#was trying to go for quadrant themeing too

[buzzingroyalty]

altstuck terezi for day 4 of anime expo 2023 >:D

[13tinysocks]

My Dead Girlfriend

After two weeks in the desert and nearly dying multiple times, you start to soften up- a tad, only after a drowning a guy.

[Part one]  [Ao3] [9] [11] [Full Piece Here - It's Mine!] [Chapter Index]

10 * Fill'er [10k]

Suggestive themes + third base (NSFW) We don't care about safe sex or pregnancy! It ain't happenin' here, baby!

"You were oh so kind,

You thawed my heart of the ice,

Now get the fuck out of my mind."

The Sweetest Bone - Go Hang

        Day Eighteen.

        You rose from your mess of a bed, unfurling from Omni's cape that you'd been using as a blanket in the night. He'd yet to acknowledge the behavior and you hoped it'd stay that way. You didn't want him or anything of his, you wanted warmth. The comfortable familiarity of a blanket. The fire kept you warm enough but it was normalcy you craved.

        The GDA issue armor set was near complete on your body. Baldie found the top a few days back but you'd been too out of it to remember him putting it on you. The chest plate was left by the bed, ready whenever you needed it. You were lucid now, which was a relief to the boys, but a burden you were struggling to carry. 

        You couldn't stop thinking about it. The taste lingered in the back of your throat. The muscles that moved his body were now fueling yours. The empty stool no one had sat in since. The blood stain on your bed that Maskless couldn't get off with just water. The lack of his pinched voice and constant threat of wanting to kill you for being even mildly defiant. It wasn't grief or sadness, just a loss, a strange, hollowing thing to know he died and you lived, and you were only alive because you ate part of him. 

        You were able to speak and but chose not to as much as possible these last two days. You didn't trust yourself not to kill one of them and for the rest to tie you down, shut you up, and force feed you until they all died or somehow escaped the desert. You wanted them to die suffering and scared, but you also knew they were the only reason you were alive in this cool cave with food in your stomach. Again the murders were pushed back.

        You stop behind Maskless who is hunched over a swath of fabric scavenged from above. A sprawling map is laid before his hands, drawn with Emperor's fancy pen. Sections are lettered and numbered. The central piece of fabric was this very cave, with the immediate outliers listed as A with a number that must mean some degree north or south. They were all sewn together with scrap wire or loose threads, stitches hasty and puckered.

        "Where can I take a bath?" You ask him. You'd been down and out those starving days, but not deaf. You'd heard a few of them talk about it. Return from it looking slightly less like shit.

        He doesn't turn, good. You don't want to see Mark's face. You'd been doing a pretty good job avoiding looking at all of them this whole time.

        The pen stops moving on a quadrant labeled G60. Fingers hover over the fabric until they pause, come down on, "B-seventy." He goes back to mapping.

        You study the map a few minutes longer. Trying to understand which exit and subsequent turns would lead to B70. Then you remember. You pull out your phone, still largely charged from unuse, and snapped a photo. If you got lost, you'd look at the picture. Easy. You pick the entrance that looks like most B70-ish and walk toward it, flashlight prematurely flicked on. 

        "Where do you think you're going?" Scars says from his post, leaned against the wall, standing guard and watching. 

        "Out." You don't stop. 

        He's stepped in front of you, making you pause. "To where?"

        "What are you, my dad?" You hope the mention of a dad hurts him but his exposed eye doesn't glitter with malice or sadness. He's not moving so you hit him with, "Get out of my way."

        Your body swayed slightly, the dizziness easy enough to ignore. Now that you weren't actively dying or burnt out, your powers were more evened out. Lucky for you, they were working as usual, and he moved out of your way and does not chase. You knew he wouldn't hold long but it was about control with him, and you'd taken it, if only for a second. 

        Five steps later, there was another Mark in front of you. You hadn't even made it out of the main cavern yet. "You're not going anywhere unaccompanied."

        Omni, up from bed. Beard thick and speckled with gray. You'd found his salt and pepper hair on your side of the bed despite your efforts to uphold boundaries. You would put things between you when you slept, the chestplate, a rock, anything you could find, but he found his way back to your side. Such a huge man but you never sensed the shared garbage cot move, waking up with your back pressed to his.

        You side step him silently, hoping your rejection was enough, but he continued, "I will gladly-"

        "No." You were depressed but not stupid. He'd been sizing you up ever since he got back. Something shifted in him up there, and you weren't ready to be alone with the guy. You didn't sense any ill-intent and that made you nervous. You wanted him off your back almost as much as Scars.

        You pulled the knife out of the GDA belt, pinched the blade between your fingers, and held it out to him. "You look like shit, shave."

        He took the knife and moves a step before stopping with a frown. "Don't do that."

        "Leave me alone."

        He doesn't budge. He's tense, like hard muscle could stop your power, sadly it seemed to work. "I understand you do not want my company. I respect that, however," he turned, scanning for someone not busy sleeping or drawing maps or making more water basins, "Hey, Seven." He didn't trust the little fucker far as he could throw him, but morale and productivity needed to stay high- and Seven was doing jack.

        Lensless lifted his head from the jerky he was gnawing on. Omni jerked his head, and he came over. A piece stuck out between his lips, wriggling while he chewed. "Yeah?" 

        "Stay with (Y/n)," Omni said.

        "Go sit down." You try.

        Lensless, apparently the seventh variant Angstrom Levy recruited into his ranks, trotted back to his stool. Sat. Got up again when Omni said, "Get over here."

        The control snapped, the deed done, you hadn't been specific enough. Lensless came back.

        Omni turned to you, "We can go back and forth all day or you can go bathe." There was an implied 'Or I help,' he didn't say.

        The thought of any of them holding your body naked in the water made you rethink sending Lensless back. But you don't want Omni to think he's won. So you let Lensless come before saying, "Fine. We'll go but you? Shave." You didn't particularly care how he looked just that he looked freakishly like Nolan. Brought back too many memories of meeting Mark's parents over dinner. 

        Omni frowns. "Your trick will not work on me, but I will respect your wishes. Thank you." He watches as you go, using your phone as a guide. Lensless nipping at your heels. He didn't like it, but he would respect that you didn't want him in particular around. He'd knew he'd find a way to change your mind.

        He found Tracksuit sleeping against a stalactite. Gray had finished more of the cots, lining the wall by the fire, but he hadn't gotten one yet.

        "Hey." Omni gently knocked the mans leg with his boot.

        Tracksuit stirred, mask shifting as his head bobbed. "What?"

        Omni pointed down the cave you'd just disappeared into. "Follow them." He assumes Tracksuit would concentrate, force his ears to pick up the joint footsteps and one-sided conversation. 

        Instead, the yellow of his lenses flashes in the pale moonlight as he scoffs, "Fuck off." His head nodded back down and he was asleep.

        He searched for others to follow you. Maskless was busy and uncaring. Scars scoffed, clearly feeling rejected. Phantom was gone, exploring off on his own. As were Gray and Mohawk in separate quadrants. The only variant that would cooperate was Baldie, who shot up from sleep in a panic when he heard. He was down the cave in a blink. 

        Omni leaned over the still water and held the knife to his cheek.

        ***

        "I said, turn around." The fourth fucking time. Why did Omni choose this stupid, perverted little fucker?

        He does, shoulder shaking as he says to himself, "Boobies."

        You slide deeper into the water. Pool waist deep. Water tepid, the room lit by your phone flashlight pointed at the ceiling. Underclothes in the water with you to be squeezed and scrubbed after you were done with your body. It took an hour to find the place on the map and Lensless was no help. 

        You were trying, really, you were, but the sand was everywhere and you could barely get a good scrub in before Lensless was turning around again to stare.

        You pressed your body to the edge of the pool, where he could only see your head and shoulders.

        "Are you always this creepy?" You spit at him because using your power so many times today was starting to make you dizzy. 

        "Pretty much." He says. "I'll stop if you use your powers on me again."

        "Yeah, for five fucking seconds." 

        He clasped his hands together, batting his lashes, "One more time? I promise I'll stay this time." 

        "Freak." You said before dipping your whole head under. Hearing him talk through water but not being able to understand was pure bliss.

        Your head barely broke the surface tension before knocking into Lesless's nose. He was on his hands and knees, peaking over the ledge, smiling big. "Will you use 'em now?"

        You start a, "Back o-" then you see it. The bulge pressing against his thighs, not even trying to hide it. You push away from the side. Legs pressed together, arms crossed over chest. "What the fuck is wrong with you, like actually?"

        "A lot of things." He chirped. Fingers leaving the edge to touch the gently rippling water. "You, mostly."

        You warred between using your powers, giving him what he wanted and feeling violated, or not using your powers and still feeling tread on. In the low gravity of the water, you crawled backwards to the opposite edge of the pool. "I'm not your dead girlfriend."

        "I know." His hand sinks into the water, then his wrist, then his elbow until his whole arm is in the pool. "Because you're meant for me." His ass in the air as the other enters the pool, prowling into the water like a leopard. "Before this, everything was so... boring, so normal. I couldn't figure out what was off." His torso kissed the surface as his legs slid in, crawling slowly through the water towards you. "I was a superhero, I had the girl, I had the friends, the life, and then-"

        The taser was at the other end of the pool, it'd do nothing but it'd feel good to use it on him. "Back up, I'm serious." 

        "Then Dad killed you and I killed him right back." Lensless was halfway across the pool now, not even listening to your threats. He moved purposefully slow, every roll of the muscles under his tight suit a warning he wanted you to see. "I didn't disagree with him or even hate him. I loved my Dad but killing him was so much fun, I couldn't just stop. When the Viltrumites came, they said I killed too much of the population to make Earth a viable breeding camp, but things still worked out for me in the end. Cuz now I'm here, with you, and you get it." He was closing in now. 

        Forcing you to pick between staying in the water with him or to get out and expose yourself. Either way, he had you where he wanted you. "Another inch closer and I'll fucking kill you."

        He paused, hand poised to grab your ankle. Already shit-eating grin spread further, "You better stop me then." You swallow, gathering power in your throat, as much as you could muster. His hand passes over your ankle, angling to take you by the meat of your thigh. "Or do you not want me to?"

        "Drown."

        His head went under. At first, you thought he was unaffected, head floating toward your legs but when you moved out of the way he didn't shift to follow. He sunk to the bottom, face down. You pulled yourself out of the pool, limbs heavy with the sudden drain. Blood dripped out of your nose. Still, Lensless did not resurface. 

        You knelt by the poolside, nakedly air drying for a few minutes. Wringing out your solider underclothes, agitating them against the rock to get out as many stains as you could. When it was done, Lensless was still unmoving in the water. 

        You put the armor back on. Underclothes slung over shoulder. No way were you putting on wet cotton and covering it with the unbreathing material. You grabbed your phone and left Lensless's body in the dark.

        You catch him because he wanted to be caught. Baldie not quite hiding behind a pillar of rock on your way back to the main cave.

        "I can see you." You tell him.        

        He swings out. "Sorry, Three told me to follow you guys."

        Your brows knit a moment then remember the numbers Angstrom had given them. "Of course he did. You see any of that?"

        "Enough to want Seven dead just as much as you." 

        Your eyes narrow, "You saw me naked?" 

        "No, I was only listening. Was going to jump in but then you..." His gait pauses. "Did you hear that?"

        You take two more steps before stopping, "No?"

        Baldie's head whips left, then right. "Really? You- you don't?"

        "I don't have super hearing." You say. "What is it?"

        "What does super hearing have to do with it? It's right there." His hand goes up to the low ceiling, touches bare fingers to rock. Soon as he touched the cool surface, he paused. "Oh," and started walking again. Distraction forgotten.

        You had to trot to keep up with him, now power walking, "What was that?"

        "Nothing," he waves you off, "nothing, just sand moving above us, I think."

        "You think?"

        "I'm not used to being around so many living, moving things at once." He says, looking dead ahead, not at you, anywhere but you, "It still surprises me sometimes. I can hear your heart beating and I don't believe it. I-" His head snaps to the side, ear up. "Come on." He takes your hand and speed navigates you out of the caves. Not quick enough to be in danger, but fast enough for you to ask questions. Questions he does not answer. 

        You're dropped off in the main room, sat atop your cot. Phone flashlight still glowing in your hand, he wouldn't look at you before turning and rising out of the porthole entrance into the dim, early evening. He looked every which way, brow furrowed before flying off to investigate. The others gathered below.

        "Is that guy okay?" Tracksuit said. 

        "I don't know." You switched off your phone and stuffed it into your pocket. "He just started acting weird."

        "It is uncommon for a Viltrumite to be found in our own prisons." Gray swept the rock debris off his kilt. A new basin freshly carved in front of him. "But it is always a good opportunity to test experimental medicines and procedures on them until they wither away." He left out a detail, that despite the Viltrumite resistance to age and diseases, the prisoners never lasted long.

        Tracksuit ran a hand through his greasy hair, "Jesus. He's gotta be buttfuck crazy." 

        Your lips twist, and you think of saying he's better than the rest of them before remembering how he let them force-feed you man meat. Who gave a shit if he was nice to you- he was Mark Grayson.

        "Thank you for letting me borrow this." His voice pulls your eyes and mind away from Baldie. Omni held the knife out to you, handle first. Beard gone but stubble still peaked through his skin. Most black, some gray. The knife was made for throat slitting, not shaving. 

         "Sure." You reach out only for the blade to be snatched away.

        "Watch it." Omni snaps, the edge nearly swiping your chestplate as it passed by.

        "Mind if I borrow this?" Mohawk said, already holding the knife. "My shit's been growing." He zipped by the poolside. Knife edge pressed to the grown-out buzzcut around his mohawk. 

        "Give it back." You hiss without power. Everything you had left was used on keeping Lensless's eyes off you, then killing him. 

        Mohawk swiped the blade down his scalp, leaving an even trail, he'd done this before. Hair fell to the dark shoulders of his suit. "Nah."

        Another swipe and Omni stepped in front of you, "She said-"

        "Dude, she definitely doesn't want your help." Another swipe and the right side of his head was shaved down clean. You hated that he was right. You were quite literally just about to tell Omni to piss off. He looks at you through dark lenses, lips pulled taught. Waiting for you to say it. Mohawk doesn't look but wiggles around knowing there's drama afoot, the pot-stirring fuck. 

        "I swear to God, Mohawk." You point at his back as more fuzz falls away. "Give me that back or-"

        The knife sweeps his hair one last time. When he turns he is clean shaven, mohawk seeming perkier with the shorter buzz around it. "What did you just call me?" His tone is mischievous, eyes dancing. That look paired with a knife brought back bad memories.

        Omni moves in front of you but you walk around him. "Give it."

        Mohawk sticks out the blade, edge first. If you wanted the handle, you'd have to take his hand. You take it by the blade, let it sink into the cut-proof material of the GDA gloves. A frown flickers as his grip falls away. You turn to sit by the fire Maskless was building. He didn't need it whatsoever but the chores had begun to naturally fall onto whoever got back to camp first. He could stand to freeze for days but in truth, he liked the warmth and light, it made him feel a little more human.

        Mohawk followed as you set your wet underclothes to hang over a rock, "Wait, say it again."

        "I didn't say anything." You plopped down on a stool on the opposite side of the fire. If you sat on the cot he'd make some gross innuendo and try to lick you or smell you or some other freaky alien thing. 

        Mohawk sat himself on the damp ground at your feet. Scooted close as he could to the stool, shoulder centimeters away from touching yours. Fine with his ass being cold as long as he was beside you. "You heard her call me that too, right?" He asked Maskless.

        Maskless let the fire crack. "I wasn't listening."

        "Bullshit, you have super hearing like the rest of us."

        "I was trying to ignore you guys." Maskless sat himself across the fire. Staring into it thinking about the color of William's eyes and the heat of his naked skin.

        Mohawk chuffed out his nose. "Okay, you hate fun, got it." He turned back to you, firelight accentuating his wide smile. "You've got'a nickname for me, huh? Not very creative but I can let it slide." 

        "It's not a nickname." You say. Head following Baldie as he returned from the surface. Tense but calm. He sat by the waters edge. Unwilling to look at anything else but his reflection.

        Tracksuit flops onto a seat a few stools down. "It's a nickname."

        Mohawk's head snapped to him, flirty stupidity suddenly gone off his face, "None of your business, dipshit."

        Tracksuit held up his hands in mock surrender, "Super hearing like you said, guy."

        Mohawk unwound, legs sprawled out in front of him, arms behind him to lean on, "You agree then?" 

        "I mean, yeah." Tracksuit paused as his stomach growled. "Ugh, I just sat-" Omni was above ground and back in a blink. He held out a piece of jerky to him with something like a smile. "Thanks, man." He bit into the meat, holding his veil off to the side. Tracksuit gave in the same day you did, because Baldie did too and he couldn't be the only non-cannibal. Said it felt like bad juju. The worst juju was him enjoying the meat because whatever Gray did to cook the stuff beat anything he'd had from the grocery store.

        Omni took the chance to sit on the stool closest to you, opposite Mohawk. "What do you think of me as?" The question was silly, stupid, but he sounded so serious saying it, you almost laugh.

        You point to his chest, the color combo that was iconic in your reality.

        "Isn't it obvious?" You said with little bite. Killing Lensless had left you in a better mood.

        His face fell as he said, "Omni Man."

        Jesus, he looked so sad at the thought. You wondered if his Omni Man also beat the shit out of him, if he won that fight unlike your Mark. "Just Omni." You corrected, "You're not your dad." That makes his face a little less depressing to look at.

        "Babe, Omni-Mark is right there." Mohawk says. "Oh my God, did you go by that?"

        "No," Omni says, "I kept the name Invincible."

        Mohawk rolls his eyes but concedes, "Invincible is a cool name."

        Scars doesn't move off the wall. "What do you call me?" 

        "Dickhead." You lied. 

        "Heartbeat picked up, you're lying." 

        Phantom comes down from the roof entrance, holding two slices of jerky. One is for you, you know it is. He always seemed to be the one to feed you, but without force. None of them had tried since the first time. You didn't want a repeat, so you'd eat in small bites once a day. You tried not to look at the meat in his hand, though your stomach was empty and aching. You weren't desperate enough to cave. Yet.

        He notices, slipping the extra slice into his suit to be held onto for awhile. He sat on the stool second closest by your side. Rolled up the bottom of his mask, unveiling sweat-slicked skin with longer stubble than you remembered. Lips parted to bite into the jerky when the knife is pulled from your belt.

        "Need to take care'a that?" Mohawk pulls the blade off your waist and holds it out to Phantom. You were happy about the distraction from Scars so you didn't bite. 

        You feel Phantom's eyes slide to you for approval. You sneer. "Fine, whatever, too many of you have touched it now. I don't want it anymore." Mohawk laughed but Phantom didn't smile. He took the knife only because it retained some of your body heat. 

        Tracksuit swallowed a thick wad of jerky, "Whadda'bout me? Shiesty, right?" He didn't particularly care in earnest, but this conversation was leagues better than the nights of contemplative silence he endured while you were on strike and refusing to talk to anyone. 

        "What the fuck is a shiesty?" You said.

        He tugged on the blue sheet on his face, "My mask, duh."

        "Oh. Huh. I've never heard that. I just call you Tracksuit." You gesture to the very bright and very obvious outfit.

        "Tracksuit." He sounded offended, deeply. "That's fuckin' dumb."

        You shrug, "Can't call all of you Mark in my head."

        "So who do you call Mark?" Mohawk leaned his head to rest on the side of your shoulder. Snickering when you leaned away. All this was a push-pull game of hard-to-get to him.

        "None of you." Hangs in the air. "Too weird."

        Mohawk leaned even further into your personal space, almost laying his head on your lap. "Come on, tell us what happened between you guys."

        "None of your business." You push off the stool to get out of his range, knocking into Gray's boots, who you hadn't even realized was standing guard beside you. Looking down at Mohawk like shit under his shoe.

        "You're Gray." You say to change to subject.

        Gray's hands, perpetually laced behind his back, unfurl so he can point a finger to his own chest. "Me?"

        "Like Grayson, duh." When you look back, Mohawk is back where he started, trying to lure you back onto the stool with his distance. Just so he could invade your space again.

        "I guess, but it's mostly the outfit." You only settle back on the cut rock because the way Gray is looking down at you, so intensely, is starting to get uncomfortable. To crack the pressure, you add, "It's not a bad look."        

        His face does something weird. Shifts. Smiles. Eyes gone soft, cheeks a tinge of pink. "You like my uniform?"

        "I didn't say that." You lean back onto your palms. Feeling a little warm in the face yourself. Mark Grayson smiling at you, blushing because of you. Brought back nostalgic feelings, good ones, then bitter ones. You don't look at him or his charming smile again.

        "You're Maskless." You say to the man who looked like he couldn't care less. Then your gaze rolls onto, "Phantom."

        "What!?" Mohawk barks, "Why does he get the cool name!?" 

        "Because he kept his mouth shut when we met." You say. "Snuck up on me way easier than you getting up in my face with the 'babe this, babe that' bullshit." 

        "Babe-" 

        "Exactly."

        Phantom made himself swallow. Not one to look stupid while being clearly flirted with. His smile was more a shift in the shadows on his face than Gray's.

        "I like it." The lack of modulator left his voice sounding raw, scratchy, but stronger than it'd been when you'd first arrived.

        Mohawk pointed like a child seeing someone slightly outside the norm, "You can actually fucking talk?" 

        Phantom did not dignify that with a response. 

        You knew Scars was behind you because so many of them tensed. "Are you avoiding me on purpose because you call me Sexy?" 

        "How about walking jail sentence?" You shoot back. 

        "You're avoiding the question." Scars breath wafted past your ear. His cape fallen onto your shoulder as he leaned over you. The flesh on the back of your neck prickled. Mohawk's knuckles crack, already forgetting that this place was fragile. Walls couldn't be broken in stupid fights willy-nilly.

        "Scars." You answer quieter than you meant to, and you know he's moving as Mohawk's eyes follow him. 

        "Scars?" He walks around the front of you, assessing your face for the truth he can hear in your heart. A wicked, knowing, deeply wanting grin stretched his face. "Good choice." The words were slick with desire, spoken like a dirty little secret. It felt like one to you, the way he talked about the bombs dropped on his head, the cheek-kiss of getting his face partly blown off. 

        Your leg shoots between his, kicking his loose cape into the fire. Sadly, it doesn't catch. "Hurting me was never that easy, my dear." He tuts. Slinking back to shadows like the creep he was, sporting a semi.

        "Fucking-" Tracksuit shook his head, like even he felt violated. "-Guy, man."

        "What about me?" Baldie said, fingers idling in the pool.

        You feel instantly shitty. He'd been better to you than most of these animals who'd laugh if they heard the name. He'd let you become a cannibal. He'd saved your life from Swimcap. You couldn't say it. 

        "I don't want to make the others jealous." The humiliation could be personal, face to face, alone. Not here.

        Mohawk snorts, "Jealous?"

        "Is it 'cuz he's Sexy?" Echoed off the cave walls he from which emerged. Completely alive, not blue in the face at all, but dripping wet. Lensless. "I was hoping I'd be Sexy."

        "How the fuck are you alive?" You're on your feet going for the taser you wish you'd used on him earlier. 

        "Is he supposed to be dead?" Tracksuit asked.

        "It was a good try," Lensless shakes out his leg, splattering water across the floor, "but you should know we can go without breathing for two weeks." 

        "When I tell most people to drown they usually breathe in the water, you fucking idiot." 

        Lensless chuckled, pushing the hair stuck to his mask back. Lashes darker wet. Suit somehow sticking closer to his body. "I'm not most people."

        "You tried to kill him?" Omni asked.

        "He was being a freak!" You hold the taser out over Mohawk's head. Lensless comes closer, firelight flicking orange on his wet body. You let the prongs release to make contact with his water-sodden throat. You know it won't work but you just needed to do it, for prosperity's sake. 

        He doesn't feel it but the effort makes him blush. He sits down next to Maskless as the prongs retract into the taser. "What do you call meeee?" His toes flex in his boots. Acting like he hadn't been soaking at the bottom of a pool for hours. 

        "Freak."

        He lights up, "Really?" Ugh. His smile is brighter and bigger than Gray's- it's stupid and cute and you hate how it gives you butterflies. 

        You fucking hate butterflies. "No. It's Lensless," You point to your eye, the side where he no longer has one because of you. 

        He partly deflates. "Why not Freak?"

        "Because it'd give you a boner."

        "Oh speaking of! I was in that pool awhile and you held control for a really long time. Like, really long! It was strong." The praise was good news but you had a feeling this was going south. "Like, good job, you're stronger than I thought- But it wasn't strong enough." 

        You lean forward, brows knit. "What do you-" The memory of his hard-on hits you like a grenade, you have to sit down, "Oh Jesus Christ."

        "What?" Tracksuit asked.

        You run your hand down your face. "That's not possible. How did you even-"

        "Cum?" He finishes painfully for you, "I dunno! It was like magic. Dick magic! You should do it again."

        The situation hits the Marks like a wave. Omni had Lensless by the neck, holding him overhead. Phantom had Lensless's arm out to the side, his own arm raised, poised to chop the thing off if he touched you with it. They turn to you for approval.

        "If anybody's killing him, I am." You say, but Lensless is not dropped.

        Tracksuit didn't know to laugh or scream, so he did both, "He came in the fucking bath water!"

        "There are other pools," Gray says stiffly.

        "It's the principal!" Tracksuit argues. "You can't just do that, dude!"

        "Put him down." You tell the duo. "Before he cums on you both."

        Phantom releases him quick, as if stung. Omni is still holding Lensless by the throat, but lowers him until his feet touch the floor. "If you ever talk to my wife like that again-"

        "Not your wife."

        "For the record," Lensless held up a finger as Omni slipped back, "I would not cum on you guys. That's weird. I've jerked off plenty of different ways, but I don't think I could fuck my clone. That's like, too much, even for me."

        "Cumming because I've tried to kill you on two separate occasions is fucking weird." You never thought you'd be having this stupid conversation but here you were, having it.

        "Two?" Omni raises a brow under his mask. "Two times?" Rage taught in the flex of his tensions.

        Your palms press to your eyes. "Can we talk about literally anything else?"

        Scars is merciless. "I'd also like to hear about those two times."

        They begin to bicker among themselves, questioning Lenseless who giggled like his life wasn't in danger. You couldn't listen to it anymore. It was up to you to turn this around. "Hey," You look directly at Maskless, hoping to grab his attention. His eyes don't leave the fire. "Hey Dummy, you wanna hear about William from my universe?" This time his eyes flicker up to you, honey brown eyes lit golden by the fire while Tracksuit goes onto the rest of the group about the principles of jerking off in the desert.

        His gaze is a heat sinking missile. "I thought it was Maskless."

        "Thought you weren't listening, didn't think you'd respond."

        He tapped his ear, "Heard something that wasn't lame. Tell me."

        You remembered little of William. He was spunky, nice to be around the few times you met while dating Mark. He was always welcoming and you could appreciae that. The one thing you really remember is, "He's lethal at bowling."

        A smile cracks his too-serious face, "He was, yeah. Couldn't beat him even with my powers."

        "I couldn't beat him with mine." Though you never tried. Mark and him were to remain in the dark, you had hoped forever before things went south.

        A smile cracks his too-serious face, "He was, yeah. Couldn't beat him even with my powers."

        "I couldn't beat him with mine." Though you never tried. Mark and him were to remain in the dark, you had hoped forever before things went south.

        "Shit, I haven't thought about that guy in forever." Mohawk stretched his arms over his head, bringing them behind him and trying to catch you by the waist. When you dodged out of the way he smirked. An 'I'll get you one day' kind of look. "He was crazy with those strikes n' shit."

        "He was good."  Phantom fiddled with the remaining jerky in his hands. He had more to say, but couldn't bring it to come out.

        "I used to go to the alley every weekend with Mom when I was younger." Omni said, having long since tuned out Tracksuit and Lensless' rambling, "Just so I could get better and beat him one day." He doesn't say how Dad thought it was a waste of his time, made him stop just for those few precious hours of training. How Mom let it happen.

        "Did you ever?" Maskless asks.

        "No." Omni forced away the memories. William didn't matter anymore. He hadn't mattered in a long time. Nothing had.

         Tracksuit noticed his audience had waned and said, "That guy abused those lanes."

        "'S gotta be a universal constant that he's crazy good at bowling." Lensless said, though nobody acknowledged him. Everyone still a little tiffed about the cum water thing. 

        Something in Maskless seemed to unspool. "Yeah, I guess it is."

        There was comfortable quiet a moment. Quiet where Gray wondered who this William character was. Friends were not something Viltrumites had. He was odd for his culture, yes, but he had still stuck by that notion. Across the room, Scars vaguely remembered a kid who's homework he'd steal and company he'd tolerate when necessary. 

        "Baby girl, you're my universal constant." Mohawk bumped his freshly shaved side against your shoulder. 

        "I'm literally not constant." You gestured to Maskless, to Tracksuit.

        "I mean, yeah, but everywhere else you're like..." The words fall off his tongue and his eyes dart around the room looking for a nice way to say it. Because you were not some moral, goody-two-shoes here and that was strange for everyone. But hell, that's what he liked about you. "My super hot and sexy wife-bitch." He doesn't bring up his planned proposal. The failure was too humiliating to share, even with other versions of himself.

        You could tell he'd thought of something else, how there was something fundamentally wrong compared to his (Y/n) and it sours the small moment of bonding. "She had time to care about those things didn't she?" You do your best to cover up the bitterness but it's hard, so hard. When Mohawk is staring at you with Mark's fucking face, enamored by every word. You hated that Mark was still attractive to you, that his opinion of you mattered at all. 

        "I mean, yeah, I ran the empire, she looked hot. It was like a full time job."

        Your lips twist. "How hot was she when you killed her?"

        His head jerks away. Offense flashing in his eyes as his face tenses. Got 'em.

        He hits you back with a low hiss, "How bad did it hurt when you got gutted?"

        He wants you to remember him doing it, knows you won't. Wants you to remember pain and misery for everything you put him through, even though it wasn't you. Just reminding him of you was enough to warrant punishment.

        It's your turn to be surprised. Everyone's turn to be surprised.

        "Gutted?" Lensless sounded hopeful.

        You want to throttle Mohawk. Slap him around the room till he's red but nothing you could do would hurt him. Not even drowning apparently. "Like shit."

        You had just turned nineteen. A few months into your second go-around with Machine Head. He'd sent you to chase a rat down. Some kid your age who kept selling on Machine Head's block, a few of his men had gone missing before you.  

        "Describe it." Mohawk says, "I wanna know exactly what you felt when I did the same fuckin' thing to you."

        So you did. Machine Head didn't warn you because he didn't know. Psychics were a sheltered bunch. Didn't often make themselves known to the public or criminal enterprises. So when you caught the kid selling in the depths of some alleyway, you didn't except it to happen- nothing. He didn't listen to your commands, and you didn't get knocked back into a trashcan by his invisible push. He grinned then, said, "Oh good, I was wondering when I could do this again." 

        He opened you up low with a box cutter. Deep and fast. You stumbled back, holding your cut guts through your slashed open hoodie. He waited, wanted to watch you fall to your knees, onto your face and die by his hands. You whipped the gun out of the back of your pants and brained him right there. Somebody must have heard the shot, because an ambulance was there before you passed out from the pain. 

        "Happy?" You enjoyed Mohawk's rigid expression. How hard he had to focus to feign cool satisfaction when you could feel the agitation roiling under his skin. You were hurt, almost died, and he wasn't there to be the killer or savior or whatever bullshit his twisted brain thought up.

        "I wanna see the scar." Lensless says. "No proof or it didn't happen."

        You turn on him. "Proof? You want proof?"

        "Yeah, that's what I asked."

        You were tempted to lift the armor, but didn't. You wouldn't be able to deal with the sad puppy dog eyes on the old wound that sometimes still ached. Didn't want to tell them how much time Machine Head added to your sentence when he had to pay off the hospital staff for stitching you back together. All those corrective surgeries meant you'd be working for him at least another five years on top of everything else.

        So you hit him with the classic, "I can't have kids, you fucking asshole." It always shut people up.

        The room is still.

        "What?" Omni says.        

        Oh good! He looked upset! But not for you, not the usual pity you got and hated, he was upset for himself, and you loved ruining their expectations of you.

        "He gutted me, idiot." Your hand followed the scar path, memorized well, "Angled the knife so deep inside me it almost cut my uterus in half. Missed most of the important shit but got that. Isn't it funny?" You relish in the misery that falls heavy over his shoulders. "Didn't even get to start considering having kids," you add just to see him crumple, "before the option was literally cut out of me."

        "Are you-" He grips at his hair, struck through with gray stress, "Are you sure?"

        He could sense more gray coming in soon. This was too much. You two had been talking about starting a family when everything had happened. You had to be lying to get at him. Yet you heartbeat was steady, if only a little elevated with the pleasure of upsetting him.

        Here comes the home run, baby. "Pretty sure. Been around plenty and not a single scare." His hand goes over his googles like you'd see the tears under them. Wham, crack, pow right in the kisser.

        "I need a moment." He didn't move a muscle but floated up and out of the cave. You smiled at the thought of him crying.

        Scars liked how mean you were. Lensless too. Mohawk was conflicted. Phantom was concerned. Baldie wasn't upset, moreso shocked you were talking about the apparent trauma with them of all people. Maskless didn't care. Tracksuit quietly enjoyed his personal drama TV.

        Then there was Gray who'd taken his version of you to Viltrum to specifically breed a child into. If you could not procreate, what was the point? Sure, he'd come to your reality for the glory of Viltrum, but you were an added sweetener, a trophy to cement his victory. This you wasn't weak or humanly moral, he liked you a lot, but put simply, what was the point of winning your favor if you couldn't give him a child? That was one of his main duties to the empire, how could he leave it unfulfilled? He said nothing and tried to keep his expression blank. 

        "So you learned that through what? Getting ran through by a bunch'a guys?" Mohawk elbowed your side, trying to win you back.

        "Now that's an image." Scars muses though he hated the idea, he loved seeing you squirm.

        Mohawk took it a step further, "Ever been fucked by a Viltrumite, baby? I bet I could-"

       You had. The memory was sweet and clumsy, though stung to remember.

        "Not interested." You finally feel the weight of all their eyes on you, the reason some of them were upset and why some of them weren't. You stand and he almost falls after leaning so hard into you.

         "I'm going to piss." You didn't wait for reply, just turned and moved. Phone flashlight on, map pulled up on your screen, no piss sloshing in your bladder.

        You heard some protest, but no one stopped you. No one wanted to be the bad guy. Scars did, but he wanted you to brew awhile in your own angst.

        Omni returned maybe five minutes later. Right when Lensless was saying to himself, "She's been peeing awhile."

        He looks across the fire, sees none of them gone, only you, and asks, "Which way did she go?"

        He pointed, Omni went.

        ***

        This was stupid. These caves were stupid. So dark and wet and echoey. You considered downing some codeine just to feel something else besides a dull roiling anger made sharper by hunger you couldn't stand to sate. You'd been running on fumes and rage for so long, you'd grown almost used to it but here- in these caves? Surrounded by reminders of everything that went wrong? It was starting to wear you down. 

        With Machine Head you always went home to be alone at the end of the day. Sat with your cat, watched stupid TV on your laptop. Life sucked, but it was good enough. Now you were sitting on a wet ledge you almost fell down a few minutes ago. Drop so deep your flashlight couldn't penetrate the bottom. There was something introspective there, you think, but couldn't be bothered to chase it. 

        You were vulnerable and sad, but at least you were alone.

        "There you are." Omni's behind you. Of course he came for you.

        "Go away." 

        You don't hear him leave. Hopefully he floated back to camp. But when you turn he's there, hovering in the laid-down phone light, over the ground your ass was freezing on. "I won't leave you again." He said. "I apologize for my... response."

        Your eyes narrow. "Jus' gonna stalk me like the rest, huh?"

        "I'm not going to-" He swallowed the words because they're partly true. He retries, "I want to protect you. And I can't protect you from the past. It upset me to hear that."

        Now, that was funny. "You force fed me human meat."

         His lip twitched, not the response he was looking for. "Two did that." Meaning Scars.

         "You helped."

        "Because I care about you (Y/n)," It's said soft, an olive branch, an apology without actually saying it. 

        "You cared so much you killed the (Y/n) in your dimension, right? Even though she was your wife. Some doting husband you were." Pow, right in the kisser, again. 

        "(Y/n) I-"

        You exploded, why did he get to look at you like a kicked puppy when you knew he killed a version of you he apparently loved. "No, dude! This is fucking crazy! You killed her- me- and now you're like- rebounding with me. It's fucking insane!"

        "That's not what this is. Let me explain." His tone was still soft. It pissed you off. 

        "I don't give a fuck how you feel! I'm not your dumb, bitch wife!" You stand and spin, fast, too fast. Your foot slips on the edge and you tip back, back, back, until there is no ground beneath your feet. You fall, you are falling. Still falling because he hesitates catching you. He's out of view and all you can think is you were going to die because of him again. There are arms strong under your back, body heat curling around you as you gasp. He floats down to the bottom, where the air is even colder and damper, the rock smoother. 

        You can't see anything. Phone light left at the ledge. You are vulnerable and he holds you despite everything he knows you've done, everything you know he's done.

        "Put me down." He only does because your voice warbled. Knife fights and stabbings were one thing, falling almost to your death was another. You'd never get used to almost dying. 

        You stumble until you're leaned against a wall, chanting to nobody, "You almost let me die." 

        "I didn't." He says. 

        "You almost let me die."

        You hear him come closer, cape fluttering behind him, "I would never let you die." This version, anyhow.

        "You thought about it."

        Omni is quiet. "You're just so... different." The admission is a leaden weight, only to be dropped in absolute dark. "I wasn't expecting a different person, different circumstances. You complicate things."

        You swallow the bile that'd been creeping up. "This doesn't have to be complicated." You turn to face the sound of his voice. Eyes widen to try and find his frame in the dark, but you see nothing. "It's always been simple. I'm a different person and so are you. I'm nothing like her and you're nothing like him."

        In this instance you are the same as she was. Eyes wide in the dark, searching, while he can make you out tangled in the sheets of his bed. Disappointed in him but still open looking for an option to make it all better. Vulnerable and wanting in the darkness before he takes you. The scenes of then and now mash together like his lips upon yours. Your back is pressed flush to the wall, surprised hands not yet tightened to fists on his chest. His gentle yet firm touch holding your head in place, knee parting your legs. 

        You hadn't known to resist, it happened so quickly. One second you were bitching, the next he was sucking on your lip. The gasp you let out is a welcome into your mouth, for his tongue to find and wind around yours. The friction melts something inside you. His groan and tightening grip only melts it quicker. 

        He moves his head with yours, nipping at your lip. His tongue lathes over yours. It's the first time he's kissed you, but you know its also not, because knows how to gently tear you apart.  

        Mark never got to know you this well, nobody in your reality did, you'd never had a partner for more than a few months. But Omni had, he knew you. It brings on a wave of nostalgia for something you never had, of sadness, of angst, of desire to know the other side of what he knew. 

        Your hands fold in and out of fists. One second bumping against his chest, the next gripping his shoulders. You hate him but feeling his knee press so hard between your legs softens the feeling.

        "Tell me to stop." He says breathlessly between the heated exchange, spit making both your lips slippery. As he says it, his other hand is undoing the buttons of your pants. Hasty but careful not to rip the fabric.

        All he gets in reply is a, "Fuck you," which isn't stop.

        He takes it as permission, licking a hot stripe up the side of your neck. Which earns him your arms thrown over his shoulder and your clothed cunt dragging up and down his armored knee. The drag stutters when his lips find their home in the nape of your neck, his teeth teasing the skin. You twitch and gasp, the sound different from his wife but the reaction similar.

        His gloved hand slips into your pants and finding no resistance. You were bare. He pressed his palm to the pulsing flesh, just making sure what's his was there. He could feel the heat, the silken softness through the kevlar of his gloves. You buck, needily against his unmoving hand, trying to take what you wanted. The already pulsing flesh of his cock began to ache.

        Omni tore off his gloves, needing to feel skin to slick. At the same time you claw off his stupid mask, pushing it to hang around his neck like a limp hood. You couldn't see his face, you didn't want to, but the lenses were a barrier between you. You find his hair, twisting it in your grasp, pulling hard at the dried gelled strands for a reaction but get none. 

         His touch returned. He hadn't felt you in months and when he did, you were so hot it burned, so wet his fingers slipped, blood rushing to his dick so fast he almost blacked out.

        "God." He breathed against your neck, exploring with fingerpads. Testing if the same buttons did the same things. They did. 

        You had no clue how he was working you like this. Hookups were fun, and part of the fun was the exploratory nature of it, directing someone how to please you. Learning just enough to reach your end and never having to think about it again. But Omni knew, there was nothing tentative about his touch. It was knowing, he was perfectly circling your clit with two lazy fingers and you were mewling embarrassingly into his neck. Scratching at his scalp. He had wiped your mind blank.

        He was in complete control of your body and it pissed you off as much as it made you needily grind against his knee. You unwound your hands from his hair, trailing down the hard mass of his chest, over the bulge you knew was there. Because you knew hookups were always a two way street. You had just barley began to grope him when he pulled your arm back over his shoulder.

        He hissed between teeth. "Don't." He's right back to circling your clit. Breath hot on your face. "This is for me." To prove something to himself. That you were the same person in the very core of your being if not the surface. If some part of you was the same, he could live. He would live for you.

        "That doesn't make any-" Thick finger tips press into your entrance. Not even past the first knuckle and you're gasping, words forgotten. 

        Satisfaction hums in his chest. "I want to focus on you." He pushes two digits in, tortuously slow. Relishing in the way you twitch and gasp at every gained fraction of skin. His palm met your slickened cunt, rough padded thumb pressed to your clit. He moved, slow, curling his fingers against your insides.  

        "Fuck!" Your thighs go up, around his hips like a vice. 

        "Quiet." He swallows your moans in an open-mouthed kiss. You were louder than her, but he didn't mind because feeling you around him, warm, wet, and welcoming, cemented the idea inside him. You were her, in some removed yet fundamental way, you were her and she was you. No other human would allow a monster like him to touch them, but she had been brave to love him, and you were brave for standing against him. Taking him like this.

        For giving him the gift for his wife, alive and whole again, he pulls his fingers out only to ram them right back in. You'd always liked things on the rougher side and he liked to deliver. It seemed you liked it a whole hell of a lot here too. Practically crying into his mouth which meant he just had to keep viciously stuffing your cunt with his fingers. Thumb messily slipping back and forth across your clit. He knew you were close by how uncoordinated your kiss became. Your breath coming out in hot pants against his lips.

        Your hands didn't know where to go, spasming on his back, twisting in the cape or his hair. 

      "Ma-Mar-Mmmh-haaa!" Your walls tightened around him, but he didn't slow. Viltrumite strength was good for something.

        Orgasm hit you, a sledgehammer to the cunt. So hard you were paralyzed in his grip. Pussy clenching against his fingers like it never wanted him to leave. He pumped right on through it, muttering praise, "Good. Good job."

        Your body started to go limp but he held you up. Fingers never breaking pace even as your insides tried to slow him in the aftershocks. You hadn't cum so fast with a partner in... ever. You didn't know how to handle this kind of pleasure, given as a brutal gift by someone else. You wanted to choke him out with his stupid cape. You wanted him to fuck you literally forever. 

        His fingers adjusted the tiniest amount and you threw your head back against the rock. His tongue back on your neck. "Mmm-haaa-!"

        "Markus." He kissed into your throat, "Call me Markus."

        The thrusts dwindle into slow, rolling pumps. He waits for you to be desperate enough to say it but you won't. It's too intimate, too much. You buck your hips into his hand, "Come on, come on, faster." You just manage not to tack on a desperate please. You weren't that far gone yet.

        Instead, he buried his fingers against your g-spot and rubbed viciously at your clit with his thumb. Your back jerked involuntarily up, name ripping out, "Markus!" God, you were going to regret this later.

        Pleased, he pulls his fingers out, and two becomes three, and you are filled to the brim. But it feels right, like he'd fucked you this way a million times. A strangled cry is torn from your throat, pushed back in by his tongue in your mouth. His thumb has fallen, hand focused on ramming you full. Whole arm flexing, shaking you both. Palm slapping harsh against your swollen clit. 

        Your second coming is a lot different than what's in the Bible. Lots more, "Oh fuck's" muttered against his spit-slicked mouth. 

        His pace followed the spasm of your muscle. First erratic, then dwindling, slipping out of your pulsing body when it was done, though you had more to give. He let you go slack in his hold, allowing himself a still moment to taste you on his flesh. He sucked his fingers nearly down to the bone as your feet found purchase. That familiar sour tang that reminded him of home, his cock throbbing. His point was proven. His meaning refound.

        Your heartbeat still pitter-pattered, your body still wanting, still open to him. You could go another round. He considered the idea. He still had you against the wall. A no still hadn't come off your lips but a, "What the fuck is wrong with you," just had, so it was about time to pack it up.

        "Did you not enjoy that?"

        "What- I- Tch-"

        You can't see it but he smiles soft. You'd come around and there'd be more where that came from. 

        "Well?" He goaded, hoping you'd say it. How right that felt. How inexplicably well he knew your body. 

        "I'm still mad at you." Came out with little bite. He'd dulled your teeth.

        You feel rather than hear his chuckle, his hand coming to your waist. 

        "Are you?" It's teasing in a way you'd never heard before, but she had. Before you both had done the same song and dance. Something stupid was done or said and you were on the verge of argument. Then he'd bend you over a counter or table, and fuck the fight right out of you. Worked like a charm. Happy wife, happy life, dad had once said.

        "Yes." You don't give into his teasing, don't lean into the fingers tracing your body but don't move away.  

          Markus pulls his mask up and over his head. He knows if he says nothing you'll dig your grave deeper in three, two, one... "I'm not calling you that in front of everyone. It's a stupid name."

         "It's our full name." You try stepping over his knee, still perched between your legs but nearly trip. He catches you by the arm, shifts you easily to rest over his forearms.

        You tried to keep your voice from wavering, “I know that. Nobody calls you that in any universe.”

         "I know, that’s why it'll be our secret," He lifts off the ground easily, feeling lighter than air.

[seventhemaverick]

Astro Observations 2 🪽

Thank you for 120+ followers!! <3 this post has opinions and personal observations. Don’t take it too serious my babies. I love ur feedback. Please be kind, inform me otherwise!

☁️ I love how many people in the Astrology community are Scorpio risings, have dominant scorpio/8H placements/degrees, strong pluto influence like we’re all trying to find the meaning to all the f*ck shit that happens in our lives

☁️ Another dominance that I see in a natal chart that is really into these practices is Uranus and Neptune.

☁️ Lilith dominance in a natal chart can be rough especially when they make conjunctions to mars or Pluto. Men can sometimes be so mean to you especially when you both are around other people and you’re just like what just happened 😃? You were just telling me your deepest secrets and desires?? Odd… Á la poubelle 🚮

☁️ Speaking of Lilith, I get annoyed hearing that certain asteroids like Lilith and Chiron aren’t considered a part of a stellium 🙄 because if you can have Lilith dominance in your chart you should be able to consider it a part of your stellium as well? Same with Chiron. If there’s many aspects to those signs as well and if everything is energetically interconnected like astrology tries to show us, you would think those two asteroids at most would be considered. Especially because these asteroids play significant roles in HEALING *cough Chiron cough* and stepping into your power (Lilith). Both asteroids take a shorter amount of time to orbit the sun than most outer planets and some inner planets likeee cmon y’all.. me complaining because I’d technically have a Sagittarius stellium if Chiron and Lilith was included

☁️ Whatever quadrant(s) the majority of your placements fall in is what you are meant to focus on in this life. In the last quadrant, your focus could be on the world around you, humanitarian causes. A lot of planets in your first quadrant your mission in this lifetime is to be more self focused.

☁️ Intercepted houses are interesting... I’m very thankful I don’t have them because my chart is already 😀😗 .. yea. But I realized I’ve come across a lot of people with them and those houses if you don’t know already have a lot of focus on the house it pertains to. Example: intercepted houses in the 1st and 7th house means one of your life’s mission is learning how to assert yourself, set boundaries, find balance in relationships and your free time.

☁️ People that have intercepted houses usually attract people that has signs that rule those houses to teach them significant life lessons. So if you have 1st and 7th intercepted you’ll have someone who probably has Aries/libra in big three or within their chart , if you have 2nd and 8th you’ll attract someone with Taurus/Scorpio in big three or in their chart etc etc

☁️ If you’re feeling unstable it’s best to connect with the element you have most dominant in your chart. Whether it’s literally connecting to that element by physically interacting with it or you are doing the themes in relation to that element. This also applies to whatever sign your mars is in. Surrounding yourself with the element associated with your mars can allow you to release and ground yourself.

☁️ For instance, if you have a lot of water in your chart/water mars, swimming or being by the water and journaling, drawing, whatever creative outlet feels most healing to you by the water can bring you some peace. Talking to the ocean, lake, etc. can be grounding and if you’re really into esoteric practices you can give the water an offering in exchange for peace of mind. Earth, going on a hike, feeling the earth (not concrete yuck) with your bare soles/palms can be helpful, hugging and talking to trees. (Side note fun fact, removing vines that are wrapping a tree is also like an offering because vines growing around trees are invasive and preventing it from receiving sunlight, ultimately killing it. Save your local trees!! I see this as a form of an offering as well) Mother trees will help you most. Fire, first and foremost please be careful. Secondly, working with candles can be very healing and watching the light, taking walks when it’s really sunny, sun bathing, solar plexus yoga could bring much peace. Sun bathing your yoni when the sun is at its peak :) it really works. Air, burning incense whilst having good air ventilation, journaling, stimulating activities like running or jogging while simultaneously working on the breath. Breath work, mental workouts like chess. I might do a post about all Mars signs and specific activity outlets. Lmk in the comments if you guys would be interested :)

☁️ To break out of your comfort zone, to attract newness into your life, connect with the element you have least in your chart!

☁️ The element you have least of is what you tend to attract in others

☁️ People that connect more to sidereal astrology usually have some old soul-ness to them. I’ve observed it’s usually modern Astrology earth placements, mostly Taurus placements that tend to value that system more from what I’ve seen

☁️ I’ve noticed water sign placements/dominance like anime and k-pop a lot. Honorary mention is Aquarius but more towards anime.

☁️ I saw @harmoonix say this in one of their posts recently but this has been sitting in my drafts for over a month so I’m gonna agree and add on lol (love ur posts fr— trendsetter 💐) Aquarius placements, especially in the big 3, love video games. Love playing games on their phone and on a console. Love technology, it’s their safe space— a way to get away from the world. Aquarius does rule over technology! They’re the most tech savvy in the family. Their elders in their home relied on them for that stuff lol.

☁️ Sagittarius placements, esp mercury usually have different genres and languages of music in their catalog

☁️ For Sagittarius to be in detriment in Mercury that placement has many fantastic writers, poets, lyricists etc.

☁️ Earth placements, especially Capricorns can out smoke you. Out-any-substance you fr it’s actually crazy to witness 😂😂.

☁️ Your Groom (5129) or Briede (19029) in your natal chart can not only show the actual sign or house placements that your partner may have but the synastry overlays you both may have as well. For example you may have your groom asteroid in the sign virgo. Your spouses natal placements especially big 3 could have those planets fall into your sixth house. Virgo rules the sixth house.

☁️ This picture above is all Libra placements during this south node in Libra transit. The area Libra resides will show up and out! Villain era fr. Big 3 Libra placements will feel this way the most! This transit has me not giving ANY f*cks!

☁️ Your solar return rising sign is very important. It will tell you the themes that will take place in the new year ahead. For example: Virgo rising in your solar return has you more work and health focused. Should I make a post about solar return risings lmk in the comments!

☁️ It’s also interesting that your rising and moon sign in your solar return chart can pertain who you most come into contact with during. So if your rising is Leo that year you’ll probably befriend, get closer to, date many Leo’s or people that have Leo placements/degrees in their chart :). I can confirm that within each ascendant I have had in my returns since studying astrology the people I was closer to/in contact more with during the time period had those placements in big three especially.

☁️ not an observation but a statement of a dilemma of mine because I cannot choose between placidus and whole sign system. I deeply relate to both. I thankfully don’t have intercepted houses but I can see both sides to the placements in my chart and the different houses they reside in with both systems 😂 ok moving on

☁️ I use placidus house system mostly when I’m reading other people’s chart and whole sign when I’m reading compatibility charts

☁️ placidus is a better system to use for most people because we live in different hemispheres and that system caters to that imo

☁️ I realize most Pisces and Sagittarius placements loveeee green. It’s that Jupiter calling in that abundance!

☁️ Scorpio and Aries are ruled by mars and I have realized people with these placements like purple a lot. Capricorn placements tend to like purple too and cap is exalted in mars! Purple and black are associated with satur(n)day!

☁️ Saw an observation about sag mercuries always interrupt you and it’s true LMAO but they’re very passionate people and I think they just wanna get what they have to say off their chest

☁️ Sagittarius mercuries are the smartest Mercury sign imo.

☁️ Pisces placements especially in the big three are very crafty when it comes to talking their way out of being held accountable

☁️ Being around people that have the signs in your 2nd and 8th house can easily trigger you if you’re not actively working on healing your wounds

☁️ I haven’t met an air sign that doesn’t speak with their face and hands especially Gemini chile

☁️ Mars rules celibacy, Venus rules lust. I realize that people with strong Aries/Scorpio/Capricorn are not into having sex with multiple people simultaneously or can go long periods without having sex. They view sex as a very intimate activity.

☁️ hate to come down on my Venusians but Taurus and Libras and let’s not forget about my girl is exalted in Pisces! People with strong placements in these signs can be loyal but sometimes there can be wandering eyes. Like an itch they want to scratch so bad. Even if they’re very loyal in nature it’s more possible for them to flirt for fun or get into affairs more because they’re hedonistic in nature

☁️ when a Capricorn loves you they will always have your back and put into you financially to help your dreams come true. One of the most attentive , supportive people to have in your corner!

🪽 I wanted to post this sooner but I’m currently grieving the loss of my Capricorn dominant grandmother who was my closest confidant and greatest inspiration, about a month ago. She passed during her Saturn return and Uranus return. She lived an incredible life. Strongest, most fearless person I know. An entrepreneur who knew how to get it! Some people didn’t make it into the new year with us and I hope you know that you have now gained an angel. I’m grateful to the Tumblr astrology community for sharing their knowledge. Astrology really helps me make sense of the world and I’m happy that we all find peace in that. Sending my love and best wishes to you all. Thank you for reading and tuning in xoxo 🪽

[angstywaifu]

Happy Birthday To Me - Garrick Tavis x Reader

A/N: Couldn't not post a birthday themed fic on my birthday about my favourite Fourth Wing/Iron Flame man. Thank you to those who gave me ideas for it! And thank you for all the birthday wishes! Warnings: 18+, Smut (only a small amount and implied)

To everyone else today was just another day. Another day in the riders quadrant. Just the way I had intended it to be as I stretched out in my bed. I extend my hand out to find the space next to me empty and cold. I open my eyes to see Garrick who was there when I had fallen asleep was gone. Had been for some time apparently. I couldn’t help the slight hint of sadness that washed over me.

Garrick and I were just friends with benefits. Close friends with benefits. He didn’t always stay the night, most of the time opting to go back to his room to try keep our arrangement a secret. But part of my had hoped today he would be there when I woke up. On my birthday. A silly hope considering he didn’t know when my birthday was. No one in the quadrant did. I’d never had a good birthday when I was younger, my parents usually forgetting or claiming to be too busy. And once they had died with the end of the rebellion, I didn’t want someone else to disappoint me. So I never told anyone. The group of people I now considered close friends always asked. Nearly three years later none of them knew. But someone did. Out of the corner of my eye, sitting on my bedside table was a card leaning up against a small box, a dark green ribbon wrapped around it. My favourite colour. I push myself up, manoeuvring to sit in the spot Garrick had been in when I had fallen asleep last night. I reach for the box first, the child in me wanting to see what awaited inside seeing as I’d rarely gotten gifts on my birthday. I open it to reveal a black choker, with a small green gem hanging from it. It was beautiful. I had pointed it out a few weekends ago in town when we had all gone down on one of our rare days off. Meaning this could have only been from someone in our friend group who had gone that day.

We walked through the main road through town. Our voices and laughter echoing off the walls as Imogen tells us a story about Bodhi becoming a flustered mess around a girl he was interested in. Again. For someone who grew up around Xaden and Garrick who were the epitome of confidence, Bodhi was the complete opposite most of the time, and it made for a lot of moments like this. As we pass by one of the few jewellery stores in town, something catches my eye. I drift away from the group as they keep laughing at Imogen’s story. In the window was a choker made up of thin black leather cord , and hanging off it was a beautiful green gem. It was like nothing I had ever seen before. I must have been gone from the group longer than I had realised as a familiar presence joins me. I don’t have to look up to know its Garrick. His shadow easily fell over me without even trying. And his smell easily gave him away. The familiar scent of leather, musk and cinnamon I had grown so use to other the last few months. A smell that I swear was permanently on that side of the bed he always laid on.

”What you looking at?” He asks as his eyes scan the items in the store window.

I point my finger at the choker on display in the middle of the window display. “Just that choker. Nothing special.” I tell him.

”Why don’t you get it then? Seems you really like it.” He pushes. I really must have been standing here looking at it longer than I realised.

I shake my head. “I’ll just end up losing it in a challenge or something. Just thought it was pretty.”

With a final look at the choker, I smile up at Garrick before wandering back to the group standing a few feet behind us.

Had Garrick gotten this for me? If he had, he would have gotten it while we were there. But why wait till today to give it to me? I had never told him when my birthday was. Hadn’t uttered a single word about it since the day I had gotten here. There was no way he knew what today was. I place the box on the bed in front of me before grabbing the card that had been placed with the box. I open the card to find the very familiar scrawl I knew belonged to Garrick. I had sat next to him in nearly every class after he had befriended me in Gauntlet training back in first year. I would know his handwriting anywhere.

I promise you’ll never lose this. I’ll make sure of it.

Head to where we first met - Garrick

I move faster than I ever have before. Jumping out of bed and pulling on my uniform and brushing my hair in record time. I’m halfway across my room when I remember the necklace still in the box on my bed. I rush over and grab the necklace. My fingers fumbling nervously on the clasp as I try to secure it around my neck. After many failed attempts I manage to finally clasp it together. I can’t help the smile that forms on my lips as I catch my reflection in the mirror. The sun hitting the green gem on my neck just right, casting a subtle green glow around it. It was beautiful. I don’t even hesitate as my feet take me towards the gauntlet. Garrick and I had technically met before the training sessions had started. We we’re in the same squad. But until gauntlet training had started, we had never uttered a single word to each other. Not even a hello. And as I round the corner into the gauntlet I know my gut feeling was right. Exactly where we had said our first words, had our first interaction say another box with a green bow. Right where Garrick had saved me from falling to my death.

I didn’t have enough momentum. My footwork was all wrong as my body jerked forward on the third last post. I was falling and I was going to die. I close my eyes so I don’t see it coming. Don’t have to watch my death come to me. But suddenly I’m not falling forward. The wind rushing around me gone. Instead I’m swinging back up as something grasps my arm. I thud into something solid, before we both topple to the ground, rolling into the next obstacle. I lie there in shock, my eyes still shut. There was no way I hadn’t died. My mind was playing tricks on me. It had to be. But a deep voice pulls me from my thoughts and has me opening my eyes.

”Hey, are you ok?”

I open my eyes to see the biggest cadet in our squad and probably the entire quadrant looking down at me. Worry etched on their face and in their hazel eyes. Still in shock from almost dying all I can do is nod my head. Clearly he senses I’m still in shock as he grasps my hands and pulls me up with him. I barely reach his shoulder as we both stand on the small landing. The landing I was very close to not being on if it wasn’t for Garrick. Who I could have sworn was half way up the next obstacle as I started mine. He should have cleared it by the time I had started to fall. He should have easily cleared it by then.

”Think you can make it up the next one?” Garrick’s question pulling me from my thoughts.

I turn to look at the upwards climb we would have to make. Something I could easily do. “Yeah, I think I can manage that.”

”Good. I’m Garrick by the way.” He holds his hand out to me.

I grasp it, his hand dwarfing mine instantly. “I’m Y/N.”

This time I had easily made it across the posts. Right over to the box on the small landing. I kneel in front of it, pulling off the green bow. Inside was a wooden carving of my green dragon. A wooden carving I knew Liam Mairi had done. I had seen him making carvings for some of the other riders. And I had dropped hints multiple times I would love one of my dragon. He kept telling me he would get to mine. But I had a feeling mine had been done for a while as I had only started asking recently. Underneath the wooden carving is another note from Garrick.

I’m glad I caught you that day. Even though I didn’t know you, I hate to think how my life would have turned out if I hadn’t.

Meet me where it first happened - Garrick

I can’t help the smile that breaks out on my face as I read his note, or the way my heart beat increases ever so slightly. The others had always joked I brought out the best in Garrick from that day onwards. I had to take their word for it, as Garrick had never changed in my eyes. He had always acted the same around me. I turn and climb up the last of the Gauntlet. Thank god once we cleared this on presentation day we didn’t have to do this to get up to the flight field every single time. Even with it being far easier now than it was back in first year. As I pull my self over the top I head straight for the stairs to take me back down to the quadrant. The only place my mind went to with the words ‘meet me where it first happened’ was his room. So that’s where I went.

”F-fuck, Garrick.” I practically moan.

Garrick’s hands grip my thighs tightly, keeping me firmly seated on his face. His tongue licking slowly over me, before wrapping his lips around my clit. My hands gripping his head board tightly as my body trembles and my toes curl. Garrick’s name was tumbling from my lips with every stroke. I gasp out loudly as his tongue probes my entrance, Garrick’s hands gripping my thighs tightly in response. I feel his groan rumble through me as I grind down on his face, his nose grazing my clit, a loud moan escaping me again. One of his hands moves from my thigh to firmly grasp me ass, encouraging me to move back and forth. I whimper as he removes his lips from me, earning a chuckle from Garrick. I had been so hesitant to do this, and now here I was whimpering at the loss. But he quickly replaces the loss with his fingers. I instantly clamp around them, head rolling back in pleasure.

”Fuck Y/N, you look so pretty like this. Way better than I ever imagined.” His voice dropping an octave lower somehow. “Look at you coming undone on just my fingers and tongue.”

All I can do is moan and whimper in response as he adds another finger, curling them inside me. I nearly collapse at the feeling. Garrick and I had barely started and he already had me falling apart on top of him. As Garrick sucks on my clit again, my whole body starts shaking, my climax quickly approaching.

”That’s it sweetheart. Let go. Come apart on my fingers.” He mumbles against me.

And I do. Hard and loud as I moan and scream his name.

My hand hovers over the handle to Garrick’s room, shaking slightly as my heart beats loudly and fast in my chest. The green bow on the handle telling me I was in the right spot. Meaning Garrick was most likely inside based off the wording of his note. On the other side I pick the faint sounds of someone pacing back and forth. Was Garrick nervous? Garrick who I had never seen look phased or scared of anything in the time we had been here. Yet hear I was listening to his pacing back and forth. I suck in a deep breathe and turn the handle and push open the door. Garrick who was pacing towards the other side of the room turns quickly and looks at me. A smile gracing his lips as his eyes lower to the choker still clasped around my neck. I look around the room, and situated on the desk is a cupcake from one of the bakeries in the local town with green icing on top. Next to it what looks to be a book with some slim boxes stacked on top, secured together with another one of the green bows. Garrick had known today was my birthday. There was no denying it.

”How did you know?” I ask him as I walk over to the desk, Garrick standing behind me and placing a hand on the small of my back.

”Lets just say I have my ways.” He says with a chuckle. I don’t have to turn to see the smirk that will be on his face.

”What ways? I’ve never told anyone here when my birthday was.” I tell him as I undo the bow holding the book and boxes together.

Garrick watches silently as I open the first box. Inside was a new set of daggers. Tyrrish runes decorated the handle. They were gorgeous. The next box held a new set of charcoals to go with the sketch book lying underneath.

”Being a section leader gives me access to information on all the cadets under me.” Cadets that included me as I was in his section. “I had also noticed over the last two years, that you always seemed off around this time of year. That something bothered you. So I already had my suspicions.”

”You didn’t have to do this.” I tell him as I turn and look at up him, trapping me between Garrick and the desk.

Garrick just smiles and reaches up and brushes some of my hair behind my ear, then resting his hand on my cheek. In my rush I hadn’t done my usual braid or bun, leaving it to hand loosely around my face. Something I knew drove Garrick crazy. He loved it when I’d let it down during our more intimate moments.

”I did. I needed to do this for you. Can’t have my girl hating her birthday.” He tells me softly.

Garrick was always good at keeping his emotions off his face. But his eyes always spoke what he was trying to hide. I could see the nervousness in them, the slight darting around my face to see how I would react.

”You’re girl? We’re just fr-”

”What if I wanted more? Wanted more than just some heated moments in each others beds. But kept convincing myself I couldn’t have more. What if I was stupid enough to fall for one of my closest friends.” He pleads, resting his forehead on mine.

”Good thing we’re both stupid then.” I say.

I briefly catch a smile on Garrick’s lips before they’re on my own. Our hands pulling at each others clothes as he guides us towards his bed, two piles ending up on the floor. I go to grab his hand to pull him down to the bed with me, but he smacks it away as he kneels in front of me, pulling me towards the edge of the bed.

”Today is all about you darling.” He says, his voice dropping an octave lower than normal, bringing out the husky tone that he knows I love.

I go to object, but my words are silenced by my moan as Garrick runs his tongue along my centre and pushes his fingers inside me. Happy birthday to me.

[dilemmaontwolegs]

Not A Verstappen: A New World {7}

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x fem!driver!reader x Lando Norris Summary: It's summer break and that means drunken shenanigans. Warnings: 18+ only, nsfw, fluff, alcohol, sexual themes WC: 1.8k F1 Masterlist NAV: Sibling Rivalry One || Two || Three NAV: Gridlocked One || Two || Three || Four || Five || Six || Seven || Eight || Nine NAV: A New World One || Two || Three || Four || Five || Six || Seven || Eight

A gentle melody echoed down the hall and you smiled at the sound as you quietly closed the front door. A soft moan escaped your lips as Lando eased your coat off and kissed your shoulder. 

“I think Charles beat us home,” he whispered against your skin. 

“Or there is a very refined intruder here.”

Lando chuckled as he kicked his shoes off and laced his fingers with yours. You stepped carefully along the wooden floorboards, creeping your way to the arch that opened into the larger living space. Deep in his zone, Charles sat shirtless in front of the piano and didn’t notice your arrival until you and Lando slipped onto the bench chair beside him.

“Keep going,” you urged when his fingers stilled and the note rang out. “It’s beautiful.”

Lando lightly tapped a higher key and Charles reached for the lid with a shake of his head. “It’s not ready yet.”

He was always a little shy with his music, until he was certain it was complete. It was challenging not to press him when you weren’t the most patient of people. But you tried. 

“Have you had lunch?”

He shook his head again, water drops flicking from his wet hair and tickling your skin. “I just got home too.”

It had been a long three days apart but if you wanted to have a few weeks undisturbed then you had to go to the factory for some work. Lando had been in Woking, Charles in Maranello and you had gone to the new HQ in Silverstone. Everyone was happy to be home in Monaco, together. 

“How about we go out?” you offered. “It’s officially holiday mode…and August.”

“You just want to get drunk,” Lando teased with a wink. “I’m in for some bottomless mimosas. Charles?”

“Only if I get you all to myself for the rest of the weekend. I don’t want to leave the apartment at all, especially if I am hungover.”

“I suppose I could handle that,” you said with a playful eye roll, “but you'll have to find some way to keep us entertained.”

He looked down with a smile and nodded. “I’m sure I can think of something.”

Half an hour later you were almost ready to go out when there was a call from the concierge about an oversized delivery. “Did you guys order anything?”

“Not that I remember.”

“I have some new Quadrant hoodies but they shouldn’t be oversized.”

You curiously hung around the front door waiting and frowned at a crate that arrived in the service elevator. “Is that Heineken?”

One of the men looked up at the only apartment door on the floor before double checking the name. “Delivery for Verstappen?”

“That would be the next block over,” you said pointing to the identical apartment tower across the street, until you saw the first name on the delivery notice, your name. “What the hell is my brother up to?” 

You swiped the invoice off the top of the crate and tore it open to see there were 30 boxes of Heineken’s 0% alcohol beer, courtesy of Max’s latest commercial he had done for the brand. Pulling your phone out, you hit Max’s contact and stepped out onto the balcony that faced his apartment from the guest room.

“Hello, zusje,” he greeted with a smile in his tone. “How can I help you?”

“Step outside.”

You heard the scrape of his door sliding open before he stepped out onto his balcony and waved across the street. Cupping your hands around your mouth you shouted to be sure he heard you, “What the fuck, Max!”

“I’m looking out for your health,” he laughed into his phone. “Tastes good, you should try it.”

“I didn’t just go a month without alcohol to drink that shit. Come and get it before I get home or I’ll get a slingshot and send it back the fun way.”

His curiosity was piqued as he took a seat in the shade. “Where are you going?” 

“Lunch and drinks, then see how we go.”

“I’ll see what Kel’s plans are but meet you at Jimmyz?” 

You gave him the thumbs up. “Sounds good if we can still walk by then.”

The room spun as you tried to stand up. You no longer had a brain, just a constant beat of a drum that throbbed painfully in your head with every movement. The air was stale in the room but the smell of rum was stronger and you opened a window to save your stomach from heaving. Images of the night before came with sporadic bursts that made zero sense and your boyfriends were of little help as they lay comatose on the bed. 

You were in desperate need of water so you grabbed one of the silk robes abandoned on the floor and stepped out into the hall as you tied it around your waist. You had barely finished tying it off when you stumbled past the guest room and saw a pasty white ass on the bed. 

“Pierre?” 

“Je dors, go away,” the man groaned and rolled over to barely lift his head from the pillow, both confirming his identity and also scarring your eyes as you rushed out of the room. 

 You were still trying to erase the image of him when you ran into Kika leaving the kitchen with a mug of coffee. “Are you okay?” she asked as she placed a calming hand on your shoulder. “You look sick.”

“I feel sick,” you grumbled as you stole the coffee. “I saw more of your boyfriend in the last three seconds than I have in three years of knowing him.”

Kika giggled sheepishly. “Sorry, I didn’t think anyone else would be awake so early. You guys were pretty hammered last night.”

“I’ll be honest, I can’t remember anything.”

Kika grabbed your hand and towed you back to the kitchen, placing you on a stool at the breakfast bar before making herself another cup. You weren't sure about actually drinking the coffee just yet but the scent alone was enough to bring some life back to you as you watched Kika take a seat on the bench next to the coffee machine while it made another espresso. 

“You guys went fucking wild last night,” Kika started with a laugh. “You were already wasted by the time Charles called Pierre to invite us out. It’s a surprise they even let you into Jimmyz.”

“I can act sober when I need to.”

Kika snorted a laugh. “That’s exactly what you told the bouncer too. Good thing Charles was able to convince him.”

That wasn’t anything new, Charles could sweet talk his way out of anything, especially in Monaco. “Fuck, I can’t remember any of that.”

“I’m not surprised,” Pierre chuckled behind you, surprising you enough that the coffee splashed over your hand. “I should bill you for emotional damages.”

“Me? I had to wake up and see your ass, when I was already feeling nauseous. You need to get some sun on those buns, dude, I thought it was a full moon. You should pay me.”

“At least you didn’t have to listen to a pull out competition on the other side of the wall.”

You froze as you felt the whispers of the memory on your skin. Lando and Charles had made a bet when the alcohol was running rife in their bloodstream. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me,” he said with a dramatic shiver.

The machine beeped and Pierre stole the drink before Kika could and she huffed as she made a third attempt at getting her coffee. After shoving a fresh cup under it and hitting the buttons, she leaned into Pierre’s side and said, “From the cheers it sounds like the boys won.”

Your cheeks heated with embarrassment and you buried your face in your hands as they continued to tease you with the sounds you had made last night. 

“Mate, some of us are trying to sleep,” Lando grumbled as he lumbered into the room in a daze, rubbing his bleary eyes. Charles was only a few steps behind him having the time to pull on sweatpants unlike Lando who was happy to wander around in his boxers. 

“Well some of us were trying to do that last night,” Pierre replied as he draped his arm over Kika’s shoulders. “Right, babe?”

“Please tell me they are joking,” you begged as your boyfriends sat down at the breakfast bar with you. “They think you two were stupid enough to try pulling out.”

Lando scratched the curls at the top of his head, his biceps flexing as he tried to distract you from the shrug he gave. 

“No,” you groaned, turning the other way. “Charles?”

“Mamour, you dared us. You bet we couldn’t, and we are competitive people.”

“Fuck…”

“If it makes you feel better, love, you lost.” A warm hand drew soothing circles on the small of your back and Lando kissed your cheek before whispering in your ear, “But it wasn’t really losing, you were very much happy with the results, in your mouth, on your ass. I think we all won.”

You pushed him away before you made another stupid decision and busied your hands with the coffee, taking a sip in the hopes you could wash away the dirty thoughts. They had ignited the memory and it came on so suddenly you nearly choked on the drink as you heard your taunt. 

“Godammit,” Lando huffed as he struggled to open the foil wrapper on the condom. “I’m still not used to doing this shit again.”

“If you had pull-out game you could already be inside me,” you teased him as your fingers ran down your body and you spread your legs for him. “But your self control is shocking.”

“Is not,” he scoffed indignantly, tossing the packet aside. “I can pull out.”

“I bet you can’t.”

“This is not a good idea, mamour.”

“Are you scared you will lose? Tsk, tsk, I thought you were braver than that Charles.”

Charles grabbed your hand before you could reach the juncture of your thighs and pinned it above your head as he smirked to Lando. “Fuck it, lets go.”

Click here for the next part.

[lovelytsunoda]

kill of the night // lando norris

summary: she hates parties. especially quadrant parties hosted in large creepy mansions. at least the hot pirate hosting the party is into her, or she would have left ages ago.

pairing: lando norris x female reader

warnings: consumption of alcohol, lando cannot take anything seriously to save his life, the eerie feeling of being watched (anxiety or haunted house, you decide), pirate themed sexual innuendos, mention of spiders (arachnophobia warning!) reader has mild autism

the lights were low and the music loud as she pushed her way through the crowd, desperate for a drink and a moment of peace. the music was bad (some club mix of the rocky horror picture soundtrack) and all she wanted was for her massive headache to go away.

too bad she didn’t drink often. maybe something stronger than a hard lemonade would make this evening bearable.

she sat at the bar, feeling the eerie sensation of all eyes on her as she scanned the sea of bodies for the slew of other glittery fairy wings she had arrived with. she didn't even know some of the girls that well. all of the girls from her program had been invited, and she was trying to be a team player.

one girl was making out with a stranger, two others playing beer pong. the rest were lost to the crowd, dancing in ways that would definitely have disappointed their parents.

when the tuxedoed bartender came back with the crystal tumbler that had her vodka lemonade in it, she frowned at the tiny plastic sword, a gummy worm speared through it.

she just wanted a normal fucking drink.

sighing, she grabbed the glass and got to her feet, sending one last glance to the other girls before she started making her way towards the exit, mindful of the massive plastic wings strapped to her back. she had half a mind to just rip them off and throw them into the nearest trash can.

the outside hallway wasn't much better, and she found herself reaching into her purse for her airpods, less for music and more to just to cancel out the noise. she extracted the green plastic sword, taking the gummy worm off the plastic and dropping it into her mouth. the dj was playing ghostbusters, and she wanted nothing more than to be back home in her small, peaceful dorm, wrapped in her fleece blanket and reading 'love in the time of serial killers', or in the warm movie theatre watching 'a haunting in venice'.

instead she was here.

folding the small sword over in her hands, she grabbed her drink from the side table and made her way down the dreary hallway to get some fresh air.

the outside of the mansion was peaceful, if not a little disused. the hedges were neatly trimmed, the flowers well tended to as she sat down on a stone bench, the cold from the surface seeping in through the fabric of her dress as she took a sip of her drink.

truth be told, the peaceful atmosphere of the large, creepy mansion had been one of the few reasons she had agreed to come, living out her 'haunted mansion' fantasy: ghost who's been pining after her for centuries, the promise of eternal love. all but the evil ghost butler trying to kill her.

"the party's inside, you know!" a shout carried over the breeze, bristol accent sharp.

she yelped, dropping her drink and watching the glass shatter against flagstone.

"jesus! you can't just sneak up on people like that!" she shouted, yanking out her earbuds. "what is wrong with you, you fucking wanker!"

she got to her feet, spinning around to see who had spoken. he was tall enough (taller than her at least), dressed in a billowy white shirt and leather vest, leather breeches hugging his impressive thighs, a mane of curly brunette hair on the top of his head, and a fake sword strapped to his thigh.

at least, she hoped it was fake.

"woah, hang on." he frowned, coming closer to her. he looked like a prince, straight out of a disney movie. "i didn't mean to scare you."

could this be him? the ghost lover from her haunted mansion fantasy?

"it's fine. i guess i'm just jumpy. mansions that are almost certainly haunted will do that to a girl." she took a step back, trying to avoid the smashed glass as she turned, intending to go back to the stone bench before her wing got caught on a hedge. she cursed, resisting the urge to yank at the iridescent plastic.

"let me help." the stranger encouraged, coming closer to the hedge.

she shook her head. "it's fine, just let me take it off my back."

she gently eased out of the elastic straps securing the wings to her body, attempting to make it happen as gracefully as possible. one wing snapped back and smacked her in the face, and she tried to shake it off as she moved away, allowing them to dangle dejectedly from the hedge.

the prince came to stand beside her, his cologne overloading her senses as her reached over her to help disentangle the wings, his body heat against her back making her skin flush.

"here you go." his voice was soft as her passed her back her costume.

she could have left the wings there, she'd only paid three dollars to make them. she folded them up, placing the scratchy plastic on the stone bench before looking down at the shattered crystal.

“sorry about the glass. you’ll probably have to pay for it, being the host and all.”

“how did you know I was the host?”

her face blushed pink “havw you ever seen the haunted mansion? the original one with eddie murphy and wallace shawn?”

she gave him an opening, ready to hide her face behind her hands if it didn’t work out. there was a slight pause, and then he burst out laughing.

“you think that I’m some dead ghostly prince searching for his lost love?” he sputtered. “hate to break it to ya, tinker bell, but I’m not a prince, and I am very much alive.”

“I never said you were dead!” she crossed her arms indignantly, stomping one sneaker-clad foot against the flagstones.

chuckling, the suitor extended his hand. “I’m lando.”

“y/n.” she sighed, reaching to shake his hand. “sorry about the hostility, I just felt overstimulated in there. it’s the ‘tism in me.”

lando gestured for her to sit on one of the benches, looking out at the algae-caked fountain. it smelled earthly, yet his cologne was still all she could comprehend.

“have you had a chance to explore the house? based solely on your haunted mansion statement, I feel like that would be something you were in to.”

“it’s the only reason I came, truth be told. I hate parties, but some of the girls o study with thought it would be a good idea. what i didn’t realize was that we’d all be packed into the ballroom and pretty much the rest of the house would be off limits.”

lando laughed, straddling the bench next to her, one leg on either side. not very prince-like, if you had asked y/n. “well, I didn’t pick the venue. you can thank max and steve for that.”

“I don’t know who either of those people are.”

“I work with them in quadrant, they’re hosting this thing. I’d stepped out for a minute to take a business call.”

she snorted. “you? a business call?”

“what’s so hard to believe about that?” lando feigned offence, smacking his chest with his palm. “and why did your mind immediately go to the haunted mansion when you saw me? I was going for less master gracey and more will turner.”

“please, you’re jack sparrow at best. I can tell you bought your little pirate outfit at spirit halloween. and if my first instinct was that you were dressed as a prince, something is missing.”

she propped one leg lengthwise on the bench, tucking one sneaker-clad foot under the other, smoothing her dress over as to not give the man in front of her a glaring look at her dusty pink panties (although an intrusive thought did prompt her to wonder what would happen if she did).

“have you had a chance to explore the mansion yet?” she asked the man. well, the boy. he couldn’t have been too much older than she was.

lando shook his head, a few errant curls falling from his shaggy hair and over his eyebrows, and something about the way he shook his head to clear the curls from his eyes had her mouth watering. she wondered briefly what it would be like to kiss him.

“i saw a bit of it when we were bringing everything in. it’s a maze of service tunnels and secret doors. i actually got myself locked in a cellar.” lando laughed, and the butterflies erupted in her stomach, a giddy feeling spreading through her bones. “and that’s why ria thought it would be a good idea to cordon off most of the house. so that idiots like me didn’t get themselves locked in anywhere they couldn’t get out of.”

she raised an eyebrow, almost questioning exaclty how th man in front of her got himself locked in a cellar before she thought better of it. “so you know where all these secret passageways are?”

lando wagged his eyebrows. “is that something you’re into?”

“why do you have to say it like that?” she giggled, bringing her hand up to cover her mouth when she remembered how she usually looked when she laughed. “you make it sound weird. like a sex thing.”

“well, it’s not a sex thing,” lando reassured, stepping off the bench like he was dismounting a noble steed. “unless you want it to be? I’d be down to, uh, shiver your timbers in a secret hidden alcove.”

“not if you make bad pirate puns.” she rolled her eyes, taking landos extended hand in hers and allowing him to help her up. “but we can see where the night takes us.”

she shouldn’t have said that. why did she say that? would he think she was propositioning him?

the wind was breezy on her bare legs as lando led her across the moonlit backyard, pushing open the same door they had just come through. the family photos on the wall were old and faded, frames of orange gold around them. lando ushered her up the stairs, clouds of dust flying off the carpet as they ascended. the further up the stairs they moved, the mustier it smelled.

lando stopped her on the landing, hardwood covered in a threadbare oriental carpet, everything covered in a fine layer of dust, save for the cracked mirror.

"press on the edges of the fame, but stand back." lando suggested. "max brushed up against it earlier and almost got flung off the landing. it's a service entrance door."

"sick." she mumbled, pressing her slender fingers along the filigree gold frame. "just like this? do you remember where the latch was?"

"if i did, i'd have opened the door myself." he shrugged.

all at once, she felt the mirror give way under her hand, a clicking sound barely audible as the door began to move. lando reached for her hand, gently pulling her out of the line of fire.

"that was fucking awesome." she giggled, pulling her phone out of her purse and switching on the flashlight. "you know we need to go in there now, right?"

"just as long as you can get us back out." lando pleaded. "i don't want to die in a service tunnel."

she lead the way up the stone staircase, her flashlight illuminating the pounds of dust and cobwebs (as well as the occasional lump that might have been a dead rat, but she actually didn't want to know).

"if i see any big ass spiders in here, killing them is your job." she tried to keep her voice steady, but the thought of a massive spider crawling up her leg was not her idea of a good time. in fact, it would likely send her into hysterics.

they reached the top of the winding staircase, coming to rest in front of a large wooden door with a wrought iron knocker shaped like medusa's head. the hinges were slightly rusted, and it was clear that nobody had come up here for a while.

until them, of course, their footsteps clearly imprinted in the dusty stairs below.

"well, it would be a shame to turn back now." lando remarked, reaching for the door handle. it was stiff, but the room was unlocked.

she followed lando inside, reaching blindly for the old dial lightswitch on the wall. the room flickered to life, lit by two dull bulbs hanging from the ceiling.

a large bookshelf took up one wall, a dust and dirt caked window overlooking the grounds on another, equipped with a window seat for reading. a small crosley record player sat on a teak stand, pressed up against a wall painted an off cinnamon color. she walked to the milk crates stacked neatly next to the the player, flipping through well-worn vinyls.

"whoever was last up here was really into seventies disco. we've got abba, donna summer, elton john, blondie, hot chocolate, earth wind and fire." she mused, pulling a blondie album out of the basket. "although i always considered blondie to be more new wave than anything."

lando reached over her, his chest just faintly burshing up against her arm, body heat causing her skin to flush as he grabbed an elton john record from the basket.

"elton john? now this guy wrote some great stuff."

"nothing in this basket is organized in any way! they've got wild cherry at the front with earth, wind and fire, but blondie is pushed way to the back with chaka khan and ike and tina. no rhyme or reason! i have half a mind to rearrange it myself."

the record player crackled to life, the sound coming out of two old wooden marley speakers, a sound system that hadn't been updated in a while but still came through crisp as they day it was put together. elton john and kiki dee's duetting voices began to fill the room, and lando extended a hand.

"can i have this dance, my fair maiden?"

she smiled, leaning against the stack of milk crates. "i dunno. ladies like me don't dance with scoundrels like you."

"but a scoundrel like me will show you a damn good time. if you let me, of course."

giggling, she grabbed his hand, allowing the young man to twirl her in a circle before dipping her towards the floor, her hair dusting the shag carpet. soon, their laughter was louder than the stereo itself.

out of breath, their gleeful dance began to slow. they stood in the middle of the dimly lit room, 'don't go breaking my heart' playing lowly in the background, the thumping bass from the ballroom travelling upstairs as lando leaned in.

the craned her face up, pressing on to her tip toes to meet him halfway, brushing her lips against his before her pulled her in for more, his strong arms like a safety net around her body, ready to catch her if her knees buckled (which she was almost sure they would).

"i've gotta hand it to ya, captain. you're one smooth operator." she giggled, kissing him again. "i wonder what else you can do with that tongue?"

"come dock in my port, and you'll find out."

she burst out laughing, dropping her arms to playfully smack him in the chest. "that was your worst pick up line yet!"

"really? i've got a ton more, read up for this very occasion. what else have i got? there's 'i sure would like to pillage your booty', but that one sounds a little sleazy, 'not only do i have a ship, but it's a long one."

"oh my god, you need to stop. they're all as bad as the one that came before." she was laughing so hard there were tears in the corners of her eye. he thought he was so suave, rattling off stupid pickup lines while he leaned against milk crates of vinyl pressings.

and the stupid thing was, it was working.

tired of listening to him ramble, she stalked over to him, grabbing his leather vest and pulling him in for another kiss.

TAGS: @userlando @magnummagnussen @diorleclerc @scuderiamh @lorarri @cartierre @clemswrld @httpiastri @love4lando @silversainz @silverstonesainz @scuderiasundays

[ddarker-dreams]

Nexus III.

Yandere Blade x F Reader.

Warnings: Explicit not SFW, mommy issues galore, some psychological horror elements, yandere themes, and unhealthy relationships. Word count: 15.6k.

Nexus index.

When you dream of your mother, it’s in a lotus field.

Everyone’s psyche manifests itself in a distinct way, echoes the teachings she left behind. This is yours. 

The bioluminescent petals cower inward as if hiding a terrible secret. Some bloom along the hazy ground, others swing in the air, suspended by strings hung from a glass dome overhead. 

In this dream, you cannot speak, though you have much to say. 

Gentle as you may be, each step you take to close the gap between you and her demands a sacrifice. The flower’s vibrancy drains like color from a dying man’s face. From the stem upward, it decays. To try and save it is to kill it faster. Brittle fragments crumble into ashen piles that scratch at your bare feet. 

Her back remains facing you. 

You have no way of earning her attention. She is blind to the frantic waving of your arms, deaf to the eroding necropolis you leave in your wake. 

You’re certain you’ll never reach her. Still, you try, only to fail all the same. 

With each passing dream, a crack along your glass dome spreads. It started too small to see and is now too large to fix. Is it best to let it shatter? Could it be the silent warden that cordons you off from a universe you know yet have never experienced? 

Or is it the final bastion that shields you? 

A devastating attack on the Thelx’s main guide causes cataphoric damage to the quadrant’s sixth residential district. The aftershocks resulted in the collapse of multiple buildings, resulting in injuries for hundreds and a rising death toll that currently stands at 34. Local residents have filed complaints for years now, listing concerns that the most recent building inspections have not resulted in appropriate measures taking place. 

“We all knew something bad was bound to happen,” said one woman who happened to be visiting family in Ade during the incident. “We knew, but where else are we supposed to go? Our choices were to stay put and take our chances or try surviving in Arc. No one wanted that. But now…. seeing this… maybe Arc would’ve been better.”

An investigation into the matter is being spearheaded by Chrysus, Ade’s Exalted Regent. 

We reached out to Chrysus’ team for a statement and have yet to receive a response. 

Rumors are swirling online that the attack was targeted at Thelx’s Exalted Arbiter, [First] Phaeales, the single daughter of the deceased Ania Phaeales. A spokesperson for Thelx’s fledgling matriarch has confirmed her safety, though she received minor injuries. Thelx is expected to endure further economic hardship due to the IPC’s recent travel ban. The LOTUS-EATER and similar establishments constitute up to 43% of Thelx’s total gross domestic product—

“It’s rude to read when you have a guest over,” Nona chides. 

“Sorry.” 

You turn your phone off and place it beside the other ornaments atop your vanity. Makeup, jewelry, hair ornaments, and one of the only gifts your mother ever gave; a lotus made of iridescent crystals. It’s sat untouched for years and you assume it will continue to do so. 

Nona, who has helped herself to lying on your bed, rolls over onto her stomach. Both her cheeks squish together as she holds her head up by tiny fists, her elbows digging into your comforter for support. She draws her lips into a thin line. There’s a hollowness to her gaze that rivals the mask she wore when you first met. 

“Why do you care so much?” 

Her inquiry leaves you temporarily at a loss for words. “... What?” 

“About people you haven’t met,” she clarifies. “Whose names you don’t even know. To them, you’re nothing but a glorified mascot to blame when things go bad and praise when things go right.” 

Your mouth is too dry for you to swallow. “Each life in Thelx has been entrusted to me.” 

“So? Did everyone come up to you one by one and ask for your stewardship?” 

“Of course not, don’t be unreasonable.” 

“I’m the one being unreasonable?” Nona barks a caustic laugh. “Have you seen what these people have been saying? ‘Let’s pack up the family and move to Arc!’, as if any of them could survive there for more than the instant their foot crosses over the divide. It’s hilarious! The funniest joke I’ve heard in some time.” 

Your eyes narrow. “That’s enough. The community is understandably hurt. Frightened. When tragedies happen, we each have our ways of making sense of things.” 

She pushes herself up and sits crisscross. “I’m just saying I’d like to see them try. Me… I would’ve given anything to have been born here. An organ, a limb, whatever. At least I’d be hobbling around where there’s light and warmth.” 

“Nona…” 

“They don’t know. They have no idea,” Nona trembles. “People make Arc out to be something it isn’t. ‘Look at how free they are, they can live as they please, answering to no one but themselves!’ Funnily enough, the IPC said the same thing when they built Perianth, didn’t they? Got the whole universe feeling warm and fuzzy. The poor, the wretched, the damned; they’re hideous up close, so let’s tuck them far away from the light. Then we don’t have to see them.”

She hangs her head. “Experiencing rejection from the rejected… that’s what they can look forward to in Arc. Anything else is a pipe dream.” 

You get up from your chair and sit down next to her on the bed. Finding a blanket, you toss it over your shoulder, extra prudent to avoid any accidental contact. Glassy amber eyes blink slowly as you pat the cushioned spot. She starts leaning in, only to pause a few inches shy of her intended target. You don’t need to be in her head to guess what reel she’s flicking through. When the feature film’s end credits roll, she rests her head on your shoulder. 

“Lear’s worried about you, y’know.” 

“I know.” 

“Loopy would be too, if it were sentient.” 

“It’s possible.” 

“...” 

She whispers your name, hesitant, as if she were a child preparing to ask their parents for a gift they know they can’t have.

“If I could, I’d wish that all the stars in the universe would burn so bright, so hot, that each person would melt away like ice until only us three remain. The poor, wretched, and damned. Our happiness would be unrivaled if there were no one else to compare ourselves to. You don’t know misery if no one ever tells you you’re miserable.” 

Or maybe you invent new miseries for yourself, you think. Then, with no one to compare yourself to… would you not be the most miserable person in the universe? 

You could voice your musings but to verbalize them now feels wrong. Instead, you choose to let her live the wish that will never come true. In this pocket dimension, beyond the four walls of your room, nothing exists. No Thelx, Perianth II, Stellaron Hunter or IPC. There are only two jagged shards who have abandoned being whole again. You might not click together like puzzle pieces, perfectly falling into place to form a seamless image, but you can look at the pane you broke free from and decide for yourself if the result was worth it. 

Choosing between two evils is better than being stuck with one. 

“Nona,” you break the silence. If there’s anything you’ve been doing too much of lately, it’s dwelling on factors beyond your control. 

“Hm?” 

“That flower bouquet,” you nod toward the magenta-colored roses on your vanity, which she brought in earlier. “There was a message attached to it, wasn’t there?” 

She stiffens. 

“... Possibly.” 

You knew a ‘gift’ from Miss 10.899 billion wouldn’t come without some poisonous flourish. The roses don’t have thorns, so the sharpness must lay elsewhere. 

“What did it say?” 

“You really want to know?” 

“I’m asking, aren’t I?” 

She deflates like a balloon pricked by a needle, then mumbles, “The tag said ‘Get well soon.’”

Ah, you think. If I could have anyone melt away… she’d certainly be high on the list.

You haven’t spoken one word to Blade since he carried your unconscious body back to the LOTUS-EATER. 

Regardless, he’s still around. He isn’t some option in your settings you can turn off with a single button press. He hasn’t initiated contact while you healed from your injuries, which consisted of a sprained ankle, two broken ribs, and minor abrasions peppered throughout. Your high position ensured you’d receive the best medical care Eris has to offer. 

Fourteen total cycles have passed since the Thelx nectar guide bombing. 

Fourteen dreary cycles filled with nothing but eating bland food, taking bitter medication, and dreaming the same gloomy dream. 

During this festive stretch, Nona has been your primary visitor. Lear restricted himself to electronic communication, fearing the emotional reaction he’d experience from seeing you in this state might harm you. They’ve both taken to distracting you in their own fashion. Nona shows you pictures, such as the googly eyes she put on Loopy, or discusses the strangest psyches she’s seen from clients. One client’s mind manifested itself as a drumstick. 

“Not even a pair, just one,” she giggled. “Hey, don’t start lecturing me about our privacy policy. I see you fighting back a smile. That absolves me from breaking my NDA.” 

Then there’s Lear who laser focuses on your health. At least 80% of his texts follow the ‘Have you x’ format. Stretched, taken medicine, slept, eaten; you half expect him to start asking if you’ve breathed enough. 

The timer you’ve set for your tea goes off. 

You pull the teabag out, dispose of it, and then stir the ruby-colored concoction. Golden flecks swirl in a violent vortex. Content, you throw on a diaphanous, cape-like outer garment over your loungewear. The fabric is deceptively delicate to the eye yet has been synthesized to preserve heat. 

The components that open your bedroom door at your behest emit a low hum. The lack of use must’ve spoiled them. This is the first time you’ve emerged from your hibernation. The light system in your office whirs to life upon your return. You wave off the visual assault. Your eyes have become so accustomed to the dark that you’ll need to build your light tolerance back up. 

After inputting the proper passcode, you pass through to the balcony. 

And then immediately regret it when Blade’s back is the first thing that greets you. 

He’s in a meditative stance. The gales of loud emotion that normally engulf him have quieted down to a hush. From this position, you can see how his long ebony strands cascade down his back, the tips taken on a reddish hue. A pearlescent sheen shimmers along the outline of his body, the moon’s personal gift. When one thinks of a stereotypical warrior, certain biases culminate in the rough image of some brute, like a brigand from a child’s fairytale. 

However, seeing him like this, exuding poise and temperance, you think he fits the role of prince. 

You take a step back. 

“You can stay,” his voice slashes through your entangled thoughts, “I’ll go inside.” 

A beast slithers in the calm waters as soon as he stops his meditation. It isn’t voracious or on the hunt. No, you get the distinct feeling it finds pleasure in lurking just below the surface, not creating so much as a ripple to deter its prey. Waiting and waiting. By the time some poor soul enters and realizes they aren’t alone, it’s too late. Multiple rows of pointed teeth have already pierced their flesh. 

You block his path with your body, an act that’s equally confounding to him as it is to you. 

“I wanted to talk to you,” you say. Your boldness fizzles out beneath the weight of his stare. “If… that’s alright.” 

He considers you briefly. You expect him to walk away without sparing you another glance, but it must be his turn to foster confusion. He turns around and sits on the chair to the left, as he did when you first became acquainted. After what feels like a delay in your neurons providing information to your brain, you sit beside him. It occurs to you that your little balcony is in excellent shape even though you haven’t been able to maintain it. 

You look at him from the corner of your eye. 

Has he been keeping this area clean? 

Oddly enough, it’s Blade who prompts further conversation. “How are your injuries?” 

“My ankle’s fully recovered and my ribs only hurt if I move too much. I’ve got nothing to complain about.” 

You take a sip of your concoction. A sweet, herbal flavor dances on your tongue with a hint of spice. These tea leaves are one of the few that can grow on Eris in an artificial environment. You added a spoonful of the Nectary’s tonic to complement the taste. It’s a drink popularly referred to as ambrosia. 

“How about you? Have you healed— oh, um.” You raise your hand to cover your traitorous mouth. It can prevent more words from coming out, but it can’t take back what’s already been said. 

“I have, unfortunately.” 

“‘Unfortunately?’” You repeat back, though the sound is muffled. You wince. So much for putting an end to your bluntness. 

“You’re acting reserved,” he dryly notes. “Is this the same woman who takes every chance to tell me off?” 

“Hey, I don’t take every chance to—” You throw your head back in exasperation upon seeing the beginning of a self-satisfied smirk. “... I shouldn’t… have behaved as… candidly as I did. It’s unprofessional.” 

“‘That part,’ huh,” Blade mutters. “You don’t have to section off parts of yourself, you choose to.” 

The tea’s aftertaste turns bitter. 

To be whole is a privilege Blade doesn’t have, you think. If he allowed that, then… would he really be ‘Blade’ anymore? 

You stare down at the distorted reflection the tea provides, ripples distorting your likeness before you can confirm his claim. Your hands must be trembling. 

“I advised against it for a reason. My mind is unsightly.” 

“It isn’t that!” you turn your head toward him, catching how he furrows his eyebrows at your outburst of emotion, “What I did… it wasn’t right. I took advantage of your vulnerable state and tried to manipulate you. Control you. A violation like that… it’s unforgivable.”

Anytime a situation threatens to spiral beyond your control, you resort to what you supposedly swore off. 

I’ll only do it this once, the circumstances call for it, you’d tell yourself. No more after that. I mean this time, I really do. It won’t happen again.

Until it does.

Alister with his weapon. Blade after he saved your life. Lear when the loneliness felt excruciating.

Your chest feels like it’s hosting a colony of crawling maggots ready to burst through your flesh. It hurts, this slimy, despicable filth that you scrub raw only to dirty again. Not trusting yourself with the fragile teacup, you set it down. 

“So that’s what you consider a sin,” Blade says. “You oppose incarceration and yet you're a prisoner to your own guilt.” 

“That’s different.” 

“Even so, one is far worse than the other. I should know; I’ve experienced both. If I could choose between a physical prison or my mind, I’d pick the former.” 

You recall the gargantuan structure that is Blade’s repressed psyche. The oppressive atmosphere, how it stood alone, far removed from anything resembling hope. 

If it’s of Xianzhou build, it must be none other than the Shackling Prison. 

“The injuries you received when protecting me,” You work through each word slowly, as if testing their validity. “They should’ve killed you. But instead… you ‘defied the natural order’ — death itself.” 

Blade doesn’t move his gaze from the four moons in the sky. 

The Xianzhou Alliance’s intolerance for those who follow the Aeon of Abundance, Yaoshi, is infamous throughout the universe. What the followers consider blessings, they reject as curses. For the Xianzhou, it’s personal. The ink the Aeon has left behind hardly has time to dry before more transgressions are added to the ledger. 

Those who live on Eris, yourself included, most commonly follow the Noct, the Aeon of The Ideal. Noct is thought to be the one who blessed this planet with the Nectary. Without it, the first generation of prisoners left to fend for themselves by the IPC would have perished. Your Aeon is in what the Genius Society calls ‘an indefinite hibernation’, not interacting with the material world yet not fully removed from it either. Some revere their Aeon enough to die for them, others despise them enough to dedicate everything to their destruction; neither side makes sense.

To you, the Aeons feel almost as distant as the stars. 

“Can it really be considered a sin if it’s beyond your control?” 

“It won’t always be,” he replies. “Until then, I can’t allow myself to forget. You must get why.” 

You wish you didn’t. 

A few moments pass. They flow into each other smoothly, lacking acidity. You resume drinking your tea. It’s lukewarm, but you don’t mind. 

“You truly aren’t afraid of me,” you remark. 

“What’s there to be afraid of?” 

The deep bass of his voice temporarily adjusts to allow bemusement. It takes you a moment to realize he isn’t mocking you, it’s more teasing than anything. The reminder does serve you well. Physically, the gap in your strength is insurmountable. He could snuff out your life before you realized your appointment with death had been expedited. 

“Most people are put off by my company in a casual setting. Being around someone who could peer into your mind, past all the pretenses we work so diligently to build… it’s frightening. Unnatural, even.” 

He focuses on the abyssal horizon. It’s as if your Aeon swaddled this planet in a pitch-black blanket with the four moons acting as a nursery mobile. You can reach up to grasp them as much as you’d like, but the cosmic entities will never be yours. It is you who belongs to them. 

“My mind has a will of its own,” Blade tells you. “It’s loud. Something about you quiets it down.” 

You blink. “Really?” 

He stares at you blankly instead of repeating himself. You take it that’s his way of communicating he has no reason to be dishonest. 

“This affliction you’re suffering from… it’s called mara, correct?” 

The instant the word leaves your lips, his demeanor shifts. It’s subtle, the tightening of his muscles and his frown deepening, yet the physical signs aren’t what tip you off. The pervasive air shrouding the beast inside his psyche is twitching. It longs to permanently rid Blade of control and loathes each rejection it’s endured. 

“I think I saw it. From what I’ve heard, I thought it’d be more self-destructive. Yours, though… how do I put it… it’s vicious, but it’s like a muzzle has been forced on it. I assume Kafka had something to do with that?” 

He doesn’t deny your conjecture. 

“Hmph, figures it’d be her handiwork. She can poke around in people’s heads, but her techniques are more effective in the short term. It lacks staying power,” you cross your arms. “I wonder why my presence deters your mara.” 

“It’s never functioned normally. I’ve long abandoned trying to make sense of it.” 

“I can’t accept that,” you huff. “You’ve saved my life twice now. There has to be something useful to be gleaned from this, even if it isn’t a complete cure.” 

The groundwork has been laid out. You were able to scrape together enough to give his psyche form, an act that’s no small feat, since he didn’t go through the typical interview process. Initiating physical contact with him was a risk, but you’ve yet to notice any consequences. 

While considering the best methods, an epiphany sinks its claws into you. 

You bite your lower lip. “I’m— um. Getting ahead of myself. After what happened, I understand if you don’t want me in your head.” 

The terms of atonement crafted by your own hands can’t be sufficient penance. 

“Multiple influences have fought for control of my mind,” he reveals. Your breath catches in your tightening throat. This isn’t a wound you’ve inflicted, it’s a wound you’ve reopened. Mara’s madness, Kafka’s adjustments; how much tampering has he been subjected to? There have been foreign elements inserted and his original self shifted around, if not removed entirely. His psyche is strung together like fraying patchwork. 

You don’t know what to do. Should you apologize again? Leave him be? Form some sort of arrangement where he doesn’t have to interact with you directly? 

These frantic thoughts halt when you examine his profile. 

Blade isn’t stewing in animosity or grief. He’s simply sitting there, living in the present. Swarming torments don’t caw and peck at him. He isn’t smiling, but his facial features express contentment, the way a laborer would after a toiling day. Flowing with the current instead of struggling against the tide. 

“Out of all of them, though,” 

The brilliant luster of his eyes takes you hostage.

“Yours… wasn’t so bad.” 

Unknown 

You’re there, aren’t you?

Unknown 

Don’t be shy and ignore my messages. 

Unlike some people, I’m busy 

Unknown 

I assure you I’m busy with various preparations too.

Unknown 

Never too busy to check in on my favorite Arbiter though. ♡

Unknown 

Did you like the roses? 

I would’ve liked them more if they weren’t from you 

Unknown

💔

Unknown

So, it’d be different if they were from someone else? Hm… I might get jealous if that’s the case.

It wouldn’t make much of a difference, anyway They’ve already wilted

Unknown

That’s a shame

Unknown

I suppose what I find beautiful doesn’t suit Eris’ climate very well

Unknown

I know you’re not going to respond anymore, so I’ll stop pestering you for now

Unknown

Take good care of yourself, little Miss Arbiter ♡

It’s become a tradition for Lear to join your and Nona’s training sessions. She’s in her highest spirits when the three of you are under the same roof, even if you’re all doing different things. Presently, Lear is replacing Loopy’s hardware with an older operating system. The latest update downloaded automatically and fixed the bug that caused your favorite robot’s premier quality. Having a robot named Loopy who no longer loops is inconceivable. 

Since the LOTUS-EATER is closed for the foreseeable future, you accepted Nona’s idea to have her training on the first floor rather than the second. According to her, The Lounge has ‘distracting’ vibes, so you hoped a change in scenery might recenter her. 

However, you’re beginning to seriously question your judgment. 

“Lear, can I please have a drink?” 

“Lear, don’t pay her any mind. She needs to be sober during her training.” 

“Sobriety is a concept invented by the prohibitionists!” 

Lear’s attention darts between you, standing imposingly with your arms crossed, then to Nona, who mimes what she must think to be a sympathetic countenance. 

“Um…” he trails off. Unable to withstand the immovable object and unstoppable force, he retreats to the motherboard he’s been working on. “I’m technically not on the clock, so I shouldn’t handle merchandise that doesn’t belong to me.” 

Nona wads up a piece of paper and throws it at him. 

It misses. 

By a lot.

“Stop pestering Lear and take your assignment seriously,” you frown. Then you realize what paper she used as ammunition. “Hold on… don’t tell me you just crumpled up and threw correspondence from Chrysus.” 

She shrugs. “That discount hound probably didn’t have anything worthwhile to say, anyway.” 

“Is Eris’ future not ‘worthwhile?’” 

“Not if we hop on a spaceship and never look back.” 

Lear sets his tools aside, unfurls the letter, then returns it to you. Nona sticks her tongue out at him and he flips her off.

… Maybe you need a drink.

“Hey, Stellaron Hunter,” Nona waves her arms wildly. “You must have a ship, right? How about it? Got room for three more? It wouldn’t even disrupt the arrangement. You can keep watch over [First] to your heart’s content.” 

The ‘Stellaron Hunter’ in question has stationed himself on a barstool, where he blatantly ignores Nona’s request. He had been standing against a far wall as you’ve learned he’s apt to do, but this made you feel bad. After some needling, he caved and sat down at your behest. It’s been a little over a week since your conversation on the balcony. Your free time since then has been sparse. An injury doesn’t make your work disappear, it just causes it to pile up higher. 

In light of what Chrysus deems a terrorist attack, you are to have a hearing with him and Caicias. Blade staunchly refused any request for you to meet them in person. For once, you agreed with the strict measures. The nectar guide has been repaired, but the mere chance that more people could be injured at another attempt on your life is unacceptable. After some bureaucratic back and forth, it was agreed upon that the risk of a cyberattack would be the lesser of two evils. 

Chrysus insisted on handwritten correspondence delivered through trustworthy sources until the hearing. The message Nona flung consisted of him tiptoeing around every serious query you’ve brought to his attention. Your most burning question concerns the residential district’s building inspections. More specifically, how the dire reports never made their way to you. 

Initially, you thought it may have fallen through the cracks. Your mother’s sudden death two years prior plunged Thelx into chaos. She wasn’t expected to retire for another fifty years. As such, you were woefully underprepared for the mantle forced onto you. She hadn’t even told you the passcode to unlock the LOTUS-EATER’s front doors. Data restoration from some old hardware she never disposed of provided enough login information for you to keep things rolling. That theory crumbled when you recalled that in 2150 AE, building permits and inspections were made to be public records. 

Upon checking, from 2150 AE to the present, everything has supposedly been up to code. 

The employee who signed off on the inspections is under an Ade company, which falls outside your jurisdiction. 

You wrote to Chrysus detailing your concerns. His response can best be summarized as him telling you that he’ll handle it. 

That did little to put your doubts to rest. 

“I’m telling you, this is impossible,” Nona grumbles. “Can you reset it?” 

“I’ve already reset it four times.” 

“Well, you know, fifth time’s the charm.” 

You’ve lost track of how many times you’ve sighed throughout this training. 

“Let’s not give up so soon, okay? Which part do you feel is impossible?” 

You sit down beside her to get a better look. The blue, holographic screen fills you with nostalgia. This program was developed by a retired Arbiter to aid in their training. Essentially, it generates a ‘person’ with traits indistinguishable from their flesh and blood counterparts. Physiology, disposition, every experience they’ll go through from birth to death; it misses no detail. 

The trainees are supposed to go through the steps as if they were interacting with a client. They must establish a link by piecing together the simulated psyche, giving it an interactable form. 

Nona’s a rare case. Most Arbiters struggle with establishing and maintaining Synalinks, an area she excels at. It’s the first step that presents an issue. She has a difficult time establishing links. It’s a foundational part of the process that can’t be haphazard. 

“He’s so whiny. He’s a bigshot vocalist, traveling around the galaxy to sold-out shows, and he still complains that no one will ever ‘understand’ him or his art when even he doesn’t get it! He’s just coming up with fake deep lyrics.” 

“Did you look at the childhood fragments? For insecurity, that’s a good place to start.” 

“Oh, don’t get me started on that,” she grimaces as if she bit into something sour. “He came from old money. Opera star for a mom and a successful businessman for a dad. He wanted for nothing. But no, apparently he still needs to change his profile picture to black and the about section to ‘gone’ whenever he wants attention.” 

You pull up a critical childhood fragment. “Here you can see his father leaving a recital early to take a phone call. Then, after the performance, his mother is quick to point out the areas he needs to work on.” 

“So? He was screwing around on his phone during his singing lessons, what did he expect?” 

“Consider what happens when his tutor leaves. His face falls and he’s fighting back tears. He’s acting out to get the attention his parents don’t give him. The tutor is older and in a position of power, which makes him a perfect surrogate.” 

“That happened when he was six, though. He’s had decades to get over it.” 

“Even if that were true, it wouldn’t make a difference. A person’s experiences are real to them. Say I think there’s a hidden compartment in my bedroom due to the wall making a peculiar noise. I have lived my entire life believing this. If you saw that fragment while trying to piece my psyche together, then dispute it because you know there’s no hidden compartment, there’d be disunity. Every belief, no matter how small, connects in a complex web. Why did I make that inference? Did I read it in a book? Did my mother scare me into following curfew by saying a secret monster hiding there would get me if I stayed up too late? The mind is a fragile thing and we must treat it as such.” 

Nona puts her hands up. “Alright, alright, geez. Make sense of the events through their lens, not mine. Got it.” 

Unexpectedly, it’s Lear who speaks up next.

“What would happen if those fragments were altered?” 

You place a hand on your chin. “It’d depend on the fragment’s importance. In the example I gave, it’d cause friction in maintaining a link, but it wouldn’t fundamentally change everything I’ve ever known. As for a fragment more significant, well… I’m not sure.” 

“You aren’t?” 

“Without credible data to pull from, I’d only be speculating.” 

A frigid draft whirrs through. You shiver. 

“You’re better at this than I am, Lear. Wanna switch places?” Nona asks.

Lear stands up, his palm covering his mouth. It’s as if the vitality has been drained from his face. He transitions through multiple expressions, each more agonized than the last. Your heart twists violently against your ribcage. You want to call out to him, comfort him, but there’s no combination of words that’d douse the raging fire. 

Is it happening again? You think. No… this has to be the worst one yet! 

It’s before you again. 

A simple stage in a modest auditorium. 

There are no performers or stagehands. The lights in the theater are dim, the chairs are folded up. Pamphlets clutter the ground in disorganized heaps. Looking up, you realize they’re falling from the rafters like rain. One lands by your feet. You pick it up, squinting to make sense of the words. It’s a playbill advertising a show titled The Idiot. 

Directed by

ANIA PHAEALES

THE CAST

(In order of appearance)

The Servant…………………………………………………………………………..UNNAMED

The Fool…………………………………………………………………..…………..UNNAMED

The Coward…………………………………………………………………………...UNNAMED

On and on the list goes, ascribing every unflattering role to an unknown party. 

Mother’s name is here? Why? Was she that influential over Lear?

Spotlights flick on. Hot streams of light illuminate you in a blinding assault, which you try to block with your hands. The light’s intensity overpowers your meager attempts. A spectral crowd cheers, rousing applause and whistles emanating from empty chairs. Champagne glasses clink, men guffaw deep from their diaphragms, and women shriek like banshees. 

It gets hotter and louder, again, then once more; suffocating you in a cacophony of sensory stimuli. 

The audience makes passing comments. 

“... A shame, it couldn’t work out…” 

“Though what did they expect, truly…” 

“... Know how it is…” 

The finale rings crystal clear.

“Some people born will die never knowing love.”  

A wet, metallic-smelling substance drips from your nose. The softness of a rag replaces this feeling. It remains there, tickling your senses. There’s that floral scent again — subtle and pleasant. The flower it’s derived from may be toxic, but the strands of vermillion that curl outward like spider legs look so inviting. The petals are streams of blood frozen by time. Every time they wither, they’re forced to bloom again, perpetuating a cycle from which there’s no escape. 

You’ve seen sunsets in pictures. There are two of them glaring down at you now, circular, as if viewed through a looking glass. 

“How pretty,” your words blur together. “‘ve always to see… a sunset…” 

You never will, though. Eris is far, far away from any brilliant stars. The aloof night sky will be your lullaby and your dirge. 

Sluggishly, you sit up. You’re on one of the nice leather couches in The Club. A headache thumps in your head like a landlord who raps against the door of a tenant late with rent. You’re about to stand when an authoritative voice stops you.

“Stay still.” 

You open your mouth to protest. Blade must know your demeanor when you intend to be petulant, for he cuts you off. 

“That wasn’t a request.” 

You murmur something incomprehensible and melt back into the cushion. Regardless of your obedience, Blade stands close, as if you’re planning to bolt, trip on an uneven floor panel, then hit your head and die instantly. Glancing around, you note no one else is here. 

He follows your eyes and accurately surmises your intentions. “The quiet one ran out and the noisy one ran after him.” 

Any other time, that deadpan delivery mixed with his personal interpretation of Lear and Nona would’ve made you laugh. Presently, though, you’re fighting off a headache that outclasses every other that’s come before it. Top of the class and then some. It helps to know that Lear won’t be alone. Why exactly he experienced such an intense emotional eruption is a mystery to you. Then there’s the chaotic state of his psyche to consider; if you were disoriented from the aftershocks, the epicenter must’ve been cataclysmic. 

You’re so swept up in your thoughts, that it takes you a while to notice how Blade’s been staring at you. This in and of itself is nothing new. He’s been your shadow ever since forced this arrangement. It irritated you at first, but that blistering offense eased into acceptance. His vigilance felt befitting of a guard. Taking in your surroundings, assessing any threats; such is his prerogative. 

How he’s eyeing you now feels different. It’s as if he’s looking through you, not at you. 

“Is something wrong? You’re making such a scary expression,” you joke. 

No visual reaction. 

“I’m waiting for your explanation.” 

“About…?” 

Blade doesn’t bother hiding his displeasure. He glowers down at you, the difference in your height further exacerbated because you’re sitting down. 

The impromptu staring contest comes to an end when he speaks up, his voice carrying less hostility. 

“That idea you proposed,” he begins, moving back to return your personal space, “Are you still willing to try it?” 

He has to bring this up now of all times? You don’t want to loudly announce a deeply private matter, especially if there’s a possibility the information will make it back to Kafka. Your best shot is to downplay the severity of what you went through. He might be doing his job, but you don’t want him cordoning off Lear as a precautionary measure. You don’t blame Lear in the slightest — this punishment is appropriate for your past hubris. 

“Of course.” 

“I accept your offer.” 

Ah, you think. So this is the game he’s going to play.

“In that case… when should we get started?” 

You can guess his next sentence before it comes out. 

“I’m ready whenever you are.” 

Nona

hey hey

Nona

we’re all good here

Nona

lear’s quiet but he’s doing better. he keeps apologizing 

Nona

i thanked him for causing a scene and getting me out of class 

Nona

he kinda maybe let out a sound like a laugh

Nona

i’ll be hanging with him until things simmer down a bit more

Nona

man. i have to say though. sword guy had the most abominable vibes when it all went down

Nona

i yelled at him that if he hurt lear you would turn his mind into goop

Nona

soooo if you wouldn’t mind please tell him that was a joke and that i don’t deserve to get stabbed on sight. 

Nona

anyway. take care of yourself. call me when you feel up to it

It took three hours, a couple of painkillers, and more glasses of water than you cared to count to be ‘ready.’

You change into formal garments, consisting of an ivory gown that flows down to your feet, and a chiffon, indigo cloak that encases you from your shoulders to your knees. You fasten the heavy fabric into place with a broach your mother wore when she served as the Exalted Arbiter. It shows different stages of a moon, connected by four silver spokes. The highest point is the first quarter moon; to the right, the hollow outline of a new moon; the lowest point, the last quarter moon; then lastly, the full moon is to the left. 

Blade sits across from you in the chair designated for clients. He’s silent as you make your preparations, his eyes following you like a haunted painting. His ulterior motives are irrelevant. Inside this room, you’ve carried out your work as an Arbiter hundreds, if not thousands of times. You’ve heard the most clandestine fantasies that wouldn’t even be uttered on a deathbed. Devoid of judgment, you’ve filled your mind with the overflowing desires of their heart, careful not to lose a single drop. 

“Are you comfortable?” 

He nods. 

“Good. Let me know if you need anything.” 

An ornate tea kettle made from Eris’ dark stone sits atop the Nectary’s gemstone. It’s bronze in color and emits a warm, calming glow. Once the water inside is brought to a boil, you pour it into an opal goblet. Next, you add ambrosia leaves that have been ground into a fine powder. It sizzles upon contact with the water. Finally, you procure a vial from a pouch inside your clothes. Four drops of the Necatary’s tonic descend into the concoction. 

“I’ve seen you drink this before,” Blade notes. 

“Now you’ll get to try. Don’t worry, it isn’t poisoned.” 

It could be the low lighting and exhaustion, but you swear you see his lips curl upward. 

“Add however much you please. My only condition is that it works permanently.” 

“It’s a tempting offer. Sadly, I have to drink after you. Maybe another time.” 

After stirring the ambrosia, you hand the goblet to him. His eyes remind you of burning embers. Their radiance fascinates you. You shift in your seat, suddenly conscious of yourself. Has his gaze always held this weight? When he pulls the goblet away, you notice the bob of his Adam’s apple as he swallows, how there’s a pretty sheen coating his lips. 

Where is this onslaught coming from? Why couldn’t it have waited until later? 

You hurriedly take a sip from the goblet. Noct’s ichor tastes sweet and spicy.

It’s tradition to repeat an incantation so as to invoke your slumbering Aeon’s blessing. You’re about to say it, when there’s a cool, smooth sensation against the corner of your lips. Every muscle in your body goes taut as if you’ve been turned to stone by some wicked spell. 

Blade’s gloved finger ghosts over your skin. 

He’s leaning over, still sitting down, close enough that you can see your reflection in his eyes. You see how high your eyebrows have raised, the ‘o’ shape of your mouth. 

“B-Blade?” Your voice comes out like a squeak. 

He says nothing. Goosebumps litter your skin, the hairs on the back of your neck stand. Your heart is a ferocious war drum. Whether it’s sounding an alarm or an invitation, you cannot tell. A beast made in your image has life breathed into it. You thought you slayed it, watched the light drain from its beady eyes, but it’s resuscitating. 

Then again, maybe you’re a fool for thinking lust can stay dead. 

He sinks back into his seat, completely impassive, acting like what he did carried no significance. 

“Some of the drink got on you,” he explains, entirely nonchalant. “I cleaned it off.” 

Being thrown into a furnace wouldn’t compare to the heat ensnaring your body. 

You cough into your hand. “Oh, yeah, that’s— thank you.” 

The awkward jumble of words flounders out before you can stop them. Your lessons in etiquette and oration have hidden themselves, somewhere beyond accessibility, scurrying to the shadows like mice when a cat approaches. If you were to make a list of your dumbest statements, this would make it far in the rankings. 

This time, you’re certain of it. That little smirk. Maybe he’s getting back at you for withholding information earlier. 

Whatever the case, you have a goal you’re determined to see through. You resume the incantation, although your voice lacks assertiveness. 

“To dream is a sacred thing. Don’t fear it. Welcome it, rejoice in it, and shed no tears when it is finished. We’ve been granted your purest blessing. As you slumber, we find rest in you. Allow us the sweetest of dreams.” 

You close your eyes…

… And when you reopen them, the Shackling Prison looms above you. 

This link is far more stable than its predecessor. There’s no ticking timer hurrying you along, you’re free to examine every nook and cranny. You notice how desaturated your surroundings are. The blades of grass closest to the prison blend in with the stone, the only hit belying their true nature being how they sway in the breeze. There isn’t any vegetation or ambiance that suits the surrounding environment. Birds don’t sing, rushing rivers are silent, and bugs refuse to perform their melodies. 

Nothing regresses or progresses; he’s wedged in a constant state of inertia. Your heart aches. 

You make your way to the impenetrable gates. After thinking about it, you hypothesized the seal you previously encountered was an emergency defense he unknowingly created. At that exact moment, Blade didn’t want you puppeteering him. He may be enigmatic, but what you know for certain is that he takes his assignments seriously. The Stellaron Hunters want you alive so he has to as well. 

That’d explain why it acted hostile to your interference. You’ve never established a link in such a high-stakes, volatile setting. You were bound to encounter oddities of some fashion. This explanation reassures you as you get closer. 

Only to ruthlessly get debunked. 

The seal is still here. It’s styled in the outline of a circle, overlapping the doors that keep you from studying Blade’s mara. Frustration floods you. This can’t be Blade’s handiwork. The one comparison is how it emanates steady energy, similar to how he is in a meditative state. The similarities stop there. 

It's grown paler, you realize. Its potency has waned since I’ve last seen it, too. 

To test this, you push against it. 

The gates creak back. 

This gap lets you steal a glance at Blade’s mara. It consists of multiple tumor-like abscesses that writhe against each other, forming a pulsating, fleshy mass. This ebullition isn’t consistent. Different sections have a will of their own. Some try consuming their adversary, others suffocate what’s beneath through their bulk alone. The horror extends down into a pit whose depth you couldn’t possibly guess. Killing, devouring, gorging, and digesting; only to experience a rebirth that will perpetuate the cycle. 

It pushes against the windows and seeps into the structure’s cracks, of which you count many. The mara’s repairing him, vigilant in its upkeep. It is a ghastly glue holding fractured pieces that long for respite together. 

Your intrusion causes it to gurgle and retract. The mara doesn’t break down or weaken, it gradually oozes down like bile in an esophagus. 

The seal repels you, cutting your grotesque investigation short. 

The last thing you see before the gates slam shut is the mara reclaiming its territory. 

…

Blade’s fully conscious while you need some time to refamiliarize yourself with your surroundings. Your head raises its thunderous complaints about how it’s being overused lately. You down a cup of water, careful not to get any on your lips, so your earlier weakness isn’t repeated. 

“Alright. Let me get my thoughts together,” You take a deep breath, then continue, “I only caught a glimpse of your mara. It did retreat after noticing my presence, although I’m not sure why.

Blade doesn’t say anything. You’re beginning to get used to that. 

“And another thing. I didn’t think it was worth mentioning, since everything about our previous link was messy… but this time and the last, there’s this seal preventing me from going deeper. Do you have any idea what that’s about?” 

“You’re the expert here.” 

That must mean he doesn’t. 

“Hah. I’m starting to wonder about that.” 

You don’t mean to sound so defeated. You have some years under your belt — 120, to be exact — but you’ve realized how many areas you’re lacking in. Nymphalians live anywhere from 500 to 700 years. Your mother was 200 when she’d been anointed as Eris’ new Exalted Arbiter. She tried stamping out the quiet pride your prodigious abilities instilled in you. All it did was form a gaping chasm neither of you ever tried to mend. 

You have the materials now, but it’s too late. There’d be no one waiting on the other side once you crossed.

Blade leans forward, presses his elbows to his knees, and rests his chin on his fists. 

“Would it help if you touched me?” 

You shoot up straight from your chair like it just stabbed you. Heat infuses into your cheeks, then spreads throughout, momentarily stupefying you. His monotonous words loop in your head. How can he sit there so collected after making an insinuation like that?! Especially when you’re not at your top performance. 

“That’s highly inna—” 

“You avoid skin-to-skin contact,” he interrupts, his visage unreadable. “The one time you didn’t, you made it far.” 

It’s a mistake to underestimate his perspicacity just because he doesn’t actively flaunt it. 

“What did you think I meant?” 

Why can’t his voice have a little more intonation? If he’s being playful, his delivery is too dry for you to tell. 

“Nothing, nothing at all,” you sit back down and cross your legs in an attempt to look professional. “What you’re referring to is a precaution my mother suggested. In the past, strange reactions have occurred after I came into direct contact with someone. Not always, though. No one could determine the how or why.” 

You pinch the bridge of your nose. “Honestly… you Stellaron Hunters should’ve just waterboarded me, you would’ve gotten this information faster, if that’s the objective here.” 

“Lie if you want.” 

“I don’t want to lie to you,” you admit. He knits his eyebrows together, an act that accentuates the dark lines beneath his eyes. “You deserve to understand what I did. If I hadn’t resorted to that, it’d be different.” 

“Hm.” 

No one can ever claim Blade doesn’t have a way with words. 

Suppressing a yawn, you refocus the conversation. “I think we made some good progress here. I’m willing to keep at it if you are.” 

“No. That’s enough for now,” he says. “Go rest.” 

“Eh? I can keep going, though.” 

“I know. Rest anyway.” 

Your body is letting you know that it’s finished, your exhaustion has crossed the semi-tolerable threshold to unbearable. There’s a hearing to prepare for, Nona and Lear to reach out to, and about another million odds and ends. This flurry of activity won’t get done any faster if you’re crawling around like a host controlled by a parasite. 

“... Fine, have it your way. Lear’s always getting on me about my sleeping habits too.” 

You sense an irregular fluctuation from him. However, there’s no shift in his body language, so you decide it isn’t your place to pry. 

“Blade?” 

He turns his head toward you. 

“This ability of mine, it’s only ever provided entertainment for others, which is fine, of course… but… the chance to help someone directly… is a first,” you give him a bashful smile. “Thank you for trusting me. I mean it.” 

For a brief moment, his gaze doesn’t feel so intense.

Nona

hey hey 

Nona

please tell me the sword guy didn’t confiscate your phone. if that’s the case it’s so over

Nona

i’m not going up against him to get it back

It’s me texting from [First]’s phone. I remember what you said about the brain goop. Lock your windows and sleep with one eye open.

Nona

!!!

Nona 

gg

Nona

oh btw. the dust has settled

Nona

it’s weird… this doesn’t happen for years, then suddenly, twice in such close succession? 

Yeah, I’ve been thinking about that too I don’t get it

Nona

welcome back from being held hostage btw

Wow thank you

Let me know if you both need anything I actually have no idea how I haven’t passed out yet

Nona

it’s because you haven’t given mushroom mania a chance. their music is so chill

Nona is typing…

Please don’t spam the link to their album again

Nona

alright fine whatever

Nona

i am bored though if you want to play connect four hmu

Nona has invited you to play Connect Four™©®.

Nona

[first]? come back my queen

Nona

wow you fell asleep fast </3

Nona

rest up. you deserve it

There are two monitors in front of you.

To the left is a man with a graceful physiognomy — Chrysus Ophídion. He has hair white as snow, pulled back into a long ponytail that stops at his lower back. His eyes are sharp, cunning, hidden behind thin glasses that reflect his monitor’s shine. He’s already asked you the questions courtesy demands, such as your health and how the LOTUS-EATER is faring during the IPC travel ban. 

“It’s nothing but a power play,” he had reassured you. “I’ve had productive negotiations with their chief financial officer, he’s insinuated that a proposal to remedy the dispute isn’t far off.” 

While you’d often be remiss to take Chrysus at his word, there is one sacred objective he’ll never work against — money. 

He isn’t exactly subtle. His office’s backdrop is a hulking conglomerate; a screen that shows everything from graphs of Eris’ most prominent businesses to stocks throughout the universe updating in real-time. There must be around a hundred different squares dedicated to this flashing panoply. Before Chrysus’ repurposing, it was a wide window from which one could view Eris’ mountain range to the northeast. Your mother detested the change and the room itself. 

Then to the right, there’s Caicias Rex. He’s a burly, bearded man, with dark hair going silver from age. Rumors have been circulating that he’ll announce his retirement on his 500th birthday. Between the two, you prefer dealing with him. Caicias isn’t verbose or prickly. If anything, he’s a little too brazen. 

“How are you holding up, little Miss Arbiter?” 

Caicias’ gravelly voice is at a deafening volume, made worse by the fact you’re using in-ears. His microphone peaks at its own leisure. 

“Caicias, please, your microphone,” Chrysus grits out whilst wincing, “Did you not have your assistant set it up beforehand as I suggested?” 

You both take out your in-ears before he responds. It’s loud enough that you can hear what he’s saying even while holding them far away. 

“Oh, the dial’s screwed up. Alright. There. Any better?” 

You put your in-ears back on. “I believe so.” 

“Great! Let me repeat myself then. Are you feeling any better? Ready to do all that mind magic stuff?” 

“I’m doing much better, thank you. If you’re referring to my capacity to establish links, I haven’t encountered any issues so far.” 

Caicias takes a moment to respond. “That way of speaking, your posture… you’re the spitting image of Ania.” 

The call falls silent. While you’re thinking of something to say, Chrysus takes the initiative himself. 

“May Noct grant her blissful rest,” he repeats the platitude you heard spoken aplenty at your mother’s funeral. “I apologize for changing the topic so abruptly, but there’s a sensitive matter at hand to discuss. I ask that you both listen until I’m finished without any interjections.” 

Sensitive? What could he possibly mean by that? 

You feel a churning in your soul. 

“Thank you. As you’re both well aware, the position of Ade’s Exalted Regent isn’t limited to operating as Eris’ primary treasurer. Caicias and the belated Ania Phaeales agreed to my proposal to form a coalition that’d combat Eris’ uptick in crime decades prior. The coalition has seen great success. 

With Miss Phaeales injured and Mister Rex preoccupied with investigating hazardous mining conditions in the Nectary, I was appointed head of the Thelx nectar guide bombing investigation. My team and I have spared no resources in uncovering the culprits behind such a senseless act of violence. 

Initially, we turned our attention toward the IPC. At this point, we’ve found nothing to implicate them. On the contrary, evidence from the preliminary investigation suggests the involvement of Arc citizens. I am well aware of the prejudice certain people have against those who come from Arc, so I wanted to be absolutely certain. You’ll both receive digital copies of the documented evidence, but for the purpose of this hearing, I’ll focus on the most relevant evidence. 

Through data restoration and witness accounts, two main suspects have been identified. Felix Laurence, a nectar guide engineer who was granted Thelx citizenship by Ania Phaeales, and his nephew, Ryker Laurence, unemployed. A standard employee-issued passcode assigned to Felix accessed the NGT, or Nectar Guide Terminal, three cycles prior to the incident. Logs show he spent considerable time eyeing the schedule of the cycle when Miss Phaeales was to depart.

Felix’s co-workers have corroborated that he offered to take their shifts, as the trip was scheduled on a cycle he doesn’t work. His offer was accepted by the second person he asked. Audio logs recorded in the common area corroborate this. Surveillance places Felix’s arrival at 0100 hours, where he claimed that an emergency malfunction notice was sent to his pager. The NGT confirms no such notice was issued. 

The fragments recovered from the explosive device show it to be the kind that activates on contact, which simplifies the installation process. Felix is seen returning at 0112. Co-workers report he seemed ‘unlike himself’ and was drenched in sweat. Miss Phaeales’ cabin departed at 0200, the tragedy occurred at 0223. A reconstruction of the device reveals a minor malfunction that delayed the device’s detonation, a blessing from Noct, I’m sure. 

The Laurence residence was promptly raided, where materials matching those inside the explosive crime were located. Testimonies from those who know Ryker attest to his hobby of making strange contraptions that never work as intended. I have personnel ready to detain Felix and his co-conspirator Ryker at a moment’s notice, in compliance with Eris’ No Involuntary Confinement Act, where they’ll be extradited to Arc unless they make an appeal.” 

The pictures of the two suspects take up Chrysus’ screen. Caicias strokes his beard while viewing them, whereas you remain motionless. You remember the name Felix Laurence. You attended the event where his special citizenship was awarded, some twenty years ago. What could have driven him to this? Where did you fall short? If it was your mother in charge, would things have gone differently? Chrysus, Caicias, Kafka… none of them take you seriously. They consider you a child playing make pretend. 

Is that not what you are? 

Mother would’ve held her own if Kafka tried coercing her. 

She would’ve found out about the building inspection dilemma through her own channels. 

Blade’s seal, his mara — she would’ve helped him better than you ever could. 

But she can’t. She’s gone and you’ll never be her. 

“I understand it’s a lot to take in,” Chrysus states. It doesn’t sound like he means it. “In truth, the account I gave is highly summarized. I felt I owed it to Miss Phaeales before I arrived at my next point.” 

“... What do you mean by that?” You ask. 

“It became clear to me that an investigation like this couldn’t be limited in scope. For instance, how did Felix know Miss Phaeales was due to use the nectary guide at that specific cycle and that specific time? As I said earlier, he accessed the NGT, but your name isn’t visible there. Only the Director of Operations knows when you’re set to travel. All Felix would’ve been able to see is that a private cabin was scheduled to leave at 0200, which isn’t a rare occurrence.” 

“Please place aside certain biases to the best of your ability,” he says. “Ryker’s correspondence these past two years showed some red flags. Specifically, he had frequent correspondence with an unknown person whose IP was traced back to the LOTUS-EATER. These conversations were largely written in code, but from what we’ve decrypted, this unknown person has been leaking information about you and Ania Phaeales. Based on available information, it’s highly likely that this unknown person is who you refer to as ‘Nona.’”

Caicias closes his eyes and exhales. 

“That… that’s absurd,” your voice is weaker than a breeze. “There’s no way I’ll accept a baseless accusation like this.” 

“Allow me to once again request that you place aside your bias. Nona, whose birth name is unknown, was born and raised in Arc’s most hostile faction. At the self-reported age of 74, she submitted a request for Thelx citizenship. Your mother, in her benevolence, granted the request due to seeing Nona’s potential as a future Arbiter. Do you deny any of this?” 

You think you might be sick. 

“... No,” you grit out. 

“Why would she suddenly abandon an extremist group and request citizenship in Thelx, a quadrant they’re especially hateful towards? Or, did this faction see an opportunity in Nona, who was widely known to have a talent close to yours in establishing Synalinks?”

“Little Nona is what, 113 now? That’s a long time to be acting as a double agent,” Caicias points out. 

“Can indoctrination like that ever be fully deprogrammed?” Chrysus challenges. 

Your horror gives way to an icy rage. 

“If you’re determined to pursue this ‘lead’, so be it, I guarantee my staff and I will fully cooperate. That doesn’t mean you can implicate one of my Arbiters for such a serious offense with nothing but circumstantial evidence.” 

Chrysus sighs. “I’m sorry you see it that way. You’re right that there’s no direct evidence yet — I bring this up to err on the side of caution. It’d deal a severe blow to Eris if anything happened to the Phaeales bloodline. Is it at least fair to say that out of everyone at the LOTUS-EATER, Nona would be one of the most familiar with your itinerary? Did you tell her about your trip to Perianth II?” 

You draw your lips in a thin line. You had told her. 

“Alright, Chrysus, this isn’t an interrogation. This is Ania’s daughter you’re talking to,” Caicias frowns. 

Ania’s daughter, huh?

“... You’re right. I just wish to ensure Miss Phaeales’ safety. I got ahead of myself.” 

“There are better approaches. Let’s call it for now. We won’t get anywhere bickering like this,” Caicias says. He steeples his fingers and looks directly into the camera. “Have your men keep watch on those two. We’ll meet back again in a cycle; that should give us enough time to flip through all these documents you’re sending.” 

This suggestion is for your sake and you all know it. Caicias has good intentions, but you’ll never earn the respect necessary for a leader if you back down now. You imagine you’re preparing to establish a link. The steps it entails, how your mind must surrender its solid form. 

“To dream is a sacred thing. Don’t fear it. Welcome it, rejoice in it, and shed no tears when it is finished. We’ve been granted your purest blessing. As you slumber, we find rest in you. Allow us the sweetest of dreams.” 

“It’s alright, Mister Rex. I can keep going,” you reassure with a smile. Your cadence has lost its vibrato and transitions into a steady timbre. Every dissonant note is scratched out to recite the sheet music lying before you. If you’re to get through this, it’ll be the performance of a lifetime. 

“Hm… are you sure?” Caicias asks. He squints, trying to get a better read on you through the screen. 

You consider a conductor’s baton, how it glides through the air, commanding absolute obedience from its orchestra. Your heart, your lungs, the feeling of static buzzing in your head; you demand a decrescendo. 

You might not be your mother, but you can play in the same key. 

“I am. Mister Ophídion, would you please go over everything from the beginning without paraphrasing? There’s a great deal to examine.” 

You’re occupying a space between reality and fantasy. 

Cogency of any kind flees from you. Chasing after it has become tiring, a prospect that instills dread. There’s no affliction worse than uncertainty. You envy fortunate fools who can cling to a belief from their first breath to their last, what a blessing it must be to never reside in doubt’s shadow. 

You don’t know what to think, what to feel, what to do. 

Chrysus had an explanation for everything. The file he’s built up on Nona? That’s standard procedure, anyone in such close quarters with you must be vetted. The employee who signed off on an unsafe building? A full investigation will be conducted, you need only be patient. Why hadn't he contacted you sooner about any of this? He didn’t want to risk any leaks that’d tip off the enemy before he was prepared. 

You don’t know what was worse. Being treated like an idiot by Chrysus or a sniveling child by Caicias.

Ripping your mother’s broach off, you walk over to the balcony’s edge and raise your arm. 

The inky night spreads out like paint spilled across a canvas. This is the only view you’ve had throughout the years — a cold void that never wanted to host life. The nameless planet must’ve counted itself fortunate to have been passed up by settlers. No one will ever want to settle here, it had thought. I will make my surface so terrible that those who come here will certainly die. 

You lower your arm. The broach is set on a table you subsequently push out of sight.

In a way, this balcony is your cell. You’ve sat here and contemplated freedom as any inmate would. What would it be like to feel the sun? Does it burn, does it sting? Is it true that you shouldn’t stand in it for long? What about the sunrise? How lovely it must be for such a sight to be there every morning, greeting you with its gentle colors and soft edges.

You hug your legs to your chest and rest your head on your knees. 

The door behind you opens without warning. 

You don’t need to look to know who it is. You can pick up on his taciturn presence without trying. It’s inevitable, so long as you’ve been exposed to a person enough.

Blade’s footsteps make no sound, he’s almost like a levitating wraith. You assume he’ll take his place on the leftmost chair. It's become an unspoken ritual. Those who have experienced the sun are ever so enchanted by the moon, he’s no different. Rather than sitting down, however, he lingers behind you. You can feel him staring. After a few seconds, he comes closer, so that he’s beside you.

Wordlessly, he holds out a teacup you’ve never seen. It’s porcelain with a glossy finish, boasting intricate blue designs painted along the sides. The inside contains a bloody ocean that glistens beneath the moonlight. The aroma clues you in — it’s ambrosia, just without the Nectary’s tonic. 

“Is this for me?” You whisper, incredulous.

His flat expression seems to communicate, ‘Who do you think it’s for?’ 

You cradle it in both your hands. Warmth seeps through and becomes acquainted with your skin. Likewise, the steam wafts up, tickling your nose. It’s as if the drink is a pocket watch and you’ve been hypnotized. 

Once it’s secure in your grasp, he pulls back. 

Then he starts to walk away. 

He’s leaving? Why is he leaving? 

Your body springs up of its own accord. You balance the teacup in one hand and reach out to him with the other, your fingers fanning out, ready to sink into whatever they can. Everything happens in the blink of an eye. Your free hand succeeds in finding a destination — settling on the abrasive finish of his bandages. 

You feel another texture alongside it. 

It’s smooth, cold, and visible through the interstices of his winding bandages. 

His skin. 

Realizing this, you withdraw your hand in panic. Then you wait, bracing yourself for a brutal rebound. What horrors could a mind like his prepare for you? Would it cross the threshold of mental anguish to physical harm? You squeeze your eyes shut. 

When you find the courage to reopen them, there’s nothing abominable waiting with bated breath to drag you through a mental purgatory. 

Instead of a consequence, there’s only Blade, fixed in place. He hasn’t moved an inch. 

You’re okay. Nothing’s wrong.

You let out a relieved sigh. 

“Let me at least get the words thank you out,” you insist, desperate to refocus his attention. “I… thank you. You don’t have to be… in such a rush…?” 

There’s a beat of silence. 

Much to your chagrin, Blade takes your teacup by the rim and lifts it. You tilt your head. Did he… did he just repossess your drink? That’s a low blow.

“You were about to drop it,” Blade deadpans. “Quit pouting.” 

“Wh—?! I’m not pouting!” 

He raises an eyebrow. 

To think you went through all that anxiety for this. 

“You Stellaron Hunters are the worst,” you grumble. 

“Hm.” 

Fed up beyond measure, you spin on your heel and start walking back to your chair. You deserve an uninterrupted night of listening to depressing music while thinking depressing thoughts. It’s your right, having endured so much lately.

“[First].” 

A chain reaction goes off in your chest. You’ve made it one measly step away and a blackhole threatens to reel you back. His voice, that deep, resonant tone, stirs something inside you, beckons it out to play. He spoke your name. Has he ever done so before? You don’t know. If someone were to ask you the most basic question right now, you’d be physically incapable of responding. 

He doesn’t have to ask you to come back. You do so willingly. 

Blade brings the teacup back down to your height. Confusingly, he doesn’t return it to your hands, nor does he give any indication that he plans on doing so. He’s holding it level to your face. You want to ask what it is he wants from you. It’s best to have everything out in the open, so that no misconceptions arise, and yet, that rational thinking presents itself as a nuisance. You don’t want anything to ruin this moment. The ambiguity entices you and holds your soul captive while the key is within reach. 

Tentatively, you press your lips to the teacup’s edge. 

The emotions teeming inside of him are palpable. They curl around you, these tendrils of unadulterated carnality squirm against your flesh. It isn’t a fair comparison to say you’re playing with fire. No, you’re laying down at an altar as a voluntary sacrifice. 

He inclines the teacup toward you.

It’s a harmonic union between saccharine and spice, a robust flavor that leaves your tongue tingling. He rebalances the cup while you swallow your first sip. Pulling back, you look up at him through your eyelashes.

“It’s delicious,” you compliment. In a coquettish act, you wet your lips as if you’d made a mess. 

His eyes glow like molten magma. 

Slowly, you stand on your tiptoes, both your arms coiling around his neck. You pull him closer and he lets you. Your lips almost connect, only for you to move back at the last second. He tries remedying this by leaning down further. You prove stubborn by dodging him once more. His nostrils flare and he lets out a sound akin to a growl. 

“Aw,” you coo, a condescending lilt present. You twist your head to the side and jut out your lower lip. “Who’s pouting now?” 

He descends on you like a rabid dog. 

His lips are relentless, demanding more and more, driven by a fervor that belies his seemingly apathetic disposition. It isn’t sensual so much as it is voracious. You’re taken aback yet find it titillating all the same. His bandaged hand flies to your nape, then drops lower, following the ridges of your spine. Subconsciously, you arch your back. He shudders at the softness of your chest pressing against him. His hand eventually settles on the back of your thigh, squeezing and grabbing the flesh with blatant greed. Without warning, he hikes your leg up, an act that causes you to temporarily lose your balance. 

Blade’s chest rumbles in a low chuckle. The husky sound sends heat straight to your core, you may have left out a debauched noise if your lips hadn’t been preoccupied. 

Regardless, you won’t let him off that easily. Who knows what he’ll start to pull if you’re lenient. You pull away and glare at him for the infraction. Considering your messy hair, heaving chest, and swollen lips, you doubt you’re very frightening to one of the universe’s most notorious criminals. The mirth dancing in his eyes confirms this. 

“Still you,” he muses. 

You release an audible yelp as he effortlessly picks you up. Manhandling you must be a newfound delight of his, his satisfaction is readily apparent. You doubt he’d drop you, but your instincts aren’t allowing the risk — you cling yourself to him for extra security. It occurs to you that both his hands are in use. Recalling the teacup, you glance around, curious about its whereabouts. You find it sitting beside your broach, perfectly intact. Wasn’t he holding it seconds ago? 

“How did you do that?” 

He grabs your chin and turns your head back to face him. 

“Strange, clumsy, and distractible,” he mutters, though not without a certain fondness. “Keep your eyes on me, girl.” 

“It’s a legitimate question! Also, hold on,” you jab your fingers at his chest in accusation, “I’m most certainly older than you. Are you familiar with the adage, ‘respect your elders?’”

“Are you?” 

“Well, obviously, otherwise I wouldn’t have said it— ohhh.”

He’s gracious enough to wait as you piece everything together. Xianzhou attire, an ability that could reasonably be classified as immortality… 

“On second thought, ideas like that are outdated. They perpetuate a cycle of complacency. Respect is earned, not given.” 

“At the end of the day, past that haughty exterior…” Blade trails off, his lips nearing your outer earlobe. You swallow while he keeps you in suspense. The pointed tips of his canine teeth drag against the sensitive flesh, sometimes sinking down, only to let up before he leaves behind so much as an indent. 

He plays this game for as long as it pleases him and not a moment longer. 

Finally, he bites down, almost eliciting a whimper. It takes considerable self-control to hold it in. 

“You’re something of a brat, aren’t you?” 

He accentuates this remark by grabbing the tips of your hair and tugging them to the side. Not enough to hurt, but enough to give him a canvas to work with. His teeth trail down from your ear to your neck, settling on your racing pulse point. He nibbles at the area just enough to leave behind marks. Meanwhile, your breathing picks up to an erratic pace. You lull your head to the side so that he has unrestricted access. He rewards your obedience with a kiss, soothing the tender area he’s been working on. 

Amazing as that feels, you swear you’ll go crazy if you don’t receive more stimulation. Whether or not he’s aware of this, you can’t say for sure, but you do know that he’s taking his sweet time sucking and nibbling the second place you want him most. In this position, there’s little you can do to encourage more friction. It’s too awkward an angle to grind against him, not to mention how damaging that’d be to your ego.

You tighten your grip around his broad shoulders in what you hope to be an obvious tell. When that doesn’t get you anywhere, an agitated noise slips by before you can stop it. 

Finally, he pulls back from his assault on your neck. “What?” 

How has his voice deepened in pitch?! 

“Just— don’t you want to, you know, inside?” 

“I don’t know. You’ll have to be clearer.” 

This bastard is deliberately toying with you. Huffing, you move back, unsurprised by the sight of supposed neutrality. He might be able to keep his facial expressions in check, but his eyes give him away. There’s no mistaking it. Those are the eyes of a starving beast. The intensity makes you shiver. Whether it’s from primordial fear or lust, there’s no telling. It’s most likely a warped combination of the two. 

This is a feeling you could get addicted to. 

Your dominant hand rises to cup his cheek. Exhaling a shaky breath, you allow the taut muscles in your face to relax. Your leering gives way to something softer. You familiarize yourself with him, running the pad of your thumb over his cheekbones, then lightly kissing the same cheek. His palms dig into you tighter. Acting as if you have all the time in the world, you pepper his face with featherlight kisses, loosely following a line that ends near his mouth. Finally, having arrived at your spell’s conclusion, you place a chaste kiss on his lips. 

You bat your eyelashes in a show of faux coyness. 

“Please?” 

He audibly swallows. 

Testing your limits, you throw in a sly comment. “Don’t you have a soft spot for me?” 

Blade scoffs. He doesn’t say anything for or against your claim, but you do notice how the tips of his ears turn red. 

“If I’d known this was the best way to deal with you Stellaron Hunters, I would’ve considered doing this with Kafka.”

Blade’s eyes narrow into slits that, realistically, should unsettle you. It does to an extent. Especially considering the maelstrom of heightened emotions swirling around him, and, by extension, you. He’s glowering, sizing you and your intentions up. He lets out a harsh laugh, shaking his head while doing so. 

“What a mouth,” he remarks. 

Unbothered by the vitriol, you shrug. “You’re the one who told me to speak ‘normally.’” 

“My mistake.” 

You don’t get to respond — his lips are on yours again. He steps back, somehow mindful enough to input the door’s passcode while never breaking away from you. His tongue doesn’t ask for entry, it demands it. You’re happy to comply. He takes pleasure in ravishing your mouth, tasting the lingering flavors from the gift that brought you to this. 

You’re back on a solid surface after he pushes some writing implements to the side. You decide that this will be the one time you allow someone to make a mess of your desk. He urges your legs open with his knee, a request you’re quick to fulfill. 

His lung capacity must be otherworldly, you have to give his shoulders a push for him to get the hint. A throaty noise leaves him, expressing his disgruntlement at the prospect of parting. Still, he grants you respite. A thin trail of saliva sees to it that your contact isn’t completely severed. 

Blade doesn’t let you recuperate for long. He presses his hard length against your core, creating heavenly friction. You no longer have the means to muffle your noises, which must’ve been his intent. His hands find your hips in a frenzy. He grabs the flesh, pulls you closer, and grinds against your clothed cunt. 

It doesn’t take long for you to teeter close to the edge. The guttural noises near your ear, the steady stimulation, his scent, and shameless thirst for you; everything envelops your head in an intoxicating haze. Your problems that stack high into the sky seem so far away. The stress evaporates away, the tension you’ve held in your body dissipating alongside it. He’s doing most of the work for you. 

Your peak gets closer, you’re right on the precipice—

—And he stops. 

You can’t say you didn’t see it coming. Blade has a penchant for riling you up, delighting in the vivid reactions he gets. 

This cruelty earns him a whine. 

“You’re awful.”

“And you’re impatient,” is his rebuttal. 

“I am,” you agree. You learn that your equilibrium is askew when you get up. After steadying your wobbly legs, you grab his wrist and tug. Your sulking must be more tantalizing than any destination you could take him to. It isn’t until the fifth pull that he relents and follows along. You pull up the lock specifications for your bedroom, inputting that an unregistered person has permission to enter. Your fingers lack the dexterity to complete this adjustment on the first try. 

And the second. 

And the third. 

“Say anything and I’ll… I’ll…” 

“You’ll…?” he encourages.

“I’ll practice celibacy,” is your final threat. 

“Mhm.” 

Your bedroom door opens on the fourth try.

After fiddling with your do not disturb settling, you point to the edge of your bed. 

“Sit there.” 

He takes off his shoes first then listens to your request. You unfasten your outer cloak. The long fabric falls into your grasp and is put aside. You’re left in nothing but your loungewear, a simple button-up shirt and leggings. Turning around, you anticipate an annoying expression to be sprawled over his face. You even have an insult on standby. 

These thoughts crumble into dust. 

Blade’s gripping your comforter hard enough for his knuckles to turn bone white. He’s leaning forward, as if ready to pounce, yet lucid enough to exercise some semblance of self-control. He reminds you of a starved animal trapped in a cage, salivating over a piece of meat hanging outside the bars. Goosebumps cover your body. This isn’t simple lust… it’s visceral, some primitive desire too overwhelming to be understood. 

You’re the one he’s staring at with this unbridled yearning. 

Yes, he’s teased you. Pushed your buttons and riled you up. Not so subtly flaunted the strength that lets him maneuver you like you weigh nothing. You might have status and mastery in your given field, but he’s participated in the annihilation of worlds; the end of civilizations that span back since time immemorial. 

He should be the one in charge. 

Yet as you stand here, witnessing how he tortures himself by not pouncing on you like he easily could, a thought is planted. 

He’d really do anything you asked if it kept this from ending. 

The adrenaline rush this realization brings is enough to turn any cognition you still possess off. 

Your trembling hands hover above your topmost button. Your mattress dips as he slants forward, his fraying patience almost snapping. You hear the leather of his gloved hand creak from how hard he’s clenching it. You shake your head to deter him. The room’s atmosphere has a headiness to it that renders you breathless. Had you seen this expression without context, you’d think he was in physical agony. 

A button is undone for every step you take toward him.

The thin shirt flutters off your shoulders when your knees hit the bed’s edge. 

Blade gazes at your body as if he’d find salvation in it. 

Since you were planning to relax, you’d discarded your bra earlier. The exposure to the cool air causes your nipples to harden. He can’t settle for ogling any one part of your bare torso, his eyes flitter from your collarbones to your chest, your navel, then back up again. You start bending over. His eyes widen slightly. It takes you a second to find where his mind has wandered off since you were just going to remove your leggings. 

“What? Was there something you wanted from me?” You hum. 

If looks could kill, you’d be a goner. 

You decide he’s suffered enough. Your leggings are thrown aside, you’re past the point of caring to be tidy. You both exhale shakily as you sit your clothed cunt directly over his prominent bulge. Your arousal seeps through your panties and onto his pants; there’ll be no pretending that you aren’t as excited as he is. 

“Are you finished?” 

His low, grumpy voice has no business sounding as good as it does. 

You play with his high collar and pretend to ponder. “Hm… I guess.” 

No sooner than the words leave your mouth do you get flipped over.

Blade’s large hands fondle your chest, memorizing how soft and pliable the flesh is for him. He’s quick to remove one so that he can attach his lips to your pert nipple. He sucks the tender area, releasing sounds that’d have you thinking he was the one being pleasured. Meanwhile, his free palm flattens against your stomach. 

You’re lost in a myriad of sensations. His hot, wet mouth sucking your nipple, the cold smoothness of his gloved hand fondling what isn’t in his mouth, the coarse texture of his bandages sliding along your skin. He’s obsessed with your body and it shows. Whether he’s worshiping or desecrating it remains to be seen. 

“Blade, please,” you roll your hips against his so he can get the message. 

He delivers his punishment swiftly — he tweaks one nipple and nibbles the other. 

Unexpectedly, this extracts a mewl from you. 

Blade pulls back. A self-satisfied grin spreads over his face. 

“Poor needy thing,” he chuckles. Your glare doesn’t last long, for he brushes his fingertips over your clothed clit. He draws featherlight circles. “Soaked too. What? Was there something you wanted from me?” 

His reciting of your previous taunt antagonizes your pride. Rather than responding verbally, you try grinding against his stupidly stationary fingers. He holds your hips down to prevent you from misbehaving further. Having not learned your lesson, you try again. He barely needs to exert any more strength for your body to be pinned to the bed as if you were a butterfly on a collector’s wall. 

He clicks his tongue. “Have you forgotten how to speak?” 

“M-Maybe.” 

“Hm. A shame,” he says. He shifts back and parts your legs. You close your eyes as he nudges his nose against your inner thigh, his warm breath fanning over your skin. He leaves a trail of sloppy, open-mouthed kisses as he leisurely makes his way to your cunt. 

“I’ll have to pry other sounds from you instead.” 

He kisses your covered core, once, then twice, a growl leaving him when your hips desperately raise for more friction. Much to your disappointment, he revisits your inner thigh, this time nipping at it. He subjects the soft flesh to the conquest of his teeth. You prop yourself up on your elbows, intending to remove the last piece of clothing that separates you from him. He pushes you back down and mutters something incomprehensible. 

The sound of fabric tearing reverberates throughout your room. 

You’re not left wondering what he’s done for long. Blade pulls you against him by your hips, attaches his lips to your clit, and sucks.  

He’s relentless, almost as if he’s chasing his release instead of yours. His tongue licks from the bottom to the top. He feasts on you, his face pressing as close as he can get. The rapidly mounting pleasure leaves you incapable of forming coherent words or thoughts. All you can think about is Blade, how he’s grinding himself against your bed, fucking you with his tongue. 

Should you be doing this? Are you using him? Is he using you? These pesky little concerns fade into the foreground. 

He slurps your clit like it’s the best thing he’s ever tasted. Your previous sensitivity has your release imminent. You thread your hands into his hair and throw your head back. Tugging on the long locks in encouragement has him groaning against you, sending vibrations straight to your core. 

Your release builds and builds. The muscles in your thighs tense, your voice elevates in pitch, pleasure diluting your senses. 

“Gonna— mm—” 

You come on his ruthless tongue and ride out your high, ecstasy rushing throughout your body. 

Once you come back down to reality, you realize he hasn’t stopped. Your nerves are sensitive enough to almost hurt. You keen as he messily kisses your cunt. You can’t move your legs and your arms feel like jello. With some difficulty, you urge his head away. Your slick glistens along his parted lips. He greedily licks up the remnants since you’ve deprived him of the source. 

Blade takes off his overcoat. He then removes his golden shirt, pulling it over his head and tossing both garments aside. Next, he undoes the buckle that hangs across his hips. His silver pants join the heap of his clothes not long after. You drink in the sight of his toned figure. You’ve always thought him to be handsome. His sharp jawline, long, silky hair, and those blazing eyes. You never thought you’d get to see what’s beneath his clothes. Scars litter the expanse of his otherwise pale skin, their shape perplexing you. He catches you staring and gives you a look you can’t place.  

“Is it more unsightly than my mind?” 

You push yourself up, wrap your arms around his neck, and pull him close.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you murmur against his lips. “All I see is a handsome man who I want to fuck me senseless.” 

“Hm. There’s that mouth again.” 

He kisses your forehead while bringing you back down to the bed. Once your head is on the pillow, he lines himself up at your entrance. Abundant pre-cum leaks from his tip, which he smears against you, stimulating your clit in the process. You gnaw on your lower lip to stop a moan from sneaking out. He just barely pushes the head in. As it’s been a while, you hold your breath in anticipation for the stretch to come. However, he doesn’t go any further. He's just staring at you, his eyes like that of a madman. The intensity has you averting your gaze. 

Your cheek barely grazes the pillow before he speaks up, his tone chastising. “[First].” 

You feel your walls clench around nothing. 

Sheepishly, you turn your head back to face him. 

“That’s all it takes, huh?” 

You guess it did work for him twice. It isn’t your fault. Hearing someone call you by your birth name is rare. To everyone else, you’re a title or notable last name. You aren’t an individual. The characteristics that define you remain purposefully hidden from sight. You’ll just be another line on a long list, perhaps a topic for disinterested schoolchildren to write a report on. 

“Yeah,” you admit as he gradually sinks into you, “That’s all it takes.” 

He’s thick enough to make you wince, regardless of how slow he goes. Your walls struggle to accommodate his size. He stills until you recollect yourself, taking deep breaths to relax your tense body. The dull ache fades. You nod at him to continue. He pushes his cock deeper, exhaling shakily by your ear as inch after inch slips in. It’s hot and heavy inside you, occasionally twitching. 

Your legs wrap around his waist, eliciting a choked sound from him. Though you’re panting, you still have enough audacity to let your self-satisfaction show. He doesn’t chastise you or revert to teasing. No, he laughs, low and from the diaphragm. The room is almost unbearably hot and still you shudder. 

Blade slides out of you and thrusts back in. The pace isn’t too fast, but he insists on pulling all the way out and filling you to completion again. His pelvis smacks against yours as he fully stretches you. This time, he lets you throw your head back, his teeth sinking into the bruises he left earlier. You hear your headboard hit the wall from how forcefully he fucks you. It’s raw and brutal, but you love it. For once, you don’t have to think or do a thing. All he wants to do is ravish you and you’ll gladly let him. 

Your eyes shoot open when his gloved hand finds its way to your sensitive clit. He rubs sloppy circles against it, causing your walls to clench around his cock. He groans into your neck. This unrestrained expression of the pleasure you’re providing him is almost too much. You never would’ve imagined he’d be so vocal, panting hot by your ear, holding absolutely nothing back. You could spend an eternity listening to him. 

A second orgasm creeps up on you. Your moans and delighted gasps grow loud enough to let him know. He squishes your cheeks in the coolness of his gloved hand, demanding that your attention wander nowhere else. 

“Open your eyes.” 

What he’s asking of you feels personal, almost too intimate. You hesitate for a moment but ultimately give him what he wants. He rewards you by revisiting your throbbing clit, rubbing and rubbing until there are spots in your vision. You chant his name, sometimes getting through the entire word, or barely stumbling through the first few letters. He hastens his pace. 

You clench down on him hard and cry out. 

He grits his teeth from how you tighten around him throughout your orgasm. He fucks you during its duration, not letting up for a second, chasing his own end. His hands clench on your hips, digging into the flesh hard enough to leave bruises. You collapse onto your pillow, your energy spent. He has no problem adjusting you exactly how he wants. Your leg is thrown over his shoulder and you keen at the change in angle. The head of his cock finds a sensitive, spongy area that you hadn’t realized existed. You arch into him and whine. 

“B-Blade,” you whine, barely audible over the sound of skin slapping against skin, “Too much… It’s too much…!” 

Tears form in the corner of your eyes. One trickles down your cheek, which he promptly licks off. 

“I know. Be good,” he pants.

The insults you set aside earlier form on your tongue. They die a swift death again, for his breath hitches and he groans by your ear. 

Heat floods your tender insides. He forces your hips flush against him, his thrusts stuttering and then stopping entirely. Wave after wave of his thick cum coats your walls. It never seems to end — his throbbing cock continues releasing the viscous substance until it has no choice but to form globs that leak out of you. 

Meanwhile, he slants his lips sloppily against yours, almost growling when you whimper. He pulls back and thrusts in one last time, pushing his release as deep inside as it can go. 

You both heave desperately for air. He still doesn’t pull out, even when his cock goes soft. Something tells you he’d be content to leave it there for as long as you permit. 

“My blanket… I’ll have to wash it.” 

“Mm.” 

Blade fixes the strands of hair sticking to your temples. You tilt your head toward his hand. It’s been so long. A small, malicious fragment of yourself taunted how you’ll never enjoy another’s touch again. That your fate would be one defined by solitude. How could you take a lover with such a risk looming over your head? The last time had been disastrous. It haunts you more effectively than any ghost. 

He pulls out. 

The newfound emptiness feels strange. 

Blade rolls off of you and slides his briefs on. You watch his every movement through heavy eyelids. The scars along his chest seem like nothing compared to the amount on his back. They lay heavy along his neck, shoulders, and spine. The off-color stripes are all similar in length and width. Your stomach churns violently as you realize it must’ve been intentional. 

He must know you’re staring, but he doesn’t utter a word as he finishes getting dressed. 

A petal falls from the bouquet of purple roses Kafka gifted.

The slight movement earns his immediate attention, a reminder of how sharp his senses are. 

You grab a nearby blanket to cover your chest and crawl over, curious about what’s caught his interest. 

Blade picks up your crystal lotus. Its multiple surfaces change color depending on the angle he holds it at, refracting the low light in your room. He inspects it with furrowed eyebrows and a frown. 

“That’s from my mother,” you explain. “She was never big on gift giving, but… for whatever reason, a few years before her death, she started leaving me little trinkets like that. I have a whole drawer full of them.” 

You smile as best as you can, not wanting to be a downer. 

“Pretty, isn’t it?” 

His eyes find yours in the mirror.

He nods.

[dangan-stuck]

We're here, dammit. This is DanganStuck, and these are the V3 character casts!

SPOILER ALERT. This whole thing contains major spoilers for V3! 

So, this all started when we found a dead body in the Lab… 

Sorry, it’s an inside joke!

Hello, I guess? I don’t know what I’m doing, but here I am, telling you about the Danganronpa x Homestuck AU crossover.

I’m developing this project (?) with [ @happy6machine , @julia-bunncat ] and with the help of some other cool guys as a support team. Lots of headcanon material has accumulated, and progress in the development of the au has simply... stalled, and I thought I’d try to share it >_< because I haven’t seen anyone else doing something like this so extensively!

I’ll start with V3 (my current fandom fixation) and castes, I guess!! The choice for some characters was pretty obvious and straightforward (ex: olive cast for Ryoma and Tenko, purple for Kokichi, indigo for Gonta and etc.), others were more unusual options (violet for Kaito, whaat?), but I swear I have an explanation behind them :Ъ

But first, I’d like to make a small remark: We hadn’t set a specific lore for the whole thing. Sometimes we experimented with transforming characters into trolls during gameplay to see how it would work, leaving the game plot, killings, interactions and so on untouched. Other times, we made up certain plot snippets and events as if they all lived on Alternia. Occasionally, we’ve stayed in the session area (which we’ll discuss further), prescribing classpects, castes, quadrants, and so forth—all these options were considered.

Now back to the castes, let's go in order:

• Himiko is the weakest, slowest, and laziest member of the V3 cast. She isn't very bright, or at least she's too caught up in fantasies. She's also, well, red. I didn't see the point in making up something special for her, so I just put her in the rust caste. It also makes the dynamic between her and some of the other characters very intriguing, which I'll discuss later. Her desire to perform tricks can be interpreted as 'service/entertainment for the people', literally a jester for the public, which suits the lower castes. But what are the tricks? Well, rust and psychic powers, right? :D So Himiko has psychic powers, though not very powerful ones... And still calls it magic, of course.

• Kaede was a… difficult case. OK, my excuse: I wanted to include a representative of every caste (except Fuchsia) at least once, and Kaede got caught in the hot seat. But she's bronze for more than just that reason!  There's a joke that I'll tell you about some other time, because I want to hold its punch for a while. As it is, we're hooked on the scene in the first chapter where Kaede immediately falls on her knees in front of Miu (instinct of subordination??). Also, the music is associated with birds, and all animals are associated with the bronze caste. Of course, Kaede is extremely... feisty and enthusiastic for such a caste, but luckily she has many highblood friends—including Kaito, who stood up for her in-game, and if they were trolls, it would work perfectly ;)

• /heavy sigh/ Keebo.

I originally drew this art [link] when my friends and I were just starting to get through V3, and I just liked the sort of black dynamic between the three of them. I didn't think much about the castes at the time, but ironically they haven't changed.

There are some problems with Keebo, because he's obviously a robot, and I want to keep him as a robot in this AU. The most realistic option is that Keebo is a prototype for a new kind of drone to be used on spaceships. After all, he is an advanced AI imitating a troll, so it makes sense to give him some blood color. Gold blood is often associated with the "trolls are used as batteries on ships” theme, and Keebo was literally created to maintain ships. It's... a bit of a stretch, really, but that's all we have for now. I think the lore will be expanded upon in the future.

• Korekiyo. Giving him gold blood was sort of a joke at first, playing on the fact that Korekiyo, like Sollux, has a point that grants him duality—his sister. However, as we fleshed out the lore, the choice felt increasingly fitting. I'll be writing separate posts, probably more than one, to outline his lore because, folks, this is FIRE. I never particularly liked Kork in the game, but now- hell, I LOVE him. Have pity on the poor boi; he's suffered a lot.

• Ryoma and Tenko. Since they both get the olive caste on the same principle, I will combine them. Guys, It's literally a catboy and a catgirl; what other questions could there be?

Okay, technically, Tenko also receives olive blood because she is combative and strong, which are characteristics of this caste. She generally looks like a cat herself ([EN] we’re referring to her fangs and headband with ears in the beta design, her collar with the bell and some of her facial expressions on the sprites), and her temper matches her caste. I'm not sure how to adapt her hatred of men to Homestuck... yet. Maybe she'll hate highbloods instead? That's something to think about.

Ryoma, for his part, with his whole cat theme (his Lusus is a cat, of course), the resemblance of cat ears on his hat, and his tendency to stare into space—he's a good fit too. And despite his small size, he is quite strong.

• Maki. And that's where the problems and doubts begin to unfold. We were deciding whether to make her olive or maybe jade, given her backstory. After all, she disguises herself as a caretaker in canon, and you wouldn't expect a girl from an orphanage to turn out to be a professional assassin. On the other hand, you might expect that from an olive caste troll. Actually, there are indeed olive assassins. But several factors convinced me to give her this particular caste:

- Maki herself is like a wild cat. Her killer stare, mouth shape, quick reactions, strength, agility, grace.

- raising jade trolls as ''assassins'' sounds not only ideologically dubious (after all, the jade caste has a special place in troll society), but also illogical. Jade's killing instinct is probably suppressed, otherwise there would be complete bloodbath in the brooding caves, they wouldn't get along with each other, they wouldn't be able to take care of wigglers.

- yeah, we've sort of canonised Maki being raised by a group of trolls to be an assassin. And raising an olive for that purpose is a perfectly reasonable idea, given their natural abilities.

- the idea for the jade caste came from the fact that children are attracted to Maki. However, Maki gets surprised by this fact every time. She calls it silly, paradoxical, and strange. Well, it wouldn't be strange at all if wigglers were attracted to a jade blood troll; that's natural. But the fact that they are attracted to an olive one should come as a surprise, even to Maki herself.

• Kirumi. Wasn’t overthinking it. The caste is given to her at the same time because of the method of exclusion (others don't really fit) and because of her calmness, composure, and desire to care for others. Kirumi can also be very, very dangerous, just like the jades in canon ;)

• Rantaro. Anybody ordered male jade? I love them personally, despite knowing they're very rare. Well, that choice is pretty obvious: Rantaro is filled with the desire to care for and protect his younger siblings. Where else could he end up but in the jade caste? He's also just a handsome guy with the cutest face, and he's GREEN, dammit! I made my choice immediately. And there's already a story about him! It's small, but we're definitely going to expand it.

• Shuichi. Do I have to explain anything??? Well, in case someone doesn't know, teal caste and detective work are two sides of the same (hee hee) coin, there was simply no other way.

• Angie. Blue caste. Uuuh, yeah, the elimination method again, I suppose? At first, I considered gold blood to maintain the original palette, but Angie has a blue caste psycho vibe to me. Damn, she's brainwashed half the class at some point! What else could it be but minor mind control? Also, Angie is quite bossy, feels at ease, and has the markings of a dominant personality (oh, the Love Hotel scene...). Blue caste suits her.

• Tsumugi. So, okay, given all her statements about her being "plain" and "nonexistent," it would seem that she should have been given low blood. But listen to this: she BULLIES MIU!

...okay, this might not be entirely obvious, but Tsumugi often makes all sorts of sarcastic comments about the other characters, most of which you can only notice if you replay V3 with knowledge of the plot. Her tweaks towards Miu are more noticeable, though, and considering that Miu herself is an indigo blood, it goes down well. Tsumugi is high-blooded enough to tease the indigo troll, saying things like, "Hey, why is it that as soon as someone starts talking back to you, you immediately turn into such a wimp?" She's also high-blooded enough to ignore Kaede when she tries to talk to her at the beginning of the game. Her blue caste might be the reason the killing game worked out at all, considering how many mistakes Tsumugi made. Who knows, maybe she also created Flashback Lights with her psychic powers...

And... eh. I confess. I wanted to keep her in blue colors, in addition to all the above reasons, so I didn't really consider any other castes.

• Miu. Indigo caste, wow! Well, considering her behavior and the fact that no one had ever punched her through the entire game, it’s CLEARLY obvious. Only a high-blooded troll, a really high-blooded troll, could afford to be so rude to those much lower down. The funny thing is that she targeted low and mid-bloods more often: Kaede, Shuichi, sometimes Himiko, Korekiyo, and Keebo. She didn’t bother, or almost didn’t, with Gonta, Kaito, and even COOPERATED with Kokichi—as if she had to, as if she were afraid of crossing the paths of those above her in caste. Also, Miu said she liked it when Kaede and Shuichi knelt before her...

You might ask—why not purple caste? Still, Miu’s strange behavior is a bit like that of a purple-blooded schizo, isn't it? Well... Firstly, there's nothing to suggest that Miu belongs to this weird purple cult. Secondly, Miu’s odd behavior when someone insults her gives us an interesting, almost Equius-like, God forgive me, “I'm superior to you, but I want to obey; it's SO WRONG but so arousing” conflict.

• Gonta. There was no reason to even try. I did have a stray thought, due to Gonta's nature and his connection to bugs, to place him in the bronze caste, but...no. Given his immense power and his lack of insanity like that of the purple-blooded trolls, you can't put him anywhere other than the indigo caste. Plus, he's from a noble family himself. And this ALSO creates a cool dynamic and adds interesting lore aspects to Homestuck!Gonta that I like VERY much and will definitely cover in other posts!!!!

• Kokichi. Oooh reeeally, who'd have thought? Of course he's purple-blooded! It's not that simple, though. Kokichi is definitely not a crazy purple cultist like most members of the purple caste. We are going to be talking about that separately, and believe me, I will give this guy a lot of lore, because I freaking love him. There isn't much else to say–no other blood color suits him better.

• AND HERE WE ARE: VIOLET-BLOODED KAITO, WAT???? Okay, let me explain!

1. I have a headcanon that violet-bloods are not as obsessed with the hemospectrum as land trolls. This is due to the fact that they are mostly isolated, living in the sea. In that environment, there are only fuchsia caste above them, and no one below them Occasionally, rare purple-bloods get caught on the shores, but EVEN then, their status isn't significantly lower. They don't live in a society where lower-bloods are constantly stigmatized and killed for no reason. They simply don't have any possibilities to "grow" those oppressive, rigid attitudes. Eridan shows this well: no matter how much he talks about hating land dwellers, he always interacts with other trolls on almost equal footing—for example, by hitting on everyone and asking Karkat for advice.

2. Kaito has strong leadership skills and a desire to guide, mentor, and support others. He stands up for Kaede, takes Shuichi under his wing, and protects Maki. This demonstrates the attitude of a strong leader willing to take responsibility. It seems very reasonable for an intelligent, thoughtful violet who knows that he is in a position of authority and must be relied upon. He can't afford to appear weak. No wonder he hasn't told anyone about his illness...

3. He conquered the sea... AND CAME TO LAND!!! All these stories about Kaito in Homestuck could become TRUE if he really is a troll with access to EVERYTHING. Fight a pirate king? Hell yeah! And he WANTS to go into space! Maybe not to enslave worlds, but to get off the planet and pilot a ship—why not? He has nothing to fear, unlike many other trolls, as he'd literally be in charge, with only the Empress above him. But back to his travels: tired of his life at sea, Kaito could just go and explore the land, and nothing can stop him. No other troll but a sea troll could afford to do that (although land trolls shouldn't go to sea).

4. Kaito is daring. And combative. He is pretty much the only one in the class who has no problem expressing his displeasure to Kokichi (a purple blood!) regularly and hitting him. Kaito is generally capable of aggression (I shudder to think how Shuichi must have felt when he was punched—minus another protagonist?) and emotion, which is also characteristic of the highblood. Even when he tries to stop Kokichi at the end, he's probably the only one who can do so after Gonta and Miu was killed.

5. COLOUR SCHEME. Let's just leave him with a beautiful violet. Especially as a highblood, he has every right to dress up. Even a star coat :з

Aaand yeah that's it! It has been a bit of a journey, hasn't it? Gosh, I'm really embarrassed. If you made it to the end, I love you guys so much!!!! I hope you enjoyed it!!! I'll develop this thread if there's minimal feedback and people are interested. And, uh, if you have any questions or anything, go for it. Questions help develop this whole thing.

TRANSLATION PREPARED BY MY FAVORITE WONDERFUL FRIENDS SUNSHINES I LOVE YOU WITHOUT YOU THIS WOULD NOT BE POSSIBLE THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU <33333

[yanderes-galore]

Romantic Gamzee Makara with human reader pls pls pls im begging... also dunno if it makes any difference in the hcs but the reader is also a mind aspect!

I think I'm going to focus on the human bit as idk if the aspect matters if that's fine? It may be easier but I briefly mentioned/implied you're in the Mind aspect. Either way, would love to write for Gamzee again.

With this concept I didn't make an AU, I tried to keep it close to canon.

Yandere! Gamzee Makara ♑️ with Human! Darling

(Mentioned at times you may be Mind Aspect)

Pairing: Matesprit ❤️

Possible Trigger Warnings: Gender-Neutral Darling, Obsession, Troll/Human pairing, Manipulation, Stalking, Delusional behavior, Mentioned mass murder/murder, Religious themes/worship yandere, Primarily sober Gamzee, PDA, Possessive behavior, Forced relationship, Forced affection, Blood mention, Sadism, Violence, Social isolation, Swearing.

I feel Gamzee would get along with a human faster than the other trolls.

For example, compared to his Moirail Karkat who dislikes the idea of flushed feelings with humans at first, Gamzee wouldn't mind it too much.

Humans may not understand quadrants all that well, but Gamzee's feelings in this concept are simple enough.

While Karkat is his Moirail, he wouldn't mind trying to make you his Matesprit.

That should be easy to understand, right?

Humans tend to have flushed feelings for each other, you'll figure it out he's sure of it.

Gamzee shouldn't be a yandere that's hard to deal with, when not sober.

When you speak with him or talk to him before he's sober he's actually really nice to be around.

Gamzee probably falls for you by watching your progress through the game and befriending you through the chat client.

He's somewhat invested in your life, enough to feel you mean something to him at least.

When he talks to you and gets to know you he's just so comforting and interested?

You don't have many issues when talking to him.

In fact, some of the other trolls have trouble tearing him away from the screen to speak with you.

It's great to know he's having fun trolling you... but there's other humans to talk to?

In terms of being a yandere it's not shown much when he talks to you.

He acts a bit delusional at times with you but nothing too bad.

You can usually overlook it.

By delusional behavior I mean he acts like the bond between you is closer than it actually is.

He also believes meeting you was fate due to his religion.

You often either get him asking if you're having trouble in your game session or him babbling about someday meeting you.

He's a bit... strange, but he becomes a presence you're used to through your session.

Honestly, by the time you meet Gamzee he may unfortunately be sober in this concept.

The moment you arrive on the meteor with Rose and Dave, you'll meet a Gamzee much different than the one you were speaking to in the chat client.

You were actually sort of excited to meet Gamzee when he talked about his friends and meeting you.

He admittedly hyped it up for you.

But the troll you meet isn't anything like the laid-back and helpful Gamzee you thought you knew.

No, when you meet Gamzee on the meteor, from what you heard he's crazy.

As a result you are no longer excited to meet him.

You choose to stick by Rose and Dave while on the meteor.

Karkat seems to be hesitant when he meets you but you manage to ask him what the hell happened.

According to Karkat, Gamzee was the cause of most of his friend's deaths.

Not only that but Karkat has developed a fear of being watched, especially when he's talking to you.

You ask why talking to you is such an issue...

You're told Gamzee has been obsessive about you ever since you started your session.

Even though you've reached your God-Tier, Gamzee can still be an issue.

He's strong, he's fast, he's insane in many ways.

Talking to Karkat only warns you that you may also be in danger.

Even in the Mind aspect, the stress may cause you to be indecisive and unsure what to do in the situation.

You still need to get used to the whole God-Tier thing like Rose and Dave.

Gamzee, surprisingly, is out of your sight for the most part.

When you roam the meteor he carefully stalks you like a predator.

He's so happy you've managed to make it this far... all with his past instructions.

Gamzee no doubt waits awhile to watch you before coming out of hiding and greeting you.

There's no need to be so scared... it's just him!

Gamzee thought you also wanted to meet him, no?

Damn, what has Karkat told you?

Did he paint him out as a monster?

His Moirail just doesn't understand that this is how things were meant to be....

Even in his more sadistic mindset, Gamzee still treat you as if you're close.

He looks at you with a smile and he's a bit too touchy.

You don't understand his intentions until he actually explains his idea.

You and him were meant to be Matesprits.

By now you'll know what this means.

It disturbs you greatly, especially with Gamzee giggling, singing the proposition in a giddy tone.

He tells you he's been waiting, he confesses he's loved you for awhile now.

You feel trapped when he closes in on you.

You look through your mind and try to find a decision, something to get you out of this.

Your mind draws a blank when Gamzee wraps himself around you.

The purple troll gleefully tells you about his murders, how he was so frustrated at the fact he didn't have you yet.

He tells you how he's felt so alone without you, how he's been wondering when he'll meet his Matesprit.

You fear to go against his wishes.

Sure, being a God-Tier means you may just come back if he kills you.

But Gamzee can't seem to die either?

You're forced to comply with his wishes once he closes in on you.

Gamzee is rough, too.

He kisses you roughly, probably is also the type to bite.

He doesn't care if others see his display of PDA.

What are they going to do if they see? Chastise him?

They've all seen what he's done, he could wipe them out rather quickly.

Plus, PDA just allows Gamzee to show that you're his.

He'd be possessive when sober and doesn't mind displaying the fact you're his Matesprit.

Regular Gamzee is a yandere for cuddles, sober Gamzee also falls into this category.

When Gamzee isn't busy he'll drag his Matesprit to a corner of the meteor and hold you tightly.

The corner is no doubt covered in blood but it doesn't affect the troll.

You, on the other hand, feel ill.

Gamzee is very unpredictable, which may be a reason you struggle picking an outcome with your aspect.

He seems to care deeply for you and Karkat despite his insanity, but he terrifies you.

He could brutally murder someone, be completely splattered in their blood, and run to you claiming it was all for you.

Speaking of which, Gamzee has potential to be a worship yandere.

He treats you like you're a divine gift and worships his Matesprit for that.

His Mirthful Messiahs, his Lord, has rewarded him.

As a result he praises you often and hates to leave your side.

He's frequently seen draped over you in some way, pressing his face into you and giggling like a deranged clown.

You make him happy, his human Matesprit.

Karkat may disapprove a little bit but he doesn't say anything.

If he shows any sort of dislike towards you, if he expresses dislike towards Gamzee's decisions, he could die.

Karkat doesn't HAVE God-Tier, he's only more terrified to be around you.

You can understand, right?

Anyone not a God-Tier has to deal with the equivalent of an angry guard dog threatening to tear their throat out when they talk to you.

As a result you prefer not to talk much to others.

It's hard to be yourself with Gamzee prowling somewhere close, waiting to strike.

Overall, Gamzee loves his human Matesprit no matter the aspect.

He doesn't care if others are scared to be around you or if you feel isolated... you only need him anyways...

You're HIS motherfuckin' Matesprit, HIS ONLY, is that clear?

[rodentgoth]

.X| "Answer Phone" - Ch.6 |X.

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WHAT'S THIS AN UPDATE AFTER SEVERAL MONTHS!? Sorry this is taking so long, but me and @candy12110 are gonna try and get this done! The next few chapters will be from Marvus's POV, and the last one will go back to Chixie's.

Rating:: 13+ // Teen

Fandom:: Homestuck

Themes/Kinks:: None

*1 month earlier*

Marvus was so tired. 

He'd been on his feet all day preparing for his set, and he finally got a chance to just breathe without some lovestruck groupie up his ass asking for an autograph, a hug, or trying to fill his quadrants.

 It was exhausting being loved. 

He was sitting in his dressing room alone for once, trying to relax while scrolling on Chittr. After scrolling past various adverts and stalkerish fan messages, he came across a video of some bronzeblood performing. They were in a seedy little bar, with a small crowd, and terrible lighting. He didn't have high expectations for them but he could always appreciate a fellow performer.

He watched the video to the very end and was mildly surprised by how much he enjoyed it. He went to the comments, and there were only a few. He wanted to comment but his publicist, and his fanbase, would kill him if he did. He could tell the few trolls that did comment were lower on the hemospectrum, they were pretty supportive. However, he did notice one from a familiar account that caused him to internally cringe.

THECODAKKEFFECT::  Great job, Bronzie boo! Sorry, I couldn't make it. I couldn't miss Marvus’s concert but you looked gorgeous on stage.

He stared at the screen curiously, there was no way in hell that indingdong was her matesprit. And if he was, there was no way he had any good intentions behind it, he was known for having his quadrants forever empty.

 Marvus rewatched the Bronzie’s performance, the shot was way too shitty to tell what they looked like. Morbid curiosity led him down the rabbit hole, he got the bronzeblood’s name from the video caption and started looking for anything he could find on them. 

Chixie? Chixie. Chixie!

He found a video with far better quality that finally showed what they looked like. Chixie was…shy? Nervous? He wouldn't necessarily say gorgeous, but she wasn't ugly either. She was…cute. She didn't have much presence or hype but she was talented. 

After watching at least ten videos of her performing and pouring out her soul he could reasonably say he was a fan. Her lyrics, composition, and the way she put her all into her performance even if he could tell she was scared for her life half the time. Honestly, her nervousness weirdly added to her cuteness. Like a hopbeast shivering in fear but still thumping along in an attempt to scare off predators. She was definitely brave, not fierce or powerful, but she held her own on stage and he liked that. 

He broke out of his thoughts to a knock at the door.

"Marvus, I'm coming in. I'm tired of all the noise out here," Chahut announced, busting through the door and entering the room with the rest of the purplebloods following her like quackbeasts.

"Honk!" The smallest clown, Karako, ran up to Marvus and hugged as tight as he could. As annoyed as he was with them barging in, he couldn’t stay mad at the little clown. 

"Hey to you too, little wriggler. Been causing trouble?" He patted the little clown’s messy fluff of hair, before actually holding onto him.

"Honk!" 

"Good. Never let 'em keep you in a box." 

"Honk?" Karako pointed at Marvus's palmhusk.

"What? Her? Nothing. I just liked her songs so I was giving ‘em a listen," He waved the runt off, quickly locking his palmhusk.

Chahut narrowed her eyes at him.

 “This another one of ya desperate lil’ groupies?”

“Nah, and mind ya business!”

"Mighty defensive are we?" Chahut stalked closer to Marvus. He instinctively moved the hand holding the device away from her, only for it to get snatched by one of the twins from behind.

They quickly opened the phone to see a video of the bronzie girl playing on a loop.

“Aww your love-sick for a lil’ Bronze girl,” Chahut said mockingly.

“How cute!” She quickly busted out laughing with the twins, before Marvus snatched it back!

“Didn’t I tell ya’ll to mind ya business!” Marvus responded with a clenched jaw. He didn't know why he was being so defensive, but he did find the invasion of his space and privacy annoying.

"Why should we? Mr. Unaffected is over here creeping on some bronzeblood. What happened? Embarrassed?" She said smirking and cocking her head.

The twins both shook their heads before speaking.

"You should be!"

"How embarrassing." 

Karako just looked up at the bigger clown confused.

"Honk?" 

Marvus’s face grew angrier by the second.

"I'm not feeling flushed for her little man. Why do y'all even care?"

“Cause we love to torture you!” 

Chahut commented as she gave the device back to him.

He immediately snatched it out of her hands, causing Chahut to jump back a bit.

“Jeez, we were just playin’!”

He glared up at her annoyed, before sitting back down. The room fell silent for a bit before the twins began to speak.

"You're not seriously developing feelings for the bronzie are you?" 

"..."

"You're not seriously developing feelings, right Marvus?!" They both repeated in unison.

His face became more annoyed.

“No, I ain’t!” 

"Good,” Chahut cut in sitting down on the couch.

”A troll of your status ain’t got no business foolin’ around with some lowblood girl. You remember what happened last time?”

"That ain't gon happen. A, I'm not foolin’ around with her. B, I don't even know her. C, she's not even a fan. D, most important of all, I ain't never even met her before. There is no business happening here. I saw a cool performance and I wanted to see if she had talent. You motherfuckers are the ones making it weird!"

"Fair enough. Just tryna make sure you ain't repeating that bullshit,"

"Time is money. Do you think I can afford to pay attention to every lowblood out there? Is my name Nova?" 

"Honk!"

"Right little man! I'm nothing like that fame chaser,"

“Honk! Honk!” Karako aggressively commented, while the other three just rolled their eyes.

“Whatever.” Chahut stretched her arms behind her head.

“I just can’t wait for you to finally be on vacation. You’re takin’ us with you, right?” 

Baizli asked.

“Yeah, we got everything packed up.” 

Barzum followed up.

“Honk?”

"You wanna go with me?" Marvus walked over to the smallest clown and picked him up, booped him on the nose.

"Honk!"

"I don't know, they been kinda annoying lately," Marvus teased the smaller troll.

Karako turned to the other purple bloods and shook his head side to side. 

"Oh, you not a part of they group? I guess you could come with me. We'll leave these losers behind,"

"Honk!"

"Hear that, it's me and little man's duo trip. But, maybe if ya’ll apologize, I’ll consider bringing yas along.” He and Karako gave a small chuckle

"We're so sorry," The twins enthusiastically responded.

"That's two more invited! Chahut you're next."

"As If I'm apologizin’ to your lame ass," Chahut crossed her arms. She barely moved to sit up before having three pleading faces staring at her. 

"Ooooh looks like the wrigglers are gonna miss you. How sad. But I guess you're too lame to hang with guys." 

"Fuck you."

"That's not an apology. Wanna try again?"

"I'm sorry, Marvus,” She said grumbling under her breath.

“That’s three!” He said, high-fiving Karako. 

"Vacation! Vacation! Vacation! Vacation," the twins chanted, flipping around the room.

"Honk! Honk!" Karako cheered along.

—

Marvus was sitting on his bed in the hivetel. He was wearing one of his old merch t-shirts, no point in wearing that clunky tux and scrolling through Chittr. Since the point Chahut made about that clingy lowblood from before he'd been trying to keep his mind off Chixie. Unfortunately, nothing like forbidden fruit makes you want to take a bite. As soon as he arrived and locked himself in his room he’d started watching more videos of the girl. In his scrolling, he came across a post on her actual account. 

Chixie:: I'll be performing at BloodBrawl bar tonight. Come out and show support!

Below the text was a picture of the lineup, there in big brown text was her name. She’d be the middle act and the bar was close to the hivetel. It was at that moment that Marvus got an amazing, and kinda stupid, idea. He did have a few toned-down outfits and his favorite black hoodie. It wouldn't hurt to just pop out for a drink real quick. 

He just saw a recommendation to come out to a local place that had good music. As an accomplished artist, how could he resist hearing fresh talent? If he just so happened to see the bronzeblood that he's been listening to for the past two days then so be it. It's their fault for choosing this hivetel, not his.

With his plan in mind, he memorized the time she’d be performing and went to gather everything he’d need, searching vigorously through his bags. He found his most raggedy hoodie, an old patched-up pair of sweats, and some platformed boots he wore for a concert messiah knows how long ago. To make things more convincing he decided to give himself a fake caste symbol. But there was only one person in their entire Hivetel with paint…Chahut.

He sighed walking down that hall towards her and Karako’s room. 

“Chachki!” He yelled knocking at the door.

He heard several large stomps before the door flew open.

“I thought I told ya to never call me that,” she looked down at him agitated.

“Whatcha want?”

“I need to borrow ya paint sis’.”

She cocked her eyebrow.

“What for?”

“I…Need to repaint some of my shoes.”

He all but mumbled out. It wasn’t a lie, after sweeps of performing a lot of his shoes and outfits were worn out. The bigger clown stared at him for a moment before sighing and going back into her room. She pulled a bag of spray paints out of her suitcase. She tossed them out to him, and he wandered off back to his room. He picked up the burgundy and quickly sprayed a fake caste symbol on his hoodie. 

He wanted to make sure  no one  recognized him, went into the washroom, tied his hair back, and did something he never thought he’d do. He washed his makeup off. It was weird seeing his gray skin after only seeing white on it for so long. For the piece de resistance, fake glasses and a face mask. 

He threw his newly painted hoodie on and slunk out of the hivetel room. He took the stairs to avoid any fans or press and snuck out the back of the building. He stuffed his hands into his pockets and hunched forward changing his overall image and hiding as much of his shape as possible. He didn't remember ever being able to leave a building without being watched or swarmed before but it was an exciting feeling.

Before he knew it he was on the streets, heading towards the bar. He did get a few looks on the way, he guessed they’d never seen a burgundy this big. Still, it didn’t stop some of the higher bloods from pushing and shoving him out of their way. To be honest he didn’t even notice most of them, they just bounced off of him. Plus he was too focused on seeing this gig to worry about any of them.

After a few minutes, he finally made it, and there wasn’t too long a line!

When he got in he noticed the place was fairly crowded, he thought back to the lineup, he did remember seeing some popular names. He looked around a bit to see if he could recognize Chixie before giving up and going to get a drink. He had a few songs to get through before he would get to hear hers anyway.

The act currently setting up was a purpleblood band. They were pretty good if he was being honest, but he wasn’t coming for them. He was here for one performance, and one performance only.

After them was a solo indigo.

And after that was another act and another…and another. If he was being honest, a lot of the acts were starting to meld into one another. 

Something else he noticed was how many of the acts were blatantly copying him. Not just his lyrics and beat, but his entire persona and style.

 Normally he wouldn’t mind this he loved it when people took inspiration from his work. But all of these acts felt the same, there was no flare or pizzazz. Just the same thing over and over expecting to get more applause than the last act, absolutely boring. But, it would all be worth it, soon, cause next up was Chixie!

Only the little bronzie didn’t come out, instead, it was another group of purples who, apparently came late. Marvus sat there confused, as to why Chixie wasn’t on stage.

Maybe they just rearranged her spot, so they could perform?

He didn't care for the abrupt change but it's fine he could sit through one more performance.

After them was another group, indigobloods. Then there was a teal solo act. Then two jade acts back to back.

It seemed like everyone but Chixie was performing tonight, as the show went on more and more trolls started to leave. Soon there was nothing but a handful of lowbloods and one indigo, standing in the front, left. Marvus was considering leaving himself, but he noticed a fairly short troll nervously walking on stage.

The last act came up, and there she was, Chixie. Despite his annoyance, Marvus felt a smile grow across his face when he saw her. He noticed her outfit, it was a long black button-down dress, a pair of white leggings, and a pair of black flats with baggy leg warmers. It wasn’t at all flashy, and it didn’t look expensive, but it was still cute!

His focus on her was broken by the sound of very out-of-place cheering; he looked forward to seeing the indigo loudly praising her and clapping. His eyes migrated back to the bronze girl, who was now awkwardly smiling and waving at him as she pulled down the mic off the stand.

A burgundy with a guitar wrapped around him stumbled out and started playing. 

She visibly sighed, before she started to sing.

The song she sang was a somber one. She didn’t do much, she wasn’t loud or flashy like the other acts. She didn’t have dance moves unless you counted hand gestures and hip sways.

She was just being herself, calm, but kind of nervous. Many would probably call her “Plain” or “simple” but that’s what made it all stand out. She wasn’t trying to be this big personality, she knew who she was, and that made her all the more unique to Marvus.

Soon the guitarist stopped and Chixie’s voice disappeared with the last few chords.

He was stunned. She was far better in person than the shitty video quality from Chittr. However, he did appreciate whoever was uploading videos of her performances. He sat for a while watching her interact with the few lowbloods left in the bar before visibly cringing as she turned to the indigoblood that was feeling a little too excited to see her.

"Hey Zebruh! I'm so…glad you could make it. I thought you were going to a concert for that purpleblood you liked."

"Marvus. His name is Marvus.”

The indigo corrected.

 “And I did wanna go to his show but I heard he went on vacation, so I decided to come support you in the meantime!"

"That's so sweet of you but you didn't have to-"

"What kind of manager would I be if I wasn't here to support my favorite bronzie!”

He interrupted getting in the bronze girl’s face.

"Oh. Well…You really didn't have to." 

"Nonsense! They already bullied you once. If you had let me, I would ' ve made sure they never changed your spot, but of course, you're just too kind," Zebruh smirked. Marvus eavesdropped for a bit and could feel the anger she was hiding from his backhanded compliment.

"I'm glad you think so," She smiled weirdly at the indigo, as he tried to put his hand on her but she turned away like she heard someone call her, barely missing his hand. 

"They called Trixie not Chixie," he said, dropping his arm to his side.

"Oh! Well, that's fine. Sorry, but I have to go, I gotta- feed my lusus! I'll see you later."

Without a second she turned and walked away.

"I love that about you. You're so responsible. Bye~"

He yelled at her from across the room.

The mousy girl quickly ran out of the bar, brushing past Marvus. His eyes focused on her face quickly taking in her features as she skittered past him. He wasn't expecting to get such a close-up- up but at least he was right and the trip wasn't a waste, she really was cute. 

Marvus made his way back to the hivetel. He figured using the stairs would be better but by the fifth floor, he started regretting his choice. He decided to just take off his sweater and take the elevator the rest of the way up. He managed to make it through the hall without being spotted or recognized. Soon enough he made it back to his room and he sighed loudly when he got in. 

His tiredness was soon replaced with panic when he noticed Karako sitting on the couch, legs and arms crossed.

"Honk."

"Woah! Hey little man, what you doing here?"

"Honk?" Karako glared at him, waiting for an answer.

"Where I been? What you mean, where I been? I just stepped out for a bit. I ain’t been gone long."

 Karako made an annoyed face at the obvious lie.

"Three hours ain't that long. Why were you in my room for three hours?" He tried to change the subject but the little clown steamrolled past it.

"Honk. Honk."

"Thanks for thinkin' of me but you really ain't have to and as you can see I'm fine."

"Honk?" Karako asked again.

"I just got a drink and forgot to check my palmhusk. Sorry little dude."

The little clowned glared him down, giving an exaggerated pout.

"Just down the block! Look, it's not that serious."

"…Honk," Karako glared at him suspiciously.

"No, I didn't go see that girl. What girl are you even talkin' about?"

Karako quickly showed the evidence on his palmhusk.

" I didn't go to see her! I just got a drink at a bar she just so happened to be performin' in."

“Honk!”

“My makeup? It needed to be redone, so I took it off!”

“...Honk,” The small clown pointed at the jacket, and glasses he still had in his hand. It was at this point Marvus knew the little clown wouldn’t give up, he sat next to him and began to explain.

“Okay, I ain’t confirmin’ or denyin’ nothing. But maybe,  maybe , I went to see her perform,” His panic was replaced with a small grin as he explained further.

“You should’a seen her! She was so sweet and so talented. I thought seeing her in person would, you know, scratch the itch. Sate my curiosity.”

Karako cocked his head at the older clown.

"Yeah, I probably should've left it alone but I couldn't not go after being told not to watch her." 

“Honk!” Karako began to chuckle as he stated the obvious.

“No! I ain’t got red feelings for her! I remember what happened last time!” He picked Karko up into his arms “Besides, you too young to be talkin’ bout that!”

“Honk?”

“Yeah…I did say this was different…”

“Honk!”

“No! I ain’t goin’ back to see her.”

Karako grabbed Marvus’s palmhusk again, going onto Chixie’s Profile.

He pointed at the red quadrant status, which was marked as empty.

"Karako, I can't do that again. Chahut would kill me if I brought another groupie around!"

"Honk!"

"I know she's not a groupie but still it's not gonna end well either way." Marvus slightly raised his voice, causing Karako to tear up a bit.

The little clown began to cry and fuss, Marvus sighed and brought him in for a hug.

“I’m sorry little man, it’s just I can’t be out here catching red feelings for a girl I don’t even know,” He pulled Karako back wiping his tears, smudging his makeup a bit.

“Besides, if I went chasing after her, you and me wouldn’t have time to hang out!” He booped the runt’s nose.

“And ya wouldn’t want that now would ya?”

Karako nodded his head “no”.

“Then let’s not focus on all that quadrant mess, okay?”

“...Honk!” Karako squeezed his arms around Marvus’s waist, pulling him in for one last hug.

"Yeah! Let's get some faygo and grubcorn. We can watch a movie. Let me just get my paint back on."

[dingodad]

i totally agree!! i didnt know how to word my thoughts on it, because just suggesting the two binaristic options of "trans or intersex" felt both limiting and not true to the overall subject. so thank you for putting to words something i was trying to get at!! ive been loving your analysis of homestuck recently so its really nice to be able to just pick your brain about it sometimes.

also because i like adding a prompt for you to respond to that isnt just my praising you, how do you think this whole conversation affected kankri on beforus? textually i think its pretty clear, that in contrast to karkat's closeted archetype, kankri is more meant to be that one guy you knew in high school in the GSA club. well intentioned but definitely too caught up in the literal linguistics of it all

happy to help :) and happy to respond to more asks. as you can see.

i have never thought super long and hard about kankri in this respect because well he is very messy lol and i've never been able to land on a single interpretation of him that i think entirely fits within homestuck's themes. which is probably fine because probably nobody was ever meant to put all that much thought into him anyway. but i think the caste-oriented interpretation of mutant blood maps pretty easily onto the queer interpretation here, in that kankri is very much a gay guy who doesn't want to acknowledge that being gay doesn't totally absolve him of the privilege of being a guy.

i guess there are holes in that interpretation, not least of all the fact that it's never really insinuated that kankri is Actually gay in the way karkat is lol? all of his noteworthy romantic feelings in both lives are toward women; his quadrant-transcending relationship with the disciple is definitely "queer", so you might jokingly categorise him as "gay for girls", but i don't think he ever even really comes across as LIKING women that much. and he dislikes women in about the same way you'd expect a straight guy to dislike women. in this sense asexual kankri is a very amusing interpretation even if it very clearly is not true.

kankri being "the troll version of gay" also kind of comes with the implication that maybe being a special little gay guy comes with perks and privileges on Beforus which is, again, funny to imagine but prooooobably not the intended message hussie was going for? lol? unless it was. oomf @odddaysgeorge's interpretation of the message behind Beforus immediately came to mind when i got this ask: "having all their basic needs met and their identities affirmed turns these queer teenagers into neurotic entitled perverts complaining about fake problems." i don't necessarily agree that the intention behind Beforus was this antagonistic, my read on act 6 is that it broadly approaches queer topics in pretty good faith, but it's certainly not an inaccurate read on meenahquest. and i certainly think "move aside entitled gayboy, a real feminist is talking" is a sentiment that broadly aligns with hussie's attitude toward the girl alpha trolls versus the boy alpha trolls. it's just that. again. i can't even be that sure that kankri is even supposed to be gay. so you see what i mean when i say this shit is messy

[danieldrivesfast]

Do you think the Lando fans who are at war with the pearl-clutchers who are trying to "cancel" him for dating a girl with a questionable background are the same Lando fans who like to come for DR?

I was called a misogynist and racist for saying how it's wild that they'd think Lando would choose to be friends with someone who was guilty of the absolute BS they accuse DR of, because Lando has never shown himself to think that way, and I don't understand how someone who claims to love Lando could be so hateful to someone he clearly loves and respects. (This isn't a new theme here.)

So... if you're defending someone who has a racist/immoral past, are you also those things? By your standards? Shouldn't you be screaming about it and demanding Lando do better? 🤔

Don't get it twisted, I am on Lando's side here. The shit going down on socials, especially the Quadrant account, is absolutely out of line. He has done nothing to show he agrees with any of those things and from what I've seen any issues were when she was younger. He would know how she acts and thinks now, not us, and I dare ANYONE to show their full internet history to the world to be criticized as closely as hers.

Lando is allowed to date who he wants, and the parasocial stalking is absolutely out of control. Those people don't actually care about what Magui has or hasn't done, they only care that it's not them holding Lando's hand. It's performative to a disgusting, pathetic level.

But the hypocrisy from some fans is a bit too much for me.

[brooklynisher]

In terms of recommendations, The 2¢ Show is good album if you want to know how they used to sound, and 1896 is a great album for how they sound now. Mk III is a perfect in-between point IMO. Steam World Heist music is very different and has just about no in-lore relation to the actual band, but you can listen to that if you don't want to worry about lore.

With every album, their musical style evolves, so don't expect the same thing every time!

One of my personal favorite song is Eat Your Heart, which was the song to draw me in, but Honeybee and Brass goggles are their most popular songs. In general though, I think I'll Rust With You and Over the Moon are the best songs to start with if you're trying to determine their overall sound.

Here's a video that explains the band pretty well outside of lore (You still might need a basic understanding of who the characters are but this video is mostly about their act) [x]

Lore stuff to note below the cut (I don't explain the lore myself, but it's a bunch of advice for how you might want to tackle it)

Before I start, each of the albums have a number theme in their titles. This might be helpful later.

______________________

Unless you care more about the lore than the music, I wouldn’t recommend jumping into the lore just yet. There's quite a lot to take in, and keeping up with it is not easy considering their lore extends beyond their music.

It’s a bit of a strange thing because a good chunk of their songs have a plot and a good chunk of their songs do not!

______________________

The first three albums (Album One, The 2¢ Show, and Mk III) aren’t too heavy on lore. If there is lore, then it's about the characters you should already know (The main robots). So there’s not a lot you need to catch up on.

Everything past The Vice Quadrant (Quintessential and 1896) isn't too explicit as to what's going on in the lore. The last song of both albums give you a bit of a surprise as if to say, "the lore is still relevant" but you don't have to worry too much on understanding it right away.

The Vice Quadrant is extremely lore-heavy, and there are a lot of details left out of the songs that are meant to be found elsewhere. I've found that a lot of people don't like VQ right away because it can be very confusing. I wasn't a huge fan until I started to really understand the lore, and now I love that album.

The Seventh is coming up, which we don't know a lot about, but considering the fact that the band is trying not to "spoil" what the album's about, it's probably lore-heavy as well. So be prepared if you decide to stick around!

______________________

If you want to start learning about the lore, SPG has a bunch of stuff on their website which I'll list from easier to understand to harder to understand.

Main Characters - Info about the individual band members [Current band members] [The Jon (Previous member)] [Hatchworth (Previous member)] Upgrade (Previous member) left before the band added character descriptions to their site, but she's mentioned elsewhere

Backstory - Mostly relevant to the robots and how they came to be, who invented them, their motivation, etc. [x]

Timeline - Goes into depth about what happened with the robots and their inventor's family [x]

VQ Timeline - Goes into depth about what happens in the Vice Quadrant. This lore is interconnected with the main timeline. A lot of this is a huge game of connect the dots so be warned. (It's got cool art though if you want to look at that) [x]

The Cavalcadium - Essentially a very elaborate way to make all fan characters canon. I don't recommend getting into this one until later down the line. It's very complicated, and is more intended for FAN fans than it is for casual enjoyers. [x]

______________________

BONUS: Comics

There are three important comics to check out

Red Core (Incomplete) - Focused on Rabbit's backstory and her transition [x]

Hatchworth and the Blue Ghost (Complete [?]) - Focused on Hatchworth's backstory [x]

Steam Powered Giraffe (Incomplete) - Goes a little bit into the band's backstory. This will become an expansion of current SPG lore. Peep the description! [x]

I recommend checking those out first, but here's a video more focused on the lore to help you understand things better [x]

______________________

Essentially, if you want to get into the lore, you're in it for the long haul. So know what you're getting yourself into!

You can also find little facts and tidbits over at #spg info on my blog!

Sorry for yapping so much ok bye

Hey so I didn't learn my lesson from how much listening to steampunk music has ruined me so far. And I was considering getting into Steam Powered Giraffe?

SPG fans are there best albums/best songs/best places to start? I've poked around on the wiki a bit and there definitely seems to be a lot of Plot but I don't know how much that means about whether or not things need to be listened to in order. How does one listen to this?

[milaza]

knightley dump from forever ago also i need to share my stupid headcanons here

some of these pictures are from 2020 jesus christ. spoilers for AAI2 below.

as seen in one of the images above, horace knightley was 15 years old in 2010. ‘act 5′ of homestuck began in 2010. this is the ‘part’ of homestuck which is most well known as it is the introduction of the ‘troll’ characters. i believe that knightley, as a teenager in 2010 was a fan of homestuck due to its emerging popularity on tumblr.com. there are two important points:

1. he was fictionkin of dave strider: there are multiple reasons. they’re both knight themed, they want to protect the people they like (this is me trying to believe knightley genuinely cares about keyes), “he trauma is there but they don’t cope with it or go to therapy, and they have a fucked up relationship with their ‘dads’

2. he cosplayed gamkar with keyes: i don’t ship gamkar but keyes is a clown and knightley has karkat vibes too. actually i drew fanart of them dressed as homestuck trolls but i would rather not have that stain my tumblr blog.

i think that manosouta’s relationship is best represented through homestuck troll quadrants. they were morails back when people called each other that. keyes always thought it was cringe and knightley only realized it was cringe later (but he still thinks of him that way). keyes clearly experiences kismesissitude towards knightley but he refuses to call it that.

(SIDE NOTE: “nahyuta represents antis guy” was an anonymous user on phoenix wright kink meme (?) who wrote like two paragraphs on how nahyuta’s righteous personality represented him being an anti in fandom. girl what are you on about)

anyway after knightley’s tumblr/homestuck era he started using 4chan and hating on fictionkinnies for fun also he’s an anti-sjw at this point despite being bisexual. i don’t really want to talk about this time you know how it is.

then he became normal and stopped using every social media except facebook (he harasses people with those ‘want to play a game with me?’ messages with facebook chess or something) and reddit i also don’t want to talk about this.

he started watching bojack horseman in 2015 and kept up with the series until his death in 2019. he doesn’t call himself a kinnie but he’s definitely one of those people who project way too strongly onto bojack. this time, my reasoning is that he’s horse themed, a really big shithead, gets jealous of others easily, and hates french people like bojack hates horses.

that last point is another headcanon; after receiving the PH ring, he believed his father was french (because he didn’t find out about pierre hoquet being isaac dover). knightley has very faint memories compared to keyes, but i think he’d still remember how badly his father treated him, leading to his hatred of the french.

also, he has a pet dobermann! that pic was from a tosaka trio fanart i never finished... atmey has a borzoi and wellington has a pomeranian heheh.

one of these days i’ll get around to making my knightley fangame which is about playing as blackquill convincing him to go to therapy. sorry half of my headcanons are homestuck related btw.

[staringdownabarrel]

Really, the problem with Neelix is twofold. The first problem is that he was radically misused--instead of being a character who's regularly the centrepiece of serious plots, he's mostly just a character relief character. The second problem is that he's an every episode (except for one or two at the end) character instead of being a couple of times a season character.

There really wasn't any problem with Neelix being a serious character. Jetrel, one of the first episodes to focus on him, was arguably the best episode of Voyager's first season, and while Mortal Coil wasn't the best episode of season four, it's still a pretty decent episode. The former deals with themes of war, mass killings, and trauma; the second deals with themes of death, loss of faith, and suicide.

Both these episodes demonstrate that Neelix could have been a very layered character if the writers had have put in the effort. I think there was also a lot of room to explore what Neelix's experiences as the only Talaxian onboard a ship of 140 or so humans was like and how it contrasted to Torres' experience as the only Klingon/half-Klingon.

There was also a lot of room to contrast his experiences to the other long-time combat veterans onboard--the Maquis crew were all veterans of guerilla-style warfare against the Cardassians, after all. This would have also provided an interesting contrast between DS9 and Voyager, because while DS9's exploration of war-related trauma was mostly based around trauma stemming from a currently ongoing conflict, Voyager's could have been based around armed conflicts that had been over for a while.

I feel it's very telling that one Neelix-centric episode--or, at least, Neelix-adjacent episode--has also traditionally been one of the most contentious episodes of the entire franchise. One of the easiest ways to start a flame war in any given Star Trek community online is to express an opinion one way or the other on the ethics of Tuvix, after all.

While Tuvix didn't necessarily spring forth from any part of Neelix's background, it did show how Neelix and Tuvok could have balanced each other out to some extent. It also could have been the starting point of their dynamic evolving from annoying gremlin with no sense of boundaries and irritated old man who's too professional to whack him to one of greater understanding. Instead, what we got we got was another several seasons of the annoying gremlin/irritated old man dynamic.

The point of all of this is that while Neelix was mostly used as a comic relief character, he didn't need to be. There's a few different roads they could have taken him down and done some really interesting things with him that would have been completely on-brand for the franchise. Instead, what we got was mostly comedic Neelix-centric scenes at a time when the franchise's attempts at humour tended to be very hit-and-miss.

This tendency to try to force Neelix to be the comic relief character was evident even very early on. In The Cloud (the "there's coffee in that nebula" episode), Neelix's big contribution was basically a joke-y scene where he's on the bridge trying to convince Janeway not to go into the nebula. This is despite the fact that even in this early role of being a guide to the Delta Quadrant, this was one of Neelix's first opportunities to, y'know, actually be useful.

The other big issue was that Neelix was an every episode character and not a once-in-a-while character. If Neelix had have been one of the characters who showed up a few times a season, I think it would have forced the writers to focus on the more serious elements of his character rather than trying to force him to be the funny one.

I think this was more of an issue early on, though. Especially in the first couple of seasons, it's very clear that they weren't really sure what to do with Neelix, so they ended up giving him scenes that didn't really contribute a whole lot to the plot, but did fulfill their apparent contractual obligations with Ethan Phillips to have him in every episode.

Really, I feel like the biggest drawback to having Neelix as a once-in-a-while character would have ended up being that the writers would have forgotten he existed. This is basically what happened with Joe Carey--he got temporarily restricted to his quarters and then the writers forgot he existed for several seasons. This is also what happened to Samantha Wildman, despite Naomi being a semi-regular character: it seems like they kinda forgot she was meant to be there for several seasons.

Still, I do feel like having him be a once-in-a-while character would have been a better choice for him. Guinan wasn't part of TNG's permanent cast, but when she showed up, it contributed to the episode. It's the same deal with Garak in DS9. I'm not sure if either of these characters would have benefited as much if they'd been part of the permanent cast the same way Neelix was.

[baylardo]

Which Star Trek books would you recommend out of the ones you’ve read? Specifically voyager ones?

I meant to respond to this earlier lol WHOOPSIES MY B MY B.

I should firstly disclaim that I read these books from a content-creating standpoint and as such, would say that I have found merit to reading as many Voyager books as possible, regardless of what my personal opinions are on them. :) I think there's so much to gain from acquiring other people's takes on canon and semi-canon and you get to walk away with an opinion on it after having digested it haha. All of that to say I'm sorry if I'm a little GRAY on what I'd recommend.

Like honestly, The Autobiography of Kathryn Janeway gets A LOT of flack (Rightfully so... U___U). But I still managed to find and take away a lot from that book that I wouldn't have without having at least INDULGED it with an open mind haha. You get a lot of little details about Janeway's life pre-Starfleet and as a cadet to a captain, good, pandery, and bad. I won't get into too many details but I'd honestly say that the portion of time in the book about her life at Starfleet Academy when she meets and works closely with Boothby is VERY INDULGENT for my taste on Janeway content, and I wouldn't put it past me to go back one day and reread it because I REALLY loved the UNINTENDED PARALLELS it reflected in Resolutions for me. And obviously establishes her fondness for Bootby. I say "unintended' because this book does not wrap its themes neatly AT ALL it feels very freestyle and improvised and I found myself wishing the author had written Janeway to have reflected on things that got established earlier in the novel when she's talking about her time on Voyager. It is also VERY plat. But on top of that too like, just the ideas it has about the Voyager crew post-Endgame are interesting as well, some are a little eyerolly to me, but I actually found myself FAVORING what this book decided to do with Tom and B'Elanna as opposed to the Beyer books! A LOT.

Mosaic and Pathways are both wonderful and light reads. (You can find free audiobooks for these on Youtube WINK WINK) Mosaic is very Janeway-centric with a B-plot that's a little honkshoomimimi and they try to tie it up with the Janeway stuff but it flops for me ngl. But if you look past that, I'd consider Mosaic to be the SUPERIOR Janeway backstory canon in a lot of ways. Which is sad for how short it is. But it's kinda admirable in achieving what it does. Pathways is about some of the crew members reflecting on their time pre-Delta Quadrant, some of the stories are better than others. I particularly loved the Chakotay one. Cutely a lot of them end with "And THAT'S how I met Captain Janeway," but it isn't consistent I WISH IT WAS HAHA. The Tom Paris one is BOTTOM TIER I HATE THAT I KNOW ABOUT IT IT HORRIBLE LOL. The B'Elanna one was cute in that it had her meeting Tom in the Maquis which is SADLY something that never got elaborated on in the show! Very squandered imo. Oh also hated the Neelix one, keep that boy vague I DON'T WANNA SEE IT. These book are also what the Kirsten Beyer book series draws on for reference which is great and easter egg-y and I LOVE IT.

Caretaker was pretty bottom tier for me lol. It's just the first two episodes in book form. (But it was a free audiobook on Youtube so I indulged) As someone who has trouble grasping what the EFF is going on in the first two eps, it was useful for me in that lens. But it's just mad boring and I'd hoped the book would milk internal dialogue of the characters a bit more and it DIDN'T.

The Voyager - Beyer book series I'd say have been funnnnn for the most part. (I'm like, around halfway through the series I think) There's a lot to be desired but I'd give them the benefit of the doubt of likely having to appeal to a Star Trek audience where more character-driven storytelling becomes more of a backburner priority RIP. What she DOES manage to achieve in the brief and spaced out increments of CHARACTER INTIMACY are pretty DELICIOUS. Not super important but the way she writes Miral in particular is SOOOOO SOFT AND CUTE. I know it ends the way I'd hoped the TV series would end so I'm really excited for that. :) And they're definitely worth the read. You're just having to juggle like what feels like way too large of an ensemble cast with characters you're simply NOT gonna care about and have a hard time remembering for a while. I'm not a big Trek fan so whenever it gets super lore dumpy or brings in things from other spinoffs I'm a little "Zzzzzzzzz I don't careeeeeee." Children of the Storm and Unworthy are both VERY HARD READS at least for me because MFW NO JANEWAY U___U </3 but shawty it makes her return that much more rewarding to suffer through Janeway-less Voyager material.

Other than that ummggggg I know I wanna read the Chakotay-centric books at some point. And there's also apparently a book where Phoebe's aboard Voyager to do a special painting and she ends up being a doppleganger Caretaker disguised as her and I REALLY wanna read that one. :)

HOPE THAT HELPS LOL <3333333333