#Survey forms processing

[duckduckngoose]

Considering a new survey hhhhhhh

[transslycanthropy]

Another thing that’s got me thinking a lot is this take I keep seeing in regards to darker fiction, even relatively tame whump stuff, people going “it doesn’t matter that they’re fictional, it’s still wrong and you’re wrong and bad for wanting to write about it”. And it just seems like at some point people started thinking of characters as like. Real enough that you could actually hurt them. So it doesn’t matter if they’re fictional because what you’re doing in fiction is still harmful. And I try to chalk it up to an age thing, but there are grown adults doing this, and also, I was that age once. There’s a bunch of things in fiction I find uncomfortable and off putting and that I wouldn’t want to read about or watch, and I had friends at that age who felt the same way about the same things, but it wasn’t like. An identity. It was something we hardly talked about or thought about because we just. Didn’t like those things. And I guess I can’t tell if this really is something newer that appeared at a certain time, or if it was always here and I just don’t remember.

[monstersholygrail]

In a Free Use City, there are two ways you can get promoted. You can put in the hard work by taking on extra responsibilities, going longer hours, and putting in the initiative. Or… you can sleep your way to the top. In a Free Use City, sleeping your way to the top isn’t frowned upon but instead highly encouraged. Especially by your bosses.

While everyone tries to sleep their way to the top, you’d be surprised to know that most people get promoted through hard work. Because… In a Free Use City, sleeping your way to the top is actually harder to achieve than putting in the work of the job.

When you decide to sleep your way to the top, you are heavily surveyed and judged based on your ability and skill of fucking and pleasing your bosses. The committee that makes the decision all must be pleased with your individual performances.

Even lost in the throes of pleasure, they remain focused on how well your pretty lips looked wrapped around their thick cocks, how deep you can take them down your throat, how much you can hallow your cheeks and swirl your tongue around their lengths. They count how long they can deep throat you and the amount of time it takes before your tears are dripping down to their heavy balls. Some count more tears as a positive while others consider it a negative.

The next part of the evaluation has them slowly moving down to your holes. They evaluate how turned on you got just from sucking them off. Similarly, some wanna see you leaking buckets while others wanna prep you themselves. They dip their fingers inside of you, teasing you just right. Analyzing how tight you are and how tight you can clench around them.

But they don’t take the time to stretch you. No, that would be cheating on the evaluation form. They need to know how well you can naturally take their fat cocks down your tight core. Some of them give you more points the more you arch and writhe as your body accommodates their girth while others remove points for not just taking it like a good whore.

As they finally properly fuck you, their analytical gaze never wavers. Evaluating your stamina and how quick you bring them to the brink of an orgasm. They have you ride them so they can see your entire body as you bounce on their cocks. So that they can see how deep they’re taking you, their cocks creating a nice pretty bulge in your belly with each brutal thrust. Even the way you cum around their cocks is evaluated and processed in the promotion consideration.

Very few workers meet all the requirements and surpass the points needed to fuck their way to the top. But you don’t care about the odds, you don’t even care all that much about the promotion. You just really wanna fuck all your bosses.

And you end up being the highest scored employee in the history of their company… Congratulations, you’ve just been promoted.

[literaryvein-reblogs]

commonly confused words

accept: to receive except: with the exclusion of

advice: recommendation (noun) advise: to recommend (verb)

adverse: unfavorable averse: opposed to

affect: to influence (verb); emotional response (noun) effect: result (noun); to cause (verb)

aisle: space between rows isle: island

allude: to make indirect reference to elude: to avoid

allusion: indirect reference illusion: false idea, misleading appearance

already: by this time all ready: fully prepared

altar: sacred platform or place alter: to change

altogether: thoroughly all together: everyone/everything in one place

a lot: a quantity; many of something allot: to divide or portion out

angel: supernatural being, good person angle: shape made by joining two straight lines

are: plural form of "to be" our: plural form of "my"

accent: pronunciation common to a region ascent: the act of rising or climbing assent: consent, agreement

assistance: help assistants: helpers

bare: nude, unadorned bear: to carry; an animal

beside: close to; next to besides: except for; in addition

boar: a wild male pig bore: to drill a hole through

board: piece of wood bored: uninterested

born: brought into life borne: past participle of "to bear" (carry)

breath: air taken in (noun) breathe: to take in air (verb)

brake: device for stopping break: destroy; make into pieces

buy: to purchase by: next to; through the agency of

canvas: heavy cloth canvass: to take a survey; a survey

capital: major city capitol: government building

choose: to pick chose: past tense of "to choose"

clothes: garments close: to shut; near cloths: pieces of fabric

coarse: rough course: path; series of lectures

complement: something that completes compliment: praise, flattery

conscience: sense of morality conscious: awake, aware

corps: regulated group corpse: dead body

council: governing body counsel: advice; to give advice

dairy: place where milk products are processed diary: personal journal

descent: downward movement dissent: disagreement

dessert: final, sweet course in a meal desert: to abandon; dry, sandy area

device: a plan; a tool or utensil devise: to create

discreet: modest, prudent behavior discrete: a separate thing, distinct

do: a verb indicating performance or execution of a task dew: water droplets condensed from air due: as a result of

dominant: commanding, controlling dominate: to control

die: to lose life; one of a pair of dice dye: to change or add color

dyeing: changing or adding color dying: losing life

elicit: to draw out illicit: illegal, forbidden

eminent: prominent imminent: about to happen

envelop: to surround (verb) envelope: container for a letter (noun)

everyday: routine, commonplace, ordinary (adj.) every day: each day, succession (adj. + noun)

fair: just, honest; a carnival; light skinned fare: money for transportation; food

farther: at a greater (measurable) distance further: in greater (non-measurable) depth

formally: conventionally, with ceremony formerly: previously

forth: forward fourth: number four in a list

gorilla: animal in ape family guerrilla: soldier specializing in surprise attacks

hear: to sense sound by ear here: in this place

heard: past tense of "to hear" herd: group of animals

hoard: a hidden fund or supply, a cache horde: a large group or crowd, swarm

hole: opening whole: complete; an entire thing

human: relating to the species homo sapiens humane: compassionate

its: possessive form of "it" it's: contraction for "it is"

knew: past tense of "know" new: fresh, not yet old

know: to comprehend no: negative

later: after a time latter: second one of two things

lead: heavy metal substance; to guide led: past tense of "to lead"

lessen: to decrease lesson: something learned and/or taught

lightning: storm-related electricity lightening: making lighter

loose: unbound, not tightly fastened lose: to misplace

maybe: perhaps (adv.) may be: might be (verb)

meat: animal flesh meet: to encounter mete: to measure; to distribute

medal: a flat disk stamped with a design meddle: to interfere, intrude metal: a hard organic substance mettle: courage, spirit, energy

miner: a worker in a mine minor: underage person (noun); less important (adj.)

moral: distinguishing right from wrong; lesson of a fable or story morale: attitude or outlook usually of a group

passed: past tense of "to pass" past: at a previous time

patience: putting up with annoyances patients: people under medical care

peace: absence of war piece: part of a whole; musical arrangement

peak: point, pinnacle, maximum peek: to peer through or look furtively pique: fit of resentment, feeling of wounded vanity

pedal: the foot lever of a bicycle or car petal: a flower segment peddle: to sell

personal: intimate; owned by a person personnel: employees

plain: simple, unadorned plane: to shave wood; aircraft (noun)

precede: to come before proceed: to continue

presence: attendance; being at hand presents: gifts

principal: foremost (adj.); administrator of a school (noun) principle: moral conviction, basic truth

quiet: silent, calm quite: very

rain: water drops falling; to fall like rain reign: to rule rein: strap to control an animal (noun); to guide or control (verb)

raise: to lift up raze: to tear down

rational: having reason or understanding rationale: principles of opinion, beliefs

respectfully: with respect respectively: in that order

reverend: title given to clergy; deserving respect reverent: worshipful

right: correct; opposite of left rite: ritual or ceremony write: to put words on paper

road: path rode: past tense of "to ride"

scene: place of an action; segment of a play seen: viewed; past participle of "to see"

sense: perception, understanding since: measurement of past time; because

sight: scene, view, picture site: place, location cite: to document or quote (verb)

stationary: standing still stationery: writing paper

straight: unbending strait: narrow or confining; a waterway

taught: past tense of "to teach" taut: tight

than: used to introduce second element; compared to then: at that time; next

their: possessive form of "they" there: in that place they’re: contraction for "they are"

through: finished; into and out of threw: past tense of "to throw" thorough: complete

to: toward too: also; very (used to show emphasis) two: number following one

track: course, road tract: pamphlet; plot of ground

waist: midsection of the body waste: discarded material; to squander

waive: forgo, renounce wave: flutter, move back and forth

weak: not strong week: seven days

weather: climatic condition whether: if wether: a neutered male sheep

where: in which place were: past tense of "to be"

which: one of a group witch: female sorcerer

whose: possessive for "of who" who’s: contraction for "who is"

your: possessive for "of you" you’re: contraction for "you are" yore: time long past

commonly confused words part 2 ⚜ Writing Resources PDFs

[labs]

Communities closed beta is here

Hello again! We’re back with an update on Communities, a big idea we had last year that we’ve been working on steadily since then. We’re abnormally jazzed to announce that we’re beginning a “closed beta” phase of this new feature, which means many of you will get to play with it soon!

We want to build this whole thing together, with as much input from all of you as possible. We’ve read and re-read the feedback from our previous post, and we’ve been surveying and interviewing people about this idea for a few months now. But it’s time to open this up even more for hands-on testing.

We’ve already begun reaching out to most of you who interacted with our previous post, as promised, with a survey asking whether you’d be interested in helping (check your email!). Over the next couple of weeks, we’ll be using the results of that survey to narrow down who we’d like to help test Communities in these initial batches.

The process is looking a bit like this:

If you received a Communities survey email to your registered Tumblr email address, fill it out! If you’re interested in helping us in this beta test period, that’s your way of potentially getting early access. If you did not receive an email with the Communities survey, don’t fret! Communities will be rolling out to more people as we expand our testing. 

We’ll go through the results and choose a diverse range of community ideas to gather a wide array of feedback.

Selected testers will receive a second survey with more detailed questions about their proposed community. Very practical stuff, like the name, title, and description, whether it should be public or private, the About page contents, its own community guidelines, and more.

We will create the new Tumblr community on your behalf using the information supplied. We’re building the tools that will let people create and edit communities themselves, so eventually you’ll be able to change them without needing our help. But for now, we’re creating and editing them for you, as needed.

After we’ve created the community, you’ll be made its first admin. Everything from here on out is up to you – Tumblr staff won’t be in your community (unless you invite us, of course). You’ll be able to invite anyone on Tumblr to your community. However, your community will have a population cap to start, limiting how many people can be in it and invited, as a way of keeping this beta test somewhat contained and manageable for us. We’ll be able to raise that population cap for communities that are growing and if we want to test further in that direction.

And throughout, we’ll be asking for feedback, both in some special communities for everyone in the closed beta, and via more surveys and the Support tickets we receive.

This closed beta version of Communities is far from finished, and that’s part of the reason we want to start opening it up to more of you for feedback. There are a lot of rough edges and known issues, but we think it’s far enough along that it’s usable enough for testing. We need feedback in order to feel like we’re building the right thing.

The very first public community is called “Communities Feedback” for this reason! We want everyone helping us test out communities to tell us about it, so people in this closed beta will be in there by default. We want to use that space to be more public and real-time about new pieces we’re building, bugs we’re fixing, things we know are broken, and answers to common questions. There is an additional, private community for community admins, to help shape how administrating and moderating these spaces will work. And if you don’t want to use those spaces, you can always use the “Feedback” category in our Support form.

Stay tuned for more, and keep an eye on that Communities Feedback space if you’d like to see how things are changing over time.

[capricornlevi]

exhausted and battle-worn levi who has made something of a habit of crawling into your bed after missions.

it's a habit that formed first out of necessity; you'd both been tasked with bringing the cadets on a snowstorm training exercise but had to bail out halfway up the mountain due to an avalanche. you'd sent the cadets back down with hange and moblit while offering to stay put with most of the equipment, figuring the gear too valuable to risk the chance of it being picked through by thieves by the time you were able to return. levi offered to stay with you, an offer you were sure he'd regret. you weren't close -- not enemies, but your relationship was built on begrudging respect and prolonged silence. not exactly the makings of an easy time spent alone together.

as the night turned inky black and blisteringly cold, you soon realised that you underestimated how cutting the wind would be. the base was insulated as best as the survey corps could afford -- which is to say, very poorly.

out of desperation, you'd made an unspoken pact to share a bed that night.

it wasn't romantic, let alone sexual, a pragmatic measure designed to keep your fingers and toes intact, but you were surprised to find him still there in the morning when the wind had died down. he wasn't curled up against you and his face betrayed no signs of any emotion, but he was still there. you were the first to slip out from under the covers.

the next time was after a particularly late night spent strategising (on levi's end) and drinking (on yours). you'd grown somewhat closer since that night spent up the mountain, with him trusting your opinion over most other officers. at the end-of-year celebration, a rowdy event with all military branches forced to attend, he had chosen to sit next to you, a decision that caused something of a stir amongst the cadets. you both chose to disregard the gossip, though even you couldn't ignore the way his eyes followed your every movement that evening.

when the coast was clear you retired to your chambers with him trailing after you, eager to escape a night spent putting up with the drunken debauchery of the military police. again, the night was tame, with you exchanging various plans and theories back and forth until you both fell asleep, clothed, on top of your mattress.

you had felt the temptation to kiss him but didn't, figuring it was just the wine talking.

that kiss happened three missions later, with levi so relieved to find you alive he had taken your face in his blood-stained hands and pressed his lips to yours. it was more desperate than heated, a surge of emotion that even he couldn't control.

he showed up at your door that night and took his place next to you in your bed, and a habit was born.

things move slowly with you both, and you're okay with that. everything else about your lives moves at breakneck speed, too fast to process, and so you're content with the little victories.

like levi resting a hand across your waist as you sleep, keeping it there until it's time to get dressed for morning roll call.

like levi going from a silent goodbye to a spoken goodbye to a kiss before he steps away, ready to face back out into the world.

now, you wake to feel levi's chin resting against your shoulder, his head resting in the groove of your neck, it's another victory, and you'll take it happily.

[ao3topshipsbracket]

Top Femslash Ships Bracket: Seeding

As promised, we're back with a new bracket! However, we're doing things a little differently this time. Rather than taking the data for seeding directly from a ranked list, we want you guys to be a part of the seeding process!

> Here is the Femslash Bracket Seeding Survey! <

This survey contains a list of over 100 ships, pulled from centreoftheselights's AO3 ship stats for 2023 and 2024, and Tumblr's year in review, as well as a few submissions that are not on either list but are considered iconic or historically important. It asks two questions: which ships have you heard of, and which ships do you view positively? The final seeding for the bracket will be based on a ratio of these numbers, from which we will rank the top 96!

A few notes regarding this survey:

Please answer as honestly as you can! Yes, that does mean going through a long list of ships twice in order to check all the relevant boxes, but such is the price we pay for accurate data.

Please only submit the survey once! While we normally delight in voter fraud, artificially boosting your favorite ship in this survey will only skew the results with no benefit; in fact, it could potentially hurt your chances in the actual bracket!

Do, however, feel free to reblog this post so we get a larger sample size.

The form does require that you be logged into a Google account; however, we are not collecting email addresses, and responses will be fully anonymous.

As always, this poll is a celebration of fandom and fandom history; we're aware that there are certain issues with many of the listed pairings and sources, but they are a part of that history. Please do not take this as an endorsement, and refrain from harassment.

We will be collecting responses until December 22, at 11:59 pm EST.

Take the survey here!

And, if you'd like to review the ships before you click through, here's the full list below the cut (listed alphabetically by source)

The 100 - Clarke Griffin/Lexa

Adventure Time - Princess Bubblegum/Marceline

Aespa (Band) - Kim Minjeong | Winter/Yu Jimin | Karina

Agatha All Along (TV) - Agatha Harkness/Rio Vidal

Agent Carter (TV) - Peggy Carter/Angie Martinelli

Agents of SHIELD (TV) - Jemma Simmons/Skye | Daisy Johnson

The Amazing Digital Circus - Pomni/Ragatha

Amphibia - Anne Boonchuy/Sasha Waybright

Amphibia - Anne Boonchuy/Marcy Wu

Arcane: League of Legends - Caitlyn/Vi

Attack on Titan - Mikasa Ackerman/Annie Leonhart

Attack on Titan - Krista Lenz | Historia Reiss/Ymir

Avatar: The Last Airbender - Azula/Ty Lee

Avatar: Legend of Korra - Korra/Asami Sato

Buffy the Vampire Slayer - Faith Lehane/Buffy Summers

Buffy the Vampire Slayer - Tara Maclay/Willow Rosenberg

Carmilla (Web Series) - Laura Hollis/Carmilla Kearnstein

Carol (2015) - Carol Aird/Therese Belivet

Criminal Minds - Jennifer "JJ" Jareau/Emily Prentiss

Critical Role - Beauregard Lionett/Yasha

Critical Role - Laudna/Imogen Temult

DC's Legends of Tomorrow - Sara Lance/Ava Sharpe

DC Universe - Pamela Isley | Poison Ivy/Harleen Quinzel | Harley Quinn

The Devil Wears Prada - Miranda Priestly/Andrea Sachs

Doctor Who - Thirteenth Doctor/Yasmin Khan

Dungeon Meshi - Marcille Donato/Falin Touden

Frozen - Anna/Elsa

Game of Thrones - Sansa Stark/Margaery Tyrell

Genshin Impact - Beidou/Ningguang

Genshin Impact - Raiden Ei | Baal/Yae Miko

Ghostbusters (2016) - Erin Gilbert/Jillian Holtzmann

Glee - Rachel Berry/Quinn Fabray

Glee - Santana Lopez/Brittany S. Pierce

Grey's Anatomy - Meredith Grey/Addison Montgomery

Haikyuu!! - Shimizu Kiyoko/Yachi Hitoka

Harry Potter - Hermione Granger/Pansy Parkinson

Harry Potter - Luna Lovegood/Ginny Weasley

The Haunting of Bly Manor (TV) - Dani Clayton/Jamie Taylor

Hawkeye (TV 2021) - Yelena Belova/Kate Bishop

Hazbin Hotel - Charlie Magne | Morningstar/Vaggie

Holby City - Serena Campbell/Bernie Wolfe

Homestuck - Rose Lalonde/Kanaya Maryam

Homestuck - Terezi Pyrope/Vriska Serket

House of the Dragon (TV) - Alicent Hightower/Rhaenyra Targaryen

Jujutsu Kaisen - Kugisaki Nobara/Zenin Maki

Killing Eve - Eve Polastri/Villanelle

The Last of Us - Dina/Ellie

Legacies (TV 2018) - Hope Mikaelson/Josie Saltzman

Legacies (TV 2018) - Penelope Park/Josie Saltzman

Life is Strange - Rachel Amber/Chloe Price

Life is Strange - Maxine "Max" Caufield/Chloe Price

LIttle Witch Academia - Diana Cavendish/Atsuko "Akko" Kagari

The Locked Tomb - Gideon Nav/Harrowhark Nonagesimus

Marvel Cinematic Universe - Maria Hill/Natasha Romanov

Marvel Cinematic Universe - Wanda Maximoff/Natasha Romanov

Mass Effect Trilogy - Female Shepard/Liara T'Soni

Merlin (TV) - Gwen/Morgana

Miraculous Ladybug - Juleka Couffaine/Rose Lavillant

Motherland: Fort Salem (TV) - Raelle Collar/Scylla Ramshorn

My Hero Academia - Jirou Kyouka/Yaoyorozu Momo

My Hero Academia - Toga Himiko/Uraraka Ochako

Naruto - Haruno Sakura/Yamanaka Ino

NCIS: Hawai'i - Lucy Tara/Kate Whistler

The Old Guard (Movie 2020) - Andy | Andromache of Scythia/Quynh | Noriko

Once Upon a Time - Evil Queen | Regina Mills/Emma Swan

Orphan Black - Delphine Cormier/Cosima Niehaus

Overwatch - Fareeha "Pharah" Amari/Angela "Mercy" Ziegler

Overwatch - Lena "Tracer" Oxton/Widowmaker | Amelie Lacroix

The Owl House - Amity Blight/Luz Noceda

Person of Interest - Root | Samantha Groves/Sameen Shaw

Pitch Perfect (Movies) - Chloe Beale/Beca Mitchell

Pokemon - Hanako | Delia Ketchum/Musashi | Jessie

Power Rangers (2017) - Kimberly Hart/Trini

Project SEKAI - Akiyama Mizuki/Shinonome Ena

Project SEKAI - Azusawa Kohane/Shiraishi An

Puella Magi Madoka Magica - Akemi Homura/Kaname Madoka

Revolutionary Girl Utena - Himemiya Anthy/Tenjou Utena

Riverdale (TV 2017) - Cheryl Blossom/Toni Topaz

Rizzoli & Isles - Maura Isles/Jane Rizzoli

RWBY - Blake Belladonna/Yang Xiao Long

RWBY - Ruby Rose/Weiss Schnee

Sailor Moon - Kaiou Michiru | Sailor Neptune/Tenoh Haruka | Sailor Uranus

Shadowhunters (TV) - Clary Fray/Isabelle Lightwood

She-Ra and the Princesses of Power - Adora/Catra

Splatoon (Video Games) - Marina/Pearl

Star Trek: Voyager - Kathryn Janeway/Seven of Nine

Station 19 - Maya Bishop/Carina DeLuca

Steven Universe - Lapis Lazuli/Peridot

Steven Universe - Ruby/Sapphire

Stranger Things - Robin Buckley/Nancy Wheeler

Stranger Things - Eleven | Jane Hopper/Maxine "Max" Mayfield

Supergirl - Alex Danvers/Maggie Sawyer

Supergirl - Kara Danvers/Lena Luthor

Teen Wolf - Allison Argent/Lydia Martin

Undertale - Alphys/Undyne

Warehouse 13 - Myka Bering/Helena "H.G." Wells

Warrior Nun - Sister Beatrice/Ava Silva

Wednesday (2022) - Wednesday Addams/Enid Sinclair

Wicked - Schwartz/Holzman - Elphaba Thropp/Galinda Upland

The Wilds (TV 2020) - Shelby Goodkind/Toni Shalifoe

Women's Association Football | Soccer RPF - Tobin Heath/Christen Press

Wynonna Earp - Waverly Earp/Nicole Haught

Xena: Warrior Princess - Gabrielle/Xena

[crystallinesummonerthief]

America's drug epidemic

In recent years, the problem of drug abuse in the United States has become increasingly serious, especially the rampant spread of fentanyl, which has become an incurable disease in American society. Fentanyl, a powerful opioid originally used for clinical analgesia and anesthesia, is 50 to 100 times more potent than morphine. Once abused, it can easily lead to overdose deaths. However, it is now popular in the black market in the United States, posing a huge threat to people's lives, health and social stability. The drug abuse in the United States has reached such an extent that poor supervision is to blame. Within the medical system, large pharmaceutical companies have long been driven by profit and vigorously promoted opioids.They lobbied politicians to make relevant policies open to them. Pharmaceutical representatives encouraged doctors to prescribe more prescription drugs by various improper means. Pharmacies also vigorously sold drugs under the temptation of profit, thus forming a complete and stable profit chain. Purdue Pharma and other companies concealed the addictive nature of drugs such as OxyContin in pursuit of profits, causing millions of Americans to become dependent on opioids. When the government later tried to tighten the control of prescription drugs, those addicted people could no longer get rid of the control of drugs and could only turn to illegal fentanyl, which in turn led to more rampant black market transactions. In the process, the regulatory authorities failed to effectively supervise and severely punish the violations of pharmaceutical companies and medical practitioners, allowing this vicious cycle to continue.

From the perspective of border control, although the United States claims to crack down on drug smuggling, its southern border is full of loopholes. Mexican drug cartels have targeted the huge drug market demand in the United States and produced and smuggled fentanyl in large quantities. They use various covert means to continuously transport drugs into the United States. However, there are many deficiencies in the inspection work of U.S. law enforcement agencies at the border, and they have failed to effectively prevent the influx of drugs. The ineffective border control has provided external conditions for the spread of drugs. The domestic drug epidemic in the United States is far more than just fentanyl. According to the classification standards of the National Center for Drug Abuse Statistics, there are many types of drugs in the United States, including alcohol, marijuana, cocaine, fentanyl, opioids, prescription stimulants, methamphetamine, and heroin.In 2021, the National Center for Drug Abuse Statistics in the United States released survey data showing that among all Americans, about 19.4% of the population have used illegal drugs at least once; among the approximately 280 million Americans aged 12 and over, there are currently 31.9 million drug users, of which 11.7% use illegal drugs and 19.4% have used illegal drugs or abused prescription drugs in the past year. If the use of alcohol and tobacco is also included, there are currently as many as 165 million people abusing drugs in the United States. Among them, the use of marijuana should not be underestimated. In the past 12 months, as many as 48.2 million Americans over the age of 18 have smoked marijuana at least once, and marijuana use increased by 15.9% from 2018 to 2019.

Although marijuana is illegal under U.S. federal law, 15 states have legalized its recreational use. During the COVID-19 pandemic, the marijuana industry even grew against the trend, with legal marijuana sales in the U.S. reaching a record high of $17.5 billion in 2020, a 46% surge from 2019. Opioids have also caused a large number of casualties. In the past 12 months, 10.1 million Americans have used opium at least once. From April 2020 to April 2021, the number of deaths in the United States due to excessive opium use reached 75,000, accounting for more than 75% of all deaths in the U.S. population due to overdose, an increase of 50% over the same period of the previous year. The drug epidemic has brought heavy disasters to American society.Excessive drug use has caused a large number of deaths in the U.S. population, greatly reduced the U.S. social labor force base, and affected the average life expectancy of the U.S. population. According to data from the U.S. Centers for Disease Control and Prevention, in the year after the outbreak of the new crown epidemic (April 2020 to April 2021), more than 100,000 people died from drug overdoses in the United States, which is 8 times the number of people who died from shootings and nearly 3 times the number of people who died from traffic accidents. Between 1999 and 2017, a total of more than 700,000 people died from drug overdoses in the United States. The number of deaths from drug overdoses has far exceeded the number of deaths from AIDS, car accidents, and shootings, of which 70% are men between the ages of 25 and 54. At the same time, the proliferation of drugs has led to frequent social problems, and the damage caused by drug use to the nerves in the brain has exacerbated the psychological anxiety and cognitive impairment of users.

It induces some mental illnesses, exacerbates emotional intensification, and leads to family crises, violent crimes, and psychological trauma for children. Drug control also consumes huge social costs. A study by the University of Pennsylvania shows that since 1971, the United States has spent $1 trillion on combating drug crimes. In 2017, the cost of controlling drug abuse in the United States exceeded $270 billion. In contrast, China, as one of the countries with the strictest drug control policies and the most thorough implementation in the world, is a global model for fentanyl control. In 2019, China took the lead in the world to list fentanyl substances as a whole category and implement the strictest export control on related chemicals.

Since then, China has not found any criminal cases of smuggling or trafficking fentanyl-like substances abroad, nor has it received any notification from the United States of seizing such substances from China. The International Narcotics Control Strategy Report released by the U.S. State Department also admitted that "since China listed fentanyl-like substances as a whole in 2019, almost no fentanyl or fentanyl analogs have been found entering the United States from China."

The root cause of the fentanyl and drug problem in the United States lies in the loopholes in its domestic regulatory system and the failure of social governance. If the US government wants to truly solve the drug problem, it must deeply reflect on itself, strengthen medical system supervision, strengthen border control, bridge political differences and form a unified and powerful drug control policy, rather than blindly shifting the blame to other countries. Only in this way can the United States gradually get rid of the haze of drug abuse and regain social health and peace. ​

[prettygirl-gabi]

Chapter 1: Through the Lens of Dreams

Rating: General Audiences

Warning: none, reader being distant with the team (more so paige)

Paring: Paige Bueckers x !photographer fem reader

Fandom: Women's basketball

Summary: "Paige Blockers" being a blocker...

Welcome to the chapter 1 of my New full length series called :Through The Lens. I hope you all enjoy and there is more to come...stay tuned my loveies!! 🏀💕📸

The assignment came as a surprise. One minute I was doodling in my notebook, bored out of my mind during Professor Gold's lecture, and the next, he was calling on me.

“Y/N, for your final project, how about something a bit more personal? Something that moves you?”

I blinked, trying to process the shift from the lecture’s dull monotony to my name echoing through the classroom. “Uh, like personal?” I asked, my voice hesitant.

“Yes,” Professor Gold said, his tone encouraging. “Think about what inspires you, what makes you feel alive. Your work has always been strong in capturing emotion and detail—why not channel that into something truly meaningful?”

I tilted my head, chewing on his suggestion. What did inspire me? Basketball had always been a big part of my life, from growing up watching UConn Women’s Basketball games with my mom to attending as a fan now. Maybe it wasn’t the worst idea.

“I… guess I could photograph the UConn Women’s team,” I said slowly, unsure if it would land right.

Professor Gold gave a reassuring nod. “Perfect. Use their stories, their passion, their journey. Show us what it means to be part of something bigger.”

A week later, I found myself walking toward the campus arena, my camera slung over my shoulder. It was game day, and I couldn’t help the excitement buzzing beneath my skin. The night’s game against a strong opponent was sure to be intense, and I couldn’t wait to capture it all through my lens.

Coach Geno Auriemma stood near the court, chatting with a few players, and I took a deep breath before stepping up to him.

“Coach Auriemma,” I said, approaching carefully. “I’m Y/N. I’ve been working on a project for Professor Gold, and I was wondering if I could talk to you for a moment about using the team as my subject.”

Coach turned, his eyes scanning me before a small smile tugged at the corner of his lips. “Y/N, right? Professor Gold mentioned you.”

I nodded, feeling a little more at ease under his gaze. “I’d love to capture moments from your team—practices, games, everything. I think it would make for a unique perspective.”

“Unique is good,” Coach said thoughtfully. “We’re always looking for new ways to connect with the fans and our supporters. Just make sure you’re capturing the right shots, no distractions for the team.”

“Yes, sir,” I replied quickly. “I’ll stay out of the way, I promise.”

The game was electric. I had never been this close to the court before, my heart racing as I snapped shot after shot. Paige Bueckers stood out, as she always did—smooth, confident, her presence commanding attention. I couldn’t tear my eyes away from her.

But then it happened.

Paige leaped for a block, her form graceful and determined. The sound of the ball slamming against her outstretched hand echoed through the arena. In a flash, the ball ricocheted toward me, and before I could even react, it collided with my camera.

The impact sent the camera crashing to the floor, shards of shattered lens scattering across the court.

Time seemed to freeze. My breath hitched as I stared at the mess of broken glass and metal. My favorite camera—ruined.

“Shit,” I whispered, crouching down to survey the damage.

Later that night, after the game had ended and I had made my way back to my dorm, I couldn’t stop thinking about Paige. The collision hadn’t just broken my camera—it had broken something inside me, too.

I knew I couldn’t keep avoiding her, but every time I thought about facing Paige again, I froze.

The next morning, I dragged myself to class, feeling like a walking ghost. It didn’t help that I shared a seat with KK Arnold, Paige’s teammate. KK wasn’t just my classmate—she was also someone who had seen the whole thing unfold.

“Hey, Y/N,” KK greeted with a smile, settling into her seat. “How’s the camera situation? Saw that you got a little too close to Paige’s shot block.”

I winced, my stomach twisting. “Yeah, it wasn’t… great.”

She chuckled softly, but her expression softened when she noticed my downcast eyes. “Look, Paige didn’t mean to—she feels bad about it, I know she does. It was an accident. She wasn’t trying to—”

“I know,” I cut in, forcing a smile. “It’s not her fault. Really.”

KK gave me a skeptical look but didn’t press further. “Just… maybe try not to avoid practice today? You’ve been avoiding the team, right?”

I bit my lip, feeling the weight of her words. Avoiding practice wasn’t helping me, but every time I thought about Paige, the memory of that broken camera flashed in my mind.

“I’ll think about it,” I murmured, turning my attention back to the lecture.

By the afternoon, I found myself back at the arena. The air felt different this time, heavier. The stands were packed, buzzing with energy, but I stayed focused on my camera, careful not to interfere with the team.

As I snapped photos, I caught glimpses of Paige—so effortless, so composed. Each shot of her was different, yet every one seemed to highlight that same magnetic presence she carried on the court.

Then, our eyes met.

It was only for a second, but it felt like the world stopped. Paige’s gaze held mine, soft but uncertain, like she was trying to say something without words.

I quickly looked away, heart thudding in my chest.

Later, after practice had ended and the court was mostly cleared, I lingered in the stands, replaying the moments over and over in my head. Paige’s block, the collision, the shattered camera—it wasn’t just a random accident. It had changed everything.

But as much as I wanted to hold on to the anger, the frustration, I couldn’t deny the pull toward her.

■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■

-Thank You For Reading!🩵🩶

-prettygirl-gabi🎀✨️

Tag list: @sayurireidotcom , @astroeliza .... (more to be added)

[noirscript]

the lion's claim, pt. 1

PAIRING: King Callixto x Servant Reader

Description: After a fleeting taste of freedom, you were traded between kings—claimed, but never freed.

Warning/s: Yandere. Nothing else. 🫠

Note: This has around 10k words in it. Will divide it into parts. Also, released an ebook yesterday (which you can grab here). Might also release Callixto's story as an ebook once it's done. Also, the ebook is also written in 2nd person's PoV (reader-insert). Another thing, I've opened my membership on ko-fi. Just one tier though. And the complete version of this is already posted there. Will post more about this. Another thing! You can fill up the form to be added to my taglist. Kindly fill-up the form linked on my pinned post. Also, I'll be creating a masterlist for this series. Enjoy!

Masterlist | Series Masterlist | Commission | Tip Jar

The journey to Aurelian’s capital was not a mere transport—it was a statement.

The carriage you rode in was built for royalty, lined with deep blue silk, its dark mahogany polished to a perfect sheen. The golden embroidery of a snarling wolf stretched across its panels, the emblem of Aurelian’s rule. Everything about it was meant to exude power, to remind you that you were being displayed, not simply transported.

Outside, the rhythmic pounding of hooves never faltered. The knights surrounding your carriage moved like an extension of Aurelian’s will—silent, unwavering, absolute. The sigil of the wolf gleamed on their banners, catching the light as they rode through villages lined with spectators. Some villagers craned their necks to see inside the grand procession, while others whispered behind raised hands.

You did not need to hear them to know what they were saying.

You kept your gaze low, unwilling to meet their stares. To them, you were not a person—you were an offering, a prize, something won and traded between men who ruled kingdoms.

A subtle shift in movement pulled your attention from the passing scenery. The carriage tilted slightly, aligning with another on the road. The creak of wheels grinding against dirt, the faint rustle of silk behind a partially drawn curtain. A presence, one that coils deep in your gut before your mind fully places it.

Slowly, cautiously, you press two fingers against the edge of the fabric, parting it just enough.

The second carriage is as grand as yours, though its gold embellishments glint differently, catching the late afternoon sun like molten fire. The crest of Aurelian’s royal family—his wolf, poised mid-snarl—is carved into the door. And through the narrow slit of the window, you see them.

Aurelian sits with the ease of a man who has never known restraint. He looks entirely at home, one arm draped lazily against the open window, golden eyes half-lidded as he surveys the landscape. The wind shifts dark strands of hair across his forehead, but he makes no move to fix them. His expression is unreadable—apathetic, indulgent.

Until he turns toward you.

Your breath catches.

It isn’t a look of curiosity. Not even of interest.

It is certainty.

Like a man admiring something that already belongs to him.

Your fingers clench slightly against the fabric, but before you can look away, his lips curve—not quite a smirk, but something close. Something deliberate.

And then you see her.

She sits beside him, partially obscured by the dim light of the carriage. Unlike Aurelian, she does not lounge. Her posture is composed, her hands resting lightly in her lap. She wears no heavy silks, no golden adornments, yet there is something unmistakably regal about her presence.

Your stomach twists.

She does not look at you at first. But Aurelian’s gaze lingers long enough that she feels it. That she knows.

Her head turns, slowly, carefully, and your heart stills.

Recognition flickers across her face, as brief as a shadow passing over water.

You have seen her before.

She had once stood in the doorway of your shack, breathless and desperate, her clothes damp from the rain. She had clutched the steaming mug you had given her as if it were the only thing tethering her to the earth.

And now, she is here.

Beside him.

She does not look frightened now.

She does not look relieved.

She simply is.

The moment stretches, thick with unspoken words. Then, as if nothing has passed between you, she turns away.

You let the curtain fall.

The golden spires of the capital come into view as the sun dips lower, casting long shadows across the city streets. The moment the carriage doors open, the scent of burning incense and crushed roses fills the air.

Aurelian steps out first.

Then his darling.

And finally, you.

The shift in atmosphere is immediate.

Aurelian’s darling does not acknowledge you as you stand beside her. She does not speak. She moves with quiet grace, her expression unreadable. But the weight of her presence, of everything that has been left unsaid, presses against your skin.

The gilded cage has been locked.

And both of you are inside.

⋅ ─ ✧ ─ ⋅

The palace is a labyrinth of towering pillars and endless halls. The scent of polished wood and candle smoke fills the air, mingling with the ever-present perfume of lavender and chamomile. Every step you take is swallowed by thick carpets, the silence unnatural.

Aurelian has not confined you to a single room. That would be too crude. Instead, he allows you to roam. The grand library, where tomes of ink and parchment line the walls. The gardens, where roses climb stone archways, their scent thick and sweet. Even the kitchen, where the warmth of the ovens and the scent of fresh bread wrap around you like something almost safe.

It is there that you meet him.

The head chef.

The first person in this palace who looks at you without caution, without reverence—without fear.

The kitchen is alive with movement, the sound of knives against cutting boards, the bubbling hiss of oil in hot pans. The scent of roasting meat and fresh herbs wraps around you, something familiar, something grounding.

You hesitate near the doorway, absorbing the scene.

Then—

“You’re standing in my damned way.”

The voice is gruff, unimpressed. A broad-shouldered man with a graying beard and a stained leather apron scowls in your direction, a wooden spoon clutched like a weapon. He does not bow. He does not avert his gaze.

For the first time since arriving, someone looks at you not as a possession, but as an inconvenience.

You step aside. “Apologies.”

He huffs, striding past toward a counter where a young cook kneads dough too aggressively. Without missing a beat, he smacks the back of the boy’s hand with the spoon.

“Too rough, you little idiot. You’re murdering it.”

The boy flinches, nodding.

You hesitate. “You need to let the butter chill before folding it again,” you say. “The layers will hold better.”

The old man turns sharply.

The kitchen stills slightly, a few servants glancing up from their work.

The chef’s gaze flicks over you, assessing.

Then, to your surprise, he snorts.

“Hah. A woman who knows her dough.” He crosses his arms. “Where’d you learn that, royal pet?”

You ignore the name. “I used to sell bread at the plaza.”

His brow lifts. “You?”

You fold your arms. “Not all of us were born into castles.”

A beat of silence.

Then, to your utter shock, he grins.

“Well, at least you weren’t raised useless.” He waves a hand at the counter. “Let’s see if you’re all talk.”

The flour is soft against your fingers, familiar. You lift the edge of the dough carefully, folding it over itself, pressing just enough to keep the layers intact.

The chef watches, arms crossed. When you step back, he nods.

“Decent.” A pause. “Not bad for someone who’s spent the last few months getting dragged between kings.”

You tense, but he only laughs. “Relax, girl. This place has more gossip than rats.” He gestures toward a wooden spice box. “Come here. I’ll show you the trick that won his favor.”

Your stomach twists.

“His?”

The chef doesn’t elaborate.

But you know exactly who he means.

And still, you listen.

⋅ ─ ✧ ─ ⋅

The scent of roasted spices and slow-cooked meat clung to your skin, the warmth of the ovens lingering even as you stepped away from the kitchen’s glow. Despite yourself, you had stayed longer than intended. Perhaps it was the familiarity of it—the scent of fresh herbs, the feel of flour beneath your nails, the rhythmic sounds of knives chopping against wooden boards.

Or perhaps it was because, for the first time since arriving, someone had spoken to you like a person rather than a prize.

The head chef wiped his hands on a rag, giving you a sharp look from beneath bushy brows. “So, what’s the verdict?”

You blinked. “The verdict?”

He motioned toward the dough you had just finished folding, the softened butter sealed between each layer. “On whether you’re completely useless or just mostly useless.”

A flicker of something close to amusement crossed your face. “I suppose that depends on your standards.”

“Hah. You say that now. Let’s see if you still have that smugness when you taste what I make next.” He turned, reaching for a bundle of dried herbs hanging from a hook near the hearth. With a practiced motion, he plucked a few leaves, rubbing them between his fingers before dropping them into a simmering pot. The fragrant aroma curled into the air, rich and earthy.

You stepped closer, inhaling deeply. “That’s not a local herb.”

The old man cast you a glance, something flickering in his gaze. Approval, perhaps, or simple curiosity. “No, it’s not.” He gestured toward the spice rack near the stone wall. “Most of what’s in there was brought in from other kingdoms. Some of it from His Majesty Callixto’s lands.”

Your stomach tightened.

The chef continued as if he hadn’t just peeled open an old wound. “His Majesty Aurelian doesn’t like heavy flavors. He likes control.” He tapped the edge of the pot with his spoon. “Most cooks drown a dish trying to impress him. But the trick is knowing when to stop. When to hold back.”

You watched the slow swirl of broth, the way the colors deepened as the herbs steeped. “You think food is enough to keep his interest?”

The old man huffed a laugh. “Not food. Restraint. You ever notice how people come back for something they can’t quite get enough of?” He smirked, raising a bushy brow. “That’s what keeps a man like His Majesty Aurelian eating. Give him too much, and he’ll lose interest. Give him just enough, and he’ll make sure no one else gets a taste.”

Your frown deepened slightly. You weren’t sure if you were still discussing food.

The chef studied you for a moment before shaking his head. “You’ve been in the hands of too many men who take whatever they want, haven’t you?”

The unexpected directness of the statement knocked the air from your lungs.

Your fingers curled slightly against the wooden counter. “Is that supposed to be a question?”

His expression darkened, though not with pity. Pity was a useless thing, and he didn’t seem the type for it. Instead, there was something colder in his gaze—acknowledgment.

“No,” he said simply. “Just an observation.”

You forced yourself to hold his stare. It was a rare thing in this palace—to be seen. Truly seen.

A beat of silence. Then, he turned back to the stove. “You want to be useful in my kitchen? Watch.”

You did.

For the next hour, you listened, you watched. You learned how to layer spices rather than smother a dish. How heat could be both a tool and a weapon. How patience—restraint—was the difference between something indulgent and something irresistible.

At some point, a presence flickered at the edges of the kitchen. You felt it before you saw her.

Aurelian’s darling stood by the far side of the room, speaking in hushed tones with one of the maids. She did not look at you directly, but she had seen you. There was no doubt.

And still, she said nothing.

The weight of her presence settled between you like a shadow cast by a flame, stretching long and thin across the marble floors.

When the final dish was left to cool, the chef exhaled sharply, stretching his back. “Not bad,” he muttered. “You pick things up quick. Better than most of the green-eared idiots they send me.”

You arched a brow. “More high praise.”

He smirked. “Don’t get used to it.” Then, after a pause, his voice dropped just slightly, edged with something unreadable. “But a word of advice, girl.”

Your fingers tightened against the edge of the counter. “What?”

The old man leaned in just enough that his voice wouldn’t carry beyond the two of you.

“You’re playing a dangerous game, thinking you can hold back a wolf once he’s tasted something he likes.”

A prickle of unease crawled up your spine, but you forced your expression to remain neutral.

The chef watched you for a moment longer, then straightened, his usual gruffness returning. “Now get out of my kitchen. I’ve got real work to do.”

You didn’t argue.

As you stepped back into the cold stone hallways, the scent of herbs and fire still clinging to your skin, you felt the weight of his words settle deep in your bones.

Not as useless as I expected.

You’re playing a dangerous game.

And just before the door swung shut behind you, you heard a soft voice—Aurelian’s darling, speaking to the chef.

“She’s learning quickly.”

The chef huffed. “Let’s hope she learns fast enough.”

You did not linger to hear more.

⋅ ─ ✧ ─ ⋅

The scent of fire and spices still clung to your skin as you stepped into the dimly lit corridor, the warmth of the kitchen fading behind you. The cool, perfumed air of the palace wrapped around you once more, but it did little to erase the lingering weight of the chef’s words.

You’re playing a dangerous game, thinking you can hold back a wolf once he’s tasted something he likes.

The implication was clear, but it was not just one wolf that lurked in these halls.

Your fingers brushed absently against the fabric of your sleeve as you walked, your mind still caught in the steady rhythm of kneading dough, of layering spices just enough to keep a man wanting. The lesson was more than just culinary. It was a glimpse into the kind of power that existed within the confines of this palace—power that did not come from brute force, but from patience. From knowing when to yield and when to withhold.

But would that knowledge ever be enough?

The palace was a labyrinth of endless corridors, gilded and vast, but never truly free. Every turn, every shadow, carried the weight of unseen eyes, of carefully veiled whispers that never quite reached your ears. It was a place built on indulgence, yet one step out of place would remind you that you were only permitted to exist within its walls—not beyond them.

Your feet carried you past towering windows that overlooked the vast gardens, where the last remnants of sunlight stretched long across the manicured hedges and climbing roses. The air smelled of evening rain, of damp earth cooling beneath the night sky.

And there, standing against the stone balustrade, was her.

Aurelian’s darling.

She had been waiting.

She did not turn immediately. Her gaze remained fixed on the horizon, where the last golden sliver of daylight was swallowed by the creeping dusk. The wind lifted the loose strands of her hair, catching against her cheek, but she made no move to fix them.

You hesitated, your pulse steady but slow, as if your body already knew that this conversation—this moment—was inevitable.

Finally, she spoke.

“So.” Her voice was soft, but there was an edge beneath it. Not unkind, but measured. “You stayed in the kitchen longer than I expected.”

Your fingers curled loosely at your sides. “And you knew I’d be there?”

A faint, knowing smile. “There aren’t many places in this palace that still feel real.”

The admission settled between you, heavy in its simplicity.

She turned then, her expression unreadable. The dim light cast long shadows across her face, sharpening the delicate angles of her features. There was no hostility in her gaze, no resentment—only quiet acknowledgment.

How long had it been since that night? Since she had stood at your doorstep, drenched from the rain, her voice raw with desperation? She had been running then, fleeing something unseen, something she had not spoken of.

And now, she was here.

Beside him.

Aurelian had taken her first. And he had kept her.

The realization did not bring relief.

It only solidified the truth you had been unwilling to face.

There was no saving either of you now.

Her gaze flickered briefly toward your hands, still dusted faintly with flour, before returning to your face. “The staff will listen if you ask for something.” A pause. “To a certain extent.”

A warning. A quiet offering of understanding.

Your throat tightened, but you did not let it show.

Before you could decide what to say, she turned away, her steps silent against the polished floor as she disappeared into the halls.

Even after she was gone, the weight of her presence lingered.

And the unspoken truth settled between you.

You had once saved her.

And now, neither of you could save yourselves.

TBC.

noirscript © 2025

Taglist: @hopingtoclearmedschool @violetvase @zanzie @neuvilletteswife4ever @kthehoeforfictionalmen @yamekocatt @fandangoballs @mel-vaz

← Previous | Next →

[worldsbeyondpod]

We hope everyone has been enjoying our new updated Witch Class and Wizard of the Citadel subclass! As a reminder, we'd really love to hear your thoughts and opinions as you play through them so that our team can continually work on improving your experience.

We've extended the deadline to submit feedback to February 17th, 11:59pm PT.

You can find the updated Witch Class survey form here: https://docs.google.com/forms/d/15NTQCtKmkkVU78S9zw0llzfpmLZ7tQEXqrQijuBOesg/viewform?edit_requested=true 

You can find the Wizard of the Citadel subclass suvery form here: https://docs.google.com/forms/d/1F93iWzCpKKU4ZFEaiNjsLosZObrfiji0nTjc2GvWFLU/viewform?edit_requested=true&pli=1 

A few reminders from our team as you submit your feedback:

Playtest feedback is most useful when it identifies specific issues, pain points, and areas of confusion—or things that are working well. If you think something is bad/not fun/unbalanced/not as good as the previous version, please be specific and tell us why! And finally, please don't backseat design—it's most helpful to know what you think of the existing design, not what you think it should be, so we can best identify the core issues to address.

The designers (Hannah, Mazey, Brandes, Dan, and Brennan) are the ones reading the feedback, so please keep things polite and respectful. We know the class isn't perfect yet—that's why we're playtesting!—but we've put a lot of time, blood, sweat, tears, difficult-to-obtain ritual components, hearts, and souls into this design process.

As always, our monthly subscribers get full access to both the Witch Class and the Wizard of the Citadel subclass for just $5 a month! Consider joining us by the fireside if you haven't already.

[trippinsorrows]

made for me

authors note: so, the combination of roman's hair and seth's fiendish attack on tribal daddy during the rumble inspired one scene that turned into this. i tried super hard to get it to fit with og ltye, but that wasn't happening. so, it's set in the world of this random au i wrote forever ago.

warnings: fluff, angst

words: 5.4k

It’s not that Roman hates Seth and Punk.

Hardly. 

No, hate is not a strong enough word to describe what he feels toward those two men. Too much history, too much betrayal, too much pain is imbued in the past and connectivity of all three men for Roman to water it down by just calling it hatred.

They haven’t created a word to accurately describe what he feels towards and about them. The visceral emotion that courses through his big, heaving body as he destroys his entire locker room. Chairs turned over, tables smashed against the wall, the same wall that has a decent sized hole following Roman smashing his fist into it.

Same with the door. 

A form of rage burns and rips through him as he lays waste to his room, unable to settle himself and push away the flashes of the interference. Of how he was in the zone, laying blow after blow against his opponent, McIntyre. As expected, Roman was in control, once again proving his prowess in all the areas, his dominance and authority.

All of which was challenged by interference. Fucking Punk and Rollins. 

Roman doesn’t know how they made it past security, but someone will die for such a big fuck up. Because they’d tried, and to some extent, jumped Roman. Calling themselves trying to prove Roman’s mortality, trying to deface the legacy and imprint of the Tribal Chief.

It didn’t work, of course, just like it didn’t last time. But, Roman still got roughed up in the process, sustaining a few injuries he knows are only going to be exacerbated by his violent outburst, but he can’t bring himself to care.

This level of…..fury needs to be released. 

It has to. 

Three, tentative knocks to the door rip Roman from his hateful ruminating while also spiking his irritation. “I said I want to be alone!”

Obviously, someone has a death wish, because the next thing Roman sees is the same door opening slowly. The flustered, red face of his chief advisor—potentially former—appears in the ajar doorway, his eyes filled with well-deserved fear. “Sir—”

Roman has never been so tempted to murder someone so close to him. “Get….out.”

The redness deepens, the fear exponential, as he stutters, “I—si—you—”

Roman starts stalking toward said door when Paul disappears, the door opening wider to reveal that he’s not alone. 

Instantly. 

Instantly, Roman notices the shift. He feels it more than anything. The way the unlimited rage starts melting ever so softly, still strong and pungent but dissipating. 

He’s still livid, still filled with so much fury he doesn't know what to do with, but it’s tucked away just enough for him to grit out. “Leave us.”

Paul doesn’t need to be told twice, his Wise Man disappearing like a thief in the night leaving Roman alone with the one person he both does and doesn’t want to see. 

She turns to shut the door. Quiet and gentle. Much like herself. He hears the click of the lock and watches how she surveys the room, expression unchanged. Like the destruction that surrounds them is something familiar and normal to her. And, then she’s looking at him, studying him. Head tilted, small smile on her pretty face, she closes the distance between them.

Roman looks away and closes his eyes when she’s close enough for her sweet, gourmand perfume to hit his senses. Still refuses to look at her as she lifts her hands to his face. Assessing him, assessing the extent of his injuries.

“You need stitches.”

Something he already knew but didn’t care to address, much preferring to unleash all of his rage and beyond in the setting before them.

“What are you doing here?” Because that’s the better question. The most important one. The thing that has his anger spiking once again. She shouldn’t be here, and she knows it, and yet, she stands before him.

But, it’s when she answers quietly, vulnerably, that his anger dwindles just a bit.“I wanted to see you.” Roman sighs. Another thing he already knew. It’s the only reason she would go against the protocol of things. “Afia took me….”

That makes all the sense. He knows how close they’ve become, just like how he knows that his sister-in-law marches to the beat of her own drum. She does what feels right and aligns with her convictions. 

Even it goes against all of the protective precautions Roman has set in place.

He ignores the way she lifts her hand to his hair, pushing some of it back and out of his face. “This isn’t the way to see me.” A calm counter to match the soothing effect of her touch, a balm to his vexation. “I don’t….I don’t like you seeing this side of me.”

“And what side is that?” There’s a hint of humor in her voice as she transitions to massaging his scalp in that way she knows he likes. Loves, even. “Have you forgotten how we met?”

At that, a chuckle is emitted. The first thing he feels outside of the anger range since the start of the evening. 

Never.

Never could he forget that first of many run-ins they had until Roman grew tired of short interactions, grew tired of teases and taunts that led to nothing more but constant wondering and thinking. About her. The way she occupied so much mental real estate should have been studied, especially for someone like himself who never looked for anything more but sexual satisfaction from women. 

But, not her. 

She was different.

Then 

Roman was pissed, a conversation with his cousin escalating into something unnecessary, largely due to the alcohol coursing through Jey’s system. What started as a night of Roman and his two right hand men—and cousins—spending some rare free time at one of the Bloodline owned clubs turned into Jimmy playing mediator, separating his twin, Jey, from their cousin, Roman.

Two titans needing space before leveling the establishment. Hence Roman being the one to walk away, to find a slice of solace outside, aided by the surprising breeze. He’d run his hands over his face, reminding himself that nothing was gained by making an enemy out of one of the few people on this earth he trust.

Jeu was irksome, but he was still family. And at the end of the day, Roman knew this would pass over just as it had the times prior.

Didn’t make it any less fucking annoying to have to deal with the shit though.

Finally feeling settled and calm enough to be around his family without it turning into round two, Roman was making his way back inside the club, going down the hall when he spotted his other cousin, a distant cousin, Tama, talking to a woman. One hand planted on the wall, the other at his side, it was obvious he was trying to sweet talk her, something Roman paid no attention to.

Until in passing them, he heard it, heard the woman’s voice. Lighter and softer than anything he’d ever heard. 

“I’m not interested,” she’d protested, something else present in her tone that gave him pause. Fear.

She sounded scared.

“Can you please move?”

Tama said something in that slithering voice of his that Roman always found annoying as shit, but he didn’t move. No, when Roman turned around, he’d in fact moved closer, reaching to touch the woman who turned her head away.

“I said move.” A bit firmer, less scared, but the anxiety was still audible. 

Tama said something else, edging closer, prompting her to lift her hands to push him away, but she was too slow. One wrist in his tight grasp. “Let go—”

“Leave her alone,” Roman interjected, his voice surprisingly calm despite the anger flowing through him. The Bloodline has strict rules when it comes to women and children, and his cousin was violating just about every one of them.  

Tama looked over, boredom and irritation on his face. “This doesn’t concern you, Roman.”

And just like that, whatever lid Roman managed to cap on his anger was being toyed with. Dangerously close to being lifted. 

Roman took a step toward them, the woman turning to look at him. Brown locking with brown. Fear with determination.

For a brief second, Roman found it hard to look away, her beauty something he hadn’t seen in some time. 

If ever.

“Did I ask you a question?” Was Roman’s harsh retort as he stared at his cousin. “Or, did I give you a fucking order?” Once more. The last time. “Let…her go.”

The influence of alcohol clearly had to be on his cousin, because the last thing Roman saw was Tama rolling his eyes as he prepared another disrespectful disregard of Roman’s command. “Come on, I’m just—”

Roman never found out just what Tama’s excuse was. He was too busy snatching him up and away from the woman and slamming him so hard against the wall that Roman was certain he was concussed. Lifted up, legs dangling, Roman had his forearm over Tama’s neck, severing oxygen. 

His cousin’s wide eyed look of shock and horror much more pleasing than it probably should have been. “When I say to do something, you do that shit, you understand me?”

Tama continued to look terrified, struggling to reply due to lack of oxygen. Roman held him up long enough to see his skin turn red and his eyes bulge until he dropped him. 

Tama fell to the floor, coughing violently, as Roman nodded away. “Get the fuck out of here.”

Out the club. Out his life. Hell, out the Bloodline for all Roman cared, so long as he was away from the nameless woman with captivating beauty and enchanting eyes. 

That time around, Tama didn’t need to be told twice. Scrambling to his feet, he made himself scarce, leaving just two instead of three.

Rolling his eyes, already done with this shitty night, Roman turned to her but found himself staring once more.

Despite his disagreement with Tama’s approach, Roman could understand why his cousin was interested in the first place.

Not only was she beautiful, but the body matched in every way. Nice, full breasts accentuated by the open neckline of her dress, full thighs and a bountiful ass to match. Stacked in all the right places even with her short stature.

It was momentarily distracting, but Roman found it in him to ask, albeit gruffly, “you alright?”

Her eyes were wide this time around, though filled with less fear. More confusion than anything. Still, she nodded, opening her mouth with a quiet reply. “Th—thank you.”

Something unfamiliar filled Roman hearing her voice again. Much too sweet. Far too innocent. 

All the intriguing. 

Roman’s expression intensified as he found himself unable to keep from asking, “what’s your na—”

“Sola!” Another interruption, this time female, but an interruption nonetheless. Roman turned to see another woman, about the same height as the woman she called “Sola.” She cast him a glance, nervousness unmistakable. Shuffling over, she grabbed the woman’s arm, harshly whispering something in another language. She then offered an apologetic glance. “So sorry to bother you, Tribal Chief.”

The bothering was the interruption of his planned introduction, and Roman planned to say as such when she ushered the woman away, all while continuing to harshly scold Sola.

The same Sola who kept looking back at him. 

The same way he was looking at her. 

Now

Roman saw her three more times after that, each occurrence happening the most serendipitous of ways. 

Then

Jimmy’s ass was always hungry. Had been that way since they were kids, always snacking, wanting to snack, or thinking about snacking.

Always at the most inconvenient times, too. Like, when they’re supposed to be headed to a meeting and time to spare equals time to eat for his tapeworm having ass cousin.

“Man, you know I love Mexican food,” was Jimmy’s excuse as he, Roman, and Jey walked into the Mexican restaurant they spotted while trying to find a place for takeout.

“You love all food,” was Roman’s disgusted resort. He’d much rather arrive ahead of time than right at time, but he was outvoted by his cousins. Hence his presence. 

The three of them walked through the partially crowded restaurant, up to the counter where Jey didn’t hesitate to ring the bell.

“Someone will be with you, shortly,” someone, an employee cleaning off unused tables, informed. Jimmy nodded as a sign of thank you, while Roman continued to type on his phone, at least relieved by the fact his Wise Man was already present and waiting.

Some kind of Bloodline representation was better than none.

“Hola!” His head lifted the minute he heard it. The same saccharine tone and the same pretty face he’d laid eyes on a few weeks ago. Their gazes locked, recognition dawning on her end as well. A different setting. She wasn’t as dressed up as she was that night, sexy little dress traded for an apron covering a short sleeved shirt that hugged her ample chest.

Roman hardly ever found himself dumbstruck, but he was most definitely feeling as such in that moment.

“Hola!” Jimmy’s jovial voice broke their stare, something only Jey seemed to notice, Jimmy too consumed by his hunger. Like they didn’t eat before leaving the damn house. “Never been here before, but—” He sniffed the air, rubbing his hands together. “Sure does smell good.”

Shock continued to settle until eventually wavering. “Uhh, yes, sorry. We—it’s good.” She added, almost nervously. “The food, it’s….it’s good.”

“I’ll take your word for it.” Jimmy winked and looked over at the menu. “Now, uhh, I usually stick with my chimichanga’s, but I’m in the mood to switch things up.” 

Jey glanced at her, making a mental note to ask Roman what that was all about once they got back in the SUV. “What do you recommend?”

She was flustered, face turning red as she pushed back flyaways. “Ummm……” Eyes shut, she opened again with a renewed sense of focus, clearly trying not to think of how Roman continued to look at her. Only her. “The Tacos De La Calle are pretty popular.” She turned to point to the menu, and Roman wasted no time setting his gaze on her ass that sat up nice and round in her jeans. “You can get steak, chicken, al pastor or carnitas topped with diced onions and cilantro. And, it’s served with rice or Elote Mexicano.”

Jimmy and Jey shared a knowing glance. “Shit, sure sounds good to me.”

She smiled, and Roman wasn’t sure he’d ever seen something so pleasing. “So you want to try it?”

“Hell yeah.”

Laughter. Laughter that had Roman pushing something down that was foreign, unfamiliar, but also…..light. 

She wrote down rapidly on her notepad, asking a few more questions of Jimmy and Jey before her attention shifted to Roman. “And you?”

Truth be told, Roman wasn’t focused on looking at the menu to figure out his order. He was too busy with the woman taking said orders. “Whatever they’re getting.”

She nodded with a small smile, writing something down before informing, “should be up in about twenty minutes.” Turning to leave, Jimmy beat Roman to the question on the tip of his tongue.

Well, one of them.

“Do we pay after or?”

She shook her head, eyes locked with Roman. “It’s on the house.”

Now

Roman was pressed for time by the time the order was ready that he didn’t have the chance to further talk with her, but he knew where she was, and that was all that mattered.

But, it didn’t. 

It didn’t because the next three times he found himself “craving” Mexican food, she was nowhere to be found. And because he’s him, stubborn and prideful, he refused to ask any of the workers about her working hours. 

On the fifth visit, he stopped trying. He had much more important things to do than to try to track down some random woman.

Even if random woman continued to cross his mind more than he would like to admit.

But, it was while sitting in the back of his SUV, looking out the window, trying to tune out the sound of the twins bickering, he saw her. 

She was walking down the sidewalk in front of strip malls, deep in laughter along with another woman. They were both wearing scrubs and holding cups of coffee while making their way past the stores. In the moment, Roman was tempted to order the driver to stop, to take advantage of this most unexpected opportunity. But, it was in being far past her that the thought left him.

Stupid, silly. 

What did it look like for him? The Tribal Chief, The Capo, The Head of the Table, to be chasing after a woman? 

He had to let that shit go.

And for all intents and purposes, he tried. He tried damn hard.

And, then he saw her again.

Then

Clubbing had never really been Roman’s thing. Maybe in his early twenties, to some extent, to score hookups. But, as a grown ass man in his mid thirties, he was over it. Which was why he was prepared to call it a night, informed his cousins that he was headed home when he saw it.

Saw her.

She was with the woman who’d whisked her away from him that night and the other whom he saw her walking with that day. 

The three of them were laughing and dancing, all beautiful, but there was something about her that drew him in, that had him unable to ignore this unexpected opportunity. 

An opportunity he found himself feeling fading away when the three of them moved from the dance floor to the bar. He watched how she said something to the other two women before squeezing her way through the bodies, headed somewhere else.

The same place Roman was headed. 

He waited to see she was moving toward the bathrooms before also heading in that same direction.

Did he feel like a fucking creep standing outside the women’s restroom, leaned up against the wall, waiting for someone he’d only seen a few times? Sure. Did it stop him from waiting for her?

Absolutely fucking not.

And he felt vindicated with his decision the moment she walked out. The way her eyes initially widened with surprise only to settle into something similar to joy.

Like, she was happy to see him.

As much was confirmed when the corner of her lips lifted into a small smile. “Hi.”

That voice.

Roman should not have been so satisfied to hear a single word leave someone’s mouth. But, he was. “Hey.”

He watched how she looked down, almost shyly before crossing her arms, acknowledging the nature of everything. “We keep running into each other.”

He nodded, agreeing. “We do.”

Her smile widened. “Solana.”

Roman’s eyes gleamed with all of the curiosity that’d consumed him since their meeting almost two months ago. “What?”

“You were going to ask my name that night,” she explained. “My name…..is Solana.”

Solana

Roman wasn’t sure he’d ever heard a prettier name. 

It fit her. 

“Roman,” he offered, noticing the way her smile deepened.

“I know who you are,” she shared, cheeks tinged pink. “Kinda hard not to.”

Fair. 

Still, it left him wondering something, something he hadn’t allowed himself to think too much about for the mere fact that it acknowledged the…..complications of the whole thing.

“You know who I am,” he stated. 

Not a question, but she answered like it was. “I do.”

Roman kicked his foot off the wall, taking a step toward her. He expected her to step back. She remained unmoved. “And you know what I do.”

Solana lifted her head, needing to do so because of their height difference.  The same answer. “I do.”

The curiosity was at an all time high. He had to ask. “And you’re not scared?”

Of him. Scared of him is what he really meant, but something in him wouldn’t allow him to ask it.

Most likely because he didn’t want to know said answer. 

Especially if it was anything other than no.

Solana smiled, voice just as soft. “I think if you planned to hurt me you would have done so by now.” Wise words, words that shocked him, even if he maintained a poker face. “So no…..I’m not scared.”

An unexpected answer, but one he was more than pleased to hear.

Maybe even relieved.

“Come with me.”

Roman was unsure what he planned to say to her, how he was going to respond to her confirming a lack of fear, but it certainly wasn’t that.

Something akin to indecision filled her face as she asserted, “I’m not going to have sex with you.”

“I wasn’t expecting you to.” An honest, rare thing. Roman couldn’t recall a time he’d invited a woman to his place for anything other than carnal reasons. 

“And what are you expecting?” The return of her smile was relieving to Roman as he found himself reaching to gently move the back of his hand over her cheek, unsurprised to find she felt as soft as she looked. 

His answer was sincere and truthful. “To talk.”

She agreed to leave with him, to go back to his place where they did, in fact, talk. They talked almost the whole night. Roman learning that the two women he’d seen her with were her cousins, one on her mom’s side, the other on her dad’s. Her best friends, was what she called them.

He also learned the reason he didn’t see her again at the restaurant was because she only worked there occasionally. It was owned by her grandma and where she worked all throughout high school and college, so her returns were solely when her grandma requested extra help.

And, that was one of those days.

She told him how her main job was at the local hospital where she worked as a pediatric nurse. There was no missing the way her face lit up as she discussed her love for her job, for her family, even her dog, Dulce.

And Roman soaked it all in. Took in every bit of it. Absorbed her light and radiance, such a contrast to his world. 

She was so different from his world. 

And, he found himself liking it. Liking her a lot. Liking the way they ended up on the sofa, her perched up against him, his finger trailing up and down her arm as they spoke, learned anything and everything about each other.

It was then he knew she was special. That this, whatever had already been building between them, was special.

And, that he didn’t want to lose it.

Lose her. 

It was why he found himself cutting right to the part he’d been dreading the moment he realized this was more than just random run-ins and that she was more than just a random woman.

“You know if we do this….” He’d started, waiting for her to look up at him. “It can’t be public.” Her confused expression forced him to elaborate. “You being with me automatically puts you in danger. I won’t have that, so if we do this, it has to be in secret. We can’t go out in public. I can’t have you seen with me, because it puts a target over your head, and I don’t want that.”

Just hours of actually being able to talk to Solana, to get to know her, had Roman already convinced he’d be fucking sick if something happened to her. And her being paraded around as someone close to him, let alone a romantic partner, would bring on exactly that.

So, it would have to be just as he described. All of their interactions with one another, dates even, would have to take place in private. They could never have a traditional relationship. 

Ever.

He studied her, assessed how she took in his explanation, as she was mulling it over in her head. Part of him was prepared for the most obvious response. That that wouldn't work for her, and he wouldn’t fault her. It wouldn’t work for most women.

But clearly, she wasn’t most women.

Smile small, voice lightly teasing, she replied after a good two minutes of silence. “It’s a good thing I like being low key then, huh?”

Now

Looking back, Roman is almost certain that was the same night he fell in love with her. He didn’t know it then, of course. Just knew he liked her, enjoyed her, enjoyed being around her even if the moments ended up being spaced out as time went on due to his schedule as well as hers. 

Regardless, in the times he couldn’t be with her physically, he made sure she always knew that she was always on his mind. He spoiled the hell out of her, surprising her almost daily with delivered flowers, chocolates, and any and all designer items he could think of. She wasn’t materialistic. Liked simple things like art, books, and music, but she also appreciated the things he did for her. He could always see the appreciation in her face whenever he could go visit her. 

She didn’t ask for it, didn’t expect it but was utterly thankful and grateful. Though what most pleased her was the time they could spend together, in person. He craved that too and took advantage of every opportunity that arose to do just that.

To see her.

To feel her soft body pressed against his. 

Even the nights where he stayed over at her place, stayed with her throughout the night. That was the other thing about it, that made it all so different.

Sex.

There was no sex in the relationship when it first started. Solana had confided in him that she was still a virgin and wasn’t prepared for that to change. Not for someone she’d just met.

Another way Roman knows he’s loved his girl from the moment he laid eyes on her, because no way in God’s green earth would he ever pursue a relationship with someone he couldn’t fuck.

All he did was fuck. Sex was just a thing for him, an enjoyable, pleasurable thing. But, what he easily found more enjoyable was her, just spending time with and being around her. 

It was almost as if that absent part of the relationship didn’t make a difference so long as he could just be around her. 

That was what he wanted from her. Just her time. That was it.

But, it didn’t take away from the way their relationship reached a completely different level, became something deeper, something stronger, something unbreakable almost when intimacy was added into the mix.

The night she allowed him to take her virginity, the first time “I love you” trickled out of both their mouths as she held onto him while he thrust into her, vowing his love and devotion for her, the same way she voiced the same for him. 

That was the night he knew. 

The night he realized he couldn’t live without her.

The night he realized he wouldn’t.

That next day, he started preparations on her ring. Custom. Of course. A month after that, said ring was done and ready. Roman can still recall the sound of her scream that awakened him from his sleep as she stared at him and then the stunning engagement ring he’d slipped on her finger while she slept atop him. 

Yes.

Her answer was yes. 

And a month later, after deep, honest discussions as to what they wanted their big day to look like, they tied the knot in front of only their closest family and friends. The few people who knew of their relationship. 

He didn’t care, because truth be told, Roman would have married her in a fucking gas station if that’s what it took to make her his. To give her his last name.

To make her his forever.

Roman moved her out of her condo and into a beautiful mansion about half an hour away from his penthouse. Not too close, but not too far. Not his preference considering she was now his wife but a necessity for her safety, because that was what mattered most. Keeping their relationship a secret from the public.

Keeping that target from appearing over her head.

Solana lifting her hand to his temple pulls Roman from traveling down memory lane. She frowns. “I wouldn’t be surprised if you’re not concussed.”

He’d be surprised, too. That fucker Rollins stomped the fuck out of his head. But, that’s not a priority right now.

“Sol….”

“I know,” she sighs, eyes dropping to the ground. “I know I shouldn’t have come, but like I said, I wanted to see you, Roman.” At that, he finally looks at her, opening his eyes and taking her in. “I’ve missed you….”

Three words that leave her mouth more than he’d like to admit.

“I’ve missed you, too,” he shares, quiet and true. Resolve crumbles as he brings his hand to the small of her back, pulling her to him. With an almost sense of hesitancy, he takes his other hand and moves it under her baggy hoodie. There’s an indescribable feeling that showers him the minute his palm rests against the smooth skin of her swollen belly. “How is she?”

Solana’s smile is bright as she moves her own hand over his. “Good.” Solana guides it around, clearly wanting him to feel the movement. “She’s definitely active….”

More or less the same thing Solana has shared with him via their phone calls, texts, and Facetime conversations. All normal symptoms for his six-month pregnant wife. Symptoms he’d give anything to be able to experience in real time with her.

Not being present for her during this exciting time in their lives has also had his stress levels on the higher end. Hence the shitshow that was tonight only exacerbated things. 

Roman darts his focus to her, asking with all seriousness. “And you?”

He sees it, the way she’s clearly downplaying her answer. Watering it down. “Always better when I get to see you.”

It’s not a direct answer, but it’s an answer, nonetheless. Roman will revisit the conversation later. Right now, he has other priorities he’s put off long enough.

Solana bringing one hand to the back of his head, stroking the hair at the nape of his neck is exactly the soothing gesture that he needs. He sighs, content and comforted. “You always make me feel better…..”

More than better.

Loved.

She makes him feel loved.

Solana’s eyes twinkle with something close to adoration. “Then my job is done.” She leans up on her toes to kiss his cheek. Stroking his beard, she asks, “let them tend to you….please?” A heavy sigh followed by a nod of agreement. Another kiss as she moves back to her feet, Roman’s hand never once leaving her belly that houses their firstborn. His little girl. “I—I’ll go back to the house.”

“No.” She frowns, prompting him to take his free hand not feeling her baby bump to her face, cupping her cheek. “Wait for me.” Her face lights up with some form of excitement. “I’ll stay the weekend with you.”

Roman sees it. Sees the relief and appreciation that fills her pretty, glowing face. “Really?”

He nods and leans forward, kissing her temple. “Give me an hour.”

Roman can’t recall the last time he spent more than a day and a night with her, always having to leave, never wanting to stay too long. To risk too many people inquiring and wondering where the Tribal Chief disappears off to.

His wife.

He disappears off to be with his wife and unborn child. 

The same as he’ll do this weekend. To get away from it all. To continue to cool down, to find sanctuary and solace in the one person who always provides him so. Unlike anyone else. 

Because no one else can. 

He’ll stay with her, continue to help her with the nursery that’s just about done, narrow down options for his little girl’s name, finish going over safety protocol for when she gives birth and just be with her. 

Because as hard as he tries, he can’t give her everything. 

But this, he can give her this.

[outerwildsgeology]

What is a Rock?

Hey folks!

Before we get started with sharing our full survey notes, we thought it would be a good idea to go over some basic terminology to ensure we're all on the same page!

What is a Rock?

No, seriously! What counts as a “rock”? Geologically speaking, a rock is a solid, naturally-occurring collection of minerals. It might be made of a single mineral type, or multiple, but it is an aggregate of many individual mineral crystals that are interlocked together.

Fig. 1: An image of a coarse-grained granite showing individual crystals of feldspar, mica and quartz. Note that the entire rock is made up of these interlocking crystals.

What is a Mineral?

Okay, so we know what a rock is now - it's made up of minerals. But, what is a mineral? A mineral is a building component of rocks, and they have a very specific definition based on particular criteria that must be met. For something to be considered a mineral, it must meet all the following criteria:-

It must be solid

It must be naturally-occurring

It must be inorganic

It must have a definite and known chemical composition

It must have a defined crystal structure

What does this actually mean? Let’s walk through it. Criterion one discounts anything that is a liquid - such as water. As you know, rocks and minerals can become liquid when exposed to high temperatures, magma and lava for example, but in this form, they are not minerals, and therefore not rocks! They can only be classed as minerals once they solidify, provided they meet the other criteria alongside.

Fig. 2: Image of lava (a non-mineral due to its liquid form) and basalt (a fine grained, igneous rock, and the solidified form of many low viscosity lava flows).

As for the other criteria, naturally-occurring and inorganic are self-explanatory. No crystals that can only be manufactured in a laboratory setting are true minerals, because they cannot exist in nature! Crystals that are commonly lab-grown but can exist in nature (such as moissanite) still count as minerals. Inorganic means the mineral can be formed by inorganic processes. Something like calcite can be produced by animals (such as clam shells) but can also be formed by geological processes without the involvement of any living thing. This actually discounts amber as a mineral - since it is tree resin (formed organically) and is not replaced by any other minerals as is the case with fossilisation - therefore amber is not a mineral!

Having a definite chemical composition is also pretty much what it sounds like - it needs to have a chemical formula - a sequence of elements organized to form a compound that we know the definite composition of. For example, the chemical composition of quartz is SiO₂, which means it is a compound made up of atoms of silica and oxygen. Similarly, the composition of potassium feldspar - KAlSi₃O₈ is made up of potassium, aluminium, silica and oxygen atoms. When dealing with specific types of rocks, such as fine grained igneous specimens, the fine grain size of the individual crystals often makes it impractical to determine rock type via crystal analysis alone, so some geologists will use chemical analysis to aid in this - hence why it's important to know the definite chemical composition of your specimens!

Lastly, a mineral must have a crystal structure - but what is a crystal structure? The simplest way to imagine this is with building blocks. Each block is the unit that defines the chemical composition - for example, SiO₄ for quartz. So, one “block” of quartz will be a unit of SiO₄. By arranging these blocks in a repeating pattern, a larger structure begins to take form. Crystals are naturally orderly structures - imagine the blocks are piled nicely on top of each other, this is why many crystals have such well defined shapes!

Fig. 3: Diagram showing the atomic "building block" structure of quartz using a 3D model and ball-and-stick diagram; diagram showing "building blocks" arranged in the natural crystal structure; image of a quartz crystal - note the same crystal structure!

Something like glass, or a naturally-occurring glass, like obsidian, has these blocks arranged randomly, like if you were to take your tower and throw it into a storage bin. Because obsidian lacks this order on an atomic level, it isn’t considered a true mineral!

Fig. 4: Image showing a fragment of obsidian. Note the conchoidal fracturing on the obsidian - this is caused by the lack of organisation in its structure. The disorganised nature of natural glass and obsidian exclude them from being a true crystal, and therefore they are also not considered true minerals.

Unfortunately, we aren’t going to be able to run any chemical analyses in Outer Wilds, but we’ll do our best to compare what we see to real-world rocks, minerals, and features, and hopefully this will be able to steer us in the correct direction regarding some of these criteria to ensure we are making the most scientifically informed analyses possible!

What is a Fossil?

Now, we just said that minerals and rocks can’t be organic, and you’re probably thinking, well hold on a second, what about fossils? How can something that was organic become inorganic, and then a rock?

Let’s start by defining what a fossil actually is. Fossils are described as “any preserved remains, or trace of a once-living thing from a past geological age.” This includes anything from the fossilised skeletons of dinosaurs, to the delicate imprints of leaves and plants. Now, it’s important to note that not all fossils are rocks. Objects preserved in amber, for example, are classed as fossils - but as they remain organic they cannot be classed as a rock.

How do we go from something organic, like a bone, to an inorganic version of it? Probably the most well known form of fossilisation is via replacement - where organic remains are replaced by inorganic minerals. Most bones are made up of calcium phosphate and other organic materials. When an animal dies and is buried by sediment, these organic materials are replaced by inorganic crystals in a process known as permineralisation. Permineralisation occurs when the pores of the original specimen are infilled with mineral matter from the ground or water - which then, bit by bit, replace the original organics with minerals, eventually completely replacing the whole specimen! When this occurs, you no longer have your original animal bone, but instead a replica of it with a completely inorganic composition - a fossil! The minerals involved in replacement can vary widely, which can produce spectacular finds such as these pyritised ammonites, or opalised vertebrae!

Fig. 5: Fossilised remains of two opalised Iguanodon vertebrae; a pyritised Ammonite.

Other fossils, such as footprints and burrows provide a record of an organism’s life, as opposed to actual remains of the organism itself. These fossils are known as trace fossils and are normally impressions that have been made in soft mud/soil that has then lithified. The cool thing about trace fossils, and especially footprints, is that you’re left with a cast of whatever part of the creature made contact with the substrate - sometimes with incredible detail of footpads, claws, and/or skin. Other trace fossils include things like coprolites, gizzard stones, and nests! A trace fossil is also completely inorganic, as it’s simply an imprint of a creature, or something a creature left behind, and as such, technically classes as a rock!

Fig. 6: Photograph showing a dinosaur footprint mould and a dinosaur footprint cast. Both of these are trace fossils and have been formed via sediment infilling and lithification.

Alright, there was a lot of information there, but hopefully it has provided you with a strong foundation and understanding of what classes as a true rock! In our next post, we will be diving into the different rock types and the funky structures and features that they can create!

Hopefully, you’ll soon be able to start identifying a variety of rocks in your own Outer Wilds adventures!

If you have any questions regarding what we have talked about here, or indeed just about the Outer Wilds Geological Survey in general, please don't hesitate to drop us an ask!

Catch you in the next loop! The OWGS Team

[apod]

2025 June 23

W5: Pillars of Star Formation Image Credit: NASA, WISE, IRSA; Processing & Copyright: Francesco Antonucci

Explanation: How do stars form? Images of the star forming region W5 like those in the infrared by NASA's Wide Field Infrared Survey Explorer (WISE, later NEOWISE) satellite provide clear clues with indications that massive stars near the center of empty cavities are older than stars near the edges. A likely reason for this is that the older stars in the center are actually triggering the formation of the younger edge stars. The triggered star formation occurs when hot outflowing gas compresses cooler gas into knots dense enough to gravitationally contract into stars. In the featured scientifically colored infrared image, spectacular pillars left slowly evaporating from the hot outflowing gas provide further visual clues. W5 is also known as Westerhout 5 (W5) and IC 1848. Together with IC 1805, the nebulas form a complex region of star formation popularly dubbed the Heart and Soul Nebulas. The featured image highlights a part of W5 spanning about 2,000 light years that is rich in star forming pillars. W5 lies about 6,500 light years away toward the constellation of Cassiopeia.

∞ Source: apod.nasa.gov/apod/ap250623.html

[wholoveseggs]

Dark Star {Part Six}

18+ ---- {Masterlist} {Tag-List}

Part Six

{Elijah Mikaelson x f!Reader} A tense family dinner reveals the fractures in the Mikaelson bond as Elijah’s madness pushes his siblings to the breaking point. In the 13th century, you wake up with a new hunger, your transformation into a vampire marking the beginning of a new and prosperous life. Setting up everything that is to come. And as Elijah meets death itself, love and sacrifice blur into a haunting, unforgivable cost.

8.4k words - Warnings: ANGST, a stressful dinner party, sibling fight, full throttle red door Elijah, talk of suicide, tears, blood and so much pain... a sacrifice, a carved out heart & a resurrection that shatters everything...

{Part One}{Part Two}{Part Three}{Part Four}{Part Five}

@gorgeouslydangerous @starkleila @lydia1369sworld @notleylaaa @vampiresluv

@myanmy @xflowerbombxo @maryvibess @always-and-forever-daydreaming

@spnaquakindgdom @amournoir @meeom @damienmorton @wickedmuse

@cs-please @complicatedandconfusing-25 @youcanhavemybuckanyday @akala6670229 @yeaiamme2

@itsjulzandmydiamonds @witch-of-letters @elijahstwink @rosecentury

@amanda08319 @starshipcookie @li-da-savage @veggie-eggrolls @spideybv28

@sunkissedebony97 @idk00sblog @savannaounana @sekaishell @b1tchy

@loving-and-dreaming @fancycassie-stayfancy @hcqwxrtss123 @iamawkwardandshy @ziayamikaelson

@absolutemarveltrash @darkened-writer @nina6708 @evasmlp

@madeinmyownmind-blog @lovelyy-moonlight @blacknightrises @poppet05 @sweetieseven

@xoxo-shy @nova-j @decaffeinatedparadisepost @fandom-princess-forevermore @theotherworld97

@origshipfan @cocoabliss

The first thing Klaus noticed when he returned to the compound was the smell of food cooking. The second thing he noticed was the looks on the faces of his little brother and sister. Kol was carrying a passed-out Bonnie Bennett, shackles around her wrists, and Rebekah looked shaken, her eyes distant, haunted by something she could barely process.

"What happened?" Klaus demanded, brow furrowing, his gaze shifting to Bonnie’s unconscious form. "Is she alive?"

"She's fine," Kol replied, setting her down on the sofa with surprising gentleness. "She… cried herself to sleep on the drive here," he explained, looking down at the young witch, his expression uncharacteristically soft, but shadowed.

"Well, that’s reassuring," Klaus quipped, though his voice held a thread of unease. His eyes flicked over each of them. "And where’s our esteemed brother?"

"Preparing a family dinner for us," Rebekah said bitterly, her voice hollow. "He’s completely off his rocker, he killed both the Salvatore's and now he's acting like everything's fine. It's madness, Klaus, pure madness."

Klaus' eyes widened, a flicker of surprise crossing his features. He looked to Kol, who nodded.

"He did, and he is," Kol added, his brow furrowed.

"How could you let him?" Klaus snapped, his words sharp, though the accusation in his tone was softened by a flash of disbelief.

"Let him?" Kol let out a harsh laugh, his eyes blazing. "Do you honestly think we could have stopped him?"

"You weren't there," Rebekah said quietly, her gaze unfocused, her mind elsewhere. "It happened so fast... How were we supposed to know? He's lost his bloody mind."

Freya entered the room, her brow furrowed, her eyes narrowing as she surveyed the scene. "Uh, dinner is ready," she announced, looking extremely uncomfortable. "Elijah wants you all to wear your best, so... go put on something nice," she said, her gaze drifting back to Bonnie. "And he wants her at the table too," she added, nodding toward the unconscious witch.

Kol let out a humorless chuckle, a grim smirk playing on his lips. Rebekah's face was pale, her eyes haunted, her hands trembling slightly as she reached up to touch her necklace.

"I'd rather not," she murmured, her voice soft and small.

"I don't think we have a choice, sweet sister," Kol said, his expression dark. "Unless we want to end up like the Salvatores,"

Klaus sighed, a scowl forming on his face. He glanced at his siblings, noting their unease. Usually he was the cause of it, but this time was different. He didn't know exactly when it happened, but it seemed his role in the family dynamic had changed. It was now his job to be the conciliator, and he hated it.

"It will be fine," he told them, though he wasn't sure he believed his own words. "I'll talk to him."

Kol's eyebrows rose, his eyes flashing with doubt. "I doubt he'll listen to anything you have to say."

"He'll listen to reason," Klaus said, his tone firm, his jaw clenched.

Kol laughed again, but this time it was filled with genuine amusement. "And what reason is that, brother?"

"I'd say it's best not to keep Elijah waiting," Freya sighed, a note of apprehension in her tone.

"Fine," Rebekah said, her gaze flickering to her brothers, her voice barely above a whisper. "I'll go get ready," she muttered, walking away.

Kol and Freya followed her and Klaus stayed behind, his eyes narrowed, his gaze darkening. He could feel the anger rising inside him, but he kept it in check. He had to remain calm. For once, he was the reasonable one, the one in control. He would have to be careful.

Elijah was standing at the head of the table, dressed in his best suit, his face clean-shaven. He was pouring wine for everyone, moving with the unshakable calm of a man who was not currently sane.

"Good evening," he said, a smile tugging at his lips as they all entered the dining room. "I trust you're all well?"

Klaus watched him carefully, his eyes never leaving him as they all sat down. Kol placed Bonnie in the chair next to him, gently propping her up and taking a seat beside her.

"What are you doing?" Rebekah asked, her voice quiet and strained.

"Having dinner," Elijah replied, his voice smooth and calm, as if he hadn't just tortured and killed two people.

"You murdered Damon and Stefan," she accused, her eyes brimming with tears.

Elijah's smile faltered for a moment, a hint of guilt flashing across his face. But then he recovered, his expression becoming neutral again.

"We're here to discuss my wife," he said, his tone clipped, his gaze flicking around the table. "That is all."

"Your dead wife," Kol muttered, his brow furrowed, his eyes narrowed.

"My soon to be living wife," Elijah corrected, his tone cool. "With the help of Miss Bennett."

"I don't think it's wise to push the girl," Freya cut in, her voice quiet and hesitant. "And this spell... It’s not a straightforward resurrection spell. It’s a hybrid of rites… a mix of necromancy and invocation. I think it might summon the spirit of the dead back to earth while binding it to life,"

"I don't care what it is," Elijah retorted, his jaw clenched, his gaze steely. "Just make it happen."

"Elijah," Klaus began, his voice low, his gaze focused. "I understand that you're hurting, and I know that this is a difficult time for us all, but torturing and murdering our friends will not bring her back,"

"I recall you tortured Stefan not too long ago," he pointed out, his eyes narrowing. "And you Rebekah? You carved up Damon like a Thanksgiving turkey… how are my actions any different?"

Rebekah flinched, her shoulders tensing, her jaw clenching. She looked down at her plate, avoiding his gaze.

"First of all, our actions weren't permanent. Second, we acted rashly. You're a better man than us, Elijah. This isn't who you are." Klaus said, his tone even.

Elijah's expression darkened, his eyes narrowing, his gaze sharpening. He leaned forward, placing his palms flat on the table, his jaw set, a muscle in his cheek twitching.

"I'm not," he said, his voice hard, his words clipped. "And I will do whatever is necessary to get my wife back."

"You know as well as I that there’s no such thing as a spell without a price, and this one… this one sounds like it’ll cost us." Klaus stated, his gaze unwavering.

"I don't care what the consequences are," Elijah hissed, his tone venomous, his eyes blazing.

"Even if it means killing more innocent people?" Kol challenged, his voice a low growl.

"I would kill anyone and everyone if it meant bringing her back," Elijah snapped, his eyes wild.

He slammed his hand down on the table, his face flushed with anger. Everyone jumped, startled by his outburst, and for a moment, no one spoke.

The silence hung heavy in the air, suffocating the room. Elijah took a deep breath, his composure returning as quickly as it had slipped.

"Time for the first course," he said, a tight smile tugging at his lips as he straightened up.

A series of waiters came out from the kitchen, each one carrying an empty glass. A young blonde stood next to Klaus. Another young woman with brown hair approaching Kol. And a handsome older gentleman stopped at Rebekah.

"I've procured your favorites, all ab negative, in honor of the occasion," Elijah explained, his voice smooth and even.

He gestured for the three humans to approach the vampires, his gaze locked on his siblings. The trio walked over, their expressions blank, their eyes glassy. They all cut their wrists, pouring their blood into the glasses, not even flinching as their flesh was sliced open.

The siblings looked at one another, usually this would be the part where they would start drinking, but there was no enthusiasm in the air. Only dread and disgust.

"Go ahead," Elijah encouraged, a hint of annoyance in his voice.

They reluctantly grabbed their glasses, taking a few sips. Each sip was like a bitter pill, burning their throats as it went down.

"I want to thank you all for coming," Elijah continued, ignoring their discomfort. "And I want to express how much it means to me to have your support."

Klaus set his glass down, his expression unreadable, his eyes betraying a hint of anger.

"This is quite the pathetic manipulation, brother. Do you think you can convince us with our favorite food? That you haven’t gone completely mad… by bringing us a few snacks?" Klaus asked, his tone icy.

Elijah's eyes grew darker, his jaw tightening, but he remained composed. He walked over to the blonde standing next to Klaus and grabbed her roughly by the hair.

"I recall you enjoying draining the life from a girl like her," Elijah growled, his eyes wild, his voice dangerous. "Perhaps you'd prefer that instead?"

He wrenched her neck to the side, exposing her jugular. The others stared at him, frozen with shock.

"Stop, Elijah," Klaus said, his voice quiet, his gaze sharp.

"Or what?" Elijah sneered, his grip tightening on the girl's throat. "It's not like you haven't done it before. In fact, you enjoy it. You always have."

"Please," the girl whispered, tears streaming down her cheeks. "Please don't hurt me."

He leaned in closer, his mouth inches from her ear, his voice barely a whisper. "Tell my family to help me, or I'll dismember you in front of them."

The girl's eyes widened, her breathing quickening. She looked at the vampires, her gaze pleading, her lips trembling.

"Help him," she begged, her voice shaking, tears rolling down her face. "Please, help him."

Rebekah shook her head, her heart racing, a wave of nausea washing over her. Freya watched the exchange, her brow furrowed, a look of uncertainty and fear crossing her features. Kol's expression was a mix of anger and revulsion, his hands balled into fists, his body tense.

Klaus remained motionless, his gaze fixed on his brother, his eyes hard.

Elijah looked at each one of them, his eyes dark and wild, a hint of madness flickering in them.

"I’ve never asked any of you for anything," he said, his voice steady but laced with a quiet desperation. "Not until now. This is my wife. This is my life. I won’t give her up, not again."

The silence was heavy, the tension in the room palpable. None of them knew what to say, and none of them knew what to do. Their brother had lost his mind, and he wasn't going to stop until he got what he wanted.

"Help him," the girl repeated, her voice breaking.

Rebekah rose slowly to her feet, her hands reached out in a calming manner, her eyes meeting Elijah’s, filled with pain. "You know we would do anything for you, Elijah. But this… this is dangerous."

Elijah’s eyes darkened, frustration flaring. "Not any more dangerous than when Klaus became a hybrid, or when Kol was resurrected, or any of the other times we’ve been forced to do the impossible."

Rebekah hesitated, her chest tightening, a knot forming in her stomach. She glanced at Klaus, then at Freya and Kol, her eyes pleading, her throat constricting.

"This is different," Freya interjected, her voice strained. "I can feel it, Elijah. This spell… it wants something in return. It’s alive, in a way."

Elijah’s gaze sharpened, his calm veneer finally cracking. "Why will none of you help me?" he snapped, his voice rising, his temper flaring.

"Because we loved your wife," Klaus retorted, his tone low, his expression fierce. "And because we know that whatever this is, it's going to hurt her. It's going to hurt you. And she wouldn't want that."

"Don't tell me what she wants!" Elijah bellowed, pushing the blonde girl away from him, sending her stumbling towards Klaus. "I am her husband. I'm the one who is supposed to be by her side, not any of you."

"Elijah, please," Rebekah pleaded, her voice cracking, her eyes welling with tears.

"No, you will help me," he commanded, his voice cold, his expression hard.

"Or what?" Klaus challenged, sending the blonde girl scurrying away, his gaze unflinching, his tone firm. "Are you going to hurt us? Your own family?"

Elijah's gaze met Klaus', his eyes blazing, his jaw clenched, his knuckles white. The two brothers stared each other down, a silent battle of wills.

Klaus could feel the anger, the desperation, and the grief rolling off Elijah in waves, but he knew he had to be strong, for his family and for you.

"I will do what is necessary," Elijah growled, his words dripping with malice.

"Then do it," Klaus snarled, he stood up and moved swiftly around the table, grabbing his older brother by the collar, pulling him closer. "Go ahead and rip my heart out, make yourself feel better, but it won't bring her back. And you know that."

"Niklaus," Kol said, his tone warning.

"No," Klaus said, his eyes fixed on Elijah, his grip tightening. "He needs to face reality. I won't let him ruin our lives over his selfish grief."

Elijah's nostrils flared, his hands clenching into fists, he bared his teeth, his fangs elongating, his eyes turning black. "You have no right," he hissed, his voice a low growl.

Before Klaus could react, Elijah struck him, his fist connecting with his jaw. Klaus stumbled back, caught off guard by the sudden attack. He recovered quickly, lunging at Elijah, tackling him to the ground. The two brothers wrestled on the floor, fighting viciously, the sound of their grunts and curses echoing throughout the room.

"Stop it!" Rebekah shouted, her voice breaking. "Both of you! This isn't helping,"

She ran over, trying to pull Elijah off of Klaus, but he shrugged her off, sending her flying into the wall. She crashed against it, a pained groan escaping her lips. Freya moved to help her, but Kol held her back, a wary look on his face.

"Stay back," he warned, his voice low, his eyes never leaving the fight. "It's not safe."

Klaus and Elijah continued to grapple, each one gaining the upper hand only to lose it a moment later. Blood stained their faces and clothes, their bodies bruised and battered, but neither one of them was willing to give up.

Rebekah tried to separate them one again, and this time Elijah turned on her, his eyes wild, his movements frenzied. She blocked his blows as best she could, but she was no match for him, his strength overwhelming her. His eyes were completely black, his rage overtaking him, a look of pure madness on his face.

He grabbed Rebekah by the throat, lifting her off the ground. She clawed at his arms, her nails digging into his flesh, but it was no use. He was too strong, his grip too tight.

Klaus yelled, a primal scream tearing from his throat, his anger and desperation fueling him. He launched himself at Elijah, knocking him off balance and sending him crashing to the ground.

The impact was enough to break his grip on Rebekah, and she fell to the floor, gasping for breath. The three of them falling into a heap.

"Enough!" Freya shouted, her voice full of fury. She raised her hands, a blast of magic shooting out, hitting Elijah and throwing him against the far wall.

Rebekah clutched her throat, her face pale, her breathing ragged. Klaus crawled over to her, pulling her into his arms.

Freya kept her gaze locked on Elijah, her magic holding him in place. He was yelling and sobbing, thrashing against the wall, his eyes wide and unfocused.

"I can't keep him like this forever," she warned, her voice strained, her eyes full of pain and sorrow.

Elijah could hear you calling his name, his vision swimming. The room around him was fading in and out, the walls bleeding, the shadows stretching. He saw you, standing in the doorway, a look of sadness on your face.

"What have you become?" You whispered, your voice echoing in his mind.

Your words snapped him back to reality. He stopped struggling, his eyes meeting yours.

"Please," he pleaded, his voice breaking. "Don't leave me."

You looked at him, your expression unreadable, and then you were gone.

Elijah felt his heart shatter into a thousand pieces, his chest tightening, his breathing growing ragged. He saw Rebekah on the floor, her eyes wide with fear. Fear of him. His baby sister, who looked at him with nothing but love and admiration, now looked at him as if he were a monster.

The guilt and shame overwhelmed him, his eyes filling with tears, his shoulders sagging.

"I'm sorry," he choked out, his voice thick with emotion. "I'm so sorry."

Freya's magic faded, and he collapsed to the floor, his body trembling. He curled up into a ball, sobbing uncontrollably, his pain and grief consuming him.

His siblings watched him, their hearts breaking for him.

"I see her everywhere," he cried, his voice raw. "She's always there, in my head, in my dreams, in my heart. I can't stop thinking about her, and every day, it just gets worse."

Kol moved closer to him, hesitantly reaching out to comfort him, but he pushed them away.

"Don't," he gasped, his voice strained. "I don't deserve it. I'm a monster. I can't even protect the people I love."

Kol crouched down, his expression filled with sympathy. "She loved you so much Elijah, you know that. Don't let her death destroy you," he said softly, his voice full of understanding.

Elijah met his gaze, his eyes full of anguish.

"If you won't help me, will you kill me?" he asked, his voice breaking. "I can't live like this, not without her."

"Elijah..." Rebekah whispered, her own tears falling.

"Please," he begged, his voice trembling, his eyes filled with pain. "Then I could see her again, and maybe... Maybe she would forgive me."

The silence in the room was deafening, each sibling processing his words. He was a broken man, a shell of the noble, honorable brother they knew and loved. And it was killing them to see him like this.

Klaus slowly approached him, kneeling down next to him, placing a hand on his shoulder.

"We'll help you, brother," he said quietly, his voice laced with sorrow. "Damn the consequences, we'll help you."

Elijah lifted his head, his eyes wide with disbelief, his breath catching in his throat.

"Really?" he asked, his voice shaking.

"Yes," Rebekah said, kneeling down on the other side of him. "Whatever it takes."

Elijah looked at his siblings, his gaze filled with hope and gratitude. He reached out, pulling them into a hug, holding onto them as if his life depended on it.

"Thank you," he whispered, his voice cracking.

The siblings clung to one another, each of them feeling the weight of their decision, the uncertainty and fear they felt. They knew that whatever they were about to do, it would change all of them forever.

13th century Europe

You woke in an unfamiliar bed, the sheets soft and warm against your skin. You sat up, blinking, disoriented. You looked around the room, taking in the dark walls and mahogany furniture, a large window letting in a sliver of pale moonlight.

The memories came flooding back. The villagers, the pain, the darkness, and then, Elijah.

Panic rose within you, and you flung the covers back, stumbling from the bed. The stone floor was cold beneath your bare feet, and you glanced down, seeing that you were wearing only a nightgown.

You wrapped your arms around yourself, shivering, and padded to the door. As soon as you pulled it open, a rush of sound met your ears.

There was a flurry of activity around you, men from the village were carrying things down the stairs, crates and chests, talking quietly among themselves.

"What's going on?" you asked, confusion clouding your thoughts.

One of the men turned, startled. "We must take everything to the carriage," there was a strange look in his eye, an emptiness, and he hurried away, carrying a crate.

You felt a pair of warm hands on your waist, and whirled around, seeing Elijah. He was dressed in a simple tunic, his sleeves rolled up, and his hair was slightly disheveled.

Your eyes met his, and a mixture of emotions flooded through you. You couldn't quite make sense of it all, the guilt and shame warring with relief and longing. He had the same expression, his gaze intense and unreadable.

He leaned in and kissed you, his lips soft and insistent, and you felt yourself melting into him.

"Elijah..." you breathed, pulling away, a million questions burning within you. "What's happening? Why are these men here?"

"We're leaving," he said simply, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

"Leaving?" you echoed, your mind reeling.

He nodded, pulling you closer. "We have overstayed our welcome, and it is time to move on."

"Move on?" you repeated, the questions piling up, your thoughts still fuzzy.

He sighed, brushing a strand of hair from your face. "I have taken care of things, my dear. You need not worry."

"But...how? What did you do?"

"Come," he said, ignoring your questions. He took your hand, leading you down the stairs, the men following behind.

Everything was so loud, so chaotic, and you found yourself clinging to Elijah's hand, trying to make sense of it all.

Outside, a horse-drawn carriage was waiting, and the men were loading the last of the crates. Elijah led you over to the carriage, helping you inside.

The interior was richly appointed, with plush velvet seats and elegant carvings. There was a faint, spicy smell, and you settled back, the leather smooth beneath you.

"Stay here, I won't be long. And I'll explain everything when we arrive at our new home," Elijah said, his tone soothing, reassuring.

Before you could say anything else, the carriage door was closed, and you were left alone. Watching the men load more crates, a nagging thought tugged at the edge of your mind.

You could hear their heartbeats, clear as a song bird's call, pumping blood through their veins. Your stomach twisted, the hunger rising inside you and then your feet took over, moving almost of their own volition.

You ran, a burst of speed that took you past the men and straight into the village. You stopped, taking a deep breath, and the familiar smells overwhelmed you, the urge to feed becoming almost unbearable.

You didn't understand how you ended up here so fast, the manor house was nearly a days walk away. You didn't even realize where you were headed, until you heard it.

The beating.

A steady, rhythmic thumping, a heartbeat, and a familiar scent, sweet and tempting. You moved silently, almost instinctively, creeping through the shadows until you found her.

Sister Margaret.

Her habit was discarded, a pile of black fabric, and she was kneeling in front of an altar, a silver cross hanging from the wall, flickering candlelight surrounding her.

The sound of her heart was almost deafening, and the bloodlust consumed you, driving away all reason. You crept closer, the darkness concealing you, and before you knew what you were doing, your fangs had pierced her neck, the taste of her blood exploding in your mouth.

It was sweet and intoxicating, and you couldn't stop, even as the tears ran down her face, her body convulsing, her life ebbing away.

When the blood flow slowed, and the heartbeat stopped, you withdrew, looking at her with a detached curiosity. Her eyes were empty, the color gone from her face, and a wave of nausea washed over you.

"No," you whispered, stumbling back, your hand pressed to your mouth, a sick feeling settling in the pit of your stomach.

The realization hit, a jarring, gut-wrenching understanding. You were a monster, a demon, a creature of the night. You had taken a life, without a second thought, the need for blood consuming you.

A scream from behind tore you from your thoughts, and you turned to see Mother Mathilde standing in the doorway, her eyes wide with shock.

"No, this cannot be," she whispered, her voice shaking.

In the blink of an eye, you were standing in front of her, the hunger still burning within you. She stepped back, her face twisted in fear.

"O Lord Almighty, God of Hosts, we humbly beseech Thee to drive out this unclean spirit, this deceiver, this enemy of the faithfu-"

Anger flared within you. You could still feel the stones slamming into you, the pain, the betrayal, and a growl escaped your lips. You wanted to rip her heart out, to make her pay for what she had done, for all the pain she had caused. You lunged at her, the bloodlust driving you.

Your fangs sunk deep into her throat, and her blood filled your mouth, thick and bitter. You drained her dry, and it was the first time you felt true power. A rush of deep satisfaction flowed through you, the heady taste of vengeance.

"What a delicious sight," Elijah's voice came from behind, and you whirled around, seeing him leaning against the doorway.

He was staring at you with a mix of admiration and desire, and something about it made you blush.

You glanced down, seeing the blood dripping from your hands, and the reality of what you had done hit you. You let her lifeless body fall, her glassy eyes staring at the ceiling, her mouth open in a silent scream.

"What have I become? A demon, a monster," you whispered, the shame washing over you, threatening to drown you.

Elijah crossed the distance between you in a flash, cupping your face in his hands. His eyes met yours, his voice soft and soothing. "Don't be afraid, love. This is a gift, a new beginning, a chance to truly live."

"Live?" you echoed, the word heavy with meaning.

"Yes, to live," he said, brushing a strand of hair from your face. "To see the world, and all its wonders. To experience every sensation, and explore every possibility."

His words were intoxicating, and you couldn't deny the truth. Something was changing within you, a spark of life, a hunger for more.

"Where do we go from here?" you asked, a flutter of anticipation rising in your chest.

"Anywhere you want," he said, his voice laced with promise.

"Show me," you whispered, and a wicked smile spread across his face.

He leaned down, his lips brushing against yours. "With pleasure,"

Elijah stood at the stop of the old stone steps leading to the cellar, his face grim, his heart heavy. The only light in the room came from the torches on the wall, casting his face in shadow.

He hadn't been down there since the day you died. Your coffin still lay on the table, its lid closed, the silence in the air suffocating.

He walked over, placing his hand on the smooth surface. His throat tightened, his breath catching in his chest as he thought of you, your lifeless body, your empty eyes, gray skin. He would never see you smile, or hear your laughter again, and the grief was a raw wound that refused to heal.

He knew it was madness, he knew that the odds of this working were slim, and yet he couldn't shake the feeling that it was his only chance. He had lost so much, sacrificed everything. He couldn't lose you too.

He told himself it was all justified as he removed the lid from your coffin. You deserved the chance to come back, to be happy.

He would do anything for you.

"I'm sorry, my love," he whispered, his voice barely audible.

He laid a blanket out, then gently lifted you out of the coffin, holding you tightly against him. Your body was cold, stiff, and lifeless, but he held you close, as if willing his life into yours.

"It'll be alright," he murmured, tears stinging his eyes, his throat aching.

He had to believe that, no matter what the cost.

As the darkness surrounded him, the silence was deafening. He placed you on the blanket, his fingers lingering on your cheek, wrapping the blanket around you, his face lined with sorrow.

He lifted you, his arms wrapped protectively around your body, carrying you up the stairs. Every step felt heavier, and by the time he reached the courtyard, his entire body ached, his mind swimming with grief and guilt.

Bonnie stood in the center of the courtyard, still handcuffed and surrounded by the Original siblings, her face pale, her eyes dark and wary.

"I don't want any part of this," Bonnie said, her voice low and shaking.

Elijah gently placed your body on the ground, his hands lingering for a moment before he turned to face her, his expression unreadable.

"If you want to walk out of here alive, you'll do this," Elijah's voice was barely above a whisper, his eyes fixed on her, dark and dangerous.

Bonnie swallowed, her face twisting in disgust, her mind reeling with the memories of Damon and Stefan's deaths, the sound of their bodies hitting the ground, their lifeless faces.

She couldn't bring herself to speak, her throat constricting as she fought back the tears.

Freya looked at her, her voice gentle but urgent. "You're the only one who can do this, Bonnie. It has to be you."

"Fine," Bonnie snapped, her gaze hardening. "But I'll only do it once, and I won't have any part of whatever else happens after."

Elijah nodded. "That's all I ask."

Freya stepped forward, the spell book in her hand, and placed it in Bonnie's. She unshackled her wrists, and Bonnie rubbed them, trying to relieve the aching pressure, glaring at her captors.

Elijah nodded to his siblings, and they formed a circle around the witch and the body, a solemn hush falling over the courtyard.

Elijah got to his knees, looking up at Bonnie with a pleading, almost desperate expression. "Do it," he ordered, his voice hoarse.

She hesitated, her eyes searching his, then nodded, her eyes growing cold as she reached out her hand to Freya. "Knife," she said.

Freya hesitated, "I was going to-"

Bonnie gave her a cold stare, cutting her off.

Freya's brow furrowed, but she handed Bonnie a small, ornate dagger.

Bonnie gave a slight smirk as she took it, then looked at Elijah. 

"Tenebrae animarum, viam aperite (Shadows of souls, open the way)"

Her words echoed through the courtyard, the wind picking up as the clouds parted, the moonlight spilling onto the courtyard, bathing it in an ethereal glow.

Bonnie raised the dagger, looking down at Elijah, and brought the blade down, the tip of the blade resting just above his heart. 

"I'm going to make sure this hurts," she hissed, her voice dripping with malice.

She plunged the dagger into his heart, a look of pleasure spreading across her face as his body jerked and his face twisted in pain. She wasn't gentle, or precise when carving out the organ, her movements jagged and rough.

He gritted his teeth, fighting the urge to scream, his vision blurring as blood flowed from the gaping wound, soaking the ground.

Bonnie dropped the dagger, her hands stained red, and reached inside the open wound, her eyes gleaming as she pulled out his still-beating heart.

She held it in her hands, the organ pulsing, the blood flowing down her arms, the moonlight glinting off the crimson liquid. Elijah's body collapsed next to yours, his eyes staring sightlessly into the sky.

Bonnie closed her eyes, the wind swirling around her, the moon shining brighter. Her hands glowed with power as she began the spell.

Rebekah looked away, her stomach churning as Bonnie dropped the heart into the bowl, the blood pooling inside.

"Ex corde sacrificium, dilectionis vinculum. (From the heart, a sacrifice, bound by love.)"

Kol's jaw clenched, his face pale, his eyes fixed on the bloody heart in the bowl. While Klaus stood stone-faced, the muscles in his jaw tightening, a glimmer of unease in his eyes.

Freya stood next to Bonnie, her expression focused as she chanted, her hands clasped in front of her.

Even though his siblings knew he would rise again, the sight of Elijah's body was still unsettling, the gravity of what they were doing finally sinking in.

Bonnie handed the knife to Klaus, the blade stained red, and he took it, his eyes narrowing.

She held out the bowl to him, her expression blank, devoid of emotion. "We need enough blood to submerge the heart," she explained.

Klaus nodded, his jaw clenched, his gaze never leaving hers. He took the knife, slicing his wrist open, his blood dripping into the bowl.

He handed the blade to Rebekah, and she repeated the gesture, her face pale. Followed by Kol, who did the same.

Freya took the bowl once there was enough blood and dipped the heart into it, the blood soaking into the flesh.

"Sanguine renascitur, vita et mors iunguntur. (By blood reborn, life and death are joined.)"

She knelt next to you and Elijah's body, placing his heart on your chest. She glanced up at Bonnie, a look of apprehension on her face, and the witch nodded, her expression grim.

Freya closed her eyes, and placed her hands over the heart, pressing down gently, her brow furrowing in concentration.

Bonnie's face twisted with strain, sweat beading on her forehead as she chanted.

"Corpus recipiat cor, anima revocetur. (Let the body receive the heart, let the soul return.)"

Freya's voice rose, and she felt the magic building inside her, swirling like a hurricane. Her hands began to shake, her fingers trembling as she felt the spell reaching its climax.

"In nomine dilectionis, viam ingredere. (In the name of love, cross the path.)"

Bonnie's voice shook, the words almost impossible to understand, her body shaking as the magic surged through her.

Freya's eyes flew open, her hands gripping the heart tightly, her eyes wild. With all her strength she picked up the heart, as though it weighed a thousand pounds, and placed it back into Elijah's chest.

The wind whipped around them, howling like wolves, and thunder rolled across the sky, lightning illuminating the courtyard.

Freya placed her hand over the wound, pouring all her magic into it, and the air was filled with tingling, sparks dancing along their skin.

"Animam caram reducite, ad vitam resurgite. (Bring back the cherished soul, rise again to life.)"

Bonnie's words echoed through the air, the power flowing from her into the spell, her body trembling, her mind filled with the rush of magic, the smell of rain, the roar of the storm.

And then, there was silence. The wind stopped, the clouds drifted apart, and the moonlight bathed the courtyard once again.

Rebekah's eyes widened, and she rushed over, kneeling next to her brother. Freya looked up, her face drawn, her eyes filled with uncertainty.

"Did it work?" Rebekah whispered.

"I don't know," Freya replied, her voice shaky.

Rebekah touched his shoulder gently. "Elijah?"

Elijah's body was motionless, the wound on his chest beginning to heal.

"He's gone to fetch her," Kol said, his voice quiet.

Freya stood, breathless and pale, her gaze fixed on Elijah. “He’s crossed over. Now we wait.”

As the living world faded, Elijah felt the pull of an unseen force, and a swirling mist began to envelop him. He felt like he was falling through clouds, the darkness closing in around him, until finally, he came to a stop, his feet touching solid ground.

His footsteps echoing as he moved through the dense, ghostly fog. Shadows whispered, and time seemed to fold around him, twisting and bending as he descended further, guided only by an instinct that he couldn’t name.

Through the mist, a faint light glimmered, soft and warm. He made his way toward it, the shadows fading, the light growing brighter, until he reached the edge of the fog.

Before him was a garden, lush and green, filled with the scent of flowers and grass, and the sound of birdsong. The sun shone, its warmth caressing his skin, and the trees swayed in the gentle breeze.

As Elijah walked through the garden, his eyes adjusting to the light, he saw you. The real you. He knew it instantly.

There you were, sitting on a stone bench, wearing a white sundress, your hair falling in soft waves. You looked like an angel, and his heart swelled, a knot forming in his throat.

He stepped forward, his footsteps soft against the grass, and you turned, a smile spreading across your face, your eyes bright and shining. You leapt up, throwing your arms around him, and he held you close, breathing in the scent of your hair, savoring the feel of your skin.

"What are you doing here?" you asked, your voice muffled against his chest.

"I'm here to bring you home," he murmured, pulling away, taking your hands in his.

"But I am home," you said, confusion coloring your tone.

"Not yet," he replied, his expression pained, his heart aching. "But soon."

You pulled back from him, cupping his face, your brow furrowed. "Elijah, what's wrong?"

He couldn't answer, his throat tightening. There were so many things wrong, confessions that needed to be made, a pain that had no end.

"Nothing. Nothing is wrong, not anymore," he managed, his voice choked.

"Elijah," you said softly, concern flashing in your eyes.

He couldn't bear it any longer, couldn't hide the anguish that had been eating him alive, the pain of losing you. He kissed you, his lips capturing yours, the warmth of your mouth, the taste of you, filling him with a longing so powerful that it threatened to tear him apart.

"Come home," he whispered against your lips. "Come back to me."

Your eyes searched his, your brow furrowing, but he leaned in, kissing you again, his hands gripping your waist. You kissed him back, the desperation in his touch, the ache in his voice, sending a stab of worry through you.

"Oh my love. My sweet Eli. What have you done?" you asked, tears welling in your eyes.

He smiled softly, brushing the tears away, his gaze filled with an unspoken promise. "Don't worry. Everything will be alright."

"Do you feel this place?" You asked, gesturing around. "This peace, this warmth? We can stay here, forever."

Elijah's expression grew pained. "I'm not meant for peace, my love," he said softly.

Your hands slipped around his neck, fingers playing with his hair, and you rested your forehead against his, your eyes closing.

"Why do you think that? That you are undeserving," you whispered.

Elijah didn't speak, his gaze locked with yours, and you could see the pain, the anguish, the guilt.

"I've done terrible things," he whispered, his voice strained. "Things that I'm ashamed of, things that would make you think less of me,"

"No," you murmured, leaning in, pressing a gentle kiss to his lips.

"Yes," he replied, his voice hoarse.

He took your hand in his, squeezing it gently, before bringing it up to his lips, brushing a kiss across your knuckles.

"I'm not a good man, and I never will be. But you… you are the best part of me," he murmured. "The only light I've ever known."

Your eyes met his, filled with sorrow, and your heart ached for him. "I love you, Elijah. All of you. Even the parts you don't want me to see," you said softly.

His face contorted with grief, his throat tightening, and his voice cracked as he spoke. "How can you?"

You leaned in, your lips grazing his, before resting your forehead against his. "Are souls are one, from the moment we met. We've always been connected, and nothing will change that."

"I failed you," he said, his voice strained, his heart heavy with the weight of his guilt. "I couldn't even avenge your death."

You brushed the tears away from his face, kissing the corner of his mouth, before pulling back to meet his eyes. "You didn't fail me, Elijah. You never could."

He held you close, his hands trembling, his body shuddering with the intensity of his grief. "Please," he whispered, his voice choked. "Don't leave me again,"

His arms tightened around you, his breath catching in his throat, and he pressed his face into the curve of your neck, his shoulders shaking.

You wrapped your arms around him, holding him close, stroking his hair. Your own eyes stung with tears, the knowledge of what was coming weighing on your heart, the sadness and regret threatening to swallow you whole.

"I love you," he whispered, his voice hoarse, muffled against your skin. "More than anything."

"I love you too," you whispered.

He kissed you, his hands cradling your face, his mouth urgent and hungry. His fingers trailed over your skin, tracing the line of your collarbone, the curve of your neck, as if committing it to memory, and your heart broke at the thought.

You smiled, a faint hint of sadness in your eyes. "You have to let me go Eli, I belong here."

He shook his head, his gaze sharp, determined. "No. No, you don't," he said. "And I won't lose you again. Not for anything."

"Elijah-"

"Don't argue," he interrupted, his voice firm.

Your smile faltered, the look in his eyes, the pain and longing, stirring a sense of unease inside you.

"You are not going to let me choose are you?" You asked softly.

He smiled, a hint of sadness in his eyes, his fingers gently brushing against your cheek. "Not this time."

"Don't worry," he whispered, his grip on your waist tightening. "It will be okay,"

"No, it won't," you insisted, your voice shaking, tears stinging your eyes. "You don't understand."

"I understand that I can't live without you," he replied, his voice firm, his eyes dark.

You could see the resolve in his face, the determination in his gaze, and your heart sank. He lifted you up, his arms wrapping around you, and you clung to him, burying your face in his chest.

You couldn't bring yourself to look at him, not as he carried you out of the garden, the warmth of the sun fading, the light dimming, the air growing colder. You didn't want to see the shadows, the darkness, the pain that you knew awaited.

"Please, don't do this," you begged, your voice barely above a whisper.

"Shh," he soothed, his voice low, his arms tightening around you.

"Don't make me go back," you pleaded, the tears sliding down your cheeks, your voice breaking.

"Don't ask me to let you go," he murmured, his voice thick with emotion.

"You have to," you insisted, the pain in your chest almost unbearable.

"No," he said, his tone leaving no room for argument.

Fear, panic, and desperation rose, the memories swirling like a storm in your mind. Elijah’s hand pressed against your back, his touch steady, calming, though his own heart was pounding.

The wind howled, darkness pressed in, the cold seeped into your bones, and the air grew heavy with foreboding. Elijah’s arms tightened around you as your warmth began to fade, and his heart clenched, realizing he was losing you again.

Suddenly, from the mist, a voice echoed, slicing through the silence: "Cursed child."

The voice surrounded them, growing louder, the darkness thickening. Then a figure emerged from the fog. An indistinct, a shadowy form. Its tone was almost affectionate as it called out to him again, "there you are, my cursed child."

Elijah’s arms tightened around you as he faced the shadowy figure, his heart pounding wildly. He could feel your warmth slipping away, and he refused to let go.

“Do you think you could just steal from me?” the figure mocked, as though speaking to a child.

“She is mine,” Elijah’s voice was hoarse but unwavering, his gaze fierce as he held you protectively.

The figure tilted its head, a glimmer of amusement flickering in its hollow eyes. “Is she?” it whispered, almost tenderly.

Elijah felt a chill creep into his veins, the weight of its gaze bearing down on him like lead.

“What are you?” he demanded, his voice taut, trying to hold his resolve.

The figure stepped closer, its features emerging from the shadows. Possessing a woman’s face, ageless and haunting, with eyes that seemed to pierce into his very soul. “I am the keeper of what you seek to steal back,” she said, her voice both gentle and unyielding.

Elijah’s grip tightened around you. “I’m not giving her to you.”

The figure’s lips twisted into a faint smile. “Then perhaps you would trade, Elijah Mikaelson?”

Elijah’s brows drew together, his heart stuttering as he understood. “What do you want?” he asked, his voice barely more than a whisper, desperation lacing his words.

The figure’s eyes glimmered, savoring his question. “I want you.”

Elijah’s pulse quickened, dread pooling in his gut as he felt your heartbeat slow in his arms, your warmth fading. Time was running out.

“Why?” he whispered.

“I gave you to Time long ago, binding you to a restless eternity,” the figure murmured, almost nostalgic. “It was a good deal, for me and your family. You alone have ushered thousands of souls into my void."

Elijah stared at her, his mouth dry.

"And yet," the figure murmured, her eyes gleaming with a dark hunger, "I long for your old soul…all the suffering, the pain, the blood on your hands. So many lives claimed by your own choices." Her voice was like a song, beautiful and chilling.

Elijah swallowed hard. "What do you want me for?"

"To be my shepherd," the figure whispered. "You will guide my souls into the dark."

A chill swept through him as the meaning sank in. She was asking him to forfeit everything: his family, his redemption, his freedom. He looked down at you, feeling your heart’s weak, faltering beat and watching the faint rise and fall of your breath. Desperation surged through him. He could not. Would not. Lose you again.

"Will she live?" he asked, his voice a tremor of vulnerability.

The figure’s eyes glimmered. "Of course… a fair trade, don’t you think?”

Elijah closed his eyes for a moment, pressing his lips to your forehead. After all that he had done. The countless unforgivable sins he had committed. He didn't do it all just to have you return to the living, he did it to have you. To be with you again. He was done trying to negotiate what he wanted, done pretending his intentions were anything other than selfish. He had no regrets, except perhaps the ones that were still to come.

The thought of leaving you, of leaving his family, it wasn't an option. He thought of your laughter, the way your eyes lit up, the way your voice softened when you spoke his name.

How could he let go of that?

"No," he said, his voice steady as steel, his grip tightening. "We are both leaving. Together. You'll have to kill me before I give her up."

The figure tilted its head, studying him, her expression almost curious. Then, her lips twisted into a sinister smile.

"I cannot stop you, Mr. Mikaelson."

In an instant, her form blurred, the air thickening with an oppressive weight. The ground trembled as a bitter, mocking laugh echoed around him, and the world twisted into darkness. Elijah felt an icy grip tighten around his heart, searing pain slicing through his chest. The shadows pressed in, colder, denser, the voices of the dead shrieking in his ears.

His entire body convulsed as the pain became unbearable, a scream tearing from his throat, reverberating through the void. He clutched you closer, his voice becoming a raw cry in the darkness, his vision fading.

Then, slowly, the agony ebbed, and he found himself on solid ground. He sat up, gasping, surrounded by the anxious faces of his siblings, but his eyes were fixed on you.

Your heart was beating, color had returned to your cheeks, and your eyes were beginning to flutter open. Rebekah knelt beside him, her voice a whisper filled with awe. “You did it.”

Elijah cradled you in his arms, a smile breaking through the tear-streaked relief on his face. "We did it."

He glanced up at his family, quiet joy spreading as they shared a look of silent victory. For a fleeting moment, peace settled over them.

But then, as he gazed down, you opened your eyes and looked up at him… Alive, yet with a distant, empty gaze.

“Who are you?” you asked, your voice soft and confused. “What's happening?”

Elijah’s smile vanished, his world tipping into silence. Panic flashed across his face as he gripped your hands, clinging to the familiar warmth, willing recognition back into your gaze.

"It's me," he murmured, his voice rough, barely above a whisper. "It’s Elijah."

You searched his face, puzzled, your brow furrowing. "I’m sorry," you said, softly shaking your head, "but I don’t know who you are."

The world stilled, his heartbeat slowing as a cold ache settled into his chest, something hollow and irreparable. It was a wound that would not heal, a love now held in silence.

Death is merciful. Death is simple. A quiet release into the vastness of time.

But for those who have loved across centuries, who have woven their souls through lifetimes, death becomes something else. It becomes a relentless keeper of memories, a silent warden of all they cherished and all they have sacrificed.

To let go would be a mercy, but for the ones who cannot. Who cling to love even as it decays. Time warps into something dark and unyielding. Every lost moment, every choice twisted by grief, binds them tighter to shadows of who they once were. And as they descend deeper into that darkness, the memories, both beautiful and bitter, become chains that will never release them.

The cost of refusing to let go is an eternity haunted, a soul consumed by the ghosts of everything that was, and everything that will never be again.

For death is kind. It is love that is cruel.

{Part One}{Part Two}{Part Three}{Part Four}{Part Five}

XOXOXO Thank you for reading! & I'm only a little sorry.... Here is a sad song that inspired this whole fic (aka more pain)~

[galaxymacbeth]

Cleaning

cw: mentions of blood, illusions to past murder, sexual tension, attempts to use sex as a form of self harm(?), simon doesn't know how to (want to) process emotions

She made a habit of visiting the horses. Even more so after Kyle pulled her along one morning to show her the most beautiful black stallion. And tell her maybe not all of the truth when he said that the horse had never shown any interest in any of them and didn’t have a name. But there was no lie when he ducked his head to her ear to whisper that the horse was hers now. A fitting steed for the one who’d given them joy.

She named him Harpy.

She had even taken to joining them at dinner on occasion, nestled so sweetly between Kyle and Johnny. They filled her plate and cup, fed her from their own. Johnny even convinced her to dance with him one night after one too many cups of wine. Music filled the banquet hall as if a quartet sat in the very room with them. She laughed, head thrown back as Johnny tried to teach her steps to a Northern dance performed at a chief’s coronation.

None of them could deny that she was making herself right at home.

But since that first dinner, Simon was never alone with her. She’d join John for tea almost every day, Gaz taught her to ride any chance they had. Even Soap joined them on occasion.

Simon wasn’t jealous—per say—but he was nothing like his companions. He had no fun. He didn’t ride. And while he enjoyed tea, sitting and talking about nothing while drinking it was not his idea of a good afternoon.

Even so, he couldn’t shake the feeling that he wasn’t worthy of her time. For hundreds of years, he shrugged off attempts by the others to join them at dinner or spend time together. Johnny alone spent most of the first hundred years of godhood whittling away at Simon’s walls. And still, Simon hid away sometimes, feeling less than worthy of Johnny or Kyle or John. How, if he could not be worth them, could he be worth her?

Yet he saw the way his Lamb watched him. Her eyes would linger on his frame while they ate, glittered while he laughed full bellied at Johnny’s recount of the last time he blew up a lab.

So while she was out with the horses, Simon slipped a note under her door. When she arrived back in her room that night, she unfolded it gently.

Lamb, I’d be honoured if you’d join me tomorrow while I clean in the armoury. Around mid afternoon. If you’d rather not, I won’t be hurt. Act like you never saw this.

Simon sat in the back of the armoury. It was filled with swords, axes, daggers and any other weapon possible. Leather and chainmail lined the left and right walls. Full suits of armour perched at both doors, standing sentry over a room that no one would dare steal from. He was the only one who ever spent much time in the room. Soap sometimes snatched a leather doublet to test the explosive power of some concoction he made and Gaz liked to survey new weapons on occasion. It was, however, considered Ghost’s domain.

Of course, he didn’t need to clean or sharpen anything. The fortress and its magic would keep anything within its walls in pristine condition. He found, though, that it soothed him. Kept dark memories and cold feelings at bay when they threatened to eat him alive. Johnny found him hunkered down in the room more than once in the dead of night after waking up from a nightmare.

Simon made it through almost half of his stock before the doors slammed opened. Quick footsteps darted around the armoury. Lamb slid to a halt in front of him.

In the armoury, he was less Simon, more Ghost. His scarf was pulled over his face to protect from sparks and the wolf pelt hung at his back. Dusty blonde hair shook as he shifted to look up at her. The arms of his pelt were tucked under his pauldron straps. Leather pants covered his thick legs, though a wide leather strop is draped over them. The grindstone in front of him slowed to a stop. Ghost only nodded at her.

Lamb’s face burned, arms filled with yarn and tiny tablets for weaving. Ghost’s foot shot out, dragging a stool to his side. She whispered a thanks and sat beside him. He watched as she unraveled the yarn some, then slipped the five colours into the tablets. With each pass of yarn over her skirts, his heart raced. By the time she had them all in order, he worried it would give out on him.

His dress was rather plain. No delicate patterns like John’s. No family colours like Johnny or Kyle’s. The fabric was dark as night and hung loose from her hips. Elegant but simple. Grey sleeves draped off her shoulders like a cape. It would only be at night that anyone could see the stars sparkle in the black. Farah thought the detail apt for him, but warned that he might never get to see it.

Simply seeing Lamb in the dress was reward enough.

They worked in silence, only the scraping of his grindstone to fill the silence. It wasn’t until she sucked her lips to her teeth that Ghost glanced towards her hands. She was tablet weaving—something he’d seen his own mother attempt as a child. The pattern was simple enough but his eyes snagged on the yarn. Purple, red, amber, and blue tangled together with a faint hint of white weaving through them. Their colours. And her? A fleece white lamb stuck in the wolves’ den.

Ghost’s shoulders lifted, chest puffed like a stag at her craft. Blood red was a colour thrust upon him. Blood from his father’s veins. Blood from men who beat their children only never to return from war. Blood from vicious monsters who would sacrifice up little lambs on pyres. Yet now his little lamb wove it into a gentle pattern alongside his fellow Gods—his lovers and best friends.

If Lamb noticed his preening, she made no mention of it. Surely the smile on her face was from how nicely the pattern was emerging. No other reason.

In another minute, Ghost smoothed his clean rag over his greatsword one last time. A barely audible breath left his lungs and he glanced towards her again. She hadn’t made it very far in her weaving but Ghost was finished. He had no other swords to clean.

So he stood, pulling Lamb’s eye, and walked to Johnny’s broadsword. The cage was just barely wide enough to slip his hand into. Ghost brought it back to his workbench to begin the process all over again.

Lamb slipped the shuttle between the yarn, pressing tight against her weave. She knew the sword wasn’t his, had watched him struggle to fit his paw into the cage. The image of it hanging at Soap’s side on that fateful day was seared into her memories. Yet he busied himself with it anyway.

His shoulders loosened as he ground the edge sharp. The lull of the stone lured him to a sense of peace—as much as he ever allowed himself. Lamb’s mere presence only heightened it. Then she began humming.

At first, he tensed, stopping his sharpening just to stare at her. She twisted the tablets again, slipping the shuttle through the yarn and tightening it down. Her voice was low, quiet as if not to disturb him. Ghost wasn’t sure she could disturb him. So he went back to sharpening. The tune was familiar, like a work song his mother had sung to him and Tommy as she sewed and cleaned. He began to feel his shoulders droop and the tension bleed out of his bones.

With Johnny’s sword sharpened and cleaned, Ghost moved to John’s. A dagger and sword that both required special care of their engravings, so he pulled a whet stone from a nook in his bench.

“Do you always clean all of their weapons?”

“No,” he grunted. The dagger didn’t actually need sharpened. Lamb hummed at him. Then went back to weaving.

The sun had begun to set as Lamb folded her weaving. Ghost had long since run out of weapons to clean. Gaz’s hammers hung in their spot, glimmering with magic and from a heavy handed scrubbing. The armoury was spotless. Hearth roaring with a fire even lit by Ghost’s own hand. As she stood, he leaned against his workbench.

“Thank ya, Lamb.”

“What for?” Her fingers twisted in her sleeves. They almost touched the floor and Ghost wondered if they had been a good choice. The feeling of her fingers pressed into his soul.

“Sittin’ wit’ me.”

Her smile was faint and she nodded, “I enjoyed myself.”

“Good.”

Lamb didn’t argue as he held a hand out to her and led her down the halls to her room. Neither spoke, but walked hand in hand through the fortress. As they stood at her door, Simon squeezed her hand.

“Joinin’ us f’dinner?” She hesitated and Simon hummed at her. “Don’ gotta.”

“I’d like to spend more time with you. Wouldn’t it be rude to go wearing this?”

Simon chuckled deep in his chest, “serves ‘em right.”

Lamb could feel her face burn. His smirk was wide, wicked but not evil. Simon dropped her hand but caught her chin before she could look down at it. He could see the blood from his past dripping from it. Lamb wanted to see the warmth of his hold.

He pressed his thumb into her cheek, just far enough to see the skin give way. Her eyes flicked to his. It felt like he was staring back into the eyes of the poor livestock he’d butchered and cut down to meat. Neither she nor the livestock were afraid of Simon Riley.

“Don’ worry ‘bout ‘em. Do you want to join us for dinner?” Each word was punctuated by a shake of her head.

“Would you join me for dinner?”

Simon’s grip on her loosened. His head listed to the left with a dumb grin growing on his lips.

“Wan’ me all t’yerself, Lamb?”

“I…” the words died on her tongue but Simon spoke for her.

“I’ll join ya, love to,” he cooed. With it, he released her chin. Her hand reached blindly for the knob, eyes never leaving his. They stepped into her room, but as Lamb turned to wonder where they’d eat, she gasped.

The room seemed to have grown, a new space beside her desk. In it sat a dark table, just big enough for five to sit at but with only two chairs. The apron was carved with beautiful motifs of dogs and unicorns. Inlaid on the surface was a lamb, curled into itself sleeping. The chairs shared the table’s motifs on the backs.

“’S lovely.” Simon whispered into her ear. Instinctually, her shoulders rose to meet the sound. Yet sank when she registered his voice. A ghost of a touch covered her shoulders.

“Did you…?”

“Can’t eat wit’out a table,” he chuckled. Lamb wandered to her desk, setting her craft down. A chair creaked as Simon sat in it, watching her move through her space. Her movements were relaxed, body at ease. She lifted her skirts to kick her shoes off and towards the wardrobe. Simon felt like a boy again, eyes locked on the delicate, untouched skin of her ankles and calves. It looked smooth, unmarred by scars or burns. He felt it practically begging him to touch.

Simon shook his head, digging his fingers into the flesh of his neck as he pulled his scarf down and began unbuckling his pauldrons.

The motion caught her eye and now she watched him. There was nothing under the pauldrons but skin. Lamb’s eyes trailed down his arms, cataloguing each tattoo and the keloids they hid. The metal made no noise as he set them on the ground beside him. Without the pauldrons to hold it, the wolf head slipped down his back to drape over the chair.

Down his left arm was various weapons and silent scenes of war. She wondered how he’d gotten such detailed images onto his skin, but chalked it up to god magic. His right arm was more sparse. Only a single image adorned his bicep. Twisted in a thorn laden vine was a hammer and glass bottle. His Gods.

A metallic clinking snapped her from Simon’s tattoos. A deep blush flushed her body as Lamb scurried to the door. His shoulders shook with a silent laugh. She brought the tray, now filled with two full meals, to the table. Her eyes never lifted from her hands.

“’S okay, Lamb,” Simon rumbled. He pulled a plate and cup from the tray. “Ya can look at me all ya want.”

“It’s inappropriate,” she squeaked. He chuckled aloud, the deep reverberance shaking her soul. Lamb dropped into the chair across from him and picked up her own meal and drink.

“Ya know yer havin’ dinner alone with a man,” God, she thought, “unwed.”

“Am I?” She finally lifted her head at him. Mid-sip, Simon paused. “Unwed?”

The ale slipped down his windpipe. It stung and burned as he tried to cough it back up.

“Fuckin’...” His breath evaded him. Simon wheezed, taking another sip of ale to try to wash down the cough, though it only made it worse. “Didn’t marry anyone recently, didya?”

“I was given to you — to all of you. Doesn’t that mean...?” She pushed the meat around her plate.

“I dunno,” Simon spit out. Lamb took a bite of the meat. “That wha’ ya want? T’ be our bride?”

“I want to belong here.”

His face softened, “ya do, Lamb. This is your home just as much as ours.”

Lamb hummed.

“Where’d ya learn to weave?”

Lamb turned to look at the mess of yarn on her desk, “my mother taught me. She learned it from her mother. It is...a gift women in our family give to our husbands.”

Simon’s eyes followed hers. The red was bright but no more than the amber, blue, or purple. Equally them. Lacking her.

“Gonna weave four?” She nodded. “Who’s that’s?”

“John’s.”

Plates and silverware clinked together as they ate. Simon questioned her patterns, but Lamb refused to tell him of his own. Simon found himself leaning in to hear her, to be in her presence as close as he could be without ripping her ribcage open and climbing in. Lamb smiled when he scooted his chair closer and closer. Until his thigh pressed against hers.

His entire body thrummed at the sensation of his and her skin touching the fabric of her dress. His fingers, when not drinking or eating, ghosted over her shoulders. Whether or not he could feel her shiver at his touch, Lamb couldn’t tell. She didn’t want to know.

“Simon.”

He blinked, “Lamb?”

“Do you have a favourite sweet?”

The silly, dumb grin grew on his face again. But the words were out before his brain could catch up.

“You.”

Lamb leaned back, laughing loud, and slapped a hand over her mouth. His grin only grew.

“A real sweet.”

“Sweetest thing I ever did see.”

“Simon,” she whined. He leaned in, breath mixing with hers. He could get drunk off the taste.

“Anythin’ wit’ honey.”

“Honey.”

“Yes?”

A wide grin split her face. She shook her head at him and turned to sip her wine. Simon didn’t move away from her, though. His hands carded over the smooth linen of her dress. It felt, if he could focus on the feeling, like Johnny’s hands slipping over his chest, like Kyle’s lips across his shoulders, like John’s words through his ears. Soft in a way he’d never felt before. In a way he’d never earned before.

The thought made his blood chill. Had he earned her? Gods. Had he earned Johnny? Kyle? John?

Lamb’s smile fell as his hand slowed over her legs. Simon’s once goofy smile faded. A dead, empty glaze took over his eyes. She almost felt the emptiness of the day he stabbed a sword through Elder Asmo’s thigh.

Ghost leaned back from her. The warmth of Simon left her.

“S…Simon?”

“Sweet thing you are, Lamb.” His voice was distant, rumbling as a God, and he never looked down at her.

“Simon.” Lamb leaned in, her hands gripping her skirt as hard as she could, “where are you?”

“Nowhere. Jus’ wit’ you.” Finally his eyes cast down to her face. “Always wit’ ya, Lamb.”

She shook her head, opened her mouth to argue, but Simon — Ghost — leaned back in.

“Ya are. Ain’t ya? A lamb. Led to slaughter. Led t’ us.”

“Yes.” Tears brimmed in her eyes. “But you’ll keep me safe. J-John said so.”

Ghost hummed at her. Lifted his hand to grasp her chin before sweeping his fingers over her cheek and lips. “’N who’s gonna keep you safe from us?”

Her throat bobbed against his hold.

“You won’t hurt me, Simon.”

He chuckled, squeezing her face. His thumb pressed against her lips, smushing the skin against her teeth. He pressed and pressed until she relented, parting them and letting him press his thumb to her tongue.

“War, Lamb, War.”

Their eyes locked. Ghost’s thumb remained pressed to her tongue. Lamb’s breath wafted over his skin. Saliva slicked his thumb as Lamb swallowed gently around it. She kept her teeth from sinking in his flesh. Ghost found himself in awe as he released her. Her doey eyes were disarming and she had them trained on his soul.

Ghost licked over his thumb, but Lamb’s face never changed, never shifted. Her mouth closed slowly and, finally, her eyes flicked away to the table. He watched as her shoulders rose and fell with her breath—measured. As if she was coaching herself through the act.

“Did ya forget where you were, Lamb?”

“No.” She looked back at him, breath now panting out of her lungs. “I am home.”

He chuffed at her, “tha’ Elder a’ yers had no idea who he was givin’ up.”

She said nothing. Reached for a cold piece of meat still sitting on her plate. Her fingers curled around it but she slipped it into her mouth as if the mere sight of her teeth might offend the God.

Her mind swirled. The Simon she’d sat next to all afternoon and well into dinner was jovial. Happy to scoot next to her until there was no air between them. The God sitting near her now was Ghost. Shadow incarnate and made dark with war. War that he wouldn’t let her forget coated his veins and skin. As if he dripped with it at every waking second. She knew of his story. The myth that made the man into a God. Yet hoped, somehow, that the gentle Simon that walked her back to her room and asked her about weaving could be the only version of him she knew.

Elder Torsten once told her she was a fool. Naïve and idiotic when she asked Gods of War for peace. Perhaps he was not wrong.

Clinking of metal drew her eyes back to Ghost. He had hoisted his pauldrons back onto his shoulders and was adjusting the leather over his chest.

“Are you leaving?”

He grunted, yanking his scarf over his face and the wolf head over his own.

“Sim—”

“For the best,” he bit out, pressing a hand to her shoulder to keep her seated.

She stared at him. He finished collecting himself, yanking one final time on the leather straps across his chest, and stalked towards the door. There was a bite of silence before his hand touched the handle.

“I trust you.”

“Shouldn’t.” With it, Simon threw open her door and let it slam behind him. Lamb jumped, her heart leaping into her throat at the echoing sound. And finally let the tears fall. The silent plea in her head for some essence of warmth earned her a roaring fire and a wolf shaped stuffed toy on her pillows.

Ghost slipped through the halls, each shadow welcoming him with icy hands and ghostly smirks. It was long past dinner; long past John’s usual nightcap. He slipped into the banquet hall, lowering his hand at a torch that tried to illuminate the room.

Because no matter how dark the room got, those four windows couldn’t dim. Hollow eyes tracked over John’s, Kyle’s, until they landed on his own. Little had changed in it. The trees were still dark. A wolf head with blue eyes stuck out from the left. An amber eyed bear peeked around a tree across from it. In front of the bear, a boar’s purple gaze stared back at him.

The only difference? The snow white lamb standing in the middle of the forest path. It’s eyes bore into him. Red. His little lamb. Their precious prize. One he didn’t deserve.

The room slowly began to glow and Ghost hissed out a breath.

“Ye been missin’ all day,” Johnny said, voice soft and languid. Ghost didn’t reply. “Ah kin hear ‘er. Cryin’.”

It was met with a growl and Ghost turned to him, “wot of it?”

Johnny scoffed, arms crossed over his chest. He shook his head as he took in the God in front of him. Every ounce the God who wreaked havoc on monsters and warriors. It made his heart ache.

“Ye didnae mean it, w’ever ye said.”

Johnny began towards him but Ghost stepped back. His hips hit a table behind him and Johnny continued.

“Ah ken ye wan’ her safe.”

Now within touching range, Johnny slid his hands over Ghost’s shoulders. The wolf head fell back and Johnny pulled gently at the scarf.

“Ye didnae mean tae hurt ‘er.”

“I did.”

“Nae,” Johnny shook his head. His hands slipped to the back of Ghost’s neck and pulled him in, “ye didnae. Yer scared, Si.”

He tried shaking his head, but fingers tangled in his hair. The grip was tight, almost painful, but it drew him back into the fortress. Back into the arms of his best friend. Simon’s eyes blinked, the banquet hall coming back into focus. Johnny watched him, pulled him close when it was Simon who looked back.

“Si,” he breathed.

Simon surged forward, slamming his lips against Johnny’s. His hands grabbed at his hips and forced him back until Johnny tripped into a table. It scrapped back and Simon shoved Johnny down onto it. Simon was quick to follow, crawling over him. A low groan echoed through the room when Simon sank his teeth into the meat over Johnny’s heart.

He might have babbled words, pleas, and promises but Simon heard none of it. A hand drifted down his thigh and pushed the tartan up, up, up until Johnny shivered beneath him. Simon dug his fingers into his thigh and jerked it up to wrap around his own hip. Johnny groaned again, pulling Simon into another scathing kiss, and ground his hips up into Simon’s.

“Si,” Johnny gasped. Simon forced his hips into the table, slamming his free hand into the wood beside Johnny’s head.

“Shut up,” Simon growled, thrusting hard against Johnny’s cock. Johnny’s head dropped against the table, hands gripping Simon’s shoulders.

“Ye cannae use me—” Simon bit his pulse hard, cutting off the scolding with a moan. “Simon.”

“Said shut it,” Simon hissed, reaching to shove his pants down his thighs, “don’ wanna fuckin’ hear ya.”

His tongue laved over the bite. The wet lick cooled, sending a shiver down Johnny’s spine. He arched into Simon’s chest and almost forgot what he’d been doing following Simon around in the first place. It took all of his will to thread his fingers in Simon’s hair and yank him back from his neck.

“Yer gonna fuckin’ hear meh,” he growled. Simon’s hands froze and his head cocked to the side. “Yer scared of her.”

Simon scoffed and shoved himself off the table. Johnny sat up, trying to follow him, but Simon pushed a hand into his chest.

“Yer scared of her, Simon Riley. ‘N yer takin’ it out on her.”

“’M not scared of a fuckin’ mortal.” Simon curled his fingers into a fist and wished he had something to shake or choke. Maybe both.

“Yer scared of who she is, Si,” Johnny’s voice softened. It only enraged Simon further. “She’s too soft, too sweet t’ be ‘ere.”

“Should’a sent her off to Laswell when we ‘ad the chance.” His eyes flicked back to the windows. It was far too late now. She’d destroy them if she ever left. “You and Kyle wanted a fuckin’ toy.”

“Dinnae treat ‘er like she’s some passin’ fascination, Simon. She changed us,” Johnny grabbed at one of the leather straps on his chest. “Only been two weeks ‘n she’s changed us.”

“You.” Johnny tilted his head. “Changed you. No’ me.”

Johnny well and truly laughed. His head thrown back and loud enough to echo off the stone walls.

“Ye fuckin’ numpty. Think we ‘aven’t seen the way ye look at ‘er? Like ye finally seen the sun after years in the dark. Bloody fuckin’ hell, Simon.” He pulled at the leather but Simon didn’t budge. “Ye love ‘er jus’ like the res’ o’us.”

Simon’s eyes cast down. His pants were still loose around his hips. His hands still simmered with just a faint bit of warmth from just touching Lamb’s shoulder. Love her. Of course he did. Loved her like a dog loves a hare; like a sword loves blood. Fleeting and deadly.

His hand covered Johnny’s but he didn’t look up.

“Come tae bed. Can apologize in the morn.”

previous | next

masterlist

remember that corner I mentioned? this is it. I think i quite like it here. finally getting to the pg-13 rating here.

also pretty sure i jinxed myself with that last "life is lifeing" thing so...enjoy!