of you were putting in your best effort. Because that's what marriage is all about: work. It’s hard.

Not without it’s lovely moment, of course. Raphael read you poetry before bed: from Milton to Eliot to Keats. And you would go to the theater every other weekend, and to the opera once every two months. Not last month, though, as he was away managing the conflict from his war room in Zion. 

"Can you tell us how both of you were resurrected alongside the Prophet? Lady Prophet, is it true that God commanded you to end both of your lives so that you could be reborn?" another reporter piped up.

“The details are hazy, if I am honest”, you said. “I am not sure it was God who commanded me, but it seemed the right thing to do”.

Most of the details you yourself got from the press. You were dead for three days. They held a lavish funeral for both of you, despite you being the murderer. The Family wished for it (and kept the details of your deaths hush-hush), you learned later. There was a lot of press, a lot of crying. Both caskets were open, a scarf around your neck, a suit jacket covering Raul’s gun wound. They made this whole “and then, both were dead” thing oddly romantic.

So, half of the world witnessed you both coming back from the dead on a live stream. That part you remember. Chaos. Some went straight into religious hysteria, some ran, some just stood there shell-shocked. Raphael delivered his first speech within the first hour.

Therefore, stay awake, for you do not know on what day your Lord is coming.

"Anya chose to sacrifice herself for us all," Raphael added smoothly. "Her bravery knows no bounds."

“I did not feel so brave at the moment”, you said.

You killed yourself and you were dead for three days.

Three days of nothing. 

Absolute darkness. 

Not a single memory or feeling.

“Your actions triggered the Second Coming, Lady Prophet, for which are eternally grateful”, the moderator said as she clutched the double-horned pendant on her chest. “God guide your hand, Prophet Raphael. In hoc signo vinces”.

For the powers of the heavens will be shaken. And then they will see the Son of Man coming bearing the Holy Light and great glory.

“Tell us, what of your son?”, she continued. “You were pregnant at that moment, were you not?”

“I did not know that”, you said. “Everybody but me knew, but I did not”.

Raul knew. Jens knew. Camilla knew. Your mother knew. Nobody told you. Angus told them that you had a high risk of miscarriage, so it would be wise not to tell you until the 10th week, when the chances decrease rapidly. You killed yourself at nine weeks and four days.

Yourself and Michi. 

“And if you knew”, the reporter asked and took a little pause.  “Would you have had the courage to?..”

Would you kill Raul and then kill yourself?

Would you?

Michi (he would be called something different, for sure, Marco or Alessandro or something) would be playing with Raul now. Raul would have dreamt of such a kid.  You’d be living in his villa while the king of Blackrock would be turning the world into an even more capitalist hellhole than it was. You dreamt of this scenario too, recently, and woke up screaming and not knowing what’s real and shook Raphael awake to check what colour his eyes were.

Brown.

The only dream of Raul that came true was that Italy became the powerhouse of the United Christian Union. Raphael kept hold of Blackrock, too. He did not use the infrastructure and power and money to generate even more profits.

He used it for entirely different purposes.

“Every “if” is a different story”, you said. “I don’t know the other one”.

“Your words are full of wisdom, Lady Prophet. Oh! Such beautiful blue eyes your baby has”.

She gestured towards the photo projected on the screen, taken on Michi's first birthday - there were fireworks and a parade in his honour. The horns were carefully photoshopped away and his black hair slicked back.

Raphael said nothing to the comment, his jaw set tight, his lips slightly twitching. You didn’t have blue eyes either.

Nobody in your family did, all green and brown.

“Plans for more?”, she asked.

“Naturally”, Raphael said. “for as they say, one child is no child at all. I lead by example”.

You said nothing.

“Can the little one already summon the Holy Fire?”, the moderator said, immediately spotting unease between the two of you.

“Not yet,” Raphael said and stood up, facing the cameras. “But in due time, he shall be able to, as will all those who have faith in me. In hoc signo vinces”.

He produced Hellfire in his palm; the parlour trick that converted the first ten million, and it still worked wonders.

The cameras captured every spark. 

For false messiahs and false prophets will appear, and will produce great signs and wonders in order to deceive, if possible, even the elect.

“You never get used to it, do you?”, the TV show moderator said, trembling, her mouth agape with awe. “The miracle of the Holy Fire. The miracle of God”.

“I did”, you shrugged. “You get used to everything, really”.

*** 

After the interview, Raphael came out on the balcony to greet his flock in St Peter's Square, a smile on his face; you were standing next to him, hand in hand. 

The crowd applauded him, their faces absent, possessed, not a trace of humanity in him, chanting his name, chanting your name, chanting something in Latin, shaking their fists, raising the symbol of the Prophet.

"In hoc signo vinces!" They chanted the motto of his Crusades. "In hoc signo vinces!"

All beautifully dressed. White and red robes, gold emblems, guns at their belts. Former citizens of the European Union, now known as the United Christian Union (including the Commonwealth and Latin America). Raphael preferred the Holy Empire, but it never stuck.

"Hail Archangel Raphael! Hail His Lady Prophet!".

Raphael did not forbid to call him archangel, but he humbly asked to be addressed as prophet.

You dropped your eyes and reached for your phone. You haven't checked your emails for a while. It's high time you did.

"Anya," Raphael chided gently. "Your flock needs its Lady”.

Emails. Emails. Who knows what's there? You must know. 

"Give your worshippers some recognition," came the email.

You looked up and waved to the crowd, and they waved back in delight, shouting your title. Raphael raised both arms to the blackened sky above. The sky responded in kind; clouds gathered into pitch-black formations, fires flickered. They knew what Raphael was summoning, and so did his flock.

The hellstorm was coming.

***

"I keep thinking, Anya."

You watched as Raphael unbuttoned his shirt and prepared for the night's rest. Soon he'd be brushing his teeth and lathering his skin with moisturiser before changing into blue silk pajamas.

You wondered how much of this nightly routine was a remnant of his Raul days and how much was just Raphael. In moments of that, the reality of one blurred into the memory of another. 

"What about, my love?" you asked as you combed through your hair.

"The devil," he said. "The one you mentioned in Dr Bambauer's files. The one you lied to me about. It was not Asmodeus, Anya. I am sure of that now. Who was it, then, and why did he choose to reveal himself to you instead of me?"

You knew that little encounter would come to bite you one day.

"I wish I knew”, you muttered. “Let the old dogs lie. I rubbed his horns, nothing more happened".

"Well, I should be grateful that our child does not bleat," Raphael said, arms folded over his chest. "You've only seen this creature once, have you?"

"Yes," you said, very eager to drop the subject.

"I thought I would finally succeed when Mecca was converted," Raphael said, clenching his fists and relaxing. "Yet I am no closer to true divinity. The powers I know are there have never shown themselves to me. Why?"

"Why do you ask me?", you sighed as you laid yourself to rest.

"For the same reason I chose you, my dear consort. You seem to see more than anyone else".

And yet he never asked you about the things he decides to do on his crusades.

"Why the tactical nuke, Raphael?" you asked, closing your eyes and pressing your cheek against the silk of the pillow. "You can summon hellstorm and hellfire to make them worship you. Why?"

Raphael and tactical nukes should have never coexisted in the same sentence.

Whips, hellfire, infernal magic, yes.

Nukes, segregation, jihad, no. 

"I can summon hellstorm and hellfire," Raphael nodded. "Yet there are those who continue to dismiss it as psyops and propaganda and deep fakes. The use of tactical nuclear weapons has proven to be a more efficacious method for conversion."

For you yourselves are fully aware that the day of the Lord will come like a thief in the night. While people are saying, “There is peace and security,” then sudden destruction will come upon them as labor pains come upon a pregnant woman, and they will not escape.

"You don’t like guns, but you like nukes? Was it Kötter's advice?", you asked. Raphael said nothing, so that meant "yes". "Why have you never fired him? He is Raul's man, and Raul was a piece of shit".

That was the first time you said his name out loud in ages.

"Raul was competent in choosing advisors," Raphael snapped back. "I shall not speak of the man again and neither shall you. I have enough reminders, thank you".

You read recently that parents with green and brown eyes have 12% to produce blue-eyed kids. It’s possible, just unlikely.

But you said nothing as Raphael creamed his hands. Some things you just don’t talk about in a family. 

"It's just... I wish you could have asked me," you said, emphasising the word "wish". “I would not have allowed that”.

No, your magic never worked on him. 

He never let it work with him. You have all the power in the world, but not with him, never with him. 

"I didn't wish to distract you from your reverie," Raphael whispered as he lay on top of you, ready to commence the next part of the evening programme. "Or disturb your beautiful dreams."

My sweet. My darling. Little mouse. Apple of my eye.

Never, never, "my love". 

Not even once.

***

Behold! I tell you a mystery.

You didn't have to do anything but enjoy yourself, day after day, week after week. Michi was growing up all by himself, a poster child in all manners conceivable, your mother took great care of him, Raphael was away on crusades. 

Life was idyllic behind the high walls of the Holy See, guarded by the carefully selected Prophet's Guard. Nothing ever happened inside. Perfectly orderly, perfectly lawful, clean and utterly, utterly beautiful. One thing Raphael did right (one of the few) was bringing back classical art with a vengeance - sculptures especially.

You didn't have to work, you didn't have to think about the future (what future?), you didn't have to worry about money or health - you had everything. Everything there was to have.

And the world outside was what it was: the world outside.

And the stories of others were what they were: the stories of others.

Do they exist, even? Maybe all that exists is you.

Or maybe all that doesn’t exist is you; maybe you never came back from your suicide.

Be it as it may, nothing ever disturbed your reverie, your own little world. And you dreamed, every day. Of how things could be different. Should have been different. 

Of other worlds, other people, other places, other stories.

And you played the game, of course, daily. You killed Asmodeus a thousand times, a thousand ways. You asked for three rewrites. None of them mattered. Raphael was getting more and more frustrated, so you searched for new ways to defeat Asmodeus. 

“Lady Prophet?”, the servant girl knocked on your door when you and your party were casting poisonous clouds on Asmodeus’ guard. “There is a visitor waiting for you at the entrance door”.

A visitor, on a Sunday morning? You haven't had any visitors in years. You personally, at least. You asked what he looked like. The girl flushed red and said she could not remember, but he was very sweet.

Huh.

You were all too aware of the sight that would greet you once you swung open the grandiose door to the Papal Palace, yet a gasp still escaped your lips.

There he was, Mr. Goat, looking somewhat dishevelled with muck clinging to his hooves and a rugged hiking backpack slung over his shoulder. In his mouth, he held a dandelion - its yellow petals slightly wilted from being gnawed on.

"That's for you, my sweetest morsel”, he said and handed you the flower. “I couldn't help but sample it myself; it was simply irresistible."

You felt heat rising to your cheeks when he said the word 'irresistible', and then he sent a little wink your way.

"Thank you so much, Mr. Goat," you replied, holding the flower close to your heart. "Raphael isn't home at the moment though. He will be back soon, though".

"The two of us have no need for him", Mr. Goat gave you a very ambiguous smile, and you blushed even harder. “May I come in?”

You nodded and watched as he clomped across Raphael's pristine white marble floors with little regard for cleanliness, leaving trails of dirt in his wake. If Raphael saw this mess, he'd surely have a heart attack. 

Not that it would kill him.

“Would you be so kind and make me a cup of tea, little human?”, Mr. Goat asked. “Terribly thirsty for some good tea”.

You found yourself trailing him into the kitchen, a place you didn't frequent too often - it was more the domain of your staff. But you and your mum did have a tradition of sharing tea on occasion. Mr. Goat glided as he moved, dancing with every step, his hooves tapping against the floor. 

You picked out the crème de la crème of your tea selection and fetched the loveliest cups from their repository.

"Sublime," Mr. Goat crooned as he savoured the first sip, his jet-black eyes sliding shut in pure bliss. "Just what I craved after an eternity.”

Now both of you were snuggled at your quaint coffee table, your legs almost touching underneath it. His coarse fur grazed against your skin.

"I'm glad you liked it. This blend was a gift to Raphael from the Chinese Premier when they signed their pact of non-aggression," you said, though you had doubts about how long that pact would last.

The Chinese government had never officially recognized Raphael's divine status; instead attributing his miracles to some high-tech psychological warfare tech.

"Mmm...I can detect a faint hint of cyanide in its aroma”, Mr. Goat said. “How delightful! So how fares our ambitious cambion?" 

“Well”, you said. “He rules the Earth now. Well, almost”.

The Middle East, India and China remained stubborn holdouts while America had been swept up in religious fervor almost instantly; offering weapons and intelligence support. Nordic resistance had been a minor hiccup but was swiftly dealt with.

The fact that all-out nuclear war hadn't erupted yet was nothing short of miraculous.

“Oh does he now”, Mr. Goat chuckled. “My, my, ready to enter the big boys club, is he? How exciting!”

“He is not too pleased with the result”, you confessed.

"Really? With all those souls under his thumb and yet no closer to achieving godhood?" Mr. Goat chortled with an unsettling glee. “Has he pondered why that might be?”

“He had”, you confessed. “He lashed out quite… profusely recently”.

That was quite a night. The whole house had to lay low and pray for their lives. He managed to punch a hole through a concrete wall in his human form. 

“Who knows, who knows why that might be”, Mr. Goat bleated. “And you, my dearest delight? Do you now have what you always wanted?”

You thought how to answer this question and decided not to.

“You know the answer, Mr. Goat”, you said instead.

“Really?”, Mr. Goat pouted his lips in dissapointment. “Why ever not? Has Raphael lost his charm after he became reality?”

You shook your head and said nothing more on the matter, looking at your nails.  Still chewed to the quick. Well, at least some things do not change.

“Why did you never stop Raphael, Mr. Goat?”, you changed the subject. “Hundreds of millions are dead. There will be many more. He needs to be stopped”.

“There will be trillions more, with him or without, in the future and in the past. People live. People die”, he slipped the tea. “What’s the problem again?”

“Raphael is impersonating God”.

“Who hasn’t tried that at least once?”, Goat said. “You should as well, it is lots of fun. Why did you never try to stop him, Anya?”

“I cannot”, you said, your lips twitching in anger. “You know that very well! I can only watch what I created but cannot do anything. I stopped bothering a long time ago anyway”.

“Ha, you remind me of someone I know! He also created something, and now cannot bear to look at it. Stopped bothering a long, long time ago. Not what I imagined, he said. But that’s exactly what you imagined, I tell him, and he just won’t listen. All touchy-touchy, that one”.

“Are you talking about God?”, you blurted out. “Will he truly never forgive me for taking my own life?”

“I am talking about someone I know”, Mr. Goat said and slurped some more tea. “As for your question, ask him yourself. But I don’t think so. He cannot forgive me stepping on his foot once”.

“Well, yes, Mr. Goat”, you admitted. “My life is not exactly what I imagined”.

“Then imagine something different”, Mr. Goat suggested.

“Please leave if you are here to mock me”.

"I'm not here to mock you, sweetest morsel”, he sniffed in offence. “Quite the opposite - I find you delightful! You've rubbed my horns just right and danced with me. That’s more than most mortals have ever done."

“Are you here to punish Raphael? Kill him?”

"Would you like me to?" asked Mr Goat lazily. "Give the wicked little cambion some spanking?"

You feel silent.

Something in his voice told you he could do that with a snap of his fingers.

Probably wouldn’t even need a snap.

“No. No. I love him”, you pleaded.”He is the father of my child”.

Despite everything, you could never truly wish for Raphael’s death. You don’t know what you would be without him. You don’t know who you are with him, either.

Besides, what would they do to Michi and you if Raphael was gone?

"Oh really?" Mr Goat smiled. "Anyone in your family have blue eyes?"

You hadn’t discussed this with anyone before, not even Raphael himself.

"Well, Michie has double horns," you retorted, your body rigid with tension. "No one in my family had those, that's for sure."

Mr. Goat bobbed his head in what you hoped was agreement. 

“Raphael is… He can do better, Mr. Goat”, you said. “He is half-human. He has… he can… I can… make him better. With time, maybe. I just don’t know how”.

Mr. Goat flapped his lips a bit in contemplation, and then raised a finger, as if struck by the idea.

“Anya, I bought you a present”, Mr. Goat started to pull something out of his worn and torn backpack. “You know, they say a book is the best present there is”.

“If this is a Bible, Mr. Goat, I am throwing it into the fire”. 

You cannot hear quotes from the Bible anymore. There was a whole scriptorium in the Apostolic Palace where they wrote the Prophet Raphael’s edition of the Bible day and night; replaced words, edited stories.

“Oh, no, I haven’t read this one for a while. The human interpretations grew too wild for my taste. No, it’s a much simpler piece of fiction. But I thought you’d like it”.

You peeked into his open backpack; there was a black hole inside of it and a half-eaten apple.

What he drew out from his bag barely qualified as a book; it was more like a stack of A4 papers haphazardly stitched together at one end. Your eyes widened as you recognized the layout on the first page: rating information, warnings, tags and main pairing.

"Mr. Goat," you burst out laughing. "Is this an AO3 fanfic?"

Mr. Goat slowly nodded and went for a toffee on the table. 

"'Knock knock'," you read aloud the title, trying to suppress another round of laughter. "I haven't read one of these in forever. Is it any good?"

“Ah, so-so. I am not the key audience”, he said. “You are”.

You flipped through to the last page and read the final line aloud: “I am not the key audience”, Mr. Goat said. “You are”.

“What is it?”, you recoiled, looking at Mr. Goat in horror. “What in the holy hell…”

"Your story," he replied calmly as if explaining why water is wet."And Raphael's too." He paused, stroking his chin thoughtfully before adding, "It's still a work in progress though; one chapter left to go."

“And how does it end?”, you asked. “Please spare the child. Kill us, but spare Michi, he really is not at fault for anything”.

“Ah, Anya, don’t be morbid, I would never do something like that to your happy nuclear family. I'm asking you — how does your story conclude? Spill it. I'm all ears and ready to write it down."

He took the last page and held a pen at the ready. A very simple, blue ball pen, half-chewed upon. 

"It's a happy ending," you whispered. "Please, Mr Goat, make it a happy ending”.

"Anya," he urged gently, "give me the specifics here. Remember what I told you – this is your story.”

With that prompt, you began to speak rapidly - words tumbling over each other as if they were afraid of being left behind.

"Anya and Raphael lived happily ever after," Mr Goat nodded and wrote. "He... learned to love Anya... truly love her… and their little son. He became a good father. He actually came to Michi’s crib and rocked him and fed him at night, and he got one of those babybjorns to carry him around. He loved Michi just the way he was, no matter what colour his eyes were".

Mr Goat erupted into laughter (his spit flecked with bits of caramel splattered all over the page), but he didn't stop writing. 

Can Raphael even, will it even work…

Well. He has to. You changed for him, too. Not necessarily how you’ve liked, either. 

Love is fucking sacrifice.

You need to think about the world, too.

You are a good person.

"Raphael stopped killing innocent people who refused to pledge their souls to him and accept him as their new god”, you went on. “Instead, he vowed to build a better world on Earth. Basic income for all. Equal rights. Stock market is banned. And... and... high living standards and affordable housing. Space exploration!”

"Communism?" Mr Goat glanced at you. "Really? How many times are we going round this merry-go-round?"

"We'll get it right this time", you said, your jaw sat tight. “We will do right”.

"If you say so, my little idealist," Mr Goat nodded sagely. "Theocratic Communism, my favourite. You are right – what's another billion souls here or there?"

"Please write that down too: Raphael loved Anya unconditionally. He would sacrifice his own life for her. She was his special little mouse. She was! And no other little mice. Ever. He was faithful to the end of his days”.

At that, Mr Goat's laughter became so intense he had to put down his pen. You didn’t think it was all that funny.

"Please write the faithful part down," you reminded him. "It is important. I was beginning to have my doubts with all these crusades. Ah! But write down that Haarlep is okay. Haarlep does not count as cheating".

Haarlep was fucking his way through the United Christian Union Parliament (sex was no longer off charts for Christians, quite the opposite; the more believers the better). 

Mr. Goat transcribed your words, and he had some really sloppy handwriting, so you hoped he didn’t mess anything up. 

"Duly noted," said Mr Goat. "Anything else? What about Asmodeus?”

Hm?

“What about him?”, you asked. “I never cared about Asmodeus, really”.

Mr. Goat's expression turned to one of mock-offence, his pouty lips protruding.

"You are not him, are you?" you summoned all your courage to ask the next question. "What exactly are you, Mr. Goat? You are Satan, right? Our Satan?"

Mr. Goat let out a deep sigh and rummaged through his backpack before producing what looked like a gnawed-on business card - faded grey with some dubious stains on it. Your breath hitched as he presented it to you with an expression of grave solemnity.

"Mr. Goat" was scribbled on the card in childish handwriting.

Mr. Goat slowly nodded, as if he had just revealed the greatest of all secrets.

“Now you know the truth of this world, Anya”, he said.

“Thank you”, you let out a nervous laugh. “No more questions”.

“Well then,” he slapped his thighs and rose from his seat. “Appreciate the tea and the hospitality, sweet morsel. Give my best to Raphael".

He put his backpack back on his back and pulled on a silly knitted orange hat that made his ears stand apart even more.

"That's it? Will you just leave us alone then?", you could not believe it. "You're not going to destroy Raphael for what he's done to Earth?"

He cackled, a paw on his round belly.

"Why should I, my sweet morsel?" Mr Goat's lips curved into a sly smile. "You just did, and I must say I'm no match for your cruelty. To break a man like that! To twist his very nature! I applaud you."

He paused, clapping his paws together like an over-excited spectator at a show.

"I have not destroyed Raphael," you said. "I love him."

"And I love women," Mr Goat grinned, his furry face contorted into an expression of pure delight. "God's finest creations; far superior to men, if you ask me. What punishment would Raphael have in mind? Meat hooks and eternal torture, boring, boring, boring. What punishment have you thought of? Oh! Delightful!”.

He stroked your cheek and leaned in to kiss you.

The lips that touched you were not those of a man or a goat or anything in between. What was touched was primordial; it existed before the concept of existence itself.

"Au revoir, my little dreamer," said Mr Goat, his face disappearing into thin air until only his smile was left, but it did not linger for long. "Remember, there is only one truth: what has been dreamed shall never be lost”.

You sat there for a while, lingering the taste of eternity on your lips.

Until you heard a knock knock.

"Anya?" Raphael's worried voice called from behind the closed door. "My love? Why is the door closed? Are you well?"

THE END

(NO, SERIOUSLY. THE END)

[topazy]

Teen spirit

Pairing: Carl Grimes × reader, Maggie Greene × sister reader

Warnings: None

Chapter: 6.04

“I need to go.”

“Stay a little longer,” Carl whispers.

Six weeks had passed since the horde crashed through Alexandria, and the community had started to heal. Everyone mourned for those who had died, but you also pulled together and rebuilt the wall and other buildings that had been destroyed.

“Five more minutes,” Carl presses his lips against your cheek, making you giggle.

“Five more minutes.”

Since Maggie saw you kissing Carl, she had ordered you to return home earlier than you had before, which was ludicrous. But since you only lived next door, you would wait for her and Glenn to go to bed and sneak into Rick’s house.

After what is definitely longer than five minutes, you tiptoe out of Carl’s bedroom and go down the staircase, but stop when you see a man with long hair standing there. You didn’t have a weapon on you to defend yourself, so slowly you walked backwards to Carl’s door, which was still open, and waved for him to come out.

“There’s someone here,” you whisper.

Carl hands you a gun, then cautiously walks over to the staircase where the man is sitting, looking at a picture he’s taken off the wall. You both point your guns at him and ask, “What the hell are you doing in our house?”

“I’m, uh, sitting on the steps looking at this painting.”

“Don’t get smart.”

The man laughs, “I’m waiting on your mom and dad to get dressed.”

You exchanged a look with Carl; that was a weird thing for the man to say.

He offers you his hand to shake. “Hi, I’m Jesus.”

The bedroom door opens, and Rick walks out shirtless while sipping up his pants, with Michonne behind him wearing nothing but one of his shirts. Oh. You glance at Carl, and he looks mortified. To make it more awkward, Daryl and Glenn hear the noise and rush up the stairs.

Glenn’s eyes flicker at you. “Y/n? You should be in bed.”

“Uh… I’m going to go check on Judith.”

—

“Hey.”

You gulp down seeing Maggie walk into the nursery and say, “Hi.”

She sits down on the floor across from you, raising her brows in a way that suggests she’s waiting on you to say something. Judith was in her crib, rolling in her sleep, but you had stayed in her room to try and hide from your sister. You sigh, “I know what you’re going to say—that I did the opposite of what you asked, but I get bored without Carl. Aside from Enid, who hardly says a word these days, there’s nobody else my age to hang out with.”

“And the fact you’re dating Carl probably gives him the edge over Enid.” Maggie shakes her head, but a faint smile is on her lips. “I remember Daddy being furious when I found out I was seeing Glenn at first. Of course we are adults, but I remember how it feels when someone tells you to stop.”

“I shouldn’t have snuck out; I’m sorry.”

A small laugh leaves her lips. “For the record, I’ve known since the first time you did it.“

“How?”

“Rick told me, although we never told Glenn. He’d probably start panicking that in sixteen years our child will be doing the exact same thing.”

You fiddle with one of Judith’s stuffed toys; it surprises you. Maggie’s not mad; she has always been so protective of you. You studied her appearance for a moment; she was practically glowing because of her pregnancy, and her hair was the longest you’d ever seen. Gulping down, you dare to ask, “Why didn’t either of you say anything?”

“Rick had ‘the talk’ with Carl, plus we remember what it’s like trying to keep teenagers apart. A barge pole wouldn’t separate the two of you.”

Your cheeks heat up; you were sure why, but talking about dating made you feel embarrassed. The subject of boys was always something you imagined going to Beth about. “I overheard Rick and that guy talking downstairs; are you really going to go with him?”

“Yes, but Rick was going to ask if you mind sitting this one out to keep Judith safe.”

“That’s fine; I like spending time with her. Besides, it will be good practice when there’s a baby living in our house.” A sudden thought occurs to you, and you can’t help but laugh out loud. “Could you imagine Daddy’s face if you told him you were going somewhere with a man called Jesus?”

Maggie shakes her head, and she starts to laugh as well.

—

Carl sits down on the porch beside you with a clear tub in his hands. He takes the lid off, and you’re overwhelmed by the smell of hole-baking. “Carol made more cookies; you want one?”

“Don’t need to ask me twice.”

With your free hand, you take one while the other helps Judith stay upright. She continues to scribble on the paper in front of her with crayons. Carl tickles her cheeks and says, “It’s beautiful, Judy.”

“Another drawing for the wall.”

You sit in a comfortable silence, content, watching Judith draw until she starts to fall asleep. Carl picks her up, gently rocks her in his arms, and hums to her. You remember Lori humming the same tune when Carl was on bed rest after being shot.

You wave across at Denise as she finishes work for the night. You had been thinking about asking her if she needs a hand in the clinic during the day, but given how nervous she usually is, you didn’t want her to take it as you were saying she needs help.

When Judith is finally sleeping, Carl breaks the silence. “Once I put Judith to bed, I need to change my bandages. If I don’t do it by the time they are back, I’ll get a mouthful from Michonne.”

“I can do it.”

He hesitates.

“I don’t mind,” you say softly. “Besides, I’ve dressed wounds on dogs, horses, and pigs before.”

He holds back a laugh and whispers, “Oh, I just remember I got something for you.” Carl digs into his pocket and pulls out a silver necklace with a cross on it. “I know it’s not the same as the one you had, but I thought you might like it.”

The assholes at Terminus took everything they could, including a necklace your father gave you. It makes you feel emotional to see another one so similar to it. You accept it from him. “Thank you, Carl; I really appreciate it.”

The way he smiles at you when you clip the necklace around your neck causes heat to creep into your cheeks.

Carl clears his throat and, in a joking manner, asks, “So how much trouble do you reckon they have gotten into?”

“Knowing your dad and my sister, I’m going to say a lot.”

[xxswagcorexx]

the swagcore fic archives will become real in 5:

anyways, hi, i write too much fanfic, but a lot of it is on anon. i know a lot of people go to me for fic recs (you can see a post with More fic recs here) and i'm happy enough with my fics to recommend them to people :) also for funsies i'm gonna put small author's notes after each entry!

the stuff with my name on it:

Swap by cherubium and swagcore

[CLICK] [Jaron]: Statement of Ash…Swag, regarding events surrounding his husband, Red Doons. Statement recorded live from subject on April 4th, 2023, recording by Jaron Yeager from the LIFE Insitute, London,...Ohio. Statement begins. [Ash]: Are you seriously gonna be recording on that? or: a fic written for day 2 of roses and smoke week, swap/horror.

A/N: a collab fic I did with the lovely cherny! all i'll say is that we might have lied a little bit in the beginning notes. heh.

the sleep buoyancy investigation by swagcore

While Fundy walks around his street, he notices an odd poster about researching dreams. Having weird dreams all of his life and with nothing else to do, Fundy grabs the contact information and heads to the address. What possibly could go wrong? - "the sleep buoyancy investigation" is an experimental fic made with Twine. This fic is based on the Stargate Project, a now-defunct project by the CIA to study psychics. Word Count: ~3k

A/N: this fic was so so fun to do. my god. it really gave me my first taste of really experimental fics and that is something i've been playing around with! i do have an idea in mind for another fic like this (which is one of the first fic ideas i had when going into the lifesteal fandom) so! i'm excited for when i actually put my head down and write it!!!

from a windowsill by swagcore

It’s a cold night tonight. As Pearl stares out to the moon, feeling the wind through the tower’s rafters and the howls of the hound army roar from below her, she squints her eyes. There’s supposed to be a blood moon tonight. or: it's late at night, and pearl has some thoughts about the blood moon (and herself)

A/N: i'm going to be real, i'm a dl!pearl sleeper agent. i love her so much and her character is sooooo....*dies*.......she makes me ill!

late night break-ins and henna by swagcore

Ash visits Soc Inc. at the very normal hour of 3 AM on Christmas to give Red a Christmas present.

A/N: fun fact, i wrote most of this on an ipad at one of those friend reunions my dad had with his friends 💀 we were like 8 hours away from our house so i couldn't exactly leave so while on vc with my good friend toast we worked on fics together LOL she's actually the one who came up with the water bottle thing. it was awesome

misc collabs i did:

insufferable hand in insufferable hand by Anonymous

ashswag and reddoons get married in a very thought out, entirely sound plan.

A/N: this was a collab wiith np13, who you might know from "all of the roads led to you". it was actually working on this fic at first, i mentioned wanting to write a swagdoons divorce fic, and it brought me on the team to work on this one. this fic was so silly to work on and i had a great time writing it!!!

the various anon fics i have written:

one and a half cups of stout by Anonymous

Bdubs and Etho leave a party and are now burdened with the task of grocery shopping for cake ingredients. - (or: etho drags bdubs to his apartment so they can bake together)

A/N: god this fic was so fun and fluffy to write. i love baking in general, and the amount of detail i managed to put into this fic and how cozy-feeling it is is something i'm really proud of. fun fact, it's my most viewed and kudosed fic of all time, as well as the first fic i felt really, really proud of!

pommes voyage by Anonymous

headcanon that ren started making potatoes like crazy, like to the amount doc started to check up on him - originally a post meant for tumblr

A/N: this fic was really fun to write as well. it was supposed to be a tumblr post, but i got really carried away (and when i sent a screenshot of it into a gc my friend replied with "that is terrifying", and i decided to leave it as a standalone fic instead of a post) and it's a fun fic to read, methinks

and maybe, you'll find peace in the sun by Anonymous

During the time [x] escapes prison for the dozenth time, [s]he takes a quick detour to pick up some supplies. or: [x] finds an unguarded house in the woods, stealing ingredients so [s]he can make some stew

A/N: alright so, as a disclaimer, this was a fic written before ivorycello transitioned, but for archival purposes, i haven't changed it. for this post, i've made it clear what part i've changed. i'm still proud of this fic, in general, and ivory has since said that her past persona doesn't bother her anymore, so that's why i've included it here. once again though, read with those warnings in mind

the sun vanished by Anonymous

The stars revolve around Planet. It's their little secret, and most don't know enough about the stars to be able to notice. That's why, when they got banned, no one noticed that the sun vanished.

A/N: my first lifesteal fic! i really, really like the ideas in this fic and how i've conveyed them. fun fact i wrote most of this while in the car from homecoming--but i'm really proud with what i managed to beat out considering ost of it was written in a car backseat

dust by Anonymous

After winning Double Life, Pearl has some thoughts about the end of the world while looking at the death menu.

A/N: this fic is AWESOME i love minecraft death screens and like i said before, i'm a dl!pearl enjoyer to the MAX. it's also the first fic i ever had translated, and it was such a nice surprise to see it was translated in my email inbox that morning <3

jackalope by Anonymous

have you heard the myth of the jackalope? (of course you have. who am i kidding.) --- or: a character study on rekrap, as told by the myth of the jackalope

A/N: this was originally for a comic that was, looking back, wayyy too ambitious for my art skill level LOL. i've been brewing it in my brain for a while (hell, even my english teacher at the time looked over at it), and i still find it fun to read. once again, experimental fics ftw!

take your time, we've got all night by Anonymous

It’s rare to find quiet moments like this–moments safe enough for Ash and Red to get some sleep without either of them going on looking shifts. It’s a luxury in the apocalypse. And yet Red still couldn’t get his mind to shut up and let him sleep. Great. or: red can't sleep during the apocalypse. he wakes ash up and both of them spend the night talking about their pasts.

A/N: i'm already a huge sap in the notes, but this is, arguably, one of the most important fics i've ever written. for context, i wrote this while i was really down due to my entire family but me getting covid right before my finals and our winter vacation, so that left me alone in my room for 2 weeks. i was really down, especially since i couldn't spend christmas with my family as a result. however, writing this gave me something to pass the time, and the reception on it when i posted during a dark time in my life really helped. it's also the first swagdoons fic i've ever posted, so there's that too :) also, one of the comments of someone going back to read it a few months later also came while i was in a rough patch, so that really helped <3

four of a kind by Anonymous

Ash, Branzy, Clown, and Red close up the casino for the week.

A/N: first of, CASINOQUARTETCASINOQUARTETCASINOQUARTET- and fun fact, this is one of the first fics written after casino quartet first became a Concept (which. considering i first came up w/ the concept in the swagdoons server is. Yeah <- ill) so that's rlly fun to see how big casino quartet has become considering i see it in random places now LOL

l'appel du vide by Anonymous

If there’s anyone that knows Death, it’s him. or: sven escapes death, and still feels the void linger around him. and he has some thoughts about it.

A/N: i loveeeee minecraft death mechanics holy moly....anyways yeah this fic was so fun to write and the concepts are *chefs kiss*. it's also the first fic in the kenadian fandom tag so there's that too!

5 years, eleven months, and seventeen days by Anonymous

It's been 5 years, 11 months, and 17 days since they went missing. or: laurance is still investigating his friends' disappearances. even after all of this time. (he can't seem to move on, can he?)

A/N: this fic was a gift for my bestest friend ever :3 i'm going to be real it's been like, 6+ years since i watched mystreet but my friend reminded me of how fucked it was and i felt really included to write this. i loveeee fucked up implications in fiction!!!

jenga tower by Anonymous

"Dude-" Ash says through a wheezed breath, "Do you think this a little much?" Clown hums, "Mmm, no. I think you're just fineee." "Exactly," Red chimes in, definitely not helping the 'hey wouldn't it be funny if we all laid on Ash?' cause. or: casino quartet turn into a human jenga tower. for roses and smoke week, free day

A/N: once again. casino quartet brainworms strike again. i think this is the only fic i finished in time for the first roses and smoke week LOL. it's very fluffy and i still think it holds up. yeah they'd be Like That

what's the point of living if you can't die with someone else, huh? by Anonymous

"you mentioned about me going back home, right?" ash nods, eyebrow raised with suspicion. "well," red starts, "i think i said this last season: 'what's the point of living if you can't die with someone else?'" red gets up from the floor, "and you haven't used your god powers much," he says as he offers ash a hand to get off the floor. "dude." ash can exactly see what red's asking. or: alternatively titled: who knew killing your bestie with god powers could be so affectionate?

A/N: i love love love sappy swagdoons so much. this fic was so fun to write all of their memories and stuff. i love them so much i want to pinch both of their cheeks so bad!!! <333

a late night conversation about a stolen horse (and a few other things) by Anonymous

Red's going out for a supply run, and runs into Ash. They have a conversation about a stolen horse (and a few other things).

A/N: once again, sappy swagdoons. i love them so much. i'm going to be real a lot of this was inspired by this one survival guide book that i've had for literal years. i've kept it with me for fic purposes but when i was little i did read through it out of boredom so i do have a little bit of knowledge, which inspired this fic LOL

the thing about ash: by Anonymous

A glitch (as defined by Wikipedia) is a short-lived fault in a system, such as a transient fault that corrects itself, making it difficult to troubleshoot. In an article by Alex Pieschel, Pieschel writes that a "'glitch' suggests something more mysterious and unknowable inflicted by surprise inputs or stuff outside the realm of code." (or: ash, as told in the very nature of himself and what makes him, him.

A/N: okay i'm going to be real this is one of those fics that i'm 90% sure i was struck down by god to have a vision for this fic. i'm really proud with how deep i made the metaphor and it's one of the fics i'm most proud of :) it's awesome

mors mihi lucrum by Anonymous

"death to me is reward" is it really? (or: zolister has some thoughts about the trophy room)

A/N: this fic was so so fun to write. if you haven't noticed already, death in minecraft is one of my favorite things to explore and that showtime smp video activated a nueron in my brain when i watched it. i love death in mc so so much <3

Ashswag's 3-step, very simple plan, to survive the Genesis SMP by Anonymous

Exactly what it says on the tin.

A/N: this is another one of my "hcs into a fic" fics, and it's really fun! i'm going to be real, i still don't know much about ultrakill but i fuck with the aesthetic hard. that clair de lune level is so pretty....

in another universe: by Anonymous

things would have ended differently. (an experimental webweave done on ao3)

A/N: this fic was SOOOOO fun to do. i've always wished for webweaving to be more of a thing outside of tumblr, so this is an experiment into other options! it's so awesome i love experimenting with fanfiction...

the best of the best, you'll die like the rest by Anonymous

Agent Rek Rap II, an ex-agent trying to enjoy his life in early retirement. Or well, he was trying too. He gets invited to a concert by a familiar name. (He already knows how this is going to end.)

A/N: this fic turned out so well. i had a general vibe and i RAN with it. it was so fun to write, and hopefully, it's a fun read if you also like spy stuff!!!

homemade comforts by Anonymous

If Red was being honest, he reveled in moments like this. Moments when Ash and he were far away from all of the violence, all of the responsibilities, and away from any prying eyes around them. Just Ash and Red, cooking together in their shitty little kitchenette that only fits two people.

A/N: this fic was so so fun to write. i'm going to be real, it was supposed to be part of another fic where it showed swagdoons across servers but i decided to make it a standalone. i love cooking together with people so much, and hopefully this fic conveys that :)

it’s no big deal (that i love you) by Anonymous

Sometimes Ash understands people when they call him and Red a couple. They are partners, in a sense, but not in that way. After all, when you’ve spent so long as enemies, survivalists, comrades, even, you notice a lot about the other person. From tracking down Red’s movements to stealing that stupid bell from Capital City, to pressing down on wounds and praying it didn’t get infected, they’ve been through everything. Been through the happy, sad, and angry tears together, and everything else in-between. But of course, everything they did had to be a business deal—a private agreement between just both of them. or: ashswag has some thoughts about red while they fall asleep together (ft. swagdoons qpr)

A/N: once again. sappy swagdoons. because i am predictable. this fic is so fluffy, and i'm so proud with how deep the metaphor is and how soft and fluffy everything is. qpr swagdoons ftw!!!

fallin' in love by Anonymous

Ash and Red go to a pumpkin patch on their day off.

A/N: more fluff. i love them so much. i love fall vibes and pumpkin patches so this fic was me putting all of the fall vibes i could into this fic. so glad it's going to get cooler where i live now LOL

...and, scene by Anonymous

kenadian, the train escape, and the fourth wall. ...and all of the horrific implications that come alongside it.

A/N: this was written as a spirtual successor to my prev. fic about sven. it was so fun, and fun fact, it's the first fic in the kenadian character tag! yippee!!!

world is mine! by Anonymous

In a sleep-deprived move, Minecraft player Ashswag decided that making a Hatsune Miku cosplay would compliment his entire God shtick perfectly. or: ash becomes swagsune ashu

A/N: this fic was mostly written for shits and giggles, but although i haven't have much time for it, cosplay is something that's so dear to me <3 i love the craftsmanship that does into it!!! and the community is so kind <3

go to the end with me, my lover by Anonymous

“Hey Ash? I…want you to come here and take a look.” Red says warily. Ash quietly follows Red ahead. He climbs over the rubble Red is looking out on and— Oh. It was their wedding venue.

A/N: fun fact: i first heard of this song in class when someone showed me the mv after school and um. well let's say i shed a few tears. god if you haven't watched the love wins all mv, please do. it's so well done <3 also in general SWAGDOONS WEDDING LETS FUCKING GOOOOOO (ignore the angst)

it takes two to tango, but somebody has to lead by Anonymous

The tango is a dance that requires someone to lead, and a partner willing to follow them. (or, swagdoons through the ages)

A/N: this was so fun. i love writing in different formats!!! also it being experimental is AWESOME i love playing around w/ language :3 also i love acherswan so so much so that was also a bonus!!!

developments by Anonymous

A group photo of the Hemlock family and staff. Absolutely nothing goes wrong.

A/N: i love photography so much, esp as someone with terrible memory. i've been having fun exploring it in fics recently so yeah!!! also the first fic in the whitepine tag #awesome

memento by Anonymous

“You have a pretty face,” Red says out loud without thinking. Ash stops in his tracks, whipping his head back to stare back at Red. “I—What?” “Ah. Um. You look nice when you’re talking,” Red clarifies, “Wait.” Red steps closer and grabs Ash’s jaw. “The fuck—” or: Red is a photography student and takes a picture of Ash.

A/N: listen me and my friend dusty were talking and my brain came up with the most gay scene ever and i HAD to write it. once again, i've only used dslr's in my life, but hopefully the magic of photographing someone was captured in this fic. old people yaoi.../silly

and OH BOY that was a lot of fics. these are the fics i'm really proud of, so i hope y'all enjoy (and please say nice things to me if you have enjoyed them). thank you for making it through this LONG post!!!