#we live in the corners you think are empty. we are the reminder that humanity is sacred and divine...

[uncanny-tranny]

I was told by someone that I couldn’t call myself a transsexual because I had to go off T for health reasons and I haven’t had any gender affirming surgeries yet since I’m poor and disabled. Is this true? What are like, the requirements to be a transsexual? /gen

The requirements to be transsexual: to identify as transsexual

This might seem too... straightforward, but genuinely, medical transition is so complex and individual that it's worthless to make it so ridged. There are so many reasons you have to stop some aspect(s) of transition, even if you didn't want to! That doesn't mean you never transitioned or that it's "lesser" now that you stopped.

Genuinely, from the bottom of my heart, I, for one, couldn't care less if you call yourself a transsexual. To my mind, it is as political as it is an identity. Being a transsexual isn't just about your identity but also your place in this world. "Transsexual menace" isn't just a cutesy little slogan but a political battle cry. It can be an attitude about changing sex, about the lucid and plastic nature of people, and so much more.

The word transsexual was made and popularized, honestly, with the idea that we are separate from others. I think we can take this back and make it ours. We can start by actually making it our own, not the cis world's own.

[artist-issues]

Disney doesn't need to change "the formula." That's the last thing that Wish proves.

What Wish proves is that "the formula" only works when you know why the ingredients are in it, and you use them the correct way.

The Princess Character is meant to wish for only half of the movie's message, and go through an adventure that teaches her what the other half is; what her dream was missing. Ariel dreamed of understanding but she was missing love. Tiana dreamed of achieving her goals but she was missing faith. Jasmine dreamed of freedom but she was missing trust. Belle dreamed of adventure but she was missing being understood.

The Villain is meant to highlight the opposite of the movie's message. Jafar gets what he wants through trickery and manipulation; that's the opposite of Aladdin's "truth will set you free" message, and he gets imprisoned in a lamp. Scar thinks being a King is having his way all the time and can't learn from his past of living in Mufasa's shadow; that's the opposite of The Lion King's "Let the past remind you of your responsibility to selflessness." Gaston loves only himself and is always obsessed with appearances; that's the opposite of Beauty & the Beast's "true love is found within a heart of self-sacrifice." That's what makes them such good villains. (and that clear direction is what drives good villain songs, since Magnifico's is what everyone is talking about)

The sidekick is supposed to compare/contrast with the main character's qualities. Abu is a greedy thief, which is what everyone in Agrabah thinks Aladdin is; when he scolds Abu and teaches him selflessness, it shows us who Aladdin actually is. Flounder is easily frightened and looks at the glass half-full; when Ariel coaxes him and leads by example, we see her bravery and positivity reflected in Flounder's tiny character arc. Timon & Pumbaa do whatever they want all day just like young Simba always dreamed of; when Simba goes to live with them, he finds that "getting his way all the time" makes him forget who he really is and feel empty.

The setting is supposed to show off the characters and highlight the movie's message. Rapunzel's tower is designed to be pretty on the inside because of her influence; if it were too dark and prison-shaped, we'd wonder why she didn't work up the courage to leave sooner. Just like how Quasimodo has made his corner of the bell-tower beautiful, too; they're taught the world is cruel and they're not strong enough for it, but they make their own worlds beautiful enough to hint that that's wrong right from the start. Ariel's grotto is shaped like a tower with no roof so that she only has one window to the forbidden Surface, and it's the light that comes from that forbidden world into her dark grotto which literally makes her able to see human things differently. Tiana's apartment has no interesting features except her father's picture, a perfectly made bed, a drawer with no extra outfits but stuffed with tip money, and only two dresses; both of which are for work.

None of that is happening in Wish, because they didn't know why the formula ingredients are there. Disney needs to understand and return to the formula the right way; forgetting it was what got them here.

Asha learns nothing to add to her dream, unless you count "the power to grant wishes is in me." Which you shouldn't, because we didn't even know she was confused about that until the animals sang a song that was completely off-topic and she had the chance to jump in and sing "I'm a Star!"

Magnifico does not demonstrate the opposite of Wish's message effectively because his character has nothing to do with a philosophy against making wishes, and everything to do with power. (He is the strongest character in the film. But because the message and core concept of what wishes are are so bad, that's not saying much.)

Valentino, and Asha's friends, do not highlight anything about her character through compare/contrast. Valentino is brave and all over the place. Her friends are seven-dwarfs parodies. Happy, Doc, Sneezy, Dopey, Bashful, Sleepy, Grumpy. None of that contrasts with Asha's vague characterization of "cares too much." None of it compares to that characterization, either.

The setting is empty. There are no interesting details that teach you something about any of the characters. None in Asha's home, none in the neat-and-tidy one-dimensional forest, none in the Rosas square, and none in the bland, empty castle. Magnifico's study is the closest anything gets; there's a loose concept that all of Asha's friends have to work together to open the roof, and take a leap of faith to weigh the pulley system down. Unfortunately, none of these characters is shown struggling to work together, OR to take leaps of faith, at all, before this point.

The ingredients of the formula are in Wish. They're just not being used correctly. This is how not to use the formula; it's not the formulas fault. If it ain't broke. They should never have let people convince them to try and fix it.

[ckret2]

At long last, we get to see: this moment.

Chapter 11 of Human Bill Being The Mystery Shack's Hella Depressed Prisoner, featuring: Mabel giving Bill a ✨beautiful makeover✨—and Stan and Ford almost dying from laughter. And thus begins Bill & Mabel's inevitable befriending. Previous chapters here!

####

Every time Mabel had to use the stairs, she paused to look at Bill sitting in his window.

He never seemed to move.

A few days ago, it was creepy. Now, it was just kind of sad.

Last year, after Mabel and Dipper's parents had heard the whole story about their summer, they'd immediately packed the twins off to therapy—which Mabel didn't think was necessary, but whatever, if it made their parents feel better. (It had taken them some time to find a therapist who would engage with their barely-averted-apocalypse story at face value rather than search for the root of these "delusions.") At their current therapist's office, before each appointment, Dipper and Mabel had to fill out checklists that they gathered were to measure whether they'd come down with a case of depression—Please read the following statements and circle the word that shows how often they happen to you. Never, sometimes, often, always.

She'd filled out these things so many times that she could practically recite the list of statements by memory. Nothing feels very fun anymore. I have problems with my appetite. I have trouble sleeping. I have no energy for things. I feel like I don't want to move. Far be it from her to try to diagnose an evil demon monster space triangle who'd tried to murder everybody she knew, but. Well. You know. Sitting curled up in a window seat, day after night after day, barely moving, barely talking, barely eating... Yikes. She could only guess how he'd answer statements like I feel empty and sad or I feel worthless.

In Mabel's mind, there was a piece of paper. On that piece of paper were the faces of everyone currently living in the shack. Herself, Dipper, Waddles, Grunkle Stan, Grunkle Ford, Soos, Abuelita, and Melody as an honorary part-time resident. Next to each of their faces, there was a sticker, reflecting their current overall mood. Right now, everyone had either a happy face or a flat-mouthed neutral face—not bad, but could be better.

As she looked at Bill, she mentally promoted him at last from "entity haunting the attic" to "temporary resident." She added his face to her imaginary paper. And she slapped a big blue crying sticker next to it.

She wouldn't stand for that. Not even from him. Not under her roof.

####

Today, Bill wasn't even in the window. He'd elected to curl up in a corner of the attic, hiding in the shadows with his stolen blanket. The window was probably too hot. Mabel typically used acrylic yarn, and she knew from experience how quickly Sweater Town could turn into Sweaty Town.

For the first time, Mabel sauntered, quite casually, across the invisible barrier separating the rest of the attic from Bill's nest. She offered her winningest smile and her cheerfullest, "Hey, Bill!"

The Thing Beneath The Blanket gave her a look that, she suspected, could probably be described as deeply suspicious. "Shooting Star."

"Yup! Haha! That's—that's me all right! You got me." Mabel laughed. (This was going great so far. This was very natural.) "So, anyway!" She grabbed one of the couch cushions Bill had been using as a bed, dragged it a little closer to the corner, and plopped down. "This is such a weird coincidence, but one time, I got gum stuck in my hair and had to shave it off! I mean, crazy, right?"

"Uh huh." Bill didn't sound impressed. "Second grade." (And Mabel was uncomfortably reminded of the first time she'd ever seen Bill. I know lots of things.) "Hey, since you brought it up, can I ask you something about that little incident?"

"Uh..." This was what you signed up for, Mabel. You volunteered for a conversation with Bill. You've gotta converse. "Sure, I guess."

He leaned forward, triangle face looming above her. "Did getting gum in your hair change your species? Did you still look like yourself when you shaved it off?" The face bobbed as he pantomiming looking her up and down. "You still look human to me! So what's your point."

Okay, so he'd immediately recognized she was trying to establish common ground, aaand he was throwing it in her face. Great start. "Jeez, don't be so mean! I'm trying to tell you I get it. Not... the species part, but the other part. I wanna help!"

Bill scoffed. "Sure you do."

"Really!"

"Why?"

"Because you're all sad and it's making me sad."

Bill, o wise and ancient being that he was, had heard of "empathy" in a conceptual sense. He was aware that it was a thing that happened to some people. He even knew that it was common among humans. But on some level he kinda sorta felt like it only really happened to mindreaders that didn't know how to establish proper psychic boundaries. He laughed in Mabel's face. "No, seriously! What are you getting out of this."

Mabel decided she had no interest in explaining compassion to an alien mass murderer. "Okay, I want Soos's blanket back. I gave it to him, not you."

"Fine. If you want his blanket back, make me one."

"What? No! Those are our Team Zodiac-That-Defeated-You blankets, you don't get one."

"Didn't you make one for everybody else on the wheel? I'm on the wheel, aren't I?" He pointed at his face. "Bam! There I am, right in the middle! Star of the show! If everyone else deserves a blanket, so do I."

"Why do you even want one? It's a symbol to kill you."

"It's got my face on it! It's not that deep." He crossed his legs and propped his chin in his hand, getting more comfortable. "So do I get to pick the colors? I'll take yellow if that's all you got, but if you get me metallic gold I think I can swing you a favor."

"I'm not making you a blanket," Mable said. "I was thinking maybe a wig?"

Bill shuddered. "Pass."

"Aw, come on! I bet I could find you a really cute wig. Summerween's coming up, I could go to the costume store—"

"Don't even think about it." Bill leaned away from Mabel, back into his corner. She was losing him. "Listen. Kid. Do you think I did this by accident?" He pointed vaguely toward his scalp. "Being stuck in a human body? Disgusting. Being a human and secreting fifteen miles of hair out of a hundred thousand of pores? Infinitely worse."

"Wait, wait, fifteen miles?" Mabel had never considered how long a full head of hair laid out end-to-end would be. "How much hair do I have?"

"Huh." Bill tilted his head consideringly. "How dense is your hair?"

"Super dense. I've broken multiple brushes."

"Could be up to fifty miles."

Mabel's eyes widened. "Whoa."

"And you've got fifty thousand miles of blood vessels," Bill added cheerfully. "Anyway, if you want this blanket back? You won't get it with a wig. All I want is to look..." he formed his fingers into a triangle, thumb to thumb and forefinger to forefinger, and held it over the face on the blanket, "... like this. Now, if you're offering to help me get my real body back—"

"Never in a million years."

"Didn't think so!" Bill retreated fully into his corner again, knees pulled back up under the blanket, like an eel hiding in a hole to await its next prey. "But hey, if you've got an offer that's a step up from the blanket, I'm willing to negotiate."

"Huh." Mabel frowned thoughtfully. Something triangly. Something triangly that was better than a blanket, without helping Bill return to full power.

She got to her feet. "Let's put a pin in this conversation and circle back to it later. I'll come back with some proposals for you to review."

Bill laughed. "Okay, business girl! Have your people call my people. You know where to find me."

Mabel leaped down the stairs three at a time, ideas already forming in her head.

####

"Hey, Grunkle Ford!"

Ford was sitting at the former controls of the interdimensional portal, studying some radar readings; but he glanced up with a smile when Mabel ran out of the elevator. "Mabel. What brings you down here?"

She dragged an office chair up beside Ford, plopped down in it, and spun a couple of times. "I need to ask some questions about Bill!"

Ford's smile faltered. "Ah."

"Last summer, when we were burning all your art of him—"

(Ford winced in embarrassment.)

"—you said he could do some kind of magic with pictures of his face? What's all that about?" She stopped spinning. "Do they give him more power? Can he fire lasers out of them, or...?"

"No, nothing like that, thank goodness. Depictions of his face granted him a different kind of power: the power of knowledge. When he was trapped in the Nightmare Realm, he could tap into our world's collective mindscape and see through drawings of himself as if they were cameras. Ironically, plastering images of his face everywhere to symbolically represent an 'all-seeing eye' is what made him so all-seeing in the first place."

Mabel nodded thoughtfully. "Did you know you talk like one of those experts they hire to explain things in history documentaries?" she asked. "You should be on TV. You'd be good at it."

Ford gave her a confused smile. "Er—thank you."

"So, if Bill's already here, making new pictures of his face doesn't do anything?"

He supposed she was wondering about the zodiac blankets she'd spread around town. "Probably not. At a minimum, he'd have to be in the mindscape to be at the right 'angle' to see through the eyes. As he is now, trapped in a human form?" Ford let out a slow, thoughtful sigh. "It's hard to say for sure, without knowing how he got to be this way or what kinds of powers he's still hiding... but based on everything I've seen so far, I doubt they do anything for him."

"And if somebody put a picture of him on his face, it wouldn't do anything at all! Because that's like, his face. He already has eyes there."

Ford chuckled. "I suppose that's true. It would be like he'd grown a third eyeball, that's all." He paused. Put a picture of him on his face? "Why do you ask?"

Too late; she was halfway to the elevator. "Thanks, Grunkle Ford! I'll see you at dinner!" And she was gone.

####

"What's all this?" Bartholomew asked.

Mabel was dumping a bag of costume makeup and cheap convenience store makeup palettes onto her bed. They sparkled in varying hues of tacky gold glitter. "Art project!" She scooped Bartholomew out of his cradle by Dipper's bed, climbed the rickety ladder to the storage loft over their bedroom, and set him down leaning against a box. "You're on guard duty. Stay quiet and if anything goes wrong, get Dipper."

"How do you expect me to get Dipper? I'm a doll. I can't move."

"Come on, Mew-Mew. You think we haven't noticed that you teleport when nobody's looking?"

Bartholomew paused. "Touché."

Mabel rummaged through her art supplies; put tape, glue, and a couple of flattened cardboard boxes on the bed; added all the yellow crayons, markers, and paints she could find; and finally, satisfied, she ran out of the room. "Bill!"

"Still here."

"I've got the perfect solution. I'm giving you..." Mabel posed, hands on her hips. "A makeover!"

Bill waited for the follow up. There was no follow up. "Heh."

"Laugh now, but before I'm finished, I'm gonna make you more beautiful than your wildest dreams!"

"Kid, with all due respect, your idea of 'wild' taps out where my dreams are just getting started."

"Then I'll just have to up my game, won't I?" Mabel held out her hand. "Just give me that blanket, show me that weird bald head of yours, and let me make it into a canvas for high art! Trust me!"

Bill contemplated her extended hand. Did he trust her? In most situations, he considered trust irrelevant. He expected most people to do whatever they thought would benefit themselves the most; sometimes that meant keeping their word, and sometimes it didn't.

On the other hand. Was he really curious to find out where she was going with this? Yes. And the worst thing she could possibly do to him was make him very slightly more ugly than he already was. And playing along would fill his empty afternoon.

"Okay, kid." He reluctantly handed the blanket over. "You haven't given me a bad makeover so far." (He hadn't actually seen her marker mask, but it never hurt to flatter the person about to paint all over you.) He stood and stretched. "Show me what you've got. But if I don't like it, you owe me a blanket."

"Yes!" She grabbed his hand—his whole arm immediately went stiff—and dragged him toward the bedroom. "Welcome to my salon!"

####

Sure enough, just like Ford had said—when Stan checked Bill's attic nest, there was no sign of him.

Stan didn't like that one bit. Where the hell had their prisoner gotten off to?

As Stan approached the attic bedroom, he could hear Mabel talking: "More glitter?! That's crazay! Okay, here goes! I bet you could pull off such a glam rock look." (That explained where the kids were. He'd been starting to wonder.) "Hold still, I'm gonna try something I saw on a Russian supermodel—"

"Kids," Stan called, "do you know where the demon went?" He opened the door. "Poindexter says he can't find him anywhere, and—"

Mabel was kneeling on the floor, surrounded by the widest variety of makeup brushes and palettes Stan had ever seen. Her fingers and sleeve cuffs were coated in gold glitter and paint.

Kneeling in front of her, with his legs splayed awkwardly and his hands on the floor like he wasn't sure how to lower this body down to Mabel's height, was Bill. His face was liberally coated in acrylic gold paint and amateurishly contoured with a mix of craft glitter and golden eyeshadow. One eye was shut—the eyelashes delicately dusted with more gold eyeshadow to help it blend in—while the other was coated in a layer of mascara so thick it was a miracle his lashes didn't glue shut when he blinked.

And to cap off the gilded absurdity, his face was sticking through a hole in the middle of a cardboard triangle helmet, painted sunflower yellow with bricks shakily traced on in marker. Bill looked like the poor kid assigned the part of "the pyramid" in a fourth grade class play about ancient Egypt.

Mabel and Bill stared at Stan.

Stan stared back.

He covered a snort with a cough. "I'll—I'll tell Ford you've got it handled." He slammed the door.

He let out a bellow of laughter.

Mabel put a hand on Bill's shoulder. "He doesn't understand avant-garde fashion. You look like a million dollars."

"I know," Bill said. "All the same—maybe a hat would class things up a little?"

Mabel reached for a sheet of black construction paper. "You're so right."

####

"Well?" Mabel leaned around Bill, trying to see what he looked like in the full-length mirror. "What do you think?"

Bill stared in the mirror. A horrific abomination of flaking paint, cakey makeup, and taped-up cardboard stared back.

He grinned so wide it cracked his face paint. "I think that's the hottest human being in history."

"Yes!" Mabel pumped a fist into the air.

####

Ford said, "Stanley, what is it?"

Stan wheezed until his lungs ran out of air.

Concerned, Ford leaned across the kitchen table, lacing his hands together. "Did you find Bill?"

"M—Mhmm."

"He hasn't hurt Mabel, has he?" Ford asked, flashing back to their conversation earlier. "Or—or Dipper? Anyone?"

Stan bit his lip and shook his head. Tears of laughter pricked the corners of his eyes.

"Did he... put some kind of laughing curse on you?"

Stan shook his head more emphatically. "H—" He couldn't get one syllable out before he had to choke back his laughter again. He pounded on the table.

Grasping at straws and defaulting to the first worst case scenario he could think of, Ford said, "He hasn't found a way back to his true form, has he?"

Stan let out a noise like a balloon that had been untied and unleashed to fly around the room. "I MEAN—"

"Gooood afternoon, gentlemen!" Beaming brightly enough to rival the sun, twirling an umbrella like a cane, Bill strutted in.

Ford clapped one hand on Stan's shoulder, clapped the other over his mouth, and turned away, shoulders shaking. Stan smacked Ford's arm in sympathetic hysteria.

"I see we're all in high spirits today!" With the brazen confidence of an illegitimate prince marching into a throne room to demand his crown, Bill strolled through the kitchen, barely sparing the Stan twins a glance. Mabel followed behind him, grinning from ear to ear. "I wouldn't mind some spirits, myself." He paused in front of the fridge. "Could someone—?"

As the closest person to the fridge, Ford pulled it open, then turned to watch so he could make sure Bill didn't do anything he shouldn't with the food. This required him to look in Bill's direction. He curled his lips into his mouth and bit down. His eyes watered.

"Finally." Bill hungrily surveyed the inner contents of the fridge, grabbed an armload of condiments, a jar of pickles, and a tub of leftover chicken nuggets, and dumped them on the nearest counter. He tried to reach for a bottle of spoiled corn syrup toward the back of the fridge, banged the sides of his cardboard helmet on the fridge's doorframe, and quickly backed off and felt the corners to make sure they weren't too damaged. He had to turn sideways to reach the bottle without hitting the edges of the fridge. One corner of his mask tipped over a bottle of apple juice. Watching this performance very nearly killed the Stans.

"There." Bill triumphantly set the bottle on the counter, grabbed a can of alphabet spaghetti off an open shelf, and asked, "Where do you have the bowls hidden?" He rapped on one of the cabinet doors with his umbrella.

The sight of the umbrella knocked Ford out of some of his hysteria. "Where did you—?" He snatched the umbrella out of Bill's hands. "No weapons."

Bill gave Ford a withering one-eyed look (Ford suspected his other eye was glued shut with paint), then elected to ignore him. "Shooting Star?"

"They're down here!" Mabel opened one of the base cabinets. Bill retrieved a bowl and started filled it with his condiment haul.

"Okay," Stan said, voice strained with suppressed laughter. "Okay, what—what are we looking at?"

"A masterpiece of cosmetic art," Bill said. Mabel's grin widened.

Ford elbowed Stan across the table. "Do you remember the 'living statue' performers on the Glass Shard Beach boardwalk?" he asked. "The ones who'd paint all their skin and clothes gold—?"

"Oh yeah!" Stan let out a bark of laughter. "That's exactly what he looks like!"

In his bowl, Bill had layered mayonnaise, Tabasco sauce, mustard, sour cream, and maple syrup, and carefully stuck in as many chicken nuggets as he could without the mix slopping over the edges. He got Mabel's help to stick it in the microwave, then turned toward the Stans with a smug grin. "So you agree that I look like a work of art."

"No," Stan said, "they looked like idiots, and so do you."

Bill scoffed. "You don't know anything! You look at a human body, and all you see is a human with things stuck on it. I can look at a human body and see a canvas. I've stripped this vessel of its association with humanity and transformed it into an idol of myself."

Mabel loudly cleared her throat.

"Okay, she did most of the work."

Ford seriously considered the artistic merit of Bill's proposed "human body sans humanity as art material" paradigm. After a moment of deliberation, he said, "You have cardboard taped to your face."

Stan slapped the table. "HA!"

Bill opened a can of alphabet spaghetti, slopped half into a glass, filled the rest with incredibly spoiled corn syrup, and then filled the can with corn syrup as well. The mixes bubbled threateningly. The absolute picture of good cheer, Bill announced, "I'm the most beautiful thing any of you have ever seen. It's just too bad your closed little minds can't enjoy the marvel in front of you." He stirred his toxic alphabet spaghetti concoction with a pickle spear.

Stan watched Bill mix his drink in mild alarm. "What in the world are you making?"

Bill held his wrist over the glass and a knife to his wrist. "A Bloody Mary."

Stan's alarm increased. "No you aren't."

"That's your opinion." 

"Where did you get—!" Ford leaned over to snatch the knife out of Bill's hand.

"It was in the fridge, it was sticking out of the leftover casserole!" Bill rolled his eye. "Re-lax! I wasn't pointing it at you." He lifted his drink, nearly poured it into his eye, caught himself at Mabel's shout of alarm, took a sip through the correct hole, then inspected the thick gold lip stain left on the rim. "Huh." He looked at Mabel.

She shrugged. "I could have set the makeup with baby powder, but I thought it might dim some of the sparkle."

"You chose form over function. I respect that." He sipped his drink more carefully.

The microwave went off, Mabel opened the door, and Bill scooped up his condiment-and-nugget stew and both alleged Bloody Marys. "Now if you'll excuse me, I'm gonna go be handsome somewhere else—"

The corner of his cardboard helmet banged into the kitchen doorway. He dropped one of his drinks, stumbled against the wall, and looked in dismay at his syrup-and-spaghetti-sauce-soaked skirt. He turned to Mabel. "How's my head?"

She grimaced. "We... can fix that with tape."

Bill sighed. "Come on, let's do it before my nuggets get cold."

"Now hold on!" Ford stood up. "Are you going to clean this mess up?"

"No!" Bill was out of the room. Ford could already hear him tripping on the stairs. "You don't trust me with a mop!"

Well. It was true, they didn't trust him with a mop. Sighing, Ford trudged across the room. "I'll get it."

Stan said, "You know, I think I'm glad he looks like an idiot. He's been so mopey the last couple of days, I was almost starting to feel bad for him."

"Thank goodness, you too," Ford muttered. "I was afraid I was going soft."

"Nah, he really was that pathetic," Stan said. "Like a sad show poodle that doesn't understand why it's been shaved in weird shapes."

Ford barked a laugh.

Once the floor was clean, Ford confessed, "I've—actually really worried about that. Going soft, I mean. I'm... afraid that Bill could find a way back into my head."

"Literally or emotionally?"

"Emotionally." Ford paused. "Both, actually—but this time I mean emotionally. The night he burned his hair off, I..." He winced at himself; but he needed to tell Stan. There was no one else he trusted to give him a reality check. Maybe Fiddleford, but... Ford hadn't figured out how to approach him about all this yet.

He put back the mop, to have an excuse to pause and gather his words. "I... brought him something to eat," Ford mumbled. "And, told him I knew what it was like to be trapped in an alien universe, and—that he should take better care of himself, for his own sake—and I don't know why I said that, anything good he does for himself just makes things harder for us, it's not as though I forgot that, but—What? Stanley, why is this funny."

Stan had started laughing; but he cut it off a cough. "Sorry. It's just—do you remember how Mom would go 'Well, I can tell you two are related' any time we did something particularly—you know—twinnish?"

"Don't tell me you've been making sandwiches for Bill."

"Ha! No, but I've given my arch nemesis a pep talk when he was having a mental breakdown. I felt bad for him!"

Ford chuckled. "Really?" He dropped back into his seat. "I didn't know you have an arch nemesis, who's that?"

Stan considered Ford's reaction if he admitted that his nemesis was that ten-year-old with a crush on Mabel, and said, "Ah, he's been out of my hair for ages. So what, is that all you talked about?"

"Somehow it turned into him trying to convince me he'd been planning a welcome party when I fell through the portal."

"Ha! And did you believe him?"

"Absolutely not." Ford paused thoughtfully. "But—part of me wonders whether he believes it himself."

"He seems like the kind of guy to buy his own bull." Stan shrugged. "I don't think you have to worry about him getting in your head. Just don't let him fast-talk you into any decisions and don't buy anything he's selling without telling him you'll think it over for twenty-four hours. And the more he says decide now, the harder you say no. That's how the pros get you, they don't give you room to breathe, let alone think."

Ford was pretty sure Stan was just describing the Mystery Shack's souvenir sales strategy; but he nodded slowly. "I know exactly what you're talking about. When I gave him permission to pilot my body, between the first time he mentioned it was an option and the moment I agreed to it... well, I was asleep at the time, so I can't be sure how long it took—but I'd guess it was less than fifteen minutes. In retrospect, I couldn't believe that I'd agreed so thoughtlessly. But I suppose that's exactly what he wanted." No room to breathe was a good way to describe it. Never mind being nose-to-nose with somebody trying to pressure you into a sale—how do you take a step back to get a little space from somebody who's already inside your head?

"Did he make it sound like a limited-time-only deal? You know—'buy now while the price is low, you'll regret missing this offer'? But with more mystical woo-woo phrasing, I mean."

"Not exactly, but..." Ford tried to remember back that far, grasping for the details of the conversation—the real conversation, not the heady, excited version he'd summarized in his journal. "At the time, I'd been worried about falling behind schedule on the portal's construction. He wouldn't have had to introduce an element of tension—it was already there. All he had to do was exploit it." He shook his head. Falling behind schedule. What schedule—the one he, himself had made? He was sure Bill had encouraged him to finish as fast as possible, too.

"There, you see? You got swindled by a professional swindler," Stan said. "What's important is that you know what he is now, and you know his tricks. He won't get you the same way twice. I'm not worried about you."

There were a couple of odd thuds from upstairs, accompanied by a yelp from Bill. That wasn't odd; he'd proven to be remarkably clumsy in a human body. At any given time it was possible to tell where he was by the random bangs, and if he hadn't made a noise in the last five minutes it meant he was curled up safely in his window seat.

What was odd was hearing Mabel's voice: "Careful, careful—! Augh. ... I'll get another sheet of cardboard, we'll replace that!"

Stan and Ford looked warily toward the stairs. Stan muttered, "Mabel, on the other hand..."

Ford nodded. "I'll keep an eye on her."

####

(If you've read this far, I'd really appreciate hearing from you! Things you liked, things you're looking forward to, jokes, thoughts, even typo corrections. Thanks!)

[99hook]

Comfort Zone | Part Two

Synopsis: He lost the FTW title and he needs you.

Warnings: angry sex ensues, degradation kink, praise kink, jewelry kink, unprotected sex, semi-public car sex, fluff sprinkled in if you look hard enough

A/N: @wickedval thank you for being so patient while I took forever working on this and I hope I do it justice for you! I can’t even telllll you guys how many times this one was requested since yn and Tyler did get interrupted by Jeff Hardy in the last fic. Lmao anyway here’s tyler taking his aggression out in a filthy raw way. Enjoy 🫶🏼

The bit of optimism he felt as he lead you down the hallway was quickly diminishing as those thoughts of him not only losing his title, but being knocked out cold with it started eating away at him again.

You could see that his improved mood was only short lived and his cold, empty stare was proof of that. He was rubbing his fingers together only to remind himself that his right hand was empty now.

His left hand held yours, involuntarily giving it a squeeze when he flashes back to the last few seconds of that match, just before everything went pitch black.

He remembers leaning down, attempting to get Jack back on his feet and seeing the gold peeking out from underneath his arms but, as soon as he realized it, he was crashing down onto the canvas.

The screams of the audience was briefly drowned out by a high pitched ringing sensation in his ears and he didn’t have enough strength to power through the intense dizziness that had him feeling like he was spinning out of control when he felt Jack lay on his chest and the refs hand hit the mat three consecutive times.

Thinking back on it now, he wishes he would’ve just raised his arm up, fought a little harder and never gave Jack the satisfaction that he’s probably boasting around the arena about, but he wasn’t strong enough to fight back for the first time in his life and he never thought that day would come where he’d have to openly face the fact that he lost everything he worked so hard to gain.

You eyed him as those thoughts attacked him. You could see his shoulders visibly sinking with the weight of the world on top of them and all you wanted to do was bring him out of his own head, but you also knew Tyler all too well and for that reason, you knew nothing you said would serve as any improvement to the way he’s feeling right now.

Actions speak louder, anyway.

He was about to lead you through the catering doors but stopped when he felt you pull against his hand. He looked over at you, readjusting his fingers intertwined with yours and that’s when you finally got to look deeply into his sunken eyes, practically able to visualize all of the pain he was in, all of the chaotic emotions that were running through him that he couldn’t hide well enough.

“Let’s go to the car.” You tell him, noting the flash of confusion that washed over his face.

“You’re ready to leave?” He asked, knowing how many times you’ve lectured him about taking off before the night is over.

You stepped a little closer and gave his hand a gentle squeeze before you leaned up on your tip-toes and placed a featherlight kiss to the corner of his mouth.

“I didn’t say anything about leaving. Let’s go finish what we started.”

He swallowed thickly, his lips parting but no words coming out of his mouth. You said nothing more as you pulled him down the hallway towards the exit doors, your feet and his both fast tracking to the corner of the parking garage where the rental was parked.

You spun around once you reached the driver side door and caught the hesitant look on his face, but his hands reaching to your hips eagerly told you a completely different story. You pulled him by the waistband, bringing him as close as two humans can physically get and leaned back up again, this time to place three soft kisses to the side of his neck, trailing up to his ear.

You breathed a whisper, so filled with a desire to simply please him, to take away all of this anger and demise in one of the most passionate ways you could possibly think of. “Anything you want to do to me, do it. Use me to your best advantage, baby. All that anger? Take it out on me. Everything you’re feeling, make me feel it ten times more.”

You pulled back, looking in his eyes that were suddenly so lustblown. Your soft words repeated in his head twice before he took one hand off of your hip and reached behind you for the handle of the back door.

“Get in.” He demanded, and you did as you were told, sliding onto the back seat and all the way over to the other door, before he grabbed your ankles and pulled you back toward him. Your feet dangled out the door, and he placed himself right between your thighs, taking a moment to contemplate his next move in his head while you watched his eyes roam from your lips to your thighs and back again.

You felt your mouth watering as you impatiently awaited him. He placed both hands on the hood of the car, his chest starting to heave as he let the arousal build up within him. You watched him slide his tongue over his lips and inhale a sharp breath before his darkened eyes roamed down to your shorts.

“Why are you still wearing clothes? I want you naked in the next ten seconds or im ripping them off of you myself.”

You were a little stunned by those demands but had no time for any of that, evidently. You hurriedly slid your shorts down to your ankles and tossed them on the floor of the car, about to slide your shirt off but he caught the way you were hesitantly eyeing the perimeter behind him, making sure nobody was around.

He stepped to the side to block your view and cupped one finger under your chin, raising your eyes to match his sharply.

“If anyone’s stupid enough to come back here, I’ll handle them. Do what I said and stop trying to buy yourself time. You’re ticking on my clock, baby, and Ill keep us out here all night long if I want to.”

You could only slightly nod as you grabbed the end of your shirt and slid it up over your head, exposing your matching bra and panties in that burgundy red, lacy fabric that always drives him absolutely wild, but tonight, he didn’t care enough about seeing you in anything at all.

“Nah baby, those too.” He points to your panties, then to your bra. “I said naked, did I not?”

You reached around and unclasped your bra, your breasts spilling out when you slid the straps down your arms and dropped the lacy piece to the floorboard. Then you brought your knees up and slid your panties down to your ankles, and Tyler stood there, his eyes following every single move you made with an unnerving, blank expression on his face the entire time.

You kept your thighs clenched together as you sat on the leather seat, nothing but a necklace wrapped around your neck and he tilted his head to the side slightly, sliding that tongue back over his lips like you were a five course meal and he’d been starving for days.

You felt his fingertips linger over the crease of your inner thighs pushed together and slide his hand down between the space, effectively earning your legs to spread wide by the simplest touch.

“That’s better, baby.” He rasped as he trails those fingertips ever so slowly up your inner thigh, stopping just before he reached your glistening cunt, just to trail them back down the other thigh. You watched his motions until he demanded your attention on him solely.

“Look at me.” His voice was sharper than it had been before, non suggestively spewing a demand that made your eyes instantly snap to his. “You sure you’re ready for this? Cause I’m gonna do more than just make you come and be done with you. I’ve had a bad, bad night baby, and it’s gonna take a lot to make me feel better.”

You swallowed, he heard the gulp. You nodded easily, knowing you asked for this and knowing what’s more, you probably didn’t even realize what you asked for initially. Tyler had eyes darker than sin and a million and one ideas in his mind. He was going to give you exactly what you asked of him but he knew you didn’t know the half of what that meant for you.

His eyes lingered down to the center between your thighs. The beautiful glisten dancing off of your skin that he knew had everything to do with him. He wanted more than anything to bury his face right between your thighs and soak up all of those sweet juices on his tongue but something he wanted even more than that, was to watch you squirm all over that seat, begging, pleading and whimpering for him.

He placed both hands back on the hood of the car and looked into your eyes again, purposely smoothing his tongue over his lips just to watch you watch him with so much desire evident in your yearning eyes.

“You look so pretty sitting on that seat, all spread open for me baby. Wish you could sit on my face but, unfortunately I don’t think I can make that happen in this Escalade, and from the looks of it, I think you’re a little too impatient to wait until we get back to the hotel.” He had a bit of amusement playing through his eyes for the simple way that you started breathing unevenly.

“I could drop to my knees right here. Take my time eating that pretty little pussy until your come is dripping off my lips.” You inhaled sharply, just the simple thought caused tingles to skate down your entire body. You felt his finger tips find their place right back on your inner thigh, painfully slowly trailing the pads of those digits across your skin, leaving chillbumps in their place.

“How would you feel about that, angel?”

By this point you couldn’t figure out how to breathe properly. He was having all kinds of sensations rush through your body and you could only react in such a disheveled manner when his fingertips grazed their way to the crease of your thigh, collecting a small bit of the sweetness smeared over your skin.

You tilted your head to the side letting it lazily fall against your shoulder as you gripped the side of the back seat. He let his lips tip up in a smirk for the first time since you got him out here and felt your heart begin to race when you recognized that taunting look.

“Slide a little closer.” He said before he wrapped his hands under your thighs and pulled you to the edge. Your ass was barely sitting on the end of the seat, knees locking on each side of his hips to keep you steady. You felt the fabric of his shorts brushing against your pulsating heat, dying for a little more friction of any kind and he knew that.

His hardened bulge was pressed to your core, and he was keeping himself as still as stone just to watch your desperation get the best of you when you lifted your hips in search of anything that could take away the tormenting need for pleasure he wasn’t allowing you to get from him immediately.

You let out a needy whimper, something more along the lines of an aching moan for more and he felt you rubbing yourself against his bulge. He was internally dying to unrestrain it from the tight fitting boxers beneath his shorts but he was keeping a cool hand on the outside. It was just too satisfying to watch you internally crumble over the lightest touches.

“You just wanna be fucked so bad, don’t you baby?” His voice was dripping with tormenting condescension, something that made you whimper back in a broken, frail voice.

“But that’s no fun for me if I just give you what you want. You said you wanted me to take everything out on your gorgeous body, so that’s what I plan to do, baby. You asked for this, and remember that.”

He slowly lowered himself down to his knees, his dark eyes trained on you as he brought your legs over his shoulders. You watched him, but your eyes kept involuntarily adverting to the packed garage around you, silently praying that nobody would come out and see what was happening right now.

“What did I tell you?” Tyler’s harsh tone snapped your eyes back to him. “Focus on me, don’t worry about nobody else right now. I’ll deal with them if I got to.”

He inches closer to your needy center, his lips just barely brushing over your sensitive skin, and leaving you feeling nothing but unquenchable deprivation. You instinctively arch your hips but he just inches a little more away, a smirk gracing his plump lips as he listens to your needy moans of pure desperation.

“I gotta admit, baby. I love seeing you like this.” He raspily whispers, his hot breath lingering over your aching cunt. “Moaning and whimpering and I’ve barely even touched you.”

His devilishly dark eyes stayed trained on your face. Your lips parting and short breaths fanning through them. He could see just how easy it was to send you on a downward spiral and the better half of him really wanted to test just how deep that spiral could go to.

He brings one finger up, tracing it up one of your folds, reveling in the way your breath hitched and your hips jerked. A full begging manner if he’s ever seen one. He collected a bit of your sweetness on the tip of his digit and brought it up to his lips, sliding his tongue over the clear liquid seeping down his skin as he kept his eyes intently on you.

You felt the salivation coating your tongue, threatening to drip out of the corner of your mouth as you watched him toy with you, initiating a mind game as he made sure you kept your eyes solely focused on him.

You let out an exaggerated sigh that morphed into more of a groan of frustration and he quirked his brow when he heard it, clearly more than just a little amused at your antics.

“What’s wrong, baby? You sound a little frustrated.” He taunted, slowly tracing the pad of his pointer finger up your slit, but shying away the moment he nears your pulsating clit. “You don’t like being teased?”

You felt him smearing your juices across your skin. The contrast of the slick motions in comparison to his calloused finger was doing nothing but making you internally scream for him to do something, anything more.

You tried to glare at him but you weren’t strong enough to hold that piercing stare. He had you in shambles already and he was taking way too much pride in it. You felt the tip of his finger just barely graze over your clit and that alone made your whole body shudder.

“Is that where you wanna be touched, baby? Want my tongue on your clit instead of my fingers? Just wanna get straight to the point, huh? Well, maybe I can do that another time. Right now I’m just enjoying taking my time with this pretty pussy.”

You threw your head back and another drawn out groan ripped through your throat, and he smirked when he heard it. You felt his finger glide down to your entrance and circle around it slowly.

“You’re dripping on the seats, baby. I feel bad for the next people who rent this car.” He lowly chuckles as he pushes just the tip of his finger in your tight hole and holds it there, feeling your walls desperately try to suck him in as they clench around him.

“I can feel how bad you want it.” He groans out, “Just the tip of one of my fingers already has your pussy throbbing.”

You clenched your teeth, doing your best not to let your frustration get the better of you but him being so close, his lips hovering over your aching core only made you want to grab his hair and pull him right where you needed him but, you knew that wouldn’t go over well for you in the end. You just tried to stay semi-decently composed but Tyler was making it an excruciating challenge.

You felt his middle finger slide in just a little more, up to the second knuckle and slowly curl back and to, feeling you out as he examined the way you reacted. All you could do was grip the seat harder, your nails probably cutting into the leather but it wasn’t something you concerned yourself with. He blew a steady breath over your clit, but only left you nearly trembling for more than just that.

“Always so tight” he praises as he continues to slowly curl his finger. “I can barely move my finger, your clenching down around it so hard. Bet you wish it was my cock, don’t you baby?”

You easily nodded, whimpering out, “Yes, I really do, baby. I need you to fuck me, please.”

You felt his finger slide just a little further in, but the ring around it kept him from pushing it all the way. You felt the cool metal against your hot skin, serving up a shiver to roll through your body as he watched with lustful eyes.

“Guess this is all I can give you right now, baby. Damn ring you always want me wearing is in the way. Or else, maybe I’d be hitting your g-spot right now. Guess we’ll never know.”

“Take the fucking ring off.” You groaned out, jerking your hips in a needy attempt to get him deeper, but he brought his other hand up and clamped it around your waist, keeping you from being able to get what you want that easily.

“I’m not doing that.” He sharply states as he curls that finger even slower. You could feel it just centimeters away from your sweet spot and you knew he wasn’t attempting to reach it on purpose. “You’re just gonna have to sit here and take what I give you until I say you’ve had enough.”

Your head fell to the headrest, eyes rolling before you screwed them shut. You felt his finger sliding out, just to slip back in deeper but just not deep enough for you.

“You’re gonna regret this” you warn him, but that’s exactly what he wanted to hear.

“Am I?” His coy, cocky smirk spread across his lips. “How so, baby? Tell me.”

You effectively glared down at him and the arrogant, prideful look on his face. “When it’s my turn, I’m gonna make sure you’re begging me to let you come.”

“That’s cute baby, but you’re not having a turn tonight.” He leaned back some, inserting another finger. You felt your clenched walls being forced to spread as he stretched them out, and still, when he felt that soft spot deeper in, he didn’t even try to thrust his digits against it.

“No, see, I have some plans for you, and they don’t involve you coming until I say so. Remember, I told you I’ve had a bad night. Gonna take a lot of this-“ your gasp got caught in your throat when you felt his fingers roughly curl, “to make me feel better.”

Your lips folded in beneath your teeth as you felt his long, slender fingers finally giving you optimized pleasure. The sounds of your dripping nectar sloshing around his digits brought another easy smirk to Tyler’s face.

“Sounds like I hit your sweet spot, baby.” He grips your hip tighter when he notices you starting to squirm around. “Don’t fight me. You were practically begging for this five minutes ago.”

Your eyelids fluttered and your head fell back. The roof of the Escalade was a blur through your glossed over eyes as he kept thrusting those fingers right where you’d been dying for, and within seconds, you felt his plump lips lock around your clit, sucking pulsations in a pattern of three at a time before his tongue swirled over it.

“Oh God, fucking finally” you exasperated, forcing yourself to pick your head back up, only to catch his intense gaze from where he kneeled between your thighs. The thrusts of his two fingers sped up when your eyes locked with him, specifically so he could get a good look at you coming undone.

You thoughtlessly wrapped your fingers up in his wild hair, effectively making those wind blown locks even more disheveled. He felt his cock throb when your nails raked his scalp, but he did his best to avoid the ache he had for the time being. In his mind, this was a fun game. A challenge for the both of you that he was more than willing to accept and initiate.

“Mm” he hums against you, causing a vibrational sensation against your clit. “Taste like fucking heaven, baby. I know you feel like it too.” He emphasized that praise with two harder pumps against your g-spot, making your thighs jerk. You were so riled up, thanks to him purposely teasing up to this point that you were incredibly overly sensitive and he knew it just by the way your body helplessly reacted.

He felt your walls clenching tighter the second your stomach coiled, and because he knew your body like the back of his own hand, he already knew exactly when to retreat, just to keep on this little game he was playing with you.

He waited until you were seconds away from the earth shattering orgasm before he immediately snatched his fingers out and pulled off your clit with a soft pop. Your fingers were still tangled up in his hair and he felt your nails digging down, your frustrations at an all time high as you let out a deep groan that morphed into a whimper of despair.

You glared down at him, but his eyes were so focused on the single bead of sweat slipping down between your breasts that he didn’t even notice. Your chest was heaving deeply, louder breaths coming out completely unrestrained as your entire body shuddered. All he had to do was blow air over your throbbing clit and you’d be coming all over that seat but, again, he knew your body so well, he already took that all into consideration before he made the choice to leave you trembling, begging for more.

“You almost came.” He says as he leans back and pulls your hand out of his hair, placing it on your thigh. “Didn’t I tell you not until I say so? I’m pretty sure those were my exact words.”

You opened your mouth to speak, but he pushed his fingers past your lips before you could get a single word out. Your tongue slid around his digits, tasting your own juices.

“Don’t even try arguing with me.” He demands, hooking his fingers against the bottom of your lower row of teeth. “You’re lucky I’m not bending you over my knee right now.”

He felt your tongue sliding over his fingers and his cock couldn’t fight against the tight fabric of his boxers hard enough when it twitched beneath them. It was causing a constant pain now, getting even more tender by the passing second so, he decided it was time to let you tend to that issue.

He pulled his fingers out and slid them over your bottom lip, purposely smearing your sweet juices there so that he could get another taste of them when he decides to kiss you again. You watched as he rose to his feet and kept his eyes on you as he slid his shorts down slightly, his cock springing free.

“Lay down on your stomach.” He demanded, and you quickly obliged. You felt the cold leather against your skin but it served no use in cooling your blazed body. You came eye level with his erect member and looked up at him through hooded lashes as you awaited any instruction he might want to give.

All that he did was grab the hood of the car and angle his hips, making the tip tap against your bottom lip. You opened your mouth, keeping your low eyes on him as you invited him in, and he effortlessly accepted the invitation.

You were just about to wrap your hand around his shaft to keep it still but, “Hands behind your back.” Stopped you from doing that. He grabbed both wrists with one of his hands and clamped them against your back before he pushed his cock deeper in, until he felt the tip get blocked by the fleshy walls of your throat.

You did your best not to gag but that was pointless when he purposely thrusted those hips and aimed for a certain part of your throat. He watched your lips wrap around him, cupping tightly as your head bobbed back and to. You held your wanting eyes on him until you felt tears prick the corners of them.

Your hair fell forward, hovering against half of your face until he let go of the grip around your wrists to hold it back for you. He kept his grip pretty tight, your roots getting tugged each time you slid your lips down his shaft but, you liked it at the same time.

Even though Tyler was doing a pretty good job at keeping his composure on the outside, internally that man was losing it. He was watching you take every inch down your throat, feeling your tongue smooth against the underside of his cock, keeping your hands behind your back like he told you to.

He didn’t want there to possibly be an ending to all of this, which was why he was adamant that he wasn’t going to come until you were way too fucked out to pick your head up anymore. He wanted to really test the limits tonight and your willingness was more than a treat to him.

It was almost as if your submissiveness was healing the physical pains he was previously in. The throbbing of his head from where he took the blow from the belt no longer ached, his body wasn’t sore, his bones didn’t feel like they threatened to crumble anymore. All that he felt in that moment was a hunger. A deep, deep desire that overpowered all else.

He was angry, and he knew he would be angry for a long time but you letting him use your body as a way of releasing that rage was something he would most likely become addicted to. He just wanted to make you suffer, but in the most pleasurable way possible. Maybe it was a form of misery loves company but, this constant push and pull, bringing you to the edge before he snatches it all away, it was fueling him. Sparking a new release for all the pent up emotions he felt.

“Look at you” he huffs out a breathy whisper. Your eyes fluttered up to catch a glimpse of him. Lips parted and full, you just wanted to leave them kiss bitten.

He thrusted his hips again when your eyes locked with his just to hear and feel you gag around him, eliciting a gravelly groan when your throat closed in around him.

“I like you like this” he says as he adjusts the grip in your hair, holding your head still so he can take over. He snapped his hips in, forcing his thick cock to knock the back of your throat over and over and over until he watched the tears escape your eyes and slide down your cheeks.

Your saliva was seeping past your lips each time he pulled back, keeping them moist and slick for him to slide right back in. He loved the view he had right now. He absolutely adored the way the tears slipping down your cheeks traced black mascara trails against your skin. Your lips were so puffy, deeper red than usual. Cheeks tinted with a dusty pink hue.

“Prettiest little slut I’ve ever seen” he groans out as he pushes his hips back and to. “Laying there just letting me wreck your throat with my dick, cause that’s what pretty sluts love to do, isn’t it baby?”

You barely nodded, keeping your eyes on him, watching the way his brows knitted together when his clock twitched twice against your tongue. “Keep tryna drain every drop from me. You just want some come in your mouth, huh? Your mouth, your pussy, you just want it anywhere you can get it.”

It took all of his mustered strength to snap his hips back in the nick of time, just before he was about to release everything he had straight down the alley of your throat. You had a look of surprise that he caught sight of, and he had to try his absolute best not to show that he was struggling just as much as you were, cause all he really wanted was to let his body reach that teeth clenching high he was chasing but, still, he loved challenging himself and evidently, you as well.

“You didn’t come” you say with a bit of a strained voice. Your throat felt abused, bruised and swelled up but it was a weird kind of pain that you would ask for again and again.

“Cause I’m not done with you yet.” He says as he runs a clammy hand through his hair. “Sit up.” He demanded, patting the edge of the seat. You found yourself practically scrambling to your previous place, knees locking in at each side of his hips.

He ran his rough palms up from your knees to the crease of your thigh and back again before he leaned in and placed a featherlight kiss to your swollen lips. One that only made you chase after him for more, but he didn’t allow it.

“The safe word is what?” He asks, spreading your thighs apart. You felt his tip graze over your aching hole and almost forgot he ever even asked you a question. He cupped your cheeks with his thumb and two fingers and repeated himself, ensuring you were staring him straight in the eyes.

“YN, the safe word is what?”

“Red.” You blurt out, snapping back to the moment when he forced your attention on him. “It’s red.”

“Good girl.” He praised before grabbing his shaft with one hand and tapping his tip against your clit twice. “And if you don’t use it when you need to?” His eyes peer back at you, making sure you know all the ins and outs.

“Then we’re not doing this again.” You recited the rules made a long, long time ago when you and Tyler first started exploring things like bondage and choking. You weren’t sure why exactly this needed a safe word, but Tyler wouldn’t be Tyler if he didn’t make sure you were always comfortable with him, despite how he might be feeling, what he might be thinking, didn’t matter.

He slid his tip back down to your entrance and searched your eyes one last time, ensuring you were still as wanting as your were when this whole thing first started. You needily nodded before you leaned in and placed your lips against his, but he only let you kiss them lightly before he pulled his head back and deprived you once more.

“Can’t have you distracting me, baby.” He heavily whispered as he slid his tip past your entrance, already filling you out so much better than his two fingers did. “All those kisses you keep tryna give me, I know what you’re doing, and it’s not happening. Not until I’ve throughly fucked the shit out of you.”

You arched your hips in hopes of pulling him in deeper but he was smooth and steady, his motives already pre planned in his mind. He looked down and watched himself enter you, half of his cock disappearing and the other half dying to follow.

“More please” you whimpered.

“So needy.” He lowly chuckled, his hair falling over his forehead, hiding the view of the smirk you could practically hear on his face as he kept his eyes on his cock and the way your sweetness glistened off of it.

“You need to learn patience.” He adds as he takes a little bit back out of you. “How about every time you try to be greedy with my cock, I take a little more away. Think that will help you learn?”

“Think that’ll piss me off.” You copped back, but all he did was raise his eyes and hold that taunting smirk on his face.

“Who’s problem is that? Mine?” He teases, slowly sliding his cock just a little deeper. “You can’t come without me. Well, you can, but all that would do is make you desperate to be fucked all over again. So you should really listen to me when I tell you it’s in your best interest if you give this patience thing a try.”

You groaned out of undeniable frustration as you gripped the side of the seat, your fingertips nearly going numb. “Tyler quit fucking teasing me and just fuck me already!” You choked out, bucking your hips in a failed attempt to push him in deeper, only to feel him sliding out a little more.

“Doesn’t sound like patience to me.”

“I’ve never been patient in my fucking life and I’m not starting now.” Your heels locked around his back as you effectively forced him all the way in, feeling his thickness stretch you out with a slight sting on contact. Tyler’s jaw locked, teeth clenching when he felt your walls squeezing him in place and when your eyes fluttered open, all you saw was pitch dark eyes staring right back at you.

“Alright baby, you know what?” He pushed in even deeper, causing you to feel him in your lower stomach, knocking into that one spot that nearly blinded you on impact. “You asked for it.”

He reared his hips back and slammed them forward with a force strong enough to make your entire body jolt back, but as quick as you tried to retreat, he wrapped his hands beneath your thighs and slid you to the very edge of the seat, only keeping you held up by his own body leveraging with yours. You had to hold onto something and used the headrest as he repeatedly fucked into you, his thrusts strong, steady and completely ruthless.

You dug your nails into the leather and knew that when you and Tyler return that rental you’d be paying extra for all the claw marks, but he would probably smirk as he hands them the additional fees.

He kept your thighs hiked up on each side of his hips as he leaned in a little bit, letting his lips just barely brush over yours. Your mouth fell open when he hit that sweet spot again, and you chased after his kiss but he only pulled back the second you felt your lips meet.

“Still so damn greedy” he rasps between powerful thrusts. “Knew you just wanted to be fucked like a little slut. That’s all you ever want. My cock stretching out your little pussy until you’re coming all over me. You can admit it baby, we both know you’re a little cock slut when it comes down to it.”

Compared to his steady tone, you were incomprehensible. There were broken whimpers and shattered moans being forced out of you every which way and you couldn’t control it. With every strong thrust, his cock diving so deep into you that it was making you internally spiral, just like he wanted.

But suddenly, his hips stilled when the sound of a car door slamming caught his attention. He glanced over his shoulder in search of anyone who might be close before he turned back to you, dropping one thigh on the edge of the seat and using that hand to cover your mouth.

“As much as I love to hear you moan, I’m pretty sure people are gonna start leaving soon, so slide back.”

You hated the loss on contact when he pulled completely out of you and quickly slid back on the seat. He got in after you and shut the door, silently thankful for the tinted windows.

You kept your legs spread wide, and his eyes averted down to your slick cunt shimmering in the dim lighting. He slid his tongue over his lips and leaned down, surprising you when he lapped his tongue in quick strides over your pulsating clit.

“Oh fuck” you breathed out, leaning your head back against the window as you endured the riveting sensations bolting through your frazzled body. “Tyler, that feels so fucking good” you praised him, tangling your fingers up in his hair as he fluently rotated and flicked the tip of his tongue right where you needed it.

“But I really wanna come on you, baby, I-“

“Oh you will.” He muttered against you, “on my face first, my dick after.”

You felt your thighs trembling, unable to help the way your muscles shuddered as he roughly, but rhythmically toyed with your clit. You then felt his middle and ring finger slide between your walls, hooking against your g-spot so effortlessly. Your mouth fell open but your breath hitched, unable to allow any sounds to slip past your lips until he forced them out of you.

His plump lips suctioned around your clit, sucking a pulsation similar to your frantic heart racing in your chest as his fingers curled against your sweet spot again and again, until he felt your walls closing in to tight he had to strengthen those fingers to get them to move like you needed.

“You’re about to come, I feel it.” He hummed against you, the vibrations off his lips only intensifying the sensations. But that’s when you felt those fingers start to slow down, the motions of his tongue reverting back to teasing circulations before he pulled his lips off of you completely and raised his head. “Beg me.”

His fingers were too slow, the way he just barely brushed your g-spot when he was formerly pounding into it with those digits had your head spinning, that familiar desperation taking all the control you possibly had and succumbing it all to him like he wanted.

“Please” you whimpered out, thrusting your hips in an attempt to feel more. “Tyler please, please let me come! I’ll do any fucking thing, just please let me come on your fingers, your face, your cock, anything!”

He could hear the pure agony you were in and felt a bit proud of himself for it. A gentle smirk, submerged in arrogance graced his lips before he lowered his head and locked those lips right back around your clit. You released a heavy breath as your head fell back and nothing but the sounds of your strained, high moans and juices sloshing around by the thrusts of his fingers was filling the space in that car.

“Oh my- fuck! Yes baby, just like that! Please don’t fucking stop I’m- God I’m so fucking close Tyler!”

He picked up the pace when he felt his cock twitch, reminding him of the ache between his own thighs that he was starting to feel desperate to release himself.

A sudden warmth coated his fingers as your hips jolted upwards, and he used his forearm to keep them pinned down as he swirled his tongue even faster, thrusted those fingers even harder, until every last muscle in your body was contracting and your cries of relinquished pleasure were echoing about his brain.

He peered up to watch it all happen. The way your chest was heavily heaving and eyes screwed tightly shut was nothing short of a beautiful sight to behold. The slick sweat he worked out of you was glistening off your breasts and that just reminded him that he needed to give them attention too.

You felt his arm leave your waist and his hand cup your breast harshly, probably with the intentions to leave his fingerprints on them. You placed your hand over his and squeezed it, only making his fingertips dig into your skin but serving as another riveting sensation all on its own.

He watched you come down from between your thighs, riding it out for you as much as possibly as he slowly traced the tip of his tongue over your clit until your body stopped trembling. You dropped your head and forced your eyes open, lips parted and puffy when he lifted back up and he wasted no time, knowing just how overly sensitive you already were.

He pulled you down from where you leaned against the door and you found yourself beneath him, and there was no warning before his cock dove right back in between your walls still contracting from that first orgasm. He felt the pulsations and let out a low, “fuck” beneath his breath, mentally preparing himself for that challenge.

You gripped his shoulders, nails leaving half moon indents in their place against his slick skin as he pushed himself all the way in, once again, knocking into that sweet spot all the way at the very back, earning a high pitched whine to slip past your lips.

“Wait, wait it’s- I’m so sensitive- I-“

“Red?” He stills his hips, but you shook your head adamantly. “Then stop whining and take this dick like the little cock slut you are.”

Your mouth fell open but only strained moans flew out when he snapped his hips back and to, shooting a pleasurable pain through your entire body with each deep thrust. You had to hold on tightly to his shoulders or else you were sure you’d be smushed up against the door with the way he was slamming into you.

You were still so tender from the teasing and that first orgasm that the sensations were heightened to the extreme, unable to control the reactions he caused your body to oblige to. All you could do was take it like he told you to.

The cross pendant dangling around his neck was bouncing against your chin, until he dipped his head and caught the chain between his lips and held it there.

You could hardly keep your eyes from fluttering as his thrusts got stronger, hips jolting into you each time he snapped back. The Escalade was probably rocking on the outside but your mixed heavy breaths had casted a foggy haze over all of the windows.

He kept his dark eyes trained on you as he leaned down on his elbows and slowly brought his lips back to yours, again, just barely brushing over them as his hot breaths came out in huffs, fanning over your face.

“Kiss me” you moaned out, your lips and his only mere centimeters apart. He slid his bottom lip over yours, but they didn’t connect as deeply as you needed them to. He felt your nails clawing his shoulders, earning a searing sting that only made him fuck into you even harder.

“Greedy.” He smirked, before he dropped the chain and finally locked that kiss. Your hands immediately roamed upwards, fingers tangling up in his hair to deepen that embrace. His tongue surpassed your tender lips and claimed the space within your mouth. You felt his cock twitch against your sweet spot, effectively pulling a moan from your chest that found itself in his.

His short, heavy breaths lingered over your tongue as your walls clamped down. He knew all you needed was the closeness you’d always craved. You needed the passionate affection and the tender loving caresses. He needed something to take all of his aggressions out on and he quickly came to accept the fact that you were going to be just that for him, and you’d happily oblige every time.

You couldn’t keep yourself quiet, even with his lips over yours. You broke the kiss to inhale a gasp of steamy air, your head tilted back as he wrapped his arms under your back and steadying fucked into you. His lips came down to your neck, leaving a few open mouthed kisses in place before he sucked a deep, vibrant patched right below your ear proudly.

You started thrusting your hips up to match, feeling his cock drive even deeper. He had claimed all of you within seconds of his cock diving as deep as it could possibly go and he was feeling pretty prideful about that.

You had a million tingling nerves shooting through your body, unable to get a grip on a single one the more he crashed into you. Your fingernails scraped over his scalp, tugging at his roots when he lifted your hips slightly, allowing him to hit at a different angle that had you immediately seeing flashes of white behind your eyelids.

“That’s where you want it, right there.” He coaxed, his hot breaths lingering over the sensitive area of your neck. The splotchy discoloration being smoothed over with his tongue before he leaned back up.

Your lips parted as that cross danced over them, and he watched as you slid your tongue over the gold plated crucifix.

“Fuck, why are you so fucking hot?” He gaped, “shit should be fucking illegal, baby.”

You felt your cheeks burning at that praise, your hips bucking upwards to match his deep thrusts as your lips fell apart, and a high pitched whine was immediately muffled by his mouth.

His teeth knocked into yours, a kiss so sloppy yet so full of passion it nearly snatched the air from your caving lungs. His saliva seeped over your lips when it dripped from his tongue, and you welcomed the flavor of him easily when it made a home on your tastebuds.

“Want you to come all over my cock baby” he muttered against your agape lips.

“I- I don’t know if I can” you whimpered out, your body so hypersensitive but, he just thrusted even harder, buried his cock even deeper.

“You can and you will” he groaned, reached down and grabbing your hips harshly, before he pulled back and leaned up on his knees.

Your ankles found themselves on his shoulders before he leaned back down to hover over you, folding you nearly in half while he fucked into you. You attempted to squirm back but there was nowhere to go and all you could do was lay there and take the overwhelming pleasure he was giving you as best as you could.

“Want you dripping down your thighs when I’m done with you. That means you come on this dick like a good girl or you won’t be coming at all for the next week.”

You felt your body reignite with a blaze that you thought had surely died out after that first orgasm. The tingling sensation in your cheeks that cascaded down to your cunt and electrified with each deep thrust of his cock pounding into you.

He noticed it the second you felt it. The way your face just seemed to change right before his eyes as if you’d caught that second wind and you were feverishly chasing after that orgasm.

“That’s right baby” he praises with another deep push in. “Knew you had one more in you.”

You gripped the back of his thighs to keep him as deep as he could go and thankfully, he didn’t object when he started swirling his hips in a clockwise motion, his cock rolling around between your walls, providing a whole new kind of pleasure that you knew you’d be craving again later.

He let a low grunt out, unable to take his eyes off of you and the beautiful reactions you had playing on your face. Your brows knitted closely as you concentrated on that impending high, escalating heavily by the passing second. He felt his cock twitch again and knew as much as he wanted to be strong, he wasn’t right now. Not when your walls had this vice grip around his cock and he had to watch you come completely undone beneath him.

He swirled his hips some more, studdering once when he knocked the back of your cervix. “Fuck baby, you’re so fucking tight right now. I can barely fucking move.” His raspy voice coaxed you up, earning another broken moan to pass through your lips. “That pussy just keeps pulling me right back in, it’s so fucking good. Goddamn it’s so good.”

You fluttered your eyes open to look at him, the disheveled locks complement his strong, fixed jaw and puffy pink lips that you finally got to leave kiss bitten. You were fucked the second he locked his dark eyes with yours and you knew it.

He slid his tongue over those lips before he leaned back down and dropped his head to your shoulder. The ends of his hair ticked your cheek as he thrusted into you, swirling his hips, pulling halfway out and repeating. He knew he found a new sequence when your nails raked down his back and he felt your walls pulsating once again.

His eyes rolled back when you somehow squeezed him even tighter, but he kept a cool hand as usual as his thrusts remained just as strong and steady as before.

“You’re gonna come on my cock, and the whole ride back to the hotel, you’re gonna feel me dripping out of you onto the seats. When we get to our room, you’re gonna bend your little ass over the balcony railing let me fuck you til the sun comes up. Understand me, baby?”

You couldn’t respond but he already knew that. Your moans and whimpers easily morphed into near shouts and sharp gasps as he fucked back into you. You were so close to your release that your entire body was set ablaze beneath him and he was ready for it. He wanted more than anything to feel your come coating his cock while you drain every last drop from him.

“That’s it baby,” he rasps against the crook of your neck. “Come for me again, knew you had it in you. You’re such a good little slut for me”

Your lips parted but only strained gasps flew out when your entire body shuddered again, back arching high off the seats as he slowly swirled his hips, keeping that same motion to ride you through that high as he was finally able to release into his own himself.

“Fuck” he breathed out as you felt his pearly liquids fill you to the brim. You endured it all with pure breathlessness, your body temporarily stilling, every muscle undeniably stiffening before you collapsed back in that seat and came back to life by the feeling of his lips landing on yours.

He gave you one more thrust for good measure. A slow, steady push in deep as his lips gently smoothed over yours.

He pulled back to find you as fucked out as he’d ever seen you; and another one of those taunting smirks played on his lips. Your rosy red cheeks shadowed over your skin and eyes so low and hazy. Meanwhile he had eyes wide and hair wild, sweat trailing down his temple but still looked like the epitome of perfection.

“Feel better?” You barely asked, your voice so broken and frail, but in all the best ways.

“Might take a little more of that,” he smirks before he places a soft kiss to your plump, swollen lips. “But I’m getting there.”

You let a low chuckle slip past your lips and he leaned up, grabbing your hands to pull you upright. You reached over and drew a heart on the foggy glass and he watched the condensation drip from the small drawing.

“That’s a dead giveaway of what just went down in here. You know that, right?” He teased, but you shrugged your shoulders and you reached down for your discarded clothing. He grabbed your panties out of your hand but let you keep the rest of the garments.

“You don’t need these.” He smirked, “I want you dripping down your thighs, remember?”

He leaned in and lingered his lips over yours, once again barely brushing over them before he whispered against you, “round three when we get back to the hotel, and this time, I’m not going easy on you”

[wannabepoeticischiya]

if I can stop one heart from breaking

[ 11 ] — the present

⟵ prev | master list |

He existed in the morning dew, in the afternoon haze, within the illusions of twilight. He was there. In the silence of midnight, in the wake of dawn... he was there.

Hoshina Soushiro was everywhere... except right here. He existed in every corner of the cosmos—just not in the space beside her.

If only you did not come to me that day… if only you had left me to this cruel fate.

Everything in Tokyo was too bright. The sun, the buildings, the people… like they were left in eternal autumn; shaded every color lighter, every color brighter than what they should be.

Echoes of sound rang from every corner, meandering from one street onto another. Chatters of everyday life drifted into the horizons of the sky—the same blue canvas she had been cradled under nearly seven years ago. When the space beside her wasn’t so… cold. A rift in time that felt surreal, nothing but a momentary reverie. So short lived one would wonder if it really did happen.

Everything in Tokyo was too loud. There existed no orchestra of trees, no singing waters, not even the rhythmic thuds of wood parrying one another. Only the frantic footfalls from the rush hours, beeping of the pedestrian crossing lanes, blares of the trains passing by.

It was a world riddled in chaos—a world in ruin, but there were no people laughing. The promise of a happy life at the price of nothing was nothing but a make-believe. An illusion of hope conjured by those who have yet to witness the cruelty of reality. Or those who shouldered the weight of it all only to realize that people who swore to share the weight will leave them to be crushed, barely held together by a thread that was ready to break.

Everything in Tokyo... felt out of reach. Here, in this place where humans were so close to touch. Galaxies were nearer. Black holes pulling it closer all together, all at once, but never enough to destroy. The scenery before her looked more like a dream. A distant fantasy blurring between the lines of sadness and anger.

Him—just like everything else in this godawful city… he was far too vivid.

Everywhere she goes, he was there.

A poster. A billboard. Someone with the same height. An image of him that would disappear when the light turned green, and vehicles would swarm the highways. The song that would play in the local convenience store. A knife lying on the kitchen island. He was there.

In every little thing… he was there.

The air was cold; summer nearing its end. She didn't know if the breeze was a gentle caress to soothe her aching heart or if it was a ruse—a reminder that his warmth will never return to her. That she'll spend autumn and winter and spring and all the seasons after that feeling like all the stars have disappeared.

Maybe, it has. Maybe, when he decided to walk away from her, he took all the lights that hung in the sky. Maybe, the moment he told her to stop loving him, he plunged the heavens into infinite darkness.

One would think that after all these years he would be nothing but an echo. A buzz in the thundering events of daily life—one wave in the finite vastness of the ocean. A lone cloud painted on the canvas of the sky.

But he remained.

A melody in an endless tune, dust motes that littered the air, the scent of violet that followed like daylight.

He existed in the morning dew, in the afternoon haze, within the illusions of twilight.

He was there.

In the silence of midnight, in the wake of dawn… he was there.

Hoshina Soushiro was everywhere… except right here.

He existed in every corner of the cosmos—just not in the space beside her.

Perhaps, it wouldn’t hurt as much—that maybe we’d be alright… even if we were not lovers.

Her fingers curled around cold metal, heaving the heavy object over her shoulder, walking over to the edge of the tall wall. Away from the sight of the city. The reminder of him and all his empty promises. Letting the curtain fall over the cabinet that housed his achievements; announced his priorities.

“This is Captain [Name], requesting permission for limiter removal.”

Because he surrendered.

“Copy that, releasing in three… two… one…”

He grew tired.

Unleashed Combat Power—93 Percent.

And he gave up.

Uehara [Name] gave all that she could. In every waking moment, she carried the weight of the world on her shoulders: his dreams, her family’s expectations, what society had wanted from her. Those moons that have passed them by, only once did she voice out that she had enough. Only once did she ask if she could still take it. Just once did she gather the courage to say what she really felt—that it was heavy and it hurt, that she was tired.

Just one time, out of the many times that she could have given it all up, but she didn’t.

Turns out, it only took him one time, too… to throw it all away. To leave and never come back.

[Name] needed him to fight for them that night—in that moment—because she was exhausted from fighting alone.

Just one time, she grew weary… and he left.

Is that what your love is like, Soushiro? How could you give up so easily? How could you not find a reason to stay?

“You’re clear for fire, Captain.”

Was it not enough that I loved you too?

The weapon in her arm grew heavy, even after years of training her body to reach past its limits… it never felt lighter—not her weapon nor the feeling withering in her chest. No matter how many times she pulled the trigger or how many people she met, she remained behind an invisible wall. Restless nights from the cramps of her muscles. The aches of her heart.

At some point, I wanted to believe we could always be together wherever I ended up. But I realize just how selfish that sounds. Maybe that’s what I am. A cruel, heartless liar. The person who deserves you the least. Who comes last in your list of priorities. The last thought. Last resort. The failsafe. And it’s okay… so long as I’ll have you. Turns out you didn’t have room for me in your heart, but I tried to be greedy for once.

It was all the same.

A wall of fire erupted from the distance, vaporizing the waters of the ocean. Skies of the summer season were always curtained by the unending parade of clouds, now they circled around the body of the obliterated kaiju.

Streams of fiery sunlight pierced through the haze, flowing down on the cold metal wrapped around her finger. Tarnished under the care of time.

If I could have stopped your heart from breaking… maybe, I could have saved mine too.

Thank you all so much for your support! It really means a lot <33 This story has been a rollercoaster of emotions, even for me! It took me all of summer break to write this because I was sitting around watching fruits basket (it was posted on ao3 first 🥰) the comments and hearing other people's thoughts really make me happy 😁 I cannot thank you enough for reading this one-shot expanded story, it really was meant to be a one-shot, honest🤚 I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I had fun TEARS, THE LITERAL TEARS, THE SCREAMS, THE PAINFUL HEARTACHE OF WRITING THE HAPPY SCENES KNOWING I WAS GONNA HURT THEM, THE JAWBREAKING GRIN I HAD WHEN I WAS KICKING AND GIGGLING, AND THE REALIZATION THAT IT WASN'T GONNA END HAPPILY writing it 😇🙏

If you're interested, see my other works🧺🤗

Preview: had I not seen the stars

The worst part of it all was that I still remember it. I still remember your love. I walk around this damned city remembering it all. I'm going to live in a universe you've left me in. And I'm going to die in a universe you've loved me in.

[alavestineneas]

Alive

pairing: Johanna Mason x fem!reader

summary: Maybe, just maybe, being alive has its perks.

warnings: mentions of ptsd, trauma, panic attacks

District 7 slowly was coming alive—people returned to their work, children started roaming the streets again, and even the forest gradually became green. It seemed like the only one to stay grieving was Johanna. She never thought she was going to get better; the wounds were deeply engraved in her mind. But time passed, and they turned into annoying scratches—almost healed but still bleeding.

She had a new house now—the one the government gave her. Its bricked walls weren't overly hospitable, but Johanna had seen far worse than that. The house wasn't big, but it was close to the market and, more importantly, the hospital, so Johanna was fine with it. Here, her cherished isolation was disrupted by only one human being.

Mac was the loudest child Johanna had ever met. The boy, who was not older than ten, lived two houses away. On a mostly calm street, he raised hell every day with his old red bike. Sure, the little devil helped the old Ms. Lane get the milk from the market or get the letter to the post office quickly, but something about his loud laughter in the evening annoyed Johanna to no end.

Not Y/N, though. Johanna wondered how such vastly different people could live under the same roof. Ms. Lane called her ''Lovely Y/N'' and Johanna had to agree with the old lady for once. Y/N worked as a nurse; Johanna often saw her in the white halls of the hospital. She was just what Johanna loved about her District the most: someone with a big heart and working hands.

This type of people sang old songs in pubs after a day in the sawmill or chatted with their neighbours over a cup of tea on Sunday afternoons. The people Johanna remembered from her childhood, the people her parents and brothers once were. Y/N was just the type—she smiled more often than she frowned and laughed more than she argued.

It seemed distant to Johanna, like a tune she'd heard before but couldn't recall the words of. She doesn't belong among those people anymore. Not after all she went through. And every time Y/N appeared on the porch of Johanna's house with a warm smile, Johanna was reminded of that.

"Good evening, Miss Mason."

Y/N stands in front of her once again. She came right after work, a worn bag over her shoulder, a deep blue coat a size larger, hurriedly buttoned up. The little devil is also here; now, the boy shyly hides behind the woman, hiding his gaze.

''My name is Johanna.'' she clears. Johanna hates that she can't hold a civil conversation for once; her words definitely didn't sound polite.

''Yes, sorry. Johanna, I am so sorry about your flowerpot. Mac?"

''I'm sorry, Miss Johanna. It won't happen again.'' the boy mumbles, his head bowed in deep shame.

Oh, yes. This dumbass broke a flowerpot with his annoying ball this afternoon. To be fair, Johanna couldn't care less about that thing; it was empty anyway. Besides, she had a stupid habit of breaking everything in her house when angry, so sooner or later, the flowerpot would meet its fate.

''Don't worry about it,'' she mumbles, almost embarrassed to see Y/N's warm smile appear on her tired face once again.

''I thought we should buy you a new one, but I didn't know which one to choose. How about we go to the market on Sunday together, and I'll buy the one you want?''

Johanna freezes. The idea of going to the market on Sunday terrifies her. Then, most of the District gathers there. But if she doesn't agree, Y/N will think she hates her. Johanna can't allow it—the nurse is the only thing close to a friend that she has. Mason can't help but think how damn stupid it is not to be able to buy herself a pot. So, the choice is obvious.

''Sounds good!'' Johanna squeezes out. Her voice is harsh, but Y/N still nods.

''Great! At the corner at ten then.''

-

Y/N is already there when Johanna comes, and Mason feels at ease, distracted from anxious thoughts by a pleasant conversation. That is until they enter the square. It is noisy and too fast for her to keep up, and Johanna almost thinks of running away, but Y/N places a hand on her back.

''First, let's look at Greg's. They changed the aisle; it is closer to vegetables now.''

Johanna might feel like throwing up, but she still got her stupid pot and made Y/N laugh a couple of times, so, in her book, it is a win. Y/N seems to think so too. She takes two pieces of candy out of the bag.

''Would you like some? I stole it from Mac.''

''Do I look like a kid to you?'' Johanna resents.

She still takes it, of course. It's chocolate, for God's sake.

-

It is Friday; Y/N's shift ends fifteen minutes after Johanna's appointment with the doctor, so they walk home together. Y/N says she doesn't like walking alone, and Johanna almost believes her; after each session with a doctor, Mason leaves the room with bloodshot eyes. Of course, Y/N notices them too.

Johanna waits for her near a small shop on the corner, as she usually does. What is unusual are a few wet patches on the pavement. Johanna feels her heart drop. Its racing beat rings loud in her ears. Suddenly, the air doesn't want to enter her lungs anymore; Johanna grasps it again and again, feeling her knees weaken. Water drops had already found her head and shoulders, each one burning her skin.

That's how she is going to die, she thinks. The water slowly covers small holes in the road; Johanna's hands begin to tremble, chills covering them. She already can't feel her legs. Water, then electricity. Snow fucking got her. She can't escape him.

A pair of colorful shoes blocks the view of the road. Then, concerned eyes appeared in front of Johanna's. It's Y/N, Mason thinks; her figure is a slight blur. She says something, but it is quite hard to understand—the water is pouring down her face.

Johanna shakes her head. "I don't," she stutters, "I can't."

She loses Y/N's face again but feels her presence near. The woman places something cold in Johanna's hands, her voice ringing loudly in Mason's head.

"Breathe.''

And she does. In and out, in and out, until her vision isn't so clouded anymore and she can finally feel her sore legs. The rain doesn't stop, but it doesn't hit her anymore. Y/N is sitting beside her, holding an umbrella.

''Can you walk?'' she asks, her hair and clothes soaked.

Johanna only nods, feeling the usual sleepiness returning.

''Let's get you out of here then.''

-

Johanna sits on the old chair in the smallest kitchen she has ever seen. They are at Y/N's house. She is in a horrendous dress that Y/N made her change into; she can't remember the last time she wore one.

The owner of the house, if you could call it that, was nowhere to be found. Y/N claimed to go searching for the blanket, but it was highly suspicious—the house was too small for anything to get lost. Johanna wonders if she is calling the doctors now, or hiding in the bathroom with a knife in her trembling hands—the thought brings a smile to her face.

Still, she is not alone in the room—a pair of curious eyes watch her very carefully.

''Are you going to hide there all day?" she asks, annoyed.

The little devil leaves his not-so-well-thought-out hiding spot with a loud sigh. ''Y/N told me to leave you alone,'' he reveals. ''But you are at my house, so...''

The boy looks very confident in himself. He grabs a pear from the nearest bowl and slides onto the chair next to her. ''Why are you here?''

Johanna eyes him up and down. ''Your mom dragged me here, and I didn't have the heart to argue with such a beauty'', she shrugs.

''Mum?'' he exclaims, making a disgusted face. ''Ew! Y/N is my sister, you moron!''

''MAC!'' Y/N roars, returning to the room with a spare blanket. ''What did I say just two minutes ago?''

The boy rolls his eyes. ''Don't bother the guest.''

''And?'' Y/N looks at him sternly.

"And don't you fucking swear." Mac grins, stealing one more pear from the bowl before dodging the rag thrown at him.

Johanna snorts. "A lovely kid you have here."

Y/N sighs. ''He's a pain in the ass sometimes. But I can't really blame him. ''

Mason watches the woman place a kettle on the stove. She changed her wet clothes, but her hair is still damp. Y/N looks relaxed like this, even with a near maniac in her kitchen.

''Why are you raising him?'' Johanna looks at her curiously.

''Well, my parents were executed for supporting the rebellion. So there was not much of a choice.''

''I'm sorry.'' Johanna frowns.

She never thought about how much the revolution affected the people around her. Sure, the District was burned and bombed, but how many people lost their families as Y/N did? Like she did years ago?

''I like to think they were happy to die fighting.'' Y/N watches the droplet of water hit the window. ''You can stay for the night. I am leaving early, but Mac will be home.''

Johanna wants to argue, but frankly, Y/N is right. She can't even bring herself to look at the rain, let alone set foot outside.

''Thank you.''

Y/N nods. She doesn't talk anymore, deep in her thoughts. Johanna wonders what she has also missed.

''I had brothers too, you know. Two. Snow killed them after I won.'' Johanna bites her cheek, feeling her eyes water.

She had never told anyone before. None of the survivors

know where her family is, except for the doctor, but it wasn't really her choice to tell him.

''I miss them.''

''I do too.'' Y/N's eyes mirror hers - something in them makes Johanna's heart squeeze. ''Sometimes I think it should've been me. Mac would've been much happier without a sister than without parents.''

''Don't say that.'' Johanna scowls. ''You help a lot of people.''

Y/N chuckles. ''I don't do much. I am not a doctor.''

It's not what she meant, Johanna thinks but keeps her mouth shut. What did she mean by that anyway?

-

Johanna cleans for the first time in forever. It's refreshing, although she will never admit it. The weather is pleasant enough to keep the windows open, and Johanna thinks the sky is finally starting to clear. That's when she hears loud bangs on the door. There is only one person who knocks this loudly.

''What do you want, Mac?'' she asks, opening the door only to find a boy completely out of breath.

''Miss Mason, Y/N wondered if you could help us chop the wood?''

Johanna frowns. ''Is this why you were running here?''

''Yes.'' the boy nods.

Something doesn't add up, but Johanna has absolutely no wish to dig deeper; it's easier to say when Mac doesn't have something going on.

''Well, let me grab my axe.''

Johanna doesn't understand why the little devil keeps rushing her. Their house seems fine, with no fire or explosion in sight. When they approach, however, Johanna hears a familiar voice speak louder than usual.

''Mister Pitforest, I'm afraid I can't. I am working at that hour.''

''Oh, Y/N. Are you going to deny me the pleasure of your company? You know, my darling, it gets lonely these days without someone by my side.''

''I am very sorry to hear that, but I have to put food on the table.''

''Sweetheart, you don't have to worry about that. I will take good care of you and your brother—that's what old friends are for, right? So, what do you say?''

Johanna watches Mac's hands turn into fists when the man touches Y/N's shoulder. He is at least twice her age, if not older, and she is clearly uneasy.

''I believe she said no.''

Y/N turns to her, surprised. Johanna knows she probably looks like a mad woman with an axe in her hand and Mac hiding behind her. The axe feels natural in her grip - she still remembers how to use it properly.

''Y/N, don't tell me you know '', he motions toward Johanna, "her.''

''I do. Is there a problem?'' Y/N's face is stone cold, and Johanna can't help but think it was much more intimidating than a weapon in her hands.

''A problem? Y/N, she is a child killer! What would your poor father say to that?''

''And what would my father say to his friend trying to sleep with his daughter?"

The man's face grows red. ''I was trying to help you, ungrateful bitch.''

''One more word,'' Johanna warns.

The man throws a glance at her axe before quickly getting into the car. He is rich, Johanna thinks—not a lot of people can afford cars here. She watches the auto disappear in the next turn before turning to Y/N.

''You should've told me he was bothering you sooner.''

''He was a family friend.'' She shrugs. ''And a dick, apparently.''

Johanna chuckles. ''So, where's the wood?''

Y/N looks at her, confused. ''In the forest, I assume?''

''Mac told me you need help cutting it.''

Y/N laughs. ''That little shit.''

Johanna can't help but notice how pretty she looks like that.

''You don't look bad yourself, with an axe and everything. It suits you.''

Mason feels her legs take a step closer to Y/N, their eyes meeting.

''Can I?'' she asks, but Y/N is quicker; she presses her lips to hers.

It's calm. For the first time in years, Johanna feels calm. They pull away after a few moments, Y/N's arms still intertwined with hers—the one without an axe, of course.

''I haven't been hugged in years,'' Johanna admits.

''Well, that should feel nice then.''

They stay like this, just holding each other - as much as Johanna doesn't want to admit it, it does feel nice.

''Are you finished eating each other's faces?'' Mac asks, his eyes purposefully shut.

Johanna feels Y/N giggle in her chest. ''Tell him he has five seconds to run as far as he can.''

She smiles too, watching the boy vanish into the house. Maybe, just maybe, being alive has its perks.

[herelieskrisy]

We need more tlou3 ellie x reader

There are two tropes I’m an absolute bitch, whore, and slut for. Ellie x reader as mothers and ellie x reader after the events of the last of us part two!

My bored and lonely brain was thinking as usual and I realized we don’t have enough ellie x reader post-epilogue. Which is like… why? The amount of angst and eventual fluff that could be added is insane. Watching Ellie grapple with the gut-wrenching aftermath of grief and slowly finding her new purpose. Becoming her old self again and healing with a new lover along the way.

I started thinking of story ideas and settled on this one being my favorite. It might be crap or it might be genius, I dunno.

(just imagine how desperate and passionate the smut would be)

————————————————————————————

!!!THIS IS JUST A SUMMARY NOT AN ACTUAL FIC!!!

౨ৎ Ellie’s spent months in Jackson trying to make amends with Dina and JJ. There are hard consequences she has to face, being that betrayal isn’t easily forgotten, and every single street corner and creaky saloon reminds her of Joel Miller. This town used to be a safe haven, a sanctuary where she was met with warm people and even warmer memories. Memories turn to bittersweet shackles that tug her back from being full, leaving an empty shell of what once was. She thought her new purpose was getting her family back, but that wasn’t enough. There’s no fairness to her finding comfort in the arms of a former lover she hurt so bad, left to rot just like all the other lives sacrificed in the name of her living. Talks of fireflies banding together to build communities and restore humanity leave Ellie curious as she’s reminded of the cross-country journey that brought her to this position in the first place. Jerry Anderson is dead thanks to her, so there’s no hope for a vaccine, but there might be a sliver of light for a second chance. Ellie yearns to be apart of something greater. A journey that could once again fill the void that is her soul. She’s taken enough from this barren Earth already, why not give back? Setting off for the fireflies, she’s met with a familiar face from her past, the murderer of Joel Miller.

Abby Anderson and Ellie Williams share two things in common. They have the same goals of building a larger group of survivors, and they’ve taken a liking to you.

You who became close friends with Abby soon after she found the fireflies on Catalina Island with a scrawny scar-faced boy accompanying her. She might be the most genuine person you’ve ever met, which makes it shameful when you start giggling a little too hard at a certain auburn-haired girl’s jokes. The same auburn-haired girl who’s constantly mentioned in Abby’s tales of the crazy immune chic who used to be set on killing her.

Ellie wasn’t looking to make friends on this mission. She wanted to seek the fireflies and support them in whatever greater goal they had in store. However, she feels this sweet tangy guilt when she finds herself admiring the way you laugh at her jokes. The way your lips quirk up in a grin that’s all too amused to be friendly. With Dina and JJ still hot on her mind, she insists that you’re nothing but a friend crush. But it’s been months and Dina still hasn’t taken her back, understandably so… Maybe it wouldn’t hurt for Ellie to seek comfort in another’s touch. Maybe the fear of not being good enough for her former family can be set aside. Just for now, while she’s knuckles deep in your cunt. She swears to herself it’s a fling and you’re nothing more than a placeholder. A placeholder who Ellie happens to hold very, very dear to her heart. We change people like seasons change color, and as seasons pass the old is replaced with something new. A fresh start might be what this crazy immune chic needs.

Stolen campfire kisses, deep late night conversations, and talks of the stars reignite a spark in the pits of Ellie’s core. If you light a match in front of a moth, it’ll chase it. And baby you’re a whole wildfire.

————————————————————————————

I wouldn’t plan on this being an ellie x reader x abby love triangle, but after writing that summary out I’m realizing it has potential to be one. Love triangles are just a bit cliche to my liking and I’d want this to be super Ellie focused. Like from her pov and everything. It’s about her emotional rollercoaster and learning to love/be loved again.

Exploring Ellie’s dynamics with different people is so yummy and I feel like this wouldn’t just be a romance for Ellie x reader, but also an enemies to friends for Ellie x Abby.

Once again, I’m not a writer so I’ll probably never turn this into a series. If there ARE any writers out there who are interested in this idea and would wanna work together I’d be so down.

[universaln0b0dy]

Fantasy (Twisted wonderland v.s reader)

Summary: They try to free you from the camera, but you don't want to leave your fantasy worlds happiness.

Note: This was requested by: @beawesome04 ! They also gave me the ideas I for this! So a very big shout out to them!!

You were empty. A shell, leaving the best part of you in a far away corner. No, not in a corner. In a camera. You look at your lunch with a slight sigh. You hadn't told anyone but you could become part of the camera and its memories for a little while.

You space out, it didn't matter what happened in reality. The fantasy world you decide to stay in. You didn't know what happened to your body every time you left it, you didn't care.

The camera was warm and cozy like a bed. Phote Ace was sitting on a table in Ramshackle, he was smiling and hugged you. You had missed this Ace already, despite having only spent a minute with the other.

"Oh god, I didn't know that you were so weak a ghost camera could wrap you in."

Is what the real Ace said. No words of care or even a get-better-soon wish left their mouths. They all treated you like burdens, burdens they had to get rid off as soon as possible.

"Deuce will come soon, he said something about having to buy eggs?" You giggled, remembering the situation near the start of the school year. Deuce didn't know there were no chicks in the eggs. You look to the floor, in all honesty you couldn't tell whether this had been reality or just another scenario of the camera. But did that matter now?

"If I didn't have to eat in the real world I would stay here forever." Photo-Ace tilts his head. "Huh?" You just shake your head, you had forgotten they didn't know all of this wasn't real. You slowly closed your eyes, maybe this could be real....

If only you could get that stupid bird brain to give you back the artifact. Crowley didn't know you were still connected to the camera. He thought business was doing by just taking it away.

But no one could take the sweet fantasy world away from you. No one will take it away. They could try, but you would make sure to make their lives a living hell.

This world had become one of your obsessions, it made you incredibly angry, even thinking about having to leave this realm set you on fire mentally.

But the outside tried. Ace had carried your dead like body to the infirmary.

"We have to destroy this camera. It holds the prefects soul captive, we must save them."

It was easier for them to pretend that the camera was at fault instead of taking the consequences of their actions. Everyone was so easily swayed by the sweet, sweet lie. They believed in the fantasy rather than the harsh reality.

You could feel yourself getting dragged out of the comfortable warmth. It was cold in the real word, there was no sun, no warm breeze.

"PREFECT! MOVE AWATY FROM THE CAMERA!"

One of them ordered your ghost. But you couldn't understand what they wanted. "But why?"

"Because we are trying to rescue you! "

"Rescue me?" You look at them confused and angry. "There is no rescuing me. I am already rescued." None of them understood you could see it in their eyes, they looked at you as if you said you believed that rocks where humans in disguise.

"You don't understand what you are saying, the camera is manipulating you!"

Who were they to know who was manipulating you? Why couldn't they just leave you alone in your fantasy world? One of them tries to touch the camera, but you grab it and hold it close. "THIS CAMERA IS MINE!"

Ink stains started to form around your ghost body, while you hugged the camera. Deuce felt awfully reminded of the Overblot monster in the dwarves mine.

"Please Prefect! You have to calmd down and give us the camera!"

Epel yells. You just growl. "NO! That camera is mine!" You can feel the rage over your body, it starts to drip out of your eyes, ears and hands, building a puddle on the floor.

There is no physical body that could be infront of the monster, so you and the monster become one. There is no barrier that could slow the Overblot, you are the blot and the blot is you. But you weren't scared, you were only protecting your warmth. The camera rested close to your heart and you could taste the sweet fantasy world and hear the subtle melody of kindness.

You would protect this small peace of your own, no matter what it takes.

[night-dark-woods]

Yet she had also decided that she felt a strange kinship and sympathy for it, this cornered, desperate god, making infinite sacrifices out of its people.

I'm on a "rereading Forsaken loretabs" kick and I'm rotating this line in my head. Mara constantly sacrificing herself and her people to protect the solar system as a whole. Her sense of duty. Determined and deadset on saving everyone and the thing is she does she DOES save everyone!!! But does that make it worth it does that make it right!!!

What got me started again was the last line on the loretab of this year's Dawning ship (Hiera Hodos - which also... thats the Sacred Way from Athens to Eleusis, as in the Eleusinian Mysteries that Mara's throneworld is named for...):

And Mara walks alone, between the City and the dark outside.

Which made me think about this part of the Savin loretab (Title is also from this loretab):

Perhaps the Earth would be better off if the Traveler vanished or was destroyed, she thought. Even in the Reef, she felt as if she were living next to a torch held up in a dark wilderness, calling out across the galaxy to hungry things with too many eyes.

And so now I'm down the "Mara and her god complex" rabbithole again. Under a readmore because it's long:

If you have grace, then see our sorrows, but swallow back your tears. We were made to pay this price. I led us to our fate. (Archiloquy)

She feels this absolute guilt from the very beginning because she saw deeper meaning in a freak accident:

Because I asked us to leave, Mara thinks. Because something came out of deep space and killed the man next to me, and I saw the omen, and I said we should go. And now I feel like a coward. (Cosmogyre II)

And then you combine that personal guilt with her mother and Alis Li telling her she's responsible for what others think of her and that she is capable of more than those around her:

"It is one thing to have a particular power over people, Mara. But it is another to deny that you are using it." ... "Mara, you are an Auturge, a volunteer. I cannot order you to stop, and your work is exemplary. Are you putting anyone else in danger with your… art projects?" "No," Mara says. "Just myself." "False!" Li barks. "That is a selfish answer. You are now a symbol to my crew, a house god. If you were to die, they would lose something important, something Human that they have created out of loneliness and void. It would be an unforgettable reminder of the hostile nothingness that surrounds us. When you endanger yourself, you endanger that symbol. You are part of this mission's behavioral armor, Mara." Mara is thunderstruck. She's never thought about it this way. "All I did was take some captures. I didn't ask to be anyone's… mascot." "You presented yourself as a conduit to secret knowledge," Captain Li counters. "People made something out of you, Mara. Please take this from a starship captain: What people make of you, what they create of you—even without your consent—becomes a kind of responsibility. If the Mara they see when they look at you is good for them, then you have some duty to be that Mara." (Brephos III)

And you put all of that on the shoulders of an already self-important and borderline suicidal 19 year old who is convinced she's seeing secret meanings in things (and she is!!! Is the thing!!!) You cannot tell me she's not, given that her favorite enrichment activity is going on EVAs and taking off her suit in order to experience this:

The void boiled the water off her skin. Her body swelled with unchecked pressure until her undersuit forced it to stop. Alarmed cytogel crawled down her throat, hissing emergency oxygen: not enough. Her skin blued with cyanosis. She was bathed in the most profound emptiness. She recorded all of it at the neural level. The exquisite darkness. The sense of fatal independence from all things. There are those who will give anything to feel that void. (Brephos II)

And then after they are in the Distributary she keeps her idea of the duty of the Awoken to herself for so so so fucking long and plays such a long game and sacrifices her own people in that game to keep the Awoken from being truly comfortable in the Distributary:

"I have worked for many hundreds of years to arrange this outcome," Mara says, forthrightly, but without the courage to look Alis Li right in the eyes. "I have nurtured and tended the Eccaleist belief so that there will always be Awoken who feel uncomfortable in paradise. Guilty for the gift of existence in the Distributary. People who'll come with me." (Nigh I)

And all for the sake of her eventual goal of returning to the real world and saving the solar system that she is absolutely completely incapable of abandoning, regardless of the cost:

"Do you understand what you've done? Have you reckoned the full cost?" She has convinced tens of thousands of Awoken to abandon their immortality. She has deprived the Distributary an infinite quantity of joy, companionship, labor, and discovery: all the works that might be accomplished by all the people who will join her in her mission to another world. When she lies awake at night, seized by anxiety, she tries to tally up the loss in her head, but it is too huge, and it becomes a formless thing that stalks her down the pathways of her bones like the creak of a gravity wave. "Some infinities are larger than others," she tells her old captain. "I believe… we are here for a reason, and this is the way to fulfill that purpose." "And how much would you sacrifice? Your mother? Your brother? Are the Awoken real to you at all?" Alis leans across her pinned hand, viper-fierce, striking. "Do you think my people were made to die for you? "Not for me. For our purpose. For our fate." (Nigh II)

And she is so so so deeply aware of that cost, in Fideicide II Alis Li knows that "Mara knows the unthinkable value of even a single Awoken life," and she is so deeply deeply guilty about that. Like when she does tell Alis (and Sjur, eventually) we get to see her the most fucking vulnerable we ever do and GOD.

"No," Mara says, with her heart in her throat, with trepidation bubbling in her gut. You cannot keep a secret buried like a vintage for so many centuries, and then unbottle it without any ceremony. "The boon I ask is your forgiveness." Then she explains the truth. She tells Alis Li what she did: about the choice Alis Li would have made, if Mara had not made her own first. It's only an extension of what Alis has already deduced. When she's finished, her ancient captain's jaw trembles. Her hands shake. A keen slips between her clamped teeth. The oldest woman in the world conjures up all the grief she has ever felt, and still it is not enough to match Mara's crime. "You're the devil," Alis Li whispers. "I remember… in one of the old tongues, Mara means death. Oh, that's too perfect. That's too much." She laughs for a while. Mara closes her eyes and waits. "You realize," Alis Li says, breathing hard, "that this is the worst thing ever done. Worse than stealing a few thousand people from heaven. Worse than that thing we fled, before we were Awoken—" "Please," Mara begs. "Please don't say that." Alis Li rises from her chair. "I'll support your fleet," she says. "I'll use every favor and connection I have to get your Hulls completed and through the gateway—and I will do it so that I can hasten your departure from this world. I will do it out of hate for you; I will do it so that every good and great thing we achieve here will ever after be denied to you, you snake. No forgiveness. Do you understand me? It is unforgivable. Go. Go!" "I'd be very glad if you didn't tell my mother," Mara says. (Nigh II)

The last line there fucking kills me. "I'd be very glad if you didn't tell my mother." God. And then when she is brave enough to tell Sjur, to try again after last time backfired so fucking spectacularly, Sjur forgives her:

"I was first," Mara says. And she explains the missing half, the first half of the sentence: I made the rules and initial conditions that deceived her into believing she herself had decided It ends like that, where the rest picks up. Sjur Eido looks at her in expressionless silence. Sjur Eido's hands stroke the seam between Mara's skinsuit and the glassy petals of her helmet. Long ago, this woman betrayed her oath and went to serve the Diasyrm, a woman who cried out in anguish at the curse of physicality and the possibility of suffering. Long ago, this woman threw away her whole life to punish the highest crime she could imagine: the denial of transcendent divinity to those who might have claimed it. "You're the devil," Sjur says. "You're the lone power who made death. You allowed the possibility of evil. You might be responsible for more preventable suffering than anything that has ever existed." Mara cannot shake her head or even nod. "Well," Sjur says, "if you hadn't, none of us would be here. I guess I don't see what else you could've done, if you cared about those we left behind. If you wanted us to be able to go back and help in the fight." She leans forward and very gently kisses the inside of her helmet, where it meets Mara's: in her mind, in that place that is bound to all other Awoken, Mara feels the touch of gentle lips. (Tyrannocide III)

And like, those chapters also make me lose my mind because of the twofold meaning of the title- Tyrannocide because she is killing Oryx, yes, but also because she herself is dying. The self-appointed (and only ever real) Queen of the Awoken:

We are risen from man and fallen from heaven. We are made again in the fall. What was once us will not ever again be us. I am the uncrowned ever-Queen and my only diadem will be the event horizon of the universe, which is my dominion. By falling, I will rise. (Palingenesis II)

&

"Mara, with all my respect, all my genuine gratitude for bringing us here," Esila sighs, "who died and made you Queen?" Mara says nothing. But she thinks: Everyone, Esila. All of us died and made me Queen. (Revanche II)

&

On the day the Fallen struck, Mara was proclaimed Queen. It happened swiftly, though after no little debate among the people, for everyone was afraid of a monarch who could speak to their thoughts. Yet they feared more to deny her power and sovereignty, for they had come between worlds in her name. To refuse her would be to refuse their choice. (Revanche V)

And the thing is that she is their queen in such a real and tangible way like she made them she made their fate she can sense every single one of them and feels their deaths and at the same time as she is sacrificing them for The Greater Good she would do anything to save them:

Mara crawls through compartments choked with vaporized coolant. She keeps low and clutches the breather to her face. All she can think of is Kelda Wadj's last message and the data attached. "Mara. The paracausal effects are strongest around you. Whatever's happened to us, you are the locus. I cannot overstate how subtle and how important this discovery might be. Mara, when we use radioactive decay as a trigger for simulated bombs—bombs that could harm Awoken—the trigger atoms are a thousandfold less likely to decay near you. People are literally safer when you are around." She has to get into the riot. She has to protect her people. A horrible groan vibrates through the habitat structure, and then, with an apocalyptic shudder, something tears off the Reef. A ship. A ship is leaving. Mara has failed. ... She rolls onto her back and stares up into the swirling vortices of coolant, seeing faces, futures, the lives she has just lost, the lives she might yet lose. She brought her people here to die in the sense that she brought them into mortality—but she never wanted it to happen quickly. (Revanche IV)

And she keeps losing people and losing people and losing people. So many of the Distributary Awoken defect and go to Earth:

Nasan purses her lips. "I want them to understand that you are—that you—that you are good. That you aren't what they think." Seeing Sjur bristle, she holds up her hand. To her relief, Mara makes a slight warding gesture as well. "And if they know that and still wish to live apart from us on Earth, that's fine. That's their choice." "I don't need them to understand that," Mara says softly. There is the faintest husk of grief in her steady voice. (Chords of Meaning)

And then she loses Nasan too and she comes back as Orin and the Traveler has taken yet another of her people from her (and brought them back wrong!):

"Woof," Sjur Eido says when she sees Orin for the first time, "Mara's gonna hate this." She crosses the detainment cell to get a better look at Gol. "Figured this might happen eventually, but I'd always hoped…" She pulls at the nape of her neck, then gives a little half-shrug: well, what can you do. (Queenslaw)

And then she loses Sjur when she is taken/killed by the Nine:

"This was on her body, Your Grace." A strange coin lay at the center of Abra's outstretched palm. Mara took it between thumb and forefinger and held up it to the cosmos with dainty contempt. Weregild, she thought. Powerful grief filled her chest, as thick and caustic and heavy as unset concrete. (Oathkeeper)

And she turns to Orin for assistance with that and then because of that (!!!) loses Orin again as well:

On the day that Sjur Eido dies, she receives a call from Mara Sov. "I would ask for my boon," the queen says with shaking voice. It is the first time she dares to trust a Guardian. It will not be the last. (Debt)

&

On the day she leaves to find the Nine, the Techeuns name her Orin the Lost. (Synesthesia)

And then she answers the question Alis Li asked her so long ago about whether she is willing to sacrifice her brother (a resounding, grieving, determined yes):

Mara will begin the end of that Queen's brother today. She knows what that means for the fate of her own. An eye for an eye. She must think now of the fate of entire cosmos—and of her tender, half-assembled answer to the cold sword logic of the Hive. She must not grieve. She must not fear. (Tyrannocide IV)

And then at the Battle of Saturn all of this loss she has been dreading and yet causing for millenia finally comes to fruition and she then will have a good long time just sitting with that in Oryx's throne world:

This is the moment of absolute sacrifice, the incarnation of Awoken doom: to give up their lives in defense of the world they once abandoned. The sense of their great dying rips at Mara like a sob. (Tyrannocide V)

It's just like. Such a classic and compelling and well-executed examination of do the ends justify the means? (Seth Dickinson at it again! In so many ways Baru is Mara is Baru is Mara!!!) Every one of her actions led to this point, to defeating Oryx, and was that not worth it? And yet how could it ever be worth it?

I think especially the outside perspectives from Earthborn Awoken & Guardians are really interesting on that front because while they still have the connection to Mara - "However, there was always in their souls an itch, a vector pointing to a distant place in the Asteroid Belt, where their Queen still dwelt." (Revanche V) - they did not choose to follow her and they do not have the same loyalty:

Zavala:

"She was a charlatan," Zavala says, quietly. "Fighting a war that existed only in her mind. Dragging you all behind her. Any of you who will admit that are welcome in my City. But I will not take in whatever conspiracies she left unfinished. If you come to us, you come to join the City." (Refusal)

Arach Jalaal:

She speaks. "Earthborn. Did you mourn for her?" He thinks she will know if he lies. "I respected her, yes, but I despised the way she seemed… entitled… to us all. I never regret choosing the path I did. I was Awoken to continue the search we started long ago. The quest for worlds worthy of our lives." (Fleet)

Master Rahool:

We long feared that if it were intercepted by her Majesty your Queen, it would be denied or manipulated to serve some need of her own. (Of Earth and the Reef)

Mara is just such an incredibly compelling and complex and interesting character and she is so stubborn and full of herself and self-righteous and she saved the solar system and she doomed her people to mortality and she's always right because she has to be and because she makes it so and she keeps secrets from everyone and has lost more people than many people ever meet and she has felt every single one of their deaths. She is everything to me.

[azandsstuff]

soulmate that is not destined to be together

Summary : Yuu already return to their own world while leaving their partner With nothing to remember them. While there was a sudden rumour about a soulmate going around.

A/N : I was reading this while suddenly think about dangerously yours and remember that one Greek myth about soulmate :v

My other work

"Do you know that humans do not always look like this. We used to have one body, 4 hands , 4 legs and 2 heads. Until one day we make god mad and punish us two separate from our other half. After that we are always searching for our soulmate" said some student. "Really, then my soulmate must be from another world since I never found them" reply by other student. "Shut up, dude. We need to go to sir Trein class" said that student while trying to move faster to go to they history class.

What they didn't know was that certain people heard them from all around the corner. Among them all that people who heard them are ...

If that was true then he would wonder if his soulmate is from here. But what does he care about anymore after all the people he is in love with are you and yet you move on so easily.

He remembers during the shooting star event. He asks you a question that the answer still lingers in his mind.

"Look ,(Y/N) . A shooting star!"

"Did you make a wish?"

He asks you while looking at you with a star in his eyes .

"..."

"I don't have time to wish"

You answer with a sad tone.

"Really, What did you wish for?"

"I was wishing that we were two other people who were meant to be together forever and I was wish that I meet you during our childhood so you won't feel lonely anymore"

He remembers the look in your eyes. Your eyes have a sad look but also have a hopeful look in that. Only if he knows how short the story both of you have.

"If I betray you, I betray myself"

"If I betray him, I betray my world"

"My world is very dear to me"

"Dearer than I ?" He asks while looking at you with hopeful eyes.

You answer nothing.

"Dearer than you" you answer his questions while looking straight to his face. He can't believe the answer that comes out of your mouth. After all those months you guys have been together, after a year you guys have met."

If only he knew

...

It has been 2 months since you went back to your own world. Up until today he can't move on from you. He still remembers the word that you give to him before you go back.

"You live a long time yet, (You S/O)"

"An eternity without me?"

"You will look at the face of that passers by hoping for something that will, for an instant, will bring me back to yours"

"You will find the moon at night strangely empty because, when you call my name through them there will be no answer"

"Always your heart be aching for me"

"And your mind will remind you how soulmates never existed in the first place and how your heart will never recover from the fact that I choose to leave you alone instead of staying together with you"

"That's how broken your heart are, trying to forget our memories together"

If only he knew how true those words are then he will wish that he never fall in love with you in the first place. And now he left with nothing to remember you. Not a single thing but his memory of both of you when you guys are together.

Past forward a few days later, there a strange rumour at school about a soulmate. But how does he care when the person he wants to be with forever is already gone and choosing their own world than him.

Until Crowley decided to show a mirror that whoever looked into the mirror could see their soulmate. He tested it. To see if his soulmate here perhaps he can move on from you and perhaps he can look forward to be with a 'new soulmate' he can fall in love.

Oh...

How weak he leg is when his saw who that mirror shows who his soulmate is. Of course it is none other than you who he sees in that mirror. How tears fall immediately from his face seeing you there. Oh, how he wishes he can turn back time just once and make you stay with him. And perhaps if he shows you this then perhaps you can stay together with him. And then he sees the mirror start to show some sort of memories being replayed of you and a certain someone.

"Tell him the truth?"

That other person nod.

"Tell him the truth so that he will watch the star through tears?"

"Instead of following the one cold star that hid destiny?"

You ask that to another person who is beside you. To only answer with simple nods.

"No ... No I can't do that"

"Perhaps I let him think that I never loved him"

"Or let him think that I never love him from a start and make sure he hates me with full might when I leave from this place"

"So perhaps when I go he moves on better and lives a normal life again without remember me"

It stops. Video or the memory that play from the mirror stop.

Oh, how cruel are you leaving him like this. Leaving him thinking that you never love him from a start thinking and how cruel of you that you decided that the best way to walk off from his life like that.

Oh, how cruel of you.

...

Fast forward to a few more days.

(At Ramshackle Dorm)

Here lies all both of your memories together and here also lies you beloved monster who is already gone from this world. Perhaps that monster is too scared to live alone and decide that following you to the afterlife is better. At his grave he lies a bouquet of yellow roses to symbolise their friendship. On the other hand, near the monster grave he lies a bouquet of carnations. There are many colourful carnations in that bouquet.

Pink in that symbol gratitude for you.

White in that symbol pure love and how lucky he is to have you.

Dark red is how affected he is with your love that you give to him.

Meanwhile light red in that show how he admired you from the moment both of your eyes meet from eyes to eyes.

But there is also Yellow in that to show how disappointed he is when you choose your world over him and how the fact you reject.

Oh, if only you choose him over that world of yours. And perhaps he can understand you better.

[stesierra]

Sorry to disappear, guys. Things have been crazy over here. But I am surviving! My brain is just mush. So here's a tag game to get me back to thinking about my WIPs.

@fishythewriter tagged me!

My words are: Bone, Soul, Knife, and Blood. I'm drawing from Court Phoenix. I'm tagging @macabremoons and anyone else interested with the words moon, frail and death.

Bone

Chujulan’s hands settled on my shoulders. “Kerra? What’s wrong?”

“I saw a ghost,” I croaked. Our shaman had warned us often of these daylight demons. They had no power to possess or hurt at night, but by day they were a constant threat. When she was alive, she’d prevented such dangerous spirits from entering our lands. Now that she was dead, my village lay vulnerable. And I had no protections from them at all.

The princess’s grip turned painful, her nails digging through my shirt. “Impossible. Ghosts aren’t real.”

“The city doesn’t believe in ghosts?” How stupid were they?

She snorted. “The others are obsessed with them. But I refuse to hide myself from the sun or cower behind the city’s wards because of them.”

Was that why the city-folk always visited our village at night? Because they were afraid of encountering ghosts?

“And if ghosts exist, why did I see nothing?”

“I don’t know,” I admitted. “But the sun had half-blinded me, and in those blind spots, it appeared.”

"You saw a ghost in after-images of the sun?"

Her doubt irked me. “The dead don't have bodies. If they want to make themselves known, they have to make do with whatever nature provides, unless they possess a human or animal. That's what our shaman said.”

Her hands released my shoulders. “Maybe. I don't know much about loose spirits.”

“Why not?”

“The city is warded. Nothing without a body can exist there. Nothing possessed can walk through.”

I nodded. It wasn't dissimilar to what our shamans did. At home those wards were caught up in little bundles of bird bones or in blessings written in the corners of our paper windows. “But don't you all tell stories about them? About wandering spirits and lost souls?”

“The only tales we tell of ghosts are warnings. The only wanderers we care about are those who wander for a reason.”

“A reason?”

“Revenge.”

Soul

I went to bed, but it didn’t help. Whenever I was awake, my head and muscles tormented me, as though both were about to crumble to pieces like rotted wood, and my heart fluttered in my chest, too weak and too fast. When I dreamed, it was of my village on the other side of a great chasm, grayed to a ghost by smoke. I moved away from it, as if I stood on the walking city’s edge as it roamed across the steppe. I couldn’t jump off or run to it. I could only watch it vanish in the distance. And I woke with tears in my eyes and a horrible emptiness in my soul. My father’s words echoed in my mind: “If you move to Skyfire, the city will sink its barbs into your soul. Your anchor will be torn from the earth. And you’ll fade to nothing and die.”

I tried to tell myself this was just some disease common to the city folk. But as I burrowed under my blankets, I knew it wasn’t. I didn’t get sick, not like my non-magical siblings, and I’d never felt so empty. Maybe my father was right; maybe I was dying, and by now I was so far from my village I would never find my way back. And I didn’t want to go back. I wanted to live here with Hes, wanted to rise to become someone important the way a blacksmith never would.

Knife

Chujulan frowned. “Go to bed,” she advised. “You look like shit.”

“What do you care?” I muttered, too sick to care about manners.

She cocked her head at me. “You remind me of someone.”

Something about her tone made me look up. I couldn’t read the expression on her face. “Who?”

She didn’t answer for a minute. Then she said softly, “Her name was Cherin. In our ancient tongue, it means 'long-life' and is given to bring good fortune.” Her lips twisted in a not-smile.

“I take it she got neither.”

“No,” Chujulan said. “She died on the surgeon's table. She was only fifteen. And just starting her menses, although it was late.”

“Was she another landbound?” I asked, still bewildered by her interest.

“She was my only full-blooded sibling.”

“Oh. I'm sorry.” What else was there to say? “Why did she have to go under the knife?”

Chujulan's brows lifted. “She had her menses.”

I tried, “And that made her... sick?”

Her humorless laugh jabbed like a needle. “You’re so ignorant, Kerra. You’ll never survive in this city if you don’t learn.”

My face flushed hot. “Then tell me what you mean. How else am I supposed to learn anything?”

Her smile bent in all the wrong ways. “Listen to the gossip. You’ll find it anywhere. The day-wakers love to talk about us. Almost as much as the lordly.”

“You mean about the rials?”

“Who else? To speak lightly of sagan or regalie is to court ruin. But what are his bastards but dogs on a leash?”

“I am pretty sure you could have most of them killed.”

“Not lightly, not citizens, not unless I wanted to justify it to my father's judge and risk my high position at his side. So they watch and talk. And if a rial, upon reaching puberty, is plied with drugs and liquor and carried away, they place bets on whether she will ever return.”

I was fascinated despite my headache. “You came back.”

“Yes, because I didn't die.”

“Where did they take you?”

She shrugged, a hand running across iron chair beneath her. “To the surgeons, as I said. It's a safe procedure for boys — the city has made eunuchs for as long as it's castrated deer bulls. But we women they must cut open and gut like a rabbit, pulling out the bits they don't like. When Cherin,” she said and paused. “When my sister went under the knife, she died before they even stitched her back up.”

It was a nightmare story, and one I simply could not comprehend. I whispered, “Which bits did they take?”

“The womb. The tissues associated with it. Everything needed to bear a child.”

"Why?" I blurted.

“As long as we are sterile, we cannot seek to claim the herd throne. No one would back a contender without hope of heirs.”

“They think you'll try to rule otherwise?”

“The sagans have always feared a coup, sometimes even rightly. So they have seen that no rial will ever spark a civil war, nor serve as a lordly's figurehead.”

Blood

“The Ferd-Marshal sent you a note,” the girl said as I inspected the garment. She held out a sheet of paper.

What in the world was a Ferd-Marshal? I put the outfit down on the pile and said, “I can’t read.”

She stared at me, as though I’d declared that I could fly. I refused to be embarrassed. I was a villager, not a city-woman, and we didn’t write things down.

She said finally, “I’ll read it to you.” The girl smoothed her fingers over the paper.

“Kerra,

This should be delivered with your new outfits. They’re fireproof, so Heslibra shouldn’t be able to turn you into a torch any longer. Wear them every day and forget your old clothes. This is your costume now. Clothes and makeup are a language you’ll need to learn to read. Lying about your status by wearing the wrong outfit or eyeliner is a capital crime. So stick with what I’ve sent you.

If the Breaker of Legends summons you — and he will — tell him the sagan says you answer to Batoktoa directly and not to him. He’s insufferable.”

Chujulan had written this. She must have. So she was the Ferd-Marshal, whatever that meant.

The girl folded up the note and dropped it on my table, as if I had any use for it. As she turned to leave, I blurted, “Can you arrange for a new mattress and blankets to be brought here? I don’t know who else to ask.”

She frowned at me. “What’s wrong with the ones you already have?”

I choked on words for a moment. “They’re covered with blood! Someone died in that bed, and I’m not sleeping on it!”

“Oh,” she said, looking at the door to the bedroom with wide eyes. “I thought they cleaned that up.”

“Well, they didn’t, whoever they are. Can you arrange for a bed or not?”

The girl pursed her lips. “I suppose. Something will arrive before morning.”

Before morning, because the city-folk stayed awake all night and slept all day. This place was clearly mad.

Tag list for everything

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Just chapters and snippets

@da-na-hae

[deludedfantasy]

Trimax Vol 9 Ch 1-3

On the one hand, I'm loving the Wolfwood centric chapters because I think he's such an interesting character. On the other hand, I know what's coming and the looming presence of vol 10 haunts me the further in I get. But here are some thoughts on Wolfwood and Livio from the first half of this volume.

Ch 1

Omg more baby Wolfwood!!! And a baby Livio!!!

Damn, Wolfwood is very determined to get across this bridge. I wonder why the guard looked like he recognized him though.

Wolfwood is such an annoying big brother, just tossing things at poor crying Livio’s head. Notice though that he’s just trying to feed him and keep him hydrated. He’s always been disguising his sweetness and care as rudeness. 

Oh Wolfwood, he’s just trying to give Livio’s life meaning when he doesn’t feel like he’s worth anything. I wonder how long he’s been at the orphanage to be so familiar with that feeling of being worthless that he treats it so casually. It’s certainly not as new or raw as it is for Livio.

Oh yay, Livio!! He saved that girl and now he feels accomplished! 

Livio’s eyes looking all blank and empty while he’s standing in a dark alley…it’s so ominous. I really gotta give Nightow here that we haven’t spent a lot of time with young Livio and he’s already making me feel a lot of emotions about him. 

Oh no. OH NO. This doesn’t get any easier to handle on second read. Livio looks so scared of himself when he sees the blood on his hands and especially the look on Jasmine’s face when she sees him afterwards.

And still, Wolfwood is defending him! Once you’re his friend, once he cares about you, that’s it. He’s in it for the long haul. In reality, he has such a big heart, and the Eye of Michael tried so hard to kill that part of him. 

So, Wolfwood comes home to find it besieged by the man he once thought of as a brother, who he barely recognizes anymore. It’s pretty grim, and Livio himself looks like he has mixed feelings about being back.

Oh? I thought Livio was part of the Eye of Michael. Why was he thrown out? Also, isn’t Chapel the head? Can’t he just…reinstate him if he wants, without this whole proving himself charade? This is Chapel though so I don’t know why I’m expecting anything different. 

Also more reasons I want to hunt Chapel for sport. His love for his family is what kept Wolfwood human and what motivated him for all these years. It’s the best thing about him. (Though there’s some foreshadowing to him saying these attachments are fatal…I’m gonna take a break to sob in the corner for a sec, brb)

Where did these children get a gun from??? Actually, on this planet, I don’t know why I’m even asking that question, guns are everywhere. But still. 

These mercenaries are the worst of the worst. Like, calling children worthless and being so willing to kill them for just some money, just to get a rise out of someone. Says a lot about the Eye of Michael that this is who they hire.

But hey, Livio comes to the rescue! Though whether it was actually to save the kid or just to see what was going on remains to be seen.

Ch 2

So the orphanage kids vaguely recognize Wolfwood as someone they think they know, though he’s older than he should be. Thus begins the question that has been plaguing me for months: how old is Wolfwood??? 

Wolfwood comes in and fucks shit up, as usual. But the big thing here, as many people have pointed out, he’s giving them a chance. He’s not shooting to kill. He’s living up to Vash’s, and now his own, philosophy. To the bitter end, he’s going to try and be a better person. 

But these guys are horrible. Like I said, the worst example of humanity to contrast Wolfwood (who at least in Vash’s eyes is something like the shining example of humanity in all its complexity). The mercenaries shoot their “friend” rather than save him to get a bigger share. As if we needed any more reminding what Wolfwood is up against. 

Wolfwood is really playing up the action hero bit this time. And you know what, it’s so cool. 

But he totally learned that fake-out shooting background trick from when Vash rescued. They’re learning from each other. (Aaaaand I’ve made myself sad again)

I love a good callback! Wolfwood once told Vash this and told him he’d have to make a choice. But now we know he was also talking about himself. He hasn’t had a lot of options over the years, especially once he joined the Eye. But now, it’s time for him to make a choice. He has to decide who he is, whose side he’s on, and what he’s willing to do to protect what he loves. 

I hate to say this, but for once Chapel has a teeny tiny point. Wolfwood doesn’t have room for doubt here, and he is a man who has had a lot of doubts over the course of the story, both about Vash’s actions and his own. There isn’t any more time to run away from his situation. He has to face it head on and with surety.

Exactly, Chapel! Wolfwood hasn’t changed, he’s stayed true to himself and the man he wants to be. He’s not using his true powers because that would mean killing and above all, Wolfwood is done being a murderer. Before he was killing to protect his family, but now he’s decided that’s enough. For them, he’ll stop and he’ll save them without giving up another piece of his soul. 

Okay, Chapel, I get that you want him to be an efficient killer, but Wolfwood is 100% maiming these guys to get through them. Like, they are not coming out of this unscathed, in the slightest. He’s very much putting them out of commission as well. 

LIVIO CAUGHT A ROCKET AND REDIRECTED IT WITH HIS BARE HANDS???? INSANE!!! 

On the one hand, yay Livio saved the orphanage! On the other hand, he did it because orders and also because Chapel isn’t done using the orphanage to torment Wolfwood.

Ch 3

Awww, the kids remember Wolfwood and think of him as a protector. Because that’s who he is at heart!!! 

“We have to rely on ourselves. We cannot rely on someone who isn’t here.” BUT HE IS!!!! AND HE CAME BECAUSE HE LOVES HIS HOME SO MUCH. 

Has Wolfwood been wondering for all these years what happened to Livio? Did he literally only in the last few months find out that he’s also a member of the Eye? Either way, it’s a gut punch for him to be confronted by him and realize how much he’s changed. That crybaby Livio has so wholeheartedly taken to being a killer, when Wolfwood once tried so hard to protect him from that. 

Poor Livio. No Man’s Land is such a cruel world that people just beat up helpless kids for being in the way. He left the orphanage, a place where he was safe and loved, because he felt like he was a danger, because he felt like he didn’t deserve their love and care. Livio himself isn’t much of a fighter, but he doesn’t even try to defend himself. This is just what he believes a monster like himself deserves. 

The Razlo notes are so ominous, but Livio just laughs at them. They’re violent but they’re also offering to protect him, and he just shrugs it off. He doesn’t want anything at all. 

My favorite, though, is “I’ll be your fangs.” Perhaps like Double Fang? 

As Livio is being badly beaten, he thinks of saving Jasmine, but he’s also overcome by how much he just doesn’t care anymore. He’s sick of being a punching bag and of being helpless. What does it matter now if he’s violent if at least it gets the hurt to stop? 

I love that Razlo is literally represented as a dark shadow the first time Livio meets him because he’s literally Livio’s dark shadow, the part of himself he’s been afraid of for so long. 

Notice how we can only see one of Razlo’s eyes, his left one. The same side of Livio’s face that’s covered in blood and the same side of his face he wears his skull mask on. He’s literally split in two, between life and death, purity and blood. 

Okay, but how did Razlo know about the Eye? Was it because they’d come to the orphanage recruiting while Livio was there? But they obviously don’t present themselves as a cult of assassins when they come (at least, I assume they don’t, because I can’t imagine Ms. Melanie willing giving children to them otherwise), so how would Razlo know that they would fit in there?

I forgot Wolfwood goes for a kill shot here! Although, he knows he’s up against the Eye so it’s not gonna keep Livio down forever. But imagine reading this as it was coming out and thinking Wolfwood actually killed him! Because it certainly reads that way.

[blurred-lines19]

"One bite and five days are all it took for the world to come to an end. Nearly two months after an unexplainable, violent illness swept throughout the globe like a raging wildfire, after cities have crumbled to ruin and most of humanity has been wiped out, only a few survive. Some of those still alive are just trying to survive, while others are searching for an answer—a reason why and what caused people to turn into walking, cannibalistic corpses that decay but never seem to truly die. Now, a group of survivors—a dog, few adult figures, and a bunch of teenagers—search for a cure and must figure out how to live with the undead amongst them, and how to deal with each other as relationships strain and tensions rise."

†· Word Count: 3862 †· Fandom: Percy Jackson and the Olympians - Rick Riordan, Percy Jackson and the Olympians & Related Fandoms - All Media Types †· Rating: Mature †· Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death †· Relationships: Annabeth Chase/Percy Jackson, Jason Grace/Piper McLean, Nico di Angelo/Will Solace, Hazel Levesque/Frank Zhang, Silena Beauregard/Charles Beckendorf, Thalia Grace/Reyna Avila Ramírez-Arellano †· Characters: Annabeth Chase, Percy Jackson, Leo Valdez, Nico di Angelo, Frederick Chase, Frank Zhang, Luke Castellan, Hazel Levesque, Jason Grace, Piper McLean, Grover Underwood, Juniper (Percy Jackson), Katie Gardner, Travis Stoll, Connor Stoll, Chiron (Percy Jackson), Will Solace, Silena Beauregard, Charles Beckendorf, Clarisse La Rue, Thalia Grace, Reyna Avila Ramírez-Arellano †· Additional Tags: Angst · Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence · Inspired by The Walking Dead · Title from a My Chemical Romance Song · Found Family · Bittersweet · Based on a My Chemical Romance Song · I'm so sorry · Everyone Needs A Hug · Hurt/Comfort · Alternate Universe - Zombie Apocalypse · Annabeth Chase/Percy Jackson-centric · Betrayal †· **First Person POVs** †· Rated Mature for strong language, violence, sexual references, etc..

Leo

If I have to take one more step, I think I might spontaneously combust.

We’ve been walking since yesterday and just got out of Manhattan, which took a while since the city is a freaking wreck. Thankfully, we found a place to crash: a random warehouse behind a Dollar Tree that looked like heaven after the amount of walking we had done. Still, we’re not out of New York City, and that’s a big problem.

“Leo,” Piper says, waving a hand in front of my face. “Hello? Are you awake? We’re still trying to figure out what to do.”

“Huh? Oh, right,” I respond, repositioning myself on my glorious throne made of wooden crates. A warehouse is usually not a good idea—a terrible idea, actually, depending on where you’re at—because of how big they are (and because you never know how many of the undead are inside), but it was short notice, okay? We were desperate and it was small, relatively empty, and secure. Bonus: It came with food! A four-in-one package. “What’ve we got so far?”

Luke pulls out a map and lays it flat on the dusty warehouse floor, the concrete stained with oil and other questionable substances, which I have decided to ignore, holding a corner down with one of the books we found in a box. It makes me think of Annabeth, which reminds me of how depressing this is. Annabeth and I aren't as close as some of the others are, but I still consider her a good friend, and it feels like there is an empty void somewhere; she has such a prominent presence in the group that you can't help but notice when she's gone. I shake it off and pay attention to the conversation.

“We just made it to Harlem, which is about an hour or so on foot,” Luke said. “If Annabeth went the same way as us, she could be here by morning. So if we just wait—”

Thalia interrupts him before he can hardly get a word in. “There are a few problems with that plan, genius.” Thalia stands up, her arms crossed over her ‘Death To Barbie’ t-shirt. “One, that horde was massive. Two, I don’t know if you missed it or not, but we have no idea which way she went. There’s no way—”

“She’s going to make it. I mean, this is Annabeth we’re talking about,” Silena says, her boyfriend—crap, I forgot his name. Benjamin?—wrapping an arm around her comfortingly.

“You don’t think I know that, Silena?” Thalia snaps.

Clarisse, who is sitting next to Silena, stands up, getting in Thalia’s face. Even though she isn’t anywhere close to Thalia’s height—standing at a whopping five-foot-six next to a five-foot-ten girl decked out in punk attire with a murderous look on her face—Clarisse is built like a rugby player with big-time anger issues. “Watch it, Pinecone Face.”

Anger flashes in Thalia’s electric-blue eyes, and I’m pretty sure I see sparks come off her. If I didn’t know better, I would think she is about to summon a lightning bolt or something and smite Clarisse on the spot.

“You never, and I mean never, call me that again,” Thalia says through gritted teeth, standing nose to nose with Clarisse. “Understand?” If I touched her right now, which I will not be doing, no thank you, I wouldn’t be surprised if Thalia shocked me.

Clarisse relents, grumbling something under her breath as she sits back down. She may not have been unnerved by Thalia’s outburst and death glare—I definitely wasn’t either, for the record—but the tension in the room is overwhelming.

If anybody is taking this the hardest, it’s definitely Thalia.

Most of us have only been in this group since everything started, while some of the others (Thalia, Jason, Silena, boyfriend-whose-name-I-forgot, and Luke) have known Annabeth for years. But nobody is as close to Annabeth as Thalia. From the moment I met her, she has practically never left Annabeth’s side; even when she isn’t beside her, Thalia watches her and makes sure she’s safe. With Annabeth MIA, it’s no wonder she’s on edge.

Annabeth and I went to the same high school until the end of our senior year, which is when everything conveniently decided to hit the fan. I hardly talked to her in school, despite having classes together. But whenever Travis, Connor, and I joined up with her group, I started to talk to Annabeth more and found out that she wasn’t actually a stuck-up, pretentious know-it-all.

Honestly, like everyone else, I miss her a lot.

Jason is the one to diffuse the tension. “Guys, we need to calm down. Okay? Nobody wants to hear that, but we can’t start ripping each other’s heads off. This is not going to solve anything.” He turns to Mr. Bruner, who, oddly enough, was each of our Latin teachers at one point or another. “Chiron, what do you think we should do?”

Mr. Bruner (or Chiron, as most of us call him) is silent for a moment, contemplating his answer. “We can’t remain in the city. Staying here for as long as we have has been extremely dangerous, children,” he says.

“But we can't just leave—”

“What? No!”

“You’re telling us to leave her? What the—”

Holy crap, no. He can’t be serious. Annabeth?

“We don’t just leave people!” I say. “Annabeth has been gone for not even a day and we’re already falling apart. Thalia’s about to kill Clarisse,” I gesture to the punk chick glaring ice-cold daggers at Clarisse, “we hardly have any ammo left, and Connor, Travis, and I are inevitably going to get bored and do something stupid.” For once, amid the cacophony, everyone seems to be listening to me. Feeling a little self-conscious yet confident, I summarize. “Annabeth keeps everything organized. If we don’t stay put or go back for her—or at least stay civilized—all of this is going to fall apart.”

“Leo’s right,” Nico, Thalia’s cousin, speaks up. Of all people, I’m surprised that he actually agrees with me. Don’t get me wrong—he’s nice and stuff, but usually quiet and to be honest, kind of spooky. “It’s extremely risky staying here, sure. However, like Leo said, we don’t just abandon people to save our own skin. Especially not Annabeth. I sure as hell wouldn’t leave any of you behind.” He glances at Clarisse. “Some of you, anyway…. If we don’t at least try to help her instead of abandoning her, we have to live with that.”

Nico finishes speaking, his words hanging like vapor in the air. He definitely made his point better than I did, but oh well.

“I was going to say that we should do what we can to help dear Annabeth before you children graciously interrupted me,” Chiron admits. “As most of you have said, it is very dangerous, however, we can’t leave without attempting anything. We may stay here for a few days and keep an eye out for her. If there is no sign of her, I’m afraid that we will have to move on and hope that she makes her way back or finds somewhere safe.”

“Yeah, and get ourselves gutted in the meantime,” Clarisse states. “Blondie can hold her own if she isn’t already dead. Why risk the rest of our lives?”

Thalia quickly stands up, angry. “Because, shit face, if it weren’t for her you wouldn’t even be alive right now! Annabeth didn’t save you because she had to. She saved you because she thought—thinks you deserve to live and have a fighting chance. But what about her, huh? Doesn’t she deserve a chance to live?” Clarisse is silent. “Doesn’t she?!”

Jason puts a hand on her shoulder. “Thalia, that’s enough,” her younger brother tells her softly yet sternly. She shrugs him off, though, sitting away from the rest of us.

“Don’t treat me like a child, Jason.”

Jason frowns but lets her go anyway.

“Maybe we should take a vote,” Travis suggests. “Whichever side gets the majority decides what we do.”

“Yes. Thank you, Travis,” Chiron says. “Those in favor of staying?”

Thalia, Silena, Nico, Luke, and I raise our hands.

“Those opposed?”

Silena’s boyfriend, Jason, Clarisse (of course), Piper, Travis, and Connor raise their hands.

Thalia’s eyes widen and her face pales, her mouth slightly agape as she stares, dumbfounded, at her brother. 

“Jason?” she asks incredulously, her voice tight like she is about to cry. The heartbroken and shattered expression on her face is hard to look at. Even I’m shocked by Jason’s decision. “You can’t be serious.”

Jason looks down, almost ashamed, unable to meet his sister’s eyes. “More of us are going to get hurt. Annabeth can make her way back—she’s strong and a fighter,” he tells her, although it sounds more like he’s trying to convince himself. “We’ll leave notes and signs so she knows where to go and where to find us. All of us have talked about it before and made a plan, remember? This is what Annabeth would want us to do.”

Thalia turns her head away and says nothing. Honestly, I don’t blame her. Of course, I disagree with Jason’s decision, but I can understand why he voted the way he did. Whenever Annabeth isn’t around, he’s one of the only ones who can remain diplomatic (so to speak), who can keep things together for the most part, and I’m shocked his composure hasn’t wavered. His blond crew cut somehow remains untouched after fighting hundreds of the living dead, his face clean-shaven—heck, even the scar on his upper lip from when he tried to eat a stapler as a kid fits in with the rest of his polished appearance. He’s just trying not to lose anybody else.

“Charlie…” Silena says. So that’s his name? Wow, I was way off.

Her boyfriend gently takes her delicate hands in his large and calloused ones. (I think he used to be a blacksmith’s apprentice before this, but I'm not sure.) “I’m just trying to do what’s best for everyone—”

“What you think is best,” Thalia murmurs.

“—and I think this is the best way,” he finishes, letting Thalia’s remark slide.

“Look, guys. I know you don’t really want to leave Annabeth,” Luke says, his hair messed and dirty but still looking decent, “but this is ridiculous. In a city this big with this many walkers? Even if she does make it out of the city, then what? She has no idea where we are and where we're going. Annabeth has to be alive and you all know it. If we just wait, we can think of a plan to save her.”

“Annabeth is quick. We've all seen her. And she might stand a better chance with fewer of us,” Jason counters.

Luke retorts, “Yeah, might. That's the problem. We can't be sure—”

“No, that's the problem. We can't be sure if she's okay or not, and rushing back into that hell hole impulsively is a damn deathwish,” Jason snaps, his voice tired and strained as if he is trying not to shout. Thinking about it, I don’t know if I’ve ever actually heard him swear at all (no matter how small the word), let alone yell during an argument. “She can get around faster and quieter without having to look out for other people. Annabeth is going to make it. But for her sake, we need to leave. All of us together could very well draw a massive horde—it already has, and that is what got us into this mess in the first place—which is dangerous for all of us…especially Annabeth.”

I'm about to protest, but Chiron interjects before it turns into another shouting match.

“We agreed to a vote, and this is the outcome,” he reminds us. Chiron's tweed jacket is torn, frayed, and bloodied, the shirt underneath stained. With his graying hair and beard to match his worn face, he looks completely and utterly exhausted. Chiron sighs. “We will stay for the night, but then we will have to leave, as Jason said, for all of our sakes. Including Annabeth’s.”

With that, nobody says anything else, all of us too tired to argue it further. I hate to see everybody like this…. What can I do? The best thing I can think of is a distraction; it may not work, but I have to try something.

I clasp my hands together and stand up. “I don’t know about any of you, but I’m starving.”

“How can you be so nonchalant about that right now?” Piper asks, her brow furrowing.

Dragging the box closest to me, I read ‘Little Debbie’ on the front of it. “None of us have eaten anything in days, and there is food just lying around.” I grab a pocket knife off my tool belt and cut the tape. After rummaging around for a second, I produce a handful of Twinkies from the box. “Besides,” I say, “you know you can’t resist… these !”

“Really? Twinkies?” She rolls her eyes but catches it when I toss it to her, a small smile playing on her face.

I kick the box over to the Stoll brothers and begin to search some of the other boxes for something more sustainable. (Well, however sustainable junk food can be, I guess.)

Nico shrugs. “With the number of preservatives in these things, I’m pretty sure they’ll outlive all of us.”

Jason takes the Twinkie from one struggling Nico and opens it for him with ease, replying with: “Neeks, everything in here is probably going to outlive us. There aren’t exactly any health benefits in these.”

“Hey, where there’s life there’s hope… and need of vittles,” I say.

“Did you just quote Lord of the Rings ?”

“As a matter of fact, yes, I did,” I state shamelessly.

“You're such a nerd, Leo,” Nico adds.

“Okay, Mythomagic Man,” I reply. “I'll have you know that Lord of The Rings is an awesome trilogy and not a nerd thing.”

"'Mythomagic Man?'"

"You're both nerds," Piper says as she plops down by Jason, kissing his cheek affectionately. "Did you find anything to eat other than Twinkies?"

I sift through the box of chips beside me and hand her a bag of Doritos.

"I meant something that wasn't junk food," she says but takes it gratefully. "Thanks."

I nod and take a look around the room. Luke is sitting with Chiron, talking (I suspect about Annabeth), Clarisse with Silena and her boyfriend, Thalia is brooding in a corner by herself, and the Stoll brothers are across the warehouse scavenging for whatever they can find. To be honest, I'm surprised that they voted against going back for Annabeth. Of all people, I was sure they would have wanted to stay. I guess I was wrong. My question, though, is why? What made them choose not to?

Well, the only way to find out is by asking.

I stand up and walk over to Connor and Travis, who have evidently found something they like and are sitting criss-cross on a long, wooden crate.

"Hey, Leo! Bro, you have to try this," Connor tells me, handing me a shish kabob made out of a Pocky stick that is skewering mini marshmallows, cheese puffs, and cheerios.

I take a bite, wondering what the heck I just ate, but I'm pleasantly surprised and nod in approval. "Ten-out-of-ten, boys," I say, popping the rest of the strange junk food shish kabob in my mouth. Connor and Travis smile in triumph. 

But I remember what I came over for and my tone turns serious. "Um, why did you guys vote not to stay?" I prod. "It's not any of my business. Just, well, I figured that you guys would have wanted to.”

Connor and Travis’ faces darken. “It’s not that we didn’t want to…” Travis replies.

He bites his lip anxiously, appearing hesitant to finish his comment. Connor continues his thought. “We—after we lost sight of her, well, we—” He sighs as he struggles to get his words out, rubbing his eyes with the palms of his hands. “We heard Annabeth scream. Bloody-murder, honestly…It sounded like she got hurt.”

My eyes widen. I know what Connor is getting at, though he doesn’t say it.

Annabeth could have gotten bit. She could—

No. Nothing happened to her. She made it somewhere safe. Annabeth is okay, I tell myself. I shake off the hopeless feeling. Shaking my head, I say: “If you’re afraid to go back, you can just say that. Believe me, I get it.”

“It’s not that we’re afraid to go back. That’s only part of it,” Travis says, looking a little offended that I would even suggest that. “We’re afraid of what we’ll see. I don’t want to have to kill a turned Annabeth or see her body torn to pieces in the street with barely anything left.”

I shudder at the thought.

In all fairness, I don’t want to see that either, but I would take the risk if it meant we had a chance. Then again, I’m not Connor or Travis. However, I still feel a bit irked. “But isn’t it worth the risk?”

Travis shakes his head, conflicted. “Yes, and no. I just—I don’t know how to explain it. Chiron said that we would wait for a little longer tomorrow and then start home,” he tells me. “Wherever ‘home’ is, anyway. It’s like Jason said: she’s quick and knows which way we went. She’ll find us.”

“Maybe we just misheard. It could have been Silena or one of the other people,” Connor adds hopefully.

“God, this whole thing is a mess,” I breathe, fidgeting with a scrap piece of metal from my tool belt.

“Tell me about it.”

I sit and chat with Connor and Travis for a while, passing around more junk food shish kabobs before everyone begins settling down for the night. It also turns out a warehouse isn’t the most comfortable place to spend the night. I mean, I thought it would at least be tolerable, but turns out I was wrong. It’s eerie (like Nico), and even though it’s a warm night, it’s cold and damp in here, with faulty light fixtures on the ceiling that creak when the wind hits the building. At some point, I notice the pattering of the rain hitting the tin roof, getting slightly louder before being drowned out by thunder.

I lie here for a minute, listening to everybody else’s breathing, someone turning over in their sleeping bag, somebody else mumbling in their sleep. (I think it’s probably Piper.) Chiron is taking the first watch, knife in his hand as he sits, watching over us. While the storm outside is sort of scaring the crap out of me, it’s also kind of pacifying. I feel my eyelids start to droop, and I begin dosing off, exhaustion taking over.

†††

Not too long after I fall asleep, the thundering crash of lighting startles me awake, and I fall off the pallet I was using for a bed.

There go my chances of getting a decent night’s sleep.

The windows at the top of the warehouse walls are so dark that I can hardly see out of them, the only indication that there is anything beyond them being the raindrops running down the grimy glass, which are illuminated by a somehow non-defunct streetlamp or flood light somewhere outside. Wind batters the side of the warehouse, causing the long-hanging, burnt-out light fixture to sway, the cool night air finding its way in through an invisible crevice below a doorway.

Okay. Forget what I said about the storm being soothing. It’s freaking me out.

I fidget with the piece of scrap metal in my tool belt that has come to resemble an elephant. Glancing at my watch, I notice that it’s only 3:27 a.m.; it must have kept raining while I was asleep. I hope Annabeth is okay. If it feels this bad in here, I don’t even want to think about what it’s like out there. And I’m not going to lie. If I were lost and out in that mess, I would be terrified out of my mind right now. Just goes to show how much braver Annabeth is than me.

Alas, not all of us can be charming, brave, handsome and dashing blondes like Annabeth, Luke, and Superman (AKA Jason). At least I’m four for five, though.

All of a sudden, I hear a muffled grunt and instinctively reach for my hammer. I flatten myself against the splintering wood, my ears straining to hear anything else. But, after a little while of silence, I slowly lift my head and do a scan of the room. Everyone is sound asleep. Is anybody even on watch? I think. I don’t see Chiron. The glint of blond hair in the dim light catches my eye, answering my question. I squint in the dark in an attempt to make out who it is, coming to the conclusion that it’s Jason. Realizing that it’s only him, I let the muscles in my body relax and slip my hammer back into its loop on my tool belt. (Pretty much everything makes me on edge these days.)

“Jason,” I whisper, brushing my messy curls out of my face.

He clears his throat but doesn’t look at me. “Is that you, Leo?”

“Yeah, it’s me,” I yawn. “The storm scared the crap out of me.”

“Huh. I guess I must not have heard it,” Jason admits, his voice low in an effort to avoid waking anyone up. “How long have you been up for?”

I shrug. “Not super long. Do you need me to take a turn?”

Someone rolls over in the dark, the rustling of their blankets barely audible over the storm. “No. Chiron and I just swapped. Thank you, though.”

“Suit yourself.” I settle back into my makeshift bed, fidgeting with the metal elephant for a few minutes before tiredness washes over me again.

Before I fall asleep, however, I hear a quiet sniffle, followed by a strange whimpering noise. I crane my head toward the sound, my eyes landing on Jason, who has his head in his hands. Is he…crying? Man, I don’t think I’ve ever seen Jason cry. I want to say something to him, to see if there is anything I can do, but he probably just wants to be left alone right now.

So, I lie back down and close my eyes, Jason’s quiet sobs fading into the background as sleep overtakes me.

†††

When I wake up for the second time, it is to Jason shaking me awake, his eyes wide with panic and the blood drained from his face.

“Leo, where is she? Have you seen her?” he urges frantically. I notice that everyone else is beginning to stir, Silena and Piper rousing them from their slumbers.

“What? Who—”

Jason interrupts me with the same question before I can answer. “Have you seen her? Leo, please tell me that you saw her!”

I sit up. “Saw who, Jason? You’re not making any sense, dude.”

Jason’s voice comes out strained as tears well in his eyes. “Thalia. She’s missing.”

Read on archiveofourown.org <3

[sassykattery]

Midnight Storm

Because I'm feelin' the angst, it's time to see how Altaira feels about Nightbringer...

Pairing: Diavolo x oc! Altaira

CW: Altaira is afab, uses she/her pronouns. oc shows distress

Themes: Angst.

Characters: Solomon, oc! Altaira, Diavolo

Minors and ageless blogs DNI

Enjoy.

"Okay then, I owe you an explanation, but where to start?" Solomon pondered aloud, hand on his chin.

"You can start with why my own husband doesn't remember me!" Altaira shrieked at the sorcerer.

"Altaira, I know you're upset, but try to listen–"

"We are well past upset, Solomon the Obvious! I am reaching a new level of wrath, I think even this Satan would be afraid of!"

"Please just allow me to explain what I know," he snapped, grabbing her wrists.

She glared at him through teary and angered eyes as she listened, and his explanation did nothing to stave off the sadness and sheer fury she felt deep inside.

"Do you understand how upset he probably is right now? He probably has every single one of the Devilsguard and his secret service in the human world looking for me. He wouldn't accept that I just disappeared," she bit back at him.

"I know, I do, but there's nothing I can do right now. You're just going to stick it out until we get things figured out," he tried to console her. She broke away from his grasp, saddening him further as he watched her distance from him even more than usual.

"I trusted you, you know," she replied solemnly. "And so did he. I hope you'll find a way to fix this, or you won't live long enough when this reaches its conclusion to be known as Solomon the Sorcerer."

She walked away to her bedroom after spilling her venom, slamming the door shut and locking the door. Solomon listened as her cries lasted long through the night, tearing at his own heart to hear her so distressed, something he realized he'd never heard her do before in the present.

In the early hours of the morning, Altaira left Cocytus Hall and walked the streets of the Devildom. She observed how different it was from her home in her time. The shops she frequented, the houses she saw built, and the streets themselves were all different or nonexistent.

The non-existence reminded her of her previous argument with Solomon. Her heart ached with a pain so fierce, she felt suffocated by it. Did he miss her? Did they? Were they distraught? Did they think she forgot about them? About him?

Her hand stuck out from her side as she danced her fingertips along the walls of the buildings she passed. Her heels clicked along the cobblestone of the street, creating an echo in the empty districts as most of the denizens were asleep at that point.

Unknowingly, she continued her trek across the city in a direction her body knew all too well by muscle memory. It was a path she took far too many times, so much that she could make it in her sleep without fail. And it wasn't until she was standing before the pond at Starfall that she even realized what she'd done.

Looking over her shoulder, she saw the towering walls of the Demon Lord's castle, a familiar presence to her, but it hurt her to know it wasn't the same place that welcomed her with open arms like before. She looked forward again and sank down to her knees, looking into the clear waters that barely rippled with the calm night air glazing across it. Her tears dropped in as she leaned over to peer into its depths, disturbing the placid glass.

Just then, more droplets fell across the waters of the pond from seemingly out of nowhere. There were no clouds above or forecast of showers. These droplets mimicked her tears and made the pond dance with hundreds of ripples across it. More stars fell as well, streaks of pink and blue barreling across the skies. Broad strokes of stardust suddenly painted the sky above in an array of colors, from violet, blue, green, yellow, orange, to red.

And from a distance, back in the shadows in the corners of the outer walls of the castle, a pair of golden yellow eyes watched the scene unfold. He observed how Starfall bled with her presence and how his pond reacted in tandem with her. To see his world live and breathe as she did struck him as odd. How could it be that something he designed would treat a stranger as if she were an honored and welcomed longtime friend?

She reached her hand into the waters, her fingers waving in its coolness, and suddenly, the drops froze in mid-air just above the surface. With her other hand, she held a singular finger up and swirled it around, commanding the droplets to mimic her movement– and they did. They danced, bobbed up and down, in a circle around the pond while flashing the colors from the stardust above.

Saddened and tired, she dropped her hand and fell back to her haunches, and as she did, the droplets all fell. The waters rippled as it calmed back down.

"That was quite the show," Diavolo stated quietly from behind.

She barely turned her head and looked up again at the stars.

"I'll leave," she mumbled in a monotone.

"I don't mind the company," he replied. "Where did you learn to control the elements? The astrals?" He then inquired.

A singular tear ran over her cheek.

"Someone who's not here right now," she answered with a wavering voice.

"Someone important to you?"

"Very."

The pair was quiet again.

"It's odd," Diavolo mused, walking around behind her. She stared straight ahead as he spoke.

"What is?"

"Well, I suppose a few things are. For instance, someone having command over an astral movement that they didn't create is odd. It's odd that someone can also command the elements of a magical area they didn't create," he replied while still walking. He stopped directly behind her. "It's odd that of all the creatures here in the Devildom, you, Altaira, don't even flinch or blink in my presence. You don't even look over your shoulder at a potentially dangerous demon that you don't even know."

"I suppose I've never been accused of being normal," she answered firmly.

"And then, even now, when faced with me, someone with the power I hold, you have no fear of me. You speak to me as if I'm your equal," he added quietly.

"It's because you want an equal. You desire someone to be at your side that you can count and rely on. An equal," she replied with a hollow voice. Coming to her feet, she finally turned and looked up at him.

"Who are you? Really?" He asked with a raised brow.

"To you? No one," she answered with her eyes glistening.

"But clearly, you know something about me. How would you know not to run from me? How do you know of my nature?" She said nothing as he stared down at her. His gaze flickered above. "Even Starfall doesn't obey my command so easily. So, pray tell, why does it obey yours?"

"I suppose you'll just have to keep me around and find out," she replied quietly.

He grabbed her wrist before she could turn to leave. Nary a rough touch, more of a soft gesture.

"Why do you speak to me as if you know me?" He asked once more.

She was silent again.

"I know of you. There's a difference," she finally answered.

He cocked an eyebrow slightly tilted his head.

"But you know me, on some level, too," he insisted.

She looked down to where his hand held her wrist, so delicately, like he knew to be gentle with her.

"I think the issue here is that you do not know me," she finally answered. "And that bothers you."

His gaze softened, and he finally relaxed, releasing her hand.

"I suppose with time, we can resolve that together," he said with a hint of a smile to his lips, his voice even gentler then. But his lips fell to a frown when he saw her flinch suddenly, as if she were in pain at what he said.

"I–I should-should go," she backed away and started to walk quickly toward the palace gates.

"Altaira! Wa-" Diavolo cut himself off when she was already slipping past the gate and dashing off into the night.

The Demon Lord turned back to his creation and was astounded by the picture the astrals of Starfall made:

The falling stars fell in a pattern, like a scene from a movie that played again and again. They arranged themselves to show the Demon Lord, and that very same woman, dancing gracefully across the stars, crimson and gold stardust splayed over his suit while shining black ink splattered across her gown as he swept her away, together dyed in his colors. The display only showed for another minute before everything began to fade, and Starfall returned to its natural sequence of falling stars.

He looked back to the gate, where he last saw her, and thought about what that image meant. What it meant to him and the stability of his kingdom.

"Odd, but not unlovely," the prince murmured as he walked back into the castle to retire for the night.

Thanks for reading!

Post made by sassykattery. Do not repost. Reblogs and comments appreciated.

Tags: @bite-sized-devil @delphi-dreamin

[celemee]

" another nightmare? " and [Hair] for any pairing but if I'm allowed to beg: Raven/Wyll. Wyllven....

Oooh. Hey babe! Thanks for the lovely prompt. It ended up pretty smutty... 😅

The Dark Urge (Drow male) x Wyll

Post Canon, referenced murder

Mature/explicit

---------

Something warm wrapping around Ravendras's chest stirs him from his meditation.

"Another nightmare?" Wyll's voice, warm but crackled with sleep, whispers.

As a drow, Ravendras never sleeps, but his nightly meditation resembles the human slumber closely enough.

"Alfira. Again," Ravendras confesses, but leaves out the details. The viscera, the blood, the disfigurement he'd so enjoyed inflicting back before… all this. His hand comes to rest on top of Wyll's arm, a small smile twitching at the corners of his mouth.

Outside their tent, nature slowly wakes to a new day — tentative bird song pierces the silence, heralding sunrise. The air feels cool on his skin, moist where Wyll's warmth doesn't reach, and Ravendras nestles closer to his partner. Shivering. For reasons more than the obvious.

It's been five days since they left Baldur's Gate. Seven days since he'd died and returned a new person.

He's quickly wrapped in a tight embrace, warmed and soothed with kisses and encouragement.

"I'm so proud of you, darling," Wyll whispers into his hair, never stingy with his praise. "What happened with Alfira will never happen again. You made sure of that."

There's nothing in there about forgetting. The weight of Ravendras's past is always there for him to carry. There to remind him of what could have been, had the Blade of Frontiers not swooped in and showed him something worth living for. Something in the realm of life, instead of blood red death and torment.

Fingers thread into his hair and Ravendras leans in to kiss that dear mouth in response, ever grateful and ever hungry for this new something. The orange glow of dawn paints the tent walls as bodies press closer together.

Wyll chuckles into the kiss, as if wanting to talk. Whatever it was goes unvoiced; Ravendras flips to his stomach and shoots Wyll a look that's hard to misconstrue.

The bottle of grease is never far; Ravendras feels for it in his backpack and screws it open, offering it for Wyll to take.

"We may not get many chances for this when we get to Avernus," Ravendras explains, a smile on his lips. "But we'll have plenty of time to talk."

There's so much to work through. Plenty to learn, and not least of all being who he truly is, free of the ten tadpoles and the commandeering voice of his father. Such a process cannot be rushed — it's better to take it step by step. Indulging in wonders like Wyll's fingers entering him, stretching him wide and ready for the man himself.

Ravendras moans, disturbing nothing but the birds outside. Pushing to meet his lover's hand.

"More," he pleads shamelessly, spreading his legs to accommodate his man.

Wyll has other plans, it seems — he turns Ravendras gently onto his back and pulls him into his lap, legs on top of strong shoulders.

When he enters him — slowly, carefully, as if he's something breakable and precious — Ravendras closes his eyes and sighs. It's better than murder, better than the sea of blood he'd almost drowned in. The empty echo of his insides turns into a warm hum. Every part of him full. Every craving stroked.

"I'm so glad you chose life," Wyll murmurs into his knee, following with a kiss.

They move together for what feels like forever, bubbling with pleasure where their bodies connect. Eyes on each other, conveying the emotion that draws them breathless. Finally, Ravendras clamps around the large intrusion, his world going white as he's pushed off the edge with a single stroke of his cock.

Wyll soon follows, spending deep inside of him. Gently settling to rest on top of him, hot breaths on his tweaked nipples and chest staining with Ravendras's come.

For a long while, Ravendras doesn't think of Alfira. There's only the man he's with, the afterglow, and the cock still nestled inside of him like a treasure he's unwilling to part with.

His hands smooth up and down Wyll's back, then his horns, and finally wrap around him in a protective embrace. He's fallen asleep.

"I'm so glad I chose you, too," he whispers.

[princessmacedon]

. [ ━━━ ACT I. atonement, ]

BISHOP DESPISED THE GIRL'S VOICE BEFORE HER STILL-HEART RECOGNIZED THE LAUGHTER, massaging her temple when the sweetness of youth bit inevitably at her ears and mind. thus, she moved to squash the insult to silence; rising from the comfort of her seat to duck beneath the library's staircase, stalking toward the source of memory with a twitching eye and a polite smile plastered weakly to her lips. how irresponsible, responding to the luxury of a haven's silence with commotion so utterly unnecessary it simply proved the flaw of humanity's youth.

weak. untamed. senseless. left to their free will despite the space around their necks for a leash; how incompetent must one be to miss the opportunity of a lesson? no, not she. not eremiya whom, after turning the curt corner of a bookcase, immediately spoke her dissatisfaction into the air. "pardon yourselves, but the library is━━━"

the back of a waving student caught her eye first until her gaze fell on the girl sitting on the floor, a large tome of fables in her lap. recognition stole her breath, stilling her where she stood, hands on her staff and countenance twisted in a grimace. hair as prettily red as she had been told, whispered into the ear of her lord; bright eyes and bright smile and bright life━━━

eremiya nearly heaved. mage hand twitched, usually unwavering stare blinking rapidly to rid herself of the confused expression. when she patched up her smile, it was as fragile as the skin of a babe, "princess maria." curt; no question in identity. she could be no one else. no one else could be her. and how unfortunate that maria still breathed to this day, seemingly happy within the walls of the monastery, though this would be one of the many settlements, far from home, she must have been to.

unsurprisingly, despite her efforts, the remnants of a grimace remain. "you live... in the monastery? had lord gharnef..."

memory was swiftly replaced by a scalding realization.

the library was nearly empty, save for them. the girl would hardly be able to scream if the beast lunged at her now, stole the very voice that caused it pain. eremiya's eye twitched. surely, gharnef would pay her a kind hand for ridding them of the macedonian's hope. had she not tried to offer him her and, in light of her presence, still owed him that debt? ( no, she was tempted to think. maria was the very Thing she sacrificed love to protect. to maim and break and rebuild. was this not a chance at the inevitable? ) her approach softened until completely emotionless, grimace buried beneath apathy, as if her prior confusion had never been recognized,

"tsk. no matter what you are entertaining yourself with, your voice is too loud." If I hear it again, I will not be able to keep myself from tearing it out. "must you and your friend be reminded of the library's ruling?"

mun's note / / though we threw around the context of maria not knowing exactly who eremiya is, i'd thought it still fair to send her the ask i planned. their dynamic is one i'd love to explore :pleading:

On an ordinary day, at an unassuming hour, a simple, silly, and simply silly happiness sets alight Maria's heart. She laughs, loudly and freely and certainly without meaning to, a hand clapped over a tightly curling smile that runneth over with mischief, surprise, and sheepishness all at once. Fingers shift, then part, that crescent of pearly whites cut into slivers between them, and upon her other hand her digits wiggle merrily in a free-spirited (and pointedly silent!) fare-thee-well.

"Hee hee..." How soft this succedent laughter; she lets it fall between the pages of her book and snaps it gently shut, as if to press her joys between its pages and preserve them.

The advent of footsteps draws her attention upward, the line of her lips already smoothing out into a sweet, yet-to-be-spoken apology. Her eyes are clear; if there is anything to be said of the gaze of the little robin of Macedon, it is that it is unchanging, ever changing -- shifting, vibrant, full of life. So it remains when the sister makes herself known, and so it remains when she is reprimanded, repentant in the face of her discourtesy.

And then comes a whispered name: Lord Gharnef.

Life slows to a trickle, glacial and appraising. Her smile wanes by fractions, and endures by just as much, fingertips hooking over the rough edges of the tome's cover. Lord Gharnef, the woman had murmured, but no one ever set such honor to his name unless... Maria swallows, that familiar stone sitting heavy in her chest. Lips part, drawing a shallow breath, as if the memory of that bitter darkness had coagulated in her nose and throat once more. And this stranger had called her Princess Maria -- had known before any greeting who she was, and whispered that man's name in her next breath.

She recalls, suddenly, what it was like to die by poison -- remembers the numbing senses, the thick, encroaching silence. Lord Gharnef... there is a susur at the edges of clarity, smooth yet frigid as it slips through her hands, until only fear remains. Another breath, and she swallows it.

Oh, it sticks jaggedly in her throat, and it is a struggle to convince her knees not to remain despondently partnered to the floor, but change must always begin somewhere. The girl that wept alone in the tower, who cried for her siblings in the dark, knows she is still only that: a girl. She will still weep, sometimes; she will still cry. But even if it is only the strength to defy the name of a nightmare, to stand on her own two feet, it's a strength that she has fought for, and must continue to fight for in every trial to come.

"I'm sorry," Maria replies, pushing herself to her feet the moment the other begins to move forward -- some small defiance as she smooths her skirt, outwardly unbothered; even her smile waxes warm again, beneath her twinkling eyes. And it is defiance, too, in that she means it, for just as Gharnef had his devoted, so too did he have his victims. They are not mutually exclusive. She may have her suspicions, but what if they're wrong? She would rather waste her kindness than not -- and besides, kindness was never truly wasted.

But she does not ask forgiveness. "My friend said something silly, and... hee hee!" Her head cants, ribbons of crimson tickling her shoulder. Her mind lingers with the pleasanter memory, eyes already sparkling once more with delight... but still they watch the distance between them. It grows smaller with the sister's every step.

Maria keeps her chin level, neither proud nor cowardly, and meets the mother's gaze -- searching it, searching her, for her intentions. Yet she does not know what she finds... or perhaps there is nothing known to find.

"It was an accident," she continues, and her smile skews lopsidedly into a grin. "But I'll be more careful in the future, I promise."

Shifting the tome into the crook of her elbow, she finds old dreams nestled in her arms and old nightmares staring her in the eyes -- eyes that remain shifting, vibrant, full of life... full of curiosity. Maria hums.

"What's your name, Miss? Are you the librarian on duty? I think I'd like to check out this book..."