#without terrible agony then so be it guess!!

[alisoncooper]

supposed to be going to a comedy gig tonight and then on a night out with my mum straight after but i think i’ve just slipped a disc in my back again and now moving feels like torture!!! suffering!!!

[daryl-dixon-daydreams]

reader pronouns: she/her Glenn was up early. Maggie was still sleeping and she needed it... so he'd headed downstairs and dug through the cabinets until he found an old box of chai tea. He'd put on the kettle, poured his own cup and a spare, and sat himself down at the kitchen island, and he waited.

And right on time, Daryl's boots shuffled up the stairs from the basement and he dragged himself into the kitchen to face another day.

"Hey," Glenn greeted him kindly. Daryl looked up, struck by someone else being awake at the early hour.

Daryl tried to answer, but nothing came out at first until he cleared his throat, and then he managed a gravelly, 'Hey" in return.

"You look terrible," Glenn said sympathetically.

"...Thanks," Daryl growled back. Then he noticed that there was a second cup of tea sitting on the kitchen island beside Glenn. Swirls of steam lazily rose and drifted in the air.

"Come on and sit down for a minute. I think we should talk," Glenn said. He gestured to the stool in front of the mug.

Daryl hesitated, but then went to join him.

"I think I know why you've been looking so rough lately," Glenn said.

Daryl stared back at him, his blue eyes narrowed in something remarkably like suspicion. "I just ain't slept—"

"—since she left," Glenn interrupted. "I know. And it's not exactly a coincidence. Is it?" he asked.

Daryl shifted nervously and dropped his gaze to the counter, to his boots, to the mug sitting untouched in front of him, to anything except Glenn.

"When Maggie and I got separated after—after the prison... it was agony. I mean, I really thought that if I couldn't find her... I'd just give up and die. That would be it, you know? Because nothingness seemed like the better option compared to living without her." Daryl's blue eyes furtively glanced up to meet Glenn's. "But I knew, I knew, that she was out there. And that kept me going and it was the only thing that could put my world right again. So I did everything I could in my power to make that happen."

Daryl gulped and chewed on the inside of his cheek for a moment, so hard that he tasted the tang of copper. "Why're ya tellin' me this?" he drawled, his voice gritty and tired.

"You know why. She's the one who sets your world right. And if that's true... then you have to go after her and bring her back. Whatever it takes. You have to find her and tell her. And I'm not telling you anything that you don't already know. I'm just trying—to... speed it along a little, I guess," he said with a dry laugh and a sympathetic look. "Whatever is stopping you—" Glenn shook his head, "fuck it. Do it. Set your world right, Daryl. You can't keep going like this. More than that, you shouldn't." Prompt: "I haven't slept since she left." A/N: I'm not crying. It's just raining on my face...

[jintaka-hane]

A Visit to the Infirmary

Masterlist

Img by Buffoland

This is a gift for the lovely @akagami-no-laney 🎁!! I like Hongo thanks to you, and when I went to look for more content about him, I saw there was very little! So I decided to write this. I hope you like it! 💕 Summary: You've fallen in love with the doctor aboard the Red Force. In complete denial of your feelings, you think it’s best to avoid him for a while until the feeling passes. But a terrible pain in your back will force you to pay him a visit. Word count: 3000 Notes: Love in denial. Flirting. Confessions of love. Use of 'Darling' and 'Doll'. Reader is a brat. Beckman is a saint. Hongo doesn't really know how to approach you, though in the end it seems like he manages to 🤪. I have no knowledge in medicine, so everything here is pure fiction XD.

"Dammit, Beck!!!" you roared, kicking and flailing in the air, landing futile punches on the immense wardrobe-like back of the first mate. "Let me go!"

The tall man's grip tightened as he carried you over his shoulder, his face serious and stoic as he strode determinedly towards the ship's infirmary.

"Scream all you want, Darlin’, but we’re going to see Hongo whether you like it or not." 

“NO!” you whined, writhing harder. “NOT HONGO! PLEASE! I—I’ll do anything you want! I’ll… I’ll get you the finest cigarettes at the next port!”

Beckman chuckled and shook his head, clearly amused by your desperate efforts to escape.

"BECKMAN, I’m serious! Let me go!! I-I swear that… that…  OUCH!!" you twisted in agony as a sharp, searing pain shot through your lower back.

Your captor halted immediately, noticing how you contorted in pain, and gave you a moment’s respite as he tried to ease you through the surge.

“Darlin’,” he spoke softly, one hand moving to your back and rubbing it gently, “you need help… and he’s the only one here who can give it to you, do you understand?” 

You nodded, closing your eyes and gripping his shirt tightly, enduring the wave of suffering as best you could.

You had been dealing with unbearable pain in your lower back for days. You didn’t know what caused it—whether it was some bad posture, the fall when you climbed down from the lookout, or the time you landed hard on your backside going down the ship’s ladder. Whatever it was, you must have injured something, and the pain, coming in waves like stabbing knives, was horrible. 

Stubbornly, you had tried to let it pass on its own, avoiding asking anyone for help and steering clear of the infirmary. Yet your walks on the deck, face twisted in pain and hand pressed to your lower back, hadn’t escaped the ever-watchful Benn Beckman. Guessing your reluctance to see the ship’s doctor, he had kept his distance and observed you from afar without asking questions, but, as he watched your condition deteriorate further, he decided it was his duty to act.

“Hongo’s a decent doctor. Give him a chance,” he said, turning his head over his shoulder to look at you with his concerned gray eyes.

The problem wasn’t whether Hongo was a good doctor. You knew full well that he was competent and professional. The real issue was that he was also kind, tall, funny, and undeniably attractive. 

That, along with the fact that you were maybe… probably a little bit in love with him—an insignificant detail, considering you were fighting it, convinced that keeping the right distance would make the feeling fade and spare you from a potential broken heart. All you had to do was avoid him and act like a brat when he was around, and everything would be fine. You were as certain of this as you were that your back pain would eventually subside on its own.

BAAAANG!!!!

The infirmary door swung open with a deafening bang as Beckman kicked it harder than intended, his hands fumbling as he tried to grab hold of your increasingly elusive body.

“Sorry, Hongo,” he said, noticing that part of the doorframe had splintered.

“Oi, Beck,” Hongo said without turning around, completely unfazed by the door’s loud crash as he meticulously washed his hands in the sink. “I see you’ve convinced y/n to come and see me.”

“That’s not—” you began to say.

“YES,” Beck shot you a reproachful look as he carefully set you down on the floor. “She’s a smart girl and understands what’s best for her.”

You opened your mouth to speak but his huge hand covered it, stopping you. His cold eyes bore into yours, and he mouthed the word “behave,” leaving no room for an argument.

“Perfect,” Hongo turned around with that charming smile that always drew you in. “Welcome to my office, y/n.”

You held his gaze for a moment, his eyes crinkling beneath the scar that ran down his temple. He took a small white towel and dried his hands with an unusual gentleness for a pirate, and the thought made you look away, taking in the ship’s infirmary for the first time.

It was surprisingly neat and well organized. There was a wide variety of medical supplies and medicinal herbs neatly lined up on shelves lining the walls. In the center, a sturdy wooden table held a collection of bandages, ointments, and surgical instruments. And next to it, a set of perfectly clean syringes waited to be used.

“Do you need me to stay?” Beckman asked, unsure of what to do.

“Yes—” 

“NO—” Hongo said at exactly the same time.

Beckman’s gaze shifted from one to the other.

“I’ll be outside if you need me,” he said, pulling a cigarette from his pocket and placing it between his lips.

Shit.

You watched him leave shooting him a dirty look, and as soon as the door closed, Hongo’s gaze was fixed on you again, his smile remaining as he took a step closer.

“So…” he began, halting when he noticed you flinch and step back, “you’ve had a sharp pain in your lower back for days, haven’t you?”

Of course, that bastard Beckman had told him.

“Maybe,” you replied nonchalantly, avoiding his eyes.

“And you didn’t come to see me until now, why?”

“It’s not that bad.” You shrugged, the careless movement causing the pain in your back to flare up again, but in a wave you managed to endure with dignity.

“Uh-huh…” he paused, examining you. “Let’s take a look, okay?” He took another step forward, slow and deliberate. “Can you lay face down on the exam table for me?”

Your gaze darted to the exam table to the doctor.

“Absolutely not,” you looked at him with a defiant look, arms crossed over your chest.

Hongo’s expression changed in an instant.

“Very well,” he muttered, narrowing his eyes and kicking aside a stool that stood in his way as he moved towards you, “by force then.”

You swallowed hard, realizing that your back was pressed against a wall, and as soon as you saw his figure lurking closer, you scrambled to take cover behind the wooden table. You clutched its edge and dragged it to shield yourself, causing several bandages, bottles and ointments to scatter across the floor, some breaking open and spilling.

“Eeehm, do you need help!?” Beckman’s raspy, concerned voice came from the other side of the door.

“No!” Hongo bellowed as he charged after you, his eyes fixed on you and ignoring the mess on the floor. “No need for help! We’re behaving like two perfectly normal, civilized people!”

He moved along the right side of the table while you quickly circled to the other side, moving as fast as your body let you. As he reached out to grab you, you twisted to evade him, but a sharp, agonizing pain shot through your back, spreading to your hips and down your thighs. Your legs gave way under the intensity of the pain and just as you began to collapse, Hongo caught you in mid-air.

“I’ve got you…” he soothed, his usual tenderness reappearing as he held you tightly against his chest, unwilling to let you go until the pain was gone. “I’ve got you…”

You buried your head in the crook of his neck, sobbing and swallowing your pride, and you stayed wrapped in his arms for a few minutes, until he felt your body gradually relax as the pain started to ease.

“I’m going to take you to the exam table now, alright?” he said, feeling your head nod against his neck.

“You know…'"he helped you to sit down, "you must be made of steel, because in all the time you’ve been with us, you’ve never come to see me…” his fingers danced lightly along the edge of your shirt. “Can I examine you?”

“NO.” You swatted his hands away immediately.

"Alright, alright..." He smiled, raising his hands in surrender. "Let’s focus on your back, then." He gestured with his finger for you to turn over on the examination table. "Can you lie face down, please?"

You glared at him, tilting your chin defiantly. But as soon as he caught the rebellious glint in your eyes, he raised an eyebrow.

“Face down, Doll. NOW.” He said, his tone commanding and authoritative, making it clear who was in charge.

With a dramatic roll of your eyes you gave in, knowing full well there was no choice but to comply with your doctor’s orders. You turned over on the table, and the movement sent a fresh wave of pain through your back, forcing you to moan and press your face into the sheets. You felt Hongo’s fingers ghost over your back, right at the spot where the pain was the worst.

"It’s right here, isn’t it?"

You nodded, surprised at how efficiently he pinpointed the exact source. With your head buried in the soft, cushioned surface of the table, you heard the sound of a stool being dragged toward you. You turned your head to see him, but found his knees and the tops of his thighs instead, legs set apart.

"Okay…" you heard him muse, his voice soft, calm and steady, “... intramuscular analgesia”.

His left hand rested on your lower back, applying just enough pressure to keep you in place, while his right hand deftly prepared the cotton and antiseptic. As he turned his torso, his defined abs peeked out from above the waistband of his pants right in front of your eyes, and you snorted, turning your head away.

“Don’t worry Doll, I’ll be gentle…” he said, assuming your reaction was due to the fear of needles. “I need you to lift up your skirt and pull down your underwear, please.”

You didn’t respond. You stayed still on the exam table with your heart pounding in your chest. The pain in your lower back was unbearable, but the thought of Hongo right behind you, demanding to see your ass, was much worse.

"Come on, Doll…" he tried to encourage you in an even softer voice, "be a good girl for me."

This time, a surprised chuckle escaped your lips. Never in a million years had you imagine hearing those words from him, and a warm flush crept up from your neck, staining your cheeks. You hesitated, hands trembling as you slowly lifted your skirt over your hips. Your fingers fumbled with the waistband of your panties, and as you exposed the soft, vulnerable skin of your ass, you felt Hongo shift slightly on the stool.

“... Hongo?”

"Yes," he cleared his throat with a hint of self-reproach. "Please, keep your ass up."

The tension was suffocating. The smell of antiseptic saturated the air, his gaze weighed on your exposed skin... and that last command. It was too much. You had to say something that might unsettle him and tip the balance in your favor. Anything.

“Tsk, tsk, doctor, you can’t just pull down a girl’s panties and say 'ass up’ without, you know, a little courting first, can you?”

He let out a snort of laughter, and the sound made you smir proud of yourself. Though not for long.

“Oh, doll…” His fingers brushed over your skin as he tapped it with the alcohol-soaked cotton swab. “You know I’ve wanted to court you for a long time, don’t you? But it’s hard when you’re always running away from me.”

Your heart raced again, faster this time. You wanted to disappear. You wanted to get up and run out of the infirmary. But unable to do any of that, you simply turned your face away, closed your eyes, and tried to focus on anything but what he had just said. He stifled a sigh and readied the syringe.

"Alright, here we go," he said, making you gasp as the sharp, clean prick pierced your skin. "Good girl, you’re doing great…" He noticed how tightly you were gripping the sheet on the exam table, and unable to stand seeing you so uncomfortable, he slipped his free hand beneath yours, intertwining his fingers with yours. "That's it, just hold on a little longer…"

You focused on his words, letting the rhythm of his calm, measured breathing soothe you, and as soon as he finished, he withdrew the needle.

“Try to rest a bit until the medication takes effect,” he said as he rose from the stool and moved away to give you space.

With your face still turned to the wall, you pulled up your underwear. The pain in your back was fading, so you slowly sat on the exam table, surprised to find you could do so without wincing.

From that angle, you had a clear view of the infirmary and saw Hongo kneeling on the floor, cleaning up the mess you’d made in your frantic attempt to escape. You watched him work, his back hunched and his shaved neck bowed, carefully picking up the spilled liquids and shards of glass. A sigh escaped you at the sight, and you felt the stubbornness in your heart start to melt into something warmer. You moved closer and crouched down beside him.

“Is your back feeling better?” he asked as soon as he noticed you presence.

“Yes… ,” you said softly, keeping your gaze fixed on the floor. "Thanks."

“Anytime.” 

You felt his gaze on you as you focused on the task, sorting the broken jars and glass shards into a bag. You worked side by side in a silence that, oddly enough, didn’t feel uncomfortable, and you wished it could stay that way. But when your hands brushed against each other and you pulled yours back, he spoke.

“Why do you hate me?”

“I don’t hate you,” you replied without looking at him.

“But you avoid me…”

You remained silent, grabbing a rag and scrubbing it vigorously against the floor, feeling a knot in your stomach grow larger and larger.

"Look at me," he said, placing a hand on the crown of your head to make you face him. "Isn’t a ship’s doctor good enough for you?"

You shrugged off his hand and stood up , trying to hide the mixed feelings on your face.

“It’s not that, Hongo, it’s… it’s complicated.”

“It shouldn’t be complicated… " He rose to his feet to match your stance, and his eyes locked with yours with a hint of pleading in his expression. "Actually, it’s very simple. At least for me, loving you is as simple and natural as breathing.”

His words pierced your heart like arrows set aflame. He might have tended to your back, but his gaze and his words were leaving your mind and heart reeling, caught in a whirlwind of conflicting emotions.

“You love me…” You closed your eyes, pinching the bridge of your nose as you felt your heart weary from fighting.

“Of course I do… You know I'm crazy about you.”

You opened your eyes again to meet his, his face calm yet sharply attentive to your reaction.

"I just..." your eyes darted between his, "need a little more time to sort out my feelings and make things... right."

He held your gaze for a moment, weighing the situation.

“I’ll be right here," he finally said, raising his hands in a gesture that seemed to take in the entire infirmary.

You returned his smile. It wasn’t going to be very hard to come to terms with your feelings if he kept acting like this. As you discarded the dirty rag you had been holding into a bin, you turned and walked toward the door, feeling as though you were leaving a piece of your heart behind.

"I’d really love to see it again, you know? But maybe under different circumstances...” he said as you reached for the doorknob.

“See what?” you turned to look at him, hoping that whatever he said next wouldn’t be too out of place.

"That beautiful ass."

Bastard. 

Your heart betrayed you, leaving you flattered and forcing you to suppress a smile.

He was a pirate after all.

“Oh, Hongo,” you looked at him with pursed lips, “I can’t believe it. Where’s your professionalism?”

“Believe me, I’ve been quite professional,” he placedhis hand over his chest. “I’ve had to restrain myself from giving you a smack, and believe me, I’ve really wanted to.”

“Ugh!” You huffed, stepping out of the infirmary and bumping into Beckman, who was waiting for you outside.

“How are you feeling, Darlin'? Better?” he asked, looking at you with his grey eyes.

With a smile you couldn't hold back, you stood on your toes and kissed him on the cheek, leaving him startled as you continued down the hall. The door to the infirmary opened and Hongo stepped out, leaning against the door frame with his arms crossed, watching you walk away.

“Much better!” you replied over your shoulder, smiling to yourself before disappearing from their sight.

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

Taglist: @fanaticsnail @armiliadawn @pandora-writes-one-piece <3

[eddwardharrison]

MOON HAS THE BIGGEST DOUBLE STANDARDS KNOWN TO TSAMS KIND

Ugh this is for the girlies that wanna rant about the lore… (AS THEY ARE IN THE SHOW, NOT OOC.) keep in mind this is NOT hate by ANY means. This is literally the equivalent to a pop-culture obsessed girly screaming over Love Island because her bitch didn’t get with the man she wanted /SILLY /POS

feel free to debate otherwise, this is an open space and will be maintained respectfully. :3

TW: All canon events including Depression, Su!c!d3, abu$3, etc. (sometimes i switch perspectives as if I’m talking to the characters — don’t mind that…it’s not directed at the reader I promise. <3 )

I HATE MOON WITH A BURNING PASSION. And that may be Eclipse screaming in the BACK OF MY SKULL but Moon makes me want to SET OFF MY LITTLE BROTHER SO HE ELECTROCUTES ME TO DEATH. LORD!!!!!! And I’ll explain why. Currently, I am missing out on ONE singular episode involving Moon and Eclipse that is probably a key factor in all of this, but after months of searching…I do not have it. Thus, my anger may not be fully pieced together, but THIS IS WHAT I HAVE.

Old Moon, New Moon, BOTH OF THEM. THEY ARE BOTH ACCOUNTABLE FOR HOW TERRIBLE ECLIPSE TURNED OUT. Instead of working himself to be better after Sun and Moon’s separation, he just decided “ykw a little lobotmy is okay, I’m sure.” And LEAVES Eclipse who is soon to form in Sun’s head. AND IT DIDN’T EVEN MAKE A DIFFERENCE! Moon was still a TERRIBLE brother (albiet, he was working on himself and things were not in his control all the time…ex: Killcode) and caused a LOT of his issues. And then when Eclipse formed he was so consumed by HATE that he took matters into his own hands.

LET’S DISCUSS ECLIPSE’S TRAUMA FOR A SECOND. (YEAH, HE HAS THAT….SHOCKER. Despite his constant denials, he very clearly has it. I’ve been studying this man since I entered this forsaken fandom. /silly) (MOON’S TRAUMA *IS* ECLIPSE’S TRAUMA.)

Imagine you’re Eclipse— before the separation. You and Moon are one person. You share the same feelings, the memories, the actions, the PAIN. You kill kids without WANTING TO, you’re shut out and you’re hated and nobody will help you so you’re SUPPRESSED in your own HEAD, forcing yourself just to BLINK. But, you still CARE about your brother, so you try your damn best not to move for HIS SAKE. You’re giving ALL YOUR ENERGY just to keep this CHILDREN’S BOOK CARDBOARD CUTOUT happy, and what does he give you?? NOTHING BUT AGONY! YOU GUESSED IT! Eventually, your labored sympathy will become hate. You act out, you lose yourself, and now suddenly you’re killing the very kids you just wanted to spend time with. OOPSIE DOOPSIE! OH WELL, THOUGH! A LITTLE BIT OF LOSS HASN’T EVER HURT ANYONE!

Separation day came, your final way out. You get to be SAFE, you get your own BODY, you get the chance to be FIXED, you’ll be ALIVE. YOU’LL BE *YOU*.

And then you wake up

and you realize

you didn’t leave.

You’re still stuck in that same body, unnoticeable, unheard, people are noticing your existence, but brush you off like a small error. You’re not supposed to be there. You knew this, but now other people were saying it too, but not in the way you meant it. You were abandoned by YOUR OWN BODY. This is where thought processes SPLIT. Eclipse is made of very limited parts of code from Sun and Moon, but is mainly depicted as “Moon’s Malice”, a string of code that caused him to be killing all those kids. Naturally, you can’t just stray away from this personality, right? You’re born to do it, it’s all you can think about, it’s all you feel, it’s all you are. Just “Moon’s Malice”. And so Eclipse rightfully played the part, but he wanted to be his own person. Adapting “Eclipse”, forced into a Sun’s body. Can we talk about how HORRIBLE it would be to wake up in your worst enemies BODY?! BODY DYSMORPHIA INSTANTLY! The whole “I’m quite comfortable in this body 🤪” quote from way back when - when Eclipse still had Sun was a LIE. He KEPT IT because he wanted an ADVANTAGE. He wanted REVENGE. He wanted to put Moon through the same amount of pain when HE LOST HIM BY MAKING HIM LOSE SOMEONE ELSE! YIPPIE! Not only that, but the bottled up trauma, anger, and hate that SUN CAUSED because of his HOGGING ASS KEEPING HIM AND MOON SUPPRESSED for so long, and he STILL isn’t free from that even as Eclipse. Eclipse at this point has spent his ENTIRE LIFE suffering under Sun and now he’s just being resourceful! So, he sends them a couple traumatic places yada yada he does his little dancy dance. He gets his own body, hunting for the star, yada yada yada.

AT ANY TIME POSSIBLE, MOON AND SUN COULD’VE GONE “hey, let’s make this work. Let’s help Eclipse. Let’s have a whole family.” Of COURSE Eclipse would DENY IT?! THE HELL DO YOU THINK YOU ARE?? Let’s put that very same sentence in a way that Eclipse sees it. “Hey, Eclipse. Apologize for being a monster even though I’m the one that abused you for several years.” BRO???? I WOULD DECLINE TOO??? H-H-H-HELL NAH!!!

Let’s quickly take a look at Eclipse’s actions against Lunar — specifically, his lash out. Was he terrible for that?! Abso-fucking-lutely. BUT LET’S ALSO COMPARE AND CONTRAST TO MOON JUST REAAAL QUICK. Moon regularly did this kind of stuff REPEATEDLY, whether it was verbal or physical, direct or indirect, SHIT HAPPENED A LOT AND IS IMPLIED TO HAVE BEEN WAAY WORSE BEFORE-SHOW. Because Eclipse is a SINGULAR STRAND OF MALICE-CODE, HE’S OBVIOUSLY GOING TO RETAIN THIS TERRIBLE, TERRIBLE QUALITY. But you know what ELSE happened during that day? Eclipse walks away, goes to a pillar and considers APOLOGIZING. Did he? No. Is he bad for that? Of course. You will NEVER hear me say “Eclipse is a good person”, BECAUSE HE’S NOT. You’d have to be a MORON to consider that. HOWEVER, he can be UNDERSTOOD and RELATED TO. The path he went down is often a COMMON ONE FOR REAL FUCKING PEOPLE WITH PTSD. TO LASH OUT WHEN TRIGGERED! TO BECOME WORSE THAN BETTER. CAN YOU EVEN BLAME HIM??? As stated by MOON HIMSELF, Eclipse is INCAPABLE of growing and learning as a person. You wanna know why?! HE’S A SINGULAR STRING OF MOON’S FUCKING MALICE YOU MOLDY RAT CONGESTED WITH DISEASE. He IS incapable of it and to HELP HIM he needs help with his PROGRAMMING. YOU BUFFOON. Though not given the time to see if Eclipse would repeat these actions against Lunar again, he (as of our knowledge) hasn’t. Moon has done it over and over again and Sun is /still/ traumatized from the Old Moon’s actions when Lunar got over it ages ago. LUNAR IS CHILD CODED…LUNAR SHOULD STILL BE THE TRAUMATIZED ONE. Moon had FAR MORE of an IMPACT than ECLIPSE DID.

This is why Eclipse’s “redemption arc” only came after RUIN CREATED HIM. HEY GUYS!! I CRACKED THE CODE!!!! ECLIPSE V4 ISN’T REDEEMED BECAUSE HE SUDDENLY WANTS TO BECOME A GOOD PERSON, HE’S BECOMING MORE CALM, COLLECTED, AND RATIONAL BECAUSE HE’S NOT /THAT SINGLE STRING OF MALICE CODE ANYMORE./ He HAS other coding, he’s built from the GROUND UP BY RUIN HIMSELF. Ruin has basically GIVEN HIM the ABILITY to THINK THROUGH MORALS. HE IS /FAR/ MORE COMPLEX NOW. SOMETHING MOON COULD’VE DONE FROM DAY 1!!! BUT NOOOO…

Let’s all step back for a minute. Because Hate, is exhausting. Having an existence with nothing but anger is a very tiring thing. Eclipse becomes depressed as we see a few weeks coming into the Two Parter death of Eclipse. He gets tired, he ends up wanting to just give up and DIE and let the star literally eat him alive, and then he gets that vision of armageddon. AND THEN— SOMEHOW, FOR SOME REASON, HE GOES TO WARN THEM! EVEN WITH HIS IRRATIONAL TACTICS, HIS MALICE BASED CODE, HE /WARNS/ THEM. I cannot express to a normal human being how important that one selfless act is when it comes from someone who only knows how to be selfish. AND YOU KNOW WHAT MOON DOES?! HE KILLS HIM. HE CALLS HIM A LIAR. AND HE FUCKING KILLS HIM. /WITH/ HIS REPLACEMENT WATCHING. HE WAS REPLACED. BY SOLAR.

I love Solar ‘n all

BUT I’VE ALWAYS HATED SOLAR FOR ONE, ONE SINGULAR REASON. HE WAS PUT THERE BY MOON, SUN, AND LUNAR TO /REPLACE/ ECLIPSE. SO THEY COULD BE A HAPPY FAMILY WITHOUT THE WORK. SO THEY DIDN’T /HAVE/ TO HELP ECLIPSE AND THEY’D JUST LET HIM FUCKING DIE SOMEWHERE. I am so TICKED OFF BECAUSE OF THEM. EARTH IS /EVERYTHING/ TO ME BECAUSE OF WHAT SHE’S BEEN DOING FOR ECLIPSE.

EVEN SOLAR FLARE UNDERSTOOD ECLIPSE MORE THAN MOON. THEY’RE THE SAME FUCKING PERSON. THE SAME. PERSON. 😭😭😭😭😭😭

This is where shit gets so funny.

Throughout all of this, old moon DIES. HE DIES FOR /KILLCODE/ SO THAT /KILLCODE/ CAN HAVE A REDEMPTION. FUCKING. KILLCODE. THE MAN THAT SHOWED NO SIGNS OF BECOMING A GOOD PERSON UP UNTIL IT WAS A LIFE OR DEATH SITUATION. THE MAN WHO HAS NO JUSTIFICATION FOR HIS VILLAINY OTHER THAN JUST BEING A KILLCODE. WHICH IS FAIR, BUT ITS NOT TO BE COMPARED WITH ECLIPSE. So the very thing ECLIPSE /NEEDS/ is given to someone WHO DOESN’T EVEN DESERVE IT. But, Moon is Moon. So…self righteous even though he’s horrible and terrible and I HATE HIM.

NEW MOON COMES IN! REMEMBER WHEN /EVERYONE/ IN THE FANDOM WAS LIKE “YAAAY NEW MOON. OLD MOON SUCKS. OLD MOON KINNIES DNI. IF YOU LIKE OLD MOON YOU’RE A BAD PERSON.” N YADA YADA. It wasn’t this radical, but it was everywhere. I saw it in a bunch of posts and it drove me insane. (I do love old moon, and I’ve always preferred him over new moon (nexus)) Like — EVERYONE just decided “well he’s a blank slate now, so whatever! x3” while also completely ignoring the fact Old Moon /was/ improving, and his sacrifice WAS a great deed and very selfless. Eclipse has always gone through the same thing, at times you could barely even mention him because there were Lunar fictives roaming around who’d get PTSD from it. (Which is valid. This is not to discriminate systems at all.)

BUT ECLIPSE HAS ALSO HAD THESE SAME GLIMPSES OF LIGHT AGAIN AND AGAIN AND AGAIN. From “I should apologize” to Sun and Moon finding out how much pain Eclipse was in to Solar Flare’s talk to “I’m tired.” to The Warning to his numerous deaths, to the (my speculation of) Eclipse’s attempt #1 to Eclipse’s attempt #2 to Eclipse freaking out and contacting Moon that he wasn’t supposed to be alive and something was wrong, to Eclipse making amends to Eclipse helping on his own desire, to Eclipse hanging out with Earth regularly (which he used to belittle her and insult her. He has CLEARLY changed.), to Eclipse being literally beaten up in a podcast and framed for numerous unspeakable things, to Eclipse BRINGING BACK SOLAR to Eclipse just leaving. The amount of times people could have seen ANY SIGN was IMPOSSIBLY DRASTIC AND LENGTHY. AND YOU KNOW WHAT THEY DID?? CONTINUED TO BELITTLE HIM AND KILL HIM. Eclipse only actually killed ONE character of importance, which was Lunar. (Which like oh my god dude but he did stab you in the back first…i guess…still…still fucked up…i cant defend you other than saying “it was really funny”.)

TELL ME. TELL ME WHY MOON GOT HIS REDEMPTION SO FUCKING EARLY WITHOUT BATTING AN EYE AND ECLIPSE HAS JUST BEEN FUCKING NEGLECTED?! MOON GOT TO GET AWAY SCOTT FREE, OLD MOON AND NEW MOON. EVEN THE NEW MOON ENDED UP BECOMING NEXUS AND TRIED TO KILL HIS FAMILY. WOWIE! WOWIE WOWIE DIDN’T SEE THAT ONE COMING!!! AND NOW OLD MOON IS BACK AND STILL EVERYONE IS JUST /HAPPY/. Moon has arguably had a BIGGER, MORE REPETITIVE, AND DEEPER impact traumatically when he lashes out. All Eclipse truly did was to LUNAR and then sending Sun and Moon on wild goose chases and races towards the star. Eclipse WON that star too and did NOTHING with it. BECAUSE HE’S FUCKING DEPRESSED!! AND HE HAS THAT RIGHT. Moon is AWARE that EVERYTHING is HIS FAULT. He has ACKNOWLEDGED THIS, YET HAS DONE NOTHING BUT MAKE IT WORSE. Moon is a VILE, SELFISH BROTHER. Not just to Sun, but to ECLIPSE. THEY’RE THE SAME FUCKING PERSON. You can’t just say “i hate myself….:emo:” EVERYONE ON THIS SHOW HATES THEMSELF BUT YOU COULD AT LEAST HELP THE FUCKING ORANGE VERSION OF YOU FIND A FUCKING COPING MECHANISM OTHER THAN REVENGE?? He’s been TAME SO MANY TIMES, SO MANY VULNERABLE POINTS and they NEVER TOOK ADVANTAGE OF IT TO HELP HIM. You can’t just try to help a person ONCE and then DROP THEM. That’s NOT HOW HEALING FUCKING WORKS. YOU /CONTINUE/ TO PRY, YOU STOP THEM FROM DESTRUCTIVE BEHAVIORS, YOU STAY WITH THEM. LEARN FROM SUN YOU DIMWIT. ECLIPSE NEEDED YOUR HELP SO MANY TIMES AND YOU JUST STOOD THERE AND CALLED HIM A MONSTER??? YOU DESERVED TO WATCH SOLAR DIE. YOU CAN’T JUST REDEEM YOURSELF AND LET THE OTHER YOU WITHER LIKE FUCKING PAPER IN WATER YOU COURT JESTER. YOUR JOKES AREN’T FUNNY, THEY MAKE ME WANT TO RIP THAT FOOL’S CAP OFF YOUR HEAD AND STUFF IT INTO YOUR ESOPHAGUS.

NOBODY WILL UNDERSTAND ECLIPSE’S ANGER THE WAY I DO.

😇

I am so unhealthy about this man.

anyways, thoughts? Sorry if this is a little messy, it just kinda happens…letting out my inner alpha and all..🐺🐺🐺

(believe it or not this is actually not all of it, this is just on one idea.)

Once again noting this is all light hearted, just being wrapped up in the acting and how much I can understand a character and feeling personally obligated to stand up for him. Eclipse has touched my heart in a way nothing else has, and I will continue screaming about him until I wither up and die. Everyone can have different perspectives and ideas, this is what I see. AND I SEE INJUSTICE!! /silly

[otdiaftg]

The King's Men - Chapter Fourteen

Day: Saturday, March 9th / 10th* Time: 3:40 PM EST

There is a crash behind Nathaniel, the unmistakable sound of a body slamming into wood. He turns as Andrew forces his way into the room with Wymack right on his heels. Kurt grabs at Andrew but loses his grip when Wymack shoulders past him. Nathaniel has only a second to see the handcuffs locking Andrew and Wymack together, and then Browning reacts to the violent entrance by reaching for his gun. Nathaniel grabs Browning's arm with both hands and yanks as hard as he can. He only means to slow Browning down and pull him off- balance, but the agony that shoots from Nathaniel's fingertips to his elbows almost takes him off his feet. He let go without meaning to and hunches over like that will somehow make the pain go away. Crushing his hands to his stomach doesn't help, but Nathaniel needs to shield them somehow. "Don't," he says through clenched teeth. He thinks he says it, anyway; he can't hear himself through the white noise roaring in his ears. The weight of a hand on the back of his neck says he's bought Andrew enough time to reach him. Nathaniel doesn't remember closing his eyes, but he forces them open again. He tries straightening, but Andrew catches his shoulder and shoves him to his knees. Nathaniel goes without argument and cradles his wrecked hands in his lap. His hands feel so terrible he expects to see blood soaking through his bandages, but the gauze stays white and clean. "Leave it," Wymack says. He sounds so angry Nathaniel knows Wymack isn't talking to him or Andrew. He guesses Browning or Kurt is moving to haul Andrew out of the way before he hurt Nathaniel further. Either the feds trusts his judgment or they can't get around Wymack to get to Andrew, but Andrew knees in front of Nathaniel unchallenged. Nathaniel turns his hands over and looks up.

Art used with permission by Hamrikaa. Thank you @hamrikaa!

*Due to the Leap Year, I have opted to highlight the day rather than the date to keep the events in occurrence to the 2007 year. I will continue to mark both days accordingly.

[ghostsy]

Dearly Beloved

WARNINGS: yandere, possessiveness, imprisonment, slight infantilization, non-consensual implications, abuse, nsfw, smut, dub/noncon

read at your own discretion.

yandere ! TODOROKI SHOTO X READER

“Please, if you have any information…”

She wanted to throw up. Or pass out. In any particular order she didn’t really care, just anything to stop this. Her legs had long gone numb strewn over his lap, the dewy stains of her despair spilled across his slacks, her hands secured tightly behind her back.

“I can’t eat. I can’t sleep. Whatever joy I had disappeared with her that day. Please, I just want her home. We just want to bring our daughter home. She deserved…she deserves better than this…”

The device responsible for her torture was still buzzing excitedly at the swollen source of agony between her thighs. A sudden silence filled the room, television screen freezing on sobbing faces, and her heart leapt to her throat.

“You’re not paying attention.”

The vibrator clicked off, and his hand came to rest on her thigh, the other still secured around her waist to prop her up, squeezing at her hips. Though, the circles he drew on her skin weren’t in any way a comfort.

She couldn’t see his face from her place in front of the screen, but she hardly had to guess his expression, hardly had to guess his feelings. His reputation preceded him. Hot and Cold. She’d learned through painful trial and error that it was meant in more ways than one.

She licked at her cracked lips, “I am. I am–please–I promise, I am,” Through the breaks, her voice was sugar sweet, innocent, docile. A thinly veiled search for mercy.

“We’ll rewind.” Though, it seemed he would give her none as he coaxed her gaze back to the television in front of them.

Right. There was another source of agony–of torture–he’d been keen on subjecting her to today. It was her fault, she supposed, for being foolish enough to believe that unlocked window to be anything other than a test. A test that she’d, of course, failed. 

“Nearly one year after the sudden disappearance of a Tokyo woman, friends and family are struggling to hold on to hope. Our journalists caught up with…”

She closed her eyes, swallowing the salty tears fighting their way up her throat to join the streams on her cheeks, and opened her mouth to speak, hiccuping on her sobs.

“Please, I’ll–I’m sorry. I can’t take–I’ll never–I won’t–promise I won’t–”

“I don’t see the problem,” He’d made a career out of patronizing her, she’d discovered, “You wanted to see your friends and family, right?” The growing heat on her thigh meant it wasn’t rhetorical. 

She hissed at the burn, forcing a reply through gritted teeth, “I didn’t mean–”

“You didn’t mean…? You’re hardly in a position to be picky,” Shifting his hold on her, the vibrator, still latched to her pulsing clit, clicked on, two of his fingers dipped down, circling her glistening hole, teasing, “I’d say it's plenty gracious of me to give you even this,” Calloused and cold, they shoved themselves inside her, setting an unforgiving pace. 

She nearly keeled over from the sensation, cursing under her breath, “I’m–It wasn’t–Can we please just–”

“You think you’d be happier, right?” His canines grazed her neck, threatening to break through the skin, “That you’d feel better out there. What’s anyone out there ever done for you?” He scoffed, “What have they done to earn your love?” The tremble of his voice reminded her of his barely contained, and building, rage. She had to do something.

“No, that’s not–” She begged with his name on her lips, “I just–I just wanted–”

“All you need to do is convince me,” There was electricity building in her veins, though a pit of dread forming in her stomach, “Your happiness depends on them? I’m really so terrible?” The murmur of the television was turning to static in her ears, “Get through one interview, then,” He huffed out a humorless laugh, “Just one, I promise,” Voice low and sultry, “Without gushing on my fingers while you watch them cry.”

She choked on a sob, but the ache in her limbs and the tightness squeezing its way from her chest to her throat significantly damped any anger she would have–should have–felt. 

“She was my best friend; she wouldn’t have just up and left.”

She just wanted this to be over. Find her panties, curl up under her bed covers, and let the roaring tides in her lungs pour out her eyes, and scream. Scream ‘till she passed out, hoping to find peace in the abyss of unconsciousness.

“Was? Are you saying that you think she’s passed on?”

“...I—Well, it’s not—It’s just, it’s been so long, and I–if we, the people who care about her, are going to have any chance at healing…”

Alas, fate was never so kind to her, and she was reminded of another, more humiliating, tide pooling in her gut.

Two fingers inside her became three, and she bit her tongue to stifle a whimper as they reached that once special, now cursed, spot inside her. It didn’t feel good. It didn’t. It didn’t.

Sighing, he brought the hand around her waist to pet at her hair, “Don’t you see?” He tucked the strands behind her ear, hot breath hitting her skin, “They’ve given up on you. What will it take for you to understand, lovely?”

“I’m just so tired. We all are. But I love her, really I do.”

He snorted, “Love you. They don’t love you,” Angling his face downwards, hair tickling her cheek, “Family. Friends,” She was panting now, eyes going crossed from exertion, “They mean nothing. They are nothing.” She wouldn’t come; she couldn’t. But the clenching of her walls against his fingers betrayed her, and she felt his lips pull into a smirk against her throat.

“There’s just…what else is there left to do? I can’t–I don’t–scouring woods and swamps and–to try and find…try and find what? I just can’t–I can’t do it–I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I can’t–”

“No one takes care of you like I do.” 

Vibrator still buzzing, a numbing, pulsing, ache formed between her legs, and his fingers, wet and crystalline, sped their pace, squelching as they fucked in and out of her weeping entrance. There was a ringing in her ears as she felt the floodgates start to open. Please no. Not again. 

What would they say if they could see her now? Mewling and moaning like a whore on her captor’s fingers while their worlds upended? How disgusting she was–if only her body agreed. 

“Take your time. If this is too hard–”

“No. I can at least do this for her. So people remember her. Remember her name. She would have wanted at least that.”

“No one knows you like I do.”

He was trailing wet kisses up her neck, tongue and teeth coming together to form scattered bruises in his path. Her thighs were spasming, flexing in an attempt to stave off the waves of pleasure threatening to drown her.

“It’s clear how much she means to you. How lucky she must have felt to have someone care about her so deeply.”

“No one loves you like I do.”

His teeth sunk into her earlobe, and her vision went white, nerves exploding as her walls clenched, desperately, gratefully, if not ashamedly, fluttering around his digits for what felt like the hundredth time that day.

Though the relief, like any momentary pleasure he’d bestowed upon her, unwilling or otherwise, was short lived. Coming down from her high, she blinked away the tears weighing on her lashes, and blurring her vision, lungs heaving in an attempt to gather her bearings. The vibrator clicked off, and his fingers pulled themselves from her, dewy and gleaming.

“Suck.” He pushed them through her lips, and she choked on their length, licking at the sticky substance, and swallowing to assuage his anger. He removed them with a pop, and she held her breath, praying to whatever god she did or didn’t believe in that he would release her. He’d made his point, right? 

“I’m…I’m sorry,” She gulped in air to stifle the shake in her voice, and nuzzled her head in the crook of his neck, wetting the skin with her tears, pathetic, “I won’t–”

“You didn’t think we were finished did you?” Her heart dropped to her stomach, “You’ve failed to convince me, you know.” 

“I’m convinced!” She winced, realizing the volume, but found he was waiting for her to continue, “I’m…I’m convinced. You were right. I shouldn’t have tried to leave…I wasn’t–I wasn’t thinking.”

The second of silence was months long, but a soft laugh tinged with delirium broke through the static noise. Cold fingers clutched at her jaw, angling her face towards his own.

Forced to meet his gaze, she hated to admit it, but he was so pretty. The allure of mystery twinkled in those mismatched eyes, hiding the promise of something no man or woman or person could possibly hope to resist.

“No,” Sighing, his free hand squeezed at her waist, “No, you were never really good at that, were you?” She nearly didn’t hear him, lost to her thoughts, wallowing in self pity and hate; why hadn’t she seen it before?

She just wished she could have left well enough alone. Let that mystery pass her by unsolved. A promise can be hollow, she’d learned; a vortex of nothing that pulls you into the blackness, greedy in its emptiness to steal any soul or love or light from its captive, leaving them to drown in the inky darkness, dead, but never alone.

A stinging pinch at her side motivated her to sputter out the prompted answer.

“At what?”

“Thinking.”

She could say something, she realized. Anything. Anything but what she knew she’d let slip from her lips. Fucking coward.

“No,” Coward, “No, I wasn’t–I’m–No, I’m not.” 

He hummed, eyes twinkling, amused, “Anything else?”

Her teeth sunk into her lip, bloated and salted with her tears, canines piercing through the skin to let drops of red bubble to the surface. Still, she forced out another meek placation.

 “I’m sorry,” But cowards don’t get burnt and they don’t get frostbite and they don’t get hurt, “I’ll–I’ve learned my–my lesson, now. I promise, please–”

“It’s cute that you think anything you say matters,” Cowards don’t get hurt, she reminded herself, but the stinging of shattered pride in her chest argued otherwise, “Besides,” He motioned towards the television, “We’re not even halfway through.”

No. No no no. She’d done what he’d said, hadn’t she? Please. No more. The knot in her throat was making it hard to breathe, twisting and growing, “Please–”

He sighed as he shifted a bit behind her, and she felt it, more present than before, “What kind of lover would I be if I didn’t follow through on my promises, lovely?” The clink of a belt buckle ripped at her heart, “And, really, how can I resist,” Fingers trailed back down to swipe at her puffy and abused and dripping entrance before pulling away, flexing his fingers as the dewy substance stuck in webs to the digits, “When you’re practically begging for it.”

She felt like a ragdoll, what little fight or resistance or hope beaten and torn from inside her. A firm hand bruised her waist as he lifted her, and shuffled out of his pants. He turned her face back towards the screen, a trail of frost creeping at her jawline as he released her.

“If there’s anything you’d say to her if you could–anything you think she’d want to hear…”

“There’s just one thing.”

Something too big and too hard and too familiar prodded at her sore and tired entrance, and her fingernails made crescent moons in her tied palms.

“Wherever you are. Whatever happened.”

The wetness allowed him to slide in rather easily, but the girth was accompanied by a burning stretch. She should have been used to this by now, and while the feel of his cock throbbing inside her was all too familiar, she found herself dizzy, unfocused, nauseous. She couldn’t breathe. She couldn’t breathe. She wanted to scream, but that inky blackness of his had filled her lungs. 

“I hope you’re somewhere warm and bright, even if it’s above the clouds.”

She was drowning. Drowning and hurting, and clawing for just a hint of light from the abyss of broken promises. Wasn’t drowning supposed to be peaceful? How long did she have to wait until it was peaceful? 

“I hope you’ve found peace.”

“Oh,” He sighed as he bottomed out inside her, “This is my favorite part.”

Her limbs felt heavy, and she felt so tired. Was this the good part? Give up and it won’t hurt. Give up and let him do as he pleased. Give up and drown prettily. Become as empty and hollow as the pit she was trapped in, and the hurt would stop. Feelings and pain and everything. Make it stop.

“And I promise, I won’t ever stop loving you.”

[wildsaltair]

Nightmare

Pairing: Maximus Decimus Meridius x reader

Rating: T (hurt/comfort, angst, fluff)

Word Count: 2.3k

Tag List: @enjisbf, @nasatshirts, @empressenchanted

Author’s Note: Up until now I've never posted any Maximus fanfiction because it's always just sort of been something I did for my own enjoyment, but this is one that I don't mind sharing :) @streets-in-paradise inspired me by sharing some Maximus love with me, so this is dedicated to her (and all you other wonderful people who have made Tumblr a place where I can share my passion for this wonderful man)! There's a lot of love poured into this fic, so I hope y'all enjoy it :)

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ 

You are not surprised to learn that Maximus has nightmares. The details of his past are something you can only guess at, though he has alluded to the terrible battles and bloody escapades that haunt his memories. You also know that his refuge in your home is the first peace he has known since he was a child.

But you are not prepared for the sheer forcefulness of his first nightmare. He’s asleep next to you in bed, pale blue moonlight filtering through the window of your room, but you are awakened by his movements in the middle of the night. He’s jerking back and forth, his face twisted in a look of concentration, agony, and terror. You can’t help the fear that rises in your throat at the sight.

He makes a quiet sound in the back of his throat, one hand gripping the sheets tightly enough that his knuckles turn white. Blinking yourself into consciousness, your heart tightens at the sight. Even all these miles and months away from battle, still his past pursues him in dreams.

His next convulsion shakes the bed, and you instinctively reach out to him, hoping to wake him from the nightmare. It proves to be a mistake the second your hand presses onto his shoulder to shake him awake.

His eyes fly open at your touch, but it’s abundantly obvious that he is not awake, still seeing visions of whatever memory he was in a few moments ago. The look in his eyes is one of pure survival instinct, of a desperation that breaks your heart.

A split second later, you’re flat on your back, and the full weight of his body is pinning you down against the bed. You barely have time to register the shock of his swift movement before you realize that you did not wake him up. Blinded by memory, all he can see is his opponent, and the thought drives you to panic and try to wriggle out from under him.

Grinding his teeth, he grips both your wrists in his left hand and restrains them above your head effortlessly, despite your struggling. You call out his name softly, then more loudly, but still he is lost in the nightmare.

You thought you had tasted his strength before, when he’s made love to you and demonstrated how easily he can hold you in whatever position he chooses, but this situation gives you an entirely new perspective of his strength. A second after flipping you over, his right hand is around your throat, his thumb pressing into your jugular with enough force to crush it.

You’ve never been afraid of him once, but in this moment, without a single hint of recognition in his eyes and all his power focused on choking you, you are so terrified you can barely react. You can’t even use your hands to try to push him away.

Knowing that you may only have a few seconds to react, you gasp out his name as loudly as you can, the word immediately drowned out by the pressure on your throat. Your vision is fading to black a moment later, all the feeling in your hands gone from his vise-like grip.

But your strangled cry reaches past the fog of his nightmare somehow. The pressure on your throat releases, and his eyes widen suddenly, letting you know that he’s finally awake and realizing what he has been doing.

You can never forget the look in his eyes at that moment. All the terrifying forcefulness, the single-minded fierceness, the brute strength that made him such a force of nature on the battlefield — it all vanishes in a split second, dissolving into a gaze of such horror and regret that it shatters your heart instantly. You know that from this moment forward, he may never truly trust himself with you again, a thought that devastates you for him.

You can’t move for a moment, still struggling to catch your breath, and the look of horror in his eyes only increases as he pushes himself off you. He seems torn between the need to gather you in his arms and the fear of hurting you as he just did. His lips move, but no sound comes out.

You draw a ragged breath, reaching out one hand toward him desperately. “I’m all right,” is all you can manage. “I’m all right.”

You try to push yourself to a sitting position, but you find that you simply cannot, still so shaken from thinking you were about to be choked to death by the man you love, who you know would rather die than cause you any harm. His hands are trembling wildly when he reaches out to steady you.

“I didn’t know it was you,” he says, his own breathing so erratic that you wonder if he can feel your pain. “I couldn’t see you. I didn’t know it was you.”

He’s repeating himself in absolute shock, his eyes scanning every inch of your face, your neck, your arms to see what damage he’s done to you. His shaking only worsens, but he doesn’t lay a hand on you during his frantic checking over you for injuries, just lets them hover as if he’s afraid to touch you again.

You manage to sit up this time, steadying yourself with a calming breath and trying to give him a relaxed smile. “I know, I know,” you murmur, reaching out to brush your hand over his ruffled hair. He almost recoils at your touch.

“I could have killed you,” he whispers, involuntarily shifting himself to the edge of the bed away from you.

You keep running your hand lightly through his hair, determined to reassure him. “Of course not,” you promise. “You were only dreaming. It was just a dream.”

“It was just a dream,” he echoes, but not in agreement. “A dream of a battle in which I almost died. In which I killed so many men I could never count them.”

You don’t betray a single hint of fear, just scooting forward to close the distance between you. You use both hands now, framing the sides of his face as his eyes search your face desperately.

“I’m perfectly all right,” you assure him with a smile. “See? No harm done at all.”

“You don’t understand,” he insists vehemently, his voice breaking. “I could have killed you. I didn’t know it was you. I only saw my enemy and thought of killing him.”

Seeing how shaken he is, you push forward and clasp your arms around his neck to steady him. He still doesn’t touch you, doesn’t return your embrace. You can feel his whole body quaking in your arms.

“You don’t understand,” he repeats. “You don’t know what I’m capable of.”

“I don’t need to know,” you whisper in his ear, stroking his hair rhythmically in the way he always responds to.

He actually pushes you away this time, his hands gentle on your forearms as he puts space between you again. His eyes are blazing, his face as white as your sheets. “You don’t know,” he murmurs again, dropping his hands. “I could snap your neck with one twitch of my wrist. I could break your wrists, your ribs, your spine as easily as I can hold you down.” He holds his hands up in front of you, eyes wide and haunted. “You have no idea what these hands have done.”

“I don’t care what they’ve done,” you argue, seizing his hands with yours before he can pull them away. This time, though, he doesn’t make a move to pull away, freezing in place while he watches you carefully. Slowly, intentionally, you kiss the backs of both his hands, his knuckles, his fingers, to demonstrate your words. “I know you, and I love you, no matter what you’ve done.”

He shakes his head, though his eyes drift closed at the touch of your lips on the base of his palms. “No,” he half-whispers, “no, no.” Your heart tightens seeing him so tortured, knowing that all this anguish lurks beneath his stoic exterior every day, hiding so you can’t see it. “I should never have risked you like this.”

“You’ve never risked me,” you insist. “You’ve never done anything but protect me.”

“Until tonight,” he counters sharply, his eyes flashing open and fixing on yours with his typical intensity magnified. “It only takes one time. I should never have taken the risk.”

You can read the meaning behind his words — that he thinks he can’t trust himself to sleep next to you. The thought of giving him up, especially for this reason, is utterly unacceptable to you.

“I am not afraid of you,” you tell him firmly. Your words seem to affect him, because the tension in his shoulders lessens fractionally. You kiss his hands again and again, then rest your cheek against the roughened skin that you love so much.

“You should be,” he replies softly, the severity in his voice already decreasing. You can see the waves of exhaustion and sorrow washing over him, and you reach out your arms to enfold him again. This time, he accepts your embrace, folding his arms around your waist gently and resting his forehead in the crook of your neck. His skin is burning hot against yours, his arms still trembling.

“I could never be afraid of you,” you whisper. “I could never be afraid of the man who has protected me and cherished me. You have treated me so gently, so tenderly all these months. Never once has it crossed my mind to be frightened of your strength.” You press a kiss to his shoulder, then the side of his neck. “I take pride in having the heart of a man so strong, so capable. I know you would never hurt me.”

He shifts you in his arms, lifting you slightly to align more easily against his body. You can feel the deep, shuddering breath he draws while he thinks about your words. “I would never mean to hurt you,” he replies, “but in a dream, I cannot tell the difference between memory and reality.”

“I believe you would be able to keep yourself from truly hurting me,” you reassure him, threading your fingers into his hair at the base of his neck. He reacts to your touch with a hand sliding up your back to cradle you closer to his chest.

“And if I could not?” he whispers in response, his lips pressing against the sensitive skin of your neck. “If I should wake and find you dead by my hand?”

You shake your head, feeling tears spring to your eyes. Any fear you felt in the moment while he was holding you down is completely gone, lost in the tender embrace he holds you in now. “I do not believe the gods would allow such a thing to happen. Not to you. Not to us.”

He releases a shaky breath, one that glides across the exposed skin of your neck. He ducks his head to press a kiss to your collarbone, letting his lips linger there in a way that makes you shiver in his arms. “I am honored by your trust.”

You smile in response, dragging your fingertips lightly down his sides, over the deep scar that slices down his ribs. “I could never trust another man on earth as I do you,” you reply. “My only fear is that I may drown in the love I see in your eyes every day.”

He kisses your collarbone again in response, then moves upward slowly, pressing his lips to the soft hollow of your throat, then the underside of your jaw at your pulse point. Lifting you up effortlessly with his hands hooked under your arms, he repositions you so that you’re straddling him.

He then rests his fingertips, feather-light this time, against the sides of your neck. He strokes his fingers over each mark they left, then presses the softest of kisses against each one. Goosebumps break over your skin at the intimacy of his actions, of the wordless apology in every touch.

He lowers his forehead against yours, eyes closed as he breathes you in. “I do not know what blind fortune allowed me to find you,” he murmurs, touching his lips softly against the corner of your mouth, “but I thank them every moment for the gift of holding you like this.”

At your affectionate smile, he finally gives you the ghost of one in return, though his eyes are still haunted. You suspect that he will retain that haunted look for some time, no matter how many reassurances you offer.

As the intensity of the last while calms, he shifts you in his arms again, cradling you gently and laying you back against the pillows. He leans up on one arm, facing you, and you reach up a hand to stroke the side of his face. His expression softens again, giving you a look of utter fondness and devotion that makes your heart melt.

He leans forward slowly, as if asking your permission, and you gladly grant it. His lips touch yours with a gentle brush, then a bit more pressure. His tongue slides across yours in the way that always sends shivers up your spine, and one of his hands reaches up to stroke your hair, the other resting lightly on your waist. He kisses you once, twice, three times, each one more tender than the last, then lets his lips linger against yours for a moment more.

“I love you,” he says softly that you barely hear it, but rather feel it against your mouth.

“I love you,” you return, “more than I can say.”

One last kiss, and he finally lays down beside you, his face mere inches from yours and his arm folded across your waist. He takes his time in going back to sleep, choosing instead to gaze at your profile in the soft moonlight, but sleep finally takes him. And when you finally close your eyes, content to sleep peacefully beside him again, it’s to the sound of his even breathing and the warmth of his protective embrace.

[thefrogdalorian]

You Are Eternal

✯ Read on AO3 ✯ Word Count: 1423 Rating: Teen Summary: When devastating news that High Magistrate Karga has become one with the Force reaches Din in his cabin on Nevarro, he reflects on the complicated nature of their relationship. Din pays his own tribute to the man who witnessed firsthand his shift from bounty hunter to father. Content Warnings: Major character death. Grief, mourning... I wrote this to try and cope a little with the awful news and it's just.... really sad. Author's Note: I just had to get this out of me tonight. It was my way of coping I guess. I hope Greef lives on somehow in the show, I really do. But I think he was Din's first real friend and their arcs are so similar, it's so sad to think he won't be there anymore. Thank you for reading. RIP Carl, Mando will never be the same without you 💔

Din Djarin was, unfortunately, all-too accustomed to loss. The feeling of grief was not alien to him. Ever since that terrible day on Aq Vetina, when he had lost everything and everyone that he had ever loved, the fear of losing others seemed to loom large over his life, a constant uneasiness that had long clouded his interactions with others. That was, until he had been sent to Arvala-7 and encountered The Child, who he would eventually adopt as his own. It was a chain of events that would not have been possible were it not for the very man whose loss had struck him harder than any blow he had sustained in the profession that had once united them.

Despite how many times Din had undergone the mourning process throughout his life, he found that the news of one of his oldest acquaintances’ passing had hit him particularly hard. The rapping at the door, well after the sun had set on another bright and sunny Nevarrian day, took Din by surprise. But nothing could have prepared him for the message that had promptly been relayed to him. News that had been delivered by a copper-plated droid, of all things. 

When he opened the door to his cabin on Nevaro, the last thing Din expected to hear was news that the High Magistrate had become one with the Force.

In those first few horrible moments after hearing such devastating news, Din found that the sensation resembled a punch to the area just underneath the shiny beskar plate that protected most of his chest and abdomen. Although Din was an extremely skilled fighter, he had occasionally been delivered such agonising blows in that incredibly vulnerable place. Now, Din was reminded of such agony as he processed the news.

Din’s relationship to Greef Karga had undoubtedly been complicated and at times, volatile. A former adversary, to an acquaintance, to possibly something even more… like a friend. Din Djarin did not typically have friends. But as he sat there in his cabin, processing the news after dismissing the droid and removing his helmet, he began to wonder whether, perhaps, he had had one… without even truly realising it.

A friend that had passed to the afterlife, before Din had the opportunity to comprehend how much Greef had truly meant to him.

Of course, there had been Paz. But Din was bound to Paz by Creed, as a fellow Mandalorian. There were no inherent bonds such as that with Greef. Instead, the former leader of the Bounty Hunters’ Guild on Nevarro had become increasingly close to Din. Greef had gradually become a trustworthy presence in an often cruel and treacherous galaxy.

Perhaps it was the shared trauma of the siege in the cantina, when Din and Greef had barely escaped with their lives, which had been the catalyst for their increasing closeness. Until then, Din had wondered whether he could fully trust the older man. After that, though, there was no doubt. Greef Karga was, at the very least, an ally.

All Din knew with any degree of certainty was that as soon as the Razor Crest needed repairs, when Din and Frog Lady had barely escaped with their lives on the frozen planet of Maldo Kreis, it was the coordinates for Nevarro that he had punched in. After being rendered an apostate for removing his helmet and violating the Creed, it was once again Nevarro that Din had journeyed to in order to secure a droid for his expedition to the Mines of Mandalore. On that very visit, when Grogu had been in danger thanks to the rogue IG unit, Din had not hesitated to thrust his son into the arms of Greef Karga, knowing that he would protect the little boy.

Back then, Din could never have foreseen himself settling on Nevarro. He had been so consumed with his quest for redemption that he had promptly rejected Greef’s offer for a tract of land by the lava flats. Yet after retaking Mandalore and adopting Grogu, the land had suddenly become an extremely attractive proposal. The little parcel of land had become the perfect place for Clan Mudhorn to rest between jobs for the New Republic. Din was eternally grateful for Greef’s offer. 

It was true that Greef had done much for Din during the time that they had known each other, but it was equally true that when Nevarro had been under threat from the pirates headed by Gorian Shard, Din had not hesitated to raise a band of Mandalorians to follow him. There were few people in the galaxy that Din would have gone to such lengths for, but Greef Karga was undoubtedly one of them. 

Not to mention the repurposed IG unit that Greef had given to Din, for Grogu to operate, despite Din's reservations. Although it had initially annoyed Din (and the stall holders of Nevarro) as it had given Grogu a way to verbalise his insolence and feed his insatiable appetite, it had been an invaluable aid during the retaking of Mandalore. An aid that would not have been there were it not for Greef. Both Din and Greef owed an enormous debt to each other.

The realisation of what a key figure Greef had been in Din Djarin’s recent history almost sent him tumbling to his knees. That Greef was the man who had perhaps witnessed more closely than any other the shift in Din from a lonely, selfish, bounty hunter with a strict adherence to the Creed, to a man who would do anything to ensure the safety of The Child, even if it meant violating the Way. That Greef was gone.

For a second, Din wanted to run from the cabin, screaming and sobbing, pleading that this could not possibly be true. That Greef would never realise how much he truly meant to Din. But he quickly came to his senses and soon sought solace elsewhere.

Din crept down the hall towards his son’s room, ensuring that in spite of his emotional state, he was as quiet as possible so Grogu was not awakened. He just wanted to be close to him, to feel his presence nearby, a comforting closeness to the special little boy who had changed everything for him. Din was relieved that Grogu was sleeping soundly, his shallow, even breaths continued even as his distraught father stood in the doorway. 

Din feared how much the news would devastate the little boy who was currently sleeping soundly in his crib. Despite how much Din ached to hold him close as comfort for himself, he didn’t have the heart to wake Grogu. Although Din supposed, given the way that Grogu seemed to understand the galaxy around him, that perhaps somehow his son had already sensed the enormous loss of such a monumental presence. A loss that would surely leave a void incapable of being filled in all of their lives. Every sunset on Nevarro, a sight that had once left Din awestruck with its beauty and the vibrance of its colours, would surely seem a little darker from now on.

Din turned his back and left Grogu's room then, fearing that if he stood there for much longer, the tears that had begun to silently creep down his cheeks would develop into a more audible indication of his grief that would wake Grogu. Plus, Din had remembered a certain cupboard in the kitchen, the contents of which would provide a fitting tribute to the High Magistrate.

He had hoped that one day, he might invite Greef to the cabin for the advised smaller gathering to share this luxurious libation with him. Perhaps even face-to-face, without his helmet, such was the increasing number of ways that Din had discovered there were to walk; ways to be Mandalorian.

That would never happen now, Din realised with a pang of sadness as he stepped out onto the porch and into the moonless Nevarrian night. He placed two glasses onto the table by the bench and slowly poured the amber liquid. 

Then Din sat back on the bench, and raised a glass of the Coruscant wine to the stars, in a toast to his old friend. He spoke the sacred words of the ancient language of their people, a daily remembrance that he would now carry out for the man who, despite everything, had become his friend.  

“Ni su'cuyi, gar kyr'adyc, ni partayli, gar darasuum. Greef Karga.”

(I’m still alive, but you are dead. I remember you, so you are eternal.)

[antipathy-arsonist]

On my knees can you make a MadCom lore summary

Trying to get a friend into MadCom but the more I try to explain It the more confusing It gets 😔

ok uh sorry this is really late i got distracted

so uh here's a sorta explanation i wrote a bit ago but ill try break it down into points

maker and machine come into existence somehow

maker creates employers to help run nevada

maker creates the gen 1 grunts

phobos rises to power and is given the nexus charter, which he seems to not really care about

project gestalt begins development

jeb and hof kill phobos. his s3lf seems to fuse with dormant gestalt maybe?

sheriff is left in charge of the industrial sector

hanks park incident

sheriff activates the drive and turns everything CRAZAY

the agency changes directive to go after hank somewhere around here [also clown yay]

hank terrible rotten beheading moment and demon clown

jeb destroys a drive and dies

hanks awful no good time in hell + revival [mag edition] and deimos death waa

audi absorbs tricky and explodes reality seems to be getting even more fucked up

hank and san adventure in audis pocket dimension

their bodies are seeming brought back but s3lfs are still in audi hell?

hanks missing and infected with dissonance [GUESS WHO PREDICTED THAT? THAT'S RIGHT ME.]

san is revived without actually dying reality is writhing in agony

audi is getting in trouble for meddling

mpn happens sometime after i think?

awaa a lot is guesswork especially related to 12 for now until i get more solid theories but yeah thats my take on it

[epickiya722]

Your recent posts about Gojo... It's literally why I interact less and less in fandom. People see hot characters and project stereotypes on them without a care of what they are

It can sound petty especially with how it doesn't matter in the long run but it's like seeing people saying that in a no curse au Sukuna would be a playboy... Like yeah it's an au, he will be a bit different (like not being a mass murderer cannibal) but that is just... Seem so ooc to me, even in an au.

But well yeah. They just change them into male lead of romance novels. They don't matter in another context to them which is why you'll see me blow up about how vain it all feel like

Another example is how interesting Jogo is but nobody care about him because they don't want to fuck him. Like his last fight with Sukuna? The fact that he's the first person Sukuna ever praised for being strong in the story? A "stand proud. You are strong." Like? When I game to this moment I was zo shocked because it's not expected on Sukuna at all. And how Jogo mourned the death of Hanami and Dagon too?!

Yeah you know I just know now that outside of fanworks it's better to just ignore fellow fans because they have nothing to say beside how hot a character is

It really does suck that when it comes to liking a character some people just stop at their appearance and that's it. Nothing else intrigues them and they go as far as to misinterpret them -> leading into misinterpreting the story and having terrible ass cold takes that just feels like they need something to say to make them sound "logical".

And it's people like that who are the loudest. So when others want to engage in the story and they check out meta posts and reviews for it, they'll see that trash first and run with it.

When JJK first came out, I did see it was quite popular but at most I saw fanart for it and kind of just ignored everything else. I went ahead with watching the anime and then went to see what people were saying and honestly? What the hell?

Gojo is a character that has a bad case of "likeable character, unlikeable fans".

I truly do believe that some of his fans only take to him for being attractive and powerful. When it comes to his story? "Eh, what's that?"

Look, I'm all for finding characters attractive. I, myself, find some characters attractive. But I don't see the thrill of stopping there when that character also has a whole story you can explore.

I know Gojo fans are mad, but... his pretty ass is in a story that is meant to be written tragically. People will say "he should be the MC, that's my MC". Well, guess what? He's part of the main cast, so his ass is getting that full experience.

I like Gojo a lot, too, I do. But watching the first season, something deep in my soul told me "oh, he's a sad one", so I guess a part of me was already prepared for something like 236.

This is going to sound harsh, but when he said "I would win" way back in the beginning? I clocked in that he, in fact, wouldn't. That fight against Sukuna was going to be a lost battle. Oh, I believed in Gojo and I wanted him to win. But whenever a nearly, seemingly invincible character say they are going to win... most likely they're going to lose.

And again, it's JJK. There's going to be loses and agony. It also doesn't matter sense for Gojo to win when YUJI STILL EXISTS!!! Like, sometimes, I feel like some of the fandom just wants Gojo to take the frontlines just so Yuji can't do anything.

I didn't expect for him to die, no. Still hurts. But... come on... the manga wasn't ending that soon.

The fanon interpretations I see of him (Gojo) is just... if you asked me to pick one I hate the most it is the "Gojo is a womanizer/playboy" interpretation. Same case for Sukuna, I do not see it. Especially, when in canon this guy just does not care for all of that. But it's fanon stuff and since I don't like it, I just steer clear of it.

And good point about Jogo. I'll be honest, I find that the Disaster Curses were interesting antagonists of the beginning of JJK. They were the first real threats for our cast. They were challenges.

They were curses made from humanity's fear of disasters and other humans. And yet, even with being curses, they showed "human" qualities. They were able to talk, a rare case for curse spirits, and feel other emotions. Mahito often displayed joy, example. Dagon and Jogo displayed sadness. They were a group that did hold some care for each other.

And yeah, I would say because of their physical appearances they're often ignored. (Unimportant, but I actually loved Hanami's design, that's my favorite design right there.)

[its-warm-in-here]

Teeth 2

Well, here we go again! this is still gross, but some people seem to enjoy it so I kept going! If you like it or have any feedback, I'd love to hear it!

Link to Part 1: https://www.tumblr.com/its-warm-in-here/741702465482883072/teeth?source=share

Alastor x !DeerDemon! Reader

Warnings: imbalance of power, cannibalism, i guess this falls into vore??

A nervous voice rings like a bell, jerking you back to consciousness. “Where’d you say they were?”

The light above you is bright and blinding on one side. In the other eye, not so much. Every nerve blazes in agony. Your neck is bent at a bad angle, but you give your remaining good leg a kick. Pain. Acute and grinding rips through. Breathing is sharp and your ears ring. Still, you try to focus. Above, uncertain strangers bicker. “Just outside the fence. Its bizarre. There's not many cars around here and it's not like they could have dragged themselves halfway across the Pentagram in that state.” 

“Are you saying someone put them there?”

“Not tryin’ to be discouraging or nothin’, but they look a little ehhh...Roadkill-eysh.”

Hell, you certainly felt like it. 

“The innards are spilling!” another squeaks and giggles, then something pointy jabs into your gut.   

“Not helping, Niffty,” a lower female voice scolded and shooed away the tiny, stabbing demon off. “Still. They’re looking better off than most hell carrion I’ve seen. At least they could get themselves to us before any cannibals came sniffing.” 

You cough and the vision finally comes swimming back to your other eye. Demons of all sorts hover above, the blond one desperately tries to tend to the worst of your wounds but seems to be panicking more than anything while her partner tries to intervene. The air in your chest rattles with each breath as your ribs pop and crack back into place. You try to say something but the only sound you get is a sort of half weeze. Probably have a collapsed lung or something. Fuck that truck driver. Double damn him!  Regeneration never feels good, but at least it didn't take too terribly long, like some sinners you knew. Even if it was agonizing. Give it a day or so and you’d be right as rain, with or without the help of this Hotel Staff. 

That being said, you hoped they knew what they were doing. Healing a broken bone took some time and if they made it worse, that’d just slow you down even more. And you can’t have that. While the strangers fret above, your head lolled to the side. There, in the doorway another figure lingers. It's just a silhouette, you can tell they're tall, but the thing that catches your eye is that impossibly wide, yellow grin. That stands out against the shadows like its glowing. It's so familiar. And unsettling.

Several hands take hold of your limp shoulder and someone starts counting, “On three, okay? One. two. Three!” tears prick your good eye and you can’t stop the scream that rips from your chest but it quickly dies to a whimper. It's painful, debatably than before, but you can  feel your fingers again. Your eyes flutter as you teater on the edge of consciousness. Head falling to the side once more, you let the hotel staff continue tending to the big gash over your hip. 

You can’t hear it over the bickering of your saviors, but the figure in the hall’s mouth opens in what you can only assume is a chuckle by the way their chest flutters. If anything this face looked, for lack of a better word, pleased. With one final leer, that smile swept out of view. Something in you churns. 

“Charlie, I’m gonna need you to keep their leg still,” the only voice with any reason orders. Her partner hops-to in response and two little hands grip the injured leg. “Okay, um, sorry I don't know your name, but this is gonna hurt.” 

It does. Then everything goes black again. 

-----

It happens again when you’re cleaning up after dinner. 

Creole food is great and all, but it uses everything in the kitchen, and it sticks bad on the pan. Niffty was busy with clearing the table and getting the exorbitant amount of dishes loaded into the wash. Besides, with her little arms, she’d end up head first in the big pot. So it fell to you to scrub the oversized dutch oven tonight. You’ve been working on this for a good ten minutes but the remaining fond caked onto the base was just was not giving up. Somehow, you’ve managed to slosh soapy water all up your sleeves and onto the front of your shirt. Cursing under your breath, you apply your best elbow grease to the base of the pot. 

There's the briefest touch at the top of your tail then a quick yank on the hair. You yelp, whirling around. “What the actual fuck-” 

“You know, if you leave it soak, that will be much easier to handle,” the radio demon muses. His gaze is fixed on the bit of hair he’d plucked, rolling it back and forth between his fingers. “And I'd avoid that steel wool. Can't have you ruining my best pot.” 

Scowling, you dry your hands on a soaked apron then put them on your hips. “Well, maybe if the chef took some responsibility to clean up his dishes, I wouldn’t be putting his cookware in danger.” 

The corners of his mouth quirk up and he tucks the tuft of fur into his breast pocket. “I’ve been wondering if you were still interested in continuing our arrangement.” 

Your throat goes dry and hair goes on end. That's a bit to the point. Its not like your last interaction had been dominating your mind or anything. And its not like you’d had some rather... vivid nightmares on the subject. Nothing at all like that. It stirs a mixture of emotions, pained but intrigued. If Alastor is asking after another ‘nibble,’ then he’s been thinking about this too. And that might entail another favor. “I’d be lying if it hadn’t crossed my mind.”

“Excellent. I must say after a meal like that, I'm in the mood for a little... entremet.” 

That makes your head spin. This cant be like last time. Not with so many rules that hadn't been set, too many boundaries that could be tested. Not with him so smug. “Oh, o-of course.” He’d been respectful thus far, but that didn't mean he wouldn’t pull something nasty in the second encounter. “But I need some ground rules, Alastor,” you step back, bumping against the counter and he closes in. Cornered again. Your ears drop and he can't look more pleased. Heart hammering, you put on your best smile. “You get your palette cleanser but I pick where you bite. And you stop when I say.”

He hums and straightens himself to his full, towering height. “Sounds like a deal.” Green swirls around his extended hand and dread fills your belly. 

Quickly, you snap your hand up, pinky held aloft between you. “N-no deals. This is a promise. Alright?” 

Alastor’s eyes narrow as he contemplates your offer. This is a bad idea, right? Before you can consider the consequences, his pinky locks with yours. “Promise.” There's a rush of energy and a small burst of green. He lets go, rolling his shoulders as he tucks his hands into the small of his back, and leaving you dumb founded, staring at your empty hand. “Give that pot another scrub then meet me upstairs.” 

---

There's no answer when you knock. Briefly you think to wait in the hall, but the voices of Husk and Angel echo up the nearby stairwell. So you duck in, surprised to find the door unlocked. Once more, you are greeted by the outside air contrasted by the roaring warmth of the hearth. You linger near the door, as you haven’t been officially invited in. 

Swallowing, you stare up at the mounted antlers and taxidermied bones. In another afterlife, that could have been you. Peeled apart as some trophy for a cannibalistic freak. Thank whatever power that dedicated hell for making you more durable than his normal prey. Still, it did warp your relationship with the Radio Demon. He probably would never have even looked your way were it not for the strange coincidence that you were also a deer. But didn't that make you feel just a little special? Like you had something in common with one of the most powerful being this side of Pentagram City? And maybe you could utilize some of that power if you stay in his good graces...

Even if he only wanted you for meat. 

You shake your head and rip your gaze from the dead animals and to further into the room. For a moment, you consider taking the seat from last time or putting on some jazz, but there’s a gust of wind from the forest that makes you turn. Pentagram City might be a bustling, chaotic, absolutely insane metropolis, but it was hardly known for its great outdoors. 

Air moves through the trees, whistling a bit as it blows past the opening to Alastor’s room. Just beyond, there's a small table with a single chair and past that, the forest expands to a blue-green bayou. It's enticing. The grass sinks into the marshy ground beneath your hooves as you step into the impossible bit of nature contained in the Hotel. Cautiously, you step over to that little table and rest your palm against the tree. It certainly feels like a real cypress tree, the bark is rough and the tight pine needles are prickly in your hand. Above your head, lights like fireflies dance and illuminate the underside of the tree and the wet smell of moss fills your nose. You take a deep breath. Beyond the tree, the bayou stretches out with more cypress and cat tails. Much of the soft ground gives way to murky blue water, but you can see where a path would lead through the trees. In the distance some animal is shifting through the underbrush. This was much more pleasant than the foyer. Maybe you could convince Alastor about adding one of these to your room. 

That is, if he offered another favor for a favor. No need to push too fast. Push too hard. Besides, you had more pressing matters than asking after a backyard. 

“Well, you certainly know how to make yourself at home.” 

You jump nearly a foot in the air and whirl around. At the one seat, Alastor sips an after dinner espresso, eyes closed and legs crossed like he’d been there the whole time. Hell, maybe he had been here. Quickly, your smile returns along with a bout of anxiety. “It is lovely here. Can you blame me for getting swept up in the view?” Alastor opens his eyes just a bit to look you up and down. Then he rises, coming to your side. His hand rests on your shoulder and he turns you to face the cat tails. “Did you make it? Or is this some doorway to another place?” 

“A bit of both,” he says cryptically as you admire the slow moving current. “Have you thought about what treat you're giving me today, my deer?” His hand slides from your shoulder to the base of your neck, nails pricking at the nape. 

You scoff, and snap to face him out of his grasp. Alastor’s gaze that had been fixed on the back of your head locks onto your eyes instead. “Are you always this straight forward with your food or am I just lucky? Besides, there was no time limit on our little promise. Maybe I'd rather wait for tomorrow instead. Or even next week.” 

A staticky chuckle rattles from his chest and his hand comes to trace the line of your jaw instead. Your heart skips a beat. “Oh, I highly doubt that. Not when you’re so eager to please.”  He gives your cheek a sharp pinch. 

“Of course,” you fire back and lace your fingers behind your back. “I like pleasing everyone.” You strut past him, ears straight forward and tail aloft then take a seat on the little metal table. Confidently, you cross your legs at the ankle and lower your gaze at him. This can’t be too easy, or Alastor would lose interest in the game. “You’re not so special Mr. Radio Demon.” 

His head tilts and static blares in a sort of question. “A bit bold of you deer. Putting on a show for me, hmm?” 

You bite your lip and taste iron. “Please, who would ever need to put on a show for you?” Alastor’s face tightens, trying to discern your lie or maybe he’s just insulted. Either way, even if you’re new to this performance thing, it was having some sort of effect on the demon. “So, I was thinking-” you point to your arm- “here-” you point to your thigh- “Or here.” 

Alastor’s eyes light up. “Oh-ho, multiple choice!” He gives your arm a pat. “Let's start here.” Suddenly, something strong wraps around your waist and you're lurched from the table to a chair that appears from thin air. The momentum almost makes it topple to the marsh. You lurch forward, grabbing the table and landing hard on the glass. Before you can right yourself, that strange force grips around your wrist, trapping it against the table.  

Then the jazz kicks on. 

And there's a knife. 

It's a quick flick of the silver blade and a ribbon of flesh is sliced away from your inner arm. “Ah-!” the scream dies in your throat as he pops the bit of you into his mouth. Can't interrupt his morsel, where were your manners? With teeth grit and fist balled you bite out, “-ah, little warning next time?” Alastor side eyes you, appreciating the bite with hums of enjoyment instead of an answer. The cut is painful, but clean. As if he'd sliced a filet off your forearm. You take in a sharp breath. There isn't much blood and the wound is quick to start patching up, but it's definitely deeper than the last time. Around your wrist, a shadow keeps your arm locked in place. It feels like it might give if you pulled hard enough but you keep your arm still the best you can. 

“Tasty,” he remarks and your stomach flutters as he lines the blade up for another go. There's more warning but not enough and you bite down on the inside of your cheek. He pauses a moment watching you wince, smirking at your reaction. This time, he slices your flesh into a few pieces using a knife and fork. Taking his time. 

Savoring this.  

With each bite, you stare intently, a tight lipped smile fixed in place. Each bit of you slipping down Alastor's throat made your abdomen tighten with something between nausea and excitation. While this was different from the last time, like an after dinner snack instead of a quick exchange, you can't help but feel a twinge of resentment. Last time had been close. Intimate. You want to feel his teeth again. 

“It's rude to stare, deer,” red eyes meet your own before turning down and taking another cut, this time off your bicep.  

Intimidated, your gaze snaps to the blade, watching his knife cut a good inch into your arm then glide down along the bone. He must notice your struggling to keep still, as another black tentacle loops around the hollow of your elbow. This is the most he's taken. Red. Dripping. It hurts, more than the others but you can't tear away as Alastor flays the skin from his prize. Had you not known better, the muscle of your arm might have been appetizing. Like a cut of flank steak in need of a good seer. 

And Al finishes it in one bite.

“Enough,” it sounds more confident than you feel. His fingers click and the hold of your arm lets up. You scramble back, running your fingers up and down the new skin. It smooths and prickles at your touch. Luckily you’re not prone to scarring. “That was a bit much for a palette cleanser, don't you think?” you snap. Chills still run up your arm and where he cut tingles like a limb that had fallen asleep.

He dabs his mouth on a handkerchief embroidered with a big ‘A.’ It comes back with a blot of red. “And you handled it surprisingly well,” Alastor muses with a note of pride. “Not many are quite so calm under my knife.” 

“Yeah, and not many patch quite this quick,” you fire back, goosebumps dot the flesh, the new nerves flaring in the cool air, but you drop your arms to your sides and approach the little table once more. Anyone else would be bleeding all over his nice grass. “Does our agreement still stand? Favor for a favor?” 

“Questioning my integrity as an overlord?” he jabs with a hint of sarcasm, and takes a long, loud sip from his expresso, making you wait as he finishes the drink. “You are a bit of a spit fire today. What is it you’re after, my deerest?” Your tongue suddenly feels thick and dry in your mouth. It had been so perfect in your brain, just ask him to fix your problem. A simple intimidation from the Radio Demon and you’d be off the hook and out from under that Shylock’s thumb. Then these freaky visits would be over. Huh. Or even ask about having a portal to this realm in your own room. Heaven knows how much you missed the fresh air. Just say something. Alastor regards you with glee as your brain desperately tries to concoct exactly how to answer him. “Now, now, don’t think about it too hard on it, you’ll have steam coming off your ears any moment.” 

You blink twice at his smug grin, when the request hits you. Just the thing to make the sinner squirm and keep him guessing without giving away too much of yourself. Just the thing to stay in the game. “No, I know what I want.” 

“Hmmm?” He thinks he’s winning. 

“Flesh,” the words feel repellent on your tongue, but you smirk through it, “I want to try it. Yours, to be specific.” 

The music stops with an abrupt scratch of the record.

[linda-ravstar]

Torn apart, made anew (ELDEN RING DLC SPOILERS, a new conversation between Trina and Miquella on the Lands of Shadow)

“What are you going to abandon here now, Miquella? What do you have left?”

Trina's voice was getting fainter, but urgency and fear were evident in the sweet tones of her words. Miquella gasped as he reached the edge of the cliff. The cave was hidden, distant enough that no one would dare to search inside. Enchanting the creatures that inhabited the place was no problem for him, but for anyone else, it would be a significant risk. This had to be the place. Besides, it was a cozy place, dark as she liked it. Secret.

He had lost a lot of blood. He knew it wasn't really blood from his body because his body remained tainted, broken, and desecrated in Mohg's Palace. Remembering the Red Knights' blades made him shudder for a second, but he dismissed those thoughts. There were no more doubts in his mind. There were no more hesitations. He had torn them from himself. It had been so painful… and so liberating to tear apart those thoughts from his mind. Filled only with conviction and hope. Now he only moved forward. Moved forward without looking back because only the certainty that he must continue remained.

The lost blood still hurt. Every piece of flesh torn away, even if it wasn't entirely his flesh, was torture. He had only one of his eyes left, which had wept tears of blood for his torn brother. The energy was slowly leaving him, but that was good. It meant he was close.

“There's still much to lose”, said the boy, kneeling on the stone. “There's much of me that remains. That must disappear”.

“Your agony will corrode this land, Miquella… There's still time to turn back. What you've lost can be recovered. There's still time to obtain forgiveness”.

“Here… you will remain”.

Trina fell silent and for a second seemed uneasy. She looked around at the silent cave, surrounded by water and small flowers. Then she looked at her other half. Miquella had chosen a fine place to tear her from his soul. A place where she could dwell, mutilated… but safe. A final mercy from the gentle boy.

“Will you leave me here?”, she repeated, without a hint of reproach in her voice. “Will you continue alone?”

“Yes… There's no point in delaying it any longer”. Miquella couldn't look her in the face. His eyes remained on his lap, still kneeling as the light of his power began to manifest a new cross, a new sacrifice, a new death. “There can't be anything left of me when I reach the Gates. And if I arrive with you there, I know you'll try to stop me. I can't allow it”.

“Are you afraid I would succeed in convincing you? That just before falling to your knees at the gates of heaven, you would turn back and come back with me… to our home?”

“No”, said the boy, but his lie was clear as the water surrounding them. “I just don't want… to take you with me anymore”.

Trina smiled. How easy it was to read Miquella. How easy it was for her to guess the paths to his heart. Maybe it was because it was also hers. Because his soul was also hers, even though they were distinct beings. Many times Miquella had called his twin sister his other half, the half of his soul, but Trina knew that place belonged to her. And Miquella, as always, looked and felt just as he always had: a scared boy, a trembling creature that could never rise as a god. It was terribly cruel for him even to try.

“You will walk to the gates that received Marika and surrender yourself, wounded and mutilated, to its embrace. It is not Miquella who will reach the Gates; he will have disappeared before. Only a shadow that longs to be a god will arrive, without remembering why. And that shadow, just a spirit with power, will wait, caged, until our brother returns. Who may never return”.

“You know my plan”, said the young man, warily. “This is the path I have chosen. Radahn will return, as he promised. As he promised me. There will be others who will help… others who will follow the path. They won't be able to resist. They will pave the way and carry out the final orders. When the time comes, my Great Rune will also disappear, and with it all my power. And then… I will await my return. As a god. And that will be all”.

“What if you never return?”, Miquella looked up but immediately turned away. There were no doubts in his heart. He no longer had a heart or doubts. There were only certainties, so what Trina said were only illusions. If there were doubts, they were only Trina's; he could no longer have them. He had torn them out. Why, then, were his hands trembling?

“I will return. When that happens…”. Miquella closed his eyes, and Trina saw how the fantasy and desperate dream that gripped him, yellow, golden, impossible, coursed through what was left of his body, like a balm for his wounds. “When that happens at last… everyone will be able to find rest”.

Trina said nothing more. There was no point in continuing to talk to the young demigod.

“Alright. Go ahead. This is our goodbye then. I mourned you a long time ago, Miquella”.

“I won't leave you alone”, said the boy, and Trina tilted her head, unsure of what he was talking about. “My other half stays here. The Saint who first found rest for Malenia when as a young boy, I spent my nights in her room crying out for her fate… who calmed our hearts at night… who sought peace and serenity among frantic souls… who gave me comfort and banished the neverending nightmares… She will sleep in these waters forever”.

The ritual seemed the same as always. Miquella didn't look agonized like the other times. Maybe their separation had occurred earlier, and that's why it didn't hurt entirely. It was just a profound loneliness, perhaps deeper than what the boy had felt all his life. An intense certainty that there was nothing and no one by his side, and that it would be so until the end.

Miquella closed his eyes, and the cross began to shine, emerging golden from the ground. Miquella placed his hands on his chest, still kneeling, and Trina was frightened when he lowered his head and began to sob. What was Miquella sacrificing now that caused him so much pain?

“I abandon here my love…”, the boy whispered, and the cross formed beautifully and slenderly in the darkness. Something bright and white began to emerge, with difficulty, from the boy's chest. Trina wanted to scream and remove the hands from her other half, but it was in vain. “I leave here all the love I feel, that I have felt, and that I will feel… along with the only one who can receive it now because it is also a part of me”.

Trina, this time, fell to her knees, and purple tears welled up in her eyes.

“Miquella… You can't do this”. Trina had tried to beg him once. She knew it would be just as useless. “You can't abandon your love… Do you know what that means? You're abandoning… everyone. You are abandoning yourself. You are destroying what we are”.

The white light finished emerging from Miquella's chest and attached itself to the golden cross. Miquella sobbed like a child, with his head on the ground.

Radagon's hand on his head, smiling, proud as he watched the golden rings dance in the courtyard.

Marika's serene voice by the fireplace, weaving the threads of the world while caressing his hair, golden like hers.

The eyes of countless friends, servants, and comrades, who bowed their heads and shared their lives among the golden gardens.

The silent alleys of the depths, the travelers who offered their food and knowledge to a boy who asked hundreds of questions.

Loretta's firm hand in his fragile one, the gratitude of her people, and the pride of her spells.

The soft words of the Lord of Blood, unaware of his betrayal, eager to bring love and peace to the displaced. The bright heart of his knights and followers, their rebellion and sin.

Ranni's letters, offering unnamed knowledge, sharing the stars and the moon in each of her words.

Godwyn's voice and bright lights, rising in the air with dragon wings. And his fall… his empty, motionless eyes, the sticky certainty of horror.

Radahn's strident laughter, his soft and honest promise, dressed in red and gold, the clash of swords with a timid redhead empyrean, the gift of a stubborn horse.

The slender silhouettes of knights and sworn ones, who knelt before both twins but also laughed in their presence and offered him tea when night fell.

The grateful tears of those tortured by madness, freed from the frenzy that gripped their flesh and mind.

The strong and somber faces of the burned people, seeking dignity and freedom, seeking to live outside the embers.

His only child, a tree of pale golden, growing and growing until he couldn’t anymore. Drinking his blood like an eager child, grateful for his life. Embracing everyone, being a haven and a paradise to those who needed it. Caressing his souls with a promise of a new world, a broken one that could never be fulfilled.

The grass under his feet.

The light in the dim and cozy night.

The fresh water, the scent of flowers.

The world around him, his world, his people.

His sister's golden eyes. Malenia's sword rising in a red field. Her laughter in the rooms of Leyndell, her solemn company in the snowy fields, kneeling beside him, planting hope. Her impossibly tender embrace. Her tears at night, terrified of a voracious and endless force. Her dance when no one else was there to watch. And a promise.

“I will return…”

Miquella let out a cry of pain, Trina rushed to him and hugged him, unable to contain herself. But as soon as her small arms surrounded the boy, the white that had been torn from his chest vanished, leaving only trails of bright blood. Miquella's eyes, filled with tears and shining with pain and agony, went dark for a moment. The torture ceased, and the young man sighed, empty of almost everything… of everything that now remained there, in that cross, abandoned.

The pain still coursed through his body. Love was his weapon, after all. Who could really refuse to love him? It was something so easy to obtain… Only a few felt it truly for him, after all, if that. Why did it hurt him so much then, if it was something he could find in abundance, real or not?

“Because the love you felt for this world, for its people, for your family… was real”, said Trina; her face was stained with soft tears, but she smiled at him, despite everything. “Even if you use it as a weapon against your enemies and as a shield to protect yourself from the horror of the world, the truth is that your heart was full of love, and its companions, guilt and despair. And now you tore apart the most tender and genuine part of your soul. You rip apart yourself…”

“Do you think me selfish, Trina?”, said Miquella, tired, with barely any energy in his voice. “For leaving you here, with… this that will no longer torment me?”.

“I think a part of you wanted to rid yourself of that burden… but you're wrong. It will follow you just the same. Until there's nothing left of you. Of us. Your sins and your love will follow you, even if you can no longer feel it, even if you can no longer remember it. I'll ask you one last time, Miquella. Stop… look at yourself. You can barely walk without trembling like a newborn… Can you still feel fear? Fear of failing? Fear of achieving your goal? Fear of what you will become?”

“I will also abandon that fear”, he said, without answering Trina's question. “Not now… It's enough for now. But it will also be left behind. Everything will be left behind. I will keep moving forward…”. Miquella sighed, weightless and lower his head. “What was the purpose of my love, Trina, if I couldn't save anything with it? What was the point of crying for this world if I couldn't rid it of its corruption? What was the point of carrying the sin if I couldn't absolve it?”

Trina trembled. Miquella's words, now free from that stream of urgency, guilt, and frenzy that previously preceded them, seemed like mere loose reflections, like raindrops dancing on the grass. But Trina knew the truth. They were still Miquella's fears, engraved in his soul, the source of all his pain. A pain that would destroy the world.

 “Miquella… I swear I will find a way to stop you”. Trina's voice had taken on a desperate tone, sweet and toxic like poison. Miquella felt extremely light, as if filled with air and spirit, and languid like a breeze. He felt nothing at Trina's words. “If you insist on this path of chains… I will find a way to kill you”.

Miquella laughed softly and closed his eyes, as if feeling a gust that didn't exist in that dark cave.

“You would die too, dear Trina”.

“We died a long time ago, Miquella. When the golden needle pierced Malenia's skin and her flesh remained corrupted by rot, even though it had been stopped for the moment. When the bloodthirsty tree grew just enough for us to harbor hope. When Godwyn became a specter, and no prayer granted him rest. When we talked by an oil lamp… We have been dead this whole time, Miquella… Now you're just punishing yourself. I will give you the rest you seek”.

“No… I'm saving us. I'm saving them all. Have faith, dear Trina”. Miquella's voice sounded more placid and frail than ever. As if he wasn't there. “We will see each other again…at my hour of victory”

Miquella stood up, with a dull but still golden gaze. He smiled with an expression that barely existed, that was barely there. Trina saw the boy she had grown up with, saw how he slowly moved away from her. He had only one arm left and one of his eyes. He walked empty and fearful across the wet stones. But surely, he could no longer remember the despair that brought him to this land, the failures that led him to Marika's pilgrimage, the unforgivable sins he had committed just to be there and the ones he would continue to commit.

The saint could see him with her eyes closed, walking and walking, leaving blood, memories, soul and personhood on these burned lands. Walking and walking to the gates of heaven. Alone. What would come out of those gates? It couldn't be Miquella. That Miquella was disappearing with each step. What would emerge from the golden gates after this path? A being of bright light and brilliant power that would subdue everyone in a gentle embrace, that would prevent conflicts and steal the hearts of men to make them docile and kind?

“If someone can hear me”, whispered Trina, feeling herself fall asleep with each step Miquella took, moving away from her. “Come… Drink the sweet nectar of rest, and hear my words. Let us drink the poison of dreams and never wake up. If someone is there… please… come… we have to stop him… The poor thing cannot be a god… Please… someone… kill him…”

Trina closed her eyes and began to dream.

[thenightfolknetwork]

Hello!

I don't know how short I can make this but I'll try:

For context, I'm not of the homo sapien genus, but homosyrenus tritonus, "Merperson". I specify because my university affords accomodations that give me legs and lungs to attend class. Nonetheless I'm still rather 'tall' compared to my classmates. It does put some people off, unfortunately, to have someone 7ft tall talking literally down to you.

My concern is my eventual graduate pursuits. I want to be a social anthropologist, specifically for homo sapiens. I'm just utterly taken with how many varied cultures just one species can develop. But I don't want to come off as fetishistic, that's not my intention at all. I don't know how to ask my classmates about this without coming off as preachy or put the idea in their heads if it isn't already. I seem to get a bit of faff over some questions or guesses I have saved, as I'm almost too nervous to ask in case it's 'obvious' or I've made a terrible assumption. I don't hold this like and fascination at the expense or dismissal of other genuses, and I couldn't really describe specifically what has my attention so just with humans, but it does hold enough of my interest that I want to pursue the discovery as a career. I just don't want to go down a path that leads to objectifying behavior or letting harmful beliefs get stuck and become hard to let go of later down the line.

Any advice?

-Whale-shark of a tale

I think this sounds like a wonderful area of research for you to pursue. Sapionormativity is a huge obstacle in the path to liminal liberation – for example, when your classmates and colleagues dismiss your questions because the answers are “obvious”. Obvious to whom, exactly?

There is no good reason to consider sapio cultures somehow beyond the reach of anthropological research. Such thinking is a hallmark of sapiocentric thinking, and frankly I think anything that shakes the idea of “sapio as default” from people's heads is to be encouraged.

In fact, I think your research has the potential to be enormously valuable in disentangling ourselves from sapionormativity. By treating sapio cultures as valid subjects for study, just the same as any liminal cultures, you are actively resisting the narrative that sapio cultures are somehow more correct or “normal” than others.

Neither do I think your interest in sapio cultures is fetishising or objectifying. No matter what culture they are studying, all anthropologists must be mindful of treating the subjects of their research with respect and dignity. But the world would be a very sad place indeed if we let fear of causing offence keep us from engaging altogether with people different to us.

Keep an open mind and let the sapio people whose cultures you are studying speak for themselves. Try to be aware of your own prejudices and biases, and acknowledge when your personal perspective is making a practice or custom seem strange to you.

But know that acknowledging that difference in perspective is not, in itself, disrespectful. It does not mean your perspective is more correct, or that sapio customs and habits are somehow objectively “worse” than merpeople's customs. They are simply different, and that's fine.

[For more creaturely advice, check out Monstrous Agonies on your podcast platform of choice, or visit monstrousproductions.org for more info]

[ibijau]

I'm in love (with the shape of you) pt2/ on A03

“I had missed you so much,” Lan Xichen heard his own voice say from the mist, so tender it made him shiver uncomfortably. “Why did you push me away before? Was there really any point in making both of us so miserable?”

The other person did not reply. With the fog and their position, Lan Xichen couldn't see them at all, but judging by their size and what he could perceive of their outfit, they were likely a man. 

“Won't you forgive me?” the person who couldn't be Lan Xichen told his companion. “The way I forgave you? I understand now. The way you acted… I will not say it was right, but how could I tell you that it was wrong either? You did what you could do. You did what you had to do. He left you no other choice. Worse still… I left you no choice. Do you know how much it torments me that I had become someone you could not trust?”

There was no answer from the other person, but they pressed themselves closer against the man who could not be Lan Xichen. A faint noise followed, something like a strangled sob. 

“There's no need for tears now,” the man who wasn't Lan Xichen whispered, so gentle it made the real one ache. “Don't cry, I am with you now. As long as you let me, I am with you, the way I always wanted. They way you always wanted. The way we should have been when you faced danger, when you did what had to be done. Will you let me be at your side, beloved?”

Again, no answer came but a few sobs. 

“I need you to tell me yes,” the man insisted, begging so pressingly that it felt like a threat. “Say yes, beloved. Say you will be mine. Say I can have you. Don't you want that? To be together and forget the past? Say yes to me. Say yes, and you will never hurt again.”

More sobs came from the second person, this time accompanied by a soft whisper. Lan Xichen couldn't hear the word itself, but it was easy to guess what answer was offered. The tall man using his voice shifted. Even through the mist, the way that combined silhouette could leave little doubt that the impostor was now kissing his companion. Lan Xichen watched, fascinated and horrified at once, too stunned to intervene. 

Then, without breaking the kiss, the second person became agitated, struggling against the impostor's embrace. At the same time, a flash of demonic energy pulsated through the clearing, followed by an agonised whimper from the victim. 

As he unsheathed his sword, Lan Xichen was struck by the thought that pained cry sounded eerily familiar. He easily pushed away that idea and sprang forth to strike the impostor. Shuoyue drew a long gash on the false Lan Xichen's back. He yelled in enraged surprise and let go of his victim, who fell to his knees.

With that person out of the way, Lan Xichen no longer had to restrain himself. He plunged his sword right through the creature's chest, piercing through a lung, then immediately withdrew it. Red blood sprayed from the creature, staining Lan Xichen's hand and clothes. Gurgling in agony, the impostor turned around to face him, thus revealing it wasn't only his voice that had been copied. That face distorted with pain was his own, stained with tears and blood.

The creature took one step toward him, its hands extended in his direction, while its features started morphing into a person Lan Xichen feared to recognise. But the blow had been too severe, it did not have the strength to complete that transformation. Taking a second step, the creature collapsed to the ground, face down.

For a few heartbeats, Lan Xichen remained frozen, staring at his blood stained hand, the repulsive feeling of it on his skin, the metallic stink permeating the air. Since that terrible night in Yunping some years before, he'd never had to use Shuoyue. Back then too, it had turned red. 

A rustling sound on the ground saved him from his own thoughts. There was no time for self misery, when his help was still needed. The creature was dead, but its victim still lived, though likely weakened. Lan Xichen walked around the dead impostor and approached the person, wondering who might have harboured such strong secret feelings for him that it nearly got them killed. Perhaps one of his juniors… It was not unusual for boys to crush on a teacher. But no, it couldn't be. The mist let in little light, but the person's robe was unmistakably dark. 

Lan Xichen knelt down next to the person, and cried in surprise. 

On the ground was none other than Nie Huaisang. 

The man made for a particularly pathetic sight at the moment. His face was pale as if he'd lost blood, except for his closed eyes stained with tears and his lips reddened by the creature's merciless kiss. His whole body was shaking, each breath a gasping struggle accompanied by low moans. Without thinking, Lan Xichen reached out to him and cradled him in his arms to help him sit, hoping he might breathe more easily that way. Nie Huaisang allowed it at first and even leaned against him, too weak to resist. 

When he opened his eyes and realised it was Lan Xichen holding him, all traces of weakness bled out of his body. With unexpected strength Nie Huaisang tore himself from Lan Xichen's gentle hold and jumped to his feet. He immediately stumbled and nearly fell again, but managed to remain standing.

His eyes fell on the corpse of the creature that had attacked him. The impostor no longer looked like Lan Xichen, nor like the other person he'd tried to become before dying. Instead, its features were that of a fox-like creature. Lan Xichen felt relieved by that sight, as it avoided a number of complicated questions a transformed state would have caused, no matter which one of them that transformation targeted. 

Nie Huaisang gritted his teeth, glaring at the corpse. Fresh tears started flowing down his cheeks, making Lan Xichen pity him again. Nie Huaisang must have guessed the deception for which he'd fallen. 

“You're safe now,” Lan Xichen said, only to be startled by the trembling in his own voice. “Are you hurt? Did you bring anyone with you? Do you need help getting back into town?” 

As soon as he spoke, Nie Huaisang's glare moved from the corpse to Lan Xichen, showing no less hatred. Lan Xichen shivered, reminded of their last conversation, shortly after he ended his seclusion. Had anyone else looked at him that way, Lan Xichen would have backed away. But it wasn't just anyone; there was too much guilt and history between them, and Lan Xichen had to help. Slowly, careful to avoid startling Nie Huaisang, he got up.

“Huaisang, we have to get you to safety,” Lan Xichen insisted, reaching out for the other man. 

His hand was violently slapped aside before he could grab Nie Huaisang’s arm. 

“Don't touch me!” Nie Huaisang snarled. “Do you really think you can help, you, of all people?” 

His words, more than his gesture, wounded Lan Xichen. Feeling more awkward with every passing moment, Lan Xichen could only stand there, unsure what to say, what to do. Before he could think of something, Nie Huaisang darted away into the mist, soon disappearing from view. 

Even then, Lan Xichen felt the impulse to go after him. But in his state, Nie Huaisang would not go far. Either he would meet with others who could help him, or Lan Xichen would find him when the mist lifted, which he expected to happen soon. It was likely the shapeshifter who had caused it to isolate its victims, and with it gone, the mist would not last. 

Until then Lan Xichen remained alone with the corpse of that creature, plagued by questions he would never know the answer to.

[wormworker]

( content notes: fatphobia, medical negligence )

GUESS WHAT. Doctors have been wrong about me for nearly 10 years, if not more!!

I told them I had a hard place in my belly. That it wasn't all just adipose. They NEVER LISTENED. I thought it was a tumor that kept growing bigger.

2-3 years ago, I did the "family testimony" cheat. Instead of telling my primary care physician that I was concerned about my abdomen, I said my family was.

FINALLY got my ultrasound scheduled after that. Smh.

Ultrasound results: Gallstones.

Doctor said it wasn't serious enough to have surgery.

But it had to have been serious, because the hard place in my belly was so huge that I often felt it pressing against my ribs & it was becoming too painful to sit or stand without a bra.

This was because the weight of my chest would rest on the hard place if it wasn't supported with a bra. Didn't hurt when lying down.

Eating hurt, too. Exercising hurt terribly, as it had since I was little, only it's much worse in adulthood.

There was obviously something serious. But I was so sick of going to the doctor & of being treated like I was a woman from the 1950s with "hysteria."

And then, a month ago, I had the worst abdominal pain I'd ever experienced.

I went to bed early with discomfort. And then I woke up with extreme pain. Enough that, despite my history with doctors telling me not to, I HAD to go to the hospital.

At the time, I thought it was my appendix. I had no idea gallbladder complications could cause such acute pain.

Around 8 hours after I got to the hospital, they took out my gallbladder laparoscopically. I went home an hour later.

I thought my belly looked funny. There was a weird dip in the middle, Like I was made of memory foam & had been punched in the gut.

It almost seemed to keep changing shape throughout the month.

Now, 4 weeks later, the swelling is gone. Once I noticed a strange shape again, I finally felt safe to press on the area with my hand.

Pushed right in. No hard mass anymore. It's all just fat now! No more pain!

YEARS of so much agony, confusion, body image issues, & disordered eating could've been avoided if just ONE doctor, nurse, etc, would have just LISTENED to me!! And treated me like a PERSON!!

[pumpk1n-writes]

Hi, can you please do part 2 of 𝘋𝘰𝘯’𝘵 𝘮𝘢𝘬𝘦 𝘮𝘦 𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘷𝘦 like where the baby is born?

Thanks

Don’t Make Me Leave ~ Part Two

➥ in which Billy and the fem!reader are best friends and he accidentally gets her pregnant. {ft. pregnancy, fluff, mentions of sex, your author knowing nothing about childbirth other than what they watched on Gilmore Girls, like… childbirth. If you’re squeamish I suggest not reading this because there’s birth. Of a child. I mean maybe it’s a child. Idk. Extremely ooc for like, all of them}

A/N: I realized through writing/brief research of this that I’m never going to have kids. Like ever. I’ll have cats. Also this is literally so bad because I have no idea how to go about this, but enjoy I guess.

Part One || Word Count ~ 773 words

Taglist ~ @wasawattpadkid @billysbae

It was the middle of the night. Sidney and Stu had basically moved in to your house in preparation for the baby. Billy and Sid moved cautiously around each other, a dangerous dance, but they’d managed to put aside their differences and tentatively live together. For now.

The clock read 12:47 when you left your bed, the decision to get something to eat fresh in your head. You’d made it down the stairs when you felt a something unlike anything you’d felt before. Sharp pain shot up your abdomen and into your stomach, and you clutched the counter.

“Billy!” You called upstairs, hoping he was awake, or at least sleeping lightly. “Billy, get your ass down here!”

Billy didn’t come, but Stu did. He took one look at your pale face and bolted back upstairs. You could hear a commotion, like he’d thrown something at your boyfriend. A few moments later both boys were racing down to you.

“Get,” you took a deep breath through the contractions. “Go get Sid.”

Stu nodded and ran back upstairs, and Billy grabbed your hand. “Is it time?”

“I think so, these are the contractions I think.”

A drop of sweat trickled down your neck, followed by another, then another.

“Wait for Stu to help you get in the car, I’ll call the hospital and get the bag.”

You frowned at him, “I can get in the car by myself, Loomis.” You took one pained step, then nearly doubled over. “Never mind.”

Your dad rushed out of his room, looking furious that he hadn’t been told yet. “I’m taking you to the hospital, Stu can drive Billy separately.”

“Sir—”

“She’s my daughter. I’m taking her to the hospital.”

“And it’s my baby!”

“Fine then, get in the car, but hurry your ass up, young man.”

Your dad, being a cop, flipped his lights on and drove as quickly as he dared in the dark and rain to the hospital. Luckily for you, Woodsboro was small enough that it didn’t take long. Long enough that you were nearly screaming in pain before your water broke, but not as long as it would have been in a bigger city.

Your dad ran into the hospital to secure a room and Billy helped you limp through the doors. They already had a gurney and a room ready, and the nurse walked beside you, holding your hand and instructing you to breath.

You made it into the room without much incident (other than agony and pain and more agony) and the doctors situated you on the bed.

“It’s too late for any pain meds, is that okay?”

You nodded, sweat sheening your face and neck. “Just get this thing out of me,” you gasped. Billy looked at you apologetically, and you glared at him.

“As soon as this demon is out of me I’m slapping you. Hard.”

“Okay,” the doctor patted your ankle in what you suppose was supposed to be reassuring. “It’s time to start pushing, you ready?”

“Oh my god,” you were mad at the doctor, mad at Billy, mad at this terrible demon child. “I’m never doing this again.”

You screamed, pushing with all of your might, fairly certain that your heart was going to explode. And maybe everything else would.

They said that you wouldn’t remember the pain of childbirth. Fucking liars.

“Billy, if you want another kid I’ll get you pregnant, how does that sound.”

Billy only laughed, but he was looking a little green. Pussy.

The nurse pulled Billy and your father aside, trying to talk to them privately, but it was a small room and you could hear everything.

“Sir, some complications arose.”

“What kind of complications?” Billy said, green giving way to pale.

“Well, there’s only a fifty/fifty percent chance that the baby and mother both make it. You might have to choose between them if it gets worse.”

“What?” Billy had to sit down, and he put his head in his hands. “I choose her. I always choose her.”

Come on, baby, I didn’t carry you for nine months for you give up on me now. If you don’t come on out right now you’re grounded.

Defying all expectations, you pushed with one final scream and the nurse was able to grab the baby’s head and shoulders and pull him the rest of the way out.

You collapsed onto the pillows in exhaustion, holding your baby close and kissing him all over his beautiful face. He had Billy’s nose, but your eyes.

“Ethan,” you spoke into his forehead, the name you and Billy had decided on. “Welcome to the world.”